#and now he is on the stool-height chair cranked all the way up to just above desktop height

[sarasa-cat]

UGH! It is so cold that by the time the forced air heat makes it through the vent system to my office/art studio (which lacks insulation under the floor, as this room is above an old-fashioned cellar circa 1900 and is the oldest "original" part of this house), the CHILLY AIR blows up out of that vent (beneath my work table) and freeeeeezes my legs.

🥶

Rolled the space heater over. Cranked it up. Shivering until it kicks in.

This is brutal.

WHY SO COLD?! (Crying)

(Corrects posture -- so cold I hunched my shoulders down and inward horribly. No wonder why my neck and lower back hurts so much today.)

[whalermansposts]

Alex Karras Dick the Bruiser Everything about that night went wrong in a hurry, and Alex Karras (Mongo in Blazing Saddles) admitted that he should have known better.He shouldn’t have put any money down on football games. He shouldn’t have gotten in so tightly with the Butiscaris brothers and discussed buying into their place in Detroit, the Lindell Bar. He shouldn’t have agreed to work as a kind of celebrity bartender. More than anything, he should have known better than staging this hokey wrestling stunt which hinged on Dick “the Bruiser” Afflis not flying into one of his Looney Tunes rages.When the Detroit Lions grabbed him in the first round of the 1958 NFL draft, Karras walked away from wrestling without hesitation. Dick was a little hurt and a little irritated. Wrestling pays better and was a hell of a lot safer than football. You were a star, not a faceless grunt on the gridiron. Dick loved every minute of being in the ring. He thought Karras had, too.Dick watched Alex Karras become one of the Motor City’s athletic icons. One of the greatest defensive tackles in NFL history, they said. Unlike many players, Karras had evolved a calm, easy-going rapport with fans and press. His quick, imaginative mind cranked out jokes and stories easily, but the man turned to a six-foot-two granite slab on the field. When Karras got slapped with a one-year suspension in 1963 for gambling on football games, Dick offered to get him back on the circuit. Put a nice bit of scratch together. Karras wasn’t wealthy, by any means, and the only income he had to weather the gap in NFL checks was from the Lindell Bar, which he shared with the Butiscaris brothers. Karras liked the bar and liked the brothers, but he knew they had a reputation in the city.The Butiscaris weren’t exactly connected, but they were serious men. Friends of friends, or however you wanted to say it. It was through them that Karras had put down some small bets from time to time, more out of habit than desire. But the NFL found out. The Lions made no secret about wanting him to sell his share of the bar and distance himself from that lifestyle.Karras knew he would, eventually, but after 1963. For now, he needed the cash. When Dick offered to get him on the circuit again, Karras accepted right away. Now that he was famous in Detroit, he’d be a bigger draw with a bigger paycheck.  He’d make more in a few bouts than he would in a entire season with the Lions. When Dick suggested they play up their rivalry before the match with a little pageantry, Karras wasn’t as enthusiastic. The idea was this—Dick comes into the Lindell, insults Karras, they have a tussle, then everyone departed. The incident would hit the newspapers and the match would sell out. Easy.The BrawlDick stomped in well past midnight on April 23, just a few days before their advertised April 27th match. Both he and Karras had rehearsed the script beforehand. Karras made sure everyone in the bar that night knew the exchange was a wrestling bit and nothing more. He had all his bases covered.Problem was, no one thought to tell Jimmy Butiscaris’ Uncle Charley, who picked that night of all nights to visit his niece’s husband’s bar.Karras knew something was off as soon as Dick stepped in the Lindell. The always-present cigar jutted from Dick’s mouth, clenched between his molars because five of his front teeth were missing. Although an inch shorter than Karras, he had forty pounds of muscle on the younger man. Dick’s shirt strained like an overstuffed sausage casing and when he stepped in the bar, he squinted and stared at every patron. Mob guys, bookies, hooligans and hoodlums, people that had killed people—Dick didn’t care. He was the Bruiser.Dick saw Karras at the opposite end of the bar. Dick’s eyes narrowed even more and he teeth spread in a hard grin around the cigar.The bartender asked Dick if he’d like a drink, but Dick didn’t even let him finish. He stretched out one arm and stabbed his finger at Karras, who stared at Dick through his heavy-framed glasses.“Nah. I want that fat f——g four eyes to serve me,” Dick growled.Alex, to be honest, was a little relieved. The way Dick had looked coming in, he thought things were going to go bad, but so far so good. Dick was on script. Jimmy would refuse to serve him, the Bruiser would rip Jimmy’s shirt, and jab a light punch at him. A few more words, then it was done.Jimmy told him to leave, Dick the Bruiser grabbed his shirt and tore it and then gave him the stiffed punch. It looked real enough.No one saw Uncle Charley until it was too late. As this exchange had unfolded, Charley had crept over to the pool table and grabbed a long cue, raising it above his shoulder and working slowly to Dick’s side. He saw Dick grab Jimmy, rip his shirt, and then jab a fist at him. Charley didn’t hesitate.“Hey!” Charley said.Dick turned to him.Charley swung like Mickey Mantle. The pool cue swished through the air and caught Dick just below his eye, breaking the cue and slicing Dick’s face open. It would later need stitches. The cigar shot from his mouth and pattered on the floor. Blood spattered on the bar. Dick stood blinking for a moment. Alex Karras opened his mouth, but there was no stopping Dick now. In fact, there was no Dick now. The hulking bloody-faced mass of blonde hair and rage that squared off against Uncle Charley was the Bruiser, forever and ever, Amen.By now, someone had let Charley in on the play acting. Charley dropped the remnants of the broken pool cue and stepped away from the Bruiser, who seemed to grow taller and wider and meaner, like a living steam boiler.The Bruiser grabbed the closest thing to him: a candy and peanut vending machine that weighed roughly two hundred pounds. The Bruiser gripped the sides of the machine, grunted and lifted the entire machine off the ground. The tendons in his arms stiffened like buried cables. Snacks and coins tickled and jittered inside the machine. The Bruiser lifted the entire vending machine over his head.Rage hadn’t entirely taken Dick over. He had enough presence of mind to know crushing this middle-aged man with a hunk of steel and glass might be a bad choice. Instead, Dick pitched the vending machine slightly to the side, missing Charley and any patrons, but crushing the bar’s color television. Its tube imploded with a flash and sizzle, raining down glass on the battered vending machine.Patrons fled out the door. The Bruiser bellowed. He pitched stools and chairs wildly, against the walls, into rows of clean glasses, onto tables of half-filled beer mugs. The bar stank of spilled beer and spirits.Automatically, Karras slipped his glasses off and tucked them safely under the bar. He stalked toward Dick silently. He wasn’t sure if there was a damn thing he could do to stop Dick right now. When the Bruiser flew into these rages, it was like fighting an iron tornado. This night would hit the papers, but not like Karras wanted. What a screw-up.Instead of a semi-suicidal charge at the Bruiser, Karras picked up a bar chairs, clutching its legs tightly his fists and holding it over his shoulder. Dick had his back to him, whipping bar stools end over end into the wall. Karras took a deep breath then arced the chair down and across the Bruiser’s shoulders, hoping the blow would stun him or at least slow him down. Karras brought beasts down for a living and put everything he had into the swing. The chair exploded across the Bruiser’s back leaving only two shards of wood in Karras’ hands.Dick was crazy and now Dick wanted to kill him. He might have done just that if a swarm of his underworld buddies hadn’t thrown themselves on the Bruiser at that moment. Two men held his arms. One hopped up and hooked an elbow across the Bruiser’s neck. Another punched wildly at the Bruiser’s gut, trying to knock the wind out of him. Yet another wrapped his hands around the Bruiser’s waist to topple him over. Karras felt a tug at his arm. Jimmy Butiscaris pointed at the bar’s rear exit. “We called the cops, man” Jimmy said. “You need to scoot.”Before he could protest, Jimmy cut him off. “It’ll be a lot less messy if you’re gone. Easier on me. Personally. Please.”The Bruiser didn’t fall or slow, but Karras had certainly gotten his attention. For a moment, the two men faced off, nearly equal in height and weight but not in raw rage. Karras cursed and stepped back. Like Karras, Dick Afflis had once played for the NFL. Karras knew exactly why Dick quit playing football. More money, sure, but the real reason behind Dick’s move is his love of fighting. He liked to fight. Even his scripted wrestling matches sometimes turned into the real deal. In 1957, his match at Madison Square Garden had gone off-script and turned into a real fight. Then a real riot. By the time the brawl ended, the Garden was covered in a sea of shattered wooden chairs. It took sixty policeman to subdue the crowd and the wrestlers. “The Bruiser” wasn’t just a character. Before the Detroit Lions picked up Karras in 1958, Karras had worked the wrestling circuit and he and Dick “The Bruiser” Afflis had become fast friends. Both came from Indiana—Karras born in Gary and a legendary Emerson High School football star. Dick grew up in Delphi, played football and wrestled at Lafayette Jefferson High School and then for Purdue, then three years with the Green Bay Packers. Then he left it all for professional wrestling, which had exploded once televised bouts entered the industry. Dick helped the younger Karras along with his wrestling, mentoring him like a big brother

[bcbdrums]

More Drakgo!  Because the world needs more!!!

FFn link ---> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13578348/1/Choose-Your-Side

A/N: The flash-fic well is drying up, but I've still got Tumblr prompts to fill. This prompt actually comes from an AO3 user and a faithful reviewer, shrijver. '26. Jealous kiss' for you, m'dear! This also randomly became a semi-songfic. @theiconicgwen, here's your karaoke. Enjoy, everyone!

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

Having common sense kept them out of most trouble, except for that which came with their schemes. Of course, Shego would argue that total and complete recklessness wasn't part of the territory. Even so, for being villains, neither of them drank much alcohol.

Shego sipped at her Blinker and stared at Drakken's Pan American Clipper, half-empty on the table. Her shoulders were tense as she felt everyone's eyes on her more than usual in the karaoke bar. But it was to be expected—they had saved the world, after all.

She wished for what must have been the hundredth time that he hadn't chosen a table in the center of the restaurant, but he seemed oblivious to the fact that there were always eyes on the pair of oddly-colored villains. And that night it was worse, as people were constantly approaching them with questions or wanting autographs.

It was probably why they were each on their second cocktail.

Drakken had excused himself to use the restroom before his next turn on the mic. He had already sung his usual favorites that Shego now had memorized, to her dismay, as well as a few she had only occasionally heard either on the radio or at other times there at his favored karaoke bar. Usually he topped out at about five or six songs in a two-hour period, as plenty of other patrons were having turns at the mic. But that night they were on their third hour and he had shown no signs of slowing down.

He had tried for years to get her to sing a duet with him, but always she refused, sometimes with a threat if he was especially persistent. But that night he hadn't asked her once. In fact, his conversation had been oddly surface-level and conservative for his boisterous personality, usually cranked up to the maximum on karaoke night.

Shego sipped at her cocktail again and wondered at his behavior. Of course, she knew she wasn't herself either. Neither of them had been since the invasion.

It had been almost a month since that day that changed everything. Terror and sleeplessness and fighting blindly against a foe they knew could truly destroy them... And then mutated plants. And Kim Possible's side-kick. And then a shining gold medal hung around Drakken's neck at the United Nations, crowds cheering in thanks and praise.

Since that day, their lives were no longer their own. They had magazine interviews, TV spots, invitations to lectures and conferences and universities and museums... There was even talk of a documentary about Drakken's life.

And that was the thing—it was all about Drakken. She was never actually invited, she was just...automatically included. By him. He didn't seem to notice that she wasn't in the picture, as far as the public was concerned. Even the awkward moment at the UN when his vine had wrapped them together had blown over with the major media outlets inside of a week. And when patrons at the karaoke bar approached her, it was always with questions about him.

