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nocturnal-dreams · 4 years ago

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Pairing: Karl Jacobs x F! Reader (although I guess also GN neutral works, maybe just an AFAB reader)

Warnings: mentions of abuse

Note: Drug dealer Karl pog?

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'Be there at 10'

You rolled your eyes reading over the text from Garrett, of course, he couldn't risk his perfect reputation to do his own dirty work. Feeling the eyes roaming across your body made your skin squirm, you knew your outfit was rather revealing, your shirt making your cleavage pop out making multiple drunk men keep their eyes on you or rather your cleavage. You knew you'd have a word with Garrett later about it although you know he most likely wouldn't have cared.

You weren't sure why you were still dating Garrett, I mean he was a dick. You guessed you just stayed with him for this long because of his money, he had a house and a stable income that allowed you to live very comfortably, or at least as comfortable as you could get.

This wasn't your first time buying drugs for Garrett, he always gave you the money and a small description of the dealer's looks and location. He couldn't risk his perfect rep being ruined by someone finding out about his drug usage so he decided to risk yours. Garrett was waiting just outside in the car for you to finish the deal, the only problem was you were having a hard time finding the dealer.

Your eyes scanned the room of drunk individuals till they landed on someone. A guy was walking down the stairs as your eyes followed the handsome stranger. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater with yellow plodded jeans, multiple rings on his fingers which had the nails painted black. His hair was a light brown, almost like a mop on his head but it suited him, unlike most men you had seen with the style. As you stared longer, you saw him turn towards you, catching your gaze in his steel-grey eyes. He was coming near you as you tried to look away, trying to lose yourself in the crowd but you already felt his hand around your arm.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for someone; average height, kind of greyish black hair, round glasses, might be wearing some kind of ugly button-up shirt," the handsome stranger had said as you stared at him, he had to be referring to Garrett. This stranger did match Garrett's description of the dealer, he looked too nice to be a drug dealer though.

"Do you happen to be Jacobs?" you questioned, you just wanted to make sure that this was the right guy before you went and spilled your reason for being here on a complete stranger.

“Just call me Karl, so you know Garrett?” Karl had said, you didn’t want to stay around him much longer than you needed too. Not that you were scared of him, actually the opposite, he made you feel safe, it's just you didn’t want Garrett to get impatient.

“Garrett sent me, do you have my stuff?” you tried to hold yourself, you didn’t want to seem vulnerable, that was the biggest thing that Garrett was annoyed about. He didn’t want you to seem weak when he would send you on his drug pick-ups.

“Garrett couldn’t even come to his own deal,” Karl laughed, it was a cute laugh, a lot better than Garrett’s rare rough chuckle that you disliked, if you had to be honest, everything about Garrett you disliked. If it wasn’t for his bank account and house, you would have left a long time ago. Karl looked you over, his eyes roaming over your body wasn’t very different from the crowd but it also felt different, “so what’s someone like you buying stuff like this?”

“And who are you to ask what I buy? Aren’t you just doing this to get paid?” you were growing tired of Karl since he was wasting your time, it wouldn’t be long until Garrett would be coming into the party yelling at you for taking too long.

“Well I could always just refuse to sell it to you,” Karl asked again, “so why are you buying this stuff? You’re wearing only what I can describe as little miss sunshine to a party, you don’t buy drugs.”

“It’s for my boyfriend, now gimme!” you groaned and rolled your eyes.

“I’m not giving this to you, Garrett can come out here and buy it himself. You know my friend Chris mentioned someone being here instead of Garrett, just didn’t think it’d be someone as beautiful as you,” Karl looked away from you towards the crowd, leaning on the rail looking down at the party, “but till Mr Dogwater gets here, I’m not leaving you, I can’t tell how many guys I’ve seen just eyeing you like meat since you got here. It’s honking disgusting. Perves.”

You hide the smile on your face from his own censorship, “it’s how it always is. It’s how I live.”

“That shouldn’t be how life is, it's sad. Guys should learn to keep crap to themselves,” Karl sighed.

You glanced at him, his eyes looking at the crowd of people dancing and drunkenly talking to themselves. You were disappointed in yourself for feeling so safe around someone you just met, this was what exactly Garrett was bitching to you about two hours ago.

“I’m Y/N,” you finally decided to introduce yourself, it was only fair.

“Do you always pick up for Garrett?” you nodded in response to Karl’s question then realized he wasn’t looking at you.

“Yeah. He says that he can’t be seen around people like-well-like you.” You gestured towards Karl, him looking at you out the corner of his eye.

“Drug dealers? He can’t be seen with drug dealers but is willing to risk your safety and reputation to be around me? Put you in danger? You know drug dealers are dangerous right?” he looked at you.

“So you’re saying you’re dangerous?” you laughed through the pain his question brought, you knew at this point the relationship between you and Garrett, you were just his drug camel and something for him to stick his dick in when he got bored.

“I’m not dangerous,” Karl shook his head.

You were about to reply when Garrett came up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his chest, his eyes narrowing on Karl as Garrett’s grasp on you tightened, almost bruising. “Hey babe,” you had been too wrapped up in your conversation with Karl to even notice Garrett enter the party, “who’s this twink?”

You tried to hide how uncomfortable you had grown when Garrett’s hands left your waist and grabbed your ass, “uh Karl… he has your uh- you know?”

You heard Garrett sigh before he leaned into your ear, making it hard for Karl to hear with the music as Garrett whispered angrily, “why couldn’t you fucking get it? You know I can’t be seen around people like him, let alone his twink ass.”

Karl glared, able to read Garrett’s lips. Karl pushed himself off of the rail, his arms being crossed across his chest, “I wouldn’t allow them. If its not for them then I can’t give it to them.” Karl said loudly as Garrett told him to shut up, “listen if you want the stuff then you gotta get it yourself, Jimmy’s rules.”

A few people started to stare at the scene, Garrett’s jaw clenching as his grip on your arm tightened, “come on, I can get it from somewhere else.”

“Can’t we just go home, I don’t want to go anywhere else, I’m tired,” you spoke quietly, trying to hold back your protests to tell Garrett to lighten his hold on your arm which was starting to hurt from his painful grip.

“Y/N we can go home when I find someone else to get my supply from,” Garrett’s grip only tightened.

“Dude she wants to go home, take her home,” Karl chimed in, his voice no longer the cheering tone but rather low and pissed off, “they have a fucking say and you’re being hella rude. They want to go home. Take them home now.”

“Dude whatever. I’m leaving. Are you coming with me or no?” Garrett looked down at you. You couldn’t form any kind of words on your tongue as you started to back away towards Karl, shaking your head. Garrett’s jaw clenched as he rolled his eyes, “whatever, we’re done, bitch!”

Your boyfriend or rather now ex-boyfriend started to walk away down the stairs. Karl’s jaw clenched and and turned Garrett around on the stairs and clocked him right in the jaw, sending Garrett stumbling down the last few steps. You put your hand over your mouth holding back the slightest laugh. Garrett had stood up and went to punch Karl but Karl pulled up his shirt slightly over his belt and flashed something that sent Garrett running out.

You furrowed your eyebrows confused on what just happened as Karl came back up the stairs to where you were standing as you thanked him. Karl shrugged, “no problem, here let me take you home with me.” He said as you bit your lip.

Sure you didn’t know Karl well but you trusted him better than you ever did Garrett. “Alright, let’s go,” you smiled as Karl smiled back. You walked out with Karl behind you leading you over to his car. People would look at the two of you cause of what happened but one glance from Karl made them turn away. You felt safe with Karl, something you never felt with Garrett.

Karl drove you to his home, allowing you to borrow some of his clothes and sleep on his bed after you asked him for number allowing you two to keep in contact. You told him goodnight as you got into his bed, him leaving to his living room as you fell asleep happy for once.

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#karl jacobs #karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs imagines #feral boys #feral boys x reader #feral boys imagines #mr beast #mr beast x reader #mcyt #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagines #drug dealer Karl

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warrioreowynofrohan · 4 years ago

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The Leithian Reread - Canto XI (The Departure for Angband)

This chapter contains - at the reunion of Beren and Lúthien - my favourite passage in the Leithian, and one of my favourites that Tolkien has ever written, and I think part of my reason for delaying is that I wasn’t sure how to do it justice. But that’s a little farther on.

The chapter opens with a brief account of the Siege of Angband and the Dagor Bragollach. It’s a very strong section of the poem, to the point where it’s hard to know which specific portions to quote; the rhyme and cadence and imagery is all excellent, and is enhanced by a kind of triptych structure from beauty to fire to ruin:

Once wide and smooth a plain was spread,

where King Fingolfin proudly led

his silver armies on the green,

his horses white, his lances keen;

his helmets tall of steel were hewn,

his shields were shining as the moon.

...

Rivers of fire at dead of night

in winter lying cold and white

upon the plain burst forth, and high

the red was mirrored in the sky.

...

Dor-na-Fauglith, Land of Thirst,

they after named it, waste accurst,

the raven-haunted roofless grave

of many fair and many brave.

The description of the dark forest of Taur-nu-Fuin is also wonderfully evocative: sombre pines with pinions vast, / black-plumed and drear, as many a mast / of sable-shrouded shops of death / slow wafted on a ghostly breath.

One of the great recurring themes in Tolkien is the way that all evil, whatever its initial motive and impetus, falls in the end to ruin for ruin’s sake, to the destruction and defilement of all things as a end rather than a means. The image of the Anfauglith is repeated with the desolation before Mordor (gasping pools choked with ash and crawling muds, sickly white and grey, as if the mountains had vomited the filth of their entrails upon the lands about...great cones of earth fire-blasted and poison-stained) and the ruin that Saruman makes of Isengard (trees hewn down and replaced with pillars of metal and stone, joined by heavy chains; meadows paved over; underground furnaces with vents emitting steams, like a graveyard of the unquiet dead), and even Lotho and Saruman’s harm to the Shire (from knocking down Sandyman’s mill to make a bigger one that wasn’t needed, to the mill under Saruman not grinding grain at all but only making smoke and stench and fouling the water).

It’s not as if there is a fundamental benefit to Sauron in making the ruin in front of the Black Gate, or to Saruman in his attempts to destroy the Shire; both start out at one point with the aim of “fixing” the world and putting it in order, and this degenerates into control and rule for its own sake, and then into purposeless malice against not only people but the land itself, with misery and destruction as the only aim. We see small echoes of it elsewhere, as at Losgar.

This theme provides a strong contrast to Beren’s song before his departure across the Anfauglith, which is centred on celebration of nature and creation for its own sake, in and of itself, without any thought of control or ownership. The song fits with Beren’s demonstrated love of nature in earlier chapters, where during his lone guerilla war against Sauron he eats only plants, and is friend and allues with the animals of Dorthonion and with nature-spirits (minor Maiar?) as well: and many spirits, that in stone / in mountains old and wastes alone / do dwell and wander, were his friends. (It also has some echoes in Sam’s song in the Tower of Cirith Ungol.)

The song is given here in longer form than in The Silmarillion:

Farewell now here, ye leaves of trees,

your music in the morning-breeze!

Farewell now blade and bloom and grass

that see the changing seasons pass;

ye waters murmuring over stone,

and meres that silent stand alone!

The song also evokes a lot of the themes that came up in my discussion of CS Lewis’ The Four Loves, particularly the part on eros. Beren has virtually no expectation of coming back alive; he expect to die at best, or be captured and tortured at worst. But making the attempt is, to him, better than willfully choosing a life separated from Lúthien, and better than risking her coming to harm because of him. (The latter, as she will soon point out, is no longer something he has any choice about!) Both of them prefer the very high probability of torment or death over being parted from each other.

Additionally, Beten’s song is one of the purest expressions within Tolkien’s works of the element of admiration in love: delight in the beloved in their own right, above and beyond anything that has happened or will happen or any connection to you personally:

Though all to ruin fell the world / and were dissolved and backward hurled / unmade into the old abyss / yet were its making good, for this / the dawn, the dusk, the earth, the sea / that Lúthien for a time should be!

This feels, also, like it is getting at something deep within the mood of Tolkien’s works, where so much is destroyed or fades or is lost: the existence of beauty and goodness continues to be good, to be meaningful, even when the good and beautiful things have themselves passed away. They were, and that is better than if they had never been.

And here we come to my favourite part of the entire Leithian:

“Ah, Beren, Beren!” came a sound,

“almost too late have I thee found!

O proud and fearless hand and heart,

not yet farewell, not yet we part!

Not thus do those of elven race

forsake the love that they embrace.

A love is mine, as great a power

as thine to shake the gate and tower

of death with challenge weak and frail

that yet endures, and will not fail

nor yield, unvanquished were it hurled

beneath the foundations of the world.

Beloved fool! escape to seek

from such pursuit; in might so weak

to trust not, thinking it well to save

from love thy loved, who welcomes grave

and torment sooner than in guard

of kind intent to languish, barred,

wingless and helpless him to aid

for whose support her love was made!”

Thus back to him came Lúthien:

they met beyond the ways of Men;

upon the brink of terror stood

between the desert and the wood.

This returns to the previously-stated theme around eros: for Lúthien, being captured and tirmented in Angband is a better fate than willingly parting from him, or allowing him to leave her behind for her protection. And this, I think, is why Beren and Lúthien succeed in gaining the Silmaril: be ause their goal is not the Silmaril, their goal is each other.

But there’s more to it than that. I love the passage for Lúthien’s assertion that it is not Beren’s chouce whether she can risk danger and death for his sake. He does not have either the power or the right to protect her from her love of him. (I do think it’s something of a wonder that he still decides to go ahead with the Quest after this rather the the alternative of “let’s elope and be nature-hobos together”, but a lifetime of looking over your shoulders for the forces of Angband and the Fëanorians [yes, I think C&C would’ve gone after them out of spite even without the Quest, given their behaviour in the previous chapter] and Doriathrim sent to kidnap Lúthien back home is daunting in its own way; at least this way, if they succeed it will be over.)

This also goes for friendship (philia): in The Lord of the Rings hobbits express the same sentiment in more commonplace terms, in Merry’s, “You cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo,” and Sam’s “I’m coming too, or neither of us isn’t going. I’ll knock holes in all the boats first.” Or, even more so, in another line of Sam’s during the Breaking of the Fellowship:

“All alone and without me to help you? I couldn’t have a borne it, it’d have been the death of me.”

“It would be the death of you to come with me, Sam,” said Frodo, “and I could not have borne that.”

“Not as certain as being left behind,” said Sam.

Returning to the Leithian: Beren is still reluctant to have Lúthien accompany him into danger. And has a line here whose sentiment always seems to show up in my thoughts about Maedhros and Fingon (“Thrice now mine oath I curse,” he said, “that under shadow thee hath led!”)

Huan, returning with disguises for Beren and Lúthien, uses his second of three lifetime chances of speech to back up Lúthien’s point, and to advise them to disguise themselves as Draugluin and Thuringwethil. This includes one of the more amusing lines in the Leithian, with Huan’s Lo! good was Felagund’s device, but may be bettered. Hi, Finrod, you’re being patronized by a dog. :D He thinks you get, maybe, a B+ on the tactics planning. (Beren gets an F, quite bluntly: Hopeless the quest, but not yet mad, unless thou, Beren, run thus clad in mortal raiment, mortal hue, witless and redeless, death to woo.)

Lúthien uses magic to disguise them effectively, and to prevent the terrible disguises from affecting their minds; it’s difficult, skillful, and lengthy work: With elvish magic Lúthien wrought / lest raiment foul with evil fraught / to a dreadful madness drive their hearts / and there she wrought with elvish arts / a strong defence, a binding power / singing until the mdnight hour.

It is a few days’ journey across the Anfauglith to the gates of Angband and, again, reminiscent of Frodo and Sam’s journey through Mordor; briefer, but also worse in some respects, as they have neither food nor water.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #the lay of leithian #leithian reread #lúthien #beren #beren and luthien #huan #the lord of the rings #frodo baggins #sam gamgee

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author-morgan · 5 years ago

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Title: It Will Come Back

Pairing: Deimos-postDeimos!Alexios x Fem!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: You pluck an arrow from his back and he turns around like Eros and shoots you right in the heart.

SPARTAN AND ATHENIAN dead litter the shores of Amphipolis –a feast for crows. Though among the dead few are luckily have clung to life. A wave of healers and physicians from both sides descend to collect those injured and those who had already taken the journey across the Styx with Charon.

You bear the mark of Athena –a servant of Athens. Combing the field of battle, you look for soldiers who wear the blue color of Athens. The first man you turn over is dead – his throat slashed and entrails exposed. Another is barely alive, having lost his hand and sustained a long and jagged gash on his calf. Shock will set in soon if he is not tended to. You hold up the silver medallion fastened around your neck –it glints in the sun and soon after two men come forward with a crude stretcher to take the soldier to the infirmary tent.

The next is beyond saving –his right eye is bulging from its socket, a minor grievance in comparison to the shattered back of his skull. He cannot speak, but his delirious eyes say it all. End this. I beg you. You’d never enjoyed this part of your duty. It didn’t feel right for a healer to take life –regardless, you draw the dagger from the sheath on your belt and position the tip of the blade next to his larynx. Pushing down with your weight, the dagger sinks into flesh and then you pull the cutting edge toward you. It’s a clean-cut that will grant the soldier peace before he can take another labored breath.

Rising, you find yourself drawn to a man that does not wear the colors of Sparta or Athens. A misthios, you think to yourself, but as you draw nearer you see his gold and dark steel armor is too fine to belong to a mercenary. A single arrow shaft rises from the center of his back. Kneeling, you push aside the matted locks of dark brown hair adorned with golden beads that’d fallen in front of his face. Against your hand, you can feel slow puffs of air and a pulse beneath your fingertips. He is still alive. You raise your medallion again.

Two soldiers come, though when they see who you are kneeling next to, their faces take on a deathly pallor and fear shins in their eyes. “Take him to my tent,” you instruct. If everyone is as fearful of this man as those two soldiers, no one will wish to tend to his wounds.

By the time the sun has set, those who stand a chance of surviving are within the infirmary pavilion and those who were dead or received final mercy are piled atop quickly constructed pyres. They will be sent off with Charon’s obol as honorable dead.

You draw the flaps of your small pavilion close and untie the leather belt hanging on your hips, letting it fall onto a small table next to a clay washbasin. Scrubbing your hands of the day’s work, you forget about the patient now residing in your quarters until you turn to your bedroll –which is half occupied at the moment. Small lanterns chase away the darkness.

The arrow had pierced the metal and leather cuirass and a gentle pull on the now broken shaft tells you it had sunk into flesh too. Frowning, you prod around the entry point –failing to see how to remove his armor without inflicting more damage. You reach back, fingers curling around the hilt of your dagger and slowly you start to whittle down the olive wood shaft. White pteruges are now stained with dried blood and mud –you set them aside and find the fastenings of the cuirass. Once the ties and hooks are free, you lift the back-plate and the tapered arrow shaft passes through with ease.

Scars crisscross his corded back, though for now, your focus returns to the arrow just to the left of his spine. The barbs had not caught on flesh, nor does it appear laced with poison and for that you are thankful. You ready your supplies –clean linen, a freshly ground poultice of thyme, sage, clove, and garlic, and a needle with silk thread should the wound need stitching.

You test the shaft’s hold on the arrowhead, finding the hide glue had not loosened. Part of you thinks it will be easier to remove the arrow with one quick go, but the strength of his physique leads you to use a more delicate approach. You’d almost had your fingers broken by an archer who’d abruptly woke in the middle of being treated. The man laying facedown before you looks as though he could easily break a lot more than a finger.

Fresh blood wells up after the arrow comes free. You douse the area with a mix of water and vinegar before patting the wound dry. It will not need sutures, just a fresh bandage to cover the poultice. It takes forbearance to finish stripping him of his armor and bind the wound with a long strip of clean linen. He is heavy –fitting for his Herculean build. His features are sharp and handsome, though dark circles ring his eyes. Even at rest he looks tormented. Much like his back, his torso is bestrewn with scars –some longer and wider than others.

Knowing you do not have the strength to move him again after a long day, you gather your blanket and lay on the small part of the bedroll still free. Sleep comes easily.

By morning, Deimos is awake –the muscles in his back screaming in agony as he shifts. His armor is gone, save for his greaves, piled up beneath a low table. A bloody basin of water sits on the ground, in it is an arrowhead and broken shaft. White linen is wrapped around his torso. “You’re awake!” You exclaim, readying for your duties.

"Who are you?" He rasps. It feels like a dangerous thing to do, but you give him your name. "My sister," he spits, "where is she?"

"I don't know,” you tell him. He can tell you are being truthful. You know nothing about Kassandra and from the look of it, you know nothing about him either. "I found you after the battle,” you tell him, “you'd been hit in the back with an arrow.” That explains the dull throbbing in his back.

"Need to go," he mutters, turning to reach of his armor.

"No," you say –the boldness of your voice catches you off guard. The man glowers at you. "You're my patient. You can't leave until I clear you."

Deimos sizes you up. "You're going to stop me?" He asks, mirth lacing the question. He has the blood of gods in his veins, and you are insignificant. Breaking you wouldn’t even be a challenge.

Sighing you shake your head. You can’t stop him. It’s likely no one in the entire camp could. "At least allow me to clean the wound and bind it again.” Deimos grunts in response and sits in place while you prepare a new poultice and gather fresh bandages. His arms are thick with muscle, hands rough and scarred. He watches you with his dark gaze, unused to being shown kindness. You spread the salve over the scab and move back in front of him to tie off the new bandage. His muscles contract when your fingers brush against his stomach –it’s like Phidias had sculpted him from Parian marble. "Who are you?"

"Deimos," he answers, watching the shred of fear blossom in your eyes. He smirks. "Ah, you've heard of me."

You no longer meet his gaze, instead, you wipe your hands clean in your apron. "I heard he was demigod," you mutter, handing him the gold and steel armor. Demigods are not felled by a single arrow, though. Deimos may fight like a demigod, but he still mortal –a tortured soul.

"I am,” he says with surety, rising to leave. He would not speak his gratitude aloud, but he can repay this simple kindness by making sure the Cult never harmed you.

PILES OF HERBS lay before you –waiting to be bundled and taken to Zina, the apothecary. One of the local villages had been experiencing issues with recurring fever, and Zina cannot spare the time to collect her supplies at the moment. You’re so focused on the task at hand, you don’t hear the iron-shod footsteps approaching from behind until someone’s hand settles on your shoulder and holds a stalk of tufted vetch before you. “Deimos!” You gasp, clutching your chest as though it can slow the frantic beating of your heart.

Deimos lips tug upward into a faint smile. The dark circles that’d once ringed his eyes are fading. “Alexios,” he supplements. He intends to move forward and leave his life under the Cult’s control in the past, though since reuniting with his family on Mount Taygetos he’s often thought of the healer at Amphipolis who did not show fear, even when the Athenian soldiers cowered in his wake.

Taking the stalk of vetch, you smile and inhale the slightly sweet scent. “What are you doing here?” You ask, you never expected to see him again –part of you wished you wouldn’t given his reputation, but now his handsome face is a pleasant sight compared to the sick and dying. “How did you find me?” You pose before he can even respond to your first question. You’re a long way from Amphipolis.

“I never said thank you,” he breathes, reaching for one of your hands. Besides being thrown off a mountain as a baby, it’s the closest he’s come to meeting Hades.

You shrug. “Many of those I treat, don’t,” you tell him. It was your duty to tend the wounded, not some feat of bravery worth poems or songs.

“HEALER!” SOMEONE CALLS. You turn, seeing an Amazonian woman running toward you with someone slung over her shoulder. As she draws nearer, you notice an eerie resemblance to a certain demigod that’d been occupying your thoughts frequently as of late. “Can you help my brother?” The woman asks, panting. Blood runs down her arm and neck –it’s not hers, though.

You nod, grip tightening on the woven basket filled with herbs, grain and fruit. “Follow me.” The Orchomenos clinic just below the Temple of Apollo is your home at the moment –and where you lead the woman and her brother. She lays him on the table in your quarters and steps back. “Alexios,” you gasp. There’s a deep gash on his side almost the length of your forearm. He groans when his sister starts unclasping the torn leather cuirass while you prepare a needle and thread and gather rags and bandages.

Her name is Kassandra and she watches your every move as you begin cleaning the wound. It still bleeds, but barely –it won’t need to be burned. The hooked needle passes through his skin with ease, each time pulling the gash closed. “What happened?” You ask, pulling on the silk thread when it catches.

“Boar,” she responds. Since training under Hippokrates, you’ve seen your fair share of injuries caused by boars –most are not so lucky and bleed out before receiving proper treatment, or succumb to infection. The wound is no doubt grievous, but in your experience, it could be a lot worse. The line of sutures are neatly done, having used almost an entire spool of thread.

The salve you craft is made of softened beeswax, ironwort tea, and frankincense for inflammation. You dip your hand into the mixture and spread it across the stitches –his entire side has already begun shifting to deep hues of blue and purple. Kassandra helps you wind a thick layer of linen around his torso –it will help with the bruising and keep the sutures clean– before moving him to the corner of the room where a pallet of pillows and blankets are messily arranged.

She is worried about her brother. “He’ll be alright,” you assure her –wiping down the table, “he just needs time to rest.”

Kassandra sits across from you at the table after cleaning Alexios’ blood from her neck and arms –she nurses a cup of watered wine. “He mentions you a lot,” she tells you and that catches you off guard. Since Amphipolis, he’s managed to find you on several occasions. He never stays more than a day at a time, but it was always a pleasant surprise to have company –especially when it’s. She glances over her shoulder toward Alexios. “You’ve made quite the impression on him.”

When her gaze returns to you, there’s a fleeting smile on your lips. You should see her when she smiles, sister. “I found him after Amphipolis.” Sometimes you still wake in a cold sweat, remembering the carnage –the brutality of war. It was not some glorious thing like the singers and poets claimed. “He said his name was Deimos. The men were terrified of him.”

“He was a weapon for the Cult of Kosmos,” she explains and her expression twists into one of anger. “Alexios is the name our mater gave him.” The sun will be setting soon, and she needs to return to the Adrestia. She and Alexios had been en route to the ship after receiving word about important business on Mykonos when the pack of boar attacked them. Kassandra rises. “I leave my brother in your capable hands.”

Sometime during the night, he wakes. A gentle weight is resting on his chest –your hand is splayed out on the small area not covered by linen. In the dim light, he makes out your features, completely at ease. Alexios braces his arms, intent on pushing himself up, but the hand on his chest stiffens and forces him back down. “Don’t,” you mumble, groggy and barely awake.

“Where’s Kassandra?” He asks in a hoarse whisper.

“Returned to her ship,” you answer, “said she’d be back soon. Business on Mykonos.”

Alexios rolls his eyes. Business, he scoffs. Kyra is what his sister meant by that. He settles back in, covering your hand with his own. “Fucking pig came out of nowhere,” he remarks with a dry laugh. A smile tugs at your lips, you cannot deny it is a nice change to have company –the warmth of another person next to you.

YOU LEAVE EARLY in the morning for the market with a mental list of herbs and flowers to purchase for the clinic. The sun is blazing by midday when you return. Pylenor is tending to a new patient, though when you arrive the physician pulls you asides –asking if you could deliver a fresh batch of tonic and salves to Zosimos in Lebadeia.

Behind your quarters comes the rhythmic sound of wood splitting. You drop off the basket and round the corner of the stone building. Alexios lifts the axe above his head and brings it down in a fluid motion, splitting a piece of wood in two with ease. Sweat beads on his brow and the off-white chiton clings to his chest and back. Perhaps if not for the wound on his side, you would have enjoyed the sight a moment longer. “Alexios!” He looks in your direction and immediately knows he’s in for a scolding –after all, it’d only been three days since he’d been gored and stitched up. “You shouldn’t be doing that yet,” you chide.

