#could...learn about the rat man and the shade? who never show up again?''

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

While I was reading the later chapters of Phantom of the Opera a friend of mind reminded me it was a serialization, and suddenly I had a moment of clarity in which I thought "Oh so that's why it's written like that"

[wilanserulia]

FFXIV Write 2024 - Prompt 21 - Shade

“I never much cared for the ocean, myself.” The man in the black coat had been uncharacteristically lost in thought, standing at the edge of one of Moraby Bay’s docks despite the light drizzle. Wilan walked up to him and, casting his gaze at the waters of the Rhotano Sea, exhaled. “Tell me about it.” he offered in solidarity. “I grew up on a small island, you know? Father wanted me to be a fisherman. Spend my days stuck on a boat.” Fray listened to him, his arms crossed. He didn’t offer anything in return for a long moment, though. Sometimes it was really hard to understand what he was thinking. It didn’t help that he never showed his godsdamn face.

“That friend of mine, the one I told you about after our first communion. We came out here together, once.” Wilan glanced at him, at his side. “You’ve been in La Noscea before? Maybe we’ve crossed paths, then.” He turned around and gave him a glance. As often was the case, it was hard to understand what he meant by it. He exhaled, looked back out at sea, and resumed his tale, his voice melancholic and bitter. “We ended up doing something ridiculously foolish that day. Honestly, we were lucky to make it out alive.” He clenched his fist, and his voice became harsher. “I tried to talk him out of it, but no. He just had to get on that godsdamn boat.”

Fray hadn’t given him nearly enough context to understand the situation. But he could relate with that bitterness. In fact, thinking about it, it was exactly here, on this very dock, that it had happened, a little over a year prior. He looked around himself and he could almost see them, the small crowd that had gathered to put him on that godsdamn boat. Maelstrom officials mostly. The grand marshal, Slafyrsyn. The Admiral herself, Merlwyb. Oh, and she was also there that day. Delen. She was probably the only one actually worried for him. She had been the only one who gave a rat’s ass about his wounds afterward, too. All the others... They just wanted Leviathan killed. And little did it matter that the only way they had come up to do it was sending the Warrior of Light into a raging storm on a godsdamn boat.

And yet he had agreed to it. Because that’s what was asked of him.

          Serve...           Save...           Slave...           Slay...

Wilan shook his head, silencing that bitter, rancorous whisper in his ear. Again, he looked out at the ocean, and sighed. “The thing is... Sometimes you’re the only one who can do what is asked of you. To stand alone against the storm.” he offered in response to Fray’s bitterness, yet he couldn’t keep his own grudges and resentment from coloring his voice. Fray turned around to look at him, angry disappointment in his eyes. “And there I was thinking you were on the edge of understanding.” Wilan immediately retorted. “But if I can save―” “You can’t save everyone, Wilan!” his mentor shouted in anger, cutting him off. Whatever Wilan had said, it had touched a nerve. “Gods, sometimes you’re fortunate enough to save yourself!” He grabbed Wilan by the shoulder and pulled his face close to his. Those yellow eyes bore into his green irises, angry and resentful. “You need to learn the value of sacrifice. You need to recognize what matters, and forsake what it does not.”

Tempers rising, feeling his fingers dig into his arm, Wilan also raised his own voice against the Dark Knight. “And what!? What should I do then? Should I just... ignore the plights of those I could save?” he asked bitterly, clinging on to the teaching of another of his mentors. Even through his helmet, Wilan could perceive Fray’s disgusted expression. He let go of his shoulder, pushing him backwards. Wilan stumbled but didn’t fall.

“At the very least,” he said, his voice harsh and cold and, somehow, a little bit compassionate “you must realize that you cannot continue to carry all those burdens.” He turned around to leave but, before taking a step, he added: “Unless you wish to die a slave.”

[faintblueivy]

So Imagine...

A world where Bruce Wayne died as a child in that alley that day, Martha and Thomas Wayne grieve as normal parents. They DO NOT BECOME BATMAN AND JOKER. 

Nothing ever remains the same after losing their little boy. So, Thomas buries himself in his work and Martha drowns herself in depression and pain. They do therapy and it works a little and life becomes bearable but...not happy.

One day, Alfred badgers the couple to go out and relax a little and buys them tickets for a circus - Haly’s circus. Everything was going nice and dandy and Martha was in awe of this little acrobat as much as the rest of the crowd when suddenly the rope snaps and the boy’s parents fall to their deaths - right in front of him and the gathering. Thomas is quick to jump in to see if he could help them in any way but Martha can see it in his eyes that they are as dead as they can be. 

They return to home with heavy hearts and Martha can’t get the image of the little boy out of her head. His skin was a light shade of bronze but his dark hair and bright cerulean blue eyes reminded her so much of Bruce that her heart wouldn’t rest. So a few days later she uses her connections to know if the child is safe and well cared for, when to her immense horror, she is replied that he was shipped to Gotham Juvie due to the lack of foster homes. She is enraged.

She calls Thomas and Alfred and lets them know about the little acrobat’s situation and declares that she was going to adopt him. They hesitate a little but she is not to be deterred as she goes ahead and brings the little boy home. 

Richard John Grayson - Wayne. Or Dick, as he likes to call himself. 

He is adamant that he wants no parents and Martha is fine because not only that she is old enough to be not his mother but also because no child can ever be her Bruce.

“You can just call me Grandma then.” She tells him.

His eyes are wide but he nods and then smiles and Martha, in a long while, has never felt this happy. 

Her new Grandson, despite losing his parents, is a ray of sunshine with unlimited supply of energy and the cold and empty manor is warm and happy again. 

Dick is a little charmer and even after Thomas and Alfred’s initial reluctance, they immediately fall in love with the boy and one day, when Martha comes down to the morning breakfast, she hears a happy, deep rumble - one she has not heard in many years. Thomas is laughing. 

There on the dining table, seated beside Dick, was Thomas laughing. Her eyes water at the scene and Alfred, who is standing beside her offers her a handkerchief. None of them mention how his own eyes are wet too.

 ...

Dick is sixteen, a brilliant boy in academics as much as they disinterest him but an invincible athlete. Martha has been told time and time again that her grandson is undoubtedly a international level gymnast. But he is a teenager.

And teenagers steal their grandparent’s ‘coolest’ car and rush off into the night. But they don’t come back with a little battered and bruised, homeless kid tucked under their arm.

“He had jacked three tires off your car. When I confronted him, he tried to hit me with a tire iron.” He says, amused, as Thomas tries to convince the child to show him his injuries.

“I didn’t do nothin’! He’s a fuckin’ big boob liar!” They boy screams, his blue green eyes glaring daggers at Dick.

“Language.” Both her and Alfred warn simultaneously.

After hours of struggle, interrogation and fuck you’s, Martha learns that the child’s name is Jason. He is twelve. Mother died form drug overdosing and Dad is a petty henchman of some crime lord. He ran away from multiple foster homes because they are so abusive that the child feels safer on streets. 

Martha goes on a rampage over Gotham’s foster care after that. She did not donate millions of dollars annually for children to feel safer on streets. After of lot of talks and reassurances and promises, Martha acquires her second grandchild.

Jason Peter Todd - Wayne. 

Jason is tiny. Malnourished like Leslie said. But he is sharp, observant and hungry for knowledge. Martha and Alfred joke that Jason is Thomas' soul child. Where Dick had loved activity and movement, Jason liked quiet and stability - Martha thinks that running and fighting for survival on streets every single day does that you. So evenings often found her and Dick in the garden but Thomas and Jason in the library pouring over as many books as they can.

And to nobody's surprise, despite their rocky start, the boys become inseparable. They are outwardly different, with clashing interests and behaviors but Martha can see that they both carry the same cores of light.  

When the morning of Dick’s Parent’s death anniversary comes around, both her and Thomas find Jason on Dick’s bed, arms curled protectively around his big brother. For the first time in so many years, Dick wakes up to warmth surrounding him, not nightmares. 

...

Both her grandsons attend Gotham Academy so when she receives a phone call from the Principal, she is half surprised and half not. When she enters the Principal’s office, both her boys are standing on one side, Jason with his head hung in shame and Dick glaring daggers at the other side. The boy who seems to be injured is being coddled by his mother who is shooting nasty glares at her grandchildren periodically. 

Then she notices another small boy standing beside her boys, trying to melt into the wall.

Tim Drake. The only son of Jack and Janet Drake of Drake Industries.    

She arches a questioning eyebrow at Dick who shakes his head and then she turns to the Principal. 

“What happened here?”

“Glad to see you’re here Mrs. Wayne.” The Principal says, pushing his glasses up his nose, “I regret to inform you that your ward Jason Peter Todd attacked this young man here.” He gestures to the other boy. 

“Madam, Gotham Academy is a prestigious school and we do not encourage physical violence here. Yes, it might have been acceptable from where he came from but it won’t be, here. I hope you give us the right to punish Mr. Todd here appropriately.” 

Martha inwardly bristles at the jab at her grandson and says crisply, “Mr. Wayne.”

“What?”

“He’s not just Todd. He is a Wayne. Please remember that.”

“Principal Sir.” Dick cuts in and Martha is confused because as hyperactive as Dick is, he is a mannerly child and knows better than to cut in a conversation like this but what draws her attention is the chilling tone which Dick almost never uses. Dick continues, “Why don’t you tell our grandmother more of your regrets? Or the prestigious Gotham Academy believes that bullying is acceptable.” 

Martha has been told what she needs to know. 

“Jason?” she calls out to her youngest grandson softly, “What happened?”

Jason is quiet when suddenly Tim Drake moves forward. She can see he is scared the way his hands shake but determination shines in his blue eyes. She likes him.

“I want to say something.”

He narrates the tale of how he was being bullied and how the boy on the other side with his mother threw his science project model away and broke it and physically tried to attack him when Jason stepped in to save him. Martha felt nothing but pride at Jason’s righteous indignation. 

Tim also explained that Jason exercised immense control even after these bullies called him ‘street rat’, but the verbal spar intensified after Dick was insulted for his Romani heritage, but it came to fist fight after Thomas and Martha were insulted, and Bruce’s death was made fun of.

Her gaze snaps to the other three occupants of the room and they are all in various shades of pale. Apparently, the Principal had not done his homework.

“Principal” She says icily, “Yes, I give you the authority to punish Jason appropriately but only when this young man here”, she gestures to the boy who was now cowering behind his mother, “Is dealt with in the same way.”

After threatening the Principal in soft words but harsh tone about not tolerating to having her grandsons bullied the next time, she grabs Jason’s hand to drag him away from these people who don’t deserve his company, when her eyes fall on the little trembling Tim. 

She offers him her hand.

He stares at it, shocked but after an encouraging smile from Dick and a small shove from Jason, he takes it shyly.

And since that day, Tim becomes a member of Martha’s family. The boys stay together so much that even Thomas forgets that Tim is not theirs. 

Tim’s upbringing sends Martha’s grandmother instincts on a haywire and she resents the Drakes for their criminal neglect towards Tim. 

It is rewarding that Tim flourishes in their attention. 

She learns that his hobby is Photography and he is excellent at it. And he is a genius when it comes to science, computers and gadgets. He likes crime thrillers movies and books and often picks them apart with his scarily good knowledge about forensics that leave the rest of the family in awe and slightly disturbed. 

The dam breaks when one day Jason and Dick return back from school telling her that Tim was absent today and they are worried about him. When they later sneak into the Drake mansion in the evening, Thomas receives a frantic call from their oldest grandchild that Tim was burning with fever. Because Thomas is a doctor, they save Tim before anything serious happens.

This time, it is Thomas who sues the Drakes for Tim’s custody after him and Jason had, had enough of ‘Timbo’s shitty parents’.

“Timothy?” Martha brushes his sweat soaked forehead gently. “Would you like to be a member of our family legally?"

Tim is hesitant about this but he admits that he likes Wayne manor much better than he ever liked Drake mansion. He confesses that he loves Jason and Dick as brothers and sees Martha, Thomas and Alfred as his grandparents as well.

The long custody battle ends with both Jack and Janet Drake dying at the hands of two different tragedies, leaving Tim an orphan, but also with a loving family consisting of three grandparents and two brothers by his side. 

Timothy Jackson Drake - Wayne is adopted into the Wayne family as her and Thomas’ third grandson.

...

A year after they adopt Tim, Thomas comes home with a small girl on his side. She is clearly an east Asian in heritage with dark hair and dark eyes and is speech deprived. Thomas is clearly distressed after Cassandra - her name is Cassandra - is safely secured in warm bed in a nice room across Jason’s. He calls her, the three boys and Alfred to his study to explain about the small girl. 

He talks about how Gordon brought the girl to him and after hours of wordless, signed and clumsily sketched on paper conversations with the little girl they were able to determine that Cassandra was hiding from her father who was an assassin and wanted to drag the little girl down the same path before she ran away. The more he talks about the damage and abuse the girl had experienced at the hands on her own father, the more furious Martha becomes. When Thomas’ explanations ends, Jason slams a punch into the wall making a dent but no one has the heart to reprimand him for that. 

The following morning, Martha can see that her three boys have unanimously decided that they are adopting Cassandra as their sister. She is treated like a Princess, and given the nick name ‘Cass’. 

Slowly but surely, Cass learns what it means to love through Dick’s bright kindness, Jason’s quiet protection and Tim’s infinite patience. After her father is finally apprehended, the family celebrates.

Cassandra Wayne, soon after, becomes the beloved Wayne Princess of Gotham. 

Martha and Thomas often accompany their only granddaughter to her speech therapy lessons, so after six months of her adoption, at dinner, she places a kiss on everyone’s forehead - her three brothers and three grandparents, stands at the head of the table and croaks out, slowly, “Thank...thank you.” All of them stare at her flabbergasted, but it appears that she was planning to shock them even more.

“You...Love. Love you...”

The silence that follows her broken but sure words is deafening. Surprisingly it is Tim who breaks it as he scrambles out of his chair and launches himself at Cass, wrapping his arms around her and both Jason and Dick follow him, grabbing both their youngest siblings fiercely.

A quiet sob breaks her out of the trance and she smiles when she watches Thomas furiously wiping his tears from the sleeve of his shirt. The last time he     had cried was at Bruce’s funeral. And Martha is infinitely grateful that this time these are happy tears. 

...

Sometimes Martha wonders what would have happened if Bruce had lived. If these children are her grandchildren then does that mean they are Bruce’s kids? Had Bruce lived, would he have accepted these gaggle of kids that her and Thomas have collected over the years as his own? Would he have kids of his own? 

Her questions are answered when one day she hears a slight commotion in the entrance is surprised to see a young woman with a sword threatening Alfred.

“I want to meet the Master of this house. Let them know immediately.” She demands in an authoritative but silky voice, and Martha suddenly sees the Toddler clutched in her arm. 

“What is it?” Martha speaks as soon as she can when the woman notices her. She looks surprised for a second but immediately schools her features as the baby fusses.

“You’re alive.” She whispers and before any of them could make an indignant comment about her wordings, she says, “It appears that I might have traveled in to the wrong universe.”

Now that is interesting. Martha lives in a world where they are protected by aliens...so, it is certainly worth hearing for. 

Martha offers the young lady an invitation for tea which she accepts. She notices how the woman carries herself with lethal grace and dignity as if she was a Princess but much more. As they sit and Alfred leaves to bring the promised team Martha notices how the woman’s eyes sweep over the place. 

“How may I help you?”

Her voice attracts the attention of the toddler and this time, he is not clutched tightly enough to his mother’s chest to turn his small head and look at her. Martha gasps. Because the child looks too much like Toddler Bruce. But instead of the blue eyes like her son, this child has glowing green ones, like his mother. But still, the resemblance is uncanny. 

“Yes, he is your son’s.” The woman answers the unasked question.

She is explained the existence of Multiverse, and it’s workings and how Bruce survived instead of them in that world, met Talia (the woman’s name is Talia Al Ghul) and had a child but had to leave. Talia mentions the reason she came here was because her son’s life was in danger and Talia’s father wanted to raise her son as an assassin Prince and a tool for him to use. Talia’s solution to protect her son was for her to give her son to the Bruce of this world to raise, since the Bruce of that world had gone missing.   

“I can raise him.” Martha suddenly declares and the woman looks at him shocked. “I will not raise him into a life of violence but I can certainly protect him and give him a happy civilian life.”

Talia looks unsure, hesitant, but says, “I...have been a warrior since the day I can remember. Never once have I ever thought of my son not being a warrior. He was...born to be one.” 

Martha smiles. “He doesn’t have to be one. Yes, his life will be infinitely different than the one you imagined but...he will be well loved and protected. I can assure you of that.”

“Damian.” Talia whispers as he deposits the baby in her arms after a lot of consideration. “His name is Damian.”

She looks at her son tenderly one last time and places a kiss on his forehead and Martha’s heart breaks a little for the young mother. 

“Will you return back for him?” Martha asks as she follows the Talia to the door.

“No.” Talia whispers, her voice strained. “I will not. Any action taken by me is monitored by my father closely. If I return back, then he might know that I have left Damian here and I cannot let that happen. He is yours, forever.”

Martha gives her a sad smile. “You’re a brave and good mother Talia. Thank you for doing what is best for your son.”

She nods, not turning to look at Damian one last time as she leaves the manor grounds, never to return. 

Martha looks at the baby secure in her arms and her lips quirk up into a grin at the sight of two curious green eyes watching her with interest. 

“Welcome to the family, little Damian.”

When she introduces the new addition to the family, Thomas is dumbfounded. Dick is ecstatic at the prospect of having a new baby brother, Jason is secretly pleased, Cass is happiest and Tim looks unsure.

That’s how Damian Wayne - Al Ghul joins the family.

Damian fits in their home spectacularly. After few days of hesitation, like he had with Dick, Thomas takes to Damian quickly. He has an epic competition going on with their eldest grandson to become the baby’s favorite. Damian refuses to sleep without Thomas but his tantrums are only controlled and won over by Dick. Damian loves Jason manhandling him and giggles happily when the older boy throws him in the air or swings him around. Damian loves Cassandra because she knows what he wants before any of them do. And Cass loves to carry her little brother around to watch birds and animals in the manor grounds.

The only person Damian seems to not get along with is Tim and the older boy seems not be fond of him either. Because Damian wants everything Tim does and the older brother has to compromise for Damian every time. But Martha has to bite laughs a lot now a days because almost everytime Damian falls asleep, it is with Tim in vicinity. And she has caught the older boy tenderly covering Damian in his favorite blanket more often than not. Martha thinks that this is kind of cute but keeps her opinion to herself. 

Her little grandson is quite protective of his siblings though. Anytime someone upsets any of his siblings, they are threatened with scowls, growls and even bites and stabbings in extreme cases.

Like last time when Mrs. Park made fun of Cassandra’s  speech impairment, Damian almost bit her finger off. Damian hates one of Dick’s racist colleague (they all do) so much that anytime the man enters his field of vision, the first thing Damian gets his hand on is thrown at the guy’s head. With deadly precision. And last time when Mr. Link had called Jason ‘street rat’ for personally volunteering charity work for poor and homeless, Damian had smeared his juice and drool covered hands on the Man’s thousand dollars suit. And when one time, a reporter had infiltrated a Gala and chased Tim around to ask uncomfortable questions about his parent’s death and the Wayne’s involvement in it, Damian, noticing Tim’s distress had stabbed the reporter with a fork with no hesitation. 

Martha is still not sure if she should encourage or reprimand Damian for that.

...

As she sits on the head of the table with Thomas on her side and Alfred on the other end, she wonders how miraculous it is for her to have all these children in her life. 

Dick is engaged in an animated conversation with Stephanie who was introduced to the family as Tim’s girlfriend. Barbara, the daughter of James Gordon and Dick’s girlfirend/or not was helping Cass pile up food on her plate. Damian and Tim were bickering over something as usual but Jason trying to hide his snickers in guise of drinking water which made Martha sure that the something was Jason’s doing.

These people were her family. The ones she had gained after losing Bruce. She wonders, if there was a universe where Bruce got to meet her grandchildren. 

Would he accept them? As family? 

Would he love them? As family? 

She brightly smiles when the multiple sets of eyes turn to her waiting for her to blow the candle.

“Happy Birthday Martha.”

Thomas says warmly, his voice thick with emotion and she meets his gaze and sees the love, affection and thankfulness in his eyes for this family that they had created after their earth shattering loss. She knows what she wants as she blows the candle on the cake flickering in front of her.

I wish for us to be family in every universe.

[thatasianstereotype]

Father, This Is Your Future Son-In-Law.

A short little side companion fic to my Adrien x Damian series. 

First: Fuck. I’m Gay. 

Second: Damn, You’re Looking Fine. 

Third: Shit. I Got To Deal With This Bitch (Again).

