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breynekai-tfc · 4 years ago

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Jailbreak

A scene from a longer project called “The Ice King”. It takes place after “Great One” in my oneshot collection, “Our Son, the Halfa”.

The story so far: Maddie has discovered that Danny has ice powers but that's the extent of her knowledge. In this scene, Maddie and Danny have been captured by Walker and are in the middle of breaking out of his prison...

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(･ᗜ･)ﾉ♡

The alarm was a low, continuous wail, like a ghoul moaning through a loudspeaker. At first, Maddie was certain it was about their escape. She grabbed the door's handle – forgetting that she could have run straight through the door – flung it open, and sprinted down the hallway, one hand wrapped around her son's wrist and dragging him along.

The halls were empty. The cells were empty. There was not a ghost in sight. After a few seconds of running, Maddie and Danny both slowed down and came to a stop.

"Where is everyone?" she murmured. "The other prisoners? The guards?"

"Uh, cafeteria? Out in the yard? Does it matter?" He sounded worried; obviously it did matter. "We need to find the Speeder and get out of here." This time it was Danny who snatched Maddie's wrist, and he led her down the hallways at a steady jog.

They turned several corners and stuck their heads, literally, through several promising doors along the way but found nothing and no one.

"He'll have put it with the other Real World contraband," said Danny as they moved, "if only we could find where that is. We just need to make it to the main hall…"

"I thought you've been here before?"

"Yeah, once!" said Danny, poking his head through another door, taking it out again, and shaking it. Negative. "I'm actually not in the habit of getting arrested, thank you. Besides, it would help if I knew where we even are right now. This place is a freaking maze!"

Upon realizing that Danny had no idea of their direction, Maddie started keeping a map in her head. It wouldn't do them any good to be running around in circles.

She was becoming increasingly anxious about the guards, or lack thereof. She tried to remember – had there been guards in their cell block before they broke through the bars? The angle had been bad; it had been impossible to see.

A few more minutes of fruitless searching brought them to the largest hallway yet, possibly the heart of the prison.

"Finally!" Danny exclaimed. "I know where we are – that way's the gate, that way's Walker's office-"

"Shh!" said Maddie.

Her son's eyes widened and he clamped his mouth shut. It didn't take him long to hear it, too. Somewhere nearby was the distinctive sound of a large, unruly crowd and ectoblasts. Lots of ectoblasts.

They looked at each other. Danny seemed to have the same question in his mind as was in hers. Should we check it out or steer clear?

"We need to find the Speeder," Maddie said firmly. "Whatever's happening, we don't have any weapons, and we're not prepared to deal with it."

Danny hesitated and finally nodded. "You're right." His hands twitched, and briefly Maddie watched her son clench and unclench his fists.

She placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled reassuringly at him. "We'll be fine. We're going to make it out of here."

He nodded. "Yeah. I know." His gaze lingered on the hallway from which the sound was echoing. "I just hope whatever's happening isn't happening where I think it's happening… Because the room we need is on the other side of that."

"Where is that?"

He grimaced. "The cafeteria."

Danny continued warily toward one end of the hall, footsteps calculated and silent. Maddie followed at his side. Every step brought them closer to sounds of mayhem. Gradually, they began to hear Walker's booming voice, the exact words muffled under shouting, thuds, crashes and explosions.

Soon they were approaching two purple double-doors with a character that was distinctly 'institutional meal hall'. The sounds were almost deafening, and shadows mixed with flashes of green and blue light through the window panes on the doors.

"Great," Danny groaned.

"Isn't there another way around?"

"Not exactly. This part of the prison is on a cliff. The only thing outside the cafeteria walls is a plummet into the abyss."

"Why is the Real World Objects room on the other side of the cafeteria in the first place?" Maddie couldn't help but wonder aloud.

"Heard it used to be a gymnasium. Only place big enough to keep all that junk, I guess."

A second later, something slammed into and through the double doors. Maddie pulled Danny aside in time for the shape to fly past them and skid against the floor down the hall. The doors quickly swung shut again, cutting them off from the mayhem on the other side.

The ghost that had been thrown through the doors groaned and rose to its feet, giving Maddie a clear view of the monster. She was surprised to recognize it; then again, it's hard to forget an eight-foot-tall wolfman. The last time they had met, this particular ghost had been working with Phantom to attack Amity Park's mayor, Mr. Montez. Disoriented, the ghost shook its head, snorting, its black fur standing on end.

"Wulf?" gasped Danny. Instinctively, like a soccer mom in a minivan, Maddie put an arm across her son's chest.

"This is a powerful and extremely dangerous ghost, Danny."

What Danny did next completely shocked her. He grabbed her arm, simultaneously throwing it aside and ducking underneath it, to run straight for the ghost.

"No," said Danny over his shoulder, "he's a friend!"

"Danny!" Armed with nothing but her fists and her wits, Maddie Fenton ran after him.

The ghost noticed Danny, who was completely dwarfed by the giant beast, and grinned. "Danny!" it growled, before grabbing the boy and pulling Danny tightly against its chest. "Friend!"

This was unpleasantly similar to their meeting with Frostbite the day before. Did her son have a penchant for befriending ghosts that looked like Bigfoot's cousins?

"Oof!" Danny squirmed out of the wolfman's arms, and his prison shirt was almost pulled over his head in the process. Patting down his clothes, he grinned blatantly at the monster. "Good to see you, too, big guy. What are you doing here?"

"Walker," growled the ghost. Its snout curled in a snarl.

"How do you keep getting arrested? We talked about this!"

The wolfman looked positively repentant as it lowered its head. It mumbled "Sorry" and some other words in a foreign language.

A crash reverberated in the cafeteria behind them. "More importantly," said Danny, and he jerked a thumb behind him. "What's going on in there?"

The ghost proceeded to give an explanation in that second language, accented by a wide array of hand gestures. Danny listened, nodding, and his expression grew concerned. When the ghost had finished talking, Danny translated for his mom: "According to Wulf, there have been natural portals opening around the prison all week. Not very many prisoners have escaped, but Walker didn't want to take chances. He ordered his guards to stick to the remaining prisoners like glue. So, when a portal opened in the cafeteria today in the middle of lunch, all the guards and all the prisoners were there, and, well… this happened. Prisoners are trying to escape, and the guards are blasting them to bits." Frowning, he turned back to the ghost called 'Wulf'. "You haven't been opening these portals, have you?"

"No!" said the ghost, waving his hands. "No me!" Pointing to his neck, where there was a thick electronic band, he added, "Collar!"

"Wulf," said Danny, "my mom and I need to get to the other side of the cafeteria – to the Real World Objects room. Think you can help us out?"

The wolf monster grinned menacingly, flexing his arms. Glowing claws like blades sprouted from his fingertips. Bloodlust made his green eyes glow brighter. "Wulf help friend. Like to fight Walker goons, too."

"Awesome," said Danny, patting the ghost on one of his bulging, furry arms. Looking at his mom, he added, "Wulf is one of the good guys."

"We're going to have a long talk about this later, young man."

"Later!" said Wulf. "Now is fight!" On his own cue, the giant wolfman lumbered forward and burst back through the doors.

Maddie traded looks with Danny, and they both ran after him.

The cafeteria – if it could still be called such – was in total disarray. At the opposite end of the room, clustered around the edges of a portal in the floor that was at least ten feet in diameter, a battle was raging. Identical ghosts in riot gear with shields and batons were defending the hole against several dozen ghosts of all shapes, sizes, and species. A few were familiar to Maddie, such as Technus and Ember, but most were new faces. These prisoner ghosts were fighting a war on two fronts, because on their other side, the one nearest to Maddie and her son, there was another line of guards headed by the ghost warden himself. Most of the cafeteria furniture had been overturned, incinerated, or adapted into creative weaponry. Lumps of food, or possibly some ghosts' spilled guts, were splattered over the floor, walls, and ceiling.

Wulf's bulk shielded them from sight, although Maddie and Danny were both short enough to duck under his arms to get a good view. He pointed across the room, at a door, and turned to Danny. "There. Room."

The door was precisely on the other side of the portal.

"You've got to be kidding me," said Danny.

"No. No is joke."

"It's an expression," breathed the boy weakly. "How are we…?"

Maddie frowned, squinting thoughtfully at the scene. "We don't need to go through the door. If we make it to the opposite wall, we can phase through it, correct? We just need to skirt the edges."

"Great. We still have to get through a seven-layer ghost dip. Great." At his mom's incredulous expression, he said, "Food jokes. Cafeteria. Couldn't help it."

"Wulf," said Maddie. The ghost seemed a little shocked to be addressed by her. "You keep Walker busy while we make our way to the wall."

Wulf looked at Danny, expectant. "Uh, yeah," said Danny. "Do what she said."

"Kun plezuro," growled Wulf. Then he roared and tackled the warden like a giant, hairy linebacker, sending several smaller guards flying in the process.

"Let's go!" Maddie yelled. She scooped up a couple of broken table legs, tossed one to her son, and darted to the right-hand side of the mob.

A guard immediately intercepted her. Unfortunately, several of the guards had turned at the sound of Walker being attacked, and they were ready to head off the escaping humans. Maddie swung her improvised weapon right into one ghost's head, and the whole thing disintegrated in a cloud of mist.

The others weren't so easy. Before she had completed her swing, another was bearing down on her with its baton, and sidestepping the attack, her back slammed into another's shield. The ghost with the baton raised its club for another hit, so Maddie ducked and tumbled out to the side, landing in a crouch. The two ghosts were surprisingly slow; she had a free shot at the shield-wielder's head, and threw her table leg, sharp-end first.

Like its companion, it vanished into smoke.

But Maddie's weapon was gone.

Danny suddenly appeared at her back, sparring with another guard, exchanging blow for blow. Maddie, who had failed for years to teach her son any lessons in combat, was both impressed and bewildered. She didn't have time to think much more about it, not then.

"Be careful about their batons!" Danny shouted. "They don't just hit, they also shoot-"

Her son was blasted away by a bolt of hot green ectoplasm.

"Danny!" Maddie yelled. It was her mistake to let her attention drop. Her last opponent had aimed his baton, and the next second he fired.

Maddie slammed into the surface of an overturned table. She and the table both skidded back a few feet, and her head knocked against the surface, causing stars to dance in her vision. On her left side, her shirt smoked, smoldering with green fire; the skin underneath was scorched black, and a nasty smell filled her nose.

Danny appeared crouching next to her. "Mom!" he said. His clothes were also smoking, but otherwise, he seemed unharmed, to Maddie's relief.

Four guards were flying toward them, already taking aim. "Danny," she said, nodding her head toward them.

Danny spun and straightened. He stepped forward until he stood at the end of Maddie's feet and adopted a wide stance.

"Alright," he said. Goosebumps rose on Maddie's skin. Danny's voice was completely level, but there was an edge to it, a menace, that she had never expected to hear in her son. "Which one of you hurt my mom?" He looked at them, waiting for an answer. The other ghosts faltered, but not for long.

"No one's gonna fess up? Well then." Danny cracked his knuckles, and spread his hands to either side. "I'll have to beat up all of you."

The temperature plummeted, an icy wind blasting outward with Danny at its center. Danny's whole body began to glow white, and blue energy gathered in his hands while the floor under his feet frosted over. Maddie watched as the frost slithered toward the ghostly prison guards, who only realized what was under them when it was too late. Three of them started to advance, one tried to flee, and Danny ripped his hands upward. Shards of ice splintered out of the floor. Two of the ghosts were frozen solid on the spot, while the other two were ripped into smoky shreds.

The fighting in the room stopped, all eyes turned toward them. Then Technus's nasally voice cried, "It is the ghost boy! The battle is ours!" All of the prisoners cried out and began to fight more ferociously. Several of the guards were knocked backward into the portal, and a few prisoners poured along after them.

Danny turned toward Maddie, who immediately paled. His eyes glowed solid cold blue; she could not see his pupils, his irises, the whites of his eyes. Frost still danced at his fingertips.

For one horrible second, Maddie wanted to run away from him. Her fingers wanted a gun so she could shoot him.

Snowdrift's words returned to her: You obviously don't know what your son is capable of.

He frowned down at her, expression changing from severe to puzzled. Then a massive white shape loomed up behind him, and he was forced to turn and face Walker.

Wulf sprinted to Danny's side. He no longer seemed so huge.

"I should have known," growled the warden, his voice echoing even above the sounds of battle. "Who else would have the gall to start a prison riot in my cafeteria? No one but a lawless, disrespectful, impudent punk like you."

"Look, I get you're still sore about the last time. But I swear, Walker, I didn't do this."

Walker's eyes narrowed. "How did you get out of your cell?"

"Yeah, I'd ask for your money back," Danny retorted. "Ghost-proof, human-proof, but apparently not ice-proof."

The warden's expression was murderous, which was a neat trick for a skull face. The entire cafeteria seemed to darken around him.

Danny shifted slightly, and a wall of ice sprang up in front of Wulf, Maddie, and him just in time to deflect a massive ectoblast from the warden.

"Wulf," Danny said hurriedly. "Get my mom to the Specter Speeder. Now!"

The wolfman nodded before leaping toward Maddie, scooping her into its arms, and bolting away across the room, easily jumping over and on top of heads as he moved. The guards, the few who were left, were too preoccupied with the escapees to do anything. Danny disappeared from Maddie's sight until all she could see was a writhing crowd of ghosts and Walker's towering back.

She knew she should protest. She was afraid, though, that Wulf would actually turn around and go back.

They neared the wall, and Maddie wondered how Wulf planned on getting through it, if ghosts couldn't use intangibility in the Ghost Zone.

It wasn't a problem. With one set of his fearsome claws, he ripped a hole right through the cement bricks.

They landed among the rubble of their entrance and piles upon piles of human junk. There were items anywhere from rubber bath ducks to piano fortes, all covered in a hefty layer of softly glowing dust. Near the door, like they had been dumped there to save time, were the Specter Speeder, Maddie's weapons, and all of their clothes.

Gingerly, Wulf placed Maddie on her feet next to the Speeder. The ghost bent down and looked into her eyes; it took all of Maddie's nerve not to flinch. "Vi estas lia panjo?"

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

Wulf worked his jaw, then said, "You… Danny… mom?"

"Yes," Maddie breathed, still thinking about his eyes, the power that had radiated from him.

The ghostly wolfman engulfed Maddie in his arms, squeezing her tight against him. Her wound screamed, but she didn't dare protest. When Wulf released her, he held her by her shoulders and said, "Good son. Thank you."

Wulf looked back through the hole, glanced at her, and leaped away, stirring the ectoplasmic dust in his wake.

A victorious cheer erupted in the next room, followed soon by Walker's furious cry of "No!" Then all was quiet.

"I'm going to kill you, ghost boy," said Walker, his voice echoing through the room. There was a flash of green, and the floor buckled under an explosion.

Fear clenched Maddie's heart, but a fear different to the one she felt earlier. It was only relieved when the light from the other room changed to blue, and her son's voice called out, "I'd like to see you try!"

Maddie opened the door of the Speeder and threw all of their belongings into the backseat before climbing onto the driver's bench. A glance in the glove box confirmed that Walker had not found the Infi-Map; she slammed the box shut again and fired up the engines.

Despite having designed and built the vehicle with her husband, it was her first time to drive it. The Speeder rose unevenly into the air, and when she urged it forward, first went too slowly and at once shot ahead. It was only due to Maddie remembering, at the last second, that the wall wasn't really solid that saved her from crashing full-speed into it.

She emerged into the next room, and yanked back on the controls to bring the Speeder to a mid-air stop. The scene was havoc. In the middle of the room, a Walker that was twenty-feet tall, shimmering into green smoke at his edges, was stooped over, firing blasts and throwing punches at the ground. Under him, using blasts of frosty wind to propel himself over pathways of ice, her son was simultaneously dodging the attacks and shooting ice at the warden's legs. Maddie realized that Walker's feet were now frozen to the floor. Wulf was darting around the edges of the battle, slashing Walker at times and at others throwing sharp debris into the warden's face.

The natural portal sparkled green. There were no ghosts around it, only helmets, shields, and batons scattered about its edges.

Walker roared. Green fire exploded around his shoulders.

"It looks like someone lost their cool!" said Danny. He slid sideways to avoid another blast of ectofire and unleashed a volley of ice. "I can help with that!"

Banter? Why did that seem…?

Maddie shook her head. They needed to get out of there. Maddie threw the Speeder forward and pulled up at the edges of the battle, opening the passenger-side door and yelling, "Get in!"

Danny glanced at her over his shoulder and then threw a barrage of ice shards at the Warden's face – they weren't necessarily destructive, but the sharp ice made Walker jerk backward and throw up his hands to shield his eyes. It was enough of a distraction. Danny had time to sprint for the vehicle and throw himself through the open door.

He landed heavily on his side. "Go!"

"What about your friend?"

"He'll be fine!" said Danny. As if the wolfman could hear them, he turned and grinned, briefly and fiercely, before leaping at Walker's throat with his extended claws.

Maddie nodded, and the Specter Speeder rocketed across the room. Danny scrambled to sit up, but when he was able to see through the windshield, he yelled.

"Where are you-?!"

"Nearest exit," said Maddie, and they dove through the natural portal in the floor.

