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literaryavenger · 5 months

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Captain America: The Winter Soldier

Summary: You're part of the Strike team and join Captain America as he tries to live his new life in the 21st century. [Reader is NOT Hydra]

Pairing: platonic!Steve Rogers x F!Reader, platonic!Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Warnings: Language. Rumlow being a dick. Mentions of death. My poor attempts at being funny. Idk, everything else in the movie?

Word Count: 2.7K

A/N: Happy New Year! This the first chapter in a new series I'm starting! I'm not sure how long it's gonna be yet, but I know it's gonna be longer than Broken. These series is about an alternate universe where the reader exists and lives through the events that happen in the MCU. A lot of the details will be changed to insert the reader, a lot of the lines said by other characters will be changed to be the reader's and I've also made up a lot of things and scenes and added them, trying my best not to change the official timeline and the main events. I hope you enjoy this and all chapters to come!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“You heard the boss, newbie, text Romanoff and tell her to pick up Rogers.” Rumlow taps his knuckles twice on the table for emphasis before getting up and exiting the conference room.

You make sure he doesn't miss the way you roll your eyes at the now old nickname before writing ‘New mission, need you at the jet in one hour. Asshole wants you to pick up the old man in spandex’ on your phone and sending the message to Natasha, then you get up and make your way out of the room.

“Armory.” you say as you enter the elevator.

“Confirmed.” the elevator voice says as the doors start closing.

You suit up for the mission just assigned by Pierce and go to the jet to start doing the checkups you know the rest of the idiots on the STRIKE team won’t even think about doing.

After making sure everything’s ready and in order, you can do nothing more than wait for everybody else.

Natasha and Steve get there exactly an hour after your text.

“Right on time.” you point out.

“It wasn’t a coincidence, YLN.” Natasha smirks, making you laugh.

“Cap.” you greet him with a smile that he returns. “Y/N.”

The rest of the team meets you a few minutes after. “Ready for take off.” Rumlow says to the pilot and the jet takes off.

Once you get close to the target Rumlow starts briefing Steve and Nat. “The target is a mobile satellite launch platform: The Lemurian Star. They were sending up their last payload when pirates took them, 93 minutes ago.”

“Any demands?” Steve asks.

“A billion and a half.” Rumlow answers.

“Why so steep?” Steve questions frowning.

“Because it’s Shield’s.” you answer promptly, ignoring the scowl on Rumlow’s face that disappears almost immediately.

“So it’s not off-course,” Steve says, understanding flashing in his eyes as he glares at Natasha “it’s trespassing.”

“I’m sure they have a good reason.” Natasha offers.

“You know, I’m getting a little tired of being Fury’s janitor.”-Steve seems really annoyed now.

“Relax, it’s not that complicated.” Natasha simply says.

“How many pirates?” Steve’s attention is back on the screen.

“Twenty-five, top mercs, led by this guy. Georges Batroc.” Rumlow pulls up the photo of Batroc on the monitor and looks at you expectantly, making you roll your eyes.

Of course you’re the only one who actually looked through the files.

“Ex-DGSE, Action Division. He’s at the top of Interpol's Red Notice. Before the French demobilized him, he had thirty-six kill missions. The guy’s got a rep for maximum casualties.” you fill everybody in, although it was obvious most of the guys aren't listening. At least the Captain is.

“Hostages?” Steve questions you, but Rumlow cuts in.

“Mostly techs. One officer, Jasper Sitwell.” he shows his picture. You’ve seen Sitwell around headquarters, he seems pretty close with the STRIKE team. Not that you hang out much with them outside of mission, or at all for that matter. “They’re in the gallery.”

“What’s Sitwell doing on a launch ship?” Steve asks more to himself, and he has a point. “Alright, I’m gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Nat and Y/N, you’ll kill the engines and wait for instructions. Rumlow, you sweep aft, find the hostages, get them to the life-pots, get ‘em out. Let’s move.”

Yep, he’s definitely in Captain mode.

“Ay ay, Captain.” you salute with a smirk that mirrors Natasha’s while Steve gives you a fake annoyed look.

“STRIKE, you heard the Cap. Gear up.” Rumlow says but you’ve already started getting ready and stopped listening to him.

“Secure channel seven.” Steve says into his wrist communicator.

“Seven secure.” Natasha replies. “Did you do anything fun Saturday night?”

“Well, all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, so… No, not really.” Steve answers, making both you and Natasha laugh while the pilot lets you know that the drop zone is coming up.

“You know, if you ask Kristen out, from Statistics, she’d probably say yes.” you point out, exchanging a knowing glance with Natasha.

“That’s why I don’t ask.” he fires back

“Too shy or too scared?” Natasha pushes.

“Too busy!” He yells over the wind as the door opens and then he jumps.

You and Natasha both roll your eyes and look at each other smiling, not needing to talk to understand the other.

You barely register Rumlow and Rollins commenting on Steve jumping without a parachute before grabbing one for yourself and jumping alongside Nat.

You and Natasha have known each other for a while now, all the way back since she was first brought in by Clint.

You trained with both of them, went on countless missions together (yes, including Budapest) and you would’ve been right by their side in New York if you hadn't been on an important undercover mission and had strict orders directly from Fury not to blow your cover.

After that you got assigned to the STRIKE team by Alexander Pierce, though you still have no idea why. But orders are orders so you’ve been working with the idiots ever since.

But you and Natasha are thankfully still pretty close and your down time is spent mostly with her, sometimes also visiting Clint and his family at his farm.

Nat’s still annoyed at Clint about naming his only daughter after you, middle name but still, and not her. But to be fair, you have known Clint longer, a fact that always amuses both you and Clint to bring up.

You’ve just landed when you hear Rumlow saying “you seemed pretty helpless without me” to Steve.

“What about the nurse who lives across the hall from you?” Natasha says.

“Yeah, she seems nice.” you add.

“Secure the engines, then find me a date.” Steve says in his captain voice.

“We’re multitasking.” Nat tells him before turning to you. “you take port, I’ll take starboard and we’ll meet at the rendezvous point”

“Copy.” you say and make your way to the engine room on the right side of the ship. You start taking down guys and can hear Rumlow saying they’re ready in position.

Just as you finish with the last guy you hear Steve calling your name. “What’s your status?”

“Port engine room secure.” you answer.

“Good, make your way to help Rumlow with the hostages.”

“Roger that.” you can almost hear him groan in annoyance as you smile while following his orders.

“Natasha, what’s your status?” you can hear her grunt while she fights through the comms. “Status, Natasha?”

“Hang on!” She says as she keeps fighting. “Starboard engine room secure.”

You hear Steve countdown from three and then the team moving in on the targets, you get to the rendezvous point just in time to see Rumlow rounding the corner with the hostages on his tail.

“Hostages en route to extradition.” he says in his comms as you look around for Natasha.

“Romanoff missed the rendezvous point, Cap. Hostiles are still in play.” you let Steve know while helping take care of the hostages.

“Natasha, Batroc’s on the move. Circle back to Y/N and protect the hostages.” he receives no answer and at this point you get a little worried. “Natasha!”

You want to go looking for her but you know better than to leave your post, and you’re also very aware that Natasha can take care of herself.

So you keep protecting the hostages while listening intently to the comms where you can hear Steve fight, then you hear a voice you assume it’s Batroc’s talking French and are even more surprised to hear Steve answer back in French. Impressive.

You can hear him fighting again and then you finally hear Natasha’s voice but don’t pay too much attention to the conversation, bringing your entire focus on the hostages now that you know she’s okay.

You’re helping people into the life-pods when you hear an explosion go off somewhere on the boat. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until you hear Natasha’s voice again and let it go, feeling even more relieved after hearing Steve too.

The ride back is very uncomfortable as you help Natasha with the minor injuries from the explosion, Steve refusing help and insisting that he’s fine, and in the mood he’s in you’re certainly not about to argue.

As soon as the jet lands he stomps away angrily and you share a concerned look with Natasha, worried about what he’s gonna do next.

You help Nat to the medbay and leave her there when she assures you she’s okay and to not make a fuss over her.

So you make your way to the usual conference room for debriefing but when you get there Rumlow very smugly assures you that you’re not needed at this meeting.

You’re used to being left out of meetings with the STRIKE team and Pierce by now, since you’ve been forced to join you’ve been left out of more meetings that you’ve attended, but it still bothers you sometimes.

Still, at least you don’t have to spend too much time with those neanderthals. Not your circus, not your monkeys.

So you just make your way to the Armory to put away your gear and then the locker room to change and go home for what you think is gonna be the rest of the day.

A few hours later you find yourself in the hospital where the STRIKE team has been called in the middle of the night because, guess what? Someone tried to kill Director Fury. Or, as it turns out, succeeded.

You’re behind Steve, Natasha and Hill alongside Rumlow and Sitwell, watching Fury flatlining and the doctors calling it.

You want to go with Nat to see Fury, be there for her knowing she cared about him as much as you do, but obviously Rumlow has to be a dick and order you to stay put. And, whether you like it or not, he’s your boss.

He rudely interrupts Nat and Steve’s conversation telling him they need him back at headquarters and you can already tell something’s suddenly off.

As much as Rumlow can be an asshole, he’s never been openly rude towards Steve.

You can hear Sitwell in your earpiece telling the team to bring Rogers in for questioning as he and Rumlow get closer.

“STRIKE, move it out.” he orders but you don't start moving until Steve’s by your side, giving him what you hope is a reassuring smile.

When you get to the Triskelion Steve is taken to Pierce’s office and you get ordered to go to Forensics and check into the evidence found on the roof, then go to Operations Control and wait for there for further instructions, so you do.

When you get to the control room you see Sitwell concentrated on a particular screen so you get close trying not to get noticed and see Steve fighting STRIKE and SHIELD agents in the elevator.

You barely have time to understand what’s happening before he’s throwing himself off the elevator and lands on his shield near the entrance of the building. Thankfully Sitwell’s “Are you kidding me?” covered your quiet “holy shit.”

You’re in the room when Sitwell gives the orders to track down Rogers to all the Agents and when he’s done, you discreetly follow him and the rest of the STRIKE team out the room.

For a bunch of guys who work for a top secret organization they sure suck at knowing when they’re being followed.

No one talks until they get to a deserted corridor. “Pierce is going to kill us. Rogers has the flash drive and can use it to find Zola. You fucked up big time letting him go.” Sitwell sounds pissed.

“Take it easy, four eyes.” Rumlow sounds just as angry “You’re not the one that got punched by a supersoldier.”

They keep talking about the flash drive and Steve and Pierce and Zola. That name sounds familiar but you can’t remember for the life of you where you heard it from.

Then it hits you.

Zola was a former Hydra scientist from World War II, turned ally when the war ended. Thank god the Howling Commandos were hot so you actually paid attention during that particular history class.

You're about to turn away so you won’t risk getting caught eavesdropping when you hear your name being mentioned.

“Someone should keep an eye on her.” Sitwell says, making you worried of becoming the next Shield target, but Rumlow proceeds to ease your worries.

“That’s a waste of manpower. The whole reason she’s even on our team was so we could keep a closer eye on Rogers, but she just spends all her time with Romanoff.”

So that’s why Pierce assigned you to the STRIKE team.

Yeah, you’re closer to Steve than most people but it’s not like you’re best friends, you sometimes hang out outside of work but most of your interactions are mission related.

You decide you've heard enough to kind of put together what’s going on, but there’s not much you can do to help Steve yet, not knowing where he is. So you stick to following the STRIKE team, praying that your absence in the control room goes unnoticed.

STRIKE gets a hit on Steve’s location and you follow them in your car to a mall but think better than to follow them in, waiting patiently outside.

After a few minutes you see Steve and Natasha in their not so well thought out undercover outfits and, once again, the Captain surprises you by hot-wiring a car.

You follow them, more discreetly this time, knowing Natasha and Steve would be better at realizing they’re being followed.

You get to an old army camp in Wheaton, New Jersey and are about to follow them in and make yourself known to them, but before you can get out of your car you hear the plan the STRIKE team has through your comms.

The idiots never even thought about using a different channel. Of course Rumlow would underestimate you this much.

So you decide to drive deeper into the trees surrounding the camp to make sure you’re not visible and wait, knowing Steve and Natasha will need a fast getaway.

You can do nothing more than watch as a missile hits the bunker and the helicopters start coming. You want to go and help them, make sure they're okay, but you will yourself to stay put and not give away your position.

When you can faintly see Steve’s figure, almost running with what looks like Nat in his arms, you finally turn the car on and drive coming to a stop right in front of him and startling him to a stop on his tracks.

“Get in.” you urge him, and he seems wary of you, rightly so. “Come on, Cap, they can’t know I’m here!”

He seems to decide to risk trusting you and delicately sets an unconscious Nat down in the back seat before getting in the passenger’s seat.

As soon as his door is closed you drive away as fast as you can, heading back to Washington and you can feel Steve’s eyes on you.

“How do I know I can trust you?” he finally says after a minute of silence, his eyes never leaving you. “You’re part of them, after all.”

“I can see where you’re coming from, but trust me I’m not one of them.” You glance at him and you can tell that he’s not convinced yet, so you go on. “I didn’t even know who ‘them’ were before today. Apparently the reason Pierce assigned me to the STRIKE team was in hopes to get closer to you. He overestimated how close we actually are. If Natasha was awake right now she would tell you how much I hate working with those assholes… You can trust me.”

You take a look at the rearview mirror and see Natasha, but her relaxed face does nothing to ease your worries.

Steve seems to pick up on your concerns as his features soften and, ever the hopelessly optimistic, he chooses to believe you.

“Okay,” he says, “what do we do now?”

“We have to get you somewhere safe” you check your mirrors as much as you can, making sure you’re not being followed “I don’t know any safehouses outside of Shield's radar. We need a place we can go that they know nothing about.”

“I have an idea.” he says, you glance at him and see him already looking at you, so you nod.

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huffelpuff210 · 2 months

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Taken Care of Part 2 Soft Dark Steve Rogers x Soft Dark Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: Mentions of depression, Loss of a child, Dark themes, Forced marriage, forced relationship, forced pregnancy, baby trapping, age gap, Non, Con, Manipulation, Grooming,

After much yelling and crying at the two super soliders to leave, you are now sandwiched between them in bed, this was not uncommon especially when you had to go with them on a mission to decrypt something when Tony wasn’t available, Natasha always called them your guard dogs,

They were both fast asleep, You were wide awake, not able to sleep,

You can’t remember the last time you slept. Your back was pressed against Steve’s chest while Bucky’s arm is over your hip,

You sighed slowly peeling Bucky’s arm off you, You crawl out of bed quietly, tip toeing out of the room, You just didn’t have the heart to wake the two.

You make your way to the kitchen, passing the nursery, slowly opening the door, the room was decorated with blue walls, a white crib, a mobile with wales on it, a blue nursing chair, a gray dresser and changing table,

You place your hand over your mouth, tears welling up your eyes closing the door before you had another shut down, you walk towards the bathroom popping a few pills, they were depression pills it was bad enough to lose your child but having post part-om depression is the worst of it, because you don’t even get to hold your child, You grip the edge of the sink feeling like you couldn’t breath, You were having a panic attack

You couldn’t breath you felt like someone was cutting off your oxygen, You slide down the wall trying to catch your breath, you felt like someone was choking you, this was always happening,

suddenly you felt and arm around you,

“Shh, Kitten breathe..” He says

You hear Bucky’s voice

“Deep breaths, in and out.” He says his hand rubbing your arm,

“You don’t have to be here.” you say,

“of course we do.” Steve walks in,

They pull you to your feet,

“You are suffering and we are not just going to stand by.” Steve says

He rubs his hands up and down your arms.

Bucky was now behind you his lips on your neck,

You try to push them away, but they are strong, and won’t budge,

“W-What are you-” You say your hands against Steve’s chest.

“We’re gonna make you happy.” Bucky says

“W-Wait we’re friends.” You say in a panic

“Yes we are, and we’re done waiting for you to realize you are perfect for us.” Steve says

You cannot believe what they were saying,

“You have been broken enough by losers, Let us show you what a real man is, not one who abandons you when you get knocked up, Not one who makes you lose a child because of stress, no, no, A man supports his girl.” Bucky says as his lips trail down your neck from behind, his hands firmly on your hips, Steve on the other hand has his hand roaming up the inside of your tank top,

“A man loves her no matter what.” Steve says kissing the other side of your neck, You try not to give into them, but it almost felt as if your senses were coming to life.

“W-Wait..” You try to speak but a moan escapes your lips as Steve’s hand twists your breast,

Steve’s lips capture yours in a possessive kiss, it felt as if he was sucking the air out of your lungs, Your hands still on Steve’s chest suddenly fist his shirt as he kisses you harder while Bucky is still attacking your neck,

Bucky’s hand slips inside your pajama pants and past your panties, slipping past your wet folds,

“God she’s wet Steve.” Bucky whispers nipping at your earlobe

Steve finally releasing you from the possessive kiss, smiles down at you,

“You will never have to worry about pain again, or loss we will take care you doll.” Steve says as he has your chin in his grip,

“But-” You began,

“It wasn’t a request kitten, you are ours now, no exceptions, we have waited for far too long.” Bucky says as his fingers pump in and out of you causing you to lose whatever argument you had as your head is thrown back into Bucky’s shoulder, the pleasure coursing through you,

And you feel the wave of pleasure come crashing down on you as you Cum hard, Bucky pulls his fingers out of you bringing them to his lips,

“Mmm, you taste better than I imagined kitten.” He says

“I can’t wait any longer,” Steve says scooping you up in his arms taking you back to your bedroom, laying you on your bed, hovering over you,

“Take your shirt off now.” He says in a commanding voice you look over at Bucky who just smiles and nods at you telling you to do as you are told,

You shakily take your tank top off revealing your black laced bra

Steve’s hand slowly roaming from your stomach to your breasts,

“Mmm, just as beautiful as I imagined.” He says in a low voice,

“Are you ready to please your husbands?” He asks,

“But your not my-” You began,

He cuts you off by placing his index finger on your lips,

“Not yet but soon enough.” He says kissing your belly, and making his way up,

“We’ll take care of you.” He says

He quickly unclasps your bra throwing it on the floor,

You try to push him away,

“S-Stop.” You say

Steve quickly pins your hands by each side of your head,

“We are not going to stop, you are ours now kitten.” Bucky says you feel him pull your Pajama pants off along with your panties, The bikini cut from your C-Section now a scar, knowing they see it,

You turn your head trying to hold your tears,

“Don’t worry doll, you are beautiful.” Steve kisses the side of your neck before, wrapping his mouth around your breast you bite your lip trying not to egg them on,

And suddenly you can feel Bucky between your legs, His talented tongue enter your folds, you arch your back, squeezing Steve’s laced fingers,

“That loser never made you feel this good did he?” Steve asked his blue eyes shimmering in the moonlight,

You didn’t understand what was happening, they never behaved like this before, Suddenly you felt two fingers enter you and you arched your back letting out a gasp,

“That’s it kitten give in.” Bucky says

“N-No, Stop,” You gasp

“Really? Because you body says differently.” Steve says with a chuckle,

Suddenly you feel the pressure it was all becoming too much, between, Bucky’s tongue and fingers, and Steve’s mouth on your breast, you felt yourself losing control, you could feel yourself clamp around Bucky’s fingers,

“That’s it Kitten, cum for us.” Bucky says and suddenly you feel yourself cum hard, you let out a loud moan,

“Mmm, I enjoyed that kitten,” Bucky says

smirking from between your legs, Steve still had your hands pinned beside your head you see Bucky get up and quickly undress, it wasn’t a secret that both soliders had magnificent bodies,

Steve lets go of your hands, to undress you try to get up to make a run for it But Bucky was already restraining you,

“No running kitten we are just getting started.” Bucky says as he has you pinned,

“You ready?” He says

You shake your head no you didn’t want this, Bucky grabs both of your thighs lining himself up and slowly pushing himself in, You gasp at the intrusion, He was bigger than anything you’ve had before, thicker, he kept inching himself in, until he bottomed out, You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until Steve was kneeling beside you,

“Breathe doll.” Steve says petting your head,

You do as he says,

“How does she feel?” Steve asks,

“God, Fucking amazing, she so damn tight.” Bucky grunts,

Bucky pulls almost out completely and slams back into you causing you to let out a loud moan, arching your back at how rough he was being,

His hands squeezing your thighs knowing you were going to have bruises, Bucky continued his rough and fast pace, grunting and groaning as he continued to slam into you, You could see Steve, Pumping himself with his hand watching the scene, You couldn’t believe this was happening they were your best friends, and now they were doing this to you,

“God, I can’t wait to see you full with our children.” Bucky grunted,

This caused you to freeze, Shaking your head no,

“No, Please.” You say trying to get him off of you, but he pinned you to the bed by your throat,

“Yes, you are perfect for us.” Steve grunts still pumping himself,

“We will take care of you and the children,” Bucky says grunting,

You can feel the pressure building, squeezing him tightly,

“That’s it kitten Cum for me.” He says continuing his hard and fast brutal pace, And you feel yourself Cum hard again, arching your back as you let out a loud, Moan,

A few hard and fast thrusts and You feel Bucky Cum inside of you, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes, He pulls out of you and you are about to get up when You are flipped on your Stomach, And Steve has you by the hips,

“My turn.” He says his voice almost feral

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jamesdeniscouldnever · 9 months

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Alright, so hurt/comfort won the fic vote, so here we go! Written on mobile since my laptop is broke, so forgive formatting errors. Yall, this is so long. I got carried away. This is part one of a two parter, the other will take place in act 3.

