#Take A Chance Novella

[literary-illuminati]

An Arbitrary Collection of Book Recommendations

(put together for a friend out of SFF I've read over the last couple of years)

Cli-Fi

Tusks of Extinction and/or The Mountain in the Sea by Ray Nayler. They’re pretty different books in a lot of ways – one is a novel about discovering a certain species of squid in the Pacific might have developed symbolic language and writing, the other a novella about a de-extinction initiative to restore mammoths to the Siberian taiga – but they share a pretty huge overlap in setting, tone and themes. Specifically, a deep and passionate preoccupation with animal conservation (and a rather despairing perspective on it), as well as a fascination with transhumanism and how technology can affect the nature of consciousness. Mountain is his first work, and far more substantial, but I’d call it a bit of a noble failure in achieving what it tries for. Tusks is much more limited and contained, but manages what it’s going for.

A Half-Built Garden by Ruthanna Emrys. In a post-post-apocalyptic world that’s just about figured out how to rebuild itself from the climate disasters of the 21st century (but that’s still very much a work in progress), aliens descend from the sky and make First Contact. They’re a symbiotic civilization, and they’re overjoyed at the chance to welcome a third species into their little interstellar community – and consider it a mission of mercy besides, since every other species they’ve ever encountered destroyed themselves and their planet before escaping it. Awkwardly, our heroine and her whole society are actually pretty invested in Earth and the restoration thereof – and worried that a) the alien’s rescue effort might not care about their opinions and b) that other interest groups on earth might be more willing to give the hyper-advanced space-dwelling aliens the answers they want to hear. Basically 100% sociological worldbuilding and political intrigue, so take that as you will.

Throwback Sci Fi

Elder Race by Adrian Tchaikovsky is possibly the only thing I’ve read published in decades to take the old cliche of ‘this generic-seeming fantasy world is actually the wreckage of a ruined space age civilization, and ‘magic’ and ‘monsters’ are the remnants of the technology’ and play it entirely straight. Specifically, it’s a two-POV novella, where half the story is told from the perspective of a runaway princess beseeching the ancient wizard who helped found her dynasty for help against a magical threat, and half is from the perspective form the last surviving member of a xeno-anthropology mission woken out of stasis by the consequences of the last time he broke the Prime Directive knocking on his ship tower door and asking for help. Generally just incredible fun.

Downbelow Station by C. J. Cherryh is, I think, the only thing on this list written before the turn of the millennium. It’s proper space opera, about a habitat orbiting an immensely valuable living world that’s the lynchpin of logistics for the functionally rogue Earth Fleet’s attempt to hold off or defeat rebelling and somewhat alien colonies further out. The plot is honestly hard to summarize, except that it captures the feel of being history better than very nearly any other spec fic I’ve ever read – a massive cast, none of them with a clear idea of what’s going on, clashing and contradictory agendas, random chance and communications delays playing key roles, lots of messy ending, not a single world-shaking heroes or satanic masterminds deforming the shape of things with their narrative gravity to be seen. Somewhat dated, but it all very impressively well done.

Pulpy Gay Urban Fantasy Period Piece Detective Stories Where Angels Play a Prominent Role

A Master of Djinn by P. Djèlí Clark stars Fatma el-Sha’arawi, the youngest woman working for the Ministry of Alchemy, Enchantments and Supernatural Entities in Cairo, a couple of decades after magic returned to the world and entirely derailed the course of Victorian imperialism. There’s djinn and angels and crocodile gods, and also an impossible murder that needs solving! The mystery isn’t exactly intellectually taxing, but this is a very fun tropey whodunnit whose finale involves a giant robot.

Even Though I Knew The End by C. L. Polk is significantly more restrained and grounded in its urban fantasy. It’s early 20th century Chicago, and a PI is doing one last job to top off the nest egg she’s leaving her girlfriend before the debt on her deal with the devil comes due. By what may or may not be coincidence, she stumbles across a particularly gruesome crime scene – and is offered a deal to earn back her soul by solving the mystery behind it. Very noir detective, with a setting that just oozes care and research and a satisfyingly tight plot.

High Concept Stuff That Loves Playing around With Format and the Idea of Narratives

Radiance by Catherynne M. Valente is a story about a famous documentarian vanishing on shoot amid mysterious and suspicious circumstances, as told by the recovered scraps of the footage she was filming, and different drafts of her (famous director) father’s attempt to dramatize the events as a memorial to her. It’s set in a solar system where every planet is habitable and most were colonized in the 19th century, and culturally humanity coasts on in an eternal Belle Epoque and (more importantly) Golden Age of Hollywood. Something like half the book is written as scripts and transcripts. This description should by now either have sold you or put you off entirely.

The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez is the only classic-style epic fantasy on this list, I believe? The emperor and his three demigod sons hold subjugated in terror, but things are changing. The emperor, terrified of death, has ordered a great fleet assembled to carry him across the sea in pursuit of immortality. The day before he sets out on his grand pilgrimage to the coast, a guilt-ridden guard helps the goddess of the moon escape her binding beneath the palace. From there, things spiral rapidly out of anyone’s control. The story’s told through two or three (depending( different layers of narrative framing devices, and has immense amounts of fun playing with perspective and format and ideas about storytelling and legacy.

I Couldn’t Think of Any Categories That Included More Than One of These

All The Names They Used For God by Anjali Sachdeva is a collection of short stories, and probably the most literary thing on this list? The stories range wildly across setting and genre, but are each more or less about the intrusion of the numinous or transcendent or divine into a world that cracks and breaks trying to contain it. It is very easily the most artistically coherent short story collection I’ve ever read, which I found pretty fascinating to read – but honestly I’m mostly just including this on the strength of Killer of Kings, a story about an angel sent down to be John Milton’s muse as he writes Paradise Lost which is probably one of the best things I read last year period.

Last Exit by Max Gladstone – the Three Parts Dead and How You Lose the Time War guy – could be described as a deconstruction of ‘a bunch of teenagers/college kids discover magic and quest to save the world!’ stories, but honestly I’d say that obscures more than it reveals. Still, the story is set with that having happened a decade in the past, and the kids in question have thoroughly fucked up. Zelda, the protagonist, is kept from suicide by survivor’s guilt as much as anything, and now travels across America working poverty jobs and sleeping in her car as she hunts the monsters leaking in through the edges of a country rotting at the seams. Then there’s a monster growing in the cracks of the liberty bell, an in putting it down she gets a vision of someone she thought was dead is just trapped – or maybe changed. So it’s time to get the gang together again and save the world! This one’s hard to rec without spoiling a lot, but the prose and characterization are all just sublime. Oddly in conversation with the whole Delta Green cosmic horror monster hunting subgenre for a story with nothing to do with Lovecraft.

Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh is a story about aliens destroying the earth, and growing up in the pseudo-fascist asteroid survivalist compound of the last bits of the human military that never surrendered. It stars a heroine whose genuinely indoctrinated for the first chunk of the book and just deeply endearing terrible and awful to interact with, and also has a plot that’s effectively impossible to describe without spoiling the big twist at the end of the first act. Possibly the only book I read last year which I actively wish was longer – which is both compliment and genuine complaint, for the record, the ending’s a bit messy. Still, genuinely meaty Big Ideas space opera with very well-done characterization and a plot that does hold together. 

#meta #book recommendations #sff #sharing this mostly so I don't lose it next time my laptop dies #and also hey why not

[ask-the-prose]

Writing Burnout and Helpful Tips

Hi yall, it’s been wonderful seeing ask-the-prose posts going around writeblr and I’m so happy to see that some of these guides are helpful. If you have a specific topic you’d like me to cover, send in an ask!

What is burnout?

Burnout is incredibly common and nothing to be ashamed of! If you find you are too exhausted to do what you love, running out of ideas, or perhaps not wanting to do anything, you may be burned out. Burnout can pose a serious block to your writing, and it’s just not fun.

Burnout can happen when you’re stretching yourself too thin, spending more time and energy creating than taking in creativity, or not taking care of yourself the way you need.

Step 1: Put out the fire

One of the number one ways to fast-track your way to burnout is to forget to care for yourself. We’re writers! Sometimes we get in the zone, or maybe a little obsessed, and we forget to eat, hydrate, and maybe even put off sleep. But ignoring self-care is unsustainable.

We all see posts all over reminding us to hydrate, eat well, sleep, and even stretch, but these are genuinely great tips to remember when you’re not feeling well. I’d like to add a few ideas to try when you’re feeling down.

Exercise. Walk, run, play a sport, do anything that helps move your body, whatever you can do to help your blood flow, even if it’s just a few push-ups or a good stretch.

Find a new set of walls to stare at. I get in a rut going to the same places or staying home when I have nowhere to go. But hanging out at a coffee shop or cafe helps me often. It’s a chance to observe people, see new things, and get some sunlight. If you need to shake it up, try a new cafe!

Socialize. Sometimes burnout looks like loneliness. Socialize! Talk to a friend or family member, or make a new friend! New perspectives help.

Not all of these work for everybody, but they’re friendly suggestions to try when you’re feeling burnout coming on.

Step 2: Replenish your reserves

As creatives, we get stuck always wanting to create, but that’s not sustainable either! Creativity is not just an internal process, we need external stimulation to replenish our creative reserves. When you feel like you just can’t come up with ideas or anything new, maybe it’s time to read.

Reading can help, though I personally understand the struggle to read (and finish!) books. Start with short stories or novellas if you struggle to read novels. Read within the genre you’re trying to write, and then step out of your genre and try something new. You never know when inspiration will strike.

Watch movies, listen to new music, play a video game, or do anything that can give you a creative boost. Reading is critical, but learning about other mediums is just as important.

Step 3: Self-indulgence is key

You may find as you’re recovering from the burnout that your wip may just be what’s causing the problem. Ask yourself some important questions:

Am I writing for myself?

Am I writing something that I want to write?

If not, what do I want to write about?

Do I like what I’m writing, or do I feel like it’s what everyone wants to read?

Answer these questions for yourself, and if you find you don’t like those answers, take a look at your project and see what you can or want to change. Remember, if it’s not fun and it’s not what you want, then it might not be worth it.

Take what you need, leave what you don’t

As always, this guide is meant to be helpful, and as with all writing advice, it’s entirely subjective. I believe these tips work because they worked for me. But if you find that something isn’t helping, leave it! Move on or adjust to what you as an individual need to recover from your burnout.

Remember that no writing is ever wasted and that your writing matters. We need your voice too!

– Indy

#writing help #writing advice #writing tips #writing burnout #writers block #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writblr #avoiding burnout #writing community #writing resources #writers of tumblr #creative writing

[acourtofthought]

"Elain draws away from Lucien because she doesn't like him and doesn't want him"

Really? An author who is notorious for hidden truths and "what you see isn't always what you get" yet some still believe she's resorting to something so simplistic for two of her future main characters? Two characters involved in Feyre's story from book 1 yet she's really gone the route of mating them in book 2 only to have them go absolutely nowhere together? To Elain ignoring her POC scarred mate because she's supposedly afraid of him though he literally does nothing but continue being as respectful as possible? Leaving her ex unharmed and not pushing her for anything?

This is the author who had Nesta push Cassian away time and again, looking to other males for physical release, only for us to find out she wanted Cassian from the first moment she met him and was terrified of what that meant.

But Elain definitely wants a relationship with Az because she was willing to kiss him and pushes Lucien away. 🤔

Wouldn't a more interesting reason for her behavior be something like this:

Elain was devastated by Graysens rejection.

She wept for hours at her father's headstone and continued to visit him at least once a month. We know she still mourned her lost life with Graysen in the novella as well.

Elain lost the two most important men in her life and it was very clearly a harrowing experience. She went from not eating, not sleeping, not drinking, and sitting silently in her room for months because of her lost humanity and separation from Graysen to Graysens rejection to the loss of her father.

And if those things felt that terrible, were that traumatic and she didn't even share a bond with either, then what do you think she'd feel if she were to open herself up to Lucien and he rejected her or he was killed?

In ACOWAR, she said that she could hear his heart, not just his heartbeat. And we know that part of what was in his heart at that moment was guilt over Jesminda's death and a feeling of betrayal towards her. .

If Graysens rejection of her stung as badly as it did, then what would a mates rejection feel like? Wondering whether she could ever compare to a female he pined for centuries after her death?

If her father's death was so painful, then what would the death of a mate feel like?

Certain parts of the fandom create a version of Elain that is so one dimensional rather than giving her credit for possibly having feelings toward Lucien that are deep and complex. That she could be dealing with the fear of opening herself up to him and is also in tune with his fears and his sadness and it's all overwhelming and scary. He's not scary but the intensity of what could be and what could then be lost is.

That maybe, just maybe, Az (for as nice as he's been towards her) was not a scary option because she knew any rejection would not cut deeply (evidenced by the fact that nobody noted her being sad after Solstice). If Elain is as observant as the characters say she is, then there's little chance she hadn't noticed the way he looked at Mor and knew on some level who his heart belonged to, though he's been starting to realize he isn't going to end up with her. Maybe Feyre was right in saying that Elain and Az might find peace and quiet together, but maybe it was never meant to last. Peace and quiet is not what legendary romances are built on. Maybe the peace and quiet was only meant to hold them over until she (and he) were ready to stop being afraid and finally face the things that scared them. Until she was finally ready to take a chance to truly opening herself up again, not just physically but emotionally.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #anti e/riel #pro lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #lucien and elain #acotar mates #character deep dive

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blessed Are The Meek 5

Summary: you are trapped in an awkward circumstance with a widowed commander. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, sterility, and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Tommy Shelby

Note: thank you for following along. I’m sure yall didn’t expect to write Tommy again but here we are. Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

You wipe the Commander's face and stand with the cup, brush, and blade. You go to the sink to clean it all up and put it away. As you do, you hear him shifting in the water. You've already set out his soap and shampoo on the ledge. The smell of it laces the air. 

You glance at the door, wondering if you should go. 

"You will wait and have a towel ready."

His order is taken as diligently as any other. 'Yes, Commander' and you take the bath sheet from the rack, standing by the wall and staring at your sleeve. He sighs as he lingers in water, drawing out the tension.

When he stands, water slaking noisily from his body, you come forward and open the bath sheet. He steps over the wall of the tub and waits. You wrap it around him and he finally clasps the top.

You recoil and move aside. He passes you and you roll up your sleeve to pull the stopper from the tub. You don’t return to the bedroom right away. You give him time before you near the door, head down.

“Would you like your tea?” You ask the floor.

He sits on the side of the bed. He reaches for the thick tome on the round table beside the wooden frame. He lifts the bible and flutters through the gold-edged pages. You listen to the noise but refocus on the cold hardwood.

“Even piety cannot outweigh the law,” he says, “did you chance a verse or two, hm?”

You shake your head. “No, Commander.”

He snaps the book shut, clutching it between his hands. He runs his thumb along the spine and leans forward. He stares at the cover then hurls it at the wall, making you flinch as it falls onto its pages.

“Tell me then, what did you read? Before?”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t believe he truly cares. This is just what the men do. They play on their power, pulling the strings of the women they made into puppets. You won’t tell him of the cheap novellas that kept you company in a tub very much like the one in the next room or the fantastical tales of dragons and magic that first awakened your love of literature. 

“I am not the woman I was before. I cannot recall.”

He sits up and leans his head back, “you are just like every other woman. You say what will do you best, but never the truth.”

You don’t argue. He is right, but he does not admit why. That if you do speak honestly, you will be sent to the wall or worse.

“Or maybe you read nothing at all. Maybe you were the sort to watch a screen until your head turned dull. Or spent your time with a bottle of liquor…” he presumes as he scratches along his neck. “Certainly, there wasn’t much time for reading with a son to rear, eh?”

You try not to falter. Is it a lucky guess or does he know? He could. Surely, if he wanted to know who you used to be, he could find that out.

“Tea,” he orders bluntly and lifts his legs onto the bed, sprawling wide so the bath sheet slackens around his legs.

“Yes, Commander,” you affirm, twisting sharply as you fight to keep your nerves from boiling over. It is a test. One you must pass.

🌫️

The Commander dismisses you as he sits thumbing through the bible’s bent pages and sipping his tea. You leave him with the soft clasp of the doorknob behind you. You wade through the dark and down to the first floor. You resume your seat on the bench, drawing your legs up as you lay on your side.

It is stiff and uncomfortable. You feel the knot forming in your neck already but you are too tired to worry about it. You sleep shallowly, cramped and rigid, until you are awakened by the creak of the stairs.

You sit up with an effort. Your neck screams and your shoulder blades throb. You lean on the wall for just a moment as you muster the strength to stand. The pain is almost inhuman. You knew you would regret sleeping on the bench but you hadn’t much choice.

You rise and brace your hip without thinking as you face the Commander coming down the stairs. He wears only a robe in the pale light of early morning. It cannot be more than four.

“I called for you,” he stops on the middle step.

“Apologies, Commander.”

“Why are you down here?” He sneers.

“I… I did not know where else–”

“Hush,” he demands curtly, “you think too much and say more.”

You lower your chin in submission. You swallow your standard acquiescence and wait for further reproach.

“Upstairs. This house is frigid, I require another duvet. Find one.”

He goes back up as you hesitate to follow. You ascend, step by step, tamping down a whine as each lift of your foot zings up to your neck. You go to the narrow closet door and open it, revealing a spare blanket. You bring it with you and enter through the open bedroom door.

The Commander is abed already. You approach him and throw the duvet across the bed, grunting through your teeth. You tug the corners straight and he reaches to grasp your wrist. You pause, his touch almost stinging.

“You may sleep across my feet, like a dog,” he snickers, “it would do better than that bench for your decrepit bones.”

You stay still, not daring to rip your arm away from him, “Commander, I don’t mind–”

“It is not up to you. Go on, dog, take your place.”

He lets you go and you stand. Your eyes burn with humiliation as you sidle towards the end of the mattress. You put one hand down, then the other, climbing up on all fours like an animal. You lower yourself onto your side, back to him as you stare at the dark doorway.

“Just like a loyal old bitch,” he remarks as he jostles the bed, kicking you from beneath the blanket, “aren’t you?”

“Yes, Commander,” you force through your tight throat.

#tommy shelby #drabble #dark tommy shelby #dark!tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #au #handmaid au #blessed are the meek #series #peaky blinders

[britcision]

Guys I dunno how to tell you this this is my favourite fucking chapter so far and before this one the last one was

I know it looks like we’re getting distracted and side tracked off on tangents but I’m having the time of my fucking life and more than half of my favourite bits weren’t in the plan

(We’re still on track and makin’ our way but oh boy the funniest things are all accidents)

AO3 link is as ever still on the first couple of chapters!

First:

Previous:

———————

That’s Not A Twink That’s An Anime Girl

They did eventually have to let Dick out of his snow drifts.

As a former circus acrobat, Dick had the best excuse of all of them to use his vigilante training in public; he’d wormed out of Jason’s grasp, flipped over Duke and made a run for it.

Unfortunately for him, gravity was actually literally optional for Danny, and Danny didn’t even have a superhero identity to protect in Gotham.

He could turn a lot more easily on the slick ice and snow to give chase, a little flight added when friction failed him. On his own, Danny would have probably had to actually fly to take Dick down.

Of course, odds of eight-to-one would weigh on any man. Not a single member of the group wasn’t thoroughly soaked by the hour’s end, sweat under clothes and snow clinging over them.

The journey up to Wayne Manor ended up being done in chunks as the sun began to sink and the cold set in for their more human friends.

Jason, Danny, Duke, and Tim had to go back to the mall to retrieve motorbikes.

(Technically Danny didn’t actually need to, but what he did need was an excuse to get Jason alone for a minute, and he’d put up with snickering from Sam and Tuck to do it.)

Steph, Cass, Damian, Sam, and Tucker called for a cab rather than pack themselves into Dick’s now snow filled car, and their numbers were excuse enough for Danny to slip away.

Which is when Tucker realised he could have probably hitched a ride on Tim’s bike, and spent the whole journey hugging Tim Drake-Wayne.

Buuuuut it’d also mean riding a motorcycle through slushy snow. The dilemma on his face made Danny grin all the way back to the mall, despite the damp now clinging to his clothes.

Sure, the car might reach the manor first and they’d get warm and dry, but that just meant Tucker’d miss out on more Tim Time.

The snowball fight had clearly done Tim good too, he was much more energised as they walked back to the mall, complaining to Danny and the others about Amity Park’s underhanded tactics.

Danny sure as fuck wasn’t going to apologise, but he did have a much more important question: how the fuck did Jason do that landshark-disappearing-into-snow bullshit?

Which… well, was also a chance to fuck with Tim and Duke.

“Seriously Jay, I can go intangible but that snow trick was bullshit,” Danny complained with a wicked glee in his heart, reflected in Jason’s grin.

Tim nearly tripped over his own feet. Duke caught him, his own eyes wide.

“You can what?!” Tim asked in a slightly strangled voice, and Danny gave him his most innocent smile.

“Oh, has Dick not told you? Yeah, it’s one of my things, from the generic end of the list,” he explained casually, turning his arm intangible and phasing it through Jason.

Who made a face.

“Okay but why does it feel like that left a residue?” The larger man complained, scrubbing at his shirt.

Which. Danny paused, frowning down at his hand. Stuck it through his own chest experimentally.

“Y’know, I didn’t know it did that… not like I go through myself often, but I can definitely feel it,” he agreed, sticking his tongue out as he wiggled his hand around, then drew it back.

Duke and Tim looked fascinated and nauseated respectively. Danny gave them both a cheerful shrug and kept walking.

“It’s probably my pit water,” he theorised, and Jason groaned loudly.

“Danny, did you just fucking mix our forbidden smoothies?” He complained loudly, and Duke damn near choked himself on a strangled laugh.

Danny fully had to stop and turn to stare at Jason, delighted awe on his face.

“Oh, I’m calling it that forever. That’s my new favourite thing. Skulker is going to shit his entire liver when he hears “forbidden smoothie”,” he decided gleefully.

Jason smirked and bumped shoulders as he passed, forcing the others to keep moving to keep up. Duke almost jogged to lean around Jason and give Danny a curious look.

“Who’s Skulker?” He asked innocently and Danny grinned at him.

“Oh, one of my rogues. He likes to talk a big game but he’s pretty easy to deal with. All bark, no bite,” Danny explained cheerfully.

Honestly he was a little surprised Skulker hadn’t shown up in Gotham to bother him yet. He must have been having a hard time finding a portal, because it’s not like he’d stop.

Tim and Duke did seem a little reassured by his casual dismissal, but still concerned. Jason cut them off before they could ask anything that might be useful.

Yeah, Jason was kinda Danny’s favourite.

“So how the fuck do I get your smoothie out of my jug?” He asked with an overly disgusted face. Danny fought not to laugh.

“You are so asking the wrong person dude, I didn’t know it happened until just now,” he pointed out and Jason rolled his eyes.

“I’m taking at least six showers when we get to the manor,” Jason grumbled melodramatically, and Danny laughed aloud.

Then paused.

“Wait, how many bathrooms are there? Can we all shower?” He asked Tim and Duke.

Neither of whom looked ready to admit they didn’t know what was going on. Fuck Jason knew his family well.

Duke shrugged, the mall finally coming into sight, and diverted towards the underground parking.

“Well, there’s enough for one each. And Alfred could do laundry for you so you can change right after if you take a long one,” he offered, glancing down at his own now damp clothes.

Best part of a snowball fight: changing back into something warm and dry.

Danny snickered, plucking at Jason’s oversized sweater.

“The way you assume I’m wearing a single thing that I actually own is adorable,” he told the younger man sincerely, grinning as his cheeks heated.

Sure, it was more subtle on dark skin than Danny’s light tan, but he’d been friends with Tucker since he could walk. He knew exactly what to look for.

Was not quite ready for it to be combined with a sly grin right back.

“What, nothing of yours?” He asked suggestively and Tim laughed, quickly catching on.

“Did Jason give you everything?” He asked teasingly, both younger Wayne wards now grinning at their older brother.

Jason’s little pink blush was definitely still Danny’s favourite. He grinned right back, refusing to follow them to a place that didn’t exist.

“Some of it’s probably yours,” he told Tim blithely, tugging at his sweatpants. Which, as predicted, immediately changed Tim’s expression to annoyance.

“Why is everyone wearing my pants today?” Tim grumbled, and Danny’s grin widened.

“They looked a little tight on Tucker if you wanted to help him take them off,” Danny teased and Tim levelled a dry stare at him.

“I do have a boyfriend,” he pointed out coolly, like that was gonna stop turnabout from being fair play.

“Ask him to come help then,” Jason cut in, ruffling Tim’s hair, “you know Connor’s always welcome for dinner.”

For a long moment Tim’s expression froze, clearly actually considering the suggestion. Then he shook his head, sighing and calling the elevator.

“Probably not today. What floor do you guys need?” He asked as the doors slid open, stepping inside.

Quiet day at the mall. Probably the fucking cold, combined with hangovers from the new year.

And as much as Danny was thirsting to ask about that, he also very much needed Jason alone before they got on the road. Hopefully they weren’t on the same level.

“Two,” Jason said, and Tim nodded, hit two and then four. Looked to Duke. Who grinned.

“Three. Sorry Tim, you’re taking the scenic route.”

And for once the universe worked in Danny’s favour. Something fucked would probably happen soon to compensate.

He and Jason left the elevator together, waited til the doors slid back shut, and then headed off towards the bike. Danny didn’t make him ask.

“She’s definitely liminal. Not like, bad? Honestly she wouldn’t even register back in Amity Park. Damian’s is a bit worse, but he’s younger, it happens. Ecto energy likes kids,” he explained when Jason made an inquisitive noise.

He definitely wasn’t bitter or anything. He’d been just young enough to take it in like a magnet.

His parents probably wouldn’t have survived the same accident.

“It’s kinda the only thing horror movies get right. Ectoplasm can form from emotional energy, and little kids, they feel everything that much more. Tapers off when you get older, so Damian’s still a magnet. Cass is stable.”

He kinda wished he had better news, but honestly? After a dunk in the kind of rancid ectoplasm Jason described, Danny was taking it as a win that neither of the others were haunted.

Jason nodded gruffly, pausing beside his bike to pull his helmet back on. Not that it’d stop Danny from reading his mood; his aura pulsed stress-stress-stress-worry like a beacon.

Danny stepped closer, resting a hand on Jason’s shoulder, stilling the movement.

“They’ll both almost definitely become ghosts if they die again,” he explained softly, voice low enough to pass unheard in the echoing space, “but they’ll be fine. Think of it like insurance; you’re never going to lose them.”

Jason snorted, the sound distorting strangely through the helmet, but didn’t pull away.

“Is that what you tell yourself about Sam and Tucker?” He asked, trying to sound derisive but there was a tinge of hope there now.

Danny gave him a gentle wave of sorry-sorry-comfort back.

“Yeah.”

**

Back in the elevator, Tim looked at Duke expectantly. Who sighed.

“I am not a fuckin’ pokedex, Tim,” he reminded the older boy with a roll of his eyes. Which his brother totally ignored, still waiting.

Tim could fucking stare like nobody’s business.

The elevator chimed again and Duke stepped out, not the least surprised when Tim followed.

“I dunno. I thought I almost caught something in the park, but it was just a blur. Tucker and Sam both have more of an aura than Danny, but Danny’s clearly something. I just dunno if it’s a meta gene,” he explained reluctantly, and Tim nodded, already adding the information to his wrist computer.

Which he wasn’t supposed to wear out of costume.

Duke wasn’t gonna tell; he’d be a damn hypocrite if he did, he wore his Signal boots with the bike half the time. They were just much more responsive than normal boots.

“What makes you say that?” Tim asked, still typing away. It’d save Duke from having to add it all to his report, so it kinda counted as a favour.

Duke shrugged, still trying to narrow down the feeling.

“Honestly? Most people with the same meta gene fuck up a little the first time they show off around me. It’s the x-metals; I boost them, whatever they’re doing goes too hard.” Tim’d been the one to help him work that out, but it would all go in the report.

Tim nodded, gesturing for him to continue and Duke sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Danny… didn’t. Unless that’s the residue they were both talking about, and if the fucking Lazarus Pits can cause intangibility we have got to warn Bruce. But that’s not the only thing,” he added quickly, before Tim could speak.

The older boy quieted obediently, but Duke could see he had his thinking face on. Putting pieces together, all those wheels turning as one.

That was practically a fuckin’ meta ability, and it wasn’t like Tim got a boost from him either. Maybe Duke needed to do some more experimenting.

“Most metas, even the nonhuman ones, have at least some aura. Some of them can hide it, but I can get a feel for their powers from it. Danny… I dunno. I can almost feel something, but I can’t see it.”

That was the thing that unsettled Duke the most, honestly. Almost all of his powers were purely light based; seeing what other people couldn’t. Even his shadow manipulation still worked around light.

It was fucking weird for there to be anything he couldn’t see, and he could go way beyond the visible spectrum. Whatever Danny emitted, it went beyond even that.

For a guy who could even see a little into the future, it was weird.

And since Danny had showed off flight, super strength, and intangibility already? And called them the generic end of the list?

Duke was definitely leaning on the “extreme control of his aura” side of the equation.

Tim looked concerned too, which was kind of validating. It kinda sucked being the expert on things no one else could understand, because Duke always worried he was overreacting, but if Tim tagged it too? Well that was validation.

“The only bit of good news is that we can probably rule out the pits as the source of his abilities,” Tim muttered as he scanned back through his notes so far.

“They coulda been trauma activated by his death in the same way as a meta gene,” Duke pointed out thoughtfully, leaning back against the wall.

It wasn’t like they were racing home, and until someone else came down the elevator? No rush. Tim had another floor to descend anyway.

Tim himself shrugged, adding another couple of notes to his file.

“It’s definitely possible, but even if it was a million-to-one chance, I can’t imagine Ra’s keeping quiet about something this useful, or letting someone like Danny run around if he had any idea he existed,” Tim explained, making a face.

And… yeah, no point trying to argue with Tim about Ra’s al Ghul. Duke pulled a face too and sighed.

“Well, he still seems pretty sure we’ll know all about it if we can get into Amity Park. Or when Jason decides to fucking tell us,” he added with a roll of his eyes.

Tim glanced up at him, smirking.

“You noticed too?” He asked innocently, and Duke snorted. Reading Jason’s micro-expressions might not be a survival skill exactly, but it was still a bat family hobby.

“He definitely fucking knows!” He complained, the switch from Professional Hero to Baby Brother getting easier and easier as time passed.

He still had his own parents, he didn’t need Bruce to adopt him, but he’d been an only child for most of his life. Having a new army of big brothers and sisters? Kinda ruled.

And he knew most of the others felt the same. They’d all be alone in their own ways, and the stubborn independent streaks were still there, but…

It was good to know someone had your back. That no matter what happened, how the adults in your life fucked you over, you could always go to Dick’s in Bludhaven.

Could always call Jason to bitch about whatever you needed off your chest, and yeah, there was always the worry that he really meant it when he said he’d “take care” of your problem? But he also listened when they said no.

Hell, it’d been Jason’s couch that Duke had crashed out on about a year ago, back when Jason was still damn near on the Big Bat’s no fly list.

He’d been on his way to school for the start of his winter semester when an absolutely blinding migraine took him to his knees. For whatever reason, Jason had been close.

Duke hadn’t even been able to glance at his phone to call for help; even opening his eyes a crack felt like he was being blinded. He’d barely recognised Jason’s voice asking if he was alright.

Hell, back then he hadn’t known if Jason recognised him out of costume. They’d always had a more friendly relationship than Jay did with the other bats, but this had been just after Jason finally texted Dick back.

Back when Red Hood would take a casual shot at any mask crossing into his turf. Not to hit, but a definite reminder of the border.

And Jason had lifted him bodily and carried him into Crime Alley. Put him on his couch to sleep it off in pitch darkness, and made him some of the best home made soup Duke had ever had.

Duke got why the older teens were still a little wary. He’d seen the Pit Rage live and in person, and it was fucking terrifying. It just wasn’t all Jason was.

And yeah, the family also had a whole army of fellow teens who’d know exactly what you were talking about, between Steph, Tim, Cass, and Duke himself. Even Damian, as much as he pretended not to care.

Kate and Babs were always willing to spread their wings out and give them all a place to shelter. And hell, if adult supervision was needed, they even had Harley, Ivy, or Selina.

Duke may not want to be a Wayne, but he’d take everything the bat family offered with both hands.

Tim sure as hell had not adjusted from being the baby to being third oldest though. He gave a huge heaving groan to match Duke’s own, flopping back against the wall.

“I know, right! And he knows we don’t know shit. He’s just enjoying watching us scramble cuz he knows we can’t just tell Danny we don’t know,” he grumbled, scrubbing both hands through his hair.

Duke hesitated.

“We… probably could just tell Danny,” he said slowly, brows furrowing. “It’s not like he doesn’t want us to know.”

Tim gave him a sidelong look.

“Yeah, after we admit we didn’t even manage to google him. Y’know, the kid who clocked Dick’s identity from his ass,” he added dryly.

Duke hesitated again, brows furrowing.

He knew that shouldn’t matter. Knew the smart move really was to ask for help sometimes. Knew damn well that it was Tim’s stubborn streak that kept him in the cave all night, while Tuck, Steph, and Cass watched movies upstairs.

Finally he let his head drop, sighing.

“The longer we wait the dumber we look if we have to ask later,” he warned Tim but his heart wasn’t in it.

It didn’t matter that Jason was probably the only member of the family with all the pieces; whoever caved and asked for help first? Yeah, social suicide.

Tim shook his head, pushing off the wall and scowling out into the rest of the garage.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll talk to Tucker about the Amity Park problem tonight and we’ll know by morning.”

Which… Duke hid a smile.

Asking Danny? Definitely cheating, worthy of scorn and derision.

Asking Tucker? Apparently completely different. Although technically he wouldn’t be asking Tucker for the same information.

Just admitting the exact same fault.

Pulling his keys from his pocket, Duke turned and wiggled them at Tim as he headed for his bike.

“Hey, if you hurry you could try to beat Danny and Jason to the manor. Get to Tucker first,” he added, grinning as Tim hit the call for the elevator.

The shorter boy rolled his eyes, waving a hand in Duke’s general direction.

“I’ll get to him once everyone’s warmed up. He wanted a look at my set up last night anyway,” he said almost off handedly.

Duke’s grin spread.

“Oh hey, that’s perfect! Just take him to your bedroom after you’ve both just been wet and naked and show each other your most private parts!” He called loudly, wondering if any of the supers were listening.

They’d find out soon.

Tim choked, blushing cherry red and spun to yell something after Duke just as the elevator doors opened. Duke waved cheerily back, turning away to head for his motorcycle.

“See you at the manor Timmy!”

**

Reconvening at Wayne Manor was… well, chaotic. Even more so than the gala the night before, though that might have been because this time, none of them had a firm plan.

Jason and Danny arrived first, greeting Alfred on the way in. The butler was not hugely impressed by the “foresight” which had led to a snowball fight when Danny was wearing an oversized sweater, sweatpants, and little else.

Any protestations that Danny was fine and was normally this cold anyway quavered under an archly raised brow and Danny privately swore never to let Clockwork meet Alfred.

They would get along far too well.

And that’s how Danny ended up actually using one of the spare bathrooms while Jason, who had worn a proper coat and thus escaped Alfred’s wrath, grabbed him a change of clothes.

The fact that this once again included one of Jason’s shirts, when Tim, Dick, Duke, and Steph all existed and also had spare clothes here, felt a little targeted.

It hung from Danny’s shoulders like a kid in his dad’s clothes, but Jason was probably also the only one with a shirt that said “Soup Powered Fuck Machine”, and the bit was fucking worth it.

Danny tied off most of the excess fabric into something just a bit longer than a crop top and settled in to drink hot chocolate with Jason and Duke and wait for the others to come back down.

(Which, by the way? Best hot chocolate he’d ever tasted. He was stealing the recipe 1000%, it was so rich and creamy and thick and had grated curls of chocolate on top of the whipped cream.)

Any lingering questions Duke might have been hiding about the shirt? Answered themselves when Tucker walked into the room, saw Danny, and laughed so hard he wound up in the fetal position.

Yeah, Jason was never getting this shirt back.

This was Danny’s shirt now. He was gonna wear it for his next fight with his rogues.

Sam actually did have her own clothes, so she’d accepted the offer of laundry while she showered (though she was a little annoyed the laundry room was so far from any of the bathrooms that she couldn’t do it herself), so she’d rejoined them in a mix of Steph and Cass’s clothes while she waited.