I’m still working on the fourth and final part of the series (it won’t be as long of a wait as Part 3). But I wanted to write how the Batfam reacted to their youngest suddenly getting a boyfriend while abroad. 

Creative liberties were taken. Also, this is a crack writing. 

The Demon Spawn who has gotten better at not attacking people at first sight but still just tolerates people. And his holier-than-thou attitude is still there with his love for throwing insults around like free candy. 

This is the kid that manages to snag a pure cinnamon roll sunshine as a boyfriend?

This angry grumpy child? 

Needless to say, the Batfam is in disbelief.

.

.

.

“What?” Bruce thought that the Teen Titans mission in Europe was done. “Why do you want to stay in Paris longer? Is something wrong?”

“No Father. I have simply found someone I wish to court. I will be spending time in Paris to see how best to present myself as an exceptional suitor that is all. Give my regards to Grayson that I will be missing Family Night but that I will make it up by introducing him to his future brother-in-law soon.” 

Bruce was too much in shock to answer when Damian hung up. 

“DICK!” 

“I think it’s cute that Dami is getting a boyfriend.” 

“Dick, you oblivious and naive child, you are completely missing the point.” 

Dick rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m pretty sure Damian isn’t actually going to marry someone right now.”

“He said ‘future brother-in-law’ inferring that this courtship he wants to initiate will end in a wedding.” 

“I think you are reading too much into this, B.” 

“And you are not reading enough. Have I taught you nothing at all?

“You taught me paranoia.” 

“I taught you to be prepared for every kind of situation.”

“Pretty sure the possibility of your 17-year-old son getting hitched in Paris can be ruled out.” 

“Where did I go wrong with you?” 

And Dick rolled his eyes once again at Bruce’s dramatic-ness. This. This is where Damian gets it from. 

.

Ever the peace keeper in this dysfunctional trainwreck of a family, Dick managed to stop Bruce from flying to Paris. But much to their frustrations (even Dick’s who wanted to know who captured his baby bro’s heart), Damian did not tell them the name of his potential boyfriend. 

.

All in all, Damian spent about two months and a half in Paris before coming back home to Gotham. And the Batfam could see a difference right away. 

Damian was happy. He smiled (it was a little one but it had Dick squealing in joy) more and he was more tolerate of his brothers and schoolmates. 

“We should’ve shipped him off to Paris earlier if he comes back like this.” 

Tim was still staring at Damian like he was an alien. The demon spawn still insulted him every other day but hasn’t threatened to kill him at all since he came back. No ripping out his intestines to feed to the vultures or throwing him off a building for the rats to feast on. It was nice. Although a little part of him felt slightly unnerving. He doesn’t have any contingency plans involving a Nice!Damian. 

Dick shook his head fondly at his little brother, taking away his coffee full of too much caffeine and replacing it with decaf. He has truly ascended to motherhood. “Well, I think it’s nice that Little D found love.”

“In the city of love. Is no one paying attention to that part?” Jason munched on one of Alfred’s cookies. “Cause I think that’s hilarious. I thought Baby Bat would’ve choked on all the happiness and bright clean air there.”

Dick whacked his arm. “Stop being mean to Dami.”

“But Dickie. It’s how I show affection.” 

.

Adrien Agreste was the son of the supervillain Hawk Moth that have terrorizing Paris for the last 3 years. Batman was not at all pleased to hear that the Parisian heroes called for help and the Justice League turned them away. People have paid for that. Dearly. 

“So his mom’s dead and his dad’s a criminal?” Jason looked over Bruce’s shoulder at the BatComputer. “Kid’ll fit right in with our family. Demon sure knows how to pick them.”

“Hnn.” Bruce grunted. 

“I mean with you dating Selina, a notorious thief and doing the thing with Talia, a very dangerously lethal assassin, it’s no wonder where your son got his taste from.” 

“Jason.” Bruce grunted in a warning tone. 

“I mean when I’m right, I’m right.”

.

“Ok.” Tim started off tonight’s Family Meeting (excluding Damian), the topic being one certain ex-assassin’s love interest. “Looking further into the Agreste kid shows he clearly did not take after his villainous dad. He is one of Paris’ teenage models and have a huge fanbase dedicated to how pure and sweet he is. He is a literal walking ray of sunshine.” 

“How the fuck did that sunshine child tame our literal feral demon brother?” Jason said. Always the VIP asking the important questions here.

Tim actually had an answer for that. He pulled out several charts and data on his laptop and showed it to the others. “Looking further into Adrien, I have found evidence that he is the cat-themed superhero Chat Noir. Being a loveable and touch-starved kitten appealed to the demon brat’s almost non-existent affections.” 

“Timmy, Dami is capable of love.” Dick said in a disappointed voice. 

“I said almost non-existent, didn’t I?” Tim waved the Mom’s disappointment away. “But you guys have got to see this.” 

He pulled up a video of Chat Noir and Ladybug on the big screen. They watched him using his signature move: cataclysm. No one spoke for a few minutes as they processed the sheer destructive powers of the hero.

“You know what.” Jason broke the silence. “I have no more questions. I can kind of see how Agreste is the demon’s type.” 

What baby assassin wouldn’t be turned on by the literal godly destructive powers the baby kitten held in his hands? 

Dick, the only one wanting to keep things semi-PG here, smacked the back of his head. 

.

“Baby brother.” Cass greeted. She is back home from her Hong Kong trip and heard all about the famous Adrien Agreste. She thought it was adorable and that Adrien and Damian made a cute couple. 

“Hello, Cassandra.” 

She peered down at the list he was currently making. She gestured towards it with a confused look. 

“I am compiling a list of tasks that needs to be done before my Chaton and new sister-in-law come to Gotham. Only the best for them after all. 

Her eyes lit up. “New sister?”

“Yes. My mon amour’s sister will be our new one.” He pulled out a picture of her on his phone for Cass to see. “Her name is Marinette and she will be a fine addition to the family.” 

“Baby sister.” Cass said happily. She was always up for new family members. 

“Yes. I imagine you two will get along the best.” 

But she couldn’t help but notice that with all the preparations he is making, even if it is for his boyfriend and new sister, is a bit —how would Steph say it?— overkill. 

Her coal black eyes were sharp as she observed his body language. “You very serious on this. Why?” 

He can never hide anything from his sister. “I wish for them to have a good impression of our family so that their family will not be disincline to reject my proposal for marriage.”

“Marriage?” She was still quite unfamiliar with some words in English. 

“It means that you will be getting another brother too.” 

.

“We will wed.” 

Dick hasn’t even finished his cereal yet. He looked over at Damian’s serious expression. “Did you even ask him yet?” 

“I will present myself as an extraordinary suitor that he will be more inclined to say yes when I ask.” 

“At least you’re treating your man right.”

Damian took offense. “Why wouldn’t I treat my mon amour with anything but the upmost respect and love?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Little D. I’m just glad you’re in a good relationship and from what I can see, Adrien adores you very much.”

Damian smiled. “I adore my Chaton a great deal as well. Would you like to come with me to pick out a ring?

Dick could just hear Bruce’s voice in his head saying he shouldn’t be encouraging this. But come on, this was his baby brother who grew up learning how to hurt people finding a precious loving relationship for himself and he will be damned if he doesn’t support this. 

“Of course. I’ll be honored to help.”

His baby brother brightened before he launched into a rant. 

“I’m having trouble finding the perfect gem to complement his eyes. They are a certain shade of forest green you see. And many jewelry stores do me a great disservice by not having that certain shade or having utterly appalling quality for what my Chaton deserves.” 

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@iglowinggemma28 @iz-bell-saiah @nach0ava @roselynfey @mochinek0 @wannajointhecrabcult

[egelantier]

Yuletide Recs

Having had two days of more or less nothing but reading fics, I come bearing recs!

First of all, my amazing gifts:

The Goblin Emperor

For Thy Principles

The nohecharei of Edrehasivar VII were unparalleled in their defense of his person, but there were limits to even their prowess. When Maia first developed the fever, Cala quickly determined that it was not the end result of a magically-based assassination attempt – and from there it had to be left to the court physicians.

Maia falls ill, and Csethiro protects him as best she can.

Beautifully gentle Maia sickfic, with Csethiro holding him together. For me all for meeee.

Benjamin January Mysteries

Dry as a Bone

“Oh. Well, I’ve been better, maestro, been a hell of a lot better to tell truth.” Shaw stared at him for a long moment, and he was stunned to see honest to God grief in his eyes. Even when Shaw had just lost his brother he had been so much more himself than this lost man currently standing before him. “Not that I mean to put anything extra on your shoulders, I’m sure you’ve got enough of your own shit going on at present moment, but it seems like I’ve just lost my job.”

Shaw loses his job, and finally confronts Ben about trust (and lack thereof) between them. It’s GREAT.

The Tarot Sequence - K.D. Edwards

A Distraction Worth Losing

They may never be together, but the gods would have to move heaven and earth to split Rune and Brand apart.

Brand, Rune and The Kiss incident. (Poor messed up babies, somebody save them.)

And fics of the collection:

17776, Astreiant, Raksura, Frederica, The Gentlemen, The Goblin Emperor, Hades, Innkeeper Chronicles, Jeeves, Kate Daniels, King Arthur the movie, My Next Life as a Villainess, Nirvana in Fire, No. 6, Psmith, The Secret Garden, The Sleuth of Ming Dynasty, Swordspoint, The Tarot Sequence, Teixcalaan Series, The Temple of the White Rat verse

17776: What Football Will Look Like in the Future

so far, so fast

When Manny gets a craving for some fancy meal he had once, over ten thousand years ago, Nick decides he’s gonna fulfill that craving, no matter how hard it is. Because real romance is about making the impossible happen for his husband.

Goddamn transcendental.

Go Get It

Sometimes you start out just planning to get some groceries with your husband, and next thing you know, you’re committing to join the most hopeless team in college football.

Nick and Manny decide to play. It’s perfect.

Afterlife

A young man dies six months before the end of human death; his loss saves five lives, which end up much longer than anyone expects. (A series of worldbuilding vignettes about original characters in the 17776 setting.)

Made me cry, in a very cathartic way.

Astreiant Series - Melissa Scott & Lisa A. Barnett

April dressed in all his trim

A quiet evening in spring.

Sweet little slice-of-life with lovely sensory details.

Books of the Raksura

The Second Consort

“When Glow arrives, be friendly and welcoming,” Ember said. “Not scary.”

“Why does everyone think I’m going to scare him?”

Chime said, “They can see your face when you look at him.” He paused, glancing over at Moon. “That face, that’s the one.”

Ember sighed. “I remember being in his position. It’s pretty nerve-wracking coming to a new court and not knowing what’s going to happen to you there - whether they’re going to welcome you or shun you, whether you’ll make new friends, whether a queen is going to claim you…” He came and put a sympathetic hand on Moon’s shoulder. “Glow is probably worried about all of those things, and missing his home and clutchmates, and it’s our job to try and help him relax.” For a moment Moon thought he was just being soft-hearted, until Ember added, “He won’t open up and tell us what’s really going on unless he’s relaxed.”

Jade takes in a new consort, on Moon’s permission, and everybody is delightfully adult about it.

Frederica

Lady Alverstoke

Frederica commences her first Season as a married woman by planning a ball, promising most straitly that her husband will have nothing whatsoever to do …

Sweet and funny slice-of-life post-happy-ending for canon.

**The Gentlemen (2019) **

Even

The week after he intercepts Fletcher, that squirrelly little cunt, outside the London Miramax office, Raymond reluctantly ventures down to Brixton.

Under normal circumstances, Raymond tends to give this part of Brixton a wide berth, but he has unfinished business that needs attending to. Of course, that doesn’t mean he has to like being accosted by the overwhelming smell of greasy fish and chips when he pushes the car door open, doesn’t mean he has to be pleased about stepping into a piece of chewed-up gum the moment he sets a foot on the kerb.

But then, he can always take a shower after an errand in Brixton. The deep-seated discomfort of unfinished business doesn’t wash off that easily.

Raymond tries to pay Coach back for saving his life, and it doesn’t quite go as planned :D

The Goblin Emperor

The Archduke’s Discovery

Prince Nemolis goes on a journey, and learns a bit more than he wanted to know.

Really great point of canon divergence, and true and precise character voices.

Hades

all the spaces between us

For a place full of the dead, crammed with ghostly shades and nothing but the endless lull of eternity unchanging, gossip sure travelled fast in the Underworld.

Or, Zagreus mulls over his relationship with Thanatos while the rest of the Underworld get overly invested.

Slow, slow, slowest of burns.

Innkeeper Chronicles - Ilona Andrews

A Quick Trip

“It’ll be a quick trip,” Maud said, more to herself than to Arland. “No one will even notice we’re gone.”

Pirates are plaguing an ally, just outside of vampire space. Maud and Arland don some aesthetically beat-up armor and try to get more information from the pirates themselves. Of course, plans only last until you meet your enemy. Or your enemy’s giant alien attack boar.

Excellent canon voice, action/adventure sprinkled with badassery and hilarity.

Jeeves & Wooster

August Thirteenth

Discovering that this is not the first August thirteenth that he’s lived through, that certainly was a head scratcher. Luckily Bertie has the stalwart presence of his man’s man, Jeeves.

Very, very great and satisfying use of the time loop.

Kate Daniels - Ilona Andrews

lookin’ like a snack (cake)

It took Barabas a while to figure it out, because he wasn’t used to not being taken seriously.

Barabas considered several ways to phrase it, and finally settled upon, “Do you have a thing for twinks?” Christopher knocked his head back against the headrest: once, then again. “Is that a yes?”

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)

When Goosefat Bill finds himself in a difficult situation, the last thing he wants is the King to show up and “help”, in his own unique and unexpected way.

Goosefat Bill does not need to be rescued by his King. But he might just enjoy it a little.

My Next Life as a Villainess (Anime)

All I Have To Bring Today

Catarina and Sophia had been discussing the latest in the Devilish Count series, and Sophia had mentioned how romantic the surprise picnic the count had planned for his lover was and how she wished for someone to surprise her like that.

“What about you, Catarina? Have you ever wished for someone to sweep you off your feet?” Sophia had asked.

Catarina makes a choice! As sweet and as hilarious as the canon.

Nirvana in Fire

Adverse Event

What a pitiful man must he have become, if the only thing he could provoke in bed was a monologue on his character flaws.

: or, the famous strategist mei changsu plays xanatos speed chess against truth serum: the fic.

Mei Changsu gets hit with an accidental truth serum; it doesn’t stop him from lying to himself, but it does buy Jingyan a clue.

Records of the Land of Xiang

There was something of Xiao Jingyan there, in the firmness of his jaw, the unforgiving slash of his brows, and most clearly in the eyes that neither saw nor conveyed deception. But Long Zhan was not Jingyan, could never be, no matter how much Changsu might wish otherwise, because Jingyan was dead.

In service to a very-much-alive Prince Qi, Jingyan dons a Jianghu-typical disguise and infiltrates the Jiangzuo Alliance to suss out this Mei Changsu fellow and see if he might be useful in helping them re-open the Chiyan conspiracy case. Basically, a slightly ridiculous premise where everyone is running around the Jianghu with masks, multiple identities, and secret agendas.

Fascinating and fun AU scenario that delves, among other things, into Mei Changsu the jianghu chef, not Sir Su the court schemer.

suffering as I suffer you

The first time Jingyan stays the night at Su Manor, he discovers an uncomfortable truth about Mei Changsu.

Excellent extrapolation of Mei Changsu’s illness into his nightly routine - with Jingyan watching…

Here, In Our Arms

With the world put to rights, however briefly, Xiao Jingyan and Mu Nihuang take the opportunity to make a fuss over their beloved Lin Shu, and will not take no for an answer.

Sweet moment of comfort.

Find the Coals Amid the Ashes

Despite Changsu’s assertions, Lin Chen is a well brought up person. He would never violate his host’s privacy during a social call. It would be inexcusable, for example, to break into a marquis’s private alchemy lab in the middle of said marquis’s birthday party, in order to search said alchemy lab for certain hard to find medicinal herbs, which one has reason to believe can be found therein. These would be the actions of a man without honour, of a man who has only desperation to his name.

Lin Chen crashes a party and makes a new friend.

The best team up ever :D

Dead Letters

Mei Changsu isn’t the only schemer in Da Liang.

Fei Liu fixes things, in the most Fei Liu way imaginable, and it’s great.

No. 6

All Good Things

In the midst of a crisis for No. 6, Nezumi returns to Shion’s side.

A reunion! And cuddling.

Psmith

The Psky Is The Limit

“As this ship’s Orator, my mission is still as it was in the beginning and shall ever be, world without end. It is to hail any message sent by comrades from outer space and pass it on to you verbatim. Well! The hour, I say, has come. The Word has come into being. Here comes Psmith, bearing news of great mirth: the intercom has spoken.”

(A Mike and Psmith Space AU)

Psmith in space! Hysterically funny Psmith in Pspace, at that.

Psmith Pops In

Psmith reached over and solicitously loosened Mike’s scarf, his fingers brushing the skin of Mike’s neck, and that young man, to his horror, felt heat creeping up from where gloved fingers brushed his bare skin. Really, this blushing nonsense was getting out of hand. Ever since Psmith had tried to take the blame in the case of the painted dog, Mike had developed an inexplicable habit of turning hot and cold around him, and these odd responses had become more and more frequent.

Very funny! And then very tragique! And then jussssst right.

The Secret Garden

The Space Garden

When Meri La Nix was sent from the Mars colony to live with her aunt at Missiles Wait Manor, nobody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. But some of them thought it.

Beautifully inventive space retelling - with gardens, still.

The Sleuth of Ming Dynasty

The sky spinning above him

In which there’s a jewellery thief on the loose, Tang Fan plays dress up, gets a mild concussion and also a boyfriend.

Frothy, sweet, well-grounded and hot. Also hilarious (check the end note!)

truth in fiction

Three days after Wang Zhi leaves the capital, bits and pieces of his extensive library begin arriving at Sui Zhou’s house.

Sui Zhou is really committed to research and accuracy in Tang Fan’s porn. It’s delightful.

Time don’t fool me no more

“The electrician is a Tang dynasty spy,” he says, dumping some of his eggs in Tang Fan’s bowl.

Tang Fan nods, shovels more food in his mouth, and starts talking again.

Past or future, Tang Fan has Priorities. And Sui Zhou is weak.

Meeting at the End

Sui Zhou knew he never should have let Tang Fan go alone. He knew he should have gone with him.

Really, really great and desperate whump. Super satisfying.

clever boy

Tang Fan never spares a smile for any of the girls at Wang Zhi’s establishment, he’s noticed. That’s alright, though. It means Wang Zhi gets his attention for himself.

Wang Zhi falling, falling hard; it’s delightful.

a bold and brilliant sun

“You’re sure you didn’t do something to it? They don’t usually stall out,” Sui Zhou says. He looks away from Tang Fan, out the windshield at the endless rust-red of the planet.

Tang Fan pouts at this, and slumps down on the edge of the console, feet propped up at an absurd angle against the pilot’s seat. “You think I’d fake a mechanical issue just so that they’d send a sexy Fleet crewman out here to rescue me?” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he giggles. “Okay, I would do that, but I promise that this time the problem is real.”

Space AU! Most excellent space AU condensing all there is to love about the canon in one perfect package.

Blind Taste Test

Wang Zhi invites Tang Fan to evaluate Joyous Brothel’s chefs — but it’s Tang Fan and Sui Zhou who are really being tested.

Wang Zhi, ever helpful :)

Authorial Intent

Sui Zhou and Tang Fan end up in hot water yet again. Kinky sex ensues.

Hilarious, kinky, heartfelt, and in character.

Swordspoint Series - Ellen Kushner

Chrysopoeia

It struck Alec that this would have been much easier if their positions were reversed. Richard would have known what to do if he’d been dragged back here with a hole in his gut. He was quite simply not supposed to be the one on this end of the equation. In fact, it was possible he had done something very bad to deserve this.

Richard is wounded, and Alex is coping. Excellent h/c and excellent bloodplay and sharp, painful slice of Alex’ POV, excellently rendered.

At first — this was just like him — he thought he was hearing god. But it was only the man in the bed, whose face had turned toward him on the ragged pillow.

The Tarot Sequence - K.D. Edwards

Third’s a Charm

Addam asks a favor of Brand.

Addam asks Brand for help, which ends up being exactly what Brand and Rune need.

Pretty good

Five times Brand crawls into Rune’s bed and one time Rune crawls into Brand’s.

Brand and Rune, through the years.

Teixcalaan Series - Arkady Martine

Also in the Act of Reaching

When Three Seagrass arrived at Lsel Station, she was, officially at least, traveling as a private personage. She had missed Mahit and the possibilities they’d both chosen to turn away from. She also had– would always have– a gaping hole in her life where Petal had once stood.

It was simply that, left on her own, Three Seagrass wouldn’t have let either absence drag her to the ass-end of beyond.

