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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

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Humans are Space Orcs, “Ice Skating.”

Here is something for the start of December, and an idea suggested to me by @helen-oftroy. Sorry guys if anything seems rushed. Finals week is fast approaching, so welcome to Stress land :)

“So you’re telling me that you want to go back to the giant planet covered in ice?” Krill wondered skeptically.

Commander Vir lounged a bit to the side in his chair. He was wearing his uniform, as he had taken to doing over the past few months, a good idea considering, his formal, and unexpected meetings with the GA were becoming more and more common.

Krill wasn’t entirely sure how it happened, or entirely sure how he felt about it, but he had, somehow, and in some way become the defacto military leader for the entire galaxy, this young, crazy, and sort of air-headed human, not that he doubted the man’s intelligence. He had gotten over that assumption months ago, but still there was something about him that just didn’t scream I am ready to command an army for the entire Galaxy cluster.

Perhaps it had something to do with the ridiculous hat he was wearing: red and white, with a white pom-pom at the very end sort of floppy and hanging towards one of his shoulders. When Krill had taken the time to ask why he was wearing the stupid thing, the Commander had pointed out, “Because it’s December.” like that was supposed to explain anything.

“And why do you want to go back to the icy death planet?”

The human leaned back in his seat leaning over to glance at their coordinates on screen, “One word Krill, morale.”

“Morale.” “Yes, the collective good will and team spirit of the crew.”

“I know what the word means.” Krill muttered in annoyance, “What I don’t understand is how near freezing conditions, snow, and the possibility of lie-ending blizzards has anything to do with it.”

The man stood for his seat adjusting his stupid hat and turning to walk towards the door, “Oh don’t be such a grinch.”

“A what?”

The human didn’t answer, but laughed at him and stepped down the stairs with a clatter, “Months on end in the blackness of space, surrounded by the void and the monotonous routine of military work, nothing that seems like home, only a few comforts to remember our planet and during that time of year where we would wish nothing more than to be home with our families.”

Krill scuttled after him, “Your point being?”

Commander Vir paused in the hallway to look down at krill, “My point being Krill, is if the crew feels anything like I do, they miss their families, and homesickness is bad for productivity, and it's bad for mental health, so I plan on giving them a small bit of home, and maybe some fun because I take the mental health and satisfaction of my crew very seriously.”

He turned back on his heels and began walking.

“What is so special about December?” Krill wondered vaguely aware that the phrase indicated a specific time of year, though for the life of him, he didn’t know what was so special about it.

“Christian appropriated pagan holidays hijacked by corporate powerhouses to make money by guilt tripping the already financially struggling capitalist populace into buying gifts for people they don't like.”

“What?”

The man just grinned at him, “Tradition, Krill. Glorious pointless tradition, and a reason to eat too much and spend time with people you like, unless you are forced to spend time with people you don't like, in which case, I argue, you are doing it wrong.”

“Does the rest of the crew know about your little stunt.”

“yes , of course they do. I put out a memmo last week, and I have something special planned for the people who have to keep working as well, so no one is left out.”

“Don't suppose I can opt out of this.”

He wasn't entirely sure if the human blinked or winked at him, “Not a chance.”

Krill sighed deeply but followed anyway walking into one of the forward cargo bays surprised to find the pace nearly empty accept for piles and piles of beanbags, blankets and strange looking chairs. Someone had set up a projector towards the front taking up one entire wall of the cargo area. The humans that lounged around were dressed as easily as physically possible in what krill had come to recognize as night-ware. Some of them even wore clothing that suggested at earth animals with big floppy ears on top of hoods.”

The deck quartermaster had appropriated the coffee maker from the mess hall and was using it to heat up water, which was then being mixed into another beverage and passed around to the lounging humans along with strange stricks of red and white.

“Didn’t we have a holiday like last week/”

He waved a hand, “Not really, that was jus an excuse to eat more food.”

“Everything with you is an excuse to eat more food.” Krill grumbled

Commander Vir paused by one of the beanbags where Sunny was lounging craning her head back to look at him, “Have fun, don’t die.” She said

He playfully kicked at her beanbag, “Don't Tempt me, anyway, you guys have access to every Christmas movie for the past two thousand years, well ok except for the last century due to copyright issues, but beyond that you should be able to find SOMETHING to watch.”

She waved him off with a dismissive hand as they walked to the edge of the cargo bay where another moderately large group of humans was suiting up in their winter gear. Krill grumbled in annoyance, but crawled into the containment tube. Commander Vir knocked on the glass offering Krill the ‘scarf’ the human’s mother had once made for Krill before closing the pod.

Commander Vir moved to dress up with the others walking over to hang out with the humans Krill would have said were his close group of friends including the marines like Ramirez, Maverick, and CJ, but also including Narobi and Dr. Katie.

Dr. Katie waved at him from insider her massive fur-lined coat looking like a puffed up marshmallow.

“Alright, you guys load those boxes onto the shuttles and we can get going. Remember to gear up inside the ship, it is pretty cold out there, but the ice field is perfect, so we should be good.”

The other humans nodded in agreement and did as told excitedly running into the shuttles. Commander Vir took the helm of his own, never willing to let someone else pilot if he could help, and they headed into the atmosphere of the massive ice planet. Krill grumpily sat in the back wondering just what kind of shenanigans he should be expecting today, with the humans you never knew.

Upon reaching the ground, Commander Vir powered down the shuttle, and ordered Ramirez to cut open one of the boxes. He did so with pleasure and, Krill was confused to watch as the humans began pulling strange pairs of shoes from the box.

Shoes with metal blades on the feet.

Katie squealed in delight.

Maverick grinned, “Good thing you brought a doctor,eh?’

“Watch me concuss myself.” Narobi sighed

Krill stiffened, statements like that didn’t bode well coming from humans. He glanced towards Commander Vir who grabbed a pair of the shoes from a box, and was just then lacing them up on his feet. How they expected to stand up was beyond him. Twisting and ankle was a horrible possibility.

At the end of the line Ramirez already had his skates done up, and now stood on the hard metal floor.

Krill waited for him to tip over, but somehow, and in some way, the human balanced himself on a surface area that was no more than a couple of millimeters wide.

“What are you doing.” Krill ventured warily.

“We have an entire planet covered in ice, so we are going to ice skate on it, duh.”

Krill’s panic was immediate. Ice, metal, and a sharp surface clearly DESIGNED to reduce friction.

After they subdued Krill’s conniption fit, the shuttle door was opened. Krill watched from his enclosure in barely contained panic as Maverick stepped out onto the blinding ice, one boot and then the other. She wobbled for a second gliding out onto the cie. She wobbled again, “YOu should have worn helmets at LEAST.”

But in the next moment Maverick slid one of her feet to the side, and then the other in a strange walking motion. Before Krill could complain further, the human was suddenly gliding across the ice in a wide arc laughing and increasing speed as the edges of the skates bit into the clear surface of blue tinted ice, leaving a trail of white behind her.

Dr. Katie followed after wobbling and giggling.

Narobi was not so brave stepping onto the ice as she clutched onto one of the shuttles struts wobbling and slipping, nearly falling over on two occasions muttering about how her ancestors didn’t lend her very well to the ice. Commander Vir laughed at her expense, and she glowered at him, but broke into a wide grin as soon as he stepped onto the ice with a confident swagger only to fall into a flailing wheeling mess tripping backwards to land with a sharp thud on the cie and go skidding outwards.

Krill winced in concern angry that he couldn’t go back on the human.

The others broke into laughter and pointing.

Maverick made it a point to skate a circle around him.

Krill didn’t see how the man planned on getting up, but watched as he placed his hands on the ground driving the picks of his skates into the ice before slowly wobbling to his feet, “I meant to do that.” he announced, only to be laughed at for a second time.

It was from then on that Krill watched in horror and anxiety as the humans slid slipped and wobbled about on the ice. More than once he watched the humans plow into each other, fall over, slip backwards or something else horrible.

Narobi had finally let go of the shuttle, but immediately regretted it sliding past krill with her arms flailing screaming for help.

She was laughed at, until she ended up on her but and began scooting back towards the shuttle.

When they DID manage to remain upright they sometimes managed to look graceful, like leaves caught in a gust of wind. Maverick and Katie were ok, and managed to remain upright normally, though they had created a game of racing each other, and then sliding to the ground to go skidding on their sides across the ice to see who could go further.

Commander Vir could remain on his feet, but it was nothing pretty.

Ramirez laughed and hooted from where he sat beside Krill on the open ramp his feet resting straight out on the ice.

Commander Vir skidded to an awkward flailing halt just before him after a while, “hey, aren’t you coming.”

Krill detected a subtle hint of embarrassment on the marine’s face, “I’m actually just having fun watching.”

“Do you not know how.” THe commander wondered.

The marine shuffled his feet, “it's not that I don’t know how.”

“Then come on.” He reached down grabbing ramirez by the hand and hauling him to his feet nearly toppling backwards, but Ramirez caught the two of them, and they slid out onto the ice. Commander Vir grinned, “Well that worked a bit better than I had intended.”

Ramirez let him go, “Ok, ok, you got me.”

He then skated a tight circle around the Commander, and there was…. Something different about the way he moved as if he was testing the ice.

He watched the marine effortlessly slid forward cutting between the figures and around his flailing counterparts slowly gaining speed. He crossed one foot over the other and turned around. Krill covered his eyes expecting the human to go plowing into the ice.

That was when the human began skating backwards hands behind his back.

It looked effortless.

He slid past Dr. Katie who whistled, “WHOO Ramirez, you go.”

The others had turned to look now, as the human cut backwards in a wide circle, his legs crossing back and forth and back and forth with ease. The backwards skate changed as he added a couple of quick spins while still maintaining his wide parabola. The other humans slid to a stop.

Ramirez came around another corner one leg fully off the ground.

Krill grimaced.

Someone had had music playing from a speaker by one of the other ships, and as the field grew quiet, the human picked up on the beat skating backwards, and in circles and little twists.Arms were thrown in and he rolled like a stalk of grass caught in high wind, never falling over.

One leg, two legs, little spins.

And that's when the idiot started jumping, tiny little hops at first, using the picks at the front of the skates to gain traction before leaping into the air. Then he’d jump into the air and turn landing on the other foot.

The humans were cheering.

There was no way this was real, it was so strange. The amount of coordination flexibility and trust in his own body was phenomenal and impossible. There was no way. Ramirez rolled past backwards bringing his arms into a tight spin that had him as a blur, then he'd open up his arms to slow his momentum skating out of it again.

Commander Vir whistled, “Ramirez, you sexy bastard, do a flip.” Ramirez rolled past again, “Are you flirting with me commander?” He teased

Commander Vir crossed his arms grinning not backing down, “Stop being so talented and you want have this problem.”

He slid back the other way on one leg.

“Buy me dinner first.”

“I'll buy you dinner if you do a flip.” The human slid backwards in the other direction again gaining speed.

“I haven’t warmed up.”

“Do it.”

The human spun in another circle now legs crossing and then leaped into the air. Krill squealed and went to hide his eyes but couldn’t look away.

One

Two

Three rotations.

He hit the ground on one leg arms out to the side and slid backwards in a tight circle with a grace almost inhuman. Together the humans erupted into cheers clapping and hollering.

“You owe me dinner.”

Commander Vir laughed, “That was a spin not a flip, but I guess I'll consider it.”

Ramirez frowned, “No no, you’ll get what you want.”

Even commander vir was beginning to look concerned now, “I you don’t have to, you win.”

“No, you insisted.”

The humans had gone to shaking their heads now giving warning calls. This was bad this as very very bad. Ramirez skated out and then turned around moving forward slowly at a middling speed and then jumped throwing his feet over his head. Light ran over blades as, for a moment his head was oriented towards the ground and his feet towards the sky, and then he landed, feet first.

It was the first time Krill had seen him off balance. He skidded failed and then fell backwards landing on his hands as he slid into the circle of humans.

But despite his fall the humans erupted with cheering.

“Holy shit.” The commander said looking surprised.

“You owe me dinner for a month.” Ramirez pointed out chin jutting in defiance.

Commander Vir hauld him to his feet, “Fine, you win, I wont even argue because that was fucking awesome. Where did you learn to do that?”

He shuffled his feet in embarrassment, “Er…. well. Because I was training for the Olympics.”

“WHAT. Well why didn’t you go, you’re so good.”

He shrugged, “Because ice skaters don’t go to space. I wanted to serve humanity, so I joined the UNSC instead. I still skate when I can, but I don’t regret what I did.”

The entire crew was alerted to their return, not because they really intended it, but because there was no point in trying to stop Krill’s tirade and no way to quiet him once he had gotten going, “OUTRAGEOUS STUPIDITY. Gallivanting around without the use of FRICTION strapping knives to your feet and then dancing on it. Twisted ankles, concussions, broken tailbones, all so that you can look cool. And you aren’t even happy with just being able to transport, but you have to be able to do tricks throwing ourselves off balance on purpose jumping into the air DOING FLIPS ON ICE WHERE THERE IS NO FRICTION.” Commander Vir walked past the staring crew carrying the angry Vrul under one arm.

“Don’t mind us.”

“And you call this morale! I should have known that when you said this it was going to involve ENDANGERING PEOPLE LIVES.”

He walked out of the room and Krill’s voice slowly faded down the hall.

“INCONCEIVABLE BARBARISM, IDIOCY, LUNACY. A QUICK PATH TO YOUR GRAVES DUG PAVED WITH lunacy and my own broken sanity you crazy ass bastard! Constantly putting the life of your crew...in.... .....danger.....

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #HUMANS ARE WEIRD #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia

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lyssismagical · 4 years

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you were my new dream

A Parkner & Irondad - Tangled AU

The paintbrush sweeps over the wall gently, adding wispy clouds to the light blue backdrop, and definition to the castle.

He could hear his father’s footsteps making their way down the staircase, shoes clicking against the stone. Shoes meant his father was going out. Again. Leaving Peter alone in the tower.

He drags the paintbrush once more across the newest addition to his walls of paintings, before tugging the curtain down over it just as his father rounded the corner.

“Hop on down from there and get some breakfast,” his father calls out, tossing an apple in Peter’s direction.

Barefeet easily hopping down to the floor, Peter catches the apple and takes a bite, slipping into his designated chair.

His father looked angry this morning, creases deepening between his eyebrows and along his forehead, curving down around his mouth.

“I’ll be out today,” he says shortly, dragging his chair up behind Peter’s and laying a hand flat in Peter’s hair without need for instruction.

Peter makes himself sing the song, feeling the power thrum in his very veins, glowing bright and young. Flower gleam and glow…

As soon as he finishes, looking over his shoulder at the wrinkles disappearing along his father’s forehead and mouth, grey hairs turning back to its regular dark brown.

“Father-”

“I have errands to run,” his father interrupts, standing up and stretching his shoulders.

Peter frowns, shoulders slumping. “It’s my birthday coming up.”

His father lifts an eyebrow, face set in annoyance like he couldn’t be bothered with trying to guess where Peter’s going with this. He tries not to let it hurt his happiness.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to be eighteen.”

Beck rolls his eyes, mouth curving down. “Yes? I’m well aware of your birthday, Peter.”

Frowning, Peter rises from his chair, following his father across the room as Beck prepares what he needs for his journey and errands.

“I wanna see the lights,” Peter blurts, freezing in his steps when Beck turns on him, anger flashing in his eyes like he already knows exactly what Peter means.

“The lights?”

Peter swallows thickly, anxiety thrumming in his chest. He rubs his hands on his old paint-splattered overalls. “The floating lights. They- They go up every year on my birthday, they fill the sky. My birthday is in a few days, I want to see them up close.”

Beck’s always looked scary when he’s angry, intimidatingly taller than Peter and shoulders broad. “Are you asking me to take you out of the tower?”

Don’t fight back, he knows that much. He knows not to fight back in these kinds of arguments, and it’s normally fine. He’s okay with not asking to leave the tower, with hiding behind the brick walls and saying goodbye to his father every week or two when there’s errands he runs without Peter. But this is his eighteenth birthday watching the lanterns fill the sky through the window.

“Just for one day. Just to see the lights. And then we’d come straight back and I wouldn’t ask to leave again,” Peter bargains, unable to stop himself from clumsily backing away.

Beck lifts an eyebrow. “You wanna try that again?”

His breath hitches, fighting back tears. He hates arguing with his father, hates losing every argument he does try to have, hates that he’s backing down again, but it’s not like he has much of a choice against Beck.

“I- I think I want new paint for my birthday?” Peter tries again gesturing at the walls filled to the very brim with his paintings. He wipes his sweaty hands on his overalls again. “The nice stuff you got for my sixteenth?”

Beck runs a hand harshly over his face with a long, exasperated sigh. “You know I’m not trying to be the bad guy here? I just want what’s best for us and that means staying here, where it’s safe, where you’re safe.”

Peter forces a nod. “I know.”

“Paint? That’s a three day trip, at least.”

“I know, I just- It’s better than what I thought before. I shouldn’t have suggested that, it was stupid. Paint is smarter.”

Beck sighs again, carefully brushing back Peter’s curls. “I’ll get you paint, you’re right. You’ll have enough food here to last you three days time. Stay here, stay safe, alright?”

Peter doesn’t say anything as Beck rounds up a new, bigger basket, filled with more essentials for the longer trip out. But soon enough, Beck is ready to go, sitting on the edge of the windowsill.

“I know you don’t quite understand right now, but the outside world is dangerous, Peter. Especially for you, especially with all this power. I’m just doing what’s best for you, alright? Keeping you safe.”

“Of course, father.” Peter offers a soft smile, slipping his hands into the worn fabric of his long sleeve under his overalls, hiding the shaking. “I’ll be here.”

“And I’ll be back in three days time.”

Three days.

He stands at the window, watches as Beck climbs down the side of the tower using the web ladder Peter made, walks to the edge of their hidden enclosure, turns back and waves at Peter, and then he disappears through the vines.

Turning back to his home, Peter tries to cheer himself up. Three days with the tower alone means he can sing as loud as he wants to, climb the walls, paint, and practice baking. He can even reread the three books on his bookshelf.

Three whole days.

Harley runs a hand through his hair, gently cupping his little sister’s face.

“I know you don’t like me doing this, but this is for the best, okay? I’ll be back before you know it, Abbie.”

She sighs, too young, too little, to be dragged into the politics, into the mess Harley’s in.

He knows what he’s doing is wrong. He knows he shouldn’t steal from the castle, from the King who’s still grieving the loss of his son, The Missing Prince. He knows it’s wrong to be pawning off the jewelry he steals from the castle for money or food or things to keep his baby sister happy, but he’d do anything to keep his sister safe.

“And if you get caught?”

“There’s plenty of food to last you here, and after that, I trust you to take care of yourself, to find help in the city. You know what the king would do if he found out.”

His fingers are careful, gentle as he twists a strand of her hair between his fingers. He doesn’t use her power, he doesn’t dare exploit her for her magic. He’s not cruel like that.

It was a bad situation. He was four, too young to be put in the situation he had been in. His mother was pregnant and very ill. The doctor they called in said it was likely that both her and the baby would die. But then word spread about the Queen’s pregnancy and how they found a magic flower that would heal her.

That’s where the thieving began. He snuck into the tower and stole just a few drops of the golden liquid. It wasn’t enough to save both of them, so now it’s just him and his little sister, now seventeen years old.

“Stay safe, you hear me?”

Harley offers a lazy smile, tossing his satchel over his shoulder. “Always am, Abbie. Hold down the fort.”

It’s not that the world is full of evil people, that’s nothing like the city, especially with the watchful eye of the Queen, keeping everything in order, but he worries about her. He worries that if she were caught, they might punish her for the Keener’s history of thieving. If anything, they were the bad guys, not the city folks. The only person who’d ever tried to exploit her magic was Quentin Beck, a man who wanted to use Abbie’s hair for his own good, nobody else’s.

He doesn’t keep her locked up in their rickety little home on the outskirts of the island, she’s free to do as she pleases, but she chooses not to go far, instead leaving the work to Harley. She prefers sticking to their little home, taking care of the sick people who come seek them out for her magic hair. She makes housecalls occasionally for those who can’t make the journey to find her and she never charges them, the only heart of gold in the Keener bloodline.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t be worried if I’m not home in a couple days. I don’t know how long this will take.”

She grins, corners of her eyes crinkling and blue eyes shining in the morning sun. “I know. I’ll be here.”

Harley finally turns to the forest, back to the ocean curling up the sand. He takes a deep breath, promises himself he won’t look back, and starts his trek towards the city.

* Peter’s hands are shaking where they grip the stupid frying pan. There’s a man tied to a chair in the next room over. He knocked out a man who tumbled through his window that wasn’t Beck.

He was making himself some lunch and then the man had fallen through the window and Peter had panicked, swinging the pan.

And now there was a man in the next room over, tied to a chair, unconscious.

“Hello?” The stranger calls out.

Peter curses a few times under his breath, turning in a circle as he tries to come up with something. When he comes up blank, unsure what to say or what to do, he steels himself and walks into the main room, taking a deep breath.

The boy tied to the chair looks bored, if anything. Not scared by the synthesized webbing pinning him to the chair, not worried about the bruise forming on his forehead where Peter had hit him with the frying pan, not even vaguely concerned about his satchel missing from his side.

He simply lifts an eyebrow when Peter steps into his line of vision, corners of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile.

“How did you find me?” Peter demands, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to appear more confident than he is. “What do you want?”

“What do I want? What do you want?” the boy says, nose crinkling. “I’ve got places to be, darling.”

Peter can’t help the flush that touches his cheeks. He’s only ever spoken to his father, Beck, and to the animals that occasionally crawl up to his window like squirrels or birds. The closest thing he’s ever had to somebody calling him darling is reading the romance book on the shelf.

He runs a hand through his hair, relaxing at the power that runs from his fingertips to his chest. “How do I know you won’t tell anybody about me? How will I know that you won’t bring anyone else here?”

The boy sniffles like this whole conversation is boring him, but he’s starting to tug at the restraints holding him to the wooden chair.

“Why would I care about you?” the boy says, rolling his eyes. “Can you just give me my bag and let me get on my way?”

Peter takes a step back, hands on his hips. “You want your bag that bad?”

“It’s mine.”

And then an idea hits him with a brilliant clarity. “What do you know about the floating lights?”

The boy lifts an eyebrow, sinking back into the chair and giving up on trying to get out of the webbing. “The floating lights?”

“The- Uh, the lanterns?” Peter repeats, levelling his gaze like his heart isn’t about to beat out of his chest. “The ones that go up every August 10th.”

“The one’s for the Missing Prince?” the boy says, tipping his head to the side. “Eighteen years ago, the King and Queen’s son went missing. They send up lanterns every year on his birthday in hopes he’ll make it back to them.”

Peter ignores the way his chest tightens at the potential coincidence. But it wouldn’t make sense. Beck is his father. Not the King.

The boy looks intrigued, mouth tipping up in a sort of amused smile, fingers tapping incessantly on the arm of the chair.

“I want you to take me to see them,” Peter says, holding his chin high. “If you do, I’ll give you your bag back.”

“That’s not a fair trade.”

Peter shrugs, bottom lip sticking out. “What do you want?”

“You live here alone?”

It’s a strange question and Peter doesn’t know how much he wants to tell the stranger about Beck, but he figures it’s only fair. “My father lives here. Beck.”

“Beck? Like Beck? Like Quentin Beck?” The boy demands, eyes widening. “If so, then that’s what I want. I want your father to never hear that I was here or that you met me or that you know anything, okay?”

Peter nods. “Yeah, of course, your secret’s safe with me. Can I ask why?”

The boy smiles coyly. “Nah, better not ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to. Anyway, you wanna get me out of these? If I’m taking you to see the lanterns, we’re going to need to make the trek all the way to the castle.”

Peter scrambles to find the web dissolvent from under the sink, helping the boy up from the chair.

“I’m, um, I’m Peter.”

The boy smiles, corners of his blue eyes crinkling. “Harley Keener.”

* Harley watches Peter with a sympathetic sort of curiosity.

He’s only a few months older than Abbie, a couple years younger than Harley, but he looks at the world like he’s a child who’s never experienced any of it before.

The way Peter’s barefeet touch down on the grass, toes curling in the dirt like it’s incredible. The way he moves and laughs and dances in the yard like this is the most amazing day of his life, uncaring of Harley waiting for him at the edge of the field.

The way Peter smiles brightly, practically glowing in the midday sunlight, laughing as he splashes through the little pond, grinning up at the sky, rolling through the grass.

The way Peter takes it all in like he’s scared he’ll never get to see it again.

Harley would be lying if he said he didn’t think Peter looked like a god, beautiful and smiling brightly like nothing could hurt the happiness radiating off him.

He wasn’t about to get attached to this random boy he found in a mysterious secluded tower, especially since the boy happened to have Quentin Beck as a father, apparently. Beck who’d been trying to get his hands on Abbie for as long as he could remember. When Beck found out that Abbie had a tiny bit of the magical flower’s abilities, Beck had wanted her for his own, to use her capabilities of curing illnesses and keeping people young.

Briefly, he worries about Peter, but he figures it’s not his problem to worry about the strange boy.

“You ready?” he calls out, arms crossed and leaning against the stones.

Peter lights up even more, excitement shining on his face, and he skips, literally fucking skips over to Harley, grabbing his hand and turning to race through the thick vines hiding the field from the rest of the forest, dragging Harley along with him.

On one hand, Harley adores seeing Peter radiating this kind of joy. It reminds him of a different time, a time where he wasn’t thieving, wasn’t parenting his little sister, wasn’t trying so hard just to get food on the table every night. It reminds of a time when his parents were still alive and he was allowed to be childish and innocently happy like Peter is.

But on the other hand, it makes Harley want to take Peter back to Abbie and his home, to hide Peter away from people like Beck who he knows is a bad man despite what Peter might think about his father. It makes Harley want to keep Peter safe from the true horrors of the world, from grief and ugly dark emotions, because he wants, terribly badly, to keep that shining joy on Peter’s face.

“This is the best day ever!” Peter exclaims, touching absolutely everything he can get his hands on. “Oh my gosh! Thank you so much!”

Harley tries his best to suppress a smile. “Only keeping my end of the bargain, darling.”

He watches Peter flush, a gentle blush spreading across his cheeks and nose, brown eyes sparkling beautifully.

This is considerably low on Best Days Ever for Harley. Getting chased through the forest by the guards after stealing a crown from the castle, isn’t exactly ideal, especially since he’s now met the son of the guy who’s been making Harley’s life a bit hellish lately.

They’re walking through a forest. That hardly ranks as a great day, but apparently it’s Peter’s best. That says something about the life he’s lived. It makes Harley’s chest ache thinking about a life spent cooped up in that dark tower with Beck.

So he makes a stupid joke about how circumstances brought them here of all places, reveling in the way Peter lights up in a smile, hands brushing over the trees as they walk together.

He makes it his personal goal along this strange journey they’ve embarked on, to make Peter smile as often as he can.

* “This is no longer the best day ever,” Peter admits, words echoing in the cave they’ve ended up in.

Chased by royal guards who are after Harley. Peter had no idea he’s on a journey with a Wanted Man, but he finds that he doesn’t care too much. He doesn’t really have the capability to make informed decisions about Harley or about the guards who chased them if he hasn’t spoken to anybody outside of his father ever. So, he finds he doesn’t mind.

What he does mind is the water slowly filling up the cave they’re trapped in.

Harley, eyes wide with panic and hands fumbling against the rock walls for an exit, sends a glare in Peter’s direction.

“I guess he was right,” Peter mutters, pushing himself higher up the back wall of the cave as the water continues to rise rapidly. There’s only a matter of minutes before they’ll run out of space.

Harley dives beneath the water, searching for an exit, a way out, but they’re trapped.

Peter, for his part, isn’t as scared as he thought he would be. He’s always been trapped. Maybe not in a life or death situation like he is now, but that tower had been the only four walls he knew for his entire life. He got to feel grass under his feet, he got feel the sun on his skin, he got to touch the trees, he got to meet Harley, a real human being that wasn’t Beck.

This isn’t the worst way to die, he figures. He could’ve died in that tower without having experienced anything.

On the other hand, though, if he had never left that tower, if had just let Harley leave without making any bargains, they wouldn’t be in this situation at all. They wouldn’t be dying.

Harley resurfaces, gasping. “It’s pitch black down there, can’t see anything… Who was right?”

“My father,” Peter says, head touching the cave’s roof as the water rises to their hips. “He was right about not leaving the tower.”

“He was not right,” Harley spits. “He had no right to keep you locked away from the real world.”

Peter shrugs, blinking back the tears as he accepts their fate. “If I had listened, we wouldn’t be dying. You wouldn’t be dying.”

“Your father’s been trying to take my sister from me for the past couple years,” Harley admits. “The truth may as well come out if we’re on our death beds.”

The water’s up to their shoulders now, rising fast.

“What? Why?”

Harley looks over at him, barely discernible in the darkness of the cave. “I don’t know how much you know about the city’s history, but my sister had some of that magic flower juice. Now Beck wants to use her for selfish reasons.”

“Magic… I have magic hair that glows when I sing!” Peter exclaims, eyes widening. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine-”

And the water goes over their head, completely filling the cave.

But Peter’s curls light up, filling the cave with golden light. Harley spots a section of the wall that’s filled with loose rocks, tightly packed together with a thin stream of water slipping between them.

He swims over, Peter in quick pursuit, and they both claw at the rocks, pulling them out of the way.

But Peter didn’t have the time to take a breath before the water had risen over their heads, so his lungs are burning and his hands are too slow and uncoordinated as he pulls another rock out of the way.

He watches the rocks fall, the water turning into a waterfall as it rushes through the exit, before his vision goes dark.

It’s not long before he jerks awake, coughing up the bit of water he’d inhaled. He’s held against Harley’s chest, curled up in the mud right beside the water that he assumes Harley had pulled him out of.

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him as soon as he’s through with his coughing fit, and his fingers curl into Harley’s soaking wet shirt.

“That was insane,” Peter says, breath catching on another laugh, probably more hysterical than anything.

“You’ve got magic hair,” Harley replies.

“Yeah. Always have.”

“My little sister’s does too.” Harley’s arms tighten around Peter, chest still heaving for air. “I tried to cut it off when she was little, tried to make it normal, but nothing worked. That’s why Beck’s been trying to take her from me.”

Another person with magic hair, with powers, like him. Beck always told him he was the only one, that the city would think of him as a mutant, as a freak and they’d use him for their gain.

