#for even just an inkling of an idea | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fictionplumis · 7 months

Text

Okay okay okay I got another one for Sorcery!

Flanker ends up with the Crown of Kings.

Bear with me. We all know he would dash that thing on the ground and destroy it after it was used on him to make him nearly kill the person he loves, but here's the thing.

The Analander hands it to him with such a trusting, earnest look and tells him, "You won't take away power from the people and you can fix this world. I know you can." And even though almost every part of him balks at the idea of ruling, Flanker has experienced how broken the world is, how none that are currently in power will do anything to fix it with or without the crown, and it makes a weird kind of sense for someone so reluctant for power to be the one holding it, the one wielding it.

And it's so hard to say no to the Analanader when they look at him like he personally hung the stars that sorcerers draw their power from.

So he takes it.

He tries not to use it. It's a cursed thing, and Flanker doesn't wish to control the people around him, least of all the Analander, but it's not an easy thing to do. It's not the temptation of it, it's not that he feels he needs to, it's that in his memories of the Archmage using it on him, the crown had been nowhere in the room. The Analander swears it had been on the Archmage's head, they just couldn't see it because the Archmage hadn't wanted them to, but it's hard for him not to question it.

Especially when he wears it and doesn't need to consciously give an order. Those that don't know about the crown well enough to fight the influence, or who trust him the most, seem to react to his subconscious will even before he says anything. Those things unsettle him the most, especially when it happens with the Analander. One stray thought of desire or pang of want while he has the crown on and the Analander is in the room, and they're at his side, arms around him, pressing a kiss to his temple or what have you. Afterwards, with the crown well away from the both of them, they swear they don't mind, that they want those things too, but it still doesn't sit right with him.

As far as actually being a ruler goes, Flanker hates attention, so you know he's not going to be going out there and greeting the people and announcing himself as the new monarch of Mampang or whatever. He's a shadowy ruler, and there's just as many rumors about him being dead as there were about the Archmage. But--

Things start changing. Slowly, at first.

Despite his discomfort with magic and his lack of knowledge, the changes start with the College of Sorcerers. The Analander suggests that he release Valiquesh from the book she was trapped in and together with Aliizi (who was wary of him at first but started coming around, either unconsciously because of the crown or because she genuinely realized he wasn't going to purposely control her, it's impossible to say), they reestablish the College.

And the second Flanker finds out an acquaintance of the Analander's is locked up, he goes and frees Jann. The minimite, despite being an irritating headache, is something of a relief. The crown's power doesn't work while he's around and Flanker can always trust that the little pest will say exactly what he wants whether Flanker likes it or not.

It's even more reassuring that Jann first spent most of his time riding around on the Analander's shoulder since his wings were clipped, but the Analander eventually got frustrated at having their magic cut off and resolved to solve the problem, which came one day they were at the market and found a man selling a caged crow. They used their magic to speak to the bird, offering it job to be paid in food, safety, and some of its freedom back.

Flanker was sure the damn bird was going to eventually get irritated with the annoying minimite and eat it, but couldn't have been more wrong. More often than not, Jann ended up sleeping nested with the bird. The Analander, amused beyond belief at Flanker's annoyance, explained that the bird liked being talked to, but crucially, couldn't actually understand a word Jann said. Plus, Jann liked to give the bird scritches. The minimite treated the crow like one would a prized and beloved family horse.

It took a few months for the real work to actually start. The College was operating again, but without students, it was useless. And in order for there to be students, the gates of Mampang needed to be open to travelers. And in order for that to happen, people needed to be able to cross the Baklands safely. Flanker kept trying to put off actually exerting his influence on the people but Valiquesh was impatient and once the Analander and Jann pointed out how often he was using the crown to silence Valiquesh and keep her from calling him a coward, he finally decided to actually act.

Flanker's not a monarch, though. He knows nothing about actually ruling, so his first order was to establish a council and gather the other rulers of the land to talk to them.

He did not fret about the meeting in the weeks leading up to it.

He did not.

(He paced a lot. The Analander laughed kindly at his nervousness and assured him it would be fine. That didn't stop his pacing.)

They met in the study, which had been cleared of all the Archmage's things and was mostly used by Valiquesh and the Analander, because Flanker himself preferred their private quarters, which had been Jann's old jail cell, cleared and reconstructed with a fireplace, a cozy sleeping area, and a small sitting arrangement right in front of the fire. But for this, Flanker met them in the study, all but Jann in attendance, Aliizi watching the proceedings in invisibility, and Flanker dressed in his assassin's garb as usual, resolutely showing no signs of his nervousness.

That grew easier the more he asked each ruler how they made their kingdom prosperous and how they would have used the crown to benefit their people. With each answer, he grew increasingly irritated, finally understanding just why the Analander gave the crown to him instead of destroying it or giving it back to his king.