Them. pt 1.

Summary: When Rolan fails to stave off the shadow curse after leaving to find his siblings in the shadowlands, he ends up more than a little bruised and lost. So, of course, it had to be them who showed up to save him again. It just had to be Tav.

Rolan wasn't quite sure where he was. Where anything was, now that he was thinking about it. The shadows and darkness that obscured the land around him made it hard to see if he was anywhere near moonrise towers or if he was truly hopelessly lost. He could feel frustrated tears pricking the corners of his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away and squared his shoulders, reminding himself of the whole reason he had come out here - Lia and Cal. He *Would* find them if it was the last thing he did.

He set off down the path once more with renewed determination. He would move the Heavens and Hells to find them. He would cast himself into Avernus once more if it meant they would be safe. If they could be saved...if they weren't already dead. What if they were already dead?

The thought has him stopping in his tracks and clenching his first. Damn this. Damn Thorm for taking them. Damn Zevlor for freezing on the group. Damn himself for going after the children first. And damn that stupid cretin Tav for playing hero at the grove and then leaving them to the darkness. If they had stayed with the group of teiflings, would they be in so much trouble now? Would it have changed anything? Would Lia and Cal be safe?

Rolan aggressively wipes away a tear that's escaped and is rolling down his cheek. He takes deep breaths to try and hold back a sob and looks around once more. He's stopped under a lantern, like the few that seem scattered around the area. Probably left by those long gone. Selúne's blessing keeps him safe from falling to the curse, but he's still grateful for the light. It gives him a moment of comfort. One that is quickly cut short by the sound of inhuman shrieks and groans. Rolan quickly whips around, a cold shard of fear running through his spine. Shadows.

4 of them, to be exact. And they're quickly inching their way closer to him, not willing to step into the light but also unwilling to let him escape. He immediately conjures the first cantrip he can think of - a ball of fire - and without thinking, launches it at the nearest shadow. It shrieks and evaporates into itself, leaving three still staring at him with their featureless faces. He grounds his feet and readies himself to take them on or die trying, anything but being dragged off into the shadows.

His focus is broken when the shadows move in, enraged by the fall of their compatriot, no longer afraid of the mere light of a lantern. Before he can even move necrotic claws are ripping into his flesh, horrifying shrieks and screams fill his ears. He's desperately trying to focus, to conjure something, anything, to free himself long enough to have a chance at a fair fight. But as the shadows advance and drain him of any hope he had left, he begins to give in. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he'd be with Lia and Cal again. Maybe he could stop constantly running for his life...

Just as he's about to finally stop fighting and let go, a blast from somewhere up the hill sends the three shadows flying back. Not yet defeated, but away from him. Rolan lifts his head. When had he bowed it? When had he fallen to his knees?

The first sight he's met with is *them*. Tav, in all their glory, advancing with both weapon and magic, a look of furious determination on their face. They make such quick work of the shadows that had almost taken him that he's almost embarrassed to have fallen to them. As the last shadow falls they whip around, immediately making for him.

"Rolan! Thank the gods, you're alive! Are you hurt? What in the nine hells are you doing out here alone? I heard you yelling, thank Selúne I found you in time."

He had been yelling? Their hands are flitting over him, not quite touching him. Their face holds concern, their brow pinched with worry. Why were they here? Why the hells did they follow him? Why couldn't he do anything for himself anymore?

"Damn it! Damn you. All I came here to do was to look for my family, and I can't even do that! Not without needing you to swoop in to save me," his voice catches and his shoulders hunch, his will finally leaving him, "and if I had that much trouble just walking through the woods...they're dead aren't they? Lia and Cal are dead."

Bitter tears leave his eyes before he can stop them. They had come all this way, survived so long! And for what? Just to be taken by shadows and monsters. To be taken by what resembles a child's nightmare. He's about to scream every foul word he knows when two hands cup his face. Tav now kneels in front of him, having joined him on the ground. They stare into his eyes with stallworth determination and care.

"Rolan, Lia and Cal are back at the Last Light Inn. When you told me where they'd been taken I set out immediately. Lied my way into the dungeon and snuck them out of a hole in the back of their cell, the others who were taken too. And some other friends of mine. We got back, and you were gone. Umi said you'd set off into the dark alone, and I immediately came looking for you. Gods, how awful would that have been? To get them out only to lose you?"

This whole time, they've been holding his face, trying to get through to him. He was vaugley aware of their thumb stroking his cheek. He wondered if they knew they were doing it. He felt a sort of numbness spread over him. Lia and Cal were safe. They were at the inn waiting for him. His family was alive. He doesn't speak, merely tries to struggle to his feet so he can run back there as fast as possible and strangle those two idiots for worrying him and then cry on their shoulders later that night in the privacy of their room. However, as soon as he puts weight on his feet, he finds himself falling back to his knees, Tav scrambling after him.

"Rolan, stop, stop! You're hurt. There's blood everywhere. Gods, have you even noticed? Those claws shredded you like an owlbears lunch!" They're fussing over him and trying to pull him back, now searching through their pouch for something.

Now that they've mentioned it and the adrenaline is wearing off, he's keenly aware of pain blooming over almost every part of his body. The blood soaking his robes, too. Fear strikes through him once more. Would he get back to Lia and Cal after all? Just as he's about to let doubt creep in, tav places one hand on his shoulder and holds a bottle to his lips.

"Drink. It's a healing potion. It's not enough to heal all your wounds, mind you, but enough to get you back to Last Light."

Rolan drinks without another word, the bitter taste sliding down his throat. The pain lessens. Small wounds mend themselves. He let's out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Thank you." Is all he can utter. Tav helps him to his feet and braces one of his arms over their shoulders. Slowly, they begin their trek back to he inn. Back to safety. Something feels odd as they walk. And it suddenly hits him what it is.

"Where are your friends? I've never seen you travel alone. are they okay?" He questions, wondering if their found family had fallen the way his nearly had.

Tav's face flushes just a little, along with the tips of their ears. Rolan worries for a moment that he's upset them, that their friends really are gone, before they pipe up in a voice that is laced with embarrassment.

"They're fine... they're at Last Light still, I imagine. I, uh...I wasn't kidding when I said I ran to find you after Umi told me you were gone. I don't think any of them were able to keep up with me." Tav's smiles a little sheepishly at him as they walk, and he feels his own eyes soften at them. They really were such a hero, weren't they?

They approach Last Light so much more quickly than he'd thought they would. He hadn't been very far at all...damned shadows must have had him walking in circles. Despite his embarrassment, he feels himself trying to pick up the pace as the lights come into view. He wants to see Lia and Cal for himself. He wants his siblings.

Tav complies, and they quickly approach, nodding at the guards who recognize them and moving straight to the main building. Sitting at the back of the room at the bar, he spots his brother and sister, looking just as worried as he had mere hours ago. Lia sees him first.

"Rolan! There you are! What in the hells were you thinking?! What happened to you?" She's a mix of angry and relieved, he can tell, and he wraps her in a hug before she can scold him and more. After a moment, he releases her and moves to grip his brother in the same manner. A bolt of nervous anger overcomes him he wasn't truly mad, but when someone scares you in such a way what else can you be?

"You're okay. What is wrong with you two?! I was worried sick, I thought you were dead!" He begins to bark in return. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks to see Yav giving him a look.

"I was expecting a bit of a warmer reunion." They say with an eyebrow raised. He growls at them.

"I thought my family was DEAD. But... You're right. This isn't the time. I... thank you. For everything." He sighs before turning to his siblings once more, "Are you okay? Do you need anything to eat or drink?"

Cal smiles at him and grips his shoulder.

"We're alright, we promise. We're just glad to see you." And Rolan can't help but sigh, his bluster gone.

"I know. I know. I was just so worried about you."

"And we're still worried about you. Look at you! Covered in blood and bruises! You need to get that taken care of. Is there a healer in this camp?" Lia cuts in, angry little sister that she is. Tav smiles, that same kind smile they always have.

"There's not, but I know a bit about medicine. I could take care of it." They say calmly, as if afraid to trigger more yelling. Lia only smiles in relief.

"Could you? We'd be so grateful."

"Now hang on a moment, I never-" Rolan begins before a wuthering look from Lia shuts him up. He sighs and simply nods along, knowing she won't be pleased until he's well. Tav chuckles quiet before putting a a hand on his back and guiding him to one of the few bedrooms in the inn.

"Little privacy, yeah? I'm probably going to have to get your shirt off to bandage you up." Tav says with quiet encouragement. Rolan nods and finds himself sitting on the bed, pulling his robes over his head. Tav pauses when they see him, and for a moment, he swears he sees tears in their eyes. He looks down at himself and finds deep bruises and gashes covering his abdomen. He truly looked like he had been cast back into Avernus.

"What? Don't I look as handsome as ever?" He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Tav blinks a few times, fighting the watery feeling in their eyes and smiling sadly.

"Of course. You always look handsome." They say it with such earnest that Rolan feels himself blushing with heat. Thank the gods for red skin. He goes silent and allows them to look him over, applying salves and bandaging cuts where they need to. They work with such gentle hands and a feather-light touch that he wonders at them. These same hands cut and slice enemies down without hesitation. He's rarely seen These hands not covered in blood. And yet, in this moment, he could mistake them for the touch of a healer or a nurse maid. He sighs despite himself when Tav's hands caress over a particularly sore spot on his shoulder blade.

Tav gives a gentle smile and laughs quietly, their fingers smoothing over the ridges in his skin without judgment. They finish and pack up their healing items and give him a gentle smile.

"You should rest now, okay? I'll get your brother and sister and send them up. Let them keep an eye on you." All while saying this, Tav is gently pushing him to lay down and drawing the blankets over him. He nods without complaint.

Tav smiles again and leaves the room. Moments later, Lia and Cal appear, fussing over him and continuing their scolding. They stop, however, when Rolan begins to cry in relief. His family is alive. He is safe. And it's all thanks to that stupid hero. His hero. Tav.

They hush and talk and jabber on as the night goes on, until eventually he falls into a peaceful half-sleep. He can hear the voices of his siblings but not discern what they're saying. His relaxes in the moment and welcomes the oncoming sleep. He thinks he hears a door opening and a third familiar voice joining the others. Who is that?

He is too far gone to wake and check for himself, but when he feels the unmistakable sensation of a cool hand gently pressing against his forehead as if checking for fever, he knows. Its them. He finally let's go and allows himself to give into a full sleep, but swears the last thing he feels before all fades to black is a mouth gently kissing his forehead. Them.

@illidariiii @potato-dragons @miwn8 @tieflingteatime

#bg3 #baulders gate 3 #bg3 rolan #bg3 tav #rolan x tav #rolan #tav

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toournextadventure · 1 year

Text

everyone but her pt.15

Summary: Detention can't keep you down, but Yoko certainly wants to give you a piece of her mind. When you're finally free and you stand Wednesday up again, she decides to investigate and learns a bit more than she was prepared for.

Word Count: 6.0k Warnings: swearing, making out (so slightly suggestive themes), slight description of injuries Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist) Taglist: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @n0p35 @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @asters-abditory @alexkolax @thenextdawn @cacciatricediartemide @cozwaenot @the-night-owl-blr @natashasapphic @parkersmyth @alilbitlesbian @irish-piece-of-trash @rainbow-love4ever @audigay @bakugounuggets @myfturn

Larissa was on the verge of separating you and Miss Addams to opposite ends of the room.

It was her own fault for having assumed you and Miss Addams, of all people, would have behaved in detention. You were naturally nothing but trouble, and Miss Addams had been stirring the pot ever since she had been accepted into Nevermore. Yes, you had gotten slightly better since admitting your feelings for Miss Addams, but she should have known better.

“Pass one more note,” Larissa said without looking up; she heard all movement in the room halt, “and you shall be separated.”

You groaned, and Larissa looked up in time to see you put the note on your desk and get back to your excessive late homework. You should have done them earlier, she thought, but she knew better. It was getting closer to your birthday; you wouldn’t be able to properly finish your work until it had passed.

She leaned back in her chair and watched you doodle aimlessly on your work. Thankfully it was your right arm that was stabilised; your handwriting would’ve been illegible if your left had been injured. Two weeks of stabilisation had done little for the cut under your eye or your broken nose, but at least you were almost cleared to have a little more mobility. Maybe you could finally sleep and ease the bags under your eyes.

“Principle Weems?” Mister Ottinger asked, drawing Larissa’s attention to him. “May I go take care of the hive?”

“Of course you may,” she said with a smile. “As a bonus, we will consider this your last day of detention.”

His face lit up as he gave a quick “thank you” and gathered his things. She had to admit, he was a sweet kid, she understood why you had gone to keep him safe in the woods. It did not excuse your recklessness, but she understood your intentions.

“Principle Weems.” She sighed. “May I go help with the bees?”

“No you may not,” she answered without hesitation.

“Oh come on,” you huffed, “I’m an integral part of the Hive Society.”

“You most certainly are not,” Larissa shot back once she saw the defiance in your eyes. “Besides, if anyone needs to serve out the entirety of their detention, it’s you.”

“Well that’s just rude,” you mumbled, but she saw the way your shoulder relaxed slightly.

“Since we’re on the topic,” Miss Sinclair voiced, “may I go too?”

“Yes you may,” she said with another smile and a pointed look at you. “We will consider this your last day as well.”

“See you later, Wednesday,” Miss Sinclair called out as she very quickly left the office.

And the delinquents were down to two. Of course it was the two most troublesome ones as well, Larissa shouldn’t have been surprised. Miss Addams would never dare to ask to leave early, and she would never give the option. But you, no, she wanted you to stay longer than necessary. You had been avoiding her since you had gotten back from Spring Break, and she was determined to find out why.

Paper rustled just enough to become suspicious. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as you handed Thing - she had long since gotten used to his presence around Nevermore - a folded piece of paper. He in turn crawled across the floor until hopping up on the desk and handing the paper to Miss Addams. The ghost of a smile appears on her lips as she reads it before writing one back, and the cycle continues.

“Miss Addams,” Larissa said once it hit 7 in the evening, “you are free to go.”

She didn’t say anything before grabbing her things and leaving. Your eyes followed her until the door closed and she was officially out of view. It almost made Larissa chuckle when you slunk further into your chair now that you were the only one left in the office.

“This isn’t fair,” you said, apparently feeling free enough to speak your mind now that everyone was gone.

“You were the one who put yourself in direct danger,” Larissa said, finally putting all of her work down to focus on you. “If anything, you should have gotten a worse punishment than simple detention.”

“If keeping someone safe gets me punished, then I’ll just mind my own business next time,” you threw back at her.

“You know that’s not what I mean.” It was difficult to see you this way; injured, frustrated, defiant. In pain. “Are you going to tell me what this recklessness is really about?”

You sighed, twirling the chewed up pencil between your fingers. A nervous habit that, truthfully, Larissa hadn’t seen you do in a few months. It brought a sharp pain to her chest as she watched your eyes focus on the pencil, eventually glazing over before you dropped it and it brought you back to the present.

“Marcus called a few weeks ago,” you said so softly, so tearfully. “He wants to cut Nicky off.”

Oh. Now that. That would explain things.

“He can’t just do that.” Your bottom lip quivered as you looked down at the papers in front of you. “He can’t. Nicky will wake up, he just needs a bit more time.”

“Darling-”

“-he promised.” A single look into Larissa’s eyes. “He promised, and Marcus can’t just do that.”

Larissa barely had time to rush to you before you leaned into her and held her with your one good arm. Tears soaked her blouse but she couldn’t care less. It wasn’t often that you allowed yourself to feel, and she wasn’t going to stop you for something as inconsequential as a wet blouse. No, she just held you tight, letting you cry.

It broke her heart, and there was nothing she could do about it. Deep down she knew this wouldn’t help you very much; you never allowed yourself to feel long enough to make a difference. But it was better than nothing, and she would be damned if she didn’t give you the space and comfort you so desperately needed.

Larissa held you until your cries turned into hiccups, and those hiccups turned into the occasional sniffle. Your fingers still kept their death grip on her blouse as you pulled her closer, and her own hands rubbed your back as gently as she could. The bandages under your shirt were still prominent, and she was doing her best not to touch the injured wing, but she didn’t stop until you finally pulled back.

Do you feel better, she thought, please talk to me. But she didn’t say anything to you at all. Not a single word as you wiped your nose with the sleeve of your sweater and let out a long, shaky breath. Another tear fell silently before being harshly wiped off with that same sleeve. Your bottom lip quivered.

“Am I done for tonight?” You asked in a shaky breath.

No, Larissa thought, we’re staying here until you feel better. There was no undoing the damage you were trying to process all on your own. She also knew, was painfully aware of the fact, that you wouldn’t talk to anyone about it. You wouldn’t let her know you were hurting, wouldn’t let her know how to help, wouldn’t agree to receiving help.

She had tried. Oh yes she had tried, time and time again, from the time you had first arrived to just this past year. No one had gotten through to you. You would let your tears fall for a minute before picking yourself back up, dusting yourself off, and going about your day with a smile.

“Yes,” Larissa said softly. She pushed a strand of hair out of your face and felt her heart ache when you leaned into her touch with a sigh. “You’re done for tonight.”

You pulled away and took a deep breath in before releasing it, and just like that you were back. With puffy red eyes and a tired smile, it was you.

“Is this my last day too?” You asked hopefully.

“Absolutely not,” Larissa shook her head, “I might just add another week for the note passing.”

“Come on, Mama Weems, please?” You asked, sticking your bottom lip out to pout in the way you knew she couldn’t resist. Oh, you were using the big guns, and for a moment she considered letting you win.

But only for a moment.

“I will definitely add another week for the note passing,” she answered. Your pout immediately turned into a frown and a huff.

“Worth a try,” you mumbled, followed immediately by another sniffle.

At this rate, you would be in detention for the rest of your life.

—---

You had only a few days left of detention, but Yoko was convinced she was going to murder you before then. She was already mad at you for luring Enid out during a full moon, but now you were just getting on her nerves. If she didn’t love you so much, she would’ve beat you to death a few weeks ago.

“I told you it wasn’t her fault,” Enid said when Yoko let out a loud sigh as Thing brought another note to Wednesday.

“She says otherwise and I believe her,” Yoko said simply. “She’s an idiot, but she’s not stupid.”

“She’s both,” Wednesday said from across the room. She was writing her own note that she handed to Thing, who grabbed it and left out the door once again.

“Then she’s a stupid idiot who could have gotten you all killed,” Yoko finished with another sigh.

She loved you, she did. If put in the same position, she would kill and die for you. There was no denying you were probably her closest friend, her greatest confidant, her partner in crime. Through thick and thin, she would defend you with her life. Hold you when you needed that small bit of comfort, remind you that everything would be okay. She loved you.

But if you ever put her girlfriend in any sort of risk again, she was going to kill you. Yoko knew you had a lot going on, especially right now, she understood. And she most definitely understood how reckless you could get when you were stuck in your own head. If that’s what you needed then she would let you do it and help patch you up afterwards (before Wednesday came along, at least).

She drew the line at you risking other peoples’ well being. Whether it was Enid, Wednesday, Xavier, anyone, she didn’t care. Some lines had to be drawn and shouldn’t be crossed, and this was one of them. There was no doubt in her mind that you hadn’t intended to get anyone hurt, but intention didn’t matter when the outcome could have been so very horrific.

“Give her a break,” Divina said softly. “She’s been stuck with Weems for nearly a month, I think that’s punishment enough.”

Yoko supposed that was true. Not that you didn’t love Weems, but you certainly didn’t love detention. Which was funny considering how often you were in it. And when Thing marched into the room with another note, Yoko realised that yeah, maybe it was a decent punishment.

“Is she surviving?” Enid called out to Wednesday as she read the note.

“She says, and I quote,” Wednesday started, “I’m starving, bored, and Weems won’t quit fussing over my shoulder.”

“Oh poor thing,” Yoko taunted. Divina elbowed her in the side.

“Behave,” she whispered.

“Maybe we should sneak her some snacks,” Enid chimed in, far too cheery. “She’s been in there for ages.”

“We aren’t doing anything,” Yoko said quickly, “otherwise we will get detention. Again.”

Thing tapped on Wednesday’s desk and started doing his weird faux sign language thing. Yoko still had yet to understand what he was saying, but Enid and Wednesday just nodded along. Thankfully Divina wasn’t even attempting to pay attention either. Made her feel a little less out of the loop.

“Won’t that get her in more trouble?” Enid asked. Thing signed again.

“Fine,” Wednesday huffed. She leaned over and pulled something out of her desk drawer and handed it to him. “This should suffice for now.” He scuffled off quickly.

“Since when do you keep protein bars in your desk?” Enid asked, thankfully just as confused as Yoko and Divina were.

“Since I discovered our little bird gets extremely agitated when hungry,” Wednesday explained with a shrug as she turned back to her desk.

