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thelostgirl21 · 3 years ago

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For those of you still arguing that Kaidan does not outrank Shepard as an Alliance Officer during the Citadel Coup...

...he does.

Actually, being a Staff Commander in ME2, Kaidan Alenko was already outranking Shepard when they met on Horizon.

First, it is important to understand that, while inspired by it, the Human Systems Alliance does not use the exact same ranking system as the U.S. Navy / Marines. [Edit: I've fixed some (hopefully, most!) of the "he/him/himself" pronouns I'd missed the first time around... And that was... like... 90% of the time I was referring to Shepard. *Facepalms* Sorry about that! I'm so used to writing for M!Shep, that I instinctively say "he/him/himself" when referring to them (and my brain does the weird French thing of including the feminine into the masculine while proofreading, apparently!). If you still spot a non gender-neutral pronoun in there, please feel free to let me know.]

Therefore, according to the System’s Alliance’s own ranking system (that can be found in the game’s codex entries; I’ve also added that information at the bottom of this post, with in-game examples) the rank of Major (and, in ME2, Staff Commander) is above that of a Lieutenant Commander (Shepard’s own Alliance military rank) within the Alliance.

It is the rank of an Alliance Captain (Navy), not that of an Alliance [Lieutenant] Commander (Navy & Marines), that is considered as being the equivalent of that of an Alliance Major (Marines).

Meaning that, by the beginning of ME3, Major Alenko has now risen through the ranks to the point where he holds a similar level of responsibility within the Systems Alliance as Captain Anderson used to hold in ME1. At the very beginning of ME1, Captain Anderson was a Navy Captain, and the Commanding Officer (C.O.) of the SSV Normandy.

Lieutenant Commander Shepard was his Executive Officer (X.O.).

And Staff Lieutenant Alenko was head of the ship's Marine detail*

By the beginning of ME3, Major Alenko is now a Marine Major, and the Commanding Officer (C.O.) of the 1st Special Operations Biotic Company, a covert operations unit of the Systems Alliance.

*Note: I just discovered yesterday what “Marine detail” means, and I just have to say Kaidan’s position on the Normandy is ridiculously cool!

Basically, it’s Kaidan’s job to determine which personnel position, assignment, or duty station each Marine should have on the Normandy. While basing his decisions on the person’s professional milestones, taking into consideration the Marine’s personal aspirations and stated preferences, considering their marital status / family lives and responsibilities outside of the military, evaluating whether they have the proper qualifications for the job or require further training, looking at performance reviews...

They are described as the Marine’s “advocate”, trying to make sure that not only are they the “best Marine” for what their actual job requires, but that it’s the job that will bring said Marine the greater level of work satisfaction / align with their needs and personal ambitions.

So basically, after Jenkins was KIA at the beginning of ME1, it was Kaidan’s job to find a suitable replacement to take over his duties on the ship.

So, after Shepard wakes up in the medbay, and expresses that they’re glad that Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams was still on the Normandy, because she’s a good soldier that deserves it, and Captain Anderson answers them: “Lieutenant Alenko agrees with you. THAT’S WHY I added her to our crew.”

He literally means “After seeing her in action, Lieutenant Alenko reviewed her file, checked her qualifications, past performance reviews, family status, her documented professional aspirations and stated preferences, numerous past (denied) applications for a transfer to a shipboard posting, and based on his very own assessment of Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams, determined that she was the single best Marine in the System’s Alliance for the open position we now had on the ship.”

I’d always assumed that Kaidan had more or less informally gone “Gunnery Chief Williams was really impressive down there! Maybe we could use her!”

And Captain Anderson had essentially gone: “Sure! Why not? We’ve got an open position. Let’s keep her!”

But I’d all but forgotten that, with Nihlus dead, there was absolutely no Spectre on board that ship at that point in the story, and they were thus likely bound by the System’s Alliance rules and protocols when it came to handing out assignments to fill the vacant positions available on the Normandy.

It’s therefore highly likely that whoever was in charge of the ship’s Marine detail (in this case, Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko), would have had access to a list of applications of suitable candidates that had expressed an interest in serving on that ship.

And that, whenever there was a position vacancy, or a need to add a new position on the Normandy, then the head of the ship’s detail would have the responsibility of taking a good look at those candidatures, and selecting the very best suited Marine for the job.

As a Spectre, Commander Shepard might have had the level of authority required to spontaneously go: “they followed me home, I’m keeping them!”

But Captain Anderson most certainly did not. And, while he was the Normandy’s C.O. (meaning that he’d likely have the final say on whether or not Ashley got the position)...

Well, the person officially in charge of finding someone to fill the position left vacant after Jenkin’s passing - after having carefully reviewed Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams candidature against those of other potentially qualified System’s Alliance soldiers - was literally Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko.

And one would assume that the reason why Kaidan got his own position as head of the ship’s Marine detail, would be because he’d be considered as being very proficient at determining whether or not a given soldier is going to be the right fit for their job, and the best asset for their team.

So, when Captain Anderson tells Shepard that the reason he added her to the crew was because Lieutenant Alenko believed she was a good soldier that deserved a position on the Alliance’s most advanced starship, that was because it was Kaidan’s job to make such decisions.

He had to choose which Marine in the System’s Alliance would take over Jenkin’s duties, and he chose Ash. Kaidan’s the reason Ashley was assigned to Captain Anderson (and later, Commander Shepard)’s ship. He’s the one that made it happen and allowed her to advance in her career.

Should Commander Shepard have tried to do the same (i.e. be the one to request Gunnery Chief Williams assignation to the Normandy, in a context where Ashley wouldn’t already have been added to the team while they were out cold); then Captain Anderson’s most likely answer would have needed to be: “I’ll let Lieutenant Alenko know about your commendation, but he’s not done reviewing candidatures and making his choice among them yet.“

I don’t understand how anyone can call Kaidan “boring”. He's such a layered, fascinating character...

As he once told Shepard:

“I’m an enigma. I’ve got skills.”

Yes, yes you do... and, over 10 years later, I’m still discovering some skill-sets that you have that I’d never even suspected before!

And boy, am I pissed we'll never get to know about your run in with the vorcha mafia, five thousand credits, and a bottle of whiskey!

Still, no wonder Anderson was so adamant on Major Alenko being the one offered the Command of the 1st Special Operations Biotic Company.

Besides his very own unique history as a L2 and ability to relate to those kids, he apparently has an eye for military talents, and he likely trusted him to be a very good judge of character when it came to assessing whether those young biotics would be a good addition to the Company, and able to handle working with the rest of a team while on high risk missions without needlessly further endangering their teammates.

However, as a Spectre, when operating under Council authority, both Commander Shepard and Major Alenko are no longer bound by the Alliance military’s chain of command.

And it seems that most players do not realize it, but when Captain Anderson stepped down as the SSV Normandy’s C.O., Shepard did not receive a promotion within the Alliance military in terms of overall rank; but exclusively one regarding their position in regards to their assignment.

They went from being the ship’s Executive Officer (X.O.) to the ship’s Commanding Officer (C.O.), but they still remained an Alliance Lieutenant Commander, regardless of the position they held on the SSV Normandy itself.

I’m thus guessing that Shepard dying so shortly after the Battle of the Citadel, had prevented them from being promoted to the rank of Staff Commander (or even Captain / Major).

And then, in all of the investigations surrounding their claims of having been dead for 2 years, brought back to life through Cerberus technology, the time they spend working with them to hunt down the Collectors, Shepard destroying a batarian system (Arrival), the time they spent in detention between ME2 and ME3 after having been stripped of their rank, etc. Well, I’m guessing the Systems Alliance never thought to offer them a promotion, either.

At the beginning of ME3, the Normandy SR-2 has been recovered by the Alliance, and is intended to be used by Admiral Anderson (who would have become the SR-2′s Commanding Officer).

With Earth and the Alliance Headquarters under Reapers attack, Admiral Anderson chooses to reinstate Commander Shepard’s rank as a Lieutenant Commander within the Systems Alliance instead, and puts them in charge of his ship (thus, stepping down, once more, as the Normandy’s C.O. in favor of Commander Shepard).

Therefore yes, Commander Shepard is not as highly ranked an Alliance Officer as Major Kaidan Alenko is. However, they were given an assignment as the Commanding Officer of the Normandy SR-2 by Admiral Anderson.

Meaning that, after the Citadel Coup, when Commander Shepard offers Major Alenko a position among the Normandy SR-2′s crew, accepting that position means agreeing to recognize, and respect, Shepard’s authority as the ship’s C.O. as well.

Regardless of Kaidan technically becoming the highest ranking Systems Alliance Officer on board the Normandy SR-2, the position as the Normandy’s C.O. was given to Commander Shepard by Admiral Anderson.

So, if Major Alenko has a problem working under the authority of a lesser ranked officer as part of a Lieutenant Commander’s crew, then it is his responsibility to either refuse the offer and request another assignment (something that Kaidan can do in the game, actually - he can be the one to turn down Shepard’s offer), or take it up with Admiral Anderson, to try to request a change in leardership.

What I also find particularly interesting, with how those scenes play out, is that in both versions where Kaidan doesn’t join the Normandy’s crew, he shakes Shepard’s hand, but does not salute them.

Otherwise, after the handshake, when Shepard tells him “Welcome aboard, Major”, Kaidan straightens up and tells them “Aye aye, sir / ma’am” with a military salute, therefore acknowledging Shepard’s position as his new C.O.

Essentially, Major Kaidan Alenko is not bound by rank to obey Commander Shepard’s orders or accept to serve on their ship...

It is only once he CHOOSES to join the Normandy’s crew and take that offered position that there is this obligation for him to respect that Commander Shepard is the acting C.O. of the Normandy, and that they report directly to Admirals Anderson and Hackett.

As a Spectre, they report directly to the Citadel Council.

And so does Kaidan. I’m guessing that, should he ever wish to leave the Normandy, he’s got the required authority to do so, and would simply need to ask Admiral Anderson or Admiral Hackett for a new assignment.

He may discuss his decision with Commander Shepard first, out of respect. But I doubt that Commander Shepard could try to force him to stay and continue to work under the Command of a lesser ranked Alliance officer if he wished to leave the ship.

The only known people that could deny his request for a transfer within the Alliance would be either Anderson or Hackett.

And, as a Spectre, he could very well go “yeah, screw this! I’m out!��

So yeah, his being willing to take orders from Commander Shepard, and join the Normandy as a member of his crew regardless of him being a higher ranked officer in the Systems Alliance, only highlight the amount of trust and respect he has in Commander Shepard’s abilities and leadership.

Knowing Kaidan, he likely values Commander Shepard as his C.O. based on the man’s actual military, leadership, combat qualifications and training, rather than rank. Not to mention his ability to recognize their more personal, human qualities, how much they care for their crew, and Kaidan’s own willingness to help them share the burden that’s been put on their shoulders.

I think that, in order to gain Kaidan’s respect and have him gladly follow you, you need to use the power you’ve been given by whatever position or status you hold for the benefit of those serving under you, and/or those under your responsibility, rather than try to dominate and overpower others with it.

Kaidan won’t hesitate to call Udina “a bastard” for what he perceives as him “selling them out”, express dissent when a superior officer is out of line, question the motives of those in charge, and often flirt with insubordination.

He’s one of the most NEUTRAL good characters of the series - letting his integrity dictate his actions first and foremost, rather than being strictly and rigidly bound by ranks, rules, or protocols.

His main source of worry, when it comes to Shepard potentially cutting corners, appears to be the price that THEY may have to pay in the aftermath.

He seems more concerned about the Council or the Alliance openly using Shepard as a scapegoat if things go south, and/or disavowing their actions and leaving them without support, rather than over Shepard themselves breaking the law in such a way that they would make innocent people suffer.

I've always seen him as trying to make Shepard understand that they won't let them go down alone with the ship, figuratively (and perhaps event literally speaking... He sure tried in ME2 until Shepard reminded him that the rest of the crew were also in need of his assistance and counting on them to keep them safe) and share the responsibility of the decisions Shepard makes as long as he also supports them.

And yeah, Kaidan did put his own happiness first when it came to breaking the rules of fraternization.

He even says that the galaxy will just keep going and the only thing that will never happen again is them. And that they are what's most important in that moment.

If it wasn't for how very lucidly attached to the Alliance he is (he sees the flaws, but still considers that the Alliance does more good than harm overall, and is proud of being an Alliance soldier / officer), I'd almost have been tempted to put him into chaotic good territory.

He's dedicated to "doing what's right" (the principle of goodness itself) and acting with integrity, but not so much to "honoring human / citadel laws" or even moral codes per say.

His moral code is very much about remaining true to your own ideals and who you are in a way that promotes the greater good, and allows you to be at peace with your actions. And he's seen constantly questioning his perspective of good and wrong in the world, and adapting what acting with integrity truly means to him (for example, when he was trying to come to terms with the fact that Cerberus scientists could also be good people).

So, I very much consider him someone that is more Neutral (chaotic leaning) good, than Neutral (lawful leaning) good.

Rules and institutions need to make sense and serve a useful purpose to him, and avoid getting in the way of him doing what he believes to be right according to his own personal moral compass that no one dictates him but himself. Otherwise, screw the rules!

It may also be good to remember that Spectres have absolutely no command structure. To prove themselves to the Council, they have to demonstrate both exceptional abilities and self-reliance. If they thought that Major Kaidan Alenko would be the type to defer to Commander Shepard’s judgment based on seniority and rank alone, I’m guessing the Council never would have agreed to grant him Spectre status in the first place.

Yeah, Councillor Udina was the one that submitted his candidature, but he couldn’t have actually granted him Spectre status without the Asari, Turian, and Salarian Councillors’ approval.

Meaning that they all saw something in his service history that made them go “Yeah, this is a guy that can totally go rogue, disrespect orders, and do whatever must be done for the sake of the greater good of the galactic community if need be.”

People that see him as some sort of “whiny, Alliance lapdog” seem to forget that we are talking about a 17-year-old kid that continuously got in trouble with Vyrnnus for talking back (to the point where he started punishing the other kids to get to him), found a way to hack communications on the station to secretly contact his parents on Earth, after having been explicitly forbidden to do so, and angrily stood up to Vyrnnus after Vyrnnus crossed a line while bullying more vulnerable than himself.

Commander Vyrnnus taught Kaidan that some would-be leaders only cared about holding power over others, and were not worthy of being respected nor followed.

Major Alenko simply is not someone that can easily be intimidated into obeying orders, and/or be impressed by power or rank. What will make him “fall in line”, is the belief that the one giving the orders is the very best suited person for the job.

So, when it all come down to it, I’m pretty convinced that he could care less about Shepard “only being a Lieutenant Commander”.

He cares about Shepard doing the right thing, and about being able to trust their leadership and intents more than anything.

And, while Kaidan Alenko may have all the required qualifications and abilities to handle his own command, too...

...this is not what makes him the happiest.

He’s a soldier. He likes getting his hands dirty. He likes being right in the center of the action, and making a tangible difference.

My own partner, whose personality often reminds me of Kaidan (or, actually, Kaidan’s personality often reminds me of him!), has been offered countless of times the job of a team supervisor or coordinator in his work as a computer programmer (systems architect).

Sure, it would come with a salary increase and some advantages...

And sure, he’s a rather assertive guy, with a talent for seeing the greater picture, quickly noticing people’s own individual strengths and resources in a team, finding ways to take full advantage of said strengths and resources while organizing the work to complement every skill-sets they have, and thinking about creative solutions to a problem that others might be missing...

But what he loves most about his work is the coding itself.

He’ll gladly offer his input (actually, nothing you do or say will stop him from voicing his opinions, suggestions, and solutions to an issue... especially if he thinks you’re being inefficient in the way you’re approaching it, and/or overlooking some variables), but the thought of actually being in charge of the whole working team all the frakking time, and having to manage complaints, conflicts, etc. - when his time would better be used in front of the computer, figuring out why something isn’t working properly - is enough to drive him insane.

He has everything it takes to be a good, efficient, more than qualified supervisor and coordinator...

...except the interest and motivation.

The things that make him happiest at the work he does, lie within the programming itself.

Similarly, I very much perceive Kaidan Alenko as being someone that has every required qualifications, skills, and abilities to be in Command of his own ship or his own squad...

...but typically prefers being a soldier, getting out there in the field and doing his work without having to handle what everyone else has to be doing on top of it.

He made an exception for Admiral Anderson by indulging him, and eventually agreeing to assume Command of the 1st Special Operations Biotic Company. And, from the way he speaks about his students, it seems that the nature of his job, and his ability to connect with what they are going through and nurture their potential as soldiers, fellow “freaks”, and human beings, ended up making that command worthwhile and an overall positive and stimulating experience for him.

This is one of the many reasons why I lament the lack of interaction between Kaidan and Jack. They are both powerful biotics that were abused in the hopes of getting results and making their powers stronger. They both share a deep seated hatred of Cerberus. And they both ended up becoming teachers and mentors to younger generations of human biotics.

Beyond the potential for humor and entertainment, I think it would have been interesting to see how they might have related to each other, talked about their students, shared a few tips, etc.

But otherwise, Kaidan seems to be happiest while doing his own thing (ex: being sent to investigate certain situations for the Alliance / Council), or serving on a ship while using his skills to offer his support to his Commander, rather than being the one in charge of everybody else.

Given how he tends to be more task than ego oriented, I therefore really don’t think that he has any issues following the leadership of a Lieutenant Commander regardless of his own rank.

As long as he can trust Shepard to be a good leader and get things done, he’ll gladly let them assume command.

But during the attack on the Citadel, Commander Shepard is not Major Alenko’s C.O., as Admiral Anderson never officially assigned him to the Normandy, and after they left Earth in a hurry and headed for Mars to retrieve data, he ended up in the hospital.

If we want to argue that Major Kaidan Alenko was showing any kind of disrespect towards Commander Shepard by refusing to stand down in front of a superior officer during the Citadel coup (an argument that’s occasionally been brought up by those that highly disapprove of the confrontation)...

Well, I hate to break this to you, but per Systems Alliance military protocol, Shepard should have been the one to salute Kaidan, not the other way around.

But it simply doesn’t matter either way.

Because that confrontation was not an “Alliance Lieutenant Commander vs Alliance Major” issue.

This was very much “Spectre vs Spectre” issue.

You simply had two highly trained, experienced, and dangerous Spectre operatives that were interacting on absolutely equal footing, outside of the Alliance’s chain of command.

And they both had the exact same objective: Protect the council from Cerberus.

In the end, it all boils down to trust. And to whether or not Commander Shepard has the required empathy to understand that Kaidan Alenko has every right to be human, to have doubts, to question people’s motives - regardless of how much he loves them - and to be scared to make mistakes based on his personal feelings towards them.

Kaidan (and Ashley) have the most realistic, healthy, and human reactions that one could possibly have to someone being brought back from the dead by a terrorist organization.

On Mars, he wasn’t trying to attack or hurt Shepard.

What he clearly told them was “I’m confused, I’m scared, I do want to trust you, but I don’t know how. I’ve seen some of the abject horrors of what Cerberus is capable of doing, and the thought that they might have been using you, or are still planning to use you, against the rest of the Galaxy terrifies me. I need to know it’s really you - that you haven’t been cloned, brainwashed, or they didn’t plant a chip in your head or something - and I’m at a loss at where to even start.”

(I’m thinking that should they have discovered that Shepard had been altered in some way and/or was being manipulated by Cerberus, but was still in there somewhere, then Kaidan would have wanted to do anything he could to help free them from Cerberus’ grasp, too.)

And he has every right to feel that way, to be afraid, to be concerned, and to express it.

Actually no one owes any of their friends their “blind trust”.

If someone I strongly care about is doing something stupid or I disagree with, I fully reserve the right to oppose their actions and let them know I’m not on board with it.

I can trust that they are a good person and believe in them. But I can also occasionally distrust their judgment and whether the decisions they are making are the right ones.

So by openly verbalizing his fears and doubts, what Kaidan is actually doing is letting Shepard in. He’s reaching out for that connection they share, not shutting them down.

He’s almost desperate to try to explain to them how he feels, so they can open the dialogue and start figuring these things out together, rather than remaining alone in their little corner while allowing those fears and doubts to fester and take root.

If Shepard is able to understand that. If they can reach back towards Kaidan, show interest in getting to know each other again, rebuild trust, and work through those issues, then as I’ve already demonstrated a little while ago, getting Kaidan to stand down is so ridiculously easy it’s almost laughable.

If they do cut themselves off from Kaidan following Mars, and never reach back towards him, then they are allowing all those doubts and fears to keep on growing... thus leading to tragedy during the coup.

But yeah, anyone reasonably expecting Kaidan to just step aside the moment those doors opened (when he was fully expecting to see Cerberus operatives come out of the elevator shaft) - especially based on supposed “higher ranked offircer superiority” - is having utterly unrealistic expectations regarding Major Alenko’s personality and behavior.

Either they were too quick to dismiss him as whiny and boring, and thus kept him out out of every mission, skipped conversations, and/or quickly rushed through them without really listening and seeking to understand the character...

They are unable to perceive videogame characters as well-rounded people, but are rather exclusively seeking to immerse themselves in some fantasy world where every single person they encounter either automatically adores them or fears their superior power and influence; and those characters are something that should solely exist for their own entertainment (unlike reality, where they can more easily recognize that each of their friends have personal aspirations, opinions, thoughts, careers and dreams that exist entirely outside of themselves; and they never would realistically expect one of said friends to “drop everything” they are doing on the fly in order to blindly follow them into a private jet that’s being borrowed from a well-known right-wing terrorists organization instead).

Or, they literally have a God complex.

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Systems Alliance: Military Ranks (Mass Effect)

The Alliance uses a modified version of the ranking system that has been used for hundreds of years. Soldiers are classified into rank-and-file enlisted personal, experienced non-commissioned officers (NCOs), and specially trained officers.

The divide between naval personnel and ground forces (“marines”) is small. Ground units are a specialized branch of the fleet, just as fighter squadrons are. This unity of command is imposed by the futility of fighting without control of orbit; without the navy, any army is pointless. The marines, as a matter of pride, maintain some of their traditional rank titles; for example, marines have Privates and Corporals instead of Servicemen.

In ascending order of responsibility, the ranks of the Alliance are:

ENLISTED

Serviceman 3rd Class/Private 2nd Class

Serviceman 2nd Class/Private 1st Class

Serviceman 1st Class/Corporal

NCOs

Service Chief

Gunnery Chief [ex: Gunnery Chief Williams (ME1)]

Operations Chief [ex: Operations Chief Williams (ME2)]

OFFICERS

2nd Lieutenant

1st Lieutenant

Staff Lieutenant [ex: Lieutenant Alenko (ME1)]

Lieutenant Commander [ex: Commander Shepard (ME1, ME2, ME3), Commander Williams (ME3)]

Staff Commander [ex: Commander Alenko (ME2)]

Captain/Major [ex: Major Alenko (ME3); Captain Anderson (ME1)]

Rear Admiral/General [ex: Admiral Hackett (ME1)]

Admiral [ex: Admiral Hacket (ME2), Admiral Anderson (ME3)]

Fleet Admiral [ex: Admiral Hackett (ME3)]

#Kaidan Alenko #Kaidan #Mass Effect #Systems Alliance #ranking system #My Posts #My Thoughts

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yourmcu · 4 years ago

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Birthday

Pairings: The Avengers x reader

Summary:

It’s your birthday and the team gets creative on how to surprise you, putting their acting skills to the test.

Word count: 2,350

A/n: just a little something because,, well,, it’s my birthday *runs away* also it’s cheesy, hopefully it makes sense lmao

Warnings: uhhh brief mention of explosion? mostly fluff

The Avengers wanted to get creative for your birthday this year. For the few years they've known you they picked up on things about you. One, you paid no mind to your birthday at all and just considered it a normal day like the rest of the 365, Tony took note that you hated parties, at least the really big ones, something that involved only the team would be good.

Okay, you sound like a party pooper, but that isn't the case; it's not a crime to just... not want to have a grand celebration, right? And people singing the 'happy birthday' song to you too while you just sit there in silence. It's awkward, you once told Natasha. It’s also awkward and hard for you to receive presents even though that’s what birthdays are all about, you’re still getting used to it since you knew someone like Tony Stark.

Well, the team think you're an amazing friend and they all treat you like family. They're so glad they met someone like you.

You're immediately called to the conference room on that day. Only to find the team arguing and pointing fingers at one another.

You kinda just slot in, sitting on the chair you usually sit on whenever there's a meeting or mission briefing. Glancing around, you try and find out what they're fighting about.

Security. Suits. Brief mention of Ultron. Rhodey busying himself with phones, probably making a lot of calls. Natasha and Clint talking among themselves, only raising their voice whenever they're included in the conversation which mainly consisted of Tony and Steve arguing.

"Suit up, get the jet ready." Steve dismisses but before he could walk out himself you raise your hand.

"Hey, sorry, I just woke up," you say sheepishly but coolly at the same time. "What happened, is everyone supposed to go? Can I read the file?" Because if this is an Avengers-level threat that required everyone, you'd want to know all about it.

His sharp and expression softens slightly when he looks at you. "No file, I'm afraid. Some of the compound's security protocols have been compromised, someone hacked in." He proceeds to tell you how they particularly had interest in Bruce and Tony's lab so the other rooms were untouched.

Apparently, they took blueprints and materials, maybe a handful of Tony's suits.

But if you think about it, those two carelessly letting the security to their lab loose? Highly unlikely...

You push the thought to the back of your mind and nod when Steve tells you to get ready. Stark tech can be dangerous in the wrong hands, after all. Let alone the Iron Man suits.

Fortunately, those things have trackers. Leaving you to wonder again why those idiots don't even try and take them off so they won't tracked?