The only one of them that had wanted to implement any real change was Vik, who was distasteful at best, but at least had been put into power by the people of Khare and who was (somewhat) giving that power back to the people. But his change was only for Khare, while the other rulers just wanted their kingdoms to stay the same while abandoning Khakabad and the Baklands to suffer in poverty, ruin, and curses.

That was the moment Flanker started using the crown seriously.

The king of Analand was ordered to open his gates to Khakabad and send out sorcerers, farmers, and supplies to the neighboring towns. Khakabad would be part of his kingdom now, and he was to share Analand's prosperity and teach the people of Khakabad how to prosper themselves. They were now his responsibility.

Vik was ordered to stop enslaving people and forcing them into being his own private army of werewolves. Most of the damage was already done, but he was told to take the armor off the werewolves he did have, explain to them that they were now werewolves, and instead ask them to become part of his guard. It was now a job, like anything else was, and those that wanted to work for him would be paid well and for the rest of their lives, even after they could no longer work, considering they would forever live with the consequences of lycantropy. They were to have shifts with overseers to remove their armor at the end of the shifts so they could go home and have lives. Barracks were to be built for those that weren't on shift or those that no longer worked so they had somewhere safe to go during a full moon where they couldn't hurt anyone.

The other rulers were ordered to send contractors and sorcerers into the Baklands to dismantle the Archmage's beacons. This was something that Flanker put a lot of thought into outside the meetings, talking with the Analander, Aliizi, Valiquesh, and Jann about it. After lengthy, heavy discussions, they all agreed that it wasn't fair to keep those ghost towns alive, the people in them never knowing that they had died ages ago, never able to leave, their lives forever looping. It was best to leave the past in the past, and instead look towards what the Baklands could become in the future.

One night, years later, once all of Flanker's plans were well on their way to being completed and the gates to Mampang were open again, the College of Sorcerers seeing their first year of recruits under Valiquesh's teachings, Flanker sat on the distastefully extravagant chaise with the Analander's head in his lap while they dozed, turning the crown in his hand over and over again while staring at the fire.

Truly, for such a powerful item, it was a poorly made thing. Threadbare, the jewels chipped, the metal thin and bones crooked.

The Analander roused, half-asleep, meeting Flanker's gaze sleepily and it was as if he knew. A subtle nod of understanding was all Flanker needed to throw the cursed crown into the fire, the skullcap catching immediately and the fire warping the metal. By morning, all that would be left would be a puddle of metal and blacked gems.

"You always destroy it," the Analander murmurs, turning their face back into Flanker's stomach with a yawn, their eyes closing. "Sometimes right away, sometimes later, when you feel like the work is done. The land always fairs better when it's later."

"You are not awake," Flanker replies, because the words don't make sense. He ignores the twist of discomfort, resolves himself to ask the Analander about it later, and instead bullies them up so he could take them to bed, shedding clothes along the way.

It would be days later when he manages to corner the Analander in the library that he asks about it and gets the full story.

I'm cursed.

When I die, I return to Mampang on the day we defeated the Archmage. I can show you the very alley I return to.

I do it all over again. I've done it hundreds of times. I've gotten good at it, too. Once I figured out how to break you out of the Archmage's control, I've never once had to fight you again.

No, you didn't kill me that first time. But killing you killed me. I couldn't do it without you, and I was relieved when I died to the Archmage and had another chance to save you. I have every time since, and even though things change in the strangest ways, every time I tell you that I love you, your blade finds its home in the Archmage instead of my throat. You're strong enough to break out of the compulsion every single time.

You don't need to worry, Flanker. I know how to lift the curse. There's a tower in the College of Sorcery where I can undo it. I choose not to, not yet. At first I just wanted to see what decisions would be best for us and people of this land.

I've given the crown to my king, and things weren't bad. He kept it for two more years and passed it on to the next kingdom. Analand prospered and everyone knew who I was, who we were. But you hated the attention and I grew tired of it. We started a life for ourselves in the Shamutanti hills, an hour outside of Khare. You continued work for your guild after growing restless, I studied my magic, and we were happy. But in the quiet moments both of us agreed that it felt like something was missing. It was disquieting to both of us that nothing had really changed. It was the same every time I gave my king the crown, the only thing that differed was how I died. Sometimes one of us would get sick, or you wouldn't come back from Khare and I would have to track down someone from your guild to find out you had died, or I would go into town for supplies and get caught off guard by bandits...

I thought if I destroyed the crown, something different would happen, so I tried that a handful of times, but it was almost exactly the same. Analand would be in turmoil for a year or so before settling down, and we would live happily if unsettled over how little change our sacrifices and hardship actually made.