Ah, there was that hint of softness Enid had told them about. Just that tiny bit of consideration Wednesday had for almost exclusively you. If she didn’t think the goth girl would’ve killed her, she would’ve laughed. Laughed aloud at how you of all people had wormed your way into her cold heart. Leave it to you to break down those walls, huh?

On second thought, maybe you being with Wednesday was punishment enough for the rest of your life. She would certainly keep you in line.

—---

For one reason or another, you were becoming particularly adept at driving Wednesday to the edge of insanity. The worst part of it all? It wasn’t even on purpose. There was just something in your genetic code that gave you the natural talent of dancing on her last nerve.

You had been granted your freedom from detention two days ago, on a Thursday of all days. That same night you had come by her dorm, asking her to finally go to coffee on Saturday morning. Of course she had agreed, though maybe with a bit too much enthusiasm, and you had smiled that nauseatingly attractive smile before running off; heaven forbid you got caught after curfew and had your detention extended. Again.

But now it was well past noon and you were still nowhere to be found. Wednesday had waited a reasonable time (until 10am, to be exact) before searching. She had checked your dorm first, knowing that you had been guilty of sleeping in far more often nowadays. Then the library, the greenhouse, the hives, and even Ajax’s dorm. No one had seen you.

“Check her climbing gym,” Yoko said when she passed Wednesday in the quad. “It’s where she hides away when she’s upset.”

Upset? Why would you be upset? You had just gotten out of detention, surely that would have been a good thing. There had been plenty of excitement in your voice when you had asked her to coffee. Had something happened?

She could feel her heart in her throat as she quickly made her way to your gym. Her brain was filled with ceaseless theories of what had caused you to be so upset. Was it her? Had she done something to upset you? The leaves and sticks on the ground cracked underneath her shoes as she got closer.

Muffled music could be heard echoing in the forest before Wednesday could even see the building. It increased in volume as she got nearer and nearly deafened her when she opened the doors. Some horrific sort of music, far too loud and screaming and heavy on the drums. An assault on her ears, is what it truly was.

And in the midst of it all, you were nowhere to be found. But your presence, she noted, was scattered around the room in various ways. It was found in the boots and uniform pieces that were tossed haphazardly near the doors. Or the numerous thermoses sitting on the table closest to what you had called the “challenge wall.” And, most obviously, it was in the music that was continuing to blare so loud Wednesday felt she would go deaf before the day was up.

You’re here somewhere, Wednesday thought, her own feet carrying her through the gym. Under the arches, in the makeshift caves, everywhere you could possibly be. She found your harness at the base of one of the formations but that was all. There was nothing, not the slightest hint of where you could be-

-there. A shadow on the ground.

Wednesday stepped out of the makeshift cave just enough to see you sitting at the top, your legs dangling off the side. She knew the nurse had given you a bit of freedom to move around, but there was no way you had been cleared to climb or fly. How had you even gotten up there?

There was only a split second of hesitation before Wednesday bent down to unlace her own shoes. Then her jacket until she was left in just her pants and sweater. She paced around to find the easiest path up to where you were and braced herself. I can do this, she thought as she grabbed the first hold and started making her way up.

It took her far longer than she would ever openly admit. The holds were rough on her bare feet and she could feel the cramping starting in her calves and forearms. She purposefully ignored the stinging in her hands. If she focused on the music then it was easier to keep going. Maybe that was why you had it so loud.

Every muscle in her body ached by the time she pulled herself up onto the top of the structure. Her feet, her hands, her back, everything. It didn’t help that now she was out of breath and a little bit dizzy. Adrenaline had certainly kept her going, but now that it was wearing off she felt a crash coming on.

Now that she was atop the structure, she trudged to where you were sitting. Your wings drooped pathetically, the right one looking a little stiff. With no shirt in the way she could see the shine of scars littering your back. The wounds from the attack were almost healed but there was still a bit of scabbing left.

Just from the hunch of your shoulders, you looked… sad.

You flinched when she put her hand on your shoulder. If she had thought you could hear her, she would’ve called out to you. For a moment she was worried you were going to fall off the edge when you spun around. Your eyes went wide when you saw her.

The music drowned out whatever you were trying to say. Sure, your mouth was moving, but the only thing Wednesday could hear was the deep bass of whatever new song had just come on. You rolled your eyes and shook your head before pushing her to sit down and holding your hand out to her.

Stay. She knew that one.

Almost immediately after Wednesday nodded once, you slipped over the edge and disappeared. She hoped you had climbed down, but she knew not to expect too much from you. The music fell to little more than a thrum that settled into the base of her skull. It was only another minute or two later before your head popped back up and you pulled yourself onto the top.

With one hand, Wednesday didn’t fail to notice.

You let a bag roll off your shoulder onto the structure in front of her. The clang echoed through the now-quiet gym, reaching her ears again by the time you sat down. What usual gentleness was in your hands was gone as you reached over and pulled her hands closer, inspecting the new wounds she had received on the climb to the top.

“You shouldn’t have come up this high without help,” you said as you let her hands go. “What are you even doing here?”

The bite in your words didn’t go unnoticed.

“It’s Saturday,” Wednesday said.

“So?” You were digging in the bag for something, completely focused. Or possibly avoiding her eyes. Either was a very real possibility.

“We were going to get coffee.”

Every muscle in your body tensed up and your jaw clenched impossibly tight as your hands stopped moving in the bag. An almost inaudible exhale through your nose while your eyes slipped shut. Wednesday had seen you with that look only a handful of times. It was more often than not accompanied by guilt.

“Shit,” you whispered, your eyes squeezing shut even tighter.

As your eyes opened and Wednesday noticed the slightest shimmer of tears, she felt lost. She didn’t know what to say to you. It wasn’t like she could tell you otherwise, you had missed coffee with her. Intentionally? Most likely not, though that didn’t change the fact. But she hadn’t expected you to react this way.

“Fucked up again,” you mumbled around a humourless chuckle. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You don’t have to, Wednesday thought, but she didn’t say it aloud. Her mouth wouldn’t form any words as she watched with bated breath as you started moving again. The muscles in your shoulders were still tense, but at least you were moving around.

“Come here.”

A disgusting little squeak fell from her lips as you grabbed her by the arms and pulled until she was sitting in your lap. Your lap. Her back was pressed against your chest and your arms wrapped around her to mess with her hands and your breath was fanning across her neck. Instinct told her to pull her hands back to her lap; you stopped her.

“Quit moving,” you said softly as your arms tightened around her, “I need to clean them or they’ll get infected.”

Wednesday watched your movements as you started cleaning the new raw spots on her hands. If you hadn’t pointed them out, she never would have noticed. Well, surely she would have known eventually, but you had picked up on it immediately. The alcohol wipe you used stung, but Wednesday refused to let you see her wince. You cleaned and started bandaging them as if you had done it a million times before.

“You know what you’re doing,” Wednesday said when you effortlessly taped one of her fingers.

“My brother taught me,” you said, your face now leaning over her shoulder to get a better look. “Used to tear my hands up all the time.” Delicate fingers wrapped tape on another wound. “Eventually he got tired of patching me up and taught me how to do it instead.”

“Which one?” Wednesday asked, recalling all the names she had seen on the paper in her novel.

“Nicky,” you said; she felt your chin rest on her shoulder. “He’s my big brother.”

Ah. Wednesday had heard others mention that name before, and now she could at least figure out the relation. She wanted to ask you more, find out who he was, if he had gone to Nevermore. But judging by the slightest shake of your chin, she kept her mouth shut.

“He taught you well,” was what she said instead when you finished wrapping the last of her wounds. Her hands looked like a mummy’s with all the tape and bandaging.

“He was actually pretty shit at it,” you said quickly with what almost sounded like a small laugh. “Couldn’t clean worth a damn.”

Wednesday could feel you pull her closer, your wings moving into her peripheral almost as if to keep you cocooned. Your hands rested palm up, and she couldn’t help but place her own hands on top of them. Slowly, your fingers linked through hers until you were holding her hands. Snug, but not too tight. Comfortable.

Just ask.

“Yoko said you were upset,” Wednesday said. You squeezed her hands.

“Yoko needs to mind her own fucking business,” you said with what was akin to a growl.

“Are you?” She asked anyway. You shifted underneath her before holding her closer once again. Your wings continued to encroach upon her peripheral.

“Yes,” you said so softly she could barely hear it. “I am.”

Wednesday wracked her brain trying to think of what else to say. She had talked with Enid numerous times to work on keeping up this kind of communication, but that didn’t mean she was adept at it just yet. What would Enid say?

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked. That was the proper response. Right?

“Not today,” you said. "I'd rather be distracted."

How could you not already be distracted in such a giant building? Your music was still in the background, you had hundreds of feet of climbing walls, and you had that obnoxious phone of yours sitting off to the side. What else could you possibly need to be-

-she froze when she felt your lips brush against the skin behind her ear.

"Relax, Addams," you chuckled, your breath tickling her neck, "I don’t plan on defiling you in a gym." That was not what she was concerned with. "But I do have a question for you."

You were really going to ask her a question while you littered the softest of kisses behind her ear? When your hands were pulling her closer until she could feel your heart racing against her back? When you could undoubtedly feel her erratic pulse underneath your lips? Now was the time to ask a question?

She nodded once for you to continue anyway.

"Be my girlfriend." Odd, that didn't sound like a question. No, it sounded like a statement.

A rather bold statement that created a fog in Wednesday's brain that she couldn't clear. You wanted her to be your girlfriend? It was preposterous, really. More than once she had let you know she wasn't relationship material. If anything, she was barely even friend material, she was only going to hurt you or use you for her own personal gain.

But as your lips trailed kisses down to the back of her neck, she started to reconsider. After all, you had stuck with her for this long, hadn't you? Through all of her attempts to push you away, her insistence that you were merely acquaintances, her poor excuses to be near you. Her family had taken a shine to you, you had defended her brother, and you had done everything she asked without question.

She shifted in your lap, turning herself around until she could put her legs on either side of your hips. Even sitting you were significantly taller. Looking down at her with slightly puffy red eyes, blown pupils, and a soft smile. Your hands felt so incredibly warm on her waist.

In this moment, you were vulnerable. Vulnerable in that you were still recovering from injuries that still clearly pained you. Vulnerable in the fact she could feel the bare skin of your stomach under her fingers. Vulnerable in that all she had to do was tell you "no," and your entire world would come crashing down.

Against all odds, you were baring yourself to possible devastation.

She had an idea.

"No," Wednesday said.

"I knew- what?" You asked, your cocky grin instantly dropping. "No?"

"No," she repeated. Your stomach tensed underneath her fingers.

"Wha- why not?" You asked; pouted, essentially. It was almost adorable.

"I have standards," Wednesday said, doing her best not to laugh as your mouth fell open in indignation.

"Don't be fucking rude-"

"-ask me again when we're not in your disgusting gym," she interrupted, and the offended look on your face turned to confusion, then understanding.

"Then will you say yes?" You asked with furrowed brows.

“Ask me later and find out,” Wednesday told you. You huffed and rolled your eyes.

But she noticed the way your eyes then fell to her lips; the way your tongue darted out to lick your bottom lip. She was becoming particularly skilled in knowing when you wanted something. No, scratch that, when you wanted something particular. And in that moment, with your soft skin under her fingers and your slightly parted lips, who was she to deny you?

Your fingers gripped her tightly when she leaned up to kiss you. Somehow your body always tensed up for the smallest moment before relaxing completely under her touch. She could feel your hands pull her closer, trying to eliminate whatever space was left between you; not that there was much to begin with.

In a surprise twist, your lips aren’t chapped today. No, they’re much softer even though you’re kissing her as if your life depends on it. They even taste different; unlike the usual sour taste from your energy drinks, you taste sweet. Fruity. And when she dares to lick your bottom lip, the specific taste hits her; cherry.

Her fingers scratch lightly against your stomach and she can’t help but smile when you inhale sharply through your nose. She can feel your own smile against her lips before you lean down to deepen the kiss. Oh, the reactions she could get out of you if she only dared to try.

“You’re a dick,” you mumble against her lips before pulling away.

In a shameful twist of fate, Wednesday was the one leaning forward to kiss you one more time. But you pull further away and she’s left there in your lap with a smile that, for the life of her, she can’t get rid of. How had you turned her so soft? She felt like nothing more than a fool, falling deeper into the trap that you had unwittingly dug for her.

You, with your kiss swollen lips and wings that were now completely encompassing the both of you as if to create a safe haven that only you knew about. For a moment, Wednesday reconsidered telling you no. In this position, in this very point in time, she wanted nothing more than to tell you yes. Yes, she would allow you to call her yours and vice versa.

She leaned forward again, trying to recapture your lips but your hands pushed down on her hips until she couldn’t move. With a furrow of her brows, she locked eyes with you. Those blown pupils of yours had gone back to normal and were now replaced by the slightest little crinkle that made Wednesday’s stomach flip.

“I only kiss my girlfriend,” you said with a shrug and the tiniest shake of your head. “And you’re not her.”

“What?”

With an ease that would normally get her heart racing, you pushed Wednesday until she was off your lap and you could stand up. From her position on the ground she looked up at you like some kind of worshiper at the feet of her god. You looked far too smug about it.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Addams,” you said.

She watched in absolute shock as you winked at her before starting your climb back down to the ground. You were really going to just leave her there? On top of the structure that took her far too long to get up on? Now you were going to expect her to climb down all on her own? No, that wasn’t acceptable.

“You’re going to regret this,” Wednesday called over the ledge. You were already halfway down.

“No, I don’t think I will,” you replied with a smile.

If she ever managed to get down, she was going to kill you.

The next two weeks were insufferable. Even after her threat that you would regret things, she was being proven wrong time and time again. No, you weren’t regretting a single thing. She was the one with the regrets.

It had started at lunch on Monday, and you hadn’t brought the two mugs of coffee that you usually carried with you. There was only the one chipped mug that you kept with you at all times. Wednesday knew there were times you would just share with her, so she did what she usually did on those days; she reached over to take a drink.

And you slapped her hand away.

“I only share coffee with my girlfriend,” you said with a raised brow and a smile hidden behind the mug. Everyone else at the table looked at you both in complete shock but wisely kept their mouths shut.

That was all it took for Wednesday to learn what game you were playing, and she was not happy about it. The nerve, the audacity you had to pull this type of nonsense. She shouldn’t have been surprised, you were known for making plenty of bad decisions in your life, but you had yet to make them where she was involved. Well, she supposed that wasn’t true, you made plenty of poor decisions where she was involved.

And you continued to make them over the next two weeks.

“Sorry, I only shoot things when my girlfriend is around,” you said with a shrug when Wednesday asked if you wanted to go to the archery range.

“Can’t, only my girlfriend knows how to teach me math,” you retorted when Wednesday pointed out you had missed tutoring.

“I’d love to, but I only really let my girlfriend in my room, sorry,” you said when Wednesday attempted to meet up with you in your dorm to talk about a project.

“I only give my girlfriend the other half of my snacks,” you told her with a frown while you handed a piece of your orange to Yoko. Who proceeded to then not take the orange slice when she saw the death glare Wednesday sent her way.

Each time you told her no, you would have to turn your head to hide a smile. Everyone knew you were smiling, everyone - even Wednesday - could see it and could see the shake of your shoulders in silent laughter before you quickly excused yourself. It was infuriating that you were getting so much joy out of this preposterous situation.

She knew what you were doing. It wouldn’t work. Wednesday would rather be cut down before becoming something great than let you win such a ridiculous little game that you had started. There was no way in hell she was going to let you win. Pride be damned, now this was personal.

“Sorry, I can’t talk, I’m waiting for my girlfriend,” you said when you saw Wednesday standing at the door to your room.

She pushed against your chest until you were both in your room and she could shut the door behind her. Now that you were (mostly) officially cleared, your nest had gone back to normal and your things were as chaotically organised as ever. There were a few new shiny things on the shelf, but it was normal. It was you.

“Do you make it a habit of barging into someone’s room when you know they have a girlfriend?” You asked.

Your incessant, obsessive, intolerable overuse of the word “girlfriend” was starting to grate on Wednesday’s nerves. She understood, she got your point. But as you smirked down at her with those eyes that were sparkling with mischief…

Oh, fuck it.

“It’s pretty ru-” you came to a full stop when Wednesday pushed against your chest again and you fell backwards onto your nest.

Your mouth snapped shut when she walked over and climbed on top of you, her knees on either side of your hips. That mischief in your eyes was long gone, now dulled into something comparable to hunger. But your smirk grew when your eyes trailed down her body and back up.

There was that vulnerability again; you were splayed out before her, underneath her, and it gave Wednesday a sense of power. Sitting there on top of you, she held your heart in her hands. She knew you were smiling, but she could feel how tense you were. It was understandable; her own heart was racing at the aspect and that familiar nausea was settling in her stomach.

And then you opened your mouth to speak.

Oh no, Wednesday thought, not this time. She reached out to firmly grip your jaw, holding your face still and stopping you from saying whatever nonsense you were planning. You had talked plenty over the past two weeks, it was her turn.

“I will be your girlfriend,” Wednesday said. There was no room for debate.

“Knew you would cave-”

“-just shut up.”

She didn’t give you a chance to keep the bickering going. Instead just falling forward until she could kiss you, her hand still keeping your face still. Your warm hands rested on her hip and the back of her head, pulling her closer as you let out a dreamy sigh.

Maybe she was okay with letting you win. Just this once.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #everyone but her au

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tralalalalally · 2 months

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Some sketches of headcanons for Maedhros' body-type, tattoos, and scars.

I will give a warning for talk on poor mental and physical health before my notes:

. His body-type in particular is something he specifically works for - before Thangorodrim I think he had the more stereotypical elf-prince body (his mother-name is "well-formed", yes?) - something classically desireable. After his capture, the mix of starvation and hard physical labour made him unhealthily lean. After being rescued he was able to build up body fat again, but instead of regaining his old body he works for this new one. Something undeniably strong, untouchable, a warriors body further exaggerated. Not only does he want to distance himself from the perfection of the old him, he wants to make sure noone looking at him could see him as weak. I doubt he'd remember at least the first few months after his rescue well, but from what he does, he feels ashamed. Hiding, cowing away in fear like a child, striking out at those trying to help, revealing far too much of his trauma from the enemy. Emotion becomes a weakness to him, and he learns to control that, but then as he heals further he seeks control over his body too. I think he might eventually see himself - both body and soul - like a project similar to the construction and ruling of Himring. Especially I imagine a disconnect from his body - it is something to be built up, made strong and impenetrable, anything to not be harmed and tormented again.

. The most important scars for my headcanon (other than his missing hand of course) are the brand on his shoulder and the whip marks on his back. The brand effects him the most, and is something he covers as much as possible. None would know about it other than Findekano, Makalaure, and a few healers. Unfortunately due to it being raised, it cannot be tattooed over (nor do I think he'd be able to sit through any tattoos). I am thinking of designing some type of clothing that would essentially be part of his underwear, something that would keep it covered as often as possible - goes over the shoulder, wrapping around his body to beneath the right arm pit?

For the whip scars - when first brought to Thangorodrim he would sometimes be put to work with the other thralls. This was meant to be demoralising, the thralls seeing their prince/king reduced to this, and to show Maedhros how much had been taken from him. Of course the scars healed poorly and were often infected (I think with the brand, it may have been purposefully aggravated to make the scarring worse), though due to his positioning he got enough medical care to keep him alive. Now that he is free they still give him trouble - mobility issues from ones that cut into muscle, and the scarring itself makes the flesh stiff and less flexible. There is also a lack of feeling for most of the area.

. Tattoos - I honestly don't have any real sure designs or positioning fro them. My main thought was the vision of a tattoo of the 8 pointed star, broken up and faded due to scarring caused at Thangorodrim. You can still tell what the tattoo is of, but it has undeniably been damaged. I think I'd like to design for him a large back tattoo - star of Feanor in the middle, with other references surrounding it. Then, of course, the whip scars on top.

(Ah, and for body hair: I imagine elves can grow it, just usually not as thick. I think I remember reading that some can grow beards in old age? (As with Cirdan), so why not the same for body hair lol. I mean, humans also only get most after puberty)

#my art #silm art #silm fanart #maedhros #tolkien #feanorions #i have a feeling tumblr wont like this one haha

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zombiekillerbiceps · 1 year

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Three Times Leon Protected You (And One Time You Protected Him)

Note: Requested by anon (sort of)! This was fun as hell to write. Also fuck it no read more cut I'm on mobile

Content: cursing, 18+, Leon Kennedy x Gn Reader, they/them reader pronouns, protective Leon, light violence

-----

1. It was your second date together. You two decided to hit up the mini golf course off the highway. Gorging yourselves on bagged cotton candy, you two made light conversation about your hobbies and the most recent summer blockbuster. He was better at mini golf. By, like, a lot. His aim and timing was uncanny, and his force control was honestly impressive. He was totally winning.

You bent down to pick up another losing ball when a hissing whump sound right next to your ear made you stumble backwards. Leon's fist was curled away from you just centimeters away from where your head had just been. He relaxed it, and a golf ball fell out of his hand. It must have been travelling fast from the sound of it, but the only sign of discomfort that he gave was shaking out his hand. Shit, that thing really could have taken a chunk outta your head, and he just snatched it out of thin air like it was nothing.