She was curious as to why she had been ignored...but that curiosity kept getting pushed aside in favor of a bigger question: just what were they?

Drakken was thrilled beyond description with his newfound hero-status. Finally, people wanted to hear him talk for hours about his scientific theories and inventions. And he reveled in it each day to the point of exhaustion.

And each day they returned home...to their villain's lair.

So what were they? Was the hero-thing temporary? Was it permanent? Was he even aware that he was dragging her all over the world only to sit in the back of a hall or stand in the wings while authorities and the public alike praised and revered him?

But whenever he wasn't engaged by others, he was always at her side... Asking her how he looked, telling her how amazing it was to have his ideas praised... But other than being his...his...sounding board, what was she?

And why did she keep going with him?

Why did she go with him to karaoke?

Karaoke was technically in her contract, but, she knew he wouldn't care if she just refused to go. And yet she had gone, for years. And now on their first night out of their own accord since the invasion, that was where he'd wanted to go, and she was with him again.

She glanced across the darkened room toward the hall that led to the restroom, and then her eyes glimpsed Drakken leaning against the end of the bar. Why hadn't he come back to...?

He grinned shyly. And then she noticed the two women standing far too close to him.

Shego could tell their type instantly. Too much makeup, too much skin showing, and very clearly drunk from their wobbly posture and their giggles. Drakken appeared unsure what to do with their attention.

Shego's eyes darkened as one of the women began running her fingers around Drakken's medal—which he wore everywhere, of course—and the other woman leaned into his side and began twirling her fingers through his hair. Drakken looked between the two even more uncomfortably and Shego started to rise from the table, but then Drakken slipped between the two women and hurried up the steps to the stage.

Shego hadn't even noticed the previous song ending. And apparently it was Drakken's turn again. She felt the familiar tension coming as she knew people would be staring again.

It wasn't that he was a bad singer. He had potential. It was that he over-sang everything and put so much camp and drama into the performances that they were laughable. Although usually he got cheers. And that night, due to his new status as world-hero, he had gotten more than ever. The crowd seemed larger too, and Shego wondered if word had gotten out that he was there.

Shego watched as uncharacteristically, Drakken pulled the stool up to the mic stand and sat down, adjusting the stand to his height. He always stood and moved around while singing.

He looked around nervously over the crowd, which was also unusual. But when his eyes found her at their usual table, his face relaxed into a soft smile. He turned toward the DJ and held up a hand to signal him to wait before starting the music. Drakken cleared his throat into the mic.

"I know some of you are here to see me," he said, "but this will be my last one tonight."

A chorus of sad responses sounded from the audience. Shego felt a slight relief, knowing they could leave soon. But she was still tense knowing that they were going to get more stares before that time came.

"My last bow," he said.

His eyes met Shego's with a strange thoughtfulness and determination. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

Drakken looked back over the crowd. "On the surface it looks like the world has...been brought together by everything that happened. But it...it hasn't really."

Confused murmurings began in the crowd. Shego felt even more uneasy. What was he doing? He never made speeches. And he never, ever talked about anything other than himself.

"Maybe it can... This last song is called, 'Break Your Heart.'"

The DJ started the music and a soft alternative beat began with an instrumental that had clear jazz influences from the rhythm and melody to the instrumentation. Drakken scooted back on the stool a bit, away from the very front of the stage. He gripped the mic on the stand with one hand and bowed his head. His eyes remained open but his face was serious.

The instrumental introduction continued for a long time before Drakken took his first breath, but then he softly hummed and 'oohed' over the instruments. It was so contrary to every other performance he'd ever given that Shego began to forget about her insecurity of just being there.

When the song lyrics started, they moved so quickly at first that they almost ran together, but appropriate pauses showed up as well. Drakken sang so uncharacteristically quietly that she leaned forward in her chair to listen.

"People downcast, in despair, see the disillusion everywhere. Hoping their bad luck will change... Gets a little harder every day.

"People struggle, people fight for the simple pleasures in their lives, but trouble comes from everywhere... It’s a little more than you can bear."

Drakken had looked down the whole time, but suddenly he looked up with his face more earnest than she'd ever seen. He seemed to be trying to look into the eyes of every patron of the restaurant.

"I know that it will hurt, I know that it will break your heart, the way things are and the way they’ve been, and the way they’ve always been."

Shego sat up fully, watching the strange performance. She had completely forgotten her worries and questions about the strange existence they had been living since the invasion. Drakken's voice was soft and smooth, and every word was crystal clear.

"People shallow, self-absorbed, see the push and shove for their reward. I, me, my is on their minds... You can read about it in their eyes.

"People ruthless, people cruel, the damage that some people do. Full of hatred, full of pride... It’s enough to make you lose your mind.

"I know that it will hurt. I know that it will break your heart, the way things are and the way they’ve been. But don’t spread the discontent; don’t spread the lies. Don’t make the same mistakes with your own life. You never will let love survive."

The almost constant string of words was broken then by a solo from a jazz guitar. Drakken looked down briefly, but then he looked up above the heads of the crowd. His eyes were sad, almost longing.

Shego didn't understand. Clearly, the song meant something to him, or he wouldn't have chosen it. And why the strange introduction?

His eyes slowly moved down and found hers. She blinked, both in surprise and a bit of nervousness at being trapped in his serious gaze. Not only had he never looked like that before, but...he had definitely never looked at her like that before.

Some of the sadness seemed to leave his eyes.

"I know that it will hurt. I know that it will break your heart the way things are and the way they’ve been. Don’t spread the discontent; don’t spread the lies. Don’t make the same mistakes with your own life. Don’t disrespect yourself, don’t lose your pride and don’t think that everybody’s gonna choose your side."

The song continued with a soft trumpet solo, but it was clearly drawing to a close. When it was near enough, Drakken cleared his throat and blinked out of whatever had put him into such a strange mindset.

The crowd cheered. Drakken smiled shyly and took a deep bow. Then he left the stage and hurried back toward their table.

Shego stiffened as she suddenly felt nervous, but she didn't know why. She downed the rest of her drink in a single swallow, and then grimaced as it burned her throat.

When Drakken arrived he didn't look at her at first, but set his hands on the table and leaned over. His eyes, in contrast to the open way he had looked out at the crowd, now looked hollow as if he had seen some horror. But he quickly shook it off, cleared his throat, and straightened up. His eyes fell to his unfinished drink and he knocked it back just as Shego had hers.

With a grimace, he lifted his medal up and off from around his neck and set it on the table. Shego's brow rose and she looked at him in question. He looked down at her like he was about to say something, but he didn't get the chance.

The two women from the bar had suddenly appeared, one on either side of him. He jumped as the one whose hair had been bleached blonde too many times ran her hands up his chest and up his arm to his shoulder. The other who was somehow chewing bubblegum while drinking was pushing her cleavage out in a very obvious way as she tried to give him a flirty look.

"That was sooooooo sexy!" the blonde said with a giggle as she leaned against his side. Drakken chuckled and smiled nervously and leaned away, only to bump into the woman on his other side.

"I felt so...connected to you!" the brunette said, grinning in a way that reminded Shego of obsession.

"Ah, yes, ah...thank you," Drakken stammered. The blonde's hands were getting more friendly, and the brunette had picked up his medal from the table and looked to be contemplating wearing it.

"We have a place just around the corner," the blonde said. "Would you like to come over for a nightcap? I'd love to see what your vines can do."

"And maybe you can give us a private performance?" the brunette asked. She'd put the medal on and rested it right atop her ample cleavage. "You must have more songs."

Drakken's eyes were darting between the two women in confusion as he continued to smile nervously.

Shego was sitting so close she could have reached out and stolen from either woman's purse. But she had her jaw hung open in a mixture of awe and fury at the audacity of the two tramps, so much so that it froze her in place for several seconds as her anger built.

"Don't you want this back?" the brunette said teasingly, moving in a way that made the medal almost bounce on her chest.

Drakken's cheeks began to turn pink and his nervousness turned to discomfort.

The blonde stepped up on her tiptoes and brought her ninety-nine cent red lipstick-slathered mouth toward Drakken's.

Shego had had it. She stood up and fairly roared.

"What am I, wallpaper!?"

The two women, and Drakken, jumped with a start. And then Drakken took another step back as suddenly Shego's arms were around his neck.

"Sheg—"

It didn't occur to her until a few seconds later that her kissing him was probably just as unwelcome and offensive as one of the drunken whores kissing him. But she had done what she had done, and she couldn't take it back.

The fierce kiss she had laid on him had clearly startled him, as for the first several seconds his shoulders heaved and his lips were frozen in a thin line. But then he slightly relaxed in her embrace, and as she slowly pulled away she felt his sudden response as he tried to capture her lower lip between his.

She looked up at him with a mixture of anxiety and apology. He stared down at her in awe.

All around them, the crowd cheered.

The two women were huffing and complaining and hurling insults at Shego.

Drakken's eyes darted around, and for the first time since they'd been coming to that karaoke bar Shego saw in his eyes the anxiety that plagued her each and every time.

"Let's get out of here," Drakken whispered in a near-panic. Shego nodded her agreement.

Drakken tossed a handful of cash on the table and then grabbing her hand, began to run. Shego was only too eager to follow, but then she pulled on his hand to stop him.

"Wait, your medal!" she hissed at him.

He glanced over her shoulder toward the two tramps, and then with a grimace he shook his head.

"Leave it," he said, and turned to pull her away and out of the restaurant.

Outside in the dark, they ran around the corner and down the sidewalk toward the parking lot. When the karaoke bar and its sounds were far behind them, Drakken slowed to a stop and dropped her hand as he leaned against a lamp post to catch his breath.

Shego watched him curiously, her heart beating out of her chest.

She'd kissed him. Why had she kissed him? What was the point? She could have just as easily threatened the two women harassing him, or worse.

Drakken slowly straightened and looked at her, his cheek still leaning on the cool metal of the post.

The anxiety Shego felt covered her body suddenly, like a million crawling ants. Drakken looked about to speak, so she did first.

"You left your medal."

Whatever Drakken had been about to say died on his lips. His brow furrowed lightly and he shook his head.

"Wasn't worth it."

"But...it was everything to you!" she said quickly. She would say just about anything to avoid the subject of the kiss.

Drakken shook his head. "It was...it was nice," he said slowly.

"What was?" Shego said quickly. She took a step back as he straightened fully.

"The attention. People...finally praising me for my genius."

"You're talking like it's over."

Drakken took a deep breath. "It is. I'm done."

Shego felt her heart skip a beat. What did that mean? That he was...returning to villainy? He'd never said he wouldn't... Even so, another question burned in her mind and quickly found its way to her tongue.

"But why?"

Drakken blinked out of his inward-focus and looked her over. Shego took another step back and put more space between them.

"You kissed me."

Shego ran her hand back through her hair. "Uh...yeah. Sorry about that."

Drakken shook his head as his gaze darkened. "You did it on purpose."

Shego could feel the unspoken accusation as he stared at her. He wanted to know her motive. He wanted to know if it had been some form of mocking. She tried to think of an excuse... But either due to the alcohol or simply having no other answer, she blurted out the truth.

"Those women were all over you! As if I wasn't right there!"

Drakken considered her words. Slowly, a smile came to his face.

"You were jealous."

Shego's face flushed. "Psh, as if. I just wanted those tramps to take a hike."

Drakken's smile was soft as he looked at her. Shego didn't understand and it made her uncomfortable. She took another step back and hugged herself, even though the night was hot.

"It's okay. I'm jealous too."

Shego's brow furrowed. "Huh?"

Drakken took a step toward her. "The way everyone just ignores you...no matter where we go. And treats you like you're not there."

His expression had darkened, and Shego continued listening in confusion.

