#besides the fact that i thought of the ant thing that makes me snicker

[ihadtried]

This is so bitchy but i just can’t stop laughing. 

I see all these posts and shit about these ‘revivals’ that are happening on that college campus (or is it more than one? I don’t care) and as someone who went to every church camp, lock in, mission trip, and vacation bible school I only have one thing to say. 

Have fun while it lasts. 

I keep laughing because it’s like I’m watching a bunch of ants move a whole potato chip. I’d stop and look, and if I was walking with someone I’ll elbow them and be like “woah look at those ants with the potato chip. look at em go.” And then just move on. 

Because the fact that the ants now have one whole potato chip doesn’t mean anything? 

That one potato chip isn’t going to change the structure of the colony, it’s going to make no lasting change, it’s probably not even going to fit in the nest so they’ll have to break it apart to get in inside. And it’s not going to last very long before the ants are out again looking for more food. 

So have fun little ants. Enjoy your potato chip. Be proud of it. 

But it’s not going to change anything.

[karimac]

…in the details, Part 3

A/N: Warning for this series: 18+ audience (minors DNI), some cinematic level violence, some fluff and angst. Doubt that smut will be involved, but it may be implied. I’ll make sure that is noted clearly if it pops up.

All relationships, at this point anyway, are platonic.

Please do not repost or translate my work. Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

A bit about the OC Kari

Part 1

Part 2

All mistakes are my own.

Word count: 3,556

Well, that was not exactly the best idea, was it?

Dr. Darcy Lewis, unlike her colleague, Dr. Erik Selvig, was not a big fan nor an authority on any form of mythology. And the Irish history ask was a longshot at best.

So, here you were, in the coffee shop smack dab in the middle of Westview, talking to Dr. Lewis and getting nowhere fast.

“And, that’s not happening,” the astrophysicist grumbled as she set down her phone and took another sip of her beverage. It was some weirdly sweet concoction that looked like what humans thought rainbow-colored unicorn poop looked like. This world was not ready for what real magical beasts looked like. Most authors had not gotten all of that right in their books. No surprise there. No human really needed to see such things on a daily basis, and whoever had been the muses for those authors had covered up a lot.

“I take it Dr. Selvig has no clue on the Celtic Pantheon?” you asked as you sipped your very boring, light, non-sweet hot coffee. The barista probably wanted to laugh when you ordered it, but he did his best to stifle his snicker. “It was a very long reach on my part, Dr. Lewis. I’m sorry I roped you into this.”

“You can call me Darcy because you actually acknowledge my academic status,” the brunette said as she flipped her phone over again. “So, Thor is off in space. You don’t want me calling Falcon or his pal with the metal arm. Captain Marvel isn’t on your contact list. Ant Man and The Wasp? They can be sort of science geeks, right? Wait. Banner? Is he OK to call?”

Before you could open your mouth, Darcy was texting Banner off her own phone. “You know Bruce?”

“I met him at some meet and greet at MIT before the world went poof,” Darcy replied as she set her phone back down and seemed to be praying Banner would actually return her text. “Stark was there, too, but Banner was the one I got coffee with. Sweet guy, you know, even if he gets all green sometimes.”

As you sipped your coffee, you noticed a few people giving you odd looks. It made you very nervous. “Maybe we should finish up and get back on the road?” you asked Darcy as you quietly motioned toward the other patrons getting their daily fix of caffeine.

“Yeah, bubbe isn’t answering me anyway,” Darcy said as she picked up her phone and got up from her chair. By now there were several residents blocking the exit. “What is your problem? We paid. We’re busing our table. Then we’re leaving.”

“Are The Avengers going to hunt her down?” one woman in the back of the group asked as Darcy looked back toward you and mouthed the word “Help” before turning back to the crowd. The questioner was loud, but you couldn’t see her because of the big delivery man standing in front of her with a huge pile of Amazon packages. “Why did you come back?”

It was time to vamp. With an apparently faulty memory, this was going to be interesting.

“Before you all ask about what is going to happen regarding Wanda Maximoff, I want you all to know I have no authority to speak for The Avengers. I have never been a true member of the team. I helped them at a time when things were beyond bleak for this world. It was an honor and a privilege. But I am not a spokesperson. I am not a team leader.”

“Then why did you come here?” a man with glasses, holding a briefcase, asked from the line where he was waiting for his order. “Then and now?”

“I came the first time because I was looking for my friend. I was pulled into that nightmare just like you were. I wish I had been able to help her before any of this happened.”

“But you have powers, right? Couldn’t you have shut her down, hot stuff?” the first woman added as she moved to the front. Then you recognized her. Agatha Harkness. If Wanda kept her alive, there was a reason for it, and all the pain you had rising in your core had to be tamped down fast. Harkness had hurt Wanda, and that would have to be addressed one day. You were good at playing the long game.

“Taking her out in any sort of power stunt could have jeopardized your lives. I was not sure what she did to make it all happen, and I was not going to risk your lives. I’m sorry it wasn’t put to an end sooner. Now, if you will excuse us, we need to get to a meeting regarding the incident here,” you said as you and Darcy pushed through the crowd and back out to the street.

“OK, what was all that? Spin? Or are you remembering something?” Darcy asked as you got back into her car. You had left your rental on the outskirts of town. Better to travel as a unit until your business here was concluded.

“I remember a couple of things from that mess,” you said as you tried to keep your hands from shaking. “I remember Wanda and Vision’s sons. Billy and Tommy. I remember the house where I lived. Can we drive out to where Wanda had her house? Maybe that will help?”

Darcy pulled out of the parking space and made the lefts and rights to the lot where Wanda’s house had been. The one you were living in was in a lot right next to it. It was empty now, too, but you got out of the car anyway and stood in the center of the patch of dirt. You closed your eyes and held your breath as you tried to piece together what had happened. And then you started to cry as you fell to your knees.

“Whoa, slow down,” Darcy said as she ran and knelt beside you. “What did you see?”

“It’s weird. Wanda came over one day and more or less apologized to me because she couldn’t give me my real happy ending. I can show you, if you’ll let me…”

“Go into my mind?” Darcy protested before you could wave her off the idea. “No Vulcan mind melds for me today, thanks.”

“No, I carry this mirror, and you can see memories in it. Trust me, I do not use telepathy as a first line of anything. I tried it once, to help a friend, but it just caused more problems,” you groaned as you pulled the mirror out of your backpack. You waved your hand over it, and Darcy could now see what had happened with Wanda.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find them and bring them here,” the Sokovian said quietly as she walked around the 1980s version of what was your living room. It was way too pastel for your liking, but the hints of fuchsia, orchid and teal in the overall cream and light gray design weren’t so bad. You had a couple of cats there with you. One was an orange tabby with a penchant for eating tuna at any given moment. He was warm and affectionate and just a ray of sunshine dressed in fur. The other was as white as the driven snow, but his own cuddly disposition came through. He was the one who would leave you weird gifts every morning. Rocks, feathers, and yes, the occasional dead mouse would be at the foot of your bed each sunrise. You’d find out at the end of that nightmare that the cats were only constructs of Wanda’s chaos magic.

“I know you miss the three of them,” she continued as she pointed to a framed picture of Steve, Bucky and Sam, all decked out in appropriate 1980s clothes that made them look like they ran away from some cop drama. “It’s probably better that there aren’t too many Avengers here anyway. Vis is getting concerned. And this way, well, no one needs to know which one you would have chosen. I know. You know. So you can always talk to me. Like we did before. But I gave you the wedding ring to make sure no one came on to you. Just in case I can get him here soon.”

As you showed Darcy the memory, a tiny part of you was screaming that this whole scenario seemed wrong. You watched Wanda’s crimson glow float around you as she spoke. You vaguely remembered The Morrigan trying to kick some sense back into your addled brain, but Wanda’s world was much too enticing to let your other self come to the fore. You wanted the damned happily ever after with the husband and the house and everything that meant in the modern American ethos. You had rationalized things for years in such a way that you’d never let yourself get it. That was why no one was here to hug you at night like Wanda had Vision. Maybe that fact alone was enough to crack Wanda’s hold on you a bit more than she realized?

But you also had to admit that you wanted to be there for Wanda in case things went south. That much was clear from the moment you showed up in Westview the first time.

“How come you didn’t just zap her? Fight back?” Darcy asked as you fully shifted to the present day and paused the memory.

“Because she wasn’t wrong. I did miss Bucky, Steve and Sam. I missed Banner, too, because they were, in the end, the ones still here that cared if I lived or died. And Spider-Man. Which is random and weird, but he did. And frankly, what I said in the coffee shop was true. I had no idea what my powers would do to her spell. I could have leveled the town. That was not an option.”

“So, that Agatha woman…” Darcy started to say and then stopped. “Wait. That was her? In the coffee shop? That was why you were acting so weird?”

“Yeah. Wanda could have killed her or taken Agatha away with her to imprison her. She didn’t. After what Agatha tried to do to Wanda, to try and take her powers, Wanda had every right to finish her off. But Wanda doesn’t likely know all that yet. There are rules set up from ages ago. Things witches can and can’t do to each other under specific circumstances. So Wanda left her trapped here—for now anyway. But, whatever happened with them, it affected me, too. I got hit with stray magic blasts. I’m betting it messed up my powers in ways I didn’t realize. And maybe my memories as well.”

As Darcy knelt there, her phone finally chimed. It was some weird little R2-D2 chirpy beep, and she looked elated as she showed you the message. “Seems Bruce still cares if you are OK or not. I don’t think bringing him here is such a great idea…”

“Did anyone send him data about what happened here?” you asked as you got to your feet, pocketing some of the dirt from the lot before you stood up. “Air and soil samples? Readings from the residents?”

“I can get them for him. Trust me, Jimmy Woo and Monica Rambeau would be more than happy to help. I’m glad that loon Hayward seems to have gone into hiding or was hauled away to The Raft,” Darcy noted as she checked her phone again. “Seems the doc is working out of a Stark lab here in Jersey. Road trip?”

You really didn’t want to go see Bruce. You had no idea how you’d explain any of what you did to him.

++++++++++

You rehearsed what you planned to tell Bruce a million times in your mind as Darcy drove along the Garden State Parkway to a place called Woodcliff Lake. Stark Industries did indeed have a lab there, and it made you want to scream as you walked into the facility. You did not need yet another reminder that you could not save Tony Stark’s life at the end of that final battle with Thanos. That was part of why you were in this mess in the first place. It was also why you had a screaming fight with Stephen Strange, but no one else knew about that yet.

“Dr. Banner? We’re here!” Darcy yelled as you walked toward what had to be the research wing. The lack of security in the place was a bit disturbing, but then again, there were probably booby traps built into every square inch of the place. You could just hear Tony now as you got closer to the lab area. It would likely have been close to the speech you got the first time he talked to you at the compound.

“Hey! Lucky Charms! Don’t touch any of the expensive stuff. I guess that means don’t touch anything. I still have no idea why you are hanging around the team except that Steve wants you here for some reason. Maybe you’re tied to…his friend…and I just don’t want to face that? Still have issues with all of that, even if the man is dead. Pepper and Morgan said I should be nice to you, but I’m not quite there yet after what happened in Berlin. They are better people than I’ll ever be.”

“Earth to Kari?” you finally heard Bruce say as he waved his massive green hand in front of your face. Then he realized why you were likely spacing out. "Dr. Lewis, can we have a minute?”

“You can call me Darcy, if I can call you Bruce?” Lewis said as Banner nodded to her. “Cool. I’ll go find the little scientist’s room and be right back,” she added as she left the lab.

“So,” Bruce started as he pointed you toward a set of chairs at one side of the lab, “Darcy filled me in via text. I have no idea what happened with Wanda, and I know none of us know where she is. I did call a friend who wants to help,” he noted as a swirling circle of yellow light formed near the window that looked out over the parking lot. “I figured you’d listen to him, and he knows more about this stuff than I do.”

“What did you do?” Wong shouted as he exited the portal. “You usually listen to reason. Why did you go after Wanda all alone?”

“I went to help Wanda. She was hurting. She watched Vision die twice. She lost Pietro. I can relate to all that very, very well. My twin Branan died in front of my eyes, too, and I’ve buried two husbands. Both died in battle. I just wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. But she…she hit all my vulnerable points. And she was under attack at the same time. From a woman named Agatha Harkness and from the director of SWORD. Some martinet named Hayward. He built another Vision. I think Hayward was using Wanda’s powers to bring him to life. Darcy is going to check in with some of the people who worked with her to get you more intel, Bruce.”

“Another version of Vision? Great,” Bruce muttered as he looked over at Wong. “As for this Harkness person…”

“The name rings very small bells, so I’ll need to do some research,” Wong noted as you bumped your left fist against your forehead. “What?”

“Harkness is a succubus. And she is old. Not as old as I am, but she is still a good 400 years old, give or take a day. She apparently survived the Salem Witch Trials. Wanda spelled her and left her in Westview. I think she is, at least in small ways, aware that her world is all wrong. I didn’t want to press it when I saw her in that coffee shop. We do not need an angry succubus flying around. Wong, they got into an aerial battle, and Wanda was using sigils, runes, whatever you want to call them, to focus her power. I think she picked that up from good old Aggie. I never showed her anything like that on purpose. I always suspected she had magic in her bones, but it wasn’t my place to start that fire. The bigger issue is that Wanda conjured up two children while she was there. She created cats for me, so anything is possible. I got knocked out by the end of the fight, so I have no idea what exactly happened in the end other than Wanda running off and Agatha being left behind for some reason.”

“And?” Wong asked as he started to look you up and down. “You did a spell? And it went bad? Your aura is all messed up.”

“I…I tried to do a spell so The Avengers would think of me less and less, and then eventually I’d just be a fleeting memory. I felt walking away in the dead of night, the thing I usually do when I am leaving town, would not be good enough. The spell got botched, and now I’m connected in some fashion to Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Looking back at it, I spent more time with them in the days leading up to my departure. Steve and Bruce were there the day I left, and so were Sam and Bucky. And…I’m carrying a lot of guilt about Bucky after his accident in 1943.”

“All this on top of the magical circus Wanda made? Are you insane?” Wong yelled as he started to pace.

“And the fight I had with Stephen on the day of the battle. Yeah, I guess I am insane,” you replied as Wong threw up his hands. Bruce had gotten extremely quiet, and that was not a good thing.

“Before we get to dissecting your spell, Kari, was this because of what Tony said? About you not being an Avenger because you were…?”

“Unstable? Yes. And the fact I could not bring anyone back from the grave, especially during that last battle. And the fact about who killed his parents. Buck did while under Hydra control. Steve found out and never told Tony. I ran into The Winter Soldier a few times over the decades, so there was the chance I could have prevented their deaths, too. Tony really had no reason to ask me to join the band.”

“Once we get your spell problem sorted, then we will address this, too,” Bruce said as he looked toward Wong and shook his head. “I loved Tony like a brother, but he was wrong…”

You winced a few times as you tried to listen to Bruce and Wong, now joined once again by Darcy, as they tried to figure out how to fix or reverse that spell, and they hashed out what might have happened to you during that first trip to Westview. You were really trying to focus on their questions, but you felt a tug that no one else could ever have possibly felt.

“Baltimore,” you mumbled as you pulled out your cellphone and debated texting the person you felt tugging at that damned invisible string. No. That would have ended badly, especially since your original spell had gone haywire.

“Bucky Barnes was arrested?” Darcy asked as she showed you her phone alert. “I bet he punched that new fake Cap in the nose. Sorry, but that guy looks like he has no clue. I saw him on Good Morning America. Total cheese fest.”

“Wait. What?” you asked as you took her phone. “Sam didn’t keep the shield? I just hope Bucky didn’t punch Sam and wind up in jail for that!” You gave Darcy back her phone and looked at yours again. It was buzzing. “Anyone here know who the hell is Christina Raynor?” you asked the trio in front of you. No one had any clue about that. You hit the speaker button as you answered the call.

“Hello? Ms. MacOrish. I’m James Barnes’ therapist, Christina Raynor. Sam Wilson said I should give you a call and ask you to join us in Baltimore. As quickly as possible, if you can. I don’t think Mr. Barnes wants to spend the night in a holding cell.”

“Oh no, you are not going to Baltimore,” Wong said as he crossed his arms and got a stern look on his face. “Not while your head is all over the place. You could portal to Baltimore in the 1800s for all you know. You could end up eating lunch with Lord Baltimore in the 1700s. You really shouldn’t do this.”

“Wong, what better place for me to go than to see a therapist?” you said with a smirk as you opened your own portal, this one a lovely shade of emerald green, that went to where Raynor was waiting for you—outside an interrogation room at the city jail.

“Mr. Wilson said you’d be fast. He did not tell me you were one of the powered class,” Raynor said as you went through the portal, looking back to wave briefly as you heard Darcy’s last comment.

“What about your rental car?”

[mr-smith-wesson]

Regarding the anon who asked about HCs of Dean being jealous of Sam’s friends: I’m doing an SPN rewatch and just finished Skin. It always struck me as weird that when they were meeting Rebecca, Dean doesn’t make any inappropriate jokes, try to hit on her, there’s no flirty overt concern, or automatically jumping on doing the case because hey hot chick needs help so SuperDean to the rescue. He comments on her house and keeps trying to get Sam to leave. (And the transcript says that Dean looks defeated when Sam says “We’ve looked into less”. Not resigned or angry but defeated.) When they’re looking through her brother’s house he seems slightly annoyed by her there, not rude, just that kinda irritated when you really don’t want to be somewhere. And when they’re leaving, she and Dean never even have a goodbye. He rescued the cute girl and we don’t see him get his flirty goodbye like in Wendigo. Which just always seemed out of character to me.

This time around the thought struck me that he’s scared. Scared that Sam will remember the fun and good times with these friends he made at college and leave him again, only this time there’s no Dad around. So he’d be all alone. And I do think he’s jealous. He’s realizing that his brother had a whole other life without him. He made friends who he had inside jokes with, nicknames for (I mean hell, he even looks a little annoyed when Sam calls Rebecca ‘Little Becky’, like excuse you I’m the only person you should have a nickname for), did all nighters with, hung out with, got advice from, gave advice too all which should have been his experiences. Should have been theirs. He had the same old same old with Dad, who he loves dont get him wrong, but those sibling moments of laughing at the same thing at the same time weren’t there. The times of playing keep away with the remote or a tape or a book where you annoy him until his face gets red and he’s yelling and you’re practically pissing yourself it’s so funny (that is until the asshole has the nerve to grow taller than you, the bastard, so you have to get more creative) aren’t there anymore. Those times when you just sit and vent back and forth at each other, not even paying attention to what the other is saying, both just needing to let it out and just “yep, no totally, you are completely right, and can you believe...?!”, gone. Bitching over who got to watch what on the motel TV and then getting sucked into the stupid documentary on fire ants that your little brother is watching (fucking nerd), that you dont even put up fight when the next show comes on because “damn look at the size of those hornets” - gone. Those times when you’re both in trouble and trying so damned hard not to snicker at how mad Dad is, and the ranting that is going on, that you can’t even look at each other, until one of you makes the mistake and glances at the other and that’s it, you’re done, falling into each other on the couch in hysterics, Dad now yelling about how this isn’t funny, you both could have been killed, and you’ll be cleaning every gun, blade, piece of clothing, and inch of that car for the entire weekend - gone. Now it’s either Dad or booze. And again, Dean loves his Dad, but nothing compares to that connection you have with your brother.

So yeah definitely think Dean gets jealous because his been through this once, remembers those times when he wanted to say something to Sam or show Sam something and he wasn’t there. Those times when he’d come barging back into a motel room, already starting to regale Sam with his new tale of how amazing he was on this hunt and how you should have seen the set on the chick I saved, before he remembers Sam wasn’t here. Those times when he was sick or hurt and all he wanted was for his little brother to come climb up beside him on the bed so as to distract him from the pain by telling him about his day or bitch about some he read or just sit beside him and do his homework quietly; simply letting Dean be comforted by the fact that Sam was there, he was ok, Dean had done his job and Sam was good, and he could rest. But he couldn’t rest because Sam wasn’t there, Dean didn’t know if he was ok, and what if he wasn’t good? So instead of resting he just keeps going and when he can’t go anymore, pours whisky on the problem and welcomes the forgiveness the alcohol induced haze gives for not being there with his brother to protect him. Remembers the times when life just got to be too much, too loud, and too overwhelming because how do we fight them all, how do we win, and why wasn’t I fast enough to save that kid? The times when he’d squish in beside Sam on the shitty motel room couch and just breathe. And Sam, Sam would just wait until Dean either talked, or cried, or got up to go get food. Dean remembers all of this and he’ll gladly be damned to hell before he has to experience that loss again.

(Fuck that was long, sorry)

I couldn’t be more soft I’m MELTING right now. This is so sweet and heartbreaking at the same time (my favorite combination) I’m in awe. I know it’s unhealthy- them being jealous of the other having friends or other people in their lives but GOD it gives us the best content. The angst hurts so fucking good. Anon you have made my night I absolutely adore this SO much

[daydream-believin]

The Never-Ending Roadtrip (waffles)

summary: (part 1) or (part 5) <- reader joins douxie on his quest to protect nari. he’ll need company wont he. (part 6) do you like waffles? also appalachia and nj trollmarket fun. next-> (part 7)

warnings: swearing, fem! reader, maybe an alcohol mention, proof reading is for squares yo

word count: 3875

a/n: i’m sorry to anyone from PA but wtf. i also have no idea why this turned out the way it did. bon apetit.

no gif im trying to test something

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Y/n looked over at Douxie. The blue of his hair was starting to fade into a duller hue. While not as bright and bold as his personality, it was still very nice to look at. This muted blue was softer, almost comforting in a way. Y/n found herself running her fingers through it. It wasn’t just the color that was soft. Like feathers in her hand, she gently caressed the strands. The duller color made him look tired, older, and the permanent bags under his eyes didn’t help. She placed her hand on his face and ran her thumb over a said eye bag. He gave her a very subdued smile in return. His sunken eyes were so beautiful. Her favorite color. Or colors, one should say. They were like an earth toned opal. Y/n’s hand drifted down his face. She used her thumb to explore his cheekbones, tracing constellations in his freckles, and finally settled on his mouth, tracing his cupid’s bow. Douxie couldn’t help but break the stoic face he was trying to hold.

“As much as I hate to ask this, and I really do, but will you please cease what you’re doing, My Love. I’m trying to drive here.”

“Yes, I would also like to ask you to stop, miss L/n. Not wrecking the ship is worth you canning your pda for a while.” Archie added.

Y/n pulled her hand back and exaggeratedly pouted. She teasingly stuck her tongue out at Archie for good measure, but couldn’t help but dissolve into a snicker right after so it wasn’t very effective. But really, it wasn’t her fault that Douxie’s beautifully sculpted face was right there and demanding to be touched. She tried to distract herself by focusing on the scenery around them. North Pennsylvania was delightful, so it’d be a shame if she spent the whole time that they flew through it looking at nothing but Douxie. There was plenty of time for her to do that the rest of her life. It’s not like she didn’t have every freckle memorized already. Every single adorable little dot. Right, Pennsylvania. Appalachia. Y/n was a little disappointed they didn’t manage to go through West Virginia, being as north as they were. She really wanted to know what all the fuss was about. Country roads.

The mountains were hard to transverse through, so Douxie took the boat up high in the clouds. A little too high. The oxygen was thin. While this didn’t affect Archie the dragon or Nari the plant goddess, Douxie and Y/n were getting a bit woozy. Neither would get altitude sickness to the point of dying, thanks to that good ol’ curse of immortality, but their minds weren’t exactly operating at high speeds here. They passed through a low hanging cloud in a puff of fog.

Though they were over it, just being in the range of Appalachia felt odd. There was a presence that clung to the mountains. Even flying high up in the air, one felt as though they were being watched. Like the thousand eyes of the forest were upon them. Looking down below, hanging over the edge like Douxie hated her to do, Y/n saw a herd of deer that might as well be ants. Watching over the herd was a bigger, or maybe closer, stag on a peak of some sort. His antlers were covered in crimson. Y/n hoped he was just shedding.

There were pathways cutting through the trees below, some roads, some manmade trails, some rivers, some troll trails, and some deer trails. Some that wound around in endless curves, some that seemed to start from nowhere and stop at nothing, some that went round and round in a circle, and some that crossed over each other, effectively creating a maze of sorts. Y/n didn’t know why, but she was glad she was above the trees and not in them. Something within her gut told her that as beautiful as the scenery was, she did not wish to experience it first-hand. The deer below were beautiful, but there was something not quite right about them. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to turn down a game of ninepins either, and she could really go for a drink.

Douxie’s brain may have been foggy, but he could certainly see Y/n hanging over the edge again, tantalizing him. He couldn’t help but imagine 174 ways for it to end badly. He’d been pretty passive about this before but now that they were so high up, he had no choice but to be up front now.

“Y/n, My Love,” Y/n turned her attention to him, which also pulled her weight more towards the boat than the sky. Good. “do you mind being back near the center of the ship? I really don’t like you draping yourself over the railing like that.”

Y/n was getting sick and tired of people always trying to keep her away from edges, advising her not to climb the mountain, telling her to stay inside when there was only a light rainstorm. She could handle it. She wasn’t a fucking porcelain doll. She was not wearing a fancy gown that suffocated her, she could speak, her lips were not perfectly painted on. And she wouldn’t shatter. “Relax, Dewdrop. I’m fine. I’m not just gonna go skydiving for kicks. If anyone has had a penchant for falling through the sky recently, it’s been you, Hisirdoux. I can catch myself with anti-gravity spells, like you taught me. Besides, we walk across tall, crumbly, ancient non-osha compliant walkways all the time. You never had a problem then.”

“Well,” He huffed, “it would be one thing if I was there next to you, but I’m not, so could you please just try to stay safe when I can’t reach you?” Y/n was taken about at how quick his tone went from annoyed to desperate. She furrowed her brows. Doux sighed, “Look, it frightens me, okay. I know that nothing will happen, but what if it does? I can’t- I can’t lose you.” His tone got even feebler in his pleading. “And there’s so many ways to lose you. Especially with the Order on our tails. Please, just give me this peace of mind for at least one thing.”

Y/n stepped away from the railing, crossing over to Douxie. He opened his arm and she nestled into his side. Pressing her head against his chest, she mumbled, “Absolutely. I’ll just—I’ll just stay here then. Next to you. I’m sorry I worried you. That was the last thing I wanted to do.”

He leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you, My Darling.”

~ ~ ~

The dipped down south to go through the top of Maryland and completely through Delaware to get to the south of New Jersey, in place of just going through Philadelphia. The city of brotherly love was not on the itinerary.  Philly, and the top of New Jersey, were just too densely populated to take a magic boat through. The airspace was filled with airplanes and skyscrapers. It was easier to go the roundabout way.

As they passed between Philly and Lancaster, they went by fantastically named towns such as Paradise the city, where the girls are pretty, Bird In Hand, Blue Ball, and Intercourse. Stellar. Y/n was starting to really like Pennsylvania. It was cursed ground. She made sure to get photographic evidence of every road sign. Douxie was happy to pose with them.

They took a pit stop in a town called Peach Bottom before leaving Pennsylvania. Y/n wanted to go through New Texas, since she was curious how somewhere in the original colonies could be a new Texas, but Nari could sense a river nearby, and wanted to seek it out. Peach Bottom. It was a cozy little town with a power plant that was dumping it’s waste into the riverside it was built on. Toxic river. Fun. Y/n made Douxie explain to Nari why she couldn’t get near the river or touch any of the water. Y/n wouldn’t have been able to stay as calm as Douxie could. There was nothing happening in the rural Pennsylvanian town. Nothing special about it unless you counted their countless nuclear admissions. The locals didn’t care for strangers, and that was alright with them cause they didn’t want to be here for any more than necessary for a restroom break. Dinner could wait.

The top of Maryland was great. Lots of rivers to make it up to Nari. There was just, an incredibly large walmart near the line. Just absolutely humongous whopper walmart. A leach whose name doesn’t even deserve to be capitalized, thank you very much autocorrect.

It took less than half an hour to fly right through the top of Delaware. Hi Delaware, bye Delaware.

Soon they were on the coast of south New Jersey, headed for a sleepy town called Monty. Monty was a town along the Cohansey, split across it with quite an impressive bridge between the two sides. As soon as the bridge became visible on the skyline, Y/n grabbed Douxie’s sleeve and tugged excitedly. She looked up at him with a big smile. Rest. At last, they were going to get to rest. Y/n made herself busy calling Jim to let him know that they were there so he could call someone else to let them know that they were there and to wait by the entrance for them. Neither Douxie nor Y/n had a horngazzle on them at the moment. Y/n had had one in her possession back in Arcadia, being book club buddies with Blinky, but alas that was destroyed along with their bookstore.

