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aph-mable · 1 year

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dpxdc; My Uncle is Nuts.

My Uncle Is A Nut

Written by:

Aph-mable

@thegatorsgoose

Having been announced the heir and Co ceo of D.A.L.V co, Danny has gotten used to being dragged to formal events with Vlad against his will. Getting caught up in saving one of the many galas he’s forced to attend, Danny catches the eye of one Lex Luther.

Chapter 1

Danny tries hard not to sigh for the umpteenth time as Vlad drags him towards another group of rich folks and reporters.

When his Godfather had publicly announced Danny as his heir during one of his mayoral speeches he thought he was going to die all over again from sheer embarrassment and frustration, especially when he started calling Danny out of class to work on ‘special’ projects or drag him to Gala’s like this one.

Usually at least one member of team Phantom would come along, usually Sam since her parents often forced her to attend anyway, unfortunately this time everyone was busy.

Sure Danny could have asked, but he didn’t want to take away what little free time they had during spring break, so for now he was going to face this party on his own. After all nothing really interesting happens at these and he’s not going to end up socializing much anyways.

At the moment Vlad had rolled him over to a group of men who were chatting away about their latest technology, a nerdy looking yet buff reporter taking notes on everything.

Danny was only half listening to what was being said when the frootloop budged in, something about wanting to partner up with Wayne tech since DALV co was already partnered with Lex co.

He could only roll his eyes and cringe as his crazy arch nemesis wrapped an arm around the shoulders of the bald ceo who looked just as done as he felt.

Seeing Vlad finally to distracted with his deals Danny took his chance and snuck away, moving his wheelchair as fast as possible to make a break for it, away from the party and to explore the building. maybe even escape if he was lucky.

Unfortunately as he reached one of the doors the pesky security stopped him, saying he needed to stay within the building, so he pulled out the oldest trick in his book.

“I have to go to the bathroom, can you at least point me to it?” He even pulled out his pleading eyes to look as innocent as possible to make the security guards feel uncomfortable.

“It’s through those doors over there, just across from the kitchen… do you want-” before the guard could finish Danny was already zooming to the door and shouting, “No thanks, byye!”

Once out of sight he at least made an effort to head towards where the bathroom was but stopped in front of the kitchen.

First double checking all sides of the hallway, he pushed himself into the kitchen in search of something to tinker with. Danny swears he will drop dead if he doesn't get some kind of technology in his hands.

When he entered the place was completely empty of any staff. makes sense as they had set up a huge buffet in the main hall and had all the kitchen staff stand against the wall to show who cooked what, like it was some kind of grand show.

This left Danny to ‘borrow’ a few appliances, they’re rich they can afford it!

He ends up taking a toaster, a blender, and some kind of cylinder air fryer, stuffing them all into his magic bigger-than-it-looks bag and bolting out of there as fast as his wheels could take him so as to not get caught.

Once he re enters the gala he parks himself in the furthest corner near a window. He starts pulling out his mini tool kit and the items he took, trying his best to hide them by making them semi invisible so it just looked like he was messing with his tools as he gets to building an ecto gun.

Danny tried to stay alert and scan the room on occasion but nothing much was happening, Vlad was still bragging to the group of men, and there were only three other kids around his age hanging out on the opposite side of the room. One looked ready to pass out while the other two stood next to the door arguing over who’s dog was best.

Danny pulled his goggles down over his eyes and rolled up his sleeves so his specialized gloves could start putting power into the ecto gun. He quickly starts to hyper focus as he tinkered with the homemade gun, his mind drifting off to play among stars that were just out of reach.

Even with everyone talking around him it all faded to white noise, finally quiet enough he now focused his power to flow through the machinery as he twisted the screws into the right place.

His very core sang with how peaceful it was as he finished making the home made ecto gun and set it down in his lap.

Just as Danny turns it invisible to put it away, his chair is suddenly jerked as he’s dragged towards the now frightened guests, a group of men dressed in green and purple question marked suits threaten everyone into a corner as they start setting up strange equipment.

Clutching his invisible weapon tightly in his lap one of the goons tries threatening him with a gun, but before Danny could react Vlad steps in front of Danny, letting out an instinctual growl to make them back off.

The goon rolls his eyes before directing them to where he wants them to go, trying hard to not let his hands shake too badly as he thrust more people into the now overcrowded corner, keeping watchful eyes on Vlad who is seconds away from losing his temper and ripping someone's throat out.

Now most people in this situation would just listen to their captors, sit still, be quiet, all that jazz, especially with how many of the goons were now bringing in strange green canisters of gas that gave off the scent of pure fear.

Yet as Danny rams Vlad’s ankles with the wheels of his chair it's pretty clear he wasn’t like most scared civilians. For once he was siding with his godfather as he was very, very angry. Angry that they were targeting innocent people, angry that Vlad was treating him like he was helpless, angry that he had to show up to this stupid gala in the first place… He had noticed some of the other kids giving them the slip earlier, at least there’s that.

Just as they bring in the last canister one of the goons trips and nearly brakes open the container, which got the already annoyed second incharge to yell at them.

“For fucks sake! Be careful with those things, we don’t even know what they’ll do yet!”

The younger looking goon, who looks barely out of their teens, shrinks away as they whimper out an apology. He sets the items down as others around them either stare in frustration or sympathy.

Yeah, no.

“Wow you people are pathetic.”

The second in command turns at Danny’s outburst, taking a step forward and clenching his fists. “What the fuck did you just say?” Danny rolls his eyes before glaring at the goon “I said you’re pathetic, did you get that or do you need me to repeat myself again?”

The crowd looks on in half horror, half shock as the leader walks up to Danny, resting his hands on his arm rests and leaning down to stare at Danny threateningly. Danny leans back in his wheelchair and looks up at him with a bored expression, unphased. Vlad tries to shove his way to Danny, but is held back by several goons. Danny spares a quick glare at his godfather, he has everything under control.

“I may be a criminal, but even I don’t like kicking a kid when they’re already down.” The goon says, moving his eyes down to glance at Danny’s wheelchair and back up again, glaring into his eyes. “So I’m going to give you one last chance to take that back.”

Danny narrows his eyes at the goon as he clutchs the invisible ecto gun in his lap, it’s now or never. With near inhuman speed he quickly reaches for his bag and pretends to pull the weapon out, aiming it right at the goons temple. There’s audible gasps from the crowd as the goon stumbles away with wide eyes before gaining his footing and going right back to glaring.

“And I’m going to give you one last chance to reconsider what you’re doing with your life” Danny smirks at the goon, already reading up the lecture in his head.

“It’s 30 minutes past start time, what is taking you so-“ Danny’s smirk evolves into a full shit eating grin as the Riddler walks in to scold the goons, what perfect timing.

With the crowd distracted Danny uses his other hand to unlock his phone. With a few simple swipes, Danny has the gala on lockdown. With the main asshole inside.

Perfect.

_____________________________________________________________

Damian puts on his Robin suit with trained proficiency once they make it to the cave. Unfortunately he and Jon were the only ones able to leave on time, the rest of the family having been dragged away. Truly, this proved that he had good reason to not mingle with the crowd. It had nothing to do with the noise. Or the lights. Or the small talk.

Truly.

“Who do you think it is this time?” Jon asks, an excited smile on his face. But even while being carried, Damian could see the tension in his frame, the nervous tick in his brow. His friend was worried. “I mean, they have the question mark thing going on, but they also had the gas canisters which I don't think the Riddler does that? And the gas itself kinda smelled like lavender and hazelnuts like fear gas but it was also kinda minty? And not like candy cane minty but like straight mint leaf minty? I don’t know, I only know there’s a difference cus ma tried to make mint tea that one time cus she was super sleep deprived and she read online that mint tea could improve memory or something, that stuff reeked!” Another indication of Jon’s nervousness, rambling. By the time Jon had finished his rant, they had already made it to the gala.

Once he’s put down Damian dusts himself off and turns to Jon. “It is most likely a team up, then.” He pulls out his katanas and readys himself for the fight ahead. “Once you break down the door our job is to stall long enough for the others to get out. We don’t know what the gas can do, so keeping the containers safe is our top priority.” As much as it pains him to admit, just him and Jon won’t be enough to handle it themselves. There’s too many people, and they need some of the bats to disperse around Gotham in case the riddler has set up a larger plan.

Jon smiles at him and nods, hopping from foot to foot in excitement (which he doesn’t find adorable at all). “You ready?” Damian gives a sharp nod before Jon kicks in the door.

“-I mean COME ON, people would PAY you to have a chance at your game show! You could even do your whole “riddle me this!” Thing as it’s own segment! But noOOOOooo, you wanna risk the lives of countless civilians so you can get a fucking furry to answer your stupid riddles, most of which aren’t even original! And NOW you wanna partner up with a fear junky cus why?”

“I-“ a clearly startled Riddler tries to answer before being interrupted.

“Oh yeah, cus your BUDDY, your PAL scarecrow, thought it would be so FUNNY to release an UNTESTED gas in a gala for a fucking THRILL HIGH.”

But instead of a fight they walk into.. this.

A wheelchair bound boy with black hair and blue eyes (who he’s sure his siblings would call “adoption bait”) holding a strange silver and green gun that looked straight out of one of Damian’s sci-fi mangas, at a confused and startled Riddler. It seems the crowd used this as an opportunity, as the rest of the goons were restrained near the walls by a mix of his family, Kent, and various gala attendees, while the middle of the room was occupied by the armed boy.

“Huh?” Jon let his arms rest at his sides as his head tilted to the side in confusion (it does NOT remind him of a confused puppy, absolutely not). However before Damian could say anything, it seems the boy has finally noticed them.

“Oh, you’re here. Took you long enough.” The boy finally puts the gun down and into a bag at his side. “Have fun.” He says in a bored tone as he turns and starts pushing himself in the direction of a man with silver hair, Vlad Masters, who met him in the middle only to start fussing over him, seemingly much to the boy’s annoyance.

Finally shaking off their shock both Damian and Jon rush to detain the Riddler until the police show up, yet Damian’s curiosity keeps bringing his eyes back to Master’s and his ward. outwardly, the concern seemed genuine, but with how the boy was reacting to just being touched by Master’s… made him think otherwise.

Even Lex Luthor was side eyeing the man instead of resuming his chatter with father or Mr. Kent, meaning something was happening and Damain was determined to find it out one way or another.

For now though, they have their hands full because of Riddler and Scarecrow.

Domain knew he should have stayed back with Ace.

____________________________________________________________________________

End of chapter 1

#dyslexia #long reads #batfamily #bruce wayne #clark kent #disabled danny #wheelchair au #jon kent #damian wayne #the riddler #scarecrow #patrol partners event 2023 #mild violence #swearing #dpxdc #autistic writers

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mothiepixie · 1 year

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Somebody is gonna have a bad time Part 2 (You're here)

Part 1

#utmv #underfell #underfell sans #Big Red Sans #SIGHABT #blood #mild violence #mothiepixieart

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suppose-i-was-worm · 5 months

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Like the Beat of a Drum pt 2

**I'm not entirely happy about this, and have NO clue where it's going next, but we'll see!**

The Red Hood clocked Danny as not all he seemed as soon as they were alone together. After some negotiation (Danny threatening to vanish into thin air and Hood threatening to tell Red Robin), they came to a consensus.