"You deserve as much of the glory for saving the world as I do."

Shego shook her head. "I didn't do anything really."

"I couldn't have done it without you."

Drakken had taken another step closer. Shego felt some of the tension from back in the bar return, and Drakken continued.

"If you hadn't been with me to help me get the super hypollinator, and distribute it at all of the attack sites...I couldn't have done anything."

"But you're the inventor. You're the brains behind it all. That's why everyone's interested in you. No one cares about the hired muscle."

Drakken took a slow breath as his expression became irritated.

"And so...I'm jealous."

Shego shook her head. "I think you've got the wrong emotion there, Doc."

"No. I'm jealous for your honor. For your glory. You've always had it in spades, and suddenly...we become heroes and everyone drops you like you never existed."

"Is that what we are now?" Shego asked quickly, finding herself even more tense. She angled her body slightly away from him. "Heroes?"

When Drakken didn't answer she glanced back at him. He looked thoughtful and a bit sad.

"I think...most of the world is really only treating me like those two women back there," he said.

Shego turned back to him in confusion. "What?"

He looked up. "We may have stopped an invasion and saved Earth from a horrible fate, but...it won't really change anything."

Shego considered for a moment and suddenly remembered the words of the song he had sung. He had sang of the injustices of the human existence, whether by chance or by selfish design, and the tendency of humankind to choose the negative over the positive.

"So you think as a hero the world is supposed to be some utopia? If we're villains we would just be making it even worse, you know."

Drakken grimaced and then an ironic smirk turned up one corner of his mouth. He didn't say anything, but turned to walk down the sidewalk. He paused and reached out his hand to her.

Shego felt a shiver even though the night was hot. He was looking directly into her again, like he had in the restaurant. Only even more-so. She noticed for the first time that his eyes were an almost impossibly deep blue.

She nervously placed her hand in his, and he gently tugged her to walk alongside him as they continued on slowly to the parking lot.

"So..." she began shakily, "whether we're good guys or bad guys, the world is gonna be a mess," she concluded.

Drakken hummed as he looked ahead thoughtfully with an almost melancholy in his eyes.

A few minutes passed. Shego felt that tension again and the night suddenly seemed to be too hot.

Or maybe it had something to do with the gentle way he held her hand.

"So...which mess do you want?"

They were a few feet from the hover-car, but Drakken stopped. He turned to her and reached for the medal on his chest out of habit, and looked down when he remembered it was gone. He pursed his lips.

"Neither."

Shego's brow rose, and she looked at him in question.

"All of this just showed me...it's not...as important to me as I thought it was."

Shego felt uneasy suddenly and carefully pulled her hand away from him, hugging herself again in the summer heat.

"No matter where we go, all I can think about is...that you deserve to be standing on every stage with me. And I can't wait until the speeches are over so I can get back to you. And how...even though there's no reason for you to come with me, you always do."

Shego shivered again as the thought she'd been pushing away was suddenly forced to the front of her mind by his words.

Why did she go with him?

She realized he'd fallen silent and she looked up. He was staring into her soul again, waiting for...something, from her.

She shrugged nervously, but couldn't think of any words to say. She looked away at nothing.

Drakken reached up to her arm and pulled her hand away. After a moment of resistance she let him.

He took her other hand and brought them together up in front of him as he stepped closer to her. Their hands nearly touched each other's chests for how little space he left between them. Shego's heart began racing. She looked up at him. Drakken's soul-searching expression softened.

"You don't have to be jealous," he said, a tiny smile taking over his features.

"Why not?" Shego asked. Why was her voice suddenly so thin? Why was she acknowledging what she'd felt back at the bar? Why was her heart pounding and her frame trembling?

"Because... There's no chance you'll ever lose me."

For what felt like an eternity they simply stared at one another in a mixture of awe and giddiness. And then the familiar pink flower led Drakken's vine down to their joined hands. Shego was startled when the vine wrapped around her wrists and lifted her her arms up and over Drakken's head, looping them around his neck. He placed his own hands comfortably on her waist and grinned. When Shego spoke, she was surprised at the tremor in her voice.

"D-didn't think you'd know what to do with a woman Doc, after that display back in the bar."

Drakken pursed his lips into a thoughtful smirk. "With the right woman," he finally said. The vine still on Shego's wrists tugged slightly and knocked her off-balance so she fell against Drakken's chest.

"So...so you don't want to be the world's hero...or dictator?" Shego said nervously, still trying to avoid what was becoming completely unavoidable.

Drakken shook his head slowly. "Either way...will just lead to heartbreak. No one is really, or would be, on our side."

Shego thought back to the words of the song he had sung that he had just echoed in the defining statement. And she thought also of the words he had spoken just moments before, declaring that she would never lose him.

She realized then that through it all, she had thought of them as a single unit. Even though the world had treated her differently, she hadn't been thinking of them as two separate lives that could diverge from one another at any moment. Her thoughts were always about what 'they' were.

Apparently, so were his.

"If it's not about the world anymore...then what are we?" she asked.

Drakken smirked and circled her waist with his arms, pulling her tightly against him. "You tell me."

He was giving her a knowing look. Shego was embarrassed by the flush that came to her cheeks. But he was right. She had started it with her impulsive kiss back inside the bar. And while she didn't yet understand the feelings surging through her and preventing her from maintaining any coherent thoughts, she did know...she liked the feel of his arms around her. She really liked it. And even though she was the one who started it...he was communicating with startling clarity how he wanted it to finish.

But he still left it up to her.

Her wrists had been released and the vine had vanished. She brought a hand down to lightly stroke his jaw as she smirked.

"I was jealous," she admitted. It was easier to say that, than any of the things his piercing eyes were communicating. "Maybe...of the world, too."

"Not necessary. I told you. You'll always have me."

She felt a fluttering of anticipation in her chest as she rose up on tiptoe and circled his neck with her arms. She thought of his song again.

"I'll always choose your side," she said.

The summer heat was overtaken by the warmth in her heart as they sealed the promise with a powerful kiss.

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

A/N: The song he sings is "Break Your Heart" by Natalie Merchant.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Made Man

Part Three: Mob Mistress

A/N: Woah. Sorry it’s been so long, but we’re back in business with Nick and the Jersey Boys. He’s officially reporting for duty at the Dockside, making allies and enemies within his new crew. Where do you fall on that scale, and is your job as cut and dry as it’s always been? (this one went through a lot of changing and shuffling but here we are.) 

Warning: lotsa swearin’, trigger happy morons. 

Word Count: 3,516  

The lamps that capped the tall poles in the municipal parking lot next to The Dockside were still glowing orange against the early morning sky. The sun had just started to come up over the choppy slate gray Atlantic, its first rays of light weak against the clouds and the lingering darkness of night. A few gulls were perched on the weathered pylons, feathers fluffed against the cold, beaks tucked under their wings. You coulda flown south, you dingbats, you thought as you passed them each morning, their beady little eyes blinking in stubborn support of their decision to tough it out through the winter. Dumb birds. The wind whipped hard across the water, snapping flags and rattling chains throughout the marina. You shoved your hands deeper into your pockets and shrugged into your coat, longing for summer. 

 Squinting to combat the way the cold was causing your eyes to tear, you let daydreams of warmth and sun on your skin carry you the rest of the way across the parking lot and closer to your destination. I’m cranking that heat when I get in, I don’t care what Steve has to say. You were nearly on the doorstep, fingers already curled around your keys when you finally noticed the outline of a figure leaning against the front window. You sucked in a startled breath, heart rate picking up as you stiffened, letting go of the keys in your pocket to grip the small canister of pepper spray instead. Shit, who the f-

 But before you could finish your panicked thought, the figure moved. Your eyes were drawn to a small reddish circle hovering at face-height in the shadows, the end of the lit cigarette casting just enough light on the man’s features to identify him. Letting go of the spray attached to your keychain, you released the tension in your shoulders. Nick. You recalled the conversation you’d overheard in Steve’s office a few days prior, when your boss had told the Bostonian transplant when to come back. Right. It’s Thursday. You took another step forward and crossed your arms over your chest.    

 “How long you been standing there?” Your breath puffed out before you in the frigid salty air. “You look like a popsicle.” And it’s 6:57 am. 

 He smirked around the cigarette in his mouth, taking a drag before his red knuckled and raw right hand came from his pocket to pluck it from his lips. Shrugging, he pushed away from the wall. “Didn’t wanna be late.”

 Despite the fact that only a few seconds ago you were ready to blind him with capsaicin, you found yourself laughing at his response. Shaking your head, you pulled the keys from your pocket, shaking them out until you found the one you needed. “Lesson one,” you took a step forward and motioned for him to move away from the door so that you could unlock it. “I come in to open at seven, and Steve’s never here before nine.” You fit the key in the lock, pulling up on the handle as you pushed the door open, the cheerful jingle of the overhead bell announcing the start of another day. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him toss his cigarette before following you inside and out of the cold. “Lesson two?” You raised one eyebrow, lowering your hood and smoothing back your hair. “Never smoke out front. Out back by the walk-in, or behind the kitchen door, but never out front, got it?” 

 He narrowed his eyes over his crooked grin. “Yeah, got it. Thanks.” It was still dark inside, the only light coming from the emergency signs above the doors. And that damn smile of his. He looked good in the shadows, with a red glow on his skin and a gleam in his eye, and you knew that could only mean trouble. You turned to flick the lights on, the overheads humming to life to banish the dark gleam from his eyes. There, not so dangerous now, you lied to yourself. “So you live close by?” He asked, unzipping his jacket without removing it. 

 Your eyes were immediately drawn to the scrawling black ink visible above his neckline. You could tell that it was elaborate lettering, though you couldn’t quite make out what it said, the bulk of the phrase still hidden by his black tee. That’s new. You’d noticed the folded hands and rosary on the right side of his neck when he’d come in the other day, making it a habit to commit as many identifiers like scars and tattoos to memory as you could. Sure, that’s why. Realizing that you were still staring at his chest, you shook your head and started unwinding your scarf. “Uh, yeah,” you answered. “Why?” 

 He shrugged, hands plunging into his pockets. “Nah, just,” he scrunched his face up in a nonchalant fashion. “Ya know, saw you walkin’ so I figured you must live close is all. I mean if you don’t gotta drive, must mean you’re close, right?” 

 You pulled your arms free of your coat and tossed it, along with your keys and purse behind the bar. “I do have a car, if that’s really what you’re trying to ask. I just don’t drive to work.” You lifted the hinged portion of the light blue countertop and let yourself into the horseshoe shaped bar, closing it behind you before he could follow. “Sorry, trained bartenders only,” you explained, his hands falling to the rail as you clicked it closed. 

 “Nah, no that’s not...I mean, I wasn’t askin’ if you had a car, I’m just tryin’ ta make conversation.” 

 “Uh huh,” you reached back to hit another switch, another set of lights brightening your workstation and the kitchen space through the doorway behind it. “Okay. So where’d you park your car then?” You stood on your toes and peeked over his shoulder and out the window before letting your feet go flat again, one cheek lifting in a smirk as you met his eyes once more. 

 Nick pressed his lips together, but as you turned away to start the coffee maker you heard him laugh under his breath. “I ain’t got one anymore,” he admitted, “I walked here too.” You heard the scrape of stool legs against the tiled floor as he pulled one out to take a seat at the bar. 

 “Well,” the ancient machine hissed and sputtered as it heated up, and you slid the round bottomed glass carafe atop the hot plate. Turning back to face him, you continued. “Glad we got those very important facts out of the way.” He let out another small laugh at your sarcasm as the hissing gave way to a slow drip. Coffee underway, you let yourself back out of the bar and started taking the chairs down from the few small tables, flipping them over and pushing them in. After you’d taken down the first three, you looked over your shoulder at Nick. “You gonna just sit there while I do all this, Boston?” 