Reunion, metaphors and realigment. Subtle and clever and just right.

The (concept of the) World Was Wide Enough

Yskandr Aghavn comes to the world like a drowning man comes to shore, but he is living on borrowed time. Teixcalaan has so many wonderful things to choke on.

Teixcalaan has had his heart for all of his life, has elevated him, corrupted him, and discarded him.

It is Lsel that he thinks of as he dies.

Temple of the White Rat Universe - T. Kingfisher

If Grace Is Too Much

Zale is given a case by Bishop Beartongue which turns out to be more complicated and personal than a holy advocate-priest would prefer.

Clever and sweet and carefully shocking, but in a very right way.

Outreach

“We don’t generally assess the… cursédness… of objects, trees or otherwise,” Beartongue said.

Utterly delightful.

[lesbianrobin]

If you had to rank all the 14 ST characters in the main group from most to least fav what would your ranking look like? (And by main group i mean the characters including murray and erica, and excluding karen, basically everybody involved in the final battle in 3x08)

ok let me preface this by saying that i literally love all of these characters i don't hate any of them okay?? let's go... ascending order for the drama!!

14. murray. no explanation needed. no offense to brett gelman he's phenomenal and i honestly think murray is really funny, but he's more or less just a plot device with some comic relief slapped on top.

now things get spicy <3

13. erica. love her to death! but she's fairly one-dimensional, once again primarily a comic relief character. maybe in s4 she'll get some more depth like the older kids have, but for now she's sort of a default next-to-last :/

12. will... no tea no shade but the kid's barely in the show! i absolutely want good things for him but like. i barely even know him. yknow? he’s only above erica bc he’s gay and she’s a capitalist. also that scene in s1 right before he gets snatched by the demogorgon when he just runs straight to the shed and grabs a goddamn shotgun and loads it fully ready to defend himself... that shit slapped good for him!!

11. this Will be controversial among some and i Know this character is many people's favorite... if you follow me already this is probably not going to surprise you but. nancy. i just think her character is kind of inconsistent, so i have a hard time really clicking with her :/ sometimes i love her and i think she's so cool and funny and hot (that hospital scene in s3... my GOD what a badass!) and other times i would like to fistfight her.

also let me get this out of the way right now: i'm aware that jonathan's character is ALSO super inconsistent!! i know okay??? i know!!!! please nobody judge me for how high rat boy gets on this ranking okay i'm literally making this up as i go along so idk if he's next or if he's like in the top five but i have a disease called Unreasonably Invested In Wildly Speculative Meta-Analysis Of Stranger Things which makes it impossible for me to be normal about jonathan and this is my ranking so i pick the bad taste!!!

10. joyce! i love her bro she's MOM and she tries so fucking hard all the goddamn time and she's so STRONG and kind and adorable... joyce is honestly a very unique and refreshing character ESPECIALLY if you’re considering stranger things within the horror genre which is often defined by these very specific archetypes of mothers and motherhood that i can get into if anyone is interested but like basically. love her <3

9. dustin <3 what an icon... i love him i love how he straight up killed a man and hardly flinched because it was to protect his friends and i love how he and his little girlfriend have a song they sing together and i love how he either has an insanely warped perspective on things due to low self-esteem or he just sometimes flatout lies to gain sympathy either way he’s a BABY and he’s so FUNNY and KIND and even when he’s scared he keeps going... ugh god and i love how even when he doubts his friends’ devotion to him he NEVER ever questions his devotion to them and he never ever considers leaving them behind or not stepping up to help them... he’s so brave!

8. mike is such a fucking BITCH but even more than that he is an ANGEL... literally his range who is doing it like him??? nobody!!!! graffiti’d the bathroom stall at school... hates cops.... what a legend. also i like how fucking goofy and dumb his hair looks in s3. also he’s very soft with his friends and it makes me cry. ALSO he literally stepped off a fucking CLIFF he was ready to DIE FOR DUSTIN and i know all the kids have risked their lives for each other but this wasn’t even a monster yknow this was just... bullies.... threatening his friend..... and mike couldn’t fucking let it happen bro he was ready to just step off the edge to keep dustin safe and it’s SO MUCH... and god the kindness he showed el when they first met!!! he’s a total angel and a total shithead and it’s amazing.

7. lucas my tiny baby hero.... he’s so strong and cool and capable yet at the same time he’s such a COMPLETE dork!!! he very seriously believes his slingshot wrist rocket is a lethal weapon and then he ACTUALLY USES IT AS A LETHAL WEAPON TO SAVE HIMSELF AND HIS FRIENDS!!! he hacks off a giant monster’s freaky tentacle arm thing with an axe to save his friend AND he keeps a bunch of action figures and random dice on his bedside table bro he just thinks they’re neat!!! like... i genuinely love him so much god he cares so much about his friends and he’s so brave and smart and loving... i know he is not tiny anymore but he is my tiny baby hero okay...

6. hopper! big man care for little girl... protect and love kids... dance to dad music... be goofy and hot... have trauma.... admit his faults and attempt to grow from them.... what's not to love?

5. jonathan... look i can’t explain it except that he loves his goddamn baby brother so much and i’m a sucker with extensive headcanons alright!

4. el!!! feral little darling girl!!! i literally cannot articulate the love that floods my heart whenever i see her face or think about her for too long she’s just... so strong but more than that she’s so incredibly KIND!! when she has every reason to be selfish and cruel and yeah at times she does let herself get a little mean but on the whole she’s always so goddamn kind and loving and selfless no matter how afraid she is or how she’s hurting... and i hope that with her powers gone in s4 she’ll maybe learn how to see herself as more than a tool to protect those she loves yknow but that’s off topic skdncmn i just think that el is such an incredible character with such depth!! she can be so grave and mature yet she’s still such an innocent child at the same time, and i think that both the writing and mbb’s acting are handled such that both of these things WORK and feel real and they make el (and her trauma) so believable. i just love her to death.

3. robin, light of my lesbian little life!! unfortunately she's wayyy too much like me to snag the top spot lmao. maybe once we get another season with her she’ll trample the competition but for now my baby is in a solid third place <3 i’ve never seen a lesbian on screen who i felt so accurately represented me and my experiences!! she feels so real and in just one season she’s become one of my favorites on the whole show, and i cannot fucking wait to see what else we learn about her and what development we see from her in s4. 

2. as u may have guessed... max!! i know i said this was my subjective opinion but here i’ll just say it: max is objectively one of the best characters on the show. she’s so strong and funny and quick on her feet while harboring some real pain and insecurity at the same time, and both of these aspects of her character are married perfectly, logically connecting to one another and joining with sadie’s incredible acting to create an amazing character who feels just... so real!! i absolutely adore her and i CONSTANTLY tear up just from thinking about her skdncmn...

1. what if my number one wasn't steve. like can y'all imagine???? if i just said like will or some shit???? genuinely i did consider giving max or robin top billing here but i just Can't i've dedicated too goddamn much of my life to steve harrington to deny that he's my one and only. is there anything to say that hasn't already been said? look at the bitch. just look at him. 

what other answer could there be?

[sabraeal]

Desert & Reward, Chapter 10

[Read on AO3]

There’s someone in his room.

The windows are shut against the night air-- Yori, and by that he means Morel, has ideas about air flow and general health that he can’t wait for Miss to hear-- but a faint whisper skates across the stillness. It’s not his own breath; that’s been trapped in his chest since he flinched awake, fully conscious of the shade lingering in the shadows.

How gauche to kill a groom before his wedding night. Everyone knows corpses are only fashionable when found fresh on their marital bed.

But style is the least of his concerns right now. With a conscious effort, every tense muscle eases, his limbs flopping out like a limp starfish. Miss might complain about his sprawl after spending a cold night curled at the edge of the bed, but it was the perfect posture to imply a solid, dead to the world sort of unconsciousness.

There’s only one way to really sell this perfect deception: a snore. Not a dainty, fake one, oh no, but a wall-rattling, chest-and-throat-involved extravaganza of sound. There, obnoxious and oblivious: the perfect victim.

The sound of rustling cloth is muted beneath his act, but Obi hasn’t lasted this long by being a slouch in the perception department. His hand slithers under the pillow, clasping his fingers around a hilt. He hopes his murderer is enjoying the show; it’ll be the last thing they ever see, after all.

“My lord.”

Obi winces. That’s-- that’s much closer than he would have thought. His grip tightens, back tensing--

“My lord,” his attacker whispers again, beleaguered. “Get up.”

“Yori?” His eyes slit open, the dark room viewed from behind the cage of his lashes, and-- ah, there. Yori, his hair oddly askew, shirt glowing white in the dim. Ah, what did he always say? Assassins and domestics.

Obi rolls over, blinks. His valet is half-dressed. “Did you get in a fight?”

“A--? No, my lord.” He sighs, straightening from his servile crouch. “If my lord would be so kind, I’d feel better if you weren’t poised to attack me with cutlery.”

His grip loosens, blade dropping back to it’s place on the mattress. “It’s not cutlery.”

“Well, it’d certainly be more at home in a kitchen than the bedroom,” his valet huffs, hands wrapping around his hips. Mrs Carre will be so pleased to know he was getting a proper scolding even out of her care. “If you’re plan to keep that habit back home, then I’m going to start asking for hazard pay.”

He makes a sound half laugh, half snort, and entirely derisive. “Ah, come on. It’s not like it’s a new...”

His well of words dries up as Yori stares at him, head cocked and curious, arms crossed like a mother waiting for a weak explanation, and--

He hasn’t at Cacciatore. Purposefully, at first; there’s no better way to root out a traitor than to play into the expectation of a hapless lord. But then...

Well, the bedside drawer is just as good a hiding place as a pillow. One the maids were less likely to find, at least. Lili would take a discovery like that with her usual aplomb-- in his experience, Tanbarun made their ladies particlarly unflappable-- but any of the others...

Well, he could only imagine the sort of dressing down he’d get if one of Mrs Carre’s girls cut themselves changing the linen. He might be lord of the manor, but Obi’s under no illusions about whose house he lives in.

“What time is it?” He squints toward the widows. It’s impossible to tell; night’s faded from black to a thick blue, but his room faces west, not east.

“Early,” Yori replies, shirty. “You need to get up.”

Obi groans, throwing his arm over his eyes. If he closes them now, he might have a chance of slipping back into sleep. “We’re in the city, Yori. We keep city hours.”

“I understand, sir, but however--”

He rolls over, burying his face in the pillow. “Wake me up when breakfast is here.”

Yori heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Although there’s nothing I would like more than being able to ignore my duty and return to bed, my lord, there’s a message for you.”

“It’ll keep.”

“Sir--”

He opens a single, dubious eye. “Is something on fire, Yori?”

“No, but--”

“Then it can wait until morning.”

That should be the end of the conversation; it always was when he tried to pester Master-- Zen into action in the wee hours. But instead Yori shuffles, put-out, at the edge of the bed. “It’s from the gate, my lord.”

Obi’s never been one for pulling rank-- it stuck him as a little uppity to expect sirs and milords when he’d been dragged out of the gutter-- but oh, he’s tempted to now. If even the gate guards think they can rouse him in the middle of the night on a whim, it seems prudent to cultivate at least an inkling of noble bearing. “And?”

“Someone’s waiting for you.”

They take the servant’s corridors; the palace’s halls might be empty this time of night-- or morning-- but these are what Obi knows best. He might have a title now, but back in those days, he’d been an up-jumped gutter rat. Even with his shiny messenger tag, the court rested a little easier if the riffraff didn’t sully their air by breathing it.

It’s an advantage now; with no guards to ask their their business, they’ll make better time. From chambers to Starlight and back again, in bed before he can lose his beauty sleep.

“I hope you are aware, my lord--” if only Yori could teach him how to infuse so much derision into a title, Obi would die a happy, if thoroughly stabbed, man-- “that a man of proper breeding would submit to the whole of their toilette before even thinking of stepping foot out of their--”

“You got this robe on me.” A testament to Yori’s powers of persuasion, considering what an eyesore it is. “Don’t push your luck.”

“A banyan is the least you could do.” The crisp cut of his words channels every last stuffy inch of Mr Morel. “You might as well be walking around in your drawers.”

“Aw, come on.” He grins, letting the robe gape; even the peep of pajama brings a frown to Yori’s face. “You know better than anyone that I don’t wear any.”

His valet could teach a master class on sighs. “For someone so devoted to their line of their trouser, you might wear ones where it matters.”

He clucks his tongue. “And ruin the mystery?”

Something utterly intriguing ripples across Yori’s face, pinching his mouth and furrowing his brow, leaving him more Morel than man. “My lord, the trappings of the court may not suit you, but I beg you to concede to at least some form of propriety.”

He glances back at him, waggling his brows. “And why would I do that?”

“Your wife.”

Ah, now that stops him dead in his tracks. “My...?”

Yori squeezes a steeling breath through his nose. “It may have escaped you, my lord, but you are going to marry in the morning.”

All at once, he’s aware of how much his body aches. Last night-- no, only hours ago-- is...foggy, blurred by the patina of alcohol, but he could never forget the warm weight of Miss on his back, of the sweet way she clung to him as they flew through the air-- nor the sickening crack his bones made on that landing. Miss may be light, but unlike snow banks, balconies are hell on the knees.

Miss, who he was only carrying because she was too drunk to walk. Who was only drunk because she’d been at a hen party. Who was only at a hen party because it was being thrown in her honor. An honor she only had because she was due to get married in the morning. The same wedding he’d be having because they were marrying each other.

He needs a minute. A long one. His death grip on the wainscoting isn’t going to be enough to hold him. “It is morning.”

Yori’s mouth pulls thin; not the way Morel’s can, but close enough. “When it is more morning.”

There’s no blush of dawn linger at the horizon, only the mist of its breath, but oh, that is...more than enough. His Majesty sprung this impossibility on him only days ago, and now--

Well, he’d better enjoy his bachelorhood while he can. In a few short hours, he’ll be Miss’s ball and chain.

“And to a margravine,” Yori continues, sulkily keeping pace. “I know you’re content to hide away in the country for the rest of your life, my lord--” a lie, if Obi ever heard one-- “but your wife’ll want to keep a presence at court.”

He tries to picture it, tries to think of Miss weighed down by a dress so bejeweled it practically has its own economy, wearing a courtly mask for every occasion, talking of nothing but the latest fashion or the most shocking scandal and not hating every minute of it--

But it’s impossible. Tanbarun’s king can slap a title on her, but not even Master could make her enjoy it. She might come when a crown calls, but they’ll be prying her out from between the pages of a book.

Yori’ll learn all that soon enough. Or he would, if Miss came to live at Cacciatore. Which she wouldn’t; no reason to halt all her actual, important work for a fake marriage that’ll be nothing more than ashes in the pan in a handful of years anyway.

But Yori doesn’t know that-- can’t know that, if he wants to keep Miss away from whatever plans Tanbarun has for her. So he lets his mouth tilt, lets a sly smile creep up the curve of his jaw. The first rule of being a good gambler is never telling a man when he puts his money on the wrong bird. “You don’t say?”

“Of course I do.” His valet glances at him, cheeks puffed and brows bent, and tells him with all the undue confidence only an umarried man could, “If you’re to be married, sir, you might learn about the wants of women.”

He doesn’t laugh. When all this is over, His Majesty should put a medal on his chest for it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Yori.” Obi blinks, eyes adjusting the the brilliant flare of the lamps. “This isn’t Starlight.”

His valet sighs. “No, my lord. It is not.”

“But you said there was a message for me--?”

“At the gate,” Yori confirms, beleaguered. “Poet’s gate.”

Obi would rather die than admit it but-- he’s starting to regret the banyan. Well, he’s always regretted the banyan, but the pajamas beneath it--

Well, he’s definitely under-dressed. For whatever this is.

Not that it looks like much. A coach idles at the foot of the stair, paneled all in black, but the rest of the courtyard is empty. Well, save for the swarm of footmen buzzing around, combing the carriage for every last hair of the lord that abandoned it. What sort of sadist arrives in the wee hours, Obi can’t say, but he’s glad all their wedding guests are accounted for, otherwise--

The door shuts, and there, staring him dead in the eye, is the horned hind of Forenzo.

“Obi!” Long limbs flail out from the swarm, and in the first blush of dawn, one of the footmen resolves into more inches than sense.

“Suzu?” He tries to tell himself to walk forward, but his legs stall numbly beneath him. The past three days have felt like a dream-- a nightmare, really-- but the sort he can control, the kind he can choose to wake up from.

“What...?” A foxish face looms just over him, grinning lazily. Suzu’s here now, and it’s all suddenly real. “What are you doing here?”

“I came with Lata,” he says, as if that explains anything. “He had an invitation.”

“Right.” Of course he did; not that Obi had ever expected him to use it. “But what are you doing here?”

“Oh, well, we figured if he was coming, we should go too.” One large hand sweeps over the ill-fitting Forenzo livery. “So here I am.”

Obi blinks. “And Lata just...let you?”

“Oh, no. Definitely not.” He shrugs, sending arms everywhere. “He told us it would be a cold day in Yuris before he let a single one of us show up as his plus one.”

That sounds right, at least. “Mmhm.”

“So we played roshambo for it,” Suzu continues, “and I told him I’d be his servant or whatever.”

“And that...worked?” Maybe this was all still a dream. It’s following the same sort of logic, at least.

“Yeah! Actually--” Suzu rubs at his chin, just the way Shidan does, only with far less reason or facial hair-- “he seemed happy not to have to go and interview people for it.”

That made sense, at least.

“You’re Lord Forenzo’s valet?”

Suzu glances up, blinking at where his own stands, just three steps up from where they’re talking. “Yeah, that sounds like what he said.”

Yori, for his part, looks politely horrified. Obi can’t blame him; Suzu doesn’t give off the air of being in charge of himself, let alone another person, especially one expected to participate in a toilette of some kind.

Still, that’s not the part that bothers him, personally. “But why?”

“Well--” Suzu sucks in a breath, hands hooking around his hips like Yuzuri does right before she lays into him-- “my guess would be his complete lack of social skills--”

“No, not that.” He doesn’t exactly need a primer on Lata Forenzo being a misanthrope. “I mean why did you bother going through all that trouble?”

Obi’s come face to face with a fox once, years ago now. He’d been doing the long walk of shame that came from country kills, no trees to help him along and no reason to hurry back to his cramped quarters, when two foxes darted across his path. Or at least one did, scurrying across into the long grass in a rusty streak. The other--

The other sat there, right in front of him, one paw raised. Like he couldn’t be seen if he didn’t move. Or maybe that the scarecrow staring down at him couldn’t attack as long as he kept him in his sight. Obi had to turn his back before the thing dared to dart away, and only once his friend let out an eerie whimper.

But for that moment, amber burned into gold, and the gulf between human and fox seemed so, infinitesimally small--

Well, it’s what he thinks of as Suzu stares at him, those sharp angles of his cheeks limned in the dawn’s light.

“C’mon.” Suzu’s mouth curls into a sure smile, one fist tapping him on the shoulder. “The best man can’t miss the wedding.”

“Ah...” Obi rubs at the back of his head. “About that...”

“Prince Zen is Marquis Conti’s best man,” Yori offers, strangely bitter. “You know, the second prince.”

Obi cranes his neck back with a scowl. “That’s not my name.”

Yori, with not a contrite bone in his body, says, “Apologies, my lord.”

Obi turns back, a much more sincere apology brewing behind his teeth, but Suzu is too busy frowning over his shoulder to appreciate it. “Who is this guy?”

“Ah...” Obi had left Lyrias with a jaunty wave and a promise to be back before the next snow; he’d thought that a royal reward consisted of a fancy title and some cash, a quick trip down to sweat in the capital before coming back to freeze at the castle.

And then, well--

“I am my lord’s personal valet,” Yori informs him, giving Suzu’s slapdash livery a perusal that could only be described as scathing.

“Oh!” Suzu’s mouth parts in a grin that usually means he’s about to get punched. “You have one of these too? Am I going to get one?”

“Ancestors forfend,” Yori mutters at the same time Obi adds, louder, “I think only lords get them.”

Suzu hums. “Well, I suppose I can’t mind being second fiddle to a guy that is, you know, a prince.”

“It’s political,” Obi assures Suzu with a grimace. “Not personal. If I ever get married for re--”

His teeth clack shut. Ah, so many months out in the country have dulled his edge. Or at least loosened his tongue.

“It’s all right, man.” Suzu’s gaze darts pointedly over his shoulder. “I’ll forgive you this time. I still get to come, right?”

Yori steps in. “The tables are already--”

“Yes.” For the first time in what feels like days, Obi actual smiles. “I’ll make sure there’s room for you.”

He deserves at least one real thing on his wedding day, after all.

“Great!” Suzu’s mouth stretches wide. “I’m famished.”