Danny would be in human form unless one of the other bats were around, and Hood would keep his big mouth shut.

“No spooky supernatural stuff in my borough, kid.”

Danny decided not to tell the other man that he himself had a fair bit of spooky supernatural stuff going on.

He should probably keep an eye on that- Corrupted ectoplasm was never a good thing, and Red Hood was crawling with it.

Living in Crime Alley was easy. Hood had put him up in a dingy little apartment, fully stocked with anything he might need- and no surveillance equipment. Danny had checked. He spent his time while he finished the healing process taking the toaster apart. And the microwave.

Hood visited while he was arms deep in the oven and put a kibosh on larger appliances, but he started bringing small broken appliances around for Danny to fix. It was nice, having another undead hanging around. Someone who understood the constant itch under Danny’s skin to keep moving, keep working, keep reminding himself he was alive.

He even was finally able to see his soulmark! It was a name, somebody called Timothy Drake-Wayne. Hood had seen it and made some sort of choking noise, and when Danny asked, he was told that Drake-Wayne was publicly markless. Weird.

Danny was pleased that the wounds to the area had healed completely though, not marring the text at all.

The wound on his chest, not so much. It stood out, inflamed and sore against his otherwise pale chest. Its presence reminded him a little of the lichtenberg scars that crawled down his arms in his ghost form.

Maybe the Drs. Fenton had somehow killed him again, and now he was a halfa twice over? This was his penance, he supposed, for trusting them after everything.

~~~

Tim’s favorite coffee shop was packed, save for one table with a lone occupant. Once he’d gotten his deathwish coffee, he made his way over to the table.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I-“

The table’s occupant, a young man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, nodded toward the other chair before Tim could finish his sentence.

“Feel free, man. It’s a busy day today.”

Tim couldn’t help but wonder where he’d seen the other before- his face was familiar in a strange way, and he felt- he felt surprisingly attracted.

His soulmate heartbeat thing had been unusually quiet since the night Phantom arrived, whereas before it sounded loud and clear in his head at least a few times a day and long into the night.

He was allowed to talk to cute people while his soulmate was still young, right?

“Spend a lot of time here?”

The stranger shrugged.

“Here and there. Haven’t run into you before, which I think I would have noticed. I’m Danny, by the way.”

Tim didn’t think much of the name. This young man was far too old to be his Daniel.

“Nice to meet you, Danny. I’m Tim.”

He reached out a hand, and Danny shook it firmly, giving him an odd look that quickly passed.

The two of them sat and chatted for a while, and Tim found himself wondering how he’d missed this person around Gotham- he was well spoken with a soft accent, whip smart, and gorgeous.

Tim’s watch buzzed, reminding him he had a meeting- he could have sworn he had two hours between his coffee run and his meeting, but perhaps he’d been chatting too long.

“Shit! I have to go- it was nice meeting you!”

He chugged the rest of his now-cold coffee and darted out of the coffee shop.

It wasn’t until after the shareholder’s meeting that he realized he hadn’t asked for Danny’s number.

~~~

“Hood!”

Jason looked up from his desk as his office door was flung open, and then watched in amusement as Danny scrambled out of the grasp of the goon trying to pull him away.

“Sorry Boss, he slipped by us! I’ll- OW! He bites!”

“Stand down, Marcus, he’s a friend. Head over to medical if you need to- the little shit’s feral.”

Grumbling, the goon let go of a smug looking Danny and made his way to the other door while Danny swanned into the office and made himself comfortable on Hood’s guest chairs.

“How did you find this place?”

Shrugging, the kid pretended to inspect his nails.

“You know, just followed the scent of daddy issues and rancid ectoplasm- not hard. Didn’t peg you for the office type, though.”

Jason leaned back, crossing his arms.

“What do you want.”

“Timothy Drake-Wayne is Red Robin, yes?”

Trying to keep his posture casual and unconcerned, Jason tilted his head.

“What makes you say that?”

“I met a guy named Tim at the coffee shop and he’s got the same ghosts as Red Robin.”

Danny slapped a newspaper down on the desk between them- the cover page was Tim, looking very CEO and businesslike.

Jason was pretty sure Tim and Danny would get along like a house on fire, if Danny had already figured him out.

“Also, I felt his heartbeat when we shook hands and it matches the beat of my soul.”

Pausing, Jason parsed the information he now had about Danny.

“Wait, you can see ghosts that follow people?”

“You can’t?”

Jason stared incredulously at Danny for a few beats, and then the younger man sighed.

“Right. Your ecto is all screwy. Remind me to fix that. Yeah, I see ghosts attached to people- not everyone has them, and not all of the ghosts are actually, you know, dead people, but yeah. I don’t normally think about them because they’re everywhere, but same ghosts often equal same person.”

Danny slumped further into the chair after he finished talking, letting out a small whine.

“What now?”

“Jason, he’s cute.”

With a sigh, Jason pointed over at the newest handful of appliances he needed Danny to fix for the residents of Crime Alley.

“Take that and get out of my office.”

~~~

“Timberly~”

Tim sighed and let his pen drop- if Jason was here and looking for him, he probably wouldn’t get much work done. Not that he was getting work done now- balancing a pen on his nose wasn’t really work.

Jason rounded the batcomputer, idly tossing his helmet from one hand to another, a massive grin stretching across his face. It was a scheming face, a face that said he knew something Tim didn’t, and Tim hated not knowing things.

“What.”

Jason’s grin stretched wider.

“You’ve been keeping secrets!”

With a sigh, Tim turned his attention to the computer. Of course he kept secrets- the entire family had secrets. Hell, the secrets that the entire family kept probably also kept secrets.

Undeterred, Jason shoved his head (read: his entire upper body) in between Tim and the computer.

“So, where is it?”

Tim raised an eyebrow at the other man, hoping he looked as judgmental as he felt.

“Where is what, Jason? My spleen?”

The grin on Jason’s face faltered for a moment before returning with full force.

“Your soulmark!”

The weights Dick had been working with in the training area hit the floor with a loud thump, and Tim could only assume their oldest brother was storming over to berate Jason.

“Jason!”

Heh. He was right.

Jason pulled away, grabbing the arm of Tim’s chair and dragging him along to be a human shield as Dick approached.

“Nu-uh, Dickie- I’ve got good info, here. Timmy has been hiding his entire soul from us!”

Tim would like it to go on record that he hated everything, everyone, and especially Jason. He tuned out Dick’s raised voice and Jason’s responses, trying to figure out how the other could have found out.

He almost always kept the patch on- it’s not like a civilian camera could have caught him without. Even when he took the patch off to wash or to tend a nearby wound, he made sure to do it in his Nest without any recording devices nearby.

The only way Jason could have- Maybe he’d met Daniel and seen Tim’s name? Some poor kid down in Crime Alley? A four year old at best. Eurgh.

He tuned back into the still heated conversation.

“-kindness isn’t hard Jason, and you can’t just use the excuse that we’re siblings to bully Tim for being markless! I never thought you had it in you, you-“

“It’s under my sternum. How’d you find out?”

Dick’s tirade stopped short as Tim answered, his mouth dropping open comically. Jason pumped his fist triumphantly.

“You handed him to me on a silver platter, Timbo.”

Tim did not gape, that would be unbecoming and Janet Drake would never allow a son of hers to be unbecoming.

“I’m sorry?”

Jason grinned, an evil, evil grin.

“Daniel Fenton. You gave his case to me.”

“Case?”

Dick’s voice was high and reedy, and Tim looked over to see that he was looking distressed and probably a little faint.

Jason snickered. Rude.

“I do not have a case for my soulmate.”

Jason snickered again, and pointed at the batcomputer.

“Then what’s that?”

Both Dick and Tim turned to look- it was just the file on Phantom- but by the time they turned around again, Jason was roaring out of the cave on his bike.

Tim flipped him off, just because he could.

Dick collected himself before Tim did, whirling to face him and yanking Tim’s shirt up before desperately scraping at the bare skin, trying to find the patch.

With a sigh, Tim pushed Dick’s searching hands away and peeled off the patch himself.

He felt bare without it- completely exposed to his brother’s sharp eyes.

“You never told anyone?”

Shrugging, Tim slapped the patch back on, pulled his shirt down, and turned back to the batcomputer.

“Came in late- didn’t want some poor kid to get saddled with me.”

By the hitch in Dick’s breathing, Tim could tell the older man was about to get sentimental on him, or berate him for talking bad about himself.

This day couldn’t get much worse, could it?

The Arkham escape alarm sounded from both boys’ phones, and Tim sighed yet again. Way to jinx himself.

~~~

Phantom floated invisibly above the Red Hood, filtering away the ectoplasm that rolled off of him in waves as he stood with the other bats.

“Nightwing and Robin, you’re looking for the Joker.”

The ectoplasm spiked at Batman’s growl, and Danny sighed soundlessly. Keeping Jason away from his vengeance was not the right way to go about things.

“You want another dead Robin if they find him?”

“I do not want a dead Joker, Hood, and I know there will be one if I let you after him.”

Red Hood crossed his arms with a snarl, and Phantom settled closer to the man’s shoulders, keeping a steady wave of calm floating from his core.

The beat of his soul was pounding with excitement, and he took a moment to glance over at Red Robin, who was glaring in Red Hood’s direction. Danny couldn’t begin to fathom why.

Once the bats scattered, Phantom brought his head closer to Hood’s. The older boy was muttering mutinously under his helmet.

“What if we found him first?”

Hood’s head shot up to look in Danny’s direction.

“I could help, and then we could go home and finish Jenga.”

“Help do what?”

Danny dropped his invisibility long enough to flash Jason a grin.

