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achillestiel · 3 years

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the parent trap only works if you’re identical | part six

AO3 Link - 3.1k words so you might want to just read on ao3

Tag List: @littlerachelbee @imthedoctorlove @deancas-handprint @castiel-loves-dean @wanderermatthews @thelahatiel @priscillahc @mridzyp @multi-fandom-dark-lord @thefantasyfiend @harmonyhelms @imlivingliferightnow @kara-merlin @still-clowning-in-this-house @never-forever-more @continuezmesfilserrants @2musiclover2 @castiels-bitch @stjimmie @cmths5

When Dean woke the next morning it was to the distinctive smell of waffles and the even more distinctive sound of Claire laughing. Letting out a small groan, Dean tried to move but found he was being held in place by the arms, and legs, of one very naked Cas Novak. Ah yes, how could he have forgotten about Cas’ obsession with wrapping himself around Dean like some kind of octopus? As Dean began to rouse he became distinctively more aware of the situation from the night before. The childish tit for tat fight with Cas that had ended up with them in bed together. Because of course that would happen. Both he and Cas knew it would happen because that's what they did. They fought like cat and dog before inevitably falling into bed together. This was why they’d come up with the stupid agreement to separate the twins, this was why they hadn’t seen each other in so many years. Because despite all the fights and how goddamn crazy Cas drove Dean, he loved him.

“Dad! Dads! Waffles are nearly ready!” Dean heard Claire yell from the kitchen. “Dads!”

“Claire, stop yelling. Be down in a minute!” Dean yelled back.

“You’re yelling!”

“Claire!”

“Fine!” Claire yelled.

“Why is there yelling?” Cas grumbled from where his face was pressed into Dean’s shoulder. “It’s too early for yelling.”

“That would be our daughter.” Dean said, suppressing a groan. “We should...we should probably get up before the pair of them barge in here.” Dean added, partly because it was true. Claire was probably a minute away from marching upstairs but also because his brain was a good thirty seconds away from imploding. All he knew was that he needed to get out of the house as quickly as possible, hoping to God that twins hadn’t heard anything from the night before.

Dean, of course, was completely unaware that the twins had woken up at six to disable the battery on the impala. He was also unaware that Claire and Jack had sent messages to Sam and Gabriel, stating that Cas had not slept in his own bed.

“You’re right.” Cas grumbled, removing his arms from around Dean. For a moment he missed the warmth and weight of Cas’ arms. “We should go downstairs.”

“Cas...should we talk about last night?” Dean stammered out as he watched Cas slide out of the bed, stark naked. Cas groaned and stretched, the muscles in his back rippling and all Dean could do was stare. For a sparklingly brief moment in time, Cas had been his. They’d belonged to each other. Dean could have slid out the bed and wrap his arms around Cas’ waist like it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Can you guarantee that it won’t end in a fight?” Cas asked. He turned back to Dean, raising en eyebrow as he grabbed for his discarded underwear from the night before. Dean let out a groan and ran his hands over his face.

“Probably not.” Dean said from behind his hands.

“Dad! Waffles!” This time it was Jack yelling up the stairs.

“Jack, stop yelling. We’re coming down.” Cas called back. “Let me get changed, I’ll be right back.” Cas said, exiting the room while Dean just flopped back onto the bed. He was too old to be having an emotional crisis. He needed to get dressed. He needed to stop thinking about Cas naked.

"Good morning my little rays of sunshine!" Gabriel called when Dean and Cas walked into the kitchen.

“I thought you went home.” Dean grumbled.

“I did, I used my key this morning.”

"I'm getting my key back." Cas muttered as he shuffled over to the coffee machine.

"Sleep well?" Gabriel asked. "Worked up an appetite for waffles?" He added, cocking an eyebrow. Dean glared back before sitting down at the table. “Just asking a question.” Gabriel said.

“Not now Gabriel, just not now.” Cas said as he filled two mugs with coffee, handing one to Dean without saying a word.

“Thanks.” Dean said as Claire sauntered over with a plate full of waffles, syrup and fruit. “Morning, you packed Claire?” he asked. Claire just rolled her eyes and pointed at the waffles.

“Just eat breakfast dad.” She said while Jack handed a plate over to Cas. The twins sat down, their own plates stacked high with waffles, and exchanged smug looks.

“Well isn’t this lovely?” Gabriel said, sitting down across from the twins. Dean gave him a Sammy bitchy look as Gabriel grinned along with the twins.

“Ok, just spit it out.” Dean said. He pointed a syrup cover fork at Claire. “Because I know you Claire Mary Winchester, you can’t keep an opinion to yourself.”

“Are you and Dad getting back together?” Jack blurted out, staring at Cas. Sadly, Cas had taken a generous sip of his coffee. Cas spluttered and turned to just stare at Dean with a pleading look.

“Kids...look...your dad and I still really care about each other-”

“We gathered that after last night.” Jack said, a blush creeping across his cheeks.

“You guys are not quiet.” Claire added while Gabriel howled with laughter.

“Oh my god.” Cas muttered, burying his head in hands.

“OK, ok let’s stop talking about that.” Dean said holding up a hand because Cas looked a few seconds away from having a meltdown. “Kids, your dad and I still care about each other but we’re not going to get back together.” Dean said.

“But why?” Claire and Jack asked.

“For a lot of reasons that you’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Bulls-”

“Claire.” Dean warned.

“Ok, that’s horse poop.” Claire said. Dean just sat there and stared down his daughter until she huffed loudly and went back to eating her waffles. The rest of breakfast was a quiet affair, Dean and Cas barely exchanging a few words while Gabriel, Claire and Jack just smirked into their waffles. When breakfast was finally over Dean forced Claire upstairs to grab her stuff while he went outside to start the car.

Dean waited for the engine to turn over but nothing happened. “No baby, just start please.” Dean pleaded, sending out a silent prayer. He tried once again but nothing happened. Great, just great. Clambering out the car, Dean stomped back into the house where the twins were waiting for him. Claire’s duffel bag at her feet.

“What’s up?” She asked.

“The car wont start, I’m just gonna grab a torch so I can check over the engine.” Dean said.

“Not that I don’t think you're capable of looking over a car Dean-o, but why don’t I call my mechanic?” Gabriel asked, walking into the hallway holding a mug of coffee. “He can come and look over the car while you get to spend some time with the kiddos.” At Gabriel’s suggestion Jack’s face lit up.

“We could see the memorial or the library. Walk along the waterfront!” Jack suggested.

“Or go to the Smithsonian!” Claire offered.

“Who's going to the Smithsonian?” Cas asked as he too walked into the hallway.

“The car won’t start. I just need to grab a torch-”

“But Uncle Gabriel has said he can call a mechanic. That way we can spend the day together.” Jack intoned. “Please dad, we don’t know when we’re next going to be able to spend the day together.” he added. Both he and Claire gave Dean the puppy dog eyes and all of Dean’s steely resolve dissolved. Goddamn kids. Dean thought.

“Ok, if Cas isn’t busy then we can do something.” Dean said. “I’m only agreeing to this because it’ll stop you two from complaining.”

“Us? Complain? Never.” Jack said.

“I have nothing on today, I had the whole weekend free to spend time with Jack after he came back from camp.” Cas said.

“Excellent! I’ll call the old mechanic and you four can stroll around the capital with the dysfunctional family you are.” Gabriel said, beaming as he strolled out the room, phone in hand. How the hell did that just happen? Dean thought as the twins whooped loudly, running upstairs to go and get dressed.

“How...how did they do that?” Cas asked, looking from the staircase back to Dean.

“I don’t know...never let either of them get into politics, that’s how dictators are born.” Dean said. “I guess we should get ready...if you’re ok with this?”

“Dean, it’s fine. If it makes the kids happy then I’m happy.” Cas said.

An hour later Cas found himself, the twins and Dean walking around the main tourist spots of Washington DC. The sun blazed down on them as Cas stopped every now and then to offer facts or anecdotes. He pointed out his office as they made their way down Pennsylvania Avenue.

“Not too shabby Cas, makes the garage back home look like a salvage yard.” Dean said as Cas showed them the Eisenhower building.

“Not be silly, it’s just a building.” Cas said, feeling his face blush.

“Dude, we can see the White House from here. That’s cool.” Dean said.

“I’d offer you a tour but I know as soon as I walk in there I’ll be dragged into some budgetary discussion.” Cas explained. Under the hot sun they made their way towards 17th Street, both twins talking excitedly as they got closer to the Lincoln reflecting pool.

“Winter Soldier opening scene recreation?” Jack asked Claire excitedly.

“Loser buys the other ice cream.” Claire shot back. “Three, two, one...go!” She cried.

Cas watched as the twins sprinted away, laughing at each as they pumped their arms to go faster. Claire whooping loudly when it looked like she was winning.

"So...last night." Dean said, his hands in his pockets as he glanced at Cas. Instantly the mood changed but Cas knew they needed to have this conversation away from the twins.

"It was an inevitability." Cas said as he watched Jack push forward, laughing hysterically as Claire tried to catch him up. "As utterly impossible I find you, it's hard to be around you and not have it happen." Cas said, determinedly not looking at Dean. "You were the love of my life Dean. Sometimes I hate that I feel this way. Life would be easier."

"How so?" Dean asked.

"Because I wouldn't be here feeling like there was always a part of me missing." Cas explained. "I don't even know if you feel that way too but I do."

“You’re not the only who feels like that Cas.” Dean said after a beat. “Do you mean that? About something missing?" Dean asked.

"Why would I lie to you? You said that night that you would probably never be here again. There's no point in being false." Cas said. In the distance Claire and Jack were passing the Lincoln memorial. Cas smiled wistfully at the pair of them. "Over the years I would think about what it would be like if they met."

"Cas...you left. I didn't want you to."

"You're right and I think about that nearly every day." Cas said, finally looking over at Dean. He was looking back at Cas with a distraught look in his green eyes. "I tried to banish all memories of you but with you here, after spending time with Claire, everything is coming back."

"I'm going to say something that I've wanted to say for a long time. I’m going to say it because who knows when we’ll be here again." Dean said, taking a breath before speaking again. Cas braced himself for whatever Dean would say, not too sure how else he could react. "I never stopped loving you, I need you to know that. I see you in Claire all the time. It’s like seeing a ghost. The stubbornness, the way she just stares at you like she can into your soul...she's just so you."

"I have the same problem with Jack. He will say something and it will just hit me." Cas said as Dean’s words sunk in. “I...I never stopped loving you. I left but I still loved-”

“Winner!” Claire cried, racing over to Dean and Cas with a wide grin. Jack was seconds behind her, panting like crazy. “You owe me ice cream now.” Claire said joyfully to Jack.

“Ugh, fine.” Jack said.

“I guess this is the cue for ice cream.” Dean said, lowering his voice so only Cas could hear him. “We...we can talk about this later.”

By the time they made it back to the house Dean was exhausted. They had traipsed to several tourist spots and all he wanted to do was have a long nap. He was definitely going to need a strong coffee before heading back on the road with a sullen Claire in tow. The four of them had only just walked through the door when Gabriel appeared.

"Hey Dean-o, the mechanic looked over the car and it's fine. Turns the battery had been dis-" Gabriel stopped when he saw Claire frantically motioning for him to shut up. Dean rounded on his daughter.

"Claire?" He asked. “Any idea how the battery was disconnected on the car?”

“Haven’t a clue.” Claire said. Beside him, Dean heard Cas let out a snort.

“What? What about this is funny?”

“She has the exact same tell as Jack when she’s lying. She scratches her ear.” Cas said with a fond smile towards Claire, who beamed back.

“Don’t smile at that.” Dean said exasperatedly to Claire before rounding on Gabriel. “It doesn’t take long to reconnect the battery, why didn’t you call Cas and tell him?”

“I...I…” Gabriel stammered before groaning. “Sorry kids. Jack and Claire gave me fifty bucks to keep you guys out as long as possible. Preferably so long that you couldn’t drive back tonight.”

“Uncle Gabriel!” The twins cried.

“Ok enough.” Cas said. “You can go home.” He said pointing at Gabriel. “And you two can go upstairs to think about what you’ve done. Without your phones as well.” Cas said, holding out his hand for Claire and Jack’s phones. “Upstairs. Now.” He said in a firm voice. Both Jack and Claire groaned loudly before handing over their phones. Cas could hear them stomping up every step and into Jack’s room.

“Ok...I’ll just...head out. Toodles!” Gabriel said, giving Dean a salute before hurrying out of the living room. Once they heard the door close, Dean sank onto the couch and huffed loudly.

“I swear between Gabriel and our kids, my blood pressure has gone through the roof.” Dean said, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I know just the thing to help.” Cas said, leaving Dean alone in the living room for several moments before returning.“I thought that we could both do with a drink.” Cas said, walking into the living room holding two glasses of red wine.

“After the past two days I could drink a bar dry.” Dean said, accepting the glass from Cas. “Thanks.”

“You know, I love our kids but they are little shits.” Cas said bluntly.

“I know I can be blamed for Claire but Jack had you bringing him up. He should be an angel.” Dean said between sips of wine.

“In my defence, he has also had Gabriel’s influence so really there was no hope.” Cas said with a sigh. The pair sat in comfortable silence for several minutes as they drank their wine.

“You know, this isn't bad.” Dean said, holding out his glass. “What?” he asked when he saw Cas’ bemused expression.

“This is actually the same wine we had at our wedding. I’d say I’m surprised you don’t remember but then again, this is the same wine that caused you to drunkenly scream sing ‘Rock You Like A Hurricane’.” Cas said with a small smile. “I...well I had a bottle and thought…”

“We could reminisce?” Dean asked. He looked back at his glass with a strange look of longing.

“Are you ok?” Cas asked.

“Huh, of yeah...fine…” Dean said but Cas knew better. There had been a time when he had known every single aspect of Dean.

“You know, you don't have to be so gallant all the time Dean.” Cas said “You can tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Want me to be honest?” Dean asked. Cas nodded. “I’m thinking about how stupid I was for never coming after you. For splitting the twins up and not being married to you anymore.” Cas’ breath left his body as Dean placed his wine glass onto the coffee table. Time seemed to slow down as Dean lifted a hand to cup Cas’ cheek. He brought their foreheads together and let out a breath almost like a lament. “I miss you. I really miss you Cas.” Dean whispered. Cas pulled away for a moment to place his own glass on the table and turned back to Dean. “Say something.” Dean pleaded.

“I miss you too.” Cas said. Dean smiled that beautiful Dean Winchester smile and brought their lips together. Cas melted into the kiss, one that was so different from the frantic kisses of the night before. Last night had been fueled by something primal but now, the only thing fueling Cas was the wave of so many memories.

He was twenty one years old, stood next to his piece of shit car as a twenty three year old Dean grinned at him, promising that he could fix it for a great price. The two of them sitting in a dimly lit bar, Dean throwing back his head as he laughed at something Cas had said, slapping the table and finding it even more amusing that Cas didn’t even realise he was being funny. Dean kissing him for the first time and Cas knowing that he had found his home. Cas was twenty four years old, wrapped in Dean’s arms as they looked out across the vast ocean. Dean had stopped throwing up as he slowly found his sea legs. Cas saying that he was so happy and wasn’t sure how their trip to England could get any better. Dean slowly unwrapping his arms from Cas and looking nervous. Cas staring back with a confused expression, that expression turning to one of shock as Dean dropped down to one knee. Both of them standing with tears in their eyes as the captain pronounced them married. They were walking hand in hand as they made their way through Camden, Cas having to hold on tight so Dean wouldn’t try to get a tattoo. Dean dragging Cas to every single record store to hunt down albums they didn’t have.

Cas standing in the kitchen as Dean came barreling into the room, picking Cas up easily and spinning him round as they discovered they were going to be parents.

Every single memory crashed over Cas as he deepened the kiss. Breathless but not caring because he had missed this so much. No screaming at each other over broken mugs. Just love.

“Don’t leave in the morning.” Cas said pleadingly as they broke away.

“Cas…”

“Just...stay...I don’t know how but we can work something out.” Cas said breathlessly. “Please Dean.”

#deancas parent trap #deancas fic #destiel fic #deancas #destiel #sam writes #jesus this was longer than I thought it was going to be #it's choppy and shitty but i did my best #as always #if you want to be included in the tag list just let me know #there's porbably going to be 2 more parts to this #idk man i didn't even plan for it to be this long wtf

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marrys-dream-world · 3 years

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lovers alone wear sunlight (chapter ten)

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine

Read on AO3

Notes: Finally finished! Late, but here. Day 30: Speechless. @ladrienjune

Chat Noir arrived at the Agreste Manor in a daze, barely detransforming before he dropped on the bed. Plagg watched the frozen teen silently, but he reached the end of his patience at the fifteen minute mark.

“So… when is dinner-”

“You knew!” Adrien shouted, coming out of his trance. “You knew this whole time!”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘this whole time’. Did I know the first time you got all romantic under the rain? ‘She’s just a friend, Plagg.’” His voice went high-pitched as he imitated Adrien and he paused to snort. “No, I didn’t. I found out during that owlman akuma thing. Ugh, I hate whip cream.”

“Since when?!” His voice now, curiously, matched Plagg’s Pretend-Adrien one. “How did you not tell me that when I was making a fool out of myself?!”

“Tikki said that if I told you, she would go back in time and erase the creation of cheese from existence. She’s the goddess of creation, she can and would do more for less.” He shuddered, eyes going glassy. “You have no idea what happened to the makkoinis.”

“The what?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, that’s kinda terrifying but Plagg.” He let out a screech that couldn’t be heard by human ears. Plagg, able to hear but used to Adrien’s Ladybug-related sounds, didn’t even wince. “Marinette is Ladybug.”

“Yeah.”

“But I saw her and Multimouse- oh, yeah, fox miraculous.” He slapped his forehead before smiling stupidly. “My clever little bug.”

“Sure.” Plagg said.

(Tikki’s girl was certainly smart, but after seeing her trip at the school steps when Adrien took a long sip of water and fall into a trash can that subsequently started to roll down the streets, Plagg wasn’t that eager to praise her intelligence. Adrien, at the time, just smiled adoringly and said ‘typical Marinette’ before running to catch up with Alya and Nino as they chased the trash can. So Plagg didn’t really have the high ground to talk about smart chosens.)

“Oh, but Marinette is in love with Luka!” Adrien shouted. “She’ll never want to date me!”

“She’s dating you right now.”

“Oh.” He said, settling down again. Then, he jumped up. “I’m dating Marinette! Plagg, Marinette loves me!”

“She sure does, kid.” Plagg said, trying to keep his tone bored, but it was too hard in the face of Adrien’s unadulterated joy. His kitten deserved to be happy.

“Marinette made me a hat for my name day!”

“Yep.”

“Marinette was really confessing her love for me when she thought I was a statue!”

“Kinda creepy but yes.”

“Marinette tried to give me a love letter!” Adrien burst out into lovesick giggles, falling back on his bed. “You know what? That makes a lot more sense, actually.”

“Look, kid, I know you’re excited-”

“My girlfriend sits behind me in school!”

“Yeah, she does.” Plagg wondered if now Adrien would notice the burning gaze Marinette sent him the whole school hours. It made him uncomfortable even from his place inside Adrien’s bag “But she doesn’t know you know because she doesn’t know you’re Chat Noir. You have to be, as you kids say, cool about it.”

“Plagg.” Adrien chuckled, grinning. “When have I, Adrien Agreste, ever not been cool about anything?”

According to Ms. Bustier, the answer to that question was “everyday, probably”.

“This is the last time I’ll ask this, class, please look at the board or I’ll start to send people to the principal’s office.”

It was always the same chain reaction. Adrien Agreste, who let out a squeak as soon as Marinette Dupain-Cheng came in ten minutes late with a thermos of tea in one hand and her school bag in the other, kept looking behind him during class. Marinette, completely oblivious to his reason for doing so, looked behind her, confusing Ivan, who turned around to look at Nathaniel, who never failed to blush beet red at this. Then, their classmates who noticed this happening all turned to look at Nathaniel, who practically started to steam.

“Dude, what was that?” Nino asked as soon as they were released for lunch. “What did you see on the back that got you distracted so bad?”

“I, uh, a bug! Yes, I saw a bug.”

“Oh, was it that big?”

“Big and beautiful.” Noticing Nino’s weird look at his lovesick sigh, he cleared his throat. “So, having lunch with the girls?”

“We’re going to that new cafe near school.” Nino said. “Why? You in?”

“Actually, yeah.” Adrien smiled at his friend’s surprised face. “No, I didn't get permission. My day’s just been too good to let father ruin it by making me have lunch alone for the fifth time this week.”

“Dude, it’s wednesday.”

“Physically, he only missed two. Spiritually? Many more.”

Nino whistled. “You’re a bold guy, Adrien. Let’s go look for the girls, then.”

They were greeted by the most beautiful sight in the world: a giggling Marinette, cheeks flushed and hands gesturing wildly. His heart threatened to run away from his chest just to fall at her feet and beg for attention. As soon as she saw him, everything about her seemed to intensify and Alya raised an eyebrow at him, easy smile falling from her face.

“Look who’s having lunch with us today.” Nino said, dropping a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “Isn’t it great?!”

“Sure is.” Alya said, voice flat. Distantly, Adrien hears the sound of a kettle going off, before he realized it was just Marinette muffling her squeals in her hands.

The cafe was nice, bright and airy with a lot of windows. Anyone that tried to take the table of four near the wall backed off as soon as they were met with Alya’s eyes, so they took turns to make their orders in pairs as the other two held the seats. Adrien tried to go with Marinette, but Alya grabbed her wrist and dragged her off as soon as they put their things on the table. He hides his disappointment by ordering a large slice of red velvet cake for dessert along with his apple juice, chicken and salad.

“Stop giving me the sad puppy eyes.” He told Nino. “I do like salad, okay? I grew up eating it and with the right dressing, it tastes great.”

Nino still rolled over a mini roll with butter. Adrien rolled his eyes playfully and grinned.

“So, Marinette, what did you get?” He asked her, watching her pause in her slurping of a noodle. There was red sauce on her cheek and he wiped it with a napkin, making the color of the food blend in with her face.

“I got balls of cheese. Bold of these. Bolognese. Yes, bolognese pasta! Haha, I love it!” She said before stuffing her mouth with it. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Alya pinch the bridge of her nose.

“That’s great, I’m having some good old salad.” Smooth, Agreste. “Wanna try?”

“Oh, I-I couldn’t, I think I ordered too much food already.” Marinette stammered. “B-but do you like it?”

“I love it.” I love you. They simply stared at each other, floating off somewhere else.

They eventually fell off their high as a loud “squelch” resonated in the busy cafe.

“Babe, your orange.” Nino said, taking some napkins to wipe at the tangerine Alya crushed with her right hand.

“I like it like this.” She said, refusing the napkin and eating the fruit off her hand, skin and all, while sending a death glare to Adrien.

He couldn’t understand what he did wrong. All his actions could amount to talking to Marinette lovingly and staring at her adoringly. A common reaction to seeing her, after all. What did Alya have against that?

“I was alone with my best friend and she was being so understanding I just… told her.”

Oh. Alya was Marinette’s best friend. Alya was Ladybug’s best friend. Ladybug told her best friend her secret identity. Alya probably knows Adrien Agreste and Ladybug are dating and now Adrien is swooning over a girl that, as far as he knows, is a completely different person.

He could hear faint snickering from his pocket.

“Marinette.” He said, grasping her hands, which went completely slack in his, and stared directly into her eyes. “You’re a really good friend.”

Marinette went crimson and open-mouthed, hands staying exactly where he carefully placed the back on the table. Nino kept looking between them, frowning. Alya’s glare waned and now she just looked plain confused, tangerine juice dripping from her fingers.

Nailed it.

The rest of the day went by a slow crawl, lunch finally giving him enough self-control to not turn around every five minutes (it already caused enough trouble, as a jumpy Nathaniel kept looking behind him with nervous eyes). He tried to pay attention in class and not doodle a bunch of anime-Marinettes and him holding hands on dates. They could go on dates and hold hands in public and go on red carpets! Maybe his father won’t like it, but hasn’t Adrien been a good son? Doesn’t he deserve love? Doesn't he-

“Dude, class is over.” Nino said, leaning over with concerned eyes. Everyone around them was putting their things away and she caught a glimpse of Marinette being dragged to the hall by Alya. “Is everything okay?”

“Better than okay, Nino.” Adrien said, overjoyed. “I’m so happy today that I feel like bursting!”

“I’m glad.” His friend said, voice soft. “After the stuff with Marinette, you were just so down and I didn’t know how to help… So seeing you happy, it’s great.”

“Nino…” He said, feeling his chest cave in as everything inside him turned into mush. Overwhelmed, he hugged him. “Thanks.”

“But I didn’t do anything?” Nino said, patting him on the back.

“For being here.” Adrien said as he let go. Nino laughed.

“If you say so.”

He went back home in an even better mood, breezing through his chineses classes. His teacher praised his enthusiasm and said they hoped he came back with this much energy next time, too. The photoshoot he went to after was a success, the photographer commenting on his smile being brighter than ever.

“You look even happier than yesterday.” Was the first thing Ladybug said when she came through the window,haloed by the light of the setting sun. “Is this a pattern? If I come in tomorrow, will you be even happier?”

“The only way I’ll be happy at all tomorrow is if I see you.” He said, kissing the tip of her nose and making her giggle.

Now that he knew who she was, the magic glamour that clouded his vision was gone and he could clearly see who he was holding: just Marinette in a red mask. The idea made his poor, abused heart speed up. This girl was going to kill him just by existing, if she kept this up.

“How did it go with Chat Noir, yesterday?” Adrien asked, slyly.

“Oh, it went great!” Her eyes lightened up when she talked about Chat Noir, did she notice? “We made a deal, too, involving our secret identities and now we’re talking about ourselves more.”

“I’m happy for you two.”

“Thanks.” She said before her smile fell a little. “He did get weird after a while, though, when I was talking about you.”

“Oh.” She did notice. He had been so sure his subtle deflection had been perfect. “Maybe he’s jealous? You said he has a crush on you.”

“More like had a crush on me.” Ladybug said, the bitterness in her voice making Adrien’s eyes widen. “He has a girlfriend, now. His soulmate, apparently. Cool, cool, good for him. I’m sure she’s very nice, can’t wait to meet her. Maybe we can go on a double date, what do you think?”

He resisted the urge to laugh hysterically at the idea. “Sure.”

“Great!” Her forced smile changed into something more genuine. “Now that me and Chat are telling each other about ourselves, I thought that maybe… I could tell you more about myself, too?”

“Really?” Okay, Agreste, be cool about it.

“Yes, anything you want to know. If I can answer it, I will. Let’s just save names for last, but other than that, I’ll try.”

“Was that bolognese pasta from lunch really that good?”

Her pale face registered in his mind before his own words did.

“I-I mean…” Not even one conversation. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Plagg mocked him. “Damn, I’m sorry, Marinette.”

“I… How… Wha…” She stuttered, before her mouth settled into gaping like a fish.

“Well, the statue stuff was really specific, but the constipation medicine was what really sold it to me.” He said, voice much more level than how he was feeling.

Adrien could see in her eyes the exact moment everything clicked.

“Chaton?”

“Surprise, my lady.” He smiled weakly and she stood there, speechless. “Please say something.”

“Is it really you?” Ladybug asked, voice small.

“Yeah, it’s really him.” Plagg said, floating over Adrien’s shoulder. “Honestly, I have a bone to pick with you, Pigtails. Do you know how unbearable he-”

“Not now, Plagg.” He hissed, swatting him away and dodging his little teeth. “Go to your room or I’ll feed you processed cheese for a month.”

Plagg literally hissed at him before quietly flying to his trash can.

“Sorry for him, I just-”

Ladybug carefully cradled his cheek. “It’s really you.”

“Yeah.” He agreed, insides tender. “And it’s really you, right, Marinette?”

Pink light washed over him and when it receded, the one that stood there, pink-cheeked and looking softer than ever in a green sweater, was Marinette. His lady.

“It’s really me, chaton.” She laughed, delighted. “It’s really us.”

He joined her in laughter, heart feeling fuller than ever. He didn't think it would ever be empty again, not with her by his side.

#ladrienjune #ladrienjune2021 #ladrien #ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #ml fic #my stuff #lovers alone wear sunlight

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vexedtonightmares · 4 years

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Hi. I hope you have an amazing day/night. I had an idea for a fic. That Elliott saves lucas from a monster. Elliott is a demigod and tells lucas he is too and has to go to camp halfblood (percy Jackson au)

ok i’m gonna start by saying that i’m literally so sorry for taking MONTHS to answer this, but i loved this prompt so much i wanted to give it the attention it deserved 🥺now, that attention went from a small 1k fic to a roughly 20k three part fic because i have No Chill and accidentally came up with an entire plot, but at least i’m sharing it now!! i hope you enjoy!!

you can read part 1 here on ao3 or down below the cut 💖

love and other divine interventions

part i. identity (8.4k)

Look, Lucas didn’t want to be a half-blood. What the hell was that even supposed to mean? It sounded like a disease, the more he thought about it. Not that he thought about it often, he really tried not to, because most of all he didn’t care what it meant. Hadn’t killed him yet, had it?

Lucas had first been told that he was a half-blood by his mother when he was twelve. She said she was worried for his safety, and that she might have to send him to summer camp in America. He didn’t know what any of that meant, but he also knew that his mother wasn’t well sometimes, so he never thought too much about what she’d said and whether or not it meant more than he took it as.

A few years later, his mother had been put into an institution to help with her mental health, and Lucas had been sent from Paris to the states to live with an aunt and uncle he hardly knew. That was the second time someone called him a half-blood. He’d been minding his own business, walking home from school, and some kid who looked both older and younger than he was at the time had gasped, saying that Lucas was a half-blood and had to come with him if he wanted to be safe.

Lucas had learned about stranger danger, though, so instead he ran away and told his aunt and uncle what happened. Without any room for argument, his aunt and uncle packed up and moved halfway across the country. It was a bit of an excessive response, but Lucas was fourteen, he didn’t really have any say in the matter.

Something similar had happened again when he was sixteen, then seventeen, and each time his aunt and uncle packed up and moved at even the slightest hint of trouble. He knew that they were just worried about him, they’d lost their daughter, his cousin, back when she was about twelve years old, and they never found out what happened to her. Or so they told Lucas, when he asked.

He asked them what a half-blood was once, and they’d both told him to never say that word again. So, he hadn’t. He did write a letter to his mother, though, asking if she could explain what she’d meant. Everyone just thought she was crazy, but Lucas had never thought so. If she’d thought it was important for Lucas to know, it must have been.