She had also been unable to keep a straight face upon seeing Danny’s new country girl fashion statement, rolling her eyes and punching his shoulder as she dropped to sit next to him.

“We call the thermos Soup Time,” she explained when Cass cocked her head curiously… which probably actually confused the rest of the bats a little more.

“The thermos you threw at Killer Croc?” Dick asked, still towelling his hair dry.

Sam raised a very slow eyebrow at him, her smile toning down to a smug smirk.

“Yeah, sure, I definitely threw it at Croc,” she agreed dryly and Dick cackled, throwing his towel down on Tucker’s still curled body.

Without even seeming to open the door Alfred appeared with another tray of hot chocolates, handing them out to those who hadn’t yet gotten one and taking back empty mugs.

He even had a second hot chocolate for Danny, who was going to marry the man. Even if he was old enough to be his grandpa.

Maybe Tucker did have a point about trying to get into the Wayne family for the perks… which Danny was never going to stop teasing him about, now that he and Tim were getting on so well. Boy could make his own ins, he didn’t need Danny.

Even Tucker roused himself for a mug though, crawling out from under Dick’s towel, glancing at Danny, and bursting out laughing again. Still, this time he could keep himself steady enough to stand, take the mug, and join Tim on another couch.

Alfred gave a quick glance around the room, probably counting heads, and cleared his throat.

The assorted vigilantes quieted immediately, and Danny’s respect for the old man grew just a little. It was already pretty fucking high. Not much more room to rise.

And somehow that perfectly serene, composed face managed to convey a deep sense of satisfaction.

“I am afraid we are presently waiting only on Master Bruce to begin dinner. If you would all proceed to the dining room?” It was phrased as a polite request.

The Wayne brood leapt to like it was an order. Danny pressed his lips shut on a laugh as he followed, catching Sam’s eye to see her grinning.

Up in front, Dick hurried to walk alongside Alfred.

“Oh, is Brucie not home? Or do you want me to go dig him up?” He asked brightly, and Alfred gave him a tight smile, pushing open the door to the fucking plainest most normal dining room Danny’d ever seen in a mansion.

Sure, the table was huge, but rather than being ornate, heavy, or flashy, it looked to be hard wearing oak. Clean, well polished, and not even that polish could hide the dents.

The chairs too were comfortable, nice, and a lot more tasteful than the Manson’s or Vlad’s. Well padded, well used, but not… fancy. Even the walls were simple, the elaborately framed portraits and art pieces on the wall replaced with…

What looked like kid’s drawings. Framed, cherished, and it clicked.

No chance in hell that this was the manor’s formal dining room.

The table was huge, but not that big with the number of people in the room. More than half of it was filled with just the kids, and sure there was space for the Amity Parkers, but not a larger group.

This was the family dining room. And that was fucking adorable.

Steph’d definitely walk him through every picture on the walls to help him find Jason’s. Today was going to be great.

He almost completely missed Alfred’s reply to Dick.

“I’m afraid not, master Dick. He was expected back nearly two hours ago, and yet…”

Even deep within the manor no one could have missed the sound of the front door slamming open, and anyone who did would have been alerted by the bellowing yell that followed.

“OOOOOOOH BRUCIE! I TOLD YA WHAT’D HAPPEN IF WE HAD TO HAVE THE BOUNDARY TALK AGAIN!” An extremely loud, very chipper given… well, everything voice filled the room.

The Gothamites’ heads all snapped around with expressions ranging from delight to exasperation.

“How the fuck did she get here so fast,” Duke hissed, leaning in towards Tim, but not far enough that Danny couldn’t hear, “weren’t she and Ivy in Brazil?”

Tim, definitely the exasperated one, gave a helpless shrug. Whatever he replied with was lost under Dick, bellowing back with clear glee in his voice.

“FAMILY DINING ROOM, HARLS! FIRST HALL ON YOUR LEFT!”

So, they were all going to meet Harley Quinn today. That’d be fun. Danny had always wondered what she was like in person, and apparently she was a close enough friend of the Waynes to be welcomed in.

Sam and Tucker’s faces would be fun.

Alfred’s was a perfect mask of patience that even Clockwork would envy, and he had already pulled a new place setting from a chest of drawers.

It didn’t take Harley long to find them, striding down the hall wearing some fucking unseasonal shorts, a baggy long sleeved sweater, and her trademarked blonde pigtails with the pink and blue tips.

And a bedazzled baseball bat slung casually over her shoulder, just in case anyone missed the mark.

She greeted Dick with a kiss on the cheek, then chased down as many of the others that hadn’t immediately fled to the other side of the table. Barring Damian, none of them seemed to mind.

Jason had made an attempt to flee, but no. No, that wasn’t happening, and Danny “accidentally” got in his way. Boxed him in between chair and table, grinning all the while until Harley made her way to them.

“And there he is! My poor suffering boy!” Harley cooed, cupping both of Jason’s cheeks in her hands and yanking his head down with a lot more force than a woman her size should have been capable of, pressing a large smooch on each cheek.

For all the glares he shot Danny, he managed an almost sheepish smile for the woman herself.

“I’m fine, Harley. Really. You didn’t need to come,” he protested with absolutely none of his heart in it, a pink flush rising to complement the sparkly pink lipgloss smooch marks.

“Nonsense, baby boy, if Brucie needs his head pulled from his ass I’m always here,” Harley told him firmly, patting his cheeks and rounding on Danny.

It was kinda less funny now that she was bearing down on him, all of her airhead dramatics belied by the piercing, analytical stare she pinned him with.

“Huh, did Brucie pick up a new one while we were gone? It’s been like a week, we’ll talk about his adoption issues too,” Harley declared firmly, snagging Danny by his collar and yanking him in for a cheek smooch too.

And yeah, holy shit, she really was a lot stronger than she looked. Like, almost ghostly levels of super strength.

Batman’s “no metas in Gotham” rule was looking flimsier and flimsier, cuz while she’d been a rogue in the past, this? This was not a rogue’s welcome, and Danny actually did like most of his rogues.

Just not “kisses on the cheek”, although the grabbing and pulling was familiar.

Still, better not let Vlad know. Wouldn’t do for him to feel too welcome in Gotham.

Harley released him a moment later to give him a dazzling smile.

“Hi, you’re a little older than most of Brucie’s new kids but that’s fine, I’m your Aunt Harley now and if you ever need any help with anything, especially getting Brucie’s ass in line, you just call me, okay doll?” She told him firmly.

Jason was fucking grinning at him over her head, and it just plain wasn’t fair that he was a whole head taller than them. Danny flipped him off behind her back, and gave the woman herself a sheepish smile.

“Actually, I’m not one of Bruce’s, I’m just-“

“Jason’s-boyfriend,” Steph stage coughed behind him.

Harley’s eyes widened, Danny had a go at kicking blindly behind him and hurried to correct her.

“Just Jason’s friend,” he stressed the word and suddenly those almost frighteningly piercing eyes were roaming across his face again.

It was like if Jazz had been dunked in a vat of glitter but could still see right through him. Then Harley grinned again and patted his cheek.

“Sure thing, sugar. Still, if you stick around long enough Brucie’ll make a go of it, so be careful,” she warned him cheerfully, then lunged for Steph, got her in a headlock, and smooched pink lipgloss into freshly washed hair.

Danny couldn’t help chuckling softly as Harley scanned the room, clocked a bemused Tucker and wide eyed Sam, and her eyes narrowed for a moment.

Then she nodded, apparently deciding they probably also weren’t new niece and nephew, and skipped back over to Alfred.

“So! Not that this ain’t great, but ya clearly got some company over so if ya could just point me towards the B-man I’ll borrow him right quick?” She offered with a broad grin, not actually grabbing Alfred.

Up went the respect-o-meter again. Restraining Harley Quinn was hard for seasoned heroes, her restraining herself? None of the birds could claim that apparently.

Alfred gave her the same polite smile, setting her a place at the table.

“I’m afraid Master Bruce has not yet returned from his lunch appointment, Miss Quinzel. He should be returning shortly if you would care to join us for dinner?” It almost didn’t seem like a question, given what he was doing.

Harley waved a hand easily, making a face that was almost apologetic.

“Oh, nah, I’ll just go get ‘im for ya and send ‘im back over. Maybe with some new bruises,” she added almost as an after thought, then shrugged and grinned. “So! Where’d ya last see ‘im?”

It seemed like their missing Brucie problem was about to be solved, and the rest of the Gothamites were now taking their seats around the table.

Tucker, who’d cautiously followed Tim’s retreat around the table after Harley’s chaotic entrance, was now sat between Tim and Damian, and probably regretting his life choices.

Sam, whose parents hadn’t actually specifically forbidden her from speaking to Harley, seemed to be trying to make up her mind about something. Probably going to talk to Harley directly.

Steph and Jason had considerately left two spots in between them as they sat, and Danny let himself drop into the chair next to Jason as Alfred answered.

Well. Nearly into the chair.

“Master Bruce’s lunch appointment was approximately four hours ago in a private room at Chez Vous with one of our gala’s guests, a Vlad Masters.”

Yeah. Danny missed the chair, thunking all the way to the floor with a startled squawk.

“He fucking WHAT?!” He exclaimed, yanking himself back up, staring around the table at the equally startled Waynes.

Like they hadn’t spent the first part of the gala telling these people specifically that Vlad was a fucking mind controlling sociopath who was targeting their dad. What the hell.

Alfred raised an eyebrow very slowly at him, concern now creeping into his expression.

“He went to met Mr Masters in a private room for a late lunch, Mister Fenton. I am not aware of any other plans, but-”

And Danny was probably committing a cardinal fucking sin by interrupting him but he couldn’t hold in the groan, sinking down into the actual chair this time and thunking his head off the table.

Across the table, Tucker snickered at him.

“Let me guess. You forgot Vlad was still in town?” He asked, and Danny let out another utterly heartfelt groan.

“I forgot Vlad was still in town,” he whined as Jason stifled an entirely inappropriate bout of laughter.

There was one more important piece of business though, and Steph jumped straight to it.

“Wasn’t someone supposed to warn Bruce about Masters last night, so this couldn’t happen?” She asked in a low voice, leaning into the middle of the table.

Tim made a face, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I said I would, but… I got distracted…”

By beating his brains out against Amity Park’s ghostly firewalls apparently, and Danny did feel kinda bad for completely forgetting to mention that. In his defence, he hadn’t technically known that the Batcomputer was not ghost virus proof.

Should have guessed. Hadn’t known.

Tucker, who still had no idea about the vigilante thing, was quick to reassure Tim.

“You had a medical emergency, of course you were distracted,” he said quickly, patting the younger man carefully on the shoulder and glaring at the other assembled Wayne brood, “and any of them coulda mentioned it too!”

Dick raised a hand with a half smile that was mostly apology.

“Actually… Bruce went straight to Tim’s side after the gala. Think he stayed all night, but I never actually saw him. We coulda texted though,” he added sheepishly as the rest of the family made general noises of agreement.

Except Duke, who shrugged.

��I only learned about Masters when I met you guys this morning,” he pointed out, and Danny kinda doubted that but Duke had missed the original Masters debrief so he had the best excuse.

Alfred stepped closer to the table, and for the first time his presence actually registered as something other than the polite, nigh-unnoticeable model of efficiency.

Which probably meant he’d picked up on Danny’s super subtle hints that the situation was not fucking good. Good for him.

“And precisely what information was supposed to be shared with Master Bruce?” He asked, still politely, still calmly, but there’s a hint of warning that had most of the table stiffening up.

Tucker answered, giving Alfred an apologetic smile.

“Vlad Masters is a super creep and probably using his mind control powers to try and make Mr Wayne sign over everything he owns,” he explained easily, like it was nothing.

Harley’s eyes had widened, but she didn’t seem overly worried, just shouldered her bat again.

“So it’s also gonna be a rescue mission, huh? Vladdie a local boy or are they still gonna be in the same place?” She asked, the rest of the table tensing as one.

Because yeah. Next step was extract Bruce, and kick Vlad’s ass, and probably maybe try and get any contracts Bruce had signed in four hours? Which could now be anywhere.

Sighing heavily, Danny hauled himself to his feet. Feeling like a fucking idiot aside, he probably should have already left. He was pretty sure he knew where Chez Vous was?

“No, you guys stay put, I’ll go get him,” he said as cheerily as he could, cracking his neck.

Harley’s brows drew down in a frown and she prodded him with the bat.

“No offence kid, but ya look like a stiff breeze will flip ya over. You’re not going alone,” she told him firmly, and yeah, Danny could also feel Jason damn near vibrating from beside him.

Concern-worry-protect-coming too.

Putting a hand on the big guy’s shoulder before he could rise, Danny pushed just enough to keep him in his seat. Felt the moment of shock course through the much bigger man, and his grin became just a little more genuine.

“Sorry but if any of you come along, you’ll only make it harder for me to get Bruce back safely. Vlad’ll just take you guys over and make you fight me. I really wouldn’t worry too much though, he’s never actually beaten me,” he added with a reassuring smile.

Sam snorted a laugh, dropping into the empty seat beside Steph and crossing one leg over the other. Reassuring the Gothamites with her own complete lack of moving.

“Yeah, Danny’s been cleaning his clock since he was fourteen and it’s something like 700-5. You’d think he’d give up eventually,” she added, rolling her eyes.

Cuz yeah, Vlad might have gotten the upper hand through sneaky traps a bunch of times, but in a straight fight? Danny usually won, even before he had the power of the Infinite Realms at his back.

It wasn’t that all eyes turned to Harley. It was more that suddenly a bunch of them weren’t looking at her so pointedly they might as well have.

She regarded Danny and Sam a moment longer, then shrugged and dropped into the chair at the head of the table.

“Guess I’m stayin’ for dinner, or at least til Brucie’s back. And hey, it can be hard for folks ta come to terms with things like that. ‘Specially if they’re adults takin’ offence ta gettin’ their butt kicked by kids,” she added, a bright gleam in her eye.

Sam snickered, leaning back in her chair.

“Voice of experience?” She asked innocently and Harley tipped her a wink.

“Hell nah, you ever seen a Robin fight? ‘Sides, most of the folks who’ll shit a brick at bein’ beat by a kid get just as huffy at gettin’ beat by me,” Harley explained with a broad grin, flexing her own muscles.

It was just a little hilarious to see the differing reactions from the young vigilantes around the table.

Damian was still noticeably grumpy, though he almost felt more worried to Danny’s expert empathic eye. But then, his dad was in the lion’s den.

Dick and Tim looked like they were sharing an inside joke, and Danny had to figure they were the other Robins that went against Harley the most.

Steph, Cass, and Duke all looked decidedly self satisfied. Jason…

Jason was ignoring the rest of the table, still frowning up at Danny but not fighting his grip anymore.

“I should still come with you,” he argued like the rest of the conversation hadn’t happened, his voice low and urgent. And… yeah. Protection Obsession, 1000%.

And his Fright Knight now, fuck you very much Clockwork, but he was also not even fully formed. No way Danny was taking him to fight Vlad as his first ghost.

He gave Jason’s shoulder a quick squeeze, lowering his voice under the rest of the conversation.

“You’ll know if I need you, Jay, but Vlad used to be able to control me too. He’s not a great first run,” he explained softly.

Jason very clearly didn’t like it, brows drawing in even further, and Danny made his grin a little brighter by contrast. Brushed confidence-easy fight-be back soon across his aura.

“Besides, he’s more a sneaky fuck than an actual fighter. Not worth both of us heading out,” he tried, rolling his shoulders.

Jason raised an eyebrow, entirely unimpressed.

“By that logic it should be me going instead of you,” he pointed out, and Danny pouted. Fuck him for technical accuracy.

“Look, next time, okay?” He whispered, leaning in til his mouth was next to Jason’s ear. Tim was now watching them rather than Sam and Harley’s banter.

Perceptive little shit. But he wouldn’t catch shit if Danny covered his mouth to talk. For now, he had to persuade a cranky protective halfa not to go kick Vlad’s ass.

How the turntables and so on.

“Once you’ve got your powers in you can take him every time, alright?” He whispered, then leaned back and grinned at Jason. At least he wasn’t glaring anymore.

“I’ve got this. I’ll be fine,” he said as reassuringly as he could. And then. Pausing. “Uh… but I’ll probably… y’know. Do the thing to find him.”

Vlad couldn’t hide from Danny’s expanded aura, not without leaving this dimension. But that’d mean Jason also got another dose.

The understanding dawned across the big guy’s face, fell into a complicated expression. Finally he nodded stiffly.

“Fine. But leave it up so I know how it’s going?” He grumbled back, lips barely moving. Probably as a countermeasure for Nosy Little Brother.

Danny grinned and ruffled Jason’s hair, stepping away.

“Sure thing bud. I’ll be back with Bruce as soon as I can,” he said more loudly, more to the whole room, and let his aura flare out into the city until it touched Vlad’s.

Yeah, that beat trying to navigate the city from above for the second time ever.

A sudden absolutely awful impulse hit him, and his grin stretched just a little beyond what was humanly possible.

Why the fuck not? The reveal was gonna drop soon enough, Tuck and Sam already knew how much he wanted to show.

And most of the table were watching him.

Danny rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and had a brief moment of nostalgia. Because if he was being theatrical…

“I’m going ghost,” he called as loud as he could, letting the glowing rings of his transformation wash over him, changing him to Phantom in front of a table of gawking bats.

Then he jumped into the air and flew out of the manor through the wall, Sam and Tucker’s laughter ringing in his ears.

Now he just had to hope he could reach Bruce before Vlad did anything he couldn’t easily fix.

**

Tim was the first to speak. Other than the raucous laughter of the Amity Parkers the dining room had been dead silent since Danny’s… well, it was a transformation.

Reaching out blindly with his other hand, Tim caught Duke’s arm.

“You saw that, right?” He asked, his voice a little hoarse.

Duke nodded slowly, still staring at the wall Danny had just disappeared through.

“Not that I know what the fuck it was… but yeah…”

Because… yeah. They’d known Danny was some kind of meta at this point. Guy really wasn’t trying to hide it. But that was…

“What, you ain’t seen that before?” Harley asked from the head of the table, her voice filled with a sudden glee.

Across the table Jason snickered, and Tim’s attention zeroed back in on him.

He’d known. He’d stiffened up before Danny had transformed, still hadn’t fully relaxed and Tim could guess why. Whatever he’d told Danny to “leave up”.

It didn’t look like he was in pain, more like he’d braced himself for something that hadn’t fully happened yet. But since apparently all secrets were just on the table now…

Tim turned to Tucker.

“What the fuck was that?” He asked, and Tucker sighed happily, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

“An overdramatic little fuck?” Sam offered from the other side of the table, also still grinning. Tucker wheezed loudly, slumping back in his chair.

Tim shifted his attention to Sam instead, giving up on Tucker for now. To be fair, he was kinda surprised Jason wasn’t also laughing at them.

It must have made a comical scene.

“Obviously. But that… going ghost? What did he mean?” He pressed, leaning in across the table but not lowering his voice.

Sam and Tucker exchanged thoughtful looks, Tucker’s laughter fading to giggles as they clearly weighed their answers. Then Sam leaned in too, folding her arms on the table and leaning over them.

“How much were you actually able to look up about Amity Park?” She asked, and the rest of the table leaned in to listen.

Even Harley, thoroughly devoid of context, kept quiet for a change. She could smell a good story when she heard one.

And as much as it pained him to admit…

“Nothing at all,” Tim confessed with a brief shake of his head, eyes narrowed. “I couldn’t even find the weather account you showed us.”

Beside him Tucker took another deep, fortifying breath and steadied himself in his seat.

“Yeah… warned you about that. Any tech not actually from Amity needs a baseline level of ecto before it can get through the firewalls,” he explained, and as glad as Tim was to have him back in the conversation…

“But that isn’t how firewalls work,” he protested, knowing full well the other boy knew, “Facebook doesn’t have a separate server or separate firewalls for some small town in Illinois versus the larger world, and even if it has something to do with the IP…”

Tucker raised both hands quickly and Tim subsided, a little relieved to have been cut off. The frustration from last night was building again, and he really didn’t want to deal with that right now.

“Okay, you’re definitely right almost all of the time, but Amity Park’s is… different,” Tucker explained quickly, glancing around the table and almost immediately focusing his full attention back on Tim.

Dismissing the others as below the level needed to understand the conversation, or assuming they’d keep up on their own? They all could, none of the bats were slouches on cyber security, and the distinction didn’t matter to Tim.

Yet.

They were also probably all a little below Tucker’s own technical proficiency, from everything Tim had seen (and Steph and Cass’s admitted failure to break his server encryption).

(Oracle still hadn’t broken the same server.)

Tim nodded anyway, not willing to talk and slow the explanation any further.

They could have been doing this more than twelve damn hours ago.

“Firewall isn’t exactly the right term for it either, but about five years ago… well, we decided the rest of the world couldn’t know about a lot of things that happen in Amity Park. It wouldn’t be safe,” Tucker added, watching Tim’s face carefully.

He looked almost guilty. Like he could guess how much frustration this had caused Tim. Hell, if Danny knew their identities then Tucker, his guy in the chair almost certainly did too.

And since they weren’t pretending to all be civilians anymore…

“The GIW were already censoring the hell out of us,” Tucker continued, rolling his eyes, “it was actually really annoying. They actually did the IP thing, but you could VPN around that. But we didn’t want the rest of the world, other governments to come to the same bullshit conclusions about ghosts and keep causing trouble.”

“Ghosts like Danny,” Duke cut in, not a trace of doubt in his voice.

Tucker glanced past Tim for a moment and nodded.

“Pretty much, but Danny’s a special case. Most ghosts can’t actually do the magical girl transformation,” he added with a snicker, and Sam rolled her eyes, tapping the table for attention.

“What Tucker’s dancing around telling you is that what we call the Amity Park firewall is basically alive. It has nothing to do with IP addresses or any regular tech shit because it runs on ectoplasm.”

“It’s not actually alive,” Tucker cut back in with an exasperated huff, “it’s just something I came up with with some help from Technus. He’s the spirit of technology so he can possess computers, not people, and together we made a safety net.”

“All of Amity Park is saturated in natural ectoplasm,” Sam explained, ignoring Tucker’s pointed glare, “so now whenever someone’s trying to connect online to anything based in an Amity Park server, our ecto looks for your ecto in whatever device you have. No ecto, no data.”

“It’s not that simple,” Tucker whined, like this wasn’t already a level of complexity that made Tim’s head spin.

But it was the spinning that triggered an almost ignored memory.

“Ecto… that’s what Danny nearly said last night, when he was talking about the Lazarus Pits,” he said with a sudden sharp frown, attention jumping between the Amity Parkers and onto Jason.

Who shrugged. Like this wasn’t news. How the fuck had he even met Danny in the first place?

“Show of hands, who here’s surprised that the pit waters actually come from the land of the dead?” Jason asked dryly, gaze sweeping along the table.

Tim’s attention flashed directly to Damian and then Cass, the two of them sat on a full diagonal from each other. They were the closest thing the family had to experts.

Neither looked surprised, although Damian’s eyes were narrowed. New information then, and likely something he’d be looking more into. Cass just looked thoughtful.

Harley’s hand was up though, and the table gradually turned to its gravity. She shrugged.

“Had a bet with Ives that it was super tainted kool-aid. Not that we know much about it,” she added with a shrug, and Jason snickered.

“You’re half right anyway,” he told her and the raised hand was replaced by a pair of fists pumping into the air, but silently for once.

Even Harley wasn’t gonna interrupt a lore dump.

Jason returned his attention to Tim.

“Apparently the pits are made of contaminated ectoplasm. Super tainted,” he nodded to Harley, “because the regular stuff? Doesn’t bubble, doesn’t burn, and doesn’t kill people who touch it.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed for a moment, looking Jason over, hunting any trace of a lie. He’d made himself an expert on Jason’s features, on what every micro-expression might possibly mean.

Jason was a damn good liar, but Tim knew every tell that meant he spoke the truth.

Still, he glanced from Jason to Cass, sat on Jason’s other side. The Asian girl raised an eyebrow at him, then nodded.

Human lie detector confirmed. Good to know. Even if she was rolling her eyes at him for checking.

Duke leaned in further, half his body now hovering above the table as he grinned at Jason.

“So does that mean you’ve got ectoplasm in you, if you still have the pit rage?” He asked, which didn’t really seem like something to smile about.

Although not exactly worse than the idea of Jason just still having the pit in his veins. At least Jason didn’t seem to be really bothered by it.

He just shrugged.

“I guess so?” He offered suspiciously, his face still carefully neutral as he watched Duke. Whose grin broadened.

“So does that mean if you look up stuff on Amity Park you’ll get through?” He asked innocently. Jason rolled his eyes.

“I’m not a phone, Duke,” he said dryly, and Tucker snickered.

“It’s actually kinda funny you say that, cuz Danny’s been sucked into video games before,” Tucker said innocently, giving Jason a sidelong look.

Which… raised a couple of questions, since Jason didn’t seem embarrassed by it. Tim’s eyes narrowed for a moment.

“Is that something that could happen to Jason?” He asked cautiously, and for some reason Tucker actually laughed.

“Oh, it’s something that could happen to anyone,” he said sounding very smug, and Tim tore his attention off Jason to stare at Tucker, wondering what the hell he was thinking.

Tucker just grinned back and Tim’s best guess… well, it couldn’t have been a bad experience. It had definitely afforded him the full attention of everyone at the table.

Harley stuck a hand in the air again.

“Okay, I know I ain’t one o’ the kids, but I’m gonna need to know a whole lot more about that,” she declared, and Tucker laughed, shaking his head.

“Another time? I gotta get back to get ready for school early tomorrow at the latest but if you wanted to hang out again…” he trailed off hopefully, his attention slipping from Harley back to Tim.

Tim was not going to blush. This was a chance to gather more intel in future. And just hang out with a friend! There was nothing more to it than that.

He chuckled softly and nodded, settling back into his seat.

“Yeah, I think it’s safe to say we’ll see each other again,” he agreed, and definitely didn’t enjoy the way Tucker beamed at him.

Given their reactions, he probably did some kind of tech support while Danny… Danny was probably the ghost who’d protected Amity Park.

Had they always known who Jason and his family were? Tim knew he should reserve judgement until he could find an unbiased source and work out what had actually happened in Amity Park, but…

Well, it wasn’t like the Amity Parkers were hostile. There was always the chance it could be a long con, but Tim didn’t think so. They’d given too much away.

For now, it seemed safest to assume that they were fellow vigilantes, and were at least as aware of their identities as Danny. Tucker might even have been the one to work it out.

And if Tucker could solve their technical problems and give them open access to Amity Park, Tim could take that and confirm his theories.

If they had something to hide, Tim should be able to work out at least where to look based on what Tucker gave him.

“We’ve gotta wait for Danny to get back for him to infuse your tech, buuuut I can get you started on the data download if you can hook me into your set up,” Tucker said with an almost seductive smile.

Or maybe Tim thought it was seductive because it came with an offer of increased tech. And sure, he wasn’t hooking a stranger straight up to the Batcomputer, but…

Well, that’s what the fully isolated laptops were for. And Tim could bring one of those up from the cave, but… well, the Amity Parkers showed trust first. And they really had less reason to.

They’d been abandoned by the Justice League, and apparently personally picking up that slack. The least Tim wanted to do was promise them that it hadn’t been malicious; they really hadn’t known.

And to promise that he personally was going to find out how this had happened, and make sure it wouldn’t happen again. Last night wasn’t going to be in vain.

He’d ask the others about it, but as things stood right now, Tim would really like to see Tucker get a proper look at the Bat Cave.

**

Vlad was a little surprised to find he’d been having an absolutely charming afternoon with one Brucie Wayne.

He hadn’t expected to actually like the man, but one on one he had a kind of self effacing charm that Vlad rather appreciated. Far more tolerable than most of the arrogant rich bastards he had to deal with.

He had been so very interested in the running of Amity Park too, in the challenges of being a mayor and a business owner, and so few people really appreciated the struggle.

Of course, Vlad wasn’t going to out any of Daniel’s little secrets. It wouldn’t do to upset the boy more while he was trying to mend fences.

Even if he had left Vlad to the mercy of some hapless buffoons and the criminals they were chasing the night before.

So he kept it light, to issues like road maintenance, funding local fixtures like the library and the schools, things he thought Brucie had a chance of understanding.

Brucie had also noticed that their boys were becoming… close.

Well, it would be almost impossible for him not to have. And it was only natural that Brucie wanted to know more about the boy getting close to his son.

It was almost a little strange how easy it was to speak well of Daniel. For so long Vlad had been fixated on his inadequacies, on all the things he could fix if Daniel would just accept his help.

On wanting to mould Daniel into someone like himself. He hadn’t really considered that Daniel… might not want to be like him.

Vlad was rich, successful, on top of the world by every modern marker, but he was also alone. He had no one and nothing that he would call his own, that he could leave his fortune to.

Of course, as a half ghost it wasn’t like he was actually going to die, but not having a successor was part of what tugged at his core.

And Daniel… Daniel was much better at bringing people close than Vlad. He had dear friends, and easily found himself with new ones. Daniel was likeable, and Vlad had to admit that he himself… wasn’t.

People cozied up and tried to bribe Vlad, but perhaps it was the very things he’d seen as weaknesses in Daniel that made them actually like the boy.

So he focused on those instead, the qualities that had always baffled and confused him. The loyalty, the trust, everything he’d once tried to use to tear Daniel down.

And utterly failed at every turn. After so many years, yes, Vlad had detected the pattern. It was just so hard to keep from falling into it.

So when he felt Daniel’s aura wash out and across him, wary but amused on top of the aggression, he startled just a little. Made sure to obviously check his phone, and gasped when he saw the time.

It was obvious what must have happened.

“Oh my, Brucie, did you have another appointment today?” He asked in only mildly faked surprise, concealing his amusement expertly. “Dear Daniel has just contacted me, it seems you’ve been missed.”

Daniel likely thought Vlad was up to the kind of nefarious schemes that he… well, had come to Gotham to commit, in all honesty. But obviously those plans had changed with his little badger’s personal interest.

Perhaps he should have told Daniel that? Ah well, the boy would learn soon enough. He settled back in his seat, letting his aura broadcast his intent.

Calm-welcome-nothing to hide.

Felt Daniel’s disbelief, but that was fine. It was the truth.

Brucie visibly startled as well, taking his own phone out to check the time. Probably wondering why his own brood weren’t contacting him if he’d been missed so much.

“Oh… yes, I’m terribly sorry, I think Danny must have been invited to our family dinner, which I’m late to,” Brucie added with that lovely self effacing smile, shrugging. “I must have put my phone on vibrate. I’ll just tell them to start without me.”

Or his children didn’t expect him to check it, apparently with reason.

Vlad clapped his hands together and rubbed them a few times.

“Well, no matter. I do believe Danny is on his way to retrieve you, so we’d best wait where we are. I will pick up the bill, of course.”

They’d had the private room in the restaurant for around four hours now, which wouldn’t come cheap, but Vlad could be generous. Especially if Daniel expected him not to be.

Brucie made the usual noises of gratitude and appreciation, and mild confusion. Well, that would be answered by whether or not Daniel bothered to transform back before bursting in.

Either way, it wouldn’t be Vlad’s choice to reveal his little secret.

“I have my car with me, but if Danny’s on his way here…” Brucie trailed off, glancing to the window with a perplexed frown on that handsome face.

Whoever dealt with the man’s wrinkles for the cameras would be very upset, but Vlad got the feeling Brucie could afford the best. He had such an expressive face, and yet nothing was ever out of place.

Almost as good as ectoplasm for keeping one young.

He was probably wondering why Daniel was coming instead of one of his own children, and while Vlad could come up with an excuse about needing to see the boy anyway… well, he was bursting in on a very pleasant afternoon.

Vlad wanted to mend fences, not solve all the boy’s self inflicted problems.

Still, he gave Brucie a smile, touching the pad that would summon them a server again.

“Oh, you and Daniel can take the car I’m sure. He’ll just be here to make sure I’m behaving myself,” he added with a wry chuckle, settling back in his seat.

Something very much like alertness flicked across Brucie’s face, and Vlad could feel a flicker of suspicion for the first time from the other man.

Well, Vlad had baited him.

He certainly wasn’t as empathetic as Daniel, but he liked to keep an eye on his company, and this was the first trace of something more that he’d gotten from the man.

He waved a hand cheerfully, chuckling. The man likely had links to his city’s precious Bat and all his opinions on those more than just human. Best allay those concerns even if he was leaving.

“I have been known to talk peoples’ ears off if I get onto a subject like football, and four hours is surely long enough for him to suspect I’ve roped you into watching a game. Though if you did want to attend…” he let himself trail off, watched the man’s shoulders settle as he laughed.

“Oh, I’m not much of a sports fan myself, but I try to keep up with the Gotham teams when I can.”

The female teams at least, according to the tabloids, but Vlad wouldn’t judge. Much.

Brucie gave him that charming smile again, settling as well as the server came in and once again refilled their drinks.

“I didn’t realise Amity Park had their own teams in a league, though,” Brucie added with that softly furrowed brow. Like thought was such a strain for the man.

Vlad gave the server a quick smile and inclined his head.

“I will take the bill now, I believe we’re ready to go. And we don’t have our own teams in any of the major leagues,” he explained indulgently to Brucie, lips quirking up at the very thought.

Imagine trying to play a home game in Amity Park. It was hard enough getting the school teams out to their rivals.

And it gave him a chance to talk about his secondary Obsession.

“No, I have ownership of the Green Bay Packers, back home in Wisconsin. I really must warn you to stop there if you don’t want their full stats for the last four seasons or worse,” Vlad teased with a soft chuckle, taking a sip of his water.

Both of Brucie’s eyebrows rose and the man smiled back, settling into his seat.

“Well, Danny will be here soon to cut you off anyway,” he commented, that charming smile looking far too comfortable on him.

And he did have a point. Giving him a nod of acknowledgement, Vlad relaxed and let the gentle sea of Obsession take him, enthusiasm ramping up with every word he spoke.

It was nice to have permission for a change.

**

Despite his cheerful words, Danny couldn’t help but tense as he flew across the city. He’d make it within minutes, way faster than anyone trying to actually use Gotham’s streets, but…

Vlad had had Bruce for hours already. Danny was gonna hope that whatever he was doing, it was just more of his shady businessman bullshit.

He really, really, really didn’t want to fight overshadowed Batman.

Of course, remembering the looks on the flying furry brigade’s faces gave him a definite boost in mood. He didn’t actually wanna show up at Vlad’s giggling, buuut that was a problem for future Danny.

Present Danny was busy specifically not worrying so that he didn’t worry Jason into coming after him. Maybe telling the guy about Vlad’s lightning juice hadn’t been a great idea?

Of course, the good thing about the expanded aura was that he could still feel Jason’s like they were right next to each other.

And who’d have thought Jason was also a fucking mother hen? Poor guy was still tense, although at least Danny could still feel just a little amusement.

Yeah, Jason was getting to enjoy the full fruits of Danny’s theatrics. It wasn’t fair, but it made the whole thing better. Gave him something to keep his mind off Danny.

As if on cue, a strong spike of incredulous-funny-what the fuck came from his favourite non-clone halfa.

Danny was nearly at the restaurant now, and paused just above to send a questioning pulse back. Felt Jason startle, and could almost see him roll his eyes.

Later-come back-done?

The fuck were they talking about? Maybe the bats were right to always have their own little comms in. Danny sent a reassuring wave back.

Soon-anticipation-just arrived-curious.

And yes, Danny did expect the caution-stay safe-coming after you that he got back, but he wasn’t sure Jason would get the full effect of him actually rolling his eyes.

One last check for Vlad’s aura and Danny turned invisible, phasing through the roof and walls to have a look around.

Vlad was alone in a private room, with nothing but some glasses of water and a mostly empty bottle of wine. Alright, food was probably over a while ago, but the water might be a good sign.

Vlad wasn’t known to take care of the people he overshadowed.

Danny did a quick search of the rest of the building, stopping just shy of accidentally sticking his head through a bathroom wall when he felt a familiar presence.

Yup, Bruce was in the bathroom. Probably not overshadowed, which might just mean that Vlad was finished with him.

Not taking the risk, Danny made his way stealthily back to the private room, popping into visibility behind Vlad’s seat.