"Pretty sure you just saved my life," you say with a smile.

"Does that guarantee a third date?"

-----

2. You two had been together, officially, for about two years. It was your birthday, and none of your friends could make it. It wasn't an act of cruelty, they simply had careers and families, some even had kids now! No one wanted to come out on a Sunday night and have to go to work or deal with a toddler in the morning. It still stung, but Leon did his best to make sure you had a good night anyways. He took you to a fancy cocktail bar where you got too drunk on cocktails with names like Private Dancer and Moonlit Night. Leon was paying while you waited by the door, keeping watch for the cab home. Some dude in a loud shirt with the popped collar started hitting on you. You roll your eyes and tell him your husband is paying, hoping the h-word would scare him off, but Frosted Tips was determined. He was drunk too, red-faced and uneven of stance, and he wasn't taking no for an answer. His hand lands on your hip. The action, so intimate it was reserved for Leon only, made you freeze. You push his hand away, but his other comes up, closing the space. Your body turns to stone, wanting to push him off but the weight of his presence pinning you down, hoping if you're still enough he'll give up and leave.

Leon's on him, as suddenly and ferociously as a crack of lightning. His hand is on Too Dark Spray Tan's shoulder, shoving him away. Your boyfriend slides in the space between the two of you. He was an immovable wall keeping you safe. His shoulders were taught, and despite also being nearly blind drunk, he was firm and purposeful. Controlled. You couldn't see his face from your position behind him, but the tautness in his back and the even spread of his legs confirmed how serious he was. The dude harassing you shut down, muttering a homophobic comment.

Leon turned back to you, his hand gently on your shoulder. His eyes tracked the dude across the room like an owl tracking prey, but when he finally tore his eyes away and met your own, his expression softened immediately.

"You okay?" He asks, soft. Concerned.

"Better now."

You mean it. You know you're safe with him.

-----

3. It takes six years of you two being together for his past to catch up to him. At first, you think the riots are associated with a recent political move. It doesn't take long on your daily commute to work to realize this is worse. Something is making people violent. You get to work, mostly because you're too far from home when you realize how fucking bad things are to turn around, and the intern goes berserk. You end up trapped in an office with your boss and a few others, armed with a broken wooden ruler and a stapler. The only thing between you and the raging... sick outside was a slim wooden door on one side and ten stories on the other side of a thick glass window. Your cell gets through to Leon and he orders you to stay in place.

"I'll come get you, just don't move unless you have to," he says. You put your phone on silent.

Things were already pretty bad. They get a whole lot worse when a blond man with a high brow and sunglasses strolls through the chaos like a composer across a stage. He's wearing a leather jacket and, if you didn't have the sinking feeling he was after you, you might have made a joke about him belonging on the set of the Matrix. He grabs you by the arm and drags you out of the office, the world parting around him like river around a rock. He takes you to the roof and it's there that a helicopter descends. Stepping off it is... Leon?

"What the fuck?" You stare at him, dressed in tactical gear and a big fucking gun in his hands. You aren't sure it's really him, except for the way his eyes soften when they meet yours.

"Oh, don't they know?" The blonde gripping your arm asks, squeezing hard enough you're afraid he'll crack the bone.

"Wesker..." Leon inches forward, one hand leaving his gun to stretch out between the two of them. "Let's just talk this through."

"You're not a cop anymore, Kennedy."

Leon doesn't flinch. His expression hardens, a cold look you've never seen on him takes the place of any softness once there.

"Don't make me do this the hard way," he says. He's continuing to inch forward.

You realize what he's doing.

"Then let's discuss the easy option," Wesker's voice is monotone - almost robotic. "I give them back, unharmed, and you give me Chambers."

"What do you need with her?" Leon takes another tentative step forward.

"I'm going to use her to complete my S-Virus -"

"You're gonna run out of letters one day," he jokes, or something similar to joking, if it weren't utterly humorless. "You know, the whole virus thing hasn't worked the last twelve times. Maybe it's time to change career paths."

"This is unlike any before -"

"Have you ever considered dog grooming? I think it would be healthier for you."

Another inch. Wesker doesn't even realize how close Leon's gotten.

"I could kill them without breaking a sweat and you're still-"

BAM.

Wesker's head flies back with a sharp crack. You use the moment to slip out of his grasp and run towards Leon. He's ushering you towards the helicopter. You turn towards him to yell at him, thinking yourself safe, when you see it behind his shoulder. Wesker's back was arched slightly back, but he was still standing. You feel your eyes widen in terror as something slimy and black and living throbs out of his forehead. He's slowly righting himself.

"Get mad at me later," Leon says. He takes aim, walking backwards, firing into Wesker's body. He casts the occasional glance at you to make sure you're safe behind him until you're on the helicopter.

----

1. Fifteen years together. After the Wesker Event, you were given clearance to know everything Leon did. The US Government had you sign a form essentially giving them permission to kill you if you said anything (not in as many words, of course). You learned combat basics, but Leon insisted on keeping you out of the thick of it. So, despite knowing the horrors that awaited your husband everytime he went on a mission, despite watching the darkness in his eyes grow, you stayed at home. Pursued a career in something safe, did laundry, took care of the dog until Leon got home and then you cooked dinner for the two of you. You were the harbour in the storm.

Until you got a call from a hospital in DC that your husband was injured in combat. You were escorted by two women in suits across the country, and by the next morning, you found yourself in a quarantined hospital face to face with some fucking decorated general denying you permission to even look at him.

"What was the point of calling me down here?! Let me fucking see him!" You're causing a scene. You know it. But the rage batters against your rib cage like a wild beast.

"Si-... Mx, I need you to calm down," he says.

"Calm down?!" You take a deep breath, about ready to scream, when a warm hand lands on your shoulder. You look up to see Redfield, battered and tired and... Old. He shakes his head. You chew your words.

"He was injured during combat with a BOW. He may be infected. Letting you in could risk not only your safety, but the world's."

"He isn't a risk to me." You push past the general. You shove the doors to his room wide open, desperate to just see him for yourself.

You aren't prepared for how bad he looks. His face is swollen almost beyond recognition, his body laying with a limpness he didn't even have when he was asleep. If it weren't for how well you knew the birthmarks and freckles on his body, you would almost believe it wasn't him.

Soliders are rushing in to drag you out but Redfield steps in. You've made your choice, he tells them. If Leon wakes up and eats you, that was on you.

For days, you meet with doctors and officials and suits. He might never wake up, the doctors tell you. He's a danger to public safety, the officials tell you. You overhear the suits talking about the possibility of putting him down while he's defenseless.

They were really going to kill him in a coma because of what he might be infected with.

That is when you stepped up as his guardian. You meet with doctors from all over the world, military lawyers, philosophers. You spend weeks worth of time tied up on the phone, and days worth signing papers (and not signing papers). You get seven different doctors from seven different countries to examine him and confirm his vitals are all normal and expected for someone in his condition. Dr. Chambers herself confirms there isn't a trace of G-virus or any of its daughter strains in him.

You build your case. The logical argument is that there is no empirical evidence that Leon is a threat, backed up by thorough medical reports and several professional witnesses. The moral argument: it was morally wrong to kill a defenseless man because he might be a threat if he wakes up. Not even the government should have that power. The empathetic argument came last.

"Give me five minutes in front of a judge and jury, and I can convince them the only person who can pull the plug is his spouse."

You liquidated a lot of assets, keeping a humble apartment and your dog. You got permission to crack open his bank account to pay for the lawyers, seeing as you were his spouse, and the bank couldn't argue that. It was about a year in when you got a call from an enigmatic woman - you'd later figure out was Wong, on your way to work that the government was planning to just collapse that entire wing of the hospital. You called Redfield, had him post up there when you couldn't be there.

When he was sent away, strategically, you called in the other Redfield. Valentine. Piers. Helena. Everyone you could get your hands on. You called in every favour Leon was owed and then you made you own. And when, one after the other, they were forced away, you hired a friend of Wong's.

It took years. It exhausted everything you had, but even when you felt like giving up, you were immovable. You were his spouse. You would not leave his side until it killed you. And even then, Redfield was pretty sure you'd haunt the hospital.

You won the court case. It brought some relief. Leon wasn't under threat of being murdered. But, it came with sinking disappointment too. There was nothing left to do now except sit with him, and wait. That was the worst part of those long years. The silent, still weeks in a sterile room with a victory that still didn't return your husband to you.

It was just before your twentieth anniversary that he finally woke up. You made sure you were the first person he saw, and you stayed by his side through the ensuing mess of tests and rehabilitation. You slowly revealed the extent you had to go to keep him safe. He seemed so impressed with you. He calls you his hero after that, though you don't really think you deserve it. You convince him to retire. And you two live out the rest of your lives safe and content, protecting each other in the ways you knew how to.

#resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy fanfic #protective leon #i suck at tagging idk if you liked it consider rbing #anyways! i hope you enjoy it anon!

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notyour-valentine · 2 years

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The Boy in the Window 9 ~ Tommy Shelby x Reader (Series)

Chapter Summary: That night leaves (Y/N) doubting, while a newcomer makes an enemy of Lizzie and Charlie both, as Tommy braces for what tomorrow may bring

Notes: Sorry about the delay. Some edits only showed on the desktop version and not the mobile one I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Here, you can find my [Masterlist] and the [Series Masterlist]

Warning: Canon conforming mention of violence. Implied sexual content. (18/21+). Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Expect spoilers for Peaky Blinders Season 1-4.

Wordcount: 5297

Part 9

[Previously]

The longer she thought of it, the more she came to the realisation that she shouldn't have enjoyed it nearly as much as she had.

It was wrong.

They were unmarried, not even in a relationship, in any relationship really - apart from a few childhood memories and the fact that she was taking care of his son. His son, who had been sleeping upstairs in a bed next to her daughter.

It had been all wrong.

But not one of these many reasons changed the fact that she had felt good, felt whole again. Like a woman, and not just like a broken widow or a tired and trying mother.

(Y/N) had thought she would never feel like that again, but she had. Thanks to him.

But just like her, he didn't seem sure what to make of it.

He had been so gentle with her, not only during, but after too, when he had held her in his arms, surrounded by his warmth, soothing her to sleep with soft touches.

But with everything that was going on, there was not a moment of peace to be had, not as soon as the sun rose. The children were around constantly throughout the day, and the business kept him away so that they hardly had a moment alone, let alone the chance to talk.

In a way she preferred it that way, as the thought of a confrontation made her stomach turn.

(Y/N) still felt his eyes on her though, taking the measure of her the same way he had done in the first few days of their arrangement - trying to weigh her worth.

He must worry that there could be consequences.

She prayed there wouldn't but it would be weeks before they knew. And in the worst case, she'd be in a world of trouble. They both would.

So it was no wonder that he regretted it.

Yet in spite of that, he still sought out her touch the same way he had before.

Perhaps he sought her warmth, like a traveller coming in from the rain. They too would settle down and enjoy the heat of a hearth, maybe even needed it for a while only for them to inevitably move on.

The knock and the door made her look up from the carrots she was cutting.

She wiped her hands on the apron before letting him in. He was dressed in his coat and hat, and had undoubtedly been about doing business.

"I'll call Charlie.", She quickly said, but his hand closed around her wrist.

It wasn't forceful, and not even close to bruising, but with enough intention to stop her from moving away.

"I don't have time."

With his grasp still lingering on hers, she turned to him and what she saw made her breath hitched.

"They're coming for Arthur today."

"What?", (Y/N) asked.

He nodded, glancing at the door in impatient anticipation.

"So don't leave the house today, yes?"

"Of course."

The affirmation left her lips as soon as he had asked it of her.

Tommy’s orders - they had become such a sample of life in Small Heath, the words had found their way into daily conversations.

“She was scrubbing at it like Tommy Shelby ordered her to,”, could be heard when a mother complained about her daughter’s housekeeping skills, while wives complained that “he drank like it was Tommy Shelby’s orders.”

They joked, but they all knew the power of his words. They were more than just sound and air, more binding even than the laws of church and state combined.

And she too obeyed them.

"What will you do?", she asked.

"Stop them.", Tommy said. "Or try to."

Those three words made her heart clench.

"Be careful."

It was only a whisper, but he caught it anyways.

His leather gloved hand brushed a half moon on the inside of her wrist before he cleared his throat and walked out, leaving her alone with two children and a sea of worry.

For them, she put on a brave face, and lied at lunch when they saw that she didn't let a bite pass her lips.

All day, she listened for noise, for cars, for shooting, for explosions, but there was nothing.

Nothing could be good, but it could also be horrifically bad.

She had half a mind to cross the courtyard and enter the house on Watery Lane to find out what had happened.

But he had told her to stay inside. It was safer that way.

(Y/N) had only just served the children dinner, when his shadow appeared on the kitchen door.

"He's fine.", Was all he said as he entered.

"Who's fine?", Emma asked, having understood the words even if he had only hissed them.

"An old friend of ours.", (Y/N) lied. "We thought he might be ill but he isn't."

Thank God he isn't.

That thought startled her.

It was only natural that she felt some form of affection for Tommy after the time and the night they spent together, and if not for him, for Charlie's sake. But somewhere along the way, the lines had been smudged further and (Y/N) realised that perhaps she had been foolish to assume she could stay impartial in all this, even if she held no personal care for Arthur or the others.

When she returned from putting the children to bed to find him sitting on the edge of the sofa. The orange-red flickers of the fireplace reflected in his eyes as his head was braced against his hand.

For a while she wasn't sure he had even noticed she had come down again, not until he held out his hand, without looking at her.

After a few seconds, she dared to take it, letting him pull her down next to him.

"Is there anything I can get you?", She asked. "Some tea? Whisky?"

She hadn't missed the absence of a glass.

"I have to think."

With a nod, she tried to rise, but his hand clasped down on hers, stopping her movement before she had even truly begun.

So she settled back down again, watching him stare into the flames.

He was perfectly, almost frighteningly still, as his mind raced beside her.

And all the while his hand clutched hers tightly, holding onto her.

When she awoke the next morning, she realised that it could only have been him who had placed her head on a pillow and taken her shoes off before lifting her feet up on the sofa.

Tommy had left her with a flickering fire and a blanket draped over her shoulder and on the table beside her, she found the earrings and watch he had taken off of her so they wouldn't sting her during the night.

Charlie’s horse had elevated both his and Emma’s spirits beyond the skies. He wanted - no needed - to go every single day, as he would declare during each and every breakfast.

Emma was also more than eager to go as well.

The yard with all its secrets had captured her imagination and she loved nothing more than to run around and explore, with either (Y/N) or Charlie Strong chasing after her.

Somewhere along the line, her giddy excitement had won the old man’s heart.

He still didn’t let her touch everything she wanted to, but (Y/N) didn’t fail to notice how he would steer her in a certain direction where she could explore something that was in equal measures exciting and safe. Curly preferred Charlie’s company.

Together, they would spend hours in the stables, and Charlie was more than eager to try his hand at everything from cleaning fur, mucking out the stables, or feeding the horses with everything he had to offer. (Y/N) had to make sure that he didn’t overestimate his own capabilities however.

He was still only five.

Curly’s affection for Charlie did not mean he was unkind to Emma, but as he once remarked to her: “She’s so loud and hasty, makes me all nervous sometimes.”

And yet he was tender with her as well, a gentle giant, as they all soon grew to realise.

Another advantage of taking the children there would make sure that they didn’t run circles around her constantly.

As a thank you for letting them come and keeping the children occupied, she always came with a basket that did not only hold sandwiches for the children, but also something sweet for Mr. Strong and Curly.

They were never short of sweet goods these days, since Charlie and Emma had discovered baking as something they both enjoyed.

It always took half a day and made a historic mess, but they had such fun with it, and it was something they could do inside without getting all too bored.

Today, she brought a cake for them.

Sitting down on one of the chairs in the entrance of the stables, she could watch Charlie and Emma at the same time.

It was from that very spot that she watched the other woman arrive.

Her coat was the first thing she noticed, incredibly fashionable and horrifically expensive.

Clothes like that could only have been worn by a select few people in Birmingham but if she had been a Shelby, (Y/N) would have known. And since she wasn’t, she had no business coming here.

“Ah.”, Mr. Strong said and walked over to her.

She was a very beautiful woman, with a sharp, shapely face, dark captivating eyes and an undoubtedly charming smile that lit up her face when she shook Mr. Strong’s hand.

They talked for a moment, and Mr. Strong waved in the direction of the stables.

“Who’s she?”, Charlie asked, having come up beside her.

“I haven’t got a clue, darling.”, (Y/N) said.

He huffed, his eyes, his father’s eyes, narrowing in suspicion.

They only narrowed further as the woman began to come closer, her polished leather heels sending splashes of mud and mucky water flying onto her pale coat.

But she didn’t seem to care.

“Hello.”, she greeted with a wide smile, as she crouched down slightly.

“You must be Charlie.”

Charlie only glared at her, but that didn’t daunt her at all.

“My name is May.”, she introduced herself.

The way she spoke gave her more away than her clothing ever could. She spoke the way people talked up and down the country, independent of where they lived, because these people lived in a world of their own, a world of vast gardens and sprawling estates, of dinner parties and champagne, silk and satin.

“Good day.”, Charlie muttered, his right hand finding the fabric of (Y/N)’s coat behind his back.

“I hear you like horses too. Is that true?”

He nodded.

“Just like your father.”

When he nodded again, he smiled slightly, unable to hide his pride at her words.

For a boy at his age, or perhaps at any age, being compared to their father was the greatest possible compliment - unless it was the deepest insult. There was no inbetween.

“I’m here to meet your father’s new race horse. I’m going to train him.”

A woman training a horse- at least that would explain her presence here. And it was evident why Tommy had chosen her. Or why any man would. Her lips tightened.

“Dangerous?”, Charlie asked.

“Yes, Dangerous. Well done.”, she praised.

(Y/N) could see how Charlie liked her words.

“He’s really tall and really fast and Dad says he’ll win the Derby.”

“I will try my best.”, she promised the son, undoubtedly repeating the same commitment she had made to the father.

“Now, it was a pleasure to meet you, Charlie,”, she said, saying goodbye, “be good to Nanny.”

At once the smile was wiped from Charlie’s face as his hand balled into a fist.

“Don’t call her that!”, he snarled, his eyes flashing.

The woman, May, was so startled by his change of demeanour that she took a hasty step back, shocked at the flash of his father’s temper.

Even (Y/N) flinched, shocked to see remnants of the father’s rage coming from the son.

“She’s not! She’s not!”, he called. “She’s Emma’s Mummy and Dad's friend!”

“My, my.”, she said, stepping back once more.

Emma had heard the commotion and had come running.

“What’s going on?”, she demanded to know.

“I want to go home!”, Charlie demanded, turning towards her. “Please, can we go home? Please! Please!"

When she didn't react fast enough for him, he jumped up and down in urgency, pulling at her arm as if he wanted to yank her away by force.

“I think that would be a good idea.”, she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper compared to the screaming loud thoughts in her.

They didn’t quiet down, not even when they had returned home. Instead they raced and raced, but towards a finish line, or with a goal in mind - no, they circled around one single thought, like a cat chasing its own tail, only in her case she had already sunk her teeth in it, making it not only foolish but needlessly painful in some almost ritualistic of penance.

Well; it wasn’t like she didn’t deserve it.

When the knock came from the front door, she knew it wasn’t Tommy, and so she was cautious in opening up, despite knowing that four Blinders were watching the house at all times.

But all her fears were quashed as she saw the familiar dark eyes of Lizzie Stark.

“Good afternoon.”, she greeted as she let her in.

“Afternoon.”, she replied. She held a basket in one hand, while another one was carried by a young boy, barely sixteen years old.

(Y/N) did not know whether he was a Blinder or a local boy, although these days she didn’t know if there was much difference. All of Small Heath, independent of their views about the Blinders, had united in the face of a foreign enemy.

She thanked him for his efforts and carried the basket inside, leaving it for later to unpack.

“Tea?”, she asked Lizzie.

“Why not?”, she said, glancing out at the kitchen entrance of Watery Lane.

“Hello Lizzie!”, Charlie called from the living room, giving her a wave.

“Hello, Charlie, love.”, she replied with a soft smile.

“We’re playing knights and dragons!”, he explained.

“And Emma’s the Princess?”, Lizzie asked.

“No!”, Emma snapped, pulling a face. “Charlie and I are both knights! Mummy’s the princess.”

Am I?

She hadn’t realised she had become part of their play.

“Princess, huh?”, Lizzie asked, a sly smirk playing on her lips as she lit her cigarette.

(Y/N) offered her Tommy’s ashtray, before continuing to prepare the tea.

“Thank you for the shopping.”, she said.

“Ah, no worries.”, she said, “We are all glad to have something to do - going half mad stuck in fucking Small Heath.”

Sometimes she forgot that Lizzie Stark too was part of the group around the Shelbys that had made it out - now living in a nice house in a nice part of town with a nice car and wearing nice shoes. Usually.

Unlike (Y/N), who was stuck in Small Heath for all her life.