When Lucas was eighteen, he went to university in New York. His aunt and uncle hadn’t wanted him to, but they wouldn’t let him go back to Paris, so this was the option they’d reluctantly agreed to.

Strange things had always seemed to follow him wherever he went, but those occurrences happened far more often once he was in New York. He chalked it up to the weirdness of the city itself. Like this: the man on the street who’d told him he smelled like death— which was more rude than strange, actually— or the time that he could have sworn some sort of winged demon had been following him as he walked to class.

Generally, he chalked his experiences up to a lack of sleep, because the life of a college student was quite the busy one. Even if it hadn’t been, he probably wouldn’t have slept anyways. All his life he’d been plagued by dreams so haunting and wild that he’d felt that they were real, regardless of the fact that he knew that couldn’t have been the case.

It was after a night tossing and turning in bed, visions of a pale skinned man on a throne of bones trying desperately to tell him something, that Lucas decided he needed to get some fresh air.

Lucas loved the city, he really did. Of all the places he’d lived in his life, New York was a close second to Paris. He didn’t let himself think of Paris too often, though, lest he be swept up in thoughts of his mother and how much he missed her. It was hard to keep in contact with all the moving, but he called the home that she was in every now and again to make sure she was alright. She never responded to the questions he’d written to her, but he’d more or less put all of that out of his mind.

It became clear to Lucas while he was walking through the city that someone was following him. Every time he looked back, he could have sworn he saw someone dart out of sight. So, he picked up his pace. If it came down to it, he’d throw some punches, sure, but he wasn’t the best fighter there ever was.

He kept walking, no direction in mind, and started to think that maybe he’d been overreacting, or maybe the sleep deprivation had gotten him at last. He walked so long that he made it somewhere there weren’t many people around, and even though he turned over his shoulder once more, whoever was following him seemed to have gotten bored and left him be. Finally, he thought, and paused to check his phone, blinking in surprise when he realized he’d been walking for nearly two hours. He had a tendency to get lost in his own head like that.

Lucas took a deep breath, started to turn around to walk back where he’d come from, and saw a light flash at the corner of his eye, something a bright and beautiful shade of bronze. Before he had time to react, he was pinned up against the side of an alleyway with a knife to his throat and a hand over his mouth.

By the time Lucas was able to assess the situation and look at his assailant’s face, he groaned internally to himself. Oh, fuck, he’s hot.

The assailant in question didn’t look to be all that much older than Lucas himself, his skin was pale and golden, dotted with moles like constellations. He was wearing a bright orange shirt, which Lucas didn’t know how he hadn’t seen before, and had a leather necklace with a bunch of clay beads on it, each with a different design. Six if, Lucas was counting properly.

The last thing Lucas looked at were his attacker’s eyes. A clear, bluish grayish color so intense, it made Lucas a little weak in the knees. Get a hold of yourself Lallemant, this guy is literally trying to kill you.

Lucas opened his mouth under the guy’s hold and in return the guy pressed his hand in even tighter. His luminescent eyes raked Lucas’ face up and down a moment until his attention was caught by something else, off to Lucas’ left.

“Stay here,” the boy said, loosening his grip on Lucas’ mouth, “And stay quiet, if you want to survive.”

Now, Lucas may not have been trained in combat, but he did know a few moves, one of which he employed the second it looked like this guy’s guard was down.

“OW! What the fuck?” the guy said in a strained voice as he fell to his knees. “Did you just knee me in the balls?”

Lucas didn’t spare the breath on answering, he just ran to the opposite end of the alley as fast as he could. He was almost away when he heard another voice join the fray. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” said a girl’s voice, “I think you should go back to where Eliott told you to stay.”

Suddenly, Lucas felt his legs moving of their own accord. He agreed with this girl, he should listen to everything she said.

The boy— Eliott— lifted his head to glare at the girl. “Lola, stop that.”

In his haze, Lucas could barely hear her mumble something about never being allowed to have any fun before he suddenly felt like he’d been dunked in a bucket of ice cold water. He looked around, wondering how he’d gotten back to where he’d run from.

“What did you— wha—” he stammered, trying to regain sense of himself, when Eliott sighed and stood up, grimacing a bit.

“I’ll explain everything,” Eliott promised, “We’re here to help you, not hurt you, you just have to please, for the love of the gods, stay where you are and shut up.”

For the love of the gods? Were these people in some sort of cult?

Lucas was nothing if not stubborn. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and frowned. “What makes you think I’ll do what you say?”

Eliott threw an exasperated glance at Lola, who simply raised her eyebrows back as if to say, should have listened to me. Eliott sighed and came back to stand in front of Lucas, holding the knife he’d very recently pressed against Lucas' neck out to Lucas to grab. “Does this make you feel better?”

“I could stab you,” Lucas said, taking it.

Eliott flashed a quick grin, holding out a hand as Lola tossed him a bow and arrows. “You won’t.”

Lucas narrowed his eyes. “Oh yeah? And what makes you say th— AHHH!”

Lucas liked horror movies, he prided himself on being hard to scare. He’d laughed nearly the entire time he’d seen the most recent It movie, and he’d chalked up all the strange things that had happened in his life to fever dreams at best, tragically large amounts of bad luck at worst. Maybe he hadn’t been scared because he either knew it wasn’t real, or refused to believe it was real. This, though, this massive beast looking moments away from eating him alive, this was real.

“Gods dammit,” Lola murmured under her breath, pulling a sword from nowhere. Lucas glanced down at the knife in his hands. Eliott and Lola weren’t paying any attention to him anymore, he could make a run for it, but his fear was that this thing in front of him would kill him if he did.

“Excuse me? What the hell is that thing?” Lucas shouted, drawing the beast’s head in his direction. Fuck. Maybe drawing attention to himself by shouting wasn’t the best move.

Neither Lola nor Eliott answered him, assuming fighting stances. Lucas tried to emulate what they were doing, but his knees felt too weak and his head felt too dizzy. He hoped to whoever might listen that this was all just a very convoluted nightmare. He pressed the blade into his hand, just to see if it hurt, wishing that it wouldn’t. It did.

There was a moment of silence where Lucas could have heard a pin drop, but then the thing made a horrifying, guttural sort of sound, and lunged. Lola charged forward, swinging her sword with the precision of a seasoned professional, but the thing was fast. It evaded her attacks, reaching out to slash her with its long claws. Lucas didn’t think, just knew that even if he didn’t trust these people, they didn’t deserve to die. He threw the knife Eliott had given him with all his might, and let out a startled breath as it embedded itself right between the thing’s eyes.

Eliott, who’d had an arrow ready to fly, lowered his weapon and stared at Lucas with a dumbfounded expression as the thing crumbled to dust, leaving only the bronze knife in its wake.

“How did you do that?” Eliott asked, searching Lucas’ face up and down. From his other side, Lola was looking at Lucas apprehensively. Lucas opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Eliott’s expression went from shocked to worried, and that was the last thing Lucas saw before he passed out cold.

***

Lucas shot up in bed in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. Of course it was all a dream; sure it had felt realistic, but why would he be in bed if everything that had just happened in his mind happened in real life? Then again…

Lucas surveyed his surroundings and groaned, before flopping back onto what he now realized was not his bed. Great, he’d been kidnapped. By a boy with eyes like the center of a storm and a girl younger than he was.

“Lucas?”

He turned his head to the voice in the doorway, not knowing what to expect. To his displeasure, it was the kidnapper himself. Eliott, was it? He didn’t look like a kidnapper, in that same offensively bright orange t-shirt and distressed jeans, light streaks in his wild hair from too much time out in the sun. Camp Half-Blood, read his t-shirt, and upon realizing this, Lucas felt like he was going to be sick.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Eliott said as he raced to Lucas’ bed, shoving a glass of an indeterminate liquid into his hands. “Drink this, you’ll feel better.”

Lucas was definitely not going to drink it, obviously. Eliott noticed this, rolled his eyes, and took a small sip from the side of the cup. “There, will you drink it now?”

“Where did you take me, and how do you know who I am?” Lucas asked instead. He could only hope that Eliott was kind of stupid, so he’d be able to outsmart him and escape.

“I’m not telling you anything until you drink that,” Eliott said stubbornly, sitting on the edge of Lucas’ bed. The more Lucas looked at the room, the more it looked like some sort of infirmary, which made even less sense. Maybe Eliott had some weird doctor-patient kink or something.

Lucas looked at the drink in his hands, then back up at Eliott, who was smiling bright as the sun. He rolled his eyes and took a sip, figuring that if the drink was safe, he’d do what Eliott said to get more information and get the hell out of there. The moment the liquid hit his tongue, he flinched back in surprise. It tasted just like his favorite meal that his mother made him when he was little. How was that even possible? Forgetting all about Eliott, he gulped down most of the rest of the drink until he started feeling a bit hot and Eliott grabbed the glass from his hands.

“Woah there, don’t want you burning up on us, not when it’s taken so much work for us to get you here at all,” Eliott said with a smile, which Lucas decided is something a psychopath would do.

He did feel better though, now that the heat had subsided. A lot better actually, better than he’d felt in a long time. He felt healthy and well rested, which was especially great if he needed to take Eliott out in order to escape. First, though, he needed answers.

“Where am I?”

“Long Island,” Eliott supplied.

Lucas glowered at him. “Where exactly am I? Why did you kidnap me?”

Eliott coughed in surprise, eyebrows shooting up and then furrowing deeply. “Kidnap? Lucas, I didn’t kidnap you!”

“Why were you following me, then? How do you know my name?”

Eliott sighed and gazed at Lucas for a second that stretched to a minute. “I know your name because I saw it on your student ID. Your wallet was in your pocket. Don’t give me that look, I didn’t steal anything, you can have your two dollars and campus card back when you’re ready to head out into camp, not that you’ll be needing either of those things anytime soon.”

Aha, Lucas had caught him. “Because you kidnapped me.”

“No I did not—” Eliott broke off, shaking his head exasperatedly. “You’re difficult, you know that?”

Lucas shrugged. “So I’ve been told.”

“You won’t be here a long time because I’ve kidnapped you, you’ll be here a long time because it’s one of the only places in the world safe for people like you. Like us,” Eliott continued, looking like he was gauging each of Lucas’ reactions. “No offense, but I’m truly and honestly surprised that you’re not already dead. Unless you’re secretly ten years old or something.”

“And who, pray tell, are we?” Lucas asked sarcastically, ignoring the latter half of what Eliott had said. The look in Eliott’s eyes went deadly serious.

“Half-bloods.”

“I think that’s, like, a slur of some sort..”

The more jovial light came back into Eliott’s eyes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“My aunt and uncle told me never to say that, because people used to call me that sometimes when I was younger. My mom did too, but when she said it, it didn’t sound like a bad thing…” Lucas trailed off, not even realizing it, consumed in thoughts of his mother, as well as his aunt and uncle, who would think him dead. Or lost, just like their daughter. He only came back to himself when he heard Eliott swear under his breath. “Excuse me?”

Eliott went red. “Sorry, it’s just… we had a bet going, about who your parent was. If your mom is mortal, that means I lose.”

“Are you going to tell me what the hell you’re talking about, or am I going to have to kick you in the balls and make a run for it again?” Lucas asked dejectedly. Eliott laughed like he was joking.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized, “You mean… you truly don’t know, then? What you are? Who you are?”

Lucas stared at him blankly, shrugging.

Eliott continued, “You’re a half-blood— which isn’t a slur, by the way— which means you’re half human, half something else, something that might not make much sense to you right now, or you might not want to believe, but I promise you that it’s true.”

“Ok.” What else was Lucas going to say? He was back to wondering if Eliott was a part of some weird cult.

“You’re half human, half god. Your father, whoever he is, is one of the gods of Ancient Greece. Or Rome, I suppose, but I have a feeling if you ended up here, you’re more on the Greek side of things,” Eliott concluded hesitantly, like he was waiting for Lucas to laugh in his face. Lucas sort of wanted to, but then again, if this was some weird cult thing, maybe it would be best to play along until he went under the radar and could escape.

So, instead of laughing or asking a million more questions like he wanted to, Lucas said, “Oh, is that all?”

Eliott blinked at him. “Is that a— you mean you believe me?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” Lucas asked. Yeah, this was definitely a cult thing. “Who’s my dad, then?”

“If you don’t know, we don’t know,” Eliott said apologetically. There was a look in his eyes that made Lucas doubt, for a moment, that this was all some big cosmic joke the universe was playing on him, that there might have been some truth to what Eliott was saying. But that was ridiculous, he couldn’t let them get to him.

Instead of dwelling on it, Lucas tried to divert the conversation, “Hence the bet.”

The corner of Eliott’s mouth quirked up and he averted his eyes, giving a shrug of acknowledgement. “Hence the bet,” he agreed.

The two of them stared at each other a beat longer, then Eliott hopped up and held out his hand. “Let’s give you a camp tour then, hm? Hopefully you’ll be claimed by tonight, but Cabin Eleven always welcomes unclaimed campers, even if we haven’t had one in a while.”

“Um, ok,” Lucas said, getting out of bed without taking Eliott’s hand. In all honesty, it was more for his own sake than anything. Cultist or not, Eliott was very, very attractive, and Lucas was very, very gay.

Eliott walked with a little bit of a bounce in his step, like he couldn’t help it, and even though it sort of made Lucas want to roll his eyes, another part of him was endeared. Eliott picked up a bow and quiver full of arrows by the door and strung them over his back. Lucas had no idea what use that would be, but he was wary to find out.

Outside of the infirmary was nothing like what Lucas expected. Eliott grinned at Lucas’ face over his shoulder and said, “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood.”

It was beautiful, that was the only word for it. There was a four story mansion in front of what looked to be some sort of dining pavilion, and on the opposite side there were massive strawberry fields, an archery range, and was that a rock climbing wall with lava pouring down it? It was hard to process everything he was seeing, and even harder when he looked a bit further and saw what Eliott must have meant by ‘cabins’. Cabin was an understatement, surely. There were many massive buildings, each decorated so wildly Lucas couldn’t even imagine the purpose of them. If this was a cult, at least the leaders seemed to treat the members well, everyone looked like they were having the time of their life, even the people sword fighting to the death.

Lucas looked back at the mansion on what seemed to be some sort of front lawn, and suddenly felt like he was about to faint again. “That man has a horse body.”

Eliott followed his gaze, laughed lightly. “Yeah, that’s Chiron, he’s a centaur.”

When Lucas didn’t respond, Eliott stopped him, imploring him with his intoxicating eyes. “Wait a second. You didn’t really believe me did you, you little shit?” he laughed, again, like it was funny. “Why would I lie about your father being a Greek god? Mine is too.”

“No,” Lucas said numbly. There had to be some other explanation, maybe he was on drugs. He started to feel a bit feverish and breathless as he took in his surroundings again. A man with the legs of a goat trotted past him and his vision dotted. Great, a panic attack was exactly what he needed right now. He didn’t even realize he’d fallen to his knees until Eliott knelt beside him, looking concerned.

“Hey, Lucas, breathe for me, can you do that?” Eliott asked. Lucas tried to answer, but he couldn’t, tried to breathe, but he couldn’t. Eliott’s face in front of him was a bit blurry now, and Lucas felt numb all over, like he was outside of his body. Then, suddenly, his vision cleared, his breathing regulated, and he felt like himself again.

“What—” he began, looking at Eliott, who looked guilty.

“I’m sorry,” Eliott said, helping Lucas to his feet. “My godly parent? Apollo, the god of music, prophecy, the sun,” he paused, biting his lip. “Medicine.”

“And you’re being one hundred percent serious?” Lucas asked. “You’re not part of a cult trying to brainwash me?”

Eliott nodded. “I swear it on the River Styx.”

Lucas didn’t know what that meant, but thunder boomed in the distance, so it sounded serious. His resolve crumbled, and he had no choice but to believe this crazy story he’d been told. In some ways, it made some of the weird things in his life seem not so weird after all.

“Ok,” he conceded, “I believe you. For real this time.”

Eliott smiled, but it was shallow, and Lucas thought about what he’d just said about his own father. “So you… you stopped my panic attack, then? With godly superpowers, or whatever?”

Eliott’s face went a bit dark, “I wouldn’t call it that, necessarily. I… I differ from most of my siblings in this way. Usually Apollo’s children are more inclined towards medicine, that much is true, but we don’t necessarily have healing powers of our own.”

“But you do,” Lucas inferred, and Eliott nodded grimly.

“It helps out a lot in battle, or with physical ailments, but I—” he faltered, and looked out at the water. “I hate using it this way, for mental ailments. Treating it like it's something that needs to be fixed— which I can’t do by the way. I can get rid of your panic attack, but not your anxiety, if that makes sense. The same way I could heal a broken leg, but not make sure that leg is never broken again. It seems like a cruel joke, sometimes, considering…” he trailed off, turning red, like he’d said something he shouldn’t have.

Lucas waited for him to continue, but when he did, he didn’t pick up his last train of thought. “Point is, we all have our things, from our parents, no matter how big or small they might be. Maybe finding out what yours is will lead us to find out who your dad is.”

“Maybe my dad’s also Apollo,” Lucas wondered aloud, and Eliott let out an oddly strangled noise.

“Let’s hope not,” he said, and before Lucas could ask why, he took off across the green towards the cabins. “Come on, let’s get you acquainted with some of the campers.”

And Lucas, well, he had no choice but to follow.

Every camper they passed seemed to be a little bit enamoured with Eliott, smiling, waving, and greeting him with blushes and laughter. Once Lucas caught up to Eliott, he asked, “Why are they doing that? Aren’t we all technically related, or whatever?”

Eliott furrowed his brows. “Doing what?” he asked, just as a camper on the volleyball court blew him a kiss. Lucas raised his eyebrows and watched as Eliott’s face turned bright red.

“Oh that’s not— we’re not— The godly side of the family doesn’t count,” he explained, “There’s no DNA there, so you’re not really related in any real way to anyone, aside from your siblings. Like, a child of Poseidon and a child of Athena could date with no problem, but two children of Athena? That’s weird.”

“Oh,” Lucas said, taking it all in. It seemed he had quite a bit to learn. “Who are you dating, then?” he asked, wishing he hadn’t the minute he said it.

To his surprise, Eliott just looked over at him with one eyebrow raised and a small smirk. “No one,” he said, coming to a stop in front of what looked like a Barbie house. “Yet.”

Lucas opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a girl with blonde hair and big green eyes bounding down the stairs in their direction. Instead of running to Eliott, like he expected, she ran right towards Lucas, smiling at him widely.

“You must be Lucas!” she said excitedly.

“Uh…” Lucas said intelligently.

“This is Daphné,” Eliott said, “Daughter of Aphrodite.”

Aphrodite. Right. Which one was she again? The one naked in a seashell? Thankfully, Daphné filled in the blanks. “Goddess of love, beauty, all that good stuff. Someone had a lot of money betting that you were one of us,” she confided in him.

Lucas tried to look at Eliott for help in this interaction, but he was looking away pointedly. “My mom is normal,” he said instead, “Mortal.”

Daphné bit her lip, like she was holding back a grin. “That’s what my sister Lola guessed, too.”

Why did that name sound familiar? “Lola…?”

“Me.” Another voice joined them. It was the girl he’d seen with Eliott, who he’d saved from being eaten by that monster. She looked at him with a bored expression.

“You’re welcome,” Lucas said, watching as her eyes narrowed, “You know, for saving your life.”

She grimaced at him, hand on the sword at her side. She started to say something, but Daphné glared at her, and she rolled her eyes, going back inside where she’d come from.

“Your sister seems nice,” Lucas observed.

Daphné waved a hand airily. “She’ll come around. You didn’t have to be a dick, either.”

“Sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t, and Daphné looked like she knew it.

Eliott jumped in, likely to diffuse some tension, “Daphné here is a master of disguise. Her skill with beauty work can really transform anyone into anything, though more in an illusion way, not a shapeshifting way. Also, her love advice rarely goes amiss.”

That all sounded fine, but not really as cool as having actual superpowers, like Eliott, Lucas thought. As if sensing what he was thinking, Eliott continued, “Some children of Aphrodite have the power of charmspeak, too. They can make anyone do anything, just by telling them to.”

Lucas thought of the weird disconnected feeling that had come over him when Lola had made him stop running away. “Lola can charmspeak?” he asked, already knowing the answer as Eliott and Daphné nodded. “Well that’s just great.”

“It is,” Daphné said defensively, “It’s saved a lot of lives.”

“Anyway,” Eliott cut in again, smiled a bit tense around the edges, “I brought you to Daph because she knows everything and everyone. She can give you the rundown on some campers and their godly parents, if you want.”

Lucas didn’t see a problem with that, especially because he was severely lacking in mythological knowledge. Before he could do so much as nod, Daphné launched into a wild spiel, pointing to people as she did.

“Well, let’s see… over there is Alexia, daughter of Iris, goddess of the rainbow, ugh she’s with Arthur again— son of Hermes, you’ll meet him soon enough if you remain unclaimed— I told her not to go down that road again, but she never learns that my love advice is to be listened to, not ignored. There’s Yann, son of Hephaestus, god of blacksmiths and fire, he’s chill, you’ll like him, and he’s with Basile, as per usual, son of Ares, god of war— which everyone is still confused by, Baz doesn’t have a warlike bone in his body— we used to date, actually, a while back, but I suppose you don’t care about that. Emma and Imane, daughters of Dionysus, god of wine, and Nike, goddess of victory, respectively. Hmm… who else… Sofiane, Imane’s boyfriend and Eliott’s brother, another son of Apollo, Idriss, another son of Nike— he and Imane actually have the same father as well, which is rare but not unheard of. Oh! There’s Maya, Lola’s girlfriend, daughter of Demeter, goddess of agriculture…”

“You seem very well informed of people’s love lives,” Lucas observed, though he supposed that made sense, with who her mom was.

Daphné glowed in response. “I mean, it’s my job as the head counselor for the Aphrodite cabin. I have a feeling love is closer than you think, by the way, for yourself.”

Lucas blinked. “Excuse me?”

Daphné shrugged, sparing a glance at Eliott, then back at Lucas. “Just a hunch. Speaking of love, I wonder where Manon is… I think she’d like you. She’s a daughter of Zeus. Maybe she’s in her cabin…”

Manon. A name Lucas hadn’t heard in years. It could be a coincidence, of course, but at the same time… “Manon Demissy?” he asked. Daphné frowned at him.

“How do you know that?”

Lucas couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “She’s my cousin. She went missing when we were twelve…” he trailed off. Had she been here the whole time? Why didn’t his aunt and uncle know that? Did they have the same godly parent?

Daphné and Eliott exchanged a glance, before Daphné took a hold of his arm and dragged him after her, Eliott stumbling along behind them trying to keep up, towards the towering cabin at the end of the path, which looked more like a mausoleum than a cabin.

“Manon!” Daphné yelled once they were outside the door. “You’d better be in there, and you’d better open up, because your cousin—”

She was cut off by the door opening, and Lucas stared into a face he only had the barest memories of. She was a lot older now, sure, but still, Lucas knew exactly who she was. Her face blanched considerably when she saw Lucas.

“Lulu?” she asked, stepping all the way outside.

Lucas shifted uncomfortably at the nickname. “Uh, no one really calls me that anymo—”

Manon pulled him into a tight hug, and Lucas melted into it. His missing cousin, apparently, was just like him. When she pulled back she searched his face. “But how are you— Are you a half-blood?”

Lucas shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Who’s your father, then?” she asked, looking to Daphné and Eliott both.

“We don’t know,” Eliott said, “He’s unclaimed.”

“At eighteen?” Manon seemed confused by his age more than anything, even though they were only about a month apart in age.

Eliott and Daphné seemed to be thinking the same thing. “How did you survive this long? Most demigods don’t make it on their own past twelve out there, and the gods are supposed to claim us all by the time we’re thirteen,” Eliott said.

“He could be the son of a minor god,” Daphné offered, “Alexia was out there until she was fifteen.”

They were all looking at him expectantly, so Lucas launched into the story of his childhood, to when he’d been sent to live with Manon’s parents, how they’d moved around any time anything strange happened, and how everything had only been able to catch up with him now that he was on his own in New York.

Manon shook her head. “It still doesn’t make sense, though.”

“Your parents think you’re dead, by the way,” he said, wondering why that wasn’t bothering her.

She looked apprehensive for a moment, then said, “Lu, my mother and her husband died when I was twelve. That’s why I came to camp. I don’t have any family out there, other than you.”

“What are you talking about? Who the hell have I been living with for years, then?” Lucas demanded, but Manon looked confused as ever.

“We need to talk to Jo,” Eliott said, and Daphné nodded. “Her mother is Hecate, the goddess of magic, if anyone can peel back the Mist on this one, it’s her.”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re not talking about actual mist?” Lucas asked as he followed the three of them across the green once again. None of them answered him, which was answer enough.

“Jo!” Eliott yelled as they came across a purple cabin with a strange energy surrounding it. “We need your expertise!”

Hardly a moment later, a girl that seemed to be a bit younger than Lucas was at the door, breathless and smiling widely. She looked at Eliott with what was either severe infatuation or admiration. “Anything for my favorite camper,” she said, looking at all of them in turn, until her eyes rested on Lucas. “You must be the newbie! You’re a lot older than I thought you’d be, how the hell did you make it out there that long?”

“That’s what we need your help with,” Manon said, explaining the rest of the situation. Jo’s expression hardened as she did so, and she nodded seriously at the end.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Then, her expression was bright again. “Come inside Lucas! I don’t bite, I promise! Unless you want me to.”

“Jo,” Eliott said, exasperatedly, like he’d had to do this a lot.

She put her hands up. “Alright, alright. Come on, let’s see if we can figure out your story.”

Lucas tried to protest as she pulled him inside, door shutting behind her, leaving Eliott, Manon, and Daphné on the outside. She looked at him sympathetically. “I know it's overwhelming, but I promise you don’t have to be scared. Your job is easy, you just have to sit there while I work my magic. Literally.”

He was led to an entirely dark room and shoved unceremoniously into a chair. Jo waved her hand and a bunch of purple orbs filled the room, glowing with light. “Just close your eyes, and think about your family— your mortal family. I’ll do the rest.”

Lucas did as he was told, first thinking about his mother, and Manon, meeting his extended family when he was young. Only… that was odd, his aunt, Manon’s mother, looked quite a bit different than she did now, though maybe that was just because she was younger. There were weird, fuzzy gaps in his brain, from when he’d had to leave Paris and come to live with his aunt and uncle, which seemed strange. There were a lot of weird, fuzzy gaps, actually, the more he thought about it. Jo gasped, and Lucas opened his eyes.

Jo sighed, looking at Lucas like she’d seen something she wished she hadn’t. “It really is a curse, being able to do the things that I do,” she said simply, holding out a hand. “Come on, we have lots to share.”

Eliott, Daphné, and Manon were all bickering when Jo opened the door to let them both out of the cabin. They looked up at Jo expectantly. Well, actually, Manon and Daphné did, Eliott looked at Lucas, searching his face with his eyes, almost like he was asking if Lucas was ok. Lucas nodded, giving him a hint of a smile, which Eliott returned with one of his own.

“I’m not sure y’all will like what I have to say,” Jo warned them all, then turned to Manon. “Can we go to your cabin? I don’t want to talk about it with a bunch of people around.”

Manon frowned, but they all followed her back to the massive cabin at the end of the row once again. While they walked, Lucas couldn’t stop thinking of what all this secrecy and worry might lead to. Bad enough he’d just found out that the people he’d been living with weren’t actually related to him, did he really need to learn that he was the son of the god of, like, toilets, or something?

When they walked in Lucas noticed that the cabin was more or less set up like a museum, not a livable space. There was a massive statue of a god that Lucas assumed was Zeus, because he was carrying a lightning bolt (hey, he didn’t know much, but he knew that much), but it was a bit unnerving, because it felt like his eyes were following them as they walked across the room.

“Where are your siblings?” Lucas asked, looking around. All of the other cabins seemed to have a great number of campers living in them.

“I don’t have any,” Manon said, opening a compartment in the wall just outside statue Zeus’ eyeline. Daphné followed like she’d been there a million times, and Eliott and Jo didn’t seem to have any hesitation, so Lucas went after them, closing the compartment behind him.

“Zeus is one of the Big Three, which includes Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades,” Manon continued as they followed her, “And a long time ago, there was this big pact between the Big Three to never sire any more demigods, because of some prophecy nonsense, or something. I don’t know, it was before our time. There was this big war, and then they decided to do away with that rule, but the children of the Big Three are more powerful than most demigods. Which makes them more dangerous, more of a liability. There were a lot of us, for a time, but then the gods decided to get rid of us in case we’d cause too much trouble. As if it was our fault for existing. Each of the Big Three was supposed to choose one child to live, and I happened to be the luckiest of the bunch, because I was just a baby. I think I technically have a sister, but she’s a Hunter of Artemis, so she was exempt from this new rule. Poseidon chose this guy who’s an adult now, living in New Rome, because he pretty much saved them from destruction a number of times and he also hadn’t had anymore demigod children after him. Hades refused to choose, and the gods banished him to Tartarus. He only had two kids, both of whom pretty much saved the gods asses a million times over, and he didn’t think they deserved to be punished for existing, rightfully so.”

They were now in a chamber that Lucas definitely thought hadn’t existed previously. It was decorated in a way that seemed somewhat recent and it looked like more of a secret hideout than a bedroom. Everyone took a seat on various furniture, Daphné and Manon’s hands tangling together as they sat beside one another on the bed. Lucas was still trying his best to take in all the information, but he got lost at Tartarus. “So… Zeus killed a bunch of his kids, is the moral of the story?”

Daphné scoffed. “It was Hera who did it. She hates all children of Zeus, because she’s the goddess of marriage. Really, she just wanted to punish him, and all those innocent kids got caught in the crossfire. She only roped Poseidon and Hades into it so the other gods would agree. Everyone knew Poseidon only had one demigod child, and no one cared enough about Hades or his kids to intervene in that regard.”

“But if they all hate Hades, why is he one of the Big Three?” Lucas asked.

“I mean, the whole concept of the Big Three is inherently sexist to begin with, because it only recognizes the male children of Kronos,” Manon said. “But that’s basically why. He’s also much more powerful than anyone gives him credit for, he could wipe us all out if he wanted to. I think Zeus knows that, which is part of why he had him banished.”

“So what’s Tartarus, then?” Lucas asked, catching on, but still hopelessly lost.