At least his aura being everywhere made it hard for Vlad to get a fix.

“What, did I not pay you enough attention last night, Vladdie?” He complained, draping an arm across the back of the man’s chair and noting the way he stiffened.

Also, these chairs? Much more pretentious. All carved and ornamental and bleh. Nowhere near as good as the ones at Wayne Manor.

Vlad didn’t actually turn to face him, reaching out and picking up his water glass instead. Filling his hands, so it’d be harder for him to take a shot at Danny?

Or just Vlad being Vlad and dismissing him.

Vlad took a long, slow sip before replying.

“While I would have preferred more of a chance to speak with you, Daniel, my presence here is solely to your benefit I assure you,” he said cool as a cucumber.

Danny narrowed his eyes, giving another poke of his aura. It didn’t feel like a lie.

“How so? Gonna rob Brucie blind and give it to the poor? I guess green also works for Robin Hood,” Danny mused, fingers drumming on the back of the chair.

Vlad actually looked at him then, a sharp sidelong glance before the man relaxed again, chuckling softly.

“Nothing of the sort. But if you and young Jason are going to be closely… connected, I will be seeing much more of Brucie, and I thought perhaps I could help lighten the… impression you left.”

Wait.

Was Vlad blushing?

Danny peered forward for a better look, utterly at a loss for what connection Vlad might be talking about. Cuz yeah, he and Jason were friends, but…

Oh.

Oh!

Vlad bought the closet scene.

Somehow that outcome had never even occurred to Danny and he felt himself flush, cheeks going green. Fuck, the goal had been to cause a scene, but Vlad actually thought…

Wait.

“So you’ve been here trying to convince Bruce I’m not an evil harlot corrupting his boy?” Danny asked, barely concealed glee rising with every word.

Because if this was funny, if this was fucking hilarious, he didn’t have to be embarrassed by it. Vlad didn’t need to know shit about his actual sex life, but if he’d actually called Bruce to try and polish up Danny’s new slutty reputation…

Vlad cleared his throat pointedly, still not looking directly at him.

“And luckily for you, he is somewhat willing to believe you have some good traits,” he said archly, and that fucking floored Danny.

“YOU think I have good traits?” He asked incredulously, cutting off whatever Vlad was about to say.

The man even took it pretty well, just one of those loud sighs like Danny was a particularly tiresome child, not a full grown adult man.

“I understand where you might have got the impression I don’t, Daniel, but if I thought you had none would I have pursued you so harshly?” He asked, finally turning in his chair to face Danny frankly.

Which meant he got both barrels of the sceptical face Danny was making.

“Dude, you say that like Obsessions are fucking logical,” Danny said dryly, and Vlad actually chuckled.

Not even condescendingly.

Like Danny made a point.

“Quite. Unfortunately for myself, the effects of my Obsession went into how I planned to achieve it, not in the goal itself. You have always been a remarkable young man, Daniel.”

And that was at least familiar ground.

Danny rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, and I’d be even more if I let you lure me off to your creepy castle in Wisconsin to become mini-Vlad. Brucie can’t ship me to Wisconsin,” he pointed out, just about resisting the urge to poke Vlad in the chest.

The old guy was being weirdly noncombative, but it had been a while since they saw each other. Actual years, which Danny couldn’t imagine would have been good for the other halfa.

Much as it sucked being someone else’s Obsession and he’d loved being free of the Fruitloop… he wouldn’t wish the ache of an unfulfilled Obsession on anyone.

Fuck did that mean Vlad had actually moved on? Was that something he could do? Please let it be something he could do.

The older halfa chuckled again and took another sip of his water.

“No, I’m well aware that he can’t. But our time apart gave me little to do but consider what I know of you. You have grown to a fine young man, Daniel, perhaps with all that I have ever lacked.”

He looked up again, their eyes meeting, and Danny very nearly recoiled. Almost stepped back and away from the other halfa’s aura so that he couldn’t feel Vlad’s pride seeping into his skin like grease.

“Okay, this is getting fucking weird. Do I have to kick your ass to get whatever contracts you made Bruce sign back?” He asked sharply, trying to get the conversation back to somewhere he understood it.

Vlad hesitated a moment, then settled back again, clearly reading Danny’s discomfort in his aura if not on his face because the pride settled away.

Back in Wayne Manor, Danny felt Jason keying up, the slow growing happiness cutting straight back to danger-warning-protect-need help?.

Danny forced himself to calm too, closing his eyes for a moment to focus on the feel of Jason, not Vlad.

He just.

He didn’t know what to do with Vlad being proud of him. That had only ever meant he’d fucked up somewhere horrible before.

Calm-safe-I’m safe-not hurt.

“Still in contact with young Jason?” Vlad asked, letting the subject change even if he didn’t answer Danny’s question.

Danny cracked an eye open to peer at him.

“Yeah, he wasn’t a fan of me coming to see you on my own. Not to pick up his dad,” he added before Vlad could get the wrong idea.

Actually. It was still kinda funnier if Vlad kept the wrong idea.

From what Danny could read of him, no worries about that. Vlad was amused, but not comfortable.

Yeah, well, he could join the club. Danny gave his shoulder a gentle poke.

“Anyway. What did you really want Bruce for?”

Vlad glanced at his watch, then at the door.

“Well he’ll be back any second to tell you himself, Daniel. I wasn’t sure if you’d shared this little secret yet so I didn’t mention any of our shared nature, but he was the one to invite me out.”

Which also felt like the truth. Both parts. Danny hesitated for a moment, not quite sure if he was ready for this particular secret to be out to the Batman.

It’d be out the second the man got home if no one had texted him yet, but that was a long car ride away unless Danny flew back, and he didn’t want to leave Bruce unsupervised again.

Just because Vlad was being weird didn’t mean he wasn’t being Vlad.

Still, he’d know if Bruce was overshadowed right away, and if he wasn’t he could ask the man himself what Vlad had been up to.

And Vlad was in human form. Not like he could transform any faster than Danny if shit was about to go down.

The decision pretty much took itself out of his hands when the door began to open and Danny jumped back out of grabbing reach (just in case) and changed back.

Which was when he remembered what he was wearing.

**

Lunch with Vlad Masters had been… informative, and Bruce was a little surprised just how much time had passed.

Masters might be an unscrupulous businessman but he was clearly devoted to the things he cared for; Daniel Fenton, Amity Park, and the Green Bay Packers.

He just couldn’t quite reconcile how those three pieces fit into the picture at hand. To hear Vlad tell it, nothing untoward had happened in Amity Park in his whole time as mayor. And yet… the calls were real.

Even if Masters hadn’t hit the button personally, someone in his office must have.

Was there a chance that Danny had some sort of mind control abilities? That he’d removed the memories of those in Amity Park who’d opposed him?

It would explain why Masters would so fervently champion a boy he’d had almost nothing to do with. Oh, Danny Fenton had been born to two of Masters’ college friends, but they hadn’t seen each other for years before Danny’s birth.

As far as Bruce could tell the two had never even met before Danny was at least fourteen; Vlad had lived in an actual castle in Wisconsin and been a regular on the gala circuit for his area.

Friend of the family or not, it was suspicious that the only adults he’d spoken to so far had such diametrically opposed views on Danny.

Vlad was obviously hiding something. About Amity Park, Bruce was completely certain. The man’s accounts simply did not add up with the evidence. About Danny…

Bruce had his suspicions, but there was very little clear evidence about the man himself. Danny was technically an unknown quantity. And the center of far too many mysteries for Bruce’s peace of mind.

Bruce slipped away to the bathroom to let his thoughts settle not too long into Vlad’s lecture on the history of the Packers.

If Danny was coming from the manor they had a while yet before he’d be there, so he could let Vlad ramble on for a while once he returned.

His cheeks hurt from keeping up Brucie’s smile, but that was nothing new. The gala last night was still weighing on him, but it made it easier to put the act back on.

If Danny was coming here, and would accompany Bruce back to the manor, they would have a while to talk in the traffic. Finally a chance to speak to the man himself and let Bruce get an unbiased read.

Something had happened before Vlad claimed to have received a message from Danny. Something that made him start, and while it could have been the man’s phone, Bruce doubted it.

Even silent vibrations actually made some sound, and Vlad had barely glanced at the device. Not long enough to read any kind of complicated message; he hadn’t even unlocked it.

Vlad must have thought he was hiding it, but he’d been amused by whatever happened. Amused, and known immediately it was Danny. That Danny was coming.

Whatever else he might be, Vlad was certainly not a particularly skilled liar. Not to Batman.

Washing his hands, Bruce wondered if he might not be able to get Vlad back onto the subject of how Danny would be coming.

On his own, or at least Vlad hadn’t mentioned anyone else. And using Bruce’s car to get back? There were hardly bus routes between the manor and the city.

Unless Danny had some kind of meta abilities. Damian’s report had included his suspicions, and Duke and Dick had both seen him fly away.

That would put him here sooner than expected, but Bruce was certain he’d have noticed a flying meta in his city. Unless Danny only flew for certain situations.

Bruce paused at the door to their private room for half a second, letting his Brucie mask settle comfortably into place. Letting the smile spread. And pushed the door open.

Something bright flashed inside and Bruce tensed, anticipating a trap. One he would have no choice but to fall into, as he was now. But as the door cleared, he saw…

Vlad at the table, just as Bruce had left him. And Danny Fenton settling like he’d just moved sharply, wide blue eyes and messy hair above a shirt that was far too large for him tied off at his waist, and.

And.

Impractical for the weather. The trousers were closer to the right size, but arms and feet were bare, along with a slice of midriff.

Completely dry. It was still snowing, and the streets were covered in snow and slush. There was a slim chance he’d left a coat somewhere, but even his hair was dry.

Windswept and dishevelled hair, suggesting flight. His boys were right, and Bruce made a note to check in with Oracle later. See if he had been detected in the air.

Startled by his presence. Likely not because he didn’t expect Bruce to be there, not if he’d come expressly to pick him up. More that he’d been distracted by whatever had him moving so sharply.

Staring at him.

And then there was nothing else to observe, except…

Wearing one of Jason’s shirts. One that Dick had given him as a joke. It hung off him, exacerbating their size difference.

Danny was small. Closer to Cass’s size, and this close up Bruce could see the lean muscle, but there wasn’t much of it.

In pure hand to hand Bruce could probably take him, but whatever abilities let him tank a fight with Killer Croc left the actual outcome an unknown.

Blinking hard to distract himself from just how and why Danny had managed to show up in Jason’s clothes, he pulled on his big happy Brucie smile for the room.

And suddenly Vlad was incensed.

Bruce would swear the man had been smiling when he opened the door, but at some point while Bruce gave Danny a quick once over his mood had turned to rage.

He smothered it down quickly, but his jaw was still tight when he spoke through gritted teeth.

“Daniel, I believe this is the first time you have met Brucie,” Vlad said, his tone so frosty Bruce nearly shivered.

Not controlled by Danny then. At least, not controlled in a way that made him deferential. Not unless this was a slip in Danny’s control.

The boy looked startled still, looking down at himself like he’d forgotten what he was wearing and giving Bruce a sheepish smile.

Honestly he could have been wearing the world’s finest suit and not allayed any of Bruce’s suspicions, but it wasn’t Brucie’s job to let that show.

Instead he cranked the smile up a couple more notches, stepping forward and holding out a hand to shake.

“Yes, Danny, my kids simply won’t stop talking about you! I was sorry I couldn’t say hello last night,” he added, wanting to see how Danny would react to a little dig.

Nothing he couldn’t deny as being purely sincere.

Danny made a face and then pulled a smile on over it, stepping forward quickly to shake Bruce’s hand.

Some people only needed touch to take control of another. Bruce felt nothing of the sort, but Danny’s hand was oddly cool. Not unaffected by his clothing then.

“Yeah… sorry about that. About… well, all of it,” Danny said with a sheepish smile and one shoulder shrug that nearly had the shirt’s overlarge neckline fall off his other shoulder.

He scrabbled to right it, and Bruce firmly stifled the impulse to relax.

It was familiar, something any of his kids might have done. It could easily be an act to lure him into a false calm.

Brucie laughed and clapped him on the other shoulder, keeping half an eye on Vlad, who was still stewing at the table.

“Oh, I certainly got up to much worse in my day. You’re only young once, right?” He offered jovially, tipping Danny a playboy wink.

The boy blushed to the roots of his hair.

Interesting.

As much as Bruce wanted to pull at Vlad a little more, try and work out his sudden change of mood, he would much rather begin his observations of Danny Fenton directly.

“Still, we should get going or we’ll miss all of dinner,” he said with a cheerful smile, nodding to Vlad. “Thanks for a lovely afternoon, Vlad! Maybe we’ll catch a football game before the season ends.”

The man’s disposition brightened like he’d flicked a switch, though he still shot Danny an almost smug dirty look.

“Oh, that would be charming, Brucie. I’ll get you tickets for the Packers’ next game, we’ll have a splendid time.”

Danny snickered beside him, shoving his hands in his pockets and grinning back. Not afraid of Vlad either, for all that the other man was older, richer, and more influential.

“Yeah, Vladdie here knows aaaall about packers,” he said with a sly smirk, looking down on Vlad from his standing position.

Vlad responded with a look that Bruce had previously only seen on Clark’s face, around when Dick started teaching Kon sex jokes. And in the mirror.

Steph called it the “your puberty was my death sentence” look and insisted every one of the mentors used it. Bruce personally wasn’t convinced Oliver Queen knew what shame meant.

He’d abandoned his son. Bruce would never forgive that until Roy asked him to.

Perhaps he did have more in common with Vlad than he’d thought though. Watching the children get old enough for innuendo sucked.

Luckily Brucie could pretend not to get it.

“I know, he was telling me all about their recent games before you arrived,” he said cheerfully, oblivious as anything. And watched how both responded to innocence.

Vlad still looked pained, possibly by the pair of them now. Danny… Danny was smirking, clearly not convinced.

That was concerning. The boy knew who Nightwing and Signal were, there was a chance he knew Bruce’s identity too and this at least pointed in the same direction.

Still, no need to confirm anything for him. With another cheery wave to Vlad he held the door open for Danny.

“So, shall we? Would you like to take my car or do you have your own way back?” He asked, subtly prodding to see what Danny might say. And perhaps a hint how he’d gotten there.

Danny hesitated for a moment, glancing at Vlad. Like there was something between them, something to do with him.

Yes, Bruce would have to meet with Vlad Masters again in future. After he’d gotten to speak to Danny.

“I’ll come back with you,” Danny said with a shrug, nodding towards the door and then moving through it at Bruce’s wave.

He kept half an eye on the boy as they headed down to the restaurant’s garage and the sleek black car Bruce had driven over.

It’d be at least twenty minutes to drive back to the manor at this hour, maybe longer. Time enough for a short interrogation.

“I already messaged the others and told them to get started without us, I hope you don’t mind,” he said in his best charming Brucie voice, beeping the car to unlock it.

Danny shrugged, moving around to the passenger door, apparently entirely unbothered by bare feet on freezing concrete. Bruce almost wished he had some spare shoes for him.

“Yeah, it’s cool. I figured. So, any idea how long it’ll be to get back?” He asked, slipping into the car and sitting cross legged on the front seat.

Bruce followed suit, turning on the car and then the heat right away. Doing what he could.

“Probably not more than twenty minutes. Your seat is heated too by the way, here. You made it down very quickly, were you in the area?” Bruce asked, watching Danny from the corner of his eye as he strapped in.

Would Danny just tell him?

He’d not been hiding from the boys. If he really didn’t think this had to be a secret, he could just tell Bruce.

Danny shrugged again, opened his mouth, and Bruce’s phone rang, cutting him off.

His phone should be on silent. Bruce gave Danny an apologetic smile, pulling it out and planning to push the caller to voice mail. Wondering if he might have turned the ringer back on without meaning to. Or if Oracle had pushed through.

There was no one else he needed to talk to more than Danny right now.

Of course the universe would mock him for that thought.

The caller ID blinked accusingly up at him from the lock screen.

John fucking Constantine.

Bruce hesitated for a moment. Torn. The mystery or the responsibility?

Any other member of the Justice League would be ranked as a more reliable source of information than a possible suspect, but after the night Bruce had had? After what he’d learned?

The problems in Amity Park may have begun or ended with Danny Fenton, but the problems in the Justice League traced neatly back to John Constantine.

When it came down to it, Bruce knew he had a responsibility.

He gave Danny another, more apologetic smile.

“So sorry… do you mind if I take this quickly?” He asked, holding the phone carefully so Danny couldn’t see the screen.

The boy’s face cracked into a grin and he shrugged a third time, getting comfy in the expensive leather seat.

“Hey, if you keep one eye on the road you’ll be the safest driver I’ve ever ridden with. You don’t wanna be too late though, you’ve got another extra guest for dinner and she seemed real impatient,” he said with a slight smile, turning on his heated seat.

About to get out of the car, Bruce paused again.

“Oh? Who was that?” He asked half rhetorically, already listing the women in his life who could possibly make this situation worse.

Top of the list…

“Harley Quinn.”

Of course.

What did she want now?

Bruce forced himself not to think about it, swinging up and out of the car and holding the phone to his ear.

One disaster at a time. No matter how many the universe was piling in his lap after nearly a month of nothing. He’d known it was too good to be true.

At least the garage was empty, and the car soundproofed. Danny wouldn’t hear a thing.

“Constantine. How did you get this number?”

**

In a secluded corner of the House of Mystery everyone’s favourite magical scapegoat stubbed out a cigarette and reclined back in his seat.

“Oh, is this not fun when people do it to you? And here’s me thinkin’ barging into other peoples’ business was how you lot showed affection,” he said dryly, fingers tapping off the glowing purple ward scrawled on the phone case.

Phone numbers were for plebs.

He could fuckin’ hear Bats grinding his teeth through the phone. And yeah, maybe winding him up further wasn’t the best idea, but fuck it.

If John had good ideas, he’d never have given the fucking Justice League his contact info. Case in point.

Winding up the big Bat was the price they all had to pay for royally pissing him off all fuckin’ night and all fuckin’ day.

Kept an impressive handle on the growl though. Must have been somewhere semi-private.

“Constantine. You’ve been out of touch for more than eighteen hours and there is a serious-”

John cut him off, waving his cigarette around as if he could shush the man from here.

“Oh no no, big boy, you’re not fuckin’ blaming that on me. You’re the one fucking up all my communicators, and you’re going to fuckin’ stop. Now.”

And yeah, maybe he did enjoy the very tiniest inhale of surprise he could hear. Or was that Batsy counting to ten?

“What do you mean.” The trademarked growl was definitely creeping in, private place or not. Well, good. John being too annoying to kill was what kept him alive.

Better spell it out for the fucker though.

“I’m a fuckin’ magician, Batlad. On a couple of Hell’s most fuckin’ wanted lists. I can’t be fuckin’ found by people fuckin’ wishing me fuckin’ harm, and let me tell you how goddamn delighted I am to learn that that now includes you!”

All he’d wanted to do today was drop off some results for the junior spandex brigade about some of the glyphs and wards they’d found at a dig.

Just trying to stop them from blowing their fucking hands off. A humanitarian mission. John fuckin’ hated kids. Handless kids only slightly worse.

And he couldn’t contact a single member of the fuckin’ Justice League because some asshole was trying to use them to hunt him down.

Zatanna had needed to come to the House personally to circumvent the wards she’d helped him build.

(Good to know how well they worked though. Assuming they were working and he’d done something to piss off the big Bat enough that he was out for blood.

There was technically a chance they’d been calibrated wrong and Batsy wanted to bring him ham. Less likely than harm, in John’s humble opinion.)

Still, the only way to unfuck his communications was to find and defuse whatever had pissed the skulky bitch off, and while Zatanna had agreed to drop off his work for the kids, he needed to know what else they’d found.

He so was not going to fucking Alaska in January.

And with that as his alternative, John forced his most chipper smile onto his lips. Apparently people could sense that through phones. Who fuckin’ knew.

“So. You’ve fuckin’ got me. What the hell do you want?”

—————

Tag list: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @eonic @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear

Next Chapter:

#danny fenton dead and loving it #dp x dc #dpxdc #dead on main #dead on main ship #danny x jason #chapter 10 #that’s not a twink that’s an anime girl #i regret nothing #also i want the shirt #real bad #ghost king danny #halfa jason todd #fright knight jason todd

[scarlettgauthor]

Red, the Wolf, and the Woods OUT NOW!

The Red Riding Hood retelling novella I accidentally wrote is out today, and people can read it finally! Including you!

A hardworking farmer who moonlights as a dog trainer, Red longs for her brothers to step it up on the family farm so she can get a whole five minutes of uninterrupted time to herself. When her grandma calls down with a delivery request, Red jumps at the chance to go visit the house in the woods she loves so much. No farm chores and a good hike? It's basically the perfect day! …right until a wolf walks out of the woods and asks if he can join her. Sound familiar? Red, the Wolf, and the Woods is a playful, modern take on the classic fairy tale, with a steamy romance at its core. Take some time away from your daily grind to join Red on a flirty, feral adventure!

This book has it all:

A meet-ugly! Enemies to lovers! Gratuitous descriptions of Pacific Northwest forests! Courtship via chanterelles! Femdom undertones! Praise kink! A hot wolf boyfriend! Jokes that had my mom laughing out loud! An audiobook!

You can find it most places that books are sold online, and also directly from my online website in DRM-free formats! Give it a try, and fall in love with the Wolf alongside Red, just like my beta readers did.

#red the wolf and the woods #writing #books #my writing #little red riding hood gets a hot wolf boyfriend #the wolf is a very good boy #this one's for the furries

[tchallasbabymama]

Updated 1/2/24

Black Panther fanfiction featuring Black OCs for the 18+ crowd. [Minors DNI]

Officially on hiatus until Spring 2024. I’ve been working on a lot of my original stories, and can’t do both at this time.

Also on AO3!

Here's my other Tumblr where I'll be keeping y'all updated on my original, non-fanfic works. I'm in the process of self-publishing an erotic novella at the moment. Stay tuned for updates!

All works are mine and may not be reposted anywhere. However, I live for feedback, so I ask that you leave comments on and reblog my stories as you read them.

Fanfics below the cut. Enjoy 😘

📚= complete series

📖= series in progress

📓=oneshot

🚧= coming soon

Characters listed in alphabetic order:

Erik "Killmonger" Stevens, A.K.A. Prince N'Jadaka

All For Us 📚

Erik Stevens leaves behind his wife and child to go to Wakanda.

Erik x Samira (OC)

angst

The Temple 📚

Prince N’Jadaka visits The Temple, a place of sacred sexual healing.

N’Jadaka x Aisha (OC)

smut

Black Lace 📓

Erik takes a liking to his girl’s natural scent.

Erik x Quinn (OC)

smut

Baby Body📓

New father Erik realizes his girlfriend isn’t as confident as she used to be, so he decides to do something about it.

Erik x Destiny (OC)

fluff, smut

Don’t Forget About Us 📓

Erik and his ex get that old thang back.

Erik x Kayla (OC)

smut

The Wedding Guest 📓

A lonely girl meets a handsome stranger who turns out to be much more than meets the eye.

Erik x Stevie (OC)

smut

Teamwork 📓

Erik’s girlfriend has been curious about playing with multiple partners at once, and now she’s getting her chance.

Erik x Raven (OC)

smut

M'Baku

Blossoming Ashes: A Troubled Waters Sequel 🚧

Amita Ngani has seen too much darkness over the years, but when an old classmate re-entered her life and brought a certain Jabari chief with her, Amita’s life was forever changed. Will her new life be satisfactory or is there more out there for the formerly dark aziza?

M’Baku x Amita (OC)

angst, smut

Ménage à Trois 📚

Zora works as an assistant for the US Ambassador to Wakanda, and when she gets to see the mysterious country for herself the technology isn’t the only thing that will blow her mind.

T’Challa x Zora (OC) x M’Baku

smut

Ménage à Trois Part Deux 📖

A continuation of Zora’s adventure in Wakanda with her two lovers.

T’Challa x Zora (OC) x M’Baku

smut, fluff

M’Baku’s Love 📚

Inspired by Sylvie’s Love, this story follows M’Baku during his time visiting the Wakandan Outreach Center in Oakland, CA.

M’Baku x Monae (OC)

fluff, smut

Used 📓

M’Baku needs an outlet for his aggression after losing Challenge Day. Luckily, she’s already in his palace waiting for him.

M’Baku x Akila (OC)

smut

Tea and Tattoos 📓

M’Baku gets very close with his new tattoo artist.

M’Baku x Sanaa (OC)

smut

Ready📓

M’Baku’s wife is finally ready to have kids, and he couldn’t be more excited.

M’Baku x Rada (OC)

smut

Girl of His Dreams📓

M’Baku becomes a succubus’ prey.

M’Baku x Akeza (OC)

smut

Her Throne📓

A Ménage à Trois oneshot. Zora decides to have a little fun with her sub.

M’Baku x Zora (OC)

smut

Ramonda

How Ramonda Got Her Groove Back 📖

Queen Mother Ramonda meets a handsome warrior during her brief stay in Jabariland after fleeing Killmonger’s reign.

Ramonda x Kodjo (OC)

fluff, smut

Shuri

Queen Shuri📓

Shuri reluctantly steps into her brother’s shoes while grieving his loss.

angst

T'Challa

Troubled Waters 📚

When King T’Challa’s life is saved by a mysterious woman, his eyes are opened up to a whole new world he never knew existed.

T’Challa x Nia (OC)

angst, smut

Ménage à Trois 📚

Zora works as an assistant for the US Ambassador to Wakanda, and when she gets to see the mysterious country for herself the technology isn’t the only thing that will blow her mind.

T’Challa x Zora (OC) x M’Baku

smut

Ménage à Trois Part Deux 📖

A continuation of Zora’s adventure in Wakanda with her two lovers.

T’Challa x Zora (OC) x M’Baku

smut, fluff

Playlist  📚

On his off-day, King T’Challa makes a visit to the market that could change his life forever.

T’Challa x Ashanti (OC)

fluff, smut, angst

Swimming in Denial 📚

Kali and T’Challa meet in graduate school and become fast friends, but is their relationship truly platonic?

T’Challa x Kali (OC)

fluff, smut, angst

Polaroids📓

Tasha misses her boyfriend T’Challa and plans to send him a gift he won’t forget, but it doesn’t quite work out the way she planned.

T’Challa x Tasha (OC)

fluff, smut

Potential Breakup Fic 📓

T’Challa can’t keep his dick in his pants and his girlfriend is tired of it.

T’Challa x Kiana (OC)

angst

Thunderstorm📓

The king and future queen of Wakanda spend some much-needed quality time together.

T’Challa x Ororo

smut

Homecoming📓

When T’Challa comes back from getting his masters degree, his best friend’s little sister catches his eye.

T’Challa x Hadiza (OC)

smut

Instinct📓

The king tries his best to survive his first heat after becoming the Black Panther.

T’Challa x Xoliswa (OC)

smut

Crossroads Blues📓

A grieving T’Challa meets a strange man at the crossroads.

T’Challa x Monica Lynne

angst, fluff, smut

Thank you for reading and reblogging 💕

Masterlist graphic by @griot-of-wakanda.

#masterlist #cecewritessometimes #black panther fanfiction #killmonger fanfiction #m'baku fanfiction #ramonda fanfiction #shuri fanfiction #okoye fanfiction #nakia fanfiction #t'challa fanfiction #smut #fluff #angst #18+ only

[javier-pena]

the overlook

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader x Tess Servopoulos

Word Count: 23.3k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: When you almost get killed, Joel and Tess are there to rescue you. They take you in and Joel nurses you back to health. When you discover that Joel and Tess are in a relationship, tension rises until it inevitably breaks.

Warnings: threesome (m/f/f) | but it’s also very depressing, so keep that in mind when reading it | masturbation (f) | voyeurism kink | unprotected p in v sex | hair pulling | overstimulation | fingering (f receiving) | hand job | (very brief) cum play | canon typical violence and gore | themes of death/dying | mentions of abuse and rape (nothing graphic) | descriptions of injuries and medical procedures (again, nothing too graphic) | mentions of food and alcohol | and yes I don’t shut up about Joel’s hands

Notes: Well, here it is, one and half months after I first mentioned it. As it turns out, I wrote a short novella about Joel and Tess and their little hideaway high up in the mountains that they suddenly have to share with someone else. HUGE thanks to Dani @joel-tess​​ (which is a very fitting URL lmao) for spending two whole weeks reading this and leaving helpful comments and pointing out that I start half my sentences with 'but' and the other half with 'and'. I hope the end result is worthy of the show, at least I was trying to make this about love and what it means to love in a world that runs on hopelessness and hate.

***

Everything hurts. Every bone, every muscle, every movement, no matter how small. Are your eyes closed or open? Is it day or night? Those things lose all meaning in a world where you’re so close to death. You don’t even feel the clammy wetness of the snow because the ache in your side makes everything else seem less important.

A gurgling sound escapes your throat, and you stop breathing, just for a little while, but long enough for panic to kick in. Your body doesn’t want to die. It hasn’t accepted its fate yet, the one your mind has made peace with. The blood you cough up lands sticky on your lips and chin. There’s really no coming back from this. You don’t want to spend your last minutes on Earth fighting and struggling – you don’t want to die how you lived.

Now you start to feel the cold seeping in through your torn pants, making your legs numb. Or maybe that’s just what dying feels like. Maybe your body is shutting down, limb by limb. First your legs, then your arms, and soon all that will be left will be your brain, your thoughts, all the things you regret, all the things you should have done differently, all the chances you didn’t take. Just like your body that should accept your journey is coming to an end, you too should accept that you did the best you could in a world that has been trying to kill you from the start. Maybe you should be proud you’ve made it this far. There is no shame in dying in a cold, dark forest under the stars, no shame at all in accepting defeat when faced with an enemy that is so much stronger than you are.

Your eyes are open now, and you can see the dark outlines of the trees surrounding you, the darker, more solid shadows moving between the trunks. Maybe they’ve come back to gloat, or to finish the job. It doesn’t matter – why should you spend your last minutes worrying? Coughing, you turn your head to look up at the sky again, at the vastness above you. Yes, you never thought you would die here, today, but there are also worse ways to go, darker, more painful ones. Maybe you should be grateful you’re not dying in an abandoned warehouse, chained, gagged, discarded. You’re free, out in the open, able to breathe clean air, feel a gentle breeze on your cheeks. And you’re not alone, not with thousands of stars twinkling above you, and the forest whispering sweet nothings.

Your eyes are closed now, and you can feel yourself drift off. There is no more fight left in your body, no more struggle against the inevitable. You feel warm all over, as if someone is hugging you, refusing to let go. Surrendering is so simple, so easy. In death there are no more expectations, no reason to worry about snapping branches and heavy steps. All those things are irrelevant now – what matters is to let go. Once you’ve done that, you’ll be free. You already are free you realize with a burst of relief. Those heavy footfalls close to you, they don’t fill you with worry or dread or fear. It’s not even indifference that you’re feeling. You just feel nothing.

Nothing at all.

*******

Death is colder than you expected.

It’s a cold, harsh wind that cuts your face and burns your hand. All those stories about a bright light, about an engulfing warmth were lies. As were those about pain vanishing because you feel it burning, eating away at your side, even more intense than it was before. Or maybe there is a Hell after all, and instead of being filled with fire and brimstone and screams and horrors, it’s this – having to go on how you died, cold and in pain, unable to escape your mistakes and regrets.

Do you deserve to be in Hell? You’re not sure. Probably not any more or less than everyone else you know. Yes, you killed people, but who didn’t? At least you never killed without having a good reason. You didn’t lead an honest life, but no one could under these circumstances. Lying and cheating and manipulating was what kept you alive for all these years. If you hadn’t allowed yourself to make some mistakes, you would’ve died much sooner. But maybe that was the point – if you had stopped fighting, maybe there would be light and warmth waiting for you now.

Blood tickles the back of your throat but you’re too weak to cough. All you can do is lie there, the copper taste filling your mouth before you feel yourself drift off into unconsciousness. At least you’re allowed this short break. Maybe death isn’t so bad after all.

*******

Death smells like gasoline and disinfectant, it smells like burning trash and blood. That doesn’t surprise you now that you’ve made peace with never being embraced by that warm light. Death is also quiet, calm. No more rustling leaves, no more heavy steps – just silence. If the smell wasn’t so bad it made you retch, you would think you were back home, in your childhood bedroom, before the world was fucked up and you lost everything. Or maybe you have to experience it all over again, the loss, the pain, the heartbreak. Maybe that’s your punishment for killing and lying and cheating. It could be worse, you decide. It’s nothing you don’t know, nothing you can’t live with.

Watching your mother being executed by soldiers? You replay those few short seconds every day, and have been for 15 years. Reliving the pain of your brother beating you until you couldn’t get up? You forgave him for that a long time ago because he was right – you deserved it. Being gagged and bound so you couldn’t run off, unable to escape your father selling you to a group of men when you were barely 22? Back then, you thought it was the worst thing that could happen to you. You laugh. Life had so much worse in store for you.

All those memories can’t hurt you anymore, but there is just one … one day you don’t want to relive. Still, there is no sense in worrying about it now. You can submit to the guilt and self-hatred when you get there. And maybe you won’t. Maybe something else entirely is about to happen, something much worse than you could ever imagine. No one knows what happens after death, but you’re about to find out.

*******

The voices have been with you for quite some time, but you still can’t recognize them. You can’t be sure, but you don’t think you’ve heard them before. It’s odd – isn’t this supposed to be about your life, your memories? Maybe you could place them if you could understand what they were saying, but it’s impossible to make out. You’re fairly certain there are at least one man and one woman. Sometimes you can hear her laughing, sometimes she shouts and growls. His voice is always the same, a deep rumble, monotone.

It could be that you know them. You’ve met so many people over the course of your life, so many strangers, some of them good, some of them cold and cruel and dangerous. But if the man and the woman are significant to you, significant to learning one final lesson, then why don’t you recognize them? And why can’t you understand what they’re saying? What’s the point to it all?

When you realize you can open your eyes, it comes as a shock to you, and you immediately close them again. You don’t want to see because you don’t want to know where you are, but your left arm itches and burns, and you can’t move your right hand to feel out what the problem might be. You also can’t move your left arm or your legs for that matter. So, if you want to find out what’s going on, you’re going to have to open your eyes sooner or later.

You’re breathing too fast but you can’t help it. If this is death, then why are you so terrified? The worst thing that could happen to you has already happened. There is nothing worse, nothing more final than dying. Still, you pant like a rabbit caught in a trap, your heart fluttering inside your chest when you finally manage to force yourself to open your eyes. And you see nothing, just darkness, not entirely black but too dense to make out much except a lamp somewhere above your head, the lightbulb cold and dark. It could be worse.

Even with your breathing still too fast and your heart still fighting with everything it has, you manage to turn your head to the left. You can make out an IV bag next to the surface you’re lying on, its line leading to your arm, buried in the crook of it. You groan, and try to lift your right hand again to free yourself but you can’t. You can’t and you don’t know why and the room is spinning and spinning and … you realize.

You’re tied down.

You can feel the coarse leather against your skin now, against both wrists and around your ankles. This can’t be death – it’s too much like life, too much like what you’re used to. A disappointed sob forces its way out of your chest, followed by a dry heave. Not only did you fail to escape, you ended up in a worse situation than before. Panic grips you, cold and hard, and you don’t hear yourself screaming but you must have because a door bangs open and the voices are in the room with you now.

You lose consciousness … you don’t want to know.

*******

You dream of a mountain stream, cold and clear. You dream of the ocean, of waves rolling in, quietly at first, then louder and louder. You dream of birds in the sky, of your gun in your hand. You dream of red sunrises, of fire burning flesh, of the iron taste of blood.

You dream of her.

You don’t want to dream of her, so you wake yourself up. But the only thing that awaits you is the horror of still being alive, of still being trapped in a windowless room, hooked up to an IV bag, tied down, with no idea about where you are, what time it is, and what they want from you. And you wish you had died in that forest under the stars, so the snow could have covered your body, and you would have been forgotten. But you’re refused that one final kindness, even now, when you have nothing left to lose.

There are sounds outside the locked door – it’s bound to be locked, isn’t it? You can’t get up and check, but there is no point anyway. You’ve been confronted with enough locked doors in your life to know better than to expect anything else. The sounds are loud, metallic, like someone is working on something, destroying it. You don’t hear voices anymore, you don’t hear the man or the woman, you don’t know if it’s one of them out there or someone else entirely. And it’s probably best that you don’t. The sooner you find answers to those questions you’re chewing on, the sooner you’ll be in danger again.