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

“The Ice King” is a wip I started writing back in 2016/2017. There are about 50,000 words so far, but I’m not sure if I’ll ever finish it. I’m still in love with the concept, however, and will probably post more scenes from it in the future.

#tfc writes #danny phantom #dp #maddie fenton #walker #ice powers #gradual secret reveal #maddie pov #protective danny #wulf

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ayamari-no-goshi · 4 years ago

Text

Verboten 8 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU. When Danny was five years old, he went missing for 2 weeks. In the years that follow, his family tried to make sense of what happened, only for the truth to be discovered years later.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, language. Be prepared for some very weird things

Chapter warning: some gets physically sick, discussions of death

Parings: Danny/Sam

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr. This fic is very heavily inspired by folklore surrounding mysterious wilderness disappearances

Chapter 8

"Hey, is it just me, or is the floor moving?" Danny questioned as he stared at the moving stone.

"No, it's not just you," Sam confirmed as she glanced at her friend. Although he was sitting rod straight as he watched, his coloration was still flickering, and there now seemed to be a green tinge to his cheeks.

"Don't you think we should run?" Tucker's question nearly made Sam snort. With Danny getting worse, there was no way he'd be able to escape with them.

Before anyone had a change to respond, the stone completely lifted and shifted to the side, exposing a hole. Seconds later, a furry head popped out. They watched in silent horror as it flicked one of its ears as if hear them and turned to face them.

The face that greeted them was terrifying. If Sam had to describe it, the appearance was like an angry polar bear who happened to have icy horns. Maybe calling it a yeti would be more accurate, but she could argue with herself about the semantics once she was out of this mess.

They just stared at the thing in the floor until it smiled at them. Whatever spell its sudden appearance held over them was broken, and they yelled in terror. There where several seconds of confusion as the three of them tried to escape. Tucker was halfway to the door while Sam tried to help Danny, who had fallen off the table, when the thing spoke.

"Children, please do not be alarmed," it gently requested as it raised itself up from the floor. Its entire body was covered in that same white fur, save for its one arm, which appeared to be made from ice. In an almost bemused afterthought, Sam noted it wore a blue clothing article which may have been a kilt. "We don't have much time before Plasmius returns."

When they didn't respond of move, the creature continued to speak as it tried to look as non-threatening as possible. "I am call Frostbite, the leader of the Far Frozen. I am lucky to have found out about you when I did. Plasmius has killed many humans in his experiments. If you allow me, I will help you return to your home."

"Why should we trust you? How do we know you won't take us somewhere and eat us?" Tucker demanded as he inched closer to Danny and Sam.

It laughed heartily at Tucker's question. "Myself as well as my clan do not eat people. We have made it the goal of our afterlives to try to assist as many wayward humans as we possibly can." Frostbite's smile faded. "However, I acknowledge your concern. This is the first time we have met, and if Plasmius has been your first encounter with the those of us from this realm, then you most likely do not think highly of us." It, possibly he, glanced at Danny as his coloration cycled again. "You are ill, and if you do not leave this place soon, you may not be able to return to the land of the living."

There was a tense moment as Sam and the boys stared at Frostbite. It… no, he… seemed genuine. Although his face was frightening, his eyes were sincere and almost seemed to plead with them.

"Alright," Danny eventually stated as he slowly stood, "but, you have to swear you won't hurt them!"

"I swear it on my honor, young one."

"Psst, Danny, what are you doing?" Tucker angrily whispered as he tugged on Danny's sleeve. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

"Call me crazy, but I think it's much less risky to go with him then it is to stay here and wait for Plasmius," Danny responded as he tested his footing. "He's a lot more honest than Plasmius, that's for sure."

"You noticed it too?" Sam was impressed he picked up on it. Although, Danny was often clueless when it came to certain social cues, particularly flirting, he did have an amazing talent for picking up on whether someone was being honest.

Tucker looked at both of them for a disbelieving moment before he shook his head. "Alright. I'll follow your lead on this, but if we get eaten, I'm blaming you."

"Young one, do you require assistance?" Frostbite asked as he eyed Danny, who appeared to be somewhat lightheaded as he tried to walk.

"It's Danny, and no, I can handle it."

A frown crossed Frostbite's face for a moment before he scurried forward and scooped Danny into his arms. "I understand your desire to escape on your own, but you are not well, and time is of the essence." Frostbite then instructed Sam and Tucker to enter the hole in the floor first. Once they were safely inside which was revealed to be a tunnel, he handed Danny to them. He then entered the tunnel and carefully replaced the floor's stone.

There was little light in the tunnel save for the slight glow Frostbite and occasionally Danny produced. As if sensing their concern, Frostbite held up his hand (or was it more of a paw?) and created a soft blue light. "This way, children," he instructed as he began to walk. "I am sorry I cannot produce a better light source, but if I generate much more energy, Plasmius may discover our location."

"I was wondering why we were doing things so old school," Tucker whispered.

As Sam rolled her eyes at him. If it wasn't for the fact she and Tucker were both supporting Danny as they walked, she probably would have smacked him for being rude. But, his statement did bring up an interesting point. "So, you could have gotten us out in an easier way, but Plasmius would have caught us?"

"Correct. Most sentient ghosts can easily phase through walls, unless the object is something native to this world or is coated in something that disrupts our powers or repels us. Plasmius' palace is unusual as much of it is created from materials taken from the human realm, but his reputation and the barrier he uses is able to keep most ghosts away. He is very unkind to trespassers." Frostbite glanced back at them. "I know young Danny's name, but I have yet to learn yours."

As weird as it sounded, Sam was embarrassed by that lapse in courtesy. She quickly introduced herself, and Tucker followed suit.

"Sam and Tucker! Such fitting names!" The strange ghost seemed pleased, but after a moment, he stopped walking, so he could turn and look at them. "Please alert me immediately if you notice you are not feeling well or notice something strange about yourself." After they promised, Frostbite nodded and continued forward. "This world can do strange things to those who unintentionally enter it, and there are many ways the changes can occur."

"Can… can I ask a question?" Once Frostbite agreed, Danny continued, "I'm sorry if this is a bit rude, but were you human?"

"That I was." The ghost didn't appear bothered by the question. "While many of my human memories have faded over time, I do remember that I was once an explorer. As for how I came this this realm, I am uncertain, but I do know that by the time I once again found a way back to the world of the living, I appeared much how you see me now. Many of my clan seem were also explorers or those who spent a great deal of time in the woods or mountains. We are not sure why we have taken this form, but we use it to our advantage. We often patrol areas where portal formation is common and try to scare humans away from them. However, more recently we have been finding more and more humans who seem to be looking for us." He seemed absolutely puzzled by the concept.

Sam shared a look with her friends. Did that mean that he and his clan were what people considered Bigfoot? Maybe she was reading too much into it, but that's what it seemed like.

"So, does that happen to everyone who dies? Cuz I don't know if I can handle the fact I might not keep these good looks when I die," Tucker whined.

The soft blue light flickered as Frostbite chuckled. "I don't believe you have to worry. While it is possible, you are unlikely to become a ghost if you expire outside of this realm. However, I am no expert regarding the mysteries of life and death."

"But what happens if you die here?" It was Sam's turn to ask a question.

"It seems to vary. Some die, but their souls do not remain here. For others, their body and soul mingle and change, creating a ghost."

"That almost sounds like a zombie," Sam mumbled to herself.

Frostbite chuckled again. "I understand why you would think as such. However, zombies can only exist in your world. They are corpses reanimated, often through magic, but lack a soul. For us, our earthly bodies are somehow a catalyst for the new form our soul takes, but even though I have seen it happen, I do not understand the process."

His explanation somewhat made sense, Sam mused. It also lined up with what Plasmius mentioned about how his experiments didn't always work. Although, it posed a more troubling question. What exactly would happen to Danny? If he really did die and become a ghost, did that mean there would be no body for his family to bury? It was a troubling thought that wouldn't go away no matter how much Sam tried to think of something else.

However, something Sam also noted was that Danny was avoiding asking questions regarding what was happening to him. Other than when his hands flickered in and out of visibility in the lab, he hadn't brought up the subject. It was possible he was focusing on escaping. However, with the new knowledge Frostbite had given them, he was probably in some sort of denial. She wasn't certain if she'd be able to be as calm if she was the one affected.

What seemed like an hour later, although her sense of time could have been altered due to the darkness, they finally reached the end of the tunnel. It wasn't a moment too soon as Danny had fainted when they had first caught sight of the exit. Once outside, she and Tucker carefully sat Danny down, so they could take a quick break. Once she was certain Danny was settled, she took the chance to look around.

In front of them was a think yet somewhat dead looking forest, like what they first found themselves in when they fled from the first ghost. Behind her was the tunnel which had been cut into what appeared to be a rock outcropping. If it wasn't for the strange coloration, it could have looked like something found in the forests back home.

She started when Frostbite gave a quick whistle. Moments later, four more ghosts who had similar appearances to Frostbite appeared from within the forest. They had to be part of the clan the ghost had mentioned while they were escaping. The group exchanged a few words before Frostbite beckoned to the humans behind him.

"Children, do not be alarmed. These are members of my clan, and they will be assisting us in your escape. However, we need to stop at our realm first as we have an object that will help us locate when and where a portal will open. I would also like to assess Danny's health." The ghost frowned at the form of the unconscious teenager. "You have probably guessed this realm has a grip on him, but he is resisting the change more intensely than I have ever seen."

"That means he'll be able to come home with us, right?" Tucker's question was full of a wary hope.

"I am… uncertain. We may have to seek the wisdom of an older entity to know for sure."

…

The world wouldn't stop spinning when Danny finally came to. After rolling over and relieving the contents of his stomach, he finally was able to think clearly enough to take stock of his surroundings. He was in what appeared to be some type of medical room. Although the walls appeared to be made of ice, there was a light and almost friendly atmosphere about the place.

A sound caught his attention, and he turned just in time to see white creature duck out of the room. Puzzled at the reaction, it wasn't until it returned to the room with Frostbite that he realized it was simply retrieving the other ghost.

"You've wakened, young one!" Frostbite seemed exuberant as he examined him. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got spun around in one of those centrifuges at space camp way too many times," Danny replied as he rubbed his head. Although the dizziness had subsided, he still felt somewhat ill. "Where are Sam and Tucker?"

"They are resting in another room. They've been eagerly waiting for news of your awakening."

Danny sighed in relief at the news. "Will I be able to see them?"

"Absolutely, but first I would like to discuss something with you," Frostbite sat down at a chair near the bed Danny was using. Somewhat unnerved by how serious Frostbite seemed to be, he carefully sat up and gestured for him to continue. "Your circumstance is nothing like what any of us have ever seen before."

"My circumstance?" That didn't sound good. Did it have to do with something Plasmius did to him?

"Yes. Before I explain, I need to ask if you've eaten anything while you were here?"

Danny shook his head. "Unless Plasmius fed me something when I was unconscious, then no. Wait," he paused for a moment as he tried to remember what Plasmius had told him, "maybe? Plasmius said something about taking care of me when I got lost when I was six."

"How odd, but as you must have returned home afterwards, it might have something to do with the unexpected results. Did Plasmius explain what he wanted from you?"

"He wanted me as his heir? I think?" Before he or Frostbite could say anything else, Danny felt something clench in his navel. Immediately afterwards, what seemed to be a flash of light momentarily blinded him. Terrified, he yelped and tried to move away. "What-what just happened?"

"This is what I have need to discuss with you." The ghost then rose and picked Danny off the bed before carefully setting him down in front of a mirror at the far end of the room.

It was the first time since he had come to this world that he had a chance to take stock of himself. However, the image looking back at him wasn't what he was expecting. His eyes weren't his usual blue but were instead an unnatural green. His skin had tanned, but the color somehow seemed unhealthy. His hair was now a silvery white instead of his black, and if he wasn't imaging it, he was admitting a slight glow. "What's wrong with me?" he asked in a horrified whisper.

Before he could get his answer, he felt the clench in his navel again. When the light subsided, he was greeted with the reflection of how he originally looked. Uncertain if his mind was playing tricks on him, he checked his hands and what he could of his bangs. Everything appeared normal.

"Usually," Frostbite started, which caused Danny to pause his examination and look at the ghost," when this world claims someone, they can no longer return to their human form. If they do, they often end up dead. You are somehow able to keep your human form, yet you produce a ghost form. In all my years, I have never seen such a thing."

"What exactly does that mean? What am I?"

"Unfortunately, I do no know. From what our tests showed, you have both a functioning human heart and a ghostly core, which is our equivalent of a heart. You've been switching back and forth between forms for some time."

======================================

Notes:

1) So… the Bigfoot mention. This is something that I've heard before. There are 2 major lines of thought regarding the famous cryptid. 1) Bigfoot is a flesh and blood creature, and 2) Bigfoot is an interdimensional, extraterrestrial, or spiritual entity (I seriously had a professor who believed Bigfoot could travel through dimensions. He even wrote papers about it). For this story, I'm going with the concept that people are catching brief glimpses of Frostbite and his people as they patrol areas known for spontaneous portal openings.

Interdimensional aspects are popping up more and more when it comes to paranormal topics, and they're a major theory when it comes to unexplained disappearances and weird creatures. Personally, I find the concept intriguing, but it's not something that can currently be proven. Though… there are a lot of rumors about how CERN is trying to do that. I know that group is just supposed to be studying particles and quantum physics, but there are sooooo many weird rumors about CERN.

2) For this story, I'm borrowing the type of idea where a ghost can't be created unless its former vessel (body) is used as a medium. You see things like this for Revenants, Strigoi Mort (Romanian ghost/zombie/vampire thing), and Gjenganger (Scandinavian ghost/zombie thing similar to a Dragur), and others. For those stories, the only way to get rid of them is to damage/destroy the body in specific ways which vary from region to region.

3) human centrifuges are real things. They are used by to help test the effects of G-forces on people, and astronauts receive training to handle said forces in them. They do, at least used to have, a version of it at space camp.

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29-pieces · 4 years ago

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Whumptober day 14 - The Musketeers

Day 14: Branding Fandom/setting: The Musketeers (BBC), alternate version of S2E10 Trial and Punishment note: in this version, BBC!Milady has the brand that book!Milady was punished with - in the book, that's what Athos discovered to convince him she really was a criminal. Torture TW

Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

~*~

Aramis tensed as he heard the door creak open behind him. His hands clenched into fists, subtly straining at the long chains securing his wrists to the wall—as though maybe this time they would give out.

They didn't.

"So," Rochefort's sickly smooth voice spoke up from the doorway, followed by multiple pairs of footsteps. "You have been convicted of high treason. You are a traitor, Aramis. And eventually, you will die like one."

"Eventually?" he couldn't help but ask through gritted teeth. Aramis had expected this. Why kill him quickly when Rochefort held all the cards? Aramis had dared to touch, to love, the object of Rochefort's obsession. A swift, merciful death had never been on the table. Slowly, Aramis turned on the spot with his chin raised high.

Rochefort was smiling, watching Aramis with that intense, chilling stare. It unnerved the musketeer, though not as much as the long metal rod in his hands, topped with a broad, flat symbol that glowed fire-white.

Aramis felt his eyes widen despite his intention to not react to whatever tortures were in store for him, and he took an involuntary step back. This seemed to be the cue the other soldiers had been waiting for, the four that had accompanied Rochefort in. They surged in towards him. Fighting back was an instinct driven in too fully for Aramis to resist, throwing a rattling punch to one and a kick to another. Without weapons, chained in place, and outnumbered, Aramis could do no more as they flung him against the wall then dragged him to the ground.

"Hold him there," Rochefort said, calm and content, slowly stepping closer.

"You're nothing but a snake, Rochefort," Aramis snapped, twisting against the hands that held him. The chains at his wrists weren't quite long enough to reach the floor, leaving them crossed over his head when they kicked him flat onto his back. Again, Aramis tried to kick his way back up, but with four guards, it was easy for them to hold him down, one on each limb. One of the soldiers jerked his doublet open, ripping it and Aramis's shirt down off of his shoulder.

"The king will see it in the end!" Aramis bit out, desperately trying to break their hold on him to no avail. His breaths came in fast, panicked gasps as he watched the brand coming closer and closer to his skin. "And the queen?" He laughed harshly, knowing what would hurt his captor the most. "She'll never love you."

Rochefort smiled down at him but there was rage and insanity in his gaze. "Hold him down," he instructed the guards again.

Aramis struggled as the grips on his arms and legs tightened, until he saw Rochefort's smile widen. He was enjoying this, smug bastard, he wanted the show, the helplessness, the useless struggle. Aramis would not give him that. He fell still against the freezing stone floor, looking up at the brand that would mark him a criminal. The musketeer swallowed back defeat. It wouldn't matter... he wouldn't live long enough for anyone else to see it. As well as he was able, Aramis lifted his chin again, meeting Rochefort's amused eyes.

The Comte's smile slid somewhat at the show of defiance. Without a word, he thrust the brand down into the musketeer's skin, searing the mark into Aramis's chest below his collarbone.

