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thequeenofthewinter · 1 year ago

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Midyear

feat. Teldryn Sero with a special guest appearance by Neloth

AO3 Link

A gift for @changelingsandothernonsense based on a prompt challenge of the same name "midyear". I hope you enjoy it, friend. <3

Swaths of long green grass swish and sway underfoot, parting their way for the tired soles of one lonely adventurer as he treks across a sea of endlessly verdant green. Nowhere and nothing is untouched by the color as it drapes its way across the vast plains of Whiterun’s Hold. It is the height of Midyear, that time on the calendar when the sun unfurls its lazy rays to touch the lands of Skyrim with her warm fingers.

While during the other months of the year the sun is a rarity in the province, the Nords living there do not have a care for it whatsoever. Their hearts would appear to be as cold and unyielding as the frozen ground beneath their feet for 9 months of the year. Unbothered, they march their way to and fro from place to place, not even bothering to lift their heads and look around them.

Perhaps many would assume that Spring is the season of change; however, it is different here in this province of all places. Midyear is the real point of metamorphosis. As the sun breaks up the many layers of ice and snow, it uncovers a side of the province which bristles and teems with life. Flowers blossom, opening their petals with a stubborn grace, reaching up towards the sun with defiance. And the birds, butterflies and the bees, titter, flutter, and buzz between the new growth to be found everywhere.

If only the everyone living here appreciated it. The novelty of it all wears off rather quickly after the fourth time in one day someone has lost their shoe as it sticks into the sallow mud.

Teldryn quickly reaches down to snatch up his boot for the fifth time that day. Why did he bother listening to Neloth anyway? He could be curled up in his favorite dark corner of the Retching Netch instead of hauling his ass across this seeping, rotten, good-for-fuck-all excuse of a country.

Blacklight is much more impressive in his ever-so-humble opinion, and he would know as has seen his fair share of sprawling backwater swamps. After all, he is the best sellsword in all of Morrowind. There is not much his eyes have not seen in all his years. How could this place possibly be any different?

He huffs as he makes his way up the lumbering hills between Whiterun and Rorikstead.

In all of the ill-conceived ideas to occur to Neloth that fetcher has decided to send him here to this Azura accursed, Aetda forsaken land on a wild cliffracer chase.

Smug, pompous ass. If he is supposed to be this great Telvanni mage, shouldn’t he be able to acquire his own ingredients? Why does he have to waste his valuable time to walk across this dismal excuse of a country? Sure, Solstheim might have its problems and ash might reach into every crevice and crack of his body, but at least the Redoran’s have their shit together.

Teldryn had no idea that Skyrim could be any more miserable than it already was. If it is bad during the coldest of months, it is even worse in the heat. He can’t even keep a low profile or risk steaming himself alive with all the humidity here. And then the Mosquitos which whine in his pointed ears…

He swats at one absent-mindedly. Neloth is going to have to pay dearly upon his return.

Knowing him, he probably has his nose pressed close to the musty pages of an old tome muttering incoherently to himself about some archaic nonsense or another as he sits comfortably in his glowing mushroom tower. Fetcher must think he’s much too important to come down and grace the presence of normal people. Shudder the thought that he should mix and mingle with the ordinary riff-raff and dust off his centuries old table manners. His sense of self-importance and inflated ego are bigger rivaling that of Red Mountain itself--and the hot air he blows is twice as hard.

Finally, Teldryn makes his way to the apothecary, collects and pays for whatever Tribunal-damned plants Neloth wants, and then stomps his way back towards the saddened, sorry streets of Windhelm.

This time he manages to lose his boots only three times instead of five.

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“I expected you to be back no less than three days ago.” Neloth doesn’t even bother to look up from the experiment he is conducting--some sort of experimental amalgamation of alchemy and enchanting. Teldryn didn’t even know you could mix the two schools together.

He sighs heavily but knows by now that there is no point in arguing with the fetcher because it will just make things worse for him in the end. As much as he is an insufferable, impatient know-it-all, he’d rather like for his friend to retain some of his good humor. It’s either that or he isn’t going to get paid. Again.

He taps his ringed fingers against the dark wood of one of Neloth’s many bookshelves. The dull sound is Teldryn’s only answer to him.

By now, they both know this song and dance as they both tip-toe around the finer points of each Dunmer’s personality: Neloth will continue to ignore him. Teldryn will eventually get fed up with the silent treatment. (The boy does love to hear himself talk, after all.) And eventually, he will break. Neloth has it all down to a science.

Stirring his concoction counterclockwise twice, he flourishes his wooden spoon and lays it down carefully on the enchanting table. All the while he pointedly ignores the sellsword.

With all the time that the master wizard uses for studying, he has learned a great many of things from conjuring dremora to the secrets of the daedra.

The one thing he hasn’t learned is tact.

Upon sitting down his spoon, he waits precisely 10 seconds before Teldryn approaches him. “And you’d still be waiting on anyone else to come back if they did at all.” He sniffs as he crosses his arms in defense and raises a brow. “Come now, master wizard. Let’s be reasonable today, shall we?”

Begrudgingly, Neloth reaches into a pocket of his robes and pulls out a small sack of coins before placing it unceremoniously into Teldryn’s waiting hands.

“That’s the spirit.” He flashes a smile as he leans against the wall adjacent to the enchanter to count out his coin. Can’t have him shortchanging him. Again. “Say, what did you have me run halfway across Skyrim for anyway?

The crunching and crushing of leaves by mortar and pestle fills the room.

Teldryn rolls his eyes even if he did expect as much for answer. “Fine then, don’t answer me. I’ll just hang out here with all of my other friends here.” He absentmindedly fiddles with his scarf in attempts to busy his hands. While most times he wouldn’t bother with Neloth’s nonsense, this time his curiosity is piqued.

“And how is that any different from how you normally spend your time, hm? At least here you could learn something if you bothered.”

Why does Teldryn even bother?

Just as he is about to finally give up and leave, Neloth carefully tips the contents of his mortar into the liquid boiling over his enchanting table, stirs it thrice more—clockwise this time—and the proceeds to strain out the ingredients into a small decorative bowl. He wafts the aroma to his nose, breathing the aroma in deeply, before taking a tentative sip before proclaiming, “Much better.”

Teldryn blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. “You mean to say that you sent me all the way into that blasted, backwards swamp to retrieve your afternoon tea?”

Unperturbed, Neloth waves him off as he brings the teacup to his lips again. “Who else was going to get it? The post doesn’t go from Skyrim to Solstheim ever since Ulfric closed the trade routes due to those barbaric cultists.”

Teldryn gestures with exasperation towards the enchanting table, “What’s with the fancy enchanting table? Too good to drink normal tea?”

Neloth raises one of his carefully-manicured brows. “Oh that? I finished with that hours ago.”

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #teldryn #neloth #Teldryn sero #fanfiction #winter writes

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wikifuck · 9 months ago

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Fetcher Bree (he/him), 32 (werewolf)

Overview

Fetcher is a risktaker, never afraid to chase a thrill or accomplish everything in the least convenient way possible. Consequences? Don't know her.

He can turn on the charm if needed but rarely exploits his ability to do so out of a mix of pure incompetence and laziness.

He likes pretending to be a tough guy, dressing in leather jackets and dark jeans even in the heat of summer. He is smart but not smart enough to avoid heatstroke.

When he decides to care about something he could quite possibly take over the world if he wanted to, though due to being easier to distract than a cat in a laser factory he would struggle to get a project that big ever complete.

He has a big family that he lives with, or in his words is stuck with, as well as having a lovely fiance and a bright future ahead of him. The problem is that his fiance is a woman chosen by his parents, and Fetcher is gay. Until something beautiful arrives in the little town he calls home and turns the place upside down as it leaves, fetcher feels stuck and annoyed, having lost hope for an escape.

Like this character? Read his story here! :)

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Genre :: Fantasy, Contemporary Romance

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Name

Chewy Fetcher Bree

Fetcher goes by his second name and only his family calls him by the first. It's too cute for his tastes. Canineshifters from his area often name their pups similarly to how witches (or who we would on Earth call humans) might name their pets.

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Birthday

June 6

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Age

32 years old

Despite being very much an adult, Fetcher seldom acts like one. One might compare him to a bratty teen, especially when it comes to his views on authority figures and healthy coping mechanisms (he has none)

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Zodiac

Gemini

I'm not very good at remembering the western zodiac traits. Still, if communication, wittiness and being funny, curiosity, being outgoing and impulsivity are the traits of a Gemini, then they fit him like a glove.

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Gender

Cis male

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Sexuality

Gay

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Pronouns

He/him

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Personality

Overall Personality

Funny, charming, smart and impulsive, if he wanted to get something done he could get it easily. Even becoming a politician.

Were this to happen, humanity's last hope would probably turn out to be treats, as the way into the heart of this man is indeed through the stomach. His lack of impulse control means he has no idea when to stop and often ends up looking like a golden retriever gorging itself, though luckily with maybe two added brain cells.

He loves to study and throughout his long and fruitful career of living off his mother, he has completed many degrees he never plans to use. He has an interest in science and languages, but due to family pressure, he also has a degree in economics.

The point of that degree was to give him a good understanding of what he would be jumping into as the oldest and therefore the heir. He has spent all of his life up to the events of Puppylove doing his best to avoid having to inherit everything. Being essentially the mafia boss of a small town might sound like a cushy job, but acting as the boss of all six of his siblings, a town of witches and all the clans in neighbouring towns, sounds to him more like torture.

He enjoys the company of animals of all sizes, even the smallest.🐌 If given the opportunity he will meditate alone in nature for hours. I like to imagine that when he does that there is a faint ding every once in a while as his singular brain cell sails around his skull, because there for sure isn't anything profound happening in there.

🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌He hates seeing snails and worms get crushed on the street after it rains and his hobbies include meticulously saving every snail he sees 🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌

In terms of active vs. passive trauma response Fetcher is generally passive but in certain situations, he switches to active. He is more motivated by the well-being of those he cares about than his own thoughts or feelings. He isn't exactly the pinnacle of altruism yet he can go out of his way to help others while expecting no reward.

For such a cynical person, Fetcher is a little naive. His family, as shitty as they are, did accommodate him by being honest with him. However, they probably did exploit his naivety by lying to him about things that they wanted to keep secret. This bad but well-meaning act has left him with a sorely lacking understanding of how neurotypicals or society in general act.]

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Love Language

Since he gets bored easily he is rather hard to please. Food gifts are a reliable way to get through to him how much the giver cares about him.

He was never taught to show love properly so he often devolves into mindlessly doing everything his target of affection asks, be that appropriate or not. This doesn't really make him feel satisfied but he has yet to learn a better tactic. Hopefully being around people who appreciate him will alleviate this.

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Brain

The state of his mental health is mixed. Though he likes to think he is okay and "normal," he has unmedicated AuDHD and plenty of unaddressed issues stemming from his childhood. Thanks to this he never developed healthy ways to accommodate himself and often ends up going along with whatever his lowered impulse control tells him to do. A thrill is a thrill, be that overindulging in treats, drinks or sex under questionable circumstances.

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Habits

Fetcher has a habit of overexplaining when under stress. Even when he manages to hold it back, he often uses run-on sentences while looking like he isn't taking a single inhale in between words.

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Fears

Though I don't know what he fears, I know whatever it is, it is the reason he is so detached and apathetic all the time.

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Flaws

The aforementioned apathy is one of his biggest problems, though it is not so much internal as it is caused by his environment. Once he gets into a healthier place, he starts unpacking why he doesn't care about others if they don't give him something obvious in return or aren't in his face all day due to living in the same household.