It was Eliott who chimed in this time, voice cold and somewhat afraid. “There’s the Underworld, and then there’s Tartarus, which is like the hell of all hells. Worse than the Fields of Punishment tenfold. It’s the home of all the monsters, where they go to regenerate when we kill them, and is a prison or a home for the nastiest immortal beings in the universe. The only thing deeper than Tartarus is Chaos, from which everything was borne. The good, the bad, all of it. Only three demigods have ever been inside Tartarus, and they all barely survived it. Hades is being punished there, because he refused to kill one of his children.”

Lucas looked at each of them with wide eyes. “But that’s awful!”

Manon nodded grimly. “Hades isn’t the nicest of the gods, not by a longshot, but he’s a million times better than my own father, and he definitely doesn’t deserve what’s happening to him right now.”

“Zeus isn’t my dad, is he?” Lucas asked warily.

Manon smiled sadly. “You’d be dead if he was. Hera killed my mother and my stepfather, you know, as retribution for the fact that I’m alive, even though she agreed to letting one of his children live. Don’t worry about this all too much, though, you’re probably just a child of a minor god and you’ll get some sick powers out of the deal.”

Jo sat up in her beanbag chair. “Actually… that’s what we have to talk about.”

Oh, right. Lucas had almost forgotten about her magic, and what they were trying to find out about his past. Daphné encouraged her, “Well? Spill.”

Jo sighed. “So, I was able to see through the Mist on his memories, and I’m not sure you’ll like what I found. His aunt and uncle, the ones who’ve been hiding him all these years, they’re two of the Kindly Ones.”

“Kindly Ones?” Lucas asked, but he saw everyone else’s faces had paled.

“I’d wondered why they never came after us anymore… I thought it was because of Hades…” Manon mumbled to herself, but Lucas still didn’t follow.

“The Kindly Ones, better known as the Furies, are monsters that serve Hades. They come after us, sometimes, but they mostly stick by his side and do his bidding,” Eliott explained. “If they’ve been protecting you all these years…”

“You must be a child of Hades,” Manon said, finishing both Eliott’s thought and her own.

Lucas laughed loudly, sure they were just joking around with him. Hades? No way, he was just some minor demigod, not someone who should, for all intents and purposes, be dead. These people were all crazy after all, he’d been right all along. He forced another laugh and shook his head. “Come on, guys, you can’t be serious.”

But they weren’t looking at him, they were looking just above him.

“Unfortunately, it seems that we are,” Daphné said gravely, and Lucas looked above his head just in time to see a glowing symbol disappearing.

“What was that?” he asked.

“You’ve just been claimed,” Eliott said, “By the god of the dead. Lucas, you are a son of Hades.”

And wasn’t that just fan-fucking-tastic.

Not only was he half god, he was half of a god who should have had him killed when he was a baby. He supposed that was a point in his father’s favor that he wasn’t dead, but couldn’t he have done more to keep him hidden from this world? He was a god, that should have been in his power.

“The good news for you is that you have four eyewitnesses,” Manon said, and Lucas could nearly see the wheels spinning in her head. He didn’t know how that helped anything, now there were just four other people who knew a secret that could get him killed the moment he stepped back outside into camp.

Daphné, though, seemed to understand what Manon was saying. “Four eyewitnesses who saw you claimed by any god other than Hades,” she said, and Lucas understood.

“I can’t ask you guys to do that for me,” he argued, “What if something happens to you as a result?” He didn’t even know any of them, really, he couldn’t ask them to risk themselves like this.

“If it’s a choice between seeing you live or seeing you die, I’m going to go with the former, no matter who you are,” Jo said simply, and the other three nodded beside her. Lucas appreciated this level of blind faith in him, even if he didn’t know if he deserved it. Obviously, he didn’t want to die, and it meant a lot that these four people he barely knew cared enough to make sure he didn’t. They could very well do the same with every other demigod, but every other demigod wasn’t there right now, so Lucas let himself feel this unearned love, just a little bit.

A thought struck him, then, that may put a crimp in their plan. “But how will I pretend to be the child of another god?”

Jo winked at him. “Leave that to me. My siblings are great and all, but if you really want magic done right, you come to me. I can make it look like one of the other gods has claimed you.”

“But which one?” Manon inquired, tilting her head to one side like she was working through every god in her mind. “It has to be one of the male gods, because his mother is mortal and that’s easy to prove, but it can’t be one of the ones that has obvious, testable, powers.”

“He could be Apollo,” Daphné suggested, “Apollo has a lot of different skills, so Lucas must fit into one of them.”

“No,” Eliott interjected, voice sounding a bit hoarse, like he hadn’t meant to say anything. Everyone’s heads shot in his direction and he blushed, pretending that the floor was very interesting all of a sudden. He mumbled, “Children of Apollo have certain traits that are too easy to prove Lucas doesn’t have.”

Lucas didn’t know whether to take offense to that, and he was a little bit hurt that Eliott didn’t think him worthy enough to be a son of the sun god, but he supposed that’s what he got when he was a child of a death god.

Manon snapped, taking everyone’s attention off of Eliott, for which he seemed grateful. “What about Hypnos, god of sleep? I’m fairly good friends with Lisa, their head counselor, and the only real requirement for that one is the ability to sleep.”

“I, uh, have insomnia,” Lucas admitted. Of course, he couldn’t even fit in with the sleeping god. Eliott snorted into his hand, and tried to cover it up with a cough, which weirdly made Lucas feel better.

“Ares?” Manon offered.

Lucas squinted. “The war guy?”

“What about Dionysus?” Jo chimed in, only to be cut off by Daphné.

“Mr. D literally works at this camp, Jo, absent as he is at the moment. I think he’d know who his children are.”

“Right…”

“What about Hermes?” Eliott suggested. He looked a bit uncomfortable with everyone’s attention on him again, but he continued, “I mean, he’s sort of a jack of all trades, so his kids don’t usually have any particularly defining characteristics, aside from the occasional theft.”

“I’ve stolen things,” Lucas supplied, in a way that he hoped was helpful.

Eliott smiled widely, gesturing to him. “He’s stolen things!”

“That just might work,” Daphné said with a nod, starting to smile. “And Arthur would have our back on this, should the truth come out in any way. I mean, I think we should keep it between the five of us, but we know Arthur’s trustworthy, is all. Plus, no one would question it, Hermes has lots of kids.”

“It would also make sense as to why you’ve gone this long without coming to camp. Hermes is powerful enough that some of his kids have issues in the real world, but a lot of them can make it without any problems,” Manon added.

“Well?” Eliott asked him, smile still just as bright as a second ago. “What do you say, Lucas, son of Hermes?”

Lucas nodded slowly. “I think I could do that. And you guys are sure that— that you can help me with this?” He didn’t want to ask for too much, but if they were willing, it would be nice to not be alone.

Each of them nodded in turn. “We’re a team now,” Manon promised, daring the others to disagree. They didn’t, which was a relief.

When Lucas thought about all the ways he’d thought his life would have gone, and this was so far out of anything he’d ever considered that he was still having a hard time processing it all, but it really struck him, in that moment, that it was all real, that this was his life now.

He looked at Eliott, who looked back at him with curiosity in his eyes, and it felt like a wave of understanding passed between the two of them. Lucas didn’t entirely know what that understanding was, but it comforted him. Maybe, just maybe, this would turn out all right.

#skam france #elu #elu fic #pjo au

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rory-for-short · 3 years

Text

We are not Our Parents| Part Three

Hauntingly Beautiful

He was wearing the stupid wire. Across from Lucy's complex, Batman and Robin took watch. Tim with his laptop and coffee and Bruce with his eagle eyes and monitoring equipment. They could both hear Dick Graysons nervous shuffling and see him shifting weight from foot to foot. It was obvious from first thing in the morning his son had a date tonight. Dick had been meeting up with her without telling Bruce for the past two and a half weeks. This morning he had betrayed himself of his plans. Bruce could hear him singing "sixteen going on seventeen" in the shower. He had used the syrup on his pancakes to make the shape of a heart. It was obvious he was seeing her again. He had pulled his oldest son aside and explained to him. The classic, 'I'm not stupid, you are wearing the wire tonight no room for debate,' conversation. He could tell Nightwing was unhappy when he agreed to it.

Dick Grayson had brought sunflowers in a bouquet. She had them on her dangly earings when he last saw her. He figured she might like the real thing.

He was starting to feel really weird about this situation. How much did she know? If she knew nothing, this was as scummy as he could get and not even a million showers could get rid of the feeling. If she knew everything. He won't hesitate to do to her what he did to her mugger. It freaked him out. How could he be such a schodingers man? Simultaneously Dick Grayson and Nightwing until he knew the truth.

He knocked on Lucy's door. She was smiling brightly when it swung open. Oh God, she was wearing red lipstick. It looked so good on her, but he couldn't help think about her family who often sported the same color in the same place.

"Aww, yah got me flowers!" She squeeled in an accent identical to her mother's. Oh how obvious that she was a perfect gene splice of the two. Mabey it wasn't his PTSD giving him danger signals all this time. Mabey it was his subconscious.

"I hope you like them, and don't have any allergies or anything-" he started.

"They are absolutely perfect, here let me put them in water. Why don't you take off your shoes and stay awhile," she was floating on air, so graceful and calculated in her movments as she set the flowers in a vase.

He felt a twinge of embarrassment. Her curtains were open. Bruce and his brother had a perfect veiw of everything, plus perfect audio. How stupid must he seem right now for not figuring it out immediately. Her voice, the way she looked, she was so much like Harley. Her graceful steps and body language just like the Joker.

"So," she started towards him tilting her head, "you wanna start back where we left off last time?" She suggested in a low sultry voice, her accent less definable, as she lifted her eyebrows and began pressing herself against him. He could feel Bruce's judgment radiating through the bay window.

"Ahh, actually I wanted to talk to you about something," he explained skirting around her to sit on the couch.

"Yeah what's up?" She questioned. Furrowed brow and a slightly pouty lip. She didn't look like either of them now. Nightwing relaxed under her concerned gaze. He planned how he was going to get information from her. It was super risky. Bruce would be pissed. However, Bruce was on his shit list, so he didn't care.

"It's just that, my dad is hosting a charity event," Dick nervously scratched the back of his head. "I know its kinda early to do something like that we've only been seeing each other for a month or so-" Lucy cut in.

"You want me to go to a Charity event... and meet your family?" She laughed nervously.

"Look, it's fine if its too soon for the 'meeting the parents stuff.' I just never have a date to my dad's insufferable parties and I thought you could bring a little life to it." That was true. Plan aside, he still felt like having someone at one of those awful events could make it fun. He hoped Bruce thought he was just good at manipulating and didn't mean it. But he kinda ment it.

"I've never been to a charity event. It might be more fancy than I'm use to, but I'll donate anyway. Is it like one of those television ones?" She asked intrigued with the idea.

Holy shit. It just now donned on him that she didn't know who he was. Well, she did. She knew his name was Dick Grayson. It must have never occurred to her that her Dick Grayson was the young socialite 'Richard Wayne' as the press knew him. She said on her first date with him that she wanted to eat the rich. She might dump him before he could get any real info out of her. That was a secret relief to him.

"Mmmkay, this is going to be hard to explain. Have you ever heard of Bruce Wayne?"

She gave him a 'no shit Sherlock' kind of look and answered in a monotonous and sarcastic manner that chilled him. In that moment her expression and tone belonged to the Joker.

"Yeah. Bruce Wayne rings a bell or two," she answered.

"Well, have you ever heard of Richard Grayson Wayne?" He probed.

The look on her face. It was the look of Harley being double crossed. Of his dad cornering the Joker. It was that hereditary deer in the head lights look; and just like them, it was gone in a second and replaced with faux confidence.

"Don't tell me I've been bruising up a man worth millions," she joked with an eyebrow quriked. Suddenly, her face went back to pale and fear stricken.

"Oh god," she muttered quietly, "we hafta beak up."

Dick was confused. So was Bruce and Tim who had been listening in this whole time. It wasn't what any of them were expecting.

"Okay," Dick attempted to regain control, "I know you said 'eat the rich and all' but we give to charity and-"

"You are in the public eye. Press are probably all over you, right?" Lucy Reasoned.

Dick nodded. Batman belived he knew where this was going. Press on her = press on her father. Her father's whereabouts wouldn't be safe. She would break up with Dick to protect her family.

"Look I like you. I really, really, like you. So I'm gonna tell you that I'll be nothing but trouble. I'm no good. If they find out you are with me they will drag you and your family's name through the mud!" She warned getting more and more frantic. The adrenaline set in to both parties now.

"You aren't making any sense, what do you mean?" He was baiting of course. He knew exactly what she ment, but he had to hear her say it. She sat down next to him and began nervously scratching her inner forearm. That was an unhealthy grounding technique. Dick learned that in therapy.

"So, you know how your family is well known-" she trailed off. Dick encouraged her by nodding. "Well so is mine. But they are well known for all the wrong reasons. My mom and dad were terrorists. Famous terrorists." She sighed and gathered herself. "I'm sure you've heard of them. Uhg, it's like being related to Hitler or something!" She frustratedly palmed at her hair. Her dad did that alot. He'd get that same crazy look in his eyes doing it too.

"Just tell me what you are getting at please" Grayson earnestly pleaded while taking her hands and removing them from her hair. Her frame relaxed.

"What I'm say'n," she continued, "is I was brought into the world by Gotham's most wanted clown duo. And that if you like not having the world's largest target on your back, we gotta call this thing off." Her eyes were teary and she looked down. Once more. She didn't look like either of her parents. Her face was just Lucy.

Dick, at this point, should have kept pressing. That's interrogation 101. Instead he moved her hair behind her ear and pulled her into a hug. He soothingly held her and petted his hand through her hair.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay. We are not our parents. I promise" he shushed while holding her against him.

"I know," she muttered in a monotone and low voice, trying to pull it from all emotion, but he felt the tears on his shirt. He pulled back and held her shoulders. She was deflated with puffy eyes and a tired distant stare.

"Hey, I know you are dealing with alot. You don't have to got to the Charity event if it's too much. But frankly I don't give a damn if they try to drag my name through the mud," Dick swore. Lucy sniffled and gave a soft smile.

"You don't get it.. It's not just the press. My family keeps tabs on me. Arthur escaped Arkam just this month, and Harley sends me cards in the mail. You aren't safe." She gave him a look of pity. Her dad used that look on her mother right before double crossing her. Immediately, Grayson's sheilds were up.

"So they know you are here? You know where they are?" He stammered out.

"I don't know where they are. I mean I have a vague approximation of where mo- Harley is but Arthur is hypervigilint.

That's the second time she used that name. No one knew the Jokers name. Not him, not Bruce, not the FBI. Mabey it was only an allies or sydonyme, but It was the biggest lead to Jokers identity yet.

He figured Bruce was already searching every database at his disposal for any criminal named Arthur.

"Anyway, they find out I'm prancing around town with a billionaire's kid, you are as good as ransom. I can hear them now. 'Why kitten you've been holding out on us. Though you could keep the millions to yourself huh? Dontcha know you gotta pay back your old pals in show biz'" she imitated her father's cadence and did jazz hands when she said 'show biz'. Dick could hear Tim laughing over the ear peice, and a quiet 'I love her' giggled though by him in the receiver. As uncanny as the impression was, he felt a bit of comfort in that moment. She understood something not many people of the world could. Being tormented by the Joker as a child. This really fucked up situation gave them a sort of unbreakable understanding. He laughed a little suddenly before realizing how very inappropriate it was in that situation.

"Sorry," he looked down and cleared his throat, "you just caught me off gaurd there."

Lucy snorted, "It's fine. I guess luck would so have it that I developed a wicked sense of humor," she smiled rolling her eyes." She then hesitated before continuing, "I'll think about going to the Charity thing... as long as I can lay low, unless you changed your-"

"No! Of course you can come! Oh you are gonna hate my family they are insufferable sometimes!"Dick exclaimed grinning ear to ear. He could hear Tim protesting from the ear peice. He didn't care. He hugged Lucy and turned off the sound. When Lucy got ready for bed, he spoke into the wire "Hey I'm clocking out for the night. Don't wait up," he whispered into it before disconnecting it and leaving the two on the roof with radio silence.

#batman #batkids #bruce wayne #bruce #wayne #tim #drake #timedrake #tim drake #harley quinn #harley #lucy quinzel #lucy x dick #lucy #lucy flek #fanfiction #fanfic #tw ptsd

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catboysimulator · 3 years

Text

Story Three - Learning

A roar resounds through the training grounds, before a loud scream and 'thud' follows after along with the sound of a body rolling. A choir of 'OOH...' can be heard afterwards as a crowd stares down at the body of, none other than, Azhi'li.

"Come on, primo! I taught ya better than that!" Tani taunts with a chuff, their tail whipping to and fro behind them. "Let's go, up an' at 'em!"

Approaching Azhi'li, she reached down and lifted him on his two feet by pulling him up under his arms, staring at him with a quirked brow and pursed lips.

The red Seeker seemed a bit out of it, his head lolling back a bit, yet he was fine. Tani huffed once again and rattled her cousin like a maraca. "Oye! Despiertate! Wake up!"

Azhi'li groaned and whined, pawing at their arms and kicking a bit so she could put him down. Once he did, the younger Seeker plopped back onto his rump with a grunt, panting lightly. "G-gimme a bit, Tani--," he stammered through his ragged breath, before the older one sighed and simply sat in front of him, cross-legged. "Alright, take yer time. Need yer inhaler?"

"Nah, I'm-- I'm alright. Jus' need a moment. Gods, bein' smacked 'round by an axe hurts."

A loud bark of laughter came from Tani, causing him to grin toothily from ear to ear. "You're tellin' me? C'mon, what's goin' on? Tell me so we can work on it, primo."

Peering up at Tani through his lashes, he sighed and lifted his head a bit while his shoulders slumped. "I jus' dunno how ta deal with someone wieldin' an axe. Hells, I don't even know how ta wield one, m'self!" he exclaims, gesturing over towards the wooden axe he had long dropped before he was tossed.

"An' that's alright! Y'jus' gotta tell me, see? All ain't lost, nothin' is hopeless, it's just a matter of takin' the time ta learn, okay?" she assured, patting his knee with a hefty paw. "What do ya know, hm? Have ya fought against other folks?"

"Well, aye, a'course I have. Many times. In fact, Toadie's th'one who trained me ever since I knew him, practically."

"Okay, an' what did ya learn from him?"

"A lot."

"So then let's go through everythin' he taught ya all over again. From th'start, up until now. An' what better way ta do that than trainin', hm? Don't beat yerself up, man. Shit like this takes a certain kinda person, 'nd ya got it, y'jus' need more patience with yerself, b'cause y'get frustrated real easy, real quick. Y'know that, don't ya?"

"... Aye."

Huffing, Tani gives him a firm poke to his forehead. "Don't be like that to yerself. When y'have no one else around ya, ye're gonna be all ya got left. You're kind t'everyone else but yourself, and I'm sure ya've been told this many times before, hm?"

"Aye."

Smiling warmly, Tani stood right back up with a heavy plap to her knees, extending out a hand towards Azhi'li. "Up, Zizi. You're alright. You have so much time ahead a'yerself, so do not punish yerself for not gettin' things right away. Y'don't punish th'kids when they don't get it right away, so don't do that to yerself. Ye're no different, an' ya deserve no less patience from others," he states, firmly, yet not unkindly.

Azhi'li takes in a deep breath and nods, smiling lightly before grunting when his back is given a hearty SMACK from Tani's paw.

"Now! Cuffs are off, weapons set aside! S'jus' you an' me, primo! Let's get down to th'basics!" they state, stepping away from Azhi'li before putting their axe down and stancing themself with their fists held up to their chest.

---------------------------

CW: talk/discovery of sexuality and gender. possible dysphoria triggers.

For five suns every sennight, Tani and Azhi'li trained together. Sometimes uncle Sena or Maryn would join in and show their nephew of what they knew with a blade and shield or magic. Every day there was something new for Azhi'li to learn, new lessons to keep close to his heart. He never thought he'd ever be able to do any of these things back then, but now he has gotten so used to it that it's almost as comfortable as his fists. Of course, nothing could ever feel as comfortable as that, but he can at least safely say he can wield an axe and blade now, as well as do some magic.

Yet, all of this physical training wasn't the only thing he learned about.

One evening at the circle, everyone was enjoying dinner and sharing stories, laughing and joking amongst themselves. Azhi'li and Tani were sitting together, snickering and sharing food and drinks with each other, the Seeker having gotten a better hang of alcohol thanks to Tani. He learned from the best!

And still, there is even more left to learn. Leaning back on a paw, Azhi'li rested his other arm upon his knee as he swirled the mead in his flagon idly, staring out towards the fire in front of them.

"So, Tani... If y'don't mind me askin', uh... can I talk ta ya 'bout identity stuff?"

"... Identity stuff?" he inquired with a quirked brow, looking towards Azhi'li with a side-eye while popping a jocote into his mouth.

"Like... gender 'nd sexuality?"

"Oh. Yeah, what's up?" She grins towards him, her round ears perked and pivoted towards him as she suddenly became interested. Azhi'li huffed with a roll of his eyes before rubbing at the nape of his neck, leaning forward a bit.

"So, like-- I've never really explored anythin' regardin' gender 'nd sexuality stuff all too much, I jus' know th'type a'folks I'm attracted ta."

"Which is?"

"More... masculine? types a'folks?"

"Hm, alright. Go on."

"Gods, why do I feel like I'm bein' judged super hard right now?"

"I ain't judgin' ya, primo, I'm just tryna figure out where ya stand on all of this. Haven't really spoken to cityfolk for this long, so I'm jus' pickin' at yer head, y'can say."

"... Okay, well, I know that there are lots a'identities 'nd ways people can feel comfortable callin' themselves, but I jus'... I dunno, never really had th'chance ta explore that fer m'self."

At this, Tani grows even more interested, quirking a brow and dropping the pit of the jocote into a bowl. "So, are ya sayin' ya wanna explore?"

"-- Aye. I do."

Grinning, Tani nods and moves to stand up, taking the bowl of jocote seeds with her to place on a table for them to either be discarded or planted.

Wrapping an arm around Azhi'li's shoulders, she jostles him a bit before gesturing for him to follow. "Come, primito, for I shall enlighten ya."

They make their way to Tani's home, where they're then met with squealing from children as they swing the door open and cry out, "Papa!" before flinging themselves at Tani. They catch their kids within their strong arms, laughing in delight and placing kisses upon the three young miqo'te's heads. "Buenas, bebecitos. Did ya have a good day?" he asks, the children chiming out, 'si!'

"Hello, tio Zizi!" they then say, and Azhi'li grins down at them and chuckles, ruffling their little heads and big ears. "Buenas."

Smiling, Tani nudges Azhi'li gently before gesturing for him to follow again into her room. Making it to a chair, she plops herself on it with a grunt while relaxing back into it, gesturing for her cousin to join her. He does just so, sitting across from her on another chair while the children clamber up on their parent, and one on Azhi'li.

"So, Azhi'li," he begins, his tone gentle, before canting his head to the side as he holds onto a child in each arm, "What do you know 'bout yerself?"

"-- Well, what do y'mean?"

"What makes ya comfortable, an' what doesn't? Th'way you an' I operate are completely different. I don't feel th'same way you do, nor do you feel th'same way I do. So I wanna know 'bout ya-- but first, I think you should know 'bout ya. Y'said y'know 'bout 'identities' 'nd stuff, pero... what is it that y'know?"

"Um... I know that-- not everyone identifies th'way they're perceived? Like... someone who is normally seen as a 'woman' may not be comfortable bein' identified as such."

"Mm, alright. It's a start."

"Huh?"

With a laugh, Tani shook their head and grinned toothily. "Not everythin' is all that meets the eye, primito. I understand that...cityfolks, t'use a lighter term, tend t'have this notion that a lot a'stuff is black an' white, when it really ain't."

"I don’t understand..."

"A lot a'cityfolks believe that if ya look a certain way, ya gotta be a certain way. Gotta be addressed a certain way, behave a certain way... We don't work like that here. Some folks are comfortable fitting within that binary, an' that's alright. Most a'us here don't do that," she explained, gesturing to herself afterwards. "Y'heard th'way people talk ta me here. El, ella, elle. Him, her, them. I don't give a rat's ass 'bout gender or sex. I jus' live th'life I want for m'self. Here, we call that volado. Flown. Think th'people outside of the Sankres call it non-binary or somethin' akin ta that. We don't exist within th'binary, 'nd that's th'way we wanna keep it, y'know? We ain't 'man' or 'woman', we're jus' our own person. That don't mean that volados is its own binary either, b'cause that ain't th'damn point of it, y'know? We ain't a 'third gender'."

"... Okay. I think-- I understand a bit more. Is there-- a way to know who's part a'that--... uh. Category..?"

"First of all, don't say that," he chastises with a huff, shaking his head. "Secondly, no. There ain't. It's never really a topic a'discussion ta be brought up, b'cause why would it be? S'jus' normal fer those folks, they know what they're doin', 'nd if they wanna tell ya or bring it up, then they will."

"Sorry. So-- how do I know if--... I'm someone like that?"

Tani shrugged, smiling lightly. "S'different from person ta person, primito. There ain't one decided way someone needs t'feel in order to consider themselves such. That's fer you to decide, no one else."

"... Well, I don't think I'm that-- I mean, I probably would'a known by now, right?"

"Hells no, y'wouldn't have. Zizi, there is somethin' y'keep missin', 'nd it's that everyone goes at their own pace. That includes you, too," she informs, firmly, giving him a pointed look. "Some folks know when they're a kid," they begin, patting one of their children's backs, "'nd other folks don't find out 'till they're old 'nd grey. In the end, they still find out 'nd are able to do whatever they want with that new knowledge. Everyone operates differently. It's never too late t'learn more 'bout yerself."

Azhi'li then grows silent, staring down at the floor between them while still holding onto his sobrine. They look towards Azhi'li curiously, smiling and papping at his cheek, causing him to blink and look over to them.

"It's okay, tio. You just do what makes you happy. That's what everyone says."

With a smile, Tani nods, looking back towards Azhi'li again. "At one point, y'jus' gotta think for yerself, primo. 'nd if ya discover that ye're happy with th'way y'call yerself 'nd identify yerself with, then that's all that matters, y'know? Be happy with yerself, jus' how others are happy that you're who ya are, too."

Locking eyes with Tani, Azhi'li grows silent once again before smiling a bit, nodding. "... I think I wanna at least learn more 'nd explore. Can I do that?"

"Always. There is never new knowledge fer those who don't seek it."

-------------------------

With Azeyma finally at rest and Menphina shining over Her Sister's watch, Azhi'li makes it back home-- Sena's home, where his uncle lovingly offered him a room to stay in.

Parting the tapestry, he steps in and blinks at the sight of his uncle whittling before he spots his nephew, smiling warmly with a wiggle of his ears. "Welcome home, Dhezi. Did you have a good day?"

"I did, thanks tio. -- Hey, can-- can ya do me a favor?"

"Anything, sobrino. What's wrong?"

"Nothin', jus'-- can y'cut m'hair?"

Record scratch.

Sena blinked owlishly, glancing up at Azhi'li with widened eyes. Almost as though he was in disbelief. Well, no, not almost-- he was. "... Ah? I assumed you did not want to cut your hair since I thought it was something special for you?"

"It is. It always has been. I never cut it 'nd refused t'let people cut it b'cause... I kinda used it as a way t'hold onta y'all; t'hold onta m'brother, Zisi. But, now that I'm here with y'all, 'nd now that I am ready t'move on... I'm ready t'start lettin' go of th'past, too."

The older Seeker stared at his nephew in awe before smiling lightly, standing up slowly as he nodded. "Then it would be an honor. Come, sit down. Forgive your tio, though, because I may not do the best work..." he warns with a nervous chuckle.

"Hey, it's fine, s'long as it grows back!"

"Oh, I'm sure it will with how long you've had it without maintaining it regularly," he quips with a chuff, causing Azhi'li to laugh.

After bathing, Azhi'li sat in a chair with his towel-dried hair over his shoulders. Sena rounded behind him with a pair of scissors and a comb before asking, "Now... Are you sure you wish to do this, sobrino?"

"Si, tio. I'm ready."

"Bueno."

Snip.

#zizi's arc #story time #azhi #tani #sena

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pengychan · 4 years

Text

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 21

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by @swanpit.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: Aaaand with baby Coco home, the family is complete! Or is it.

***

“Look at her, Ernesto! Isn’t she the most beautiful baby girl you’ve ever seen?”

Ernesto hasn’t seen many baby girls in the first place, truth be told, but still enough to be able to tell Coco is, most definitely, not the most beautiful among them. Quite the contrary, really, and Ernesto finds himself wondering how did... that somehow pop out of Imelda of all people.

Madre de Dios, he wants to say, what have your genes created?

But of course that is out of the question, unless he wants to leave Héctor with a broken heart, find himself with a broken nose, and possibly deal with a broken neck the second his words are relayed to Imelda. She’s probably as blind to her daughter’s sheer ugliness as Héctor is, after all, motherhood and all that. All mothers claim their baby is the most beautiful around, including Ernesto’s own.

To be fair, she did have good reason to say so.

“Hah! Speechless, aren’t you?” Héctor laughs in delight, patting his back and starling him out of his thoughts. He manages a smile.

“Hahah, yes, that’s… yes. Speechless,” he laughs, eyeing the tiny alien bawling in her cot. Her head rather reminds him of the elongated skulls he saw in some museum when he was a kid and his mother dragged him along to visit some distant relatives in El Chaco. The only trip outside Mexico he’s ever made, and most of it was boring. “She sure is, er. Special.”

Thank God Héctor isn’t looking at him at all, his face squished against the glass. “Coco, look up!” he coos, tapping the glass. “This is your tío Ernesto, see? He’ll also be your godfather. Look!”

Ernesto finds himself chuckling. “She cannot hear you nor possibly understand whatever you’re saying, Héc--” he trails off when Coco stops wailing and blinks up at her father first, and then… at him. When her features are not distorted in a wail, she’s just a little easier on the eyes. Not that it says much, but regardless, Ernesto smiles a little. “Hola, Coco,” he says, entirely forgetting what he just told Héctor over a newborn having a chance of hearing them from beyond the glass. “It’s nice to meet--”

Coco bursts crying again, more violently than before. Héctor makes a sound that may be a laugh, a coo, and a sound of distress all rolled into one. “Aww, your face scared her!”

“What--” Ernesto stammers a moment at the sheer insult. “My face! Scare her! Have you seen he--” survival instinct kicks in and he manages to change the sentence midway. “A-- a mirror lately?”