“Payback.”

~~~

Red Robin and Spoiler crashed into a warehouse, weapons at the ready, only to find half the rogues they were looking for tied up and watching a fight going on in the center of the room. Tim’s heart was beating a mile-a-minute with adrenaline, and so was his second heartbeat. He had been rushing to find the Joker at least, especially after Red Hood went off comms.

It took him a minute to identify the people in the fight, if it could really be called that. From what he could tell, it was a mostly unilateral beat-down of the Joker by Phantom.

“What the fuck.”

Stephanie was watching with wide eyes from his side, and Tim caught a glance of Jason watching from the other side of the warehouse, helmet off and a green glow about his face.

“We need to get to Hood and make sure he doesn’t do anything.”

Spoiler nodded, but before she could move, a shadow shifted next to Hood and Black Bat slipped from the shadows, putting a hand on the man’s arm. Hood turned his head in her direction, nodded, and then went back to watching the show.

Black Bat stepped away, seeming satisfied with Jason’s response.

Phantom smacked Joker with a backhand slap loud enough to startle Tim, and the psychopathic man went flying back into the wall, crumpling into a heap at the base.

Tim watched as Phantom floated over to Hood, chest heaving despite no sounds of breathing.

“Are you Avenged, Bat of Gotham? Feel it in your Core.”

The greenish glow to Jason’s face flickered and then floated up and away from his face, dispersing in a thin mist.

“I am Avenged, Phantom.”

Phantom landed with a smile.

“See? Killing him wasn’t necessary- just a little beatdown.”

The second heartbeat in Tim’s sternum began to slow as Phantom held out a hand to Red Hood.

Jason took it and shook, smiling grimly.

“Red Robin?”

Spoiler was at his shoulder, but Tim couldn’t tear his eyes away from Phantom’s face.

“Red, we need to get Joker to the hospital.”

Black Bat moved from beside Jason and punched Tim on the shoulder.

“Ask him out.”

Tim startled.

“I- what?”

She made the sign for soulmate discreetly, and Tim felt his face flush. Phantom couldn’t possibly- but then he thought about Jason’s cryptic wording about Tim’s soulmate the other day.

Surely not. Surely.

#dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #dp x batman #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #brain dead #mild violence #soulmate fic

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ballinkittymeowmeow45 · 3 months

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Hi funger community.. this took about so long to make and I hate jt, anyway it’s angst

The tag is my user on TikTok, you should follow me there🔥

#daan von dutch #karin fear and hunger #fear and hunger termina #animation memes #daarin #angst #cw: gore #tw blood #mild violence #my art #is shit #art tips

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blackcherryvelvet0909 · 1 year

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Shadowed Ripples (Deuce x GN!Reader)

Content Warning: Mild violence (brief fistfight), mild hurt/comfort

“That’s a big ass fish!” Ace declared as he stared up into the large tank.

There was, indeed, a very big fish that swam by. You glanced over at the small info cards that decorated the sides of the display tank. “I think that’s a sturgeon.”

“What other fish could be that big?” Epel asked.

“Various creatures trump the size of a sturgeon.” You glanced over your shoulder to see Sebek approach your little group from behind. “Whales, sharks, crocodiles, squids.” Sebek crossed his arms as a brash smirk twitched at his lips. “You humans would know such things if you cared to read.”

“Would’cha quit with that better than thou shit?” Epel cut back at Sebek. “Take that ‘humans er better than fae’ crap and shove it up yur-!”

“Epel!” Epel winced at the sound of Vil’s harsh tone, his head snapping in that direction. There Vil stood at the tank three paces away, the one that held a series of colorful jellyfish. His eyes were so sharp they could cut glass - even you gave a shiver. You and Epel both meekly turned your heads away, though Epel’s was followed by a grumble of words you couldn’t discern.

“What do you want to see next?” Deuce stepped over to your side, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. It was the one he often wore while he was out riding his magical wheel - the leather was resilient to water, which was why he wore it today. No rain would dampen this aquarium trip. He smiled down at you as he patiently waited for your answer, his cyan eyes catching the light from the tanks. They looked pretty…

“I saw a sign outside advertising manta rays,” you said. “They have tanks shallow enough for you to pet them; I want to try that!”

“That baby stuff?” Ace laughed. “What’re you, four?”

“Ace, shut up.” Deuce huffed before he turned back to you. “Let’s go find out where they are, [Y/n].”

“You babies have fun,” Ace chuckled as he waved you off. “Me and Epel are gonna go look at some actual cool shit.”

“Like the anaconda that scared the piss outta ya when it came down from its branch?” Epel snickered.

“Shut up, dude!”

You let out your own chuckle as Ace was reprimanded for his raise of voice by Trein. That was the last you saw of Ace as you and Deuce separated from the group and turned into the hall that led to the other part of the aquarium.

***

“There they are!” Deuce pointed towards the little shallow tank of water in the center of a room in the distance. Sure enough, there were the manta rays you’d been searching for. Your smile widened as you and Deuce walked over to the open pool of water, so clear it almost sparkled in the lighting. You were about to reach out and touch one, but you were compelled to glance over at Deuce. He gave a nod as he said, “Go ahead! I’m just going to take off my jacket real quick.”

You gave a nod in return before you went about your fun. You dipped your hand into the cool water and reached out to one of the little manta rays swimming about. When your fingertips grazed its back, you gasped: It was slippery! A little slimy, too, but not in a gross way. It felt a bit like lip gloss, maybe nail polish. You didn’t linger on the thought too long - you were too preoccupied with petting the little creatures.

Deuce came to stand beside you a minute later. After a glance at the tank attendant, his hand slipped into the water close to yours. The smallest of giggles left his lips as his fingers touched a manta ray’s back; you couldn’t help but think how cute the sound was. As the two of you continued petting the rays, you asked Deuce, “Have you ever been to an aquarium before?”

“A few times,” he replied. “My mom worked at one for a while when I was little. She would get discounts on tickets, so she’d bring me there on the weekends when she was able.” He glanced at you as he recalled the memories. “We didn’t have a lot of money back then, so I only went twice, maybe three times. Still, I’m happy I got to experience that with her - and now with you.”

Your heart fluttered at that last part. Deuce seemed genuinely joyful at the fact he got to come here with you and your friends. Sure, this was part of the school trip, but…it felt special when he put it like that. You smiled back at him as you nodded, “I’m glad, too.”

Just then, your hands accidentally brushed. Deuce let out a small gasp and yanked his away and out of the water, sending a few droplets splattering to the ground. “Sorry!” he blurted out.

“Sir, please keep your voice down,” said the tank attendant.

“S-Sorry, ma’am,” Deuce uttered, clearly embarrassed.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction; Deuce could really be adorable at times. You took your hand out of the water and shook it a little to dry it. “It’s okay, Deuce. It’s not like it hurt or anything.”

Deuce simply nodded his head meekly. It was just a touch, no big deal. Why was he so flustered? Before you could ask, Deuce grabbed a few paper towels from the dispenser at the corner of the tank. He walked back over and handed you a few. You took them with a ‘thank you’ as you began to dry your hands. As you looked around the room, then back to Deuce, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Deuce, where did you put your jacket?”

“Hm?” Deuce perked up at your question. “Oh, over there.” He pointed at the bench behind him - but there was no jacket. A look of panic crossed his face as he glanced around the room. As you’d noticed before, his leather jacket was nowhere in sight. Deuce jogged over to the tank attendant, and in the most polite, yet rushed way asked, “Excuse me, ma’am? Have you seen a leather jacket anywhere? I put mine on that bench over there.”

“Leather jacket?” The woman thought for a moment, then she seemed to remember something. “Oh, yes, I saw it there a moment ago. I…I believe someone grabbed it.”

“Who did?” Deuce glanced around the room to try and find the person in question.

“A boy around your age,” she replied. “They just left.”

Deuce quickly thanked the woman before he sprinted out of the room, muttering apologies to the people he passed by in a hurry. You haphazardly tossed your paper towels in the trash can before you took off after him.

***

You finally caught up to Deuce outside the aquarium, where a few picnic tables were scattered about. It looked like a small garden set aside for people to eat in. Three guys sat on one of the tables, the middle wearing a very familiar jacket. Deuce was already in front of them, voice calm and level, yet by his body language you saw he was irritated. “Excuse me,” he said, “that’s mine.”

“Huh?” The young man turned his head to look down at Deuce. He was around the same height, but he had the high ground from where he stood on the table. “This one?” He opened the leather jacket and did a little spin, then gave Deuce a grin - one an asshole would give. “Sorry, man, finder’s keepers~ If you wanted to keep it so bad, you shouldn’t have left it.”

“I took it off so I wouldn’t get it in the water.” You could tell Deuce was trying to keep it together. “It was right behind me on the bench, where I left it. You didn’t think to ask if it belonged to anyone?”

“Why?” The boy smirked as his words were lined with a faint chuckle. “As I said, if you wanted to keep it so bad, you should have left it on - maybe tied it around your waist. You just abandoned it there - sounds to me like someone who doesn’t care for it.”

“My mom gave me that jacket.” You’d forgotten about that. You watched as Deuce’s hands slowly balled into fists. “I do care about it.”

“Aww, your mommy gave it to you?~” The man and his buddies let out a small bit of laughter as the leader mocked him. “Well, then mommy’s little boy should take better care of his things.”

“Look, man,” Deuce’s voice grew more angry by the minute, “just give it back.” He held out his hand. “We’ll forget all about it if you do. I don’t want things to get ugly.”

“Ugly?” The guy laughed. “What’re you gonna do, huh? I could snap you like a twig!”

“Would you just give it back?!” you piped up, equally as angry as you marched up to the picnic table. As you approached, you noticed something about the boy: on his shirt was pinned an RSA pendant. He was a Royal Sword student? And he acted like this?! Guess the school wasn’t full of ‘goody two shoes’, as Ace once told you. They had their own share of assholes.

You decided to try and use that newfound knowledge to your advantage. “Do you really need us to get your headmaster involved? I’ll go get him myself!”

“Oh really?” The guy jumped down the table and stepped in front of you. “Who do you think he’s gonna believe, huh? Us, three of his most beloved students, or,” he grabbed your collar and yanked you forward, “some snot nosed NRC-”

He let go of your collar as he was suddenly yanked back and thrown to the ground. Deuce stood before him, face twisted in rage as he glared down at him. “Don’t touch them. Never touch them!” Deuce cracked his knuckles. “You wanna fight someone, you fight me.”

“Hey!” One of the guy's friends stood up and grabbed Deuce’s shoulder. “Who do you think you-?!”

That guy was shoved back onto the picnic bench. The third came up from behind and tried to punch Deuce, but Deuce ducked out of the way and delivered his own square to the guy’s nose. The student yelled out in pain as he, too, stumbled to the ground. The leader got back on his feet and charged at Deuce; unfortunately, he managed to hit him in the stomach. Though Deuce wobbled a few steps back and groaned in pain, he quickly regained himself. Swiftly, he grabbed the guy by the shirt, surely about to start beating him to a pulp - and then the double doors behind you swung open.