But she doubted that the return was easy for Lizzie, not in a small place like this, where everyone knew everything about everyone.

And yet it was just because everyone knew everything about everyone else that (Y/N) had never had a problem with Lizzie Stark.

The war’s dark and cruel clutches had not just taken the men and torn them away onto distant, blood soaked shores, but had dug its claws into those that remained too, showing them not an inch of kindness.

And unlike the men, there were no medals for the sacrifices the women had to make.

The same women, who had resulted in the same for equal or even less noble reasons than Lizzie had done, had never told their husbands or fathers or brothers and resumed their life after the war like nothing had happened, but were not above pointing fingers at Lizzie.

And the same men, who collapsed into her arms, buying and paying for affection they either couldn’t receive at home or didn’t dare to ask for were no better, in fact, they were even worse.

What right did the buyer have to shame the seller?

But then again, there was no point in looking for logic in the world of men.

“How are you holding up?”, she asked Lizzie.

“I’m bored and frustrated and Tommy’s losing his fucking mind which doesn’t make anything easier.”, she snapped. “I swear to God, I’ll strangle all the Italians myself if it means I can finally go home.”

(Y/N) watched her bring the cigarette to his lips to inhale deeply as she shook her head.

The porcellian cups clattered slightly as she placed it down in front of her, with the milk and some sugar.

“How are you holding up without John I mean.”, she corrected.

Lizzie’s eyes snapped around, then she swallowed hard and averted her eyes.

That was another thing she knew.

She had been in her first year of school, when a few of the older boys had decided to pick on Lizzie Stark. She had always been pretty and so she had always been a target.

That particular day they had taken her braids and had tried to tie them together around a tree branch. They never got that far.

John, who had been in the same class as Lizzie, had been small, scrawny and malnourished, half the size of the other boys and yet he hadn’t even hesitated for a single second despite it being him against three of them, well, it hadn’t just been one of him for long. If one Shelby fought, all Shelbys fought.

That carried throughout the years. An old neighbour of Lizzie Stark’s, back when she was still living in her old flat, had told her of a particular customer, who had pounded her door demanding, probably, more than just money, and getting increasingly angrier when the door stayed shut. Until one night, the door didn’t stay shut.

But inside he had not found Lizzie, but instead John, and the better side of his razor blade. Needless to say, he had not returned.

Lizzie’s hand trembled as she raised the cigarette again.

And (Y/N) waited. It wouldn’t do to push, not in questions like this.

“Why did it have to be John?”, she finally asked. “I’m not saying I’d rather it have been Arthur or Tommy, but why did it have to be John?”

Because life isn’t fair and death is random.

Because there never is an explanation good enough for the heartbreak of sudden loss.

The way her voice trembled, made (Y/N)’s throat tighten.

“Any words on the children?”, she asked.

Lizzie shook her head.

“Esme’s taken them on the road, fucking wagons and horses.”

She tapped the cigarette far harsher and far more times than necessary.

“I think it’s bloody madness, but it’s what John would have wanted, so….”

She sniffed and cleared her throat.

“I had my problems with Esme alright, but she’s not a bad mother. And she took all eight of them, even Martha’s four.”

The other woman shook her head once more.

When she reached for the tea, she drank it as if she wished it was whisky, burned her tongue and cursed.

“You know what the worst part is?”, she finally asked, meeting her eyes again.

(Y/N) shook her head.

“Sometimes,”, she sighed, “sometimes someone will bang the door of the shop or park the car with screeching tires and I’ll it’s him. I’ll look up, thinking it’ll be John and it’s just not.”

Her voice cracked and she swallowed whatever further elaboration she would have shared.

Slowly, she reached over and placed her hand over hers, giving her hand a little squeeze.

“When my husband died,”, she said cautiously, “I’d forget too. Always, in the mornings, right after waking up. And I’d feel so stupid, because how dim would I have to be to forget that my own husband was dead?”

Lizzie turned her palm and gave her hand a squeeze.

For a while they sat in silence, both half drowning in their thoughts and grief, her’s old and Lizzie’s fresh.

“Anyways, I have to go.”, she finally said, clearing her throat. “Here, I got you this.”

With that, she put a small, square box on the kitchen table in front of her.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”, Lizzie said.

(Y/N) opened the black box and gasped, pulling away as if the box had turned to bright red iron.

Inside, she found a pair of earrings that sparkled in the yellow kitchen light, as if they were stars plucked from the midsky sky.

“Wha- …?”, she stammered in utter disbelief, dropping the box as if she had burned her fingers.

“Pff. Tommy said I’m supposed to buy you whatever you need.”

“But he was talking about groceries, not this!”, (Y/N) gasped.

Lizzie only shrugged.

“So what? You fucking deserve it and it’s not like Tommy can’t afford it.”

“It’s too much money!”, she insisted, her cheeks burning with shame.

“Should’ve gotten the emerald ones. They were three times the price.”, she sneered, pursing her lips. “Just like I should have put more than 10 000 pounds on that woman’s check - the way she talked to me made me want to slap that fucking smile right off of her face, and Tommy just let her. But she won’t be smiling when she sees that withdrawal.”

(Y/N) didn’t have to ask which woman she meant, her presence clearly the reason Lizzie had decided to bring the earrings, a small way to make Tommy pay.

He raised his eyebrow when she handed him the box, inspecting the jewellery closely. It had taken a while for him to be able to open it, with fingers made fidgety from drink.

“Lizzie’s got good taste.”, he commented, before setting it down again.

“Well, I haven’t even touched them, so you will have no problem returning them.”, (Y/N) said, even if she doubted Tommy Shelby would have problems getting anyone to do anything in this city.

He shook his head, bringing the cigarette to his lips once more.

“Keep ‘em.”, he simply said. (Y/N) had realised as soon as he had stepped through the doors that he hadn’t arrived completely dry, not with his hair slightly out of place and his eyes shining.

He was also even more impatient than he normally was, but she hadn’t realised he was this drunk, if he treated diamond earrings like a casual trinket.

She shook her head.

“No, I can’t accept that. Besides, I’d be robbed in the streets.”

He snorted, leaning back in the armchair.

“Not in these streets.”

Your streets you mean.

(Y/N) wasn’t oblivious to the rumours that had begun to circulate.

Nor had the fact that the Peaky Blinders not only left her alone, excepting her and her alone from their many checks, controls and random searches, but had started to guard her house, gone unnoticed.

Especially the fact that Finn Shelby had driven her home one late afternoon had raised many eyebrows.

The 'why' most people still hadn’t been able to piece together, and no one had the guts to ask outright. But it had become impossible to deny.

By now, (Y/N) didn’t know what to tell them anymore, not when she didn’t even know herself.

“I would never wear them.”, she declined again.

His response came as quick and effortlessly, almost carelessly.

“Keep ‘em until Emma wears them.”

“I don’t think Emma and I are cut from the cloth that wears diamonds.”

He tilted his head, despite being drunk still hearing the things she had not said out loud.

“Curly told me she thought you were the Nanny.”, he said, bringing the cigarette to his lips again.

(Y/N) glanced down at her lap and bit the inside of her lip. It took a moment for her to gather herself, with a deep breath and a much needed reality check.

“Why wouldn’t she?”, she said, meeting his eyes again.

He studied her once more, reading things she’d rather keep hidden, but she was used to it by now. And since he never shared the results of his inquiry, nor his reaction, she could consider herself reasonably safe.

Putting out his cigarette, he left her behind and walked over to the kitchen only to return with a bottle and two glasses.

Unscrewing the top, he poured both portions rather generously.

“Try this.”, he said, letting himself drop back into the chair before reaching up to his collar.

He fought with his tie, tugging harder at it when it refused to come loose at first, but then it bent to his will. Rolling it up with rather thick fingers, he stuffed it into the pocket of his trousers before undoing the top button of his shirt.

Once he was done, he leaned his head back and inhaled deeply.

“Go on.”, he insisted.

Cautiously, she brought the glass to her lips and drank.

It tasted strong and fresh, but not in an overwhelming, burning way.

“And?”, he asked.

“I…I don’t know.”, she admitted. “I don’t drink gin.”

“Then you are my target demographic.”, he stated. “Women who don’t drink gin. Too sweet or not sweet enough? I’ve heard conflicting things.”

(Y/N) brought the glass to her lips again, even though she knew it wouldn’t gain any other result.

“I have nothing to compare it to.”, she admitted truthfully.

“Better than whisky?”, he asked.

“Almost everything’s better than whisky.”, she argued, making him snort.

Leaning over, her fingers could grasp the bottle, bringing it into view.

The first thing she noticed on the label was the horseshoe, and only then the three large letters identifying the type of liquid.

“Shelby Company Limited Gin,”, she read out loud, “Distilled for the eradication of seemingly incurable sadness?”

Now it was her turn to throw him a questioning look.

“You disapprove.”, he said, sounding amused with her reaction, his eyes narrowing in on her like a hawk on its prey, revelling in anticipation of the game it could play that only existed because of him.

“It sounds very poetic.”, she argued, trying to sound convincing.

“And you don’t like poets?”

“I think that poets often lie.”, she retorted, bastardising a quote she had read long ago.

To her surprise, the corners of his lips twitched. It must’ve been the rhythm that gave her away.

“...awake at night, staring at the ceiling, having to think about things that are true.”

To say she was impressed was an understatement, but the way his eyes searched for a reaction made her crumble.

“Well, I still don’t think that sadness is incurable.”, she stated, almost clumsily, as she was quick to change the topic.

“Course not.”, he sneered, sipping his own gin once more.

“What is that supposed to mean?”, (Y/N) demanded to know, the liquor and the late hour loosening her tongue and lowering her inhibitions.

“That you don’t need gin. You just sing and soothe and kiss all the worries and sadness away.”

There was a darkness in his voice, a bitterness that turned the taste in her mouth to bile.

(Y/N) didn’t know if he was mocking her or not, not until he had taken another sip and dared to speak again.

“The way mums do.”

Why were it always the soft spoken words that cut the deepest? At least when it came to him.

She took another gulp, a larger one than before, if only to have something to do.

But it wasn’t enough to build her confidence to the necessary level to endure his gaze.

“Well, it is what it is.”; she forced herself to say, bitterness dripping from her every word like some kind of venom that poisoned both her and him at the same time.

The feeling his words had given her was like an ever tightening noose around her chest and she wanted nothing more to be out of his sight, out of the reach of his words before she lost her composure completely.

Only her flight was short lasting.

She had gotten up and walked around at a safe distance, but he had somehow leaned forward far enough to grab her hand, tugging her back, and not only towards him.

Losing her balance, she stumbled into his arms.

“Tommy?”, she gasped, her hands still flat against his chest from her failed attempt to stop herself from crashing into him.

He didn’t seem to mind.

On the contrary - his arms snaked around her waist and pulled her into his lap.

“Tommy!”

“Shh.”, he insisted, his forehead almost brushing against hers. “Shh.”

As his eyes fluttered shut, he dropped his head onto her chest, his hair brushing against her chin as she could feel his heavy sighs tickling her collarbone with every breath he took.

He pressed a fluttering kiss to her skin.

“Tommy, I think you’ve had enough to drink.”, (Y/N) said softly.

“Not nearly.”, he said, lifting his head again. “Not nearly enough for what happened. And not nearly enough for what will happen, (Y/N).”

As he spoke, he lifted one of his hands to twist a strand of her hair. It was an innocent, childish gesture that didn't match the gloom of his words in the slightest.

His eyes shone, wide and glassy like a little boys.

“What will happen?”, she asked.

He only shook his head slowly, as if he couldn’t even find the words to express his thoughts.

“Must’ve gotten the mixture wrong.”, he mused as he reached for the gin again - the whole bottle this time.

He took a sip and shook his head once more.

“Cause I’m still sad.”

The way he said it was so close to Charlie’s voice made her chest ache.

It also wasn’t the first time he had stared up at her with wide, shining eyes that were desperate for an answer, a reprieve, like they had been all those years ago when he had confessed to her things he had never shared with anyone before or since- the one time Tommy Shelby had very nearly deserted his family.

But all the years since hadn’t made her any wiser, not in this.

“Oh Tommy.”, she whispered, reaching up and stroking the back of his head.

If only it were as simple as to distil and drink some gin.

If there was a magic cure, she would have given it to him gladly, even if it cost her her own relief- that is how much her chest burned when she saw the pain in his eyes.

But there was none, or if there was, she hadn’t found it.

Despite everything, or maybe because of it, he leaned up and captured her lips with his in an almost desperate attempt.

She let him press his lips to hers for a moment, before pulling back.

Slowly, he shook his head, contemplating a new truth.

“Tommy, what are you doing?”, she wanted to know.

She did not miss how the hands that were already wrapped around her waist began to play with her dress, drawing circles in the fabric, although not fully daring to pull it up just yet.

“You’re drunk and you will regret this.”, she reminded him once more, but he only shook his head.

“I’m sad and I don't want to feel sad anymore, (Y/N).”, he pleaded as he leaned up once more, to kiss her again, as his hands found their way under her skirt.

End of Part 9

Part 10

Thank you for reading! I’d be very grateful for feedback of any kind!

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th3sp4rr0w · 8 months

Text

Day Seven

A03 Link <- Starts at Chapter/Day One for those just joining us :))

Prompts For Day Seven Flatline/Restrained/CPR

Alt. Prompt For Day Seven Disowned From Family

Prompts Used for Day Seven All

Tw's; Blood, Severe Injury, Lots of Medical Talk, Dubious Medical Accuracy, Implied Drugging, Mentioned Child Murder/Death, Parental Child Abuse

Chapter Seven under the cut :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The worst moments of any parent’s life are when you realize your kid is in trouble and you can’t drop everything right away to go save them.

For most parents, this moment comes when their kid’s sick and they can’t get out of work to go pick them up, or they go to a friend’s house for the night, and they come home with horror stories and the “I didn’t want to wake you up” line. When you and your kid are vigilantes on a mission in a foreign country, however, that feeling doubles.

He hadn’t wanted Robin near the action tonight and sent him out on his own. He had watched him leave from the shadows. He almost called him back and told him to stick with him tonight. He regretted everything now, of course, but regret doesn’t change our actions. Guilt doesn’t right our wrongs.

Batman got the emergency signal while he was in the middle of a fight. The Joker may not have shown up as promised, but these were definitely his men, and they were out for blood. Batman couldn’t leave the victims there, so he had stepped in and immediately regretted it.

He finished up as quick as he could, then sped off. He didn’t have his regular bat mobile here, never seeing the need for one, but he did have a car that was adjacent to it in terms of speed and self-drivability. He followed the signal to a warehouse on the edge of the city, far enough away that anything could’ve happened, and it’d likely go unmonitored. He saw the corpse of a young man when he pulled in, and selfish as it was, he prayed he wasn’t too late for Robin.

He saw Robin when he got the door opened and fell to the ground. His eyes caught the tools in the doorknob. He saw his boy for just a moment before everything fell apart.

The blast shook the ground and nearly made him lose his footing. He watched his boy, his funny, sweet boy get swallowed by the plume, burning bits of his flesh and ricocheting debris off his already beaten little body.

If there was anyone else in that building, they were already dead. He couldn’t think about how if Jason hadn’t opened the door when he did, he’d likely be dead; Batman could see where metal beams being stored in the warehouse had fallen where Jason should’ve been standing. Batman racked his eyes across the wreckage, looking for anything out of the ordinary to make sure they were safe. There was part of an arm somewhere to the left of them he refused to think about.

He pulled him away from the wreckage and checked him over. Miraculously, he was still breathing. Several broken bones stood out to him; his rib cage was misshapen and his wrist looked like it was at the wrong angle. The worst of his injuries were several large gashes across his body, including one on his back, and several large burns spread across his arms and legs. The damage to his cheek and the blood in his hair indicated a severe concussion; they’d have to monitor him for brain bleeds...

He stopped breathing. Batman pressed two fingers against the boy’s neck. Nothing. Shit, shit, shit-

He got into position on Jason’s left side, pressing his hands above where his heart should be. He tried not to think about him as the boy that called him papa that week, the one who’d gushed about Jane Austen and had the most wicked sense of humor and-

Batman plugged the boy’s nose, tipping his head back gently. He took a deep breath and blew it into his lungs, making sure his chest rose when he did. He immediately started CPR again.

He couldn’t afford to think right now. He wasn’t Bruce. This wasn’t Jason and this wasn’t Robin. This was a little boy who was hurt and who had to live, dammit-

As a parent, he always thought the worst moments of his life were going to be when his kids did something stupid, and he couldn’t get to them right away. He was quickly learning that the worst moments of a parent’s life were the moments when they weren’t sure if they were going to come home alone after a trip with their child.

He stopped to check for a heartbeat. A slow, but steady ‘thunk... thunk... thunk...’ greeted him. He could see the shallow breaths he took.

Batman made sure to cradle as much of the body as he could as he scooped him up. He kept his neck as stable as he could as he ran towards the car and opened the back seat, carefully sliding in.

“Computer,” he said gruffly, “Take me to the air vac.”

The car started. He hated using the self-driving modes on these things, but this time he didn’t have a choice.

The first thing Batman did was strap him into a neck brace. He ripped the boy’s clothes off, being as careful as he could manage not to jostle him in the case of a spine injury. He’d done so to both get a better look at the injuries and prevent them from sealing in any heat that would cause more damage.

The whole area of the boy’s torso was a solid mass of black and blue. There had been a tear in his suit that allowed his skin to burn there a little bit as well, though the majority of the burns were on his legs and hands. His wrists and upper-forearms were shiny and pink, the rest being relatively clear. He didn’t think there was any smoke inhalation.

His legs and hands were a different story. He wasn’t sure if the boy would be able to keep his legs; they were a solid mass of deep red and black. His boots had protected his feet and ankles for the most part, but that meant very little if the legs themselves were too damaged. His hands were only slightly better. Batman focused on those first, grabbing a clean saline solution and flushing the areas of any soot or debris as well as cooling down the area, preventing it from burning itself more.

His suit had protected him from the worst of it, but there was still a significant amount of damage. He’d estimate about 40 percent of his body had been hit, so...

Jason just hit 90 pounds at his physical last week. Though, he did a lot of exercise, so he needed more fluid in a day than a normal child did.

Once they got in the plane, he would set him up with two large I.V. lines to deliver 4,500 mL of fluid to start with, all within 8 hours. He’d have to monitor his urine output and would probably have to adjust it accordingly, but...

He was just thankful his airway was secured. He didn’t have the medical supplies in the car to do it himself. He’d still have to put him on oxygen once they got to the plane, but at least he was breathing. It was a start.

As the car rolled to a stop, Batman wasted no time in scooping the unconscious teen up in his arms and running towards the plane. His boys thought he was paranoid for including all the medical equipment, but this is why he does so. Jason... wouldn’t make the flight home otherwise, and nearly all the clinics and hospitals in the area weren’t equipped to deal with Jason’s injuries. He pushed the thought out of his mind before it could form.

He got him on the plane. He set him down on the cot before fluttering around, checking he had what he needed.

He pressed his com unit, “Agent A, are you there?”

“Yes, sir,” Alfred replied immediately. “I saw the signal from the cave, is everything alright?”

The pit in his stomach grew larger. “No. We’re preparing for an emergency flight home,” he said as he ripped off his gloves, changing the kevlar and metal for a sterile medical grade latex.

“Oh dear,” Alfred replied. “What do you need me to do?”

“Call Lesli, have her meet us at the cave” he replied. He usually saved this tone for the worst of Arkham’s breakouts, where he needed his kids to listen to him the most. He almost felt bad using it on Alfred.

“I need the cave’s medical area to be completely sterile. I’m prepping him for two large I.V.’s, wide open to administer 4,500 mL of fluids within the next 8 hours.” Batman wiped the child’s arm with alcohol pads before removing the needle cap on the I.V. line. “He has burns on about 40 percent of his body, as well as several blunt force trauma wounds, weapon unknown,” he carefully stuck the needle into his arm, securing it with medical tape. He started the process on the other side.

“I want a head C.T. to check for any bleeds or hemorrhaging. He also has several deep cuts on the majority of his body, most will likely require stitches. He also needs to be checked for carbon monoxide poisoning, and I’d prefer a full blood work-up before we administer any medications to make sure he wasn’t poisoned or drugged.”

“My word...”

“I’ve gotten his I.V.’s in,” he updated. “He’s being started on fluids as we speak,” he hung up the bags on the pole. “I’m going to get him on oxygen,” he said, grabbing the tank and mask, “Then inserting the catheter. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

“Very well, sir. I will contact Dr. Thompson. Would you like me to contact Nightwing as well?”

Batman cursed. He’d nearly forgotten Dick was on a mission.

“No. I’ll do that as soon as I get Robin-” his chest squeezed painfully; this couldn’t be happening- “Situated. Nightwing will want all the details. He’ll want to lash out at whoever tells him. He’ll never forgive himself if that’s you- He'll be alright in the end if he screams at me for a while.”

He heard the man make some sort of noise before clearing his throat. “Alright. I’ll go prep the med bay now. Make it back safe. Take care of him.”

“Will do. Thank you, Agent A.”