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Appearance

Overall Appearance

as described by his love interest

"His presence wasn’t threatening whatsoever, despite his stature, outfit, and the obvious fact he was a shifter.

"He was like a Greek god; just as handsome as his older sister, but in a more masculine way. Alejandro couldn’t help but admire the dark, thick, curly beard and hair, meticulously groomed to follow the jaw, before ending at a rounded point at the chin. It was as if he had climbed from the side of an ancient painted vase, with strong, dark features, and serious, intelligent eyes. He was tall and menacing, and the heavy, brown leather jacket extenuated his broad shoulders. The man was certainly taller than any human Alejandro had seen in decades. He could reach any shelf he wished, that Alejandro knew for sure. Yet, even under the beard, and the jacket that seemed way too hot for the bright summer weather, he looked pale and frail. His eyes were sunken, and his cheeks, almost hollow. He was strong, but something was eating him alive; something no one else seemed to be able to notice."

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Tattoo's

On his right forearm he has an incomplete sleeve tattoo comprised of a prominent collection of bands he listens to for the biker boy aesthetic, peppered with references to media he is actually passionate about. The whole thing looks faded and several years old, indicating that he got distracted and has no intention of continuing it any time soon.

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Piercings

He has two. Not that his ace boyfriend would find them though.

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Clothing Styles

Would he wear a dress?

Absolutely.

In public?

Hell no.

Does he wear makeup?

No.

Would he wear makeup if he knew how to use it?

Yes. Yes, he would. It would be subtle and natural

Everyday style

His everyday style is very rigid, mostly comprised of black leather and jeans in his human form. In beast form, he wears nothing unless it's cold outside. Though he has the money and the wish to look stylish, he often still ends up looking rugged and unwashed after disappearing to who knows where chasing squirrels or something. When he deviates from this look he usually lets others decide for him what he should wear.

Cold weather

Since his coat isn't very warm, in the colder parts of the year he can be seen wearing doggy clothes in his usual colours. This usually looks like A jacket, socks and a hat designed to be easy to put on and remove only using one's teeth and thumbless paws.

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Species

Weremane, a species of human related to werewolves that, as the name suggests, can turn into maned wolves. Unlike the werefolk of myth, these creatures can shift between their human and beast forms at will, without a worry about the full moon. Though maned wolves are solitary, thanks to humans being social animals, weremains can choose between living in packs or alone. Like most canine shifters, they tend to stick tightly to their family unit. Unlike nonsapient (or "normal") maned wolves, weremanes don't smell like weed. Well except for the ones that smoke.

Since even in beast form everyone likes being heard, shifters of all shapes have developed languages to converse with each other with the tools they have. Weremanes are no exception to this, and their language is called Manelish. This language consists of various growls and barks, as well as the famous roarbark.

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Culture

Though different from witches in many ways, shifters don't tend to have distinct cultures from them out of a misguided belief that if they try to meld in they won't be messed with. It's not like racist/speciest people will just make up excuses to be shitty, right?

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Religion

Though raised in the christian faith in a world with magic in it, he isn't very religious. At best, he has a vague feeling that if God exists, it's a cat. He wouldn't worship a God even if he knew one existed.

"No god that makes things work this way deserves any fucking respect"

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Language

Fetcher knows how to speak English and Spanish. English is his mother tongue and he studied Spanish out of boredom from being stuck living at home.

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Setting

Though distinct from Earth in many ways, the planet Puppylove takes place in is based on/inspired by it. Things like countries and languages are roughly the same, though not exactly. The time period is not yet clear but it's roughly speaking contemporary.

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Location

Before the events of Puppylove, Fetcher lived at home in Burneye, an idyllic little town in the countryside, one that his ancestors founded and his family still runs. He lives in the little tower of his family's mansion.

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Occupation

He is a full-time bum, never having worked a day in his life despite being in his 30s. Not that he could ever keep a job down, even with nepotism at play.

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Fact's

Shifters can have a preference for presenting in humanoid or beast form day to day. Though the split is roughly 50/50, most choose to present in humanoid form regardless of preference to fit in better. Fetcher's preference is rather neutral and he fluently switches depending on his mood and the "appropriateness" of the situation

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Theme Song

Animal

Chase Holfelder

It's a banger and it's so his vibe. He would totally put it on a loop on his headphones as he stares out the car window pretending to be the main character in a movie.

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Theme book

The Something Like series by Jay Bell, but he would especially enjoy Something Like Hail

The books are complex and interconnected, which would get him to pour over them looking for every last reference. He would especially enjoy the themes of Hail and in a weird way relate to Noah, the main character, even if their struggles and likes and dislikes are nothing alike. In essence, he would be obsessed with the book but understand it totally wrong.

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Relationships

Family tree

Familial relationships

Chaser Bella Bree(89), father's mother

Though everyone sees Bella as unnecessarily difficult, she isn't malicious. Just selfish. In her eyes everything is fine and she cares for everyone dearly. Fetcher however has gotten the strong impression that if he were to disobay her directly he would be instantly disowned. She is old and as is typical for older people with low self-awareness, she will be appreciated more in death than in life.

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Chewy Bounce Bree(58), mother

A savvy and territorial woman at work and home alike, Chewy is a force to be reckoned with. Due to the death of her husband, she has been co-parenting with her mother-in-law for over a decade now. Though good at masking, those around her with any understanding of neurodivergence know she has ADHD. Coincidentally she is amazing at everything she is passionate about, poetry, combat sports and all social aspects of business. She is probably the worst of everyone in the family when it comes to obsessions with family lines. Someone needs to introduce this woman to the Sims games to get her away from meddling with her kid's love lives.

Though she is strict and at times unreasonable, Fetcher gets along with her fairly well and it is widely accepted among the kids that by being friends with his mother Fetcher has accidentally doomed himself to be the heir.

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Father, unknown

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Straight Call Bree(25), sister

Most would agree that Call would have been the more fitting heir in every aspect over her brother. She is responsible, intelligent and creative in the way she gets things done. Fetcher wouldn't be surprised if she held some resentment toward him for happening to have been born first. He doesn't comprehend the fact that Call thinks he is okay and appreciates his company when he manages to take things marginally seriously.

In reality, their mother and grandmother have been debating the issue for years, Bounce being of the opinion Call should learn the same skills Fetcher has been primed in just in case he messes up, and Bella believes that Call is simply not a leader. She is a follower and would make for an excellent righthand woman for her brother's leadership. "All the boy needs is some motivation," Bella says, "Then it will all work perfectly!"

Has anyone asked Call anything on the matter? Of course not. That would make too much sense. She has resorted not to worry about it for her own sanity.

She married young, as is the tradition in the family, and she had the twins at the ripe old age of 19.

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Dig Bree(24), brother-in-law

Dig is Call's husband and if she is the 2nd in command he is her most loyal general. Dig and Fetcher get along decently but due to a lack of overlapping interests, they rarely interact.

He gets his name from the fact he enjoys digging and has done so from an early age. He uses this passion to help his mother-in-law clean up the backyard... after turning it upside down again.

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Nip Tackle(25), sister

Despite, or perhaps due to them being very similar in both taste and personality, Fetcher and Tackle don't get along and Tackle takes glee in exposing Fetcher's wrongdoings to the whole family. She isn't malicious, she is just acting out in a different way to him against the very same issues. As kids she and Fetcher got along rather well, causing chaos together all around them. Maybe it is better for the safety of society that they had a falling out after Fetcher became a recluse and Tackle found relationships outside the household.

Though her mother isn't a fan of her "arrogance," whatever that means, she is the 2nd in line for the inheritance after Fetcher. She hasn't told this to Tackle however and were she to become the heir, which is likely, it might mess up her plans a bit. She is engaged to someone not currently living in the household. The fiance is approved of by her parents, as far as they know, anyway. It may be that this mystery person has more to them than Bounce and Chaser have ever been told...

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Kid Bree(15), brother

Ordenarily one might call him the evening child since he was born ten years after the others, but Fetcfher was born 7 years before the twins, so does he really count?

Due to being the youngest Kid has the most freedom out of all his siblings and thanks to this has had the opportunity to postpone when they get their new cooler name. Kid is indecisive, you see, and has yet to comprehend the fact that he could change his name later if he wished. No, it has to be perfect!

Out of all his Fetcher is closest to Kid and since Kid gets along with his sisters also acts as the bridge between him and them. Sometimes Kid even manages to get all three to play Minecraft with him with relatively little grumbling.

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The Little Twins(6), niblings

Though probably not the best for a child's psyche, the twins are often referred to as such, the twins. Naming pups later in life, around the time they start developing into their own persons, isn't inherently damaging, but the Bree family isn't exactly known for having their members act sensibly. Dubbed Pup and Dup by their aunt and uncles, these two stick together. Pup prefers her humanoid form, whereas Dup likes presenting themself in canine form. Pup often acts as an interpreter to Dup, with both family and strangers. Pup is more inclined to follow "the way they should act," whereas Dup likes doing their own thing. The Bree family is decent at not shaming its neurodivergent members for acting "weird," but as Fetcher's situation has shown, Dup will most likely have to learn the hard way that most people don't accept their different behaviour.

Fetcher loves these two dearly and is probably the second-best person in the family to understand Dup, right after Pup.

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Friends

Though Fetcher knows many people in Burneye, doesn't exactly have many friends. Or any, really. People want to be his friend, there is no doubt about that, but he is simply too apathetic to put in effort to make meaningful connections.

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Partners

Solid Boogie Pyre (25), (ex)fiance

Until the end of Puppylove, when Fetcher breaks off the engagement, he and Boogie are betrothed to each other by their parents. To Fetcher the relationship is a curse but from Boogie's perspective, it is an opportunity. She likes Fetcher, at least when he acts his age, and generally wouldn't mind starting a family with him. She is by no means in love with the whiny little shit, but her family isn't wealthy and being equally as opportunistic as Fetcher, Boogie originally jumped at the opportunity to marry into this powerful and relatively safe family.

Luckily for her, she isn't too bothered either way, married to Fetcher or not and continues on with her life. Who knows, maybe she will try to get in the pants of another member of the Bree family.

She is a funloving and bubbly person on the surface, but once you get to know her you discover she is actually rather serious about many things. She likes nature just as much as Fetcher and runs a flower-themed Instagram account where she advertises her diner and posts about her garden.

☯

Sunny Hunter Pyre (27), (ex) brother-in-law

Boogie's brother and the guy Fetcher cheats on her with. To be fair, Boogie doesn't care. The relationship is transactional, Sunny gives Fetcher attention and weed in exchange for sleeping with him. One of many reasons why Fetcher's taste is as spicy as it is.

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Alejandro Ortega, Ali, boyfriend

When Ali shows up it's instantly clear that the town of Burneye is a bit messy. The witches don't really care about his being a vampire but the werefolk are oddly aggressive. Fetcher is the only sensible one of the bunch. Not that he is smarter than everyone else, actually it's mostly because he is very curious and too apathetic to care for the warnings of his family. What a mistake it would have been to listen to them too. Ali is the love of his life and he would do anything to keep him safe. Though most of the time Ali is the one looking after his dumb ass. They save each other from jams and oddly for an immortal, Ali is very quick to fall in love with Fetcher.

Ali is ace, and the agreement the two come to as they start the relationship is that if Fetcher craves something he is free to seek it from others.

Visual aid

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Enemies

As impulsive as he is, Fetcher doesn't have any enemies for the same reasons he has no friends. He simply doesn't care enough about people to hate them. This doesn't stop some from trying.