***

You watched as the two headmages, Ambrosius and Crowley, shook hands, ending their conversation. You stood close by, nervous at what they’d agreed upon. When Crowley had stepped through the doors and broke up the fight, an argument ensued. The RSA students tried to accuse Deuce of attacking them because of their school, while you and Deuce explained that the boys had stolen Deuce’s jacket and refused to give it back. You also mentioned that the leader of the friend group had grabbed you by the collar, and that was the reason why Deuce attacked. Not long after, Ambrosius had arrived; apparently, another RSA student had heard the commotion and went to fetch him. Ever since then, the two had been in a discussion as to what to do with the boys.

Your eyes landed on Deuce, who sat on a bench a small distance away. The three RSA students still sat at the picnic tables within the little garden, one of which now had a bruise forming on his face. The leather jacket was no longer on the lead’s person; as Crowley approached you, you saw it was now draped over his arm. “Would you please hold this?” he asked as he offered you the jacket. You nodded and took it without a word. Crowley then walked over to where Deuce sat, head hung low in shame. He’d been like that since he realized what he’d done - that he’d tapped into his delinquency again.

Your heart sank as you watched Deuce look up at the headmage as he addressed him. You wished you could hear what they were saying. Deuce looked so disappointed in himself…so sad. He nodded along to whatever Crowley was saying; when the short conversation ended, you were able to read Deuce’s lips as he said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, Headmage.” The man laid a comforting hand on Deuce’s shoulder and patted it lightly before he walked off to dispel the small crowd of students that had gathered several feet away. You saw Ace, Epel, and Jack among them - you gave them a wave and a small, forced smile to try and ease their worried faces.

In moments, you were at Deuce’s side, sat next to him on the bench. You glanced down at the leather jacket in your arms; thankfully, there was not a scratch on it. You offered the garment to Deuce with a little smile. “It’s not damaged. I’m happy you got it back.”

Deuce’s cyan eyes flicked down to glimpse the jacket. He gently took it from your hands and put it on his lap. “Thanks…” he mumbled.

A silence filled the space between you two for a few minutes. You watched as the students dispersed, most going back to their regularly scheduled activities. Your small group of friends, however, lingered at the entrance to the aquarium, likely waiting for you two to join them. Your gaze then landed on the garden space several feet away. You could barely make out the face of Ambrosius as he spoke to the boys - scolded them, most likely. To you, he looked like a disappointed father. For the way the boys’ postures drooped as he led them away, you were sure they got the lecture of a lifetime. You just hoped they wouldn’t try and come back for vengeance at some point.

“Crowley said that he and Headmage Ambrosius believed us,” Deuce finally spoke. You turned your full attention to him as he continued. “He said this would be my only warning though…he told me to tell a staff member if something like that happened again.”

“That’s good.” You gave your friend a comforting smile as you placed your hand over his. “I’m happy you didn’t get in trouble.”

“Yeah.” Deuce looked like a kicked puppy, a deep frown set upon his face as he stared down at his jacket. “But I still messed up. He’s right - I should have just gone to one of the professors for help. They would have helped me…I need to stop being a delinquent.”

“You did nothing wrong, Deuce.” The pain in your heart mixed with anger as you thought back to the fight. “They picked a fight with you - you protected me. I would have done the same for you!”

Deuce let out a small chuckle at your words. The tiny smile that tugged at his lips quelled your anger for the time being. He glanced in your direction as he spoke. “Thank you, [Y/n]. You…weren’t scared, were you?”

“A little.” You gently squeezed his hand. “I was afraid of you getting hurt.”

There was a glimmer of something in Deuce’s cyan orbs as he looked at you. His posture straightened as he scooted closer to you. His hand squeezed yours in return, a determination apparent in his voice as he began with, “[Y/n], I-”

“Hey, Deuce!” Both your heads looked in the direction of Jack, who now stood halfway between your bench and the entrance of the aquarium. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Jack.” Deuce suddenly appeared a little startled, but kept himself together. “Thanks for waiting on us.”

“No problem.” Jack smiled as his tail wagged a little behind him. He gestured back at the others with a nod of his head as he said, “We’re ready when you are.”

“We’ll be there in a second.” Deuce waited for Jack to turn and begin walking away before he faced you again. “C’mon, we should go. We only have an hour left here.”

“Yeah, we should.” You stood up from your seat on the bench, with Deuce quick to follow. Your smile grew as you saw Deuce slip back on his jacket. You glanced up at the sky - gray clouds still hung overhead. “I think the rain might start back up soon, too. It’s probably good to head back in.”

“Mhm,” Deuce mumbled, rolling his shoulders as the jacket slipped over them. He spared a glimpse over towards the entrance of the building; Ace, Epel, and Jack were gone, likely somewhere in the lobby. That determination rose in his heart - if he was going to make a move, he better do it now.

“By the way,” you lowered your gaze from the clouds back to Deuce, “what were you saying before-?”

A pair of lips met the skin of your cheek. You sucked in a breath as you gasped, eyes blown wide at the sudden contact. Deuce leaned back to his full height as he pulled away, his handsome face meeting your vision. An equally attractive smile was stretched across it, pretty cyan eyes looking right into yours as Deuce asked you the thing that’d been on his mind since last night. “Do you want to have lunch with me after this?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, blood rushed to your cheeks, your mind went nearly blank. Deuce, Deuce Spade, was he…asking you on a date? You slowly nodded your head as you let out a whispered, “Y-Yes.”

Deuce seemed to sigh in relief, shoulders now lax, loose of tension. He gave a small nod of his own, but it seemed to be more of an assurance to himself - that he just asked you that and succeeded. If only you could hear how giddy his thoughts were then. He offered his hand to you, “Let’s go, then. We’ll go eat after we leave here.”

Words were not possible to produce for you at the moment - you simply took his hand with a shaky smile and let him lead you onward. You barely registered the questions your friends asked you two, whether about the fight, what Crowley had said, or why you were smiling like an idiot. For several minutes, you had trouble registering the many aquatic animals swimming around the various dimly lit tanks. All you could focus on was Deuce Spade: his handsome smile, his warm hand, how the jacket hugged his attractive figure just right, how softly he spoke to you - and how pretty his eyes looked as they shined with the shadowed ripples along the aquarium walls.

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rainbow-flavoured-skittles · 5 months

Text

Sensei Sharpens Student

this is just 4.5k words of Yang and Cole bonding. I don't know where I found the energy to do this. this was just my excuse to write Cole angst again and be self indulgent but it worked out well. cross posted to ao3 as well

tw for death mentions and mild violence

Yang stared down at the child’s body and sighed. So young… it was a shame his life had been cut short so quickly. Kind of. Yang couldn’t quite bring himself to feel grief over the child, especially not when it would all be remedied soon.

He picked up the body, careful to avoid damaging it further — those oni had really done a number on him — and brought it to the altar. The child would have looked serene if not for the ugly gashes marring his face. Falling from a skyscraper was a truly terrible way to go, all that shattered glass and broken bones and simply knowing that you would die and it could not be changed.

“Soon,” Yang whispered to the corpse. “It will all be better soon.” It might not be, if his plan failed, but it wouldn’t be much of a loss. The child couldn’t respond anyway.

He checked his hourglass — only ten minutes until the eclipse. Ten minutes until he’d see if this child could be resurrected. Ten minutes until the Rift could be summoned again for the first time in three centuries.

Yang picked up the Yin Blade and held it above the child‘s head. It was time. He slashed at the air, the blade ripping a hole in the very universe itself, and smiled.

The Rift glowed a radioactive, toxic green, not unlike the green of the Lazarus Pits. The colours in it swirled together in hypnotic patterns, seemingly alive. Yang picked up the child, less carefully than before, for any further damage wouldn’t matter soon, and threw him into the Rift. Perhaps that was a bit of a crude word, but it was accurate. The boy was not exactly heavy, and Yang had been a very strong man in life.

As soon as the body disappeared into the glowing green of the Rift, Yang dusted his hands off and waited. He did not know how long it would take for the child to come back out. He didn’t even know if the boy would be revived, or if he’d ever come out. If the boy was still dead, then it showed that humans could not be resurrected with the Rift. If he was alive, then Yang had his very own pet assassin. Yang would be unharmed either way.

A loud crack of thunder outside had Yang cursing and running to the door. It was the Rift, it must be. The portal on the inside of the temple had closed, but the green glow outside meant there was some degree of success.

He ran outside and found the body crumpled in a rose bush. It was jarringly similar to how Yang had first found the boy, all bones and too-cold skin, twisted in the way that only a dead body could be. Except this body was not dead. It was very much alive. Yang could see the boy’s shallow breathing. He pressed a finger to his wrist. There was a faint pulse, slow but still there. Yang would have let out a breath of relief if he could still breathe. The boy was alive. The Rift had worked. He now had proof that humans could be resurrected with it.

The boy’s eyes fluttered open. It was strange to see the small side effects of the Rift — Yang would have to jot them down. Where before his eyes had been a pale grey, like little pools of moonlight, the left one was now an unnatural green. The same colour as the Rift.

A jagged scar ran down the left side of his face as well, starting somewhere above his hairline and ending just above his chin. It was the same green as the Rift. Yang could find no logical reason for it. The boy’s eye changing colour made sense, the Pits did the same thing, but the scar was unexpected. Yang would have to study that further. He held out his hand and pulled the boy to his feet. He looked disoriented, not completely aware of his surroundings, but Yang smiled anyway.

“Welcome back,” he croaked to the child.

Everything was black until it wasn’t. Then it was green and pain and screaming and awakening to an unfamiliar place. The boy blinked his eyes at the old man in front of him. He was fairly sure he didn’t know this man. But the boy couldn’t remember much of anything at the moment, so he let the man drag him to his feet and lead him though a door.

“How are you feeling?” The old man asked the boy. They had settled down around a low table, sitting on silk cushions. A plate of cookies was set in front of them.

The boy did not know how to respond. “I don’t know,” he said. His voice was raspy and unfamiliar to him. That was scary — how could he not know his own voice?

The old man frowned. “What is your name?”

The boy blinked. He thought hard about what his name might be. “Cole,” he said. That sounded right.

“Cole,” the old man repeated. “I am Master Yang. I am the one who brought you back to life.”

Back to life? Wouldn’t that mean Cole had died? He tried to think about what may have happened and was immediately hit by feelings of pain and hopelessness and terror. However he had died hadn’t been peaceful. Cole shoved those feelings down and looked up at Yang.

“I died?”

“Yes,” Master Yang nodded. “I revived you with the Rift of Return.”

“Did you know me? Is that why you brought me back?”

Master Yang cringed at that. “I did not know you. I simply saw a child in need and helped.”

“Okay,” Cole said. He could tell that Yang wasn’t telling the truth, or at least not all of it, but he had saved Cole from death. That had to mean something.

“I want to train you,” Master Yang said. “In the ways of combat. So that you will not die again.”

“But everyone dies.”

“Yes, but I would still like to train you. So that you can be safe,” Yang fumbled his words, looking for an excuse.