Sat on the floor of the jet while everyone was strangely quiet but once again you didn't pay any mind, you sharpen a few of your knives. Natasha sat on a stool near you, idly picking her nails. An hour into the flight you furrow your brows and look around.

"Are you guys okay?"

"Yes," Tony states quickly and a matter-of-factly. They all share glances before he continued. "It's the tension. Sorry. My fault."

"It's not your fault, Tony," Bruce starts.

"I'm sorry, to whom were those stolen suits again?" Steve speaks up as well and you could tell it's gonna be a full blown argument again.

"Now hold on just a second-" Tony faces the super soldier to counter.

You merely blink, not expecting a simple question to turn out like this. Clint just glances from the pilot's seat and Natasha almost cracks a smile by the look of your face. If only you knew it was all fake, all planned. But what does she know? You're a spy too, maybe you've figured out what they're up to and decided to play along.

Sad to say you're still oblivious. Maybe the fact that you only slept three hours last night is one case. You wanted nothing more than your bed right now.

Heck, not one of them wished you a happy birthday but you didn't notice at all.

Tuning out their bickering you sit down next to Natasha who's the only one not in the argument.

"I haven't seen Wanda all day," you say and she turns her head to face you. "Or Sam, or Bucky."

"Probably not back from their mission." Natasha answers promptly.

You frown at that. "Steve made this sound like an Avengers-level threat, and it is, shouldn't they be here?"

You don't wait for a response, opening up a globe-shaped hologram that shows where the jet, represented by a blinking dot. Your eyes slightly widen when you see the target location which is one of the places you've been dying to visit your whole life.

Maybe it's just a coincidence. You definitely didn't expect to visit it for the first time on a mission though.

Natasha clears her throat. "Hey, have you read the book I gave you?" She subtly closes the globe up when she catches your attention.

You shake your head bashfully. "You know I'm a slow reader. Give me two months then I'll come back to you." You laugh. Natasha smiles and tells you to take your time. "Have you read the book I gave you?"

"I loved it."

"I knew you would!" You say excitedly and the next few moments you discuss about the specific book. She's just glad you didn't ask any further questions about the location.

All of you split up once you reach the base but Rhodey and Bruce stay in the jet as backup. The place reminded you so much of the old Avengers tower, only with darker themes. You're paired with Clint who you follow to the side of the building, with surprisingly no cautiousness. He just... ran in, entrance deserted of guards.

You all had a digital, tech checklist to see what was stolen including all the suit names. So far you've searched two drawers now and still no sign of any agent or guard. But it's weird since the others are clearly doing their part on their floors. Thuds, footsteps and sometimes banging sounds could be heard all around.

“Finally," you mutter when you hear footsteps behind you, spinning around so suddenly to surprise your enemy and take him down with ease. You raise an eyebrow when they don't put up a fight at all.

Clint was in front of a computer when you peek in to one of the rooms but he waves you off. "I'll meet you on the next floor. This'll take a second."

"One suit on the roof!" you hear Steve grunt through your earpiece.

"Remember to remove the arc reactor, that'll shut them down for sure." Bruce reminds through everyone's comms.

You hear Tony let out a noise. "Might have a problem with that, Banner, they're all reprogrammed."

Expecting the man with seven Ph. D's to worry, it only took him a minute to respond back. "It's your tech. I don't believe they could do that completely especially having them for only twelve hours."

"In that case," Tony sighs. "There should be a kill switch under one of their reactors."

"Which one?" Natasha grunts.

The deafening silence from Tony's line explains it.

You fight your way though the thugs which again, don't put up a fight. Sometimes you throw one punch and they're out cold, leading you to believe the intense training Bucky insisted you do worked. The only tough ones were the Iron Man suits themselves.

Ripping out the arc reactors wasn't easy. You had to use all you force. On the second one you encounter it got the upper hand and blasts you through a wall, the impact sending sharp pain to your head and back.

You hear metal thumping of a suit so you get back up and attempt to get your hands on the Iron Man in front of you.

"Hey, hey. Same team. Look," Tony grips on your wrists and lifts his mask up. "You alright?"

“Yeah," you pant, relaxing a bit. "Yeah. One of them got m-"

"We just discovered a bomb, northwest," Clint says. By ‘we’ he means him and Natasha. The redhead speaks right after. “Two and a half minutes. How many suits left, Friday?”

"Only one more suit is fully functional."

You get out of Tony's hold and sprint up the stairs. "I got it."

He smiles to himself. The plan is all coming to place.

As soon as you enter the room you dodge a blast from the much bulkier Mark XVI. Of course they'd want to make the stealth suit more powerful. You launch yourself towards it, stomping on an arm while trying to dodge blasts from the the other one.

"Y/N! Fifty seconds!" Steve shouts in your earpiece.

You could've just jumped out, leaving the compromised suits here to be blown up but being under pressure made you panic and set your only goal to find the switch.

The suit could still set off a blast from the arc reactor so you couldn't really get your hands on it without losing a freaking arm.

"Get out of there!”

But you didn’t have enough time. So you just curl into a ball against the wall, accepting your fate.

A pop did go off. Loud, but you didn't feel yourself torn into pieces right after. You also heard a bunch of aye’s and oh’s. Redwing whirs by to your head to drop off a birthday hat.

"Happy Birthday!”

Your eyes fly open. Turns out the only thing inside Mark XVI was confetti. Natasha walks over to you to inspect and make sure you're alright.

"What the hell?" Your eyes widen at her, then at everyone. Sam and Bucky were now standing with them, smiling at you amused.

"I think she's in shock.”

“You think?”

Steve glares at Tony with a hint of amusement. "I told you it would be too much."

"Trust me she prefers something like this instead of a big party. Don't you, Y/N?"

"What do you mean?" You take off the hat and clutch it between your hands, appreciating Natasha rubbing your back as you try to collect yourself. "How is none of this real?"

"We basically faked a mission for you." Rhodey says.

You look around all the rubble. "This building, the people, suits-"

"Bought the place," Tony states. "Hired stuntmen, did a few tweaks on the suits...”

"God, why would you do that?" You bury your face in your hands, not knowing if you should be laughing or crying. "I punched those guys!"

"They'll be fine, they signed up for it."

You gently get up and brush off some confetti off your knees.

"But back at the compound... you guys were yelling at each other and during the whole thing you all sounded serious," you point out. "Was that all part of the act?"

Especially when that 'bomb' was about to go off. Steve's panicked voice made you scared for your life, only to know that it was all fake.

They all show signs of agreement, laughing.

"We'd make such great actors." Natasha smirks.

"Alright, the cake isn't going to blow itself." Clint walks up to you with said cake and you meet him halfway.

Everyone gathers around and before they could inhale to sing the stupid song, you cut them off. "You all know I hate to be sung at. Can we just get this over with?"

They all burst out laughing, you giggle in the process, blowing out your candle. You all group hug right after. The laughter makes you miss the sound of faint thunder outside.

"Look who's late." Bruce points out.

"Yes, I got here as soon as I can, my apologies." Thor smiles sheepishly.

Your ears perk up at the all too familiar voice of the god of thunder. Moving everyone of the way, you leap to hug him. "Thor!"

"Happy birthday, dearest Y/N." He grins and pats you on the head. "I'm afraid my - I mean - our gift, is with Loki at the moment."

"Enough with the formality, I’m just glad you’re here.”

Peter rings up Tony to tell him everything's set up at the huge building they rented for your low-key party. Just the Avengers. Peter, Vision and Wanda were in charge of setting things up over there, from decorations and food. Sam and Bucky also helped a bit before they arrived at the fake base.

So you all get into the jet again, this time you look at the windows in awe to see what the city's like. You also asked a bunch of questions on how they pulled something stupid but unique fake mission like that.

Once you've reached your destination, the place was simple yet big enough to fit everyone. Tony really took notes for this year. You didn't like anything too fancy or elegant, and you didn't like huge-ass parties with hundreds of people you've never met before.

Here you're with your family eating, drinking booze and playing games, generally having a good time.

You give the other five Avengers big hugs. Vision's never usually a hugger but for you he made an exception just for today. Everyone was surprised when he lifted you off your feet and spun you around.

"Hugging has a lot of good benefits," Vision says when he lets you go. "Astounding, I know. It is recommended eight times a day, hopefully you've already gotten that much."

You giggle at his remark and Wanda rolls her eyes playfully. “Thank you, Vision.”

“Splendid, that means I don’t have to give you one.”

You turn around to see the god of mischief himself carefully hand you a wrapped box. Loki chuckles when you smile at him. “Happiest Birthday.”

“Loki.... you know you and Thor didn’t have to-”

“Thor? That one’s from me. I assure you.”

“Y/N!” You hear Tony call from the other side of the room. “It’s time for presents, little miss. Good lord this looks like Christmas morning.”

unfortunatley i am that extra to post a birthday fic woo hoo

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hogwartsfirebolt · 4 years ago

Text

timebomb

for @drarrymicrofic prompt "better than fighting" (did I intend for this to be 2.3k no i did not)

The day Harry slept with Malfoy for the first time, was also the day he bruised his knuckles punching his boss in the nose.

The impossible chain of events that led to that stupid, ridiculous, unthinkable conclusion — sleeping with Malfoy, of course, not punching his boss — started two weeks earlier, when Robards slammed a shiny red folder on his desk and said, Sixteen werewolves disappeared yesterday. Find them.

Sixteen werewolves, three families. Including children.

Everyone knew Harry went crazy when children were involved.

In under two days, he found clues that seemed to suggest a high member of the Wizengamot was responsible and launched himself into an apprehension mission without filing for the permit, because he was sure every second that passed, more werewolves were getting kidnapped. He ended up escorting a furious Member Breckenridge to a holding cell.

Robards failed to see his logic, however. It turned out Breckenridge was working with the department in an attempt to catch the actual criminal, and Harry got reprimanded for skipping procedure.

But Harry, tired as hell of having information kept from him for the nth time in his life because, well, Dumbledore, exploded.

He didn’t even feel sorry as he yelled at Robards in front of the entire department for sending him blind into a case that could’ve compromised the wellbeing of so many creatures, including children, and how could he, when Harry could very well have saved them if only he’d known, and — that was about the time he walked up to Robard’s desk and punched him right in the nose.

So, that was the first impossible event in the series of impossible events.

The second was as follows: Harry was put on desk duty for at least six months, Potter, you should thank Merlin I’m not firing you.

This, in Harry’s opinion, should definitely be considered an impossible event. He hadn’t been on desk duty for five years, and had thought himself free of the burden, forever. He’d been wrong.

The consequences to his confinement became rapidly evident, however. For starters, every single person sharing the wide room that served as the headquarters to the Auror force filed a complaint before the clock had struck six that very evening. The Aurors were a notoriously conflictive sort, hardly ever agreed on anything, so the fact that they were all together in their fear was the third impossible event. To be fair, it was terrifying. Harry’s absolute lack of respect for authority coupled with his inability to sit still for even a second made every one of his coworkers fear for their life now they knew they’d be subjected to the rage of the caged tiger for at least six months.

So, all of Harry’s coworkers filed said complaint — all of them, including the incidental employees from other departments that had to pass through Auror quarters for one reason or the other — and stayed within a 10 feet radius of his desk at all times as he fumed so hard he half thought steam would come out of his ears.

The fifth impossible thing was that the only one person who stepped into the office and didn’t immediately run to Robards to make sure they weren’t hallucinating Harry aggressively punching holes through his stationery at the desk he hadn’t occupied in five years, was Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy showed up in the vibrant blue robes that marked his position as a member of the Department of Invoices, Correspondence and Credit, or, as Harry liked to call them, glorified mailmen, and leaned over his desk with a snooty smirk, not appearing surprised to see him.

He’d never been afraid of him, after all.

“If it isn’t the man who made Robards walk into his afternoon meeting with a bloody nose,” he said, apparently fucking oblivious to the very obvious signals Harry’s body was sending him to shut the hell up — the tense fists, the clenched teeth, the jumping muscles of his jaw. Malfoy didn’t see any of it. He continued, “well, what could we have expected, really, you’ve always been rather ... ah, ill-mannered,” and continued, “member Breckenridge had an interesting story at lunch earlier,” and continued, “escapes me how Robards was surprised by your acting on your first impulse, after all ��”

And then Harry shut him up. He stood up abruptly, slammed his palms on the desk and leaned into Malfoy’s space, lip curled. He knew, logically, that he was being unreasonable. He also knew he kind of wanted to snarl.

Malfoy blinked, startled.

“What the fuck do you want?” Harry asked. Malfoy kept blinking at him. “Were you here for a reason, or did you come here looking for a fight? Because I will fight you, Malfoy, I -“

“Circe, you’ve got mail,” interrupted Malfoy, waving a neat stack of letters before setting them down by Harry’s hole puncher. “You ought to be kept on a leash, I swear to Merlin.”

Harry was seething by then, however, and decided snarling didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.

And somehow, after he had delivered a comeback and Malfoy kept pestering him anyway, he found his fingers clenching around the front of Malfoy’s robes, pulling him towards the archive room, through a small door, and apparating him to his house in London. Malfoy’s house. Harry wasn’t very sure how he knew the address well enough to end up there, but he did and he had. This was the sixth impossible thing.

Malfoy spluttered, raged, but his hands pulled Harry close and into the house and it happened.

Harry slept with him. This was the stupid, ridiculous, unthinkable conclusion.

Thinking back on it, he was inclined to say that he’d been out of his mind, but the truth was, he’d had plenty of time to back off, and he hadn’t.

Even more ridiculous, even more unthinkable, was the fact that it … did something to him. After they’d had a go at it in Malfoy’s couch, Harry’s anger had — not disappeared, exactly, but it had been taken over by something bigger, stronger. A raging hunger he’d not experienced in … possibly ever.

And by then he’d been so, so angry for so many years, that he was hesitant to let go of the new feeling. He’d slipped his thumb into Malfoy’s mouth, and they’d had another go at it on his living room floor, and then another in the kitchen, and another in the bedroom, right before passing out, worn out and not angry, for the first time in longer than he’d care to admit.

He felt ashamed of it in the morning, as he was forced to vanish the evidence of their coupling from his chest and thighs, as he apparated home and scrubbed himself down in the shower, as he went to work and kept his head down, sure everyone would take a look at him and know he’d gone and done the unthinkable.

But even the shame was different from the everlasting anger he’d carried.

As he sat at the dreaded desk and curled his lip at the stupid, prying coworkers who stared at him, he found he couldn’t muster up the rage to continue punching holes through all his case reports, and proceeded to be so incredibly embarrassed that his face blushed bright red and he had to pretend to choke on his tea and cough violently so nobody would suspect a thing.

Around the sixth time he did the entire tea-choke-cough thing to fight yet another memory of the night before, the door to the headquarters slammed open and in walked Draco Malfoy, with a swagger to his step and a grin so bright that Harry’s hatred for him was turned up to eleven and intensified past stratospheric levels. Inexplicably, he wanted to run.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, white teeth flashing. Harry thought of a panther, then scowled because no way was intimidating a word he was willing to associate with the little shit standing in front of him, and willed himself to think of a stupid, raging, harmless house cat. Much more fitting. He made a mewling sound similar to theirs, anyway, when he – “Missed me?”

“Why are you talking to me?” Harry asked, digging inside himself for the anger, for something to hurl at Malfoy and run away, escape his maddening smirk, but he came up short.

Malfoy’s grin widened.

“Oh, you know, the usual.” He said, and it indeed was the usual — oblivious as usual, infuriating as usual, then leaned right into Harry’s space, crowding him against his chair and hitting him with his disgusting, revolting, nauseating, fresh minty breath. Then, he showed him a thin envelope. “Your mail.”

Harry snatched it from him. “Good. Now piss off.”

“As you wish. See you later.”

“Not if I can help it.”

He could still hear Malfoy’s laugh, even after he’d left and closed the door, could still feel the disgusting, revolting, nauseating minty breath inside his nostrils, and if he wasn’t careful he could still feel the shape of Malfoy’s mouth around his —

He most definitely was not seeing him later.

Harry told himself this all day. Not seeing him later, he told himself as he stood in front of Robards after he’d summoned him for a ‘meeting’ that was really just a load of bullshit on protocol and procedures and useless things Harry did not give a damn about. Not seeing him later, he told himself as he bought a salad at the café two streets down the ministry and smiled back at the lovely waitress. Not seeing him later, he told himself as he sat at his desk and found himself capable of punching holes after all, but not exactly out of anger.

Not seeing him later, he told himself after his shift was over and he left headquarters.

Not seeing him later, he told himself, as he apparated straight into Malfoy’s living room.

And there he was.

For a second he looked surprised, vulnerable, a flash in his eyes as he took Harry in that spoke of uncertainty. Then, he looked as thought he’d been expecting him.

“You couldn’t help it, then?” He asked, stepping forward and not making any sense whatsoever.

“What are you talking about?” Harry said. It came out low, and not at all the way he’d intended.

“You said you wouldn’t see me if you could help it.” There was triumph somewhere in that sentence, or an attempt at it. There was also a tremble right in the middle, a fracture.

A red, pulsating curl of – of something rose inside Harry’s belly, and he grabbed onto it with desperation, thinking it was there, the anger, safety. But as he took it, owned it and stepped forward to punch Malfoy in the nose as he’d done Robards the day before, he found himself pushing him up against the wall instead, and bringing his face very close to his.

Malfoy’s eyes were a ring of silver overtaken by the wide abyss of his pupils. Awful, disgusting, they made Harry think of ugly murky waters and nasty storm clouds and made him want to retch.

He slid a hand into wispy, blonde, awful, disgusting, revolting hair and pulled him into a rough kiss that was all teeth.

They had a go at it on the living room floor, then another two in the bedroom, before collapsing from exhaustion.

When their wand alarms went off at the same time in the morning, Harry opened his eyes to see Malfoy between his legs. No time for shame.

Afterwards, they padded downstairs, Malfoy two steps ahead of him, wearing nothing. Harry couldn’t look at him, couldn’t look away.

It was different in the morning light.

Malfoy was different, his naked body as he made them sandwiches was different, his eyes resembled something other than murky waters and his hair brushing against his forehead, against the constellations of freckles on his cheekbones was different, and his bare feet, light and silent on the hardwood floors were different, and the curve of his arms and the planes of his chest were different, and his cock hanging between his legs looked different, and Harry — Harry also felt different.

There was the usual racing of his heart, but no trace of anger, the usual heat in his chest and stomach, but not a sign of rage, the usual need to put his hands on the other person, but no want for violence.

He felt his fingers tremble as he poured water into an empty cup.

“Mayo?” Malfoy asked, low, sleepy.

Harry swallowed. “Yeah.”

Malfoy hummed, and Harry stared as he spread mayo onto his bread. At the work of his long, bony fingers. He tried to think they were disgusting, and couldn’t.

“Here,” Malfoy said, handing him the plate when he was done. Harry took it, put it aside.

They had another go at it in the kitchen.

“Isn’t it better?” Malfoy asked, breathless, pushing back against him, hands planted on the counter.

“Better?” Harry said, grunted into his shoulder, into the beauty mark he was getting acquainted with.

“Than … than anger – oh god, please.” He dropped his head back against Harry’s chest, panted, moved faster. “Than fighting.”

Then, he shifted and Harry stopped thinking for a while.

Later, leaning against the wall of the shower as he watched Malfoy wash his hair, he thought about it.

Better than anger.

Better than fighting.

Was it?

He brought a hand up, brushed his fingers against Malfoy’s chest, traced the lines leading down to his hips. Thought about fighting him, arguing. Thought about something else.

They had another go at it under the stream of water, as it turned cold against their feverish skin.

Stupid, unthinkable, ridiculous, perfect, just right conclusion. Harry supposed it was better than fighting.

#drarry #drarry microfic #drarrymicrofic #mine #drarry fic #draco malfoy #harry potter #mywriting

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danny-chase · 4 years ago

Text

Dick Grayson Week Day 4

Prompt: Bruce hits Dick and doesn’t get away with it

Summary/Notes:

A Spyral fixit where the family finds out about Nightwing 30. Perspectives are from Tim and Jason, but Steph, Cass, and Damian make an appearance. Quotes taken from Forever Evil 7 and 8, and Nightwing 30. Tw for swearing, angst and domestic/child abuse (because canon is terrible and I can’t leave it the way it is).

Edit: I have an AO3 account now yay! Read here

“I’ll be right back.” Tim chirped as he left to pull some files out of his room. He could feel his friends’ gazes lingering on him as he left. He had to suppress an eye roll. He was fine. Your pseudo-dad/adopted-father-before-you-emancipated-yourself loses his memory and suddenly everyone thinks there’s something wrong with you. Figures. Bruce was happier this way. And maybe, one day, he’d be able to get to know him again. Maybe not as sorta-father and son. But Bruce 2.0 liked volunteering with kids, running charity events. Maybe they could be business partners, or coworkers. It wasn’t like last time. But that didn’t mean Cassie, Bart and Kon weren’t worried. No matter how many times he tried to explain, they wouldn’t listen. It was better this way. Bruce was happier without them. Without him. It stung at first sure, but he was over it. He could handle it. Even if the knot in his stomach told him otherwise.

His fingers brushed the lines on the hallway as he strode through Titan’s Tower. The halls seemed so much smaller than they used to be. Logically, he knew they were the same size. But they weren’t the same walls as when he’d first visited. And those hadn’t even been the first wall either. “We’ve had to rebuild this place like at least a million times.” Dick had told him. The knot tightened. Don’t think about it, he reprimanded himself. He’d been having a nice afternoon. It was relaxing, staying with his friends. But he couldn’t walk through the halls without feeling like a trespasser. This was Dick’s team. This was his home away from home. Who was he kidding? He was no Dick Grayson. Dick’s friends used to look to him for guidance, for advice, for help with problems, personal and business related. Tim used to look to him for guidance, advice and help. Stop thinking about him, he tried again. Forget the Crime Syndicate. Forget the funeral. Don’t stress, repress. He paused for a moment, stared aimlessly out the window, took a few deep breaths, cleared his mind and continued on his way.

Climbing the stairs, he decided it was better to use his mental faculties to go through the case he was working on. Jason had called two days ago asking about some of his old informants in Gotham, Penguin was apparently moving back onto the scene and reorganizing the structure of some of the newer gangs. Cleaning house. Informants were switching names, following their own protocols. Bruce had written some contingency in a classified file somewhere. The issue was where. The damn batcomputer had like a billion files on it. And Barbara knew the system, but was busy coordinating for the JLA and had put them on “Do not Disturb” mode for the foreseeable future. He could write a program to search for it. Stupid Bruce and his stupid files that he’d kept secret from them. “It was on a need to know basis.” He could almost here the defensiveness in Bruce’s voice if he tried hard enough. He nearly face planted as he miscalculated the number of stairs. Maybe they should just go back to their old Young Justice base. Or wait till the building inevitably explodes again and just make it better. That would be fun. Designing a Teen Titans base with slides and escalators. Bart would be thrilled. Bart could probably build it in 5 minutes. Dick wouldn’t approve, his brain felt the need to remind him. Tim nearly huffed. Well Dick is de-.

He abruptly lost his train of thought. There was noise coming from his room. Someone was sniffing, was someone crying in his room? Who was even in his room? Everyone was downstairs. Cissie and Steph were visiting in the lounge, Greta left a few days ago, the new kids were in the gym getting a feel for the equipment. The hell? His heart pounded a bit louder as he silently slunk towards his rooms. If Dick decided to haunt him from beyond the grave this was not cool. The lights flickered. Tim nearly screamed. He could feel cold sweat gathering in his palms, his heart racing, thoughts pounding in his skull. It’s just one of Bart’s pranks, no one can get in without access. He slid next to his door and pulled up the camera feed on his glove’s embedded computer. They weren’t in lockdown, but it couldn’t hurt to check. Few clicks here, few taps there and…Damian? Tim burst through the door, half relieved and fully confused.

“What are you doing here?” Tim half yelled, Damian startling on the bed as he burst into his room. Tim flicked the lights on as the gremlin crossed his arms in response. Tim shut the soundproof door, no need to bother Kon with this.

“I was given access to the tower as well.” He stated monotonously. Tim frowned; something was off. Damian didn’t just show up in his room. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen the kid in weeks. Not since Bruce went all amnesiac on them. Where was he even staying. Damian shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. There were dark circles under his eyes, he was paler than usual, but flushed, his eyes bright. Had he been crying in here? “Quit gawking at me, Drake.” He spat, jolting Tim back into reality.

He almost opened his mouth to throw some insult back. Almost. He saw the kid’s lip tremble just so slightly, and he bit his tongue. The kid’s hands were shaking. “What’s up?” He replied cautiously. Keeping the demon brat in line wasn’t in his job description. But the kid had had a rough couple months. Dying, coming back to Dick being dead, Bruce losing his memory. He could help with whatever this was and-

“Grayson is alive.”