[thesassenachswiftie]

Chapter 2: “You Need To Calm Down)

Read on AO3

Summary:

Chapter 2 is here! It's time for Claire and Jamie's first fight but that also it's time for their first make-up sex. This is my first time writing Smut but @statell assures me I did a good job. If that's really not your thing (I mean you are reading OL fanfic so it probably is), it's all the big paragraph near the end and the two dialogue paragraphs after you can easily skip to the last 3 dialogue paragraphs without losing the plot. Big thanks to everyone following along on this journey and all the kudos and comments on the last chapter.

This chapter is not only inspired by "You Need to Calm Down" but also by "The Reckoning" any quotes borrowed from either of these works belong to their respective author whom I am indebted to and admire greatly.

Notes:

First of all, I’m on Twitter now @sassenachswifty.

Second of all, There was a short lived comment on AO3 about Jo's pronouns on my last chapter. I genuinely think the commenter realized their mistake and deleted it before I had a chance to respond--which is fine and good, heaven knows I've made mistakes with pronouns and felt weird and caught of guard about them and all of that. Basically they were saying the they/them pronons were not grammatically correct and were distracting to the reader. I get that, I totally do, it feels uncomfortable because we were never taught about the singular they in school and it looks/sounds weird if you're not used to it. However, the sigular they has been recognized by APA, MLA and I believe Chicago style and is, therefore grammatically correct. It's something I'm getting used to as a writer and it's something we can try to get used to as readers as we move forward into a more progressive society. Our grandkids are going to make fun of us someday for struggling with pronouns. I just wanted to say it's ok to struggle, it's not ok to dismiss (which I genuinely believe the commenter was not doing). Jo came to me as a nonbinary character, and while it is a good exercise in pronoun usage for me as an author, that is not their primary function in the story, they are there to be Claire’s friend first and foremost. They/them are Jo's pronouns and I cannot and will not call them anything else because that would be disrespectful to them. My only other option would be to use "Jo" in every instance where he/she/her/him would come up which would be annoying, repetative and frankly, bad writing. Thank you for coming to my TED talk, now on with the show!

Chapter 2: “You Need To Calm Down”

Claire awoke in Jamie’s bed early on Saturday morning.  It was graduation day, but she was definitely not walking the stage.  Still laying on her side, she picked up her phone off the nightstand and began mindlessly scrolling Facebook, stopping at a collection of photos from an end of semester happy hour the night before.  Frank was there as well as several of their mutual friends.  Were they still friends? Probably not anymore, who knows if they ever were.  Claire tapped from the photos posted by Gillian to the tag that took her to Frank’s profile.  She scrolled down his feed to see if there were any new updates. Other than the pictures, it was the same barely cryptic statuses that were clearly throwing shade her way to anyone that knew.  In a tweet? That’s a cop-out. Taking shots at me like it's Patrón, she mused to herself, recalling the pictures from the night before. Claire began swiping through Frank’s photos going back further and further.  Her and Frank in front of the house with the “sold” sign in the yard.  A candid picture she took of Frank in a coffee shop one day.  Brilliant, smiling faces of them and their friends all dressed up at their New Year’s Eve party--many of the people pictured in the photos from last night. Frank proudly standing with his arm around her, Claire beaming and angling her hand just so a few days after they got engaged.  Claire was so engrossed in these images she didn’t realize Jamie had awoken behind her.  He leaned over to plant a kiss on that spot just behind her ear, pausing when he saw what she was looking at, “Damn Sassenach, it’s seven AM for Chrissakes” he hissed.

Claire’s face flushed immediately. She had been caught.  She didn’t even know why she was doing what she was doing, but she felt ashamed, defensive, embarrassed, and justified all at once.  She swiped out of her Facebook app instantly but it was too late.  He had seen and the damage had been done. She couldn’t speak, she didn’t have any good excuses, and she definitely couldn’t turn to look at Jamie. She set the phone back down on the nightstand and burrowed her curly head under the pillow trying to avoid his gaze.  She couldn’t see his face, but she knew Jamie was watching her intently waiting for an explanation.

“Hey, are you ok? I dinna mean to snap at ye Claire, It’s just early and I dinna expect to see ye looking at pictures of your ex after what I thought was such a satisfying night. Am I not good enough for ye Claire?”  His tone started gentle and caring, but his veins were pulsing with jealous rage and his voice got more angry and frantic as he continued.  “Look at me, Claire!”

Claire didn’t like being told what to do, especially not with the newfound feminist energy Jo had ignited in her.  She hoisted herself out from her cocoon, and sprang up to face him. “I don’t have to do what you tell me to. You need, to calm down, you’re being too loud!”

 He made a distinctly Scottish noise--“Hmpph. That’s not what ye said last night Sassenach” he growled.  He couldn’t help flirting with her even in his anger. She looked so bonny, bare-breasted with her curls splayed every which way, the fire of her anger alight in her whisky eyes--frightening and sexy at the same time.

Claire wasn’t amused by his quip, or by the tone of voice in which he said it, “you need to just stop, like can you just not? I don’t like it one bit!”

“Not what, Claire? Not want ye only for myself? Not feel jealous seeing pictures of that rat bastard with his smug grin and his arm around ye to be the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning? You do belong to me, whether ye like it or not. Why are you mad? I’m the only one allowed to be mad, Claire! Yer mine, damn ye Claire! Mine, and I wilna share ye, with a man or a memory or anything whatsoever”

Her glass face broke before his eyes as he raised his voice louder.  Her anger had turned to something fragile, something Jamie was afraid he would break.  Even still, she spoke softly, but confidently, “I don’t belong to you or anyone, I’m my own person. You need to just take several seats” She glanced away from him, trying to keep her composure.  

Controlling his urge to scream, he replied “I know that, that’s not what I meant.  I ain’t trying to mess with who you are or your self expression, I mean that I am yours just as much as you are mine”

Damn, he’s good, thought Claire as she met his gaze again.  His passion, even when directed towards anger, was still sexy.

“Claire, I see you over there on the internet all the time, this isn’t the first time you’ve done this is it?”

She nodded in agreement, embarrassed, but somehow she felt safe admitting it to Jamie.  She was beginning to realize just how much he truly cared about her.  As strange as it seemed, through this small fight, their relationship was moving from simply mutual, passionate attraction to something deeper.  It might have been there all along beyond the urges of the flesh, but she was just now truly seeing it.  It was exciting and terrifying all at the same time.

“Listen, I’ve learned a lesson that stressing and obsessing about somebody else is no fun.” Jamie disclosed, trying to restore the peace. “He’s not worth your time if he let a girl like you go on the drop of a hat like that.” This made Claire wince internally, hoping he didn’t see, there was more to it than that.  He didn’t seem to notice and continued, “What we have is like sunshine, but you act like you would rather be in the dark.”  He reached for her arm, caressing it gently.

“You’ve figured me out.  You’re right, I don’t know why I keep checking on him. I guess I’m hoping I’ll find out something horrible has happened to him; but I promise, only you have me.”

“I mean to have you Claire, I am your master and you are mine. It seems I cannot possess your soul without losing my own.”  Both of Jamie’s hands were on Claire’s arms now, gripping her more firmly now. They were drawing closer to each other, the passion of their anger still surging in their veins. “I want you Claire, I want you so much I can scarcely breathe. Will you have me?”

“Yes.”

Their lips met with a fervour unlike any they had experienced before, hands caressing everywhere. Claire moaned into Jamie’s mouth as his hand cupped her breast, stroking her nipple vigorously with his palm.  His lips moved to her neck, that spot behind her ear that made her giggle and squeak.  He was ravenous, consuming her flesh with his lips, making his way down to her other breast, sucking her nipple as he ran his tongue around it, willing all sorts of noises to emit from her mouth.  She was straddling him, grinding against him, feeling his wanting against her in just the right spot. She thrust her hands into his boxer briefs, tugging at his hips to bring them even closer.  He responded in kind, slipping his hands into the lace waistband her cotton panties and grabbing that arse he loved so much.  He moved one hand around to her front and started stroking her most sensitive area and slipped a finger inside her.  “Oh, Jamie” she moaned as she began to ease his waistband down.  She allowed herself to let him go for a moment, releasing him to remove his underwear, as she did the same.  As soon as they were fully exposed to one another, she was on top of him again.  She moved herself up and down his length, feeling him rub against her, igniting a euphoric sensation in her core. When neither of them could take it anymore he slipped inside her, and she took him in to the hilt, riding him almost violently.  All the anger and shame she had felt moments ago had transformed into a primal lust unleashed on him. He responded in kind, kissing her vigorously across breasts, neck and shoulders until she shoved him back on the bed to gain a better angle.  Pushing her hand to his chest for leverage, she rode him harder than she’d ever ridden anyone before--not even the vibrator she used to experiment with in college. She could see he was close, his face contorting as he resisted the urge to finish before her.

“Sassenach, you’ll be the death of me” he groaned.

“Just a little more, Jamie” she panted, just before crying out, “Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh”. Seeing her satisfied, he allowed himself to finish as well.  Claire gently detached from him and collapsed beside him, breathless, resting on his chest, hair sprawled across him.

“Oh Sassenach, ye keep that up and I’m liable to pick fights with you more often” he sighed.

“You better watch out before you start something you can’t finish” she quipped in response.  

Jamie simply made a Scottish noise in reply, staring at the ceiling stroking her hair, wondering if he had, in fact, done just that.

End Note:

I try to slip in as many lyrics from each song as possible and make it still "work", occasionally changing tenses or adding/subtracting words to make them work. Claire's orgasm moans are the "oh oh's" in the chorus of YNTCD and I'm simultaneously proud of myself and ashamed.

[simsadventures]

After All: Chapter 4: Whatever

Summary: The next day comes and you built the walls around yourself higher than ever. Warnings: angst, tears, sad reader, fluffy Bruce, Bucky (I feel like he is a warning now), mentions of physical abuse

Word Count: 1959

A/N: What do you guys think, should the reader forgive him at some point, or do we want to see a different romance sparking? Let me know, love you all. xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter 

You woke up with the biggest headache you’ve had since high school. Your whole body hurt, and for a second you thought you were abducted and now held prisoner. However, you soon realised that the nightmare you had was no dream at all, but your real-life and that your head hurt probably from the extensive crying you did last night, and your body was stiff from falling asleep in your bathroom.

You needed good 5 minutes to get up, your limbs not listening to your orders at all. When you managed to stand on your own, with just a slight help from the sink, you dared to look in the mirror. And you almost screamed from the shock you received. The reflection in the mirror looked like a completely different person. She wasn’t you. This was a broken person, her make up smudged across her whole face, eyes still red and puffy, but otherwise the shade of the skin was almost greenish. You shouldn’t even be surprised. Nobody was suited to cry as much as you did last night.

Just the thought of what you overheard the night before almost sent you hurdling again, but you stopped yourself. You weren’t about to let them destroy you. Nope. You were stronger than that. You made the mistake of trusting people again, and you were damn sure you wouldn’t ever do it again.

You clenched your tears, tear up the dress that bitch picked for you only to be able to laugh about it behind closed doors with her precious Bucky. You cleaned your face, took a long hot shower, trying to wash away all the sadness left in you. You knew it would take time to get over this, because after a lifetime, you opened up to someone, only to let them rip you open and laugh about the shattered pieces.

But you weren’t willing to let them win. You would bet that they wanted to crumble in front of them, but not if you could help it. Your decision was quick and final. You would just ignore them. You weren’t the type of person to call people out, and even if you wished nothing more than to see them suffer as much as you did, you decided against it.

Karma would bite them both in their asses, you were sure of that.

You texted Tony that you drank a little too much and wasn’t feeling like working on the project today, which he completely understood because he apparently flew around in his Iron Man suit and was showing everyone how many backflips he could do until he threw up in the mask. You were just sorry you weren’t there to see this.

You also exchanged few texts with Bruce who was still baffled why you left so suddenly last night, but you had no energy to explain everything to him. Bucky was his friend, he was part of the team, and you weren’t. You didn’t need people telling you that you destroyed the Avengers by telling Bruce the truth. Not now, anyway.

At the same time, you couldn’t be entirely sure if he wasn’t in it with them. Your mind was screaming at you that Bruce wouldn’t be able to do such a thing to anyone. Still, the same mind was telling you just yesterday that Bucky was definitely into you. You had your reasons not to trust your own judgement right now.

You took a nap in your bed, to relieve your mind from the spiralling, even if only for a few hours.

It was around 6 PM that you heard a familiar light knock on your door. Your heart stopped in that very moment, and you had a lot to do not to vomit again. You pulled yourself together and went to open the door.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky smirked at you, leaning against the door frame. “You ran away last night, I thought you could take more.”

You huffed sardonically, and smirked at him, venom driving from your eyes. “Felt tired, you needed anything or?”

He looked at you, little surprised at your reaction. You were never this direct or unfriendly to him. “Well, it’s our movie night, so I cam here for the movie, you remember?”

Oh right, you even had a weekly movie night, because you thought you both liked spending time in each other’s company. “Not in the mood, Barnes. Goodnight, and greet Hannah for me, will you?” You smiled all too sweetly and closed the door in Bucky’s shocked expression.

“Hannah? Doll, I don’t even talk to Hannah, you know that.”

You didn’t even have the energy to fight with him, so you just laughed dryly and yelled back through the closed door, “whatever, Bucky, whatever.” He didn’t leave right after that, still tried talking to you, but after about 10 minutes, you got tired of his bullshit, telling you to open the door, that he doesn’t understand what’s gotten into you, and blah blah blah. You put on your earphones and watched John Wick without him. You didn’t need him. Hell, you didn’t need anyone.

You didn’t know how long it took for him to leave your door, but you were glad that by the time the movie ended, there was silence outside the door. Hannah sent you multiple messages, to none of which you have replied. She even texted you she was worried about you and you scoffed out loud. Worried my ass, you thought.

Next day came much sooner than you wished to, and it meant you had to go out of your room and face the world. Worst of all, you had an appointment with Bucky, to try some models of his soon-to-be new arm. You didn’t want to be that close to him, but there was no other way to deal with it. You needed to learn to share the same space with him and totally ignore him. That could become your life mission if need be.

You had a polite small talk with one of your colleagues, but not his too extensive or too detailed. She just told you about Tony and his drunk self and how her head hurt even today. You just nodded and smiled lightly, not willing to share anything.

About an hour later, the door opened, and Bucky came marching to you. “What the hell, doll? I was knocking on your door last night and you-“

You stopped him with a raised hand. “I wasn’t in the mood, and I’m not in the mood now. I have Dr Cho here to help me with your current arm, to make it as painless for you as possible, and so that we could safely try your new model. Can we start?” Your face was void of any emotion. You could see Bucky searching your face, trying to find a hint, anything that would tell him why the sudden change in your behaviour.

“Doll, I-“ he started again, but you weren’t having it. “Can we start now, Bucky?” you raised your voice a little so that he got the message you weren’t willing to talk about anything else that your job. He just nodded wordlessly and let you and Dr Cho do your job.

He was watching you intently the whole time, speaking up only when asked, and you made a little victory dance in your head. Maybe he’d actually stop talking to you, and your ignoring him wouldn’t be that difficult. This happiness, however, didn’t last long, because as soon as you were done, and sent him on his way, he grasped your upper arm, and whisper yelled at you, “mind if we talk, Y/N?”

You just clenched your teeth and nodded, you really didn’t need to cause a scene at work. You weren’t about to let him destroy the one thing that actually made you happy and feel like you could be yourself. When obviously, being yourself wasn’t enough for him, nor for Hannah.

“Care to explain why have you been acting so weird since the party?” He was seething, and all you could do was laugh. He really wanted YOU to explain yourself to HIM, hilarious.

“Look, we can stop pretending now, Bucky. Go your own way, I’ll go mine and the only place we will see each other will be here, and we’ll keep it strictly professional, ok?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? How can you go from us being that close to strictly professional, huh? What happened? Did someone tell you something? Because if so, I’m 99% sure they’re lying.”

Now you had to laugh out loud. “Oh, don’t worry, nobody told me anything. I didn’t want to do this, because I couldn’t care less right now but ok. Let’s do this. What the fuck am I talking about? I don’t know, Bucky, let’s ask your girlfriend Hannah, what the hell I’m all about.”

“I told you, I don’t even-“

“At least have the fucking decency and don’t lie to my fucking face, Barnes. I saw and heard everything, ok? I mean, why would someone like YOU be interested in someone like ME. I’m just a hideous lab rat, and you wouldn’t be caught dead actually seen with me.”

You were seething, venom dripping from your mouth. Bucky was staring back at you, horrified. “Doll, I-“

“Please, don’t. I got it, ok? She’s gorgeous, I’m not, I know that much, I’m not stupid. I just thought you could see past that, from how much time we spent together. I told you everything, Bucky, my secrets, my fears, all of it. I hope you two had a good laugh at all that, how a desperate, ugly girl fears someone will notice she’s just not enough. That must have made you snicker for days, huh? Or the fact that my own father beat the shit out of me when I was younger must have been a hilarious topic after you fucked her!”

You didn’t want to resort to violence, but your hand itched to slap him across his face.

“Look, Y/N, I would never-“

“I don’t care, Bucky, I really don’t. I hope you had a good time making the ugly girl feel worse about herself than she did in a long time. I’m not gonna be the entertainment for you and Hannah anymore, I was stupid enough to think that for once in my life, I would be important to someone, that just this once, I was the lucky one.

But it’s ok, I got this, just like I always had. So go, and enjoy your miserable life, because you can’t be happy if you’re able to do something like this to an innocent bystander. Just please, whatever your sick games, or foreplays, or whatever this is, are, stop it. I’m an actual real-life person, with genuine feelings, I’m not sure the two of you realise. I’m going to be ok without you, but some other girl might not, so please, end this, and find some other thing to rile each other up.

Have a good life, Barnes, I really wish for you to wake up one day, and try and redeem yourself, because you might be a hero out there, in the world, but here? You are just one rotten, sad guy, who doesn’t have a bit of respect for himself or anyone around you. Goodbye.”

Few tears slipped by now, but you didn’t care. You were proud of yourself for telling him all that, turned on your heel and went back to the lab.

Bucky was left in a hallway, staring at the door, through which you left, suddenly realising how big of a mistake he just did. And he wasn’t sure if there was any going back.

/ Next Chapter >

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[musicfeedsmysoul12]

all the good girls go to hell

Summary: Alya and Kagami break down.

Warnings: Torture, murder, mentions of child abuse and neglect, mentions of children being sold, references to sexual situations. 

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 Alya had a normal childhood. Sure it was a bit effed up from time to time- Nora had anger issues and her boxing was only discovered later in life- but it was normal. Busy parents, babysitting your little siblings when you were only nine and your sister was off somewhere and-

 Okay so maybe it wasn’t so normal.

 Alya… didn’t have much to complain about though. She was fine right? Everything was okay. 

 It was fine.

 “Sugar, you’re amazing,” said the grubby handed man as he grabbed at Alya. She giggled and managed to escape his grasp. Alya was a blue-haired girl with a skimpy outfit showing everything off.

 “Naughty Mister! I’m on shift.” She pouted at him and he laughed. Inside she laughed at the reminder she’d bugged him with a tracker when he’d grabbed at her.

 Heroes and saving the day and journalism. It’s all she wanted. Alya dreamed of one day being like Lois Lane or Clark Kent and reporting on her own heroes. She dreamed of being famed for her words. Having Ladybug appear? Cemented that. Having a best friend, a boyfriend… it all cemented it. 

 Then Lila showed up. At first, she’d paid into it. It sounded awesome. But slowly Alya started seeing the cracks, the truths. She felt awful and begged on bended knee to Marinette who’d accepted. It would go back to the way things were.

 Or well she thought.

 “You’re my best friend,” a woman sobbed onto Alya’s shoulder. Alya soothes her, paying her back as the woman cried. Alya was brunette that day, with green eyes and frumpy clothing. “I’m so stupid!”

 “Aw honey, ya ain’t stupid. He’s the stupid one.” She soothed, grabbing the woman’s phone and tossing it away, snapping a small hacking bug on it for Max. “C’mon don’t let him talk to ya anymore, alright?”

 Lila was… something. To this day Alya doesn’t know what. But she was a rat. She knew how to play the game and her lies for some reason just… worked. Even when they were ridiculous. 

 People believed them. People looked at Alya and her friends and beloved rumours. Alya’s parents stopped wanting her to watch her sisters. Bad influence. Nora eyed her sometimes but never said if she believed the rumours.

 Her baby sisters… they did. And they hated her.

 “I’m sorry,” sobbed the man. “I’m so sorry baby…”

 “No, you’re not!” Alya shouted, bottle blonde with blue eyes and a fake chest. “You’re nothing but a liar and a cheat!” In Alya’s pocket was a USB full of files on the gun trafficking the man was doing. She was done with him. 