Aramis had wanted to remain stoically silent but the scream was ripped from his throat regardless. He thrashed and bucked against his captors, seeing and feeling and smelling the flesh blister and burn. His stomach turned and he thought he would pass out from the pain of it and oh god surely it had to stop soon, but Rochefort didn't remove the brand. He only pushed it more fiercely down, leaning his weight into it until Aramis was blinded by tears and agony and his whole body felt like it was on fire.

After an eternity, the pressure was removed, but the heat remained. Aramis choked on more frantic breaths, looking down at his chest to be met with the sight of the mangled, blistered form of the fleur-de-lis. Not as the proud mark of a musketeer, but as the shameful brand of a traitor.

"Hmm," Rochefort murmured from somewhere above him, and Aramis knew he was being shrewdly studied. "You know... I don't believe the Queen will think much of this look on you."

The men holding him down released his arms and legs but Aramis didn't try to move other than to curl in himself. Even that didn't work, the chains at his hands too short to give him enough leeway. The stench of burned skin filled his nostrils, choking the musketeer until he released a strangled sob. It echoed along with the slamming of the door and the cold promise that Rochefort would be back before too long. Aramis closed his eyes, praying only to be released—one way or another.

.o.O.o.

As it turned out, the way he was released was not by death, but by Milady. Aramis remembered little of the actual escape, beyond his terror at hearing the door open again, the shock at seeing her there instead of Rochefort come to torture him some more. Milady had paused for a moment, eyebrow arching gracefully up at the sight of his burn.

"It seems we're a matched set, then," she said with only the smallest of sneers, no true vitriol in her voice but also no pity.

Aramis only glowered at her, not bothering to protest that they were nothing alike, that unlike him, her crimes had been real. But he said nothing, because was it even true? He had endangered the queen, his brothers, Constance, so much blood on his hands because he had loved a woman he was not permitted to love. Despite how fiercely the fabric of his shirt hurt the fresh burn, he fastened his doublet tightly to hide the mark.

They didn't speak again after that, and Aramis was relieved to finally find himself back among his brothers. Even the normally stoic Athos immediately pulled him closer, a relieved kiss on his cheek speaking to just how close they had all come to losing everything, and still could.

"Come here," Porthos beamed, his own face an open book of delight compared to Athos's measured solemnity.

Aramis smiled wanly and leaned in to his friend but immediately gasped when the hug was too enthusiastic for his abused chest to handle. Porthos froze, then carefully backed up a bit, though he didn't let go of Aramis.

"You're hurt," he seethed. "Aramis? What did he do? What is it?"

"I wouldn't show them, if I were you," Milady spoke up, perching herself smugly on a nearby chair. "Athos might take it into his mind to have you hanged."

Aramis shot a glare in her direction, as did Porthos and d'Artagnan, but Athos turned pale and was immediately at Aramis's side—of course he would now know exactly what had happened.

"Let me see it," he murmured, voice both tremulous and gentle, as he gingerly peeled Aramis's shirt away to reveal the ugly burn. The room fell silent.

Aramis swallowed and looked away. "He..." Trailing off helplessly, Aramis shook his head. What words could be spoken to describe his horror, his shame? "If we make it out of this, don't tell An- the Queen," he whispered. "She would..."

"She would know how brave you are," Constance spoke up, guiding Athos aside so she could stand in front of Aramis instead, looking up at him in that earnest way of hers. "She would be outraged at what was done to you, yes, but she would never see you differently for it, Aramis. None of us could."

"Constance is right," Treville said from his position by the door. Only the slightest tightening of his jaw revealed his own fury. "Rochefort is the traitor, not you, and we'll see to it that everyone knows that."

Aramis closed his eyes, grateful for their support, but painfully cognizant that their opinions of him might not be the ones that determined his fate. "It's a brand," he said hollowly. "This won't- I can't wash it off, I can't- I'll carry it forever. Even if the King were to grant a pardon, the mark will still be there. How can I be a musketeer if-"

"Aramis," Treville cut him off. "As long as I am your captain, you have a place in our regiment. You know that. And anyone who takes my place one day will know the same." His eyes flicked to Athos, who nodded solemnly.

"You will get that pardon," the swordsman intoned. "And your friends will stand by you. You have our word."

"And I'll see Rochefort dead," Porthos spat out, clenching his fist.

"And I'll get your med kit," d'Artagnan offered as he eyed the burned skin. "You'll need to treat that. Wait here, I know where it is."

Aramis swallowed against the lump in his throat as his friends rallied around him. They would be lucky indeed to survive this intact, but he would be luckier still to count these men (and Constance) as his family.

As long as he had that, well... the rest would fall into place.

#whumptober2020 #no.14 #branding #the musketeers #bbc musketeers #fanfiction #aramis whump #rochefort #alternate version #because it's whumpier and i like it that way 😈

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howterrifying · 5 years ago

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+molliarty: the value of things

I'd been wanting to write this story for a long time. It's one of those rare stories where I had all the plot points written very clearly from start to finish. So it was just a matter of expanding the skeleton and in doing so, I end up discovering more things about their love for each other and what they really mean to each other. This is one of the best things about writing characters you love - when they develop in ways that you never expect to find. I had not realised how deep their love could go and it honestly just made my cold dead heart sing again. x

All That Glitters [also on FF.net and AO3] The silver briefcase on Jim Moriarty’s lap would rattle ever so slightly every time the car turned a sharp corner or went over a hump a little too quickly. Every so often, Jim would casually tap his fingers atop the briefcase, as though communicating back to the stolen gems inside that they were perfectly safe in spite of the somewhat bumpy ride. “Almost there,” he murmured to himself, glancing casually out of the car window.

The meeting place had been decided by the clients and Jim never had any problems with that. Not when he had eyes and ears everywhere anyway. The safest time to meet was always about two or three o’clock in the wee hours of the morning for such exchanges. Jim stepped out of his car, dusted his lapels out of habit and entered the brick building before him. “Nice place,” Jim said, hearing his voice echo in the spacious garment factory. “It’s a good cover for the real business,” came the voice of one of them, “I’m sure you know what I mean.” “Hmm yes, I do,” Jim replied, walking up to the small gathering of people before him. His clients were a pair – a sister and brother pair. They stood shoulder to shoulder and were flanked by two bodyguards on each side of them. “You have them?” asked the brother. “Yu-p.” answered Jim, pointing comically to the silver briefcase in his hand. “All of them?” asked the sister, taking a step forward. “With your reputation, do you think I’d take any chances?” Jim remarked with a laugh. “We like to be careful,” the sister replied sharply. “And I…like to do business properly,” Jim remarked placing his free hand on his chest. “I’m an honest businessman.” The sister glanced back at her brother and nodded. He then turned behind where it was too dark to see and snapped his fingers once. In that one snap – that one click of his thumb and middle finger – a flurry of sound and movement happened. First, Jim found that the two bodyguards of his own had been snatched and gagged. The sister and her two guards surrounded Jim and he found himself staring down the barrels of each of their guns. There was that temptation to roll his eyes or break into giggles, as was Jim’s regular reaction when he found himself in such situations. He had not spent years in the criminal underworld to not be prepared for such betrayals. “Oh my…” Jim remarked, raising his eyebrow in feigned shock. “Leave the gems,” the sister began, “And you might leave with your life intact.” “But what about my money?” Jim exclaimed in fake exasperation, theatrically putting his free palm to the side of his face. “Letting you leave with your life should be payment enough, surely,” said the sister with a smirk. Jim dropped his palm from his face and paused to look down at his perfectly shined shoes. He tapped his right foot, then the left, then the right again two more times. All eyes and ammunition remained frozen and aimed at the impossibly calm figure of Jim Moriarty. Jim Moriarty was a criminal mastermind, but more importantly – He was an honest businessman. So when he finally looked up, there were no more raised eyebrows in mock horror or theatrical jaw drops. Jim’s eyes went absolutely vacant and cold as though they were made of glass – hollow glass. “You’re not the only one with magic fingers,” he whispered, a slow grin appearing on his face. Snap. With one click of his fingers, every single member of the sister-brother team had a myriad of dancing red dots on their chests. Jim had eyes and ears everywhere, and where necessary, those eyes and ears would turn to snipers. “Not a bad exchange, I suppose,” Jim continued, “You take my life, I take all of yours. Not. Too. Shabby.” This usually did the trick. Jim waited for the usual look of mortification to form on his enemies’ faces but to his slight annoyance, there was nothing. “Counteroffer,” the sister whispered, the smirk returning to her face. It seemed Jim was not the only one who had come prepared. Out of the darkness behind the brother and his team of guards came two more of their guards and a third figure who was not a part of their team. When the three stepped out of the shadows and light hit the face of the person in the middle, it was not Jim’s jaw that dropped. It was his heart. “Molly…” Her name slipped out before he could stop himself. The sister laughed at his moment of vulnerability and clicked her tongue in disbelief. “I thought they were just rumours,” she continued, “I’m almost honoured I got to verify them.” Jim placed the briefcase down and raised his arms in an act of surrender. “Let her go,” he whispered, his teeth clenched. “Call off your people,” ordered the sister. “You heard her.” At his words, all the red lights disappeared. “Jim!” came Molly’s voice, bright and alive,and what relief it gave him. He turned to look at her and saw that although she was still cuffed and closely surrounded by two coarse-looking guards, she was smiling and more importantly, was unharmed. It puzzled him that she looked so, what was the word now – chipper? Yes, she had an inexplicable brightness in her eyes and it puzzled him. “Jim!” Molly called out to him again. “It’s so good to see you!” He snapped back to focus on her face again and tried to piece together her reaction and the current situation. “But Jim, what the hell are you doing?” she asked, almost chuckling. “Wh-what?” he frowned, puzzled this time by her question. “Call them back!” she exclaimed. Before Jim could say anything back, Molly swung her head back and knocked the teeth out of the guard behind her right shoulder. She then angled herself slightly to the left and, while propped against the struggling guard gargling his own blood and broken teeth, she kicked the second guard swiftly in his gut and then his knees, causing him to buckle to the ground. Finally free from their grip, she ran towards Jim, only to find the sister and her two guards swing away from him and point their guns at her. The brother and all the other guards around rushed forward to surround Molly, aiming their guns at her. “In case you’re wondering, I learnt that from working for Mycroft,” she exclaimed with a smirk. Again, disturbingly chipper. If Jim was being honest, wondering how she had overcome the two guards was the furthest thing from his mind. He was relieved, of course, but he had other things to focus on. “Call them back,” asked Molly again. “But Molly, you’ll—” “Trust me, Jim, just call them back!” she said, trying to look over the circle of guns for Jim’s face. His expression amused her, but she would laugh about it later. Jim cleared his throat. For the first time in his career, he felt nervous. Terribly nervous. “You heard her,” he said, complying. The dancing red dots returned, all aimed on the backs and chests of the circle of people around Molly. “Tell them to follow my cue,” Molly continued, “Can you get them to do that, Jim?” Jim blinked rapidly a few times as he processed her request. Although it was Molly who was currently handcuffed, it appeared that he was the one with his hands tied. “You heard her,” he repeated to them. In any other circumstance, Jim would have had no trouble trusting the woman he loved, but when it was her life they were gambling on, it had been a reluctant choice. It was one of those moments again where, in a split second, a lifetime of events seemed to unfold. Jim saw Molly look carefully in the eyes of all those who surrounded her before suddenly shoutingthe word NOW! When she had done so, he saw her duck and roll out from the group that surrounded her. Before he knew it, she had appeared in a heap by his feet while their enemies had collapsed onto each other, each having been shot in one fell swoop by Jim’s expert snipers. “Molly!” he exclaimed, kneeling to get to her. “Look at your face,” she chuckled. The pair of them were now kneeling on the garment factory floor, facing each other, their noses almost touching. “Well, aren’t you going to kiss me?” she asked in a mischievous whisper. There was still a lot of shock in his system. Jim had not remembered a time when he had had so much at stake. He blinked a few times, as though to wipe out the shock from his mind, and looked intently at her. Slowly, he brought his hands to her face and pulled her in for a kiss. The moment he felt that smile of hers against his mouth, he felt himself instantly recalibrate. She was alive, she was safe and she was here, in his arms. “You should come work for me,” he said, finally able to break into a smile. “Mycroft pays better,” she chuckled. “Oh, does he now?” Jim exclaimed in mock surprise before chuckling along with her. Just then, a team of Jim’s people rushed into the building and one of them immediately came to uncuff Molly. When her hands were finally freed, she flung her arms around Jim and exhaled in relief, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “Why hadn’t you tried to escape before?” Jim asked, whispering as he tightened his grip around her. It seemed the shock was now entering her system and it was his turn to help her recalibrate. “I hadn’t dared try anything until I could see you,” she answered. “But you handled them so easily…” “I needed to be sure you were safe,” Molly continued, “When they came to get me, I wasn’t sure what they wanted with you.” Her words shook Jim. They shook him at a depth he had not realised was possible. As far as Jim was concerned, his own life was disposable. He was happy to die if was funny enough, or if it proved a point, or if it meant business could go on. To know that Molly could have died just to ensure he was safe set fire to everything he thought he knew or believed before. “You mustn’t do that again, Molly,” he whispered fiercely to her, “Certainly not for me.” “Don’t tell me what to do, Jim Moriarty,” she whispered back just as fiercely. They paused in their anger at each other and then broke into laughter again. If he could have held her any tighter, he would have. The pair of them eventually released their grip on each other and got up. Together with Molly, Jim walked over to pick up the silver briefcase. “So it seems I’ve landed myself a small fortune, free of charge,” Jim remarked in amusement. “What are you doing to do now?” asked Molly. Jim turned to her and was momentarily tempted to kiss her again but remembered she had asked a question and was expecting an answer. “I don’t know, really,” he said with a shrug. “I am in no need for any rare jewels at the moment…” “Then return them,” said Molly decisively. He paused to look at Molly again. When he saw the earnestness in her eyes, he remembered the goodness that he saw in her that he could never find in himself. Even though this very part of her was the reason they were the world’s worst match, it did not tarnish the fact that she was heaven sent in every aspect. “For you, Molly Hooper, I will,” he replied, finally stealing the kiss that had distracted him earlier.

+++

“How did you get invited to this?” Molly whispered, in awe of the grandiosity that surrounded them. “I have my ways. I lovegalas and fancy dos like this. Surely you know that, Molly,” Jim said with a smirk. It was no random gala or fancy do that they were at. Jim had, in his own way, gotten them invited to the celebration of the return of the very gems he had stolen. As they made their way through an ocean of tuxedos and couture gowns, they found themselves standing before the well-guarded, velvet-rope-surrounded glass case of said gems. “This is your first time seeing them, isn’t it?” Jim whispered to Molly. “Yes, and they really are…unspeakably gorgeous,” she whispered in awe. There was no doubt about that. Even for Jim Moriarity, who had seen his fair share of the world’s most secret treasures and wealth, he had to admit these gems reallywere something. “They catch the light in the most remarkable way,” Jim said, unable to contain his awe. “Perhaps I should have kept a few of them…” “Well, you know what they say, all that glitters is not gold. Don’t get distracted by shiny things, Jim,” said Molly with a laugh. Jim laughed too at her statement and turned to admire the slight flush in her cheeks and that glimmer in her eyes whenever she laughed. What a beautiful face, he thought to himself. “It’d have made a rather lovely necklace for you,” he said with a shrug. “I’d rather not adorn myself with stolen jewels, thank you very much,” Molly said with a soft chuckle. “I can’t deny that it would’ve looked very nice against your skin.” “Then you’ll just have to make do with my skin, sans necklace, if that’s all right with you.” He paused at her remark and when he turned to look at her, he found her eyes on him already, a small fire dancing in her pupils. “Sans necklace… is fine with me,” Jim said, almost tripping on his words. “Good,” she said, deliberately moving her gaze away from him and back to the jewels. A smile played on her lips and it distracted Jim no end. “Still thinking about the gems?” she asked, fixing her eyes on the glass case. Jim had long forgotten about the gems and was now most distracted by the delicate slope of her neck down to her collarbone. “What gems?” he answered, taking her hand in his. Together, they fled the building, laughing, as they raced to Jim’s waiting car. Once inside, there were no more shiny distractions as Jim focused on the infinitely more precious jewel he knew he would never deserve. All that glittered was ultimately not what he wanted. What he wanted – was simply, her. END

#i am so tired now #but this piece was like a growth piece for me #so i'm glad i finally wrote it out #molliarty #molliarty shots #one shot by terrified

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ft-dads-au · 5 years ago

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Come Into Bloom

Femslash Fairies 2020 Prompt: Flower Shop Pairing: Erza x Mirajane A Collaboration by @mdelpin and @oryu404 AO3 | FF.Net September 25, 2021

“It’s getting pretty crowded out there,” Sherry commented to Erza as she looked out the shop window.

“Hopefully, that will be good for us,” Erza mumbled as she worked on another corsage, this one a pretty combination of lavender and pink flowers.

They were right in the middle of Fantasia, the biggest flower holiday of the year. Unlike Valentine’s Day, which was mostly targeted at lovers, Fantasia was meant for everyone. It was just as likely for a father to give a token to his children, as to his partner, or even his own parents.

Erza had already made Natsu's order that morning, a beautiful flower crown for Hana, as well as a large bouquet for Gray. Atlas, Aki and the twins were getting some flower-shaped cookies that Mira and Elfman had baked and decorated for the boys the previous night as they were a little too young to appreciate flowers.