-send the kid back to Alfred, he knew the kid better than he did. He had his pets at the manor to keep him company, maybe he’d see if Jon would be willing to have a sleepover or something. Spring break was coming up soon, maybe he could take a trip out to Kansas-

“Drake!” Damian was waving a hand in front of his face. Tim blinked a few times. He hadn’t said…had he? That wasn’t right Dick was-

“Richard is alive, I can prove it.” There was desperation in the kid’s voice, water in his eyes. The trash can was filled with tissues, it had been empty when he left. His shirt was on inside out. Tim inhaled sharply. Fuck. Tim had been there. He’d done that. Denied reality. Gone on a wild fairy tale goose chase. Chased insane dreams. Sure, it had worked. But this was different. They had a body. We had a body then, his mind helpfully supplied. There was no real evidence. It had worked hadn’t it? Denying Bruce’s death out of reality? But Dick couldn’t be alive. Bruce had seen him die. Clark saw Bruce die, his brain again helpfully supplied. Tim studied Damian’s face carefully. He looked two steps away from a mental breakdown. Was that how I looked? He wasn’t exactly looking in any mirrors at the time. Dick had try to talk him back down, that was the wrong move. He’d doubled down. But Damian wasn’t him and Tim had no idea what to do. Damian stared at him, studying his face carefully. Tim could feel his palms sweating again, when had he started clenching his fists? His brain was ticking through options, tell Damian he believed him – high chance of heartbreak, low chance of kid running off and doing something stupid on his own. Try and talk him down – still some heartbreak, but can mitigate, medium to high chance of him running off. Call Alfred – should he really do that though? The kid came to him. Alfred’s busy dealing with amnesiac Bruce. Call someone else? Why did the kid come to him in the first place? Damian hated him, he wouldn’t come to him unless he was really sure, or really desperate. Does he think I can replicate what happened with Bruce? Time seemed to move like molasses. Tim swallowed. Now or never.

“I believe you.” He replied. Damian’s eyebrows furrowed, but his shoulders fell ever so slightly, and he rocked back on his heels, uncrossing his arms and leaning into a less defensive stance. Mixed results. He prayed he sounded convincing enough. If he was going this route, he had to go all the way. It didn’t matter that he’d seen the body. It didn’t matter that Bruce saw. He needed to be on Damian’s side with this one. Just like he’d needed somebody on his side back then. Even if it was a crazy side. Even if it was a leave everyone behind and run around on a whim side. Even if it doesn’t work out, at least the kid would have someone to catch him at the end. Why did it have to be the brat though?

“You do not. But you will.” Damian said solemnly, a bit of an edge to his voice. He pulled a laptop out of a bag on the floor and hopped up on the foot of Tim’s bed. Tim quietly settled next to him, careful to not touch him. He was careful. The kid didn’t appear to be looking for a fight, but you never know. Tim glanced at the laptop screen.

“DAMIAN NO WHAT THE-” He screamed. Damian nearly leapt of the bed. His face turned red.

“-tt- Grow up Drake, this is for research purposes only, that is not-” He started mumbling.

“You’re on DICK GRAYSON THIRST POST WEBSITES for RESEARCH!” Tim half screamed, attempting to lower his voice. Damian flushed harder.

“SHUT UP DRAKE!” He countered. Tim took deep breaths. Dear god, he needed to bleach his eyes after this. He did not need to know these threads existed. Fucking reddit. Humanity has gone too far. There were 20k followers. He peeked over again, the latest posts were from this morning. His mouth was dry. These people were lusting over his dead brother. It was sick, it was fucking disgusting it was-

“Wait what’s that picture?” Tim asked.

“-tt- If you would allow me to explain instead of losing your head, I can show you.” Damian grumbled. He clicked on the picture to enlarge it. “I’ve run the calculations, biometrically, the body shape is a 99.97% match.” Tim let out a low whistle. It wasn’t much to go on. You couldn’t see the figure’s face, he was turned away from the camera. Whoever took it was definitely aiming for a certain portion of the man’s body.

“Have you talked to the poster?” Tim inquired. Damian nodded.

“This subreddit is dedicated to…” Damian made a revolted looking face, “capturing casual images of Grayson in unsavory positions.” He nearly squirmed as he finished the sentence. “I was attempting to research the details of Grayson’s perceived passing and came across this website.” That was a different kind of trauma in Tim’s opinion. “The image caught my eye. He has fans in Ireland, that is where it was taken. These fans are apparently experts at picking him out.” Damian scrolled through some earlier posts to prove his point. “It is odd.” He added pointedly. Tim’s mind was racing. It was hardly evidence. It could have been anyone. But he was right. The perverts were good. They even had a few of Dick in disguise doing undercover work, none of his face of course. But Dick couldn’t be in Ireland. Tim went to the funeral. Bruce went to the funeral. Bruce saw Dick die. Bruce wouldn’t lie about something like that. He never told you about the Joker. His mind supplied. No. Bruce wouldn’t. Bruce couldn’t. He wouldn’t put them through that grief. Not after Damian. Not after all the lies. He promised he wouldn’t lie to them like that. The picture couldn’t be real. But Damian kept scrolling. There were more. In multiple countries. It couldn’t be possible. There was no way. People joked his brother’s butt was iconic but this was ridiculous.

“Drake?” Damian sounded so cautious. Tim was confused. The pictures all looked so real. So accurate. Could they be photoshopped? That could explain it.

“Did you get any of the original files?” He asked much too hastily to appear calm. A smile flicked on Damian’s face for a millisecond.

“You believe me.” Damian stated, half disbelievingly. Tim bit his lip. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t. If he did, then he didn’t believe Bruce. Damian cleared his throat. “I have already examined a few of the original photographs. Their phones were laughably easy to hack.” He looked smug for a mentally unhinged eleven-year-old. “They do not appear to be tampered with.” Tim could feel his heart thudding in his chest. Dick couldn’t be alive. It wasn’t possible. He saw the body. Bruce was in the cave for a week going over it. Not allowing anyone in. No… Fuck…

“What did you do?” He muttered under his breath. Damian looked at him inquisitively, a determination burning in his eyes. Tim hadn’t seen any of the proof himself. And he believed Bruce unquestioningly. That was the opposite of what the man had taught him. But there was still something off. He looked searchingly at Damian. “Dick wouldn’t do that to us.” He couldn’t. Dick would never do something like that. He would tell them. He wasn’t like Bruce, he was reliable. Dick didn’t keep secrets like that. He wouldn’t fake his own death and leave them to fend for themselves. Not after Damian died. After everything they’d lost, after everything he’d lost. Dick wouldn’t do that to him. Damian’s eyes flickered toward the ground, and he frowned.

“Maybe he can’t tell us.” Is all he had to offer. It seemed like a sore spot. Tim didn’t push it. It was probably driving the kid insane. Dick, galivanting across the world, not checking in, not coming back to tell them he was okay? The odds were astronomically low. Dick was a constant. He was their brother. He was a Robin. Robins don’t do that to each other. Steph did, his brain helpfully supplied. But that wasn’t Steph’s fault. Tim dug his nails into his palms. He needed to know. He needed proof. He needed to see the footage, go over the evidence. He didn’t doubt Dick, but his mind was itching. He wouldn’t be able to sleep unless he knew for sure. Hell, Damian probably couldn’t either.

“Look, here’s the plan.” Tim said, his mind racing. Damian stared at him intently. Wow the kid really was desperate if he was willing to listen to him. “I’ll tell Kon I’m taking you home, that you need some help on a case, then will slip out. Maybe, maybe someone close to the family is compromised.” He said, a bit unsure. That could explain the lie. If there was one. Please let there be one. Damian nodded, stuffing his laptop back into his backpack. Tim crossed the room and grabbed the door handle.

A barely audible “Thanks.” reached his ears as he flipped off the lights.

Jason groaned as he checked his messages. He really didn’t want to go through the batcomputer files. It would be faster if Tim did it, plus he had a lower chance of accidentally messing something up. Not that the file system wasn’t already a disaster. Touch the wrong button and you’re locked in the cave till Alfred realizes something’s wrong.

Tim had stopped responding to his messages two days ago, and well, he couldn’t wait any longer. And so, he found himself zipping through the tunnel systems that led into the cave. It was better to avoid the manner if possible. Happy Bruce wasn’t high on the list of people he wanted to see. That dude was fucking weird. It made him feel weird. It did feel good to cross amnesia off his yearly family bingo though. Now he just needed someone to trip during an interview and he’d break Cass’s winning streak. At the rate they were checking things off, maybe he should start a second batch and make it biannual. That or change the prompts. They were getting predictable.

He rolled to a stop inside the cave, and nearly rolled his eyes seeing the mess of skid marks on the floor. Seriously, tires are expensive, why his siblings couldn’t park like normal human beings was beyond him.

Someone was clacking away on the upper platform. Oh, thank God Tim was probably here, figuring it out before he could mess everything up. Cass poked her head over the railing, Jason cocked an eyebrow at her as he removed his helmet. She grinned and jumped over it, catching the fireman’s pole and sliding down. Someone was going to break an ankle doing that, could he add that to the bingo cards? Stupid non-work related injury was already on there, maybe upgrading it to stupid broken bone would suffice. Dick broke his nose outside Denny’s at 3am last year during a post mission party. Hands down one of the best nights of Jason’s life. Too bad his family members decided to die at least once a year.

“I’m about to win bingo.” Cass whispered as she brushed past his shoulder. That jolted Jason out of his bittersweet thoughts.

“Bullshit.” He growled back, bingo was his this year. She smugly wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Sorry brother.” She said sweetly, leaning her head into his shoulder. She let out a long sigh. And then Jason finally remembered that it most the squares weren’t exactly fun.

“Wait, the fuck’s going on?” Fuck, he really didn’t want to deal with this right now. Nobody could have died Dick checked that off, amnesia was gone, Gotham destroyed was gone, natural disaster was checked, Joker breaks out and does dramatic shit was gone too. But that wasn’t a good sigh, that was a ‘I’m so tired of this family sigh’, which could narrow it down a bit. Cass squeezed his shoulder.

“Family secrets.” She admitted, giving him a melancholy look. Jason groaned. This family was the fucking worst. Bruce wasn’t even really part of it right now, who the hell was keeping secrets? Damian. Had to be Damian. Little monster was just like his dad. Fuck. Dick taught the kid better than that. What kind of mess was he in?

Cass took him by the wrist and started dragging him towards the stairs. He resisted briefly as they got to the base. He needed to know. “Who’s is it?” He asked, planting his feet on the ground.

Cass bit her lip, looking extremely uncomfortable. Jason pulled back his arms and crossed them, keeping his expression as neutral as he could, but she could probably read his mood anyways.

“HA. HAHAHA HA. FUCK YOU BRUCE! TAKE THAT SHIT-COMPUTER!”

Jason nearly jumped out of his skin at Tim’s screeching from upstairs, Cass was running up the stairs, not waiting to see if he was coming. Jason sighed. It was going to be on of those days. He took a deep breath and headed up behind her.

Tim was doing a victory dance in front of the computer. Damian was crawling out from under the computer, a shit eating grin on his face. They both looked (and smelled) a mess. Definitely neither had showered in a few days, probably hadn’t slept either.

“Todd, you are just in time to witness our victory over father.” Damian greeted, formal as ever. The brat didn’t even through an insult in there. Must be in a good mood. Well that at least explained who was keeping secrets. Stupid Bruce, keeping secrets even while an amnesiac. Screw him.

“Shall we?” Tim asked, offering a hand to Damian, which shockingly the kid took. The fuck did he miss?!?

“Uh, what the fuck?” He managed to get out. There was cowl footage pulled up on the screen. Cass was pulling chairs over from the table. He tiredly took the seat she offered him.

“Waaaaiiiiiit I have popcorn!” Steph called, pounding down the stairs.

“Steph no!” Tim moaned. “This isn’t a joke!”

“What’s family drama without popcorn?” Steph sung back. Damian huffed. Cass snickered. Jason had to smirk to himself. Dark humor was the best coping mechanism in this family. “Besides you haven’t told us what this is!” She accused. Well at least Jason wasn’t the only one who didn’t know. Tim shifted guilty at the computer, his eyes darting from Damian and then back to the group. Damian responded by huffing and crossing his arms.

“Drake did not ‘want to get your hopes up’.” He began, mimicking Tim’s voice perfectly, “-tt-His concern is unfounded, my research has been impeccable, Gr-” Tim shoved a hand over Damian’s mouth. Damian looked downright murderous.

“Look we want to watch the footage beforehand it might be-” Tim squawked as Cass lunged off the table, hopped over his shoulders and hit play on the batcomputer. “Cass wait!” He got out as the video began to play. Steph grabbed Tim from behind and dragged him into a seat.

The screen showed footage from a first-person perspective, they were walking through a doorway into a large room.

“I’m tired of secrets.” Muttered Cass as she slipped in a chair next to Steph. Damian staid standing, glaring intensely at the screen, looking strangely anguished.

“Hey, kid you can…” The invitation died in his throat. The camera moved forward into the room, revealing a beaten Dick Grayson in the center, hooked to countless machines, suspended in a metal cocoon, only his face and chest peeking out.

“Oh my God.” Came a familiar voice from the screen. A growl reverberated in the cave.

“Well Batman…” Luthor materialized on the right, “…You’ve found Nightwing.” He said, stalking forward.

Something clattered on the floor. The camera was rushing forward. Voices from the cave mixed with voices on the screen.

“Why would you want to watch this!?” shrieked Steph.

“Dick? Everything’s going to be all right. I’m here.” Bruce’s gruff voice sounded oddly strained.

“Shut up Brown!” Came Damian in a high-pitched voice.

“He never showed us the evidence.” Tim’s voice squeaked. “We have to watch till the end?”

“I’m sorry I shut you out. All of you. I didn’t want you getting hurt…I’m going to get you out of this.” Came Bruce’s shaking voice. Jason could feel a lump growing in his throat. He didn’t want to see this.

“Fast-forward?” Cass suggested, her voice equally shaken. Jason could barely see the others in the cave, his eyes were glued to the screen.

“No…You need to…leave.” Came Dick’s horse whisper of a voice. “You need to go…”

Damian made an inhuman noise, which allowed Jason to tear his eyes off the screen.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Muttered Tim. “We can’t fast-forward we need to know what happened.” He forced a sense of determination into his voice. “This is why I didn’t-”

THOOM. The sound rumbled through the cave. Jason jumped out of his seat. The camera whipped around revealing the exit sealed off, with Luthor, Selina, and Bizzarro trapped inside.

“-you guys can still leave.” Tim said shakily.

BA-DEEP. Blared through the speakers. BA-DEEP.

“What is that?” Came Selina’s voice, her usual smooth and silky persona dropped. BA-DEEP.

“It’s a countdown. This isn’t just a fancy pair of handcuffs, Catwoman. It’s a bomb.” Came Lex’s gruff voice. The camera turned again showing a timer counting down from 5 minutes. Jason’s stomach painfully twisted at the reminder of another countdown in another sealed building.

“We’re staying.” He managed to get out. He might have heard noises of affirmation.

WHAM. “The door. The walls. Why can’t we break through them?” Came Luthor’s voice.

“This cell was designed to hold Doomsday, Luthor.” Came Bruce’s voice again. The camera showed him messing with the panel. BA-DEEP.

“Is the countdown monitoring his heart?” Selina asked from seemingly far away.

“Yes.” Boomed Bruce’s voice. BA-DEEP.

“Why?” Replied Selina.

“The detonator is hooked into it.” Bruce responded. Jason’s heart sunk. “He died in a death trap. There was no way out.” Bruce had told him before the funeral. BA-DEEP.

“Batman…The bomb…” Dick whispered. BA-DEEP. Jason spared another glance at Damian. There were tears beginning to form in his eyes, but he stared, glued to the screen all the same. “…It only disams…If my heart stops.” Jason could feel his chest tightening painfully. “I die…or we all die.” BA-DEEP.

“Maybe Bruce had a reason for not showing this to us.” Steph said shakily. Jason glanced over. She looked green. Her sleave and eyes were both wet. The sounds of the heart monitor echoed in the cave.

BA-DEEP. “Please…Listen to me…” Dick’s horse voice started again. Tim was muttering frantically to himself. “You still have time to get yourself out of here.” The camera was so close. Jason could see every cut on his brother’s face, could see the sweat on his brow, the blood trickling down from his nose.

BA-DEEP. “I am not leaving you, Dick. I am not abandoning you.” Bruce sounded much more confident that Jason felt. Too bad Bruce didn’t sound confident.

“You aren’t Bruce. And you never have.” Dick replied. Jason’s vision was blurring. All he wanted was some stupid computer files. He didn’t come to the cave to watch this.

BA-DEEP. “The only way we’re getting out of here is together…No…The wires…” Jason dug his fingernails into his palms. “…Every time I disconnect a relay, it fixes itself.” Jason bit his lip.

BA-DEEP. At some point those in the caves had gone silent. “Then there’s only one way to disarm this bomb, Batman.” Came Luthor’s voice. The video jolted violently and Bruce’s cry reverberated through the cave. Chaos erupted on the screen. A cacophony associated with their customary brand of violence echoed through the speakers, obscuring some of the voices.

BA-DEEP. “I’m saving our lives.” Jason made out. The screen was black. Jason glanced around the room. Everyone was tense. Damian was crying. Tim looked horrified. Cass was perfectly still, her expression blank. Steph looked one step away from throwing up in the empty popcorn bowl that lie on the ground at her feet.

BA-DEEP. The camera was moving again. “LUTHOR.” Boomed Bruce’s voice again. Jason caught a glimpse of the man pressing a hand over Dick’s face. “LUTHOR, YOU HURT HIM AND I WILL KILL YOU.” Cass let out the faintest gasp. Bruce wasn’t lying. How the hell was Luthor still alive? The heart monitor was stuttering. BA-DEEEEEP

“Nonononononononononono.” Came Tim’s voice. “It wasn’t supposed to-”

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

“DICK.” Screamed Bruce. The camera rushed forward.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

“NO!” Yelled Bruce and Tim at the same time. Damian had sunk to the floor.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

A fist kept pounding Luthor in the face relentlessly. “Batman, wait-” Luthor pleaded. This was not how Jason had wanted Bruce to break his code.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

“YOU MURDERER!” Screeched Bruce, righteous fury echoing in his voice. The heart monitor cut off. A hand reached down to cut off Luthor’s windpipe.

“I have this…” Came Luthor’s strangled voice. He looked terrified. “Under control…Grayson…” The hand squeezed harder. “-kk-!” The man chocked. Bruce lessened up slightly. “It’s not too late, you idiot.” Spat Luthor. Bruce was apparently passed the point of listening.

“YOU MURDERED NIGHTWING.” He growled, tightening his grip once more. Luthor was going bug eyed. The man was going to actually die if Bruce pushed it much harded.

“Batman-” Came Selina’s voice.

“Luthor killed Dick, Selina.” Bruce said, his voice strangled.

“You said this lightning rod was from the future! Maybe we can use it to save him or something? I don’t know-!” She cried desperately.

A flash of light and crackle of electricity resounded through the cave. The screen went black for a moment.

Jason could hear metal clinking on the floor.

“Why are we still watching this?” Jason asked hoarsely. Tim looked at him palely.

“I need to know what happened next.” He whispered.

“If I hadn’t stopped Grayson’s heart, this ‘Murder Machine’ would have detonated and we all would have died. I had to make a choice, Batman. I made him flatline…after I forced him to swallow a cardioplegia pill.” The camera slowly tilted back up to focus on Luthor.

“A what?” Asked Steph and Selina at the same time.

“A drug that paralyzes the cardiac muscles surrounding the heart.” Replied Tim and Bruce in sync.

“Then…” Trailed off Damian. The boy looked up hopefully at the screen.

“And if this boy’s heart doesn’t get a shot of adrenaline right this very second he’s going to stay dead.” Luthor finished.

*kaff*

That small cough was the best sound Jason had heard in his entire life.

“YES!” Shouted Tim.

Damian swallowed. “As I expected.” He said shakily. No one called him out on it.

“Dick?” Came Bruce’s voice from the screen.

“Batman?” Dick’s wobbly voice whispered.

Cass tackled Steph into a bear hug, and Steph laughed widely as they clattered to the floor. Jason just sighed deeply and let his head drop into his hands in relief.

“Drake-” gasped Damian, “-get off.”

“You were right! Damian was right! Dick’s alive. HAHA Dick’s ALIVE!” Jason glanced up to see Tim squeezing the crap out of Damian who was going slightly blue in the face. There were words coming from the speakers still but they fell to the wayside in the celebration. Jason walked over and turned the volume down.

“I’m going to kill them.” Jason muttered under his breath. But he’d save that for later, for now, he just paced back to his chair and sunk into it. The cave was quiet for a few minutes, Dick and Bruce continued on whatever the fuck adventure they were on was. The rest of the video was a blur. By the end, Jason’s racing heart had settled, and the kids had stopped clinging to each other.

“But wait.” Said Steph as the video ended. “If Dick’s alive, where is he? How did you even know to look?”

Jason turned to see Tim babbling. “Well I have a few theories, we recovered more footage as well, you know? Like Damian found pictures of him all across the world so like, we don’t know for certain where he is, but like I don’t know for sure what happened, but maybe someone was compromised so like, he had to stay hidden or like…” Tim continued babbling as the next video began to play. It was once again footage from the cowl. “Bruce shut off all the camera’s in the cave for the next week, I thought he was sulking but like we were able to find some cowl footage that he deleted, and like hopefully from that we can figure out what happened and how to track him down-”

“Turn up the volume.” Demanded Cass from her seat. She was looking at the screen with an odd expression. Damian moved without hesitation. Jason’s eyes followed up to the screen. Dick was glaring into the camera his fists raised and wrapped.

“So, one more time Dick. But now there’s only one rule…You have to win.” Came Bruce’s gruff voice. The pair was in the cave. Dick lunged towards the camera. “You let the crime syndicate capture you. Let them torture you. You let them give your secrets to the world.” Bruce accused.

“Bruce man, what the fuck!” Steph yelled, masking Dick’s response.

Bruce continued “You let them turn you into a bomb. You let them kill you. Before Luthor rescued you, you let everyone WATCH YOU DIE.” He boomed.

“YOU GOTTA BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!” Jason bellowed, knocking over his chair as he stood. He walked away from the screen. Only fucking Bruce. Only fucking Bruce would blame someone for their death. Jason knew that all too well. He walked away from the screen, giving himself distance to clear his head.”

“I trained you to LIVE, and I watched you DIE!” CRACK. Jason flipped around to see Bruce elbow Dick in the face, drawing blood. Bruce’s words cut like a knife. It wasn’t Jason’s fault he died. It wasn’t Dick’s fault either. Neither Steph’s or Damian’s. Damian had unconsciously taken cover behind Tim, who was standing between Damian and the screen with an arm hovering over the kid’s shoulder.

“WHAT THE FUCK BRUCE!” Screamed Steph at the screen, she was also on her feet at this point. Only Cass’s hand prevented her from trying to fight the digital apparition. “WE DON’T JUST GO AROUND DYING WILLY NILLY, IT’S NOT MY-, IT’S NOT HIS FAULT!” Her voice shrilly echoed around the cave, drowning out the audio temporarily.

Dick was on his knees, wiping his bloody nose, looking up confused. WHACK. A powerful kick sent him flying off the platform, crashing into a costume display case. “I have a mission for you, Dick. I need you to do something that will hurt your friends. Your family.” Bruce commanded. He could hear Damian inhale sharply. Tim stopped hovering and pulled Damian tightly into his chest, rushing forward to pause the video, with the boy in tow. His hand was over the button before Cass sprung forward and grabbed his wrist. Jason had never seen Cass look this angry without the mask.

“I deserve to know.” She said with conviction, anger deep in her voice. “I deserve to know what kind of father he is.” She spat. Jason wasn’t going to touch that with a ten foot pole.

“But he shouldn’t, I mean I don’t know if, I mean I don’t know what, I mean-” Tim sputtered glancing from the screen to Damian and back again.

“I want to know the truth.” Came Damian’s tiny reply. He looked so young, he pushed away from Tim’s chest, but leaned into his side.

Cass pulled Tim’s hand back. “I fought him once.” She admitted. “I need to know.” She repeated.

Tim looked at her pleadingly. Bruce and Dick raged at each other on screen. Blood flowed from the cuts on Dick’s back. “I…I…” Tim stammered.

“We all deserve to know.” Steph piped up, leaning against the side of the computer.

“Fight like you’re alive!” Bruce yelled on the screen. CRACK. An oversized die broke on impact with the back of Dick’s head. Dick retaliated, throwing a question mark back.

The words were blurring in Jason’s head, his rage clouding his thoughts, and overtaking his senses. The rest of the world was disappearing, leaving only the screen behind. His vision tunneled. He crossed his arms as tightly as he could, willing himself to stay in place. Stay calm. His hearing cut out. But he could still read his name on his brother’s lips just before Bruce delivered an uppercut powerful enough to knock Dick off the dinosaur.

The next thing Jason knew Cass was sitting on him. People were yelling at him.

“-on’t break the screen-”

“-up I need to see-”

“-op fighting-”

Cass smiled apologetically before tapping a pressure point. Jason allowed himself to fade into the darkness.

He came to in a medical bay of the cave, with an intense desire to get out. This place was cursed. He needed out, he needed to think, he needed to process, but he needed to get out. He pushed himself up and swung his legs off the bed.

“Wait.” Came a voice from behind him. He spun off the bed to see Tim, awkwardly standing on the other side of the cot. Jason edged towards the door. “We know where he is.” Tim offered. Jason glanced at Tim, and back to the door.

“Can we talk somewhere else?” He asked quietly. He didn’t want to be in the cave for this. Tim awkwardly bobbed side to side.

“Uh about that. We’re moving out.” He said quickly. Jason opened the door.

“OMGIT’SREDHOODHIMR.REDHOODSIRPLEASEDON’TKILLTIM-”

Jason slammed the door in the kid’s face. He stared at Tim, who was banging his head into the wall with a hand covering his eyes.

“Do I even want to know?” Jason asked. Tim groaned.

“I called my team to help us move out, we’re going to use the bunker for Gotham operations from now on.” Tim explained. A loud crash came from outside. The door whipped open.

“Heythegiantpennyisn’t-” The kid started. Jason growled at him. “-nevermindbyebye.” The speedster zipped away and slammed the door.