He doesn’t want to turn on Beck, he doesn’t want to know of the life Harley’s sister lives with the same powers, but he needs to know.

“Is she- Is she allowed this freedom?” he asks, voice quiet and weak. He’s always just blindly believed Beck, believed that the world was a scary place and that what Beck was doing was for Peter’s safety. But he never once mentioned Harley’s sister, he lied about Peter being the only one with powers.

Harley swallows thickly, looking over at the river. “Yeah. I’m her only guardian and I let her do whatever she wants to as long as she promises to be careful. The only one who’s ever tried to hurt her was Beck.”

Peter’s chest aches, mind blurring through all of the lies Beck told, all of the times he’d made Peter believe that he was alone, all of the times Beck told stories of the cruel world.

As much as he wants to ask Harley for advice, ask him how he’s ever supposed to go back to the way he lived after they see the lanterns, ask him if he’s meant to leave Beck, he can’t. Harley doesn’t like him. Harley’s only tolerating Peter for his own benefit.

So instead, he pulls himself out of Harley’s arms and drags himself to his feet, tucking his shaking hands into the pockets of his soaking wet overalls.

“We should keep moving,” he says, clearing his throat.

He kind of wants to cry. This was supposed to be a one time thing. Just a short trip to the city and back with Harley before he’d go back to accepting his life with Beck in their tower. But now?

Now he doesn’t even know whether or not Beck is a good guy. He doesn’t know who to believe. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. And worst of all, he feels like he has nobody to turn to. He only knows two people to begin with, but he doesn’t know if he can trust either of them.

“Yeah, of course,” Harley murmurs, following Peter to his feet. His eyes narrow and his mouth is set in a frown, crossing his arms in a standoffish way like he doesn’t know what to say or how to say it, like he wants to ask questions but doesn’t know if he can.

Peter sets off again, keeping a few feet ahead of Harley to hide the tears that threaten to spill.

Harley doesn’t say a word.

* “We should stop,” Harley says after a long few hours of walking silently through the forest. “Get some rest. We’re nearing the bridge to the city and we won’t be able to sleep there.”

He nods at the tree they’ve stopped at, where a picture of his face is pinned. A Wanted Poster.

“We’re almost there,” Peter argues. He’s upset and he’s tired and his chest is still aching, hands still trembling.

“The lanterns go up tomorrow night. There’s no point in going into the city until then.”

Harley reaches for Peter’s shoulder, probably to try to comfort him, but Peter moves away from the outstretched hand, digging his fingernails into his palms to try to stop the tears that are dangerously close to falling.

He offers a pathetic attempt at a smile, and nods. “Yeah, okay, we’ll spend the night here.”

“Peter-”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Peter mutters, finding them a clearing to set up. “Could you get us some firewood?”

Harley frowns, obviously wanting to say more, but he thinks better of it and turns away.

As soon as Harley’s out of sight, far enough away that Peter can’t even hear his footsteps in the crispy leaves, a shadowy figure appears just in Peter’s peripheral vision.

He spins around, eyes wide as he takes in the cloaked figure.

“What do you want?” He says, voice cracking and showing his fear. He can’t really protect himself. Harley might as well be the weapon, the only one capable of negotiating or running or fighting if they have to. Peter’s got nothing.

The shadowy figure steps into the barely-there light of the rising moon. He pulls his hood back and reveals his face. It’s Beck.

“Father?” Peter says, voice lifting an octave as nerves and fear flood through him. He had one rule to follow: stay in the tower. And yet, here he is, soaking wet, chest aching, and in the middle of the forest.

“I’ve been tracking your movements since you fought those guards a few miles back,” Beck says, keeping his voice low. “I didn’t think you’d run off at all, let alone run off with a criminal. You know that’s what he is, don’t you?”

Peter nods silently, tears threatening to spill as he shoves his shaking hands into his pockets.

His father takes a step forward, expression softening. “I’m sure you’ve had a good time skipping through the woods with a wanted criminal, but come home, honey. We can put this whole stupid trip behind us.”

“No!” he says, surprising even himself. “I think… I think he likes me.”

Peter expects anger, he expects Beck to lash out, to force him home, but none of it comes. Instead, Beck runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Likes you? He’s just using you, Peter. Once he gets this back, he’ll leave you.”

Beck tosses the satchel at Peter and it lands at his feet, crown glittering offendingly in the moonlight.

“How did you-”

“Give that to him, see how long he stays,” Beck says. His voice is soft, gentle, as he smooths back Peter’s damp curls. “And when he leaves you with what he wants, you can still come home. To me.”

Peter shakes his head, pulling away from Beck’s hands. He hates that Beck’s being nice. It just makes everything more confusing. He doesn’t want to be locked up in the tower but he can’t be sure that Harley won’t ditch him as soon as they’ve made good on their deal.

“He’s not going to leave me.”

Beck offers one final smile, sympathetic and worrying, and then he pulls his hood over his head and disappears into the shadow.

“Hey, darling?” Harley calls out. “Could you come help me with some of this?”

Peter hurries into motion, hiding the satchel behind a tree before hurrying over to help Harley build and light the fire to keep them warm and hopefully dry them before their trek to the city in the morning.

Soon enough though, Peter lies down in the grass, upset that the childish joy of feeling grass has faded away, and upset that he can’t seem to come up with any good solutions to all the problems this journey’s created.

He watches the moon rise into the sky, stars sparkling, as Harley finished up with the fire a few feet away, making sure they have enough wood to last them the night.

Eventually, Harley lies down beside Peter, just enough space between them that they don’t touch, but close enough that Peter can hear Harley’s heart.

“I couldn’t possibly understand what you’re going through, but this isn’t about the deal anymore,” Harley says, eyes tracing the sky. “I don’t care about you keeping your end of the bargain, I’m not doing this for that anymore. I’m doing this for you.”

“Why?” Peter voice breaks, and he lifts his shaking hands to press the heels of his hands over his eyes. “Why do you care? What’s so special about me?”

Harley turns his head to look at Peter. “You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, Peter. You’re smart and you’re brave and you’ve just been dealt a lot of poor hands in your life, that’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Peter admits quietly, looking over at Harley through his glassy eyes.

“I can’t make that decision for you, darling. For now, you can sleep and tomorrow we’ll see the lanterns, and then you can decide to do whatever your heart desires, whatever your next big dream is.”

Peter frowns because that doesn’t answer any of his questions, but it does help relieve some of the stress that had been tying his stomach in knots. He lets his hands fall away from his face and instead, he grabs Harley’s hand.

The thief intertwines their fingers, sending a grin at Peter before closing his eyes. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

And even though Peter doesn’t know what in the world he’s going to after tomorrow, even if he’s terrified that this isn’t going to live up to what he’s dreaming it’ll be, even if he’s scared that after tomorrow he’ll never see Harley again, he still closes his eyes with hopeful anticipation.

* Harley feels like his universe has flipped upside down as he spends the day with Peter in the city.

He’s rarely ever been in the city for good purposes, normally thieving or running from the royal guard or from Beck, he spends most of his free time at home on the edge of the city in their little shack they call home.

But this?

Not only is he helping Peter achieve his dreams of seeing the lanterns, he keeps doing things that surprises even him. He buys a loaf of bread for lunch with the few coins he has. He dances with Peter in townsquare with a few other civilians who either don’t recognize him from the wanted posters that litter the city or choose not to report him.

Harley even takes Peter to the library, explaining quietly that his mom used to read to the children at the library when Harley was little.

And Peter, who’s never seen the city before, is lit up like a star the whole day, grin never falling from his face.

There’s this nagging feeling in his chest that he tries his best to ignore because he finds himself staring blatantly at Peter all throughout the day. Watching him smile brightly or ramble excitedly about everything and anything or watching him dance around the townsquare to the folksy music, smile never leaving his face, laughing breathlessly when Harley trips over his own feet.

Either Peter doesn’t notice Harley’s stare, or he does but doesn’t realize what it means. Either way, Harley doesn’t stop staring. He doesn’t care if Peter sees or anybody else sees him, smiling back at Peter like he’s hopelessly in love.

There’s some anxiety that twists in his stomach. There’s still a good chance Peter’s only using him to leave the tower, and as soon as he’s seen the lights, he’ll make good on his end of the bargain and that’ll be it. There’s a chance that Peter won’t want to stay with him in the city. There’s a chance Peter will choose his tower and Beck over Harley and freedom.

“C’mon, I’ve picked a good spot,” Harley says, reaching out to loop his arm through Peter’s. There’s a flash of confusion that flickers over Peter’s expression, but before Harley can dwell on it, Peter’s grinning again.

“Lead the way, Harley!”

They walk out to the edge of the city where the boats are docked and Harley guides Peter to one of them, helping him into it before he slides in after.

Harley does the rowing while Peter looks around in the same childishly naïve way he had earlier. It’s hard for Harley to even imagine the kind of life Peter’s lived, cooped up without being allowed to leave ever.

Harley’s lived the opposite, growing a garden with Abbie near their home, going swimming in the ocean, running through the forest (away from royal guards, maybe, but still), campfires every weekend.

“Look!” Peter exclaims, attention turning to the sky as the first of the lanterns are raised, the emblem of the city, an upside down triangle in a circle, glowing bright.

He finds that he has a lot of these moments where Peter watches the world with his childlike wonder and Harley watches Peter.

“Here,” Harley murmurs. “I’ve got you another gift.”

From underneath his bench in the boat, he reveals the two lanterns he’d bought in the city earlier without Peter realizing.

Peter’s eyes widen and the browns of his irises are sparkling as lanterns begin to fill the sky around them. His cheeks are flushed a beautiful pink, and he’s sporting a wide smile like his days just keep getting better.

Harley’s never participated in the lanterns, not since the first year after his mom died and he took Abbie, just a baby at the time, out to see them. They couldn’t afford lanterns, but it was nice enough to watch. Sometimes, they’ll still sit out on the beach just beyond their cabin to watch them, but even then, it’s not really tradition.

“I figured you’d want to participate,” Harley says, offering a smile as he lights the lanterns and hands one of them to Peter who’s practically glowing with excitement.

Peter’s smile is one Harley doesn’t think he’ll ever forget as they lift their lanterns into the sky together. They watch as their lanterns join the thousandth of others that join the King and Queen’s in the sky above, lighting up the city.

“Listen,” Peter says, eventually. His hands are trembling, just enough that Harley notices, and the thief takes one of his hands, intertwining their fingers. “I was scared before, I didn’t think you’d bother sticking around once you had what you needed, but, the thing is, I’m not scared anymore, you know what I mean?”

From under his own bench, Peter lifts up Harley’s satchel. The one he’d taken when Harley had mistakenly stumbled into his tower to hide from the royal guards. The one that contained The Missing Prince’s Crown, the same crown that would feed him and Abbie for weeks.

But Harley doesn’t care. He doesn’t want the stolen crown, he doesn’t care about the deal they made. He cares about Peter. No matter how much he tried to convince himself it would be better if he didn’t.

“I’m starting to,” Harley says, pushing the satchel away.

Even if Harley grew up with all the freedom in the world, Harley never knew what it felt like to care. He only ever let himself care about Abbie, anybody else was too much of a hassle, there was too much to bargain.

But Peter grew up loving everything and anything, heart so full of love to give.

Harley’s starting to get it.

With his free hand, Harley cups Peter’s face watching the younger boy blush, a shy smile touching his face. Harley leans forward, recklessly uncaring about consequences.

Their lips are about to touch when Harley sees two figures on the land across from where they’d started. One of the figures points at Harley, crooking their finger.

Harley squints and he makes out both their faces. Beck and Abbie.

Abruptly, he pulls away from Peter, hands fumbling for the oars. “Sorry, I just- I remembered something. Got places to be, people to see, you know.”

It’s obvious that Peter doesn’t know and there’s hurt flashing in his eyes as he nods like he gets it.

But Harley doesn’t have the time to explain it all to Peter. As much as he was starting to like Peter and as much as he really did want to kiss him, Abbie comes before everything.

“Stay here,” Harley says, almost beggingly because as much as he’ll play it off as nonchalant, he doesn’t want to lose Peter to Beck. He doesn’t want Peter to go back to living, cooped up in that tower. He doesn’t want to stay goodbye. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

For good measure, he picks up the satchel. It doesn’t have much, but he hopes he can bribe Beck into giving Abbie back.

“What do you want?” Harley demands as soon as he’s out of earshot of the boat and Peter.

Beck steps out of the shadow, flipping a knife in his hand. “What I want is simple, Mister Keener. I want my kid back. The one that you took from me.”

“I didn’t take him. He asked me to show him to the city.” Harley barely manages to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He has to play it safe with Abbie on the line.

“Well, I have a feeling he’d choose you over me, and we can’t have that, can we? I need a magical child, so it’s either Peter or Abbie, Mister Keener. It’s your choice, really.”

And it’s unfair, it’s cruel to ask Harley to pick, and it’s worse that he knows who he has to pick. “What do you want me to do?”

Beck laughs coldly. “Take your precious satchel and take the boat back to the city. Turn yourself in to the guard. In return, I’ll send Abbie on her merry way and take Peter back to the tower with me.”

“And if I don’t?”

Beck snaps twice and two men show themselves from nearby. They’re both tall and broad, sporting the same cold smiles as Beck. “I’ll track you both down. I’ve got plenty of contacts within the city.”

“And what? You kill us?”

One of the men shrugs. His voice is low when he speaks, “Turn you in and keep the girl. I could use some extra cash with that hair.”

Harley squares his shoulders, clenches his jaw and nods. “Fine. You win, Beck. I’ll go.”

“Good. It was nice doing business with you, Mister Keener.”

Harley lied. He got on a boat the moment he got his stupid satchel back. Didn’t even bother to say goodbye.

Peter only had to make it a few miles into the forest, alone and hurt, before Beck found him, wrapped him up in his cloak and a warm hug, and escorted him the rest of the way back to the tower.

As much as Peter desperately wants to believe Harley, wants to believe that there had to be a reason behind Harley disappearing like he did, there’s no reason he should believe a criminal over his father, the one’s supposedly been trying to keep him safe for his entire life.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Peter,” Beck says when they make it back to the dark safety of the tower. “I really wish he was a good guy, but you shouldn’t have gotten your hopes so high. He’s just a criminal who wanted to sell that crown for money. He didn��t care about you, but I do. I care. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter tries to offer a grateful smile through the tears that fill his eyes. “I know. It still sucks.”

In an attempt to help, Beck reveals a box on the table. “I got you that paint you wanted. You’ve got enough to last you at least the year.”

It doesn’t make Peter feel even remotely better. Painting for the year, means that he’ll be in the tower for the year. Cooped up and trying to waste his time painting the walls.

But he sees the attempt at a peace offering. “I’m going to, um, head up to my room. I just want to be alone for a little bit?”

His father smiles gently and brushes back Peter’s curls. Peter can’t help but to miss Harley’s touches. “Of course. I’ll make you some dinner.”

Peter nods and tries to smile back before he ducks off to his room.

He collapses into his bed, trying to stifle his cries as best as he can in his pillow. Harley lied, he betrayed him, he made Peter feel like he really cared. And despite all that, Peter misses him.

His hands are shaking again so he stuffs them in the pockets of his dirty overalls, only to feel something.

A handkerchief. One that Harley had bought him in the city that morning. It’s just a simple blue cloth with the city’s symbol, an upside down triangle in a circle, embroidered into the center in gold.

He holds it up above his head, squinting at it through his tears.

A memory of a man with the same symbol on his shirt, smiling down at Peter. There’s a crown sitting on his head, a crown that looks remarkably similar to the one Harley had stolen.

Peter jerks, blinking up at the ceiling where the same symbols shine down on him, incorporated in all the paintings covering his room.

“That’s The Missing Prince, it’s what the lanterns are for,” Harley had said when he saw Peter looking at the mural. “He disappeared when he was a baby. The King’s still hoping he’ll make his return one day.”

“I’m going to keep you safe, il mio bambino.” It’s the King, the one in his memories.

Peter, clutching the square of fabric in his shaking hands, stumbles up to his feet. It’s the answer to all his questions, but he doesn’t know if it’s the answer he wants.

“I’m The Missing Prince,” he says out loud like it’ll make it feel real.

He remembers the story Harley told of the Missing Prince. How somebody had broken into the tower and stolen the prince right under everybody’s noses, how there were search parties for two years straight through the city and forest in search of the prince before The Queen decided if they hadn’t found him yet, they probably never would.

Peter remembers the stories and if he’s right about being the missing prince, that means Beck kidnapped him. That means all these years of being locked in the tower with Beck were so nobody would find him, not to keep him safe. It was for selfish reasons.

That means that maybe Harley was right all along. That means that he’s living with a villain.

He makes it out into the hallway when he sees Beck, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Is everything okay?” Beck says, the picture perfect caring father.

“I’m the missing prince,” Peter repeats, channeling as much confidence as he can. “Aren’t I?”

Peter’s seen Beck angry before. Normally when it had been too long since he’d used Peter’s powers for his own good, but never like this. He’d never seen Beck look this angry.

“Do you even hear yourself?” he asks, glaring at Peter as he starts up the stairs towards him. “What did that criminal get into your head?”

“All this time,” Peter says, clenching his trembling hands into fists as he meets Beck halfway. “All this time, I was hiding from people who would abuse my power, but I should’ve been hiding from you.”

Beck rolls his eyes like Peter’s just a child throwing a stupid tantrum. “And where will you go? Your criminal can’t help you now.”

“What did you do to him?”

“He’s turned himself in to the guard,” Beck replies, voice sickly sweet. He reaches out and touches Peter’s hair. “He’s to be hanged for his crimes.”

Peter freezes, shock running him cold. Harley’s going to die.

The man he once called his father, once loved like family, smiles down at him cruelly, and Peter shoves him away, doesn’t want him touching Peter’s hair, doesn’t want him so close.

Beck stumbles and falls down the stairs into the vanity where the mirror shatters across the floor.

“No!” Peter shouts, frozen in place. “I won’t let you use my power anymore! I won’t let you keep me here!”

But Beck smiles coldly, picking himself up from off the floor. “You say that like you have a choice.”

* “Hey!” Harley shouts, uselessly trying to pull away from the hands on his arms. His wrists and ankles are cuffed, he’s being taken to his death, but all he really cares about is Peter.

Peter, the sweet naïve boy who just went home with an awful man. A liar. Somebody who threatened Abbie and forced Harley to turn himself in. All he cares about is needing to get Peter out of that tower and safe.

They drag him out into the dirt pit where his execution will take place. One of the royal guards starts reading the list of things he’s done, the majority of them thieving and resisting arrest, all of which he’s aware he’s done. He gets that they’re just following protocol.

“Wait,” Somebody calls out, voice calm and commanding.

Everybody turns their heads up to where the voice came from and there’s a collective gasp as they recognize the man standing tall in the stands.

The guards holding Harley’s arms drop to one knee, a sign of respect for the king that stands strong.

Other than the day of the lanterns, the King never makes appearances in public, leaving all of the responsibilities up to the Queen.

“I’m officially acquitting Mister Harley Keener of all charges,” Tony Stark says, expression never changing from the uncaring mask of the King. “I would like to speak with him.”

Harley doesn’t do much but stare at the King as his cuffs are all removed and he’s given a not-so-gentle shove towards the stairs out of the stadium.

“What? I don’t understand. Sir, not that I want to die, but I don’t deserve to be acquitted after I’ve done nothing but cause harm to your city,” Harley argues as soon as he gets up to face the King.

Up close, Tony is obviously unwell. He’s pale and the dark circles under his eyes tell a story of their own. He looks wearily at Harley like he couldn’t be bothered to try to explain his thought process.

But he sighs and beckons Harley to follow as he starts walking. “A certain someone showed up at the castle gates demanding to be heard. She’s well-known around the city.”

“Abbie.” Harley doesn’t need to think twice. There are not many people who would vouch for him. The list had been up to two people as of yesterday, but he assumes Peter hates him too after what went down.

The King smiles. “Yes. She was quite the character. Down to earth, but the most stubborn person I’d ever met. She said you’d been stealing food for her, and you pawned off all the jewelry you took from the castle for food as well. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

Harley has no idea how to answer a question like that. “I’m sorry about your son. I can’t even imagine how hard that would be.”

“That’s actually what I’m here to ask you about,” Tony continues, leading them towards the bridge that connects to the forest. “I know you’re one to do a lot of travelling to make your money and to stay away from my guards. You’re quick on your feet, obviously a smart guy.”

“You want me to find him, don’t you?”

There’s already some thought that it could be Peter. It would be fair to assume as much. Same first name, same magic. But Abbie has magic too, he can’t jump to conclusions. Not with something this important.

Tony offers another weary smile. “I would forever be in your debt. I know it’s been eighteen years, but… I just need closure.”

“Take care of my sister, would you?”

As soon as Tony nods, Harley takes off into the forest, only one thing on his mind.

* Peter flinches when he hears Harley call out.

He’s alive, at least, but he won’t be for long if he does this.

“Peter!”

The prince listens to the sound of Harley scaling the side of the tower, unable to do more than make muffled cries through the gag in his mouth.

Harley lands on the ground, eyes widening at the sight of Peter, chained to the ground and gagged. He’s sure he’s bruised, right eye swelling shut and blood filling his mouth, but he doesn’t care. He just wants Harley to run and never look back if it keeps him safe.

There’s nothing he can do but cry as Beck steps out from the shadows behind Harley and plunges the knife into Harley stomach.

The blood spreads almost instantly, flowering out on the front of Harley’s dirty shirt.

Peter sobs, pulling uselessly at the chains that hold him down. If Peter had never asked Harley to take him to the city, if he’d followed Beck’s rules, maybe Harley would still be okay. He could’ve lived out his life, however long, with Abbie.

Instead, he’s going to bleed out in this awful tower that’s built on nothing but lies.

“Look at what you’ve done, Peter,” Beck tsks, tossing the knife to the floor carelessly. He crosses the room to grab Peter’s chains, pulling him towards the trapdoor that leads out of the tower. “We’re leave and I’m going to take you somewhere where nobody will ever find you again.”

Peter lets out a muffled shout, pulling at his chains and fumbling to get to Harley who’s fallen to the ground, curled up and bleeding.

“Stop fighting me,” Beck mutters, yanking Peter backwards, hard enough that his gag comes loose.

“I’ll never stop fighting you!” Peter cries. “I will never stop trying to get away from you. Unless you let me heal him. Please, if you let me heal him, I’ll go with you. I won’t run, I won’t fight. I’ll be what you want me to be, just let me heal him.”

Harley groans out a muffled argument, but it falls on deaf ears.

Rolling his eyes, Beck grabs another set of chains to match Peter’s, and after making sure Peter’s secure, Beck ties Harley to one of the support beams among the broken glass.

“Just so you don’t get any ideas,” Beck hisses, making sure the chains are tight around Harley.

As soon as his chains are loosened, Peter hurries right to Harley’s side, carefully pulling his shirt up to assess the wound.

“Don’t,” Harley wheezes, pushing Peter’s hands away.

“I can’t let you die.” Peter’s voice breaks and he tries his best to keep his tears at bay. It’s for the best.

Harley’s glassy eyes meet Peter and through his coughs, he lifts one of his hands to cup Peter’s cheek. “You’ll die if you go.”

Peter tries his best to smile reassuringly through his tears. “I have to do this.”

Harley opens his mouth to argue when Peter’s hand closes over a piece of sharp glass and he holds it up, turning to crouch protectively between Harley and Beck.

“You can’t win if we both die,” Peter says, eyes wide and glass trembling in his grip, digging into his palm.

“Darling, please-” Harley chokes out, reaching out to stop Peter.

But Peter doesn’t dare look back, keeps his attention on Beck’s cold gaze. That’s why, he doesn’t see Harley grabbing the bloody knife from the floor.

Without a second thought, Harley throws the knife with the last of his energy.

Beck doesn’t have the time to react and the knife hits it’s mark in the center of his chest. He sinks to the floor, blood pooling beneath him.

“Harley!” Peter gasps, dropping the glass and grabbing Harley’s shoulders. Harley’s eyes are closed already. Harley died for him. “Please, please no. You can’t have him. Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine. Make the clock reverse. Bring back what once was mine.”

When nothing happens, when the wound doesn’t heal like it was supposed to, Peter gives in to the tears and he leans his forehead against Harley’s chest as he cries. His power can heal wounds, it can keep people young, but it can’t bring people back to life. There’s an extent to his power.

“Bring back- Bring back what once was mine,” Peter whispers again, voice breaking as more tears spill down his cheeks onto Harley’s shirt. “Please.”

And then, like a miracle, Harley sucks in a breath, eyes fluttering open.

“Harley!” Peter breathes, eyes widening as the golden magic swirls in the air around them, and they watch as Harley’s wound stitches itself back up. His magic might not be able to bring people back to life, but love is a special kind of magic.

The prince throws his arms around Harley’s neck, tucking his face in the crook of Harley’s shoulder as he tries to get a hold of his crying. Harley’s arm wraps around his waist, and he presses a kiss to Peter’s temple.

“We’re okay, darling,” he murmurs, hugging Peter close like he’ll never let him go again. “It’s going to be okay.”

But it’s not okay. Not really. They’re covered in blood, Harley killed a man, the same man that stole Peter’s childhood from him. The same man who’d stolen the past eighteen years of his life and kept him hidden in a tower when Peter could’ve been with his parents.

“You were my new dream,” Peter admits, hands curling into Harley’s shirt. “After the lanterns, you were- All I wanted was you. You were my new dream.”

“And you were mine,” Harley says, sighing in relief and pressing his lips to Peter’s forehead.

It’s not okay, but they’ve got each other and that’s all that mattered.

* “I’m scared,” Peter says, squeezing Harley’s hand. He’s yet to heal himself, yet to change out of the same pair of overalls he’d been wearing since the beginning of their adventure which are dirty and bloodstained and ripped. He knows he must look like a disaster, but Harley smiles at him like he’s the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

“It’s going to be okay,” Harley replies, squeezing Peter’s hand back. He’s said that a lot since they left the tower a few hours earlier.

Harley pushes open the doors to the castle where the King and Queen are waiting.

Peter remembers the King. He remembers his dad, even if it is only a single memory.

“Peter?” he says, eyes widening and jaw dropping. He crosses the room slowly as if moving too fast will make Peter disappear.

“Hi, Dad,” Peter says, blinking back tears.

His dad’s there immediately, drawing him into a warm hug, the kind of hug Beck never gave him, and kissing the crown of his head. “Il mio bambino.”

And then his mom is there, hugging from behind and holding him just as lovingly. Peter’s knees buckle at the sheer amount of love he feels, the relief of finally being reunited with his parents, and they all sink to the floor, drawing in close.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harley with his arm around a girl’s shoulders, a girl who he assumes is Abbie, both of them pretending to give the family space.

But Peter reaches his hand out, offering a watery smile, and when Harley takes it, he pulls the two of them into the hug.

“You’re part of our family now too,” Peter says certainly, smiling so wide he thinks his face will break. He’s only had this family for sheer minutes, but it already feels so much better, warmer, more loving, than Beck and the tower had ever been.

At last, Peter sees the light. It’s warm and real and bright. The world has shifted.

Now that he has them.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @tonystarkweneedyou {Let me know if you want to be removed or added}

#lyss writes #parkner #parley #irondad #harley keener #peter parker #tony stark #Irondad and Spiderson #irondad fic #parkner fic #harley keener/peter parker #Tangled AU #this is my first time with a taglist which is pretty cool

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into-crazy · 4 years

Text

More to the Madness Pt. 7

Ledger!Joker x Female Reader series

Summary: You and the Joker finally bang it out. Continuation to part 6, so if you haven't read that part, I suggest you do.

Warnings- Cursing, mentions of violence, NSFW, SMUT, oral sex, unprotected sex, brief degradation, overstimulation, brief knife play, ages 18+

You can find the other parts RIGHT HERE and through the “More to the Madness” tag lovelies💞💞

Grabbing your wrist he tugs you into him, "now, where was I? Ah right, that mouth of yours."

Placing both hands on your cheeks, he presses his lips to yours again. His hold moves down the sides of your chest, over the harness past your waist, to grab at your hips. Swinging your back from the tiny wall, he haphazardly walks you backwards towards the bedroom. All while not breaking the kiss.

Not having the patience to properly open the door, J kicks it open. Shoving you inside upon your avail. You grab at his collar, pulling him even closer. Moaning as you rolling your tongue along the painted scar splitting his bottom lip. A deep rumble vibrates within his chest, his grip on your hips tightening so hard it's sure to bruise. He slams your back against the room's wall, nothing blunt, but lacking a gentle manner. You stifle the groan brought by the impact, he traps you between his frame and the enclosure.

His long leg steps in between your legs, pushing back against your clothed heat as he presses his hips forward into yours. The action causing you to moan loudly. Joker chuckles at your needy moan, "ohh I like that pretty sound." He takes the opportunity to pull back and look at you. His half lidded gaze boring into your own while he breathes heavily. Your lips are smeared with red and black, your heart beating fast, and your eyes replaced the fury from earlier with lust. Deep, longing, starving lust. For him. "Let's hear it again, hm."

He flexes his muscular thigh against your pussy, inflicting an even better moan from your lips followed with a hushed, "fuck J.."

"Mm, much better than that nagging tone," he approves. Grabbing his shoulders, you shamelessly roll your hips. Grinding yourself onto his leg to get that much needed friction. You focus on the growing bulge under his purple slacks. He snickers, "desperate, aren't ya?" That tongue running deliciously over his wet lips.

"Me?" You breathe out cracking a smile, "you're one to talk, look at you!" You hint towards his confined erection.

With a dissatisfied snarl, Joker yanks his leg away. Taking both your wrists in one hand, he throws your limbs above your head. The other goes to wrap around your neck, the leather feeling amazing on your skin. "You're testing my patience doll," he growls dangerously, tightening his grip around your neck. A filthy whine escapes your throat, you take your bottom lip between your teeth.

Amusement takes over his face when he realizes you're enjoying this. "You, you like that don't ya? You ah, like having my hand around your neck?" He squeezes tighter in emphasis. You try your hardest to nod against his grasp, "mhm."

Joker tsks, "naughty, naughty. Most are usually afraid of this, but not you, huh? Noo, only dirty little sluts get off on being choked."

Balling your fists, you attempt to pull your wrists in his iron hold. Stopping your movements, you snarl, "I am not some slut." It's insulting, the way he said it. As though he's comparing you to just about anyone he could sleep around with. Some cheap throwaway to give him what he wants only to be tossed out right after.