“I’m fine,” he says and proves his point by showing you the line of stitches –still as neat and undamaged. When you tell Alexios about needing to run an errand to Lebadeia, he offers to come with you. Trypho lends you and the misthios a horse to complete the delivery –it’s quicker and safer than traveling on foot.

On the way back, you stop for a quick reprieve, letting the horse rest and drink from a pool of water fed by a small waterfall that flowed to Lake Kopais. Today had been exceptionally warm, and now that the sun is dipping lower in the sky the dried sheen of sweat on your skins becomes tacky. You strip off your peplos and apron, sinking into the cool water in nothing but a sweat-stained apodesmos and perizoma. Alexios follows suit, leaving his tunic and sword on the banks –you’d taken his armor to the tanner to be repaired.

He circles you, as a predator does its prey –it sends a cold chill down your spine and warmth to your insides. You step into his path, both hands pressing against his chest. Beneath your palms are numerous scars and ever since you first saw them, you’ve wanted to know more. Your hands slide across his pectorals and up a pale brown scar that runs parallel to his right clavicle. He tells you it’s from when he was a child –he’d stumbled into a wolf den in the forests of Argos. “And this one?” You ask.

He looks down at the raised vertical scar on his left breast. It’s not from a recent injury as portions of it have begun fading. “Don’t remember,” he replies, in earnest. It was easy to forget the stories behind minor injuries when they were so numerous.

“What about this?” One of your fingertips follows the raised scar that crosses over his navel. Something stirs in him and a spark turns his dark eyes to burning amber.

“Training recruits,” he tells you.

“This one?” You inquire, following the crooked line from his uninjured side up to his ribs.

“Arena in Pephka.” His voice drops and is noticeably rougher. Alexios presses your hand flat to his chest and steps closer –his heart is thudding beneath your palm. You feel a lump form in your throat when his thumb traces over your lips but it quickly fades when he settles his lips against yours.

The hand on his chest slips up to his neck and you press yourself closer to him. You’ve always wondered what I would be like to have the love of a god –this is the closest you’ll ever get to fulfill that curiosity. One of his hands finds your lower back, the other brushes against your cheek. It’s difficult to think this is the same man who was once Deimos –a weapon. His lips are soft, hands gentle. You both pull back at the same time, but then his lips are on your neck, laving, and suckling –the coarse stubble on his jaw dragging across your skin. “Alexios,” you gasp, tugging at the ends of his hair.

He finds the pin holding your apodesmos in place and opens it with one hand, tugging on the soaked material covering your breasts and then his lips are on yours again. Ravenous and needy. Without looking, he throws the strip of wool toward the edge of the pool and glides his calloused hands over your bare breasts, lightly kneading one of your nipples until it stiffens beneath his palm. You know what lies along this path and no matter how much you want him, you step back –breathing heavily. “You could tear the stitches,” you warn. Torn stitches will only hinder him from healing properly.

Alexios wades back to you, pressing his face against your neck. “Then we’ll take things slow,” he proposes, voice a heady gravel. You mold into him –like wet clay in the hands of a skilled potter. His hands dip below the water, untying the perizoma around your hips –it finds a place next to your other garments. Rough fingertips trail the length of your body and find a resting place between your thighs. “Tell me what you want,” he rasps.

“I want you,” you whisper, hand resting on his cheek. You’re not one to plead, not even for the love of a demigod, but there’s a first time for everything. Alexios catches the spark that appears in your eyes and smirks –thinking about what’s to come when his side is healed. One finger slides into you, stroking and exploring. He adds a second finger and watches the shift in your expression. You grip onto his shoulder, head falling back with a soft whine when his thumb presses against your clit. His cock twitches as a pitiful pule escapes your lips.

His lips drag across your jaw. A precipice is fast approaching, evident in the way you’re breathing hitches and how your walls constrict around his fingers. Alexios wants to watch you come undone whilst he’s inside you. You whimper at the loss. Though when you notice him fumbling at the knot in his loincloth, your hands slip beneath the water and gently pushing his away. He takes your swollen lips again –kissing you may very well be one of his new favorite things, even more so than annoying his sister and step-brother.

He groans and bites down on your shoulder when you take him into your hand and give a tentative stroke from base to head. His cock is just as impressive as the rest of him. It takes all his willpower to pull your hand away, but then he is lifting you from the water. He groans again when your slick folds slide over him, ankles hooking low around his back. You want to protest –thinking of the stitches, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything lest the moment be lost.

He sits back on the bank in the tall grass with you astride his lap –hard length pressing against your stomach. You roll your hips forward and are rewarded with a ragged groan, but you can see it in his eyes –he likes being in control. A smile crosses your lips as you repeat the same action. It’s enough to drive him mad. The growl rising in his throat is feral –his fingers dig deep into your hips, a gentle reminder of who he is and what he’s capable of.

You shift onto your knees, raising your hips and reach between you, sliding the head of his cock through your heat before beginning to sink back down. “Fuck,” he hisses as your warmth envelops him and his hands slide from your hips around to your backside, pushing you down until your hips meet. Your head falls forward, resting on his shoulder and for the moment, the world around you vanishes.

Alexios shifts and it brings you crashing back down –skin alight with his touch. You take his rugged face into your hands and kiss him, slowly, just as your hips begin to roll into his. He breaks away and dips his head low, teeth scraping over your breasts down to one of your nipples. His name falls from your lips like a sacred prayer.

He’s moving your hips how he sees fit and lifting his to meet yours. Your hands slip into his hair, ruining the small bun of matted locks tied up with a thin leather thong. Alexios bares his teeth when you tug on his hair, hip snapping up into yours. Brown eyes flecked with gold bore into your own.

The air leaves your lung when he abruptly turns, laying you on the soft woven grass. Alexios holds tight to one of your thighs as he ruts into you –face buried deep into your neck. Your fingertips dig into his shoulder blades, between scars. It’s a slight shift in your hips that causes breathy moans to flow from your lips each time his cock slides back into your heat, hitting the one spot that makes you feel like Aphrodite herself. He thrives off the wanton sounds. “Alexios,” you pant, toes curling and walls clenching around him.

He moves erratically, grunting between thrusts and continues to strike that spot deep inside you. All is lost when the rough pads of his fingers find your clit. Alexios raises his head and basks in the moment you come undone –mouth falling open, eyes slipping shut, heels pressing into his lower back. Your grip on his shoulders loosens and your hands slide down his back, finding the scar from when you’d met in Amphipolis.

Alexios breathes your name as though he speaks to a goddess and with several slow, deep thrusts he finds his end. He hovers above you, bracing most of his weight on his forearms. You trace over the wrinkles in his brow and push up on your elbows. The kiss is so soft, sweet, and slow it makes his heart ache and understand why Orpheus would follow Eurydice to the underground.

He rolls off to the side, and you weakly protest the loss and warmth running down your thighs. Then you are slipping effortlessly back into the role of his healer. You sit up, looking over the sutures in his side. None of them have torn, but several are trying to bleed again. Alexios rolls his eyes –he’s endured far worse than bloody stitches. He sits up –looking like both Ares and Adonis– and gathers his damp undergarment to clean both of you up.

You both lay back in the grass, legs intertwined and tracing obscure patterns over one another’s skin until darkness looms on the horizon. Alexios traces a line down your cheek when you prop your chin upon his chest. “We should head back,” you tell him, “these forests are treacherous at night.”

Night falls, and the main gates of Orchomenos come into view. Alexios stables the borrowed mount and drapes his arm over your shoulders as you both return to the clinic.

Days pass and Alexios takes up completing odd tasks for people around the city while you work with Pylenor tending to those who come sick and injured. Every morning you and Alexios break your fast on jams and bread and every evening you share a meal too. It frightens you to think about how accustomed to his presence you’ve become.

Finally one evening, you motion for him to sit for you to remove the sutures before the wound completely seals. A few days later you bring his leather cuirass back from the market, fully repaired by the tanner. You expect him to leave soon after, but he stays and each kiss and tender caress will make it even harder when he does rejoin Kassandra.

A GOLDEN EAGLE named Ikaros brings word that his sister has docked in Lokris and it just so happens that you have a delivery to take Marpsas in Alponos. By the day’s end, you find yourself standing on the docks of Opous with Alexios. Your fingertips ghost over his cheek, following the scar below his eye. “I’ve quite enjoyed having my own misthios around,” you admit. He’d been with you now for more than a full lunar cycle. Between this time and his sporadic visits, you cannot deny the extreme fondness you hold for him. Given more time, it may blossom into something more.

“Every misthios needs a healer,” he remarks. During his time with Kassandra and Barnabas, he’s witnessed the damage pirates, bandits, and other mercenaries can do, especially when no one aboard the vessel is trained in medicine.

“I could come with you,” you offer –life at sea does sound like a fun adventure.

Alexios glances back at the Adrestia and knows deep down that he cannot take you from your calling as a healer without condemning innocents to death, but he can always be a misthios on land or sea. Besides Kassandra can look after herself. He takes one of your hands and kisses the center of your palm. “Or I could stay,” he whispers. Your lips part in surprise and Alexios sees it as a good excuse to crane down and place a soft, lingering kiss upon them. Against his lips, he can feel your smile. “Let’s go home,” he breathes.

#Alexios #Deimos #Alexios x Reader #Deimos x Reader #Alexios Imagine #Deimos Imagine #Alexios Fanfiction #Deimos Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Imagine #Assassin's Creed Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Odyssey #AC: Odyssey #my writing #listen #Deimos!Alexios being redeemed and finding love is my kink and I will write about over and over idgaf #here be smut #im a bit rusty so do forgive it #yes the title is that one Hozier song

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romewritingshop · 4 years ago

Text

A welcome interruption

Fandom: Choices, Perfect Match

Relationship: Detective Damien Nazario X Antihero F!MC (Name: Peach Park)

Warnings: Fight sequence, capitalism? Corruption. EROS, Guns.

Word Count Total: 2915

A/N: I had an idea and @ravenpuff02 is such an inspirational help. She helped me with her reaction and I was aIso was thinking about the Halle Berry Catwoman movie. Peach is a vigilante by the name of Eclipse.

I was inspired by the prompt for the Monthly Challenge for August. This is for day 17 prompt: SURPRISE / PLOT TWIST.

Hopefully it fulfils the prompt and is a different take on Damien. Thanks and I hope you enjoy.

There is a part 2: A not so welcome interruption

CHOICES MASTERLIST

Tagged: @ravenpuff02 @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesmonthlychallenge @kimmiedoo5

Tonight was meant to be a day off for Peach Park, as she sat on the building ledge a little distance away from the EROS warehouse. Her eye mask scanned the building for entrance and exit routes because Sloane was unwell to do recon this week. Peach didn’t mind because Sloane was amazing at what she does so Peach owed it to her. It was early morning, around two a.m as Peach absorbed the details the digital mask presented. Ten storeys high, lots of windows and metal support beams which could help her with stealth.

The breeze was a welcome feel as she munched her packet of blue Sour Patch Kids. That blue raspberry just hit that spot and it made her recon all the more exciting, plus she expected that the Sour Patch Kids company put some additives to help her fight better and faster. So far nothing was happening at the warehouse but the guards switched positions every half an hour which was both stupid and smart. Stupid because it gives Peach more windows of opportunity to infiltrate but smart because different guards with different skills take the place.

One guard wouldn’t have spotted her but the other guard would notice something so she couldn’t take a guard out during rotation. Peach was alone because Sloane was resting and Hayden was taking care of her so she did not have any back up. Her earpiece picked up the low rumble of a lorry as she sat up attentively, turning to the direction of the sound and spotting the lorry driving straight towards the warehouse entrance.

It seems like her night was going to get interesting as the lorry parked and the warehouse doors opened. A couple of men stepped out of the doors with metal crates, and they were loading them into the back of the lorry. She creased her eyes slightly, so the mask would zoom in and switch to x-ray mode to scan the contents of the crates. It was just as she expected, special ops grade weapons which were illegal across various nations.

EROS were a lowly corporation that sold high grade weapons to terrorists, who take over a country and EROS step in as a support charity that ‘help’ the people with relief aids. Pretending to good yet doing even worse as Peach shook away thoughts that would incite her rage. She needed to keep a cool head because tonight was only to gain information, no interference even though she wanted to intercept the lorry.

After an hour or so, the lorry was filled and the doors closed, it began driving away and Peach’s eye darted from the warehouse to the lorry. Although she was only supposed to formulate a plan to break into the warehouse, following the lorry could help her establish the route EROS take to selling their illegal weapons. Her mind was made up as she downed the rest of her tangy sweets, the tanginess sending a rush of adrenaline through her body. She blinked twice to get a lock on the licence plate of the lorry.

She bagged the rubbish in her belt and walked off the edge of the shipping container, landing on the seat of her motorbike which automatically inflated with a cushion to prevent damage to Peach. Hayden was an absolute genius with the gadgets and vehicles as the cushion deflated, and she pressed her palm on the body of the bike. Connecting the data of the mask to the bike and she locked on a signal to follow the lorry.

Peach pushed her foot down hard to start her motorbike and drove through the containers with a little distance away from the lorry. She pressed a button on the side of the motorbike handle which unfolded a plastic panel in front of her bike, a camouflage shield that allowed Peach to follow the lorry without getting spotted. Hayden really thought of everything, silent engine and a shield to camouflage. Plus a compartment to store Sour Patch Kids which was the best gift she got for her birthday. After a good hour drive from the warehouse, she entered the city.

It was slightly quiet as the roads were empty save for three / four cars. An almost perfect night for Peach and it wasn’t long before the car turned down a street and Peach turned after, the lorry drove through a gated underground car park, as she parked a few meters away. It was an hour and a half long journey and this building was EROS’s offices. Peach smiled at the surplus of information she gained tonight. Her heart was demanding her to break into EROS and burn it to the ground but it wasn’t time yet.

The path she was on was the best way to ensure EROS’s permanent death. Peach deactivated the shield and drove out the street, stopping on the side, to upload her data to Sloane’s computer. Her mask vision flashed red as the sound of a broken glass echoed, she glanced behind her, her vision zooming in to see four crooks, dressed in all black breaking into a bank. Peach sighed as she took a note of the upload progress: twenty five percent. She had time but she had to wake up early the next day for work. She could not afford to fight these guys and wake up with soreness.

After a few seconds of deliberation, the Sour Patch tanginess hit her and which made her head towards the bank. This was a terrible decision but it would take off the edge from the recon she did. Approaching near the buildings, she noticed that the entire glass wall was shattered and the four perps were inside, breaking into four ATMs. The alarm hadn’t gone off which was a smart thing as Peach stepped over the broken glass and behind the guys. One bag was filled with cash and she was tempted to just take it but her fists were aching for a fight.

She straightened her eye mask and black wig, looking down at her outfit. A black bodysuit underneath deep red plastic armor which helped her withstand bullets and knives. She folded her arms and exhaled loudly which caught the attention of the four guys. They were wearing masks of the cast of Ocean’s Eight which was just demeaning to the actresses. Peach smiled as she fanned herself.

“Oh my god! It’s Sandra Bullock. You were amazing in Miss Congeniality.”

They didn’t seem to appreciate her joke as they all raised their guns at her, one of them noticed her.

“It’s that Eclipse chick that broke into the West Anderson Bank on twelfth street. She ain’t taking this job from us.”

That bank job was going to haunt her for the rest of her life as she rubbed her face with disappointment.

“Look. That was one time, and I needed money for upgrades. So fellas, we have two options here: We split the money and walk away from one another. I won't beat you up and you can settle life in San Diego. Or you shoot those guns, I beat the shit out of you and I take the money. Your choice.”

Her eye mask scanned their heart rates steadily, as the one with the Helena Bonham Carter, Cate Blanchett and Rihanna masks lowered their guns slightly. The eye mask vibrated as the Bullock mask brought his finger to the trigger and took a shot at her. A loud bang erupted as the bullet zoomed and got Peach in the left chestplate. The impact of the bullet caused her to stumble. 'Sandra Bullock' lowered his gun to see his bullet didn't even make a dent in her armor as Eclipse brushed off the bullet, standing straight and shaking her hands.

“Okay, now that’s just rude.”

At that moment, time slowed, Peach ran up to ‘Sandra’ and slid on the floor, jutting one leg out and kicked ‘Sandra’ underneath his legs to make him land on his back. He was the obvious first target because he insulted Peach and with that, she grabbed his collar to rip away the mask and send a powerful punch down onto his jaw which immediately knocked the perp out cold. Her fighting has definitely gotten a lot better and she needed to thank Hayden for his help. ‘Cate Blanchett’ decided to take a shot at Peach to avenge his fallen comrade, bringing his gun and taking a shot from the back.

They never learn as Peach felt the vibration of the bullet hit the back shoulder armor. She rolled her eyes, looking over her shoulder at ‘Cate’. Peach stood up to run at her next victim, sending a jab to his gut before swinging her elbow across his jaw which also knocked him out. She turned to find her two remaining perps running out of the bank and towards the getaway car. Wusses. She took a step when she heard the familiar sounds of police sirens approaching the open bank. She groaned at her fun being ruined as the driver door opened.

Seeing the person come out of the car made her smile widen like a cat as she took in the familiar black boots and tight fitting dark jeans, trailing up to a familiar red shirt under a black leather jacket. Long stubble and the slick backed brown hair as his tan skin glistened and she took in the fine specimen. Her favourite police officer, Detective Nazario. He had the familiar grimness to his face and he strutted towards Peach, stopping just before the wall where the glass would be, hands on his hips that made him look like a delightful menace.

“Papi! I was just wondering when you were gonna make your entrance.”

“It’s Detective.”

Peach would take any chance she could to mack on Detective Nazario: he was tall, grumpy and authoritative. Absolutely Peach’s type and the one good thing about being Eclipse, was that she could flirt without feeling embarrassed. The mask hid her real face and the truth was was that she would never have been able to go out with Detective Nazario in real life. He was too sleek and stylish to go out with her.

Detective Nazario just finished up with a day of reports which were a nightmare. They had been piling up for a week and since today was a quiet day, the Chief thought it was a good idea if he just typed up all his reports. Boredom struck him hard and after several cups of coffee he managed to finish his reports. He was driving home when he heard a report ring over the police scanner installed in his car: some fancy dress woman was breaking into Lowell bank in the Canarsie area. Damien rolled his eyes and pulled out a siren light, placing it on his dashboard and driving towards the location.

Stopping and parking the car just in front of the bank, stepping out to see Eclipse there with two guys by her feet. A black duffle bag by one of the ATM’s as he exhaled like a disappointed parent. Eclipse was a pain in his back as she would constantly break into EROS offices and now it seems to be banks. Clearly she broke her promise as Eclipse grinned at him with arms outspread. She welcomed him with ‘Papi’; although it sounded like rich whiskey dripping from her mouth, it was totally inappropriate because she was a criminal vigilante.

Peach raised an eyebrow as the Detective stepped into the bank and took in the scene. Two guys on the floor and a bag of cash must have looked dodgy to him and before he could scold her, Peach held her hands out to gesture at the guys on the floor.

“Before you say anything, these guys were stealing the hard earned money of the people of Brooklyn. They had a little accident with the glass.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Come on, you know I only steal from EROS and rich assholes.”

“Yeah, you’re a real robin hood figure. Does this mean you’re confessing?”

Peach enjoyed the game of debating morals with Detective Nazario, he would try to psych her out into confessing a crime so he can slap the handcuffs on her wrist and drag her to the police station. Soon as they would get to his car, she’d have picked the lock and run away by scaling the building with her grapple gun.

“It’s not a confession, it's a hypothetical opinion. Ever heard of ‘Eat the rich’? Same attitude, plus you need evidence.”

“Me and fifteen other cops saw you with a bag of cash at the West Anderson bank.”

The West Anderson Bank was EROS’s bank and Peach broke into it to steal all the important documents which highlighted their dealings with extremist leader, Daanish Sayeed. When she broke into the bank, the documents weren’t there but their money was and Peach was not going to give up the opportunity to take their cash and use it for good. She stole around a million from them but the place was surrounded by the cops and Detective Nazario. She scraped by to get out and stay under the radar for two months.

“That was for a good cause. Do you ever get my emails about EROS’s shady dealings with extremist leaders of the Middle East and Asia?”

“You sent those emails?”

Damien had been getting a few emails of documents from an anonymous source about EROS. He wasn’t sure who and from where but he did take it up to the Chief. The Chief then dismissed these papers false by having a forensic examiner show Damien the documents were altered. Since then, he never bothered to look into EROS. A small part of him believed she was right about EROS but the reality was, was that she was a criminal and she was accusing a charity of being some sort of organized crime organisation. She was in the wrong.

“Yes I did and I really hope you -”

Before she could carry on, they heard a car door open. The both of them snapped their heads to Damien’s car as white paws hit the gravel. Damien’s face contorted to a bitter grimace as the face revealed floppy brown ears and black beaded eyes. A shiny black nose and an innocent aura as the beagle puppy bounded it’s way towards Damien’s feet. He had forgotten that he had picked up his sister Carina’s dog from the sitter’s. Carina had gone on holiday for a few weeks and Damien ‘kindly’ offered to dogsit with a bit of bribery.

His sister’s dog, Peanut was a small beagle pup of about fifteen weeks of age. Small for her size but she was a bright curious creature, right now Damien was confused about how Peanut opened a car door. Peach held her breath at the sight of the small puppy padding it’s way to Damien’s feet. Just when she thought he couldn’t get sexier, had a freaking dog. Correction: puppy and Peach was ready to throw her mask away and fall at Detective Nazario’s feet.

“Oh my god! It’s so fucking cute! What’s its name?”

Damien relented and told her the name, as she made her way towards the puppy to take it in her arms. Peanut welcomed her touch and brought it’s wet snout to her cheeks, it’s sandpaper rubbing on her cheek. At this moment, Peach felt she had died and was ready to go to jail if it meant seeing Damien and Peanut.

“Is she your new partner?”

“No. I’m dogsitting.”

Damien’s breath got stuck in his throat as she threw a soft smile towards him and for a moment he ignored the fact that he was a police detective and she was a vigilante. She was close and he noticed the way her costume fit snug on her body, it wasn’t bulky like he assumed it was. He wanted to take off her eye mask and absorb her face, examine the details and maybe brush his lips - wait! She was a criminal.

“You know, I’m almost tempted to throw away my mask.” Damien raised an eyebrow at her and she could tell he was amused from her words. “Almost.”

“Well maybe next time, I’d have to bring Peanut with me to get you into the car.”

“There’s a next time?”

“Although it’s against my job, I am intrigued by our encounters.”

Peanut was magical as Peach felt her guard relax. This was the closest thing to a date she had as she smiled at Detective Nazario. His face was threatening to break out into a smile and they felt a warm air swirl around them. Unfortunately their charged atmosphere was interrupted by a low groan as Peach and Damien turn to the perps on the floor. Both of them having forgotten the bank job. Damien wanted to spend more time with her and that moment he decided to let her go, he could always get her next time.

“Go on, make a run for it.”

Peach was stunned at his encouragement but gave a nod, handing Peanut back to Detective Nazario, completely ignoring the spark of electricity when her gloved hand brushed against his wrist. She sent a quick salute and jogged over to her bike, pushing the pedal hard before sending one last look to Detective Nazario.

“See you next time, Papi.”

“Don’t make me shoot you, Eclipse.”

#Damien #damien nazario #damien x mc #damien nazario x mc #damien elvis nazario #perfect match #choices fanfiction #choices #choices fic #choices perfect match

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xiubaek-13 · 5 years ago

Text

Gods & Myths

Prompt: J-Hope + 3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

Setting/AU: College AU

Warnings: Alcohol use, frat party, sexual tension, lewd humour etc

Word Count: 3,278

You didn’t want to be here. Every fiber of your being wanted desperately to be anywhere that wasn’t at the Gods and Myths party at Ravenwood Academy. It’s not that you hated parties, or despised dressing up, rather, it was that you hated ending up alone at these things. Your friends always came with you, spotted someone they were crushing on and left without fail. Leaving you alone for the remainder of the evening, easy prey for drunk creeps to hit on. Usually you left before they saw you all alone, in your mind you wondered if you had a huge neon sign above you that said Easy Target.

Every time you brought this fact up with them their responses were the same. “Well maybe you should try it sometime.” “It’s not going to hurt you to have fun. Live a little.” “Just do, don’t think about it for once in your life.”

All of that was easier said than done though. Overthinking was a skill of yours, one excelled at. Your friends meant well, you knew that, but it hurt to realise time and time again that in some aspects, they just truly didn’t understand you. You weren’t as outgoing as them and apparently didn’t have anywhere near as high a sex drive as they did. They said you were too picky while you thought that sometimes they weren’t picky enough.

You wanted to be the person who could just switch off and live in the moment but you were too observant, too analytical and too concerned with how what you did at any given moment would impact your life. Other people got to finish class and leave their academic commitments in their dorm, not concerned with how their actions in the night would impact them in the future but not you, the burden of responsibility weighed heavy on your shoulders. You had to get good grades so that you could get a good job and a good career. That was what had been ingrained into you since you were a small child. Romance and frivolity just weren’t luxuries that you could afford.

Regardless of how you feel about social gatherings, you’re here, sitting on Minhee’s bed with Sora while they brainstorm costumes for each of you to wear. According to them this party was a big deal and proper thought should go into your outfit. In your mind it was just middle ground between angels & devils and toga party. Wear a coloured sheet and something on your head and drink. It seemed simple to you but to your friends, it was more. They were well known for their partying ways and impeccable costumes. How you ended up with these two as your best friends you’ll never know, but you wouldn’t have it any other way… most of the time.

Minhee stands in front of her wardrobe facing the two of you with her arms crossed in front of her, resolute in her statement. “As a history major I refuse to allow the three of us to be basic. There will be enough Aphrodite’s, Hera’s, Athena’s and Persephone’s in attendance so we need something unique.”

“Why don’t we go as the three fates?” Sora offers as she flips through a Greek Mythology book.

Minhee shakes her head. “No, then we’d have to spend the entire night together so that our costumes made sense.”

“Wow, you make hanging out together sound like a punishment.” You remark.

Her eyes roll. “You know that’s not how I meant it. If we do a group costume then we have to stick together. At the biggest party of the academic year.” Next to you Sora nods. If she thinks this is convincing you that she wasn’t being harsh before, she’s sorely mistaken.

“What Minhee is trying to say is that Jaebum is going to be there and she wants to get that.” She chuckles as she looks at you. “We love you dearly, but we both have goals for this party, and apparently that means we need standalone costumes. Otherwise Minhee will be insufferable because she couldn’t jump JB’s bones because we did a group costume… which is not a crazy persons reasoning at all.”

You can’t help but laugh at Sora’s bluntness. You knew they’d both be wanting to impress their crushes and that they would not be sticking with you all night. Still, the reality of being alone at a party yet again kind of dampens the mood for you. “Then Minhee should be Nyx.” You state.

“Primordial goddess of the night?” She asks, to no one in particular.

You shrug. “Look if there was a goddess of determination to get that dick then I’d pick that one for you. This is the closest thing.”

Sora collapses into the bed in a fit of laughter at your words while Minhee feigns offence, doing her best to not laugh yet. “Are you calling me a skank?”

“Of course not. If I wanted to do that I’d have suggested Peitho.” Minhee sputters as her cool facade cracks and she joins Sora in a fit of laughter, doubling over and grabbing the wardrobe with her spare hand to brace herself as she laughs.

“You bitch.” She says as she regains her composure.

“Honestly, the lengths you go to for dick.” You do your best to sound nonchalant but a laugh breaks through.

“For that uncalled for comment you get to be Hecate, it’s not in the mythology books but I’m pretty sure she was a snarky biatch like you.” She points at Sora as you crack up laughing. “And you can be Kotys, you party animal.”

***

The party is going almost exactly how you imagined it would. The three of you arrived, wading through a crowd of multiple Hades, Persephone, Zeus, Hera, Apollo & Aphrodite costumes. Minhee and Sora are ecstatic that no one seems to have picked the goddesses that the three of you did but a small part of you wishes you could blend in with the crowd, it would make escaping drunk horny guys later so much easier.