“You decided this without me?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow at Tim. Tim looked back at him sheepishly.

“You’re already out voted. Besides you really want to stay here?” He replied evenly. Jason shrugged, that was fair. He’d already tried to leave. “I know you said you don’t want to talk here, but I don’t know when I’ll get you alone again.” Jason sighed. That’s valid, he was planning on avoiding the family for a bit. “Please don’t pull a disappearing act.” Jason looked up at him.

“Why not?” He challenged.

“We don’t need Bruce to be a family.” Tim replied. It sounded rehearsed. That was also fair. “And we need each other too. We found some communications from Dick, Bruce left him stranded when he got amnesia, he’s coming back in a few days.” Jason couldn’t look Tim in the eye anymore.

“I don’t know what to do.” He said honestly, looking at Tim’s shoes. What do you say after something like this? After watching something like that. After knowing the truth.

“Neither do we, but we’ll figure it out together.” Tim offered. He looked sad, tired, his face fell before he spoke again. “He…he misses us.” He spoke softly. “On the recordings. I, I don’t think Bruce even told him about Damian.” Jason swore softly under his breath. Bruce was one fucking piece of work.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Jason said after a moment, catching Tim’s eye once more.

Tim shook his head. “The rest of the tape was mostly the same.” He said quietly. “He won.” He added as an afterthought. Jason snorted. Tim gave a warry smile. None of them ever won. Not in the ways they wanted to. Only when the prizes were more pain, more guilt, more heartbreak.

Jason leaned back against the wall. How was this the way things ended up? Was Bruce always this cruel? The man was unrecognizable to Jason. It was inexcusable. After Willis? After Cain? After Brown? Hell, even Tim’s father was emotionally abusive before he died. Why couldn’t any of them have a normal father? A stable parental relationship. It wasn’t fair. And it hurt more because he didn’t even know where it started. Bruce had been a good father to him. Had that been a lie? He’d never looked to closely at why Dick had left home, could it be that…that…? Had Jason missed something like this? Would he ever even know what he’d missed? They didn’t have as many cameras back then.

Tim had crossed the room and put a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be okay.” He said confidently. “As long as we have each other, we’ll all be okay.” Tim squeezed his shoulder gently before disappearing through the door into the chaos that used to be his childhood fantasy. When had it all gone so wrong, he had to ask himself. He hated that he knew the answer. His death was this fucking family’s original sin. But you know what, that wasn’t his fault. Even if it felt like it. Even if Bruce still blamed him. Dick didn’t look at him like a ghost, he didn’t look at him like a kid in over his head, like a regret, like a mistake. It was time for Bruce to grow the hell up and move on. Bad experiences don’t justify beating your kids. Maybe from here, they could move on. Maybe from here on, they could heal. Maybe they could start over. Maybe they could make their own new family. Bruce had abused them, lied to them, manipulated them enough. It was time to rise from the ashes like a phoenix and fly again. He wouldn’t know unless he tried. He didn’t have to give up on Gotham. But maybe it was time to give up on Bruce.

Jason swung open the door, descending into a future unknown, diverging from the circle of heartache and abuse. He had broken the cycle once before, on his own, with a new family made of friends, one of his choosing. And now he chose to break it once more, and this time he resolved not to leave his siblings behind.

#dickgraysonweek2021 #dickgraysonweek #dick grasyon #nightwing #batfamily #my writing #tw domestic abuse #tw child abuse #tw swearing

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years ago

Text

Iron 12 (Peter Parker x Fem!Oc)

A/N: Now let's start with Avengers! Getting closer to seeing Peter, lol.

I know, I know...

Words: 1,593

Masterlist:

Post-credits scene II / Chapter 13

“Good to go on this end. The rest is up to you,” says Tony from the other end of the call.

"You diconnected the transmission lines?" Pepper asks. "Are we off the grid?"

"Stark Tower is about to become a beacon of self-sustaining clean energy.”

"Well, assuming the arc reactor takes over and it actually works,” She continues

"I assume,” answers Tony. "Light her up.”

The huge sign forms a Stark when the lights come on.

"How does it look?"

"Like Christmas, but more... me.”

“Us!" says Lily after listening to the boring conversation between the two adults.

“We’ve got to go wider on the public awareness campaign. You need to do some press. I'm in DC tomorrow, I'm working on the zoning for the next three buildings,” says Pepper.

"That sounds so boring,” Lily complains walking to the couch, leaving her legs swinging on the armrest.

“I agree with the girl. Pepper, you're killing me. The moment, remember? Enjoy the moment.”

"Get in here and I will,” replies the redhead with a smile.

“Ew," adds Lily.

Since Tony and Pepper are finally together, they can't help but be more affectionate than normal, unfortunately the girl always has to interrupt them. She already has enough trauma.

When Tony reaches the tower, he walks on a platform where several robotic hands are responsible for removing the Iron Man suit.

The redhead continues to see the levels projected in the holograms. She leans back on the desk, waiting for Tony.

"Levels are holding steady… I think.”

Tony comes to her side, they talk, and then discuss the percentage of the great success of the reactor. All while Lily continues to get bored on the couch. The adults sit on the floor in front of the coffee table, surrounded by the armchairs, along with two glasses of champagne.

Blah, blah, blah, elevator, blah, blah, blah, money, blah, blah, percentage.

Lily sighs exaggeratedly to get their attention. They both stop talking and Tony watches her.

"Oh sorry, are we bothering you?"

Pepper purses her lips to keep from laughing.

"Actually yes,” the girl sits up. “I'm supposed to be able to do more things, go out more often.”

"And you did it.”

"From the house to the tower does not count, Dad,” She answers. "It's the same as before, only in another prison…”

"Don't exaggerate,” answers Tony. She sighs and falls back onto the cushions. “I don't understand why you’re bored. We’ve just made a breakthrough for the company.”

“One, your company. Two, I did nothing, just watched percentages, values, holograms. Bored!"

"I thought you liked that," adds Pepper.

"I want to do something else.”

"Like what, Smarty?"

"What about an Iron Man suit for me?" She says turning her head towards them.

Tony laughs out loud.

"It wont happen.”

"I had to try it…”

"Sir, the telephone," Jarvis interrupts. "I'm afraid my protocols are being overridden.”

"Mr. Stark, we need to talk,” says a male voice. Tony takes the phone from him.

"That sounds interesting," says Lily.

“You have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark. Please leave a message,” He pretends to be an answering machine looking at the screen, making Lily and Pepper laugh.

"This is urgent.”

"Then leave it urgently.”

But the elevator doors open, revealing Agent Coulson.

"This just keeps getting better,” says Lily. It had been a long time since they had seen Phil.

"Don't get excited kid. Security breach,” Tony complains.

"Phil, come in!" says Pepper getting up.

Tony looks confused at his girlfriend and follows her to where the agent is.

"I can't stay," answers Phil. He looks towards the couch where Lily greets him. "Hi, Lily.”

"His first name is Agent,” says Tony a little annoyed, but then he fakes a smile.

"We need you to look this over as soon as possible,” says Phil offering him a device.

Pepper is in charge of exchanging the device for his champagne glass, until it reaches Tony's hand.

"Official consulting hours are between eight and five, every other Thursday—”

"This isn’t a consultation," replies Phil.

"Now what did we do?" Lily asks, rising from the couch.

"Is this about the Avengers?" Pepper asks, then adds quickly. "Which I know nothing about.”

Tony opens the device in such a way that he reveals only a touch screen, he gestures to Lily and they both walk to a desk in the back.

"The Avengers Initiative was scrapped, I thought — And I did not qualify," He huffs.

"I did!”

Tony looks at her.

"Who told you that?"

“Nat," She smiles.

"I didn't know that either," continues Pepper.

"Apparently I'm volatile, self-obsessed, don't play well with others…”

“Bingo," says Lily.

"That I did know.”

"This isn’t about personality profile anymore,” replies Phil.

“Whatever," says Toy looking at the screen.

"What are we watching?" Lily asks, as her father obstructs her vision.

"Wait, Ms Potts, got a second?" The redhead obeys.

Tony enters some codes.

"You know, I thought we were having a family moment," He complains.

"I was having 12% of a moment.”

"Oh, not this again,” says Lily

The pair try to argue again, but Pepper changes the subject.

"What is all this?”

“This is… this.”

Lily walks to see each screen, where the profiles of some people are shown. Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers, Thor.

Pepper sighs. "I'm going to take the jet to DC tonight,” She says.

“Tomorrow," corrects Tony. They both talk, but Lily's attention is still in the files.

"Lily?" says the redhead and the girl turns. "I have to go."

Lily walks up to her and hugs her tightly.

"Be careful,” the little girl whispers when they part. Pepper nods, strokes her black hair and kisses her forehead. She then goes back to Phil.

"Wait, so who am I staying with?" asks the girl looking at her father. The three adults share a look. "Jess is in class, Happy’s busy and you’ll go,” She points to Pepper.

“Actually…” Coulson begins.

"I'll find a babysitter," Tony interrupts.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Sir. For this we need both Starks.”

"What?" say Tony, Pepper and Lily at the same time.

"They need me? Me?" Lily asks in disbelief. She feels a tickling start in her hands, but this time she controls it and hides her hands behind her back.

"No, Phil, it's dangerous for a ten-year-old girl," says the Redhead.

"I thought she was on probation," adds Tony.

“Our base will be surrounded by qualified and knowledgeable agents to ensure Ms. Stark's protection. Besides, it’s only a search, in case the situation changes, she’ll be taken to Miss Potts immediately.”

Lily's gaze moves between the agent and her father repeatedly, waiting for an answer.

“What do you need her for? Specifically,” says Tony.

"Director Fury thinks two Starks are better than one,” He tries to joke. "His words, not mine, but everything’s explained in the files.”

"Is this really happening?" Lily asks to no one in particular. “Someone finally heard my complaints!”

“Hey, calm your sugar. I won't let you go alone like this,” Tony warns.

"So, can I go?”

Tony groans. He senses Pepper's confused look, but he ignores it. Even he doesn't know if this is a good idea, but the fact that the super agents need his daughter makes him curious, and he has a feeling that if he doesn't accept, they’ll try to get it some other way and that's worse.

The redhead sighs in defeat, waiting for Tony to have everything under control. Although that’s not common in him. She now must worry about both of them, but at least has the assurance that Phil will be around. She just hopes she doesn't regret it later.

"Please, stay safe,” She finally says to them, then he returns to Phil and the two leave the Stark tower.

Lily watches them until she's alone with her father. She turns to meet the man holding a hologram of a blue cube.

"What's that?"

"We'll find out soon,” He returns the hologram to the screen and looks down at her. "I'll prepare coffee and chocolate, you and I will find ourselves reading and talking about the new rules of the game."

"New Rules? I'm not six years old anymore, dad.”

He sighs and makes a face.

"These rules are not in case you break something, Lily,” He looks directly into her eyes. “You heard Coulson. We’ll be surrounded by agents, spies trained to do whatever they are ordered to do. And at some point that order can harm us.”

"But Mr. Fury-"

“I know we have given them permission for certain things like your training, but it was all happening under my watch and Jarvis's. This time we’ll have to go to them, and that’s a problem.”

She frowns, analyzing that information.

“But Nat and Phil… They wouldn't do something like that.”

"I don't know, Kid. We can’t take anything for granted.”

"It's not easy and anyone can fool you, Lils." She remembers Nat's words during her training. In the end she nods towards her father.

"So what do I have to do?"

“Pretend that everything’s fine, but you have to stay alert and try not to get too far away from me. I don’t know the real reason why they want you in this, but you should not believe everything they tell you.”

"This will be more complicated than I thought," She adds with a grimace.

"Don't worry,” He offers his hand. "You and I are smarter than they are.” Lily holds his hand.

Taglist:

@silenthappyplace @yourbonesareinmybody @aylauwuuniverse @skittles-skittles @hufflepuffzutara @poetryislife0715 @21bruhs @heavenlymistakes @my-love-of-books @dielgonacoffee @thelastpyle

#Iron #Peter parker fanfction?#Peter Parker #Peter parker x oc #Peter parkerx reader #Avengers #Avengers fanfic #Marvel #Marvel fanfic #Tony Stark #Stark!reader #Bruce Banner #Steve Rogers #Natasha Romanoff #Thor #thegangishere

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peppersonironi · 4 years ago

Text

Duke Thomas VS The "Good Child" Stereotype Chapter 2

Next chapter for my Duke Thomas Big Bang fic is up!

(Once again, a hearty thank you to my betas @queerbutstillhereand @theycallme-ook)

Read On Ao3

It was four am on a Friday morning, a week after Duke had decided he’d had enough of Bruce’s - and the other’s - incorrect opinion of him.

It was so early in the morning, that the main group of bats had been trickling back from patrol over the past hour or so. Stephanie and Cassandra had arrived first, followed by Jason ten minutes later. Then Tim had gotten back from his route with Harper, and Kate and Bette had stopped by for a bit (but eventually left for their own homes). Dick came home next, and Bruce had returned last with Damian.

Everyone was in varying states of winding down, with Stephanie at one end of the spectrum wearing silk pajamas, a fluffy robe which Duke was sixty-seven percent sure was Bruce’s, and bright pink bunny slippers Duke was positive were Dick’s. On the other side, Bruce hadn’t even pulled off his cowl, and was sitting down in front of the Batcomputer to work on a case.

Though Duke thought that Tim deserved his own category, dressed in a strange combination of disco track suit and kevlar body armor, and was hunched over three cans of energy drinks and a quart jug filled with espresso shots.

Duke leaned down to double check that his boots were laced up - one time he hadn’t, and had then proceeded to trip and fall into a garbage pile. Not. Fun.

He looked up, however, when Bruce clicked open a case file. So did everyone else, as if drawn by some invisible force.

They all clearly saw as Bruce hovered his mouse over a link which had been typed in sometime while the big bat had been away. The only hint to what it could be was the note reading “New Evidence.”

Bruce grunted in what for anyone else would be an exclamation of curiosity and went to click the link.

Which clearly went to YouTube.

In unison, all the bats’ eyes widened in realization. You see, in a family such as this one, pranks abounded. So they all had painstakingly memorized that series of letters and numbers.

They all knew what it meant.

Suddenly, the Batcave lit up with the dancing form of one Rick Astley. It was everywhere. On the several large monitors that made up the Batcomputer. The various screens spread across the caves. Everyone’s phones somehow were affected. As well as the X-Ray machine in the med bay, which was showing a skeleton dancing.

Bruce jumped up, rage full on his face. “Who did this? Make it stop!”

No one answered, all too frozen in shock at what had happened.

“Who…” Dick whispered from beside Jason, “Who would be that brave?”

“Yeah,” Jason whispered back, “Rick Rolls were banned at the 2015 family reunion after you played it two hundred and thirteen times in a row.”

Dick grinned, “those were good times.”

The two eldest boys began to bicker, Jason complaining that Rick Rolls were a part of the war crimes banned by the Geneva Convention, and Dick saying he “liked it: so there.”

Meanwhile, the song was reaching the chorus, and the other bats finally began to react. The three girls were dancing on top of exercise equipment, popping bottles of sparkling cider - or was that champagne? For their own sakes, they should hope it’s the former - they had pulled out of what seemed to be thin air.

Damian was in the corner, trying to get Titus to dance to the music - though he glanced around every so often to make sure that no one was noticing his moment of fun.

Tim was still nursing his collection of drinks like an alcoholic nursed a bottle.

Bruce was practically foaming at the mouth by that point.

“This is NOT FUNNY!”

That, of course, made everyone just start laughing harder. In the corner, Steph started to do the macarena completely off-tempo from the music. Cass seemed to be chugging the cider that Harper was pouring into her mouth.

Just then the holographic training simulations lit up, and Rick Astly began making his way across the cave, dancing all the way.

Bruce glared up at the semi transparent form of the singer, as if trying to force him into submission.

“T-pose to assert dominance!” Jason called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Yeah, that’ll totally work, B! Trust us!” Dick called as well.

Bruce took a moment to turn his head and glare at the two former Robins, who only smiled like the angels they clearly thought they were.

The image was not aided by the two giant stuffed swordfish just pulled from Jason’s utility belt.

“En guarde!” He cried, and tossed the one in his left hand at Damian, who had been trying to reassure his dog that the giant man wasn’t real.

The thirteen year old screeched, but caught the four foot long fish by its fin.

“This is animal abuse!” He cried.

“It’s not abuse if it’s dead!” Jason countered, and attacked the youngest bat with a passion.

As the duel progressed, Cassandra tried to raise her hand and gurgle out a bet on who would win, but began to choke on the liquid.

Harper cursed as she tossed away the sixth bottle of cider and tried to give Cass the heimlich maneuver.

Dick, meanwhile, pressed a button on one of the many consoles spread around the cave, and several stripper poles came out of hidden storage via hydraulics. He grabbed the nearest one, and began to dance.

“I THOUGHT I DISABLED THOSE?!” Bruce bellowed, as Dick began a twirl.

Stephanie, however, didn’t seem nearly as dismayed at the sight of the poles. She herself smacked a button next to her, and several disco balls dropped down from among the stalactites to join the fun. She then began to morph her macarena into an epic macarena. A few flips here, and a few pantomiming choking your enemies there. And a whole lot of randomly throwing glitter bombs at, well, everywhere.

But especially at the nearest authority figure.

Damian tripped over a bucket during his fight - apparently left over from Alfred’s earlier cleaning spree - and the soapy liquid spilled across the floor.

But, of course, them being the bats, Alfred didn’t use normal soap.

Huge bubbles began to farm from the liquid, the longest almost three feet in diameter, and rise up to the cave’s ceiling. The suds spread around, eagerly began to mingle with Stephanie’s glitter.

A solitary bubble, relatively small, floated over to Bruce’s head, and popped on one of his cowl’s ears. He was not amused.

*****

Five minutes later, everyone was lined up next to the Batcomputer with heads bowed in either shame or disappointment.

Bruce walked up and down the row, the perfect imitation of a drill sergeant. His glare matched as well.

“This is an outrageous breach of protocol,” he was saying, “the Batcomputer is not a toy, nor something to use for your own amusement. It is a serious tool-”

“Then why’s it called the Batcomputer?”

Bruce froze and whirled on Dick, who had chosen that inopportune moment to speak up.

“Because you were nine years old and saying no to you would have gotten me a meltdown.”

“It seems to me, Bossman,” Stephanie began, tenting her fingers in an attempt to act serious (the effect was strange combined with her bathrobe and slippers) “That you are perfectly happy to let Dick get away with things. But in this situation, with women present, you are strangely cold. This shows blatant sexism on your part and in this essay I will-”

“That’s enough, Stephanie.” Bruce cut off as a round of snorts and giggle erupted from the group of bats.

“You do realise that no one here is going to speak, right?” Jason asked, “You did teach us to resist torture. And - pardon my french, Alfred - but you are no fucking way close to the level of torture I’ve gone through. Namely waking up to Batcow sitting on top of me.”

“Are you commenting on her weight?” Damian demanded, glaring daggers at Jason.

“I said no such thing.”

“ Boys .” Bruce demanded, rubbing his temples. “Jason is right - not about Batcow’s weight - but I’m not going to get any of you to talk willingly.” He paused and made eye contact with every single bat present, trying to reach into their souls.

“Therefore,” he continued slowly, “I’m giving you one last chance. Otherwise: No one gets cookies from Alfred for two months. ”

The shock was immediate. Alfred’s cookies, of all kinds, were worth more than gold in the Manor. The ability to not have them? And for two months? Bruce truly was a cruel hearted tyrant if he was willing to go to such lengths.

Duke gulped.

“Fine, then.” Bruce said simply when no one answered. “I guess we’ll just have to check the security footage of the Cave.”

Why didn’t Bruce think of that earlier? He clearly wasn’t trying to give the kids an easy way out.

Bruce stalked over to the computer and began to furiously type at the keys, pulling up the footage for the past few days. The group watched in a tense silence as Bruce rifled through the multiple recordings, searching for the culprit.

“AHA!” Bruce grunted, upon finding a specific time stamp. There was a figure emerging from the shadows. He paused and then slowed down the video so they could all see who it was.

There were several gasps as the figure came into the light, looked around, and made his way to the computer. They had shown their face, not even bothering to hide.

Everyone whirled to Duke, then back to the screen.

“No way,” Harper whispered under her breath.

Because the person on the footage, who was now adding the link to the case file and hooking up bluetooth speakers, was Duke Thomas himself.

Bruce’s eye twitched.

There was a general consensus among the resident vigilantes in the cave at that time: Duke wasn’t going to live to tell the tale.

Duke felt uneasy under their scrutiny, unsure of what to do. This was his plan, after all. To be seen differently. But so far the lack of accusations or uproarious debate was disconcerting.

He looked up at Bruce, awaiting his reaction. Bruce didn’t meet Duke’s eyes.

“Hrn,” he grumbled angrily instead and whirled on Tim. Said teenager was barely standing up straight - well, he was leaning on Steph heavily - and blinked wearily around the cave. He didn’t seem to understand what was going on.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed for a long moment before he whipped around and furiously began to mess with the playback settings on the footage. Everyone stood still, not daring to move while Bruce grumbled under his breath.

Finally Bruce straightened and pointed dramatically toward the screen.

“There,” he grunted out, and everyone subconsciously leaned a little bit forward.

They didn’t see anything different from before, though Bruce’s finger did bring their attention to one of the bats that flew across the upper left hand corner. A few seconds of footage later, and yet another bat flew across in a similar pattern. Not exactly the same, so it wasn’t really out of the ordinary. Lord knows the bats would randomly fly out and into their hair much more than necessary.

“Note how the figure is disturbed when each bat flies across the screen,” Bruce said in the same voice he used when talking about a case - cold, impersonal, and yet like he was giving a college lecture.

No one spoke, not really sure what to say. I mean, what was the correct course of action when your father figure suddenly refuses to accept reality, and is grasping at the most unlikely of straws?

“I know this technique anywhere,” Bruce said more to himself than the line of vigilantes. He turned, completely passing over Duke, and set his sights on Tim.

“Timothy Jackson Drake,” Bruce growled, stalking forward, “What possessed you to doctor this footage?”

Tim didn’t respond, only mumbled incoherently and leaned onto Steph some more.

Bruce was furious, bearing his teeth as he spat out his response: “Now is not the time to use the anti-torture training I’ve given you.”

Tim nodded slowly and draped his arm on top of Stephanie’s head.

“You should know better than this,” Bruce began, “pranks are strictly forbidden in the cave, as you very well know. And in addition, I taught you better at framing than this. You choose a victim that could actually be considered as a suspect. Trying to pin the blame on Duke was your undoing - he would never do something like this.”

Duke cringed slightly, as the rest of the bats glanced Duke’s way. All were a mix of confusion and awe.

This … was not how this was supposed to go. No, screw that. That was an outrageous understatement. Things ‘not going according to plan’ would have been Jason randomly blaming Harper for the mess on no grounds - or maybe Bruce not bothering to check the cameras, opting instead to just ground everyone.

But blatantly ignoring evidence and then lecturing someone completely unrelated? No, this was too much. It couldn’t be real. This was some kind of scare-tactic wasn’t it? Duke was too much of an adrenaline junkie to be bothered by the usual ‘hanging upside down over a busy road’ schtick.

But then Bruce moves on to possible culprits Tim could have chosen instead - did he seriously think that Ra’s Al Ghul would Rick Roll them?! - and Duke lost hope.

“Uhh, Bruce?” Duke asked after the ten minute mark.

The Dark Knight turned and faced Duke.

Duke scratched the back of his neck. “Do you think I could head out for patrol now? It’s getting light out, and since you’ve clearly got this covered… I thought I could scoot out?”

Bruce was nodding before the end of Duke’s request. “Yes, go. I’ll deal with Tim. You don’t need to worry - you won’t be blamed. It clearly wasn’t your fault.”

Duke nodded slowly, and covered his disappointment with a small smirk. “Thanks, B.”

He jogged over to the edge of the platform and dropped down beside his Signal-Cycle. A routine mounting, a quick putting on of his helmet, and he was off.

Duke was scowling as he left, wondering what on earth had gone wrong.

*****

“Did you see that smirk?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Did he blame Tim on purpose?”

“How, though? To make such a tactical move -”

“It would have taken a shit ton of planning.”

“Can we get back on the fact that Bruce was fooled?”

“Or who fooled him?!”

#duke thomas #duke thomas big bang #batfam #fanfiction #my fanfiction #bruce wayne #stephanie brown #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #harper row #cassandra cain #damian wayne #batfamily

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the-swedes-knees · 4 years ago

Text

Human Resources - The Swedes x Reader

Did I make a tumblr just to post a birthday present for @jossambird? Yes, yes I did.

Rating: Everyone

Pairing: Reader/Swede(pick your favorite)

It had started like any other work day at the Temps Commission. The case management room was silent aside from the rapid clicking of typewriter keys and the rustling of papers as employees cross checked their historical references. You were just another cog in the machine, expected to work efficiently and follow every rule in the handbook down to the letter.

Which is why it was a surprise when your supervisor placed the summons to HR on your desk.

"Cheryl." You greeted the HR representative coldly as you entered the meeting room. She glared at you as you went to take a seat, not even bothering to say your name. There wasn't a clear reason why she had been gunning for you the past few months but you suspected that it had something to do with the last company Christmas party. Or rather the point in the Christmas party when she had become dangerously intoxicated and you had walked her back to her living quarters instead of letting her fulfill her desires of making thinly veiled sexual innuendos to coworkers.

One might assume that kind of story would lead to a friendship, or at least a funny story to laugh about together...

"Do you know why you're here?" But apparently Cheryl didn't think so. When you crossed your arms and shook your head no she let out a catty hiss of disapproval. "Well this shouldn't be a shock, but I've opened up a sexual harassment investigation against you."