He laughs mockingly at your misinterpretation. "You uh, seemed to have misread me doll," he acknowledges. "You're not just any slut, you're MY little slut." The hand on your throat moves to your abdomen, sliding it down until he cups your clothed sex. His tormenting touch having your eyelids fluttering. "Mine, and mine only.." He growls lowly, his gloved fingers begin to push and tease you. His twisted possessiveness makes you melt inside.

His only.

Those words rang around in your dizzy head.

J's mouth works down your neck, harshly kissing and sucking dark patches into your skin. Your chest brushes him, rising and falling through shuddered breaths. "Watch, I'll have you begging for me shortly. I want you to," he whispers into your skin. "You'll be begging me to fuck you. Crying, even. Then.." His fingers start to work harsh circles on your clit through the soft fabric. Luckily your cat suit was made of durable material, not bad for soft polyester. You use your best efforts to roll against his hand while he speaks. "That's when I'll break you."

"Is that a threat?" You question, a quirk in your brow.

"No. That-" he pauses, pulling back to peer into your eyes, "that is a promise." He leans in, taking your bottom lip between his yellow teeth. Biting down harshly, maintaining his carnal stare. Having no choice but to hold that stare, you sigh deeply in the thrill of your desire. He pisses you off, but he's got a valid point. There's no doubt you want this man before you, he can see past your façade, read it in your eyes, feel it in the way you move against him.

Joker finally releases his grip on your wrists, allowing them to drop and grab onto him. He pinches the zipper at the top of your cat suit, "let's ah, get this off." You both listen to the scratching sound as he slides it further down, past your collar, past your chest, down your stomach- until it gets caught on the harness. Not allowing him to unzip you all the way, he let's out a dissatisfied snarl. His fingertips tug the piece, "remove this now." The deep, commanding tone in his voice gets you to quickly unstrap the leather buckles at your thighs.

Taking a step back, Joker watches you impatiently while he works at removing his tie, vest, and.. suspenders?

"Cute suspenders," you giggle looking over the green diamond patterns on the strips, "have you always had those?" Unclipping the strap from your waist, you carelessly toss the harness containing your knives and gun to the floor. Just like that, your own line of defense, thrown off to the side. Your only chance at a fight in case anything goes wrong simply tossed, without any sense of hesitation.

"All apart of the look doll," he half teased, "now hurry up, before I use 'em to restrain you in a way you won't find too enjoyable." The thrill of being completely exposed to him rousing you to move faster. Though your curiosity peaked on what he had in mind with those straps. Undoing your boots, you use this opportunity to scan the room.

There wasn't much in here- a large bed at the back, one color stained pillow, no blankets or covers. A side table with a crooked bed lamp atop it, a few knifes and paper scraps alongside. An old dresser against the other wall. Two windows with the blinds shut, and yet another gas can discarded in the far corner. This must be where he sleeps when he gets the chance, you figured. In a way, it reminded you of your own safe house. Only yours is cleaner and.. homey.

Tossing your boots aside, J's hands are back on you. He finishes unzipping your attire, the metallic zipper ending just below your abdomen. You shimmy out of the red fabric- gloves included, kicking them across the room to join the pile, left only in a bra and seamless thong. Joker looks you over, admiring your almost bare body with a hungry look in his eyes.

You giggle working on his shirt buttons, "what? You didn't think I went commando, did ya?" A sly smile creeps across his face, he shoves your hand away. Dipping down to nip and kiss from your neck to your cleavage.

Suddenly his hand grabs at your hair, yanking your head back hard. "And you didn't think I'd let that sarcastic remark slide, did ya?" He pushes you down by your shoulders, placing you on your knees before him. Using his teeth to remove his gloves, he tosses them to the side, paying no mind where they land. His rough, paint speckled hand grabs your chin harshly, making you look at him. Joker stands proudly over you, "let's put your disrespectful mouth to uh, better use." Using his free hand, he unfastens his belt.

You watch in mouth gaped excitement while he allows his pants to fall to his feet. His thick cock protruding against the flimsy fabric of his boxers. Fuck he's huge! Ran through your mind. You know he is, and you haven't even seen it yet.

"Now.." He uses a grip in your strands to push you towards his confined erection, "how about you be a good girl an make it up to me, huh." It wasn't a request, it was a demand. One, upon many others you're more than pleased to carry out.

Keeping eye contact, you pull his boxers down so they join his pants below. Once his cock is free, you shift your gaze to look at it. His impressive member, stands fully erect in front of your wide eyes. His angry, red tip leaking beads of precum. The sight alone makes your core ache with need, to be filled with his cock. You run your soft hands up his strong, bare thighs. Wrapping one under his head, you run your wet tongue flat along the underside of his length. Joker groans deeply at your light touch. Taking his tip into your lips, you lick his precum clean off, getting that first taste of him. Swirling your tongue around it, sliding your hand to grip his base. With a huff, J quickly thrusts completely into your mouth. Tip hitting the back of your throat, you gag on his cock. Blinking rapidly at the tears prickling the corners of your eyes while your saliva coats his length.

"Would ya look at that?" He cackles wickedly, the back of his hand caressing your cheek in a way similar to adornment. "How pretty you look with my cock in your mouth." Joker then grabs ahold of both your buns, he starts thrusting in and out your mouth. He especially likes the leverage your hairstyle provides, they're like handles making it all the easier for him to control you. Excess saliva dripping down your mouth and his length while he continues to fuck your mouth. Tears streaming down your cheeks, taking the fake one's made of the black makeup along with them.

His girth makes it impossible to breathe, especially now that he's knocking the air from you with his constant pounding. So far down your mouth and throat each time, your nose brushes his pubic hair with every thrust. Only when you're on the verge of passing out would Joker pull back and allow you a breath before slamming completely back in. He's using you entirely for his pleasure and you love every second of it. Even through the blur of your tears could you make out the gritting of his teeth, the deep, fevered look in his face. And through the lewdly wet, slapping sounds could you hear his erratic breaths and throaty groans. It only brings you to crave him so much more.

You work your tongue strokes best as you can with his movements. As his breathing grows shallower, you can tell he is close. To be able to bring this destructive man to pure ecstasy would be a godsend. Grabbing his hips, you attempt to hold him close so he could finish in your mouth. Swallowing as much of him as you could.

Joker can feel what your trying to do, but he has no intention to cum in your mouth. With a harsh tug of your hair, he pulls you off his dick with a slick pop! A line of spit trailing from your flushed lips to the head of his cock. Your makeup had ran down your face, you wipe it with your forearm. Feeling extra defiant, you look up straight at him, obscenely licking your moistened lips.

A quiet chuckle emerges from him as he clamps your chin. Calloused fingers digging into the plush of your cheeks, he tugs you back to your feet. Shoving you hard against the wall, kissing you sloppily. He whispers, "nice try bunny." That's a new one. "Trying to ah, make me cum in that sweet mouth of yours. That's cute." Suddenly, a wicked grin pulls across his scar split cheeks at an idea. He places his hand firm on your chest, "stay still."

He reaches down to search through the pocket of his discarded pants. You stay put like he asked, fingers splaying on the flat surface behind. What the hell is he doing? Your thoughts are answered when he pops back up. The distinct clicking sound of a switchblade brings you in focus on what he has. Yep. An all black switchblade. Joker waves the sharp article carelessly in your view, smirking at your flabbergasted reaction.

He places the blade against your throat, applying just enough pressure for it not to break your skin. You let out a shuddered sigh, focusing on the cool sting of the blade. Initially, it alarmed you. Within reason, one simple move and he could end you there. But if there's one thing you know about the Joker, it's that he likes to draw moments out. Take his time, savor such intimate details. As unpredictable as the man is, if he wanted to end your life, he would have done it a long time ago. Then again, there's no telling what he'll do next.

Joker peers into you, "you scared of me?" He whispers deeply, a mad look in his blackened eyes.

Another sigh, you answer, "no."

"No?" Joker repeats. "A knife held to your throat doesn't scare you?" he taunts, pushing the blade further. But you don't budge, you stay still. With a curious hum, he eases up so you could answer.

"The action alone, yes," you return honestly, "but the man in front of me, no. I'm not afraid of you J." Spoken with a hidden message, one he instantly picked up on. I trust you.

He drags the blade down your collarbone, sliding it under the right strap of your bra. He holds your eyes. A quick flick of his wrist, and the strap snaps. Balling your fists at your sides, you whimper softly as he transfers the weapon to the other strap. Slicing through the piece, the blade barely misses your chin with the quick motion. The shredded fabric falls down your waist, he removes it completely freeing your breasts.

J's tongue grazes his lips at the view of your naked chest. "Mmhm, perfect.." he huffs beginning to rub your breasts, with the knife still in hand. He manages to keep the edges facing away from cutting into you. His thumbs graze your nipples, peaking in his touch. "And ya kept this gorgeous body from me underneath all those layers? Shame, y/n." He takes one between his thumb and pointer, pinching the sensitive bud. You wince, bringing your chest upward. He bends down, instantly soothing it with his tongue, running flat along your breast.

You tangle your hand into his greasy green locks. "J.." you moan in response. He pulls his mouth away, leaving traces of his face paint on your breasts. Bringing the knife to the thin band of your thong, he tears the soaked article right off. You hiss as the blade nicks through your skin in the process, drawing blood.

Peering down at the laceration on your lower stomach. Deep enough for blood to trickle out. You were about to say something when Joker quickly tosses the switchblade aside and moves to one knee, inches away from your dripping heat. He takes a moment to look at the small wound. Grabbing your hips, he licks up the trail of the slash mark. Relishing in the metallic tang that is your blood. You whimper, while his tongue lingers on your stomach. The feral display only he can make erotic. No other man has done- or will ever be capable of doing- what this man is surging within you.

Having his mouth so close to where you need him most makes your pussy throb. You knead his firm shoulders, rolling your hips towards him. But he purposely avoids your desperate intentions. His squeezing on your hips keep you from any more movements as he glares up at you. An ominous look reminding you that even in this position below you, he is still in control here. And, he's teasing you to your limits, he knows how badly you want him to attend to your trembling heat. Prolonging how far you'll go before you break. You can't take it anymore, time to put your pride aside and ask.

"Joker?" You aim to grab his attention.

"Hm?" He hums, you feel his bumpy scars brush against your stomach.

"I-I can't take it. Will you please just do something?" You look at him with plead written all over.

Joker's hand rubs down your thigh, the roughness drawing a hitch in your throat. He smiles smugly, "I am doing something. You're gonna have to tell me what you want, and uh, ask nicely for it." He tilts his head slightly to the side to taunt you further.

You whisper, "touch me, please-" Your pleads cut short when his hand strikes your thigh, right on the verge of your ass, eliciting a loud SMACK! You cry out from the sting.

He soothes over the area, "you're gonna have to be more specific doll. How do you want me to touch you?"

"With your fingers, your mouth, your tongue," you started rambling whatever you could think of. "Anything just touch me!" He strikes you again.

"Beg for me," he commands.

"Come on. Please, J," you fret.

Another strike.

Joker muses, "not good enough, try again."

The underside of your thigh is starting to glow red from the constant contact from his hand. The bite of the pain mixing deliciously with the passion coursing through your body. Overcome with your arousal do you give in, pleading "P-please J, I'm aching- please, I need you to touch me!"

Satisfied with your pleas, Joker throws your leg over his shoulder. Pushing and steading you against the drywall. "See? Now that wasn't so hard." He sneers dipping his head between your thighs, hooking his arm under your thigh that hung over him. He opens you up, the fingers of his other hand spreading your pussy lips. His rugged breath brushed hotly past your lips as he gazed entirely at your womanhood. For a moment, your self-consciousness hit you. Feeling every bit of insecure with having his face this close to your exposed sex. The uncertainty died at his next words.

"Such a pretty little pussy you have, sweetheart. You're so wet for me." And with that, his tongue was instantly on you. Dragging from your dripping opening to your clit. Flicking the swollen bud two times before pressing the wet muscle firmly on it, leaving you moaning and writhing in his grasp. He ran his tongue up the same way as before, only this time he latched his entire mouth to your clit, his muffled hum sending vibrations straight to your core.

His tongue went to prod at your hole. Starring straight at you while he began fucking you with the muscle, lapping down your sweet juices. His hand sprawled on your abdomen, with his thumb rubbing harsh circles on your clit. You buck your hips to meet his strokes. Wet, slurping noises fill your ears.

"Joker! Ahh, fuck, fuck!" You moan his name aloud, not caring who hears you at this point.

Removing his tongue, he replaces it with two fingers. The slickness from your arousal allowing them to ease in. Pushing them in all the way to his knuckles, he growls at the way your cunt clamps onto his digits. "Shit," he huffs, "your pussy is this excited with just my fingers? You must ah, really want me bad then." He moves his fingers in and out of you, switching between curling them against that spot that made you weak. Attentively jotting your reactions to each specific movement. "You'll wrap so nice and tight around my cock, won't ya?"

"Hnnn- uhh, yes J," you sputter. Having no choice but to hold onto his shoulder and the wrist snug on your thigh for support. Even more so, now that his mouth added to the vigorous sensation, rolling over your throbbing bud. Quickly climbing that pinnacle leading to pure ecstasy. Your breath is growing shallow, body on the verge of locking up, you're so close. Just when you were about to reach your climax, Joker halts his movements. Stilling his fingers and removing his mouth, cutting you off from your needed release.

"No! Damn it, why!?" You whine at the abrupt loss. Slamming your palm on the weak enclosure behind you. J laughs coldly, "Only good girls get to cum. And ah, so far you haven't proven to me that you've earned it."

"I'll be good." You reply.

"My good little girl?" He presses on, teasing you with a slight curl of his fingers inside you. Your back arching completely off the wall.

"Yes, yes, I'm your good girl! Yours only! Please Joker!" You damn near shout your cries. He wanted you to beg, well he's got it.

"Atta girl, you learn fast." Joker's fingers begin to move like before, his mouth goes back to lapping your clit. Repeatedly curling his fingers to bring you to your release.

Your grip on his wrist tightens. "Yes, oh yes, d-don't stop! Please, don't stop!" You cry relentlessly.

"Do it, cum on my fingers," Joker commands along your trembling heat, "do it, come on bunny."

After a few more of his merciless finger strokes, you reach your peak. Releasing all over his hand and mouth. With your stance on one leg, you certainly would have fallen if it weren't for his solid hold. Keeping you from toppling over. He continues to draw out your orgasm, licking up your juices. Sucking the remainder off his soaked digits as he stands back on his feet. His chin is glistening, the red and white on the lower half of his face smudged and removed in some areas. "I bet ya feel as good as ya taste," he beams.

"Get over here and find out." You grab ahold of his loosened collar, tugging him in an open mouthed kiss. Tasting yourself as J shoves his tongue into your mouth. His hard cock presses against your abdomen while he squeezes the underside of your thighs. He hoists you up so your legs wrap around his waist, earning a surprised yelp from you. Successfully spreading your legs, he lines himself up with your waiting entrance. His thick head parting your slick walls.

Pausing momentarily to stare into you, he snarls, "how bad do you want me to fuck you?" His hands keep you grounded. An obvious 'proceed with caution' sign in his question, ya sure you wanna go through with this?

Your hands slide up to hook behind his neck. "S-so bad," you whine, "I need to feel you inside me, please, fuck me!"

Without a warning, Joker thrust himself into you entirely. You let out a sharp cry as he smashed you hard on the wall. The sudden stretch hurting in the best of ways. Only able to make out the deep groan that rumbled in his chest at the warm feeling of your pussy, wrapped tight around his length. His hands moved to your hips. Gritting his teeth, he pulled back slowly, and thrust back in with a new speed. One that built up rather quickly, leaving you mewling in his grasp. The pain fading into pleasure as you grind your hips wildly against his own, mind delirious on the rapturous push and pull of his cock. The overall sensation in general, unleashing all that pent up tension on one another.

His breath all over your face while he continued to drive into you with reckless force. There's no question, Joker was dominant in all his aspects. Which would include sex. The same amount- if not more- of unhinged and rigorous nature. Would be nearly impossible to surpass that and try to take control over him. You like to have some kind of control yourself. However, when it comes to the Joker, you're more than willing to submit. It feels perfectly right with him. It feels natural.

"Was this the fix you needed bunny?" J breathed out keeping his brutal pace. "For me to fuck the attitude right outta ya? Should a done this earlier. Tell me how it feels." He's got you practically bouncing on his cock, entranced with the way your breasts bounce in sync to his thrusts. He snakes a hand between your bodies to furiously rub your clit.

"Y-you ah! You feel so good," you cry out, running one of your hands through his sweat filled hair, the other clinging behind his neck. "So good!" He was hitting you so deep, bringing you closer to another orgasm. "Fuck- I'm close-"

Joker groans at your proclamation. "Go on, I wanna feel you cum on my cock." His words laced with delirious intent. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, biting down into the flesh.

The concoction of drawn pleasure and burning pain sending you over the edge. Your walls contract around his cock as you came, pulling him even deeper. Thighs wedging his waist to yours. He continues driving into you through your waves of ecstasy. Releasing strained groans at the way your cunt squeezes his cock. His pace never letting up, in his thrusts and his assault on your overly sensitive bud. It's becoming too much. The overstimulation, the soreness in your back from the unforgiving slamming on the surface.

Finding a sense of energy, you grab a handful of his locks. Pulling his face from your neck with a rigorous tug. The swift action drawing a gravelly moan from his mouth, accompanied with a slight roll in his eyes as he snapped his hips up rather more sharply. His moan. It was a sound completely new to your ears. And in that split second, you took pride that you had managed to lure it out.

Slowing his movements, Joker laughed when he looked at you- actually laughed. Short but piercing cackle in a manner resembling he was impressed. You twist the feeling back into your shoulders. "Ohh there's that spark. What's the matter doll? This position hard on ya?" He laughs again, seeing you grow antsy, trying to push your upper body off the wall yet still trying to ride his cock. "Tell ya what, cum for me again," he muses, "and I might consider rewarding you with a ah, softer surface, hmm."

Bearing the offer in mind, you could only manage a couple eager nods as he regains his speed. Clinging onto him for dear life as he brings you to another body shattering orgasm. Clawing at his scalp while you scream into the hot flesh surging from beneath his collar.

Groaning in approval, Joker pulls out. But he isn't done with you yet. He keeps you in his arms as he hastily walks over to the bed. Kneading the roundness of your ass. He tosses you on top of the mattress. Still in your haze, you spread for him, wanting more. Needing more. He brought himself over you, wedging his frame between your legs that instinctively went to wrap around his waist. Pulling him closer as he reenters you, digging his jagged nails into the plush of your hips. Rolling his own against you rather steadily with long, deep strokes. It actually seemed affectionate, like he was simply relishing the sensation of your velvety walls sheathing tight around his cock.

His hand glides it's way to your neck, gripping it. With a sharp inhale, he shifted his hips to pound into that spot which made you scream. He continued hard with that. Knocking the air from your poor lungs, leaving you a winded mess. Nothing but broken cries and moans leaving your lips.

Joker peers right into you, a menacing look in his piercing gaze. He growls, "who do you belong to?" In that scarily sexy possessive voice. His rough thumb granting your sensitive bud with satisfying friction. Making it all the more difficult for you to answer. By the rapid way he rubbed you and his desperate thrusting, he was close. You could tell. Also by the pain filled strain in his face, he was holding back. Not ready to let go until you gave him the answer he wanted. Desired. Craved. Demanded.

"Y-you! I belong to you- fuck! I-I'm yours!" You moan aloud, not an ounce of hesitation in your jarring voice. "I'm yours Joker!" Everything felt amazing- so surreal- in that moment. Like nothing else mattered, but bringing this man to completion alongside you. Which hit you hard like a freight train, you came violently with a broken moan. The powerful orgasm racking your entire body from the inside out as you came messily around him.

Joker surged forward, swallowing your moans as he kissed you. To the best of your dizzy abilities, you kissed him back. His weight nearly crushing you. He placed his sticky forehead against yours, chasing after his own release. One powerful thrust deep inside you, he came with a trembling moan. The sight of his pleasure contorted face frightening in an entirely beautiful way. His cock throbbing while his hot seed filled you. Some of it seeping out, gliding down and falling onto the mattress below. The feeling made you shudder. He rolled his hips into you a couple more times, making sure to empty into you.

You felt so warm, so full. He gave you one last gentle kiss before pulling out. You whimpered weakly at his movements. He shifted to plop down right next to you, laying outstretched on his back to collect himself. His arm went under you, allowing your head to rest atop his bicep. The same arm reaching to rub the side of your head. Your hand slid under his shirt to graze his chest.

Was quite the aftermath. You both lay spent, chests heaving as you catch your breaths. Warmed with sweat, hair a mess, makeup worn. Clothes and weapons scattered the floor. Your body covered in various marks- bruises, red patches, a slash mark, cherry topped with J's red and white paint splotches. True to his word- he broke you. Meanwhile the only marks on Joker were your lipstick trails and a couple bruises on the areas you nipped, kissed, and sucked. It was a mess.

A wonderful, chaotic mess.

Joker was the first to get up. You sat up, attempting to stand from the bed, but J insisted you stay seated. You clearly needed more time to recover. He slipped on his boxers before grabbing a couple things from the dresser drawers. An extra dress shirt, a couple rags, and a bottle of antiseptic.

He handed you a rag to clean yourself with. And the shirt, identical to the one he wore, to put on- considering he tore your undergarments to shreds. You wrapped it snug around your frame, not bothering with the buttons.

The cut on your stomach wasn't deep, therefore it didn't require attention. Regardless, he cleaned it anyway. He had done it all silently while sitting next to you, neither said a word. You looked an absolute wreck, that you were sure of. A plethora of thoughts swarmed your head. Many questions, different emotions..

What happens now?

Joker decided to break the ice as he finishes wiping your cut, "so uhh.. no more hard feelings?" Tongue running over his paint smeared lips, he glances at your face. Parts of his skin exposed due the the make up being rubbed away. Least you weren't the only one that looked a total wreck.

You calmly ponder before replying, "I.. guess not." Circling back to what you were upset about in the first place. Maybe it was the post orgasmic bliss that interfered with your thinking. Putting you in a better mood. Or perhaps it was the fact that you shouldn't have been so mad to begin with. Yeah, the fact he had you followed is enough to trigger you. But looking past the initial fury clouds, it shouldn't come as a surprise. It's understandable. You are part of Joker's crew. So he'll keep tabs on you, like everyone else.

"You guess?" Joker pushes for a better answer. He appeared to have a million things going through his busy mind, yet he didn't speak them.

Ya see, that's the thing. You're not like the rest of the crew. Apart, yes. But you're nothing near, nothing close to them. Joker knows this, he's just as aware about it as you are. If he really thought you to be a threat to his operations, he would've gotten rid of you. Simple as that. None of this having you followed, time and energy invested in a task deemed pointless- since his goons are at his disposal. One smidge of trouble, disappointment, attitude, disloyalty.. and they're killed off. The only one you checked on that list is definitely the attitude, and it was merely enough to get on his nerves. Had it been any of the others that given him the amount which you have, they'd be a rotting corpse by now.

So this must actually mean something.

Or maybe it doesn't.

Nonetheless, you hadn't the mind to ponder deep into it. There'll be plenty of time later. As Joker simply stood to collect his discarded attire to redress. Handing you your red cat suit in the process. You smile up at him, "water under the bridge, J." He returned a grin back. A cocky one at that, but one that didn't mask malicious intent.

End of part 7. I hope that wasn’t too bad!

#More to the Madness #joker #heath ledger joker #ledger joker x reader #joker x female reader #joker x y/n #ledger joker x y/n #ledger joker x female reader #the dark knight #fanfic

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years

Text

Road To The Aisles

AO3

Happy New Year. I hope 2020 is a good one for you all.

So, Chapter 17... probably about 6 more to go (still writing it , aargh). I have it mapped out in my head, it’s just getting it down that’s the problem!

Thank you for reading and thanks as always to @mo-nighean-rouge, @happytoobserve, @wickedgoodbooks for their support

Chapter 17: A Conceivable Estrangement

“You'll stay with me?'

Until the very end,' said James.”

-J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Jamie slumped onto the bed.

“Wha- what did ye say?”

“I said I’ve been offered a promotion—” Geneva began.

“Aye, I heard ye and I’m asking ye what did ye say… what did ye tell them?” Jamie interrupted impatiently.

“Oh, I’m taking a bit of time to consider it. Weigh it all up, you know.”

“And what about William?”

“Of course you’d still be able to see him.” Geneva sounded calm.

Jamie breathed deeply, trying to quell the wave of nausea that was currently overpowering him.

“Hello… are you still there?” Geneva broke the silence.

“Aye, I’m still here. Still here in Glasgow, over two hundred miles from Manchester. Ma son would be two hundred miles away from me. How would that work? I wouldna be able tae see him every week.”

Geneva dismissed his concerns. “I’m sure we could come to an alternative arrangement, if I accepted the job.”

Jamie could feel his nails digging into his palm as she spoke. “I tell ye this, Geneva, we have joint custody and I willna let that go without a fight. I am prepared tae do whatever it takes fer my son… whatever it takes.”

He abruptly ended the call and threw the phone onto the bed.

Claire caught the tail end of the phone call as she came into the bedroom. She joined Jamie on the bed, leaning her back against the headboard. Jamie, ashen faced, scooted up the bed to rest his head in her lap. She stroked his curls.

“That was Geneva. She’s been offered a job in Manchester. She's considering it. Probably holding out fer more money.” He spoke bitterly.

“I gathered that was what the call was about.”

“She thinks we can come tae ‘an alternative arrangement’ over William.” Jamie mimicked Geneva’s accent.

He shifted slightly and moved his hand to rest on Claire’s thigh, lightly drawing delicate circles with his fingers against the worn fabric of her old leggings. No matter what the situation, she was a balm to his soul, her very presence giving comfort to him. Even this...

“Ye ken,” Jamie spoke softly. “I didna want a bairn. I mean, I did want a bairn but in the future and with someone I loved.”

Claire’s hand found his and squeezed it.

Jamie continued. “Aye, a bairn planned and wanted… with love. No’ like this, definitely no’ with Geneva. When she told me, it felt like ma world had ended, ma future wi’ ye. And it was all ma stupid fault. I didna want a bairn. All I could think was about us, what it would do tae us. Am I terrible tae admit that? I was sae worried it would come between us, that ye’d walk away. I wanted the whole situation tae jes’ go away. But I kent that I had responsibilities and I tried tae do the right thing fer everybody. Until he arrived, I never realised how much I would love him. And now he's here and I fought hard tae be in his life. I'm no' giving that up."

Claire remained silent, lost in her own thoughts and memories of the past twelve months.

“Have I shocked ye? D’ye think me bad tae say these things?” Jamie asked worriedly. He lifted his head to study Claire’s face.

She shook her head, chewing her lower lip. It seemed to be time for confessions.

“You haven’t shocked me. Everything you felt was perfectly natural. You didn’t choose the situation, you were forced into it… stepping into the unknown. And, to be honest, it felt like my world had ended too. I’d found someone to build a future with and then you hit me with the news. I nearly walked away.”

She could feel Jamie’s body tense as she spoke those words.

“But,” she continued. “I didn’t... I couldn’t. I decided you were what I wanted, so I had to stay. I had to accept what had happened. I can’t tell you how resentful I was of Geneva… watching her carrying your child, growing bigger, feeling it kick. Those experiences… they should have been mine.”

Her voice cracked. “And worrying at first about her hold on you. Would you leave me for the baby?”

“Sassenach, why did ye no’ tell me this?”

“I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I don’t think. Plus I wanted to remain strong, support you, dealing with Geneva and her mother. Then once he was born and they were playing their vindictive little games, I had to be strong not just for you, but for William too. I couldn’t bear the thought of him growing up not knowing how much you loved him.”

“Ye’re a rare woman, Claire. Everything ye did was fer me and William.”

She nodded as Jamie reached up and stroked his thumb across her cheek, wiping away a tear.

She cleared her throat. “But now, Jamie, it’s different. Now I know William and love him too. What I do now isn’t just for you and your son, it’s for me. So, I say, if Geneva does try and take him away, we fight that bitch every inch of the way.”

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

Jamie pushed William in his pram around the country park, keeping up a running commentary as they passed various animal enclosures. He finally paused for breath and noticed that William had fallen asleep at some point. The commentary had been necessary, despite William’s apparent disinterest in any of the animals and preference for the strap of the changing bag which, even now, was clutched in his dimpled fist. It had stopped his mind from focusing on anything else… like the fact that these father-son bonding days would reduce once William started nursery next week, or once (or if) Geneva moved to Manchester.

Anticipating Geneva’s decision, Jamie had already rung Ned Gowan’s office to make an appointment for later in the week. This time he was taking no chances and was not going to rely on Geneva’s ability to ‘do the right thing’.

And he was dreading seeing her this evening to drop William off, and to have to pretend to be civil was more than he could bear. At least, once William was in nursery, his meetings with her would reduce.

Jamie looked down at his son, still sleeping peacefully. Civility be damned with Geneva! He was going to say exactly what he felt when he saw her later.

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

By the time Jamie pulled up outside Geneva’s house, he was quietly seething. He was determined not to make a scene in front of William, but had geared himself up for an unpleasant conversation.

Geneva opened the door as soon as he knocked. Without a word she took the car seat from Jamie and kissed William, tickling his chubby cheeks, and smiling in response to his gummy grin.

Jamie was shocked at Geneva’s appearance. Never usually less than perfect, her face was pale, her eyes red rimmed with black mascara tracks smudging her cheeks. She made way to give him access into the hall.

A voice called from the living room. “Is that my grandson? Geneva, bring him to me.”

Geneva glanced at Jamie and then took William to his grandmother. Jamie waited awkwardly, keen to say his piece but, preferably, out of earshot of Louisa. He could hear a low murmur of voices followed by an angry and somewhat loud exclamation of ‘fine’ from Louisa as a full stop to the conversation.

Geneva returned to Jamie and beckoned him into the kitchen, quietly shutting the door behind her.

“Geneva, I need tae talk tae—” Jamie began.

Geneva interrupted. “Jamie, I’ve made a decision. I’m not taking the job in Manchester. I’m staying here.”

Jamie stared at her, stunned into silence. Having geared himself up for a fight, he felt momentarily numb before a feeling of elation and relief washed over him.