You had to give it to the decorators. They had outdone themselves this year. The large dining hall had been transformed into a Greek paradise. There was a Mount Olympus in the back corner, a Dionysus themed bar, hanging gardens, beautifully draped sheets around fake columns. There were games all around the room, based off ancient Olympics and myths. You spotted a stone grotto where you had to trick Medusa, a makeshift river Styx, the list went on.

It was hard to believe that this was the dining hall. The spot where you usually sat for your meals was currently the entrance to hell and where you normally sat was Yoongi, dressed as Hades, trying to convince people to actually pay him money to be kept safe. You laughed to yourself, remembering the time that Minhee had her sights set on him only to be shut down because he didn’t want to fuck someone who didn’t know what an arpeggio was. She had been livid for weeks. She thought it was some kind of pasta. You and Sora hadn’t let her live it down, much to her displeasure.

The rest of his group are performing similar grifts around the room. Namjoon is at Mount Olympus, dressed as Zeus and giving orders as King of the Gods. Jimin is dressed as Eros and is wandering around pushing people together, daring them to kiss. Dressed is a loose statement given the minimal amount of coverage he has going for him but that kind of goes hand in hand with being the god of sexual desire, attraction, love and procreation. Jin is dressed as Plutus and in his drunken stupor keeps telling everyone “Opulence, I own everything!” Taehyung is behind the bar, dressed as Dionysus, reveling in getting partygoers drunk out of their brains. Jungkook is Heracles, doing upside down keg stands and challenging people to arm wrestling and Mario Kart, probably not exactly the picture of the greatest hero but he fits the strongest man on earth part of the brief. Hoseok is Caerus, flitting around the room to each of the games and convincing people to do things they normally wouldn’t, telling them he felt lucky about their odds of winning if they did as he suggested. Whoever put those 7 in charge as hosts for the evening was either out of their mind or a genius.

Shortly after arriving Sora directs you to the bar, making sure the three of you have drinks in your hands at all times then drags your trio over to a group who are playing a range of drinking games loosely based off mythology. So loosely that you’d wager that they were just playing normal drinking games and adding one greek work to them to fit the theme of the party. You glance at Minhee, thinking she might have hit the nail on the head with the goddess she picked for Sora, who raises a brow at you as if to say I was dead on right?

You stand back with Minhee while Sora leads the next round of games, completely in her element as the life of the party. Out of the corner of your eye you spot the very person who Minhee keeps searching for. She probably thinks she’s being subtle but to you she looks like a lost bird with how much her head is darting around as she scans the room. You nudge her, directing her attention towards her mark. “He’s over there when you’re ready to go throw yourself at him.”

She scoffs at you and smirks. “Don’t be ridiculous, I won’t need to throw myself at him, have you seen me in this dress?” To make sure you get the full effect she twirls and poses for you, her shamelessness making you cringe.

“Oh my god, just go already.”

Sora appears beside you, laughing. “Looks like I have perfect timing!” she says as she latches onto your arm, her grip ironclad, tugging it towards the centre of the group where the games are being played. “Come on, we’re playing the next game.”

“Wha-” you start to protest, refusing to budge from your spot. You don’t join in at these parties. You observe. You’re not the free spirited type. You don’t know the social cues or the rules for these games.

“No excuses. If you fuck up the game you drink, if you win you drink. Pretty simple really.” She holds onto your arm tightly, no intentions of letting you flee. “For once, try to enjoy yourself.” She says.

Begrudgingly you give up trying to escape. She knows you too well and she has no plans on letting go of you until you’re in the circle and the game is starting. There’s no escape now, not when you’re surrounded. Your anxiety spikes for a moment, wondering if all of the people around you know that you don’t fit in here. That little voice in your head tells you that they’re judging you, mocking you, no matter how hard you try to ignore it.

“What game have you been playing here?” Hoseok asks, appearing out of nowhere, his red locks wreathed in olive branches. That part of his costume irks you. Caerus was always described as bald, with one lock of hair, not a luscious soft looking full head of hair. At least he had the non aging, beautiful part down, because Hoseok was beautiful. His high cheekbones and strong jawline framed his face, inviting eyes and an infectious smile made him hard to resist. You have watched him from a distance at many parties, never actually interacting with words. A few times he caught you staring, only to raise an eyebrow at you and for you to avert your gaze. This is the closest you’d ever been to him at a party and you decide that it is incredibly unfair for him to look that good.

“Escape the Manticore.” Someone says at the same time as you say “Beer Pong.” Hoseok laughs as he moves to the center of the group. He raises his hands, beckoning those in the circle to listen to him.

“An excellent choice of game, however, might I suggest a change in proceedings before Jungkook/Heracles makes his way over here?” The noises from the group seem to lean towards agreeing to change games. Everyone knows that you can’t beat Jungkook at beer pong. The guy is stupidly good at it. Smiling, Hoseok continues. “Might I suggest Sirens Call?”

You scoff. “What’s that, truth or dare?” The crowd laughs at your comment.

“Closer to spin the bottle actually.” Hoseok responds, winking at you as he does so. “Alright, you lot” He says as he points to 7 others, Sora and yourself “are playing this round with me.” You do your best to ignore the wink, surely he does that to everyone. Like Sora, he’s always the life of the party. It probably doesn’t mean anything. Even if part of you wants it to.

Sora claps with glee as she realizes that his selection includes the man she’s been ogling all night, Shownu. He’s a mountain of a man with soft, kind eyes and Sora has been swooning over him for months. You know that she’ll shatter the bottle if it doesn’t land on him when she spins it.

“You look like you want to eat him alive Sora, maybe dial it down a notch.” You murmur.

Her eyes flit to yours for a moment, a mischievous grin on her face. “I’d rather climb him like a tree but eating works as well.”

You don’t get a chance to tell her to keep it in her pants as Hoseok produces a bottle and motions for the ten of you to sit on the floor. “The person spinning the bottle is the siren. Whoever the bottle lands on is their target. If their target succumbs to their call and kisses them they’re out of the game, Sirens were kind of evil guys, they lured men to their deaths. If you resist the siren for thirty seconds then you survive and they are out of the game.

The game progresses as drunken people lock lips and disappear from the game, often wandering off together to continue where they left off, much to Jimin’s delight. Shownu did his best to resist Sora, but your maniac of a friend legitimately climbed him when he refused her request for him to kiss her, straddling his hips and teasingly leaning in, ghosting kisses over his neck, face & mouth until he gave in and captured her lips with his. As she got up and lead Shownu away from the group she winked at you, happy to have secured her man for the night.

Hoseok spins the bottle next. You watch it spin round and round, wondering who it will land on and if they’re going to be able to resist his charms. To your surprise the bottle lands on you. You stare at it in mild shock. Hoseok isn’t supposed to get this close to you. No, you watch him from afar, wondering what it would be like to touch him, to be held by him, to kiss him. But those were only ever supposed to be thoughts, never a reality.

You watch with wide eyes as he crawls towards you, like a predator circling its prey. You don’t know if you are strong enough to resist him, not when his eyes were laser focused on you like that. He’d never looked at you like that before. Whenever he’d caught you staring at him he’d always kept that inviting look in his eyes but that was nowhere to be found right now. It felt like he was staring into your soul which unnerves you. You try to swallow but your throat feels dry, and your hand can’t seem to find your drink.

He closes the distance between the two of you quickly, stopping only once his arms are caging your legs where you sit. He is too close, so close that you can feel his breath fanning your neck, you can smell his cologne, you can’t concentrate. He licks his lips and leans forward, his mouth ghosting your ear. Breathily he says “Kiss me” then moves back slightly so that he can see your face.

If you do as he asks you’ll lose the game, but you will have kissed Jung Hoseok. That little voice inside your head tries to tell you that he’d only be kissing you because of the game, not because he has any interest in you. Another smaller voice speaks up, telling you so what if its only because of the game? You still get to kiss him and if the other voice is wrong, then you’ll have bagged Jung motherfucking Hoseok. Where is the loss for you here?

You stare at his lips longer than you care to admit, at his prominent cupids bow and soft looking lower lip, at the way he slightly smirks when he realises that you’re fixated on his mouth. It feels like aeons but in reality it takes only seconds for the two of you to stare at each other, your eyes flickering because for a moment Hoseok does look like a god, but one who is within your reach, and it causes a quiet breath to escape your lips.

Cautiously you inch forward, and Hoseok cups your cheek with his hand. He feels warm. You lean into his touch, letting yourself indulge in the moment. You press your lips into his, they are softer than you were expecting. He moves his head slightly and your lips slot together perfectly, his hand sliding into your hair. You could end it here, you had already failed the game and there was no need to continue the kiss.

Except that you don’t want it to end. You want more. You press into his lips harder, parting them, and you feel him smile into it as he deepens the kiss. Your hand grips his cloak, as if you’re scared he will let go of you and end this. The nature of the kiss shifts from a soft, sweet meeting of the mouths to a heated, passionate tangling of tongues. When you do break apart its because you both need air. His eyes are hooded and dark as he stares at you as if you are the only person in the room.

Gradually both of you realize that you have an audience and you blush furiously. Hoseok clears his throat and looks around, attempting to put on the mask of the host as he says. “That’s game over. You know how it works now, form your own teams and go.” He grabs your wrist and helps you stand, his eyes never leaving your face. It’s written all over his face, plain as day, that he wants to kiss you again. You want to kiss him again too, but not with so many people around.

“Come with me?” He asks.

30 notes · View notes

violetsmoak · 5 years ago

Text

Philtatos [13/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47690671

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire–for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there’s more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #fatal flaw #secrets #riddle #fate #revenge #oracle #betrayal #prophecy #jealousy

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

Tim feels a little bad about using Jason’s skin hunger against him but only for a moment. Any concern about that vanishes when he peeks back at Jason as they walk, and observes the color returning to the other man’s cheeks. The hand clasped in his own stops shaking the longer they touch.

Tim has never been one to enjoy holding hands—often he’s felt uncomfortable or self-conscious, worrying about sweaty fingers or whether the other person might consider it lame—but this doesn’t feel like that.

This feels right.

It’s actually concerning how right it feels, especially in light of his recent discussion with Steph.

Stop it. This isn’t about you. It’s about putting Jason at ease.

They return to the containment unit to find Barbara facing down Eros—an impressive feat considering she’s in a wheelchair and he’s the one looking down on her. Her face is drawn in irritation, and he’s gratified to see that Eros seems put-out about something.

“Took you long enough. Cherry here says she’s got a bonafide prophecy from the Oracle of Delphi and wouldn’t share it until you got back.” He eyes their entwined hands and leers. “I take it the domestics are going well?”

“Get bent,” Tim snaps in irritation as Jason tugs his hand back so fast he might as well have been burned.

“Only if you do the honors, pretty boy.”

Jason growls and makes a move for his gun, but Tim reaches out to stop him.

“Can you not tease him?” he demands of Eros. “Especially when the only reason he’s like this is because of you.”

“Oh, if only you knew…”

Before Tim can comment on that, Jason interrupts.

“What’s the feathered freak talkin’ about?” he snaps, radiating tension. “What prophecy?”

“The one Signal was able to recover from the girl that was killed,” Barbara says coolly. “He transcribed it and sent it along. Do you want to hear it, or do you want to keep acting like a child?”

This she directs at Eros, who actually does look chastised a beat, before gracing her with a cool smile.

“I guess it is apropos if you do the honors, darlin’,” Eros says with a cool smile. “Is it ironic or coincidental if someone who stole the title of oracle interprets a prophecy from the actual Oracle of Delphi?”

“Who cares? This whole situation is making me hate both irony and coincidence,” Tim says.

“It’s making me wonder if there are any coincidences,” Jason mutters, eyes fixed on Eros in intense dislike.

Barbara offers him an identical look, before thumbing the screen of her phone and opening her incoming messages.

Then she begins to read:

“The Unseen darkness cannot keep its captive thrice for mortal masks the divine that seeks its reward in the city where dark nights conceal the greatest of secrets.

“Crossed beneath the stars when the Rager’s Moon is full, eternal freedom is neigh upon the eleventh moment of the small hour.The sacrifice of the virgin gifts triumph to the prisoner and that which drowned in Lethe’s tears is reborn.

“But take heed, for the winged scion of Cythera, willingly blinded by the veil of vengeance revealed by Discord’s most cursed boon, awakens the warrior guided by the Physicians heir.

“Fury dooms the fair, heralding the return of magnificent Alexandros and one whose name is painted in blood and stone.

“Greatest of loves, damned by the gleam of a golden barb, torn asunder by jealousy and parted by cruel death, they will stand against Strife.

“Titans will rise and one who Death names hero, betrayed yet shielded by love, will sunder the chains of Aidoneus and avenge the victim of grievance. One will be born anew, the other bound eternally to Stygian Darkness.”

There is silence as she puts the phone down, eyebrows drawn together in thought.

“What?” Tim says.

“I see your ‘what’ and raise you a ‘the fuck’,” Jason adds. “Does any of that make sense to anyone else? Because it don't make sense to me.”

“Blame my uncle,” Eros says, apparently annoyed.

“What? Why?” Tim wants to know. “Which one’s he?”

“Apollo,” Barbara says, still considering the puzzling words on the screen. “Aside from being a sun god, he was also the god of prophecy.”

“Talking in riddles is his favorite pastime,” Eros agrees. “It’s a pain in the ass.”

“I’ll bet,” Tim agrees. “We’ve got someone like that here in Gotham.”

“Yeah, and he’s a frequent guest of Arkham, so what’s that tell you?” Jason grumbles.

“That people who come up with riddles have too much time on their hands.”

“There’s a reason the Oracles of Delphi didn’t put their predictions into simple words,” Barbara points out. ”If you give people information about what’s coming, how do you know you’re not ensuring it will or won’t come to pass? It was important for them to be seen as the medium of the message and not an agent.

“By keeping information vague, it would seem like they were allowing a querant the chance to defy fate, while at the same time allowing fate to take its natural course, whatever that might be,” Eros agrees. “Ans it was good insurance. Even Oracles needed to cover their asses. You were less likely to get your head lopped off by a visiting king that received news he didn’t want to hear. And whatever the outcome, they could still say, ‘we told you so’.” He considers Barbara. “You know, I don’t usually find brainy sexy, but you might just turn me.”

“I’m thrilled,” she deadpans.

“So what’s all this supposed to mean, anyway?” Tim asks, trying to bring the discussion back to the matter at hand.

“It could mean anything. Though to start with, that bit about ‘unseen darkness’, that’s an epithet for the Underworld in old Hellenic documents.”

“We called it that in the old days,” Eros confirms.

“And then there’s the part about someone captive in Hades.”

“I thought Hades was a person?” Tim says.

“It is. But it’s also a place.” Jason tells him.

“It depends on what story and what source you’re drawing from,” Barbara elaborates. “And what translation.”

“What about the next bit? About mortal maskin' the divine?”

“Could that mean whoever’s possessing Carrie Cutter?” Tim suggests. “We’ve already established she’s got help from a god, and if they’re inhabiting her body even for short amounts of time, it’s a pretty effective mask.”

“No doubt,” Eros agrees. “Not so sure about that part with dark nights, but I guess it’s referring to this cesspool you people call a city.”

Tim, Jason and Barbara exchange glances, knowing exactly how dark nights and secrets relate to their city.

Maybe Duke misheard. It might not be dark ‘nights’ so much as dark ‘knights’. Which makes sense, considering Bruce and Dick both have that title depending on the day.

“Safe to say it’s Gotham,” Tim confirms. “So all that begs the question, do you have any idea who’s locked in the Underworld trying to get out?”

Eros snorts. “The better question is who isn’t locked in the Underworld.”

Jason is glaring furiously at Eros, clearly growing tired of his evasive and snarky answers. The way his fists clench, Tim suspects he’s close to throwing a punch at the glass in frustration. Not something Tim wants to see, especially given Jason’s injuries from their altercation with Carrie Cutter and Dick haven’t even been seen to yet.

God, it feels like it was days ago but it was only hours. He probably came right here to confront Eros without even looking after himself.

He has to put that out of his mind for now. Deciphering any clues in the prophecy takes momentary precedence.

“…. A lot of myths end with someone displeasing a god and getting sent to Tartarus, so he has a point,” Barbara is saying, her thumbs busily texting something on her phone.

“So that’s not going to tell us anything,” Tim decides. “What about the ‘crossed beneath the stars’ part?”

“More of the same in terms of pinpointing when everything is supposed to happen,” Eros says.

“Which is when?”

“November twenty-third,” Barbara says, frowning at the small screen in her hand.

Jason looks askance. “How d’you know?”

“'Moon’ equates to month, and another name for Zeus was the Rager,” she replies. “So, Zeus’s month. According to the Athenian calendars we still have access to, Zeus’s month was Maimakterion—which in modern times would fall somewhere between November and December. And the next full moon—” She holds up her phone, showing a lunar calendar for the month, “—falls on November twenty-third. It’s the only full moon that falls during Maimakterion.”

Eros nods along in approval. “What she said.”

“And the small hour?”

“Midnight.”

“So, whatever’s supposed to happen is going to happen eleven minutes after midnight…assuming that’s what moment means,” Tim muses, glancing at his own phone calendar. “That’s this Friday.”

“Five days from now,” Jason agrees, and side-eyes Tim. “We’ve all had shorter deadlines.”

“That’s not necessarily referring to your deadline, sweet cheeks,” Eros reminds him. “I figure you have about half that.”

“No thanks to you.”

“You know, the last Jason I knew wasn’t this whiny.”

“Children,” Barbara says sharply. “Let’s stay focused, shall we? I’m concerned about this virgin sacrifice part—specifically the part where it ensures success for someone we probably don’t want to succeed.”

“Cutter did kill that girl,” Tim reminds them. “Maybe it was some kind of offering, so she’d be successful at whatever she’s trying to do.”

“It’s a good an explanation as anything else,” Eros agrees, examining his nails. “We always did love our human sacrifices. And a virgin does increase the likelihood of something working out to your advantage.”

“You’re a piece of shit,” Jason growls. “That’s a kid you’re talking about!”

“And as an Oracle of Delphi she’s entitled to an eternity of bliss once she enters the Underworld,” Eros dismisses. “It’s a better end than some people are entitled to.”

Jason’s eyes blaze as if that’s a personal insult. Tim can certainly empathize.

“What about the second part?” he prompts. “What’s Lethe?”

“The Lethe was the river the souls drank from to forget their previous lives before being reincarnated,” Barbara explains.

“The Ancient Greeks believed in reincarnation? But I thought that was something from the Far East?”

“Many ancient cultures had a concept of reincarnation beyond the Hindu and Buddhist mythos,” Barbara explains. “Just look at the belief systems of the indigenous peoples of North America and you’ll see countless examples. And they didn’t have any contact with the civilizations of Asia during the time when those faiths were evolving.”

Beside Tim, Jason is as stiff as a board and appears to be having trouble breathing. Automatically, Tim edges closer to him, and though he doesn’t outright take his hand—he leans into him, nudging him with his shoulder.

Jason’s eyes dart to him for a moment, and he relaxes incrementally.

“How does that relate here though?” Barbara wants to know.

“Maybe the prisoner forgot something,” Eros suggests, not sounding very interested.

“Or maybe whoever’s tryin' to escape Hades as made to forget something,” Jason counters darkly.

“Only mortals can be made to forget by drinking from the Lethe,” Barbara says. “The prisoner could have been human. Salmoneus or Tantalus or one of the Dainads.”

Tim doesn’t even get a chance to question who they are before Eros interrupts. “Actually, it’s a little broader than just mortals. More like mortals, demigods that haven’t consumed ambrosia, giants, hybrids—”

“So again, we’re back to a broad spectrum of people it could be talkin' about,” Jason complains. “Great. Is there anyone or anything in this stupid prophecy that isn’t doublespeak?”

“Well, the next verse is pretty self-explanatory. Obviously, we’re talking about yours truly,” Eros says, pointing at himself. “What other 'winged son' do you know from mythology?”

“A case could be made for Pegasus.”

“No, it’s Eros,” Tim says. “Cythera’s another name for Aphrodite.” Everyone looks at him in surprise.

“How do you know that?” Jason asks, but where the emphasis ought to suggest incredulity, he sounds impressed.

Tim tries not to bask in that.

“My parents used to visit the island of Cythera a lot when they weren’t on business trips, especially before I was born. It was their favorite vacation destination. Full of history, not touristy—they didn’t like having to socialize with people when they were on vacation.”

Tim falls silent then, remembering sitting in his living room with his parents, pouring over their vacation photos of the Mediterranean island while they told stories. They’d always promised to take him one day…

He glances up and notices the others are watching him now—Eros with a sharp, calculating gaze while Jason appears concerned. As for Barbara, she seems to sense his discomfort, because she navigates them past the lull. “Okay, so if it’s Eros, what are you wanting revenge for? It’s not exactly your M-O.”

“I can think of a few people who have it coming,” Eros answers. “Starting with my mother.”

“What’d she do?” Tim asks.

“Do you have a few centuries worth of couch time?”

“Isn’t she the reason your wife died?” Barbara wants to know. “In the myth, she survived, but Tim told me that's not what happened in reality.”

Eros expression goes cold.

“That’s right,” Tim remembers; he and Eros had this conversation a few days ago, didn’t they? “Aphrodite is the one who sent Psyche to the underworld.”

Eros bares his teeth. “One of her many sins, but not the only one.”

“Then couldn’t the prophecy maybe be referring to her? Psyche, I mean? Maybe she’s the prisoner.”

“Are you implying my wife is the one behind your Cupid’s actions?” Eros growls. “Because that’s impossible.”

“How would you know? It could be—”

“Because she died a mortal! Her soul is mortal and wouldn’t have the power to escape the Underworld in any capacity! Furthermore, Psyche would never kill or arrange the death of anyone! She was good and pure of soul and that’s why I fell in love with her.”

“That’s not what I read,” Barbra says. “Didn’t you prick yourself on one of your golden arrows while watching her?”

“I pricked myself because I fell in love with her,” he snaps. “I’ve already told Jason here that the arrows only work to magnify emotions that are already there.”

“That makes no sense. You liked her before you made yourself fall in love with her?”

“Look, you know the story: Psyche was beautiful. So much so, that the idiots in her kingdom started treating her like a living goddess, bringing the gifts meant for my mother to this human princess. You can guess how well that went over.”

“Right. She sent you to make her fall in love with a horrible beast.”

“Yeah, one of Diomedes mares. Gorgeous animals—people would stop and stare at them for hours. Also, vicious, flesh-eating beasts. Just getting to close to one of those and it would have ripped her to shreds—and she would have stood there and let it.” Eros’ expression becomes soft, eyes faraway at the memory. “If she had been some arrogant, selfish royal I would have let it happen. But I watched her for days while I tried to put her in the path of that thing. And everything she did was just good and kind. I had never seen as pure a soul like hers.” He shakes his head. “The idea of a girl like that being sent to her death just because a bunch of idiot humans had the audacity to praise her alongside my mother didn’t seem fair.”

“And you’re all about fair, aren’t you?” Jason sneers.

Tim has to agree; if Eros cared about fair, he would have been a lot more helpful about curing Jason and wouldn’t have demanded they find his diviners beforehand.

“I was young and stupid, and I didn’t realize the world didn’t work that way,” Eros dismisses. “Even for gods. I thought my mother would never want to harm me—and so if I put Psyche under my protection, she couldn’t hurt her. And if I could show my mother what a good wife Psyche was, even if she was unable to see me, it would prove the point.” He snorts. “It didn’t exactly go my way.”

“And there’s no way her soul could have somehow been corrupted when she died?”

“The Underworld is stagnant. There’s no such thing as change or time there. Everything occurs both in one moment and in all moments there.”

“So you’re saying a soul going in would remain in the same state as it was when it died,” Barbara posits.

“Exactly. How else do you expect the judges to judge souls if they kept changing after death? It’d be a headache.

“Then if it’s not Psyche, who else can you think of that it might be?”

“It might be more than one person,” Tim suggests. “That line about 'greatest of loves'—what if that’s why Carrie’s been targeting couples? She hears the prophecy—or whoever’s riding along inside her hears the prophecy—and thinks there’s a couple out there that’s going to stand against her. She could be trying to eliminate potential threats to her end goal.”

“If so, we need to decipher her criteria for choosing her victims. You already said it didn’t seem like they had anything in common.”

“We’ll have to check again. Maybe now that we’ve got this prophecy, something new will jump out.”

“We skipped a whole verse,” Jason points out. “The ‘warrior guided by the physician’s heir’. Any ideas?”

Eros shrugs. “Since the rest of the prophecy involves me, I’d say it’s me.”

“How do you figure?”

“The Physician is another name for Apollo.”

“So?”

“So, who do you think taught me archery? Next to him, I’m the greatest archer among the Olympians.”

“Or it could be Jason,” Tim ponders.

Jason seems to go pale, almost panicked. “What?”

“I mean, assuming you’re interpreting ‘awaken’ by activating the way you do with a sleeper agent. You infected him with your blood however accidentally and then pressed him into doing your dirty work.”

“I resent your tone, boy,” Eros grumbles, but Jason interjects, “And the other bit?”

“The other bit is just really literal,” Barbara catches on. “Jason, you were trained by Batman. Who was the heir to an actual physician. The M.D. kind.”

Thomas Wayne.

Jason looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information. “Shit.”

Eros watches Jason, inscrutable eyes considering; Jason glares back at him as if waiting for him to make a comment.

“But if it’s Jason, the next bit wouldn’t make sense,” Barbara says after a moment. “‘Magnificent Alexandros’. The only Alexandros I can think of off the top of my head if Alexander of Macedon. But that doesn’t really track with the rest of the verse. He was a historical figure, not mythological.”

“That’s offensive, you know,” Eros drawls. “All those stories you call mythology actually happened.”

“Then why don’t we have an archaeological record for them?”

“Because screw you, that’s why.”

“If it is talking about Alexander the Great, Robin will be happy,” Tim says with a rueful smirk.

Jason is perplexed. “Why?”

“Apparently he was on the list of the kid’s League-approved childhood heroes. Mother-son bonding time seems to have included traveling in his footsteps as preparation for world domination.”

Jason looks surprised and amused. “Really?”

“Is it that surprising?”

“No, it’s just…” Jason shakes his head. “Never mind.” He clears his throat. “So, back to the prophecy. It talks about the Titans—are we talkin' the creatures the Olympian gods overthrew?”

“Well, whenever one of us mention the Titans, it is usually those bottom feeders rotting in Tartarus, yes,” Eros says dryly, inscrutable focussed on Jason. “Them going free is never a good thing. Don’t believe me, read the Titanomachy. Hesiod got it pretty close to right.”

“Could be the goal, could be the result,” Tim suggests.

“Which brings us back to possibly being on the lookout for more than one prisoner escaping Hades,” Barbara says.

“And all of that leads us to the typical ‘one shall live and one shall die’ device,” Eros concludes.

“Only we don’t know who either of those is.”

“I can tell you now if it’s a prophecy involving me, I have no intention of dying."

“If it’s even about you. It’s not really an exact science, interpreting this sort of thing,” Barbara warns. “Even an Olympian like you can misunderstand—there’s evidence of that in the myths. In fact, I’m sure we’re missing more than is good for us. It will take some time to decipher it and we need more information.”

“At least we have something,” Tim maintains. “The exact date when it’s going to happen and where. We can begin preparing for that.”

“It’s a whole hell of a lot to think about,” Jason agrees.

“Which you can do back at the Cave. We only came here to see if Eros could shed some light on the prophecy or see the arrows.”

“What arrows?”

“Wonder Girl told us that to reverse what’s been done to Nightwing is to remove the arrow that Carrie stabbed him with.”

“Uh, there is no arrow,” Jason says. “Cupid took it with her, remember?”

“I guess that answers that question,” Barbara sighs. “You can’t see them.”