Then I thought to release Valiquesh. She made significant process back when she was the archmage. Every time she would destroy the crown, we would go on to live our lives in peace. She would establish the College again and work on revitalizing the land that the other monarchs left to ruin. It was better.

Once, I thought to stay in Mampang with her to study under her. But when I did that, you left, feeling you had no place in that world, and I lasted a couple years before I fell on my sword to see you again. Valiquesh was an unrelenting teacher and I learned a lot, but the progress I could have continued making wasn't worth being without joy. Being without you.

I thought to keep the crown for awhile, thinking I could make more change if I took matters into my own hand. You were always there with me, my general. But every time I did that, Aliizi would leave and Jann would want nothing to do with me. But you were there, and I made progress.

Sort of.

I never handled it with as much grace as you, Flanker. No, don't give me that look, I'm serious! After living so many lives and dying so many times, I was frustrated, and angry, and I always let it get the best of me. More and more each time. I never managed to make as much progress as I wanted, so each time I would take more and more control, until I realized I was becoming no better than the Archmage.

Thank you for saying that, but you never thought so in those lives, if I put the crown away. You were the one that told me I was like him, and you were right to say so in those lives. They still haunt me.

Whenever I gave you the crown and you kept it, everyone was better for it. You never relish the power, you never cling to it, and you push for the other monarchs to make the changes that they never would have made on their own. And once you feel you've done enough, you destroy the crown.

Now I don't bother to try other options. I've found the best one, and I repeat this life because I'm never ready to leave you. I want to keep doing this over and over, with you.

Flanker has no perception of these other lives that the Analander lived with him, has no idea how many the Analander went through, whether it was still that same life for them as it was for Flanker when, years later as they're sitting on the roof of the garret, watching the sun set, the Analander takes his hand and kisses the back of it, murmuring, "I think I'm ready for this to be our last time."

Even though it was always Flanker's "last time" he can't help but feel his heart squeeze with sorrow but he tightens his hand on the Analander's and nods in understanding.

"We both deserve to rest, my dear Analander."

#sorcery game #flanker sorcery #inkle sorcery!#steve jackson's sorcery #the analander #i dont even know if these two have a ship name #also this is a free idea #i have no intention of doing anything else with it #feel free to steal it just show me what you do #please make content for this tiny ass fandom and pairing

7 notes · View notes

swinging-stars-from-satellites · 1 year

Text

Bring Light To The Darkness

《for @magpie-trove. I don't know if fanfics are allowed as part of the @inklings-challenge, but if they are, this can probably count for my Christmas challenge offering.》

“In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness, to bear witness about the light, that all might believe through him. He was not the light, but came to bear witness about the light. The true light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world.

John 1:4‭-‬9 (ESV)

The first time she walked in the creaky, rusted door of Opened Door ministries, with their name printed on a colorful, vinyl-laminated sign on the window of the storefront they were in, she was seven years old. She'd just asked her mom to cut her hair and her mom had said no, that she needs it long for the winter to keep her warm, because they don't have the money for new scarves. Walking around the corner from their apartment, which at least still has heat even if the oven is broken, makes Stephanie think that maybe her mom was right.

Mom is on the phone with the landlord. Christmas is tomorrow and they had gotten a big turkey, but now, they can't cook it. Steph, who reads all the signs on the street as the schoolbus takes her past, had slipped into her big thrift-store boots and purple coat that was a birthday present this past year and snuck out the door while Mom argued with their landlord.

"Free Christmas meal," the sign offered, in large red text. There's smaller lettering underneath it that Steph hadn't been able to make out through the frosty windows of the bus, but the boy seated next to her who she thinks is a couple grades above her and always has his nose stuck in a book had reading glasses on and told her it said "all you can eat, noon to 6pm Christmas Eve and Christmas Day". Steph sits next to that boy because he's always warm, like as in friendly but also body heat. The bus doesn't have heat. At least Steph and her mom's apartment still has that, though, and so does the building that the Christmas dinner place is in.

Steph steps, or kind of shuffles because of all her winter clothes, into the storefront (which isn't a store) at 5:58pm on Christmas Eve. There's a lot of people starting to clean up, but she got in two minutes before the doors would have been locked, so she's lucky or blessed or something. A lady takes one look at the purple and blonde poof that is Stephanie Brown and grins, a really warm kind of grin, and asks her what they can do for her.

"My mom got a turkey for Christmas," Stephanie explains, because she doesn't want these people pitying her and thinking they can't afford their own food, "But our oven broke and they can't fix it yet. So I wanted to get us a Christmas dinner and I saw your sign from the schoolbus. So. Um." She shrugs, a swishy sound because her coat rustles against itself. The lady nods understandingly.

"Does your mom know you're here, though?" Asks a younger woman from over by a table that Steph stares at for a minute, eyes wide, because it's covered in sweets.