“Oh, weel,” he stumbled over the words. “Er… I dinna ken what tae say… thank ye.”

“I didn’t do it for you, you know.” Geneva was quick to clarify. “I did it for my son. I was never close to my father. Isobel was more Daddy’s girl, I always seemed to be with Mummy. I sometimes wonder what…how things might...”

She blinked rapidly, her eyes bright with tears. Her voice faded away, leading to an awkward silence. Jamie shifted slightly and looked around the immaculate kitchen, unsure what to say next.

It was Geneva that broke the silence. Her voice was back to its usual brisk tone.

“Anyway, I tried to negotiate for remote working… to stay here in Glasgow, but they need a presence with the clients actually in Manchester. So I had to decline it. Another opportunity will come up here, I’m sure.”

“And Louisa?” Jamie sensed this was the cause of Geneva’s distress.

“Well, Mummy hasn’t taken it too well. She’s only half an hour from Manchester, so you can imagine what she was hoping for.”

Jamie grimaced then realised and tried to assume a neutral expression. “Ah, I can imagine.”

He continued to talk as Geneva led the way out. “Anyway, I have tae thank ye again fer considering what’s in William’s best interests.”

As they entered the hall, Louisa stepped out of the living room.

“I think he needs changing.” She studiously ignored Jamie and passed the rather smelly baby to Geneva.

“Right so, I can drop him off on Sunday evening. I’ll email you about what he needs for nursery.” Geneva headed up the stairs.

“Bye William. Da will see you Sunday. And Geneva… thanks.”

Louisa waited until Geneva was in William’s room before she finally acknowledged Jamie’s presence.

“I hope you’re happy,” she hissed, her face screwed up in a mask of petty vindictiveness. “My daughter is throwing away career opportunities because of you. She’d still have let you see him, you know, if she’d taken the Manchester job.”

“Aye, I dare say.” Jamie drew himself up to his full height and stared down at Louisa. Instinctively she took a step back. “I dare say I’d be able to see him every month or so, but dinna forget we have joint custody and, make no mistake, I would have fought ye every inch of the way in any court in the land. Fer all the traps and games the two of ye have played over the last year, this is the first decent thing that yer daughter has done. Ye should be proud of that. Instead ye’re giving her grief because she willna be next door tae ye in England.”

Louisa had not quite finished. “But what about William? What will happen when you and your ‘doctor’ girlfriend have children of your own? Will you and your family still be as keen to have him around? Would you fight for him then?”

Jamie blanched at Louisa’s insinuations. “William is ma flesh and blood. He will be ma son whether Claire, my ‘fiancée’ and I have one or four or twelve children. To think that I would ever treat him differently is one of the biggest insults ye could have paid me.”

He opened the front door and stepped outside. “Ye will always be William’s grandmother and have a place in his life, but ye dinna have a place in mine and I hope ye remember that.”

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

Claire waited nervously for Jamie’s return. She knew that he was planning on some straight talking to Geneva and hopefully then they would be in a better position for the meeting with Ned Gowan.

“Again,” Claire sighed to herself. “Do we have to go through all this every year?”

From her seat in the living room, she heard Jamie come in and go straight to the kitchen. She quickly followed to find him pouring two glasses of champagne.

She looked quizzically at him and pointed at the champagne. “Why?”

Jamie handed her a glass and took a sip himself. “Celebrating. Geneva has refused the job… fer William’s sake, no’ mine. I dinna care what reason. He’s no’ leaving me. Louisa is furious. Blames me fer it, of course. I dinna care about that either.”

Claire took a large gulp, coughing as the bubbles tickled her throat. “So, we are actually celebrating that nothing is changing?”

“Aye, and Geneva stood up tae her mother and did the right thing… with no lawyer present.”

“And,” Jamie put the glass down and wrapped his arms around Claire’s waist, bending slightly to nuzzle her neck. “With the money we dinna have tae spend on Ned, how about a wee trip tae Loch Lomond this Saturday night? Nice hotel, a few drinks, good food and then...”

“And then?” Claire teased, nibbling his ear lobe.

“And then, we can go up tae our room, I can pull ye on tae ma lap and we can talk about the first thing that pops up.”

Claire snorted with laughter. “Hmm, Mr. Fraser. Sexy you may be, subtle you most definitely aren’t.”

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fan fic #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #Road To The Aisles #Chapter 17

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figurative-falsehood · 4 years

Text

Dee’s Birthday

Author Note: sympathetic Remus uses he/him and they/them pronouns.

romantic patton/dee/virgil platonic Dee and Remus brotherly analogical Remus wanted to be the first one to do something for Dee’s Birthday. So they snuck into his best friend's room and waited by their bed as the clock ticked down to midnight, the glowing neon green numbers illuminating the dark room. The second the numbers flashed 12:00, they jumped up, screaming at the top of his lungs. Nothing intelligible, just pure shrieking as they threw handfuls of torn-up paper over his once sleeping friend.

Their friend, who is now wide awake, clutching at their chest as they tried to collect themself. They were ready to be angry. But when they looked up at Remus standing there giggling behind his hands and bouncing in place, how could they be mad?

So what really is there to do but hold up the blankets and pull their bouncing friend into bed with them? That way, they could at least get some sleep tonight. As it stood it took Remus a full hour to calm down from the excitement enough to cuddle into Dee’s side and settle into sleep.

Patton, being one of Dee’s boyfriends, was in a race with their other partner to get to be the first to do something wonderful for Dee. He let himself quietly into his partner’s apartment with enough breakfast in tow to feed the entire neighborhood. Which should be just enough to feed them even after Dee’s roommate, and best friend, tore through more than half of it.

Patton took his time setting the table for four, knowing his boyfriend would be along any minute. Just as Patton was setting the fresh bouquet of sunflowers in the center of the table, he heard the door open, and his lips quirked up. He was right on time.

Virgil knew Patton was already here before he could even get the door open to smell his boyfriends cooking. Patton’s cooking was truly one of the world’s greatest wonders. But Virgil just knew he would win this year anyway. Virgil kept walking right past the kitchen and into the small living room, where he carefully let out the mother of all gifts. Virgil grinned at how beautiful she was.

“What-what, what’s that?!” Patton asked suddenly behind Virgil, making him jump. Virgil spun, standing to face Patton.

“Shhhh, you’re gonna ruin the surprise!” Virgil stage whispered.

“That’s, Virgil, that’s a...”

“Snake! Yeah! It’s Dee’s favorite snake! Isn’t she pretty?” Virgil was grinning, obviously proud of himself, and Patton had to admit it was the perfect gift for their partner. So Patton pushed aside his fear of this particular species in favor of encouraging his boyfriend.

“Dee’s gonna love her Vee,” Patton’s heart melted at the way Virgil grinned.

“You really think so?” He asked, leaning against Patton, who as the shortest of the two had to somewhat brace himself to hold them both up.

“I know so,” Patton kissed the top of Virgil’s head. “You know what else I know?”

“Hmm?” Virgil hummed in question.

“I got here first!” Patton said, breaking away from the hug, albeit reluctantly, before sprinting down the hallway.

“Hey!” Virgil called, taking a moment to regain his balance before bounding after him, making up the distance easily with his long legs. He caught up to Patton in less than three steps, quickly wrapping his arms around Patton’s waist, lifting him up and out of his way. He slipped through the bedroom door a fraction of a second sooner than Patton, his boyfriend right behind him as they snuck in, trying to swallow their giggles. Once inside, they saw their partner fast asleep, half-wrapped around their roommate, both of them covered in what looked like scraps of paper.

“Awwww!” Patton couldn’t help cooing at the adorable sight.

“Pat,” Virgil whispered, “You’re gonna wake them up.”

“Mmm too late,” Dee’s sleepy voice filled the room.

“We made you breakfast,” Patton said, all thoughts of the competition between him and Virgil disappearing.

“And got you a present,” Virgil added, the both of them brimming with excitement.

Dee couldn’t help but feel content, sliding out of their warm bed and crossing the room to take both their boyfriends by their hands.

Remus hadn’t stirred once as Dee got out of bed, but now that the bed was empty, they huffed in his sleep and rolled over, causing the three partners to grin at each other before heading back to the living room.

“See, I told you he’d like it,” Patton whispered, Virgil’s arms wrapped around him as they leaned against the doorway together watching as Dee sat cross-legged on the living room floor. Their attention was entirely focused on the snake slithering into their lap. The goal was breakfast, but the moment they passed the living room, Dee noticed the snake’s enclosure sitting in the living room with a huge yellow bow taped to the side of the tank.

It was about then when they were joined by an excited Remus.

“Awwww, Dede, why didn’t you tell me the boys were here already!!!! Did I miss breakfast??? You know I love it when Patty cooks!!” Remus whined, causing everyone to roll their eyes lovingly at him.

“Aw well, don’t you worry honeycakes, breakfast is still on the table.”

Remus grinned and bounced over to Patton, kissing him right on the cheek before heading to the kitchen.

“Pfft, we better join him, or we won’t have any left,” Virgil said around a chuckle, “Dee? Breakfast?” Virgil called, gaining his partner’s attention. “Pat made your favorite.”

Dee looked over their shoulder at their boyfriends, they could hear Remus in the kitchen, undoubtedly making a mess. There was a snake in their lap and there was maybe only one thing left that would make this day any better. They got up and slid into their boyfriends’ arms again.

“Happy birthday,” Patton and Virgil both said

“Mm, I love you,” Dee said in response.

“So,” Virgil said after they’d all sufficiently stuffed themselves and moved into the living room to give Dee more room to get to know their snake better, “I guess Remus won?”

“You bet I did!” Remus announced bouncing in place, giddy all over again.

“Oh? The super-secret competition to see who could give me a birthday gift first?” Dee asked from their spot on the floor. They looked over to see their boyfriends shocked into silence, of course, they weren’t exactly supposed to know about that little tradition of theirs.

“Actually,” Dee continued, not giving anyone time to jump in with questions, “I won.”

"How can you surprise yourself for your birthday?" Virgil asked, confused.

“Well, I wasn’t trying to surprise myself, rather I was aiming to surprise you,” Dee said, looking right at Virgil.

"What, what do you mean, you didn't surprise me? it's not my birthday?" The smallest hint of anxiety was starting to crawl up Virgil’s spine.

"They called me," a new voice said from the doorway. Virgil looked up quickly, turning to see his brother standing in the doorway, who he hadn't seen in many years since their parents split them up as kids.

“Lo.. Logan?" Virgil asked, voice stripped.

"Hello, little brother." Logan, for all he tried to seem put together, was shaking on the inside.

After a few seconds of frozen shock, Virgil was climbing over the back of the couch, throwing himself at his brother, not bothering to hold back tears.

“I never thought I’d see you again!” Virgil cried into Logan’s shoulder as logans arms circled around him.

“I never stopped looking for you,” Logan whispered into Virgil’s hair as they held each other.

Patton moved to stand next to Dee, wrapping his arms around them. Patton was easily touched by the smallest of things, and this was nothing small so he didn’t even bother trying to hold back tears seeing one of his partners reunited with a long lost brother he'd been looking for for the past six years.

"You know," Patton said, wiping his face and nose on his too-long sleeve, "generally, it’s the birthday person who gets the surprise."

Dee laughed, a low rumbling sound in their chest that made Patton giggle too.

"This is the best birthday present I could ever ask for," Dee said after a moment. And it was, watching Virgil get something he’d been wanting for as long as he'd known him, holding Patton in his arms. It was everything they would ever or could ever want. It was the perfect birthday present.

Behind them faint sniffling could be heard. Dee and Patton glanced over their shoulders to see Remus sitting on the floor, the snake wrapped loosely up their left arm and trying to wipe his face of tears with his right arm.

"You okay, honeycakes?" Patton asked.

"It’s just so sweet!" Remus howled before beginning to bawl.

"Come here, love," Dee said, holding out an arm to their best friend who rushed to join the group hug, hiding their face in Dee's shoulder.

It really was the perfect birthday.

#deceits birthday #deceit sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #moxiety #moceit #anxceit #fanfiction #sanderssides #thomas sanders

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artemismoon12writes · 4 years

Text

Title: Ryan and the Raven

Daltonfic 2020 Big Bang Week 1, Day 1: Windsor House “That damn freshman is keeping a crow in his room!” Luke shouts, jabbing towards the door Ryan has just left. “And I don’t know if he even feeds it, because all that is left of my tarantula is one leg, and a lot of feathers! If he isn’t punished-”

Prefect Ryan Cobb walks down the halls of Windsor House, intent on doing one last surprise dorm inspection before heading back out to the gardens. Roman and Alexander take the longest time to inspect, their dorm is a spreadsheet meant for sleeping, plastered with barely understandable Ponzi schematics- but if it’s not cocaine, Ryan cannot do much.

His priorities are more than inspections today. A group of butterflies were making their home in the flowerbeds. His hopeful successor to the prefecthood of the house alerted him to it. One more floor, pick and choose, then wildlife.

Stopping, Ryan thinks he overheard an argument coming from one of the freshman rooms. Black bat stickers, sparkly letters, and a Transformers stick decorate the space surrounding the number. A cracked door betrays the muffled noise of the two roommates’ disagreement.

With disappointment, Ryan realizes that it is his most difficult room pairing. Houston has already burnt through two roommates already. If they aren’t getting along, he needs to try and find a new person who can put up with their new occultist.

Stepping towards the door, Ryan listens in.

“You can’t keep a raven in here!” It sounds like Hendricks, he thought to himself.

“She’s my familiar!”

“Seriously Dwight, there’s weird and then there is dangerous. She needs to be outside!”

“I’m handling it, I just need to-”

“At least let Ryan tell you what to feed her.”

Well, if called upon he has to see what is happening now.

Knocking, Ryan called out, “Room inspection!”

He hears Dwight yelping. Todd saying something in hushed tones. A squawk? The window is slamming. Movement. A lot of movement. His wildlife senses are tingling.

Ryan opens the door, looking at the freshman. Todd looks as bored as ever. He’s on his bed with a book, shooting annoyed glances at his roommate. Dwight, contrastly, is just as steadfast in consistency as he looks as disastrous as always. The claw marks on his hands though, those are new.

“Last surprise inspection of the day, lucky you.” Ryan said with a smile, coming further into the room. He paused, “Dwight, the salt lines? Really? Housekeeping has enough to deal with.”

Dwight starts on a spiel about their necessity. Ryan has heard it three times now. Instead, he turns to Todd, “are you okay with them?”

“When he keeps them to his side.” He says plainly. “Maybe housekeeping should just skip our room? We can keep our own sides clean.”

“This doesn’t look clean.” Ryan says concerned, the randomly coloured stains on Dwight’s side not immediately recognizable.

“We’ll get it cleaned up.” Dwight assures him.

Ryan gives him a look, circling the room. “I know I confiscated some of this stuff last week.”

“Does that stop him?” Todd asks.

Point.

Ryan sees he’s going to have to compromise here. “Is there anything you’d like to declare at least? What was that noise I heard before I came in? Todd, is he smoking again? Wes told me about the incident behind the garden shed.”

“If he needs to be concussed again, just let Charlie know. He stole Wes’ baseball bat after that.”

“Might be because it was the garden shed.” Dwight says sheepishly. “He didn’t like the smell.”

Todd’s side is cleaner, but not spotless. There are some items of altered uniform in the closet, but as long as he doesn’t see them wearing them it is okay. He wants to ask what that squawk was, but if they’re hiding an animal in here, it should be large enough to see. A bird? Out the window? Hopefully it would fly away. He does not trust Houston’s ability to care for an animal, but he can deal with that when he’s certain what it is.

“The posters can’t be pinned to the wall. Sticky tack or nothing.” Ryan points out, the map on Todd’s side and the sci fi posters on Dwight’s side both being held up with staples.

“Can we get some from the secretary’s supply? I don’t want to order any.” Todd complains, like his desk isn’t already overflowing with raided folders, paperclips, and fine line markers from the Underclass Newspaper Room.

“Order it.” Ryan says, hiding a smile at Todd’s annoyance. “And if you do have anything I can’t find, throw it out. Or come to me. You know I’m here to help.”

“Yes Ryan.” The freshmen chorus.

Unable to figure out what is happening, Ryan leaves. He will figure out what those two are hiding, though he wishes Todd would just tell him outright. The fact they seem to be getting along only hinders attempting to reign in Houston’s more outrageous behaviour. Not that he can say too much being Windsor’s Prefect, but unless the kid mellows it will be hard for Windsor to continue to stay under the administration’s radar- especially with Alfalfa Brightman’s kids destroying the water fountain with dish soap. The sparrow’s drinking water was ruined.

Luke Baldwin, one of his more sedate sophomores skids around the corner. Angry, his face is almost red with how furious he is.

“That freshman and his pet crow killed Yorvik!” Luke shouts without preamble.

“What?”

“That damn freshman is keeping a crow in his room!” Luke shouts, jabbing towards the door Ryan has just left. “And I don’t know if he even feeds it, because all that is left of my tarantula is one leg, and a lot of feathers! If he isn’t punished-”

“Baldwin, calm down.” Ryan puts his hands up. “I was just in there, there was no bird. And you know I would know.”

Luke isn’t deterred. “I know it was his! Who else would be crazy enough-?”

“Hey! Ix-nay on the azy-cray.” Joshua pokes his head out of his own room. “Kid’s got OCD.”

“You’re just saying that cause you’re taking that psychology class.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t know how words work.” Joshua counters.

“He’s going to get more than just that if something isn’t done about-”

“Luke. Enough.” Ryan said. “I’ll talk to him later, but as I said. I just did a room check. There was no bird. I believe you, but I can’t just punish someone without a little more proof.”

He continues down the hall towards the stairs into the main common room. Some of the Juniors are playing Rock Band against the seniors. Right now, Sullivan is the only sophomore so Ryan decides it is okay to leave unattended. Luke follows, still rambling about how the freshmen can’t get away with illegal animals in the dorm.

Ryan sighs. “I can’t bring Yorvik back. You know I feel badly. He was a good spider. But if you want, I can talk to my arachnid guy, maybe we can try fostering in a safer tank? It’s not Yorvik, but there are a lot of spiders who would benefit from a territory of their own.”

Luke didn’t like that idea; but considers the suggestion of perhaps upgrading to a scorpion, which can defend itself much more easily against predators within the dorms.

Perturbed, he wonders how there could be a whole crow (though Ryan does not think Luke could properly identity a corvid without a lineup) loose in Windsor without him knowing about it. There is always a lot going on in Windsor, but animals were supposed to be his thing. He would have to be on the lookout for a black bird on campus. While birds can eat a variety of things, an entire tarantula might make it sick. Great. Now he has a poor corvid to worry about, on top of the warbler the Stuarts were keeping in a tiny cage as a mascot instead of allowing to fly in an enclosure the school could clearly afford for their own caged songbirds.

“Incoming!”

Ryan ducks on instinct from previous incidents. A mop flies over his head, clattering to the ground beside him. He turns to see the Seniors sheepishly trying to hide the bucket. It seems someone spilled a bottle of cola, and bleach was the solution they devised to clean it. Maybe if the common room was smaller he would have noticed this side of the room.

“Keep that away from Van Kamp, he’ll trip.” Ryan says to his fellow seniors, who give him enough platitudes to let him continue unworried out the double doors of Windsor House.

The sun is warm, grass as green as it will be before the winter frost settles across campus. Only a few more days until the cold snap. He’d wanted to get the ducks an indoor shelter earlier, but so far only Mr. Tamerlane is listening to his advice. Ryan keeps warning his boarders to leave the duck alone, but this is a reason they don’t officially have a house pet like Hanover’s ridiculous pony.

Walden, one of the freshmen, wants to bring his dog Cookie to school. The dog is supposedly a therapy dog, but from what Ryan sees of Walden’s understanding of therapy dogs it may just have the right sheet of paper. That kid seems to have more money than sense, and cannot even tell Ryan that his dog is anything beyond ‘white’. With enough training, maybe Ryan could change that status, and educate the owner on behalf of the dog.

Jogging across the campus to the gardens, Ryan sees the greenhouses and some of his Windsors there amongst the gardening club. A row of cracked pots and half-eaten greens are strewn on the ground in front of them. Large bags of supplies are also half full, spilling into the decorative beds and Mr. Tamerlane’s immaculate lawn work.

“Hey, prefect!” The club calls over. Charlie, one of his more reformed Windsors, is among them.

“What’s up guys?” Ryan asks, diverting his jog to see the butterflies.

“Amos says you’re good with animals.” The Day student in charge of the club says, pointing as the mess. “What kind of rat did this?”

“I keep telling you, it’s a Windsor prank. It doesn’t even look like much is missing.” A Stuart sneers, a foul look on his face.

“It is field mice, I’m telling you.” Charlie looks close to snapping. Thankfully the group of Seniors who have beaten his delinquency out of him, also stressed the importance of saving your cursing for emphasis alone. “It wasn’t Windsor.”

Ryan shrugs. “I haven’t heard of anything about messing with Gardening Club. Most Windsors don’t find it would give enough of a reaction.”

“So what did it?”

“He’s biased.”

“You wanted a prefect’s opinion.”

Ryan ignores the chattering, kneeling in the grass in front of the ruined supplies. Small holes, certainly rodent sized. Pellet dung mixed in with the bag of grass seed, but oily residue around the holes? Signs in the potted plants of the teeth marks were inconclusive, but he did already know what caused this.

“They’re common brown rats. It’s not a huge problem, but it’s not a prank.” Ryan says, brushing his knees off.

“How do you know that?” The Stuart challenges.

“Simple.” Says the prefect, “Mr. Tamerlane already told me about the infestation he’s fighting off. Haven’t you guys noticed the humane traps around campus?”

The silver boxes scattering the campus are meant to be inconspicuous on purpose. Ryan paid extra for the grounds to have the best versions so he could release them back into the fields where they belonged.

“Were you going to tell us?” The head of the Gardening Club exclaims.

“It’s being handled.”

“So what the hell are we supposed to do?”

Ryan considers it. “If you really want to keep pests away, you can invest in a garden snake. Something large enough to be a good rat catcher, but small enough it shouldn’t cause issues if you do something stupid to provoke it to bite you.”

“Justin mentioned something about that.” Charlie says, cutting off other arguments. “His gardens back home have loads of natural pest control.”

“The warmth of the greenhouses should also allow a year round solution.” Ryan said. “I know a guy who runs a rescue, he has a pair of them he’d love to rehome.”

“And you still say this wasn’t a Windsor prank?” The Gardening Club head asks, suspicious of Ryan’s immediate solution.

“Ask the groundskeeper, or the office admin. She took the order for the traps around campus.” Ryan raises his shoulders, his good nature taking over. They would believe him or not. It did not entirely matter as long as they did not try to kill the rats with poison that may hurt the other local animals on campus.

It does not take long for the club to believe him. A phone number is given and snakes promptly rehomed. Ryan walks away in a good mood. Truth be told, the snakes please him more than the clearing of Windsor’s reputation; but a double win is a good bonus.

Finally he reaches the rose garden. Ryan breathes in the sweet smell of the flowers. Around him the swarm is feasting on nectar, and he is careful not to startle them from their important task. They ravage the carefully manicured briars, returning some of the ridiculous ornamental roses into a more natural state. Ryan thinks the twinkling light of the white, yellow, and oranges on their wings is far more beautiful than the flowers could ever be.

His camera does not do them justice, flitting from flower to flower as he follows with soft steps. He has been to sanctuaries before, but never with this much privacy to observe them. Thankfully, most students do not frequent the rose gardens. Dobry’s rose garden is more of the clandestine spot for lovers; Ryan has found he is far more likely to find his Windsors in the library, the gym locker rooms, or one notable incident behind a curtain outside the entrance hall with David Sullivan and a Dobry girl who should not have been there. It is not of his concern though, he’s got his private time alone with the cloud of glittering wings.

Ryan stops. A black feather is resting on the ground in front of him. Could it be?

Around the corner of the briars he spots her. A juvenile raven, a monarch held between her beak in twitching death throes. Her movements are lazy. Her feathers do not shine, they barely reflect the light at all. The dying butterfly she is trying to eat looks more alive than she is.

Ryan’s heart drops. He cannot rush forward. He will not disturb her. She is in pain. Is this what his freshman was trying to hide?

There are no marks, just an air of sadness around her. She cannot swallow her prize. The butterfly falls to the ground. He’d run and offer her any food he can, his mental stores of knowledge on birds are gone. He cannot think.

The raven gives a sad quork at her lost food, flapping her wings weakly.

“Did someone hurt you?” Ryan approaches, hands up and thinking of what he’d heard last time at the vet for poor Markie when the Brightman twins tried to feed him potato chips. Birds will eat too many things near human dwellings that are not good for them. He had to believe the freshman duo would not intentionally copy such Windsor insanity.

Her inky black eyes met his. She flew off, stumbling in the air. Ryan looks to where she is going, but she ducks behind a building not to be followed.

Its’ looking down near the dead butterfly that Ryan sees it. Exposed piping with dark peck marks in it. The shiny copper paint gives way to a chalky white. He informs Mr. Tamerlane, but it is too late for that raven he will learn later. Ryan’s walk back to Windsor is sombre.

Another win, another loss. He tucks the black feather into his pocket. Back in Windsor he has to negotiate with the sophomores to stop trying to cook anything larger than a sandwich. Worrying about them stops him from worrying about the animals. It mostly works.

#daltonficbigbang2020 #daltonfic #oneshot #pg #gen #brotp #windsor #Ryan Cobb #Dwight Houston #Todd Hendricks #Ethan Brightman #Evan Brightman #Luke Baldwin #Joshua Tipton #Charlie Amos #artemiswrites

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completelypeccable · 4 years

Text

Can I Have This Dance?

Chp 3. Dancing Queen

/In this house, we love and appreciate Duke Thomas./

Chp 2

Chp 1

“You are the Dancing Queen! Young and sweet, only seventeen!” Duke yelled along with Stephanie, leaning across the divider in the front seats of the car.

Tim kicked Steph’s chair, “Hey, pay attention!”

“Stop being jealous that Duke loves me more than you-“

“Steph?”

“Yeah, Duke?”

“Directions?”

“Oh yeah, take a left up here, then...” Steph rattled off. Cassandra snickered from the back seat.

“Feel that beat like a smooth machine!” Duke continued.

“That’s so not the-“

“YOU CAN DANCE-“

“Why did we let him drive,” Jason grumbled.

“Hey, mister spontaneously alive,” the car took a sharp left, but Steph turned completely around. “You don’t have a license, remember?”

“What are you, some goody two shoes piec-“

“Steph, what are you doing?! Buckle-“

Steph gently shushed Tim by smothering his face. He squawked indignantly.

“Licking won’t work on me, tweety bird.”

Duke eyed them through the rear view mirror.

“I am the only responsible person in this car,” he sighed.

Cass frowned.

“Besides Cassie, but she baby.”

“Oh she baby,” with a yelp, Steph’s arm was disengaged by a jab to the inside of her elbow.

“And babies can’t drive,” Tim wiped his mouth, “right Damian?”

Tim twisted around (still buckled) to face the glare, but Damian wasn’t listening. He was leaned against Cass, who lightly traced her nails across his skin with one hand. She winked, pressing a kiss to Damian’s forehead nestled at her collarbone. Damian held her other hand on her lap, splaying her fingers out, in with a barely-there smile. More of a content line, really. Tim felt relieved that the kid was doing as well as he was, all things considered.

The older two shared a smile. Cass could make anyone melt, but Damian was always uncharacteristically soft with her.

And she loved to coddle him.

Jason groaned. “How much farther?”

“Why are you so upset?” Tim poked his side.

“I just like to complain. But I am also too big for this car.”

“Oh, good shotgun?”

“Yes, fair driver?”

“For how long must we continue our travels?”

“Until dear Jason loses the will to live-“

“Steph!“

“Would someone please shut up my impulse control?”

Tim leaned his head onto her shoulder, hugging her around the seat. “You say the sweetest things.”

“You can dance, you can try~“

Jason flopped his head onto the seat behind him.

Duke smiled, singing along to the song in his head. The pulse in his mind was always calmer when he wasn’t alone. After everything that had been going on, he was happy to see his somehow-sibling-esque-figures doing alright. Being almost normal, even. They planned a family zoo trip! Granted it was partially because Damian was confiscated from his father a-la-angry vigilante style, and Steph and Cass immediately decided to make him act like a normal kid (who is a bit overly attached to animals) to distract them all from that sad reality, and they were all going along for the process because they were grieving something awful- but still! In some way, they were being normal. Normal-ish.

Whatever.

Today was going to be a good day, he decided.

...

The Gotham zoo was busy for a Monday, since it was beautiful weather and a day off from school.

Duke supposed they could all use the break.

“Hey guys,” Steph started as they stood in front of the narrow window of the bear enclosure. “So, we mostly own the night, right?”

“Yeah.”

“But Duke goes out during the day,”

“It’s the light thing,” he said.

“Yeah, the light thing,” Steph waved her hands. “So, anyways, I get that you’re the sunshine child- pun totally intended- but like, you’re strongest when the sun is strongest, right? That makes you-“

“Oh stop,” Tim cackled.

“-a fire bender! And these losers here are water benders!”

Duke gasped and began bending nothing, to Steph’s delight.

Swirling his arms, Jason engaged him in battle. Even though they turned heads, their moves became more elaborate than strictly necessary.

Well, Duke guessed none of this was -strictly- necessary.

Cass hummed thoughtfully, patting Damian’s head while he watched the bears lumber towards the water.

“Us yes. Baby, no.”

Tim considered this as Jason nearly sent Duke into a wayward couple.

“He’s an earth bender,” Steph decided, spinning in lazy circles.

“I have no idea what you people are talking about. Please let me watch the bears in peace.”

“Wait,” Steph practically launched herself against the boys.

“Don’t you mean the platypus bears?”

Duke backed away from the angry women. He scratched his chin and leaned over the plaque. “It just says bear here.”

“You mean skunk bear, then?” Tim grinned.

“Or armadillo bear?” Jason’s size was a gift sometimes, as he leaned back and squashed Damian against the window.

“What are you-“

“Gopher bear?” Steph giggled.

“Just says bear here,” Duke shrugged.

Cass’s spoke softly, but precisely, as if tasting each sound.

“Weird place.”

“Weird people,” Damian grumbled. Jason leaned farther back, further pancaking his cheek against the glass.

“Dancing queen, face as red as a tangerine!” Duke poked his nose.