“Of course he can’t,” Eros says. “I’m the only one that can see the wounds caused by my arrows. Even this pseudo-Cupid wouldn’t be able to see them.”

“After she stabbed Jason she seemed to be looking for something, so I’m not sure about that,” Tim argues.

“She can’t see them. Though it may be possible her divine passenger might. I don't know. Never had another god take my diviners before."

“Speaking of being stabbed,” Tim goes on, nodding at the bruises coming out on his face. There are likely more hidden by the leather jacket and gear. “You should get those looked at.”

“I didn’t physically get stabbed, you know. Magic wounds don’t need to be looked at.”

“You went toe-to-toe with an enhanced fighter and Batman. You could have internal bleeding for all we know.”

“If you think a little tussle with that dick is going to do lastin' damage—”

Tim cuts off his indignation. “I don’t, but you haven’t been eating or sleeping properly, and your system is already compromised, so how do you know what damage was or wasn’t done? You didn’t stay to get treated at the Cave.”

Their eyes meet, remembering exactly why that is, and Tim’s cheeks darken. Jason is the first to look away, though.

“It’s nothin'. I can patch myself up whenever.”

“I can help—”

“I’m good.”

“Jason—”

“I’m an adult and I’ve been treatin' myself without help for years now,” Jason interrupts tensely. When Tim can’t stop himself from flinching, Jason’s eyes flash with dismay. “I mean…” He flounders like he’s trying to take it back, and instead changes the subject. “Didn’t you say somethin' about a list? Maybe get started on that and I’ll do an injury check myself.”

It’s a clear cop-out, and if they were alone, Tim would be calling him on it.

“I’ll ask for help if I need any,” he adds, awkwardly, like it’s been a long time since anyone actually cared about his injuries being treated.

Barbara glances between the two of them, obviously sensing the undertone, but not commenting on it. Instead, she says, “I don’t mind helping Jason. Besides, Red Robin needs to contact the Family and let them know what we know.”

“And I need food,” Eros says. “I haven’t eaten since before you went on your little reconnaissance mission. Can’t you see? I’m wasting away.”

“If only,” Jason mutters.

Tim is torn, wanting to argue that he can help Jason, but at the same time trying to respect the other man’s obvious need for distance.

At last, he nods.

“Okay,” he says, feeling a little defeated. “Let’s take a break. I’ll make a food run…you get yourself fixed up.”

“Whatever you say, babybird.”

⁂

Once Tim vanishes, Barbie indicates with a jerk of her head that Jason should follow her upstairs to the Nest medbay. He knows better than to think it’s just her wanting to take a look at his injuries—like him, she’s probably looking for some privacy.

They take the elevator up in silence, and Jason wonders vaguely when the last time was, he was this close to Barbara Gordon.

I don’t think I have been, actually. We both avoid the manor unless there’s no choice. And we both have good reasons for it. And when we are there together, there’s usually about six to ten feet of distance between us.

They were never what he would call close before she was paralyzed and he died. Barbie was Dick’s girl and Jason’s occasional babysitter until the Joker ruined her life. And then she wasn’t around at all. Jason wasn’t alive to watch her painstakingly drag herself up and pull it together again, so he never got the chance to interact with the Barbara Gordon that became Oracle.

Since returning to Gotham he’s kept her at a distance as much as he did the rest of the Family, so it’s somewhat surprising to him that she’s here now and working to help him.

Probably it’s on account of Tim.

Still silent, they enter the surgically pristine room of the Nest’s medical wing—and Jason is a little jealous of the supplies here. It makes the kits he has in his safehouses about as sophisticated as a needle and threat.

Barbie watches him, framed in the doorway.

“Well? Spit it out,” he grunts, deciding to get whatever reprimands are forthcoming out of the way.

Her look turns sharp before she reaches into her jacket pocket for something; Jason can’t help tensing up, even though she knows the likelihood of her pulling a weapon on him are slim to none.

That suspicion is confirmed when she instead draws out a device and turns it on; there’s a high-pitched background whir that Jason recognizes as a listening device scrambler.

Clearly we’re both aware of what a paranoid freak Timbers can be.

“Okay, Jason, what’s going on?” she asks without preamble. “You know Tim only wants to help you.”

“Yeah, at his own expense,” he retorts sourly.

Barbies raises an eyebrow as if waiting for him to continue, and when he doesn’t, she presses, “You’re being cagey. And it’s more than just worrying about losing control around Tim, I can tell.”

“Oh you can, can you?” he challenges.

“I’ve known you since you were still desperately trying to live up to Dick while pretending like you didn’t care. I know when you’re hiding something,” she folds her arms. “Believe it or not, Jason, you’re a terrible liar when it comes to things that matter.”

It’s reflex to want to say something caustic to that, but he stops himself in time. He needs Barbara’s help and pissing her off isn’t going to make his life any easier.

“I need a favor,” he admits after a beat.

“Another one?” she repeats, sounding like she doesn’t believe him. “You’re going to owe me a lot.”

“Yeah, well, now would be the time to collect on those debts while I still can.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means everyone else is tiptoein' around the subject, but at some point, I’m gonna need to be put under,” he says, erring on the side of just enough truth to keep her from questioning him further. “We both know what I’m talkin' about here.”

As expected, Barbara only just keeps herself from visibly recoiling; she’s already ready with an argument. “You don’t know we won’t find something before that happens.”

“I’m already feelin' like I’m livin' in someone else’s skin—” Literally, in a way. “—I’m not gonna get any better than I am right now. We’ve already seen what it looks like when I dip toward worse. So while I’m still lucid, let me make my decisions. And my decision is, I’d rather go under while I’m still me instead of violent, mindless…reaver.”

Barbara does a minor double-take. “Did you just make a Firefly reference?”

“It’s the last series I was watching before I died,” Jason says, a little defensive.

“I’m not judging, just surprised. Dick and Tim are usually the ones making pop-culture references to deflect. I’m not used to it from you.”

“And I’m not used to you stallin',” he counters. “You’re different from the other Bats, O. You know how to cut your losses, and you know how to make decisions when no one else wants to think about it. You get makin' the hard calls. So, I’m gonna ask you: when it comes down to a choice between me and Tim—and I mean when, not if—who do you save?”

Something like pain passes over her face, and then resolve hardens her face. “Tim.”

“Exactly,” he approves. “Because unlike me, he’s good. And smart.”

“You’re both of those things, even if you pretend like you’re not,” she protests.

“And he hasn’t committed multiple murders,” Jason continues, acting like he didn’t hear her. “Not that what I’ve done wasn’t justified. It wasn’t good, but I don’t regret it because I will go to my grave believin' sometimes that line needs to be crossed. Again. But it’s still a line Tim’s been lucky enough not to have to cross.”

She doesn’t argue with him, instead inclines her head.

“More people will miss him if he were gone then they would me,” Jason concludes. “I’m not supposed to be here anyway.”

There’s a long beat of measuring silence. Then, Barbara sighs. “What is it you need, Jason?”

He tilts his chin in gratitude.

“I didn’t just come here to yell at Eros,” he admits. “If Wonder Woman doesn’t show up, he’s the only one I know who has access to the stuff I need.”

“The Stygian Sleep.”

“Yeah. But it’s probably in GCPD lock-up.” He gives her a quick run-down of events, minus anything about Eros’ intentional plan to infect him. Babs listens, jaw set and eyes narrowed; given what she just said about him, she likely knows he’s not being completely truthful, but his explanation clearly holds enough water that she doesn’t call him on it.

“I’ll get someone to look into it,” she decides at last.

Which, even though he’s relieved about, he’s also suspicious.

“And by ‘look into’ you mean grab hold of and perform a million tests on it before handin' it over,” he posits.

“Just because you’re hellbent on using something that’s effectively going to kill you doesn’t mean I don’t want to know everything about it first,” she says, unapologetic. “Like the prophecy, it might have clues about how to circumvent it.”

“Yeah, because we’re having so much luck with that.”

“Also, when Bruce comes to me later in a righteous fury for letting his son die a second time, I’ll be able to assure him we knew everything we did about it before making an informed decision.”

Jason doesn’t pretend to believe that’s the end of it. Barbara might be willing to humor Jason a little more than Bruce, or even Dick when he’s not compromised—she might even be a little more objective in considering things, but she’s not going to trust Jason’s plan to be the only plan. She’ll have her own contingencies, the same as any Bat.

The only difference with Babs is that once it’s over and done with, and it becomes clear there’s no saving him, she’ll have an easier time getting over it than Bruce will. And she won’t let it compromise her work.

Tim’s told Jason what Bruce and Dick were like after he died the first time, and if it happens again, Gotham needs someone competent in keeping things in check.

And Tim…

Jason’s heart thuds with guilt.

This time, Tim won’t just be sweeping in to pick up the broken pieces of Batman and Nightwing as he did as a kid. He won’t be watching it from the sidelines.

The memory hits him then. To his surprise, it’s not from Achilleus or Alexandros.

Jason hates Wayne Charity galas.

People are always staring at him, murmuring through pasted-on smiles that even if he couldn’t read lips, he would be able to hear the judgment dripping from their words. These people are so achingly dry and genteel, their teeth don’t even unclench around their vowels.

Bruce doesn’t make him come to all that many of these shindigs, thankfully; only the ones involving children’s advocacy and the like. Jason doesn’t mind those too much, considering their purpose. He just hates that even at those—like the one tonight—he’s the only kid that has to parade around in the straitjacket Alfred calls a tux.

He gets it, of course; he’s the poster-boy, the success story, a means of showing the rich snobs how well a dirty Crime Alley orphan can clean up so that they’ll open their checkbooks.

It doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Except for tonight, for the first time, he noticed another kid that’s been dragged along. A tiny boy whose meticulously fitted tux still manages to look too big for him.

A man and woman who must be his parents are chatting with another couple, seemingly oblivious to the way their son is staring into the distance, a neutrally polite expression fixed on his face. He might as well be sleeping standing up, and Jason has the odd suspicion that’s by design.

That makes his mouth twitch; maybe rich kids get bored with this kind of thing too.

Jason keeps staring across the manor ballroom until the strange kid senses his gaze and looks up. He grins when the boy’s eyes widen—their color is startling, even from across the room, and they take up practically his whole face—and wonders at the sudden flood of color in his cheeks.

He’s about to motion the boy over to the edge of the reception area—hanging out with another kid, even a little one, will definitely break up the monotony of the evening—when Bruce’s hand falls hard on his shoulder.

“Time to make an exit, son,” he says, voice quiet and intense and incongruent with the false smile he’s still beaming at everyone within a ten-foot radius. From the distracted note in his words, Jason doesn’t even need to look out the window to see the signal lighting up the sky.

They meet Felipe Garzonas that night, and he doesn’t think of the boy again.

Jason shudders as the technicolor recollection fades out, his stomach twisting angrily.

He’s never made the connection between Tim and the boy at the fundraiser before. It occurs to him how stupid that was—at the same time it occurs to him that if not for that case that night, he might not have been on the outs with Bruce. He might have endured more Wayne event galas instead of limiting whatever time he was with Bruce to being Robin by night. He might have gotten to know Tim in this life, instead of dying.

He might not be in this damned predicament right now.

“Jason?”

He looks up, realizes that Barbie is watching him with concern. He is quick to revisit their conversation and mutters, “Yeah, fine. Just make sure the stuff actually makes it to me before my brain dribbles out of my head, okay?”

“Stop being so dramatic,” she replies, reaching out to turn off the scrambler device, though she continues to exude suspicion.

“All Bats are dramatic, or have you forgotten?” he quips back, offering an irreverent smirk to cover up.

“Hard to forget something you live with every day,” she returns dryly. “Now get over here and let me check you over.”

“You don’t need to,” he points out. “I’ve had worse than this, you know.”

“Yes, yes, we’re all aware you’ve died and come back, who hasn’t these days?” she returns. “Now, shirt off, or I’m telling Tim you didn’t do what you said you would.”

Jason glares. “This is going to become a thing, isn’t it? You people using Tim to make me do things.”

“Things that are for your own good, yes. Now strip, Todd.”

“Yes, mother…”

“You wish your mother was as cool as me.”

Which Jason can’t argue with, because she’s right; he’s had a total of three mother figures in his life (two of which he’s not sure even qualify because of how messed up they were), and none of them have been as capable or decent as Barbara Gordon.

Once he’s shrugged his top half out of the body armor and leather, she reaches for him.

Jason experiences a nauseous swoop in his stomach at the idea of anyone but Tim putting hands on him. Instantly, his hand snaps up and knocks hers back.

“Don’t touch me!” he snarls.

Barbara pulls away, watching him with a raised eyebrow and instantly Jason is overwhelmed with shame.

“Sorry,” he bites out. “I didn’t mean…”

“We can wait for Tim to get back,” she suggests, instantly understanding.

Alarms blare in his head at the thought; he shakes his head. “No. No, I’m…I’m good. Now that I’m expectin' it.”

She considers him several beats longer and then makes the next attempt to check his injuries. This time he concentrates on forcing the sick feeling away and tries to ignore how it feels like someone is rubbing sandpaper across his skin.

That’s a new symptom. Great. Because it wasn’t enough that I’ve been trying to claw my skin of myself, now other people get to do it too…

Barbara checks him over with quiet efficiency, evaluating the shallow slash between his arm and shoulder which his armor didn’t cover, as well the bruising along his hips, elbows and lower back.

“It could be worse,” she decides eventually, considering the mottled purpling across his chest. “Ribs are bruised, not broken.”

“I could've told you that…”

“And were you going to tell me about that?” she points at his shoulder and the spiderweb of gold leeching out around the long-healed-over bullet wound. From the way he’s been itching at it this past day, he doesn’t need a mirror to know it’s beginning to creep up his neck as well. “How long has it been growing like that?”

“Pretty much since I got it,” he replies.

She reaches up, brow furrowed and reaches toward one of the raised lines winding toward his chest. Again, he braces himself for the pain of the touch his body doesn’t want.

Thankfully, she barely grazes that. “You haven’t been keeping better track, have you? It might give us a more specific idea of how much time you have.”

“How so?”

“The same as any poison, I would guess. The closer it gets to your heart, the less time you have.”

He frowns. “At this point, I don’t think it even matters.”

Movement outside of the med bay window draws his attention, and he across the floor to see Tim climbing the stairs from the ground floor.

Jason is quick to grab his shirt and tug it on; it’s not something he wants to discuss with Tim just yet.

Barbara watches him, lips pursed in worry and disapproval, but he could care less about the latter. She knows his thoughts on this, and she’ll respect them.

Tim strides in and then slows like he’s wondering if he’s supposed to knock or not.

“How are you doing?” he asks, hesitant like he’s afraid expressing concern will set Jason off like a bomb.

Guilt hits him at that, but he forces himself to remain calm and blank-faced. “Fine.”

“I have to go,” Barbie announces, maneuvering her chair toward the door. “I need to go back to the Cave and check on Dick’s condition. I don’t know how long it will be before he tries to escape or pull something to keep from going nuts.”

“Also, it’d be nice if this month was one of the ones where Alfred doesn’t get knocked out,” Tim suggests with false levity.

“Or lose a hand,” Jason mutters darkly.

“Exactly. And whether he knows it or not, Feathers downstairs gave me some ideas about how to remove the arrow,” Barbie says as they leave the med bay.

“I should come with you.”

“No.” Both Barbara and Tim speak at the same time, but she’s the one that keeps talking. “You should stay here.”

“Not sure that’s the best idea.”

“I think it is,” Tim counters. “It will keep us out of everyone’s hair and they’ll know where we are.” His tone is reasonable—too reasonable; clearly Timmy has some ulterior motives.

Whether those motives are to circumvent Bruce or Jason’s plans, he doesn’t care. But one thing is for sure. “They can know where we are if we’re at the manor.”

And isn’t that a reversal—Jason being the one to insist on that?

I need to have people around because I don’t trust myself right now.

The mutinous expression is back on Tim’s face, before he visibly switches tactics.

“Okay, how about this,” he suggests, tone only a shade off exasperated. “Why don’t you go lie down somewhere and try to catch a few hours' sleep? If you’re sleeping, you’re not doing anything else, right? And then we’ll either go back to the Cave or see if anyone can be spared to chaperone here.”

“There’s no need for that,” a voice says, and they all look up to see Damian stride in still in full Robin-gear.

Tim scowls. “How did you get in here?”

“It was fairly simple,” the kid snorts. “A fish tank, Drake? Really?”

Tim looks like he wants to protest, but Jason chuckles. “It was kind of obvious, babybird.”

“You can barely take care of yourself, and you expect someone with a brain to believe you have the patience to care for fish?” the boy continues. “Exactly who do you think has been feeding them when you forget?”

Tim gapes. “You…break into my apartment…to feed my fish?”

Jason can’t help the loud guffaw that escapes at that, earning two equally unimpressed glares in return. He doesn’t care—that might be the funniest thing he’s heard in days.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Barbara says and wheels out of the room. “Try not to kill each other, boys. Alfred would be unhappy about it.”

“Luckily, we are standing in a well-stocked room with several methods for resuscitating a dead body,” Damian replies easily.

“Don’t you have school?” Tim grumbles.

“It’s Sunday, Drake.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“I have been sent to babysit you two and put Todd down with extreme prejudice should he try anything.

Which Tim gapes and, while Jason is…kind of relieved about.

“Aw, Dami, I knew you cared,” he teases.

“Don’t address me with that infantile drivel!”

Tim sighs.

“Just don’t set anything on fire while you’re here…”

⁂⁂⁂

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wild3flow3r · 5 years ago

Photo

ONE

Persephone takes in a large breath. A warm breeze dances around her in the field. She’s spent the last three hours working on it, adding different flowers and plants all along the grass. Her skin has tanned underneath the blazing sun. The white tunic she’s wearing billows around her. She notices the sun has begun to set and knows she has to find her way back to her mother soon. She’s allowed a few hours of free time every day, or rather free time from her mother only. The wood nymphs in the trees surrounding her watch her with a careful eye, under the rule of Demeter.

After she wiped the dirt off of her hands, Persephone makes way to her mother’s hut. She’s just made it out of the field when she hears a snap of a twig to her right. An old man, looking well into his eighties, stumbles around the roots of the trees. The cane he is using is barely helping to keep him upright. Before the two can even make eye contact, Persephone offers her help to the man. He didn’t seem harmless afterall, and her mother usually seems pretty proud of her after she helps someone in need.

“I seem to have gotten myself lost,” the old man chuckles while leaning all of his weight against his cane and accepts Persephone’s arm.

“I’m sure we can get you back home in no time,” Persephone reassures him. She takes a step forward, but the man does not move with her.

“I actually live that way, dear. Across the field.” The old man points a wrinkled finger in the direction the exact opposite of Demeter’s hut.

Persephone bites her lip, nerves bubbling at the bottom of her stomach, but turns to help the man walk in that direction. If she shows up even just a little late her mother would have her head, but she can’t refuse to help this man now. At a slow pace, Persehpone helps the mortal man across the grass.

“You’re Persephone, are you not?”

“How did you-”

“I’ll take that as a yes then. I’ve heard all about you, you poor thing.”

Persephone frowns. “Poor thing?”

“Living under your mother’s thumb for this long. I can’t even imagine. I love my mother, trust me I do, and I’d do anything for her, but I stopped living with her as soon as I could get out into the world on my own. Don’t you ever wish that?”

“I mean… I guess I do sometimes. It would be nice to have some free will.”

“Let’s take a quick break, can we? I need a few minutes.” The two of them stop. Persephone looks around, noticing that they’re directly in the middle of the field. She can spot a few wood nymphs lingering around the edge of the forest, but they are well out of earshot. The sun has almost set now, and with each inch it moves downwards, so does something in Persephone’s stomach.

“What if I could offer you a way out?”

Persephone’s head snaps from the sky to the man. The look in her eye leads her to believe that he’s actually much younger than he appears, but that seems impossible to her. “What do you mean?”

“Well I heard that you made quite an impression on a God last week at the solstice party.”

“What? How do you-”

“And he’s offering you an out from your mother’s control.”

Persephone’s head is spinning. “Which God?”

“I’ve been sworn not to say.”

“He won’t… It won’t be like living with my mother again?”

“He’s promised to treat you with the utmost respect. And you’re allowed to leave at any time you please.”

Persephone can’t breathe. The sun is almost completely gone now, just a few rays of light peak through the treetops. “When would I go?”

“As soon as you say yes.”

A roar rings out in the trees behind them. A warning call from Demeter, demanding her daughter's return. Persephone shrinks back from the sound. Freedom. She’d be able to do whatever she wanted. No longer being treated like a child or having her worth diminished. Another roar, even closer than the last one.

“Okay,” Persephone whispers.

“Okay what? You need to be clear.”

“I’ll go. I’ll go with this God. I want to go stay with this God.”

The old man drops his cane and before Persephone can go to grab it for him, he grabs both of her hands. Too many things happen at once. Wood nymphs start to slowly surround the pair. They’re still pretty far away, but with every step they pick up speed. The ground reverberates underneath their feet signifying that Demeter is only a few minutes away. But then the ground opens up beneath them. Persephone almost screams until she realizes they aren’t falling. She looks back at the old man, but he isn’t an old man anymore. He’s younger, way younger, and glowing. They aren’t falling because he’s holding them up by the wings on his back fluttering at a nonstop speed. He’s beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Eros.

But then he lets her go, and she’s falling, falling, falling. The ground comes back together. Eros disappears. The wood nymphs stand still in shock, and then start to cower when Demeter breaks into the field.

“Where is she?” Demeter roars. “Where is my daughter? What happened to her!”

But there’s no evidence of what has just happened in that field. Nothing but what the wood nymphs saw and a cane lying in the grass.

+++

One second, Persephone is falling to what she is sure is her death, and the next she’s on the ground standing properly on her two feet. A loud gasp escapes her body, her throat sore from all the screaming she’d just done. She collapses to the ground when her knees refuse to lift her up any longer. She looks around, but it’s dark all around her save for a few torches on the walls emitting a green flame. And then when her eyes finally adjust to the light, she spots it.

A dark castle looms not too far in the distance. Persephone doesn’t know if the bricks themselves are black or if it just looks that way because of the lighting, or rather lack of it. There’s no sky above her head, just a dark endless void. A river leads its way from where she is sat to the castle. And then she notices a man with a paddle in his hands standing inside of a small boat just a few feet away from her.

“Hello Miss. My name is Charon and I will be…”

Charon. The ferryman of the River Styx. The ferryman who brings the souls into the underworld. The ferryman of Hades.

“Excuse me, Miss, did you hear me?”

But she hadn’t. Persephone can’t focus on anything long enough for her brain to retain any information. Hades was the God she’d made an impression on. She’d only looked at him for a moment and now he was willing to share his castle with her. What did this mean? Did he expect her to marry him? Eros is Aphrodite’s favorite son, the one who does all of her bidding. Had she sent him out to make her fall in love with Hades?

Charon shuffles uneasily on the boat. “As I’ve said before, the king of the manor is waiting for you on the other side of this river, Miss. He isn’t always exactly… well… patient. I think it would be best if we were to head over to him now.”

With shaking legs, Persephone stands and makes her way over to the boat, basically collapsing into the set of it. Charon speaks no more as he starts to paddle the two of them to the other side. Persephone’s mind goes completely blank the entire ride over. When the boat stops and Charon helps Persephone back onto solid ground, she sees a figure looming a few yards away.

“I don’t… I don’t understand.” Persephone finally stutters out.

“You don’t understand what, Miss?” Charon asks while stepping back into his boat.

“Why me?”

“Well I guess you’ll never know unless you go ask him yourself.” And ever the conversationalist, Charon makes his way back to where he’d just picked Persephone up from.

For a moment her legs refuse to move, but then the barking of what she can only assume is Cerberus somewhere not too far away has her moving towards the figure. Shadows cling to his form, making him nearly invisible. A few pebbles on the ground tear at Persehpone’s dress, so she has to pick the ends up or else she’d be in fear of tripping. Only when she’s a few feet away does she stop walking. At first it’s still too hard to see the man ahead of her, she’s still unsure if it’s who she thinks it is, but then when she catches his bright green eyes, she knows.

“Lord Hades,” Persephone barely gets out with a breathy whisper. She does a sort of curtsy just as she would for any other God.

Hades is standing straight up, his arms resting loosely at his sides. Now that her eyes have properly adjusted to the darkness, she can spot a glimmer of a smile on his lips. “Kore,” he greets her.

“I… Um actually,” her face turns hot at her flustered words. “Apologies, but I go by Persephone now.”

Hades raises an amused eyebrow and nods his head. “Alright then, Persephone.” Her name rolling off his tongue sends shivers down her back.

And then it becomes extremely quiet. The only sound made by either of them is their breathing, albeit Persephone’s is coming out a bit harsher than Hades'. He stares right at her, admiring her, but she’s too nervous to raise her eyes again and keeps them firmly on the ground. When Cerberus lets out another growl from somewhere, Persephone squeaks and shuffles even closer to Hades so she’s only a few inches away from him.

Hades brushes a stray hair behind Persephone’s ear, and then cups her cheek with his palm to raise her face to his. Persephone didn’t expect for his hand to be so warm in a place that’s too cold. As soon as her eyes connect with his again, she becomes mesmerized. When his eyes turn black as they had a week ago at the solstice, again Persephone doesn’t look away nor cower. She stays completely still, small breaths making their way through her slightly parted lips.

“Interesting,” Hades murmurs. He takes two steps back and puts his hand back to his side. “Moira will show you to your rooms.”

Persephone stares in shock when Hades steps into the darkness and then disappears altogether, almost like he was traveling through the shadows. A small cough causes Persephone to jump. She turns around to see an older woman who is practically see through, a spirit of the castle.

“Are you Moira?” Persephone asks, her voice still shaky.

“I am indeed, dear. Now if you wouldn’t mind following me.”

Moira takes a step into the castle, and after a bated breath, Persephone follows her.

+++

A week. Persephone has lived in the Underworld for a week now, and with every passing day regret rises in her stomach for making this decision. It’s way too chilly down here for her liking. No matter how many layers she puts on, she can’t get rid of the cold feeling that seems to seep into her bones. There’s nothing to do here either. There are a few books that were able to snag Persephone’s attention for the first few days she was here, but she loathes just sitting around all day every day. The only company she’s had has been Moira, and although she is very kind, it's clear that she would rather not partake in any conversation that expands past the things that would make Persephone more comfortable in her quarters.

Perhaps if she had Hades to keep her company…

Immediately Persephone shakes that thought out of her head. What would they have to talk about? He makes her so anxious. Not to mention that he hasn’t checked in on her once since she arrived. Well, yes he does have Moira ask her how she feels, but he hasn’t checked in on her himself. She wouldn’t say she’s bitter, just slightly miffed. I mean, who offers someone a chance to escape from their overbearing parent to stay in their castle with them, and then doesn’t speak to them again after the initial greeting?

A loud clash rings from somewhere a few miles away, causing Persephone to jump in her spot on the bed, and reminds her of another reason for her dislike of this world. It terrifies her. Most creatures down here don’t have the best reputation up above, and she refuses to find out by herself whether or not they are true. She’s too scared to even leave her room, for what if she opens a random castle door to explore only to find a God-eating monster behind it. At least with her mother she was allowed to explore a section of the forests and fields, but if she were to go back now she knows she would lose that privilege for probably the rest of her life.

Persephone has no idea what to do. Should she stay confined to her rooms here, or in the rooms of her mother’s hut?

A knock on the door takes Persephone out of her thoughts. She knows it’s about the time that Moira serves Persephone dinner and for assurances that none of the food being fed to her was grown in the Underworld, therefore forcing Persephone to live in this hell forever. But when she opens the door Moira is not the spirit standing on the other side. No, it’s another spirit, a male, who looks as cheery as can be.

“Can I help you?” Persephone asks, voice meek, and hiding half of her frame behind the door.

“Lord Hades has requested your presence for dinner tonight. If you are to accept then I am to escort you to him immediately.”