The comment may have made him pout a moment normally, but this time, Héctor laughs. “Hahah! Well, I guess she did have a bad day, being born and all. Imelda was amazing throughout it, but did you have any doubts she would be?”

“No. Not really,” Ernesto replies. Not having to lie is a nice change of pace.

“Still, it must be a lot for a baby. She’ll settle. She’s perfect, isn’t she?”

“Of course, of course. So, uh… Imelda is well, yes?”

“Sí, sí, I told you. She is resting now, but they should discharge them both--”

“Héctor!”

“Oye!”

“Here you are!”

“Make way, make way for the tíos!”

The yells are their only warning before two tall, thin and identical young men skid across the polished floor and slam against the window, only instants after Héctor and Ernesto hastily jump out of their way. They press their faces against the glass, which thank God seems built to withstand the impact with overly enthusiastic relatives.

“Where is she? Where is she?”

“Which one?”

“Oh! The one there on the right!”

“That’s her!”

“We can tell because she’s scowling.”

“Just like Imelda.”

“She’s beautiful!”

“We’re going to teach you so much!”

“When is she coming home?”

“Our parents are already on the plane to come here, get ready…”

“Oh, and congratulations to the papá!”

“Right! Well done!”

Héctor laughs, clearly delighted, and returns the boys’ hug. “Ah, gracias! That’s not Coco, though. She’s the one over there, see?” he adds, putting a finger to the glass to point towards the right crib. “Three up and two across.”

“Oh,” Óscar - or is it Felipe? - finally says.

“Ah,” Felipe - or is it Óscar? - echoes immediately. There are a few moments of silence during which Ernesto silently steps backwards to the door, then they begin chattering again at the same time as though the pause never happened.

“Hola, Coco!”

“We’re your tíos! Not the other baby’s!”

“We’re going to teach you so many things!”

“Like setting off your mamá!”

“And the melting point of copper!”

“So that you don’t have to find out on your own.”

“Like we did.”

“And it was messy.”

Nice save, Ernesto thinks, snickering just a little as he steps outside, leaving Héctor and the twins to… admire Coco through the glass. He sits on the first seat available, trying to ignore the sensation he just intruded into a celebration he has no right to be part of. But that is not right, he is wanted there. So he ignores it, and takes out his phone to see a text from his mother.

All well? Is she born? I spoke with Imelda’s parents, they said they were coming right away.

Ernesto smiles a little. Yes, all is well. I think. Are babies supposed to be ugly as sin?

Don’t be nasty, mijo. She will look just fine in a few hours. No baby looks their best after going through the birth canal.

Except me.

Of course. You were handsome from the start, she writes back… though after seeing how downright delusional Héctor is, Ernesto is beginning to have doubts over the reliability of that statement. But he doesn’t like to think he was that ugly at any stage of his life - on the chubby side at one point, yes, but never ugly - so he just takes word for it, and texts Imelda instead.

Cute baby, he writes. He figured she may be asleep, but the reply comes within moments.

Liar, she writes, and this time Ernesto laughs out loud, startling a nurse passing by.

***

“Oh, she is beautiful, Imelda.”

Allergic as she is to the mere concept of agreeing with her mother, Imelda has to… well, to agree. Several hours after birth, Coco’s features look… like those of a baby who has not just been squished from all sides while being delivered. Her tiny head is round, her skin no longer grey-ish and mottled, and her tiny hands are clenched into fists as she suckles at her breast.

What remains unchanged was the unspeakable, somewhat frightening love warming her chest to the point she almost thinks it will spill out if she so much opens her mouth to reply. “She’s healthy,” she finds herself saying, stroking the thin black hair on her head with a finger. “It’s all that matters.”

Her mother nods. She is the only one left - her brothers are back in the new shop to look after the shoe orders, Ernesto could not remain much longer without arising questions, and her father has pretty much dragged Héctor back home to sleep a few hours.

“She is. You must be proud.”

“I am.”

“... I'm proud of you.”

The sound in Imelda’s brain sounds very much like that of a record screeching to a halt. She looks up, wondering if she’s just heard wrong. “... What?”

With a huff, her mother turns away. “You heard me.”

“Are you having a stroke?”

“Clearly not.”

Imelda ignores her and reaches for the button by the side of her bed. Later, she will admit to herself she may be just a little high on the painkillers they gave her to deal with the tearing. “Can we have a doctor here, I think my mother is having a--”

“Imelda, por Díos,” her mother groans, rubbing her temples. “That button is not an intercom.”

“... No?” Imelda asks, just as a nurse pops her head through the door.

“Hi! You rang?”

“By accident-- all’s well, thank you,” Imelda’s mother says quickly, causing Imelda to chuckle. At her breast, Coco makes a small displeased sound at the slight misplacement before she settles in again. The nurse leaves, and Milagros turns back to her daughter and granddaughter with a sigh. “Don’t make it harder than it needs to be. You know I’m allergic to being wrong.”

Well, to be entirely fair, it makes two of them. Imelda raises an eyebrow. “Wrong,” she repeats.

“Yes. You know I did not approve of you taking the course in… managing…”

“Business management.”

“Yes, that. And I did not approve of you moving to Mexico City on your own, or starting to make shoes of all things, and I did not approve of your choice of… well…”

“Héctor.”

“... Sí. You know I thought no ill of him, he was always a good young man - a bit of a troublemaker, you have to give me that, though I know he never really did anything terribly wrong - and with the tragedy of his parents... well, I only didn’t think he was in a stable enough situation, or quite suitable to be…” A pause, and she sighs. “... Well. You proved me wrong time and time again. And I am proud.”

Ah. Imelda opens her mouth, but words refuse to come out for a moment.

I wanted to hear this. I always wanted to hear this. I just didn’t know it.

“... Not even a little put out?” she asks instead, raising an eyebrow. In return, her mother rolls her eyes.

“I am absolutely pissed over being wrong all along, thank you for asking,” she informs her, but the scowl melts into a smile and she reaches to gently brush Coco’s thin hair with a finger. Abuela Syndrome, Imelda supposes. It’s almost eerie, like a switch was flipped. “... I worried so much that you’d stretch yourself too thin, break, and that I couldn’t mend the hurt. It’s what mothers do, try to keep our children safe, but we cannot always do it. It’s a lesson I learned the hard way, the sixth or seventh time I had to take your brothers to the emergency room.”

The remarks make Imelda smile a little. “You’d need a jailer to keep them out of trouble.”

A chuckle, and she nods. “Oh, I had to give up. They’ll learn their own way. But you know what you’re doing, Imelda. And if you don’t, you figure it out. If something doesn’t work, you make it work. That’s who you are. Never let anyone tell you what you should or should not do.”

Maybe she did have a stroke, Imelda thinks, trying not to let her mind wander over just how much she wishes she heard those words before, when she was younger, running on sheer spite and terror to fail and have to crawl back to be told that they told her so.

“... Not even you?” she finally asks.

“Por Díos, especially not me.”

And Imelda laughs this time, hard enough for her nipple to slip out of Coco’s mouth. She lets out a wail of protest, and Imelda immediately shifts her, letting her latch on the other breast, which she does immediately. Well, she got the hang of this pretty quickly, at least. There will be no struggling to make her daughter eat, thank God. She’s seen women tearing their hair out over it, with babies who seemed intent on starving to death before they latched to anything.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she finally says. “For me and her both.”

“As long as you’re happy.”

“I am, mamá.”

They’re quiet for the next several minutes, and Imelda watches her daughter suckle, still reeling a little for the unexpected conversation. Somewhere in-between the surprise and the exhaustion, the boundless love for the baby in her arms and the man she made her with, the pride for the life she’s built and the nervousness of the task ahead, her mother’s words seem to echo… along with her own.

“This cannot work,” she told Ernesto, and Héctor, and herself.

If something doesn’t work, you make it work.

If this were more accepted, she had thought.

Never let anyone tell you what you should or should not do. As long as you’re happy.

But there is Coco now, her daughter to think about, first and foremost. Maybe she could make it work, maybe she could shoulder the stigma and disapproval if the truth ever came out - no, she knows she could shoulder it - and maybe deep down she feels it would be worth it… for her. But for Coco… the risk it could wind up harming her daughter in any way is too much to bear.

It’s what mothers do, try to keep our children safe, but we cannot always do it.

But I can. I will. From this, at least. She won’t be mocked on my account.

You know what you’re doing, Imelda. And if you don’t, you figure it out.

I already have. I figured out it had to end, and it’s for the best.

You make it work.

No, not this. I cannot.

Imelda holds her daughter close, hums to her, and does her best to block out her own thoughts.

***

“All right, all right, we’re all set! Come in!”

Héctor hits the record button and steps back, grinning widely. Dante and Pepita can clearly tell Imelda is about to come in, and Dante is leaping across the room in boundless excitement, which makes Héctor very glad he’s put a baby gate in the doorway… plus another baby gate on top of it, because Dante can jump ridiculously high. Not that he thinks he would ever intentionally harm the baby, but he is a large clumsy dog and they’d rather take no chances.

A chuckle, and steps. “Coming in,” Imelda calls out, and she gets to the door first, the rest of her family not far behind, a sleeping Coco strapped to her chest. Dante lets out a howl, his entire butt wriggling frantically, while Pepita makes no noise: she just leaps on Dante’s head first and then on top of the baby gate on top of the other baby gate. She leans in to rub her head against Imelda’s shoulder, purring loudly, then pauses to sniff at the baby.

Coco lets out a gurgling noise. Pepita purrs louder, and Imelda smiles, scratching her behind the ears. “I think we have the first seal of approval,” she says, letting Pepita hop on her shoulders, and she kneels down to let a frantically whining Dante sniff at Coco through the bars.

“Are you certain that is going to hold up?” Imelda’s mother speaks, eyeing the baby gates with no small amount of uncertainty. But the gates are never tested: Dante sits down, the excited tremors dying down, and tries to lick the tiny tuft of black hair on top of Coco’s head. He’s as calm as Héctor had ever seen him, eyes huge and absolutely adoring.

Well. This is going… pretty great. When Imelda settles on the couch, Coco in her arms - she squirms a little and makes tiny noises like a meowing kitten, making Pepita blink, Dante tilt his head and Héctor want to cry - both pets join her, sniffing at the new member of their family so delicately. Dante’s tail is thumping rather violently against the cushions, but Héctor figures that as long as Coco remains on the other side of the dog, it won’t be a problem.

There is a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to see his father-in-law standing by him, holding out a hand to take his phone. “Go sit with them,” Gerardo says. “I’ll take the video.”

Ah, of course-- of course, he should also be in videos with Coco, so that she can look back at them and see him there with her instead of just hearing as a voice out of sight. Although it’s not like he plans to leave anytime soon, so she’s going to see plenty of him.

His parents were gone in the blink of an eye while he was in another town, any video of them together they ever had destroyed, but it won’t ever be the case for him. He will be there.

“... Thanks,” Héctor mutters, and hands over the phone before getting on the couch, struggling a little with Dante for the spot on Imelda’s right side. In the end they reach a compromise - Héctor sits, Dante lays his head across his lap so he can keep sniffing at the baby - and he puts his arm around Imelda’s shoulders, leaning his cheek on her head. “She’s here,” he says, very quietly and trying very hard not to start with the waterworks again.

Imelda nods, her finger gently tapping the tip of Coco’s nose, causing their daughter to blink... and Pepita to immediately bop her nose with a paw as well, causing Coco to let out a squeal.

“Pepita! Don’t-- don’t do that--” Imelda tries to keep her voice stern, but it cracks almost immediately. She laughs hard enough to tear up, and so does Héctor.

“She’s not hurt, is she?” Milagros frets, and their laughter seems to put off and reassure her in equal measure. “Oh, I am not sure so many pets in the house are good for a baby…”

Wait until four chihuahuas join in, Héctor thinks, but he has enough sense not to say out loud. He just stops laughing with a chortle and leans in to kiss Coco’s little head, trying not to think how it suddenly struck him - the realization someone is absent from Coco’s homecoming, and how plain wrong that absence feels.

***

Frankly, as he wakes up sweaty and with a rather painful erection, Ernesto is not sure whether he should be glad his dogs refuse to sleep anywhere but on his bed these days or curse them for it.

On one hand, Zita licking his face has pulled him out of a very pleasant dream which involved one of his favorite types of sandwiches, with Héctor beneath him and Imelda on top of him with what, in the remarkable clarity of his dream, had felt like that slightly bumpy strap-on she kept for great occasions. And being pulled out of a pleasant dream is never fun.

On the other hand, if Zita hadn’t awakened him, he would have probably awakened later with a sticky mess in his boxers and a peculiar sense of humiliation that came with his every single wet dream involving Héctor and Imelda later. Which was to say, every single wet dream lately since they all involved Héctor and Imelda.

I can have Héctor, they said I can sleep with him.

And he has been tempted, sure enough, but every time he tried to work up the courage to suggest any interesting activity they could do together when alone… he simply couldn’t do it. Not like that, not just the two of them; the sense of absence would be too much to bear, and take away any enjoyment he may find in the act.

… Maybe, all things considered, the dogs should have minded their own business and let him have his wet dream in peace. Ernesto drops his head back on the pillow with a groan, reaching to scratch zita behind the ears as she settles on his chest. He should probably head to the bathroom, to take care of the problem either with his fist or with a cold shower, but instead he waits it out, reaching for his phone.

He should check his notifications on Instagram, since he appeared on TV it’s been going off the charts and it never fails to make him feel better. Maybe he should take a selfie with Zita on his chest, the photos along with his dogs are those that get the most attention, closely followed by anything in which he just so happens to be shirtless.

Except that before he can open the camera, a text notification flashes - Héctor.

Hey. Just wanted to thank you again for your help the other day.

Ah. Ernesto stares at the text a moment, then looks at the time. Almost three in the morning.

What are you doing still up?, he types with one hand, still stroking Zita’s head while she noses at his chin.

Coco was hungry.

Oh, of course. That’s what babies do, scream at night for milk. Or to be changed, or to be held, or just to hear their own voice. Ernesto is… rather glad this part of Coco’s life is not his problem. He almost begins typing a response, but he sees Héctor typing as well, so he waits. And waits. And waits.

The typing ceases, then resumes, ceases again. Finally, after a couple of minutes, he’s typing again. You know you can come upstairs anytime you want, he finally writes.

Not anymore, Ernesto thinks, the notion so bitter he can almost taste it. Isn’t Imelda’s family going to be there for the next couple of weeks?

They won’t think anything of it if you come over. They know you’re my best friend.

That is true, of course - if he goes to visit them, it will seem perfectly normal. He is going to be Coco’s godfather, after all. Still, Imelda was so concerned at the idea anyone may know what has been going on… it only makes sense to be cautious. He hesitates, and thank God Héctor writes again before he has to think up an excuse.

How about tomorrow morning? The in-laws are going to take a look at Imelda’s new shop. The twins will show them around, we’re almost sure they won’t cause incidents. I’ll text you when they leave.

That sounds like… a reasonable compromise.

All right, sounds good. Ernesto pauses, and writes again. I’ll take the dogs, he adds.

Of course, they’re going to love her. Dante and Pepita do already. They try to get in whatever room she’s in.

Of course they would, Ernesto thinks with a small smile, and puts the phone down. Another of his dogs - Clara, by the feel of it - noses at his arm, and he reaches to pet her as well. He probably won’t get much sleep before morning but, at least, his problem went away without the need for a cold shower.

“You behave tomorrow,” Ernesto tells Zita, and Zita licks his face.

***

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Héctor’s statement is followed by the click of a camera - a proper camera he just bought, not just his phone, which apparently he decided was not worthy enough to take photos of his baby. Ernesto, who was clearly focused on trying to hold up Coco’s head the way Imelda showed him, scowls.

“What-- you’re supposed to warn me before you take a photo of me! We’ve talked about this!”

“I wasn’t taking a picture of you, I was taking a picture of Coco.”

“With me in it! Let me see-- egh. Delete that immediately.”

“No.”

“I look awful!”

“But she looks cute!”

“Héctor, give me that camera-- Héctor! If you share that on Instagram or anywhere else I swear I'll make your wife a widow and your daughter and orphan!”

As her husband laughs and almost dances out of reach, taking full advantage of the fact Ernesto cannot give chase with a baby in his arms, Imelda chuckles. “The photo looks fine,” she says, looking down at Ernesto’s dogs. They are standing on their hind legs, pawing at their owner’s trousers, clearly desperate to have a good sniff at the newcomer. Coco is responding to their whining with squeaking noises of her own when she’s not trying to fit her entire fist into her mouth, but her gaze stays fixed on Ernesto.

Well, she likes her honorary tío.

“Oh, put her on the sofa!” Héctor exclaims, holding up the camera. He seems determined to use up all the memory card’s space, and Ernesto already had to politely decline an offer to see several photos of her first diaper change at home. “Let them go to her!”

Within a minute, Coco is right in the middle of a snuggle pile consisting of a dog, a cat, and overgrown guinea pigs that Ernesto somehow pass off as dogs. She stares with mild surprise as her father dances around her to capture all angles, and Ernesto laughs, sitting next to Imelda.

It fills the room, that laugh. She missed it. And now that no one else is there and she can try to pretend, for a moment, that this could actually be their normal. The three of them and Coco, under the same roof, unafraid, hiding nothing.

If only it were that simple, Imelda thinks, and tries to block out the part of her trying to tell her that maybe, just maybe, it may work. They could make it work.

And it is frightening, really, how close she comes to believing it.

***

Additonal art by @whattimeisitintokyo that made me nearly spit out a lung!

***

[Back]

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#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #coco #mind the gap

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austarus · 5 years

Text

Wells Boys x Reader May The Best Wells Win

**These gifs are made by me, please credit if used.

***Also, I'm not dead! This is the last complete draft I have in my drafts box until Thanksgiving and Winter Break. I'll promise I'll be back, I'm just super sick and stressed out with Uni and my premed course work. Apologies for the delay, now enjoy the fic :)

“Cisco, it’s so precious,” you gush, sitting beside the mechanical engineering genius as you two sift through various screenshots and fan art on the Cortex main monitors. “When did you say the game was being released?”

The three men honestly had no idea how to respond. None of them were getting any form of attention from you today, coincidentally the one person that they were hopelessly pining over. Regrettably you were unaware of their hidden affections, oblivious to the true meaning to their actions towards you. Sherloque was quietly sipping his tea, Harry had his arms crossed with a little glare, and HR was twirling his drumstick around as per usual. All while you and Cisco continued to gush over the small virtual creature. Yamper, is what they heard you coo out with heart eyes and all. A virtual creature from the world of Pokémon that attains the body of a corgi with electric type attributes.

“He is pretty cute, but I’m just saying my money’s still on Bulbasaur,” Cisco quirks an eyebrow at you with a goofy smile, searching up on a separate monitor. You roll your eyes at him and shake your head, “Should be out by November 15. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Pre-ordering the game and spending every waking second on it?” You rub your hands together with a smile gracing your lips.

“All-nighters included?”

“All-nighters included along with lots of snacks and fizzy drinks.”

“I taught you so well.” Cisco does a little gasp rests a hand over his heart, faking a tear to wipe away like a parent proud of his child. You gave Cisco a big hug before going back to Pokemon surfing for this new game release.

A glare washed over the Wells men at the hug. All three men shared a look of annoyance and rolled eyes at the next set of Yamper photos, this time mini comic panels were included. You were practically in a whole other world because of the dog-like virtual creature. The Wells men reluctantly huddled together in the side lab, a moment of silence passing through them as they looked to one another with blank looks. They neither liked nor tolerated one another yet must play nice for your sake. They find themselves in the same predicament: you were too distracted to be whisked away by one of them.

“All right, I think we can agree here that ‘Yamper’ is our common enemy,” Harry speaks up with a sigh, as three sets of blue eyes glanced back at you. “And it’s only logical for a temporary truce until this Yamper incident blows over.”

“Oui, though ‘e may be virtual, mon cher ‘as rather become infatuated instead of seeking out moi. Such a shame, ‘owever-”

“Hold on there Frenchy,” HR stops the Frenchman. “No one said she’s seeking you out, my handsome friend. If anything, I’m the one that she enjoys coming to whenever she needs to have a good heart-to-heart conversation or for some Jitters outings. Therefore, a point goes to me.”

“Wrong,” Harry roughly shuts HR down as Sherloque mutters to himself about his disgust for the bitterly caffeinated beverage, “neither of you are worthy enough to be in her presence. If anything, I’m the most practical person she comes to whenever she needs advice or wants someone to spend her downtime with. On top of that, I’ve known her longer.” The dark-haired E2 man smirks in triumph, much to HR and Sherloque’s chagrin, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark-washed jeans. He does a little head tilt to accompany his smirk, “Ball is in my court.”

“I’ve got deductive skills, intelligence, and charm. Qualities all women desire-”

“-The only thing you have is that piling debt of alimony to all your exes.”

“Low blow, hardhead.” HR whistled lowly.

“Shut it, you mindless fool.”

“Not mindless, creative and optimistic. I’m not a sourpuss like you.”

“At least I still have my company and my earth as a home.”

“-Wow, rude much? Or are your bedside manners as good as the dirt in hell?”

“-Yet, you ‘ave your daughter running ‘alf of it. And you got kicked out of the council. It seems that your genius brain couldn’t keep up with the dark matter.” HR and Sherloque has spoken at the same time, the latter going for a hard jab. Well, more like a stab instead of a jab.

Harry ignored the dark matter incident comment. “That council was toxic, and you know it. Unlike you two, I’ve got combat experience, especially with metas, so that means I can protect her the most.”

“No woman wants to be with a blunt mallet with raging anger management issues or with a man who can’t keep it in his pants whenever he sees a version of his ex.” HR snapped in a low voice, a little smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“What did you just say-”

“Qu'est-ce que tu viens de me dire?”

Before either man could throw any fists or random objects in the lab, a whooshing sound and red electricity cracks through the air. Harry, HR, and Sherloque found themselves thrown into opposite walls of the Time Vault, one by one. The pebbled interior jabbed at them at the moment of impact before roughly landing on the cold ground. They opened their eyes with an ache reverberating through their body and a groan leaving their lips. HR’s drumsticks had clattered onto the tiled flooring, rolling slightly away from his body. Sherloque's fedora had flown off his head while his cup of tea remains broken in the other room. Lo and behold, the last man they expected to see stood right before them in all his smug speedster glory.

He calmly watched each man gather their bearing and rise to their feet.“I’d say neither of you are the better candidate for my sweet little kitten,” the genius speedster spoke with a condescending tone.

Eobard Thawne with the identity of this earth’s own Wells smirked mischievously at the Frenchman, the novelist, and the war veteran. “My reasons?” He speaks, when they all gave him murderous glares and rude, yet questioning looks. “They aren’t really of your concern. Just remember," he raised a taunting index finger in the air, "that I’m smarter, faster, and stronger than you three combined.” The dark-haired genius emphasized those three key words as if to engrave them in the air that he’s the superior one that would win your heart. Each word directed towards each Wells, knowingly attacking each of man's weakness.

“Don’t kid yourself speedy,” HR stammers out, both drumsticks now in a tightened fist. He's stood up against Savitar, why couldn't he do the same against Reverse Flash? “She’s not into villains. You lucked out, so beat it before BA shows up with Iris and the Team.”

A low whistle leaves Eobard’s lips along with a little laugh, raising his hands up in mock defeat. “Oh, very threatening.” The smug expression and raised eyebrow gesture never leave his face.

“The moron’s right on this.” Harry had already pulled out the miniature pulse rifle (a pulse pistol, if you will) that he always keeps on him. He was blindsided once by Oliver’s Earth-X doppelganger, never again would that happen. Keeping the energy-filled gun pointed at the speedster, "You’re the last one she’d ever want to see or get with. Or have you forgotten exactly what you've done to her friends.”

Sherloque adjusted his cap and remained silent, observing and analyzing the speedster in front of him. He had heard so much about this Wells... Thawne. Stone-hearted, analytical and highly intelligent even from his original time period. A true malevolent strategist to benefit himself, yet he's heard whispers of how his demeanor would melt away when it came to you. However so much pain and underlying anger remain with the individuals of team flash. You wouldn’t choose him surely… Would you?

“Is that so? Well I guess that decision is up to her, isn’t it?” Eobard laughs sinisterly, cocking his head to the side with eyes sparking to life with red. “May the best man win.” The futuristic speedster speeds away with his crimson lightning licking the air. His mocking laughter echoes through the room.

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beerecordings · 5 years

Note

I had a dream that you wrote a thing about Eric meeting Jackie or Jamie or the Septics in general, and then I woke up and I am Enraged™️ that my brain would play such a cruel trick on me.

yeah hi i’ve been in an airport for three hours and i love you so of course i wrote this

there is, however, a twist

I am currently reading the Bartimaeus series

and I can finally make my oWN DEMON AU HEHEHEHEHE

have y’all seen these? it’s the best universe ever it’s like there are magicians and most of them use spirits from the other world as weapons and slaves, but there’s this one kid who starts to become unwilling friends with an equally unwilling demon and then ahhhh

so anyway, have this. i’ve been thinking about it a lot lately lol. written in about an hour at the Denver airport, playing TAZ from my phone and eating overpriced chicken tenders OH DAMN TIME TO BOARD BUT ANYWAY

“Jackie,” hisses Jack, shoving him back in his pocket. “Stay hidden.”

Jackie’s little mouse head pokes out again, obstinately. “But I want to see!” he squeaks, trying to climb up Jack’s suit jacket.

“Joachim,” Jack warns, picking him up by his little pink tail and tucking him back in his pocket. “You have to stay hidden! You know I can’t let the other magicians know how well I treat my spirits, mouser.”

“I will turn into a mosquito.”

“No, you’ll get swatted.”

“A cloud of smoke.”

“Too noticeable.”

“A louse on your head.”

“Gross! Stay in my pocket!”

“Fine,” grumbles Jackie, curling up in his pocket with his mouse arms crossed over his chest. “But I’m turning into a slimy little frog.”

He makes good on his promise and ribbits irritably. Jack sighs and rubs a finger over his head, sitting back in his chair and exchanging overly-polite smiles with the magicians nearby.

“Why are we even at a fancy little party anyway?” sighs Joachim. “Everyone here is a dick.”

“Thanks for the encouragement.”

“I’m serious, Sean!”

Jack hisses, giving his pocket a little shove. “Shut the hell up! If anyone here learned my real name – ”

“Yeah, they’d curse the hell out of you. Cause everyone here is a dick. Jack, these magicians would sell you out for a thimble’s worth of power. And we both know they’re here talking shit about you for living in that little cottage downtown, and for not taking a limousine here, and because they’re jealous that you keep five spirits at once.”

Jack sighs.

This is not entirely untrue.

“Besides,” sighs Jackie. “Everyone else here treats their spirits like shit.”

Glancing around with glasses enchanted to allow him to see on the second and third fields, Jack sees imps and foliots scattered around the room, and even a couple of djinni like Joachim, all close to their master’s hands. Some are curled up in pockets, some sit on shoulders as birds or cats, some are even little monsters snarling around their masters’ bodies. Each one of them is enslaved, bound to the master who summoned them to the mortal realm. Each one of them would be punished if it dared to disobey – maybe killed. And certainly none of them know their master’s true names.

If they did, they would kill them. And Jack can’t blame them. If he were a spirit – an imp, a foliot, a djinni, an afrit, or a marid – He would kill his slave-driver too, and go back to the other realm, and be free.

Jackie turns back into a mouse. Jack strokes his fuzzy grey head, grateful for his company. Grateful for his friendship. For his trust. He remembers when he first summoned Jackie, the first djinni he ever attempted. Jackie would have happily killed him to be free, and Jack barely restrained himself from using curses like stippling or silver to punish him for his insolence.

But he’s a researcher, not a warrior or a leader. He asked questions. They talked. Jackie accompanied him through many dangers. Over time, they learned to trust each other. And then the day the little monster came –

They trust each other with their lives now. Jack isn’t sure any other magician has ever had a bond like this with any spirit, let alone five. Fuck, to think that Magnificence and Haimerich and Blood Chaser and Nectarian could just be slaves if he hadn’t called them to himself –

“Let’s get some air,” he sighs, rising from his seat. Slipping past high-ranking politicians, corrupt to the core, up-scale salesman, making their wealth off magical goods stolen from other countries, and the exhausted, spiteful spirits enslaved at their sides, Jack makes his way to the door, and then to the garden.

Tended as neatly as it is, there is little love from the owners of the house. A gardener has helped heavy fruit trees to bloom into pink flowers for the spring, and flowers are inhaling up from the earth, swaying gentle in the warm night air.

“That’s better,” sighs Jack, undoing his tie to let himself breathe.

Jackie scurries out of his pocket and leaps towards the ground, transforming into a handsome red hunting dog before he hits the earth. “Someone out here,” he warns gently. “With a spirit of their own. Don’t be too loud.”

“Who?” asks Jack, frowning. Most everyone is inside kissing the prime minister’s ass. There’s supposed to be a speech in a few minutes.

He hears voices on the wind before Jackie can answer.

“Just breathe, buddy.”

“I can’t, I can’t, I don’t feel well, please, please, master.”

“Hey, come on, what have I told you about calling me that? What’s the matter? Talk to me, talk me through this. Please breathe, buddy.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Do you need to be sent back to the other world? You know I’ll set you free in a second if you say the word. We just need a pentacle, and then – ”

“No, please, I don’t want to be back there either.”

“What the hell?” whispers Jack, moving towards the voice, hidden from him by a copse of orange trees and a great green hedge. “Jackie, you hear that?”

The dog barks out an affirmation and the voices stop suddenly. There is a quick hiss of warning, and then Jack is rounding the hedge, and there, before him, stands a single magician, all alone.

His dark hair is cast in gold by the falling sun and he tilts up his proud chin with a flash in his eyes, straightening up and folding his hands loosely behind his back as he surveys Jack with a cool gaze, his curled mouth displaying an unhidden contempt. Jack would return his haughty look, but he’s almost too startled to process it.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, backing away again, glancing around. “I thought I heard someone… um, talking?”

The other magician tugs the sleeves of his fine navy suit down to the wrists, sighing self-importantly. “Did you now?” His voice is rich and calm. “And you just thought you would interrupt, Mr…?”

“Jackson. Sam Jackson.”

“Mmh.”

“It sounded like someone was having a panic attack. It sounded like you were talking your demon through a panic attack. Joachim, is there a spirit with him?”

Jackie barks again.