He muted the com. He made sure the oxygen mask was working- the rise and fall of his boy’s chest became much more steady- and he worked to prep the catheter. After that was all said and done, he’d have to put the plane on autopilot he hated doing that, but he had no choice and monitor him the entire ride home.

He debated placing a nasogastric tube; it was a long flight home, and he was unresponsive, but he didn’t have the mask that works with the tubing, and with the lack of a proper ventilator on the plane he was wary of giving him medications anyway-

He looked at the spot where they should’ve been, sporting an empty drawer. He would definitely look into that later, he always took methodical care of his medical stock and for it to be empty was shocking, but for now he had his decision made for him. He covered him with a shock blanket and walked away for a minute.

He started the plane. Now that he had stuck everything he had on hand into the boy to keep him alive, he could get him home.

He launched the plane himself, double checking known airline flight paths and government areas and setting his course with the computer.

He’d have to monitor the small boy himself. Make sure his heart was beating and he was breathing. He looked so much younger with the blanket and tubing and the mask. He was still breathing; he checked his heart rate.

Batman grabbed his emergency coms unit from his belt. He took off the cowl to put it in his ear and pressed the button.

While waiting for an answer, he grabbed his burn kit and got to work. He flushed them with more cold water first, just to double-check that they were flushed well and weren’t still hot. When he was done with one area, he put the blanket back over to prevent him from developing hypothermia.

“Batman?” he heard his eldest’s voice in his ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Nightwing,” he started as he worked, “Report.”

“Mission has been successful so far. We are on schedule to depart on time. There was a minor snag involving Starfire, however we are passed it. In full honesty, I did not understand a single thing that was happening, and I don’t think I want to, if that’s okay. I’m sure she’ll be typing her report soon if you’re interested. There are no injuries or serious damages to report- what?... No, I’m not counting you stubbing your toe five minutes ago- shut up, KF, no-”

“Nightwing,” he growled out. “Are you able to get to a secluded area?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately. He heard shuffling, as well as several whining teens before a door shut with a click. “Okay, what’s up, B? What happened? Is this about Joker?”

Batman took a deep breath. “It’s Robin.”

“What happened?” his tone was urgent and he could just imagine the look on his eldest’s face-

“About an hour and a half ago, I got an emergency signal from Robin. I was across the city dealing with a situation of my own and was not able to provide assistance for about 45 minutes. When I got to Robin’s location, he had just managed to pick the lock and get out of a warehouse he’d been held captive in.”

“How is he?” Dick asked immediately.

“He was beaten with a blunt object. I don’t know the extent of those injuries as of yet because I’ve been treating him for severe burning across 40 percent of his body.”

“What? Where’d the burns come from?”

Batman took a deep breath. “The warehouse exploded. There’s been at least one casualty.”

He made a wounded noise. Batman steeled himself; he hated hearing his kids upset. He busied himself with dressing the wounds.

“Oh my god,” he heard the boy mutter. “I- oh my god. What was he doing? What was he thinking?! How’d he get captured?”

“I don’t know yet,” he growled out. “It was the Joker. That’s all I know.”

“How do you know?” he demanded.

Batman looked at the J on Jason’s cheek. He’d been avoiding looking at it but it looked even more glaring than it had moments before.

“Just trust me,” he said after a few moments. He heard his son curse under his breath and start walking.

“I’m coming home,” he said, all business. He heard several shouts in the background.

“Nightwing-”

“Don’t ‘Nightwing’ me,” he hissed, “You let my little brother take on the Joker by himself-”

“I sent him away from where the fight was supposed to be!” he barked.

“That’s even worse!” he shouted back. He could hear him grabbing things as questions from the rest of the teens piled in. “What were you going to do by yourself? Huh? You were so focused on bringing down that mass murderer by yourself because-” he pitched his voice down low, doing a shoddy impression of the patented bat growl, “I work alone- except you don’t!”

His voice was back to being his son’s. Not Nightwing’s, not Robin’s. It was all Dick Grayson, voice cracks and all.

“You lost the right to work alone when you took me in and dressed me up to punch mentally ill criminals and you don’t get to take that back! You don’t get to just take on the Joker by your fucking self and look where it’s gotten you! My baby brother blew up in a fucking warehouse, Bru- Batman, I’m going home.”

"Nightwing. Your team needs you,” he said softly. The emotions that had been begging to be let out sat at the base of his throat, allowing him to gently coax his son into listening to him.

“The team would be fine,” he sniffled.

“I know they would. I also know you’ve likely scared them to death. I know you’re scared, sweetheart, I’m scared too,” he admitted. “But he’s breathing. I’ve got him. We’re going to do whatever it takes,” he promised. “Finish your mission, chum. I promise Jason will still be here when you get back.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll finish my mission,” his breath hitched, “But I’m coming straight home after. And you’d better give me every shred of information you get I swear to god-”

“I will,” he promised, and he meant it. “Go. I’ve got Robin. You go fill in your team.”

“Dad?” he heard him ask.

His chest squeezed tighter.

“Yes, lad?”

The other end was quiet for a moment.

“Do you really think he’s gonna be okay?”

His voice was smaller than Bruce had heard it be in years. It was more vulnerable than it should be, begging for reassurance. He hadn’t heard Dick adopt this sort of tone with him since he was about fifteen himself.

“I hope so, chum,” he muttered, looking down at Jason. “I hope so.”

When the call ended, Bruce walked over to the trash can. He sat heavy on his aching knees and emptied his guts at the image of his boy, his baby laying in a heap, burnt and broken in front of the warehouse. It was all he could see when he closed his eyes.

When he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. He changed gloves before he went back to treating Jason’s wounds. He went around the burns, applying dressings and checking the bleeding of any cuts. Most of them had already clotted, and those that hadn’t yet got fresh gauze pressed against them until they did. He didn’t dare close any of his wounds; infection was highly likely and he wasn’t sure if Leslie would want to keep them open so they could drain easier or not.

He checked the boy’s urine output halfway through the flight. He upped the fluids. He made sure he was breathing, that his heart rate was okay, that the dressings were moist. By the time they made it to the bat cave, he was exhausted.

He was immediately greeted by Leslie, who was prepared for the worst. She and Alfred checked over Bruce’s work, double checking I.V.’s, hooking him up to a monitor that showed his heart rate and blood pressure. After some evaluation, they decided to give him a blood transfusion.

Whatever he’d gone through before he’d been rescued resulted in a lot of blood loss. They prepared 5 units and had more on stand-by just in case. The initial 5 units was planned to be administered over about 4 hours, and they were already switching to warmed I.V. fluids to help prevent him from developing hypothermia.

They inserted a nasogastric tube, switching the oxygen mask for one that could accommodate it. After some quick blood work, they got him on some medication for the pain he was certainly in.

Normally, Bruce would be at the forefront of something massive like this. Asking questions, giving suggestions; not today. No, today he sat at his son’s bedside, stroking his forehead and whispering reassurances.

Leslie and Alfred ended up agreeing that the risk of infection, as well as the swelling was too high to risk stitching up the majority of Jason’s cuts, unless they had gone too deep into the dermis layer and beyond. They stitched up a couple of areas on his thighs and arms but left most of the cuts to heal.

Jason’s cheek did not get stitched. They wanted the swelling from his broken cheekbone to go down before they worked on it. Leslie said that, although she’d do her best, she wasn’t sure if it’d come down in time to stitch it.

They set his bones. They cleared his spine. Eventually, all there was left to do was scans and tests.

Alfred shoo’d him off to eat, shower, and nap. Standing alone for the first time, Bruce sunk to his knees.

Several minutes passed before a familiar voice called his name.

“Bruce?��

“What is it, Clark?” his voice sounded hallow. He didn’t bother looking up. He felt something soft bump his hands.

He opened his eyes to find his best friend holding his son’s zebra. The same one he’d just gotten for him.

“Alfred called me and told me what happened. He told me your hotel information and I got your things; I wasn’t sure what to do with this guy because he seemed important being on the bed and-”

There’s a sound parents make when their babies are in distress, and they can do nothing about it. A high keening thing that sets everyone around them on edge. It’s the noise of an animal at their breaking point. One of the worst parts about having the hearing Clark does is that hearing these sounds, these private moments, is unavoidable. Every cry and scream a parent makes when their baby is hurt, or worse.

Bruce took the zebra. He held it tight to his chest and wept.

Clark wasn’t sure what to do. There was no fixing this, no taking the pain away. He sat on the floor next to the other man, carefully dragging him into his lap the way ma does for him whenever he’s upset about something.

He knew it wasn’t enough. It could never be enough.

Clark had a feeling the zebra wouldn’t be leaving Bruce’s side for a while yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’d been two weeks since Danny had been back in school.

The popular kids avoided their group like the plague, including Star. She apologized in private. Danny got it. They still chatted about their books and how much fun they were having reading them on the side. He still hadn’t told the rest of the group that, while he couldn’t say they were friends, they were definitely headed in that direction.

They wouldn’t be happy she wasn’t his friend in public. Normally, he would agree, but he’d come to learn that she desperately needed a friend. Other than him and Kip, she really had nobody in her corner. The rest of the A-listers expected her to be some empty blonde, and while she could be very independent, overall, Paulina had final say over most of her life. They’d been friends since they were babies; she wasn’t ready to throw that away. So, empty-headed blonde bitch she was. She had her moments where she could stand up, but overall, it was like she was another casualty of the popular kids.

Ghost attacks had gradually decreased, leading to uneventful patrols and time to relax. Danny actually finished his homework and still had time to read before going to bed. He’d spent his Saturdays going back to the library with Jazz, having a short conversation with Kip before meeting up with Star to read silently. It was nice.

Red had texted the group chat. They explained some things. Both groups ended up apologizing. She healed up pretty well and was already back on patrol. Her first patrol back, they had a little banner with a cartoon ghost saying “Welcome to The Phan-Team!”

She called them losers. She had a wide grin on her face, and they’d laughed after. They did agree they needed a better name than “Team Phantom”, but until they figured one out, it stuck. They even had ‘team meetings’ (read; lunch) at Nasty Burger on Saturdays... and most days after school.

Sam had a big allowance she was willing to spend on her friends and they had a fast-food addiction. Sue them.

They’d had meetings after school at Nasty Burger for forever, but having Valerie there was a nice addition. She’d taken to the news better than they’d expected, and Danny was only sometimes looking over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t plotting her revenge in secret. Sam even got her way, with Danny at least; she’d asked him if he’d ever consider going vegetarian at least a while back, and he promised that if NB ever came out with a decent veggie burger, he’d do it.

Sam was exceedingly smug when the restaurant debuted the burger, and looked like the cat that had gotten the cream when Danny conceded that it was good. Just like that, they had two vegetarians in the group.

During last Monday’s meeting, Sam had told them that Bruce Wayne’s kid had landed himself in the hospital. Although they were being really secretive about which one for privacy reasons, some details had slipped into public knowledge.

It’d been all over the news. By this point, everybody knew that Jason Todd-Wayne had been severely injured after getting kidnapped by the Joker during one of Bruce’s business trips. There weren’t too many details, including how he’d gotten kidnapped or what his injuries looked like, but it had somehow gotten out that his biological mother passed in the incident.

The gala had, of course, been cancelled, and people had been camping outside of the Wayne mansion to try and get a glimpse of the family. Apparently, the older Wayne kid had come back a week after the announcement, which was a big deal. Sam had shared the sparse details during lunch, in spite of him and Tucker asking her not to.

Over this past weekend, Jazz and Danny had the place to themselves. Their parents had left them alone so they could go to a ghost convention happening in the town over; it ran from stupid early to stupid late, and they hadn’t wanted to miss a second of it, so instead of making the drive they requested one of the rooms the event rented out for their attendee's. The whole thing sounded shady to Danny, but hey, at least they didn’t drag him and Jazz along for the ride.

The weirdest thing about it, honestly, was that Tucker couldn’t find anything about it online. It was freaky; his parents had sent several pictures showcasing thousands of people, and there was not one word about it anywhere on any major social media platform Tucker could find.

They’d tried to investigate further, but the website itself for the event had some pretty aggressive firewalls up and Tucker hadn’t had the time lately to tear them down. He’d tried tearing down as many as he could, walking away, and coming back, but he’d just ended up with more than he’d started with.

It was odd. Normally, Tucker could hack just about everything. They’d kept their guard up and warned Val to do the same, filling her in. Though he had to be a bit more subtle about it with Star, he had warned her he thought his parents were cooking up another scheme to get the whole town killed. She’d sent a laughing emoji and told him she’d keep an eye out.

Having the house to themselves for two days was amazing. They’d left Friday morning to get there early. The convention started that afternoon, went into Saturday, and ended Sunday afternoon, so the kids had plenty of time to do heinous acts, like keep food in the fridge without it reanimating and trying to eat them and use the door whenever they needed to leave the house at night.

Danny was almost disappointed as he sat in the quiet living room that Sunday evening. Val said she’d cover his patrol if he did her English homework, and he took her up on it to enjoy the empty house. His parents would be home soon, and he wasn’t ready for the cacophony of noise they’d bring with them. He’d bask in the silence and the peace it brought for a while longer.

He’d almost fallen asleep on the couch when loud voices penetrated his brain, loud clangs and laughs nearly starling him off the side.

“Oh, Danny!” his mom said cheerily. “I’m so glad you’re still awake, look what we got!”

Danny looked up blearily at her. He saw several inventions he’d never seen before. One looked like a new weapon.

“What is it?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

“This is a new kind of ectogun! It’s even more powerful than ours, look-”

He would definitely be telling Valerie about this one. He wasn’t keen on anybody getting shot with that thing, especially since it blasted a hole right through their floor and into the basement, which had enforced steal surrounding every inch of it.

They went through the list of different weapons and traps. Each one left Danny dreading the next time his parents went out of their way to act like one of his rogues just a little more.

“And look at these!” Maddie gushed, “These are goggles! They...”

She had put them on before she trailed off. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts.

“Sorry, sweetie, I must be more tired than I thought. They protect your eyes better than our old ones against ectoplasm!” she finished. Danny nodded.

“Well,” she said quickly, “We have some stuff to put away and you have school tomorrow. You should go to bed so we can do that.”

“Okay, mom,” he yawned, “I love you.”

Jack smiled jovially and pulled him into a hug. “We love you too, son,” he said warmly.

He changed out of his jeans and into some sweats. He got comfortable in his nest, not bothering to turn on any lights. He was asleep within minutes.

He’d had a weird dream again. He dreamt that he was Robin, like, the mythical vigilante sidekick in New Jersey. If that wasn’t weird enough, he had visions of meetings in secret, and of something hunting him. He didn’t know what to make of it.

He woke up in a cold sweat and nearly cursed when he saw his parents hovering over his bed.

“Wha’s goin’ on,” he slurred in his sleep-idled glory.

“What are you,” Maddie hissed.

“Huh?”

“Now, Maddie, calm down,” his dad said, picking the boy up easily, “Let’s not jump to conclusions. We’ve got tests to conduct if we want to know for sure.”

Maddie scowled where she sat, looking pissed. “Fine, Jack. Let’s do the tests.”

Danny woke up a little as his parents brought him down the stairs and into the basement. He still felt sluggish.

“What’s-”

“Stop it,” she hissed.

Jack sat him down, putting his hand in his hair for a moment before strapping him to the chair.

He made a small questioning noise. Jack looked at him with his signature smile.

“I’m sorry, champ,” he started, “But your mom wants to test something. I’m going to humor her, and then when they’re done, you can go back to bed,” he promised.

“I’m not wrong, Jack,” Maddie’s voice was serious, more so than Danny had ever heard it be before.

Danny tried tugging at his restraints. He’d normally be able to bust through these easily, even in human form, but something was wrong. He couldn’t think clearly.

He’d feared his parents before, but it was never like this.

They pricked his finger. They pricked their fingers. There was a loud beeping a few seconds later.

“See, Maddie, he’s...” Jack’s voice trailed off.

Maddie made an enraged noise. She grabbed the gun she’d shown him earlier, changing the setting.

“Mom?” he asked, “What’s going on?”

“Shut up,” the false calm of the voice sent cold shivers down his very being.

“I’ve known for a long time that you weren’t my little boy,” she started, “But I was so desperate to have another child that I accepted it. I didn’t know who’s you were, but I swore I’d love you like my own, and this,” she sounded disgusted with him, and he was so confused, “Is how you repay me.”

“What are you-”

She shot him in the chest. He screamed.

It was like he was in the portal getting electrocuted all over again. His eyes teared up involuntarily. Through the pain and the tears, he could see the familiar white rings that indicated he was going ghost.

Jack paled. Danny himself felt like he’d been sapped of everything that made him human. What the fuck had they’d just hit him with? Did it have anything to do with why he felt like he couldn’t think?

He didn’t know where to look. Jack was beginning to make these keening sobs and all Danny wanted was for it to stop. It was one thing to hear your parents cry like that; it was another entirely to know that it was your fault, even if you didn’t do it on purpose.

He wanted to go back in time and change whatever he’d done to make his dad cry like that.

“I knew,” Maddie eventually continued. “I knew when I got back that night that you were different. You cried differently. Your smell was too sweet. My Danny had the most adorable little giggle that you just didn’t. I knew. ”

She got in his face. “I hoped that I was wrong. I was willing to pretend I was. I loved you for fifteen years. I was willing to accept that you replaced my baby boy, but you killed him. You ended his life to take his place. Why?”

“What are you talking-”

“Don’t lie to me!” she shouted. “Tell me the truth. Why did you kill my baby?!”

Old grief bubbled up in her like a stream. “He was already sick! Why’d you have to take away what precious time we had left with him?! Why couldn’t you just let him rest in peace?”

Soon, all of them were crying. Maddie and Jack in grief, old and new, and Danny from fear and confusion.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he sobbed. “Mom, what’s-”

She grabbed him by the throat. “You don’t get to call me that!” she hissed.

“Mom-”

“Shut up!”

“Dad!” he wailed. “What’s she talking about!”

All Jack could do was sob harder.

“Haven’t you done enough damage?!” she yelled.

“I don’t-”

She slapped him. It was the most pain she’d ever caused him.

Jack gasped, trying to speak through his tears. “Mads. Mads, why can’t we-”

“Why can’t we what , Jack?”

His breath hitched on another sob. “Our sons already gone. We’ve raised this boy for 15 years already and he hasn’t done any damage.”

“What’s your point, Jack?” Her voice was dangerous.

“Why can’t we just keep pretending,” he asked. His voice was the most fragile Danny had ever seen his dad be.

Her entire body twitched. She grabbed a knife from one of the new boxes they must’ve brought down before-

“Mads? Mads!” Jack yelled. “Maddie, please, he was going to die anyway-”

“That doesn’t give this thing the right to take his place!” she screamed. “I’m going to have fun dissecting it!”

Jack threw himself between Danny and Maddie. “Whether he is ours or not,” his voice rasped, “He is the boy we raised.”

“Jack. It killed our son. Look at it! It’s the one that’s been acting like a hero, interfering with our work!”

Jack looked at him squarely for the first time. He took in all his features. Danny tried to make himself look as pathetic as possible, not that it was hard with the tears that still streamed down his face.

The door opened. “Mom? Dad? What’s-…"

“Go back to bed, sweetie,” Maddie said sweetly through the tears. She still held the knife. “I’m just talking with your father.”

“Danny,” Jazz breathed. “Danny!”

“It’s not your brother,” Maddie reassured as Jazz ran down the stairs. She rushed towards Jazz, preventing her from touching him.

“Danny-”

“Danny’s gone.”

Jack turned towards Maddie and Jazz. He slowly turned towards where they kept the Fenton Bat™.

“Dad?” he asked softly.

Jack raised the bat.

Danny could only watch as his own father brought the bat down and onto his head, hitting him hard enough to tip the whole chair.

Maddie spun around at the noise, “Jack. Not in front of Jazz.” Her voice was stone cold.

“Don’t ‘not in front of Jazz’ me!” he yelled. “You said it yourself; that thing killed our little boy!”

“I know!” she yelled back. “I’ve known-”

“You’ve known?! Since when?!”

This would normally be the point where Jazz intervened. Two grieving people can take things too far quickly, and Jazz was all for early intervention. She stood there in horror as her parents started fighting before coming to her senses, dropping down and undoing Danny’s restraints.

As she did so, Danny could do nothing but cry. How did everything go so wrong so quickly?

She carried him up the stairs as fast as she could. Their parents didn’t realize what she had done until she slammed the door shut, propping it closed with a chair and racing upstairs.

“Okay,” she muttered, “Okay,” she said, more assured. She went into Danny’s room, closing the door and propping that shut too.

She grabbed his bag and started shoving clothes in it. Danny got the memo and grabbed his phone and water bottle from his stand. He grabbed his charger as well.

They worked together to pack a go bag as they listened to them break down the basement door downstairs. The flimsy bedroom door would not hold up as well.

Jazz put his library books on top of his other stuff. She had somehow managed to grab her copy of Pride and Prejudice to shove in as well. Danny looked at her.

She cupped his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered. “Now go, now.”

He nodded and hugged her one last time. He flew out of the room just as their parents busted the door.

As he flew away, invisible, he noticed several vans around the front. He went for the back, dodging between two of the vans.

