#but i am an optimist so ao3 here it comes

[allylikethecat]

Umm okay, so, I didn't finish the chapter I was planning on trying to finish... BUT I did somehow write 1,000 words about Fictional!George being angry at Fictional!Matty for jumping off the B Stage last night on my phone during lunch so... I guess Happy Tuesday I will be posting that shortly 😂

Happy Tuesday a little heads up, if I do manage to actually post something today (unlikely) it won’t be until much later because the world is mean and I have meetings all day physically in the office 😭

[to-thelakes]

sick day (well... sick month)

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader

summary; after yet another doctor's appointment, frank takes care of his sick - and frustrated - girlfriend

warnings; fluffy as hell, mentions of medication, discussions of eczema and being sick with the flu, brief mention of guns

notes; this is my first time posting my one-shots on tumblr so hello! i've done a little bit of posting on ao3 but i've always been a little scared to post here but here i am! now, this fic, it is a purely self-indulgent fluffy fic and it's the first in my fluffbruray fics. i'm hoping to do a fic every day of this month but i'm in uni and about to start a new job so whether that will happen is anyone's guess! but this fic is just some frank fluff because i've been going through a bunch of health issues and i needed the comfort from my favourite big bad punisher <3 i did proof-read it but it's not beta-read or anything so apologies for any grammar mistakes! i hope you enjoy <3

ao3

When you trudged back into the apartment after your appointment at the clinic, Frank could tell something was wrong. He had been cleaning up his guns at the table when he heard the door close. There was no call of his name or any sort of greeting; only a quiet shuffle of shoes being discarded and your coat being hung up. A frown was quick to spread across his face as he pushed the chair back, walking to meet you in the hallway.

“Everythin’ alright, sweetheart?” He asked. You looked up at him, tears welling in your eyes as you shook your head. He frowned but was quick to wrap you up into a hug. Your face buried in his strong chest as you sniffled.

“Apparently it’s normal and there’s nothing they can do to help me,” You mumbled against the fabric of his shirt. It smelt like him and that seemed to make it all so much better. Frank sighed and he used one of his hands to cradle the back of your head. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding you somehow closer.

“We’ll figure something out, yeah?” He said. You sniffled before nodding your head. You didn’t know what you were going to do. It had been over a month and you didn’t feel any better. It was exhausting. When you had gotten the flu, you hadn’t expected to still feel the effects now. You’d never had it before and you were at the point where you wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Your health had plummeted and it was infuriating. 

It also didn’t help that your new-found eczema had spread to your nose. You had done everything that the doctor had told you yet he still seemed out to punish you. You had never felt more disgusting and your nose hurt constantly. The constant dripping and blocking from when you had the flu would go away with time - apparently - but you didn’t really believe that at this point.

“I’m so tired,” You mumbled. Frank sighed and he pressed a kiss to your hair before pulling back. He cupped your face with his hands, looking into your eyes.

“You put the cream on yet?” He asked, his voice was gruff but soft. You shook your head and he nodded, glancing back at the table. The gun was still in parts but you were more important to him right now so he slipped his hand into yours, “Let me help ya put it on.” You nodded and he led you over to the bathroom. You stripped your jeans off and he grabbed the cream from where you had left it the night before.

“At least my leg is getting better,” You muttered, attempting to be optimistic. Frank smiled at you, glad to see some of your normal self coming back to the surface. He couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t broken his heart seeing how crushed you had been recently. Getting out of bed for work had been a struggle every day but you had managed to do it and he was proud of you.

“Attagirl.” That familiar grin had spread across his face and you couldn’t help but smile back; though that made your nose hurt. 

The cold winter air had made the eczema on your nose sting on your walk back to the apartment but you knew that it would be okay as soon as the cream was on.

“Put your leg up,” He said once he had gotten down on one knee. He patted his thigh and you lifted your foot up, resting it there. He squeezed a fingertip of cream onto his finger before spreading it across the marks on the side of your thighs. It didn’t tingle as much as it had the first few times you put it on but there was still an uncomfortable feeling that lingered.

“He said that the flu probably caused the eczema, not my medication,” You said after a beat of silence. Frank had switched out to the moisturiser now and was spreading it across the underside of your thigh as you spoke. Frank scoffed and lifted his hand away from your leg, tapping your calf. You put your leg down.

“Course,” He commented. You could tell by the look on his face as he clambered back to his feet that he didn’t believe that. You didn’t really either. Frank cleaned his hands off before reaching for the steroid cream again.

“He still dropped the dosage but I dunno,” You mumbled, not entirely sure what you were trying to say. You just felt frustrated and it felt like nobody was really taking you seriously. You knew something was wrong and maybe it was just your medication but it still felt frustrating that nobody seemed to care enough to talk through everything with you.

“One step at a time,” He mumbled and you nodded. He sat down on the edge of the bathtub and you moved to stand between his thighs as he angled your face towards him. He then spread the small dot of cream onto your nostril where the eczema had begun to spread.

“Thank you,” You said after a moment. Frank switched out for the moisturiser again and began to dab across your nose. He was being careful. He knew how sensitive your face was at the moment and he didn’t want to cause you any more pain.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” He responded before letting go of your face. The cream would take a few minutes to soak in but then there would at least be some relief from the aching pain. He leant forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead before you stepped out of the way.

“I’ll make us lunch,” You suggested. Frank switched the taps on and nodded, washing his hands off, “Pasta?” A grin spread across Frank’s face - replacing the previously stoic look - and you knew that it was a yes. You chuckled, stepping towards him to press a kiss to his cheek before you disappeared out of the bathroom. 

Frank had always been a pasta lover and it was the reason you had met him.

The first time you met the Big Bad Punisher, Frank had stumbled through your window - half-dead - while you were cooking one of your mum’s pasta dishes. It had been famous in your home town for how good it was and it seemed to have drawn Frank Castle in just like it had your dad to your mum all those years ago. Looking back, the scenario was amusing. But at the time, not so much.

Frankly, you had been terrified considering that the Punisher was standing in your living room demanding pasta while he was bleeding on your carpet. Initially, you had stood there frozen but then Frank nearly collapsed and you spent the night feeding him pasta and tending to his wounds. You remembered the next morning that Frank was gone and so were the leftovers. You had tried to be mad but it was somehow endearing.

You hadn’t expected to see him again but you did when you were cooking that pasta again. He had come knocking on your window and part of you wanted to berate him for stealing the leftovers but you didn’t have the heart to. The fact that you were now dating Frank still confused you sometimes. He was meant to be a terrifying, menacing murderer and yet when he was around you, he was nothing but attentive, loving and devoted. 

Maybe it was the pasta is something you often mused but Frank assured you that he loved you for a lot more than your pasta. There was a sense of safety with him and just as you were finished collecting all your ingredients for the meal, he appeared, wrapping his arms around you.

“Feelin’ better, sweetheart?” He asked. You nodded and leant back into hold.

“Much.” He grinned and kissed your face once more before he let you return back to your cooking. He loved to watch you work.

<3

[fireya-x]

luna sanguinis // CHAPTER I: nox fatalis

[PREVIOUS] || CHAPTER MASTERLIST || [NEXT]

AO3 Link

John isn't the party type. But a Halloween invitation to a secluded manor and an encounter with the alluring Victoria prove to be a temptation he can’t resist.

[4k words]

cw: blood, violence

nox fatalis

“Oi, cowboy!” A way too enthusiastic voice boomed from his right, and John Price looked up to see Soap approaching. He blinked, almost rubbing his eyes to fully take in the costume his comrade was wearing.

“Soap, are you wearing a bloody skirt ?” another voice beat John to it. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before reaching into his jacket pocket to retrieve a cigar. Why did he agree to go to a Halloween party, of all places?

“It’s a kilt, you fuckin’ uncultured dog,” Soap shot back, his Scottish accent thick, turning to face Gaz. “What are you supposed to be? The saddest vampire in town?”

“Dracula,” Gaz flashed his fake plastic dentures with a smirk. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Sorry, the runny eyeliner threw me off. It makes you look miserable, not threatening.” Johnny laughed, then turned to John, giving him a once-over. “Nice costume, cowboy.”

“Gunslinger,” Price corrected, his voice flat.

“What?” Gaz asked, looking confused.

“Not a cowboy,” John repeated.

“Practically the same thing,” a low, raspy voice joined them, and John rolled his eyes.

He turned to see Ghost approaching, clad all in black, his skull balaclava and skeleton gloves the only concession to the holiday. “The dress code was Halloween costume, Simon, in case you missed the cue.”

Ghost gestured to his face. “This has to do. I scared enough kids on the way.”

Price sighed audibly. “I need a fucking drink if I am supposed to survive this. Y’all owe me for dragging me here.”

“Oh come on, it will be fun. Snacks, drinks and maybe some lovely women - what’s not to love?” Gaz clapped a hand on Price’s shoulder, always the optimist.

“Is that a skirt, Johnny?” Ghost’s voice rasped through the chatter of nearby partygoers, catching their attention.

“Fuck all of you,” Soap replied, holding his finger up to point at each of them in turn. Then, turning to Ghost, he added, "At least I put some effort into this."

Ghost just huffed and grabbed an envelope that Gaz held out. “How’d you get invitations anyway?”

Gaz flashed his fake teeth in a dramatic grin. “I know some people who know some people. This is the most prestigious party in the country, you should be grateful.”

“I am so grateful,” Price muttered sarcastically, taking a long drag of his cigar before discarding the butt and grinding it out with his boot. ��Let’s go before I change my mind.”

They turned toward the imposing front gate of the mansion. It was an old, stately building, quintessentially English, with a rose garden stretching out to either side. Price had expected over-the-top Halloween decorations, but the decor was surprisingly tasteful. Candles flickered in ornate lanterns, eerily realistic skulls were perched on stone pillars, and real ravens perched on the wrought iron fence, their caws echoing through the driveway that circled a towering willow tree. 

He had to admit, there was a certain prestige, a sense of history, that hung about the place. Why he’d agreed to come, he still didn’t know. He would have much preferred mission reports, a good whiskey, and a cigar in the quiet of his office. He was lucky he’d even found this old outfit buried in the back of his closet - leather jacket, fake revolvers, cowboy hat, and boots that were more for show than practicality these days.

The mansion seemed to loom over them, its dark windows like watchful eyes. Soap was openly gawking, while Gaz wore a knowing smirk that suggested he’d been here before. They climbed the short flight of steps leading to the massive oak double doors, flanked by two imposing figures in black suits who were checking invitations.

“Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll get to chat with the hostess,” Gaz murmured, handing his envelope to one of the men who barely glanced at it before nodding curtly, granting him entrance. “She’s a bloody smoke show,” he added in a low voice, earning a dramatic eye roll from Price.

John handed his own invitation over, meeting the guard's gaze with his usual intensity. The man’s eyes flicked to the revolvers in Price's holsters. “They’re fake,” Price said, already reaching for them and offering them to the guard for inspection.

To his surprise, the man just grunted and nodded, gesturing for Price to enter. Holstering his weapons, Price stepped inside, following Gaz into the grand foyer. He paused, taking in the opulent surroundings. It was a strange mix of old-world elegance and modern sophistication. Centuries-old tapestries hung alongside abstract art, and antique furniture was arranged with an eye for minimalist design. It felt surprisingly welcoming, despite the sheer size of the place.

After everyone was admitted inside, they all headed straight for the bar, dying to have drinks for the night. Price needed something stronger than the lukewarm champagne being offered on silver trays by circulating waiters.

“Whiskey, neat.” He barked the order to the bartender, a pale, skinny man with nervous eyes, who hurried to pour him a generous measure.

“Never been to one of these fancy dos before, eh?” Gaz asked, leaning against the bar.

“Can’t say I make a habit of it.” Price replied, downing half his whiskey in one long swallow, letting the familiar burn settle in his chest.

“You’d be surprised,” Gaz said with a wink. “There’s more to these high-society types than meets the eye.”

Soap had been quiet, his eyes wide as he took in the entirety of the place. “Aye, and some right mental costumes.” He jerked his head towards a group of guests dressed as mythical creatures, their outfits more resembling something out of a fever dream than a Halloween party.

Ghost, as always the silent observer, was leaning against a pillar, his skull balaclava a stark contrast to the brightly coloured masks and outlandish outfits surrounding him. He watched the crowd with a predator's intensity, his gaze missing nothing.

While his comrades continued chatting about all the costumes, his eyes followed the impressive staircase that separated the main foyer from the second level, until they landed on her . 

She was standing at the top of the grand staircase, her figure framed by the golden glow of the crystal chandelier. Her gown, a deep red that seemed to absorb the light, clung to her curves, accentuating the slimness of her waist and the fullness of her hips. Her dark hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of ink, and her skin – so pale it seemed to glow in the dim light – was flawless, spared by the passing of time. She wasn’t wearing a costume, not really, she didn’t need to. She didn’t need the theatrics; she was the spectacle.

Price felt his breath catch in his throat. Time seemed to stop. The noise of the party, the chatter of the guests, the music, all faded away, leaving only the steady thump of his own heart.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, unable to tear his eyes away.

“Told you she was a smokeshow,” Gaz leaned in, a smug grin on his face.

Price ignored him, his gaze fixated on the woman on the stairs. It was more than just her beauty, though, that alone was enough to stop a man in his tracks. There was something else about her, something that drew him to her like a moth to a flame. A power, an intensity, that he’d never encountered before. It was more than just physical attraction; it was a pull, a magnetic force that went straight to his bones.

He cleared his throat. “Who is she?”

“Victoria Di Corvo. The hostess. She owns the place.”

The conversation, though spoken in hushed tones, drifted towards you above the noise of the party. You followed the direction of it, and turned your head to find the source. And that’s when his scent hit you, too – it was like it suddenly called out to you. Primal, spicy, wild, full of strength. Raw and untamed like the deepest, darkest corners of your soul.

You felt a jolt of excitement, a thrill that sent a shiver down your spine. It had been centuries since you'd felt such a powerful pull, such an undeniable connection.

He stood by the bar, tall and broad-shouldered, his black pants and gray leather jacket doing little to conceal the power of his frame. His cowboy hat shadowed his eyes, giving him an air of quiet danger that made your heart skip a beat.

“Never seen her before.” The man’s voice was rough with an undertone of curiosity.

“She’s not the most social one, it is said.” His friend said, with an easy charm, which seemed like a gift that gave him the ability to slip into conversations easily, blending into the crowd.

You raised a hand, a small, elegant gesture that summoned your closest companion and most loyal servant, Beth, to your side. She moved with a grace born of centuries of service, her eyes never leaving yours.

“Yes, my lady?” she asked, her voice a soft murmur.

“Spare his friends, tonight,” you instructed, your gaze never leaving Price.

“Do you think –” Beth began, her voice hushed.

“I don’t know,” you cut her off, your voice laced with a hint of weariness. “And I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean to assume,” Beth murmured apologetically.

You sighed. “Just make sure his friends are safe. They may live, if he lives. They seem important to him.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Beth bowed her head.

Your gaze returned to Price. He was watching you, his eyes locked on yours. It was as if you could taste him with a single glance, the intensity of his presence overwhelming. His scent was more potent, more exquisite than any of the other humans in the room. Their scents, while intoxicating in their own way, were sweet and naive. His was something else entirely.

Hope, a dangerous, forbidden thing, flickered within you. Was it wrong to have hope? Probably.

But you couldn’t afford to be wrong anymore. The curse that bound you, the curse that made you queen of all creatures, living and dead, was a double-edged sword. It gave you power, immortality, but it came at a terrible price. Your life was tied to the Blood Moon, and each year, it demanded a sacrifice to maintain its power. A sacrifice of blood.

For centuries, you’d endured this burden, keeping the balance between the human and vampire worlds. A balance that prevented chaos, that kept the darkness at bay. But with each passing Blood Moon, the curse grew stronger, the hunger more intense.

The lavish party, the carefully crafted disguise for the brutal ritual to come – it was all a desperate attempt to cling to life, to maintain an equilibrium. One that only you could uphold. You were its core, the nexus point between light and darkness. 

Watching every guest dance, celebrate, feast, and drink, oblivious to their fate, filled you with a melancholy that had become as familiar as your own heartbeat. They didn’t know that, either way, their lives were in your hands. 

If you fell, the world would fall with you.

But if you could find your king, your mate, to rule at your side – your strength would be bound, the need for sacrifice eliminated. But every time you'd sensed a possibility, a flicker of hope in the blood of a human male, he'd failed the test. Each failure, each death, had chipped away at your hope, leaving you weary and vulnerable.

Your gaze remained locked on Price. He was still watching you, his eyes holding yours with a steady intensity that both intrigued and excited you. He smirked and raised his glass to you before taking a sip of his drink. The simple act, the way his throat moved as he swallowed, was strangely sensual. Your fangs ached, calling to the predator within you.

Leaning further over the railing, you smiled back at him, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips. You knew you held a certain power over human men. It was one of the many gifts that came with your lineage.

Without breaking eye contact, you turned and walked towards the gardens.

He followed. Of course, he did. You didn’t even have to try. You heard his footsteps, the faint, steady beat of his heart behind you, as you stepped out onto the terrace and leaned against the railing, overlooking the moonlit expanse of the garden.

“Enjoying the party, cowboy?” you asked, your voice low and smooth as velvet.

“Gunslinger, actually, ma’am,” he corrected, his voice a deep rumble.

“Oh?” you tilted your head, intrigued. “And what makes a gunslinger different from a cowboy?” You knew the answer, obviously, being alive during the wild times you spent at countless saloons, but you wanted to hear it from him, anyway.

“A gunslinger is more precise. More deadly. Very skilled with firearms,” he explained. “I like to keep people informed.” His accent intrigued you. And the way he corrected you, it wasn’t meant to be demeaning. Simply informative. It was refreshing.

“Is that just part of the costume, or are you actually skilled with guns?” 

“I’m a Captain in the military. SAS, to be precise. John Price,” he said, stepping closer.

He couldn’t know why he told you the truth. He simply felt compelled to. It was so easy to sway a human’s mind, to make them reveal their secrets. But with him, it felt different. You didn’t even have to try. As if he wanted to tell you, wanted to offer himself to you.

“You’ve never been here before,” you stated. It wasn’t a question, it was a fact. You could sense it in the way he moved, the way he looked at everything with a mix of curiosity and caution.

“I’m not the party type,” he admitted.

“Yet you seem to be enjoying yourself a lot.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “If you can call sipping a drink and watching ridiculous costumes enjoyment, sure.” You noticed the wrinkles that formed at his eyes when he smiled.

He joined you at the railing, his presence beside you so incredibly livid. You could hear the steady beat of his heart, a rhythm that seemed to echo in your own chest. The scent of him was so intoxicating – cedarwood and tobacco, but beneath that, a primal musk that spoke of strength and untamed desire. It was a scent that resonated deep within you, awakening something ancient and powerful.

Something you hadn’t felt in centuries.

“Are you not enjoying your own party?”

You turned to face him, and the world tilted on its axis.

His eyes, as blue as a winter sky, locked onto yours, and a shock of recognition, as sharp and undeniable as a lightning strike, went through you. This was him. Yours. Your mate.

It was written in the depths of his eyes, in the way his scent wrapped around you like a promise, in the very essence of his being. The one you’d waited centuries for, the one who would complete you, who would make you whole.

He was here.

Your breath caught in your throat. You couldn't tear your gaze away. It was as if you were seeing him for the first time, seeing through the layers of his human facade to the soul that mirrored your own. A soul that had been searching for you, just as you had been searching for it, across lifetimes and continents.

A wave of possessive joy surged through you, so fierce it made your heart ache.

You shook your head. Despite all the feelings and signs the universe seemed to give you, you couldn’t be too sure, he had to prove himself worthy first.

“It’s complicated,” you finally managed to say, your voice husky with emotion.

He frowned slightly, his gaze searching yours as if trying to unravel the mystery you presented. He was so close now, you could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint sweetness of his breath. His hand brushed yours as he shifted his weight, leaving a trail of elecrictiy on your skin.

His gaze flickered to your lips, and you saw a flash of desire in his eyes, a hunger that mirrored your own. He leaned in, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you.

Then, just as quickly, he pulled back, his expression clouded with confusion.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. “I don’t know why I feel so…” He trailed off, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. His hands were fisted at his sides, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He was fighting it, you realized. Fighting the pull, the connection that he couldn't understand. 

You stepped back from him, breaking the spell that had held you both captive. “So, you’re a skilled fighter?”

“You could probably say that,” he replied, his gaze sharpening. “Why do you ask?”

You’d have to risk it. 678 years and no chance, what could be one more year added to the pile? It would be a shame if your assumptions were wrong yet again, but what did it matter? Humans would die that night either way, it would just be a shame that he would be among them. You’d like to get to know him a little better, his eyes told you more than he could have in a matter of a few seconds. He probably had stories to tell that could keep you entertained for a while. His scent was exciting, a strong mix that you longed to breathe in, to savour. And the way he’d looked at you, the hunger in his eyes – you'd imagine he’d be more than inclined to kiss you. It would indeed be a shame to lose it all, simply because you dared to believe for yet another chance.

But did you have a choice? Not really. It was the cruel irony of the curse – your survival demanded sacrifice. Was it selfish? Incredibly so. But the cost of your demise would be far greater. You had to be selfish, not just for yourself, but for everyone.

You couldn’t tell him the truth. With a subtle gesture, you raised a hand, signalling to your guards who were hidden in the shadows of the garden. They emerged silently, moving with an unnatural grace that hinted at something other than human.

Price, ever alert, noticed their approach immediately. “Did I say something to offend you?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You froze, stunned by his reaction. That was his first thought? Not that he was surrounded by creatures , but that he might have said something wrong? You met his gaze, and saw genuine concern in those blue eyes.

The pang of regret was almost unbearable. It had been so long since you’d encountered such genuine concern, such selfless care. 

It had been forever since you felt this honest care for you, this genuine concern for your feelings. It had always been just a quick encounter for their pleasure, for their needs. Nobody had asked about yours, absolutely genuinely so, in decades.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, before taking a step back from the railing, and turned away. It was barely audible in the music filled air, but Price heard it — a hint of regret in that tone sent a chill down his spine, as he tried to rationalize the sudden shift in your demeanour. It didn’t match the heat that had been building between you just moments ago.

If he really was the one, he’d have to survive.

If he really was a fighter, he would.

Or at least that was what you told yourself.

You stepped even further away, putting more distance between you and him. He watched, confused, as he was circled by shadowy figures. They moved with unnatural grace, and their eyes were glowing with a hunger that made him be fully alert in a split second.

“What the hell —?” he muttered, his glass slipping from his grasp and shattering against the stone patio. He didn’t have time to process the situation before they were upon him.

As the guards attacked, a surge of power, raw and untamed, pulsed through your veins. It was his power, his life force, echoing through the bond that was already forming between you. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

You looked up at the moon as it began to shift, a slow bleed of crimson spreading across its silver face.

As soon as you had given the silent command with the raise of your hand, the true night had begun.

Inside the mansion, Beth glided through the throngs of guests, a phantom in a sea of revellers. She found Price’s friends – Soap, still boisterous in his kilt, Gaz, charming his way through a group of costumed women, and Ghost, a silent observer at the edge of the crowd – and, with a few carefully chosen words, lured them away. An exclusive after-party, she’d hinted, just for them and their cowboy friend. They followed willingly, oblivious to the darkness gathering outside.

But you had no interest in them as the other creatures began to feast.

Your gaze was fixated on the man in front of you. He had faced many impossible odds, and he noticed quickly that the men surrounding him weren’t ordinary men. 

Moving with the precision of a soldier, his body was a weapon honed by years of training. He didn’t need guns, he fought with his hands that spoke of deadly efficiency, every blow calculated to maximize damage. He was fighting for his life, as was the purpose of this test.

He wasn’t even panicking, just confused, as you saw in his eyes as he took in the situation. It was as if you could read his mind as it went through quick calculations and assessments to analyse threats and exploiting weaknesses.

One of your guards lunged, fangs glinting in the red shimmering moonlight, and John met the attack head-on. He didn’t even flinch from the creature's superhuman strength but used his own weight to his advantage, pivoting on his heel and sending the attacker crashing into the marble ground.

A smile of fascination played on your lips, the sound of the fight was music to your ears, especially the rush of blood in his human flesh. Surviving the attack of one vampire was already a promise more than anyone had withstood before him.

Two more came at him, and he met them equally with a ruthless grace that made your blood sing. He ducked under the blows, his fist connected with a crack against a jaw. He made quick work of the other one, too, using the guard's own momentum to send him over the railing.

With each passing moment, the connection between you intensified. You could feel his pain, his determination, the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. And the scent of his blood – oh, it was intoxicating. Like the finest wine and the most potent drug. The spice of it shot through your system like a wildfire, it felt almost too strong, too overwhelming — yet so incredibly intimate and familiar, even though you had never met this man before in your life.