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Credit to the creator of the wiki template mine is based on: 𖤐_☾ 𝑅𝑜𝑥𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑎 ☽_𖤐

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nabtime · 1 year ago

Text

Our Empty Graves X

Fandom: Danny Phantom / Batman: Under the Red Hood

Pairings: Danny Fenton/Jason Todd (Dead on Main)

Rating: Mature

Tags: batfamily, hazmat AU, Nobody Knows AU, Mute!Phantom, potential ghost king danny, slow burn?, DC means Disregard Canon, AU means AU nothing is exactly the same, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, more than canon typical violence, danny is a Halfa and also a Fetch, no beta we die like basically everyone

Summary: They say that Red Hood has a loyal mutt. The man rules his territory in Crime Alley with an iron fist and a guard dog at his side. They say that Hood calls him Fetch, sometimes Fetcher. No one's ever heard him speak. Anyone who's ever seen him says he looks like an experiment gone wrong, that Hood picked him up somewhere unspeakable. They say he'll do anything Red Hood asks of him and he'll do it well. That he's strong and fast and probably inhuman. The girls say he's sweet; quiet but charming in his own way. Rival gangs say he's vicious; that he'd sooner rip your throat out than let you go.

Jason just wants to help him.

Chapter 10: is there anyone out there (cause its getting harder and harder to breathe)

Chapter Summary: Jason has a welcome home party. Danny decides to crash it.

Chapter Notes: title from Harder to Breathe by Letdown. Links: AO3 // Chapter 1 // Chapter 9 // Chapter 11 // Spotify

Danny was at a bit of a loss. Red had allowed him back into Crime Alley. But he also hadn’t seen the guy since floating his way back in. Hadn’t been yelled at or told to leave, though, so he guessed Nadi was right in saying he could. It still felt wrong. Like at any moment he’d be chased out. Nadi had told him multiple times that she’d kick Hood’s ass six ways to Sunday if he said anything about Danny being there, and he appreciated it, but it still felt rude.

It was an eerily similar feeling to trespassing on another ghost’s Haunt.

He felt… conflicted.

On the one hand, Red Hood had taken care of him at one point. Made him food, given him a place to live (to Haunt), and given him something to do. A purpose. Something he’d severely lacked after Amity had emptied out. But then, just as easily as it had been given, Hood had taken it away. Forcibly. Angrily. And Danny didn’t even know what he’d done wrong. Not really. He hadn’t understood most of what Red had yelled at him for- hadn’t a clue who Raysh was- but he could feel the layer of betrayal under it all. The incitement for the anger.

So, on the one hand. Red Hood had hurt him. Deeply. Acting so comfortable around him without his suit and then ripping it all to shreds- the food, the comfort, the camaraderie- before he’d even really gotten to enjoy it. Threw words at him that tore him to pieces. Confirming what he already knew. That he was a monster.

On the other hand. Red Hood had only done that because he thought Danny had betrayed him. Something that seemed to strike deeply within the other man. Something that had already hurt him before. And it didn’t matter, at heart, if Danny had actually betrayed him or not. Just as it didn’t matter that Hood acted without knowing the truth, had lashed out. Because in the end

But was it just that? Just a misunderstanding?

Danny couldn’t tell. He wasn’t keen on finding out, either. The other might have let him back into his territory, but that didn’t mean forgiveness on either side. He couldn’t fathom what the man was thinking and was content (not really) to never find out. He’d follow Nadi, doing whatever she asked of him around the Alley, and avoid Red Hood like the plague. If Hood wanted to talk, then Hood could find him. He glowed well enough for it, it’s not like he was hard to find.

Nadi and the girls were fine enough to watch over. Nadi was a saint for putting up with him. Feeding him. He’d trail after her at night, when she was working the streets, so she had two body guards instead of one- him and Charlie. But during the day he’d pull back to his hide-away in the cemetery. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome, and it left him on edge to stay in the Alley for too long. Where once it had started feeling like a Haunt he could settle into, it felt foreign now.

The girls and guys that Nadi hung around, and Danny hung around by extension, weren’t half as good at figuring out his charades, though. Not like Red had been. It was a little disheartening, and even though he could talk using the whiteboard, it still felt like too much of a hassle sometimes. It was a good enough excuse to keep his distance.

And he needed to remember to keep his distance. He couldn’t forget what he was again. It could put them in danger.

So, he drifted. Nothing new. He kept the girls out of trouble and made sure their customers kept in line. Occasionally let Nadi feed him gas station snacks. Took care of any crimes he saw if he knew Hood wasn’t nearby.

It was one of those times he’d been helping someone who was getting mugged by the docks when he’d heard the first explosion.

═════ ◈ ═════

Jason hadn’t known what he was going to walk into after following the instructions on the invitation Harley had given him- but he sure as fuck wished he had.

Fuck the plan, he’d have found another way to snare the stupid clown without having to suffer the indignity of being thrown a welcome home party by the guy who killed him in the first place.

This was so goddamn stupid.

The abandoned carnival grounds near the docks had been the destination- because of course it was. If the freakish funny-man was anything it was certainly on brand. And the ‘party’ was specifically being held in the decrepit fun-house mirror building. Again, because of course it was.

What the fuck was his life? After life?

You know, when Jason had been so enthusiastic about being Robin all those years ago, this was not the shit he’d expected out of the gig. It was supposed to be magic. Supposed to be like flying. Not something that could end so badly with a crowbar and explosives. Nor something that would lead him to the creepiest fun-house imaginable. He was so fucking naive back then.

“Baby Jay!” Harley squealed as he stepped into the building, back tense and gun ready- safety off. She whipped around him, throwing an arm over his shoulders despite the fire-arm so very close to going off near her face. “You made it!”

“Couldn’t miss my own party,” he drawled, using the gun (Mina, this time) to gesture to the large banner hung on the ceiling, just above the entrance to the maze, that said ‘Welcome Home Robin!’ in bright red paint. At least, he fucking hoped it was paint. He didn’t see any obvious bodies, but that didn’t mean there were none. God, he fucking hated murder clowns.

Harley’s grin was sharp as she pulled him into the maze, the gleam on her teeth reflected all around. Her grip around his neck was iron-tight as it pulled him along. He knew this was a fucking trap, knew she’d been lying. But he’d wanted to snatch the clown more than he’d wanted to come up with a better plan. Hadn’t wanted to think it through and plan like he should have. Too distracted by other things. His fingers flexed around the trigger of his gun. If he was going to be an idiot at least he was going to be an armed one.

His eyes tracked their distorted reflections as they moved about the space, Harley knowing which trail to take. He took note of every turn, every dead-end they passed. He’d shoot his way out of the maze if he had to, but he didn’t want to waste bullets.

Sudden cackling rang out as they stepped into a large room within the maze, Joker’s image reflected from every angle as the green menace spread his arms out, bent party hat nearly falling off his head. He could hear the strains of crackling circus music under the laugh. Streamers of red, green, and yellow were hung haphazardly, making the space more confusing as they were reflected in the mirrors in every direction.

“The guest of honor!” Joker crowed, grin just as manic as Jason remembered. Red splattered across his face. Blood or paint? “Welcome home, little birdie!”

And suddenly, Jason wasn’t as prepared for this confrontation as he thought he was. This was the first time he’d seen the Joker since his resurrection. Since he’d died. And he was surrounded on all sides, the grin that haunted his nightmares coming from every direction. The phantom pain of broken bones and cracked ribs twinged as he could see nothing but that crowbar coming at him over and over and over again. The memory of demented laughter ringing out as he was beaten, slowly entwined with the real deal as Harley took advantage of his distraction.

He wasn’t quick enough when Harley’s grip around his neck shifted and grew tighter. Choking him out until everything went black and the grasp on his gun went slack.

═════ ◈ ═════

Something was wrong. He could feel it in his core. This wasn’t your run of the mill explosion disturbing the peace of Gotham. He needed to go faster. To fly.

An unknown panic filled his chest as he tried to take flight, clumsy arms pinwheeling as his feet tried to lift off the ground with no success. Flying had always been one of the harder powers for him to master and even now, six years dead, he had trouble. He’d only ever been able to manage a fast hover or a higher than humanly possible jump. Low flight or a glide.

Right now he couldn’t even lift off the asphalt of the road as he ran toward the roaring fire, the dread like a pit in his soul keeping him grounded and growing worse with every failed lift off. He needed to be faster. He needed to be there already. Someone was dying.

Someone was dying.

═════ ◈ ═════

He woke up in the same room not long after Harley knocked him out, tied to a chair that had been placed on a pedestal in the middle- his mirror image reflected a thousand times around him. His helmet had been removed and even the domino underneath. Not like it mattered when both Harley and Mr. Pudding knew who he was. He could feel the irritating pinch of cheap string around his head. They’d taken the time to give him a fucking party hat. Great.

He tested the rope, his muscles feeling lax and hard to work with while he did it. They’d drugged him. Nothing intense, as far as he could tell. Muscle relaxer, maybe? He didn’t like it. The rope was also unforgiving- wound tight and chafing. The portion tied around his wrists was irritating against his skin- his gloves long gone- and he could tell that if it stayed cinched much longer he’d start loosing circulation.

“You know,” came the drawl of Joker’s voice, echoing around the mirrors with the clown himself nowhere to be seen. “You took such a long time coming back, that I almost thought you never would!”

“Were you betting on it?” Jason spat, words slightly slurred from his jaw feeling loose. Everything felt heavy, like he was being weighted down. At least he was still cognizant. At least it wasn’t Joker gas.

“No, actually,” he said, sounding disappointed. “But what a fun thing to add to the Arkham betting pool.”

“What do you want with me?” Jason asked, tugging at his restraints again. If he kept the clown talking, he could distract him long enough to get free and beat the shit out of him like he’d planned. Probably.

“Not as talkative as you used to be now that you’re a zombie, huh?” Joker said, voice still ringing out and bouncing around the mirrors of the room, making Jason feel slightly dizzy. Which was likely the point. “Straight to the point, no time for chit-chat.”

“Maybe you’re just a shit conversationalist.”

“My, my,” he tutted, “little birdie’s got a dirty mouth now. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

It didn’t sound like his voice was coming from a speaker, but it was loud enough that the clown should be in the room with him. Maybe around a corner? He couldn’t tell what direction it was coming from, only that it kept circling. And circling.

“Get to the fucking point.”

“Well,” the Joker started, sighing dramatically, scratchy voice grating on Jason’s last nerve. “I’ve noticed that the big ol’ Bat has been taking an interest in you and, honestly, I’m a bit jealous!”

“Gross,” the response slipped out before he’d even realized. He could hear Harley giggling before a smacking sound rang out and he heard her quietly say, “sorry puddin’.”

Oh, he was gonna wring that clown’s fucking neck. He was gonna turn that bastard into a squeaky toy, punch him over and over to see what fun noises he would make next.

“Anyway,” Joker continued, growl to his tone that wasn’t there before. “I figured- I take you out and Batsy has more time to focus on other things.”

“Like you?”

“Like me.”

Again, gross.

“Don’t think I didn’t know you wanted your pound of flesh from me, either. I just decided to go on the offensive about this instead of defensive. Take initiative. Be proactive. Get ahead of the game.”

He was going to have to dislocate something to get out of these binds and he didn’t have the strength to do it while he was drugged like this. Fuck. He was so fucking stupid. If he hadn’t been so damn distracted lately, he wouldn’t have made so many mistakes like this. He needed to get it together already before he got himself killed again.

“And, you know,” Joker continued, “I was thinking, and thinking… and thinking- of some creative new way to kill you…” he trailed off, and Jason could hear footsteps but he still couldn’t see the clown. Just his own reflection, fear mirrored back at him a thousand times.

“But then I thought-,” and then the lights went out and he couldn’t see anything and suddenly he could feel something hovering over his shoulder and he did not like where this was going.