"I left a note."

There's a murmur, maybe a bit of a laugh. "Okay then," says the first lady, the one with the warm smile. "Let's get you and your mom some Christmas dinner."

And she's led over into the room with all the food, tables piled high with turkey (light meat for Steph, dark for Mom, and lots of gravy) and potatoes (Steph likes the cheesy ones best) and vegetables (that she accepts without complaint even though she doesn't like green beans). The lady helps her fill two big grocery bags with take-boxes of food and then lets her pick out whatever desserts she wants from the table she'd seen before. Steph leaves the store that isn't a store with enough food for a week and a chorus of "God bless you, Merry Christmas" that she echoes back even though she doesn't really know what the "God bless you" part means, because she didn't sneeze or anything.

The teenager who had been there had put a little piece of paper in the bag that Steph reads once she's home and in bed, happily drowsy from turkey and a huge piece of chocolate cake.

"Opened Door chapel services:," it reads. "Saturday, 6:30pm; Sunday, 11am. Youth service Wednesday nights, 6pm. Opened Door after school program daily 3pm-5pm."

Stephanie isn't totally sure what any of that means. She's never been to church before (She's at least mostly sure that "chapel" means "church," pretty much). She doesn't think about the little church that set up in a storefront for another few years, until she's nearly eleven and her dad is out on bail (which means that the apartment's heat hasn't been paid for because her mom decided to pay to get Dad back. Even at ten and a half, Steph doesn't understand that very well) and she's sick of hearing them argue.

She climbs down the fire escape and walks around the block to where she remembers getting Christmas dinner and a smile three years ago. It's Wednesday night and she doesn't know if she's old enough to be part of the youth stuff; youth usually means kids older than her, like Jason from the bus who she hasn't seen in school for the better part of a year. She doesn't just walk in like before, she knocks, since she isn't sure she's allowed at this stuff.

"Hi," she says, when someone comes to the door. It isn't anyone she recognizes. "You have... youth stuff tonight, right?" She shoves her hands in her hoodie pockets and decides she's not going home if she's turned away here.

But the kid who opened the door (hah!) just smiles and invites her inside. "What grade are you in?" He asks. "We have different small groups for different grades."

"Sixth," she lies, because 6th grade means middle school and none of the kids in the room look younger than that.

The guy nods. "Cool," he says. "You'll be with Lynn's group, then."

Lynn is, apparently, the younger lady who'd helped Steph on Christmas Eve nearly three years ago, and she recognizes the combination of long blonde hair and purple clothes immediately. Steph sits in the circle of kids just a bit older than her and smiles as they go around the circle and introduce themselves. This is, she decides, way better than staying at home in her room while her dad tries to convince Mom that he's helping them when he really isn't. At least these people actually do help other people. At least they invited her in.

They play a game a little bit like charades, but not quite, and then Lynn hands out soft-paged Bibles with plasticky feeling blue covers and the words Holy Bible, English Standard Version printed on the front. Lynn says a lot of words that Steph doesn't understand and several kids start flipping through the thin pages. Steph tries to read over the shoulder of the person next to her, who notices and stops what she's doing. Steph pulls back, hesitating.

"Hang on, Miss Lynn," the girl says in a lightly accented voice. "I think Stephanie needs help finding the right page."

Steph wills herself not to flush or curl into herself and hide, just lets the girl — Nadia — show her how the books and chapters and verse numbers work (she doesn't understand it still, but it will start to make sense in a couple weeks). When Nadia stops thumbing through the book, it says John 1 at the top of the page in bold letters. Everything else is in tiny print that Steph has to hold close to her face to read.

"The light," Lynn says in a slightly different voice than her usual one, "Shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."

Steph likes the sound of that. She stares at the words on the page in a way that only someone still young and curious and new to all this can. When the conversation, drawn out by Lynn's leading questions, draws to a close and people start to funnel out of the store (which is definitely not a store, even if Steph got food there once), she holds the floppy, thick book with the bold word Holy and wonders if anyone would notice if she took it.

She isn't like her father, though. She isn't a criminal even if she did lie about being in middle school, and stealing doesn't sit right with her. So she walks over to Lynn, in a corner talking to one of the older kids, and waits for a break in the conversation so she can butt in.

"Uh," she says eloquently, "Can I... take this home?" She waves the Bible in question.

Lynn smiles at her, a little naturally lopsided. "Oh yeah, that's what they're here for!" she says. "You can totally take one home! I hope we'll see you here next week...?" She offers, and Steph nods. Even without the offer of free food, she thinks she likes it here.

She goes to that youth group every week from then on. It isn't like, a huge revelation, but it's fun and it gets her out of the house and they always say "come on in!" all bright and happy when she walks up, like somehow the leaders and other kids all know that Steph needs an invitation (like some kind of purple-clad vampire, or just a girl who isn't used to being welcomed). Nadia helps her find Bible verses sometimes but mostly she does it herself, but she likes sitting by a girl whose name means hope.