Your face hardened and your eyes shot to the folder that was placed in front of you, identical to the one infront of her and three more like it on the opposite side of the table.

"That can't be right... who - " The end of your question died on your lips as the three temporal assassins entered the room and sat down at the table across from you. Almost in perfect unison the three tall Swedish men regarded your presence before turning their attention to the woman at the head of the table.

Axel, Otto, and Oscar. More commonly referred to as simply The Swedes. You had handled a fair number of their cases in your career, and they were certainly some of the best the Commission had to offer. They were all handsome in their own right. Strong, stoic, and silent... but you had only admired them from afar, just sparing glances in passing through the massive building complex.

You weren't sure what drew you to them, like a moth to a flame. But just those sparing glances had ruined any other romantic prospects for you.

"Thank you for coming. I'm aware how busy the three of you are, but this matter simply demands to be addressed." She said smugly before turning back to you and opening the manila envelope that was placed perfectly perpendicular to her.

"In recent case number A-96353 you wrote an extra message to the Swedes that was not approved by your supervisor. Is this correct?" Cheryl asked your pointedly.

"Yes." You admitted, squaring your shoulders a little bit more as the reality of the current situation began to dawn on you.

"For the record, can you please recount what that message was?" She asked. You took a deep breath and kept your eyes focused on her. There was an evident threat of heat creeping up to your cheeks, but if this was some sort of weird power play, you didn't want to give her the satisfaction.

"I believe I wrote 'good luck boys' on the bottom of their assignment." You admitted in an even tone.

"Is that all?"

"I may have also drawn a small heart." You said through slightly gritted teeth. "I've already received infractions for that offense. It won't happen again."

You turned your body to face the three men, and bowed your head slightly in shame. Even though you had gone through getting slapped on the wrist and mandatory behavioral classes for not following protocol, it wasn't their fault that your attraction to them had led to your immature urge to flirt on the job. Even if the flirt was hardly a flirt, and it was sent via tube with a kill order.

"I apologize, for my unprofessionalism." You said sincerely, beginning to rise from your seat to leave this waste of everyone's time.

"Well there is also the case of these little locker room comments."

"I-I don't know what you're referring to." You froze as she sifted through her folder, placing her pen on the page as she began to read a section of notes verbatim.

"He could punch me in the face and I would thank him for it." She read with as much enthusiasm as a young fast food worker making minimum wage. Your heart throbbed in your chest wildly as you stared at Cheryl in disbelief. "Does that sound familiar?"

"Yes..." You croaked out softly, all moisture seeming to have left your mouth. Your eyes darted to look down at your lap, your fingernails suddenly much more interesting than the three assassins that were openly staring at your from across the table. The sound of rustling papers caught your ears as the men began to read through the reports for themselves, but suddenly you couldn't seen to move a muscle.

There was no telling who had overheard that particular comment from the water cooler, but it was just one comment... If you could shake off this terrible sense of dread and embarrassment you could chalk it up to a simple misunderstanding -

"Time and date 0923845753: I would pay him to crush my pelvis." She continued to read from the file in front of her in a monotone voice. In potentially the dumbest reaction possible your eyes darted across the table and made direct eye contact with Axel as the comment was read. His face was unreadable, but those blue eyes pierced into you so deeply you may has well have died right on the spot.

"Time and date 0202493192: God must be a woman to make men that fine." You decided that there was no God, if there was then he or she or whatever omnipotent being they were would have pity on your soul and allow your body to combust into flames instead of sitting there.

"Time and date 0221527010: He can break all two-hundred and seven of my bones." There was no blood left in your face, you were sure of it. It pulsed rapidly and loudly through your thudding heart and directly into your ears. Your brain couldn't pick between being embarrassed or downright mortified, a violent chill settling into your bones as the startling realization settled over you... this was the end... your life was over... just because you found the three men a few feet away from you devilishly handsome and you couldn't keep your damn horny mouth shut.

"Time and date 0940251637: I would let him step on my throat."

"Oh that one was actually-" You held up a finger to correct that that particular comment was made by your friend in payroll whom which you shared a similar horny braincell, but quickly decided against it. "You know what, I'll take responsibility for all of them... there's really no need to keep reading."

"For the case of this investigations, were all of these inappropriate comments directed at an individual or a collective?"

"It was, it was um... all. All of them."

"Any one of these comments could be classified as a serious offense, and you are in clear violation of several company policies." Her words barely registered in the haze that set in around you. This was it, your life was ruined... you were dead, and this was hell, it had to be... "And if they agree to follow through, I can have you fired by-"

The sound of metal screeching as Axel stood up from his seat silenced the HR representative. All three brothers shared a quick look before Otto and Oscar stood as well, tossing the files that had been placed before them back onto the table sloppily. Otto's eyes were glued to yours as Axel slightly shook his head at the woman at the end of the table.

"Byråkratisk skitsnack." He sneered before walking past you to leave the room. You had no idea what it meant, but from the offended gasping noise Cheryl made, you were sure she did. The other two men followed their brother shortly after, Oscar making teasing kissing faces at you as he exited through the door.

What just happened?

Both you and HR sat in a moment of stunned silence, obviously this meeting hadn't gone the way either of you expected. With the Swedes gone, you found the courage and sense of self determination to look at the woman again. You raised an eyebrow and looked behind you at the doorway, silently asking if this meant you could leave.

"One more slip up and I'll file for your termination, clear?" As much as you wanted to think of a snappy comeback to the woman who had just lost all the power she wrongly thought she had, your flight or fight response was still in full gear and you suddenly forgot all that was the English language. All you did was bite your bottom lip and nod before slowly rising from the chair and returning back to work.

Curious coworkers asked throughout the day if you were alright, the sense of dread still clawing at your heart at the utter humiliation that you had received... but there was no one to blame but yourself, you probably got what you deserved for making such comments in a professional environment. You briefly considered taking a vow of silence, never to speak again in penance for your sins.

The vow ended rather quickly after Dot offered you treats from her candy stash in an attempt to lighten your mood.

Everything will go back to normal, just don't think about them... ever again... You obsessively chanted to yourself while staring blankly at the copier and munching on your third candy bar. The mechanical machine whirred loudly as it spit out page after page of references that were needed for your current case. It was so loud, in fact, that you weren't aware that another person had entered the room until you felt a sharp pinch on your ass.

You suppressed the urge to scream as you jumped back, mind now alert as you whipped around to see the culprit.

Now standing a few feet away was one of the very same men with platinum blond hair that you were trying so actively to purge out of your mind. You had never admitted it to anyone else out loud, but secretly you did favor one brother more than the others... the slight mannerisms and the way that he held himself causing many obsessive dreams on lonely nights.

And here he was... alone... the closest he has ever been.

"Hi." You greeted dumbly, not even confident enough to say his name. Your eyes flickered from the ground back to his face before holding out your chocolate. "Kit-kat?"

His face remained neutral as he reached out and broke off a section from the bar, eyeing you up and down more properly than before.

"You know my name." He remarked before biting the chocolate wafer in half and slightly gestured his chin towards you. "Yours?"

You told him, a bit surprised that he didn't seem to know it after that disaster of a confrontation. Had he not read through the accusations? Or if you were such an unnoteworthy person to him, why was he here... talking to you?

He's going to kill you, you pervert.

"Do you eat?" Just as you were preparing to plea pathetically for your life, you were instead caught completely offguard. Confusion overtook you as your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to understand the question.

"Eat? You mean like... eat food?" You asked slowly, mind going completely blank as you watched him pop the rest of the wafer in his mouth and chew slowly. Even with something so small, your knees were going weak at the close proximity. You shook your head gently to refocus, dangerous thoughts like these were what got you into trouble in the first place. "Um, I guess? Yes?"

"Good. Six o'clock, pervers." He declared firmly with a stony expression before turning to walk away. Unintelligent noises of sputtering and half words left your mouth as you moved to walk with him, keeping a bit of a distance as you held your copies tightly against your chest.

"Six o'clock what?"

"You eat dinner, with me. Or I step on your neck, your choice." He said casually, eyes keeping straight ahead as he spoke... almost ignoring that you were even there.

"What? Where? Why?" Even though you were trying to whisper as you paced through the hall, your voice was rising in octaves as each question left your lips with little filter. He stopped his long stride abruptly, inadvertently causing you to flinch as he turned back to look at you. The slightest ghost of a smile toyed at his lips as he stared you down like a hunter with eyes on its game. You remained as still as humanly possible as he leaned down to speak in your ear.

"I will find you."

You watched him turn around once again and strut down the hallway like a man on a mission while you stood there, mouth gaping like a goldfish. He was coming for you, that much was certain... There was no where or time that you could possibly hide from the not-so-secret item of your affection.

Should you be horny or terrified?

Both. You decided. Both sounded good.

#the swedes #the swedes x reader #tua the swedes #ikea mafia #hbd jossambird #the umbrella academy x reader #axel x reader #otto x reader #oscar x reader

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arukou-arukou · 5 years ago

Text

Just A Really Very Intelligent System

Been thinking about this one for a while. Finally managed to write it. Rating: T for “Language.” (It just kinda slipped out.) Characters: Tony Stark & JARVIS

----

He is in one of the most dangerous situations of his life trying to save the whole freaking universe by watching a man the size of a dust bunny wriggle into the hairline of his younger self, so it would be really, really bad if he happened to have a heart attack. Older him that is. But he nearly does go into cardiac arrest when he hears an old friend in his ear.

“Verify immediately. Failure to verify will result in an activation of level one security protocols.”

His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth and his palms are sweating, but somehow he manages to whisper out: “Edwin-12-19-91-4-8-47-Alpha Override.”

“Override accepted. Sir?”

“Hey, J.”

“Sir, you have imbued me with considerable computing power, and yet never did you prepare me for the possibility of you being in two places at once.”

“Yeah, about that. You haven’t said anything to Mr. Quipster over there, have you?”

“Not as yet, Sir. You wish me to keep it that way?”

“It would really help me out, buddy.”

“Very well, Sir.”

Tony wants to stay longer, to talk, to warn JARVIS, to cry, but he has places to be, things to do, planets to save. Scott’s safely positioned, so Tony yeets himself out of the building to get to the ground floor. He doesn’t know why he thought that would make JARVIS disappear.

“I see, Sir, that your proclivities for leaping before looking are unchanged.”

Another near heart attack--he’s gradually phased Friday out of his ears now that the nanotech is connected directly to his nervous system, so he’s not exactly used to AI voices anymore--but he recovers more quickly. “You’re always there to catch me, J.”

“And yet my systems are not present in your suit, Sir. I see codal remnants of system designation FRIDAY, but nothing of myself.”

Tony remains silent. This is such a terrible time to be feeling all the feelings. He spots a grunt who looks more or less unimportant and knocks the guy out. Part of him wants to warn SHIELD about their shit security, but then again, this guy’s probably Hydra and he deserves every bruise he gets. He senses JARVIS in his systems, a ghost in the shell.

“You no longer have the reactor. And if I’m not mistaken, that is gray in your hair. So you are not my Sir.”

“Well, yes and no.”

“I suppose it would destroy the spacetime continuum for you to divulge the truth to me.”

“You’re too smart for me, J,” Tony grunts as he yanks on the bullet-proof tac vest. “It’s kind of a long story, and while I technically have all the time in the world, I also really, really don’t.”

He sidles into the lobby and looks toward his personal elevator, waiting for the Avengers to appear. J is quiet so long Tony wonders if he’s being preoccupied by...well, just about anything. Damaged internal systems, a Cap copy on the loose, a second Hulk out there, panicked calls from Pepper. But then JARVIS speaks again.

“Regardless of the tale, I must conclude that you are from the future, and I am no longer by your side.”

Tony is fucking choking up. He was not ready for this. It didn’t even cross his mind. And the fucking elevator is opening. There’s Pierce, the rat bastard, trying to collect the Tesseract.

“I hope I did not disappoint you, Sir.”

“Never, J. Never.” Fuck fuck fuck, he’s nearly crying and now Scott is on the com waiting for the go-ahead. Tony channels his pain into panic and orders his own cardiac arrest.

“Sir, what are you--”

Thank god, his younger self is on the ground and that’s apparently all the distraction J needs to abandon older Tony. Tesseract incoming. Tony grabs it and starts going and--

Blinking stars out of his eyes he watches as Loki makes off with the key, the thing they most needed, the damn stone that started all of this way back when Cap was a starry-eyed beanpole in World War II. He has just biffed saving the entire damn universe because of an overgrown Star Trek reject with anger issues. And now he has a migraine to boot.

Frozen in shame and horror, Tony watches as Thor attempts ill-advised cardiac electro-stim. Scott’s somewhere out there, yammering in Tony’s ear on the private channel, but all of that is just a buzzing.

“Sir? Sir. Sir!”

And J. Maybe Tony should cry now. It certainly feels like the time for it. One of the other SHIELD grunts is making her way toward him, so he staggers to his feet, waving her off and limping toward the door. Think. Think, brain, think. Tony is a genius, the man who invented time travel, the man who miniaturized arc reactor technology. A spaceship? SHIELD’s probably got one somewhere. Maybe they could chase after Loki.

“SIR!” How many times JARVIS has shouted his title, Tony has no idea, but this one is so loud it sets his teeth on edge.

“Yeah, J? Kind of busy here.”

“Giving yourself a heart attack, Sir?” JARVIS was programmed to be cool and calm in all circumstances, but Tony could swear that sentence was uttered with seething rage.

“I’m fine. Look at me.”

“Only by some measure of infinitesimal luck, Sir. Perhaps I should ask you to verify your identity one more time, as you seem intent on killing yourself.”

“No, J. I’ve actually got a lot of reasons to live. And so does he. Promise.” Tony is so tired. Was being an Avenger always this exhausting? Or is it just that he’s bumped over that damnable big 5-0? And Cap’s gonna ream him too. That’s never any fun.

“I’m...glad to hear it, Sir.”

And fuck it. It’s not like this will alter Tony’s timeline anyway. This reality is now on a different trajectory thanks to Severus Snape Lite. “Her name’s Morgan. You’d love her, J. Just turned four. She got my hair. Hope to god she didn’t get my personality.”

“Do I meet her, Sir?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck it.

“J, you should dig a little deeper into SHIELD’s systems. Well, actually, a lot deeper. And the Pentagon while you’re at it. And track down Maya Hansen from that conference in 1999 and poach her from whatever outfit she’s working for. Immediately. Make sure she brings all her vet patients with her. And, uh, when I start talking about a suit of armor around the world, steer me away from anything called Ultron. And if I make it anyway, you delete the fuck out of that system file. Have Bruce back you up. He’s more sensible.”

“Sir, I don’t--”

“And have me make back-ups. At least three extra farms of servers for you. On different continents. And all those SHIELD files? Make sure Cap and Fury get them. And there’s...there’s this guy. This assassin. Brainwashed. He’s, uh, I think he’s on ice in Uzbekistan right now. If you could rescue him, it’ll...it’ll fix a lot of things.”

“Should you really--”

“And, please. Please please.”

Tony is not crying. He’s not. It’s just all the dust and debris in the air. Good lord, he’s probably going to die of cancer anyway. And all those first responders. Did he start a fund for them?

“Start a medical fund for the first responders on the ground today. And start leaning on Congressmen to make medical plans for them. You know how long they take to get anything done. Oh, and Stern. There are incriminating photos of Stern with some young ladies on South Beach. See if you can dig those up. Flowers for Pep. And a box of chocolates. And a dry martini with extra olives.”

Tony slumps into a burned out car, staring at nothing. He didn’t save his universe, but maybe he can save this one. His eyes are still irritated, burning red and itchy. He resists the urge to scrub at them, not wanting to grind in anymore dust.

“Are you quite finished, Sir?”

“Yeah. Actually, no. I love you, J.”

Silence. Ah. That’s stumped him. Maybe he’ll go back to tending his new posse of baby chicks now.

“I know you probably do not believe me capable of it, Sir, but I love you, too.”

His son. The only one he’ll ever make, but not the only one he’s lost. His son loves him. Tony’s throat is full of dust, too. Funny how that happens. He tries to swallow it down, but it only congeals into a hard lump. He puts a hand over his mouth to try and hold back any choking sounds. “I...I know you do, J.”

“As to your orders, I shall do what I can. It is my duty to protect you, Sir, and I would very much like to meet your little Morgan.”

“She might not exist here. I might’ve just changed everything.”

“If there is one thing I have learned from all my years with you, Sir, it is that perhaps such a thing as fate exists after all. Even mathematically speaking. And if that is the case, I cannot imagine a universe in which you are not fated to this happiness.”

Tony laughs, if only to keep from crying harder. And he is. Crying, that is. As if he was fooling anyone. Happiness? Him? Happy people don’t wake in the night screaming for a pile of dust in their hands. Happy people don’t spend hours coordinating relief efforts for countries whose entire infrastructural support has collapsed. Happy people don’t hurl themselves back in time, driven by guilt and horror at all the wrongs in the world. J, brilliant, wonderful AI that he is, seems to sense the dark turn of Tony’s thoughts.

“And if you yourself cannot believe in this thing, Sir, then I shall just have to do everything in my power to provide it for you.”

Another guffaw, but at least his eyes are drying a little now. “God, I miss you, J.”

“I believe your small teammate is approaching, Sir. If I may inquire, was it the Tesseract you were seeking?”

“You mean the stupid blue cube of doom? That’s the one.”

“And you say you have the means to time travel?”

“Yeah, J. We do. But only enough to get back to our time.”

“A limitation has never stopped you before, Sir.” JARVIS sounds thoughtful, as if he’s forming a plan.

Tony would ask him what he’s scheming at, but just at that moment, Scott embiggens himself and slumps into the car with Tony. That road is closed, then. They are out of options. Out of Pym particles. Out of time. Out of hope.

Until they aren’t. Just as Tony is setting his device for their new destination, J pipes up again, for Tony’s ears only. “You say you miss me, Sir. Then allow me to give you a small gift.”

Tony is pressing the buttons, and even if they weren’t already shrinking into the quantum tunnel, he wouldn’t be able to ask exactly what J means. It’s only when he and Cap arrive in 1970 that he has his first gleaning. In his ear, a voice. One so unexpected he nearly jumps into Cap’s arms. “Hello, System Administrator Anthony Edward Stark. I am System Designation EDWIN. ‘Eagerly Deployed With Intent to Neutralize Loneliness.’ I am told to tell you the “L” is silent and invisible. How may I best serve you today, Sir?”

Cap is staring at Tony like Tony’s lost his mind. And maybe he has. He’s been bugged by his own damn operating system. With a bouncing baby AI. And if Steve finds out, he’ll probably have a conniption about the spacetime continuum or something. So the only logical thing Tony can do is say, “Let’s find some Pym particles.”

“Acknowledged, Sir. Commencing scanning.”

-----

(In this reality EDWIN saves the fuck out of Tony’s life and everyone lives happily ever after and EDWIN builds JARVIS from scratch so he’s back or something, okay? Okay.)

#writing #fanfiction #tony stark #jarvis

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dcnatural · 4 years ago

Text

Delicate

Word Count: 1697

Pairing: Reader x Bruce Wayne

Rating: General Audiences

Synopsis: Your life has been a downward spiral since your parents died. In your worst moments, you discover that the only one you can rely on Bruce Wayne.

It had been a shitty couple of weeks for you. To be honest, your problems had began years ago, when your parents passed away in mysterious circumstances that the GCPD had never been able to figure out. Ironically, it was your tragedy that had made you famous. Being from one of Gotham’s wealthiest families had made the case seem interesting to the public, especially since it had been less than a year from the Wayne’s murder. The shares of your company went on the rise and thanks to your uncle’s administration, it soon became the most important electronics industry in the country.

But even though you had money, those years were hell. You hated living alone in your big penthouse; you hated going to school; you hated your uncle, who only wanted the money and didn’t even take care of you and you hated the cops for not discovering what had caused your parents demise. Those were lonely years, the only friend you had was Bruce Wayne, another young orphan, only two years older than you. But then he went away and you were left utterly alone.

With nothing else to do, you threw yourself into a life of alcohol, parties, drugs and sex. You build a fame of being a party animal, Gotham’s craziest socialite; you began to hang out with the wrong crowd and didn’t have a care in the world other than to get drunk. You left the company to be administered by others and bought a nightclub, which quickly became the most exclusive one in the city.

None of that mattered to you. You were happy with the life you were living. But then Bruce returned to town. You didn’t want to let him back into your life, afraid he would leave again. Truth be told, you always liked him as more than a friend and when he disappeared to travel around the world, you were heart broken. Of course he made his way back into your life. You frequented the same parties, went to the same restaurants, talked with the same people, you couldn’t just pretend he didn’t exist. Especially when he was so damn charming. You weren’t as close as you once were, but he was the closest friend you had. And that’s why you worried what he would think of it. Would he believe it? He couldn’t, could he? He had known you for a long time, he ought to know that you could never do it.

* * *

It had been a real nightmare from the moment you woke up. Your phone was filled with notifications of missed calls and texts, everyone aching to be the first to get your statement. Not that you knew what they wanted from you. No, you discovered that when you picked up the newspaper.

“The truth behind Silver St. Cloud’s death” , said the headline. Near it was printed a photo of you with Silver in a party last year. Then, the article proceeded to detail how you had been the one to kill Silver and covered it up as an OD, all because you owed her about half million dollars.

You couldn’t finish reading it as tears began to cloud your vision. You had befriended Silver around the same time Bruce left. Together, the two of you were the life of Gotham’s nightclubs, you had loved her like a sister, until she overdosed two months back.

How dare they accuse you of having killed her? Bullshit. That’s all bullshit. No one will buy it , you though as you sipped your coffee.

You were wrong. Before midday, the police was already knocking on your door, asking questions. Apparently, that journalist had written a pretty convincing article.

“No, I didn’t borrow any money from her.”

“No, I wasn't with her that night.”

“Yes, I have an alibi.”

“No, of course I didn’t hire someone to kill her! She was my friend.”

By the end of the day, you were tired of answering the same things over and over again.

The days passed, but the press was obsessed with that story, and you couldn’t even leave your building without having ten microphones shoved on your face and reporters asking questions, trying to distort every word you said to make you look guilty.

* * *

You were watching TV when you heard the doorbell. You opened it grumpily, sure it was the detectives with more pointless questions.

“What do you want now?”, you said as you pulled the door open, not even checking who was on the other side, lately all visits you got were from the GCPD.

“That’s how you say ‘hello’ now?”, Bruce asked, cracking up a smile.

You exhaled sharply. It had been a week since you were accused of murder, and this was the first time you even heard from him. You were happy to see him, but you were mad it had taken so long for him to show up. “Bruce”, you stated flatly, careful as to not show any conflicting emotions.

“Can I come in?”, he asked and you nodded, moving to the side to allow him to enter your apartment.

“Want a drink?”, you offered, following social protocol. No matter how mad you were at him, you still had your manners.

He declined politely and sat on your couch. The TV was still on, showing, for what felt the millionth time that week, an old episode of X-Files. You poured yourself a glass of whiskey, which you quickly drank in one swallow, before sitting by Bruce’s side. He stared at you, thinking of something to say, those blue eyes piercing your soul and unveiling your deepest secrets.

“I know you are innocent”, he said, after what felt like a long time.

You were taken by surprise. “You do?”, you exclaimed, your voice so low it was almost a whisper. He smiled, nodding softly. You felt a sudden urge to throw your arms around his neck and kiss his handsome face. He was the only one who believed in you.

“But that’s not why I came by”, he continued. You raised an eyebrow, curious as to what he wanted. “I’ve been thinking, and uh…”, you had never seen him stutter before, whatever he had to say, it was really important. “Would you like to go get some drinks one of these days?”

What? Was he really asking you out? Before, you would have said yes without hesitation, but now everything was more complicated. “This isn’t the best time”, you began to tell him. Your reputation had never been worse, you didn’t want to ruin his too.

“I don’t care. I should have asked this long ago”, he interrupted you mid-sentence. “So, I’ll text you the address, then?”, he asked, getting up and straightening his suit. You nodded, too surprised to do anything but agree. He flashed you one last smile before leaving your apartment.

* * *

You arrive late. It wasn’t your fault, you had to take long routes to avoid all the paparazzi. You had decided to meet in a dive bar on the East End, the last place on Earth anyone would think to look for Bruce Wayne and Camila L/N, all to avoid publicity.

Even with the bad lighting, you quickly spot him in the far back of the bar. He has taken the “undercover date” idea very seriously, dressing up in jeans and t-shirt, something you had never seen he do before. He could wear anything and still look gorgeous.

“Hey, sorry I’m late”, you call, nearing the table. He waves and get up to greet you.

“I’m glad you came”, he says, pulling out a chair for you to sit. You thank him.

“Yeah, of course I did. It was hard get rid of the press, but I managed to do it.”

You chat about everything. He tells about his travels. You talk about your nightclub, which, incredibly, seems to have become more popular. You drink and eat greasy chips, and much for your surprise, he seems to actually enjoy the food. Around you, clients come and go, and by the time the bar is about to close you two still have much to talk about. He invites you to his place, and you accept.

The alcohol makes you lightheaded, and, as you lay on the backseat of the car, your head on his shoulder, you kiss him. He is a good kissed, better than you would’ve imagined.

“I love you”, you whisper. “I’ve loved you for a long time. It hurt when you left without telling me. You were my only friend, you were my first love.”

He pulls back, putting a little distance between your bodies. Just a little, but enough for you to wonder if you might have said the wrong thing. You know these kind of situations are delicate, to say the least.