And then the Joker’s voice was right behind him, crooning with delighted malice, “if it ain’t broke!”

There was a whistling noise.

The crowbar came down hard with a crack! against his jaw.

“Don’t fix it!”

He toppled to the floor, still tied to his chair, his left side taking the brunt of the fall where he couldn’t brace himself. He could feel his skull bounce off the concrete. His lungs were constricting with panic. His mouth was filling with blood. Not again, not again.

“Also,” the Joker cackled, the lights in the maze flickering on just in time to watch him bring the crowbar down on Jason’s hands. “How fun is it that I get to murder you twice!”

Pain bloomed in his wrists and his fingers. Broken bones. Bruises. Blood.

“If I had a nickle for every time I’ve killed a Robin-,” Joker mused, stopping to tap the crowbar menacingly against the chair, “well, I wouldn’t exactly be rich but I’d definitely have more nickles than before!”

He watched the crowbar. Up and down. And tap. Tap. Tap. With every word it would thunk against the wood- dangerously close to his already broken hands.

Joker reared back and even though Jason could see it coming it still felt like a shock when he was kicked in the stomach.

Everything hurt. New wounds and old. Phantom pains from the first time he was beaten near to death by this man were making themselves known.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

The mirrors were starting to blur in and out of vision, flashes of the warehouse from before overtaking his sight. Everything was jumbling together in a mess of pain and uncaged fear and his lungs were straining against his ribs and his heart was beating so, so fast and he was gonna die again. He was gonna die.

He wanted Bruce.

The crowbar came down again. And again. Blood splattered the mirrors. Pooled on the concrete.

It was harder for the Joker to beat him while he was still tied to the chair but that didn’t stop him from hitting every inch he could get. All along his right side, blow after blow. And the whole time he was laughing.

Laughing and laughing and laughing.

Wack!

And Jason couldn’t breathe.

Wack!

Where was Bruce? Why wasn’t he here? Why wasn’t he here to save him? Batman always saved him.

Wack!

He wanted his dad.

“That should do it.” Jason could barely hear the Joker’s voice, faded and distorted as it sounded to his ears. He heard the clatter of metal falling to the ground. “Ta, little birdie! Have fun being dead again!”

“Oh, by the by,” he could only just hear the man, smug glee lacing his tone. “I’ve rigged up several bombs this go around. Expanding on a good idea and all that. Gotta make sure you don’t come back this time!”

The sound of feet tapping away, growing fainter and fainter. Leaving him with nothing but the roaring sound of his own heartbeat and the wet, ragged, desperate pull of air into his lungs.

He was going to die here. All over again. He could already feel the lick of fire crawling over him, the smoke choking him and scratching his throat, the pain of bones snapping as he was flung through the air. The sharp burst of pain that meant his skull was getting crushed.

He could hear the sound of ticking. A countdown. A bomb.

Maybe this time it’d be faster. Maybe this time the explosion would take him out instantly. Maybe this time there would be nothing left to bury.

Maybe this time he’d stay dead.

═════ ◈ ═════

Bruce watched the wreckage from the screen of the Bat-Jet, scanning the drone footage that Alfred had sent him of the latest explosion to rock Gotham and her people. He was already traveling as fast as he could to get back to his city, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was too late. Like he’d failed, even though he couldn’t say way.

Something was wrong and it set a cold pit in his stomach to think that one of his children might have been caught up in whatever new trouble this was. Whether it be Tim or Dick or… Jason. He couldn’t stand to loose another soldier.

And then he saw it, on the edge of the camera, the mysterious meta that had been working with Red Hood around the Alley.

Just standing on the edge of the flames. Suspicious.

He closed out of the footage and focused on getting back as fast as possible.

═════ ◈ ═════

Danny made it to the docks and stopped. Everything was on fire. Everything was wrong. Something was crying out in pain, something that tugged at his core. Something familiar. Something dying.

He broke out into a wild sprint, core leading him in a certain direction. He followed without hesitation. There was no sound but the roar of the fire and the crunch of glass under his boots. There was nothing he could see but flame and smoke and splintered beams. There was nothing he could feel but overwhelming heat and panic.

Where?

He listened. Nothing. He crept forward. Which direction? His core was no longer helpful. Just screaming.

Where?

He listened. Nothing. He turned. There was nothing but fire, and fire, and smoke. And rubble.

Where?

He listened. Nothi- There. Something- digital? Like a clock. Like a counter. Like another bomb. Like what had likely caused the first explosion. It started ticking faster and his heart matched the frantic beat. He had to find them. Now.

He moved forward through the debris, intangible, and searched.

There was broken glass everywhere. Reflective, like mirror shards, it made it all the harder to navigate the space. Fire danced in every direction, sometimes a mirage, sometimes real. Danny continued to sweep through it all, searching and searching. The beeping was getting louder. He needed to go faster, but he couldn’t risk missing the one he was searching for in the first place.

He felt like he was melting.

He moved forward again- there. His core cried out. He’d found them.

They looked broken. The remains of what was likely a chair they’d been tied to was strewn across the small patch of concrete, the legs and back of it still pressed against them with charred rope. There was a broad beam of wood, caught on one of the walls that was still standing, that looked like it’d shielded them from the roof coming down.

They were surrounded by a pool of blood and Danny didn’t know what to do. Wasn’t it dangerous to move people with certain injuries? If they were bleeding would moving them exacerbate the blood loss enough to kill them? Would any of that matter if the second bomb went off while they were still here?

They were still breathing, at least.

As gently as he could, even phasing his arms into the ground to maneuver without jostling them. One arm to brace the back, one arm under the knees. He got a good grip on them. Turned them both intangible. Then booked it.

Their body was large, too large, too awkward to carry. Their blood dripped down to the ground with every step, flying behind them and splattering against the concrete and mirror shards. The fire did not touch them, even if it felt like the heat was trying to devour them both. Smoke smothered everything. Without having to stop and search the area like he had before, Danny made good time fleeing the building and the area in general. He’d have continued to run to a hospital but the blood that slicked his hazmat was too concerning. He needed to patch them up first. Somehow.

The blanket Nadi had given him was phased into his stomach for safekeeping. As were multiple knives to cut it with.

He needed to find a place-

A loud BANG! sounded and Danny braced them both.

The bomb had gone off behind them, the blast sending wood and concrete and glass raining in every direction. The fire roared louder. The wind from the blast whirling past them in a concussive force. He kept them intangible until it passed. He pulled the other into an alleyway that just edged the docks, the noise of it burning being dampened. Like a pocket of safety. Or so Danny hoped.

He laid them down and pulled a knife, cutting the rope around their chest and wrists and legs and freeing them from the leftover chair pieces.

Their hands looked the worst off. Crooked and dark with bruises. Bleeding, but sluggishly at least. Slowing, stopping.

Right arm looked broken, leaking red too. He pulled the blanket out and cut a strip off to wrap it. Anything to stem some bleeding. He didn’t dare touch the hands. Pants were torn and scratched but nothing looked bad underneath. No gaping chest or back wounds but their breathing was rapid. Danny then remembered that smoke inhalation was a thing and tore off his breathing apparatus and the tank that connected it.

He didn’t know what being infused with ectoplasm would have done to the oxygen within it, but here’s hoping it would be fine.

He gently rolled them, noticing more blood was pooling around their neck. Shit. But then it looked like a wound from the jaw not the jugular. He balled up another slice of blanket and pressed it to the underside of their chin. He fumbled with the mask with one hand to put it over their mouth.

And then he noticed who he was treating.

Red Hood.

His hands trembled, mixed emotions entangling in his core, but he didn’t stop.

He placed the mask over his face, noticing that this was the first time he’d seen it completely bare. His domino was missing. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about anything except what was practical. (Not about his hands, completely mangled. Not about the blood, so so much of it. Not about any of the grief trying to well up inside him, churning like a building storm.) He fit the mask and moved the strap of it so it was holding the blanket in place, leaving his hands free.

He couldn’t take Hood to the hospital, especially not without a domino. But he needed someone. He’d taken Red to someone for medical attention before. He’d try the clinic again. Ancients, he hoped that doctor Leslie lady was still there.

Hood coughed, rough, body jerking with the motion. His eyes blinked hazily and a low groan escaped his throat before his eyelids fluttered closed again.

His eyes were very blue.

They opened again for a moment, staring at nothing, and Danny could see the man trying to say something. He leaned in close but heard nothing. Danny moved back, assuming that Hood had maybe become delirious with anemia. He couldn’t blame the guy, he’d be a hypocrite otherwise.

A low whine reached his ears and he paused to sweep a hand through Red’s hair to offer a moment of comfort. He couldn’t do much, but he hoped it would calm him for the time being. His aching core might not handle it otherwise.

He wrapped Hood up as much as he could and balanced the man and the tank in his arms before lurching to his feet with them both in tow. He really hoped he could remember the way correctly. The blood may not be flowing as bad, but he still wanted the man treated as quickly as possible.

So Danny, as quickly as he could manage, set off to find Dr. Leslie.

═════ ◈ ═════

Jason’s entire body felt like lead. Heavy, weighed down. Like there was a current running over his body that had sunk to the bottom of a river.

He felt like he’d been hit by a truck. He would know. He’d absolutely been hit by a truck before.

This might be worse though.

He didn’t want to open his eyes. Didn’t want to face the world. Didn’t want to fully remember the latest fuck up that had knocked him on his ass. Joker’s laugh was already haunting him, he didn’t need it back in surround sound.

He was so certain that he was going to die. Again. Because he was a dumb-ass that fell into traps too easily with no backup and a foolhardy plan to out villain the villain in order to get what he wanted. And now, here he was, back to square one with nothing to show for his efforts except a broken- basically everything.

Great.

Question now was- how did he survive? He didn’t remember getting out of there on his own. He didn’t remember getting out of there at all. Maybe he was dead? But this didn’t feel like dying had last time.

(Dying hadn’t really felt like anything at all, not once the pain ended. Or, maybe, he didn’t have a memory of anything else after that. Had he gone to an afterlife? All he knew was that once second he was dying in a warehouse and the next he was waking up in a grave. This didn’t feel half as suffocating as the coffin.)

The only way to answer that would be to open his eyes. Dammit. Fuck.

Someone else was in the room.

He could hear them breathing. Steady. Slow. Someone else had been in the room with him while he was out and injured, which made him tense. But they also seemed to be asleep, which was confusing more than anything. He’d have to open his eyes to even try to guess who it was though. Which he hated. He’d nearly blown up again, the world should be nicer to him. He waited a bit longer, listening to the steady breathing from what sounded like the corner of a small room, before his curiosity (paranoia) finally got the better of him.

He blinked open his eyes, however reluctantly, and braced himself for a blinding light that never came. The room he was in was dim and small. And recognizable. The little sectioned off back room in Leslie’s clinic. Huh.

But who was-

He sucked in a surprised breath that made his lungs ache, making him cough and then groan when that made his ribs twinge. And his jaw ache. Jesus fuck he was a mess.

And Fetcher was there, awake and watching, hovering on the edge of his vision, unmasked face pinched in worry.

“Fuck are you doing here?”

The words came out harsher than he meant, and he regretted them wholly when it made Fetcher reel back and close in on himself. Fuck. He was horrible at this kind of thing. He should apologize, he knew that. But the words were so hard to say and he still wasn’t convinced that he should. That it wouldn’t be better for Fetcher to stop coming anywhere near him. All he did was hurt the guy. It’s all he would ever do.

Fetcher shrugged, small and skittish.

“I hurt you,” he said, not knowing what else to say but the obvious. He was still just so baffled by why the other man was here. Why he’d gone through the effort to save him. Why he’d stayed.