“Oh, that reminds me, we need to get some fried Oreos-“

“How does that-“

“Shush, Tim. I need fried Oreos clogging my arteries as soon as humanly possible. Come on.”

“Heck yes,” Jason grinned, picking Damian up like a very angry yoga mat. “Steph is in charge now, sorry Duke.”

“As the only capable adult here, I say we need to eat an actual lunch, too.”

Tim took Damian, only to walk with him upside down over his shoulder. They all pretended not to notice his smile underneath the half-hearted promises of violence.

“Nuggets,” Cass prophesied.

Steph linked their arms and led the way to the food court.

...

Duke had been looking forward to this trip all week, and it didn’t disappoint. They saw all the animals, ate terrible food in a less than sanitary environment, then chased each other around and generally made themselves a nuisance to society.

It was great.

Some highlights? Cass dared Jason to eat half a hot dog in a single bite. He shoved the whole thing in his mouth, then walked into a pole. Tim fell asleep on top of Steph and mumbled about robot bunnies. Duke carried Damian around on his shoulders, accidentally walked him into some tree branches, and laughed so hard he dropped him.

Of course, it had been weird that the zoo hadn’t bumped up the number of workers to match crowd sizes, but it was fine. Just took a little longer to do things. And the place was a little messier.

They were just paranoid, is all.

Cass tossed the purple plush snake around her shoulders as they exited the gift shop to the center plaza. The tail hit Steph, who adjusted her peacock sunglasses with an upturned nose.

The crowd rushed around them like a steady stream of fish (“Only animal metaphors for the zoo, folks”). Their imposing shark, Jason, frowned as he pushed his way through the flow.

Damian offered Duke an animal cracker, and he happily picked out a zebra.

It had been a good day.

Tim had waited outside for them, citing important business. He smiled and lowered his phone from his ear as they got closer to his seat at the fountain.

“Hey, Dames, can I have one?” He asked.

Damian raised a single brow.

Tim could fake emotions with the worst of them. Oh, wait, animals. Dang it, Steph. Like a honey bee could take a casual stroll.

“And here I was going to offer you my phone to talk to Dick-“

Damian shoved the whole bag at him and grabbed the phone.

Tim laughed as Damian scurried a small distance away, plunking down just outside the bathrooms. Twin paintings- one a giraffe, the other a flamingo- labeled the two single person stalls.

“Any news from Dick?” Steph asked, settling against Tim’s side.

“Yeah,” he nodded, watching Damian smile into the receiver. “He said he was on his way back.”

It was funny how Jason thought with his face sometimes. Duke could feel the confusion.

“Wait, isn’t he undercover somewhere in Asia right now taking down Some MobTM with ties to the League of Assassins?”

“From the inside, yeah.”

“And he just, what, finished up early?”

“Pretty much.”

Jason threw up his hands, “I hate this family.”

Steph laughed, dragging Cass half onto her lap while Tim stared distracted at the crowd.

Just like that, Jason’s face hardened. Following his line of vision, Duke watched a teen scurry out of the bathroom to the main directory on the other side of the plaza. His hood was up and he looked neither right nor left.

“I’ll be right back,” Jason said, slipping into the crowd flow.

Probably nothing, Duke thought, watching Cass threaten to push Steph into the fountain.

“I’d take the quarters, so the joke’s on you.”

“Stealing,” Cass tutted.

“I’ll look good doing it.”

An eye roll.

Tim’s fingers rapidly tapped against the stone.

“Dames, wrap it up, we’re headed out,” he called.

Damian gave a thumbs up.

See, it was still a good day. Duke breathed deeply.

It was fine.

It was-

The fire alarm went off at the directory. The crowd turned to look.

Tim tensed, and Duke felt the shock shoot up his spine as yellow light pulsed and swarmed toward the bathrooms.

Oh no.

A high pitched whine.

“Get down!” Duke yelled.

The bathroom exploded. They threw themselves to the ground just in time to avoid the brunt of the heat and debris. Dirt and rock sprayed in his face. Smoke filled the air, dark and thick.

Tim scrambled to his feet, coughing.

“Damian!”

No, Duke thought.

There was so much smoke.

They all scrambled toward the bathroom, but the wall where Damian had stood was half rubble and the kid was nowhere to be found.

Duke stared where he last saw him, but the smoke obscured most of the light.

Why is there so much smoke?, he thought. It was hard to get a reading. Come on, Duke. The scene kept pulsing, then disappearing. His head hurt, he couldn’t breathe, but the static blur began to form. Come on.

Tim ran into the building.

Duke fought through the haze until the blue-tinged flecks obeyed and the scene spotted into focus. He saw Damian drop to the ground just as the wall flew apart. Stray debris littered his body, and a brick to the skull knocked him unconscious. The smoke poured through, but just before everything blacked out, a lumbering figure dragged the kid through the broken wall into complete darkness.

The present rushed back. Duke inhaled smoke, sinking to the ground. His chest felt like someone was de-stringing his muscles like spaghetti. Twist, twisting the fork.

“No!” Steph screamed. Tim came out alone and choking for air. Steph pushed her way in, but Duke knew it was useless.

Damian was gone.

#batfam #duke thomas #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #Tim Drake #jason todd #Damian Wayne

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talpup · 4 years

Text

Light In the Darkness

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers.

***If you prefer reading off AO3 here’s the link for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20887595/chapters/51852043

10.1

The three Magic Knights exited the cafe relishing the fresh cool night air outside. Teris was startled by the figure standing on the other side of the patio’s enclosure, but quickly realized it was a creation of Commander Greywright’s army magic keeping passerby's at bay.

She looked over her squad members and the Silver Eagles noting the tension between the groups, each squad sitting on opposite sides of the small fenced enclosure.

“Glad to see you haven’t kill any one.” Teris praised the Black Bulls, only half jesting.

“Only just.” Olsen confessed, eyeing Neyres and Margery. “You would think that as royal ladies those two wouldn’t have such vial tongues; but they’re worse than a drunk cutthroat, only they use far more eloquent words.”

“I could’ve warned you about Neyres.” Teris said quietly to him, glancing in the royal girls direction. “Don’t know about the other; but, I suppose one’s bound to pick up things when in Neyres’ circle.”

Margery went to Nozel wrapping her arms around his left one. “I know we’re not suppose to talk about it, but please tell me those two Black Bulls didn’t get you in trouble.”

Nozel glanced over Margery’s head at Teris, wordlessly suffering Margery's fawning.

“When I saw Danior come out and not you, I feared the worst. Didn’t I say I feared for Nozel, Neyres?” Margery said, looking at her friend.

“That you did.” Neyres sighing, bored.

Unable to stand it any more, Nozel pulled his arm free and stepped between Danior and Neyres seeking shelter from Margery’s attention.

“I am still a Magic Knight aligned with the Silver Eagles.” Was all Nozel said on the matter. “Can we change the subject before that is no longer true for any of us.”

“His Highness is right.” Neyres said, violet eyes dancing with amusement. “Does anyone have any celebratory plans for the Star Awards Festival?”

“No.” Abril answered from the Black Bulls side.

“One would have to have something to celebrate in order to have celebratory plans.” Neyres smiled, condescendingly.

Abril put her hands on her hips. “Meaning what?”

Neyres shrugged as if the answer was evident.

“Don’t engage the mean spirited pretty ladies.” Olsen told Abril.

“The what?” Danior demanded.

Even Nozel looked at Olsen in disapproval.

Raising his hands, Olsen said. “If you take issue with my saying they’re mean spirited you are either blind and deaf or don’t know your comrades all that well.”

“Not that,” Danior growled. “The other bit.”

Venice scoffed at Danior’s idiocy; while Teris cringed, sure where this would surely lead.

Abril gave a snorting laugh. “You just agreed they were mean.”

“Do you not agree that they are pretty?” Olsen asked. He leaned forward and whispered loudly, as if imparting wisdom. “Even if you find them hideous, a true gentleman would never admit as much to a lady. Didn’t your finishing instructors teach you as much? Or, as a lower noble, could you not afford one?”

Danior took out his grimoire causing Olsen to reach for his should he need it to defend himself. Nozel stood in front of Danior. Teris placed a hand on Olsen’s shoulder. Olsen relaxed dropping his hand from the leather case that hung from the side of his hip.

“Put it away.” Nozel ordered Danior.

“But he--”

“And what will come of your escalation?” Nozel questioned. “Think.” He muttered in disgust turning away and back to Olsen and Teris.

“Olsen’s a flirt.” Teris said by way of apology. “He means nothing by it.”

“Yeah,” Venice agreed. “He’s already dating his true love. Though he refuses to tell us who she is.”

Olsen smiled at Venice’s sullen look.

Teris looked over to two Silver Eagles girls. “Either don’t read too much into it or take the boost to your ego. Not that you need it.” To Nozel, she admonished. “Control your comrades.”

“Me?” Nozel questioned, heatedly.

“I mean I know that Neyres and Danior out rank you,” Teris allowed. “But you’re the royal male. Isn’t that what you believe you’re suppose to do? Have everything and everyone under your control.”

Nozel stared at her feeling angry and bitter. She was being unfair. His need to restrain those around him and be overly disciplined himself was because of his father’s expectations of him as heir. It wasn’t as if he had a choice.

Nozel’s teeth clenched, eyes slitting as his cool glare intensified. “It is you who should attempt controlling that menagerie of dirty, uncivilized, foul mouthed--”

“You don’t want to finish that thought,” Teris warned.

“--pack of wild beasts masquerading as Magic Knights.” He looked her over, his lip curling in revulsion at the thought of his Intended being part of such a group. “Not that you could if you tried. Even your own Captain can barely manage that lot. Though he’s not much better spoken or behaved.”

The other Black Bulls made for him with the Silver Eagles moving to defend their own. Teris held up an opened hand to Nozel. Seeing the glow both the Bulls and Eagles stopped. Feeling heat and pressure from her begin to push him back, Nozel adjusted his stance and dug in his heels.

Yami stepped back, watching, and waited. He knew that if he got near Teris something bad and uncontrollable would happen as their heightened mana caused a reaction with each others.

Nozel squinted as the brightness as the light grew, wincing slightly in pain as the pressure and heat intensified. The hem and trim of his clothes began to scorch filling his nostrils with their burning smell. Still, Nozel refused to act to defend himself. As angry as he had been at her, he would never do anything that might harm Teris physically. That was why he had always lost to her during their sparring sessions. At least that’s what he had comforted his ego with.

He had expected his words to anger her. That had been the point of it. To wound whatever pride she had in the Black Bulls. But he hadn’t realized just how much she cared; not just for the squad in name but for the members that made up the Bulls. It was a miscalculation on his part and his was willing to stand there and put her care for him to the test against it.

Arm trembling Teris slowly relaxed. The light, heat, and pressure dying as her fingers curled into a loose fist. Her arm dropped and so did everyone's tension.

Nozel released the breath he had been holding. She had stopped and his doubts had ceased along with her building magic. She truly did care about him.

“We’re through.” Teris panted, out of breath from trying to control herself.

“What!” Nozel asked, in shocked disbelief.

“We’re through,” Teris repeated. “Whatever small accord we may have had is over. Do not pay me call or write. Do not presume upon our mutual friendship with Fuegoleon, or anything else.” She said, hating that she had to refer to the intentions of their families to see them wed. “Don’t even speak to me unless you have to.”

“Teris.” Nozel whispered, unable to believe the turn of events. How could she-- How dare she belittle their friendship down to a mere mutual attachment to Fuegoleon.

“That’s more than fine with us.” Margery said, stepping beside Nozel and wrapping an arm around his.

“You never were very good at being a royal.” Neyres agreed, joining them at Nozel’s other side. “Good luck being ostracized from polite society. Hope you find your dirty peasants worth it.”

“They’re not dirty and I already do,” Teris said.

Neyres looked the Black Bulls over giving a tittering laugh when Abril tried to hide her filthy hands behind her back, and Tobin quickly brushed the crumbs of food off his shirt. It was pointless since Abril did nothing about the dirt on her neck and cheeks, and Tobin didn’t notice the food trapped within his beard.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Neyres said. “You may grow to believe. Or worse turn into them.”

“You lie with pigs, you become a pig.” Danior warned joining the line of Silver Eagles. He looked at Margery’s arm laced through Nozel and attempted to loop his through hers.

“What are you doing?” Margery whispered harshly, pulling away from him.

“Oh. Sorry. I thought we were linking arms in solidarity or something,” Danior apologized.

Margery wrinkled her nose. “Not with you.”

Having recovered from his shock, if not his hurt, Nozel ordered. “Enough. Return to your seats and let’s try to forget about their presence while we wait for Captain Pyter.”

“A difficult task given the smell of them but we shall endeavor to try.” Neyres said, turning away.

Danior and Margery quickly followed the platinum haired royal.

Nozel caught sight of Tobin rising an arm to sniff himself. Giving a huff of disdain he quickly tried to think of something to say to Teris that would fix this. He looked to her only to find she had turned her back and was already walking away.

“Try to be more civil when our families met again to further discuss things.” Nozel called after her, immediately cursing himself for making matters worse.

Teris turned. Nozel’s eyes widened certain that he had gone too far in mentioning their eventual betrothal and that she was going to send him to the healing mages.

Yami took a step forward to stop her from doing something he knew she’d eventually regret; but feeling her rising mana took two more back, cursing his insecurity in his ability to control his mana’s thirst for hers. He gritted his teeth battling his own mana as it fought to be released from his restraining hold.

“Wow! There beautiful.” Olsen said, grabbing Teris’ arm before she could lift it. He turned her toward the Black Bulls. “We’ve had our fill of the mass of food you all left. What do you say we save fired eagle for another day? Hum.”

Yami breathed a sigh of relief.

Olsen gave Yami a wink and told him. “I got your lady for you.”

It was likely everything leading up to this point that set Nozel off. Olsen’s flippant comment, and Yami nodding his thanks to the Water Mage sure didn’t help. But, it was Teris’ silence at being called the foreigners lady that truly did it. After she had belittled their friendship, never mind how tremulous it sometimes was. And then, without thought or hesitation ended said friendship as if believing what they had could be so easily ended.

Gathering his mana, Nozel lashed out at Yami with his mercury magic.

Yami landed several meters away, outside the patios fencing.

Rolling to a stop he groaned, wincing. The royal ball of pride had power, Yami begrudgingly thought to himself.

Yami wasn’t certain what shape he would’ve been in if Nozel’s Ki hadn’t told him what the royal was about to do. He was just grateful that the tell had given him a chance to partially cloak himself in mana before the magical blow came.

Yami rolled to sit up. Instantly regretting the movement, he laid back down. Damn. He knew this feeling. His ribs were cracked. But this was way worse than when Bronn had cracked them during his second night at the Black Bulls base.

Man, that seemed like ages ago. Yami wondered how the Vice Captain would react. He didn’t want their superiors to know, and he would shield Nozel as best he could cause that’s what real men did. But, he couldn’t see how they would get around the higher ranking Magic Knights learning that something had happened.

On the patio Teris had turned, feeling a rise in Nozel’s mana; but had realized too late that the royals magical attack wasn’t meant for her.

“Yami!” Teris had called, just as Nozel’s strike had hit and Yami had gone flying. “Yami.” She said again, this time in a whisper.

Teris made for the gate, the rest of the Black Bulls doing the same. They had only taken a step before men, formed of Greywright’s army magic, appeared between and surrounding the two squads.

“Mother of Mana and Magic! What the hell is going on here!” The Knights Commander bellowed as he and the Captains exited the cafe.

After a moment of silence, Tobin offered an explanation that sounded more like a question. “Having a bit of fun?”

“Fun,” Greywright repeat.

“Ye—yeah,” Olsen nodded, warming to the fabrication. It just might work as it couldn’t be refuted no matter how much their superiors might disbelieve them. All they had to do was sell it and deny any different.

Bronn jumped the fence to check on Yami, muttering curses the entire time. Olsen, who still held Teris, had to tightened his grip to keep her from following the Vice Captain.

“We got bored just sitting here and, not familiar with each others magic, decided a demonstration was an order,” Olsen said.

“A demonstration,” Greywright intoned.

Teris pulled further against Olsen in an effort to once again make for Yami. Tobin and Venice came to assist. Tobin grabbed Teris’ hand and spun her around, as if dancing, before he and Venice tossed their arms over her shoulders.

“That was some impressive stuff.” Venice told Nozel, an over large smile plastered on her face. “That was mercury magic wasn’t it! I’ve never seen the like.”

With too much left to do, Greywright didn’t have the time or inclination to deal with this and so let them have their lie.

“No more demonstrations.” The Commander said, piercing each and every one of them with a glare.

“You got it,” Tobin saluted.

“Pyter. Jax. Get your people back to your bases.” Greywright ordered.

“You’re just going to take their word.” Pyter challenged, gesturing to the Black Bulls.

Greywright turned to the Silver Eagles Captain. “Considering it was their comrade that was thrown more than dozen meters by one of yours, I don’t see a reason for them to lie. But if you wish, we will stay and I’ll look into it. Do you want that, Captain?”

At that Pyter sobered. “No, sir.”

“Are you sure? I could separate and hear what each of them has to say if you wish,” Greywright offered.

“That won’t be necessary, sir.” Pyter assured, giving the Knights Commander one of his winning smiles.

“Got an issue with taking your squads word and seeing them back to base, Jax?” Greywright asked, looking over his shoulder at the Black Bulls Captain.

Jax, who had been watching Yami and Bronn, turned to the Magic Knights Commander. The kid appeared injured enough to require a nights stay at the healing mages, but otherwise fine. He scrutinized Nozel wondering what had been said or done to make the royal loose control and lash out like that. Granted there had been numerous occasions where Jax had wanted to crush Yami with his stone magic... The boy could be a trying little shit. But to actually give into the urge and act on it?

Nozel waited, eyes lowered, certain that the Black Bulls Captain was going to challenge the matter and demand to know what really happened. He wondered if he would be discharged from the Magic Knights for his attack. He could feel Teris’ hate filled eyes boring into him and knew that any hope he had at rectifying what their heated words had wrought was long past.

“Nozel,” Pyter said. “Apologize to Captain Jax and the Black Bulls for over doing your magic demonstration.”

“That’s not necessary.” Jax said, waving Pyter and Nozel off. “Bronn’s done worst to the boy I’m sure.”

Teris’ eyes flicked to her Captain, displeasure clearly showing on her face. Venice squeezed her friends shoulder certain that Teris was going to demand Nozel’s head and in doing so get herself in trouble. Thankfully none of their superiors had seemed to notice the scorch marks along the edges of Nozel’s clothing.

“Excellent.” Greywright said, to which everyone looked at him curiously wondering if the Knights Commander was referring to Yami having had a tougher go of it at Bronn’s hand or the dismissal of the current matter. “Everyone get going. Not you.” Greywright said to Julius as the Azure Deers Captain turned away.

“I was going to--”

“Come with me back inside.” Greywright finished.

Julius looked over at Bronn and Yami hoping the young Magic Knight was truly alright.

“Now!” Greywright barked.

Julius flinched slightly and hurried indoors.

Teris watched her brother and the Knights Commander disappear back insider. She had never disliked Greywright, but right now she was beginning to. How could he let Nozel and the Silver Eagles leave after what Nozel had done?

“What happened to your clothes?” Pyter exclaimed looking Nozel over.

“It’s nothing,” Nozel assured.

“I doubt it’s the newest rage in fashion.” Pyter said, rising an eyebrow.

“Though if people see him like that it may become one.” Danior said, jealously.

“We’ll talk more after we get back to base.” Pyter said, almost jovially as he placed a hand on Nozel’s shoulder. “There you can tell me exactly what happened here.”

The Silver Eagles gave each other nervous looks before following their Captain out of the patio enclosure and down a pathway.

Nozel and Teris’ eyes locked once more before he turned the corner and was out of sight. As soon as he was she tossed off Venice and Tobin’s arms and made for Yami.

“Hold up there light bug.” Jax said, placing a hand firmly on her shoulder.

Teris turned and looked up at her Captain with a glare that gave him a moments pause.

Regaining his composure, Jax darkened, looming over her. “You better fix your face before I rearrange it for you Princess.”

Unable to do as the Captain order, Teris looked down, letting her hair curtain off her face.

Jax gave a huffing smirk of amusement. “You alright Olsen?” He called.

Olsen held up his hands showing the Captain the burns he had suffered by holding onto Teris while her mana was at its highest. “I believe lovely Venice’s gentle touch and a police will see me to rights.”

Jax shook his head. “Go with Bronn and Yami to the healing mages. They’ll likely want to keep him a while, if not over night. Have Bronn send you to base when they’re done with you.”

Olsen nodded, knowing as Jax did that Bronn would insist on staying at the healers until Yami was released, but that the Captain would want to know how Yami was doing. “Yes, sir.”

Jax watched him make his way through the gate and around to the other two. “Bronn!” Jax called.

“You got it, Captain.” Bronn called back.

A portal opened within the patios enclosure.

“Let’s go home guys.” Jax told Tobin, Venice, and Abril.

Teris pulled against her Captains staying hand trying to get to Yami.

Jax turned her roughly around to face him. “Bronn’s tired and can’t keep this gateway open forever. Now walk through before I throw you through.”

“But, Yami.” Teris said, so softly is was almost a whisper as she tried once again to view him through the shrubs and failed. If only she could see him. See that he was alright. Then she would feel better and do as her Captain wanted without complaint.

Jax looked in the same direction as Teris grateful for the tall shrubs and her shorter height. He probably never would have been able to control her if she could see the state he was in. Jax balked at the pool of blood that began to form around Yami. Knowing that Bronn couldn’t make another portal to take Yami to the healers till they had gone through this gateway Jax half shoved, half flung Teris through before lunging through himself.

10.1.2

“They’re gone,” Olsen said, with unnecessary volume.

“Alright, kid.” Bronn said, as he looked down at Yami. “We’re gonna get you to the healing mages.”

“Don’t want—to go—stupid—mages,” Yami rasped, skipping words as he struggle to stay conscious.

“Too bad. We’re already here.” Bronn said, rising and stepping away to let the healers at him.

He watched as three of them went quickly and efficiently to work taking stock of Yami’s injuries and magically tending to them. While another two went about the task of cutting open Yami’s shirt careful not to bump or jostle the iron stake that had been part of a short decorative barricade that lined the walkway protecting the garden beds.

From what Bronn could piece together of the scene, it appeared as if it had impaled Yami when he had first landed and either the force of the the landing or the momentum of his continued skid had broken the square bar off. By the time Bronn had gotten to him the wound had further opened with Yami’s continued movement. The idiot hadn’t seemed to realize that there was a metal rod skewered through his back, just below his shoulder blade, and exiting his chest near the first and second rib.

Bronn couldn’t entirely blame the kid for not noticing. Pain could sometimes that could take a while to register. Though the idiot should have noticed the fat, two inch, teardrop shaped iron finial that had been protruding from his front.

A Healer followed, by two others stopped before Bronn. “Do you require assistance?”

“What? No.” Bronn looked himself over. He wiped the blood from his hands on the front of his shirt and held them up. “It’s not mine. Olsen over there--” Bronn stopped, having turned and seen two healers already attending to the Water Mages burned hands. He gave a nod and looked back at the Healer who had spoken. “Just see my friends put to rights, if you please.”

“That is what we’re here for.” The Mage said. She gave a wave and the two that were behind her stepped back, walking away. “I suppose you’re not going to tell me what happened.” She said to Bronn.

“Will it help the healing process?” Bronn questioned, eyes on Yami.

That bloody, bratty royal sure did a number on him, Bronn thought wincing in sympathy as the metal was pulled free. But, Yami didn’t groan or cry out. It was then that Bronn noticed that the he was no longer conscious. Whether Yami had gone under himself or one of the healers had put him under, he didn’t know; but the Vice Captain was grateful.

The Healing Mage shook her head. “You Magic Knights are all the same. Getting injured with little care for the trouble you cause. Barging in here. Dripping mud, sweat, and blood. Barking orders. Rushing us. Even going so far as to threaten us if we don’t save your friends and comrades. And after we do. You’re gone with barely a backwards glance, let alone a thank you. Off to get injured all over again.”

Bronn turned to the Healer. “Wow. You make us sound like a bunch of ingrate, selfish, assholes.”

She looked up at him blinking and blushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. It’s just that—it’s been a rather rough day.”

“For you and me both, luv.” Bronn sighed, stuffing his hands into in pockets. “It’s actually been a rough couple of days for me if I’m being honest. But if what you said is true, it’s us who should do the apologizing.” He looked about the large, pillared, open aired room. “The amount of times I’ve been in this place. Well. I suppose you could say it’s like a second home.”

“You’re not a very good Magic Knight then. Are you?” She smiled.

He looked at her sharply and then smiled seeing that she had been teasing. “Naw, luv. I’m Vice Captain of the worst Magic Knights squad.”

“The Black Bulls,” she said.

“Our infamy precedes us I see.”

She gave a pointed look to the insignia on his cape.

“Ah. Smart.”

“So I’ve been accused of on occasion. I’m Gilly Shae, Grand Healing Mage.”

“You’re in charge,” Bronn said, mildly impressed.

“Of this shift,” she clarified.

“Just getting started or near it’s end?”

“Me and my team will be here till sunrise,” she answered.

“Unless your people give me some good news it looks like I will be too.” Bronn said, looking back at Yami.

“I can guarantee you that your friend will be staying the night.” Gilly said, looking sympathetically down at Yami.

“Not my friend,” Bronn said. “Just my subordinate.” He looked back at Gilly, tilting his head studying her. “You can sense the kids injuries, can’t you.”

“Same as I can sense your fatigue and mana's depletion,” Gilly said. “I can help.”

“Naw, lass. Don’t want to be any more trouble than we already are. Besides, you should see the other guy.” Bronn gave a low whistle and shook his head. “Pretty sure he spent last night at his own healers, if he isn’t still there today.”

“You sound proud.”

“Proud to have survived a fight with the some Spade Kingdom spatial twit who took a cheap shot at me from behind and nearly took my head off. You bet your pretty face I am. That bastard wouldn’t let up and left me stranded in the middle of nowhere by the time I finally proved who the better spatial mage was and sent him fifty feet above his countries side of the mountain peak. Took me hours to recoup enough mana just to be able to fly some broken branch home. You have no idea how embarrassing it is for a spatial mage to have to resort to flying on a makeshift broom.”

“So this is what you consider better?” Gilly asked, referring to his health.

“Better than yesterday for sure. I would been even better if I hadn’t had to transport folks around today, but my Captain and squad needed me.”

“And now whatever meager recovery from yesterdays altercation has been undone,” Gilly finished.

“Still managed to do what was needed when it counted,” Bronn said. He looked at Yami. “Will he be alright?”

“He will be good as he ever was in a few hours, unlike you. The reason for his prolonged stay is so that I can keep him under and give him and his body a chance to recoup. The knitting together of bone and tissue is not always easy or pain free, which is why I’m keeping him under.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Bronn said. “I remember this one time, a healers administrations hurt almost as bad as the wound itself. I about punched the mage till I realized that he was a girl.” He looked castigated without her having said a word. “Suppose I should try to find her and apologize.”

“Could you?”

“What apologize?”

“Find the girl if you tired?”

Bronn blinked at that. He tried to remember the shocked, frightened face of the girl as his fist had raised. “I--” He shook his head. “I don’t know.” He looked at her. “But you lot keep records of patients don’t you? You’re like the Clerks over at Magic Investigations with your sheets of paper and files. You’ve gotta have that visit and which Healer I saw notated in my file or something. Right?”

“Possibly,” she said.

“Bronn.” Olsen called making his way to him. “I’m done. And I’ve already spoke with one of the healers tending to Yami so I can let Jax know what’s going on. Ready to send me home?”

“Did you thank them?” Bronn questioned.

“Thank you.” Olsen told the Vic Captain in slow, confusion.

“Not me you idiot!” Bronn snapped. “The Mages who fixed you up.”

“Uh. Sure.” Olsen said.

Bronn reached out a hand causing Olsen to take a step back.

“Don’t lie to me, you flowery Water Spout.” Bronn warned, closing his hand into a fist. “Go back and apologize to the Healers for not properly thanking them, then thank them for their efforts.”

Olsen looked at Bronn as if he has lost his mind.

“Now!” Bronn barked.

“Alright. Alright.” Olsen griped, walking away.

Bronn looked back at Gilly shaking his head. “Kids. I’m Bronn by the way. Bronn Rendel.”

“I know,” she said.

“How? Oh. Aright. Olsen said as much.”

“I knew who you were before that,” Gilly told.

“What? How?”

She turned away. “Send your comrade off and we’ll talk. There’s not much else for you to do while you wait till sunrise for your other friend to be released.”

Sorry for the delay. Though I'm not editing this fic, I am giving it a second read before posting to make sure it's somewhat readable. With the holiday's and my other fics...

Thanks reading. Hope you enjoyed.

Comments or questions are always appreciated.

#black clover #yami sukehiro #nozel silva #julius novachrono #fanfic #light in the darkness

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milomeepit · 5 years

Text

Diamond In The Rough: Chapter Sixteen

Roman has always wanted better. Has always believed that there’s a better life, a better world, just out of reach. Just beyond the veil of shitty teachers who don’t care, angry classmates that scream insults and slurs at each other all day, and drug-hazed parents who are more concerned with their next hit than looking after their ten year old son.

When he runs away after a particularly bad night at home and finds a quiet little cafe/bookstore tucked away in a back alley of the city, the sweet couple who run the joint (an odd pair; a quiet, gloomy man with a wry sense of humour and a cynical gleam in his eye, and a bouncy man who smiles like sunshine and laughs like a storybook king) help show him that maybe- just maybe- he really can have the life he always dreamed of.

Masterpost (to be added soon!)

Word Count: 1391

Chapter Warnings: Anxiety, court, lawyers, CPS, abusive parents, arguing, yelling, legal paperwork,

Patton watched as Virgil paced back and forth in front of him. Tension rolled off of him in waves, and Patton was reminded of a tiger stalking the length of its enclosure at a zoo. The flimsy paper cup of coffee Duck had offered him sat abandoned at the base of his seat, quickly growing cold.

“I can’t believe this. Why do we have to jump through all of these hoops?” Virgil ranted. His hands were shoved in the deep pockets of his jacket, but Patton could picture them; tight fists, white-knuckled, practically shaking with irritation and anxiety. “You heard what Logan said about his parent’s house! It’s fucking trashed! There’s no way a kid should be living there. It should be a cut-and-dry thing, right?!”