They hid that damn magic boat in the forest. While they did plan on staying with the trolls for a few weeks, Douxie didn’t put it back in its glass bottle quite yet, cause they were in fact taking it into New York not tomorrow but the next day. He covered the ground around it with a few more wards than necessary. Y/n threw up an illusion spell around it, as she had been all the other times they’d just left it in the woods, and thought the wards were overkill but didn’t say anything. They started on the trek to the base of the bridge.

The troll at the entrance greeted them cordially. He was a dark green color, with two massive horns resembling those of a longhorn cow, chiseled stone tattoos, and no clothes other than a tiny loincloth which made everyone but Nari uncomfortable. He let them in with flourish, as if he’d always wanted to do this and practiced it.

“Welcome to NEW JERSEY TROLLMARKET.”

Y/n was surprised at how well the town had come along within the two months the trolls had occupied the cavern. It wasn’t the Trollmarket she had known, there was no Blinky and no library, but still marvelous. The new hearthstone glowed warmly, very much alive and not making zombies. While looking pretty similar to the old Trollmarket, with a multitude of shops and homes carved into the mineral covered walls and formations, there was a sort of human touch to it now. Claire definitely had a hand in the planning and maybe the decorative features too. Or perhaps Jim. Y/n wouldn’t put it past the boy to be the one who designed the very elaborate crystal art flower bed she was looking at. Or that weirdly steampunk bridge. Funny thing, a bridge under a bridge.

Dictatious met them soon after they came in to show them around and to where they would be staying. The tour he gave them basically just included him walking them through the main street, waving his arms to various places and vaguely saying that they were shops but not what they sold, pointing out the pub, and then took them straight to their accommodations. Since the home that had been occupied by Blinky, Jim, and Claire was now empty, they’d be staying there, with the place practically to themselves. Dictatious also lived in said home, but rarely stuck around it for long now that his brother was gone.

“Alright, here’s your nest.”

Since Dictatious still slept in the nest that he shared with Blinky, he had given them Jim and Claire’s. The nests were just rocky bowls carved into the floor of the room, with a few comfort items. Thankfully, Jim and Claire had left theirs full of pillows and a couple thick cushions they must have taken from a couch. Unconventional, but better than sleeping on literal solid rock. Speaking of couches, there were way too many couches spread across the apartment. This entire place only had two rooms, a large living area and a nestroom, and yet there were five couches. Not to mention the extra-large easy chair Dic was currently lounging in. Okay, so one of said couches was technically a love seat, but still. There was no kitchen, which was surprising due to this being Jim Lake Jr’s home, and no table besides the one that three of the sofas were gathered around and a paper-covered work desk against a corner. There were glowing crystal lamps all throughout, lighting the house. All in all, interesting interior design decisions. The kids had definitely been trying to make it a more homey human dwelling but had limited options.

Nari nestled into the nest, happy that there were no blankets to smother her. Not even a minute passed and she was out like a light. Douxie and Y/n sat on one of the couches in the nestroom, watching the veggie lady snooze. Archie made himself comfy in Douxie’s lap, who absent mindedly stroked his familiar’s fur. They were underground now. Surrounded by inorganic matter. Some of that inorganic matter could fight, would be willing to fight, would probably be disappointed if there wasn’t a fight. The little devil on Douxie’s shoulder wasn’t really having to work hard. His stomach growled. They had opted to just not stop for dinner in favor of plowing right through their trip route. It was late, and dark, and Douxie really just wanted them to have a roof over their head before midnight. And now they did.

He looked over at Y/n. They had been a couple for an entire day now and he had yet to take her on a proper date. What a bad boyfriend he was. It’s not like Archie would want to come with them or anything either, since he filled himself with birds that didn’t know what hit them while they traveled. The dragon had even caught a hawk at one point, which wasn’t as impressive as it sounds, since Archie was a much faster flyer. He would be happy to watch Nari for them, surely. And Dic had given them a horngazzle so they could come and go as they pleased. It was settled then.

“Arch, watch Nari for us, please, we’ll be back in a pinch,” He grabbed Y/n’s hand to pull her off the couch, “C’mon, My Love, we’re going on a date.”

~ ~ ~

Turns out the only thing open past midnight in small town New Jersey was a waffle house. The perfect date. Y/n had thought it funny to watch Douxie try and deactivate all the fresh wards he had put around the boat. He had to be careful where he put his feet, and it was like he was doing a silly little dance. Ward trap ballet of his own barely thought-out design. At one point he stepped backwards to admire his work, triggering the ward behind him, and Y/n had to free him from the net. Lucky it was just a net one.

Entering the waffle house, they slid into the nearest booth, the one near the jukebox. They ordered what else but waffles. The food of kings and hungover college kids. Not just plain waffles, though. Douxie got chocolate chip and Y/ got strawberry, and they were going to combine them to make chocolate covered strawberry waffles. Everyone knows chocolate covered strawberries were the most romantic food, why else would they push them so hard around Valentine’s.

Douxie leaned in with his head in his hand. “So, tell me about yourself.”

Y/n laughed, decided to play into this bit. “Oh, I’m just a California lass, on her way to New York. Things have been crazy lately. Went to a very convincing renaissance faire, I’m harboring a fugitive, my roommate keeps hitting on me. Very stressful.  Sure am lucky I came across you, Mr. Handsome.”

“Lucky indeed.” Doux snickered.

Y/n pointed to the jukebox behind Doux, which he twisted around to see. “Have you ever heard ‘Last Night I Saw Elvis At Waffle House’?”

“No?”

“Oh, it’s a banger.” She got out of the booth and put a coin in the juke, making her selection. She slid back in with a Cheshire cat grin and Doux was kind of scared now, actually. As the current song ended and the song that they were waiting for began. Well, it was a song. About seeing Elvis in a waffle house. With a country tune he supposed someone thought was catchy in order for them to have recorded this. Douxie didn’t know what he had expected.

“Uh, wow.”

“Yeah, Ain’t it something. I loved this song when I was knee high to a grasshopper. All the waffle house jams really.”

“Your aunt let someone bring you to a waffle house? That’s not very proper.” Douxie chuckled.

“Oh, no, actually. Um, this was before my dad passed and my mother, ah, slipped.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Douxie rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

“No, no. I’m fine Dewdrop. I can talk about it, really. And, like you said the other day, I’ve been focusing on the Now Love.” The silly waffle house themed song was still playing despite the air of seriousness that had fallen over the duo. It helped keep Y/n from getting too sad and dwelling on the memories she had just brought up. It was comical, really. A waffle house song keeping her grounded. She rubbed the palm of Douxie’s hand. “I still mourn my family, but it’s been so long that the pain’s but a dull ache now. As long as I don’t think too hard about it. If anyone knows about mourning it’d be you, Doux. I can’t imagine meeting hundreds of friends over my lifetime just to watch them all grow old and die while you just have to go on living.” She paused, eyes drifting downwards, “But I suppose that’ll be my fate anyways.”

Douxie reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s actually not that bad, once you get used to it. You just have to enjoy every bit of time you get. That’s what makes other magic friends so valuable, there are some permanent players on your team.” He let his hand linger under her jaw, pulling her face closer to his, “You have me. We have each other. We’re family. We always have been.”

“So I hate to interrupt, but, waffles.” The server put the plates she had been holding down onto the table. Douxie and Y/n pulled away from each other quick as lightning, sitting up straight in their seats. “Again, sorry guys.”

“Thank you.” The two chorused to their fleeting form in embarrassment. Their faces were fire engine red. Archie was right, they did get a little carried away with the pda. It may have been 12:28am in a waffle house but they were still in public. Grabby hands needed to be kept to themselves.

After dinner, neither Doux nor Y/n could bring themselves to go home quite yet, despite the nagging feeling to return to Nari. They loitered around woods, unsure of what to do. Leaning against the parked boat, Douxie got an idea. He put on the music on his phone, turning the volume all the way up and positioning it so it’d put out a better sound the best he could. The playlist he selected was actually the one he had of songs that reminded him of his beloved. Copying what Y/n had done last night, he held out his hand.

“Come on, dance with me, My Darling.”

Douxie twirled Y/n around in the night breeze that blew through the trees. This song was much faster than the one they danced to last time, and there was more energy between them. Y/n’s laugh echoed through the forest. This was a lot of fun, she could do it all night. Honestly, she could do anything all night if it was with Douxie. He lifted her up, like she weighed nothing. Seriously, how strong was this noodle armed wizard. She threw her arms around his neck, looking down to meet his eyes, a rare thing. Y/n kissed his nose, eliciting a happy giggle from his mouth.

He should have put her back down by now. Instead, he still held her up, transfixed by her face ringed in moonlight, like a halo. She noticed the awestruck look on his face, kissing him properly, yet it did nothing to pull him out of his stupor. He had one thought running over and over in his mind. Marry me. But, he couldn’t say that. A proposal had to be special, not after a waffle house date. Their first date, mind you. He couldn’t possibly jus-

“Marry me, Dewdrop?”

Well apparently he couldn’t but she absolutely could.

It took him a moment to take in her words, shocked out of his overthinking. The biggest grin spread across his face as he giddily spun her around in his arms. He finally put her feet back on the ground, crashing his lips into hers. Y/n brought a hand up to drag through his hair and left the other to slide down his back. No battle for dominance, Douxie’s tongue was definitely the one leading here. He just couldn’t believe it. It was if she had read his mind. It was still hard for him to believe she wanted him in the first place, but this much? If this was the afterlife he must surely be in heaven. One makeout session later, Y/n rasped “So I’m guessing that’s a yes?”

“Let’s sign the papers tomorrow.”

~ ~ ~

Despite the uneasy feeling they had both had about leaving Nari alone for so long, she was perfectly fine. In fact she hadn’t even moved an inch form the spot they left her in. Like they never left at all. Archie was asleep on that couch, as peaceful as ever. They’d tell him the news in the morning.

Y/n climbed into the nest and dragged Douxie down with her. After getting comfy on the array of cushions, he opened his arms and she nestled into his chest. She could feel his hands rest on her back. Perfect. It was calming, listening to his heartbeat, being lulled to sleep with the rhythm that gave proof that her beloved was alive. A steady beat that reassured her he was there, he was there. He wouldn’t leave her again.

*** check notes for chapter illustrations lmao

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

Okay you mentioned Kohga having the hots for king Rhoam. I'm sorry, but can we see something with that???

I make ONE fucking joke, and Ya'll take it to the next level. Fuck you, let's get this over with.

"Kingie! Long time no see big guy!"

Kohga was planning on just hanging out at the hideout today, when he was given a summon by the king. Not that Kohga minded a trip to the castle, he was always fed pretty well. He dove in for a high five with the king, but from the way he glared, he could tell he was NOT in the mood. Even the blade master he brought with him had to cringe at the rejection. Sooga joined him too, but seemed unfazed by the rather cold attitude.

"I'm glad you came at such short notice. I have something very important to discuss with you."

"Oh is it about the fact that we're buying up all the bananas? Look, we still gotta do SOMETHING evil to-"

"It's NOT."

His voice was steely, firm. Someone was NOT happy. His glare was so menacing, his boys took a step forward, as if the king was about to try to beat his ass. Kohga patted their shoulders, making them ease up a bit.

"Easy boys, easy. Look, you two wait out here, imma have a chat with Kingy here."

Sooga of course held protests, but Kohga held his hand up, silencing him.

"Trust me. You two hunks can dash in and protect me at any time. Not that I need it. Though I DO like the attention."

His men bowed, keeping their place. Kohga followed King Rhoam, right to his secret study, in the library, beyond the metal book case. He hated royals, but he had to hand it to Rhoam, there were so many sneaky spaces to hide and explore (and coming from the chief of the Yiga clan, that was high praise). Rhoam shut it behind them both, and Kohga took a look around. This was way different from the main rooms in the castle. Much more personal, snuggly even. A few crates of supplies, a desk full of scattered books, a few chairs, and even a few weapons hung on the wall besides them.

"Nice spot. How many people know about this little place?"

"The ones who built it, and my daughter."

"Well, aren’t I special?"

Kohga chuckled, pulling up a seat and helping himself to the surprisingly comfy chair. He might steal this, honestly. King Rhoam took a seat in front of him, clearing his throat.

"I suppose you're wondering why I summoned you?"

"If it's not about the bananas, then no not at all."

Kohga was already kinda bored, and he started to hum, playing with his hands. He found it easier than just sitting there and looking someone in the face.

"It's about my daughter, Zelda. She complained about you."

Kohga stopped, finally looking at his face. He was about to ask if he was serious, and apparently he was.

"Whaaaat? ME? What did I do?"

He sighed, before folding his arms across his chest.

"She is growing tired of your men. Apparently you give them permission to try to court her."

Kohga wanted to argue with that, but then he thought about it. He was kinda at fault, getting whatever clan member interested to hit on her. Flowers, treats, poetry, even just getting a few smooth talkers to try their hands at getting her attention. He just shipped Mipha and Link so hard, he decided to boot out the competition. Not that he hated her, of course not. Kohga shrugged.

"How is that a problem? I'm throwing HUNKS at her! No clue how that makes ME the bad guy! It’s because they’re Yiga, isn’t it?”

“It’s because she’s already in love with her knight. I’m already planning on giving him my blessings, should they finally decide to wed.”

Kohga should’ve expected it honestly, this old fashioned kinda ranting. Sure they were both kinda up there in age, but they were NOT alike. Kohga shook his head, standing up from his seat.

“Look, I don’t have kids, so I dunno what it does to ya, but you’re taking things WAY outta proportion here. You’re already ready for your daughter, seventeen, to get married.”

King didn’t seem to get it, as if this was a totally normal thing.

“Well yes. Royals marry around this age, why dawdle?”

Kohga put his hand on Rhoam’s shoulder, who didn’t seem to love it, but didn’t exactly push Kohga off.

“Look, let the girl have a little FUN before she gets hitched! She’s got the rest of her life for that stuff, if anything I’m just giving her choices.”

“I’m...not following.”

“For the love of- look. If she wants me to back off, I’ll tell my guys to heel. But I don’t really think she’d complain about me. She only really clams up about you. So it’s why I’m thinking SHE’S not complaining. YOU are.”

He knew by the look in his face that he was right. Kohga chuckled, hands on his hips.

“You don’t gotta lie like that! Makin’ me think I was a bad guy here! If YOU have problems, say you do. Doesn’t mean I’ll listen, but at least you wouldn't be a liar.”

His brows furrowed, but Kohga found it hard to take him seriously at this point.

“I am saying this for the sake of my daughter. If she is to remain pure-”

“Oh great, purity culture bullshit. Look, Kingy, don’t blame her for the fact that you haven’t gotten any lately.”

He put his hand over his chest, as if he had something just terribly hurtful.

“I beg your pardon?!”

“You heard me! You know If I didn’t know any better, you’re just mad because everyone’s gettin’ some lovin’ but you.”

Kohga leaned against the King’s chair. This was some juicy shit, you bet your bananas he was gonna milk it for all it was worth.

“When WAS the last time you got off? Few months?”

King Rhoam looked at him as if he had gone insane, before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Almost nineteen years, roughly.”

“Holy-you haven’t nutted since your kid was born? Fucks sake, I’d be grumpy as hell too, no wonder.”

He wasn’t even expecting him to answer, honestly. King Rhoam scoffed, as if regretting giving him a response.

“We’re derailing the topic at hand-”

“Now now, I’m not done yet.”

Kohga moved in front of him, one hand at the chair, and pinning Rhoam between the seat, and Kohga’s face.

“Look, I get it. You wanna take care of what you have, you’re constantly stressed, I can only imagine how bad you have it. And knowing I was the cause of some of that stress? Selfish of me really. Let me make it up to you there, Kingy.”

Rhoam looked perplexed at his choice of words, like he figured he would be. Kohga always did have the hots for the clueless ones.

“I’m saying, let me end your streak.”

Still nothing. Holy hell, he forgot he loved idiots. He sighed, pointing down to the king’s crotch.

“Let me polish the royal scepter. Take a gander at the royal jewels. I’m essentially saying let me get you off.”

THAT seemed to get a rise out of the king, given the way he damn near jumped out of his chair.

“That is NOT why I summoned you here! In the SLIGHTEST! The AUDACITY!”

Kohga let go off the chair, putting his hands on his hips.

“One, you have the audacity to NOT immediately say yes, I’m a goddamn treat. Two, why the hell not? You ever fuck anyone that WASN’T the Queen?”

No response. So that was a no. Oh this was going to be some fucking fun. Kohga put his hands on his knees, leaning in so his mask was so close to touching his face.

“Tell you what, because I like newbies. You let me do my thing. And if you don’t like it, you just say the word. In exchange, I’ll tell my guys to heel. Eh? Cool offer?”

King Rhoam didn’t immediately say no, like he expected him to. He seemed stunned at first, but hey, you miss every shot you don’t take. He was going to get a no any-

“Alright. Fine. So long as this does NOT leave this study.”

Holy SHIT. This guy did NOT just say yes. Kohga fumbled a bit, clearly not knowing how to react. He wasn’t bluffing in the slightest, he just had no clue that the king would ACTUALLY take him up on that. He chuckled, poking Rhoam on his nose.

“Well look at you! Growin’ outta that royal shell, color me surprised! Alright, stays between us. Now, you just sit right there, and let ol’ Kohga do his thing.”

He made the king tilt his head up a bit, so he couldn’t see him. Not letting him see what he was doing would make him freak out a lot less, and he could be in denial about the fact that a dude was gonna suck him off. Kohga pushed aside his mask, just enough to reveal his lips, before he got down on his knees. He parted the King’s legs, taking but a moment to massage them. Lot’s of clothes made the guy look almost fat, but Kohga knew better. Those were some toned muscles under that, just how Kohga imagined. He kept massaging for a moment longer, getting him used to being touched, before he un did his belt, and pulling him free of his cloth confines. And holy. Shit. King Rhoam was a dilf dream down here. He wasn’t absolutely massive, but he certainly wasn’t a pipsqueak. He was long, thick, with plenty of white pubic hair. Kohga softly stroked the length of it, and watched as Rhoam seemed to freeze upon the contact.

“Right right, been a while. I’ll go slow, I’ll go slow. Easy does it.”

He had a rather lovely curve downward, and Kohga could only picture how well it’d go down his throat. He kept his motions nice and slow, till he noticed the King’s grip on the armrests loosen. Then he started to up the ante, just a little bit. With his other hand, he cupped his balls, lightly rubbing them in his palm. Then he heard him groan. It was faint, but Kohga caught it. That was the sound of a man who hadn’t been touched in a long, long time. Even by himself, apparently. He was already getting stiff in his hand.

“You’ve...done this before.”

“Not with a royal at least. But yeah, Kohga’s seen a few bananas in his day.”

Rhoam clearly had some kind of retort, before he seemed to jump upon feeling Kohga kiss the head. Kohga tried not to snicker, finding his sensitivity just hilarious. His age seemed to not affect his need for attention. Especially given that a few kisses around the base was enough to get him nice and hard in his hand. He made his touch a bit firmer on his balls, and his stroking a bit quicker on his length. And Rhoam was LOVING it. His head was tossed back, his breathing got all nice and fast, and he could see, past that beard, him biting his bottom lip.

“There we go, all nice and comfy. Any chance you want me to stop here?”

Rhoam was so out of it, he couldn’t do anything but shake his head. Kohga chuckled. He was gonna love this. Feeling him start to throb in his hand, he decided to really wow ol’ Kingy here. He pulled his hand away, using it to palm at himself, before he put the head right in his mouth. Rhoam’s breath hitched, and Kohga loved that. Love how he was making a royal so weak. He pushed himself to make more, stopping shy of halfway down his length. It was enough to make Rhoam squirm in his seat, and even put his hand right on top of Kohga’s head. How cute. Kohga groaned as he pushed his head back and forth, really getting a feel for that thick cock. Then he pulled away, nice and slowly, drool still connecting them. 

"Why did you-"

"You were about to cum. I could tell. I want this to be REALLY good for you, so you're going to wait."

"I DEMAND you-"

He was halted when Kohga took a hold of his balls. Nothing too hard, just enough to get him to shut up.

"No no no. You don't get that attitude with me. You rule Hyrule, I rule your cock. I decide when you cum. And because you wanna act up, you get a punishment. Look at me."

Rhoam looked, despite not wanting to, at all. Kohga kept massaging him, tediously and slowly.

"You wanna cum? You wanna shoot your load down my pretty throat? You gotta ask for it like a grown up. No tantrums. Go on. Ask."

Rhoam clearly didn't want to, but Kohga’s lips (and throat) was a blessing, not a right. So he sighed, and made himself obey.

"I...would like to orgasm-"

"Try again. Cum. Make me WANT it."

Rhoam swallowed, before trying again.

"I would...like to cum. In your mouth."

"There we go, much better. Knew you could be a polite boy."

He took a minute to suckle at his balls, really coating them in drool, before taking Rhoam fully in his mouth. That's right, every bit of that royal cock found it's way into his mouth, and Kohga gagged. It was intentional, and it made Rhoam moan desperately. So close. Kohga wasted no more time, and acted like the perfect dick sucker he knew he was.

Kohga was relentless. He groaned loudly as he bobbed his head back and forth, practically fucking his own mouth from the force. Rhoam was really getting into it now, cursing and panting under his breath, especially when Kohga pulled away to aggressively suck at his tip. Kohga was absolutely, and positively cock hungry, and he wasn’t afraid at all to show it. Kohga slurped, and gagged, slurped and gagged, grumbling as if he was an animal, greedy for the chance of tasting cum. Then he got it.

King Rhoam came, and Kohga gulped it down, only pulling away to smear it against his throbbing length. It was a big load, just how he thought it'd be. Ribbons and ribbons of cum littered their clothes, the floor, and the insides of his stomach. He pulled away once he knew no more would be cumming, feeling no more reason to. King Rhoam was a SIGHT to behold. A shaking, panting, cum covered mess. Kohga chuckled, taking a quick second to clean up. A good cock sucker could clean himself up in a flash, as if nothing ever happened. He stood back up, pulling King Rhoam’s face by his beard, and he kissed him. Not because he liked him, nor did he think he was cute. It was because there was something humiliating about making the King himself, taste his own load. He pulled away, wiping his lips, and putting his mask right back down. He could see that little bit of cum on his lips, and it was so goddamn funny to him.

“Glad we had this little chit chat, Kingy wingy. You ever need to get a load of your chest, you know who to send for. Though, I don’t do anything for free. Can I take the chair?”

Rhoam just sat there, looking bewildered, before he gently nodded. Kohga clapped his hands a bit, grabbing the chair, and giving Rhoam a little bit of a wave. He managed to meet up with Sooga and the Blade master, who didn’t even get to say hello before he made them carry the chair he was holding. Sooga looked at it curiously, turning to Kohga.

“Are we stealing this?”

“Nope! Said I could have it! It’s a real nice chair.”

“Why would he give it to you?”

“We had a nice long chat. Wasn’t something I saw...comin’”

Kohga grinned behind his mask. He was an absolute STUD, no doubts about that.

[ko-fanatic]

Paint on the Wall, Black in Our Minds (part three)

Rating: Teen and up, but dark themes present

Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club

Trigger Warnings: Suicide attempt, self harm, eating disorders (anorexia), depression

Summary: It seems he’s willing to sacrifice a little for the sake of being seen as normal, but that’s normal... Right?

Other parts in this series: Part one | Part two

Kyoya swallowed thickly, feeling too tall and awkward as he stood at the front of his new classroom beside the teacher. He never liked being so... prominent. Stared at. Part of the reason he hadn't done a face reveal on the blog, despite the literal years of asks and curiosity from his followers.

He forced himself to ignore his sleeves. Constant tugging would only draw attention, after all, and Fuyumi had helped him secure his shirt to his fresh bandages with a couple of white stitches. He had no clue what to do when they had to come off and he would have to consciously make sure the gnarled wounds were fully covered at all times, without something to anchor his cuffs to. Still, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it; when he wasn't fighting back the churning of his stomach.

The nutritional shakes sat heavy in his gut, anxiety only making it worse - like usual. Honestly, vomiting in front of this entire class of strangers would be like the crowning turd on the flaming garbage pile that was his life right now.

"Alright, everyone," The teacher began, chatter stilling and far too many eyes burning into his thin frame like a brand - NOT NORMAL.

Logically, they were simply looking, but he couldn't help but try to dig for "proof" that they hated him on-sight. Learned behaviour was a bitch, but he really needed to stop making this worse for himself. His father and brothers' lives were completely uprooted and changed for him and his recovery, after all; he needed to try and not screw it up...

"This is Kyoya Ootori, transferring from the Tokyo area," The teacher introduced, clapping Kyoya on the shoulder and nearly making him fall over - both from shock and the fact that he could be taken away by a strong breeze, at least if Akito was to be believed, "Why don't you introduce yourself, Kyoya?"

Fuck, this was the worst part. He had to talk, but not too much or too little, and make himself seem like a well-rounded and well-adjusted person who definitely isn't a cutter or suicidal. The emo hair didn't really help...

"Well, as sensei said, I used to live in Tokyo, but my family decided that a change of pace was needed. We've been living here about a week now, and I hope you all take care of me," He bowed, not looking anyone in the face, not wanting to know if he'd already made a misstep. He simply straightened and took his seat in an empty chair in the middle row. Not too near the front - teacher's pet - or too near the back - weird loner.

He let himself release the breath he was holding, getting out his books and pen from his satchel, allowing the teacher’s lesson just wash over him. He could do this. He could get through two years in this place, middling through, as long as he didn't give anyone a reason to dislike him. Be so plain that it was impossible to actively hate, even if no one liked him.

It helped that the lesson seemed to be something he'd actually been taught by the tutor at the hospital and was told he was competent at. He didn't have to worry about making himself seem like an idiot if he were called upon, but still decided to note down questions and answers in his notebook so he could have an answer on hand immediately, rather than fumbling and stuttering. He couldn't stand the thought of being seen as unintelligent, to the point that the suggestion at all sent an army of fire ants under his skin.

It was something contradictory, he supposed; the wish to be invisible juxtaposed with the want to be recognised as special for his intellect. He felt eternally annoyed by himself, honestly, but this wasn’t exactly the most irritating of his traits, and so he brushed the internal monologue to the side.

Papers were handed out by the teacher, saying that they could talk amongst themselves as they completed the work, albeit quietly. Usually, Kyoya would just sit in silence and get through the work, every so often interrupted by snickering behind him and the odd physical annoyances; balled up paper, pinches, the usual adolescent mischief.

Not here, though.

People chatted in their little groups, paying no mind to him. Well, an occasional glance, but no snorts of derision, as far as he could tell.

“Hey, I love your hair!”

The exclamation startled him, shoulders tensing on instinct and his pen falling to the floor. Eyes snapping from his work to the person before him, he was met with a bright smile quickly turning bashful, blonde hair, and a pair of the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

“Oops, sorry!” The boy apologised, “I’m not great with volume control. I just thought you looked really cool, y’know?”

Kyoya didn’t respond, wracking his brain for a normal response to the compliment, the simple two words “thank you” seeming so far from his grasp. He wouldn’t call it “cool”, too edgy for his own good, even if he preferred to keep the shaggy fringe because he could hide under it, and it wasn’t like the hospital had a hairdresser’s on site, and with moving and all –

And now he’d been quiet for too long, so he forced his mouth to actually move.

“Th-thanks,” He stammered, gaze instantly fleeing from the pretty boy in front of him, hair falling into his eyes as he stared down at his desk, biting at the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t meant to stammer, but fuck! He really wasn’t expecting such a direct approach to starting a conversation. In fact, he hadn’t really expected anyone to interact with him at all, even if he was fresh meat, “It’s rather overgrown, though…”

“Ah, but you look just like an anime character! So awesome!” The other enthused once more, earning a reminder to keep quiet from the teacher, and Kyoya kind of wanted to die of embarrassment then and there, “You said your name was Ootori, right?”

“I… don’t know about that,” He muttered, which was true, “Yes, you’re correct.”

“So, Ootori-kun, considering you’re new in town, I guess you haven’t had much of a chance to meet the locals yet?” The blonde grinned, “You can join me and my friends at lunch if you like! I know that being the new kid sucks.”

“Oh.”

He couldn’t use his words today, apparently. Well, few words were probably best; an idiot who didn’t speak was much more tolerable than one that did, even if his aversion to be labelled as such send a near-visible shiver up his spine.

Still, the blond seemed undeterred.

“My name’s Tamaki, by the way. Tamaki Suoh.”

He smiled, and it was warm, yet left him feeling unbearably cold. Lunch meant a meal, and he needed those, but for him that included a couple of bottles in his bag. The name was emblazoned in red across the front, several groups of kanji pronouncing the drink’s high vitamin content and other such things – including the weight gain effects. That wasn’t normal, at all. So, between classes, he simply got rid of the problem.

