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1-800fandomqueen · 1 year ago

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Primae Noctis

King Viserys x fem!AFAB!reader (OC)

WC : 3.6K

SW : Reader is given a name to make my life easier, however there is no usage of "Y/N," and physical appearance and details are left completely ambiguous and up to interpretation. PWP, Jason Lannister is an inadvertent cuck, oral, both m! and f! receiving, unprotected PiV, creampie, breeding kink, - you can't tell me that vizzy t doesn't have one -

If there's any more warnings to be added let me know!

This is the first installation out of a few others, I'll be doing Aemond, Aegon, Daemon, and possibly other hotd characters.

This is a re-post, all of my old accounts were deleted.

��Droit Du Seigneur,” which translates to “right of the lord,” is a mediaeval practice that’s also known as Primae Noctis, and it refers to the assumed legal right of feudal lords and kings to deflower and bed subordinate women on their wedding night, instead of new their husbands.

“Presenting Lady Braella of House Kneight, to King Viserys of House Targaryen, first of his name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” The boisterous voice of the Kingsguard calls out, opening the door for you into King Viserys’ chambers. You’re still in your wedding dress, a beautiful garment of a light cream colour with gold embellishments, it looks surprisingly opulent and fit for a member of royalty considering that your family is poor, and had little money to get it made.

You stand with your hands clasped in front of you, gaze lingering on your shoes as Viserys quietly dismisses the guard, “Thank you, Sir Erryk,” a slight chuckle in his voice, “That will be all.” The heavy door closes with a resounding thud, leaving you alone with the King of the Kingdoms. “Good evening, Lady Braella, would you like to take a seat?” An arm covered in black fabric that’s trimmed with red lifts up and gestures towards two seats that are directly in front of an ornate fireplace that burns softly, on the left side of the room. On the right, lies the sculpture of Old Valyria that the King seems to have worked endlessly on.

You give a polite nod, finally lifting your head up to take in your surroundings. There’s a desk next to the chair, endless amounts of books stacked up on the surface and the area around it, various half-melted candles littered throughout the room, basking the room into a very light golden glow, but still leaving it rather dark. In the next area of the high-arched chambers is a bench seat in front of the window, a chaise lounge, another softly glowing fireplace, and finally the Kings’ bed, a plush looking thing with a dark oak four-poster frame, and soft looking red and gold sheets.

‘It’s a good thing that the bed appears soft,’ you think, ‘considering I’ll be laid across it later.’

The thought causes you to blush, and you can feel the heat rushing to your face. Gently sweeping your dress underneath yourself as you take a seat, hands coming back up to clasp in your lap. The king looks at you with a soft smile on his face, and a knowing look in his eye. “Could I offer you a cup, Lady Kneight? Possibly for the nerves?” already reaching for the pitcher of wine and one of the goblets next to it, “Yes thank you, my King, and unfortunately it is no longer to be Lady Kneight, but Lady Lannister, my Lord.” Reaching out to accept the cup offered to you, nearly downing half of it in one gulp. “But you are not yet married, and until you perform your nuptials and Jason Lannister beds you, you are still Lady Kneight.”

Remaining silent, you continue to take generous sips of wine, feeling down at the reminder that you are to marry a man that does not love you. You come from a small farming isle, your father is the most wealthy and successful farmer on the Island, and all the other citizens declared him Lord and representative because of this, but in terms of King’s Landing, in the eyes of the King himself, you were to be considered very poor and impoverished. The only reason Lord Lannister asked, or more so demanded, for your hand was to try and obtain the Isle for himself. Your father was very old, you were the last attempt out of a long line of failure and loss, and unfortunately the years of strain had already caused irreversible damage, and your mother died shortly after you were born. Lord Lannister believed that once your father died he could then possess the largest farming plot, and then after that, the whole town. You can feel the overwhelming sadness, the future ahead of you is dim; a long life of being the broodmare for some proud lion who will show you no love, no kindness, and will expect you to sit by quietly while he continues to indulge in women, cups, and chase after power.

You feel a warm calloused hand place itself softly upon your own that are still clasped in your lap. You tear your eyes away from the random spot that they had focused on upon the wall, turning to face the King you find that he has this melancholy look upon his face. “As you know, I lost my wife, Aemma, and my son Baelon, not long ago. The council has been demanding of me to remarry, to take a new bride for the prosperity of the kingdom and the propagation of the Targaryen line.” His eyes have begun to drift away from yours, the death of his wife and child weigh heavily upon his mind still. You’re suddenly filled with doubt, you shouldn’t be here, not so close to the death of his wife, it’s rather selfish of you, you think, even though it’s the law that you be here.

“Even though I am one for tradition,” He carries on, thumb absentmindedly rubbing across your knuckles. “I must say, the notion of arranged marriages is not one of my favourites. At least luck was in my favour with my marriage, I had known Aemma almost all my life, I was familiar with her, which made everything much easier. However I offer you my commiserations, to be forced to marry someone of whom you hold no knowledge or familiarity with. And if you’ll allow me to speak freely my Lady, I’m sorry that you’ve been stuck with such an excuse of a man as the Bastard of Casterly Rock.”

You feel your eyes widen as you choke on the sip of wine you had just taken. The King was allowed to speak freely of course, he is the King after all, but you didn’t expect such crass and crude honesty from him, especially towards someone who consistently supported and pledged fealty to the King, whether out of cowardice or not. He makes a shocked face as you begin to cough, sliding to the edge of his chair to reach out his left hand and place it on your back in a comforting manner. He doesn’t remove his hand from your own or your back even after you’ve regained control of your breathing and ceased coughing.

The room is silent for the next few moments as the two of you look at one another. The King has a soft smile on his face as the two of you resume your conversation, you find that speaking to him is actually rather easy, considering the fact that he’s the King. You speak on everything from your parents to the model of Old Valyria that he’s constructing, a large and eager smile overtaking his face when you ask him about the subject. Eventually after a few more cups of wine on both your parts, the mood of the air shifts, more tension arising between the two of you.

The King slides off his seat, placing his cup back on the small table before reaching a hand out for your own. “Thank you my King,” placing it in his hand, “There’s no need for formalities, my Lady, you may call me Viserys.” now reaching his hand out for your own to help you from your seat. “Of course, Viserys, and you may call me Braella, if it suits you.” The two of you stand facing each other, just a hair's-breadth away from being chest to chest, The room is feeling very hot, but as much as you’d like to blame it on the two fires that circulate the air, you know it’s because of your close proximity to Viserys and the knowledge of what comes next.

He brings a hand up to cradle your face, thumb rubbing against your cheekbone. The heat that emanates from his skin floods your senses, his skin rough yet soft at the same time, providing a certain comfort. Parting your lips as your eyes flutter, the air moves around you and grows warmer before a pair of lips slot against your own. Letting out a soft sound as you press your lips more intently against his own, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders, your nails no doubt digging through his shirt to his skin. Viserys’ other hand comes up to cradle your face as well, pressing a little harder into your skin as the two of you fervently kiss.

When you break the kiss, he begins to guide you towards his bed, still slightly panting for breath. He guides you until you stand at the edge of the bed, “May I?” hand gently caressing your back. Nodding your head gently, Viserys begins to undo the laces of your dress while still maintaining eye contact with you. His fingers are quick yet nimble as they loosen the strings, and soon your dress is sliding down your shoulders, leaving you in nothing, as you had removed your smallclothes earlier. He raises a brow at this, “Ready are we?” gently teasing you, offering you a hand so you can step out of your dress. You giggle, more heat coming to the surface of your face. You ignore his comment and instead begin to undo the fastenings of his shirt, going through the clasps as quickly as you can.

He shrugs off the shirt as you glide your hands featherlight down his chest. As you drag your hands down you also begin to slowly sit down on the edge of the bed, as your hands reach his breeches you gently palm the bulge that sits there. Viserys throws his head back with an audible moan that echoes lightly across the empty stone walls, eyelids slipping closed, his hands slightly clenching at his sides. You untie the laces and reach a hand in to grab his cock, one of his hands immediately comes up to loosely rest on the back of your neck, you lower his breeches just enough to pull his cock out, watching as it gently bounces up. Viserys is well endowed, it’s a good length and your fingers just barely wrap all the way around, the tip is pink and glistening in precum.

Glancing up at him to find that he’s already looking at you, mouth parted and pupils blown. You realise that he’s waiting for you to do something, but you’re not exactly sure how to do it. You suddenly grow very nervous, eyes darting away from his own, he seems to notice this, bringing up the one hand that isn’t on the back of your neck to encircle your own, he tightens his grip and subsequently your own, before moving your hand up and down his length. He groans and speeds it up a little more, moving your hand to stroke over the head, collecting the precum on your palm to spread it and make the glide of your hand easier. “Oh, keep going.” words breathed out, continuously letting out groans as he lets go of your own hand to let you take over completely.

You keep going for a while, slowly tightening your grip and speeding up which gives you a steady stream of moans from Viserys, until you remember something some of the married women told you about; how men found a woman using her mouth pleasurable. You toss a quick glance upwards towards Viserys before leaning forward and licking the tip of his dick. He gasps loudly, the hand resting upon the back of your neck moves to card through your hair, gripping it tightly. You do it once more in hopes of getting the same reaction from him, doing it again and again, then you take the tip into your mouth, gently sucking. Viserys thrusts his hips forward a little, “Keep going Braella,” his breathing picking up, “Keep going.” He keeps giving little thrusts as you take him further and further into your mouth.

Eventually he gets closer and closer to the edge, quietly murmuring the words “Stop, stop,” as he pulls out of your mouth, his cock throbbing. He gestures a hand towards the pillows, “Get on the bed.” before he works to pull his breeches all the way off. You lay on the bed, slightly propped up by the pillows, watching as he climbs onto the bed, laying slightly on his stomach before grabbing both of your legs and throwing them over his shoulders, gripping your hips and pulling you towards his mouth, immediately beginning his ravishing. You let out a loud cry, hands going down to his head, grabbing his hair. Viserys licks and sucks on your clit, with various licks downwards to collect more slick, moaning out between ravenous slurps, the vibrations causing you to moan out and grind your hips against his face. He moves his mouth down to your opening, tongue prodding around to stretch you out as his nose now rests against the bundle of nerves. Pushing his tongue in and out as he periodically shakes his head from side to side, providing stimulation to both areas that makes you squirm around on the bed.

The pressure builds up in your lower abdomen, warmth building deep in your bones. Viserys moves his mouth back up to suck on your clit at the same time he pushes two fingers into your hole, quirking them up straight into a spot that makes your head spin and sends you immediately into your peak. You let out moan after moan, not caring how loud you’re being and who could hear you. Your hands are still clenching in his hair, pulling on it and you’re bucking your hips up and down without abandon only for Viserys’ arm to come up and hold you down, his other hand still working you to completion. You squirm around as pleasure turns into overstimulation, moans turning into whines and gasps.

“Oh- Viserys please! Viserys please, it’s-it’s too much!” He looks up at you, mouth still attached to your centre. His eyes crinkle at the corners as you feel his lips quirk around the edges before he doubles down, still working you through it, as the first peak melds into a second one. It’s a blinding pleasure, and you lose feeling of your limbs for a moment, slightly twitching and convulsing, riding your high.

The second you come down you feel Viserys remove his mouth and fingers before he immediately slides his way up the bed, moving your legs from his shoulders to around his waist. There’s not even a moment for you to catch your breath before he’s pushing the fat head of his cock into you, the both of you letting out moans as Viserys slides in slowly, pausing as he reaches your maidenhead. He leans down towards you, lips slotting over your own, spreading the taste of you. One hand goes to cradle the side of your head while the other works its way under your back, pulling you flush against him. You worm your arms up, placing one around his neck and the other into his hair. Pulling his mouth away from your own he gives you a reassuring smile, the hand cradling your face thumbing against your lips. “I’ll be gentle, Braella, as gentle as possible. Are you ready?” offering him an enthusiastic nod at his question, lifting your head up to press your lips back to his own as he begins to move. He thrusts forward gently, continuing to push as he meets the resistance of your maidenhead, soothing your painful whimpers with a stroke of his thumb on your cheek and deepening the kiss. Viserys pushes until the painful pressure suddenly snaps, the pain dissolving into gentle pulses as he finally pushes all the way in.

Viserys stills for a few moments, allowing you a little time to recover, then he pulls almost all the way out, the head of his cock still pressed snuggly inside, before thrusting back in. He immediately begins a steady pace, letting out a groan everytime he pushes in. He breaks the deep kiss that the two of you were in before trailing his kisses down your neck, sucking spots into the tender flesh. He works his way down to your chest, pulling a nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting gently before blowing cold air on it, causing you to cry out. Switching to the other side to continue the ministrations.

He lets go of your nipple with a wet pop, lips slick and shiny with spit as he looks at you with dazed eyes, speeding up his thrusts. “I offer my apologies, Lady Braella, there’s no way that the Proud Lion would ever be able to make you feel this way. He’ll make for a pathetic excuse of a husband, and an even more pathetic lover.” You’re barely paying attention to the words he’s saying, the faster his thrusting grows, and the harder his pelvis hits against your own, the more lost you find yourself becoming. “Maybe I’ll spare you from such a fate, hmm? Keep you in my bed, keeping it warm, giving me heirs-” you let out a small whimper, clenching around him tightly. “Oh do you like that idea? The idea of me making you mine, of keeping you full of my seed? Warm and swollen with my child-” His words stuttering off with a groan.

The hand that rests against your face goes down to hold onto your hip, using it to pull you down on his thrusts. The change in angle causes him to hit something that makes white sparks shoot behind your eyes, letting out a loud moan. You begin moving your hips with each of his thrusts, letting the tip of his dick pummel against the spongy spot inside you. “Viserys please, please, I wanna, I have to-” Feeling the pressure build up quicker and quicker, you move your arms down to his back, nails digging half-crescents into his skin. “Go ahead, let go for me.”

It builds, and builds, and then it snaps. You scream out, loud enough for half of the Red Keep to hear you, maybe even loud enough for your soon-to-be-husband and the rest of the wedding party who are waiting in the chapel for you to finish so that way you can begin the ceremony and thusly be locked away in Casterly Rock for the rest of your life.

You can feel yourself clenching and pulsing around Viserys, he lets out moans that rival the audibility of your own, his hips stuttering, pace becoming uncoordinated. He pushes his hips flush to your own, dick twitching as he fills you with rope after rope of cum, it goes deep, and the heat from it makes you moan out. He does a last few little thrusts before pulling out, Viserys presses his hands to the insides of your thighs, holding them apart slightly so he can watch his spend slowly drip out of you, before scooping it up with a finger and pushing it back inside of you. You squirm to the side, too overstimulated for anymore, but too tired to really move away from him. The both of you pant for breath as Viserys removes your legs from where they hang over his hips still, allowing you to stretch them out, he then pulls you onto your side before laying down as well, facing you.

You lay in silence for a moment, looking at the content smile upon Viserys’ face. Reaching a hand up, you push wisps of his recognizably Targaryen white hair out of his eyes and away from his face. He pulls you closer, letting out a contented hum as he presses a gentle kiss on your lips. Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck you close your eyes, the both of you basking in the afterglow and taking the time to collect your breath, you feel yourself slowly slipping asleep, finding the utmost comfort in the bed of the King.

After a few moments Viserys sits up, gently laying you back on the pillow and pulling the downturned covers over your body as the fires in the room had gone out sometime during your bedding, and now a chill was bouncing off the stone walls of the chambers. Before you can sleepily mutter out your confusion Viserys offers you a gentle shush, murmuring out a quiet “give me a moment.” as he stands to put on a pair of loose linen breeches and a billowy shirt, throwing a long red robe overtop of them.

He leans down to bestow you with a small kiss, giving you a cheeky smile as he stands back up to his full height.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, Lady Braella, I must inform Jason Lannister that he will no longer be getting married.”

Originally posted June 4th, 2023.

#king viserys #King Viserys I #Viserys targaryen #viserys targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #hotd x reader

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manygeese · 4 months ago

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okay fifteen people liked my prev post about a valgrace sleeping beauty au so I finished the thing (besides the epilogue but we’ll GET there okay???) I decided to just do the version where Leo and Jason knew each other before bc I like it 🤗 here’s the first chapter. Once I post the rest of the fic it’ll be under the “#valgrace sleeping beauty au” tag on my account. author’s note and tags at the end

Edit: part two is out

Chapter One

Once upon a time, in a far away land, lived a king and a queen. For many years had they longed for a child and finally, their wish was granted. A son was born, and they named him Leo.

A great celebration was thrown for all of the kingdom’s citizens to attend, so that they could all honor the infant prince’s birth. It is on that happy day that our story begins.

Three fairies held positions as guests of honor.

“All rise for the three good fairies: Annabeth the Wise, Hazel the Magical, and Piper the Charming,” the herald announced after the sound of trumpets ceased.

The three fairies flew forward, towards the baby’s cradle in front of his parents’ thrones. Annabeth and Piper bowed to King Hephaestus and Queen Esperanza, politely greeting them with, “Your Majesties”, though Hazel bent down to coo at the child. Annabeth elbowed her discreetly and she hastily curtsied.

Annabeth stepped ahead of the other two, clearing her throat and getting ready to address the court. “Each of us shall give the boy one gift. No more, no less,” she informed, leaning down to bless the baby, “Little Prince, I give you the gift of ingenuity. May you work quickly in the forges, may you be smart and inventive, and may you go on to create wonderful things.”

The king and queen shared a smile as the second fairy walked towards the bassinet. Hazel grinned at the baby, talking to him more than she was to the court. “Tiny Prince, my gift is one of joy. May you be funny and cheerful, may all around you find happiness in you, and may you always find the bright side of every situation.”

Just as the third fairy, Piper, went to give her gift to the prince, the door to the castle burst open and in poured a thick green mist. People began coughing as the fog spread through the halls. The smoke gathered in the middle of the throne room, just behind the three good fairies, and rose up to reveal a dark shadow of a woman.

“Gaea!” The three fairies recognized the evil witch, the sneer on her face telling them she was up to no good.

“What do you want here, you-“ Piper started, bolder than the others, but she was cut off by Annabeth’s hand pushing her backwards, away from the sinister figure.

Gaea chuckled, though it was more of a growl than a laugh. “What a crowd, your majesties. The whole kingdom in attendance, yet you neglected to invite me?” She shook her head disapprovingly.

Hazel crossed her arms defiantly, moving in front of the baby. “You weren’t wanted.”

The witch placed an affronted hand on her chest. “Not wanted? Oh, how embarrassing, I had hoped it was just a matter of forgetfulness. Very well. I suspect I shall be on my way.”

The king and queen looked disbelievingly at the witch’s solemn face. “You aren’t offended?” The king furrowed his brow.

Gaea looked back to the monarchs over her shoulder, smiling. “Why, of course not, your majesty,” she crooned. “And to show that I bear no ill will, I shall bestow a gift to the prince as well.”

Annabeth and Piper moved to shelter the baby from the wicked woman. She huffed at them and shoved them out of the way.

“Listen well, all of you!” Gaea brought her staff down upon the floor, letting out a crack like that of thunder. The mist condensed into an orb, showing all the guests a vision. “The prince shall indeed grow up well-beloved and clever,” she sneered, the mist changing to show the child all grown up, “but before the sun sets on his sixteenth birthday, he shall burn himself on the flames of the forge-“ she swirled her staff, showing the older prince reaching towards a rabid fire, “-and die!”

The queen’s eyes widened as she gasped, running to the cradle to take the baby.

“Seize her!” The king ordered, standing at the queen’s side and pulling her close. Both had horrified, sorrowful looks on their faces, a stark contrast to the joyful smiles they had held earlier in the day.

Gaea laughed an evil laugh, rejoicing in the shock that took the room hostage. She dissipated in the green mist before any guards could apprehend her.

All was quiet- a horrid, angry quiet- for a moment, before Annabeth stepped forward once again to comfort the distraught couple. “Don’t give up, your majesties,” she began, the king and queen looking towards her, “for Piper still has her gift to give.”

The queen’s eyes lit up. Looking to Piper, she asked, “You can undo the curse?”

Piper shook her head quickly, putting up two hands and backing away. “No, my queen.”

“Gaea’s much too powerful for that,” Hazel explained.

“But I can help!” Piper insisted.

At the king and queen’s nod of approval, Piper took the child from their desperate arms.

“Sweet Prince,” she cooed,

“If through this wicked witch’s trick,

A flame should your finger lick,

a ray of hope there may be in this

The gift I give at thee.

Not in death, but just in sleep

the fateful prophecy you’ll keep,

and from this slumber you shall wake

when true love’s kiss the spell shall break.”

At that, the celebration ended, the king dismissing all the guests, including the fairies.

~*~

Days later, the king ordered the forges be shut down on the prince’s birthday, to prevent the possibility of the boy being burnt and the curse, fulfilled.

The fairies didn’t see the logic in this. “It’s no use,” Piper reasoned as they had tea, “it’s going to happen one way or another.”

“They just want to protect their child. That’s the use,” Hazel argued.

Annabeth shook her head. “Their only hope is to find his true love, and it’s a little inappropriate to start courting people at the ripe age of two weeks old. So they take comfort in what they think they can do, when really there’s nothing to be done.”

The next day, they were called into an audience with the king and queen in the throne room. Once they had arrived, they bowed to the royal couple like they had at the celebration, the three fairies waited eagerly for the news.

“We are grateful for all you have done for our child,” Queen Esperanza started, “but we’re afraid we’re going to have to ask for more assistance.”

The king nodded. “We’ve decided the only other way we can prevent the prince from fulfilling-“ he choked, as if he was about to cry, “-the curse, is to keep him away from the forge, or at least to keep it from being too important to him.”

Annabeth took a deep breath, keep in eye contact with the king. “What role would we play in this plan?”

The queen smiled melancholily down at the baby, who she was holding. She looked up to address Annabeth’s question. “When Leo is older, old enough to form interests and hobbies, he will stay with us for only part of the time and you the other. This way, he can still be close with his family, but we can keep him away from the forge.” She looked skeptical of the plan, like she knew she couldn’t do anything to change her child’s fate, but as though she felt she had to try.

“And this will, hopefully, discourage him from going down to the forges on his sixteenth birthday?” Hazel asked, wanting to know if she was following their thought process.

“In theory,” the queen confirmed.

Annabeth felt it was the least she could do. After all, her gift of ingenuity may have caused the boy to be drawn to the forges by nature. If she did her best to counteract this, maybe she could redeem herself in the eyes of… well, herself.

Hazel agreed enthusiastically to the plan. She thought, maybe if she hadn’t been as standoffish to Gaea, maybe she would have left the boy alone. It was her duty to obey the King and Queen, as well as a pleasure.

Piper relented. She had a sinking feeling that the plan would do nothing, just like the order the king had put out about the forges. Gaea would have her way, her curse fulfilled, no matter what they did. But if Annabeth and Hazel thought it good, or at least worth a try, she would agree. It certainly wouldn’t harm the child, would it?

~*~

Author’s Note

Please do not execute me via firing squad 🕺🕺🕺 Thank you to everybody who interacting with my previous post asking if anybody had any interest in this 👍 this is for YALL 🫵 Also to my wonderful bestie @scentednightdonut who gave me feedback :) literally the first person I told about this after having it rattling around in my brain for a week or two. Thank youuuuuuu!!! Also thank GOD for the sleeping beauty script on the Disney princess wiki because a bit of the dialogue is inspired by that and helps with the pacing.

Here are the people who reblogged my previous post so I think that means they wanted to be tagged (let me know if you want me to remove them, again, please do not execute me via firing squad):

@queenjunothegreat

@acetheta

What’s Next: Leo and Jason meet at a fancy party 🎉

#valgrace sleeping beauty au #heroes of olympus fanfic #heroes of olympus #valgrace #leo valdez #jason grace #piper mclean #annabeth chase #hazel levesque #esperanza valdez #hephaestus pjo #fanfic #percy jackson and the olympians #gaea HoO #gaea

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gcuienveres · 3 years ago

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where: the eyrie, the kingdom of the vale / featuring @rememberences and @kingarryn what: self-para, containing guinevere lannister’s initial news of her aunt lanna lefford’s murder.

the courtiers of the vale of arryn were feasting, within the silver and blue hues of the eyrie’s great gathering hall, celebration of news of neutrality, just as it had been in times of old before the dragons soared. all the great banner houses had made their presence known, revelling in the change; though only members of the small council and the arryns themselves knew of all it had taken to get to this point. looking upon the face of her courtiers, noting how they seemed all so in unison, for the first time she did not feel entirely like an imposter. that perhaps this place upon this silver throne, could be hers; was meant to be hers, according to some plan dictated by the gods. there would be peace, regardless how the mountain they had scaled to get it, the heartbreak it took - it was time to begin again.

the dance floor was full, guinevere herself upon it with the daughter she never wished to replace the role of mother for; only ensure she were still given the motherly love and affection she deserved. in truth, she were surprised the young girl had timidly asked her to dance with her, finally using words to speak to her instead of slipping her notes beneath her chamber door and running off down the hall. unable to pick maddalena up in unison with the regular dance moves, no doubt due to her swelling stomach, guinevere held the girl’s hand as she twirled in unison to the beat, earning a happy, surprised laugh to fall from the queen’s lips. “come, let us show papa your special dance.” guinevere encouraged, taking the beaming child by the hand and peering the room for the king, who would not be far.

maddalena must have spotted him, for she darted among the crowds, though guinevere was distracted by the pageboy attempting to venture across the dance floor to her. lifting her skirts and meeting the boy at the edge of it, wondering what correspondence would come to her directly at such an hour, she found herself nervous to recognise the sigil clasped upon the envelope. the sight of it was enough to cause a small, pained smile to cross her golden features. the lion, handwriting that was scrawled in jason’s hand. a small breath of relief came over her for a minute; this was it, surely, was it not? news of the neutrality had finally broken, and perhaps, if the gods had blessed her enough, perhaps she would be able to ensure her child knew of the sunset sea, of those who had served and protected and loved her well. and so, she opened the note - how she would come to regret it.

aunt lanna is gone. poison, we think the reynes. tyland and i will handle it, i'll try to keep you updated. will talk to tyland about the funeral.

if one needed to understand what it was to feel despair, hope being ripped from one’s chest, a world of colours fading to mere black and white, one only needed to have looked closely enough at the queen’s face. the people danced around her, music played, the courtiers chatted; and yet, she suddenly felt as though the world had gone silent. she could hear a pin drop within the middle of this marble hall, a growing sense of numbness to the point where she felt as though she could burn and she would feel nothing. everything seemed slow, she had to remind herself to breathe.

“excuse me...excuse me.” she uttered, with a face as white as snow, winding around her courtiers as it seemed her legs moved on their own accord, toward the oak doors. “excuse-” she spoke again, a sense of pain coming to her chest now, as though each breath she took was crushing, searing, pained. your grace, your grace, heads bowed as the woman swished by them, a pained smile crossing her features; though her eyes, her eyes told a story of horror, of terror. there were too many people, the dance circle moved too quickly, and she managed to finally get herself off the dance floor, her own ladies involved in the dancing.

she would have sought her husband out, sought anyone out, if she trusted herself to be able to remain within this hall for another two seconds without letting out a scream that was bloodcurdling; her aunt’s body was laying somewhere, now, cold, lifeless. she could no longer talk, or laugh, or gossip, or call her darling cub again. oh gods, what did her voice sound like? was she remembering it wrong? it was gone...it was, crumbling. they were crumbling, calla’s marriage, they-

why could she not breathe? each inhale was pained, a struggle, her chest tightening more and more, until it felt like agony. she gasped, each breath forced, as her hands clenched on either side of her. she was in the hallway outside the main gathering hall now, a ghost of a figure in torchlight, noting how some of the servants peered in her direction, wondering where she was going. up the staircase, guinevere, get up the staircase...“your grace?” the voice of the hand of the king came from before her, as she lifted her skirts; trust him to be avoiding a party, trust him to be around every corner she turned.

“i-” guinevere looked upon him, hand clasping the sides of the grand staircase, the shock and concern in his voice only reaffirming that her reaction was visceral in itself, this was all real judging by the note she clasped in a tight fist, and it was enough for the mountain to finally full upon the shoulders of guinevere lannister. the inhale she took was one of shock, harrowing as though she was desperate for air; she was too high up, she was too high up; they were below, they were down-

she was gone. they were gone. this was a new beginning, this could have been-

her legs had given way then, and thankfully the hand of the king had managed to ensure she had landed upon the marble staircase rather than tumble, though the gut wrenching sob of utter anguish that had come deep within her chest as she finally reached the bottom - not a scream of horror, not a scream at all, but the sounds of one attempting to take in breath, harrowing and harsh, wracked between the silent sobs that had caused her body to appear more of a rag doll. “call the king, call the king!” the ruling lord of runestone bellowed, though guinevere was blind through her tears. she saw nothing, only hues of arryn blue and purple - and red. they need not have called him, for she heard his voice only a moment later; not his words, only his voice, and his touch upon her waist.

“she’s dead.” she managed to get out through pained breathing, only noting how her wet her cheeks, the tears that had poured from from raw grief. “she’s dead, they killed her, reyne...” her voice rose, bouncing off the walls of that marble hallway in the eyrie that fateful night.

#c: lanna #c: jason #[ we are the pride of casterly rock ]#and now the rains weep o'er his hall ... and not a soul to hear.#c: rowan #c: graham

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fishfingersandjellybabies · 3 years ago

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The Crown Found in Rose Thorns - fic

Characters: Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Talia al Ghul, Jon Kent, Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne Pairing: jondami Summary: “My name is Jonathan Kent, of the Kingdom of Krypton. And I’m here to marry Prince Damian of the Kingdom of Gotham.” A/N: I told @berryfartsart some medieval jondami headcanons inspired by the DKOS announcement and they cyberbullied me into writing the AU for it. (Kidding, of course.) Anyway get ready for some old fashion slow burns and smoopy goopy love~ (but like...eventually, this won’t be fast updated haha)

Damian huffed, crossing his arms, wincing as the Cassandra pulled the brush through his curls once more.

“This is a farce.” He droned. “A complete jester act.”

Talia chuckled, but didn’t look back at her son. Continued brushing her own hair.

“It’s going to be the same as the past three days.” Damian warned. “They’re all simpletons not worthy of my time, or anyone else’s.”

“Then I would at least like to remind you, my dear precious boy.” Talia hummed, effortlessly twirling her hair into a braid. “That I am not asking you to marry today. I am asking you to explore what traits might appeal to you, what kingdoms you trust, or don’t.”

Damian winced as his sister tugged gently at his hair, and scoffed. “It shouldn’t be up to me. My marriage is unimportant.” He mumbled. “You should be focusing on the heir’s marriage.”

Talia sighed, dropping her brush onto her vanity and standing. She stared into the mirror for a moment before leaning over and plucking Damian’s crown off its stand. She turned and slowly walked across the room, staring warmly down at Damian as she approached him.

“Richard does not have a threat hanging over his life.” She murmured, pushing his bangs back before carefully placing the crown on his head. “Richard does not need all the protection he can get.”

“And our brother already has a suitor.” Cassandra chimed in with a giggle. “That warrior princess from the Tamaranean lands.”

“Indeed.” Talia agreed. “So even if he needed any protection from something he could not handle himself, it appears he already has it.”

“Jason then.” Damian tried. He twisted to look at Cassandra. “Or you.” He sat up. “You’re already betrothed to that bard woman!” He turned back to his mother. “Why can’t we make a big deal about her nuptials instead!”

“Because her grandfather is not threatening to steal her away and hold her prisoner and eventually murder her for power.” Talia laughed, holding Damian’s face with a hand on his cheek. “And I am not above a political marriage if that means you have two kingdoms protecting you instead of just ours.”

Damian pursed his lips, ignored the heat rising through his face. “…And if I pick no one to attempt a courtship?”

“Like I said, my beloved.” Talia leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I am not above political marriage to protect you.” She smiled, eyes darting between his. “Even if you forever hate me for it.”

She stood back up, adjusted his crown, then Cassandra’s, then her own, and turned to glide out of the room.

The throne room was abuzz with citizens of the town, and even visitors who had come to try their luck and win Prince Damian’s hand.

Damian sighed as he followed Richard onto their altar. Scanning the room, he could already see no one of merit, and no one of interest. So it was going to be another boring, pointless, wasted day.

“This should be for you.” Damian mumbled again.

Richard snorted, plopping into his seat. “Sorry I found love on my own, little one. Without Mother and Father’s help.” He smirked. “Besides, you should be nice to me. I don’t have to sit here with you all day. I’m just here out of the goodness of my heart, and fondness for my poor, sorrowful, lonely little brother.”

“Piss off. You’re here to amuse yourself at my expense.” Damian rolled his eyes, sitting more politely in the throne next to him. “And so you can go cackle at my misfortune with our brothers later.”

“Nonsense. We cackle at your misfortune on a normal day too.” Richard promised with a wink. “How’s that growth spurt treating you anyway?”

Damian frowned, tugging at his sleeves. “…I have requested a new fitting with Alfred after today’s…festivities.”