The sounds stop and your entire body tenses. You try to move but you can’t – all you get as a reward is a sharp pain in your left side, right where the bullet hit you. But it’s much softer compared to the pain you felt lying in the snow. It doesn’t take up so much of your mental capacity now and you can breathe through it. Almost as if someone tended to the wound and it’s healing. But before you can ponder that possibility you hear a key being turned in the lock of your door and it swings open, bringing a beam of light with it.

You don’t want to see, so you close your eyes, pretend you are still asleep. It won’t save you, it never has before, but it might buy you some time, prolong the inevitable for a little while longer. But your breathing is too fast, your body is too tense – you’re not fooling anyone.

You hear footsteps that sound heavy against the hard floor. One pair of boots, so at least you’ll only have to deal with one of them for now. Not that you can deal with anyone in the condition you’re in, but it’s still a small consolation.

“I know you’re awake.” A deep voice. A man’s voice.

You don’t move. He doesn’t know shit.

He sighs, moves closer to the bed you’re lying on, but he doesn’t touch you, doesn’t hit you. Instead, you feel an uncomfortable tug on your arm as he checks the IV. And that’s it. That’s all he does. Soon, you hear his footsteps receding, moving back toward the door. And you risk one glance at him before he shuts it behind himself.

You should focus on the gun and knife strapped to his side, on the fact that you could easily grab them from your position if you weren’t tied down. Instead, all you can see is his profile, mostly hidden in shadow, his strong jaw and big nose, his furrowed brow. And despite all your instincts, despite everything you had to learn the hard way, you want to believe he’s not planning on hurting you.

What a foolish thought to have.

*******

The next time you wake up, the restraints on your ankles and wrists are gone. You notice it immediately because you’re curled up on your side in a tight ball, hugging yourself. But once you realize that, you shoot upright, pulling the needle from your arm with the quick movement. Before you can jump out of the bed, you feel a yank and a metallic clang puts you back in your place. Yes, the leather is gone, but you’re still handcuffed to the bed. You’re only able to move more as long as you’re not planning on getting up.

“Sleep well?”

It takes everything in you not to scream. You’ve been alone in this room for so long, waking up alone for so long, you weren’t expecting someone else to be there with you. And that’s on you – you really should know better after living like this for 15 years.

The room is still dark, except for a lamp right next to your bed that’s bright enough to let you guess the dimensions of the space you’re in. Outside the circle of light, just beyond what you can comfortably see, the man who checked up on you … hours ago – maybe days ago – sits on a chair, leaned back, legs spread, arms crossed over his chest. Today, you can’t pretend you’re still asleep.

“Who are you?” Your voice is hoarse from screaming, it’s hoarse because you’re parched.

He nods at you. “Drink.”

You take your eyes off him for a second to see there’s a glass of water on a small table next to the bed. You don’t touch it.

He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Who are you?”

Would knowing really help you? Probably not. But it would give you back some control. It would make you feel like you were more than a good he’s going to barter the first chance he gets.

“My name is Joel.” He looks at his hands when he says it, so you can’t see his eyes. You can’t know if he’s telling the truth, but there is no reason for him to lie. Joel. He could be anyone and no one, but he’s the man who’s currently holding you captive.

“Where am I? Why am I here?”

Joel sighs again. “I ain’t the one … I’m just supposed to make sure you don’t dehydrate. Drink.”

You shake your head.

“You almost died out there. Hell, you almost died in here, too. You need fluids.”

What he says makes sense. You were there, after all, lived through the whole thing. But this is after, and no one helps anyone after the world perishes, at least not out of the kindness of their hearts. The water is probably laced with drugs so he can put you under again. You know better than to expect anything from strangers. You knew better before, and you certainly know better after.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

He pushes himself out of his chair, and you push yourself back so your head makes painful contact with the hard metal wall behind you. He doesn’t need to drug you for whatever it is he wants to do to you. You couldn’t defend yourself in the state you’re in, even if it was your life on the line. But he doesn’t touch you. He picks up the glass of water and takes one big gulp, spilling some of it down his chin and chest. The reverberating sound that comes with him putting it back down echoes around your head.

“There. Happy?”

He lets himself fall back into the chair and crosses his arms again. A few drops of water cling to his beard but he doesn’t wipe them away. He doesn’t do anything except stare at you.

You shouldn’t do it. Maybe he’s immune to whatever he put in your glass, maybe a small dose doesn’t have any effect on him. But you’re too thirsty to care. Your mouth is dry and sticky at the same time, and your throat aches for some relief, for some water.

The water is so cold the first sip sends a shiver down your spine and makes your teeth hurt. But after that it gets easier and easier and you drink it down faster and faster until there is nothing left and your empty stomach feels so full it hurts. He doesn’t say anything, just takes the empty glass from you and makes to leave.

“Hey,” you call after him. Hey, Joel, you want to say, but it feels too intimate. “Untie me?”

He doesn’t even shake his head before he closes and locks the door behind himself.

*******

The soup burns your lips and tongue, but you’re too greedy to pay much attention to the pain. It’s nothing special, just some roots and mushrooms, and a few pieces of lean meat, but it’s the best meal you’ve ever had. Joel watches you drink down the soup, one hand resting on his knee, the other hanging down, hovering close to the gun. He expects you to throw the soup in his face, and you can’t even be upset he thinks so little of you because you were considering it for a second.

“Be careful, it’s hot.” It’s too late for that warning, but he says it anyway.

“Do you think you’ll untie me today?” you ask, moving your bound wrist so the handcuff scrapes against the handle you’re tied to. You’re still in the same room, tied to the same hospital bed, but at least the IV is gone.

He smacks his lips. “Nope.”

“I won’t run,” you promise. “Honestly, Joel, where do you think I would go? You still won’t even tell me where I am.”

“You don’t need to be untied if you want to stay right here.” You’ve heard this a million times.

���Don’t you think it’s time you trusted me?”

He huffs. Sometimes he says, “You clearly don’t trust me,” sometimes he gets up and leaves. Today, he just quietly watches you as you drink your soup.

You know he doesn’t want to harm you. He had plenty of opportunities in the three weeks you’ve been living under his roof. That’s something else you know – three weeks. Two of those you spent drifting in and out of consciousness, hovering between life and death. One you spent trying to convince Joel to unlock the handcuffs.

The one thing you still don’t know is why you’re here. What does he want with you? Why is he keeping you alive? Why is he nursing you back to health? Sometimes you aren’t even sure if he knows the answers to those questions himself. But the stronger you get, the more you’re looking for answers. And the more you push him, the more he shuts down.

“Where am I, Joel?” You’ve asked him this so many times that the words have started to sound fake.

“You’re safe.” He replies, and as always, those words sound like a lie.

“If I’m safe, then why are you holding me captive?” Why am I still locked up? Why don’t you want to untie me? What’s behind that door? You’ve tried countless variations on that same question and he’s found countless ways to avoid answering them.

“Would you like some more soup?” He nods at your empty bowl.

Yes, you would, but you also want to get up and move about. Wordlessly, you hold out the bowl and he takes it from you, always careful not to come too close to you, so you can’t grab the knife or the gun. You tried, of course you did, and you failed miserably. You still have the bruise on your arm to prove it.

Joel walks through the door but leaves it open. He sometimes does that because there is nothing of interest to you to see beyond it. Just a table, and a calendar on the wall opposite. August 2003, and a picture of a golden-fronted woodpecker, a tiny red berry held gently in its open beak. Its eye looks red, too. You guess there must be a stove somewhere (or at least a gas cooker) or Joel wouldn’t be able to cook soup. But that’s it. You don’t know how many other rooms there are (if there are any), you don’t know how many other people there are (if there are any). Wasn’t there a woman here while you were fighting for your life? You can’t be sure. And asking Joel is useless – you’ve tried.

“Here.” You take the soup from him and he sits back down to watch you as before. “Be careful, it’s hot.” You’re trapped in a loop.

“Why do you always do that?” you ask, holding the bowl in your hands, letting it warm your cold fingers. “Why do you always watch me eat?”

A puff is your only answer.

“Scared I’m going to whittle a key from a few pieces of boiled potatoes and a sprig of rosemary?” you tease.

“I have my orders,” he answers as if that settles the matter.

You know better than to ask him whose orders they are. This conversation is giving you a headache. So you try a different approach. “What’s your favorite kind of soup, Joel?”

The corners of his mouth twitch like he’s about to smile, but he gains back control immediately. “Any soup that’s warm and keeps me alive.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, come on, what’s the real answer?”

You don’t think you’re going to get an answer since he just looks at you for the longest time. You’re used to it, to his brown eyes on you, assessing you, trying to determine how dangerous you are. Only today it’s a different kind of gaze. He’s not looking for danger but something else. And eventually he finds it.

“Black bean soup,” he answers.

There’s already a witty remark on your tongue but before you can get it out, a siren goes off, loud and jarring, unlike anything you’ve heard in a while. Your body’s reaction to it is instantaneous. You drop your soup, fling it from you, so the bowl hits the ground, bursting, spilling the warm liquid everywhere. Joel doesn’t notice. He’s on his feet and halfway out the room at this point. You have no idea what’s going on, what the siren means, but you know you’ll be safe cowering in the room under your blanket. At least you hope you will be. Whatever is out there, whatever triggered the alarm … Joel is just one man. And isn’t this how it started last time? You thought you were safe too, but there were just too many, and they took whatever they wanted. This time, you’re not even strong enough to close off your mind. This time, you will surely die.

You hear no sounds from the other room, except the telltale click of a magazine being pushed into a rifle. You hear no sounds because you try to block out everything that comes afterwards …

When it’s all over, Joel cleans up the soup you spilled. You’ve lost all appetite, and he doesn’t push you to eat more. Joel smells metallic, like smoke. You don’t want to ask him what happened and he’s not going to tell you anyway. Instead, when he’s done, he softly closes the door to your room, leaving you alone in the darkness. He has things to do now, gruesome things, things you wouldn’t know how to help him with even if you weren’t injured. But you could tell from the tension in his shoulders and the cruel lines around his mouth that whoever tripped the alarm wasn’t infected.

And it never gets easier.

*******

You flinch. It still hurts whenever he changes the dressing, even though he’s so careful now. Joel wasn’t like that at first. The first time you were fully conscious during the procedure, you broke down crying because the pain was too much for you to bear. You definitely weren’t looking for comfort from him, but a kind word would have gone a long way. Instead, all you got was a, “Suck it up, you’ve been through worse.”

The more your wound heals and the more you recover, the more careful he handles you. Still, every time he undoes the bandage around your chest, it feels like he’s tearing the wound open again, as if all the scab your body formed around it is coming clean off. It doesn’t help that the wound is on your left side near your ribs, and you have to take your shirt off every time Joel cleans it. It leaves you exposed and uncomfortably on display. Every other man would have taken advantage of your situation by now, but not him. Maybe that makes you feel even more vulnerable.

“It looks good,” he tells you, examining the wound. He carefully touches the tender flesh around it with the coarse tip of his forefinger, sending an uncomfortable shudder down your spine. “No sign of infection. I think it might be time to take you off the antibiotics.”

“If you say so, doctor,” you say through gritted teeth.

He huffs, removing his finger. “Does it still hurt?”

“Of course it fucking does,” you snap.

He draws back, straightening his back. His face is a blank mask. “Was this your first time getting shot?”

“No,” you answer, protectively slinging an arm across your naked stomach, “but the first time I almost died from it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “It wasn’t just the wound.”

There’s no question in it, just an observation. And yes, he’s right, it wasn’t just the wound. It probably wasn’t life-threatening to begin with, but it’s none of his business when he doesn’t even want to tell you where you are and why you’re here. You know better than to open yourself up to a complete stranger who keeps you locked up. In the future, you need to be more careful. You can’t let him come any closer than he already has.

“Like you would know,” you say defensively.

The corner of his mouth twitches, and he flexes his fingers fast, balling them into a fist and releasing them.

“Come on, let’s get this over with,” you sigh impatiently.

Without another word, he gets back to work. He cleans the edges of the wound with some cold water, then he has you press a gauze pad against it while he ties the bandage around your torso again.

“A few more days and we can leave it open,” he tells you once he’s done.

“And then what?”

Is it going to be the same as always?

You glance at Joel, his furrowed brow, as he focuses on tying the bandage tight enough to hold but not tight enough so it will hurt you. He wouldn’t, would he? Hurt you? You shake your head. No, you’ve been there before. You put your trust in people before and it almost cost you your life, and it certainly cost you part of your soul. If anyone should ask, you still have the scars to prove it.

Once he’s done, Joel runs his fingers from the edge of the bandage down your naked side to your hip. It’s not a conscious movement, at least you don’t think it is, since his brown eyes are glazed over, almost empty. But it still pushes all your questions and doubts aside. Joel would hurt you if he could, there is no doubt about that. But he would also protect you, has already protected you. And that’s where the real danger lies waiting. It’s not hidden beneath cruelty and malice. It lies buried beneath care and attention. You either die for the people you love or you live long enough to lose them. And if they betray you, you can never really fully recover from that.

“That’s not up to me,” Joel answers, averting his gaze.

“Please,” you start.

“That’s enough.” His voice is harsh, the words meant as a shove, but all you feel is a pull deep in the pit of your stomach.

“Joel,” you try again, but he shakes his head and stands.

Usually, before he leaves, he tells you to get some rest or holler if you need anything. Today, he stomps out of the room, his boots heavy against the concrete floor, and you turn away from the door because you won’t sink so low as to call after him. But before you can make sense of the whirlwind of feelings holding you captive, before you have time to put your thoughts into order, you hear him return. He grabs your wrist, the one that’s tied to the bed, in a firm hold, one that makes you yelp in surprise.

“Joel, what …?” you try, wanting to get away from him and be closer at the same time.

Before your heart can decide if it wants to stop beating or spin out of control, you hear a metallic click and a weight falls off your wrist. You’re free! Your brain doesn’t have enough time to process that new piece of information before your fingers close around the handcuff and you raise it, bringing it down hard against Joel’s temple. He grunts in pain but you don’t pause – you’re sprinting toward the door as fast as you can after weeks of being tied to a bed. You have the element of surprise on your side because Joel doesn’t come after you, at least not right away. You’ve made your way to the room with the table before he has fully realized what is happening.

Your lungs and legs burn like they’re on fire and your head is spinning, screaming for you to slow down or you will collapse, but you ignore all the warning signs, desperately searching for an exit. There are two doors, one on your left and one on your right. They both look the same – dark green, dirty, paint chipped away, especially around the handles. It’s crazy how much your brain is able to take in and process whenever you’re in danger. But you don’t have time! You can’t linger and stare at the small kitchen corner, maybe even look for a knife you can use as a weapon when Joel finally does come after you. You don’t pick a firearm out of the crate right in front of you either because the rifles and guns probably aren’t loaded and you can’t afford to be slowed down by dead weight.

You make a decision in the spur of the moment, without any plan where you are, any idea about what kind of building you’re in. But you just know that the door on your right will lead you to freedom. And so you make for it, spurred on by the grunts behind you. Joel is in pursuit now, having recovered from the initial shock. If you want to get out of here, it’s now or never.

The door is unlocked. It’s not even particularly hard to push it open, not even for someone in such a weakened state as yourself. It just swings open, and you’re outside – just like that. You don’t see much: snowy mountains, a quiet forest, fences and barbed wire, two abandoned cars, a horse, its flanks steam in the cold winter air. You see your own breath too, and it almost makes you turn back. If you leave in your condition, face the winter without so much as a coat to keep you warm, you’ll be dead within a few hours. You certainly won’t make it through the night. But it’s a fate you can choose, something you can control now that you don’t feel like your own person anymore. And it’s preferable to dying tied to a bed in a dark room.

You run, stumbling like a fawn. If you push through the pain and the cold, if you ignore your cramping muscles, the jab in your side, the iron taste in your mouth, you should be able to climb over the fence. And then you can hide in the forest until it’s too dark for Joel to find you.

Something barrels into you, pushing you to the ground. You scream as your entire world erupts with pain. Lights flicker in front of your eyes, white and red, and your world tilts and spins. You’re so cold but your left side burns red hot. Did Joel shoot you?

“Fuck!” It’s the woman’s voice – you recognize her instantly. She’s the one you heard talking to Joel during those first few days when you had no way of knowing what was real and what wasn’t. She’s lying next to you, covered in snow, one hand firmly wrapped around your arm. “What the fuck is going on here?”

You’re being lifted up by a strong hand wrapped tightly around the collar of your shirt. A desperate gasp escapes you as Joel lifts you out of the snow. His eyes are bright with rage, his breath is a hot cloud between your faces, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to let go soon. If anything, his grip turns harder as he twists your collar in his hand.

“What are you doing?” the woman snaps at him.

“I untied her and she made a run for it.” His honesty surprises you, even if there are other issues right now you should focus on.

“Let go of her,” the woman orders, and there’s just a brief moment of hesitation. Then you’re dropped to the ground, crumpling into a heap in the snow.

The woman sighs and pushes herself to her feet. “Come on,” she hisses at you, pulling your arm. “Get up.”

You try to tear yourself loose, even if your entire body is screaming for you to stop fighting and give in. “No,” you grunt through gritted teeth. “Let me go.”

She laughs in your face. “And where do you want to go, sweetheart? Look around. You’re stuck here, whether you like it or not.”

You look around at her words but you only see the same trees and mountains you saw before, and you still feel like you’d rather die in the woods than live with this helplessness any longer.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” she groans. “Come on.” And with that she pulls you up like you weigh nothing and shoves you. “Get moving.”

You should probably put up a fight – if 15 years living in this world have taught you anything, it’s that the strong survive. It should feel like this situation has just gone from bad to worse, but there is something about the way Joel lowers his head as you walk past him that gives you pause. And you might be imagining it but the woman’s grip feels less hard. It’s not that you think they’re good people, but you’ve been here for more than three weeks and if they had wanted to hurt you, they’ve had plenty of opportunity so far.

*******

“Why am I here?” you ask. You’re sitting at the table, a steaming bowl of soup in front of you, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “What do you want from me?”

The woman, Tess, sits opposite you. In front of her on the table is a loaded gun. It’s as if she’s taunting you. You could reach for the gun, try to shoot her, but she’s faster than you and you’d be dead before you’re fully out of the chair. Joel leans against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. Maybe his lack of trust hurts you, maybe it’s an uncomfortable pull near your heart, but you also can’t blame him. There is a bruise forming on his temple where you hit him with the handcuffs. You don’t even remember doing it.

“We don’t want anything from you,” Tess answers, and it’s just as unhelpful as Joel’s non-committal grunts.

“Then let me leave.”

Tess shakes her head. “No.” Before you can protest, she adds, “You still need some time to recover.”

“Why are you helping me?” The question is directed at Joel but he keeps quiet.

“You were almost killed, remember that?” It sounds almost like an accusation, the way Tess says it. “We found you and brought you here.”

“Why?” It baffles you. They must have an ulterior motive.

“Where I’m from, you don’t just leave people to bleed out in the snow.”

You laugh at that. “Where I’m from you do. Has it ever occurred to you there might be a reason why I was almost killed?”

“There’s always a reason,” Tess says with a nod. “No one can afford innocence.”

You look at her for the first time, really look. She might be around Joel’s age, but it’s not easy for you to tell. She has long, brown hair that is starting to gray, and wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. The look she gives you is cold, hard, but beneath all that there is something else – it’s as if she’s forcing herself to put up a front. Before, when you came in, she took off the heavy winter coat she was wearing. Now she sits opposite you, dressed in a dark sweater that is tattered along the edges. A second gun is strapped to her side with a leather shoulder holster. It looks new.

“And you don’t care about the reason at all?” you press. “Maybe I murdered ten FEDRA officers.”

“Those guys who were trying to kill you weren’t FEDRA.” Joel’s voice is deep, almost hoarse.

You definitely don’t want to talk about that so you change the subject. “If I’m that innocent, why not let me go?”

Tess just glares at you.

“Oh, come on,” you groan. “I’m grateful and all, but I really deserve some answers, don’t you think?”

“It’s the truth,” Tess says after a brief moment of contemplation. “We found you in the woods, we decided to look after you until you were better. You aren’t fully healed yet and we’d like you to stay with us until you have recovered.”

“And what do you want from me in return?”

Tess doesn’t look like she’s going to answer you, but Joel does. “We need a third person to look after the compound, at least until the end of winter. If you want to repay us, you’re more than welcome to stay and pull your weight until the snow melts.”

“For real?” you ask. He’s joking, surely.

Tess nods at Joel. “You’re clearly capable. And you’re strong. We could use someone like you.” She hesitates. “Especially since I can’t be around most of the time.”

You prick up your ears at that. She’s giving you more information than she needs to give you, vital information about one of their weak spots. She probably doesn’t trust you, not fully, but she trusts you enough.

You clench your jaw and nod. “All right, but you have to start answering my questions honestly.”

*******

You’re high up in the mountains, far away from whatever is left of civilization as you know it. No one comes up here – no humans and certainly no infected. It’s just Joel and Tess, at least during the winter. In summer, when the weather clears and the snow melts, they will go back to Boston. Until then, they’re in charge of a warehouse of ammo and guns. They are in charge of a stockroom full of food. And the people who put them in charge aren’t FEDRA.

Mostly, it’s just Joel up here. Tess leaves for weeks on end, travelling around the country on errands they don’t tell you about. Trust only goes so far. And when she comes back, she never stays for longer than a day or two. It’s their third winter up here, Joel’s third winter of being mostly on his own. They both don’t want to come next year, but they go where they’re sent. Tess also makes it clear that it’s best if the people in charge never find out about you staying here.

Here. It’s not home, not exactly, but it’s the safest you’ve felt in a long time. Joel and Tess call it the Overlook. The main building they kept you in, a warehouse where they keep the ammo, the stockroom, and a tower, tall and menacing, that they use as an outlook. Most days, you can’t see much up there. Winter is cold and gray in these parts, the clouds hang low almost every day or it’s snowing constantly. You haven’t seen the sun in weeks.

It’s not easy work what they expect of you. It’s back-breaking, skin-tearing kind of work, but it feels so good to be doing something. Especially now that you’re fully healed you focus on getting back your strength. Seeing the progress and noticing how much more your body can take with each passing day gives you a grim satisfaction. The first time Joel let you out of the house you couldn’t even make it to the fence and back without almost collapsing in the snow. Today, you’re outside, setting traps to catch rabbits, climbing trees, helping Joel skin and gut a deer he shot. And you don’t feel tired. You feel alive, driven by purpose.

Joel’s naked hands and wrists are covered in blood, his face is grim and set. It took you some time to learn that he’s not angry when he looks like this, but that he’s concentrating and you definitely shouldn’t interrupt him when his brow is furrowed like that. So you watch as he works, grunting with the strain of it, his knife quick and fast in his hands. There is no point in carrying a whole animal back to the Overlook; it’s better to carve out the parts you want to use here and now.

Joel has taught you so much in the time you’ve been with him. Sometimes you wonder how you were able to survive the first 15 years without him. And sometimes you wish you could stay with him into spring and all the way through summer and fall, even though both he and Tess made it clear that it’s not possible.

A crack cuts through the silence of the forest, as if something – or someone – close to you just stepped on a twig. Joel drops the knife so fast you almost don’t see it fall. The rifle is in his hands, he’s up on his feet, pointing it into the general direction the sound came from all before your hand has moved to the gun hanging at your side. Three birds take flight, their flapping wings almost as loud as the step you heard. But other than that, nothing moves in the snow-covered forest.

“Maybe it was just an animal,” you dare point out.

“Yeah, maybe,” Joel says through gritted teeth, still observing the trees and the spaces between them.

You know not to say anything more or give any advice until Joel has decided it’s safe to continue his task. You haven’t been living out here for years, you haven’t even been living outside high walls that much. It’s not your place to question Joel or any judgement he makes regarding safety. But, soon enough, he lowers his rifle and falls back onto his knees with a grunt. There is a lot of work left to do and it will get dark soon.

You watch as his knife glides under the deer’s skin, separating it from the meat and muscle beneath. A pungent smell fills the air around you and you wonder if you might be attracting other animals, like wolves. You hear them howling at night, higher up in the mountains, too far away to be of much concern. But the winter is hard and there isn’t much meat to spare. You’re an easy target for a pack of apex predators close to starvation.

Joel puts the knife down next to his knee and begins to pull, tearing away the deer’s skin with a sickening sound. And then, before you can offer Joel help to roll over the big carcass, something jumps Joel with a shout, pushing him to the ground. It all happens so fast you can’t shout a warning – you didn’t even see the assailant coming even though Joel told you to be on the lookout. Your surprised shout comes too late.

A man pushes Joel to the ground. You can’t make out his face, but it’s covered in a trimmed, black beard. Joel, taken by surprise, raises his hands to protect his face, but the man has a knife clasped in a fist, its blade gleaming in the afternoon light.

“Joel, watch out!” you shout, but there is nothing you can do.

The man brings down the knife in a slashing motion, cutting into the red skin on Joel’s wrist. Joel doesn’t scream – he doesn’t even grunt. Instead, as the man draws back for a second attack, Joel punches him so hard he rolls off and Joel can get to his feet. The man assumes a crouching position immediately, apparently unfazed by Joel’s punch. He’s hunching down low, the knife still in his hand, twirling the handle, trying to get a firm grip on it. Joel glares at him, calculating, his face masked in concentration.

You calculate too – how long would it take for Joel to grab the rifle and fire it? Too long. What about the knife? The attacker is squatting between him and the blade. Could you help him? You don’t dare to when you see Joel’s furrowed brow.

The man jumps in Joel’s direction and Joel manages to grab both his wrists and push, so he stumbles back again. With a sickening grin on his face, the man approaches a second time, slower, blade outstretched in front of him. Joel doesn’t take his eyes off the weapon for a second and it’s the first time you see him, that cold, calculating man who knows he has to kill to survive. Sure enough, the man attacks again, going for Joel’s stomach, an easy target since Joel opened his jacket when he was working on the deer. Joel jumps back two steps and the man stumbles. A death sentence.

Joel is on him in a split second, pushing him to the ground, not caring that his face comes dangerously close to the blade. The other man shouts out in surprise as Joel climbs on top of him, his teeth bared. He pins the man’s arms to the ground with his knees, the effort bringing an angry flush to his cheeks, then reaches over the man’s head to where his own knife is lying on the ground. That’s when you know it’s over. Joel buries the fingers of his left hand in the man’s long, straggly hair and pulls to expose his throat.

It’s just one slash. Just one quick move of Joel’s arm and the man stops kicking, struggling, fighting for his life. You don’t look away. You watch as warm blood spills onto the snow that’s now dirty with soil kicked up during the struggle. You watch bubbles of blood form on the man’s lips, hear his last gurgling breath. You watch Joel hold him down, breathing hard, knife raised for a second cut if necessary. Joel’s eyes are empty.

“Let’s finish up here,” he grunts, pushing himself to his feet.

You want to apologize for having failed him, but you’re still too frozen to speak. Even though the whole altercation was shorter than a minute, you struggle with what you just witnessed. Not with the killing – you’ve seen enough of that and you know it was self-defense – but with the speed with which it all went down, with how quickly a life can be taken if you miscalculate and fuck with the wrong person.

“You’re bleeding.” It’s not much, but it’s something.

Joel looks down at his wrist as if he’s only just noticing the injury himself. “It’s okay,” he says, then kneels down and cuts a piece of cloth out of the man’s shirt to tie it around the cut. “Let’s finish up here before it gets dark.”

You nod, then watch him shove the man’s body away from the carcass. There’s nothing you can do to help him with the body or the deer, and you fight down a feeling of uselessness and helplessness. Now is neither the time nor the place to feel sorry for yourself. You can do that later in the privacy of your own room.

Joel finishes up fast, wraps the meat into old sheets he’s brought along, then stows them in his backpack. You get your own load to carry back to the Overlook. The trek back you spend in silence; Joel marches ahead with purpose, you follow, a queasy feeling in your stomach. What if the man wasn’t alone? What if his group is nearby, waiting for an opportunity to attack? Joel can fight off one attacker, maybe even two, but he’s wounded and exhausted from a day of hard work and you’ve proven today that you’re not much use in a fight. Luckily, there is no need for you to worry. You safely arrive back at the Overlook and breathe freely again once the gate shuts behind you.

“Here,” you say once Joel has locked the door to the main building. You’re standing behind a chair, offering Joel a seat. “Let me take a look at that cut.”

He nods and lets himself fall into the seat, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “There’s a first aid kit under the sink.”

You don’t tell him that you know – it’s best if he doesn’t realize how much you’ve been snooping around. So you get the first aid kit without a word and put it down next to the pot of steaming water you boiled while Joel was putting away the meat. Finding some clean towels or even just pieces of fabric wasn’t easy but you managed.

The cut isn’t long but deep, and it takes you a while to clean it. Joel doesn’t complain, but flinches from time to time when you use too much pressure. It will leave a scar but it isn’t his first and it won’t be his last. You don’t have any disinfectant since most of it expired years ago, but someone put a small bottle of clean, stinging alcohol in the kit and you use that to battle any possible infection. It’s the only time Joel hisses through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more vigilant,” you apologize while you’re bandaging the wrist. “You trusted me to keep a lookout and I failed you.”

“Yes, you did,” Joel agrees and even though you know you made a mistake it still stings to hear him confirm it. “Next time, don’t watch me. Keep your eyes on the forest.”

It’s only now, when he points it out, that you realize how much you must have been staring at him. Your face grows hot with shame and embarrassment. “It won’t happen again,” you promise, your eyes lowered, pretending to examine the bandage.

“It’s not just your fault,” Joel adds. “I should’ve been more careful after that twig snapped.”

His admission takes the sting out of it a little bit. “Is it hard to…” you trail off, struggling to find the words to the question that's on your mind.

You look at him for help, watch as a shadow clouds his features before seeing it pass and be replaced by disbelief. “You’ve never killed someone?”

“I have. Just… never like that, with a knife to their throat.”

“It ain’t different from using a gun,” he replies gruffly. “You end their life either way.”

Satisfied with your work on Joel’s arm, you let go of it, ignoring how empty your hands feel without the warmth of his skin against yours. “But you were so close to that man; you could watch him die, you saw him take his last breath, saw him slip away.”

“It was either him or me.” There’s a strain in Joel’s voice when he says it.

“It was him or us,” you correct him, not sure if that makes it better or worse. “I wouldn’t have been able to kill him on my own.”

“You’d be surprised how much you can do when your life is at stake,” he says with a cold laugh.

“Yeah,” you agree.

Then you both fall silent. It’s not until much later in the evening when you’re about to go to bed that he stops you with a hand on your arm, pulling you into the same chair you had him sit down in earlier.

“What happened to you?” he asks then. “Who were those men who were trying to kill you?”

You feel your body stiffen and your jaw tighten as you try to keep down the unpleasant memories of that night and of what came before. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Tough luck,” he growls. “It’s time you gave us some answers.”

The stab of jealousy you feel at his use of the word us is almost strong enough to defeat the rising panic. Almost. “Why?” you snap. “Because you saved my life today?”

“No.” Joel sits down in a chair opposite you so the table is between you. He fills two shot glasses with a cloudy, brown liquid and pushes one across the wood to you. “We trust you enough to let you stay. It’s time that trust was returned.”

You laugh coldly but wrap your fingers around the glass. “It’s not what you think.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” The confrontational tone has gone from his voice. He knows he has you.

You make one last attempt to get out of the situation. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“The beginning is usually a good start.” You expect him to be smirking at you, but he isn’t. There isn’t even much expectation in his gaze. He knows you’re not leaving the table until you’ve given him some answers.

“Well,” you sigh, giving in. “The beginning is always Outbreak Day, isn’t it?”

He shrugs.

“I was luckier than most,” you go on. “I only lost my mother in the days afterwards. She was shot by soldiers because she was coughing. Back then, no one really knew what symptoms people displayed before turning, so they got rid of everyone who was sick one way or another. At least where I’m from.”

“And where’s that?” Joel asks.

“Montana,” you reply, fighting to keep down the memories of your mother crumbling to the ground, gunfire ringing out around you, the sound of it almost shattering your skull. Then you were screaming. And all your father did was tell you to move along. Even now, you’re still screaming sometimes when you dream about that day. “We lived in a small, rural community, but the military found everyone. At first, we thought we were safe. You heard rumors about the cities, but in my town, no one even turned until the second day.”

Joel has a curious look on his face now. “How old were you?”

“20,” you reply. “No, 21. It’s not that easy to keep track of time.” You shoot him an apologetic smile. “I was engaged to a guy from my town, we were supposed to take over my parents’ farm.”

“Is he still alive?”

You shrug. “I have no idea. I got rid of the engagement ring a long time ago.” You take a steadying breath. “After that, my dad and my brother and I went to live in the mountains. There were some vacation rentals up there we moved into with a small community of other survivors. We probably would have survived up there for years if my brother …” Tears prick behind your eyes. No, you’re not going to cry, not yet. This isn’t even the worst part.

“He died?” Joel guesses.

You shake your head. “We lived there for about half a year. I … I started seeing someone. I’m not proud of giving up on my fiancé that easily, but during those times … it really made you realize how short life is, and I wasn’t going to say no when Steve approached me. He was a few years older than me. He lived in Seattle but was visiting his parents when it happened. I kept the relationship secret from my family for the longest time but my brother eventually found out. And he was furious.” Your voice breaks on that last word and you swallow.

For the first time there is something like understanding in Joel’s face.

“My fiancé was his best friend in high school,” you go on. “By seeing Steve, I wasn’t only betraying him, I was also betraying my brother. And my father was on his side.” A cold laugh escapes you. “Maybe I deserved what happened afterwards. Maybe I should’ve waited a year before seeing someone new. Maybe I should’ve been honest with my dad and brother. But I also think that no matter what, they would’ve found a way to punish me.”

You’ve told this story once before, and the person you told it to was full of sympathy, interrupting you constantly, cursing your family for the way they treated you. Joel is quiet. He’s not trying to lead you or push you, he waits for you to tell him the story in your own time and on your own terms. It’s a change, but not an unwelcome one.

“My brother beat me until I could barely walk,” you say next. “I can’t be sure but I think my dad told him to. He was too calm and calculating when he did it for it to have come out of rage. They didn’t dare touch Steve, but they made sure we never saw each other again. There was this group our community traded with sometimes. I thought they were FEDRA at first because they were dressed in military uniforms, wore tac vests, had assault rifles … Once I had gotten better, my dad bound me and sold me to them.”

You feel a grim satisfaction at the shadow that passes over Joel’s face. He’s not indifferent after all.

“I think I don’t need to tell you what happened next.” The truth is you can’t. “I spent the next 14 years escaping, living with different communities, even living in a QZ for a while, being caught, escaping again. As a woman, alone, this world is very hard to survive in. Those men who were trying to kill me when you found me … they were from a community who took me in after I lost the last group I was with. They were friendly enough at first. I was assigned kitchen duty which was fine by me. But then that evolved into having to dance at parties, and that evolved into offering my body to anyone who wanted me. It was far from the first time this was happening to me. But then they forced me to sleep with the leader of that group, a violent man who had just killed a little girl the day before because she had spilled some wine onto his pants and … I couldn’t take it anymore. When he started beating me, I grabbed a knife and slashed his face. Then I ran.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. You know you’ve made mistakes in your life, but you haven’t even told Joel the worst part yet. Surely, he won’t throw you out based on what he knows.

“See?” Your laugh is hollow. “I told you it’s not what you think it is.”

“When we brought you in there were bruises on your legs,” he finally says. “There were cuts on your arms, scars and fresh ones. One of your eyes was swollen shut. I had a pretty good idea of what you’ve been through.”

It’s not much, but your breath catches in your throat nonetheless. He’s not judging you. He knows what you’ve been through, what you had to do to survive, and he accepts you for who you are.

You shrug. “Yeah. I hope that answers your question.”

Joel empties the glass in front of him with one big gulp. “It does put me at ease.”

You mirror him. “So, what about you? What’s your story?”

He bares his teeth at you. “That’s not how this works.”

“Oh, come on,” you groan.

He shakes his head. “It’s late, we have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Will you tell me tomorrow then?” you press.

“No,” he answers. And that’s the end of it.