But also, his blood reminded you that he was still just human, after all. Now that it was running free, as he used his last strength to fight against more of your guards, it was mingling with the scent of cigars and the whiskey that he drank, and turned it into an irresistable concoction. The more he fought, the more you realized he was everything you craved, everything you needed — strong, defiant — as if he was singing a siren song to your soul.

With every drop of his blood that spilled onto the moonlit marble, the ground of your home, the connection between you sparked, and you were absolutely, undeniably sure. 

Price staggered, his vision blurring. He’d taken down at least four of them now, but he was wounded, fatigued and dying. His clothes were torn, his cowboy hat long gone, and blood soaked his shirt. And as he felt a sharp sting of pain in his side, he knew he was losing too much blood. That was it. Whatever it was. He came here not really expecting a good time, but dying here, in some English garden of a lavish mansion, surely hadn’t been among the plan. 

Just as he braced himself for the final blow, as he felt hot breath on his neck, a strong commanding voice, your voice, cut through the night.

“Enough!” You shouted, at the attacking guard's side in a flash, your movements a blur, as your hand closed around the guards' throat in a grip that could crush stone. You’d stopped him from biting him at the last second, with a surge of possessive fury that you had never felt before.

“He’s mine.” You hissed, your eyes blazing, and fear shot through the poor young vampire's face. “Nobody has his blood but me .”

The guard whimpered, and you released him with a shove. He scrambled back, taking an exaggerated bow as he did.

“Leave us. Make sure you feed to survive the night.” You commanded the remaining of them, and with sharp bows of their heads, they joined the rest of your court inside the mansion.

Price collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, his body screaming in pain. His chest was slowly rising and falling in shallow breaths, but his pulse still beat. You were suddenly there, kneeling in front of him, your fingers lightly tracing the line of his jaw, running through the blood soaked beard.

He looked at you, and you expected fear in his eyes, but there was nothing of that sort. There was a soft gaze as his eyes found yours, he was staring at you almost admiringly, and you knew.

He really must have felt it too. The connection. The pull.

The strength he displayed against superhuman creatures wasn’t bestowed upon just anyone.

He was it.

He was both your greatest hope and only salvation.

He was your king.

[chaoticbardlady99]

Darling, Never Stop Haunting Me

Spawn! Astarion x F! Reader

Chapter Three: The Sun is Freezing

Synopsis: (1 year post Netherbrain) You and Astarion search through an abandoned ruin in the Underdark for a Ring of Sunwalking. Unfortunately, it doesn't go as planned.

CW: Violence, mentions of Gore, character death

*This chapter is the beginning of the main story

Disclaimer- I put together the picture for the banner, but I do not own any of the pictures. Birdie is a stock image. I will not describe the readers body in detail- she is just merely on the banner for ✨drama✨. I believe the picture of Astarion is from @cheekylittlepupp . And then the symbol of Orcus in the back is a free image off the internet.

Chapter Two: Chapter 4 : AO3

“I don’t like this, Astarion,” you peer into the open door, “this feels like a ‘with friends’ kind of place.” 

 “I have a friend- you’re here!” The vampire says all too cheerily.

  You turn to leer at him through unamused eyes.

 “May I remind you that I am only 12 pounds and I’m still a CAT!?” 

  Astarion tuts at you while lacing up his other boot, “Cats are ferocious creatures and if all else fails- you can irritate the monsters to death.” 

 It hurts your feelings when Astarion says things like that- it almost makes you feel like he wants you to die on these missions.

“If you want to get rid of me so badly, you can just say so,” you say with an awkward chuckle, “no need to send me off to be killed on purpose. Gale sai-“

 “That is not my intention,” Astarion says sharply before scratching between your ears- a smirk on his face when you begrudgingly lean in for more, “I jest.” 

  You aren’t entirely convinced but that’s okay. You find yourself staring back into the entrance of the ruin. It’s pitch black and you can hear something down there. You can hear chattering and the scrapping of feet against stone. It feels all too…. Evil. 

  You peer back at Astarion who is now doing a final check on his equipment and is grumbling as he looks for something in his bag. 

 His curls fall into his face and Gods if only you were a person like you are supposed to be- you’d push them out of his face, trace the curve of his lips with your thumb before guiding his face to-

 NO! You shake your head violently, those are living people thoughts- not Ghost person or cat person thoughts. 

  An emotional support Cat Ghost could dream though. 

   You gulp when you look into the vault again. You’d prefer to stay up here in the Dwarven Ruin that is built on top of the massive Catacomb where an ancient and prominent Drow Leader has been laid to rest. 

  Why is he important? Well, he has a Ring of Sunwalking on his crusty old hands. 

    “Pspspspsp, come here kitty, kitty.” 

  All the hairs on your spine raise as a disembodied voice whispers through the cave. You hoped the “no one ever returns” warning would have discouraged Astarion from pursuing this lead, but no. He just saw it as a guarantee that no one else has the damn Ring- “always the optimist” or so his pessimistic, lying ass says.

 “Oh good, a crazy, cat loving, disembodied voice,” Astarion scowls, “because descending into a Catacomb isn’t enough of a horror already.” 

 “I really don’t like this,” you whisper. 

  Astarion scoops you up from the ground and puts you in his empty pack with a bag of holding. He contemplates for a moment before taking something out of his pocket.

 “Here,” he slips a ring onto your paw like a bracelet, “maybe you can try to cast sunbeam using it. I’m not sure how the logistics work with you being a cat and everything, but I’m sure it’s not, not doable.

“Just please, for both of our sake’s Darling, try not to use it unless you absolutely need to.” 

 “Aye aye captain,” you grumble and use your front two paws to help you see over his shoulder, “I’ll do my best.” 

   The darkness of the Catacomb is all consuming and heavy. A thick, rolling fog covers the ground and the smell of rotting assaults both of your noses instantaneously. The halls leave little to be desired and it seems this place has been abandoned for a long time now.

 “What in the wretched hells is this place?” Astarion asks quietly, “it’s atrocious down here! Not even a hint of decor- no one appreciates the dead anymore.” 

 “And never did, apparently.” 

   He snickers as he walks forward. You can smell his anxiety rolling off of him and you try to calm every instinct inside you that says to flee. This is a truly terrible idea- you can feel it in your paws. 

  Astarion continues to quietly creep along the wall and you continue to monitor the area for any nasty, creepy crawlers. It doesn’t seem too scary and you feel yourself and Astarion begin to relax.

 Then the trumpet comes on. 

   Astarion freezes and has his back against the wall to protect you. Using his shoulder as leverage, you peer in the direction of the trumpet sound and you nearly yowl in horror. 

  A massive, skeleton Drider is staring back in the darkness as he toots his trumpet for another group of skeletons awkwardly dancing- one of their ribs hits the floor with a hollow CLUNK. It’s friends look at the rib, pause their dancing to clap, and then continue to dance again. This cycle continues until the skeleton is completely broken apart on the floor.

 “It’s tooting a diddy of death,” you whisper in an attempt to break up the tension sitting like a weight in your chest.

 “He should really go back to his day job,” Astarion mutters in response, “I almost want to fight him just to get the music to stop.” 

 “Really? I think he’s quite good.”

 “Of course you do.” 

  Astarion side steps even slower now, being careful not to attract the attention of the Drider and his dancers. You are surprised at how attentive Astarion is being in regards to where he is stepping. Maybe you won’t have joint second funerals together after all. 

  The deeper you descend, the worse the creatures seem to become- skeletons that are at least seven feet tall, wraiths with piercing eyes, Black Pudding aimlessly wandering for another meal, and grim locks. Even worse- the entire Catacomb structure is in a circle that just keeps descending until you get to the ground floor so even if you do manage to find the ring, you’re going to have to go past all of these creatures again. 

  You realize you are holding your breath once Astarion steps onto the main floor and you force yourself to slowly release it. Your whole body feels like it’s ready to run and that chittering you heard earlier is back. 

  The main floor is decorated in gore- fresh and old bodies are strewn about, some unlucky individuals are petrified versions of themselves, and it smells awful. 

  There are open archways along the wall and the nicely adorned one is the room you’re looking for. Astarion goes to step onto the platform, but you hiss at him to stop just in time. 

  Seeing a Grick before it sees you is a blessing. From the third level to your right, you barely caught a glimpse of the creature's beak. The platform is a death sentence so back to crawling along the wall it is. 

 “This is such a pain in the ass,” Astarion mutters under his breath, “nothing can ever be easy, can it?” 

  You shake your head in agreement, but you are far too afraid to speak prematurely. Your eyes are zeroed in on the Grick and you are already planning how you’ll distract it so Astarion can at least make a run for it. It would have been nice to know a Grick was down here because they could have starved the creature out- now they are forced to work within it’s limitations. 

  It feels like eons before you reach the lavish archway, but you direct Astarion to the archway next to it. He gives you a look, but you just keep your paw pointed at the next archway. The book specifically said that the fancy archway was a trap.

  Astarion steps across the archway and you are instantly reassured that you made the right decision when a massive fireball sends the Grick flying across the room and splattering against the wall. You had sworn it hadn’t moved from it’s spot so thankfully it didn’t have the 411 about the traps. 

  As Astarion moves through the corridor, it begins to look more and more like a prominent member of society is buried here. The walls are painted brightly and, despite the lack of attention, the tomb seems to be holding up very well. 

 There are four coffins in the middle, each one side by side. The wall behind the coffins is full of slots for urns- several of them have crumbled under the test of time, but the drawings on the wall suggest that they served this man in some capacity. 

  You study the pictures in awe- whoever this was lived a very large life. A sad pit of envy fills your stomach. You wish you had paintings with you going into battle and saving the day or at least a family portrait. 

  The man had two children and a lovely wife. His wife adorns a beautiful ruby ring and he, shockingly, does not adorn any jewelry in any of the paintings. The wife is obviously the one who demanded luxury and evidently so did the man’s youngest daughter. The older daughter is dressed head to toe in knight armor and has a stern look on her face. 

 “Gods below!” Astarion whisper yells, “he’s not wearing the damn thing- hells, he’s not even here!”

“What!?” 

  You look over Astarion’s shoulder and sure enough- the man is gone and so is the rin- WAIT A MINUTE.

 “Open the wife’s,” you whisper, “in the paintings, she’s the one wearing the ring I think.”

 Astarion looks around the room to figure out what you are talking about and looks incredibly pleased with your detective work.

 “Look at that- you’re officially more useful than Gale,” he teases.

  The lid opens without any issues and it’s nicely intact- unlike her husband’s. Other people must have not noticed the paintings because there it is on her finger. The ring shines brightly and you feel like you are basking directly in the sunlight and not in this stinking cave. 

  Astarion gently slides the ring off the woman’s skeletal hand and puts it on his own- it adjusts to fit to his ring finger. He looks positively giddy when he looks over at you on his shoulder.

 “Now we just need to find out if it works.” 

 You go to speak, but another voice beats you to it. 

 “Come here kitty, kitty,” a creaking voice calls out from the statue of the man in the room, “I promise it won’t hurt.”

  You feel absolutely frozen in fear. Whatever this creature is thinks you are a normal house cat or they are trying to lure you both further into the tomb. Astarion’s entire body looks like he’s ready to pounce, but you gesture to just leave. Whatever this creature is- it is not friendly and it’s hiding somewhere neither one of you can see. The map shows that there is a hidden room somewhere, but neither one of you could decipher where. 

  Astarion casts Invisibility and begins to quickly sneak out of the room, but it’s too late.

 A lich comes out of absolutely nowhere and begins to cast a spell, but Astarion’s faster. It swipes out at you and Astarion barely dodges in time to save you. The lich goes down when it’s hit with an arrow of Arcane Interference and Astarion goes sprinting towards the door.

 Ignoring every safety precaution you’ve taken so far- Astarion attracts the attention of literally every creature in the Catacomb. An angry Beholder beast is somewhere because tentacles with eyes and mouths come sprawling out of the ground and reach for Astarion’s limbs. 

  You hold onto Astarion’s shoulder for dear life and scan your surroundings the best you can. Astarion leaps and dodges the slashing blades of skeletons and the hungry goo of the Black puddings, and all that is left is the damn Drider.

 “Trumpet man is on your right! His friends are laying down in the middle,” you scream. 

 “I KNOW!” 

   A flash of fire goes whirring past both of your heads and he begins cussing up a storm- finally using misty step to get by the musical Drider and his funky friends. Your head is positively spinning, but you are so grateful to see the entry way- you’re so close! 

  Astarion’s pace slows down for a fraction of a second and you see why almost instantly. The Lich is in front of the door and it’s waiting. 

  Time for some kitty magic. 

  You rub your paws together and focus really hard on the weave while you say the words for sunbeam. You hit the Lich and it goes up in flames- it’s enough to distract the creature and Astarion goes flying by him and out of the Dwarven ruin. The Lich and his various friends are hot on your trail (oops, didn’t close the vault door) and you have given up on all hope of surviving, but Astarion keeps running at a full sprint. Thank the Gods he doesn’t need to breathe.

  The exit portal is so close and right as Astarion steps into it- you feel an arrow go straight through you. You don’t even yowl, the shock in your body causes you to freeze instantly. You’re dying and there isn’t going to be anything you can do.

 Astarion is cheering and you feel the sun on your own fur. It feels nice, but you feel so so cold. 

  A pained scream and the feeling of grass makes you realize that Astarion has noticed the current predicament you are in.

“No- you cannot die,” Astarion chokes out, “don’t you dare die on me right now!”

  You nod in acknowledgement and you are struggling to hang on. You know you aren’t going to make it, but Astarion doesn’t know that. 

  You’re afraid to be completely honest. Will you just be kicked out of the body or will you be dragged down the ethereal current and to the afterlife? You want to stay with Astarion. You aren’t ready to leave him yet at all and you just found the Ring of Sunwalking for Gods sake!

  Only, it seems the world doesn’t care about that as you feel yourself being pulled away into the coldness of death once again.

******************************************************************

Author note: Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated! Please let me know if you would like to be on the tag list! I am using the Ghostwalk campaign for NPCs, locations, etc. It is a 3e Campaign and doesn’t mirror 5e Ghosts. I have tweaked some of the ghost powers and such for the sake of the story, but if you would like more information on Ghostwalk and the City of Manifest, there is a PDF online that is free to download :)

Tag List: @n3rdybirdee @fandomarchiveilyd @dajeong @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @bitchstarion @hereliesblackdragon @pebble-bb @preciouslittlebhaalbae @lavvyan

[hbyrde36]

It's Only Forever

R: Mature | WC: 6507 | | Ch 2/8 | Read on AO3

Ch 1 [Penny Art Link] [SissayeRys Art Link]

Chapter 2: Into The Labyrinth

Tick, tock.

It didn’t take Steve long to reach the outermost wall of the Labyrinth. He was feeling cautiously optimistic as he approached—thirteen hours seemed like more than enough time to complete his task—but was quickly brought back to reality when he noticed the distinct lack of any sort of entrance. 

Surely the place had a gate or front door of some kind, right? 

Shit.

For all Steve knew he’d been dropped off on the wrong side of the thing, or maybe getting inside was the first hurdle he had to overcome?

“Well, that doesn’t seem fair,” he murmured to himself. 

Thankfully, not far from where he’d walked up there was a girl wandering along the edge of the wall, wielding an old fashioned bug repellent sprayer. She appeared to be roughly his age, and honestly Steve might have thought she was an outsider like him If it weren't for the way she was dressed. 

Similar to Dustin's kidnapper, she looked a bit like a character out of a period film or something, though her clothes weren’t fancy like his had been—more commoner than king. She wore a loose-fitting off white blouse with puffy sleeves tucked into beige linen trousers, and a pair of well-worn leather suspenders slung over her shoulders. 

“Hello?” He called out. “Excuse me, miss—I’m supposed to solve this labyrinth, but I can’t find my way in.”

The girl turned, her light brown chin-length hair falling into her eyes. “Oh, It’s you.” She said with a frown, and turned her attention right back to tracking what, at a glance, looked like a huge flying bug.

“Hey! I was talking to you—” Steve stomped after her, managing to trip over a large rock on the way and stubbed his toe. “Ah, fuck,” he spat, balancing on one foot for a moment until the pain subsided. “What are you doing anyway?”

Steve squinted. Now that he was closer he could see that what she was stalking were not in fact large moths, but rather, small humanoid creatures with wings.

Fairies, he hazarded a guess. 

“Hmm, cute.” 

She turned slowly, staring at him over her shoulder as though he’d suddenly grown three extra heads. “Cute?! It’s an infestation!”

“What’s the problem? They look harmless enough,” he said.

The girl scoffed, and once more returning her attention to her task, aimed, fired, and with a puff of noxious fumes, the fairy that had been hovering in front of her fell like a stone to lie motionless on the ground.

“Shows what you know.” She smirked, toeing at the creature at her feet. It remained limp and still. “Fairies bite. Ever heard of rabies before, Harrington?”

“Wait, you know who I am?”

“Uh, yeah? Would have thought that was obvious when I said—oh, it’s you—a minute ago. You really don’t stand a chance in there. You should just turn back now, save yourself a whole lot of trouble.”

Steve huffed, hands coming to rest on his hips as he stared at her. “You’re rude, you know that?”

“No, I'm Robin, and I'm a little busy here, so if you’ll excuse me—” 

She tried to walk away from him again, and this time Steve ran out in front of her, physically putting himself in her path. This girl might be fucking infuriating, but somehow he didn’t think he was likely to run into anyone else out here. 

“Wait, please,” he pleaded through gritted teeth. “Do you know how to get into the labyrinth?”

She sighed heavily. “Of course I do. I’ve got eyes, don’t I?”

Jesus Christ, she was worse than Dustin. 

Steve waited expectantly for a moment, but she just stood there, silent.

“Well..? Are you gonna show me or not?!”

The girl poked a finger hard into his chest. “If you can’t see what’s right in front of your face, dingus, I don’t think there's much hope for you.” 

“What do you mean right in front of my—”

She grabbed him roughly by the shoulders with both hands and forcibly turned him back around to face the high wall, the same stretch of it he’d already seen… except now there hung a huge set of doors that were absolutely not there a minute ago. 

“What the fuck—” 

Each side of the entrance was covered in creeping vines, criss-crossing over the cracked and weathered planks. There were no handles or latch that he could see set into the ancient wood, which might have posed a whole new problem, but as he watched, the doors swung open of their own accord as if to welcome him inside, or else, daring him to enter. 

Steve held his breath and took a few tentative steps towards the archway, catching his first glimpse of the inside of the maze. It wasn't a total surprise. More walls lined the interior, nearly as high as the last, though these were made from stacked bricks rather than large stones, and the surface seemed to shimmer as the light bounced off of it, like a visual representation of the magic this place must be steeped in. 

“You really going in there?” The girl asked from behind. Her voice, for the first time, completely devoid of any attitude or snark. 

That, almost more than Steve’s current surroundings, was unsettling, to say the least.

“I have to.”

With no more hesitation, and without looking back, he stepped inside, worrying his bottom lip as he cast his gaze to the left and to the right. It was as if he were standing in the middle of a long hall or alleyway, no discernable difference between the two directions.

“Cozy, aint it?”

Her voice was loud and far too close for comfort. Steve jumped—whirling around to see the creepy girl suddenly right next to him again. He hadn’t heard her follow, and assumed she'd gone on her way, happy to be free of him. 

She smiled, clearly pleased that she’d startled him. “So, which way will you go? Left, or right?”

“I don’t know,” Steve began, taking another long glance down each long stretch. “They look the same.”

She shook her head. “Oh yeah, you’re doomed alright.”

“Okay, which way would you go, if you know so much?”

She snorted. “Neither, obviously.”

“Right,” Steve breathed, and using a silent count off of eenie-meenie-miney-moe in his head, picked a direction and started walking. 

“Thanks for nothing, Rachel.” He called back over his shoulder.

“It’s Robin!” 

“Whatever!” 

“Don’t say I didn't warn you!” She shouted.

He spun around at that, walking backwards as he flipped her off, praying he wouldn’t trip again in the process and ruin the effect. 

Robin, who’s name he finally, begrudgingly, managed to commit to memory, stormed away back out through the set of wooden doors, which slammed shut behind her, leaving him trapped inside—alone. 

Not that it mattered, he had no intention of leaving. If he didn’t bring Dustin home their mother would literally kill him, and damn it all, he loved that little dweeb.

Steve had no choice but to press on.

For almost an hour he walked, picking his way over bare tree branches, fallen leaves, and other debris that he didn’t care enough to try and identify, all the while growing more and more frustrated. He’d gone what had to be at least two, maybe three miles? And had yet to see a single turn. 

It just went on forever and ever with no end in sight.

And look, Steve wasn’t as dumb as people often assumed he was. He knew there had to be a trick to it, something he was missing or overlooking, but for the life of him he had no idea what it was. In a bid of desperation he took off at a run, thinking maybe that was it, maybe the trick was to make him think the path was never-ending so he’d give up!

Like hell was he going to fold so easily to that damned Goblin King… and his big stupid gorgeous eyes, and those curls, and that jawline and—

Fuck.

Steve’s chest heaved, heart racing, and it wasn’t just from the pumping of his arms and legs. There was a reason he’d been avoiding thinking too much about the dark, mysterious figure who’d come into their home and stolen his brother away. He was evil. What else could a thing like that be—a monster who steals children and threatens to keep them forever? 

Just because he was obscenely attractive, and fucking packing if the unmistakable bulge that had been so clearly visible in those skin tight pants he’d been wearing was any indication, that didn’t mean—

Steve licked his lips absently, skidding to a sudden stop as he became aware of where his mind had wandered.

No.

Absolutely not.

Dustin. He had to find Dustin. He couldn't afford to let himself be distracted. 

Steve glanced down at his ever-ticking watch as he worked to catch his breath. Damn, another hour down already. 

He squinted his eyes in a pointless effort to see as far ahead as he could, but there was no change, just the same long, endless path in front of him sandwiched between brick walls.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Steve cursed, with feeling, pounding his fist into the hard wall over and over again before sliding down to sit at the base of it, resting his head on his knees. Crying wouldn’t help a goddamn thing right now, he knew that, but knowing it didn’t make it any easier to swallow back, to stop the burning in his eyes or the tightening in his throat.

“Hey, watch it!” 

Steve’s head snapped up as a high pitched yet powerful voice shouted very close to his ear, and he found himself face-to-face with a worm the size of a small guinea pig, or a large hamster, sitting on a ledge built into the wall. 

She was bright pink and yellow with a sky blue underbelly, and her hair—

Hair? 

Did worms usually have hair?

Her dark brown hair was set in braids that fell around her head, with teeny tiny pink and yellow beads on the ends of each strand.

“Did you… did you just say hello?” Steve heard himself ask, though the question was ridiculous. Worms couldn’t talk, he was sure of that much. 

Reasonably sure.

Okay, fine. Considering everything else that had happened so far, maybe it wasn’t entirely out of the question.

She gave him a scathing once over, somehow looking down her nose at him even though she was only a few inches tall, and curled her lip, unimpressed. “Actually, I said—hey, watch it—but close enough I guess.”

“But, you’re a worm.”

“Yeah, and?” She scoffed, “watch whose walls you're punching, jock. You shook the whole damn house!”

“Oh. Um, I-I’m sorry?” Steve stuttered out. Why was he feeling so intimidated by this small pink worm?

“That’s more like it.” The worm gave a satisfied nod before moving to leave.

“Hey, wait,” Steve rushed out. “You don’t know the way through this labyrinth by any chance, do you?”

The small creature turned back to him with narrowed eyes. “What’s in it for Erica?”

“Who’s Erica?”

“That’s my name, dipshit. Keep up.”

“Right.” Steve’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t have anything to offer you, I just—I really need to get through this thing so I can save my little brother, but there aren't any openings or turns or anything!”

“Brother, huh?”

“Yes. He’s only a kid and I…” Steve blew out a long breath, letting his head fall back against the wall behind him with a light thud. “It’s my fault he’s here.”

“Alright, alright, save the crying for your mommy.” Erica wriggled closer, the lines of her small face softening slightly. “Look, I got a brother too, and you’re lookin’ a little pathetic—so—I guess I can help you out, pro bono.” 

“Really?”

“First, you need to get your head out of your ass. There's openings all over the place, you’re just not seeing them. Like, across the way, just there—” Erica tilted her chin, gesturing at the wall opposite them.

“What?” Steve glanced from the very-solid-looking wall, to the worm, and back again. “But there's nothing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just get up and try it.”

He pushed himself to his feet, mumbling, “can’t believe I'm taking orders from some little worm girl.”

“What was that?” Erica asked.

“I said, okay, I'm going!”