“I…” Persephone starts. Wasn’t this what she wanted? Didn’t she want to get out of the room? Didn’t she want to finally spend some time with someone other that Moira, even if it’s Hades? “Yes. I will go to have dinner with… with Lord Hades.”

“Right this way then.” The spirit walks down the hall with a quick step, and Persephone almost has to jog to keep up with him. She’s almost out of breath when he stops her in front of a set of double doors. He went so fast and they turned way too many times for Persephone to be able to tell how to get back to her rooms. He opens a door for her and she takes a cautious step in.

The first thing Persephone notices about the room is how warm it is. Her eyes scanned the room to see a fire, a normal fire and not the green ones the torches are lit up with, and then Hades standing next to it. When he looks over his shoulder, away from the fire, the air leaves her lungs. She doesn’t even hear the door close behind her. She stays frozen, her feet rooted to the spot beneath her, when he takes a few steps towards her.

When he’s close enough, she realizes that his tunic is actually midnight blue instead of black. His curls are loose like he’d run his hands through them quite a few times throughout the day. His lips are a lot pinker than Persephone remembers them to be. And his eyes are still the same green she remembers, like a plant that just begins to grow at the beginning of springtime.

“Thank you for joining me,” Hades greets her, letting his arms gesture her towards her seat. Only then does she see the small circular table with different foods on it ready to be served. Hades sits directly across from her. Different spirits fly around to fill their plates.

“I’ll admit, I was quite surprised by the invitation.” Persephone can’t even look at him when she says this. But even without looking at him, she can practically feel the smirk on his face.

“Thought I forgot about you, hm?”

Her cheeks warm at this. She had thought that, multiple times in fact. She says nothing in response.

“Persephone,” he says, but she keeps her eyes firmly at the plate she’s still being served. “Persephone,” he says again, louder this time. Finally she looks up. The small flick of his lips, the small smile he gives her, makes her heart thud against her chest. “Believe me that I did not forget about you. There was some business I had to take care of that kept me away, but I will be at your disposal for the foreseeable future.

“What did you have to take care of?”

“It’s nothing you have to concern yourself with.”

“Was it about our marriage?” Persephone’s cheeks go from their earlier pink to a dark shade of red. She can’t keep his eye contact any longer and looks away again.

“How do you-”

“I may not have existed as long you have, Hades, but I know how Eros and Aphrodite work. They don’t set up one night things, they set up love and marriages.”

She sees him nod from the corner of her eye. “You are correct, that is what they do. But what I was doing had nothing to do with them or with us. And we don’t have to discuss any wedding or marriage details in the immediate future. There isn’t a rush on anything.”

Persephone nods, feeling even more the fool now. She takes a tentative bite of the food in front of her, not even taking a second to think about where it might have come from. It did taste like the food from Earth though, so she didn’t feel like she had to worry too much.

Hades reaches for her hand over the table. The touch surprises her for a moment, but she doesn’t take her hand out of his. His thumb rubs over her knuckles. “Moira told me you haven’t left your room much.”

“I just… I didn’t know where I could go,” she mumbled out.

Hades smiles and brings her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to it. “You can go anywhere you want, Persephone.”

“But what if…” She cuts herself off. She didn’t want to sound childish. She knew other Goddesses wouldn’t fear the unknown of the world around her like she would. Athena, Artemis, even her mother would take hell by the horns and make it their own, quite literally.

“What if what?” Hades eyes implore hers. She lets out a quiet sigh.

“This world is different then mine above. The creatures are… different. I don’t know how they would react to me, and I didn’t want to take the chance of running into one that’s particularly nasty.”

Hades looks thoughtful as he lets go of her hand and picks up his fork. “Most creatures are misrepresented up above, or the stories about them are overly exaggerated to make other Gods seem more powerful than they actually are. But I could take you on a quick tour around the castle after we eat to show you that there isn’t anything to fear here.”

Persephone nods gratefully. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.” Having some direction around the castle would ease the regret in her stomach.

The dinner goes by quickly, but still very silent. It was a lot of back and forth glances and accidental eye contact and a darkening of Persephone’s cheeks. By the time the meal was over, she felt flushed all over.

Hades offers Persephone his arm, and she takes it. They take slow steps out of the room and into the hallway. He proceeded to show her different rooms from a library much more expansive than the one in her room, his court and throne, a back area covered in dark blue grass, and several others that she eventually lost track of over time. Knowing what was behind all of these doors, it made the entire castle less scary, and a little less cold.

“You can venture anywhere you want, Persephone. I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner here. My only request is that when you are by yourself you only go as far as the River Styx. There are much darker places here in the Underworld, and if you don’t know your way around then you could end up in a very bad place.”

“Like Tartarus?”

Hades nods solemnly. “Like Tartarus.”

She knows the story of Kronos, Hades' dad, and how he’d eaten all of his children except Zeus, who then proceeded to save his siblings later in life. Sometimes she wonders if the loud thunderous yelling she hears from time to time is him.

“I won’t go farther than the River Styx, then. Thank you for the tour, Lord Hades.” They stop in front of the doorway of her rooms.

“You can call me Harry.”

“I don’t-”

“You changed your name as an act of rebellion. I created a secret one for only the people I’m closest with can use. Even though they were created for different reasons, their use means truly something to each of us. Please, call me Harry.”

Persephone nods slowly. A small closed mouth smile graced her lips. “Alright then, Harry.”

Harry bows before her. Persephone thinks that’ll be all for the night, but before she can turn to open her door he leans forwards and presses a lingering kiss against her cheek. “Goodnight Persephone.” He whispers into her ear before disappearing down the hall.

Persephone stumbles into her room and shuts the door behind her. She falls back against the wood wondering what the hell had just happened, but clutches her cheek with her palm while butterflies tumble around her stomach.

taglist: @gucciwoodnymph @kakaym @ashtondene @aweebitofharry @hesnothet @lostmyheartinstbarths @sassy-southern-mess @castawaycths @libbyhermione @muzic-1d-luva @verorax @teenagewitchbitch @crunk-af @hsliveuntour @clumclum-hood @httpsmoony

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#1dff #tgotd #tgotd1 #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles au #one direction fanfiction #what do you guys think of this???#im so excited for this fic!!#let me know your thoughts :))))

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shreyamistry · 6 years ago

Note

Hi, can I please request Hayden (whichever gender you're more comfortable with writing) x Damien, "I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me."?

Pairing: Damien x M!Hayden

Prompt: “I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me.”

Word Count: 1k+

Summary: Hayden is hurt during an excursion with Eros and Damien takes it upon himself to take care of Hayden while Helena and Sloane get out for the night to breathe. But, feelings and emotions run high during the tension with Eros in Hayden’s bedroom.

A/N: Whew it’s been awhile, I know you requested this ten years ago lmao. On that note, I’ve deleted a lot of requests because I knew I was never going to do them, so I’m sorry about that to anyone whose requested anything and I deleted it lmao. But thanks for the support I appreciate you a lot!

Thanks for reading! I hope you like it!

Damien brushes Hayden’s black hair off of hisforehead, his eye heavy with worry and need to sleep as he looks down at theunconscious robot in his arms. He was left in charge of watching over Hayden,he saw that Sloane and Helena needed a break and sent them off to do their ownthing while he waited for Hayden. Nadia and Steve joined them as well, he hopedthey were doing okay.

Hayden stayed lifeless for hours, he wanted tostorm Eros and destroy them all right now. Everything they did always left consequencesnobody could predict or harmless and Damien, already fed up before, couldn’t dealwith this much longer. He wondered about Khaan’s search with Alana to dig upinformation was going; he couldn’t believe he was even missing Alana fuckingKusuma at this point. He continued to stroke Hayden’s hair, his face peacefuland angelic, waiting and waiting for Hayden to wake up.

After a few hours, Damien’s eyes began toflutter shut sleep falling over him. His eyes shut trying to find sleep when asquirm in his arms made his eyes shoot open defensively lifting his arms toblock any attack should an intruder be interrupting them. To his delight, Damienturned his attention back to Hayden realizing they were safe, as Hayden’s headrolled backwards. His lips parting with life curling his back apart from thebed. A heavy cough left his lips before his eyes shot open, his system bootingback to life. Damien sighed a breath of relief reaching instinctively forHayden’s hand taking it into his watching the robot come back into himself.

“Damien? Where am I?” his groggy voicedripping with confusion trying to fully come back into his mind. Damien brushesa few loose strands of hair off of Hayden’s face, tucking them into his messyhair.

“You’re okay, Hayden,” Damien whispers softly.

“What happened? Is Sloane okay? Helena?” Hisconsciousness coming back to him, holding onto Damien’s hand for supportunrealizing the interaction between the pair. “Are…you okay?” His voicecroaked with worry looking at Damien through his fluttering eyes noticing his stubblybeard and a cut on his cheek.

“I’m fine, Sloane’s fine, Helena’s fine, we’refine.” Damien reassured, “You scared the shit out of me back there Hayden.”Damien struggled with his words, sincerity in this type and vulnerability washard for him especially with everything that happened between him and Eros. Hiseyes were building with tears, he didn’t realize how much he cared for therobot in front of him or when it happened, but it felt like the weight of acollapsing building.

Hayden stayed quiet internally processing theinformation, pressing his eyes closed taking a deep breath to himself trying tocalm his shot nerves and malfunctioning platform. Damien brings his hand to hislips kissing the back of his hand gingerly, a flush of scarlet coloring hislips. Hayden smiles despite himself, moving to brush his fingers Damien’s jaw,following the well-defined shape to his cheek stroking his skin rough with stubblyhairs from his beard.

Hayden brushes the tip of his finger againstDamien’s lip, Damien nuzzling into the comforting touch of his friend. This felt freeing,Damien longed to be touched and loved and Hayden the same and finding eachother in this mess made them feel slightly less alone. His eyes spoke a thousand words as they met Hayden’s, their chests moving slowly in sync both of them wanting to close the gap between them unable to trick themselves into it.

“I’ve never felt more like a human than whenyou touch me, Damien,” Hayden whispers. He draws himself up in the bed to situp straight beside Damien’s, allowing himself to move closer to Damien theirthigh flush against one another. “You make me feel alive.”

“Hayden…” Damien’s voice a hoarse whisper.“You’re driving me fucking crazy here.”

“I know.” Hayden chuckles, his face closer toDamien’s than before. “I just don’t want you to catch feelings when I could break down at any given moment.” Sadness laced his voice, his eyes heavy with tears that threatened to spill. Damien pressed his lips against one another trying to calm himself.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe withme.” His concerned demeanor melting into a mix of love and comfort, reachingout to cup Hayden’s own cheek, pressing his forehead to his own. “I promise youthat much.”

Hayden smiles drawing Damien closer, feelingthe warmth of one another on each other. Their lips barely brush against one another when a knock on the door breaks them apart,Damien’s hand dropping Hayden’s as the door pushes completely open Sloane andHelena rushing in.

“Hayden!” Sloane yells launching herself ontohim without hesitation.

“We couldn’t enjoy ourselves.” Helena mentionsapproaching Damien, pulling him into her arms. Despite the comfort of his best friend, he missed the weight of Hayden’s body on his own, the solidness of his form, the low rumble of his breathing against Damien’s body. “Thank you for all you’ve donefor us, Damien. And for taking care of Hayden. I never thank you enough for everything, I’d give you the world if I could.” She brushes her hand againstthe back of his head comforting him. Damien tightens his armsaround her body drawing out some of the nerves in his chest.

“Next time, I do the drop everything for you,make it a simple Starbucks run.”

“Shut up, oh my god.” Helena laughs pullingaway from him, shoving his shoulder playfully. “God, you try to thank yourfriend for epic heroism and he turns around and stabs you in the back. However, will I go on. Et tu Sloane?” Helena reigns horror a playfully smile pulling ather lips that she can’t hide getting Damien to roll his eyes at her. Sloanegiggles at her display, shaking her head with a happy smile on her lips.

“Whatever, tend to your Hayden, he needs you.”Damien tosses at her with a smile. She squeezes his hand one more time beforeturning back to the bed plopping down beside her girlfriend cuddling into theembrace between her and Hayden. Damien watches them a gnawing pulling at hisstomach to join them and hold Hayden close which he decides against for hisdecorum. He stands awkwardly at the door. “Get better, Hayden.”

“Thanks, Damien.” Hayden beams at him, a blushon his cheeks. Damien gives him a joking salute before exiting the room leavinghim with a sad boner and a desire to hug Hayden until he feels better.

#hayden young #damien nazario #damien x hayden #playchoices #perfect match #pm #hayden x damien #sloane x mc #sloane washington #my writing #request #fic #sapphovonchat

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chopper-witch · 5 years ago

Text

AWOMOD: Entirely Honest (Ch 10)

Characters: Loki x Ashira

Warnings: angst, fluff, angst ruining fluff, death

Locations: her ship, some random ass planets that don’t matter.

Word count: 4,500+

Summary: Ashira opts to be entirely honest... ish.

A/N: I am so sorry for taking so long,,, I had more to do than I thought. I, however, also have the next chapter ready to post as well. There are probably tons of mistakes but I’m trying!!

AWOMOD Masterlist

She is still shaken up when they land. It’s obvious by the way she bites her nails while waiting for him at the doorway, the small jump when he finally comes down to stand beside her, the nervous tugging of her white sweater sleeves at the beginning of their walk.

Loki nearly speaks up, asks what happened that caused her such distress.

He just can’t bring himself to do so.

Asking feels wrong, he concludes. Though he could try and flip any defensive responses around and point out what she did to him when he did not divulge his heritage directly, even attempting to inquire seems far too inappropriate.

She did take him on after all. It was not a requirement and she could have dumped him anywhere at this point; instead she allows him to stay. Provoking her does not seem wise.

What’s that Midgardian phrase? Don’t bite the hand that feeds you? Not an accurate statement, but close enough.

So instead they walk in silence, side by side, through the thick forests with no discernible path.

Ashira does not talk, nor does she seem to even really notice his presence beside her. Her eyes are glazed over, no more alive than a doll’s, as they stare off into the distance. Legs heavy, every step seems to be mindless.

It goes on like this for hours.

Mindless walking through a darkening forest turns worrying, however, as the barely visible sun begins to reach far past midday.

Loki steps quickly to walk ahead of Ashira and stops. “Are we going to be back to the ship soon?”

With no pause, eyes still miles ahead, she replies. “Yeah.”

The prince remains in his spot a moment after she passes, watching her thoughtless walking as she proceeds.

Something terrible happened many years ago.

That’s all he can figure out.

—

Upon returning, Ashira heads straight to shower with no words. It’s like she has transformed from a borderline psychotic vagabond to an apathetic zombie over night.

As he goes upstairs as well, he becomes torn between sitting on his bed and just going back down stairs. The bed takes up basically the entire space, save the few feet to the window seat and the odd little carve out where the stairs are. Ashira clearly navigates around it regularly but he is never there when she does so. She is also never this… odd.

He opts to just stay instead, lying comfortably down in the springy mattress. Soft sobs can be heard through the thick, metal door, distorting as they try to escape.

The noises land somewhere between pathetic and heart-wrenching once the distortion is removed. Sniffling whimpers and whole body sobs reach his hears the entire time she is in there.

When the door opens, he doesn’t move. His head does not turn to look at her. Instead he listens to how she squeezes between the wall and the bed, hands sliding against the wall for support in order to get high enough to avoid the bed entirely.

Once it sounds like she has sat down on her window seat, Loki looks to her again. The dark blue towel is still around her neck when her hands move to begin to braid her hair. Loki watches as she begins to section her hair.

Unlike back home where the braids were done so delicately and carefully, slowly to ensure each hair was perfect, her hands move quickly between the sections and loose strands, braiding from her hairline down faster than he has ever seen. His mother taught him and his brother to braid as braids are custom in anyone’s hair, but nothing as long and curly and impossible looking as hers.

“May I braid your hair?” Loki asks.

Ashira stops, brows furrowed as she turns to him. “Sorry, what did you ask?”

“I asked if I could braid you hair?”

“I-” she twiddles her fingers threaded through her hair around. “No. Sorry. I really don’t like people touching my hair. It’s a thing.”

“I get it.”

She turns back away from to look back out the window, hands working quickly to finish the braid.

Her fingers finish the last twist and a hair tie that appeared from absolutely nowhere latches around the end. She swears she knows no magic, but that looked pretty magic to Loki, of all people.

Arms wrap around her bent knees, she turns her eyes to the stars again.

It’s one thing to love looking at the night sky. Yet her gaze always seems to be a type of yearning he can’t quite seem to describe. A gaze that can be best interpreted as a face made of hope, guilt, forlorn, and a bit of skepticism.

Lonely.

She looks lonely.

A different kind of lonely than the kind he has felt and feels, but lonely all the same. For a long time, as he isn’t quite sure, she’s been physically lonely - separated from people who love and care for her. Emotionally lonely too. Never quite sure who to trust, constantly restless.

Being even slightly lonely is tiring. At least 20 years of it? It’s impressive she hasn’t entirely collapsed.

After a few more moments of silence, Loki speaks up with the only suggestion he has.

“Why don’t you come lay down next to me?”

Ashira looks at him, confused. “Next to you?”

“You’re not doing well and being at the very least beside another person can help. At least from what I remember. I did smash my head into the ground.”

I could use a hug too.

“Uh…” she sighs, shaking her head in almost disbelief. “Sure.”

Loki scoots to the far right of the bed when looking on the window to leave plenty of room for her. Ashira tentatively lies down on the side near the stairs, body immeasurably stiff. It’s as if she has been embalmed or something. Her body is so tense Loki feels tense beside her, as if he has been embalmed as well.

“Goodnight,” Loki says softly.

Ashira moves to lie on her side, looking away from Loki. “Yeah,” she practically grumbles, “night.”

—

In the morning, as per usual, Ashira wakes before him.

Some time in the night the pair went from simply lying beside each other, facing opposite directions, to facing each other, legs tucked between and on top of each other, her head on his chest.

Eyes not even open, the warmth of someone beside her combined with the closeness of their bodies leads her brain to years ago. It’s as if the past 23 years have vanished from her entirely and she is back in bed with Eros.

On instinct she snuggles closer to the clothed chest. Uncommon for an Aresian, not uncommon for Eros, who claimed she kept every room too cold for his liking.

She did keep it a little cold, she admits.

As her head pushes further into him, she notices something is wrong.

The left arm lazily strung out is leaner than Eros’. Far leaner, far longer.

Now that she thinks about it, the legs tangled with hers are too long for his, the chest a little too sculpted.

Her eyes fly open as she pushes back in fear.

A thump breaks the silence as she falls between the bed and the wall, body tucked in an uncomfortable V.

She’s not back home in her shared bed, sharing a rare late morning with Eros.

She’s in a ten models old ship with mismatched parts, lying in a bed that was never hers with someone she found a little less than seven months ago.

Despite reality crashing over her, the logic of the situation filing in, she feels so dirty. Something about lying with Loki in such a way sends spasms of panic through her muscles. Betrayal, something engrained in her to mean death, is what she feels like she has done. In some way, despite it being over two decades, she has somehow betrayed Eros.

Straight up betraying him alone is worse than the prospect of death.

Regardless of her newfound feelings, it still just feels so wrong to her.

To get away, she twists herself to crawl away from the bed and out of the uncomfortable folded position, towards her window seat, throwing it open. Hands wildly search through tiny cubes of clothing (if only Loki could see how she managed to fit absolutely all those clothes in a tiny space… the wonders of nanotech), she’s looking for one jacket in particular. Blue, like all regulation clothing, but a special blue jacket.

As her hands finally grab it, it expands fully to its correct size.

An engineer’s jacket. Softer than most other jackets but still as tough, it’s the staple piece for the engineers. 23 years on and still smells like him.

She closes her seat slowly and descends the stairs to go sit alone.

—

Waking up a good two hours later, Loki is significantly less confused than she was when he awakens.

She is gone, which he expected. Always waking up hours before him somehow.

He descends the stairs groggily. He actually slept well last night. His mother’s - no, not his mother’s - advice is never wrong.

It worked regardless of who told him.

Once reaching the bottom level, Loki’s sleepy brain picks up sniffling noises that are not terribly far. He first glances around the kitchen and other minimal space to see no sign of her. So he looks to the only other place where she could possibly be.

Loki finds her sobbing in the pilot’s seat, clutching a jacket he has never seen before tight to her chest. There is a name stitched on it, but it’s worn and definitely in a language he doesn’t know. While back on Asgard he would hide in the shadows and watch in silence to have information for later.

It feels wrong this time. It’s not interesting or cannot be used at a later date.

It’s just sad.

So he sits at the little table, opting to stare off into nothing for a while.

—

It had been at least two hours before she comes to talk to him. She walks in wearing the jacket she was previously crying in to and doesn’t even look him in the eye.

“We need to keep moving. This wasn’t the smartest planet for me to land on.”

She turns quickly around, heading immediately back to the pilot’s seat.

—

Now set up in the middle of a forest on a presumably empty planet, Loki grabs one of his many books to read.

He hasn’t read as much as he would like. Something about Ashira is just so intriguing that the stories in the pages no longer compare to real life. No matter what the plot, the setting, anything is, fantasizing about a different life isn’t in his interests any longer.

Imagining going to places far outside the nine realms is one thing. To visit them, to explore them and experience them is so much more exciting than any illusion he could conjure.

Pretending to be on some adventure in the unknown is one thing. Actually living it, traveling around with someone you just met who saved your life, the cliche of nearly every book ever, is something he could never describe in words and most authors have never been on such journey.

To read about loving someone but not realizing it until either the most inconvenient time or during some unrealistic confessional always seemed to fake. Norns, how could you just not realize it? Then it happened to him: not realizing, the quiet nighttime confessional and now the period of tension where, when he reads, he just rolls his eyes at the stupidity of the characters for being unsure when the signs are all there. Come on, how could two people in love he so oblivious?

Yet he still opens the book, one on some fantasy store written by a Midgardian of all people. Though different from most fantasy books he has read, it is no different in concept. Another story, written a different way.

Still can’t compare to how it feels to live one.

For an hour, the only noises are Ashira fixing some wiring within the control panel (which is mostly a soft buzz and hum with an occasional swear in her native tongue) and the night fauna of Essos? Asus? He can’t quite remember the name of the planet but it doesn’t matter in the grander scheme.

Loki pays no mind as Ashira returns to the kitchen area to put all of her tools back. He’s not as engrossed as he normally is, or as he’d like to be, but he is still more focused on his book than her loudly shoving a metal toolbox against the metal ground.

A handful of minutes later, Ashira steps onto the stairs. But she stops.

Guilt has been eating away at her over the past few days. While the truth isn’t something she is fond of handing out, if he is going to stay like he says he deserves to know.

He needs to know; to know why she cries over a jacket and avoids certain words, why she nearly exploded the ship and her skin sizzled nearly beyond repair.

It’s the least she can do.

So she turns on the step and goes back to the first level entirely.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” Ashira meekly announces, hands hidden in her sweater and rubbing against her leggings.

Loki raises his left brow, eyes not moving from his book. “We’ve established that as occasional theme with each other.”

“No.” She steps closer to him, hands now rubbing together through her sweater in nervousness. “This isn’t a lie, it’s something I should have told you.”

Loki finally looks up from his book. “What is i-”

“I was supposed to be married.”

Record scratch, freeze frame. The classic 90s and early 00s Midgardian film technique is precisely what his brain does in this moment.

“That’s the incident that started it all. My wedding.”

His face falls. “Your… your wedding? I thought you said they didn’t have weddings on Ares.”

“I said they weren’t common. Contracts are binding on Ares, promises just as strong. One mistake and you are allowed to be killed for breaking a vow. Proof must be submitted, there are trials you have to go through...” her ramble trails off. “... they are so sacred.”

The final words come out softly, sadly too.

Loki leans forward, setting the book down on the table in front of him. “So... your wedding is when it happened?”

“There, in front of everyone. You found out you were a Frost Giant when one of them touched you?” Ashira pauses, pulling her arms up, tucking her hands into her armpits to almost hug herself. “Well I found out I could incinerate things during my wedding when I killed the one person I loved more than anything."

“So how did anyone else live?”

“They didn’t. It started with him. But then they tried to take me away and I killed more...” she trails off, eyes moving to look past Loki, mind wandering away. “It was just him at first though. I loved him more than anything and I killed him. I held his hands, I kissed him, and he died because I was too...” she hiccups due to suppressing tears. “...happy.”

Loki has no idea what to say. How do you respond to such sad and desperate words? To such an unfortunate event? Finding out what your horrible burdened is while fighting a monstrous race that is the same as you actually are is one thing. To kill a loved one entirely on accident, in an act of elation is another.

“I was too happy… Imagine the person you love dying because you were too happy.” She angrily scoffs, tears reddening her face. “Not because of some freak accident in an overly emotional moment, or because you were so happy someone wanted to take that away, but your happiness is truly what killed them.”

Loki finally speaks. “I couldn’t even imagine what they must of been like.”

A bitter chuckle suddenly fills the air. Ashira is grinding her teeth and crying.

“I wish that was the worst of it, but it wasn’t.”

“So what was?”

“In killing those officers trying to drag me away, even E - even my promised himself, I committed treason. To kill another Aresian without warrant isn’t just a crime, it’s the highest crime and I killed him and others in sight of every ranking officer, commander, general and their family. So not only was I having a mental breakdown, completely destroyed and confused, but I was locked in a cell until they decided what they were going to do with me. Alone. In the dark. They use sensory deprivation like no other species. You can’t even hear your own breath or heartbeat, there is no light whatsoever. Do you know what that does to a person? I couldn’t even hear myself cry.”

Loki leans back to try and process all he has heard. The anger, the sadness, the sheer agony in her voice overwhelms all the words she just confessed.

None of this is something he could even imagine previously.

It’s how he thought he felt after everything came to light months ago. Listening to her anguish, the quivering fear in her voice clicks something in his brain as he realizes that while he was justified, the sound of his cries and anguish were infantile compared to this.

“I knew I was going to die or stay down there until I did. I didn’t care. Someone had just turned to ashes in my hands. My parents didn’t want me to die and so an agreements was reached amongst the council. I was to be moved to Hala. They were going to do experiments on me there to see how I could do what I did but I could never return home. I didn’t know that part until later.”

She pick at a loose string in her sweater before picking up again.

“I was willing to go. I thought I was sick, infected.” Ashira scoffs at her own idiocy. “I didn’t know what experiments meant, I thought it just meant figuring out what was wrong with me. Not… not all that.”

Her eyes look back to Loki. They are a bloody red - so much so the black is practically hidden amongst the stained whites.

“Within just over a year I had gone from about to be married, to on death row, to thinking I was being healed from some unknown illness to being abused to being turned into a weapon to being sold to running away and having absolutely nothing. I feel sorry for you, Loki, I really do. I’m sorry they lied to you, I’m sorry your brother and father were assholes but until you’ve been starved in darkness after killing the love of your life followed by being beat to near death and shown off like an animal and sold like any other weapon, you can not come to know the pain I’ve felt.”

There are no words. At least none he can think of that wouldn’t accidentally hurt her.

Ashira opts on leaving the ship during his shocked silence, stepping out with trepidation in her steps, the sweater singeing at the edges.

Loki wants to follow, he wants to reach out to her to stop her. He chooses not to since it’s clear she wants some space.

—

Loki finds her in the morning.

She’s sat against the side of her ship, gaze mindlessly on the ground just beyond her outstretched legs. Her sweater is burned from the wrists to halfway up her bicep, dust of the sweater and a clear burn pattern of some form on her skin giving it away. Everything else seems to be untouched.

By the slouch of her shoulders, it’s clear she hasn’t slept.

“I do not presume to know what you went through.” Ashira shifts around to indicate she is hearing him, but still remains looking mindlessly away. “But I need to know: why did you pick me up and let me stay on? You could have left me there.”