He dumped them in the bin.

[ampmiscfiles]

The Webs We Weave: Chapter 29

Start From The Beginning

Luke groaned as he opened his eyes. Looking around, he found Danny and Jessica laid out on the ground beside him. The room they were in was plain and vacant. It clearly wasn’t meant to house anyone.

“I feel like shit.” Jessica groaned, sitting up and holding her head. “Worse than any hangover I’ve ever had.”

“That’s impressive.” Danny mumbled into the floor.

“Shut up you ass.” she huffed, shoving him.

“As fun as it is to hear you two bicker, we got bigger problems.” Luke grunted, pushing himself up off the floor and walking to the door.

“Seems like a poor attempt to keep us hostage if they put us in here.” Danny frowned.

“All the better for us.” Luke said, pulling back his fist and slamming it into the door and flying back into the wall.

“Holy shit!” Jessica screamed, rushing to Luke’s side had his entire arm looked burnt. “What the hell was that?”

“Not as poor an attempt as I thought.” Danny winced as he looked over Luke’s arm.

“It’s a-”

“High powered electric field.” Norman’s voice cut off Luke’s reply. “It would be very foolish to keep three powerful individuals like you in such a simple room. Don’t worry though, you won’t be here long. I just have some things to take care of first.”

“You better hope your little field holds up Osborn.” Luke growled. “Cause it won’t be pretty if I get my hands on you.”

“You’ll find I’m not very concerned with what actually happens to any of you.“

They could hear the dismissal in his voice.

"I’m more concerned with the idiot ‘billionaire, playboy, philanthropist’ and the special little spider I’ve managed to catch. Enjoy your stay.”

The sound of the speaker crackled out as Jessica erupted into curses.

Danny felt around his ear, taking note for the first time that his communicator was missing. Unless Jessica or Luke had theirs, there was no way to reach Frank.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Felicia wiped her eyes as she continued down the tunnel. They had no idea where Peter and Tony had gone. They had no idea if continuing down the tunnels would even help them at all. No one knew where they all went anyway! What if they never found them? What if Norman already had them? What if whoever Norman was working for had his own plans for Peter? It wouldn’t be the first time someone would think they could experiment on him.

She wiped her eyes again.

She wanted her Peter.

If-no-when they got him back, he was going to be on house arrest until she deemed him safe enough to return to the outside.

It shouldn’t be to hard to keep him indoors. He’d have unpacking to do in his and Wade’s new apartment after all.

She sniffled.

“Hey,” Bucky said, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her into a hug. “We’re going to find him. I won’t just leave one of my idiot brothers behind.”

“One of your brothers?” Felicia asked, her face buried in his chest.

“Yeah.” Bucky chuckled. “Steve is idiot brother number one, Peter is idiot brother number two.”

Felicia giggled as she clutched his shirt tighter, enjoying the warmth of his arms around her.

“Usually Peter would have something snarky to say at this point.” she smiled.

“All the more reason to keep going. We’ve got to find him and take care of this Norman guy. We’ve all got lives to get back to that don’t involve a lunatic with a Halloween fetish.”

“Yeah. I’ve got to tell him how you held my dainty figure in your strong, masculine arms while I cried for him.” she snickered as Bucky choked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wade Wilson knew fury. He knew the dark desire revenge could be. He had given into that desire often enough to consider himself an expert.

Having Peter taken from him brought that dark desire front and center. He itched to pull the triggers of his guns, or swing the sharp blades of his katanas through someone’s flesh.

His thoughts were dark, and bloody. His ideas involved trails of blood and dismembered body parts. No, Peter wouldn’t like it, but he didn’t have to know either. Wade would never enact such things in front of his baby boy.

Still, if Wade was seething, murderous vengeance, he wasn’t sure what to describe the thing next to him as.

At this point, Wade had seen Matthew Murdock in various stages of emotions, but this was an entirely different beast.

For the first time ever, Wade realized the ‘Devil’ in Matt’s vigilante title might mean more than he thought.

A darkness seemed to roll off his shoulders. He was to silent to be natural.

Even the brat had noticed.

While he hadn’t been really interested in talking to either of them after the big reveal of Spider-Man’s identity, the kid was even quieter now.

“So, I can’t believe I’m the one asking this, but what’s our plan?” Wade said, breaking the tense silence.

Matt stopped completely, his face turned straight ahead.

“You two will get Peter and Stark. I will handle whoever’s there.”

“You wait a sec-”

Wade grunted as he was slammed into the wall, Matt’s arm buried in his throat.

“You listen to me Wilson, I won’t repeat myself. You two will get Peter and Stark and get them to safety. We have no idea what kind of shape we’re going to find them in. Considering our situation, I seriously doubt either of them would be any use to us. I need to know Peter is safe. I trust you to follow directions and get him out.

"Bu-” Wade choked as Matt pressed harder.

“My son was taken from me. You may be dating him Wilson, but he was my kid first. I made a promise to his aunt to get him out. I can die, Wade, you can’t. If anyone can make sure Peter gets out, it’s you. That’s always going to be your role. Peter is always going to be your job to protect. If you decide to ignore me and fight whoever we find, you better hope I die there. If I don’t, I’ll make it a personal goal to find a way to make sure you do. I’ll do what I have to, regardless of what it means for me.”

Matt growled as he released Wade and shoved him to the side before turning to Harley.

“The same thing goes for you. Get Stark out.”

“And if they’re fine?” Wade coughed, standing up fully. “You know Pete isn’t just gonna stand aside.”

“Then you better make sure he’s not alone.”

Even after being surrounded by Avengers, looking at Daredevil, Harley felt he could finally see what being a real hero really meant.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony winced as his eyes cracked open to bright lights. His head throbbed and he felt sore. Peeling his eyes open slowly, he took note of his state. He was in a propped up position, but strapped to a metal table. Across from him, in the same situation, was a still unconscious Peter.

“Peter? Peter! Wake up kid!”

“He’s not going to hear you, Stark. I was very careful about how much sedative I gave him over you. I wanted us to have a few moments together.”

Tony growled as Norman stepped up beside him.

“I have to say, while I was hoping to catch two birds with one stone, you weren’t the other bird. Still, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Who was crazy enough to let you out?” Tony glared.

“There was a time I would have risen to that bait, but I believe that out of the two of us, I’m not the one who has anything to worry about.” Norman smirked, moving over to Peter.

“He’s something else, isn’t he?” Norman asked, running a finger down Peter’s cheek. “A marvel for sure.”

“Don’t touch him!”

“Has he ever really discussed himself with you?” Norman asked, moving away from Peter, ignoring Tony.

“He’s done research on himself, you know. Extensive research. He’s accessed my servers to an extent Harry doesn’t even know about.”

Tony frowned, wondering where this was going.

“You know, the spider’s venom he received was never meant for human experimentation…..at least not when he was bitten. My people had run multiple tests on them and had been recording the changes in their poison. It was a secret project, so there were no time constraints.

One of the very few projects I gave free reign to.

I needed it to be perfect before anyone could know about it….and they were making progress all the time.” Norman looked over at a large monitor detailing information on the spiders.

“What was the project supposed to be?” Tony asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Once properly developed, they would be harvested to create a new breed of super soldiers…ones that would put Steve Rogers to shame. It isn’t a coincidence that Peter’s abilities are greater than Captain America’s. That was always the point.

"You just said it was never meant for human experimentation!”

“I said the spider that bit Peter wasn’t meant for human experimentation. None of the spiders in that batch were even remotely ready to be harvested. Truthfully, the fact he’s even alive is incredible. The venom literally altered his DNA.” Norman paused, looking from the screens to Peter.

“He’s far to precious to be out unsupervised. You had no idea what you had with him.” Norman said, glaring at Tony. “He nearly died the time he saved your ass by protecting your precious Stark property!”

“How about when you attacked him!”

Norman laughed as Tony fumed, guilt over the entire event of Peter’s Homecoming night gnawing at him.

“If you ever thought Peter’s life was really in danger, you’re more of an idiot than I took you for. While I didn’t know who was under the mask, I would never have killed them. They were far more valuable alive than dead. That said, he wasn’t going to come in quietly, and his abilities made close combat difficult to achieve. Naturally, I had to up the ante to acquire him. Admittedly, I underestimated the intelligence under the mask. It wasn’t simply brute force that beat me. Peter’s mind works amazingly fast to try and analyze everything around him.”

Tony didn’t respond, he didn’t need to. He was fully aware of the brilliance of Peter’s brain. While he would never flat out say anything to Harley, if Peter had decided to return to him and SI, he would easily put him as the main inheritor to the company.

Harley was smart and could most likely run the business perfectly but , he could be rash and come off a bit abrasive. Peter on the other hand, was extremely intelligent with a calm and friendly personality. Out of the two, people would most likely be more willing to deal with Peter than Harley…..kind of like how people were more willing to deal with Pepper than him.

Still, none of that mattered if they didn’t get out of here.

“Oh yes, you know all about him though, don’t you?” Norman sneered, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

“You know all about his perfect grades from the moment he entered school till he left. You know all about his life before his uncle passed.”

“I know they haven’t had it easy-“

“All you know about him is what any idiot can look up. You know nothing about what the Parker’s have experienced emotionally. Peter and Harry have been friends since they were very young. I’ve watched Peter grow up. I was around when he lost his parents. I went with my wife and son to the funeral. His parents were brilliant scientists.”

Norman chuckled, looking at Peter.

“He definitely took after them.”

Taking a breath, Norman moved to a small table and picked up a glass cube.

“I had hoped spending time with Peter would have been good for Harry. Maybe get him on the right track. Unfortunately, Harry will never amount to anything.”

“He seems to be running Oscorp just fine .” Tony sneered. “Better than you.”

“I’ll give it to him on one thing.” Norman said, walking up to Tony. “He made a smart move hiring Peter for the pharmaceutical department.”

Tony glared as Norman stopped before him. A sly grin spread across the man’s face as he held up the glass cube.

“Anyway, what do you think?”

Tony looked into the cube, taking in the small spider suspended inside. There was nothing special in the way it looked, but he had a pretty good idea of its importance.

“I’m sure you know why I’m showing you this. It’s the very spider that bit Peter.” he twirled the glass.

“It was found on the floor after the field trip had ended. At the time, we all assumed the spider had just died being outside of it’s controlled environment.”

Norman chuckled at himself.

“I’m honestly ashamed of myself for taking so long to put the pieces together on where Spider-Man might have gotten his abilities. Of course, when I did, I tried to offer him a place as a partner. With his abilities, given by me by the way, we could have made a formidable team.”

“How’d that work out for you?”

“It wasn’t to surprising.” Norman shrugged. “Spider-Man had chosen the path of the hero long before I got to him. It was just disappointing.”

“When did you figure out it was Peter under the mask?”

“Oh, I have you to thank for that.” Norman laughed.

“Think back, Tony Stark . Think back to the early days of a certain webslinger. Think back to a moment in time where you failed him by not trusting him over your own issues.”

Tony frowned, feeling like he should know where Norman was going, but missing something.

“Does the moniker of ‘Vulture’ ring any bells?”

Tony’s eyes widened.

“Oh yes. He was willing to keep Peter’s secret, until he was offered his freedom. It’s amazing what people will do for the chance to get what they want. For Toomes it was his family, for me, well, he’s right across from you.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re so much better?” Norman asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Have you not been pushing him to rejoin your little hero group? From what I’ve gathered, Spider-Man has never seemed to be interested in joining the Avengers. In fact, I’d say he went out of his way to avoid you.”

Tony’s jaw tightened.

“I guess my return worked more in your favor than you want to admit.” Norman smirked, moving back over to Peter.

“He should be waking up soon, then the real fun will begin.”

“What are you planning?”

“Well, I can’t let him out to wander the streets, now can I? No. So, he’ll have to be kept inside. Luckily, I’ve got some….. volunteers testing out some new features I plan to use in Peter’s room.”

“You’re going to keep him locked up like some prisoner? Yeah, I’m sure that will work out for you.”

“Well, it will only be temporary.” Norman shrugged. “Once he learns his place, he’ll be able to leave his room.”

Tony growled, pulling against his restraints.

“How cute, Stark. Do you really think you’ll be able to break those without your fancy suit?”

“You’re going to regret this Osborn!”

Norman just smirked, looking over at Peter as he started to stir.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frank grunted in annoyance as he checked over his gun for, what felt like, the hundredth time.

He was growing restless, not to mention the increasing feeling something was wrong.

“Hell with this.” he said, standing up.

“This stealth shit ain’t working for me.”

Grabbing his bag, Frank left the rooftop and headed off where he had watched the members of the Defenders go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We gotta get out of here.” Jessica huffed, stalking around their prison cell.

“Well, until we figure out a way around that field, we arn’t going anywhere.” Danny sighed.

“It would be nice to have the nerd with us.” Luke mumbled.

“That little shit is definitely taking me out drinking once this is all over.” Jessica grit her teeth, kicking the wall to relieve frustration.

Danny watched as she stalked off toward the other side of the room, not bothering to look where her foot had made contact with the wall.

He looked however.

His eyes widened at the small dent and hairline crack in the wall.

Maybe they weren’t as trapped as they thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter groaned as he struggled to regain consciousness. His head hurt slightly, and his eyes felt heavy.

Making to move his hand to rub his eyes, Peter snapped to awareness as he felt the restraints work against him.

“Wha-Tony?” Peter croaked out, throat dry.

“Peter!”

“Isn’t that cute.” Norman sneered. “Tony Stark all concerned for Peter Parker’s well being.”

“I’m not the one that drugged him and strapped him down!”

Peter took the two men arguing as a chance to fully assess his whereabouts and his situation.

He and Tony were both restrained and at the mercy of a psycho.

‘ Great. ’

Peter internally huffed.

He needed to figure out a way out of the restraints, but he could still feel the drugs in his system. He wouldn’t be anywhere near as good in a fight right now as he would be normally.

Still, he had to chance it.

He couldn’t let Tony stay here.

Norman wasn’t after Tony, despite their long time rivalry. That made Tony expendable. Expendable people usually didn’t last in these situations and despite their history, Peter couldn’t let anything happen to the man.

Spider-Man didn’t abandon anyone.

Twisting his wrists, Peter tested the strength of the restraints and various angles and points. Infuriatingly though, they were solid at all points.

“Well now, Peter.” Norman smiled. “Let’s help you get a better look at things.”

Peter watched as Norman moved to the side of the table and pressed a button. The table gave a slight vibration as it tilted forward, putting him into an almost standing position.

“There we go. Now we can all properly see each other.”

Peter held back his glare, refusing to give anything away as to how he was handling things.

“I’m so glad to see you again, Peter.” Norman smiled, an unsettling scenarity in the action. “Our time together was so short last time.”

“You’re the one who left.” Peter replied.

“Well, I had a few things to take care of.” Norman shrugged. “But everything is how it should be now.”

Norman moved directly into Peter’s eyeline, his expression sent Peter’s Spider-Sense screaming.

Norman reached out a hand, grabbing Peter’s chin roughly.

“Now, Peter, how about we finish what we st-”

“Osborn!”

Peter froze.

He knew that voice.

He knew that voice so well.

The missing puzzle piece had finally fallen into place

Norman grinned before dropping his hand and pulling Peter’s mask back over his face.

“Can’t have just anyone knowing your little secret, now can we?” Norman chuckled before  turning to the new arrival.

“I apologize for the lack of a proper delivery but ,” Norman chuckled. “I don’t believe we’ll have to wait much longer. As you can see, we have something he’ll be very anxious to have returned.”

“We better not.” the man threatened, before turning to both Peter and Tony.

Tony looked between the two men. It was obvious they were talking about Peter, but what business did either of them have trying to lure in Deadpool?

That was who they were after, right?

“I must say, Tony Stark was not who I was expecting to see when I came here.” the man chuckled before focusing his full attention on Peter.

“Hello again, Spider-Man.”

Peter looked at the man before him, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“How’s it going, Fisk?”

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 14

Hey guys! Thank you so much for being patient with me as I work to keep this story going. Between work and school my schedule is completely booked so finding time to sit down and write can be hard. As always, thank you for all the likes and comments. They really make my day and I get super excited when I see those notifications on my phone. 

Read more on AO3 or see the Masterpost for more chapters!

Emily stood dutifully with her “sister witches” in the salon of the subterranean boy’s school, glancing here and there. She was desperately trying to read the room. Tension was high, but no one cared to explain why. Instead, she felt like a toddler watching her parents get a divorce without the needed schema to even understand marriage

God, she missed college. At least there, things were actually explained to her. All Cordelia said was they were here to perform a ritual of the Seven Wonders. The name sounded familiar, but other than that, she knew nothing.

What she did know was that the Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men was the counterpart to Robichaux. Why they separated the coven based upon gender alone was… perplexing. Emily imagined prestige had something to do with it, a concept that made her roll her eyes at the sheer absurdity of it all. 

Emily had never been to California. One of her friends had moved there after high school, but they weren’t particularly close and the contact between them was now non-existent. It wasn’t as if she could reach out to the girl — duty being what it was and the fact that they were now in the least hospitable place in the entire state. 

It was a pity, Emily hoped she would have at least seen the beach or LA. More to say she had than out of actual desire. 

She looked up as Myrtle shimmied beside them, keys in hand. Quietly, she bestowed them upon the group — first Zoe, then Queenie, and finally Madison and herself.

“We’ll be doubling up in the broom closets they call rooms,” Myrtle said, keeping her voice low. “Make sure you check the sheets before you lay down.”

She spared a pointed look at Madison, “and don’t go about wandering in the night. God knows what these little perverts will do.”

Madison stood with her arms across her chest, an unconvincing smile more a smirk than anything else. She leaned forward and flashed a grin. “Just because I get more than anyone else in this coven doesn’t mean I don’t have standards.”

Myrtle smiled in a way that made the blonde frown and turned back to the center of the room where Ariel and Cordelia were still talking logistics. The Seven Wonders required careful planning. With the stakes being life or death, there was no room for even the smallest of errors. They also had to assure that the greasy little weasels weren’t cheating them out of their throne. 

Madison leaned in towards Queenie, eyes flickering from the boy wonder.

“I have dibs,” she said.

A brow shot up Queenie’s forehead, “On what, bitch?”

“The bed.”

“Girl. I am not sharing a room with you.”

Madison turned to Zoe. The brunette’s eyes were trained ahead, purposefully not meeting Madison’s eyes. The ex-movie star rolled her eyes which came to settle on Emily. She shook the key with a painted “6” on the fob.

“Looks like we’re bunk buddies.”

Emily spoke before she could think, “Joy.”

“Whatever.”

Across the room, Michael watched Emily. He didn’t stare, but blue eyes frequently dashed to the girl. She stood stoically a few steps away from her sister witches with a stern expression on her face. As soon as she was brought into the light, however, it disappeared. Furrowed brows relaxed with the rest of her expression, only to return as it was but a moment before. 

Her companions seemed not to notice, treating her as a bumbling and anxious thing. No, this girl was but a cat waiting to pounce from the shadows.

Emily’s eyes dashed to his as she felt his stare. For a moment they locked eyes, but she quickly averted her gaze and focused on anything but him. He watched a moment longer.

Madison whispered something and she rolled her eyes, but a blush crawled up her neck. Her eyes flickered back to him, but he quickly turned his attention to the conversation at hand.

Days before, all Emily had been able to glean from her conversation with Cordelia was that this important ritual would determine who the next Supreme would be… whatever that meant. 

For all the useless information the others had given her, they did not explain what the Seven Wonders entailed. “You’ll see,” was the closest she had gotten to a response. 

Either way, Cordelia wanted her help. What she could help with, she wasn’t quite sure. The witches seemed to find pleasure in keeping things vague. 

Thus, long story short: Emily was in an underground all-boys boarding school doing occult shit straight out of a Steven King novel. 

Green eyes flickered to a nearby bookshelf, her eyes trailing over the titles instinctively. Most of them were old, books having that rough binding with wrinkled spines that only came from constant use and gold inlaid titles. There was one, however, with no name.

Looking about, she carefully made her way over to the shelf. It wasn’t far from where she was standing — a few feet at most. Gently, she eased the large weathered tome into her arms, balancing it upon her hip as if it were a child. 

It was a grimoire written in Latin. It was the one subject she had made traction in, reassuring her whenever she couldn’t conjure small objects to her hand or make butterflies out of roses. 

That being said, she was far from fluent. Some words and basic sentences popped out at her, but beyond that was incomprehensible. Emily wished she had her pile of references with her. It would at least give her something to do while the adults tackled the issues at hand.

“Finis venit,” she muttered under her breath, eyes narrowed as she read the handwritten note on the inside cover of the book, “ante initium.”

The end comes before the beginning?

A burning sensation in her hands nearly made her drop the tome with what would no doubt have been a very loud, attention-drawing thud. Biting her lip to keep from crying out, she eased the book back to its place. 

Her eyes darted around the room as she shuffled away from the bookcase. No one seemed to notice her faux pas, too engrossed in their own thoughts and tasks. Eventually, her gaze was drawn to the blonde boy who stood next to Ariel, Hawthorne’s headmaster. His hands were positioned behind his back, fist clenching as he continued to pay attention to the discussion before him.

Glancing back to her hands, she found a small circular burn mark around her right middle finger. Red irritation bloomed brightly upon her skin but quickly faded into nothing.

“God, I need a cigarette,” Madison whined beside her, crossing her arms and leaning back on the wall. Bored, her eyes trailed back to her new Sabrina. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Cordelia asked me to come.”

Madison scoffed, “What does she want you to do? Throw up on them?”

“Who the fuck knows,” Emily said with a sigh. The reaction gained her a small, cheeky smile from the blonde. The amusement didn’t last long.

“If you know you’re not a witch, why the hell do you even stay here?”

“Cordelia thinks I have potential.”

“Ha!” Madison said, “What a load of crock.”

Queenie rolled her eyes as she stood beside the two, Madison sandwiched between the human voodoo doll and the powerless newbie. 

“Can you stop being a bitch for, like, five seconds?” Queenie snapped at the blonde.

“Whatcha’ gonna’ do? Kill me?” 

“Don’t tempt me.”

A small smirk crawled onto Emily’s lips at the banter, but quickly vanished the second she felt Madison glance towards her. From across the room, Michael couldn’t help but be amused at the scene. He did his best to hide a smirk of his own, covering it with a hand in an attempt to save face.

Madison rolled her eyes and scoffed before shuffling away from the pair to put as much distance between them. Emily glanced at Queenie and they both snickered.

“Like I said,” Queenie said, “I got you, girl.”

“I’d hate to be on your bad side.”

“Damn straight.”

Emily pushed off the wall and stood a little straighter as she noticed Cordelia turn. The warlocks retreated to their side of the room save for Ariel and the curly-haired angel. Green eyes met blue and the two simply stared at each other for a long moment before diverting their attention back to the reigning supreme.

There was something about that boy… something Emily couldn’t quite place. 

“Today we take part in an ancient ritual used by our coven for generations,” Cordelia spoke, “The new must be ushered in and the old ushered out to maintain the strength of our coven.”

Finally, she turned to the boy-wonder, “Are you ready to take on this momentous task.”

“I am.”

Emily jumped as a loud chorus of cheers erupted above them, boys stomping their feet and yelling as loud as they knew how. She forced her eyes back on her headmistress and tried to quiet her racing heart. 

Cordelia didn’t look pleased, everyone else too preoccupied with the noise to notice. It was a slight difference: the near imperceivable furrow of the brow and thinning of the lips.

Her eyes then trailed to the boy. He was smiling up at the crowd, basking in their adoration. It was a genuine smile — not the one he had shown when they first arrived.

The rowdy boys were quickly silenced with a well-aimed look of their headmaster. Emily could hear the shuffling of feet above her head as they skittered off into the halls, leaving the room feeling tense and lifeless.

“Like little roaches,” she heard Myrtle whisper to Zoe. The girl’s response was drowned out by the voice of their headmistress.

“Let the test of the Seven Wonders begin!”

***

The Seven Wonders was a test of seven magical talents… or at least that is what Emily observed. 

Telekinesis was the first wonder, an easy enough skill for those who could actually use their magic. She felt a surge of jealousy at that thought. It was easy for Cordelia to say magical talent didn’t matter when she had more than Emily could hope to possess. 

Michael held up his hand and a book crossed the room as if it had a mind of its own. The grimoire was a heavy tome in her arms, but the boy made it look as light as a feather. 

He opened it to the first page, brows furrowing as he read the hand-scribed dedication. Closing the book, he looked to Ariel. The man was grinning ear to ear, clapping the boy on the back and praising him for a job well done. 

“This is but the first test,” Cordelia reminded, voice stern, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

 The fair-haired woman turned to Michael, “The next test is Concilium. Control the minds of someone in this room.”

That wording did nothing to ease the tension in Emily’s body. She quite liked being in control of her own thoughts and actions. The thought of someone being able to override her autonomy at will made her palms sweat.

Emily didn’t know what to expect until Madison and Zoe started dancing at random. Their faces betrayed their true feelings, Michael’s powers not strong enough to make the pair like one other. A small smile flickered to Emily’s lips at the frowns carved into their faces, but it quickly vanished when she felt the boy’s eyes on her.

They danced and danced and danced some more in a silent room. If not for the circumstances it may have been poetic. The strings of the puppet-master were far too visible, their bodies too stiff. It made her skin crawl. 

Just as the dance ended, Emily felt a sudden presence behind her followed by a feather-light tap on her shoulder. Her hair stood on end and a shiver ran up her spine. Hands instinctively curled into fists which swung back towards the sudden presence. 

The problem with instinct was that your body moved before your mind could decide to. Her fist was mere inches from his face when she finally realized what she was doing. Michael’s hand swung out to block the blow, fingers curling around her hand as he caught the punch mid-air. Emily’s heart was racing in her chest and the boy-wonder could feel her heartbeat through her hand. 

Power flickered through the air. Michael feeling like he was on the other end of an electrical shock. Gently, he let her hand go and it pulled back to her side as if his touch was fire.

“Careful,” He warned, a crooked smile curling at his lips. Emily’s eyes narrowed ever slightly. “You’ll end up giving someone a black eye.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed ever slightly, biting back a retort. If someone didn’t want a black eye, they shouldn’t sneak up on others. She was tempted to throw the other fist… but she doubted her headmistress would approve.

“You have conquered transmutation,” Cordelia noted, the pair turning back to the current supreme. Michael stepped back from her charge with the expression of a content cat. The Supreme’s frown was more prominent now, her eyes filled with annoyance she could no longer hide. “Now it is time for you to conquer the next task.”

She spared a glance at Ariel who stood beside her. He beamed at his student, looking to the woman beside him with an air of smug contempt. He was comically shorter than the woman, but her own expression did nothing to squash his silent gloating.

“One of your mentors has hidden something in this room. Find it using divination.”

Michael stepped around Emily, the girl taking a step away from him as he made his way towards the blonde woman. Stopping before her, he held out a hand palm-up. After a moment, Cordelia placed a dozen or so runes and bones into his hand. 

Turning on his heel and taking a few deliberate steps, Michael crouched in front of the fire. He tossed the objects onto the floor. Emily stared at them, trying to sense their meaning. She had read tarot cards before — accurate readings, too… or so her friends had said. Runes and bones, however, were another beast entirely.

The bookshelf. Her own thought startled her as if she had heard another’s voice inside her head. She watched Michael’s eyes flicker up to one of the many bookshelves. 

Then he was gone, vanishing into thin air. Emily moved closer to the wall, hairs standing on end once more. The next thing she knew, the boy-wonder was standing next to his headmaster who jumped as a hand was placed on his shoulder.

“I believe this is yours,” Michael said to the man. Ariel grinned and laughed, patting the boy on the back as he took back his pocket watch.

With every task, Cordelia’s mood soured. Anyone outside of Robichaux wouldn’t have been able to tell the slight difference in her demeanor. Her posture straightened into a thin line, her eyes growing sharper and sharper until her gaze could cut stone.

Pyrokinesis and Vitalum Vitalis. Michael made them look easy. Flames roared when drops of his blood hit the wick of a candle. He made a mouse come back alive after snapping his neck.

The latter disturbed Emily more than the former. Emily realized she had never seen anything die before. She’d experienced death, naturally — old pets and family members passing to the other side. There was something about the sharp cracking of tiny bones accompanied by a shrill shriek that made all her hairs stand on end. Her body buzzed and she felt a momentary pressure on her forehead. 

Zoe turned at the sudden snap of power which echoed through the room. Emily stared at the sight before her, her eyes distant. It unnerved Zoe, the way the other girl stared. It felt like a black void had curled around Emily. 

The second the mouse was brought back to life, the spell which entranced the woman broke. Clarity came back to Emily’s eyes and she finally felt the presence of eyes upon her. Zoe averted her gaze, pretending she had seen nothing. 

