#I just wanna open up shivs head and find out everything that she’s about | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

supercap2319 · 3 years ago

Text

The Prince and The Fairy Chapter 13

Pairing: Sky x Male Reader

A/N: Chapter 13 is finally here. Thanks for all the support. Enjoy!

Y/N and Bloom stared at the wall of energy as Rosalind spoke in their heads. “I can only imagine how many questions you both have for me.”

“Yeah, just a few.”

“I’ve only got one for you two. Do you have any idea how special you both are?” Rosalind asked them. “Do you want to learn a new trick?”

“Right… Right now?” Y/N asked.

“You need to know where you came from. And I need to get out of here. Now, access that ice and flame inside you.”

Y/N and Bloom closed their eyes for a moment before opening them again, their eyes blue and red, respectively. “Your instincts are telling you that the ice and flame will freeze and burn you. Your instincts are wrong. Grab onto it.”

Outside the door, Terra, Sam, Musa, and Stella waited for the siblings to come out. “Y/N and Bloom have been in there a long time. What could they be talking about?” Terra wondered.

“I once heard you talk about dirt for two hours,” Stella said. “Dirt. Two hours.”

“It was soil. We just left Beatrix lying there in Ms. Dowling’s office,” Terra said. “I just wanna make sure she’s not awake fashioning four shivs.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Musa agreed. “I’ll be one shiv four times. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab.”

“Can we just go and check, please?”

“Fine, but you’re overreacting.”

They walk back towards the office, only to discover that Terra was right. Beatrix is gone. “Ah, look at that. She’s gone. I’d like my apology via a scented, handwritten note after we find her.”

Musa’s eyes flash purple as she feels someone coming. Add that to the sound of footsteps. “It gets worse.” Ms. Dowling and Professor Harvey storm in, angrily glaring at the four Fairies. “You have no idea of the trouble you’ve caused.”

“But we were just trying to find the—”

“—Not another word! Come with me,” Professor Harvey says. Aisha is standing next to the adults, her hand down as the others follow Ben Harvey.

“Hope the brownie points you're getting from this will keep you company when you have no friends,” Stella spat as she walked past Aisha. The others follow after her. Aisha looks down as she turns and leaves as Ms. Dowling sets her sights on the tunnels. She marched down to the catacombs to stop Y/N and Bloom before it’s too late.

“Touch the barrier again,” Rosalind instructs. “You’ve got this.”

Y/N and Bloom try again as they use their combined powers to bring down the barrier around Rosalind as she gently floats to the ground. “You need food, water, rest,” Bloom says as Y/N keeps her steady.

“No. I need magic,” Rosalind says.

By the time Ms. Dowling arrives, it’s too late. Rosalind is freed and Bloom and Y/N are gone. Y/N and Bloom follow Rosalind through a secret passageway that leads out of the tunnels and into the graveyard. They open the door and walk out into the night. “The secret graveyard passage is… creepy!” Bloom chuckles nervously.

“Wait till you hear about the one Dinner Lady Doris has to lumber over every day,” Rosalind says.

“In the canteen?”

“Mm.”

“Ms. Dowling doesn’t know about any of them?” Y/N asks.

“There’s a lot of things Farah doesn’t know about.” Y/N and Bloom follow Rosalind.

Back at the school. Ben Harvey is lecturing his kids and Musa, Stella, and Aisha about what happened. “Insubordination. Breaking and entering. Endangering the lives of your classmates. And releasing Rosalind? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Professor Harvey glanced at his kids. “I’d say I was disappointed in you, but this goes way beyond that.” He turns to leave, shaking his head in disappointment. Terra glances at Sam as he nods his head. She stands up. “You lied again.”

The others look at Terra as Ben Harvey looks at his daughter. “Excuse me?”

“About Rosalind. About Aster Dell. About everything. And you’re angry with me?” Terra asks him. “You can’t punish me for not knowing something that you didn’t tell me. It doesn’t make any logical sense.”

Ben Harvey was silent. Terra won this round, but he wasn’t gonna let her know that. He gave her a stern look as he told all of them. “Well, I suggest you all cool down.” He opens the door and walks out, slamming it behind him.

Terra and Musa go to the door and try to open it up, but discover the doors are locked. Professor Harvey used his magic to seal them inside. “He’s used his magic to seal the doors. I caught him in a logic trap, and he’s used his magic to ground us.”

“That means you won, sis. Congrats,” Sam smirked.

“He’s overwhelmed,” Musa said.

Aisha gets up and tries to make a beeline for her room, but Stella sees her trying to sneak away. “Uh, where do you think you’re going? I always knew you were a teacher’s pet. I just didn’t realize that pet was a rat.”

“I was planning on de-escalating the situation by removing myself from it, but if you want to escalate“” Aisha steps forward and so does Stella.

“Can we just take 30 seconds, please?” Musa begs. She can’t handle all that emotion. “At least let me get my headphones.” She goes to her room as Sam follows her. He shuts the door behind him as he wraps his arms around Musa and she focuses on him and not on Stella and Aisha as they argue outside.

“You always think you know what’s best.”

“Sorry, you have to be visible to have a point of view.”

“You don’t snitch. Everyone over five knows that. Even Terra knows that,” Stella says.

“Hey! I mean… Yeah. But hey!” Terra said.

“There are Burned Ones outside the barrier. Y/N and Bloom are being selfish. The last thing Ms. Dowling needs is to be worried about Rosalind,” Aisha counters.

Ms. Dowling searches for her missing students and mentor as she looks at the Stone Circle by the waterfalls. She glanced at the grass and stones, but could find nothing. She took out her phone and texted that she couldn’t find them, but to keep an eye out for them as she heard a twig snap. She scanned the area, but turned on her heel and left the mystical place. A moment later, the air shimmered as Y/N, Bloom, and Rosalind became visible. Just like Stella and Sam.

Y/N turned to her. “I thought you said you were weak, that you couldn’t do magic. But you can make us invisible?”

Rosalind placed her hands on the stone altar as her hands glowed with blue electric energy. “In the Stone Circle, I can draw on the magic of the land. That’s why I had you both bring me here. Recharge the old batteries,” Rosalind smiled.

“What happened at Aster Dell,” Bloom demanded.

Rosalind got closer as she said. “Everything Farah told you is true. I lied to them. I told them Aster Dell was evacuated. It wasn’t.”

Y/N wanted to wipe that smirk off her face. “You killed those innocent people?”

Rosalind turned to look at him. “That’s where it gets complicated. One of the fundamental tenets of the Otherworld is that only Fairies can do magic. The settlers of Aster Dell were the exception. They were humans who drew on sacrifice and death. Blood witches.”

“Wait—”

“So when the Burned Ones descended on them, I saw my opportunity to destroy them both.”

“Wait. If the settlers of Aster Dell were witches and our birth parents were Fairies, then—”

“—You're right. Your parents aren’t from Aster Dell. You both were kidnapped by the witches. Your fairy parents were nowhere to be found,” Rosalind said.

“What about Daphne?”

“Daphne? I suspect she perished against the witches.”

“So, they could still be out there? Why didn’t you go looking for them?” Bloom asks.

“You weren’t safe in the Otherworld. The power inside you both is too great. That’s why the witches wanted you. To use your power. That’s why the Burned Ones outside the barrier want you too. To get rid of you both before it’s used on them,” Rosalind said.

“They’ve been after us this whole time?” Y/N said. So all this was because of them. The Burned Ones were after them, and Silva almost died because of Y/N and Bloom. Sky almost died because of him. Would Sky hate him if he knew the truth? They brought misery and sorrow everywhere they went. So much for keeping their parents safe.

“Sucks to be special sometimes, doesn’t it?” Rosalind grinned. “But you’ve got me now, and that’s gonna suck for the Burned Ones even more. Are you ready for trick number two?”

….

Sky and Silva are patrolling the outside of the barrier as Silva asks Sky. “Should I be worried I had to find out from Aisha that Bloom drugged you, Sky? Or that you told Y/N everything and he told you everything as well?” Sky harshly stopped Silva and glared at him.

“I don’t know. Should I be worried that I had to learn from Y/N what happened at Aster Dell?”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Silva said as he walked away. He looks at another Specialist. “What’s the situation?”

“I think the Burned One’s through there. Pull it up again.” A female Specialist tells Riven as he brings out his phone and shows them a live video feed. A young girl, Noura, is screaming as the sounds of bones being crunched can be heard. It's not a pretty sound.

“Kat,” Silva says.

“I recognize the hollow Noura ran past.”

“Right, let's go.”

“Wait, wait. Without Fairies?” Riven asks Silva. “We counted at least six Burned Ones. That's fucking stupid.”

“That's an order, Riven. Suck it up,” Sky challenges.

“Let's go,” Silva says.

They walk in the direction of the forest but hear snarling in the distance behind them. All the Specialists pause and listen to the faint screeching.

“That noise isn't coming from the forest. It's coming from the school,” Sky realizes. Y/N’s there.

“Get back and gather all the students and bring them to the courtyard. Move!” Silva commands.

Back at the school, the lights began to flicker on and off. Stella glances up and frowns. “Are we having a power outage?”

“How does that even happen here?” Aisha asks.

“Well, it shouldn't. Alfea’s an outpost. The electricity runs on its magic. Beneath the school are energy wells designed by—”

“—Yeah, I'm gonna skip the history lesson and check it out, Sam says. He uses his powers to phase through the door. Sam walks down the hallway as the lights continue to flicker. “Hello?” Sam glances around. He turns a corner in the hall. There's a snarling in the distance. Sam's heart begins to thump harder in his chest. Talk about your scary movies. There's a sound behind him as Sam turns to see no one there. He sighed. There was no one there. It was just his imagination. Sam turns back to the front as he comes face to face with a Burned one. It snarled as it slashed at Sam's side with its claws. Sam cried out as he limped back to the suite. A trail of blood behind him.

“Filled up with enough magic, they act like a battery,” Terra explains.

Sam comes back into the room as he falls to the ground. Terra looks at her bleeding brother in shock. “Sam!”

Sam turns around, sweat dripping down his face as he pants out. “There's a Burned One in the school!” The others look at each other in shock.

Meanwhile, at the Circle Stone, Y/N and Bloom are busy channeling all the magic that they can inside themselves. Bloom has the torches lit all around them as the fire licks up and down her arms in circles. Y/N can feel the icy exterior of his magic as it swirls around him.

“Dig deeper than you ever have before,” Rosalind instructs behind them. “What you both did to free me was just a fraction of the magic you need.” The flames around Bloom grew hotter and wilder as the ice on Y/N drew colder and sharper. “More. Let your powers consume you.”

Y/N felt like he had that awful night at his home. When Bloom had burned their house, or when Y/N almost froze their dad solid. Y/N gasps as that power worms its way to his heart and leaves him feeling cold. “Keep going.”

“What if we lose control?” Bloom asks in a shaky voice.

“Control limits you!” Rosalind says.

“I'm scared,” Y/N whispers out.

“Good. The moment you start to enjoy that feeling is the moment the world unlocks for you. A wildfire burns within you, Bloom, and a snowstorm of power is waiting for you to unlock it, Y/N. And with the right people around you…”

Y/N and Bloom called off their magic as they looked at Rosalind with a pointed look. “You mean with you,” Bloom said. “With you around us. You want us to listen to you and trust you and let you guide us? We just met you.”

“You hid us from Ms. Dowling. You didn't tell anyone we existed!” Y/N’s voice cracked a little as he admitted. “I almost killed my dad and Bloom almost set us all on fire because you left us in the First World with no guidance.

“The guidance you needed was love,” Rosalind calmly said. “Farah couldn't give that to you. Vanessa and Michael could.” She glanced down at Y/N’s necklace and smirked. “Seems like you have a new kind of love, Y/N. The love of Erendor’s son.”

“You know about Sky?”

“And our parents' names?”

“I knew they were about to lose a son and daughter. I gave them a second chance. And I gave you both a hiding place from the monsters that wanted you dead,” Rosalind said. “I will always, always look out for you, Bloom, Y/N. And when this is over. We'll find your birth parents together.”

Y/N couldn't tell if she was being sincere or just manipulating them again. The sound of a phone buzzing is heard as Bloom looks at her phone. It's a message from Stella.

Burned Ones inside the school. Stuck in the suite.

“They're in the school,” Bloom said.

“Who?” Y/N asks.

“The Burned Ones.”

“We need to go.”

“Are you charged? Can you help?” Bloom asks.

“I can't. But you don't need it,” Rosalind says.

“Come on, Bloom,” Y/N says as they run out of the Stone Circle and head to the castle of the school. Bloom and Y/N are running when they hear snarling close by them. They stop and glance around. The sound of twigs snapping can be heard as they turn around to see Sky standing in front of them. “There you guys are.”

“Sky,” Y/N says as he throws his arms around his boyfriend in a hug. Sky sighs happily, feeling Y/N’s warmth once again. The young fairy pulls back. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, but the others might not be. Come on,”Sky said as they followed him back to the school. “All the students are being taken to the main courtyard.”

Once inside Alfea, they pass by fairies and Specialists with flashlights. As they silently made their way to the suite and discovered it was locked. Sky and Y/N look at each other as they begin to push open the door with everything they can. It eventually opens up to see a shocked Stella and Terra.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

“We have to get help,” Terra says.

Y/N looks down and sees an infected Sam Harvey. “Sam!” Y/N kneels down beside his friend.

“Oh, shit,” Sky says.

“He said there’s a Burned One in the school.”

“We need to get him to the courtyard. They’re barricading it off. We'll be safe there,” Sky says as he and Y/N help Sam to his feet and drag him to the courtyard. All the students and faculty gather in the courtyard as they secure the entrances and make sure they’re tightly secure. The light Fairies are using their magic so that everyone can see in the dark since there’s no electricity. The fire Fairies are busy welding metal pieces to the entrances.The canteen was full war zone as Silva and the Specialists were passing out armor to the Fairies so that they’d have protection when using their magic against the Burned Ones.

Terra and Musa make it down the stairs first and towards Professor Harvey as he tries to get Marcos to stay still. “Dad!”

Professor Harvey looks up and sees his son being carried by Sky and Y/N. He looks so pale. “Sam!” They put him on the table as he grunts in pain. His breathing is ragged and his eyes are closed in pain. “I need Zanbaq, now!” Sam yells in pain as Ben Harvey examines his son’s gash. It’s deep and red. He looks at Terra. “There’s so much blood. Why didn’t you bring him immediately?”

“Cause we were locked in our room, Dad. Remember?”

They hear Ms. Dowling’s voice behind them. “As I'm sure you're aware, Burned Ones have infiltrated the Barrier and the school. For some reason, the magical energy wells which power everything at the school have failed. I managed to speak with Queen Luna before they did. She understands the gravity of what's happening here, and the Solarian troops are on their way. We're barricading all entrances to the courtyard. We're safe for now…”

Ms. Dowling pauses as she looks at her students. “But we must prepare for the reality that the Burned Ones may infiltrate the space before they arrive.” The students murmur at this news. “This is what we've been training for. Be cautious, but be brave. Let magic guide you, and let's show them what it means to be Alfenas. Prepare the barricade,” Ms. Dowling says as she walks off.

Sky walks up to Stella. “Y/N said you ran away from home.”

“No, home is on its way, so that’s fun,” Stella says sarcastically.

“I could help hide you if you want.”

“'Course you can. And part of me really wants you to, but… breaking up was the right thing to do,” Stella admits. “We never should've gotten back together. We are codependent at best, toxic at worst. This time, I have to deal with it for myself.”

Sky gives her a sad smile as he looks to his left at Y/N. “You sound like Y/N.”

“Well, I mean, is that such a bad thing?” Stella glances at Y/N as well. “Seems to be what you're into these days.” Sky bites his lips in worry as he looks at the princess of Solaria. “I'm messing with you. Kind of.”

Y/N and Bloom track down Ms. Dowling and try to smooth things over with her. “We know you’re mad—”

“—An understatement,” Ms. Dowling responds.

“Rosalind isn't the monster you think she is. She had a reason to lie. The settlers of Aster Dell

weren't innocent. They were Blood Witches. And our birth parents weren't even there.”

Ms. Dowling turned and looked Y/N and Bloom up and down, like she was seeing them from the very first time. She sighed. “She certainly has a way of winning people over, doesn't she?”