 She hadn’t been sure when she started her relationship with Chloe. Her and Nino had kind of talked about a third occasionally but that was casual. Chloe just made her so mad she just did it. Luckily Nino liked it. 

 And it was wonderful. Her parents did not approve and it just added to the rumours but Nora actually pulled her aside to say sorry. For like everything. Including the effed up bits of their childhood. 

 She felt like she could breathe. Maybe.

 Then Chat was stabbed and he was Adrien and Ladybug was Mairnette and things went to hell.

 “Sup Nora,” Alya said into the phone, a redhead with grey eyes that day. She smirked and winked at a handsome man across the room, a man with his fingers in various drug rings.

 “Not much. The brats are doing good after mom and dad lost custody.” Nora replied. Alya smiles softly. 

 “That’s good. I’m happy you’re all doing better.”

 “You doing alright?”

 “Oh just doing my job, I’m keeping safe. Promise.”

 They beat Hawkmoth and instead of their happy ending they were hurt. Instead of their happiness, they got fucking Lila muscling in on their glory, their earned achievement. 

 And then she pushed. And she nearly killed Marinette. 

 They all just… snapped. 

 Alya wished she was the one to kill her.

“Sup baby,” she kissed Nino as he approached her, confusing the pathetic sob in front of her with a ring in his hand. “Got the info on the drug ring?”

 “I did. Got the info on their finances?” Nino asked and the dumbass stared in horror. Alya grinned, her hair going from pink to her normal shade, her glasses reappearing.

 “Baby you know me.”

-0-

Kagami had a shit childhood. She had to be the best. Everything has to be perfect, she had to be perfect. Or she’d end up like her siblings. She had a lot but no one knew. Her mother gave them away. The League of Assassins likes them. The Council of Spiders did too.

 Kagami wondered how many siblings she had.

 She was a tool, her mother’s next reach into the world. Her mother’s hopes and dreams. 

 Kagami sliced through the man’s throat, hot sticky blood covering her. She sighed. The man hadn’t bothered being a challenge. He’d basically given up as soon as she started.

 How disappointing. 

 “Mother would be upset.” She said casually to no one before she left the scene. 

 When she moved to Paris she’d been scared. Would mother give her to the League now? Would she be safe? But instead, she met Adrien. Adrien who smiled and laughed and who mother wanted her to marry. 

 Mother got what mother wanted even if Kagami wasn’t sure about romance. 

 Kagami found friends though. Adrien was a great friend and he led her to more friends. It was… awesome. 

 Then Lila happened.

 Kagami dove under a sword strike and threw wind at the man, blowing him back hard enough to slam into the wall with a sickening crack. But Marinette wanted his head so she’d bring it. She walked right up the man, lifting the sword and bringing it down with a thud.

 “Messy,” She grumbled, staring at the blood. “Though somewhat fun. Perhaps I’ll pick up your sister tonight. She seems fun.” Kagami told the corpse before she took the head and walked away.

 Lila didn’t really touch her so much. Her mother knew they were lies but… 

 People hated her friends. She didn’t like that. She didn’t like the looks and the sneers and the snarls. She didn’t like how they glared. She wanted it to stop.

 It got worse when Kagami’s things were destroyed- when she was glared at and sneered at. Her mother did not approve. Luckily she couldn’t vanish. Not yet. Not when Adrien was her friend and he would see if she vanished.

 She was safe. For a while.

 Kagami glared at the body in front of her, feeling heavily annoyed. 

 “What’s wrong Dragon?” Asked Marinette as she came into the room, dressed in a nice black suit. “Oh. Well, who is this?”

 “An annoyance Horse will have to track,” Kagami growled. “He scared off my partner for the night.” She glared even more at the body. Marinette sighed.

 “Sorry. I’d offer but neither of us like the bottom.” Kagami sighed.

 “Correct. Hmm… is Snake up?”

 “He is. Have fun.”

 It all went to hell when Gabriel showed he was Hawkmoth and ran his own son through. They saved him. They all died they saved him and they were bonded ever closer to him in a form of harmony. 

 And Kagami was in danger again. 

 She got lucky that Adrien still dragged her into the spotlight, that he kept eyes on her. That he needed someone to be his voice.

 But Lila was trying to change that. 

 Kagami drove her sword into the gut of the ninja in front of her, a snarl on her face.

 “Tell Ra’s I Said go fuck himself.” She announced to the shadows, knowing others waited. “I won’t go to him. My mother had no right to sell me and I will cut anyone down who tries. I did it to her too.” Her mother lying on the floor after Kagami had cut her down, after learning she’d been sold, filled her mind and she bared her teeth. 

 She would not be part of the League when she had her own team already.

 Lila nearly killed Marinette. Nearly killed Ladybug. And no one gave a damn. Not even Marinette’s parents. It made her blood boil and her lungs fill with fire and smoke.

 Was it any wonder they snapped?

 She was just happy Lila died at her hands. 

 “Please!” Lila screamed as Kagami drove her sword down, separating her leg from her body. Kagami had already claimed her arms, her blade hot and preventing blood loss from killing her. “Please stop.”

 “No.” Kagami grinned, vicious and deadly. 

 She wouldn’t stop. 

@northernbluetongue @ines-nz  @seraphichana, @glasswolff, @crazylittlemunchkin, @miraculous786, @viinaa08, @18-fandoms-unite-08 @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @my-name-is-michell @emjrabbitwolf @starsshineandgivehope

[randbwrite]

La Comtesse Chronicles Chapter 4 Part 3

Words:1179

TW: Death, Graphic Violence, Blood CW: Vampires, Assassins

B: Her use of a term of endearment had Cal turning several shades of coral, a curious expression crossing his face, one neither were used to seeing...or feeling...on him. What’s this, someone’s feeling bashful? Would certainly make for good teasing material later, Derrick tucking away the information as ammunition for payback. About time someone could affect his friend like that. All the painted ladies of the court had never gotten that reaction out of the supposedly scurrilous assassin. 

Things turned serious much more quickly from then on. This “Comtesse” called Cal a young man and he was again feeling like a lad being reprimanded by his schoolmarm, something he’d left behind ages ago...in the future. Oy, this difference in years was going to take some getting used to. Speaking of, Mr. Nothing Can Bother Me About This Whole Affair. Yes...long name. But called for, given the circumstances. One floating and the other walking behind, Cal had some questions for his buddy. Like, a lot of them. Especially while he tried to pretend watching Ernest and Armand being tossed around like rag dolls was an everyday occurrence.

“So...anything you wanna tell me?” 

“Like what? M. la Comtesse said questions would wait till we were out of here.” 

“Questions for her. You on the other hand have some answering to do.” Cal paused for a breath and gawped at fire spreading over an invisible shield. CGI could only hope to capture the incredible show he was watching. “How much of this were you already aware of?” He gestured broadly at the display, shuddering involuntarily, recognizing the snap of a man’s mind broken.

Derrick’s eyes never left the scene playing out; knowing exactly how both elements played out when combating for dominance and being caught in the crossfire. Being invulnerable and watching someone else at the mercy of one stronger was...a unique experience. Give it enough time, they’d have exhausted each other before one won out. The same sire, no particular style or finesse bothered to be learned, neither had a leg up. Soon it was over, permanently.

“All of it.” 

He could list every ability the Citadel full of assassins carried and which ones didn’t have any. He knew their limitations, their quirks. Watched them spar, experiment, seen the aftermath of things they’d thought to keep secret. Cal didn’t need more of an explanation than that, knew well enough by the dearth of questions. To cut off the one his friend for once was trying to decide how to phrase diplomatically, he did Cal a favor and answered it anyway. 

“Yes, I am one. Figured out yet I haven’t exactly aged since you got here?” 

“Naw, assumed you were one of those blokes with great genes. This makes more sense I guess. ...Thanks.”

A look exchanged the words that went unsaid. Gratitude for keeping an eye out for him, in ways Cal hadn’t been aware could’ve been an issue, fishing his sorry behind out of a battlefield, whole lotta things that wouldn’t be spoken aloud. 

That was all they had time for, as the dreaded doors all too many had walked through and met a gruesome end were right in front of them. Cal’s fight or flight was kicking back in, self-preservation typically meaning staying as far away from these chambers as possible unless unequivocally summoned. His poker face wouldn’t reveal it, but the lack of his signature grin told all. 

Derrick might as well have been carved from stone. He’d never once entered these chambers, instead experienced with each and every member on the council under different circumstances. Still, with every confidence in la Comtesse, he paced after her, head held high before them for the first time in centuries. They wouldn’t be forcing him to take a knee, not today. 

Whatever they’d expected to happen, neither of the pair accompanying the pure blood could have anticipated what she did next.

Would seem none of the assassins did either for that matter, which was almost more surprising. Centuries-old tacticians, strategists, generals, and rulers, people who held the whole of Europe in their merciless thrall, and together they proved defenseless against the fury of Comtesse.

Silence had greeted them upon their entry, and silence reigned in their absence. Shock? Plotting? Acceptance? ...All of the above? The council had known going after her was risky, but perhaps had become too complacent in their invincible dynasty of power. She had unequivocally proven them wrong. 

No one would mourn their leader’s fall. Hyenas had more respect for the dead than would be shown a man who’s tenure had sown nothing but fear and contempt. He had until Comtesse and company left the Citadel’s gates before an eternal vengeance began. Never again would his name bring fear into the hearts of those who heard it. The threats promised died with his enhanced abilities. 

The halls were abandoned, any echoes purely in the imagination of the ones remembering. The foyer too, devoid of life. If not the bodies of their fallen comrades, then the spectacle witnessed in the council room deterred any from considering an approach. 

The pair offered new life did not hesitate. There was nothing about their past that could have any hold on them and...hey, the one person who had treated them with a speck of decency had given invitation. Even though she was also downright terrifying. It didn’t seem real, despite everything pointing to the obvious conclusion. How could it be anything but? Imagination had never conceptualized this outcome. However, it may take time before the implication, the reality of it all sank in. Course, seeing the leader who was the symbol of their subjugation to the Assassin’s League dethroned certainly solidified the situation. 

Their answer was a unified yes. Though phrased differently. 

“You will have my unwavering loyalty for the rest of my life, this I swear.” 

“So dramatic! But yeah, what he said. Obviously, I don’t have an issue not fighting on the side of the angels, but if there were any such thing I’d say you come the closest. Avenging angel, maybe.” 

Cal bounced on the balls of his feet, ever antsy. Better look on him than the lethargy from earlier; the waxen sheen was a mite bit concerning, however. Contrarily, an aura of tranquility radiated off of Derrick, relief hanging around shoulders pulled back as if freed from some oppressive weight. It was at him that Cal was caught gawking this time, though the typical crazy grin was soon to replace it. Aww and here he’d promised he wouldn’t get emotional. Not sure when, but eh. 

“Guess you’re stuck with us, Lady Comtesse. To the ends of the earth and back, if this one’s beatific mug is any indication.” 

A thumb was jerked in Derrick’s direction, only to have surprise replace the scamp’s cocky expression. Derrick used his enhanced reflexes to catch and muss up Cal’s already wild tangle into a rat’s nest, the pair behaving as bickering brothers do. Where’d he been hiding that speed?!? Ach...so much to learn.

[hysterialevi]

His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 12

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

Previous chapter | Next chapter

This story is also on AO3

THAT EVENING

NEAR OWANJILA LAKE

“What do you mean Joe’s dead?” Dutch asked, his tone sounding more feral with every word.

“I mean Arthur killed him!” Bill reiterated. “Shot him right in the face when no one was looking.”

The other man glanced at Micah, watching as the man rested on a nearby bedroll.

“And Micah?” He asked.

“Isaac attacked him as soon as Joe was shot.” Bill explained. “Cut him straight through the eye. Micah nearly killed the boy after that. Almost drowned him in the river, but Arthur managed to pull him off. Gave him one hell of a beating. Then, he sent me back here.”

Dutch looked at him with bewilderment. “And you just left?”

Bill threw his hands in the air. “Well, what else was I supposed to do, Dutch? You know Arthur. That man’s a beast. You raised him, after all. As for his son, let’s just say the apple don’t fall far from the tree. He ain’t nearly as strong as his pa, but he’s goddamn crazy. I’d have been killed if I stuck around.”

Dutch sighed in frustration and turned away from Bill, annoyed at the dead-end he suddenly found himself facing.

He knew Arthur wouldn’t be easy to take down -- that was no surprise -- but the fact that he killed one of his men and nearly beat another to death sent Dutch into a state of panic.

If Micah, Bill, and Joe couldn’t bring Arthur back by themselves, what the hell were they supposed to do now? Their gang was short one man, and Micah was in no condition to be going after anybody at the moment.

Dutch would have to find Arthur himself. He may have been sick, and he may have been dying, but he knew that man better than any of these fools. He knew how Arthur thought.

It was going to take more work than he initially anticipated to bring that man down, but Dutch was sure he could do it.

He just needed more time.

“So?” Bill questioned. “Where do we go from here, Dutch?”

Dutch brought his focus back to Williamson, his cold eyes seemingly gazing straight through him.

“We wait. Now that the three of you have alerted Arthur, he and the boy are gonna have their guard up. So we’ll give ‘em some space to breathe for now. Let them think that we ain’t a threat no more. In the meantime, we’ll allow Micah to recover from his wounds, and think of a plan. We’re gonna need it. Men like Arthur don’t just give up.”

Bill offered no objections. “Yeah, well... neither do you, Dutch.”

The man nodded at that, patting Bill on the shoulder. “You’re goddamn right about that, son. I ain’t givin’ up anytime soon. And Arthur’s gonna learn what it means to betray our family. I just need you and Micah to be with me, and I need no more mistakes. Are we clear on that, Williamson?”

Bill was clearly still hesitant to go against someone like Arthur, but complied nonetheless.

“We’re clear, Dutch.”

“Good. Then if you’ll excuse me...” Dutch began strolling away, “...I have got some thinking to do.”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

DAKOTA RIVER, NORTH OF DIABLO RIDGE

Trudging along the rocky path, Arthur and Isaac rode side-by-side as they followed the current of the river, slowly making their way up to the Grizzlies West.

By now, the sky had transformed into a soft shade of purple and was highlighted with wispy streaks of orange clouds, painting a beautiful contrast above them.

There were no other silhouettes dotting the dark horizon or distant gunshots to fill the air, and so far, everything had gone smoothly ever since their violent encounter with the Van der Linde gang.

Unfortunately though, they still had one other problem to deal with.

And this one wasn’t so easily ignored.

Throwing a silent glance at his father, Isaac felt a tight sense of worry clutching his chest as he watched the man let out another chain of coughs, his breath growing more ragged with every outburst.

Arthur kept insisting that he was fine for the moment and showed no signs of deviating from their plan to head up north, but Isaac wasn’t sure that wandering into the cold was the best idea right now.

Every fiber in his being hated to admit it, but Isaac knew his father was dying. He recalled Micah mentioning something about Dutch being sick not too long ago, and Arthur’s symptoms didn’t seem that different from the old man’s.

Isaac really had no idea where else he could’ve gotten it from or what the illness could’ve been, but one thing was clear to the boy. 

Sooner or later... he was going to lose Arthur. 

The outlaw was going to disappear from his life faster than he jumped back into it, and it made Isaac want to scream at the world for taking yet another one of his parents.

He had just started the process of finally moving on from Eliza’s death, and now, it was as if things had been reset.

Isaac was witnessing the death of his father now -- same as before -- only this time, it was going to be far more painful, and far more drawn out.

 Why was the world doing this to him?

“...It ain’t polite to stare, boy.” Arthur remarked gruffly, causing Isaac to avert his eyes.

“...Sorry.” He replied, his tone firm with anger. “I just... well, never mind.”

The kid didn’t even have to explain what was on his mind. Arthur could already tell.

“Don’t you go givin’ up on me yet, Isaac.” He reminded. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere anytime soon. It’ll take more than a cough to scare me away.”

Isaac gazed at the lively river beside them, his eyes downcast in sorrow.

“I know you’re tough, Dad. You made that pretty clear when you beat Micah to a pulp...” the boy rubbed his neck in remembrance. “But will that be enough?”

Arthur sighed, not wanting to dwell on the subject any longer. “It’ll have to be.”

Falling into an uncomfortable silence, the two of them decided to leave the matter alone for now and trotted quietly down the road as the sky continued to darken above them, instilling a sense of fatigue in them.

Before either of them could go nodding off however, Arthur suddenly felt the need to bring up another topic that had been bothering him and turned to Isaac, hoping to comfort the boy somewhat.

“Hey, Isaac,” he called out, “about what happened earlier with Micah...”

The young man raised a brow. “Yeah?”

Arthur’s face sank with regret. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I know we was in a tough spot back there, and we didn’t really have much choice, but still... I shouldn’t have lost myself like that. Not in front of you. That ain’t the kinda man I want you to be.”

Isaac didn’t appear to share the man’s remorse. “Bastard had it comin’ to him. He betrayed your gang and nearly strangled me right after interrogating me. S’far as I’m concerned, Micah’s lucky he only got away with a wounded eye after all the shit he’s pulled.”

“Isaac!” Arthur scolded. “Look, I know that man’s rotten to the core. He’s always been a rat since he first joined our gang, but we’re better than that. You’re better than that.”

The boy scoffed. “Am I? I’ve robbed people. Killed ‘em. I poisoned an innocent man just so I could get revenge on some sorry fool who had already forgotten me by the time I found him again. From where I’m standing, I’m no more of a saint than any of the people we’ve fought.”

“Now you know that ain’t true.” Arthur replied. “We’ve all done bad things. Myself included. But you’ve got a kind heart, Isaac. That much is clear.”

Contrary to what the older man expected, that only seemed to annoy Isaac more.

“What good is a kind heart if it just gets everyone around you killed in the end? Micah may be rotten, but at least he knows how to survive. He knows it ain’t worth it tryin’ to get close with people. I wish I knew better.”

The other man blinked in confusion. “What’re you talkin’ about? Survival’s fine and dandy, but there’s more to it, Isaac. You gotta have a reason to survive. And if you don’t have anyone to care about, well then, frankly I don’t see a reason.”

Isaac scowled at that. “Yeah, you wouldn’t.”

Arthur found himself at a loss for words. “What’s gotten into you? One minute you’re askin’ me if we should kill Micah for everything he’s done, and the next, you’re sayin’ you wish you were more like him? That ain’t like you.”

Isaac shook his head in irritation. “How would you even know what ‘I ain’t like?’ We were practically strangers when I was a kid. You was always runnin’ off with some gang, or doing a job that was more important than us. You don’t know the first thing about me. I’ve had horses in my life longer than I’ve had you.”

The older man stopped in his tracks at that and lowered his voice, glaring directly at Isaac.

“...Watch your mouth, boy.” He warned sternly. “Now listen, I don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on with you today, Isaac, but you better shape up. I know we’re both still stressed from the fight this morning, but we are tryin’ to survive out here, and the last thing I need is for you to be pushin’ against me like this. So get your head straight or I’ll straighten it for you. You hear me?”

Isaac hardly seemed fazed by Arthur’s words and simply tapped his horse’s reins, walking ahead of the other man.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Watching Isaac solemnly trot further down the trail, Arthur decided to put some space between them for now and followed the young man from behind, confused as to why he was acting like this all of the sudden.

It was obvious Isaac was upset about something, but what? He seemed perfectly fine this morning, even after their fight with the Van der Lindes, and Arthur knew it took more than a beating to get Isaac’s spirits down. So what was going on with him?

Perhaps all the memories of his childhood were just starting to come back? Because as annoyed as Arthur was with the boy right now, he couldn’t deny that Isaac had a point. 

He was hardly ever around when that man was still a child. He made an effort to be near him every few months or so, but Isaac never had a reliable father figure growing up. Hell, the closest thing to a father he had back then was Shay... and he hated him.

Maybe Isaac still hadn’t quite forgiven Arthur for being absent all those years. He could act tough all he wanted, but the older man knew how much that boy really cared about his family. So it was no surprise to him that Isaac would be standoffish about losing him. Arthur just didn’t understand why these feelings were coming up now.

He supposed Isaac would tell him when he was ready. If that kid was anything like his father, then Arthur assumed he wouldn’t appreciate being pushed to open up about certain things.

Still, Arthur couldn’t deny that he was worried. This was the only chance he had to do right by his son, and so far, it seemed like everything was going wrong.

He just hoped he wasn’t pushing the kid away. Being a father was turning out to be much more daunting than he expected, and the last thing Arthur wanted to do was guide his son down the same path that he took.