“T-talk my demon through a panic attack,” the other magician stammers out. “I’ve never heard something so – so preposterous.”

But there is fear in his eyes, a dark panic flashing through his deep brown eyes. He backs away slightly, fidgeting with his sleeves again.

He isn’t much older than Jack, both in their early twenties. Looking at him, Jack would guess that the stranger is a government worker, and a prominent one at that – all that slicked back hair, the fancy clothes, the shiny blue dress shoes. Something in him fills up with contempt – and yet, looking at him, he does not feel his usual disgust or discomfort.

Something squeaks softly. The other magician flinches, a hand drifting up to cover the pocket on his breast.

“You treat your spirits with respect,” mumbles Jack. “You care for them.”

He needs to steady himself. He places a hand on Jackie’s warm red head.

“Jack,” says his djinni.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” whispers the other magician, drawing away.

“No, wait,” cries Jack. “Jackie, Jackie – ”

They’ve been together for a long time and the brotherhood between them makes it easy for Jackie to understand his unspoken request. The dog rises up on its hindlegs and transforms, this time into Jack’s own form, identical in every way, except a red hoodie thrown over his suit and a streak of djinni blue across his eyes.

“This is my djinni, Joachim,” says Jack. “But I call him Jackie. He’s my – he’s my friend.”

He turns and meets Jackie’s twin eyes. His friend smiles at him, reassuring.

“He’s my equal,” adds Jack, grinning back.

And the change in the other magician is instantaneous, is incredible; all his contempt disappears as though evaporated, his haughty posture falling away, and he stands shocked and gasping in front of Jack, his hands out-stretched uselessly.

“Oh,” he whispers. “Fuck, I thought I was the only one. Man, I don’t – I thought – I’m Mark. Shit, it’s good to meet you.”

He moves forward, smiling, and if there are tears in his eyes, no one seems to mind, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny black hamster with thick, wild fur.

“And this is Eric,” he says.

“Eric?” laughs Jack.

“His real name’s Eristebus or something really fancy,” laughs Mark. “He’s a foliot, fourth level – oh, Eric, don’t be scared, bud, it’s okay.”

The hamster trembles fervently in his hand, covering its eyes with little pink paws.

“I – I’ve never seen a foliot act like this,” admits Jack. “It’s okay, little guy.”

Hard anger returns to Mark’s voice. “That’s because spirits who cannot carry out the cruel orders of cruel masters are almost certainly killed or worse – trapped in bottles or entombed in magical buildings for the rest of eternity. Illness and shows of fear have been bred out of these creatures not by time, but by murder. One of my teachers summoned him to demonstrate how to bind a foliot to me. In the two hours he had Eristebus in his control, he tortured him horribly for every shake and tremble. It’s a terrible way for an innocent spirit to live. So, soon as I was powerful enough, I summoned him myself. Now no one else will ever punish him again.”

“Yes!” cries Jack, so loud the sihouettes in the windows of the house startle, and Mark jumps. “Sorry, it’s just – I’ve never met anyone who gives a shit before!”

Mark bursts into laughter, and opens his mouth to speak again, but Jackie interrupts him by scooping the hamster up into his own hand.

Jack steps back, curious as to what his djinni will do. Eristebus is a lower-level spirit than Jackie, around the same power level as Chase, and he’s already afraid. He wants to warn Jackie to be gentle – but no, he trusts him. He trusts him.

“Hi,” says Jackie, softly.

Eric stares up at him with dark little eyes.

“You’ve had some shitty masters, huh?” whispers Jackie.

And then, in Sumerian, he tells him, “That makes us brothers.”

Jack lets out a choked laugh, grinning ear to ear. Fuck, he’s so fucking lucky to see something like this. How long have these creatures been their slaves? Spirits like Joachim and Eristebus taught to be weapons of violence since the day they were drawn into the world – and, in the meantime, all this goodness trapped inside of them, waiting for a chance to be freed.

“Your djinni is so kind,” Mark murmurs. “How did you teach him that?”

“I didn’t,” laughs Jack. “Just gave him the chance to be what he’s always been.”

“It’s going to be okay,” soothes Jackie, and, mimicking his master, he rubs his finger over the top of Eric’s head.

A moment later, the hamster transforms into a man. He takes Mark’s image – a sure sign of respect – except, from the knee, legs made entirely of stone. Some lower-level spirits tend to have difficulties taking on complex forms.

“Hi,” he whispers, in a voice that shakes, and yet, on his mouth, there is a growing smile. “Hi, I – I’m glad to meet another spirit who doesn’t want to eat me.”

“Well, yeah, you smell pretty good.”

“Jackie!” reprimands Jack.

“No, I’m used to it,” sighs Eric.

“Yeah, Wilford’s tried to eat you like four times this week,” agrees Mark.

“Is that a djinni?” laughs Jack.

“Nah, a marid.”

Jack’s mouth falls open. For a moment, he can’t speak at all.

“You keep a marid on hand?”

Mark grins, torn somewhere between pride and modesty. “Well… two.”

Even Jackie turns at that, staring.

“Hey, they don’t call me an up-and-comer for nothing,” laughs Mark. “Don’t be jealous, they’re both terrible. I love them a lot.”

“An up-and-comer – you are a politician, aren’t you?”

“I have a minor position in State Affairs.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m keeping you from the pm’s speech.”

“Are you kidding?” Mark blows a raspberry with his mouth, rolling his eyes. “That dick? I’ve heard him talk plenty enough for one lifetime. Anyway, I think he thinks I’m out to steal his job. And I’m like ‘give me a couple years first, man!‘”

“So you can’t let anyone know you treat your spirits like this. Because if you did – ”

“We’d be laughingstocks,” Mark nods.

“At the least! Man, I think it’s more likely we’d be labeled radical fanatics and exiled or assassinated.”

“I’d never let that happen,” Jackie pipes up, his teeth drawn in a smile. He has fangs, suddenly.

“So we have to be careful,” Mark sighs. “But, shit – we don’t have to be alone anymore, do we?”

“No. No, I guess not.” Jack can’t help it if there are tears in his eyes. He feels stupid – but at the same time, so very, very happy. “Dude, we have so much to talk about.”

“We really do,” agrees Mark, beaming. He reaches out to clasp his shoulder, drawing him in close. “It’s just been me and the spirits for so long!”

“You really keep house with two marids?” Jackie is asking Eric. “What is that even like?”

Eric’s eyes are big and exhausted. “Awful,” he says weakly. “But then again, also… wonderful. Some days, you almost get eaten, some days, they’d destroy armies for you…”

“I think we all have a lot to talk about,” Mark grins. “So, what do you say? Want to get the fuck out of here?”

Jackie and Eric are already moving towards the sidewalk away from the house, headed back to mortal homes, chatting about everything and nothing.

“Yeah,” says Jack. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here, man. Let’s talk.”

#bee writes #ask #nikkilbook #bartimaeus au

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beachbabywrites · 5 years

Text

Dynamic Duo // A Kara Danvers imagine

Valentine’s Request 18/?

REQUEST: Kara Danvers + Enemies to Lovers + candy heart

A/N: So I’ve come to realize I cannot write enemies to lovers fics for Kara, it’s just impossible ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ so I twisted it around a bit. In this fic, the media is doing everything in their power to pit Supergirl and Phoenix (Aka the reader bc I cannot come up with imaginary superhero names for the life of me) against each other even though the two have never publicly associated or worked together. Unbeknownst to the public, Supergirl and Phoenix are in a happy and healthy relationship. This takes place somewhere in the season one/early season two timeline

"Supergirl declares, 'National City only needs ONE HERO!"

"The REAL reason you'll never see Supergirl and Phoenix working together."

"Supergirl threatens to reveal Phoenix's true identity; Phoenix says "stand down!"

"Source says Phoenix will destroy National City before going to Supergirl's aid."

Of course, the headlines were the first thing you saw this morning, they were hard to miss with street vendors yelling at passing crowds trying to sell a copy of the latest gossip magazine. You scoffed, trying not to laugh in the man's face as he pushed the paper towards you. You could tell him then and there just how wrong those sources were but he wouldn't believe you. Why would he? You're no one special to National City. You're just (Y/N) (Y/L/N). So instead of initiating an argument on the sidewalk you went on to work and prayed you made it to your desk before your boss showed up.

You were staring at the clock, counting down the minutes till your lunch break. 15... 14... You answered an email about scheduling your bosses next meeting with the CEO, then answered a personal email regarding dinner plans.

12... Someone's phone rang, you began putting your things in your purse so you could sneak out early. You could hear the car horns outside in the lunch hour rush. You looked up as your coworker approached your desk and handed you a file. She apologized for laying it on you right before lunch, but it was due by 5 tonight. Inside was the research for yet another gossip segment on Supergirl and Phoenix's feud.

9... You agreed happily when your coworker asked if you wanted to grab lunch with her before she left to pick her kids up from school.

Much like every other devastating event that happened in National City, this one happened without warning.

When the first crash was heard, you dropped to your knees on the carpeted floor like everyone had been instructed to do in the past. Glass shattered, you could hear the screeching of breaks and mangled metal. The people on your floor screamed as the windows imploded, sending glass flying across the floor. Two more explosions quickly followed the first one, each one shaking the building more violently than the last.

You stood up slowly after some time had passed after the last blast, looking around the floor at your coworkers. All were fine, nothing too serious, maybe a couple cuts that would need stitches. You placed a hand on the shoulder of the woman who was trying to call her children at school.

"Phone lines are down." Someone hollered across the room and slammed the landline down. "Was it a gas line?"

"Surely not that strong!" Another voice answered.

The power went out and another round of screams pierced the air.

"Go! To the stairwell, come on." You urged them along. You rushed to the window to see what was going on outside when shouts of 'Supergirl!' caught your attention.

"Kara!" You whispered out loud, amazement and terror-striking your heart as she flew through the sky straight towards the pillar of smoke rising just a few blocks away.

"Come on!" Someone shouted behind you so you turned and made your way down the stairs.

You followed the crowd away from the shaky buildings and chaos, helping those who needed it but listening closely to the battle that was happening behind you.

You heard the first cry as you were helping a child find her mother. Kara was in distress but you couldn't just leave these people. You knew she could handle her self, besides you had a bigger responsibility at the time. You couldn't help the small part of you wondered what if?

Within a matter of minutes, dozens of buildings were evacuated, barricades set up to prevent any civilians from running into the mess. Smoke still darkened the sky and burned at your nose. It sounded like the worst of the fight was over, you could hear Kara yelling over the noise, but you couldn't hear a second voice.

Oh great, you sighed to yourself. She's monologuing.

You helped the volunteers passing out shock blankets to those who were injured or just scared, EMTs were rushing around the area. Someone mentioned the museum was in the same area Supergirl and the unnamed villain were fighting. The crowd wondered if there was something in there worth the fight. A man claimed it was Phoenix.

"I saw her with my own eyes, Supergirl tackled her out of the air as the building exploded!"

Everyone saw something different, no one could agree on who it was that Supergirl had encountered. With every yell from Kara's mouth, you became more anxious. More theories began to spread across the street, cops and reporters whispering Kryptonite and 'alien', despite your racing heart and clenched jaw you reminded yourself just how strong she had proven herself to be in the past.

Kara had taken on prisoners from Fort Rozz, she stopped a falling plane, Live Wire and the Red Tornado, the latter was designed specifically to upgrade its fighting skills based on its spars with Supergirl, to use her strongest moves and patterns against her, and these were only in the first couple of months of taking on the hero role. Kara was called super for a reason.

You could hear Alex and her team mobilizing and preparing to rush in as Kara landed the final blows. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, the screen lit up with Alex's name and number and a text asking where you were.

"I'm safe. Is Kara?" The little bubbles on the screen told you Alex was typing and erasing, typing and erasing for what felt like ten minutes before she finally sent back "Kara is safe." But at this point, Kara didn't sound safe.

A menacing voice was taunting her, telling her if she stayed down, if she gave up he would spare the block of her choice. The longer you sat on the stairs to the bank with the unaware crowd the more your muscles ached with an electric need to step in and help, every nerve running up your spine tingling. When you heard a cop whisper to his partner in a broken and panicked voice 'she's losing' you couldn't stay still any longer.

You hopped up, the metallic blanket falling to the steps as you turned and raced the opposite direction, away from Supergirl and the fight.

The dust didn't have time to settle before the alien that had Kara trapped on the ground was turning on you, giving the blonde a chance to jump to her feet.

"Just how many of your kind are on this planet Kara Zor-El?" The alien asked the laughter in his voice was infuriating as you realized just how worn out Kara looked. She stared at you wide-eyed, taking in the red and yellow you were wearing, a hint of pride in her slight smile. "Two Kryptonian heads will be more than enough to atone for the crimes your people have committed against my home."

"I'm not Kryptonian. I will not allow you to commit the same crimes you allege against the Kryptonians to my own people." You countered, hands already burning.

"Phoenix!" Kara shouted, "distract him!" You sent her a glance as she dashed away but did as she asked.

This alien was highly skilled at hand to hand, their punches fast and aiming at all of your weakest points. Face, throat, face, stomach, stomach, face, throat. You were beginning to notice a pattern to his moves and as you stepped to the side in anticipation of his next move, ready to make your own, he took you by surprise with a right hook to the face. You stumbled back before regaining your balance, a coppery taste on your tongue.

You could see Kara picking up something from the farthest edge of the street, he was preparing to turn his back on you to attack her once again, so you ran at the invader. When your bodies collided the impact knocked both of you back. The force of it knocked the breath out of your body. You forced yourself up, staggering slightly as you put distance between you and the seven foot alien on the ground.

Supergirl was behind him as he stood. He snarled at you in a foreign language before lurching forward. Supergirl grabbed him by the shoulder, pushed him so he was now facing her. She landed punches in quick succession; One, two, three, his fist made loud contact with her face. Kara glanced over her shoulder and you knew she had a plan. Your heel connected with the aliens back, he fell to his knees.

"Move!" Kara bellowed and before you had much time to do anything, a second blast rang throughout the area, throwing you onto your back once again. As you sat up, dizzied and sore, you noticed the DEO agents rushing in, guns raised and shouting orders at the criminal.

Supergirl rushed up to you, arms extended to help you up.

"I'm okay." You assured her for the third time before she finally quit asking and stepped back. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm not the one who was just electrocuted." You rolled your eyes but smiled at her. "Wow, we really are a dynamic duo! We should do this more often... Besides the whole- Yeah." Kara stammered out, cheeks bright pink and eyes bright from the thrill of the fight.

You threw your arms around her and whispered, "you scared me Supergirl." Kara quickly wrapped her arms around you tightly. Exhaustion flooded your body and senses. "I've never seen you in action like that." You told her. "You're kinda hot Supergirl."

"Oh, oh geez." Kara laughed nervously and shook her head. "Noo... I'm a- I'm a mess."

You pressed your lips to her's quick, forgetting where and who you were for a moment. You could have stayed there with her like that for hours if it weren't for the sounds of shutters clicking and reporters shouting. Kara jumped back from you, eyes wide as she scanned the crowd, only relaxing when she saw Jimmy was front and center with his camera.

"Our secret is out." She whispered. A moment of panic fell over the two of you as reality set in. "We'll be okay." She decided, not quite sure if she was assuring you or herself.

"You know, someone said I was the one attacking the city." You told her as she watched her sister's team drag the alien away in Kryptonite handcuffs.

"That's funny because, on my way over, I heard that I was the one blowing an entrance into the side of the museum to lure you out of hiding for a final smackdown." Kara jumped back, playfully lifting her fists in a mock spar.

"It worked, I guess." You answered throwing a hand up to block a punch.

The next morning on the way to work the headlines read very differently than they had just the day before, a picture of Supergirl and Phoenix hugging was splashed across the front of each magazine and newspaper.

"SUPER-TRUCE? A timeline of the SvP feud"

"Supergirl retiring? Source says 'She's ready to settle down!"

"The 'dynamic duo' we didn't know we were waiting for"

Your eyes lingered on the last title, the picture of Supergirl's hand resting on Phoenix's back. As you picked up the magazine, you recognized the logo across the top and laughed.

"How much for the CATCO, sir?" You asked reaching for your purse.

#kara danvers #kara danvers x reader #kara danvers imagine #supergirl #supergirl oneshot #supergirl fic #supergirl imagine #valentines celebration #beachbabywrites

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selling-cj · 5 years

Text

Whims of Gods

Chapter 2:

Three Years Later

“Kai!” A broken, mid-pubescent voice rouses me from sleep. A sudden push on my stomach forces my insides up my throat. Hades is crouched on my bed with a mischievous smile on his face. I go to push him off of me, but he bolts. “Come on! You’re gonna be late,” he says tauntingly. Despite the pain, I dart after him. He rushes to the hallway before I can reach him.

His knowledge of the various hallways and their mysterious ways baffles me. He plays enough hide-and-seek to know the ins and outs. He bobs and weaves around every corner. I struggle to keep up. Every time I lose him, I wrack my mind to remember where each turn leads. Eventually he loses me.

I lean against a wall to catch my breath. The little brat is amazingly fast. My lungs burn and my chest is tight. All logic would suggest I shouldn’t have run after him, but he pissed me off and that alone means I have to seek vengeance. One way or another.

Just as my chest goes back to normal a scream sounds off next to me, sending me into the air. My heart goes back to racing. I clutch my chest and turn to see Hades laughing at my suffering. Rage burns in my chest. I whip my arms around his body and pull him as close as possible. I pin his arms to his sides. One of my hands finds its way to Hades’s head, and I rub my fist into his scalp.

“You little brat,” I yell.

He kicks and screams like it’s going to help him. He’s only free when he wiggles his way out.

“Jerk! You didn’t have to hurt me.”

“You sucker punched me, made me chase after you, then scared my heart out of my chest. I deserve retribution.” I cross my arms.

He pouts. “I didn’t make you chase me.”

That’s the one you dispute? “You woke me up, and sucker punched me. The Lira instinct was too strong after that. I had to chase you, or else I would’ve keeled over and died.”

“Then die,” he mumbles.

I mess up his spiked-up hair, and he whines. “You don’t mean that. What would you do if I was gone?”

He pouts. “Cry, probably.”

“Exactly,” I say triumphantly. I take a hold on his arm. “Now, let’s go. We’re gonna be late for class again.”

“Or,” he draws out, pulling his arm away, “we could not do that.”

I stare at him incredulously. “Are you stoned?”

“No, just bored.”

I cross my arms. “What’re you trying to get away from this time?”

“Nothing really.” He begins to saunter off. “I just wanna know what everyone else is up to.”

I follow after. “We’re gonna get in trouble.” More like I’ll get in trouble. Because it’s my fault for not being able to drag the mule to the watering hole.

“What’s he gonna do? Give us more homework?”

No. He’s going to whack me with a ruler when you’re not looking. “Is it worth the shame?”

He waves his hand around. “Shame is a constantly changing societal pressure. It doesn’t really matter.”

“Are you sure you’re only twelve?”

He puffs out his cheeks. “Thirteen!”

“Yeah, next year.” I ruffle his hair.

He snatches my hand and pulls me along. “Whatever. Just come on.”

Despite my protests, he keeps walking. I don’t really put up a fight. As much as I don’t want the ruler, I want even less to hear Titus drone on for four hours. Hades’s grip on my wrist slackens, and I pull myself free. He seems to know exactly which way to turn. When I ask him where we’re going, he just shrugs.

“Anywhere with people.”

“That seems counter intuitive.”

“Just keep up.”

Why do I stay around you?

The twists and turns are still wildly confusing. Even after so many years growing up here I can’t tell the east wing from the west wing. I still get confused on my way to the dining hall. Hades says he has it all mapped out in his head. I don’t think so. The main hallways and short cuts, sure, but I know a few hidden away that he’s never been through. Most of them lead to the library.

Hades halts me with a hand on my shoulder. One of the doors is open just a bit too much, and angry voices can be heard from inside. Hades crouches next to it. I want to pull him away in case someone sees, but my curiosity gets the better of me. I kneel next to him, looking over his shoulder to peek inside.

Even from behind I can tell Jeeves apart. A white vest like thing clings to his body. He struggles to keep his posture straight. Another voice is fighting with him. From the higher, more defensive pitch I’d say it’s Diana, but it’s hard to say. They might be dating, but hardly anyone sees them together. I can barely make out her hands motioning wildly.

“You were all the way in Elt—," Diana cries.

“Meeting with a political leader, yes, I know where I was at the time.” Jeeves’s voice is worn. They must have been at this for a while.

“How was I supposed to know if you were going to come back?”

“Why wouldn’t I have come back? When have I ever not come back?”

“You’re a very important man, dear.” Her voice goes from angry to passive like it’s nothing.

“Don’t.” Jeeves drops his head. His arms are crossed over his chest.

“I’m just saying, important people attract bad company. I know more than a few people who would like to see you dead.”

Jeeves sighs. “I know a country’s worth of people who’d like to see me dead, but, please, tell me how my potential death excuses your disloyalty.”

“It didn’t mean anything, dear.”

Jeeves goes silent.

Diana reaches for his face.

He bats her hand away. “Leave.”

“Dear—”

“Leave,” he says with more force. “I’m upset, and disgusted, and I’m thinking too much. Just leave before I do or say something I’ll regret.”

“But, Jeeves—”

“Leave!” A forceful exclamation that not even the privates he bosses around have heard. So unlike him I can hardly believe it came from my brother’s mouth.

I gather Hades up and push him down the hallway before Diana can realize we were snooping. The clicking of her boots stops for a moment behind us. I pull Hades along faster. Eventually the clicking fades off into the other side of the hall. As my heart calms so does my pace. There’s a slight furrow in Hades brow. His posture is ridged. I won’t annoy him any further. We’re both angry, right now, so it wouldn’t do much good.

After a time of talking to himself and throwing his hands about he finally calms down. He slows his pace considerably. My head still plays out the scene. It makes me angry the more I think about it. I can only imagen what’s going through Jeeves’s head.

Hades decides to pull the door open himself this time. He stays smart and crouches behind the door while I take position opposite of him. I can clearly see Jarsis with his sickly-sweet smile. It’s more sinister. Everything about his demeanor is relaxed. One arm settles on the arm rest of his chair while the other wraps around and fiddles with his cane. The person at the other end of the table is hidden behind the wall.

“I would consider yourself very lucky, Mr. Holt,” Jarsis says in his sweetest voice. “Not very many get away with such things.”

Mr. Holt stutters his apologies. “It was an honest mistake, sir. I didn’t mean to upset the good doctor. I was merely unaware you were nearby.”

“Yet you would say such things to my poor mother?” His smile fades. “Who told you that was a good idea?”

“Again, sir, I did not wish to upset. I was simply under the impression that she was, um…”

“Available?” Jarsis leans forward and folds his fingers together. “You would prey on my poor, grieving mother?”

Mr. Holt gives an awkward chuckle. “But it has been so long—”

“For you or for her?” Jasis leans back. “Feel lucky that I am not in charge, my friend, or else your head would be on a pike.” He lets the words sink in. “You may go, Mr. Holt.” A smile reappears on his face. “And remember the lesson we’ve learned today.”

Hades and I bolt up and stand on either side of the door. We flatten ourselves against the wall, hoping that will hide us. Mr. Holt barges out of the room without noticing either of us. I let a squeak escape my throat.

“Shouldn’t you kids be in class,” Jarsis asks

Hades yells, “run,” and we bolt farther down the hallway.

We slow down once we’re sure we weren’t followed. Hades is hardly phased by all the running while I pant and sweat like a dog. It was only down the hall and around a bend, but I feel like I ran a marathon. Hades soldiers on with ideas on sneaking on more unsuspecting nobles. I huff out as many excuses not to as I can think of. He’s unswayed.

His turns take longer, and he mumbles to himself when he stops at forks in the path. He stutters when he meets a passage that he’s unfamiliar with. A point comes that he has to ask me where I think we should go. I spurt and stammer. I have less of a clue where we’re going than he does.

Eventually, we find our way back to the larger main hallway. We both speed back around and hide. The king regent and our teacher argue passionately around the corner. Hades slides along the wall away from the two. I follow after until I realize they spotted us.

“Kaiton!” The familiar yell of Professor Titus freezes me in place. I stay like that until he cries my name again. Hades tries to slide away, but I pull him around the corner with me.

Titus is red in the face. His narrow face scrunches up in anger and disappointment. Or is it disgust? It’s hard to tell past all the wrinkles. The king regent—grandfather I suppose—crosses his arms over his broad figure. He looks very much like Thadius, almost identical. The red in his beard has gone brown in his old age. The disappointment is all in his eyes.

“And where might you two have been?” Titus’s voice is cold and cutting. Neither of us want to answer in fear of back lash.

“We…forgot there was class today,” Hades mumbles. He looks up to Titus with his sad puppy-dog eyes. His eye lashes flutter for that added sense of innocence.

Titus crosses his arms. “And what misunderstanding made you think you could skip class today?”

We look at each other for an answer.

Grandfather’s stern, booming voice demands respect. Hades and I stiffen and face front. Even Titus straightens his shoulders. “Whose idea was it?”

The gravity of the question grips at my heart. How can he make something so seemingly small carry so much weight?

“Mine,” I whisper before anyone has a chance to speak again. Everyone’s eyes are on me. I fake eye contact with the regent by staring at his nose. Looking others in the eye is hard enough when they’re not a foot and a half taller than me.

He turns to Hades. “Is that true?”

Hades stumbles over his words, no clear answer in his head.

Grandfather turns back to me, thinking something over before speaking again. “There’s no time for punishments anyway.” He points to us. “You two. Follow.” Even after so long his military training still pops up in his various demands and delight in people’s suffering.

He leads us all the way to Father’s old study. My heart twist causing my eyes to sting. I force myself to remain calm. It’s been three years, and it still hurts.

Hades and I take a seat in the chairs across from the regent. His posture is stiff, filled with pride.

“You two were to have spent the day packing. If you would have shown up to your lessons, you would have known that.”

Hades takes the initiative. “Why not just send someone down to tell us?”

“That’s not the point.” The sudden yelling sends both of us jolting backwards. Hades takes to pouting instead of showing he’s afraid. Grandfather leans forward. “You two will be leaving for Pascal in two days. I would start packing soon.”

“That’s not nearly enough time,” Hades shouts.

“If you had gone—”

“If you had sent someone.”

“Enough! Go. Pack. Now.”

I pull Hades away immediately. He mumbles about the ‘injustices’ that just transpired as I drag him to his room. He should know not to question the old man. I help him pack. He throws clothes in his trunk like a toddler having a tantrum. It’s almost humorous. I don’t ask him to help me, even if I do stay up all night doing it.

#writeblr #fantasy #writing #my writing #siblings #sibling rivalry #skipping class #hades #kai #jeeves #jarsis #whims of gods #wog

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wonderlandmind4 · 5 years

Text

Delicate Stages Drabbles 15

Feeling That You Get

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Summary: Drabbles following Delicate Stages. Looking into the life of Bucky and Ana.

Warnings: Language. Fluff. Implied smut.

Words: 4.7k

A/N: Finally! Sorry it took so long for this one, as it tends to set up the next drabbles to follow, which will be the endgame now (See what I did there :D )(Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first)

Five Months Later:

Bucky is doubled over laughing, has been laughing for the past five minutes and he swears he hasn’t cried from laughing in decades. Honestly, he is not shocked in the slightest with how this scenario turned out. The minute Bucky got a call from a blocked number he knew who it was. He was relieved. It had been six weeks since they got the news before Steve finally contacted him, but Ana, she was nothing but sass.

“Wow, glad to see that dinosaur knows how to use a phone!” She said loud enough for her voice to be heard.

Bucky leveled her with a look, but all she did was shrug.

“Six weeks, and you’ve had this annoyed and worried tick in your jaw, that no matter how hard I rode your face, it just wouldn’t go away.”

Bucky’s eye went wide with shock, followed by a loud cackle and Steve’s stammering response on the line. He caught his wife’s arm before she could walk away, pulled her in for a searing kiss and muttered against her lips:

“Maybe you gotta try one more time, darlin’, just to be sure.”

Steve hung up, only to call back two hours later.

Now, Bucky is getting the entertainment of his life. Both him and Ana were by the lake enjoying a nice lunch, when they were surprised by someone neither of them were expecting to see. That’s when Ana began throwing rocks made of dirt at him.

“Buck! Get your wife!” Steve shouts behind his makeshift shield, which happens to be an empty bucket of feed.

“He can’t help you, Rogers!” Ana yells, pelting clumps of clay at the man.

“Bucky!”

A bigger dirt clump explodes as it hits his shoulder, Steve’s left side of his face sprinkled with clay. Bucky tries to contain his laughter, tries to take deep breaths so he can speak. However, his wife’s aim has always been spot on and he won’t step in to stop her when she’s in a rage. A very entertaining, protective rage.

“Bet you’re regretting leaving your shield now, pal” Bucky quips, earning a glare from Steve.

“Say you’re sorry!” Ana demands, throwing the last rock.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Now will you stop? I’m getting dirt in my mouth!”

When Ana finally ceases her attack and Steve’s blue shirt is colored with orange-brown spots, they invite him into their hut. Bucky gave him a lecture that brought on a feeling of déjà vu, as if he was scolding his friend back in a Brooklyn alley once more. Steve had explained his side of what happened with the portal and the team breaking up. It’s not something either of them wanted to hear, but at least everyone who is on the run seems to be safe and well hidden. With the exception of Clint and Scott Lang, who both had families to think about and made a plea bargain instead.

Bucky feels a strange wave of emotions radiating from Ana as he sits next to her. Their arms are touching, skin to skin, and it feels like cold prickles seeping through his pores. He briefly wonders if this is what his wife feels all the time, and how second nature it is to her now. He stretches his pinkie finger over hers, offering her comfort.

“Vision went to meet up with Wanda?” Bucky doubles checks. He’d be concerned for the girl if she was hiding from the government alone. He knows exactly how that feels, and Wanda is still a kid to him; just 21.

“He took off in the middle of the night, so he wouldn’t be followed,” Steve confirms.

“So,” Ana finally speaks up since Steve started talking. “It’s just Rhodes then? Technically Peter, but since he’s underage and not an official Avenger, the Accords don’t apply to him. Nor do they actually know his identity.”

“Correct,” Steve answers solemnly. Bucky sees his eyes squint as he pauses. He meets his gaze fleetingly, both coming to the same conclusion. “Tony isn’t alone, Ana.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel like he is,” She mutters bitterly. “Pepper’s been out of town too.”