Dick smiled again, running his fingers through Damian’s neatly combed curls. “Your clothes will fit for longer than a week one day soon, kiddo.” He let his fingers fall from Damian’s hair to his cheek. “…I’m not just here to keep you company, you know.”

“…Oh?”

“Mhm.” Richard nodded. Damian watched as his blue eyes darted around the room. “I’m here to vet your potential suitors. Make sure they are good enough for you, strong enough to protect you-”

“I can protect myself, thank you.”

“-and this is the fourth day of the festivities. No doubt your grandfather has heard of them by now. Someone has to make sure no undesirables have snuck in, or attempt to make a move.”

“Do you truly think he would be so brash?” Damian questioned. “Besides, this whole thing was Mother’s doing. So, I thought that was why Father keeps attending, to keep watch.”

“He is. But like I said, this is the fourth day. Enough time to get word and move to strike. And forgive me if I’d rather be safe than sorry.” Richard smiled apologetically. “So Father and I are in here, Jason and Cassandra are running the perimeter and Timothy is monitoring the guard towers.”

Damian sighed, staring out into the crowd once more. A few of the guests were glancing their way now. Giggling and falling back into their whispers. Some of the less modest ones outright stared, giving Damian as flirty a smile as they could.

“…Well, as much as I appreciate your concern, I’m afraid it will all be for naught.” Damian drooped in his chair and crossed his arms. “If today is anything like the past three, it will be the most boring day of your life, and nothing will come to fruition.”

“Never say never, little one.” Richard offered dreamily. “Love strikes when you least expect it.”

“Love.” Damian scoffed, glancing over as Bruce and Talia entered the room, hands clasped between them. “Who said any of this was for love?”

“Well.” Richard hummed. “It is because we love you.” He offered. “And we’re hoping not to make this an arranged affair. That we can find you happiness in a partner as well as protection. That’s why we want you to choose.”

“And if I never choose anyone?”

Richard blinked, then offered a smile. But it was sad, almost pitying.

Damian crossed his arms tighter, glancing towards their parents as the King and Queen sat next to them.

“As I keep telling you all, I can protect myself.” Damian mumbled. “And I’m content being alone.”

Richard kept his sad smile. Damian refused to look at him anymore.

Damian wanted to rip his hair out.

As he had predicted many times that day, it was just more of the same.

A blacksmith offering the best weapons, and the safest house on the continent.

A nomad promising a life of adventure and delicious foods.

A group of sisters offering as many heirs as they could carry, and their father as the sole brave knight to protect them all.

A witch and a wizard together, offering magic as protection and endless fertility to continue the kingdom’s bloodline.

A princess offering the best clothes and parties.

A duke who…wasn’t even sure why he was there. He was sent by his father, and didn’t even know Damian’s name.

A young woman who merely offered her humor and loyalty. She could make him laugh, and made it clear that was all she had.

Damian almost agreed to meet with her, if only because he appreciated her honesty.

The sun was dipping in the sky outside the western window, and Damian could feel his stomach starting to growl. He glanced to his brother, who had sat all but stock-still all day, doing exactly as he’d said he would. Watching the room, vetting the visitors. Making sure these potential suitors were good enough for his littlest brother.

“…How many more do you think Mother will have stroll through here?” Damian whispered. “I don’t think I can take much more of this mind-numbing torture.”

Richard chuckled. “I’ll give her four more, then push for a recess. Alright?”

“Thank you.” Damian breathed in relief, glancing out towards the room. The crowd had thinned slightly, with some parties departing when their candidate was politely rejected. Others were just the local townsfolk, remaining purely to stick their noses in royal business.

Talia called for the next suitor to step up, and on the far side of the room, Damian saw three people stepping forward. But before they could make it even a yard, one of the large doors across from the thrones groaned open.

“Am I late?” A male voice called. A wave of chuckles swam around the room, and even Damian found himself smirking.

“Depends on what you’re looking for, son.” Bruce called. Despite the normal nature of the interruption, Damian could already see both his father and brother had put their hands on the hilt of their swords.

“Apologies, Your Highnesses,” Alfred appeared behind the man. He sent a glare over his shoulder as he passed by him. “I had asked him to wait a few moments, but he clearly refused. I do hope we aren’t interrupting.”

“No.” Bruce waved to three people apologetically, who nodded and disappeared back into the crowd. “If he is here for Damian, then we can hear him out.”

“I am!” The stranger called. When he moved, the sound of armor clanked around him. “Um, yes. I mean. I am. I am here for Prince Damian.”

“…Though tardiness is not a good first impression, I must say.” Talia scolded quietly. Bruce gave her a gentle smile and patted her hand. “Bring him forward.”

“Great!” The man – young, by the sound of it, probably closer to a boy – called, leaping past Alfred. “I mean, uh, thank you, Your Highness. For the opportunity.”

Damian watched the man as he walked the long carpet forward, and he felt his eyes narrowing in curiosity. He had dark hair that seemed permanently windblown framing his face, and an awkward smile that almost seemed like it was about to burst from his face.

What really struck Damian’s interest, however, were his eyes. They were a sharp violet, a color Damian didn’t recall ever seeing on a human being before. They were fascinating. Beautiful, even, if he really had to describe them.

As he approached, Damian realized the man – boy, he truly was a boy – was around his age. Seventeen like himself at most, but more likely a year or two younger. What surprised him about that, though, was the armour he wore. While a sparkling silver and recently cleaned, Damian could see nicks and dents in it, even a few shadows that could easily be blood stains, if he got close enough to look.

Barely seventeen and already a battle-worn war veteran?

Attached to the shoulder plate of his armour was a brooch that fastened his bright red cloak together around his neck. It was gold, shaped like a freshly cut diamond, with a large S painted blue on the inside.

Damian didn’t recognize the coat of arms. And Damian knew all the coat of arms of every kingdom and town on the continent.

That was suspicious.

He glanced to his side again. Richard had not taken his hand off his sword.

The boy had reached their feet now, that large smile still adorning his face.

“Hello.” He said plainly. “My name is Jonathan Kent, of the Kingdom of Krypton.”

Talia huffed, raising her head. “And what are you here for, Sir Jonathan?”

Jonathan’s smile, impossibly, seemed to widen.

“Well, Your Highness.” He started, turning his head to stare directly at Damian. Damian found himself flinching under the intense gaze. “I’m here to marry Prince Damian of the Kingdom of Gotham.”

A wave of gasps rolled through the room, followed by an almost deathly silence. While they were all here to propose a courtship and future with the prince, no one had dared to be so forward! Just as no one should have. It was presumptuous and out of place. Everyone knew that. Everyone.

Bruce and Talia glanced at each other, and Richard had the gall to stifle a laugh in his fist.

But Damian.

He was tired, he was annoyed. He was fed up with this charade that had not only taken up almost a week of his life, but one he did not want to partake in, in the first place. He was fed up with people looking at him. Fed up with being treated like a thing, a prize.

So as his parents glanced at each other, and the court calmed themselves over the offense, Damian stood, moving to the front of the altar.

“I beg your pardon?” He spat, brushing off Richard’s fingers as he tried to grab him. “How dare you think I’d want to marry a nameless peasant such as yourself.”

“Well, past experience says you wouldn’t be that against it.” Jonathan shrugged, armor clanking. “But that also is a moot point, because I’m not a peasant. I’m Jonathan, from the Kingdom of Krypto-”

“I’ve never heard of it.” Damian declared. “And I know every kingdom here to the coasts. Which makes you a liar, dear knight.”

The moniker was all but sneered, but Jonathan just let his smile grow a little wider, a little…fonder.

Suddenly Jonathan glanced over Damian’s shoulder. “My father’s name is Clark Kent, but he also sometimes goes by Kal. You’ve fought at his side before, King Bruce.”

Damian whirled around to find his father nodding. “Indeed I have.” Bruce frowned. “I don’t recall him being from any kingdom though. He called himself a traveler.”

“A…recent development.” Jonathan admitted. “One we are still getting used to. But Krypton is his – our – home, and once the truth was discovered, they welcomed us back with open arms.”

“Your father is king?” Jonathan nodded. “Quite the…development, as you said.” Bruce murmured. He glanced at Dick, who shook his head. “He never mentioned a son.”

“He has two. Myself and my older brother, Connor.” A nervous chuckle. “He was…very protective of us as we traveled. Hid us in forests and with witches when he and mother had dealings in towns and villages. Apparently whatever ousted him from Krypton all those years ago, he was afraid we would be its next target.”

“None of this is relevant to today.” Damian cut in, whirling back around to face the suitor. “How long have you been under the title of prince?”

“A few years.”

“And in a few years you did not learn any manners?” Damian scolded, crossing his arms. “You do not enter another’s kingdom and demand someone’s hand in marriage.”

“I did not demand.” Jonathan countered. “I promised.”

Damian felt heat rise to his cheeks. “And who said I would choose you? How do you know I have not chosen anyone to court yet?”

“Past experience.”

“Past experience with who?”

“You.”

The room’s silence grew tense. Damian’s hands balled into fists.

“I have never met you for a second in my life.”

Jonathan lowered his voice. “Are you so sure?”

Damian narrowed his eyes, and opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by his mother.

“Damian.” She hummed. “…What do you think of this…gentleman? Are you interested in him?”

“I think he’s a complete buffoon.” Damian answered instantly. Jonathan chuckled to himself. “An arrogant, deceptive moron.”

Jonathan merely blinked. “Your Highness, that doesn’t answer her question.”

Damian felt a blush blossoming on his face. “You-”

“And if we’re going to marry within the year, perhaps you should answer quickly, so we can begin our courtship.”

“Again, who said I would ever want to marry you?” Damian demanded.

Jonathan shrugged again. “Well, so far, you haven’t said you don’t.”

Damian felt his jaw go rigid. This idiot. This disrespectful, uneducated boy who claims he fell into power. So sure of himself, so narcissistic. And he already thought Damian belonged to him? That Damian was already his?

That smile was still plastered to his face. It was mischievous, and held a secret.

Held a challenge.

Say no, it said. I dare you. Let me embarrass you in front of your court and walk away with your tail between your legs. I dare you.

Damian never could turn down a dare. A test. And if it was a challenge Jonathan Kent of Krypton wanted, it was a challenge he would get.

He wanted to court Damian? Fine. Let him court Damian. Damian would eat him alive. Emotionally tear him limb from limb. Send him crawling back to Krypton wondering why he ever even bothered with the youngest Prince of Gotham.

After a moment, Damian returned the smile, slowly walked down the altar steps, and moved towards the knight. Stopped only inches away, and stared up into those mystical purple eyes.

There was something in those eyes, Damian noted. Something just out of reach. Purposefully hidden. Hidden from everyone? Or just Damian?

This close, and Damian was reminded once more of the marks on his armor. The red shadows he’d noticed before, he could now confirm were blood. Old and flaking, and much more of it than he first realized. Not his own, Damian decided, based on their locations. Blood from others.

Mischievous…and dangerous.

(And beautiful!, his brain supplied. But he ignored that part. Stayed focused on the challenge at hand.)

He glanced down between them when he noticed Jonathan’s fingers twitch, like he wanted to reach out. Want to touch him. Damian let his gaze rise. Smirked, and reveled in the scene of Jonathan biting his lip, just slightly.

“Yes, Mother.” He whispered. But his voice was heard through the whole room. “I think I am interested.”

Jonathan kept his gaze. Whispered back, “I knew you would be.”

“Your arrogance will be the death of you, Traveler.” Damian hummed, turning away. He began back up the steps, was almost to the top, when he heard the quietest words ever spoken.

“No, I do believe only you will be, love.”

Damian spun back around at the tender sound, his face heating up. Jonathan was still staring, but now his gaze was softer, more adoring. Like he’d known Damian for years.

Like he really was here just to profess his eternal love and marry him on the spot.

…Curious.

Suddenly, a hand was on Damian’s shoulder, and he turned to find Richard above him, watching Jonathan as he tugged Damian back to his seat.

Talia began speaking to Jonathan, Bruce adding a word or two, as Richard and Damian sat back down. That look was gone from Jonathan’s face now, back to business as the queen set a time for him to return the next day to spend time with her son.

“…First impression?” Damian murmured to his brother. He felt himself twitching every so often, when Jonathan would glance his way.

“Honestly? Suspicious.” Richard returned. “I’ll need to look deeper into this history he’s claiming. See if Father and I can get a hold of Clark. Find out about the status of Krypton.” Richard paused, then looked over at him. “Are you honestly interested in him?”

Damian shrugged. “If not for love, then for my personal entertainment.”

“That’s cruel, if he’s genuine.”

“Do you think he is?”

Richard looked back. The knight was bowing to their parents now. Stood, and turned to the two of them to bow again. When he stood upright once more, he gave Damian a wink, then turned to walk back down the aisle and out of the room.

Richard clicked his tongue as Jonathan disappeared out the large door. Glanced at Damian with a sly smile. “…Ask me again after your first date tomorrow.”

Damian groaned and slumped in his throne.

#jondami #jon kent #Damian Wayne #dick grayson #Talia al Ghul #cassandra cain #bruce wayne #Princes au

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shebeafancyflapjack · 3 years ago

Text

Right Here

Quick Hellstrop brotp mini-fic.

Fluff, hint of one-sided romantic feelings, emotional hurt/comfort.

It wasn’t until he saw the leather jacket on the desk that he began to worry. Before then, when he’d seen Eleanor make a rather impromptu exit out of Tahani’s party, he’d been a little confused. In what crazy dimension did Eleanor Shellstrop leave a party before all the shrimp had been devoured? The platters had barely been touched.

He’d waited a while, in case she came back, mingling among the fake residents, the real humans as well as the rest of the team, head constantly rotating back towards the door for a sign of her re-entry. Na-da.

After making his own excuses, he followed the scent of her perfume, which had also left a pink mist in her wake, visible only to his supernatural eyes. He regrets having told his friends about that aspect of his abilities a little, mainly after Jason compared him to the sniffer dog that slobbered over him once at a bus station.

The path lead him to their office, or the ‘Hot God’s Throne Room’ as she’d once named it. Hardly a false analogy, Michael had silently thought.

“Eleanor?” he’d asked, making his way in. All of his adversary-turned-friend-turned boss that awaited him was the jacket on the desk that she’d worn over her dress on the walk to the party.

That and two pairs of high-heels kicked unceremoniously to the side.

“Oh, Eleanor...” He whispered, grasping the jacket in his hand, instantly inhaling the odour of discomfort and anxiety.

The smell said half of it. The fact some of her clothes had been hastily abandoned here rather than at her clown house said the rest. Something was wrong.

Fortunately, a burned out Eleanor is easy to track.

It doesn’t take him less than fifteen minutes to follow the pink trail in the air, cutting through the deserted town, over the fields, out towards the lake. Ah, of course. As soon as he recognises the significance of her destination, he knows what prompted her to leave in such a rush. He doesn’t need to follow the trail, he knows exactly what wooden bench she’s going to be sitting on.

She doesn’t look up as he treads closer to her, head buried between her knees pulled up onto the seat, hugged to her chest. The little bumps on her exposed shoulders tremble while the rest of her stays rigid.

“Getting chilly?” he says, softly.

Eleanor lifts her head, the tiniest of gasps, her eyes sparkling with the briefest flash of excitement before they dim. Disappointed.

Were you expecting someone else? Of course.

Tears mark her blotchy cheeks that she rushes to dry with her fist; “No...Just way too hot at the party and I thought I could cool off back at the office but it was like a forking oven, so I came out here and....now I’m cold, yeah.”

He nods, understanding all too well how the world can turn into a furnace when everything feels as though it’s about to collapse in on you. And this is coming from a guy born and raised in magma.

Eleanor might not have had anxiety attacks the same as him. Her usual response to stressful situations was to lash out, toss over some cakes, kick some chairs, consuming a ton of alcohol on the way. Without any of those options being acceptable for an Immortal Heavenly Being; her only outlet was to do as she did as a frightened child; and hide away.

“Here,” he doesn’t wait for her to accept the offer as he removes his jacket and places it over her shoulders, just to cover the little bumps; “Wow, you’re small...It looks like you’re popping your head out of a molehill made from cloth.”

“Shut up, you flagpole” Eleanor manages a chuckle, sniffling after, tugging it around her shoulders, “...Thanks.” she remembers, with a mumble.

He lingers, this time waiting for her consent; “D’you want company?”

“No...” she responds, staring out at the vast body of water beneath the full moon; “I wanna be by myself.”

“Okay...”

He starts to step away, only for her to grab his hand.

“What the fork are you doing?”

Michael blinks; “You just said-”

“Yeah. By myself. And you’re like...ridiculously similar to me that we’re practically the same person, so you can stay.”

He blinks again.

“That’s...insanely confusing!”

“Just sit down, dummy.” She tugs him again. As she wishes, Michael places himself down beside her, taking note of how short of breath she still is from crying. As soon as he’d noticed the tears shining, he’d had to ground himself to avoid rushing forward to dry them.

Now he’s close enough, having been invited to share her space, he dares to reach out and rub her back.

“Just breathe. You’re okay.” he whispers, softly, “No one’s gonna be out here, you can cry if you want.” Fork the garbage Donna fed her about hiding her emotions.

She sniffs, gulping for air; “M’so sick of crying...And I thought I was over this, I mean...We’re so close to the end and I’m sure we’ve got this but...Fork.” Eleanor looks down; “Seeing them dance...Seeing him kiss her...They look so happy.”

“Not half as happy as when he danced with you.” He’s tempted to give her the memory of their little dance in the rain in #119, in case it stopped being fresh for her. He’d been so pissed off about that not being enough to spoil their date at the time.

“What does it matter if he doesn’t remember that?” She scoffs, untucking her knees and looking back at the lake; “What does the first kiss we have here mean anything if he comes here with Simone, all the time, and they have dozens of their own kisses!?”

“He will remember. I promised, I’d give him all his memories back when this is over.” It can’t come soon enough. Saving humanity was beginning to come second to just seeing her be happy again.

Eleanor’s shoulders slump; “...And if he still chooses her? What then? We could win this whole thing and he could come back and I’m just...back to being alone!”

“Okay, now you’re being an idiot.”

“Thanks, pal! And you wonder why I refuse to call you Hottest Savior?!”

“I mean it!” He almost growls, putting his hand on her shoulder; “Do you really think you’re gonna have none of us around you, on the one in a billion chance that Chidi doesn’t wanna get back with you? You don’t think what you’ve got to look forward to in the Good Place extends beyond being with him? C’mon. Chidi would the last person to want you to be thinking like that.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes; “Yeah well...Sometimes I wanna say ‘fork Chidi’. I mean...obviously I wanna fork Chidi but I mean-.”

“I get it.” Damn horny bipeds.

He reaches out to take her hand, linking his fingers between hers, caressing the joint of her thumb with his own.

“Listen. If you were ever alone without him, do you think I’d have followed you out here? Do you think Tahani or Jason or Janet wouldn’t have noticed, if not me, and done the same?” He lowers his voice, inching closer.

Eleanor pauses.

Her other hand moves up to touch with the hem of his jacket covering her.

“It’s always you.” she mumbles, eyes casting over his chest. I’m up here, he wants to say, or would that crane her neck?

“Yeah, well...I could say the same about you.” The first one to ever pick him up after an existential breakdown. The last one who held him during a crisis, paralysed at the thought of losing his friends in the worst possible way. “Who else knows rock bottom better than us, hmm?”

Finally, she smiles; “We pretty much founded the place. It’s like our own little kingdom at this point.”

Michael shyly smiles. Hades and Persephone. All those times, in his past, when he pictured Eleanor at his side, not as an oblivious victim but his partner. His one worthy equal. Then he found himself constantly bested by her, beaten, to the point he was at her heels, following her lead, waiting for her to say jump so he could ask how high? Willing to cast himself into the fire if she deemed him unworthy, or she needed him gone.

He will never understand how Chidi could resist her pleas to stay. If she asked for Chidi’s memory back tonight, even at the risk of dooming humanity, he would obey.

Perhaps the knowledge that he shouldn’t is all that stops him from making the offer in the first place.

Fork, when did his arm find its way around her shoulders? When did she start leaning in so close? She’s practically snuggling against him now. She must be getting cold.

He waves his hand, warming up the night breeze that passes over the lake. She still doesn’t move away. He doesn’t exactly push her either.

“Y’know...The reason I was looking to find you at the party when I saw you leave was I was gonna ask you for a dance.” he confesses, needing to break the tense silence.

“Oh, really?” She glances up, raising an eyebrow; “Well...I’m not walking all the way back.”

Michael nods; “It’s okay...I was expecting a ‘no’.”

“Did I say ‘no’?”

He looks to see her giving that cheeky smile. Shirt, he must be blushing. She always looks at him with that smug, endearing gaze when she knows she’s succeeded in teasing him.

It feels a shame to pull away from the cuddle she was beginning to relax into as he gets to his feet. Probably for the best none of the humans come across their Goddess sleeping in the arms of her Architect out in the open...especially Chidi, no matter how chaste it may be.

“No trying to trip each other to fall in the lake, deal?”

Eleanor groans, leaving Michael’s jacket on the seat; “I guess...Spoilsport.”

Neither are going to make that promise. What would be the fun in that?

He gives her his best ‘devilish’ grin and holds out his hand.

“May I have this dance, Boss?”

Eleanor’s eyes flutter up and down his front before locking his gaze again, her tears all but dried. “Only because you’re rockin’ that tux,” She gives him her hand; “You may, buddy.”

He gently tugs her up onto her bare feet. Without her heels, she barely meets his neck. She doesn’t seem to mind, smiling as he moves her onto the pier, beneath the strung up lights along the boardwalk.

A snap of his fingers and a song begins to play on the invisible surround sound system.

If I see you next to never, How can we say forever?

Fingers smooth gently up her back as he holds her close. Her head rests into his chest as they sway to the 80′s ballad. Stroking her shoulders, he finds the same little bumps are still there, but no longer trembling. He wishes he knew enough about being human to understand what that meant. So long as she no longer feels alone, that’s all he wants.

“Michael...” she murmurs, sliding her other arm around his side.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for being here.”

He resists the old urge to make a nonchalant quip for humor sake and gives into the sentiment swelling beneath this suit. He kisses the top of her head, whispering adoringly;

“Always.”

Wherever you go, Whatever you do...

It feels a little wrong to be dancing with Eleanor Shellstrop in the spot where she had her first kiss with the love of her life, but as she pointed out, he’s had just as many dates here with Simone. Michael allows the remnants of his demon past to find a weird taste of satisfaction, for Eleanor’s sake anyway. It’s hardly as if the nerd was here to see it, or even care in his current state. Maybe one day, in the future, if he’s feeling particularly petty and satantic, he’ll brag to Chidi’s face about how he had one of most romantic, moonlit dances with his girlfriend. Because only a fool would give up that chance, even if to save the Universe.

All for no other reason than to make sure his friend is always grateful for being the one Eleanor Shellstrop loves with all her heart, and wanting to make up for every moment he missed with her this year. Just as Michael thanks Upper Management every day that he has the honor of dwelling in a fraction of it.

Whatever it takes, Or how my heart breaks, I will be right here waiting for you.

#hellstrop fic #pininggg #idk if i like how this turned out #i just really wanted to write something like this #and i always do sad michael in s4 #i rarely do sad eleanor but she's going through so much #and i like doing caretaker michael outside of npl sometimes

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night-fallz · 3 years ago

Text

A Slow process

Percy wanted to believe that the fates have finally gotten bored of her. However, she was quickly proven wrong when her life only continued to get worse. Overwhelmed with grief and despair, all Percy wants is to erase the godly DNA from her genes and forget it as a whole. She wants a break from the gods. A break from the demigods. And a break from the mythological world as a whole. Sadly, she never got what she wanted before. So why would this time be any different?

A few days after the war, Percy is suddenly thrown into the non-pit version of hell. Surrounded with manipulation and toxicity, she tries to run away from it all. But it doesn't work. She's faced with a choice, go back to her father's kingdom or join the Young Justice team.

- -

(A female Percy Jackson and Young Justice fanfic crossover.)

⚠️ I will be covering triggering topics like... ⚠️

- Drug Abuse

- Addiction

- Self-harm

- Suicide

- Verbal & Physical abuse

- Sexual harassment

Note: It might take a while for Percy and the Young Justice team to meet. But don't worry, they will.

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

Ao3 // Wattpad

Chapter 1

Persephone Jackson felt like she could not breathe. They’ve been fighting for hours and the giants still haven’t shown up. And considering that the gods haven’t appeared to help them fight their battles, she couldn’t help but feel relieved.

Where the hades were they?

Fuck, her whole body was aching with pain and the headache she got a few minutes ago (probably due to dehydration) was not helping.

Her legs and arms could stop working any second. They were running out of time. Where were the gods? They did not risk their lives to travel all the way to Greece just so they could stay cuddled up on Olympus.

Percy was getting slower. She was tired. A glance at the battlefield showed that the rest of the seven were getting affected too.

The ground began to rumble. Percy forced herself to conserve any energy she had left.

The giants have finally arrived with another army of monsters. Percy hoped that this was going to be the final battle but it was unlikely.

After defeating the giants, they'll still have to fight Earth itself, Gaea.

Luckily for them, the gods have finally managed to grace them with their presence. Percy suddenly felt her energy rush back to her. She glanced up at the sky. It was raining.

While Percy was thankful for the water, it would probably do more harm than good during the battle. The demigods weren’t water-resistant like her.

As if knowing what she was thinking, her father snapped his fingers and suddenly the rest of the seven weren’t soaked with water anymore. It was still raining but the water just avoided them.

The demigods waited for the army to run up to them, wanting to conserve as much energy as they could before they realized that they weren’t as tired as they were before. They glanced at their respective parents in surprise, giving them a silent thank you before they got ready for the fight of their lives.

Percy was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. It was like she had her Achilles Heel again, nothing could touch her. The rain continued to supply her with energy as well as giving her more power to use. She was playing a dangerous dance, her sword was slashing and stabbing monsters left and right, as she made a whirlpool of water and made it go the opposite direction she was heading, right where Hazel was.

Hazel sent her a thankful smile as they fought together, back to back as they made their way towards Annabeth.

Percy couldn’t help but be relieved when she saw the grey-eyed girl. Her wise girl was okay. Fighting next to Annabeth reminded Percy of the Titan War.

They survived that, so they have to survive this as well.

Percy sent another whirlpool of water in the direction that Piper was. “Remind me to thank your dad for the small boost of power he gave us.” she heard her girlfriend whisper.

Percy nodded, “But first we have to survive, okay?”

Annabeth nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

Jason flew down to where their group, holding Leo in his arms and Frank quickly followed, changing back to his human form.

The Seven were all back to back. Ready to defend each other’s blind spots.

Hazel snapped her fingers, making a majority of the monsters confused. This gave Piper the opportunity to charmspeak the monsters.

Her soft, angelic voice echoed through the battlefield, appealing to their enemy’s ears. “You don’t wanna fight us. You wanna leave the seven of us alone. Instead, you want to get revenge on the ones that have wronged you. Isn’t that why you sided with Earth? For revenge?”

Piper glanced at Hazel and Hazel nodded, closing her eyes in concentration as the snap of her finger seemed to echo in every monster’s mind.

It worked. A majority of the monsters were fighting each other. This gave us a moment to catch our breath.

Percy glanced up at the sky. Rain was still falling and the remaining monsters were soaked. She had an idea.

“Jason,” she whispered. “Shock them.”

His blue eyes looked at me with confusion before nodding, understanding what the demigoddess wanted him to do.

If there was one thing Percy learned during science class, it was that water and electricity do not go well together.

Jason’s sent a shockwave towards the final group of monsters heading out, causing them to evaporate in golden dust.

She glanced to where my father was. They were just standing there, watching us.

Did they not learn anything from the last war?

Did they even help other than agreeing to give the rest of the seven my father’s temporary blessing?

Percy felt the ground rumbling again. The giants have finally arrived.

She smelt the ocean next to me and knew that my father and his family had finally decided to help.

With the gods on their side, the demigods knew they wouldn’t lose this battle. Percy fought harder than she ever fought before. She matched the giant from toe to toe and after a few minutes, Percy finally got the opening she was looking for and slashed Polybotes’s chest with Riptide. She nodded at her dad as he held up his trident, sending a steaming, hot pressurized bolt of water in the place where Percy slashed him. Polybotes wouldn’t be a problem anymore.

She finally got a chance to look at the battlefield and she tried not to flinch in shock.

It wasn’t looking good. So far, Percy and her father were the only ones who’ve killed their respective giant.

Her father stood next to her, “So, who are we helping first?”

Percy tried not to look shocked at the fact that he was gonna stay in help and managed to steadily say, “Let’s help Athena and Annabeth first. With me and Annabeth fighting together, we can help Piper defeat Periboia. And if you and Lady Athena decide to stay, then all of us will be able to have a bigger chance of surviving.”

Percy turned away from her father so that she couldn’t see how her father reacted with her silent jab at him. Instead, she ran to where her girlfriend was, ready to help her fight Enceladus.

Percy tried to use the water to hold the giant’s legs so that Annabeth wouldn’t get stepped on.

The water was getting harder to control. She wouldn’t be able to hold it any longer. Suddenly, Percy noticed that she wasn't using up as much energy anymore. It was like the water had gotten easier in control.

She glanced up and saw her father with a confident glint in his eyes. She muttered a thank you and let the water she was controlling go, leaving her fate up to her dads.

Together, Annabeth and Percy charged. Percy lifted Annabeth with water so that the blonde girl could temporarily confuse the giant.

Thank gods, for Annnabeth’s aim. She managed to throw her new drakon-bone sword at his eye, making him stumble.

Her father let go of the water he was controlling, causing the Enceladus to fall on his butt. This gave Athena the opening to stab him right in the chest.

He exploded in golden dust.

She inspected the battlefield again and couldn’t help but sigh in relief. They were winning.

Leo and Hephaestus managed to defeat Otis by using fire to burn him alive.

That’s one less giant to worry about. Three down, three more to go.

She turned to her dad and Lady Athena, “Go help Jason and King Zeus, they’ll need all the help they can get when fighting Porphyrion. I’ll help Piper defeat Periboia.” She turned to Annabeth, “Go help Leo and Lord Hephaestus with Ephialtes.”

Annabeth nodded, “When this is over, you better be alive Seaweed Brain.”

Percy couldn’t help but give her girlfriend a small smile, one that she returned before running to where Leo was.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Athena disappear in a flurry of owls and saw her father dissolved in mist.

She took a deep breath and ran to help her sister in all but blood. Aphrodite was floating around them on a small white cloud, throwing rose petals in the giantess’s murky brown eyes effectively making her blind for a few seconds.

Percy blocked a strike that could’ve killed Piper, “Need a hand?”

Piper nodded, “Yes please.”

Aphrodite noticed Percy and yelled out some nice encouragement, “Kill this ugly dumpster wanna-be, girls.” Doves came from out of nowhere and clawed on the giantess, “I’m gonna need to wash my eyes with bleach after this battle. I’ve never seen anyone as hideous as her.”

The giantess growled in frustration, “WATCH WHAT YOU SAY, YOU LITTLE BIT-“

While the giantess yelled at Aphrodite, Percy and Piper slit the giantess’s stomach open with their respective weapon, leaving the bane of Aphrodite at the mercy of doves.

Percy noticed that there was only one more giant left to beat. The bane of Zeus, Porphyrion.

Percy was running out of energy. Luckily, every giant except one has been beaten.

Unluckily, it was the strongest giant.

Aphrodite flashed Piper and Percy on her cloud, allowing both Piper and Percy to catch their breaths for a few seconds.

While Zeus and Jason looked like they haven’t slept in a month, Porphyrion stood tall, looking like he just woke up from a nice nap.

“Oh gods,” Piper muttered worriedly, looking at Jason. “This isn’t good.”

Percy studied Jason more intently. He was covered in blood due to all the cuts he had all over him yet not a drop had fallen on the ground. Jason tried to stand tall but the giant only laughed. “This is the great son of Jupiter?” his words echoed through Percy’s skull. “Pathetic.”

Jason charged towards the giant but he only smacked the blue-eyed boy away. Before Jason could hit the ruins, Percy raised her hand, cushioning his fall with the water.

Zeus looked at her with gratitude and while having her a subtle nod.

Percy jumped off the cloud, allowing the wind to carry her next to her uncle and as if they rehearsed it, they charged.

The rest followed. Athena and Annabeth were distracting the giants as Aphrodite summoned more doves to claw the giant. When she deemed that there were enough doves, she threw rose petals at the giant’s eyes. Trying to get him temporarily blinded.

Percy stared at the giant's feet and yelled to her father, “HIS FEET, WRAP IT IN WATER.”

Poseidon followed her instructions and she turned to Zeus. “Throw a lightning bolt and aim it on the water. That should shock him for a few minutes and that’s enough time for us to kill him.”

Her uncle nodded, pointing a finger at the giant's feet. Porphyrion groaned in pain as the demigods charged.

But of course, something had to go wrong. As they charged, Porphyrion somehow got enough energy to throw a broken piece of a building towards them. Percy dodged it but Hazel wasn’t as lucky.

It was silent for a few seconds before Hazel’s blood-curdling screams filled the air. Percy bit back a cry. A person that she could proudly call her younger sister was gone.