Steve took a few careful steps forward as he held his arms out in front of him—not about to walk face first into a brick wall even if it would prove his point, but no matter how close he came to the surface his hands touched nothing but air. He kept going, until his hands, then his arms, then his whole body went through the wall to the other side, revealing another path. 

Well, not through the wall exactly. There was an opening, it was just an optical illusion. 

The bricks of one wall were perfectly patterned and aligned with the bricks of the next set, causing the entryway to be effectively invisible to the naked eye until you were right on top of it.

Steve’s heart leapt, a sense of hope coming back to him in a rush. Maybe he could do this! 

He moved to take off down the right side of the new alleyway, but the worm called out to stop him. He didn’t really have time for more delays but he supposed after what she had done for him, the least he could do was stop and thank her.

He turned around to face the worm again and flashed a quick smile. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” He said, and quickly bounded away before she tried to detain him again.

The further Steve ventured into the Labyrinth, the more twists and turns he encountered. Which was better than no turns, obviously, but it was becoming more and more difficult to retrace his steps when he encountered a dead end. 

Eventually he began to leave himself breadcrumbs of a sort, marking his path with small rocks and twigs formed into arrows, indicating whether he went right or left. 

It was going great actually, and he really felt like he was making progress, right up until he hit his sixth dead end. He turned back ready to take the other choice of turn, only to realize the slab of floor he’d left his bits of twig on was moving, spinning around to make the arrow point in the opposite direction.

”What the hell?!” Steve threw himself to the ground, lunging for the flat rock, trying to pry it off the floor to get to whatever force or creature was trying to trick him by changing his marks. He pried at the edges with his fingertips but it wouldn’t budge.

“It’s not fair!” He shouted.

“Newsflash, life isn’t fair.”

The unexpected voice came from directly behind him and had Steve jumping back to his feet, whirling around to face the source of it. The sight was as unexpected as the voice had been.

“B-but, this was a dead end a minute ago.”

In the middle of the empty alcove he’d just come out, of were now two ornately carved doors. In front of each stood a child-sized guard. One of the girls had dark hair, shorn very close to her head. She stared at him with wary eyes and a tight lipped neutral expression. The other had bright flaming red hair styled into two braided pigtails. Her face was painted with a spray of freckles, and she wore the most condescending smirk Steve had ever seen outside of a mirror. Both guards held gigantic shields out in front of them.

“No,” the dark haired girl said, shaking her head, “that is the dead end, behind you.” 

“Wha–” Steve twisted around to look back—he was going to get whiplash at this rate—and sure enough the girl was right, the path behind him had vanished, and a wall of leafy green hedges had taken its place.

He was trapped.

“It keeps changing!” Steve shouted, stomping his feet. “No one said it would—I thought this was just a maze!” He ran a hand roughly through his hair. “What am I gonna do?”

“Your only chance of getting out of here is to try one of these doors. One of them leads to the castle at the center of the labyrinth,” the redhead said. 

Her partner cleared her throat, as if gearing up to say her part like it was something they had rehearsed. “And the other one leads to—”

“Certain death.” The redhead lowered her voice to a dramatic rasp, while the other girl dissolved into delighted giggles that she tried, and failed, to hide behind her shield.

“Awesome.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have a feeling I'm going to regret asking, but which one is which?”

“You can only ask one of us,” the short-haired girl answered. 

“Mmhmm, it’s in the rules,” the redhead added, “and you should know, one of us always tells the truth, and one of us always lies. 

The other girl nodded solemnly. “Yes, that is a rule too.”

Steve stepped closer, examining what he could see of each door over the girl’s heads as they spoke.

The redheaded guard leaned forward as he approached, whispering to him conspiratorially and pointing to her friend, “she always lies.”

The other girl gasped. “Max! I do not lie! I tell the truth!”

“Oh, Jane. Don’t lie to the guy.”

Jane stuck her bottom lip out, pouting, and raised her eyes up to meet Steve’s. “She is the liar.”

“No offense, girls, but I don’t trust either of you.”

“Girls?” Max snapped.

“We are very old. Do not let our looks fool you,” Jane said. 

“Right, fine, whatever.” Steve said, not really listening anymore. If either of them were to be believed he had a fifty-fifty shot at guessing right, and being well on his way to the castle.

And hopefully one step closer to the end of this goddamn nightmare. 

He pointed at the redhead—Max—and the door she guarded on his left, and with another silent count off of eenie-meenie-miney-moe in his head, swung his finger back and forth until it landed on Jane, and her door.

“What are you doing?” Max asked, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Choosing.”

She threw her shield down, freeing her hands to settle on her hips, looking as though he’d personally offended her. “But you didn’t even ask us anything!”

Steve lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Riddles are more my brother’s thing than mine, so either way I'd only be guessing.”

“And if it is certain death?” Jane asked.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“Cross that…” Max sputtered. “Certain death, is certain death!”

“Nothing is certain, especially in this place. That's what I've learned in the last few hours,” he said, as much to himself as his audience, while stepping up to Jane’s door. “So if you’ll let me pass, I'd like to use your door—please.”

Jane stepped aside wordlessly, moving to stand next to her counterpart, and Steve wasted no time grasping the handle, pushing the door open, and walking into the dark beyond it.

Then, he was falling.

Eddie let the heavy doors slam behind him as he bounded back into the castle after leaving Steve on his own just outside the limits of the labyrinth. He was grateful that whoever was supposed to be on guard duty seemed to be occupied elsewhere for the moment, probably in the throne room with the others gawking at their new captive.  They didn’t need to see him like this, and he could use a moment or two to compose himself if he was honest. 

He was feeling a bit… strung out, or something, after spending time in close proximity to—him. 

The pretty boy who was somehow even more alluring in person. Eddie had managed to hold it together, to play his part as the Goblin King in a masterful performance, if he did say so himself, but it hadn’t been easy—for so many reasons. 

Under his cool, calm, and collected exterior had been a heart beating like a racehorse in the Kentucky Derby—a situation not helped in the slightest by the way Steve had stared, seeming to be struck by him too. 

A most unexpected turn of events. 

Not that it mattered. There was no coming back from this, no chance that Eddie could continue to drool over the subject of his desire in the same way. 

It was—

It’s not like he’d even really liked Steve before, okay? The other boy could be such an ass at times, and downright bitchy on occasion. Though, bitchy was a damn fine look on him. 

And maybe Eddie had wondered what it would be like to live in a world where he could occupy space next to Steve, let himself sink into a fantasy or two when he was lying in bed late at night, his own hands and fingers roaming his body as he pretended they belonged to another, but that was done now. He couldn’t entertain it anymore when Steve had done something so cruel.

Eddie paced back and forth in the hall just outside the throne room, knowing he needed to get in there and do his bit, but it was all still roiling inside him, a savage storm raging in his head. 

A very, very deep down voice whispered that Steve probably hadn’t been serious, hadn’t known his words would have any real effect or consequences, but that was a little bit the point, wasn’t it? You shouldn't say shit you don’t mean—not like that! And certainly not about your child!

Not that— 

Not that Dustin was Steve’s child, obviously. So, sure, maybe it wasn’t exactly the same situation but—

Eddie hurled himself forward and flung open the door, cutting that train of thought off in its tracks—now wasn’t the time to dwell on the past—and had barely a moment to look around before something, or rather someone, barreled straight into him.

The absolute last thing he expected upon his return was to walk into his throne room and be immediately assaulted by the boy he’d just kidnapped. 

Dustin’s short curls bounced as he began to smack at Eddie’s chest, more than half the blows not even making contact, and the ones that did were weak at best. Eddie grinned, enjoying the show of spunk, but quickly realized they had an audience, and it wouldn’t do well for his image to let the goblins see him allowing a young human boy to assault him like this. 

As gently as he could, Eddie took the boy up by the back of his neck, feeling a little like he was scruffing a disgruntled kitten, and proceeded to march him out the door, wearing a scowl for show. 

He led Dustin down to the end of the hall, stumbling through another door and into the library where they could have a moment alone, releasing him once they were behind closed doors. 

“Listen, kid…”  Eddie began, only to have the little shit turn on him the second he was free, arms windmilling wildly. “Stop!” He shouted, catching one of the kid’s small wrists mid-motion, applying just enough pressure to get his attention.

Dustin finally stopped trying to hit him, thankfully, but instead shouted in his face. “What did you do to my brother?!”

Eddie had expected to see fear in the kid’s eyes when they finally stood face to face. There hadn’t been time for them to really size each other up before, when he’d whisked the boy away from his room with a hand on the shoulder and a tiny bit of magic, but there was only simmering rage in those baby blues now as Dustin glared. 

“Nothing much, but why should you care anyway? Has it not yet occurred to you that he is the reason you’re here?” Eddie scoffed, releasing his grip on the young boy’s arm. “He wished you away, kid.”

“So?” Dustin shot back.

Eddie’s mouth dropped open. “So?!”

“Clearly you didn't grow up with siblings. Now, where is he?”

Eddie opened and closed his mouth several times before shaking his head. “Right about now I suspect he’ll be trying to find his way inside the walls. That’s the deal, if he can manage to get through my Labyrinth, find his way to the gates of the Goblin City, and make it all the way up to the castle, he can win you back and you’ll both be free to go. If he fails? You’ll become one of us, stuck here forever.” 

“Oh,” Dustin said, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. 

…Oh?

That’s it? 

Oh?!

This kid and his fucking single syllable responses. He’d just found out he’s going to be stuck here forever, and all he can say is oh?!

Eddie ground his teeth together, hissing through them. “You don’t seem very worried.” 

“You don’t know Steve the way I do. He might seem like just another jock asshole, and he is sometimes, but people underestimate him. He’s brave, and smart—smarter than even he knows, I think. If anyone can do this, he can.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say to that. In truth it just made him feel even more sorry for the younger boy. To have such blind faith in his brother? He was setting himself up for a world of disappointment when Steve inevitably gave up on him. 

“You accepted all of this rather easily,” Eddie remarked eventually. “Your brother did too. Most people these days don’t believe in other realms, or creatures, or even magic. I expected more disbelief, honestly.”

Dustin shrugged. “The world’s a weird place, if you take the time to look. I'm not gonna deny something I can see with my own two eyes, even if I had thought it was made up.”

Following their little chat, Eddie returned Dustin to the throne room, leaving him in the care of his innermost circle of goblins. They’d never actually harm the boy, and now that Eddie knew the kid had next to no fear—and frankly no survival instincts, but that was a whole other issue—he wasn’t so worried about leaving him alone with them. 

He was surprised to find no sign of Chrissy hanging around the court. He thought she’d be waiting impatiently for his return, to question him about his little quest. 

When asked, the largest of the goblins, who he’d taken to calling Freak, grunted that she’d gone off to her chambers. And while it was true she did have rooms within his walls now, having moved into the castle at his insistence once they'd grown close, he had a feeling that’s not where he’d find her. 

As suspected, she was perched in the window of his own bedchamber, looking out over the city. It was her favorite spot to sit and think, and watch their world go by.

“So, he’s a handful.” Chrissy said without looking back, the moment he entered the room.

“Yeah,” Eddie huffed a laugh, peeling off his travel cloak and tossing it on the long wooden bench at the foot of his bed. “You could say that again.”

“For some reason I was expecting a baby, or like, a toddler? Or maybe I was just hoping he was.” She sighed, and swiveled around to face him, leaning her back against the window frame as she pulled her knees to her chest. 

Eddie sauntered over to her, a sad crooked smile playing on his lips. “Everyone is a child to someone. I was practically an adult when I came here, as you know.” 

He’d confessed his own backstory to her long ago over a few bottles of wine, but though they both knew the truth Eddie always said came, and not was brought, whenever he referred to his own origins aloud. As though it were his choice, in hopes that eventually the creatures he ruled over would forget how he came to be there—in hopes that maybe one day he could forget too.

“He’s the same age I was.” Chrissy said quietly.

Eddie stilled for a moment, breath catching in his throat. Chrissy never talked about her past. She usually spoke as though her life began here in the Goblin City, and he never pushed the issue, understanding on a deep level what a sensitive subject it could be. 

A thousand questions popped unbidden into his head at once, but he held back. She’d tell him what she wanted him to know at her own pace. He could be patient. They had all the time in the world. 

“I just…” 

Chrissy trailed off, trying to find her words as she fought off angry tears. 

“Well it’s a little more cruel with an older kid, isn’t it? A baby wouldn’t remember where it came from, wouldn't know that the person who was supposed to love them the most in the world didn’t even try to get them back.”

Eddie closed the remaining distance between them and gathered her up in his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she lost the fight against her own grief and broke down crying. He knew this pain—all too well. His own father hadn’t made the effort either, had been glad to be rid of his disappointing offspring, but he couldn’t imagine the same being true of this sweet, precious girl, would never have guessed their stories were so similar. 

He lost track of time after a while, no idea how long he and Chrissy hid away in his room while he consoled her, and maybe shed a few of his own tears for her as well as himself. But Eddie knew he needed to get back to work eventually. 

He needed to check on Steve. 

No, not—

Check in on—he needed to check in on Steve. See how far he’d made it, or if he’d given up already. That’s what Eddie meant. 

It was no longer merely the stipulations of his post that made him want to test the other boy. It was for Dustin’s sake, as much as anything now. If Steve wanted his little brother back he was going to have to earn it, and pay for his mistakes in the process.

He tried to convince Chrissy to stay behind. She looked exhausted after their talk, and he wanted nothing more than to tuck her into his bed and let her rest until it was over, but she refused. 

She was going to be there for him through this no matter what.

When they did finally return to court, Eddie took up his spot on the throne while Chrissy stood like a sentry just behind him. 

The goblins all gathered excitedly around on the floor in front of him, the scene so reminiscent of toddler story time at the public library that Eddie nearly broke character. He managed to hide his throaty giggle behind a cough, or so he thought until Dustin glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow.  

The boy had joined them as well, and seemed, inexplicably, like he was trying to make friends. Specifically with three of the smallest goblins, who he was calling Mike, Will, and Lucas respectively. The goblins already had names of course, but even Eddie had to admit they were notoriously difficult to pronounce, and besides, the three seemed to be enjoying the attention, as well as their new given monikers.  

Eddie lounged back in his seat, attempting to give off an air of casualness as if this were any other day, and conjured two of his crystals in hand. Dustin gasped at the small show of power, and Eddie couldn’t help smirking to himself.

He concentrated on the two spheres, rolling them around each other, swirling them in his palm and thinking of Steve until the first images began to appear within.

In one he saw pieces of the recent past—Steve coming across Robin, the two of them bickering which ended in her relenting and showing him the way inside. Eddie was definitely going to have to do something about that. After all, he couldn't have his subjects out there aiding his adversary. 

The image warped and changed, and then Steve was conversing with one of the labyrinth’s many colorful worms, somehow convincing her to help him as well. In fact, had he continued to listen to her he might have even found one of the shortcuts that led directly to the castle—Steve’s arrogance getting in his own way. 

Eddie’s eyes flicked to the other crystal, his window into the now, and watched as Steve ranted and raved about the unfairness of the world and the audacity of the labyrinth to change right under his nose, even as he tried to adapt. 

Refusing to acknowledge the pang of sympathy that shot through him at Steve’s plight, Eddie let out a low chuckle, focusing instead on Max and Jane as they explained their rules, and wondered how Steve would handle the riddle. 

“No, no that’s not,” Eddie muttered to himself and sat bolt upright, the smile falling off his face as he stared at the scene playing out in his hand. “He can’t do that!”

“Do what?” Chrissy asked, leaning over his shoulder. 

At the same time Dustin cried out, “What’s happening?!”

“He’s guessing,” Eddie snarled, breaking his concentration for a moment to address the kid. “For all your monologuing about his abilities, that so-called brother of yours is out here blindly guessing, like jumping into fire and hoping for the best!”

“I told you.” Dustin grinned. “See? He’s so brave.”

“That’s not bravery, it’s idiocy!”

Eddie fumed, returning his attention to the crystals just in time to see Steve step through Jane’s door, and immediately fall from sight.

Fuck.

His heart clenched. It was the right door, Steve had gotten lucky, again, but it didn’t mean he was completely out of harm's way. 

A drop like that…

“Helping hands,” Chrissy whispered.

Thankfully much of the magic Eddie wielded was instinctual, there weren't a lot of fancy complicated motions to perform or words to say. As long as he knew his capabilities and his intention was clear, it was, for the most part, easy enough. 

Without thinking twice Eddie tossed the balls into the air, sending them back to whatever limbo they lived in when he wasn’t using them, and took a deep breath. He let his eyes roll back, for a moment in his mind becoming the dark shaft Steve was currently plummeting down, before forcing it to change. Countless pairs of hands sprouted from the curved walls—hands Eddie controlled that reached out to catch Steve mid-air, bringing him to a sudden halt.

With a dozen or more sets of hands and fingers Eddie held on, mostly gripping Steve by his arms and legs, but for security a few cradled his bottom, and fuck Eddie never dreamed he’d get to touch Steve's luscious ass for real, but he would have preferred it under different, and definitely more consensual circumstances than these. 

He did his best to ignore the fire that began to burn in his belly at the feel of it, which wasn’t all that hard to do when he finally looked into Steve’s eyes.   

It was something he’d never seen on the other boy’s face until now—terror, pure terror. Eddie thought back to all the months of watching Steve, and remembered the one and only other time he’d seen Steve anywhere near this level of fear, when that asshole friend of his, Tommy Hagan, had tried to get him to climb the town’s water tower. 

Steve was afraid of heights—of falling.  

As hard as he was holding onto Steve, Steve was holding right back just as desperately, lacing his fingers with some of Eddie’s. Not that the other boy knew they were Eddie’s, all Steve would see in front of him were hands the color of stone.

The warmth from before traveled up into Eddie’s chest, his skin breaking out in goosebumps at the touch of Steve’s hand, and that reaction was enough to finally snap him out of it. 

What was Eddie doing? 

He didn’t want Steve to die, sure, but who cared if he was afraid? He should be. This was all his own fault.

With another shift of his will, the eyelashes fluttering on his physical body where it still sat on his throne, Eddie manipulated some of the hands to form faces and mouths, like some bizarre version of shadow puppets, and used them to speak.

“Come on, come on, we haven't got all day.” 

“W-w-what do you mean?!” Steve asked, stuttering.

“Which way?”

Steve swallowed audibly, repeating the question back to them. “Which way?”

“Up, or down?”

Down!” Steve quickly shouted. “Down. Yes, please, down.”

“Then down you go—”

Perhaps a little slower than was necessary for mere survival, but still fast enough to have Steve kicking and screaming, Eddie passed him down from one group of hands to the next, until the narrow shaft opened up into a small room, and he had no choice but to let the other boy drop the last few feet to the dirt floor below. 

It was less of a room and more of a dungeon, actually. A place to put things or people and forget about them. Which is probably what Eddie should be doing now, but he had other plans in mind for Steve. 

Eddie pulled himself abruptly out of the vision, thankful he was seated or he might have fallen over from the impact of suddenly being more solid in his own body. 

Chatter erupted all around the room, everyone present shouting questions at him at once. 

“What is it?”

“What’s happening?”

“Where is the human now, King Eddie?”

“He’s in the oubliette,” Eddie stated plainly. 

The gathered party, minus Dustin and Chrissy, erupted into cheers and laughter. Which just made Eddie feel bad for Steve all over again, and a little gross for scaring him, which then made him angry, and—

Eddie panted, out of breath like he’d been holding it. How was Steve doing this to him? 

“Quiet!” He shouted in a rage, narrowed eyes raking over his people. “Why are you celebrating? Clearly we’ve been going too easy on him. He shouldn’t have even made it this far, he should have given up by now!” 

The goblins were enthusiastic in their agreement, save for the three that’d been bonding with Dustin, who were a little quieter in their enjoyment of the festivities, and giving little sideways glances to their new friend. 

Dustin paid them no attention, his eyes glued squarely on Eddie’s figure. ”Steve would never give up!”

Eddie stood, looming over the young boy. “We’ll see how true that is when I have one of my people lead him back to the beginning. All that work and he’ll be right back at square one!”

Chapter 3: Underground

Permanent taglist (open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog  @goodolefashionedloverboi

@themagicalari @awkwardgravity1 @rocknrollsalad

Fic taglist (open): @strangererotica @paintsplatteredandimperfect @xegany @devondespresso @3vilpurpl3d0t

@ravenfrog

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

[evans23]

Daughter of mine

Pairing : Judge Turpin x Daughter OC

Summary : When a mere acquaintance of Judge Turpin announced to him that he had a daughter, The Death's Judge is flabbergasted.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Abandonment. Neglectful mother. Mention of prostitution.

A/N: Hello dear 😁 I wanted to try something else with Turpin. Hope you'll like it. No proofreading because I am lazy 🫠😅

Part II - Part III - Part IV

Also read on AO3

Richard was walking briskly through the court corridors, a bunch of papers under his arm, his wig still on his head.

"Richard ! Richard !" he heard shouting behind him.

The sound of the irritating voice makes him walk faster. The Beadle wasn't here, having got a leave of absence for personal matters. 

Personal matters... harlot matters, thought Richard, chewing the inside of his cheek while his pursuer continued to call him. Due to the absence of his minion, he will have to talk to this clodhopper of a lawyer. He knew who it was just by earring the far too sharp voice of this incompetent. Matthew was his name and he was an abomination, bringing opprobrium to his respectable profession. 

"Richard !"

Turpin halted at once and turned towards Matthew with a severe look, one that only the Judge Turpin has the secret of.

"Yes Matthew," he hissed, ready to tear out the eyes of the poor man running behind him with a little spoon. 

"Richard !" said again Matthew when he eventually reached the Judge.

If he said my name one more time, I would judge him for anything suitable would come to the mind of The Beadle, thought fiercely Richard.

"Yes ?" said Richard frowning his eyebrows with disgust at the view of the reddened pudgy face of his non-beloved colleague.

"I need to talk with you. An urgent matter."

"No more case today, I adjourned the court, I have some important business to attend to."

Without waiting for an answer, Richard began to walk again but Matthew held him back by grabbing his sleeves.

It asked Richard all his masterfulness not to slap the poor lad in the face. After all, he was a respected judge, always controlling his emotions. He was the fucking Death's Judge fucking Turpin, he thought vehemently. 

"Richard, believe me, you want to hear it." told the little man, totally oblivious to the anger which was boiling into Richard.

"Well, what is the matter ?"

"Not here. It is too personal. Come to my office."

"No, mine !"

His command doesn't leave any room for an objection from Matthew but the joyful man wasn't offended at all by the behavior of Turpin. After all, his reputation preceded him and the young lawyer wasn't easily deterred from his optimistic good mood.

"Well, I listen really attentively to you," said Richard once he had closed the door of his office. 

He sat gracefully on his chair, denying the right to do the same to Matthew by not inviting him to do so. 

"Richard, I don't know how to say that," began the lawyer taking a seat anyway.

Turpin sighed inwardly, more than annoyed. Yes, definitely, this young fella was in to lose his eyes.

"With simple, short words and in a very economical way. No more than three or four words," said Richard without an ounce of sarcasm.

He wanted to go home and read the new book he had made come from India. 

"You have a daughter," said straightforwardly Matthew.

If Richard was caught off guard, he didn't show any signs of it. 

"I beg your pardon ?"

He didn't know if he should laugh or keep his straight face while threatening the man in front of him with an upcoming hanging. His hanging !

A bit taken aback by his bluntness, a thing he didn't know he was able to, the lawyer fidgeted on his chair for the biggest displeasure of Richard.

"Boy, I don't have the day. If you have something to say talk, otherwise leave me alone !" thundered his voice.

"Richard. I am serious. I have been called last week to acknowledge the will of a dying woman in a poor house in the outskirts of London. The woman claimed that her daughter is yours."

"Well, if a dying woman has claimed that her bastard is mine, then it is certainly true," he responded sharply, "are you really as daft as you come across when one's meet you the first time ? Even though you come across to me as stupid and incapable each time I have to process a file in which you are working. You are nothing of a lawyer," he chided severely, his nostrils almost spitting fire.

“Yeah, actually I was forced by my father to follow his steps, however, I wanted to be an art…”

“Matthew !” Cut off Turpin, his anger threatening to erupt any time soon.

“Yes, sorry,” answered the poor man, putting himself together before going on. 

“Well, the lady, plagued with a terminal disease, asked me to draw up a will. She didn’t owe much but the few jewels have been entrusted to me to be handed out to her daughter in due time. She was afraid to have it stolen by the nurses after she would have passed away.”

He stopped, waiting for any reaction from Richard which comes with a gruff comment. 

“I don’t care about the pieces of jewellery. Who was the so-called lady and what about her bastard, who she claimed to be from my seed.”