Cole thought for a bit. No matter how hard he tried to remember, he could not think of anything from his past. Granted, he had only been revived for an hour or so, but it couldn’t be normal not to remember. And what if it was people from his past that had caused his death? Yang was offering him safety and training. It would be good to know how to fight, and maybe he could regain some memories.

“I’ll train with you,” Cole told Yang. It seemed like the best option.

“Excellent,” Master Yang smiled wickedly. “Your training will begin tomorrow. You may take one of the empty rooms upstairs.”

Cole nodded and went up the stairs. He opened the first door on the right and looked over the room. It was dusty, clearly having been uninhabited for quite some time. It was still shelter, though, and the bed looked comfortable.

He looked in the mirror. A reflection stared back at him, of a young boy with dark hair and skin. His eyes were strange — one grey, the other bright green. A large crack (scar?) ran down the side of his face. It glowed green as well. Cole shivered at it. The reflection didn’t seem like him, was wrong and unfamiliar. Of course, who even was Cole? How was he to know if this was what he’d always looked like? He couldn’t remember any family or friends, or what he might have done in his free time, or whether he had any goals for the future. It was terrifying to not know who he was.

Yang knocked on the door, shaking Cole out of his spiral. “Cole, I would suggest you go to bed. Your training begins early and I will not tolerate any whining of no sleep.”

“Yes, Master Yang,” Cole said. He shook the dust off of the bedsheets and pillow. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. His body shut down immediately, sending him into a cold dreamless sleep.

The knives came towards Cole at full speed, bright silver crescents that threatened to kill if he didn’t dodge. Cole did a backflip to the left and a handspring to the right, then a simple roll to the floor. Not a single one of the knives hit him.

“Good work,” Master Yang said approvingly. He pocketed one of the throwing knives. “But your backflip was sloppy. We’ll need to fix that.”

“But everything else was good?” Cole asked. He hoped he had done well — he’d trained for hours on the corkscrews.

“Yes.”

“Should I practice throwing them now?”

Yang hummed and stroked his beard. “Go to the armoury and get some throwing knives. Make sure they’re the ones with red leather grips. I don’t want you training with the good knives yet.”

“Yes, Master Yang,” Cole hurried off to go get the knives. He found the armoury, an ancient mahogany door leading to it, and stepped in. There were weapons everywhere, ranging from large battle axes to small daggers to deadly poisons in glass vials. He found the required throwing knives and was about to exit when he saw the scythe.

It was a beautiful piece of work, carefully engraved with runes and enchantments. The blade was polished to perfection, shining and gleaming and incredibly sharp. The handle was made of honey coloured wood, wrapped in black leather. All in all, a stunning ten-out-of-ten weapon.

Cole looked at it and went back down the hall to Yang. “Master Yang, I saw this scythe in the armoury, and I was wondering, maybe after the throwing knives, maybe I—“

“Just spit it out already, boy,” Yang spat.

“Could I train with the scythe, maybe?”

Yang frowned. “It is a difficult weapon,” he said. “Not many use it in combat. It’s much more for reaping crops than anything.”

“But could I learn it?”

“Hmmm,” Yang thought. He intended to have Cole master all the weapons he had, scythe included. It wouldn’t hurt to change his plans a bit and have him learn the scythe next. A perfect assassin should know how to use every weapon, after all.

“Very well then,” he said to Cole. “Once you’ve mastered the throwing knives, I will teach you how to use a scythe.”

Cole had stars in his eyes. “Really?”

“I just said you could, didn’t I?”

“Yes!” Cole pumped his fist in a rare display of childish enthusiasm. Yang smiled a bit at that, though he would deny it if asked.

Yang nodded in satisfaction at his pupil’s performance. Cole had finally mastered the throwing knives — and in an exceptionally short amount of time, too. He could be the world’s greatest assassin given a few more years.

“Did I pass?” Cole said.

“Yes,” Yang said. “You did well.”

Cole lit up at the praise. “So I can learn how to use the scythe now?”

Yang raised an eyebrow at the question. He had not expected Cole to still remember that promise — children had short attention spans, and he’d figured Cole had forgotten about it.

But a promise was a promise, and Yang was a man of his word. “Very well, then. You may start training.”

Yang made his way to the armoury and found the old scythe. He had not used it in many, many years. The blade would need sharpening, he thought idly.

“Take it,” he handed the weapon to Cole. “I will teach you the basics, and then we will spar.”

Cole took it gingerly and held it with practiced ease. “Isn’t the blade a bit dull?”

“It will suffice for this lesson.”

“Okay.”

Yang held up his own scythe. “I will teach you how to hold it properly, first. Adjust your hands so that— yes, exactly like that,” he said, confused as to how Cole would already know how to hold the weapon.

“Now, scythes are more for slashing than stabbing. You won’t be able to stab someone through the heart or anything. Remember that.”

Cole shifted nervously. “Master Yang, I think I’ve got it,” he said.

Hmm. That was strange. The boy held his weapon like he was already familiar with it.

“You seem to have the basics down,” Yang said. “We’ll move on to sparring now. Don’t hold back.”

A nod, and then getting into position. Yang looked the boy over and gave the signal. He was off immediately, going straight for Yang’s throat and slashing at it. If Yang weren’t already dead, he would have died.

Yang went at Cole with his own weapon as well, though he aimed to incapacitate, not kill. Cole clearly had no such qualms — mostly because Yang couldn’t be killed — slicing at his throat and stomach. He was nimble, moving in the same way a dancer might, doing unnecessary kicks and spins.

It was surprising. Not many used the scythe as a weapon — it was too inconvenient. But Cole used it like it was part of his body. Yang found himself once again wondering what the boy’s past was. He had training, of course, but from whom? Who would have trained such a young child to fight like that? Other than Yang, of course.

Cole took Yang’s distraction as an opportunity to drop kick him and end the match. “Sorry, Master,” he said apologetically. “But you said not to hold back.”

Yang sniffed and readjusted his robes. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“I don’t know. I think it might be from my past? It’s all still so foggy, though…”

“I don’t believe you’ll need any more training with the scythe,” Yang shook his head. “You’re more than proficient.”

“But isn’t there always room for improvement?”

“A good fighter knows more than just two weapons. You will train with the bow and arrows next.”

Cole deflated a little. Yang found himself feeling guilty at that. Guilty! When had he started caring about the boy’s feelings? Hell, when had he started caring about the boy in general?

“You may train with the scythe in the afternoons,” Yang found himself saying. “As long as all your other exercises have been completed.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Cole was crying. Yang knew this because of the faint sobs coming from his room. He knocked on the door. “Cole, why are you crying?” He asked.

The door swung open to Cole, eyes all red and puffy. The scar on his face glowed radioactive green. “Just stuff,” he mumbled.

Yang sighed and marched into the room. He gestured for Cole to sit next to him. “Explain yourself,” he said. Not the most sensitive of statements, but Cole seemed to do better without being coddled.

Cole wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I remembered something,” he said softly.

“Then why are you crying? Regaining memories is something to be celebrated.”

“I remembered someone important. I think he was my friend, or something. But I don’t know his name.”

Yang sighed. “But you remember what he looks like?”

“No,” Cole shook his head. “I just remember that he cared about me. I don’t know anything, just vague feelings…”

“Your memories will return with time,” Yang said. “And until then, you have me.”

“That’s so cheesy,” Cole laughed — a dry, broken, laugh, but still a laugh.

“It is true.”

“Thank you, Master Yang.”

“It is a guardian’s job to take care of their ward, no?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Then I’m just doing my job. There’s no need to thank me.”

Yang was repairing Cole’s robes when the boy walked up to him. He’d been thinking about how reckless children were, and if it was possible to get more durable clothing. He hadn’t been expecting Cole to be awake for several more hours.

“I want to be a vigilante,” Cole said. He looked at Yang in the face — not quite eye contact, the boy hated that, but close.

“A vigilante? Explain,” Yang frowned.

“They fight crime. I think I used to be one, and I want to do it again.”

Yang sighed and put down the sewing materials. He looked at Cole. “You remember your past?”

“Only some. It’s still really blurry, but I’m sure about this.”

“You fought crime. Illegally, I presume. And you want to do it again.”

“Yes.”

“You’re aware of how dangerous that would be?”

Cole shuffled a little, clearly finding the situation awkward. “Yes, but I’ve trained a lot. You said I was good enough to take out an army.”

That had been a bit of an exaggeration. Yang regretted speaking in such a way. “You are good, yes, but that was hyperbole. Nobody can fight hundreds of people at once and win.”

“But I’m still good at fighting. And staying hidden. And gathering information.”

Yang wondered again when he had gotten attached to the boy. He certainly hadn’t cared when he first found him. And now he was worried about the boy being in danger, of all things.

“Cole, when I first found you, you were dead.” Cole flinched at the reminder but nodded. “That was almost certainly because of your ‘vigilante gig,’ so to speak. And you want to go out again to put yourself in danger.”

“I’m trained now.”

“You were trained before,” Yang retorted.

“I’m trained more.”

“You are still a child.”

“But I want to help people!” Cole looked desperate now. “I can help. I have all this training and experience that others don’t and I can save people!”

“Why?”

Cole picked at his nails. “I made a promise to someone,” he said. “‘Always stand up to those who are cruel and unjust.’ I want to keep that promise.”

“There are people out there who would hurt you. They would want to study you like a specimen in a lab.”

“Then I’ll avoid them.”

“It’s not that simple, Cole.”

“Master Yang, please.” Cole wiped tears from his eyes. Yang pushed down the feeling of guilt.

“You are trained, but would have no backup. I would not be able to help you if you’re in trouble.”

“I want to keep that promise,” Cole repeated. He had a steely look in his eyes. This was not something he’d back down from.

Yang got up from the table. “You must defeat me in a spar. Neither of us will hold back. If you win, you can become a vigilante.”

Cole raised an eyebrow. “And if I don’t?” The boy knew how to read the fine print. That was good. It would be a useful skill in the outside world.

“Then you stay here with me.”

“I accept your terms.”

“Then come,” Yang said. “Whoever gets knocked down first will lose. Any weapons are allowed. Fight dirty if needed.”

Cole nodded and followed to the training room. He took his position opposite to Yang. “I’m ready,” he said. He held his signature scythe in one hand and a set of daggers in the other.

Yang attacked first, a series of blows and kicks meant to incapacitate an enemy. Cole dodged and returned his own attacks, a flurry of knives and sharp kicks. Months of training had honed his skills into something deadly, more fluid than the style he’d had when he first arrived.

A dodge, and then a parry from Cole’s scythe. Yang was careful not to aim for the throat or head, hitting the legs and stomach instead. His sword clashed with the scythe. Multiple knives were thrown at each other. A dagger embedded itself into the wall.

It took almost thirty minutes for Cole to knock Yang down. He used his earth powers to his advantage, creating stepping stones to jump off of and hit Yang in the chest. He fell against the wall without a sound.

“I did it!” Cole cheered. He rushed to help his mentor off the floor. “I won, right? You said we could fight dirty.”

Yang dusted off his robes, rather pointlessly considering that he was a ghost and could not get dirty. “Yes, you won. You may become a vigilante and help save people.”

“Yes!”

Yang smiled at the scene. And if he’d let Cole win on purpose, well, nobody needed to know.

“—and it should be black, so that I can blend in easily. But also a cape! And a full face mask, to protect my identity.”