The sigh Steve exhales sounds heavy with remorse. However, Bucky knows him down to his core, and though his friend might be feeling guilty over the fact that his friendship with Tony is now strained, Steve still believes he did the right thing.

“I sent him a burner phone, in case he ever needs me,” Steve informs Ana. “I’ll always be there,” He pauses once more. “Just not where the government is involved.”

Bucky swipes his pinkie finger over his wife’s several times. He’s watching her carefully as silence stretches between the three of them. Finally, she nods in understanding, Steve sending her an appreciative smile. He kicks his foot out to nudge against her own, until she returns the teasing gesture. Bucky sags with relief. This entire Accords situation has not put Ana in a good mood during those first two months.

Numerous times she had snapped at Bucky or grumbled about how stupid heroes could be. He just took it, allowing her to lash out at him, until Ana caught herself. She told him he shouldn’t allow her to do that, that her anger and disappointment is misdirected, but it’s not an excuse. Bucky had told her he didn’t mind one bit, that he would rather have her lash out then bottle it up. Ana insisted that he stopped her the next time it happened, and when it did, he spoke up. He told her it wasn’t fair, and she agreed.

Since then, Ana hasn’t snapped at him once, and they have talked it through together. He helped her accept that what happened was the others decision, and the fallout was something they would have to handle. Ana wasn’t a part of it, so her strange guilt was moot. She had also accepted the Healers of Wakanda’s advice to begin mediating; Bucky thinks it helps better than anything. He also thinks the make-up sex has plenty to do with that too.

He blinks back to the present, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. She leans into him, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Steve’s expression soften into a smile.

“Maybe this is good in the long run,” Steve speaks up, his voice airy, light. Bucky narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Maybe it’ll give Tony and Pepper time to start a family.”

Ana perks up next to Bucky. “Maybe! I know Tony wants kids.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at his best friend. He has a feeling he knows where this is going. Steve’s eyes flash, a sign of mischief he has seen since he met the little skinny kid on the playground.

“You know,” He begins, “you seem to be glowing, Ana.”

Bucky shakes his head at the lame attempt, laughing under his breath. When he catches Ana’s gaze, she looks confused. Which last for three seconds before she looks back at Steve, then to him once more. Suddenly he sees it click in her beautiful brown eyes, rolling them towards Steve.

“Yeah,” She states. “It’s called being happily married…with a healthy dose of mind-blowing orgasms.”

Steve drops his blushing face into his hands. Bucky makes an indigent noise.

“Not what you were expecting? Because I’m not expecting,” Ana laughs brightly. “Although, we do have a lot of se-“

“Alright, Шалунья, enough out of you,” Bucky scolds playfully, wrapping his right arm around her shoulder to cover her mouth with his hand. She promptly licks his skin, as if it would bother him.

“I’m sorry I implied anything,” Steve mumbles behind his hands.

“Actually,” Ana’s word is muffled by his hand. Instead of removing it, she bites the fleshy part of his palm. Bucky inhales sharply, glaring at his wife as he lowers his hand. He swallows thickly. He’ll get her back for that.

“I think it’s to do with my abilities?” She questions at the end as Steve uncovers his face. “It’s been shimmering lately. Could be due these rings Shuri made. They help regulate the energy without the exhausting affects, and it’s always been tied with my emotions. So, the happier or angrier I am, it starts to glow.”

“She has been extremely happy, well and angry,” Bucky supplies. He feels Ana squeeze his hand, offering him an apologetic smile. He shakes his head, since all has been forgiven during those rough weeks.

“That’s interesting,” Steve muses.

Before either of them can say anything else, the little Kimoyo beads Shuri gave Ana as a necklace glows against her chest. Bucky carefully plucks it off the bead, holding it flat in his palm, a small holographic screen popping up. Shuri’s cheerful, youthful face takes up most of the frame, but she frowns when she sees Bucky instead of Ana.

“Nice to see you too, kid,” Bucky greets flatly.

“Stop stealing her beads,” She laughs, twisting as if she can see Ana. “I’m not summoning you on her bead, genius.”

Ana presses her cheek against his, leaning into him. “He’s just jealous he doesn’t get a personal one. Do you need me to come to the Lab?”

Shuri nods excitedly. “There was a breakthrough with the psychiatric healing devices!”

“On my way!” Ana grabs the bead from Bucky’s hand as the screen vanishes. “I’ll be back, you boys have fun! Stay out of trouble and don’t feed Rosa anymore treats, she’s had enough pears today!”

Then she’s taking off, waving her goodbye in the air. Bucky can’t help the fondness washing over him as she disappears over the hill.

“She’s still the same as ever,” Steve voices softly.

“Stubborn and fierce to the core,” He agrees. “I like her.”

“Good thing she’s your wife.”

Bucky wraps his arm around Steve’s shoulder, tighten his grip firmly. “Don’t you ever go that long without checking in again, you hear me Rogers?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, mom.”

An hour goes by, filled with Bucky putting Steve to work for a bit, then taking him around the village. He has visited before, but he never wondered outside of the palace or lab. He meets the village people and children, some of the other tribes, and takes him to the lake Bucky is fond of.

“This is where you purposed?” Steve questions, gazing out over the lake.

“Yup, and the spot you’re standing on is where I dropped the ring, twice. Because I was so damn nervous,” Bucky laughs at the memory.

“So,” He drawls out, “you haven’t discussed children yet?”

Bucky snorts, running his fingers through his hair. “She mentioned starting a family before we got married, but we haven’t really brought it up since.”

“Any particular reason?”

He doesn’t answer right away. The possibility of having kids with Ana makes Bucky’s heart sore. However, it also leaves a bitter taste of self-loathing in his mouth. Could he even be a good father? Would he be enough? He keeps those doubts and fears to himself for now.

“We’ve just been enjoying our time as husband and wife,” He finally answers. “It’s only been eight months. There’s no rush.”

He sees Steve nod from the corner of his eye. “How are those energy rings holding up for her? Do they make the connect you both have stronger?”

“No, I don’t think. That was all Ana herself when she connected our energies. It’s incredible, Stevie. I can feel her all the time, like her life energy is this infinite sunlight around me. It’s subtle, but powerful.”

A firm hand squeezes his shoulder, and when Bucky meets Steve’s eyes, he sees nothing but happiness there. Along with a teasing eyebrow wiggle, to which Bucky playfully nudges his friend off him.

“The rings are ingenious,” He continues. “Shuri, that girl’s mind is a masterpiece. She keeps improving my arm too, and the rings, and the technology she comes up with is-“ He breaks off shaking his head in wonderment. “This place is amazing.”

“Incredible,” Steve agrees. “It’s beautiful here.”

“Ya know, you can stay here if you need a home.”

“I know that option is always open, Buck. From you and the King, but my place is still out there in the world. There’s a lot of underground issues at hand.”

“Still picking fights with things bigger than you.”

“You know it, pal.”

“Still a scrappy little punk forever.”

Steve laughs brightly, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s neck in a headlock.

The trek from the lab to their hut by the lake is just over a mile on foot. Ana sometimes takes the long route to and from, enjoying the serene landscape and warm breeze. Sporadically, she will find a stray goat or pig that has wondered off and coaxes it to follow her back. Other times, she and Bucky take the small journey together, fingers laced.

As Ana makes her way over the final, small hill she spots her husband and Steve, each petting the goats. She hears Bucky introducing the newest additions that race around Steve’s legs, knocking into him here and there. She can’t help but chuckle at the scene when she reaches them, bending to pick up one of the kids that exhausted themselves.

“Having fun?” Ana teases, offering the sleepy goat to Steve. He fumbles briefly, until he gets his large arms securely around the young goat’s body.

“They’re very cute,” He states, cradling the animal. “Bit of a handful.”

“That they are. Hey Bucky,” She turns to address her spouse as he lays down a fresh bill of hay. “Shuri requests your presence. Said she just finished some improvements to the new arm she’s been working on.”

Bucky’s eyes light up, an excited smile on his lips. Walking up to Ana, he gently cups the back of her head, pressing a tender kiss above her eyebrow. In return, she rests her hands on his hips, eyes fluttering at the sensation of adoration washing over her spine.

“Did you peek?” He murmurs against her skin, his left hand drawing circles over the side of her stomach with is thumb.

“No, I know better.”

His huffing laugh warms her skin before he leans back. “Meet you guys back at the apartment?”

Ana nods, placing a quick peck to his mouth. Bucky’s fingers scratch the base of her skull three times, before he steps around her, biding Steve a quick wave as he heads off. Ana catches the Captain’s fond look, clearly having witness their moment. Naturally, she sticks her tongue out at him.

“You haven’t seen our place, have you? In the city.”

Steve carefully lowers the now sleeping goat on a thicker part of the grass. He brushes his hands against his jeans, shaking his head. “Not yet.”

“Come on then!”

They have been walking for a good twenty minutes, taking the scenic route as well, when Ana decides to bring up something that has been on her mind for the past few months. At first, it was just a fleeting thought, a quick feeling, something so minuscule, it didn’t need attention. As the days passed into weeks, and weeks into months, it has now gnawed at the back of her brain. Rather, it’s been pressing against her energy, making little ripples against the positive vibes in the air.

“Steve,” She speaks up casually, “Can I talk to you about something, uh, with me?”

The worried expression flits over his face fleeting. “Anything, Ana, you know that.”

She nods, fiddling with her wedding rings. “I’ve been…having this strange feeling. It never feels urgent, but it’s weird, almost like it’s scratching at something I don’t know is there.”

“With you two?”

“No, no, we’re fine. It feels more like, when you can sense a storm coming, the wind shifts a little, but it isn’t on a grand scale,” She pauses, trying to collect her thoughts. “I’m not explaining it right.”

Ana halts her steps, Steve following suit. “I got upset when I heard about what happened with you guys, so my energy was a little out of control. However, I’ve been doing a lot of mediation, and working with the healers here to connect my energy to an element that’s more grounding.”

“Grounding. As in the earth’s energy?” Steve inquires thoughtfully.

“In a way, the earth is a solid foundation, strong. It embodies energy of life all around in many forms. The healers allow me to visit one of the sacred places with them so I can mediate without interruption. It helps steady it, plus the rings regulate this ability more so. I’ve been doing it for over two months now, and I think maybe that’s why I can feel it?”

“Feel what, exactly?”

Waving her hands around her, she answers, “A strange, vitality, settling over the earth. Is that weird? It’s probably weird, since it’s never happened before. It’s not quite, ominous. The atmosphere here is mainly happy, positive vibes, and Bucky is-“ She breaks off, smiling softly at the mention of her husband. “He’s been great, and he feels great, and I can feel him, you know?”

“Yeah, he mentioned that. Says you feel like sunshine to him,” Steve smirks, but his eyes are soft, clearly happy for them both. “It’s cute. Romantic.”

“Well,” Ana rubs her warming cheek briefly. “It’s true. Anyway, because of all that this new feeling is foreign to me. It makes my empathy feel off at times.”

“Do you feel like it affects you in any way? Physically? Emotionally?”

“No, that’s the thing. If it’s a darker energy or feeling, it normally would affect me. This is just, there. It fades in and out, but it’s there.” She bites her lips nervously, rubbing her fingers over her collarbones. “What do you think?”

Steve doesn’t answer immediately. He’s pensive, blue eye appraising her. Ana fiddles with her rings again, waiting for a response and hoping she doesn’t sound crazy. She had an almost identically feeling way back at the compound when they still lived there. It kept building and building until it exploded into the fallout that ultimately led her and Bucky being separate for nearly a year. Before she can give her herself a panic attack, Steve finally speaks.

“You’ve been getting stronger over time,” He states, voice low as he thinks. “I think the more you were opening yourself up to Bucky at the time, the stronger you became. It wasn’t just him though, your abilities grew, what you did to Woods-“ He stops short, shaking his head. “We never truly trained with you or got see how far your abilities developed. Maybe now, with how your life is, a constant source of happiness, of peace, comfort, it’s a safe place to not hold back. You can use your powers without resistance.”

Taking her own time to process his words, Ana carefully twists the rings on her middle fingers. The thin sheen of the energy shield encases her body like another layer of skin. She holds her hands out in front of her, twisting around to see the shield shimmer. It even looks brighter, or maybe it’s just the sun reflecting off it.

“Do you and Shuri run tests with that?” Steve asks, leaning as close as he can without touching. “Because the last time I saw you use these, it wasn’t this visible. Although, it was through a video screen.”

“We run tests bi-weekly,” She informs him, twisting the rings off. “I don’t think much has changed though.”

“Does it feel like a threat?”

“N-“ She pauses. She doesn’t know why, but the word just died on her tongue. She shakes her head. “No. Not…yet. Do you think it could be? I can feel threats from a distance?”

Steve shrugs as he picks up her hand to examine the ring closer. “We can’t rule out any possibility, right? Wanda grew stronger the more she trained and experimented herself.”

“Yeah, but Steve, if I can actually feel threats at a great distance…that’s insane! I’m not that strong. That’s something else entirely. Right?”

“Anything is possible, Ana. You know that,” He says softly. Then he taps her wedding rings. “Have you talked to Bucky about this?”

Ana frowns. “No. I don’t want him worrying over something that could be, well, could be nothing. It didn’t feel pressing and honestly, I would forget until I felt it again.”

“This isn’t me teasing you again, but are you sure you’re not pregnant? Maybe that could throw it off as well?”

“I am one hundred percent sure, but that would be a good theory. The alchemy is off when I get sick too.”

“Were you sick recently?”

“No, just emotional with…” She trails off, shrugging.

“Yeah,” Steve drops her hand, crossing his arms and dropping his head. “I really am sorry, Ana. Going off the grid like that. It wasn’t fair to both of you. Either was lying to you.”

“Steve,” Ana places her hands on his solid biceps. “I shouldn’t have gotten as angry as I did. As long as you’re all safe.”

“We are. Now we are. There were some serious injuries-“

“Colonel Rhodes,” She nods solemnly.

“How is he?” The concern in Steve’s voice is thick.

“Tony made this walking contraption for him. After some intense therapy, he’s walking fairly well with it. He’s okay. He keeps telling Tony he didn’t blame anyone, but he stands by what he believes.”

“Sounds just like him.”

“Yeah, just like someone else I know,” She smiles pointedly at him.

Silence settles between them, with the colorful arrays of the setting sun on the horizon. Ana gets lost in her thoughts, as she assumes Steve does too, with the looming caress of that strange energy. She will talk it over with Bucky later, but for now, she just pushes it aside once more. She taps her friends’ elbow, jerking her head to the side.

“C’mon, it’s just another ten minutes from here.”

***

Weeks and months pass, and in between it, Ana visits New York and even California a few times. She keeps under the radar, especially when Bucky goes with her to see Pepper and Tony. The issues of the Accords and Avengers aren’t brought up, but she can tell it’s taken a bit of a toll on Tony.

Ana distracts him by showing off her rings, although she keeps the technology behind it a secret. Bucky distracts Tony with his vibranium arm as the genius himself marvels at the teenager’s piece. She takes great enjoyment when she watches Tony try to figure out the inner workings of the arm.

Ana and Bucky go from deeply in love newlyweds, to deeply in love established marriage as the year passes. The strange feeling of that particular energy still whispers up her spine once in a while, and when she did tell Bucky, he convinced her to report it to T’Challa and Shuri if it ever grew stronger. Reassured her that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her, even if that means unknown, seemingly harmless negative energy. Both agree to monitor it, just in case, writing down when Ana feels it ad if Bucky can see a change in her.

She continues to work in the lab as Bucky works on the farm and helps the village people with manual labor tasks. Nothing grows or changes with the feeling, and they focus more on each other, their lives together, and the little stray Black-Footed cat that had wondered into their hut one night with an injured leg. The cat stuck around after they nursed back to health, seeming to enjoy chasing the goats around.

“How about Eliza?” Ana offers as the small cat pounces on the large goat.

“For a cat?”

“Hey, Ezra was named after a poet- “

“Ezra is a lazy domestic cat. Not a wild and free creature like this spitfire.”

“Fine. Then I’m naming her Cat like I mentioned the first time. That way, she technically has a name, but she technically doesn’t because is she actually a cat. A cat named Cat because she’s a cat.”

��You mind never ceases to amaze me,” Bucky mumbles, as he pulls her in by her waist.

“You love me for it,” Ana teases, brushing her nose against his.

“Every day for the rest of my life, Annie Doll.”

Then he kisses her with a searing passion, and they leave the cat name Cat to lay with the goats as the disappear inside the hut.

***

They visit again during the holidays, staying in a cabin Tony had bought recently and renovated in upstate New York. The surroundings were beautiful, frozen streams and frosted trees, glittering powered snow as flakes whirl through the freezing air.

It’s the first actual Christmas Ana and Bucky have together, and she knows, she feels, how much Bucky seems to dislike the winter. The cold. He’s had enough of it in his life. She makes it her mission to show him that the bitter cold and wet snow don’t always have to be negative or tied to Hydra memories.

She thinks she makes progress when she nails Bucky in the back with a perfectly made snowball. She hides behind a tree, barely has time to take a breath before her husband finds her, wrapping his arms around her waist and tumbling onto the snowy ground.

They laugh breathlessly, as she takes a handful of snow and smashes it against his head. Bucky retaliates by attacking her lips, the kiss passionate and heated enough to melt the flakes around them. Until he sneakily presses snow against her neck. Ana squeals from the ice, making him roll over. She stands up, then proceeds to ran away from him.

When Bucky catches her once more, his blue eyes reflect the glimmer of the snow crystals against the light. He looks happy, playful, any signs of lingering, horrible memories gone. And when they go inside to warm up and dry off, something shifts between them.

They snuggle up in front of the cozy, cackling fire in the living room, with thick fuzzy blankets and hot chocolate. There’s a tall Christmas tree in the corner, twinkling with different colored lights, the branches making the room smell of balsam. Pepper is in the kitchen, quietly making dinner as Tony pretends to help her. Ana is pressed against Bucky’s side, both watching the snow falling through the large windows. Then he speaks.

“This place is beautiful,” He says softly. “Would be a nice place to bring a family to for the holidays.”

Ana is glad she just finished taking another sip of her hot chocolate. She carefully places the mug down, tilting her head to see his eyes. He’s staring straight at the fireplace. She smiles, then kisses his scruffy jaw.

“A family, huh?” She confirms, her heart fluttering in her chest at the thought.

Bucky’s soft chuckle makes her heart flutter. “Yeah, whenever those two decide to have kids.” There’s a short pause. “Or us.”

“Is that your way of saying something, Winter Flurry?”

She feels his chest rise and fall with a slow breath. “Yes.”

“You want to start a family?” Ana questions seriously, sitting up a little straighter.

He slowly meets her eyes. “Someday. I think,” He exhales shakily, wringing his hands together. “I won’t lie, Annie. I have some self-doubts about it, fears, but,” he pauses to look at her. “We’ll do it together. Obviously.”

Ana laughs. “Obviously,” She takes his hands, lacing their fingers together. “One day. A family. You’ll be an amazing father, just so you know.”

Bucky softly kisses her nose as she scrunches it up.

“I’m good with just you right now though,” She whispers when he pulls back.

“Me too, love.”

She closes the space between them, pressing her lips to her husband’s warm, slightly chapped ones. She feels every ounce of his excitement and fear, but overall, love. They both know they just want to spend time being married, there is no rush for them to have children, and they’re willing to wait for it. For now, they snuggle closer together, listening to the cackling fire, the soft voices in the kitchen and the snowfall outside.

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

Tags: @thecreatiivecorner @kat-lives @stressedasalways @watchoutforfrostbite @justreadingfics @keldachick

Drabbles: Fourteen Drabbles: Sixteen

#delicate stages drabbles #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x original female character

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thebadohteco · 6 years

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Impulse Purchases

While the Oasis Cartel was still a growing entity, East still had some work that needed done that couldn’t wait for adults to take jobs. In times like those he always made sure to utilize what he considered an untapped resource of Ul’dah, the street urchins. While the cartel only knew the masked entity of The Beast, and his identity as East O’hteco was reserved to the knowledge of The Bunny and Elysica, the street urchins he paid for odd jobs knew a mix of the two. East didn’t wear masks around the kids because he knew it scared them and he wanted to encourage that smart instinct of being afraid of masked people, but he also didn’t tell them his real name. They called him The Beast, and he called them Squirrels.

The Squirrels would be paid in gil for odd jobs every few days, usually running somewhere and counting how many people were at places or doing some menial labor task like collecting rocks for him. Some days he didn’t have actual work and just dropped by to hand out gil anyways; he remembered being hungry as a street urchin himself, and wanted to do what he could. He didn’t talk about the Squirrels to other members of the cartel, wanting to keep them as far away from risk as he could. He cared about the kids and he admitted it, but the concept would ruin the reputation of the rising drug lord.

Caring about them was what brought him to visit them all so soon after his wedding. Elysica and he were waiting on starting their honeymoon, wanting to save up more money before spending much of it again; it was all Elysica’s idea, but East knew he had put her through enough financial stress with the wedding itself. The Squirrels usually hung out at one of four certain spots in the city, so East never had a hard time finding them. The number of them would vary between some being sick, some being arrested, some working, or any number of reasons that he had come to expect would explain their absence; some just got taken away by parents or overly aggressive orphanages. Knowing they would vanish now and again had always prompted him to check in on who was around and who wasn’t, his mental list of them editing as needed. That checking is what drew his eye to Roaring Boulder’s bruised eye.

“Roaring, what’s wrong with your eye, lad?” East asked, beckoning the young boy over.

Roaring Boulder was near ten summers old, but as a Roegadyn that put him to nearly East’s full height and width. He still had the shyness of any child, and had always been softer than some others. Still, despite the shyness, Roaring Boulder made his way to East, trying to hide his eye somewhat.

“I, uh.... I don’t know,” Roaring Boulder replied with a murmured tone, clear that he was hiding something.

East smiled at the boy, gently pushing away some of his hair to better look at the eye. Roaring Boulder never recoiled from East’s hands, almost laying into them. The eye had been hit. East had received his fair share of black eyes growing up and could identify one easily. The bruising around the ridge, the bloodshot in the eye, and the slight misshapen aspect of his nose told East a story. Roaring Boulder had been hit by a very large fist, like the fist of a full grown Roegadyn. East bit the inside of his lip to prevent his frown from forming and clapped Roaring Boulder on the shoulder.

“Accidents happen, what can you say? How about I pay you to grab some ice, huh?” East asked, grinning at the boy.

The talk of work, and more importantly payment, always got the attention of the crowd. To East it was just a handful of gil, but to the urchins it was the difference of pain and dismal comfort which was all the difference to them. Their faces lit up and turned towards him. Conversations and games stopped. All ears were open to whatever he was willing to pay them for. East smirked, looking over the kids. He didn’t actually need ice, or any work done, but it would give them something to do and he knew ice could always be fun on a hot Ul’dahn day.

“You know the ice stalls that are around the city? I’ll pay you one gil per ice crystal, two for really bit crystals. You snatch them up and bring them here, and put them all in the tub that I’ll drag by. Sound good?” He asked, addressing the crowd now.

“What about three gil for a really, really big crystal?” One of the voices called back.

East laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, you scalpers. If it’s really, really big I’ll do three gil. Just remember to keep count so you get paid right. Now, get going.”

With a shout they were all off, rushing into the city. Some took to climbing buildings to avoid the guards, others ducked into thin alleyways that only their small bodies could manage. It was like watching water rush through the cracks of stone, finding all manner of ways, each more elaborate than the next. In a few moments East sat alone in the small alcove they had all been collected in. Some few personal belongings left behind, some toys. They had learned that East would stay there until some of the kids had returned to play look out for the stuff. They weren’t aware the measures that had required of East sometimes, but he didn’t like them being exposed to violence. They were just kids, most of them were orphans. Some of them, like Roaring Boulder, had parents. East wondered what sort of parent would let their child just live on the streets when they knew where they were. He figured The Beast would have to find out.

The kids had managed to bring a large haul of ice in, dumping it all into the tub that East had dragged over after some of the kids came back to play guard. East took his leave of the kids in the afternoon, leaving them to play in the tub of ice and enjoy the cooling sensations for the day. He returned without the kids’ knowledge about a bell after leaving them, this time dressed as The Beast. He kept to the rooftops, watching the kids from on high as they played and enjoyed their day; their hard earned gil had been spent on food and sweets. He was content to just watch, waiting until Roaring Boulder would leave for his house.

Late into the evening Roaring Boulder got up and left the crowd of urchins, followed by The Beast from the rooftops. Roaring Boulder’s parents lived in a rougher part of the city based on where he was headed, passing by some lunging drunks and lecherous eyes. The boy came to a stop in front of a small house, less run down than East had expected it to be given the stories he had heard the boy tell. Roaring Boulder knocked on the door and waited, as did East. After a few ticks of no response Roaring Boulder knocked again, louder this time. This time the door opened, but Roaring Boulder wasn’t able to cross the threshold. A meaty fist hand came from inside the house, slapping Roaring Boulder across the cheek and sending him a few steps back. The door shut harshly as the boy landed. East could see the tears welling up in Roaring Boulder’s eyes, a hand coming over the part where he had been hit. He didn’t tarry long, pushing himself off the road and heading back the way he had come, presumably towards the urchins to take rest for the night there.

The Beast’s metal boots hit the ground a moment later as he lowered himself to the ground, ready to meet with the person connected to the meaty fist. He didn’t knock on the door like Roaring Boulder had done. One metal boot lifted into the air and kicked forward, breaking through the rotted wood of the door to lead The Beast into the home.

“What the?” A deep voice asked in shock.

The voice cut off as its owner turned to the The Beast, the large Roegadyn man blanching as he saw the katana blade pointed at him. East held the sword out towards the man, keeping him frozen in shock as he took in the home. The home wasn’t the home of someone well off, but by the decorations he could tell the owner was comfortable enough. Chairs and tables made of a solid wood, rooms without trash on the floor, clean linens over the bed’s thick mattress, and no smell of rot or spoiled meat in the air. It wasn’t posh, but it was an easy lifestyle for someone with a job and no child to care for. Knowing that the ease of the lifestyle came at the expense of Roaring Boulder’s comfort only made East’s blood boil more. He turned back to face the man, stepping forward and prodding him with the tip of his katana to drop him into a chair.

“A small boy came by a few ticks ago, you shoved him away from the house. Was that your son?” The Beast asked, masked face fixed forward on the shocked Roegadyn.

“What? I. Uh.” The man stammered on, eyes filling with confusion and then narrowing. “Who the fuck are you to be asking me questions after you just busted into my house?!” He roared in anger.

He rose up from his chair, foot coming forward as he moved to charge at The Beast. Given that the Roegadyn man was thrice the size of the masked swordsman it would be an easy fight for the Roegadyn. That reasoning is exactly why The Beast didn’t let the fight start. As soon as the man stood up and stepped forward The Beast’s arm swung down and lunged forward, driving the tip of his katana into the man’s boot and through his foot to the floorboards. The Beast’s other hand came up and shoved forward, hitting the man in the chest to drop him back into his chair. The man let out a yowl of pain that escaped more as a whisper as the air had been knocked out of him.

“I won’t ask that question again,” The Beast said with a cautioning tone.

“Yes,” the man whimpered out, “yes, that’s my son.”

“Why doesn’t he live in here with you? Why is he sleeping on the streets?!” The Beast yelled so loud the voice disturber he wore screeched with a high frequency sound as it failed to translate all the yell.

“He just doesn’t! Gods, I need a cleric for my foot! Help! Someone help me!”

The Beast’s fist curled up and rocketed forward, armored fingers punching the man in the neck to silence any more screams. The answer had set off East’s anger more than the cries for help. The man admitted that Roaring Boulder was his son, but said he just didn’t live there. He didn’t care about the boy at all. East had always been able to say that at least his parents didn’t live around him growing up, they had abandoned him and his sisters to the streets they didn’t even live around. East didn’t even know where his parents were. Roaring Boulder did though. He knew where his father lived and came by enough to at least try and stay indoors. This man had made the choice daily to leave his son on the streets.

“Where is the boy’s mother?” The Beast asked.

“Don’t know. She left him on my doorstep after he was born. Never seen her since.” The man croaked out in barely more than a whisper.

“What’s your name?”

“What?”

The Beast planted his hand over the katana hilt and drove it down further into the ground, producing a new hoarse yell from the man.

“I told you I wouldn’t ask questions twice,” The Beast reminded him.

“Running Mountain! I’m Running Mountain!” The man screamed out loud as he could, which ended up just being a bare screech.

When East had entered into the home and seen the comfort that was being denied Roaring Boulder he had planned to just cut down the man then and there. Leave his body on the floor for neighbors to complain about until Brass Blades came to haul the body away. Each question the man answered had just driven on the thought of ending the wretched father’s life, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Pity for Running Mountain didn’t hold him back, East really didn’t care at all about this man. Thoughts of Roaring Boulder held him back. If Running Mountain were to die it didn’t help Roaring Boulder at all, it would only make things worse even as then the boy wouldn’t have those few nights of reprieve he got when his father decided to be a minimally decent person. East had come to the house without a plan but realized he needed one suddenly. He couldn’t just attack this man and leave, it wouldn’t do anything good and could possibly do a lot of bad. The anger he had been feeling was quickly being replaced with panic. He had acted too rashly. He could have endangered his operation with this. He had to come up with something to keep Running Mountain quiet and help Roaring Boulder.

“Today is your lucky day, Running Mountain,” The Beast said with a calm voice.

He stepped away from the room long enough to grab a towel, tossing it over his shoulder. Before The Beast could explain what it was for he yanked the katana out of the floor, wiping the blood from the blade with the towel, and sheathing it. He tossed the towel to Running Mountain and pointed at the wounded foot, nodding to him.

“Wrap your foot up and walk with me,” The Beast ordered as he moved to the broken doorway.

His plan was still coming together as he waited for Running Mountain to join him, or attack him again he knew either was possible, but he knew he had to appear as if he was still in control and calculated. He had to put on the persona of someone who hadn’t just recklessly charged into a home and attack the man. The problem was East usually took weeks or months to make his plans, to prepare and calculate for every variable he could. Making plans on the quick always ended up with trouble for him, but he couldn’t just stop now.

“Where... Where are we going?” Running Mountain asked as he limped up to The Beast.

“For a walk,” The Beast answered as he set out into the street. “Keep up or else,” he added as he crossed the threshold.