“They were shooting at me.” Her head lolls back to stare at the sky. “If you had stayed on the ground you’d be dead.”

Loki sighs. That’s not what he meant, not entirely. “So why keep me on?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

“Maybe I do.” Ashira tosses her head lazily to the side to look at him. “Maybe because I was lonely, maybe I just felt sorry. I don’t know, Loki. But you are here now with me and I’m in the middle of a depressive episode so I would like to be left alone.”

“I’m not going to leave you alone.” Loki sits down beside her. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

Ashira turns away from him. “I’ll kill you.”

“I don’t think you will.”

“Maybe I won’t.”

—

A good five hours pass by of them just sitting in silence, leaned against the side of the ship. Ashira’s eyes switch rapidly between emotional and emotionless while as Loki’s just remain as they always look: calm, mischievous, and focused.

Loki doesn’t mind silence. He loves it. He doesn’t not like the silence he is currently experiencing. Especially when it is nearing night on a planet that has only had sun for about six hours.

“Tell me about him,” Loki demands gently.

“Why do you always want to know things about me?”

“Well you know a great deal about me, it is only fair.”

Ashira huffs. Quickly the facade of annoyance fades and only one of contentment is left.

“His name was Eros.” Loki definitely remembers hearing that one from Greek mythology, God of Love or something like that. “His family was a pretty standard Aresian family, middle ranks though, so a bit higher in the chain. He focused on engineering which is how I came to meet him. Most of the time, the, uh, lower the rank the less interaction with the royal family and other highly ranked indivduals, but he was so damn good at what he did that Selene and I visited him often.”

Ashira turns her head away again. Loki still stares at her.

“I still remember the first time I saw him. It wasn’t love at first sight, not even close. But his hair was just such a brilliant white with a thin silver stripe along the left side. It’s unusual to have white hair. Black happens sometimes, but white? Insanely rare. Add on that he was on the shorter end, which was much appreciated by also short stature.” She hums. “His eyes were this bizarre silver-blue. So much of him was just different.”

Loki shoves the pang of jealous eating at his heart aside. “If it wasn’t love at first sight then what was it?”

“More like a friends to lovers. It was slow, but we fell in love over our passion for creation and technology. Together we changed the flight systems, all of the ships, more than half the weapons and armory. We did a lot, together. We were going to change more than that, we were going to change the entire planet, fix rules that were arbitrary and stupid, restructure the government, adjust it so ranks weren’t so binding.”

“So you were always on the verge of catastrophe?”

“Always. He was much more sound that me, less guns blazing. Which was expected, I mean, he was pathetic at fighting, easily the clumsiest at person I’ve ever met, both of which are the exact opposite of what Aresians are trained to be. He used so much logic that it sometimes made me frustrated because sometimes logic isn’t the answer. We balanced each other out well.”

Internally, Loki laments. “He sounds amazing.”

Ashira shakes her head with a smile “He was an idiot. Insanely intelligent but a complete idiot...” Ashira allows a bitter chuckle to pass her lips. “The thing is, it’s been over twenty years. I don’t miss him the way I used to, I don’t feel as sad as I used to when I think about him. I know it’s not the time that’s worn it out, twenty years is nothing. I’ve been alive over four times as long as you have.” Her hands violently rub her face, as if to wake herself up. “But after everything, after running and hiding and all of it, the love I felt just feels so small.” Ashira pauses, brain searching for the right explanation. “I loved him so, so much but if I had gone to him now, not after all of this specifically but after experiencing much more, much more mental and physical strain, I think I would have loved him differently, appreciated him in ways I could never before.”

“I think I know what you mean.” Loki prays he does not regret his words. “I left Asgard only a few times before I fell. Went to Earth many times, Vanaheim all the time. But after flying through the galaxies with you, I understand Asgard differently. I see it on an entirely different plane of existence than I did before.”

“Yeah…” Ashira smiles. “Sorta like that.”

“Who knows? Maybe one day you’ll find another who you can appreciate and love in a way you never could before.”

Ashira glances over to Loki. She isn’t sure if its the reflection of the stars in his eyes, the way they dance with each sparkle, or if maybe it’s the shine of his hair in the moonlight, but something makes him look just so beautiful, so fantastical.

I won’t one day, she admits to herself. Because one day has already come.

She decides to lean against his shoulder, turning her own head to the sky again. Loki now looks down at her face. Every time he does he notices something new about her: this time it’s the silver freckles dusted very lightly across her face and the skin that’s exposed. It likely reacts more to the moonlight than sun and he is rarely close enough to see her face in the moonlight to possibly notice.

He hopes to discover every minuscule detail of her one day.

But he’ll settle for this, for now.

----

_______

Taglist: @illogicalfangirl @tarynkauai

#awomod #loki fic #loki fanfic #lok x oc #loki imagine #loki #thor 1 #post thor 1 #loki x reader #if you pretend real hard

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queen-scribbles · 6 years ago

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Incorrigible

For @pillarspromptsweekly fill #79: Romance. Using Taviloth and Fluff Alphabet Tropes: Opposites Attract, Kiss Me Because Reasons, Quips & Banter, & Zero Chill Around Each Other. MAN this was fun. :D

Aloth had warned her this might get boring at times. Far as Tavi was concerned, he’d left off an adjective from that caution: mind-numbingly. It wouldn’t have changed her mind; she’d meant what she’d said about staying with him being the important part. It would just have given him the opportunity to say I told you so when she (inevitably) started grousing about wanting some excitement

A breaking point that was rapidly approaching. They’d followed the trail to Medeca two and a half weeks ago, but the city was so massive, searching for the cell themselves would take months. If they found it at all. They’d been forced to settle for surveilling the kith they suspected of being Leaden Key operative and hoping for the best. So far the only results were Aloth finishing five books and learning two new spells in the process, and Tavi carving no fewer than ten new animals. They sat in a line across the center of the table, easy to fidget with while she was eating.

“If someone doesn’t do somethin’ suspicious fuckin’ soon, I’m gonna start advocatin’ burglary,” she commented as she made a space between two cats--one stretching lazily and the other curled around itself--to place number eleven (an antelope, her best yet) in the line up.

“Yes, because getting ourselves arrested is the perfect way to keep our eye on the people we wish to observe,” Aloth said dryly.

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught,” Tavi retorted, grinning. “You’re real good at bein’ quiet, city slicker, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

A teasing smile curved his lips, even as his gaze stayed fixed out the window. “You might.”

“Nice, Corfiser. I’m making an effort not to be insulted.” He was right and she knew it, but that didn’t mean she had to just take it. “Least I didn’t ever trip when I was tryin’ to be sneaky.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “No, you just sneeze.”

“That only happened once!”

“As did the tripping.” Aloth straightened, something in the street below catching his attention. “Tavi.”

“What?” She set down knife and wood and hurried over. Animal number twelve could wait. “She finally poke her fuckin’ nose out?”

“More than.” He gestured out the window, and Tavi leaned over his shoulder to look. The elven woman they’d been trying to pin down for a week was hurrying along the street, bright blue cloak and silky blonde braid trailing behind her.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Tavi muttered, brushing a quick kiss against Aloth’s cheek. “Good eye.”

“That’s a rather easy color to spot,” Aloth shrugged off the compliment. “She stands out.”

“Not so much we wanna let her get away,” Tavi said, already heading for the door.

Aloth didn’t follow. “I’m going to stay here. In case she’s being so obvious on purpose.”

“Thought I was the paranoid one, city slicker,” Tavi teased. “But suit yourself.” If she took time to argue, or even ask what he thought might happen, their lady in blue might get away. And that was a thoroughly unappealing thought after waiting so long to have eyes on her. So Tavi hurried down the steps and out to the street, located their mark--already at the far end--and set a good pace to follow her. Aloth might be perfectly happy to stay in their room with his books for days on end, but Tavi was eternally grateful for the arrival of something to do.

~~~<>~~~~~<>~~~

Medeca’s winding streets worked far more in favor of the hunted than the hunter. Fortunately, Tavi had always enjoyed a challenge, and never more so than after a long stretch of boredom. Keeping pace with her mark without drawing attention fit the bill perfectly. So far the woman hadn’t done anything suspicious, but that had to come eventually, right? Why else would Lady Blue have emerged after laying low for so long?

Aloth’s decision to stay behind still niggled in the back of her head. It was probably a good idea to keep an eye on the house in case someone came by while Lady Blue was out. And it wasn’t like Tavi was some clingy waif who needed her partner with her at all times. So the persistent unease with his choice was confusing and irritating in equal measure. Tavi cursed under her breath as she almost missed Lady Blue ducking down a side street.

Focus, postenago, she scolded herself. You can ask his reasoning when you get back. This is important right now.

But when she rounded the corner, Lady Blue was nowhere to be found. Despite this being an alley with no open doors or market stalls, and a straight shot to the connected thoroughfare on the other end.

“Madiccho,” she spat irritably, studying the doors that opened onto the street. Almost all were barred, and none showed evidence of having been used in the last few seconds, so she instead hurried to the far end to check the connected thoroughfare. Nothing. Even if she stood on a crate to get an elevated look, there was no sign of Lady Blue.

Well, I was right; she did do something suspicious, Tavi thought wryly as she retraced her steps. Just didn’t count on that something suspicious being ‘vanish into thin fuckin’ air’.

She looked more closely at the doors on her way back through, but still none of them seemed like it had been used recently. Nothing to do but admit defeat and head back to Aloth. Carve another animal--a fox maybe, it’d been a while since she made a fox--while they waited for another chance.

~~~<>~~~~~<>~~~

Between the tailing and the return trip the sun was starting to set when Tavi made it back to the inn. Her first hint things weren’t entirely alright was the lingering odor of burnt hair on the landing in front of her and Aloth’s door. Second was the chunk of wood missing from the doorframe itself.

It was more than enough to have her wary as she opened the door. “Aloth?”

“Everything’s fine,” he called from behind the partition that closeted off the wash basin.

“Yeah, that’s bullshit,” Tavi retorted. He sounded fine, but their room looked like someone had flipped it upside down and righted it in quick succession. “What the fuck happened?”

“Our friend in blue was likely meant as a diversion, for starters,” Aloth said. There was a slosh of water and a resigned sigh before he came around the partition. “Bait we couldn’t resist, as it were. A good move, on their part.”

His words fell on mostly-deaf ears; Tavi’s attention was largely on the purple-black bruise around his eye.. “Allow me to repeat,” she began, crossing the room swiftly and barely sparing a look at the scattered wooden figures as she beelined toward him. “What the fuck happened?!”

“We had visitors, not long after you left to follow our lead,” Aloth replied. He winced but let her run her fingers gingerly over his black eye, reassure herself that’s all it was. “Probably intending to find any records we have of our efforts and destroy them. They clearly were expecting the room to be empty.”

“What’d that buy you, a fuckin’ heartbeat’s worth of surprise?” Tavi muttered, tugging at his shirt to look for more injuries.

“Tavi, I’m fine, I promise,” he smiled, but let her look. “And for some of the things I know, a heartbeat is all I need.”

Tavi smirked, trying to quash the bubbles of concern as she found a couple more greenish-yellow bruises on his shoulder and what looked like a rugburn just above his hip. “I assume you handed them their fuckin’ asses and they decided it wasn’t worth the trouble?”

Aloth chuckled and caught her hands to still their nervous searching. “I would phrase it differently, but in essence, yes.”

She snorted and let her hands hang by his grasp, accepting the wordless reassurance. “Oh, c’mon, city slicker, it’s not gonna kill you to swear a little.”

He raised an eyebrow, thumbs absently rubbing the backs of her hands. “I’m fairly certain you’ve heard me swear before, Tavi. I just, unlike some, prefer to save it for when it’s appropriate.”

“Aloth,” Tavi laughed, shaking her head. “Darling. The entire point of swearin’ is that it ain’t fuckin’ appropriate. But even leavin’ that aside, this feels like a moment that it would be.”

“As you so aptly demonstrated a moment ago-” Aloth deadpanned.

Tavi cut him off with a kiss, not even bothering to free her hands from his. In fact, she used that as leverage to pull him closer. They both leaned into it for a minute before parting.

Aloth raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “What was that for?”

Tavi shrugged, not letting go of his hands. “Reasons. You’re okay, they didn’t get anything but an ass-kickin’, you were a badass, which you know turns me on-”

He kissed her back, releasing one hand so he could cup the back of her neck, fingers sliding just a little into her hair. Her free hand groped for his shirt, finally catching and curling in the loose fabric to hold him close.

“What was that for?” Tavi parroted impishly, breathing hard, when they were done.

“Reasons,” Aloth said, playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he bit his lower lip. “Namely, you’re incorrigible and I love you.”

“Those are good reasons,” she teased, shaking her other hand free to loosely wrap her arms around his neck. “And I love you, too.” She looked around at the room again. “I say we take the rest of the night off from hunting Keys, get this place sort of back together, and then just relax. Sit on the balcony and look at the fuckin’ stars or somethin’.”

Aloth settled his hands on her hips. “That is a very tempting plan, but-”

Tavi pressed a finger to his lips. “No buts, city slicker. If they do anything tonight, they’re gonna be real fuckin’ wary so there’s no point in tryin’ to catch them. And we’ve been workin’ for almost three weeks solid, we need a break.”

“Has anyone ever told you” --he slid his hands around to clasp behind her back-- “how persuasive you can be?”

She grinned. “They usually call it overbearing or stubborn.”

“...You can be both of those,” Aloth conceded, half smiling. “I love you anyway.”

Tavi snorted. “Generous of you.”

“I think I love you because of the stubbornness,” he clarified, ‘not in spite of it. Most of the time it’s born of confidence or compassion, or both, and not inherently wrong.”

She raised an eyebrow teasingly. “And you’re not biased at all.”

He shrugged and gave her a mischievous look. “I did say mostly.”

She laughed. “Ah, so occasionally it’s just me being mule-headed.”

“Very descriptive,” Aloth said dryly. He didn’t deny it, she noticed. Not that he should; it was true. “If you’re set on straightening up and staying in, shouldn’t we get started?”

“Right, the sooner we finish with that, the sooner we can get to the fun part.” Tavi smirked, letting her fingers trail against his skin as she unclasped her hands and stepped back.

Aloth shook his head but smiled. “You are incorrigible.”

“Hey, I just meant relaxin’ with the man I love,” Tavi said innocently, kneeling to collect the whittled figurines that had scattered off the table. “But if you wanna do more than that, I ain’t gonna say no.”

There was no better reply to that than an eyeroll, which was exactly how Aloth responded.

Tavi grinned, then frowned when she saw a couple of the animals had been damaged--one of the cats had lost its tail, and the stelgaer’s front leg was cracked. Oh, well, an excuse to make more... “So what was it you were doin’ when I got back?” she asked idly, checking over each animal as she picked it up, now that she knew there were casualties.

“Oh, one of them bled on my shirt,” Aloth replied, sounding annoyed, as he set a stack of books on the dresser. “Since it was a favorite, I was trying to get the stains out before they set.”

“From your tone, I’m gonna guess you weren’t successful?” Damn, both the hare’s ears were chipped. She was really starting to hate these bazzos now. When Aloth nodded a confirmation, she huffed her bangs out of her eyes before asking, “Where’d he bleed?”

“Almost the entire length of one sleeve; I was in the middle of casting a spell.”

“Well, good thing sleeve are bullshit, then, huh?” Tavi hinted, shooting him a meaningful look.

Aloth shook his head, but his lips twitched in a fond smile as he repeated, “Incorrigible.”

“And you love it,” she grinned, relieved when the next several figurines were undamaged.

“That I do,” he conceded, crisscrossing the room after scattered papers.

The rest of the cleanup passed with a mixed of comfortable silence and easy banter. It was dark out by the time they were satisfied and stopped to have dinner. As per Tavi’s suggestion, they ate out on their balcony where they could see the stars and very deliberately did not look at the house they had been watching once. (Tavi enjoyed the thought maybe the Key operatives thought they were doing something and were going to annoying lengths to be careful. If we can’t catch you right now, at least we can inconvenience you.)

It was a very nice, quiet evening. Boring, some might call it. But despite her predilection for excitement, Tavi had to admit: sometimes boring had its merits.

#queens fic #pillars prompts weekly #tavi illani #aloth corfiser #pillars of eternity #taviloth

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queenofcats17 · 6 years ago

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The Comfort of Death

@insane-control-room posted the second chapter of {god([dess})titute] and I wanted to write more with Hel and Bertram interacting.

This was honestly really fun. Generally when I write Hel, she’s in a position of power or putting on the “Queen of the Dead” act.

Sidenote, the majority of this fic came from me asking Control a bunch of questions about Bertram’s reaction to certain things and ended with us kind of rping. ^^”

Bertram hadn’t really expected to see Hel again. She was the goddess of Death for an entire pantheon, so she definitely had a job to do. But he found her in his office once more, a week after her first visit. She was seated on a chair, hugging a dog to her chest. It looked as though she’d been crying. The dog appeared to be a mix between a Pomeranian and a Huskie, with a Huskie’s coloring but a Pomerian’s body shape. Its collar looked like it was made of old leather, a rune charm hanging from it. When Bertram entered, the dog immediately fixed the architect with its gaze.

Child of Eros. A deep voice echoed in Bertram’s mind, and he instinctively knew it was coming from the dog.

“Don’t scare him, Garm.” Hel pressed her face into the dog’s fur. “We’re his guests.” His voice was weary and resigned.

My apologies. The dog continued to stare at Bertram. His eyes were an unearthly red, one that was most definitely not found on normal dogs. He got the feeling that the dog did not normally look like a dog.

“I apologize for showing up unannounced yet again,” Hel said. “I promise, I’m not trying to make a habit of this.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” He assured her, putting his briefcase down on his desk. “So, what brings you here this time?” Hel drew into herself, burying her face in Garm’s fur.

It has...not been a good day. Garm said. My mistress is feeling very emotionally vulnerable.

“Emotionally vulnerable? Did something happen?” Immediately, Bertram’s natural inclination to ‘uncleness’ reared its head. Hel might have been an old and terrible god of death, but she was also a young woman who looked up to Bertram quite a bit.

“...How much do you know about the death of Baldr?” Hel asked. There was a weight to the words that made Bertram distinctly uncomfortable.

“I know...Of it.” He answered slowly. “But I wouldn’t mind if you explained it.” Hel hunched her shoulders, taking a deep shaking breath.

Would you rather I told him, Mistress? Garm looked back at her.

“Thank you, but I can do it.” Hel murmured. It took a moment before she finally looked up, her lips set in a thin line.

“It’s alright if you’d rather not talk about it,” Bertram said.

“No, I’ll do it.” She shook her head. “Baldr was killed by my father and sent to my kingdom. Literally everyone wanted me to release him. To let him go back to his family.” Her shoulders hunched once more. “They come to me every year to remind me what a selfish little ice queen I am.”

“And how do you feel about it?” Bertram asked. “Did you want to keep him with you?”

“There is an order to things.” She replied. “The dead cannot come back. There are no exceptions.”

Bertram couldn’t help but smile, leaning his head on one of his hands. “Am I out of the order of things?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hel asked, her brow furrowing in a frown. Garm narrowed his eyes, ready to attack if Bertram insulted his mistress.

“Is me defying my role out of the order of things?”

“That is not my business,” Hel said, her cheeks turning red. “My concern is the balance between life and death.”

“What is death in your eyes?”

Hel’s frown deepened. She’d never been asked these kinds of questions before. There was an inherent understanding in the gods of her pantheon and her wards of what death was and what her role in it happened to be.

“Death is when the bodies dies, whether from illness or murder or hunger or battle, and the spirit passes on to a different plane, whether that's Helheim, Freyja's realm, or Valhalla.” She finally replied after a moment or two.

“That means that death is not absolute,” Bertram said, smiling. “Because a different plane means the soul is still intact.” Hel continued to stare at him, visibly confused.

Do not toy with her, Piedmont. Garm growled, although Bertram didn’t seem to notice.

"They're still the same person, correct?" Bertram continued.

"I...I suppose?" Hel nodded slowly.

"So they're alive, just not in the world of the present."

"That...does make sense." She still looked incredibly confused by this concept, but she did nod once more.

"Therefore, there is no 'dead', only in a different realm."

"I...Yes. That does make sense." She paused, then smiled mournfully. "That does seem to be the way everyone else viewed the situation. No wonder they considered me a selfish bitch for not allowing Baldr to return to the land of the living."

"Hey! That's your choice.” Bertram said, putting his hands up. “What merit does he have to live?"

She shrugged. "He was Odin's favorite son. The golden boy. He never did much, but he was always kind to everyone. Perhaps that's why my father chose him to die."

"Mhm. Has he wronged or righted anyone?" Bertram asked.

"Like I said, he never did much. He was just...Nice to everyone. He's perfect in every way." Her voice turned bitter on the last sentence, her face twisting into a decidedly petulant and childlike look of disgust.

"Really? How so?" Bertram folded his hands on his desk, watching her calmly.

"He's beautiful, kind, never harmed anyone in his life." She gestured with one hand, the other holding Garm to her chest. "Everyone loved him and the prospect of having him anywhere near an abomination like me was so abhorrent to his parents. After all, I'm a child of evil, aren't I? I can't possibly actually care about my wards!" She looked both furious and on the verge of tears.

Bertram gestured to a couch in the corner of his office. “Sit down.”

She sniffled a little and moved over to sit on it, Garm still clutched in her arms. The dog had begun licking at her face, shooting warning glances back at Bertram.

"Helheim is for the damned, isn't it?” Bertram asked, trying to get some clarity on the situation. “Who decides where one goes?"

"It's not for the damned." She looked rather offended. "It's for everyone Freyja and Odin don't want. I've gotten my fair share of criminals, yes, but the majority of my wards are those whose deaths are deemed 'dishonorable'. Dishonorable because they did not die in battle."

"What an odd system," he murmured. "Who's son is Baldr again?"

"Odin's. His second son, but blatantly his favorite."

"Why did he not take him then? In his realm.”

She couldn't help but stifle a laugh. "Things would have been much easier had that been the case. But no, Baldr did not die in battle and so his death was deemed 'dishonorable' and he was sent to me."

"That's, excuse my french, bullshit." He grinned. "This is why we only have one place in Olympus." He paused a moment to think. "Your charges are yours. You do a wonderful job. You are great. You must know they've burdened you with an awful task."

She watched him for a moment or two before smiling, tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Her father had told her something like that once. He’d come to visit her for her birthday one year when she’d been very young. It had been shortly after her exile to Helheim and she’d been crying over the fact that she was essentially alone, deprived of her family and friends.

“The old man gave you a tough job, pumpkin.” Her father had said, pulling her into his lap. “But I know you can do it. You’re a brave, kind young lady and I know that you’re gonna do a great job. No matter what happens, don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. You’re a good kid.”

"For what?" Bertram scoffed, still smiling, "For telling the truth?"

Hel just laughed. It felt good, just talking with Bertram like this. He treated her as if she was an ordinary person. She felt no pressure to behave a certain way or conform to any role. Her wards treated her warmly, but there was always an underlying sense of reverence to their interactions with her. She was their ruler and they never forgot that. She had a few friends among the Aesir, most notably Freyja, but the majority of them were not fond of her. Her expression soon grew solemn.

“There’s something I need to show you.” She said, placing Garm on the ground and standing up. Bertram’s smile faded a bit. In situations involving a god’s death, red flags were generally everywhere. But he was the ultimate uncle, so he nodded for her to go on.

"I enjoy your company, and I wish us to be friends. And so I feel you must see the other reason I was shunned." Taking a deep breath, she lifted her skirt, revealing her lower body. From the waist down, her body was that of a corpse. Not a fresh one, which might have made it better, but that of a frost-bitten mummy.

Although her strangeness was not as prominent as her brothers’, easily covered with long skirts and tall boots, it was something she was constantly reminded of. When her emotions got out of control, the rot tended to spread, causing her to cut quite an intimidating figure when she was truly angry. Not to mention, the half of her body that was rotting tended to change in situations where she was interacting with people who had a certain image of her.

She fully expected Bertram to recoil in horror, scream, or at least by put off by her corpse lower body. Instead, Bertram laughed, but it wasn’t cruel.

"What a stupid reason! Your legs are legacies of strength! Not of something to be shunned!"

She stared at him, genuinely surprised he didn’t immediately thing she was disgusting. "The...The corpse thing. That's not...You're not..."

You are not repulsed? Garm tilted his head to the side.

"Of course I'm not repulsed!” He said. “My dear nephew, my Johan, he has polio. Its similar to what you have, though invisible. It's nothing to be repulsed by."

"Hm." She dropped her skirt. "Interesting." Then she perked up a bit. "Johan? Johan Ramirez?"

“Yes.” Bertram was definitely a little nervous about Hel’s knowledge of Johan’s name. Still, he remained calm about it.

"Oh! I've heard about him!" She clapped her hands together. "One of my wards met a little boy who spoke of him."

They spoke highly of him. Garm agreed.

"He's..." Bertrum smiled wistfully and nodded. "Good."

"He certainly seems like a lovely man." She nodded as well. "And you obviously care a great deal about him."

"Of course I do," Bertrum smiled. “He's family. You could be family, too."

"Very funny." She immediately replied, rolling her eyes.

"I'm honest."

Hel’s eyes widened and her head whipped around so that she could see his face. He did look genuine. She couldn’t see any trace in his expression that he was trying to pull one over on her.

"You...You are?" Her voice was quiet and unsure.

"Of course. As someone who's lied to himself for a very long time, I've come to terms that lying doesn't work. I'm honest when I say you could be family too." He smiled gently.

She just stared at him, her expression blank. Then the floodgates seemed to open and she started to openly sob. She looked so young in that moment, so small and vulnerable. Bertram pulled her close with his wings and just hugged her.

When Lacie showed up to work that day, Bertram proudly presented hir with Hel.

“This is our daughter now!” He proclaimed proudly. He held Hel up, holding her under her arms.

Hel waved sheepishly. “Hello again.”

Greetings, mortal.

Lacie’s attention was drawn down to a small dog by Bertram’s feet that absolutely did not feel like a dog. Something had obviously happened this morning. Oh well, their lives were weird enough.

“So, we have a kid now?” Lacie laughed and shook hir head. “Well, alright.” She could tell Bertram wasn’t about to be talked out of this. Might as well go along with it.

#bendy and the ink machine #fanfiction #bertrum piedmont #hel #garm #lacie benton

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blazerina · 6 years ago

Text

Deceived (Perfect Match MC x Damien)

Summary: This is my take on how the PM MC would respond right after fake-Damien’s realization he cannot describe art.

Author’s Note: This is NOT a part of my AU, but my MC is still Kendall. I’m using this as a way to process my own thoughts and feelings about the fake-Damien and what this could mean.

Word Count: 1117

**Hope you enjoy! More of the Damien x Kendall AU will be coming soon.**

Kendall knew she shouldn’t have left Damien in his moment of need – wait, that wasn’t Damien – but she didn’t know what else to do. She had to get out of the museum and find a place where she could breathe. If the roof had collapsed or the earth swallowed her whole, she would not and could not have been more surprised. Replaying the scene over and over again, hearing the word “indescribable” echoing in her ears, made her feel queasy. Her stomach lurched and she felt as though she was going to be sick as she found the emergency exit. Bursting through the door, she ran down the stairs as fast as her wobbly legs would take her. She stopped quickly to hang her head over the railing, gagging a little bit. Once the feeling had passed, she decided to sit down on a step before she completely lost her breath. She pressed her hand to her forehead and willed herself to calm down, pleading with her own pulse, her own heartbeat, to slow down. She controlled her breathing and steadily made her way to the ground floor where she pushed again through the heavy door into the outside. The fresh night air hit her in the face and woke up her senses. She looked down at her hands, realizing that they were uncontrollably shaking and trembling with fear and anger.