“Yes, yes, to the point Matthew,” tried to brace himself the lawyer who began to flicker under the unyielding piercing eyes of Turpin, “her name was Elena.”

Turpin went pale. It was a long time since he had heard this name. Seven years, almost eight to be precise. He couldn’t deny having known this girl as he had almost married her. But it was another story. A sad one.

After having lost the only one he has ever considered as his soulmate, he had set his sight on a girl named Lucy, the barber’s wife of the poorest quarter of the town. He was desperate to forget Elena and he thought getting that pretty little thing would help him to get rid of his sorrow. 

As a matter of course, the barber’s wife didn’t accord him even a glance and, mad with rage and grief, he had almost perjured his honourable position as a Judge by charging his husband with a false crime on the purpose of sending him away in a barren land called Australia, but he came back to his senses just in time, releasing the barber and swearing to himself to never ever falling in love. Women were nothing else but suffering and betrayal. 

“Elena,” repeated unconsciously Richard.

“Yes, Elena Bryant. She must have been a really beautiful lady when she was at her best because I could notice the beauty of her fine features even with the illness making her face break out.”

“Yes, a real beauty, indeed,” whispered Turpin.

“Her daughter is nothing short of a beauty herself. A real little doll.”

Turpin shook his head, retrieving his mind.

“My acquaintance with this girl doesn’t mean I am the father of her undesirable burden. And believe me, this woman was nothing of a lady. She came from a poor family with no proper upbringing. It was a miracle that she could read and her writing was as awkward as the one of a young kid.”

“Yeah, well, apparently she wasn’t too dull because she taught her daughter to read. She is a lively child, intelligent and so on. She has been sent to an orphanage nearby here.”

The lawyer stopped, gauging Turpin who stayed totally indifferent or at least he guises himself to look as if, yet inwardly his mind was racing.

“How old ?” He suddenly asked.

“What ?” asked Matthew, puzzled.

“How old is the girl, Matthew my patience lay thin !” said Turpin with a thunderous tone.

“Oh, six years. Almost seven. Quite soon, actually.”

Richard could have fainted with how his head was spinning. Six years, almost seven. Was it possible ?

“Her name is Catherine.”

Turpin grabbed the edge of his desk with so much force that is knuckles turned white. Catherine. He had told Elena once that should he have a little girl, he would like her name to be Catherine like his late and beloved grandmother, the only person in his life to have shown him genuine affection and taught him what love was, at least until Elena. 

“And what will be the destiny of the little bast… of the little girl ?” asked Turpin between clenched teeth.

“The mother would like you to have her custody. After all, according to her, you are the father.” 

It remains unproven, thought bitterly Turpin. After all, after having left him, she went from one man to another, living a depraved life, selling her body to earn a living. Richard knew it as a fact after having had a glimpse at her beloved Elena while he frequented a well-known brothel. The sight of her disgusted him through his bones and he had to keep his nerves under check not to drag her outside by her hair and require an explanation for her awful betrayal. He had reasoned himself, reasoning his injured soul that doing that would give the girl too much importance. An importance she didn’t deserve even less now than she wasn’t more than a disgusting whore. 

The daughter could be from any moron but him. Yet, now was ingrained in his mind a slight doubt. 

“What should I do ? For the little girl ?” asked Matthew.

Richard thought for a long time before answering that The Beadle would take care of it. Matthews acquiesced, uncertain if he was satisfied with Turpin’s answer, but he wisely kept his mouth shut, leaving the Judge’s office with a nod.

The next day, The Beadle was assigned the task to find the girl and… well, make a report. Turpin didn’t want to spread out the rumour he could have a bastard in the nature and even if The Beadle had his trust, he preferred to wait before taking action.

“Sir,” echoed The Beadle’s voice.

Startled while he was deeply lost in his work, Turpin acknowledged his presence with a nod and a frown eyebrow.

“I have seen the little girl,” he said carefully.

“And ?” growled Turpin.

He was almost expecting The Beadle to tell him she was his spitting portrait, that even if he didn’t know why he had to meet that child he had immediately understood when he saw her. Unfortunately, his answer was quite disappointing.

“She is very short for her age but she has a pretty face. A little doll, a future beauty,” said The Beadle with a glint of envy in his eyes.

The Judge felt the urge to threaten his assistant to put him under arrest for talking like that of a little girl but he retained himself, instead, he asked him to tell him more.

“She is a polite little darling, not really interesting due to an obvious lack of education.”

The Judge nodded, not quite satisfied with the report of The Beadle.

“My lord, may I enquire why this little girl has caught your eyes ?” asked honeydly the rat-face man.

“No,” was the cold answer of The Judge.

What was the matter of having an assistant if he had to do the work himself ? He thought angrily. Yet, after all, one was better served by himself than by someone else.

And so, the next morning, his carriage hit the road for the orphanage. The venue was a gloomy old building almost in ruins. The roof was leaking, the windows let the wind go through the immeuble and the floor was dirty. 

The headmaster of the orphanage, a hunchbacked old woman with a severe face, which could have matched Turpin’s straight face, wasn’t agreeable at all but when she recognised The Judge, she became nothing more than kindness and bowing. Unimpressed, Turpin asked for Catherine. 

While walking along the corridors, he noticed the famished children, filthy and wearing rags. The old woman stopped in front of an almost unhinged door.

“The girl is here. Doesn’t speak a lot. In need of a good beating if you want my opinion.”

“No, I don’t,” answered Turpin without paying more attention to the headmaster.

The Judge knocked at the door then, as no answer was coming, he entered. Sitting on the bed with what looks like a stuffed wolf in her arms. His stuffed wolf ! The one he had as a child and he had offered to Elena at the beginning of their relationship for the girl having him at her side every night. 

“May I sit next to you ?” asked Turpin to the girl who hadn’t looked at him yet.

She nodded, keeping her head low and didn’t even moved one toe when Turpin took place beside her.

The tiny room, which was more a cupboard than anything else, was as filthy as the rest of the orphanage. The sheets were filthy. Probably they haven’t seen water for ages, thought Turpin.

“What is your name, girl ?” asked Turpin even though he already knew the answer.

“Catherine,” whispered shyly the girl.

“Quite a pretty name.”

If she had heard him, she didn’t acknowledge it. Apparently, being silent was her biggest skill.

“I have been told that you were a well-behaved lady but let me tell you that a lady looks her interlocutor in the eyes when she is talked to.”

And for the first time, she tilted her head up, her awfully beautiful green eyes meeting The Judge’s. And he knew. 

Richard had thought he would know if the girl was his only if she had a bit of him etched in her face. The truth was she wasn’t looking after him at all. No hooked nose, hazel eyes or even blond hair. No, she had the black curls of her mother, the small button nose of her mother, the magnificent features of her mother and the eyes, the incredible, beautiful, unforgettable beautiful eyes of his Elena. Definitely, she didn’t look like any Turpin he knew, but deep inside him, deep into his heart, he knew. The girl was his.

He left the room without a word, asking his coachman to go to the courthouse fetching Matthew and at the end of the afternoon, the girl was officially under his protection. 

She wasn’t very talkative but the truth was that she was rather impressed by the charismatic presence of The Judge. On the other hand, Richard didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t used to talking with a child even if the said child was his and he shouldn’t feel nervous around her. 

However, he wasn’t sure if he was in front of an innocent child. Her mother sold her body, what her daughter could have seen ? But he had something worse rattling his mind. Does Elena could have committed the sin of selling her owndaughter ? Richard didn’t know how to broach such a topic without shoking the child, even less should the girl be utterly oblivious of her mother's profession.

“Where are we going ?” asked a little voice, interrupting his running mind.

Sitting on the bench in front of him in the cramped carriage which was bringing them back to Richard’s house.

“Turpin’ Manor.”

“You live in a Manor ?” asked Catherine, whereas she was trying with all her will to not sound too excited.

“Yes, dear. And you too now,” answered Turpin with an amused look on his face. “You are going to live a very different life now. You will get a proper education, food thrice a day, a warm, clean bed, proper clothes for a little lady in your position and a name. Believe me, you will want nothing in your life from now on.”

He could see the flabbergasted expression on the girl’s face at the mention of a warm bed and food put every day on the table. Unable to hold it anymore, he asked the question that was burning his lips the more diplomatically he could.

“What did your mother do to earn money ?”

Catherine shrugged indifferently.

“When a lady is asking a question, she must at least acknowledge her interlocutor and at best give him an answer,” he scolded gently, yet with a growling tone. 

“She was a waitress,” answered the child without looking at him. 

“A waitress ?” repeated Richard.

“She worked at night for a rest… rest… I am not sure of the pronunciation,” confessed Catherine, fixing her gaze on his.

“A restaurant ?” suggested Richard.

She nodded while hugging tighter her little wolf.

“And who was looking after you ?”

“No one,” whispered the girl, her eyes filling with tears. “I was alone every night from 6 in the afternoon until 8 in the morning,” she added, crying now.

“Hush, hush, no need to cry child,” said Turpin, holding out his large hand to squeeze awkwardly the small and almost fragile one of Catherine.

“Why are you crying now ?”

“It was frightening, being alone every night. I hate being in the dark but mom couldn’t afford us to let a candle burn all night.”

Turpin’s face softened. Catherine was so mature and skilful in her way of speaking that he had almost forgotten she was only 6, almost 7. 

“Well, you will have all the light you need during the night. No one will mind. Stop crying now.”

“You promise ?” asked the girl with bright eyes.

“Yes, I promise. A servant will kindle all the light you need in your room to sleep well far before your bedtime,” said Turpin, trying to mask his irritation. 

The happiness of the child for such a little promise made his previous irritation fade away and he could almost feel his heart melt at the view of a so genuine gratefulness.

“And… did your mom have a husband ?”

He swallowed his saliva with difficulty, hoping to have a definitive answer about the innocence of his… of Catherine.

“No. I have never seen a man in our house. Mommy told me she would never bring a man in our house because her heart was broken and she couldn’t love anybody else but me.”

“So never had a man lay his hand on you ?”

“No. Mommy would have killed anybody who would have hit me.”

Richard let out a sight he didn’t know he was retaining. So, Elena had at least succeeded in protecting the child from the depravation of the world. Of her world.

“And I would never let anyone hurt you in any way,” said Richard, the promise of a terrible fate for the one who would dare to just stare at the little girl.

When the carriage stopped, Richard stepped out before helping Catherine to go out. He held her without difficulty in his arms to put her on the ground. She was far too skinny, thought Richard. She weighed nothing in his arms and he had felt her bones protruding through the meagre fabric of her dress. Something that wouldn’t last now that she was living at Turpin’ Manor. She would be fed properly and never where he would tolerate to see her shiver because of a gust of wind. She will have all the clothes she needed to stay warm. Definitely, the life of Catherine was going to change for the better. 

After a quick introduction to the staff, composed of a cook, a butler and only two maids, he made her visit her new house, jubilating when the girl gawked at his impressive library and then laughing genuinely at her happiness to discover a huge, beautiful, warm and already lit room. Her own room was far more bigger than the dilapidated house where she had lived with her mom.

She sat on the bed, her wolf still in her arm, looking at Turpin with a mix of gratitude and something else he couldn’t decipher.

“Happy ?”

“Yes,” was the simple answer of Catherine but her eyes were telling so much more.

Thank you, I feel safe, I am happy, I think I know who you are. 

“Good. You will have your own maid who will help you to get dressed every morning and night. She will do your hair and starting next week you will have tutors teaching you everything a lady should know and even more. I expect your best behaviour and assertiveness in your study, understood?” said Turpin with severity.

The girl nodded once before biting her lower lip.

“Something amiss ?” asked Turpin, frowning an eyebrow.

“How should I call you ?”

Father was is first thought but he could be a bit overwhelming for the child. After all, she didn’t know yet and he didn’t want to rush her with the truth. First, he wanted to win her trust. Maybe even her love. 

“Well, my name is Richard and when it is only the both of us, you can call me so. In public, you will call me Lord Turpin like a proper lady should do.”

The girl didn’t answer him, instead, she looked intensively at him as if she was trying to discover the secret of his soul, which he hoped, she would never be able to do so.

“Are you my father ?” she asked abruptly.

Caught off guard, Turpin gawked at the boldness of the child, impressed by her perspicacity. Lying would be stupid but saying aloud the truth was overwhelming for The Judge who was still trying to proceed with the novelty of his paternity and the fact that he had now a child living under his roof.

“Your wolf… has it a name ?”

“Merlin. Like the wizard.”

“Well, Merlin was mine when I was your age.”

He hoped this answer would be enough but Catherine was only a child and the subtlety of the world escaped her.

“So I am right, you are my father ?”

Richard swallowed with difficulty and almost shocked when the girl took his large hand into her little one, her eyes bearing hope and gratitude.

“Yes kid, I am your father,” he eventually answered not without emotion and a mix of new feelings invading him deeply through his heart and soul.

Catherine offered him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. 

Definitely a Turpin smile, he thought proudly, recognising in her smile his. 

“Yes, I am your father and from now on you will be known as Catherine Elena Victoria Turpin.”

Catherine squeezed his hand and weren’t he so awkward and reserved about his own emotion, he would have hugged the child. His child. His daughter. 

“Everything will be fine now, daughter of mine,” he whispered as an everlasting promise. 

[writingtraumaforever]

Uncontrolled Chaos: Chapter 32

Notes: Guys, I suck at writing anything action sequenced. Apologies for my very obvious dodging of this.

Summary: Sonic interrogates Amy, but it backfires. Shadow and Rouge infiltrate Eggman’s Base.

UC Masterpost!

Link to my AO3!

Start:

“So..”

“Yes??”

“You and Shads talked this morning, huh??”

“Oh yes, it was very nice to hear about his world and his life!”

“Uh huh..”

Sonic and Amy have been flying for nearly twenty minutes, spending the first bit catching up. Amy has been enjoying her travels. Coming across new places, helping those in need, mending broken hearts with her kind spirit.. spreading her love to the world just like she wanted. It’s beautiful. And so painfully in character for her, Sonic thinks. She really is so great. He often wishes he was more like her.. able to speak and act on his heart so freely and boldly. Instead, he finds emotions difficult and overwhelming to process most the time, sticking with his classic trio of cocky, optimistic, and spunky.

No room for anything else.

There’s been nothing pop up on the energy radar yet, so they’re simply cruising currently and waiting on a reading. And why not ask about Shadow??? He’s the whole reason they’re here, after all. It’s not weird or anything.

“So he tell you all about yourself in his world??”

“Yup!” Amy grins, talking through the headphones Tails installed so they didn’t have to shout to speak, “Apparentlg were pretty good friends in his world. He considers me something like a sister.”

“That’s sweet,” Sonic smiles a bit softer hearing this, finding it kind of precious in its own way.

“Mhm, I like to think our Shadow sees me that way too. Even if he doesn’t admit it as easy,” Amy giggles with a roll of her eyes.

“He definitely seems to have a soft spot for you,” Sonic agrees with a little smirk, eyes staying on the radar for any signs of energy spikes.

“Of course he does. Everyone does. I’m practically a national treasure,” Amy teases with a sassy little flip of her hair.

Sonic grins at this, “And humble, too.”

“Oh, as if you’re one to talk!” she sways at his shoulder playfully over his seat, Sonic chuckling in response.

He really missed having her around..

“It was actually really interesting hearing how he’s a part of our team in his world, though. Didn’t realize how much that alone would change things,” she sighs a bit, “..As nice as it all sounds, I do miss our Shadow, though.”

Sonic nods a bit at this, “He may hate me, but I sure wouldn’t know what to do without him sometimes.”

“Oh Sonic, please,” Amy scoffs, “he doesn’t hate you.”

“He tell you that??”

“Well—.. no,” she stumbles, “But he never had to! While you may irritate him at times, he’s always spoken highly of you aside from the playful jabs here and there. He respects you a lot, always has.”

Sonic snorts, “Yeah. Okay.”

“It’s true!” Amy defends, “You don’t actually believe he hates you, do you?? I know you two have had your moments, but hate?? That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think??”

“You’re lecturing me on being dramatic??” Sonic huffs with a playful grin in his voice. He glances back over his shoulder to find her giving him a very pointed look. He clears his throat and turns back around,

“Look. All I’m sayin’ is if our Shadow found out I was hurt through that little dimension communicator thingy, he definitely wouldn’t be acting how Shads was.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Amy knits her brows at this, “He may not have been as panicked, but he would’ve absolutely been worried.. He would’ve likely been wanting to know you’re okay at the very least.”

“I dunno, Ames..” Sonic shrugs, “unless you know something I don’t..?”

There’s a long pause.

“…Like what??”

“I dunno,” he shrugs once again, trying to be nonchalant, “You got to talk to him all morning. Figured you might have learned somethin’ is all.”

“You’ve been with him longer than I have,” she replies, and Sonic can hear the way she’s forcing casualness, “Whatever I know, I’m sure you do too.”

“I dunno. You’re real easy to open up to,” Sonic tilts his head with a sly smile in his tone, “Might’ve felt more comfortable telling you things than me.”

“Doubt it,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes at Sonic’s obvious attempts to snoop, “Whatever it is you’re trying to pry out of me, Sonic, you’re just going to have to ask him yourself.”

“Me?? Pry?? Why Miss Rose, I’d never,” Sonic gasps as if her accusation had simply slain his heart.

Amy just snickers at this with a shake of her head, “See? Dramatic.”

Sonic chuckles at this, “Learned from the best.”

“As if!”

They both laugh a moment, and it’s really nice..

They use to do this a lot together.. just go for flights or random walks to chat or run errands..

“I’m more interested in what you’ve been up to,” Amy says after a moment, and Sonic suddenly feels nervous.

“Uh— what ya mean??” Sonic asks with a tilt of his head.

“Since we’ve all been gone!” Amy grins as if it’s obvious, “I figure with all of us out of you’re hair, you’ve been thriving! All that freedom and time, it’s all you’ve ever wanted, right??? Surely you’ve travelled more and seen new places and learned new things. Maybe even a few solo adventures?? I wanna hear all about it!”

Sonic swallows hard. He should’ve seen this coming eventually. There was a point in time where teamwork was a nuissance to Sonic. When having Tails and Amy chasing behind him felt more like being held back than anything. When he saw friendship as chains that kept him on the ground when he just wanted to fly. Commitment was a curse and a home was a prison.

Now??… In some ways, he remains this way. Still craving freedom and the unexpected twists life and adventure can throw at him..

But he couldn’t imagine any of it without his friends.

Not having Tails, Amy and Knux around has made him realize how truly alone he is.. how much he needs their presence, or he’s left with nothing. He’s become reliant on their companionship, their loyalty. And that’s not fair of him.. to ask them to stick by his side and go no further than that?? He’d be the one holding them back..

But without them.. he’s lost who he is. What he’s suppose to be.

If not a brother.

If not a friend.

If not a hero.

If not a rock.

If not a god..

Then what???

Amy is waiting for his response, and he has to give her something or she’ll become worried. And he doesn’t want that. It’s the last thing he wants..

So just as he opens his mouth to spew lies and toxins, a high beeping begins sounding from the radar.

Saved by the emerald.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to take a rain check on that convo, Ames,” Sonic replies, beginning to press buttons to set coarse towards the energy source, “We got an emerald to nab!”

—

“Ya’know, when I agreed to go on an incognito mission with you, I was thinking more along the lines of subtle espionage..,” Rouge huffs through her comms, watching through the vents as Shadow smashes and rages onto the poor helpless robots below down the halls of Eggman’s base.

“I’m providing a distraction,” Shadow grunts back, landing another air kick that slices right through all the wires and metal of the buzzbomber.

“Didn’t need a distraction to begin with,” Rouge rolls her eyes with a grumble. This Shadow is definitely not a spy in his world, that’s for certain. He’s got more similar fighting tactics to that of Sonic: rushed and instinctual. “Could’ve gotten in and out of here without being detected at all. Now we’re going to have to worry about having Eggman up our—“

“Tails is trying to regain contact! He needs this emerald!” Another grunt as he chaos spears the hell out of seven motobugs.

“He won’t be regaining contact if we’re too busy adding more problems to our current situation,” Rouge argues, crawling through the vents until she sees something shining through one of them. A wicked little grin curls onto her lips, “Would ya look at that..”

“Find it??”

“I found an emerald. Two, in fact. Looks like the doctor’s been busy..”

Shadow feels relief at hearing this. One emerald would be great, but two?? That’s even better odds for Tails to be able to connect their worlds.

Taking his frustration and anxiety-induced tension out on the last of the robots in the hall, Shadow skates towards Rouge’s location.

“I have your coordinates locked in. I’ll head to the emeralds. You take care of getting the intel on the Time-Eater.”

Rouge groans a bit, halting her work on unscrewing the vent with her manicured nails, “I can’t even get one???”

“Now’s not the time, Bat,” Shadow snaps, sliding under lasers that shoot out from the security system in the walls. There’s been no signs of Eggman. Not even his voice over the intercoms. He wonders if he’s even here. If he’s not, he’s surely been alerted to the infiltration.

“Calm your quills, I’m heading to the main computer he keeps his intel stored in,” Rouge huffs, rolling her eyes and yeah. He’s not her Shadow. Her and her Shadow work so well together. Trust each other. There’s none of this rushed and pettily planned out nonsense. She tries not to hold it against him, though. He has been trained by Sonic, not GUN. And he’s a bit emotional right now if his reaction to his world’s Sonic’s distress call is anything to go off of.

“I’m nearly to the emeralds,” Shadow responds, pausing outside the door of the room they’re locked inside and taking a few steps back to prepare to blast inside, “Any signs of trouble for you??”

“Nope. Been undetected so far,” Rouge replies, glancing down at her own watch that’s standard GUN tech. It’s currently jamming any radars or cameras that may pick up on her presence, “But you do know that when he sees his robots split in half or with giant holes in them, he’s going to know it’s a hedgehog’s doing.”

“I have more alarming things to worry about than the doctor’s vengeance,” Shadow remarks before pausing to charge himself up and then—

“Chaos Blast!”

An explosion sounds through the facility, Rouge jolting slightly at the initial shock before her eyes widen and she speaks into her comms, “Was that you???”

“Yes,” Shadow pants, walking a bit tiredly into the room he’s now busted into.

“Are you alright???”

“I’m fine,” he huffs, grunting slightly as he walks to the encased emeralds. Side by side and entrapped by lasers, “But the emeralds are closed in by lasers.. I need to shut them off.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem for—“ she then pauses, sighing a bit, “Right. No spy training. I forget.”

“I may be able to figure it out,” Shadow replies, moving to the control panel nearby, “I may not have spy training, but I have super fox genius training..”

Rouge smirks a bit at that, finally coming across the room she’s been looking for and kicking the vent in to hop down.

A blast like that will have more of Eggman’s reinforcements searching the facility, so time is of the essence.

The room is lined with large technical equipment, rows and rows of computer storage and blinking lights and flashing gizmos. She’s pretty use to these kinds of rooms. All big facilities have them. GUN does!

Taking out a USB drive, she walks to the nearest output and plugs it in. Pulling out a tablet sort of device from her bag after, she begins typing away and searching through files.

“Gaia, who the hell needs this many files???” she huffs in frustration, scrolling through all the intel with her eyes searching for ‘TimeEater’.

“Apparently a man who tries and fails to take over the world on the daily,” Shadow grumbles back, focused on trying to unlock the laser security around the emeralds still.

“I’d say you’re right, but I’m willing to bet half of this is just selfies of him, Orbot, Cubot, and the new one—“

“Sage,” Shadow corrects.

“…Right,” Rouge’s brow quirks at the fact he knows that bit of information, “So she’s in y’all’s world, too?”

“Yeah. Has been for about a year, now.”

“And you’ve come across her??”

“I was there when we first met her,” Shadow replies casually, not really thinking much of the conversation since he’s focused on getting those lasers gone.

“So you saw Starfall Islands???”

“Mm,” he nods. Rouge doesn’t see it, but she knows Shadow’s hums and huffs and grunts enough to know it was a yes.

She ponders this a moment, brows furrowed in thought..

Knuckles said that what happened on Starfall Islands was pretty intense. Especially for Sonic..

She can’t help but wonder if Shadow was with Sonic through most of that, or trapped in some sort of Cyberspace like Knuckles, Amy and Tails..

Now isn’t the time to question it all, though, her eyes finally finding the TimeEater files and opening them up.

“Got it.”

“You got the files??”

“Yup. And there’s a lot, so hopefully we’ll have enough for the kid to use,” Rouge responds, already transferring them to her hard drive.

“Any luck with the lasers??”

“I think I’ve almost got it..,” Shadow mutters back, resorting to instead fall more on his technical skills than hacking knowledge. Ripping the panel from the side of the controls, he reveals all the wires underneath. After examining them a moment, he finds what he’s looking for and pulls a few of the wires out.