Isaac had the potential to be more than that. He just couldn’t see it.

~~~~~~~~~~

ONE HOUR LATER

WEST OF WALLACE STATION

Sitting on a short stump, Arthur gazed out at the sea of trees dominating the horizon as a bundle of stars began to light up above them, giving the sky a soft, pale glow.

At the moment, he was drawing in a new journal that he had purchased at Wallace Station and was working on a sketch of the landscape, hoping to escape his worries for the time being.

Meanwhile, Isaac got some rest next to the campfire and slept on a bedroll, allowing his incessant dreams to carry him away as Aldo stood protectively nearby.

The two of them hadn’t said a word to each other ever since their little spat earlier, and were taking some time apart from one another. The boy appeared to be just as irritated as before, and Arthur -- being the inquisitive man that he was -- couldn’t stop wondering what it was that he did to make Isaac so upset.

He let out a sigh and began scribbling some words next to his drawing, trying to get his thoughts in order.

“Oh, Hosea... I certainly wish you was here right now. You wouldn’t believe what’s happened in the past few days. You remember Eliza? That waitress I used to be with all them years ago? Well, I found our son again. I found Isaac. Turns out he’s still alive, and he seems to be doing okay, if a bit troubled. I think you’d like him.”

“Problem is, I don’t know the first thing about being a parent. That’s why I wish you was still around. You and Dutch -- the two of you always seemed to know what to do with me. It felt like you always had the answers.”

“But me... it seems like with every attempt I make to protect the boy, the worse things get. We got Pinkertons chasing us down, the Van der Lindes trying to kill us around every corner, and I’ve started to develop this cough that won’t go away. I think I’m getting sick, just like Dutch.”

Arthur set his pencil down and dragged a hand down his face, taking a breath before continuing to write.

“What the hell am I going to do? I love Isaac more than life itself, but... things are getting heated between us. I think the boy’s angry at me. He’s started pushing me away all of the sudden, and the worst part is, I can’t even say he’s fully unjustified. I know I didn’t do right by him as a kid. I was always too occupied with our gang that I left Isaac alone. I wasn’t there when he needed me.”

“But I don’t plan on making the same mistake twice. Even if Isaac comes out of this hating me, I still want to be the father he deserves. I want to be the father that you were to me, Hosea.”

“I just wish I knew where to begin.”

Shutting his journal closed, Arthur decided to call it a day and stood up from the stump, rolling his shoulders as he strolled back to the campfire.

It looked like Isaac was out cold for the night and didn’t even twitch when Arthur stepped near him, but even then, the older man could see the grip of a revolver poking out from underneath his hand.

Part of him wanted to wake the young man up and set things straight between them, but Arthur knew he’d probably just end up aggravating Isaac even more if he did that.

So, instead, he simply made his way over to his own bedroll and tried to get some shut-eye, preparing himself for the long road ahead.

Tomorrow would be the start of the toughest part of their journey, and if things went according to schedule, Arthur expected they’d be wandering into the colder regions of Ambarino before long.

He wasn’t eager to go back into the snowy mountains that killed Jenny and Davy, but if they could cross the border, then they’d finally be free men.

The goal of their journey was drawing near, and now more than ever, Arthur was fervent in protecting Isaac. He may not’ve had much time left in this world, but he was going to see to it that the boy made it out okay.

If anything happened to Isaac, well... Arthur didn’t know what he’d do.

That kid was everything to him now, and he suspected he wouldn’t be able to bear it if he lost him a second time.

He’d never forgive himself, and neither would Eliza.

[nothingeverlost]

On the Wings of an Owl (2/?)

In which Sirius finds his way home and Remus starts a new journey.

  II    

Prologue

II

Chapter One -  A Journey Begins with a Single Step

II   

The sun was shining when Sirius left the Department of Ministry. It was the first time he’d seen the sun in twelve days and it seemed a sacrilege that it was bright and not hidden behind clouds.  The whole world should be weeping for Lily and James.

“Oh thank Merlin.”   Monty was waiting for him in the ally, in a set of robes of dark gray.   His hair seemed whiter than it had been a few months ago, no signs left of the strawberry blond it had been once.  His skin was fragile like those dusty old tomes Remus liked to read.

He couldn’t think about Remus, not right now.  His head was already throbbing with too many thoughts.

“You didn’t need to come,” he told the man who had been a father to him for almost a decade.  He should have known one of the Potters would be waiting for him, but it seemed too much to ask of them.

“I wasn’t sure you’d feel up to apparating just yet, my boy, so I hired a car to take us home.”  Monty’s step faltered a little as he turned.  Sirius automatically grabbed his elbow, steadying him.  Monty looked at him for a moment before taking another step.  When he spoke it was in a voice that was soft, and more to himself.  “That’s just right, lad.  We’ll prop each other up.”

It took a little less than an hour to reach the house, the last five minutes down a private lane that the driver wouldn’t be able to find later even if he had a reason to drive out to Weybridge again to look.  The house had changed little since Sirius first saw it at the age of twelve, the summer before Second year when he stayed for a week.  It looked like James should come running out the door at any moment to greet him, like he had a thousand times before.

James would never greet him again.

The sprawling manor house had been in Monty’s family for generations, probably as long as Grimmauld Place had belonged to his own family line.  Where Grimmauld was weighed down with the past, however, the Potter home was alive, treasured antiques from the Potter’s English roots entwined with the warm colors and scents of Euphemia’s Indian heritage. A suit of armor in the hall had a dent on one arm where he’d knocked it against a wall after James had used it to scare him once.  Opposite the armor was a bronze elephant decorated in jewels, the trunk raised in a show of prosperity.  Harry was using the elephant to pull himself up, focusing on standing until the door opened and he noticed the new arrival.

“Pa-foo,” he said clearly, looking up at Sirius with eyes the same vivid green as Lily’s, his hair sticking up at odd angles just like James.  For the first time in a week Sirius broke down in tears, collapsing onto the floor.  Harry lost interest in the elephant and fell backward, landing on his well-padded butt and rolling over to crawl over to the object of his attention.  His small fingers found the holes in the jeans Sirius wore and he used them to pull himself up until he was almost in his godfather’s lap.  Sirius pulled himself together enough to support the lad, holding him close to his chest.   The warmth he felt against his skin was alien after weeks of only feeling cold, or more often feeling nothing at all.  Harry reached out one chubby hand to touch Sirius’ cheek.  “Pad-foo wet.”

“He’s been waiting for you. I told him you were coming today.”  Euphemia stood in the hall, ignoring the single tear falling down her cheek.  She was dressed in robes of pure white without adornment, her feet bare despite the chilly November day. The white was for mourning he knew. She had told him once that bare feet made her feel more connected to her home and her magic.   “Welcome home, Sirius.”

Sirius could only look at her for a moment before bowing his head.  

II

The weeks after the war were a strange time.  First came the celebrations, of course, the great silence of the last years ending in cheers and fireworks.  The pubs were crowded as friends and strangers alike toasted to the downfall of He Who Must Not Be Named and his followers.  Infants who had been born into war woke up for the first time in peace, and children who had been afraid to play were finally able to run in the streets in bright colors and with raised voices.  Wizards were no different than any other human and needed their victory, but after the first few days reality set in.

For the first time, they had the leisure to mourn the dead after years of having to push away grief to focus on the next mission, the next battle.  For months memorial services happened on a weekly basis, some for a single person, sometimes for an entire family.  Two months after the war ended Christmas came, a celebration that highlighted the many empty chairs at Christmas dinner.

In Diagon Alley a memorial was built, a single arm raised with a wand outstretched, behind it a field of stars,  Every minute the name hovering above the wand changed, each of the fallen listed in turn.  

Marlene McKinnon Dorcas Meadows Fabian Prewitt Gideon Prewitt Edgar Bones Benjy Fenwick

It took more than an hour to see every name.  After Lily Potter’s name faded away the series began again.  There were names that were missing. One day Regulus Black would be added, when his deeds were learned, but that wouldn’t be for years.  It would take another month before the death of Arabella Figg was discovered, as she had little communication with wizards and it took time before anyone checked on her.  Frank and Alice Longbottom, stuck between life and death, weren’t on the list.

Peter Pettigrew’s name was quietly removed from the list the day after it was discovered that he was still alive.

It was a rare family that wasn’t touched in some way by death.  Remus Lupin, half an orphan before the war started, was completely alone after.  His father had started fading the moment his mother died; he had chosen recklessness as his way to join her.  There had been whispers of werewolves going after muggle families.  It was a member of Greywolf’s pack that killed him, though Remus fortunately never knew that fact.  He only knew that his father died and he was alone.

In the weeks after the war Remus fled to Wales.  For the first time in his adult life he didn’t have anything to do.  No mission from Dumbledore, no job, and certainly no friends to meet at the pub.  He mourned in his own way, drawing his grief tight around himself.  Grief for the friends lost and the relationships that had fallen apart.  He tried to look back at everything and figure out when Peter had become a betrayer and where he’d missed the signs.  He did not want to think about Sirius, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the much more obvious signs of how badly that friendship had gone wrong.  Losing James and Lily was like an amputation, a part of himself that was there one moment and gone the next, leaving phantom pains.  Losing Sirius was a festering wound that would probably never heal.  He mourned the losses of his friends, all of them.

The Daily Profit announced on the front page when Sirius Black was released, and it was a dull sort of comfort knowing that at least he was free and innocent, or at least as innocent as any of them could be after fighting a war.  The picture they used was an old one, from Jame and Lily’s wedding, and it hurt to see it.  Though it was only Sirius in the frame, mugging for the camera, Rumus knew that his own younger self had been cropped away.  They had all been so happy that day.  Sirius had even dragged him out to the dance floor after a few drinks, and it was just a lark for him but Remus could still remember how it had felt to dance with his friend and secret love.  He tossed the paper in the bin.

Transforming on his own was always harder, leaving him exhausted.  He needed another day of rest, he decided, but then it was time for a change.  There was no reason to stay in England. Sentiments against werewolves were even worse after the war; some had been responsible for vicious attacks, and the best that could be said was that some had chosen to remain neutral. He had his parents’ house, but without an income there would be no way to feed himself.  There was only one thing he could do that would be of use to anyone; he was going to find Peter.  Tomorrow he would start tracking down a rat.

II

Sirius could not sleep.  The bed was too soft and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a real bed. The last month was a blur of cells and leaning in doorways and curling up in alleys as a dog.  After living in the city and fighting a war the sounds of the country were too quiet and strange.  Mostly, though, he couldn’t sleep because it felt as if James being dead had changed the whole equilibrium of the world and he couldn’t find his footing.

His bedroom faced the back garden, his view partially obscured by a tree that had been a handy way of coming and going when he was a boy.  Many a time he and James had climbed down the tree to go for a midnight swim or smuggle in things to drink.  More than once he’d climbed in on his own, the window never locked as if the house itself knew that he sometimes needed a place to run to when his own house was too much.  The summer before Fifth year he’d shown up at one in the morning on an August day, climbed inside and collapsed in the bed, sleeping until James had pounced on him and demanded to know why he hadn’t woken him up.  Sixth year, when he’d left his family or good, he’d used the front door.

Sometime in the last couple of years Euphemia and Monty had changed their bedroom to the downstairs suite.   It meant that of the five upstairs bedrooms the only other one occupied was the one to his left, a guest suite that now held a crib.  To his right was James’s room, separated from his own by a bath they had shared.  The door to the room that now belonged to Harry was open, and Sirius found himself standing in the doorway more than he tried lying on his bed.  The window shade was up and the almost full moon illuminated the crib enough to see the bandage on Harry’s forehead.  Magic wounds were hard to heal, and no one knew how long a curse from such a powerful wizard would take before it stopped bleeding.

“James should be the one standing here,” he whispered to the boy as he stood at the edge of the crib.  His friend had been so excited about being a father.  So proud.  So worried about his ability to protect his son and wife.   Sirius had sworn that nothing would happen to any of them.  He had lied.

“Mmm.”  Harry shifted in his sleep, as restless as James had always been.  He was such a small thing; Sirius had panicked the first time Lily had handed the baby to him, certain that he would drop the kid and nine months of work would be ruined.  James could forgive him just about anything, but probably not a dent in his kid.

“I’ll fuck this up, Prongs, but I swear I will do my best.”  The first time James had asked him to be godfather it had seemed a joke.  It was a good laugh, him responsible for anyone’s child.  Merlin, there were days when he shouldn’t be responsible for himself, let alone another human.  As the war had progressed the promise was one that James had reminded him of on occasion.  Every time he had panicked and told James that he and Lily were the ones most likely to survive.  Even after the prophecy they had a plan.  James would be safe.  Godfather would be an honorary title that just meant he got to spoil the kid with the things his parents wouldn’t buy for him.  And then he’d made the stupidest argument in his life and had convinced James that Peter would be a better secret keeper.  James and Lily paid for his mistake with their lives.  Harry would pay for the rest of his life, his parents stolen from him.

Thank Merlin for Euphemia and Monty.  He couldn’t raise Harry on his own.  Without them he wouldn’t know what to do.  Without them he’d probably be in a cell in Azkaban.

It was another hour before he slept.  He only settled because Harry woke up and needed rocking; they both fell asleep in the chair that had been Lily’s, Harry on his chest, the rocking charm he’d put on the chair long since worn off.  Euphemia found them in the early hours of the morning and covered them carefully with a blanket.

[sulfurousdreamscapes]

Parts 8/8 complete.

Another record-breaking story for Sulfurous Dreamscapes! I'm really proud of the concept behind this one, and I'm keen to develop it as a WIP in the future.

Until then, feel free to read this short story treatment!

What: Girl finds man in a battle suit, who has been in a coma for 30 years.

How long: 5,500 words

Genre: Sci-fi

CW: War mention

-

Usually when something moves in the junkyard, it’s a rat or a wounded dog. This time, it was something else, and it was crushing the plastic and metal around it. Jodie and I were frozen with spray paint cans in our hands. The movement was just outside the light, so most of what we saw was our imagination, really.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said, but Jodie shook her head.

“Wait,” she said and shook her can out of habit.

The heap of junk slid around, crunched, bent, dented and turned over. Jodie moved towards the heap, still shaking her can like it was pepper spray or something. I followed her, and I wondered if tonight was the night I was going to pull out my knife. Even Jodie didn’t know I carried a knife with me.

Jodie turned halfway towards me. “It’s a battle suit,” she said. “Hear the steps? It’s definitely a battle suit.”

“Let’s definitely get out of here,” I whispered back, but Jodie shook her head again. Instead she pulled a flashlight out of her pack and held it in her free hand.

As soon as the light clicked on, we saw the thing clearly. Grey metal, rusty and scratched all over, a humanoid battle suit maybe seven feet tall, crushing the garbage beneath it like it was walking on cardboard. There were no lights on it, not even tiny leds.

“Who the fuck is in it?” Jodie asked me. “That thing looks like it’s 30 years old. How is it even moving?”

“I wonder if its weapons still work,” I said. Jodie gave me a death stare and I shrugged in response.

The battle suit finally found level ground and was able to walk with more stability. One of its arms was limp, and its head was struggling to turn left and right.

“Maybe it’s a robot?” I asked. “I’ve never seen this model before.”

“If you saw this model, you’d be dead,” the battle suit said. Its voice was hoarse and thin, clearly of an elderly man.

“I don’t think it’s a robot,” Jodie said, turning halfway again. “They don’t give robots old-man voices.”

The battle suit raised its working hand and held a clenched fist pointed at us.

We waited.

“I think it wants us to give it a fist bump,” I said.

“They wrecked it pretty hard,” the battle suit man said. “I can’t prime my offensive systems. I can’t connect to the defence net. My arm is busted. I can’t move right. This is a fucking travesty.”

Jodie walked up to the battle suit, shaking her spray can as she went. “Last defence net shut down thirteen years ago, boss,” she said.

“What the heck is a defence net?” I asked from behind her.

The battle suit man grunted and lowered his arm. “It’s over, isn’t it? The war is over,” the man said. “I remember staring at the sky while pain surged through my body. I thought it was over for me, but a part of me said that the suit would keep me alive. I guess it did.”

Jodie whistled and stopped in front of the metal giant. “Didn’t think they had life support in battle suits that old,” she said. “I guess we keep underestimating history.”

She raised her spray can began showering the rusty metal with bubblegum pink paint. The man in the suit stood still, like he was receiving a medal.

“The war ended like, thirty years ago,” Jodie said. “You probably wanna get out of that clunker now.”

The battle suit man didn’t say anything. If it weren’t for the breathing picked up by his mic, I’d have thought he was dead.

“Wondering what happened to your friends and family, huh?” Jodie shook her head as she curved the spraying. “I guess you don’t want to find out.”

After she was done, she stood back to admire her work and shook the can some more.

It was a peace sign in glossy pink, emblazoned across the battle suit’s chest.

-

Everyone in the bus stared at us in the back, especially the kids, who stood on their seats and held onto backs of their seats. Jodie was reading a magazine, the kind with an oiled, nearly-naked person on the cover. I was trying to keep my attention out of the window. Meanwhile, the man in the battle suit sat with his right hand on his knee and his unlit gaze staring straight through the middle of the bus.

After Jodie was done with her magazine, she sighed extravagantly and stared at each of the passengers until they stopped looking at us.

“You should have a name,” Jodie said as she slapped her hand on the metal thigh. It was a pretty hard slap, you could tell from the sound.

“Jamshid,” the reply came.

Jamshid raised his right arm as if to slap Jodie’s thigh. She and I sat frozen, our eyes on the metal hand. A few seconds later, Jamshid put it back on his knee. “I thought it would be funny,” he said.

Our bus stop was in an underpass with graffiti and broken bricks. I identified some of the graffiti as Jodie’s handiwork, but it was my first time in that part of town.

“How far is she?” I asked, pulling out transparent slab of plastic that showed me a map of the area. Jamshid took a few steps closer to me, clearly looking at the map with interest.

“Not far,” Jodie said. “She’ll be super interested in the battle suit. She’s a collector of retro hardware, and a suit like this from the war… yeah, I think she’s gonna waive the repair fee on my bike.”

“And she can get Jamshid out of his suit?” I asked.

“Maybe,” she shrugged.

“That’s not what you said before,” Jamshid growled. “You said you know someone who can get me out of this suit.”

Jodie ran a hand over her peace sign handiwork on the chest of Jamshid’s suit. “I mean, it’s worth a shot,” she said. “What other option do you have? It’s not like we’re going to find the manufacturer warranty.”

“Take me to a military base,” Jamshid said.

“Yeah well, the military isn’t going to fix my bike for free, man,” Jodie shook her head. “And we’re not your mommies, you’re free to go if you think the military’s going to help you. If you lose us, though, I don’t know if you’ll ever find someone who can pull you out of that tin can.”

“The suit stays mine,” Jamshid grunted. “It’s not yours to sell.”

“That’s a lot of demands from someone who doesn’t even know if he can get out of his metal action figure,” Jodie snapped back. “Maybe you should just keep your suit with its limp arm and paralysed turning.”

I sighed and got between the two of them. “Can you two just relax? Let’s just get to Roohi and see what she has to say.”

Jodie and Jamshid stayed quiet from there as we entered the narrower alleys lined by street merchants and stray dogs. As in the bus, everyone had their eyes on the battle suit. And me? I had my knife.

-

Roohi loved the colour orange so much that she hung fake oranges and marigolds outside her door, her windows were stained orange, her walls were painted varying shades of orange, and the little glass mirrors on her bead curtains all reflected an orange juice reality.

As soon as you stepped into her place, it felt like you were on a different planet, or some kind of oddly colour-graded movie. Jamshid moved his battle-suited body a lot as he stared at the orange walls and the orange paper butterflies and the orange beads.

“Why is everything orange?” he asked as Jodie went to fetch Roohi.

“From what Jodie told me, it’s because Roohi’s father once gave each calendar month a colour, and Roohi’s birthday falls on the month marked ‘orange’. So she just kind of owned it,” I said.