“I know,” Patton agreed softly. “But we need to keep it together. It’ll all work out, I know it will.” It kinda has to, he thought as Virgil flopped into his seat, his knee bouncing rapidly. He wasn’t sure what would happen to them if it didn’t.

“Uh-huh,” Virgil grunted vaguely. His head flopped over to land on Patton’s shoulder, and Patton slipped an arm around his waist.

He sighed and pressed a kiss to Virgil’s forehead, then glanced around the large room that they had been sitting in all morning.

The huge windows at the end of the hallway showed a picturesque view of the city streets, dusted with snow that sparkled in the sunlight. People scurried down the sidewalks, jackets tugged tight around them, scarves pulled up against the chilly air.

Despite the frosty weather, it was a warmer scene than inside. There was a heavy cloud of dread and desperation that hung over the people sitting in the rows of chairs around them. It was thick and heavy, and seemed to drain energy from the crowd. It felt... bleak. Hopeless. Patton shivered slightly.

Virgil twitched suddenly and raised his head, looking behind them. “Did you hear-?” He cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath, and the next moment he was just gone.

Patton twisted in his seat to see Virgil practically sprinting down to the other end of the hallway. His heart seemed to leap out of his chest as he spotted what Virgil had; a faded red hoodie and a dark blue backpack.

“Ro!” Virgil called out, and the boy turned, his face an almost cartoonish expression of surprise. He broke away from the man he’d been walking with- a friendly-looking fellow with brown glasses- and ran towards Virgil.

It was like a scene from a movie, Patton squealed internally. The two of them running to meet each other, reunited at last. Everything really was okay. They had him back, and he was safe, and Patton was never going to let anyone hurt him ever again.

That hope cracked like glass as a blonde woman leapt to her feet and intercepted Roman, sweeping him up into her arms. “Oh! Roman, baby, I missed you so much! Are you okay?” She chattered. Her voice was sickly-sweet, and it immediately set Patton on edge.

“Let go of me!” Roman shouted as he squirmed in her grip, trying to shove away from her. “Put me down!”

Virgil skidded to a halt in front of them, and Patton winced a little, half expecting all that coiled-up stress to explode like a bomb. But, no, Virgil simply scowled at her. “Put him down, you’re stressing him out,” He bit out.

Patton could see Roman’s lawyer jogging towards them, and quickly got to his feet to approach, as well. Hopefully he could help diffuse the situation.

“And who the hell are you supposed to be?” A large man appeared next to the woman- Roman’s parents, Patton realised with no small amount of distaste- and glared at Virgil.

“Virgil. What about you, brute squad?” Virgil snapped as he crossed his arms.

“We’re his parents!” The woman pursed her lips, seemingly oblivious to Roman’s distress. “What does it matter to you?”

Virgil scoffed. “Yeah, I should’ve guessed, with Ro’s reaction.”

“And what is that meant to mean?” The man scowled.

“It means,” Patton frowned as he reached them, “Roman’s told us about you, and we’ve heard some things from a social worker. I’d hardly call you caregivers.”

“Emile, help!” Roman whined as his lawyer drew near.

“Alright, everybody, let’s just calm down for a minute, huh? Fighting doesn’t help anybody.” Emile said chipperly.

“So you must be the ones who kidnapped my baby!” The woman ignored him, glaring sharply at Virgil and Patton. “Of course you look like that.”

“Look like what?” Virgil challenged, taking hold of Patton’s hand and gripping it tightly. “Better guardians than you two could ever dream of being?”

“Come on, now, folks, you’re upsetting Roman,” Emile reached out towards him, but the woman jerked him away.

“Like a pair of lazy retail workers with more fat than sense!” She snapped, her gaze lingering on Patton.

Patton felt Virgil tense beside him. “Bold of you to insult my husband about his appearance when you’re walking around looking like a painted whor-”

“Everybody, quiet down, right now!” Emile roared. They all fell silent and looked at him. His eyes flickered with protective fury as he held out his arms towards Roman. The woman released him, and he scampered over to cling to Emile, his eyes wide. “Everyone is going to go back and sit down back where they were, on opposite sides of the room, and let the lawyers do the talking and negotiating and problem-solving.”

“Don’t talk to us like we’re goddamn children-” Roman’s father started to say, but Emile rounded on him, his face stony.

“If you want to be treated like mature adults, you’re going to act like mature adults,” He said firmly.

Mr Gorgon went quiet and nodded.

Emile sighed and turned to Patton and Virgil. “Mr Sanders, Mr Sanders, please go back to your seats. Duck should be back with the paperwork he went to fetch shortly. Mr and Mrs Gorgon, please stay here, and your own lawyer should be back from... whatever they’re doing soon.”

Patton watched as Roman’s parents slowly sank back into their seats. He tugged gently on Virgil’s hand, then jerked his head back towards their seats.

Virgil frowned and glanced back towards Roman. “But...”

“Later, love,” Patton murmured. He looked down at Roman, who waved shyly, still clinging to Emile’s shirt. He smiled and nodded, then turned away.

Virgil allowed Patton to lead him back towards their seat, where Duck was waiting. He was a thin fellow, with large wire glasses that gave him a permanently bewildered look, and a dark green suit. He seemed a little unsure of himself, but Patton had faith in him, and had told him so.

“I see you, ah, I see you met the Gorgons,” He said awkwardly.

“Fun couple,” Virgil drawled as he flopped into his chair. “I can see why Roman likes them so much.”

Duck sighed. “They... yeah. We generally try to keep guardians and birth parents... apart, during the process. It’s a very tense time for everyone involved, and it can lead to some... less than pleasant interactions.”

Patton nodded. He gripped the hem of his sweater, twisting it in his hands. “Um... so, what did we need to do next?” He asked, then winced at how forced his enthusiasm sounded. “P-paperwork wise, I mean.”

Duck glanced down at the sheaf of papers in his hands and shuffled them. “Oh! Uh... follow me into one of the interview rooms, and we can go through it all. This one’s probably the thickest- background and history check information and financial history and stability stuff, all that kind of thing- but it shouldn’t take too long. I think we should be finished with it before lunch time.”

Virgil groaned and dragged himself to his feet again. Patton frowned at the dark circles under his husband’s eyes. Neither of them had been coping very well in the past two weeks, but he wasn’t sure Virgil had slept much at all in the past few days. He was worried.

Virgil met his gaze and flashed him a tired grin. “Nothing good ever comes easy, huh?” He muttered, taking Patton’s hand again.

Patton hummed in agreement and squeezed his hand before turning back to Duck and nodding. “Let’s do this.”

#TS-Storytime 2019 Submission #milo writes #ditr #gemstone tales #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #emile picani #sanders sides #cartoon therapy

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Secret dreams.”

The conclusion of the Glass tower series. I hope you guys like it. I did something a little different than I usually do, but hopefully it is entertaining.

Have an amazing day! :)

“He has me.”

The Vrul council spun in place comical looks of shock plastered over their faces, so comical that they could almost be read as shock by your average human.

What they saw was in fact, a human, but not a particularly average one.

Commander Adam Vir Stood just before the lip of the drop messaging the palms of his hands which were red and inflamed.

One of the council members floated forward, “How?”

The human looked up dropping his hands to his sides, “You are going to have to be more specific, “How did I escape your guards, how did I get up the tower, how did I know where you were?”

THe council chamber remained silent as the human walked a few more feet onto the floor. Around the room the Vrul guard and council shifted nervously as the predator approached them across the open floor boots thudding softly as he did so. Light poured in from one side of the glass enclosure bathing him in a warm yellow glow.

“How about, all of the above.” The Vrul council member said floating calmly at the edge of the circle.

“Well The first is simple.” He held up his hands and began to clap very slowly, as he continued he began to add soft rhythmic variations to the beat finally joining his voice tying the rhythm together. As soon as he began variations on the rhythm the entire room grew unsteady, and as he added his voice they began to lose muscle tone slouching to one side.

He stopped almost as soon as he began and they perked back up immediately, “Dr. Krill calls it rhythmic syncope with secondary resulting cataplexy.” He glanced over at his friend, “If I remember correctly. I am not a doctor of course. I guess this is a result of having unconnected cortical hemispheres that are required to do manual pattern recognition in an auditory setting. It tends to overload the neural network, and since your auditory function is located close to the motor cortex, it can have secondary side effects. I simply used this to get past your guards. No one could touch me as long as I kept up some sort of rhythm, not exactly difficult for a human.” The room was very silent as he motioned back towards the hole, “As for getting up here.” The human held up his hands, “Primate, I was originally evolved for climbing. The guide wires were a little small, and my hands kind of hurt, but I’m not complaining.”

He stepped a little further into the room next to krill now.

His guards backed away.

“As for knowing where you were…. Well i find that the ruling class, no matter the species, likes to put themselves above others, figuratively but often physically.” He looked around the room, “Pretty true to form I think, up here in your glass tower surrounded by sunlight while those below work in the long arm of your shadow.”

“What do you want, human?”

“Why do you force yourself into business that is not yours?”

The human folded his hands behind his back, “I had hoped you would understand my point by way of demonstration but it seems that the subtle nuance of posturing has no bearing on you, so let me explain in simple terms. I talked my way onto your planet, and now I have proven that you cannot stop me. With the simple clap of my hands your are immobilized. At any time I could have walked away with my friend unhindered.” He looked around the room, “YOu must understand at this point that I still could. You wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

Krill could see by their posture that they understood very well what kind of threat the human was.

“And I will if I have to.”

The Vrul managed to remain surprisingly calm, “Then why haven't you.”

“Because the Dr. wasn’t the only one affected when our species came together.”

There was a silence around the room as they looked on in confusion, “What do you mean, human.”

The Commander looked down at his feet hands still clasped tightly behind his back, “You think humans are barbaric, aggressive, angry, shortsighted and impulsive.” He looked around the room, “And by comparison I can’t argue. In fact, my first impulse when you took my friend from me was to rain hellfire down upon you.”

“Hellfire?”

“Hell, a mythical place where evil humans go after they die to suffer, filled with an ever burning fire. The phrase to reign hellfire means to bring continuous misery and pain down upon someone. In essence,I wanted to react in the most barbaric aggressive and violent way possible, but I didn’t”

He was walking in a circle now feet surprisingly soft against the grouf for a creature his size, “Do you understand why I didn’t?”

They did not answer.

The Commander pointed at Krill, “Because of the doctor. While you say he was being coerced into being more human, you must also understand that he was teaching me to be more like you. You are more tempered, more logical, less emotional , and now here I am, and I ask you to hear me out logically, and maybe you will find that becoming more human isn’t so bad as you say.”

Around them the room held still as the council members looked between each other.

Eventually the pale vrul made a gesture, “We will hear you.”

The human nodded his head, “Thank you….” He turned in a tight circle staring out one of the windows and towards the darkening horizon cast with long shadows from the sun, “WHen Dr. krill first stepped aboard my ship neither of us understood the other, he was afraid, and we were…. Difficult to handle. But since coming aboard the Dr. has taught me valuable lessons, lessons without which I would not have survived as long as I have in this position.” He turned around to face them, “He taught me, that sometimes duty is more important than my own entertainment. That means sometimes I have to buckle down and act like an adult, I have to be tempered and logical and serious because sometimes situations call for it, many situations do. He taught me to analyze my decisions before reacting on pure instinct, in this way there can be diplomacy without insult and action without catastrophe. He taught me to think about what kind of effect my personal actions have on others.” He glanced towards krill who was more than a bit surprised to hear what the human had to say, “WHat I am trying to tell you is without the Dr. Aboard my ship human relations with the Galactic Assembly would have dissolved long ago. IF ou are to remove him you would be endangering yourselves and that of the entire galaxy.”

The council looked on.

“Let us see how concise you can be, human. What will convince us these words are true.”

The human raised an eyebrow, “I have already demonstrated the truth of my words. Despite my abilities, I came to you relying on good faith that your logic would allow me to speak rather than forcing violence. The Dr. is the single greatest reason that I have come here to speak with you rather than just stealing him and walking out those doors.” His voice grew in volume and force as he continued, “I am here to play by your own rules. I did what the good doctor would have wanted and I chose the logical decision, to steal him away, or reign down violence would cause irreparable damage in political relations between humans and the GA. Rumors about humans would continue to be rife with our acts of barbarism and careless violence. This right now was the only way I could convince you that we are a species worth listening to.”

The sun had cut behind the horizon, turning the sky to a pale pink.

“Please, I am begging you to see sense, The doctor means a great deal to the humans of my ship. To punish him would also be to ruin relations with one of the most powerful species in the galaxy. To keep him with us would mean good interspecies relations, and it would also continue to temper the behavior of humans therefore making the galaxy a safer place for everyone involved.”

The council looked between each other.

A dark Vrul leaned forward, “The human….. Speaks a surprising amount of sense .” They glanced towards the psychologist, “and what do you think. Is the human being deceptive?”

The psychologist looked on, “What reason would he have to speak to you if he could simply walk about with impunity. And take what he wishes. Besides, this human does not strike me as the kind of human to use such deceptions.”

“And you, doctor, what have you to say.”

Dr Krill had been very quiet for much of the discussion, but now lifted his head, “I admit I am both surprised and impressed. The command- Adam…. I fully expected Adam and his crew to do something rash, to come in here guns blazing as the saying goes…” He glanced towards his human companion, “IThis proves to me what he says is true. They have grown a lot in my time with them, There is a term out there that describes the humanizing phenomenon, or the tendency for those close to humans to act human, but I find the argument to be a fallacy. Humans change just as much as the rest of us, but it's less noticeable because humans are every characteristic you see in other species, they are just as economic as the Tesraki, as bureaucratic as the Rundi, as warlike as the the Drev,, and as logical as we are, so we don’t notice when they change, but the greatest trait of a human is their adaptability. Any good human can adapt to survive in any place and with anyone human or otherwise.”

Now that he had some space, he began to walk head down in contemplation, “I have spent a lot of time with humans, perhaps the most time anyone has spent in conglomeration, and I do not regard my change as something to be feared. I regard it as a move towards adaptability, for thousands of years our species has remained in a stagnant state of fear, controlled and crippled by our own need to survive.”

He waved a hand, “How many Vrul are off-planet at this moment?”

Silence for a moment and then, “Close to 100 maybe less.”

“Exactly and what would happen if our planet experienced a catastrophic destabilization, change in weather pattern, gamma burst, literally anything.”

The council shifted nervously.

“I will tell you what would happen. 99.9% of our species would be obliterated in one moment, and those remaining would be unable to bounce back. The bottleneck would send our species into a downward spiral that would end in extinction. In fact that is the least of our worries considering that our habitable zone across this planet is the equator with thirteen cities, a single change in climate could wipe out our whole species.” he turned to Adam, “And what would happen if earth was destroyed?”

The human grimaced, “It would really suck, but there are almost as many humans off world living on Mars, and other settlements that…. Well we could rebuild. Even if our solar system took a nosedive we would still probably have enough people to keep our species going.”

“My point exactly. I have proven the one thing that our species has needed all along. Adaptability. Adam, what did your species do, when things became to cold for them?”

The human shrugged, “We put on a coat, or we made our houses climate controlled. You can live anywhere if you can control the temperature.”

“You hear that, there is no reason we cannot do what they do, to make our species more robust. We have the technology to fly in space, so by nebulon we have the ability to climate control and indoor space. For too long we have been letting our environment and our fear control us. Perhaps it is time to start experimenting with our own survival.”

There was murmuring about the council chamber with the sun growing lower on the horizon and the shadows growing longer.

“I wish to speak as well.”

There was a movement of surprise from the assembled Vrul as the psychologist stepped forward onto the floor.

“Do you know where I was less than two cycles ago?”

More silence.

The creature scuttled over to the window and pointed out at the city, “That bridge there over the river…. No I wasn’t standing on it. I was under it sinking towards my own death.”

Muttering of shock.

The vrul continued to speak raising their voice over the cacophony, “That human and his companions saved my life!” He pointed towards Adam, “As a child they saved my life, and brought me back from something no one yet thought possible.”

Krill and Adam exchanged a shocked glance.

Adam shook his head mouthing, “I did NOT see that coming.”

“When I fully recovered, I dedicated my life to determining the psychological reasoning for why someone would do something so reckless for another person. And the further I dug the more stonewalled I found myself because I was asking the wrong questions, showing so much interest in a topic that was not important, it did not ‘further the species’. In private I found this to be true in almost every field, the systematic suffocation of new ideas, and different thought processes that would lead our species towards more than just survival. Yes, I administered the doctor’s test, and you know what I found”

No one spoke.

“I found NOTHING!”

Looks of confusion.

“Yes he is an alpha and that makes him smart, but he is no different from other alphas, not in any sense. This humanizing phenomenon is the propaganda of fear from those who are not willing to admit that the Vrul are more capable of surviving than we are given credit for. We are being convinced by our own fear that we are weak, and need to protect ourselves where we can. But now aren't we proven that false? We have walked on other worlds, death worlds no less and we are still surviving.” The Vrul spun in a wide circle, “Dr. Krill isn’t different because his curiosity makes him a danger, he was different because he was the the only one who didn’t think to hide it. Here you are sitting here thinking that Vrul don’t secretly publish research, and work on personal projects.” The Vrul barked with laughter, “In fact I bet some of you are guilty of that very same sin. It’s just that you believe you have a species to protect, and that fear has crippled your thought process.”

The council had sat quiet during most of this, but now they began murmuring among themselves, “Are you advocating becoming like the humans?”

Adam stepped in then cutting off the psychologist who was stumbling with their words, “Don’t change yourselves, council. But do not be unwilling to allow in those things that would further or lead to the natural progression of your species. Expand, grow, humor the secret dreams of your people. Don’t model yourself after anyone, but take a lesson in survival from a species that perfected the craft….”

He stepped closer to Krill, and Krill stepped closer to him, a united front.

“Stagnation is your greatest enemy”

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lihikainanea · 5 years

Note

I wonder how Bill begin to call her Tiger.. 🐅 And yeah, Im going to be that paint in the ass person asking to many questions 🙈

there are never too many questions, I LOVE thinking about this kind of stuff! and I basically think about Bill all day long anyway

Aaaand I got carried away again.

Slight trigger warning: very brief mention of domestic abuse.

***

It was your tenacity that had drawn him to you, first. That, and the insane level of fearlessness with which you seemed to live your life. You were small compared to him–everyone was–but you really seemed to have no idea how small you actually were. There was a lot of fire, a whole lot of hell all packed in one neat, tiny package that was topped up with the smartest mouth he had ever heard.

Oh, that smart fuckin’ mouth of yours. It was always getting you into trouble.

There you stood amongst mostly strangers, at a bar night organized by a mutual friend under the occasion of the semi finals of an important football match, and the rarity that quite a few people were actually in town at the same time. Bill had come with his girlfriend at the time, and flanked by a few of his brothers–the even rarer occasion that more than one of them was in the same town at the same time. You were the new kid in the circle of longtime friendships, a friend of a friend of a friend through work, and as he took a long swig of beer he caught you staring.You had known who he was from the get go, but his identity hadn’t saved him from your wrath. Hadn’t even spared him the slightest bit.

You eyed the brothers, all in close proximity to one another, and nudged your friend. You stared Bill right in the eyes, unblinking.

“Anyone check the lock on the giraffe enclosure at the Stockholm zoo?” you asked, “Because I think four of them fuckin’ escaped.”

Bill stared at you wide-eyed, stunned. You took another long swig of beer as you raised your eyebrows in challenge. He composed himself, clearing his throat. He loved a good volley.

“Wow,” he said, “I didn’t realize hamsters had evolved to the point of being able to drink from bottles that weren’t upside down.”

He chugged his entire bottle of beer, depositing it none too gently on the bar top. You eyed him, squinting slightly. He stared back, unflinching, raising his eyebrows in turn.

“Alright,” you yielded, “That one was pretty good.” You raised your bottle in cheers, knocking the rest back.

“What was that?” he cupped his ear.

“Fuck you,” you spat.

“I’m sorry, you’re really going to have to speak up. It’s hard to hear you down there,” he bent his knees, placing his hands on them for emphasis.

“Maybe because the air is too thin up there,” you grumbled, signalling to the bartender for two more beers. You slid one to Bill when they arrived, knocked the bottoms together and drank to a truce.

You’d stuck by him for most of the night after that, making conversation with his girlfriend and arguing over the better football club. You had mercilessly sassed him to within an inch of his life every chance you got, refusing to properly identify him or any of his brothers.You referred to them the whole night as Tall Bill, Taller Bill, Older Bill, and Bill with Darker Hair. You finally only quieted down a bit once the match was under way.

Bill hadn’t known the look, at the time. The still, barely twitching way your features hardened when you were overcome with an emotion–usually anger. Your face never contorted with it the way some would, you just became like stone. It was a look he learned to know well in the years that followed, but as you sat beside him with your eyes trained on the door instead of the screen like his own were, he completely missed it.

“Hey,” you tapped his arm, “can you hold this for a sec?” Without looking away from the screen, he opened his palm and you deposited something light in it. Then, you calmly hopped off your bar stool without saying another word.

His team scored not a few seconds later, and he balled up his fist and pumped it in the air with enthusiasm, but whatever you had placed in his hand stabbed him. Opening his palm, he stared at it in confusion.

Your earrings.

Why would you give him your earrings?

He looked around for you in that moment, spotting you making your way in confident strides over to a group of men who had just come in the bar. You walked right up to the biggest one–one that was easily twice your size in both height and weight–and tapped him on the shoulder. Bill watched, in awe, as the man turned around and you wound your arm back, letting go one of the most solid right hooks he had ever seen.

You knocked the man clean to the ground.

The commotion drew the attention of the bar. You had just grabbed a pool cue, ready to take on the man’s entire group of friends, when Bill sprang to his feet and ran to you. A few of your other friends had jumped in, creating distance between you and the others, but you wouldn’t stop swinging your makeshift weapon and egging them on. Bill had grabbed the stick as it nearly hit him, and threw his other arm around your waist to haul you over his shoulder and out the bar.

You were still yelling, kicking like a hell cat when he brought you to the parking lot and bent to put your feet back on the ground.

“Damnit I HAD him,” you yelled.

“Yeah and you got him, kid. You definitely got him,” Bill said, “Take it easy alright? Just breathe.”

Your face was red with anger, your chest heaving. He stood at attention, letting you pace back and forth front of him, cursing. When your breathing had somewhat evened out, he gently grabbed your elbow. You wrenched out of his grip but didn’t move further away.

“What was that about?” he asked, softly. He noticed, now, the way your jaw clenched, the eerie way your face went blank.

“He hit her first,” you said. The man, Bill would later find out through others, had been the recent ex of one of your friends who had been at the receiving end of his misplaced anger.

Bill nodded solemnly, not pressing for more information.

“Wish I had known that before,” he said, “I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

You just glared at him. He didn’t flinch, holding your gaze. You were almost angry at the sheer amount of compassion you read on his face, in that moment–the compassion, the understanding, and the gentleness. You heaved a final sigh, deep from your gut.

“You got spunk, kid. You’re the size of a kitten but you got the fight of a fuckin’ tiger in you,” he said. He bumped his shoulder into you.

“Gotta punch above your weight in life, Tall Bill,” you shrugged, “you still got my earrings?”

“I left them with my girlfriend when I was trying to stop you from going all Kill Bill on the entire bar,” he said, looping an arm loosely around your shoulder.

“Interesting choice of movie.”

“C’mon, tiger,” he started leading you back to the bar as he saw the other group of men be escorted out, “Let’s get you another beer so you won’t cry on my shoulder when your team loses so fucking spectacularly to mine.”

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post-itpenny · 5 years

Text

Changes

Some mafia AU. Tagging both @clownsgobeepbeep and @grotesquegabby since your characters are mentioned. Also, we get to learn a little about what Magpie used to do for the mafia.

Vespers had heard many a story about Aunt Magpie when she still “worked.”

Magpie has been one of the best contractors in the city. Vespers recalled hearing how she could send a bullet clean through a man’s ear canal from a hundred yards away. That she once had to take out her target in a room full of police, successfully doing so without getting caught and using only a safety pin and a slice of grapefruit.

She was who they sent to take out anyone who needed discretion. High profile members of other gangs, influential people of the city, cleaning house amongst their own ranks. She could create a weapon out of anything and could kill anyone with anything in as quiet and efficient a manner as possible. She was their angel of death.

But the aunt Vespers remembered from his childhood always came home exhausted, bloody, and sad. She had at some point started to hate her job no matter how good at it she was. She was miserable, just as miserable as she was now.

Vespers took one step into the antique shop and flinched at the sight of his aunt. She stood behind the counter gripping a cup of tea, her eyes red and puffy, her white hair had been hastily thrown into a bun. He doubted she had been getting much sleep. Magpie had been devastated upon hearing the news that her brother planned to allow Maggie to be arrested, relieved when she learned someone had sent a lawyer to get her out (someone had also paid for her hospital bills and Vespers suspected that one might not have been the D’Vitts.), but Maggie had been expected to resume working as if nothing had happened. Considering her injuries work wasn’t even an option for the next several weeks. Maggie had been angry and frustrated as she fumbled through one or two jobs before suddenly announcing she was leaving.

When they heard she now worked for the Bluebloods it came as both a surprise and a slap in the face.

Magpie was terrified for her adopted daughter, Peregrine insisting that Maggie not even be allowed to come collect her belongings made it worse.

Vespers ran his hands through his hair as he stomped upstairs into the small apartment his aunt used to share with Maggie, going into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of tea. He couldn’t help but notice a bag sitting in one of the kitchen chairs. He wondered if perhaps his aunt planned to try and bring Maggie some of her belongings but shook his head at the thought. After the bridge stunt the Jester crew had grown quiet, message received.

Almost.

Jack himself had been spotted the next day directly across the street from the shop. The sidewalk was crowded so taking him out was a no, but ever since Magpie was nervous to leave. Peregrine arranging so there was someone guarding the place 24/7.

Vespers gripped the edge of the countertop as he waited for the kettle to boil. He was so angry at Maggie for abandoning them, especially when Magpie needed her the most. But at the same time, could he blame her?

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

In a small but crowded restaurant two men sat talking. Their conversation was hushed, one clearly nervous of being overheard. But there was nothing to fear, families sat around them and the occasional group of coworkers taking a quick lunch. The business they discussed was safe.

Neither man noticed the woman who sat in a nearby corner. No one ever did.

It was something the old woman had taught Maggie, you aren’t noticed if you are not noticeable.

She sat hunched over a cup of tea and a pastry. The redhead looked rather down and out with one arm in a cast and sling, one foot propped up. Not much of a threat at all really.

She took a sip of tea, and listened. It didn’t matter how loud the restaurant was, that was just a matter of tuning out the background noise. So she listened to the nervous man give information that was never meant to be said and Maggie took mental notes that she would have to write down later. She was thankful this job was so easy, Maggie could walk now but too much was painful and she still had another week or so to go in the cast. A small pin could be seen peeking out from under the sling that held up her arm. Black wings on either side of a halo that was designed like thin rays of light. The star at the center a series of broken half circles.

She shifted uncomfortably at the thought of the thistle tattoo that was between her shoulder blades. She was relieved Blueblood didn’t make her get another tattoo, but she was conflicted as what to do about her old one.

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

Vespers was heading out on a job with three of his men. Not having Maggie there to be lookout made him nervous. Her ears had been vital and without her tracking if the police were coming would be a lot harder. His easy days of having a window to get out of trouble were long gone and he didn’t like the change.

He stepped out the antique shop and headed towards the waiting car. Not noticing a little boy slip out the door behind him and go the opposite direction. All Vespers could think was how close this job was going to take him to the edge of D’Vitt territory. Coraline said she was planning to cash in his favor at a later time but the suspense of it still made him uneasy. The thought of possibly running into Stella D’Vitt did not put him at ease either.

Vespers slid into the car with a grumble, “I do not make eyes at him.”

One of the crew looked back at him from the front seat, “sorry boss what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything, now turn around and drive.” Vespers snapped.

It was going to be a long night.

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

It was early evening and a little boy with large glasses entered a tea shop. At one table by the window sat someone who had been expecting him.

“Hiya Atlas how have you been doing?” Maggie asked with a warm smile.

Atlas passed her the bag he had been carrying and climbed into the empty seat at the table. “I’m alright Miss Maggie. Aunt Magpie told me to tell you that there are two sets of clothes, your hair brush, and- and, I’m sorry I didn’t write it down.”

“Its alright bud. I mean I’ll know when I open it yes? How about I order you a sandwich ok?”

Atlas nodded, “do they have grilled cheese?”

Maggie smiled, “I’m sure they do. Now what book are you currently reading four-eyes?”

Atlas chuckled, “mom says you shouldn’t call me that. But I’m reading Sherlock Holmes! It's about this detective and his doctor friend and they solve all kinds of cool crimes and-”

Maggie smiled as she listened to Altas rattling on about his new book. He was so smart and didn’t deserve half the stuff he had to go through via his parents jobs. Vega and Joseph wanted him to go on to university, to get out. She didn’t blame them one bit.

“So can I ask a question?”

Maggie blinked, her thoughts pulled back into focus. “Yeah sure kid what's up?”

“Mom said you and your new boss argued lot whenever he visited. Why work for someone you don’t like? Don’t you like my family anymore?”

Maggie cringed a little, “it's not that Atlas I’m honest. I’m still friends with your parents and Vespers, I care a lot about your aunt. But I didn’t have a place anymore and my new boss is a jerk he really is, but it's good pay.”

“Why is he a jerk? Does he ki-”

“Not here, you know better,” Maggie insisted. “Now I need you to do me a really big favor and take this to your aunt.”

Maggie passed Atlas a small envelope, he could soft yet rectangular contents inside. He gave a firm nod, feeling a sense of pride knowing Maggie trusted him enough to be delivering money.

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

The job went well, they had a close call but the new lookout had proven himself.

Vespers sighed as he entered the manor that served as the family home. He had to shoot at close range and was saddened to see the blood and gore all over his suit.

Juno walked by and gave a smirk, “you look like hell. Hope your boyfriend didn’t catch you like that.”

Vespers grimaced, “I don’t know what your talking about.”

Juno laughed as she walked out the door. Where she was going Vespers had no idea and quite frankly he didn’t care. He went up to his quarters, getting cleaned up before going into the moth room.