 Even though it was still early and you were far from a morning person, you found yourself laughing internally at the way he sprang from his seat, nearly knocking over the stool that he occupied. “Yeah, no I mean, here, lemme help.” He crossed to the table next to where you stood, gripping the backs of two chairs and flipping them down off of the table. 

 “Thanks,” you threw him a real smile as you each moved on to the next tables. He returned it with one of his own, the two of you finishing the chairs in half the time it would have taken you alone, the quiet sounds of rolling waves slapping against the docks and the occasional cry from a gull filling the silence. You moved to each window next, pulling the chords dangling from the neon signs to bring them buzzing to life. Nick returned to his seat at the bar, leaning back against the rail with both elbows behind him. “So, you just gonna wait here for Steve? That your plan?” You pulled the last chord on the largest sign, The Dockside in curling white light blinking on. Unlocking the side door that lead out to the ferry dock, you realized that you were hoping that his answer would be ‘yes’. Company is always nice, you reasoned, knowing that your first few customers were still about an hour away. Well, maybe not always, not when it’s Ralph. 

 Nick shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Didn’t really have a...a plan.” He cleared his throat. “That okay with you?” 

 Yeah it’s fine with me. You caught yourself before answering too quickly. You wanted to be careful with this one, remember? You narrowed your eyes at him, arms crossed and head tilted to feign deep thought. “Yeah,” moving over to the corner where the thermostat hung, you lifted the cover and spun the dial to raise the temperature. “I guess you can stay.”  Flipping the cover closed with a snap, you heard the heat kick on. There we go. You rubbed some warmth into your hands and made your way back over to the bar. “You want some coffee?”

 He turned on his stool, dark eyes following you as you moved to grab two white porcelain mugs from a rack. “Sure, thanks.” His tongue pressed into the side of his cheek as you poured the hot beverage. You looked over your shoulder discerningly at him for a second, his tongue sliding down along his teeth behind his bottom lip and turned into a questioning grin. “What’s that look for?” 

 “Tryin’ to guess how you take your coffee,” you responded. He started to answer but you held up a finger. “No lemme guess.” Tapping your lips you squinted at him. “Black and sweet, right?”

 He laughed, looking down as he shook his head. “I’m that predictable, huh?”

 So far, you are. So far, there hadn’t been a single thing about him that surprised you, but the closer you looked the more you knew that the predictable was likely to run out soon. He’s young, and he’s in deep. There’s gotta be more than what I’m seeing. “Nah, I’m just that good.” You handed him his mug and passed a few packets of sugar across the bar. You left your own bitter and black, taking a scorching sip as he thanked you. “Sure,” you watched him tear open three sugars, dumping the pure white crystallized contents into the steaming liquid before tapping them with the side of his pointer finger. Without taking your eyes off of him, you reached for a spoon from the silverware bin to your left. You could move around the entire bar and kitchen blindfolded at this point, never grabbing anything but what you meant to. Holding the spoon out to him before he could ask you for it, you winked over the top of your mug and took another sip. 

 He let out a low chuckle under his breath as he took the spoon from you. “Thanks.” Crumpling up the empty sugar packets in one fist, he dropped the spoon into his mug where it clinked against the bottom. You watched his knuckles squeeze tight around the empty packets in his closed hand before releasing them, letting the papers fall to the bartop. They were bony, his knuckles, and you couldn’t help but notice that the middle one looked slightly larger than the rest, swollen and bruised like it had been broken. Recently. His palm curved around the warm mug as he stirred the sweetener in, and you blinked away from his hands, stepping forward to grab the empty packets and toss them in the trash. Three packets of sugar and broken knuckles. A smile like that and a gun on your belt. What are you about, Nick?   

 You cleared your throat and set your coffee down on the lower counter beneath the bartop. Nick looked up at the sound, raising his own drink to his lips, the spoon held to the side but still inside the mug. “So I gotta go do some numbers for Steve in the office.” He nodded. “It’ll only take me a few minutes, just gotta get it done before Ralph gets in, so-” 

 “Yeah,” he nodded again. “No problem, I get it, you got work ta do.” His eyes flicked from your face to the door to Steve’s office and back again. 

 You rolled your eyes inwardly at the word ‘work’- you were just going to fill envelopes for drop offs- and left him with a warning not to go behind the bar, reminding him of the wall of cameras above your boss’ desk. He held his hands up in a gesture of innocence, promising to behave himself. I’m sure you will, Trouble. Leaving him sitting at the bar, you disappeared into the tiny room to complete your task. 

 It only took twenty minutes, sorting payments of various amounts for various reasons- hush money to guys that knew things, cuts to guys that “helped” Steve out, compensation to families of guys either in jail or in the ground- and orders, slips with names and locations, coded instructions and messages. You never read the slips, never questioned the amounts, not wanting to know who was owed what or when so and so was supposed to be where. The less I know the safer I am, the smoother the ride for everyone. Closing the cashbox, you locked it back away in the bottom drawer of Steve’s desk. You gathered your two stacks of envelopes and stood, bending your body so as not to hit your head on the security monitors in the absurdly cramped space. Movement on one of the screens caught your eye, and you swiveled your head to watch Nick from above as he opened a cheap black phone to check it. His shoulders slumped as he looked out the window and snapped the phone shut and tucked it back in his pocket,  blowing out a breath. You didn’t care that there was likely at least one death order in your hands. It didn’t bother you that that was drug money you were holding, or that it was being paid to a gun runner or pimp or bookie. But for reasons you couldn’t explain you found yourself caring about what had caused his sigh, wanted to know who he was hoping to hear from, and why he’d come to Jersey. You found yourself caring about this stranger. No, I just- But you couldn’t rightfully justify it. Fuck. You let out a sigh of your own as he turned back to his coffee and took a sip. 

 But before you could fully chew yourself out for caring where you had no business to care, movement on another monitor caught your attention, and your face quickly set into a scowl. Ralph. He walked in the front door and you felt the skin on your arms crawl with the disgust that was still leftover from the last time he’d touched you, his meaty palms rubbing over your biceps as his eyes spent more time on your chest than your face. You’d lost track of how many times you’d told him that you weren’t interested in him, running out of ways to say it that didn’t come with a swift kick between his pudgy legs. I’ll never run out of reasons, though, you slimy piece of- 

 There was no sound on the monitors, but you didn’t need there to be to know that the exchange happening in the bar was contentious, Nick standing and squaring up his shoulders, Ralph jutting his chin out and cracking his knuckles. “Oh for fuck’s sake…” You tapped the envelope stacks against the desk to put them in order and stepped around to swing the door open. 

 “You tell me who the fuck you are, pretty boy, and what you’re doin’ in my place.” 

 Nick scoffed as you exited the office. “Your place?” He wrinkled his features. “Look pal, I don’t know you but I know this ain’t your place, so you can f-” 

 You cleared your throat and pulled the office door shut hard, both men turning in your direction, hands flying to their concealed weapons. Jesus Christ, these two. “What the Hell is goin’ on out here?” Nick dropped his hands and stepped back, reclaiming his seat at the bar, but Ralph’s trigger-happy right hand stayed crossed over his waist, fingers still resting on his gun. “Ralph, c’mon,” you barked his name and shot daggers in his direction with your eyes. “Get your hand off your goddamn gun.” 

 “Who the fuck is this guy?” Ralph asked you, finally raising his hand and using it to gesture wildly at Nick. 

 Steve doesn’t tell you everything you moron. Actin’ like this is your place, you gotta be kidding me. “This is Nick, Steve’s new guy.” You watched Ralph’s beady eyes narrow, nostrils flaring on the words ‘new guy’. That’s right, asshole, watch your back someone else is climbing the ladder. “So unless you wanna explain why you’re cleanin’ him off the floor when Steve gets here, you keep your hands off your gun, and you take these envelopes and get outta here.” 

 He sneered in Nick’s direction, the younger man seemingly unintimidated by Ralph’s brutish display. “Fine by me, dollface,” he spat, roughly grabbing the envelopes from you. You released them quickly, the edge of one catching your finger and slicing your skin. 

 “Ow, watchit,” you dumb oaf. You drew your fingertip up to your lips and sucked a bead of blood from the thin line. Even though you were glaring at Ralph, you noticed Nick’s lip curl as he leaned forward in his seat. Easy, killer, it’s just a papercut. 

 Ralph dropped his tough guy act and reached for you, but this time you were quick enough, pulling away and clicking your tongue at him. “Shit, I’m sorry, babe, here lemme see it-” 

 “Don’t call me babe, Ralph I’m not your babe.” I’m nobody’s babe and I’ll never be yours.  You sighed, settling your hands on your hips and shaking your head. “It’s fine, just get outta here already, before Steve gets in, yeah?”

 He mumbled a ‘yeah’ under his breath and shuffled off, tail between his legs and pride wounded. Good riddance. It was always a scene with him, usually due to the fact that his opinion of himself was at least four pegs higher than anyone else’s opinion of him. You continued to glare after him, wishing all sorts of unpleasant things, thoughts only interrupted by Nick’s low whistle. 

 “That guy’s a piece’a work, huh?” You turned towards him, all the disdain for Ralph draining from your eyes as they landed on his face, lips twitched to the side and pulling his beard with them. “You okay?” 

 You waved your hand and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you assured him, tucking your hair behind your ears. 

 “He uh...bother you a lot, that guy?” Nick sniffed, leaning back against the bar, trying to look nonchalant as he asked. You saw him squeeze his hand into a fist, swollen knuckle sticking out. 

 Change the subject. “Listen, don’t worry about him, he talks a lotta shit but he’s no one, and I can handle myself around him.” 

 That got him to laugh, closing his eyes with a nod. “Yeah,” he opened his eyes again, and you saw that all the tension was gone. “I bet you can.” 

 The next two weeks passed just like that- Nick showing up around the same time as you, helping you open the bar and keeping interactions with Ralph as brief as possible. You’d make him a coffee and pass him three sugars and a spoon, and you’d shoot the breeze while he waited for Steve and you waited for the fishermen to trickle in for egg sandwiches. It was becoming a routine, one that kept you warmer on your walk in than berating the seagulls, just knowing that he’d be there to kill the time with. You stopped trying to ignore your interest in him altogether- there’s nothing wrong with making a friend- and started allowing yourself to care a little- we’re gonna be working together for a while, I can get to know him. He seemed to take the same attitude towards you, though he remained just enough of a puzzle, not revealing anything too personal. 

On Tuesday of the third week, though, things changed when you were filling envelopes- the orders, not the cash- and you came across one with his name. Nick Tortano. You stuffed the slip inside, not wanting to know more, heart thumping as you tried to chase thoughts of him getting his hands dirty out of your mind. You knew this was coming, he’d gotta prove himself, don’t let it- But the name on the next envelope cut those thoughts from developing, your throat getting tight as you read your own name and the corresponding slip- “Nick’s Driver. Angelo’s.” Oh. Shit.

.

.

.

@something-tofightfor​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ @suchatinyinfinity​ @lexxierave​ @songtoyou​ @poindexted @thesumofmychoices​ @gollyderek​ @marauderskeeper​ @traeumerinwitzhelden​ @roses-in-your-country-house @ificouldhelpyouforget​ @thisisparadisemylove​

if you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know! (if i’ve added you or left you off incorrectly I’m sorry- I’m just disorganized and I mean nothing by it! ) 

[a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan]

LinkedUniverse Fanfic Ch. 13: Inn or Out... Maybe Just Inn

Stop! You’ve Violated the Law!