She learns that, about Nadia's name, a few weeks before Christmas when she's fourteen and everyone thinks she's in tenth grade instead of ninth and she still hasn't corrected them on that, even though she feels crappy for lying. "May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing," reads the feather-light page that Steph maybe will always be afraid of tearing. Nadia lights up even more than she's normally bright and warm, and she tells the group of a Russian family name passed down, almost like the handing of hope from generation to generation. Steph thinks the name fits her.

The light shines in the darkness, reads the verse they'd talked about the first time Steph went to the youth meeting. That's what she wants Spoiler to be; that's what she tries to make herself. She knows the Bible verse is about the Iight of God, but she can apply it here, too, can't she? She's all eggplant-purple and golden hair and her dad is full of darkness, Batman is full of darkness, too, even though she thinks he honestly tries not to be. And if God's light can't be overcome or understood by the darkness, then it makes sense that Stephanie — Spoiler — can't be, either. She won't be.

Saturday night in late autumn, and she's sixteen and not out as Spoiler because for once, her dad is at home. Of course it's the one time the power is out, too, and Steph runs smack into her father on her way to the bathroom in the dark. He grumbles at her, something low and frustrated about how she's always in the way and she was an accident, anyway, and Steph ignores it and leans back against the closed bathroom door and tries not to cry. Mom is asleep or high, she isn't sure which, and she's too old to run to her mommy like a baby because her feelings got hurt; but she suddenly feels unwelcome even in her own house, her own life.

Her father never wanted her, her mom barely does, and Batman sure doesn't want Spoiler around. She has a wristwatch with numbers that glow in the dark and when she checks it, it's 6:30, already dark outside as it is inside and as is creeping into her heart, and. And, and, and. She's never gone to an actual chapel service at Opened Door. At least she's pretty sure she's welcome there.

She shrugs a cardigan over her plain T-shirt and leggings, feeling strangely like she needs to make herself presentable, check that her face isn't blotchy from holding back emotions. She would put on makeup, if she had enough light to do it by. Instead, she pads quietly down the hall in a worn pair of hightops and steps in exactly the right places on all the building's stairs so that they don't creak. Batman may not want her, but she hasn't learned nothing from him.

There's music coming from inside the storefront when Steph opens the door of Opened Doors, slipping inside to warm yellow light and friendly smiles of greeting even though she's ten minutes late and has been lying about her age since before she was eleven. She's heard a little of this kind of music, sometime playing in the background on a radio when she first arrives at youth group. But this is different, with a guy playing guitar on a small stage set up in the main room and a woman next to him singing and swaying. Steph stands in the doorway, transfixed.

When the song ends, another man steps onto the stage with a cordless microphone, says something about offerings, but Steph has nothing to offer. She slips into a seat in the back row and scans the room for anyone she knows, but when the people onstage start playing another song, she watches them. This is different than anything she's used to from Wednesday nights, but it's just as warm. You give life, the woman starts to sing, You are love, and Steph pays attention because talking about God is different when it's singing instead of talking. You bring light to the darkness. You give hope, restore every heart that is broken.

For the second time tonight, but for a totally different reason, Steph blinks back tears.

By Christmas, she's Robin. Basically the epitome of a light shining in darkness, in her opinion. B is definitely dark enough, and so is the Batcave. Steph, then, blonde hair and colors that are definitely not hers and maybe shouldn't be, is the counterpoint to all that. She's not here because B wanted her. She's here because she wanted to be here. Wants to. And if B's approval lights her up a little bit, then that has nothing to do with anything.

Alfred has strung some lights in a corner of the Cave. Robin colors, Steph thinks. She kind of wants to ask if there's any extras she could borrow, just for the season, since the lights on her and Mom's old plastic tree stopped working a couple years ago. Steph stares at the lights and shifts her weight from foot to foot on the training mats.

"Christmas Eve and Day are high crime days," B is saying, focused on the Batcomputer instead of her. "Police often take leave for the holiday and most people are at home; there are a lot of break-ins and robberies." He glances over his shoulder at her. "We'll need to redouble our efforts on patrol this weekend."

Steph sniffs awkwardly, gaze firmly fixed on Alfred's Christmas lights. "Actually, uh..." she squirms a little bit. "I can't patrol on Christmas Eve. I... have stuff I need to do. Commitments, ya know?" She flashes what she hopes is a bright grin to counter Batman's sudden glower.

"Family?" He asks carefully, watching her for some reaction she doesn't give. As if she wants to spend the holiday with her arch-criminal father and a drug addicted mom. As if she wants to face that.