Blinded by anger, Frank turned to an eagle and flew with the speed that could make Hermes jealous.

But charging in like that was a mistake.

And Frank paid for it.

It didn’t matter how fast Frank tried to attack the giant. All Porphyrion had to do was hold his arm up, to catch Frank in his hand, and crush his fist, effectively breaking all of Frank’s bones and killing him in the process.

He slowly opened his crushed fist, as if teasing them. After a few torturous seconds, he dropped a pale, limp eagle as Frank’s blood dripped into the floor.

The ground rumbled. They haven’t been fighting Porphyrion for five minutes yet two people are already dead. And Gaea could awake at any second. She had the two sacrifices she needed. The blood of a male and female demigod.

It was like Percy’s brain was working against her. As she attacked the giant, the noises around her became muffled before quickly becoming inaudible. All Percy could hear were Hazel’s painful screams and the sound of Frank’s body being crushed.

It shouldn’t have been possible, Percy’s brain tried to argue. Frank couldn’t have died until his stick was nothing but ashes.

Percy quickly shook that thought out of her head. She can figure everything out when the bane of Zeus has been defeated.

Minutes have passed and Percy finally saw an opening. She mustered up all the energy she had left and made a giant slit on the giant's stomach, covering her with even more gold dust.

Without wasting another second, Poseidon sent a stream of pressurized water on the wound, causing Porphyrion to yell in frustration, “IF YOU END UP KILLING ME, I’LL TAKE AT LEAST ONE OF YOU WITH ME!”

From the corner of her eye, she noticed that Zeus was preparing to send a bolt of lightning to the giant but before the lightning hit Porphyrion, he reached out his arm, trying to grab the closest demigod next to him.

It felt like Percy was fighting Kronos again. Everything was in slow motion except for the moves of her enemy.

She began to run forward but her moves began to get sluggish. “NO!” Percy managed to yell, realizing who the giant had grabbed. “ANNABETH!”

It was too late. Annabeth let out a scream full of pain and it continuously echoed throughout Percy’s skull.

Porphyrion exploded in golden dust, forcing Annabeth’s body to slam against the rough concrete.

Percy quickly ran towards Annabeth’s motionless body, stumbling forward as she kneeled next. Her usual tanned skin was now sickly pale, covered with burns. Her stormy grey eyes seemed to tell Percy all the suffering that she went through.

She cradled as much of Annabeth’s body as she could, not being bothered with all the blood that Percy was exposing her tattered shirt to.

Annabeth was gone.

And she didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.

Percy felt the ground shake underneath her. Before she forced herself to get up, Percy closed Annabeth’s eyes as a final sign of respect to her girlfriend.

Percy felt the ground shake again. Although this time it was more violent, knocking down the old temples.

Piper’s usual bright eyes were full of tears, causing Percy to realize that she was crying as well.

Percy turned to Leo who was wiping away any stray tear that left his eye. His cracked voice seemed to echo through Athena as he whispered, “There’s only four of us left. Piper needs to charmspeak her, I’m the fire. And,” His eyes drifted to Jason’s body. “You guys have to make the storm.”

“Where are the gods?”

Piper and Leo glanced at each other. “They left. Right after we defeated Porphyrion the gods vanished.”

“Like poof.” Leo sadly added.

They lost three of the best demigods of this generation by fighting against Porphyrion, how could the gods expect them to defeat Gaea with no help? Or at least without all the demigods dying in the process?

“Uhm- guys,” Piper’s voice snapped Percy out of her thoughts. “We better get ready.”

Leo and Percy turned to where Piper’s eyes were focusing. The dirt seemed like it was rising, forming the shape of a female.

“Gaea,” Percy whispered. “Do you guys remember the plan?”

They nodded hesitantly as they made their way to Jason’s body, which was still in a cocoon of water. Percy lifted her hand and slowly made the water evaporate.

Piper hesitated before she whispered a shaky, yet firm command. “Wake up!”

Jason’s eyes opened and he groaned, What happened?”

“She’s awake.” Percy ignored his question, “Do you remember the plan?”

Jason nodded, trying to stand up before he quickly fell again. “I can’t stand,” he whispered in shock.

Percy tried to stay strong. “It’s okay,” she tried to soothe. “When we win this, I’ll force Apollo to heal you.” Jason gave her a grateful grin, “Do you think you have enough energy to fly all of us up?”

Jason shook his head, “I only have enough energy to fly two people up and if I have to carry her up as well, then maybe I can carry one person.” He grimaced. “Although that might be pushing my luck.”

“That’s not good. And we know that gods chose to sit this battle out.” Percy let out an ear-piercing whistle before muttering a small, “Hopefully that’ll work.”

Two pegasi formed in front of them. “That’s never happened before,” Leo mentioned.

Percy nodded in agreement. The gods sent us, Blackjack transmitted in Percy’s head. They said the ancient laws forbid them from helping any more than they already did.

Percy forced herself not to roll her eyes. What a bunch of bullshit. Instead, she faced her friends, “Piper and I will take Blackjack. Leo, will you be alright with Spade?”

Leo turned to the white Pegasi and nodded. “Aye, aye ma’am.”

Percy and the others exchanged grins. Even in the most dire situation, you could count on Leo to make a joke. She turned to Jason. “Whatever you do, make sure she isn’t touching the ground.”

Jason nodded. “We got this. We can win.”

Percy didn’t know whether he was that confident in his abilities to win or if he was trying to convince himself.

It was probably the latter.

Percy turned to Piper who’s been quiet so far. “You ready?” she asked.

“Yep.” Piper played with her torn shirt, “It’s just a lot of pressure.”

Percy understood what she meant. So she grabbed Piper and Leo’s arm, tugging them closer to Jason and herself. “Group hug.” Her voice was hoarse and it cracked. She was thankful that they ignored it and just melted into the hug. “I love you guys.” She reminded them. “I’m so lucky that I got to meet all of you.”

One by one, the rest of them repeated her gesture. Deep down, they all knew that this was their way of saying goodbye. Just in case they didn’t make it out.

Percy helped Piper up on Blackjack and she gave Jason a final glance before instructing her pegasi to fly to where Gaea resided.

On the mound of dirt, Percy saw a figure standing.

Gaea had such delicate features on her face that it would’ve made her seem innocent. She had honey brown hair that framed her face, bringing out her dangerous green eyes.

Her voice was sickly sweet as she said, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Yeah, well. We’re here.” Percy heard Leo sarcastically say, “So, you ready to lose?”

“Leo Valdez.”

“That’s my name.” Leo cheekily grinned, “Don’t wear it out.”

Gaea continued like she didn’t hear the elfish boy, “Out of everyone who died today, I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

Even though Percy knew Leo was trying not to let that bother him, it did. And from the smirk on Gaea’s face, she knew it as well.

Before things could further escalate, Percy yelled “NOW!”

The winds around them picked up forcing the pegasi to fly higher, in order to not get caught.

Percy felt the winds twisting around, forming a tornado underneath the primordial.

Leo tried to distract Gaea by hurling insults at her. “HEY POTTY SLUDGE, OVER HERE!”

The goddess ignored Leo until Piper finally spoke up, her kaleidoscope eyes glowing. “Gaea,” her voice was commanding. “You want to listen to me.”

“SILENCE!”

“You are weary.” Piper’s voice was full of sympathy, “You are so, so tired.”

“LIES!” Gaea yelled.

Leo gave up on insulting the goddess, instead threw fire at the goddess. Distracting her from the tornado forming below her feet.

With Gaea’s attention on Leo, Percy began to assist Jason in lifting Gaea higher. She summoned water, slowly adding it to his hurricane.

Gaea began to rise higher. And they followed.

“YOU CANNOT DEFEAT ME.” Gaea’s form turned to dirt but the water that Percy added caught it before it reached the ground. Seemingly giving up on trying to go through the water, Gaea re-formed back to a human. “I AM ETERNAL!” she cried

“ETERNALLY ANNOYING!” Leo yelled as he urged Spade higher.

“Get me closer.” Piper urged Percy, “I need to be next to her.”

“The fire and the wind-“ Percy tried to argue.

“I know.”

Percy sighed knowing there was no talking Piper out of this as she moved in until they were right next to Gaea.

“FOOLISH DEMIGODS!” her face contorted into Annabeth, causing both Piper and Percy to hesitate for a brief second.

“Millennia of sorrow.” Piper told the goddess, her voice dripping with pity, “Your husband, he was abusive wasn’t he?”

The goddess started to nod before stopping when she noticed what she was doing, “LIES!”

Piper continued, seemingly unfazed. “You know, you did the right thing.” Gaea turned to Piper shocked, stopping all her attacks. “Cutting him into tiny pieces so that he can never hurt you again. After all, you just wanted to keep your kids safe, right?”

Percy’s eyes met Leo’s. She concentrated, forcing rain to slowly fall from the sky again. Percy made sure not to let the rain touch Gaea so that all her attention would stay on Piper.

Leo’s eyes were tight shut and Percy felt the air becoming warm. You could still hear the rain hitting the pavement in the background. Put together, the two of them just made the atmosphere perfect for sleeping.

Everything was relying on Piper now.

“All that pain. All that suffering.” Piper’s voice was soothing. “It’s no wonder you’re so tired.”

Gaea snapped out of the trance she was in. “I-YOU DO NOT-“

Piper pretended not to hear her and continued. “You want one thing.” Piper’s words made Percy’s bone shake, “Just one small thing. You’re just so tired of all the stupid and arrogant gods and demigods getting in the way.” Piper lowered her voice. As if telling the goddess a secret, “YOU—WANT—SLEEP.”

“NO!” the goddess groaned. “NO!”

Before Gaea’s body went limp, she held out her arm.

Piper quickly turned to Percy, “We only have a few minutes. My charmspeak won’t- AGHHH”

A thorny vine was creeping up Piper’s leg, trying to drag her down.

“Piper!” Percy screamed, “Give me your hand.”

“I- It’s too late.” Piper gasped in pain, the thorns twisted their way into her leg.

“No, it’s not.” Percy tried to argue, grasping Piper’s hand tighter.“ We can’t lose you too.” she turned to Leo. “Can you try to burn the vine?”

Even from afar, Percy could see Leo’s eyes tearing up. “No.” He whispered. “If I do, I might burn up her whole body.”

“Percy.” her attention went back to one of her closest friends. “Let me go.”

Percy felt the tears falling from her eyes as she shook her head. “NO!” she cried. “I can't! Not you too.”

Piper’s eyes were filled with determination as they met hers. “Don’t let our sacrifices go to waste.” She took in a deep breath. “Percy, let me go.”

Without hesitation, she let go. When Percy realized what happened, she tried to reach for Piper’s hand.

But it was too late.

That’s when she noticed Jason flying towards his girlfriend.

He could save her.

Jason forced the winds to carry his body to Piper’s. He managed to grab onto her waist, but the winds failed him and gave the vines a chance to wrap their thorns around him as well. They held onto each other as the thorns twisted into their body, tearing them into shreds.

“No.” Percy said in disbelief, “No!”

She felt Leo fly next to her. “Come on, Percy.” He gently urged. “We still have to defeat her. Piper’s right. We can’t let their deaths be in vain.”

Percy could only nod, she turned to Leo. He looked like he was made of fire. Realizing what he was about to do, she grabbed his arm. Not caring that it might burn her. “Leo, you can’t.” her voice was cracking, “You can’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry, Percy.” He patted Blackjack. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid, okay?”

I’ll try. She heard Blackjack’s voice in her head.

“I’m sorry, Perce.” he gave her a regretful smile. “Just make sure to keep her in the air and trust me.”

Without another glance, Leo threw himself onto the unsuspecting goddess.

Blackjack tried to fly as far away as he could but as soon as Percy heard a high-pitched scream, she used all her leftover energy and dissolved her body into mist.

Gaea began to brightly glow so Percy grabbed Leo’s arm, covered his eyes, and vapor traveled them out before the primordial could explode in golden light.

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Leo woke up and slowly stood as he tried to get rid of as much dust and ash as he could. He stumbled forward to the silent battlefield.

As Leo looked around, he finally noticed how bloody everything was. It felt like he crashed onto a cemented wall as his memories from the battle came flooding back.

Oh gods, he wanted to cry. They’re dead. They’re all gone.

Except for Percy. His mind argued. The two of them were the only ones left.

“PERCY!” he shouted. “ARE YOU HERE?” Leo continued to walk, his scratchy voice cutting the silence that the former battlefield was just enveloped in. “PERCY!”

A few minutes passed and Leo started to lose hope.

What if she’s dead? his mind whispered.

Stop it. He tried to argue, he couldn’t think like that.

Why? His head continued to taunt. If she’s dead, it’s gonna be all your fault. She saved you. She’s only dead because she saved you.

“No, no, no,” Leo whispered, pulling his hair. “NO! Stop it.” He screamed. “It’s not my fault.”

“Deep breaths.” He heard a familiar voice whisper. “In and out.”

He followed the voice's directions and his eyesight cleared up. “Percy!” he practically flew to her in order to give her a hug. “You’re okay,” he assured himself. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah, but...” her voice trailed off and Leo noticed that she was holding something or rather someone. “He’s not.”

Percy was holding a deformed eagle. Its whole body was crushed, “Is that Frank?” He couldn’t believe it, “How is he still alive?”

“His stick.” Percy reminded him. “It didn’t burn.” no one said anything for a while. “Leo,” Percy’s voice faltered. “There’s only three of us left alive.”

“Yeah?” Leo questioned, thinking that it was obvious.

“No, I mean-“ Percy stammered, “A few years ago, Chiron told me that the number three was sacred to the Greek world.”

Leo suddenly understood what she was implying. The three of them alive marked the end of their quest.

They won. But at what cost?

All of a sudden, a small stick- the size of his pinky finger appeared in Percy’s hand. It seems that even the gods pitied the son of Mars.

He watched as her eyes stared at the only thing keeping Frank alive, contemplating what to do.

They didn’t want Frank to go.

He was the only other person who understood what the both of them went through.

They were the last three demigods who survived Gaea but looking at him, Leo knew it would be selfish to keep Frank alive. Every bone he had was crushed.

He spent the last few hours of his life in so much pain. And there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t talk. Nothing. The least they could do was take him out of his misery.

Leo knew that Percy realized that as well when she hesitantly handed the stick to Leo, “Do it.”

And Leo did.

They could only watch as both the stick and their friend disintegrated into ashes.

Frank didn’t die in the hands of their enemy. Instead, he gladly died in the hands of the last, two trusted members of the seven.

As Percy and Leo watched Frank’s ashes disappear into the wind, they hoped that the souls of each demigod that died in this war made it to Elysium, where they can live in peace. They deserved it.

They said nothing for a while. The air was filled with a comfortable silence as they figured out what to do next.

“Do you have enough energy to get us back to the Argo II?” Leo abruptly asked.

“I think so.” Percy’s voice sounded so tired that Leo regretted asking her. After all, she did most of the heavy lifting in their fight against the giants. It was honestly scary. She fought with the precision of a goddess, it didn’t help that she had the looks of one as well. “Hold on tight.”

Leo felt his body dissolve before getting back together again. His mind felt dizzy as his feet touched the solid ground.

When his head cleared up, he noticed the familiar walls of his ship. He couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief.

It was all over.

Percy moved near him, “What are you gonna do now?”

“I fixed Festus and I plan on using him to find Calypso. She’s on an island called-“

“Ogygia.” Percy frowned, “I met her once but after the second titan war, I used one of my wishes to get her free.”

“The gods suck.” Leo bluntly stated, “After the last giant was defeated they disappeared. Athena didn’t even check on Annabeth!” Percy nodded, “They did the bare necessity and then they left without even a goodbye.”

“You’re right,” she whispered. “If you find Calypso, tell her I said that I was sorry. I really believed that the gods let her free.”

“She’ll forgive you.” He assured, “And it’s not your fault anyway. And Percy?” She faced him, “I’m probably not gonna go back to camp. There are just too many memories and I can’t handle that right now.”

Percy nodded in agreement. “I get what you mean. I just want a break from the godly world. I don’t want to see any mythological creatures again. And if we head back to camp, the gods are just gonna give us another quest.”

They shared a look of agreement. There was always another quest.

“I don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to, so let’s just try to make ourselves look as presentable as possible. Then we can head on our separate ways.” He advised.

Percy closed the distance between them and gave him another hug. This wasn’t goodbye, they would see each other again. “Make sure you stay safe. If you ever need help, just IM me. It doesn’t matter if they’re watching, I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

Leo found himself saying “I will.” before they both went to their respective rooms.

Leo quickly grabbed his belongings, stopping in the Med Bay filling up a random backpack he found with all the supplies he needed.

He made sure that his belt was still on his waist and that it wasn’t loose. If worse came to worse, he could summon almost anything he needed.

With a final glance at the direction Percy went, Leo pressed a few buttons on the suitcase on his desk before throwing it out into the air.

“Come on, Festus!” Leo called out, “The faster we get out of here, the better.”

Festus lowered his body, giving Leo a chance to climb up. After making sure that all their supplies wouldn’t fall, Festus lifted them onto the sky, flying towards the unknown.

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years ago

Text

Kingdom Collisions Part XVI

please explain to me how i started this fic after EotH and we’re now ahead of that fic?? Also don’t kill me? Okay i love you guys enjooyyyy

masterlist; my links

I know it’s been over a month so here’s a previously on:

Prince Jason Grace sets him down by the fire. “Don’t move, I’ll come back for you.”

And then he is gone, and Prince Perseus Jackson smiles. Because that was the voice of the man he fell in love with. And those hands which had brushed against his waist as he let go were as warm and alive as electric currents.

So the destroyer sits by the fire, and waits for his healer to rescue him.

Come home, don’t die so far from the sea

Percy Jackson can feel the hard press of the wooden floor against his back and he welcomes the pain like an old friend. The darkness of the room feels endless in the cold black of the early morning hours. The fire has long since died, no kindling or wood to keep it alight for however long he stays here. If he didn’t know they planned to kill him at dawn of the coming day he would think they were trying to freeze him to death. It was almost strange how cold he was considering Hanaan was supposed to be in spring, heading towards the warmer months at a rapid pace. He wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t in Piper’s kingdom any longer. Maybe he had been transported to a kingdom of eternal winter.

He remembers a story like it, one his mom had told to the group that met at the children’s library every month. He remembers all the stories his mother had told him, fitting into each other like a tapestry. Just then an icy wind drifts in from under the door making him shiver in the thin cotton clothes. He curls into a ball-any attempt to save his body heat- and closes his eyes to a warmer darkness. His mother’s voice echoes inside him.

“When the world was first created there was only the earth and the sea and the sky and the beings that made these elements up.”

Queen Sally smiled down at the children surrounding her, looking up with sparkling eyes, hanging onto her every word.

There was the Lady of the Ocean, and the Being of the Rivers, and the Wisps of the Sky and the Dancers of the Earth. They lived together in harmony, for they never knew of each others’ existences. But one day the Being of the Rivers met the Lady of the Ocean and they learnt together what love was, and then loved each other. They refused to be apart, they couldn’t bare it; the oceans would thrash in agony, hurting the earth; the rivers would dry up, or form canyons in the ground in rage. It was destructive to keep them apart, for they loved so hard and so fiercely that it became a weakness to the world to separate them. So the beings stayed together, for eons, seasons, lifetimes passing without disruption. And in their time the earth changed and the sky grew rainbows and new elements came into being, things that molded and shaped as they had. Things that would not become clear until there was tangible things to hold them, make them. The day came, uncountable eras into their existence. A Dancer of the Earth had fallen in love with a Wisp of the Sky and together they created one that walks.

“Like us Your Majesty?” A little girl burning with curiosity, curly pigtails swinging slightly in the Mare breeze.

“Just like us Bianca.” His mother had smiled, “With two legs and a wide smile and so much love in their hearts.”

Bianca sighed contentedly as if she had known that first being all her life and looked up to them.

“And with that one being came more and more. As they settled down the need for structure became apparent. Not to control these new beings, but to make sure they had a place to talk about their struggles and to connect them with those who could help. And who better-

His mother had smiled, one of her secret smiles, that meant she knew something she’d beg them to tell her. Half the children around her fell for the bait.

“Whom, your majesty?” A child he had never seen before squeaked, rocking on their heels, knees pulled up to their chest.

“Well the very beings that brought them there.” She giggled, watching as some of their faces scrunched in confusion while others slowly came to the realisation.

The beings of the earth and the rivers and the sky took on a form, as close to the new beings as possible and came to them to offer help, and solace. And that is how the Kingdoms were formed. Mare for water, and Caelum for sky, and Canbaha for earth.

The questions came all at once.

“So the first Kings and Queens were the beings of the world?’

“What happened to the Ocean Lady and the River?”

“Are you a-”

“Alright alright,” The Queen laughed, “One at a time, let’s go around the room shall we?”

The children raised their hands, impatience shaking their little bodies. His mother pointed at Bianca who was right under her gaze.

“What happened to the Lady of the Ocean and the Being of Rivers?”

“Remember how i told you they couldn't ever be separated?”

The gaggle before her nodded enthusiastically eager to show they were listening.

“Well they were the only beings to rule one kingdom together. They decided if they fed one another there was no need to keep themselves apart. Instead of becoming a kingdom of Oceans and kingdom of Rivers they become the Kingdom of Mare.”

“What about all the other kingdoms?” A small voice piped up, drifting in the sea of mutters.

“Those kingdoms came to be as beings changed and evolved and became something different, something more. The Kingdom of Hanaan appeared first, created by a beautiful person who could change form at will. She knew not of physicality but of emotion. And then the Kingdom of Hekima came, bringing with it prosperous invention and ways to keep the world working better, more beautifully. And then the Kingdom of Xoia-”

Bianca gasped, “Mine!”

“Yours” his mother had smiled, stroking the little girl's head. “Xoia was one of the last to appear but it brought brightness to the world that could not be found or made otherwise.”

“What happened to the beings that ruled, mom?” Percy’s voice was small, like a baby bird learning how to use its beak.

For him she cocked her head, her blue eyes glinting under the candlelight swaying above them. “What do you think Prince?”

Come home, don’t die so far from the sea

Percy awoke to the door creaking open and rough hands digging into his arms as they hauled him up. He doesn’t have the energy to demand where they were taking him. He didn’t have the wits or the power because his brain was slowly coming to realisations he was not ready to have. It was making assumptions he was terrified may be true. It was shattering his world for the billionth time. It was breaking him.

The world is still dark, but it is not that heavy blackness that seems to suck him in. It is the kind of dark that tells you the light was winning; that soon you will see pinpricks of white and yellow and gold poking through the sky and then the world will be awash in colour once more.

He is thrown onto the grey-stoned floor, hiding his wince as his knees take the brunt of it. The people who had deposited him laugh and walk away. He doesn’t bother to call after them, instead taking in the surroundings. He is in an arena. In a colosseum. He is the lamb offered up to the butcher. He is the prey stuck in a hunter’s snare. He is the entertainment.

He can picture it now; crowds stomping into the stone stands and chanting for his death. He can imagine the painter sat in the box only one lower from the royalty, slapping colour onto a canvas, swirling it in the shades of his blood. He can imagine the musicians in the box just below the painter, banging on their drums, letting the beautiful notes of a flute be the anthem to his downfall. He can imagine his husband, standing in the box above all, looking down at him with those eyes of lightning. Eyes he had woken up to when Jason’s nightmares were so bad they had to sit by his window. About that blonde hair, like strands of sunlight, he has so often wanted to run his hands through, how he mourned its discolouring when their blood coated it. About those hands that held him when they were captured and freed him so they weren’t. And he wonders, if the Prince will miss him.

Because, he realises with startling radiant clarity, somewhere in the mess that had become their lives Percy had grown to care for the Prince of Caelum. He doesn’t really know when it started; maybe when he found Jason screaming outside the door to the Captain of the Guards’ chamber; or maybe when Percy had sought him out some nights later, and held him as he cried; or maybe when Jason let him be a part of the kingdom by giving him a white rose. He can’t be sure it wasn’t a combination of all those things. He sits on the cold platform in the middle of the arena and finds himself sad, achingly sad, that he will never get that time with his husband. That he will never get to tell the Prince how he feels.

The sun rises slowly, as if trying to delay the inevitable, but Percy embraces it, letting the warmth of the final tomorrow caress his brown skin. If it is the last time he feels the sun, he wishes to do nothing but feel it. The rays are gentle on his face and he can only imagine it’s what Jason’s touch would have felt like. He sits cross-legged, chin to the sky, eyes closed to the array of colours and lets the last joys of this world embrace him.

The wrought iron gates underneath the raised stands shake and rattle, but he doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t know what beasts await him; he doesn’t care. Let them come, he thinks, it will be a mercy to rest at last. The crowds pour in, his people who he was set to rule one day, Jason’s people who he was set to protect one day. Still he keeps himself shut off from the world, feeling the sun, and the wind.

If he had loved anything at all he had loved the wind, the way it chased his ankles, and swept him up, and raced him, and held him, and danced with him, and coaxed him. It was a tragedy, a heartbreaking thought, that he hadn’t gotten to see his ocean one last time. He would have loved to feel the cool water on his skin, and the sand sinking under his feet. He wishes he had more time. He wants this to be over as soon as possible. Time is up.

“Good morning my people,” A voice like ancient beings and newborns croons across the colosseum. “Are you ready to witness history?”

Percy thinks of his mother, the keeper of stories, and knows she has already heard this one. Percy thinks of his father, who has returned to the beginning. He knows his parents will not come to save him. Percy thinks of his childhood friends, all leading secret lives, forged to end his own. He knows they will be in the stands to watch their victory. Percy thinks of his husband, a soldier for an army they could never have predicted. He knows they will never learn how to love one another.

The crowd is screaming, the wrought iron is rattling. Prince Perseus Jackson opens his eyes as the gate yawns open.

The arena is deafening, shaking with anticipation. He glances to the royal box nearly floating in the clouds and frowns when he doesn’t spot a flash of blonde hair.

The people are feral with excitement. A loud boom echoes from the musicians box.

Prince Jason Grace stumbles from the mouth of the arena and falls to his knees in front of the platform.

“Kill him Perseus.” A voice glimmers around him, leaking in through the ringing in his ears.

“Come home Prince,” That voice lilts, “Do not die so far from the sea.”

Jason looks up at him, blue eyes hazy, a dagger loose in his clasp. “Hello Prince.”

Percy steps down from the platform, and takes the dagger from his husband’s hands. It is almost sickening how easily he gives it over.

The crowd stomps its feet: they are ready for blood; they are ready for slaughter.

He holds the dagger up, making sure it glints in the sun. And then he draws his husband close until there is nothing between their bodies, not space, not even air.

“Let’s go home my love.” He whispers. “We will not die so far from the sea.”

Prince Perseus Jackson brings the blade down.

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

Danny how do we feel?

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open):

@nishlicious-01

@queen-of-demons-and-hell

@leyontheway

@sparkythunderstorm

@jinpas-bitches

@aalikun

#kingdom collisions #part 16 #jercy are royalty #royalty jercy au #Jercy royalty AU #pjjg fanfic #pjssg fanfic #pjjg series #pjssg series #jercy #jason grace #percy jackson

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writingblock101 · 5 years ago

Text

Till Kingdom Come (Jason Todd x Reader)

Part 1

Thank you so much to everyone who left a nice comment for me! They made my day and I’m so happy you guys like this fic as much as I do! Without further ado, here is part 2 to For the Kingdom!

Warnings: Various spoilers for Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, To Kill a Mockingbird, and The Outsiders

Word Count: 5,000

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish @jaybirdxarsenal @palefiregiver @because-icanhide @nakedszn

Jason didn’t talk to you like he told Dick he would. He was scared to face you after causing so much pain during something that is supposed to bring pleasure. Why would you want to see him? Besides, Jason would end up saying something stupid and making you cry.

As he walks by the library, Jason pauses, backtracking and staring into the huge room. When he first tried giving gifts, he tried guessing what you were interested in and failed. So, instead of trying to guess what you might like, what if Jason shows you things about him and hopefully gives you a reason to not be scared of him?

. . .

The next morning, you receive another gift from Jason. You open the box, expecting to find clothing or jewelry, but instead, you find a book with a note: I’m sorry about last night. I don’t want our marriage to be built on fear. I’m willing to try and make this work if you are.

You smile sadly at the note then look down at the book: Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

. . .

It takes two days to finish the book. It was absolutely fantastic and bizarre, and now you want to talk about the book, but you’re not sure who to speak to. Jason doesn’t strike you as the reading type… Maybe Alfred suggested it.

You wander the castle in search of Alfred until you find him in the kitchen.

“Mrs. Y/N,” He greets, finishing cooking lunch. “I see you received Master Jason’s gift, did you enjoy it?”

“Yes,” You smile, sitting down at the island in the kitchen. “Giving a book was a great idea.”

Alfred smiles.

“Yes, Master Jason is quite fond of his books. He’ll be thrilled to hear you enjoyed it.”

You blink.

“So… Jason likes reading?”

Alfred chuckles.

“Very much. Why else would he give you a book?”

“I don’t know,” You say quietly. “I thought he was trying to find something to relate with I guess… I never took him for the reading type.”

“You have a lot to learn about your husband, Mrs. Y/N,” Alfred turns, placing two sandwiches and a bowl of fruit on a tray then holds the tray out to you. “Master Jason is in his office and I’m sure looking for a distraction. Would you care to bring him lunch?”

You stare at the tray, doubt racing through your mind.

“What if he doesn’t want to talk to me?”

“I assure you, Mrs. Y/N, Master Jason has been desperately trying to come up with ways to talk to you. He will be delighted to have lunch with you.”

He’s been desperately trying to come up with a way to talk to you? Really? The look on Alfred’s face shows that he won’t take ‘no’ for an answer so you hesitantly take the tray from him and walk to Jason’s office.

The door is shut and the sandwiches are getting warm the longer you stare at it. Just knock, that’s all. This is your husband. You’ve seen him naked. You can knock on the door.

Master Jason has been desperately trying to come up with ways to talk to you. He will be delighted to have lunch with you.

Alfred wouldn’t lie to you. Just knock on the door. You reach out a hand and knock hesitantly.

“What?” Jason calls from the other side of the door.

Your heart rate speeds up. He sounds irritated. This is a bad idea.

“I um… I have lunch from Alfred, but if you’re not hungry, that’s okay. I can just leave,” You ramble then the door opens, revealing a surprised Jason.

“Y/N,” He greets then blinks. “Um… hi.”

“Hi,” You respond, then neither of you speak for a moment.

“Uh… You said you had lunch?” Jason asks.

“Yes! Right, the whole reason I came here!” You hold up the tray, giggling nervously.

“Would… You care to join me for lunch?” Jason asks hesitantly.

You smile.

“That would be nice.”

He takes the tray from you and brings you into his office, you sitting on one side while he opts to sit behind his desk then you both begin silently eating. You’re about halfway through your sandwich when Jason speaks.

“How’s your day been?”

“It’s been good,” You nod. “How’s your day been?”

Jason shrugs.

“It’s been a lot of meetings.”

“Oh?” You ask.

Jason recalls you mentioning the lack of independence given to you by your mother.

“Yeah,” He nods. “We’ve been tracking Dent for months now. We hired Frank Castle to keep him from entering Murdock’s territory, but now Dent is forming an alliance with Bane’s kingdom and it’s a nightmare,” Jason sighs.

“Sounds like it,” You sympathize.

Honestly, you had no idea who Jason was talking about since you were never allowed information about your parents’ kingdom affairs, but you appreciate him telling you.

“I finished Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” You tell him randomly.

“Yeah?” Jason asks. “What did you think?”

“It was...good,” You admit, looking a little puzzled.

“You don’t seem confident in that answer.”

Your eyes widen and you rush to rephrase your answer, worried that Jason will think you’re ungrateful for the gift.

“No! No, I liked it! I really did! I just...”

“It’s bizarre?” Jason offers.

“Yeah...” You agree. “Bizare is a good word for it.”

He grins.

“Yeah, it’s a weird book. But I want to hear what you really thought.”

You pause, studying Jason’s earnest expression. You should be able to share freely with your husband. He hasn’t given you any reason to feel as though you were in danger. He’s encouraging you to speak your mind. You take a breath.

“It was good and I liked it, but I think a lot of it may have gone over my head.”

Jason chuckles.

“Yeah, I think it was supposed to. Honestly, when I finished it, my first thought was “what the fuck?”.”

You laugh.

“That’s how I felt! Then, of course, I started thinking about if mice actually ran the world and if we were really their lab rats.”

“That part messed with my head so much,” Jason admits. “As humans, we think we’re the dominant species or whatever and we’ve seen other humans manipulate us, but we really don’t know what capacity other animals have to manipulate us. Especially if they are smart enough to hide their intelligence from us.”

“That whole idea kind of reminds me of Toy Story where the toys secretly came to life without any human ever knowing. I always wonder what goes on that we don’t know about… Is there some secret universe within our world that we just don’t get to know about?”

“You know, given how many haunted doll movies exist, I’d prefer if that secret universe doesn’t consist of inanimate objects coming to life.”