“You should talk less and focus more on your designing,” Yang commented. He looked over Cole’s drafts for the vigilante uniform. They were hastily coloured and roughly sketched — nothing final, just good enough to get an idea of how it could look.

“It should have orange accents, too. And pockets,” Cole scribbled some more notes. His hands were stained with charcoal and ink.

“It is very dramatic.”

“That’s the point!”

“You are adding a… scar to the mask?” Yang gestured at the large zig-zag drawn on the design.

“It’s supposed to look like the one I have. But orange, so that it matches the theme.” Cole pointed at the large scar on his face. After so many months, Yang doubted it’d ever heal. Cole would have to conceal it for the rest of his life.

“That is a liability to your identity.”

“I don’t plan to take off the mask. No one will know.”

“If you insist,” Yang sighed. He was already thinking of how to get supplies for this project. It would be a pain to find proper metal for the armour.

“I’m going to have a mask underneath, too, if it makes you feel better.”

“Alright, then.”

“I’m also going to add a voice modulator. So that I can sound scarier. And more adult-like.”

“You are barely five feet tall. Hardly an adult.”

“Platforms exist for a reason,” Cole rolled his eyes. Yang tried not to laugh at that.

It was finally complete. After hours and hours of work and multiple injuries, Cole had finally finished his new costume. He was quite proud of it — the orange accents weren’t too bright, so that he could blend in easily, but they still stood out. And it had all the appropriate ‘cryptid assassin’ vibes, just as he’d intended.

“What do you think, Master?”

Yang stood over Cole, examining the newly completed uniform. “It is good,” he said. “You have a talent for designing things.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m sure you will strike fear into the hearts of many.”

“I’m not trying to scare people. I want to save them,” Cole said.

“Hmmm.”

“The scaring people is targeted at bad guys.”

Yang nodded thoughtfully. His pupil had grown so much from the scrawny little boy he’d first found. He was a true warrior, now — perhaps not the undefeatable assassin Yang had first sought out to make, but formidable all the same. He was proud of the boy.

“I’m almost ready, now. I think I’ll leave tomorrow.” Cole looked at Yang for permission, as if he had not made up his mind to leave weeks ago.

“Of course. Make sure to visit a lonely old man when you get the chance, yes?”

“I wouldn’t leave you, not forever. You’re my family,” Cole said.

Family? That was a word Yang hadn’t head in a long time. He certainly had never been called family before. It warmed him to know that Cole thought him a member of his family.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Yang said.

The next morning, Cole packed his bags and sat beside Yang on the porch. To passerby, they’d see only a young teenager sitting on his own, swinging his legs and looking nervous. To Yang, he saw a boy he’d grown to care for as a son. He didn’t want Cole to leave. It seemed like they’d barely spent a week together, though it had been nearly a year.

Was it selfish, to wish that Cole would stay with him? Yang had grown to care for the boy. He’d never had a family, not in life, but it felt like Cole was his family. Cole himself had said that Yang was his family, and Yang returned the sentiment. Would it be selfish to ask him to stay forever, as father and son, untouched by time or the outside world?

It would be, Yang thought. Cole was nearly sixteen, by his estimates — it was high time he leave to find his own way. Even if his way was to become an illegal crime fighter.

“I’m going to take a train to the main city,” Cole said, breaking the silence. “I’ll figure living arrangements out when I get there.”

“You have enough money? Clothes, food, all your weapons?” Yang asked. It never hurt to make sure, though he was sure Cole had prepared well.

“Yes, Master. I’ve got more than enough of everything,” Cole laughed.

“That is good,” Yang breathed. He turned to look at Cole properly. “I have a gift for you,” he said.

“A gift?”

“Yes,” Yang pulled out the dagger. It was an ornate thing, fragile but dangerously sharp. It had been carved from obsidian and inlayed with silver centuries ago. It had been passed down from mentor to mentor over many years. Yang himself had inherited it when he left his mentor. And now it was Cole’s to wield.

“It’s beautiful,” Cole said. He turned it, watching the blade reflect light and sparkle a million different colours.

“My mentor passed this down to me, years ago. And now it is yours.”

Cole held the dagger to his chest. “Thank you, Master Yang.”

“The blade is supposedly enchanted to protect its owner. I hope that it will bring you protection.”

“Thank you,” Cole repeated. He sheathed the dagger into one of his many hidden pockets.

“You should go, now. You will be late for your train.”

“Yeah, I should,” Cole said sadly. He picked up his duffle bag and threw it over his shoulder. The he hugged Yang.

Ghosts cannot be touched. That is a well known fact. But Cole hugged Yang anyway, simply because a boy touched by death like he was could.

“Goodbye, my pupil,” Yang pulled away from the hug.

“Goodbye, Master,” Cole said in return. He made his way down the path to civilisation and the city.

Cole ran down a dark alley, uncaring of the cockroaches and rubbish everywhere. He stuck to the shadows, barely making a sound. The man he was following continued talking on the phone, unaware of the boy behind him. Cole slammed him on the back of the head and twisted his arms.

“You’re going to go to the police station,” he said slowly, “and you’re going to confess to murdering your wife. If you don’t, I’ll know.”

“Who the hell are you?” The man spat. His eyes were full of terror and confusion.

“I’m the Talon, and you’re going to do as I say or face the consequences.”

“What is this, some sorta bad movie? I’m not doing—“ whatever the man meant to say was cut off as Cole knocked him out. A bit of blood trickled from his temple.

“Amateurs,” Cole rolled his eyes and picked the man’s wallet up. He’d drop the guy off with evidence and keep the money. There was enough to book himself a ticket to Ninjago City Central, at least. Shame that he hadn’t wanted to confess on his own, though. The justice system would be much harsher on him now.

He picked the body up and dragged it to the police station. Then he changed into civvies and went up to the bus stop. He looked at the ticket dispenser in the eyes, just as he’d practiced.

“One ticket, please,” Cole smiled. Yang had taught him to be charming, after all.

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casinodove · 2 years

Text

⁺‧₊ CUPIDITY ─ y!Capitano .

IN WHICH, his lack of control over his cupidity was certainly visible whenever he was with them.

─ sfw , cws for general yandere themes , capitano being deranged , mild dumbification , power imbalance , talks of "owning" someone , misuse of power , somewhat mild violence , toxic relationships , helplessness , slight sadism , mentions of blood n cutting someone's throat , forced marriage

gn!reader ft. they/them prns , 2nd person pov , y!capitano x reader

─ side notes , you've already heard of gentle and caring yandere capitano now get ready for rough, sadist, deranged and bloodthirsty yandere capitano, bought to you by yours truly. Also new layout wow. Not proofread surprisingly

CUPIDITY , (n.) Greed, strong desire

─LOVE CONFESSIONS WERE ALWAYS DESCRIBED AS EUPHORIC, ROMANTIC AND PASSIONATE IN ALL THE BOOKS YOU HAD READ.

It wasn't that huge of a surprise to you when his love confession was nothing like that, you had already picked up on his odd behavior from months prior to it.

However, calling it pleasant, nice, or romantic in any shape or form would be a stretch, for those were certainly the only emotions you didn't feel during the moment. It was empty of all passion, the euphoria was there yet it was there for a bad reason.

─ THE SWORD GRAZED AT YOUR SKIN, CUTTING ONE THIN LINE THAT TRAVELED DOWN FROM YOUR JAWLINE TO YOUR NECK

Although the cut itself wasn't that deep, it was deep enough to draw blood. The fresh wound on the sensitive skin of your neck began to sting as blood dripped down onto your shirt.

─ "Say it"

He commanded, pressing the swords sharp tip a tiny bit further into the flesh of your neck, inching closer towards you.

Your breath hitched and one painful lump manifested itself into your throat, saying what he wanted to hear was certainly getting harder by the second considering that he'd only need to push the sword into your flesh a little more to separate your neck into two pieces.

Swallowing hard, you gathered whatever crumb of courage was left within you and tried to mentally prepare yourself before finally speaking up.

─ "Please put the sword away, my Lord."

Your voice sounded way louder than it should've within his cold study room, which sent you into some slight panic since you didn't want to anger him by being too "demanding"

Despite your pathetic plea, he only twisted the sword ever so slightly, his dark helmet boring through you.

It was clear from his lack of speech that his previous demand stood and that perhaps the only way he'd remove the blade from your flesh would be if he was satisfied with the love confession that he knew you'd eventually make.

─ HIS HELMET STARED BLANKLY AT YOU, LIKE A BLOODTHIRSTY PREDATOR STARED AT ITS PREY MOMENTS BEFORE DEVOURING IT IN A FIT OF BLOODLUST.

It would be helpful for your escape if you weren't pressed up against a wall and well, his sword however escape wasn't what you were planning for the moment, for what currently mattered right now was to get out of this situation with your throat intact.

Taking one last, quick scan of your surroundings you closed your eyes and took one deep breath, bracing yourself mentally and clinging onto the last bits of dignity left in you before he devoured that too.

Putting on your best innocent facade, softening your gaze and looking at his helmet in order to give an illusion of submission you let the lies words spill out from your mouth.

─ "it is true my Lord, that I too have loved you for long. I have loved you for many moons and yet I was fearful of admitting it. I feared rejection, for I didn't desire to be humiliated in such a way. My feelings are nothing but sincere for you, my Lord, and, it is beyond any shadow of a doubt, I'd truly like to spend the rest of my days by your side if you would allow me to."

He tilted his head slightly, searching within your facade eyes for any trace of a lie, yet instead of slicing your neck the sharpened blade traveled to your chin and raised it ever so slightly.

─ "We both know you better not be lying, dove. You are already aware of the consequences lying to your lover and Lord brings, no?"

Nodding your head the best way you could without cutting yourself on his sword you never dropped the act once.

─ "Ofcourse, I.. wouldn't lie to you, my Lord."

You struggled forcing the innocent tone out of your throat the best way you could, fully knowing it was one poor attempt at pleasing his intensifying cupidity.

It truly astonished you how the previous few minutes he was ranting about how much he loved you, about how much he required you to continue living, and then a minute after he was done with that, the blade that was previously barely touching you was threatening to slice your throat as he demanded you to confess your neverending love back to him.

However, even without the sword, there was nothing else you could do but "confess" your totally existing love for him, for he was an almighty harbinger and you were a low ranking fatuu, he could destroy you in more ways than one just considering that.

Yet, you couldn't say you really enjoyed this extra attention from your superior, it truly brought chills down your spine whenever he'd coo things at you as if you were too dumb to understand his big words otherwise. You knew he was wrongly using his power to get what he wanted from you, matter of fact he had done it so many times, yet nobody really cared. Nobody cared about when you were forced into going out with him or forced into helping him on missions, nor when you were working overtime with him and spending multiple sleepless nights due to having to help his lordship.

Simply because he, was a harbinger, a high ranking one at that, and you, were merely a nobody compared to him. And goodness, did he make sure to drill that into your head every chance he got.

─ "Well then, I shall believe you and allow you to spend your days alongside me. Betrayal and disloyalty will not be tolerated any longer from this point on."

He put the sword away, and with one swift move his gloved hand slid the lavish ring onto your finger, the ring felt heavy on your finger not due to it being made out of pure gold nor due to the previous gems adorning it but due to the burden that you now had to forever carry with you by being his lawful partner.

For you knew, the ring was but another mark of clear ownership, and it was that very ownership you desperately wanted to get rid of.