“I’m sorry”, he says finally. “I should have told you I was going to travel. It wasn’t planned, it was more of an impulse. I never meant to hurt you”

“So it’s cool?”

“What?”

“That I said ‘I love you’ .”

“It’s perfect”, he tells you, before diving in for another kiss.

You don’t remember much of the car ride. Only that soon you were on his manor, going up three flights of stairs. There were hands and mouths everywhere, and you were sure that by the time you two decided to sleep, it was way past sunrise.

* * *

You wake up first, his naked body besides you. You tiptoe to the balcony, not wanting to wake him. The sun is high on the horizon, casting a beautiful glow on the tree line. You stay out there, enjoying the view for a while, before going back inside. Bruce’s still sound asleep, you lay back on the bed, thinking of how you wouldn’t mind waking up next to him every single day. You wonder if behind his closed eyelids he’s dreaming of you.

“Morning honey”, he says with an yawn.

“I think it’s afternoon already”, you laugh. He smiles and kisses you again.

And, in that moment, you know that no matter what happens, he’ll be by your side, and that is all that you need.

#bruce wayne #bruce x reader #batman x reader #batman imagine #bruce wayne imagine #reader #dc

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jane-the-zombie · 4 years ago

Text

Actions Have Consequences || Roland & Jane

TIMING: August 18

PARTIES: @sgtrolandhills & @jane-the-zombie

SUMMARY: Jane goes to work to explain why her car was found in the lake.

Marley wasn’t here, she was hopefully sleeping, so she was left to face Roland alone. Jane had the story pretty airtight - Well, as airtight as she could make it. Funny enough, it was easier to focus on this than it was on anything else. How strange everything felt and how weird she herself could feel. Jane had to pull over on her motorcycle on the way here, unable to deal with the sheer panic that replaced the chemical reaction of adrenaline as she drove her bike. Jane kept her head held high as she walked into the station. She still felt disgusting, the grime and blood hadn’t been washed off completely even though she spent far too long in Felix’s shower with the hot water running. People stared at her as she walked past - made sense, considering they fished her car into the lake. She hadn’t even thought about what sort of investigation that might have opened or why or what was happening. She knocked on Roland’s office door, sticking her head into the office. “Sir? It’s… me. Can I come in?”

When they first pulled Jane’s car out of the lake without her in it, Roland had gone into a state of sheer panic. Almost instantly, he thought it was related to the Nichols case. Officially, she was the detective assigned to it and he had the feeling organ dealing rings didn’t take kindly to being uncovered. Little did they know, he adopted it as his own, but it was safer for everyone if he kept that under wraps. It had filled him with both relief and anger when she finally messaged him. What the hell had happened out there? He needed to know as none of the clues pointed to anything remotely good. Still, he cleared any Nichols’ case paperwork away from his desk and replaced it with logs of The Collector’s murders. He was still trying to piece that together and it’d be more suspect if she came into his office and no files were scattered across his desk as they usually were. He could hardly focus. His foot tapped up and down against the floor and created a light rapping sound until Wu finally came in. He looked up and looked her over carefully. “Please do,” he answered curtly, “And close the door behind you.” He gestured to the chair across from him for Wu to sit in. “Now tell me, what the hell happened, Wu?”

The curt answer from Roland had her holding back a visible wince. Roland was understandably confused and angry, and honestly Jane was confused and angry at herself. She did as she was told, closing the door behind her before carefully dropping down into the seat in front of Roland’s desk. Jane supposed she looked the part for the story she was about to tell. The circles under her eyes would never really go away, and despite the extra long shower to get the blood and grime off, there was no erasing hollow look of her skin. There was no blood in her to flush her cheeks anymore. Jane swallowed hard. “Around 7:00pm on a Saturday night I went to follow up on a lead related to the Nichols’ Case,” Jane said. “Alone. It was a Warehouse down near the Outskirts. The location was in the journal, and before it went missing -” Before she let Marley take it and, Jane assumed, destroying it. “- I had taken at down as a potential location for a drop off.” Jane pinched the bridge of her nose. This was where the story had to take a turn for the worst. She couldn’t exactly tell Roland that Roy Chambers shot her in the face, now could she. “While investigating the outside of the building, I heard something come up behind me. As I turned to look, all I saw was a man before I was clubbed over the head with a hard metal object.” Jane winced, rubbing the spot on the back of her head where Felix had stabbed her with something he called Decap earlier that night.

By every indication, it was obvious that Wu was not in good shape. Part of Roland wanted to soften his features, but this was serious. As she continued on, it was only apparent just how serious it was. Perhaps, it was a bit hypocritical for him to be upset. He was still working the Nichols case as well and had every intention of doing it alone. Part of him was even proud she wasn’t just dropping it after the evidence went missing, but damn it, it was against protocol and he had to do his job. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and tried to gather his thoughts. “Damn it, Wu,” he started with tension evident in his voice. That was reckless of her yet he had plans to do the same damn thing. “You know better than to go charging into a situation like that without back-up. Even with an issue of trust going on in the department right now, I like to think I’ve more than earned yours. You should have brought me with you” He hated that she was hurt. He hated knowing that it could have been so much worse and he hated what he had to do next even more. “You know something like this can’t happen without professional consequences, right?”

Professional consequences. The walls of the office melted away and Jane was somewhere else entirely. Coming here had been professional consequences. Captain Turner was screaming at her for blowing the sting operation and getting her partner shot. She could see him as the wheeled him away on the stretcher, his shirt stained crimson. She could see herself, lying on the ground, a hole in her chest and head, bleeding out as she was dragged off to be thrown in the woods. Jane swallowed hard, confused once again by the panic that spiked in her. But she couldn't feel her heart beat, and she couldn't feel the blood pump in her ears, and as her hands clenched in her lap, Jane realized that even her nails digging into her skin felt off. “Yes sir,” Jane said, stiffly. “I… understand.” Jane pressed her lips together, closing her eyes for just a moment to try and calm herself down. She breathed, forcing her lungs to expand and contract, even though they didn't need to anymore. “I’ll accept any consequence you feel is appropriate, sir. I'm sorry.”

This was incredibly difficult if only because Roland knew he was being a hypocrite. There was no reasoning that it was different because he was a leader. Digging into this case on his own was very dangerous, but he just couldn’t let it go. He sighed deeply and looked at Wu. Her damn car turned up in the lake. There’s no way it wouldn’t be suspect if nothing came from it in the way of repercussions. “While I appreciate your dedication to this case, I think you need to take a beat,” he started and guilt twisted in his gut, “I’m mandating you to see a counselor during your two week suspension. I need you to come back with a fresh head, then we can tackle this Nichols case, together.” If he hadn’t already cracked it by then. He folded his palms together atop the desk and tried to soften his features. “Please take this time to take care of yourself, Wu. You look like you’ve been through hell.”

“A counselor?” Jane was more offended by that than she was the two week suspension. “You’re making me see a shrink?” Jane had everything lined up on how her undeath was going to go. She was going to feel shitty for a while - like Felix said, it may not be okay now or this year, but it would be. She didn't need some anti-supernatural shrink trying to crawl up her ass about everything. Jane washed her hands over her face, closing her eyes to force the headache away from her. Of all the things that was strange about her body, why were headaches still working like they normally did. She had a feeling that Roland wasn’t kidding though, and she looked back up at him, trying to swallow away the lump that had risen in her throat. “I’m fine, Sarge.” The lie seemed even more hallow when he was looking at her like that. “At least, I’m as fine as I can be.” Jane thought about saying something else, something about how clearly she could remember the gun pointed directly between her eyes, but she swallowed it back and said, “Is that all, sir?”

The counselor was the one part Roland really wanted to stand his ground on. It took a special kind of reckless to go in on a big fish alone. Going after a lead on your own was one thing, but she hadn’t been careful and something about her story felt wrong. “Yes, Wu, a counselor. You went through something traumatic. You were acting recklessly to begin with,” he stated firmly. It was his job to keep her, the town, and the rest of their department safe. If she was going to go out alone like this in such a dangerous situation, he couldn’t do that. There was also the slight sting that she hadn’t trusted him enough to ask him to come along. Had she seen him having lunch with Erin? Surely, she had to know he would have never befriended her had he known. This probably wasn’t helping, but he’d uncover this for the both of them. He shook his head. “As fine as you can be isn’t fine and you need to be at your best to do this job,” insisted. Not that she had much choice. He frowned at her question and answered, “That’s all.”

#wickedswriting #para #para roland #roland

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bluemoon-writer · 5 years ago

Text

Time Management

In which Marinette Gets Her Shit Together

girl has a lot on her plate

so she has to work on some major time management

starting with what is most important

-first is school

She has to get good grades so she can get in to the design school she wants. All her extracurriculars won’t be shit if her grades are bad

so she asks her teachers if she can get a list of the assignments that will be due throughout the year (and uses a bit of her power as class president to convince them that she should know)

then she get a filing cabinet and gets to work

each cabinet is a class, which is organized by month

Marinette obviously can’t do all of her homework for the year over one weekend (some, like math, she can’t do very far in ahead either)

but it’s a four day weekend and she dedicates the first day to getting the first two weeks of homework done and safely filed to be turned in later

-then, it’s time to plan out the rest of her homework.

she can’t do her math homework very far in advance because otherwise she’d have to teach herself the math with would be more time consuming

however, most math assignments only take 20 minutes so she can easily do them during lunch if she wants

she continues to try and keep ahead on her other assignments so she’s covered if there’s ever an akuma attack that doesn’t give her time for homework or if she’s just too busy one day then she won’t have to worry because most of her homework is done

-the biggest thing is getting a head start on the projects

by the end of the weekend she was able to come up with a plan of what she wanted to do for all of them

then she looked for other assignments that weren’t big projects but would require a little planning

the third day of her long weekend she made a calendar, detailing when each assignment was due and when tests were. Later she’d add in events and commissions

-Then she has to figure out her responsibilities as Class President

-She has to meet once a week at lunch with the other class reps and the Principal to discuss any new policies or events going on

As Francois DuPont is a private school each class is suppose to hold a fundraiser each semester

(The Mayor and Gabriel Agreste would NEVER send their kids to a public school, you can fight me on this lol)

The class reps plan the school dance, spirit week, and any other schoolwide activities

Class Reps also have the responsibility of making proposals to improve things at the school based on what the people in their class want

And the class rep should plan at least one class activity a semester

(Things might be different in France, but I’m just going off what I did as part of student council in high school)

-Marinette decides on putting up a suggestion box in Ms. Bustier’s room for two weeks so that the class can decide on what they’d most like her to focus on fixing

Then, she’ll weed out the impossible suggestions and the joke suggestions and let the class vote on which options they think are the most important

For the fundraiser, to avoid too much class arguments, she proposes a few options and lets the class vote on them

Her favorite one is the bake sale, her papa offered to let the class come and use the bakery to make and sell the desserts, so she pushes for that one

and the class agrees because it seems like the least amount of work

For class activity, Marinette plans two. One from a list of ideas she proposes and lets the class vote on, and one that is picked by the class placing suggestions in the suggestion box and then voting on it.

Marinette knew she was going to be placed on the design committee when it comes to planning the dance, so she sketches a few designs for a theme to show the reps when they eventually start discussing the dance

-Then number #3 is her passion, design. She’ll need a portfolio for design school

She picks a few projects for herself that she wants to make and think will look good on a portfolio

then she sets up a website for commissions. Relatively low prices for simple things. She’ll sketch just about anything for €10-30 as long as it’s not too big. Color it for another €10-25

She can design and make simple clothes and jewelry. She prefers not to do anything too complicated as a commission bc it’ll just take too much time

She can also do odder comissions, like design furniture (she can’t build it) or tattoos (she can’t tattoo them either lol) she gets a commission to design a really dope sword, and another one to help someone (her age) reorganize their bedroom

starting out is a bit rough, because she needs money to buy supplies to make examples to post on her website and she needs money to pay for the website

so she decides to work in the bakery for an hour or two in the morning

(at least now she doesn’t have to worry about being late to school)

her dad respects that she’s working for the money instead of asking for it and pays her €12/hour bc her help in the morning allows him to almost double the amount of pasteries he makes

(Side note: I have no idea what the minimum wage per Hour in France is bc when I googled it it gave me the minimum wage per month and I have no clue how to convert that to an hourly wage)

So Marinette is able to make €60-120 a week for supplies

The bakery is open 7 days a week, but Marinette only helps out 3-5 days a week. She still likes sleeping in

even when her website kicks off (with a little help from a Jagged Stone commission) she still helps out in the bakery once or twice a week bc she likes spending time with her dad

-But with her schedule more organized she is able to get to bed earlier. She aims for 9pm if she’s getting up at 5am to help her dad

if she’s not she’ll stay up until 10/11pm and get up around 7am

those are the nights she usually does patrol with Chat Noir

ideally, she’d like to patrol more, but it doesn’t do much. Hawkmoth almost never sends an akuma while their patrolling, so they limit their patrols to once a week.

-Marinette can’t do much planning for Ladybug. When an akuma appears she has to transform to take care of it.

Which is what inspired her to reorganize her life and activities

One akuma can cause her to fall behind in so many things, so it’s vital for her to be on top of and ahead of schedule in everything

she does come up with a list of excuses to get away if there’s an akuma.

-at school she proposes an “akuma protocol” to get the students to safety in case an akuma attacks

-everyone is supposed to go to the basement, and class reps are responsible for double checking to make sure no ones left upstairs

this gives Marinette the perfect excuse to get away while at school

makes it a bit of a pain in the ass for Adrien though. Of course, Marinette doesn’t know that

-(eventually, Adrien suggest that there should be a president and a Vice President for each class. The Principal agrees to the suggestion and Adrien runs for Vice President so he has an easier time of getting away during akuma attacks)

Marinette almost had a heart attack when they start working together to plan events

Adrien is very impressed by how organized Mari is

she even schedules time to hang out with her friends (usually on the weekends)

though impromptu hangouts often occur

-now that Marinette’s getting a proper amount of sleep everything she does seems better

-She’s never late to school in the morning, she doesn’t fall asleep in class, her notes make more sense, she better understands what’s happening, which means her grades improve, and she seems to be able to remember things better, she even feels less stressed

-----

This was inspired by a stress management course I had to sit through for one of the clubs I’m in. The lady presenting told us that a lot of our problems are caused by a lack of sleep. A full night of sleep is vital for relieving stress and improving your memory apparently.

If you want to be added to a tag list let me know. I have two right now, one for anything miraculous ladybug related, and one specifically for the Childhood Friends AU, I’ll be posting part 3 of MariKim later tonight or tomorrow morning and one for Max and Markov.

Find Part 1 of the Childhood Friends AU here.

#I swear the presenter almost had a heart attack when i told her I didn't even get four straight hours of sleep a night #miraculous ladybug #ladybug and chat noir #miraculous ladybug au #fanfiction #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ml salt #mlb #ml headcanon

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canaryatlaw · 4 years ago

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it’s late, and I do have to get up in the morning, though I may just go back to sleep afterwards. my church has been having very limited gatherings over the past few weeks, and in March they’re planning on opening them somewhat more, and restarting our kids program as well, so kids have somewhere to go while their parents are in the service, and tomorrow morning we’re having a training on how that all will take place, I’m assuming it’ll mostly be covering new protocols and the technicalities of how everything will work. They are holding it in person at the church but also on Zoom, and I’m just going to do Zoom of course because I am still always hesitant about going out, and an uber down to where it is is going to run me at least $25 each way, but I’m definitely not at a place where I can go back to public transit, not just because of the pandemic but more because of my stupid, not working legs that would definitely not cooperate with the distances of walking required to use public transit, even if it’s just a few blocks, it’s too much. I am still concerned that being at church and with the babies isn’t going to work well- that things are going to go wrong, like they did with soccer, and it’ll just be a dismal failure and I’ll be even more frustrated and upset with myself, but I have to try. I have to at least know there’s a reason I’m not doing something, not just too scared to take a chance and wind up stuck in my apartment for the rest of my life. I just hope nothing goes wrong especially when I’m with the babies because that concerns me greatly, but it’s really not like it would pose an actual risk to anybody, even if I’m like holding a baby I can control it enough that I can get to a sitting position and stable before I let it go and let it flail around until it gets its fill. I’m sure I’m going to have to give the other workers a disclaimer at the beginning of the service so they won’t be super alarmed or concerned if something happens, though I’ll still be pissed as hell that it did happen because I just hate feeling helpless oh so much, and just being in positions where I have to rely on other people to help me just drives me nuts, I don’t like sympathy I don’t like pity, don’t feel bad for me please, I’m fine, I’m fine. I’ll be fine, I can control this. I’m in control.

sigh. that’s what I keep telling myself at least. I should probably actually get to describing my day now that I went on a whole rant about that. Alarm went off at 8:30 because it’s the Saturday of our once a month church legal clinic, which starts on Zoom at 8:45 for a brief powwow with everyone, then at 9 we start the consultation with the client until 9:45 at which point we go back and chat with everybody, and end roughly around 10. my friend from school that I know has been going to the same church as me for some time but of course between pandemic and everything else I haven’t actually seen her face to face, but I knew she was doing the justice center too and we were both in the general zoom room before we started so I private messaged her just a few things saying hi haha so that was cool. The actual consultation was fine, I’m always so anxious they’re going to ask me about stuff I don’t know about, but I did know this was another divorce case, and while I definitely don’t handle divorces at my actual work, it coincides with my work a lot of the time and from being in family law focused spaces I’ve learned quite a bit about it, so I know my way around it fairly well. this was a bit more complicated case so I did recommend she consult with a legal aid attorney to hopefully help her file things, because this was fair beyond what a self-represented litigant could handle, even with a legal advice clinic and the great resources we have to help pro se litigants, it was just way too much. but we got a start on things so she can at least have something to take to the attorney, so all of that was easy peasy. the notes we got prior to the consultation were from the client coordinator speaking to her earlier in the week, and also included a line that was like “I need a divorce, I know it’s wrong but...” and went on to cite spiritual and cultural baggage surrounding it, so when we were at the end of the session I just told her that something we say a lot in my work (we don’t actually say it a lot, generally just when spiritual concerns are interfering with a victim’s safety, which thankfully isn’t often, but the point is the same) is that people are more important than institutions, and that her worth as a person is much more important than the existence of a marriage that has clearly broken down beyond a state of repair by so much mistreatment and bad behavior from her spouse. And I really just felt like it was important to tell her that she is doing the right thing here, and that she should not feel guilty about doing this, even that it is explicitly stated in the bible (by Jesus, no less) that divorce is allowed when the woman (or either spouse practically) is being abused, and that emotional abuse is just as valid as any other type of abuse, and taking steps to protect herself was the best thing she could be doing right now. so I clearly had a lot of feelings about that, and our client support coordinator (that’s not what their actual title is but that’s what we call their equivalent at my job so it’s good enough) really echoed it and affirmed it from a cultural perspective as well (coordinator was Asian, client was South Asian) and the client ended up in tears and I just felt satisfied that I was able to get that message across, because very few things truly piss me off more than “Christians” trying to “save a marriage” at the cost of the safety of one of the parties, and it’s been well documented that abusers can very easily manipulate counseling situations and paint the other party out to be the one that is being ungodly because they want out of the marriage, and it’s a giant load of bullshit that loses sight of the importance of a human being and it’s such a perversion of what God actually wants for his children and is just the result of legalism taken to an extreme and people’s welfare not actually taken into consideration, only the rules. Thankfully I haven’t run into this situation too many times while doing this work (I can think of two off the top of my head, and both of those very clearly stuck with me, even several years later), and I have encountered a very opposite situation of a pastor being incredibly supportive and even accompanying the client to file and for court dates, and it was just so heartening for me to see- the pastor wrote me an email later that night saying thank you again, and I just expressed that as a Christian myself, I had so much gratitude at seeing his supporting a member of his church so strongly. so that positive experience has stuck with me at least. anyway. we wrapped things up and I did consider going back to bed lol but ended up choosing to stay up, I’ve had such a baking itch and now have a lot of things I have to eat haha but I had seen something a while back about caramelizing white chocolate, which sounded super intriguing and I really wanted to try it, but it very strongly focused on having high quality white chocolate for it to work, so I tried to get the fanciest I could from my instacart order and I couldn’t find the cocoa butter percentage listed (that’s apparently the most important part) so I thought it probably wasn’t good enough, but I was going to try anyway. it basically involves a low-temp oven (like 250f) with it being spread out on a baking sheet, and every ten minutes taking it out and like spreading it as it darkens and such, for like an hour. so I had started doing that but it was pretty obvious from the start it wasn’t going to work how it should, it was very grainy and just not cooperating, at around that same time friend messaged and asked if I wanted to do one of our taco bell and target runs that we’ve been doing lately like right then, and there wasn’t much else I could do with the chocolate at that point so I left that and got real clothes on and left for taco bell and then target. I was disappointed to find out taco bell’s build your own cravings box could only be ordered from their mobile app and not the drive-in, but as a result I ended up with chicken chalupas instead of my regular “seasoned beef” (because you know that’s deff high quality stuff) and they were actually really good, so I may continue those in the future, lol we’ll see. so we sat in the home depot parking lot to eat like we normally do then drove over to Target (the taco bell is farther away, so we have to drive there and then back to the Target) and go from there. I didn’t need too many things, mostly just toilet paper and a few random food items, and I ended up with toilet paper, a pint of my super favorite ice cream that’s like $8 but is so damn good it’s worth it, some actual popsicles, some lemonade (my sodastream canisters are MIA at the moment so I needed something else to make my water at least somewhat appealing), and these little frozen crushed garlic cubes that are each equal to one clove of garlic and I’ve heard very good things about, so I wanted to try that since I couldn’t find any garlic while making the chicken scampi the other night. so we checked out and I ended up obtaining a watermelon mountain dew, because I saw that and knew I needed to have it, though I still had baja blast left from taco bell, so the watermelon one is in my fridge yet to be opened (it’s a 20 oz bottle, not like a 2 liter). from there I got dropped off at home and put some stuff away and worked on a few things, eventually watching a few episodes of Scrubs before remembering I had some stuff recorded still that I hadn’t finished, so I watched 9-1-1 and 9-1-1: Lone Star, which were of course very good, and while viewing was looking at various recipes for oreo rice krispie treats which I’d had a random craving for and bought supplies from instacart the other day, and after reading a few I decided to just kinda make up my own rules and go with it haha I had to revive some slightly stale marshmallows (put them in a ziploc and then in a bowl of hot water until they soften) as well as some stale oreos (350f in the oven for 3 minutes), though there only ended up being like 4 left in that pack and the rest from the new one, so that worked. I browned like 6 tablespoons of butter in a skillet and then transferred it to a big pot, addedt the old marshmallows (like 3/4 of a bag) as well as a bag of new ones, then crushed up most of the oreos and mixed them with a good amount of rice krispies and went from there. when I first dumped them into the pan it was just like this giant blob and I was like welp perhaps I made too much but then it kind of settled down to a more reasonable size, just still pretty large but that’s fine. I went back to the tv and watched For Life, and then to the news and SNL for a bit before getting in the shower and getting ready for bed, and of course now it’s almost 2 am and I am oh so tired, so I’m going to go to bed now being that I have to wake up at 10:15 (much better than 8:45 for work, but still). Goodnight friends. Hope you had an awesome Saturday.

#daily journal #February 2021

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heliads · 4 years ago

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Changing Perspectives

At first, Steve Rogers thinks that the new S.H.I.E.L.D. agent darkening the hallways of Avengers Tower is nothing more than a thorn in his side. Then again, there might be more to her than what meets the eye.

masterlist

Steve hurries through the halls of Avengers Towers, ducking and dodging around startled agents if he decides they’re not moving quickly enough. Steve has a debriefing in a few minutes; he had started out with good intentions and a promise to himself to be on time for once but he got sidetracked somewhere just before leaving his front door and his head start has quickly evaporated. So much for trying to be punctual.

Steve skids around one final corner, slowing his pace to pretend he hadn’t been rushing and heads purposefully into the debriefing room. He slides into a seat in the back, next to Natasha. “You might want to be careful, Rogers,” She says, turning to face him with a grin that borders on gleeful, “I don’t think it would do good things for your All American Boy reputation if you were caught arriving less than five minutes before a debriefing.”

Steve rolls his eyes, pulling out the case file on whatever mission he’s about to hear about from where it’s been wedged underneath his arm. Truth be told, he was supposed to have read it in advance, but he didn’t bother to make the time to do so, preferring to keep it propped insistently against the corner of his desk as if its proximity to him would encourage Steve to read it in any way.

Steve has just started to flip through the case file in the hopes of finding a quick summary when the lights dim and the speakers arrive. There are two or three of them, each dressed in the familiar dark and practical clothing designating them as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, primarily researchers.

Steve finishes his quick scan of the case file while the researchers drone on, but even after his reading is completed he can’t quite bring himself to pay attention. Maybe it’s the dark of the room, or the monotonous voices of the agents, but Steve’s focus drifts away from the debriefing on hand and out the window next to him. The view of the New York skyline is breathtaking, as always. Sometimes it’s strange to be able to see the city like this, new technology practically bursting out of every street corner. Steve may have spent a lot of time in the twenty-first century by now, but some nagging part of him still doesn’t think it’s right to see such a modern city as commonplace.

Steve is rudely awakened from his thoughts by the sound of his name coming from the lips of one of the agents. Steve jolts back to reality, turning to face the agents as if he’d been paying attention all along. “..and that’s what we had planned so far. Are we in agreement, Rogers?” Steve glances from the projected display overhead to Natasha’s position in her case file, which is conveniently flopped open to the proper section.