It was a section of the sitting room of his area of the house. A tall glass enclosure filled with branches of mulberry leaves, lamps, and a dish of water. Dozens of moths flitted about while growing caterpillars munched away on the provided leaves. On the floor were several empty cocoons, Vespers collected these silken treasures and packed them away. He would send them to be made into silk thread he could then have made into whatever he wanted. He admired the lovely wings of her precious pets, their lives so short but their beauty something even the most stunning of ball gowns could not compare to in his opinion. He sneered, far better than sharks, or the smile of someone related to someone with pet sharks.

Vespers shook his head as if to chase away the thought, he really needed to get some sleep.

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

Maggie entered the cheap motel room she was currently renting. It was far from glamorous but it had a bed and a shower which was what she needed. Maggie was in fact aware of what was happening with Magpie, the plan now was to send as much of the money she earned that she could spare to Magpie who would then go to a realtor and buy a place as far out of the city as possible. Maggie had left her savings with the older woman and while Magpie very much did not like who Maggie now worked for she was not about to turn down an opportunity to get out once and for all. They had arranged things with Joseph and Vega to help with everything, even allowing Atlas to act as go between Maggie and Magpie.

In the bag Atlas had brought was indeed two new sets of clothes and a hair brush. Maggie also found a set of bobby pins, a few packets of tea and-

Maggie gave a small sob. At the bottom of the bag was a brand new boa.

It was beautiful with shiny black feathers that were so soft to the touch. Maggie cringed at the thought of Magpie going into either of their savings to get this for her, but the money could be replaced quickly thanks to her higher paycheck and the sight made her feel just a little more like her old self again.

#mafia au

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cakeandpi · 5 years

Text

‘Resident Justice’

(zombie-au fun times that no one wanted but everyone’s getting.)

---

"What is that?" Kaldur whispered in fascinated horror.

"I don't know." The scientist beside him responded, voice just as soft. They stared at the ... the thing ... in the cage. It hissed at them, seeming to sense them staring despite a distinct lack of eyes. "Do you think it eats?"

"Doesn't everything alive eat?"

"It was dead an hour ago."

They fell silent again as it began pressing against the reinforced glass of the cage walls, hunting. For just what, Kaldur couldn’t say. An escape? Just exploring its surroundings? Whatever it was doing, Kaldur was rather glad it was trapped. It was quite rare to find a creature that genuinely bothered him, but this was... unnatural. For one, rats did not - should not - get back up and start moving after dying. For another, their insides should not be on the outside while they defied death. It was beyond disturbing, and Kaldur had to swallow to keep his lunch down as the not-rat's exploring left behind a smear of green-grey ooze against the glass of its enclosure.

"And all you gave it was ..." Kaldur trailed off, really not wanting to finish the thought.

"Yep." The scientist inhaled sharply and shook himself. "We should report this."

Kaldur nodded slowly, then frowned. "Wait." He could feel the look leveled at him. Kaldur held up a placating hand. "We should do more tests first. Make sure of -"

"Manta said to report the second we had anything." The scientist retorted sharply. "And this -" he gestured at the cage "- is definitely not nothing."

That was true enough. Kaldur spared another glance for the former specimen and shuddered. "We should see if it can be killed again. Give a complete report." He knew he'd made the right suggestion when his companion paused in opening a comm line.

"Does that matter?" Okay, maybe that hadn't been the right suggestion. "This will give us the advantage against Atlantis. And - hey!"

Kaldur hadn't realized he'd been moving until he'd dragged the the scientist out of the chair. "No." Kaldur shook his head. "No, we -"

Pain bloomed in his chest and he staggered backwards. Scientist or not, everyone in Black Manta's crew was a trained fighter, and Kaldur paid the price for forgetting that for a second. Not for the first time, he wished he had backup for this mission, to catch his mistakes. Like that one. "Listen, kid. I get it, you know?" The man straightened, hands in a guard position as if expecting Kaldur to retaliate. "It's not easy, defecting. I did it too."

Apparently Kaldur’s poker face was not as good as he thought, given how the man smiles wryly at him. "What, you thought you were the only one to come over from Atlantis, disillusioned and angry? No, you're not the first, though I admit I was surprised to find out that the boss had a kid.

"But don't think that just cause you're Manta's little boy doesn't mean you get to defy orders." The man stepped forward into Kaldur personal zone, as if to intimidate him with the few extra inches of height he had on Kaldur. "Manta said to report when we had anything that looked like it could be useful against Atlantis. And I know it's hard, turning against the things you grew up with - but you think you'd be over it by now, what with those missions Manta's sent you on.”

“I am.” He says emphatically, not thinking about what he’s done on those missions to prove his ‘defection’. “It is the ethics of using this as a weapon that I question. And it’s origins. Remember that this drug was given to us for use on ourselves. Someone’s trying to eliminate us.”

“All the more reason to report this.” The man eyed him suspiciously, and Kaldur made himself meet his eyes calmly, without any sign of his fear of discovery. And yet he found a finger pointed at his face. “Of course, a mole would stall, wouldn’t they?”

"That is ridiculous." Kaldur spat out automatically, but he could already see arguing would do no good. The man doubted him, and he was recoiling from Kaldur in a way he hadn't recoiled from the impossibly undead rat. It was more than enough that he was doubted, even if his cover hadn’t been truly blown. Yet. The 'how' wasn't important, not right now. What was important was keeping him from spreading such accusations. Kaldur knew he wouldn't be able to ride out such a rumor - it had taken over half a year to work his way into Black Manta's good graces enough to lead missions. He still wasn't trusted enough to be introduced to the group that called itself The Light that Manta was a member of.

The scientist's foot scuffed against the metal floor as he backed away. Kaldur didn't think, only reacted, and it was a matter of seconds before the man was out cold on the floor. Kaldur's hands stung a little from the short struggle.

A hissing snarl from across the room made him look up. The unnatural creature sat in the center of its cage, as if watching him. Kaldur felt his stomach turn again.

This mission had just gotten a lot more complicated.

- - -

The bike’s lights illuminated the road before him as he made his way to the docks. He’d been just settling down to bed when Kaldur had messaged him. Normally they’d have set up a meeting for a few days later. But Kaldur had insisted this had to be right now.

Dick frowned as his comm beeped with an incoming message. “I’m on my way.” He growled, the tiredness in his bones leaving him grouchy.

“How soon? I don’t know how long I will be able to wait.” Dick bit down hard on his impatience. It was unlike Kaldur to call for updates, especially when it had barely been half an hour since his last contact.

“What’s wrong?” Dick prompted, and the choked laugh he got in response sent chills down his spine.

“A lot.”

He had never, even on their worst missions before the team had split apart for good, heard Kaldur rattled, let alone scared. Not even in his nightmares.

“Walk me through it.” Dick tried to keep his own voice calm against the fear in Kaldur’s.

“I don’t think I can. Just - get here soon, okay?”

“Five minutes.” Dick was already going faster than was wise. And if he was speeding up even more, trying to shave off minutes from his trip, well. Something had Kaldur on edge. That never happened. More than enough reason to risk turning himself into road paste.

He made it in under three minutes, shaking from that last corner that he had taken far, far too fast. His family would probably chew him out for days, and rightfully so, if - when - they found out about it. But Kaldur -

Kaldur was already walking up to him, glancing backwards as if nervous. “You being followed?” Dick examined the shadows with a practiced eye - nothing.

“.... No. I do not believe so.” Kaldur sounded slightly more calm than he had over the comm, but there was an almost fragile edge to it. As if he was only calm because he was forcing himself to be. “This way. This is better explained if I show you.” Kaldur beckoned, and Dick found himself double-checking that his eskrima were in place as he followed.

Rounding the corner of a now-defunct warehouse, Dick sucked in his breath at the sight that greeted them. There was a massive hole in the thick wall; from the lack of debris, it was one that had existed for a while now. Rebar stuck out from the edges of the hole; one of them drew his eye. Something that looked like it had once been a body had been planted on one of them. A twisted metal pole jutted out through the chest piece that Black Manta’s soldiers’ wore. By all rights, whatever - whoever - that was should be dead.

But as Dick watched, the body twitched. Hands jerked, uncoordinated but moving. The legs too. And the face -

That wasn’t a human face. Was it? Dick flicked his flashlight on and stepped closer for a better look. A hand darted towards him and he jumped backward, stumbling; a strong grip on his arm steadied him.

“Careful.” Kaldur cautioned, letting him go after a moment.

“What happened?”

“The last supply run, we got a rather unusual delivery. Something that our supplier claimed would give us an ‘undisputed advantage’. Some sort of drug. Manta tasked a few of us to look into what it did, in case it was just some rebranded Venom.” Kaldur said as Dick circled the body from a distance. “We experimented on a few rats. It did… things to them.” Kaldur gestured at the body. “He wanted to report that immediately. I attempted to stall, but that turned into accusations of being a mole. We fought, and after I subdued him I got in contact with you to set up a meeting. I had meant to tie him up, let you and Batman take him into custody.” Dick nodded, frowning as the head of the body seemed to track him as he walked around it.

“How’d that turn into this?”

“He fought back.” Kaldur shrugged when Dick glanced at him. “I can be surprised, Dick. But he got some of that drug on him during the struggle, and, well.”

“So you staked him?” That seemed excessive, especially for Kaldur.

“As a last resort. Dick, even Venom-users don’t keep moving after being stabbed through the heart.”

“Venom users also still look human. If abnormally bulked out.” Looking around, Dick found a length of two-by-four. Picking it up, he prodded the body. It reacted violently, grabbing the wood and breaking off the end. Kaldur pulled Dick backwards away from the body which was now armed with a foot of splintered wood.

“I still have a sample of the drug. I can spin a tale to throw off Manta, but this came from somewhere. I can give you details on the supplier, but I doubt they are also the manufacturer.”

“And you want us to track down who that is?”

“Yes.”

- - -

"So you think this person’s, what, immune?" Dick leans over Zatanna's chair, eyes intent on the papers scattered across the table in front of her. They feature mostly security footage stills of one person, blond hair braided and coiled around their head, always wearing a stylized orange mask. The actual report on what’s known about them is two pages. Two short pages.

"Possibly. I'm trying not to jump to conclusions without anything concrete." Zatanna tugs on a bit of her hair, trying to ignore the warm hand Dick rests on her shoulder. It's easier than usual because of Wally's presence. He's not exactly sulking, per se, but he's definitely unhappy to be here and not even trying to hide it. That's fine with her, as long as he doesn't try to start shit. Again. He hasn't said a word to her yet, had merely nodded at her curtly as he followed Dick inside and then did his best to become one with a corner of the room. Compared to some past exchanges with him, this was almost pleasant.

"At the bare minimum, they have skills we could use. But look -" she flips open a folder, and hands a handful of pictures to Dick. "That's from before the latest sightings. No changes since."

Dick grunts. "They wear a mask, though. And the newest strain exhibits only facial deformities when not further agitated."

"True." Zatanna watches as Dick takes the pictures over to Wally, who glances at them and grunts. Her shoulder feels cool now that Dick’s not there to warm it; she busies herself with straightening up the table to keep herself from rubbing her shoulder. "But it’s not like they’re living a sedentary life, Dick. Records show that they’ve been a mercenary, and a highly successful one at that, for almost three years now, and those” - she gestures at the pictures in his hands - “are from a month ago. You don’t get fame like they’ve got by just sitting on your ass. They’ve been out there, fighting. If they were infected, they should have shown signs by now. And besides, most of our own wear masks anyway.”

"Domino masks."

"I don't." Wally mutters from his corner. Zatanna purses her lips and reminds herself that she is twenty-two years old, has been on her own since she was fourteen, and that she needs to be the more mature one here. That doesn't make it easy to not roll her eyes.

"Anyway," and if her voice is louder than strictly necessary, who cares? "The point is that whenever we haven’t been sure in the past, we've always gone by behavior and observation."

"Hm." Dick flips through the pictures. "There's been no changes in their actions?"

"No more than there's been in Wally's."

She can hear Wally shift uncomfortably in the corner, and for all that she wishes he weren't here, she does feel a little bad for bringing that up. More than a little, actually. But what happened to him, then or after, hadn’t been her fault. Not alone, at least, and she’s tried to make up for it since.

Dick merely grunts in response, ignoring Wally, a sign that he's thinking hard. "Well, either they're infected and its affecting them incredibly slowly, or they're actually immune. Either way, we could study that."

"Study?" Wally asks harshly.

Dick’s head snaps up from the photos. “Not like that.” Wally’s glaring at him, eyes bright and nostrils flared. “Never like that.”

Zatanna nods in silent, firm agreement. Yes, it had been her and Dick that had left him there - but Wally had been the one to suggest it in the first place. Wally had needed a safe place to rest and recover - and to be isolated, just in case his brush with one of the infected became… worse. Where better than Star Labs? How were they to know it had been anything but that, when the times they’d visited Wally hadn’t said a thing about it, not even in coded messages to Dick?

But given all that he’d been through, it stood to reason that Wally would be just the littlest bit prickly about anything that even hinted at more of ‘human science project’.

After a long moment, Wally nods, visibly relaxing from angry back to ‘I’m only here because I have to be’ moody. Only then does Dick relax too.

"We wouldn't do that, you know that, Wall-man."

"I know." The redhead shifts, shoving himself slightly more upright against the wall. "Just -" His mouth twists and he shrugs. "Some would."

"Yeah. Some would." Dick agrees. "Which is why you’re here. What do you think about finding this person before those who would do that?" He holds out a photo to Wally. “Think you can do it?”

The redhead takes the offering gingerly, holding it by the corner between thumb and forefinger. “Do you think the sky’s blue? Of course I can find this person. But then what? They’re a mercenary, right? They'll want something in return for cooperating with us.”

“Money’s usually a fair bet.” Dick shrugs casually. “Don’t be surprised if they ask for a few grand just for cooperating for a day or two.”

Wally’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead. “A few thousand? For a day? How good is this person anyway?”

“Good enough that the Markovian Freedom Army tried recruiting them.” Zatanna pulls a report out of the folder and brings it over to Wally. “The MFA’s rates vary a bit, but the average is, at minimum, a grand a day when there’s fighting. Not counting bonuses.”

Wally whistles low. None of them state the obvious - there hasn’t been peace in Markovia in years. Or that the so-called ‘freedom army’ had a distressing tendency to chew through its mercenaries like gum. “You said tried?”

“Yeah. They’re working with them, through a secondary group currently calling itself the Hawks, but otherwise they’re a solo act. The Hawks are an independent group, and work for the current highest bidder that’ll take them. Anyway. Our mystery person has so far been working in parallel to the Hawks and the MFA. The pay is higher as a solo, technically, if you don’t take into account all the extra expenses.” Zatanna taps on the desk idly. “That said, I’m still not convinced that money is this person’s true motivator. Otherwise they’d still be back in Bialya - the pay there for mercs is far, far higher.”

Dick shrugs. “I don’t disagree, but it’s not like they’re about to just up and offer to help us solely out of the goodness of their hearts. Just be prepared for them to ask for a lot of money - liquid cash or otherwise - for helping out. And for them to be on guard and suspicious about your intent.”

Wally grins. “Good thing I’m good at talking to people then. Did your research turn up a name for this ‘might be the key to saving the world’ person, or am I going to have to pay them for that as well?”

“It did, though it’s just a codename. Tigress.”

Once they’ve settled the rest of the details, Dick leaves. Zatanna raises an eyebrow as Wally lingers, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if uncomfortable. “Something for you?”

Wally’s mouth twists as if he’s bitten into something sour. “I’m sorry, about, well. How I acted. Been acting. For blaming you for what happened with Artemis.”

Zatanna sucks in a surprised breath. “Wally -” She starts, about to tell him to not worry about it. Except, well. It’s been almost ten years, since Artemis disappeared and Wally put the entire blame on her. And he’s only now apologizing. What is she supposed to do with that?

“Anyway.” He rubs the back of his head, and it strikes her that this is just as awkward for him as it is for her. “I’ll, uh, be going then?”

“Wally.” He freezes with his hand on the doors. “Thank you. And - I’m sorry too. For, you know.” She makes a vague gesture with her hands, even though he’s turned away and can’t see it.

He exhales heavily. “That’s - it’s fine, you know? Don’t blame you or Dick for that.” He doesn’t have to say most of the time; Zatanna hears it anyway. “You guys didn’t know.”

“We should’ve paid more attention.”

Wally snorts and turns to give her a lopsided smile. “Well. Maybe one day we can laugh about it and everything?”

“That would be nice.” She smiles at him in return, watching as he leaves. Only once the door has latched behind him does she let the smile drop.

- - -

There’s always some non combatant tag-alongs hanging around wherever they set up base. Most of them are someone trying to make a buck somehow or another, be it goods and services… or more physical, intimate versions of the same. Less often it’s people who think hanging around mercenaries will be safer than elsewhere. Or here to sign their souls up for the ‘glory’ of battle.

Tigress strides past all these people as she makes her way to this week’s base of operations. She ignores all of their calls; the glory hunters will find their way into battle soon enough, and the ones seeking protection won’t be any safer for her acknowledging them. As for the vendors -

She sidesteps a woman who thrusts a basketful of food in her direction. Tigress gives her a discouraging scowl as she passed by. The fighting had caused prices to skyrocket, especially for food as fresh as the woman had proclaimed it to be. But the prices were too low for that to be true… that or the food was laced with energy boosters. Not uncommon, for all that it made everything taste like garbage.

She knew most of those around her swore by the boosters. And sure, they’d keep a person awake for thirty hours, but then there’s the crash and the shaking and the hunger for more. And worse, if the supplier wasn’t reputable - and often they weren’t. She’s seen it often enough that she doesn’t want to touch the chemical mix, be it through a needle and vial or laced in her food.

Besides, she already has a stash of fresh apples in her gear here at this temporary base. Or she should - if those apples are gone she’s going to take it out on someone’s face. She stamps her way into the base and upstairs, to where she had left a meager amount of belongings she could bear being parted with, if she had never made it back. She snorts - the likelihood of being unable to return and being alive were astronomically small. And yet she can’t imagine dying.

A voice calls out from behind her, and she turns to see one of her associates. “Tigress! We’re celebrating downstairs, wanna join in?” Tigress shakes her head at Sienna.

“Gonna get some rest while we’ve got a break.” Grabbing her pack, she reaches in and fishes out an apple. “Besides, the rest would riot over these beauties.”

“More like grumble that it’s not meat.” Sienna glances furtively to the side, as if checking the short hallway for eavesdroppers. Tigress pauses just as she’s about to bite into her apple, watching them. “Hey,” Sienna says low, conspiratorially when there’s no one there. “Trade you some cheese for one of those?”

Tigress blinks, mouth salivating. She hasn’t had cheese in a long while. “Done.” The trade’s done quickly, and Sienna tucks the two apples she bartered away and hidden.

“My group managed to snatch up a couple of SABA’s resupply trucks. Would cut you in on a bigger share of the goods - your work’s better than most solo acts we pick up - but my team would riot, you being separate and all.” It’s not the first time Sienna has tried to recruit her, and it’s not the first time Tigress has declined.

“It’s good.” Tigress waives aside Sienna’s vague offer to join their little group. “Like the front-line action I get.”

“Suit yourself.” Sienna shrugs and leaves to join the party downstairs, already going strong, from the sound of it.

Tigress flips her mask up and sits, leaning back against the wall as she takes a large bite of cheese. Savoring the taste - it’d been too long - she pulls out her knife and cuts off a generous bit of apple. Popping that into her mouth and chewing, she lets herself relax a little bit as laughing shouts filter their way upstairs.

For the moment, the fighting had lulled, though there’s still the occasional crack of a gun now and then. Even the MFA, which had had months to entrench themselves here, had been forced to pull back to lick their wounds and regroup. Which gave the Hawks, the group she’d been working alongside this past month, a chance to rest. Or party, as the case may be.

It had been a decent month. But that had been before the SABA had decided to ‘intervene’ in the fighting, and before the MFA had decided to change their tactics. Tigress didn’t much care if the Markovia Freedom Army ‘restored’ Markovia’s royalty or not - personally she doubted that was their true intent. But money made traveling easier, and at the time the MFA had not been using bioweapons. So it had seemed simple enough - she was mercenary for hire, and the MFA and the Hawks needed solo acts to go where they couldn’t.

Of course, now that the quasi-military ‘Surface-Atlantis Bioterror Alliance’ group - stars what a mouthful - had shown up, the MFA had decided since they were being accused of using bioweapons, to go ahead and use them. Which was so dumb it made Tigress’s head hurt in a way she hadn’t dealt with in years, back in a different lifetime where she had argued about the existence of magic with one of the most insufferable boys she’d ever met.

Which meant it was about time to pack up and leave. She has just about enough saved up to get back to the states, weapons and all. So a few days more, and she would be out of here. In the meantime, she has to stay alive long enough to actually leave. And the battles would be back underway before nightfall. So she intends to spend what time she could actually resting. Her apple and cheese finished, she’s thinking about stretching out for a nap when she picks up on the sound of running, harried footsteps.

There’s no shouting from downstairs either.

Slamming her mask back down, she’s back on her feet in one fluid movement. She keeps her hand low, flicking her knife up and out of sight between her wrist and torso. Seconds later, the source of the footsteps appears in the doorway facing her.

“Did you take any?” Tigress stares at the figure, overprotected against the chill in a beige fur-lined jacket and dark pants. With the jacket’s hood flipped up, she can’t pick out much of a face, but she sees a flash of red fabric under it. There’s no insignia she can pick out, no identifying marks, which means that this person is either a spy or unaffiliated. Either way, they mean trouble.

“Did you take any?” The person - man? The voice is low but so’s Sienna’s - repeats, voice raspy.

“Take what?” Tigress growls. She adjusts her grip on her knife, so that when they inevitably drew closer she’d be ready. “You looking for goods, hit up the vendors outside. They’ll be happy to take your money. I don’t do trade.” Not with unknowns, she doesn’t add.

The stranger lets out a frustrated sigh. “Any food. You -” They pause. Tigress frowns as their head moves from her general direction to something to her side. Shifting, keeping the stranger in sight, she turns to find a member of Sienna’s crew standing in room’s other entrance. From the scar on their neck, Tigress thinks she remembers this one goes by Carver.

There’s something off about Carver’s stance, though. Tigress jerks a nod at him as she tries to work out just what is wrong.

The answer comes in the form of a snarl and attack. Tigress dodges sideways as Carver lunges, eyes wild. Pivoting, Tigress kicks out and sends him slamming back into a wall. “What’s your damage?” Tigress growls. In her peripheral vision, she can see the stranger’s standing in the same place, rooted in spot and eyes wide. Shit, were they one of those pacifist types, here to tell anyone who wasn’t outright hostile to them about how some off-key singing around a campfire would solve all the world’s problems?

There’s no time to wonder about that, as Carver straightens up and his face … changes. The skin of Carver’s forehead shifts and splits and bleeds. Something eyeball-like rises out of the mess, rotating and rolling as if disoriented.

Oh, fuck.

“Oh man, that is so gross.” The stranger murmurs. Carver’s - what used to be Carver’s - eyes, all five of them, old and new, focus on the stranger.

Tigress sheathes her knife - no sense in losing it to an infected’s rotting flesh - and moves as Carver lunges anew. She jams her open palm up against Carver’s face, and she feels what ought to have been cartilage squish under the heel of her hand like so much soft, rotting fruit. At the same time, she sweeps out with one leg, sending him crashing to the floor. Reaching up, Tigress unsheathes the sword at her back and plunges it downward into Carver’s chest.

Carver twitches twice before suddenly stiffening and the tell-tale sudden tightening and cracking off of skin. Unlike seconds earlier, there’s barely any blood from this wound; what little there is barely runs, almost instantly coagulating. Tigress waits for a long moment for any sign of movement. When there’s none besides Carver’s skin cracking like old concrete, Tigress rests a boot on his chest and reclaims her sword. His chest only gives a little bit under her.

A glance shows that the stranger is still in the doorway. “You should leave.” She tells them. The stranger has no obvious weaponry, and if their instinct is to stay put when even just one of the infected is attacking, well, they won’t stay human themselves for long.

“You’re Tigress, right? Nice name.” Tigress pauses in the middle of wiping off her blade.

“And?” She raises an eyebrow, hoping they get to the point soon. Where there’s one infected, there’s usually more, and she does not like that she can’t hear any sounds - be it party or fighting or sex or anything - from downstairs.

“You could be the key to saving the world.” The stranger gives her a brilliant smile and pulls down the hood of their jacket. The red fabric she glimpsed earlier covers their head, and her heart jumps at the sight of that mask. “The Flash, at your service.” He bows elaborately.

The Flash. The Flash, in the flesh, right before her. Excitement leaps along her veins - a living Leaguer - before she gets ahold of herself. The League’s no more, dissolved years ago, most of its members either infected or presumed dead. And anyone could put on a mask and call themselves whatever they wanted. That’s what a good half of the mercenaries she’s worked with over the years do. And the actual Flash shouldn’t have just stood there like so much fresh meat as one of the infected attacked.

Tigress frowns. But before she can challenge ‘Flash’ on their claim, more infected appear in the doorway Carver had come in from. “Better save ourselves first, though.” The Flash says, sounding almost cheerful, and she inhales as a red-beige-and-black blur crosses the room and weaves in and among the infected. Okay, maybe that actually is the real Flash. Only a speedster can move like that.

In the blink of an eye, the infected are no longer a threat, their misshapen bodies hardening in a final death. “There’s more down that hallway,” the Flash says as he zips back into the room. “And probably the way I came in too. Gonna be a real mess to fight through.”

Tigress shakes her head, already pulling open a hatch on the wall she’d been resting against moments ago. “Afraid of the dark?” She asks flippantly as she lifts herself into the chute the hatch had covered. She doesn’t look to see if the Flash follows her down - she hopes he does; it’d be a chance to get some answers about, well, everything - but her own skin comes first. Keep moving, keep breathing, keep living.

The mantra is an old friend, one that’s kept her alive over these past few years. She’s not about to abandon it at the first sign of hope that not all of the League - and maybe even not all of the team she’d once known - has been destroyed. That there might be someone with some leads on where her family’s gone. But that will have to come later, when there’s less of a chance of running into infected.

Which means getting out of the watery, dimly lit tunnel the chute deposits her in. The landing jars her a little, but she’s moving as soon as she’s not falling - she can hear the whispering rush of cloth above her. Soon enough, the Flash lands where she was. “Steady,” Tigress growls, putting a hand out before the Flash can pitch face-first into the water. The second he’s regained his balance, she pulls away and moves towards the stairs she’s spotted.

“So, you do this often?”

Tigress hisses for the Flash to be quiet, ignoring the part of her screeching that she was shushing a Leaguer. It wasn’t as if the League existed anymore.

“It was just a question.”

“Look.” Artemis draws upright as they reach the foot of the metal (which meant echoes, which meant noise, which meant target) stairs. “Right now? Really not the time for idle chitchat.” She waits as he inhales sharply, thinks better of it, and closes his mouth with a click. “Good. Now, this way. Quietly.”

She half considers asking the Flash to use his superspeed to get them out of here. But they’d need a safe place for him to catch his breath - at least, if his powers work anything like Wally’s. Her heart pinches tight - it’s been years since she thought about him. Vague memories of Bialya and that dry desert heat press against her, but she shakes her head, as if she can shoo them away like flies.

“Something up?” The Flash is, thankfully, quieter than he’d been before.

She can’t tell him she was wondering if his sidekick still lives. So she ignores the question and ghosts up the last few steps, barely daring to take a breath. Signalling for silence, she listens for a long, long moment. She can hear distant shouting, the echoing report of gunfire, and grumble of diesel engines. Sounds that she’s become accustomed to having as constant companions in recent years. But it’s all distant and far away. Which could only mean that the rest of the Hawks had noticed the outbreak in their den … or had been overwhelmed by it.

She really hopes it’s not the second. She had liked Sienna.

Gesturing for the Flash to follow, she darts out of the doorway of the stair landing to a fresh shadow. And another and another. Then she’s trying to make herself as one with the shadows as possible as a group passes. It’s a mixed group of Hawks and MFA mercs, from the arm patches she spots, but their faces - well. She probably would have recognized some of them once.

It takes the better part of an hour to work their way past groups of infected. The sheer amount of them leaves her uneasy - there was no way this was from the MFA simply mishandling the bioweapons it’s turned to using. And it couldn’t be the Hawks - they eschewed that sort of tactic as thoroughly as the SABA. But something must have happened, for it to spread so widely with no outcry. And with the buildings here being more rabbit-warren than defensible outposts, Tigress would prefer to go undetected rather than risk her skin in a bloodbath.

Speaking of, the building currently sheltering them would be their best bet to talk for a good bit, seeing as it only had two exits - or three, if one counted the windows overlooking the cliffside.

“Three hundred grand. That’s to start with, and covers all of my services. Another three hundred when this’s all done and over with. As for weaponized infected - those start at two grand each. More for the bigger nasties.”

Her neck prickles at the feeling of Flash staring at her. She doesn’t look, instead peering out through the small, cramped window at the far side of the canyon, trying to see if the SABA camp on the other side has noticed anything odd on this side. There’s some vague activity, but nothing that looks like preparations for immediate battle. Not from this distance, at least.

“I’m not… hiring you?”

Tigress does glance back at that. “Then what? Just doing some sightseeing? This is kind of a war zone, you know. Didn’t think the Flash was the morbid type like that.”

He shifts uncomfortably, looking down at his feet. “Actually. I’m, uh, here for your blood.”

She blinks. Then straightens and turns to stare at him. “My what.” She says flatly.

He grimaces and looks up at her. “Some… associates… of mine have been interested in you. And your tendency to walk out of infected areas,” he gestures towards the direction they’d come from, “alive and still human. We would like to, well, study your blood. See if you’ve got some sort of special immunity or something going on. With your permission, of course”

That was not at all what she’d been expecting. She focuses on the first thing she can think of, trying to stall for time to think. “Associates? Kind of vague, don’t you think?” Gods, was this even the same Flash that Wally had worked with? Wally had mentioned once about getting his powers in some sort of science experiment - what if this person had done the same thing and was just claiming the Flash’s title?

He must have picked up on her uneasiness because the Flash holds up his hands placatingly. “Even you must have noticed that those were different from your average infected, right? Usually they’re slow, uncoordinated, and while the body is usually distorted from the infection it’s not so… dramatic.” Tigress nods reluctantly. “We have a new, fresh virus outbreak on our hands. You heard about what happened to Gotham, or Star City, years ago?”