*******

It’s completely quiet in the middle of the night when you lie in bed and have nothing else to focus on than your thoughts. Joel is in the other room, the one off to the left side of the kitchen. Or maybe he isn’t. Maybe he left you all alone at the Overlook. You don’t hear another sound apart from your breathing, but you never do. Every night you wonder if he’s still going to be there in the morning, and every morning he is.

He’s still with you, even through the walls and closed doors between you. You spend every waking moment with him and in turn he haunts your dreams. Tonight though, sleep won’t come. Your mind is too preoccupied with the events of the day, too much in turmoil to settle down. Telling him your story brought back all kinds of memories, good as well as bad ones, things you can never get closure on. But no matter how hard you try to focus on the familiar pain, on the regret that is like an old friend to you, tonight your mind keeps wandering back to Joel in the woods, fighting for his life. He didn’t just kill so he could live, he killed to protect you too.

Your breathing gets heavy as you remember the look on his face, his flushed cheeks, the way he didn’t let anger or fear control him. He knew what needed to be done and he did it. You remember how he was straddling the man’s chest, pinning him down to immobilize him, gaining the upper hand even when the other had surprised him. You’ve never seen anyone kill like that. You’ve never felt so safe with anyone.

With a deep sigh you turn onto your back and stare up into the darkness. You can’t make out the ceiling but you know it’s there. Just as you can’t hear Joel but you know he’s just a room away – both thoughts comfort you. You try to focus on that comfort, try to preserve it, but the building tension between your legs demands your attention. Other memories start coming back. A few days ago, when Joel had been cleaning his rifle, his sleeves rolled up so they wouldn’t get in the way, his arms flexing with each movement. The way he didn’t complain when you cleaned his wound today. Last week when he had come back from moving crates around, drenched in sweat – the smell had been so prominent, had lingered for so long that you had to excuse yourself and go to bed early. And then today, restraining that man, killing him with one move, one cut.

Your fingers press against your clit through your underwear before you can stop yourself. Immediately, your entire body comes to life. You bite the back of your other hand to stifle a moan, but roll your hips up, chasing friction. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it before, like you haven’t thought about him before, but you’ve always managed to keep yourself under control. It’s too late for that now.

You move fast, kicking at your blanket, tearing your underwear off. Your knees fall open without the restraints, and you bury two fingers deep inside of you, clenching around them desperately. Is he that cool and collected when he fucks someone? Does he know what he wants and takes it? You like to think so. An image comes to you: you, spread out on his bed, maybe even on your stomach, and him thrusting into you without uttering a word. The only sound you can hear are his low grunts. You wish you could give him that, be there for him like that.

When you think about him gripping your hair to bend your back, to make you writhe and moan, the pressure between your legs becomes unbearable. You release your hand, sure your teeth left markings in the skin, and press your fingers against your clit. The moan of relief echoes around your quiet room. Working your fingers in and out of yourself and circling your clit, you can feel yourself rushing toward an orgasm, accompanied by an image of Joel above you, his broad shoulders caging you in, fucking into you, breaking out of the restraints he puts himself in. Your breathing becomes more ragged, louder, and that cautious part of your brain that’s been trained to be quiet for 15 years urges you to be more careful. But how can you when you think back to how easy it was for Joel to defend himself today? How easy it would be for him to take from you exactly what he wants, what he needs.

You turn your head to the side, determined to stifle a desperate moan against your pillow, but before you can take any precautions, the tension that’s been building inside of you snaps; you come hard, working your fingers inside as deep as they will go. You don’t mean to voice your deepest desires, but you can’t stop yourself.

“Fuck, Joel! Yes!”

It hangs there in the thick air afterwards, your desires no longer a secret, at least not in front of yourself.

*******

Tess returns two days later, and that door you’d been opening further and further with Joel falls shut again. Or maybe you’re using Tess’s appearance as an excuse to distance yourself from Joel.

He didn’t hear you that night, you’re sure of it; he doesn’t look at you differently, he doesn’t treat you differently. But something has changed and it’s your fault. Even though you slept better than you had in years after that night, you can’t help but feel ashamed, too. You’re more careful around him now, awkward at times, scared he’ll take one look at you and know. Joel doesn’t look at you the same way you do at him.

So when Tess comes back and Joel spends time with her, bringing her up to speed on things at the Overlook, you can’t be entirely sure it’s them shutting you out or you’re withdrawing. It’s so easy to blame them. It’s so easy to feel resentment when they go out together, even when they try to sell it to you as leaving you in charge. It’s so easy to fall asleep with your stomach tied into a knot because they both go to the other room at night. That’s also partly your fault. After all, they have to share a bedroom because they gave the other one to you. But it’s still easier to tell yourself they’re excluding you on purpose instead of analyzing why you come up with excuses every time Joel asks you to help him with something.

On Tess’s third morning at the Overlook, she offers to show you the top of the tower. It’s a clear day, sunny and bitingly cold. You’d be able to see for miles. And even though you’ve been here so many days you’ve lost count by now, you’ve never been up the tower. It’s not important to Joel and you never asked him. So you agree to Tess’s suggestion.

The climb to the top is hard, the steps are higher than what you’re used to, and you’re out of breath fast. Your wound, almost fully healed by now, starts acting up halfway up the tower, but you grit your teeth and push through. You’re not going to look weak in front of Tess. But once you reach the top, sweat is running down your face and back, and she makes you sit down on a crate.

“Not a lot of people push through on their first climb,” she tells you, leaning against the wall next to you. “Joel hates coming up here, says it’s because of his knees.”

“Shouldn’t someone be keeping watch though?” you ask, trying to hide how hard you’re breathing. “That’s what this place is supposed to be, isn’t it?”

Tess nods. “It was, at first. In the beginning, it was used by a group of people who were looking out for survivors. Then it was used as an outpost by FEDRA. But after a couple of years, everyone gave up on it. There are hardly any survivors left who haven’t settled down in a QZ or are tied to another group. And those who aren’t don’t want to be found.”

“Like Joel,” you mumble under your breath.

“Come on.” Tess pushes your shoulder. “Get up. Let me show you the view.”

You try not to let the awe you’re feeling show on your face, but Tess’s knowing smirk means you’re failing. “You can almost see the ocean from here!”

Tess laughs. “Not quite, but close enough.”

You’re so high up in the mountains that you are looking out over some of the nearer peaks at the forests and lakes beyond. The day is so clear you can see two or three smoke columns from other camps but they’re too far away to worry you. The brilliantly white snow and the endless blue sky are so bright you have to shield your eyes with your hand. Standing behind the glass at the top of the tower makes you feel truly free for the first time since that horrible night.

“This was here the entire time?” you ask, meaning it as a rhetorical question. “I could have seen this every day?”

“Most days the clouds hang too low to see much,” Tess answers. “But on days like these, coming up here makes you feel like you can fly.”

You tear your eyes away from the view before you and glance at her. There’s a wistful smile on her face, like she’s buried herself deep in a happy memory that is none of your business. This might be the first time you truly see her, the first time you look beyond her graying hair and the hardness in her eyes, the first time you look beyond the uneasy feeling you get when you see her and Joel together. The fact that she’s letting her guard down around you, even if it’s just for a few short moments, moves you. It’s more than Joel has given you so far. What you see is a woman who went through unspeakable things to stay alive, a woman who knows how to survive in a world where everything is out to get you, a woman who looks beyond the selfishness of most people. In that moment you’re sure that if her death meant she could keep Joel safe, she would welcome it with a smile on her face.

But then that jealousy comes back ten times stronger. And Tess closes up.

“Joel told me what happened to you,” she says without warning.

“He did what?” Jealousy is joined by a feeling of having been betrayed. It’s so sudden that you can’t stop the anger from bubbling up.

“Don’t be angry with him,” Tess sighs. “It’s part of the deal. What he knows, I know. Why do you think we’re still alive?”

“He didn’t tell me about that deal when he forced me to tell him,” you snap.

“Oh, don’t be naïve.” Her words feel like a slap. “We need to know who we’re taking in.”

“Yeah, well.” The anger burns bright red in your chest now. “Who says I was telling the truth? Who says anything about that story is true?”

Tess looks at you curiously, like a cat who is deciding if catching a bird high up on a branch is worth the effort. “Why would you make up a story like that?”

You can’t think of a single good reason.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Tess goes on.

“Thanks,” you spit. “Don’t you think I know that?” You don’t, because it isn’t true.

“Joel and I, we … we can make sure you’re safe from now on. There are places …”

“I don’t need your charity.” You expect her to lose patience. For most people offering to help you, it doesn’t take more than this. Except she doesn’t. She looks at you like she understands, like she knows exactly what you’re going through, and the fact that she doesn’t pity you makes you bold.

“You’re right not to trust me. Joel and you … you don’t really know me. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“You survived 15 years of torture and abuse. You’re capable of a great many things.”

The fact that she sees you unnerves you. “I didn’t tell Joel the whole story, so don’t think you have me all figured out.”

“I know you didn’t.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Joel, he … he’s not the best at understanding people. Not because the compassion isn’t there, but because he has his own shit to deal with. But I can see there’s something bothering you. It’s eating you up from the inside and if you don’t let it out, it’ll kill you.”

You laugh coldly. “Thanks, but I don’t need your advice on what’s killing me.”

“Tell me or don’t,” she says with a shrug. “But I promise you, whatever it is, it won’t leave this room.”

You want to believe her but you know you shouldn’t. You couldn’t trust people before Outbreak Day and you certainly can’t trust them now. “What about your deal with Joel?”

“I make the rules around here,” she answers with another shrug. “And if it’s something he doesn’t need to know, then he doesn’t need to know.”

You take a deep breath, then another one. She waits patiently while your mind is spinning, trying to decide whether you can trust her or not. Weren’t you just wishing for someone who always has your back, someone you can rely on? But maybe that’s the reason she let her guard down around you … she wants you to think you can trust her. And once she knows the full truth, she won’t hesitate to throw you out. No one can ever trust you again after what you did.

“I’m not trying to trick you.” It’s like Tess can read your mind. “I can see you’re in pain and I want to help you.”

You huff. “No one can.”

“Try me.” It sounds like she’s challenging you – and that’s exactly the push you needed.

“Everyone thinks they have to do such terrible things to survive, but then you ask them about it and it’s just, ‘Yeah, one time I stole this loaf of bread from this old man and kicked him,’ as if people weren’t doing that well before Outbreak Day. And I think … I think most people stay human, no matter what. They see all those horrible things, and pain and suffering and death, and manage to go on. Maybe it’s because they have people relying on them, maybe it’s because that’s just who they are. And I think that whatever you do, you should be forgiven if it’s for the right reasons. Even if you kill someone.”

“Who will judge if you did something for the right reasons?” Tess interjects. “At the end of the day, you only have to justify your actions in front of yourself.”

“Morals, I guess.” Your throat feels tight all of a sudden. “If you round up women and children for your soldiers to use as target practice, then you’re a bad person, apocalypse or not.”

“Not necessarily. If those soldiers gain skills to protect 10,000 more women and children, aren’t a few deaths justified?”

“That’s not the point … Okay, what if you get someone killed? Someone you were supposed to love? And they died because you weren’t there for them when they needed you the most?”

“You made a mistake. You decided to save yourself instead of dying to save someone else. That just makes you human.”

“What if … what if Joel sends you to the next town for some supplies, and you know it’s dangerous, and you ask him to come with you, and he says no, one person will be less suspicious. But you won’t stop pleading, and the only reason Joel doesn’t want to go is because he knows how dangerous it is and he thinks, ‘Better her than me’. So, to get you to go, he promises he’ll come for you if something bad happens. Only he doesn’t. Not when he hears you’ve been captured. Not when they parade you around, stripped naked, tied to a pickup. Not even when they offer the crowd a deal: his life for yours. He doesn’t even come to recover your broken body. He just leaves you there.”

You don’t realize you’ve started crying but Tess raises a hand and wipes the tears off your cheek. “I would forgive him,” she says. “Sometimes we do selfish things for selfish reasons. Sometimes we do them out of fear. Sometimes the enemy we’re faced with is so powerful we feel so helpless we can’t move. Joel didn’t force me to go into town – in the end, I went out of my own free will, knowing the risk.”

“But wouldn’t you hate him when he doesn’t come to save you, like he promised?”

“Sure,” she says with a weak smile, wiping your other cheek dry. “For a while, maybe. But I wouldn’t blame him. Maybe that’s something that’s unique to our relationship, I don’t know. We know exactly what we can ask of the other.”

You and Julia, you hadn’t known that. And you’ve been wondering – if your positions would have been reversed, would she have come for you? You doubt it. But still … for 15 years you wished that someone would come and save you, telling yourself you wouldn’t leave anyone behind. And the second you had to prove yourself, you got scared.

“But doesn’t that make me a bad person? Someone you shouldn’t trust? I shouldn’t get to choose who lives and who dies.”

Tess sighs. “I don’t think it’s that easy. You always have a choice, and choosing to save yourself over another person doesn’t necessarily make you evil. Sometimes the best thing we can do is look out for ourselves.”

“But you would’ve saved Joel, right?”

That makes Tess laugh. “Of course I would have. But not because I think it would make me a good person, but because I don’t see how I could go on if he’s dead.” She says it like it’s the easiest, most natural thing in the entire world. “Maybe I got it wrong, too. Maybe I should close myself off more, think more about myself. Maybe I would live longer if I did. But that’s my choice. And I choose to stick with him, no matter what.”

It makes sense what she’s saying. If you had known Julia better, if you had loved her, maybe it would have been easy to follow her into death. But you were basically strangers who had known each other for a couple of months. You also wouldn’t ask Joel and Tess to rescue you. The only thing is … they already did, and you were a stranger to them.

“How do you know what people are worth dying for?” you ask her, feeling dumb. It makes you sound like a child.

“You never know. Not until it happens. I’ve heard stories about people who, before everything, thought they were strong protectors, who’d lead their families through every storm life sent their way. And then they bolted at the first sign of danger.”

“Not you and Joel though.”

“Believe me, we’ve made mistakes too.” She gives you a grim smile. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of, things I deserve to die for, probably. But I’ve also done good things, like helping you. You have to find a balance.”

You nod, feeling hot tears run down your cheeks again. That you’re still here unnerves you. Tess should have chased you away; at least that’s what you were expecting her to do. Instead, she opens her arms and pulls you into a hug. You immediately press into her and sling your arms around her shoulders. Maybe you don’t deserve her kindness, but it’s her choice to look after you, and you won’t push her away for it. For the first time in a long time, you feel the burden grow lighter and your heart beat a little freer.

*******

That night, you can’t find sleep. The conversation with Tess is still on your mind. It opened some barely healed wounds you let fester over the last few months, and now the burning is keeping you awake. If Tess is able to see beyond your mistakes, you should be able to do that too. But Julia’s screams still come to you every time you close your eyes. No matter what Tess says, you don’t believe she has done anything equally as bad as this.

There is something about Tess that unnerves you, something you can’t quite put your finger on. She appears to be so strong, but in a different way than Joel, one that is harder to define. Still, the notion that she’s in charge around here makes you want to laugh. You’ve spent enough time with Joel to know how he runs things, and he would never take orders from anyone, not even Tess. It doesn't take away that you think Tess is very capable of doing the things she talked about. If worst comes to worst, she would die for Joel - so would you, but there's less conviction behind your resolution. It wouldn't be the first time you overestimated yourself.

Then again, Joel doesn’t need anyone to die for him, and it’s presumptuous of Tess to think he does. Julia would have needed someone willing to die for her, someone who wasn’t you. You could see it in her rounded shoulders, hear it in her pleading voice. But Joel is nothing like Julia. And Tess is nothing like you.

A stab of jealousy shoots through your body, not directed at Tess this time. You just wish you had someone like Joel in your life, someone you could rely on, someone you knew had your back. It would make dying for them so much easier. You realize that someone like Joel is very quickly turning into just Joel, and you have to confront the fact that your time here is limited, and that you’re not going to share that bond with him that Tess shares, because they will send you away as soon as the snow clears. It’s unfair. If it was just Joel, you could get him to let you stay, but Tess is so focused on her rules and the mission that she won’t make an exception. Not even if she liked you more. And right now, you don’t think Joel cares either way.

Jealousy turns into helplessness, and helplessness opens your eyes wide, making you stare at the dark ceiling. It’s late, it’s cold, you should be asleep by now, but your throat is dry and itchy, and swallowing is painful. What you need is a glass of water. You kick off the covers and stand up, your naked feet hitting the ice-cold floor with a loud slap. You shiver and sling your arms around yourself, careful to avoid the bullet hole in your side. It’s just a few seconds and you’ll be back under the warm covers.

Quickly, you make your way to the kitchen, only pausing briefly by the door to make sure Joel and Tess already went to bed. You don’t really feel like talking to either of them right now. But the kitchen is dark and deserted and no one stops you when you go straight for the water canister. You pour yourself a glass and gulp it down, then pour yourself another one to bring to your room. Your feet are ice cold now and you hurry back over to your door.

Only then you hear it – a faint moan or grunt, and a creaking sound, like someone is writhing in bed, possibly in pain. You’re wide awake now. Was the Overlook attacked while you were lying in bed, feeling sorry for yourself? Did someone break in? Is someone in the room with Joel and Tess? Carefully, you put your glass down on the kitchen table and make your way across the room to their door, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Your cold feet forgotten, you’re determined to find out what’s going on. If there’s someone in the house with you, you won’t run from danger again.

As soon as you’re in front of the door, you hear the moan again, but now you’re less certain it’s one of pain. A different kind of panic grips you, one that is not connected to any danger but the sense that you shouldn’t be here. Then you hear a low grunt, deep and guttural, and you know it’s Joel. You know it is Joel and Tess, and they’re … You’re listening now, really listening, and you can hear all the subtle, repressed gasps, you can hear an urgent whisper, you can hear the sound of naked skin moving against naked skin.

Your face grows hot with shame and you stumble backward, indifferent to any noise you might be making. Let them know you know. They should, and they should apologize. The cocktail of emotions you’re feeling as you rush to your room is a dangerous one: jealousy, hurt, confusion. You feel so fucking stupid. Of course they’re sleeping together! How could you have been so blind? And yet, you still feel led on, like they were toying with you when they were just trying to be nice. This discovery is a slap in the face, a reminder of what you can never have. They both know how hurt and lonely you are and yet it has never crossed their minds to tell you just how deep their connection goes.

You refuse to cry. Joel didn’t mean to hurt you. He probably wasn’t keeping this from you on purpose. But Tess? Didn’t she say she’s making the rules? It was her decision not to tell you she and Joel are a couple, it was her decision to make you look like a fool. It’s so easy to focus all your anger on her because you really thought that by opening up to them, they would let you in, in turn. Instead, they are still keeping vital information from you, waiting for you to stumble across it.

At least Tess is leaving tomorrow. You might not get to have Joel the way you wanted to, you might feel embarrassed about your crush now, about how easily you opened up to him, but at least you won’t have to see Tess anymore. At least it’s just going to be you and Joel again. So it doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t really matter they’re fucking.

You don’t find sleep that night. Your thoughts are too loud, the weight of the world is too heavy. You can’t stop straining your ear, afraid you’ll hear them again. Hoping you’ll hear them again. Because once you’ve calmed down, once your anger has dissipated in part, you feel something else. The moans and grunts are playing on a loop in your head, and once they stop fueling your anger, they start fueling your desire. You don’t do anything about that pull low in your stomach, the pressure between your legs, but you also don’t try to distract yourself. And a part of you is angry with them for not telling you because it feels like they’re excluding you when all you want to do is join them.

****** The next morning, you stay in bed until you’re sure Tess has left. You don’t feel like seeing her, mostly because you have no idea how you would react to her. Joel is easier that way. He never makes you feel wanted or unwanted. The both of you just exist in the same space, working together quietly. It’s exactly what you need today. So once you come out of your room, you try not to look at Joel too closely. Is his hair more disheveled than usual? Do his cheeks look rosy? Are the bags under his eyes less heavy? Whatever, it doesn’t matter.

“Sleep well?” he asks as he puts down a mug of coffee in front of you.

“Yes,” you lie. “How about you?”

“Same,” he says with a shrug. Then he looks at you with raised eyebrows. “Did you leave a glass of water on the table yesterday?”

Hot panic grips you unexpectedly but you force yourself to keep breathing evenly. “I might have. I don’t remember. Why?”

“You shouldn’t do that,” he says, but it doesn’t feel like a rebuke, just a fact. “It can get cold at night; you don’t want the water to turn to ice. The glass could burst.”

“Okay, it won’t happen again.”

And just like that, the issue is resolved. Being with Joel is so much easier than being with Tess.

You spend the day tending to the horses and checking the fence for weak spots. Joel spends his cleaning his weapons and counting the supply in the storeroom. The sun is out again, and it feels warm against your cheeks, even making you sweat as the day moves toward noon. You might have a few short weeks left before spring is here, before Tess will force you to leave. And then you’ll be on your own again.

Joel joins you when you’re working on repairing a tear in the fence, his quick hands making short work of cutting the wire and reinforcing the hole. You want to watch him work, determined to make the most out of your last weeks with him. But today, you catch yourself glancing at the forest and the mountains frequently, almost as if you can’t bear to look at him.

Why don’t you stand up for me? you want to ask. But you don’t. You know the answer, and hearing him admit it would only hurt you – more than the unspoken question anyway. A tight knot in your stomach makes it hard for you to focus on the task at hand. It demands all your attention by chewing and clawing and spitting, like a wild animal trapped in a tiny space. Should you let it out? No, Joel isn’t the one to blame, he isn’t the one you should focus your anger on. Still, you can’t help but feel stupid, stupid and betrayed. It’s your own fault for thinking you had found someone in Joel who wants to keep you, someone who likes having you around, who trusts you enough to rely on you, to seek comfort when the nights are cold and lonely. Why did he keep his relationship with Tess a secret from you? You know the answer to that. Why does she have such a strong hold over him he does whatever she asks of him?

“You okay?” he grunts somewhere to your left.

You’re not. “Yes, sorry. I’m just thinking.”

He makes a sound between a sigh and a cough. “Pass me the pliers?”

You hand him the tool without looking at him. He can probably see it all on your face, and the last thing you want to do is talk about it. But you allow yourself to look at his hands, reddened from the cold, calloused from years of hard labor, swiftly working to repair something broken by harsh weather and time. And you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have those same hands roam across your body, worshipping every inch of it. The guilt of that fantasy almost drowns you, but it’s a familiar pain.

Without warning, a deep rumble fills the forest, shaking snow off sagging branches. Airplane is the first thing that comes to your mind, even though that’s impossible. There hasn’t been one of those landing or taking off in 15 years. To your right, you see a white cloud rise over the treetops, ice and snow glinting in the afternoon sun before swallowing the light with dusty gray fangs. You’ve never seen anything like it, and even though you’re far enough away from it to not feel threatened, it still makes you want to run and seek shelter.

“What is that?” you ask, pointing at the cloud.

“Avalanche,” Joel answers. “The warm weather softens the snow and it slides away.”

“Are we in danger?”

When Joel doesn’t answer immediately, you’re forced to turn and look at him. His brow is furrowed and his mouth is a thin, hard line. His hand is wrapped around the pliers, knuckles white.

“Are we?” you press.

“No,” he finally says, voice low with strain, “but Tess went that way this morning.”

******* It’s a long afternoon, the longest since you arrived at the Overlook. Joel wants to go out and look for Tess, you beg him not to. You’re not proud of the desperation in your voice, the way you fall to your knees when he refuses to listen, but you can’t bear the thought of being left alone in this place, waiting for hours or even days for some news, coming closer and closer to accepting a horrible, inevitable truth. If they’re both dead, you’ll die too.

Joel doesn’t listen to you, of course. He has a duty to fulfil, and you can’t resent him for it, even though you hate him for a short while. But then he’s gone and you’re all alone, and you’d do anything to get him back. You don’t think about what Tess’s death would mean for you, because you’re scared of what you might discover about yourself; you’re worried about her, but you’re not terrified like Joel. And what if she doesn’t come back? Wouldn’t your life stay the same, improve even?

When the sun sets, two figures approach the compound. You only notice because you’re outside with the horses, too nervous to sit cooped up in the kitchen where everything smells of stale smoke and him. Reaching for the gun in the holster at your side, you’re painfully aware of the vulnerable position you’re in, all alone, far away from anyone who could help you. But before you can take cover, you recognize Tess from the way she pushes her hair out of her face, and you recognize Joel by his gait, a slight limp. You barely manage to stifle a sob.

“The way is blocked,” Joel tells you once you’re back inside. He takes off his jacket and stows away his rifle. “We’ll have to wait for it to clear.”

You don’t really know what that means. Tess doesn’t say anything but slumps down in one of the chairs around the kitchen table.

“Are you okay?” you ask her, not sure if she’s hurt or just exhausted.

“I’m not,” she snaps. You flinch back. “This sets us back weeks.”

Joel puts a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezes. She takes his hand and squeezes back. Your heart squeezes too.

“What do you mean, weeks?” you push. “Aren’t you going to leave tomorrow?”

“I’m not,” Tess answers, tension in her jaw. “Joel just told you we’ll have to wait until the snow melts.”

“The road is blocked,” Joel adds. “We’re cut off. We could try and go through the woods but …”

“… but we’d get lost,” Tess finishes for him.

“I’m sorry. I – I didn’t know,” you stammer. How long until the snow melts? You look between Joel and Tess, the unspoken question on the tip of your tongue. Tess can’t leave until the snow melts. You have to leave once it does. You’re never going to have Joel to yourself again. That sudden realization hits you like a wave of grief. So much unsaid. And with Tess there, you don’t stand a chance.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, throat tight. The door to your room closes with a loud bang behind you.

*******

The thing you dread most is the thing you desire most, too. It’s an impossible situation, one that makes you reel from its power. Giving in would be easiest. Avoid Tess (and avoid Joel, too), keep your head down, pray for spring to come. But a part of you wants to fight for a few last moments of happiness, for a chance to feel like you belong somewhere before having to face an uncertain future that holds nothing but death. Tess can have him for the rest of their lives. You just want him for an hour or so. But you’re immobilized, curled up under your blanket, fighting back tears. Why is it that whenever something good happens to you in this Godforsaken world, it gets taken away immediately? And why can’t you find anyone to blame? Not even Tess? You understand her, you feel for her, you would probably do the same if your positions were reversed, but why does she have to make everything so difficult with her probing questions and her cruel rules?

If the avalanche hadn’t happened, you’d be preparing dinner now. Joel would mend his clothes or peel potatoes or check the perimeter. And after a quiet meal, he’d talk to you. Or he’d offer you an old paperback to read. Or you’d challenge him to a game of cards. Instead, it’s Tess who’s preparing dinner tonight. It’s Tess who will lead the conversation, Tess who will command Joel’s attention. And it’s going to be like this until the day she’s making you leave. Should you submit to her? Spend the final weeks moping? Or should you try to make the best out of a terrible situation? Before your injury, you’d have picked the first option. Now you’re not so sure anymore.

Joel and Tess are both sitting around the dinner table when you finally come out of your room. There’s a pot of stew on the stove and three empty plates next to that, waiting to be filled. You sit down without a word, facing them, pretending the day hasn’t happened. You don’t yet know Joel and Tess are sleeping with each other. The avalanche hasn’t happened. You’re just as important, just as included as they are.

“I could’ve helped,” you say, nodding toward the stove.

“I thought it would be best to let you sleep,” Tess answers, running a finger along the edge of the table. “You looked exhausted earlier.”

You shrug. “I can still pull my weight.” Are you imagining it or is Joel smirking? “If anyone is exhausted, it’s you,” you go on. “That trek through the woods today …”

Now it’s Tess’s turn to shrug. “I’m used to much worse.”

“Let’s eat,” Joel decides and gets up. You watch him at the stove, stare at the broad shoulders hidden beneath a denim shirt. You’d give almost anything for a glimpse into his thoughts.

“Can I have some whiskey?” you ask when Joel puts down a plate in front of you.

Tess raises her eyebrows at him when he says, “Sure,” but doesn’t say anything. You weren’t supposed to know about the whiskey, were you? And yet Joel decided to share it with you.

“Thanks,” you say when you get a small glass full of golden liquid. “How about you, Tess? Would you like some?”

The corner of her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smirk or bare her teeth at you. “Not tonight, thank you.”

You down the whole glass with one big gulp, then wait for Joel to join you at the table while a familiar warmth is spreading from your stomach to your limbs. You’d ask for another glass but that would be pushing it. The three of you eat silently, the only sounds the scraping of the spoons against the bowls. You keep your eyes fixed to your plate, counting down the pieces of meat and potatoes. Only five more to go. What will happen once you’re done? You should go back to your room. But there is something you need to know.

“Joel, can I ask you something?” You drop your spoon into your empty bowl loudly to make sure they’re both paying attention to you. Once Joel nods, you continue. “Once the snow melts and spring comes, do you also want me to leave?”

The way Tess’s cheeks turn red fills you with grim satisfaction. “It’s not a question of want -,” she starts, but you interrupt her.

“I asked Joel.”

Joel glances at Tess, then back at you. “Those are the rules,” he answers.

“Yeah, but whose rules?” you press. “You keep telling me you work for these people … I have no idea if you’re making it up or not. Maybe there is no group, maybe it’s just Tess who wants me to leave, and you’re playing along.”

Tess laughs. “You have no idea –”

“I’m talking to Joel, not you,” you interrupt her again.

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what you’re talking about.” The tone in her voice makes the hairs on your arms stand up with a charge of anger that hits you out of nowhere. “We took you in, we let you stay, but that doesn’t mean you get to question how we run things around here.”

“Careful,” Joel says, but you’re not sure if he means you or her.

“No, maybe it’s my fault,” Tess goes on. “I didn’t think you’d need to know the details, but you clearly do, because you’re convinced it’s me who decides things around here. That isn’t true. And the sooner you get over your resentment for me, the better.”

You hate that she can read you so well, how she sees right through you. “Oh, don’t pretend you’re only following orders.”

“I’m not,” Tess replies, her voice calm and even. “I’m breaking rules by letting you stay here, rules that could get us punished if they ever found out you were here. And I’m not talking about a slap on the wrist, I’m talking about the fucking death penalty. I’m not sending you away because I can’t wait to see the back of you, I’m sending you away because the alternative is death.”

You don’t want to believe her. “Then why can’t I just join you?”

“The penalty isn’t for staying here,” Joel says quietly. “It’s for bringing you here.”

You snort. “Then why didn’t you leave me out there to die?”

Joel glances at Tess, but Tess is already answering you. “Is that really what you would have wanted us to do?”

“If it means saving yourself, then yes.” Your chest tightens as soon as you’ve said it. It’s what you would have done, not them. They risked everything, even death, to help a stranger whereas you couldn’t even be bothered to help a friend.

You expect Tess to use that against you, but she doesn’t. “We’ve done a lot for you, more than anyone else would have done. I think it’s not asking too much of you to respect the rules.”

“The same rules that keep changing every day?” you challenge.

“Our rules,” Joel interjects. His deep voice, a low rumble, makes you pause. “If we say you leave when spring comes, then you leave. No questions asked.”

“Can’t I stay with you? You can just say you met me in the woods on the way to wherever it is you’re going next.”

Joel and Tess exchange a glance that’s impossible for you to read. Is it pity? Shame? Regret? But they don’t give you an answer.

“Or is it because you don’t want me to come with you?” you go on, weighing each word carefully even though the whiskey is rushing through your veins, edging you on. “Is it because I’m a threat to that little thing going on between the two of you? Are you scared I’m going to take him away from you, Tess?”

Joel freezes. And when Tess jumps out of her chair, you do too, so quickly it falls over and hits the floor with a loud bang. You want to stand your ground, show Tess you’re not scared of her, that you mean the things you’re saying, but she’s coming toward you, her eyes dark with rage, and you can’t help but take a few steps backwards, even if it means you’ve lost this standoff before it even properly began.

The thing that hurts the most is that you can see it now, you can see why Joel would choose to follow this woman to the ends of the earth. The way she carries herself – shoulders back, chin held high – the way she doesn’t let her emotions get the better of her but is carefully calculating her next steps, the way she slightly raises her right hand to signal Joel to stand back, is making your knees grow weak. You’re scared of her, she could tear you apart without breaking a sweat, but that tight knot that’s been curled up in your stomach all day is beginning to sink lower as your blood heats up.

“You don’t know anything about me and Joel.” Tess takes two steps toward you, you take two steps back. “And you’re not that special.”

You want Joel to say something, tell Tess she’s wrong, tell her that you’re just as important to him as she is. He doesn’t, of course. He just looks at you from where he’s still sitting at the dinner table, like this doesn’t concern him. Then he looks back at Tess and crosses his arms over his chest. Tess notices how your gaze wanders over her shoulder, how you look hopeful and then lost, how you slowly have to face that you’re fighting a losing battle. When she steps closer again, you stand your ground.

“Do you want him to fuck you, is that it?” she asks, her voice so quiet it’s hardly louder than a whisper. She’s mocking you, taunting you.

Joel is out of his chair now. “Tess,” he starts, but she raises her hand and he shuts up.

“Let her answer.”

The urge to look at him is almost unbearable, almost enough to break you. But you keep your eyes on her, on her slightly parted lips, her red cheeks, her dark eyes. And it makes you surrender.

“Yes,” you answer with a nod. “Yes, I want him to fuck me. But I also want you to.” You catch yourself by surprise with that admission, but as soon as the words have left your mouth you know it’s true. You’re not jealous of Tess because she got to Joel first, you’re jealous of them both because they have each other.

Tess laughs hollowly, like she doesn’t believe you. A minute ago, you wouldn’t have believed yourself either. You were acting like a fool, and even though you’re hurt by her rejection, you can’t really blame her for it. She licks her lips, uncertainty in her eyes as she scans your face for any deceit, for any sign you’re making fun of her. Or at least that’s what it looks like to you. The longer she stares, the more it dawns on her that she won’t find anything there. You’re telling the truth.

Behind her, Joel hasn’t moved. He stands next to the table, his hands balled into fists at his side, watching the both of you, like he’s unsure of what to do. Should he put a stop to this? Should he wait and see where this is going?

“Tess,” he repeats, less urgent than last time. She doesn’t interrupt him again, so he goes on. “Let’s give her at least that.”

It’s all the confirmation you need, all the evidence to put your mind at ease. He has been talking to Tess about you, he has been trying to argue your case, and … he’s not opposed to what you’re suggesting, which leaves you with a quickened heart.

“How do you know she’ll do as she’s told?” Tess asks, her eyes still on you.

“I’m sure she will,” Joel says, and then his gaze lands on you, laden with heat and lust.

You’re there and yet you aren’t. They talk about you like you can’t hear them, discuss what to do with you as if it doesn’t concern you, and it makes your head spin. But the way Joel looks at you and the way Tess’s gaze glides over your body makes you feel seen, wanted. It’s a dangerous mix, one that puts you in the spotlight, leaves you open and vulnerable without a backup plan, without any idea how this is going to go and no way out.

You bite your lip and lower your gaze.

Tess smirks, her momentary insecurity gone. She reaches past you, and opens the door to Joel’s bedroom, the same door that was closed to you the previous night. “Go on then.”

A strange feeling comes over you, a feeling of being trapped, of being at their mercy. You shouldn’t turn your back on them, you shouldn’t let them out of your sight. Joel, tall and dark in the middle of the kitchen licks his lips; Tess nods at you, a challenge in her gaze. She still doesn’t believe you, doesn’t think this is what you truly want. Adrenaline rushes through your bloodstream, makes your heart pound and your hands grow cold. You can’t wait to prove her wrong.

You walk backwards into the dark room, keeping your eyes on them. You’re not entirely sure how you got to this moment, what switch was flipped, what happened to put you at their mercy like this, but you’re convinced this is the natural conclusion to weeks of uncertainties and conflicting feelings, of wanting to run and stay put at the same time. You can’t have Joel without Tess, and you can’t have Tess without Joel, and from the way your body reacts to that realization, you know you don’t want to have it any other way. All the tension that’s been building over weeks and weeks is slowly fading away.

Joel and Tess follow you, leaving the door to the kitchen open. A small strip of fluorescent light is illuminating the bedroom, too weak for you to make out many details, but you don’t need to. The only thing that matters right now are the two people in front of you, the way they keep pushing you further into the dark without touching you. You’re not sure what happens next, if you’re supposed to do something or if they want you to follow their lead. And a very tiny but persistent part of you still isn’t sure if this is really happening or if they’re just toying with you.