“Isn’t it about time for Mira to get here?” Sherry asked her employer, smiling as Erza’s hands immediately went to her hair.

“Oh yes, you’re right,” Erza looked back down at her work table not wanting to give away her agitation.

“It’s so nice that you two make a habit of having lunch together every Saturday,” Sherry enthused, with hearts in her eyes. “Are you getting her something for Fantasia?”

“I uhm, hadn’t thought about it,” Erza lied, not wanting to admit that she had spent hours trying to devise the perfect bouquet of flowers. One that would let Mira know once and for all how she felt about her, but with all the orders she needed to fill plus walk-ins, there had been no time. It was only her and Sherry, and she couldn’t afford to hire more employees.

She’d started working at Rose of Yūen during her college days, and once she’d graduated, she’d bought it from the elderly couple who had owned it. It was her pride and joy, but it also took up a lot of her time, the rest of which was usually claimed by her brother and niece and nephew.

Which is how she had ended up pining for the same woman for years and finding multiple excuses to do nothing about it.

The tinkling of the shop’s door alerted them to a visitor, and Sherry went to help their customer, knowing that Erza was about to go on her lunch break. Erza smiled, remembering the special order she had hidden in her office cooler. Ren Akatsuki, Sherry’s husband, would be by to pick it up as soon as Sherry went on her own break.

That was one of the things she loved about having the shop. Most of the time, she got to see the best in people. The shy teenage boy anxiously looking for a corsage for his first date, the elderly couples that were still madly in love with each other even after a lifetime together and everything in between.

There was Rogue Eucliffe who special ordered flowers from Edolas, to give his husband a taste of his home country. And Alzack Connell, who bought flowers for both his wife and daughter at least once a month and would probably stop in today.

Even couples who were rekindling a love thought lost long ago. Silver Fullbuster and Gildarts Clive were probably some of her favorite customers, always coming in full of boisterous insults towards the other, yet the love in their eyes was unmistakable.

In fact, it seemed like everyone around her was either in love or starting a relationship. Even her brother, who had unexpectedly become a widower last year, had already found someone. While Erza remained forever alone.

She was done with that though, after spending the last eight years building up her business and helping Natsu get back on his feet, it was time to do something for herself. To stop pining for her best friend and try her own hand at love. If she didn’t do something soon someone was likely to whisk Mira off her feet, and she’d have no one to blame but herself.

It was while she was lost in these thoughts that Erza felt a soft tap on her shoulder. She looked up to see Mira smiling at her, “You always get so lost in your flowers. I’m gonna go set these up in your office, okay?”

Mira moved towards the office without waiting for Erza's approval, a bag of food from Fairy Tail in each hand. When she noticed Erza wasn’t following, she called behind her, “Hurry up, I brought you a surprise, but if you make me wait too long, I’ll eat it myself!”

Erza put her tools down and scrambled, knowing there was a good chance the surprise was strawberry cake, and she wasn’t about to give that up.

Her office wasn’t very large, but there was enough room for her desk and chair, a watercooler and a small round table with two plastic chairs. Mira had already set out the food, rolling her eyes when Erza’s eyes were already on the two slices of cake that were visible inside a clear plastic container. “How you don’t weigh 300 pounds, I’ll never know,” Mira giggled.

Erza ignored the comment, digging into the chicken pot pie Mira had brought. “Mhmm, this is really good!” she complimented, closing her eyes to savor all the different flavors.

“Yeah, I remembered it was your favorite. I changed the recipe up a little, made it lighter, and the crust a little flakier.”

“Whatever you did, it’s amazing!”

“You really are as bad as Natsu, just as messy too,” Mira laughed fondly, grabbing a napkin from the bag and handing it to Erza, who had sauce dripping down her chin, before taking a bite from her own dish.

“Have you been very busy today with Fantasia?” Mira asked curiously.

“Yeah, a lot of walk-ins, lots of special requests too,” Erza replied, continuing to eat, “What about you guys?”

“It’s still a little early for the drinking crowd, but the restaurant was pretty busy, they had Natsu subbing in for a waiter that called in sick, at least until the bar needs him back. That was uhm, interesting,” Mira’s eyes twinkled with mirth, “Good thing he’s an excellent bartender.”

She leaned forward in her chair, curious as always, “What kinds of special requests?”

“Well, different flowers can mean different things, it’s almost like a language all its own. Like those flowers that Rogue gets for Sting? Those mean everlasting love.”

“Why am I not surprised? Those two are sickening,” Mira snorted, “Is there one that means I really kind of just like you as a friend?”

“Well, there’s yellow roses, they’re not associated with romance. Oh, and alstroemeria,” Erza recited, clarifying when she saw Mira’s blank expression,” It’s a type of lily.”

She got up and opened one of her desk drawers, grabbing a book and bringing it back to the table. She looked through it until she found a picture of the flower she had mentioned and showed it to Mira.

It was a beautiful flower that came in a variety of bright colors, with center petals that had contrasting stripes. Mira studied the picture, and it’s given description curiously, but her attention was soon drawn by other flowers on the page.

"Wow, I never knew that there was so much symbolism behind flowers," she mused as she turned the page, "It’s a lot more complicated than I’d thought.” She looked up at Erza, a devious smirk on her lips and a twinkle of mischief in her eyes that Erza found really adorable, but also a tad bit troubling. “Hey, are there any flowers that have an offensive meaning?”

Erza snorted, immediately thinking about the first time Gildarts had come to her shop with a similar question, “Look up yellow carnations.”

“Disappointment and rejection? Ouch!” Mira giggled, and the sound translated into butterflies in Erza’s stomach. “So, do you know all of these by heart?”

“I know most of them, but there are so many variations, and each color often has its own meaning-”

Before Erza had the chance to get lost in the passion she had for her job, she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Erza, I’m sorry to disrupt your lunch, but do you think you could come out here for a few minutes? There are several customers and another special order,” Sherry looked apologetic.

While slightly disappointed, Erza didn’t mind too much, she’d already known it was probably going to be a busy day.

“I’m sorry, I’ll try to hurry,” Erza apologized to Mira, wiping her face with the napkin before getting up from the table and rushing out the door, a smile already on her face.

Mira continued eating, grabbing the book Erza had left on the table and flipping through its pages, the beginnings of an idea blooming in her mind.

Erza never returned to finish her lunch, and eventually, Mira had to go back to work, so she cleaned up, putting Erza’s food in her small fridge and leaving both pieces of cake for her to eat later.

Mira hurried to the door waving goodbye to both Sherry and Erza on her way out.

0-0

It had been a long day, both Erza and Sherry had been going nonstop, although Erza insisted Sherry take her break if only so she could get Ren his flowers.

They had sold out of everything in the refrigerators and had to scramble to replenish them. Erza felt like she had seen just about everyone in town. Loke came in to get corsages and flower crowns for his daughters, and a small bouquet for Lucy.

Silver and Gildarts had come in with Rogue and the kids, along with an order from Gray for Natsu. Lyon had surprised both her and Sherry by coming in to get something for Chelia. That had probably been her favorite moment of the day, watching the usually stoic Lyon acting nervous and awkward as he tried to find something special for the daughter he’d just discovered he had.

Almost as lovely as watching Sherry help him pick something Chelia would like. Alzack, Macao, Warren, Cana, Juvia, the list went on and on. About the only person she hadn’t seen was Sting.

Almost as if on cue, Sting raced in, hair disheveled, breathing in gasps and eyeing her worriedly, “Am I too late?”

“You’re fine,” Erza assured him, “We don’t close for another hour.”

“Oh, good. Rogue has the car, and I had to run here from the hospital.”

“The hospital?” Erza’s eyes widened in disbelief, “You’re an idiot, you should have taken a taxi or something.”

“No, there’s a ton of traffic, they’re starting to close off the streets for tonight’s events.”

“I see,” She went into her office returning with a folding chair and a cup of water. ”Sit.”

“Now, what nauseatingly romantic thing are you wanting this time?” she teased.

“Well, Rogue’s playing his first gig tonight since forever,” Sting’s eyes blazed with pride, “So here’s what I was thinking.”

And as he began telling her what he wanted, she wasn’t disappointed. They chatted as she worked on Rogue’s flowers, and when the phone rang, Sherry answered it.

“Alright, I’ll give her your order, thanks!” Sherry spoke into the phone, “What’s that? Oh, yeah, got it! Don’t forget Hana’s flower crown, okay. No, he already paid for that as well as Gray’s arrangement. Thanks, Mira!”

“What do you think?” Erza showed Sting her finished arrangement, and his wide grin made her smile wistfully. She handed the flowers over and reminded Sherry to give him the frequent customer/family discount.

“Are you going to meet with us later?” Sting peered at her from behind the enormous bouquet, which Erza already knew Rogue was going to have a hard time moving around with. Hopefully, they’d thought to bring the stroller.

“I’m not sure yet, I have to go to Fairy Tail to drop off Natsu’s stuff, I’ll decide then.”

“Does that mean you’ll decide when you know whether Mira is going?” Sting regarded her with a knowing grin. “Seriously, Erza, are you ever going to do something? Your brother has discovered a whole new sexuality in the time it’s taken you to make a move.”

“Go away, Sting,” Erza muttered in annoyance but mostly because she knew he was right.

“Well, I hope you come,” Sting entreated, “it will be fun to have everyone together.” He struggled to balance the flowers in one arm as he paid for them and then left, nearly missing the door and walking into the wall because of the obstructed view.

Erza shook her head as she watched him leave, reminded of how similar he sometimes was to her brother. Filled with enthusiasm and energy, a bit silly, but with a good heart. They were also amazingly devoted partners, which was reflected in their grand romantic gestures.

How she’d wanted to do something special for Mira, she thought sadly. Maybe there was still time! But before she could give it any real thought, Sherry had given her the order she’d taken over the phone. It was for Mirajane Strauss.

Erza read the names of the flowers listed on the order again: red tulips, red roses, gardenias, and amaryllis. She scrunched up her face in distaste at the combination.

“You’re sure these are the flowers she wanted?” she challenged.

“Yep, she was especially adamant about the red tulips,” Sherry informed her.

Red tulips, red roses, gardenias, and amaryllis. Four species of flowers that looked so vastly different from each other that Erza wasn’t even sure she could combine them into an arrangement that would actually be aesthetically pleasing. But it was for Mira, so she was going to give it her absolute best.

It was for Mira.

Wait a second… Erza listed the order in her head once again with growing anxiety. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Mira had requested these flowers after she’d been looking in that book Erza had shown her during lunch break. They all referred to deep love, affection, and attraction. It was a love confession hastily pieced together in flower meanings.

Shit! Erza’s heart pounded in her chest, the fear that she might have waited too long making her feel light-headed. Who were these flowers for? Erza wracked her brain to think of anyone Mira might have mentioned recently. Mira worked at Fairy Tail, she got hit on constantly, but she usually just laughed it off.

They’d both dated people casually over the years, but it never lasted long, and they always returned to their comfortable camaraderie, laughing at how there was no one out there for them. Although in Erza’s case, what she really meant was there’s no one out there for me but you.

She reviewed the meanings in her head.

Red tulips - a declaration of love, perfect love

Red roses - the most classic of all expressions of love, a child could tell you what it meant.

Gardenias- a symbol of purity and sweetness

Amaryllis - splendid beauty

Every one of these flowers was like a stab to her heart.

“Did uhm, did she say she was picking these up herself?”

“No, she asked that you bring it to Fairy Tail along with Natsu’s stuff,” Sherry answered moving towards the back of the shop, where they kept overstock and orders they didn’t want to be mixed in with sale items, “I’m going to get his things from the back now.”

“Ah, okay, thank you,” Erza muttered, gripping the edges of the table tightly.

“Are you okay?” Sherry hovered over her in concern.

“I’m fine, just a little tired,” Erza smiled weakly.

“Do you want me to take over?”

“No!” Erza replied quickly, “It’s for Mira, I should be the one to do it.”

Sherry didn’t look convinced by her assurances, but she went into Erza’s office, returning with a glass of water and the box containing the cakes Mira had left for her. “Here, eat something, you never even finished your lunch. I’ll go pick the flowers, and you can arrange them, alright?”

Erza nodded gratefully, sitting down on the chair she had brought out for Sting. She opened the container, eating her cake but for once, finding no joy in it. She still managed to eat both pieces by the time Sherry came back, arms laden with the requested flowers.

“I��m going to lock the door. Otherwise, we’ll never be able to leave,” Sherry called over her shoulder.

Erza didn’t answer, already busy with the flowers on her work table. Well, there was nothing she could do; if Mira had given her heart to another, then she would just have to accept it. Mira deserved all the happiness in the world. They would still be friends and aunts to Natsu’s children.

She would make Mira the most beautiful bouquet that could possibly be made with these flowers, and she would even add her own well wishes to it.

“Sherry? Can you get me some red peonies, please?”

“Just a minute, I’m getting Natsu’s order.”

Erza arranged and rearranged, not satisfied with her efforts. She jumped when Sherry arrived with the flowers she’s asked for.

“More red?” Sherry wrinkled her nose in distaste, “Are you sure that’s what you want? That bouquet does not exactly scream love.”

“Actually, that’s exactly what it’s screaming,” Erza disagreed, showing her the piece of paper that she’d scribbled the order on. “The red peonies are to wish her luck.”

“Oh! Oh,” Sherry frowned, realizing what Erza was saying. She was about to say something else when there was a tapping on the door. A quick peek showed Ren and Chelia waiting for her outside.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Sherry asked in a soft voice, “I can ask them to come back later.”

“Nonsense, go have fun with your family, I’ll see you on Monday!”

Sherry didn’t look convinced, but she gave Erza a hug, letting herself out and locking the door from the outside.

With no one left to act tough for, Erza let her tears flow as she continued to work, arranging and rearranging once again until she was satisfied.

0-0

Mira stood next to Natsu, both trying to stay on top of all the customers that had flooded the bar. She was growing increasingly nervous the closer it got to the end of her shift, knowing Erza would show up any minute. She’d bungled up more orders than she could count, having to resort to shameless flirting to keep from getting in trouble. Noticing her state, Natsu took pity on her, asking her to prep fruit for him while he handled the drink orders.

“It’s gonna be fine,” he assured her with one of his smiles, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze before moving on to a customer that was calling for his attention.

For most people, being handed a knife while they were in turmoil was a terrible idea, but for Mira, who had a knife in hand as often as not, it was fine. The repetitive action of cutting the lemons, limes, and oranges needed for drink garnishes was relaxing.

When she’d arrived back at work from her interrupted lunch with Erza, she had been excited about her idea. She’d written down the names of a bunch of flowers and their meanings, trying to construct a love confession in a language Erza would be sure to understand.

A few hours later, she had been wavering, scared that maybe she’d been reading the signals wrong all these years. If she went through with her plan, she would only be exposing herself to heartbreak and ruining the beautiful friendship she and Erza had worked so hard to sustain over the years.

There had always been so many reasons for Mira not to start anything. At first, it had been because they hadn’t exactly hit it off in the beginning. Then, when that had changed, it was because she was trying to sort out the mess Elfman had gotten himself into, especially after it had caused Lisanna to run away in fear. To Edolas, where she was followed by Natsu, and about two years later, they got married.

It had felt awkward to ask Erza out once they were linked by family, so Mira had dated others instead, trying to distance herself from the love and attraction she felt for Erza. None of them had worked out. Her heart just hadn’t been in them, and when the years hadn’t worn down her feelings one bit, she’d begun to think maybe it was time to take a chance.

But then Lisanna had died, and Mira had been grieving and trying to be there for Natsu, who was clearly falling apart. It was a new excuse but one that felt valid. After all, if she acted now and things didn’t work out between them, it would affect Hana and Atlas, which wasn’t fair to them. The last thing they needed was for their aunts, who each fulfilled a part of a female role model they missed so deeply, to be the cause of uncomfortable tensions.

Sharing babysitting duties with Erza and helping raise the kids had been fun, bringing them even closer together, but also filling Mira’s head with visions of what it might be like if the kids they were taking care of were theirs instead.

But it had been watching Natsu find love again with Gray that had truly sparked her to want to make her own move. If Gray, who had just come out of what was arguably the worst relationship ever, was willing to take a chance on a Dragneel, then why not her? And if Natsu, whose whole life had been turned upside down when he lost his wife granted himself another shot at love, then why shouldn’t she?

It felt right. Maybe that was just Mira's inner hopeless romantic speaking, but it spoke loud and clear, and she was done ignoring it. Besides, they had both turned thirty that year. Not that Mira felt old or anything, but she sure as hell wasn’t getting any younger either. She’d been looking forward to starting a family of her own for so long now. All she needed was someone amazing to start it with.

And Erza was amazing. She was smart, beautiful, and kind, and she had this awkward vulnerability that was incredibly endearing. Which was not to say that Mira wasn’t aware of her faults, like her stubbornness, and her fiery temper.

Mira knew that Erza wasn’t perfect, she was just perfect for her.

It had been Natsu who had encouraged her to make the call, telling her she would never know if she didn’t try, and Fantasia was a perfect occasion. He’d looked over the flowers she had jotted down, making his own suggestions.