She hadn't been to Star City, ever, but she had seen the remains of Gotham, up close and personal. Her mother’s apartment… Tigress presses her lips into a thin line. “Massive outbreaks. Both of them quarantined and razed - didn’t get rid of all the infected, though.” At least Gotham hadn't been bombed, just… burned. And had been given time, albeit paltry, to evacuate beforehand.

“Analysis from those incidents point to a particular virus strain. No actual cure, not yet, but we can at least immunize against that one, for the most part. And there’s a particular way infection from that virus takes place. But this, here? This is different. The people I’m working with - Nightwing? No? Uh, maybe you’ve heard of Red Arrow?”

“Jackass.” Tigress says on automatic before she can quite stop herself.

That startles a laugh out of the Flash. “He certainly is, sometimes, isn’t he? Anyway. We’d heard whispers of a new virus strain, but nothing for certain that it wasn’t from some failed vaccine experiments not working out. Until now, that is. I was trying to find you and secure your help, in case of a new outbreak, but seems like I was a little slow on that point.”

Tigress folds her arms and stands back, taking a long look at this person calling himself the Flash. She’d never had a chance to meet the actual Flash, only heard Wally talk admiringly about him and seen clips of him on the news. This person doesn’t quite match up with memory, but the broad smile is familiar, if a bit more self-deprecating than she thought she remembered.

Well. It’s not as if she’s the same person she used to be either. At one time she would have laughed, outrageously, at the idea of a zombie apocalypse. And now she's doing her best to survive it.

“Okay.”

“Really? That's great!”

“Eighty million.” She suppresses the urge to grin as the Flash’s face contorts into abject dismay. “Cash. Not negotiable. That will get you one pint of my blood - no more, no less.”

“What’re you going to do with that much money?” The Flash says weakly.

Tigress raises an eyebrow, not that he can see that under her mask. “None of your business. You might have been part of the League once, but the League’s gone, and staying alive has gotten expensive. You want my blood that badly, you'll pay up.” That, or he'd try to take it without her cooperation. In which case he truly wasn't the Flash and she'd have zero compunctions about stopping that particular charade for good.

“All right. I’ll need to run it by Nightwing first, but assuming he’s okay with that - we’ve got a deal.”

“And you can’t do that now because…?”

He digs out a cell from his jacket pocket and holds it up. “No signal.”

Tigress barks a laugh despite herself. “Damn. Zombie apocalypse and we’re still stuck with finding out who can hear us now.”

The Flash grins. “If we can get over to the SABA base, I can get a boost off their communication lines. And also get us a ride out of here.”

“Sounds good.”

Deal struck, Tigress gives her gear a once-over and makes sure everything’s strapped into place. Then she signals for the Flash to follow her once more.

#cake and writing tag #young justice #yj #artemis crock #artemis #kid flash #wally west #aqualad #kaldur'ahm #kaldur #dick grayson #nightwing #zombie au #(if you can guess which zombie game this bears resemblance to then congrats! you win an entire internets!)#also listen idk if there's actual canyons in markovia BUT #just go with it okay?

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flamingjets · 5 years

Text

Before Newt knew someone was in his case with him all his creatures sensed it first. They all of a sudden got anxious and their behaviors changed to ones of defense and fear. Newt got the hint almost too late as his zouwu stood up tall and roared as Newt spun around and got tackled to the ground.

The stranger punched Newt in the face as Newt tried to go for his wand but realized it had got loose from his holder on his pants and spun out of reach. The stranger got on top of Newt and started going at him as Newt attempted to defend himself with both arms in front of his face as his brother taught him. The niffler got on top of the strangers head and it was enough for Newt to grab a clay pot to his right and smash it against the strangers head. Newt rolled out from underneath the person that Newt figured out to be male as he got a better look while diving for his wand. Newt noticed that his creatures had been magically forced to stay put which is why they couldn't get away (thankfully) or help defend him. Newt sent a spell toward the stranger as it was deflected away and he ran toward Newt and both of them fell into the kelpie water enclosure.

Outside of Newt's case Theseus knocked on his brothers apartment door hoping his brother was home this time since knowing Grindelwald was out there and Newt refusing to be an auror Theseus was more concerned about his brother then he knew he should be and Newt would of course tell him "Theseus I'm fine. I'm not that exciting or important to Grindelwald. He has bigger and better things to go after than me." That's what Newt would tell Theseus as he would shrug and walk away. Newt didn't answer the door so Theseus assumed his brother wasn't home until he had a strange feeling something was off with his brothers door. He could hear scratching coming from the other side. Theseus took out his wand as he tries his brothers door only to realize it was unlocked. He opened the door slowly and as soon as the door was opened even a little bit Newt's demiguise jumped on him and point s toward his brothers case that was sitting in th floor open!

Newt never left the case open even when he was inside it. Theseus knew immediately something was wrong. He put down the demiguise magically locked the door and out a protection spell around the apartment making sure no creatures escaped as Theseus ran to the case and jumped in. Theseus landed inside and rolled into a defensive position just in case someone sent a spell at him. Merlins beard the place was a mess. A fight happened in here and the creatures were all freaking out. Where was Newt?! "NEWT! Newton where are you?!" Theseus yelled as he looked in each enclosure for his brother freaking out more and more when his brother was no where to be found. Alll of a sudden Pickett the bowtruckle was on his shoulder pointing frantically toward Newt's new enclosure for his new creature the kelpie. Theseus ran toward it and saw the kelpie swimming in circles around one area, it appeared it was being forced to remain there. In another corner Theseus saw two people in the water struggling with each other. "Newt!" Theseus removed his coat and without hesitation jumped into the water.

Swimming as fast he could toward the two other people Theseus saw his brother get punched several times and from the looks of it the last hit knocked him ou as the other unknown male kicked him in the chest and away from him. The stranger grabbed Newt and appeared to be dragging him to the surface until he noticed Theseus swimming toward them and before he could grab his wand Theseus threw a spell toward him separating the stranger from his brother and thrusting the stranger upwards. Theseus removed the spell from the kelpie as it raced toward Newt and brought him to the surface. Theseus pushed to the surface and once again attacked th strange with another spell. The strange threw a spell at him which caused the water in front of him to erupt the stranger apparated away and out of the case.

Theseus swam back to the entrance to the enclosure as the kelpie got Newt on solid ground and disappeared beneath the water. Theseus pulled himself up and raced to his brother to check him. He preformed CPR on his brother and Newt coughed up the water in his lungs and rolled to his side. Theseus grabbed his brother and held him on his lap and he lowered his head to Newt's whispering to himself more than his brother "you're ok your are ok." Newt grabbed his brothers arm with both hands as he took deep breaths as he shook slightly from his near drowning. Letting go of his brothers arm Newt rolled to his knees and grabbed his brothers shoulders as Theseus placed his hands on Newt's shoulders. "Thee I've never been so happy to see you in my case ever!" Newt softly told his brother sincerely. He doesn't want to think of what could of happened if Theseus hadn't shown up. Nothing good he suspects. As they both got to their feet they cast a quick drying spell as they both looked around the area. "That guy got into my case before I even knew he was here. My creatures figured it out first and I was a step too slow to realize it before the guy attacked me. He put a spell on them to prevent them from moving." Newt explained to his brother as the containment spell was removed. Newt expected his brother to be angry with Newt not being careful and letting his guard down but Theseus appeared not to be angry but concerned. ''Newt I know you will hate this idea but you apartment is no longer safe. I want you to come stay at my place in the guest house and I promise I won't intrude or show up all the time to check on you. But I would feel better if you were there.'' Theseus said while trying not to make it sound like an order. It was his baby brother and he wanted to protect him from this happening again. Newt's response surprised him even more. ''You're right it's no longer safe here. I will stay in your guest house but you have to agree not to be overly protective and just show up unless you have a good reason too. Also can you get me my traveling permits?" Newt looked at his brother with the last question hoping he could get them for him. "Agreed I won't stop by without reason and I don't have the power to get you your travel permits but I can get you a portkey so you can leave without being noticed." That was the best he could do. Newt smiled widely and grabbed his case from the table and grabbed his jacket as they apparated away from the building.

From a nearby roof the intruder watched the Scamander brothers disappear knowing Grindelwald wouldn't be happy knowing Newt had gotten away. All of a sudden a person appeared beside him and before he knew it he was taken out in a flash of light. Dumbledore lowered his wand looking at the spot the Scamander brothers apparated from. It was getting harder and harder to protest newt from Grindelwald followers and it appeared the time had come for Dumbledore to have a private meeting with his favorite magizoologist.

#fantastic beasts #newt scamander #theseus scamander

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aria-i-adagio · 5 years

Text

This Body Breathes From Inertia

Fandom: The Arcana

Wordcount: 4100

Masterpost

Trigger warnings: minor character death, acute grief, self harm, excoriation, dissociation

Five years ago. The Red Plague.

“You did everything you could. Literally, I, uh, couldn’t have done anything else.” The doctor was young, only a few years older than me, and skinny as a bean pole and with the slightest hint of an accent when he spoke the trade language. Shouldn’t say that. Everyone had an accent when they spoke the trade language. That was the point of a trade language. He had a faint non-Vesuvian accent when he spoke the trade language.

He wasn’t wearing one of those ghastly masks. Thank God for that - if God still deserved thanks. I was more in a mood to lay into God with every invective I knew. Anna, my aunt, hated those masks. Claimed they wouldn’t do much more than just covering your mouth with a kerchief anyway. In the three weeks since her eyes started turning red, I had burnt every kerchief in the house and then given up entirely, assuming that I’d sicken soon enough anyway.

“I’m sorry.” He took a tiny vial out of his bag and offered it to me. “Laudanum. It might help if she’s in pain, but only give her a drop or two at a time. Anymore will -”

“I have opium.” I cut him off. I’m a fucking apothecary; of course, I have opium. And the implication behind carefully stating just how much would be too much, well, I understood that as well. “And if I decide that she’d want me to end it, I can think of at least five other admixtures I have the ingredients for that would do the job as well. Keep that for someone else. It won’t be very long now anyway.”

He put the bottle back in his bag, talking quietly as he does so, perhaps just to fill the silence as it’s all common knowledge. “The carts come round in the morning. I know, if seems awful, but the mass graves, they’re the best way to minimize the contagion being passed on. You should burn all that bedding too.”

I nodded absently and continued stroking the back of my aunt’s hand, counting the seconds between each increasingly shallow breath. It didn’t seem awful; it was awful. But he was right. Even if the quarantines and the dead wagons - carting off the deceased like so many cattle - have down nothing thus far, they were the best of multiple bad options.

“Hey, do you, um, have anyone else? Someone to help you, maybe.”

The doctor touched my shoulder, bringing me back from my grim musings. I looked up at him, paying attention to his face for the first time. Gray eyes, nearly lost in dark circles - he didn’t look like he’d slept more than I had in the past few weeks. Friends? I felt too empty to even think of myself as the type of thing that could have anything, much less friends. There was Artemis, but she had been trying carefully to avoid the plague victims as much as she could. It was too easy for her to spread the contagion to already vulnerable women and infants. But I wanted Asra with me most. “He’s traveling right now.” I twisted the ring Asra gave me before he left - two trips ago, maybe, they blur together, he often seems like he’s gone more than he’s here - around on my finger. He was supposed to return soon and bring with him some of the rarer herbs and medicines that we didn’t stock, that we hoped would do some more good for the plague than what we had tried some far. But, he was too late. As usual. Always running late.

The doctor frowned, rummaged around in the pockets of his coat, and then handed me an unlabeled glass flask. “For you. Not officially approved, but it takes the edge off.”

I gave him a skeptical look. This was not the sort of thing I expected from someone in ‘professional’ medicine. But, what the hell? I uncorked the bottle and took a swig, managing not to make a face as the liquor burnt its way down into my stomach. My second drink was slower. “It’s not bad. I like a drink to bite me back, at least a little bit. What is it?”

“Slivovitsa - plum brandy. My grannies swear by it for basically everything. Not that this is as good as theirs.”

I held the flask back out to him, but he shook his head.

“Keep it.”

Another cough racked Anna’s frail body - weaker than the last. Any strength she had left to try and clear her lungs was fading fast. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and rearranged the pillows behind her so that she’s a bit more upright. Once she’s settled, I held a shallow cup of water to her cracked lips and blotted away what she doesn’t drink - most of it, probably all of it - with a square of cloth. Another for the burning pile.

When I look up, the doctor was still watching me with those exhausted gray eyes. There weren’t a lot of sad eyes left in Vesuvia; we’d all become too acclimated to pain and death to show any response on our jaded faces. But his eyes were curiously, somehow, still melancholic.

“You can go. I know you can’t do anything.”

“I, uh, I’ll stop by tomorrow. To check on you.”

“You don’t have to. We all know how this ends.”

“I will anyway.”

***

A few hours past midnight, her eyes blinked open for a moment, then with a final rattling cough, she died. I convinced myself that she had looked at me, and faintly, ever so very very faintly, had squeezed my hand. Maybe it really happened, maybe it was a figment of my sleep deprived imagination. But believing it made me feel a little better.

I arranged her limbs into something that vaguely looked peaceful, surrounded her with flowers we had dried the past summer - chamomile, lavender, and rose - and knotted the bedsheets into a shroud. Finally, I gathered her up in my arms, using magic to steady my self on the steps, but taking her diminished weight on myself, sure that I needed to do this last task for her on my own. Some final, last acknowledgement who she was to me, since I couldn’t bury her properly.

When dawn came with the wagons to collect the dead, I pacing in front of the shop, shawl pulled tight against the cool air that passes for winter in the Vesuvian climate, and counting the cobblestones in the street to try to keep the roaring in my head at bay. As the wagon pulled away, the roaring terminated, and I slumped back against the door of the shop, knees no longer able to bear my weight and curled into a small, shaking bundle of sobs.

I pulled myself up after a passer by poked me with a stick to see if I was still alive, and staggered back into the shop, into my home. Forced myself to drink a cup of water. I should sleep. I knew that I should sleep. But I also knew I would dream, and I could predict what those dreams would be. I didn’t want them.

I started taking apart the upstairs bedroom instead. By late afternoon, I’d tossed all the bedding from the window to the yard below and dragged it far enough away that I wouldn’t set the shop on fire by mistake. I summoned a flame, more than I really needed for the pile to catch light, but I was sad and angry, and it felt good to destroy something.

I watched it burn, then started shooing my chickens - so happily oblivious - into their coop for the night. As I latched the gate shut on their enclosure, a voice called to me from the gate. Auburn hair was just visible above the high fence - the doctor from last night? He had said he’s come by, but I hadn’t believed him. Certainly that had just been a nice thing to say at the time. I pulled the gate and looked him up and down. No uniform, and there’s a wrinkled dog tagging along at his heels.

“Hey, I said I’d check on you.”

“She’s dead. I’m alive. Thanks.” My response bordered on rude - no, actually, quite rude - but I didn’t really care, even if he was trying to be kind. I didn’t have the emotional reserves to respond in the way I knew that I should.

My answer didn’t seem to put him off. “Can I, could I step in for a minute? I wanted to talk to you.”

“Is your dog going to attack my chickens?”

He laughed, and it was an odd sound, almost shocking, maybe even scandalous, to hear laughter. “Nah, I can promise that she’s too damn lazy to chase a chicken.”

I silently held the gate open for him, and he walked into the back yard. The fire behind me has turned into a roaring blaze. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name last night.”

“Oh, um, yeah, Julian Devorak. You took me seriously about burning the bedding.”

“Yep.” I folded myself into an ironwork chair. Iron shouldn’t, couldn’t hold any of the plague. In folktales iron would counteract the supernatural, quell it, and the longer this pestilence ravaged the city, the more rational accepting a fey, irrational origin for the suffering seemed. Right? Iron and fire. Maybe those were the solutions. “Cleaned out pretty much everything in that room.”

“You did that all on your own?” He sat down in the chair opposite of mine. “I thought a neighbor or someone would -”

I gestured absently at the chair he’s sitting in and floated it a few inches off the ground. Ah, yes, this isn’t a folktale and iron doesn’t counteract the supernatural. Or at least iron doesn’t counteract my magic. So much for the supernatural as a diagnosis and iron for a prescription. Back to square one. Death, lots of death, from an unexplained and untreatable illness.

As the chair rose, the doctor grabbed the arms and yelped in surprise. His dog gave me a disapproving look that I did deserve, and I gently let the chair settle back onto the ground.

“I’m not exactly helpless.”

“I see that.” His face has gone paler, if that was even possible, at the display of magic. “But still. I’m sorry that you, uh, had to do that alone.”

“The slivovitsa helped.” I pulled the bottle out of my shirt pocket and drank the last mouthful. I’d also been nursing a bottle of whiskey all day, half expecting Anna to step into the room and inform me that day drinking is not a healthy coping strategy. But she hadn’t. Of course she hadn’t. Staring at the fire, I shrugged out of the bulky shirt I had on a sleeveless blouse and tossed it in with everything else. Despite the fire, the night air chilled me quickly and I wrapped my arms tight around my torso. I should probably burn all the clothing I’d worn while cleaning, but I supposed that can wait until the doctor - until Julian - leaves. “Thanks for that.”

“When is your husband getting back?”

“Husband?” It was staccato and bitter, but I couldn’t help but laugh as I imagined Asra’s face at having that vocabulary applied to him. His eyebrows would pull together for a moment, then the right one would lift in concert with the corner of his mouth curling in something halfway between amusement and disgust.

“Sorry, I assumed with the ring and you, uh, you said he.”

The alcohol in my blood said he was cute when him stammered. Or at least, I blamed the alcohol.

“You’re observant.” I picked up a stick and poked at the embers. “He is at best a term of convenience when talking about Asra. And I don’t know what word you’d use for what we are.” Lovers? Non exclusive lovers - what’s the word for that? Two people who keep coming home to each other, despite whoever and whatever else we got involved with in the interim. I curled my free hand against my mouth, lips pressed against the ring I’m wearing. “He should be home in the next week. Should be. Doesn’t mean he will be. He gets distracted sometimes.” Distracted is also not quite the right word for Asra, but again, I’m not sure what word you would use to explain his convoluted, occasionally non linear sense of time.

“They’ve closed down the port. I hear they’re planning to seal off the city gates soon.”

“Oh, that won’t stop him.“ I sometimes suspected that Asra could pass through walls and step between mirrors if he so desired. "Why are you here, Dr. Devorak? I can’t imagine you take this much interest in the family of every person who dies.”

“I, well, I meant it when I said I thought you did everything you could, and I wanted to know more about what you used.”

“She’s still dead.” One of the four universals, along with aloneness, lack of meaning, and the terrifying responsibility of free will. But Death comes for us all, no matter the virtuous or unvirtuous choices we’ve made. It bleaches them of meaning and abandons us in finitude. Intellectualizing. A coping mechanism. Not always a good one. But it’s something.

“Yes, but …”

Anna had survived for three weeks after her eyes turned red, instead of the handful of days most plague victims counted. After watching her become slowly feebler and feebler before slipping into that last long coma, I wasn’t convinced that was a good thing. Perhaps it was easier to go quickly. But still, I sighed and began to rattle off what Anna and I tried - first for our neighbors and customers who had come developed then sickness, then for her. “Boneset and willow bark for the fever and aches. Start the tincture at the new moon so that it will draw out the active parts of the plant. Pleurisy root and horehound for the cough and the lung congestion as a oxymel. A salve of ginger, arnica, and comfrey for swollen joints. Those should be extracted into an oil while the moon is waning. I use spellwork to complement the herbs, some of which I can attach to charms, some of which I have to be present to work. All of that only treats the symptoms. We tried echinacea and elderberry to build immune systems, but it didn’t work. I found a reference to an herb from the west that supposedly cured a plague there, but -” I shrugged, it was a folktale in an old book, not a solid lead. But library research was one of the things I knew I was good at, and lately I wasn’t feeling very confident in my ability to do anything. “Asra is supposed to bring some back with him. But none of it really seems to do any good. Is there anything else you want to know?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset. I’m exhausted.” The dog pushed her head into my hands, and I rubbed her velvety ears absently before pressing my face against her warm body, trying to fight back the tears that I had kept myself from crying for the entire day. “And the only family that gave a damn about me just died, so excuse me if my conversation skills are lacking.” I hadn’t heard from the rest of my family in years … not since … well, perhaps I couldn’t blame them. My mother had - apparently - given up after the third letter I didn’t respond to. My father had sent a book of sacred texts, littered with notes on scrap paper after I had first come to live with Anna, but nothing since.

He was silent for a minute, then I heard the chair shift as he stood up. His hand was warm - more comforting than I could admit I wanted - when he placed it on my shoulder. “Listen. Just, uh, think about this. When you’re ready, I could use an assistant, preferably someone who knows something, because nothing I’ve tried works either.”

I angrily wiped tears away from my eyes. “What would be the point? No one recovers from this.”

“I want to be the kind of person who at least tries.” He squeezed my shoulder and without thinking, my head fell against his arm. He moved again, kneeling behind the chair until he could wrap both of his arms around me in an awkward, surprisingly welcome hug. “Just think about it, okay?”

***

I scrubbed the shop: attic to basement. Hot water and strong vinegar until the skin started to peel from my fingers. Scalded every piece of fabric I could in the washtub. Laid the cushions and blankets out for the sun to purify then dragged them all back in. Paced around the shop with burning sage and hyssop. I filled the tub with water as hot as I could stand and crawled in, worrying at my hands and arms with a pumice stone until the abrasions began to bleed, like the day bleeding into the night then back again. And when I couldn’t lift another finger, I fell out on the cushions in the backroom and waited, staring at the ceiling for hours until I thought of something I might forgotten to clean, to burn, to purify. And then I did it. First time, second time, third, fifth, eighth - it didn’t matter, so long as it was something to keep the silence beginning to scream again, echoing, roaring like the sea trapped within a conch shell.

Lies. It was screaming the whole time.

I tried not to close my eyes.

If I closed them, I’d lose grasp on this reality.

This reality because I’m not sure which reality is more real right now.

If I closed my eyes the fey aching tracings are my arms become more real.

Past tense confused with present tense with future tense. No. Past perfect.

Fait accompli.

It won’t change anything if I drag a knife along those lines. They’re already there.

Except I wouldn’t be lying anymore. Pretending to be something I’m not. Faking being healed and whole instead of the accumulation of broken parts, the exquisite corpse that I actually am. No more lies. Just the nightmare they hide.

But if I kept my eyes open - keep looking for new details in the tapestry on the wall, the brocade of the cushion in clutching, keep looking at anything - those lines are a trick of my mind. Didn’t happen again. A misfiring, misrepresentation of something in my brain. Somatization.

There are more words, better words, for this reality. Maybe that makes it the more real one? If I don’t lose words, I don’t lose this reality. Derealization. Dissociation. Depersonalization. Mad. Lunatic. Liar.

No, those aren’t good words. Real. But not good.

Real is what I touch. Fabric. Wool. Linen. Silk. Cotton. Jacquard. Twill. Herringbone. Velvet. Flannelette. Knit.

I could keep the other reality at bay. Just barely. It’s roaring, pacing at the limits. A lion in a too small cage.

Cross stitch. Silk stitch. French knots. Applique. Blanket stitch. Crow’s foot tack.

But if I don’t close my eyes it won’t take over. Not yet. Not already.

Just a little while longer. Just keep my eyes open a little bit longer.

I think it was the third day that Asra came home. I was buried under a pile of blankets in the backroom, dozing. I half roused when his dropped his bundles on the floor, and then his hands were on my shoulders, pulling me upright, pushing hair back out of my face. “Dema?”

“She’s dead. She’s dead, and you weren’t here, and I’ve been alone, and, and …”

“She? Anna?” Asra gathered me into his arms. “Oh.” He rocked back and forth, pressing his face into the top of my head. Faust, cool and smooth, wrapped around my shoulders. Asra shook with the sobs that I had cried out days before day.

At some point, curled together in a little pile of misery, we fell asleep.

He was checking my arms when I wake up. I couldn’t blame him, and his hands on mine felt more soothing than anything else. I smiled at him weakly. "No cuts. No burns.” It wasn’t exactly something I should feel accomplished about. The scrapes from pumice stones were bad enough. But I did.

“Oh, dear heart. I’m so sorry.” He kissed the this of my fingers and the inside of my wrist. “Can I -?” I closed my eyes and nodded. He methodically ran his thumb over each of the scrapes. The places he touched grew warm for a moment as the skin knitted itself back together. He settled himself against me, head resting on my breast, and I sighed and ran my hands through his soft hair.

“I made it. Kind of, at least.”

“You did. I can hear your heart beating.”

“I finally just laid in here and went through all the different fibers and weaves and stitches.”

“Heh." He pressed his lips softly against my collarbone. "I’m glad there are so damn many fabrics in here then. You’re stronger than you think you are.”

“I’m just a stubborn bitch.”

“Whatever works, my love.” His fingertips traced along my arm. I buried my hand in his hair and kneaded my fingers along his scalp.

“I’m sorry, Asra. I know she was important to you too.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“Losing it like that.”

He was silent for a moment, fingertips still tracing small circles on my upper arm. “I understand. I should have been here.”

“No, no, You didn’t even know she was sick. It was just hard.”

“I know.” He kissed my collarbone again. “You’re shaking. When did you last eat?”

My response was more of a noncommittal noise than an answer. Asra sat back up next to me and runs a hand over my forehead. "Dema, is there any food in the house?“

"I -" I tried to remember when I ate. I couldn’t. I wasn’t even exactly sure how many days had passed. I thought I had kept the chickens fed. I hoped I had kept the chickens fed and watered. I really didn’t know. Shit … they might have started eating each other. They’d do that. "I’m sorry, I don’t know, I -”

“Sh, it’s okay, love. It’s fine.” He leaned down and pressed his forehead to mine. “I’m going to go upstairs, make some tea, and see if I can find something for you to nibble on, then I’ll go to the market and bring back something good." Another kiss. "It’s alright.”

“Asra -” I grabbed at his hands, panicking, afraid that if he left the room again, he wouldn’t be back, wouldn’t have actually been here at all. “Don’t -”

“Come upstairs with me.” I sat up and curled around my knees, shaking my head. I wasn’t ready to go back up there, to the stripped and barren space that had been home. Either cleaning it hadn’t removed the ghosts, or it had sent them away, and I wasn’t sure which idea was more frightening. I didn’t want to know which it is. Until I know, until I go back up there, the state is both and neither, and perhaps the space can hold the ghosts of better memories while being purged of those last few weeks.

“Faust.” Asra said his familiar’s name softly and the snake slid into my lap, a welcome weight. I ran my fingers over her very real head. Faust was here, so Asra was here. Simple math. “Faust will stay with you. I’ll be right back, promise.”

I nodded and lifted Faust from my lap, draping her around my neck. I wish she could talk to be like she does Asra, but just having her with me helps. “I’m, I’m going to go wash my face.”

“That’s good.” Asra grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet, looking concerned at my unsteady gait. I kept a hand on the wall and managed a wan smile for him. The washroom is on the ground floor, I least won’t have to manage any stairs. Asra nodded. “Alright, I’ll be right back down.”

I splashed some cool water on my face and run my fingers through my hair a few times before stumbling back into my room with its nest of cushions. Asra isn’t long with a steaming teapot in one hand and a mug in the other. He set the teapot near me on the floor and pressed the mug into my hands. Chamomile. With quite a lot of honey in.

“There isn’t any food left in the house.”

“Sorry, I might have thrown it all out. Along with everything else.”

He fumbled through his traveling bag for some coin. “It’s alright, but I’ve got to go down to the market and get something.” My fingers tightened around the warm mug. “Faust will stay with you. I won’t be gone but for a few minutes.”

I closed my eyes and nodded trying to focus on the warmth of the tea in my hands and the cool weight of Faust draped around my shoulder, but I couldn’t quite slow my breathing. His hand is on the latch when I open them. “Asra.” He stopped and turning before stepping back over to me and leaning down to press his lips to my forehead.

“I will never not come back to you, dear heart. I promise.” His fingertips traced over my jaw. “And I won’t be long. Just a few minutes.

***

I reopened the shop a week after Asra returned. One person knocked on the door to see if I had any herbs left, and then slowly, more people wandered in - more than I thought would have braved the specter of a plague death. But then, there wasn’t much of anywhere left in the city that wasn’t sepulchral by that point.

One visitor was the doctor.

Asra was out of the shop, trying to track down honey. I had run out, and while most of the herbs for coughs were still useful without it, they really did do best compounded in a oxymel. Having Asra back was a help. He kept me from tearing up my hands in the hope of cleaning them, generally by holding me tight against him until the impulse had passed. And he at least got me to sleep through part of the night in addition to naps throughout the day.

The doctor waited patiently, studying the intricate diagrams with which Anna had decorated the shop, while I explained a charm to a customer. Customer might not have been the right term. Anna and I had stopped charging for anything related to treating the plague weeks before. I wrapped the enchanted trinket - it didn’t especially matter what I embedded the spell in - the cheapest charm from the market would do as well as the most valuable jewelry - up in paper, and the customer left, doorbell ringing behind them.

“Can I get you something Dr - uhm.” My voice trailed off as I blanked entirely on his name.

He winked at me and smiled. “Just call me Julian. No, I just wanted to check on you. And thank you.”

“For what?” I smoothed the remaining sigils from the sand tray I used for spellwork and lined the styluses up in the slots above it.

“The, um, suggestions you gave me. They’ve been helping. Really, more than anything else I was trying.”

“But not a cure,” I said softly as I stepped out from behind the counter.

“No. But it’s more than what I had to work with before.” He looked away from me, back to one of the geometric designs on the wall. “Have you thought about it?”

He began to trace the pattern on the diagram; I pushed his hand away from it. The lines were part of an array for recombining the energies of various substances. Anna really shouldn’t have put them on the wall where a curious person could unknowing activate them, even if it was a rather attractive diagram.

“About what?”

“Working with me. I meant it when I said I could use your help.”

“I … actually, I had forgotten.”

“It’s okay. You’ve been -”

“- but I will. Think about it, I mean.”

He smiled again. Lopsided, the left corner of his mouth picking up a moment before the right. “I’m glad to hear that. Here.” He extended his hand, offering me a folded square of paper. “That’s the address of the clinic I run. South side.”

I tucked the paper into my pocket. “I’ll think about it. Really.”

“I’ll just hope I see you again then. Soon, maybe.”

Chapter Ten

A/N: This chapter title is taken from a song by the Russian groups Bi-2 and Agata Kristi, ‘Vse kak on skazal.’ The video is actually pretty cool even if you don’t know Russian.

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