“This will either work or really sting,” Shadow mumbles to himself, taking the two exposed wires and slowly touching them together.

There’s a spark.

And then the lasers shut off.

Smirking proudly to himself, he stands and walks to the emeralds, “I got ‘em. Rendezvous where we broke in.”

“On it.”

[jmagnabo92]

Sailing To Freedom - Ch 11 - The LEAK

@aroyallybigbangrwrb

As Alex and Henry go into more than a week without service, someone leaks their emails leaving the White House to make a decision without the boys' consent.

AO3

***

September 27th, 2020

It’s early morning when Alex and Henry sit at in the seats at the back of the boat watching as the crew prepare to leave the dock.  They’ll be drifting off to sea in a moment for at least eight days, if they don’t stop and enjoy the water along the way.

Casablanca hadn’t exactly been their best stop, mainly because the chaos has hit them head on, but Alex knows that the second they leave, his mom wouldn’t have a chance to change her mind anymore since Liam and Pez will begin their plans to correct the narrative. 

It’s not like he thought that she would change her mind in twenty-four hours, but it’s entirely possible that sleeping on it could’ve changed her mind…

He shakes his head, that’s a little too optimistic even for him. 

“Are you alright?” Henry asks, squeezes his hand and gaining his attention.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Alex answers. 

“You’re not a very good liar – I am truly surprised that anyone believed our ‘friendship’ during that weekend where were decidedly not friends yet – so, do you want to attempt that, again?”

“It’s stupidly optimistic.”

“That sounds like the Alex I know and love,” Henry teases.  He nudges him with his elbow.  “Now, tell me, anyway.”

Alex rolls his eyes.  “The second we leave the dock, there’s no turning back.  She can’t change her mind about things…”

“You think she might?”

“I told you it was stupidly optimistic.”

“Do you have any idea how many times that I hoped for my mum to come around again?  To storm the queen’s chambers and defend her children’s right to be who they truly are?  It’s all I dreamt about for ages after my Gran sat me down and told me that I would not be allowed to be gay, that anyone that I was with would have to sign extensive NDAs and I would have a minimum number of dates with acceptable women every year?”  Henry gives him a soft smile.  “It’s natural to want our mums to be thinking of us rather than themselves – especially when the world is against us…”

Alex nods.  It’s nice to know that Henry doesn’t think it’s wrong of him to be hopeful for a change of heart from his mom.

“Yet, I know deep down that she won’t.  So, it’s … entirely stupid.”

“We don’t have to leave just yet, if you want to – to try again…”

Alex knows that Henry hadn’t even thought that the initial conversation was a good idea, thinking that it’d been obvious that his mother was going to do what was best for the campaign over Alex’s wishes. 

Yet, here he is offering to postpone their plan just because Alex isn’t ready to let go of the hope that his mom will change her mind…

“I love you, so so much,” Alex states, lifting their clasped hands to kiss the back of Henry’s hand.  “But postponing our trip and our plan has already been done before – we were supposed to go nuclear when we got to Casablanca, but really, we should’ve been paying attention immediately after the phone call about the photo.  Maybe if we had called back instead of going on a cell phone/internet blackout…”

“Hey, this – what has happened to us – it’s not our fault.  All we wanted to do was act like any other twenty-somethings and love each other in the open,” Henry states.  “I’ve spent so long in the closet that I never believed I could have this, but now that I do, I am able to recognize that we are not the problem.  Our wishes should’ve been respected, it’s not our fault that we did not doubt it enough to call back and make sure that they didn’t do what they did do.”

Alex shakes his head.  “I know that.  That wasn’t where I was going with it, exactly.  I was just saying that we postponed before, and we need to do this now.”

“As long as you’re sure that you want to go ahead with it.”

“I am.  Let’s do this, baby.”

***

June wakes to utter chaos.  She’s not sure what’s going on, all she knows is that it’s 3AM and there’s noise throughout the White House much more than there should be given the time of morning it is. 

Knowing that something big is going on, she just pulls on her robe when Zahra comes bursting into the room.  “Call your brother!”

“Why?  What’s going on?”

“Just call him and come with me.”

Trying to make sense of everything, June immediately calls him, but the call goes straight to voicemail.  She calls again and again until they reach the Oval Office where her mother’s looking a little worse for wear and not at all happy. 

“Did you get him?”

“Straight to voicemail, he’s probably out to sea with no service.”

“Damnit.”

“What’s going on?” June asks, but before she could get a response her phone rings.

She looks down hoping it’ll be Alex, but it’s Bea flashing across the screen.

“Bea?”

“Have you seen the papers this morning?”

“No…” she says, slowly as she begins looking for any sign of what’s going on here.  That’s when she spots it. 

The front page of the paper with the blazing headline:

BREAKING: Emails Reveal Romantic Relationship Between FSOTUS and Prince Henry.  Confirmation of lies by FDOTUS and VP Granddaughter clear as day.

***

THE ORAL OFFICE: READ FSOTUS’ STEAMY EMAILS TO PRINCE HENRY.

***

25 GIFs That Perfectly Describe Our Reaction When We Heard About FSOTUS & Prince Henry’s Emails. 

***

Photos Of Their Romantic Vacation Align with The Email Proof.  Turns out FSOTUS & Prince Henry may have been cheating on each other with VP Granddaughter and FDOTUS.

***

White House Stays Silent as More Details Pour in Suggesting the Real Relationship Coverup This Year Was FSOTUS and Prince Henry. 

***

“Well, shit.”

“Guess you saw.”

“Is it – everything or just…”

“Everything, June.  There’s a lot there,” Bea states, sounding heartbroken.  “I’m not calling because I give a damn about what the Monarchy or White House want to do – have you heard from either of them?”

“Not a word.  I called but straight to voicemail,” June states.  “They said they were headed out to Barbados; they might already be out at sea.”

“That’s what I was worried about.  I don’t want them blindsided by this when they make landfall.”

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do about that.”

“Yeah, but we can make sure there aren’t any more lies.”

June looks up at her mother, conversing with her advisors and thinks about Alex’s determination to come out and be out and proud with Henry.  “Yeah, you’re right about that.  No more lies.”

***

There’s a part of Ellen that knows June’s right.  At this point, it’s pretty clear what Alex and the prince want, but she knows with all of the lies they’ve already made that it’s just too late to try and correct now.  All that would do is make her campaign go down the drain – after all, who would trust her as president for a second term if she admits to these lies?  The voters would naturally wonder what else she’s lying about.

Having her own children lie about who they’re dating, the evidence in the emails that she fired her son and locked him away in his room, and the fact that he practically ran away just to be with the prince … it’s not just lies that are the problem, the actions her actions – as Alex pointed out – seem rather homophobic. 

It looks like she discovered her son was with a man and locked him away like many conservatives would do.  Considering that it’s exactly the type of rhetoric that Richards is spewing (locking them away so that they can’t ‘affect’ ‘normal’ people), and he’s already using it against her – claiming that her ‘progressive’ stance is just ‘words’ and clearly not her true stance given what she’s done to her son, that’s exactly what it looks like – that she’s a conservative in progressive clothing.  That she’s secretly homophobic and Alex’s retreat into the arms of his boyfriend was a direct result of her unacceptance.    

So, even as she reads and sees just how deeply Alex loves Henry, enough that she should’ve planned for a narrative to allow them to come out rather than this forced out situation, she knows that they have to maintain the lie.  It’s better if Alex is straight and just hanging out with his best friend to get away from the stress of the campaign – being a little flirty as is his nature, but not bi or into Henry. 

She tunes out the various people suggesting that they frame this as Richards or someone else trying to make her (and the Monarchy) look bad by faking these love-letter type emails and how best to swing Alex and Henry’s ship vacation. 

This is the only option.  The best option. 

Alex will eventually forgive her, she hopes.

***

“Fuck,” June says, as she gets back to her room.  Despite her best efforts, she knew the second that she saw Zahra’s face and Ellen listening intently that she wouldn’t get a chance to get passed ‘admit the truth’ before Ellen shut her down.

They decided the best course of action was to completely deny everything in those emails.  Claim that some hacker decided to fake the emails to make it seem like Ellen had made her children lie about who they were dating. 

Richards had already picked up the potential thread with regards to the situation and had gone full-out with declaring that Ellen had an ethical conundrum on her hands with Alex ‘sexing up’ the Prince, convincing her daughter to lie to cover for his ‘deviances’ and suggesting by covering it up that she wasn’t the ally she claimed she was or she wouldn’t have ‘locked up’ Alex after they got discovered at the DNC.

Ellen had immediately fired back with claiming that Richards had faked the emails to discredit her and her ability to lead or keep to her promises.  Declaring that she is the ally that she’s always been, and she would never lock up her son for his interests.  The blame landing on Richards went well with pairing it with his history of ‘lock them up and throw away the key’ and Ellen’s history of ‘it doesn’t matter who you love, you’re never lesser for your interests’. 

There was an entire war going on right now in an impromptu debate – articles being written, people tweeting and accusing and it’s a hot mess despite the leak only being eight hours previously. 

How was she supposed to fix this mess? 

If she sent out her own conflicting messages about the situation it would hurt her mother’s campaign, but she can’t let her mother’s campaign negatively affect Alex this way either.  Plus, she can’t imagine what is going to happen when he discovers what happened.

Having his private thoughts meant only for his lover broadcast to the world?  It’s a mess.  It’s beyond a mess. 

He shouldn’t have to deal with this, and their mother shouldn’t be denying the truth.

What the hell is the matter with her mother?  And what is she going to do now?

Deciding that she needs to figure this all out and Nora’s not answering, she decides to call Liam.  He’s the only other one on Alex’s side right now, and despite the fact that she’s only ever seen him as her baby brother’s best friend, she knows that this is one thing that they could talk about without Alex.

“June,” Liam says, sounding tired.  “I can’t believe some asshat did this to Alex and what the hell is wrong with your ma?  Who lies about this?  Unless Alex – but that doesn’t sound like him after our talk the other day…”

“Alex is in the middle of the ocean right now,” June says, tiredly.  “The Leak happened after they must’ve left port.  I don’t know what to do.  I tried to convince them that they’re being ridiculous – it’s bad enough this happened because Richards sensed something was wrong with Alex when he suddenly got fired and disappeared – but to lie about it?  Just admit what we did and –”

“You know that she won’t, don’t you?”

“Because a president that is a liar isn’t good for office?”

“No because she’ll alienate all those that fall under the LGBTQ+ banner… every person that voted for her the first time has to be questioning if she’s actually an ally or not.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that she isn’t.”  He pauses.  “Even knowing better, I have to wonder if she’s the progressive enough to accept it as long as it’s not her kid.”

“LIAM!”

“What?  You’re not questioning it?  Her first response was to fire him and lock him up.  Well, actually, her response was to make a PowerPoint about the ‘ethical issues’ as if that really matters when you consider the fact those issues don’t exist with YOU dating him.  Then, after crossing all of the Ts and dotting all of the Is, she fired him and locked him up.  As if he couldn’t even do appearances and all he had were Henry’s emails, which are now shared with the world…”

June groans.  “God, you’re so right.  That’s the real reason she can’t admit it… it looks horrible.”

“On the other hand, she could have possibly tried and swing it in her favor, but it’s too late now.  She already claimed that Richards or his supporters did this.”

“So, what do we do?  I mean besides try and find them on the boat and let them know what happened?”

“We have to follow through with what they asked us to do.  This changes nothing, except that your ma is going to look bad, but honestly, June, so many people already don’t believe it.  Some are still stuck on ‘Alex is a dirty rotten cheater corrupting the oh-so-innocent prince’ but let’s be real, these emails… there’s no doubting the love in between the lines.”

“You’ve read them, then?”

“Not all, but enough.  It’s not easy to avoid them.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe someone did this to them.”

“At least they’re peacefully in the dark at the moment.”

“Until they make landfall.”

“Maybe we can fix it by then.  It’s at least a week…”

June’s not very optimistic about that, but it is some comfort that at least they’re blissfully unaware, but for how long…

[noodyl-blasstal]

number 9 or 19 for the prompt list for taakitz if you're feeling inspired? :)

Thank you so much for this prompt which is from this list (I’m still open to requests.) Sorry the reply itself is un-prompt (I spiralled), but hopefully you'll forgive me!

Read below or on Ao3.

--

Man, that’s going to stain…How’s it going?/ Well, haha, (doesn’t answer)

–

Kavitz screws all his courage to his sticking point and opens his eyes. He looks at the cake. He looks at his hands. He looks at the kitchen counter. They’re all still the same; bright red, unpleasantly sticky, and mocking him. The ‘icing’ could have at least had the decency to dry slightly in the air by now, but no, he’s made some kind of sugar based slime that is intent on eating everything - especially Taako’s worktops. 

Taako’s worktops… Taako definitely absolutely loves these worktops more than Kravitz. Kravitz knows this, everyone knows this, so why on earth had he decided to try his hand at baking at Taako’s house instead of his own? Maybe it was because he spent more of his non-death crime battling time here than anywhere else, he hadn’t spent a non-work night on the Astral Plane since well… hmm… and all his stuff was here, so it made sense, perfect sense. Or it would, if he hadn’t just committed a crime against baking, nature, and kitchens in general, there was no way Taako wasn’t going to notice.

He’s stuck, is the problem. He can’t operate his phone with his sugary murder hands even though it will absolutely be worth Sloane laughing at him if she can save him from this. Sadly it’s not like he can just go over there… although, no, actually, it’s exactly like he can just go over there! Kravitz reaches out his hand, and only winces slightly at the wet sound his scythe makes as it zoops into it. It’s fine. It’ll clean, and if not he can just tell people it’s blood and they’ll think he’s extra fearsome probably definitely maybe.

He cuts a very careful rift, if he can place it just right then… Kravitz leans his face gingerly into the rift and uses his nose to press the doorbell. He learned very quickly after Sloane and Hurley started dating that it was important to rift outside and wait for someone to answer the door. Sloane tugs said door open as he’s reaching his nose out to press the bell for a second time.

“Kravitz? What, and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck?” She folds her arms and gives him a look which means he’s definitely never going to hear the end of this.

“I need some help.”

Sloane raises her eyebrows.

“It’s a cake problem.”

“You didn’t!?”

“I…”

“Kravitz! After last time? And the time before… and…”

“I thought it might be different.”

“Because?”

“Taako’s good at baking.”

“And you figured cake osmosis was a thing?” Sloane’s lack of sympathy would be hurtful if she wasn’t entirely correct.

“On reflection, it wasn’t the best idea I’ve had in my life.” An understatement, but he doesn’t have time to properly catalogue this error right now. It can haunt him when he’s lying awake at 3am for the rest of his life instead.

“How bad is it?”

“It’s not sentient.” He’s remaining optimistic.

“Yet…” She mutters.

“I gave it a bit and it seems fine.”

“Uh huh.”

“I know that’s what I said last time, but I really think it’s okay.”

“If I had a gold piece for every time…” Sloane begins.

“Please just help.” Kravitz must sound pathetic enough because Sloane just rolls her eyes, and smiles fondly.

“Okay, are you coming to me or am I coming to you?”

Kravitz holds up his non-scythed hand.

“I’m coming to you,okay. Gimme a minute and a me-sized rift?”

“Thank you.” Kravitz nods and splices.

–

There’s a shuffling noise and Sloane opens the door again.

“Why do you even have a hazmat suit?” Kravitz tries not to feel offended, he doesn’t succeed.

“It’s not a hazmat, that would be overkill, it’s a tyvek.”

“And you have it because?”

“Do you wanna know?” The distinct edge to her question tells him he definitely doesn’t.

“Is it for work?”

“Yes.”

“The flower shop job?”

“Nope, and you said you don’t wanna know anything that you could be compelled to give up in a court of law so…”

“So I won’t ask any further questions and should instead be grateful that you’re coming to help save me and Taako’s worktops?”

“You got it on Taako’s worktops? Kravitz! I’m going to miss you.”

“I don’t know if he can kill me.”

“Here lies Kravitz…” Says Sloane as she steps through the rift. “... The bestest friend a gal could ask for. I’ll miss his ability to transport me without paying bus fare most of all.”

“Thanks Sloane, you always know how to make me feel better.” Kravitz says dryly.

“So you sure fucked this up, yeah?” Sloane looks around at the general devastation.

“The cake might be nice?” Kravitz points with a sticky hand.

“Mmhmm.” Says Sloane like she wants to believe him but can’t.

“But… it’s just… yeah…” He trails off.

“Have you tried anything yet?” 

“Er…”

“Water?”

“I can’t touch the tap.” Kravitz brandishes his free-hand. Tries for a second time to banish his scythe, fails. Maybe he doesn’t need to mention that specific issue to Sloane yet. “It’s really sticky.”

“Right. I’ll try water first. Do you have sponges you don’t care about?”

“As opposed to the sponges I do care about?”

“Hey, Kravitz, do you remember who you live with? The man who cares about nothing more than his kitchen and nearly broke up with you when you scrubbed the cast iron? You think he doesn’t have opinions about your sponges?”

She has a point. “There’s some in the garage.” He starts to move towards the door.

“No!” Sloane grabs the back of his suit and pulls. “You stay here, we need to keep the crime scene secured. By which I mean you specifically. Don’t move.

It’s a good point. Kravitz is going to stay so still. “I can’t quite remember where they…”

Sloane’s gone before he can finish and back too quickly for him to think about in depth. There’s definitely no reason for that which relates to her ability to case a joint.

“I’m going to try cold water first in case hot water makes it harden… or, you know, go on fire.” 

“That was one time!” 

“One time too many, Kravitz. One time too many.”

He opens his mouth and shuts it firmly again. The ‘gift to science’ defence doesn’t really work when he still doesn’t know how he did it.

Sloane dabs gingerly at the very edge of the worktop spatter. They both lean away in anticipation. Nothing happens. “No explosions is a good start.” She  says cheerfully, as she walks back to the sink. “I’ll test hot now.” She repeats the leaning, runs the hot tap directly onto the red spot on the sponge.

“Is it helping?”

“Nope.”

“Soap?”

She tries. “Nope.”

“How hard do you think it is to replace an entire kitchen and also me in… er…” Kravitz glances at the clock. “2 hours?”

“If anyone can do it’s Magnus. Well… maybe not you. You could ring your Mum?”

“She’s not my Mum.”

“Then why did I have to get my parents to call her before I was allowed to come play and why did I have to call her Mrs The Raven Queen when I came to visit?”

“That’s manners.”

“So anyway, call your Mum.”

“I’m not calling my Mum… I mean. Fuck. Sloane! Stop laughing! Can you help me ring Magnus?”

“Why can’t you…” Kravitz brandishes his hand again. “Ah. Fine. Where’s your phone?”

Kravitz swings a hip towards her.

“Nope.”

“Sloane!”

She rolls her eyes. Hard. “It’s a good job I love you, you know that?”

“Like I haven’t earned this.”

“Hey, I’ve never…”

“Don’t make me bring up The Plantcident.” Kravitz side eyes her as she reaches for his phone.

“Urgh, you’ll never let me forget that, will you? I maintain it could have happened to anyone.”

“But instead it happened to you and I had to talk the bank manager down so he didn’t press charges.”

“It’s a good thing you’re so clean cut and know all the fancy words. Now, sssh... “Sloane holds his phone up to his ear.” … it’s ringing.” 

“Wait, how did you know my code?”

Sloane doesn’t answer, she just smiles unnervingly instead. Kravitz worries sometimes about how much and how little he knows her all at once.

Magnus picks up before Kravitz can ask any more ill-advised questions (because he definitely doesn’t want to know the answers to them.)

“Hello Magnus, I just had a quick…. Yes? Oh… yes… No of course I think he’s a very clever boy… No, it’s okay, you don’t have to put me on to hi… Hello Johann. Magnus says you did a very good job today. Well done… Magnus? … Magnus?... Johann, can you get Magnus?... …. … MAGNUS?” Sloane winces. Kravitz mouths a quick sorry her way. “Great! Magnus, I… No, don’t hang up, I rang because I had a question, you know the kitchen worktops? … Mmmhm, yeah, they’re incredible, how long did they take you to make?... Oh? A week? Wow… And that was quick?” Kravitz widens his eyes at Sloane, her face doesn’t give anything away. “... and if it was a rush order? Oh… it was? Wow. Yeah. Lots of intricate bits…. Mmm… yes, you’re right, it is a funny shape in here. Good point… okay, so if someone had say, for example, stained them, how would one go about getting that stain out?... No it’s not a sex thing!... Magnus!... Do you really want to know the answer to that?... I didn’t think so… Look, it’s a hypothetical question which I  need the answer to please?... Yes, haha, you’re right it is a good thing it’s hypothetical, Taako would be really upset yes, but if you could just tell me… you know, for the thought exercise, yes, right… It would depend on the stain? So if something was sticky and had food dye?... Magnus please, you have to focus… Okay… Yep… Water… nail polish remover… baking powder and vinegar… toothpaste… yes we’ll try that… yes of course hypothetically… no, please don’t tell him… Because nothing has happened. Everything’s fine. Sloane can tell you.” 

Kravitz gives Sloane a pleading look and she retracts the phone to speak to Magnus herself. “Hey Magnus, yep, all fine here… Ha, yeah, just playing a fun hypothetical game, you know how we do that… give my love to Julia and Johann... Yeah, thanks from both of us… Bye!”

“So water didn’t work, but we can try the nail polish remover and the toothpaste, and I’m fairly sure Taako has the baking powder and vinegar.

“Be right back.” Sloane’s gone before Kravitz can tell her where anything is.

He tries to un-summon his scythe again while he waits. Nothing happens. He tries again, double hard, it tries to leave, there’s a second where it might, but no. Stuck fast. The door creaks open slowly before he can try a third time.

“I didn’t even know it was possible to get magic stuck to you.” He sighs.

Sloane doesn’t reply.

“Sloane?”

There’s a skittering noise. No. Oh fuck no.

“SLOANE!” Kravitz yells, hoping she’ll hear him before whichever one of them it is can get themselves stuck too.

“Pss pss pss pss pss.” He keeps his arms well out of reach, and moves slowly towards the door.

It’s Tiny Taco, of course it’s Tiny Taco. 

“Hello there, why don’t you go back out into the hall? You can play with your toys and your friends. It’ll be so nice out there in the rest of the house, in literally any room but this room.” 

Tiny Taco struts confidently forward and rubs his head fondly against Kravitz’s legs. This is the most affection he has ever shown him. Kravitz fights the impulse to lean into it, it’s all part of the ploy. Maybe if he slowly shuffles towards the door?

“You yelled?” Sloane asks from the doorway?

Kravitz turns to look at her. It’s all the distraction Tiny Taco needs and he makes a break for it.

“No no no no no no no!” Kravitz tries to block him with his body, Taco dodges. “Sloane can you…?”

She tries, she does. She moves fast. It’s not fast enough.

Kravitz reaches out and grabs him.

“Kravitz!” Sloane thwacks her palm against her head. “You had one job and it was standing still.”

Taco’s already squirming in his hand, this is going to get ugly fast.

“Shout at me later. Help, please?”

Sloane sighs unnecessarily loudly. “I’m taking a photo.”

“What? Sloane, no.”

“Do you want my help or not?”

Kravitz knows better than to try and bargain with her. “Fine.”

“Smile!” 

Kravitz is not going to smile.

“Smile or I’m not helping.”

Kravitz smiles.

“Okay, what goes best with cat? Toothpaste?”

Taco wriggles again and digs his claws sharply into Kravitz’s arm.

“Ouch! Anything, just try.”

Sloane shrugs and brandishes the Aquafresh. “Brace yourself.”

It works, eventually. Kravitz has fresh scratches, but Taco has been pasted (and slightly snipped) clean and returned to the ‘anywhere but the kitchen’ exclusionary zone with enough Dreamies to buy his silence.

“One down. Shall we try it on the worktop or your hands first?” 

“The worktop’s more important.”

“Oh wait, your phone’s going.”

“Who is it?”

Sloane checks. “Taako. There’s a few missed calls too.”

Kravitz smiles as endearingly as he can manage. Surely Sloane wouldn’t stand in the way of speaking to his boyfriend, not after how much he helped when she was worried about telling Hurley. “Would you mind?”

“Fine.” Sloane holds the phone to his ear.

“Hello Taako! It’s so nice to hear from you, love, how’s your day going? … mmhm… incredible… I hope you told him off… Maybe not the words I would have used, but as you say, it’s your school… Another award? Congratulations! Very much deserved as far as I’m concerned… How am I? Oh you know, fine… My day? Nothing much, just missing you… You can’t fireball me through a phone dearest… No, actually I don’t think you should try, if anyone can it’s you..” 

Sloane prods him hard and makes a ‘wind it up’ gesture.