“Is your ego so fragile that you can't even consider for a minute that you might be wrong about her?” Bloom fired back.

“Rosalind gave you just enough information

to string you along. She's manipulating you. It's what she does.”

“And what the hell have you been doing? You hid information from us, not her.”

“Why isn't she telling me this herself? Why isn't she by our side helping us fight? Where is she?” Ms. Dowling asked.

“She has a point, Bloom,” Y/N said. “Why isn’t she helping us?”

“She's still weak. She's not charged up enough, but she said that when she is…” Bloom began as Ms. Dowling cut her off. “Wait. So you were in the Stone Circle?”

Y/N nodded his head as Ms. Dowling closed her eyes for a moment to absorb the information before opening them again and Y/N saw a fury in her eyes as she said. “The Stone Circle is a conduit to the magic of the land. That magic powers everything at Alfea, like our electricity and the Barrier.” She turns and walks away as Y/N and Bloom walk after her.

“Are you saying that Rosalind is the reason the Barrier was weak enough for the Burned Ones to get through?” Y/N asked as they heard a Burned One’s snarl echo in the hallway.

“This is no accident, Y/N, Bloom. Rosalind always has a plan.”

“They're after us, you know.”

“Yes. I didn't realize that at first, but I do now. Which means it's my job to protect you both.”

“But we're gonna fight them, right?” Bloom asked her. “Rosalind told us how to…”

“Your actions are the reason the school's in danger. You've both done enough,” Ms. Dowling snarls. “But if you'd like to be helpful, join the other fire Fairies and weld these gates shut and help the Specialists pass out armor.” She walks past Aisha as she tells her. “The water Fairies could use your leadership and control, Aisha,” Aisha walks off as Y/N and Bloom hear the snarls of Burned Ones.

….

Y/N is watching from a distance as Professor Harvey tries to treat Sam’s infections, but he’s getting worse. Musa tries to keep Sam calm, but it isn’t working as he cries out in pain as it’s too much for the mind Fairy as she walks off. Terra tries to help him. Y/N wants to cry. He did this. He freed Rosalind, and that bitch let the Burned Ones in. Because of him, Sam was gonna die. “I heard the Solarians won't get here until late tomorrow. There's no way he'll make it that long. If these doors don't hold, we're all gonna join him.” Y/N walks off in search of Sky, as he finds him barricading the gate.

Y/N sends an icy blast at the wood as he freezes it solidly in place. Sky turns to him and smiles. “Thanks.”

“Can we talk?” Y/N asks in a small voice.

“Sure. Over here.” Sky brings them to a wall as he looks down at his boyfriend, who’s close to tears. “What’s wrong, Baby Boy?”

“It’s my fault, Sky. I’m the reason this is happening,” Y/N said.

“Y/N, you can’t blame yourself for this. You couldn’t have known that this was going to happen.”

“But I did it, Blue Eyes. Because of me, Sam and everyone else is going to die and I can’t stop it,” Y/N felt the sting of tears as Sky gently lifted his face and wiped away his tears as he kissed him gently. The kind of kiss that was reassuring and safe. Y/N pulled back and looked at Sky, who joked. “Feel better now?”

“I’m not sure. Can we do it again?” Y/N laughed. Sky chuckled as well as Y/N got a look in his eyes. A crazy one. “What is it? Whatever you're thinking of doing, I'm here.”

“I know. And that’s why I can’t let you come with me.”

“We’re in this together, remember? No more secrets,” Sky said.

“I know. I just don’t want to lose you.” Y/N hugged Sky as he hugged him back. They shared each other’s warmth as Sky whispered. “You’ll never lose me, Y/N. I promise you that.”

“Alright, but first I need to find Bloom. Then we’ll meet back here in 10 minutes?”

“Right.”

Y/N went off to find Bloom as Sky went to talk to Silva. “You think the barricade will hold?”

“For a while.” Silva stopped, as did Sky, as he looked at him and told Sky the truth about his father’s death. “I don't know how this night will end, Sky, so I need to tell you the truth about Aster Dell.”

“Y/N told me everything.”

“Aster Dell is where Erendor died.”

Sky frowned. “What? How is that possible? You said my dad died in a battle, fighting.”

“He did,” Silva said. “Against me.”

“Saul!” King Erendor said as he turned Saul around to face him. “There are still people back there. They didn't evacuate my liege. We have to tell Rosalind.”

“She knows.”

“Farah and Ben think they're only killing Burned Ones. They'll kill hundreds of people, Silva had protested.

“Rosalind has given her orders,” King Erendor snapped.

“Her orders are wrong!”

“I am your king, and you will do as I command. I command you to follow Rosalind’s orders.”

“I know, Rosalind, gave you a sense of purpose. I know you're indebted to her. But this is too far,” Silva said.

Erendor pushes Silva back as he tries to walk past him. “I can't let you tell them, Saul.”

“My king, you have a choice. Your orders or your morals. Don't do this. My king…”

“I'm sorry.” They begin to fight back and forth, blocking and attacking, as King Erendor pulls out his sword. “My liege, please!” They trade blows back and forth as Silva stabs the king of Eraklyon in the chest. Silva watches Erendor’s life leave him as Silva pulls out his sword and thunder is heard.

“I… I had to run back to Farah and Ben,” Silva says. “I thought I could stop them in time, but… it was too late.”

Sky tries to keep his voice even as he says. You told me my dad was a hero. A worthy king!”

“Erendor saved countless lives before that day, Sky. He killed more Burned Ones than any of us, but he was flawed,” Silva told him. “We all are.”

“Flawed?” Sky snarled. “He killed hundreds of people.” He glared at Silva hard enough to start a fire. “And you killed him. And all I get from you is

you're both flawed? What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?” Before Silva can answer him, the sound of Burned Ones banging on the door has everyone screaming and panicking.

“They're here.” Silva says as he walks off.

Sky runs back to the spot he was at with Y/N, as he sees his boyfriend, his sister, and their friends. “There’s no time to lose. Let’s go.”

The five of them travel down the tunnels and emerge from the secret passageway underneath the canteen as they make it out into the cool night air. They walk towards the cleared out Bastion area. "Come on. We have to make sure the Burned Ones are following us,” Bloom said.

“My mum's going to be here soon with an actual army,” Stella said.

“They won't be here in time, Stella. The Burned Ones have always been after us. They’ve always been after us,” Bloom said.

“Rosalind taught us how to stop them, but we’d have to draw more magic than we ever before, and… We don't know what's gonna happen when we do,” Y/N said.

“It's okay. I'll make sure we're safe, and that you guys are, too. I can surround you with water in case anything gets too big,” Aisha says.

“You won't see us, but we'll be right here,” Stella reassured. The Burned Ones snarled as their phantom shapes danced across the trees, getting closer. Bloom, Aisha, and Stella locked hands as Y/N’s sister found her strength in them. Y/N turned to Sky and looked into his soft blue orbs. “Rosalind wants me to believe that she's the person I need to get through this. She's not.” Y/N kisses Sky hard on the lips. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Sky.”

After that, Y/N and Bloom take a step further into the clearing as the others go off to the side as Aisha uses her magic to pull water from the lake as it flows in the air like a silvery stream. The water encased the two siblings like a cocoon of a caterpillar. Because that’s what this was, right? Going in as a caterpillar and emerging as a beautiful butterfly ready to spread their wings and soar. Y/N and Bloom focused on pushing all the energy that they had to the surface as they opened their eyes and felt weightless as they ascended into the air. Think lovely thoughts. A fire danced across Bloom's arms and legs as it twisted and turned. A fire of tendrils formed on her back as she spun really fast as her wings shot out into the air, burning hot and fierce in the cool night air.

Y/N let the cold consume him fully as he channeled all his emotions into one single energy, as ice formed on his fingertips and spread all over his body, allowing him to see his breath. He wasn’t cold. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s never felt more alive, as he could swear he heard an inspirational pop song during his transformation as two giant ice wings, frigid and bone-chilling, emerged from his back like a beautiful flower made of ice that just bloomed.

The water was gone as Y/N and Bloom landed on the ground and glanced at their enemies. The Burned Ones screeched and charged. Bloom summoned a powerful fire blast and took down one Burned One and pulled the Cinder out of the other as it fell dead on the floor. Y/N turned to his right and destroyed two other Burned Ones with a blast of ice magic. Bloom created a fire whip and pulled the magical cores from the monster’s bodies as Y/N used a spiky ice trail to stop them in their tracks and froze the moisture around them and expanded it until they exploded from the inside. Pretty soon, all the Burned Ones were dead.

Y/N and Bloom were breathing heavily as they scanned the area around them and noticed the dead bodies of the Burned Ones were now dead humans. “What are you?” Bloom whispered.

Ms. Dowling came running up to them, a look of pride in her eyes as she congratulated them on using transformation magic to stop the Burned Ones. “Well done, you two.” Bloom and Y/N felt a wave of fatigue wash over them as they collapsed as Aisha and Stella caught Bloom, and Sky caught Y/N. “What's wrong with them?” Sky asked.

“They're okay, just weak. Maybe you want to help take them back to their rooms?” Ms. Dowling said.

“We did it, Blue Eyes,” Y/N said as Sky carried his boyfriend in his arms. He looked down at him and smiled. “Yeah, we did.” Ms. Dowling watched them leave as she breathed a sigh of relief. Because of what happened with the Burned Ones, and Rosalind no longer draining the energy wells, the power and the barrier came back on. Sam’s infections receded as he glanced at Musa, who channeled his pain away, and smiled at her as Terra hugged her. Everything was alright now. Little did they know that Rosalind had a plan, along with Beatrix, her dad, and possibly Riven and Dane.

Aisha and Stella helped tuck Bloom into bed in the suite as Musa, Terra, and Sam helped Y/N at his dorm.

“Come on.”

Y/N giggled as he pulled the covers over his body. “I don't need help. Are you sure you’re okay, Sam?”

“Yeah, thanks to you, your sister, and Musa,” Sam said.

“Yeah, well, it was my fault and I’m sorry for putting you in danger,” Y/N apologized.

“Forget about it, mate. You more than made up for it.”

“Yeah, Terra, I’ll be operating on all of us by the end of the week. As practice. Even if we don't need it,” Musa smirked.

“I have to say I'm quite disappointed to have missed the wings. Were they full-on Tinkerbell style?” Terra asked Y/N.

“They were much cooler than that,” Y/N said.

“Cooler? I love Tinkerbell.”

“Of course you do,” Musa said.

Y/N’s phone rang as Musa picked it up. She looked at Y/N. “You rest. I'll cover. I'll call it my one allocated lie of the month.” She brought the phone to her ear and talked. “Mr. and Mrs. Peters. Hey. No, Y/N’s fine. It's been a pretty rough week. Exams are killer. Yeah.”

Y/N sighed as he laid down on his pillow, but quickly sat up as he realized something. “Wait, where’s Sky?”

“Umm… I think he’s on guard duty,” Terra said. “In case Rosalind shows up.”

Y/N tried to get out of bed as Sam stopped him. “And just where do you think you’re going?”

“To see Sky.”

“Y/N, you should rest.”

“Not until I see Sky first. Please let me see him,” Y/N said. Sky brought him to their room, but hadn’t stuck around to tuck him into bed. Strange.

Sam looked into Y/N’s eyes and saw that pleading look in them. He sighed as he caved. “Alright, but only because you saved my life.” Sam and Terra helped Y/N out of the room as he walked towards the courtyard and to the back of the Bastion area where they had fought the Burned Ones. He walked towards Sky’s sitting silhouette as he wrapped his blanket closer to his body. Sky looked up the moment Y/N was close to him. His baby blues were shiny and his eyes were puffy. He had been crying.

“You should be in bed.”

Y/N smiled as he sat down next to Sky as they watched the lights in the castle turn off. One by one. “I couldn’t sleep without my hunky boyfriend to cuddle with.”

Sky murmured a response, but he wasn’t smiling. He was broken up about something. Y/N didn’t know what that was. “You okay, Blue Eyes? You seem really upset.”

Sky sighed as he looked at Y/N. His blue eyes looked him up and down as he confessed through the first wave of tears. “Umm… Silva… Silva told me his side of what happened at Aster Dell. What really happened to my father.”

“What did he say?” Y/N asked him.

Sky was silent for a long time as he just stared at the school. Whatever Silva had told him must have been terrible. Too terrible to say, much less repeat.

“My father was killed at Aster Dell. Silva killed him.”

“What?! But that’s not possible!” Y/N protested.

“Apparently not,” Sky humorlessly chuckled. “My father and Rosalind killed thousands of innocent people at Aster Dell to stop the Burned Ones.”

“The settlers of Aster Dell were blood witches, Sky. They kidnapped my sister and me when we were just babies. They wanted our power.”

“Even if they were witches, that still doesn't excuse what my dad and Rosalind did to them, Y/N,” Sky said.

“And I'm not saying that what they did was right, but just because someone thinks something is right, doesn't mean it is,” Y/N said.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do now, Y/N? My father, King of Eraklyon, was a killer. How can I ever look at him other than that?”

“Just… Just focus on the good memories of him and let those inspire you to be your true self. You don't have to live up to his, Silva’s, or even my expectations. Just live for yourself the best you can, Blue Eyes. I will be here for you whenever you need me.”

“Thank you, Y/N. I'm lucky to have you in my life.”

“You can say that again,” Y/N joked as Sky smiled finally. Y/N wrapped the blanket around Sky as they shared in each other's warmth. They stayed like that for a while, but Y/N eventually fell asleep as Sky watched him sleep as he smiled softly.

In the morning Ms. Dowling came walking towards them as Sky woke Y/N up. “Looks like somebody wants a chat.”

Y/N and Bloom found themselves in Ms. Dowling’s office as she asked. “How are you both feeling?”

“A bit rough, but, you know, we'll survive.”

“Well, you drew on a great deal of magic last night. You're bound to feel drained for a day or two…” Ms. Dowling said.

“We’ve been selfish,” Y/N said. “I can't stop thinking about what we talked about last night. You've… You've been incredible to us.”

“You found us when we were lost. You brought us to a safe place. You gave us guidance. You… surrounded us with amazing people,” Bloom said.

Y/N stood up. “And We've… we've just been…”

“It's forgiven,” Ms. Dowling reassured.

“Do you, um… Can we… hug?”

Ms. Dowling smiles as she stands up and hugs both siblings. They stay like that for a moment, before separating. “When I became headmistress, I made a decision… to become a figurehead.” Ms. Dowling pours some tea as she continues. “To project strength. It's what students your age need. Admitting mistakes invites uncertainty. But not admitting them means people you care about have to ask you if you hug. I should've been more honest with you both early on.”

“I mean… maybe, but… maybe we needed time,” Y/N said. “We can't keep ignoring our lives back home and lying to our parents. They deserve to know what we are and what happened to their real kids. The truth.”

“You're right. They do. But a word of caution. It won't be easy.”

“It never is,” Bloom agreed.

….

Y/N and Bloom stood outside their parent’s door as they nervously awaited them to open it. When their father opened the door, he was shocked to see his kids. “Bloom? Y/N?”

“Hi.”

“How the hell did… Come here!” They hug their dad as he calls his wife. “Vanessa!” Their mother comes to the door as well as she smiles big. “Bloom? Y/N?” The Peters family embraces each other as they enjoy being together once again. Once they separate, Bloom tells them. “We're sorry. I know we've been MIA the past few days, but we're gonna explain everything.”

“We do have one quick question.”

“Girls?”

“Guys?”

Sky, Sam, Musa, Terra, Aisha, and Stella appear as they walk up to them. “Lovely to meet you!”

“Hello.”

“Hi, there.”

“What's up?”

”Nice to see you in person.”

“Can our friends crash here this weekend?” Y/N asks his parents. Mike and Vanessa look at each other, then at their kids. “Sure.”

“Cool. They're gonna go chill in our rooms.

for a while 'cause, um… we need to talk.”

One by one, they walk inside as Y/N stops Sky. “Hey, Blue Eyes?”

“What's up, Y/N?”

“Umm… Can you be there with me when I tell my parents?” Y/N nervously asked.

Sky smiled at his nervousness. It was cute and endearing. It reminded him of when he asked him to come to see Silva with him. “Of course, love.”

They walked into the dining room holding hands as Y/N told his parents. “Mom? Dad? This is my boyfriend, Sky.”

Sky waved. “Lovely to see you both again.”