He flew as fast as he could, deciding to visit Val on patrol before he left. He spotted her quickly, grabbing her wrist and pulling her gently out of sight line of the street before becoming visible again.

“Phantom,” she started, “I told you to... why do you have a bag? What happened to your head?!”

He took a deep breath. “They found out. I have to leave.”

“Shit,” she replied immediately. “Oh my god,” she continued. “Did they do that to you?!”

He nodded. She got quiet. “Come here,” she demanded, forcing him to get on her board. He held onto her waist, having a feeling he knew what was coming. “Make us invisible.”

Danny did as she said. They flew through the air, noticing more white vans as they went. Occasionally there’d be alarms that she shot with a marksman’s aim. They’d often be stopped before they even had a chance to start.

They ended up at Sam’s, who was still awake. Danny got the memo, turning intangible as they approached. When they got into the room, he dropped his powers. Sam startled as Val hopped off her board, gesturing for Danny to do the same. He followed.

“What’s- Danny? What happened?!”

Val filled her in, taking off her helmet. She pulled out her phone to text Tucker to come over.

He let Sam fuss over him, though- “Guys? I have to go.”

“We’re doing something before you leave,” Val snapped.

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Her face was the most malicious he’d ever seen it. “These fucking acts need to go. The media eats up a good story.”

Sam caught on immediately. “Oh, shit,” she muttered. She turned to him. “Give me your bag.”

He’d long since learned not to question them when they got an idea. He allowed them to take his bag, emptying the contents.

His cheek still stung, his temple throbbing. He hoped they knew what they were doing.

Tucker was tapping at the window a second later, Val going to open it after looking back at Sam for a second.

“Guys?” he asked, climbing in carefully. “What’s going on? Why’d you- oh shit,” he cut himself off when he saw Danny’s bag, looking back at his best friend. He winced sympathetically.

“Okay,” Val started. “Tucker, you brought the goods?”

He nodded, unzipping his bag and pulling its contents out.

Sam and Val both had that look on their faces that spelled out trouble for anybody that had ever dared to cross them. They both turned to him in unison, “Transform back into human form.”

He knew better than to question them. He did so without complaint.

“Am I allowed to know what this is about?” he asked warily.

“The GIW wants an enemy,” Sam started easily.

“So we’re giving them one,” Val finished. “We can’t just post this all overnight, that wouldn’t gain much traction,” she muttered mostly to herself, “We need to stir the pot, nice and good, and then drop these when the media’s hot.”

“We’ll need someone who has a following to help,” Sam mentioned.

It finally clicked. “Star,” he said immediately.

They turned to him. “Since when are you friends with Star?” Tucker asked, fiddling with his camera settings.

Danny smiled slightly. “Long story,” he said.

“Then we don’t have time,” Val cut them off. “Okay, Tucker, you ready?”

“Yup.”

“Then let’s get shooting,” she grinned.

They updated Jazz after their spotlight session, telling her about their plan. Danny texted Star, planting the seeds.

By the time Danny left Sam’s house, he had more money than he knew what to do with, some dry snacks in his bag, a new phone that Sam and Tucker had developed, and a plan.

He was headed to New Jersey. Ancients above, he hoped this worked.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #dp x dc #jason todd #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc robin #robin #batman #ai-less whumptober day seven #kite flies over the nightingale nest

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angelosearch · 3 months

Note

Once you get this, you have to say five things you like about yourself, publicly. Then you have to send this to ten of your favourite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool~) 🌈🌈

First off, thanks for this! ❤️ yaaaay an ask game!!!

Second... OH MY GOD five things Iike about myself?! This is going to be hard. But my therapist would be so happy to know I've been given this challenge, haha.

And of course, I have to provide details and addendums to these because I have to treat everything like a personal essay. Ugh.

I am a loud cringe nerd

I have fun facts for days, if not weeks

Music is my religion

I bet I can make you laugh

I understand my narrative

Longer answers under the cut.

I am not afraid to show enthusiasm/honesty and be loud. You know the part of your brain that tells you to not do embarrassing/cringe/over-the-top-thing before you do it? I am not going to try and diagnose it but that literally does not exist for me. I will sing along loudly to songs in public; I am the person at a wedding who never leaves the dancefloor; I dress in bright colors and wear the weirdest prints; I will laugh or cry uncontrollably if the moment calls for it. I am incapable of holding back positivity and excitement. I will gush about how great something or someone is. If I like your shoes, I am 100% going to tell you, no fear. All of this can make life really fun. It attracts people with good energy into my orbit. It makes me feel like the last thing I am is boring - but I also go home and regret every minute of it because of the second-hand embarrassment later. Somehow all these things are wrong to do in my head (even though I am never moved like this by negativity, fear, or hate), yet I cannot stop myself from doing them. I loathe that I am a book with a broken spine that cannot stay closed. I hate every inch of space I take up. I cannot stop being vulnerable which is great for therapy but not so great for being a normal, functioning adult. I fear sometimes that people think that I believe my thoughts are all-important because I share them all. Nope. I just literally have no choice in the matter. The thoughts and actions pop into my head and they must be heard/done.

I am an endless fountain of "fun" facts because I am interested in a lot of stuff and love to learn. I think "did you know that..." is my most used phase. If I have a fun fact on a subject, you will know (it's something else I feel I have no control over). My hand will be up if I don't just blurt it out. And I am always rolling them up in my Katamari-Ball brain, listening to podcasts, reading articles, watching documentaries, and other videos. I remember these weird fringe things but then I will forget your name and your job. Don't tell me what you're into because I AM going to do a deep dive and suddenly be an expert in it. Tbh it's a great skill for a writer, but I am pretty sure it annoys people around me. Especially when all the fun facts are related to whatever I am obsessed with at the moment. You'll never guess what I have way too many fun facts about right now.

I connect with music, so strongly it's almost spiritual. Singing and listening to music have always been my go-to coping skills. I learned to drive very late in life (at 30 - but that is a story for another day) and at first I was a horribly anxious driver. But once I realized my car could become my little mobile box of music where I could just belt it out 24/7, I learned to love driving. Lyrics help me understand the prism of my experience and others. I love when songs make me dance, or cry, or give me goosebumps. My shower is my favorite place in my new house because of the great acoustics; plus, there is enough space to pull off an entire shower concert, complete with choreography. Concerts and karaoke make me feel like I am connected to the universe and everyone in the venue. I love my taste in music, which sounds weird, but I am just so proud of my eclectic taste. Also! I am mad skilled at identifying songs and artists and samples, probably because I have listened to so. Much. Music. The downside to this one is that I emotionally connect so thoroughly with every song that I enjoy that a bad association will make the song/artist or even the genre unbearable to listen to (see: country music). Also, some people in my life don't understand why I prioritize concerts so highly and are very critical of me for it. I can't help that a concert is the closest thing I have to a church!

I have a great sense of humor (or at least I think so). If you have followed me for more than two seconds, you have probably figured out that I am constantly attempting (and hopefully succeeding?) to be funny. I try VERY HARD to make people laugh. If you were to talk to me in real life, you'd quickly discover that I would come up with puns in our conversation like we're having a funny rap battle. My favorite tools are wordplay and re-contextualization but I also have quote upon quote and will use physical humor, too. The good thing is that I can make myself laugh, for sure. Like I said yesterday, I embody Chrysippus. A lot of comedians claim their jokes are hiding pain. I've recently realized that I use my humor a little differently--since my social anxiety has convinced me that no one in the world wants anything to do with me at any given moment, I use my jokes as sort of a litmus test. If you're laughing, there is a very strong chance that you don't actively hate me at that very moment. I think this strategy probably annoys people and probably comes off at inappropriate. Don't bring me to a funeral.

I can contextualize my personal story. Somewhere between taking autobiography/memoir and essay classes in college and over a decade of therapy, I've become exquisitely good at taking an event in my life or facet of my personality and placing it in the context of my life. Does that make sense? Like in high school English class I took so much joy out of reading a novel and analyzing character motivations and author intent and "why is the wallpaper yellow." I am still very good at reading something and identifying symbolism, but now I mostly use this same skill to look back at the story of my life and find patterns and connections. I think this will help me as an Art Therapist, and, if my personal essays and posts are actually any good, then it is helping me as a writer as well. But this is a double-edged sword in therapy. It means I can sit in the chair and practically therapize myself. But lives are not novels. We are not characters. Sometimes the wallpaper is just yellow. My over-cerebral approach to my understanding of self makes me come off as "not sick enough" in some settings--I've been told by peers and staff many times while in treatment, "Why are you here? You seem fine!" Well, the truth is, just because you understand why the monster is in the book, you can't always outrun it. Sure, it can help to know where the monster came from and why he's chasing you, but if you get too caught up in that it may slow you down. Or you will run the wrong way because you are so sure you understand him. Or you will run so well that no one will notice you are running at all.

#ask game #answered #answered asks #personal #personal essay

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daydreamers-sys · 2 years

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[DESCRIPTION: a cropped photograph of an ER diagnosis paper. Diagnosis: contusion of multiple sites; metacarpal bone fracture; multiple abrasions. /END]

I am a transgender, AuDHD, disabled part-time mobility aid user with undiagnosed physical problems, and DID.

On October 12, 2022 I crashed my electric bicycle and broke my hand. The bicycle only needs minor repairs, and a new battery. However, I’m missing work due to having a broken hand because I can’t do most of my work duties. I also cannot ride my bike, even if it was in good repair, due to my broken hand; I need to spend money to get to work, either bus or uber/lyft.

(I am also unable to use the walker with one hand, so when I’m at home and low on/out of spoons I’m essentially bedridden for the rest of the day.)

My work hours have been cut, too. I typically work 42 hours a week. Last week I made 17, and this week I’m scheduled for 23. I’m not making full time, let alone the overtime pay I rely on.

Any donations will go towards groceries, phone bill, rent, transportation to/from work and doctor appointments, ebike repair and a new helmet, and of course the occasional treat to keep myself happy through the healing process.

In the meantime, please look at my partner’s commission post on Twitter (they’ve been open for a while with no takers!) if you’d like some art in exchange for your help.

CA: magefox

VM: akkiko

Thanks for reading! Reblogs are much more appreciated than likes; please reblog, even if you can’t donate!

#mutual aid #mutual aid request #transmasc #transgender #autistic #actuallyautistic #did system #dissociative identity disorder #adhd #actually adhd

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practically-an-x-man · 5 months

Note

Your OCs wake up tied up in a strange place... Actually kidnapped. What happens next?

*I get out the popcorn because I suspect I might know the answer for at least one of your OCs*

Ooooh very interesting! Thank you!!

Rae: Sits there for a while, chattering away. She keeps a shield up the entire time, preventing her captors from trying anything physical, though she's restrained too well to do anything offensive herself. She just keeps mentioning that her "guardian angel" will save her - they all think it's some kind of religious plea and laugh it off... right up until Warren shows up and picks them off one by one. Rae didn't even break a sweat.

Robin: I mean, she's broken out of prison before, and on multiple occasions. She probably sustains a few injuries at the beginning, especially after she busted half her captors' eardrums with a sonic blast and they got pissed, but she slips away as soon as they make the mistake of leaving her alone. She finds the nearest phone and calls Peter, and he picks her up a moment later

Jasper: Honestly... wouldn't do as well as they'd like to expect. I mean, there's a difference between saying "Oh yeah if I was kidnapped I'd just use my empathic powers to give my kidnappers panic attacks and escape while they're incapacitated"... and actually getting kidnapped. I don't want to say they'd die, or come into serious bodily harm, but it would take them a while to pull themself together enough to come up with a plan to escape.

Madison: At first, would get a spike of panic at the situation - she hates feeling helpless, and she really hates having her hands restrained, so she wouldn't have a good time. But once she recovered her bearings a bit, she manages to twist around to her multitool in her pocket and is able to cut away at her bindings. She's always got at least one knife on her, they really should have known better than to use ordinary rope to tie her down.

Ophelia: It only takes her a few moments to get her bearings, and then she's working on getting herself untied. She's taken more than her share of self-defense classes, so her escape is actually fairly by-the-books. By the time Peter swings in to rescue her, just a few minutes later, she's walking right out the front door.

Quinn: Doesn't make any drastic escape attempts (not much she could do, being tied to a chair and having limited mobility to begin with), but she manages to annoy her captors enough that they eventually just let her go. They tried to "shut her up" with torture, but she's got such a high pain tolerance that she just kept going. She catches a cab and limps home before the other Ghosts have even realized she's gone (though she does have to explain all the blood and injuries to Billy, of course)

Kestrel: Is gone almost before the capture begins. I mean, what restraints can hold a literal shapeshifter? By the time their kidnappers enter the room, all they see is a flash of rusty-red feathers flying out the nearest window. And that's assuming they were somehow able to capture Kestrel to begin with.

Katherine: probably freaks out a bit at first - I mean, hell, it's not like she's ever been kidnapped before! - but gets ahold of herself after a few moments and ends up reaching for her magic. She's home safe by suppertime, and her captors are discovered the next day with huge, gruesome claw marks littering their bodies. The police claim a lion escaped from the local zoo, but they can't quite explain it...

Nikoletta: Wakes up, looks around, realizes she's captured... and then the sun passes behind a cloud and she jumps into the resulting shadow to escape. Her captors are extremely confused.

Eris: Ohoho, this is the one I've been waiting for so I saved it for last. Eris wakes up, realizing the situation immediately but still being completely unconcerned, and asks their captors for a phone call. They're just confused enough to oblige, sprinkling in a threat that no matter who he calls, they won't get there in time. Eris just shrugs.

"That's cute. I'm not calling Rick to rescue me. I'm calling him to get the tarp and bucket ready for when I'm done."

Needless to say, their kidnappers last a whole five more, very bloody minutes.

#my friends!!!#answered asks #my ocs #madison douglas #ophelia octavius #jasper wilson #oc quinn/aces #rae mckinney #robin cassidy #oc kestrel #oc katherine johnson #nikoletta bordeaux #oc eris

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tyrograph · 9 months

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Dear @staff

Fuck you very much*,

Sincerely,

*p.s. forever and ever

It will ALWAYS say "NEW". I will not turn it on. I came here to get the fuck away from tiktok you idiots.

If you want to make this site work better, try fixing the broken functions, don't force load new shit no one (except advertisers) has asked for.

And by broken, what i mean is: we all know image quality on tumblr sucks especially on a phone, so I'm in the habit of avoiding eyestrain by clicking open images to see them better. Thanks to the latest update, images open BUT!! cannot be rotated! And usually can't be zoomed into either!!!! A fabulous choice you fucknuts. Guess I'll never be able to read those imformative and amusing screenshots of tags.

Of course, if the post I'm hoping to dive into includes an embedded video anywhere, I'm fully SHIT OUT OF LUCK!! Tapping on any part of such a post will catapult me into a random tiktok stream.

If your goal is to force all tumblr users off mobile and onto the browser, just cut to the chase and delete the damn app.

#fuck you tumblr live #tiktok is horrible we dont want it here #stop fucking up the few tumblr features thay actually work

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stormxpadme · 8 months

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Whumptober 2023 No. 24 - If only I could dream in a little less colour

Scogan Bingo challenge Neighbors AU

Scott would have easily made it in time if it hadn’t been for Charles of course using the excuse of today's date for a courtesy call, meaning yet another badly disguised attempt at trying and get Scott to change his mind. And these kinds of conversations you didn’t want to have on your mobile on the street and the subway unless you wanted half of New York to learn, you happened to be both a former teacher in a mutant school and the no-longer aspiring leader of a mutant military group not too long weeks ago. Not a good idea, with how, once more, alarmingly mutant-unfriendly the mood in general public felt lately, especially since the news of the Cure had broken.

It took Scott almost 20 minutes before he managed to end that damn call as just hanging up on his foster father would only have meant being forced, having to continue the argument telepathically. By that time, he had to all but run to the elevator to not lose even more precious time. And that was how he came to make the first crucial decision that night, upon realizing that said outdated transport cabin luckily was right on his floor, only its doors were just about to close. "Wait! Hold it, please!" Much to his annoyance, whoever was inside the lift ignored his shout so that he had to go even faster, slipping through the far too narrow gap between the closing doors at the last moment. Another day, he might have given an irritated comment about rudeness but with both his anxiety and his excitement about the upcoming procedure at the City Hall growing by the second, he wasn’t feeling like starting a fight right now.

Not to mention that one glance at the guy at the other side of the cabin let Scott know, he'd probably only have gotten a grunt for an answer anyway. It was the maintenance guy. Figured. Scott had only run into that certain, notoriously nonverbal neighbor a couple of times since moving in here but that had been enough for quickly deciding that giving that attractive muscular, slightly stocky shape any attention? Best to be filed under delusional fantasies, judging by the utter lack of interest in interacting with the building tenants that this dude displayed. Probably he'd only found himself thinking about that rugged, remarkably handsome face more than once lately in the first place because he'd seen the guy get himself hurt pushing waste containers one day from afar, and promptly instantly heal.

Not something Scott had had expected, but for the sake of his already skyrocketing paranoia about Charles possibly sending someone after him to spy on him, he'd decided that in a city overpopulated with all kinds of enhanced like this … It wasn’t that unusual, two mutants living in the same fairly huge apartment complex.

Either way, for feral guy, Scott didn’t have any patience for right now. Not with how especially slowly this damn elevator crept downwards today. It was only when he paced the small space unusually restlessly for his usual control of body and mind, and something crunched under his boot, that he realized, the dirty PVC ground was covered with lanterns and garlands in probably a whole range of flashy colors that Scott couldn’t make out thanks to his glasses. Given the occasion, the words that the half-torn and scrambled letters on some of them spelled out were still easy to guess. So this was where all that stuff had ended up that had brightened the grey, homogenous corridors of the apartment hallways just a few hours ago still.

"Yeah, I took it down. Big fucking deal," the stranger hissed, apparently noticing Scott's confused frown. "Not allowed on general space anyway. Fire hazard and shit. I'm not getting my paycheck cut for some holiday kitsch."

Scott held up one hand in surrender, determined not to let anyone ruin was what supposed to be his best day since he'd fallen out of an exploding plain as a kid with his baby brother in his arms. "Not my decorations." Another restless glance at his watch let him know he had still two more minutes to get to the station right outside the door which usually should be more than sufficient. Except every single street of this city would be overcrowded today, and with Scott always having to make painstakingly sure to keep his distance from other people if he didn’t want to risk any accidents with his glasses … For example, like almost tripping over his own nervous feet when the elevator cabin suddenly came to a halt, between two floors, and most of the half-blind neon spots on the ceiling went out. His brain needed a moment to catch on before new worry landed a solid blow to his punch, not unlike all these hits he'd been taking in the combat training he'd been undergoing from the age of fifteen on. "What the …? Oh no, no, no, this cannot be happening right now. I got a damn appointment."

When janitor guy, alarmingly unfazed, had the nerve to reach for a cigar in his shirt pocket before sitting down on the narrow bench on the cabin's side with a resigned sigh, Scott let out a growl of his own at the man for once. With two hectic steps, he was at the emergency phone on the wall, only to find that there wasn’t even a dial tone. "What …? This thing's dead!"

"Bub, you seen this place before you moved in here? Why do you think rent's so low? Everything in here is kept together by superglue and goodwill." The stranger lit his cigar, entirely ignoring the warning glare of red from behind Scott's glasses.

"Well, that's just great. So how about you call these people who write your checks on your mobile then?"

"You ever look at your calendar this morning, shades guy? Or out of the window? Who exactly do you think works today?" The man rested one leg on the other knee in continuous, nerve-wracking patience, a half-amused, half-lenient grin on his lips when Scott, in spite of his growing trepidation, couldn’t help but stare at the fascinating game of those thick thigh muscles under a worn, far too tight pair of jeans.

"Pretty sure a couple of guys with fancy car sirens do." Not ready to give up, Scott reached for his own phone though part of him already knew better. He'd indeed been very well aware when he'd left the comfortably wealthy life at Charles' behind, that a big city came not only with safe anonymity but also with the according social and technical issues, including those of the only place he could afford on his new small garage shop salary. Far too much lead in the walls causing basically non-existent reception in the hallways was just one of those. "Fuck!"

"You are the kid who moved into 5B last month, right? You seriously didn’t get stuck in here yet?" The stranger raised his brows at him when Scott continued to walk through the cabin with one hand clenched into a fist, feverishly going through possible options in his head.

"Some people like to keep their body healthy and use the stairs." Scott got only even more pissed off, not least because of the still-burning cigar. If he'd had his damn VISOR on him, he might have shot the simmering tip off just on principle. But not to mention, janitor dude on his part surely had no idea that they were part of the same species, Scott couldn’t even focus on seriously complaining right now. Not when he was dreading more and more, not making it to his meeting in time, and had no idea when he'd be invited to a new one. With those feelings, he seemed to be alone in this lift though. "You really don’t give a fuck about being stuck, huh?"

"Why should I? I don't got an appointment." With that, the stranger went back to smoking, staring up at the semi-darkness of the empty shaft above them through the grated ceiling.