You laugh, feeling yourself relax.

“Not a fan of Chucky?”

“Not really. I don’t mess with demons or ghosts or whatever possesses them,” Jason admits.

“Fair,” You nod then your mind follows a new train of thought. “I like that it started with something that was definitely a problem-- I mean, the guy’s house was about to be demolished-- but that problem becomes so small in comparison to all the crazy stuff that was about to happen.”

“Right?” Jason nods along. “It makes you wonder about the big picture and how much of it we can’t see.”

“There are so many possibilities in the universe,” You elaborate. “There are so many things out there that exist and we don’t even know about them. It makes you feel... small.”

“Yeah… It really makes you think about what you see as a problem,” Jason looks over at the map of various wars. “I know I’m going after people that are evil and hurting others, but sometimes I wonder about the bigger picture, you know? Am I actually making a difference or am I just part of the problem?”

You stare at the map for a long time, your eyes tracing where Dent retreated into Bane’s kingdom, mulling over Jason’s words. No one ever truly knows their impact. They hope they can understand it, but at the end of the day, individual lives are complex. Who knows if they are making a difference?

For the first time, you see Jason’s true intentions with running the kingdom. He wants the best for others and his kingdom. He doesn’t go to war for the thrill of violence, he goes to war to protect his kingdom and to help others. Despite the stories, they aren’t showing a true version of Jason. He is ruthless because he wants to protect his people and he’s afraid he isn’t protecting his people. Jason is... caring.

“I guess that’s what life is…” You say slowly. “We try to make a difference and hope we aren’t contributing to the problem. I don’t think we will ever know, but we’re trying our best…”

Jason nods along, still staring solemnly at the map. This is something that seems to haunt Jason, but it shouldn’t. He isn’t adding to the problem and you feel confident in that, but clearly, he is doubtful. Before his brain can further torture him, you smile and break the silence:

“Oh, and of course, 42.”

Jason laughs, tossing his head back at your joke. You feel your face heating up with a blush and a small flicker of pride for making him laugh.

“How could I forget?” He grins then glances down at the empty tray. “Thanks for eating lunch with me. I wasn’t sure you’d want to talk to me.”

You shrug, avoid his gaze. Embarrassment burns on your face from that night.

“It wasn’t your fault,” You say, even though your nervousness did originate with Jason’s presence. He still did everything he could to help you relax. “You did your best, and you’re trying, so I think it’s time I gave the same effort. I want to make this work too,” You smile then stand and collect the tray. “I’ll see you later.”

Once outside of Jason’s office, you smile softly to yourself. Maybe Jason isn’t so bad...

. . .

The next book he gives you is To Kill a Mockingbird.

You shyly hang around the kitchen, wanting to talk to Jason about the book. While you know he would probably be more than willing to talk to you--he did give you the book-- something is holding you back. Finally, Alfred hands you a tray with a knowing smile.

“I believe you have someone waiting for you.”

You smile back and take the tray to Jason’s office.

Like last time, Jason updates you on the war against Dent then the conversation turns to the book.

“That was just…” You shake your head. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Jason nods. “It’s intense.”

“I can’t believe they actually convicted Tom Robinson,” You admit. “I was kind of hoping it was going to have a happy ending where they beat the odds but…”

“But instead it’s a smack from reality,” Jason finishes.

“It’s mind-boggling that people used to be like that,” You pause. “Okay, maybe not, it makes sense because racism still exists but to that extent? I mean, I’m sure it still unfortunately happens, but…”

“It really makes you wonder about people.”

“Yeah, it does. I actually really like reading about trials. Government is kind of… Stupid, but the judicial system is interesting.”

“I agree that government is stupid. Too many damn politics.”

“Good thing you’re running a kingdom,” You laugh.

Jason sighs, shaking his head.

“It’s so unnecessarily complicated. Yes, people are complicated in general and someone is always going to be unhappy and whatever, but I hate how much of this is based on who you know and how you know them and have you pissed them off recently.”

“It’s a people-pleasing game.”

“Yeah, and I hate it. Who cares if I pissed off some advisor for the Stark kingdom? It’s not my kingdom, it shouldn’t be my concern.”

“Stark kingdom?” You ask.

“Yeah, you know, the big flashy one out west?” Jason prompts.

You hesitate, tempted to say that you knew exactly who Jason was talking about, but changed your mind and opted to be truthful.

“No, I honestly have never heard of that kingdom… Or really, any of the other kingdoms you’ve mentioned.”

“Really?” Jason asks. “But you were royalty, how did you not know about other kingdoms?”

You shrug, shyly picking at a loose thread.

“My mother had a very specific idea about how I should be raised. She basically raised me to be a wife,” You roll your eyes. “So I never got to know about politics in the kingdom, places outside the kingdom, how to fight, hell, it’s a miracle I can even read--”

“Wait,” Jason interrupts. “Fighting? You don’t even know how to defend yourself?”

“No, she just wanted me to be some helpless little princess and marry some strong rich prince,” You remark bitterly.

Jason looks down at his desk for a moment, looking a little ashamed. Fuck, why did I run my mouth?

“I don’t mean you! I know it sounded like I did, but I promise I don’t--”

He shrugs, waving you off.

“I get it, that basically is what happened,” Jason admits. “But that’s bullshit. Some of the best fighters I have are women. I’m going to--” He paused, remembering how much of your life you lived against your will and rephrased himself. “Would you like to learn how to fight?”

Your face lit up and Jason kicked himself for not offering earlier. Seeing you excited made his heart skip a beat.

“Really?”

“Of course,” Jason grins. “I want my wife to kick ass like the badass that she is.”

. . .

“Okay, so we’ll start with the basics,” Jason says, the two of you in the castle's extensive training room. “Do you know how to form a proper fist?”

“Thumb not tucked it,” You say as you form a proper fist, one of the few pieces of information you managed to sneak from your kingdom’s general.

“Exactly,” Jason agrees. “You’ll break your thumb if you try to tuck it. For standing, you want your dominant foot behind you, slight bend in your knees,” He demonstrates. “Your hands are up by your face, protecting you.”

You copy his stance, protecting your face.

“Good,” Jason praises. “This is your fighter’s guard. You always stay in this. When I say reset, you go back to your fighter’s guard. Whenever you are punching or kicking, there is always at least one hand protecting your face.”

You nod along, still holding your fighter’s guard and listening intently.

“We’ll start with a simple jab. This punch doesn’t have a lot of power, but it’s fast and can catch your enemy off guard. Something important to know is that the power in your punches doesn’t come from your arm, it comes from your hips,” He does the punch slowly, emphasizing how his shoulders and hips move into the punch. “Why don’t you try it?”

You punch the air, moving your shoulders and hips the same way Jason did.

“Good, when you’re punching, don’t aim any higher than your shoulder height or you’re going to hurt yourself. Okay, so the next punch is one for power, it’s your cross,” He stands in his fighter’s guard then with his back arm, punches forward, twisting his body and pivoting his back foot. “See how I pivoted?” Jason asks, twisting his foot. “That’s where the power comes from because by pivoting, you’re twisting your hips and using your body weight as opposed to brute force. Try it.”

You frown, trying to move your body like Jason’s, but you focus too much on the pivot that your shoulders don’t move.

“Close, but remember to let your shoulders naturally move with your body so your torso is facing me.”

You try again, but instead of focusing on your hips, you focus on your shoulders, causing your hips to remain stationary.

“You’re thinking about them as two separate movements, but it’s all just one movement,” Jason steps behind you and puts his hands on your hips but feels you tense at the contact. “Is this… okay?” He asks, realizing he may have overstepped despite the fact that you two have had sex.

“No, it’s okay,” You say back, feeling tingles where he’s holding you.

“Okay, throw your cross,” As you turn your shoulders, Jason turns your hips, forcing your foot to pivot.

“You feel that?” He mutters to you, shivers shooting down your spine at the feeling of his breath on the back of your neck.

“Yeah,” You answer breathlessly.

“Do it again.”

You throw the punch again, his hands moving your hips again then Jason moves out from behind you. You feel a little cold now that his presence behind you is gone.

“Now do it when I’m not moving your hips.”

You throw the cross again, your shoulders and hips moving perfectly.

“Atta girl,” He grins.

You can’t help but grin back.

Jason knows you’re still not completely comfortable around him, but you’re trying. With each day, Jason can see your walls wearing down. He hopes one day you’ll fall in love with him because he thinks he may be falling for you.

. . .

Jason walks into his office and notices a box sitting on his desk, which is odd since Alfred didn’t mention any deliveries. The packaging is plain, with no indicators of where it came from or who sent it. Jason frowns but opens the box. Inside are two books and a note: Beowulf and Grendel.

I figured it was my turn to give you a book. Read Beowulf first then Grendel. It’s my favorite.

Jason grins to himself, flipping open the first page of Beowulf.

. . .

You and Jason fall into a routine. Every other day, he teaches you to fight and about twice a week, you join him for lunch and discuss the latest book you sent each other. Now, you don’t hesitate to waltz into his office and have lunch with him.

“You’re terrible!” You insist, bursting into Jason’s office with lunch.

He looks up from the documents on his desk with a smirk.

“So, you finished the book?”

“‘So, you finished the book’,” You mock. “Yeah, I finished the book and it made me cry. It’s paper! It’s not allowed to do that!”

Jason laughs, sitting back in his chair.

“Which part?”

“Oh, I don’t know: When Ponyboy is reunited with Darry and Sodapop, when Johnny died, when Dally died, when Ponyboy almost died.”

Jason nods along.

“Yeah, it’s pretty brutal.”

“But it was so good,” You grin, setting the tray down on Jason’s desk, but frown at his tied face. “You okay?” You ask.

Jason waves you off.

“I’ll be fine, I’m just tired.”

You frown, rounding the desk.

“You didn’t come to bed last night.”

“Yeah,” Jason admits, scrubbing his face. “It was a long night. I didn’t want to wake you.”

You feel your heart swell with affection and reach forward, running your fingers through Jason’s hair. He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. Ever since Jason broke the invisible wall around you when it came to physical contact, you’ve started showing Jason more physical affection.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

Jason sighs, forcing his eyes open.

“Dent’s gone underground. We can’t find him or Bane. Rumors are flying around that they are trying to make a super-soldier army. Bane has dabbled in that in the past so the likelihood they can pull it off is alarmingly high.”

“You’ll find him,” You reassure. “There’s only so many places he can hide.”

“Yeah,” Jason nods in agreement. “It’s just frustrating. I hate not being able to do anything.”

“You are doing something,” You insist, knowing how much he hates the politics surrounding his kingdom. “You’ll find Dent,” Your hand moves to rest on his cheek.

He lifts his hand to cover yours, leaning into your touch.

“Thank you,” He says softly, then the door opens, unannounced.

A young man you haven’t seen before waltzed in followed closely by one of Jason’s advisors.

“I apologize, sir,” The advisor begins. “I was unaware you had company.”

“As I usually do during lunch,” Jason growls, standing up.

You walk over to stand next to Jason.

“And what lovely company you do have,” The man grins, shaking your hand then pressing a kiss to the top of it. “Billy Russo,” He introduces with a charming smile.

“Y/N,” You smile, shyly taking your hand back from Billy.

He winks at you.

“Russo,” Jason greets tightly. “I see you’ve met my wife,” Jason wraps a protective arm around your waist, leveling Billy out with a deadly glare.

“Wife?” Billy asks in surprise. “My apologies. I was unaware you were married.”

You notice Jason’s jaw is still clenched, so you lean against him, wrapping your own arm around his back and squeezing him lightly. He glares at Billy for a moment, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Billy watches with interest, quirking an eyebrow then tucks his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels.

"I was informed you have a proposition for me?”

Jason sighs, turning to you.

“Sorry to cut lunch short--”

“Nope, go run your kingdom,” You insist then lean up and kiss him on the cheek.

Jason looks shocked for a moment, but grins and easily kisses your head fondly.

“Rain check?”

“Damn right,” You grin, then walk out of the room, leaving your husband to run his kingdom, your cheeks burning with excitement. Seeing him get a little jealous and protective when Billy came in? You liked that.

. . .

You stretch your arm across your chest, waiting for Jason to join you on the mats. This week, you’ve been working on kicks, your favorites being the roundhouses. They’re powerful, fast, and they make you feel badass.

Living with Jason has been...nice. At first, you were angry, reluctant, and scared, but things have been getting better. Jason admitted that he’s never really dated before and now he’s married so it’s been one hell of a learning curve.

Between your unofficial book club and fighting lessons, you’re learning a lot about your husband, mainly that he is a gigantic dork. More importantly, you’re learning that Jason is more than the stories you’ve heard about him-- he’s caring, patient, charming, and fiercely protective. He’s incredibly smart, stubborn, and snarky. Jason sees you as an individual, as his equal and treats you as such. You’re extremely grateful for him and the independence he has effortlessly given you.

It feels weird to have a crush on your husband, but you can feel yourself falling hard. A smile stretches across your face as you think about the lovely flowers Jason left on the dresser for you this morning. While the kingdom has kept him busy and usually gone before you’re awake, Jason still finds ways to leave things for you. You do the same for him, usually through the form of a note on his desk, or bringing him lunch on days when he’s busy with meetings.

Your marriage is odd and developing, but you’re both making it work.

As you’re thinking about Jason, the door opens and your husband walks in, looking exhausted. You frown at his tired face.

“Hey,” He greets through a yawn, stretching tall.

“Hey,” You frown. “You okay?”

Jason pauses, rubbing his eyes for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m just tired.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t do our fighting lesson today,” You suggest.

“No,” Jason shakes his head. “I’m okay, really.”

“Jason, you look dead on your feet.”

“I’m fine,” Jason snaps, causing you to recoil, but he sighs, collecting himself. “Sorry, I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

You frown, taking a step closer, running your fingers through his hair. He leans into you, closing his eyes for a moment.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

Jason sighs again, his shoulders slumping.

“Dent’s armies wiped out two villages last night. There weren’t any survivors.”

You feel your heartache for those families. While Jason was a fairly ruthless general, he always prioritized keeping innocent casualties to an absolute minimum. He’s protective of his people and innocent bystanders.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper to him, knowing the frustration building up inside him.

“Yeah, me too,” He admits.

“You’re doing everything you can,” You insist.

“But it’s not enough,” Jason’s jaw clenches. “So many people died because I’m not moving fast enough. We keep trying to play this defensive strategy game instead of just hitting him where it hurts.”

“This isn’t all on you, Jason,” You cradle his face. “Unfortunately, it’s not just your choice and you’re doing what you can.”

“But it should be!” Jason explodes, pulling away from you to angrily pace. “People’s lives are on the line. Who the hell cares about politics?!”

You say nothing, letting him rant.

“This shouldn’t be a people-pleasing game! We found Dent! So now, we need to take him down! We shouldn’t be waiting!”

“So, why are you?” You ask.

Jason’s jaw clenches.

“We’re working with the Russo kingdom now and they’re afraid Dent actually made super soldiers so their gathering intel before making a move.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing…” You point out hesitantly.

“It is when people who had absolutely nothing to do with this are getting slaughtered!” Jason snaps. “Nobody in either of those villages were associated with this kingdom or Russo’s. They didn’t leave any survivors, not even kids,” His voice went quiet. “Between those two villages, fifty-three kids died.”

You step toward him, grabbing Jason’s hands.

“Those deaths are not on you,” You tell him. “You’re doing what you can. I know it’s frustrating to watch people die when you have the power to do something, but Russo is right. If Dent and Bane are working together to make super soldiers, you have to know what you and your men are walking into so you don’t have more casualties.”

Jason sighs, looking down and playing with your fingers. He’s frustrated and feels helpless. People are dying and Jason has the resources and ability to stop it, but instead, he is restricted by politics. You know nothing you say to him will truly help, but you offer support anyways.

“I know…” He finally admits. “I know Russo is right… It’s just… Frustrating.”

“I know it is,” You frown, pulling Jason into a hug.

He slumps into you, pulling you close, his head on your shoulder.

“You need to sleep, Jase.”

“I did sleep.”

“You didn’t get an actual good night’s sleep,” You pull away from him, forcing him to look at you. “It’s the third time this week you didn’t come to bed.”

“There’s just...” He sighs. “A lot going on.”

“I understand that, but you need to take care of yourself,” You cup his face with one hand, pushing a few loose strands of hair off his face.

Jason smiles softly at you, placing his hand on top of yours.

“How did I get lucky enough to have you as my wife?”

You grin and shrug.

“Looks like the odds were in your favor.”

Jason rolls his eyes but smiles and pulls you into another hug, kissing the top of your head.

"Come on,” You say, pulling him away from the hug and toward the door. “We’re going to go take a nap.”

“We?” Jason asks, looking a little hopeful.

“How else am I supposed to make sure you actually sleep?” You tease, excitement building in your stomach.

Jason grins then you two head to your bedroom and change into something comfortable. You climb into bed, then face Jason and hesitantly open your arms to him, hoping you’re not overstepping. Jason smiles then climbs into bed with you, laying against your chest. You run your fingers through his hair and down his back, feeling him relax under your touch.

“Thank you,” Jason mutters, tightening his arms around you.

“Of course,” You murmur back, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

. . .

Jason lunges forward but you catch his arm, bend your knees and force him to roll over your shoulder, letting gravity do the work. He hits the ground with a hard ‘oof’ and you jump on him instantly, trapping his arms under your feet.

“That was good,” He praises.

You shrug with a sheepish grin.

“I have a pretty good teacher.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jason raises his eyebrows. “Well, he can’t be that good.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“What?”

Then before you can react, Jason is hooking his arms under your legs and quickly flipping you to the ground, pinning you to the floor.

“Because he clearly hasn’t taught you the importance of keeping your guard up,” He mutters, his chest pressed against yours.

“Well, I guess I was a little distracted,” You respond, breathlessly, looking at Jason with a coy grin.

When you first saw Jason, you registered him as attractive, but fear kept you from appreciating how handsome he is. Now, as you stare up at your husband, dark hair, blue eyes, flushed cheeks, and muscular shoulders, you know he’s hot.

“Distracted you say?” Jason hums. “We can’t have that, now can we?” He asks, his eyes flickering to your lips.

You stare at him for a moment, your chests heaving as you both catch your breath. His eyes flicker down again and he slowly begins leaning down, giving you time to pull away from him.

Instead, you surge up, tangling one hand in his hair, pulling him down to you and connect your lips. You haven’t kissed him since you had sex with him. You were nervous and apprehensive, but now? You trust Jason completely, even with his body weight pinning you to the ground. He would never intentionally hurt you and cares deeply for you.

You weren’t ready the first time, but now, you have never felt more confident in your life.

Jason melts into the kiss, bracing his arms on either side of your head. Your free hand grips his shirt, pulling him even closer to you, but Jason pulls away and sits up, dragging you into his lap.

You kiss him again, cradling his face in your hands while his hands trace up your sides. You open your mouth into the kiss, allowing Jason to slip his tongue inside, his hands running under your shirt. Breaking away, you toss your shirt over your head with a giggle while he does the same then pulls you in for another kiss.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” He breathes, his thumbs stroking your sides.

You blush at the compliment, running your hands down his strong arms. Jason leans in again, kissing you slowly and dragging your hips against his. You grin into the kiss, pushing your hips down equally as hard.

Jason breaks away again.

“You sure about this?” He asks breathlessly.

A few months ago, you would’ve been fearful of Jason hurting you, but you know the man in front of you would never lay a hand on you and will protect you at all costs. He’s stubborn and a bit of an ass sometimes, but he’s also loving and passionate. You feel your heart swell with affection for the man in front of you-- your husband.

“I love you,” You say simply.

Jason’s face goes blank with shock.

“What did you say?” He whispers.

“I love you,” You repeat without an ounce of hesitation.

Jason stares at you for a long moment, then surges forward, kissing you deeply. One of his hands tangles in your hair, pulling you closer to him while the other wraps around your waist, your body flush against his.

“I never thought I would hear you say that,” He admits, pressing his forehead to yours. “I never thought I would hear anyone say that to me.”

You grin, cradling his face with your hands.

“I’m in love with you, Jason,” You repeat.

Jason pushes your back to the ground, kissing you again. Your legs wrap around his waist as he conveys as much passion into the kiss as possible before finally breaking away and resting his forehead against yours.

“I’m in love with you too, Y/N,” He grins.

You pull him down for a soft kiss then Jason starts trailing kisses down your neck. You tilt your head back and impatiently pull on his shorts.

“Are we really about to do this here?” He chuckles into your neck.

“Hell yeah,” You grin.

Jason grins back and kisses you again, helping you pull your sports bra over your head.

. . .

One round of sex eventually turned to two then three then you finally made your way upstairs only to have sex again in bed. You trace your fingers across Jason’s chest as he cards his fingers through your hair.

The first time you had sex, it was painful and scary. You felt pressured by the kingdom and were still scared of Jason, but the second time? Well, you don’t ride horses, but damn you love to ride your husband.

Jason wraps his arm around you and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“So, what next Mrs. Todd?” He asks.

“Hm… I’m kind of hungry,” You admit.

“Yeah?” Jason asks. “Me too. Sandwiches?” He offers.

“Yeah,” You nod. “But not the cucumber ones Alfred makes. I want a ham sandwich.”

“I’m sure we can arrange that,” Jason agrees.

You toss back the covers and pull on a pair of shorts then steal one of Jason’s shirts. He grins at the sight of you in his shirt and pulls on a pair of sweatpants before walking over to you.

“I like when you wear my clothes,” He whispers, pulling you in for another long kiss and slipping his hands under the shirt.

You grin into the kiss then Jason tosses you over his shoulder.

“Jason!” You exclaim.

“Yeah, doll?” He asks, opening the door.

“What are you doing?!”

“You said you wanted a sandwich!” He starts walking down the hall. “So we’re going to the kitchen.”

“Put me down!” You demand through laughs.

“No can do, sweetheart.”

You two were going to be just fine.

Thank you for reading and for everyone who left a reply! If you have any requests, let me know and I’ll see what I can do! Until then, catch me writing random inspiration that comes to mind!

Part 3

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd #red hood #jason todd au #red hood au #royalty!au #royalty!jason #dick grayson #nightwing #billy russo #where are my punisher fans?#futuristic kingdom au #don't ask me questions about the time period #cause idk #red hood headcanons #jason todd headcanon #reques #imagines

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andythane · 3 years ago

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HOLY WATER CANNOT HELP YOU NOW I’VE COME TO BURN YOUR KINGDOM DOWN

MAY 19TH, 2021. OUTSIDE OF LAFAYETTE, LOUISIANA. notes & tw: this is literally all just bloody, brutal violence of every kind. andy, along side wes and wyatt, gets revenge on the rogue’s responsible for attacking rowan in february. italics are flashbacks, ps. tw for very graphic murder, lots of blood, violence, gore (eye, specifically), stabbing, decapitation/dismemberment, tc ahead. please read at your own discretion, it’s a lot.

The first time he kills someone, he’s twenty years old. Four months after he’d been officially patched into the club, reconciled with Rowan, and started this new chapter of his life. He knew what the patch sewn to his cut meant -- He had grown up next to it, had seen his father come home at all hours of the night covered in blood with a smile on his face as he slapped his gun onto the kitchen table and happily declared he needed a beer. That being said, doing it yourself and hearing stories were so comically different it made his head spin.

Most of the ride, he’s quiet, staring out the window of the Wyatt’s jeep as they drive through the backroads. There’s not much conversation to be had once they’ve gone over the plan, all three men knowing exactly what they’re going to this warehouse for. It’s roughly a two hour car ride, giving Andy enough time to go mentally go over the weapons he’s brought with him -- The gun tucked into his cut, one tucked into the waistband of his pants, one strapped to his ankle; The knife tucked in his boot strap, the other in the sheath of his belt. He’s nothing if not prepared. Andy goes over their placement for the thousandth, unneeded time, thinking through every what if scenario he could find himself in. It’s not often that his paranoid nature actually becomes a benefit.

They know the layout of the building, where each of them will cover, and the amount of people that will be there -- But he likes to prepare for the worst and the best, knowing from experience that they’re likely going to meet a mixture of both. Andy’s planned and executed this kind of thing enough times to know how to go about it blindfolded. At this point, it’s just like riding a bike.

He wonders what Wes is thinking, if his mind drifts back to Jace asleep at home, unaware of the violence going on around him; If Wyatt is imagining Iris in her hospital bed three months ago, scared of the oxygen mask strapped to her face. All Andy can think of is Rowan, sobbing in his arms while struggling not to move and potentially injure herself further, tearfully telling him why she hadn’t shown up to dinner.

It’s been a while since he’s found himself in this kind of mindset, having hung up his metaphoric hat when it comes to hitman jobs in the last few years. After his time in prison, Andy knew he had to lay low -- Being on parole, and having a daughter to raise changed his priorities. While the money from his ‘freelancing’ had been nice, he and Rowan had enough saved to last them a lifetime, especially with his cut of the guns the club sold, and her salary. There was no need for it now, not like when they were struggling to pay rent and put Rowan through school. Though, he couldn’t deny the high that came with planning a job was one Andy didn’t know he desperately missed. It used to scare him, how exciting he found this -- The rush that came from a stake out, figuring out each detail all the way down to the small possibility, the thrill of actually pulling his gun and breaking through the door. Now he welcomes it like an old friend.

He always imagined it would be a fair fight -- Or at least, not like this. Whenever the thought came to mind, he pictured himself wrestling some bond villain looking guy, the two diving for the gun that had been cast aside. It was naive, childish even -- But he didn’t expect that he’d be pointing his gun at someone who couldn’t be much older than him, one who was sobbing through swollen eyes, pleading for his life. His father kept his hand’s firmly planted on the kid’s shoulder’s to keep him from squirming out of the rickety chair, acting like this was a prize for a job well done. This could easily have been me, Andy thinks. Had this job gone wrong, he has no doubt Cronus wouldn’t hesitate to put him into that chair, make an example out of his son. Only, it didn’t. It was nothing short of an absolute success.

His father says something, but Andy doesn’t hear it. Jason is somewhere in the background cheering him on. Andy’s heart is pounding in his ears, both hands holding tightly to his gun, fighting to conceal the fact that they’re shaking. The gun is pointed directly at the poor kid’s head, Cronus’ steady hands keeping him from getting away from his obvious fate. Andy glances to his father for a moment, the wild look in the man’s surely meant to be read as adrenaline fueled pride. This is Andy’s first job after being patched in, and he had proved himself thus far. Now he just needed to finish this. Andy wishes he had the strength to lift his arms just that much higher, and put a bullet in his father’s head.

In that moment, he thinks of Rowan; Part of him wishes he hadn’t, based on the way his jaw clenches and his chest constricts -- He doesn’t want her to ever know about the horrible things he’s going to do, the horrible thing he’s about to do. Rowan shouldn’t have to see him for what he really is, what he’ll grow up to be: A monster. The rational part of himself reminds him that she already knows, and she’s still waiting for him at home, ready to pull him into open arms once he passes through the front door.

He pulls the trigger.

The kid’s blood splatters across Andy’s face.

They move quietly, each taking different sections of the warehouse. Wes covers the open space where the guns lie, Wyatt takes the small offices turned into ‘bedrooms’, while Andy takes the conference turned war room. He knows this is only a piece of the Rogues puzzle, but it’s a step in the right direction. They don’t plan on leaving anyone behind to tell the others what happened -- The grizzly scene and blood splattered across the walls will paint the picture for them.

His back remains against the wall, pulling his gun from his cut as he moves quietly, the three men in the conference room too distracted by their own conversation to notice Andy slipped into the dimly lit room. He makes presence known by firing a bullet into one man’s -- His name is Sam, based on the conversation Andy heard before entering -- knee, which creates a flurry of action as everyone tries to dive for the guns on the table. It’s the obvious move, one that Andy had anticipated. His hand reaches for the underside of the table between the four men seconds after his gun first fires, sending the flimsy plastic table over, their guns scattered and out of reach.

Sam fits one of the descriptions Will gave him, of a shorter, stocky man, blacked out ink covering him aside from a poorly done mermaid tattoo covering his throat. The man across from Sam fits the bill, as well -- Blonde, long hair, scar across his cheek, entire right arm covered in blacked out tattoos. Jack, Andy’s memory recalls. The man in question tries to make a run for one of the guns, but Andy stops him with a bullet to the stomach. Enough to knock him down, but not enough to immediately kill him. He wants them alive for this, to feel the same terror and pain Rowan did that night. They’re not going to be lucky enough to get a bullet to the head first.

The third and final man is one Andy recognizes now that he’s face to face. His name is Danny, but he’d been called Tex during his time in the club. (The nickname was stupid then, and it’s stupid now, Andy thinks.) He had his ink blacked out and left town roughly ten years ago after screwing the club over. The surprise reunion is enough to catch Tex off guard, enough that he hesitates, eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene in front of them. Both Sam and Jack bleeding on the floor, the former clutching his leg and screaming to the third to Do something, you fucking idiot. So, he does. The man charges forward, managing to knock Andy to the ground given the fact that he’s got about a hundred pounds on him.

They struggle as Tex tries to wrestle the gun away from Andy, before it gets thrown to the side in the fight. Punches are thrown on both ends, a ringing settling in Andy’s ears after a particular blow to the side of his head, though it doesn’t deter him. Andy manages to roll them over, holding the other man down with knee pressing down on his throat. Tex claws, scratches, and hits Andy in an attempt to get out from under him, but the cut off of oxygen makes it more difficult. He gets a few good blows in, though -- There’s blood dribbling down Andy’s arms from scratches, bruises that have already begun to form. He doesn’t notice, too focused on keeping the man under him from getting out of his grip. His hands move to hold Tex’s head, Andy’s thumbs digging into the inner corners of his eyes, gouging them as deeply as he can manage.

He can’t help but wonder if the three men have realized this isn’t about killing them; It’s about watching them suffer.

The fact that Tyson is still breathing is enough to send Andy into a tailspin. He had hoped the spineless piece of shit had fucked off somewhere, given that he hadn’t made an appearance in his and Rowan’s life in quite some time. Andy’s attempts at optimism always seem to be met with harsh reality, though, one that consistently proves the obvious: It’s childish to try and see the best out of a situation like this. He knows this as he throws the man off his front porch, knowing he has to take care of this problem himself -- Restraining orders and the local cops just aren’t going to cut it. Not when he and Rowan have a fragile six month old daughter sleeping in a crib down the hall.

His downfall is the fact that he reacts, he doesn’t plan. Andy knows better. The reason he’s been so successful with the club is his commitment to discretion, detail, and planning. He analyzes that night over and over for the next three years from the comfort of his prison cell, imagining how he would have killed Tyson if he had taken the time to do it properly -- Instead of grabbing his baseball bat, and kicking the front door in. He would have made it last longer, Andy decided. Prolong his suffering, before letting him gain a shred of hope that he’d make it out alive — Before finally putting him in the ground. That being said, the satisfaction that comes from the look of pure fear on Tyson’s face the moment he sees Andy come through the door? Unmatched.

The mental image is one that never fails to bring him a swell of pride. He can still hear the sound of his bat crushing bone, feel the way his heart skipped a beat with each and every hit. It didn’t matter if there was blood flying, covering him in the evidence; The fact that he hadn’t been quiet in his entrance; The sound of distant sirens headed their way, after a loud, shrill scream rang out. All that mattered was crushing Tyson’s skull, ending the iron grip he’s had on Rowan’s life for the better half of a decade. He didn’t care what happened next, as long as his wife and daughter were able to live in a world where Tyson Grant didn’t.

He only regrets not being able to finish the job that night.

It occurs to him, as his foot comes stomping down on Sam’s already shot knee, that he hasn’t done anything like this since prison. He’s gone on runs, jobs, the works -- Hell, he even threatened to brain Will in his own home. Everything pales in comparison, though. In prison, they had to be more creative; Breaking bones, cutting off fingers, slitting throats before the guards showed up. It was all quick and dirty, done by hand. There was no choice in the matter -- If he wanted to finish out his sentence, see his wife and daughter, even have a chance of making it to the end of the week at all, Andy had to get rid of the other guy. The protection that came with being a Primordial didn’t go as far as one would hope. There’s a reason they used to refer to him as the Grim Reaper. Years later, and he’s made it clear that he hasn’t lost his touch.

This man doesn’t want to fucking die, though. The way he keeps clawing at Andy, yelling obscenities between each scream of pain. He makes proclamations about how he’s going to kill Andy, calling him every name in the book as he tries and fails to fight for his life. A hard kick to the head shuts him up for a moment, disorienting him enough before Sam musters up enough energy to stab Andy in the calf, almost successful in knocking him to the floor. Clearly, the man got a last surge of something, accompanied by a knife he hadn’t realized Sam had on him. This only provokes an annoyed grunt and eye roll from Andy. He stumbles down onto one knee from the surprise of the movement, a stab to the man’s arm with the knife from his boot strap gets Sam to let go. He does, going limp as his knife is stuck in Andy’s calf. It doesn’t stop him from continuing the effort though, within a moment Andy’s on top of his unconscious victim, stabbing him in the chest over and over again like he’s in a cheap horror movie.