Fetcher looked at him then, pale green eyes heavy in their stare. He tilted his head in a little nod of acknowledgment but otherwise stayed unmoving. Tense and waiting, crossed arms resting across a blood-stained suit. Jason winced at the sight.

“But you saved me?” he asked, uncertain.

Another nod. Another small shrug.

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, fire roaring in the memory that immediately came back to haunt him. The pain. The explosion. The jeering laugh of the mad clown that had gotten the better of him again. Tricked him so easily. He was so fucking stupid for falling for his traps again. He should have known his plans would fall through, no matter how meticulous he’d been. Self-sabotage. Because he was arrogant and impulsive and a moron. Just like he’d always been. Just like Batman had always though him to be.

And Fetcher had risked himself for his dumb ass. Had been yelled at and hurt by him and still braved the clown and explosions and a burning dock to save him. He should never have put himself in danger like that. Not for Jason. He wasn’t nearly worth it.

“That was dangerous,” he told him, keeping his eyes closed to avoid having to look the other man in the eye. “You shouldn’t have put yourself at risk like that.”

He took a heavy breath, a cough threatening in his throat from the action.

“You should have just let me die.”

And then he felt a smack to his chest and opened startled eyes to find Fetcher looming over him, angry and glaring with the slight sheen of tears threatening to fall. He pointed a stern finger in Jason’s face (and he couldn’t help but notice it was tipped with a small sharp claw) and smacked him again, lightly, to get his point across.

“Why do you care?” he asked, confused beyond anything why this angel of a man would do anything for him after the things Jason had done and said.

═════ ◈ ════

Danny leaned back after he made sure Red knew he wouldn’t stand for that kind of talk. Not from Hood. And he thought about his question.

That was the thing, though, wasn’t it? Why did he care? Because he sure as hell seemed to care more than just a cursory sense of obligation to not let someone die. Despite the fact that Hood had been an absolute asshole back in the dojo. Despite everything- he cared.

It was in the way he’d made Danny food. In the way he’d taken care of him. Made him feel human again, even if only for a moment. In the way he’d pester Danny to eat and sleep and patch him up when he got hurt. It was in the way he cared. About everyone in the Alley. The way he checked in on the girls so often. The way he brought food and blankets to the shelters so often. The way he tolerated playing with the Alley kids even when he was busy. It was in the way he talked about the changes he planned to bring to Gotham. To make it better. Make it livable for everyone. In how many people he wanted to help that way.

Yes, he murdered people. Yes, he was a Crime Lord. Yes, he could be a bit of a dick.

But he was earnest in his efforts to make the Alley, and Gotham at large, a safe place for innocents. He was a man made of compassion underneath it all. Made of strong convictions and strong emotion. Sometimes that emotion was anger and it overwhelmed him and he lashed out because of it. And yes, he’d lashed out at Danny, but Danny was nothing if not a glutton for punishment and if it meant having Red’s homemade soup again- he’d save the man any day.

He couldn’t exactly say any of that though.

So he simply stepped forward and smiled, small and tired and gave Red another shrug. Then he thought about it a bit and brought a finger to the other man’s chest, tapping the area where his heart was, reveling in the confused look it bought him.

“My heart?” Red asked slowly. “Do you… want it?”

Danny tilted his head in question, now also perplexed.

“Like to eat or something?”

He had to take a deep breath and turn away, shoulders shaking from the laughter he was trying to keep down. Red thought he saved him, that he cared- because he was saving his heart to snack on?! Why? What the fuck? What the hell kind of life experiences had this man had for that to be a reasonable conclusion?

He got himself under control and turned back around to see Hood giving him a bemused smile. It was a nice smile.

He huffed a bit and waved his hand in order to refute Red’s previous idea of cannibalism. Because really. He thought about it, how to convey everything he was thinking. Everything that made Hood a good man at his core.

He pointed at Red. You. And then he held up a hand, flat with his palm facing inward and his fingers touching his chin and pulled it away in a decisive, forward motion. It was one of the few signs he’d been taught so far. Good. And then he tapped Red’s chest again and could almost feel the beating under his fingers. Heart.

Red scrunched his nose and shook his head. “I do not. And that’s way too fucking cheesy a reason anyway.”

Danny rolled his eyes and smacked Hood for what felt like the tenth time already since he’d woken up.

Red smiled before it dropped. He looked up past Danny and toward the ceiling, staring at nothing with a grim look on his face. Danny couldn’t even begin to guess what he was thinking about.

“I was stupid,” Hood murmured. “All I’ve been since I got back is stupid. I never should have fallen for Joker’s trap. Never should have been so blind to what he was up to.”

Of course it was the Joker that Hood had nearly gotten blown up by. Danny fucking hated clowns for a reason and the Joker was just one of them. He watched as Hood raised a heavily bandaged hand in an attempt to comb it through his hair, only to pull back and stare blankly at the mitten of gauze and wrap that enveloped both hands. He accepted his fate with a sigh, weary and broken and Danny wanted so badly to fix it, but he couldn’t. All he could do was watch.

“But I needed him. Still need him. He’s the center of the question, here. The crux of the whole problem,” Red kept talking, low and mumbling and Danny was certain that he wasn’t talking to him anymore. But he wasn’t about to stop listening.

“I underestimated how much it would affect me- seeing him again for the first time. I should have handled that better.”

Danny could see blood seeping into the bandages around his hands, likely from Hood agitating his own wounds for whatever reason. He reached out and caught one of the hands between his own, tapping at the edge where the wrapping stopped in a bid to remind Hood of what he was doing and to stop hurting himself.

“You don’t understand-,” Hood gritted out. “I need that fucker dead. I won’t let him murder anyone else.”

Hood closed his eyes, but Danny still saw the pain within them.

“I should have been the line. My death should have been the line.”

And Danny froze.

No. No, he couldn’t be- He didn’t feel like a ghost. Or a halfa, even. But sometimes… No. There was no way. It was so faint. You couldn’t be a third of a ghost or whatever and he didn’t set off Danny’s ghost sense at all and- he was getting far too ahead of himself. He didn’t even know what Red Hood meant. Maybe he’d gone into cardiac arrest before. Been only medically dead for a few minutes. No ghostly business involved.

But he had to make sure.

He leaned over Red where he was still reclined back in the bed Doctor Leslie had ordered Danny to place him. Bruised and bloody and broken. Almost dead a second time.

He held the man’s head between his hands, solemn as he searched for- for something. Red didn’t say a word, just let it happen, eyes opening and trying to catch Danny’s- question what he was doing without interrupting. And Danny just looked into bright, bright blue and- there was a thin sliver of green. Ectoplasm green. Barely there and barely noticeable. But there all the same.

He pulled back and made Red focus on him. On his stare. All the while lifting a hand and turning it intangible to plunge into the other’s chest. If he was a ghost, or a half ghost, or a quarter ghost, he should have something of a core. Even if it was hiding.

Hood gasped and sputtered and coughed and tried to fight off Danny’s arm with useless hands. But Danny kept his soft grip on the uninjured side of Red’s face and brought his forehead down to rest on Hood’s, trying to calm him. It shouldn’t hurt- just feel weird. But he hadn’t exactly given the other a warning.

He felt Red shiver underneath him, the feeling of a ghost running a cold hand through your chest was never a pleasant sensation, but it was necessary.

He didn’t feel anything at first, waving a hand through Red’s chest, slowly combing through muscle and organ and bone and blood. He didn’t have much experience looking for a core, especially not in one currently still living, but he was letting his instincts drive him. He needed to know.

And then he felt it.

It wasn’t a core, not quite. Not so ghostly but definitely of the dead. It was half-formed and weak and felt like poison. It pulsed feebly when his fingers brushed over it a chorus of anger fear rage pain betrayal betrayal betrayal rang out from the touch.

He pulled back, just enough to take his arm out of Red’s chest and let him breathe, but not enough that he left the bedside. He let Hood take in ragged breaths, coughing and heaving from smoke inhalation damage (he regretted it for that, but not enough to have stopped his search). When it looked like the other had calmed down and was about to question just what the hell Danny had done, he held up a hand.

He pointed at Red. You. He slid a finger across his own throat. Died. And tilted his head to the side to turn it into a question, even though he knew the answer.

“Yes,” Hood said, voice rougher and raspier than before, tight from the cough and likely sore throat. “I died, Fetch.”

Danny stared down at the man, debating on what to say. Red’s eyes searched his own, blue that looked deeper in the dim lighting but he didn’t say anything either. Just let the quiet sit between them for a moment.

Eventually, Danny lifted and hand and pointed towards himself. I. He slid a finger across his throat. Died. He held up two fingers. Too.

#naps fics #dp x dc #Our Empty Graves #dpxdc

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abimee · 2 years ago

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speaking of new elezen dropped

hes a duskwight elezen who was raised by the 213th dig order kobolds :) they named him the eorzean term Little Boxes trying to mimic the naming conventions of the eorzeans nearby (a bunch of maelstrom stationed roegaydens), because had a pentant of climbing into little boxes made to carry ore, but when he grew up and was sent to gridania for school he got the name Loch L'omomd to "fit in more" and not be teased, so Little Boxes is for his family/the kobolds and close friends only.

he had to lie about his family history to fit in too, but he didnt like school and being far away from the dig order. His family sent him off hoping he'd be able to get a better life from the low rank order and eventually be able to go to the Sharlayans and become a studied man, but he loved his family and living in the woods and working trade, and saw the Sharlayans as stuffy, ticky-tacky children who all talked, walked, thought, and acted the same.

eventually he did manage to get accepted, and the day he had to pack up his belongings and leave the dig order site his family gathered around him and cried and cried just as he did, and they all came to the pier to see him off (which scared the shit out of the boat attendent while Loch just cried and waved goodbye to them all).

He HATED it the moment he got there, and hated how well off and useless all these children were; with manservants and maids to clean their rooms, cook their foods, do their laundry, garden their front yards, etc. He hated that the food was treated scientifically and not with love, he hated the stuffy uniforms and the crammed classrooms, he hated the teachers and the students and the academia and how trade and artistry was seen as secondrate delegations to be given to fetchers. He forced himself through it all for the better education, but he struggled with the examinations and sitting in classrooms all day, the subpar foodstuff and that he didnt have any of the food from home to eat. He missed his family's cooking and the smell of smoke and ash, of going out to mine for ore and to pick foliage and hunt stags and birds, of sightseeing between trees and telling stories over a campfire.

He eventually found his major in Astronomy and the stars, and thought about all the things he could tell his family about them when he came home. He wanted to tell his mothers about the different constellations, show his fathers how to map the bright stars into compasses for easier work at night without getting lost, to show his siblings how the sky moves and why the sun chases the moon. He was subpar in it, but he worked his ass off to suceed compared to his richer, ticky-tacky classmates, and his thesis paper was written on the various ways different people and different cultures interpret the alignment of stars and constellations.