The Beast kept a normal pace for himself, which was thankfully matched easily by the wounded stride of a Roegadyn. His plan had mostly come together to where he at least knew where he was going, but he could tell he wasn’t thinking of everything. It would give Roaring Boulder his father and the comfort he deserved, along with comfort for the other urchin children. It would solve so many things in one move. Running Mountain didn’t make any sounds behind him other than grunts from walking on his wounded foot. East knew he would need to get it checked on soon or risk losing it, or worse, but he didn’t feel bad about the man experiencing some pain for a while. The pair stopped before an old chapel in Ul’dah that had been abandoned by its street gang after its owners had drowned inside their own meeting chambers. The Beast knew the place well and had kept an eye on it for his own plans that had apparently come to fruition.

“Tomorrow morning you will be very busy,” The Beast began as he laid out his plan to his prey turned accomplice. “You will come here and purchase this chapel from its current landowner, signing for it in your name and renaming it as ‘The Oasis Home for Wayward Youth’ or something like that. You’ll be acting as the caretaker for the children who will be coming by to move in at noon tomorrow, among them will be your son.”

Running Mountain turned an incredulous stare from the chapel to the masked man. “Are you fucking crazy? Why in the world am I going to do all of that?”

“Because, this is your chance to be a real father.” The Beast turned on the man, looking up into the confused eyes. “You’re only option is to either accept this second chance, or be killed right here. I know where you live, I know how to find you, and I will hunt you down if you try to run. This is your life now.”

“But. What. What about my house? My job?!”

“You’ll sell it and you’ll quit. Being the caretaker of an orphanage is a full time job and you’ll have to live here with the kids to keep an eye on them.”

“Why? They’re not my fucking kids. Why should I take care of them?”

“Because you couldn’t even take care of your one child, so naturally your second chance comes with more work. You should’ve been a better father the first time around, when there wasn’t the risk of your life on the line.”

“Well. What’s to stop me from going to the guards and turning you in?” Running Mountain asked with a smirk, as if he had caught the man.

“A masked man stormed into your house, stabbed your foot, then demanded you buy an orphanage and become its caretaker. Interesting story to give the Brass Blades. While they’re debating how drunk you had to be to imagine all of that happening, I’ll be waiting to cut you in half.”

Running Mountain gulped and looked back at the chapel, still squirming as he felt the pain in his foot receding as it started to go numb. He looked down to the masked man and bit his lip, trying to work out his options in his mind.

“Also, Running Mountain, given your history of abuse around children. You should know that I will be keeping an eye on them all. If I find any wounds or marks on them, you will die in a much worse way than me cutting you in half.”

“But they’re street rats! They get cuts and bruises all the time!”

“Then you had best keep them safe and cared for,” The Beast answered.

“How am I going to pay for all this? My house isn’t worth that much!”

“The cost for it all will be covered by myself. Every month an amount of gil will be brought to the orphanage, enough to cover food and whatever else the kids will need. When you’ve proven yourself a redeemed father you’ll even begin to get paid as well. I will have eyes kept on the place to keep it safe from parties that are too much for you to handle.”

“.... Why me? Why are you doing this?” Running Mountain asked, feeling his knees going weak.

“Because Roaring Boulder deserves a father, whether you want to be one or not,” The Beast answered calmly. “Tomorrow morning, right here. The landowner will be waiting with the paperwork needed. You will sign it, name it, and start cleaning it up. Go get your foot looked at before you have to lose it.”

He didn’t wait for any more questions or statements. The plan had been explained, and now it would be up to Running Mountain to accept it or die. He hoped for the former, but had met too many stubborn fools to not be ready for the latter.

The next day East O’hteco came by the chapel at noon, smiling to himself as he saw Roaring Boulder sitting on the stairway with a giant grin on his face. He could see through the somewhat cleaned windows of the place that other street urchins were running around inside, inspecting their new home. East had gone to see them all early in the morning, telling them to go find the chapel at noon. He was glad to see they had found an open space, and he hoped inside he would find a limping caretaker.

“Beast!” Roaring Boulder exclaimed as he caught site of East, running up to him. “It’s amazing! My dad is here! My dad is here and he said me and my friends are all going to be living here with him! Isn’t that great?!”

“Oh, wow. That’s really great buddy. Is he inside? I’d like to meet him,” East replied with a smile.

Roaring Boulder nodded and tore off inside faster than East had ever seen him run, and East had paid him to literally just run before. Roaring Boulder came back a few moments later with a much larger Roegadyn beside him. Running Mountain was sweaty, tired, and limping with a cane to support him. His eyes swept around the open area before the chapel with trepidation before focusing down on East with a quirked brow.

“Hail, stranger,” Running Mountain said cautiously, coming up to East. “What do you want?” The new persona as a caretaker wasn’t entirely set in yet, but he was nervously trying his best.

“Just a friend of the kids, come to check on them. I had heard there was a new orphanage opening up and I sent them over this morning, to be here at noon. Glad to see the rumors were true. I take it you’re the new caretaker?”

Running Mountain peered at the man, understanding coming to him quickly. “Yeah, I am. Just like.... Just like you said. I’m the caretaker.” He glanced down at Roaring Boulder who was nearly hugging his leg at this point. “Been too long avoiding being a father, and it was just the right time.”

“Sounds like you found the right motivation,” East said with a small nod to Running Mountain.

“Yeah, something like that,” Running Mountain replied with a gesture to his bandaged up foot. “It’s my calling, I guess you could say.”

“I would say that,” East answered.

The two men stood staring at one another for a long moment. East knew that Running Mountain was likely trying to figure out how to use the knowledge of what he looked like to his advantage, but he wasn’t worried. East O’hteco was just a helpful stranger to the kids, and he was a quicker blade than Running Mountain was a talker.

“What’s your name, stranger?” Running Mountain asked, quirking a brow to East.

“He’s The Beast!” Roaring Boulder replied before East could, nodding up to his father.

East saw the brief look of disdain cross Running Mountains eyes, but it died before he could look down a Roaring Boulder. The man just patted the boy’s shoulder gently, sighing.

“Say, Roaring. How about you go tell everyone I have some work for them, while you let your dad get back to setting the place up. Looks like you all need some beds and stuff,” East said with a bemused grin.

“Okay!” Roaring Boulder exclaimed as he ran back inside, still slower than when he had gone to get his dad.

“So, you’re the guy then?” Running Mountain asked the moment the two of them were alone.

“Guy? I’m just a friend of the kids, if that’s what you mean,” East answered.

“Cut the shit. You’re the masked guy that butchered my foot and made me do all of this shit. Just tell me that I’m good. Long as I do this, you don’t get kill me, right? I haven’t hit any of them. I swear. I’m just trying to. Just. Tell me.” Running Mountain stammered most of it, still in shock from the evening before and at having met his attacker again.

“Sounds like you had a really bad run in, bud, but looks like you came out alright in it. Place to stay, get to see your son more. I don’t know what life you had before your sudden change of heart, but looks like this is a life that you’ll live longer in.” East gave the threatening reminder calmly, smiling at the man. “Like I said, I’m just a friend of the kids. I care about them and like the idea of them having one place to stay all the time, with a roof and some food on the daily. I’ll still come by to give them work from time to time, but I’m sure you’ll find the gil you need to keep them all taken care of without me or other generous patrons.”

The kids came running out of the chapel in a horde. The older ones were mostly quietly, still wary about their sudden change of fortunes; they were too old to forget how bad the world could be when it looked good. The younger ones, like Roaring Boulder, were bundles of excitement; they were too young to remember that the world could be cruel at any moment, they just lived in the now. East hoped to keep them all in the now, where it was safe.

“So, new home. Looks like it could use some color. How about you all go get some flowers, huh? One gil per flower you bring back. Throw them around the place, get it all colorful, yeah?” East offered to the kids, nodding to them as they nodded back.

Without a word they were off, running into the city to find the flowers they had been hired to grab. East turned back to Running Mountain with a smile.

“The flowers will help with the musty smell too. The place had bad water damage in the basement I had heard, figure that must’ve been bad when you moved in,” East said.

“Yeah, there’s a vault or something down there. I took it as my room, figure it was the quietest place,” Running Mountain said with a shrug.

“Ah, good choice. Careful though, I hear that vault door can stick and lock you inside if you’re not careful. Be a bad way to go down, yeah?”

“.... Yeah,” Running Mountain replied back with an understanding nod.

“Well, don’t let me keep you from your work. I’m sure you’ve got bed to order and food to start on. How’s the kitchen in that place?” East asked, looking to the building slowly.

“Kitchen is in bad shape, I don’t know how much of it works. I got to take a look at the stove and all, but may have to do a wood fire for a bit. And yeah, I put some orders in this morning,” Running Mountain replied.

“You any good of a cook?” East asked.

“Yeah. I cooked for myself back.... Before this. Doing bigger dishes for some urchins shouldn’t be too bad,” Running Mountain answered with another sigh.

“Good. Sounds like you’re adapting fast. Smart too,” East said with a smirk.

“Yeah,” Running Mountain said with a snort before limping back towards the chapel doors. He had work to do.

East waited outside the chapel for a long while, paying kids as they came with flowers to spread around their new home. He knew he’d have to keep an eye on the place for a while, to see that it was properly taken care of and that Running Mountain didn’t try to run out of his new job. It would be some work but it was worth it for seeing the kids taken care of, especially in a way where his name didn’t have to be tied to it. Just a random man who had a change of heart as to being a father and decided to go the extra malm. It was a heart warming story far as East was concerned. He’d make sure the story stayed that heart warming.

#story #oasis cartel

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warofshadowstheorder · 3 years

Text

Chapter 26

A few minutes before 7, Bledsoe heard a knock on the door and quickly looked herself over in the mirror before answering it and finding Tadeas standing with his hair tied back in a ponytail and dressed in casual clothes. Bledsoe was no fashionista, but she could tell that the clothes Tadeas wore were designer and most likely expensive.

“I didn’t expect you to have this kind of wardrobe,” she said with a smile as she took in the sight before her.

“Hey,” Tadeas said, “I wear the Cossack when I’m on duty. On a day like tonight, I wear my good clothes.”

“I feel really underdressed right now,” Bledsoe remarked glancing at her own more casual attire.

“That’s no problem for me,” Tadeas answered as he gently brought Bledsoe’s hands to his lips, “you look great.” He completed his gesture, Bledsoe doing her best to maintain her composure and not revert to a drooling, stammering, mess.

“About tonight,” Bledsoe asked after a few moments, “do we really need to go to the tournament?”

“Absolutely,” Tadeas answered with a smile that made Bledsoe feel woozy inside, “this is going to be historic. If you’re worried about the violence, don’t be. It’s all perfectly controlled and we haven’t had a single person die or be permanently injured.”

Bledsoe nodded and accepted Tadeas’s arm. Tadeas escorted Bledsoe toward the Combat Room, which had undergone a remodeling to accommodate all the people that would be attending the tournament.

The major difference was that all the equipment, with the exception of the cage, had been replaced with several chairs and a few small booths behind the seats offering refreshments. The door was propped open, but the sign above it was in full view, Bledsoe couldn’t help but observe it.

“This place seems ominous,” Bledsoe commented as Tadeas led her down, “I almost feel like I’m going into some kind of dungeon.”

“Yeah well,” Tadeas said with a light chuckle as he guided Bledsoe through the entrance and to a table with some programs, “we call this place The Pit.”

“All of you,” Bledsoe asked slightly surprised, “so everyone here knows this place?”

“Yep,” Tadeas answered, “the Knights get intensive combat training, but everyone involved with the Order has some; it all goes down in here.”

As they entered, Bledsoe immediately noticed the posters that decorated the walls and was picking out all the fighters she recognized. The Bruce Lee poster in particular caught her eye. Her senses were immediately bombarded with sensations that made her want to dress down and begin training. The Pit had been cleaned, but Bledsoe’s experienced senses could pick up the remnants of the bouquet of scents of blood, sweat, toil, and labor that she expected from the training grounds of the Knights she’d been learning about.

As Tadeas stopped to get a program, Bledsoe took in her entire surroundings. She looked at the people finding seats, enjoying refreshments, and talking amongst themselves. A voice from within the crowd brought her focus elsewhere.

“Tadeas!” Bledsoe heard Odin exclaim as he came by them, “You’re always so easy to spot. Sometimes I wonder if you’re a Knight or a bloody male model, mate.”

“Odin,” Tadeas replied respectfully masking resentment, “I see that you made it back in time for the tournament. And as far as your quip about my clothes, you should be grateful that at least someone here has a sense of fashion. I make this entire group look good.”

“Whatever,” Odin replied boisterously as he slapped Tadeas on the back, “and who’s your friend?”

Odin paused as he turned to face Bledsoe, who was frozen where she stood after she recognized the man she knew as Clark Kent standing in front of her. Her red hair and green eyes ensured that Odin also recognized Bledsoe from when he’d seen her just before he shot Saunders. His first instinct was to tell her that she looked different when she wasn’t subdued, but he judged that to be an ill-advised move from the way she was looking at him.

“Odin sweetie,” Alicia said as she walked up struggling to keep Xander, Angus, and Malcolm in tow, “would you mind helping with our boys?”

“Oi boys,” Odin replied with his usual manner returning as he crouched down amid cries of “Daddy” and grabbed his sons, “I hope you didn’t give your mum a hard time.”

The three boys laughed in delight as they hugged their father and Bledsoe couldn’t help but smile as the scene unfolded before her. Bledsoe turned as she felt Alicia turning her to face her and stepping a little away from the men as Odin began talking with Tadeas.

“I’m Alicia Bruce,” Alicia said in a very friendly tone while holding out her hand, “and from the way you were looking at my husband I’m guessing you were the agent at the Saunders Assignment.”

“Alexis Bledsoe,” Bledsoe answered as she shook Alicia’s hand, “and yes I was.”

“May I just say,” Alicia said maintaining the friendly tone, “that for the time it’s great having another redhead around here for once.” Alicia’s smile widened slightly as she saw Bledsoe smirk and let out a low laugh.

“I can assure you,” Alicia continued, “that my Odin is no cold-blooded murderer. He’s just a Knight that always accomplishes his mission.”

“I’m getting that,” Bledsoe said still watching him interact with his sons and occasionally saying something to Tadeas. “But it’ll take some time for me not to associate him with some less than pleasant memories.”

“I don’t blame you,” Alicia said supportively laying a hand on Bledsoe’s shoulder, “I only hope that you can eventually view my Odin and his family in a good light.”

Bledsoe nodded and couldn’t help overhearing some of Odin and Tadeas’s conversation. She also noticed that each boy was holding a sign with a different message written on it in crayon. The signs read “Go Olcán”, “Olcán Rules”, and “Olcán is the Champ” respectively.

“It looks like they want Olcán to win,” Bledsoe said after she’d gotten a chance to look at the signs.

“Aye,” Alicia answered, “the boys love Olcán. He and my husband have been very close since long before we were married. Olcán looks after the boys from time to time when Odin and I go out together.”

“You let him look after them?!” Bledsoe asked alarmed, the memory of Olcán killing Malasha and eating his heart still fresh in her mind.

“Of course,” Alicia answered as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, “Olcán would never let anything happen to them. The only way he could love them more would be if they were his own.”

“What makes you say that?” Bledsoe asked with genuine interest.

“He’s very loyal to my Odin,” Alicia answered, “and Olcán takes things like that very seriously.”

“Because they’re both Knights?” Bledsoe asked recalling that it was the two of them she’d seen back at the Pavilion.

“Partly,” Alicia replied, “but there’s an extra element to Olcán’s loyalty.”

“And that is?” Bledsoe asked.

“My Odin saved his life once,” Alicia responded. “As far as Olcán’s concerned, he owes Odin his life. And as I said before, he takes that very seriously. Olcán has returned the favor several times on missions they’ve been on, but he still feels he owes Odin his devotion.”

Bledsoe thought about what Alicia was saying, and it hit home for her. She thought of the Secret Service and other organizations where things like duty and honor were held in high esteem. Even though she’d never met Olcán, she accepted that he appeared to embody several of those attributes.

“Excuse me babe,” Odin said as he came next to Alicia and wrapped an arm around her before kissing her cheek, “but the tournament’s about to start. The boys are getting seats right now.”

“Odin dear,” Alicia said with a smile, “this is Alexis Bledsoe. Alexis, this is my husband Odin Bruce.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Odin said slightly uncomfortably, “I have to say that this is just a little awkward…all things considered.”

“For both of us,” Bledsoe said in a similar tone to Odin’s, “I did fight with you the last time we saw each other face to face.”

“And you sent me to that prison where I nearly missed my son’s birthday,” Odin said with some hints of his usual voice returning, “so I’d say that makes us about even.”

At the sound of Odin’s voice, and desperate to at least lighten the mood if not completely bury the hatchet, Bledsoe forced a smile.

“I guess so,” she replied, “I hope that you guys enjoy this tournament.”

“Same to you,” Odin said with a grin, “you’re definitely in for a treat.”

With that, Odin joined his wife as they went to sit with their boys. Tadeas came to Bledsoe’s side and escorted her down to a couple of chairs close to the cage where they took their seats and waited patiently along with the others in attendance.

The atmosphere in the arena was clearly one of excitement and anticipation. Bledsoe couldn’t help but notice there were several men sitting on the mat in front of the cage a short distance in front of the main seating area. Bledsoe figured they were the ones that would be fighting in the tournament.

Just by glancing at the ones whose faces she could see, she could tell that there were several different ethnicities being represented. They were also of different builds, ranging from small and solid to large and bulky. They all had different expressions. Some of them looking nervous, others looking determined, some sported looks of intensity, one of them looked strangely carefree as though he were a kid in line for a ride on a Ferris Wheel.

The chatter stopped abruptly, conveying an immense respect from the crowd, when an Asian man dressed in a traditional Chinese blue silk shirt and pants with a shaved head and a face that suggested he was in his sixties or seventies, but a build that suggested he was in his twenties, moved to the center of the cage. Bledsoe recognized the clothes as identical to those worn by Bruce Lee in “Way of the Dragon.”

“Welcome,” the man said in a thick Cantonese accent that caused Bledsoe to tense inside at recognition, “to the showcase of the best fighters in the world! I don’t need to tell you how skilled every participant in this event has proven themselves to be! But only one of them will earn the right to carry this!”

After he said this, a very large man who had been sitting on the mat with a leather strap going down his back stood up and entered the cage. Dieter turned around to face the crowd, as he held a large ornately decorated Championship Belt that would make any professional fighter envious. The leather strap was decorated with golden plates of various shapes and sizes with a particularly large one in the shape of a circle with beams extending from it to a larger one around it with a nameplate bearing the inscription of “Dieter Helzig” at the bottom decorating the front.

Dieter handed the man the belt, who held it up high with both hands. He kept holding it up as he turned around the entire cage letting all in attendance gaze upon it. He lingered in front of the men sitting between the spectators and the cage and squatted to their level. All the men gazed on it hungrily and with awe, each one of them imagining having a plate with their own name engraved on it gracing the shiny belt.

“And,” the man continued, “as always, I invite the winner of the previous tournament, Dieter Helzig, to once again add his nameplate to the Wall of Champions!”

Bledsoe’s eyes widened in surprise as cheers rose from the crowd. “Is that Dieter Helzig?!” Bledsoe exclaimed louder than she’d planned before turning to Tadeas, “Dieter ‘the Hammer’ Helzig?! The wrestler?!”

“He was a wrestler before he joined the Order,” Tadeas answered surprised, “how did you know that?”

“My oldest brother wrestled at the Olympics,” Bledsoe answered, “I lost track of how many times he’s said what a shame it was that some wrestling prodigy named Dieter Helzig died in Israel before he could go to the Olympics.”

“Yeah,” Tadeas said with a scoff, “that was a pretty clever way that he faked his death.” Glaring at Tadeas in amazement was the only response Bledsoe could manage. “You can read about him in your program.”

Bledsoe was about to look in her program but chose to focus on what was unfolding inside the cage. A Latina Gifted One entered the cage and handed Dieter a screwdriver, which he used to remove his nameplate from the championship belt. His task accomplished, he exited the cage and used the same screws and screwdriver to attach the plate to a distinguished looking plaque on one of the walls in The Pit. The cheers from the crowd continued as Dieter returned the screwdriver to the Gifted One and returned to his seat on the mat.

“And now,” the Asian man continued once the applause had subsided, “Gifted Alvarez, collect the plates!”

After he said this, each fighter held up a small metal plate with their name engraved on it for a few seconds before Gifted Alvarez came around with a small box for each fighter to put their nameplate inside.

“Now,” a feeling of anticipation washed over the entire crowd, including Bledsoe, “we will begin with our first two competitors!” The Asian man reached into the box and drew two nameplates. “Joseph Rubio and Marco Auditore!”

Cheers erupted from all in attendance as two young men entered the cage. They were both dressed in shorts and t-shirts. When each man entered, he took off his shirt and the medallion around his neck. Bledsoe was awash in questions and began rattling them off to Tadeas.

“Which one’s which? How many rounds is each fight? How many fights before the final?”

Tadeas simply handed Bledsoe the program he’d gotten when they first came in. Bledsoe opened it to find a complete list of the 16 fighters in alphabetical order. Beside a picture of each competitor were their height, weight, birthplace, fighting style, and a short biography about them.

It was easy to distinguish between the two of them once she saw Marco’s photo. She couldn’t help but admire his trim, muscular build and see the different marks on his body. The first one she noticed was the symbol of the Order branded onto his chest. She read Marco’s biography.

Auditore, Marco

Height: 5’8”

Weight: 175 lbs

Born: Catania, Sicily

Fighting Style: Streetfighting

She browsed through his biography and was surprised to learn that he had been an enforcer for a mafia family before being recruited. She looked at him in the cage and could tell that he had the air of what he once was, but was now much more disciplined and focused. She next flipped through to read about Marco’s opponent.

Rubio, Joseph

Height: 5’9”

Weight: 195 lbs

Born: Manila, Philippines

Fighting Style: Eskrima

Rubio’s background was more what Bledsoe was expecting for a Knight. He grew up in Manila, had been studying the art of Eskrima since he was a small boy, and had worked as an instructor in a local Community Center. It said he was recruited by a community leader who was also a Watcher and impressed with his skills and deeply religious nature. He sported a heavyset build, but Bledsoe could tell he was exceptionally strong.

The two fighters had stripped down to their trunks and were each putting on a pair of grappling gloves over their expertly wrapped hands. After donning their gloves, they made their way to the center of the cage where the Asian man now stood. He said something to each one of them, earning a nod in response from both of them, and then had them back up a few paces.

The cheers from the crowd were building as the anticipation rose to a boiling point. The older man then raised his arm and lowered it strongly. He stepped back as the two men opposite each other closed the distance between them.

The crowd erupted into a loud cheer as the action began. Both men were being aggressive from the start, and it was clear that it would be a war of attrition. Rubio was clearly the more polished of the two, as evidenced in the strikes and counters he employed.

Marco however wasn’t one to be denied. For every strike Rubio landed, Marco shrugged it off and landed at least two of his own. After a little while, Rubio began playing defense and Marco took the opportunity to increase his barrage. Rubio however was biding his time.

Marco attempted to throw a body kick, but was thwarted when Rubio blocked it prior to bull rushing his opponent. The two of them now on the ground, Rubio immediately switched to offense and started pummeling Marco. Marco did his best to defend himself but knew that if he didn’t get out of the tight spot he found himself in, the fight would be over very soon.

Several audience members, including Bledsoe, rose to their feet anticipating the end of the fight when Rubio took down Marco. However, as Rubio threw yet another punch, Marco grabbed his arm and pulled down hard. He pulled Rubio’s head into his own and followed up with a clubbing hammer fist to the back of Rubio’s head.

Bledsoe let out a gasp and looked to Tadeas. Tadeas shrugged off Bledsoe’s look and continued to watch the fight. Marco positioned his arm between Rubio’s legs and brought his forearm strongly into his groin before flinging him off. Marco scrambled to his feet just in time to see Rubio recovered enough from the groin hit to do the same. The efforts of the fighters earned applause and cheers from the crowd.

Continuing his aggression, Marco didn’t allow Rubio to catch his breath before charging him. Rubio pretended to be much more winded than he really was, and when Marco was close enough he chopped him hard in the throat. Rubio backed up as much from the shock as from the subsequent damage of the blow itself. Rubio quickly and smoothly positioned Marco’s arm above his shoulder and turned his back to him.

Rubio brought Marco’s arm down hard and the crowd gasped at the audible breaking sound made shortly before an accompanying scream of pain from Marco. Rubio positioned his leg behind Marco’s and turned, quickly sweeping him to the ground. Rubio faced Marco, but Marco still refused to quit. In a flash, he hooked his left leg around Rubio’s right and brought his right leg violently into Rubio’s knee.

The crowd winced and gasped anew at the sound of Rubio’s leg breaking. Both fighters were now in pain and on the ground. Neither of them was at a clear advantage, and there was a while when both of them were contemplating their next move. One had both legs working the other both arms, and each decided to utilize their working assets.

Rubio did his best to mostly use his hands to move quickly forward, wanting to pin Marco down and rain down on him with punches. Marco struggled to his good arm to push himself up to his feet. It was a race against time and their opponent as both warriors gave everything they had to accomplish their respective tasks.

Marco reached his feet just as Rubio came to where he was, but before Marco could act from his dominant position Rubio reached forward with both his hands and took Marco’s legs out from under him. Marco hit the ground hard on his back, and instinctively brought his legs around Rubio’s neck to lock in a Triangle Choke. He used his good arm to pin Rubio’s and applied all the pressure he could.

Marco was struggling just as hard to maintain the hold as Rubio was to escape from it. Then, in an incredibly gutsy move, Marco brought his legs down farther and in the same moment took his broken arm with his good one and put it around the back of Rubio’s head. He pulled down on his broken arm, screaming out in pain as he did so, but kept his hold until the old man broke them up. Rubio had passed out.

The crowd was very responsive as a huge cheer broke out with hardly anyone still in their seat. Bledsoe couldn’t believe that the fight hadn’t been stopped at several points. Her expression was a combination of shock, surprise, and awe. In her time as a student of the martial arts, she had seen many of the greatest practitioners in action. But nothing she’d ever seen could compare with what she had just witnessed.

“Okay,” Tadeas said as he sat down after the hand of Marco’s good arm was raised in victory, “I can tell that you’ve got a lot of questions. So let’s have it.”

“That’s an understatement.” Bledsoe stated. “I thought you said this tournament was organized. If that’s true then why didn’t the official stop the fight?”

“At which point?” Tadeas asked with a shrug.

“Seriously?” Bledsoe asked obviously surprised that Tadeas even asked. “How about when the Italian hit the Philippino in the back of the head or when he hit him in the groin? Or how about when the guy got his arm broken, or when the other guy got his leg broken?”

“Master Lee,” Tadeas answered, “insists on training, and especially the tournament, being realistic. His way of thinking is that an enemy won’t care if your leg or arm is broken and won’t have any qualms about hitting you in the back of the head, or in the groin, or tearing out your eye or anything like that.”

“These fights don’t have set rounds, the only way to end one, apart from a knockout, is for someone to either pass out in a submission hold, have Master Lee break it up if he judges a situation to be life-threatening, or for one of the fighters to cry out ‘yield’. And if you cry out yield, the other Knights will never let you forget it.”

“I imagine Master Lee is the man in the cage running this show,” Bledsoe said, “how long has he been here?”

“Since ‘72,” Tadeas answered, “he was a big name in Hong Kong and was about to make a huge impact in the U.S. as a Martial Arts instructor, filmmaker, and actor. He was originally approached to be a Watcher and to add his own insights to our fighting program. But he was so sold on the cause that he insisted on coming in full-time.”

Bledsoe had tensed when she heard master Lee speak because she was certain she recognized his voice, but had dismissed it because she had recognized the voice of a dead man. She took a good look at Master Lee and thought about where she’d seen the outfit he was wearing before. Thinking of what Tadeas said about him, it suddenly all came together in her mind.

“Holy shit!” Bledsoe exclaimed earning several looks of surprise and resentment from spectators that did not go unnoticed by her, “That’s Bruce Lee!”

“Well,” Tadeas said as though it were obvious, “that’s the name he went by on the outside. The Order has definitely loved him since he’s been here. He incorporated his Jeet Kune Do principles into our combat program and made our Knights much more effective than they’d ever been before. He’s the lead instructor in non-firearm combat here and coordinates the tournament.”

“But,” Bledsoe said still not completely over her latest revelation, “he…”

“Faked his own death,” Tadeas filled in, “like I said, he was so sold on the cause that he chose to abandon his old life and dedicate himself entirely to the Order. His son Brandon did the same thing.”

“What?!” Bledsoe exclaimed at the latest revelation.

“Yeah,” Tadeas answered gesturing to where Master Lee now stood just outside the cage next to a younger man who was receiving instruction from him. “He wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. He’s being prepared to take over as lead non-firearm combat instructor.”

Bledsoe stared wide-eyed at Master Lee, the man whose youthful image decorated a prominent spot on the wall of her own apartment. There were so many things she wanted to know just about him, but then her gaze turned to the two men who had finished their fight and she thought of something she had to ask about them.

“Will they be okay?” she asked concerned.

“Oh yeah,” Tadeas said, “watch.”

Bledsoe followed Tadeas’s instructions and watched as Marco and Rubio were helped out of the cage and to the side where Natasha and a Gifted One Bledsoe hadn’t met attended to them. Bledsoe focused on her friend Natasha as she attended to Marco.

Natasha gently held his broken arm as she brought her other hand up to rest on the area that had been fractured. Marco winced as Natasha rested her hand on the damaged area. Natasha closed her eyes and concentrated hard. After a few moments, the sound of a bone resetting could be heard accompanied by a small cry from Marco. Bledsoe watched as Marco moved his arm around and said something to Natasha accompanied by a nod.

“Wow,” Bledsoe said in astonishment as her eyes moved to Rubio and saw him in a similar state with his leg, “so they’ll both be fine?”

“Absolutely,” Tadeas replied, “the Gifted Ones do their work very well. Marco’s fine to fight later in the tournament after that.”

Bledsoe could only look on in amazement. She watched Marco and Rubio congratulating each other and complementing each other on their respective performances. Then, she watched as a Gifted One brought a nameplate in her hand to Rubio, who sheepishly took it from her.

“Why did she give him back his nameplate?” Bledsoe asked.

“This is a single elimination tournament,” Tadeas answered, “when a fighter gets eliminated they’re given back their nameplate. The objective is for every fighter that participates in this tournament to get rid of their nameplate at some point so it’ll be on that plaque on the wall,” Tadeas said gesturing to the plaque that Master Lee had referred to as the Wall of Champions, “Master Lee feels that it serves as a great motivation to the Knights and other fighters to always be at their best, and to always be stepping up their game.”