In that moment, he loses himself -- Something snaps, taking him back to the night he’d gotten a call that Rowan was in the hospital, the way he so desperately pushed down all of the anger and rage that came with knowing she’d been hurt at the hands of these assholes. Everything he’s fought to hold at bay for the sake of his wife, the kids, his sobriety, the club -- It all bubbles to the surface now, when he’s not worrying about keeping the kids safe and Rowan above water. When all there is is this room, and him, and the people that have to pay for the crimes they’ve committed.

Every emotion he’s expertly avoided, every ounce of it boils over as he stabs the Rogue over and over until they’re both covered in blood. The need for vengeance for what they did, the way they turned Rowan’s life upside down and left her afraid to look over her shoulder; Guilt over the fact that Andy, yet again, couldn’t protect the person he holds so dearly; The power that comes with knowing these men are at his mercy, ready to beg for their lives in a last ditch effort to survive what’s coming next. It all hits him like a freight train, leaving him a little dizzy. Though, that may be from the hits he’s taken himself, blood he’s lost -- Andy doesn’t take the time to find out. Instead, he comes to once he realizes the man under him is long dead, having succumbed to the injuries inflicted after the first few stabs.

The revelation stuns Andy momentarily, as he tries to catch his breath. If there was any witness to this, they’d see how frenzied the moment had become, that there was far more pent of emotion attached to this than Andy initially realized. Eyes glance to the two men left -- Tex, having passed out, and Jack slumped against a wall trying to stay conscious, a string of profanities passing his lips in a hoarse voice. His attention turns to his hands after that, steady but covered in a mixture of Sam’s blood and his own. A blood soaked piece of hair falls forward and onto his cheek as Andy wipes his hands off on his shirt, a wave of frustration running through him. Of fucking course he’d get blood in his hair, and now -- More on his face. He makes a mental note to book an appointment for a haircut.

They cut the man’s fingers off one by one, moving slowly and deliberately. The man in question, Gerald, is tied to a chair in the kitchen of the prison, thanks to a guard that’s on the MC’s payroll. No one is going to give a second thought to the sound of muffled screams or a hacksaw from the locked up tool shed going missing for the night. Andy’s only been out of the hospital for a day at this point -- The guy he’s torturing, having been responsible for his brush with near-death. Gerald felt bold enough to go after Andy with a homemade shank, trying to get even for some issue he held with Cronus. It was laughable to him, considering Andy hated his father just as much as this sorry bastard.

Andy had hoped to make it through his sentence by keeping his head down (for the most part, at least) doing what he needed, sticking with the right crowd -- Club members who were serving life sentences. His name gained him respect, plenty of other inmates happy to keep an eye on Cronus’ boy, but the revenge he’s getting tonight is what gains him his reputation. He becomes the go-to for these kinds of things, the one his fellow club members call on to take care of problems they have behind bars. Rowan’s words ring in his head -- Do what you have to do to stay alive. Come back to me. Playing executioner for the club wasn’t his first choice, but if it’s what kept him safe and gets him home, so fucking be it. Plus, killing the man who had tried to murder him in the showers brought Andy plenty of satisfaction. What kind of person would he be if he let some jaded idiot get away with almost killing him, right?

First the fingers, then his hands, and so on and so forth -- Dismemberment isn’t something new, Andy himself has had to cut up a few bodies so they can get rid of the evidence before. Though, typically speaking, the person isn’t still alive as they do it. Watching this guy suffer was just icing on the cake. Each time Gerald passes out, they cauterize the wound and pull out the smelling salts to give him a fake sense of safety -- That now they’re done, eye for an eye, the message is sent. Only each time he’s lulled into a half-dazed security, they stuff the rag back in his mouth and cut off another limb. It was going to be a long night.

He finds himself with a moment where he can tend to the wound he’s gotten — It's not a particularly deep stab, but it hurts like a bitch and that stupid knife looks fucking dull once he pulls it out and can actually get a good look at it. Not wasting anytime, and to make sure he doesn’t lose too much blood, Andy works quickly. The last thing he needs is to pass out and run the risk of getting himself killed, or having to have Wes haul him out over his shoulder. He has to get creative for now, knowing they can’t exactly make a pit stop at the ER on the way back and he doesn’t want to call Rowan after, given the fact that they’re bringing one of the Rogues back with them to get information out of -- So he moves to rip off part of Sam’s torn pant leg so that he can get pressure on the wound. Using a piece of folded up denim, he holds it against his injury, tying a piece tightly around his calf to keep it in place. It’s not great, but it’ll do for now, until he can get to a proper first aid kit. Andy can practically hear Rowan in the back of his head, scolding him for getting hurt in the first place. Once she knows the context, he’d imagine she probably wouldn’t think much of the injury after.

The sound of Tex’s screams pulled his attention, the man having regained consciousness and begun to panic -- The knee jerk reaction from Andy is to pull his gun back out, silencing Tex with a bullet to the chest. Andy unloads the rest of his clip into the man as he approaches, finding himself feeling lighter and lighter with each shot, despite the fact that he’s now limping. An unbearable amount of helplessness has weighed on him the last six months — Like all he can do is watch these terrible things happen from the sidelines, only able to help tend to the aftermath rather than keep his loved ones safe. What has left him lying awake at night as been the feeling that he’s constantly one step behind, always a minute too late — Whether it’s the shipment getting hijacked and Blake getting to him hours later, homes being burned down while he’s shooting up a warehouse, his own wife lying beaten and bloody in the middle of the street while he sits at a restaurant waiting for her. One thing after the other.

It’s unclear what kind of man it makes him to take such pleasure in revenge -- That he isn’t haunted at night by the people he’s killed or the homes he’s wrecked for the right amount of cash. Maybe it’s proof that he really is his father’s son, or that he’s just as heartless as people believe him to be. Andy’s not sure if it matters much at this point. The idea of knowing he is sending these assholes to an early grave gives him a sense of peace he hasn’t felt in a long time, one he wasn’t sure he’d ever know again after Valentine’s Day. This isn’t the end of the Rogues, but it’s retribution for what they’ve done, bringing him more clarity than ever before. Anyone who hurts the people he loves deserves to die screaming.

Confusion finds him when the sound of a gun firing fills his ears with a familiar ringing, a bullet hitting the dead man on the ground in front of him rather than its intended target. Andy follows the direction it came from to find a wild eyed Jack, having managed to pull himself across the floor in a bloody heap, far enough to get to a gun, clearly struggling to hold himself up right even while propped against the turned over table. He had the element of surprise on his side, but Andy has the benefit of not having been shot in the stomach -- So he moves quickly across the small room, easily smacking the gun out of the man’s hand. It’s clear Jack is running on pure adrenaline and spite, though now that he got his one shot in, it’s running out. Fists colliding with the man’s jaw only speed up the process, though before he finally gives up and slumps over to side and lands on the floor -- He spits blood back at Andy, clearly trying to get in one last fuck you before he dies. Jack doesn’t get much of a reaction out of Andy, instead he stands up fully, giving the half-conscious man a good look before the heel of his boot meets his head over and over until he is long dead and unrecognizable.

#blood tw #murder tw #violence tw #gore tw #death tw #eye gore tw #stabbing tw #decapitation tw #overkill tw #gun tw #dismemberment tw #gun violence tw #stalking tw #prison tw #if i missed any sort of tw or tag for a tw please give me a shout!!!!#self 02.#it's been a long long time since i've been able to write andy going feral.............................. i need a drink <3

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heyitsani · 4 years ago

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I Keep My Eyes Wide Open All the Time Chapter 6

Word Count: 9995

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major character death, Mentions of past rape/non-con (eventually)

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne/Jon Kent

Summary: Everything Damian has ever known is about to change.

Notes: This is a heavy chapter. Pre-character death warning. As well as a serious injury.

This chapter is also completely new material. None of this has been previously mentioned or hinted at. The next couple of chapters will be that way since after Catalina's trial and death, we ended the last story. It's also going to hurt more before it gets better. Sorry!

If you have not read When You Move I Move, this one won’t really make much sense. So you can read that here: WYMIM

You can also read this chapter on AO3 here

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“Your Highness, please,” the tutor begged for probably the tenth time of the session. But no matter how much he tried, Damian could not find the focus he needed. The seventeen-year-old had been struggling far more than he was willing to admit, even though his poor tutor was at his wits end with the lack of focus.

“I am sorry,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair and setting his quill down. His hand immediately came up and rubbed at his forehead. “I’m trying, honestly. I just…” He looked away from the man and toward the chair where his mother had always sat during his lessons. It was the same chair that had always been there, and it hadn’t been moved, but for some reason the last few days it had been the center of his attention during each lesson.

His tutor sighed and stood, drawing green eyes from the chair back to the man. “I am going to go get a bite of food from the kitchens for you. Perhaps that will help you finish. We are almost done, Your Highness.” The man looked down at the parchment pointedly and Damian had the sense to look chastised.

“Yes, sir,” he picked his quill back up and dipped it into the ink so he could get back to working the figures on the page. It wasn’t like the work was boring, it wasn’t. Since his father had hired the man to take over his studies, he had finally felt challenged in his work. But it just wasn’t enough to get him to focus.

“My Son,” his father’s voice drew him out of his attempt to complete his work, and Damian knew his tutor would have probably quit right then and there if he had been in the room. “I just came across Lucius.” Damian cringed and looked at his father as the man took the seat his tutor had abandoned just a few minutes ago. “What is on your mind? He said you have been having a hard time the past couple of days. Is there something going on?”

Setting his quill down again, Damian looked down at the numbers on the parchment and tried to think of the best way to put how he had been feeling into words. He knew when the issue had started and he had a good idea as to what the problem was, but it didn’t make him feel any better about it.

“Damian?”

Lifting his gaze to look at his father, he let his eyes flicker over to the chair briefly before looking back to the king. It wasn’t much of a movement, but it had been enough to have the man twist in his chair and look toward the chair by the window. Whether or not he knew what it was Damian had been looking at, he couldn’t tell when the sapphire eyes turned back to him.

“I overheard something in the streets the other day and I guess…” He looked back to the chair and pressed his lips together. “I cannot stop thinking about what was implied.”

“And what is it you overheard?”

“Just a comment someone made when they saw me with Ser Kyle. I don’t think they meant anything by it, least of all for me to obsess about it, but I cannot get a thought out of my head. And every time I look at that chair, I remember.” He wanted to burn that chair. He had wanted to burn it since the first moment he had returned to his lessons after his mother’s death.

A hand reached forward and rested on his arm, drawing Damian’s attention back to his father. “Damian, I just want to help. However that may be.”

The prince wilted a bit in his chair. “Are the people going to trust me when I take the throne despite who my mother was? Will they be able to trust the son of a traitor?” He couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting the surprise on his father’s face, but he hadn’t expected the anger that burned right after it.

“Who said this?”

“No one, Father, honestly. That wasn’t what they said. They said something about how hard it must have been to grow up under her influence and how it must have been such a battle between your influence and hers.” That seemed to calm his father down a bit, but there was still fire burning under it all. “It just set me down a path that I couldn’t stop and then the chair brought up a few unpleasant memories. I hate that chair,” he muttered, looking down at the table in shame. He should be stronger than this. But then he wondered if that was still his mother’s conditioning speaking.

Scrubbing both hands over his face, Damian shot out of his chair and paced away from the table. He could still hear her voice, still knew all the things she drilled into him for years, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t help but always second guess his actions and whether or not she would have approved.

“I need you to listen to me, Damian,” his father’s voice was calm but authoritative and it caused Damian to pause in his pacing and look at the man. He stood still, back straight as he always did when his father did a formal address. “You are not your mother. You are not what she taught you. You make your own decisions and chose your own path. You are good. Do you hear me?” He paused and Damian nodded, knowing it was expected. “No, you do not believe me. Not yet. You are good. You. Are. Good.” It was almost painful to hear his father so adamant about it. “The people of this kingdom love you. They will rejoice when you take the throne just as they did when I took it. They do not look at you and see your mother.”

His father stood and made his way over to where he stood, stopping right in front of him and placing his hands on his shoulders before sliding them up to rest on either side of his neck. At the age of seventeen, he was shoulder to shoulder with the man and everyone had been saying that he would tower over him in no time. His uncle had laughed and said Damian stole the height genes from his grandfather, who had failed to pass them onto his own sons. It had made Damian’s chest puff slightly. His grandfather was formidable.

“You will be a great king. You are a good man. Nothing you do will ever convince me otherwise,” his father spoke softly, and it made Damian’s chest seize tightly. “I am so proud of you. And I know that she caused you a lot of pain and I tried so hard to shield you from as much of that as possible, but I know I could not always protect you. And for that I am sorry.”

“No, Father,” Damian tried to argue. He couldn’t remember a time when his father wasn’t fighting for or protecting him.

“It is okay, My Son. I am no stranger to admitting my faults.” The words reminded Damian of a conversation long ago with Ser Jason about his father and being able to admit when he was wrong, but it still hurt to think of the man and their time together, so he pushed the thoughts aside quickly. “I love you so very much and I will never stop loving you. But you should know that when I look at you, I see far more of your father than your mother.” And Damian knew he wasn’t referring to himself right then.

And that thought broke something inside his chest, forcing him to surge forward and wrap his arms around his father’s chest. And, of course, his father effortlessly accepted the embrace. Because that was what he always did. Even when Damian had done something wrong, when he had broken the king’s trust somehow, he was always welcomed into his arms.

He hoped it never changed.

“This wasn’t the only reason I came in here today,” his father spoke softly without releasing him. “But perhaps it was just good timing on your Uncle Timothy’s end.” That caused Damian to pull back and look at his father. His uncle being brought up probably meant something regarding Jon. “You received a letter from Jon today and I have a feeling I know what it says.” He was handed a letter that had apparently been in his father’s inner breast pocket of his robe.

Damian took the letter and quickly broke the seal, taking in the familiar scrawl of his best friend. A quick scan revealed what his father was hinting toward and Damian looked over at the older man. “He wants me to come visit and to leave pretty much immediately. There’s some ceremony happening soon.” He watched his father nod, guarding his thoughts carefully. “You know what is happening?”

“I do,” he confirmed. “But your uncle asked me not to say if Jon didn’t tell you in his letter. I am not certain why, but perhaps he wants to tell you in person.” Damian looked back down to his letter and read it a bit more carefully. He saw his father move back to the table out of the corner of his eye, but kept his focus on the paper in hand, trying to figure out what Jon wasn’t telling him. But whatever it was, wasn’t hinted at anywhere in the letter itself.

So Damian would just have to wait until he saw the other man.

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“Oh good, you’re just about ready,” Jon’s voice sounded from his slightly open door and Damian looked over at him from his spot in front of a mirror where the local tailor was adjusting his formal wear. “We will be summoned soon, and I wanted to speak with you before,” the twenty year old said. The tailor gave his prince a nod before looking over Damian’s garments one more time. Damian took the moment to look over Jon.

He had been rushed into this room the moment he had stepped out of his carriage by Jon with the promise of an explanation as soon as they were both ready. Because there was some sort of ceremony and he had limited time to be sure he was dressed in the right kind of formal attire from Metropolis. And despite asking the tailor and the staff member who had fed him, no one would tell him exactly what it was that was happening. He was getting dressed for something he knew nothing about.

But now that he had the chance to look over his best friend, he could see subtle hints and he had a feeling what exactly was going to be said.

“You are without your crown,” Damian said, as though that would tell Jon exactly what he was thinking. The smile on the other man’s face told him he understood.

Thanking the tailor as he left the room, Jon moved closer as Damian stepped down from the stool he had been on for the last two hours. “You figured it out then?”

“Not until I saw you just now. I did not even notice it when you rushed me here earlier,” he admitted. “So you have made your decision then?” Jon nodded. “And today is for what?”

“My abdication and the crowning of Kon.” That was surprising. He hadn’t heard whisper of King Clark stepping down any time soon. “Father is tired, and he says he would like to rest his remaining days. Perhaps travel a bit. When he brought it up to me two weeks ago, I told him I did not want to be king.” Despite Jon having told him about this desire years ago, Damian hadn’t thought it would actually happen. He hadn’t thought Jon would walk away from his family legacy like that.

“You are happy?” Jon’s smile was more telling than any words could ever be and that was enough for Damian. “I do have one question though,” he started as he moved over to where his own crown was waiting for him. “Why am I here and not my father?” Since he was not the king yet, it was somewhat irregular for him to be the one representing the kingdom at such a formal affair.

Jon moved silently and appeared in front of Damian as he turned to put it on his head, taking the crown from his hands. “I wanted you here,” Jon admitted softly, lifting the crown and placing it on Damian’s head. There was a moment of silence while Damian took in the meaning of his words and Jon adjusted the crown a bit. “You are my dearest friend, Damian. And this might be what I want, but I am still nervous how the people will react. I wanted your strength to support me.”

Damian gazed into Jon’s blue eyes, filled with earnest honesty, and considered the words. They filled him with a warmth he didn’t completely understand, but enjoyed all the same. Something similar to when his father told him he was proud of him, but not quite the same. Something special. Something he was glad his mother had failed at taking away from him.

“You have it,” he confirmed quietly, not wanting to disturb the moment. But he did lift his hands to grip both of Jon’s wrists lightly, stopping him from adjusting the crown again. Now that Damian knew what to look for, he could definitely see Jon’s nerves shinning through.

The pair just looked at each other for a moment before breaking apart at the sound of a knock on the door.

“Your Highness, His Majesty sent me to tell you it is time.” A servant stood in the doorway, giving a low bow. The woman looked them both over curiously but Jon just laughed and waved a hand.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “We are coming.” He gave Damian one last glance before leading him out of the room and down the hallway where the others were waiting. Just before they turned the last corner, Damian went against all of his instincts and grabbed Jon’s hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze before releasing it as if he had never grabbed it to begin with.

And though Jon made no move to act as though it happened, Damian could see the tense line of his shoulders relax a bit.

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The ride back to Gotham had been uneventful outside of the few stops they had made for lodging and the towns he had been able to wander around without anyone bothering him. He had managed to buy a few things for his father and aunt as well as some new toys for Titus and had had some good conversations with some of the citizens who hadn’t recognized him as their future king.

It had been nice. To be almost ordinary.

Damian had assumed the final leg of their journey would be the same, hearing the call that they would be back to Bristol within the hour, he relaxed further into his seat and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure what would be waiting him when he returned but enjoying the last bit of time without someone hovering or expecting something of him was what he wanted right then.

And he got that until about twenty minutes outside of the city limits when the carriage came to an abrupt halt and a few shouts sounded. Frowning, Damian sat up and glanced out the window at an angle, trying to see what was happening. When he couldn’t get a good view but could hear some muffled sounds, he pushed the door opened and started to get out.

“Your Highness! I need you to stay inside!” Ser Kyle came up beside the carriage on his horse and Damian frowned. “Please, you need to stay here.” Instead of speaking, he nodded and sat back down as his guard rode up ahead. And though he had planned to follow the instruction, the sound of arrows hitting the ground near him and the yelling of the men pulled him back out. If they were under attack, he would not be a sitting duck.

The scene he emerged to was utter chaos.

The soldier that had accompanied him to Metropolis were engaged in hand-to-hand combat with men dressed in all black. Men who spoke a familiar language and made Damian’s blood chill. Al Ghul soldiers in disguise.

“I told you to stay inside!” Ser Kyle appeared at his side, broadsword in hand, and no longer on his horse.

“Give me a weapon,” Damian demanded. “I am not going to hide when our men are fighting with their lives to keep me safe. I am no coward.” Ser Kyle looked at him for a moment and Damian would have sworn the man was about to shove him back into the carriage, but instead he pulled a second sword out of his scabbard and gave it to him. With a nod, Damian turned to help the soldiers who seemed to be struggling the most.

He was immediately thankful for all the training Ser Jason had given him when he was younger. He had kept the training up after the Slayer’s death, but it would be his training that Damian would thank at the end of this.

And so would the men as he struck down Al Ghul soldier after Al Ghul soldier.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, kneeling down to inspect one of the men who had been about to take a dying blow before Damian had intervened. The man nodded, leaning forward to examine a long cut to his leg. “Stay down.” Damian dropped the sword and removed his outer cloak, tearing a strip from it so he could wrap it around the man’s leg.

“Your Highness!” The soldier called in panic. Damian reached for the sword he had dropped and turned to meet whoever it was he was being warned about but was a split second too late.

He barely felt the sword sliding into his abdomen. But he saw the look of victory in the soldier’s eyes and knew that this was their endgame. Whatever it was they were ordered, Damian knew he wasn’t meant to be taken alive.

“Damian, no!”

He couldn’t tell who had called him by name as he dropped the sword in his hand a second time, crumpling to the dirt as the Al Ghul soldier pulled the sword back out and tried to defend himself from whoever it was that had come to aide him. He groaned softly as a fire began burning in his stomach, placing a hand where the flame should have been but found nothing but a sticky substance that had not been there before. His mind told him it was blood, but there was some sort of disconnect.

He didn’t see the head of the enemy roll on the ground near his feet or the body crumple much like he did. All he saw was shadows around the edge of his vision as a familiar, panicked face entered his eyeline.

“Ser-” He choked on the word, coughing and gasping as the fire in his stomach grew.

“I’ve got you…just hold on…” The words sounded muffled, as if he were underwater but he tried to grasp their meaning. Tried to figure out what was happening beyond the all-consuming pain. He tried to focus on the fact that he was being picked up and soon slung over the back of one of the horses. Fragments of shouts broke through his haze, but not enough to make sense of. All he knew was in a matter of moments the horse was running full speed the direction that had been initially heading.

He saw the walls of home just as the blackness took him.

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Consciousness returned to him slowly, duly. At first it was sounds. Muffled and thick. Then lights flickered beyond his eyes in sync with the sounds. And eventually, he blinked heavy eyelids open to stare up at a familiar ceiling. The room was quiet when he opened his eyes and though it felt like he could fall back asleep from the effort of his opening his eyes, he turned his head slowly to grasp what was wrong with him.

The sight of his father asleep in a chair pulled up beside his bed was not the sight he expected.

The man looked exhausted, even in sleep. The dark smudges under his eyes told of many sleepless nights. And the rumpled clothing spoke of days without changing or bathing. But why? Why did his father look like this while sleeping in a chair beside his son’s bed?

Turning his head to look around the room in an attempt to figure out what had happened, he shifted in an attempt to sit up. Then he remembered. The familiar fire that lit his entire stomach up in pain brought back the memory of a sword piercing him clean through.

His gasp of pain must have woken his father because a pair of familiar blue eyes came swimming into his vision. “Damian! Oh gods,” the man’s voice sounded wobbly and strained. “You’re awake. Thank the gods you’re awake. The doctors…” His father trailed off and Damian didn’t need to ask to know what the doctors had probably said. They had probably told him exactly what Damian had assumed would happen as Ser Kyle hefted him up onto the horse and rode them as fast as he could the last few miles.

Closing his eyes as his father ran a hand through his hair, Damian breathed through the pain before he tried to say anything. It took a few moments of him just breathing slowly and his father continuing to run his fingers through his hair before he felt like he could push through.

“How long?” He asked, voice stale from lack of use. That alone told a story.

“Four days. The healers worked tirelessly for the first day,” his father said as Damian felt the bed shift. He blinked his eyes back open and saw his father now sitting on the edge of the bed, holing his hand. “If Ser Kyle hadn’t acted so quickly…” He watched the older man shudder, eyes glazing over a bit with unshed tears. “He has been here frequently to check on you. Said that if you hadn’t stopped to help bandage a soldier’s leg to keep him from bleeding out that you never would have been struck.” There was pride in his voice and it made Damian smile.

“It’s what Father would have done.” That made the tears that his father had been holding back so far fall down his cheeks.

The older man let out a wet laugh and nodded. “Yes, it is exactly what he would have done,” he agreed, pressing his forehead against Damian’s briefly. “He would have been so proud to hear what you did. Ser Kyle said the men might not have stood a chance without your skill.” His father pulled back and Damian blinked up at him. “I should retrieve a healer to come examine you, but I am just so glad to see you awake.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Father,” he spoke softly, reaching up to grip the man’s forearm of the hand that was still pressed to his cheek. “I am a bit hungry. Do you think I would be allowed some food?”

“I am certain you’re famished!” His father laughed, less emotional now, and straightened. “I shall send word to the kitchens and to the healer to come at once. “You shall have to wait until the healer has a look at you before you can eat, just to be sure.” Damian nodded and watched the man head toward the door and step out to find a servant to retrieve the proper people.

When he returned, his father took the chair he had been previously sleeping in and looked at Damian seriously. He had a feeling he knew what was coming, but wondered if he could give his father the information he wanted.

“Now,” the man started, folding his hands in his lap. “Ser Kyle told me he thought the men who attacked you to be of Al Ghul. He said the language they spoke sound similar to what you both heard the day you followed Catalina into the Narrows.”

“It was the language of Nanda Parbat, yes,” Damian confirmed. His father nodded and remained quiet. “I did not catch what they were saying though, I am sorry. My Arabic is good but I was too focused on helping the men.”

“I had thought that would be the case.” His father sighed and slouched a little in his chair. “I do not know to what end they were heading, but I also do not know if we can prove it was them to the point that would warrant action.” And Damian had figured that much. Unless one of them had been caught, their garb and weapons were not of their usual soldiers and therefore would not be able to be traced back.

“What of our men?”

His father regarded him for a moment before sighing again. “Three fell at the sword.” And Damian’s eyes fell closed at that. He said a silent prayer before he opened his eyes. “Their pyres?” His father shook his head.

“We wanted to wait to see if you would awaken so you could be there.” He felt relief and thankfulness at that. He would like to honor the ones who fell protecting him. “None of the men who attacked survived and they have already been put to rest. Ser Kyle and the others are adamant that none were able to get away.” But Damian knew that Ra’s would just send more if he felt so inclined.

“I would like to thank the surviving soldiers somehow.” His father raised a brow but did not look surprised. “I would also like to do something for the families of the fallen.”

“I have already thanked them personally in their homes and have made sure they are cared for.” Damian shook his head. “No?”

“I would like to do it. Perhaps a letter for now, but when I am able, I would like to visit them personally.”

His father leaned forward and took up his hand in both of his own. “We shall do that then.”

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“Go away,” Damian called, grumpy at the sound of the knock on his door. He was bored and annoyed. Each attempt at leaving his bed the past couple of days had been met with loud denials. He was never alone, and they never allowed him to do anything without someone there to support him. Damian was sure he was moments away from insanity.

And the last thing he wanted was another visitor to coddle him.

But when a familiar head poked through the opening of the door, Damian felt that annoyance fade away. “Jon,” he said, surprised to see his friend. “I was not aware you were coming?” He hadn’t sent any word to his friend about the incident and no one had said they had either.

“Damian,” his name came out relieved, reverent. Damian watched the man come into the room, shutting the door behind him before making his way over to the bed. He looked tired, as if he had come straight here upon arrival. Damian wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. “Your father sent word about what happened once you had woken up. I would have come sooner if we had known. I’m so glad you are all right.” Jon paused at the bedside, looking the younger man over with a critical eye.

“I am still sore, but the healers said I should recover completely. They said I was lucky, it could have been my spine.” The words were meant to calm Jon, but they seemed to deepen his frown. With a gentle pat of the bed, Damian gestured for Jon to join him up on the bed. There was some hesitation and Damian could see the debate happening in his friend’s head before Jon carefully climbed up to sit next to him.

Laying his hand palm up on the bed between them, Damian gave the silent invitation. And Jon, though hesitant to get on the bed, didn’t hesitate to take it in both of his. “I was so worried when I received the letter. Your father has never written me before and your uncle was so confused when he handed it over. He wanted to come but Kon still has so much to do and Timothy knew his consort couldn’t just leave him alone so soon.”

“I’ll write him a letter.” Jon nodded, gripping Damian’s hand tightly. “I’m okay, Jon. I promise. The pain is much more manageable now and though they won’t let me up without someone to hold onto, I am allowed to move around some. I will be back to full strength in no time.”

“Do they know who it was?”

“Al Ghul men.” Jon gasped. “They were in disguise though, so there is no way to really prove it. I recognized the language and the fighting style.” He thought about the look on the soldier’s face who stabbed him and frowned. He hadn’t told his father about that. According to the other soldiers, none of the attackers had survived and only three of their own had fallen, so it was much less tragic than it could have been. But Damian didn’t know how to take his Great Grandfather’s kingdom trying to assassinate him personally.

“Dames?” Jon’s voice cut through his thoughts, pulling green eyes away from the spot they had been staring at. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Damian considered the man before glancing at the door quickly to make sure it was closed completely.

“Can you keep a secret?” Jon hesitated, but nodded after a moment. “I do not believe the attack was random. The man who,” he gestured to his stomach so he didn’t have to say the words, “the look on his face…he looked like he had won.” He watched Jon frown, consider his words, and then clench his jaw.

“You have not told this to anyone?” Damian shook his head. “You cannot keep this a secret, Damian! Nanda Parbat tried to assassinate the Crown Prince! They are not a kingdom to give up after one failed attempt. You need to be protected!” Jon moved to get off the bed but Damian held tight to his hand and refused to let him go. “Damian, please! I refuse to keep a secret that could result in your death. I refuse to do nothing and have it result in your death.”

“Jon, please,” he begged. “We cannot go to war with Nanda Parbat. I cannot have our citizens dying because that country wants me to. I will not be the cause of that.”

“But what if they succeed next time? What happens then? Are we just supposed to go forward without you? Your father has already lost enough.” That stung and Damian knew he was right, but it didn’t mean he liked it. It didn’t mean Damian didn’t think he was making the right decision at keeping this quiet.

“And the families who would lose husbands, sons, brothers, wives, daughters, and sisters? What of them?”

“That’s not fair, Damian. War always has casualties.”

“But there doesn’t have to be a war, Jon. That is what I’m saying.” Jon looked at him with that familiar frustrated face and Damian couldn’t help but wonder if he had gotten through to the other man.

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “Ask anything else of me, but do not ask me to keep a secret that will get the man I love killed.”

Damian jerked in surprise, releasing his grip on Jon’s hand without meaning to. “What?”

He watched Jon’s face go from confusion to understanding to something painful in the span of a few heartbeats and Damian wondered what exactly was going through his head. “I-” He started but cut himself off to back up a few steps. Damian sat up a bit more and watched him carefully. “I did not mean to say that. I shouldn’t have.”

“Why?”

“Because while I do not have the obligation of a crown any longer, your own crown has limitations.” Damian thought of his father and Ser Jason, how they had loved each other so much but were not allowed to be together because of the laws. And not just the Law of Old that did not allow a Slayer and a Ruler to marry. But the laws of the people that required a ruler to marry someone who could possibly provide an heir. “But more than that, you have never given any indication of feeling so inclined and I did not want my own feelings to pressure you.”

Looking away from Jon, Damian leaned back in his spot against the headboard of his bed and considered what his closest friend was saying. How did Damian feel? He had never considered Jon as anything more than a friend because he was right, Jon wasn’t an option for him to marry.

But he also wasn’t sure that would change if the laws didn’t prevent him from choosing Jon over all others.

Did he love Jon? Yes, he was his closest friend and Damian valued their friendship over all others. Did he love Jon in the way Jon loved him? He couldn’t say. He couldn’t pinpoint what love actually felt like outside of family. He had seen love between his father and Ser Jason, but it had been so hidden from the world that Damian wondered if even he was seeing the real thing. He saw his grandfather and his wife, Selina, and though it differed from his fathers, the love was still obvious.

“Damian,” Jon’s voice drew his attention. Looking over at his best friend, Damian frowned. “Do not tell me anything you do not mean. I can see your wheels turning, but do not prematurely tell me how you feel.”

Nodding his head, Damian looked away for a moment before looking back to Jon. “I do not know how to respond to you. You are my dearest friend, but I do not know more than that. Even if I did…” Jon nodded, but Damian could see the tears brimming in his eyes. It made Damian’s chest ache.

“I am going to return home.” When Damian opened his mouth to protest, Jon held up a hand and sent him a pleading look. “I am glad you are on the mend. And no matter what conclusion you come to, I will always be your friend. I was prepared for that years ago.”

“Are you sure you won’t stay?”

“I think my presence would just serve to be more confusing than anything.” And yes, Damian could see how that would be true. “Please forgive me for saying this, but now that it’s out I would like to say it with meaning just once more.” Damian held his breath. “I love you Damian Wayne, Crown Prince of Gotham. I have for many years and I will for many more to come. I will respect whatever decision you come to, but my heart will always belong to you.”

Clenching his jaw to keep himself from begging Jon to stay, Damian gave a bow of his head. He kept it lowered until he heard his door click shut. The silence that followed felt heavier than Damian had ever known it to.

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

Waving off the offered arm of Ser Kyle, Damian slowly made his way to the main dining room where he knew his family had gathered for breakfast. They weren’t expecting him, and while he usually took his breakfast in his rooms, the conversation with Jon the night before had left him lonely. He was hoping some time with his grandparents, aunt, and father would eliminate that feeling.

“Oh brother, surely you can do better than that,” his aunt’s laughter spilled out into the hallway as he reached the open doors of the room. His father’s followed closely with a deeper chuckle Damian knew to be his grandfathers.