The night before she stared out over the “city of love” from the top of the Eiffel tower. How was that only 24 hours ago? In that moment, even though she was a bit scared and concerned about what was to come with Eros and she desperately wanted to go home, she felt so safe. She felt sure of her future with Damien. She had no doubt, that whatever was coming for them, they could face it together; side by side, they could take on Eros and the world. It had taken long enough for them to realize that they wanted each other. Finally, they could be free of the feelings and doubts that had once kept them from being totally and completely, real with one another.

Real.

There was that word.

A word that once rang so true in regards to her feelings about him…and now…

She questioned what was real and what wasn’t. What parts of her life the last few days, weeks and months had been a lie?

The solace and security Kendall felt with Damien, she now knew to be fake. Which begged the question, had her whole relationship with him been a fraud? How long had he been an android? Robot? AI? Whatever they call them.

Was he even a real person to begin with? He had to be. Surely he was…Right?

She clenched her fists in anger as she paced up and down in front of the steps leading into the museum. Dodging passersby on the sidewalk, she tried to channel her rage and again calm herself down. There had to be a logical explanation for all this.

When was he switched?

Her mind was racing and her head was starting to ache. Around the corner from the vast entrance of the museum, she sat down on the edge of the street, right on the curb where bicyclists and a few cars drove by; other than that, it was quiet. In the solitude, she allowed herself to deal with what was really her most terrifying thought. Her hands began to quiver again as she looked up at the streetlight and swallowed hard.

What if Damien didn’t want her?

What if it was the fake Damien who had confessed his feelings to her?

What if this whole trip, this whole adventure, had been some part of Eros’ master plan?

She had given her heart and all of herself to him. It wasn’t something she decided on a whim; it had happened long ago. When he expressed his feelings for her, at last, it was no question in her mind that she wanted to be with him. She knew she’d never forget the thoughts and feelings she had as she crawled into bed that night in the safe house after walking with him in the woods. She was expectant and hopeful, and happy about the thought of a future and a relationship with someone she was sure she had loved for a long time.

How could all of that not be true?

A single tear rolled down her cheek and Kendall wiped it away furiously. Standing up, on the street corner, she furrowed her brow, resolute and determined. Eros was NOT going to take this away from her. Eros was not going to win. Eros was not going to make her question and analyze thoughts and feelings she knew to be true, and real, and right.

The Damien she left behind, standing in front of that artwork was not who she fell in love with, but gosh, it was scary to think how easily she believed.

And if that Damien wasn’t her Damien, then where was he?

Was he hurt?

Was he scared?

Was he alone?

Was he…alive?

Not allowing her mind to entertain that thought, she focused on what she could control in the moment.

She had been deceived, tricked and betrayed; lied to not once but twice. Only a fool would let this happen again. She decided it was no longer a battle for what was right, or for people’s hearts; but a battle for reality. A battle for true love. A battle for life.

She would take on Eros, even if it had to be on her own, even if no one would help her. She would go to war in the name of humanity. She would fight for the thoughts, feelings and emotions that make people passionate; the thoughts, feelings and emotions that create experiences in life, and challenge people to truly live by taking risks with the short amount of time they have on this earth.

She would fight for Damien. She knew if the roles were reversed, he would fight for her. He would stop at nothing to get her back. This was now her mission. Eros thought they had won. They thought Hayden was enough to rattle Kendall and bring about the beginnings of their plan, but they hadn’t seen anything yet.

Kendall cared for Damien with such passion and fury that it could not be quenched by an imposter. Her feelings could never be manufactured or rendered counterfeit. Eros underestimated her grit, her tenacity and her determination. When it came to Damien, and when it came to their love, she’d stop at nothing to make sure she found him and that Eros would pay.

#damien nazario #damien x mc #blazerina babbles #perfect match #this is a short little thing #but i wanted and had to write something #i'm still processing #already miss him so much #he better be ok

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spaceraiseda · 6 years ago

Note

What would it look like if Jami met Mari after some years though ?

random stuff / always accepting !

IT’S BEEN YEARS. years that had been packed with questions and self-doubt. years she’d experienced quite a few near-death experiences, went on a whole bunch of adventures. became part of a FAMILY. fell in love. discovered new things about herself and the worlds around her everyday. not much was left of her insecurities concerning her origins from when she was just the girl that yondu picked up on knowhere. she’d lost count of how many times she laid awake at night, wondering just exactly she’d done wrong for her mother to hate her enough to leave her on a planet full of criminals and to treat her so horribly even before that. it took all those years to build up that confidence that it was, in fact, not her fault. it took so much from the crew to make her feel wanted and loved and like she was a part of something. like she belonged somewhere. so she could finally stop questioning where she came from in the first place. her family and their unconditional love merged her into the strong young woman that was now standing in front of the woman that had been supposed to do all that.

lips pressed together into a thin line, jami has her chin up and her teeth gritted. squinted eyes watching the older one attentively. watching her face drop as she begins to realize who she is. ❛ my god, how you’ve grown ❜ it comes in form of a sigh but there’s no reaction to it from the teen. for a whole while, after first realizing what mari had done to her and put her through she’d felt incredible hatred towards her. jami was always convinced she’d at least take a swing at her mother if she met her. but no. there’s nothing. there’s absolutely nothing left. she feels surprisingly calm. instead of hatred, there’s indifference. she does not care about this woman at all. perhaps only because yondu, cir, corvus, kraglin, stakar, eros and gem are always in the back of her mind. keeping her calm. keeping her grounded. part of her would like to have them there with her but she’s decided this is something she has to do for herself. by herself. ❛ s’pose you didn’t expect me to make it past eight, huh ? ❜

there’s only some anger left that she desperately attempts to push down because she will not allow mari to see her emotional. to see her vulnerable. mari wouldn’t be given the privilege to see any of it. this wasn’t a happy reunion. and jami never went in with the expectation that it would be. this woman is a stranger. faint memories was all that she had left of her over the years. most of them making her into something she definitely wasn’t as a coping mechanism. not to paint her mother as the devil that put her through hell. but that is what she was. so it’s surprising to see what jami figured was relief on her features. almost as if she was happy to see her daughter now. ❛ jams, i have to ❜ an amused huff falls from the girl’s lips then as she immediately puts up a hand to interrupt mari, shaking her head. she doesn’t want to hear what she has to say, perhaps it was rude but for fuck’s sake it was about time she gets to give mari a piece of her mind and she would damn well listen to her.

❛ DON’T … first of all, you do not get to call me that. you’re not my friend. you’re no one. if you want to address me, you can call me jami. but you’re not in the position to call me any sort of nickname. who the fuck do you think you are ? second : you will shut your mouth, you will let me talk and then i will leave and you will never see me again. got that ? ❜ her tone determined but still calm. she waits for a nod or anything to confirm that mari understands. ❛ i’m not here for a family reunion. that will never happen between us. we will not be friends either. i have both in my life already. as do you, so i’ve been told. ❜ yondu had, after his encounter with jami’s mother, let her known of it. as well as of the souvenir he’d been given which had unraveled many things after. ❛ which is fine. it was lovely to hear you went on and got yourself a new family while your daughter had to struggle and fight for her life at barely seven years old. that’s alright. in the end, it got me where i am. don’t misunderstand, i’m not thanking you. i would never. but … it still got me where i am. and let me tell you that you missed out on so much. so many fucking things that you could have been part of. but that’s your loss because i turned out alright. actually … i’m fucking a m a z i n g. and i’m tough. and good. and loving. and i always get back on my feet. i’m all that because of the people that raised me. that were there every step of my way. which should have been you. but … you couldn’t be even be half as good as they are if you tried ten times as hard. so, it’s your loss. you fucked up. i hope you know this. and i hope it keeps you up at night. i hope the guilt eats you up while i’m alright and sleeping safe and sound. knowing i am nothing like you. knowing i’m with people that love me. knowing i would never do what you did. ❜ she pauses. swallows hard. blinks back tears. stares her down nevertheless. ❛ i don’t want a half-assed apology. or some lame, shitty excuse. because i don’t need it. i needed it some years ago. but … i did what you did and moved on. and i’m okay. that’s all. i’m okay without you, mari. i don’t have a cool, killer way to end this. i didn’t prepare a damn speech. but that’s all i have to say. ❜ a smile then. obviously fake but that was all intended. no sign of tears left. ❛ it was good to catch up with you, mom. let’s … never do it again. ❜

#long post #oh wow.#phew !#where did that come from.#you think i got an answer to that? / asks.#i was alone before she left me. / mari.

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tvip11-fics · 7 years ago

Text

.eros and apollo (pt. 1)

A/N: Here is the first part of the sequel of the Dan/Val Gods AU! I hope I have a chance to complete this soon because this was super fun to write. Also this of named after the Studio Killers bop (and they’re coming back soon!!!!!)

Warnings: Language and mentions of sex (courtesy of Paulina)

Paulina purses her lips, pink gloss shining in the light of the sun. With a flip of her curls, she turns her head to her other best friend, Sam, and ask the question, "How do you know when you're in love? Like really in love?"

Sam looks up from her book, surprised by Paulina's sudden interest in the topic. "Love? Well, people fall in love in different ways so there’s no one way to tell you’re in love."

"Well, how would someone who was...let's say....shy...fall in love?"

Sam hums a bit as she thinks. "Well, I guess, slowly. They probably wouldn't show a lot of affection, but they might spend more time with whoever they like. I guess they would do small things, like give their lover their favorite food or flower but, they might need a little push to help them make their move.” Sam cocks her head to the side. “Why?"

Paulina shakes her head. "No particular reason." She picks up her brush and starts to work it through her thick hair. "So....what if you had a friend who was shy and in love-."

Sam narrows her eyes. "Paulina."

"-hey! Let me finish!" She clears her throat. "As I was saying, what if you had a friend who was shy and in love and you can see it in their eyes that they really, really, really, really wanna be with their crush, would you help them?"

Sam huffs. "Paulina, leave Dan and Valerie alone. All this love you're seeing is just you projecting!" Sam turns her attention back to her book. "Should've known you were gonna bring them up again."

"I'm not projecting!" says Paulina. "It's real love. I can feel! In my heart, in my blood! Even in my vagina!"

"Paul-....Paulina, you can't just...say that."

"Yes, I can because I am the Goddess of Beauty and I know beautiful love when I see it!" Paulina rises from her vanity and walks over to her friend. "Spring is finally here. My season ripe with both love and worshippers; my altars have been overflowing with offerings. Venus and Jupiter are going to be in conjunction in two days time which means my power will be at an all-time high. If I can get the Goddess of Love on my side-."

Sam slams her book shut. "No. No, no, no! I will not allow you to bother Desiree with this."

"But if I could just give him a little push in the right direction, then he'll confess his feelings."

"Paulina, no. I don't want to hear any more about this." Sam stands up to leave, her robes swishing around her feet. "If I find out you're still trying to meddle in Valerie love life I will get Clockwork."

Paulina gasps. "You wouldn't!"

"I so would!" She crosses her arms over her chest. "So don't even think about doing anything else."

Sam leaves in a flurry, leaving Paulina to pout alone in her temple. "Ugh, she just doesn't understand," she mumbles to herself.

Phantom's so frigid when it comes to things such as love, women, and basic social interaction. Isolation wasn't doing the poor man any good and if time kept going, then Valerie would soon lose her patience with the god and poor Dan would be left alone.

No. She wouldn't let that happen. Paulina decides that she'll talk to him first, give him a bit of womanly advice, and if that fails....

Desiree is always a letter away.

Descending the winding stairs, Paulina made sure to look her best for her talk with Phantom. Men are more likely to pay attention when they're looking at something beautiful and flashy, so she put on her best robes and brushed her hair until it shined like the moon he reigned over.

She takes a deep breath as she stares down at the ornate marble doors of his temple. She hadn't been here since the day she came with Sam. To say she is a bit jittery is an understatement.

But before she can knock the door swings open and she is greeted by the sight of Phantom himself and Clockwork. The air is tense between them and the older god is so busy glowering down at Phantom that neither of them acknowledges Paulina.

"E-Excuse me?" she says.

They both look at her and attempt to wipe any signs of discord from their faces. "Paulina," says Clockwork, "What are you doing here so late?"

She flips her curls over her shoulder and prays that her words don't fail her in front of the old god. "I was hoping to speak with Phantom." There's a slight pause. "...if that's okay with you, of course."

Clockwork is the most important god in all the heavens. He can even tell Pariah Dark what to do. To upset him would be absolutely fucking stupid.

"No, it's fine." Clockwork steps to the side, allowing Paulina to enter. “Just don’t do anything you would…normally do.”

Dan blushes immediately, but it takes Paulina a moment to realize what he’s implying. No! Sure, her libido often had a mind of its own, but she would never sleep with her best friend’s potential lover!

“No! I would never-!” she sputters. “I-I would never come down here with that!” She turns to Dan. “Not that you’re ugly or anything, I’m just not interested.”

Her last comment earns her a soft shake of the head from Clockwork. “Well, don’t stay too long. Daniel has some important business to take care of in the morning.” Clockwork looks at Phantom, his good eye boring a hole into him. “And please, do take what I said to heart.”

Clockwork leaves, shutting the marble door behind him. The two younger gods look each other over for a moment before breaking the silence. “What do you want?” he says with a bitter tone.

Paulina bows. “Phantom, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk with you about Valerie.”

Dan groans. “Why is she the hot topic of the night?”

Paulina blinks. “Has someone already talked to you about her?”

Dan throws a glance at the door. “Yes. My…friendship with Valerie is causing some discord.”

Paulina’s brows furrow. “Discord? Why? You’re both mature gods. Sure, you’re about 4,000 years older, but who cares? That’s like four months in mortal time.”

Dan frowns at her. “My age is not the problem.”

“Then what is it?” Paulina can’t think of any reason that the two of them couldn’t be friends or even lovers, but if the older gods believe otherwise….

“I…they think I would become a danger if I formed any…attachments to Valerie.”

“Oh! Is it because you’re emotionally and socially stunned?”

Dan’s jaw goes a bit slack. “…why are you so blunt?”

Paulina stammers an apology. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to say it like that!”

Dan rolls his eyes. “It’s fine. This is first time I’ve interacted with people besides Clockwork and Jasmine, so they have a right to be worried.”

Paulina perks up at the mention of her sister. “What does Jazz think about all this?”

His expression softens a bit. “She thinks this is good for me.”

Paulina smiles gleefully. “Well, I think so too! Interacting with others and getting out of your cave is very good! And y’know what would be even better? If you and Val just made out. Like, just went at it.”

Dan looks at her for a good minute, trying to decide if he should kick her out or not. “…Paulina, why on Earth would you say that?”

“Because you like her…or at least, I thought you liked her.”

Dan starts to blush furiously. “I-I may have some feelings for her, but I don’t love her-.”

“Ha!” Paulina pokes him in the chest. “I never said anything about love, I said like. Like and love are waayyy different, buddy!” Paulina does a little dance. “Eee! You love Val! You love Val!”

Dan’s blush grows. “Paulina-.”

“Oh, I’m so excited! That means you guys are gonna get married! That means I’m gonna be a bridesmaid!” She gasps. “That means I’m gonna cry.”

“Fine,” he admits, “I may have some romantic feelings for Valerie-“

“Love!” sings out Paulina.

“-but I’m not going to act on them. It would be foolish.”

“Love isn’t foolish! It’s beautiful so you have to try and snag Valerie.” Paulina puts her hands over her heart. “Spring is both my season and Desiree’s. Love is in the air. Now’s the time confess.”

“Why bother?” muses Dan. “It wouldn’t work anyway.”

“It will if you let me help you.”

“And how exactly are you going to help me?”

“I’ll teach you all the ropes. How to woo her, how to write poetry, how to serenade-.”

“I am not singing,” hisses Dan.

“Oh, you will if it comes to it,” says Paulina with a bit of edge. “If all else fails, I’ll get Desiree on my side and on the day of the conjunction I’ll create a little helper to give you some confidence.”

Dan frowns. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

Paulina huffs. “Just trust me on this! Okay?”

Dan sighs. “Fine, just don’t have me do anything stupid.”

“I can’t guarantee that but okay.”

#Dan Phantom #valerie gray #Danny Phantom #dark gray #paulina sanchez #sam manson #clockwork #au

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violetsmoak · 5 years ago

Text

Philtatos [10/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47690671

Blanket Disclaimer

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #warriors #riddle

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

The blade sticks out of Jason’s chest, gleaming unnaturally in the moonlight.

“You were saying?” Cutter purrs.

Somehow, her voice reaches Tim even where he’s pinned, sending a cold chill of dismay surging through his body. He would scream Jason’s name if it weren’t for the unyielding chokehold Dick has him in.

While Tim’s gasping for air, Jason’s attention doesn’t appear to be on the weapon that may have just killed him. From the subtle way his body is straining toward Tim whose attempts to push Dick off of him grow weaker, he seems more preoccupied with Tim than his own predicament.

“Juh…”

His attempts to speak use up valuable air and Tim curses mentally as his vision blurs. He thinks a blood vessel may have burst in his eye.

“What was that, Timmy?” Batman sneers. “Sounds like something’s caught in your throat.”

Great. Even when he’s gone dark side, he’s got to make bad jokes.

Tim tries to keep calm, to control his limited airflow, and think of a way out of this situation. Every beat of his heart feels like it’s jarring his body. And Jason, the poor idiot, keeps trying to inch toward Tim.

Jason, concentrate, she’s about to kill you, or worse!

Tim is distantly cognizant that Damian is still struggling against the way Dick has dangled him, trying to escape. He can hear the shift of leather and Kevlar as Steph struggles to get up.

“I have to say, I was impressed,” Cutter continues, spindly fingers digging into his shoulder as she twists the sword until Jason’s attention on Tim falters. His snarl of pain echoes through the voice modulator but to Tim’s relief, it doesn’t sound wet in a way that would indicate internal bleeding. “Just thinking of all the discord you could cause if those blades of yours were just…a little…corrupted…”

She punctuates each pause with a twist of the blade, and how the hell is Jason not bleeding out right now?

Maybe it’s my imagination…oxygen deprivation…come on, focus! She’s got him with a golden sword—golden arrow? So probably not trying to kill him. And he’s not poisoned with lead the way Dick was which…should be a good thing? Right?

Unless it requires a command to work like the arrow Cutter stabbed Dick with. Tim’s having a hard time coming up with scenarios for the golden diviner, but he thinks that’s more oxygen deprivation than lack of imagination.

Tim shifts beneath the anchor that is Batman, trying to worm his fingers toward the taser trigger in his suit. The way Dick is crowding against him, any charge that goes through him will hit Tim—and Damian—too, so he must be careful of the wattage. Not enough to parboil them all, but enough to allow him some give.

He hopes that because he’s expecting it, he’ll be able to withstand a second or two long enough to get free and get to Jason.

“Hey! Bat-dick!”

Looks like there’s some luck on his side, at least, as Steph, still a bit off-balance, chucks a handful of senbon-like projectiles at him. At the same time, Damian bends upward and wraps himself around Dick’s arm while jamming a knife into the part of his arm not protected by armor. “This one I am not apologizing for!”

“I think what you mean is, ‘sorry not sorry!’” Steph follows up with a swipe of her fist.

Dick snarls, jerks to one side to avoid Steph’s attack, while at the same time flinging the boy off and away from him. Steph grunts in pain as Robin lands on her.

The minute decrease in pressure gives Tim the space he needs to activate the taser. It throws Dick backward with a surge of electricity, which leaves Tim momentarily stunned and gasping against the same pulse.

There’s movement beside Tim, Steph crawling over to his side. “You okay?”

“Been better,” he replies, shaking off the dizziness as he gets to his feet.

“Aren’t you two adorable,” Dick growls, recovered now and stalking toward them. Tim tries to put himself in front of Steph, knowing that her injury will provide too tempting a target, but she snorts and stands beside him.

“Stubborn much?”

“Take a look in the mirror sometime.”

“You two are wasting time,” Damian growls and runs headlong at Dick, skidding low to take his feet out from beneath him.

Dick somersaults in the air to avoid him, lands on his feet in front of Steph, who’s already winding up a punch. Dick lifts off with one foot, twists in the air, knocking the punch off course with his feet and smacking Tim in the face before he can get close. As Steph’s body finishes the botched move, bending double, Dick continues to spin in midair, rolling over her back and flips a knife into his hand, grabs hold of Damian’s cape to wrap around his head, and then plunges the knife downward to pin him to the ground by the material.

Then he’s up and swiping at Tim with another blade, while Tim blocks and dodges out of the way of the wild blows. Seeing an opening, he bends forward and shoulders the older man, hard enough that he turns and faces Steph and her wild swing to the side of his head. Dick ducks, blocks, uses her momentum to flip her to the ground, stomps hard on her gut to leave her gasping, and turns around in time to bob from side to side to avoid Tim’s next onslaught.

Tim leaves himself open, and Dick turns his back, elbowing him in the face from behind.

“You want to know why I fired you?” Dick sneers at Tim, gripping him close. “It wasn’t because Damian needed Robin.” He pulls Tim’s arm over his shoulder and flips him over his back; without letting go, he unleashes a flurry of kicks to the small of his back. “It was because you were never meant to have the title.”

As Tim lists, Dick kicks his heel into his chest.

“Right—because I’m going to listen to anything you say right now,” Tim grunts, fumbling a moment before skidding back on his feet. He forcibly ignores the long-dormant doubts trying to surface in response to his brother’s diatribe, flings out several small explosives as Dick renews his attack, dodging nimbly between the bursts.

“You’ve always been the weakest—better suited to being behind a computer than in the field.” He throws a handful of Batarangs at Tim, who crosses his arms in front of his face to block them; two of them get embedded in his upper arm. “And you’re still mediocre at that compared to someone like Oracle.”

“Everyone’s mediocre compared to Oracle.”

“Keep telling yourself, if it makes you feel better about yourself. Not like you’ve got much else.” Dick catches hold of him, presses the metal deeper through flesh and muscle, making cry out. “Bruce never wanted you. Not as Robin.”

Tim falters a bit at that, if only because he knows that’s true. He lived that himself.

It’s enough of a pause for Dick to take advantage.

“Not as a son.” More pressure, and Tim grits his teeth. “He adopted you out of pity. Because he wanted to protect his secret.” Dick tugs one of the blades loose, turning it in his hand to set it beneath Tim’s chin. “You’ll never measure up to my legacy. Hell, you can’t even live up to the Robin that died!”

“No!” Jason croaks, trying to take another step forward, but kept frozen in place.

“For one of the All-Caste’s chosen, you appear oddly preoccupied with a mere mortal boy,” Cutter muses. “And look what that’s already cost you.”

“Lady, you have no idea,” Jason spits through gritted teeth.

“No need to fret, though. Such affection…it will soon be directed to me instead. That way, it won’t even hurt when Batman crushes his throat.” She stands on tiptoes, mouth near the side of Jason’s helmet. “Now—devote your love to me. Be useful to me and serve my needs. Kill them all as a gift to me.”

She pulls back and for an instant, it seems like the golden sword has duplicated—one is in her hand, the other still stuck in Jason’s abdomen. But the latter vanishes, flickering out of existence the same as the dart that downed Dick.

Somehow, there’s no blood spreading across Jason’s abdomen, or even a hint of a gaping wound. He claws at his gut in surprise.

Meanwhile, as Dick goes to swipe the blade across Tim’s throat, his arm is hauled back, and he is levered to the ground.

Damian stands in his place, cape gone and a furious flush in his cheeks.

“Back off,” he orders. “I won’t have Drake’s death on your conscience, however useless he is.”

“Thanks…” Tim wheezes as he tries to recover. “Really feeling the love.”

“You’re not fooling anyone with that act, little brother,” Dick tells Damian with an unkind smile. “All your talk about emotions and weakness, and all your League training—and you’re as soft as any other kid.”

“I am not a child!”

“Whatever you are, you still bleed.”

There’s a burst of gunfire, causing everyone to duck reflexively, except for Dick. Whether out of reflex, or thanks to the thickness of his mask, he avoids the rounds that skim just past his cheek, leaving red welt of burned flesh in its wake.

“Funny,” Jason growls, from behind clenched teeth it sounds like. “I was going to say the same about you.”

Cutter watches him, wide mouth curling into a cold smile.

Dick shifts his body, accommodating for a possible new enemy. “Are you going to try to kill me now, Little Wing?”

Jason takes another step forward, raising mismatched guns, and takes a shot.

“No!” Steph cries even as Dick throws himself out of the path of the shot.

A second later, Tim notices the weapon Red Hood is leveling at Dick isn’t one of his custom pistoles—it’s one of the tranquilizer guns from the cave. In the same instant, Jason’s whipped around and fired a volley at Cutter, who shrieks and dodges out of the way.

“What?” Cutter demands.

I’ll second that…

“How…?”

“Alright, babybird?” Jason calls, edging back toward Tim, still firing on Cutter who persists in evading.

“How are you still…?”

“I’m just that good.”

“That’s impossible!” Cutter snarls, recovering. “The winged brat himself is powerless against the golden—! How did you—?” She takes note of Jason’s protective stance in front of Tim, and her expression becomes sharp. “Unless…”

She doesn’t finish her thought, instead shakes her head.

“No matter. If you won’t serve me as the Bat does, you’ll die beside your beloved!”

She charges and vaults through the air, bringing down her swords upon Jason’s head—and just as before, out of nowhere, there’s a burst of golden flame that solidifies into swords in Jason’s hands, catching the diviners.

“Help Todd,” Damian orders Tim. “Otherwise the moron will become distracted and get stabbed again.”

“We’ve got this,” Steph agrees.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, bat bitch, you sure?” Dick taunts.

Tim can almost hear Steph’s knuckles crack as she forms a fist. “Oh, I’m so getting my second wind.”

“Just remember he’s not himself,” Tim reminds her.

“No promises.”

“I have alerted Pennyworth,” Damian interjects in. “Presumably he will arrive before anyone dies.”

“You hope,” Tim mutters, already hurrying to Jason’s side to take a position against Cutter. “Any chance you can lend me one of those magic swords?”

“Sorry, Red, they’re sort of soul-coded.”

“Of course they are,” Tim sighs, bringing out his spare bo-staff and clicking the button to elongate it. “You’re explaining that at some point.”

“Help me take this broad down and it’s a date.”

“Stop flirting!” Steph shouts as she holds of Dick’s incoming fists onehanded. She’s using what Tim recognizes as several modified Wing Chun techniques. They’re suited to taking down a normal thug, but right now it just barely allows her to hold her own against Batman. The only thing keeping him from targeting her injured arm is Damian, who has taken his sword back up and levies a savage assault on their older brother that Dick is forced to block.

Meanwhile, Jason and Tim dart toward Cutter, Jason in front and Tim flanking. Her blade arcs to meet him in an overhand swing, the force of it knocking Jason back even as Tim takes position behind her and strikes downward to her shoulder.

She spins and catches it with her other sword, stabbing forward with the first; Tim jerks back as Jason rallies and slices toward her; she catches that, sweeping down low to knock Tim odd his feet, and as she uncoils meets Jason’s blade with sparks, the momentum of the blow throwing him to the ground.

“I’m getting tired of eating dirt,” Jason mutters.

“There’s got to be a way we can get an opening,” Tim agrees, picking himself back up again.

Nearby, Dick grabs Steph, yanks and tosses her over his head, as Damian takes a running jump and launches himself forward. He aims a double kick, which Dick blocks with crossed arms that he uses to shove the boy backward. Damian flips in the air, lands in a lunge, sword still at the ready.

With Jason still on the ground, Tim has to defend when Cutter swings at him, ducking and whipping the staff at her. She twists out of the way in the air, regaining her hold on her swords which come down on Tim. He meets every blow, rapidly shifting his staff to catch the edges.

It works for a bit until one of her blades slices right through.

“Okay. Not just magic, also super sharp,” he grunts. “Noted.”

Mentally cursing, he adjusts his stance to fight with the remaining staff pieces, arcs them around and aims for her head.

Cutter gets out of the way of one of them, but the other hits her in the face. She falls to one knee, but it’s not because she dazed so much as she is trying to pincushion him from below.