But then your legs connect with the bed and you can’t go any further, so Tess catches up with you. She reaches for your wrist, grabs it hard, and twists until you’re forced to turn around, arm pinned to your back. Your breath comes in hot pants as you’re trying to evaluate the situation. The only problem you’re faced with is that your brain has stopped working at all and you’re unable to form a single thought trapped by her like this. She pulls you close so your back is pressing against her chest and she starts undoing your pants with nimble fingers.

“You’ll do as you’re told,” she whispers into your ear while she works. “If you don’t want to do something, you say stop, loud and clear. You’ll answer when spoken to. Is that understood?”

You try hard to make sense of her words but you’re overwhelmed. This is so different from what you’re used to – no one ever takes into consideration what you want. And right now, all you want is to be touched, that’s all you can think about. The only response you manage is a tight nod.

Tess only tightens her grip, making you gasp, and pushes a hand into your pants, palming you. “I’m going to have to hear you say it.”

Are you imagining it or is there a strain in her voice, a note of desperation?

You grab her wrist to hold her in place and roll your hips, her fingers brushing against your clothed clit. If she wasn’t holding you up, you would crumble in her arms. “Yes, I understand,” you manage.

One of Tess’s fingers presses upwards through your underwear, and you’re sure she can feel how soaked you are, but instead of feeling embarrassed, you feel a strange sense of purpose and liberation. You want her to know. You want her to want you just as much as you want her.

“Good,” she says, letting go of you, and you stumble toward the bed.

It takes you a few seconds to catch your breath, to make sense of your whereabouts, of the desperate longing with which your body reacts to the loss. Your senses are heightened – you smell the stew you had for dinner, the stale air of the closed-off room, taste the cold on your tongue, feel the coarse material of your heavy winter pants scratch your legs. Behind you, you hear their voices, whispering intently, negotiating something you don’t need to be a part of. You lower your pants with trembling hands, step out of them while almost falling over, and then you turn around to face them, trying to keep your self-consciousness at bay, pretending you’re much bolder than you actually feel. You might not be involved in the deal they’re making, but you’re still its subject, and the least they can do is acknowledge you.

They’re standing closely together. Joel is facing you fully, Tess is partly turned toward him. Their faces are cast in shadow, almost unreadable, but they’re looking at you, there’s no doubt about that. You cross your arms over your chest in defiance, trying to copy some of Tess’s strength you saw earlier. They might not involve you in the negotiations, but nothing happens without you agreeing to it, and you don’t want them to forget that. Tess made sure you understood the rules and you won’t hesitate to use them to your advantage if you have to. You can’t tell if you returning their stares has any effect on them, but after a while they seem to be coming to some kind of understanding. They don’t say anything to you, they even stop talking to each other, but you’re the focus of attention again, at least the focus of Joel’s.

With just a few steps he’s in front of you, imposing, blocking your view of Tess and the light from the kitchen. It’s dark and intimate, the way he demands your attention, the way he becomes your focus, and your throat is suddenly dry. To make sure you have no other choice but to look at him, he catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding your head in place. The sudden touch, soft yet determined, sends a jolt of pleasure through you that puts you even more on edge. And then he’s kissing you. It’s not romantic, nothing like the first kiss you shared with your fiancé, nothing like the first kisses that came afterwards. Joel isn’t gentle, he doesn’t give you time to get used to the feeling of his lips against yours, to his taste on your tongue. Instead, he takes and claims, making your knees weak and your core clench.

You kiss him back eagerly, pressing up against him, daring him to pull you close and make you his. You want more, more of his taste on your tongue, sharp and male, more of his body against yours, strong and so much more powerful, more of the way he bites your lip, your neck, with an urgency he can barely comprehend himself. Your hands find his belt buckle, but he slaps them away, then breaks off the kiss to pull your shirt over your head. He opens your bra next, quickly and without hesitation. You stand before him, almost naked, fully on display for him, while he is slightly out of breath but still finds his dignity intact.

His eyes roam your body, lingering on your naked chest for a while, scrutinizing your stomach, your thighs, and the flimsy excuse for underwear that leaves little to the imagination. Countless hours you spent wishing he would look at you like that and now that it’s coming true, you’re unsure of what to do with all of that attention, that calculation. You just know you want to rattle him like he’s rattling you.

“Like what you see?” you tease, your voice breathy from having been claimed by his kisses.

You get an honest answer, a hoarse, “Yes,” that makes your heart pick up speed. So much for rattling him.

With his big hand, Joel reaches up and cups one of your breasts. The sensation of his coarse skin against your much softer one makes you shudder, but you refuse to look away. Let him see what he does to you, let him know how much you’ve wanted this, ever since he killed that man in the woods for you. He massages your breast briefly, squeezes the nipple, rolls it between thumb and forefinger, catches your moan on his tongue. But before you can switch off your brain and surrender yourself fully to him, he grabs you and turns you around, just like Tess did earlier.

“On your knees.”

Joel says it through gritted teeth, like he’s barely able to hold back. You’re trembling so much with anticipation that climbing onto the bed is an almost impossible feat, one you should be proud of accomplishing in the end. Positioning yourself on all fours on the bed with Joel and Tess behind you leaves you in a vulnerable position, and the thrill of it makes you tremble even more. You lick your lips, chasing the taste Joel left in your mouth. From behind you comes the sound of him unbuckling his belt and your cunt clenches eagerly in anticipation when leather scrapes against metal. You grab the duvet under your hands hard, steadying yourself.

Nothing happens.

You wait for a few moments, but the room is quiet now. You don’t even dare to breathe, anticipating Joel’s next move. And then you hear it, the sound you heard the previous night – a deep, satisfied groan. Now that there is no door between you, it’s impossible for you to escape its pull.

You look over your shoulder to see Tess stroking him, twisting her fingers up and down his length. He is completely hard, visibly full and thick. His eyes are half closed and his head has fallen back somewhat, but Tess looks straight at you.

“Take off your underwear,” she orders.

You don’t immediately do as you’re told – you can’t. You’re transfixed by Joel’s dick, by how it dwarfs Tess’s hand in comparison, by how it twitches when she strokes across the glistening tip. He’s going to stretch you open, stretch you until it burns.

“Take off your underwear,” Tess repeats, her voice sharp with impatience.

Eager to follow her orders this time, scared she won’t let Joel fuck you if you don’t, you struggle briefly before returning to the same position, having discarded the last shred of clothing somewhere on the ground next to the bed. There is more movement behind you before Tess comes into view. Casually, she sits down on the edge of the bed so you’re facing her, so she’s facing Joel and you. She’s going to watch him fuck you. That realization is accompanied by a sudden rush of wetness between your legs.

Tess asks, “Is she ready?”

Suddenly, two of Joel’s fingers are between your legs, feeling for your arousal. Your eyes flutter shut and you moan deeply. “Yes,” he answers, his voice deep and husky, while he teases you, pushing the tip of his finger into you.

You let your head hang between your shoulders, already unable to catch your breath. If Tess reacts in any way, you have no way of knowing. Joel’s fingers leave you and are replaced by something much bigger, much more, something full and heavy pushing inside of you so slowly it feels like torture. You groan and whimper, moving so you’re resting on your lower arms and elbows instead of your hands while you still and try to accommodate him. The burn is definitely there, and it’s much more delicious than you had imagined. It’s not enough. You push back because you want more, but Joel immediately holds you in place by grabbing your hips, guiding himself into you with his other hand. When he’s fully sheathed, you’re stretched impossibly wide; it’s almost too much to handle and he hasn’t even started moving yet. He doesn’t give you a moment to adjust yourself, not even to catch your breath.

He pulls out almost all the way and pushes himself back into you hard. It’s enough to make your arms and legs tremble, and you bite your lip in an attempt to stifle a deep, desperate moan. It comes out as a sob anyway. With every thrust, the fabric of his jeans scrapes against the back of your thighs, a pleasant addition to the burn you already feel.

It doesn’t take long for Joel to pick up the pace. He does it with a rough grunt and you hear the sound of metal banging against metal when he does. He is still wearing his belt loosely around his hips, he’s still practically fully dressed. That image, even if it’s just a mental one for now, makes you crave more of him, more, more, more, and you push back again, meeting his thrusts. With a sharp slap, he places his other hand on your hip, holding you in place so he can fuck into you. You just have to take it.

“Please,” you want to whimper, but your voice is too weak. All you can do is hold onto the duvet.

“I want to see her face.”

You have almost forgotten that Tess is there, watching you getting fucked until you’re a desperate, whimpering mess. But Joel hasn’t forgotten. His fingers wrap around the hair at the back of your neck and he pulls roughly so your chin snaps up. It’s uncomfortable, the way he bends your back, the way your scalp screams for some relief, but it pushes you closer to the edge immediately. So does the look on Tess’s face.

She’s watching you, a hungry look in her eyes. Her mouth hangs slightly open and you can see her chest move as she takes deep, eager breaths. You’ve never been looked at like that. And she is looking at you, not Joel, you – straight into your eyes, watching pain and pleasure fight for dominance there. You’ve never had all that attention on you, and it awakens a desire deep within you that you hadn’t known was slumbering there. You want her to watch, to be unable to escape her gaze, be totally exposed to her.

And then you clench around Joel once, a second time, and before you know what’s happening, you’re coming. It catches you by surprise, makes your brain struggle to catch up with your body. Everything pulls taut and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. The flicker of triumph in Tess’s eyes is what finally makes you let go and you give in to pleasure, letting Joel fuck you through it. It’s violently intense, being stretched around him, clamping down, trying to hold him in place.

Until it’s all too much.

You reach back for him, tears stinging in your eyes, but he just lets go of your hair and grabs your wrist. With impossible strength he twists your arm onto your back and continues to fuck you with the same sharp, punishing pace as before, spurred on by your cunt fluttering desperately around him. All you can do is hold on, completely overstimulated. You let your head fall back down again, you let Joel take what he needs, and when he finally spills inside of you, you’re rewarded with a deep groan, and his hold on you tightening. It kindles another flame inside of you, that feeling of his hot pleasure dripping out of you when he pulls out. You need to feel it again, and soon. It doesn’t matter that his hands will leave bruises, that you’ll feel him between your legs for days. You’ve never known satisfaction like this.

Tess’s hand finds your cheek, soft and careful, and she coaxes you to lift your head. “Well done,” she says, and kisses you. “Lay down.”

You do as you’re told, only now realizing how stiff your arms and legs are, bathing in the afterglow of Tess’s praise. You also wouldn’t mind feeling this kind of satisfaction again.

For a short while, you allow yourself to rest, closing your eyes and sinking into the well-worn mattress. For the first time in weeks, all those confusing thoughts in your head are quiet and you can shut down. Curiosity quickly gets the better of you though, and when you open your eyes again, you find Tess standing next to Joel, running her fingers through his hair. She kisses him gently, almost carefully, and he closes his eyes and furrows his brow, getting lost in the moment. You can’t look away even though you probably should; this is their moment, not yours, but the intimacy of it has a pull that’s impossible to escape. It’s not just the intimacy between the two of them, it's also the fact that they know you’re here and are allowing you to become a part of this by letting you watch.

They’re still kissing when he starts to undress her, much slower than he undressed you, savoring every newly exposed bit of skin with gentle caresses. Your heart tightens at that sight, not because you’re jealous but because you understand. It’s not just about the quick release, the carnal act of it, it’s also about the intimacy, the giving, the ability to be vulnerable around each other. They’re offering you those same things.

Once Joel is done and Tess is completely naked, you’ve propped yourself up on your elbow, watching her with interest. She crawls into bed next to you, and from the smirk on her face you know it’s not because she wants to catch some rest. She lies down on your right side and takes your hand, placing it between her legs. She’s soaked. You can’t help it – your face heats up at that realization, at being caught off-guard by it. You hadn’t expected her to be affected by this at all, and proof of the opposite gives you a pleasant rush.

The same smirk is still on her face when she moves her hand between your legs. You whimper when she rolls your clit under her finger, still overstimulated, still too keyed up from earlier, but she kisses you gently and whispers, “Shhh, it’s okay,” against your lips. You try to relax, and it comes easy, giving yourself over to her gentle touch. She watches your reactions, making sure she gets it just right, and you’re content to let her explore, to let her discover how you want to be touched. Soon, you push your hips upward again, eager for more. Next to you, she moans and gasps softly as you continue to stroke her clit as best as you can while all the blood is rushing down from your brain. Still, the little sounds she makes are reward enough.

Then something shifts. You’re not sure what it is, whether it’s the hoarse moan that escapes you, whether it’s the way you make her shudder when you apply more pressure, whether it’s the way the mattress dips on Tess’s other side as Joel sits down on the bed. But her hand moves faster. She presses her fingers against you harder, and uses her free hand to grab your hair, tangling her fingers in the strands. You can’t move, completely at her mercy, and she uses that to her advantage to kiss you roughly, hungrily, all the gentleness replaced by carnal desire. You let her bite your lip, scrape her teeth along your neck, press into you hard, let her give you what she thinks you deserve.

When you come, it catches you by surprise. Your whole body tenses up before you erupt into desperate pants and moans, rolling your hips against her hand to chase as much friction as you can, pulsating so hard Tess can most likely feel it against her fingers. Instead of teasing you about it, she just growls, “Yeah, that’s it. Let go,” which makes you moan even louder. They both make it so easy to give yourself over to them, to trust them.

You’re still trembling when you open your eyes, you still twitch and pulse when you try to catch your breath. Swallowing hard, you try to calm yourself, but your head is spinning from one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had. A small part of you starts to feel embarrassed about how desperate you were, how much you let your guard down, and you find yourself unable to look at Tess, even when she continues to kiss your neck and shoulder, so you look at Joel instead.

He lies propped up on his elbow on Tess’s other side, watching you come undone under Tess’s skilled touch. His chest and neck are an angry red, almost a deep purple in the dim of the bedroom. He’s half-hard again, his cock hanging heavy between his legs. You clench one final time at the memory of him inside of you, and Tess finally removes her hand, falling back onto the mattress with a satisfied sigh.

Joel doesn’t let either one of you catch a break. He grabs the wrist of your hand that’s still between Tess’s legs and moves it lower, pushing two of your fingers into her. She clenches around you and groans, her eyes fluttering closed. The sound gets stuck in her throat when Joel presses his thumb against her clit and begins to move it in a lazy circle. You try to match the pace, pumping your fingers lazily in and out of her, glad for a chance to finally be the one who watches. You watch as Tess opens her eyes, watch as her gaze lands on Joel, watch as they get completely lost in the moment and in each other. They seem to be forgetting you’re there with them and you let them for a while before you decide to remind them.

You move lower and tentatively lick across Tess’s nipple before sucking it into your mouth. The small peak is hard against your tongue and you glow with pride and satisfaction when Tess arches her back and groans, digging her nails into your thigh. The sharp pain only spurs you on, eager to please, eager to make her forget herself like you forgot yourself when she was fucking you. You start to pump your fingers in and out of her faster, harder, and Joel, understanding, stops teasing her. Her eyes wide, her gaze still on Joel, she groans, “Joel, fuck. Please.”

The pull in the pit of your stomach at hearing her voice so raw and desperate makes you shift. Joel kisses her forehead to try to calm her, then raises his eyes and looks at you. “Fuck her.”

You do as you’re told, stifling a moan by teasing Tess’s nipple with your teeth, curling your fingers inside of her, putting all your strength into your thrusts. You’re rewarded with shallow breathing, and trembling limbs, and when she finally comes, she comes hard, holding your fingers inside of her with hard clenches. You’ve never felt anything like it, and the hunger for more is a sharp, burning sensation at the base of your spine. Will you ever be sated?

You collapse against her chest, your arm burning from the strain of keeping you propped up for so long, and Tess strokes your head with a trembling hand. Joel leans over her and kisses her cheek.

“You okay?” he asks softly, almost too quietly for you to hear.

She nods and swallows, the muscles in her neck twitching. Closing your eyes, you grant yourself a moment’s rest, listening to her slowing heartbeat, afraid that if you move, this moment might shatter into a million pieces.

After a while, Tess pulls on your arm and makes you roll over her, so you come to rest between her and Joel. She takes your hand into hers and places it at the base of Joel’s cock, now hard and heavy again. You blink a few times, still somewhat out of your body, floating around, not sure what is happening. All you can feel are Tess’s fingers wrapped around yours, and yours wrapped around him. But then she begins to guide you up and down his shaft. Slowly at first, making sure you’re able to take it all in, feel how hot he is, feel the little veins and soft skin, the way he twitches when she makes you tighten your grip. You only fully realize what is happening when he groans softly and screws his eyes closed. Then you know.

Tess shows you how to twist your hand on the upstroke to make him gasp, to make the sinews in his neck stand out, and then she lets go of you, putting you in charge. “He wanted this, you know,” she whispers into your ear, her voice low with pleasure. “He sometimes thinks about what your hand would feel like wrapped around his cock.”

You don’t care whether she’s making it up or not, her words make your core tighten, especially when he follows them with a groaned, “Tess,” that almost sounds like a warning. It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, she lets you have the fantasy, and she lets you have the real thing too.

Then she adds, “I think he told me about it shortly after he heard you moan his name in the middle of the night.”

A sudden pang of embarrassment almost makes you let go, but Tess closes her fingers around yours again. “No, keep going.”

You feel the heat of Tess’s body at your back, the heat radiating off Joel’s chest, and you’re eager to comply. What does it matter now? They know how you feel about them and they don’t mind. After all, Joel came inside of you not even half an hour ago, and Tess came around your fingers, leaving little halfmoon marks in your thigh with her nails.

“I just didn’t think you’d like to be fucked by me, too,” Tess goes on, running her fingers along your thigh, teasing you, making you gasp and writhe.

“Faster,” Joel growls.

You don’t pick up the pace immediately – it’s not your call.

“Go on, it’s all right,” Tess grants. She kisses your neck when you pick up speed, two soft pecks right behind your ear. “Good girl.”

It’s meant for you, so quiet only you can hear it, and it makes you abandon all restraint. You sneak a hand between your legs and touch yourself. Tess lets you.

“Can I kiss him?” you ask, unable to keep your eyes off Joel’s brown ones that appear almost black now, clouded with desire.

“Joel?” Tess asks.

Joel nods, his eyes wandering to your lips, his tongue darting out to lick his own.  You roll over so you come to rest on your knees and lean forward, your fingers still circling your clit. He captures your lips, growls against them, pushes his tongue into your mouth hungrily. Behind you, Tess strokes the back of your thighs, teasing you, making you twitch and gasp and squeeze Joel’s cock until he growls. Without warning, Joel grips your hair and he comes, spilling all over your hand and his stomach in hot, white ropes. You come too, wet heat rushing down your thighs and onto Tess’s fingers.

Tess presses a kiss to your back and you hear her chuckle softly as she gets up to look for a clean piece of cloth. You fall down next to Joel, curled up on your side, watching him. He runs a finger through his cum, coats your lips with it – and then he leans forward to kiss you, to chase his own taste with his tongue.

When Tess comes back, Joel cleans you first and then himself before he makes you lie back down between them, facing Tess. The two of you kiss lazily, unhurried, while Joel strokes your back, running his fingers down your spine.

After a while, Tess kisses the top of your head, then tugs you in beneath her chin. “You’ll still have to leave when the snow thaws out.”

“When the snow thaws out,” you agree.

***

joel miller taglist: @commalins​​​ | @mandinlore​​​ | @mumma_moonchild | @n7cje​​ | @ronica-dl​​​ | @swimmjacket​​​

permanent taglist: @amneris21​​​ | @aurelacmoon | @din-jarhead​​​ | @harriedandharassed​​​ | @joel-tess​​​ | @littlemissthistle​​​ | @martellthemandalor​​​ | @nyfeeer | @nobodys-baby-now​​​ | @od-ends​​​ | @pedrorascal​​​ | @pedrostories​​

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller x reader x tess servopoulos #joel miller x you x tess servopoulos #tess servopoulos x reader #tess servopoulos x you #tess servopoulos #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the overlook

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #5 – The Tusks of Extinction by Ray Nayler

I read Nayler’s The Mountain in the Sea last year and, despite thinking it was ultimately kind of a noble failure, liked it more than enough to give his new novella a try. It didn’t hurt that the premise as described in the marketing copy sounded incredible. I can’t quite say it was worth it, but that’s really only because this novella barely cost less than the 500-page doorstopper I picked up at the same time and I need to consider economies here – it absolutely lived up to the promise of its premise.

The book is set a century and change into the future, when a de-extinction initiative has gotten funding from the Russian government to resurrect the Siberian mammoth – or, at least, splice together a chimera that’s close-enough and birth it from african elephant surrogate mothers – to begin the process of restoring the prehistoric taiga as a carbon sink. The problem: there’s no one on earth left who knows how wild mammoth are supposed to, like, live- the only surviving elephants have been living in captivity for generations. Plop the ressurectees in the wilderness and they’ll just be very confused and anxious until they starve. The solution: the technology to capture a perfect image of a human mind is quite old, and due to winning some prestigious international award our protagonist – an obsessive partisan of elephant conservation – was basically forced to have her mind copied and put in storage a few months before she was killed by poachers.

So the solution of who will raise and socialize these newly created mammoths is ‘the 100-year-old ghost of an elephant expert, after having her consciousness reincarnated in a mammoth’s body to lead the first herd as the most mature matriarch’. It works better than you’d expect, really, but as it turns out she has some rather strong opinions about poachers, and isn’t necessarily very understanding when the solution found to keep the project funded involves letting some oligarch spend a small country’s GDP on the chance to shoot a bull and take some trophies.

So this is a novella, and a fairly short one – it’s densely packed with ideas but the length and the constraints of narrative mean that they’re more evoked or presented than carefully considered. This mostly jumps out at me with how the book approaches wildlife conservation – a theme that was also one of the overriding concerns of Mountain where it was considered at much greater length. I actually think the shorter length might have done Nayler a service here, if only because it let him focus things on one specific episode and finish things with a more equivocal and ambiguous ending than the saccharine deux ex machina he felt compelled to resort to in Mountain.

The protection of wildlife is pretty clearly something he’s deeply invested in – even if he didn’t outright say so in the acknowledgements, it just about sings out from the pages of both books. Specifically, he’s pretty despairing about it – both books to a great extent turn around how you convince the world at large to allow these animals to live undisturbed when all the economic incentives point the other way, a question he seems quite acutely aware he lacks a good answer to.

Like everyone else whose parents had Jurassic Park on VHS growing up, I’ve always found the science of de-extinction intensely fascinating – especially as it becomes more and more plausible every day. This book wouldn’t have drawn my eye to nearly the degree it did if I don’t remember the exact feature article I’d bet real money inspired it about a group of scientists trying to do, well, exactly the same thing as the de-extinctionists do in the book (digital resurrection aside). The book actually examines the project with an eye to practicalities and logistics – and moreover, portrays it as at base a fundamentally heroic, noble undertaking as opposed to yet another morality tale about scientific hubris. So even disregarding everything else it had pretty much already won me over just with that.

The book’s portrayal of the future and technology more generally is broader and less carefully considered, but it still rang truer than the vast majority of sci fi does – which is, I suppose, another way of saying that it’s a weathered and weather-beaten world with new and better toys, but one still very fundamentally recognizable as our own, without any great revolutions or apocalyptic ruptures in the interim. Mosquito's got CRISPR’d into nonexistence and elephants were poached into extinction outside of captivity, children play with cybernetically controlled drones and the president of the Russian Federation may or may not be a digital ghost incarnated into a series of purpose-grown clones, but for all that it’s still the same shitty old earth. It’s rather charming, really.

#book review #the tusks of extinction #ray nayler #sff #cli fi

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

Kaiju Weeks in Review (September 10-30, 2023)

I adore Godzilla Final Wars, but it's a movie with an identity crisis, unsure whether it wants to be headlining a Toho Champion Festival or mesmerizing American teenagers at a mid-aughts multiplex. @spacehunter-m's Final Wars 2004: The Year We Make Corn-Tack gives it a strong tug in the first direction, whittling the runtime down to 77 minutes and replacing most of the music and sound effects. She was inspired by Space Warriors 2000, of all things; as she put it, both films are "largely comprised of nonstop, monotonous action." As in that bizarro Ultraman compilation film, the kaiju trash-talk each other. It makes you wonder why Ryuhei Kitamura didn't at least bring back the speech bubbles from Godzilla vs. Gigan. Kaiju fan edits are rare, and this is in a class all by itself. Download it here.

Shigeru Kayama's novelizations of Godzilla (1954) and Godzilla Raids Again are out—hopefully the first of many to come. My copy only arrived on Saturday, so I haven't had the chance to read the whole thing yet, but I've made it through Godzilla. It's interesting to see Kayama, who wrote the initial treatment, take another swing at the story after the film was finished. He puts back moments like Godzilla eating a cow and attacking a lighthouse, and is also more overt with the wartime allusions. There's an incredible moment where Dr. Yamane muses that studying Godzilla and learning his secrets could be Japan's way of redeeming itself after "caus[ing] a great deal of trouble to people throughout the world." Note that these are novella-length, so much less in-depth than the novelizations of American Godzilla films you might be used to (Godzilla Raids Again is less than 80 pages). The book ends with an afterword by translator Jeffrey Angles contextualizing the tales.

Godzilla: War for Humanity continues to be a standout IDW miniseries. There's a new and very weird monster in the second issue, plus a no-nonsense Mothra (she tries to recruit Godzilla to fight Zoospora by shooting him in the back of the head and dragging him into the ocean in front of Minilla).

I've also got to mention the solicitation for another Godzilla Rivals installment, due December 20. Nola Pfau is writing, Megan Huang is illustrating.

Jen Onça is not excited to start her new, fast-paced fast-food career at Minilla Burger, but she'd much prefer a mundane day to the sudden return of Megalon! The monster brings destruction, trapping Jen in a forgotten lab deep beneath the restaurant with only the half-built form of Jet Jaguar to help her get out! She must repair the robotic defender to save herself and the city, but first she needs to escape the rubble trapping her in this tense adventure!

Yuzo the Biggest Battle in Tokyo, Yoshikazu Ishii's follow-up to Attack of the Giant Teacher, has also been picked up by SRS Cinema. No release details yet. I can't really speak to the film either, since it screened at the same time as Yumiko Shaku's panel at G-Fest, but as you can see from the poster, it's set during the pandemic.

The GAMERA -Rebirth- Gyaos has joined Godzilla Battle Line as an unusual sort of swarm unit. Your first summon of the match calls forth two sub-adults, and by the fifth summon you're sending out two sub-adults and three adults, still for four energy. They're probably the best swarm in the game, though still highly vulnerable to AOE units like Godzilla '01. I'm having fun with them in the Challenge Battles.

Notzilla, one of the sharpest kaiju comedies out there, is unexpectedly getting the graphic novel treatment. Mitch Teemley is adapting his own screenplay, with art by Zumart Putra. The comic is already finished, although I'm not clear on how folks who didn't back the Kickstarter (which wrapped on September 11) will get it. Useless trivia: the terrific cover above (one of four) is by Ben Dunn, who wrote the How to Draw Manga book I poured over in middle school.

After Troll shattered Netflix streaming records (according to Netflix), it's not super surprising that the company wants a sequel. Priority one: coming up with a title that's not Troll 2. Screenwriter Espen Aukan and director Roar Uthaug will both return.

Toy highlights of the past few weeks:

After confusing everyone by teasing its silhouette the day before April Fools', Tamashii has fully unveiled an S.H.Monsterarts Godzilla '72, a rare Showa figure from the line. It comes with two heads, one of them bloodied (see above). Due at the end of February.

After finally running out of ways to repaint their mold of Hedorah's Perfect Stage, Bandai is making a Movie Monster Series figure of the kaiju's Landing Stage. A Godzilla Store exclusive, it'll be released October 25.

After over two years, Funko is releasing a trio of Godzilla Singular Point Pops. Hopefully they go all-out with this show—it's not like there's any other plausible way for a Satomi Kanahara figure to exist.

#godzilla #kaiju week in review #godzilla final wars #troll #notzilla #gyaos #yuzo the biggest battle in tokyo #kaiju

[nightmare-castle]

Small update before bigger update:

So if y’all happen to glance at the Internet once in a while you might’ve noticed the explosion in AI tech over the past year-ish, especially the development done with LLMs (large language models) and related services such as ChatGPT.

As a software engineer and computer scientist who’s been working on web services, applications and yeah, those infamous online chatbots of yesteryear like Alicebot-type pre-programmed chatterbots for decades, I (Novella) jumped on the chance to get into the development of this tech early. The field is moving so fast that it’s quite literally developing by the hour, and it’s been an experience unlike anything I’ve previously worked on, to say the least. And the past year of craziness in this rapidly emerging field is just the beginning.

So while I’m indeed working on these AI development projects until the early hours some nights, I’m still chipping away at Nightmare Castle when I can. I know, it’s been forever, but like I’ve said before - no matter how long it takes or whatever slows things down, I’m not willing to give this project up. It’s changed a bit over that time, but I believe it’s definitely change for the better, and if I hadn’t ended up being delayed a few times along the road I don’t think I would’ve been nearly as satisfied with the result. I’m still very much excited and passionate about this little pet project and I’m looking forward to sharing more of it soon.

In the meantime, start preparing to meet your new AI overlords 😈

#nightmare castle #game dev update #undertale

[acourtofthought]

The description of ACOFAS on SJM's website:

"She finds those dearest to her have more wounds than she anticipated - scars that will have a far - reaching impact on the future of their court"

"She" as in Feyre.

ACOFAS excerpts:

We are told that ACOFAS bridges the gap between ACOWAR and future books. That those future books have something to do with those dearest to her who have more wounds than she anticipated - scars that will have a far-reaching impact on the future of their court.

And who are the characters who are the primary focus of Feyre's worries?

Elain. Lucien. Nesta.

Not Az.

It is their trauma that is Feyre's focus in ACOFAS.

Nesta as she hides herself away from the others.

Elain as she spends hours mourning Graysen, her father, her lost human life.

Lucien who she admits that she is partially to blame for the rift between he and Tamlin, Lucien who she apologizes to for being an asshole, Lucien who she again offers a home in the NC too.

Lucien, Nesta, and Elain who she tells Mor she wants to be happy.

Lucien who she tells Elain is a good male, twice.

Lucien, whose gloves to Elain she thinks about in SF.

And whose scars might have a far reaching impact on the future of their court?

"You ruined any chance I have of going back to Spring. Not to Tamlin, but the court beyond his house. Everyone either still believes the lies you spun or they believe me complicit in your deceit".

"You will need Tamlin as an ally before the dust has settled. Tread carefully".

Spring is key because of its location.

Yet in SF, we have the IC continue aggravating Tamlin when Nesta visits his lands.

Also in SF:

It sort of sounds like the problems with Tamlin and Spring are a pretty major concern, do they not? Something that they addressed as a major concern in the novella and continued on in SF?

Problems that might have a far reaching impact considering Beron wants to take over its weakened lands. Far reaching when there was the concern of what might happen to the humans now that the wall is down, the human lands which border Spring. That those on the continent are still looking to make trouble.

Is Az connected to Tamlin or Spring in any meaningful way?

Who did we later learn as being made for Spring? Whose scent is a promise of spring?

Which character was later stationed in Spring to be the eyes and ears of the NC?

In the novella, Feyre wanted happiness for Nesta, Elain and Lucien. Her worry was for them, not Az.

It's not that Az won't get his HEA, of course he will, but I doubt he'd be getting one with Elain when it was Lucien that Feyre was worried about in the novella and Elain and Lucien who were tied to Spring in a major way in the most recent book. A court we know they need as a strong ally but do not have with Tamlin in his current state, a court we know Lucien still has sadness over because of the events of ACOWAR.

It was Lucien who Feyre told Elain of being a good male.

It was Lucien and Elain that she wanted happiness for and Mor who offered Feyre "a kernel of truth" when she told them all they needed was time.

It's been over a year since Mor spoke those words to her.

Bring on the Elucien endgame.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #anti e/riel #pro lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #acofas #acosf #pro elain archeron #feyre acotar #spring court #tamlin acotar

[justallihere]

Your last chapter just made me think about whether Devera is just sympathetic to the cause or

—pause while I was interrupted by my grandmother and had to suffer through them talking about just right wing things, send fucking help honestly there's only so much I can take, I should have left sitq for later as a reward 😭—

ANYWAY, what if Devera has like, a Poromish cousin or something she's in touch with? Because she was the one who pointed out later in IF "which means there’s every chance that when you fly against a drift, you could encounter a distant relative."

I feel like she's my favourite and I need to know more about her

Devera is that bitch for real!! I know everyone has opinions about what little side stories they want to see in the Empyrean world but I want a novella of Devera and Felix falling in love and having little badass babies

In sitq she is definitely more than just, uh, sympathetic to the cause. She’s got people outside of Navarre keeping her up to date

#storm in the quiet

[britcision]

Hey guys

I have present for you

Not sure if there will be a WIP Wednesday this week since I’m con crunching and we leave on Thursday, soooo… this will tide you over I’m sure! The completed chapter 15!

Previous Chapter:

First chapter and AO3 link:

————-

I’ll Take The Highway

Time was almost slipping away too quickly in the milkshake bar, and Danny wished he didn’t have to keep an eye on it.

(Well. Seriously hoped. Even in the privacy of his head, he couldn’t make it a wish.)

He had to get Tucker back to MIT though, and back to Gotham in a reasonable time frame to get to bed before class tomorrow.

If he got to bed before midnight, there might be a chance for he and Jason to run to the Far Frozen in the morning. Or after, Danny’s classes didn’t run late. Or…

He was missing out on the fun today, trying to plan tomorrow. Much as Jazz would love him being more organised, he pushed it to the back of his mind.

They’d visit Frostbite soon. And find out how Jason’s core was, though Danny was beginning to think he knew. Here, when Jason was happy and relaxed? Not tensed, shut down, or angry?

Danny could definitely feel something he hadn’t before. Not exactly the same as another ghost, or any of the other halfas, not yet.

But it was almost like Box Lunch’s fresh core seen through a house of mirrors.

Maybe that was what had him so close to the edge today? It was taking some pretty serious effort not to react to even the mention of an old threat to Jason.

Jason, the sweet baby ghost.

And if his smile was a little sappy at that thought, well, that was no one’s business but his own. At least he had something to sit on for when his rogues started embarrassing baby stories.

Finally he couldn’t put it off anymore. Too much to do, friends to fly across country, and he still hadn’t found a good way to ask Waylon his question. He just… well.

He’d given Jason all the server info, the stuff about who his rogues were, how he beat them, the things they’d learned about the Infinite Realms. They’d even shared some stories around different bits.

That didn’t exactly explain what he wanted to ask Waylon about. And it really wasn’t something he was comfortable sharing just yet, even if he already knew it was dumb.

Jason was a good guy. Who hung out with Batman, who was apparently an asshole. He wouldn’t judge Danny for having some dark and fucked up stories in all the zany ones.

Fuck, maybe Waylon could tell him how Jason would react. It was gonna come up, it’d have to, and Danny really would feel better having someone else’s opinion.

He was reluctant to interrupt their good time, another story devolving into laughter, but it was getting into the afternoon and… well, he also had no idea how long this would take.

“Hey, uh, by the way. I’ve gotta head out in a bit, dropping Tuck back off in Massachusetts, I just wanted to talk to Waylon for a minute first? In private?” Because if Danny had learned one thing?

Direct worked best.

It worked now, Harley nodding along and hopping up, cartwheeling her way along the table and out of the booth.

“Say no more, Danno! C’mon, Jayjay, I wanted ta catch up with you on somethin’ too, so this works perfectly!” She declared cheerfully, giving Jason a fond tug to his fluffy white streak of hair.

Jason shot Danny a look that was half commiserating, half curious as he slid out of the both after her, but Danny was too busy staring into an imagined hellscape where Harley met Jack Fenton.

Fuck Dan, the world couldn’t handle that.

By the time he came back to himself, he and Waylon were alone in the booth, the big man watching him curiously.

“So, what’s on yer mind, kid?” He asked in a low voice, folding his arms on the edge of the table and leaning in.

Secret villain hideaway or not, this wasn’t something Danny wanted just anyone overhearing, so he beckoned Waylon closer to his end of the booth first, tucked into the wall.

The big guy slid his way surprisingly delicately down the seat, then leaned in again, watching Danny expectantly.