“And so, we arrive at the final test,” Cordelia announced, “Descensum.”

Slowly, Michael’s hands came to rest behind his back. The more wonders he accomplished, the more contempt he held. Cordelia worried what his plans for the coven were. There was something about that boy that sat her on edge.

Her eyes flickered to Emily for but a moment, watching her whisper something to Queenie. Green eyes widened at the senior witch’s response.

Emily’s attention darted between the line of witches now standing before the fire. Queenie had chosen to stay with the younger witch to explain what was going on.  

“What’s Decensum?” Emily asked

“To prove you are the next supreme, you have to go to hell.”

“Hell?”

“I didn’t believe it at first, either.” Queenie said, “but, then again, I’m a human voodoo doll so anything is possible.”

Emily’s lips twisted as she took in the information, trying to decide how she felt about the concept of hell existing. She had never been a particularly religious person… agnostic at best. It was an existential conundrum — one existing thus implying the other did as well.

Closing off her thoughts, Emily forced herself to save the existentialism for after their little trip. Hopefully, by then she would forget about it entirely.

Cordelia’s voice pulled them from their whispered conversation. Their headmistress’s voice rang loud and clear throughout the room, demanding attention.

“But today I am not asking you to perform this wonder,” The Supreme continued, dragging her eyes back to Michael, “I am asking you to conquer it.”

Emily’s eyes flickered back to Queenie as she shifted to her other foot, eyes narrowed at her supreme and brows furrowed. 

“What is she doing?” Queenie muttered. Emily pulled her eyes away from her companion and looked to the scene before her. The wizards shifted uncomfortably, lips pressing into thin lines. Emily’s eyes then settled back on Cordelia.

“I’d like you to retrieve my dear friend, Misty Day,” the blonde woman continued, “who lost her own battle with this very task.”

“That’s impossible!” one of the warlock’s snapped, an African American man — Behold — dressed to impress in the same black color they all donned. “Those who don’t return from Decensum are gone forever; property of the underworld. 

“But even Orpheus was able to challenge Hades to bring back Eurydice,” Emily muttered. She felt eyes upon her, but when she looked to the boy-wonder his attention was solely on Cordelia.

Queenie spared the girl a glance, “What was that?” 

Emily slowly removed her eyes from Michael, “Nothing.”

““No other Supreme’s been made to do this, ever. This is not only unfair,” Another wizard — Baldwin — noted, angry eyes encased by thick-rimmed glasses, “this is suicide!”

Cordelia cut them off with ease, “Which is why I offer a compromise.”

The Supreme looked to Emily expectantly. The brunette glanced about the room, unsure of what was coming. Finally, after a good moment, she stepped out of the shadows. Cordelia offered her a reassuring smile as Emily came to stop by her side. She could feel the warlock’s eyes on her and she found herself focusing on the floor after meeting their gaze.

“Emily is a catalyst,” Cordelia explained to the warlocks. “One of the strongest I have ever seen. While she has yet to show any magical ability, we have found that others of our kind can tap into her magic and use it to power their own.”

“This is sabotage!” Baldwin said, his pose reminding Emily of a hungry wolf. What was Cordelia thinking? She wasn’t ready for this. She didn’t want this. She didn’t— 

“Michael will need all the help he can get,” Cordelia reminded. 

All this while, Ariel had been quietly fuming. He should have known the witches would try and undermine the alpha. Jaw clenched and expression sour, he did his best to keep his cool.

“Enough.” He said, head turning to his fellow warlocks before his gaze returned to the blonde witch, “Cordelia—”

Cordelia’s head cocked ever slightly to the side, waiting for him to speak.

“I need a word.” He finally concluded, words rushing past his lips. Cordelia simply nodded, and he led the way back into the shadow-filled halls of Hawthorne.

***

“You’re changing the rules!” Ariel exclaimed, voice rising and anger taking the forefront as soon as they were out of earshot. He paced back and forth in his office, trying to contain his rage. “Michael should only have to descend as you did!”

Cordelia stood calmly at the center of the room, poised with her hands resting in front of her. Her stillness was unsettling… more similar to a snake than a woman. It only served to anger Ariel more, waving his hands as he talked just to keep from imploding.

“You didn’t see what I saw,” the woman noted, voice stern and unwavering. Stubborn. Just like her mother. “Our world hangs in the balance. There is darkness coming and, if Michael is going to be the one who leads, us he needs to be able to withstand anything.”

Ariel stopped in his tracks.

“Bullshit.”

Cordelia’s gaze was as cutting as a knife, her hushed tone betraying her surprise, “excuse me?”

“I saw you drop. I know what’s really happening here.” Ariel said, satisfied as Cordelia’s face fell into a frown. “You’re fading, but you’re afraid to let go.”

“And you’ve hit a wall. Grand Chancellor is as far as you’re going to get,” Cordelia spat, “You and your powers have reached their limit. Your kingdom will only just be this hole in the ground.”

Ariel sputtered, unable to find a single retort. The woman was a scorpion and she was more than ready to sting him with her tail.

“Unless, of course,” She continued, “you use Michael to extend your influence.”

“This is pathetic — accusing me to cover your blatant attempt at his life. I won’t lose that kid over some sad, futile cling to power.”

“I’ll remind you that I am also risking one of my own girls in this venture.”

“An inexperienced whelp!”

“Who has more untapped potential than you can ever dream to have!” Cordelia snapped, “You may insult me, but I will not let you insult one of my girls.”

“But you would send her to her death… What a supreme you are.”

“You actually believe I am trying to get them killed?”

Ariel took a step towards the woman, then another, “What I think, Cordelia, is that you are your mother’s daughter, who I knew fairly well. You may come with a kinder facade, but deep down, you’re nothing more than a weak, frightened woman… just like Fiona.”

He watched as Cordelia’s eyes betrayed her fear, her insecurity. Ariel had hit the pressure point, the Achilles heel. Cordelia’s sad eyes hardened, her own rage boiling in her belly.

“With a flick of my finger, I could crush your larynx and tear it from your throat.” Cordelia warned, “Do not think for one second I am weak. I have humored you men, and coddled your fragile egos, but in no way does that mean you actually have a say.”

The woman took a step towards the man, forcing him to step back in turn. “I outrank you. I can destroy you. So, I suggest you fall in line because I am still your Supreme.”

A creaking interrupted them, their eyes trailing to the door which now stood open. Michael stood, doors moving without his touch. His hands sat behind his back with a solemn and resolute expression. 

He locked gazes with Cordelia. There was something about his eyes that made her hair stand on end. He looked human, but his eyes seemed off and his presence made her stomach churn.

“It’s okay,” he said, “I’ll get your friend back.”

***

The warlocks and witches had divided themselves in opposite corners of the room, leaving Emily to stand aimlessly in front of the fire. Their whispering was a roaring sea in her ears, an annoying buzz to a mosquito she couldn’t squash. She found her head quirking just to free her ears from the sound.

 Sparing a glance at the warlocks, she was met with narrowed and sharp glances. Baldwin spared a look in her direction before turning back to Behold to whisper something. They turned their backs so she wouldn’t read their lips. 

The gaze of her fellow witches was less than reassuring, themselves whispering about the circumstances just as the warlocks. Zoe looked up and the younger witch quickly averted her gaze. Cordelia’s announcement blind-sided them all. Emily had always said she was going to go to hell… she just never expected it to come this soon.

“Cordelia’s sending her to her death!” She heard Madison hiss.

“Keep your voice down, bitch!” Queenie responded, slapping the girl’s arm before they also turned to keep Emily from hearing their conversation. 

With a sigh, the brunette turned her gaze back to the fire. Curling her arms around herself, she stared into the flickering flames. Fire had always comforted her, its warmth and snapping flames. She could stare at it for hours, trying to make meaning out of the chaos. 

Higher, she commanded in her mind, watching a single flame sputter higher before returning to its place. When she was small, she’d amuse herself for hours with the instances of coincidence, commanding waves to rise or wind to howl and pretending she had any control over it. 

It was the silence Emily noticed first. It pulled her from her mulling like ice water poured over her head. Slowly she turned to find Michael standing behind her. He watched her eyes dilate at his sudden presence before returning back to normal, allowing him to watch the colors of her hazel eyes switch ever slightly. The girl practically vibrated with anxiety.

“Cordelia says you are a catalyst.”

“Try a charger hit with lightning,” Emily noted with a scoff. Michael’s head turned slightly to the side, analyzing her response. The gusto behind her words quickly faded, hand moving to fret with her bracelet. “Or… at least, I’ve been told.”

Holding out a hand, he watched it as she regarded it. Eyes once wide in doe-like fear narrowed into calculating pinpricks. Blue eyes stared at her, judging which piece in the puzzle she was. She didn’t look him in the eyes for very long. 

“Shall we?” Michael asked.

Hesitantly, her hand rose from her side and her eyes flickered to his face. She was searching for something. Neither of them knew what, but whatever she saw was satisfactory enough for her to place her hand in his own.

Emily had never been one for physical contact. Her high-school years had been spent perfecting the art of walking down a crowded hall without brushing a single arm. Michael’s hand was warm, somewhere between natural and unnatural. It was as if the boy had a fever. 

Her hand, in contrast, was unnaturally cold. Her fingers were like ice against his flesh and twitched slightly at the contact. 

“Tell me what I need to do.”

“Just focus on my words,” He told her, true meaning lingering in the air.

And don’t mess up.

*** 

Emily’s nose itched and her head buzzed, but she did her best to ignore it. It was as if there were a hundred bees in her body, all batting their wings at once. She had yet to get used to the infrequent thrumming of her bones.

The silence was oppressive, sounds of breathing and footsteps more akin to howling wing and roaring thunder. Cordelia knelt beside them, muttering spells as she slowly wound a ribbon to connect Emily’s hands with Michael’s. 

When she looked up to the warlocks, they were whispering one another. As before, they shielded their faces from view, glancing back at Cordelia every few seconds. 

Emily found herself speaking before she could think, the monotonous silence far too overwhelming, “So which underworld do you have to conquer?”

Michael’s voice was somewhere between bored and annoyed. 

“Does it really matter?”

“I mean… different religions have different tales — Greek, Christian, Egyptian — it changes based upon the culture.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that, dear,” Myrtle spoke with a small chuckle. She did not even try to mask her contempt of the boy. “it’s all semantics.”

“Until you have to have Anubis weigh your heart,” Emily muttered to herself. A smile flickered to Michael’s face and left just as quickly.

The boy-wonder laid on the floor, his head in Emily’s lap. Her hands were placed on his chest where his arms crossed like he was buried in a casket. His golden hair tickled her arm. She could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to look at him. 

What did Cordelia expect her to do? Even if she was a catalyst, she couldn’t control that power. Emily’s hands felt clammy in boy-wonder’s. Suddenly the ribbon felt itchy and his hands too warm.

Apparently, the binding was supposed to channel her magic into his own. Emily just thought it made her look stupid. Cordelia gave her a reassuring smile as she finished tying off the brunette’s right hand. Touching the girl’s cheek, the Supreme pretended Emily’s jaw wasn’t tense beneath her fingers.

The coven gathered, standing around the pair. They were like giants, looming over them. Emily was less than pleased about having someone at her back. Michael felt her fingers twitch against his own.

“Ready?” Michael asked the girl, forcing her to finally meet her gaze. Emily nodded and his eyes looked past her and towards the ceiling.

“Repeat after me,” He told her, “and focus on the words.”

“Got it,” Emily said, voice barely louder than a whisper. 

“Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum,” He began to chant, “ut salutaret inferi.”

“Dedice me in tenebris,” she repeated, doing her best to put weight behind every word, “vita ad extremum…”

“Decensum.” They spoke in unison. 

Myrtle stood by Cordelia, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as the blonde fretted at her necklace. Emily would alright, she reasoned. The transfer of power did not mean she would be lost to the underworld forever. 

The rest of the witches looked towards their fellow sisters. Eyes shifted between their companions and the girl on the floor, gaging their reaction to what was occurring before them.

“Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum,” Emily continued to mutter, Michael’s voice already falling silent as he descended. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, hands squeezing the boy’s. “ut salutaret—”

Her breath left her like a sigh. With a dull thump, Emily fell limp to the floor. Her body curled around Michael’s head; hands still outstretched towards his. The rope that bound them together burned until it was ash. Their hands were still connected, holding onto each other as if their lives depended upon it. 

Zoe lurched forward instinctively, a spell already on her lips. Cordelia’s hand shot out, her arm keeping the other woman from taking another step. 

“No,” she said, voice betraying her concern, “we must not interfere.”

“She’s not ready for this!” Madison said, rounding the group so Cordelia was forced to look her in the eye. The ex-movie star gestured towards the sleeping girl. “She can’t even make a flower change colors and you expect her to find her way out of hell?”

Cordelia was less than impressed with her student’s reaction.

“You underestimate her power.”

“And what would that be?” Ariel demanded, voice raised and hands clenched to fists at his sides. The Supreme could feel his eyes boring into the side of her face. 

Slowly, Cordelia turned to regard him.

“Emily’s power is entangled between this dimensions and the next,” she said, trying to convey her urgency with every word. It was getting hard to keep her anger from overflowing. “A rare gift. There is no one more suited to this task than her.”

Brown eyes flickered to the slumbering girl, her body lacking its previous tensions. It was the calmest Cordelia had ever seen her. A small, proud smile claiming her lips.

“When she is finally able to pull that power into the waking world,” Cordelia noted, eyes boring into Ariel’s like a knife, “she will be a force to be reckoned with.”

[hitchell-mope]

(Third film. After “I’ve gotta be me”. Uma looks around nervously)

Uma: I really hope nobody in there heard that

Ben: nah, don’t worry, I shielded and soundproofed is from them

Uma: surprisingly thoughtful, uhhhh, aheh, at this point I usually call you derogatorily by your last name

Ben: Le Roi. Well legally it’s Bach. But officially it’s Le Roi

Uma: Benjamin. Florian. Le Roi. Do you have any idea how fucking ridiculous that sounds?

Ben: and your last name would be

Uma: Facillier. She doesn’t have a last name

Ben: ah.

Uma: oh. Oh my.

Ben: what’s up? Oh. Yeah he does that.

Uma: s’clever.

Ben: that’s Doug for you

Uma: why am I interested by that

Ben: we’re eighteen. And therefore weak to his power.

(They’re watching Doug eat a bowl of peanuts with just his tongue. Ben snaps out of the stupor first)

Ben: moving swiftly onwards. Hit me

Uma: heh?

Ben: hit me, sock me one, deck me, gimme a knuckle sandwich. Any variations the phrase retains the same meaning. Punch me in the face.

Uma: why?

Ben: I’ve got a theory I wanna test out.

Uma: but aren’t you...

Ben: ...more powerful then you? Yes. So make sure to give it you’re all then. C’mon, cahmon. C’mon, cahmon. HitmehitmehitmehitmehitmeWOOOO

(Uma slogs him around the face do hard he flips horizontally in midair and lands flat on his back right next to where the gazebo was. A full three feet away)

Uma: Z’that what you wanted?

Ben (utterly jubilant): as a matter of fact. Yes

Uma: so now what? Gonna Tell the missus?

Ben: nope. I’m gonna offer you a job.

Uma: ahahah that’s funny. I thought you said you were offering me a job?

Ben: I figure. If you put that much effort punching me. You’ll put the same effort into protecting me.

Uma: n-no, no, you’re not supposed to do that. You’re supposed to hate me. I had you kidnapped. I almost had you thrown to sharks. I hypnotised you. I almost capsized your stinking yacht. And you wanna give me the job of protecting you? Who the fuck does that?!?! For all you know I could do that again?

Ben: now why would you do that when our interests align? Besides the fact that I forgive you. I want to get kids off the island. You want to get kids off the island. What better way to do that then by working together? And yeah. You could probably do that again. But I’m willing to take that chance.

Uma (as Ben’s saying all this, and devolving into tears): no, no, shut up I your forgiveness that’s not how it’s supposed to go you’re supposed to hate just like I hate her will you SHUT UP

Ben: ooh. (Through a Cheshire Cat grin) Finally

(She’s skewered Ben in the stomach with her sword. He smiles, bends the blade in half, pulls it out of him and throws it upwards. He leaps up ten foot in the air and gives it a flying kick, shattering it into a chunky powder. He lands next to Uma, conjures an umbrella, pulls her close and lifts the umbrella over them just as the powder lands on their heads. In response she blasts him away with magic. What follows is a very violent, very acrobatic duel that trashes the garden, obliterates what’s left of the gazebo and Harry, gives Uma a broken arm, Ben a broken nose and leaves both of them missing a foot each. As a form of foreshadowing, throughout the entire fight the instrumental for “superhero” plays)

Uma: god I hope you’re happy

Ben: I am actually. Cause now I know I’m right

Uma: what?

Ben: we are both almost perfectly evenly matched. My twelve months of sheer power with your eighteen years of practice and look what we managed to do?

Uma: give your future sister in law a coronary?

Ben: fight to a stalemate. Please? For six months. You’ll get paid to yell at people and beat them up if necessary

Uma:...no

(This is when “superhero” happens. After the song Ben starts fixing the garden)

Uma: ok then. Let’s say I did take the job? Wouldn’t one of your own be more trustworthy?

Ben: Jane’s still in school. Lonnie’s going off to college with Gil next year and she was only filling in for the summer anyway. And Doug’s my major-domo. So can’t choose them even if I wanted to.

Uma: and the other three?

Ben: conflict of interest. Carlos is legally my son and he’s also still in school. Mals my fiancé and Evie’s her sister. So again. No go.

Uma: couldn’t you...

Ben: duplicate myself and have him as my bodyguard? I could. But then I’d be breaking my promise to my mother

Uma: huh?

Ben: she was ok with me having magic so long as I legitimately practiced it, didn’t use it for schoolwork, didn’t use it for paperwork, didn’t use it for personal gain, and it didn’t give my subjects cause to worry. For a year at least

Uma: personal gains the best part of magic though

Ben: last time a king used the power he’d been afforded for personal gain...well. You grew up in the result so telling you wouldn’t achieve anything

Uma: oh. But...

Ben: I could use my magic to quicken the relocation? Like I said. Paperwork, personal gain, worrying the subjects. It’s definitely something that needs to happen. But I’m not taking shortcuts because it needs to be done properly and through the correct channels.

Uma: well that’s bullshit. Wait. What was all that fighting singy thing for then?

Ben: loophole

Uma (snickering): oh beasty boy you are perfect

Ben: why thank you kindly captain

Uma (flatly): Don’t push it

Ben: ok, ok

Uma: I’m serious though. The best part about magic is that you can do anything you want

(This is when “everything is not what it seems” happens. After the song they go back into the house to find it in chaos. Doug has Cj in a full Nelson with her head near the lit stove. Elsa’s downing an entire bottle of sambuca. Evie’s preventing Harriet and Hades from trying to patch up Harry. Mal has stuck Hadie to the sofa so he can’t help Harry. Jane’s drunkenly yelling about how much she loves her friends. Carlos is on Jay’s back, Celia and Dizzy are hanging off Jay’s arms and all four are chanting “kill her” at Doug. Lonnie’s eating a sloppy joe omelette and watching the events unfold intently. Gil is swirling round a smoothie. He notices them first)

Gil: oh you’re back. Finally. D’you wanna...?

Ben: yeah. Um...ooh. Yes that’s it. Uma. Take half of this sceptre and follow my lead

(He snaps his own, collapsible sceptre in half, hands one of those halves to Uma, jumps onto the kitchen island, helps Uma up and together they spin each half until they make a high pitched screeching sound that makes the chaos stop)

Ben: could all my friends please come over to my side

Uma: alright you useless fuckers, SIDDOWN!!!!

Ben: now, what happened

Uma: yeah ceej, what did you do?

Cj: why do you assume I did anything when it was clearly this heterosexual imbecile

Uma: cause I know you kid, since you were five in fact, so I know it was probably your doing

Ben: what happened Doug?

Doug: she insulted Evie and I in our own house, belittled our relationship and tried to stab me in the head with a rotisserie blade. And I f that wasn’t bad enough

Evie: she called me a traitor and slapped me around the face

Doug: and that is how the situation you walked in on transpired.

Cj: bald faced lies

Uma: eh I believe it. What about you beasty boy?

Ben: sounds airtight

Cj: I cannot and refuse to believe that

Uma: that I believe him over you? Well get used to kiddo. Ya just like Harry, no matter how much ya try to deny it

Ben: one question tbough. How are you a traitor

Mal: oooh yeah, you dunno do you? It’s ugly. Just like every Hook in existence

Evie: if everyone must know. When I was fourteen she flirted with me. And I turned her down

Cj: her mother braINWASHED HER

Everyone except for her siblings: shut up!

Evie: I turned her down. Because. A. I’m straight. And. B. Even if I wasn’t, I have higher standards then filthy pirates

Ben: were you rude?

Evie: pardon?

Ben: were you rude? Sometimes you can be a little bit rude.

Evie: if I remember correctly my exact words were “I’m very sorry but my gang sent me on a mission so I must go”

Ben: that was very polite

Evie: thank you. Plus. I even withheld the information from Grimhilde cause I know she wouldn’t take it well.

Cj: What has that got to do with anything?

Evie: Quinn Harts

(The room seems to grow colder as hades and the Vks, including the hooks, all look at each other uneasily)

Cj: oh. So it’s not because you’re

Evie: homophobic? God no. It was incompatible orientation pure and simple.

Cj (chuckling nervously now because the eggs on her face): but you see I thought

Doug: all straight people are jackasses? Quite a few are. But Evie and I aren’t. If we’re being wholly honest. Your sexuality is literally the only thing I respect about you. If you weren’t a pirate I might’ve even introduced you to my cousin Sadie. But you’re an asshole. So I won’t

Ben: good to hear that’s all cleared up

Evie: we are as well. Now. You three. Get the fuck out of my house. You stray bitches have been here too long. I’m sure there’s a nice posture ruining rock outside for you to sleep on

Harriet: we’re family

Hadie: actually. No. You and straw girl aren’t our family. Harry is. But not you.

Evie: nah. He can piss off too. I’m still waiting for a dna test. Until then. He can rot from the inside for all I care.

Mal: even when the test is confirmed he can still rot. (Uma scowls at her) What? It’ll be funny

Elsa: Jay. C’mere. Would it be completely out of the question for you to replicate your previous spell.

Jay: uhhhh....No. But I’d need a living conduit. Like a performer.

Hadie: I’ll do it. The party’s dying and that won’t do. What? I’m a disciple of Dionysus. Partying is literally my job description.

Elsa: as well as loose morals.

Hadie: harsh much?

Jay: she means you sleeping around with any dude that looks at you nicely. Ready

Hadie: fire away

Jay: To get rid of these ants in their pants/I command thee all to get up and dance. Again

(This is when “shut up and raise your glass” happens. After the song everyone but Hadie, Jayand Elsa looks very disgruntled)

Mal: seriously? Again? That’s like twice in one hour

Jay: had to be done. And it’s of my professional opinion that every time you guys get uppity I’m gonna help instigate an impromptu rave

Ben: well it worked. And it was funny. So two birds one stone. Now. I believe Doug and Evie asked you three to leave

Harriet: ya cannae do that man. Ya don’t have the authority

Doug: ok then. Get out of our house. NOW!

Harry: no I. I don’t think we will.

Celia: get out. Or I’ll throw you out.

Cj: you and what army?

Celia: this one

(Here is glow fuchsia and the wall is washed down in shadows)

Harriet: d’ya really think I’m scared of a little girl like you?

Ben: to hell with this. May I?

Doug: please

Ben: thank you. (He jumps off the kitchen island, lifts Harriet off the ground by her coat collar with one hand, morphs his face into that of a beast and screams in her face) GET OOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!

(There’s a moment of deathly quiet. Harriet whimpers. There’s a sound like a leaky faucet. And Ben morphs back to his human face which now bears a look of disgust)

Ben: did you just...?

Harriet: it’s been a really stressful day with no let up

Ben: uh-huh. (He drops Harriet on the floor and turns to his brother) Gil, buddy, uh

Gil (stony faced): burn the shoes then burn them again then throw them out.

Ben: on it

(He poofs out. Celia turn to Doug and Evie)

Celia: my turn?

Evie: yup. But don’t break the glass

Celia: perfect (she grabs Harriet by the back of her coat) out ya go rummy. (She throws her towards the window making her dissipate into shadow before contact). I’ve wanted to do this for years (she slaps Harry around the face, he too turns into shadow) buh bye you fatuous egotist (she pulls Cj’s hair and the final pirate disappears into smoke) that felt good

Uma: where did you put them?

Celia: eh don’t worry. I put them in the nautilus. Now. Shall we crack on with the party?

Everyone but Uma: HEAR HEAR

(Mal inches over to Jane and Lonnie)

Mal: what do you say we get some air for a while

(They nod and two minutes later they’re all on the bench laughing their asses off about certain unsavoury topics)

Lonnie (crying due to laughter but still trying to speak): all I’m saying is going to my grans seventieth in my ROAR uniform is nothing compared to you and Ben and his you know what

Mal (in the same state as Lonnie): its still pretty damn funny though

Jane: my mother should be here

(The other two stop laughing)

Mal: I know hon

Jane: but if she were here she’d complain. “Leave room for Jesus”. “Time for the lobster quadrille”. “I know you can now but you shouldn’t drink when you have guests”. The only ones I wanted to invite are here. Plus the four stooges. And she didn’t even show up to the party she made me have!

Lonnie: oooh please can I call the squid a stooge M? Pretty please with merlot on top?

Mal: you shouldn’t really be calling her a squid or a stooge. But if you do. Ok not responsible for what happens to ya.

Lonnie: fine.

Mal: now Janey. What say you we try and get all these annoyances out huh?

Jane: errrr...I’m game if you are.

Mal: perfect. (She gets up, goes to the midpoint between the bench and the gazebo and magically constructs a model version of Verna) now. What do you wanna say to her?

Jane: I ha...I can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry.

Mal: it’s ok bud.

Lonnie: could uh could music help? Possibly?

Jane: it might. I dunno.

Mal: shall we try it?

Jane: yes. And uh. You can vent too, I mean, if you want.

Lonnie and Mal: well alright then

(Mal clicks her fingers, a copy of Maleficent and Fa Li appear and music starts up. This is when “you don’t own me happens”. After the song they look and feel better. That’s when they hear Evie scream a profanity and a slap rings out from the kitchen)

Mal (heaving a heavy sigh): and once again. Chaos reigns supreme.

Lonnie: I’ll stay with Jane. You go.

Mal: I’ll send Hadie out to keep you company

(She goes back inside just in time for Evie to stalk past her. Hades is on the floor with a slightly shocked expression, a handprint on his face and he’s apologising profusely to Doug)

Mal: you got it down here? (Doug nods). Good. I’ll go kick her head into gear.

(She heads upstairs. Doug turns to back to Hades)

Hades: I’m so sorry my boy, I was just trying to help, if I caused——

Doug: yeah, no, my opinion of you doesn’t matter. Only Evie’s does. I want to ask you a question.

Ben: uh. Doug. Can I eat what’s left in the freezer? Only I can smell somethings about to go out of date

Doug: yeah sure. There only meat products in it. Go crazy. But please please mute the chewing.

Ben (brightly): thank you!

Hades: what is it you want to know

Doug: Maleficent

(Up in the guest room. Evie enters in a huff and slams the door to show Mal hiding behind it)

Mal (sardonically imitating a British accent): hello Harold (Evie screams in surprise) we need to talk

Evie (fed up): what? What now? What could we possibly have to talk about?

Mal: what I thought you got over earlier toady

Evie (cackles hollowly): THAT? That! Was a fluke. And then he tried to “help” me by getting in my way

Mal: has it maybe occurred to you that he actually WAS trying to help?

Evie: if he really wanted to help then he wouldn’t have abandoned me with Grimhilde sixteen years ago

Mal: oh Christ. You know why he did that

Evie: I know why he did it but it still hurt though. He could’ve taken me with him. He could’ve taken us with him

Mal: they wouldve hunted us down and made him watch as they killed us. Or worse

Evie: that doesn’t make me feel any better

Mal (in what she hopes is a comforting voice): look on the bright side. You got me as a sister. That’s gotta count for something, right?

Evie: no, not really.

Mal: urrrrgh. Would me making a fool of myself help you feel less of a loser?

Evie:...mayhaps

Mal: fine. Remember back before graduation we got paired up for the senior class showcase because verna wouldn’t let you and Doug dirty dance?

Evie: yeah

Mal: Bea Arthur or Bette Midler?