So, you’ve stumbled upon this original post for my Linked Universe fanfiction. That’s okay, it happens to everyone. As of March 2021, I’ve uploaded the entirety of this fanfic to my Archive of Our Own page. Along with finally giving the story a name–Oops! All Links: A Linked Universe Story–I made substantial edits to some of the chapters. These range from minor stylistic revisions to fixing a gaping plot hole that kinda completely broke the character conflict in the earlier chapters. I also renamed and renumbered (but not reordered) the chapters. Specifically, this is now Chapter 15: Inn or Out... Maybe Just Inn

The AO3 iterations of these chapters are the definitive versions. So, if you would like to read this fanfiction, please do so on AO3, right here. With this embedded link. Hehe. Geddit? Link?

Note: My screen name on AO3 is FrancisDuFresne. Yes, that is me. I am not plagiarizing myself.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, the rest of the original post is below the cut.

This chapter in my @linkeduniverse fan narrative: the Links have made it Selggog. They’re pretty tired. It’s time for them to get some well-deserved rest. They’ll need to find an inn, first. Word count: 2581:

“The Town of Selggog,” Warrior let the words roll off his tongue. Well, he tried. “Selggog” doesn’t really roll off the tongue. “You think we can restock here?”

Wind looked around the town in awe. Its weathered but dignified buildings stood close to one another in tightly packed streets. The orange light of the setting sun reflected off the high windows. People bustled about on their last-minute errands. Compared to Windfall Island, it was practically a metropolis. “Yeah,” he replied. “Definitely. Look at this place!”

Time was reminded vaguely of Hyrule Castle Town. Being back in civilization was a nice change of pace. He drank in the sights and sounds and smells of the town. Some people eyed the Links warily, perhaps put on edge by nine heavily-armed young men. He supposed these people weren’t used to travelers, let alone warriors like him and his friends.

“Don’t get caught up in all of this,” Time warned the others. “We still need to be on guard.”

Four remembered the gang of thieves he encountered on one of his journeys. “Yeah,” he said. “We don’t need any pickpockets.”

“Anyone see an inn?” Sky asked with a yawn, looking for any sign of lodging.

“Not yet, sleepyhead,” Legend jested.

“We do need to restock, though,” Warrior repeated. “We need an apothecary for potions, a market for food, a fletcher for arrows… Twilight, do you need new pants?”

As he walked, Twilight glanced at his torn and bloodied pant leg. “No, I’m fine. I’ll fix them tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, what else?”

Wild spoke up hesitantly: “An armorer. I need a new shield… and probably a new sword, too.”

“A new sword? Seriously?” Legend asked, whipping around to face his companion. “What’d you do to your old one?”

“The fight with the stalfos really did a number on it.”

Warrior smacked his own forehead. ‘Maybe, if you took care of your weapons for once, they wouldn’t break so easily!”

“Yeah, come on,” Four chimed in. A blacksmith himself, it always bugged him when he saw how Wild treated his weapons.

Time sighed. Yet again, he needed to stop their bickering. “Lay off him,” he snapped. “Four, take a look at his sword in the morning and decide if he needs a new one.”

The one-eyed hero took a deep breath. “What we need to do right now is find an inn. No stores will be open at this hour.”

They turned a corner. As if on cue, they spotted a sign swinging from above a building’s door. A crescent moon was painted on the worn, wooden surface. Behind it, they could see the last sliver of sun creep behind the rooftops. Stars began popping into sight above them in the twilit sky. “Talk about good timing,” Wind said, stretching his arms upward. “I’m just about ready to collapse.”

The nine companions reached the inn’s door and opened it. A bell chimed as it swung open. The heroes filed in. The place had a cozy feel to it. To one side, several cushioned chairs were arranged around the crackling fireplace. On the other, high tables and stools stood near a bar. A stairwell was set in the far wall. The reception desk was ahead of them.

A portly, balding, middle-aged man sat behind the desk. He had clearly been nodding off, by the way he jolted when the bell rang. That, and the line of drool rolling down his chin; he quickly ran his sleeve across his face. Like the townsfolk outside, he gave the heroes a wary look. From the bloody slash in Twilight’s pant leg to the halberd on Wild’s back, they weren’t exactly dressed to the nines.

The man stood up from his stool and took a few seconds to look the Links up and down. “Welcome to the Black Pot & Kettle Inn. Can I help you?” he asked apprehensively.

Time stepped forward. The man stepped back. Spending so much time around Malon and his other selves made him forget how intimidating he could appear. Most folks weren’t accustomed to seeing people with one eye, never mind one with strange markings on his face, wearing armor, and carrying a massive sword on his back. He had to work to dispel that impression.

“We would like lodgings for the night, please,” Time said.

The man, who they reckoned must be the innkeeper, shot Time an incredulous look. “You fellas got the cash for this many of you?”

“Yes,” Time asserted. Firm yet gentle. “We’ll only need three rooms.”

He looked back to his companions, who nodded their assent. He turned to face the innkeeper, who was reaching under his desk. Time just barely caught the man muttering under his breath, “psh, only three rooms.” After a jingling of metal, the innkeeper stood up and held out three room keys. “Can I have a name for these?”

“Link.”

“Huh. Odd name for a… warrior… such as yourself.”

The man’s skepticism escaped none of them. If only he knew who they really were, they all mused. He likely noticed the indignance on all their faces, because he lowered the sarcastic tone as he said “Okay, Mister Link. That’ll be three hundred rupees.”

A few of them had to suppress gasps. That was a hefty price for just one night. Thinking quickly, Hyrule stepped up next to Time. He placed a forearm on the desk and stared down the innkeeper. “You know, sir, we don’t have to stay here,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the door. “I’m sure Selggog has plenty other fine inns that would love our business.”

The innkeeper’s demeanor changed immediately. “Yes,” he agreed, “yes, I’m sure they would. How does… two hundred fifty rupees sound?”

Hyrule wasn’t about to settle. “One hundred.”

Sky leaned over to Hyrule and whispered: “Don’t push it.” Hyrule shook his head.

“One hundred?!” The man exclaimed. “Do I look like a fool to you?”

Hyrule had to suppress the urge to answer truthfully.

The innkeeper caved a bit. “Fine, fine, you’re a tough customer. Two hundred.”

“One-fifty,” Hyrule pressed, maintaining his stony glare. “Final.”

The innkeeper considered this. Hyrule could practically see the gears cranking in his balding head. After a moment, the innkeeper sighed. “Alright, kid. One-fifty, but only cause I’m in a good mood.”

The Links hadn’t expected to get a cheaper price that easily. Hyrule grinned as he reached into his pouch and pulled out his wallet. He withdrew three purple rupees and placed them on the desk. The innkeeper’s eyes lit up. Losing half of his sale didn’t seem to bother him anymore. He swept the rupees into one hand and held out the keys in the other. Hyrule took them.

“Upstairs, last three on the left,” the innkeeper instructed, crossing his arms. “Bath is at the end of the hall.” He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t make a mess.”

Time stepped by Hyrule and held out his hand. The innkeeper eyed it suspiciously, then shook it. “Thank you for your hospitality,” Time said, “and your generosity.”

The innkeeper gave an indiscriminate grunt. The Links turned and headed up the stairs. The stairwell turned direction at a landing midway up, then led to the second floor. Oil lamps set above the doors lit a long hall with a threadbare rug running the length of it. The heroes walked to the end and looked about themselves.

“How should we split?” Four asked.

“Come on,” Legend said, “you of all people should know how to split.”

This got a few stifled snickers. “Very funny,” he shot back. “But seriously.”

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Twilight pointed out. “We’ll go by height.”

After a moment trying to figure out the order, Legend passed the keys around. They uttered goodnights to each other. Twilight unlocked one door and walked in. Time and Warrior followed. Wind, Four, and Legend did the same, as did Wild, Sky, and Hyrule. The rooms were like the rest of the Black Pot & Kettle Inn: cozy and inviting, if not a bit worse for the wear. Three beds with clean linens ran flush against one long wall. A desk, chair, and dresser were by the other. A mirror hung above the dresser, and a small, open window was set in the far wall.

In one room, the heroes began undressing from their battle garments. As Sky unhooked his sailcloth from around his neck, he looked over to Hyrule. He hadn’t expected a show like that from a humble traveler like him. “Hey,” Sky said, “that was pretty gutsy back there.”

“Ah, well…” Hyrule replied. “Three hundred seemed high, so I wanted to get it down.”

Sky cocked an eyebrow. “Wait, so if you don’t like the price of something, you just ask for it for cheaper?”

“Basically,” Hyrule said with a shrug. “People in my Hyrule charge whatever they want for everything, so I had to learn to haggle to get cheap prices.”

Wild propped his halberd against one corner. He paused, looking back on his own adventure. “That’s odd. Where I’m from, it’s as if there’s a price-guide everyone agreed to. Everything’s always the same.” He remembered how much Yiga assassins charged for bananas. “Well, most of it anyway.”

Something clicked in Sky’s head. He suddenly stopped undoing his baldric. “Wait…” he said slowly, “so when Beedle kept jacking up his prices, I didn’t have to pay them?”

“Beedle?” Wild asked. “You can’t mean the merchant, can you? The one who likes bugs?”

“I… yeah, I guess,” Sky said, scratching his head. “How can we know the same person?”

Wild thought about it for a moment. He let down his hair. “Aren’t you supposed to live thousands of years before me?”

“I think so.”

Taking off his boots, Wild looked up to his friends. Sky looked as confused as he felt. “That’s really weird.”

Hyrule slid his power bracelet off his wrist. “Wait, did you say this Beedle guy jacked his prices?”

Sky laughed. “Did he ever! I swear, he nearly drove me bankrupt. Something could be a hundred rupees one day, then be a thousand the next.”

“Seriously?” Hyrule asked. “You never tried to haggle?”

With a shrug, Sky undid his belt, then pulled his tunic and chainmail off over his head. “I didn’t really think that was an option,” he admitted.

“Well,” Wild said, unwrapping the patterned cloth from his forearms, “we can use that extra hundred rupees to buy more provisions. After this knucklehead here”—he jerked his head towards Hyrule—“got himself hurt, we’re out of potions.”

“I’m net even, then,” Hyrule said. “I used the last of the potions, and I saved us the money we need to buy more.”

Sky chuckled. “He’s got you there. You’re one to talk, too. It’ll be more than a hundred to replace that shield.”

Wild looked over the dented Stalfos shield lying next to his other weapons and sighed. “Yeah. That thing is awful.”

“Ha, I thought you were able to use any weapon you come across,” Hyrule joked, his voice muffled as he took off his tunic.

The young knight shot him a look. “It was designed for a skeleton. There’s practically no room for my arm. It’s also weighted all wrong.”

“Riiight.” Hyrule’s voice was tinged with sarcasm.

Just then, they heard a loud rumbling. Sky and Hyrule stood and were reaching for their swords when Wild waved at them dismissively. “Calm down,” he said. “I’m just hungry.”

Sky and Hyrule looked at each other and started laughing. Now that they were thinking about it, they realized they were starving, too. Wild reached into his pouch and pulled out a few strips venison jerky he made the previous week. He put one between his teeth and held the rest to his friends. Hyrule grabbed a couple and thanked him.

Sky shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

Wild raised an eyebrow, shrugged, then ripped some jerky off with his teeth and started eating. The people of Skyloft didn’t keep livestock, so their newest knight wasn’t comfortable hunting and eating meat. Survivalists like Wild and Hyrule were puzzled by this but stopped pressing him after a few days.

Even so, Hylia’s chosen hero was still hungry. “Do we still have any more of that soup?” he asked.

Swallowing his mouthful, Wild reached back into his bag. “Let me see… uh… hm… oh!”