Michael and Vanessa smiled at their youngest child. “See, I told you he was a handsome fellow. Total boyfriend material,” Mike Peters said as Y/N blushed hard.

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #fate the winx #fate the winx saga #sky fate of winx #sky x male reader #sky of eraklyon #danny griffin #Y/N #ice fairy #ice magic

177 notes · View notes

fbdo1986 · 4 years ago

Text

Everything I've Ever Let Go of Has Claw Marks on It - A Succession Fic

a/n: Admittedly, this isn’t the usual thing I write about! But Succession has thoroughly corrupted my brain and now I care hopelessly about these siblings, so I just have to express my feelings about them. I have to give credit where credit is due, though! I was inspired by @successionsideblog’s post talking about headcanons about Kendall and Connor’s relationship growing up, specifically about Kendall as a little kid and how he would react to Connor leaving for school after they established a really strong bond, so I decided to write something exploring that! (Also, the title is a quote from David Foster Wallace).

Warnings: Implications of parental neglect and nightmares

Word Count: 2,178

The morning after Connor’s going away dinner—he laughs to himself, somewhere, because he and celebration aren’t usually linked—he wakes with a strange culmination of feelings twisting inside himself. It’s early. Of course, there’d be no savoring his last morning at home, no gradual waking with comfort underneath the softness of blankets. Instead: lengthy, conflicting feelings left to settle in a still room. The house is completely silent, and he’s left to sit quietly. It’s a bit uncomfortable, so he turns to open a window and is met with the calming whispers of a morning still yet to unfold. Of one indicative of the rest of his life, or rather, a dive headfirst into uncertainty; a moment waiting to determine how he could turn out, without the stern, watchful eyes of his father. He wants it to be good. He doesn’t want to admit that this freedom is unlike any type he’s ever felt; he doesn’t want to recognize that he’s afraid, afraid that when he returns, he might not suit the only image he’s ever had for himself, in the second shadowy place beside a man who stands like a mountain range.

Not far away is the bed of his younger brother, Kendall, who he hasn’t stirred from his sleep. Of all the conflicted feelings, the ones involving his brother burn fiercest in his mind. There’s the push and pull—the escape, finally, the taste of freedom wrestling with the knowledge that Kendall will inevitably be inflicted with the things he faced while he was an only child, and no one deserves to feel that alone. Sure, there’s Shiv, their sister, but she’s just a baby. Kendall will become the eldest son, the darling boy, bearing the strain.

He tiptoes out of their bedroom, wanting to make a silent goodbye before things burst with life when everyone wakes, when the place will bustle and he’ll get caught in the whirlwind of preparation. The floor is cold underneath him everywhere. In his own room, in the hallway where Shiv’s room sits a few doors down, in hers too. Maybe he’ll remember the cold, even when he’s gone. Something tells him that he will. It’s oddly characteristic of home.

His little sister’s room is in much the same formation as his own, a wide space with large windows, but with splashes of color—yellow and pink—that are absent on his white walls. He meanders towards her crib. She’s also still sleeping, but he wants to bid her goodbye all the same. He doesn’t see it yet, the physical resemblance to any of the members of the family. Except maybe the blue eyes, the ones Logan gave him too. And he’s not sure if he’s thankful for that—she being so starkly different from all of them. But in time, he’ll find little pieces that tie them together. The same shoulders that stiffen when she’s annoyed are the ones found on Roman, the unintentional copycat. Her downcast gaze when she’s hurt and finds it difficult to speak is just like Ken’s.

“See you, Pinky.” He smiles as his heart softens. It aches momentarily, since he knows how much he will miss her as she grows, but he’s reminded that she will have Kendall, and if Connor’s taught him anything, it’s the value of protection.

The morning is mundane, all things considered. Mainly because the culmination of sending him off to college peaked the night prior, with all preparations made wordlessly, never by his own family. There are things to be finished, but that’s mainly stowing away what he has packed and getting a car. It’s the normal amount of silence, but knowing that this is how he has to leave it—with everything, including himself, glazed over with a mere fleeting look, shrouded in sealed silence as it’s checked over one last time—sits uncomfortably within him. So he retreats back to his younger brother, and he ensures that he won’t make it an early goodbye. They can pretend, for a little while, that there’s no time ticking until he goes away.

Ken is back in their room, fiddling languidly with a stuffed animal in his arms. It’s a teddy bear that usually sits on top of his bed. He must have grabbed it for comfort. Just another thing to not let dig into him. It’s already hard enough. So when he realizes that his side of the room is so much more sparse than Kendall’s, he pretends not to notice it. For both of their sakes.

“Hey buddy. You look so bored here. Do you wanna do something with me? We could go outside, throw a baseball around. Or I could try to teach you how to play chess again.” He flashes a smile with fondness at his little brother.

“It’s gonna take too long.” Kendall says, his gaze still fixated on the toy in his hands.

They’ve still got a few hours before the afternoon sets in. They’ll make time.

“We’ve got time. Don’t worry about it.”

Kendall’s eyes trace the table in the middle of the room, which holds a chessboard and all the strewn pieces as remnants of their last attempt.

“I almost fell asleep last time.” He hides a smile as he remembers it.

“No, you definitely did.” Connor chuckles, recalling the piece that got tucked under Kendall’s cheek as he slumped forward in his dozing. The knight left an imprint in his skin that he tried to wipe away, but by morning—spent in his bed, not half on a chessboard—it was nearly gone. “But it was nighttime then. Promise you won’t? I’ll promise it’ll be fun, okay?”

“Okay.”

So they start fresh, putting the pieces back where they belong. They line up their respective kingdoms. Once he’s finished with the rules, Connor continues to explain as they attempt to play a game. Yet that takes much more effort than expected, since Connor will occasionally prod Kendall with silly questions, just to take his mind off of things.

“Do you think Shiv is gonna like chess?” Connor asks suddenly.

“I don’t know.” Kendall shrugs it off, he’s mid-move.

“Because I think she’ll hate it. Either that, or she’ll beat the both of us with her eyes closed.”

It makes Kendall laugh to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Already, a grin spreads on the eldest son’s face.

Kendall looks back up at him. “Shiv’s just a baby. I can only think of her now. I’m just thinking of a baby playing chess.”

“You think you could beat a baby?” Connor leans forward, challenging him.

“It’s not my fault you’re not a good teacher.” Kendall jokes.

When Connor emerges from the house to leave, finally, the sky is a very distinct blue. Airy clouds hang in the sky along with effortless sunshine that reminds him of summers before this. Ones with boats out on a lake, with white curtains swept up in a passing breeze, with the haze of heat in the air and light so blinding that it made him squint, the tennis courts that burned when you hit them if you fell after a missed swing.

As he looks back up at this house, around the entirety of this place that sprawls before them he can’t decide if he’ll miss it.

He’s broken in his contemplation by the sound that fills the silence. The same sound that acts as an alarm, that jumpstarts his instincts the way nothing else can. He turns sharply and looks down to find his younger brother approaching him.

“Please, please. Don’t go.” Kendall’s brown eyes peer into his heart. At once, as Connor moves his shoulders—maybe, maybe to turn away—he feels the sudden pressure of small but desperate hands grabbing at his leg, grasping for fabric, shoelaces, anything.

Connor’s heart sinks heavily into his stomach as Kendall latches onto him, and he forces himself to look away. Instantly he’s seeing the child he used to be, and the truly small boy that Kendall is. His face is red and blotchy, and his eyes pool with tears that don’t hesitate to run down his cheeks. It hurts. He’s terrified, stricken with grief. Connor’s whole body wrenches with guilt.

“Get up, Ken.” Logan barks. “You’re a grown boy.” But Logan doesn’t pull Kendall up to his feet, so Connor breathes a fleeting sigh of relief.

“Connie…” He pleads. “You can’t go! You can’t!” He feels how Kendall’s hands ache to hold on. It should baffle him, since Kendall’s rarely the type to fight anything kicking and screaming, but he understands.

So Connor stays put. He takes a seat on the steps where they stand and places his hands on his brother’s shoulders gently. “You have to be brave, okay Kenny?”

“I don’t want to be.” He huffs, shaking his head.

“You’ve got to, alright? I believe in you.” He steadies his gaze, looking him in the eyes. “I believe in you. You can. Can you do that for me?”

Kendall nods, shuddering in a breath.

“Good. Cause you’re the big brother now. You have to look after little Shiv, just like I looked after you.” His blue eyes spark with fondness and pride. “Come here.” He pulls Kendall into a hug, wrapping his arms around him tight.

“I’m gonna miss you.” Kendall’s voice is small, so he just pulls him closer. As Kendall tucks himself into Connor’s shoulder, he’s reminded of the nights when Ken would wake up, thrashing and sobbing, and how he offered the same shoulder to cry into, to gain stability from.

“I know, I know. I’m gonna miss you, too. But I’ll come home on holidays, I promise. And you can call and write to me. I’m always gonna be around, in some way. Okay? I’ve always got you. Always.” With one final squeeze he holds Kendall in his arms, then getting up apprehensively to face his father.

“I’ll see you, son.” His father’s eyes shine coldly. Not with pride for his own son, he doesn’t think, but with complacency. The gesture’s sincere, but even as his hands clasp Connor’s face—which is infinitely small in this moment—it’s nearly absent of fondness. It’s barely warm. All the same, he softens, because something is better than nothing. He nods solidly, acknowledging the weight of these hands that ache to be filled, and wonders if he can even come close to fitting that space.

He turns to Kendall again, giving him a smile. “Remember what we talked about, okay bud? I love you. And remember to tell Shivy you love her too, alright? I’ll miss you.” He sees the whole picture now, his father standing stoically with Kendall at his side. Nobody brought Shiv out to say goodbye—despite his morning ritual he wishes someone did. His family, so achingly small, so disjointed, without his mother. Even as his family will expand upon later returns, they will continue on the path of inheriting the strain, the burden that being a Roy child requires. Even Shiv, when grown, will battle the same leaden shoulders, the same shaky, tormented breath so signature of pretending, and a toughness that only seems to soften in his embrace.

He’s reminded of how young he and Kendall are. Even with ten years between them, and for drastically different reasons. But regardless, they’re still kids thrust into the world with no gentle caress to soothe them. He shouldn’t have to do the job his father can’t. Kendall shouldn’t have to be tormented even in dreams, and shouldn’t have to face the world’s truths at eight years old. But Connor shoves it back, because right now he can’t be plagued with this knowing that he has no choice but to let these cards play out. There’s nothing he can do to stop it: time from moving on, Kendall being subjected to his place, all of it. Instead he has to step away, even as his eyes become glossy with tears. It’s not home, not really, but a sudden force inside of him that stirs once he turns away—into the vastness beyond this place, the world with open arms—tells him that the echoing house, with walls so blinding white, that it’s all he’s ever known. He wishes he had a slice of bravery. Because he wants to be a little kid, he wants to be protected from the unknown, even if it might mean a sense of freedom. If nothing else, he wants to stop it. Just to wrap his arms around all the things that deserve to never find out what the world has in store—claws and all, the things that make you grow up too fast—even though he can’t. Even though the moment’s passed. He can’t even help it. But he’ll swear, swear with every tear that runs down his face—that’s now concealed as he has his back to them—that he’ll try to stretch his arms wide enough to make someone, anyone, proud. Or that he’ll make himself fierce enough that nothing can sink its teeth into what he’s spent his whole life trying to guard. He’s gonna make it good, or lose it all trying.

#i changed around the order of the siblings for me personally bc i see roman as the youngest but! it gave me a good grasp on how to think of #the dynamics/ages between them and it really helped!#BASICALLY THIS FIC IS LIKE SO YOU CAN TELL IM A CLOWN AND HAVE MY IDEALIZED VERSION OF CONNOR IN MY HEAD RENT FREE #oh for context ken is 8 here and connor is 18 #although at least as the last parts concerned i genuinely think it lines up w canon that connor would be torn between trying to be enough #for logan or just doing something that would make his siblings proud #and i think that its clear which path he chooses #anyway! please do not clown on me i really put a lot into this #succession #my writing

9 notes · View notes

yikeswtfmate · 5 years ago

Note

Hellooo! Can I have a #14, #54 and #60 with Ray from the gentlemen please? I love me some angst and protective Ray. You write him so well! Thanks!

hiiiiiiiiii oh wow THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!

this turned out longer than intended but had to get it all in somehow, hope you like it!

14. Am I scaring you?

54. Yeah well dying generally puts a damper on things.

60. Is it greedy of me to say I never want you to leave my arms?

main masterlist

Raymond hears the men before he sees them. He knew he should’ve parked somewhere less secluded and dark, but he’s been lured by Y/N’s naughty promise of what’s to come after they’re done with dinner. So, it’s no wonder then that right when he’s about to open the door for his girlfriend, they’re surrounded by three men that look vaguely familiar.

“Y/N, get in the car.” He warns, body immediately shielding her from view.

“Oh, don’t be like that, mate.” One of the lads leers. “We wouldn’t mind some fun with your bird.”

The sound of offended protest that comes from behind him is a complication that he does not need to deal with right now. His girlfriend is too stubborn and feisty for her own good, for fuck’s sake, and now is not the time to have a conversation about that.

“Get in the fucking car, Y/N. Now.”

“Come on, mate! Can’t you see she wants to stay as well?” Laughter erupts, but they’re closing in, and the knives are coming out.

“Y/N.” Ray repeats, his voice leaving no room for arguing.

He makes sure to keep his eyes straight on the cunts that decided to ruin their night, as Y/N finally listens to him and gets in. Rapping his knuckles on the door behind him in reassurance, he easily takes out the gun from under his trench coat with his other hand. The idiots only have one gun beside the tiny shivs, and he’d sigh at their stupidity if his bloody girlfriend wouldn’t be involved in this.

Ray climbs in the car after a few minutes, his nerves stretched to the limits, machine gun burning in his hand. He tosses it in the back seat, and leans on the headrest with a heavy sigh. Closing his eyes, he can’t see Y/N inching forward, before she wiggles her fingers into his clenched fist. She kisses his left temple, which helps him deflate, but he’s still taut like a bow.

“Do not ever do that again.” He growls. “When I tell you to take cover, you fucking take cover, do you understand me?”

“I knew you’d take care of it.” She shrugs.

Ray turns in his seat, annoyance radiating off of him – his jaw is clenched, and there’s a small twitch in his fingers that wouldn’t be noticeable at first glance. Y/N’s watching him with a small smile, as if indulging him. He feels his blood surging to his head and he has to concentrate to keep from punching a whole straight through the window.

“Are you fucking insane? Do you even understand what the fuck I just had to do?”

A violent colour tinges Ray’s neck, his hands clenched on the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white. He’s doing his best to look at her when she shifts in her seat, but finds it easier to just look out in the distance.

“Y/N, I’ve literally just killed three men and you’re just gonna act as if it’s the most normal thing in the bloody fucking world?”

A shiver passes through her, as his words are hopefully finally getting through.

“Am I scaring you?” There’s a coldness now creeping up in his voice, a reflex that he had to develop early in his career. “Good. That means you’re starting to get it.”

A few minutes pass where the silence is only filled by their breaths – but as Ray’s slows down, Y/N’s starting to pick up, until it becomes erratic. A sob cuts the tension like a knife, and it breaks Ray’s heart to know he’s the one to have inflicted it in the first place. He grabs her hand, interlacing their fingers together. She refuses to look up at him, but he’ll have none of that. He easily manoeuvres her body into his lap, arms wrapped tightly around her, and waits for her to calm down.

“I know you trust me to protect you, baby, but I won’t always be there to do it.” He whispers, as he continues to stroke her hair. “You are my tiny little warrior, but you’re way too stubborn for your own good, love.”

Half an hour later, softly talking through the worst of it and after her shivers stop, Y/N kisses his jaw. Ray smiles at her usual sign of reconciliation, but hopes she hadn’t just gotten over it, without having actually processed everything.

“Do you wanna go home?” He asks.

“I thought we were supposed to go to Mickey’s party tonight.”

“Yeah, well, dying generally puts a damper on things.”

His eye roll is met with a giggle. His shoulders slump back, the hand on her thigh lessens, while her fingers on his chest pick at a button of his shirt. Y/N watches Ray as he rubs at his eyes and kisses his jaw again. He knows it’s time to take a move on and get home; they’re both too tired to function by this point and only the image of their bed nearly makes him weep. However, the second she starts shifting away, Raymond grabs her wrists and kisses her fingers one by one.