She shakes her head. "It's a volunteering thing. Like, community service? It goes on my high school transcript. I promised I'd be there Christmas Eve, so..." she shrugs. "If that's, like... okay."

Batman stares at her a few moments longer. "I not your parent, Stephanie," he says, softer than she expected. Somehow, the words sting even though they're probably meant to be reassuring, or at least just a reminder. It isn't a rejection. "Where are you volunteering?"

Steph shrugs again. "Just a place near where I grew up. They do a Christmas dinner thing every year." She leaves out the fact that she's gone to it, and not to volunteer. B is stupid rich, she doesn't need the reminder.

He nods. "Christmas night, then?" And she nods. Light in the darkness, invitation as a counterpoint to rejection.

This year, Steph is the one doing the inviting. She grins widely at everyone who walks over Opened Doors' threshold, refills trays of food donated by church members and volunteers. It's strange, being on the other side of all this, but she's been attending Saturday night services as well as youth group every week, and they'd asked for helping hands, so. That's what she is. Seeing the light from their front window shining out into the dark of a street with broken streetlamps almost feels like coming full circle.

Steph doesn't know that in a few months she won't be Robin anymore; in a few months she'll be dead and then alive and still feeling like she's dead. Like the light in her heart has flickered out. All she knows is that it's Christmas, and she's standing in the church's kitchen (which is really just a camp stove someone brought in and a microwave they keep in the back room for popcorn at youth events; all the turkeys were cooked at people's homes and brought in this afternoon) with Lynn, who has a gold ring on the hand she keeps resting on her heavily pregnant belly, and Steph thinks things are starting over new.

"I was scared for you, at first, you know," Lynn says conversationally, nibbling at a leftover cookie. Steph is unscrewing the propane tank from the camp stove so its owner can take it home, and pauses to look over her shoulder.

"Huh?"

Lynn chuffs a soft laugh, hem of her maternity dress bouncing. "You came in here all alone that first Christmas, no parents or siblings, and I was worried for you. And then you came to youth group and I thought, she's only here because it's warm. Maybe I thought you were homeless, or didn't have good heating, since you showed up when it was cold out."

Steph checks the outlet on the propane tank, then turns around and sits cross-legged with her back to it on the kitchen floor. "I mean, you're kind of right," she admits. "I did come for the warm. But not because of why you thought. I just... I mean, you know my home life isn't the best. You guys gave me a place to come, you know?" She looks at the floor, like she'd looked at Christmas lights in a cave a couple days ago.

Lynn hums. "I never thought you'd become such a staple, though. Never thought we'd end up here." She smiles, that same smile she'd given Steph the first time they met on a Christmas Eve like this one, when Steph was tiny and Lynn had been a high schooler. "I'm glad," she adds.

Steph grins, then, too, thinking of handing lonely people a bit of warmth and welcome. "The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it," she recites, because it feels fitting. "I don't think I ever stopped thinking about that after the first time. You guys are a light in the darkness." She turns back to the stove, carefully folding it up and leaning it against the wall.

Lynn hums again, then the pitch of her voice changes in a way that activates every single one of Steph's Spoiler-and-Robin instincts. The sound of hope becomes the sound of pain, and Steph swirls into action because she's wearing red and green and even though this time it means Christmas and not necessarily Robin, B's training is admittedly really good and she's grateful for it. Please, please, please, she prays in her head, absolutely incoherent because she's never delivered a baby before, and she still hasn't by the end of the night because two other women who had been volunteering usher her out of the way (she wasn't in the way) as the sound of pain becomes the sound of hope again. Joy and peace, too.

In spring, Steph dies. She isn't really Robin even though she's wearing those colors, and she spends the whole time her life is being taken from her praying, please, God, please, just as incoherent as ever. She's never been good at the praying part, always leaves the end-of-group prayers to Nadia or whoever else wants to say it. She wonders if Nadia will miss her. If Lynn will. She doesn't think B will, even though she misses him somehow even though he's with her at the end. Please, her mind screams, because it feels like the darkness is overcoming the light even though she knows in the end of all things that can't happen.

And then she's not dead again and she doesn't know what to feel. Grateful? Yeah, she is. But she doesn't feel like the hands and feet of light in the darkness anymore. She feels a little bit like a part of the darkness, and she spends a lot of time beating it back.

The floppy, blue-covered Bible she hadn't stolen still says Holy on the front even though it's beaten up and worn and she has, in fact, accidentally torn some of the delicate pages. The slip of paper listing the service times at Opened Doors is still in it as a bookmark, the words behind it highlighted in magenta Crayola marker, the closest color to purple she could find at the time. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. But the preceding verse stands out to Stephanie now, "In Him was life, and the life was the light of men." She stares at that for a long time and can't figure out how she feels about it.