He pulled out a corked bottle filled with soup. Twilight had shared this recipe with Wild a while back. He said it was the best soup he had ever had in his life. When Wild finally got around to making it, Sky requested that they leave the fish out. It was tempting to eat all of it then, but they had the sense to put a few bottles away. Wild handed him the bottle.

Sky uncorked it and took a swig of the cold soup. It was better hot, but still tasty and hearty nonetheless. He wiped his mouth and looked from Hyrule to Wild. It was only just after sundown, but they looked as exhausted as he felt. “Hey,” he said.

“Hm?” Hyrule grunted, mouth full of jerky.

“Let’s get some rest. Something tells me Time is going to wake us up early.” He sighed. “Again.”

Wild and Hyrule each nodded. The three of them finished undressing, crawled under their sheets, and—after Hyrule extinguished the oil lamp on the wall—shut their eyes to welcome sleep. A few minutes passed before a whisper pierced the darkness. “You guys good after today?” Sky asked.

“Yep,” Wild whispered back.

“…Yeah,” Hyrule replied. A moment’s pause, then “But what about the others?”

After a few seconds of silence, Sky spoke up. “I dunno. Twi looked pretty shaken.”

“Dark Link seriously messed with him,” Wild pointed out. “Those corpses he made Twi see…”

“And Time…” Hyrule breathed. “You guys weren’t there when he put on that mask. It was awful.”

Something clicked in Sky’s mind. “Was that him screaming?”

“Mhm. He was in so much pain. I can’t help but feel it was my fault. He did it to save me.”

Wild rolled onto his side and looked at Hyrule. The dim moonlight showed the guilt on his face. “Don’t. I was in that position once, so I know that he would do anything he needed to to save his friends. It’s on him, not you.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t let this haunt you. It’s not worth it.”

Hyrule let these words sink in. It was a weight off his chest, but he still had an inkling of that guilty feeling. Sky reflected on his own adventure, how Hylia used him and his love for Zelda so he would willingly run headfirst into unfathomable danger. This courage and love ran through every Link’s blood, he reckoned. “We’ve all been there,” he whispered, “and if I’m on the mark, we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The Link who felt the least like a hero out of the nine looked up at the dark ceiling. “Yeah.” He closed his eyes. “Yeah… I guess you’re right.”

No more words were spoken that night. The three of them fell asleep in a few minutes, as did the six of them in the other rooms. After everything they had been through the past two days, just feeling a soft bed under them was enough to knock them out. The thought running through all of their minds was the same: It’s about damn time.

[danyka-fendyr]

As the Raven Flies: Part 1

Did I edit? No. Is this probably terrible? Yes. Did I at least crank out approximately 2500 words of my brainchild in like, 3 hours? Yes. So we’re calling it a day. Please forgive me. (And yes, the series title is a reference to one of Frank’s many, many different alias’s/codenames/nicknames. Full disclaimer, I have yet to actually see the Punisher since I’m still working my way through Daredevil S2, so some of this might be a little (or a lot) OOC. Just think of it like an AU.) Big thanks to @dreamwritesimagines for letting me ramble out the entire concept of this to her through a series of anonymous asks because unfortunately this is just my side blog and my main blog is completely unrelated to any of this. Also thanks to @rhabakoli for laughing at my preview and appreciating my lame sense of humor.

“Matthew Murdock, if you drink milk straight out of the jug one more time, I’m telling your priest.”

Matt slammed the jug down on the counter, barely avoiding milk sloshing over the top. 

“I’m blind. How am I supposed to know where the glass is to pour it in?”

“You and I both know that excuse won’t work on me, Mr. World-On-Fire.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “I let you live in my house. Shouldn’t you be...I don’t know, grateful?”

“You’ve got me there.”  There was a pause, and Vivien leaned up against Matt’s counter, perched on the edge of her seat while Matt put the milk back in the fridge.

“So...how have you been doing?”

She didn’t answer.

“Vivien...please? Talk to me,” he said, turning and setting his palms firmly on the counter across from her.

“I’m fine. School is good. Spanish class is interesting.”

“Well, that’s good. Maybe you can teach Foggy something.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

He asked that question every day. How was she? How was someone supposed to answer that? Vivene didn’t know. So, she deflected, and Matt let her. She guessed he must have some idea how it felt. After all, the man didn’t have any family of his own either.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. Matt’s apartment had character, she’d give it that. If you ignored the bloodstains Matt smeared all over the place, and the ironically blindingly bright lights just outside his fricking huge windows, it was almost nice. In a grungy, trash sort of way. And it had been very poorly lit before Matt found her on the streets and took her in. Bleeding heart never could resist a pretty face, even if he couldn’t see them.

“Bought more cereal.”

“Aw, for me Matty?”

“For us,” he corrected.

“Mmhhmm,” she said, reaching over his arm to grab at the newspaper and scan the front page. “Hey look! It’s you again. Awww, and all your little friends. I love to see you playing nice Matt.”

“Ha, yeah. I guess you could call it that.”

“When are you having them over for dinner?” she asked sarcastically.

“I think Jessica would come to a formal dinner-or, any kind of dinner with all of us-over her dead body, Luke would eat me out of house and home, and I’m afraid Danny would try to do some kind of Feng Shui on my house but like...Tibetan monk style.”

“K’un Lun.”

“Isn’t that the same place?”

“Geography is important to me Murdock.”

“Uh huh.”

“You didn’t mention The Punisher.” 

Vivien had never actually met the guy. Her stay with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was...a recent development in a long series of twists that had turned her life into something she was no longer sure she could recognize.

“I think Frank would come to anything Karen asked him to, and be grouchy the whole time.”

“So it’s true then? He really does have a thing for her?” Vivien leaned forward, slipping her lower lip between her teeth.

“Not that he would ever admit it, but yeah. I’m blind and even I can see it.”

She laughed. “Well, now she has to invite him. I have to see this with my own eyes since I can’t trust yours.”

“Good luck getting Karen to invite him just so you can prove he likes her.” Matt came around the counter, flopping onto the couch in that perpetually exhausted way of his.

“Well, I won’t say it like that, moron.”

“I’ll have you know I graduated from Columbia.”

“All on looks, I’m telling you. It’s a good thing you’re pretty, Murdock.” Very pretty.

Vivien hopped down from her stool, picking up the leftover takeout containers from last night that they may or may not have been too lazy to throw away then.

“So, are you going to let me patrol with you tonight?” she asked, throwing the takeout containers in the garbage and picking back up her newspaper before joining him on the couch.

Matt frowned. She knew he didn’t like the idea of her patrolling at all. Had fought her on it for the first few months of their...whatever this thing was. Arrangement would be the legal term, she guessed. It sounded legal, anyway. Eventually, though, she started sneaking out while he was out patrolling, and then he had to give in. And thus, she had started patrolling with Matt since he figured it was better she go out with someone than alone.

“I don’t think so. Frank is in town right now and I think it’s better if you don’t cross paths with him in uniform just yet. He can be a little...intense.”

“I can handle it. It’s not like I haven’t had worse. Remember, my-Oh my gosh Matt look at page six!”

“What? What? I’m still blind, Vivien!”

“They gave me a name!” she squealed, slamming the newspaper down on the counter.

“Oh, is that all? I thought something terrible happened.” Matt relaxed back into the couch, the cushions practically swallowing him whole in the spot he had sat in so many times there was a Matt-shaped indent.

“Matt you don’t understand, they gave me a name.”

He smiled, looking at her with those glassy eyes. “Well? What is it?”

“It’s just a temporary one for now. Since I’m seen with you so often, they’re calling me Hell’s Flames.” She frowned. “And then they talk about how small I am and call me Hell’s Sparks. I’m average height!”

“For an 18 year old girl? Maybe. For a vigilante? I hate to be the one to tell you this, but we tend to be a tall crowd. Especially the ones that aren’t superpowered.”

“That feels pretty heightist to me. You realize you’re average height, right Matt?”

“Superpowers. I’m an exception to the rule.”

“Well, maybe I have powers you just don’t know about.” Vivien flexed her fingers.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Take me out on patrol tonight. I want to give them a real name to call me.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, but nothing’s come to me.”

“Well, I can’t really help. I didn’t get to decide my name.”

“Yeah, I’m not letting that happen to me. We can’t all be pushovers, Murdock. And before you can argue with me, I have to meet Frank at some point. Why not now?”

Matt deliberated, picking up his cane from the coffee table to fiddle with it. After a long moment, he spoke.

“Fine. But stay by my side, and follow my orders.”

“Ay, ay, captain!” Vivien saluted cheerfully.

“And just so you know, I’m only allowing this because it’s a weekend!”

“Buzzkill.”

Speaking of buzzing, that was a good word for what Vivien was doing right now. She was going out to meet The Punisher. Potentially.

She knew Matt would try to steer her away from him, but honestly, Matt had never been that great at keeping her in check. She was a little too wild for him. She smirked, pulling her fingerless black gloves over her hands. She had been begging Matt for a real costume, not this, “I am the night” all black ensemble, but he insisted that all she was getting was a whole lot of matte bulletproof.

At least the gloves were leather. That was cool. And the boots. The boots were awesome. They were some weird cross between regular boots, combat boots, and hiking boots. Vivien wasn’t sure that there was really a word for them, but she liked them.

Finally, last but not least, there was the whole name issue. She didn’t really know what she wanted. She had thought about Beacon, like a beacon of hope, but that didn’t feel right. To close a connection to yellow. She was not ending up with a yellow costume. Firebrand had been an idea until Matt informed her it was taken. So in the end, it all circled back to one question.

Who was she? What was this city to her? Those felt like the kinds of mumbo jumbo questions Matt would ask her, but the problem was she wasn’t sure she knew. After everything that had happened lately, she had no idea what she stood for or what would make her fall.

Maybe it was time to figure it out.

“You ready kiddo?”

Vivien blinked. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good to go. Born ready.”

“Trust me, nobody is born ready for anything.”

“Well, I was. Now let’s get a move on Murdock, while the night is still younger than you. Not that that’s saying much.”

“Hey! I resent that,” Matt propped the window open, holding it so she could climb out onto the fire escape.

“Resent it all you want. You can’t change the truth.” Vivien felt the millionth lightbulb of the night ping in her head.

Truth. That was something she seemed to struggle with. Telling other people the truth. She had an uncanny ability to get it out of criminals though. Better even than Matt, who could hear their heartbeats, smell the sweat dripping off their skin. Maybe that was who she was. Someone who found the truth. But how did that translate into a superhero name? That, she would have to sleep on. Or fight on, tonight.

Matt hopped out the window behind her, and sooner rather than later, they were off, jumping across the rooftops. This had to be Vivien’s favorite part of her life right now. The carefree feeling of running, running as fast as she could from every last one of her problems and right into a set of brand new ones that would be much easier to solve. Feeling like no one could catch her. It was...exhilarating.

Plus she just really liked punching people in the face.

“Hey Daredevil?” she asked, slowing down to walk backward across the roof, hands clasped behind her back.

“Yeah?” It always took him a minute to respond to that name.

“What do you call people who find the truth?”

“I don’t know. Journalists?”

“In theory,” Vivien replied wryly. “But seriously. Like, someone without finding the truth as their profession.”

“I don’t know. There’s not really a title for people who just divine the truth like that.”

Divine. Divine…..”Diviner!”

“What? Gosh, could you please stop yelling all the time? Sensitive ears.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. But Ma-Daredevil, I’ve got it!”

“You’ve got what exactly?” They had come to a complete standstill now, on a rooftop about a 5 minute run from Josie’s.

Someone’s car alarm went off in the not so distant distance, and Vivien waited for Matt to deem it a carjacking or not. Was someone fumbling for their keys, or was someone fumbling to hotwire the thing? Matt waved it off, and she continued.

“Diviner. That can be my hero name.”

“Huh...well….I don’t think it’s taken. And you are good at finding the truth.”