im litteraly going feral over this man rn I can't even

─ casinodove , 22.01.23 .

do not copy, translate nor rewrite any of my works without explicit permission from me !

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #capitano #capitano x reader #capitano x you #capitano x y/n #gender neutral reader #yandere capitano #yandere themes #mild violence #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin au #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin imagines #yandere fatui #fatui harbingers

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4e7her · 1 year

Note

11. "don't you believe me?" Mission impossible: Make Azul happy and not a mess in one prompt.

Just not in this one :)

Don’t you believe that all he’s doing, all he gave, was for you?

poor fucking azul. i love him and this is how i choose to treat him.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ for my new years event ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

character: azul ashengrotto, twst

contains: yandere themes, angst, gn reader, mild violence

"I love you. Don't you believe me, darling? Please."

Azul is nearly teary-eyed, trembling as he stares at you with all the desperation in his being. You're situated across from him - the both of you standing on opposite sides of his desk in his office. You almost want to believe him.

"Please, please, my love. Believe me. That's all I ask of you. Don't doubt me. Not on this."

You don't. You can't.

Whatever this was, whatever he felt for you, it wasn't love.

Tricking you into working at the Monstro Lounge was one thing - it seemed to be his favorite past-time, trapping poor unfortunate souls into unfavorable contracts.

Stalking you and sending the Leech twins to harass you was another thing entirely.

"You don't, Ashengrotto. You really, really don't."

"How? How could you know that?" Tears are starting to gather in his eyes, threatening to spill over as he tries to come closer, close the distance between you two - you take a deliberate step back when he does. "You can't decide that for me, darling. Please. Please, even if you don't feel the same, you have to believe me. All that I've done has been for you. For us. Can't you see it?"

Your disgust is thinly veiled as you sneer down at him, making your way closer to the door.

"Fuck you, Ashengrotto. You're delusional."

He chokes on a sob at the curse, and he starts to move to follow until you glare at him with venom. For a moment, you really, really want to curse him out and spew vitriol. Let him see how you really feel. If he's crying at just this, you can't imagine how he'd react.

"Please!" Azul throws himself to his knees, before you like a dog, shuddering as he stares up at you and starts begging. "Please, please, please, darling, you can't. You can't just go. You can't leave me."

God, maybe you should. Maybe you really should give him a piece of your mind. But then again, it's your attention he wants. He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve anything from you. It takes you only a moment of staring down at this sad husk of a man to decide.

"You're fucking pathetic."

Your hate is clear in your tone, and he snivels like a child as you bring your hand down, tracing it through his hair. He looks almost hopeful at the soft touch, even as you keep talking.

"You put on such an act, don't you? Pretending to be some big bad scary business man, but this is all you are. A dog at my feet."

Suddenly, you grip his hair, yanking him up as you lean down to stare into his eyes with a scowl. Really, he's nothing but a pest at this point. You can't believe that you tolerated so much from this. This pitiful fucking thing. He outright cries at the pain, tears running down his face, but he doesn't move away.

"God. You're that deluded, aren't you? As long as it's me, you'd let me do fucking anything." You sigh as you drop him, watching as he crumples without you holding him up. He's barely able to glance up before you're already opening the door, showing yourself out, and thus, showing everyone that was in the lounge the sight of the ever-pitiful Azul at your feet. "You mean nothing to me, and you never will. You're nothing but a fly buzzing around. If you really wanna make me happy, leave me alone."

It's nothing but a low mutter, but you know he heard it by how his sobs start anew, gasping and hiccupping. You don't look back as you leave.

At least the message is clear.

With any luck, he'll be too busy dealing with this PR nightmare to go hounding after you.

[click here to go to masterlist.]

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number-one-shadisper-shipper · 7 months

Text

A bunch of thugs kidnap the younger brother of the most powerful hero on Mobius.

They really should've known better...

LONG LIVE WHOLESOME SONIC AND TAILS WEDNESDAY!

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bizzwizzproductions · 4 months

Text

Old Jodio Joestar fanart I made because I love jjba

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oops-it-happened-again · 5 days

Text

The Pretty Prince - Chapter 2

It bears repeating, I'm not looking for hostile discourse about camps and who's right and wrong. Please, do not come to me seeking to fight.

If this is not your vision, that's okay. Please don't come for me!

Also, I love Alicent, but - for the purpose of this fic - she's a villain :D

<- Chapter 1

Tags: @mamawiggers1980

Ellyn sets her plan into motion. It does not go as expected or desired, and she soon finds herself in hot water.

Words: 3,5k

Pairing: Aemond x Ellyn Baratheon (textual ghost)

Warnings: abuse, neglect, insecurity, arranged marriage, mention of brothel, mention of disfigurement, insults, slightly Aemond-apologetic, Aemond is a sad boy, mild violence, threats, sexual subtext & tension

Despite Hala’s protests, Ellyn proceeded to corner a poor woman leaving a nearby pillow house and convinced her to sell her the worn, translucent shift on her very body.

“This is a terrible idea,” her maid insisted again. “This city’s crawling with vermin—you don’t want to stay here. Let’s go home.”

Hala bit her lip guiltily. “If you’re lucky, none of you has to marry him. He might well die in the war he’s started.”

She knew that it was treason to say such a thing out loud, but she’d served Ellyn for too long and too faithfully to want to see her mistress bound to an amoral monster.

Having been all but born into service to the family, Hala had never known a life without Ellyn—they had been childhood companions and mutual adolescent confidantes, and, on many an ill-advised adventure, they’d only relied on each other before.

“My father gave his word, and I intend to keep it,” Ellyn replied in a steely tone. “I shall find out what I need to know, and then we can turn back.”

Sighing in exasperation, Hala thus dutifully followed her into the meandering labyrinth of King’s Landing’s smaller, less reputable streets.

They took a room in a small inn, and Hala would have much preferred if they’d asked the serving wench to bring up a plate of cold meat and dark bread, but Ellyn insisted on eating in the common room instead.

“Your grandsire has loved you too much,” the maid muttered disobligingly. “He’s spoiled you and given you strange notions about danger.”

“That may be so,” Ellyn agreed, “but I want to listen to what the people say.”

Unfortunately, they learned little and less. The smallfolk’s worries were centred around mundane considerations like the tightening blockade and the imminent end of summer rather than the intrigues of the crown.

From what she could gather from eavesdropping discreetly, those who did take an interest were rarely of one mind when it came to the “rightful” heir. One thing seemed clear, though, few were those who liked Aemond.

He was deemed useful, and the sheer size of his dragon was a source of reassurance and dread alike, but the man himself seemed to be but a bitter-tasting afterthought.

“Let’s retreat,” Hala pleaded again once their dinner had been consumed and their tankards emptied. “There’s nought more to be learned tonight.”

And, as much as Ellyn yearned to stay in the crowded, smoky room and listen to strangers talk about things she didn’t understand, she finally gave in.

She didn’t want to be found out too early by lingering overlong, so she let her faithful maid lead her away to where none would find her.

It felt as if she’d only just settled on the lumpy mattress when Ellyn awoke once more to the sound of distant wailing.

Being no stranger to ominous commotions in the middle of the night, she leapt up and padded to the window—the flimsy curtain felt greasy and grimy beneath her clammy fingers, and when she pulled it aside, she found that the street was alight with torches.

“What is it?” Hala joined her by the small cut-out in the rough wall.

“If only I knew,” Ellyn whispered, wishing desperately that her grandfather Boremund was alive still. He would have known what to do and how to act—he’d have instructed her on how to deal with his son’s potential overreaching and the prospect of wedlock.

As the two women looked on, spellbound, people hurried to and fro frantically, banging on doors and spreading their seemingly monumental tidings.

It took another hour at least for Ellyn and Hala to overhear a conversation outside the door to the small lodging house.

“They say the heir has been murdered—it was surely that one-eyed degenerate they were looking for. The King…”

The rest of the sentence was swallowed hastily as a tall, dark-clad, eerily familiar figure pushed its way through the throng of gossipmongers ruthlessly without even taking the time to inquire what had happened.

“It cannot be,” Hala whispered. “By the Seven—it mustn’t be. This is not a safe place, Milady, let’s leave now.”

Every fibre in Ellyn’s being knew that her maid was right, but she couldn’t overcome her instinctive reluctance.

“Someone is trying to murder one who might soon be my brother-in-law,” she murmured pensively.

“And a good thing too,” Hala hissed vehemently. “Cassandra can’t have him, he won’t have Maris, and you wouldn’t let him have Floris. So he might well be destined to become your Lord.”

“If that is so,” Ellyn whispered. “Is it not my duty to stand by him in his time of need?”

“Certainly not,” Hala exclaimed, clutching at her shoulders. “Come away, Milady, I beg you!”

“If he comes back tomorrow, Hala,” Ellyn said without taking her eyes off the milling street below. “I shall go down and enact my plan. I must know what kind of man he is.”

Clenching her teeth, Hala resolved that—if Aemond turned out to be even half the beast people thought him to be—she’d kill him with her own two hands.

“Where were you?” Alicent hissed, her eyes wide and frantic.

She reminded Aemond of a horse about to bolt through solid wood and cutting cables in its sheer panic.

“I was out,” he replied calmly. “Where’s my sister?”

When his mother’s eyes grew cold and hard, Aemond realised that he’d disappointed her once again. He’d failed to ask about his brother, his king, and she was eager to take this omission as an offence.

“Father has informed me that you were happy enough to plot behind our backs,” she hissed. “But when we needed you, you were nowhere to be found.”

Pressing his lips together so tightly it hurt to keep from asking where she had been when her grandson and the future of a tottering realm had been murdered in his bed, Aemond weathered her helpless disdain as he always had.

She didn’t even bother to dismiss him—the dowager queen simply drifted out of the room without another word, leaving him to his private thoughts and regrets.

All eyes were now on the royal family—the people wanted to see the bereaved mother and Viserys’s dignified, mournful widow while Aegon raged, and Otto connived coldly.

In this game of appearances, there was no place for one for whom nobody—not even his own kin—felt any sympathy.

Thus, Aemond stayed in the background, musing about Daemon’s daring plot obsessively; he was flattered to be considered so awful a threat, but he also felt unbearably guilty.

This was the second boy who’d been wrenched from his mother because of him. Of course, Aemond knew that he was but one part in the ponderous, terrible machine of war and succession, but he resented the fact that, rather than being an innocent cog, he was the teeth of the very monstrosity grinding his family to dust.

As the night wore on, he had to wonder whether his mother or grandsire would have taken such drastic measures if it had been Alicent’s second-born who’d been killed in an unfortunate accident. Probably not.

The next day, he was in a constant state of readiness. Nobody called on him to represent—Aemond should not have been surprised by that, but it hurt nevertheless to realise how little he was valued beyond his martial prowess.

The bitterness ebbing and surging within his tight throat was profoundly undignified, and—when at last he could take the silent rooms and empty halls no more—he fled the Keep to find solace in the arms of one who’d never denied him.