“Here, do these. There’s no way she could mistake it,” Natsu assured her.

“How can you be so sure?” Mira asked, eyebrow raised in question.

“Because they all clash horribly in a mess of red that no sane person would ever like,” Natsu’s eyes crinkled with merriment.

Mira stared at him in disbelief and then began to laugh, “Is that what you did with Gray?”

“No, we were just honest with each other, but you two suck at that so gaudy bouquet it is!”

Mira had swatted at him playfully, but she had to admit he was right, she and Erza never seemed to be able to tell each other how they felt about each other, always tiptoeing around anything that might upset the balance they had achieved.

So she had made the call, relieved to hear Sherry’s cheerful voice answer the phone and now there was nothing left to do except wait.

Mira had sliced enough fruit to keep the night shift bartenders going through their entire shift, and still, Erza hadn’t arrived. She could see Makarov and Porlyusica already waiting outside with Atlas, Hana, and Wendy. Had she been held up at the shop?

A few minutes later, there was an unmistakable flash of scarlet, and she could see Erza talking to her foster parents, arms full of packages, with both kids latching on to her excitedly.

“You ready to go?” Natsu asked, signaling the end of their shift.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” Mira sighed, the natural confidence she usually exuded escaping her for once.

Natsu snickered and grabbed her hand, pulling her behind him as he weaved his way out of the crowded bar and to their waiting family. They were the last to arrive, and Mira was pleased to see that Gray had joined them, even if he was wearing a cap and large sunglasses. Elfman had made it too. Natsu let go of her hand, heading to Erza and asking for his purchases.

Once Erza had finished helping Natsu, she turned towards Mira. “I brought your order too, even added a touch of red peonies for luck,” she chirped with a fake cheerfulness that confused Mira, as she accepted the bouquet she had ordered.

She examined the flowers in her hand and immediately saw what Natsu had meant. As much as Erza had obviously tried to make the flowers she had requested look as appealing as possible, it was a cacophony of contrasting reds, loud and garish. Those flowers had no business being together. And apparently, Erza had felt the need to add her own touch to the mix, yet another red flower.

What the heck? Red peonies for luck? What did she need luck for?

Erza refused to meet her eyes, and if it hadn’t been for that odd phrase, Mira would have expected some yellow carnations in her future. When she looked at her more closely, Mira saw that Erza’s eyes were puffy as if she’d been crying recently.

Did something happen?

“Luck?” Mira blinked owlishly, trying to understand what was going through Erza’s mind.

“Yes, for you. So that you get the answer you want from whoever you give those to,” Erza managed an awkward smile that tore at Mira’s heart as she finally put two and two together.

“Whoever I give them to?” A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. The hilarity of the situation too much for her to handle. Here she’d thought she’d been as brazen as could be, and all she’d accomplished was to make Erza think they were for someone else.

Erza didn’t seem to know how to react to Mira’s outburst. She peered at her before once again looking down.

“They’re for you, you dummy,” Mira wiped her eyes, trying to ignore the fact that everyone in their group was staring at them with either curious eyes or knowing smiles.

“F-for me?” Erza stammered, her face turning as bright red as her hair once she realized her mistake. A tentative smile crossed her lips.

“Yes, for you,” Mira repeated, handing the bouquet over to Erza with a grin, waiting for her to say something.

“Did your added luck work in my favor?” Mira teased when Erza remained silent, although truth be told, she was starting to feel nervous.

Tears shimmered in Erza’s eyes as she nodded happily, taking out one last item from the bag she had brought from the store and handing it to Mira. It was the most beautiful bouquet Mira had ever seen, and she didn’t have to know anything about flowers to understand that Erza had poured all of herself into it.

They stared at each other, frozen in place by all the years they had spent hoping for this moment, imagining it in hundreds of different ways. Both desperate to take the next step but also terrified of what it would mean.

“Just kiss already,” Hana’s voice startled both of them out of their reverie, followed by the well-meaning laughs of their family and closest friends. She might have been only eight years old, but she’d managed to say what they had all been thinking.

So Erza and Mira did, neither one sure of who took the first step towards the other, or who’s lips pressed against who’s first. All they knew was that as awkward as the moment was, it was also perfect.

They were soon surrounded by the loud congratulations and, in some cases, happy tears of their family. Even though they were out in public, the promise of what was to come enough to make them both smile radiantly.

For the rest of the evening, they enjoyed the festivities with the others, walking hand in hand through the streets of Magnolia. They fed each other snacks from the many food carts that had gathered around the city center, watched Phantom Lord's live performance, slow dancing to some of their songs, and topping off the evening with soft kisses underneath the fireworks.

It was a beautiful evening, filled with more than they could’ve hoped for, but they both couldn't help but look forward to the moment when they were finally alone and could express their feelings more privately.

@femslashfairies

#fairy tail #ftdadsau #femslashfairies2020 #erzajane #ftlgbtales #fics #prompt: flower shop

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cyn2k · 6 years ago

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Sherlock Fic Recs (mostly lesser-known)

All right, I’ve recommended individual fics from time to time,and I certainly reblog fic rec lists, but this is the first time I’ve tried to assemble a Sherlock rec list of my own. I’m trying to select stories I’ve not seen often (or ever) on other lists for this, and they are in no particular order. Mind the tags. Nearly all are end-game Johnlock, although a couple are more gen.

Since this is my first time writing a fic rec list, please let me know if you enjoyed it.

A Telling Touch - by MikayoToudaiji, 91K, E, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Post-Reichenbach. After Sherlock’s death, John manages to get himself re-enlisted and is sent back to war. But when two series of gruesome murders link home and outland together, John is suddenly faced with more battles than he could have imagined. A Reunion, multi-chapter, case fic.

This is one of my go-to fics. John is grieving the loss of Sherlock and back in the army, this time in Syria, courtesy of Mycroft, when he is called home due to the mysterious death of Irene Adler. Irene was the latest victim of a serial killer, but she has managed to leave John a mysterious message. Sherlock does eventually return, but badly injured. There’s a fascinating case fic, a very different and totally platonic Mary Morstan, Sebastian Moran makes an appearance, and a Mummy Holmes who’s absolutely lovely. I find this story so emotionally rewarding, on many levels.

Follow My Voice - by flawedamythyst, 9K, T, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Sherlock's voice is all John has.

John is in a coma, and his only link back to the world is Sherlock’s voice. Told mostly from John’s perspective, the payoff when John finally wakes up is lovely.

Meeting Clara - by BlueSkye12, 2K, G, no pairings (pre-Johnlock, perhaps, if you squint)

John and Sherlock have a chance meeting with John's former sister-in-law and Sherlock learns a thing or two about John's return from Afghanistan.

Sherlock learns exactly how much damage John suffered from the bullet that brought him to London and that fateful meeting at St. Bart’s. Clara is very protective of John, even if he’s no longer her brother-in-law.

Bitter Sweet - by distantstarlight, 17K, E, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Alpha John Watson is a retired army doctor with a chance to acquire an omega mate. He meets the most unusual omega he’s ever encountered.

A somewhat unusual take on A/B/O dynamics, where alphas need to have a use in life, either with a satisfactory career or as a parent to the next generation. Omegas, including Sherlock, are bought at auction, which some may find disturbing, but there’s no indications of maltreatment on anyone’s part. It’s Sherlock who has all the power in this relationship, although he’s deleted the reasons why. John may have to pay the price for that.

The Art of Seduction series - by flawedamythyst, 97K across 6 works, T to E, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/many OMCs, John Watson/OMC, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade

Sherlock ran a website called The Science Of Seduction, on which he gave advice on the best ways to get laid, wrote blog entries detailing the results of his various sexual 'experiments' and generally contributed to the stereotype of 'every gay man is a sex-mad playboy'. John avoided the thing like the plague. AU in which Sherlock treats sex like he does crime in canon. Inspired by Queer As Folk UK, but it very quickly went its own way.

I love this series. Sherlock is obsessed, not with crime, but with sex. John is his flatmate and pretty much the only gay man in London with whom Sherlock has not slept. John pines, Sherlock sleeps with most of gay London, and they all go dancing every weekend. Then Jim shows up and ruins everything. Or does he?

Semper Fidelis - by Blind_Author, 57K, M, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Anthea

Written for a prompt. Moriarty frames John and "Anthea" of betrayals which cause both of the Holmes brothers to cut them off. Cue BAMF!John and BAMF!"Anthea" doing their best to clear their names.

John and Anthea go on the run after they are both framed the same day. They protect one another and bond over the idiocy of their respective Holmeses. Both are in established, if hidden, relationships. They bond while on the run.

Evidence of Human Life - by thesardine, 17K, E, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Sherlock's sanity deteriorates while he and John are stranded on a deserted island.

I basically summed this up in my personal bookmark as: Sherlock and John on a deserted island. They hunt seals, Sherlock periodically goes nuts, and they start having sex.

This Doesn’t Feel Like Falling - by Dark3Star, 148K, E, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, pre Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade

When he fell from St. Barts, Sherlock knew he loved John Watson. John couldn't love him back (or so he thinks). Now that he's back from the dead things are back to normal... sort of. When a serial killer targets increasingly high profile gay couples Sherlock is on the case. With a, possibly ill-advised, plan Sherlock and John go undercover as a couple to uncover the truth.

Part 1 of a series, although this is by far the largest part. Your classic “married for a case” trope, taken to the extreme. There’s a decent case fic, a lot of mutual pining, and some interesting wedding planning. Heed the warnings, there are some pretty graphic depictions of violence when they finally confront the murderer.

The Secret Identity of John Watson - by scifigrl47, 27K, G, John Watson/OFC (but don’t let that scare you!)

Taken out of context, John Watson leads a terrifying life. You have to wonder what those poor women he dates thinks of it, especially if John decides to try keeping one away from Sherlock, and Sherlock decides that it'd be best if he could get rid of her. After all, Mycroft's taught him a thing or two about removing potential 'problems.'

Told from the point of view of the bank girl John saves and then dates. Guys, I am a total Johnlock shipper, and so is everyone else in this crack-fest, although they aren’t actually together. Samantha and her girlfriends are an absolute riot, and their impressions of both John and Sherlock are hysterical.

Small Steps - by crossroadrain, 16K, unrated, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

"It's John's birthday and all his army buddies have got him a prostitute for a laugh.

A/B/O fic, where Sherlock is an unwilling omega stripper hired to entertain for John’s birthday get-together with a bunch of his army buddies. When John takes him aside to protect him from his army buddies, he learns something more is going on. The writing is a little uneven, because the writer is not a native English speaker, but the story is quite good.

Endings - by Purple_Slippers_18, 3K, T, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Fifty years. Eighteen thousand two hundred and sixty two days. It was a long time to be alive, never mind the thirty-four years Sherlock had breathed before he'd met John, which the man in question most certainly did not. As far as Sherlock was concerned, his life – the one whose memories he hoarded like a dragon protecting caverns of stolen gold – began on that serendipitous January afternoon when two strangers met in the research labs at St. Bart's.

Not for those who can’t deal with MCD or find assisted suicide disturbing, but they’re so in love here. Retirement!Lock.

Body Language - by CeruleanDarkangelis,2K, T Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

There is a language to dancing; a call-and-response from one body to another. Even with the poncy kind of dancing I knew he was versed in, the kind that requires classes and counting and rules, there is communication between bodies. Watching him now, I’m more than pleased to discover that he understands my dialect as well.

This is just 2K of absolutely hot dancing seduction. There’s a follow-up fic, Touch Me, about what happens when they get home

Blind series - by inspiration_assaulted, 19K across 3 works, G to T, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Lt John Watson, 25, will do just about anything to stay in the Army, even if it means marrying a man he's never met. It's only for two years, and he'll probably be in Afghanistan the whole time. How much can his life really change?

Mycroft arranges a marriage between Sherlock and John, allowing John to stay in the army and Sherlock to pay for rehab. They write each other letters, but have never met. I originally read this story on FF.net and loved it. I was delighted to find it on AO3, which is easier on my eyes.

Words of One Syllable and At A Loss- GwendolynnFiction, 101K across 2 works on FF.net, M, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

The landmine at Baskerville leaves Sherlock deafened. Unable to stand living without his friend John agrees to learn to sign, but foreign languages cannot be learned in a void. Sherlock helps John learn to sign by finally learning to talk to him.

This was one of my early favorites when I first started reading Sherlock stories on fanfiction.net. The author has slightly different versions up on AO3, but I find these much more enjoyable, as their relationship just seems to work better. The followup story is what happens during the Moriarty trial and after the fall, when Sherlock has to return unexpectedly after John goes missing.

The Otter and the Hedgehog - by Trinity Fire, 23K on FF.net, T, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade.

Just when John and Sherlock think they have time to rest after a case, they get an unexpected surprise... Unexpected, yes, and fluffy!

This is a little uneven, and has a very awkward, very weird self-insert OC, but Sherlock the otter wandering around the flat tucking John the hedgehog into his scarf to carry him everywhere is just too cute!

Letters to a Soldier - by Pakmai, 70K on FF.net, T, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Captain John Watson is a soldier in Afghanistan. Sherlock Holmes has just been admitted to a drug rehab facility, assigned to write a letter to an unknown soldier. He doesn't expect to get a letter back from someone as interesting as John. John doesn't expect to get letter from a recovering drug addict. Together they form an unlikely friendship through letters.

I’ll admit, it’s been a while since I read this one, but this series turned me into a big fan of epistolary fics. The follow-up fic, Letters to a High-Functioning Sociopath, finished after I’d stopped reading regularly on FF, so I admit I don’t know how the series ended.

Flare - by iMusicalMinji, 6K on FF.net, T, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

John has a lot to learn about an elusive species when he ends up living with one. Like how he doesn't have to change under a full moon, how he is fireproof even if he cannot breathe fire himself, and how he loves the doctor. MythicalCreature!AU

A sweet dragon!Lock story, with some parental elements. Sherlock’s hoard made me laugh, and then I thought about it and it made sense.

#johnlock fic recs #Sherlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock

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thegoldendice · 5 years ago

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Love Is A Battlefield

Fandom - American Horror Story 1984

Pairing - Xavier Plympton/Reader

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - Suicide, Violence, Mental Heath Issues, Sexual Content, Language, Religious Content

Chapter - 8/12

Read on - ao3, ff.net

Fic Summary - The year is 1984. You're a poor student living alone in L.A., plagued by your problematic relationships with a false friend and a disturbed ex. You meet Xavier Plympton, an aerobics instructor with a dark past, at the gym where you’ve taken a reception job. You quickly develop feelings for him, and you learn to your relief that he likes you too. Soon a deadly series of events befall you and the people in your life. Overwhelmed by tragedy and with your blossoming romance cut short, you are left a wreck. Six years later you discover that while Xavier is dead, he hasn’t quite departed. You soon realise that if you are to be with him and finally achieve true peace and happiness, you must take your own life and become a Camp Redwood ghost.

Chapter Summary - You discuss your future at the camp with Montana and try to bring Xavier around to your way of thinking.

At the break of dawn, you awaken from a fitful sleep. You shiver slightly as you search the room for Xavier, recalling his angry departure from the cabin hours earlier when you revealed your plan to him. He swore, as he left, to stay near to the cabin for your safety. Your eyes filled with tears as the old wooden door slammed shut. Even though he was angry, furious even, Xavier was unable to abandon you. You realise he has not returned, but you don't doubt that he kept his word to remain close by. None of the troubled souls who haunt the camp have come near while you slept, as far as you can tell. He must have kept any potential intruders away. Finally, you fell asleep, too exhausted to remain awake despite everything that had happened.

Your stomach twists with hunger, letting out a loud growl. You don't remember the last time you had food, and of course, Xavier never offered you anything. You feel a renewed sense of sympathy for him at the realisation that he will never eat again. Neither will you when you go through with your decision to end your own life. There are certain things you know you will miss; food and drink especially, but the fleeting joy these things bring does nothing to ease your constant need for healing. You know that your true salvation lies in death. You also know you must convince Xavier of this because you will need him with you when the time comes.

You get up, throwing the useless blanket to the side. You are tired, but you can't lie still any longer. You find your clothes and get dressed after stretching away the ache from your back, caused by a mattress that had already seen better days when the camp first opened. You leave the cabin, looking out for Xavier as you descend the stairs. He's nowhere to be seen, so you make your way to the pier as you attempt to ignore your hunger. You sit on the farthest wooden plank, legs dangling off the edge towards the water. You gaze up, watching the sun beat a slow path towards it’s zenith. It spreads light across the whole valley, highlighting the beauty and seclusion of the area. Not a bad place to spend eternity, you think. You don't realise that Montana has approached you until she sits down at your side.

“You’ve slept with him, haven’t you?”

You turn to see her facing you with a look of exasperation on her face. You're not entirely surprised that she has guessed the truth. You caught a glance of your reflection in a dusty mirror before you left the cabin. The smallest hint of a renewed glow lingers about you, despite your tiredness.

“Why do you care?” You ask, genuinely interested.

“I don’t, really... sure, Xavier’s a great fuck, but I love Trevor.”

"So what does it matter?”

Montana briefly considers the question.

“You’ll find it harder to let go now. You shouldn’t have gone near him.”