“Ow… I mean… How is your afternoon looking?... Wonderful… Anyway, I should let you go. I know you’re busy… No no, honestly… I’ll see you later, I know you have so much on… Love you… Goodbye, Taako!”

“Gross.” Says Sloane loudly.

“Shut  up, you love your girlfriend.” She doesn’t have a leg to stand on as far as Kravitz is concerned.

“Yeah, you’re not wrong… I was actually thinking of… Wait, now’s super not the time. Let’s try and fix… you know, all of this?” Sloane gestures to the whole of everything.

Kravitz nods.

The layer of toothpaste doesn’t have the same effect on the counter as it did on Taco.

“Nail polish remover?” Sloane asks.

“Yes, whatever you think.” Kravitz eyes the clock warily.

It doesn’t work either, although it does remove the toothpaste effectively.

“Vinegar explosion?” Sloane sounds more excited than he’d like her to about this option.

“Did Magnus say how much to use?”

“Nope!” She says, happily, shaking powder across the worktop.

“Maybe you should start with a test patch?”

“Uh huh.” Sloane looks him dead in the eyes as she pours vinegar over it all.

The fizzing is far more dramatic than it would be on a small scale, he’ll give her that. Especially when it turns red.

It’s unfortunate that it’s still going when they hear the door open.

“Home, I’m honey!” Taako shouts from the entrance hall.

“Hi Honey, I’m Kravitz.” Yells Kravitz, automatically.

Sloane stops watching the fizzening long enough to pretend to puke. Kravitz glares at her. He can be gross in his own home. Taako’s own home. He doesn’t live here. Obviously.

“Where are you, Kraveroo? … Oh, hey there hi hello, Taco, most precious baby angel, how’re you doing this fine d… KRAVITZ!” 

“Fuck.” Say Kravitz and Sloane in tandem. 

“I can’t believe he told, we gave him so many treats!” Sloane shakes her head.

“He hates me.” Says Kravitz, mournfully. “We should never have trusted him.” 

“Kravitz? Where are you and why have you given the cat a shit haircut?” Taako’s voice is hovering somewhere between pissed off and amused and Kravitz would love to be able to tip it over into the latter category. He can’t deal with being in any more trouble right now.

He widens his eyes at Sloane, sadly she’s doing the same right back.

“I feel like we’ve gotta let it fizz? That’s what’s doing the cleaning, right?” Sloane hisses.

“Yes. That sounds logical, but how do I?” Kravitz holds his free hand up.

“You could poke your head out through the door?” 

“What?”

“He can’t see your hands if you’re just a head at the kitchen door.”

“Of course, thanks Sloane.” Kravitz makes it all the way to the door before realising his error. “Er…”

Sloane sighs heavily and dashes over to crack the door open before retreating to the counter.

“Hello my love.” Kravitz shouts, head poking into the hall and foot firmly wedged to stop the door opening any further.

Taako careens round the corner. “Why’re you in the kitchen?” His eyes narrow dangerously.

“I’m just doing something. A surprise.” 

Taako doesn’t look any less suspicious. “What’s that smell?”

“Surprise smell.” Kravitz smiles his most reassuring smile.

Apparently it’s less reassuring than he thinks because Taako disappears, and, if the “what the fuck?” From behind him is anything to go by, blinks into the kitchen.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Sloane’s hands are in the air and her head’s swivelling frantically, looking for escape.

“Cha’boy hasn’t a clue what it looks like… what the actual fuck is going on in here?”

“There may have been a slight incident.” Kravitz decides that there’s not many routes other than honesty left at this point.

“Slight?” Taako raises a single, reproachful eyebrow.

“It’s not all of the things. Just some of them.” Kravitz tries not to sound sulky, he does.

“Why’re you holding your scythe?”

“Uh…”

“Why’re you red?”

“Er…”

“Did you try to bake?”

“No.” Kravitz replies before he can remember his plan to the tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth. “I mean, yes. I did bake! The baking wasn’t the bit that went wrong. Look!” Kravitz points triumphantly at the cake.

Taako’s eyes soften for the barest moment. “It’s heart shaped.”

“It’s for you!” 

“And the red stuff?”

“I had to ice it.” 

“With?”

“Icing.”

“That you made from…?”

“I’m not actually entirely sure I remember.”

“Okay. Well first things first, Krav, Kraverino, beloved… you’re a skeleton. You, my guy, are made of bones. Meat you isn’t real.”

“Meat you isn’t real!” Sloane repeats. “I forgot.”

“Oh.” Kravitz unravels himself immediately and feels his scythe release into the ether, thank goodness. Not that he didn’t love it, but it’s a pain in the arse to lug around all the time, plus the drama of the reveal is always fun. “Thank you Taako.”

“Is this why you chopped Taco?” 

“There was an incident.” Says Sloane. “But I toothpasted him out.”

“And he only bit me twice!” Kravitz adds.

“See, cha’boy said you he was coming round to you!” Taako sounds genuinely delighted. To be fair, it is an improvement.

“So that’s one down.” Sloane says. “Just… this to go.”

“Have you tried, you know, magic?”

“Er…” There’s a long pause. A very long pause.

“I rifted to Sloane.”

Taako pinches his fingers at the bridge of his nose. “So just to clarify, neither of you, including you, handsome man, literally made of magic. tried any kind of mending, purifying,…” he lowers his hand to glance at the mess again. “... banishing?”

“Well…” Sloane starts, as if there’s any way to get them out of this.

“We rang Magnus!” Says Kravitz quickly. He can’t leave it all to Sloane.

“Ah, well if you rang Magnus, notoriously magical Magnus! Of course he would have thought to suggest all of the best wizardly crafts, he’s always casting spells, punch, chop, harder punch, Magical Magnus, we all call him.”

“Can you get rid of it?I think the fizzing has stopped now.” Sloane points at the still definitely-more-red-than-it-should-be counter.

“Can Taako get rid of it? This lowly idiot wizard? I suppose I can maybe see my way to trying, but what good could cha’boy possibly do against something so fearsome as icing?” Taako waves his hands dramatically. 

The red gets redder.

“Did… have you just made it stronger?” Sloane asks in disbelief.

“I meant to do that. It was just a warm up. Natch.” Taako’s voice doesn’t waver.

Kravitz tries very hard not to feel too smug. 

“Abraca-fuck-off!”

A small chunk disappears, but the rest remains just as vibrant.

“Fuck. That was high level too. Uh. Cha’boy’s out of ideas, have you called your Bird Mom, Krav?”

“She’s not my Mu…” 

Taako gives him a hard look. “Because, cha’boy’s just saying, these worktops, they’re good worktops, and it’d be a real shame if anything were to irreversibly stain them.”

“Taako, I can’t contact the god who oversees the natural order of life and death and ask her to take some time out to come fix… this.”

Taako raises an eyebrow.

Sloane gives him a look.

Kravitz snatches his phone back from her with his now blissfully un-gunked bone hands. “Fine, but I’m not communing, I’m texting.”

“She always rings you straight back anyway.” Taako says.

“Classic Mum behaviour.” Sloane adds.

Kravitz needs to spend less time with both of them, he refuses to be bullied like this.

His phone rings. “Hello M…y queen.” Kravitz glares at them both as they snicker. “We’re experiencing some issues with an, er, substance… No, not like that… No, we wouldn’t take anything that’s bad for us or the people around us… Thank you… Do you think there’s anything you can… yes. Yes, I know… I promise, this is the last time… I thought that maybe I’d be better… not just proximity… yes, okay, yes. Proximity… Thank you… I promise I won’t… I know I did, but this time I really mean it… Thank you very much… I love-you-too-bye.”

“What did your Mum say?” They chorus wearing their most pointed smiles.

“She’s going to have a look at it.” All of the fight has gone out of him. Kravitz has accepted his fate.

The counter shakes violently. Nothing happens.

It shakes again.

Nothing.

Kravitz’s phone rings.

He doesn’t want to answer. Less than anything does he want to answer, but he cannot ignore direct summons.

“Hello… yes… No… I can’t remember… I’m sorry… I don’t think… Okay. Yes. I’ll ask him…” Kravitz turns to Taako. “How attached are you to your kitchen?”

Taako narrows his eyes. “Very.”

“How would you feel if the counters had to be banished into a secure dimension?”

Taako’s mouth forms into a tight line.

“It may also not really be a question of whether you’re happy for it to happen or not because Raven checked with Istus and there’s a strand of fate which needs to be snipped right now…”

“So what you’re saying is that cha’boy’s losing a chunk of the kitchen he spent what feels like a century planning? That his best friend in the world hand crafted for him?” Taako presses his hand to his forehead and pretends to faint.

Kravitz opens his mouth and shuts it again. Guilt gnaws at him. He wants more than anything to fix this, but he doesn’t know how.

“Shall I tell Magnus you said he was your best friend?” Sloane asks.

“Take the counter.” Taako replies immediately.

“Taako, I’m so sorry.”

Taako smiles and waves his hand. “Honestly, Taako was bored of them.”

“But…”

“Magnus hasn’t really been challenged lately. I think he needs this. We’ll do it as a favour to him.”

“Are you…?” 

“Honestly, Taako made the kitchen with himself in mind, but it’s not just cha’boy living here anymore, is it?” Taako waves his hand flippantly.

Kravitz pauses. “I… Taako.”

“Tell her to do it now.”

His tone leaves absolutely no room for disagreement, Kravitz gives the answer.

There’s a brief moment of nothing, enough time for Kravitz to chance a tentative look at Taako. He meets Kravitz’s eyes confidently, doesn’t even flinch as reality twists around them and there’s a gentle pop. Kravitz doesn’t need to check to know the counter is gone. 

Taako smiles at him.

“I’m gonna head out. Kravitz could you…?” Sloane asks.

He cuts the rift without looking at her. “Thank you for helping.”

It seals behind her.

“I’m sorry.” Kravitz says again, because he is.

“You made me a cake.” Taako says again.

“Yes.” Kravitz replies, because he did. Regardless of everything else, he did.

“Because you wanted to fuck my kitchen up?”

“No! I, look, you made the me the pastries.”

“The date ones?”

“Yes. The ones from home. You spent weeks working at it and you didn’t even have a recipe, just me trying to explain a taste I can barely remember.”

“And cha’boy nailed it.” Taako grins smugly and Kravitz loves him in all his brash confidence.

“You did. You really did.”

“So you decided I needed cake too?”

“No one ever bakes for you.” Kravitz says quietly.

“Ango did that one time.” 

“Yes, that’s true. But it’s been ages and they got set on fire, and no one else does. You deserve it. You deserve to be taken care of right back.”

“Hey, Krav. Quick question, just a teensy smidgey one. Who got the shoe organiser after cha’boy kept falling over them?”

Kravitz tilts his head, uncertain what this has to do with anything.

“Go on, don’t get shy on me, who did that?”

“Me.” Says Kravitz. He’d been sick of worrying that Taako was going to fall over and get lost in a shoe pile and need help when he wasn’t there to give it.

“And who actually puts the shoes on the shoe organiser when cha’boy forgets?”

“Me?” It’s not like he does it all the time, just now and again.

“And who got the cats those extra perches to go round the walls because I was worried they were bored?” Taako doesn’t wait for an answer. “Oh, yeah, that was you too.”

“But…”

“Bones, you care for Taako in so many different ways, so leave the baking to the professionals because so help me fantasy Jesus if you wreck any more of our house.” 

“Our house?”

“Yeah. Now shut up and tell me what your perfect kitchen looks like so I can fix it.”

[ledalasombra]

Hello everybody

As the AO3 is down I will put some WIP's of mine here. Hope you like it. As I said earlier, English is not my first language, so please let me know. Enjoy!

My not so normal little sister

Chapter 1

"What are you talking about 'if you cast the cure' ?" the person in front of her questioned "they will be dead if you don't do that!"

Ladybug scowled her expression to the man infront of her "If I cast the cure, you have to understand that all will be in the original place! I undestand the situation but you have to know that in the moment I cast the cure all the villains and weapons will be back in the same time! I am here for the last six hours and I am tired. All the others have to be either.... We need at least a plan to take care of the situation…"

She was cut off by a figure with slightly brown skin and dark blue hair who hugged her tightly " Maman! " The girl started crying on her shoulder while Ladybug opened her eyes in amazement, hugging the girl tightly…

Marinette woke up breathless, feeling the sun pass through the cracks in the curtain that partially closed the bedroom window. She took a deep breath trying to calm down, putting her arm over her eyes. It was the third time she'd had the same dream in the last few days, remembering the events that took place months ago when she was taken to the future by Bunnix. She sat up in bed, deciding she was going to make her day productive, placing both hands over her face and squeezing over her eyes. She grunted, getting up and heading to the bathroom to begin her daily routine, with a wake-up shower and wearing comfortable clothes. She made a very strong coffee as soon as she entered the kitchen, pulling out a croissant and reaching for a jar of cookies. She took everything to the office, already determined to finish all her pending tasks.

The sun had been in the sky for some time and Marinette had already finished her second cup of coffee. She adjusted her posture in her chair, stretching her back and spine slightly as she read again what she'd finished writing, taking a deep breath as she hit the save button for the email's automated reply. Now she wouldn't take any more work while she was away. She finished reading the second email she needed to send to the other clients warning that some commissions would be delayed or would not start until after her complete recovery. She sent a few more e-mails briefly explaining the reason for her departure, quickly shifting her attention to the portrait on her desk, smiling weakly. She ran her index finger over a photo of her parents laughing as they celebrated their last birthday a few months ago, still trying to understand what happened over 20 years ago and what she would do with what little information she had.

Marinette ran her hands through her hair in a clear sign of irritation and fear, feeling that she was going into a spiral of thoughts that she knew wouldn't come out so easily. Life should follow its normal flow, she couldn't interfere. She could do nothing but hope that the course of events would proceed in such a way that she would not have catastrophic complications in the future. The timeline in the future had already been altered and any acting on her part now would be much worse. The sound of the video call coming from the computer screen in front of her woke her from her trance and her thoughts. She smiled slightly seeing her friend's face appear on the screen.

" Hello Miss ' I'm too busy to talk to friends'. I was already getting worried with all this silence on your part. " the boy smiled, frowning a little at his friend's state. Dark circles under her eyes, a clear sign that she hadn't slept or rested in a while. She was downcast and the smile didn't reach her eyes as it always did when they spoke...

" Peter! How are things in New York sir “drama king”? " She smiled with the exaggeration of the friend in front of her. It was always refreshing to think about how optimistic he was. She was really in need of people like him right now. After the end of her three-year relationship it seemed like fate wanted her to go to the bottom as quickly as possible and surely Peter Parker would be one of those people who wouldn't allow that to happen. It was still amazing to her to think that the two of them had simply managed to carry on a friendship as quickly as theirs after literally bumping into each other and getting filthy from the coffee “bath” they were both carrying.

"Things are fine around here in the same rush waiting for you to grace us with your presence. Why haven't you been answering calls or at least returning?" He looked at her worriedly, his eyes moving trying to understand what was happening to her through her expression and body language. Marinette has always been a very expressive person and no matter how hard she tried, it was not possible to hide how she felt. At least not from him after so long of friendship.

"I think .... I needed some time to assimilate some things. Trying to occupy myself and not think about what was or is happening at the moment." She forced a smile looking at him trying to find courage and the best way to say what she needed, taking a deep breath to stop the tears from falling again, she didn't want to worry him, he was fresh air in her life. She didn't need anyone else telling her what to do and what not to do. She didn't need anyone else with that pitying look on her current situation.

" It was that asshole of your ex, wasn't it? " He replied, letting his easy smile go away, because he knew how much the end of the old relationship had affected her. It was days watching her light grow dimmer, until he convinced her to visit New York to get better. He was worried, but Peter didn't want to have to take any action before she authorized it. "Mars, I swear that if you allow it, I'll fix it quickly, he won't even know what hit him... I don't even need to be present for that little model to regret…"

"You're not going to do anything Peter! " She cut him off before he started with a long conversation about how much he deserved everything he intended to do. Marinette had already heard everything possible about what he thought. She gave a slight smile shaking her head " Well, let's leave him aside, there are two things I need to talk to you about. The first is that ... " she hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, already knowing the flood of questions that would arise "I'm going to have surgery next week... it's kind of delicate so... let's say I'm a little... nervous?"

Peter looked at her for a while trying to understand what she had just said. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to come up with a coherent sentence "How? Why? When? Where.... ?"

"Hey, calm down, otherwise I won't follow you…" She smiles slightly "I found out a few weeks ago that I have a benign brain tumor, but it's growing and causing some discomfort... " She threw her body against the chair" It's not a simple surgery Peter…" she felt the tears in her eyes, blinking fast to stop them from falling "But it's going to be alright, I don't want you to worry…"

"Mars, it's not a question of whether you want to or not… "he looked at her with a worried face, seeing her with red eyes trying to hold back tears "you know very well that things don't work that way. Let me know the date that will be the procedure I'm going to…"

"No, you won't come here…" she said imperatively, shaking her head and gesturing with her hands, pausing in her speech "I didn't want to make anyone else worried."

"Mari...."

"I need your help with something." She purposely cut him off so he wouldn't start with the same words she'd been hearing for the past few weeks. "When I went to do some tests, because of the surgery, I found out that my parents are not my biological parents…" she spoke each word slowly, still having a little difficulty understanding what was happening" We took the test in 2 different places and I don't know what to do or what to think. Peter, I'm so confused, but I need to know what happened. And my parents they were so devastated, you had to see them. They had just received the news that I was sick and suddenly they find out that I'm not even their real daughter…"

"Can you send me your birth certificate and the place where you were born? Hospital... anything... I'll try to find something out." He cut her off realizing that she started crying and was getting nervous. He wanted to let her talk, but he didn't know how it would affect her not knowing how her illness was, didn't want to make her more stressed than she already was.

"My parents said that I was born 1 month early and that I had to go to an incubator. I will email you my documents. They said they were in Gotham at the time. " She spoke while wiping her face from the tears that had flowed "There was an attack in the city with hostages, the hospitals were full and she shared a room with a couple who were also in labor. Maybe that will help...” he could hear her typing, visibly sending him the files.

"Hey... calm down, I'll see what I can do from here" he paused, seeing her start to cry again "Mari, everything will be fine. I'll sort things out around here and I'll find a way to be there with you... All right?"

"I…" She took a deep breath, with difficulty. After a few seconds she closed her eyes, throwing her head back trying to refocus on the present "thanks, I'm just… not sure what to do or think. What if my biological parents are alive? what if they don't want to see me? What if I don't want to see them? Will they want to know something about me? How will my parents be? And their biological daughter, will she want to come here?" She paused taking a deep breath when she realized she was saying everything she was afraid of. She looked down at her hands, realizing they were shaking, closing her eyes and pressing them together "I just sent you what you asked for. I think it has everything you need."

"I'm already looking here... But I called you to have news, so tell me, how are things and college? Did you get the transfer? Got any results?" He said trying to cheer her up while using the computer to search the hospital records for what he needed. He smiled slightly as he listened to her talk with some excitement about what had happened in the last few weeks they hadn't spoken, about how she'd managed to complete her transfer to college in New York. Marinette was a wonderful person and she didn't deserve all that had happened in the last few months. Even with everything that was happening, she managed to put a smile on her face and worry about other people.

"I found two things. "He said cutting the subject." Aunt Sabine stayed in the room with another family. The name of the woman who went into labor was Jannet Drake. She had a girl, dark hair, blue eyes... Same description as the girl her mother had. She was born healthy, 40 weeks old and without any physical problems, but died a few hours after delivery." Peter paused looking at his friend in front of him. "Apparently she had an older son named Timothy Drake. I'll send you a file on her along with the name of the nurse who took care of her and your mother. Maybe this can help you get an idea…"

Marinette smiled when she saw her friend on the screen. He was worried, it was visible in his eyes. "Thank you Peter. I don't know how to thank you for what you just did, this is already a start to understand what happened. I'll need to do some exams this week, but I should have the surgery in a maximum of 4 days... At the moment I'm finalizing some pending issues of the company, but everything should be ready by tomorrow."

"Shouldn't you be resting? Mars, I know you're a person who doesn't like to stop and works to not worry about problems, but you need to take care of yourself."

"I know, I'm just sending emails to get everything organized …" She looked at the time in her notebook and took a deep breath. "I need to hang up, I'm going to have lunch with my parents in a little while and get some things organized before the surgery. Can we talk later?"

"Whenever you want and need it! Tell your parents I sent my regards and that I will call later."

"Tell the others I sent a kiss to everyone out there too. Oh and Peter... please don't talk to anyone about the surgery...."

"You know it's impossible to hide these kinds of things from them, don't you? He smiled a little forcedly. "I’m not even going to tell them that I talked to you so as not to generate questions, although I find it very difficult to hide something from them…"

"I know, just don't bring it up. What I don't want is half of the tower members around here, that would be stressful." She smiled slightly "You know how they are... Take care out there and send me news…"

"Always Mars. Take care of yourself!"

[spenglersglasses]

⌛⚙️IMMORTAN TIME! ⚙️⌛

Lol

Hello everyone, I am back again with the next chapter of my Immortan Joe x the Fray (Corrine) fic!!!

I am so grateful for your patience as your girl is now knee deep in 50+ hours a week at work and then taking care of my kiddos and life has not been kind these past few days... but it makes me happy to share this so without further ado here we go!!!!

**This fic will be an AU! Mostly I will try to stay canon but there will be some conflicts and reimaginings. This includes themes as listed in the tags, if any of this doesn't sit well with you, please skip this one!**

TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️Discussion about RAPE/FORCED PREGNANCY/VIOLENCE/VARIOUS DISTRUBING SUBJECTS⚠️

Listen you are reading a fic with Immortan Joe, it should be pretty obvious. but that being said if you are still here, I sincerely hope you all enjoy!

*Special shoutout to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the awesome dividers!

Chapter 3: Scars of the Past

Dark moments from Joe's past still haunt him while Corrine struggles with the demons in her present.

Also available HERE on AO3. Haven't started yet? Read from the beginning HERE! 

Will eventually be very NSFW below the cut!!

-2 years ago-

The air was thick with promise as Joe made his way to the vault. Rictus and Scotus followed closely behind him as all of them did their best to remain optimistic—but they knew better. As Joe turned the corner, he could hear the screams emanating from within the vault. Rushing to open the door, finding the Organic Mechanic crouched down between Ifanna’s legs. 

The other wives and Miss Giddy, flanking her on all sides. Wearing the worry on their faces. The uncertainty of the moment, building the anxiety within. Leaving them all breathless as their sister screamed in the active stages of labor. Writhing in pain and agony as she pushed, bringing another child into their world of captivity. 

Even worse for them all was remembering that this would be Ifanna’s last shot at producing an heir. She had already suffered through two losses in her short time there. The mounting stakes, sending adrenaline rushing through their bloodstreams. Joe could feel it too. The room was positively pulsing with tension as he watched on. Ifanna’s dark brown hair, latticed against her face from the sweat of her brow. Her body too was covered in it—sticking the fabric of her gown to her skin. 

“Now shove that little beauty out into the world.” the Mechanic encouraged. Steadying Ifanna’s movements. “...come on…here it comes.” he continued. Watching as he prepared for the delivery. 

Joe and his sons stood watching with bated breath as the wife continued to push. A new young girl accompanied them. All of them, hoping that this time would be different.  Eyes fixed atop the Mechanics head as he waited for him to turn around with joyous news.  

The mysterious girl watching on with flat affect. After having seen so much destruction and pain in her short life. What would it be like to see a miracle? After all, it had only been a short time since Joe had procured her—Furiosa. 

The girl was destined to be another of the wives—or perhaps something more. Taken from Dementus, a misguided megalomaniac leader of a biker horde who seized Gas Town. Returning control only after demanding to be appointed its protector. The girl left behind as part of the deal.

For now, that was a matter for another time. The only thing Joe could think of now was the child. Moments from birth as the Organic Mechanic, the only other good thing to come from Dementus’s acquaintance, helped assist in the labor. “I can see its head!” he said, laughing in excitement. “...good girl, good girl. One last shove.”

Joe refused to take his eyes off them. Rictus and Scrotus grew tired of the waiting. Furiosa watching on in horror at the gush of blood from between Ifanna’s legs. Frightened that this too might become her fate. “One more, one more—very good.” 

“Hmph.” Scrotus huffed. Ready to leave, heading back to the War Boys for another night of spreading terror in the Wasteland. Joe was all too ready to scold him just before they heard it. The sound of cries. For a moment hardy and loud, echoing through the vault. The next hushed and quiet before going silent.  

“...is it a boy? Is it a boy?” Ifanna cried, her breathing ragged from the loss of blood. Heart barely able to continue on. A lack of oxygen circulating in her blood, making her foggy as she begged to learn what was to come of her child. The Mechanic wouldn’t say much, snipping the child free of its cord. Severing its tie to its mother before he spoke.  