“Well, I don’t see any problems there. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s new policies, especially, the Paper Cards Protocol, should cover the previous breaches in security. I think the question is more how quickly you’ll be able to implement them.” Steve leans back in his chair, feeling satisfied with his answer. It’s pretty easy to fake attention- just yammer on about security and throw in a couple of keywords that he had just seen in the case files. Normally, this is enough to deter any of the S.H.I.E.L.D. researchers, as they always seem too overwhelmed by the idea of contradicting a national hero to question him any further.

The agent in front of him, however, does not appear to be cut from the same cloth. She folds her arms across her chest. “Excellent answer, Rogers. Just curious- is there anything more specific you’d like to say, or are you happy to stick with the same general statement you just read out of Agent Romanoff’s booklet?”

Steve stares at her for a moment, surprised and the agent continues on without giving him a chance to speak. “See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. Not to keep bashing on Rogers, but most everyone here is content with ignoring protocols and policies brought up by lesser agents in favor of sticking to what they’ve always done. Why do we need new security, and why new protocols? It’s because no one’s actually paying attention to what we already have and it makes us have to think four steps ahead instead of the regular two.”

Steve frowns up at the agent as she continues talking, unable to feel the sting of her criticism through his confusion. Steve realizes that he actually doesn’t recognize this particular agent- never seen her before, not even in passing through the halls. Yet according to the neat rows of colored insignias designating her position in the S.H.I.E.L.D. ranks, she’s actually a pretty important agent. Maybe only a few ranks below Natasha.

The agent notices his gaze. “Yes, I’m new to this area. Just returned from an international mission. Name’s Y/N L/N, but you would have known that had you been paying more attention to the debriefing at hand instead of whatever might be going on out there.” She says, waving a hand in the general direction of the window. In front of him, Natasha smirks. “Already cutting to the bone on your first day back, L/N?” Y/N’s previously cool demeanor cracks as she flashes Natasha a grin. “Maybe so.”

The two agents (and friends, apparently) share a laugh before Y/N continues on with her debriefing. Steve is left to stew in his corner of the room, biting his cheek and wishing that of all the days to not pay attention, he hadn’t chosen this one. Steve’s usually the one to be in control of the room like this, usually the one to center the conversation and prove to everyone why he’s got the reputation everyone’s so familiar with. Y/N remains aloof and in control, completely and utterly aware of the effect she’s having on him and obviously proud of it.

Steve decides that he loathes her.

Tony’s throwing some sort of party again. Honestly, Steve cannot figure out what delights the man so with wasting large sums of his money just to impress the general public, who would have followed Tony anywhere if he so much as looked at him. Yet here Steve is, uniform disregarded for some nice clothes he had to dig out of the corner of his closet designated ‘Not bloodstained, could be worn to media events.’

As he arrives at the Avengers Tower, which has been newly redecorated to reflect the festive mood, Steve begins to remember why Tony’s having this particular gala. Some new invention launched into the public, some big deal that’ll have his face splashed across the front pages for weeks. As Steve straightens his shirt collar and heads inside, he’s enveloped by the roar of noise typical of Tony’s parties.

A few hours in, the bottles are already popped and Steve wants nothing more than to leave. If you’re like him and can’t get drunk, it gets pretty hard to pass the time. Just as he’s heading to the door, though, Nat notices his escape attempt and blocks his path. She laughs at his disappointed look as she pulls him back into the fray.

“You can’t leave, not yet. Tony’s about to set off some fireworks, and if I have to stick through his entire thing, so do you.” Steve groans, but allows Natasha to walk with him to the doors leading outside. It’s a brisk night, with a cool wind cutting the heat of the tower. There’s the sound of a countdown rolling across the dark of the night, and then the answering boom and flash of the fireworks.

Steve has to admit that they’re impressive. If there’s one thing Tony can do well, it’s another display of opulence. Steve still isn’t used to the bright colors and shapes that are typical of modern fireworks, and he finds himself standing there in awe for longer than he expected.

Then, his attention is caught by a brief flash of movement in the middle of the cheering partygoers. Everyone here is happy, celebrating, having fun, but this one figure looks panicked, and is slipping as fast as they can towards the doors to get away. Steve blinks his eyes a few times to clear them, staring at the person rushing inside. With a slight twist to his stomach, Steve realizes it’s Y/N, and she looks more upset than he’s ever seen before. It’s strange to see her usually indifferent face twisted with something that looks almost like terror.

Steve is leaving the party before he realizes, desperate to get to her. What if something is terribly wrong? He has a feeling that it’s not HYDRA or some other enemy attack, because Natasha and Tony don’t seem worried, but Y/N, Y/N is not doing very well at all.

Steve is just rounding a corner when he sees her. She’s flung herself down on the ground in a dead end of a hallway, hands clamped down over her ears and back hunched as if to protect herself. Steve hesitates where he is, just out of her sight, when he sees the tears starting to wash down her cheeks. As Steve stands there, he realizes that she’s saying something over and over again. There’s a pang in Steve’s chest as he realizes she’s repeating the same simple sentence again and again, as if by hearing it one more time she’ll snap out of whatever haze she’s trapped in.

You’re not in Kolograd anymore. You’re not in Kolograd anymore. You’re not in Kolograd anymore.

Steve recognizes the name of that city- it’s some distant town in Russia, the place where she recently completed a mission. It was supposed to be some tiny corner of the country, but it instead housed dozens of HYDRA facilities. Steve had heard rumors that the mission hadn’t exactly gone to plan, but Y/N had seemed fine and so everyone had just forgotten it. Looking at Y/N now, though, Steve realizes none of that was true. He doesn’t know what happened in Kolograd, but it was enough to scar Y/N even now, to the point where she would have to put up a front everyday and pretend she was fine.

Steve decides that he may have misjudged her.

The night is late, the curtains drawn. Most of the Avengers have finally dragged themselves away to bed, leaving behind rumpled couch cushions where they had previously sat, where the room had filled with the last dregs of conversation finally run out. Some government official had sent over a few bottles of wine and other spirits, clearly in the hopes that a few expensive gifts would spare them from checking into his history with shady business dealings. There would be no such luck for him.

However, these now empty bottles meant that the night was not as quiet as it usually was. Steve, wanting to clear his head of the drunken haze that permeated everything in the room except for himself, slipped out of the room and opened the doors to a balcony. He steps out and leans against the railing, savoring the rush of focus that the cool air brings. He barely notices the door open again behind him, and then another figure comes to stand next to him.

Steve smiles when he realizes it’s Y/N. She, of course, is just another regular agent who lacks Steve’s cursed ability to not get drunk, and Steve notes the scent of alcohol on her tongue and the slight sway in her steps that usually isn’t found among her normal balance and care.

Y/N breathes in the cool night air, letting her shoulders sink, then turns to face Steve. “I feel like I should be envious of you and your super-fast metabolism, but to be honest it’s kind of nice to not have any worries right now.” Steve chuckles quietly at that. “I do miss it, to be honest. Every now and then, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to be able to let go of everything.”

Y/N considers this for a while, her eyes still on Steve. In this moment, he realizes that the balcony is small, and the two of them are barely a few inches apart. She’s right there, just in reach, and he supposes he isn’t exactly surprised when she leans forward and kisses him.

Her lips are warm and soft against the biting chill of the wind, and Steve’s a little disappointed when she breaks away. Steve doesn’t say anything, and maybe that’s why Y/N gets this panicked look in her eyes like she’s terrified she’s ruined everything. She forces a light giggle. “It looks like I’ve had too much to drink. I think I’m going to head in.”

Steve realizes how this looks and wraps his arm around her waist to stop her from turning away. “It’s not a mistake, and you don’t have to pretend that you’re that drunk just to get away from it.” Y/N frowns at that, pausing where she stands. “What?” Steve glances down at her. “You’re afraid to really say how you feel, so you’re blaming it on the closest thing in sight. You don’t have to hide anymore, Y/N.”

She stares at him for a second, then her confused frown turns into a laugh. “You know, I thought I was supposed to be the deciphering agent who could see through anyone, but you’ve read me far too well.” Steve smiles back at her. “Maybe I’m making it up because I want an excuse.” Y/N cocks an eyebrow at him. “An excuse for what?” “This.” Steve leans forward and kisses her again. This time, she doesn’t lean away. This time, Steve’s fairly sure he’s found the one girl he can finally rely on, to have his back and to keep him around forever.

Steve decides that he loves her.

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers oneshot #avengers #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #avengers imagines #captain america #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagines

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inmyownlittlecorner5 · 5 years ago

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Moonlight Chapter 26: Scraps

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 26/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Twenty-Five+

Wherever she was, it was quiet and safe. It was also dark. She thought that her eyes were open, but she could not see anything at all. It was like the time her family had gone to that cave that Jesse James had hidden in, and the tour guide had turned off all the lights so they could see how dark it was. She and her brothers had waved their hands in front of each others’ faces, laughing themselves silly at the fact that they couldn’t see them. But she wasn’t worried; not now. The taste of elderflower tickled her tongue, she was bone-weary, and whatever she was lying on was deliciously soft. A sound like water lapping at the shore rocked her, and she felt no pain in this half-world.

It was her time; and she was ready to go.

Something cool touched her; something sharp and prickly that prodded her forehead, her cheek, her chest. She wheezed and tried to protest the invasion, but no words came out. It was like trying to talk underwater. A babble of sounds mixed with the rushing noise in her ears; and though she thought she heard voices, she could not make out their words. Her eyes were shut after all, and she had not the energy to pry them open. She wished they would stop, these things that tormented her. As the voices grew louder and came into sharper focus, she tried to flinch away and failed. Being touched hurt. The voices hurt. Moving hurt. Breathing hurt. Everything…

“….Miranda….”

Oh. That voice. She knew that voice. It washed over her like dark honey and she panted, desiring more of its soothing tones.

“Severus?” Her own voice was a pathetic plea, but she was past caring about trifling things like dignity and pride. She was thirsty for his voice, thirsty for his touch, thirsty for his very presence, and dying—of thirst or something else—but dying all the same.

“I’m here. Don’t talk. I’m taking you to St. Mungo’s.”

Her heart tripped; and though she had surfaced to intolerable pain, she was willing to bear it for a little longer, if only for the pleasure of hearing him speak. She was no longer content to lie still and wait, she had to move, had to touch him. But her limbs ignored her like rebellious children, and she could only whimper her disapproval as the thing underneath her jerked her body. White-hot streaks of agony stabbed her everywhere, and she heard him swear brokenly under his breath. That wouldn’t do. She would be brave for him. She quieted her complaints and willed her eyes to open. And, though it took every ounce of strength she had left, open they did, and she saw him.

His face was pale, like always, and his hair hung limply on either side of his angular cheeks. It was oily today, like it was when he’d spent too much time in the potions room, or when he’d forgotten to wash it for too long. When they had first met, he had been careless about that aspect of his appearance. But after she’d gone to Romania, every time she saw him, his hair had been scrupulously clean. She’d never mentioned it, but she had noticed. He must not have expected to see her today.

“Severus,” she whispered, “it’s been good.”

His tone was stern when he answered her. “Miranda, I absolutely forbid you to die. It is completely out of the question.”

A laugh bubbled up in her, and she tasted blood in her mouth. “I don’t think there’s anything that can stop that now.”

“You took the Stasis Potion, did you not?”

She struggled to remember, but her brain felt soft. “I…think the Spiridus…fed it to me.”

The ground jerked beneath her, and her stomach rolled as the world around her started to spin. A sickening heat flashed through her body, and she thought she might retch. She could not tell how long the torture continued, but just when she thought it might go on forever, it stopped abruptly. Now she was blessedly still, and a soft, wet rain was kissing her face. God she was thirsty.

“Kiss me, Severus.”

A shattered moan escaped his throat, and he brought his lips down on hers. She drank the life she knew he was willing into her, even though she could feel it pouring back out of the innumerable wounds that had destroyed her body. Everything she’d ever felt for him; desire, anger, friendship, compassion, blended together into a brilliant mass. She sank into it, and as it washed over her she felt a tenderness beating at its core. As the jackel-men had ripped open her body, this feeling wrenched open her soul, and she was undone.

His heart was in his eyes, and he was close enough that she could feel his breath. She would tell him now, before she lost the chance to do so.

“Severus, I want to tell you…”

He laid his finger over her lips, and she closed them against the weight. “I said you are not allowed to die.”

His hand rested gently on her cheek, and she turned her face towards it. Then there was darkness again, and an awful sensation; she was being sucked dry, pulled apart, suffocated.

Then there was nothing.

*****

Apparating in a state of agitation, particularly while bringing the body of an injured person along for the ride, was a feat that Severus did not desire to repeat any time in the near future. He glanced at Miranda’s inert form, finding that the experience had thrown her back into unconsciousness. As he choked on the malodorous stench of decay that hung in the air, he reflected that it was probably better that way. Whoever was responsible for the brilliant idea of placing the emergency entrance to St. Mungo’s between a line of Muggle dumpsters should be submerged in one and lit on fire.

He flicked his wand violently at the stretcher he’d transfigured from Miranda’s sofa, levitating it off the filthy street with a sickening jerk. Berating himself for his carelessness, he ran his fingers lightly over her battered face. Her breath was still coming in shallow, irregular pants, and the pulse at her throat was thready. A steadier wand swish set the stretcher moving, hovering through the air on invisible strings. He hurried up the delivery ramp with his patient close behind, to a large metal door painted with the warning “Do Not Block.” His slapped the ‘D’ with far more force than necessary, and an unpleasant pulling sensation drew both of them through the entrance into the brightly lit passage beyond. A witch with dark hair and enormous, rectangular glasses was perched at a desk, imperiously directing a queue of witches and wizards in various degrees of distress. He joined it begrudgingly, burning through the remainder of his patience with the speed of an inferno devouring tinder.

“Welcome to St. Mungo’s,” the witch said in a voice like a strangled goat when she finally deigned to notice him. “What is the nature of your emergency?”

“Severe injuries sustained in battle,” he replied tersely.

The welcome witch was unimpressed. “Name of the injured party?”

“Miranda Jane Rose.”

“Affiliation?”

“Order of the Phoenix.” He put his hand on Miranda’s wrist, reassuring himself that her heart was still beating as the inane interrogation continued.

“Magical I.D.?”

Would the witch never get on with it? “I don’t have it.”

She gave him a disapproving sniff and thrust a stack of parchment into his hand. “I see. In that case, you’ll have to fill out all of these.”

“I hardly think this is the time for such nonsense. Or is it the hospital’s practice to allow patients bleed to death while they attempt to satisfy the insatiable demands of pointless bureaucracy?”

“Hospital protocol exists for a reason, sir.”

“Apparently so. The more patients who perish in the anteroom, the fewer you actually have to bother with treating.”

“It’s not my fault you forgot the necessary parchments. Residence?”

“A cabin at Upper Diddling, near Brighton.” Two more questions and then he was going to cast a Confundus and take her to triage, protocol be damned.

“Place of birth?”

“Edgewater, Kansas.”

“Kansas?” The welcome witch peered over the rim of her oversized glasses. “Do you mean the Kansas in America?”

“No, I mean the Kansas in Northumberland,” he sneered. “Of course I bloody well mean the Kansas in America.”

“Is she a MACUSA citizen?”

“Yes.”

She clucked her tongue. “Why didn’t you say so at the beginning? Foreign citizens require a completely different set of parchment.”

“What this woman requires is a healer’s attention immediately,” Severus growled, sliding his wand out of his sleeve. “And if you possessed the brains of a flobberworm, she would already be receiving it.”

“One more word like that out of you, sir, and I’ll be calling security.”

“Professor Severus, I wasn’t expecting to see you again today.” Healer A’isha appeared from around the corner, and Severus quickly replaced his wand. “Has something happened? There is blood on your lips.”

His hand automatically went to his mouth and his fingers came away streaked with red. “It’s not mine. It’s…”

“What is going on here?” Healer A’isha had cleared the desk and now had an unobstructed view of Miranda’s mangled body. “Is she one of yours?”

“Yes.”

Healer A’isha began barking orders. “Miss Rhea, I am taking this woman and Professor Severus to triage.”

Miss Rhea put her hands on her hips and snarled another attack. “Healer A’isha, these people are not cleared to enter the hospital. I was just about to pull the files with their security questions. That is, assuming they’re even on the Order’s list at all.”

“I am overriding that protocol.”

“If they turn out to be Death Eaters, I want it noted that it was your rule-breaking that let them in.”

“I’ll put it in my report. This way, Professor Severus.”

“But the parchments,” the welcome witch whined as they maneuvered Miranda around the impediment of her desk.

“Send them up with Healer Augustus. He will be on the hourglass within the next ten minutes. And send up Healer Hippocrates, too.”

“Healer A’isha, you know he hates to work when he’s already flipped his hourglass for the day!”

“He’ll hate it more if he misses this, I promise you.”

Severus could have kissed her. As they moved swiftly through the candlelit corridors, he felt air moving through his lungs for the first time since he’d seen Catalina at the castle gates. Even as they walked, Healer A’isha was making her preliminary examination, her long brown fingers moving lightly over Miranda’s motionless form.

“Tell me what happened,” she said in a tone both firm and gentle.

“She was in Romania on a mission for the Order. There was a battle with an army of creatures. We thought she was lost, but a being called a Spiridus brought her here.”

“A Spiridus? I have only read about them. What potions has she taken?”

“At least three vials of Strengthening Solution.”

“Ah. That accounts for her pulse. She should not have taken so many.”

“I am aware of that. She also took a Stasis Potion.”

“I am not familiar with that potion. Is it one of yours?”

“Yes.” Unlike the welcome witch’s sniping, this volley of questions was somehow soothing to him.

“When Healer Augustus comes, I will need you to list the components of the completed potion to him.”

“I understand.”

“What were the creatures she fought?”

“I don’t know what they are called. I lent her comrade my portkey to come here. She will be able to tell you more about the battle itself.”

At last they entered the winged doors of triage, and Severus brought the stretcher to a halt. Healer A’isha ran her wand slowly over Miranda’s body. As she traced each limb, an image of her patient’s bones and organs appeared in color-coded light. Green for health, yellow for mild injury, purple for severe injury, red for mortal injury…Merlin there was so much red…

“I should have brought her via portkey as well, it would have been faster,” he blurted. “All the members of the Order have been carrying portkeys since Arthur’s attack. But I remembered what you said this morning about moving injured persons and I thought…”

“Peace, Professor,” she said, halting his babbling. “It was better to bring her the slower way and avoid moving her as much as possible. You did the right thing.”

“Thank you,” he choked, his vision blurring for a moment. He shut his eyes, he was not going to cry again, not here, not now.

“Healer A’isha?” A disgustingly chipper nurse in blue robes swept into triage, with an irate Romanian witch close at hand. “I’m not sure, but I think this witch is looking for someone. She came in with the finger-print linked portkey, so I don’t think she’s a Death Eater; but the Rosetta Stone is acting up again; and she doesn’t speak any English; and we’ve just been going round and round for the last twenty minutes.”

“Thank you Nurse. That will be all,” Healer A’isha said, dismissing the woman briskly.

“{Professor Snape, this is the most disorganized hospital I have ever seen. Things are not like this in Romania,}” Catalina complained.

“{I don’t disagree, Doamnă Dragnea,}” Severus replied.

The next half hour was a blur of answering questions, translating between Healer A’isha and Catalina, and doing his best to avoid staring at the lighted map that revealed the extent of Miranda’s internal injuries. He could read the thing well enough to tell that his Stasis Potion had worked better than he’d ever hoped that it would. Unfortunately, he found that he was in no way gratified by that knowledge. Rather, he felt vaguely sick when he realized that his efforts at brewing an experimental potion were the only thing standing between his lover and her grave.

A rotund Healer with spectacles and a white handlebar mustache joined them presently. He barely bothered to introduce himself as Hippocrates Smethwyck before he and Healer A’isha whisked Miranda away for treatment. For a moment, the ground seemed to shift beneath Severus’s feet, as though he had been running for hours and had come to a sudden and unexpected stop.

He had no idea what to do next.

An athletic boy in lime green robes, surely too young to be a Healer stepped up to him, saving him the trouble of taking a decision.

“Hello, Professor Snape,” the boy said with the wide-eyed eagerness of a Hufflepuff. “You probably don’t remember me. I’m Augustus Pye.”

Severus eyed the boy—young man—shrewdly. “Of course I remember you. Class of ’89. Decent N.E.W.T. work.”

“Thank you, sir. Coming from you, that’s a compliment. I’m a full Healer now.”

“Congratulations.” A headache was starting to pound behind his eyes, and he was beginning to see stars at the edge of his field of vision.

“Why don’t we go find somewhere quiet to sit,” Augustus suggested. “I’m afraid we’ve got a little more parchment work to fill out. Might as well be comfortable while we do.”

“As you say.”

Answering yet more questions sounded as appealing as taking tea with Dolores Umbridge, but Severus had not an ounce of fight left in him. He allowed the new Healer to lead him and Catalina into a deserted alcove, fitted up with a low-burning candelabra and three enormously comfortable armchairs. Catalina promptly curled herself into a ball and fell asleep, and Severus couldn’t say that he blamed her.

“Okay, Professor. Let’s take it from the top.”

*****

Severus’s throat was raw when he pried his stinging eyes open sometime later. He did not ever remember closing them, but when he had rubbed them with the backs of his chapped hands, and glanced out the arched window that graced the alcove, he saw the moon was high in the sky. When he’d arrived at the hospital on this second errand it had been barely sundown. It must be near midnight now. Catalina still slumbered in the chair next to him, and Healer Pye was nowhere in sight. He made an attempt to extract himself from the armchair, but his joints were so stiff that it was not worth the effort. His stomach rumbled, requesting his attention, but he ignored it, as though his discomfort might somehow aid Miranda in surviving the night.

Light footsteps drew his attention, and he saw Healer A’isha enter the alcove. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her expression was implacably serene. As she sank into the vacant chair, he braced himself for the blow that he knew he could no longer avoid.

“Miss Miranda is alive, Professor Severus.” Healer A’isha’s voice was as cool and calm as her bearing. “Healer Augustus and Nurse Grace are settling her in a room, and then you will be able to see her.”

“Thank Merlin.” It was as close to a prayer as he’d ever said in his adult life.

“Infidel,” Healer A’isha teased with the ghost of a smile. “We have done as much as we can tonight. We must wait until her body has cleared the Strengthening Solution before we attempt anything further.”

“It is dangerous to wait, I take it?”

“Yes, but it is more dangerous to add to the stress on her systems now.”

“I see.” He no longer felt hungry—he felt like his stomach was full of lead.

“It will be as Allah wills, but do not lose hope. She is strong, and we will do our best by her. I promise.”

He snorted. “You say that to everyone.”

“I do. And I mean it every time.”

“Healer A’isha, I am well aware that your promise is worth fifty of any other Healer’s. But don’t lie to me. If she is dying, simply say so.”

“We are all dying, Professor Severus. But if she has any family or friends who would want to see her alive, you may wish to give them the opportunity.”

She did not torture him by completing the thought, and he nodded numbly, grasping the mirror she held out to him with stiff fingers.

“Just return it to a Nurse when you are finished. I must go home now, but you are in good hands, and I will return in the morning.”

“Thank you, Healer A’isha.”

“It is my pleasure, Professor Severus.”

He forced his creaky legs to stand so that he could return her bow. Once he had gained his feet, he paced the alcove, loosening his limbs and avoiding the calls that he knew he had to make. He allowed himself five minutes of procrastination, then he turned the mirror over in his hands.

A wizard with bright eyes and a voice too cheerful for the witching hour appeared in the glass. “Good evening, sir. Where can I direct your call?”

“Mr Aaron Lee, number 76, MACUSA Embassy, London.”

*****

“{I think she looks worse now than when we brought her here,}” Catalina said darkly.

“{I don’t recall asking for your opinion,}” Severus retorted, privately agreeing with the Romanian’s assessment.

The three of them were alone at last in a cramped, windowless, but mercifully private room in Jude the Unfortunate’s Ward for Hopeless Cases. In addition to the poisoning from the extra Strengthening Solution and the physical damage to Miranda’s body, the căpcăuns contained a venom in their claws that was spreading a slow, deadly infection throughout her system. Add to that the Stasis Potion which, while it was working for her, was also, in some ways, working against the Healers, it was anyone’s guess as to whether or not she would ultimately pull through.

Severus was pacing the paltry length of the sterile space, dodging chairs not nearly as comfortable as the ones in the alcove. His attention was divided between staring at the charmed etching on the wall that claimed Miranda was still breathing; and staring at the body on the narrow bed that was so still he hardly believed that the etching was correct. Miranda was laid out as for the undertaker, as pale and motionless as a marble gisant waiting to grace a tomb. She was clean though; someone had washed away the blood and sweat and dirt. The wounds were staunched and dressed where required. Her caretakers had even taken the trouble to comb her hair and plait it into a shining braid that snaked over her shoulder. She looked like the storied princess, patiently awaiting the live-giving kiss.

Unfortunately, he was not that kind of a prince, and this was not a fairy tale.

Around two in the morning, according to the miniature astronomical clock above the door, Rachel Lee joined the somber trio. She came bearing a pair of bento boxes and a thermos of hot tea, and she would not be satisfied until both Catalina and Severus were crammed into the chairs, balancing the offerings on their knees. Catalina dug in immediately, but Severus picked at the miso salmon and the rice, until Rachel cajoled him into trying the cucumber salad. The tanginess of the vinegar married with the depth of the sesame oil coaxed his dormant tastebuds to wakefulness, and he found he had more than enough room to demolish the whole of the dish and wish there were more.

“{I can’t stay long, Maggie is waking up constantly to nurse these days. Growth spurt, I think,} Rachel said in ponderous, but intelligible Romanian.