Evie (chuckling slightly): surprise me

(Mal clicks her fingers, they’re transported to a music hall stage with an invisible audience and the song starts up. This is when “sisters” happens. After the song Evie looks briefly empowered. Then deflates and flops onto the bed face first. Mal chuckles at this)

Mal: uh. Sis. Your remember that apart from being the guest room, this is Lonnie and Gil’s room as well, right?

Evie (in a muffled tone of voice): what’s your point?

Mal: well besides both being very sweet they’re also a pair of incorrigible gym rats who always forget to clean up the bed before they leave for home. So it wouldn’t be entirely out of the realm of possibility that there’s still a certain amount of used up gym wear under the covers you’re currently laying on...

(Evie’s eyes snap open cartoonishly, she screams, jumps up from the bed, makes claw hands at Mal in an attempt to throttle her, flails at the window, then looks down at her clothes and screams again. Throughout all this Mal is calmly amused, silently watching her sister crisis. When she’s had enough she grabs Evie by the arm and hurls her into the en-suite. Evie re-emerges two seconds later in new clothes and a cloudy expression)

Mal: lemme guess. Doug make that sweater?.

Evie: of course. I can sew. Doug can knit.

Mal: mmkay. Now are you going to get over yourself and let go of this ridiculous grudge you have against our father?

Evie: you just don’t get it do you?

Mal: probably not so enlighten me

Evie: this isn’t something I’m gonna get over in a day. This isn’t mamma Mia. I found out who my father was in the middle of a crappy day with even more crappy events piled on it. The man I love was put in a coma. My daughter was missing for most of the day. Ive had to fight for my life at least twice. I’ve had no time to process any of this. And you’re expecting me to get over this massive family reveal instantaneously? No. Something like this will take a lot longer then a day to get over. He abandoned me. I understand why he did it. But it still hurts. And as much as you say that you’re not like me. You have to understand that I’m not like you either. I’m angry. I’m angry he could’ve been there for me and wasn’t. And that anger’s not gonna go away any time soon. Either accept that or get out of my face

Mal: ahhhh. Ok. Now I understand. Katara

Evie: what?

Mal: you’re acting like katara. She was mad that her dad went off to war because she was a kid who needed him but felt like she couldn’t be because the reason for him leaving was noble. Dad let us go to save our lives. So you feel pissed that he left us. But you also feel like you can’t be cause of the REASON he left. It’s ahh, it’s a dilemma for sure

Evie: that’s not a dilemma. A dilemma is deciding between chicken and fish at your wedding. This is an impasse

Mal: mhmm, mhmm, uh huh. You know what would help.

Evie: what?

Mal: talking to him. And I mean not just calling him a rat bastard abandoner. Actually talk to him.

Evie: it’s not that easy M. Not when you were raised by Grimhilde. Not when every time you try to talk something out your met with scorn.

Mal: ohhhh. So that’s where “when in doubt, don’t” came from.

Evie: yup.

Mal: you were the good child. The golden daughter. You never misbehaved and you never spoke up for yourself. And now it come back to use your posterior as an entree.

Evie: yup. So you understand why it’s difficult for me. I can’t. I just can’t. Not after how my upbringing went.

(This is when “here I am” happens. After the song Evie confronts Hades in the kitchen just as he’s finishing his talk with Doug)

Hade:...I’m sorry my boy that’s all I know. Hello dear

Evie: I’m mad at you. I’m always gonna be mad at you. But. I don’t hate you. If I’m being honest, to protect Dizzy, I would’ve done the same. But it’s going to take time for me to...accept you.

Hades: I understand

Hadie: per...perhaps it would help if she saw it. The uh...incident in question, pops, maybe she’d understand a bit more if she saw what happened?

Evie: what, what incident

Mal (who’s been listening in): when he made the decision to stop contacting us.

Hades: I’m going to need a wand. And...A hat.

(Mal takes the sceptre, shrinks it down so it resembles a wand, ignores Uma’s incensed expression and hands it to her father while Hadie hands him his top hat. Hades sticks the wand handle in his right ear up to the emitter, to the teenagers collective disgust, roots around for a minute, then pulls out what looks like ash grey smoke tinged with midnight blue and pours it all into the top hat)

Hades: there you go. Just put the hat on the floor and spin

Doug (taking the hat): thanks. I think.

Mal: that looks worse then the hair ball Dude coughed up at his birthday party last month

Doug: how can...

Mal: don’t ask

Doug: ready

Evie: I guess

(In devies room. They’re sitting in the footlocker at the bottom of they’re bed)

Doug: now remember. No ones pressuring you into anything. You can stop any time

Evie: you’re very sweet. But I need to do this.

Doug: well ok then

(He sets the hat on the floor and spins. It goes faster and faster until it’s a blur. Light fills the room and replaces it with an alleyway on the island. They see Hades in his John Barrowman guise arguing with Grimhilde. He obviously loses since he gets a horrified expression on his face and leaves as Grimhilde smirks. There’s no sign of Evie. In Hades’s lair)

Anastasia: it couldn’t have been that bad

Hades (now Sebastian Stan): they both said the same thing. Iris and Hestia will be imperilled if I remain in contact. I have no choice. Please Antoine. For me

Facilier (wearily): only if you’re sure

Hades: yes. It doesn’t matter about me. Do it. Now.

(In the foyer)

Doug: are you ok?

Evie: no. But I want to keep watching

Doug: as you wish

(Anastasia pours Hades a drink and Facillier gets started. This is when “losing your memory” happens)

[soriseerakyra]

A Flight of Fancy -1- (Black!Batmom)

AN: So hi I know this is the first story I’ve posted in months and that there are tons of other things that I still have to write and catch up with, but this request was important to me so that’s why I did it first. I’m not sure when I’ll feel like talking about why I’ll was gone, but I will be trying to post more regularly from now on (Trying!). Anyway way thank you to @farala-sunita for the request and the detail given. It really helped me get this story out faster than I would have other wise.

TW: Guns and Gunfire,a hostage situation, and a few cuss words

“I don’t see you, are you sure I’m at the right place,” You mutter into your phone.  Rocking forward on to the balls of your feet you try to see through the crowded club. The heavy bass and the flashing lights are making it even harder to see the people you’re looking for.

“Ari is going to jump, she’s wearing one of those busted silver wings she likes,” A slightly irritated voice responds. You hear a small voice squeak out a perturbed ‘HEY!’ through the phone.

Moments later you see a small head rise above a group of girls. It is in fact a silver wig, not as horrible as some of Ari’s wigs usually are, and cutely styled in a pair of pig tails. Her short arms waved as she jumped, making her look like an excited fairy.

“I see her,” You say with a chuckle.

“Good, now hurry the hell up,” The phone clicks off quickly.

You roll your eyes at the tone but simply shrug it off.

Working your way through the gyrating bodies of the crowd, you have to apologize more than once when your hips bump into unsuspecting couples. Luckily none seemed too bothered by the intrusion, opting more to try and coerce you to dance once they see your figure than turn you away. Your cheeks warm at the invitation, but you politely decline.

“You guys got a table?” You question breathlessly as you come upon your group of friends.

A tall woman with honey brown skin stands with her hands on her hips, she flicks her eyes up and down your form, “It’s not like we haven’t been planning this for months, it just took to ‘til now for you to show up.”

“Sorry Kenya,” You say sheepishly. “We get swamped so easily, it’s hard to make time, you know that.”

She frowns, dark eyes looking over your form. Under her gaze you shift nervously, and your eyes flick to the other stone faces at the table.

Your eyes bounce back up to her pretty but firm face; you try you best to give her big doe eyes. You two lock eyes for a moment longer.

“Aww you dummy bitch, come here,” A wide smile spreads across her full lips and her long arms envelop you into a warm hug.

You have to stifle a giggle as she warmly rubs her hand up and down your back in sisterly affection. A chorus of cheers ring out from the other girls.

“How have you been, girlie?” She coos as she nuzzles into your curls.

“Okay,” you sigh as you pull back from her and giver her smile.

“Good,” she says slapping you on the back and then throwing an arm around your shoulders. She pulls you close and turns to the other girls, “Now that she’s here, let’s get fucked up!”

***

“What is with this city?” Serena, a mahogany brown beauty with straight dark brown hair and cinnamon highlights, questions exhaustedly as she throws down her second shot of tequila. “I swear almost everyone is on their way to crazy town.”

“There has to be something in the water,” you speak up, “I’ve never seen so many, like, objectively bad people.”

“You just think these people are crazy because you guys have been sheltered so much,” Kenya says taking a long sip from her vodka tonic. “As someone whose been working since they were fourteen, let me tell you, everyone is pretty fucked up. And they’ll do something fucked up to you the first time you let them. You always have to be on guard.”

As if on cue a thump lands on your shoulder, a warm head snuggles into you. You look down and let a small smile cross your face. Ari’s small head slumps against you, her eyes hazy as she drinks the last bit of her margarita. It was only her second drink, but she was already out of it. It was no secret to anyone at the table that neither you or Ari were the most capable of drinkers, but even you can handle more than two drinks; more like three.

“You’re right,” she coo’s drunkenly. “But it’s definitely worse her-*hic*- here.”

“I thought we came here to celebrate,” Jo-Jo, a full cheeked, septum pieced, artist drawls quietly as she sips her Hennessy. “Not to talk about how shitty this city is.”

“Boooo, why don’t you ever let me rant,” Serena, says full red lips pulling down in to a pout. “I don’t have anyone to talk to besides you guys. No one gets it when I say this city is weird, especially at work. They all think that I’m the weird one. Like sorry, I’m not used to niggas robbing banks every day like we’re in the middle of the 19-fucking-20’s.”

Kenya chuckles, “Jo is right though, we’re here to celebrate our two youngest.”

Eyes around the table shift to you and Ari, who gives a lazy thumb up.

“Our two babies here have finally made it too the big city,” Kenya starts with a smile. “No more suburbs, no more living out of mommy and daddies house. They are officially adults.”

A little cheer goes around the table. You feel a little shy at the attention, but Ari cheers loudly.

“So as a little gift we got you girls this,” Kenya, motions to another woman at the table, Chanté. Chanté was a quiet, slightly stern woman. Best friends with Kenya, and surprisingly Ari’s older sister. The woman hands Kenya two envelopes who in turn hands one to you and places the other in front of Ari. “We all chipped in.”

Excitedly you open the envelope and are almost instantly confused, “Happy six months?”

“Well, if you had shown up earlier it would have been the six-month anniversary of you moving into your own apartment.”

“Yeah but, Ken,” You sputter, “This is a congrats on your pregnancy card.”

Sure, enough the mostly white card had a featureless pink drawing of a woman with her hands spread lovingly across her protruding stomach.

“Hey bitch, we can take it back!” She snaps playfully.

“Okay, Okay,” you say fully pulling the card out. You flip open the card and among the words of congratulations, there is a small folded check sitting in the middle of the card. “You didn’t.”

“You haven’t even looked at it yet,” Serena says hazel eyes buzzing with excitement.

Gingerly, you take the check from the card and flip it open; you gasp.

“You guys, this is $7000,” You say slightly shakily as pinpricks of tears begin to assault your eyes.

“Holy shit,” Ari says as she tears into her own card. “What the hell guys?”

“We’re your sisters,” Jo-Jo says with a click of her tongue and a smack of her black painted lips. “Clearly you guys didn’t read our bylaws.”

“Bylaws,” Serena snorts, “No one read them Jo. Ken and Chan wrote them on a piece of notebook paper that was barley legible by the time these two came a long.”

“And they still signed it,” Chanté interrupts speaking for the first time. “If they couldn’t read it they should have said something at the time.”

“Why so you could give them the evil eye? Girl bye,” Serena responds with a roll of her eyes and a flick of her wrist.

Chanté does, indeed, proceed to give her a withering glare.

“We told you we’d take care of you when you graduated right?” Kenya asked looking between the two of you. “We meant to give this to you guys when you first moved here, but some of us weren’t all the way financially stable.”

Serena shifts uncomfortably while Jo-Jo sticks her pierced tongue out at her in defiance.

“And we were supposed to give you this at your six-month anniversary, but we know that didn’t happen.”

This time her accusatory tone is directed at you and you find yourself shifting as well.

“But money a year later is better than no money at all.”

“It’s so much though?” You protest looking between the older women at the table.

“Speak for yourself,” Ari says swooning slightly.

“We figured two months' rent in any decent apartment in this overcrowded city, and a little for expenses and fun,” Chanté said looking at you with a warm smile before her gaze narrowed at her sister. “Ari, give me your check so you don’t lose it.”

The drunk young girl stuck her tongue out at her sister and teasingly waved it at Chanté, “I’m rich you can’t tell me what to do now!”

Chanté snatches the check from Ari’s and stuffs it in her purse, “I hope you know you’re coming home with me. You could never handle your liquor.”

“Whatever, as long as I can see my baby when I get there,” the younger sister croons. Chanté had a Boston Terrier, named Prince who was just as spoiled as the name implied.

“He’s at a sitter, you don’t think I’d leave him alone by himself when we’re going to be out until God knows when,” Chanté reasons.

“Can we get Ice Cream then? I’m really hungry all of a sudden.”

“Are you 12?” Jo-Jo interrupts with a snicker.

A raspberry effortlessly flows from Ari’s lips.

“This means a lot to me Ken,” You say softly while the others engage in a childish argument. “Student loans are a killer.”

“We got you, girlie,” She says with a confident wink. “I know for a fact that if I hadn’t gotten that one big scholarship, I’d still be paying that shit off.”

“Hey, waiter!” Serena shouts banging on the table trying to get anyone’s attention over the bass of the club. “We need shots!”

“Water for me,” you speak up.

“You done for the night?” Ari asks looking at you with big eyes, “You barley drunk anything!”

“I have a shift in the morning I can’t afford to get drunk,” you reason.

“Ugh you and work,” Ari says with a wave of her hand. “You’re almost as bad as those two.”

She jabs a thumb ant Kenya and Chanté both of whom narrow their eyes in irritation.

“We could take our money back,” Chanté says quickly.

“If you do I’m telling mommy.”

“Ugh, he’s not even paying attention,” Serena says practically standing on her seat waving her arms around.

“This isn’t a restaurant, you’re going to have to go up to him,” Jo-Jo says coolly.

“When are you going to come work for us?” Kenya asks looking at you seriously.

“I don’t know, corporate seems scary,” You answer hoping that she’d drop the issue once she sees how uncomfortable you are.

“Yeah it’s scary as hell,” Kenya agrees. “But once you get there and you make a name for yourself, they can’t tell you shit. I’m telling you some of them people be looking at me like I’m crazy when I come up with new ideas, but guess what, they do it. They know the rules: they listen and get paid or don’t and get fired.”

“I-,” you start but she cuts you off.

“Look pulling triple shifts at a bowling alley and waitressing while selling papers to college kids isn’t going to pay the bills forever.”

Your cheeks warm when she calls you out.

“I know you had a bad experience at the place you were at last time, but this is me we’re talking about. You need to put that degree to work. You’re a programmer at heart and I could use you, and you can use the money.”

“I wouldn’t have to work with a lot of people would I?” You ask slightly timidly.

“A small team of like minded people that I picked out myself,” She says with a shrug. “Just come see me this week. Quit those jobs, I’m saving a spot for you.”

You look at the woman whom you’ve called an older sister for years now with wide surprised eyes, “Okay.”

“Okay,” She says with a grin, “Good.”

“I’m going!” Serena says as she forces herself up from her seat.

“Kick his ass!” Ari screams.

“Chan, control your gremlin,” Jo-Jo mutters.

“I’ve been trying since she was six,” The woman in question spits out between clinched teeth.

“We have to get one dance out of this before the night is over,” Kenya says.

“Aww you know, Pea isn’t going to dance,” Ari says snuggling back into you and poking your cheek.

“We’re still calling me, Pea?” You moan slightly embarrassed. Pea was short for Sweet Pea, the name that Ari and Chanté’s mother used to call you when you would stay at their home. The others got hooked on calling you that and the name has stuck.

“Only if it’s a wedding,” Jo-Jo comments slyly.

“Remember when she took it down to the floor?” Kenya laughs

“All the way down,” Ari says slapping your thigh.

“Guys!” You whine, “I don’t want to-”

“HEY LET GO OF ME!” A voice shrieks.

All of you snap your heads toward the voice, the familiarity of the scream sending shivers down your backs.

From your position you can see Serena struggling to wrench her arm away from a figure. The room was still dark and the music was still pounding, making it hard to determine who was holding her.

“What the FUCK!” Kenya screams flying from the booth with Jo-Jo right on her heels.

“Call the police!” Chanté said to you before joining the other girls to help Serena.

“Hurry,” Ari says slapping your shoulders slightly as she got on her knees to watch the situation unfold.

“Trying!” You scream as you as you fiddle through your purse searching for your phone.

“Let go of her asshole!” You hear Kenya scream.

The music is still going but the atmosphere in the club has started to change. You can hear a mumbling break through the crowd. And then the screams started.

“HE’S GOT A GUN!”

It wasn’t the voice of one of your friends it was someone else.

“He’s hurting my sister Pea! What do we do?!” Ari screams.

Your head snaps up to look back to where the situation was unfolding just fast enough to see Chanté fall to the floor holding her cheek.

And while it was an awful sight, it only held your attention for a minute. There wasn’t just one figure over where the girls where, he’d multiplied to at least three or four.

“SOMEONE GET THESE FUCKING LIGHTS ON AND TURN THE GODDAMN MUSIC OFF.”

The command was followed by a rapid succession of gunfire and screams from patrons after. The music went off almost immediately, but the lights were a different story. At least thirty seconds had passed and the lights were still off.

Thinking quickly, you grab Ari’s arm and pull her down with you under the table.

“What are you doing?” She shrieks. “We have to help them!”

“What are we going to do? Think! They have guns” You hiss. “If they don’t see us when the lights come on maybe they won’t know we’re here.”

She looks at you with teary worried eyes and nods her head in agreement, wig shifting slightly.

“While we’re down here we can call the police and tell them what's happening,” You say as level headily as possible, while still searching for your phone.

“What if they kill her, Pea?” She whines her hands coming up to cover her ears as if she was trying to keep her head from spinning, the alcohol likely wasn’t helping.

“They won’t,” You say finally finding your phone and pulling it out. “If they wanted to kill her they just would have shot her.”

She opens her mouth to respond but is startled when the lights of the club finally come back on. The once hazy purple club is sudden lit, almost bone white. The dark table, while still a place of refuge, becomes less bearable as the light reveals the disgusting pieces of gum and other matter that are stuck to the bottom of the piece of furniture. Ari gags when she sees what was under the table that you had all been previously sitting at.  She shakes her head and tries to clear her thoughts.

“We’re going to be okay,” you assure her with a whisper.

You aren’t sure that she hears you, because she either refuses to respond or no longer has the will to.

Shifting your attention back to your phone, you finally begin to dial 911. You press the phone to your ear and wait as the phone rings.

And you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Until finally, the phone clicks ending the call. You pull the phone away from your ear and your brow furrows angrily when you see that you have no service. But that shouldn’t be, you pay your bills on time and even if you didn’t, shouldn’t you be able to place an emergency call?

“Hey boss,” you hear a deep voice call over the whimpering over the crowd. “I shut the phones off but I think someone tried to get a call off.”

Your shoulders tense, we’re they talking about you? You couldn’t have been the only one who tried to get a phone call off could you? Surely, if they were able, someone would have tried to call the police too. And how could they stop phones from making calls?

“Nothing they can do now,” A voice says rather nonchalantly. “We just gotta wait here until we find a way out.”

“You heard the man!” The first voice yells, “Find a way out of here.”

You can hear at least ten pairs of boot clad feet start to move around, hurriedly looking for an emergency exit.

You want to peak out, to see if you can get a glimpse of your friends, but just as you’re about to make a move to do so a large figure stops in front of your table.

A thick pair of legs clad in dark pants and a pair of steel-toed combat boots are now positioned in front of you. You feel a lump form in your throat as the barrel of some type of military grade weapon dangles precariously between you and the figure in front.

Ari too, seems to see the gun and gets frightened. A small gasp leaves her form before she slaps a hand over her mouth.

You shoot impatient eyes at her and she gives you an apologizing look. Her gaze however, turns fearful as she begins to look past you.

Slowly you turn your head, and find yourself staring face to face with angry green eyes. A gloved hand reaches under the table and pulls you out from underneath. You let out a terrified screech.

“Pea!” Jo-Jo’s voice screams out followed by a grunt of pain.

There is some relief in hearing her voice and knowing that she is safe.

Quickly however, the relief is lost as you are smashed against the attacker’s body, his arm around your neck and his other around your wrist squeezing until your hand was forced to drop the phone that you were holding.

“Found the snitch boss,” he says gruffly.

A black masked figure in the center of the room, lording over a horde of whimpering bodies barley looks at him, “Smash the phone.”

The man brings a large leg up and his foot quickly descends on your phone, smashing the screen to bits.

“Done, boss.”

‘Boss’ seemed like he was going to respond when suddenly the lights in the club shut off. It was pitch black; it was so bad you almost couldn’t see in front of you.

“I thought I told you to get those fucking lights on!”

“They are on Boss! At least that’s what the system says,” another crony screams.

“Shit!” Boss says. “That means one thing! It’s the Bat be on guard!”

“Fuck!” The man holding you says gruffly.

He pulls you tighter against him and situates the two of you so that the gun is in front of the both of you. He’s moving frantically, almost spinning around like he’s looking for a ghost.

His movements get more erratic as there starts to be various moans of pain permeating throughout the room.

“Oh God,” he mumbles, “He’s here, he’s going to kill me.”

“Not likely,” a dark voice growls from behind the pair of you.

The man spins and lets off a few shots in the air, screaming in terror as he does so. The heat of the gun causes you to scream slightly.

There is small movement again and the man shoots. The flash of the muzzle lights up the room in front of you and because of it you are just barely able to make out two objects flying directly at your face. They seem to have a mind of their own as they swing around your face to hit the man behind you.

You fall to the floor but before you can right yourself, your leg is pulled and you’re going sliding across the floor.

“Pea?” An unsure voice questions when you finally come to a stop.

A warm hand finds yours and squeezes slightly.

“Ken?” You question.

“Thank God,” she mumbles, “He saved you!”

You all sit in darkness for what feels like ages the only thing that makes time pass is the occasional grunts of the hostage takers. It was the only sign that what you were experiencing was real, that you had really been saved by the Bat.

Soon a large spotlight is flashed into the club and your mind begins to register the police sirens. Had they been there the whole time?

The light illuminates the club and you’re treated to something of a horror show as police officers begin to rush in and secure the scene.  The bodies, not dead, of most of the attackers are hanging from the ceiling by their arms, legs, and whatever else he could grab to string them up.

The man himself is standing not too far from where you are and looking around the room like he was surveying his work.

A strong hand is grabbing your and pulling you out of the club and you allow yourself to be pulled passively.

“Thank you, Batman!” You say loudly hoping he would hear.

There is only a slight turn of his head to let you know that he heard you.

***

“That was quite an experience, are you sure you’re doing better?” A smooth concerned voice asks looking at you with worried brown eyes.

You meet the eyes of your new therapist, Dr. Campbell. An older black woman that reminds you of your mother with her kind and caring face but also with her cutting advice that cuts as much as it does motivate you.

“I mean I think I’m okay,” you answer with a shrug. “I took that job with Kenya, that’s how I got you. And work is good, it’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be.”

“I asked how you were,” She interrupts looking at you with stern brown eyes.

Your eyes flick away from her, as you suddenly find it hard to meet her gaze and tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Finally, you say, “I thought I was going to die. I thought they were going to use me as shield. I thought I’d wouldn’t get to see my family again. I thought my friends were going to have to watch me die. How am I? I’m horrible.”

A box of tissues is shoved in front of your face. You touch your cheek and realize that tears had been rolling down your cheeks.

“And I thought heroes were supposed to make you feel safe!” You scream out suddenly. “He was just as scary as the guys who held us hostage.”

She looks at you slightly confusedly before something clicks in her head, “Oh, he saved you that night.”

“Yeah he ‘saved’ me,” you say shrugging. “Doesn’t mean that I don’t get nightmares about those little bat things flying at my face.”

“He tries his best,” she says with heavy sigh. “But he does leave a bad taste is some people’s mouths. It's just a part of Gotham living unfortunately.”

“He could at least smile; you’re already having the worst day of your life when saves you”

“Oh sweetie,” she says with a chuckle and a shake of her head. Her shoulder length, gray streaked bob shaking with her, “This is Gotham. If you want someone to smile while they save you move to Metropolis. Here, we take what we can get.”

“I get it,” you say with a relenting sigh. “I guess he fits the city somehow.”

“According to your schedule,” she says as she checks the clock hanging behind you. “We are running out of time.”

“Eleven already?” You mumble earning a chuckle.

“First things first, I want to say that even if you can’t see it you are definitely improving.  You gave me details today that you never mentioned before, and you got through most of the story without crying. You are strong, you survived, and you are going to continue to overcome things that you never thought you would be able to.”

“Thank you,” you say slightly warming inside at the reassurance.

“Secondly, I want to give you some homework. Call a friend, watch a movie, go to brunch,” she says giving you a knowing look. “You have to start getting back out into the world. You can’t let this stop you from living your life.”

“I-, okay I’ll try.”

“Good,” she says standing up and holding out her hand to shake.

You meet her warm hand and shake it only to stumble forward as she pulls you in for a warm hug.

“Good luck today,” She says with a warm smile as she pulls back.

“Thank you,” you say slightly breathlessly and with an airy smile on your face. “I’ll tell you how it goes next week.”

You gather your bag and head for the door.

“E-mail me if you need me,” She calls.

“Will do.”

***

In the small private elevator reserved for the partners of Warner and Bobbitt’s Medical Fabrications, you rocked back and forth on your heels. The coffee that you stopped to get on the way over to the office had done little for your nerves, but at least you felt like you were zooming a million miles a minute. If you were moving fast maybe the rest of the world would speed up too.

As the elevator shot fast up to the 31St floor you started to worry. Was your blouse too tight? The beige pencil skirt too much? An aunt had warned you against wearing fitted clothes like the ones you were wearing now. That your natural shape and curves would distract people from your talent and brain. But you couldn’t exactly show up to this meeting in a sweatshirt and jeans the way that you usually did. After all, this wasn’t your job on the line, it was Kenya’s. The only thing you were confident in was your hair; thick and curly, you’d spent hours to make sure the lusciousness of your hair was on full display. Still was that enough to distract from your nervousness.

Maybe you had time to shoot a quick email to Dr. Campbell?

*Ding*

Too late you’re already here.

With a gulp you step out of the elevator and make your way to the conference room.

The glass is see through, and you can see the familiar tall form of Kenya talking to a group of men in suits. Sometimes you swear that all that sweet talk to get you to take the job was really for her own benefit. It was hard enough being a woman in a corporate power position, but being the only black woman? She must have felt like she had a target on her back. And while you were glad, she trusted you enough to give this job, you weren’t sure what you were going to do if she really did need back up. What if you got tongue tied and couldn’t explain your work?

Kenya catches your gaze and gives you a curt nod and a small professional smile. You take that as your que to come into the room. The door slides open and the chatter momentarily stops. The executives who recognize you turn their attention to the files in their hands.

Kenya’s assistant, Max, quietly moves over to you and hands you a folder with Warner and Bobbitt’s initials on it. Inside you find an itinerary of the meeting. An overview of the project you’d been shadowing and just started work on. It seemed like this was an acquisition meeting. Meaning someone was trying to buy the project even though it was barely out of prototype stages.

“I know that we have gone over the gist of the project gentlemen,” Kenya starts with a smile. “If there are any questions about the programming of the machine or the software, please feel free to ask them to our new lead engineer on the project.”

‘Oh shit that’s me’

Kenya gives you a reassuring smile, “If there are any other questions about anything else having to do with the project please feel free to ask me.”

To your surprise and relief, none of the executives in the room were too concerned about A.I. programming. Did she just bring you here to get your nerves all jumbled up? Clearly the meeting was over, even though you had come at the time that she’d told you to get there. What was Kenya up to?

“Excuse me?”

You jump, your shoulders find their way up to your ears in surprise. The voice is deep and considerably younger than the rest of the men in the room.

Your eyes meet with Kenya’s who has a sly smirk on her face. This is what she wanted?

Stiffly you turn to look back and meet a pair of dazzling blue eyes and wide million-dollar smile.

“Can I ask you a question about how this works?” He says smoothly.

“Huh?” You reply dumbly.

“Sorry,” he says mistaking your awe for contempt. “I’m Bruce Wayne.”

Your words are stuck your throat and your eyes can only go back and forth between his now outstretched and his eyes. Unfortunately, there is only one phrase that comes your mind.

“Son of a Bitch.”

[daydreamdanganronpa]

Real quick, there is a minor spoiler of Rantaro’s talent in here. So I’ll just put his under the cut, and I’ll also just put spoilers in the tags just in case.