Which was when Danny realised he shoulda probably thought about a good way to put this.

Blunt it was gonna have to be.

“So… you… Harley said people called you Killer Croc before you ever hurt anyone?” He said in a rush, flinching at how bad it actually sounded said aloud.

Waylon… did not have eyebrows to raise, and it was really fucking weird that he was noticing that now, but it was definitely what he’d been doing, and Danny was distracting himself again.

“They did,” Waylon agreed a moment later, his voice low and even. Guard up, but not defensive. Not closing the topic off.

Danny huffed out a sigh, and found he couldn’t quite meet the man’s eyes. Found himself intently examining the diamond pattern on the formica tables. His own hands, twisting in front of him over that pattern.

“You… you became what they said you were. A monster.” The words caught in his throat, hard to spit out and shit he thought he was past this.

It had been years.

A scaled green hand covered his, and Danny found himself surprised by how smooth the scales were. Far from soft, but not rough. Almost smoother than the table.

“Who called you a monster, kid?” Waylon asked softly, his voice gruff with something too close to understanding.

Danny’s head snapped up and he shook it quickly, sucking in a deep breath.

“Oh, no one. Not for like, a really long time now. And they said sorry and everything, it’s not that. It’s… you gave into it. Let them make you something wrong and dangerous, and you stopped. How did you stop?” He asked quietly, finally finding it easier to look at Waylon’s face.

He looked surprised.

**

Finding Jason had been harder than usual. He’d never turned his phone back on after last night, and Bruce was still wrestling with one of his least favourite (and most common) side effect of a concussion; light sensitive headaches.

Even with the screen brightness all the way down, it was hard to even look at the batcomputer while he waited for Constantine to arrive.

None of his usual tricks were helping, spikes of pain jabbing behind his eyes every time he tried to scan the cameras for Jason’s presence.

It was Babs who found him in the end, taking her lunch at the library late to help him out. She had whole programs to scan the security cameras of Gotham for her, trained to recognise any bat or rogue from any angle.

False positives happened, but usually didn’t take more than a look to confirm or deny. They were extremely accurate.

Bruce would know.

He had copies of the same programs.

They just weren’t running properly.

He was probably still tired. He’d been pushing himself while injured, as usual, and as usual Alfred would be eager to tell him he’d been overtaxing himself too hard to work efficiently.

And then Constantine was late.

By the time the magician arrived, Bruce was regretting having taken a break to sleep at all. He should have sorted this out last night, before ever calling Jason.

They could have picked a time to meet, and while Bruce was fully aware Jason might have just told him to fuck off, he might not have. Especially if Bruce had promised to leave him alone.

He knew better than to ask Jason to introduce Danny to Constantine.

Barbara had generously kept an eye on Jason in the interim, and by the time Batman and Constantine were ready to go he seemed to have settled in Freeze’s place.

The Frozen Fields. Named for his wife, who Bruce’s top scientists still wouldn’t be able to save.

Along with Harley, Waylon Jones, and Danny.

Of course he was with Danny.

Half the city seemed to be intent on frustrating him today. They’d taken the Batmobile, and while he tended to only drive it in emergencies (and after dark), it still barely sped the journey through the city traffic.

It always felt wrong, sitting and waiting with the rest of the cars in the Batmobile. Didn’t match the “lurking justice in the shadows”. Which Constantine was quick to remind him.

Bruce just gripped the steering wheel tighter, sucked in a deep breath, and nearly bit his tongue when they finally edged up to an intersection only for the light to turn red.

**

Waylon sat back in his seat, back scraping against the wall of the booth as he surveyed the kid in front of him.

Little squirt was tougher ‘n he looked, that much was definitely true. Harley had given him the short run down on their way to the milkshake bar, all the powers she knew he had.

And that he’d been hunted by his folks for a while. Waylon knew how that kinda shit could mess ya up.

He appreciated the heads up too, cuz this kinda shit coming up outta nowhere? Also pretty damn rough. He’d wondered if the kid just wanted to come along for another fight.

If he just wanted another chance to say he’d looked Killer Croc in the eye.

But there was no real bravado there, not even when he challenged Waylon to a rematch. Shit, the kid treated him more normal than most of his henchmen had ever managed to.

Made sense, knowing he was part a ghost an’ fought ghost rogues, but it left Waylon wondering. Apparently he was getting his answer.

Same damn question he’d asked himself a thousand times, ‘specially around the kind of young vigilantes who’d taken a turn to the bad.

Didn’t mean he had a good answer.

He regarded the kid for a long minute, watching the fidgeting, the sudden shyness from a boy who’d literally tackled him from behind on a whim.

This wasn’t just an idle question. Something made him sure of that, and he’d never been involved in all that much of the really weird shit. You heard stories, especially in Arkham.

So he decided to give the kid the best answer he had.

“Cuz I was the worst version of myself. I let myself be the monster they thought I was, got pretty good at it. But it never made me happy.” He paused, mulling it over.

Chuckled softly and looked down into his half drunk milkshake. It was kinda funny how obvious it seemed, in hindsight.

“Shit, there was never even anythin’ I wanted. Not like Penguin, Freeze, or the others. People treated me like a monster so I tried to be one, cuz why the hell not? Couldn’t be worse, could it?”

His gaze shifted back to Danny’s face, watching the kid’s expression. No judgement, which was nice. But he did look confused.

“So you just… got sick of it?” Danny asked, his brows furrowed as he played with his fingers.

Waylon chuckled and shook his head.

“Kinda. Spent a while thinkin’ if people couldn’t treat me with respect, fear’d do. But it ain’t the same. An’ I never had the drive or creative cruelty to stand out in Gotham.”

Danny looked a little incredulous at that, eyebrows rising, but he caught himself before commenting. Snickered and shook his head.

“Yeah, I guess being in a city that’s used to people like Scarecrow and the Joker puts “big and green” into perspective,” he agreed dryly, and Waylon laughed.

It felt good to laugh.

“Oh yeah. City’s got more than its share of low level thugs anyway. I spent a while as extra muscle for the big boys, but I ain’t the takin’ orders sort,” he explained with a modest shrug.

Danny grinned, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward.

“What, a shy and retiring guy like you?” He asked, clearly teasing, and Waylon waved a hand dismissively.

“I’m lucky it was Gotham,” he added after a moment, reflection sobering his mood. “Got sent t’ Arkham. Met Harley. An’ the Bat’s not all that bad. He tried gettin’ me outta the life a couple times.”

Danny cocked his head, a slight frown returning to his face. Following Waylon’s lead.

“How did Batman try and get you out?” There was a little too much intensity for it to be a casual question, and Waylon noted it. Not that he’d figure it out on his own.

Just tryin’ to make sure he didn’t damage the kid.

“Oh, there were a couple ways. Got me moved down to Florida once. Out in the green, away from people. I figured bein’ a wild animal might be more my speed, but it wasn’t. An’ it got messy when I left. Like that whatever he tried, really. There’s lines you can’t uncross.”

Lines like being a cannibal.

Not that he was sobbin’ on a preacher’s shoulder about it. Most of the people he’d eaten were assholes who’d deserved it, and it’d been a preference, not a need.

For all people loved to go on about him eatin’ kids and babies, he’d never actually done it. A guy had to have standards.

Made it easy to stop, once he was in a better head space. He and Harley had talked a lotta old shit out.

Kid didn’t need to know those grisly details though, at least not from his own mouth. Watching Danny a moment longer, Waylon came to a decision.

“Look, kid. There’s a lotta reasons people go bad. Some of ‘em can’t be helped. But if they’re not gettin’ anything out of it, if there’s no goal? The appeal runs out. And sometimes all it takes is someone willin’ to reach down an’ haul yer back up to the light.”

He wouldn’t ask if that was the case with whoever the kid wanted to help. Everyone heard stories, ‘specially about heroes meeting their evil selves.

The fear looked personal, but the asking coulda been for anyone. Waylon was in no rush to judge.

Danny mulled over his words for a while, lips moving soundlessly as he frowned down at the table. This time when he looked up, there was a peace in his eyes.

He’d come to a decision. Good for him.

“Thanks, Waylon. You seem like a pretty great guy to me,” he said simply, and Waylon definitely did not feel a lump in his throat.

“This is after years o’ Harley workin’ on me,” he grumbled gruffly. Shaking his head, he slurped down the last of his milkshake quickly.

Nothing like brain freeze to explain being a little misty eyed.

**

Jason didn’t exactly object to being led out of the bar by Harley; Danny wanted to talk to Waylon in private.

Jason had figured Danny had something to ask the guy about. He hadn’t exactly expected not to be part of the conversation, but that was fine.

He’d know if Danny got into trouble. Fuck, Danny could handle any trouble Gotham could dish out, probably. And the rogues had some basic manners; not starting shit in Freeze’s place was one of them.

Penguin might put the squeeze on and make your life uncomfortable if you lit up the Iceberg Lounge. Dr Freeze’s cold shoulder was a lot more literal, and he didn’t do “proportional response”.

So yeah, he could be cool and give Danny some space.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise that Harley wanted to talk to him either, although he still didn’t see the point. But he let her guide him around the side of the building to a back alley anyway.

“Still fine, Harley,” he said before she could get started, both hands raised in front of him.

She gave him an all too knowing look and hopped up to sit on the dumpster. Put her about a head taller than him. Not that he cared.

“Sure, kid. You’ve been goin’ through a lot though, so I gotta ask; is there anythin’ ya wanna talk to Auntie Harley about?” She asked in her sweetest voice, interlacing her fingers under her chin and batting her lashes.

Jason snickered and leaned against the other side of the alley.

Shit, he wasn’t even annoyed with her play acting. The pit was a happy little puddle in his chest, all sunshine and roses.

A week ago he’d have walked away. Been pissed at wasting his time, getting in his way. How much of that had been because of the Lazarus pits, the problems with the ectoplasm he’d apparently been supposed to be solving?

Was that why nothing had ever been enough? Why he always had to keep pushing? Carve himself a patch of Gotham, keep going. Cut the crime out of Crime Alley, not enough.

Take up with the Outsiders, keep himself busy, rushed off his feet so that when he fell into bed for a couple hours a day he didn’t even dream?

When was the last time he’d taken a breath and just… relaxed? It all felt so long ago, but it had barely been a week.

It just. His whole life had unclenched, like it was a muscle he’d finally stopped using.

Fuck, maybe he should talk to Harley about it.

He got the feeling she knew though, those eagle eyes tracking his every move. They’d never really hung out, but he was uncomfortably aware of how well she’d known him.

How much of him was still the boy she’d known?

She was waiting for an answer, and all of a sudden Jason wasn’t sure what he’d say. Knew that if anyone in the world understood, it just might be Dr Harleen Quinzel.

He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, unable to meet her eyes. Fuck, he was getting as bad as Bruce.

And if that thought didn’t kick him up the ass…

“You ever wake up one day and realise your whole life’s been going wrong?” He finally asked, glancing up from the corner of his eye.

She’d dropped the cutesy act, leaning forward with her arms braced on the edge of the dumpster, her face professionally calm. Open. Sympathetic.

“Think I might know just a lil about what that’s like,” she agreed softly, and Jason snorted.

“Yeah. Well. Turns out ever since I came back from the dead I’ve been haunted. Literally. And no one ever noticed.”

He hadn’t even come all the way back, but he couldn’t say that. Not yet. But maybe he could share some of the rest.

Harley nodded slowly, giving him her full attention. Just waiting for him to go on.

It kinda felt like being under a microscope, but not in the cold, analytical way Bruce did that always pissed him off. Like she really cared, and was looking for all his broken parts so she could help him fit them back together.

Fuck, if his kid self had ever known he’d one day trust Harley Quinn over the whole Justice League…

Shit, he didn’t even know how much she already knew.

“The pit rage… it’s a psychosis people get, coming out of the Lazarus pit. Makes you angry, violent, stronger, like a blind rage. For most people it goes away. Mine didn’t.”

He almost wanted to laugh, bitter and sharp.

“Because it wasn’t just the psychosis. I’m not fucking weak, I’m not fucking broken, there’s something else living inside me and it made me so fucking angry all the time…”

The frustration was building again, but this time it was his. All his, not a bubble, not a stir, and part of Jason thrilled with it. He could feel however he wanted, just him.

He cut it off though, forcing himself to relax before Danny could notice. Could worry about whatever he was projecting in his aura.

He could kinda still feel Danny’s, which was new. Not brushing against his, not touching like they were close, but he was aware in a way he hadn’t been before.

Like if he shut his eyes he could point in exactly the direction Danny was standing.

“Danny’s the only one who noticed. Well, really, he’s the only one who could. It’s a ghost thing, and he… he got me help. I feel like myself for the first time since… since I came back.”

He hadn’t even noticed how much the background rage burnt through him until it stopped. Until he could look at his family and see their prodding for what it was; concern.

It was still surprising him, and maybe would for a while. Kinda hoped not though. It wasn’t the most cheerful train of thought.

Seeing that he’d run out of words, Harley gave him a moment to find more, then reached over and ruffled his hair. It was barely a strain in the cramped alley.

“Kid, anyone with two eyeballs t’ rub together can see Danny’s real good for ya. So why’s Bruce tryin’ so hard to keep ya apart?” She asked gently, and Jason snorted.

Rolled his eyes and folded his arms, caught himself doing it, and forced them back to his sides.

“Not rubbing his eyeballs together?” He asked dryly. Harley just snickered.

“Please, if we could get ‘im ta stop overanalysing everything that’d be the miracle. So what’s got ‘im on edge?”

Jason hesitated for a long moment, thinking about it. Finally he shrugged; as always, Bruce was a mystery to him. The man who’d taught him all the tricks to pick apart any mystery. Except himself.

“No idea. We played a prank on him and the Mansons at the gala like we told you last night?” He offered, already aware it wasn’t likely to be the answer.

Harley shook her head in agreement, which almost threw him off.

“Nah, you’re right. The whole making-out-in-a-closet shtick is classic, even if he didn’t see through it yet he’s never cared about you boys smoochin’ before,” she agreed, then sighed and tugged him in to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Whatever his problem is though, it is his problem Jason, an’ what he pulled at the gala has nothin’ t’ do with you or Danny. I already told ‘im off about not talkin’ to ya and I’m gonna do it again when I catch him. Right now I just wanna hear you say you know it ain’t your fault,” she told him firmly, cheeks held between both hands.

Jason fought the urge to roll his eyes. And the rising lump in his throat.

“I know Bruce’s bullshit isn’t my fault, Harley,” he grumbled through smushed lips. Harley squeezed his cheeks a little tighter.

“Then say it anyway. It ain’t your fault Brucie has a bug in his ass, and ya ain’t done anything wrong to deserve it.” She was firm as the wall behind him, utterly unrelenting.

And she could go on for hours, if memory served. Long enough for Danny to come out and see. That was why Jason told himself he gave in.

Nothing at all to do with the way her words ached and bled a gentle warmth into the icy void in his gut where the anger still roiled.

“It’s not my fault B’s got the emotional capacity of a wet newspaper. I don’t deserve his helicopter bullshit any more than anyone else,” he told her obediently, doing his best not to be too sarcastic.

Harley placed a kiss on his nose and released him.

“That’s my good boy. Now, more about this haunted thing. You boys got a plan?” She asked sharply, head cocked as she watched his face.

Cheeks red, Jason leaned back against his wall and pretended it made him out of reach.

“We do,” he said curtly, looking down at the trash strewn ground. Trying to explain it now would take too long, Danny would be out soon.

Of course Harley noticed, nodding thoughtfully and leaning back, kicking her legs.

“Well, if ya ever want to tell me more, you’ve got my number. An’ I’ll get Brucie off ya back for a while, even if I’ve gotta call in the Boy Scout. Whatever you aren’t tellin’ ‘im, don’t let ‘im rush ya,” she told him firmly. Jason had to smile.

“Aren’t you the one always telling us to communicate?” He asked half rhetorically. Harley grinned and hopped off her dumpster, making her way to the front of the alley.

“It only works if ya wait til you’re ready. Pushin’ an’ rushin’ only makes it worse,” she explained airily, stepping out into the street.

Turning, and freezing like a hound on a scent. Eyes narrowed, she patted Jason on the chest as he stepped out after her, not turning her head.

“Jason darlin’, be a dear an’ run get Auntie Harley her bat. The bike’s parked ‘round the back,” she said ever so sweetly, and that tone combined with the narrow eyed glare meant Jason knew exactly who she was looking at before he turned.

He did it anyway, eyes widening as he caught sight of Batman, in full gear, coming down the street towards them. Accompanied by John Fucking Constantine.

Had he seriously come to chase him away from Danny in person? In fucking costume?

The anger surged, his and the pit’s, held back only by the small woman in front of him. The dainty hand on her chest, that’d turn into an iron bar if he pushed it.

Sure, she couldn’t actually hold him back, but she didn’t need to. Whatever Jason wanted to say or do to Bruce, Harley could do a whole lot worse.

Anger melding into a vicious satisfaction, he turned straight back down the alley with a spring in his step.

**

Bruce was a little relieved to arrive outside the bar and see Jason already there. Batman walking in wouldn’t have been out of the question, but he’d rather avoid the theatrics.

Danny not being in sight didn’t come into the decision one bit.

But then Harley said something to Jason and he turned away, leaving immediately. Bruce sped up, planning to follow Jason down the alley-

“Hold ya horses, Batsy,” Harley snapped, stepping directly into his path. He could have gone around her, certainly, but he stopped.

If there was even a chance he could get her on side, that would help immensely.

“I just need to talk to Jason,” he said in Batman’s low growl. Constantine had stopped too, well back of whatever was going to happen.

At least he wasn’t a complete fool.

Harley folded her arms, giving him her very least impressed look.

“An’ if the words you’re sayin’ ain’t “I’m so sorry please forgive me I’ll never do it again”, ya don’t actually need to. Ya need ta speak to me.”

Bruce almost frowned at her words. Why now? They’d spoken before, but she’d seemed satisfied. What had changed between now and their last conversation?

Batman’s face remained impassive as ever.

“Harley. It’s important.”

“He wants me to give the kid a magic checkup,” Constantine put in from behind him, still well back. He waved at Harley when she glanced his way.

Harley’s eyes narrowed for a moment and then Jason was jogging back down the alley, holding her bat.

What the hell had changed since their last conversation?

Pinning Constantine with a piercing glare, she held it for a minute before turning her attention back to Bruce. Snapping her fingers in front of his mask before he could even open his mouth.

“Uh uh! Johnny needs ta talk to him fer that, not you. YOU need to come talk ta me. Now.” She held out her other hand without looking, and Jason slipped the bat into it.

Had he really upset Jason that much at the gala? He’d thought he understood about the public apology, but this felt… well, worse than he’d expected.

More urgent. More vehement. She was more angry than she had been.

He’d gone wrong again, some time between now and then, and he had a Justice League meeting in an hour. Less, counting in the travel time back to the nearest zeta terminal.

Did he have time for this?

Jason was glaring at him, flat and unfriendly, but with a decided undercurrent of anticipation. Bruce’s presence would only make Constantine’s job harder.

Ignoring the part of him that thought the magician deserved to have it a lot harder, he nodded and refocused his attention on Harley.

“Fine. Here?” Better to get this over with. He could put aside all of his personal thoughts and feelings for the meeting, but at least he’d have answers.

Harley gave the surrounding street another sharp look, then shook her head, crooked her fingers, and led him into the alleyway.

“We’ll go ‘round the back. You’re bad for business,” she told him archly, and Bruce followed without a word.

He didn’t tell Jason to stay and speak to Constantine; he was self aware enough to know that would have the opposite effect. The magician would just have to sort himself out.

Part of him almost hoped she would actually use the bat this time. It served its purpose as a visual symbol, but everything made much more sense when people just wanted to beat him up.

Navigating their emotions and separate interior lives and expectations was… messy.

**

Constantine and Jason stared at each other for a long moment after Harley and the Bat disappeared down the alley.

Then Constantine sighed and nodded after them.

“If they’re goin’ round back, we can take this off the main street. If you don’t mind?” Not that the boy had much choice.

They’d caught him unmasked, which raised again the fuckin’ question of why Batt-o was so intent on being masked up for this one.

Maybe he just didn’t want to change. It looked like a lot of kohl on under that mask. Probably took a while to switch in and out.

Jason narrowed his eyes back for a moment, then shrugged. His whole posture still screamed annoyance and aggression, but moved back into the side alley anyway.

“Whatever. Not too far though. I need to hear if my friends leave.” There was something about the agreement that didn’t quite sit right for John.

Too easy. He didn’t have much (any) experience with the kid, never having willingly gotten near a revenant, but… well, this? This was weirdly passive.

When he’d seen the kid coming back with a weapon, that had made sense. He’d half expected Jason to take a swing personally; the dead-or-dead-aligned tended to have a different understanding of acceptable violence.

Handing it off to Harley was basically trading a gun for a nuke, but he didn’t seem at all upset that it hadn’t been used. Hadn’t gone for Batman’s throat, no matter how much Harley seemed to think he’d be justified.

What the hell did the Bat do now?

Something was off with Jason, something that made Constantine almost rethink his earlier guess.

Kid dies, shows back up a couple years later in a storm of blood and violence, demanding revenge? Yeah, that was classic revenant. Physical body, jacked beyond anything the kid shoulda grown into? Ditto.

Even the rage the Leaguers reported checked the boxes, but a revenant shouldn’t be this calm. Not in the face of any kind of threat.

Good news, really; he probably wouldn’t go for Constantine’s throat. John was more than happy with that, though he did regret getting the Bat all worked up.

Not that there was another version of the story Batman might take better, mind. Whatever the hell Jason Todd was, the kid wasn’t human anymore, and for ol’ Batsy the rest of the details didn’t much matter.

They got out of sight of the main thoroughfare, Jason leaning back against a wall with his arms folded and a smirk on his face that was just all challenge.

Constantine didn’t rise to it, brows furrowing as he raised a hand and murmured the beginnings of a spell.

Felt it instantly crash around him, smacked down by a power so titanic he’d have fallen if the side of a dumpster hadn’t caught him. A power so old, so wrought with death, so fucking familiar that it blacked out every sense.

No way in fucking hell any kind of fucking revenant, wraith, zombie, ghost, anything could leave that taste in his mouth. No, that? That was a personal signature.

And not something that could be done lightly either. A power like that… no, this power, Constantine knew exactly whose it was.

This kind of power, reacting this strongly? This instantly, even here on Earth? That was the full force of the Infinite Realms, which had to mean…

Eyes wide and shaken, John scrabbled at the lid for support, staring at Jason. Who actually looked more than a little surprised himself.

It took him a moment to find the words, longer to steady the shake in his voice.

“You… you… holy fucking hells, Jason, do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’ve bound your fuckin’ soul to-”

“The same guy you sold yours to?” Jason drawled, raising an eyebrow.

And alright, fair, that was a pretty good fuckin’ point, but Constantine was well aware he was a dire warning, not a good example.

Damn hard to argue that to a smugly reclining something-or-other that had bound himself so tightly to that same king that John couldn’t even do a gentle magical probe.

He’d been planning on being polite and everything. Noninvasive, Jason wouldn’t even feel it.

Shit, had he felt the spell shut down too? Constantine was about to ask, but Jason wasn’t done talking. Or smirking, looking distinctly amused that he’d shut the mouthy magician up.

“Did you know he owns your soul eleven times by now? That seems a little low to me, surely you’re down to hocking scraps,” Jason noted with a dry chuckle.

Constantine shrugged defensively, well aware that his battered soul was nothing to write home about. Still mostly trying to work out what the fuck was going on.

What use would the Ghost King have for a bat? A use important enough to fold Jason, who’d only be risen six years, into the high court?

Sure, the kid was good, he’d proved that in Gotham’s underworld, but to the Realms? He was barely an infant, and cuttin’ off heads would not impress there.

“No one buys just a piece of a soul. Every deal’s for the whole thing, which is why they keep me alive rather’n letting me kick it and tearin’ up the bits,” he explained distractedly, giving Jason another slow once over.

The good news was, nothing about the guy smelled like a revenant. There was power there, sure, a hint of a magical signature just on the borders of recognizable, but he couldn’t quite pin it down.

Jason hummed in acknowledgement, or maybe interest, but Constantine needed him to keep talking. Needed more clues to work out what the fuck this guy was.

“Pretty sure I haven’t had anyone make the same deal eleven times though,” he commented cautiously, trying to appear as casual as Jason while watching him closely, wishing he’d accepted some bat-training, “most people only make that mistake once.”

“Yeah, I asked about that,” Jason agreed with a dry chuckle, and the bottom fell out of Constantine’s stomach.

A position that let him backtalk the king of the Infinite Realms? Triple not good, not least because that lot were volatile and fuckin’ possessive, but not more so than goddamn Batman.

“Apparently people handed you over for some kind of tax season. You’re a low value trading card over there at this point.”

And that knocked every other thought out of Constantine’s head as he straightened, unreasonably affronted.

It’d be fucking nice to be low value. People might ignore him.

And since when did the Infinite Realms collect taxes?

“Low value? Princes of Hell are fightin’ over my damn soul, it’s the only thing keeping me kickin’,” he protested, and Jason snickered.

Gave John a smug, superior smile.

“And ten entities gave your soul up for tax breaks. Let’s face it, it’s not like you have rarity on your side,” he pointed out smugly.

“It’s still only one soul,” Constantine pouted idly, his mind suddenly spinning mile a minute with the implications.

The kid couldn’t have had this much presence last night, whatever else was true. John would have noticed.

It might just have been now that he knew to look for it, but Jason practically glowed with the essence of the Realms. He’d also somehow not just gotten himself bound to the Ghost King, he had a position where he could question them.

And have his questions answered, if not hugely coherently. Maybe that was just the translation through Jason, though.

That could be a good thing. A good sign at least, for the temperament of the new king. Pariah Dark never listened to questions by all accounts; people never got the opportunity to ask. He just conquered.

Of course, John knew enough magical entities to know that “willing to talk” did not mean, friendly, helpful, safe, or even “not prone to constant and complex lies”.

Thing was, he could handle liars. Tricksters. Anything of the sort, usually, cuz if nothing else? Being willing to talk before shooting meant Constantine had a chance to confuse them.

He was bloody good at that, all else notwithstanding. Almost his most useful talent.

It might be worth trying to find a little more about the Ghost King. Doubly if Jason was willing to help, but that’d have to be careful. No way to know what the kid had accidentally sworn to on that soul bond.

Hell, how was he gonna work out what the kid even was with magic off the table? It’d be back to the fuckin’ books and Undead 101.

At least he was still in his own body. That put a limit on the possibilities, but there were still a lot of options. Bats was going to be unbearable.

Because worse yet… the one thing John did know, with absolute certainty, was that the kid was getting stronger. If he hadn’t manifested any powers yet, it was just a matter of time.

Whatever Jason was, whatever deal he’d managed to pull, the damn halfa wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg. Something was feeding the power in him, whatever had yanked him back to the land of the living to start with.

Plus side? Batty could get off his ass about the kids hanging out. Jason had already taken a fuckin’ jet across whatever influence hanging out with a ghost could do, and pushed right the way to the other side.

He might as well be fuckin’ drinking ectoplasm at this point. Kid could carry Danny around on his back and not make a lick of difference.

Course, if it was the halfa who got the kid to make his deal… well, Batman would have another reason to worry about them hangin’ out together, but the damage was already done.

It wasn’t a soul buy, not to John’s experienced eye. Not a leash around the kid’s neck, not a claim stamped into his being. If anything, this was worse.

Somehow Jason had gotten himself so tightly wrapped to the Ghost King that the other’s power all but flowed in his veins. Even from here, far from the Realms, Constantine didn’t even finish the spell before it was smacked down.

That… that was new. Nothing he’d ever seen before, and he was well used to possessive metaphysical assholes who didn’t like anyone else touchin’ their shit.

Fuck, did Jason even know?

Constantine sucked in a breath and gave damn near instantly on even trying to form a tactful question a bat would understand. Kid was playing in his kiddy pool now, like it or not, and John had to know how deep he’d gone.

“So what deal did you make?” He asked bluntly. Not that Jason apparently minded in the least, still smirking as he gave the magician a cool once over.

“Y’know, I’m pretty sure it’s rude to ask. Not discussing paychecks and all that,” he drawled casually, eyes still dark with that barely covered aggression.

Constantine rolled his eyes.

“I had three princes of Hell gettin’ a little too cozy and a cursed rock lookin’ to turn the world to pink tourmaline. The Ghost King was big enough to shut ‘em up and let me push the rock to a different dimension where it’s never gonna be our problem again. Now quit bein’ an ass, I know a lot more about this kinda shit and I can tell ya if they hid any clauses.”

That did shut Jason up, the kid’s eyes widening for a moment like he hadn’t expected Constantine to share.

Tough titties for him, John already knew Batman was gonna be a bitch about this so doing the due diligence early? Pretty much their only hope.

He considered it longer than John thought was justified, since it was inarguable. John Constantine, soul selling expert. He should have business cards made.

Finally the kid shrugged. He still looked prickly, defensive, but he was listening.

“Well I didn’t sell him my fucking soul.” Which.

John stared at him, mouth agape. Snapped shut and narrowed his eyes.

“Kid, you could not be more marked if you wore a neon sign. You signed something over, the Ghost King ain’t the sort to give prizes for free.”

A Ghost King Jason seemed to think was a he, so that was a useful little piece of intel. He’d definitely know better than John if they were already on ask-questions stage.

Jason scowled and shrugged, arms still crossed.

“Lucky me. Protection from big scary human wizards, for the low low price of my service. And some help with my Lazarus problem,” he added, as if the last was the only part he though worth mentioning.

Constantine sagged back against the wall, sinking down to sit on the alley floor. Bracing his elbows on his knees he ran both hands through his hair, holding his head up.

“Great… just fucking great,” he muttered, voice muffled by his new position. Part of him wanted to laugh, but he was pretty sure it’d come out a sob.

Hysteria beckoned.

Jason made another noise that might almost have been concern, and Constantine forced himself to suck in a breath. To keep it together.

Forced his head up so he could glare at the kid who now looked just way too confused.

“You get that that’s worse, right?” He snapped, eyes narrowing. “You get that selling yourself into service is fucking worse?”

Jason glared back down at him, drawing himself up like size and muscle was gonna impress a magician.

(It might have if Jason was a decade or two older, but not the way the kid intended.)

“What the fuck d’you think will happen when he takes your soul?” He snapped back, aggression rising fast enough that Constantine forced himself to stop again.

Deep breath in. Hold. Out.

One more in. Hold. Out.

He got to ten, the kid watching him with visible confusion, deflating the longer John went without pushing back. Yippee for him.

When he thought he had his voice under control again, John forced himself to his feet.

“I sell my soul, and if anyone ever actually claims the damn thing they can do whatever they want to it for eternity. It’ll fuckin’ suck, kid, but the one thing they can’t do, no matter who it is?”

He just sounded tired now, which only wrong footed Jason even more. Why had he even gotten out of bed at all?

Maybe if he left now he could just go back. Tuck himself up in the House of Mystery, feed his League communicator to something pandimensional, and just hide for a while.

The Bat would probably come after him.

Taking another bolstering breath, John did his best to sound calm. Not patronising. Because the kid damn near definitely had no idea.

Which was why people should leave magic to the fuckin’ professionals.

Catching Jason’s eye, he held it, hoping to impress the seriousness of what he was about to say into the kid’s soul.

“They cannot compel me to action. They can try all sorts of force, all sorts of fucked up shit, but I get the last say. They say jump, I say fuck off, no jump. But selling service?”

Jason’s eyes had widened now, and John could just see all those little wheels turning. Well, set the little fuckers spinnin’ faster.

“They say jump, you’re on the way up before you can ask “how high?”. I dunno what you think you signed up for, kid, I dunno what deals with the new king are like cuz I didn’t fuckin’ ask. But you get a copy of the damn contract and bring it back to me. I’ll see if there’s anything we can do about it.”

It was the only logical option, especially with an entity this powerful. Constantine was betting the kid’s hatred of being used, being controlled, would make him agree even if he hated it.

He probably could have been nicer, though.

Jason’s eyes flashed, actually flashed a bright, ecto green as he shot John a glare that promised bloody dismemberment.

There was something else too, something that definitely wasn’t there a second ago but filled the alley now. Something hot and angry and powerfully vicious, something that wanted his blood.

If there were space to back up, he would have. As it was, he let his hand slip behind his back, ready to teleport. He had no doubt that any kind of binding would meet exactly the same fate his inquiry had.

Even in civvies, Jason Todd cut a menacing figure as he stalked the two steps across the alley to put himself directly in Constantine’s face.

“For fuck’s sake, I am not a fucking child! I don’t need you to hold my hand, I don’t need your fucking help, and I don’t need your fucking permission to live my fucking life!”

Constantine actually leaned back, his head brushing the wall behind him as Jason shoved a finger into his face, his every muscle taut with barely restrained violence.

“Like you just fucking said, you don’t know shit! So maybe, just fucking once, the whole fucking lot of you sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and stay out of my fucking way!”

This close, Constantine could feel Jason’s hot breath on his face. This close… something clicked.

He could feel Jason’s anger, projecting out of him in a way that definitely wasn’t human. Choking and visceral and absolutely nothing like the pulsating bloody rage that forced itself down his throat.

There was something fucking else inside Jason. Something that tasted of the Infinite Realms and wanted his head on a stick.

Something that wasn’t the Ghost King. Didn’t carry the touch of his claim.

John was about to teleport away, fuck Batman and all of Gotham, when Jason turned around sharply and marched out of the alley. Almost like the kid was running.

Slumping back against the wall, John Constantine closed his eyes and breathed in the city smogs, only happy that none of it actively wanted his blood.

**

Harley let Batman precede her around the milkshake bar to the parking lot at the back, a quick glance confirming that they were alone.

For the best, really; anyone present might get entirely the wrong idea.

Taking a casual roll of the wrist for added momentum, Harley took a quick shot at the back of Batty’s knee, stepping up quickly beside him to use the return swing to catch him in the gut.

Caught off guard, he crumpled, landing on one knee and glaring up at her.

“Harley…” he growled, and her eyes narrowed.

She’d done this the nice way last night. He hadn’t listened, so now they were doing it his way.

“Batsy,” she shot back, cutting him off quick and direct. Tapped her bedazzled bat gently off her other hand. “We had us a talk already this week.”

No specific times; not in an unsecured location. He’d know anyway.

From his silence, he wasn’t quite ready to admit it. But he didn’t try to rise. Conflicted, then.

Like that was new.

Harley pressed the bat gently under his chin, tipping his head up to face her.

“And yet somehow, despite you assurin’ me you’d listened real close, a mister Jason Todd is out here tellin’ me you tried to ban him from hangin’ out with his new boyfriend?” She asked sugar-sweet, her expression all danger.

She could just about see the moment it sank into his head. Even with his actual eyes covered, that cowl was still plenty expressive.

Kinda freakishly expressive. Not ideal for the crime fighting to her mind, but what would she know? She much preferred committing the crimes.

He tried to argue, frown so deep he’d have wrinkles within the day.

“This has nothing to do with that, the Fenton boy is dangerous to his condition-”

Harley cut him off by poking the end of her bat almost into his mouth, her eyes narrowed. And sure, she was bein’ delicate with his head outta concern for that concussion, but there were limits.

“An’ what d’you think ya know about Jason’s condition that a half dead kid don’t?” She asked sceptically.

Batman hesitated. If he pushed the bat away, they’d have an actual fight on their hands. One he might let her win, if he just needed the tussle.

She’d never known a man so eager to have someone put him on his ass, and so incapable of ever lettin’ it actually happen. Well, other than Jason.

Musta run in the family.

Bruce sagged back, sat on the cracked asphalt of the parking lot.

“Constantine believes that Danny’s energy may strengthen something inside Jason. Something dangerous,” he explained, still in Batman’s rough growl.

She was gonna get him a vocoder. Just for shits and giggles.

Fuck, was that why Jason wore the whole helmet for Hoody? Now that she thought of it, there was a voice changer in there.

Two cranky little peas in matching muscly pods.

She dropped to sit cross legged on the ground across from him, bat laying in front of her. Talkin’ again, take two. Time to make it stick.

“Have you actually talked to Jason about this?” She asked sceptically.

The eye slits in the cowl narrowed. Harley was not impressed.

“Have you talked to him at all, since he an’ Danny have been hangin’ out?”