“Is it greedy of me to say I never want you to leave my arms?”

“Well, I promise I won’t, baby, but I’m starting to get a cramp in my arsecheek so I really need to move now.”

With a little more difficulty than when he did it, Y/N gets back into her seat. He’s still not starting the car and when their eyes meet again, she simply leans over and captures his lips – soft, sweet, the most delicious feeling in the world, and now they really need to get home.

“I love you.” She says.

“I love you too, babe, but you’re going to be the bloody death of me.”

#raymond drabble #raymond x reader #raymond smith x reader #ray x reader #ray smith x reader #raymond x you #raymond smith x you #ray x you #ray smith x you #the gentlemen #the gentlemen 2020 #the gentlemen fanfiction

140 notes · View notes

daggerzine · 4 years ago

Text

Celebrity Mixtape Party #1 with Steve Michener (Volcano Suns, Dumptruck, Big Dipper) Part 1

Steve (far left with Big Dipper)

Mixtapes. They're back! Or maybe they never went away? What happens when you make a mixtape for someone who MAKES music? And then they talk about that mixtape? Well, dear reader, let's find out in..

Okay! First song. Side A. So I'll give my impressions and then we can talk about the song. Okay? Then the reveal, when appropriate.

Sexy

Thanks for this tape, Matthew, I've really been enjoying it. However, I gotta say the first song is my least favorite.

What is it pray tell

I don't know but I usually love that style of song. Very Love/Byrds-y but there was something cloying about that hook of 'Let's Get Together'

Oh yes. Justin Trouble.

Can't tell if it's authentic 60's pop or revival

Early '80s. He was friends with Johnny Thunders.New York City area guy

Never heard of him but I'm not inspired to search him up. Too many words.

Aw man he's just riffing

Anything you wanna say in his defense?

I mean I could. I think that song and the whole record is genius. To me it's the very essence of rock and roll.

Okay, maybe that's just one song that I wouldn't like. I'll check it out. I know you love your 60s stuff but to me it's just too twee. But if you were using this as a "courtship tape", the relationship is over.

Since we can't "get together" on that song?

Courtship tape. I think they were called love mixes back in the day my friend.

I'm older than you. We used to bring them and play them in the parlor. So this second song is right up my Alley. Great guitar sound, great drummer. I love that it's poppy but it takes a minor key/dissonant turn when he sings the tagline 'Solid Gold'. Kind of a Fall vibe to that hook.

So what is that second song?

Boston band....Real Kids...1974 demo...EARLY REAL KIDS

I knew you'd get a Real Kids song on there but that is very 'Unreal' real kids. Sounds like they were way ahead of their time

Yeah. That song is unhinged. Nothing twee about it.

Amazing band. I would have maybe guessed that but that chorus is so left field. If I knew about that song back then, I would have had the band cover it. Real Kids sounding like the Fall. They should have been as big as the Ramones. Worse drug and ego problems I guess.

To me it sounds like The Dolls. A little bit of Glam in there.

I saw them a few times at the Rat. Always a reliable live band. I hear the 60's thing in there but that turnaround into the chorus is at least 5 years ahead of its time. I need to hear more of those demos.

It's on vinyl.

Next song- One thing that I know about you is that you love your 60s stuff. This sounds like an authentic acid rock band. Roky?

I don't have the tracklist

Ah, okay. It's by Girl Trouble-"Storm Warning'. Don't know them but I love the song.

The pride of Bellingham

Kind of like the Seeds meet Nick Cave. What year?

1993 on Empty

Love the sax and guitar interplay at the end. Wow. I would have placed that in 1965

Yeah except for the production. I think he's one of the Great rock and roll vocalists of the '90s

Yeah, great singer. Are they still around or mutate into something else?

Kurt Kendall. No, I don't think they really play around much anymore. There was a reunion show not too long ago but I missed it.

Great stuff, I'll check it out. Next song? Okay, this one I knew from the first note--the great NRBQ. The greatest rock and roll band ever, at least in this incarnation.

Green Lights?

Yes.

I saw them around this time with the WW Horns, opening for Thorogood.

Another great vocalist

I didn't appreciate them back then cuz I was too into the alternative scene (tho still loved GT) but when I saw them in the 80's I was amazed.

This is a band that should have played the bar band in every '80s movie ever made

Exactly. they were my template for 'a band'

That's Joey singing that one? favorite bass player ever, favorite drummer ever.

I'm not entirely sure what that guitar is in the solo. Sounds almost like a pedal steel or something.

Big Al could make anything sound like anything. Genius band. Shoulda been huge.

The YouTube comments say Joey.

Yeah, Joey wrote the hits. Like most bass players.

Lol. The album is called nrbq at Yankee stadium and it's funny because the picture shows an empty Yankee stadium with them far away in the bleachers...a play on words...clever

I see.

I'll explain humor to you another time.

Make me a 'humor' mixtape

Okay next song

The 5th song on side A is called Buried Alive. A 3 chord slab of brilliance. Sounds like another Boston Band. More Real Kids?

Hmmm

Should I peek?

It could be Avenged Sevenfold. Yes peek.

Oh no, it's the Nervous Eaters! Born to Die. I thought he was singing Buried Alive.

Ahhh!!

I knew it was Boston, can't believe I missed the Eaters. Loved that band.

Another Boston band you didn't ID! You are 0 for 2

I wrote down it was "the Lyres without keyboards" so I get half credit.

Okay so one of the cool things about this band is it had one of the Paley Brothers. Who never did anything this "heavy" outside of this band?

I had their singles and saw them live a few times. They were great. Just Head is a classic.

The major label debut was a bit of a disaster: slick production, terrible cover art. I swore that I'd never let that happen to any band that I was in.

This song for some reason reminds me of Judas Priest.

I thought Saints at first but Priest would work

Next song?

This is one that I will probably miss too. Sounds VERY familiar and my first guess is Rockpile/Brinsley Schwarz. "I'll have another drink and then I tried to crawl out the door.."

"I never did know a thing about it." It's got that Nick Lowe/Dave Edmunds vibe.

Take a peek

Status Quo-Lies

Ah yes

Wow, I don't think of SQ sounding like this. This is pub rock, I thought they were harder

Very boogie

Don't you get the Rockpile thing tho?

Oh absolutely

Great song. I'd cover this. Was it a hit?

That status quo song is from 1980. I think so. They did it on Top of the Pops

Good. I'd be depressed if a song that great didn't get an audience.

Agreed

Next?

Yes

I also don't know this and I'm not sure what the hook is but it sounds like what I imagine the Muffs sound like. Be my baby.? Sneering female vocals, 3 chords, loud guitars.

Fastbacks - Read my Letters

Yeah, another band I completely missed out on. From the PNW?

Seattle

I've seen them quite a few times and they were always amazing. Big fan.

I'm sorry I missed them live. I don't care much for this song but I'll bet it sounded good in a sweaty club.

Did you like the Muffs?

Not really. I mean I respect them a lot but they never resonated with me. I think Kurt Bloch is a great lyricist. And I love that he didn't sing his own lyrics.

Wait, that was a guy singing?

No. The guitar player Kurt wrote the lyrics for most of their songs.

Got it. So he left them to join YFF?

He did both simultaneously. Kim Warnick is the singer and bass player.

Too talented.

Definitely.

I saw the Fellows quite a few times also.

They opened for us in Seattle in 1990. I loved them but, as an east coaster, had never seen them.

Also amazing one of my favorites. During that time that both the Fastbacks and the Young Fresh Fellows were active it made me envy Seattle because Portland didn't have bands like those bands.

This is a different convo, but Seattle is a much more rockin town than Portland.

Full disclosure in the '90s I was not a fan of Portland's music scene. But I did like Hazel.

They were so cute!

Alright, let's not get distracted! Next song I recognized easily , though I may not have a few years ago. This is Sparks - Something For The Girl Who Has Everything. Brilliant band but one that I missed out on until recently

You know I never introduced you at the beginning of all this. Dear readers, I am discussing a mixtape with our esteemed guest Steve Michener from Skid Row.

Skid Row UK, legally. Not to be confused with those dorks from Hollyweird. Michael Cudahy was my roommate back in the day and he was way into them. I could never get past the vocals.Recently though, I have come to appreciate them and now I am a big fan.

I love the vocals. It's its own thing. Who is this Michael you speak of?

Michael was in Christmas at the time and then started Combustible Edison. Now he does movie soundtracks.

Have you ever seen the video of Ron Mael singing karaoke to a Sparks song?

No, I'll google it.

Next song?

Well, I didn't recognize the song itself but it's hard to miss the unique guitar sound of The Wedding Present-The Boy Can Wait

Fastest wrist in the west

Trademark double strum. They're one of those bands that I just love the sound of but never bought any records.

That's a Peel session by the way.

They were around last year but I failed to attend.

I like the lyrics. They're clever. Kind of misanthropic but not in a Morrissey way. More humorous.

I'm not a lyric guy but I do love a good Morrisey couplet

The dude could pen a tune

Stephen I mean

Moz

The Moz

Himself.

He should pull a Prince and just change his name to Himself

Next song is one that you would never get past me, tho I'm 0-2 with Boston bands before this. Heading into a Boston binge here.

Ok. Just another band out of Boston

I was the world's biggest Peter Dayton fan for years. I moved to Boston the week that LaPeste broke up so I never got to see them. So I made up for that by seeing every PD gig for years. 'She's a Girl' by LaPeste, probably one of the best bands out of Boston ever.

I like how evil La Peste sound. They sound like they carried shivs.

It means "the pest"

Perfect

"la" is "the" in french

Waow

I don't know if you knew that. Anyway, this must have been an Ocasek demo? Sounds like they were trying to go pop. I had a live tape of them from the rock and roll rumble in 1979 that I wore out. Just a great pop punk band. Next song is also LaPeste- Die in My Sleep.Ric got involved with them later in their career and produced some demos. Or maybe it was Greg Hawkes. But Ocasek worked with him solo for a few years. Dayton's EP, which came out the same time as Panorama by the Cars. It's a fun record.Better off Dead is an amazing single.

I'll check out solo Dayton.

Jim Janota on bass. I think he was in some of those early boston punk bands

But Ric was the producer guy then . Alan Vega etc

Yeah, Ocasek was cool. He had Dayton's band open for The Cars at the Boston Garden. Big supporter of smaller bands.

Next two songs had me stumped. I just wrote 'Sex Pistols'.

I would never put a sex pistols song on anything ever. But I do love a lot of things that Cook and Jones were on later

This just has a Pistols energy and sneer. Hey Hey! Hey Hey!

Hmm

3 chords, English. Fall-like but harder.

Not ringing any bells

Ha! I looked at the list--Naked Raygun-Roller Queen.

Yes

"trying" to be british

Nooo

I tuned this band out early. Not my cup of tea.

I love the Raygun. Midwest thing

Just like Soul Asylum. I was (and remain) a judgemental asshole when it comes to music.

Hard. Arty. Humorous.

I lump them together. Prejudice. But this is why I like the idea of listening to the tape blind.

Throb Throb is fantastic

It can blow up my preconceived notions or reinforce them. I know they were hugely popular in the scene and it's probably my loss that I didn't explore their stuff. I was probably reacting negatively to the Big Black thing. Lots of competition and jealousy-fuelled listening bias.

Eh no biggy. I never really liked Big Black. To me they were great in theory but not in practice.

I prefer Shellac

Great band

But i think BD covered 'Bazooka Joe'. Not my idea.

There was another Chicago band from that time that I like a lot called Breaking Circus.

Yes, I liked Breaking Circus. We played with them.

Yay

Next song. 60s sounding psychedelia

Didn't recognize it, but liked it. reverby guitar,

Hmm

La Luz- I Want to Be Alone. Cool sound. What's their story?

Ah. Seattle. Then moved to LA. 4 women. On Hardly Art (label). Started in 2012. They have three lps. Saw them at The Aladdin.

Short but sweet. I'll check them out.

Very very good band

I like good bands

No bad songs. They were VERY GOOD live. Jealous of the drummer's speed and dexterity. They play with a lot of feeling.

If we ever get to see live music again, I'll check them out.

You need to.

Next song is a classic Boston number called 'No Place Like Home' by The Neighborhoods. Such a great power pop song. B-side to Prettiest Girl, which was probably the biggest indie single of the time in Boston. That and Academy Fight Song. Both on Ace of Hearts records

Oh really? Nice that I got airplay in Boston. I mean it. I didn't get any airplay in Boston

Yes, it was huge! (sorry about your lack of airplay) top song on WBCN, the local rock station. They should have been huge-they had it all. Cute guys, great songs, amazing live show. I woulda bet on them

Despite looking like a reggae album I've read good reviews with their first LP. The thing with a lot of these bands is they're from a time when there were regional scenes period and if they didn't make the jump to Major label then a lot of what they were about might have been lost on people outside of their scene

Honestly, I don't remember that LP at all. Maybe I had dropped them and moved onto hipper stuff. They were kind of a high school crush for me. They got progressively more hard rock as time went on. Yes, probably a common theme with local bands. Some focused on getting a 'deal' and making it big. Thank god for labels like Homestead, who gave smaller bands a chance to make mistakes and grow

If you had any anecdotes about any of these guys share away.

Anecdotes? I do

'dote away

Dave and Lee worked at Harrington's Liquor, the biggest booze shop in Allston and were always in there when I went to buy cheap vodka. Then, one day, they were fired. Word was that they tried to lift some expensive champagne from the shop to celebrate a record release party or something. They were both dating members of Salem 66 at the time and Dave married Judy. They were very nice guys.

Lee?

Lee Harrington, Beth's brother was their bassist in the late 80's. Beth Harrington was in Jonathan's band.

That's a good anecdote.

Jonathan?

Richman

Oh I thought I recognized her voice from Jonathan Richmond records. She was a backup singer. She had kind of a classically trained sounding voice

Yes, her and Ellie Marshall. Beth married my old roommate, whose girlfriend when I knew him, left him for Steve Forbert.

Ellie Marshall was related to who?

Something related to Paley Bros. It'll come to me. Barry Marshall.

The next song is the Office Supply song. Swivel Chair. I don't recognize the song but it's gotta be something like Fountains of Wayne or Weezer.

Nothing Painted Blue

Oops. Hope they aren't insulted! I kinda knew of NPB but obviously didn't get into their stuff. Sounds like a certain pop band from Boston in the late 80s. Where were they from?

Franklin Bruno. Great songwriter in my opinion. Great band. LA

Oh, I know Franklin. Of course. I confuse them with that band from Boise

Franklin bears a slight passing resemblance to Bill? Cool that you know Franklin.

Well, on FB at least. Very nice guy. He's probably gonna unfriend me if he reads this.

I can edit it out. Celebrity mixtapes is about bringing people together, not about fighting.

No, it's fine. It's part of the process. I'll take my lumps.

I just thought it was a little bit of a novelty song.

I just think it's adorably nebbishy

Not that we didn't veer close to that sometimes. It's a risk when you are trying to write songs that have humor in them.

Singing about office supplies. One of my favorite things about Big Dipper is you guys never crossed over into parody even though you were slyly funny.

Yeah, it def sounds like something I would write. I was an office supply nerd.

Maybe I sensed that. Dilbert Rock

Thanks. It's a fine line between clever and stupid, as the Tap says. Anyway, super catchy but maybe a little too clever for me.

NEXT!

Next song has to be Scrawl. Apple of his Eye.

Nope

Very Gang of Four with female vocals.

I did like Scrawl back in the day though. Bratmobile-Queenie.

Ah, well they should write a check to Sue and Marcy. Sounds like early Scrawl. Catchy song but a little derivative to my ears.

Yeah Scrawl predates the Bratmobile.By a few years.

You could steal from worse.

True

Scrawl were an amazing band.

Pride of Columbus

Really had the goods live and on record.

Never saw them live unfortunately.I always thought they were on Homestead but it turns out no.

You had your Homestead goggles on.

"I like everything that comes out on Homestead..."

Well that was me back then too

Last song on side A. Permanent Wave. No idea who it is, a short, catchy, new wave song. Mo-dettes?

I do like the Mo-Dettes but no.

Oh Ok. From Athens

Ah! i had their single, was this on it?

Michael Stipe's sister

Sister of Stipe

Matthew Sweet was in the band for a minute too, later on.