You hesitate before responding. If you reveal your plan, Montana may react in a similar way to Xavier. You're not sure if you can handle her wrath right now. That being said, she's going to find out sooner or later. You decide to be brave.

“I’m not letting go. I’m staying.”

Montana’s eyes widen slightly before settling back to their normal expression of semi-boredom. Her mouth quirks up at one corner slightly, making you wonder what she might be thinking.

“How will you do it?” She asks, with more interest than you expected.

“Pills. An overdose. I know what to do.” You let it out in a rush.

“And Xavier’s cool with this?”

You look away in an attempt to avoid having to admit the truth. When you glance back, one side of Montana's mouth is still turned up in a humourless smile.

“Didn’t think so.” She says. “Look, I can’t tell you what to do, but just stop and think for a minute about all the things you’d be giving up. I’ve chilled out a lot, but a few years back I’d have been fucking furious at the thought of someone like you throwing their life away.”

“Someone like me?”

“You’re young and free. We’re completely trapped here Y/n. I get it, Xavier’s a total babe, but how well do you even know him?”

“It’s not just about Xavier. My life is such a mess. I struggle through the days exhausted because I’m too depressed to sleep at night. I’m so fucking lonely, I can’t even begin to describe it.” You struggle to keep the quiver out of your voice. “I look like I'm coping on the surface, but my mind is trapped in a constant battle with inner demons who tell me I’m worthless, I have no future... that I’m partly to blame for what happened here.”

“What!?” Montana, for once, seems shocked.

“Xavier asked me to come here with you guys the summer you were killed, but I couldn’t. If I’d been here maybe I could have changed something somehow, despite what he thinks.” You shrug, at a loss to explain yourself in a way that you feel will make sense. You watch Montana as she considers what you've said.

“No.” She sighs. “No I don’t think you being here would have made a difference at all, even if you’d tried to help. Something... happens here. People seem to die no matter how strong or brave they are. There’s an anger, a rage that takes over. I don’t think you’d have stood a chance.” Montana is quiet for several seconds before continuing on. “As for the other stuff, I get why you’d want to escape from it all but that’s what prescription drugs are for, right?”

You give an empty chuckle.

“They don’t work on me, I've tried. I turn into a zombie. Being here with Xavier is the most alive I’ve felt in six years.”

“Kinda ironic that you want to die then.”

“I don’t feel like I have a choice. I’m not prepared to go off and try to forge some kind of non-miserable life for myself for the millionth time, all for it to inevitably go wrong again and again. If I keep trying to do that I’ll end up wrinkly and decrepit with nothing to show for it. There’s no way Xavier would still want me if I tried to come back to him as a fucking pensioner.”

“You don’t have a lot of faith in how I feel about you, do you?”

You turn, startled to find Xavier standing behind you. You keep forgetting that you're the only person here who can't conceal the noise made when moving around.

“That’s my cue to leave.” Montana mumbles. “Look Y/n, whatever you decide... good luck.”

She gives you a small smile and stands up, nodding slightly to Xavier as she passes him.

“You’re not going to change your mind about this are you?” Xavier asks sadly.

“No Xavier. I have to trust my instincts.”

He watches you for a minute, and you can tell he is trying to decide something. Finally, he rolls his eyes and comes to sit beside you, grabbing your hand straight away as if he's been desperate to touch you again.

“Okay.” he whispers, dropping his head to place a kiss on your knuckles. “It was a shock at first, but I can’t pretend I’m not fucking delighted at the thought of you staying here with me. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Notes: Important - I am not trying to glamourise suicide here. This story is intended to fit into the AHS narrative which is essentially a fantasy where a lot of messed up stuff goes on (as we all know!). What I’ve written only goes some way towards reflecting real life.

This post-canon part was originally only going to be 4 chapters but things are going a bit slower than I imagined so I’m not going to put a number on it now.

#xavier plympton #xavier plympton x reader #xavier plympton x you #ahs #ahs xavier #montana duke #ahs 1984 #american horror story #american horror story 1984 #fanfic #ao3 #ff.net

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mayquita · 6 years ago

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Call Me (23/?) - It’s a Matter of Love

Hi again! As usual with this story, I changed my mind and I’m going to split the next chapter into two parts, first because otherwise, it would be super long, second, because I think the two parts work well as independent chapters and, finally, because I can post it earlier.

Thank you, everyone, for all your support, thanks for all your kudos, likes, reblogs, reviews and comments. It means the world to me :)

Special mention to @saraswans and @onceuponaprincessworld for your help, your suggestions and for always believing in me and supporting this story.

Summary: Emma loses her phone after a chase, but she finds a phone in a cafe just when she needs it most. Killian forgets his phone in a cafe when he is about to take a flight to Ireland. Killian makes a call to his own number hoping someone answers on the other end of the line. What will happen when Emma is the one answering the call?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8Chapter 9 Chapter 10Chapter 11 Chapter 12Chapter 13 Chapter14Chapter 15 Chapter 16Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22

FF.net Ao3

Chapter 23 - It’s a Matter of Love

Killian Jones loved Emma Swan. He had come to terms with that irrefutable fact for a while now. It was useless to deny it when he could feel it in all the fibers of his being like a warm feeling at times, making his stomach flutter or like a flow of sensations burning through his veins up to reach his heart in other occasions. But it was one thing to accept it and quite another to express it, at least with words.

That spiral of feelings had begun to set in early, maybe even from those first days when they were separated by an ocean and he hadn't even seen her face. What at first had been only a barely perceptible sensation was gradually increasing, causing a whole series of physical reactions in his body to anything related to Emma.

He had felt the need to pronounce the three words aloud for the first time just after his breakdown a few weeks ago. Back then, he had decided to hold them back, waiting to find a more appropriate, unique occasion, or waiting for the time to pass and for their relationship to take hold. Or simply waiting for Emma to confess her feelings. After all, she had been the one who had led all the steps of their relationship until now, right?

There were times when he found his need to pronounce the three words more manageable, moments in which his heart fluttered subtly as a reminder of his feelings. Those moments were interspersed with other occasions where the intensity of his feelings was such that he found it terribly difficult to keep his mouth shut, the words pushing hard and struggling to get out and be heard.

Usually, the little details were the ones that caused a more subtle reaction, like a warm sensation invading his body, and an imperceptible I love you caressing his lips. Sometimes those little moments caused a much more powerful reaction, catching him off guard, words burning on the tip of his tongue.

They spent almost every weekend together, most of them in his apartment, regardless of whether he had to work or not. On those occasions, it was usual for him to wake up with that warm feeling washing over him, not only on a metaphorical level, but also in the most literal sense of the word, with Emma's naked body entwined with his own.

Sometimes he managed to keep that warm feeling at bay, enraptured by the features of her sleepy face, by the soft smile she gave him before she even opened her eyes, or by her bright gaze through her half-closed eyes. Other times, though, the smile turned into a naughty smirk, the glint of her gaze giving way to a blazing fire, and her body burning against his. He was unable to keep his mouth shut in those amorous encounters, but he reserved the precious words for another, even more special occasion. Instead, he always tried to demonstrate his devotion to Emma using other ways.

His hands caressed every inch of her skin. I love you.

His lips and tongue savored every corner of her body. I love you.

His gaze bore into hers as he slipped inside her and let himself be enveloped by her warmth. I love you.

The moment both reached sweet release the words were momentarily forgotten, both his body and his mind too consumed by passion, leaving him unable to elaborate any rational — or even irrational, for that matter— thought.

That need to express his feelings out loud was a constant whenever Emma met Little Leo or talked to his nephew and niece through the screen. Somehow, the image of Emma interacting with children caused his heart to melt in the process. He would remain enthralled at times, simply observing their interactions, without bothering to intervene. It was easier to observe without being seen when they kept video calls with his family. Another thing very different was to stay spellbound during the Sunday brunch while Emma interacted with little Leo. That had earned him more than a joke from David and several dreamy glances and speeches about true love from Mary Margaret.

Emma was a complex woman, of that he was sure. He found it particularly enthralling when she decided to expose — or he managed to discover — some of the peculiarities that made her unique. There had been glimpses of her incredible potential back in Ireland, when she had revealed some personality traits over the phone. Now, after more than two months dating her, Killian was more aware than ever that beneath all those layers, behind that facade of a tough girl, there was a gem waiting to be discovered, waiting to show all its splendor.

Her attributes were not only limited to the physical aspect —her natural beauty was undeniable — not even to the features of her personality he was so attracted to. She was bloody brilliant in everything that she set out to do. She was much more than a simple bail bondsperson. She seemed to have an innate ability with all kinds of technologies and was especially good with website design, although she insisted that she had only taken a few classes a few years ago. She was a natural. Or maybe he was totally biased. No. She was really good, Will and Belle agreed with him.

She had taken seriously his suggestion to improve the Jolly Cruises website, taking advantage of every moment she had free to grab her laptop and work on a more innovative design. He could stay entranced for hours just watching her work, a concentrated expression, her lips slightly pursed, a small crease between her brows while staring at the screen as her fingers moved nimbly around the keyboard. She exuded an aura of efficiency and professionalism worthy of admiration, even though she was sitting on his couch in his living room. And the best part was that she was doing it simply because he had suggested it, without expecting anything in return. How could he not love such a wonderful person as Emma was? Again, the words burned in his throat as he watched her. His lips remained sealed, though and so they would until he found that ideal moment or until Emma got ahead of him, as usual.

Friday, September 1, 2017

"We should go for a walk." Belle suggested, pointing to the exit with the pool cue she was holding.

Belle's words seemed to distract Will, failing in his attempt to hit his balls. "Bloody hell woman, do I have to remind you that we're on the same team?" He complained, a sullen expression on his face. For all answer, Belle arched an eyebrow in an unimpressed way. "It's almost midnight, we're playing pool and our glasses are still half full, why should we go for a walk?"

Killian chuckled quietly before pushing himself up from the stool and headed towards the pool table. "My turn." Ignoring his companions, he bent over the pool table, adjusting his position to get a better aim.

"I think it's an excellent idea. Going for a walk, I mean." This time it was Killian who lost his goal due to Emma's unexpected words, the white ball sliding down the green baize without even going near none of his balls. He raised his head as he shot an inquiring look at his girlfriend. She grinned at him as she put one arm around Belle's shoulders in a gesture of complicity.

It was a special night, the beginning of the long weekend since they would be celebrating Labor Day the following Monday. They were in one of their favorite bars, like every Friday night, carrying out one of their established routines lately. They used to go for a drink, play pool, darts or just hanging out together, enjoying the good company. The Nolans joined them on some occasions, when David's shift allowed it and they managed to find a babysitter for Little Leo. It was not the case this time, so that left only the two remaining couples.

"We haven't even finished the game." Will protested, both his voice and a scowl implying his obvious reluctance to leave the bar.

"Oh come on!" Belle rolled her eyes as she approached her boyfriend and pulled the pool cue out of his hands. "I'm doing ourselves a favor. We're losing, buddy."

"May I ask the reason for that sudden interest in going for a walk in the middle of the night?" Killian cocked his head to the side as he cast a curious glance at the two ladies.

"It's a long weekend." Emma shrugged. "And your schedules are clear for tomorrow morning, due to the holiday. We are in no hurry to go home.”

"I'm the one who makes your schedules, so she's right, I checked it." Belle added. "Besides, even though we’re already in September the temperature is still warm at night. We should take advantage of it before the cold arrives."

"And we're near the harbor, there's a good night view of the city from there." Emma looked at Belle with a conspiratorial gesture as she raised her hand for a high five.

Despite Will's initial reluctance, it was a fact that he was incapable of denying Belle anything. And neither did he to Emma, of course, not when both of them were being so convincing in their arguments. Resigned, Will took the contents of his drink in a single gulp and after casting one last glance at the ceiling, he reached out his hand pointing to the exit.

That's how they ended that night in early September, walking along the docks enjoying the warm temperature and the good company. Maybe the fact that they were a little bit intoxicated caused their inhibitions to disappear, or maybe the reason was that they were comfortable with each other. It was as if a feeling of camaraderie enveloped them, as if he had returned to the old days, when he was just a child, before everything went to hell, when one of the lads came up with a mischief and everyone else in the group decided to follow him, when it seemed that, despite all the miseries that could haunt them, they still saw the future as something promising, full of possibilities.

They felt like children that night, when Emma and Belle decided to use the pier as a catwalk while he and Will acted as photographers using their respective phones. She was radiant, her face illuminated by her bright smile and a special glow in her eyes. She swayed suggestively without a care in the world, sharing knowing looks with Belle as they posed for them.

His heart swelled as he filled his My Swan album with new content and watched Emma in awe through the screen. It was incredible how the lonely, guarded person he had first met had blossomed into the wonderful woman he had before him, so carefree, so affectionate to Belle, so happy.

As he held the phone in his hands —the device that had brought them together — an almost irrepressible desire to shout from the rooftops his love for Emma came up suddenly, the depth of his feelings struggling as never before to be revealed. He had to restrain himself, though, waiting to find another —more private— moment to confess his feelings. But he found it increasingly difficult to bite his tongue when his whole body was humming his love for her. Soon, he promised himself as he captured her captivating smile once more and kept it in the space reserved for his most precious memories.

Monday, September 11, 2017

That unique moment never seemed to come, though. The first days of September brought an unusual activity to Killian's business, everyone seemed to want to go sailing taking advantage of the last vestiges of summer, before the fall came irremediably. Emma, on the other hand, had gotten a difficult case, an extremely elusive jumper. Catching him had become a challenge, although determination was Emma’s trademark, so Killian was convinced that she would get him sooner or later.

They were so busy that they usually only had time to share brief moments together and both of them used to fall down in bed —together— with no time for much more. At least sleep was something they could do at the same time, and if nothing prevented it, in the same bed, Killian's.

However, their time together was about to be reduced even further when a unique opportunity for his business arose. A group of friends had decided to enjoy the last days of their vacations together by sailing the seas, so they proposed him to rent the Jolly Roger for a small route along the coast that would last several days, which would provide him a substantial increase in his profits. They had expressly indicated that they wanted his ship, no other of his small fleet, so Killian had no choice but to accept the proposal and prepare to travel with them. The possibility of entrusting one of his employees with the task of captaining the expedition did not even go through his head, in any way he was going to stay away from his precious ship and remain oblivious to what might happen.

He had been tempted to reject the business opportunity though. The incipient profits and the fact that Will would accompany him as his first mate were not enough incentive, especially considering that he'd have to stay away from Emma for several days. You better get used to it, his inner voice kept reminding him. You will have to travel to Ireland soon and stay there for several months. Without her. He dismissed those ideas almost at the same moment they appeared in his mind, ignoring the tug of uneasiness that settled in his stomach every time that kind of thoughts began to haunt him. They would have time to cross that bridge when they reached it.

In the end, it was Emma who practically made the decision for him. She had gotten a clue that placed her jumper in another state. True to the determination that characterized her, she didn't hesitate for a moment to follow that hint and go after him, even if it meant traveling hundreds of miles away. After all, he would be sailing, wouldn't he?

Have Will and your clients already arrived?

Not yet, in half an hour.

Knowing you, I'm sure you've left the ship as good as new, all shimmering, polished wood and immaculate sails.

Killian was on the Jolly Roger's deck, exhausted after finalizing the preparations for the imminent arrival of his clients, but that didn't stop a smile from appearing on his face while reading Emma's text. In response, he took a picture of the deck and sent it to Emma, so she could check it out for herself. He had said goodbye to her —quite enthusiastically —a few hours earlier, since she would begin her road trip the next day. He had dedicated those hours to polishing, cleaning and equipping the ship with all the supplies necessary for the small tour. The result had been quite satisfactory but his considerable physical effort had taken its toll. In addition to his extreme tiredness, he needed to take a quick shower before the others arrived.

I knew it. As good as new. All ready to receive an unexpected visit.

His heart skipped a beat as his eyebrows knitted together in confusion, his fingers sliding quickly through the keyboard, searching for a clue to her cryptic message.

I'm afraid I'm not following you, love.

Look down towards the pier, sailor.

A wave of excitement seized him as he hurried to the railing, his gaze traveling across the pier until he spotted her. She was a vision. There were still a couple of hours for the sun to set, but its rays were doing wonders on Emma, bathing her with their luminosity and endowing her with an aura that made it impossible for him to take his eyes off his girlfriend.

His heart thudded in his chest in anticipation, the desire to hold her in his arms once more before parting humming under his skin.

"Hey there, sailor. Permission to come aboard?" Emma asked, a mischievous smile gracing her face as she began to climb up the access ramp.

A pleasant sensation of déjà vu hit him, taking him to that moment two and a half months ago when Emma first climbed on his ship, the first step of what would be an unforgettable experience aboard the Jolly Roger.

"Uhm, I'm not sure, love, since you keep forgetting my actual rank." As on the previous occasion, Killian leaned his elbow on the railing, resting his chin on his hand as he watched her ascent.

"Oops, I'm sorry. " She said, her tone not apologetic in the slightest even though she accompanied her words with the gesture of pressing the palm of her hand over her mouth. "Are you going to punish me, captain?" There was something almost obscene about the way she moved her lips to utter his range, causing his blood to run burning through his veins heading south.