“I’d get sick of it,” he said, but then he followed my gaze and turned around to find Jodie and Roohi enter the room.

Roohi whistled.

“When the hell did you learn to whistle?” Jodie asked her.

“A week ago,” Roohi laughed. “I had to modify the code a bit to have it work with my shell, but…” She whistled a tune from a popular song.

Jodie was carrying wrenches and screwdrivers in her hands, which she clattered onto a table that was already crowded by cables and hardware. As she went in to fetch more, Roohi’s wheels rolled forwards. Her digitised face looked intrigued while her periscope camera inspected the battle suit closely.

“Enki Original, oooh” she cooed. “This is a rare one. They had these imported, but very few were actually made. See, the acquisition was a hassle—corruption at every bureaucratic level, you know how it is. They got a few in, but most of the units that saw battle were Enki-Hydras. I didn’t know any of these Original models existed, let alone see battle.”

“There were several,” Jamshid said while Jodie reappeared and dumped more tools in. “They are hard to control, and only the best pilots could be trusted with them.”

“Yeah!” Roohi’s face lit up and her screen was crowded with happy emojis and hearts. “I’ve read that they had production issues, so they had to use off-the-market stabilisers and magnets. Again, corruption and stuff, you know how it is.”

Jodie leaned against the table, drenched in orange like the rest of us, and she put a hand on Roohi’s metal, egg-shaped shell. “We’re hoping to get our pal Jamshid out of his battle suit. Can you do it?”

Jamshid took a step forward with a clenched metal fist. “Get me out,” he said, grimly and resolutely. Militarily.

“Uh,” Roohi said, and didn’t say anything more for a while. We waited in what looked like the cabin of a sunk ship in an orange sea. “Okay, so, there’s no manuals for this kind of hardware. And they didn’t have standardised armouring systems back then, so you can only get this battle suit off at a very specific armouring station. I have no idea where you’d begin to find one for Enki Originals.”

Jamshid grunted and turned for the door. “I should’ve gone for the military first,” he said.

“Sorry, man,” Roohi said. Her screen made a disappointed face, the kind with a slanted line for a mouth. “I guess they could have one, but it’s still a long shot. You know how it is.”

Jodie began talking to Roohi about her bike, but I touched Jamshid’s arm. I couldn’t see a speck of emotion on his metal face, not even a flicker of light where his eyes were marked.

“It’s going to be alright,” I said. “We’ll find the military. We’ll get help for you.”

“It was alright,” he barked. “For 30 years, it was alright. It was all alright until I woke up.”

-

It took so long for the clerk to return from the archives room that I counted six different pencil-pushers finish their coffees. The entire time, Jamshid stood at attention, staring straight at the wooden door with the translucent window. I was on the verge of getting physically sick from all the bureaucracy.

“Did you say your last name was Nurzai?” the records clerk asked, stacking up the papers against the table.

“Yes,” Jamshid said. His breath caught his name with a slight hesitation, as if he were receiving a misplaced family heirloom.

“I’m not seeing anyone with that name, sorry,” the clerk said.

I leaned over her desk and frowned in her face. “Come on, check those papers, I’m pretty sure he’s there somewhere.”

The clerk clenched her fist like she wanted to knock me out. “These papers are not related to your case. We do more work at the Veteran’s Service Office than just…” she eyed me and Jamshid suspiciously. “Whatever it is you are doing.”

“N-o-o-r-z-a-i,” Jamshid said. “Try that spelling.”

The clerk sighed and spent a few precious seconds flattening the dog-ear crease at the corner of a document. Then she got up and disappeared behind the door marked ‘Archives’ again.

I checked the time. Jamshid waited. The ceiling fan creaked, and more cups of coffee were placed empty on glass desks. I hadn’t had any sleep in hours, and I half wanted to swipe everything on the clerk’s table to the floor, get on the desk, curl up, and sleep.

“You should get some sleep,” Jamshid grunted and turned 90 degrees to stop me from crashing on the desk, all with his right hand. “You’re getting tired. A tired body is a weak body.”

I glared at him, but it was no use. There was nothing to glare at, just a bunch of metal and more metal.

The door squeaked open, and the clerk brought exactly one page in her hands. It was yellowed and splotchy, and the edges were weathered. She placed it on her desk, right where my butt could have been, and traced the record with her finger.

“Enki Original?” she asked, looking up at Jamshid and then me. “It says here that Upper Tech Sergeant Noorani was killed in action. This is the date of death, location and time of engagement, date of notifications sent to family… all accounted for.”

“He wasn’t killed in action,” I said, feeling a new surge of waking. “He was injured and in coma for 30 years. His suit kept him alive, and he only recovered consciousness now.”

The clerk pursed her lips. “Did you memorise that?”

“Excuse me?” I leaned in close to her.

The clerk jabbed at the paper. “It says here that he is _dead_. Unless this individual you claim can prove that they are the same recruit as on record, we cannot make any amends or provide any support.”

“How the fuck is he supposed to prove that?” I asked. The office hushed and turned to face me. Moustaches and old hairstyles with fake pearl necklaces. I refocused attention on the clerk.

“Well, we would require biometric proof, such as fingerprints or retinal scans… those work the best as ID proofs.”

“He’ll need to get out of his armour to get fingerprints and retinal scans, lady,” I said. “Getting out of his suit is the reason we came to you in the first place. I mean come on, you’re the military, right? You guys _put_ him in his suit in the first place, and now you won’t let him out?”

The clerk groaned and rested her head on a fist. “Please approach me with the required documentation and I will move forward with your request.” Her voice was droning now. She looked like she wanted to lay on the desk and go to sleep herself.

-

They wouldn’t let Jamshid into the diner, so I had him wait outside while it rained. I got myself a chicken wrap and got out again to stand by him. He saw me fumbling with the umbrella while holding the wrap, and he offered to hold the umbrella for me. I said my thanks with a mouth full of spicy chicken.

“You don’t ever get hungry?” I asked him while we watched the cars cut through the water-glazed streets.

“I don’t,” he said. The way he said it, it was like he’d interrupted himself from saying ‘I don’t know’. He paused for a few moments. “I don’t feel hungry. I guess the suit injects me with suppressants.”

I shrugged. “That’s rough. But maybe not, I guess. It is sad, though, that you can’t eat.”

“Why is that sad?” he asked. I watched his armour glow in passing headlights, as if it was flaming torches passing us by.

“It feels good, my dude,” I said. “Just like cuddling, I guess. Or what everyone says sex is supposed to feel like. It’s just the most basic thing that feels good to anyone, that’s eating for you. You won’t ever hear anyone in the world say they hate eating. It’s like lying down after a really, really, tired day.”

I was expecting him to say something, but I ended up listening to the patter of the rain like it was call hold music.

Then I got it.

“Well, shit,” I said. “You can’t do any of those things now, can you? I’m sorry.”

“Your friend, Roohi,” Jamshid asked unexpectedly. “Was she… is she… well, is she a real person? Or is she a robot?”

“Oh, she’s not my friend,” I reacted as I reached the bottom of my chicken wrap. “She’s Jodie’s friend, really, and even then, not so much. They’ve known each other for a long time, maybe even since Jodie was a kid.”

“So she was in a shell? Even then?” Jamshid asked.

I paused tantalisingly close to gobbling up the last morsel of the wrap. “You know, I never thought to ask,” I said. “Maybe she was? I never really thought about any of that—whether she grew up human, or if she’s always been in a shell. I just thought she was cool.”

“Maybe she grew up human and had a very serious injury and she had to be put into that thing,” Jamshid said.

I finished the wrap and crumbled the paper cover that came with it. “Maybe she was born in a computer lab and all the memories she has of her father and his calender of colours—all that is just a script written by some imaginative intern. They’re both just as valid.”

“They’re not,” Jamshid said. Like before, he seemed to have stopped himself from saying any more. This time, he seemed to be reconsidering what he had just said.

“I’m gonna get another one, with sweet onion sauce this time,” I said, and returned to the diner.

Inside, most of the tables were empty and the few patrons there were loners. The woman behind the counter looked a lot more pleasantly at me than before, probably that I’d given her no trouble.

I placed my order and drummed my fingers against the counter, leaning back and forth to the rhythm of the music in the diner. My pocket buzzed, and I pulled out my phone to find Jodie’s face plastered on it with a toothy grin.

“You coming to the 'yard tonight?” she asked.

“Nah, I’m hanging with Jamshid,” I said.

“Still?” she groaned and cursed under her breath. “He isn’t a dog, you know. You don’t have to take care of him.”

“I know,” I said, but I didn’t have anything to qualify my position. “But he’s cool. I want to help him see his… I don’t know, his quest through.”

“His quest?” Jodie laughed and cursed at the same time. “You’re a slut for charity.”

“Did you get your bike back?” I asked.

“Nah, Roohi is being a hard ass,” she groaned again. “Says your new friend wasn’t good enough. Says 'What am I supposed to do with this? Money don’t grow on trees!’ and other bullshit. I mean come on.”

“Tough luck,” I said. “Maybe if you hadn’t wrecked it.”

Jodie chuckled. “Girl, that bike has a destiny of its own. It doesn’t matter if I wrecked it or not, it was just destined to get wrecked at that time of its life. You know what I mean?”

“I know that my chicken wrap is here.” I smiled and waved cutely before cutting the call.

The lady approached the counter and handed me by wrap while I swiped the payment on my phone.

“Nothing for your friend there?” she asked, nodding at the door.

“He doesn’t eat,” I said.

“Ah,” she said. “A robot?”

I raised a middle finger at her and left the diner with my wrap.

-

“So how different is the city from when you last saw it?” I asked. The robot-pulled rickshaw slid cleanly by the edge of the street. It was heavy, but at least the robot wouldn’t complain about a man in a battle suit.

“This isn’t the same city,” Jamshid said. “Not anymore.”

“After the war, the city changed a lot.” I felt a bump under the wheels of the rickshaw. “So much was damaged, they had to practically rebuild the city anew. Lots of people died, too, so they had to bring it immigrants from all over. Jodie’s parents were immigrants—but you probably figured that out already.”

“It used to be more beautiful back then,” Jamshid said. “Quieter, greener. People dressed decently, talked decently.”

“Declared war decently,” I added, and Jamshid scoffed under his helmet.

“I don’t recognise any of these streets,” he said. “Is this where you live? I don’t think this district even existed back then.”

“Nah, this one is pretty old,” I told him. “Perch, if you’ve heard of it.”

“Perch,” Jamshid said, almost like a machine hiss. “Parrot’s Perch. My family used to live in Parrot’s Perch.”

I turned to face the metal man. “No kidding?” I grinned. “Where? Maybe I know the place.”

Jamshid recited his address: a number, a building name, a street, a main street, a neighbourhood, a wider area, and finally, ‘Parrot’s Perch’. It was like he was reading off of a piece of paper in front of him.

“Uh yeah, none of those are ringing any bells,” I said. “But then they renamed all the streets after the war, and some places, too. I mean, you call it Parrot’s Perch, I call it just the Perch.”

“Kozue. That was an alcohol shop downstairs,” he mumbled. “And a bakery across the street. What was that name? Foragers’ Bakes. Funny name. Funny story behind it, too.”

I input the names he was mentioning into the Map and did not find any hits. The shop names were a bust, but I did find the street names in a database online. Navigating the old website for useful information was a mess, and I was really ticked off, but I finally found the name I was looking for.

“I found it. No liquor shop or bakery on there, but well…”

“Which way is it?” Jamshid asked with a tone of slight urgency.

“To the left from here, and then straight, taking another left by the bend,” I said.

“You heard her, rickshaw-bot,” Jamshid barked, and the robot recited an acknowledgement before turning to the left, down a street I’d seen a few times before.

“Maybe there’s someone in the area who knows your family. Someone old enough,” I said.

Jamshid held onto the steel railing in front of it. He gripped it so tightly, I was worried he’d damage the rickshaw. “I just want to see what it’s like now,” he said. His voice was a lot less convincing than it had been before.

We took the left at the bend, and as soon as the rickshaw stopped, Jamshid got up and jumped off. I swiped a payment and got down as well.

Jamshid stared at the mega-supermarket that spanned almost the entire length of the street. Shopping carts rattled and shoppers walked out with sodas and beers, clutching their precious bags of chips. Jamshid kept walking down the street, his angle seemingly ignoring the supermarket next to him. Finally, he found a really, really old fire hydrant. Jodie doesn’t even know what a fire hydrant is.

“Do you recognise it?” I asked.

“I’ve seen enough,” he grunted, and turned around before marching back from where we came.

-

When my parents are away for a while, I like to sleep on the roof. There’s no bed there, so I carry a thick mattress up. Jamshid helped carry it for me. I tossed the pillow onto one end and stretched myself under a black-orange sky. If you looked hard enough, you could see a star or two.

“Do you regret all this?” I asked. “Getting into the suit and all… I’d regret it.”

“I knew the risks,” Jamshid replied. He was looking at the city… or what would be seen of it, given that we didn’t exactly live in a high-rise.

“Did you?” I leaned back and looked at him with my head upside-down. “Did you know you’d be trapped in the suit for 30 years because of a coma?”

Jamshid sighed dryly. “No, I didn’t know that,” he said.

“What did you know? What did they tell you?”

“I’d read the literature,” he said. “I thought I’d be invincible. Hits that could kill a man would just be scratches on metal for me. It was supposed to be really quick, too. Forty minutes, that’s it. They didn’t want to tax these things too much that early.”

“Forty minutes?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Jamshid said. “And five of those would be assembly and disassembly. It was a quick engagement, and we were the cavalry. A special surprise just when the enemy thought they had us on the run.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, we won,” I said.

“Of course we did,” Jamshid said. “We knew that even back then. The enemy never really had a chance, but they fought fiercely. I thought I’d be back at the base in an hour. I’d be eating sausages in the mess. That hour never really ended for me.”

I watched a tiny black insect crawl along the surface of the rood, tiny antennas feeling twitching and searching. It scampered away when my phone began vibrating with a call. It was Jodie again. I swiped yes.

“Hey, Roohi wanted to talk to you about your new dad,” Jodie said, and handed her phone to Roohi’s metal arm.

“Hey honey,” Roohi greeted me. Her voice sounded less electronic, somehow. “I was wondering if your friend is still with you. I couldn’t help but get curious, and I wanted to know if I could find out more about him.”

“What can you find out about him?” I asked.

“I don’t know!” Roohi laughed. “Anything. I just wanna go digging.”

“Jodie’s that boring, huh?” I asked, and Roohi laughed for half a minute straight. I got up with the phone and walked up to Jamshid. “What do you wanna know?”

“Could you check his serial number, honey?” Roohi asked. “Should be somewhere on his chest, over where his heart should be.”

I scanned his chest. It took a while as I asked Roohi what to look for, and she told me what to look for, and I finally found what I was looking for. A small metal plate, the side of maybe three of my fingers. It had a serial number, a model number, and a bar code of some sort. Below that were the initials of the armed forces. The pink paint had narrowly missed the plate. Any further to the right, and it would be gone.

I took a picture of the plate and sent it to Roohi, who cut the line after a very curt thanks.

“Roohi’s gonna dig up what she can about you,” I told Jamshid, who just grunted. “Maybe she can find out something that could get you out of there.”

“Please don’t,” he said, and laid his working hand on the chain link around the roof’s edge.

“You don’t want to get out of there?” I asked.

“I don’t want to think about getting out,” he replied. “Because then I have to think about not getting out.”

I nodded and looked at the floor for a while. “But you know,” I said. “That’s the same as not thinking about success, because then you have to think about failure. If you do that, you’ll never be successful.”

“I don’t want to be successful,” he said. “I just want to not fail.”

Before I could respond, he held up his hand at me, making a stop gesture. I shoved my hands in my pyjama pockets.

My phone buzzed again, and I picked up the call.

“So this was kind of hard, given how fucking awful government websites are,” Roohi said without any greetings. “But I’ve got his name, rank, posting, origin. I did a few more searches, and I found his family, too. I know where they live now.”

I looked up at Jamshid. “Did you hear that?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, still staring out at the city.

-

The van-cab ride blew a chunk of my account balance, but I figured this was going to be worth it. I wasn't going to make Jamshid ride a bus to see his own family. On the way, we stopped at a record store. He made me buy a very old record called "Midnight Flight". The cab driver was a little annoyed we took so long, but I guess he didn't want to complain to a customer in a battle suit.

Jamshid held the record in front of him in the van, reading the back of the sleeve. I tapped my foot to a song that Jamshid would never have heard of. The blip on the map drew closer and closer to its destination.

"You must be nervous," I said.

Jamshid lowered the record from between us. "Are you going to stay out?"

I hadn't expected that, so I gave it some thought.

"What do you want me to do?" I finally asked.

"I don't know," he said, and his voice was a lot weaker than it usually is. "I don't even know what I want to do."

The van pulled over and the driver pulled the doors open. He was grinning under his spiky moustache. "You know, I mostly carry cargo. A real, flesh-and-blood person in a battle suit? Can't say I ever imagined that."

"Thank you for the ride," Jamshid said as he got out.

The alley we had to pass through was so cramped that we had to walk one behind the other. Jamshid's battle suit barely squeezed through, and there was still a fair bit of scratching on the sides. Wires hung from above, carrying data and power, and the tiles below were broken, some even before Jamshid stepped on them.

After some asking around, we found the address. The door looked like it could fall off any minute. A bunch of boys sitting on bikes nearby eyed us, splitting their attention between me and Jamshid. Crows took turns watching us.

I rang the doorbell.

We waited.

The door opened to reveal a woman wiping her hands on a rag. She was squinting at first, but that turned into an alarmed frown when she saw Jamshid's battle suit. "Who are you?"

"This is Jamshid Noorzai," I said. "You're his family."

The woman half-turned back and yelled out a name, and mentioned that there's a man in a battle suit at the door. Multiple sets of feet shuffled inside. The first out were a pair of kids: both girls, mouths agape and looking at Jamshid like he was a god.

An older woman appeared from inside. Her hair looked like white cotton candy, and she wore a rather cheap gown. She wore the kind of eyeglasses that have a thin chain on them.

Jamshid made a sound, and his breathing was loud enough for all of us to hear.

The older woman was also frowning as she made her way to us, and the younger woman stepped aside, herding the kids away. The older woman grimaced at us while she squinted for a better look through her eyeglasses.

"Who are you two? What do you want?" she asked.

I repeated what I had said to the younger woman before.

The woman looked a little angry now, a little disgusted, like I'd made a profane joke about a dead person. She could've eaten my head clean off. "There is no Jamshid Noorzai," she said. "He died three decades ago."

"I got you this," Jamshid said, lifting his record, making sure the front cover was facing the woman. "Happy birthday, sis."

The older woman stared at the record and the anger and the disgust faded away, washed away by her watering eyes. Her head shook a little. She looked up at Jamshid.

"I guess I missed thirty birthdays," he said. "But this is what you wanted first, so I got it for you, just like I said I would."

"Jamshid?" the woman asked. Her voice was choked, and the tears were breaking through now.

"We'll figure out the other twenty-nine birthday gifts later, right?" Jamshid said.

The woman took a few steps closer, and she embraced the battle suit, pressing her head against the peace sign on the chest. Her tears flowed down the metal. When she began crying, it was like her voice was being snapped in half each time.

Jamshid placed his working hand on her back and pressed her against him. "I told you, didn't I?" he said. "I told you I wasn't lying. I told you I'd really come back, and I'd bring the record with me. It just took me a while, that's all."

I wiped the tears off my own eyes. The younger woman touched my shoulder. "Why don't you sit? Would you like something to drink?"

I hugged her.

[itsanerdlife]

Everything You Want 18/19

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warning: Lies. Fuck ton of lies. So many lies. Lots of secrets. So many fucking secrets. Language. Violence. Slow Burn. Lots of fighting. Heartbreak. Death threats. Kidnapping. Murder.

One Last Part

He slips in through one of the broke out windows from above. Climbing the wall a little higher out of view, covered in shadows. Harry is pacing, Y/N struggles against the bindings on her wrists, toes of her sneakers barely brushing the floor. Even enhanced it’s a difficult position to escape from. Her cheek is busted open and her eyebrow split. She struggled or tried to escape.

When Harry turns pacing in the other direction, Peter can see the marks Y/N left. Harry’s lip is swollen and ripped wide, down the center. His left eye is massively swollen, and already a deep nasty shade of red. She went down with a hell of a fight, than again that was something she was always doing. She fought no matter what the situation was.

“Now.” Harry chuckles, it’s twisted and dark. “We both know, we know, Peter knows.” Harry pauses grinning at Y/N.

“You’re a fucking nut job Osborn.” She huffs.

“I’m this way, because your little baby daddy.” He wags a finger at her.

“Think it might be genetic, your dad was pretty fucked too.” She scoffs.

“All because of Spider-Man.” Harry sing-songs. Christ he really is off his rocker.

“How hard up are you for Peter?” She smirks.

“He knows. We both know he knows. Bouncing baby boy, is Peter’s baby.” Harry does a little spin, on a whole new path of strange and seriously unstable.