I bought it, I think, cuz I thought I could resell it when rem got famous. Retirement investment

I think the single and the lp are both amazing

Kind of twee, to revisit a theme

The lp is not as twee

That song sounds a little thin

I like the production. it sounds live.

I see that. Okay, I've gotta run. This was fun.

Ok. Thanks for doing it.

https://www.mixcloud.com/matthewkenneth9/steve-michener-mix-pt-1/?fbclid=IwAR2hhMS8KXo51QjlpJ__ANfdmKY3Ux7vRyIqHHOxGfY_UK4H6tz6vIXyaxE

7 notes · View notes

renaer-is-allegedly-hot · 4 years ago

Text

session 18

Session 18

Sunday, February 28, 2021 7:33 PM

- "we're all gonna die"

- Lilguerite talking about soup and secondary soups and tertiary soups

- Last week on

- We went to the hideout thing

- In the prison thing

- "you take little bites you fool"

o "take bigger bites you fool" - marguerite, judging marianne

- There's a minotaur

- We tried killing this one guy but it didn't work lmao rip us

- 6 for initiative

- 19 for L (22}

- 14 for M (17}

- Theo shoots, misses (10}

- Dwarf

o Sylvia: "how big is his ass"

- Dwarf has an axe

o Aerana is probably the closest

■ Is hit

■ I'm unconscious

■ "I'm expendable" "no binch I won't take any of this negativity"

- Halfling asks theo for the lockpick

o Theo gives it to her

- Asyna turns into a crocodile

- Adam o o o o o

Tries to bite and misses

Cutting words Hits

Next minute dwarf is completely unconscious Strums one note for hypnotic pattern

Falls on his face (the dwarf not adam}

- Time to go get his keys

- Asyna has to roll a saving throw as a crocodile (17} ; she's fine

- Cel adds 8 to aerana

- Asyna turns into ape, grabs key, 11+2 for dex

- Throws keys to adam

- Adam lets big boys out first

o minotaur, ogre, another w ogre-like features but not quite sure what type of creature it is

- Cel lets out human and drow

- Asyna takes battle axe

- Asyna looks through pockets, 4 for investigation

- Asyna gives adam the axe and gives the axe to the minotaur

- Theo gets lockpick back

- Aerana moves to the back bc she's casually bleeding out

o Aerana in back with sword

- Asyna still an ape

- Theo doing smth I didn't hear lmao oops sorry lillian

- Dwarf gets up

- Adam "so you wanna surrender now?"

o Dwarf grunts

o Adam tells minotaur to sic him

- Cel rolls to hit, dirty 20 w disad

- theo rolls to hit, 15 w disad

o Cel hits

■ 12 damage

■ "can I shoot him in the ass?"

- Adam has to persuade minotaur

o 11, persuades and minotaur

o Hits, 21 damage

- Back to theo

o 18 to hit

o 9 damage

- Halfling looks around, turns to squad, says we have everything covered

o Adam asks for any helpful things

■ 27 for ?? Persuasion ??

- Asyna

□

21 to hit

Sighs and has a crude shiv and walks up and shivs the dwarf Hits, damage ig

o 6 damage

- Dwarf uses half his movement to stand, tries to run

o 18 damage from ppl around

- Asyna gets to hit again

o 21 to hit, 9 damage

- He runs off to the right

o Adam is like 80? Ft away from him, casts sleep ?

- Cel peeks out, sees arena with a bunch of blood

o No bodies ???????? Ew

- Arbys is the minotaur

o Because he's got the Meats

- Dom asks us for our passive perception

o We apparently don't see the thing

- Drow woman steps out

- Does blood trail stop?

o Adam investigating, 11

■ "sure" there's a trail of blood leading to wall, adam pushes wall, it swings inwards

- Cel goes in first, adam right behind her

- "are you guys finding the way out?" "we're finding the way in, dawg"

- Inviting them to come with us

- Ask them their names

o Human names

■ Arthritis

□ "there you go. He's smoking hot"

□ This is an elderly man

□ Why are we into him

♦

■ Claudio

■ Jia

OH WE'RE NOT ACTUALLY TALKING ABOUT ARTHRITIS

o Drow

■

Raylan Arwindar(?}

"if you follow quickly, minotaurs have an uncanny ability to memorize where they've been"

Looks @ asyna and aeranan and in elvish says if we're interested in visiting below, operation works on level 5

□ Puts on a ring and disappears

o Humans choose to follow minotaur

o Halfling is gone

- We can still pass without a trace

o Time to go down secret passage

- Adam peeks head into somewhere and sees four pillars glowing w sickly green/yellow light

o 100 ft long

o Urns scattered throughout

o Via thaumaturgy dims the lights, walks over to urns

■ Stealth check to go to urns

■ 30 stealth, notices some things abt room

□ Nine alcoves in wall; ones he can see have murals w beholders painted on them

□ Diff patterns + colors + eyestalk shapes

□ Large statues of beholder heads that look similar to the ones in the murals placed in front of them

□ To right, carved stone display of a scowling beholder flanked by two statues of wizards

□ Beneath each wizard's hood a light that pulses

□ The pillars are kinda pillars but they have bubbling liquids w a beholder n all of its eyes shuts in the tank

- Adam wants to let them out

o "bitch what the fuck" - sylvia

- Adam looks back at everyone else and says "what the fuck"

- There's an exit to the south, ahead of us

- Adam investigates

o Walks up to biggest beholder and "no don't do that" (sylvia} looks at it

o They're frozen in a serene pose; the furthest one is jet black and chonky, larger than the one that attacked our house

- Adam looks inside an urn

o Adam makes constitution save

o Dirty 20

o Unique smell that makes adam wanna puke

o Quickly shoves lid back on, adam picks up urn and takes it with him

o No one is hiding in alcoves

- Go out south door, see a hallway that looks like another hallway we were in earlier

o In front is heavyset wooden door, another passageway extending to right

o Door swings open, aerana looks inside; pitch dark which is unusual

■ Heavy desk made of stone in corner, ornate chair behind it w a spider motif

■ Bookshelves not really w any books

■ Two open crates

■ 25 for perception

□ Nat20 bois "it's an 8" "no it's a 6" - lillian and marguerite

◆ Spider motif gives off drow vibes

◆ Crates: stuffed beholders in them

◊ Grabs a bunch of them

◆ Small statues in other crate like trophy depicting smaller beholder being caressed by hands

◊ Looks kinda nice

◊ Some type of stone

◆ Empty bookshelves

◆ Chair smushed

◆ Drawers in the desk? Pull desk back

◊ Nat20, we move desk and it grates against stone; see different compartments in desk

◊ Nothing on or behind the walls

► Asyna recognizes chair theme

- Not made of wood, made of mushrooms

- 13 history check

• Looks like a chair from menzo bonanza

• Basically drow capital

• Asyna remembers that her mother used to hide things in her chair

•

- "guys there's a key in the chair. Can we look for a keyhole"

14 investigation

There's a sealed compartment in the chair, pulls out a small black key

o Try desk keyholes

o Left cabinet

■ Silvery silken sack

□ "what's in the sack" - adam

□ Asyna pulls out sack, hard to see

♦

o Right drawer

Nothing in it

Adam cannot tell us what it is

Jacob cannot tell us what it is either Asyna puts her hand in it, feels around Fits her arm in the bag

Tardis bag

■ Heavy tome

■ "it's not even a book. It's like a tome. This big black book"

■ Wrapped in webbing

■ Asyna recognizes it as just a typical book protector

■ Pages of symbols n words; some in elvish

■ Arcana check 17

□ It's a wizard's spellbook

- Use naya to find the jailer

o Goes out of pathway and to left

o Let's go kids

- Puts a plushie in the bag

o Puts 30 plushies in bag, they fall out one at a time

o Bag does not get heavier

o Puts urn in the bag

o Takes urn back out

o Only fluff in the plushies

o 10 investigation to see if there's anything in the plushies

■ Yellow n blue beholder

o Puts book in sack

- Aerana wonders if turning bag inside out is infinite

o Everything falls on the floor

■ The animals and the trophies

- Theo steps into the bag

o Put on the ground, oh never mind it's been 15 minutes

- 70 ft down hallway, see an eyeball thing

o Looks like a living thing, alien, looks back and forth every once in awhile

o Doesn't see us

o Sneak past it?

■ Narrow hallway

o Theo + aerana 20 to hit, same time

o Cel 17 to hit

■ Creepy shriek noise

■ Liquid slips out, drips, turns into cloud of green dust

o Dust in the bag

o Adam tries to do monster lines

o "now it's a bag of . beholding" - lillian, 2021

o We get some beholder dust in the bag by blowing

- Hallway continues, ends at a doorway w heavy wooden door w side passage and stairs heading up

o Naya looking up

o Adam peeking into other door

o Black smoke billows out of room, adam sees room lit with a halfling male with a dirty apron on, running around frantically

■ Appears to be cooking

■ Adam opens door and salutes

■ "head chef I'm here to help ! I was sent by the upper"

□ "finally I haven't had a break"

□ Gives adam the apron and mans leaves

◆ Leaves out off to right

□ "does the apron say anything"

□ Cel says if we survive she'll embroider "kiss the chef" on the apron

■ Adam puts food on top of rack, two halflings on bottom?

■ Adam rolls 14 investigation, sees one dirty apron and chef's hat combo

□ Aerana puts on chef's hat and apron

□ Thinks this is stupid

□ Asyna and aerana cook

□ Nvm asyna and aerana r following naya

- Adam pushing cart towards good smelling food

o V elegant chef ppl walking around

o Hallway transforms into smth less dingy

o Two large stoves

o Spice rack

o More elegance here

o Seven chef ppl

o Two small beholders; gazers

■ Floating above, chef gazers

o "well fuck you too" ???? Cel to adam ???

o Adam goes to most important looking chef and says he's responding to duty, says he was instructed to feed lord silgar but bc new doesn't know where to go

■ Gives self bardic inspiration

■ 17 for deception

□ Chef goes "what are u doing w that"

□ Can't give food to silgar

□ Cobalts look like little lizard ppl

□ Adam instructed to follow stairs from outside

◆ Left right left right again for xant chambers

#dnd #d&d #18 #sn

1 note · View note

chromecutie · 6 years ago

Text

Not A Ghost - part 15

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Taglist: @emma-frxst @ra-ra-rasputiin @holamor @empressme-bitch @marvel-is-perfection @hazilyimagine @marvel-forever-17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash @whitewitchdown @master-sass-blast @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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

The first practice session with the lightbulb wasn’t a total bust, Rhonda swore to herself. She blew through a good chunk of the playlist, enjoyed a lot of the music, and had been able to make the bulb flicker with more regularity. Some of the flickers were even reasonably bright, but she couldn’t keep it steadily lit. If nothing else, the music kept her from getting too frustrated and smashing the bulb on the floor. Slipping it back in its box, Rhonda decided to call it a night before her husband came looking for her, hoping she could keep him from asking to see her progress.

Retracing their steps back toward the kitchen, Rhonda took in details about the house as if they were new--and some details were new. Old wallpaper had been replaced in some spots, mismatched but with the closest replica prints anyone could find. In some hall that had classrooms, Rhonda walked by a big glass case and had to stop.

It was her.

There was a large framed photo of her from her earliest days as official X-Men. It had been taken eleven or twelve years ago. Younger Rhonda was beaming proudly in her yellow uniform, striking a pose that was as noble and heroic as it was plain goofy. One hand was on her hip and the other straight over her head, blasting an arc of blue-green lightning, and one leg stretched in a high kick with pointed toes. Her hair was pulled back in a dyed blue-green ponytail--with bangs.

“They had to pick a picture with bangs, huh?” Rhonda muttered.

Neatly folded on a shelf under the photo was her spare uniform. The case was a memorial. The photo was flanked by plaques that told how Rhonda Reese Rasputin was “lost in the line of duty” and some poetic phrasing about knowing the cost of mutant safety and how important it is to be part of X-Men. Rhonda rolled her eyes. “Who wrote this? Fucking Scott?”

A few of her personal items were in the glass case--some black leather dance shoes, sketches Piotr had drawn of her, and a lot of photos of her with friends and students she tutored. Lots of smiles, lots of shenanigans. There was one from Halloween one year where Piotr had worn a long blonde wig, a pink dress, and carried Rhonda in a bag with a puppy ear headband and a black nose painted on her face. She remembered how hard she’d had to convince him to be Paris Hilton, and when he finally agreed, she used it as proof that he liked her and asked him on their first date. There was also one of her favorite photos from their wedding. They had their pieces of cake and Rhonda stretched on tiptoe to shove a piece in Piotr’s mouth. There was buttercream frosting smeared on half her face; Piotr had tried to give her too big a piece, and half of it had fallen right back onto the plate.

Rhonda chewed her lip, emotions surging, but hard to identify. Was she touched? Angry? Sick? Betrayed? She couldn’t even decide if she felt one emotion or everything at once. She blew a big huff and kept walking for the kitchen.

The next few days followed a pattern. Rhonda tried to be social, but sometimes someone would say or do something or move or stand in a certain way that made her lungs freeze, ready to fight. Then, humiliated, she would hide in her room, the gardens, or her practice room for a few hours. Every day, she spent time with that damn lightbulb, and every day didn’t quite get it to stay lit. At night, she would have some quiet time with Piotr in their bedroom before taking a sedative and fall into (hopefully) dreamless sleep. The times she skipped or forgot the sedative, she would wake up in a cold sweat, trying to fight Piotr until she remembered where she was. The bruises, scabs, and calluses faded, the dark circles under her eyes lifted, her coloring started coming back. She looked more like a person and less like some creature that hadn’t seen the sun in half a decade. But the general hardness in her expression remained.

Piotr did his best. He spoke with their closest friends and X-Men teammates and gave them a brief rundown of what she had been through, so she wouldn’t have to answer the same questions over and over. He laid down a few new rules:

If you’re a telepath, keep your mind a mile away from Rhonda’s. For the love of everything good, if you do read something in her mind, don’t comment on it.

Don’t startle her. She will fight.

Don’t ask about the tattoos or scars.

Don’t comment on how strong and gifted she used to be, or how she’s lost her gifts now.

These things seemed like common sense, but after the incident with Cable, and how Scott tried to push for a full debrief directly from Rhonda, Logan tried to crack a joke about her tattoos, and Kurt tried to prank her out of old habit, and nearly got a shiv in his gut for it, Piotr felt a need to establish some rules to make things easier on everyone. Also, no one knew when she made or started carrying a shiv around the house, or where she kept it on her person.

A mission or two came up for the X-Men, but Colossus didn’t go. He felt it was still too soon to leave his wife for an indefinite length of time. So, they managed without him.

Of the veteran X-Men, Ororo was the most helpful. She and Rhonda were close friends, and used to train together all the time. With some persuading, Rhonda agreed to let Ororo work with her in the makeshift practice room, but she still wouldn’t set foot in the Danger Room.

“What is it, Rhon?” Ororo asked during a practice session. “Yesterday you were so close to having a steady light, and today it seems like you’re not focusing.” She kept a respectful distance, hands on her hips in a relaxed posture.

Rhonda puffed out her cheeks in a sigh and turned the lightbulb over in her fingertips. She struggled to find words, “It’s just...I didn’t think about how hard it would be. Coming home.”

Ororo said nothing, patiently waiting for her friend to continue.

“I didn’t even know how long I had been gone, and I come home and Piotr’s got a girlfriend and he seemed happy with her. And Ellie’s an adult now, and I just...is there even room for me in these people’s lives anymore?” She paced the room. “It’s just so messy and fucked up, should I not have come home?”

Frowning with concern, Ororo tilted her head and reached to touch Rhonda’s shoulder, “Oh, honey, you can’t think like that. Listen, nobody is happier to have you home than Piotr and Ellie. And me. You have to know that.”

Rhonda stared past the bulb in her hand at the floor. When she met Ororo’s eyes again, she said, “Come see.” With a beckoning twist of her hand, she led Ororo to the glass case that had the memorial.