Tim jumps back as she lunges forward with an underhanded swing, but Jason is recovered, sliding over and catching them with one of his swords.

“That’s it!” Cutter hisses. “Unleash your savage nature and stop me if you dare!”

“Oh, I dare,” Jason growls. “You killed a kid, Carrie. The only thing you deserve is savage.”

Cutter laughs. “It was a necessary sacrifice.”

“I doubt Green Arrow would think that,” Jason counters. “He’s a bit of a douche, but even he wouldn’t be impressed with a child killer.”

Cutter growls at this, but her moves slow incrementally.

Tim narrows his eyes in calculation.

Why would that affect her? Not worried about killing a kid…but worried about the Green Arrow judging her? Actually, now that I think about it, she slowed down before when Jason mentioned Green Arrow.

Far behind him, Steph launches herself at Dick, aiming a kick at the small of his back; Damian, waiting in the wings, charges forward and launches into his older brother’s chest. It’s not enough to wind him, given the body armor, but does put him off balance.

Before he can take advantage of it, though, Dick flings a bolo outward. The cables wrap around Damian, knocking him off his feet.

Steph has her nightstick out, uses it to knock Dick straight across the jaw to send him sprawling as well.

“Stay down…bat bitch,” she pants.

Jason is still running his mouth.

“I mean, it’s one thing trying to off his lady friend, but a kid? That’s one of those relationship dealbreakers, I’m thinking.”

Cutter narrows her eyes, once again faltering.

Tim decides it’s enough evidence to run with his theory.

“There will never be a chance for you two,” he speaks up, injecting a taunting note into his voice. “No matter who much power you think you have.”

“He won’t have a choice!” Cutter snarls. Her eyes flicker, red to green and back. “I’ll make him love me, in a way I never could before!”

“Will you really?” Jason asks. “Or is that just what your secret god friend told you you’d do? Because you’ve spent an awful lot of time everywhere else but tracking down the Green Arrow.”

“Yeah, Star City’s about 2500 miles that way. You could have been there a week ago, with the diviners, if you hadn’t gotten sidetracked by—who’s plan was it?”

“You…are beneath…her,” Cutter replies through gritted teeth.

“'Her?’” Tim echoes. “Well, that’s a help.” He pretends to consider it. “Although, maybe that’s it. Maybe she’s not bringing you to make Green Arrow yours because she doesn’t think you should be with him?”

“No!” Cutter yells, and her eyes are completely back to green now. The overwhelming sense of presence surrounding her fades and Tim knows that she’s suddenly just Carrie Cutter again.

Jason knows too because he’s ditched his magic swords and now brandishes a tranq gun, shooting her with it in the back.

Cutter goes rigid, and falls to the ground, only just catching herself on her elbows.

“That should have taken her down,” Tim says, dismayed.

“Guess it wasn’t enough to take down a god, huh?”

Behind them, Damian slices through the heavy cable holding him prisoner, as Steph readies her own tranquilizer gun to shoot at Dick.

Jason readies the gun to shoot again. “You’re done, Carrie. This ends now.”

Before he can shoot, though, her wrist lashes out to one side, and—shit, the black sword has reverted to its crossbow form!—trains her weapon on Tim.

“I guarantee I can shoot your boyfriend even if you pull that trigger,” she hisses. “And I have a feeling capturing me isn’t worth him hating you.”

Jason freezes.

“Shoot her!” Tim snaps.

“I…”

Jason’s hand shakes.

“No!” Steph yells from behind them, and its reflex to turn towards it.

Dick seizes hold of Steph’s bo, twisting it out of her hands and jabs upward, intent to crush her throat with its edge.

Instantly, Damian is there, grabbing hold of the staff to slow it enough that she can move; in doing so, he ends up having to grapple hand to hand with Dick. Steph stumbles and gets a grip on the gun, hesitating a moment, before shooting.

At the exact moment that Dick gets hold of Damian and moves him into the path of the projectile, Jason gives a grunt and he’s thrown to one side. When Tim turns back, it’s to see Cutter streaking off into the surrounding woods, leaving her bike behind.

“Looks like that dose is a bit too much for the brat,” Dick observes distantly.

“He’s going into respiratory distress!” Steph yells. She’s trying to get to the boy, but Dick is in her path.

Tim and Jason look at each other. They can’t risk Cutter getting away—but they can’t risk Damian dying. Even though Tim can’t read his expression behind the helmet, he knows that they’ve made the decision together.

Instantly, Tim scrambles over to Damian, while Jason throws himself in Dick’s path, his magic swords vanishing into the ether. “You don’t want to hurt that kid, Dickhead! Why not try someone your own size?”

Dick growls, teeth gritted, and darts forward, using Steph as a stepping stone to get to Jason. He stomps down hard on her already injured side, in a way that grants him momentum

Before Jason can react, Dick’s thighs are wrapped around his neck, twisting him around and using the force of it to throw him to the ground. If it weren’t for the reinforced neck hear, Tim’s sure Dick would have snapped his neck.

Can’t think about that right now.

He feels for Damian’s pulse and checks the other vitals, while Steph pulls a manual resuscitator from her utility pouch. Even as she fits it over his face and Tim keeps an eye out lest Dick somehow make it over to them, he knows Cutter’s already vanished.

“Heart’s stopping,” he grunts, tense as he tries to calculate in his head how high the tranquilizer dose was and how it’s interacting with Damian’s body weight.

“Help me get through the body armor,” Steph orders.

Tim doesn’t have a cast saw on him, or any edged tool that could get through Damian’s body armor, but he does have a modified laser he’s used to open tricky safe doors before. If he holds it the right distance away, it can get through the armor without burning Damian’s skin too badly beneath him.

As he cuts, he tries not to let his attention stray to where Jason, unable to free himself from Dick’s hold, digs tear-gas bombs from his belt and smashes them in Dick’s face. They don’t cause lasting damage considering the thickness of the cowl, but the force is enough to make Dick let up and stagger back with surprise.

Jason crouches to regain his footing, swings a leg out, which Dick avoids, and then jumps up and kicks him in the face, which he doesn’t.

Steph is already peeling the armor to the side before Tim’s stopped cutting and slaps two portable defibrillator patches on Damian.

“Clear!” she barks, activating the charge.

There’s a sizzling sound, and Damian’s body bows upward.

Steph begins CPR, while Tim monitors their patient.

Two minutes pass, rife with grunts and curses from the fight behind them. Dick’s voice echoes in the background.

“You’ve always been jealous.”

“I’d blame getting whammied by Eros’ arrows for the cliché, but you’ve always had the lame one-liners.”

“That why you spent your childhood trying to be me?” he smirks.

“Someone’s got an ego—but then, everyone already knew that.”

“Still not responding,” Tim says through gritted teeth.

“Going to try adrenaline,” Steph says. She’s got a syringe of epinephrine at the ready, and without ceremony, jams it into the part of Damian’s thigh not covered by gear.

As she starts another round of CPR, Jason and Dick continue to trade punches in the background, until Dick somehow gets a hold of Jason and hoists him upward, then twists and throws him face-first onto the ground.

“Come on, Dami!” Steph grunts.

Tim checks his pulse again and frowns. “Still don’t like this pulse.”

“Plan B then.” She’s got another syringe now, this time amiodarone. “If you die on me, you little shit…”

Jason grabs a handful of dirt and chucks it in Dicks’ face, putting him off-guard for a moment and allowing Jason the time to get to his feet. Then he’s running, sliding down to take Dick out at the knees before leaping up with a knife.

“You think it’s ego?” Dick asks, edging to one side to avoid it. “Let’s look at the evidence then.” He captures Jason’s descending arm and twists. “You jumped into my costume—” He uses the leverage to put Jason on the ground, “—into my home—” Jason knocks his head backward into Dick’s jaw, forcing him to let go, but only long enough for Jason to turn around before Dick grasps him by the throat, “—stole my father,”—He tightens his grip, “—my friends—” Jason is forced back and downward, “—my girlfriend.”

Bracing himself, Jason slides his arms upward and out to break through Dicks’ grip on him, follows up with a palm to his abdomen and staggers to his feet. He barely gives himself a pause before jumping and kicking Dick in the face with both feet, even as it propels him back to the ground.

It barely fazes Dick, who’s already stalking back over to him.

“And on top of that, you got yourself killed and turned into a martyr that could do no wrong in everyone’s memory. Even when you’ve fucked up, you get let off with everything.”

Jason spits blood on the ground. “I’ve got stints in jail and Arkham that say different.”

“And you should have stayed there,” Dick growls.

Jason flips him off, but Dick is there again, grabbing him by the front.

“Monsters like you need to be locked up.” He grasps Jason by the throat. “You’re just as bad as every piece of shit you ever locked up. Just look at what’s going on now.” He tightens his grip. “All of this is happening so we can stop you from fucking our brother.”

Tim’s stomach churns at that.

Is that what he actually thinks?

“How messed up is that?” Dick mocks, putting himself right into Jason’s face.

Jason snarls. “He’s—not—my—brother!”

There’s a violent flash, as the Red Hood suit panels explode at their highest frequency and send Dick flying several meters away.

He doesn’t get up again.

In the same instant, there’s a sudden flash of light from overhead as the Batplaneappears out of nowhere, and Damian shoots into a sitting position, gasping and cursing.

For a moment, nobody moves, trying to process everything that’s just happened.

Beneath the lenses of his mask, his eyes are wild and he whips his head around, before croaking, “Where’s Cutter? Don’t tell me you lost her.”

Tim snorts as he and Steph fall back from him.

“Typical,” he mutters.

⁂

Once Alfred has Dick loaded into the Batplane—heavily sedated lest he wakes up mid-flight—Jason and the rest of the motley Bat crew stumble back to the Batmobile.

“Well, that sucked,” Steph mutters.

“The last time we had our collective asses handed to us like that, the Joker tried to throw a dinner party,” Jason agrees.

“Ugh, so glad I missed that one.”

“Given the fact you are all in sub-optimal condition, I will be the one to drive us home,” Damian announces.

“Nice try, demon baby, but I’m driving.”

“Father would not be pleased with an outsider driving the Batmobile.”

“He’ll be less pleased if I let a twelve-year-old drive.”

“I’m fourteen!”

“You just got resuscitated. We’re not trusting your reflexes.”

Damian grumbles mutinously.

“You’re just lucky it was your left arm and not your right one Dick totaled,” Tim tells her quietly.

“Lucky?” Damian sniffs. “I tol—”

“If you say ‘I told you so’, I swear to god, I will tranq you again,” Jason growls.

“You will not,” Tim interjects, “Not after all the trouble we went through to save his life. Which we’re still waiting to hear a ‘thank you’ for, by the way.”

“Why should I thank you for letting the perpetrator escape?”

““On the bright side, at least we didn’t have to deal with Ivy on top of all that,” Steph muses. When Jason and Damian shoot her identical unimpressed looks, she shrugs her uninjured side. “What?”

Batgirl and Robin climb into the car. As the doors close, Damian warns, “Try not to get us killed, Brown. I’ve seen you drive.”

Jason rolls his eyes and follows Tim to the spot where they parked earlier. The younger man is being worryingly silent, but Jason has a feeling he knows what it’s about.

How much I screwed up, probably.

The redbird tires kick up dirt with the force Tim uses to spin them around and toward the main road. Jason reflexively grips Tim’s hand over the gear stick, not out of fear or apprehension, but just reassured at skin contact after their latest ordeal.

Tim apparently doesn’t feel the same.

“Damn it, Jay, we’re not reenacting the end of Thelma and Louise,” Tim snaps with a little more bite than usual. “I need my hand to drive.”

Jason immediately relinquishes his hold, ignores the spark of hurt and something else that leaps in his stomach as he forces himself to lean toward the passenger side door.

Tim notices and then softens. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to—”

“It’s cool,” Jason replies quickly, not wanting to seem like it actually bothered him. He pounces on the first thing he can think of to change the subject. “I can’t believe you’ve seen Thelma and Louise but not Casablanca.”

“What is your obsession with that movie?”

“It’s a classic representation of a bygone era in cinematic history.”

“And I’m supposed to be the nerd in the family…”

“The toys all over your room would confirm that.”

“You mean figurines.”

“I rest my case.”

They side-eye each other, but Jason can see the way Tim’s mouth is twitching like he’s trying hard not to smile given the circumstances.

What I wouldn’t give for him to actually smile at me.

The thought isn’t as out of left field as earlier in the week; Jason supposes he’s just acclimating to the weird stuff Eros’ blood is making him say. Tim’s pretty good about not taking any of it seriously at least.

“So, I have questions,” Tim says after a while, eyes flicking back to the road.

“Starting with who or what the hell is wearing Carrie Cutter as a costume?”

“That—and what’s the deal with those swords?”

“Eros did say they could change form into other weapons.”

“Not talking about Cupid’s swords,” Tim grunts, in that same exasperated tone Bruce always uses when he knows Jason’s being evasive. “You. Those blades you had came out of nowhere. So I’m guessing that’s not part of Eros’ infection. You’ve had access to them for a while.”

“They’re not exactly something I can whip out in the middle of any fight when things get dicey,” Jason defends. “Only works against a certain kind of foe, which don’t show up often enough for you bat-stalkers to get a good look at them.” He pauses. “Actually, I don’t think they even show up on cameras, so it might be that.”

“Not answering the question, Jason.”

“You’re cute when you’re mad.”

Tim makes a choked sound and his cheeks and neck go red in what Jason expects is frustration, so he takes pity on him.

“It’s a long story, okay? None of which I really want to repeat right now,” he scowls. Not telling him they’re powered by my soul, something tells me he’ll take issue with that. “All you need to know is they only show up in the presence of true evil.”

“True evil,” Tim muses. “So, when they disappeared while you were fighting her…?”

“Carrie was back in the driver’s seat. And crazy doesn’t always mean evil, I guess. Never tested it before.” He pauses to think for a minute. “I should really try them out on the Joker some time.”

“Magic swords…” Tim shakes his head as they speed over the Kane Memorial Bridge. “Not my area.” Then he frowns and shoots Jason a look. “Are they why it didn’t work on you?”

“Huh?”

“Her sword. She stabbed you with the gold one, which I figure is analogous to the golden-tipped arrows. It’s the same thing she did to Dick with the lead one. But you were immune.”

“Thankfully. I don’t know what that was, and I wasn’t exactly expecting it.”

“No shit,” Tim says, and suddenly he sounds harsh again. “You weren’t expecting anything because you turned around to check on me.”

“You were in trouble.”

“I had a plan! I always have a plan.”

“Yeah, I saw your plan. It involved electrocuting yourself.”

“To get Dick off of me.”

“That’s the worst plan ever.”

“Better than you getting stabbed, Jason! If she’d used a normal sword on you instead of the diviners, you could have…” Tim trails off, shakes his head and glares at Jason. “I know you’re not exactly firing on all cylinders lately, but that was a really stupid oversight.”

Jason opens his mouth to retort, and then pauses as something occurs to him.

Tim’s not angry with him, but at himself somehow. Like he thinks it's his fault.

How the hell did he end up coming to that conclusion?

“Hey, stop that,” he orders. “You can’t blame you for this. It’s like blaming a girl for being attacked because of the clothes she’s wearing.”

“This isn’t the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?”

Jason’s hand gravitates back to Tim’s, resting gently on top as he grips the gear-shift.

They sit in silence for a while, discomfort filling the small space. It’s not until they make the turn-off toward the hidden entrance to the Cave that Tim speaks again, taking up their conversation from before.

“Whatever kept you immune is probably down to what Eros did to you.”

“Maybe, maybe not. He’s not immune himself, remember?”

“Right. She said that, didn’t she? I could have to do with your super-secret swords.”

“Still not the time to talk about that.”

“Fine, fine…back to the fight. Clearly it’s possible to hurt her when Carrie’s in control instead of whoever’s hitched a ride in her body. So how do we keep her in that state long enough to take her down?”

“Other than mentioning Green Arrow? That did something.”

“We could ask Oliver to make a trip out here.”

“Great idea. If she kills him, it’s one less rich asshole in the world.”

“Jason!”

“Kidding, kidding…”

Except not really, because Queen’s a douche.

“Let’s just…unpack everything. Her behavior, her mannerisms, things she said…”

“The crazy and the crazier…”

“What was that thing she mumbled when she stabbed Dick?” Tim wonders. “It sounded kind of familiar.”

“It’s from A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

“What?”

“The play,” Jason enunciates and when Tim still looks nonplussed, he adds, “by Shakespeare?”

The younger man shifts uncomfortably. “I sort of…zoned out of most of those classes.” Jason shoots him a disgusted look and he raises his free hand in defense. “What? Half the time I was exhausted from patrol the night before, and the other half—” He makes an exasperated noise. “It was needlessly confusing. Language has evolved since then. Also, all the plots are ridiculous.”

“I’ll say it again. You’re a heathen. I don’t know why I like you.”

“Because you’re infected with the blood of the god of love?” Tim suggests, and though Jason knows he’s trying for a joke, there’s something tense in his words.

He feels like he needs to reassure him. “To be fair, you were my favorite before that.”

“I was…what?”

“As much as it’s possible to have a favorite pain in the ass,” Jason continues thoughtfully. “And next to Cass, of course. Just because I’m pretty sure she’s everyone’s favorite.”

“Of course…” Tim repeats faintly.

“But yeah, you’re definitely less annoying than the rest of the brood. And you forgave me for almost killing you those times, which is pretty cool of you.”

Silence meets his explanation, and he glances over to find Tim staring at him, mouth agape.

Way to sound like a kid with a crush, Todd. Great job.

“Hey, watch the road,” Jason snaps, ears heating up.

Tim clears his throat and gives a minute shake of his head. There’s another taut silence as they pull into the Cave garage and he puts the car in park.

Jason stays silent, letting Tim brood with his thinking face on; just watches him with what feels like a stupid look on his face until Tim shakes his head and they get out of the car.

“So a nameless mythical deity that possesses people and likes to quote Shakespeare?”

“I admit, it was kind of odd and out of the blue for her to say that,” Jason agrees. “Maybe she was trying to be dramatic. I mean, she butchered the delivery anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, in the play, that part’s about making someone fall in love, not overtly causing them to hate other people.

Tim is silent for a few moments, parsing Jason’s explanation.

“Okay, so she was trying to be clever?” he suggests. “Or, whoever’s wearing her is being clever.”

“Maybe they have an appreciation for the Bard.”

Tim ignores that. “It just seems so out of place with everything else that happened in the fight.”

“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar,” Jason points out.

“And sometimes it’s a stick of dynamite.”

As they head to the stairs, they pause in front of the containment unit where Dick is lying unconscious, divested of cowl and tools. That’s a preventative measure since there’s no cure for the arrow that they know of, and no telling what he’ll do upon waking.

Watching over him, arms crossed and a forbidding expression on his face, is Bruce.

Shit. Daddy’s home.

When he hears them approach, the original Batman turns to face them, expression thunderous.

“This isn’t going to be good,” Tim murmurs under his breath, lips barely moving.

Jason snorts with laughter. “Well, damn, babybird, you made me miss my curfew.”

Tim groans. “Not now, Jason.”

Before they can do more than blink, Bruce is in front of Jason, fingers clenched in the material above his body armor, lifting him enough that Jason finds himself balancing on his toes.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Bruce demands.

“Bruce, stop it!” Tim yells, trying to put himself between them.

“Stephanie’s injured! Dick is out of commission—Damian could have died—!”

“As if that’s different from any other night,” Damian mutters from across the way where he’s beadily watching Alfred treat Steph’s fracture.

She shushes him and elbows him with her good arm.

“This is exactly the kind of recklessness you wanted to prevent when you contacted me!” Bruce continues. “What was the point if you were just going to go out anyway?”

“Bruce, it wasn’t Jason’s idea,” Tim insists, trying to put himself between the two of them. “It was mine.”

Bruce pauses, somewhat caught off-guard. It gives Jason the opportunity to free himself and step back, arms crossed. “Way to shoot first and ask questions later, B.”

“You were told to wait,” Bruce growls at Tim.

“For what?” Tim argues with unexpected vigor. “A few more hours and you’d have been here, but what would it have changed?”

“Dick and Stephanie wouldn’t be injured, for one.”

“You don’t know that,” Jason interjects.

Tim nods in agreement. “Even you couldn’t have accounted for Cutter actually being possessed by some god. It might even have been much worse if you had been there.”

“Tim has a point,” Steph pipes up. “She could have whammied Batman—well, she did whammy Batman, but not the broody Batman. Things might have been worse than a broken arm.”

Bruce shoots Steph a look like he doesn’t know whether to be more irritated by her speaking up, or by the implication that he would have been taken out in the same fashion as Dick.

“Basically, I kind of think we got off easy. In the long run,” she concludes sagely. A beat later, she giggle-snorts. “'Got off’.”

Damian wrinkles his nose in disgust. “I honestly can’t tell if this is your base sense of humor or if Pennyworth put you on the good painkillers.”

Impaired or not, Steph’s clearly making enough sense to make Bruce think twice. He doesn’t look like he likes that, either, and Jason can see by his face he’s deciding on a different tack.

“You still should not have removed Jason from the premises. Red Hood is not cleared for fieldwork until this situation is resolved, and you put everyone in danger by allowing it.”

“Excuse me? No one ‘allows’ me to do anything,” Jason scoffs.

Bruce ignores him. “You couldn’t have known what heightened adrenaline might do to this infection.”

“It was a chance to get the diviners back, and I wasn’t going to waste it.”

“And now you’ve compromised any element of surprise that we had,” Bruce points out. “Cupid and whatever entity is backing her now knows you’re looking to get them back. This was incredibly short-sighted of you, Tim. I’m disappointed.”

Tim’s mouth thins, something flashing across his face that Jason doesn’t quite catch, before he straightens his back and does his best to loom right back.

Jason swallows, feeling a little hotter beneath his gear.

That’s hot. Why is that hot?

Bruce ignores it, continuing on.

“And it’s not just Tim who should have known better. Damian, Alfred, you do know better.”

“I am quite sure the man I raised isn’t presuming to chastise me,” Alfred replies calmly. “Just as I’m sure any and all attempts I may or may not have made to dissuade the young masters would have been as summarily ignored. Much in the same way similar attempts with their father have been rebuffed all these years.”

Bruce clenches his jaw.

Score one for the Englishman.

“What good does knowing better do me if no one listens?” Damian mutters, clenching his fists.

“Just wait ‘til you’re taller, little man,” Steph soothes.

“Shut up, Brown.”

“And you did not see the state Master Jason was descending into,” Alfred says, not as an excuse but as fact. “This was a judgment call made with the information we had at the time.”

“Information based on Tim’s analysis—Tim, who has been compromised about this from the beginning!”

Tim’s cheeks flare red and there’s something that looks almost like panic in his eyes. Jason doesn’t know the reason for it, but he knows that he’ll gladly fight the guy who put it there.

“Yeah, screw you, B,” he snaps, putting himself directly in his face. “It’s not like there’s a manual for this sort of thing. “Tim’s doing his best.”

Bruce shakes his head, mind clearly made up.

“Jason should be quarantined again—” He ignores their noises of protest, “—Tim can stay close by to offset whatever symptoms manifest, but outside. It’s safer that way if the infection progresses in such a way where he becomes dangerous.”

“No!” Tim argues. “Right now, the best place for Jason is next to me—without a bulletproof glass wall between us. We’ve already seen that the more often we’re separated, the more debilitating the symptoms become.”

“That won’t always work.”

“But for now it does.” Tim crosses his arms. “I’m staying with him.”

“Then you’re officially benched.”

“If you think either of us going to sit back and wait for you to solve a case that involves us, you’ve taken one too many blows to the head,” Jason snorts.

“Don’t you see, Bruce? Working the case—it’s helping Jason occupy himself. Otherwise, he’s literally tearing his hair out.”

Damian opens his mouth and Jason snaps a finger in his general direction. “Make one crack about my hairline, baby demon, and I swear I’ll—"

“It’s clear to me that Jason is not the only one compromised—Tim, you shouldn’t be in the field either. I don’t want to see you out there, is that clear?”

“You’re not going to stop us.”

“Tim.”

It’s one word, said with enough warning as to remind Tim exactly who he’s talking to.

“Okay, fine, you probably could stop us, physically,” Tim allows. “But we won’t make it easy. And then we’re both out of here and screw your help.”

“Just listen to yourself! You’re no longer sounding like you,” Bruce says, narrowing his eyes. “That’s enough to confirm everything I’m saying.”

“I’m not sounding like me because I’m not just going along with everything you say?” Tim counters. “Newsflash, Bruce, you don’t always know what’s best. Jason’s been saying it for years and everyone ignores him, but maybe he’s on to something!”

“Tim!” Steph protests.

He throws up his hand in disgust. “You know what? Fine. We’re benched. We won’t go out in the field anymore. But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on this case, I can still investigate from a distance. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean we have to stay down here with you!”

He turns on his heel and stalks off back down the stairs, his cape flaring behind him in such a Batman-reminiscent fashion that Jason would laugh if he weren’t so stunned at what’s just transpired.

He’s not the only one having trouble processing, it seems.

Alfred sighs in a way that’s supposed to sound like exasperation, but which everyone knows masks worry. Damian and Steph are actually open-mouthed. Bruce looks like he’s trying to remain blank-faced, but there’s calculation going on in those eyes.

Jason doesn’t want to know what that calculation is coming up with.

Instead, he shakes his head and jabs his thumb in Tim’s direction.

“I’m with him,” he says, already walking away. “Because of the whole…you know. Infection. But also, you’re a douche.”

“Jason—”

“Let them go, Master Bruce,” Alfred says. “I believe we all need to take a few moments…”

Damian says something, but honestly, Jason’s no longer listening, too intent on going after Tim.

He’s feeling something strange and buoyant, something that’s edging dangerously close to validation.

It’s a novelty because he’s always the scapegoat, the family screw-up and cautionary tale. No one ever defends him—it’s almost required that everyone have a caustic comment for him by now, and normally he takes it in stride, gives as good as he gets.

But Tim, of all people, is on his side this time and that’s put a ridiculous smile on his face.

That smile vanishes when he gets down the stairs and he sees the way Tim’s expression is twisted, not with righteous anger, but with guilt and doubt.

“He’s right,” Tim murmurs, pacing back and forth. “This isn’t like me.”

“Are you kidding?” Jason asks, trying for levity. “That was amazing.”

“You’re just saying that because I told off Bruce, and you’re happy when anyone tells him off.”

“Well, yeah. But also, how many people have the balls to stand up to the Big Bat? Present company excluded.”

“He’s just so…” Tim trails off, gesturing wildly to encompass his meaning, and then throws down his hands in annoyance. “You know what? There isn’t even a word.”

“Been saying that for years.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s wrong. We should have waited. We didn’t even get anything out of this.” Tim runs his fingers through his hair, agitated. “Except for him getting pissed off at you. And you’re the one who he’s supposed to be helping.”

Jason shrugs. He’s too used to that sort of thing for it to be a surprise. He moves in closer to Tim, filled with the urge to protect him somehow.

“And I’m supposed to be helping, but I just made it worse.”

“Bullshit. This whole situation is fucked up, it’s not all on you.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you weren’t hopped up on Olympian blood.”

“Okay, then, how about I go take a swing at B? I’m always up for that.”

Tim snorts. “I don’t think one thing necessarily cancels out the other.”

But he’s smiling now, expression going clear and relaxed for a minute and for a second Jason sees the kid as he is when he’s not pretending to be red robin or Tim drake Wayne or dutiful son or terrifyingly clever master planner that goes head to head with Ra's al Ghul.

And Jason can’t help really help himself anymore.

Maybe it’s the infection, or the lingering adrenaline from the fight with Cupid, or the argument with Bruce. Or just the way Tim, fresh off standing up for Jason against everyone else, is looking at him just then.

But before he can really think better of it, he’s leaning in and covering Tim’s mouth with his.

⁂⁂⁂

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