When he returned home, he soon found that his studies were no use for anything in Eorzea, and that the Sharlayans lived in their own bubble outside of the reality of the world. The trades were vastly more important to the people, and he worried how his family would react to him having "failed" them in Getting himself a better life, but when he returned the dig order huddled around him and cried and cried that Little Boxes was home! home!

and he did just as he set out to do, and taught his mothers about the stars and taught his fathers about the maps on the sky, taught his siblings how the moon chases the sun and how the use of the stars can allow them to go out on ocean expeditions and never lose track of home.

eventually, Little Boxes wound up taking the mantle of being an adventurer and registering with the Gridanian guild, but he doesnt do much besides the typical fanfare of things, as hes not the warrior of light. Hes in fact in Ruyan's timeline, and he meets the duo in Ul'dah :) they become friends and ruyan and Loch keep communications, and he comes back to help out when Ruyan goes to Old Sharlayan because hes attempting to get one of his sisters into the exchange student program Ameliance has started up, a little kobold child who wants to study advanced alchemy.

misc is hes ??? age, hes max height, he/him agender person but masculine titles are preffered, hes bisexual, and his favorite foods are meaty pies and corn on the cob smothered in egg whips

#hes my funny guy who loves his family #loch l'omond #ocs

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whumpsmith · 8 months ago

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OC Talk~

Erick James

Erick is a classic whumpee, getting hurt over and over and over and over and over and—

More about he under the cut

CW: abuse, neglect, eating disorder, sexual assault, human trafficking, Stockholm syndrome (platonic or familial I guess)

Erick first shows up as the second main character in Villain's View, where he gets kidnapped for ransom, but his life as a whumpee starts long before that. Being born to a wannabe rich and narcisistic asshole of a father and an enabling mother he's always lived under a lot of pressure to be perfect.

Things got worse after his mother died when he was eight or nine and he would've been alone if he hadn't made a friend at her funeral. Initially he only sees his friend in school and other social situations where he has to put on a mask and pretend everything is fine and well, but when he's at home with no visitors around, his father won't even look at him.

To cope with the stress and loss and loneliness, Erick develops bulimia at age twelve with a pattern of binge eating followed by purging. His friend eventually notices and gets him to see a therapist, paid for by his parents so Erick's father won't find out.

When he's fifteen he's finally beginning to recover when his life turns completely upside down when he's violently kidnapped by Chase Fetcher. He watches his best friend get shot as he's dragged into a van, never to be seen again.

In captivity, he quickly learns to appease his kidnapper by following his rules, following orders, and taking abuse and torture without complaint. Days turn into weeks and he slowly learns more and more about his kidnapper while waiting for his ransom to be paid so he can go home. He also learns to trust him after being saved from being sexually assaulted, being taken care of when he catches an infection, and especially when his kidnapper stops his client from trafficking Erick when the ransom continues to not be paid.

After finding out that his father never bothered to get him back, thinking his only friend didn't survive, and the only other person who had shown a smidgeon of care in years being his kidnapper, Erick refuses to leave when he gets the chance to go. He feels indebted to his kidnapper and wants to make that up to him, even if that means having to tolerate more abuse and possibly never being free again.

Thus forming the dynamic duo of Villain's View and the AU spin-off Your Move, My Move, and Our Move.

#oc's #my oc's #Erick James #erick #oc talk #villain's view #YMO AU

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otvlanga · 4 years ago

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Teldryn Sero Headcanons

@lookathooves some fresh baked Teldryn Sero for u

- Starting off, this man has the biggest sailor mouth in all of Tamriel. Every other word out of his mouth is “N’wah this” or “S’wit that” or some form of fetcher, asshole, and bitch combined. His foul mouth would cause the Priests of Mara to go into cardiac arrest. He curses when he’s angry and he curses when he’s happy. Don’t bring him around children unless you want a bunch of little gremlins spewing Dunmeri curses at each-other. He’ll gladly teach them.

- Speaking of which, he is not very good with children. It’s not that he hates them or anything (not that he’s overly fond of them either), he just has zero skills in the art of parenting. He’s a mercenary, he follows his boss to do outrageously dangerous stunts and set things on fire. He doesn’t do “your mother/father said no.” If you leave him with your kids, you’ll come back to the house burnt to the ground and God himself laying dead in the rubble. Also your children will be armed.

- Growing up in Blacklight, he spent most of his childhood doing a lot of physical activities and enjoying sports. He was a rowdy kid, and got into a lot of fights, as well as some trouble with the law. It was never anything too serious, but his parents decided to find him some reputable teachers that could turn his fighting spirit into something good for him. He soon came to love his training and sparring sessions with his friends and peers, and while he never lost his fire, he did learn the value of hard work and skill. When he grew into adulthood, he himself worked as a mixed combat trainer, and occasional destruction magic tutor. He looks back on these times with a smile.

- Him and Jenassa have some history together. Teldryn, being over 200 years old, has had quite a few apprentices during the time he was working as a trainer. Jenassa was one of them, and to this day he still remembers her as one of his favorite apprentices. She came under his guidance as a strong-headed, determined young woman. Every time he knocked her down this his sword, she was quick to get back up and whack him back with hers. He taught her most of what she knows. He’s happy to catch up with her if the Dragonborn runs into her in Whiterun.

- Teldryn had moved to Windhelm when it became harder and harder to make a living and survive in Morrowind, after the Red Mountain’s eruption. He didn’t leave when many of the other Dunmer did, and tried to stay in his homeland as long as he possibly could. Eventually, he had to pack his stuff and hop on a boat to Skyrim. He lived in the Grey Quarter for quite a while, and hated every moment of it. This is when he started doing mercenary work, to make some good coin and get out of that wretched city. After the whole fiasco with his Bandit-chasing Nord patron, he hopped on a boat to Solstheim in hopes of finding better work now that there was a decent sized Dunmer settlement on the coast.

- Teldryn and Geldis are long time friends. They were acquainted back in Morrowind, but weren’t close. When Teldryn moved to Solstheim, the shock of finally seeing a familiar face after all these years helped him settle in easier. Geldis lets him stay and sleep in a room the Netch for a discount price, and in exchange for help unloading imports and supplies. They enjoy sharing a pipe packed with Dunmeri tobacco from time to time. Dunmer typically enjoy smoking, and Teldryn is certainly no exception.

- The markings on his face aren’t painted on, they’re tattoos. Partially scarred on and partially inked, they’re traditional Dunmer warrior markings. It is not uncommon for sellswords and soldiers to flaunt them in a way of showing their status as experienced and capable fighters. He did them himself and he’s very proud. He has a few piercings in his ears, and usually wears gold hoops of studs. Also self done of course.

#teldryn sero #skyrim #headcanons #skyrim headcanons #morrowind #solstheim #dunmer #geldis sadri #jenassa #tes #elder scrolls

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sidetongue · 3 years ago

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henny with a sticky toof and moby yelling in the bg

#i love henry's ball drive #it's fun without being obsessive #like he will play fetch if you ask him to #and has a blast doing it #but as soon as you tell him to stop he's cool #the others aren't really fetchers #they'll chase and grab #but usually lose interest quickly #im 100% happy with that #i dont think i could have a ball mad dog #henry #moby #dogs

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aliwritesfic · 3 years ago

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Our Black Hearts Part 2 (F!Reader x Jack "Whiskey" Daniels)

Summary: You decide it's time to come clean to Jack about the man he's after

W/C: 2k

Warnings: None for this chapter I think, but please tell me if I missed something

Spotify

Part 1

You loved working the towns garden. The feeling of warm dirt in your hands, the feeling of accomplishment watching something go from seedling to edible vegetable in the span of just a few weeks. Hell, sometimes you even relished in the ache in your back after a long day. It let you know you were alive.

It was while you planted a new crop of carrots that you rehearsed what you were going to say to Jack when you saw him next. Hello, I hope you don’t kill me for not telling you as soon as I was sure, but I know who killed your wife, and I think I know where to find him, or at least how to find people who know where he would be. We good?

You frowned as you dug into the earth, unable to escape the guilt gnawing at your insides like a parasite. You know you should’ve told him the first morning, when you woke up encased in his arms. But the way the pale pre-dawn light played on his skin distracted you. Then he woke up and he really distracted you. Then a week passed, and you still hadn’t summoned up the courage to tell him, despite several more rendezvous with him. You knew it would be worse the longer you waited, a somehow larger betrayal.

Of course, you could just lie, tell him you weren’t sure, but that wasn’t in your nature. You hated to lie, and you were fucking terrible at it. You had been since childhood, unable to hide your secrets from the scrutinizing gaze of your mother. Now, every time you tried to lie, you remembered the sharp blow to the back of your head you would receive, and instead you chose to just avoid the truth.

Straightening your back, you turned your gaze toward the cloudless blue sky. It was nearing midday, the hottest and most dangerous hours to be outside would soon be upon you. Already people had sequestered themselves inside, the only ones who couldn’t were those patrolling the perimeter of the town. Large sheets of rusted metal had been erected along the perimeter; the only protection afforded to those who protected the town. It had once struck you as deeply unfair, but now you knew it was necessary. Too many stories of towns being attacked at the suns highest point had reached your ears, chilled you to the bone.

“Chase,” the use of your nickname snapped you out of your thoughts. You glanced behind you and saw Sparkie, the middle-aged man who oversaw the gardens waving to you. “Come inside before you get crispy.”

You obliged, abandoning your shovel in the dusty earth. It was only a couple degrees cooler inside the garden house but being in the shade made all the difference. The garden house was arguably the dirtiest building in the whole town, boot prints and stray tools littered the cracked tile floor, the entire thing smelt of fertilizer and no number of open windows could get rid of the stench. You sat yourself down on a plastic crate and turned your attention to the window.

In the distance you could see the perimeter wall of Deepwell, a single speck of a figure under the small metal sheet. No stupid hat, so it couldn’t have been Jack. You had learnt that he was assigned as a guardsman for the town, replacing the guard who had been brutally gunned down in a raid a month before he had arrived. At the thought of that, the image of the dead guard flashed in your mind – shot so many times in the face no one could identify them until a headcount of surviving guards had been taken. Her name had been Lydia, you found out later, and you hadn’t said more than three words to her.

A shrill whistle sounded in the distance, signalling it was safe to be in direct sunlight again. Jack stepped out from the small perimeter shelter and adjusted the grip on his rifle. He had learnt protocols during his first day of what was done directly after Midday. First, he had to make sure no one was trying to breach his appointed section of wall. Most days there was nothing, occasionally a pack of wild dogs or boar would be gathered drawn by the smell of living creatures. Once he had found a Skulker, barely clinging to life, sent crazy by sun and hunger and dehydration. Parts of her skin had melted away from time spent in the Toxic Plains, leaving shiny white bone. That had been an easy kill – a single bullet between the eyes before she had even realised he was there.

There was nothing today, only the ever-present patches dead earth and haze of heat on the horizon. Jack adjusted his dark glasses, traded a year back for a half blunt knife. They had become one of his most prized possessions, a saviour for his eyesight.

The next hour passed quietly on the outside of the wall. A single mutt had appeared briefly in the distance, Jack kept his gun trained on the creature until it had slinked away, disappearing over the horizon. He could’ve shot it, sent word to the fetchers about fresh meat, but the dog wasn’t worth the bullet. Its ribs and pelvis had stuck out from its body, more skin and bones than anything edible.

Sweat was beading down the back of his neck and dampening his shirt when relief finally arrived. His replacement was a burly teenager, arms criss-crossed with scars from a childhood spent living in the lawless no-mans-lands. Jack tipped his hat and handed the shotgun to the kid.

“Happy watchin’,” he said with an easy grin. The kid grunted in response, turning to face the vast nothing in front of them.

It was mid-afternoon, early enough for the water troughs to be devoid of most people and late enough that the water wouldn’t be boiling hot anymore. The troughs were close to the well for which the town was named, though the well was just a hole in the ground fenced off by frayed rope. It was the towns only source of clean water, so deep underground it took almost five minutes for it to be pumped up.

The troughs were worked by just one woman, who Jack thought probably had the worst job in the whole town. Keeping the troughs filled and clean, making sure the stores were stocked with enough for the townspeople to clean themselves with. Not to mention having to wash the clothes of anyone who asked. Jack avoided asking for as long as he could, only going to her when the stench became too much for him to be able to deal with on his own.