He didn’t mention the very prominent case in which she had failed to find the truth. Failed to foresee an outcome that was inevitable, if she was honest with herself for 5 minutes. Vivien started running again.

“So, where are we headed?” she asked.

“Honestly? Away from Frank Castle.”

She stopped dead. “What? Are you being serious with me right now?”

“Yes. He’s on the other side of town right now.”

“Aaaaannd we’re turning around.” She pivoted on her heel as she spoke, ready to go find some trouble.

“Vivien, please?” Matt grabbed her wrist, gentle. “Please, for once, just listen to me when I tell you that you meeting Frank Castle right now would be a bad idea?”

She turned back to face him again, yanking her hand out of his grasp. “Why? Because he’s a big bad scary vigilante? Well, newsflash, so are you, Matt.”

Matt sighed. “I just...I don’t think it would be a good idea yet. And not because he’s a vigilante, or because you’re just a baby vigilante.”

“I am not a baby.”

“That sounds exactly like something a baby would say.”

“Babies can’t talk.”

Matt paused a moment.“Okay fine, but the point is that you’re not ready yet.”

“Please, Matt? Please? I’m ready for this. I promise. I’ve seen enough crap to handle this. And from what you’ve said, he’s just a big cranky teddy bear anyway.”

“Yeah, a teddy bear who murders people.”

“Which is exactly my kind of teddy bear. Would have come in handy.”

Matt sighed again. She seemed to have that effect on him. “Fine.”

“Thank you. You won’t regret this Matt. I promise.”

“The last time you promised me something, it was not something that bears repeating, and you did not follow through.”

“In my defense, it was 3 in the morning and I had recently been stabbed.”

“I told you to be more careful.”

“I know. I know. Enough small talk though. I’ve got a Punisher to meet.”

She ran faster now, Matt barely keeping up. She was laughing, excited. She had a name, and she was officially meeting other heroes. She was The Diviner. She felt more purpose-driven than she had in a long time.

She heard Frank Castle before she saw him. The gunfire was unmistakable. Unmistakable, and short-lived. She had heard the stories. It didn’t take Frank Castle long to kill someone. Or take them out Matt’s way.

“Wait here.”

“But-”

“Wait. Just a minute.”

Vivien rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as Matt jumped off the rooftop. She could faintly hear them fighting, itching to jump down and join them. Eventually, one of Matt’s batons landed on the rooftop next to her, and she took that as her signal. She picked it up, jumping down to the ground and right into the middle of a fight.

Immediately, she was ducking a punch. Looked like gang members. A whole crew of them. Frank Castle really knew how to piss a guy off. Or a few dozen guys, for that matter.

“Gosh I love this city,” Vivien mumbled under her breath.

Faster than you could say “Devil of Hell’s Kitchen”, Vivien was in the thick of it, using everything Matt had taught her and a few things she’d picked up for herself. Duck, block, swing, get sliced into like a turkey on Thanksgiving. Okay, so that last maneuver might not have been part of the plan.

She swore, dodging another blow and sweeping the guy's legs out from under him all in one only half-way clumsy move.

“Hey Red! Did now seem like the time for fresh meat to you?”

“Later. We can have this argument later.”

“That’s what he always says,” Vivien joked.

Frank didn’t laugh though, just kept blazing through these guys. He was so fast, and so efficient, that they were done in minutes. They probably would have been done faster if not for Matt’s insistence that no one died. It probably would have been funny to watch how worked up he got if Vivien didn’t agree with him. No more death. She had seen enough of that.

She took a deep breath, hands on her knees as she tried to calm down and slow her heart rate. Blood slicked the alley walls, mixing with dirt and the old, dried, crusty stuff that was so worked in it was impossible to tell it from the dirt. The only reason she knew there was an abnormal amount of blood on the alley walls of Hell’s Kitchen was because Matt had once told her he could smell it. Speaking of smells, this particular alleyway, like many others in this city, smelled like the inside of a urinal. Gross.

“How’s your arm?” Matt asked, immediately coming over to poke at it.

Vivien hissed, pulling away from him and narrowly sidestepping some unconscious thug’s arm. “Not in need of further manhandling, thanks.”

“It won’t scar,” Matt decided.

“Is that...who are you?” Frank demanded.

“The Diviner.” Vivien announced it with pride, the pain in her arm nearly forgotten.

“No, who are you? Red, did you bring a kid out here?” He turned on Matt, absolutely livid.

“I-”

“I’ll have you know I’m a legal adult. And technically, he said I couldn’t come. I have a problem with authority figures though.”

“How old are you?” Frank asked.

“18.”

“She’s still in high school, Red!”

Vivien had a bad feeling Matt was going to be next on Castle’s hit list. She should probably interfere with that.

“Listen, it was either going to be me going out with him, or me going out alone. Take your pick, Castle.”

Frank looked at her, almost seeming surprised as blood dripped down his mouth from a cut on his lip. He got over her defiance quickly though. “Or, not at all.”

“Are you going to be the one to babysit me then?”

He scowled, which couldn’t have been good for that cut. Then again, maybe he was used to it. She got the impression he did that a lot.

“How on God’s good green earth did you end up here?”

“I simply followed the sounds of angry gang members meeting their fate.” Vivien shrugged, refusing to take a step back when The Punisher glared.

“I mean, how did you get into this life. I swear Red, if you in any way encouraged this-”

“He didn’t. I just went through some crap, that’s all.”

“What kind of crap leads you to be a vigilante when you ain’t even out of school.”

“Frank-” Matt warned.

“It’s okay,” Vivien said.

She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and saying it for what felt like the millionth time and also the very, very first. “My entire family is dead.”

[shan282-ao3]

The Devil Has Come Ch5

Originally posted on Archive of Our Own [x]

Chapters: 12/? Fandom: Far Cry 5 Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Deputy | Judge/John Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/Jacob Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/Joseph Seed Characters: Original Female Character(s), John Seed, Jacob Seed, Joseph Seed, Faith Seed, Staci Pratt, Nick Rye, Sharky Boshaw, Female Deputy | Judge (Far Cry), Original Male Character(s), Kim Rye, Boomer (Far Cry), Joey Hudson, Earl Whitehorse Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Torture, Fluff, Minor Character Death, Recreational Drug Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Character Death, Slow Burn Series: Part 1 of Bottom of The River

Summary: They should never have been there. Whitehorse and Pratt were right when they spoke against going to Eden’s Gate. They should have left The Project alone. They’d started something and there was no going back now. The lamb had broken the first seal and the deputy had been helpless to stop her.

Read below:

It had been nearly a week since she’d spoken to John on the radio. The channel that he had previously called her on remained silent when Sarah was tuned to it which was more and more now. She told herself she was just keeping it on that channel so she could get a heads up if John sent his goons after her.

Since leaving the Ryes’ and taking US Auto back for the Resistance, Sarah and Rook had been laying low. Sarah had collected Boomer from the packing facility and brought him back to her house where he’d proceeded to make himself at home on her couch. It was comforting to have him there, though he’d woken her up a few times so he could bark at squirrels.

She was curled up on the couch reading a trashy novel when her radio blared to life, causing Boomer to leap up from his spot next to her and start barking again. Sarah shushed the dog and looked at the radio in front of her, anxious to hear what it was about to relay.

“Deputy? This is Mary May over at the Spread Eagle.” Mary’s voice rang out and Sarah sat forward, her book discard and elbows resting on her knees. “We’ve got a bit of a problem. John Seed and his fucking Peggies are trying to take the town.”

Sarah swore and jumped up, she cranked the volume on her radio in case someone else called and ran into her room to change. While she was rushing to change into something more practical, she heard Dutch telling Rook to head to Falls End.

Changed, Sarah holstered her 1911 and slung her rifle across her back. “You stay here Boomer, I don’t want you getting hurt. I promise I’ll be back soon.” She gave the dog a few pats before heading out the door, locking it behind her.

As she climbed into her truck, she debated radioing Rook to let her know she was on her way, but she decided against it. If the Peggies had their radios tuned to the channel she didn’t want to alert them to her arrival.

The radio clicked on with the car, she had forgotten that she’d left it on Peggie radio. Oh John carried through the speakers and Sarah couldn’t help but smile. The song was actually really pretty. She caught herself singing along in no time and didn’t really care, it was catchy dammit.

“I’m gonna strafe these sinners.” A voice echoed through the radio of a fallen cultist nearby. Sarah looked to the sky in time to see the plane start to fire and dove for cover. Bullets peppers the spot she’d just been standing and she took a shaking breath.

She’d shown up to a mostly calm situation, the Peggies had already won the battle and taken over the town. Her plan had been to stay low and do this stealthily, then a few had spotted her when she was trying to get into the church and that plan got thrown out the window.

Rook had shown up just in time and, with the added firepower, they’d managed to free most of the people of the town and take out the majority of the Peggies on the ground. That’s when two panes had shown up and everything went to shit again.

Mary May was screaming at Rook about a mounted gun somewhere but Rook was focused on keeping the ground reinforcements at bay. Sarah could get to it, she just had to time it right. She looked to the sky again to figure out where the planes were and about how long she had till they fired again.

The one plane that had just fired was circling back to fire again, however the other simply circled the town menacingly. It was black, unlike the other white was a bright white, similar to all of the other Project vehicles. Its color and height above them reminded Sarah of a circling crow.

The white plane fired again, as soon as the bullet were past her spot Sarah shot from cover and ran towards the general store. She kept looking back towards the black plane as she hastily climbed the ladder. On the roof, she spotted the mounted gun almost immediately and rushed to it.

She lined up the shot with the white plane and held the trigger down. They exchanged fire until enough of her bullets had hit the engine and the plane exploded, the force causing Sarah to jump back and press herself against the ground. Pieces of the plane rained down on the streets below, the smell of burning fuel filled the air, and the flaming carcass of the plane crashed down near the water tower.

The black plane circled once more before turning and leaving, Sarah took it as her cue to climb back down and rejoin everyone else. By the time she was back on the ground, Mary May, Rook, and Pastor Jerome had already disappeared into the Spread Eagle. Sarah stepped in just in time to hear the tail end of their conversation.

Jerome nodded at her as he passed on his way back to the church, Sarah returned it and leaned against the wall, watching Rook and Mary May share a beer. She felt a little ignored, neither had even acknowledged her presence, in Rook’s case she had her back to her but Mary May could see Sarah standing there clear as day.

“Rook?” Sarah finally said, causing her friend to look in her direction.

“Partner!” Rook cheered and grabbed Sarah, pulling her down onto a stool. “Good job taking down that plane. Thought it was gonna kill us all.” Sarah smiled at the woman and shrugged at the praise.

“It was nothing, you would’ve done the same.”

“Well yeah, obviously, but I didn’t you did. Mary May can I get another beer and…” She turned to Sarah with a prompting look.

“Oh um I guess a vodka tonic.” A minute of waiting and the drinks were served. Sarah smiled at her drinking companion as they cheered before taking a long drink from her glass. She breathed a happy sigh and the warm feeling the licked her throat as the drink went down, she hadn’t had a proper drink since before all this shit started and God she’d missed it.

More patrons filed into the bar and as day turned to night Sarah and Rook found themselves moving to a small table outside, their drinks moving with them. Sarah nursed her eighth vodka tonic of the night, sipping it idly through a tiny straw she’d stolen from beside Mary May’s coffee pot.

“You got a first name?” Sarah broke the silence, she kicked her feet up on the table, leaning the chair back precariously.

“Yeah?” Rook responded with a small grin, quirking her eyebrow.

Sarah waited for her to give it before letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Well… what is it?”

“Tessa, Tessa Rook.” Rook, or rather Tessa, responded, Sarah would have to get used to the first name.