"Mmm, tempting..." He closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her waist, his mouth a few inches from hers. Two could play this game. "But I prefer to know first to what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit."

"Maybe I wanted to say goodbye again?" She muttered, placing her arms around his neck. Before he could react, her lips were on his in a demanding kiss with the ability to take his breath away and make his head spin. He responded with fervor, lost in the incredible feeling of kissing Emma again when he had already made up his mind that he would not see her for a few days.

Her lips did not leave his as her hands traveled over his body in an almost desperate attempt to remove his clothes. There was something urgent about her movements that made him think that maybe he wasn't the only one affected by their temporary separation.

A flash of lucidity crossed his clouded mind before he surrendered completely to the passion as he realized that they were making out on the very deck of his ship, exposed to anyone who might pass by. He was also aware of his condition after his previous physical exercise. Although reluctant, his lips parted from her enough to seek for her eyes.

"It's not that I'm complaining, Swan, but, uh, if I had known that you would come to visit me maybe I could have freshened myself up a bit." Killian pursed his lips slightly in apology as he pointed to his dirty, sweaty t-shirt.

"Don't care." She muttered, her lips searching his again insistently.

"So, you like a little dirty, eh darling? Good to know." He managed to mumble against her mouth. "But maybe we should take our activities somewhere more private?"

"Okay, take me to your quarters, captain."

The moment they entered his cabin closing the door behind them, he caught her between the nearest wall and his body pressed against hers. His lips began their exploration through the bare skin of her neck and collarbone, while his hands wandered through her delectable curves. The delicious sound that escaped from her mouth did nothing but increase his urge to take her right there.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to take my time with you, love, the clients will come at any time." Somehow, the possibility that they could be caught in this way only increased his arousal.

"I can be quick." She muttered as she unbuckled his belt in a fluid motion, as if to prove her point. "Besides, I may have talked with Will and suggested that he distract any possible client, since we're going to be a little busy." She bit her lower lip while throwing a disarming glance at him.

"You did it, didn't you?" He separated a little from her, watching her in awe. "You're a bloody marvel." He mumbled before capturing her lips with is own again. Somehow, Emma always managed to surprise him in the most unexpected situations, getting his love for her to grow in such a way that he found it increasingly difficult to restrain it. Maybe the moment to utter the words aloud had not yet arrived, but he had half an hour to show his feelings with actions, while their hearts, minds, and bodies generated new passionate memories that would accompany them in the following days apart.

When they emerged to the deck forty minutes later, Will was already there, alone. He gave them a recriminating look as he pointed to his watch.

"You're late, guys. Luckily for you, the clients have suffered a little inconvenience and will arrive in ten minutes, and yes, I say luckily because anyone who looks at your face will be able to figure out what you two have been doing below the deck." He crossed his arms over his chest and pressed his lips into a thin line trying to keep a serious expression, and failing miserably, the amusement written all over his face.

Killian couldn't help glancing at Emma. His friend was right, of course. Despite the fact that they had made an attempt to clean themselves up a bit, her hair still appeared slightly disheveled, her cheeks flushed, her swollen lips drawing a sated smile. He supposed that his appearance wasn't much different, but he couldn't care less.

Emma gave him a look of complicity before addressing Will. "Thank you, Will." The soft kiss she placed on his cheek caused his friend to blush, while Killian caught his bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to suppress the grin that threatened to form. "See you soon. Take care of him for me, okay?" She muttered before reaching out to take Killian's hand.

"Don't worry, lass, he's in good hands." Will assured with a solemn expression.

"I'm right here, in case you haven't noticed." Why this habit of everyone talking about him as if he wasn't present? "And I'm already a grown man, I don't need anyone to take care of me, thank you very much." He added in a tone that was perhaps too smug as he frowned.

Emma snorted and mumbled something unintelligible that sounded like don't I know it while Will ignored him completely, addressing Emma again. "Good luck with the chase, see you soon." After making a subtle bow with his head he tapped him on the shoulder and stepped away, giving them some privacy to say goodbye.

The time had come to face the inevitable so Killian had no choice but to resign. With their hands entwined, he accompanied Emma until they reached the access ramp. Before descending, she cupped his face in her hands while bringing her mouth up for one last kiss. Her lips moved gently against his causing a warm sensation to spread through his body. "I'm going to miss you." Her whisper caressed his lips one more time before she moved away, starting down the access ramp.

"Even at the risk of sounding cheesy, I miss you already, Swan."

Her hypnotizing green gaze still lingered for a few seconds on his before she finally turned away from him.

"You got it bad, mate." Killian looked away briefly, watching as Will shook his head. " The Swan Girl has truly bewitched you."

He ignored his friend, but his lips curled into a reluctant smile. He turned his gaze back to Emma, who was moving farther and farther away. Suddenly, something fell on him, a kind of cloth. “What the hell, man?” He directed an inquisitive look at his friend.

"It's for your drooling, you know." Will smirked at him before continuing in a somewhat more serious tone. "She’s really good for you. You deserve it, you know that, don't you?”

No, he didn’t know it, he still found it difficult to believe that luck had finally fallen on his side, putting Emma in his path. Killian approached Will, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. "The only thing I know is that we are the luckiest guys, mate.”

"We are, we definitely are." Will agreed, the wide smile on his face, a clear sign of who he had his thoughts on. An unexpected wave of affection over his friend, his faithful companion, seized him as his heart fluttered at the thought that they, his friends and family could finally see the real Killian, the one who had remained for too long half buried by the burden he carried.

After giving him a frank smile, he looked away to the dock, where he could still see Emma walking. He stayed there a little longer, enraptured, following her movements, reluctant to let her go. An idea appeared in his head at that moment, a kind of bet with himself. If she turns once more before disappearing from my sight, I’ll confess my feelings towards her the moment she returns. He held his breath as his stomach tightened into knots in anticipation as he watched her intently. Just as he was about to give up, Emma turned her head and gave him a bright smile full of promises. That was all he needed.

Thanks for reading. I’d like to know what you all think :)

Since the following chapter was part of the same original idea, its structure will be similar, although from Emma's POV.

@rouhn @couldnthandleit @teamhook @malec4everr @ijustwantyoucaskett-always@kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @suwya @thisonesatellite @lfh1962

#cs ff #cs au #captain swan #my cs writings #call me #mayquita writes #captain swan ff #cs ff au

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sailorspazz · 5 years ago

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[Fanfic] Divine Blessing, Chapter 4 (Black/Zamasu)

Similar to last year, I tried (and failed ;_;) to finish a contribution in time for Black/Zamasu Week. So here I be posting late again :p

Title: Divine Blessing (chapter 4)

Series: Dragon Ball Super

Pairing: Black/Zamasu

Rating: M (for sex)

Words: 6,500

Summary: Black and Zamasu always celebrate the purification of planets by anointing them with their divine passion. However, this practice leads them to discover that even between kindred spirits, different bodies can lead to differences in opinions

Can find it on ff.net or ao3 if you please, or for maximum convenience, click below! (you’re already here, right?)

Welp, this is it, the end of the road. Took longer than I wanted/expected to complete this, but I always uphold my fic commitments, even if it’s months or years past the deadlines I originally wanted to keep :P So let’s dispense with the excuses and get on with it already!

Chapter completed: 2019.10.18

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Chapter 4: Permanence

As their bodies were still sprinkled with ash following their experience inside the volcano earlier that day, Black and Zamasu headed to the bath to wash up. They scrubbed each other down in turn before settling down in the large tub, relaxing against each other. Black wrapped his arm around Zamasu’s shoulder and placed a smooch on his cheek. He felt a tremendous sense of relief that they had been able to work through their conflict, and it seemed as if their connection might actually grow stronger after being strained. Even though they had both slung damning accusations at each other, in the end they had gained a better understanding of each other’s feelings, and had come to understand that the differences between them were not something to be feared. And knowing that they both wished to extend their bond until the end of time uplifted his heart in a way he had never experienced before. Though they had already been staunchly committed to each other since their very first meeting, he now had the sense that an absolute, eternal promise was shared between them.

Zamasu nuzzled his face against Black’s neck. “I can hardly wait till we get to the next planet.” He brought his mouth up to his partner’s ear. “I want you,” he murmured sensually.

Black instantly perked up. “Why deprive ourselves then? We could just do it right…now.” He swiftly maneuvered their bodies so Zamasu was pushed up against the side of the bath with his legs splayed.

Zamasu smirked up at his partner. “Surely you’re not thinking of going against my wishes? I may have forgiven you for last time, but that doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate you doing it again,” he cautioned.

Black backed up and quickly moved to the opposite side of the bath. “Right. I’ll just stay over here then.”

Zamasu puffed up his cheeks and came over to settle beside him again, exactly the reaction Black had been hoping for. “You don’t have to be that cautious. We just need to keep it…light,” Zamasu clarified as he turned Black’s face toward him and kissed him softly. It started slow, their pressed together lips scarcely moving, then advanced to Zamasu seating himself on Black’s lap, their arms wrapped tightly around each other as their tongues clashed. Black’s hand slid down his counterpart’s back, settling on his buttocks and giving them a firm squeeze. He ventured a finger toward Zamasu’s asshole, but was stopped when he protested, “Ah, n-no, don’t…”

“I’m not going to push this any further than you want,” Black promised. “Just some light teasing.”

“There’s nothing ‘light’ about you inserting something into me.” Even as he scolded him, his eyes were full of hunger.

“Then I won’t,” he replied as he slowly ran his finger around the rim of Zamasu’s entrance. His other self closed his eyes, panting and relishing the sensation. When he instinctively leaned forward to kiss him again, Black stopped him. “Hold on. If you don’t want me putting anything inside you, that includes this.” He stuck out his tongue, wiggling it back and forth.

Zamasu chuckled. “Fair point.” He stuck out his tongue as well and brought it together with Black’s, swirling them around each other. He briefly sucked on his partner’s tongue before realizing he was already going against his own request. “But I find this particular limitation too restricting.” He jammed his tongue deeply into Black’s mouth, setting off another round of passion that made it difficult for both of them to restrain themselves.

“If you’re going to break your own rules so easily, why don’t we just forget about all of them?” Black suggested as he caressed Zamasu’s chest.

“It may be arbitrary,” Zamasu admitted. “But I already made up my mind that we should save it for the next planet. It’s the principle, after all.”

Black nodded. “I’ll certainly respect your wishes.” He leaned forward and whispered seductively in Zamasu’s ear, “But I might make you wish I hadn’t.”

“Make me wish? Hardly,” Zamasu scoffed. “Surely continuing on like this is much…mmm,” he paused to moan as Black’s mouth moved to his neck, peppering it with kisses, licks, and soft nibbles. “It’s…it’s much harder for you, with your…ah…mortal b-body.” He bit his lip in ecstasy as Black clamped down hard, biting and sucking at his neck. “You have a stronger…hngh…n-need than I do.”

It was hard to contain his snickering as Zamasu proved undoubtedly that he desired this just as much—if not more—than Black did. “Should I stop, then?” he brought his face up to his partner’s, delighting in his flushed face and slightly parted lips.

Zamasu sighed deeply. “It’s probably for the best. It’s not fair to get you so worked up without promise of immediate release.” Though he tried play it down as if this were for Black’s benefit, clearly he was disappointed to postpone their intimate encounter. “Come, we’ll have some tea and calm ourselves down.” They were both still sporting full blown erections as they stepped out of the bath, but Zamasu swiftly used his power to dry and clothe them to reduce the visual provocation posed by their nude bodies.

They headed to the kitchen, and as Zamasu went about preparing the tea and accompanying snacks, Black could not help but ogle him. He would gladly bend him over the counter and take him right now, but he knew that would only incur his counterpart’s wrath again. Instead, he started plotting how he could continue the buildup to their next blessing. It would be marvelous if he could keep himself under control while working Zamasu into a tizzy, proving wrong his partner’s assumption about Black being the one that needed carnal pleasure more. It would be difficult to pull off without succumbing to temptation himself, but he was eager to take on the challenge.

Zamasu carried a tray to the table and set out servings for each of them. He had barely managed to sit down before Black could no longer resist setting his new plan into motion. “I was thinking…” he started casually, trying to capture his other self’s full attention.

“Hmm?” Zamasu peered back from over his teacup.

“About our conversation earlier. We both recognize that, though we may share the same soul, we also have individual desires that the other may not share, right?”

“That’s correct,” Zamasu answered with a hint of curiosity, wondering where Black was going with this line of thought.

Black was pleased to see that he had piqued Zamasu’s interest. “Consequently, when we bestow blessings upon the planets we’ve cleansed, we have a tendency to focus on our own needs rather than what our other self would appreciate.”

“I suppose…that’s true,” Zamasu said thoughtfully. “Though usually we’re in sync with what we desire, the last couple of times have proven that it’s clearly…”

“Not a given, yes. So I’d like to propose that next time, we approach this more consciously.” He placed his elbows on the table, resting his chin on top of his interlaced fingers. “We should each try to do something that we think the other would enjoy, regardless of if it caters to our own desires. We could treat it as a celebration of sorts of our newfound deeper understanding of each other.” Black had to move his folded hands in front of his mouth to contain the absolutely lecherous grin that was threatening to show through, though that did nothing to mask the blatantly mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“That sounds like a splendid idea,” Zamasu replied brightly. “And am I to assume that we’ll keep these plans secret from each other until we decide to unveil them?”

“Exactly what I was thinking. Builds more…anticipation that way, don’t you think?” Black could not resist dropping one of his hands and sliding it across the table to rest upon his partner’s.

Zamasu turned his hand over and entwined it with Black’s, returning the seductive gaze that was being aimed at him. “Indeed.”

Their conversation moved on, but even as they discussed other subjects, Black was pleased to see occasional flashes in his partner’s eyes indicating that he was contemplating what they might do for—and to— each other the following day. Knowing the subtle cues of his former body allowed him to have great insight into catching when Zamasu’s mind wandered, but alas in this case it did not particularly help Black, as it only served to get him even more excited. Since his other half had declared that waiting would be much harder on his mortal body, the stubborn streak that they both shared meant Black needed to ensure that by the time they gave themselves to each other, Zamasu would be the one craving it more. He pictured him begging and pleading for his cock, a mental image he quickly had to dispel; it was already going to be difficult enough to carry out this plan, so he need not make it even tougher by allowing himself such enticing thoughts.

Later on, they elected to head to bed to rest up for the next day’s extermination. Black wasted no time spooning his body against his other self’s, wrapping him in his arms and pecking his ear lightly. “Tomorrow will be glorious,” he purred.

“Mmm hmm,” Zamasu snuggled tighter into his partner’s embrace, and relished the tingling sensation that spread throughout him as Black nuzzled and whispered in his ear. It was obvious he was trying to rile him up, but Zamasu did not particularly mind since he knew Black would keep his promise to not push this too far. Still, it was hard not to consider giving up on waiting when he could feel Black’s rock hard erection nestled against his backside in their current position. Zamasu shifted his body around so he was facing Black, bringing their faces together with the intention of giving him a chaste goodnight kiss in hopes of cooling things down for the night. However, the instant their lips touched, an even greater flame of passion was ignited, driving them to kiss, lick, and grope each other fervently. Soon, Black rolled on top of him and his hands made their way inside Zamasu’s pajama top, pinching and twisting his nipples roughly as he gripped the sheets and moaned in delight.

Looking down at his counterpart’s lust-filled face, he knew he could probably fuck him right now and he would not even be that upset about it afterward. But it was still too soon; he wanted to wait until he needed it even more. He lowered his face down near Zamasu’s, seeing that he was expecting and preparing for another fiery kiss, but he stopped just short of contact, grinning impishly as he simply said, “Goodnight,” before moving off of him. He rolled over facing away from him, and, being worn out following the previous restless night and emotionally uneven day, promptly fell into a deep slumber.

Zamasu was left stunned, barely able to process the sudden end to their dalliance. “Seriously?” he asked no one, as his partner was already snoring softly beside him. He buttoned his night shirt up again with a sigh. He could not deny that he had wanted to go further, despite his earlier declaration that he would not allow anything to happen until they got to the next planet. But alas, Black had literally put that possibility to rest, and Zamasu was left feeling agitated. He tried to fall asleep himself, but unlike Black’s mortal body, which was highly susceptible to fatigue and needed daily rest, Zamasu’s divine body did not have such requirements. Since regular sleep was not a necessity for him, he needed to be in a very restful mood for it to occur, with his mind at ease. It had certainly been much easier for him to achieve that sort of relaxation ever since he had started working with his other half, as the important work they were carrying out gave him a satisfied sense of fulfillment. But on this particular day, as a result of Black deliberately working him up, it would be nearly impossible to calm himself down enough to sleep at all, on a night when he desperately wanted to so he would not have to deal with the persistent sexual fantasies that would not leave his head.

Zamasu tried to think about something—anything—else to distract himself from what he currently desired most, but his mind inevitably drifted back to vivid, raunchy scenarios that could possibly play out between the two of them. Black’s suggestion that they think up ways to please each other certainly made it difficult for him not to keep mulling it over, and he suspected that had been precisely his intention. He was reaching the point where he ached for relief from this state of arousal, but he had no viable options; touching himself would be undignified, and waking Black up would appear too desperate.