The ache in his chest abated slightly at the sound.

“Damian!” His father’s surprised call rang out and the room went quiet. Carefully, Damian shuffled to the seat to the right of his father that was always empty for him in particular and waited for Ser Kyle to pull it out so he could sit. “How are you feeling this morning? Jon rushed out of here last night, stating he had only the time to check on you briefly and needed to get back to Metropolis.”

“Yes, he said he there was still much King Kon was adjusting to since the crowning,” he said, inwardly cringing at the partial lie. Jon had told him that, but he had said nothing about needing to be involved in any of it himself.

“And you, Grandson?”

Looking over at his grandfather, who was seated across from him with Selina by his side, Damian nodded. “I am well. The pain is hardly noticeable today.” His eyes flickered to Selina who was watching him curiously before looking at his aunt who was seated next to him. “Aunt Cass,” he greeted when she sent him a knowing smile. He hated that smile. The one that said she knew more than everyone else.

But thankfully he was saved from having to dissect it when a servant placed a plate in front of him, filled with the same items that would have been brought to his rooms for him. A tea cup with his favorite blend followed immediately and Damian reached for it without second thought.

If only for something to do with his hands.

“Well, if I had known you would be joining us, I would have waited to eat,” his father commented, glancing down at his empty plate. “But I do not have any responsibilities for a bit, I will remain with you.” He gestured to one of the servants to bring him more tea and Damian sighed quietly in relief. He knew he had been late, but he hadn’t expected to see the empty plates in front of each person.

“I, however, do,” his aunt commented as she stood. Damian said nothing as she leaned over and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head before stepping away from the table.

“Do wait for me, Daughter,” his grandfather stood before turning to help Selina out of her chair. “I wished to speak with Ser Harper about a few things.” Damian took a bite of his bread as his grandfather spoke quietly to his wife, who nodded and gave him a quick kiss before saying her farewells for the morning and hurrying out of the room. “Grandson, Son, I should like to take afternoon tea with you both today.”

“Of course, Father,” his father responded easily and Damian gave a smile when his grandfather looked at him to confirm. “I shall have everything sent to Damian’s sitting room so he does not have to travel far.”

“A fair plan.” His grandfather gave a bow of his head before heading toward the door where his aunt stood waiting for him.

“Now,” his father started, drawing Damian’s eye, “why did Jon really leave?”

“What makes you believe he was not telling the truth?” Damian asked, trying to desperately hold onto the lie. But he knew his father better than that. And the look on the older man’s face told him that his father knew he knew that. “We…had a disagreement. And he said something that he did not mean to say. He left to give me time to come to terms with it.”

He looked down at his plate, shifting the fruits and cheeses around with his hands so he would not have to look at his father. He knew the older man was far more observant than anyone ever gave him credit for and he wouldn’t put it past him to know exactly what Jon had revealed to him.

“Can you say what he told you?”

Damian shook his head. He didn’t want to say it. He had pondered it all night and still he found himself without any kind of truth of his own.

“And I assume you do not know how you feel in return?”

“I do not,” he admitted quietly, finally returning his eyes back to his father. “But even if I did, what could come of it? When I am bound to the same laws as you and all those before us.” He watched his father’s eyes turn sad and it struck something deep in his chest. Down where the ache had settled when Jon had left the night before.

His father reached over and placed a hand on his forearm, gently pausing the motions of moving his food around. “I cannot tell you what it is you feel, but I can tell you the denying yourself that emotion because of something as trivial as a law about marrying someone of the same gender, is not the wise thing to do.”

“You did,” he pointed out.

“I did, but Jason and I had more than just one law working against us,” his father said. “And I am not my father. We are very different in our core values and where he had his expectations, I do not have those. Not when it comes to you.”

“But your expectations do not change the law. How can I expect the kingdom to follow my rule if I do not abide by the law?” His father’s laugh surprised him, turning the corners of his mouth down as he tried to figure out exactly what his father found amusing.

The older man laughed for a moment longer, releasing Damian’s forearm to wipe at his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. “I am sorry, My Son,” he gasped around his laughter. “I am not laughing at you. I said something very similar to Jason when we faced the prospect of me having to marry someone to carry on the Wayne line for me. And though it is not funny, you just reminded me of times so much simpler.”

He didn’t see why the comment had amused his father so much, but he could admit he was glad to see his father smiling in such a way. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard the man laugh so freely, so openly.

A few beats of silence passed between them before his father took a sip of his tea and Damian went back to picking at his food.

“How do I know? How can I be sure of what it is I feel?” He gathered the courage to ask before shoving a piece of cheese into his mouth to keep from saying more.

“Well, I am no expert on the subject, but I suppose the best way to know is figure out how you might feel should you never see him again,” his father offered, his eyes gazing off into the distance in a way all too familiar. The look that told Damian he was thinking of his own lost love. “How might you feel if you were to see him with another? Would you be happy for him?”

Damian watched him for a moment before looking down at his plate and considering the questioned as he took a few more bites. He pictured Jon with some faceless woman, smiling and warm. He pictured him doting over her, tending to her every need and whim. He could see the smile his best friend would give away so freely, the loving look in his eye, and the warmth on his cheeks. He could picture it so perfectly that his hand involuntarily clenched one of the berries in his fist, squirting the juice from between his fingers.

“I do believe you have your answer.” His father’s voice was gentle, but when Damian looked away from his hand still dripping in the red liquid, he saw the amusement dancing in his eyes. “I am happy for you, Damian. I truly am. Please do not worry yourself about the laws and just try to enjoy the feeling for a while. There is nothing that can compare. And though it may be fleeting, it will always be worth it.”

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

“Will you stand still, please,” Aunt Cass’s voice called to Damian as he turned and began making his way back down the hallway. They had been outside of his father’s room for the past hour, waiting for the doctors to examine him after he had collapsed in the Council meeting earlier and Damian knew he was anything but calm at the moment. “Your pacing will not make their diagnosis come any quicker.”

Scowling, he moved to lean against the wall opposite of the double doors.

It had been two weeks since the conversation he and his father had had regarding his feelings for Jon and Damian had struggled with knowing exactly what to do. He had received news of his father just as he was finishing a letter, asking Jon to come back so they could speak. Then the guard had appeared at his door. The letter now lay forgotten on his desk as he rushed to where he now stood waiting.

Just when he was about to start pacing again, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hall and pull both sets of eyes toward them. Damian immediately straightened when he noticed who it was, but Cass just sighed in what he assumed was relief.

“Grandfather,” Damian greeted. The older man, grayed and weathered with age, stopped in front of Damian and placed a hand on the shoulder that was almost equal height to his own.

“What have we heard?”

“Nothing as of yet,” Aunt Cass answered, and his grandfather frowned. “I told Damian he could go in, that Richard would not mind, but…”

Damian sent a glare toward her before looking back to his grandfather. “I didn’t want to intrude on his privacy.” His grandfather grunted before giving his shoulder a squeeze and moving toward the heavy doors. He gave the door two solid knocks before he pushed it open and stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind him.

“That could have been you.”

“It doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t like me to see those moments.”

“He doesn’t want you to worry. But in this instance, you are worrying all the same.” He knew his father didn’t like people to fuss over him, that he always thought there were more important matters to attend to. But Damian had always been one of the only people the King allowed to see him at his weakest. He could still remember the moments in the sept with just his father as they mourned the man the King had loved. The man Damian had thought of as a second father. The moments they got before his grandfather had come rushing in and tried to comfort his son.

He remembered the pain in his chest when they had watched the pyre burn and when they laid the Dragon Slayer to rest in his crypt. The one with an empty space right next to it for the man who had been looking more and more tired over the last few months.

“Damian,” the gruff voice of his grandfather broke through his musings. “The doctors are finishing up and Richard is asking for you. Cassandra, please send word to your brother that Richard has fallen ill, and he should come.”

If his grandfather was sending for his uncle, then that meant it was serious. That meant that Damian was looking at losing is last parent.

“Grandfather?” He questioned weakly. The older man looked down at him sadly but said nothing as he ushered him into the room. Damian’s eyes scanned the room quickly, taking in the various doctors moving about. Two were in the corner, speaking in hushed tones. One was at a table looking over various bottles and herbs, frowning and mumbling to himself. And one stood near the head of his father’s bed. The same bed where his father currently lay, pale, with a damp cloth laid out over his forehead. “Father?” Damian spoke softly, hoping the man was not sleeping and him waking him.

“Son,” his father responded, his voice sounding off but not as weak as Damian had assumed it would. He raised a hand and beckoned Damian closer. It took a nudge from his grandfather before he closed the remaining space to the bed. With a welcoming gesture from the older man, Damian climbed up onto it, sitting next to his father who was in the act of being propped up. “Tell us, Healer Thompkins.”

The woman healer that had already been at his bedside, sighed and looked the two newcomers over before looking back at the king. “Your Majesty, we do not know what is wrong. I have all the notes from your previous visits with me and I have conferred with the others, but we do not know why you are fading.”

“Fading?” Damian questioned without thinking. It didn’t sound like a particularly medical term.

“Yes, fading,” the healer nodded. “Your father has been coming to see me for a few years now and has been in decline for the past year more than the previous ones. There is nothing to account for it, but it is happening. I will tell you just as I have been telling him, it could change for the better any day now. Since we do not know what is happening, we cannot say whether it is permanent or not.”

Damian frowned and looked over at his father, who was watching the healer as she spoke more. He could see how tired the man was and he knew that the past few years he had begun to feel the loneliness without Ser Jason, but other than that he had never heard his father complain. Not about how he was feeling, at least. But he could see it. He could see how…dull the man looked. Even engaged in a conversation that now included his grandfather and another healer, he looked a shade of the man he had always known his father to be.

The conversation between the four other people swirled around him, but Damian ignored it. He ignored it because he knew no matter what hope the healers tried to give them, he was going to be saying his final goodbyes to his last parent sooner rather than later. He knew his grandfather knew it as well, otherwise he would not have sent his aunt to send for his uncle.

And the thought of his uncle brought the thought of Jon to the forefront of his mind, making him wish for the other man’s presence right then. What a comfort he would be. He wondered if he could rush to catch the letter before his aunt sent it, asking that Jon accompany his uncle to Gotham. But it was selfish to ask when he hadn’t made any decisions in regards to his newly understood affections for the former Crowned Prince. It wasn’t fair to ask Jon to comfort him when Damian could not tell him with certainty what it is he wanted.

“Damian,” his grandfather’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling his gaze to look into the crystal blue eyes of the older man. “We should allow your father to rest.” Looking down at his father, Damian furrowed his brow and clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to lose more time with the man that he was uncertain of how much longer he would have with him.

“You can stay, Dami,” his father smiled, clearly reading his thoughts as he always did. “I am going to sleep, but you are always welcome to remain with me.” Nodding his head, Damian looked back to his grandfather, who sighed and gave a bow of his head. There was some sort of emotion on the elder man’s face when he regarded the two of them, but Damian wasn’t sure what it meant so he disregarded it.

The pair of them watched the room slowly clear out. One of the servants set a tray down with some tea for the two of them should they want it before offering to take Titus on a walk. Damian thanked her, but remained in his spot as the rest of the healers made their way out of the room with their things. When the last of the staff had left, the room fell silent as the door shut and Damian stared at it as his mind began to race with all the things he wanted to say.

“You left your charcoals and pages over by the balcony the other day.” Jerking in slight surprise, he looked down at his father as the man shuffled further down the bed in a more reclined position. “I hope you do not mind, but I looked through some of them. They are beautiful. You have a rare talent. I hope when your duties become…more substantial that you will not let your art be forgotten.”

Damian frowned down at the man who looked far too relaxed given the news they just received. “Father…” He tried to say, his eyes filling with tears as he tried to get the right words out.

“I know, My Son,” the man nodded, taking hold of Damian’s hand. “I know. But I am not gone yet and I do not plan to before I complete a few tasks. You still have me yet.”

“But it is not long enough.”

“It never is, sadly.” And his father did sound sad. Just as sad as he had sounded the day Damian found him in the Sept mourning the man he had loved most of his life. “But it will have to do.”

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

“Council, I move we abolish the letter of the law that demands a ruler marry someone who has the possibility of providing an heir,” his father’s voice called out from his spot at the head of the table. The room went silent at the request and when Damian glanced around, he could see the surprise on each Councilmember’s face.

“My King?” One of the Councilwomen from the lower regions of the kingdom questioned. “You have an heir and Prince Damian is too young to be worrying about potential marriages, is he not?” A few of the members looked over at him but Damian’s eyes were on his father.

“You all know what the former queen did to Ser Jason Todd. Most of you are privy to the fact that I married her simply because the Laws of Old and the Law of the People did not allow me to marry Ser Todd instead.” There were some murmurs, but no one spoke up. “I am not asking to abolish the Law of Old as the slayer line has ended and it is not an issue any longer. I am simply asking to allow any future ruler the luxury of marrying someone they truly love. Or someone they feel they could come to love.” The man paused and pushed to his feet, looking over at Damian and giving him a smile that actually reached his eyes for once. “I am asking that you allow my son to marry whoever his heart desires and not someone for the simple fact that they can produce him an heir.”

The room remained silent for a few beats before hushed conversations broke out across the table as the members discussed it with one another. But Damian could only focus on his father because he knew exactly why his father had made this request. Jon. There was no solution that ended with them together unless Damian stepped down from the line of succession and his aunt stepped up. But his father had done whatever he could to be sure his siblings would never had to make a sacrifice they did not want to make.

And for his aunt, that had been the choice not to marry.

Though their father had arranged a marriage of the people for her, when his father had taken the crown he had given the choice to his aunt. And she had requested the right to refuse to marry. Though the former king objected loudly, his father had granted her the right and it had been done. If Damian stepped down, his aunt would have to marry. So Damian would not take that gift away from her.

But it meant he could not be with Jon because he did not want what his father had gone through with Ser Jason and his mother. He did not want a marriage of convenience and a lover on the side. He did not want that for Jon.

So he had made the decision to tell Jon that he cared for him but could not be with him. He had made the decision to choose duty over heart.

“Councilmembers,” his father called them all to attention again, waiting for the conversations to pause before he continued. “I am asking this as an urgent request as I have had news from my healers that I am not long for this world.” The shouts of surprise did not surprise Damian but the ache in his chest increased at them. He watched his father hold up a hand to halt anyone wanted to question him. “A few of you are already aware of it, but it is a fact. I do not know how much longer I have and I would very much like to spend what time I do have left knowing I was able to make this possible for my son and the future rulers.”

“I second the motion to abolish the Law of the People requiring a ruler to marry a person who could physically provide them with an heir,” one of the oldest councilmembers stood shakily. Damian looked at the older man and smiled when the man gave him a significant look and a nod.

“I third the motion,” one of the councilwomen called out, standing.

“All those in favor say aye,” the older man called out. He was followed with a chorus of ‘ayes’ before Damian turned to look back to his father. The man had taken his seat again and was looking a bit paler than he had before, but he also looked happy. “The motion has been approved. I will alert the clerks of the law to make the amendments.” His father gave a nod of thanks.

There was the sound of a chair being pushed back before another voice called out. “Given what we have learned today,” Damian looked over to see the newest member of the council standing. She was a brilliant woman from the city that was a representative for the people themselves. Barbara. Her fiery hair matched her personality. His father had liked her immediately and so had Damian. “I believe we should discuss having Prince Damian crowned before the usual age of 25.”

“Yes,” his father agreed. Damian looked at the man with wide eyes, not having really made the connection of what his father’s passing would mean for him outside of the loss of a parent. “You are ready, Damian. There is little more I can do to prepare you for your role,” his father said softly to him, easily spotting his worry.

“Sooner rather than later, My King?” His father looked back to the woman and nodded. “I shall gather the necessary staff and prepare for the ceremony. A week’s time?”

#jaydick #DamiJon #damian wayne #dick grayson #past lives au #bruce wayne #jon kent #anikah writes

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aion-rsa · 3 years ago

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Streaming on Plex: Best Horror Movies and TV Shows You Can Watch for FREE in October

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This article is sponsored by Plex. You can download the Free Plex App now by clicking here!

When October hits, the folks at Den of Geek almost exclusively consume horror content. Any spooky story that has ghosts, ghouls, goblins, or any chill-inducing monster that doesn’t start with a G is fine with us. Whether it’s a campy B-movie or “prestige horror,” we embrace all horror subgenres and relax with old favorites and new cult classics in the making alike. Now that Spooky Season is in full force, we are grateful that Plex TV is here so we can stream all of the creepy content that our black hearts’ desire for free!

Plex is a globally available one-stop-shop streaming media service offering thousands of free movies and TV shows and hundreds of free-to-stream live TV channels, from the biggest names in entertainment, including Metro Goldwyn Mayer (MGM), Warner Bros. Domestic Television Distribution, Lionsgate, Legendary, AMC, A+E, Crackle, and Reuters. Plex is the only streaming service that lets users manage their personal media alongside a continuously growing library of free third-party entertainment spanning all genres, interests, and mediums including podcasts, music, and more. With a highly customizable interface and smart recommendations based on the media you enjoy, Plex brings its users the best media experience on the planet from any device, anywhere.

Plex releases brand new and beloved titles to its platform monthly and we’ll be here to help you identify the cream of the crop. This month, we’re keeping things strictly scary, but view Plex TV now for the best free entertainment streaming, regardless of genre, and check back each month for Den of Geek Critics’ picks!

DEN OF GEEK CRITICS’ PICKS

The Ninth Gate

Though director Roman Polanski is a horrific figure himself, this 1999 neo-noir horror film, The Ninth Gate is superb. Thirty years after Rosemary’s Baby, Polanski conjured the devil once again and injected it with some of the pulp from his noir classic Chinatown in a movie that finds Johnny Depp as a man in Satanic Detective mode. Depp is a classic book authenticator hired to authenticate De Umbrarum Regis Novum Portis (The Nine Doors To the Kingdom of Shadows), a book believed by cultists capable of raising Satan to Earth.

The Ninth Gate doesn’t provide cheap thrills; it tightens the suspense like a noose. Polanski subtly creates an uneasy atmosphere using minimal effects. The director knows where evil lives and lets the settings and sound make the invitations with subliminal references to recognizable horror and cinematic danger, using framing and music similarly to Stanley Kubrick. The Ninth Gate packages its scares with classy style that the characters deliver with sexily provocative intelligence. Dean Corso may be Johnny Depp’s greatest spiritual transformation, from odious to ultimate evil and the audience cheers on his descent, happy to ride with him straight to hell.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari

Perhaps the world’s first horror film and a go-to example of early German Expressionist filmmaking, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari has been unsettling audiences for over a century.

The film’s main story centers on two young friends, Francis and Alan (Friedrich Feher and Hans Heinrich von Twardowski), who, while jockeying for the affections of Jane (Lil Dagover), visit a local traveling carnival. There they take in the act of the mysterious, top-hatted and wild-haired Dr. Caligari (Werner Krauss). As they watch, Caligari awakens his somnambulist subject, Cesare (the great Conrad Veidt), who under hypnosis answers questions from the audience. When Alan jokingly asks when he will die, Cesare responds “Before dawn.” We’ll let you guess the rest.

The film isn’t remembered much for its story, but for its arresting visual style, featuring painted backdrops that make the entire production feel like a fever dream. The painted townscape is filled with curved and pointed buildings teetering at dangerous angles, almost as if they were alive and shrieking. Roads twist and spiral to nowhere. The perspectives are deliberately mismatched and inconsistent, with the props and sets sometimes being too large for the characters, and others too small. The result is a transgressive, deeply influential film that has been unsettling audiences for over 100 years.

The Exorcist III

Based on his 1983 novel Legion, writer-director William Peter Blatty’s Exorcist III arrived 17 years after William Friedkin’s The Exorcist. Despite the still-looming pop culture presence of the original, The Exorcist III is sneakily the most interesting film in the series. Less a horror movie than a psychological thriller with supernatural and spiritual overtones, The Exorcist III takes place 17 years after the events of the first film, and with no reference whatsoever made to the events in the second. It finds Lt. Kinderman confronted with the apparent reappearance of two figures from his past who had supposedly died. The first is father Damien Karras (Jason Miller), who had died after bouncing down an endless flight of steps while performing an exorcism in the original movie, and the Gemini Killer, a serial killer loosely based on the Zodiac Killer that had been executed 17 years prior. However, there’s been a new string of murders around town carrying all the hallmarks of the Gemini.

While the studio famously mangled Blatty’s original cut of the film, there’s still a lot to like here, including a terrifying performance from Brad Dourif. Blatty is fantastic at creating dread-inducing atmosphere and has a keen attention to character and detail. It may not be as exciting as the original, but it’s a smart-slow burn film worthy of the Exorcist mantle.

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The Devil’s Rejects

An homage to sleazy ‘70s C-movies, Rob Zombie’s sequel to House of 1,000 Corpses will leave you in the need of a shower, but it’s delightfully demented and the musician turned filmmaker’s finest effort. The shock-fest finds the Firefly clan, Otis (Bill Moseley), Baby (Sheri Moon Zombie) and Captain Spaulding (Sid Haig) – on the run from die-hard determined sheriff Wydell (William Forsythe). What unfolds is a nasty thrill ride full of twists, turns, and more gore than most audiences are comfortable with. How Zombie still manages to make such repulsive content entertaining, how he manages to get you to almost root for the despicable Firefly clan, is inexplicable magic trick, but indebted to Zombie’s use of black humor and deep knowledge of genre conventions that he sometimes subverts, but often gleefully leans into.

Train to Busan

The overused and increasingly predictable zombie genre got a shot in the arm with Train to Busan, a South Korean film from director Yeon Sang-ho about a young father desperately attempting to get his little daughter to her mother via train as a zombie pandemic breaks out all around them. Even if it veered close to outright sentimentality at times, Train to Busan differed from most of the films and TV shows we’ve seen in this genre due to its genuine bond of love between its main characters, and the flickers of empathy and humanity found therein.

And on a technical level, Yeon crafted his film with a kinetic energy that had been missing from the genre as of late. Train to Busan was not just a monster hit in its native land but amassed an international following as well, along with critical acclaim across the board. It’s easy to see why given the film’s well-drawn characters, subtle social commentary (some on the train feel they are more worthy of survival than others) and frightening action sequences that add up to a thrilling and emotionally powerful ride.

More Horror Films Available to Stream FREE on Plex TV

The Descent

Train To Busan

The Ninth Gate

Rec

Coherence

Night Of The Living Dead

The Host

Hannibal Rising

The Devil’s Rejects

Nosferatu

Monsters

I Spit On Your Grave

Eden Lake

Wolf Creek

Day Of The Dead

The Collector

The Cabinet Of Dr. Caligari

Red Lights

The Wailing

Grave Encounters

Colonia

Scouts Guide To The Zombie Apocalypse

Diary Of The Dead

Black Death

Alone In The Dark

The Descent: Part 2

Maggie

Teeth

Ginger Snaps

After.Life

John Dies At The End

Black Christmas

The Last House On The Left

Nosferatu the Vampire

Splinter

The Void

Deep Red

Phantasm

The Changeling

Feast

Hatchet

The Prophecy

Pulse

Fido

Open Grave

Cell

The Blob

The Exorcist III

Vanishing On 7th Street

House On Haunted Hill

Penomena

Eye See You

Cooties

The Werewolf

Pumpkinhead 4: Blood Feud

Messengers 2: The Scarecrow

Sugar and Fright Collection

Abraham Lincoln vs. Zombies

All Cheerleaders Die

Another Evil

Attack of the Killer Tomatoes

Bad Milo

Better Watch Out

Bitter Feast

Cooties

Corporate Animals

Crimewave

Dead Snot 2: Red vs. Dead

Deathgasm

Deep Murder

Drive Thru

Excision

Fear, Inc.

Feast

Fido

Ghost Killers vs. Bloody Mary

Hansel & Gretel Get Baked

Hatchet

Hell Baby

Hellboy Animated: Blood & Iron

Hellboy Animated: Sword of Storms

Hobo with a Shotgun

John Dies at the End

The Last Lovecraft: Relic of Cthulhu

Lesbian Vampire Killers

The Love Witch

Night of Something Strange

Nina Forever

Office Uprising

Shrooms

Snoop Dogg’s Hood of Horror

Stan Helsing

Stitches

Suburban Gothic

Survival of the Dead

Teeth

Turbo Kid

WolfCop

Yoga Hosers

The post Streaming on Plex: Best Horror Movies and TV Shows You Can Watch for FREE in October appeared first on Den of Geek.

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stereotvpes · 4 years ago

Text

class fight.

summary: jason dean is a complication for heather chandler. a nuisance. a problem. she cannot lose veronica to him. she needs to regain control.

but plans can always backfire.

warnings: graphic violence, major character death

A/N: hi!! this is my first fic, i hope everyone enjoys it!

Hanging out with the Heathers was never Veronica’s favourite thing to do.

Sure, they were her friends, but she didn’t really like them all that much. When she walked with them, it was like putting on a different skin. Veronica could never fully be herself: she’d run the risk of being Heather Chandler’s verbal punching bag for the week. Chandler was fierce and predatory, like a hawk, or a lion. She had sharp, watchful eyes that seemed to criticize her every move, never afraid to bite. God forbid Veronica befriended anyone outside of Chandler’s little circle.

But with JD, it was different, like a teenager rebelling against a parent. With JD, Veronica could push aside the petty things in life, like what skirt Nancy Stevens was wearing or how there was another college party next week. He gave her the courage to do things she’d never had the guts to. She had deep conversations with him, talking about the stars and what the future would look like until she fell asleep in his arms, his coat smelling like cigarettes and gunpowder.

When Heather Chandler began to notice that Veronica was slowly drifting away from her group, a wave of fury washed over her. What did Veronica see in that loser, anyway?

Chandler couldn’t really explain why she was so upset at the fact. Maybe it was because Veronica said she had sworn off high school boys, and that was a lie. Or maybe it was something deeper— Veronica’s complete indifference of what the school thought of her, how Chandler felt almost jealous that she could never be Veronica Sawyer. Chandler had spent ages trying to impress Veronica, but to no avail. So how come this little twerp managed to catch her eye in a day?

She had to put it to an end.

It started off with simple daydreams— poisoning Jason Dean and hiding his body where he’d never be found, Veronica crawling back to her looking to be comforted. Or maybe burning him alive in one of his father’s abandoned construction sites, and being a shoulder for Ronnie to cry on.

Then, one day, when she came back from school, she grabbed the address book from the top of her dresser and flipped through it casually, as if she planned to visit an old friend. His address was easy enough to find— who didn’t know Big Bud Dean’s Construction? Her parents weren’t home, which was expected, so Chandler headed out again after printing out the address carefully in her swirly handwriting on a piece of red stationary.

When she knocked at the door it swung open almost immediately, JD standing at the door with a smug look on his face and motor oil smeared on his shirt.

“Well, well, well,” he said, giving a half-bow. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Heather... Duke, is it?”

“Chandler, thank you very much,” Heather sniffed, only slightly offended. She suspected he got her name wrong on purpose. There wasn’t a person at school who didn’t know who she was. “Can I come in?”

“Why, of course,” said JD, unusually courteous. He opened the door wider and walked her into the living room, where a TV spoke in muted tones and a motorcycle wheel covered in motor oil sat on the coffee table. “What brings the occasion?”

Shit. Shit! What was she doing? She had no plan, not even a weapon! Chandler could feel herself breaking into a cold sweat.

Regaining her composure, she said, “It’s about Veronica. We... need to talk.”

“Ronnie, huh? What’s the problem? Is she spending a little too much time away from the kingdom?”

So he was mocking her! Hearing Veronica’s nickname come from his mouth made the anger bubble up inside her. She started to narrow her eyes— then stopped, and smiled sweetly at him.

“Actually... could I get a glass of water? It’s been so dry out, I can almost feel myself being fossilized.��

“Sure, the glasses are in the kitchen, second cupboard to the left.” JD turned away from her, focusing on the motorcycle wheel again.

Chandler ventured through the living room to the kitchen, trying to ignore a picture of a young JD and his parents on a nearby shelf. She filled a glass with water, gulped it down, and took a deep breath. This was it. She was going to be rid of him once and for all.

She quietly pulled open drawers until she found what she was really looking for: a kitchen knife. Holding it behind her back, she called, “Hey, JD, do you think you could give me a hand? I can’t seem to find the glasses anywhere... and you’re the host, I mean— shouldn’t you be getting me water?”

Chandler could hear JD give a huff of annoyance, tools clanking as he set them down on the coffee table. He walked in, wiping his hands on his shirt, seeing the glass on the kitchen counter. He stopped, raising his eyebrows at Chandler with irritation.

“Looks to me like you found them just f-“

Chandler lunged at him with the knife, aiming for his stomach. JD’s eyes widened in surprise, but his demeanor hardened again when he caught her arm just in time. She struggled against it, desperately trying to nick him or at least scare him bad enough that he would leave Veronica alone.

No such luck. JD was a lot stronger than someone who looked so lanky would seem. They were caught in a silent gridlock. As one arm held hers with the knife, something cold pressed against her temple. Chandler looked up in horror to see the same pistol that JD had used a few days ago in the cafeteria against her forehead. Even if it was filled with blanks last time, she wasn’t taking any risks.

As she relaxed, so did JD— only slightly. Instead of looking angry, he had an emotion on his face that made him look much scarier: exhilaration.

“Alright,” he panted, stepping away, still pointing the gun at her. “This isn’t about Veronica, is it?”

“Yes, it is,” Chandler insisted through gritted teeth, still gripping the handle of the knife tightly and pointing it at him. “I want you to break up with her. If you’re even dating her at all. She doesn’t belong with someone like you.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“She said it herself before you got here,” Chandler spat venomously. “That she’d given up on high school boys. She should be at college keggers with me, not going on long walks at the beach with you.”

Chandler couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. This kid had a gun pointed at her, and she was the one making demands. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

“You’re... jealous?” JD raised an eyebrow, half amused and half suspicious.

“I’m not jealous— I’m doing what’s best for her. Which is getting rid of you.”

JD chuckled lightly, no mirth in his eyes.

“Sure, okay. Look, why don’t we make a deal?” His hand was steady on his gun, as if he’d done this a million times before.

“Like what?” Chandler’s voice shook slightly.

“I’ll pretend that all this never happened, and let you leave, but only on two conditions: if you continue to let Veronica spend time with me, and you forget all this happened, too. Hell, I’ll even make sure she still has lunch with your little clique. Deal?”

There was no doubt in JD’s voice that he was going to get what he wanted, deal or not. Chandler lowered the knife a slight increment.

“Deal,” she said, feeling as if she had just sold her soul to the Devil himself.

And just like that, JD looked normal again. Almost.

“Great!” he said. “I’ll show you out now.” He guided her out of the house with the pistol pointed at her. “And you can leave the knife on the counter— unless you plan on making some lunch.” He grinned at his own joke. “Goodbye, Heather Chandler,” he said, shutting the door in her face.

Chandler walked home stunned, sure he would keep his promise, but unsure of what was to come.

As soon as he shut the door, JD began to pace around the room. He couldn’t fathom what possibly could’ve driven that girl to try to murder him. It wasn’t friendship, that was for sure. Unless... unless.

Unless she felt the same way about Veronica as he did.

The realization hit him fast, disgust balling up his fists. Stupid. Stupid! He didn’t want another body on his hands, but he knew he should’ve killed her right then in his kitchen. There was no way he and Chandler would be able to coexist in peace if she felt the same way about her that he did.

He was going to have to break their deal.

The weeks went by smoothly as JD created his plan, with Chandler truly seeming to have forgotten their unusual meeting and Veronica completely oblivious. He was much more prepared than Chandler. All he had to do was wait for an opportunity to jump.

It finally came the morning after one of Veronica’s rendezvous at a college party. JD had seen the lights on in her room and crawled in through the window, listening to her rave about how she wanted Heather Chandler out of her life.

It felt like it was too good to be true to JD, as if it was a sign from God that his plan was ready to be put in action.

So, the morning after, he tagged along with Veronica to check up on Chandler.

When Chandler heard footsteps inside her house, fear rocketed through her. Was JD finally here to finish her off? She had had more than a few sleepless nights, with nightmares of Jason Dean breaking into her house and strangling her or shooting her through the forehead (with her corpse looking like a mess!). But she heard Veronica’s voice laughing at his, so she relaxed and feigned sleep. He wouldn’t try anything with her around.

So when JD brought the cup into the room, she assumed that it was that awful concoction of milk and orange juice they were giggling at in her kitchen. When she saw it was blue, she rolled her eyes, thinking they found some food dye to mess with her. She wasn’t going to let JD make a fool out of her again, especially in front of Veronica, so in one last attempt to prove herself to Veronica, she downed the cup in one go.

Immediately after she swallowed a gulp, bitterness stung and burned her throat. She felt like her throat was closing up on her, and she dropped the cup, grabbing at her throat frantically and trying to say something, anything. This is it, she thought. This is when I die.

Struggling to breathe, she choked out, “Corn... nuts,” and blacked out, falling onto the glass table as the darkness engulfed her.

Veronica stood in silent shock, hands going over her mouth. “I just killed my best friend,” she said shakily.