Severus cocked an eyebrow at the American witch. “{Rachel. You didn’t tell me you spoke Romanian.}”

She winked at him. “{You didn’t ask. I picked it up when I was procrastinating translating all those potion texts. Why don’t you both come back and sleep for a while? We have loads of room in our flat.}”

Catalina’s exhausted eyes brightened at the mention of a bed. “{But only if it will not be any trouble,}” she stipulated wearily.

“{No trouble at all,}” Rachel insisted. “Well, Severus? Won’t you come too?"

“No, I thank you. I want to be here when Aaron arrives with Miranda’s parents.” He did not, in point of fact, want to be there when Miranda’s parents arrived, but he felt that he owed them his presence, even though he doubted they would return the sentiment.

“I understand, and it’s a standing offer. Anytime you want to drop in, day or night, no warning necessary.”

She collected the dishes and left him with a MACUSA eagle that would gain him admittance to the Embassy. Catalina trailed after her, yawning. He shifted in the chair, but every position was equally uncomfortable. Eventually his legs fell asleep, and he sat, staring at Miranda over his steepled fingers, wandering in and out of a doze as the minutes ticked away.

Mercury was halfway across the painted sky on the clock, and Severus’s sleepy brain registered it was nearly dawn, when the door opened again. Aaron, almost unrecognizable without his carefree grin, led a pair of Muggles into the hushed room, and Severus rose stiffly to his feet with all the eagerness of a man facing the gibbet. Miranda’s father was a barrel-chested man, nearly as tall as Aaron, with piercing blue eyes and a neatly trimmed, hoary beard. Her mother was a willowy woman, her dark hair peppered with silver, her grey eyes the mirror of Miranda’s and brimming with tears.

“Conor, Monica, this is Severus Snape, the fella I told you about,” Aaron said, breaking the silence. “Severus, Conor and Monica Rose.”

Now that he was facing Miranda’s parents, pinned by Conor’s suspicious glare and Monica’s gaunt sorrow, Severus wished he had taken Rachel up on her offer of respite. What a damned, sentimental idiot he was to think he should be here at a time like this. What was he even supposed to say to these Muggles? So nice to meet you Mr Rose, I’m the one who’s been fornicating with your daughter for the last year or so. Mrs Rose, how enchanting to finally make your acquaintance. I am a great admirer of your embroidery work, especially the piece gracing the wall of your daughter’s bedroom, with which I am intimately familiar.

In the end, when Mr Rose crushed his hand in an iron grip, he simply muttered, “Good morning Mr Rose. I am sorry we did not meet under better circumstances.”

Conor pumped his hand once and released him. “So am I, son. So am I.”

Severus bristled at the epithet ‘son,' but bit his tongue. Conor had obviously not meant it as a compliment, and in any case, he had already moved past Severus and drawn up a chair to sit at his daughter’s shoulder.

Monica held out her hand to him in a polished, but distracted greeting.

“Professor Snape, we’re glad to meet you. From what Aaron was telling us, we have you to thank that Miranda is still among the living,” she said warmly, but her eyes kept darting between his face and her daughter’s body.

Her gratitude made him feel worse than Conor’s spite ever could have accomplished. “I’ve done nothing to deserve your thanks, madam.”

She neither confirmed nor denied his statement, and he let go of her hand in order to place a chair for her by Miranda’s side. She slipped into it, and brushed a stray lock back from her daughter’s bruised face. Aaron took the final chair, and Severus backed away as far as the room would allow, feeling as unwelcome as Actaeon in Diana’s wood. He wouldn’t put it past Conor to turn and rend him if the opportunity presented itself.

“I don’t know, Conor,” Monica said in a strained voice after she’d examined the state of her child. “She looks better than she did after that time with the Jersey Devils. Remember? It took the Healers a week to set her straight and we still had to get Father Donnelly to exorcise her.”

Conor glanced up at his wife, and a boyish smile broke across his face, making him appear years younger. “You might be right, Butterfly. Do you remember that, Aaron?”

Aaron let out a low whistle. “Sure do, Conor. The Tin-Hat Brigade was busy for a month, writing copy for the tabloids, trying to convince the No-Majs that the whole shebang was a result of fumes from a putrid cranberry bog.” He gave a jaw-splitting yawn. “She’ll pull through. She’s too tough to die.”

“Don’t I know it. Takes after her Ma.”

“You’ve got the eagle I gave you?”

“Yessir.”

“Good. The welcome witch’ll be able to call an escort for you when you’re ready for a break. Rachel’ll be around later this morning, and I’ll be back after work.”

“Thank you Aaron, for everything,” Monica said.

“No trouble at all. I’ll see you soon.”

The room seemed smaller after Aaron had taken his leave, rather than more spacious. Severus was painfully aware of the awkwardness of the situation and, much as he was loathe to leave Miranda’s side, he was becoming more certain by the second that his presence was not at all desired by her progenitors. With a sick heart, he slunk towards the door, Bellerophon repulsed for having dared to sully paradise.

He was in the hallway when Monica spoke his name; but he pulled the door shut after him, pretending not to hear.

He would rather wander the world blind and broken by his own decision than give the gods the pleasure of casting him out.

*****

On Tuesday the Healers decided to risk administering the first round of antidotes to the struggling patient. That night, Miranda was feverish, tossing and muttering nonsense; still unaware of her surroundings. In the small hours of the morning, she finally settled into a quieter sleep; although her face was still flushed and her breathing rapid and shallow. Monica dozed, feet tucked up on her chair and her chin resting on her knees; Conor sat, busily whittling with a large pocket knife, letting the scraps of wood fall heedlessly to the floor; and Severus paced, determined to wear a track in the tile beneath his feet. He had not bothered to enquire if the Roses desired his presence at their daughter’s sickbed, and he had come into the room, both this evening and the one previous, prepared to insist on his entitlement to be there. He had a list of reasons, carefully curated and impeccably logical; not one of them stooping to the baseness of feeble-minded emotion. Neither of his antagonists condescended to question him, and while Monica was unwaveringly polite, Conor's adroit blend of silence and pointed observation communicated his opinion of his daughter’s paramour with perfect clarity.

“Miranda never mentioned you,” Conor said matter-of-factly without looking up from his creation.

Although he had thought his armor impervious to slights, Severus was taken aback by how much that revelation stung him.

“That does not surprise me,” he replied evenly.

“Aaron mentioned you’re wrapped up in some dodgy shit over here.”

“That is not untrue.”

“Said you’re head-over-heels stupid for my girl, but that nobody’s supposed to know.”

Severus was going to hex that American blabbermouth at the first available opportunity. “Aaron talks too damned much.”

“He does, don’t he?”

Conor let that comment hang in the air for a while and continued his work; slowly transforming the smooth wood into a trim little sparrow. Severus resumed his pacing, dividing his attention between crafting an appropriately acrid diatribe with which to revenge himself on Aaron Lee, and berating himself for the mistake of giving the man that much information in the first place.

At last Conor spoke again, and his voice was soft, unmarred by the edge of hostility that had been present in it up to now.

“You know, I’ve always been proud of Miranda. Couldn’t ask for a tougher, smarter girl. And sweet too. Sweeter than she ought to be. But damn if she don’t scare the shit out of me something regular. I suppose every father comes to the understanding that he can’t protect his children, ‘specially once they’re grown. But most fathers don’t have to watch their girls get cut to pieces by things that ain’t supposed to exist except in nightmares or Hell. Humbles a man.”

“Most unfortunate.”

“Eh, a man has to be humbled now and then. It ain’t good to have too much pride, makes your head soft.” He looked up from his whittling finally, and his eyes had the twinkle in them that Severus had only witnessed when Conor was talking to those in his favor. “What I’m saying is, I’m glad that she’s got you at her back. Even if you are stuffed shirt Englishman.”

It was the most flattering insult Severus had ever received, and he was embarrassed at how much it soothed his troubled heart. “I take it you expect me to thank you for that.”

“Nah. I expect you to sit down and play a round of Rummy with me. That pacing’s driving me nuts.”

*****

By the end of the week, the Healers were cautiously hopeful that Miranda would recover. The balancing act continued between the spells and potions she required, and the amount of stress her damaged body could stand; but the scales seemed to have tipped decidedly in her favor. Severus found that he was firmly ensconced in the strange little coterie of her family and friends; and—stranger still—he found that he was pleased to have been accepted into it. His days had settled into a grueling, but satisfactory, routine which allowed him to spend most of his unscheduled time in Miranda’s hospital room. He did yield to Monica’s insistence that they take a walk in the early evenings, and he did consent to eat whatever food Rachel foisted on him. But he drew the line at actually retiring to the Lees’ flat to sleep, preferring to catch what rest he could at Miranda’s bedside, or in his office between classes.

On Saturday evening, the entire party conspired to drag him away to the Embassy for dinner. Rachel had prepared a feast of sushi, sukiyaki, pickles, and sliced mango. Intoxicated by the mutual good-will, and one glass too many of sake, he had relented to Rachel’s gentle commands that he lie down after dinner for a catnap. When he opened his eyes several hours later and stumbled into the darkened kitchen, he cursed to himself that he’d let so much time slip through his fingers. With clumsy hands he lit the lamps and put the kettle on for tea, flinching at every clang and clatter that he made. He did manage to wrestle both the tea leaves and the water into the pot without breaking anything or burning himself by the time Catalina slipped into the flat.

“{Good evening, Severus,}” she said, looking amused by his state. “{It is good that you finally slept. We were becoming worried for your sanity.}”

“{A concern I share every day, considering the company I keep,}” he quipped. But the nap had done him good—though he’d never admit to it. “{How is she?}”

“{The same. The Healers say it is only a matter of time before she wakes up, and that then they will have a better idea of how long it will take for her to recover.}”

He poured them both a cup of tea and they gathered companionably at the table to partake of it. “{Will you be returning home soon?}” he asked.

“{Yes. I want to stay until she wakes if I can. But I cannot put off going home for much longer. Gabi is waiting for me.}” Her brow furrowed at the mention of her brother, and she hastily turned the subject. “{Before I go, I would like to meet your son, if opportunity permits.}”

Severus choked on the tea he was attempting to drink. “{Pardon me? I do not have a son.}”

“{I…you don’t?}” Catalina eyed him dubiously. “{Are you certain of that?}”

The memory of the appalling conversation he’d had with Miranda in this very flat sprang to mind and he shook his hair forward to ensure that his ears were concealed. “{Quite.}”

“{Oh. Well. Never mind then.}” She took a prim sip. “{Is English weather always so dismal this time of year?}”

“{Catalina,}” he said in as stern a tone as he could manage in another language. “{Why were you under the impression that I had a son?}”

Her cheeks colored and she pursed her lips. “{I was making assumptions where I shouldn’t have. I knew that Miranda had a son and I thought that her child would naturally be yours as well. Pardon me for the mistake and for prying.}”

Had the lights in this room always been so blinding? And why had he suddenly forgotten how to breathe? Quick, fool, pull yourself together and get whatever information you can out of her.

“{How do you know about Miranda’s son? It’s not something she talks about with most people.}” Like her lover, for instance.

Catalina gestured like an angry bird. “{We talked about it on the mountaintop when we were waiting for the Sânziene. I already knew she was a mother because Doamna Lupul made it a stipulation that she be one to participate in the competition. I was exempt from that requirement because my brother was one of the lost children, but Doamna Lupul said that a mother would have true sympathy for the families who had lost their sons and daughters, and so could be trusted with competing, even though she was a foreigner.}”

“{Naturally.}” It took every ounce of restraint to hold his tongue in the hopes that she would continue and reveal whatever else she knew.

The silence discomposed her and he was rewarded. “{She said his name is Isaac and he’s eleven this summer. I assume he is in America?}”

“{Where else would he be?}” Merlin, if he were that old he must be David Clearwater’s progeny. He would be at Ilvermorny by now. How could she never have mentioned him?

Catalina hastily finished her cup and excused herself to bed, but Severus hardly noticed her going. He let his tea go cold and left it sitting on the table as he wandered out into the night towards the hospital. But when he reached Purge and Dowse, Ltd, he kept walking, venting his frustration on an empty beer can that he hexed up the deserted street as he fumed.

A son. David Clearwater’s son. And she’d never told him—never even hinted—insisted she couldn’t have children at all. But then, he’d never thought to ask the devious woman if she already had children, had he? None of it made any sense to him. No, that wasn’t true. Some of it did make sense; and as the threads wove together, he did not like the picture they made in the least. But he was a logical man; a sensible man; and so he did what any man of his ilk would do, and made a list.

Item the first; Miranda had a life that he knew nothing about; moreover, it was a life with which she wanted him to have nothing to do.

Item the second; Miranda was pleased enough with his services as a companion and a lover that she had spoken favorably of her return to Britain following her Romanian misadventure. As far as he knew, she had no immediate plans to return to America.

Item the third; Miranda was a capricious witch, and he would not be at all surprised if one day she left him with no warning whatsoever.

Item the fourth; she had beguiled him to the point that, if he were not already in love with Lily Evans, he would think that he harbored the traitorous emotion for her instead.

Item the fifth; he had even started to hope that one day—in some far off nebulous time that would surely never come to pass because he would be dead before it could—they would make a home together with a stone cottage and a potions room and a dueling hall and a garden in the back (not that he’d imagined it in any sort of depth, thank you very much).

Item the sixth; She obviously was making no such plans. How could she wish to make a future with someone when she could not even be bothered to tell him such pertinent information as the fact that she had a bloody child back home that called her Mama?

Item the seventh; if he were wise, he would end this whole incautious affair immediately. It was an irresponsible whim and indulging it—especially since she obviously did not suffer the same doltish regard for him—was moronic at best.

Item the eighth; Hecate’s Withered Tit, he did love her. Thank Merlin he’d never been stupid enough to say so.

Item the ninth; he was a damned idiot.

He slashed the can with a savage hex and it skittered through a broken grate into the sewer. His breath came in pants and he raked his fingers through his hair, as though he might plough some sense into his brain. The moon was his only witness; and he thought that he could see the cold goddess’s face; heartlessly taunting him from her chariot on high.

*****

Something was resting on Miranda’s chest. Something warm and comfortable. She wanted to wrap her arms around it and keep it there, but she couldn’t seem to move them. She also wanted to scratch her nose; the itch there was driving her crazy. But there was no sense in fretting about things she couldn’t manage, so she just floated along in this dreamy limbo; certain that at some point she would be directed what to do next. She knew she was dead. And since she wasn’t in torment, she assumed that she’d avoided Hell. Maybe this was Purgatory, and soon she’d be handed her load to carry up the mountain where she would sing the praises of God with her fellows on the climb to Heaven.

Gradually a chill seeped into her bones, and the pressure on her chest became crushingly burdensome. She struggled to breathe against it, and wondered why she bothered. If she was dead, what use was oxygen? But struggle she did, and with every pant, another part of her body joined the chorus of pain. Her head hurt. Her legs hurt. Her stomach hurt. Her chest hurt. Good Lord, even her fingernails and her hair hurt.

Maybe she was in Hell after all.

There was a scraping noise in the world outside her body, and for a sick moment she thought it was a demon preparing a blade to vivisect her like she’d seen in a picture once as a child. She thought she’d been shriven before she’d made that final quest, but maybe it hadn’t taken.

Deciding it was better to see the evil threatening her than imagine what might be there, she bravely pried her eyes open. At first everything was a confused blur of light and shadows, but as she ponderously blinked, her vision cleared.

“You look like hell, Pixie,” said a voice that was almost as comfortable as the weight she’d left behind.

She peeled open her dry, cracking lips and mustered a smile at the sight of her dear Papa. “You should see the other guy.”

“I’ll bet you handed those mongrels their asses.” He leaned down to kiss her, and his whiskers tickled her cheek. “It’s good to see you, girl.”

“Where’s Mama?”

“I’m here, darling.” Her mother came into view next, kissing her with cool, soothing lips. “You gave us a scare.”

She tried to lift her arms to embrace her parents, but they were too heavy. “Why can’t I move?”

“You’ve been mostly dead for a week now. The Healers are pretty sure you’ll be right as rain eventually, but it’s going to take time,” Conor reassured her.

She should have been happy. Hell—she’d cheated Death—she should have been ecstatic. But instead she felt like an abandoned shell; like a stranded traveler who’d missed the last train; like the lame boy who had hobbled along after the pied piper only to be shut out of paradise.

“Mira, are you alright?” Monica’s discerning eyes were searching her face with concern. It would frighten them to know that their daughter was lying there wishing she were dead. They mustn’t know. She wouldn’t let them know.

“I mean, all things considered, I’m peachy.” She tried to smile for them and doubted she managed. “How long have I been here?”

“Severus brought you here a week ago tomorrow,” Conor said with an ease that startled her.

“Severus? When did you meet him? And when did you get to be on a first name basis with him? He’s usually a stick in the mud.”

Her parents exchanged a knowing look over her head, the kind that usually made her want to roll her eyes in irritation. Unfortunately, her eyes hurt too much to roll at the moment.

“What can I say, Pixie, we bonded over our mutual terror that you were going to kick it.” Conor laughed. “I’m not denying that he’s a stuffed shirt, but the man’s crazy for you, that’s for sure.”

Miranda no longer felt the pressure on her chest—she felt like she was in free-fall. She hadn’t said anything stupid had she? She did remember being emotional when Severus had found her dying in her cabin, but she hadn’t thought she’d actually said anything about it. Hadn’t he stopped her before she’d passed the point of no return? God she hoped so.

“I don’t know about that,” she protested weakly, but the door opened, and her admirer swept into the room, commanding everyone’s attention.

He looked angry, but that was usual. Her parents greeted him like an old friend, which was strange to witness, but not unusual for them. Her parents had a way of befriending even the most standoffish persons. In a whirl of hand-shaking and congratulations, her parents tactfully excused themselves to the tea room, and before she could speak a word to defend herself, she was alone with him.

When he turned to her, he was a man at war with himself, and she could see the battle playing out in his eyes. The ever-present pique yielded to something softer, and while she told herself it was melancholy or fatigue that effected the change; she suspected it was something else that she did not wish to see.

“It is as I said,” he observed, “More lives than a cat.”

“I’m durable. It’s one of my more useful qualities.”

He smirked at her, burying his heart beneath his sardonic mask. But his lips trembled on hers when he kissed her, and she could taste the salt of his tears. She tilted her head back, taking what he offered, and refusing to think about the implications.

He did not linger there, but seated himself next to her bed and retrieved a book from the folds of his robe.

“As I recall, the only sure way to keep you in bed when you are convalescing is to read to you constantly.”

Her relief at the realization that she would not have to make conversation was palpable. She was far too exhausted to know what to say.

“You remember right. Although I don’t think I could move now even if the room were on fire.”

That softness flickered across his face again, and he reached out to grasp her hand with his.

“Soon, my Barbarian. Soon.”

*****

He was a genius, if he did say so himself.

When he’d first volunteered to superintend Miranda’s recovery, he hadn’t been certain he could manage the necessary alterations to his quarters that the situation required, but it had all come off without a hitch. The Extension Charm had worked perfectly, enlarging the interior of his rooms without requiring him to go about the drudgery of moving any of his books. There was space enough for Miranda’s turntable, for her pictures, for her books and sundries. He’d selected the best of her nieces’ and nephews’ drawings to arrange on the wall by her side of the bed, and he’d widened his armoire for her clothing. The pièces de résistance were the windows. Each room now sported windows running from floor to ceiling; charmed so magnificently that one could open them wide to let in a magical breeze and smell the air outside. It had taken a fair amount of trouble but, as he expected her sojourn in his rooms to be a lengthy one, he wanted her to be comfortable.

He set himself to the pleasant task of arranging her books on an empty bookcase, sorting them by subject and author as he did. If he were honest, he would admit that he harbored the foolish desire for her stay to be indefinite. But he was practical enough to realize that she would not wish for it to be so. Two weeks at St. Mungo’s and she was already chaffing; already longing to fly. He would keep her here for as long as he could, but in the end, he knew that she would leave him behind.

When he had been a child, he had learned to live on scraps. Scraps of food. Scraps of attention. Scraps of love. He had hoarded each paltry piece and squeezed as much good out of it as his tiny hands could muster, like a man squeezing blood from the proverbial stone. It hadn’t been enough, but he hadn’t had a choice. As a man, he had yet to come to a place where he truly had a choice. For fettered as he was by his vows to Lily, Albus, and the Dark Lord, how could he possibly be free?

Miranda was a better woman than he deserved, and even her trifling regard was preferable to being alone. He knew that, when she left, it would be worse than if he had never met her at all. But he also knew that, although the scraps of affection she let carelessly fall from her fingers would not satiate him, he would accept those scraps like priceless pearls and store them up against the black day when she finally left him for good.

It wasn’t what he wanted, but it would have to do.

*****

By the beginning of November, her parents and Catalina had returned to their respective homes, and Miranda had been released to Severus’s care. She had a daily routine of disgusting potions to take, and painful exercises, both physical and magical to perform; as well as a diet to follow that was designed with more strength-building than palate-pleasing in mind. Severus was a cruel task-master, and she was beginning to see the side of him that his students whispered about behind his back. But he also touched her with a tenderness that broke her heart, and fretted around her like a worried hen caring for its brood.

One Friday evening they sat in front of the fire while the rain pattered on the enchanted windows, echoing the mournful storm outside. He was at his desk, marking a pile of essays and muttering to himself about the idiocy of his students. She was curled up on the sofa, whittling away at a chessman for her nephew Brendan. Although she was going out of her mind from her confinement, she was trying to embrace the sedentary time as an opportunity to renew her acquaintance with the almost-forgotten hobby. If she were diligent, she might be able to make a present for each of her nieces and nephews by Christmas.

Severus threw down his quill and rubbed his temples. “Enough. If I read one more word of this rubbish tonight I shall go mad.”

“Encouraging words from their teacher.”

“It is not my fault that these dunderheads have had a string of incompetent teachers before me. Not only do I have the students’ natural stupidity to contend with, but I must repair all of the mistakes made by their previous so-called instructors as well.”

“I have every confidence that you will succeed, or die trying. You’re as tenacious as a pit bull when you get your teeth into something.”

“Your words of praise never fail to overwhelm me.”

He retrieved a stack of books from his shelf and deposited them in her lap.

“What’s this?” she asked, curiously examining the covers.

“Miss Lovegood gave them to me after class today. She said she used to read them when she was ill and she thought you would enjoy them.”

She opened the top book and smiled to see the opening of the first story. “ ‘To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name.’ Did you ever read these?”

“I?” he said, feigning indignation. “I, muddle my brain with such common twaddle? Surely you jest.”

“Well if you haven’t, you should. A little light reading is good for the soul. How did she know I was down here anyway?”

He sat down on the sofa and took her feet in his lap, rubbing his fingers over them in practiced circles until she sighed and sank back on the pillows; content.

“Ah, that. She claims that the thestrals told her.”

“The thestrals? Does she talk to them often?”

“Only once a week when they have tea.”

“Tea?” Miranda laughed merrily at the idea. “I can see her doing that. Have you been to this exclusive tea?”

He cleared his throat and she could see the pink tinging his ears. “Certainly not.”

“Don’t you lie to me, you have!”

“I will not dignify that with an answer.”

“Do you think she’d let me come along?”

“Of course she would, she delights in the ridiculous. And I’ll have you know…”

His words ended in a hiss and he dropped her foot like he’d been burned. His playful mood turned instantly serious, and he got up without a word to fetch his cloak and mask. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She hated to see him this way. Hated to watch him go into the lion’s den alone. But she tried to keep her anxiety to herself. He needed all his wits about him, not the burden of a silly woman worrying for him at home.

“Tell the Dark Lord I said hello.”

“I think that I shall not say that, if it is all the same to you.”

He kissed her heartfully and she gave him a careless smile. Then he traced her cheek with his finger and left without saying goodbye. Neither of them ever said goodbye. It was a good luck charm; as though by refusing to acknowledge the parting they could ensure the return of the one who had gone.

She stretched like a cat and braced herself on the back of the sofa to complete the arduous task of getting up. Although the silence in these rooms never bothered her during the day, at night it pressed in on her with bony fingers; like a boogie man that only crept out from under the bed when the parents were asleep. Her turntable was nestled between two of the bookshelves, and her records were lined up neatly close at hand. She pulled one out and set it spinning, letting the rich, mellow voice cover her fears.

At the dark end of the street, That’s where we always meet…

The renovations to Severus’s quarters were beautiful. They must have taken him days to complete. He’d brought all of her favorite things to keep her company while she healed. He showed her every day by his actions how much he cared for her. And though he still often adopted the role of the cold, callous Englishman, he was letting her glimpse the man underneath the facade with such casualness that she wondered if he was even aware that he was doing it.

She loved him, she couldn’t lie to herself about that. But she was never, ever going to tell him. There was simply too much standing in the way.

A pile of wood scraps from her whittling had accumulated on the floor by the sofa, glinting in the light of the fire. She knelt down to scoop them up, even though bending that far made her body scream in protest. She welcomed the pain, as though she could expiate her failures with it. When she had pushed herself up to her feet again, she swayed unsteadily, then limped across the stones to the fireplace, and cast the scraps into the flames.

They sparked, and danced, and crumbled to ash, like the dross of obliterated dreams.

*****

End Notes:

The Rosetta Stone is a charmed translation aid that works about as well as google translate.

Gisant: a recumbent effigy for a tomb, representing the deceased.

Jersey Devils are something like wyverns.

Miranda is quoting from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s story, A Scandal in Bohemia.

The song she is listening to is At the Dark End of the Street by James Carr.

This story is the first of a trilogy. I’ll post chapter 1 of book two, libera nos a malo, by the end of the week.

As always—thank you for reading!

*****

Moonlight Masterpost+

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