Bruce glared at her for a moment longer. Did not fold his arms or pout, but she could tell he wanted to.

“I spoke with him last night. He’s irrational, angry, unwilling to listen to reason…”

“He’s sick of ya tellin’ him you know what’s best and not listenin’ ta what’s wrong,” Harley corrected flatly.

Watched his shoulders sink just a little. As much as he could deflate in the suit. Even his growl lost most of its sandpaper.

“He said Danny was taking him to a doctor. More exposure to the realms could make things worse. Kill him, or give the pit another chance to take over. I can’t…” he cut himself off, voice tight and garbled around the forced gravel.

Harley watched him for a long moment.

He’d come out in the suit. It had to be for a reason.

She couldn’t ask the questions that would break him apart in the suit. Couldn’t guide him through the revelations and the grief. Not if there was somethin’ else he had ta be doing.

Another damn time then. She’d get ‘im here again.

“Batsy.” Her voice was gentler this time, and drew his face back to hers. She made sure to catch his eye. “He already died. Seems ta me somethin’ in there never really let him go.”

She didn’t know much about the Infinite Realms… or anything at all, really. All this magic and mayhem and ghosts was fun an’ all, and she always liked to play, but it wasn’t her wheelhouse.

Didn’t have ta be. She knew how to listen to the professionals.

Bruce had stiffened, the mask of Batman pulling back, and she cut him off with a raised hand.

“An’ you only have ta look at Danny ta know that whatever all that is? Jason ain’t the first. Won’t be the last. Someone’s gonna know what went wrong, and Jason believes they’re helping him. You need to believe Jason.”

“But he could be wrong.” It was barely more than a whisper. Low and grinding and completely devoid of Batman growl, like it’d been pulled right out of his soul.

Harley gave him a gentle bop on the head with her bat.

“Then we deal with that then. But all ya doin’ by bossin’ him around an’ not listenin’ is pissing him off and makin’ him more likely ta run right off to these Realms. He’s not the sweet kid followin’ ya shadow anymore, Batsy. He’s a man, and he gets to make choices. And mistakes.”

This sure as hell wasn’t one of ‘em, but Bruce had never been good at taking that on faith. He had to be shown, and he’d never stop waiting for the tables to turn.

Which was how he usually made things worse. But he did at least know that.

He still looked mutinous, scowling across at her, so she gave him a slightly harder bop on the shoulder.

“Batman, listen ta me. I know you mean well, but Danny makes him happy. All Jason’s seein’ right now is that he’s happy, an’ you wanna take it away.”

That hit harder than any of her blows, though she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t known him so long. His whole body stiffened, sudden hesitation in even his breathing.

Harley stared him down through it, then nodded in satisfaction as his shoulders lowered, just a fraction.

“I can’t lose him again, Harley,” he whispered, barely audible even less than a foot away.

She gave him an even harder bop on the other shoulder.

“Then stop driving him away. You ain’t even said sorry for the other night yet an’ now you owe him another apology. There’s always that things might go wrong; he might get hit by a car crossing the street. The only sure thing is that if you keep treating him like this?”

She leaned forwards, grabbing his chin and forcing him to face her. To look at her, and see how serious she was.

He was reluctant to meet her eyes, but even under the white outs Harley knew when she had someone’s attention. Good. He probably knew what came next.

“You will lose him, Batsy. And it’ll be no one’s fault but your own.”

**

Danny couldn’t have missed Constantine making his way up the street blindfolded and with his ears plugged. It might have been the whole “owned his soul” thing.

It also might have been the vortex of swirling magical attention that followed him like a cloud. The guy clearly wasn’t trying to advertise his presence, but to something like Danny…

Well, trying to hide that hard always caught his attention. A magical “nothing to see here” tasted like liquorice in the back of his throat.

Maybe the trench coat was actually cursed, in more than just the unfortunate fashion sense.

Part of him wondered if this had anything to do with them. The rest, well aware what his luck was like, wondered if he’d come barging into the restaurant.

It wasn’t like he shouldn’t be getting ready to go anyway, but he just… well, he was having a surprising amount of fun just hanging out with Waylon.

The guy was old enough to be his dad, but he was a great listener. Really encouraging, and he’d told Danny another couple of stories too, some from his darker times but all with happy endings.

He was probably trying to make Danny feel better after their talk, and it was definitely working. It just… well, he didn’t even really like thinking about Dan.

He’d asked Nocturn to put him to sleep not long after becoming king, to give the guy something to do other than stew in a thermos and plot vengeance.

Part of him still kinda expected that to bite him in the ass, but even if Dan broke out of Nocturn’s dreams, he couldn’t break out of Soup Time. For whatever reason he’d never learned Danny’s portal trick.

All the people who kept souping Danny were dead in Dan’s timeline.

Danny had almost been ready to wrap things up with Waylon (as little as he wanted to; they’d already exchanged numbers) when he felt Jason’s rage bubble.

He didn’t realise he’d blanked out until Waylon tapped the table in front of him with a claw, concern on his scaly face.

“Somethin’ th’ matter, kid?” He asked in a low growl.

Danny shook his head, staring down at the mostly empty milkshake and chugging the rest.

“Probably nothing… just got a bad feeling about Jason,” he explained with a shrug.

Reached out just a little, extending his senses but not aura. If Jason was already mad, that might send him over the edge.

Just as he reached out a sudden flare of fury made his hand clench, the glass he was still grasping shattering. Great, he had a hand full of milkshake and shards.

Shaking both free, Danny shoved his way out of the booth at the same time as Waylon, the big man going from concerned to battle ready in an instant.

For the first time, he almost looked dangerous. Danny was glad to have him at his back for the visual component at least; anyone who didn’t think twice about pissing off a tank like Jason wouldn’t even blink at Danny.

Killer Croc though? He got that name on his looks alone, long before he earned it.

They didn’t even make it across the bar, wait staff scattering to what were clearly well established positions in case trouble came in.

Trouble didn’t; barely.

Jason Todd did, all but vibrating with rage and steaming green with Pitty’s contribution.

Wait; steaming? Jason had mentioned the Lazarus pits did that, but Danny had never seen ectoplasm steam before. Could everyone see it?

Whether Waylon could or not, it didn’t stop him from hurrying forward, attention fully focused behind Jason for anyone following.

It was maybe the teeniest bit cute that even so angry he had a personal heat haze, Jason didn’t even think Waylon was going for him. His attention was fixed somewhere else; somewhere internal and probably bloody.

Instinct pulled Danny forward, Jason slipping easily into his aura and for a moment Danny felt like he’d drown in Jason’s rage. Answered it himself a moment later, stroking across the anger with worry-protect-safe now.

Jason twitched just a little as the aura washed around him, looking around on automatic until he faced Danny.

The rage softened just a little as he caught Danny’s eye, shoulders sagging. His jaw unclenched enough to talk; visibly enough that it must have been painful.

“Just fucking B again, treating me like a fucking child,” he spat, fists still clenched tight at his sides.

The effort it was clearly taking not to go out and start swinging kept Danny on edge, even as Waylon relaxed.

“Yer a long way from that, kid,” the big guy agreed with a low chuckle, still between Jason and the door, and rested a large hand lightly on Jason’s shoulder. “Want me to go have a word?”

Jason shook his head sharply, the smallest of smiles flicking across his face before the anger replaced it. Yeah, definitely cute.

“No thanks. You’ve only just got out, you don’t need bat trouble again already,” he said through gritted teeth, then nodded to Danny. “I just wanna get out of here.”

Danny nodded immediately, going from maybe-fight to flight. Which was kinda literally an option. Ghosts knew how to make an exit.

“Do you wanna take your bike or just disappear?” He asked simply.

Jason gave him a tight smile, barely layered over anger he was still struggling to control. Fuck, if this was what he’d been dealing with every day before Danny came along…

“Harley’s out back with Batman. I just want to fucking go,” he growled, shaking his head.

Danny nodded again, turning and crouching a little for Jason to hop onto his back.

“Phantom Express it is then.”

And yeah, he knew it looked stupid without Waylon’s confirming snort of laughter.

So did Jason, and the tinge of mirth that coloured his rage-burning-break in his head was more than worth looking silly.

Seemed like Jason was finally starting to trust his strength too as he hopped up without question, Danny not reacting in the slightest to his added weight.

And definitely not the way Jason now towered over him, or having those thighs wrapped around his waist. Nope. No horny in the aura today.

Giving a last nod to Waylon, he turned them both invisible and flew up through the roof, intangibility phasing them through at the last second.

Once they were high enough to be beyond any eavesdropping, he slowed to a stop, not quite looking back at his passenger.

“So, where do you wanna go?”

As Danny had kinda hoped, the sudden exhilaration of flight had tamped Jason’s anger back down until it was less a physical presence. It still seethed and boiled inside him, but it was losing steam.

About half of what he could feel from Jason now was just tired, and honestly? Couldn’t blame him.

Danny had been told how bad his pit rages had been, a visceral wrath that almost possessed Jason and made him lash out in all directions. And by all accounts? He still hadn’t seen the half of it.

It made his core ache just thinking about living with that much rage stuck inside. Feeling like that all the time… Danny had always respected Jason, but this? This demanded a whole new level.

And a little bit made him want to put Jason in a nice ectoplasm hamster ball so he could roll around the streets and nothing would ever hurt him again.

Gonna have to keep that under wraps too, since apparently Danny was losing his fucking mind all up in Gotham.

(Not that he’d never hamster balled anyone before. It was just usually a punishment for Tucker, or Wes if they were being assholes. Derogatory hamster balls were totally fine and not evidence of losing anything at all.)

The man himself was quiet for a long moment, struggling with just everything that was going on inside him.

Danny waited, turning them both intangible again just in case Jason could still be affected by the cold. At this height, it wasn’t exactly pleasant.

Made him side eye all those pictures of witches in dresses and long socks on broomsticks. Good way for the living to get pneumonia, in Danny’s opinion.

Jason didn’t even seem to notice, letting out a frustrated huff of air.

“We’ve gotta get Tucker home. If B is off being an asshole we can at least go to the manor,” he grumbled.

Danny paused for a long moment himself, considering another solution. After all, for ghosts it was simply unthinkable that they hadn’t even had an introductory brawl yet.

Whenever he got that pissed, getting the shit kicked out of him had always helped burn off the energy. But maybe Jason’s was different.

Danny was pretty sure he’d never been that pissed, not even at Pariah. Not even at Agent K.

Danny wouldn’t judge. For now, he nodded, turning to head towards the manor.

“We can go to Frostbite after we’ve dropped Tuck off. It’s been long enough, and you definitely feel stronger?” He offered, kinda hoping it might help Jason feel better.

The grunt he got in return didn’t sound convinced, but Jason also didn’t argue.

Neither of them were expecting to run into traffic in the Gotham airways though, at least not below airline level. Or to be interrupted.

With a sudden loud gust of wind, another black haired young man in a black leather jacket pulled up in front of them, looking around with a frown.

“Hey, I heard someone up here? Jason? Where are you?” He asked loudly, brows furrowing like he was still listening.

Danny’s confusion was better than words as Jason gave his shoulder a quick squeeze.

“Superboy the first. Tim’s boyfriend,” he explained quietly, and Kon’s head whipped around to follow the sound.

“Okay Jason, I know you’re up here, what the fuck?” He asked impatiently, which was when Danny remembered.

Still invisible. Hiding from the Bat and also concerned citizens. He popped them back into visibility with a sheepish grin, waving at… Connor? Or Con? No, kinda sharper. Kon.

It might have been a secret third level of alias, but Danny was pretty sure the bats had called him by a couple names over the various stories.

“Hey… sorry, forgot we were invisible,” he explained, trying not to laugh. Mostly at himself, but best not give the wrong impression.

Superboy’s eyes locked on them for a moment, narrowed briefly, and then his face broke into a grin.

“So, I’m gonna guess you’re Danny, Tucker’s friend that Tim has been gushing about?” He asked eagerly, reclining comfortably in the air. Then paused. “Well, gushing about Tucker. You were mentioned, though.”

That sounded about right.

Danny snickered and nodded, giving Jason a careful reshuffle. If they weren’t gonna be travelling for the moment, they could get a little more comfortable.

Thick thighs tightened around his hips and Danny very specifically did not melt into a puddle of goo. Not even a little bit.

“Yeah, we were just gonna go get Tucker and head out. Are you coming to see Tim?” He asked, kinda half wanting to wait around long enough and see what Tucker and Connor made of each other.

Kon if he was here in official capacity? But he wasn’t exactly wearing a super uniform, or logo. But Jason hadn’t mentioned a name, because Jason wasn’t a helper.

There was one easy way around that though. Bouncing Jason just a little more roughly than strictly necessary, Danny stuck out his hand.

“Danny Fenton, by the way. Since we haven’t been fully introduced.” He gave his best cheerful-but-totally-human grin. No point unnerving the first official alien he met, even if he was only half alien.

The boy reached out easily, giving him a firm handshake back.

“Kon El. Connor when we’re on street level. And yeah, I was just heading the same way when I heard you guys. Tim asked if I’d bring Tucker home though, he wasn’t sure what you guys’ plans were so if you had anything else to do?” He glanced from one to the other, so clearly not asking that he might as well have.

Could Kryptonians see the heat haze of Jason’s anger too? Or did he just know the family well enough, know Jason well enough, to know the signs?

Danny hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the other halfa. He could almost taste Jason’s indecision, holding each other this close. Bitter and tight in the back of his throat.

How much did he want to deal with his family, with that rage still burning inside him? Hell, they hadn’t even worked out what Jason would do while Danny took Tucker home.

Danny kept quiet though, leaving the choice up to Jason.

It didn’t take long.

Sucking in a deep breath, Jason let out a heavy sigh, a wave of pure relief washing over him.

The anger was still there, a hot little coal right between the dual cores, but it couldn’t drown out the gratitude-sorry-safe. Barely tempered it anymore.

His voice was still gruff when he spoke, still stiff with emotion, but Kon seemed to understand.

“Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks Kon.”

The younger man tipped them both a sarcastic salute, straightening in the air and turning towards Wayne manor.

“You’ve probably got like, a text from Tim about the change of plan, if he even bothered to mention it, but I’ll let him know I saw you. Seems like you’re sticking around, so I’ll probably run into you again, Danny.” He gave them both a cheery nod and flew away.

A tiny part of Danny was sorry that they wouldn’t be around to watch Tucker spiral when confronted with Tim’s boyfriend.

Tim Drake Wayne was a hottie, no point denying it, and he was easily Tucker’s second biggest tech crush beside the mysterious Oracle. With all that hero worship though?

Tucker probably hadn’t actually noticed he was also hot yet. He’d have been in love with him if he’d looked like a snail.

Kon El though? Kon El had exactly the kind of leather jacket, too cool for school, sculpted good looks that Tucker fell head over heels for on any gender.

(Danny absolutely was not a hypocrite, he’d be the very first to admit that he and Tucker had very similar taste in partners, at least as far as appearances. Tucker just preferred a little more “step on me” energy.)

In all the reminders that Tim had a boyfriend, no one had said his boyfriend was hot.

Danny didn’t mention it. It wasn’t like he’d have been able to fully enjoy things anyway; the night before had proved that, and Jason’s mood had been rosy by comparison.

He did offer just one comment though, watching Kon fly away thoughtfully.

“Should we have warned him that Tucker is going to spontaneously combust if Kon tells him to ride him?” He asked mostly hypothetically, fading them out of visibility and tangibility again.

It startled Jason into letting out a snort of laughter which became a cough with his last rasp of thinner air.

“You just did, with Kon’s hearing,” he managed once he could talk normally again, and Danny considered feeling bad about it.

That sizzling coal of rage was almost buried under amused-anticipation-relief.

Nah. No matter what form Tucker’s next wave of vengeance took, this was worth it.

“So, where to next?” He asked, again… kinda hypothetically. From Jason’s sigh the older man was just as aware of what the answer had to be.

“Let’s just fucking go see Frostbite. If I keep looking at the city something’s gonna piss me off again.” He sounded reluctant, resigned, but a slow creeping glow of amazement spread through his aura.

About to pop open another portal, Danny tipped his head up as far as he could and made them visible again, looking for his face.

“What’s up?” He asked, willing to put dimensional travel on hold if there was anything they might be able to do to actually help.

Jason shook his head to focus himself, glancing down at Danny and quickly looking away. Was Danny imagining that sweet pink blush in his cheeks?

“It’s nothing.”

Danny waited, secure in the actual empathic sensation of Jason warring with himself on his back. Finally he won (and also lost, as all civil wars end) and sighed.

“Just. I’ve never come out of the pit rage this fast before,” he admitted gruffly, glaring down at the sparkling lights of the city below. Like this wasn’t something to celebrate.

Danny let them fade back to invisibility, since Jason pretty clearly didn’t want to be looked at.

“Hey, that’s great news! We’ll just have to short circuit Tucker’s gay ass every time you need a boost,” he chirped brightly, and popped the portal open to Jason’s laughter.

**

In his heart of hearts, Bruce knew why Harley was taking him to the parking lot.

If there was any chance of witnesses, any possibility of being overheard, he couldn’t listen to her. Not in the suit. Couldn’t show what any of his rogues (who hadn’t met Harley) might misconstrue as weakness.

If there was a single place in the city which could be trusted to be unsurveiled, it was the parking lots to his rogues’ side businesses. They had their own professional courtesies.

He appreciated it, in his own way. The closest thing to privacy they could have outside the Batmobile at the moment (and even then his children could listen in).

The baseball bat had been… well, not a total surprise, she’d had Jason fetch it in front of him and it wasn’t likely to be an empty prop twice in a row.

Still, he wasn’t as prepared as he could have been, and the first two blows hurt. His fold to the ground was mostly genuine, though part of him was definitely leaning in.

Concussion be damned, he’d been taking an emotional beating this week. At least exterior bruises would show him when they were healing.

But he hadn’t had time after her warning to do anything but head to the meeting.

Had he?

All he remembered was the seriousness of her face, the weight of absolute certainty in her words.

He would lose Jason, because he himself had pushed him away. Because Jason didn’t think Bruce trusted him. Thought Bruce would take away his chance at happiness.

Maybe Danny had been right. Maybe Jason didn’t even know Bruce loved him.

Things were so much worse than he’d made himself believe.

He knew he’d risen when his alarm went off, giving him ten minutes to head to the zeta tubes. Found Constantine again in the alley, since the man was with him now.

Couldn’t remember talking to him. But that wasn’t unlike himself anyway.

There was a hidden zeta tube downtown, only just far enough to justify the Batmobile, but Bruce would rather not leave it to drive home from Freeze’s place anyway.

He set it to return to the cave as he climbed out, at the end of another dark alley. The sun was already beginning to sink, painting the city in yellow and gold.

Constantine tapped carefully on the hood of the Batmobile between them, then jumped back as the car drove itself away, swearing. By the time he finished dusting himself off, Bruce was watching him again.

“Are yer back in there?” The magician asked cautiously, his own voice rough.

Bruce took a moment to assess his colleague. Never exactly tidy, Constantine looked more dishevelled than he had before Bruce and Harley left him.

Jason’s checkup likely hadn’t gone well.

Of course it hadn’t. Not if Jason felt the way Harley said… no. The way he’d told Harley he felt. Because Harley asked.

Something deep and weary in him tried to pull his shoulders down to sag, but he ignored it with the aid of long practice. Just gave Constantine a stiff jerk of the head.

“Hn.”

The man rolled his eyes, turning and heading for the defunct phone booth disguising the zeta tube.

“Great, monosyllables. Well, since yer back, listen up.”

The results of his examination, if Jason even let him perform it. Still, maybe the man would have something? It wasn’t like he couldn’t have cast a few spells without Jason knowing.

“First of all, yer boy ain’t a revenant.”

That jerked Bruce to a stop, his brows furrowing as he turned to face Constantine head on again. The magician had pulled a cigarette from somewhere, likely because they were heading for the Watchtower.

Bruce didn’t bother trying to stop him. He was too busy trying to process.

Constantine didn’t look happy either, so this probably wasn’t actually good news?

“What do you mean?” He growled, stepping closer and lowering his voice to avoid eavesdroppers.

Constantine rolled his eyes, waved his free hand, and the smoke from his cigarette crackled briefly in the air.

“None o’ that cloak and dagger shit, Bats. No one’s gonna hear us. But the kid, Jason? He’s not a revenant. Not sure what he is, actually, an’ not too keen on lookin’ deeper.”

It might have been the longest Bruce had heard him speak without saying “fuck” since the Amity Park question came up. The fact that he looked distinctly uneasy made that less reassuring.

“Why not?” Bruce growled, a little grateful to be able to step back and away from the smoke. Harley had left his head be for the most part, but it was already pounding again.

Constantine fixed him with a slow, speculative look.

“See, here’s my issue,” he began, raising a hand to cut off a growled protest and pointing directly at Bruce. “You? You’re Mr Worst Case Scenario. Can’t stop pokin’ at shit til it gives you an answer, or bites yer head off.”

That was certainly true. It was something that Alfred… Selina… Clark… Dick… Diana… almost everyone close to him had complained of.

Bruce wasn’t convinced it was a shortcoming, but he knew it about himself. It had been an underlying theme this whole investigation; Constantine telling him things because otherwise he’d go poking.

So what changed?

“You’re not gonna like whatever I tell you. An’ I could try an’ temper that by lyin’, or I could treat you like a fuckin’ adult on yer promise the you don’t go punchin’ inter shit yer don’t understand.”

Constantine stared expectantly at him, taking another long drag on his cigarette.

Ah. Waiting for Bruce to choose an option. As if there was any doubt?

“I swore your oath,” Bruce reminded him gruffly, and Constantine rolled his eyes again.

“An’ I’m fully aware you’re a tricky piece of shit that’ll try and work around it the second it comes up. That’s why it’s generic. You hear about the Ghost King, you back the fuck off, shut the fuck up, and run. That’ll include any of yer precious reports.”

He took another slow drag of his cigarette, watching Bruce the whole while. Bruce stared back, unsure what he was looking for but determined that he’d find nothing.

Shit. So much for having Red Robin and Oracle prod around for him. Though he had been planning to warn them to be delicate.

It barely occurred to him that showing nothing might tell Constantine more than anything else before the magician sighed and shook his head.

“Listen, B. The shit you need to know? Actually, really need to know? Jason’s… safe. There’s not a damn thing in the Infinite Realms that can hurt him now, whatever he is. I’d even put money on him bein’ demon proof, with the wards on him now.”

And wouldn’t it be so, so nice to believe that Constantine had put those wards on him? Bruce could feel the wish for it, a flight of fancy he rarely allowed himself.

Bruce let himself indulge in the want to believe for about the same length of time as that ominous pause.

“What wards?” He asked flatly, the low rumble not exactly hiding how he felt about the situation, but since he’d almost rather yell, he considered it fair.

Constantine, again, was not impressed. He folded his arms and prodded at Bruce with his still smoking cigarette.

“See, there’s that prodding. I’m trying to do this the nice way, B. Give you answers instead of just shutting you down, but you aren’t gonna know everything without a couple decades of practice, and you need to get over that.”

The magician took another drag, closing his eyes tightly for a second. When he opened them again, he looked entirely uncompromising.

The stern professional Bruce had only seen previously in life and death situations, and ones getting worse at that. Was this situation that dire?

“I could speak a word and make you forget this whole damn thing. Four more, and you’d have no choice about droppin’ it,” Constantine growled, clearly bitterly regretting not choosing that option. Bruce’s eyes narrowed in response.

He’d clearly ruled it out, but he hadn’t wanted to. Whatever he didn’t want to tell Bruce, Constantine expected him to have a powerful response.

Which meant that is was very bad, but also that Bruce’s natural response would make things worse. He could work around that.

He chose not to address the remark at all, just waiting for Constantine to continue. The man stayed silent just long enough that Bruce wondered if he was changing his mind on trying to make him forget.

This was why he hated magic. But he’d broken through it before. No spell could stand up to intense, detailed scrutiny, and he would surely have plenty of clues to remind himself when the problem was with his own son.

Finally Constantine sighed, flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground, and crushed it under one heel. He seemed to have come to a decision, new purpose under the fear he’d been hiding since he first arrived.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he sighed, heading for the zeta tube. There was just a little more spring in his step.

Bruce frowned and moved to block him.

“The wards,” he pressed, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. This conversation was important.

Constantine looked surprisingly chipper actually, raising his chin to give Bruce a sudden and almost startling smirk.

“Oh no, big guy. You had your chance to promise to behave like an adult, so we’re going with option three.”

He’d noticed Bruce’s lack of comment. Obviously, but Bruce hadn’t really thought he’d need to say anything.

Investigating was what Batman did. He knew how to do it tactfully, and without stepping on toes. He just wouldn’t promise not to do it.

None of which explained Constantine’s suddenly improved mood. It was almost the same satisfaction he’d show when he’d worked out how to pawn an unpleasant job off on someone else.

“And that is?” Bruce asked warily, suspecting he wouldn’t like whatever made this not Constantine’s problem. Constantine waggled a finger at him, like he was nothing more than a naughty child.

“I let you ask questions, after Wonder Woman promises to keep yer in line.” He said it with the finality of a lead weight, and it dropped through Bruce’s chest like one.

Shit.

Diana… Diana knew him far too well. If Constantine convinced her of whatever gave him this level of caution, she would camp in the bat cave to stop him if necessary.

Diana didn’t tolerate what she considered risk. If Bruce could convince her he was right instead… she could be a very useful ally. And she had always liked Jason.

Jason adored her. Wonder Woman had always been his favourite hero, even as a child. If Diana asked him, he might even agree to a consultation.

Bruce still didn’t know what had happened with today’s consultation, and apparently he wouldn’t even find out until they spoke to Wonder Woman.

He could extrapolate from that alone, frankly, even if Constantine wasn’t visibly rattled.

Bruce stepped aside somewhat reluctantly, letting Constantine step into the zeta tube first. They could technically fit in together, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to play sardines.

The magician’s vehemence was troubling him, as was his conviction that Wonder Woman would be the answer. It was possible that Bruce had miscalculated the scale of the threat they were facing.

Whatever had warded Jason must be touchy enough to dislike any form of questions, and powerful enough to have its displeasure matter. And if it would be able to detect the questions being asked…

Contrary to popular opinions, Bruce did know how to temper his investigative instincts when called for. People only had to ask.

And.

Impress on him. A few times. That they meant it.

Honestly if they just told him why and what to expect, set some limitations and boundaries, it wasn’t like he was unreasonable. He just liked to verify data through his own sources.

Justice League Dark were a perfectly reputable source when he had to involve himself with magic. He could cross reference things between other members if he needed to check Constantine’s intel.

The unfortunate fact of the matter seemed to be that however little Bruce liked it, he did now need to learn more about magic. He’d been content to leave it to the experts for as long as he could, but…

But it now concerned one of his children. His second son, the one he’d lost.

At the very least, he needed to understand enough about the Infinite Realms to know how to keep Jason safe. What he would need, if there was anything they should be doing for him.

Not that the JL Dark had bothered to let him know when they thought Jason was a revenant. That might have been nice, even if apparently he wasn’t.

He’d already planned to start with Constantine’s attached reading on the Infinite Realms, and the Ghost King in particular for his new researches.

(Just the thought sent a shiver down his spine, and Bruce stepped into the zeta tube a little faster than necessary. Was that his oath? On just the thought?)

He could get information on these specific wards too. Cross reference with Zatanna when she was available. Perhaps contact Dr Fate.

The Justice League Dark had their own sections of both reference materials and secured artefacts in various bases around the world.

Studying those should be a sufficient compromise; he wouldn’t reach out to the Infinite Realms directly, not until the Anti-Ecto Acts had been dealt with.

Then they could get in touch with Jason’s mysterious doctor, provided he was willing. Have the dismantling of the acts as a show of good faith.

He’d have to ask Constantine about a sufficient apology too. And mention the acts themselves; somehow there just hadn’t been time today.

Stepping out into the Watchtower, Bruce was maybe just possibly anticipating the magician’s reaction, in a dark way. Let someone else have a bad day for a change.

The poor man had been so upset with the idea that Bruce might ask questions about the realms. The fact that the United States had declared a kill order on all its occupants was not going to go over well.

And all that sass and defensive aggression could be pointed at someone other than Bruce for a while.

Actually? He should wait until Constantine was sitting down. He could add it to his meeting notes, bring it up to the whole League at once.

There would be someone on site if the magician actually fainted.

Or if Bruce’s head actually exploded.

Bruce made a mental note to check their medical supplies and defences, in case there were any unpredictable reactions. He could swing by the infirmary before they got started.

Giving Constantine a quick parting nod, he turned away from the hall and walked quickly towards the infirmary. Just to check in.

Today’s meeting was just the Justice League, with Constantine as the sole representative of JL Dark; Dark’s members all seemed to know about the Infinite Realms and Amity Park already. They didn’t need the briefing.

They’d have to read Bruce’s meeting notes now though. The same ones he was fully aware most members of the League just ignored, considered wasteful paperwork.

They expected to be told directly if something was important. As if he had all the time in the world, and they had no personal responsibility.

The lights thrummed softly as he walked, all the little noises of the satellite’s systems ticking over in perfect order helping Bruce settle into his purpose.

Jason’s report had been thorough, and though Bruce could easily see the bias around his son’s words… in this case it was more than justified.

The wording used to describe Jason and others like him in the acts contained less expletives, but were no better. The veneer of detachment only made the disdain shine through more clearly.

As if his son were beneath contempt. If Jason were to be believed (and Bruce would confirm with Constantine and Shazam) then most of his family were ecto-contaminated.

It was almost nice to have a tangible problem to solve. An enemy he could face and defeat in simple, easy manoeuvres. It was unlikely to be a physical fight, but that hardly mattered.

The delicate machinations of politics were better left to Wonder Woman, Aquaman, damn near anyone but Batman. No, Bruce Wayne was far more influential in that arena.

A little money in the right places, press coverage, a big “himbo with a heart of gold” performance. They weren’t his preferred weapons, but he knew they were effective.

And for Jason, there was nothing at all he wouldn’t do.

Purpose and the time limit combined hastened his step, his cloak billowing around him as he stalked the halls of the Watchtower. The infirmary was empty; always good.

Their stocks were full, and there were three nurses on duty that Bruce had personally selected. He trusted all of them, and none looked worried at his visit.

Batman was well known for overpreparing. It always came in useful.

He was just making his way back towards the meeting hall, feeling markedly better himself with a firm goal in mind, when Superman rounded the corner ahead of him.

The man of steel was heading his way, worry writ large on his face. If he’d heard Bruce’s talk with Harley… actually, if he’d been able to overhear Constantine’s talk with Jason, that would be very useful.

Bruce prepared a few brief words to reassure his friend as succinctly as possible, and get them both moving back towards the meeting. They could actually talk afterwards.

He never got to say them. Superman ignored his little nod of greeting and hurried up to him, standing close enough that they couldn’t be overheard. Blocking Bruce’s path.

A thrum of dread wormed its way back into Bruce’s heart as he looked up into his friend’s earnest, deep blue eyes.

Clark kept his voice low, urgent and concerned as he whispered five words that shattered the world.

“Bruce? I can’t hear Jason’s heart.”

—————————

😈

Now quick, for extra bonus points, who can name what was supposed to happen at some point in the last two chapters and didn’t? This is your chance for a treat from the beginning of the next chapter

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Next chapter!

#danny fenton dead and loving it #dp x dc #dead on main ship #danny x jason #chapter 15 #i’ll take the highway #the highway to heeeeeeeeeell/The Ghost Zone #anyway rip to bruce wayne but i would simply not tell my son he can’t have nice things #i’m just built different #so is harley #and she has a bat #and a bat-shaped problem #fuck i’m so looking forward to the start of the next chapter it’s a joke i’ve been waiting on for months #hint: sam #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp

[drabmakyo]

Did you know that I write a lot about memory, skunks, uploading consciousness, political maneuvering, skunks, aliens, skunks, queerness, identity, emotions, and skunks? It's true! I'm very proud of them. You can read books best described as

Given the chance to live forever in a world not built for death, what do you do?

Given the inability to forget—all your joys and sorrows, all your foundational memories and traumas—how do you cope?

Given the ability to create a full copy of yourself—down to every single one of those memories—to do as they will, to individuate and live out their own forever lives, or merge back down and meld their memories with your own, what paths do you take?

and

If I had a nickel for every time I accidentally wrote something with heavy plural undertones that I hadn't intended but nonetheless made me doubt my identity, I'd have two nickels! Which isn't a lot, but it is weird that it happened twice.

The Post-Self Cycle is a tetralogy of meta-furry¹, gender-weird sci-fi books. From the very beginning of the consensual dream of the System, the members of the Ode clade, all forks from the same core personality, have dealt with fear each in their own way. Do they search for greater ways to control their lives? Do they hunt for yet deeper emotional connection? Do they hone their art to the finest point?

From roots in political turmoil to the building of a new society, the story is there to be found, and the Bălan clade is there to tell it.

Digital versions come with illustrations from five artists — Iris Jay, Jade Laclede, Floe, CadmiumTea, and johnny a.

Available as paperbacks, ebooks, and free to read in the browser. Omnibus ebook and illustrated hardcovers coming soon!

Book I — Qoheleth

"All artists search. I search for stories, in this post-self age. What happens when you can no longer call yourself an individual, when you have split your sense of self among several instances? How do you react? Do you withdraw into yourself, become a hermit? Do you expand until you lose all sense of identity? Do you fragment? Do you go about it deliberately, or do you let nature and chance take their course?"

With immersive technology at its peak, it's all too easy to get lost. When RJ loses emself in that virtual world, not only must ey find eir way out, but find all the answers ey can along the way.

And, nearly a century on, society still struggles with the ramifications of those answers.

Features the bonus novella Gallery Exhibition: A Love Story.

Madison finds a way to address not only the joys and terrors of integrated simulation technology, but also tackles questions of gender and identity while telling a pretty gripping mystery story in the process.

— Nenekiri Bookwyrm

Book II — Toledot

"I am saying that you trust me — really trust me — and that life in the System is more subtle than I think you know. You let me into your dreams, my dear, and your dreams influence this place as much as, if not more than, your waking mind."

No longer bound to the physical, what lengths should one go to in a virtual world to ensure the continuity of one's existence?

Secession. Launch. Two separations from two societies, two hundred years apart. And through it all, so many parallels run on so many levels that it can be dizzying just keeping up. The more Ioan and Codrin Bălan learn, the more it calls into question the motivations of even those they hold most dear.

Madison Scott-Clary . . . trusts her readers to be able to understand a completely different culture and existence than our own, and makes it compelling to do so.

— Payson R. Harris

Book III — Nevi'im

"Do you know how old I am, Dr. Brahe? I am 222 years old, a fork of an individual who is...who would be 259 years old. I am no longer the True Name of 2124. Even remembering her feels like remembering an old friend. I remember her perfectly, and yet I do not remember how to be earnest. I do not know how to simply be."

The cracks are showing.

Someone picked up on the broadcast from the Dreamer Module and as the powers that be rush to organize a meeting between races, Dr. Tycho Brahe is caught up in a whirlwind of activity. And as always, when the drama goes down, there is Codrin Bălan to witness it.

When faced with eternity in a new kind of digital world, however, old traumas come to roost, and those who were once powerful are brought to their knees

Growth is colliding with memory, and the cracks are showing.

These characters are so well realized, so fleshed out, that I can’t help but to gush about how their interactions with each other inform the central plot of the book.

— Nenekiri Bookwyrm

Book IV — Mitzvot

"To be built to love is to be built to dissolve. It is to be built to unbecome. It is to have the sole purpose of falling apart all in the name of someone else."

Even the grandest of stories can feel small and immediate when it's just one person's life.

One of the most well-known names from one of the most well-known clades on the System, the avatar of political machinations and cool confidence, has been brought low. With help coming only from Ioan Bălan and the most grudging of support from her cocladists, all True Name has left to save herself is the ability to change.

Features the bonus novella Selected Letters.

Mitzvot drills down deeper into the lives of its characters and shows us that between the world-shattering projects that change the very understanding of the System, they’re just people trying to live their lives with love and purpose.

— Nenekiri Bookwyrm

Keep an eye out for Clade, an anthology of short stories from nine authors set in the universe, coming later this year.

----------

¹ That is, about members of the furry subculture rather than just furry characters.

#post-self #sci-fi #meta-furry #books and reading