Life and light, shared from Someone other than herself. That's where the light, the one that shines in the darkness and can't be overcome, the one that she's built her entire existence up around, comes from. She can't embody it by herself; Steph knows that now. Maybe she needs to be done trying.

The first time she walks in the creaky, rusted door of Opened Door ministries after she dies and is allowed to keep living (just like Jason Todd, the Red Hood, who she knows know is the same Jason she used to sit next to on the schoolbus in winter because he was warm and didn't mind her being there. She wonders if he's still warm like that.), she's seventeen years old and still hasn't cut her hair, because now that she's older she likes it long. She's still got a big purple coat (eggplant). It's Saturday night, her father is in prison and Mom is in rehab, and she hasn't been here since spring. The light still shines out the window of the storefront and the streetlight is still broken.

"It's Your breath in our lungs," sings the lady onstage when Steph walks into the sanctuary, a few minutes late as usual, and slips into the back row like she always does. "So we pour out our praise." Steph knows this song. It means more to her now, though. "Our hearts will cry, these bones will sing," says the bridge, and maybe that's why it's okay that Steph doesn't have the words to pray. "Great are You, Lord."

She goes to Opened Doors on Wednesday night that week, knocks on the doorframe. Someone opens it and tells her it isn't locked, and she says, "I know," and smiles. Lynn walks into the room with her baby on her hip and stops short when she sees Steph, bright golden hair and purple hoodie against the world, hands in her sweatshirt pocket almost sheepish in a way she never let herself be before.

"Stephanie!" She exclaims, breaking into the light smile Steph has come to know over the course of a decade. "I thought- we haven't seen you in months!" Lynn offers a one-armed hug that Steph gladly steps into, almost trembling with the force of being welcomed back so powerfully.

"I know," she mumbles, "Some... stuff happened." Death and new life counts as stuff, she thinks. "But I'm back now, so." She shrugs, and then blurts before she can stop to think about it: "I lied."

Lynn looks her up and down and pulls her back into the room they use as a kitchen, the microwave room. "When?" She asks gently, not judging or scolding, just curious.

Steph takes a deep breath, sighs it out. "When I first came here," she replies. "I was only in fifth grade at the time, but I didn't want you guys to like, turn me away because I was too young, you know? I really wanted..." she trails off.

"Wanted what?"

"The... light, I guess. To be invited in." Steph is holding back tears, now, and she isn't totally sure why. "I didn't think you would." Nobody else did. "I'm sorry I never told the truth."

Lynn shakes her head. "It's alright, Stephie," she says gently, which makes Steph cry more because her mom usually calls her that and she hasn't heard from her mom since she started rehab. Mom and Lynn are the only two people who have ever really called her Stephie. She'd forgotten what that felt like. "Honestly, I'm glad you did." She holds out a hand, and hesitantly, Steph takes it. "Plus," Lynn adds, "That means you have another year before you age out of youth group."

Steph hadn't thought of that. She'd almost thought they wouldn't want her around when they found out she lied. "Oh."

Steph isn't Spoiler anymore. She isn't Robin, either. She's Batgirl, now, taking up another legacy of light in the darkness. At first, she doesn't think it suits her. She confesses as much to Alfred, or maybe she's more complaining than anything else, unsure about living up to what B and Babs need her to be. Thanksgiving has just passed, and Steph is helping with Christmas decorations. She never did ask about borrowing some before, but maybe since she has her own place now, she'll ask this year.

"If Master Bruce and Miss Barbara think you are not exactly what you need to be," Alfred says simply, "Then that is on them, not you. You, Miss Stephanie, have something that unfortunately, they often don't." He fixes her in a long look, and bends to plug in a string of Christmas lights. "Light."

That's the moment Steph knows that Batgirl is going to be begging off patrol again this year, that as important as what she does at night is, there are things more important, and one of them is the light in the darkness. Alfred gives her a box of twinkling lights and decorations and won't hear of it when she promises to bring them back, tells her that every young person making their way in the world, in life, needs a good set of decor, so she ducks her head and grins about it and sets the box by the door before she runs downstairs. Like, downstairs, downstairs.

Tim is seated at the computer with Bruce hovering over his shoulder, both of them casting occasional glances over at Jason, still half in his Red Hood gear but leaning casually against the wall as they discuss some case Steph isn't involved in. They've been keeping her out of gang cases, she thinks, and anything to do with Sionis. Part of her bristles at the protectiveness while the rest of her is touched by it. She nods a greeting to Jason and walks up behind B and starts poking him, which gets a smirk out of Tim and a sigh from the man himself that she knows, these days, isn't actually annoyed.

"Yes, Stephanie?" He asks, tilting his head to look down at her. To think, she'd once been intimidated by that, thought he was like, actually looking down on her (and maybe he had been back then, at first). Not anymore, though.