“And your worst enemy,” JD added.

As they slowly pieced together what to do, with JD feigning surprise and shock, she forged the note and turned to leave the house. JD had already left, waiting impatiently for her in the car. But right before she left, something on Chandler’s vanity dresser caught her eye. It was a crumpled-up note, the stationary the same as the one Veronica used to write Chandler’s suicide note with. She unfolded it, smoothing out the creases.

JD’s address was printed on the first line of the paper in Chandler’s discernible flowery handwriting. Veronica frowned in confusion. She looked at JD, out of his line of sight from the car, and pocketed the note.

She never mentioned it to JD, or anyone else, after that day.

Veronica turned to look at Heather Chandler’s lifeless body on the shag carpet. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and fled out of the house.

#fic #heathers fic #heathers fanfic #jd x veronica #heather chandler x veronica sawyer #veronica sawyer #heather chandler #jd #jason dean x veronica #jason dean #fanfiction #heathers #yandere #yandere!chandler #yandere!jd #chandler x veronica #heather duke

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years ago

Text

The worst enemy

He throws another vase at the wall, but there’s no one there to pick the broken pieces up. It’s the middle of the night and he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Who are you?!”, he screams at nothing, approaching the mirror and hating the pale face that looks back at him, those intelligent eyes blinking quickly, as if trying to get out of a daze.

He needs to find out who their rat is. Ra’s hasn’t yet, and it’s hurting their position on this war. The enemy has eyes inside their castle, and Tim is left to fend off the plots his faceless opponent comes up with with that intel. It’s tiring, he feels strung along, and there’s little he can do about that.

Warning: There are some possibly triggering subjects being discussed. Nothing too explicit, but just to be sure, I’ll be adding the warnings deep into the tags. Those who think they might be triggered can read the tags, and those who don’t want to risk being spoiled can just avoid it.

Thanks @iphoenixrising and @the-quiet-carrotcake for giving some parts a read for me. Also tagging @animemangasoul cause you told me you wanted to read this.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Despite his careful consideration and analysis, he couldn't quite put his finger into what bothered him so much, to the point of losing focus. Homesickness, maybe? There was something in the walls, surely. Too clean, no mold or blood splatters in sight. His old home at the Wayne Castle had been cared for, but not even an army of maids could compete with hundreds of years of violent legacy.

As everytime he thought of his life before, pain throbbed behind his eyes. It was momentary, come then gone, but it was enough to make him groan a bit under his breath, the sound echoing in the open (too open, no corners to hide if an assassin came… which was kind of ironic here, he supposes) hallway. He knew there were eyes on him, though. His guard, for one, always two feet behind and one to the side. And he was sure he wasn’t the only one sent to (observe his every move) protect him.

Damn, the headache was getting worse. It was too long until tea time.

“I’ll visit my husband”, he decides out loud, for his shadow’s benefit. A kindness they would never expect from a superior, but that he was sure they appreciated.

The only response came from just behind him. A cut out sound that he couldn't identify, but must have been some sort of laugh. Either that or a pained groan.

Smiling, he twisted to look, hands behind his back as he walked in that fashion.

-What? It’s not gross that a man wishes to meet his beloved. It’s a rare day when we meet outside of dinner or council meetings. I’m not a sap; if anything I’m a paragon of patience.

The man doesn’t raise to the bait, as he rarely does, but he tilts his head a bit.

“Yer Highness, please mind your step and watch where y’er going. It’ll be my head on the chopping block if you fall and scrape your dainty white hands.”

He rolls his eyes at the jab, but heeds his warning and turns again to look up front. It’s not without truth, after all.

The part of him dying if Tim were to get hurt, of course. Not about the hands.

He looks down at them as they walk, a little confused. When did they become so though, so calloused? Sure, he must have learned some sort of self defense back when he was young, but he can barely recall it. His shouldn’t be the hands of someone used to the heat of combat, not sheltered as he had been from his birth to his marriage, and yet…

Nothing good comes from thinking that far back, anyway, he decides, shaking his head to get rid of the annoying thoughts pestering him like flies. He’d only end up giving himself a headache, and then Ra’s would send him back to bed with soup and an army of servants to observe his progress. A small smile tugs at his lips; he sure was lucky to get such a loving, protective partner. It was a wise decision, on his Father’s/

“Yer Highness”, calls the voice from behind, dragging him back from his musings rather forcefully. “We’re here.”

Any thought that’s not his husband completely vanishes from his mind. Smiling automatically, he springs into the room, straight to his husband’s open arms. The green and gold cape closes around them, and everything is okay, certain. He doesn’t feel confused, or worried, or observed. Because he’s with Ra’s right now. How could there be anything bad involved in that?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“It’s tea time, y’er Highness.”

“Ah, thanks A. I’ll be going then, my Lord. Will I see you at dinner?”

“Of course, Beloved. I just have to deal with those pesky documents and then I’m all yours.”

Tim’s laughter is like bells. It doesn’t feel actually natural, but he’s not forcing it either. It’s weird, how his voice works sometimes.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s a day like any other, when Damian comes to visit. He hasn’t seen his family in quite some time, so when a nameless ninja, covered from head to toe, detaches herself (herself? He’s sure its a her but why?) from the wall and informs him of it, he gathers his royal blue and gold kaftan in a fist so he doesn’t trip and speeds towards the throne room.

So good it’s Damian. He can barely remember Dick’s face, and the Jason from his memories is little more than a broad back, firm shoulders that would carry him all through the palace. Of his sister, he only knows she exists, and that they got along amazingly.

But that’s what loves makes to someone, he supposes. It was bound to happen, more than half a year without seeing them and devoting all his time to think about Ra’s.

But Damian… Damian, he remembers very clearly. Maybe because he can see some of Ra’s in his features, maybe because it was thanks to him that he could actually marry his beloved King…

(He thinks of ancient portraits hanging from the walls, the eyes of Kings and Consorts of old following one’s steps, as the shadows hidden in passageways behind them take note of his every action)

“Your Highness, you can’t pass”, a figure stops him just before the room where his brother and husband are probably already talking. He accepts this for only a moment, so he can catch his breath, kinda surprised by how easy it is to compose himself again; it hadn’t been a short run.

“Step aside”, he orders, back straight and looking into the man’s mask. Ra’s country wasn’t very keen on knights, not like King Clark's Aupuni La. Even Gotham, while not as honorable, had its fair share of white horseman riding to war with honor on their shoulders (although it still maintained its fair share of ninja-like warriors, their elite and probably the only thing in common with his current home). But Alqatala had only a handful (his own A among them), found more use in the shadows that kept well out of their Master’s view while still blocking anything annoying from reaching him when they could, and fiercely obeying His commands on how to defeat them when they couldn't.

It was reassuring, knowing the entirety of the Kingdom’s fighters would lay down their lives (and anyone else’s) for their King’s sake. That meant Ra’s would be always safe… even if all their subjects had to die for it…

Distractedly, he scratched at the back of his head. Maybe the new hair ornaments were irritating the skin there.

“Your Highness, I’m under strict orders to forbid anyone from/”

“Unless your orders explicitly include me, then you should already know I’m the exception to the rule. Step aside. I won’t ask again.”

This time, the man bows deep and moves. Disobeying his Master could have dire consequences; upsetting his Consort most certainly would. And if he did transgress because of His Highness’s orders, then the King might be forgiving.

Head held on high, Tim motioned for A to wait outside the room as he entered.

It was an open space, with long drapes of cloth flowing down the walls like waterfalls of red and gold. Golden torches, shining brightly with their perpetually lit fire, reflected the yellow and orange of their flames in whatever bit of wall left uncovered, making the cream colored stones look as if they were also burning down.

The ground, dark and polished, looked under the fierce light like onix. Maybe it was, Tim had never asked. The flush red carpet, going from the double doors to the steps leading to the throne, completed the feeling of entering some warm, cozy place.

A had told him once it was like setting foot into Hell. Tim liked to think differently, though he could admittedly see what his guard meant.

Looking up, his gaze landed automatically in his husband, raised above the rest of the room in his throne made of gold and rubies. The opulence suited him, and Tim loved seeing him high and mighty like this.

Agh, his head… He would need to ask A for more tea the moment this meeting was over. Maybe he could share some with Damian?

Suddenly remembering his reason to be there, he drags his eyes away from Ra’s. Jade green ones found his almost immediately, and familiar warmth takes residence in his chest.

“Brother!” he greets, happily, steps quickening until he reaches the young man. Damian has grown a lot in the past six months, as far as he remembers. Taller than Tim, shoulders twice as broad and chiseled jaw, his little sibling was now more a man than a boy, although he’d always be the latter in his eyes.

They hadn’t seen each other since the wedding; when Tim accepted Ra’s suit and became his husband, in exchange of him letting Damian return to his Father, to be Gotham’s Heir. Since he left behind his gold and ruby crown, for the onyx and sapphire one he wore now, black and blue jewels enhacing the paleness of his skin and the shine in his love-ridden eyes.

Damian completely ignores the offered hand, arms instead circling around his slimer frame and crushing him towards his chest.

“You’re okay”, he whispers. A swallow, then. Like he wanted to keep going but forced himself into silence.

A little confused, Tim returns the hug, eyes going to his husband over Damian’s shoulder.

The King watches from above, cold, calculating eyes glued to them. Dread pools in his stomach in automatic response, and he shoves his brother away as careful as possible.

“Where are my manners! Brother, you made me forget myself”, a small smile, as apology, and then Tim makes his way up the steps until he reaches his husband. “ My Lord”, he greets, bowing a bit and then quickly grabbing for his arm. Ra’s allows the touch graciously, the almost hostile look in his eyes nowhere to be seen now.

“Beloved. I’m sure we can forgive your small loss of decorum, in this circumstances. Right, Grandson?”

From beneath them, Damian stays with his back to them (in the exact same place where he hugged Tim) for a beat longer. Then, he turns to face the King and his Consort, and offers them both a bow.

“Of course, your Majesty. Your Highness. The fault lies on myself, as I couldn’t contain my joy, seeing my brother after so long”, he straightens from his courtesy, eyes finding his Grandfather’s in what could both pass as a familial gesture, or a blatant show of disrespect; Tim had to give it to him, the plausible deniability was exquisite. ”So long, in fact, our Lord Father was getting worried some ill fate had befallen him.”

Tim stills. He can’t ignore the sudden coldness in the room. Almost on instinct, he shifts a bit, so his shoulder is slightly in front of Ra’s, covering him. Unneeded, since there must be a hundred eyes on them now, their shadows ready to jump in and take any hit for their Master.

The gesture doesn't go unnoticed by his husband, though. He reaches down slightly, hand catching Tim’s. Something in him relaxes.

Damian’s eyes tracked the movement, but didn’t comment in it. Not when his last remark had yet to be answered.

“The joy of those recently joined in marriage can be blinding, Grandson. I’m sure your Oldest Brother would be able to tell you as much, with how many times he himself was wed. Timothy and myself just found it hard to part with one another for hours at a time, let alone a week long trip back to his old Kingdom.”

The mention of Dick brought color to Damian’s face; the red of rage. Tim himself felt a bit uneasy, the mention forcing his mind to come up with the face that had become quiet blurry in his memory. Richard. They had gotten along marvelously, hadn’t them? It was quiet weird they hadn’t met lately.

“I would have loved to see Dick”, he interjects, attempting to force them to look his way instead of each other. His smile is wobbly, and Ra’s hand tightens around his, but he maintains steady eye contact until Damian huffs.

“There have been some issues back home”, he informs Tim; and it’s quiet notable, the way he said the last word, as if reminding Tim that his roots laid elsewhere. Not that he cared where he was born, all that mattered to him was where he had bloomed, and that could only be at Ra’s side. “Father required his help. That’s also why I’m here.”

Something moves behind him, but by the time he turns to look at his husband, there’s nothing amiss. Ra’s seems to be deep in thought for a second, before he smiles beatifically at his grandson.

“We can talk more about this at dinner, you must be exhausted from your travels”, he decides, raising a hand. As if on cue, two shadows appear in the room. Only because he had been looking for them, Tim knows they came from under the red drapes hanging from the walls. How many more were there hidden in that place? Well, he thinks, it’s not like he cares to know either way…” Take the guest to his rooms, make sure to attend to his every need. Come now, husband”, Ra’s directs his eyes to Tim, whose insides flip automatically and smiles in thoughtless response, “we might as well spend the afternoon together.”

They descend the steps, hand in hand. Damian still hasn’t moved, head bowed in respect of the monarchs, waiting for them to leave first. The fist he has over his chest shakes a bit.

“Tea in the gardens? Should I ask for refreshments?” he asks, a little dubiously, following without complains. That’s how he usually spends the hours before dinner time…

Ra’s smile changes slightly, from gentle to hunting. He refuses to answer.

From his face alone, one would guess his husband’s motives were far from chaste; but given that his contract marriage specified Tim was to be untouched until his twenty first birthday, he wasn’t sure why Ra’s was now acting as though he’d ever forgone that particular condition.

They are passing by his brother now, and it's because of that cercany that he can see his knuckles turning white as he hunches even further into himself, a barely refrained gasp. Then he understands.

Before he can stop and ask Damian if he’s okay, reassure him that his Father's orders were being obeyed (in regards of his third son’s marriage treaty, at least), Ra’s is tugging him out of the throne room and towards his own bedchambers. Tim is helpless to his husband’s touch, so he doesn’t resist, but can’t help but turn to him, curious, just before they reach the room.

“Was Damian…?”

“Childish jealousy, I’m sure”, the King dismisses, opening the door for him and closing after they are both inside his anter-chambers. His hand goes to unclasp the brooch keeping his cape steady, removing the garment and taking seat in the low couch in front of the small tea table. “I all but stole you from your family, Beloved. Little siblings tend to yearn after their elders are wed away. I was merely teasing my grandson.”

Tim can’t help but smile in the tea cup a servant hands him, once he’s sat opposite the King. His knight, A, hadn’t followed them inside, but Tim caught flashes of him as Ra’s guided him through the halls, so he knows the man is close by. He relaxes in the knowledge, sweetening his tea a bit before his mind catches up to him.

Why, oh why would he think of A now? He’s with his husband, perfectly safe. Why is the notion of his personal guard being near reassuring him?

Damn this stupid headache. It’s hard to think, and A is not in the room to provide with the painkiller he usually takes at this hour. Unwilling to interrupt his time with his husband by calling his servant, he powers through the pain, smiling at the intense focus being bestowed upon him.

“Damian has grown a lot”, he comments, desperate to distract himself from the throbbing just behind his eyes, “but he’s still a child. Merely sixteen.”

“You are twenty, Beloved”, Ra’s points out, relaxing back into his seat, apparently satisfied with whatever he saw in Tim’s face. “Although I guess you were always the most mature of your brod. The only one worthy enough to stand by my side.”

“My Lord”, he chides softly, looking at him over his cup. Just because it’s hard to remember his family, it doesn’t mean he wishes to hear them spoken down to by his spouse.

“I speak the truth. Are you denying me?”

The question might sound brusc, almost confrontative, but he’s used to those kinds of inquiries by now. As a response, he bows his head a bit, submissive and elegant, neck in display and crown steady over his temple.

“I’d never betray my husband like that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Dinner goes without a hitch, until the moment Damian mentions their family one too many times and Tim has to excuse himself from the table. Juggling his husband’s mood and keeping his brother from being outright aggressive to such an important monarch was a tiresome duty, one he couldn’t wait to shed. Before dessert was served, he decided to retire for the evening.

A, loyal and wonderful, had the tea set ready by the time he reached his rooms. The little brown pill carefully placed on a napkin by his cup was even more enticing than the cakes and sweets the chefs must have served Ra’s and Damian.

“How did you know I was hurting?”, he wonders, sitting down in the chair by his balcony, letting the late afternoon breeze comb his hair away from his face.

“You have that look, yer Highness”, answers the man, carefully dropping the pill inside the cup before handing it to his Master. “Is there anything else I can do for ya?”

The question sounds… charged, somehow. Tim sips his drink. What else would he need right n/?

“Oh”, he blinks, once, twice, then tilts his head up to face his guard. Meeting his eyes over the edge of his facemask, he smiles-. The afternoon feels quite lovely, I’d like to share this moment of peace with my brother. I’m sure he must have long left the dinner table by now, so go extend him my invitation to have tea together.

He can’t be sure, but somehow he just knows A smiled.

He’s careful to pace the drink as he waits. He’s not alone for long.

Damian takes the seat opposite to his, and A is careful to close the balcony doors before the room gets too chilly. The creamy green curtains, white walls and gold ornaments make the entire atmosphere bright, something Gothamites born and raised would despise for it’s unfamiliarity; a wonder that those were the colors painting the room of a noble hailing from those lands. The three of them stay in silence for a while, as the King Consort finishes his cup.

Tim smiles. Damian watches him for a second, before his own smile appears, relieved and more than a bit happy.

“I’m glad to see you doing so well, brother. You had us all worried, back home.”

A soft, almost primly, scoff, “Please. I know how to handle myself, and I’m well protected here. You know I’m never alone.”

Damian dips his head in acknowledgement, but he still doesn’t remove his eyes from him.

“Conflict is brewing”, he goes straight to the point, almost desperate; unsure of how longer will they be able to speak privately. “Father is not willing to look past his transgressions any longer.”

“It won’t reach the Castle.”

“Brother!”

Tim shushes him, letting A refill his cup. No more medicine added, though.

“Damian. Ra’s might be a little… “he doesn’t quite know what to say,” as he is, but he’s by no means dumb. He won’t allow any kind of rebellion to arise in his lands. There will be no war in Alqatala.

Damian falls silent for a minute. A places a plate of delicious looking cookies in the table, on Timothy’s side. Neither brother makes any move to touch them.

“I’ll confront Grandfather about it, tomorrow”, the tone is almost warning. Tim’s eyes narrow.

“Do remember, brother, which side I’m on.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he watches in silence as Tim takes a cookie and bits softly into it, maintaining steady eye contact with the younger Prince.

“I suppose this is goodbye, then”, he adds, letting the rest of the desert back on his plate, by his empty cup.” I hate to cut our time together so short, after such a long time apart, but I need to rest now; it’s been such a long day. We’ll see each other soon, I promise. And don’t worry about me, silly little brother”, Tim’s smile came back, a little groggy this time.

Damian left after a shallow bow, escorted by A.

In the dimness of the falling night, Tim placed a careful hand on the glass door leading to the balcony.

...The callouses in his hand were still a mystery. Maybe he should ask his husband, tomorrow. He would know.

Ra’s knew everything about Tim. He had too, after all. And if he didn’t, Tim would tell him.

That’s what made them such an harmonious pair, after all.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s called to his husband’s study room the following afternoon, long after Damian’s entourage parted from their Castle.

He quickly removes his sleeping camisole (he’d been bedridden all morning, stroke down by a vicious headache) and dones a green and gold Farasha, simple sandals and his crown, no other accessories needed; as the maids helping him dress often tell him, he needs no outer help to enhance his beauty.

A walks him all the way to where Ra’s is waiting, then bows and swears to wait for him in the hallway. Not exactly his usual behaviour, but Tim can’t waste any brainpower in figuring out his guard, not when he needs to be sharp to attend to Ra’s now.

“My Lord?”, he calls, once inside. The older man is waiting, back to the door, as he watches from the window his Kingdom, buzzing with activity.

“Beloved”, he greets, without turning.” There’s a letter in the desk.”

Tim walks closer, picking the indicated piece of paper curiously.

It’s from Bruce (Father… Dad).

It’s a complaint, a description of the fate that would befell him if Ra’s were to continue on his current path. A demand of retribution, for all the damage already done. A threat, if a veiled one.

The only mention of Tim on the letter, was to inform Ra’s that having his third son inside the Castle wouldn’t prevent him from seeking to burn it to the ground, would Ra’s ignore his generous warning.

Tim’s insides were cold. His mind screaming at him, ‘he wants to hurt our husband’. A small, almost meek part of him wants to ask about King Wayne’s accusations, but the bigger, devoted side squashes this voice ruthlessly; no threat to his husband would be allowed, not even a justified one.

“Are we going to war?”, he asks, tone dry, hands carefully loose on the paper as to not crass it. Confused. He had tea with Damian the day before, he should have noticed something from him, an indication of the dangers coming. And why hadn’t his brother warned him?

His head hurts.

It’s then that his husband turns to examine him. For a few minutes, he does nothing else than to look at Tim, deeply. He returns the look fiercely, protectively; nothing but desire to help shining through. Cold fire burning in icy eyes.

Ra’s smiles.

“It won’t be much of a war, not with one as you on my side, Beloved. Let’s get to planning, shall we?”

There it is, the reason Ra’s married him in the first place. His strategic abilities, his absolute dominance over any battlefield, overturning the board with a simple swipe of his hand. Winning wars without stepping a foot in any battle.

He never thought he’d be using it against his own Father. But Tim knew where his loyalties laid.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Tim suggested they sent an ambush as soon as possible, before Damian could leave their lands. To kidnap him, and use as leverage to bring Bruce to heel. With his eldest son refusing the crown, the second lost as far as anyone knew and the third, himself, married away (and to an enemy, now, to boot), Damian was his last heir; he could not afford to lose him.

Ra’s also pointed out the Gotham King’s sentimentalism. Tim, tired and with his head throbbing, couldn’t say if that was truly the case, so he submitted to his husband’s intel and left the study to return to his quarters. Ra’s would assemble his own team to send post haste to retrieve the young Prince before he could cross the Alqatala border.

“Tea, yer Highness?”

“Thank you, yes.”

A few sips, before Tim tilts his head to the side.

“A? You know this young guard who switches places with you during the night, when you rest?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do call her, please. I need her to fetch something for me.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I have bad news, Beloved.”

That wasn’t what he expected to hear, the second he saw his husband. Weary, he sat in front of Ra’s desk, the cushioned back of the opulent chair helping soothe his uneasiness.

“What happened?”

“My Grandson has apparently grown some brains the last few months; he switched routes, and exited Alqatala by the eastern woods, instead of through the southwestern river he used to come.”

“That trip is twice as hard, why would he choose it?”, the second he spoke, he knew the answer. ”It’s harder to track someone there, than by water. You can see a ship from a long distance, but there’s multiple hiding spots between the trees.”

“That’s what I thought, as well. I sent some of my best trackers to follow, but I have no true expectations of them succeeding; Damian was raised to know those woods like the palm of his hand. Such a rich education, wasted in that boy”, Ra’s laments. Tim moves on instinct walking to stand behind his chair and placing his hands on the older man’s shoulders.

“Damian would not actually expect us to move so soon”, he rationalized, “nor would he know where our people was waiting to ambush him. His change of tracks is more than a little too well timed.

“Are you suggesting we have a rat, Beloved?”

Tim shrugs a little, helplessly ”I think I would remember Damian being wary. We had tea before he left, but I didn’t notice anything unusual. He must have not suspected us of being capable of that, back then. Someone must have alerted him to our intentions.”

Ra’s looks to be deep in thought. He turns a little to face Tim, who returns his look of seriousness with one of his own.

“I’ll weed out this traitor, My Lord. I can’t allow those kinds of pests around you.”

His husband smirks a little.

“I will be the one doing that, Beloved. You focus on forming a new strategy, and we’ll discuss it at dinner tonight. Show me I made the right choice, taking you as mine.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The vase crashed against the wall, and a waterfall of flowers and porcelain fell over the carpet. A maid rushed to clean up, but Timothy paid her no mind, despite the small thread of guilt twisting in his stomach.

The reports over his table spoke for themselves. Territory battles won by the smallest margin, spies derailed from their targets by very convenient distractions, specialized assassins caught and jailed before completing their tasks.

Someone good was working against them.

Tim knew, intellectually, that Bruce was a smart man. But not this kind of smart, not this quickly. There was a new player on the board, and it wasn’t on his side.

“A”, he called, almost growling. The man stepped out of the shadows enclosing the corners of the room, “bring me parchment and paper. I have suspicions on their next move, and I have to alert our troops against them.”

The man hesitated a bit.

“Yer Highness you… don’t look well. Should I bring you tea?”

Tim waved a hand, “After I send this missive. There’s no time to delay.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Their next strike was more successful than all their previous attempts. Ra’s had been incredibly pleased, seating Tim on his lap during dinner and feeding him carefully crafted delicacies and praising his Consort’s flawless strategy. They had managed to capture one of King Wayne’s favored warriors, General Brown. Her troops had been slim, and most of them fled at the overpowered sight of Ra’s people, so only she and few loyal soldiers had been caught. They would rott the dungeons until Ra’s needed to negotiate, or decided to execute them as an example for those who thought of going against him. Tim was pretty sure it’d be the first case, though. Brown was too valuable to just off.

The small victory tasted all the sweeter to him when no reports came from this mysterious figure trumping all his previous attempts. Hopefully, this meant they were all the more closer to winning this war without any big loses, as they’ve managed to do until now.

Later, he’s in his rooms and A brings his tea, but no food. It’s okay, Timothy is not hungry. He just drowns the entire cup before springing to his feet, gathering some documents and hiding them under his white shirt, tucked into his slim, open sided, black harem pants.

“Take me to the dungeons”, he demands, hastily throwing on a cape, “I believe it’s time I interrogate the prisoners.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ra’s is lounging in cushions and silk when Tim finds him, a few hours later. He beckons him in, a single finger crooked and a side smile.

Slowly, almost reluctant, Tim sits, his back to Ra’s, and rests his weight on the man. He can feel the strong arms going around his waist, but can’t see his face.

“Is everything alright, Beloved?”

Tim sags against him, hiding his face in the man’s shoulder. He, in turn, rests his chin above his hair, moving the crown around to make space. Tim can feel him smelling his hair and shivers a little. Ra’s hands tighten in response.

“Yeah”, he whispers. Wetting his lips a bit, he tries again, “Yes, I just came from the dungeons. General Brown… I went to see her. Try to get some information.”

The arms stiffen a bit, half a second, before the man relaxes again.

“And?”

“She seemed willing to talk, at first. I think it was the shock of seeing a familiar face”, he touches his own cheek a bit, then lets his hand fall over Ra’s wrist, carefully tracing his pulse point. “I think we were quiet close, back then.��

“Not anymore?”

A delicate shrug, “Not since I married you, My Lord. I choose my side, and so did she. As soon as she remembered we’re in different fronts on this war, she became quite tight lipped.”

Ra’s hums, hand reaching for the tray set by his side. Picking up a chocolate covered something, he offered it to the boy in his arms, smiling when he felt the soft lips closing around the food, almost kissing Ra’s palm where it laid.

“I believe she’ll start to rethink her decision, once a few more of her friends join her in the dungeons. I trust your preparations are going well?”

Timothy relaxed even further in his arms.

“Yes, My Lord. I’ve written some instructions for our people rounding on Sargeant Gordon and his daughter”, he explains, taking the mentioned papers out of his white sleeve” I’ll send the letter tomorrow after checking in some details, and by afternoon, if it all goes according to plan we’ll have two more guests joining General Brown. That means I won’t be accompanying you for lunch, My Lord.”

Ra’s reads the information carefully, and can’t help but squeeze his pretty little genius closer to his chest. Stealing him from his Father had been the wisest of his choices. Giving up his grandson in exchange was by all means a perfectly acceptable loss.

“Do tell your servant to fetch you something to eat, my dear. It won’t do to have my best strategist fall to his own ambitions and starve.”

Looking up at his husband, with the chocolate covered fruit still dancing around his closed mouth, Tim smiled.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Over the course of the next few weeks, Timothy’s life became a whirlwind of reading reports, scheming strategies and meeting his husband to inform him of any progress- or loss.

They managed to capture young General Duke Thomas, Sargent Kane and General Gordon. Sergeant Gordon, the woman’s father, had escaped unscathed though, by a well timed counter attack that Tim was still unsure how they enemies had devised.

His new sworn enemy, Wayne’s strategist, was no doubt behind any little rock in his path. Any setback, any mistake. This mysterious person seemed to be always one step ahead, and even Tim’s hard won victories sometimes seemed like they were a gift, an allowance. Ra’s didn’t seem to mind, more than happy with their slowly growing dungeons and Tim’s efforts, so he was reluctant to inform him of his fears; least the King started to regret marrying him in the first place.

He throws another vase at the wall, but there’s no one there to pick the broken pieces up. It’s the middle of the night and he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Who are you?!”, he screams at nothing, approaching the mirror and hating the pale face that looks back at him, those intelligent eyes blinking quickly, as if trying to get out of a daze.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“How are our guests faring?”

“Still haven’t as much as pipped, yer Highness.”

“I trust you’ve been exploring all your options while asking.”

“I’m...being very thorough. Maybe if yer Highness went…”

“I don’t know, A… Between the planning and these damn headaches that keep getting worse…”

“Should I bring the medicine?”

“Yes, do that…”

He scribbles orders for his men in parchment, gets so lost in the action he barely notices his servant’s return, merely accepting the cup with the sweet beverage when it’s offered to him.

“I’m not making any real progress like this… You are right, I do need to interrogate them myself. We’re going to the dungeons.”

“Yes, yer Highness.”

“And… be sure it doesn’t reach my husband’s ears. That place is so grim and dirty, and I wouldn't want to… worry him.”

“Yes, yer Highness. This way.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Ra’s orders Tim’s secondary guard to bring him to the throne room in the middle of the night, he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Sleep has been a luxury he can’t quite gift himself with, and his plans don’t seem to be achieving anything. Maybe… Maybe his husband was cross with him. Maybe he meant to… dispose of him.

What he’s not expecting, is seeing A’s kneeling form, bruised and curling into himself, in the ground in front of Ra’s throne steps.

“What is the meaning of this? My lord? Why is my servant here?”, he worries, rushing to the man’s side. A might have been taking care of him under orders, but he had done it wonderfully, and Tim really appreciated his willingness to run back and forth fetching him medicine, tea and food when the pain got too unbearable, or just keeping him company as he raged at his mysterious strategic enemy.

“Don’t”, comes the order from above, cold and final, just when his hand is hovering over a obviously dislocated shoulder. Tim looks at his husband with hundreds of questions in his eyes, but the man answers just one. “Rats shouldn’t be blessed by the touch of the Royal Consort, Beloved.”

Tim shakes his head minutely, taking an automatic step away from A’s form. The guard, his knight, doesn’t even raise his head to look back at him. Tim wishes he did, so he could read the truth in his keppel colored eyes.

But his husband has already told him, hasn’t he? A’s testimony is of no worth, when the King himself is condemning him of treason.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s hours later, when Tim decides to go down to the dungeons once more. He picks Ra’s discarded cape from the ground by the bed and wraps it around him, gathering strength from his husband’s scent.

This... had been their first night together, and Tim laments it was under such painful circumstances. Betrayed by his closest aide, the one who had stayed by his side from the second Tim had married into the Al Ghul’s family, he had all but fallen into Ra’s arms while he watched the guards drag A away, to be questioned at a later date. Down to the dungeons, with every other enemy he had caught.

He hadn’t caught A, though. He had somehow completely missed the man sneaking information out, when said man was always a mere step away from Tim’s own shadow.

Ra’s had been perfect, in the face of his Consort’s distress. He had half escorted half carried Tim out of the room and into his own chambers. Plied him with wine (the same bottle Tim had gifted him what seemed like a lifetime away, but was just the previous night; still closed, but fresh), sharing a cup at first and then exchanging the liquid from mouth to mouth. He had gathered him into his arms, carried him to bed, and made him forget. Making him yield his body as well as his mind to his whims, dominating every inch of him; their pre nuptial contract all but forgotten in the face of such passion. Who would tell Bruce, anyway? And, even if his father knew, they were at war with the man.

Tim had sobbed, after it was all done with. His husband was obviously a gifted lover, and during their shared passion, he had made him drop any thought of his friend; but the second he went to sleep by his side, Tim’s eyes started to water by their own accord.

A had betrayed him.

This stung worse than he could have expected. He needed to see A again, before Ra’s interrogated and later executed him. He… he needed to ask why.

The hallways seemed too deserted, tonight. He could usually catch a glimpse of a shadow sneaking just by the edge of his vision, something moving too fast to properly identify, but slow enough to be sure of its presence. There was none of that. No silent footsteps, no servant hurrying along in a chore, no visiting noble straying from his room in search of a nocturnal thirst with a maid. No eyes following from the portraits on the walls.

It was too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes one step lightly and breath as shallowly as possible, to keep from making any noise that would disturb it, draw attention to it. The kind that made him signal his guard to walk closer to his back, so the barely noticeable warmth of her presence could sooth his already frayed nerves.

The stairs to the dungeon were barely better. The sounds of chains shaking and rats scurrying around brought a light frown to his face. He suddenly wished to be back by his husband’s side, in the comfortable bed, protected by his arm around his waist.

But he needed to power through. A was just a few cells over, and he wouldn't be able to sleep without his answers.

The man is chained down, both at his ankles and wrists, as per the costum when one of their own goes rouge. Their training too intensive, too dangerous, to leave them to roam freely, even within a cell.

He’s awake, through, despite his wounds. And he’s sitting in the middle of his ‘room’, facing the door. Facing Tim, when he came into sight.