Also one more thing, after I wrote this I made a meme for Kaito’s part. I don’t know what gave me the idea, It was just the middle of the night and at the time I thought it was funny at the time. This scenario isn’t the only time this picture is good for something. But I’m not sure if anyone had done this before sooo...

Here it is, now back on track

Shuichi Saihara

-All he wanted, was to take a calm relaxing walk through the park

-He took a step and plummeted into the earth

-As he fell, he heard a song, “Tall, blonde, dark and lean!? Raining men!?”

-His body collides with the ground and he lets out a pained groan

-His mind is racing as he tries to think of a possible offender

-Possibly someone from a previous case? Probably not, those cases were mostly just infidelity. Besides, this was far too childish for some of those people

-He manages to climb out, but now has a determination to answer the question off who

-Investigation: Start

Kiibo

-Everything was fine, he just minding his own business

-One moment he’s up right, and in the next he’s diving toward the solid ground

-He hears a song go off, but has no idea what is happening

-“Hi, hi we're your weather girls”

-He doesn’t even know what to think

-Yeah, he is freaked out about the situation

-He hopes the person wasn’t targeting him specifically, or he may just have to report someone to the authorities

-Heck, he should probably just report this, someone could get hurt

-Well, now he has to find a way out, simple enough...

Gonta Gokuhara

-Poor boy, he was only enjoying the company of his bug friends

-“Get ready, all you lonely girls, and leave those umbrellas at home”

-After the song ends, he hits the damp soil with a crack of roots under his body

-After the fall, he has to give it a moment to run everything through his head

-Why would somebody want to do this to Gonta?

-He gets up ready to try to get out of the pit, when he suddenly stops

-He looks over to see a few ants, now he panics and checks to make sure he didn’t land on any bugs

-Luckily, he didn’t

Kaito Momota

-That mini heart attack when you miss a step on the stairs? That’s exactly what Kiato felt

-His body descended into a dark pit, and his long scream echoed through the gaping soil

-“Rough and tough and strong and mean”

-His body collides with the earth just as the song ends

-Seriously, what the HELL was that?!

-He thinks about the only person who could do this, “Ouma”

-He manages to climb out quite easily, but that still doesn’t change the fact that he is mad, after all he did manage to get a few scratches and bruises

Kokichi Ouma

-He was out just going to prank a few people, but it seems someone got to him first

-One moment he was giggling, the next he heard a tune in the background

-He hit the ground with a solid thud, just as he heard the words “Hallelujah it’s raining men”

-He was surprised none the less, but admired this person’s prank

-Somebody had managed to prank Kokichi Ouma, the ultimate supreme leader himself

-giving a short snicker he then tried to think of who the mastermind behind this prank would be

-For the next day or so he questions a few of his friends here and there

-“Soooo- You wouldn’t happen to know anything about a pit, would you?”

Korekiyo Shinguji

-He was probably out for some field work, studying a new dig site

-One moment? A 188cm tall man stood. the next? That man is gone, consumed by the earth, and falling to an eternal demise

-Well, not really. His hair trailed above him as he descended into the shadows

-An interesting situation, then he heard it, the song

-“It's raining men, every specimen”

-Well, it would have been normal to just fall down the pit, but the music implied something was voluntary

-He is very confused about this, but he is even more so intrigued

-Well, might as well look around the pit a little to see if there’s anything around, and once he’s out, he’ll be doing the same thing

Ryoma Hoshi

-He was also just trying to relax and clear his mind

-He strolled at a slow pace, but no matter how good his reflexes were, he was still a victim of the drop

-“Barometer's getting low”

-If he had any idea of what was happening before, he surely didn’t have one now as the entire song played during his fall

-He hit the ground, an lay sprawled on his stomach for a moment, before he slowly rolled over and leaned his back against the dirt walls

-Huh, raining men? It sure was for a moment

-Despite the fall and the fact that it’s a dark gloomy pit, it is decently tranquil place to sit and think

-Don’t worry, he can manage himself well

-He’ll climb out once he’s cleared his mind, after all, that’s what he was there to do in the first place

Rantaro Amami

-As a adventurer, he’s faced dangerous terrain, he descended great heights, and scaled them just as easily

-He’s seen various places, and experienced a diverse number of cultures

-But nothing could prepare him for falling into a pit as a song in the background rung in his ears

-“God bless mother nature, she's a single woman too”

-He hits the ground, and has to wait a moment to catch his breath

-He is a calm and composed person, but still, his eyebrow furrowed a bit after this

-He gave a huff and began to climb back up

-Where the music came from, why the pit was here, and what person did this, was no concern of his

-He simply picks himself up and continues, not to say he doesn’t chuckle about this a little later on

[catboygretzky]

pining and pasta // spelmer drabble

Prompt:  "Can we cuddle?" with a side of oblivious mutually pining "platonic" bedmates to lovers, sent by @grumpymurdernerd (it won’t let me tag you, I apologize)

Ship: Spelmer; side/mentioned Ralbert, Javid, and Newsbians

Word count: 1801

Era: Modern

Warnings: death mention (nightmares, not actual death)

Other tags: mutual pining, bed sharing, multiple POVs, fluff

“Spot,” Elmer whisper yells from the doorway. “Spot.”

Spot opens his eyes and rolls to face him with a groan. “What, Elmer?”

“What if ants howl like owls but we just can’t hear it?”

There’s a pause. “The first thing we have to touch on is the fact that you just said howl like an owl. Owls hoot, Elmer. They don’t howl. Second thing, why the hell are you awake?”

Elmer shuffles into the room. “I was thinking about ants.”

“As you do. Why are you actually awake?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“About ants?”

“Kinda. There was a lot of all of my friends dying, and then ants.”

“Elmer…that’s actually pretty terrible.”

Elmer sends him his best puppy dog eyes. “Cuddle?”

Spot sighs and pulls back the covers, an obvious invitation. Elmer grins widely and near about jumps in next to him.

“Can I be little spoon?”

“Elmer, you don’t have to ask.”

Elmer tucks his head underneath Spot’s chin, even though Elmer is inches taller than him.

“Thank you for letting me do this some nights.” Spot didn’t want to point out that some nights was actually every night because he was worried if they spoke of it, Elmer would stop coming.

Spot hates the term ‘heart skips a beat’ but sometimes that’s the only way to describe how he feels about Elmer. At times he feels like he’s taking advantage of him, because if Elmer knew how Spot truly felt, how much he loved the feel of Elmer in his arms, tucked against him…there’s no way he’d still come at night.

Spot can admit a lot of nights he lay awake with Elmer in his arms. He snores slightly, and he’s so warm beside him. His heart breaks every time Elmer sneaks out in the morning, but he knows that he’d never have this in the light of day.

Not that Elmer isn’t a physical person; he’s always throwing an arm around him, giving him hugs. But having him like this - soft and sweet in his arms - was a fool’s dream.

~

Elmer pauses to wipe his tears before he knocks. He knows he’s going to wake Spot up, and as much as he feels terrible for that, it was almost worth it to see ‘just woken up Spot’.

He’d never seen anything as cute as Spot when he just woke up. His hair sticking everywhere, pillow creases on his cheek - it was one of Elmer’s favorite sights.

Spot wasn’t what most would call soft, but every time Elmer has a nightmare and Spot lets him come share his bed, puts his arms around him, he gets even more proof that under all that put upon intensity was just a young man that he was completely in love with.

Elmer had never been in love, not until he started rooming with Spot. ‘He’s a bit difficult at first, but he’s a great guy.’ Jack didn’t know what he was starting, did he? I know you’re looking for somewhere, my brother’s roommate just moved out so he has a room free!

(How small of a world was it that Spot’s roommate just so happened to be one of Elmer’s best friends.)

Jack didn’t know that almost every night Elmer finds an excuse to cuddle up to Spot. To be fair, his excuse tonight is actually the worst nightmare he’s had in months, so he wasn’t just taking advantage of Spot’s sympathy.

“Spot.”

Spot sits up; he’s as cute as Elmer was expecting him to be. “What, Elmer?”

“What if ants howl like owls but we just can’t hear it?” That’s not what he meant to say.

Spot looks at him strangely, which is fair. “The first thing we have to touch on is the fact that you just said howl like an owl. Owls hoot, Elmer. They don’t howl. Second thing, why the hell are you awake?”

Elmer shrugs, scratching his bare arm as he walks into the room. “I was thinking about ants.”

“As you do. Why are you actually awake?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“About ants?”

“Kinda. There was a lot of all of my friends dying, and then ants.”

“Elmer…that’s actually pretty terrible.”

Elmer knew he had had lethal puppy dog eyes and he used them to get his way as often as he needed. “Cuddle?”

Spot sighs and pulls back the covers. Elmer practically runs towards him with a wide grin.

“Can I be little spoon?” He always was, but there’s no harm in asking. He loves being wrapped up in Spot’s arms, and it definitely doesn’t hurt that he tends to sleep shirtless.

“Elmer, you don’t have to ask.” He feels himself flushing. He thanks him.

Was it wrong? To love someone and not tell them? To cuddle someone without them knowing exactly why you want to be in wrapped in their arms?

Elmer shakes his head. Spot was a good friend, he wouldn’t be uncomfortable. He closes his eyes and sighs softly. Maybe one day he’d have this the way he so desperately wanted.

~

Spot throws himself on Jack’s sofa. “Why did you tell me to be his roommate? You’re a terrible brother.”

“Sean Conlon, are you…are you pining? Write this down, we must remember this day.” Spot near growls at him before he groans.

“It’s not my fault. Have you seen him?”

Davey laughs and sits himself on Jack’s lap. “Pine away, Spot.”

“He’s so cute, and his eyes - ” Spot groaned again.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Jack says as he adjusts Davey. “It’s strange.”

“God knows how many times I’ve listened to Jack’s pining over Davey, though,” Katherine says. She raises her voice to optimal schoolgirl level, “Kath, he’s so smart and he knows how to do his taxes and he’s so handsome and dreamy.” She lowers her voice to its normal octave. “It’s about time someone else pines.”

Jack pouts. “Katherine, I thought you were on my side. And don’t even talk, your pining over Sarah was worse than anything I’ve ever heard. She’s so beautiful, Jack, and her legs…”

“And that’s where I’m going to stop you, because that’s my sister,” Davey interrupts. “Yes, she’s very beautiful but I don’t need to hear about her legs.”

Katherine shrugs with a grin. “Her mouth is pretty great, as well.”

Davey puts his hands over his ears. “La la la la I can’t hear you la la la la.”

~

“Wait,” Albert says, drawing his eyebrows together. “You mean you snuggle with Spot every night?”

Elmer blushes. “It’s not every night! It’s just. Most nights.”

Race snickers. “Is he big spoon or little spoon?”

“Big spoon,” both he and Albert say. Race only looks a little bit surprised that Albert knows what Spot is like to cuddle; Elmer only feels a little bit jealous that Albert knows what Spot is like to cuddle.

“Used to be too roommates, cuddled the guy a couple times,” Albert shrugs. “Which is the normal amount of cuddles before it gets pretty gay, bro.”

“Al, you have no room to talk,” Elmer laughs, ignoring the flutters in his stomach. “The reason you moved out was to shack up with your boyfriend.”

Albert shrugs again. “Never said I wasn’t gay, bro.”

“Anyway,” Race says, drawing out the word and ignoring Albert. “You have to tell him, E.”

“Tell him what?”

“That you’re in love with him.”

“What?” He splutters. “Why would I do that? I mean wait shit - I’m not in love with him! How do I know you’re not in love with him? Hmmm? Check and mate.”

Race sends him a droll look. “I can only handle so many biceps in my life. The amount of bro tanks I have to wash is astronomical as it is.”

“Fuck off, Higgins.” Albert punches him in the shoulder. “But my amazing biceps are not what we’re here to talk about. We’re here to talk about Elmer’s massive crush on Spot.”

Elmer groans. “He’s just…” He groans again. “He’s so cute and funny and nice and so far out of my league.”

Race pulls his eyebrows together and rolls his eyes, which looks painful. Elmer isn’t sure how that’s physically possibly, but Race does it valiantly, even if his contacts very obviously almost fell out. “He is not out of your league. You are perfectly in each other’s league. If you were two sports teams you’d be playing each other.”

“Albert, if you say anything along the lines of ‘playing with each other’ I will actually kill you,” Elmer says. Albert closes his mouth without a word.

~

After the conversation with his so called friends, Spot was not jumping at the chance to talk about his feelings.

“E, can I talk to you?” he says. They’re sat at the small table in the kitchen eating.

“Yeah, of course,” Elmer nods, setting his fork down.

“Um. You know how you’ve started sleeping in my room most nights?”

Elmer nods again.

“I think I may be in love with you.”

~

Elmer knew he had to talk to Spot.

“E, can I talk to you?” Spot says before he could even begin to speak.

“Yeah, of course,” Elmer nods, wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

“Um. You know how you’ve started sleeping in my room most nights?”

Elmer nods again, this time terrified. Did he know? He’s going to tell me I can’t do it anymore. Why did I have to do this? Why did I have to fall -

“I think I may be in love with you.”

~

And that came out much different than Spot was expecting. There was going to be a conversation, something along the lines of ‘It’s okay if you think it’s weird, I promise I won’t make it weird, please still be my friend.’

The look on Elmer’s face gives him pause. He’s slack jawed, a look of absolute shock in his face. Spot feels a tiny glimmer of hope in his chest.

“Is that okay with you?” he continues uncertainly.

~

“Is that okay with you?”

“Is that okay with you?”

“Is that okay with you?”

Elmer doesn’t even think before he lunges across the table and kisses him straight on the mouth. He pulls back with a huge grin.

“Is that okay with me? Spot Conlon, I have loved you since almost the day I met you.”

~

Spot searches his memory for the last time he was as happy as he was right now. Elmer was on top of the table, kissing him, smiling against his lips, not horrified by how he feels. Spot pulls back with a grin to match his.

“I love you, E,” Spot’s heart nearly stops when he sees the smile Elmer sends him. “But you’re in my pasta. Could we possibly move this to the sofa?”

@auspicioustarantula | @mylesmisaddiction | @theproblemwitheyes | @pursuit-of-fandom-s | @fandomgueen42 | @cassandra-clare-anti | @grumpymurdernerd | @maxismediocre | @jd-sammy | @dying-poet | @pizzas-will-rule-the-world | @wafflesareh0t | @snakesarenonexistent | @kind-glittering-eyes | @the-whirligig-that-is-time | @captainelkequinn | @tumblesthroughtimeandspace | @i-thought-i-knew-what-love-was | @ho-ne-y | @courfey-duck | @arevolutionapproaches | @peach-m-00-n | @luckyteenagedirtbag | @tongue-blep-tommy

[laallomri]

[minific for #JuLance! each is about one of Lance’s birthdays and has a one-word theme]

[25th birthday. theme: proposal]

It’s half past ten PM on July 28th, and Keith and Lance are sitting on the floor in front of the couch in their tiny apartment, watching Planet Earth.

If Keith had his way, this is not how he and Lance would be celebrating Lance’s birthday. If Keith had his way they’d be at a giant party with Lance’s entire family and all their friends, even if it means Keith would use up his socializing quota for the next month.

But there can’t be a giant party, because real life doesn’t stop for birthdays, even the birthdays of boyfriends as wonderful and fantastic and deserving as Lance is. So Keith had had to settle for showing Lance all the presents their family and friends had mailed in, and calling up everyone who hadn’t already messaged Lance to remind them to do so, and spending the afternoon Skyping Lance’s mom so she can help him make Lance’s favorite dinner. 

After dinner they went for a long walk on the beach, alternating between holding hands and kicking sand at each other, until finally they got tired and decided to come back home, stopping along the way to buy a bunch of garlic knots and too many bags of candy. And now they’re here, watching Planet Earth, Lance sitting with his back against the bottom of the couch and Keith sitting in front of him and leaned against his chest, with Lance’s arm around his waist.

(“Shouldn’t you be the little spoon?” Keith had asked as they sat down. “It’s your birthday.”

“Exactly,” Lance had said, then, with a gleam in his eyes that should have warned Keith, “that’s why I want to be the big spoon, so I can take my birthday privileges, like—this!”

He blew a raspberry in Keith’s neck, then another, then another, until Keith laughed so hard he snorted, until Lance knocked over their mountain of candy bags in his efforts to get a squirming Keith to stay still so he could blow more raspberries in his neck.)

It’s been only a few minutes since then, contented silence interrupted only by the sounds of them eating and their occasional mimicry of David Attenborough’s voice. Keith puts his bag of M&Ms on the coffee table next to his colorful pens. He’d bought several packs of them when they’d moved into this apartment a year ago, so he could leave a few around the space and always have a couple within reach. Drawing helps him when he feels lost or groundless, when he closes his eyes and forgets where he is; he grabs a pen and doodles on a scrap of paper, on a mug, on his hand, anything to calm him down and give him an anchor so he can remind himself that he is home, and safe, and okay.

He doesn’t feel lost or groundless now, but he hasn’t drawn all day, so he uncaps the blue pen and pokes the arm Lance has wrapped around Keith’s waist. Lance drops a kiss to the side of Keith’s neck, just beside the tie of his ponytail, which Keith takes as agreement to draw.

He makes a tiny pattern on Lance’s thumb, diamonds overlapping like snakeskin. Lance reaches into the bag of garlic knots with his free hand and takes one out; it smells good, so Keith tilts his head without stopping work on the pattern and Lance pops the garlic knot into Keith’s mouth, with an ugh at the weird insects zooming around on the screen.

They continue like that for a while—Keith doodling, Lance alternating between feeding himself and feeding Keith while commenting on the creatures on screen. Keith huffs or snickers or says what whenever expected, though he keeps doodling, diamond patterns and stars and phrases in the Galra symbols that Krolia had taught him during their time on the space whale, so many years ago: peace, happiness, love, friendship.

Eventually he runs out of space on Lance’s arm. Lance pauses the episode.

“Nice,” he says, stretching out his arm to admire Keith’s handiwork. “Do you want my other arm too?”

“Yeah.”

Lance moves the food over to his other side so he can eat with his decorated hand and leave the other one free for Keith to draw on. He resumes the show and Keith stares at Lance’s other hand, frowning a little. He thinks he should do something different this time, instead of just little doodles. He liked the symbols; maybe something like that? Though he’ll have to keep it simple, since Lance’s Galran isn’t very fluent.

Happy birthday, he writes in Galran symbols, running horizontally below Lance’s wrist.

I love you, he writes next, because even after all this time it’s still infinitely easier to write it than to say it. He’s said it aloud before, said it a thousand times, but somehow the permanency of writing it is still easier than the transience of saying it.

“Oh my god,” Lance says, and when Keith looks up he sees his nose is wrinkled. “Do you see that ant? It’s all squashed. Gross.”

The ant is indeed squashed. Keith glances at it, then back at Lance. Even with his nose wrinkled and his mouth full of the garlic knot he’d just taken a bite of, he’s still stunning, all sharp jaw and firm mouth and pointy nose and curly hair. Keith thinks he could look at him forever.

You are so handsome, he adds beneath the last line on Lance’s arm, then, because at this angle he can see Lance’s long lashes, see how they frame eyes bright and brown, Your eyes are beautiful.

He thinks of the raspberry kisses earlier, of laughing so hard he snorts, of the pleasant scrape of Lance’s scruff against Keith’s neck; thinks of waking up that morning, of seeing Lance’s face calm and open in sleep, illuminated by pale early sunlight.

You make me happy, he writes.

He thinks of how Lance’s face lit up today whenever he got a birthday message from a friend or relative, of how his happiness made Keith feel lighter as well; thinks of the diplomatic meeting they went to last week to help Allura, of how he had only had to look at Lance once for him to understand that he thought the other diplomat was full of shit; thinks of the conversation they’d had when they went to lunch with Shiro the other day, of how Lance had said “hey did you tell him about the thing yet,” of how Keith had said “the thing or the other thing,” of how Lance had said “the other thing,” of how Keith had told Shiro exactly what Lance meant, of how Shiro had laughed, startled at how they had somehow managed to communicate so vaguely; thinks of how well he and Lance know each other, like they are one soul put into two bodies, alike and different, apart and together, each their own person but so in tune they might as well be one.

You are my favorite person.

He looks at Lance again. The episode has ended, moved on to the one about oceans, and Lance’s expression as the whales come on screen is one of pure delight. He feels Keith’s eyes on him.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Keith says. He kisses Lance’s cheek, once twice thrice, tiny kisses for the tiny freckles dotting his skin. Lance smiles, his dimple flashing, then goes back to watching the whales.

There isn’t much space left on Lance’s arm. He’d probably let Keith draw on his leg, too, or shift so he could draw on his upper arms—it’s absurdly hot tonight, so they’re both wearing basketball shorts and tank tops anyway—but for some reason Keith feels like this last bit of space should count, should be the final space to be filled for now.

There’s dramatic music onscreen as a baby whale swims through the waves. Lance coos at it.

“I wish you could have pet whales,” he says. “I want a whale. Then I could ride him around in the ocean.”

“You already have a lion,” Keith reminds him, still pondering the empty space on Lance’s arm.

“That’s for space,” Lance explains. “I want a cool animal for the ocean, too.”

“Our lions can go in water.”

“Okay, Mr Mansplainer,” Lance says, and Keith doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s rolling his eyes, though he sounds fond. “I still think a whale would be cool. Or a dolphin.” He gasps, as if just now remembering something. “No! Forget all that. I want a shark.”

“You’re not very faithful to your pets,” Keith says, amused.

“My love is fickle,” Lance says solemnly, then grins, suddenly, like a light being turned on in a dark room. “Except for my love for you.”

“Corny,” Keith says, though he smiles too. “What kind of shark would you want?”

“Hm, well…”

Lance launches into a detailed comparison of all the sharks he knows, both earth and alien, rattles off facts and experiences in aquariums and his own personal opinions (apparently hammerheads are “not appreciated enough, Keith!! They’re so cool!! But everyone thinks they’re dumb cause of the way they look, which is discrimination!”). He’s done this before, but Keith loves it every time anyway and always makes sure to listen. He puts down his pen and pauses the show so Lance knows for sure that Keith’s attention isn’t anywhere else.

Lance is in the middle of talking about great white sharks when it happens. His face is bright and expressive, his free hand moving around as he talks, and he’s so excited, and he’s talking about how the most dangerous of the alien sharks they know of still isn’t anywhere near as deadly as a great white, and Keith has heard this a hundred times, but this time it feels—different—new, almost—though not new, not quite, not new but like new, like a familiar room that’s been repainted, or a favorite book he’s read after a long time, or an old recipe made by someone else’s hand.

He blinks, unsure what it means, and then Lance reaches into the bag of M&Ms on the coffee table, pops a couple into his mouth, takes out a few more, and despite Keith’s hands being free now that he’s capped the pen, Lance holds the candy to Keith’s mouth anyway and feeds them to him. Keith bites down on the candy, feels the sweetness burst over his tongue, watches Lance’s eyes and Lance’s mouth and Lance’s hand, moving through the air as he talks, and his heart jumps, and settles, and whispers, I want to marry you.

He blinks again. He expects it to feel scary, overwhelming, but the sentence sinks into him, settles into his bones, spreads through him like cream poured into coffee, the cloud bursting through the dark liquid, sudden at first then more slowly, until it overtakes him so much he can’t think of anything else.

He shakes out of it long enough to pay attention to the rest of Lance’s ramble, to respond every so often so he knows Keith is paying attention. Eventually Lance settles on wanting an alien shark species called saavmach for a pet, and Keith agrees with his choice, and they resume the ocean episode.

Keith uncaps his pen and put the tip to the empty space on Lance’s arm. He chews his lower lip for a second, closes his eyes, opens them, then writes his last sentence. He caps the pen once more and sets it on the table.

“Done?” Lance asks. He glances at his arm, surprised. “Did you just write on this one?”

“Yeah,” Keith says. His stomach flips. “I wrote some words on your other arm too, but I thought I’d practice full sentences.”

Lance pauses the show and looks again at the first arm Keith had drawn on. 

“Peace, happiness, love, friendship,” he reads, then snickers. “Is that the Galran version of a Live Laugh Love sign?”

Keith pokes his cheek, though the joke makes his stomach settle a little. It’ll be okay. They’ve been teammates for years, friends for years, boyfriends for years. They’ve survived battle and bickering and the chaos of trying to cancel a cable subscription. 

It’ll be okay.

Lance is looking at his other arm. His brow furrows as he tries to read the longer sentences in Galran. Keith watches him; despite his efforts a moment ago his stomach twists nervously again.

“Happy birthday?” Lance checks.

Keith nods. Lance looks at the next sentence and smiles.

“I love you too,” he says gently, then, grinning as he sees the next two lines, “Hell yeah I’m handsome! Though your eyes are prettier than mine.”

Impossible, Keith thinks, though out loud he says, “We can be tied on that one.”

Lance read the next sentences. When he looks up his gaze is soft.

“You make me happy too,” he says, then, cheekily, “but I think my favorite person is the guy who sells these garlic knots.”

“That’s understandable,” Keith says, as seriously as he can manage, though he’s pretty sure Lance sees the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Lance looks back at his arm. Keith watches, his heart in his throat, too afraid to breathe. He’s not even sure Lance will understand it. He’s not sure Lance has ever seen the word marry in Galran.

It seems like he struggles with it. Keith is pretty sure he’s already read it a couple of times; he sees him mouth the words to himself, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s reading it right or not. Keith wants to say something, but he feels like he shouldn’t, feels like he needs to let this unfold, let Lance answer on his own. 

And then—

—he feels Lance get very, very still—

—feels him inhale and not exhale, feels him hold himself in place, as if any movement will change the symbols written on his skin.

“Keith,” he says, and it’s a question, and a statement, and an answer.

Keith looks at him, his heart thumping. Lance’s eyes are glittering.

“Yes” is all Keith says, then, too quickly, “I mean—I know we’re still kind of young, but—” He takes a deep breath, slides his hand to twine his fingers with Lance’s. “I love you. I don’t want to wait. Though if you want then of course we can—we can have a long engagement or not tell anyone else for a while—”

“I want to marry you too.”

Keith opens his mouth, closes it.

“I want to marry you too,” Lance says a second time, and his eyes are still glittering, and now he’s smiling smiling smiling so big that Keith’s heart can’t take it, and oh—

They lean in at the same time, so eager they bump noses at first, laughing a little before finding each other’s mouths and kissing properly, soft and sweet.

“I’m going to ask you officially sometime,” Keith says, when they break apart. 

“Not if I ask you first!” Lance says, with feigned belligerence. He narrows his eyes, though he’s smiling too much for it to have any real effect. “You better watch out, Kogane. I’m gonna kick your ass with this proposal.”

“I’m sure you will,” Keith says, smirking, “when you tell me about what your plan was, after I’ve kicked your ass with my proposal.”

Lance gasps dramatically, and Keith snickers, and then Lance surges forward and blows another raspberry into Keith’s neck, and Keith almost knocks his head against the coffee table trying to escape from him, and somehow that jostling of the table resumes the episode, so they both shriek as the show starts playing again seemingly of its own accord, then cackle as they realize what happened, until they’re tangled together on the floor, snort-giggling at how dumb they are.

“Best birthday ever,” Lance whispers into Keith’s neck, still giggling.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Keith says, and he wants to say more, wants to say I love you so much and I’m so happy we’re gonna get married and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, but then Lance blows yet another raspberry in his neck, so Keith has to cancel all the cheesy romantic crap he’d planned to say, because currently he needs to take revenge on his fiancé.

[bevioletskies]

let’s stay together

summary: For all his missteps and mishaps, Scott has been on pretty good terms with the Pym-Van Dyne family lately. That is, until Cassie started calling Hank "Grandpa".

a/n: Fic title is from the song Let's Stay Together by Al Green because I've yet to figure out how to title Scott/Hope fics. Takes place post-Ant-Man and the Wasp, with the optimistic assumption that they at least had a month to relax before that post-credits scene.

word count: 3.9k | ao3

The first time it happened, Scott was reasonably certain that the universe had momentarily ceased to exist, or at least, that’s what it felt like. All the air had been sucked out of the room, everything went mind-numbingly silent, and out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Hank turning an alarmingly violent shade of red. Well, THAT can’t be good, he thought.

“Oh!” Janet finally said after a minute too long. Hank was now purple.

So, Scott did what any reasonable person would do (that’s what he told himself, anyway) and promptly stood, hauled his daughter up by the armpits before she could finish her bite of mashed potatoes, and practically carried her to the front door. “This-was-great-we-should-really-do-this-again-sometime-okay-bye!” he blurted out, tripping over his own feet in his attempt to pull on his shoes and jacket at the same time.