They looked at it together, Rhonda taking in new details she had missed before. Near her dance shoes was her favorite hoodie she used to wear to warm up for dance. There were a handful of mix CDs--from back when people did that. One of the photos was of her and Ellie as a kid, when they had painted their nails black together. Rhonda clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth before saying quietly, “The other day, Piotr told me he will always regret that he gave up looking for me.” She tapped a fingernail on the glass at the photos of her early X-Men days. “But it wasn’t just Piotr. Everyone gave up on me. You all were picking out flowers and an empty casket to bury and what crappy pictures to put in this thing and I was--I fucking--” she huffed, then sniffed. “I fell for some shitty deals, is what I did. This inmate or that guard promised to get a message outside for me, and they didn’t, they were never going to.” Rhonda shook her head, voice dripping with venom. “I still fell for it every. Single. Time. Like a fucking idiot.”

Ororo noticed the lightbulb in Rhonda’s hand as it hung at her side. It was glowing, and only getting brighter.

Rhonda read from one of the plaques, “The worst day on the job is when not everyone makes it home.” She rolled her eyes, “Please. Did Scott write this?”

“I did,” Ororo replied, hurt.

Rhonda slapped her free hand flat on the glass, mouth twitching. “I’m still living the worst day on the job! The one time I really needed the giant X on my chest to protect me--” she rapped her knuckles on the glass in front of her old uniform, her volume climbing “It didn’t. In fact, it made things worse.”

She raised her right hand, only now noticing the bulb was glowing bright enough to make Ororo squint. Pushing up her sleeve with her left hand, to show the Xs on her forearm, she shouted, “Do you see these fucking--”

The lightbulb shattered, sparks flying.

Ororo was quick to shield her face, but a few shards of the glass nicked Rhonda’s cheek, only narrowly missing her eyes. Blood beaded and trickled in thin rivulets from the nicks. They both froze, looking from the metal fitting in Rhonda’s hand to the tiny shards on the floor to the big framed photo with the lightning spiking from her extended hand.

“You lit it,” Ororo said.

Rhonda tossed the fitting into the trash can across the hall, scowling when she returned to the case. “I want my stuff out of here.”

Brushing back her white hair, Ororo nodded, “I think I have keys.” On her big key ring of work keys, she found the one that opened this case and slid the front panel open.

While Rhonda snatched her dance shoes, hoodie, Piotr’s sketches, CDs, and most of the photos, Ororo made a small whirlwind just powerful enough to pick up the shards of the lightbulb to bring them to the trash as well. Rhonda was right behind her with the plaques and framed photo.

It hurt to see her friend so angry, even though she knew it wasn’t just about the plaques Ororo had written. She stopped her before she could shove them into the trash with a vengeance, “Wait.” She held out her hands for the plaques, and Rhonda begrudgingly handed them over. When she raised the photo to dump it, Ororo said, “Piotr picked that picture. He said it was his favorite.” Her eyes welled up with tears. Cradling the plaques in one arm, she swiped away tears with her free hand. “He told me that was the day he knew he was in love with you.”

Rhonda lowered the photo and looked at it again. Those bangs were terrible, the hair dye wasn’t fresh, but the young woman in the photo was so excited to work on a team and make the world safer for mutants, and to do it alongside her best friend and the man she loved. That young woman was so sure of her purpose, and nobody could shake her from it. Rhonda’s throat closed up as she fought to not let any tears slip. She didn’t mean to rage at her best friend like this, or trash her friends’ well-meaning sentiment. She was just tired of feeling broken and weak. After a few long breaths, she handed the photo over to Ororo.

“No one would fault you for being angry,” Ororo watched Rhonda gather her things, and her moment of hesitation before grabbing the uniform. “We were wrong. We messed up. That hurts. But we’re doing our best now.” She sniffed and wiped away another streak of tears.

Rhonda nodded slowly. She took the rest of the photos from parties and tucked all the flat things between her hoodie and the dance shoes. The glass case was empty except for a little dust and a few dead spiders. “I’m done with memorials.”

That much was loud and clear. “I’ll put these somewhere else,” Ororo nodded. “What about your face?”

It took Rhonda a minute to realize her face was bleeding from when the glass hit her. She rolled her eyes and shrugged, “What’s another scar?”

“Clean it at least, please, Miss Rub-Some-Dirt-In-It.” They both chuckled, then an encouraging smile spread over her face. “Hey Rhonda? You lit the bulb.”

Rhonda beamed, glancing away and back to Ororo before whispering, “Yeah,” as if saying it aloud would jinx it. She hugged her things to her chest, and headed back to her room.

#colossus x oc #piotr rasputin x oc #colossus #piotr rasputin #longfic #ororo #storm #x men #deadpool

22 notes · View notes

desdemonafictional · 7 years ago

Text

You Will Remember That

Telltale batjokes, slots into place during Season 1 Episode 4

Or, That Thing We Were All Thinking About

On AO3

When Leland says that she’s going to find you a room with fewer bloodstains, you don’t expect that room to be occupied. Leland stands at the door, signing off on some slip that she hands off to a passing orderly. “It’s unorthodox,” she says,“ but I promise you it’s only for one night. Two at the most.”

You glare at the bed they’ve dragged against the wall of this cell, slightly askew on the tile. “This can’t be ethical. This isn’t a state prison.”

“Truthfully, Bruce?” she says, with a grim eyebrow lift. “We weren’t supposed to be assigned any more patients this quarter. Your room was the last available one until we discharge our next ward.”

John, lying back on the opposite bed with his feet kicked up on the wall, adds, “Actually there’s two, but one of them has black mold and the other one has a chunk taken out of the wall.”

“John,” Leland says.

From underneath his hand, like it’s a secret, he adds, “Maxie took a disliking to the décor.”

Leland sighs. “Our biohazard maintenance is off the clock and the union won’t let us call him back in until tomorrow. I promise you, as soon as we have your room scrubbed properly, you’ll be back to your accustomed level of privacy.”

“My accustomed level of privacy doesn’t involve twenty-four hour surveillance,” you point out, eyeing the camera mounted in the corner of the room.

John laughs, a little harder and darker than you are entirely comfortable with. Quite a lot of things seem to be funny to him.

“More or less,” Leland amends. She scribbles something final looking on her clipboard, and then she says, “John, make sure that Bruce stays on the straight and narrow. No more riots. I’m trusting you to be a good influence.”

“You can count on me Doc,” he says.

“Lights out at ten,” Leland says to you. “Doors lock then. Group therapy is at 8 AM, but I think it’s better if we avoid introducing you to that kind of environment while things are still so tenuous. You’ve have one-on-one with me at 9.”

And then she leaves, the door open and taunting behind her. You guess you should be grateful that they’re still giving you open door privileges, after you threw yourself into the middle of a brawl, but you’re having a hard time being gracious about any of this. It’s taking all you have just to remain appropriately civil with Leland, who is genuinely innocent of your situation here. If only you had been able to make that call. Some distraction John made you.

As soon as the sound of her footsteps have disappeared, John leaps out of bed. He throws himself out of bed, lunges almost, throwing himself into orbit around you like a comet caught in the sun’s gravity. He circles you.

“We are gonna have so much fun, Brucie,” he says.

For the umpteenth time today, you force yourself not to track him as he circles you. He has this vulture-tiger-coyote fascination with your unprotected back, and you are pretty understandably prickled by it. You can feel him like a wave of electromagnetic interference over your skin.

“What’s your idea of fun?” you ask.

It has not escaped your attention the way he says certain things, the meaningful lowering of eyelids as he insinuates—what? Well, you can make a guess. This may not be a prison exactly, but in every way that matters, you haven’t detected much of a difference. Now, after everything he’d hinted in the rec room, you’re not as sure that you know what he wants, but you’re still waiting for the shoe to drop.

John throws himself back onto his bed (not yours, you notice). He crosses his legs. “Well, the rec room was pretty fun today, don’t you think?”

“I don’t generally categorize being shivved that way, actually,” you say.

“You don’t?” he says, tapping the corner of his mouth in a thoughtful way. “I was thoroughly entertained. Let me just say, it is a pleasure to watch you work. You really got right in there! And Zsasz, he’s no toddling bedwetter like some of these numbskulls. He’s a real piece of work!”

“Yeah,” you say. “Thank for that.”

He sits forward. “Tsk tsk, there’s no need to take that tone with your good buddy. It’s not my fault you missed your window of opportunity. Not that I’m not glad to have a little more quality time with you, don’t get me wrong, but you’ve got places to be, people to see.”

You say nothing. He’s right, it’s not his fault. That is to say, his plan would have worked if you had only chosen to go along with it. But you didn’t, and now you’re here, sharing a cell with him until your lawyers can manage to tie this place up in enough red tape to open up another fleeting window of opportunity. You’re confident that Alfred is out there working on it. He never lets you down. It’s just time, which you don’t have anywhere enough of.

“Anyways,” John says. “I think you do like it.”

“Like what?” you say.

He twists back and makes a motion like slamming a bat into something, throws his whole body into it. “The violence, Brucie. The action! I saw you out there, you’re a livewire,” he laughs. “I like that about you. You know just what to do with that body of yours.”

I couldn’t just ignore it No one could enjoy that >it wasn’t that impressive

You cross your arms. “I’m hardly some kind of action hero. Recreational judo—some boxing, whatever’s new in town—I just do enough to keep fit.”

John plants his chin in his hand. “Come on now,” he says, “you can lie better than that.”

You find yourself speechless.

“You wanna give it another try?” he offers, helpfully.

“I’m-” you say, “I’m tired of talking about myself,” you say, which is not untrue.

John nods. “That’s fair,” he says.

And that’s it. He seems satisfied to leave it there, digging in his mattress to find a skein of red yarn which he twists around his fingers in a bizarre cat’s cradle, quietly manipulating the threads until they resemble a mandala.

You clear your throat, not sure that you like the silence any more than you liked the conversation. “Isn’t that banned?” you ask.

“Oh sure,” he says. He glances at you, eyes glittering like a window full of television displays. “But you won’t tell on me, will you?”

“…No,” you say.

He gives you a bright smile. “Don’t worry,” he says. “We’re gonna get you out of here. When one door closes—” he draws the cradle tight, with a twang, “—another one opens.”

Wake up call at 7:00 finds you already up and pacing beneath the window of the room that everyone else is too polite to call a cell. John slides into his slippers and coaxes you out, leads the way to the kitchen full of undercooked hash and cold eggs. He doesn’t seem interested in the food, but he watches with a weirdly maternal zeal as you finally scoop up a serving for yourself, not quite moving out of your way until you fill the whole plate. He sits you down in a seat at a mostly empty table, across from a small nervous man pushing his eggs around and around.

“What’s the news, Tech,” he says. “Seen any rabbits lately?”

“No,” Tech says, without looking up. “What do you want?”

“I want you to meet the new guy!” John says. He slaps you on the back, nearly knocking you into your food. “Remind you of anybody?”

Tech glances up at you, watery blue eyes and a vagueness that seems to be looking right through you. “No one,” he says. “Nothing.”

“Come on now,” John cajoles, pushing the plate out from underneath Tech. “It’s good to confront your compulsions.”

Tech considers the table, for a long moment, and then he looks up at you again. This time he really seems to be looking. You don’t know what to say—the whole thing bewilders you. You can almost see him clicking on somehow, clear instead of cloudy.

“White knight,” he says. “The white knight.”

“Really?” John says, with his eyebrow cocked. “I woulda said the opposite.”

“With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,” Tech murmurs, “Who seemed distracted with his woe…”

“Oops,” John says. “There he goes. Looks like he’s not as far along in his therapy as I thought.”

You give John a look. It’s difficult to tell if he just likes setting people off, or if there’s some method to his madness. Zsaz was clearly a case of using what tools were available, but you remember the inmate in the hall too, and John thumping the locked door like a child tapping the glass of an aquarium.

“Come tell me how you live,” murmurs Tech, “and what it is you do…”

“Forget him,” John says, turning back to you. “He’ll get it together before group. Speaking of which, you get to skip don’t you, you lucky duck?”

“Dr. Leland was right,” you say. “It’s not a good idea, after everything yesterday.”

You look around the mess hall, counting the pairs of glaring eyes centered right on you. Security doesn’t seem to have been stepped up much. You spot some orderlies in the wings, but they’re only orderlies. Either they don’t have the resources to protect you, or they just don’t care. Or worse.

But it’s staying quiet isn’t it? You give the room a second look. Despite how many people are trying to drill your head open with their eyes, not a single one of them is making any moves. In fact, no one has made a move since that first brawl with the taser. With Zsasz, it was John who opened fire. Your gaze slides to him, to find him watching you back, and keenly.

“Nobody,” you say, “messes with you much, do they John?”

“Oh, I’m a model patient,” John says, casually. “Who would want to mess with little old me?”

There’s still blood splattered on the floor of the room that was meant to be yours. You don’t buy that misdirection for a moment.

“I was just thinking…” you say, “how everybody’s given me a pretty wide berth since Leland assigned you to me. Since you intercepted those guys, really.”

John drums the table with his fingers, not quite irritated but certainly not calm either. “They know better,” he says, no longer looking at you. “They know better. Hazing is the tool of a cult mentality.”

“I don’t think that was hazing,” you say.

John shrugs you off. He’s definitely agitated. “They’re lucky,” he mutters, “if you hadn’t needed checking up on, I would have—If I’d heard about it later, I’d have ripped their nails out.”

You kind of want to ask how he’d expect to manage that, but you are also a little bit afraid of the answer. He perks right up, anyways, before you can settle on whether to push it.

“But you’re fine!” he says, still watching you even as he pushes Tech’s plate back into his distracted hands. “And you’ll keep being fine, don’t you worry about a thing! Just leave it all to me.”

He’s smiling. His mouth is so wide you could count his perfect teeth. With every minute you spend in his company, you suspect more and more that he isn’t any ordinary patient here. You think of his cat’s cradle, the space at the center of the mandala that every twist of string orbits. But maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself.

There’s a distorted bell over the intercom. “Ah,” he says. “That’s group! Catch you later, buddy.”

When the orderly comes to escort you back to your cell, you follow him quietly. There’s a lot to unravel in this place, you’re quickly finding out.

In your therapy session, Leland wants to know about your childhood. You are vague without being dishonest, disinterested without being rude—you tell her what she already knows. She wants to know about your relationship with Oswald. You’re candid enough. It feels good to tell someone what he’s done to you, although you obviously can’t tell her the whole story. She doesn’t stump you until, out of nowhere, she bring up John.

“And how are you getting along with him?” she asks you. “Any concerns?”

“Concerns?” you say. “Isn’t he your favorite patient?”

Leland frowns, as if she’s disappointed with you. “Bruce,” she says. “I’m a professional. If John has made you uncomfortable somehow, I need to know about it.”

John is bad news I can handle him >I’m not sure what he wants

This is your chance to get out of the whole fraught affair. Or it would be, if you took it. But you don’t take it. Part of you thinks that you ought to; John is trouble, and you don’t at all like the way he talks about your father. But the other part of you, the part that wins out, is begrudgingly intrigued. You didn’t realize it until someone offered you an alternative, but—you’ve already been planning to see him again, you’re drawn back to him in some way that feels remarkably literal. As if you are physically being tugged at. You think again of the cat’s cradle.

“Is he like this with all the new patients?” you ask her.

She considers that for a moment. “He takes an interest, generally speaking. He’s been here the longest of any non-catatonic patient, so he sees himself as a sort of mentor. But no, to be quite frank, it isn’t usually like this.”

“How is it different?” you ask, leaning forward in your chair.

Leland regards you with her cool doctor’s eyes. “This is the most engaged I’ve seen you in nearly fifty minutes, Bruce. What are you thinking about?”

You flatten your features. “I just want to know that I’m safe with him, doctor. Sharing a cell with an inmate—”

“Patient,” Leland says. “Room. And judging from what I’ve seen, John is the one who ought to be worried for his safety, not you.”

You sigh. “I’m not dangerous,” you tell her. “You’re not… seeing me at my best. I promise you, once I’ve had a chance to get this stuff out of my system, you’ll see how stable I am.”

Leland flips through her copious notes. “Bruce, it’s not just the violence. Which, by the way, speaks for itself in my opinion. In less than half an hour you’ve told me so many unhealthy things about yourself that I’ve almost run out of paper, and I don’t think you even realize what they were.”

You pull back. “I haven’t told you anything,” you say.

“Yes, you’ve been less than forthcoming with the details of your day to day schedule, but that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s your attitude. Look, ten minutes ago you told me that you often go full days before actually sleeping. You do realize that’s a kind of self harm, don’t you?”