Of course, Madame Silvi was paid handsomely for her services, but he liked to imagine that she cared for him at least a little.

Here, in this pit of squalor and sin, he could shed the mask of cold indifference and haughty self-aggrandization to admit that he regretted the whole incident that had triggered such an avalanche of misery.

She listened—she understood.

“I’ll be right back,” the ageing prostitute whispered tenderly—she’d heard one of the younger girls squeal and wanted to make sure none of their patrons was taking more than he’d paid for.

Sitting up slowly, Aemond focused on the ribald jokes and raucous laughter just outside the small alcove.

“You’re not one of mine,” he heard Silvi hiss threateningly a short time later.

Helpless anger for which he’d yet to find an outlet coursed through his blood as Aemond slipped back into his breeches and strode out forcefully.

Following the familiar voice, he found Silvi clasping the slender wrist of a young girl whose dark, flashing eyes darted around the brothel nervously.

At a glance, he could tell that the shrewd lady of the night was right—not only was that pale girl not employed in this establishment, Aemond was even sure that she was no whore at all.

The teeth she bared in a rictus of panic were well-kept, and her even features were devoid of any trace of paint or other artifice.

“I’ll take care of this,” he grunted. “Say nothing to anyone—I’ll pay you well.”

Half-turning, Silvi gazed upon his face for a long moment, pondering, before she nodded curtly. “Very well. Do you require anything?”

“Wine,” Aemond said with a dangerously sharp smile. If this girl was one of the conspirators sent by Daemon, he’d find out soon enough.

“Take the last booth,” Silvi instructed. “I’ll make sure you won’t be disturbed.”

As soon as her beringed hand was withdrawn, Aemond’s closed like a vice around the slim wrist.

“Come!”

Thus, he dragged the feebly struggling stranger through a dirty curtain into a secluded half-room. “So, you’ve infiltrated a brothel, pretending to be a whore,” he drawled.

Ellyn’s stomach was in knots—she’d imagined this to go quite differently and cursed herself now for not having listened to Hala’s wise counsel.

“I am,” she said as firmly and assertively as she could.

“Prove it,” the Prince demanded, sitting down on the edge of the overly perfumed couch taking up most of the small alcove. “Go ahead!”

The object of her dangerous curiosity had evidently come to the aid of the madam in a haste for he wore neither tunic nor shoes.

Even more curious than this comparable state of nudity was the fact that he’d not bothered to don the eyepatch he was known to wear whenever he was seen in public.

As her mouth grew dry and her tongue heavy, Ellyn had to admit to herself that this sordid establishment could probably not fully be counted as “public”.

Aemond, oblivious to how flustered his bare chest and firm stomach made her, sucked his teeth impatiently.

His evident disbelief irked her, so Ellyn stepped forward brazenly but then stopped again, unsure of what to do next.

She’d never had a lover, and it showed.

Moreover, she was still overwhelmed by how quickly and inexorably she’d found herself enmeshed in an undeniable catastrophe.

How had she been to foresee that the eagle-eyed bawd would catch on almost instantly?

She’d wanted to learn more about Prince Aemond, but she’d never expected to be faced with the man himself—especially in such a shocking state of undress.

“Gods,” she sighed, lifting a hand as if to touch his cheek as the flickering light from the tapers flashed across the precious stone wedged into his shapely skull. “That must have hurt!”

An expression of genuine surprise, at once chased by something hardened and hurt, rippled across his face.

“You’re not convincing, girl,” he said in a cold tone.

Ellyn realised that she had to move lest she make a bad situation worse by regrettable indecision, so she went to him, straddling his thighs and pressing a coy kiss upon the corner of his mouth.

Before she could so much as congratulate herself for this brave act, he’d thrown himself around, pinning her wrists above her head and pressing her into the dirty mattress with his full weight.

“I knew it,” he snarled. “Of all the things a whore does willingly for the right sum, kisses are the one they are notoriously avaricious about. Who are you?”

Rearing up frantically against him, Ellyn—bereft of her hands to claw herself out—tried to kick and bite in her desperate attempt to break free from his painfully firm hold.

“Dirty spy! Murderess!” he spat, his one eye wide with boundless ire.

Ellyn turned her head in a vain attempt to shield her face from the blows she anticipated—she didn’t understand the terrible accusations he laid at her feet, and her mind was too befuddled with existential fear to even try to make sense of it.

“I came for you,” she whimpered.

“That’s what I thought. Go on then, here I am,” he said, his voice tired and hollow now as he lifted himself halfway off her and extended his arms. “Do your worst.”

Aemond flinched when those soft lips brushed against his own once more so hesitantly that it could hardly be called a proper kiss.

“Did it hurt very much? Did they have to reopen the wound to…put this in?” the woman asked, tracing the scar marring half of his face reverently.

He was about to ask her once more who she was when the shifting light unburied a confused memory in his mind.

“I’ve seen you before,” he whispered thoughtfully.

The hand espousing the sharp line of his cheek now was soft and free of calluses, and the youthful face blurring in and out of focus before his solitary eye was fresh and smooth.

Furthermore, he could make out a hint of violets and rain in the discreet scent emanating from her skin—she was high-born, and probably very far from home.

“Stand!” he rasped, peeling himself off her soft, yielding flesh.

His unrestrained violence had left dark bruises on her creamy skin, and he shivered in disgust at this renewed reminder of his poor self-control.

She did as she was told without protest, though, and—as he drank in the voluptuous curves beneath the all-but-transparent shift—he felt his body react with visceral hunger while his mind was still entangled in the puzzle of her identity.

He was convinced that she was not a base-born prostitute, yet she was undeniably bare underneath the borrowed or stolen garment, and he was tempted to take her at her word. If only for one night of blissful oblivion which he needed so desperately.

The strange maiden with the sensuous mouth had the face of a girl, but the swell of her chest and the roundness of her hips told him that she was indeed a woman fully grown.

She shifted uncomfortably beneath his unwavering inspection, and the soft light dancing across her sweet features finally made the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“You’re one of Baratheon’s daughters,” he gasped, struggling to comprehend how that could be true.

“Ellyn,” she confirmed softly and curtsied. “We’ve not yet had the pleasure to have a conversation—your visit was…cut short.”

“What have you done? Does your father know that you’re here?” Aemond inquired tensely. They needed Storm’s End as an ally, and his blood ran cold as he realised that he’d almost destroyed yet another vital advantage by taking the girl’s maidenhead or life.

She scoffed, throwing back her long, unbound hair with a practised flick. “I’d hardly be the first young girl to lose her mind and follow a handsome knight,” she declared in the tone of one who usually had a cocky answer to even the most pertinent of questions.

Aemond willed the floor to open beneath his feet and swallow him whole.

“Handsome…what are you talking about, woman? Your father will have my head for this! And yours as well!”

“No, he won’t. He’ll agree with whatever lie I devise—I’m the least important of his daughters, and, if nobody knows I’ve been here, he won’t even ask where I’ve gone.”

The candid, humble way in which she presented so gruesome a truth gave Aemond pause—he’d struggled with similar thoughts earlier, but, unlike him, Lady Ellyn seemed to have made her peace with her position within her family.

“You’ve made yourself out to be a whore,” he thundered, hiding his confusion behind effervescent anger. “What for?”

“Nobody knows but you,” she smiled. “I’ve come to find out whether you’re a monster. I’m looking out for my sisters.”

At that, his face froze into a moue of disbelief.

“I am,” he then said challengingly. “What now? Are those sisters, sitting comfortably at your father’s table, worth the terrible sacrifice you were willing to make?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “Always. Also, I don’t believe you.”

“You find me…in a whorehouse, in a state of disarray and undress…and yet, you don’t flee. Are you completely mad, woman?” he spat, torn between his expectation that she’d turn away in horror and his desperate hope that she wouldn’t.

“I don’t believe so, no,” she gave back conversationally and shrugged. “You’re a Prince of the Realm, and thus, it’s well within your rights to spend your nights as you see fit.”

“Have you forgotten what has transpired in the skies above your familial sanctuary?” he pressed on, determined to push her away before her candid gentility seduced him into revealing more of his pain than anybody could ever see.

“Orys Baratheon took Walter Wyl’s hands and feet as repayment for the one hand he’d lost to his father,” Ellyn shrugged. “It would be disingenuous of me to fault you for your claim, gruesome as it might have been.”

Speechless, he got up and took the carafe off the sideboard to pour the overpriced dark, heavy wine into the cheap goblets a discreet servant had put at their disposal.

“You’re one of the first people to ask me whether it hurt,” he then said without turning around. “It did. It’s a long time ago, though, and it was worth the sacrifice.”

“For the good of the realm, yes,” she replied. He could hear the creaking of the bed as she sat down again, waiting for him to hand her the drink he was holding so tightly he was afraid the stem would break off the flimsy chalice. “Nevertheless, it must have been frightening and agonising for one so young. I’m sorry.”

At last, he managed to reassert control over his limbs and turn around—he felt oddly vulnerable as he stood, bare-chested, before one so precious and noble.

Lady Ellyn’s smile was soft and dreamy as she took the glass and sipped daintily. “I thank you for your hospitality,” she said courteously. “Mayhap, I should indeed return to my father’s keep.”

Intertwining strains of greed��carnal, mental, emotional—flared to life in Aemond’s very soul.

He knew that he deserved no ruth, yet he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go of the crumbs of kindness she’d granted him even after he’d detained and hurt her in a fit of blind rage.

“You cannot,” he barked. “The roads are no longer safe, and nobody is allowed to leave the city. Haven’t you heard what has transpired?”

Her face fell, but her eyes remained dry as she met his gaze steadily. “Then, my fate is sealed. If I fail to slip back before long, my name shall be ruined, and I shall have to throw myself at the mercy of the Faith. Not the worst fate for one as me…”

“No,” he hummed. “The Red Keep has been plunged into chaos and mayhem. Everyone is much distracted by the demise of the boy. I can smuggle you in—we can claim that you’ve come to keep my sister company in her hour of grief. Surely, your father would not refute so noble an endeavour?”

“He would not,” she agreed. “Nonetheless, I’ve arrived too early for that subterfuge to be credible, I’m afraid. Where would you hide me in the meantime? As we’ve established, I’m less talented an actress than I thought I was.”

“My rooms,” he croaked. “Nobody ever seeks me out there—you’d be safe.”

“That suits me perfectly,” she grinned impishly. “As I’ve said, I find you quite delightful to look at, and I would learn as much about you as I may.”

That fragile moment of nascent understanding was rudely interrupted by the madam shoving the curtain aside roughly.

“My Prince,” she declared. “Your brother just arrived. Shall I inform you once he’s left?”

Sighing deeply, Aemond handed her the empty carafe. “Yes. We shall need more wine. I shall need my belongings as well before anyone recognises them and seeks me out.”

Turning to Ellyn, he informed her tersely that they’d have to abide a little longer.

“Very well, my Prince,” she smiled. “Don’t trouble yourself on my behalf, though. I’m not offended by the absence of your usual trappings and masks.”

So, this was the second chapter.

⤳Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you want to read more of this, please let me know! It's super sad and frustrating to write and post something without getting any kind of feedback.

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