There was an idea at least. The walls of this damn building were paper-thin which Scott knew thanks to already being perfectly able to tell when his neighbor on his left came home to scream at his wife about unpaid pills and when the prostitute on the other side of the hall started working. Maybe if he could get someone's attention, they could call 911 … "Hello? Anyone out there? Guys, this is 5B! Elevator's down! Hello? Guys, this is really urgent! I really need to get downtown! Can anyone hear me?" For a few more seconds, he listened to the silence almost deafening thanks to the broken elevator motor and a building probably basically empty thanks to everyone out partying already, only his own quickening, uneven breathing sounding through the cabin, and the unnerving long drags on that damn cigar from a few feet away … When nothing but silence was the answer, and a surprisingly compassionate headshake from the stranger, as the guy's surely enhanced senses could probably make it out that there wasn’t anyone within earshot, Scott cowered down on the cabin floor, trying to get his breathing under control and not to let the threatening panic choke him.

****

"Still nothing." Once he'd gotten his heartbeat back under control, Scott threw another glance at his phone display, without any hope, but still couldn’t see a single bar.

He probably deserved the next shrug from that bench over there that didn’t need a translation into feral to know which two words it expressed.

Fine. Waiting it was then. He could still make it to the City Hall if someone from the outside would notice the elevator not working anytime soon and call help. Even with so many residents not being at home, that was a pretty surefire bet. Scott had been seldom so grateful for the exact habit that had annoyed Jean so much in the end, of always overplanning things and never going anywhere without a generous time window if he could. He just needed to keep his mind focused on the task at hand lest he'd possibly start overthinking again what he was so dead set on doing tonight, after it had taken him so long to make this decision in the first place. Means of distraction, sadly, weren’t really available for the moment. Well, if anything, this stupid situation at least offered another chance at finding out more about this mysterious stranger whose damn name Scott still didn’t even know. "So, no going out on your part today?"

"I'm not a masochist." The man let out a huff and vaguely gestured towards the building exits. "Why would anyone of their sane mind hit town on New Year's? All these primitives out there who can't hold their liquor, starting fights left and right? Not exactly safe for the likes of us." Well, that answered the question if the guy had guessed by now why Scott didn’t take off his glasses in spite of the cabin's bad lighting. "This is basically a war zone out there, and I've seen enough of those in my time. Got enough entries on my police records already, too," the man added after a, this time dejected-looking, nibble on his cigar. "Holding cells got really shitty beds. Maybe you shouldn’t be in such a hurry to get your cute ass wasted tonight. At least not out there."

"No such luck," Scott gave back with a tired smile. "Told you, I got somewhere to be. I don't fault people for getting a little overexcited tonight. I'm one of them. I'm not thrilled that they could do the damn appointment only tonight, but when you get a freebie for something that usually costs a couple of thousand bucks, you don’t question."

"Hm." The man didn’t seem convinced and didn’t ask, either, but Scott hadn’t really expected that. "Getting up your hopes is never healthy, Shades. Especially tonight. Just one big damn letdown, usually. You build up these huge expectations and wake up with a hangover and disappointed to the bone the next day."

"Whatever." Scott had enough of this pessimistic bullshit. Rolling his eyes, he'd spotted a detail possibly useful in the massive grates up there. Suddenly filled with new energy, he jumped back to his feet and stretched up on his toes. But even with his considerable height, he couldn’t make out what he needed to see thanks to the disturbing quartz coating of his glasses, as the damn cabin had quite a high ceiling. "I think I can shoot the lock of this hatch." He quickly calculated the bill for a possible repair on said access grate in his head and decided, he could cover that with his next paycheck. Which still left him with another problem though. That shaft behind the exit was looking awfully narrow and winding for someone with his stature, slimmer since he was no longer encouraged to work out like a madman every night at the in-house gym but still towering over most other people. "Think you can climb through this tunnel to the hallway?"

The man looked at him as if he'd just grown a second head. "I look like Spider-Man to you?"

Scott eyed him from head to toe just to be a pain, doing his best to hide that in his opinion, the guy had actually a better physique than said famous web-crawler. Dude's ego was surely big enough already. "Hardly. Don’t worry, I'll get your job done for you. Just give me a lift so I can see better. I don’t want to hit a damn cable by accident. Would you hurry? Unlike you, I don't got all day," he snapped, agitation already taking over again when the stranger made no move to get up.

"You need therapy, you know." Sighing deeply, janitor dude finally approached him and wrapped his arms around Scott's waist which promptly sent a surge of unexpected heat through his veins, at the sensation of the steel cords of muscles playing under those thick arms and the warmth radiating off that strong body. The latter being a very welcome change to the winter coldness seeping in through the ramshackle building walls.

Scott called himself to order and sent his juvenile hormones where they belonged. "That thing's full of cobwebs and dirt. I can't see shit. Give me your phone, or mine. I need some light up here." He wriggled a little in the stranger's ridiculously easy hold on him to get to said device in his jacket pocket. A movement which promptly let the badge with his patient name and number that he was already wearing on his belt, slip from under the dark leather.

"The fuck …?" Instead of following the new instruction, the stranger suddenly let go of him so quickly that Scott dropped back to his feet with a thud, an almost disgusted look on his face as he stared at said badge with the stylized clinic's W logo on it. "You're one of the cowards volunteering for that Cure scam? That's your big plan for tonight? Betraying what we are and helping normal people wipe us all off the face of the Earth soon just because you need a couple more Ray Bans than the rest of us?"

Scott stared at the guy in new anger, both fists clenched hard by his sides this time, the pressure of his boiling emotions nurturing the power of his blasts behind his glasses to a point where a hated throb emerged behind his eyes. For seconds, he was looking in his usually not-that-limited vocabulary for any kind of fitting retort, for an insult big enough for this condescending bastard to articulate … But not a single word wanted to pass his lips, not least because it was a bad idea, getting in a possible physical fight with a feral in a confined space, especially one likely to have them both drop to their death if they made too much noise in here. Scott turned away from the stranger, deflated. So much for an interesting new acquaintance. A night for huge expectations turning into the biggest disappointments indeed. He could have tried, sure. Have the same useless debates all over that he'd left Mutant High with against the urgings, warnings, and admonishments of all his friends, his mentor, and the woman he'd once thought to love … But if these people who'd known him for years, already refused to understand, how could he expect a stranger to? Apparently, it was up to fate anyway if Scott would even get a chance to go through with this, at least tonight. He took his place on the ground by the corner again and shut his mouth.

****

"Look, I shouldn’t have said that." The stranger made it through exactly five minutes of the icy silence before speaking up again with an exasperated sigh. Apparently even someone usually so disinterested in social contacts started to feel a little cramped after a while, stuck in a place like this. "Politics have just been scary lately, you know that as well as I do. Thinking what those half-cooked drugs might do to the ones among our kind who can no longer deal with the pressure just pisses me off. I never had good experiences with normal people experimenting on the likes of us. I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. You really wanna give me the silent treatment now for as long as it takes until they find us?"

"Not sure. You really wanna hear what I'm thinking right now? About you?" Scott gave back, still insulted and offended, not to mention more pissed about missing his damn appointment by the second. Unleashing these negative feelings on the next person within reach wasn’t entirely fair, especially since the guy did have something of a point, he supposed, but it wasn’t like the world had ever been fair to him. When the janitor just shrugged at him once more, tilting his head expectantly, he let out a snort and got up again, crossing his arms in challenge. "Well, by your accent, I'm guessing you grew up somewhere in bumfuck Canadian nowhere. Feral like you, shaped for battle by nature but mentally far too much out of control for regular duty? You surely signed up for the next best merc group the moment you were legal. After a couple of kills too many for the wrong side, you found out you had a conscience and deserted. You didn’t have the motivation for a real job though, so you let them pay you for keeping this ruin here together while you smoke and drink your days away. And because you fucked up so much in your life, you think you're not worth any warmth and happiness from anyone around you. So you bite people away before they do as much as give you a second glance. Oh, and also?" Scott had talked himself into a frenzy and just had to get it out, maybe just because the guy had let him down so much a minute ago, and even though the dude had turned suspiciously pale on his bench over there, entirely forgetting about his smoke. It was rude and spiteful and not like Scott at all, but fearing that the only chance at his happiness was just being blown out of this damn shaft, he was on the verge of losing all that self-control and polite distance to people he'd taught himself ever since mutating. Not like that had ever gotten him anywhere anyway. "Your New Year's allergy? I bet some high school jock with the IQ of toast let you down at midnight like 20 years ago, and now you think everyone you meet has to pay for that. Am I close?"

"Alberta," the stranger answered flatly, looking him in the eye as if he could see right through his glasses. By his hunched shoulders and that terrible emptiness suddenly in his gravelly voice, Scott could easily read that his thoughts were miles from this cabin suddenly.

Already, the bad conscience for his outburst hit like a freight train. "Huh?"

"Alberta, Canada. Can't tell you where exactly. I lost my memory five years ago. Been trying to find any clues ever since. No such luck. Moved here when I was getting tired of cage fighting to make a living. Some old mental dude in a wheelchair upstate New York found me on the road someday and helped me get the job. Dude probably still thinks I'll return the favor and help his little facility of sleeper agents out with some fight someday or something. Whatever. Never heard from him again and I'm not interested, frankly. I've had enough of war all my life from all I can remember. When you're supposedly more than a hundred years old, you've seen a few."

"A hundred …?" Scott's eyes went wide, the shock about the almost casual mention of his old home, of his former mentor from someone maybe not a stranger at all, almost immediately forgotten. Charles … Goddamnit, Scott should have known that the guy would find some way to make sure, he'd still be in some way in Scott's life, watching him, even if it was just by casually placing him in the same damn house as some old acquaintance. That was something Scott would have to think over long and hard once he'd no longer be busy with tonight's far more important plans. The next call with Westchester would definitely not be a friendly one. But for the moment, he neither found the energy to even tell the stranger about his suspicions nor to dwell on that new aggression of being constantly manipulated by his foster father. Not in the light of another, almost even more astonishing revelation from that stranger. Scott wasn’t even entirely sure why the guy was suddenly being so candid to him of all people. Or maybe he did know; maybe the two of them ending up here together did have a reason he also would have no chance to think about before tomorrow came. But that, too, was overshadowed by his sheer amazement and the shame about how much he'd really misjudged this stranger. Sure, he'd known in theory that ferals could get really old without hardly aging at all, but suddenly facing one of these people then … Facing the sheer weight of grief and history such a person carried, even when the latter was lost apparently, that ball of pure depression and frustration of a person there on the other side of the cabin … That was a whole different deal. Charles was a lying asshole, but Scott had to admit reluctantly, his mentor probably hadn’t been off about at least some of his lectures in the course of his years anyway. Including all those about restraint and a good, firm check on Scott's emotions, especially when he didn’t have all the information on a situation yet.

Before he could think of a badly needed apology, the stranger looked up again with that terrible lost expression in a pair of sunken dark eyes, a hard tug around broad lips that let the guy look older than his genes should allow. "And no. It was right after deserting that my arch-enemy killed the girl right in front of my eyes just to hurt me. That's one of the memories not even amnesia couldn’t wipe out. Fireworks had just started if you need to know. That made it easier. Drowned out the screams."

And just like that, Scott suddenly seriously considered cutting a hole in that damn floor below him and climbing out towards the nearest exit never to return. Talk about putting his damn foot in his mouth.

******

When the silence became too deafening, Scott started talking again, not least to maybe try to make it clear to the stranger why he'd just been such an ass. And also because he felt it wouldn’t have been fair, leaving him in the dark about them both having been used from afar by the same person in some way.

Janitor guy didn’t seem too surprised by his story, not even really commenting on it save for a bitter snort and a headshake, which in turn probably shouldn’t surprise Scott. Ferals came with a brilliant set of instincts usually, especially regarding people they shouldn’t trust.

That was something Scott especially on this night once more wished he would have had himself. "Xavier took me in after I'd made it on my own in foster homes and on the streets for a couple of years. At that time, I was far too grateful for that to realize, the guy just needed someone to lead the new strike team he was building. Don’t get me wrong, I'm still grateful to him, and I don't think it's a bad thing what he's doing, trying to keep the peace between our kind and normal humans. But I already got a mutation that doesn’t leave me the freedom of choice in many regards. After the first few missions and when my relationship with a teammate fell apart because work and fun don’t go together for me, apparently … I realized I'd never actually stopped to think if this was what I wanted. Guess that is what I came here for to find out. To see if there's another path in my life I want to take. And now I think I found one."

The stranger regarded him thoughtfully over the edge of his cigar that he'd somehow forgotten to light again in the last few minutes, and patted the bench next to him invitingly. "Logan. My name. Or just call me idiot, I guess," he said with a rueful grin when Scott dropped next to him. A mutually apologetic nod exchanged had the last of hard feelings fade away. "Scott, right? Well, let me tell you from experience, when it comes to decisions like this, I think is awfully vague. For how long have you had these?" He nodded at Scott's glasses with still that pensive frown.

"I was twelve. It happened shortly after my parents died and my brother vanished. That plane crash rendered the control over those damn blasts useless, for a lifetime, from all that Charles' doctors could find out." Scott rubbed his eyes under his glasses as he felt his headache grow stronger as if his mutation wanted to comment on the whole situation … or rear up in protest because it knew exactly what was coming tonight. Hopefully. "When I heard about the Cure, that was when I started questioning my role with Charles. I know there's no guarantee it even works, and there's no long-term studies yet but … Thing is, I didn’t think I would even get a chance at a shot so quickly. I just won the damn ticket when they did one of these case study lotteries. That's not a chance you waste. I'm not proud of running, Logan. I've been fighting for our race, for our cause, for years. But …" He paused, leaning his head back against the elevator wall, not sure he could make it clear to someone with enhanced senses and a healing factor erasing every pain and injury within seconds, what he had to deal with.

He actually expected Logan to try and talk him out of this again. Instead, the guy brushed the back of Scott's hand where it was tensely clenching on his jeans. He was even nice enough to ignore Scott's heart immediately beating faster in his chest again. "Show me?"

"Yeah, not happening." With a strained chuckle, Scott bravely fought his increasingly impure thoughts at the sight of those really beautiful pair of lips, those soulful eyes so close to him now. "The only device that keeps these blasts somewhat in check is in my apartment. You don't want to catch one of these by accident, believe me, healing factor or not. I've hurt too many people before when I didn’t close my eyes quickly enough; not gonna do that again."

"You can hold them back with your body though, right?" Logan reached up for a just as short touch along the straps of his glasses on Scott's temple, the cigar vanished somewhere in his jacket for good. "Come on, use your fingers. Take these apart for me?" He nodded down on the heap of decorations on the floor. "We ain't got nothing to do in here but party tricks for the moment. And you'd do me a favor, honestly."

Because such a thin blast through two fingertips with one eye admittedly was one of his easier tricks, and because Logan seemed truly interested, Scott finally gave in, shooting paper and plastic to his feet into particles before quickly slipping his glasses back into place. "What about you?" he asked with a weak grin when his new friend stared at the pitiful remains of those decorations with large eyes, back to being speechless again for a moment.

Logan silently got up, standing on the bench to stretch to the damn hatch. With a bright, menacing snikt-sound, a blade of pure metal protruded from between his knuckles, neatly cutting the lock in two.

"Just in case you still want to pull that stunt," he remarked dryly, sitting down again when Scott stared back and forth between him and the grate with his mouth ajar.

"I think I'll pass." The damn appointment for the moment almost forgotten, Scott couldn’t help but reach out to that rough feeling spot at the back of Logan's hand where only a faint trail of body fluid the same color as his glasses spoke of the already closed injury from that claw. "That's gotta hurt like a bitch."

"Not usually the first thing people wonder about if they see them," Logan stated quietly after long stunned seconds, his hand slowly turning to grab Scott's before he could pull it away. "And you? You're in pain too. Your breathing's off," he explained with a weak smile when Scott gasped.

"It's … something I'm used to," Scott answered after a moment of hesitation, staring down at their linked fingers, entirely at a loss about why he didn’t pull away. Maybe this long-missed touch of someone caring about him, beyond how useful he could be to them, just felt far too good. Especially while he tried to put into words what he'd been so determined to no longer question this morning. "I just started wondering at some point if I really had to when there was maybe another way. That constant pressure from the blasts being held back … That's one thing. But always being a danger to people and never being able to see the world for what it really is … When the invitation for my Cure shot came, for tonight, of all days …" He tilted his head back again, with a longing stare into the darkness, at the building ceiling over which the first quiet bangs of isolated rockets going off early had started to sound, loud enough even for non-enhanced ears. "It felt like fate. It's been a decade since I was last allowed to see a firework, Logan. I haven’t entirely forgotten yet how beautiful they are. Sometimes I wonder if it would be easier if I did, if I no longer saw colors in my dreams and memory. I want to take this chance before I forget completely."

"Dunno, bub." Logan unexpectedly let go of him, that skeptical darkness and a now very clear hint of worry returning to his tense posture as he lit his cigar again. "As far as I'm concerned? You see a lot clearer than most people I've met in my life."

To that, Scott didn’t know what to say so he decided to stay silent again for a while.

*****

With the time window shrinking by the second, resignation set in at some point. When the noise of the fireworks outside grew louder and louder, Scott didn’t even dare check his phone for the time anymore, the depressing silence starting to become painful. "Doesn’t seem like we'll be found anytime soon. Too bad you made me ruin those decorations. Here I was just thinking we could have our own party."

"Told ya, I don’t do New Year's." Logan chuckled, the argument that wasn’t even really one fortunately over.

"All the more a reason to replace those horrible memories of yours with better dreams." Gathering all his courage, Scott reached for Logan's hand again, his heart immediately hammering in his chest when an increasingly interested, curious glance met his, the man next to him licking his lips in a gesture almost too brief to notice … if you hadn’t been waiting or it. "Come on! Ball's dropping only once a year. Not sure about the time, but people do usually kiss at midnight, right?"

"No idea. I'm not a traditional guy as you might have noticed," Logan warned him, but it came with a lot less bite this time. "Since we are in this together, though …" And without having to talk much about it, they both knew, that wasn’t only true for their little predicament in this damn cabin tonight. But those were matters early enough talked about again tomorrow. It was far more interesting suddenly how those beautiful lips looked from up close, slightly opened as they were slowly approaching …

And then the damn elevator cabin started to move again.

Scott wasn’t finished yet cursing all the damn fortune gods of this verse by the time they reached the ground floor to a crowd of impatient other tenants already waiting. Some technician in a grey uniform grinned at them proudly, for having been so fast, and there was even someone Logan knew, judging by the exhausted groan on his lips.

"The fuck are you doing here, Wade?"

"Getting you to the party I told you about of course. Since you didn’t answer your phone, I came here to see what was up. You should thank me." The guy who was obviously off to a costume ball, judging by the red and black latex suit covering both his body and face. Wrapping his arm around Logan's shoulders, he entirely ignored his friend's reluctance and warning growls, dragging him with him towards the exit. "Who's that cute ass over there? You two made good use of that hour in the cabin, huh?"

"Shut it, Wade. Get out of here. Told ya, I'm not coming." Logan pushed the overly excited weirdo out the front door and turned back to Scott, looking definitely a little regretful himself about the sudden end of their little adventure. "So. You can still make it to City Hall, I think."

"Yeah, gotta run." Only Scott didn’t feel like saying goodbye yet, not like this, not after what had almost just happened. "How about I buy us a bottle of booze on my way home? We could watch a movie or something."

"From all I heard about those drugs, you'll spend the next two weeks puking your guts out, bub. But if you're still game after that … Apartment 1C." At least no longer that aggressive about Scott's choice, Logan pulled him in for a hug, this time not even sparing his friend a glance who was already sticking his head through that door again, whistling at them. "No one can take this decision off your shoulders, Shades. Might wanna remember though that new chances don't expire at midnight on New Year's. Just don’t do something you might regret. Now get the hell out of here."

"Going." Quickly turning away before the other man could see the returning unsettled frown on his face and possibly throw him off balance for good, Scott hurried away.

****

Somehow, he'd known, the whole time. Maybe he'd even hoped for it a little. In any case, the last tears of humiliation about the disparaging comments from these damn doctor hacks immediately dried behind Scott's glasses when he left the City Hall behind and suddenly saw Logan standing right before him, softly pulling him back into his arms as if not a second had passed since they'd parted in the hallway.

"Still got your Ray Bans, huh?" It wasn’t a question and certainly not one of surprise.

"I balked when they came with the needle," Scott admitted, shuddering in the stranger's arms at the memory of these cold sterile facilities, all these people who were so eager to reduce the number of mutants on this planet as quickly and thoroughly as possible … Christ, what had he been thinking? "I told them I needed more time to think. They said, if I go now, I wouldn’t need to bother coming back. And that I was ruining my only chance at a proper, normal life."

"I hoped you blasted them in their stupid asses." Logan growled at that building as if he was about to storm it and rip all people and equipment for this special procedure parade of the Worthington Labs tonight there to pieces.

Scott decided they could both find something better to do on the last night of the year than spending time in a holding cell and buried his hands wordlessly in Logan's hair to pull him down for a kiss. It was a fantastic, mindblowing first touch full of yearning and bliss, and greed that only ended when the increasing number of fireworks and the deafening cheers from the distance let them know, the ball had dropped at Time Square. "Happy New Year, stranger."

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

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