“More or less.” he sighed, holding the infant up for Joe to see. One head, two bodies. The grotesque horror of what had been brewing in her womb now revealed. Taking its final breath as Joe watched on.

“Sorry boss.” the Mechanic lamented as the child fell still within his arms. The room quickly drowned in the sound of grief. All the hope in the world—gone. The knot in Joe’s throat was too hard to swallow. His breathing aching as his chest rose and fell. The pain of another loss, hitting him full force. Deciding then and there that once the last of the gestating wives delivered, the program would be over. 

In that moment he was changed. It had been years since the birth of his sons, his hope squashed under the weight of seeing what would now come of his seed. Nothing but death and pain. He was devastated knowing that the legacy he longed to leave behind had come to a bitter end. 

The first-born child of his wives was deformed and dead. A promise of true immortality crushed. The Immortan, doing everything he could to hide his emotions. This was it—never again , he thought to himself.  

“I will give you a full life!” Ifanna sobbed, “I know I can…please.” she continued, tears flowing hard as she was handed the child by the Mechanic. Joe said nothing, only turning to leave. Desperate to put the whole mess behind him. 

“Nope…Three strikes you’re out.” Scrotus snapped, cold and cruel. An example of his ill repute on full display. The Mechanic, young Furiosa, and Joe’s sons followed him down the hall. Each of them hoping to not be the first to have to speak.

“Dad…” Rictus said, breaking the silence. However, before he could continue Joe stopped, whipping around to face the four of them. The People Eater and the Bullet Farmer, appearing behind him. Waiting to hear the news.  

“It’s over.” he said. The weight of his words felt between them. The Immortan’s eyes, barely able to hold back the tears and the frustration that had been building within him. The raging at the injustice he felt in this life. The man who had all that was possible–-yet nothing at all. 

“Then what about the…” the Mechanic began, remembering the other women whose pregnancies he had been tending to. Still two others that carried Joe’s child within them. 

“As far as I’m concerned…it would be a mercy if nothing comes of it. I can’t stand to see this happening again and again.”

“Then what’ll we do? With them I mean?” The Eater asked, overhearing the conversation as it transpired. Stepping forward as he twisted against the flesh of his own nipple by its chain. 

“They can provide milk, if not send them back out to the wastes!” Joe hissed, lashing out at everyone in his grief. Knowing that if he didn’t leave now, he would crumble before them all.  

“I’ll see to it.” The Eater assured him, frightened of the fire that burned within Joe’s eyes. The Immortan, briskly making his way back to his quarters, with only his anger to keep him company. Stopping for only a moment to respond.

“See that you do.”

-Present Day, 2 Weeks After Her Capture-

If Corrine had closed her eyes, she might have convinced herself that she was home. Finding herself comforted by the gentle hand of Miss Giddy. Reminded once again of her mother, a woman whose voice Corrine could no longer clearly recall. Taken from her as a child, in an accident so long ago.

As the bone comb slid through her hair, she listened to Miss Giddy recall the night the original breeding program was abolished. The tale, leaving her with a sense of horror and despair. A pain held in her heart for this wicked man who held her prisoner. Missy Giddy too was almost in tears. A memory she would rather be forgotten, deemed painfully necessary to retell. 

“What happened to the rest of them?” Corrine asked as Miss Giddy laid down the comb. “...the other wives I mean.

“Milkers. Or distributed out amongst the V8. The Immortan no longer wanted anything to do with them after that night.” she explained, Corrine swallowing back before she continued her inquiry. 

“...and their babies.” she continued, feeling the still of her heart as she watched the look on Miss Giddy’s face. Recalling the memories from years ago. 

“None made it to term. After the last was lost, we closed the door of this place and there hasn’t been another woman brought back for years…not until you.” 

“Me…” Corrine whispered softly, trailing under her breath. She wondered what made her different. Would she really be the one to bring back the program? Why was she the one to reignite the Immortan’s desire for a child? 

“There's something I find so odd about this whole thing.” Missy Giddy began again, breaking Corrine’s train of thought. The old woman, scratching her head and looking off as if staring at something. Trying to connect the dots.”

“What?”

“It’s just you… I’m used to a full house.” She reasoned. Laughing it off, Finding some humor in the situation. One of her ways of coping with her own life of servitude. 

“Maybe there just aren't as many women stupid enough to get themselves caught.” Corrine groaned. Letting out a laugh herself before the nagging of her head once again hit her. Pulsing and aching at her wound. 

“Maybe…but still. You know, he wasn’t always this way.” Miss Giddy began, as the two of them stared out over the tops of the rock fortress that formed the Citadel. Looking on with longing at the green tops and the hint of a blue sky peeking through the haze. 

“...oh? How so?” 

“He was once a colonel. Though that was a long time ago now… during the Oil and Water wars. A hero from what I am told, by the history men that is…though one can never be sure what is true in this day and age.” she digressed. 

“From a hero to this…” Corrine sighed, holding out her hand as she glanced around the room. Wondering how it was the Citadel came into being. Only legends and rumors of violence and bloody glory. The only things that were truly bountiful in the wasteland.   

“Kalashnikov…the Bullet Farmer…” she clarified, “...and him. Well and a few others, came here when this was nothing but a forgotten source of water. The Immortan and the men that followed him…twisting and weaving their way into the good graces of the ones who were already here before them. The Immortan and his gang managed to seize control of it, along with the old oil refinery and lead mine and before they knew what hit them, it was over. It was then I am told the cult of the V8 was born.”

“Hmph…” Corrine huffed, unsurprised by the selfishness and scheming of men.

“Now there are boundless followers…War Boys raised from birth to obey him with blind devotion. He and the bunch of power-hungry men who surround him. All of them, feeding off the chaos and what little control they all still have. Sickens me…pretending that they are above all the rest of us.” Miss Giddy ranted, her face turning sour. Spitting on the ground as if she could taste the vile nature of them. 

“I see.” Corrine muttered. Wondering to herself how a hero could turn so quickly into a villain. Looking up once again to see that the clouds had begun to turn. Darkening up, the threat of a storm brewing within them.

Only moments later, as the room grew dark, Miss Giddy stood up. Flipping on the lights before making her way towards the door. Corrine, watching as she approached it, knowing that someone would soon come to retrieve her. Sure enough, the door to the vault came slowly open. It was as if it was perfectly timed.

One of the men, whom Corrine had found was known as an Imperator had come to claim her. The old woman, sending Corrine one last pained smile before she took her leave. “That last day though…when I looked into his eyes…” she said, looking woeful once more. “I could swear I saw a brief glimpse of what he was before. Just a man. A man filled with the pain of loss.” 

It was the last thing Miss Giddy said before the door closed behind her. Leaving Corrine alone once again. Making her way carefully down the steps. Traversing each one with care as the dizziness from her head injury lingered on. 

There was no doubt she had suffered a concussion. The effects, keeping her from being confident in her gait. Worried she may fall down the stairs to her death. Though, at times, she considered that death maybe the lesser of two evils.  

When she reached the bottom, she walked over to the table. Looking out at the mound of books spread out across its top. Thankful to Miss Giddy for all she’d been taught so far. Though she still only managed to understand some basic words and phrases, she found sanctuary in their pages. Grabbing one book atop the pile that had quickly become her favorite. 

Slender fingers, trailing across the spine as she moved to open the cover. Her eyes fixed on the colorful pictures. Plants–lots and lots of plants among the pages. They were something Corrine could understand. Entranced by their beauty—of a world that once was. 

She looked at them as a child would the pictures in a fairytale—filled with intrigue and delight. Finding it hard to believe that these things ever really existed in the world. One she had only ever known as desolate and barren. Turning each page, while a smile found its way across her face.

The sensation, like a long-lost memory. Lifting her fingers to feel her lips. Tracing them as if to prove to herself it was really there. “What is wrong with me?” she asked herself. Wondering how far gone she must be to be so happy from mere illustrations. This book, giving her a momentary distraction from the painful truth of her situation. 

Once she turned the last page, reality would be waiting for her. Today though, the feeling didn’t come as she expected it too. Those thoughts, replaced by the stories that Miss Giddy had told her. Finding herself wondering more and more about the man who held her capture. Contemplating if he really was the monster he was made out to be. Or if somewhere deep down there was something else—something worth knowing. 

Immediately Corrine shook her head free of the thought. Pressing the lids of her eyes closed in disgust. Wondering how hard she had really been hit to even entertain the notion. The pain, now reaching a new high as she continued to wince. 

“Does it still hurt?” came a voice from behind her. Corrine, freezing still in place. Hoping she had imagined it. Realizing she hadn’t as she felt the weight of hands upon her waist. 

Frightened with the sheer boldness of his actions. Cold chills traveling up her spine and every little hair along her skin stood up. Before she could speak, the Immortan turned her around to face him. Brushing back the fall of her hair to take a closer look at the small wound that still lay hidden there. 

“It’s not too bad.” he said, the crow's feet along his eyes becoming more pronounced. Was he smiling again? Corrine swallowed, her eyes meeting with his. Joe, gently bringing his hand down and across her face. 

He held it still. Rough yet tender against the curve of her cheek, as if he were comforting her. The first small kindness he had shown her. Her heart began to pound, Corrine quickly shying away from his touch. 

“The mechanic said it's just a mild concussion. Though I am sure your pain may say otherwise.” Joe told her. 

“Yes, well…I might recover faster if I were far away from her.” Corrine snapped, taking the opportunity to put some distance between them. Joe quickly came up from behind her to grab at her arm.  

“I’ve been thinking of you.” he admitted. His words, sending a flash of pink across her cheeks. 

“You shouldn’t be.” Corrine responded, trying her best to bury the uncomfortable feelings bubbling up inside her. Frantically juggling around her thoughts. Trying to think of something to say next that might break the tension between them.     

“And why is that?” he asked, yanking her close to him. Taking her into his arms as Corrine let out a hasteful breath. Immediately enraptured by his stare as his intense blue eyes stared into her soul. Stirring inside her a desire that she felt deep in her core. 

Why?! Why him, she asked herself. Feeling betrayed by her own heart for wanting him. Hating that the helplessness she found in his arms to be irresistible. Joe noticed it too. The look in her eye and the way she melted into his arms, giving her away before any more words were spoken.  

She knew she had to do something. Something that would prevent them from going any further. That would stop her from imagining what might happen if the Immortan would once again remove his mask—or more. 

“Aren’t you afraid.” she blurted out, just as Joe’s face had been brought level with hers. HIs brows raised and eyes widened in confusion. Surely, she didn’t believe he was afraid of her.  

“Of?” he asked, his hand snaking its way from her arm to the swell of her breast. Her scent and the softness of her flesh were too enticing to ignore. 

“Of failure again.” she continued. Her comment, stopping Joe mid action. “Miss Giddy has told me about that night…aren’t you afraid of it happening again?” 

“I…” Joe began dumbfounded at her candor. Furious that the old woman had opened her mouth. Wishing that there was someone else as good as she for the task at hand. Then he might be able to kill her without a second thought. 

Instead, he was left vulnerable in front of the Fray. Giving her the upper hand for the moment. How dare she bring that up now. Remind him of what he has lost and refuse what there was to gain. 

“That's no concern of yours.” Joe said, his voice dosed with the hint of a quiver. Even someone as strong as he couldn’t help but give into the pain. 

“...I’m sorry.” Corrine said softly. Feeling immense regret as she watched him turn away. The moment compelling her to follow him. Shocked to see a tear running down his face. 

Corrine couldn’t help but pity him. This one simple tear had given her much needed proof of the Immortan’s humanity. An unexpected but pure reminder that he was just a man.  

“Really.” Corrine whispered as she brought her hand up to wipe the tear from his face. Joe was startled, surprised by her actions as he snatched her arm. Holding it up at the wrist as the two of them stared at one another. 

Both of their hearts began to pound as they stood there in the hollow of the vault. Joe, now more than ever determined to push forward. Corrine, chewing on her lip as he carefully undid his mask. His face once again revealed to her as he brought his lips only a hair’s breadth away from hers. 

“You’ll make it up to me.” Joe vowed as he passionately took her lips onto his. 

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Dismantled Chapter 11

ao3

exposition in MY fic? no way

1207 words

The market was an interesting place, filled with shops of all shapes and sizes, tables displaying hundreds of different items. There was so much, Mikey wasn’t even sure where to start. Luckily, he had Draxum with him. 

They hadn’t been able to acquire a cloaking brooch, so they’d settled for a plain old cloak. It covered the man well enough, and so far, they hadn’t been stopped. Mikey considered that a win! And if anybody did recognize the goat, he’d just hit them with his sick ninja skills. Nothing could go wrong!

Unless of course, his family realized that he wasn’t home. Or if they got outnumbered by people who realized who was under the cloak. Or, you know, any number of things, but he was trying to stay optimistic here. 

“Where to?” he asked, looking up at his considerably taller companion. “Are we getting supplies for that locator spell?”

Draxum sighed. “It likely won’t be that simple.”

It never was, was it? “How come?”

“While locator spells can be used on people, I would imagine whoever took the purple one would have precautions in place against something like that.”

Mikey frowned. “What… what kind of precautions?”

“A blocker of some kind, probably. He’s likely… ‘off the map’, as they say.”

“But… not for sure?”

“If his captor is a fool. There’s no harm in trying, at least.”

That’s all he could hope for, at this point. “Alright, what do we need to get?”

The list was actually a lot shorter than he’d been anticipating. He didn’t really know much about mystics, but a locator spell did sound pretty simple, in theory. 

The biggest problem was that Draxum didn’t really know where he was going. Apparently, it had been a long time since he’d been here, and the cloak did make it kind of hard to see. That left it up to Mikey to read out signs, directing them around to the best of his ability.

That also meant that every time he got distracted, there wasn’t a whole lot Draxum could do about it.

“Whoa,” Mikey said as they walked through shops on the outermost edge of the place, some tucked into shadowy corners that only seemed slightly illegal. “What does this one do—?” He asked, reaching for a cylinder of a glowing pink liquid. 

Draxum smacked his hand away before he could actually grab it. “Don’t touch that.”

“Why not?” He whined, before gasping. “Does it explode?”

“What — no, of course not,” he scoffed, ushering Mikey away from the booth.

When it seemed like he wasn’t going to elaborate, Mikey stared at him. “So… what does it do, then?”

Draxum sighed. “I’m surprised that vendor even had it out. Its uses are very powerful and very… controversial. As well as incredibly easy to screw up. Even I wouldn’t be fully confident in using it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s — if I’m identifying it correctly, which of course I am — what’s known as a linking potion. A form of magic that is commonly known as — ugh — an ‘emotion potion’.” 

“Hell yeah, I love a good rhyme! Uh, sorry. What’s a linking potion?”

“It was initially created to assist in overcoming mental blocks; fears and phobias. The idea was that it would be able to link nearly any two concepts in one’s mind. A fear linked with calm can practically eliminate it.”

Mikey turned over the thought in his mind. “But people used it for… other stuff, too?”

He nodded. “Hence the controversy. It was more difficult than expected to get the intended result — and far too easy to plant unwelcome associations in the subject’s head. Mind magic is tricky… especially of this sort. Not to mention how exceedingly powerful it is, and nearly impossible to break.”

“So like… if we used it to help get Donnie over his beach ball thing—?”

“I don’t know what that even means, but no. Well — in theory it could work like that, but firstly, it’s far too dangerous to actually attempt, and secondly, the purple one would actually have to be here.”

Mikey withered at the reminder.

“Now, need I remind you that we came here with a goal?”

No. No he didn’t. The search continued. 

------

“Wait, I’m doing this?”

“Of course you are. It’s your brother, is it not?”

“Well, yeah, but I know literally nothing about all this magic stuff!”

“Mystic,” Draxum corrected. “And I will be guiding you, obviously. Since you insist I do this, you’ll be learning, too.”

“Oh, sick,” he said with an enthused nod. “I’ve always wanted to learn this stuff! What do I do first?”

“Place an item of Purple’s in the bowl.”

Mikey pulled out the chosen item — a kind of gross old toothbrush. He dropped it into the bowl, which was a plastic one with cartoon depictions of Mrs. Cuddles all over it. He suppressed a shudder.

“Did this have to be the bowl we used?” He asked.

Draxum glared at him. “Apologies that my lab and everything in it is not available to me at this time.”

“Yeah, I know, but you couldn’t have found any other bowl—? Yeah, haha, anyways… what next?”

About twenty minutes later and a head stuffed full of new mystic mumbo jumbo, they were ready to go. If this was what school was like, Mikey did not envy April.

“Activate it, now,” Draxum instructed, and with bated breath, Mikey did.

He hoped against all hope that it would give him something, anything… watching and waiting for it to work. Please work. 

His heart hammered as he imagined what the next hour could look like: going home to his brothers with the news that he’d actually found Donnie. The overwhelming relief they’d all feel when they finally had him home safe. It was so close, he could practically reach out and touch it…

Nothing happened.

Mikey tapped the bowl, looking to Draxum in a panic. “Did I do it wrong?” He asked, eyes watery.

“No. It seems to be as I thought… there is a blocker on him. I am… sorry.”

Oh. So that was — that was fine, that was… tears filled his eyes, and he furiously blinked them back. He’d really thought this was it.

Draxum looked awkward, clearly not used to displays of emotion. One of the many reasons Mikey was trying not to cry right now. 

“There are other things we can try,” he suggested in a stilted tone. “Spells more complicated than this will take some training, but they may be able to break through the barrier hiding the purple one.”

Mikey sniffled, wiping his eyes. “Are you saying you’re gonna… train me to do mystic stuff? To help me find Donnie?”

“I… suppose I am?” He cringed, as though he were already regretting it. “You would make… a worthy student.”

Overwhelmed once more, Mikey threw his arms around the man, hugging him tight despite the stiff form Draxum held.

“Oh, thank you!” He gasped, “thank you so so much!”

“Yes, yes… don’t mention it.”

Well, that would be no problem. He especially couldn’t tell his family that he was going to be training with their former number one bad guy. They’d flip out!

But it would pay off. He just knew it. 

[some-little-infamy]

Let Me Tell You Now

(5 times people talk to Bobby while he's still unconscious, and one time Bobby talks back) (Read on AO3)

Eddie

Eddie looks around the room as if making sure they’re alone in here - as if there’s anywhere someone could be hiding in the small hospital room, anyone who wouldn’t also be hovering at Bobby’s bedside if they were in here with him.

“I messed up, Bobby,” Eddie says. “I know this isn’t fair. I should be in here giving you some sort of pep-talk for your subconscious, not unloading all of my issues on you, but… I have to talk to someone. And I already screwed up by keeping things from Buck, and Marisol isn’t speaking to me right now, and Christopher… God, Bobby, that’s where I really went wrong. I never should’ve put Christopher in a position to be hurt by something I was doing.”

Eddie takes a deep, steadying breath.

“She looked just like Shannon. And you know… you know.” Eddie doesn’t have to say more than that, whether or not Bobby can hear him. He’d know, he always just knows about these sorts of things. That’s what Eddie’s missing the most right now.

“You’d know what to do. You’d have the right words, and man, Bobby, I could really use the right words right now, because all I have is guilt and regret on repeat right now, and no amount of Hail Mary’s are going to fix this one.”

Eddie falls silent, as if waiting for Bobby to wake up just to give him advice. When that doesn’t happen, Eddie just shakes his head.

“Well, whenever you feel like waking up, you get first dibs on telling me how dumb I am. So hurry up, alright?”

  Buck

“Heya Bobby,” Buck says. “Boy, do I have a lot of stuff I wish I could talk to you about. Like, uh, Tommy wanted to come, but he said he was going to save the first wave of visits for us to have some time just the two of us. I told him that there wouldn’t have to be any more ‘waves’ of visits, because you’re going to wake up soon. If you could do it while, uh, I’m here, I’d love to rub it in everyone’s faces that I’m the favorite,” Buck adds, with a wink that Bobby can’t see. Perhaps he can hear it in Buck’s tone, though. “But Tommy says ‘hi’. I told him what you said to me, and he said he was glad to have your ‘seal of approval’, as he called it,” Buck laughs again. “I can’t wait for you two to get to know each other better. And you will.”

Buck pauses, thinking through everything else that’s happened since he last spoke to Bobby, like he’s updating him on the daily firehouse news so he isn’t out of touch when he gets back. He remembers when he was in his Coma, the few times he felt like he could hear and see the people around him, even if he didn’t show it… if Bobby is doing that too, then maybe hearing about the normal day-to-day he’s missing will bring him back. It couldn’t hurt, right? Hoping Bobby hears how much he’s needed?

“Eddie’s going through a lot. I’m spending a lot of time with Christopher… sure would love it if you were around to run some things by. Did you know that if anything ever happens to Eddie, I’m set up to be Christopher’s guardian? I can barely guardian myself,” Buck admits.

“Speaking of guardians… I know we’re not, like, really your kids. But we are. And I know we don’t always listen, but… the other day, when I made dinner and you said you had nothing left to teach me? You were wrong. You were so wrong, Bobby. That was just one dish, after all. You’ve got at least a dozen more to show me before you’re allowed to leave, so just keep that in mind while you’re resting up here, alright? You gotta come back and teach me so many more recipes.”

Buck nods, as if that’s that, the matter is settled.

  Hen

Hen doesn’t say anything for a very long time. She sits in silence, reading the charts clipped onto the bottom of the bed in great detail. Then she reads them again. And again, as if somehow she’s going to catch something they didn’t, something that will change the prognosis they were given to something a little more optimistic.

She can’t. It feels like a failure, like she should be able to see something the others didn’t because she knows him better - because he’s her Captain, and she should be able to do something for him besides sit here and listen to the beeps of the hospital room. She feels useless.

“I’m here, Captain. Sorry I’ve been quiet. I don’t know if the others have been talking to you… honestly, after Buck being in here earlier, I’m sure you appreciate the quiet.” Hen laughs a little at her own joke. “But I’m here.”

Hen sighs.

“I’m not ready to take over for you, Bobby. I still need you. I’m still learning so much, and… and I can’t wrangle this heard of stray cats we call a Station the way you can, alright? I let Buck have a clipboard again, I’m that desperate. So come back to us…” Hen trails off, swallowing back the lump in her throat. “And that’s an order from your acting Captain.”

  Chimney

“Hey, Cap!”

Howie knows his voice is too loud for the quiet room, but he can’t help it. He’s determined to be normal in here. No quiet mourning, no weird conversations demanding promises of an unconscious person, just… normal. And Howie, under every normal circumstance, is loud.

“Listen, with you gone it’s Clipboard Buck 3.49 or whatever model numbers he’s going by these days. He’s determined to have the place cleaner than it was when you left.”

When you left. That sounds so… casual. Good.

“So if that’s why you’re holding off on coming back, no worries there, Boss.”

Howie looks from Bobby to the monitors, as if that simple statement will be the one that turns the tides on this whole thing. Like the idea of having to clean up a disaster of a firehouse is why Bobby’s still asleep.

“Anyway, uh. Everyone’s been taking turns bringing meals to Athena, and May and Henry while they’re staying at the house, so you don’t have to worry about any of them, either. Just thought you’d like to know that.”

Howie pauses. Too casual. Too reassuring.

“But there’s plenty you should worry about. Like all this stuff going down with Hen getting her foster license revoked, and Eddie having some sort of full life crisis, and, you know, Athena’s going to need some help getting the house back into any livable condition, so… don’t think we don’t need you back, because we do, okay?”

There, that’s better. The door opens and Athena doesn’t hesitate to walk in, uncaring of who or what she may be walking in on. As she should. Howie’s smile softens but doesn’t disappear.

“I got him all warmed up for you, Sarge,” Howie says, taking his leave and giving her some privacy.

  Ravi

“Sorry you’re stuck with me for a little while,” Ravi says with an extremely forced laugh. “I had to force your wife to go get some fresh air, so I’m sure it’ll only be for five, ten minutes tops.”

Ravi sits down in the chair next to Bobby. It’s warm - it hasn’t been empty a single second of visiting hours.

“I gotta admit… I feel like a bit of an imposter here. I’m sure there are a dozen other people you’d rather see in this chair if you-” Ravi stops, biting on his lower lip. “When you wake up,” he’s quick to correct. “Sorry. Fuck, I can’t even do bedside watch right. Cap, you can’t… you can’t leave us. You can’t leave me. I need you. I’ve been thinking a lot about the way you’ve been acting around me lately, and it was almost like… like you were planning this. Every conversation I replay in my head feels like you were getting me ready to go at this without you. Same with Buck and the cooking, and Hen making calls in the field, and… look, you may be ready to leave, but don’t. Don’t do it. Not like this.” Ravi wipes the tear or two that well up as he speaks, quick to get rid of any evidence that he may be losing it a little bit in case Athena shows back up. She’s suffering the most out of all of them and she doesn’t need to be worry about him in all of this. It should be the other way around - Ravi’s here to support the others. It’s his job at the station and it’s his job here.