...had he been awaiting him?

“Hey, Timmy.”

The uncharacteristic, carefree call snaps him out of it. Suddenly outraged (both at this man, so calm in his dishonored state, and at himself for being so affected by the situation; he was a King’s Consort, he needed to get it together!), he gathered himself to his full height and did his best to look down at the seated man, fists gathering Ra’s cape tighter around his shoulders, trying to pass it as some sort of royal garment, to get the extra confidence boost.

“It seems your short time in captivity has already started playing tricks on your mind, to make you believe you can address me this way. Or perhaps the certainty of your execution has made your tongue looser. It would not help your situation, but if you prove yourself useful a last time, I might consider appealing to my husband’s mercy.”

A tilted his head. Tim couldn't see his face, half hidden by the mask, half by his hair, but he knew him well enough to read the curiosity in his posture.

“Whose orders are you obeying?”

The young knight stared at him in silence for a bit, before shrugging.

“Yours, yer Highness.”

Tim couldn't help but scoff, crossing his arms and thus allowing the cape around him to part in the front.

“I certainly didn’t command you to betray my trust.”

If A had a response to that, it was halted by the sight of the King’s Consort still in his sleep camisole, hastily thrown over before heading there. The thin fabric did little to hide his neck, where the marks of tonight’s love encounter with his husband were painfully obvious, skin too pale to hide the almost purple signs of ownership.

“I’m sorry you went through that, yer Highness”, he whispered, shoulders slumping and head tilted down for the first time during their conversation.

It was cold in the dungeons, and that’s why Tim closed the cape around him again. Not to hide his marks and sudden vulnerability.

He thought, distractedly, that they must be giving an amusing show to the other captives, for them to be so quiet.

“I can assure you”, he answers dryly, ”that being loved by my husband is no hardship at all. Not like the ones you have coming for you.”

“I would disagree”, his voice sounds deeply pained, and resigned.

A throb behind his eyes made him squeeze them shut. He felt more than heard his silent shadow stepping closer, one hand supporting his arm as the other offered the small pill Ra’s had gotten for him to help his headaches, as well as a flask of something to down it with.

He held both the pill and the silver container in his hands, eyes never leaving A’s figure, suddenly a hundred times more attentive.

“You gonna take it, yer Highness?”

He hums, rolling the brownish pellet between thumb and forefinger.

“I always seem to have a muddled mind, after I do. And I think I want to remember this conversation, A. If that’s really your name.”

“’s not.”

“Are you going to tell me what it really is? Or what “A” stands for?”

“I’m a gothamite”, replied the man, who was suddenly a lot more talkative. Maybe afraid Tim would take his medicine and go sleep it off, taking with him his only chance of getting a more merciful judgement, “born and raised. But unlike all those whinny, dumb witted lords you’ve probably met, I hail from the streets. The darkest parts of the city, where only the most crooked and twisted reside. Where the monsters hide, ‘cause what’s on the street ‘s a thousand times more scary than ‘em. The slums of Arkham spit me out, half chewed and poisonous but still alive despite it all. And from there, I took my name. So I’d never forget, while I’m here, where do I came from.”

“And you still became a knight, a pawn, under the command of someone smart enough to fool even me?”, he scoffs, hand tightening and almost crushing the pain relief- They would only use you and discard you. No, not even that, since we will be the ones doing the job. If you tell me who gave you your orders I… I can give you leniency.”

“I won’t.”

“Not even if…” he hates saying this, shouldn’t be promising it without talking it out with his husband first, but if there was a chance of catching this slippery strategist… “I spare your life?”

A only shook his head. Tim felt unsteady on his feet.

Who would even care, he thinks, before letting himself fall, sitting on the other side of the bars keeping A locked. The prisoners’ opinions weren’t important, and his shadow would not tell anyone else of Tim’s momentary weakness.

(How was he so sure of her loyalty? Why was he so despairing of A’s, his traitorous Arkham Knight, betrayal?)

“You look to be in pain, yer Highness. The medicine…”

Tim threw the goddamned pill as far away as he could, fierce eyes boring into the man.

“Why do you act as though you care for my well being? You surely didn’t when you sold me out to my enemy.”

A sighed, “The only enemy here, ‘s the man whose cape ye’r using to fend off the cold.”

“That man…!”, he stops himself, gathering his composure like one might sand between their fingers, hoping it’d be enough to get a hold of himself. He tried again. “That man is my Lord and Husband.”

“Oh Lord above, I’m so sick of this”, moaned A, leaning back into his hands and looking at his cell’s ceiling. “Yer Highess… Tim. What about we make a deal?”

“With a traitor?”

“With the only viable informant you have.”

He didn’t answer. Curious, despite himself, but unwilling to give him the satisfaction of inquiry.

A didn’t seem to mind and straightened his back before crawling towards the bars, until he was pressed flush against them, chains clattering when they collided with the cold metal of his cage.

“If you can figure out who my master is from the clues you have, I’ll… help you fight your enemy.”

“If I could figure that out by myself, don’t you think I would have already?”, he frowns, but there’s no deceit in A’s eyes. Not that it would do he any favors; helpful or not, the only thing Tim had to lose here was time. Unsure, he decided to focus on this puzzle he had at hand.

“Think about yer hands. Think about your home, your true home, not this pit of snakes and lies. Think ‘bout… family. Why are you here?”

He didn’t want to. Those were the kind of questions that always brought forth the headache. But, he supposes, he is already in pain. What is a little more?

He turns the silver flask (that he almost forgot he still had) in his hands, thumbing the engravings on it as his mind wandered.

He was here because Ra’s had wanted to marry him, because he fell in love with Tim when/

...When?

No, that wasn’t right. Tim had made the choice, because… Ra’s had Damian captive. He had sent a letter offering an exchange…

No. Damian’s mother, Crown Princess Talia. She had asked Father… Bruce, for help. But… she had been the one who helped Ra’s take Damian in the first place…

Why had Tim offered marriage? There must have been multiple alternatives, more than one way to get his brother back.

He loved Ra’s, that was why. Or so he thought.

He remembers… denials. Shouts. And a calm, detached voice explaining itself. Explaining…

As a lightning striking a tree and bruning it to ashes, all came flooding back into his mind.

His hands. His home, his family.

The night before his wedding.

A cup of wine, left by Ra’s servants so he could settle his nerves before the next day’s ceremony, held tightly and steadily in his hands.

He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t confused. He wasn’t in love.

A cloaked figure in the darkness of his rooms, ice blue eyes staring deeply into his.

“I’m your worst enemy”, it said, cold like the iron of his Father’s blade, and twice as sharp.

Tim recognized it then, who it was.

The bane of Ra’s existence. The mysterious strategist. A’s master.

A young man, eyes burning blue fire, standing among shadows in front of a mirror.

The fog raised from his mind, as did his hand when he took a long sip of his flask. The sweetness of the beverage brought a grin to his face, as the headache faded into oblivion. No pill needed, after all.

Still shaky but feeling finally in control, he climbed back to his feet. A, on the other side of the cell, did the same, face unsure and searching.

Cassandra, his shadow, reappeared from within them. Taking one quick look at his face, her now unmasked one brightened. She held a number of keys among her swift fingers, stolen from the no doubt unconscious guards upstairs.

“...Yer Highness?”

Tim laughed, unbridled. A devious smirk played on his lips as he watched Cass set to work.

“Formalities don’t suit you, brother.”

Jason’s eyes widened in surprise, before savage glee lightened them. He held his hands before himself, patiently waiting for their sister to open his cell and free him.

“About damn time, Timmy.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Tim had told Damian not to worry, a long time ago. No bloodshed would flood the streets where he grew up, no hard working servant or innocent peasant would see themselves tangled in the throes of war.

There’d be no war in Alqatala. Because they were going to take it from the inside.

The walk back to Ra’s rooms was done in half the time it took before. Movement all around him as all the prisoners, his people, were set free to take care of whatever of Ra’s soldiers remained in the castle after Tim sent the majority of them to fight an empty battle. He saw Stephanie’s men subduing the less strong warriors, as she and Cass took the better trained ones. Jason was carrying Barbara in his arms, probably headed to wherever Dick and his troops were waiting, somewhere just outside the castle, to act as reinforcements. Duke, Kate and their soldiers, helping the wounded and escorting the enemies to the dungeons that not too long ago housed them.

Tim didn’t focus on any of them, though. He had another matter to attend to.

When he reached the Royal chambers, he saw exactly what he expected; Ra’s, fully dressed, standing at his balcony and observing the figures dancing below. His enemy’s troops taking hold of his kingdom as peacefully as a coup could ever be.

The wine had been chosen primarily because it’s sleepy quality was one he had gotten resistant against, after months of Jason providing him with it. So that Ra’s would be affected and sleep the night away, while Tim got his memories back and could take the last step of his carefully organized plan.

The second, less pressing (but almost more rewarding) reason was spite: the first dose of the drug Ra’s has plighted him with, all those months ago, had been in the wine he was served before their wedding.

But it wouldn't keep a man like his husband, old and well versed in trickery, down for long. Tim had only hoped for enough time to free his allies.

And he had gotten it.

“Beloved. I imagined you halfway through the land, eager to be back in your people’s arms.”

“Don’t insult either of us like this. You know I need to see this done, and I don’t trust anyone else with this particular task.”

“To take me down?”

“To properly gloat, more like it.”

“Now you are the one taking us both for fools. You don’t gloat. It’s unbecoming.”

Tim shrugs, cape flowing behind him as he steps out by Ra’s side, looking down as well.

For weal or woe, those were their subjects.

“You don’t think I deserve it?”

Ra’s does the elegant, royal version of a snort.

“More than anyone, dear one. It was masterfully played, I have to admit. I could find no cracks in your acting.”

Tim turns, back to the balcony edge. The venomous green eyes meet his, then. King and Consort, truly face to face for maybe the first time in months.

They should, by all means, be fighting. But Tim is under no delusions; he knows Ra’s physical strength is greater. His aim is to entertain him long enough for reinforcements to reach them.

Why Ra’s decided to humour him, he wasn’t sure.

“There was no act, Ra’s. Not truly.”

“As much as the thought warms my heart, Beloved, I don’t think you love me. Not like the drug intended. How, pray tell, did you manage to avoid it? I’ve seen you eating food coated in it. Sometimes, by my own hand.”

Tim just raises his flask to him.

“Your only mistakes were taking Damian prisoner, and kidnapping our people to serve under your crown.”

If he was annoyed by Tim derailing his answer, he didn’t show it. Seemingly content to play along, Ra’s gave his words proper thought.

“The first brought you into my castle, taking a vital player from the enemy’s board, the latter gave me the opportunity I needed to go to war with your father. I don’t see anything to regret there.”

Tim took another sip of the tea, now cold, that Cass had filled the bottle with.

“And your greatest overview”, he continued, “what you should have suspected from the first moment, was this:”- the drink inside the flask sloshed when he raised it-” I despise tea.

“I fail to see how this all ties together. Indulge me, dear one? Our time with each other is coming to an end, after all.”

Tim was all for gaining time. And maybe a little part of himself wanted to boast a bit, too.

“When Talia came back to her senses, after the drug you used on her to make her take Damian to you wore out, she came seeking for help to set him free.”

A yell, somewhere far away. Clash of metal and fire in the distance; Ra’s troops were back from their empty mission, straight into Harper and Cullen’s awaiting forces.

“Barbara is most likely the best alchemist out there. With Lady Thompkins’ help, she made an antidote”, another sip. “It goes perfect with tea, disgusting as it is. And Jason, taken for dead and rescued by Talia all those years ago, who nursed him back to health under your own roof without you being the wiser, already had a perfect cover built here. He just needed to say he’d been on a mission to explain the time he’d spent between leaving Talia’s care and me coming here, and then volunteer to care for me. And my sister’s presence can only be noticed by those she wants to; your men had no chance to spot the two enemies among their ranks.”

Under them, the innocents in Alqatala were hanging white bed sheets and clothes out of their windows. A beg to be spared, and show of surrender. From up there, it looked like dots of victory splashed in the canvas of a won over Kingdom.

“I could never act like I was in love with you, for months, and be perfectly convincing. And the only way you’d let me even smell the ink on your important documents was if you believed me completely besotted. So I’d take your drugs each breakfast, and break out of their power with my afternoon tea. Give out orders, converge with my spies, and then eat your food again so I’d be in perfect condition for dinner. If I could help it, each moment spent in your presence had to be drugged stupid. As a side effect of taking the drug is memory loss, every proof of my treasonous acts were hidden from my stupid, submissive, deeply-in-love other self. Truly, it was perfect. Except the headaches from taking so many corrosive substances, so often. Those were a pain to deal with.”

That wasn’t, of course, the only consequence of mixing powerful drugs. His colds were harsher and more recurrent than ever, and he feared the approaching winter with genuine horror, but that was information his enemy didn’t need to have.

Ra’s threw his head back and laughed. It was a hearty laugh, from deep within his chest and charged with unexpected affection. Tim tilted his head, and was taken back when his husband stretched his hands to pull the cape closed over his chest, fastening it with an emerald and gold pin.

“I do have a question”, he forces himself to say, unwilling to blush when Ra’s hands accidentally (or maybe not so much) bumped into one of the marks still fresh in his neck.

“You’ve answered mine, Beloved, so go ahead. Marriage is a give and take, after all.”

The irony wasn’t lost.

“When things started to go wrong in this war, when attacks didn’t reach and our troops failed by a hair… you are not stupid. You must have known the enemy under your roof, the one planning your strategies, was the most likely cause. Why not kill me?”

Ra’s laughed again. Something in Tim’s stomach twitched.

He had won here. So why did it feel like Ra’s had been the one to take the treasure?

“We both agreed to this game, when you accepted my suit and we got married.”

“I was the one who suggested/”

“Shh, dear one. You could have backed out, told your family you regretted your choice, and no one would have blamed you. But you took the drugged wine that night, fully aware of the dangers it contained. You blushed during our wedding, and shed a tear when I took your hand and sat you on my throne to receive your crown. The stakes were high, higher than anything any of us could imagine, and you still decided to risk it. Had I discovered your siblings and drove them out, there’d been no one left to fed you the antidote that allowed this entire operation to begin with. Or I could have chosen to dismiss you to an abandoned wing of the palace, happy enough after taking you from your family and thus removing their most dangerous player, without the risk of giving you power.”

Tim’s throat felt dry. Ra’s thumb pressed in the mark one last time, before he drew his hands away and clasped them behind his back. His eyes as he watched Tim were warm on the surface, but there was an underlying of want under them that made him nervous. The intensity rivaled the one he had felt when they shared bed and love just hours ago.

“You played the game beautifully, played by the rules, and still won. Killing you without proof, with only my suppositions, right as they might have been, would have been like admitting defeat.”

“You still lost”, he bites out, hand unclasping the pin keeping the cape tight and letting it fall to the ground behind him, green and gold silk against dark stone.

Ra’s smile became wicked. No warmth left.

“Had I killed you when I first suspected you”, he whispers, stepping closer, and this sudden intimacy makes Tim shiver, but not from pleasure. “I would have missed the opportunity you gave me tonight. And I got a taste of the full extent of your power, Beloved.”

He closed the distance between them, hands on his shoulders to keep him still. Too shocked to even try to get away, Tim almost forgot to blink.

He had expected rage. He had expected disdain. He had expected a sword to the gut.

He hadn’t expected respect, admiration and desire, hot and piercing like a knife still red from the forge.

Ra’s breath, sweet from the wine and warm against the cold of the night, brushed his cheek as his husband bent closer.

“How marvelous it was, to witness you fight against yourself. Are you the only foe you consider worthy of your attention? Can anyone else come close to even challenge your cunning mind?”

Too late, Tim heard the footsteps approaching their location. His brothers, most likely, here to help him take care of Ra’s.

The beautiful dagger sliding into his body felt almost sensual, intimate. Like he was being touched by a lover, instead of steel. He shivered all the same, the gasp escaping his mouth making Ra’s draw a deeper breath.

His laugh, this time, was low. Private, just between them.

“Do make sure you don’t die from this. I’ll come for you one day, and I expect a proper confrontation then. No more masks between us, dear one. Next time it’ll be just you and me, your force against mine, and my price for trouncing one as enthralling as yourself will be to properly own you, from that day and all the ones that’ll follow.”

When Ra’s hands left him, Tim fell to his knees. He heard the door slamming against the wall and his brothers’ voices, their shouts and curses as they rushed to his aid.

“Until then, my Consort.”

He saw him jumping down, to a certain death if it were anyone else, but could not make a move to follow. The knife had pierced something, he could tell, and the blood soaked his white nightgown and the green cape, still on the floor under him.

It was Dick (Oh gods, Dick, how had he missed his oldest brother, how painful had it been to forget his smile, scent and fierce protection) who gathered him in his arms, his desperate calls that made him snap out of the pain. He barely caught sight of Jason and Damian running to the balcony edge and looking down, then yelling orders to the men that had followed them into the room.

Ra’s had escaped.

But he would not stay away for long, he knew. His last words were both a threat and declaration of intent. It was a new war, one where Tim wouldn’t be fighting for him and against himself. Now, he would depend only on his wits and resources. There’d be no master plan carefully laid and enveloped in deceit. It’d be an all out war, two predators hunting each other, where losing meant death for Ra’s, and for Tim...something even worse.

Ra’s was coming.

Well, Tim thought, closing his fingers around the silver hilt of the dagger, his brothers worried voices fading into nothing as consciousness began to waver, let him come.

I’ll be waiting, my husband.

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hobbitsnapes · 4 years ago

Text

The Red Hoods Protègè chapter 15

Older Damian Wayne x ofc

(Photo made by my lovely friend @tyuuniverse)

Summary:Red hood has taken a young vigilante under his wing and subsequently changes Damians life forever. (I suck at summary’s)

Everyone waits each day for things to change. Waiting for her to come out of her room. But it’s as if she wasn’t there, in that lone room.

Everyday, they all walk by her door expecting to see her. Some are curious, some are honestly excited, and one, dreads it.

Damian knows eventually he’ll see her. Coming out of his room to meet her eyes, following a pain resonating through him. He knows that he’ll have to grow used to it. But that doesn’t change the tinge of pain each time he walks by the old oak door. But what he doesn’t know, is the hell behind that door that she’s consumed by each time she hears him.

It’s as if she’s trapped me a bubble of thick air that won’t go away. Each time she opens her eyes, she’s reminded he’s there. Each minute of the day that she’s conscious she battles with herself. It’s like she wants to think about him, to feel the sharp pain in her heart as tears fall down her cheeks. But she fights with herself to stop thinking about it. Sometimes she succeeds. Drowning herself a short film on her phone, but never completing them cause as soon as she raises her eyes, she’s met with her reality of where she is. Or she’s brought back when the footsteps outside her room.

In the last week, she’s been able to track and remember the footsteps of each of the people in the home. The man she’s come to find out as Dick, has fast but light footsteps.

The man known as Tim is near silent. But the small bits she can hear, he’s slightly slower than the previous.

Alfred almost has a skip to his walking. Each day the sweet man will lay a tray of food at her door. Picking it up later that same night.

Bruce’s steps are the louder of them all. Clearly hearing the heal to toe each step he takes.

Damians was the easiest but the hardest to hear. Having a mix of the clear steps of his father, but still being light like Dicks. His are slightly slower, and a hair faster when he passes by her door.

Her heart sank each time she heard it. Knowing he was walking away like that because of her. It broke her heart further knowing that the man she had fallen for, the man who made her feel like her past wasn’t her, that the way he looked at her like stars shown up her spine into tendrils from her skin, looked at her like she was painted red. Her heart once warmed through her chest out of her skin, now felt cold and strained each time she remembered him.

Their lips move in a soft harmony together. Lips barley grazing as they lay there in one another’s arms. The pads of her fingers gently run across his face. His fingers running up and down the bottom of her back. A shiver runs up her from the soft contact. Their breaths meld together, noses touching as just the very touch of their lips stay together. A soft smile graces his face, his hand traveling to the side of her face where her hair lay. Shielding her eye from him. Her eyes had slightly shut, a hazy look to them with her pupils slightly dilated. His fingers run along her temple, down to her cheek, and ending at her lips. He lightly runs his fingers across them. The action causing a soft smile and an equally soft laugh. He looks into her eyes again, the same haze to them as before. “You are so beautiful.” He whispered, her flush blooming even harder. A grin formed on his face at her. Grazing his fingers against her cheek. “You’re even more stunning than the Middlemist's Red camellia.” She let out a soft chuckle, “what’s that?” She questions him. “It’s the rarest flower in the world. Only two plants have survived. One in New Zealand, the other in the United Kingdom. Ironically it’s blue in color. But even then, it can’t compete with your eyes and beauty. There’s so many different kinds of roses, while they’re beautiful, there’s so many of them. Not only are you the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen, you have the purest heart I’ve ever come across.” Her eyes shined with unshed tears, brushing his fingers over her eyes. “You don’t know that, I’m not as amazing as you think I am.” She whispered. “No matter what you think, I’ll always believe you are.” He said, kissing her lips again.

Tears streamed down her face at the look of pure hatred covering his face when he saw her standing there. “And I could never be with someone who does the things you do. You’re a monster. All that happened to you, was your fault. Your parents dying, you could have stopped it. You sat and watched as your mother and father were beaten, bloodied and stabbed to death. If it wasn’t for you being born they could have left the city. They would be alive. Ally, if it wasn’t for you finding her and taking her in, trying to fix the wrongs you’ve done, she could have ran away from here and away from her father who probably went and killed her. Another life, lost to be forgotten, all because of you. You’re nothing but a bad omen. I mean just look around sandy.” Damian gestures. Her once homey apartment burning around them with the movement of his hand. Her heart screaming out of her chest in throbbing pain. “Take a look at what you did.” He says as he steps to the side. A scream of agony rips out of her chest at what she sees lying on the floor. There on the floor, is a bloody, chopped up jason. Stab wounds cover his body. Blood seeping from each cut that pool on and around him. Bones are exposed, muscle torn to shreds. But the most haunting of it all, is his bloody cut up face. Stab wounds in his cheeks,nose slashed open, his mouth torn. But the worst are his eyes. Once an icy blue, now clouded over and milky. A stark contrast to the streams of blood covering his face. His eyes boring into hers. A scream rips from him. Blood spewing out of his mouth. “YOU DID THIS TO MEE!” He screams out. Blood choking him and pouring out of his mouth. He then falls limp to the ground. His eyes still looking at her, lifeless. A tall figure comes out from nowhere. A scream ripping from her when she sees him. “Ah such a good job! You did good, we did good! I mean just look at the boy! Even I wasn’t able to do that to him! And after everything I did to him, I knew it would be you to finish my job.” Joker says, his face scared and almost cracked looking. She looks down at herself. Seeing a bloody knife clutched in her hand, her once white nightgown soaked in blood. “GET AWAY FROM ME! YOU SICK FUCK I SHOULDVE KILLED YOU!” She screams out. “Ah but you didn’t my dear. That night I chopped your lovely mother up and beat your father to death, you could have picked up a knife and killed me then. But you didn’t. Now, I’m gonna keep going, keep on killing families, haunting you because you did nothing. It’s because of you, we can keep doing it.” “W-we?” She shudders, tears falling down her face. “Yes, we.” Damian says, walking over to joker. Joker putting his hand on damians shoulder. A scream ripping from her at the pointed, crooked smile on his face.

A choked up gasp leaves her as she shots up out of bed. Panic filling her before she feels the soft sheets surrounding her. Relief filling her, that is until a searing pain in her back takes over. A loud groan leaving her.

Walking slowly over to the bathroom being near impossible due to the excruciating pain in her back. The pain worse than when she was carved. It feels like something was ripping from the inside out of her skin.

She takes her nightgown off, a yell leaving her due to the pain getting worse.

She looks in the mirror in the bathroom, a scream ripping from her. Her once healed scars were ripped open, shoulder blades exposed completely from both flesh and muscle chunks being ripped out. Black feathers poking out of them, ripping out from her, screams of pure agony ripping from her as the feathers rip through like barbed wire. Breaking through her bones and skin. A final scream ripping from her, before everything around her going black.

Screams ripped from her throat as she shoots up out of the bed. Tears streaming down her face as she sobs. Her heart pounding out of her chest as she yells out sobs. Her breathing coming out in heaves. Her eyes shutting tightly, although it did little to nothing to stop the images of Jason lying there in a bloody heap. The image of Damian and Joker flashing to her as sobs wreck her body.

Dicks breath and heart pounding as he sprints to her door. He heard her screams of pure agony all the way downstairs, knowing exactly what’s going on. He knew they would eventually come, memories of him waking up in a sweat screaming till his vocal cords gave up as his screams turned into silent tears. He has yet to speak to her, feeling terrible due to her being his niece.

His hands knocking on the old oak door. Hearing her sobs from the other side breaking his heart. He can hear the large ragged breaths she’s taking in between her wails. Tears collect in his eyes. He tries for the handle, grunting due to the lock. He knows he can bust the door down easily, but not wanting to further her panic. “Hey, can you please let me in? It’s me dick.” He says, trying to steady his breaths. He hears nothing after this. “Look,I know you don’t know me. But please, I-I wanna try to help. I remember when your father was first living here.i can still hear his screams from nightmares even today. Please, we all have them.” Again, nothing. He sighs, knowing she won’t budge. “Alright, I’m not gonna force you. I’ll be staying in the room right next to yours if you need anything.” He says, walking to the door, hearing her faint sobs.

Damian's eyes shooting open when he hears it, he hears her scream out. A pain lodging into his chest at the sound. His throat growing tight when he hears her sobs. He can hear the gagged and rough intake of air from his room.

His footsteps are heavy as he heads into his bathroom. He feels like he’s going to be sick from the pain in his chest creeping out from him. Her sobs echoing in his head even with his door shut. He grips onto the porcelain sink, head ducking down as his eyes sting. Why, why is this happening. He wonders, not understanding why hearing her cry is bothering him so greatly.

For the past week she’s been here, once hurting at the mere thought of her, now anger. Why can jason just dump her here, and everyone just going along with it. They would argue that’s his daughter. But he’s no father. They don’t have a father daughter relationship. His father is a better parent than he is. And him and his father’s relationship is strained at best. From what he was told, Jason would go on and on about how he hated that Bruce adopted him. Yet he goes out and takes her in? And turns her into a killing machine who doesn’t know when to shut up. But his heart still pains him when he remembers. The touch of her lips against his, the warmth of her hold. The soft smell of vanilla each time he’d hug or be close to her. Her eyes sparkling whenever she’d beam up at him with the look of pure astonishment and joy. Her soft chuckle and rider cheeks gave him a warm bubble in his chest. He can’t keep thinking about it, pain filling him the more his mind wanders. God, why did she have to be this. And why does it hurt so badly. His grip growing so tightly, that it finally cracks under his touch. Breaking him from his mind when the large groan and crack emit from the sink. He abruptly lets go of it. A tear collecting at the corner of his eye when he lets out a shaky breath. His heart hurting just as bad as when he first heard her screaming out.

Days go by, and each one feeling better. She’s not as panicked and hurt whenever she looks around. She finally looked around the large room. She put all her clothes in the large closet, barley filling it due to the sheer size of it. She put her books away in the large bookshelf beside her bed. She hung her photos on the wall, put her shampoos and washes in the bathroom. Finally turning the room into her own. She knew she’d be here a while, so she thought she might as well make her room feel like home, and not just a cell.

Out of the entire room, her favorite part was the large bay window that opened up into a balcony. The sun shines beautifully through the soft blinds, a welcoming warmth from the sun would instantly put a smile to her face whenever she’d step out of her room. She put a chair out there, sitting there each day no matter how cold to gaze out with a new book.

Alfred would bring her meals to her door each day, and for the last few days she’d let him come in, chatting a small amount. It was warm and welcoming to be able to talk with one person here. And each day he’d ask if she would come with him to the garden. Telling her it’s his favorite part of the entire manor. But each time she’d tell him she would eventually. Still worrying about coming out. She wasn’t as scared to see Damian. While it’s a big part, it’s not the entire reason for her staying in her room. It was the fear of properly meeting everyone. Jason didn’t divulge everything that happened to him, but he said enough to make her weary of the others that lived and came by. Preferring to stay in her room, away from the new place she’d have to consider home. That is, until one Friday night.

Her stomach rumbles as she laid in bed. She was trying to concentrate on a book, but the pain in her stomach grew the longer she tried ignoring it. She had some soup and a sandwich earlier in the evening, but for some reason she had grown hungry in the last hour. She knew exactly why she was feeling hungry.

Alfred has asked her early that morning if she’d like anything from the shops. Telling her he has a list ready and wanted to know if she’d like anything. She told him her favorite food was yogurt. He asked her what kind and she replied with anything. She didn’t care about the brand, flavor or texture. Loving each and every kind since she was little. It brought back fond memories of when her mother would make homemade yogurt with milk and berries. She remembers helping her mother as a child make it, and turning it into anything from just plain to baked goods that the family would eat for dessert.

When he had gotten back, he informed her he had bought a different flavor from each brand, and one he went to a bakery and got freshly made yogurt. Her stomach rumbling just thinking about it.

She looked at the clock, seeing the flashing 3:36 light up. She knew that everyone had gone to bed. Having heard them walking to their rooms and being in there for some time.

She was still nervous, having not gone through the manor at all this entire time. She had just about zoned out completely when she was brought from the cave to her room. But Alfred has told her that her room is the closest to the hallway to the living room and kitchen. Saying the kitchen was on the left and the living room was further down to the right.

She hesitated going, fear bubbling up her throat as she looked at the door. But a large grumble from her stomach made her decision for her.

She stepped into the kitchen, with only her phone light to light her way. It took her much longer than she’d like to admit to find the room. She found the large fridge, opening it and squinting due to the bright light. Opening her eyes, and instantly seeing the tub of yogurt. A chuckle leaving her when she sees the writing on it. There was a piece of paper taped to it, and in the neatest handwriting it said ‘Miss Todd’s yogurt.’

She scooped some out into a cup. Looking around and seeing the large island in the middle of the room. ‘Eh, fuck it nobody’s up.’ She thought. Hopping up onto it. She decided to keep the light off. Not wanting to wake anyone. Not knowing the person right in the next room coming in for his next coffee.

She heard him before she saw him. Pain is filling her as he hears the footsteps. Grabbing a knife that is bolted to her thigh, reading to throw it once they enter.

Tim feels a presence in the room when he walks to the door, thinking it’s the lack of sleep, he thinks nothing of it as he clicks the light on. A shrek leaving him when a knife is thrown at him, hitting the wall right beside his head. Nearly cutting his long hair. “HEAVEN ALMIGHTY WHAT THE FUCK!” He yells out. Clutching his chest as he watches her. She’s as ridged as a spooked out cat. He ducks down when she grabs a fork, aiming it high at him. “Nonono I’m not here to hurt you! God I just want some coffee.” He says. Her hands lowered down. “Sorry, you kinda scared me.” She says. “Oh and the knife nearly clearing through my head didn’t scare me at all.” He chuckles. A laugh coming out from her at this. “You’re just lucky I didn’t hit you.” She laughs. “Yeah, if that’s your aim in pitch black, fuck I’d hate to piss you off.” He says. A chuckle leaving him at the end. She pops a spoonful of yogurt into her mouth. Nodding her head at him. “Yeah, just ask your brother.” This causing a large laugh to rumble out of his chest. “Yeah, he pisses everyone off. It’s why we’ve called him the demon for years.” A large laugh erupting from her at his response. Tears collecting in her eyes. Both laughing for a good minute. “So, can’t sleep I see?” He asks. “Yeah, you?” He nods at her. “So, want some pancakes?” He asks. Her head piping up at this. “Can you make it with yogurt?” “Oh yes I can.”

They both sit on the island side by side, munching on their pancakes. “You gonna try to sleep, or say fuck it?” Tim asks. “Fuck it.” She replies. “Well I’ve got stuff to do..eh screw it, wanna go watch funny vines and tiktoks?” Her head shoots you at this. A wide smile covers her face. Nodding up at him.

Damian hears laughter when he walks down the hallway. Hearing a song playing that makes it difficult to hear. Until he hears her. His chest tightening.

He looks in, and to his shock, and a bit of horror, he sees her and Tim on the couch laughing so hard they’re falling over. Both doing a horrible job at singing in between laughter. “Aye Somebody come get er she’s dancing like a striper! Somebody come get er she’s dancing like a stripper!” They sing. Laughing profusely as they watch one another. Tim gets up from the couch, waving his arms around. “A potato flew around my room before you came!” He sings. Casing her to dibble over again laughing “He needs some milk!” She laughs out. Both dubbing over clutching their stomachs. Anger filling his chest as he watches him make her laugh. Remembering when he could get her to laugh so hard she’d wheeze out. He leaves without saying a word. Clutching his fists tightly and jaw set. His chest growing in pain making his anger worse. Why, why does this keep happening.

Tags: @comic-nerd-dc @comic-brew @psychovigilantewrites @psych0crybaby

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne fanfiction #damian wayne imagine #older!damian wayne #damian wayne #batman #batfam x reader #batfamily #red hoid #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #dc #dc imagine #dceu

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