Today, fortunately, his clothes weren’t an issue. He stripped down, folding his clothes neatly before easing himself into one of the troughs. He dunked his head under the warm water, scrubbing at his scalp with his fingers. He didn’t have the luxury of soap today, having worn through his last bar before he could find a suitable trade for a replacement. Jack didn’t mind though – sometimes the water itself was enough to feel clean.

“Jack,” Chase was standing at the foot of his trough, hands on her hips. Well this is a nice surprise Jack thought as he sat up, pushing his wet hair back. Her face was shiny with sweat and streaked with dirt that seemed to attach itself to any available bit of skin.

“Hello, Doll.” He had taken to calling her that, preferring it to Chase. At least, he preferred it when he was trying to seduce her.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, and Jack’s blood ran instantly cold.

“You’re not – you know?” He gestured to her stomach. Chase looked down, confused, before realization dawned on her face.

“It’s been a week, Jack, Maker help me! No. Didn’t you learn anything about how babies are actually made when you were married?” Chase raised an incredulous brow at him. Jack shrugged. “I have a book on that, you should give it a read.”

Jack rubbed at his legs with a scrap piece of cloth, knowing he was not going to read that book. “So, what’d ya need, doll? Come to take another ride?” Chase rolled her eyes.

“No. I need to talk to you-” Chase hesitated, looking conflicted. “Look, just don’t hate me, please.” Jack sat forward, suddenly intrigued.

“Well, don’t leave me hangin’ in suspense,” Jack said.

“I know who killed your wife. I can find him.”

Jack’s ears rang for a moment, he wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “You . . .”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Chase crouched down next to the trough as she spoke, her eyes imploring him to understand. “I wasn’t sure it was him; I thought he was dead! But – but it’s too much of a coincidence.”

“Who is he? How do you know?” Jack tried to keep the pain out of his voice. How long has she known, he wondered, and not told him?

Chase at least had the decency to look ashamed. “He’s – his name is Elijah. He’s missing an eye because ten years ago I stabbed him, thought I killed him too. I tried to kill him!”

“Chase, who is he to you? Are you sure you can find him?”

“I can find him. I still have connections with his old crowd, someone there will know where he is.” Chase rubbed her face, somehow smearing on even more dirt. “If I tell you who he is . . . just don’t hold it against me, okay?”

“No promises,” Jack said.

“He’s my brother. Womb brother, actually.”

“You tried to kill your brother?” Jack was too shocked to feel angry. He was an only child, but from what he knew, the bond between siblings was one of the strongest, especially those bonded in the womb.

“You’ve met him,” Chase shrugged helplessly, “he’s – look I’m not gonna pretend that I deserve understanding for keeping this from you. But now I know he’s alive . . .” she trailed off, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Tell me where to find him.” Jack said.

“No, you need me.” Chase shook her head. “You won’t get far without me, I promise you that.”

Jack scoffed at her. “Don’t underestimate me.”

“I’m not, I’m being realistic. You don’t know Elijah like I do. He’s paranoid, delusional, he thinks he’s a fucking god. You won’t get within ten feet of him without someone blowing your brains out. If you’re serious about this revenge thing, you need me.”

Jack pushed himself out of the trough and began to dry off quickly in the sun. Still naked, he turned to face Chase, arms crossed over his chest. “And just why are you so damn insistent on comin’ with me? You could tell me what you know, I could hire any number of mercs who could get the job done better than you, and you wouldn’t have to get your hands dirty . . . well dirtier than they already are.”

Chase took a deep breath, evidently to calm herself down. “I need to make sure what I started is finished. Someone has to kill Elijah, and I won’t be able to sleep until I know he’s dead.”

The look on her face told Jack she was completely serious. He considered for a few moments, pulling his clothes back on. If everything she said was true, he would need her help, to find Elijah, to get close enough to kill him. But –

“If you tried to kill him, how can you get close without you getting your head blown off?” Jack combed his fingers through his hair and secured it with his hat.

“He doesn’t know it was me. It’s a long story but you just have to trust me.”

Jack considered the woman standing in front of him. Of course, he didn’t trust her – it was stupid to trust anybody. But it was his only chance, he was beginning to realise, and she’d have to come along whether he wanted it or not. Which given his current mood regarding her keeping this from him, he did not.

“Alright, get your shit ready. I’m leaving at dusk.”

Tagging: @sharkbait77 @quica-quica-quica <3 <3

#jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels x f!reader #kingsmen golden circle #jack daniels au #post apocalyptic

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villainsview · 1 month ago

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Chapter 1

All Stories Start Somewhere

All stories start somewhere, but the beginning isn’t always as interesting, so let’s cut right to the chase. That’s also my name, Chase Fetcher, but you’ll find most people just call me Fetch. Now, let’s rush over the important stuff you need to know.

I got my medical degree in the army

I found out black market organ trade pays much better than a monthly salary

I got busted and lost everything, but people still wanted my services

I’m a quick study and expanded my expertise

Now I’m a modern-day mercenary specialised in kidnapping, “gentle” persuasion, organ harvesting and...waste disposal.

Now, to the interesting part. I thought it would just be a simple kidnapping. Peter Allard, a big shot in the Phoenix underworld, had some beef with Harrison James, a mediocre but strangely successful businessman. It was probably something about money. I didn’t really care. All I knew was that it was about a sum of three million dollars in ransom and my ten percent cut. All I had to do was snatch up James’ son and hold onto him until the ransom was paid. It would be simple, fast, and have a decent payoff in relation to the difficulty.

But of course it was too good to be true. I hit the first snag while I was stalking the target before abducting him. He was fifteen years old and attended a private school, which I preferred to stay away from. Snatching him at home would be unwise as well, which left me with his commute from home to school and back, because he didn’t come outside much besides that. It wouldn’t have been a problem, if it weren’t for his fucking friend. They were always together outside of school, playing around a bit before parting ways at James’ home. I almost considered just grabbing them both, especially upon finding out the friend would be worth a lot more money, but more money usually meant more trouble. In the end I decided to just eliminate the factor...literally.

It was the day to act. I had the two teens in my sight. I needed to get the blond one in my van, and I had to get rid of the redhead. The pair turned into the alley where they usually hung out after school to kick cans while the redhead secretly smoked. It was a quiet street and an even quieter alley, so all I had to do was park my van by the entrance, and carefully sneak up on them. They both had their backs turned. The redhead was poking a dead rat with a plastic tube he’d probably fished from the trash.

“Matt, stop that, it’s gross,” the blond teen said, holding his shirt over his mouth and nose to avoid having to smell anything.

“You’re not the least bit curious?” the redhead replied, poking a bit more.

“I think I’m going to throw up…”

That was my cue to act. I didn’t want to clean up vomit out of my van again, so I had to distract him from getting sick. The actual kidnapping ought to do the trick. I pulled my gun from its holster under my jacket, taking a couple quiet steps closer as I aimed at the redhead, before pulling the trigger.

BANG

“MATT?!”

The teen released a horrified shriek before I was able to silence him, slapping a hand over his mouth and pressing the gun against his back as I pulled him away from his bleeding friend.

“One more peep and you’ll join your friend in heaven,” I threatened. The boy whimpered, but other than that he settled down a bit, even as I dragged him towards my van, only weakly pulling at my hand which covered his mouth. Upon reaching my van, I swiftly opened the side door and shoved him inside, hopping in after and closing the door to conceal us from sight. The teen pulled himself from my grip and tried to crawl away, but I pulled him back by his ankle, reaching for a roll of tape.

“N-no—”

It was a brief struggle, but by the end of it I had the boy silenced with a couple strips of tape and had him pinned against the floor of the van as I tightly cuffed his hands behind his back, before padlocking them to a ring in the floor so he couldn’t crawl anywhere else.

“Mmn!”

“Shut up!” I hissed.

I could hear sirens approach, probably alerted by the gunshot, but still added another strip of tape over his eyes for good measure. I gave him a warning slap when he made a little too much noise, before quickly getting behind the wheel and driving off, blending into traffic to avoid any suspicion. An ambulance did rush past me, but I didn’t really see where it went as I was trying to remember the way back to the hideout my client had arranged. North of the city there was a storage lot that had closed down a couple years ago after it went bankrupt. The new owner hadn’t done anything with it...as far as the city was concerned, but apparently Allard rented it out a lot for things like this.

“Mgh!”

“Keep quiet back there! Don’t make me pull over to beat some sense into you!”

I glared at the boy over my shoulder while I could permit it. He’d fallen to his side, pulling uselessly on the cuffs holding him in place. I rolled my eyes, deciding to ignore him for the rest of the drive as I turned the radio up so I could still enjoy some music over his muffled sobbing and snivelling.

When I arrived at the storage lot, I unlocked the fence with the key Allard had sent me and drove my van to the block of units in the back of the lot, the furthest from the road. Away from anyone that might try to play hero. I could park my van inside one of the larger units, making sure I had room to get out and open the side door as well, though not until I had closed the garage door, concealing everything from sight. When I opened the side door to get Erick out, he was still lying on his side, trying to stay quiet even though his breath picked up as he could hear me right in front of him. I slowly put my hand on his shoulder to keep him down, eliciting a terrified whimper. Music to my ears. I tried not to grin too much as I put a little pressure on him to lean over him and free him from the hook attached to his cuffs. I moved my hand to grab his arm and pull him upright, expecting a fight, but he stayed nice and quiet.

“Up!” I said, pushing his legs to the edge of the van’s floor so he could find his footing before I dragged him out.

I had prepared a couple things for him; a nice chair to tie him to, and the ropes to tie him with. I pushed him down into the chair, to which the boy finally seemed to wake up. He tried to get back to his feet, so I quickly grabbed him by his jaw to snuff out his little resistance.

“Give it up, kiddo, you’ve got nowhere to run,” I growled.

He sobbed defeated and settled down, allowing me to pick up a coil of rope and get to work. I tied his wrists behind his back before undoing the cuffs and putting them aside. I looped the leftover end of rope around the back of the chair twice, before tying it off in a tight knot. I moved to his ankles and tied each to a leg of the chair before ripping the tape off of his mouth. He winced, but didn’t dare to make any other sounds as he took a few ragged breaths. I found a blindfold in my bag before I ripped the tape off of his eyes too, drawing out a yelp. I tied the blindfold over his eyes before he had the chance to blink his eyes open.

“P-please,” he uttered in a soft voice, “l-let me go, please...I— I won’t tell anyone, I promise...please…”

I rolled my eyes, his pleads falling on deaf ears as I grumbled back at him.

“Shut up.”

Erick choked back a sob and held his breath until I stepped away. I had to call Allard to let him know I had the kid, and I could use a smoke.

“Very good, Fetch. I expected nothing less of you,” Allard said after I brought him the news over the phone, “my men will take care of the ransom, as per usual, in the meantime you try to keep yourself busy. I’m sure you can manage that much.”

“I’m confident I can,” I replied, looking back over my shoulder at Erick.

I wasn’t sure if he could hear me, but I didn’t really care if he could. He was fidgeting nervously, testing the strength of the ropes that held him in place, trying to reach the knot that kept the ligature around his wrists in place. But he couldn’t reach it. His breath picked up as a wave of panic took over him. I smirked, flicking the leftover butt of my cigarette aside as I hung up and quietly approached the teen. I slowly stepped behind him, and put my hand on his shoulder, to which he jumped and held his breath. I could see the cold sweat dripping down his neck as he was torn between staying absolutely still and wanting to pull away.

“W-who are you?” he suddenly choked out, “w-what do you want?”

“It’s not about what I want,” I replied, putting my other hand on his other shoulder, watching how his chest rose and fell faster with each breath.