As Bledsoe pondered over what Tadeas told her, she could only think of one other question for her handsome escort.

“You’re a Knight, right?” Bledsoe asked earning a nod and a curious look from Tadeas. “So, why aren’t you in the tournament?”

“Well,” Tadeas answered with his characteristic confident tone, “although the Gifted Ones do great work. It would be a sin against mankind if my face got messed up in the slightest.” That statement earned a smile and slight laugh from Bledsoe. “And this is something more for fighting junkies. I believe that the mind has authority over the body, and I do my best to respect that in my daily life.”

There was more Bledsoe wanted to say, but her attention was instantly brought back to the cage when she heard Master Lee introducing the next two fighters.

#novel #action-adventure #fantasy #historical fiction

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lonestorm · 6 years

Text

The Adventures of Sindad - 1

Summary: Sinbad is lucky to be alive after his whole “Taking over the world” phase. But with the fact that he had completely fallen off the deep end, the generals decide it’s time that Sinbad is reined in from is obsession. There are, perhaps, seven people that will be up for the job. Seven tiny people.

Basically a Sinbad post-Magi redemption story of him trying to raise seven children.

Chapters: Prologue | Night 1

Also on AO3 and ff.net

For the first time in a long time, Sinbad was actually enjoying himself.

Alibaba and Morgiana’s wedding had been cute with a lovely venue (After all, he’d paid for it himself, what with Alibaba’s puppy eyes when saying Sinbad was like a father to him. And Sinbad was no damn cheapskate.), and the celebration in the streets of Balbadd for their former prince was uproarious. Food and high class drink to go around to every citizen that attended the reception, gifts large to small piled near the newlyweds’ table while dancing, music, and torchlight strung above them lit the early evening sky.

Sinbad sat in a comfortable chair off to the side by a shop closed for the night, observing. Alibaba and Morgiana were dancing as dorkily as usual. Sharrkan was stammering out an invitation to Yamuraiha to join in. Aladdin was making bubbles erupt from his staff for a laughing group of children to catch.

Leaning back with a sigh, he relaxed his arms onto the armrests. Sinbad didn’t know the lovely lady giving him a back rub or the one sitting dangerously close to his left hand, but he didn’t see a reason to protest.

His friends had been acting more distant and cold than ever before since the incident. They were relieved that he was safe--at first. When that had worn off, the tears from Pisti, frustration of Yamuraiha, dissproving glare of Masrur, disappointment from Sharrkan and Spartos, confusion and self-blame from Drakon and Hinahoho, and worst of all, the eyes filled with the hurt from Ja’far had taken their toll. The people he loved most in the world had been betrayed by him, and he was at a loss at what he could do to reclaim their precious trust.

However they seemed to be trying to rekindle their friendship a centimeter at a time--he was grateful for that, at least. But he was in desperate need of some (gallons of) wine and women to take his mind off things, and no better place than a wedding to drown your overwhelming loneliness in frivolous coping mechanisms that never last.

Unfortunately, Ja’far walked up to his side, making the women uncomfortable with his (rather judgemental) stare. When they walked away, promising many returns in his ear, Sinbad groaned at his friend. “Was that necessary?”

For once, Ja’far didn’t spit back a retort--in fact, he seemed rather distracted, biting his cheek and gazing into the distance. All he said was, “Remember that time you were freed from slavery and claimed responsibility for the children that were freed through your rebellion?”

Sinbad blinked several times. “Kind of morbid to bring up at a celebration, don’t you think, killjoy?”

“Sin.”

“As if I could forget.” Sinbad watched Aladdin lean down to accept a flower crown that Kougyoku had made him. “Why?”

“Just wanted to remind you. You know. About taking responsibility for things.”

Clenching his teeth, Sinbad grated, “I’m doing all I can to make things right after what I did, Ja’far, and what I tried to change ended up needing a change! Even if it wasn’t the way I started out doing so... everyone seemed to approve of Alibaba’s solution. What else would you have me do?”

“I don’t mean about that,” Ja’far corrected quickly. “I know you’re doing what you can. I mean responsibility for… other things. You’ll take responsibility for what’s yours, right?”

Sinbad gave him a suspicious look. “What are you talking about, Ja’far? You’re sounding terrifyingly ominous, there.”

A hesitation. “Nothing in particular,” Ja’far said, and began to walk away. “Just thinking. That’s all.”

Sinbad frowned after his friend, mulling over what he could’ve meant. Ja’far seemed nervous…

He was pulled from his train of thought by a tugging on the bottom of his robe. Snapping out of his reverie, he turned his eyes town to his feet. To his surprise, a tiny girl in a white dress stood there, lilac colored hair floating about her shoulders and topped with what looked like one of Kougyoku’s flower crowns. Big, shining golden eyes stared up at him. She could not have been any older than three.

Smiling in spite of himself, Sinbad leaned down in his seat and said. “Hello there, miss. Do you need something? Have you lost your parents?”

Her gaze was curious. “Are you Sindad?”

He paused, and then let out a bark of laughter. “Sinbad,” he corrected. “Yes, that’s me.”

At this information, her whole face lit up, and she lifted her hands.

Sinbad recognized the gesture--she wanted to be picked up. He glanced around, hoping to find a mother or father searching for her--surely they’d feel uncomfortable with a stranger holding their daughter? But no one seemed to be looking, so he stood, bent down, and lifted her to his side.

“Shall we find your parents?” he suggested, taking a step forward. “What do your parents look like, miss?”

But she only grasped his shirt and smiled at him. “Sindad.”

He didn’t have the heart to correct her again, so just let it go. “Alright, it’s okay--we’ll find them.”

“Samia? Sami, where did you--Oh!”

Another child, this one with paler skin, sporting a flower crown atop her black hair stopped up short at the sight of Sinbad holding the toddler. She stared at him, agape.

Sinbad, who was plenty used to awe-filled looks, smiled at her and said, “Is this your sister? She must’ve gotten lost; we were about to go look for her parents.”

The young girl seemed speechless, but swallowed and nodded quickly. Before Sinbad could put the child--Samia, was it?--down, another kid ran up to the black-haired girl. His skin clearly showed a Heliohapt ethnicity, but his bright, purple hair threw off the image. The boy was panting, white robe slipping off his shoulder as he bent down with his hands on his knees. “I-I can’t find her over there--I swear, we only took our eyes off her for a second!”

When the boy saw Sinbad, however, he let out a strangled gasp, taking a step back. “Y-you’re Sinbad!”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Sinbad mused. “Were you looking for this one, too?”

The boy didn’t answer, but Sinbad was almost afraid of the devious grin the boy grew once Sinbad’s identity was confirmed. Instead, he shouted over his shoulder, “Zara! We found him!”

Him?

The bewilderment only increased as a moment later, a tall, slightly older child walked out from the crowd, head held high. She was followed by two more boys and another girl. And… it was like looking at the spitting image of himself in younger, female form.

Feeling rather disturbed, Sinbad took a step back. The children were viewing him with excited faces... except for that older girl, who was practically snarling at him.

“Uh…” Sinbad said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck with a free hand. “Can I help you kids?”

From behind him, he heard a familiar murmur of, “Shit!” and Ja’far’s hurried footsteps coming to the rescue.

Before Ja’far could ask what was going on, however, the oldest girl--perhaps about twelve?--spoke up in a harsh tone, “Your karma has arrived, jackass!”

“Zara!” a boy, ruffled hair so black it almost had a green tinge, whispered through gritted teeth up to the girl, “You shouldn’t say that word in front of the kids!”

She grimaced. “Okay, okay.”

Sinbad was gaping at them. “Um… excuse me? Have we met?”

Ja’far interjected, looking at the oldest girl sternly, “I remember explicitly telling you that I would introduce you tomorrow. This isn’t the time or place!”

“You said he wasn’t embarrassed of us,” she snapped back. “He should prove it! I’ve been waiting to give ‘im a piece of my mind for twelve years!”

Now that she mentioned it, there were those in the crowd of merrymakers that were turning to view the disruption. With one look from Ja’far, they turned away quickly.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sinbad moaned, “Ja’far, explanation any day now.”

“W-wait,” the brown-haired girl to the oldest’s right said. “He d-didn’t know w-we were coming, Mis-mister Ja’far?”

Everyone was looking at Ja’far now, who was just looking panicked. “I-he… um… well…” A sigh and a wince. He put a hand over his eyes. “Sinbad didn’t actually… know you existed.”

There was a collective intake of breath from the kids, and Sinbad was only more lost. “And who are they?”

“Okay, just promise me you won’t… freak out,” Ja’far said carefully, raising his hands as if to fend off a snarling wolf. “They’re… yours.”

“My what?”

“Your kids. Your children. Your offspring.”

Sinbad stared. His expression didn’t change. “This is the weirdest joke you guys have ever pulled. The other seven generals are in on this too, right?”

“I’m serious!” Ja’far hissed.

He let out a laugh, feeling his heart speed up. He hiked Samia higher up on his hip--he’d forgotten that he had meant to put her down. “Oh, ha ha. Ja’far, I think I’d know if I had a child, much less seven. C’mon, whaddya take me for?”

Ja’far still wouldn’t meet his eyes. It was hard to make out his low voice in all the jubilation around them. “You wouldn’t know, because I didn’t tell you. I… found letters from their mothers over the years and kept tabs on the women from your… escapades. And, um, I sent them money from that orphan fund I helped you make… and wrote back to them in your place…?”

His speeding heart stopped. “You’re joking. You have to be joking.”

“He’s not!” the one called Zara proclaimed, pointing to herself. “Mister Ja’far had us all take magical genetics testing to make sure!”

“What?!” Sinbad repeated, spinning to glower at Ja’far. He felt all the blood drain from his face. “What?! I insist on seeing all of the official reports.”

“Hey, you’re welcome!” Ja’far shouted back, getting defensive. “You’re welcome for saving your reputation and saving you from getting stabbed in the back by angry, unsuspecting mothers! Honestly, with your drinking and womanizing habits, I don’t know why you didn’t expect something like this to happen!” And he seemed to have anticipated Sinbad’s request, so he pulled some folded documents from his robes. “Look--Yamuraiha’s official seal. She did the tests.”

He snatched the forms and quickly skimmed them. A page with his own profile and genetic code details were one page; the rest held images of the children, their medical information, and the horrifying words stamped in red: MATCH--PATERNAL. “How do I know she didn’t do this as a joke?” Sinbad tried weakly, but he already knew the answer.

“You think she’d risk the reputation of Magnostadt to play an elaborate prank?” Ja’far scoffed. “These forms aren’t classified; you can release them to the public eventually, and she’ll stand by the results.”

Frowning, Sinbad demanded, “Wait, how did you get my genetics to test this?”

Ja’far shrugged. “Got some of your hair when you fell asleep at your desk.”

“I should charge you for assault.”

“Stop being such a drama queen.”

Sinbad scowled. Hand shaking slightly, he hid the packet within his pocket. “Who else knows about this?!”

“Just their mothers, the former generals, well, I just told them a few weeks ago, and me! But the mothers… thought you knew.”

Sinbad took a few, staggering steps back and lowered himself into his chair. Samia was frowning at his numb expression, but seemed quite contented to sit in his lap. “Ja’far, what the hell have you done?” Sinbad choked.

“How can you be saying that to me? These are your children! All from different mothers!”

“You make it sound like I forced those mothers to… Have relations with me! Which, by the way, I have never done, thanks!”

The children seemed more shy now, shifting in their white, formal clothes (other than Zara, proud and pissed as she’d been the whole time), and were apprehensively standing in a clustered line. The fact that they were his wasn’t quite connecting in Sinbad’s mind.

In his foggy stage of denial, he said dizzily to Ja’far, “Why… why are they all here now?”

Ja’far shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I told them to wait until tomorrow, and if they did, they could come to the celebration. However, they used the Sinbad patented technique: saying ‘Okay Ja’far, you’re right’, and then doing whatever the hell you were going to do anyway.”

He offered a quick glare for the comment before saying more sternly, “No, I mean why are they all here? In one place? Now instead of before? Why did you not tell me before?!”

“I gathered them here because I thought it time that you meet them,” Ja’far murmured. “I offered them a full ride scholarship to the Rurumu Academy in Parthevia that you founded--the most advanced education in the world--housing, child care, food, and time to know their father. Their guardians jumped at the chance. I didn’t tell you because… It would have been a distraction from your goals…”

Ja’far was looking down now, pressing his lips together in a face of heavy guilt.

Sinbad, rendered speechless, dropped his face into his hands. “I… what? Not even a freaking warning, Ja’far… Is this what you were talking about with your ‘taking responsibility’ ramble?”

“I was going to talk to you about it first,” Ja’far mumbled, but said no more.

Sinbad could only sit in silence for a few moments, calming his breathing. Then, he sat up straight--after all, keeping his composure in insane situation was a skill he had acquired over his years as a businessman. This situation was, however, much more insane than the usual “stopping a war with one blow” or “becoming a god.” Still, it was a simple matter of “shove your emotions in a bottle, shove the bottle in a closet, and empty the bottle later before refilling it with alcohol,” and then “slap on a smile and act like you’re totally in control of this situation.”

“So,” he said, clearing his throat, and offering a strained smile. “I’m sure you’re all just as confused and lost as I am. Um… Let’s start with… Introductions, I suppose? Your names, where you’re from, and your age? Oldest to youngest?”

Ja’far seemed to relax slightly, and the oldest strutted forward. Sinbad was again disoriented at how impossibly similar she looked to himself. Her violet hair reached the small of her back. “I’m Zara, I’m from Balbadd, and I’m twelve!” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “What’s your problem, anyway? Who said you could just go around getting a bunch of women pregnant? Can’t you just choose one damn woman?”

Sinbad gawked at her. “Uh… Sorry?”

The black-haired boy elbowed her in the side when she swore and stepped closer. There was a red headband holding his long, wild hair back from his forehead and out of his golden eyes. “Don’t mind Zara, Father. She’s a little tired. I’m Leo, and I’m eight. I’m from Reim.”

Before he could say more, the Heliohapt boy bounded forward with a grin. “I’m eight too! I’m Seti, from Heliohapt. Did you really conquer seven dungeons? Can I see the metal vessels?”

This reaction, Sinbad was more used to, which was almost calming. “I sure did! Uh, sorry, the metal vessels are gone...”

“Are you really fawning over the guy that fathered children from seven different mothers?” Zara scoffed, crossing her arms.

Seti glared at her with sharp, amber eyes. “What do I care about that? I found out that my dad is the almighty Sinbad, and I get to live with him! You’re just being a butt.”

“I am not a butt-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, live with me?” Sinbad tried to cut in.

But the next girl seemed anxious, and walked up next before his question was answered. Her brown, reddish hair was at her side in a braid, and a black hat much like Yamuraiha’s was perched atop her head. Her face paint indicated her Torran heritage. Like all of these children, she seemed to have his eyes… and Sinbad was taken aback by how much she resembled his own mother.

“I am Kendria,” she said, twisting her hands around her smooth, wooden staff. From her stumbling and accent, he could tell she was having trouble speaking their language. “I am f-from the Torran village, and I was just t-training a little in Magnostadt.” Kendria tugged on her braid. “A-and I am… seven.”

The next girl nearly burst when it was her turn. “I’m Rei, from the Kou Empire!” She gave a low bow, black pigtails brushing the ground. “I’m six and I’m happy to meet you, Father!”

“Happy to meet you too,” he managed, trying not to flinch at the unfamiliar word ‘father’.

The youngest boy came up closer than the rest of them, grabbing at the bottom of his robes with wide eyes. Sinbad noted to himself that the boy’s hair was as dark as Badr’s...“My name is Kaito. I’m…” He removed a hand to count on his chubby fingers. “I’m four!” He showed four fingers proudly. “And I am from… across the sea! It’s very big.”

At this, Sinbad couldn’t help but smile. “It sure is, isn’t it? Did you travel on a boat to get here?”

The boy nodded, beaming.

Sinbad shot a questioning look to Ja’far, who cleared his throat. “Oh. Um, yes, I offered to transport him on the next airship, but Kaito wanted to go on a boat, so he went with some trusted merchants instead. He’s from Sindria.”

His glare only deepened. “I had a son in my own country, and you didn’t tell me?”

“...yes?”

Dragging a hand through his hair and breathing out, Sinbad last looked down to the girl in his lap who had been quietly playing with the bow on her dress. She met his eyes, and he said, “Your name is Samia, right?”

“Yes,” she answered cheerfully, scooting to his knee so that she could swing her feet out.

When she said no more, Ja’far filled in, “She’s three. From Parthavia.”

“Great!” Sinbad tried, threading his fingers together. “Well, um, I assume you all start the school tomorrow? I know you’ll have a wonderful experience there.”

“I-I’m excited to study in a different country,” Leo offered politely. Sinbad appreciated his attempt to keep the conversation not so hopelessly awkward. “I can’t really read much.”

“That’s alright,” Sinbad assured him. “There are lots of kids your age that are learning too.”

“Are there sword fighting classes?” Seti bounced up and down. “What style do they teach? I think my country’s style is awesome, but I can’t learn it since I’m not royalty. Parthavian should be cool too, though!”

“No swordplay classes at the academy,” answered Sinbad. “But I know someone who could teach you, if you want.”

“Do we really get to live with you?” Rei asked next, gripping her Kou styled robes enthusiastically.

“I-I…” He looked to Ja’far. “Don’t tell me you’ve decided who lives in my own house, Ja’far.”

“Their rooms are already set up with belongings delivered.”

“Ja’far!”

“It’s not like you don’t have plenty of space! They’re your kids.” Eyes practically glowing, Ja’far growled in that assassin voice that still made Sinbad shiver, “You take responsibility for your actions, right?”

“W-well of course I do, but honestly, one day I find out that I have seven children and then they move in with me the same night?!”

Ja’far shrugged. From the smirk he was obviously trying to hide, Sinbad got the annoyed notion that, after getting over the initial guilt and irritation, Ja’far was enjoying this. “You created your own country, Sin, and watched over its people. You helped raise Sharrkan, Yamuraiha, Masrur, Hinahoho’s children, those former slaves, and myself. I don’t think seven kids will be the death of you. You were depressed that you can’t see a further destiny--here’s a new one. You’re welcome.”

Sinbad narrowed his eyes at his friend. “You’re getting back at me for something.”

“Oh, for many things. This specific one is for, hmm, never listening to me, which led to almost destroying the world and having seven illegitimate children.” Ja’far gave a wave as he hurried off. “I’ll explain the situation to Aladdin and get him to set up transportation magic for you all in an hour. They have a bedtime and it’s a school night, after all. Have fun!”

And looking around at his sudden seven children that were staring up at him expectantly, Sinbad had never felt more screwed in his life.

#magi #magi labyrinth of magic #sinbad #sinbad no bouken #aos #my writing #my fanfiction #magi fanfiction #here we go!

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negasonicteenagemess · 7 years

Text

Savior || Peter Parker Imagine

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k words (I got a bit carried away)

Request: hello!! may i request a platonic peter parker/reader where the reader and peter are childhood bffs and the reader is actually a hero/vigilante like peter and they eventually find out each others identity? the ending’s all up to you! thank you!! :‘o

No Homecoming spoilers

A/N: The request said platonic and I just, forgot so I made it....not platonic, I am so sorry

Masterlist

“What’d you get for number 7?” Y/N asked her friend as she was stressing out at the math problem in front of her. Peter ruffled through his papers trying to find the problem she was talking about. “Uhh, x=56.” He looked at her as she groaned, laying her body on his bedroom floor.

“Why do I even need this? I’m going to forget it the second I leave sophomore year. So what’s the point?” She said in despair, Peter chuckling as she flailed her arms away from the books and papers in her lap. “You need it in life, Y/N.” He said focusing on the problems that were on his desk. She scoffed, “Yeah, cause when I’m walking down the street one day, I’m gonna need to find the sine of the angle, right?”

Peter chuckled again, scribbling an answer down on his paper. Y/N sat back up in her original position, realizing that the pencil in her lap wasn’t there, but under his bunk bed. She looked at Peter, making sure he wasn’t looking at her, or could see what she was doing. She brought her hand up slightly pointing two fingers towards the righting tool. She pulled her hand back, making the pencil swiftly move and fly in her direction.

Psychokinesis, or more commonly used, telekinesis. It was something Y/N has had her entire life. She didn’t have a clue as to why, or how, she had gotten the power. In the oldest memory she could recall, she had these powers and they were incredible.

Y/N caught the pencil in her hand and looked at Peter, making sure he didn’t see the act. She grabbed her phone that was sitting next to her backpack to see the time, it was nine thirty at night. She cleared her throat and began to speak, “I, uh I think I should get going, this homework is stressing me out.” He spun around in his chair to see her gathering her textbook, notebook and the paper she was writing on into her backpack. He stood up, nodding his head and walking her to his front door.

“I don’t think there is a single teacher who goes easy on their students when it comes to homework.” He joked as he pulled the door open. Y/N agreed with him, nodding her head. “See ya later, Parker.” She said with a small, playful smirk on her lips. “See ya.” He shut the door as she began to walk away.

Peter leaned against the door, making it feel like he was in a romcom. “She’s so perfect.” He spoke to himself with a dreamy look in his eyes. His Aunt chuckled as she was cleaning dishes, “Just tell that girl you’re in love with her already.” He jumped, unaware that May was in the room with him. “I-I’m not in love with her.” He laughed trying to brush it off. She scoffed, “Yeah right. I was able to see it in your eyes since you too were kids.” A scarlet blush had spread on his cheeks.

He looked at the TV that she had never turned off to see that there was robbery. “I’m gonna go to bed May.” Peter shouted as he was already half way to his bedroom. “Have sweet dreams about Y/N.” She shouted making him role his eyes.

Y/N let out a staggered breath. She should’ve never used her powers in front of Peter, it made her nervous. What if he found out? He would hate her if he found out about everything. She walked down the busy streets of Queens, going to her house that was a few blocks away from Peter’s.

She opened her front door and noticed that no one was home. Y/N went straight to her room, dropping the heavy backpack onto the floor. Opening her closet door and going through her things, she found her suit. The outfit was just a varsity jacket, black with white sleeves and pants where one leg was black and the other was white.

The city called her the Savior, it made for good headlines with bad puns. She ran around the city, protecting the civilians that lived in it. Y/N felt like she had to do something in the world. There were all these heroes in the city, but with heroes came villains. As she finished putting on the rest of the outfit, her phone buzzed. It was a text from Peter, which made her smile. Don’t forget about the chem test tomorrow. Good luck!

You too, she quickly typed back before putting her phone in her back pocket, and straightening her jacket. She pulled out the thin white mask admiring it in her hands, before putting it on her eyes and leaving into the dark night of the city.

It was late in the night, and Y/N was patrolling the city from the high roof tops. She suddenly heard screams, making her head jolt in the direction it was coming from. She ran over rooftops, jumping from building to building to make sure the girl who had screamed was okay.

She jumped from the roof to a balcony before scaling down the wall. Y/N rounded the corner to see 5 men surrounding a teenage girl around her age. She moved herself so the she was standing a few yards behind the men. “What’s up boys?” She asked over enthusiastically.

They all turned around to see her. They pulled out their guns, pointing them at her. “Woah, what did I do?” She asked, holding her hands up in surrender, playing along with them. Before any of them could speak, she flicked her arm and her hand from right to left, knocking all of the guns out of the men’s hands.

“Haven’t you ever heard. Don’t bring a gun to a telekinetic fight.” She said lamely but cockily. Y/N jumped up, pushing her foot against the wall to propel herself closer to the men, kicking one of them in the face with her other leg. Two of the men came and tried to attack her as the first man fell to the ground. She pushed an invisible force away from her with both of her hands, pushing the two men backwards and onto the hard wall, knocking them out. Y/N turned around to see the blue and red suit. Spider-Man had arrived. He was beating up the other two guys.

Y/N saw the first man she had kicked to the ground try and get up, but she walked towards him throwing a hard punch to his face knocking him out as well. She turned to the girl, “Go and call the police!” The girl ran out of the dark ally, pulling out her phone before disappearing.

She looked at Spider-Man, he shot a web towards the last guy, sticking him to the wall. He spun around to greet her, webbing up everyone that was knocked out. “This is awesome. You’re Savior right? I’m Spider-Man. I can’t believe you’re standing here. Holy shit. We just did that really awesome team up that only happens in movies.” He rambled making her chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m Savior. And I could say the same thing about you.” She said pointing at him making him jump back. Y/N gave him a confused look.

“S-sorry. I thought you were gonna use you’re powers.” He stammered awkwardly before clearing his throat.

“Have we met before? You seem so familiar.” She asked walking closer to him, inspecting him with her eyes. He shook his head hastily, “God I wish we’ve met before.” That made her smile.

“We should get out of here, the cops could show any second.” She stated pointing at the scene before her. Spider-Man agreed. “It was nice to meet you!” He exclaimed before swinging away.

“You too Spider-Man,” she shouted after him.

Y/N slammed her locker door shut before walking towards Peter’s locker, as he stood talking to Ned. She saw how Ned glanced at her before nudging his friend in the side. Peter turned his head with wide eyes to see Y/N walking towards them. She was slightly confused but ignored it. “Hey guys!”

“H-Hey Y/N,” Peter stuttered out, “ready for lunch?” She nodded her head and the three of them headed to the cafeteria. They got their lunch and sat down at their usual table. Y/N saw that Peter was looking across the huge room with a grim look on his face. She followed his line of sight and saw Flash enter the room.

“God he’s so annoying.” He muttered, playing with his food. She looked at him sympathetically, “What’d he do this time?” He sighed looking her in the eyes this time, “I just wish he would stop calling me names and spreading rumors about me.”

Y/N felt bad for him, she moved her hand over the table to grab Peter’s, the one he wasn’t using, “He’s an asshole alright? I mean, he is absolutely nothing against you.” He smiled as she rubbed her thumb across his hand.

“Thanks Y/N,” He muttered. She smiled back at him pulling her hand away from his, even though she didn’t want to. He then gave all of his attention to his food and Ned, listening to him talk about one of his classes.

Y/N turned to her side, watching Flash walk almost triumphantly past their table. “Hey Y/N,” he stated with a small smirk forming on his lips, “Penis Parker,” he acknowledged. He walked the path straight in front of him not looking back. Ned turned around, watching his retreating steps and Peter was still focused on his trey. Before she could even think, Y/N flew her hand up, using the invisible force to knock Flash over.

He tripped and fell, face planting his trey full of food on the ground. Everyone in the cafeteria turned to him, most of them laughing. Y/N was the one to smile triumphantly now, glad that Flash got a literal taste of his own medicine. She turned back towards her friends, seeing the shocked face of Peter Parker. He had his jaw slacked, moving his gaze between her and her hands.

He saw her. He saw her use her powers. The sudden realization of the fact made her eyes grow as wide as his. Ned turned around giggling, watching the teens look strangely at each other. He shrugged his shoulders and spoke, “I’m gonna go get water, do you guys need anything?” His friends shook their heads no and he began to walk away.

“What the hell was that?” Peter whisper shouted at the girl. Y/N blinked rapidly not knowing what to say, “It….was what it looked like. Flash tripped and fell on his-” She was going to try and defend herself but she knew it was pointless.

“Don’t try to lie yourself out of this one Y/N. Are you-,” he paused leaning in a bit, “Are you the Savior?” She looked at him not knowing what to say, he would know if she lied. She let out a sigh, dropping her fork. “Peter, you-you can’t tell anyone alright? No one can know.” She muttered so that he was the only one who heard. She looked kind of sad, making Peter feel terrible. He didn’t mean to make her sad.

“Y/N…” He started, unsure if he should continue, “I’m…..I’m the uh,” He couldn’t get the words out. He bit his bottom lip and brought his hand up from under the table. Y/N looked at his hand, perplexed by his actions.

Peter pulled his middle and ring finger into his palm, “Ya know……this guy.” He stated, not wanting to say the name. It looked like he was trying to shoot…..webs. “Oh my god,” Y/N whispered. He nodded his head, bring his hand back under the table.

“So last night-” She began but Peter continued, “All those guys and that girl. That was me!” He was so enthusiastic. He finally found someone who could understand what it felt like to have the weight of the world on their shoulders. This made him lov-like her even more. Ned had came back to table, making the two halt their conversation.

The last bell of the day had rang, and students started to flood the halls. Y/N walked to her usual point where she would meet Peter to walk home from school. She stood there for about five minutes but he didn’t show. Y/N let out a sigh, thinking it was because of her secret. She began her trek to her home when she heard her name. She turned around to see Peter jogging towards her.

“Sorry it took so long, I was talking to a teacher about something.” He said with a smile. Y/N returned the smile, nodding her head to indicate she understood. They began walking together and Y/N was playing with her backpack straps, not knowing what to say. “So…"She said dragging out the word. "So,” Peter mimicked giving her a small smile.

“I don’t want things to be weird between us Pete.” She stated, moving her hands in between them to add emphasis. “If you go on a date with me on Saturday things won’t be weird.” He rushed out, watching the ground move as he walked forward. “What?” Y/N asked, even though she understood what he said. “W-What? Nothing. I didn’t say anything.” He defended scratching the back of his neck.

Y/N furrowed her brows, “You said 'If you go on a date with me on Saturday things won’t be weird’ if I remember correctly.”

“I-I don’t think I said that Y/N.” He chuckled nervously, biting his lip. She nodded her head even though she knew what she heard, “Yeah you’re right.” He let out a short sigh, glad that he could save himself from embarrassment.

“But if you would have said what I thought you did, I would’ve said yes.” She responded, looking at the side of his face to see is reaction. He turned his head quickly to look at her, his eyes almost popping out of their sockets.

“Wha-What seriously?” He marveled. Y/N laughed at his expression while nodding her head. “But, that isn’t what you said so I guess that won’t happen.” She teased, having a fake sad look on her face. Peter glared at her playfully, “S-So I’ll see you at seven? On Saturday?” He asked as they approached her door.

“Yeah,” She said opening her front door but stopping, “Do you want to come in.”

Peter shook his head, “Uh, no thanks. I gotta go tell May that I have a da- that I have a lot of homework.” He chuckled nervously again. Y/N smiled at his nervousness, she found it adorable. “Well, I have a lot of homework too.” Peter nodded understandingly.

“Bye Spider-Man.” She whispered back going up to hug him. He was slightly shocked but he wrapped his arms around the upper half of her body. He never wanted to leave her grasp but he knew he had go home. “Bye, Savior.” He whispered, not knowing is anyone was around before pulling away and walking back to his apartment.

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