“I know you think we’ll be okay on our own, but we won’t. I know you like to push us, to test us… but don’t this time, okay? I don’t want to find out the answer on this one. Just… wake up, alright?”

Ravi’s hand hovers over Captain Nash’s just as the door opens, and he pulls it back. It’s fine, Ravi tells himself as he gives Athena as comforting of a smile as possible before heading back out to the waiting area. This isn’t a goodbye.

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

+1. Athena

Athena could count on both hands the number of minutes she’s been out of Bobby’s room since her own discharge. Not a single person has asked her to leave for longer than a few minutes to step outside and refresh, or use the hospital shower. Everyone’s been bringing her meals so she isn’t living off of hospital food, and making sure she sleeps, even if it’s just in the uncomfortable chair next to Bobby’s bed.

It isn’t that she cares about being the one in the room when Bobby wakes up - all that matters is that Bobby is going to wake up. Her fear, her only concern, is that she wouldn’t be there if he takes a turn for the worse. If he has a final moment, she’s going to be there for it, for better or worse.

That’s the fear that drives her, that keeps her stubbornly planted here with no signs of moving.

“I know you’d be so mad at me for not going home to sleep,” Athena says. “But I’m taking care of myself! I’m eating, I’m drinking water, I’m even getting all my steps in pacing the length of your room a thousand times.” Athena smirks at that.

“Here’s the part where you tell me that none of those things count. ‘Bad sleep doesn’t count as sleep’, or ‘hospital pizza doesn’t constitute a meal’...” Athena says with the hint of imitating Bobby’s speech and cadence.

“Sounds like… you don’t need me… around to tell you… then…”

Bobby’s voice is so quiet Athena thinks she imagined it, much like the conversations she’s been playing in her head ever since she woke up.

“Bobby?”

Athena’s afraid to look up, afraid she’s going to see the same thing she has every other time - Bobby with his eyes closed, barely breathing, let alone moving or speaking. But when she does, forcing her eyes to rise to meet Bobby’s, they do meet. She meets the awake, the alive, eyes of her husband.

“Bobby!” Athena throws herself over his body the best she can without risking pulling out any tubes or upsetting his injuries. It’s more of a hovering touch than a proper hug, but she needs to do it. She needs to feel his muscles move beneath her of their own volition, his hands rising slightly to brush against her arm.

“Can’t…” Bobby coughs. “Get rid of me… that easily.”

Athena wants to reply with something brave and witty, but all she can do is let the silent tears of relief dampen Bobby’s hospital gown.

[bluedalahorse]

musings before I go to the market

Thinking this morning about how of the YR character studies I’ve written by myself, I have one centered on Sara, one about August, one about Simon, and one about Felice.

I’m about to talk about kudos, which can feel kinda gauche, but I mostly want to bring them up from the angle of something that contradicted my expectations a bit.

So it turns out that:

the August-centered fic (published in June 2024) has the most kudos at 32

Sara’s fic (published in September 2021) comes next at 29

Felice (published in August of 2024) is next at 25

and Simon (from July 2024) comes in last at 21

I don’t want to draw too many conclusions about this, because it’s a very small sample size. But it’s interesting.

What really contradicted my expectations is that the August fic has the most kudos. Moreover, it’s a fic that takes a pretty optimistic view of August’s future and portrays him as a relatively decent guy who’s trying to do the right thing. I think some of this might be timing-related—it was written close enough to the aftermath of season 3 that the post-completion fandom surge hadn’t quite died down yet, and while August had his vocal detractors I also think there were a lot more fans in the fandom last spring who gave him grace and wanted him to grow. I do sometimes wonder if that undercurrent in fandom still exists, very quietly, and that anti-August sentiment is perceived as “universal” in YR fandom because it’s what select people are most vocal about. Are people more hopeful toward/interested in/just plain curious about August than they let on? Sometimes I want to believe that, but I also don’t want to be naive.

Sara’s fic having 29 kudos seems to be in part due to its longevity. It’s been around forever, which I think is what allowed people to find it and read it. It’s my first fic, but not my best fic. There’s some cultural error weirdness and some side characters who aren’t used well. Other than that, it’s written in a pretty polarizing format—verse and second person. But it’s a fun little Good For Her story about revenge! I also think this speaks to the bigger size of the fandom in the early days, and the fact that there was more interest in non-Wilmon characters.

I think of all the fics I posted to AO3, the Felice one is the one that got the most reblogs when I announced it on tumblr. It also brought in readers outside of my usual circle. I attempted a more traditional fanfic form here, and had fun playing with it. In some ways, I think of it as the fic where I was most itching to make a statement, because I just had A Lot Of Feelings about the part where fandom (myself included) often praises Felice for being a selfless and generous friend. I wanted to poke at that notion a bit. I wonder what kind of reception it would have gotten if it had been published at the same time as the August fic, like which one would have caught people’s attention more. There is a lot of professed interest in Felice—she won the non-Wilmon favorite character poll, back in the day, after all—but I always wonder how that translates to fan interest in stories centered on her.

The other stat that really surprises me here is Simon coming in dead last for kudos, because he is after all the fandom’s most beloved. I can see there being reasons for this, though. First of all, the fic is written in verse, which is polarizing. It was also published during Simon’s month (I had at first hoped to attach it to a prompt, but then second guessed myself about that) so I was competing with a lot of other Simon fics. It’s maybe the closest thing I’ve written to a traditional wilmon fic, but Simon’s relationships with Sara and Linda are put on equal footing, and also I am just… I have a very particular way of writing romance that may not be everyone’s cup of tea. So I feel like it exists in this uncanny valley between traditional wilmon fic and my usual YR fanfic brand. At the same time, the people who liked it seemed to like it a lot! So there’s that.

Anyway, I’m about to add Vincent to the mix as of tomorrow, in a serialized drabble format with multiple POVs. So it will be interesting to see what kind of engagement he—a much more secondary character—gets compared to main characters.

I feel like I’m wearing a little lab coat and goggles and such. Let’s do fandom science!

[mslanna]

New Room Who Dis?

Chapter 11 of Be My Guest now up on AO3

In which nothing much happens and that annoys Tav a lot.

The House of Hope fills up again with devils fast. Tav sighs about it and complains to Haarlep but there is of course nothing to be done. One Hell is conquered – that leaves eight to go. Raphael also hasn't made good on his promise to repeat their intimate encounter at a more leisurely pace.

Tav managed to steal fleeting touches and a few kisses, but the answer is always the same: soon. They wonder if the devil will draw this out so long that they will again be reduced to such hunger that a minute was all it took.

It is a mean-spirited thought but Tav has second-hand memories they want to experience first hand. So they visit Haarlep instead who is optimistic as ever.

"Five out of eight arch devils offered allegiance and tribute to our dear cambion already," the incubus muses. "I wonder how many he will accept. At least for a while."

Tav doesn't have to ask any longer if Raphael would go back on his word and invade an allied level of hell. He can't fight them all at once, so divide and conquer it is, if piecemeal. Also, one of the arch devils is Mephistopheles and he has to die.

"What do you want to do when this is over?" Tav asks. "What do you want to do that is not sex," they correct immediately after.

"I don't know."

"You don't know? There has to be something."

"I never thought about it." Haarlep shrugs. "It isn't important."

"But, supposed you get out of here. One day. What will you do? Open a sex club?"

"You have the best ideas." The incubus' eyes light up. "Dark and damp, full of greed and unbridled desire. It will be delicious. Of course I have to be careful about the bodies. Can't have them connected to my club."

"Life is easier if you don't kill people," Tav agrees.

"But also boring." Haarlep throws themself onto their back in a theatrical gesture.

Tav wants to argue, but they find themself suddenly armoured up. "The third in as many days," they sigh. "Somebody is getting a little desperate. You'd think they'd learn."

"Not a chance." Haarlep sits up. "Like your precious self, every adventurer counts themself the exception. Unfortunately for them only you are."

"You say the sweetest things." Tav laughs. "Maybe I'll send one your way again. Raphael may be too busy to notice."

"Whenever you're ready. My lips are sealed." Haarlep winks and Tav strides to the foyer.

The killing isn't so bad. Word got around that The Tav Themself was guarding the door and the strategies were wonderfully entertaining. And after a party of five came through with blazing weapons and spells, Raphael granted Tav command over a handful of cambions that they can call on in the blink of an eye.

They were not the most efficient lot and they refused to agree to anything resembling practice, but they did draw fire. Plus, they came from a different hell so killing them just made them pop back into existence a little later a lot angrier.

Today it's a lonely halfling who considers invisibility sufficient to sneak around.

"Really?" Tav asks as they block the incoming blade. "Sometimes I am tempted to send some of you back only so you can tell the other to come up with something challenging."

But of course they cannot do that. Raphael will throw a hissy fit. And nobody wants that. A minute later the body of the intruder sails over the nearest balcony and Tav returns to their room to armour down.

The only thing that annoys Tav about Raphael barraging in when they have their trousers halfway up and their shirt still open is that he doesn't immediately close the door behind him. It takes a very pointed look for him to get it. Maybe because he wasn't looking at their face much.

Tav pulls up their trousers but stops halfway closing them. With their hands lingering at their crotch, Tav tilts their head at the staring devil. "Something I can help with?"

Raphael takes two long steps into their personal space and runs a finger from their stomach up to Tav's throat. "Very much so. Unfortunately, you will have to come along."

With a sigh, Tav finishes dressing. At least they get to manhandle the devil’s hand for a moment. "Lead the way."

They follow him down the corridor and past the library where a new staircase leads down to the dungeon. While it is nice not having to climb a slippery ladder, Tav doesn't know what they are supposed to do down there. Does Raphael have new prisoners? And if so, what has that to do with them?

But the dungeon is not a prison any longer. A cavernous room stretches out towards a throne that looks tiny at the far end. Four door are set at both sides of the long walls and seating accommodations are scattered in the hall. Tav spies no less than five new portraits of Raphael, and once again none catches his actual countenance.

"It may seem a little grand at the moment," Raphael says, "but once I rule all nine hells, it may well be too small. Let me show you around."

With his hand at the small of their back and one wing carefully draping around their shoulders Tav has little choice but to comply. Not that they wouldn’t agree to be toured through the hells themselves held like that.

"A council chamber for war council and a staff of advisers," Raphael explains the first door to their left. Opposite is a room with tables and chairs for refreshments and networking. Next to the throne a smaller study is furnished with a central desk and shelves laden with books and scrolls. It is made to look intimidating and with a devil occupying the imposing chair, it may as well. Tav is not impressed until Raphael discloses that, naturally, all rooms are soundproofed.

"For obvious reasons," he adds pouring oil on the fire of Tav's imagination. "And lastly," he throws open the door right of the throne and Tav stops in mid-stride. It doesn't do anything because they are in the firm hold of Raphael who simply moves them inside.

Because that is what it is. There is a fireplace (fire already burning) comfortable chairs a few book shelves and a desk. The window opposite the door looks over a balcony and to their right. Tav swallows. Out of the line of sight from the door, the room expands into a bedroom with cupboards, chests, a stand for armour and everything one might want for personal use.

The bed is at least as big as that in the boudoir, sheets of a darker red like died blood. Tav takes hold of one of the four posts raising a blood-red canopy and scrambles into the middle. There is noway they can hope to touch any of the edges from their position.

Tav looks at Raphael who stands back, waiting for a reaction. As if climbing onto the bed first thing wasn't one. They shake their head. "I like it. Spacious." Also, gilded within an inch of free space, but that is just the devil's taste. "Suits you."

And soundproof. Tav bounces the mattress tentatively. The devil approaches slowly, a question on his face Tav hadn't answered yet. The human looks around trying to find clues.

"Your armour is not here yet," they say the first thing that comes to mind. "Is it in maintenance?"

"That stand is not for my armour," Raphael replies.

It takes an ungodly amount of time for the words to sink in. "For me?" Tav almost squeaks. "You want me to move in here?"

"I will be spending a lot of time down here," Raphael replies. "I will like having you near when you are – resting."

It makes sense. Tav is most vulnerable when they are sleeping. The House of Hope is already full of devils, soon it will be overflowing. "Does it have a shortcut to the library?"

"Not yet." Raphael considers for a moment. "Anything else?"

"No more visiting Haarlep in my shape." Tav folds their arms. "I get up in the middle of the night to kill intruders, I get to get up in the middle of the night for sex. You wanna fuck me silly, fuck me silly. Got it?"

Raphael raises an immaculate brow, but a smile plays on his lips. "My, my. You are possessive, are you not?"

"Maybe you like memories of Haarlep getting ravished in your shape to linger all over you all day long," Tav snaps. "I do not. And since you are going to do the ravishing, I don't see why I shouldn't get to be actually ravished."

"Be careful what you wish for." His eyes strip Tav naked, barely stopping before the skin comes of. "And Haarlep will be disappointed."

"I will deal with Haarlep," Tav grins. "They like me."

"If you believe that." Raphael shrugs but his smile is indulgent. "I leave it to you."

With that he turns and leaves Tav alone in the vast room. Sitting in the middle of the huge bed, they feel inexplicably lonely.

[butternuggets-blog]

DRACULA: A Modern Adaptation

My script for a modern tv adaptation of Dracula, based on the novel by Bram Stoker Also on AO3

EPISODE TWO

201     EXT. CASTLE DRACULA

There is a figure standing inside the now-open door, far enough back that Jonathan has room to enter. It is DRACULA, holding an antique silver lamp, standing stock still like the world’s most awkward dinner date.

DRACULA

[in English] Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!

That was a strange turn of phrase. Perhaps something was lost in translation. Dracula’s English is heavily accented and practised but slow, each word carefully chosen. He is new to the language. He looks like a tall, old man with white hair.

Jonathan steps across the threshold. His fate is sealed.

Dracula, smiling, darts forward and shakes Jonathan’s hand. Jonathan winces; his grip is too strong, too tight, and the flesh deathly cold.

JONATHAN

Count Dracula?

Dracula nods.

DRACULA

I am Dracula. Come in; the nights are cold in the mountains and you must be starved.

JONATHAN

I am quite hungry, yes, but if it’s too much trouble-

DRACULA

No trouble at all!

202     TRACKING SHOT - INT. CASTLE DRACULA – DINING ROOM

Dracula leads Jonathan “along the passage…up the staircase…and along another passage” to the dining room [possibly a drawing room, judging by the description in the novel] set with plates for dinner but no food. Dracula opens a side door and shows Jonathan the guest bedroom and ensuite bathroom.

203     INT. CASTLE DRACULA – GUEST BEDROOM

DRACULA

Please, wash your hands and refresh yourself, and I will summon the servants to come and lay out dinner.

Dracula leaves.

204     INT. CASTLE DRACULA – GUEST BEDROOM ENSUITE

Jonathan washes his hands, noticing that the bathroom has no mirror.

JONATHAN

That’s odd.

205     INT. CASTLE DRACULA – DINING ROOM

Jonathan leaves the bathroom and returns to the dining room where Dracula is waiting. He is pleasantly surprised to see that the table is laden with a feast: “..roast chicken…some cheese and a salad…and a bottle of old Tokay, of which [Jonathan has] two glasses”. He sits down and begins to eat.

JONATHAN

My compliments to the chef.

DRACULA

I will pass it along.

Dracula is sitting opposite Jonathan, at the head of the table. He is not eating.

JONATHAN

[gesturing] You won’t…

DRACULA

No, thank you. I have dined already tonight, and I do not sup.

He speaks fluent English with an intonation from another time.

JONATHAN

Oh, before I forget-

Jonathan pulls out an envelope and hands it to Dracula. He opens it and retrieves the letter inside, unfolding it.

Dracula tuts, sympathetically.

DRACULA

Gout; a painful condition indeed. Mr Hawkins has great faith in you!

JONATHAN

I should hope so; he helped train me!

DRACULA

Oh?

JONATHAN

While I was still doing my solicitor training in Exeter he let me sort papers and answer phones in his office. And now I work for him! It’s all come together quite brilliantly, really.

DRACULA

And led you here to me! Tell me, how are you finding our little part of the world?

JONATHAN

The Carpathians are…quaint. Very rural…not that there’s anything wrong with keeping to tradition! It’s good to be able to hold onto culture.

DRACULA

Our traditions are what is holding this country back! We need to divorce the past and marry the future if we are to survive this evolving world.

Jonathan looks self-conscious. He wants to ask an awkward question but isn’t sure how to broach the subject. He goes for it.

JONATHAN

…on the ride here, the people in the coach were calling you-…things.

DRACULA

Ordog? Stregoica?

Jonathan nods.

DRACULA

Capitalism makes monsters of us all. I am an eternal optimist looking to raise people to the exalted peaks of the twenty-first century, and everyone else prefers to consign themselves to mud.

Wolves howling outside cuts through the conversation, startling Jonathan. He looks nervous; Dracula takes notice, smiles.

DRACULA

Ah, you city dwellers. But you must be tired. Sleep well and dream well, and stay abed as long as you want. I have to be away till the afternoon.

Dracula stands up; Jonathan does as well. Dracula opens Jonathan’s bedroom door for him, bows deeply, and leaves.

206     FADE IN – INT. CASTLE DRACULA – GUEST BATHROOM ENSUITE

It is day again; late afternoon specifically. Jonathan, dressed messily in pyjamas and a bathrobe, walks sleepily into the bathroom. He pulls a toilette bag out and is surprised to find that his modern mirror has been replaced with an antique silver-backed hand mirror.

207     FLASHBACK - INT. GOLDEN KRONE HOTEL – ROOM SEVEN

The Old Man rifles through Jonathan’s belongings. He swaps out the mirror with the antique, pocketing it.

208     INT. CASTLE DRACULA – LIBRARY

Montage of Jonathan getting dressed, having breakfast, and entering a library. Jonathan is astonished; he wanders the room slowly, with a look of wonder on his face. As he moves in a slow circle around the library, carefully inspecting the collection, the windows set in the walls behind him show the sped-up setting of the sun.

The library collection holds many glossy, modern books, magazines and newspapers. They are in excellent shape if well-read and all dated to the early 2000s. There is a Whitaker’s Almanac on a table sitting beside Jonathan’s work document case.

Go wild set dressers! Throw in some Lonely Planet, some National Geographic. Whatever’s funniest!

The Count enters the room.

DRACULA

[gesturing to the bookcases] I see you have found my friends!

JONATHAN

You have an impressive collection.

DRACULA

I thank you. I have tried to capture London, and England, within these walls but the true spirit of a country must be experienced! It cannot simply be read. I have taught myself English but even that…[vague gesture]…to speak words in another tongue I have only parroted back to myself; it is not enough to know the grammar and form, I must be fluent!

JONATHAN

But you do! You speak very well, especially for being self-taught.

DRACULA

[raises a finger] “Very well” is not fluent. Here I am noble, I am boyar. The people know me and their place and I am master. But if I am a stranger in a strange land, one who cannot make myself understood with the correct inflections, the correct intonation…no. You must correct me when I make error-

JONATHAN

Make ‘an’ error.

DRACULA

What?

JONATHAN

You mean…um…when you make “an��� error.

Dracula smiles warmly, “…his lips [run] back over his gums, the long, sharp, canine teeth showed out strangely…”, his arms wide. Jonathan blinks at the fangs but he’s British; politely ignoring the eccentric appearance of wealthy people is in his bones.

DRACULA

There! You see? I am learning already. Now, tell me about the house you have purchased for me in England.

JONATHAN

Oh! Yes.

He retrieves a sheaf of papers from his document case. The bag has a four-digit combination lock; one…seven…zero-seven, Mina’s birthday.

JONATHAN

The estate is called Carfax…

209     INT. CASTLE DRACULA – LIBRARY

A montage begins of Jonathan and Dracula reviewing and signing the paperwork for the estate.

Jonathan pulls out printed maps and blueprints for Carfax. He shows Dracula drone-shot photographs, and has him sign a thick sheaf of forms.

Behind them, night moves on.

Dracula leaves temporarily; while he’s gone Jonathan packs away his forms and circuits the library again. Reading the spines, he finds a well-worn book with no title. It’s an atlas; it falls open in Jonathan’s hands to a map of England.

[Camera zooms in] There are three places circled; the area in Purfleet where Carfax is, Exeter and Whitby.

210     [FADE-IN] INT. CASTLE DRACULA – DINING ROOM

The perspective fades through the map to show Dracula and Jonathan seated in the dining room again, talking and eating- well, Jonathan is eating- dinner. Perspective fades through the scene again; now they are sitting before the fire, still talking, Jonathan nursing a crystal glass of brandy.

A loud rooster crow sounds from outside the castle. Dracula, startled by the noise, jumps to his fleet.

DRACULA

Look at the time; it is dawn again! I apologise for keeping you up, my friend, you must get some sleep. You are far too interesting a tour guide for new home!

Dracula bows politely as Jonathan smiles, pleased and self-effacing. Jonathan returns the bow as he stands; he turns slightly to put the glass down on a side table beside his chair and when he turns back Dracula has vanished.

211 INT. CASTLE DRACULA – GUEST BEDROOM

Jonathan is lying asleep in bed, twitching, tossing and turning restlessly. Eventually he comes out of REM sleep and sighs heavily; it’s clear he is not going to get much sleep.

Jonathan opens his eyes and gets out of bed.

212 INT. CASTLE DRACULA – GUEST BATHROOM

Jonathan is shaving, the camera focussed on his reflection in the silver-backed mirror which shows the audience the entirety of the room.

As he scrapes the safety razor down one cheek, there is a visible depression on his right shoulder as if someone is placing a hand there even though there is no one standing behind him in the mirror.

DRACULA

Good morning

Jonathan startles. The razor slips. Jonathan hisses in pain and drops the razor; he fumbles with his toilette bag for a plaster but an inhumanely strong grip on his shoulder forces him to turn around. Up this close Dracula seems a little younger; one or two fewer wrinkles, and there is grey peppering his white hair.

There is a hungry fury blazing in his eyes.

Dracula lunges for Jonathan – aiming for his face? His throat? Jonathan stumbles back a step and the movement shifts the crucifix up and out from beneath his shirt a little.

Dracula’s fingers brush the beads and he snaps back as if slapped. Jonathan, breathlessly, and Dracula, resentful, eye each other for a long moment.

DRACULA

Be careful with yourself. Bleeding can be more dangerous than you think in this country.

JONATHAN

…I know..germs…

DRACULA

Mmm

Dracula suddenly grabs the mirror and dashes it against the wall. It shatters. Jonathan gapes at the sudden carnage. He does not notice that Dracula has vanished.

JONATHAN

Wha-

He is standing in the bathroom alone.

213     INT. CASTLE DRACULA – DINING ROOM

Jonathan leaves his rooms and finds breakfast set for him in the dining room. Dracula is not there.

[fade out, scene overlap] Jonathan wipes his mouth with a napkin, and gets up from his chair, having finished his breakfast. He starts to leave.

214     INT. CASTLE DRACULA

[Aerial shot] Jonathan walks the corridors. A few doors, close to the guest quarters; [close up shot; side profile] Jonathan tries one door but, rattling the handle, finds it locked.

He is confused; many old manors shut up sections of the house if they are disused or in need of repair but this room is close to his own, clearly clean and well-used. It should be fine.

He lets his fingers drag on the door handle as he releases it. Dust. Jonathan looks confused and deeply concerned.

[Close up shot; side profile] Jonathan dashes to another door. [Close up shot] Dust on Jonathan’s fingers; another locked room.

A montage of frantic hands rattling dusty, locked doorknobs attached to various doors. [Aerial shot] Jonathan runs deeper into the castle, [various camera angles] finding more and more doors to numerous rooms locked tight. At first they were mostly clean; by the end Jonathan is reaching through thick cobwebs and layers of dust to try the doors.

Jonathan has double-backed on himself and stops. Light from a blue sky shines through the gap in the walls. Jonathan walks forward.

215     EXT. CASTLE DRACULA - BALCONY

[Aerial shot] The hall is leading him out onto a balcony. “…The view [is] magnificent…the castle is on the very edge of a terrible precipice…a thousand feet [down]. As far as the eye can see is a sea of green treetops, with occasionally a deep rift where there is a chasm. Here and there are silver threads where rivers wind in deep gorges through the forests.”

[Upper bust shot; close up] Jonathan slumps, pale-faced and shaking, against the balcony railing. The full horror of his situation finally sinks in.

He is a prisoner.

JONATHAN

[shakily] He's his own servants. ...that's actually quite impressive.

He does not like he finds his remark funny. He looks terrified.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

For Mina's birthday, I used the day and month of Florence Balcombe's birth. She was Bram Stoker's wife.