“Scott?” Hope was half-skeptical, half-concerned, as she often was when it came to Scott’s...Scott-ness, but before she could get up and follow him, the door slammed shut. She glanced over at Hank; his knuckles were white. “...did Cassie just call you ‘grandpa’?”

“Don’t,” Hank grouched. The color in his face was slowly returning to normal, but he was still clutching his steak knife with a worryingly vice-like grip. Janet patted his hand consolingly before resuming her dinner like nothing had happened.

Hope texted Scott the moment dinner was over, reassuring him that it wasn’t as bad as he thought - Hank had only ranted for three minutes about being anyone’s grandfather, then Janet interrupted to remind him of his age - but Scott’s reply was an uncharacteristically curt response about arriving late at the laboratory tomorrow morning. It was only because of Hope’s good memory that she remembered that it was because Maggie and Paxton were picking up Cassie from Scott’s place, and not that Scott decided to preemptively berate himself at home before joining them to work on the latest iteration of suits.

Janet, who was still getting used to an adult daughter and not the child she’d unintentionally left behind, hovered in worry, fretting over Hope’s shoulder at Scott’s message. “Seriously, Mom, it’s okay,” Hope repeated for the fifth time while she put her jacket on, preparing to leave for the night. “I’m not seven or sixteen, remember? Nothing to worry about. Scott’s just a little...excitable.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Hank grumbled from the sitting room. Despite her best efforts, Hope couldn’t help but roll her eyes like a child.

“Bye, Dad,” she called, kissing Janet briefly on the cheek before walking out the door.

The next morning, Scott arrived even later than he said he was going to be, looking just as agitated as he’d sounded last night. “Hope, I swear, I didn’t say anything about - ”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” she said calmly. “Besides, he’s probably forgotten all about it.”

“I haven’t.” Hank emerged from behind one of the enormous machines, startling Scott. “Did you - ”

“Nope!” Scott said a little too quickly. “Hank, I would never - ”

“Does she call her anything?” Hank wildly brandished his pen in Hope’s direction. She fixed him with a stern expression in return, plucking the pen from his hand and neatly tucking it into the breast pocket of his sweater vest.

“Henry,” Janet called from across the room.

“I already told you she doesn’t,” Hope said exasperatedly. “Can we focus, please?”

“Grandpa,” Hank muttered under his breath as he returned to his workbench, where Janet gave him a playful poke for his troubles.

“For the record, I think Mom was secretly thrilled,” Hope whispered to Scott. He snickered in relief.

After the day’s work was done, Scott and Hope said their goodbyes to a cheerful Janet and a temperamental Hank (though really, when were either of them anything else) and got into Hope’s car, promptly shrinking down to a more...elusive size. It was a new routine for them after Scott had completed the terms of his house arrest, and although there was still a search out for Hope and her parents, it wasn’t too difficult for them to evade the authorities now that they had everything and every one in one place. Scott spent his weekdays working at X-Con Security and Pym Tech, while he and Hope, sometimes Cassie, spent their weekends at his place. Hope had grown quite attached to Scott’s house, finding it far more inviting than her own apartment, and of course, she’d adored Cassie the moment they met. After everything she and her father had been through ever since the Sokovia Accords had come into play, it was nice to have some normalcy in her life.

Scott drummed his fingers restlessly against the window. “Where do you think this whole ‘grandpa’ thing started?”

Hope groaned. “I thought we were going to drop this, Scott. Besides, you and Cassie have been coming to dinner for several weeks now and Dad’s the right age to be her grandpa, so it just...came out. Not that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, but what if it means something?” Hope’s eyes briefly flickered over to his unusually serious expression. “Hank’s never been a big fan of...us.”

“Then it’s good that what he thinks has no impact on our relationship,” Hope said testily, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. Scott winced in memory of how angry she’d been when they first met, often at Scott himself for being in her life, but mostly at Hank for everything he’d done - or rather, hadn’t done. “He kept me out of his life long enough. Just because we’re back to being a family, it doesn’t give him the right to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“Of course,” he said automatically. He suddenly looked very interested in the loose thread on his jacket sleeve, picking at it with a strange fixation. “Look, I just don’t wanna be the reason you guys fight again, alright? And if he doesn’t want me to be part of your family - ”

“Oh, Scott.” Hope briefly let go of the wheel to squeeze his shoulder in reassurance. “Dad’s got his hangups about you, but you know him, he’s like that with everyone. Doesn’t mean he wants to cut you out. Besides, Mom adores you, and there’s no way he’ll go against her.”

Scott laughed despite himself, his shoulders finally relaxing as he settled back into his seat. “Your mom’s great. Perceptive, too. It’s almost like she can see inside my head - ”

“That joke was only funny the first time,” Hope interrupted, though there was a smile in her voice as she said it. “Please stop telling people my mom was inside you without context.”

Another week went by - a relatively uneventful one at that, all things considered, in which the only mishap they encountered was a couple of random thieves that tried to break into the lab and received an unpleasant surprise in return for their efforts - before Cassie was at Scott’s house again. On the first morning of her return, she was chatting a mile per minute about her most recent soccer game, the last math test she’d had, and anything else that came to mind. “How come Hope isn’t here?” Cassie asked once she’d taken a second to breathe between her bites of cereal.

“She doesn’t live here, peanut,” Scott reminded her, absent-mindedly thumbing through the newspaper.

“But why not? She stays over all the time, and she drives you places, and - ”

“That doesn’t mean she has to live here,” Scott pointed out. He then sighed in realization, knowing they had to talk about it eventually, and now was as good a time as ever. “Hey, when you called Hank ‘Grandpa’...did you mean to do that?”

“Yes,” Cassie said bluntly. “Hope is kind of like my second mom, so her daddy is kind of like my grandpa.”

“Okay, well, I think you scared him a little,” Scott said gently. “I’m sure Hope loves the idea of being your second mom, but it’s making Hank feel like me and her are getting really serious.”

“Serious?” Cassie furrowed her brow in adorable confusion.

“Like we’re gonna get married.” Scott sat up straight as if he just realized what he’d said. “Which is...I mean, you know...wow.”

“But don’t you wanna marry her, Daddy?” Cassie prompted, in the sort of tone she used when she asked him to help with her science homework, like it was just another topic of conversation. “She’s your partner.”

“That’s not - I - oh.” Scott rubbed his temples, willing the conversation to go away on its own. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea; in fact, the very idea of marrying Hope was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying and very much something he’d like to do. But it was far too early in the morning to be processing anything more complex than the latest episode of Cassie’s favorite morning cartoon. “Finish your breakfast, okay? We gotta head out soon.”

It was only when the two of them got in Scott’s car - a relatively new investment for him, though it was about as rundown as Luis’s van - that he remembered they were picking up Hope on the way to Cassie’s school. Usually, he enjoyed the ten minutes they had together, where he could just sit back and listen to two of his favorite people in the world chat and laugh like they’d known each other forever, but now he was rather paranoid that Cassie was going to do...something.

“Hey, you two,” Hope smiled, radiant, as she got into the passenger’s seat, leaning across to briefly kiss him. “You’re early today.”

“Daddy wanted to finish breakfast super fast,” Cassie shrugged, grinning toothily. “I think he was excited to see you.”

“Is that so?” Hope quirked an eyebrow in his direction before putting her seatbelt on. “Well, better early than late, right?”

“Right,” Cassie chirped. Scott started the engine, crossing his fingers that she wouldn’t bring it up - “Daddy thinks your daddy is scared of him.” - and there she went. Fantastic.

“What?” Hope rounded on him instantly. “Scott.”

“Listen...sometimes, we say things that - ”

“Scott,” Hope repeated. It amazed him that she was capable of saying his name so affectionately some of the time and so authoritatively, well, most of the time.

“Cassie,” Scott said firmly, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

“Daddy,” Cassie said plaintively, blinking innocently in return. When that didn’t work, she added, “I don’t want anyone to be scared of anyone,” her bottom lip wobbling in the way that they all knew would change anyone’s mind no matter what.

“I didn’t say Hank was scared of me,” Scott finally explained with a sigh, briefly glancing over at an unimpressed Hope. “It’s just what I was saying before. About him and our relationship.”

“Of course you didn’t let this go,” Hope groaned, turning to face the window. “When it was just me and Dad on the run, he had a lot to say about you. But he never said anything about us.” She turned to look at Cassie, whose nose was scrunched up in worry. “No one’s scared of anyone, alright?”

“So...he doesn’t think Daddy’s gonna ask you to marry him?” Cassie asked. Scott felt the gas pedal slip underneath his feet, nearly flinging them all forward in the process. For the second time that week, he felt his chest seize up with one single word blaring through his head like a siren - PANIC.

“What,” Hope said flatly.

“Hey, hey, no distracting the driver,” he said weakly. “Besides, didn’t we say we were gonna talk about the regulator in my suit before we get to the lab, something about the whatchamacallit - ”

“Were you going to ask me to marry you?”

“No, I - ”

“So you don’t want to marry me.”

Scott paused. “Hope, I gotta be honest, I don’t really know what the right answer is.”

Hope merely shook her head, jaw clenched tight, staring straight ahead. “Just drive, Scott.”

Cassie looked at Scott in silent apology once they dropped her off, hugging Hope as she always did before running up the steps to the front door. The rest of the car ride was expectedly uncomfortable, lacking a single word out of either of them. Upon arriving at the laboratory, Hope continued on like nothing was wrong, hanging up her coat and setting down her bag, briefly hugging Hank and Janet with a warm smile. She then settled down at one of the workbenches and promptly got to work on her faulty blasters, her back pointedly turned on everything else.

Scott meandered around for a bit, picking at the wires in his suit’s regulator (“You’ve got some nerve calling this a working suit, Hank!” he’d said pretty much every single day since he first put it on) but entirely unable to concentrate. All he could think about was how he’d managed to mess things up with Hope, again, and he didn’t even have to get arrested this time for it to happen.

“Don’t you look all bothered?” He looked up to see Janet smiling pityingly at him from the other side of his table. “What’s troubling you, Scott?”

“Didn’t sleep great,” he lied. Janet quirked an eyebrow.

“It’s cute how you think you can lie to me,” she said not unkindly, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “Is it about the whole ‘grandpa’ thing? Because I can’t tell who’s more hung up about it, you or Henry!”

“I’m embarrassed she said it in the first place,” he admitted, setting his tools down. “Cassie loves being around you guys, and I guess I should’ve seen it coming.”

“It’s okay,” Janet said, squeezing his arm. “Personally, I’d love it if Cassie thought of us as her grandparents, she’s one of the loveliest kids I’ve ever met. Reminds me a lot of Hope...before I left her.” Her smile faltered somewhat. “Is it you and Hope, then?”

“You could say that,” Scott said carefully. He glanced across the room to where she was sitting. She hadn’t looked at him since they got out of the car.

“It’s one day at a time with that one, isn’t it?” Janet hummed, briefly turning on her heel to look at her daughter, too. “Always have to remind myself she’s so much...more now. All the things she wants, all the things she is, I have to get used to that.” She turned back to look at Scott knowingly. “That goes for you, too.”

“I’m gonna fix it, Janet,” he promised. “And...please don’t tell Hank.”

Janet laughed throatily, though Scott wasn’t sure what was so funny. “Oh, honey, what makes you think he didn’t already notice?”

Hank, meanwhile, sidled up to Hope’s side in a way that he thought was subtle enough, but she merely gave him a look that said, “I know exactly what you’re doing, and I don’t like it”. “What?” he barked, embarrassed. “I wanted to check your progress on the - ”

“Dad,” Hope said firmly. “Just spit it out, okay?”

“You’ve been tense,” he observed, pulling up a stool so he could sit beside her. “I wanna know why.”

“Because it’s affecting our work?” she snorted, turning back to her blasters.

“Because you’re my daughter.” Her hands paused in mid-air. “I don’t give a damn about the work right now. You’ve been all wound up lately, and it’s affecting you. So what is it?”

Hope couldn’t help but smile at her dad’s usual gruff tone, how it completely failed to hide his concern. “It just...feels like we’re in between everything right now. We’re sort of on the run but we sort of aren’t, we have Mom back but we’re trying to figure out how to be a family again, not to mention you and Scott being weird about what Cassie said even though we’re all growing closer...I’m a little stressed out, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I promise.”

Hank smiled ruefully. “Someday, those Sokovia Accords are going to be through, and we’ll be free. Respected. And me and your mother, we’re going to make sure you don’t have a single thing to worry about. I’m sure Scott’s on board, too.”

“Surprised to hear you say that,” she admitted. “You really need to stop antagonizing him, okay? I’ve forgiven him for Germany, and I think it’s time you did, too.”

“I thought I already did,” he said, briefly looking to where Scott and Janet were conversing. Janet seemed to be laughing at something that Scott couldn’t quite follow; the very idea that she knew something he didn’t amused Hank greatly. “What, you think I’m working with him and inviting him and his daughter to our house every week because I’m angry ?”

“It’s hard to tell with you sometimes,” she shot back without missing a beat, though her grin was widening regardless. “Be nice, Dad.”

“I’ll...try to say something at our next dinner,” he said through gritted teeth as if the thought of expressing any emotion other than mild annoyance toward Scott was inherently painful. “But I mean it, Hope. Once this Accord nonsense is all over, we’ll get my company back on track, and we’ll be a family. All of us.”

Hope nodded, her eyes shining, and reached out to squeeze her father’s shoulder. “And I won’t vote you out of our company this time.”

Hank chuckled, briefly leaning in to kiss her on the forehead. “That’s my girl.”

Scott and Hope got into Scott’s car several hours later, both still somewhat tense. The rest of their time at the lab had been quiet, with Hank and Janet doing most of the talking. Both of them clearly suspected that there was more to it than they’d discussed, but wisely decided to let it be. Or rather, Janet had caught Hank by the arm every single time he seemed like he was about to open his mouth. “We have to remember she’s an adult, Henry,” she had murmured. “I know we both want her to need our help, but she doesn’t. Not this time.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott said the moment they were on the road.

“You’ve been apologizing a lot lately,” Hope sighed. “What is it for this time?”

“Freaking out, not letting stuff go, and everything that Cassie said this morning,” he replied like a child reciting the alphabet, listing his fingers off on one hand, the other drumming restlessly against the steering wheel. “I almost got over it, you know? But then when we were having breakfast this morning, Cassie said all this stuff about living together, getting married...I started overthinking it.”

She nodded, sinking back into her seat. Her anger had mostly dissipated over the course of the day, evolving into something more akin to contemplation. “I know you, Scott,” she said quietly. “Maybe we haven’t known each other for as long as we think, but I know you. And you know me. You know that I’m not going to sit around waiting for you to tell me or ask me anything. So just...get to the point, and we can move on. For good.”

Scott inhaled, then let out a short huff of an exhale, his fingers still drumming on the steering wheel, though quieter now. “You’re my partner, Hope. In more ways than one. And I...do wanna marry you someday, just not yet. It’s early, and there’s too much going on, and it feels like - ”

“ - like we’re in between?” Hope guessed, smiling slightly.

“Yeah, exactly.” He looked away for a moment to return the smile, his eyes twinkling in the way that made her feel just a little bit more at ease about everything. “So why don’t we get to the ‘in between’ first?”

She paused. “What do you mean?”

“Move in with me. Or, I guess we could get a different place together if you want more space, though I dunno if I can afford a house as big as your parents’, but maybe you could, and - ”

“Okay,” she said, biting her lip to stop herself from grinning as giddily as she felt. “And for the record, I meant it when I said I’m not going to sit around and wait for you to ask.” She paused, letting the smile spread across her face despite herself. “Maybe someday, I’ll ask instead.”

Hank and Janet arrived at the laboratory at precisely nine in the morning, chatting quietly in the elevator ride up to their floor. They hung up their jackets, changed them out for their lab coats and protective equipment, and Hank went about telling his ants their orders for the day. Janet, on the other hand, went to log in on the main computer, only to find someone was already in her seat.

“Hi Grandma,” Cassie said, smiling like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

Not missing a beat, Janet immediately drew her into a hug, then leaned back to tuck Cassie’s hair behind her ears. “Hey, sweetheart! Never seen you in here before,” she fussed, beaming. “You looking for a science lesson today?”

“Yes, please,” Cassie chorused. “But first, Daddy and Hope wanted to tell you something.”

Janet turned to see Scott and Hope approaching from the other room, looking somewhat sheepish. Instinctively, her eyes flickered to Hope’s stomach, though her daughter’s immediate visceral response told her she was incorrect. Hank then came over to join them, letting out a stifled grunt when Cassie went to hug him as well, though he patted her on the back in return. “What’s this all about?” he asked.

“I’m moving in with Scott,” Hope announced matter-of-factly, holding up a copy of his house keys. “I’ve had it with hiding in my own apartment, what with technically being on the run and all, so this just made sense.”

“Glad I’m the most logical choice,” Scott drawled, nodding her way. “So Hank, Janet...what do you guys think?”

“Oh, we think it’s wonderful! Don’t we, Henry?” Janet exclaimed, briefly turning to narrow her eyes at her husband before clapping her hands together in excitement. “My precious jellybean - ” She swept Hope and Scott into her arms, letting out an overwhelmed sob of elation into her daughter’s shoulder. Hank, whose jaw was clenched but was also not one to be left behind, walked over to awkwardly clap his hand on Scott’s shoulder; Cassie followed, nestling herself in under everyone’s arms.

“Didn’t realize we were gonna have a group hug today.” Still, Scott tried his best to get his arms around everyone, even Hank, who merely squirmed. “If I’d known, I would’ve remembered deodorant - ”

“Scott, I swear to god - ”

“Obviously I’m wearing deodorant, Hank, what kind of guy do you think I am?”

“Okay, I think we’re done here,” Hope sighed, withdrawing herself from the mass of bodies. “So Cassie, you ready for my parents to show you the ropes?” She nodded, looking unusually shy, staring up at both Hank and Janet expectantly.

To everyone’s surprise, it was Hank who reached for her first, gently taking her by the shoulder and guiding her over to his workbench. “Let’s set you up with some protective gear. There’ll be no accidents in my lab today.”

“Yes, Doctor Pym,” Cassie said obediently, hoisting herself up onto the bench stool. Hank paused, turning to look at her, to really look at her. Cassie’s eyes were bright, wide, inquisitive, her posture both anticipatory and patient. He looked over at the others, where Janet was standing between Hope and Scott, her hand over her mouth in a poor attempt to hide her pleased smile. Hope’s eyes shone back at him; he barely noticed her fingers intertwined with Scott’s.

Hank turned back to Cassie. “You know what? ‘Grandpa’ is okay, too.”

a/n: I have been talking about writing this fic for at least six months now and I'm sure some far better version of it exists elsewhere, but I finally finished! Still figuring out my characterization of these lovely characters, so bear with me if anything seems particularly OOC, and I'm looking forward to writing even more Scott/Hope in the future and getting better at doing so. Thanks so much for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed :)

[tsundozer]

🛍- A memory about being a teenager - For Rha

BELAH’DIA: A DRABBLE I DON’T REMEMBER POSTING

“No.”

The response was simple. Emphatic. Declarative. Rha did not just say it as if it were truth, he said it as though it were the only truth in the world.

“No, I don’t believe in anything.”  The tired, weathered looking man took a long drag from his smoke and dashed the ash onto the dead grass below, watching it smoulder.

Across from him sat another man--equally old, equally tired. But his seafoam eyes shone like the moon reflecting off the ocean, and even as he spoke in harsh tones, they remained ever-gentle. He ran his hands through his thick, dark hair. Specifically, along streaks of silver running through it (Rha felt bitter, over how elegantly the other had aged). “Then let me ask you something else--If you don’t believe in anything, why are you here?”

Rha scoffed. He narrowed his eyes into a sharp arc and knit his brows close together, while his lips expanded rather than contracted with the rest of his face as they pulled into a tight snarl. “You asked me here. What kind of fuckin’ question is that? Why am I here. Really?” Another drag from one of his many portable poisons, one of several vices-on-demand. As he went for a third, it was plucked from his fingers by the other’s deft hands, and it was promptly crushed into the dirt. Rha’s dimmed, at that, though only to morph into an indignant scowl. “The fuckin’ hells are—”

“If you don’t believe in anything, then why are you here, Rha? Alive?” The other extended his arm to gesticulate towards his person for a moment, before finding the most concise (and affecting) words in his arsenal. “If you tell me, that there’s no Gods. Why do you try to expatriate your guilt, why is it salvation that you want so badly? If you tell me there’s no truth in this world, why do you say it like you’re right? If you say there’s no hope, no reason to believe in anything, why do you get up, in the morning? Why haven’t you taken that last step, and walked right onto those tracks?”

Each statement was like the man had drawn his blade and driven it into his gut. It left him shaking, with anger--until the last, which left him instead trembling from sudden cold. He felt a pang of guilt, where the blade had been thrust. “Lark, I—”

“Don’t think I haven’t seen you.” Again, the sword was drawn, this time piercing the heart. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you, night after night, standing at that railroad, thinking about stepping into an oncoming train and spraying every hope anyone has ever had for you onto the dirt to be soaked up by ungrateful earth and fed on by ants.”

Rha didn’t know what to say. He sunk himself down to sit in the dirt, and stared down at the ground. He resorted to the only thing he could, when he was out of words, out of defenses:

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.” A scrawny, green-eyed-black-eyed youth ground a palm against his socket, as if trying to stymie the flow of blood and flatten away the swelling.

The taller boy--this one with shaggy golden hair and eyes that wild horses ran behind--scoffed, and gave the other a rough shove. “What do you mean, ‘fuck you’? All I did was ask, if you don’t think you can win the Bloodsands, why do you keep going out there? It’s stupid.” He shoved his thumb up against the other’s eye and pressed against a lid with a twist. It sent the other stumbling back with a yowl--then a threatening hiss. Golden-hair was not remotely intimidated. In fact, he pressed on, “You feel that? It hurt like shit, right? But you’re ready for more. Know why? You think you can take me. Even if I beat your ass down, you’d get back up and try again, right? It’s the same. Don’t tell me, you should just quit, and you can never win. Because I’ve seen you, going in there time and time again, getting your hopes and dreams beaten out and leaking from your nose and lips, and you keep findin’ more. You keep goin’ back in there.”

Green-Eyes just stared. His chest rose and fell heavily as he fought the urge to tackle the other and claw his eyes out, for what he just did. He wanted to retort, but the most he could conjure up was a growl, that tapered into a whimper. That--that really hurt.

Golden-Hair shrugged, “You won’t get anywhere if you start cryin’. But for what it’s worth--I’ve seen you in the ring. The tenacity. I think you’ll get there, someday. Life’s like a brick wall, y’know? The people who make it in this world are those who can climb it, or who can throw themselves at it until it comes topplin’ down. You’re the latter.”

Green-Eyes heard the other, but the encouragement was mostly lost upon him. Instead, he felt the indignation of the implication that he would ever cry. Which prompted the tears of anger and shame to finally begin, as he slumped down to the ground. “Fuck you,” he said again.

“Nah, thanks. I only like women.”

“You--what?” Green-Eyes stared up at Golden-Hair, uncomprehendingly.

“Yeah!” Golden-Hair smirked and placed one hand on his hip as he nodded along to his own words, “I won’t fuck you, I only fuck women. Specifically large Roegadyn ladies who can probably crush me. I like the thrill, yanno? Also, like. They can go for ages. So no. I won’t fuck you. But we can probably find some twink that will?”

Green-Eyes stared. He stared, and stared, and stared. He felt something else bubbling up besides the anger, the indignation: incredulity. Following that, humour, and instead of a sob came a laugh. Then another, and another, until he was holding his bruised stomach and laughing and crying from the pain altogether. He saw a hand come down towards him. It was cached in filth, and the fingers were rough and calloused. He followed it upwards with his eyes until he stared through tears at the blurry features of the Golden-Haired boy. He was...strange. Provoking you, then joking with you, mocking you, then offering you his hand. Strange. He accepted it. He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet--and even stumbled into the taller youth’s arms. His cheeks flushed, he gave Golden-Hair a rough shove and stepped back several fulms. “You’re fucking weird, you know that?”

Golden-Hair just laughed, at that. He’d heard far worse. When Green-Eyes pushed away, he laughed even more--then gave a wink, just to put off the other more. “What’s your name!” It wasn’t a question. It was an exclamation. A demand. It was spoken with such confidence, that it prompted a response from the other—

“...Larkh’a. Larkh’a Relanah.”

“...Larkh’a?” Golden-Hair scoffed. “What kind of name is Larkh’a?” He snickered. He hadn’t heard such a stupid name in his life, he—

“It’s my mom’s! Watch it! See these black eyes? I can spread the wealth!”

Another snicker, “Okay, okay. Look--I’m Rha, okay? Rhaaaaaa! Rhaaaah!” He imitated growling and snarling noises, as he stamped about like a child. “There ain’t never been a dumber name! You’re in good company. Why..are you named after your mother, though?

“All keepers are,” an annoyed huff, “well, all the boys. You’ve never met a keeper before?”

“I’ve met plenty of keepers!” Rha grinned, the way his eyes shone, Larkh’a knew there was another joke bubbling up in the insufferable seeker. “Why, that broad-chested beauty down by sapphire? She’s absolutely a keeper! ...If you can keep’er well paid!”

“You’re not funny, you--you know that, right?” So Larkh’a said, even as he reached to cover his laugh with a hand. “Look— all male keepers are named after their mom. And we’re differentiated by birth order. Larkh’a, Larkh’to, Larkh’li, on and on.”

“What kind of culture doesn’t give their sons a name? That’s fuckin’ stupid, and I come from seekers, which are, like, really fuckin’ stupid. So if I’m calling this stupid, you know it’s the most backwards, ignorant shit on the planet. Fuckin’ tribals.” Rha spat on the ground. He expected to be struck for that, and he didn’t mind.

Instead, Larkh’a spat too. “I left, yeah? There was no place for me, back in the Shroud. I—”

“The Shroud! You’re from The Shroud? How come I’ve never met you?”

Larkh’a just raised an eyebrow. This kid oscillated between childish naivety, and a certain confidence and self-surety that he couldn’t place. “You...you’re kidding, right? The Shroud is huge. It makes sense, you’d never have seen us. By your own words, you’ve never even seen a keeper—”

“Boy. I’ve never met a keeper boy. I’ve seen ‘em.”

“...Met, a keeper boy. My point stands. I left. There was nothing for me there. So I came here. I’m going to be the champion of the Bloodsands, someday. I’m going to make a name, for myself.”

Rha smiled. A persistent shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

“What?”

“You just proved me right. You said you were going to win the Bloodsands.”

Larkh’a didn’t bother giving that a response. He averted his gaze to glare at the passerbys on their way to shop along sapphire avenue. “What about you? What are you doing here?”

“I ain’t got nothin’ for me back in the Shroud. It’s nothin’ but ghosts, the dead, and the dyin’. I’m lookin’ for Belah’dia.”

“Belah’...dia? You mean the old ruins out there? They’re no mystery, unless you mean you’re going deep inside—”

“No! I mean, yes! But no. I mean...Belah’dia. The idea of it, you know? A golden city amongst the sands, blessed by the sun. Paradise. I’m lookin’ for my Belah’dia. My dad, he wrote about it a lot in his journal.”

“So you’re gonna find that here, then? Here, and the actual, literal Belah’dia?”

“Nah.” Rha shrugged, “My Belah’dia is in Sharlayan.”

“Your Belah’dia. The Thanalan civilization? It’s in Sharlayan?”

“Yeah.”

“Sharlayan is not a desert.”

“Yeah.”

“There is no Belah’dia there.”

“There’s my Belah’dia.”

“But you’re not in Sharlayan.”

“No.”

“You’re in Thanalan?”

“Yeah!”

“With the actual Belah’dia.”

“Right.”

“But that ain’t your Belah’dia, you have to go to Sharlayan. Which is really far, really expensive.”

“That’s right.”

Lark’ha just stared. He stared, and he stared, and he stared until he thought he’d bored enough of a hole to peer into the other’s soul, and what he saw was a burning fire. An inferno raging behind his skin and funneling out through a dalamud-red eye. “You’re...really stupid, you know that?”

Rha just beamed, “Yeah, I guess. That’s about what I’ve heard! Ain’t been told nothin’ different, yet. But stupid people have gotten by before. They’ve even done great things. Stupid people don’t know when to quit, y’see? That makes ‘em, in a way, much better than smart folk.”

The logic didn’t hold up. Not in the slightest. Yet, Larkh’a found himself impressed--or at the least, intrigued--by the other boy. “How, exactly, do you plan on getting to Sharlayan? And what’ll you do then?”

“I’m gonna play my music. Then, I’ma buy an airship ticket. Once I’m there, I’m gonna take th’ exams and enroll in their academy. My dad went there. Said so in his journal. He saw all sorts of things. I’m gonna see ‘em, too.”