“I’m a busy man,” you tell her, helplessly. “I have to. Sometimes there’s just too much to do.”

“And you have to do all of it?” Leland remarks.

“Yes,” you say.

She shakes her head. “Why?” she says. “Why, when it’s clearly wearing you down to nothing?”

You’re still thinking about that as you make your way back to the room. Because nobody else can, you want to tell her. Because that’s what you’re for.

John looks up from a book as you pause at the door, feeling all at once like such an outsider that not even your body wants to go any further. John immediately sets his book off to the side, page unmarked. The cover of says House of Leaves. It’s a suspiciously heavy book for an environment like this.

“What’s the matter, buddy?” he says. “Therapy didn’t go so good?”

“It was fine,” you say automatically.

John gets to his feet and ushers you inside, toeing the door closed behind you. He leads you over to his bed and sets you down on the mattress, crawling up to sit beside you like a cat. “Hey, you can tell me about it,” he says, patting your knee. “Don’t be shy. Honesty is the backbone of a healthy relationship.”

You give him a sideways look. His hand is still on your knee, as if he’s forgotten it there.

“Dr. Leland and I just disagree about some basic underpinnings of my personality,” you tell him. “It’s fine. I don’t expect her to understand.”

“Ahh,” John says. “She started asking you about that nasty little dark thing inside you, huh?”

“I don’t have a nasty little dark thing,” you say, scowling. “I’m not my father, whatever you think he was. I don’t know how to make you people understand this.”

“Daddy issues,” John says, sympathetically. He squeezes your knee—definitely not forgotten, then. He ignores the way you’re glaring at him. “Okay,” he says, “you’re your own man, I understand.”

“Do you?” you mutter.

“Sure,” he says, bumping your shoulder companionably. “It’s always just you, at the end of the day. Nobody can live your life for you, Dr. Leland says.”

You look away. Sometimes that life feels like its sheering off bits of you with each choice. It seems like it’s always one bad option from a pile of worse.

You have a feeling he already knows what you’re thinking.

Lunch passes without incident. You meet more inmates. You meet more staff. Most of them seem to be giving you the evil eye as they talk around you and over you. You certainly have a legacy here, in this forgotten old building, whether you want it or not. You think a lot about the Arkhams, and about your father—allegations, memories, a hesitance that is starting to feel cowardly in your own throat. In the afternoon they have optional crafts for people with recreational privileges. Someone tries to stab you with a magic maker in a fit of pique and ends up framed for worse by the time John is done with them. You feel like that was unnecessary. It was only a magic marker. But John is livid and already done with the deed by the time that you even realize there was a plot—he grabs your shoulder with a grip tight enough to leave bruises as they drag the inmate away. You don’t think he’s trying to hurt you. It almost feels like he’s afraid someone will rip you away from him.

During dinner, you get in a shouting match with someone who has opinions about your company and your life choices and your mother’s sexual history, and a couple orderlies swoop in to break it up just before it can spiral into an out-and-out altercation. Your vision is swimming by the time it’s all done, blue and red and nonsense like a 3D movie in the raw. You dig your nails into your scalp and try to calm down.

“Almost had it there,” John whispers, closer to your ear than you remember him being.

You grit your teeth. The fight broke up before it could start, there’s no one for you to take a swing at. You’ve got to hold it down, you’ve got to—

John is saying something to an orderly, and then he’s guiding you up from your chair, down through the hallway, back into the semi-privacy of your shared room. You feel a surge of gratefulness that froths and presses at your insides in the middle of all this rage, unable to find a release valve.

You spend a long time just breathing. God you hope this wears off soon. You’re angry enough without having Vicky’s chemical irritant making a mess out of your brain.

“Thank you,” you manage, eventually.

“What’re friends for?” John says brightly, unbothered by any of the episode. You realize he’s been absently rubbing small circles into your shoulder for a while now, as you lean against the wall. “We should really do something about that mouthy little toad,” he says, voice flickering dark for a breath. “If he thinks he can talk to a friend of mine that way—”

“It’s fine,” you say. You sound ragged in your own ears. “He’s got enough on his plate, living in this hellhole.”

John tuts. “That’s awfully negative,” he says. “You’re homesick, I bet.”

Maybe you are. You miss Alfred’s stolid support, his dry understanding. You miss the people at the office, the office itself, the freedom to get up and go wherever you want to. You’re homesick, you guess, but only in the sense that all of Gotham is your home. You miss the streetlights and the gargoyles and the sounds of traffic as much as you miss your own dusty house.

“Mm, I knew it,” John says. “Don’t worry, it’s normal. You’ve just got to ride it out. Eventually you’ll see Arkham is a kind of home too.”

“I’m not going to be here that long,” you remind him.

He pulls back his hand. “No,” he says, “no, of course not. I just meant that you would! If you stayed. Which you won’t.”

You give up and sit down on your bed. You can feel every single spring in the mattress, and you know that it doesn’t like your weight. Last night you half expected one of them to pop through the plastic sheeting and stab you through the heart, like the vampire that you are not. Tonight you’re tempted to just sleep on the tile.

John’s bed is just as bad, unsurprisingly. You could hear him toss and turn every time you surfaced from sleep, startled by an unfamiliar sound. There is something about hearing a springs squeak and murmur under another person’s body that feels uncomfortably intimate to you. It reminds you of college dormitories and one night stands.

“Cheer up!” John says, “I have big plans for tomorrow. I don’t want to give away the surprise, but think: hall phone.”

“Are you going to engineer another murder?” you ask him, startling yourself a little with the sharpness of it.

“It’s a surprise!” John laughs. “Jeeze, did you try to unwrap your Christmas presents early too?”

You sigh. You already know that if he tries something like that again, you’ll do the same damn thing. You can’t just let someone get stabbed in front of you, regardless of how lethal it might or might not turn out to be. Your mission is important, but it’s not important enough to change that fact.

John sidles over closer. “Do you mind if I…?” he says.

You stare blankly at him. Mind if he what? Murders someone tomorrow? Yes, you mind.

He gestures uncomfortably at the spot beside you on your bed. “I’m learning to respect boundaries,” he tells you, looking all at once more abashed than you’ve ever seen him. You marvel at the change in him, his lowered head, his hunched shoulders, his anxious expression.

“You want to sit down?” you ask him.

“If you don’t mind,” he says, clasping his hands together in front of him. “Your bed is your personal space, and I respect that. I wouldn’t want you to think I go in for that kind of,” his voice goes from urgent to pitch dark, “horseplay. Not me.”

You squint at him. You have no idea what he’s talking about.

“You can sit down,” you tell him, for some reason. Better not to ask yourself why.

Immediately he’s at your side, perched close enough to breathe in the air you breathe out. “Maybe when I’m out, you can show me around!”

It’s getting easier to know what to say to him. It doesn’t even hurt you, really, to say: “I know a couple good bars downtown, I guess.”

The way John lights up makes you feel like maybe you just passed a test. “I just knew,” he says, “the moment I saw you. Friends forever.”

Then he sighs. “Shame you’re going tomorrow. I still have so much to show you. You haven’t even met Crane!” He folds an arm over your shoulder, laying his cheek on his brightly colored sleeve. “What we need to do,” he says, “is go out with a bang.”

“A bang,” you say. You are imagining improvised explosives. Out of all the people you deeply and viciously want to hurt lately, the unnerving thing is that John doesn’t make your list. Not even at all. You are trying to figure out what the hell you’ll do if this man tries to blow up a building full of mental patients.

“A little something to remember me by,” he says. He looks up from underneath his pale lashes. His hand falls across your leg again, like an afterthought.

Oh.

Oh, so this is where the shoe drops. You really did not expect it to go anything like this. You take in the eagerness that practically oozes off him, the way he almost seems to vibrate with it as he leans forward, all but falling into your lap. What in the world do you do with this.

“John,” you say, carefully, “are you suggesting that you want to have sex with me?”

John pulls back a little, makes an offended little hmph. “That is strictly against Arkham policy, Bruce. I’m a model patient.”

“I’m… confused,” you admit. “What is this, then?”

“Wellll,” John says, opening up the hand that hangs between you, “this place is full of rules, rules, rules, but there are always… grey areas….”

Several things go through your head in that moment: one, you really don’t care at all about Arkham policy one way or another. You’re not a real inmate. Two, you’re not sure how much is actually riding on this moment. Three, what would John’s overwhelming enthusiasm look like underneath you, or over you, even?

“What if I say no?” you ask him.

Immediately he disengages, showing you his open palms in the universal sign language for I come in peace. “Hey,” he says, “no problem, buddy. I was kind of hoping, well, maybe you’d be excited about it, but if you want to do something else instead, no worries.”

Actually he seems kind of put out now. You regard him carefully, the way he’s rubbing anxiously at his palm with the ball of his thumb, the way he doesn’t seem to be looking at you anymore.

“What do you mean by grey areas?”

He perks right back up. “I could show you,” he says. “Arkham policy is no penetration, period, under any circumstances, but they’re not too specific about the rest of it!”

You give him a doubtful look. Just like handing a shivv to an inmate isn’t technically against the rules, huh? Just the part where you make it, or you use it.

“Sure, a couple of the other guys got yelled at for trying it, sure, but not me. So anyways, nobody’s ever told me it was against the rules. I’ve never tried anything in here.” John purses his lips. “Slim pickings,” he adds.

You decide to level with him, since he’s been nothing but helpful since you showed up. Even if his idea of help is sometimes worse than the alternative. “John,“ you say, "my head is pretty messed up right now. I don’t like what happens if I get my heart rate up while this poison is floating around inside of me, let alone a sudden surge of hormones—things could go very badly. I could wind up hurting you.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” John says. “I’m tougher than I look, ya know.”

You eye his lean form, the rangy muscles down his arms. “Even if that was true,” you say. “No. I don’t want to risk it.”

John jumps up and paces the room, his bare feet skating over the tile. “That’s fine,” he says, “Okay. That’s fine. I’ll think of something else to do for you. I’ll just have to get creative!”

You frown. If he’s just trying to do something for you, to make you like him, the weird thing is that you kind of already do. There’s no point in all this. “Come here,” you say.

Instead of returning to the bed, though, he drops like a demolished building, landing on his knees at your feet. You wince. It doesn’t seem to bother him, but you know that would absolutely kill you. Maybe it’s the surge of sympathy, but what you do here is put out your hand and brush it over his swept-back hair. You watch him lean into it.

“How would you feel about it,” you say, surprising yourself, “if I were to just touch you. Just that?”

John laughs nervously. “Um,” he says, “why?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “It just feels like something I might want to do.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he surges forward, hands pressing down into your thighs. “Well if you’re offering,” he says, “it’d be rude of me to say no.”

Last chance to back out. Who are you kidding? You’re not a passenger in this sinking ship, you’re the captain.

“I’m offering,” you say. “Please, get up off the floor?”

He does. He throws himself back onto your bed, in a protest of a hundred tiny shrieks. You swear, if he breaks your bed, you’re making him sleep in it. He starts wriggling out of his shirts, tossing them across the room in quick succession. He opens up his arms, as if he’s reaching for you. With a knot in your stomach, or maybe something worse, you climb up over him.

You’re starting to worry that you’re going to get yourself in trouble with Vale’s poison after all. Your heart beat—the way he hooks his arms over your neck, the way he looks up at you like you hung the moon, like you can do no wrong—

“What a view,” he says, with a quiet whistle.

What a view, you think, with an alarming mixture of apprehension and desire.

As John comes, he clutches you to himself, all his needy whining noises quieted to a single reedy gasp. His nails buried in the back of your scalp seem ready to crack you open. If your vision is swimming, you know it’s just the poison, but you also know that the poison is triggered by arousal—deep inside your blood, part of you wants him to crack you open.

He slumps, but his grip barely flags. Against your ear, he murmurs: “I knew you would be fun.”

John will remember this

What actually happens in the morning, which is not a bomb thank god, is that first thing John simply opens up the door that should have been locked and makes a sweeping gesture at the hall beyond. He winks at you, his hair still mussed. You don’t know how he did that, and when you press him he just shrugs mysteriously and returns to his strange book. The pages you catch a glance at have the helter skelter twisted formatting of something a patient might have written. You definitely get the feeling Dr. Leland wouldn’t like him to have it.

You make your phone call. Alfred picks up immediately, even though it’s five in the morning and you know he doesn’t get up for another hour. You reassure him, you lay out a solution, and then you resign yourself to a goodbye. Your heart aches for the stress you’re putting him under.

By the time evening rolls around, Leland has gotten word from the commissioner’s office that you are being released in order to testify in an upcoming investigation. If there is some way to make her understand that this isn’t just a rich man buying his way out of justice, you wish you knew what it was. She hands you your discharge papers with an air of disappointment so thick it nearly makes you choke. As frustrating as she’s been, she’s clearly one of the good ones. She’s trying. You respect that. It doesn’t change the situation.

Alfred seems to be focused on getting you out of the building as fast as possible. He doesn’t stop to look at anything or talk to anyone, staying cleanly out of range of any grabbing hands as he marches forward. It’s you who stops, just as you’re about to pass into the nurse’s office to drop off your uniform. The gate to the rec room is just a few feet away, and behind it, with his arms through the bars, John is watching you.

He winks.

You find yourself drawn his way. When you’re long gone from here, living your real life out there, and you think of this place, you suspect that you will think of him more than anything else. Already you can feel his presence swallowing all memory of halls or rooms or schedules, of the very building itself. John reaches up and pats your cheek, which is odd because you don’t remember walking all the way over here.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow,” he says. “Still, can’t say we didn’t show you a good time!”

From beyond you, Alfred says, “Master Bruce, are you coming?”

John leans his head against the bars, smiling one of his knowing, dark smiles. You take a step back, and then another. You turn and catch up with Alfred, where he’s holding the door to the office open for you.

“Have fun out there, in the madhouse!” John calls after you. “Remember, they’re not all as nice as we are!”

As the door swings shut behind you, Alfred says, “Who was that fellow?”

But you don’t know where you would even begin, and so, ultimately you say nothing at all.

#batjokes

53 notes · View notes

hungry4apples · 7 years ago

Text

Just a Chemical Reaction

Is there any truth to Rick’s scathing words? A peek into Rick’s past life with Beth’s mother. (fluff/angst; mostly pre-canon)

Ch 2: You

I thought of you. I haven’t for years. Or maybe I have, drowning any memory of you with the click of a beer can tab. Always at the back of my mind. Stupid, arrogant, stick-up-your-ass, cold-hearted bitch, you.

FF.net / Ao3

Words: ~1K

Rating; T+

I had long-since relinquished any romantic notions of a prison cell, a clichéd hum of a harmonica, a tally chart engraved into the walls, a shiv made of a sharpened spoon. Instead of orange I wore green, instead of a cell I’d been graced with an agonizing lack of circulation in my limbs from being strapped to the wall, like an action figure in a box. They woke me at odd hours for their interrogation sessions, stabbing their probes into my brain, getting freaky with my hippocampus.

Memories flickered by. Old ones that lay dormant for years—and should’ve stayed that way—coming back to life only now in this space-age torture chamber, sober and suffering from withdrawal symptoms. The old house, generic and humourless, standing there at the curb of the cul-de-sac and reminding me too much of the place I grew up in. Running past the car decorated in streamers, cans on strings and JUST MARRIED spray paint and climbing into the UFO parked next to it instead. The past became closer, almost tangible, while the present stretched far into the distance.

I thought of you.

I haven’t for years. Or maybe I have, drowning any memory of you with the click of a beer can tab. Always at the back of my mind.

Stupid, arrogant, stick-up-your-ass, cold-hearted bitch, you.

In the end, you and I barely spoke. If at all, it was through Beth.

By the counter, you’d dip your teabag into your mug with a precise tedium that had become a nuisance to me. The mind-boggling exactitude of everything you did, your words, your movements. Once exciting when we were teenagers, ping-ponging come-backs as we played hooky, had evolved into a minefield, one misstep away from divorce at any moment.

‘Beth’s mathletes tournament is today,’ you said by the sink without moving your gaze from the driveway.

It was breakfast, for me at least, lunch for you. I shuffled around to get my cereal. Wordlessly, you moved to get out of my way, but I could still feel the weight in the air, the expectation of an answer. I opened the fridge, sniffed the orange juice carton and grimaced.

‘This’s gone bad.’

‘She’s worked really hard for this, you know.’ Your grip tightened around the mug.