“I never told him.” She lifts her chin. Peter’s head drops, letting out a silent sigh. “I told you, lunatic. You never know, what if he’s Tony Stark’s baby.” She taunts. Peter’s eye roll so hard he was momentarily dizzy. But this makes Harry pause, staring at her. “Do you even know my sons name?” She giggles. “Anthony. As in Tony Jr.” She wiggles her brow at Harry.

“No.” Harry grins, drawing out the word. “I’ve seen that chunky thing. He’s the spitting imagine of Peter.” Harry nods, starting to pace again. There’s a thump and glass breaking, from outside the building. The guys who clearly worked for Harry, look around.

“Boss?” One asks. Harry’s shoulders slump, annoyed.

“Fine. Fine. Check it out.” Harry waves them away. “Now.” He starts again, a disturbing chuckle follows. “Do I kill you now, torture you and send photos to Peter, or do I wait for him to show up and kill you in front of him.” Harry’s tone is giddy and excited.

“Did you really kidnap me, and not have this planned out?” Y/N shakes her head. “Well you don’t take after your father in some ways. That much is clear.” She snorts.

“One thing I did learn from my father.” Harry laughs, it bounces off the abandoned building walls. Pulling something from the back of his waist. The metal click, makes Peter’s stomach lurch. “Always shoot the messenger, it sends a clear message.” Harry chuckles. Y/N freezes, with nowhere to go.

“Harry!” Peter yells, dropping to his feet, pulling up to his full height. Harry laughs, spinning around, a grin on his face.

“I told you!” Harry dances with excitement. “I told you.” He looks over at Y/N. “Perfect timing.” Harry’s tone changes, it’s dark, filled with anger. He points his gun at Y/N again, she swallows, glaring at Harry.

“This is between you and me, Harry. Don’t.” He warns him.

“But is it? I mean it was between you and my dad. Then it was you and me. Now it’s her and me.” Harry grins with pure evil.

“Harry there are only two options here. You walk out in cuffs or you’re carried out in a body bag.” Peter warns him.

“She can leave in one too.” Harry snickers.

“What do you want, Harry!?” Peter’s voice rises in panic. The door slams open, a large man slides across the floor, unconscious. The rest of the team follows.

“It’s not about what I want anymore! You had your chance, you killed my father!” Harry yells back, suddenly seething with anger. “You took the only one I had. So it seems far I take the thing you love.” Harry smirks.

“You want my blood? Fine.” Peter throws out his arm. “Take it. It’s yours.” He swallows.

“Kid.” Buck’s voice filled with shock.

“You want the formula my dad used? I’ll write it down for you.” Peter offers. Harry looks on silently. “You want me to your damn lab rat. I’m yours.” He steps forward. “You want revenge for you dad. Kill me.” Peter announces.

“Peter.” Nat growls.

“I killed your dad. I don’t regret it. I’d do it again, given the chance. Harry I’ll kill you too and I won’t lose an ounce of sleep over the two of you.” Peter shrugs.

“You could have avoided all this!” Harry yells, shaking his gun at Y/N.

“You kidnapped the woman I love, Harry there is no avoiding what I’m going to do to you if you don’t stop pointing that gun at her.” Peter bites out. Y/N struggles, Sam moves forward. Harry sets off a warning shot into the ground near her feet. Y/N let’s out a yelp, wood splinters fly, Buck rips him back when he jerks forward.

“No I don’t think you will Romeo.” Harry grins, when everyone tenses up as he levels his gun with her chest.

“Shut the fuck up and do it, than.” Y/N snaps, anger contorted her features. “You’ve been ranting and rambling this whole time.” She spits. “Either pull the trigger or let me down so I can kill you myself.”

“What better way to go. With your family watching.” Harry grins, shrugging. Peter heard the snap, the force of it, slammed Harry back. Knocking him to the ground, his gun skids away, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.

“Christ Barton!” Peter snaps, running for Y/N.

“Hey kid, not everyone climbs walls.” Clint huffs when he drops to his feet from somewhere above. “Took me a minute to get up the side and in, without dropping in on my back.” Clint grumbles. Peter’s arms wrap around Y/N’s waist, lifting her up so Buck can unhook her hands. 

“Are you stupid?” Y/N snaps, shoving Peter in the chest when her feet are planted on the floor. “Offering yourself up!” She shoves him again.

“Hey! You left in the middle of the night.” He points a finger at her.

“Because he wanted you!” She throws up her still cuffed hands. She looks at them, before thrusting her hands up at Steve. 

“Oh, let me.” Steve breaks them apart, freeing her.

“Thank you.” She rubs her wrists.

“So you both did stupid shit, for the other?” Sam’s head tips. Y/N and himself pause, thinking about that.

“Anthony is never dating.” Y/N clears her throat.

“Well if he’s like Peter, he’ll be too awkward, till he’s in his twenties.” Nat shrugs.

“He’s still awkward.” Buck snorts. Harry yells in pain from behind them. Clint’s holding his arrow, looking rather pleased with himself.

“What?” He looks over. “He tried to take my God son.” Clint shrugs.

“Anthony?” Y/N’s eyes snap open wide, looking at him.

“Tony and Wanda have him at the tower.” Peter brushes her hair back from her face.

“I let Tony jump out of my hotel window with our son.” She winces.

“Yeah, we’ll talk about that later.” Peter nods. Sam and Clint haul Harry up, his own cuffs on now. He tucks Y/N under his arm, close to his body. “Need Banner to look you over.” He nods, brushing his thumb down her cheek.

“I’ve had worse.” She smirks. Letting him lead her out of the building.

“Does it hurt?” He asks taking in the damage to her face.

“Not as much as watching you love someone else.” She shrugs.

“Never anyone else, sweetheart, always just you.” He kisses her forehead.

“Good cause I’m staying home, I can’t go back to feeling like my lungs have been ripped out. Anthony needs a lot more than just me.” She smiles softly.

“Oh you’ll be lucky if you get to leave the tower again. For a long, long time.” He chuckles.

“He does weird things.” She sighs.

“I know.” Peter nods. “We’ll figure it out.” He chuckles.

“You made him a freak.” She smirks at him.

“You made him chubby.” He chuckles. Her mouth opens and instead she laughs.

“Let’s get you home.” Clint opens the door for her. 

Peter helps her in, before following her, settling in beside her. Her head comes to rest on his shoulder, her fingers slip between his, laced together. Together, right where they should have always been. But there was enough time to make up for what they lost.

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

Everything Peaches 2/6/19: @xmtd5 @mo320 @all1e23 @courtmr @avxgers @eliza-kat @izzy--lee @irepeldirt @dumblani @crist1216 @a--1--1--3 @alyssaj23 @allyp1023 @joannie95 @nishanki1 @bugalouie @kolakube9 @rileyloves5 @sarahp879 @sea040561 @sexyvixen7 @pcterpvrker @pigwidgexn @doctoranon @tomhardy41 @abschaffer2 @justrae9903 @tony-stank3 @bookluver01 @teller258316 @callie-bear15 @nickimarie94 @wandressfox @amandab-ftw @carostar2020 @henrietteoaks @nea90sweetie @amberkay284 @circusofchaos @itsagalaxystar @bettercallsabs @miraclesoflove @lucifersnipnips @queenkrissy11 @elite4cekalyma @this-is-mycrisis @sadyoungadult @destiel-artemis @xrosegoldwolfx @paintballkid711 @isabelcrichards @iwillbeinmynest @sweet-honey15 @chanelmadrid13 @mellxander1993 @killerbumblebee @spookygrantaire @geeksareunique @supernatural508 @sammysgirl1997 @itzmegaaaaaaan @booksbeforebois @optimistic-babes @childishhoebinoo @elizabethaellison @aspiringtranslator @mariekoukie6661 @pure-princess-97 @capsheadquaters @samanthasmileys @nerdypinupcrystal @atlas-of-the-world @youclickedthislink @futuremrsb-r-main @lovemarvelousfics @notyourtypicalrose @petersunderoos96 @loving-life-my-way @buckystolemyheart @booktvmoviefangirl @supernatural-girl97 @thefridgeismybestie @dumbbitchenergytm @abbypalmer14-blog @fanfictionjunkie1112 @meganlikesfandoms @awkwardfangirl2014 @supernaturaldean67 @xqueenofthecraziesx   @queenoftheunderdark @writingaworldofmyown @shann-the-artist-moon @supernaturallover2002 @daughterofthenight117 @mustbeaweasleyginger @mcuwillbethedeathofme @sprinklesandsugarcubes @whothehellisbucky-1930 @verymuchclosetedfangirl @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @ocaptain-mycaptainmorgan @wonderlandfandomkingdom @crazy-little-thing-called-buck @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @stupendoussciencenaturepanda @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @supernatural-strangerthings-1980

Marvel Tag List 2/6/19: @lumelgy   @dottirose   @jcc04220 @rockagurl @mizzzpink   @jade-taillia @coley0823 @widowsfics @bookluver01 @thelostallycat @shield-agent78 @dtftheavengers   @ilovetvshowsblog @iamwarrenspeace @thefridgeismybestie @whenallsaidanddone @deanwinchestersrifle @fandomsstolemylife00   @daughterofthenight117 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect  

Peter ‘Fuck Me I’m Weak’ Parker:

@ml7010 @ariminiria @dkpink123 @boltsgirl919 @quokkatrash   @everthenerd @ms-rogers06 @crayonwriting @baebeepeach @bellamouse16 @honey-bee-holly @messofamasterpiece @britkane-shsl-librarian @kiss-the-stars-goodbye

Everything You Want: @gabile18 @kriswu46 @starkbelova @garbage-bitch @bellewithbooks @little-dr-cranberry @tom-hollands-blog @simply-sams-things @misswritingintherain  @hitoshi-s-stupid-bitch @verymuchclosetedfangirl

[lowkeyaesthvtic]

Evil Karma - Chapter 1

Word Count: 2,753

Pairings: none yet

Summary: A new VK arrives on the isle with no clue of what has happened to her ‘almost family

Rating: whole story will be a T rating (with some chapters being M) but this chapter is relatively PG

Warnings: mentions of (not graphic) death, just overall anger and villainy

I awoke in a haze with a sharp pain in my back and shoulders. The last thing I remembered was using one of my father’s old trinkets to make a portal. The special thing with portals is that they could take you anywhere as long as you focused on where you wanted to go. What sucked about that was I had never been anywhere else before...therefore I had no place to focus on. This must have been where the portal placed me. I forced myself to stand and took a look around me. One thing I could immediately tell was that I was on some sort of island from the familiar scent of salty seawater hitting me. As I continued to look around, however, I knew this island was nowhere near familiar. Everything felt so incredibly overcrowded. Trash, dirt, and flies invaded the space around me. It was only a few more seconds before I noticed people bumping into me without a second thought. Some of them girls, some of them boys, some of them tall and mischievous, others were small and unknowing of their actions. One thing they all had in common? They all tried to steal something from me.

Pickpocketing was something I had learned from my father at quite a young age. He told me that the boys where we lived were ‘incredibly lost souls’ and ‘may not know how to react to someone who looked like me.’ His answer to that problem was to teach me as much as he could. So that’s what he did. I learned all the ways of my home’s magic, figured out how to harness and use it as a sort of...persuasion, and became the best on the island with a bow and arrow. It was because of all I had learned that anyone who tried to steal from me had failed. Until one person in particular had brought a bit of a challenge.

As soon as I felt him bump against my hip, I dodged any further contact and went for my dagger, as per usual. However, when I brandished my dagger, I was met with something I never thought I’d see: a rusted hook made of silver. No way. No way this could be true. “Hook…” I mumbled, standing down from my fighting stance and running through the crowded alley.

“Wait, you know me? But I don’t know you! Come back, you runt!” I hear a confused, aggressive yell in response and before I knew it, he was chasing me. As I hurried past the people in the alley, I ran past names that looked all too familiar. Lady Tremaine...Dr Facilier...Mother Gothel...it was at this point that I finally knew where I was. I knew my father and I had lost. My magic wouldn’t work here, my boys were likely too far gone, and I’d have to start all over. It wasn’t until I saw the hooked man’s figure in front of me that I realized I had stopped dead in my tracks. “How do you know me? One of the street rats tell you about me?” His accent was thick, incredibly hard to understand, yet it spoke to him. Something about his voice added to his madness, his unpredictability.

“I don’t know you...well, I don’t know your face, at least. Our parents knew each other. It was kind of a love-hate relationship.” I responded, taking in his face. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that he looked intriguing. His hair was a dark black and looked extremely messy, as if the chaotic life of a pirate had tossed it around. Despite attempting to darken his eyes with eyeliner, his eyes’ color matched the blue of the ocean from my home island. His face was incredibly structured and, like his hook, his jaw was sharp enough to cut. “My father was Peter Pan.” At the name, his eyes lit up.

“So you’re the famous Sofia Pan? Goodness, my father told stories about yours almost every night!” He stepped away from me, almost completely throwing away his intimidating aura and letting a playful smile grow onto his face. “I thought your father placed that one spell on Auradon to make them think he was a hero...what are you doing here?”

“Well, you’re right about that...I’m gonna be honest, I don’t remember much. All I know is I wouldn’t be here if Neverland was still intact. I guess you could say I’m on my own now…” Things were silent for a few seconds before he looked to me and gestured to what looked to be some kind of restaurant.

“Maybe not… come with me, Sofia Pan. Let me show you how to take the Isle of the Lost and hook it like it’s nothing!”

“Oh, you can just call me Sofi. If you want.”

“Harry Hook. It’s nice to put a face to your name, Sofi.” And with that, he led me further down the alley into what I could assume was some kind of plaza. We were much closer to the ocean and a lot farther away from the pickpocketing ‘street rats.’ I had started to notice during our walk that most people either respected and followed Harry Hook or were scared of him to the point where they’d do anything he asked whether they wanted to or not. Eventually, we came upon Ursula’s Fish and Chips Shoppe. “Uma is going to absolutely love you! We’ve got girls on the ship, yeah, but if you’re anything like your father...well we’ll just see what happens.” A smirk began to return to the young pirate’s face. Something in my gut began to tell me that this would be a bit more intense than I thought. Was this a good idea?

“The chip shoppe looked just as run down as the rest of the Isle, the only difference being an overall theme of the sea and a tiny television tucked by a long table at the front of the restaurant. Standing by said television was a sight I nearly felt honored to behold. Her skin was smooth and matched the wood of the table she stood behind. Her hair was tightly braided, combining white, black, and a shade of blue that matched the sea close to what I used to call home. She had a bitter glint in her eye but I could tell she wasn’t the type to wallow in her problems. “Harry! It’s about time you came back...where’s the money?” She spoke with certainty, domination, like she knew that she was in charge. In all honesty, the assertiveness in her voice was almost as intriguing as Harry’s accent.

“Right here, my Captain. I have something else for you..a bit of an unexpected guest.” He abruptly pushed me towards her and our eyes met for the first time. After a few seconds, Uma snapped out of a momentary daze and looked to Harry.

“Who is this? Are you trying to set Gil up again? I mean, come on Harry...I don’t think she’d be his type.” She began to eye me up and down, as if she were checking me for anything that could threaten her or her crew.

“No...this isn’t for Gil. Uma, I would like you to meet the wickedly infamous Sofia Pan.” Her eyes widened at the name, was I really that well known on the Isle? “Well...she said that Sofi was fine enough, but I figured you’d want to know her rotten legacy.” With emphasis on the word rotten, I was reminded of where I had come from.

When my father first created Neverland, he had relatively wholesome intentions. He wanted to take boys who felt unloved and unwanted to a place where they could do what they wanted without fear of what others would think. But as he continued to live on the island, Neverland’s magic grew stronger and infected him with madness and the undying desire for power and control. He began forcing his Lost Boys to live on the island, using magic if he had to. He once made a magic Pan Flute that he would take with him across the kingdom and use its song to lure all of the young boys away from their parents and off to Neverland.

By the time I was born, my father was completely corrupted by the magic of the island. His darkness was all I knew. However, it did have its benefits. He taught me to never take no for an answer. He taught me to look in the eyes of authority and say ‘you can’t control me.’ Little did he know that would be his demise…

“So your father had the power to fool an entire kingdom into thinking he was the good guy? I honestly don’t know whether I should be jealous that I wasn’t in your shoes or intrigued by what that could mean for you.” She kept her arms crossed and firm, but I could tell that I wasn’t her victim. Not today, at least.

“If you must know…” I stepped closer to her, leaving Harry in a state of surprise. I guess he must have thought that I’d be hesitant. The poor naive boy, he has no idea just how easily I can charm someone. “It means I’m an expert archer, I know how to reel boys into shape, and I can be..incredibly persuasive.”

“Incredibly persuasive? What does that have to do anything? Your Neverland magic isn’t going to work here.” Harry questioned, trying to act as a barrier between me and his Captain.

“It means she can get anyone to do anything...and we need that here.” Uma grabbed Harry by his hook and gently pushed him to the side. The way the two looked at each other was almost affectionate. It wasn’t my business to question what they had with each other, and something told me that I would soon find out as long as I kept my mouth shut.

Our conversation was quickly interrupted by the sound of the television being switched on. “Hey Uma! Harry! The VKs are on the Auradon News again!” Uma rolled her eyes as she looked towards the television. What I heard next sent shivers down my spine.

“Alright Meeko, this is Nakoma here with the latest update on Auradon’s newest heartthrobs. Our four VKs, Carlos, Jay, Evie and Mal informed us last week of the wicked corruption behind Peter Pan, a hero that we all thought we knew and loved. It turns out, when villains were being sent to the Isle of the Lost, Peter Pan used his Neverland Magic to enchant the entire kingdom of Auradon so he wouldn’t be locked with the rest of the villains. It’s a good thing evil magic doesn’t work on the Isle, because if it weren’t for these core four, we never would have known about it! I’m here with Mal, daughter of Maleficent and current partner of our King Ben, who has just returned from seizing this corrupt island. So Mal, can you describe the events that took place during this battle?” The news anchor gives her microphone to a skinny girl with purple hair, green eyes, and an obviously fake smile.

“Well, the first thing we did was search for Peter Pan himself. He had quite the army built up, it was probably one of the most difficult battles the VKs and I have faced. However, I can happily say that Neverland is completely empty, never to be inhabited again.”

“So did you ever find Peter Pan? And what of the Lost Boys living on the island? Are they all on the Isle now?”

“We couldn’t find Peter Pan anywhere, we can only assume that he fled away. He’s never been one for bravery, after all.” The reporter laughed with Mal before continuing her tangent. “As for the Lost Boys, I can say that they were...properly taken care of.” I could feel the fire rising in my eyes. I remember now, I remember it all.

I could feel Harry and Uma shift their eyes towards me, their crew following suit like a pack of sheep. They killed my Lost Boys...she killed my Lost Boys. Out of pure rage and impulse, I grabbed pieces of the fish guts from some pirate’s tray and chucked it at the television. “You murderous wench! You heartless, cold coward! I swear to all that is wicked if I ever see you I’ll -” Next thing I knew, I felt two pairs of arms around me pulling me down from the table I was standing on. There was Harry, looking at me with almost a sense of concern, and a blonde pirate looking at me like a confused puppy. Uma quickly switched off the television and put her hand on the blonde’s shoulders.

“Gil...I just realized that our new sail hasn’t been set up yet. How about you take the rest of the crew and get that taken care of, huh?” He jumped at the idea and led the rest of the pirates out of the restaurant, leaving me, Uma, and Harry all alone. Did I know what she had planned for me? No. Did I care? Not really. This ‘Mal’ and her friends had slaughtered the only family I had, and I wanted revenge. “Well, I guess now we have a common enemy.” Uma said to Harry, slowly shifting her direction to me.

I tsked and looked to her. “What, she killed your family too? Who does this purple haired traitor think she is? And since when were VKs allowed in Auradon?” Harry rolled his eyes and threw some scrap fish at the screen.

“Since three months ago. King Ben chose four VKs to come live on Auradon for some kind of ‘second chance.’ He wanted to start with the baddest of the bad. Son of Jafar, son of Cruella De Vil, daughter of the Evil Queen...and apparently, the daughter of Maleficent was the most rotten of them all. He whisked those posers off to a better life and left the rest of us in the dirt.” Uma replied, scowling at a poster of the ‘core four’ that had since been vandalized with classic pirate graffiti reading ‘we ride with the tide.’

“What I wouldn’t give to wipe the smiles off their faces…” Harry drifted off, wiping a piece of fish from the television and slipping it into his mouth with his finger.

It was then that an idea had popped into my head. Would it be hard to pull off? Of course it would be...but the victory would be oh so worth it. I sit on the long table behind me and look Uma straight in the eye. “What if we did more than that?”

The two pirates piqued their eyebrows in interest. Clearly I was winning them over. I’m not saying I’m completely surprised but given Uma’s sense of domination I figured it’d be much harder to get her to listen. I guess you learn something every day. “More than wiping smiles off their faces? Explain…”

“Mal and her little group of friends left you and your crew to rot, when you clearly deserve to be on Auradon more than she does. She also had the gall to go after my home and take everything I once held close to me. As you said, we have a common enemy.”

“Yeah...I still don’t know what you’re entailing here.” Harry mumbled, now leaning on his Captain’s shoulder.

“What if she got a taste of her own medicine? She left you out to dry and she tore apart my family...so we take her little group and tear them limb from limb until she feels all alone, just as she deserves. My village pillaging friends...what I’m proposing is an act of karma so sinister that Princess Purple here will wish she was never born.” Harry and Uma’s eyes begin to light up. Harry’s mad smirk returns and Uma mischievously chuckles before going to sit on the table next to me.

“You know Sofi, our crew needs someone like you…”

“Funny you say that, Uma. I was thinking the exact same thing.”