“...So you’re going to be an academic?” Larkha offered uncertainly.

“Yeah,” Rha affirmed with a cheery smile. “Like my old man.”

Larkh’a sighed. The kid wasn’t right in the head, he thought. Touched. Maybe dropped on his head too much. But...he believed in the other youth. What’s more, a kid who had never once spoken to him before in his life, believed in him too. “Listen, I’ve--we’ve got a place. Around back. You can stay there as long as you’d like, the others won’t mind. But you’ll have to earn your keep, pay some of that music money. Help in other ways, if you can’t come up with enough. They’re a bunch of dirty rats, lowlifes, beggars. But you’ll have a bed. One of them even plays. He’ll like to talk with you, I’m sure. I just have one condition, yeah?” This time, it was Larkh’a’s turn to extend a hand.

Rha took it without a second thought, “Yeah?”

“Take me with you, would you?”

“You mean to Sharlayan?”

“No, not there.”

Rha understood. With a confident (bordering upon arrogant) smile, he went off with his new friend.

“You still think it’s out there, Rha.” Larkson spoke in quiet, reassuring tones, even as he saw his friend curl up into himself in an attempt to retreat. He felt sure of himself, as he spoke those words, and confident that Rha would hear them, and take them to heart. He was far from the angry, uncertain child of his youth--and he had, in his own way, made a name for himself. Through hard work, dedication, through his friends. He’d also seen the man Rha had become--and he’d seen the loss of that man, until he was what he saw before him. But when he looked into his eyes long enough, he saw, just for a moment, what he thought were coals and wild horses. “After all you’ve been through, down to the seventh hell and back, cursing the gods all the way--you still believe in Belah’dia.”

[satire-please]

My Teeth are like Swords - Part 2

Summary: (I’m tired and can’t transfer this in a way to keep my italics in dang it.) Tim is a detective...who lives with detectives. The other Bat's start noticing something different about one of their own. And Tim realizes that he can't hide forever.

Part 1

Dragon Tim on Ao3

Like finding gold dust on a blood moon, there are times Tim will hear about his Mother. It’s difficult to encounter another drake, they’re too rare, too widely spread that it’s a miracle that Tim has met two. But it’s always a surprise to hear that Janet Drake is considered a romantic, sentimental imbecile to other dragonfolk.

To mate with a human is one thing, but to shift and willingly live beside them in their pitiful metal ant hills? Preposterous.

And to carry young on that state? Inside of their own bodies instead of in a proper shell as hard as diamonds? Unheard of.

What foolish unnecessary risks.

Tim felt his core bubble in warmth whenever he hears such slander. That Mother would care that much. Once, he did approached her on the subject.

“I spent many centuries as a upstanding, model drake.”Janet sniffed disdainfully, steering Tim from a fuming man at one of Gotham’s many galas. The drake from the east is starting to show, smoke passing from his nose uncontrollably. How embarrassing, her Timothy showed more restraint when he was three. “Now I find it much more valuable of my time to do as I please. Besides, the fact remains that my line will continue to endure and adapt unlike most bloodlines that will taste stone and dust.”

Tim summed it up to, ‘I do what I want. Leave me alone or burn.’

She glanced behind her to give the man a subtle sneer. What a fool to think that she would accept such an inadequate betrothal for her son. And, to add insult to injury, the man’s daughter hadn’t even bothered to present herself. “A dragon is a dragon, Timothy. It doesn't matter if you are half, a quarter or only possess a single drop of our blood. Magic doesn't care. It will still take, you will still shift, you will still fly. And if those incessant pathetic hair ribbons say anything different, show them there are still ways to make a dragon fry.”

Tim loved his Mother.

It’s...a shame he’s the only one who knew how she died.

And it wasn’t from that stupid water Obeah left, no matter how traditional to dragon slaying poison is. True it weakened her to the point of inducing a death-like coma, but if Tim lifted an eyelid the iris would still flash and respond. If Tim pressed his hand to her chest, he’d still feel the hint of fire tucked within.

Robbing the cemetery had been a pain though. It’s not like he could just tell Dad that, ‘Um hey, mother’s not dead. No, I know she seems like she’s dead. Yes, I know she doesn’t have a pulse, but you see–’

Yeah, not happening.

He abused his connections for a nice cave carved out of the cliff face next to the manor. It’s not like Mr. Wayne was using it. It could be accessed from the rocky beach if necessary, the entrance tight until you were a couple meters in. Then it stretched enough for his mother’s body to shift unconsciously, so the dragon could heal and sleep in peace.

Tim had thought it was perfect.

It didn’t matter much in the end.

Not when Mother finally woke and could smell Tim’s lie about Dad. Not when she stopped eating. The young teen would find, hunt, and drag dead deer and antelope into the cave only to rot around her body as she stared emptily at the stone walls. She waited for death. Nothing could change her mind...no matter how much he begged and pleaded.

“Please!” He stroked her rough eyelid, thoughts racing for any excuse for her to stay with him. To not leave him alone. “Isn’t there something you still have to teach me?”

His hand falls away as a lazy violet eye cracks open. It’s bigger than his head and the pupil focuses so achingly slow. “You’ve known all since you turned twelve, my pet. Our race never repeats themselves, not with memories like ours.”

“B-But I need–”

“You have my hoard, you will not go without means. You have my brain, you will do well and even thrive. You have a territory, a perfect environment for your future form and most of all you possess a purpose to keep your heart beating. Even if it is as ridiculous as looking after those silly humans. I am satisfied...now let me die in peace.”

“No please, m-mother, stay with me.”

“Oh, my darling. One day you will understand. Our love...is a terrible thing.”

And with that she stopped responding. Tim reasoned, screamed, cried while the reflection of his distraught face became clear in those unblinking glassy eyes. His throat raw as he hit and scratched uselessly at the black scales going grey, like the ashy rock dripping behind them until the camouflage of her skin was truth and she was stone.

Like all dragons when they die.

That’s how Timothy Drake inherited Gotham, sobbing on his knees as the refuge became a crypt.

It takes several years before Tim raids another grave...his father’s.

After all, Mother would appreciate his skeleton crystallizing next to hers. She would have liked that.

Timothy still loves his Mother.

**

It's a slow night and Jason’s gonna explode. He's stopped four muggings, seven car thefts, and a couple of kids trying to make a molotov cocktail. Okay, Jason felt bad at stopping the last one, come on what is he turning into? A twitchy cop? Geez, let kids be kids and fuck the police. He’s about to shoot his own damn foot for some excitement when he sees something in the corner of his eye as he hits the next roof.

Oh-ho? In the curve of hanging gargoyles menacingly scowling at those is a hint of red that tugs a smirk on Hood’s lips.

Replacement.

Well, alright, he hasn't meant that name in a bad way for a while. It's not like Jay wants to carve a new one in Mr. Serious anymore. Sure, he’s an annoying prude with the biggest stick up his ass, hangin’ off Bats’ every word like the good guard dog, the good tool he is, but, hey, he ain't a bad guy. Saved Jay from enough pinches that he feels right and guilty about the whole almost bleedin’ him out thing. So he makes it up the only way he can..with tough love. Plus, the more Jay can shake that Babybird nice and loose, the better. He takes in the former Robin’s figure, how he’s hunched in upon himself. His head of black resting on his knees as the crouch tucks him right under one of the silent stone guardians.

Babybird snoozing on the job? Have some shame.

Not that Jay has any of that. He barely stops himself from snickering, giving himself away when the helmet goes static for it, and creeps closer. Close enough to get the best view of the little shit’s face. It takes a Bat to sneak up on a Bat, you know. A grin spreads wide on his cheeks as he pulls his gun from his holster (it’s only rubber bullets now, calm the fuck down) Then, he aims to the sky and fires.

The crack of the bullet gives Jay the most beautiful flinch and jerk you ever did see–

Boom.

–but the returning blast of burning hot possible death that floods the ledge is not.

It takes every scrap of speed he has to not singe his fucking eyebrows off. It’s more fire than force, but thank Batman for quick reflexes and the tell tale click near Red.

“What the hell, Babybird?” Smoke billows, curling around the two and Jason coughs, waving his arms madly.

“I could say the same for you, asshole.” In the black mess, a spark sputters between Tim’s teeth, just like an annoying lighter that flickers and hurts your thumb the more you try, as he tries to control his shaky breathing. Inhale. Damn, that really startled him. Exhale. His fangs sink into his lower lip, drawing blood over the rude awakening. He shakes his head like a dog, forcing what was sharp canines into blunt square human teeth. “Gunshot really? Gosh, you always have to be a dick, don’t you?”

“Do you always have to throw something flashy when ya wake up? Ain’t that Robin’s way?” Jason brushes his clothes, disgruntled. He didn’t see a flash grenade or anything, but Bats right? More prepared than a Girl Scout.

“Maybe.” Tim wonders how long he’s going to get convenient excuses.

“What? Ya sleep with them or something? Didn’t know ya needed a teddy bear, Replacement.”

Tim smirked, “Oh, come on, Hood, didn’t you learn to let sleeping dragons lie?”

“Ha, ha. Whatever, call it a night, you pyromaniac piece of shit.” Jason puts his gun away and fishes for a peace offering under his collar. He thrusts the white cigarette at the other, “Smokes?”

“Not right now, Hood.”

“Your loss, Replacement.” Jason lights it, dragging a puff to cover up a pout. Hmpf, stuffy princess. Doesn’t drink with him (I’m not legal to drink, Jason). Never smokes with him (We have set an example to Damian, Jason). Jay should be offended cause nowadays Tim carries the hazy scent round like a club’s perfume and Jay knows he’s hiding the good stuff somewhere.

He’s just never seen Tim do it.

Tim observes the turn of Jason’s mouth and jerks his head towards the street below, “Not smokes, but you hungry enough for hotdogs?”

“This is Gotham, baby, when I am ever not down for hotdogs?”

The two shoot their grappling lines towards a vendor who’s too used to this shit to give one. But as Tim rattles off their order, something itches at Jason. Something that’s off.

(The Gargoyle they left above bares new marks along its side. The side that Jason couldn’t see. They were not chiseled in, but Tim is sure most wouldn’t notice the new additions.)

Whatever.

He’ll figure it out.

**

Timmy’s been sleeping more.

Dick is so grateful he wipes at an imaginary tear, sniffs, and whips out his phone to snap a picture again. Tim doesn’t snore, but that’s definite drool on his chin, nicccccccce. Dick takes in the scene and gets another shot from a different angle. He almost has a full album now titled, Behold the Cryptid Sleeps, it’s only fair after all the pictures Tim took of them when he was their cutest little stalker. For now, Dick just calls it karma and texts Babs to back the good stuff up.

But, okay, Dick admits it’s starting to get weird.

And Timmy’s sleeping habits have always been weird. Before he had stolen Bruce’s crown and title of Sleep Dep King. Working on case after case, day after day only to finally pass out, usually with something like,

“How many days does it take to start hallucinating again, Bruce?”

“...Three.”

“Huh, so that’s why you’re purple with seven eyes.”

It usually takes a lot to get Timmy to crash and burn into a bed, usually (always) in the form of Alfred and good food laced with sedatives. It’s not that Timmy doesn’t know that they’re in the food, it’s just that no one says no to Alfred Pennyworth. No one.

But now it’s like Tim is on an egg timer and it’s wonderful.

After about 24 or 26 hours, against his will, Timmy starts swaying on his feet and lurches grumpily towards a safe, soft spot to snooze. True, Dick notes sometimes they’re odd places, like underneath the desk of the bat computer, nestled in much of the wiring. Or head resting on the kitchen table, his angry eyes drooping with, “I don’t understand. Coffee has failed me, Alfred.”

“Our bodies change over time, Master Timothy. One cannot expect caffeine to sustain them forever.”  

“You’re...lying. You did something to the coffee, admit it!”

“I have not...this time.”

“You must have I...can’t even–” But Tim doesn’t get to finish the response.

“Master Dick I believe Master Timothy needs to be escorted to his room. If you would–” Alfred leaves the sentence open, because anytime Dick can hold an unconscious, not struggling brother? You know he’s all over that.

Bruce has even started to prioritize breaks in the patrol schedule for Tim. Or, to be more accurate, he’s encouraging (enforcing) Tim to use the breaks that have always been there.

But…really the switch in the dynamic is kinda odd, especially when Dick finds Tim on one of the Manor’s couches after patrol, his skin paler than milk and shivering in his sleep. When the room is set to 75 degrees….and he’s under at least five blankets.

Dick pads over and cups the younger vigilante face in two hands. “Holy Batman, Timmy, you're as cold as ice.” His brow furrows when Tim barely responds to the statement, his eyes half open to blurrily peer at Dick. That’s not a good sign. Plus, he’s is not kidding. Tim’s skin is cool to the touch, it could compete with one of the dripping stalagmites in the cave.

“S’cold Dick…and tired.” The words push out of his lips clumsily. He raises his arms to grasp the Dick’s wrists as if he was going to push the hands off his cheek and then just forgot. The heat’s too inviting. “Just need sleep, m’fine.”

“I think you're a liar that lies, Babybird.” Dick leans back only to pull the covers off enough to slip beside Tim onto the couch. He tugs the boy in with an arm until Tim's head finds a comfy spot on his shoulder. Heck yeah, it's cuddle time. The best way to share body heat ever. He looks around the den and sees the remote for the T.V. It takes a few tries to stretch in a way to get it, especially without moving too far from Tim, but Dick’s not an acrobat for nothing.

Tim huffs a weary laugh against Dick’s neck, “Well, I'm the guy that lies to Batman, you know.”

“Shhhhhhh, he’ll hear you.” Dick pats Tim’s hair, starts clicking channel after channel (a thousand channels is just not enough) for something to watch.

“M’good, you can go.” Tim didn’t expect it would take so long for his core to normalize. Fire might smoulder under his breast, but damn it, it’s sucking most of the heat from his extremities. To his calculations, it may be months before his body can adjust to the change...if ever. Tim can already imagine the mountain of clothing he’ll need for Gotham’s winter. Mother got away with it by layering and calling in fashion. How is Tim going to spin it when he’s jumping off roof-tops fat with every wool item he can find? Oh. Or he could design heaters in his clothing. That could work. But still, this is the reason why most drakes live near volcanoes. Temperature regulation is a bitch.

Dick hums above him and breaks Tim’s line of thought. Oh well, he guesses he’ll stay here for a bit longer, just until he thaws out and stops being an Tim-icicle. It’s not that Dick minds, right? He fades away at the sound of a bad romantic comedy playing in the background.

He doesn’t see the frown on Dick’s face.

Or hear him quietly whisper into his com, “Alfred, could you run some tests for me?”

**

Alfred would have a conniption.

“Drake, you wretched slob.”

Damian must see to it that the competent butler never visits the former Robin. Ever. The man is old and truly must be spared from any health issues that may occur from witnessing this vile display of chaos. In fact, Damian wishes he could spare himself from the scene, yet Father did request him to fetch the evidence and Dick is off planet. How dare he.

Damian squints pass the entrance only to flinch back. There in the dark, two pinpricks of purple follow his every move...and hiss.

The Robin swallows and forces the door open all the way, allowing the dim light from the basement to flood the room. There are no light switches. It’s...odd. The boiler hums nearby explaining the heat that’s almost sweltering. Heaps of objects litter the floor, making narrow pathways here and there. Fortunately, food must be absent in the debris since the smell lacks rot. Instead what perfumes the air is what Damian associates with his predecessor, the smell of spices burned with a touch of something chemical. Gasoline, perhaps? Damian’s breathing finally evens out when he spots a mess of black hair poking out from a mountain of bedding.

Blearily, Tim focuses on the intruder. “Damian? What are you doing here?” he sleepily grumbles.

Though Grayson might find the tone endearing, Damian does not.

“I have come for the Spear of Enue. Father requires it and has requested me to retrieve it from you. He said it was in your possession?”

“B needs to leave my stuff alone.” Tim sits upright, staring emptily for a moment and clearly displeased about being awake. Then, with a groan he sluggishly works himself out of the bedding. “But a case is a case, I guess. Yeah, I have it, just give me a sec to get it.”

“The spear is here?”

A hum. “Sure, it is, why wouldn’t it be?”

Well, at least Drake seems more amenable when half-awake. Robin crosses his arms and strives not to look too haughty. Usually collecting data from the older vigilante takes more coaxing (threats) and persuasion (heavy bickering) to get the desired result. Perhaps he should lend his assistance.

“Drake, where are your lights? Two pairs of eyes would obviously be quicker than one.”

“Lights?” A confused tone. “Why would I need lights? I can see just fine.”

“Tch, I’m surprised you can locate anything in this outrageous dump.”

“Mother always said I was a messy hoarder, but I have a strong belief that mess is a matter of perspective. Besides, I know exactly where everything is.”

Tim slinks out of bed and makes his way toward a pile that seems to have earned the category of lethal and shiny weapons. Damian attempts to move towards the same direction, but his foot hits an item and he just manages to make the trip look intentional. Of course, Drake was not even looking. Wait.

“Drake, is that my katana?” He points to the hilt barely poking out from the bottom, half of the weapon slithering from under the bed.

It’s a silly habit that Tim can’t shake from childhood to put the most prized things under his bed, like the old cardboard box full of pictures, a few stacks of spanish golden doubloons marked from a toddler’s teething, a cursed ruby the size of a skull, you know the usual.

“...Yes?” Tim’s head bobs up from his search and glances over at the weapon. Then, he pauses for a moment or two, his expression shifting so fast (Mine, not mine, mine, not mine) that Damian cannot place it, “Oh, sorry. I guess you’d want that back. I mean, of course you do, it belongs to you, I only had it because you were gone and–”

Drake cuts off, making no movement towards the old katana. Damian reasons it must have been acquired while he was not among the living. He doesn’t know how to feel about Drake keeping that kind of memento, yet he notes there is a definite lack of rage that usually accompanies such a theft. In addition, Drake looks like a petulant child.

“It does not matter. I no longer require a child’s katana.” Damian waves a hand to the other heaps. “The spear, however, Drake, Father needs immediately.”  

“Right.”

It is then he notices Drake’s unusual attire. The vigilante groggily separates the pile for what Damian seeks in boxers and a baggy Gotham U sweatshirt that keeps sliding over a white shoulder. How peculiar, Drake never went to college so why...ah, yes, Dick. But what really has Damian’s brows rising is the two thick watches on Tim's wrist. One that he's definitely seen on his father once before and a glint of something shiny peeking from the sweatshirt.

“Do you often sleep in diamonds, Drake?”

“They're nice to look at before bed,” Tim muttered absentmindedly.

“Is that a slogan for this new fashion statement?” Damian walks over and curiously pulls down the collar to look at it more closely. Many of the gems are larger than an egg as they lace together in the metal filigree. It covers a wide band over Drake’s collarbones before cascading towards his sternum in delicate chains. “This piece is familiar to me. Drake, are these the jewels we recovered from Catwoman?”

“One, I demand the fundamental human right to always be pretty, witty, and gay. You’ll understand when you’re older. Two, I bought these from that auction fair and square, so Selina should have keep her mangy paws off them.”  

Suddenly, Damian remembers that specific tackle to take down the thief had been...more enthusiastic and vicious on Drake’s part. Usually Father is the one to handle any incidents with her, but perhaps all it takes is emotional investment to pin down the slippery woman.

Tim pries off Damian’s fingers only to press what he seeks in them. “Here, the spear. Now, get out. If you’re gonna mock and insult me, I want four more hours of sleep first.”  

The spear is heavy, but Damian manages with a tilt to this lips. “Very well, I’ll skin and eviscerate you later, Drake.”

Drake snorts. “And, hey, you have a spear and everything. All you have to do is be knighted and we’d have the perfect fairytale set up. Farewell, Sir Brat.” He waves to the door before collapsing onto the bed, preparing his nest the way he wants it.

Damian watches the ritual all the way to the door. Stops to take in the scene one a final time. It’s strange, but it does seem like a lair from one of his grandfather’s monster stories. Dark, warm like a breathing thing, full of hidden treasure...and danger.   

How right he is.

But he comes to the realization later...much later.

**

Bruce has seen a lot.

He’s fought aliens on ships millions of lightyears from Earth and tangled with kraken under the sea. He’s negotiated with Circe for Diana’s sake and fed viruses to ruin robot armies for Clark’s. He’s handled witches, sorcerers, and time-travellers from around the world. Every night he tries to plug one of Gotham’s bleeding holes as they gush out the vile and the crazy with the Joker, Ivy, Harvey, and more.

Bruce has seen a lot.

But the universe keeps surprising him one way or another. And sometimes? Closer to the heart then he expected.

“So, you’re the drake that rejected my proposal.”

“And you’re the dame that didn’t even bother to show up to make it.”

Bruces eyes flicker back and forth between his third son and the young, literally steaming woman in front of them. Her pale white hair whips behind her like something alive. The villain of the month does the same. Apparently, Gotham has the perfect waterfront property for the taking, especially with the leyline that cuts right through the city or so the warlock just finished monologuing about.

“What are you doing? I said destroy them.” The fuming sorcerer demands pointing at the Bat-clan. Golems rise in various stages around them being the only opponents beyond the man and woman. They’re all near the Manor by the beach, a few miles from the city but even with the home field advantage...Bruce feels a thread of concern to see Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian joining him to put their backs against the cliff face below his family home.

“Just a moment, Master, I have some unfinished business to attend to.” The woman raises a hand and starts to undo her cloak.

“Master? My, my.” Tim flicks his bo to the side. It’s not going to be useful here. Ugh, this is not how he wanted this to go. “Just how low has your line fallen? Mother was right to refuse to even consider you as a candidate. Do you follow his every command or do you just lick his boots?”

“How. Dare. You.” The woman’s eyes glow yellow and her voice’s pitch becomes grating.

Tim snorts. “Look at you. You can’t even control your shift….pathetic.”

“Red Robin, the situation, now.” Bruce tries striking another golem, but Tim ducks to put himself between the Bats and the newcomers.

“You judge me, when you wear human flesh so much that you stink of it? Your true scent barely bleeds through.” The odor of rancid sulfur strikes the air. The woman peels off her clothes, layer by layer until a pile litters the sand. “Half-breed.”

Rude. The human and dragon are both his scents. Tim thinks he smells fine, thanks.

“I said–” The villain tries to command but the dame strides towards Red Robin.

“How are you different from me? The warlock will save my line and give us power, but you? You play at human.”

“I do what I want,” Tim icily states. “Which is more that I can say for you. Now get out of my territory or burn.”

“No, I think I’m going to put a male in his place. Beneath me.” And the woman lets out a cry that turns into a roar. The other Bats watch as the woman’s form hutches over, makes a terrible crack and then grows. And grows. And grows. Scales take shape as her neck elongates and it’s sickening. Before them a white dragon rises and crashes a claw on the beach. It’s the size of a house.

‘Well…’ Bruce thinks. ‘That’s something new.’

“A dragon, come on. You have to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” Jason snarls, shooting at the beast. The rubber bullets do nothing but irritate the overgrown Godzilla-wanna-be.

“Wait, it gets better,” Tim mutters. “So, burn it is. This is why we can’t have nice things between dragons. What a pity...bring it.”

And there is a collective gasp.

Because Tim smirks and the beach is overcome with a violent blast. When the smoke clears...there’s nothing?

Nothing but the golems on the beach, the Bats fighting them and the warlock hissing out commands to a white giant worm, who is diverting much from his cunning plan.

But no Tim.

The white dragon shrieks in fury and raises her giant wings, preparing to crush those on the sand when something large slams into her side. She lurches over and peers over her shoulder. Nothing. But several of her scales are cracked from the impact.

Then, it’s as if thunder booms right in front of them, making their eardrums ring from the force of the sound. Under the blow, the white worm topples forward attempting to steady herself.

It’s shadowy and massive, a heavy body and the thumping beat of wings. It’s slowly moving into the moonlight on the beach, kicking up sand.

The Bats shields their eyes even with the whiteouts down, the gust knocking into kevlar and nomac. Nightwing automatically throws an arm out to keep Robin from falling; Hood makes an unconscious grab to the other arm.

And when he lights down, massive razor-tipped claws digging into the sand, the black scales and shiny leather of wings give the Bats one hell of an answer to all those burning questions.

Timmy’s always cold.

The cave, the hoard.

The night vision.

The ever-ready exploding “pellets”.

All of it comes to a sudden dawning realization.

The baddie of the night looks from one dragon to the other, trepidation leaking in because who would have thought two dragons at once.

Low muttering, winding a spell even as the new dragon throws back his power neck and roars. It shakes them down to their very bones, a sound unlike any they’ve heard before.

The shift of muscle, dark eyes narrowing, and the first lunge is punctuated by the abrupt cries of the Bats who have come to the realization this is one of their own.

But there’s no pause when claws come up to strike, when the first is a good one, raking into his side, putting his first blow into soft underbelly, close to the intended target.

(Only one way to kill a dragon, the heart has to go.)

“Motherfuck--Tim!” But Hood can do nothing but watch the blood, ripe and rich in the night splatter the beach, hoping stupidly it ain’t all Red’s.

“Get to the sides!” the Batman roars, already moving, already reaching for the next weapon in his belt.

He sees the opening when both dragons rear up on hind legs for the next blow, his gauntlet spitting out flash pellets.

It’s go time as the rest of the Robins take it all in and move. Robin pulls a duck and dodge through legs with a batarangs ready for the baddie on the other side.

Hood pulls a whole lotta how ya’ doin’ when the .45s spit a few rubber bullets right on the gouge marks, sliding through the sand as the bigger dragon leans down to latch teeth into Tim’s neck and hold the fuck on.

Nightwing leaps, even with the sand trying to bog him down, both sticks out in a double blow at the exposed weakness behind the white dragon’s ear. He has enough time to cringe at the sound of pain tearing into the night, to see the gleam of claws sinking into her belly in a knee-jerk reaction.

The fight going on behind them, the golem starting to shift and move at the sorcerer’s botched command, and Robin just breathes out a deep damn sigh because honestly, some of us have homework to dumb down. But he shifts, pulling out pellets in rapid succession as he moves closer to the army. The abrupt, “huu,” is just more proof he is a superior marksman. The mental note to pick up the tome from which those accursed spells emanate from is another task on the night’s to-do list.

The abrupt shock of Nightwing’s stick and the barrage of bullets takes its toll, getting the white dragon to jerk away from that black jugular, to rear back with pain.

The claws sink deeper, Red growling low, smoke curling from his maw. His eyes slide to the sides, making sure the Bats are out of firing range before he opens his maw with that familiar and suddenly very telling click.

“Down!” It’s Batman that throws the last exploding batarang within range to the white dragon’s injured belly, so the blast of burning blue flame ignites, sets the soft, vulnerable innards to char.

Red, however, takes the last blow for his own (because she picked the wrong fucking city, the wrong family, the wrong dragon to fuck with), claws sinking in, and the meaty thump in the center is just at the right place to reach.

Low and huffing, “try me.”

“You wouldn’t,” her voice cracks from agony.

“Threaten what’s mine, and I won’t think twice.” He gives just the smallest squeeze to punctuate the point.

“Better not fuck with him, bitch,” Hood’s voice, lazy through the synths while he eyes the army Demon is gonna be taking on, “he ain’t one ta joke.”

The white dragon growls and the iridescent black dragon can feel her tensing up as if to give her last hurrah, to go out with a bang, but he’s having none of that. He snarls, the sound deep from within his chest as he snaps his jaws just in front of the dame’s face, sparks clicking behind his gleaming ivory teeth. “You should know,” he practically purrs, “there are fates worse than death. Don’t. Push. Me.” His words, his threat (a bluff, shh), thankfully, gets the right reaction. She sags with a trailing growl, eyes glittering with malice and defeat.

“Go. Get out of my territory.” The words leave no argument.

“W-Who…” she spits blood, dotting the sand, “who would want...your...shoddy terr-territory anyway.”

Slowly, he retracts, pulling his claws back while the click echoes against the bluff, a warning and a promise. But the dame doesn’t move to start the fight up again. She needs time to heal the grievous injuries. The mage will earn his own fate.

“And now, next on the list,” Nightwing sighs, looking from the dragon to where Robin has starting whipping out the tricks and traps on the moving golem.

“By the way, Timmers,” Hood’s neck cranes as he look up at the massive face hanging low, the chest heaving with that little scuffle. “You ever think, hmm, I dunno to say you might be a motherfucking dragon or some shit? I mean, don’t they say that shit right off the fucking bat?”

The dragon huffs down at him as Hood holds up a hand to demonstrate, “‘nice ta meetcha. Name’s Timmy. Like long flights ‘round the beach, beatin’ the shit outta assholes, and literally roasting my enemies.

Ya know, just the usual shit for Gotham.”