‘Mmmhmm.’ I slurped on my spoonfuls of Cherrios, singling out the ones that haven’t gone soggy yet.

Your mug slammed against the countertop tile. The door shut. You left me alone with my cereal.

I never relished being Beth’s idol as much as you thought I did. The pressure, frankly, I could’ve done without.

Beth never asked me to attend her mathletes game, her soccer games, her dumb kiddy theatre productions when all she did was stand at the back with a crayon tree taped over her shoulders. And the thing about me is: if you never ask, I never answer. Simple. People should know better.

These days it was rare that we ever crossed paths before she left for school. One day she did, sporting a Walkman at her hip, obnoxiously neon spongy headphones wrapped around her hair. If she did this every morning, I’d have no idea. I knew, though, that this was the kind of thing that would normally trigger a lecture in you, but when you saw Beth, you were silent. So, this was normal.

‘You have drool on your lip,’ was all she greeted me with as she passed me by for her Pop Tart. Meanwhile, you stood off to the side, leaning against the counter in your work clothes, cradling a coffee mug. Looking down at me from afar.

You had turned her against me. That’s the mantra of every divorced-father-to-be, isn’t it? Though if I’m being honest, I don’t know who turned who against who. I watched as Beth sat across from me, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else, not talking to either of us. I remembered how she used to run into my arms at every chance she got, the sight of me so rare and precious to her. Here, over a decade later, she picked at her Pop Tart, reluctantly eating it crumb by crumb. Every now and then she’d steal a glance up at me, a distant look in her eyes as she took me in. Her father, she probably thought. What a bizarre loser he was. Her father who would soon abandon her twice more than he already had. She looked away.

I cleared my throat. ‘H-hey Beth.’ She didn’t look up. ‘Wanna hear a j-o-oke?’

She stayed silent, unmoving, but I took the fact that she didn’t make to get up or leave as encouragement. ‘When you go to the bathroom, you’re American. When you leave the bathroom, you’re American.’ She didn’t say anything but seemed attentive. ‘What are you when you’re in the bathroom?’

‘What?’ I ignored the bored scepticism in her voice.

‘EUROPEAN!’

Beth frowned but after a moment, as if mulling it over in her head, let out a loud, clumsy guffaw. Her gangly adolescent limbs moved about as she laughed, putting a hand to her mouth as she tried to cover the mess of crumbs.

Maybe it was just nervous laughter, releasing some pent-up tension, maybe she was humouring me. Faking it. It wasn’t my best, really. I’d heard it from some robot on G-87, left the bar thinking it was hilarious, but it was probably meagre at best to sober ears. But I’d made Beth happy. For whatever reason, she was happy again. I didn’t want overthink it, so I didn’t and I went on, ‘Y’see because, you’re peeing… and European…’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Beth still chuckling, but slowly catching her breath.

‘Yeah, it’s-it’s a play on words, see—’

‘Yes, Dad. I got it.’

You did your best to stand still, stay quiet but when I dared sneak a glance in your direction, I noticed your lips curled, small wrinkles formed around your eyes. I had almost forgotten your smile. But it had vanished as soon as it came. You looked down at your watch. Laughter had ground to a halt. Weighed down by silence. Beth swallowed, then looked down at her wrist, picking at some scab I’d never noticed. The memories returned, the ones that reminded us why this was, why it didn’t happen anymore.

‘Beth, we should get going,’ you said ushering our daughter away from me like I was a wild zoo animal. Beth, for her part, acknowledged me even less, replacing the headphones to her ears and pressing the volume button until I could faintly hear the Smashing Pumpkins from where I still sat with my sunny side ups. The two of you walked out the door, off to school, to work. I was left alone again.

Our little trio, each sequestered to their own heads.

It was the middle of the night for you, early evening for me. I’d come to a decision.

This was as lucid as I’d felt in years and yet I could already feel you deriding me for being tipsy. Funny how I was preparing for an argument, though if my plan were to follow through, there wouldn’t be one.

‘Watcha doing?’ Your tone was deceptively chipper. Your silhouette in the doorway made me jump, though I was quick to hide it. I must not have been quiet enough, haphazardly stuffing the UFO to the brim, the clanks of metal on metal echoing up to your bedroom where you practised a conventional circadian rhythm.

‘Was just about to head out for some ice cream.’ I couldn’t tell whether my unoriginality was a deliberate irony; an inside joke so pretentious even the insiders didn’t understand, or a sincere ineptitude when it came to lying to you.

You cocked your head, ‘It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?’ I shrugged. The ruse was pointless. ‘I have something else in mind.’ I acquiesced to trail behind you, still planning to carry on once you’d fallen asleep.

You were quiet as you led me to our rooftop, decorated with two lawn chairs and a cooler. This isn’t what I’d expected. With Beth off to camp, I knew this would’ve been the perfect occasion to get it out of your system, a few scathing remarks there, a scream here, but you were calm, in a way that almost felt genuine were it not tinged with weariness.

The setting was more romantic than either of us had dared to venture since high school. The cooler full of beer was a surprise, you’d long-since stopped drinking with me when it became obvious I couldn’t hold my liquor. As we sat down on those ungodly uncomfortable chairs, I felt a wave of nostalgia for when we first moved here. Sipping on Coke on the lawn, running through the sprinklers, getting kicked out of the theatre because our sarcasm was too loud, when you’d still humour an escapade through intergalactic customs, when we still joked about whether Gear Heads called them doctors or engineers. Life was lighter then.

You leaned into the cooler to fetch two beers, offering one to me. Facing the moon, you pulled the tab and tipped the can to your lips. You swallowed. We sat as the cicadas chirped, until finally you spoke.

‘We aren’t enough for you.’ “We” was you and Beth, I remember when it was you and me. You left no room for disagreement, you didn’t need to. It wasn’t like you to shatter the bubble of illusion we’d created, tended to lovingly like a second child. Not even a trace of performative anger. Just resignation. Sadness. I could only stare, unopened can in my hands. You turned to me with a pained look. ‘Why?’

You were uncharacteristically candid, and so I returned the favour. ‘I dunno.’

‘What’s out there that you won’t give up on, too?’

‘I don’t know.’ I said it a little quicker, impatient. Irritated that my motives were so transparent to you. But you were right.

We stayed there for hours, enjoying the novelty of getting drunk together again, though we both knew it was also the last time. And for a while, I didn’t think of returning to the garage.

When next we spoke, it wasn’t so light-hearted. Tension thickened the air. I looked up to find you standing a good few feet away from me, at arms’ length. Your devil-may-care smirk, your annoyed “Oh what’s Rick done this time” sigh of frustration were gone. Brows furrowed, pupils small as pins, you were holding your breath, scared. I sat there and wondered, if for once, I should take something seriously. But there was no point.

We were strangers. You’d found out one thing too many about what I did without you. You had morals and I didn’t. You were good and I wasn’t.

It was only a few million. A civilisation so far from here most humans didn’t have a concept of what they looked like. Not like you knew them personally enough to mourn. Your lips tightened. You looked like you wanted to run away from me and I turned my back to you. It wasn’t about what we did say anymore, all about what we didn’t.

Screw that shit.

The second time, I told myself, I’d be quiet. But it didn’t matter. You weren’t home to hear me back out of the driveway. I’d awoken one afternoon to an empty house. A vindictive part of me wanted to wait, wanted to see the hesitation in your posture. Wanted the chance to hear you call after me.

But you’d made your decision, and I mine.

#rick and morty #ram #rick sanchez #rick and morty season 3 #ram season 3 #rm #rick and morty fanfic #beth smith #diane #rick/diane #my fic #u #diane/rick

3 notes · View notes

theclaravoyant · 8 years ago

Text

Oh, How We’ve Grown

AN ~ for @unlessimwrongwhichyouknowimnot. Title from Castle on the Hill by Ed Sheeran which gives me a RIDICULOUS amount of Bus Kids/Team feels.

Jemma has a nightmare about the Fitzbot and Fitz trying to comfort her only makes it worse, so they call Daisy - Bus Kids fluff ensues. FitzSimmons + Bus Kids, hurt/comfort/fluff.

Read on AO3 (~1700wd)

Oh, How We’ve Grown

The dream is so real, she can feel it. She can smell it; the fear and the sweat and the blood on her hands. She can hear him, calling to her, begging for his life as she slashes relentlessly into his flesh, trying to find the cut-off. Sparking. Dead.

Did you kill him?

She jolts awake, her terrified dream-mind having apparently forgotten to breathe as she gasps for air that doesn’t smell like copper. She still feels the sweat, and the tangle of sheets is a trap, is a nightmare, everything is trying to drown her – and he’s there.

“Jemma?”

“Get away from me!” She jumps off the bed, stumbling in the blankets as she backs up against the wall. Her hands and her eyes try to search for something to hold, something to defend herself with. He holds his hands up, palms toward her, he doesn’t pursue.

“It’s alright, I promise,” he assures her. “Jemma, it’s me.”

It’s not him.

I couldn’t.

“Stay back.” Through gritted teeth, she snarls, and slips into the bathroom. It’s then that Fitz lunges, in desperation, and presses himself against the door.

“What’s wrong? Jemma?” His voice is strained with panic. She’s clearly not altogether in the real world right now, but everything he does seems to be panicking her more. Even now he can hear her rifling through the cupboards, probably still searching for something. Is he about to get shivved with his own toothbrush?

Recovering control of himself, of his voice, Fitz assures her;

“I’m backing away from the bathroom door now. If you want to come out, I’ll be sitting on the bed.”

As hard as it is, he forces himself to retreat, and calls Daisy instead. She’s always a good back-up, and especially if this has something to do with his LMD, she might know something he didn’t. At the very least, there would be someone without his face, which seemed to be hurting her. And now he has nothing to do but wait.

When Daisy arrives, Jemma is still in the bathroom.

“I think she’s locked herself in,” Fitz explained, trying to resist the urge to chew on his nails. “I’m worried. What if she smashes a mirror or something?”

Daisy shakes her head. “I think she’ll listen to me.”

With a slightly feigned confidence, she raps on the bathroom door.

“Jemma? Hey, it’s Daisy.”

There’s a dim sound of recognition inside.

“You preparing for the robot apocalypse in there? Mind if I join?”

A second or two passes, as if Jemma is tossing up the invitation – or perhaps climbing over some sort of balustrade. But then she opens the door, Fitz’s razor in one hand. She keeps her weapon raised and her dark eyes on Fitz, until Daisy forces her way in.

They sit on the side of the bath, and Daisy takes the razor from her hands.

“Hey, there, trooper,” Daisy croons. “The war’s over, Jemma. No LMDs here anymore, we’re safe.”

“How do you know?” Jemma wonders. “I keep – I keep seeing him. It. It’s everywhere.”

“Not out there,” Daisy promises. “That’s the real Fitz. And he’s very confused right now, by all this. You know he’s real, right? That it was just a dream?”

Jemma’s eyes dart towards the door and back.

“I…know it was a dream,” she explains, her silence completing the statement with, I don’t know that he’s real. Daisy nods, understanding the implication, and takes Jemma’s hand. She turns it over gently, and quakes it, just a little – just enough to feel the textures of flesh and blood and bone.

“Remember that?” she asks. “Remember how that feels? You’re real. Okay? And Fitz is real too. You wanna come out there with me and I’ll prove it?”

It’s hard to escape the fear, but in her heart Jemma knows that what Daisy is saying is true. She trusts that Fitz is real and she hopes it with all her heart and that is enough to make her nod and stand, and she focuses on Daisy’s determined, enthusiastic expression to drive away the memory of the knife and the blood and the pleading. Each step is fragile, hesitant – she can still remember the violent lurch of her heart and her gut and the way the air disappeared when It had turned around and betrayed her; she can still remember how quickly things can turn. But she trusts. She trusts Daisy, though she waits in the doorway of the bathroom for Daisy to reach out.

Daisy fixes Fitz with a firm stare, that says trust me, go with me. She holds a hand out.

“When we were fighting them,” she explains, “this was how we figured out we were real. If I quake you, I can feel it. Just a little bit. Okay?”

He holds his arm out without question, and Daisy wraps her hands around it. She glances back at Jemma and gently starts quaking, feeling all the frequencies that make up Fitz. He flinches at the strange sensation, but holds his ground, and out of the corner of his eye, watches as Jemma creeps into the room, somewhat reassured.

Though slow, she makes a bee-line for Fitz and wraps her arms around him, and presses her face into his chest. She can feel it too then, in her own way; his heart and his lungs, sweat and cotton and soap and the tang of metal, not from his body but from his work.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. “It won’t leave me alone.”

“Well, I won’t either,” Fitz assures her, wrapping his arms around Jemma once Daisy lets him go. “I – the real me – will be right here the whole time. It’s not going to win. Don’t you worry about that.”

Jemma nods, and breathes him in one last time before she steps back, and is released as she does so. She turns to Daisy.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if…”

Daisy shrugs nonchalantly, but her eyes are sharp and intense in their message. “You’re Jemma Simmons. You would have figured it out. But you can call me every night if you have to, okay? I mean it.”

Smiling at Daisy’s insistence – having known she’ want to turn it down - Jemma nods. Fitz strokes her arm.

“Shall we all get back to bed, then?” he offers.

Jemma tenses, and it’s almost a relief when she feels Daisy and Fitz tense too, and she knows they won’t let this be the course of action they take, if they know she’s not comfortable. Though it’s taken a while to train herself into it, Jemma takes a deep breath and tries to let herself fall into the safety net they’re offering.

“I don’t want to go back to sleep,” she explains. “I – I don’t want to wake up and see It again.”

“Well there’s only one thing we can do about that,” Daisy says. Fitz frowns, confused, until Daisy grabs Jemma’s hand and pulls her away, into a brief dance, and declares, “Slumber party!”

They ensure they’re all dressed to some semblance of decency – albeit pyjama-clad decency – and then sneak out, led by Daisy who somehow manages to find a balance between ‘covert spy operation’ and ‘sneaking out of college dorm’ as she leads them through familiar corridors all but devoid of people, to the lounge. Here, she and Jemma assemble a mountain-slash-nest of blankets while Fitz rummages through the kitchen in search of snacks. He emerges with a packet of pretzels and one of Red Vines, to find that Jemma is saving a place for him in the mountain-nest.

“Chick flicks,” Daisy says, “sorry, but it’s what the doctor ordered.”

“Excuse you,” Fitz scoffs and throws a pretzel at her. “Mean Girls is a masterpiece.”

Daisy nudges Jemma with her elbow.

“Keep him.”

Jemma grins smugly, and nestles back into Fitz as she pulls the blankets around them. They pass food around each other and chat and mime along with the movies, and at one point Daisy tries to play footsies with Fitz, to tease him, but he plays back and they both continue until they crack and burst out laughing.

It’s only when they don’t hear Jemma laughing along with them that they realise; somewhere in the middle of Red Vines and laughter and Made of Honour, Jemma has fallen asleep after all.

Fitz smiles across at Daisy, and she grins back. She stays – it’s not a question, and even if it were, they’re all three of them thoroughly burrito-ed together by their blanket-nest at this point. They turn their attention back to the movie, though they’re so tired and they’ve missed so much that it’s no longer obvious what’s going on. Daisy’s intimate knowledge of the rom-com genre allows her to catch up quickly, and she recalls that the True Love is about to interrupt The Wedding with a Confession and in this particular iteration, he does so by hiring a horse – having never ridden one for more than a trail – and careening through the forest in an effort to catch up with the wedding party’s ferry.

“Now, see, that’s the kind of shit that happens when you –“

She glances back at Fitz to tease him – about waiting, about grand gestures, about Getting the Girl – only to find that he, too, appears to be asleep. As per usual, he’s gone about it in a somewhat less dignified manner than Jemma but still, Daisy feels her heart swell at the sight of her two best friends in the world, so soft and at ease with each other. Her love for them in that moment is so pure that she doesn’t even wish she could take a photo. Okay. Maybe for a second. But just a second.

Smiling to herself, Daisy eases the packet of pretzels from its place in the burrito-nest and eats as quietly as possible, continuing her vigil alone so that when Jemma is the first of them to wake in the morning, she knows that it is all real and that she is safe, and more loved than she knows.

#fitzsimmons #thefitzsimmonsnetwork #brot3: bus kids #buskidsnet #fstag #aosficnet

65 notes · View notes