Sarah broke into a goofy grin. “Wait your last name is Rook?” A nod of affirmation sent Sarah into a fit of giggling. “So you’re Tessa Rook the rookie? On God, that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

Her hysterics infectious as soon Tessa had joined in the laughter, only to start laughing even harder when Sarah, in all her idiocy, leaned back and topped her chair. She paused in shock before meeting Tessa’s eyes and laughing just as hard.

“Jesus fuck I love that.” Sarah wiped a few tears from her eyes, still laying on the floor. Mary May’s face swirled into view to tell them they were cut off and Sarah only grinned stupidly at the woman and waved her away. Someone pulled her up off the ground and handed her back the jacket she’d left inside, John’s jacket, the keys jangled in it.

“G’night Rookie. See ya tomorrow.” Her words slurred together and she waved at the other woman before shoving her hands in the pockets of her jacket and starting her trek back to her truck. It was slow going, she was swaying an awful lot, not to mention it was dark as shit out so she was tripping over her own feet.

With a lot of fumbling, tumbled toes, and swearing, Sarah finally found the truck and pulled the keys out to unlock the door. The key scrapped against the door, missing the lock on the hand completely and dropped from Sarah’s hand. “Fuck me.” She swore, dropping to the ground to find them, kicking them farther away in the process.

After maybe two minutes she gave up, she was a quitter by nature and slumped against the side of the car. Her radio dug into her side, an idea popped into her head and in her drunken stupor, it seemed absolutely genius.

It was still turned to the old frequency she’d shared with Tessa before John had hijacked it, he hadn’t talked to her on it in a while but maybe he still had the frequency tuned.

She clicked the button to talk and waited a second before actually saying anything, “John?” She waited, nothing. “Come on John I know you’re there. Johnny? Johnnycakes? Answer me.” She was practically whining.

“What?” John finally answered and he sounded irritated beyond all hell. “Do you have any idea what time it is, deputy?”

“No.” She deadpanned before bursting into another fit of giggles. “You know you say deputy weird.”

“What do you want Sarah.” His tone was getting more irritated by the second and Sarah couldn’t help the amused tone that slipped into her’s.

“Whatcha doing?” No answer. “Torturing lost souls? Marking sinners? Hey, what’d my sin be?”

“What are you talking about?”

“When you called me the first time, to tell me you were gonna free me from sin, you said you knew my sins. Well, what are they?”

“Wrath. Pride. Sloth if the past week is being taken into account. No one has seen you in days have you even left your house?” There was playful accusation in his voice

“Hmm, okay I guess those are valid. Guess I pictured myself as more of a Lust girl but Pride is fine too.” She shrugged, her slur was worse than it had been earlier as exhaustion started to take over.

“You’re drunk,” John replied, realization finally dawning on him.

Sarah clicked the button to talk again and laughed. “No shit honey.”

“I’m sending someone to get you.” She could practically hear him pinching his nose in irritation. He was probably shouting at some exhausted guard, Sarah couldn’t help but at the image. “Where the hell are you?”

“Outside Falls End, but I have a car. When I find the keys I can drive home don’t worry.”

“You’re not driving home,” He snapped, “Just wait there, someone is coming for you. Just wait, please.” His last words were softer, his voice carried the same gentleness as it had at the baptism and Sarah sighed at it. “Sarah? Sarah are you still—”

“I’ll wait, John,” She cut him off, “I’ll wait.” The few lights in town were shutting off one by one until all the was left was the Spread Eagle sign. Sarah’s head lolled back, hitting the truck softly with a quiet clunk, and she smiled up at the stars, waiting.

The crunch of dirt under tires announced her escort’s arrival long before the truck stopped in front of her. She looked up at the driver as they, he, stepped out, and she grinned at him. “John sent his favorite lapdog. Hi Tommy.”

Thomas rolled his eyes and stooped down to help Sarah up. “Hello, deputy.” He didn’t seem pleased to be out here, Sarah didn’t really care.

“It’s Sarah, pretty sure we’re gonna see lots more of each other.” Thomas held her gaze for a second before sighing and shaking his head. He led her to the car, helping her into the passenger’s seat and strapping her in. “Can you take me home?”

“I’m taking you to John.”

“No.” She sounded like an angry child, on the verge of stopping her foot in protest. “Home. If you take me to the ranch I’m just gonna break Johnny’s nose and run away again.”

“It’s not up for debate, missy. Now sit back and fall asleep or something, just stop bitching.” He was definitely not pleased to be here, John probably woke him up. Sarah glared at the man for a second before finally shrugging and turning in her chair so her head was against the window. She tried to pull her legs onto the chair, but they were too damned long and she gave up after a minute of struggling.

The Hope County choir played quietly through the speakers and the beginning of “We Will Rise Again” lulled her to sleep as they neared the ranch.

Sunlight pouring in through the uncovered window woke Sarah up with a pained groan. She practically hissed at the light and rolled over, covering her head with her pillow. She was vaguely aware that it wasn’t her pillow, her bed, or her room, but she honestly didn’t give a shit right now.

She cracked open groggy blues eyes and noticed the glass of water and bottle of pain killers on the bedside, bless whoever had left them because fuck was she feeling last night. She downed a couple pills and chugged the glass before laying back in the bed and taking some steadying breaths.

Sarah finally pushed back the blankets and climbed out of bed, albeit incredibly slowly. She was grateful to see that she was still dressed in her clothes from last night, minus her boots and stolen jacket. There were clothes sitting on top of the dresser in the room and Sarah looked at them curiously for a moment before her attention moved to the bathroom.

She stripped off her clothing, biting back a small curse as she jostled some injuries from yesterday’s gunfight. She turned on the shower and stepped in, finally breathing a sigh of relief when the hot water rushed over her. An audible groan escaped her lips as she washed, the water at her house never got nearly this hot, it was like she was in heaven.

When she’d finished up and toweled herself dry, she dressed in the clothing that had been left for her: jeans that actually fit relatively well and a dark blue button up that was obviously a man’s. She rolled the sleeves up and left a few of the top buttons undone. It clearly didn’t fit still, so she tucked the rest into her jeans. Her boots were next to the door and she pulled them on, someone had scrubbed all the dirt off of them, weird.

Sarah stepped out the door and stopped when she saw Thomas standing across from it. “Morning.” He greeted, he sounded exhausted and Sarah felt a touch of pity for the poor man. He’d probably been out there for hours.

“Good morning, Thomas.” She returned the greeting and followed him as he led the way out the front door instead of the back like he had last time. They stepped out onto a covered patio and Sarah took a brief moment to breathe in the cool morning air before continuing behind her guide.

Thomas stopped in front of a table and gestured for Sarah to take a seat. She looked around curiously before sliding into a chair, tapping her fingers on the wood to stave off the awkward silence that had formed. A copy of the Book of Joseph sat on the table and Sarah traced the gold embellishments on the cover until a forced cough caught her attention.

Sarah looked up to see John and held his gaze as he sat down across from her. He handed her one of the two mugs he’d been carrying and sat back as a cultist who’d followed him set down to plates of various breakfast foods.

“Do you want cream or sugar for that?” He gestured to the mug and Sarah simply nodded, stunned by the domesticity of the whole situation. The Peggie scurried away before returning with a small cup of cream and a little bowl of sugar. Sarah tore her eyes away from John to smile in thanks before fixing her coffee to the way she liked it.

After another few minutes of silence, John just watching her as he sipped his coffee and she nibbled at a piece of buttered toast, she finally broke. “Thanks for not letting me drive, probably woulda killed myself.” She let out a hollow laugh, this whole situation was so weird and she honestly had no clue was to expect.

“You’re welcome. I can’t have you dying for you can reach atonement.” Sarah tensed at that but John quickly waved his hand away. “I didn’t bring you here for that, this time. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit during the night so I had Thomas bring you here.” He nodded to the other man before allowing him to leave.

“Ah, lovely, what a wonderful image for breakfast.” Sarah laughed a little and dared to let her guard down as she finally dug into the meal. “So is this going to become a thing? You send one of your guys to bring me here and we eat a meal together.”

“It could be.” John shrugged, faking nonchalance, but the look on his face betrayed him as a hopeful look flashed across him.

Sarah hid a smile behind her mug and finished it off, pushing her plate away. She leaned back, looking around at her surroundings.

“What’s your angle here John?”

“No angle. I just want to help you.”

“But why? I’m not the one who was prophesied, I’m not Joseph’s harbinger of the apocalypse. So why are you so invested in my safety and intent on freeing me from my sins?” There wasn’t a hint of mockery in her voice, she was genuinely curious.

John paused, his fingers lacing together as his brow creased in thought. The movement drew Sarah’s attention and she admired the tattoos that she could see decorating his hand. “I see my own sins in you,” He finally said, his blue eyes darting from her to the Book of Joseph on the table and then back. “I want to help you be free of them. They’re a burden I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”

Sarah was shocked by the honesty in his voice and leaned across the table, to do what she wasn’t sure. Her hand hovered over his in hesitation for a moment, her eyes locked with the Herald before she pulled it back and stood from the chair. John followed her up with a look of apprehension.

“You said last time that you’d show me your plane hangar. Lead the way.” She was grateful that he didn’t try to continue their conversation but instead grinned in excitement and started off towards the hangar.

He held the door open for her to walk through and followed close behind her. Inside sat a sleek looking black plane, white Project logos decorating the wings and tail. John immediately launched into a detailed description of the type of plane and why he’d chosen it. As he went on and on, his voice getting more excited as he pointed out little things about the plane Sarah caught herself smiling. She couldn’t help but find it adorable. He reminded her of Nick the first time she asked him to teach her to fly and he’d spent nearly two hours fawning over Carmina before even teaching her the controls. If things were different she was sure John and Nick would be the best of friends.

Things weren’t different though, and the Peggie armed to the teeth in the corner served as a reminder of that. His eyes never left her as she followed John around the plane, his finger resting on the trigger. He made it very clear that one wrong move and she’d find herself dead on the floor.

John must have talked himself out because he finally finished his excited rant and lead her back outside, stopping by the steps to the front of the ranch. He seemed to be warring with himself over something, the crease in his brow was back. Finally, he snapped a finger and a nervous looking women scurried up, quiet words were exchanged and after a few angry looks cast Sarah’s way by the woman, she produced a set of keys from her pocket.

John took the keys and waved her away then turned to Sarah. “I told you I wasn’t going to take you for confession today.” He held the keys out to her, watching to see what she’d do. Sarah gave him a curious look and took them from her, weighing them in her hand for a minute. “There’s a truck down the road, you’re free to leave when you want.” He turned around and started to walk away, pointedly not looking back as if he didn’t want to see what she was going to do.

“Why?” Sarah called after her, still frozen to the ground. Why the fuck would he give her an escape? This had to be some sort of trap.

He turned and looked after her with soft eyes. “After our last encounter, I now understand that this is something I cannot force on you. When you’re ready to atone you’ll come to me.”

Sarah looked between the keys in her hand and John, still unsure. “I— thank you.” She took a few steps in the direction of the car before pivoting and striding to stand in front of him. “John,” He paused again and met her eyes. “I mean it, thanks. For this, for last night, for everything.” She gestured to her clean clothes and in the direction the breakfast they’d shared.

John smiled and without thinking Sarah touched his arm as she returned it. He looked down in slight shock before looking back up, his own hand coming up to wrap around the back of her head and pull her forehead against his. “I hope to see you again soon Sarah.” He pulled away, the smile not leaving his face, and walked back into the house. Sarah watched until the door had closed before she set off towards the car, ignoring the glares of every cultist standing outside.

She climbed into the car and drove towards the Ryes’, Rook had been sleeping on their couch for the past week and hopefully, she would still be there. It was well past time Sarah told her about John’s new interest in her.