"I'm dipping for Christmas again this year. Volunteer stuff, all that. I was wondering," she says slyly and a little shyly, like a little girl asking if she's allowed to take home a book called Holy, "If any of you wanted to join me." They should see that light, too. She wants to show it to them.

Tim looks up from the computer. "I didn't know you do volunteer work," he says. "Where?"

"Once a year," Steph replies, then falters. "It's uh... like a community Christmas meal type thing. There's a ministry that runs it in my old neighborhood, ever since I was a kid." She leaves the rest of that unspoken, knows that they know what's implied in that and isn't actually ashamed of it anymore.

"Wait," Jason pipes up, "Opened Doors?" He's staring at her, almost squinting with thought, and Steph nods.

"The one and only." She grins.

"Huh." Jason blinks. "I didn't realize you actually went."

"I didn't realize you could grow out of needing reading glasses," Steph retorts, and he grumbles. "But yeah. I uh... never stopped going, after that. And they never stopped inviting me in, so." She shrugs. "I helped out last year, too, and it was really nice." She turns back to Tim and Bruce. "I figured I'd ask, at least."

Tim frowns. "Well, I think we're skimming over the fact that you and Jason knew each other as kids," he says slowly, looking mildly perplexed.

"Same schoolbus," they both reply in unison.

Bruce clears his throat, then, which is a very quick way to get the attention of all of his kids including Steph, who isn't exactly his but isn't not, either. "If you don't think my presence would cause too much commotion," he says, "I would love to join you."

Steph tries to pretend like she isn't dying (coming alive) inside from happiness and acceptance. "Everyone's pretty chill." She breaks into a grin. "They'll love you."

"Hn." Bruce looks like he's suppressing a smile, and looks over at Tim, who shrugs.

"I'm in," he answers.

"Am I invited, too?" Jason asks. "Or would a vigilante crime lord be too out of place in a church?" He says it sarcastically, shooting a halfhearted glare at Bruce as he does so. But Steph thinks maybe he's actually asking.

"You don't have to talk about it," Tim sighs, exasperated. "Why are you like this."

But Steph just smiles wider and thinks of warmth from a storefront window. "You're invited."

Dick tags along, too, when he gets in from Bludhaven on Christmas Eve. Steph doesn't ask who's handling patrol, because she doesn't want to ruin this by reminding anyone of their other responsibilities, and she just assumes that Bruce has that all figured out. She can trust that, now. She carries a box of Alfred's pastries over the threshold of Opened Doors, letting out warmth into the cold and light into the darkness (the nearest streetlamp is still broken. She doesn't think it's ever going to be fixed.) as the boys and Bruce trail after her.

She's still got a big purple coat, this one not from a thrift store (it was an early Christmas present from B) and her hair is frizzed out over the fur-lined hood and she's absolutely certain she still looks like a poof. She's golden and purple and she grins madly back at Lynn and Nadia, who greet her with warmth as soon as they see her.

"I brought helping hands!" she exclaims brightly, nodding over her shoulder at the family who isn't quite her family, but who keep welcoming her into theirs anyway.

She finally, finally gets how to be a light in the darkness. Because the light doesn't come from just her, or just the church lights or the brightness of a welcoming smile. It comes from Something more, Something bigger. She just has to accept the invitation to it. And then she can turn around and open the door for others, the way it was opened to her. And the darkness, whatever it may contain, can't overcome that light.

She's going to call her mom tonight, wish her a merry Christmas. Figure out what she wants to do about college. Write a Christmas card to her father, send it to the prison even though she doesn't really want to, would rather let him rot. But right now, she's offering light the way it was once and is still offered to her, and it's warming her inside and out. It's Christmas Eve, and there's life here.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.

Romans 15:13

In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

John 1:4-5

#the song is Great Are You Lord by All Sons & Daughters btw #it's like... a staple in every random nondenom church I've been to in recent years #like!!! it is SO versatile?? even from a logistical perspective you can do it with one(1) instrument and one(1) voice #and it's so simple and easy to sing along to and so POWERFUL???#I've heard it so much recently that I'm almost used to it but writing this actually made me listen to it a lot and it's hitting me #really hard #along with that john 1 passage #anyways Lynn is my new favorite OC maybe. she's like everybody's big sister #and what i aspire to as a youth leader #also: this is what i was vagueing about when i made that post about ''timeline what timeline'' bc i have NO idea what's going on here #like.. jason is semi-chill with the family and yet damian and cass aren't here. sorry i just... did not want to try and fit #any more characters into this skskksskfndnwk #Lu writes #I'm gonna go a final proof on this later so if you see any typos. I'm so sorry #and on the off chance this is allowed for inklings-#inklingschristmaschallenge #theme: light #batfam #steph brown

42 notes · View notes