I grinned to myself, squeezing his shoulders a bit as I thought about all the things I could do to him. Allard only paid me to keep him alive, he never said I couldn’t leave him with a couple…souvenirs. I detached myself from the boy and walked over to my van. Right behind the driver’s seat, stood a coolbox, filled with half-molten ice and bottles of water. I took a bottle from the cooler and walked back to Erick. I pressed the cold plastic against his cheek, eliciting a yelp of surprise and fear. I chucked, before unscrewing the cap and putting the lip to his mouth, but he turned his head away. I rolled my eyes.

“C’mon, it’s just water,” I said, “you’re gonna need it, kiddo.”

“W-why?”

I ignored him and grabbed his jaw, savouring his scared whimper for a good few seconds, before once again placing the lip of the bottle against his lips, and tilting it, so he had no choice but to drink, or choke in it.

“Mrrrgn— cough!”

He regurgitated a few sips and coughed, trying to turn his head away, but I grabbed a tighter hold of his jaw, tilting his head back while tilting the bottle further, pouring more water down his throat, not letting go until the bottle was empty. I stepped aside as I did, to which the teen coughed up more water and gasped for air, leaning forward a bit and soaking his shirt. I chuckled, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting a new one.

“Now,” I said, “to answer your question earlier…” I took a drag of my cigarette, slowly blowing out the smoke before continuing. “Your dad owes my client some money, so you and I will be spending some time together until he pays up.”

“A-are you going to kill me…?” Erick choked out between sobs.

“Nah I’m being paid to keep you alive, why else would I waste water on you?” I said.

“B-but Matt…”

“Who— Oh, your friend. He got in my way,” I said.

“I-Is he going to…?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” I said, “no more questions.”

“But—”

“Rule number one!” I said loudly, talking over him, “if you’re not gagged, only speak when spoken to.”

Erick winced as I raised my voice, quickly nodding. I took another drag of my cigarette, blowing the smoke into his face, watching him choke back a cough.

“Rule two. If you’re not gagged, I prefer verbal answers. I’m not always looking straight at you, so a lil confirmation of you listening would be nice. Understood?”

“Mh…y-yes?” Erick said quietly. I rolled my eyes.

“Hasn’t anyone taught you any manners?” I said, “let’s make that rule three. You’ll address me as sir, understood? Try again.”

“W-why are you doing this?”

“Answer the question!” I shouted, making the teen jump, “do you understand the rules?”

“Y-yes sir!” Erick quickly said, trying to shrink in the chair, but being held back by the ropes.

“That’s more like it,” I said, “the rest is simple, kiddo. You behave, I don’t get mad, and by the end of the week you’ll be back home and we can both forget all about this.”

I took a long last drag of my cigarette, before smirking as I looked at the smouldering end.

“Well, maybe not everything,” I added, before extinguishing it on the teen’s neck.

“OW! P-please, I’ll be good, please!” the boy cried, trying to pull away.

I chuckled, flicking the extinguished remains away while I allowed him to sob. He was just coming to terms with his situation. I could silence him later.

#villain's view #VV #writeblr #whumpblr #whump writing #oc whump #cafekitsune #<-banner credit

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its-sixxers · 4 years ago

Text

A Night to Remember, I

A night drinking at the New Gnisis Cornerclub leaves Tandreth awaking somewhere far away, raising questions not only about his newfound predicament, but his feelings toward his traveling companion.

(Writing prompt given by @radbeetle and @ineed-to-sleep, based on the quest of the same name. Gonna be a multi parter as I get a chance to write. :3)

Tandreth woke to the sound of rushing water.

It was enough to get his eyes to snap open. There was no rushing water in Windhelm, and Windhelm was where he last remembered being conscious. Opening his eyes too quickly fast proved to be a mistake, however, for the sun was in precisely the right position in the sky to nearly blind him.

“Fetcher.” he swore, throwing his arm over his eyes and feeling a headache fast approaching. He was hungover - but he wasn’t bound. That was good. He’d woken up worse from nights of heavy drinking (so much worse he didn’t want to remember). The next time he opened his eyes he barely cracked them open, squinting out at the world around him.

To his disbelief, he was in Markarth.

Markarth was across Skyrim from Windhelm.

Tandreth dragged himself upright, his body sore from sleeping on stone. He’d passed out in one of Markarth’s many alleyways, and by some miracle hadn’t been robbed or worse. A small waterfall cascaded down the rocks next to him, spraying mist onto his face now that he sat upright.

What had happened?

The last thing he could recall was drinking in the New Gnisis Cornerclub - he was short on coin, so when a stranger offered an enchanted staff as the wager to a friendly drinking contest he was all too happy to oblige. The man wanted no wager from Tandreth besides Idunn’s participation, and -

“Idunn.” Tandreth choked out, scrambling to his feet. Idunn was nowhere to be seen, and dread pooled in his gut - doing no favors for his nausea. The world moved beneath him like the deck of a ship in stormy seas, and he nearly stumbled off the stone path and down the cliff beside him. Markarth was a bad place to be in any state of inebriation, and Tandreth was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t still a little bit drunk.

He stumbled down the path, unsure of where to even go - he made it six steps before he was forced to bend over and vomit, aiming for a hardy patch of bush next to the path.

“Ugh.” Came a female voice from nearby, and after wiping his mouth Tandreth looked up to see a young priestess of Dibella emptying a pot of dirty water over the path’s edge. When her eyes settled on his face an expression of sudden nervousness crossed over her features, and she started to hurry back up the steps to the temple.

She’d recognized him. “Wait!” Tandreth shouted after the priestess, stumbling after her in a manner that was far too graceless for his liking. Even so, he was still able to climb the steps faster than she, and managed to catch up to her at the temple door.

The priestess whirled around with the vase raised, clearly ready to smash it into his head if the need arose. “Don’t! You didn’t get in last night, and you won’t get in today.”

“Last night?” Tandreth slurred in confusion. While he’d made use of the services of Dibella’s acolytes more than once, for the first time he’d found himself at a point in his life where he didn’t desire them. But if he’d drunkenly lost track of the Dragonborn, or worse, driven her away…

“Divines, you’re still drunk, aren’t you?” The priestess said, her nose wrinkling in a mix of displeasure and pity. “Yes. Last night. You were chasing a crying woman - drunk as you were - and she sought sanctuary from us. You didn’t like that.”

“Idunn.” he breathed. “Was she tall - hair like fire, cow-eyed, great big warhammer?”

The priestess looked like she regretted saying anything. “I’ll call the guard. She has sanctuary.”

“That’s fine.” Tandreth replied, shoulders sagging. “Listen, if it’s her - tell her I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did, but…” She was crying. Running from him. He’d no idea what he’d done, but the consequences made him feel even sicker to his stomach. At least he knew where she was - at least the hundred worst case scenarios that ran through his mind on waking proved to be untrue.

“Oh.” The priestess lowered her jug. While she still looked at him with suspicion, much of the venom faded from her gaze. “I’ll tell her if she asks, but it’s best you-”

Suddenly the door to the temple flew open, and a large red-headed woman nearly ran over the priestess in her haste to escape. An older priestess followed the woman, who’d just shouted “TANDRETH?” loud enough to make him want to cover his ears.

Idunn.

“I’m here!” he shouted back, trying to hide his smile at seeing how perplexed both of the priestesses were.

Idunn spun around to face him, relief clear on her features. It was contagious, prompting the same in him. She didn’t hate him, whatever had passed by. The motion made her wince, and she placed a hand to her temple.

“You’re hungover too, then.” Tandreth observed, watching her approach him with a greater degree of clumsiness than usual.

“I don’t care about that.” she replied. “How in Oblivion did we get to Markarth? What day is it?”

“The fifth of Second Seed, if you’d only listen.” The older priestess scolded, catching her breath. “Dibella’s grace, you two are a handful. Calm yourself, Daphne - last night was emotion run high by drink. This woman has no need of our protection.”

“I can see that.” The young priestess - Daphne - huffed.

The fifth of Second Seed. It was the night of the fourth when they were drinking in Windhelm. Which meant either a night had passed - or a year.

“What year?” Tandreth added, causing the older priestess’ eyes to widen.

“202, of the Fourth Era.” she answered neatly. “You didn’t bump your head, did you, dear?”

Only a night. They’d crossed Skyrim in only a night. It was much better than a year passing, but it suggested powerful magic on someone’s part. Selfishly, he had a more important question to ask. “What did I do last night?” He wasn’t quite certain if he wanted to hear the answer - but the older priestess’ remark had him hopeful it wasn’t anything terrible.

“You said my horse had a stupid name.” Idunn replied, flushing at the confession. “I suppose I was drunk enough to try and defend her honor, and we both know you can’t let a jape lie.”

Tandreth had to give his drunk self some credit, for he wasn’t wrong. Cabbage was a stupid name for a horse - but endearingly so. He guessed he didn’t phrase it quite so gracefully the night previous. “Oh. Well, my apologies, madam.” With a great and theatrical bow, he flourished his hand and held it aloft to her.

With a grumble, she placed her hand in his, and in an over the top display of chivalry he kissed her fingers like he would a king’s. To Tandreth’s surprise, Idunn had a ring worthy of one on her finger.

Her ring finger.

The thing was gold and diamond, and Tandreth knew his valuables well enough to know it was genuine at a glance. Idunn realized it was there the moment he did, and snatched her hand back to investigate as he snapped upright.

“You mentioned something about being newlywed.” The older priestess piped up, while Daphne took her chance to slip into the temple and escape the nonsense.

Immediately Tandreth looked down at his own hands - and found his fingers bare. Somehow that was less encouraging than finding a matching ring. Somehow, between Windhelm and Markarth, Idunn had gotten married.

She didn’t seem as bothered about it as he expected, staring down at the magnificent creation on her finger. The diamond caught the light in such a way that it was reflected in a rainbow within, the gold pale like winter sunlight. “It’s beautiful. Too beautiful for me.” she murmured. “Especially drunk me. Who do you think gave it?”

“Let me think.” Tandreth replied. It was difficult, with the ringing in his head. The last thing he could remember was a drinking contest with a man who wanted only Idunn’s participation as a wager.

Fury ignited within him, and it must have shown on his face for Idunn’s dazed smile faded immediately. “What?”

“Sam Guevenne.” Tandreth answered. “I’ll kill him - he must have wanted us inebriated, maybe he wanted me dead. My head feels like it. He wanted you involved. It must have been him.”

Idunn scrunched her face up with the effort of trying to dredge through her own memory, but soon understanding dawned on her face. Her mouth settled into a stony line of grim resignation. “We have to find him.”

“How?” he asked in exasperation. “I can’t remember a thing.”

The older priestess was listening to the two of them with growing concern. “Well, you did an awful lot of talking about Rorikstead.” She pointed at Tandreth. “Something about you stealing a goat. She wasn’t happy about it.”

Idunn levelled a look his way that suggested she still wasn’t happy about it, now that she was reminded.

“Rorikstead’s days away.” Tandreth sighed - his nervousness growing knowing that they’d made stops on their nightlong journey across Skyrim. That meant that whoever had put them in their predicament had been with them the entire time - and that retracing their tracks was the best idea.

“Then it’s a good thing it’s early.” Idunn replied, shifting her pack on her shoulders. “Thank you, priestess. We have somewhere to start.”

The priestess bowed her head. “You were quite polite, given the circumstances. I’m glad to help. Him, not so much. Dibella’s grace upon you.”

Tandreth’s eyes settled on the ring on Idunn’s finger. She’d said it was too beautiful for her.

He didn’t think it was beautiful enough.

#fanfic #skyrim #oc: idunn / dragonborn #oc: tandreth #fluff and silliness incoming #alcohol mention #and eventual snippets into idunn's heritage #because sanguine :V

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