After lying awake for a couple of hours, Zamasu finally arose from the bed in a huff, jostling Black awake. As he registered his partner’s footsteps swiftly exiting the room, his lips formed into a knowing smirk briefly before he fell asleep once more.

Zamasu stormed into their extensive library, making a hasty scan of the shelves for something that might be dull enough to help settle him down. Oftentimes, Black and he would read on topics of interest and have philosophical discussions together, but at this point he did not want to choose anything with content he would find even remotely intellectually stimulating. He picked out a thick, heavy tome that looked to be full of technical jargon and sat down in one of the plush recliners. At first, the tediousness of the book served to work against his goal, as it was hard to force himself to focus when much more pleasurable thoughts threatened to invade his mind once more. However, he did eventually find himself feeling more and more drowsy as he forced himself to take in content he found entirely unengaging, and at some point managed to nod off.

He was awakened the next morning by a gentle touch on his head, looking up to find his partner gazing upon him with a sweet smile. “Morning,” Black intoned softly, his hand sliding slowly through Zamasu's hair. The light streaming in through the window formed a nearly perfect halo around him, his body unclothed save for a snug, skimpy pair of underwear. He looked and sounded positively angelic, making Zamasu feel as if his heart was swelling—among other body parts.

Black could tell that his other self was completely entranced with him, which was exactly the effect he had been going for. Upon reaching the end of Zamasu’s locks, he continued to run his hand downward, slipping over his torso and appearing to be heading toward his crotch area and its enticing bulge, but once he reached his abdomen, he veered off and instead clutched his partner’s hand. “Come. I’ve made tea,” he urged as he pulled him up from the chair.

Black continued to hold Zamasu’s hand as they walked toward the kitchen, simultaneously basking in yet feeling frustrated by the palpable sexual tension. His body was screaming at him to act on his hunger, but he needed to hold out longer.

Once they reached the table, Black motioned for his other half to sit down while he sauntered over to retrieve the tea he had prepared, making sure to shake and sway his ass as much as possible in the process. He smirked to himself imagining how hot and bothered Zamasu must be getting from this display, but then Black suddenly found himself fully clothed, immediately knowing Zamasu had used his powers to dress him. “Were you not enjoying the view?”

“I…I was concerned you might be cold.”

The answer was an obvious lie, but Black did not mind continuing to prolong this game. “Oh? What gave you that idea?” he pondered as he set the serving tray down on the table. “Perhaps…” He ripped a large opening in the front of his undershirt, exposing his chest. “…my nipples were hard?” He grinned lasciviously as he brushed his hands over his pecs.

Zamasu tried in vain to keep his focus on his partner’s face, but his eyes kept wandering down to his stunningly sculpted torso. He promptly removed the temptation by waving his hand and repairing Black’s clothes. Black considered tearing his top open again, but knowing that Zamasu would likely just restore it immediately made the prospect less enticing, so he instead continued on with his task of serving and poured a cup of tea for each of them.

Zamasu picked up the cup and breathed in the steam that rose from it. “Oh? This seems to be a new variety. I haven’t smelled one like it before.”

“Indeed. It’s an herbal blend. I created it based on research of different plant combinations, and gathered ingredients from some of the planets we’ve visited. I figured we deserved something unique, made only for the two of us to enjoy.”

Knowing his other self had put concerted effort into making something original, Zamasu eagerly took a sip. “Mmm. Nice and earthy. A rich, herbal flavor. And I detect spices, as well. Five…no, six different kinds?”

“Right you are. That tongue of yours is truly…unmatched.” He leered over his cup as he quickly gulped the tea down.

Zamasu gazed back flirtatiously as he reached over to refill Black’s cup. “I’m always eager to taste anything you want to give me.” He had not intended to come across so overtly sexual, but it felt like his inhibitions were loosening as they grew closer to departing for the next planet. He took another taste of the tea, feeling like it left a warming trail throughout his body that led straight down into his loins. He finished his cup and looked at his partner curiously. “What exactly went into this concoction?”

Noting Zamasu’s empty cup, Black filled it once more, tilting out every last drop from the teapot. “As I said, it’s a combination of different herbs and spices. Though the particular ingredients I’ve mixed together…” He paused to chug the remainder of his own portion, “…make for a powerful aphrodisiac.” He grinned as he ran his finger sensually around the rim of the teacup.

Zamasu felt a blush spread across his face, his mind already feeling foggy with lust. He locked eyes with Black and gulped down the contents of his newly refilled cup in one go. “Let’s go. Now.” His counterpart wasted no time grabbing his hand and teleporting them to a world in need of their divine cleansing. And though Zamasu had hoped and expected that this planet would be a quick and easy conquest that would allow them to get on with their blessing ritual as soon as possible, they arrived above a heavily fortified city belonging to an advanced race that appeared to number in the billions across the planet. He let out a frustrated groan.

“Something wrong?” Black asked slyly, barely able to contain himself. Still, the prospect of driving Zamasu to break first was serving to tamp down his impulses.

“Let’s just get started,” Zamasu said hurriedly, trying to push aside the persistent desires that begged for his attention. He fired an enormous blast into the biggest stronghold in the city, immediately triggering a defense response from the massive structure that sent automated blasts in their direction. He rolled his eyes as he formed an energy blade to knock the projectiles aside. “Are you going to help with this?” he snapped in exasperation at his other self, who had made no move to assist him thus far.

“S-sorry, I’m just…” he grabbed Zamasu’s face, gently stroking his cheeks. Perhaps Black had taken too much of the aphrodisiac; it was clearly affecting his judgment. “I’m so in awe…of your beauty.” That was all it took for them to be immediately all over each other, lips smashing together and hands groping madly. The defense system was still firing at them, but Zamasu put up a barrier to shield them from its blasts.

“We need…to focus,” Zamasu pleaded between kisses, still firing energy balls from his hands in an attempt to keep their progress moving forward—though it was hard to take his request entirely seriously with his legs wrapped around Black’s waist.

“You’re right.” Black also shot off a series of blasts, though he was essentially firing blind as he could not tear his sight away from Zamasu’s amorous gaze. “I’m trying, but it’s very…hard.” He thrust his hips forward, and though they were both still fully clothed, Zamasu let out an intoxicating moan that was as fervent as if he had been penetrated. The sound was addictive, and it spurred Black on to continue slamming himself against his partner.

“Ah…Ah! W-wait…mmm…oh…unh.” It was difficult to protest while being in such a state of arousal himself, but Zamasu eventually got himself together enough to untangle himself from Black and float back out of his reach. “We’re not making much progress like this,” he motioned around to the errant blast marks dotting the landscape, most nowhere near hitting the fortress they had been trying to take down. “Clearly we need to separate to get this done, lest we want it to take forever.”

“Yeah.” His body was disappointed at this outcome, but at least it would give him a chance to let the effects of the aphrodisiac simmer down a bit so he could later continue on with his plan of teasing Zamasu until he broke. “I’ll go deal with…whatever mortals happen to be in that direction.” He motioned broadly with his energy blade.

“I’ll do the same, in the other direction.” It was certainly the least organized plan for dealing with a planet that they had ever come up with, but both of them wished to get this over with as quickly as possible rather than waste any time coming up with a strategy. They could not help but come together for one more kiss before they parted—one much longer and more passionate than they had intended—before setting off on different paths across the planet.

Usually when they set out to cleanse planets, it was very calculated and precise, with great care taken to only eliminate the mortal life forms they abhorred. This time, however, their procedure was undeniably sloppy, blasting apart gigantic swaths of land in the general direction of human population groups. They both felt it was unfortunate, but their thirst for each other was so strong that they could not help but rush so they could come together again as soon as possible—though still making the briefest of stops along the way to fulfill their obligation of finding something that would please their other self.

Once there were no energy signals left on the planet aside from their own, Black immediately teleported into Zamasu’s path, causing him to fly straight into his arms. He laughed with surprise as their bodies and lips met once more. The effects of the aphrodisiac had mellowed, though they were both still highly aroused. “Are we doing this here, or have you picked out a place?” Zamasu asked breathlessly between kisses.

Black smirked. “Going off our agreement last night, I’ve chosen somewhere I think you’ll enjoy greatly.”

“Lead the way,” Zamasu replied with a sexily cocked eyebrow.

They teleported into a mountainous area, which from above appeared to be shrouded in steam. The air smelled strongly of minerals, and powerful geysers shot up high into the air at frequent intervals. “From our last experience, I know that danger turns you on. So I thought you might enjoy fooling around amid geysers strong enough to tear you apart.”

Zamasu chuckled. “Indeed. Though judging from all the steam, it does appear to be rather hot down there. Perhaps I should...strip down?” As he started taking off his clothes, Black was pleasantly surprised to see that he was wearing something else underneath. “Admittedly, I mostly blasted the cities on this planet to bits without devoting much time to them. But as I was flying near one of them, I happened to notice the many fashionable shops they had. I couldn’t help but grab something for myself before destroying it all. Since you seemed to enjoy dressing up as a mortal the other day, I thought you might like to see me do the same.” During his explanation, he continued to undress and reveal that he was wearing an outfit consisting of a black leathery material that shimmered with different colors based on the angle of light shining on it. The top portion consisted of straps that crisscrossed to form diamond shapes, with a solid portion around his hips that hugged his ass and crotch tightly, leaving little to the imagination. His legs were covered to halfway up his thighs in boots that mimicked the same pattern as the top of his outfit. He posed and inquired provocatively, “Tell me, do you think such garments befit a god?”

“Y-yes. Absolutely.” Black was nearly dumbfounded by how extraordinarily sexy his partner looked. “You look stunning. Gorgeous. The epitome of godly—”

He was cut off as Zamasu kissed him and began tugging him downward through the steam. Normally he would be content to listen to Black praise him all day, but he had grown too impatient to bask in his adorations. They touched down on the ground where they hurriedly removed all of Black’s clothes, and lowered their bodies down onto the warm, wet stones. Black got on top of Zamasu and began to slowly slide his tongue over his counterpart’s exposed nipples. He gasped with delight, reacting even more loudly when Black clamped his teeth down on them, gripping his hair tightly in his fists. Nearby, a geyser erupted, shooting water high into the air and showering them as it came back down. Black hissed as the water hit his skin. “That stings. Must be some sort of chemicals in there.”

“Indeed,” Zamasu’s eyes widened and he broke out into a grin as he relished the prickly sensation of his regenerative powers activating. It awakened his need for an even bigger thrill, so he maneuvered them over to where his torso was positioned directly over one of the geyser openings. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe,” he assured his partner.

“I know,” Black replied, then flipped his body around so they were in a position where they could suck each other off simultaneously. He tore an opening in the front of Zamasu’s shorts and began stroking and kissing his erection, while Zamasu reached up and returned the favor for Black. Wanting to make sure that he still had the advantage over his partner, Black moved on from mere teasing and plunged Zamasu’s dick deep into his mouth, moving his head back and forth briskly and using his mouth to create suction. The sudden increase in stimulation caught him off guard, and Zamasu could only lie back and moan as his partner worked him expertly.

Soon Zamasu felt the ground rumbling beneath him, and had trouble gaining enough coherency to warn Black of the geyser that was about to erupt below. “Ah…guh…gonna b-blow…”

Black smirked. “I know you’re incredibly horny, but you’re really coming already?”

“N-no, I mean…get off!” He managed to shove Black off of him moments before a geyser shot up through his chest. Zamasu shrieked in rapture as the concentrated stream tore through him, flopping back and panting heavily as the water rained down upon him afterward.

Black looked down at his other self’s flushed face suspiciously and asked, “Did you get off from that?”

“No,” He answered indignantly, before adding with a sheepish grin, “…almost.”

Black chuckled. “Well, that won’t do. I can’t allow mere water to get you off before I get the chance to.”

“You don’t seem to be in any hurry. I might as well just stay right here on top of one of these things, since they seem more willing to penetrate me than you,” He looked up at Black daringly, sitting atop one of the holes and spreading his legs.

Finally Zamasu was getting frustrated enough to call Black out on intentionally delaying making love to him. Still, he did not yet have him at the level of desperation he craved; he needed to drag this out longer still. He reached down and pulled his counterpart to his feet. “Come. Let’s move to a different spot.”

They flew a bit further down the mountainside, where the violent geysers gave way to flatter surfaces dotted with numerous small hot springs. The two landed on the ground between a couple of pools, where Black immediately pushed Zamasu down onto his hands and knees and positioned himself behind him. “You ready?” he asked, sharply slapping his partner on the ass.

“Yes,” Zamasu answered hungrily, biting his lip in anticipation. He gasped as Black proceeded to spank him forcefully over and over, the sound reverberating off the surrounding landscape.

“Kind of hard to fuck you with your ass still covered, though.” Instead of attempting to remove Zamasu’s outfit, Black elected to form an energy whip with his hand, slashing aggressively at the fabric that posed an unwanted barrier. Even though it was quickly done away with, Black continued whipping Zamasu’s backside, watching sadistically for the brief moment when bright red welts would appear before they disappeared due to his regeneration. “I wish I could mark you permanently the way you marked me,” he took a break from whipping to comment as he rubbed the place on his own ass where Zamasu had branded him, still stinging a bit from the day before.

Zamasu was on a bit of a masochistic high from Black’s titillating assault, but managed to answer, “I’d gladly accept a marking from you, but unfortunately it wouldn’t last.”

“Perhaps we can find some sort of solution.” He was perfectly content to go off on this tangent to continue heightening Zamasu’s agitation, and chose to goad him even further by resting his dick between the crease of his partner’s buttocks. “Somewhere in all the universes, there must be an ink or dye that would leave a more or less permanent mark. I trust your regenerative abilities wouldn’t be activated to ‘heal’ something that’s merely decorating the surface of the skin, right? If that’s the case, we should be able to find something that would work for—”

“Enough…already,” Zamasu interrupted irritably. “Are you going to fuck me, or do I have to do it myself?”

“Technically, those mean the same thing. Whatever we do either with or without each other, ultimately it’s still just us fucking ourselves,” Black answered with a thoughtfulness that went completely unappreciated by his aggravated partner.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean,” Zamasu growled. “Hurry up and get on with it.”

Gratification welled up within Black as he recognized that he had finally gotten his other half to the stage he wanted him at. “I’m not sure I understand. Can you be specific about what ‘it’ is?” he asked with faux obliviousness. If Zamasu could have seen the smug grin he was wearing, he would have surely become even more infuriated.

“Your cock. Inside me. Now,” Zamasu answered brusquely.

“Very succinct,” Black laughed. He repositioned and pressed the tip of his erection to Zamasu’s entrance. “So this is what you crave?”

At the looming promise of getting what he wanted at long last, Zamasu’s demeanor softened and became needy. “Oh, y-yes. Please, hurry. I…I need you so badly, I can’t take it,” he pleaded, his legs quivering with anticipation.

Even getting what he had hoped for did not stop Black from being overcome with a perverse desire to take this one step further. He separated himself from Zamasu, dipping into one of the nearby hot springs. “Maybe we could take a nice long soak first?” he suggested nonchalantly.

Shocked and bereft, Zamasu turned toward him. His expression quickly flashed from looking betrayed to being full of resolve as he marched over and splashed into the same pool. He straddled Black’s lap and lowered himself down onto his erection, hastily burying his counterpart deep inside himself. Zamasu rode him wildly, the water sloshing heavily from his jerky, desperate movements. Black gripped his ass cheeks tightly to help gain control his rhythm, thrusting upward in time as he slammed Zamasu’s hips down with more consistent timing. They managed to establish a steady pace, and both reveled in the divine euphoria they reached as they wantonly celebrated their divine and unbreakable bond. It was not long before both unleashed erotic cries as they were each driven to exceptionally intense orgasms.

Still panting heavily, Zamasu sat next to his other self and placed an arm around him, resting his head against his shoulder. “Damn you,” he murmured, chiding him lightly.

“Don’t act like you didn’t love it,” Black countered as he pressed his lips gently to his temple.

“It was…extremely satisfying, of course,” Zamasu admitted. “But mostly I’m shocked at how you could hold out like that. I don’t understand how your mortal body could withstand such a prolonged buildup when even my godly one could no longer handle it.”

“Because this was more of a mental game than a physical one. Of course it was hard to hold myself back; even going back to last night, my desire for you was ready to burst. However, once you made that comment about how my body had a stronger need than yours, I was determined to prove your assumption wrong. So I started planning how to keep you aroused and yearning for me, while keeping myself in control. Which was a struggle, certainly, but I did manage to see it through to the end.”

“Barely,” Zamasu pointed out. “You were already humping me moments after we arrived here.”

“Perhaps I had a bit too much of the aphrodisiac, or it was more potent for my body than yours,” Black conceded. “Luckily, you helped get me back on track.”

“So I acted as an unwitting pawn in your game,” Zamasu snorted. “And it led to my own loss.”

“There’s no need to view it like that. In the end, we both ‘won’ in spectacular fashion,” Black purred sultrily.

The competitive side of Zamasu refused to allow him to let this go, though. “How is it that your willpower is stronger than mine? I know there are differences between us, but this seems like something that should be easier for me than you.”

“It’s true that this body has more intense needs than my previous one. But in some ways, that’s helped to strengthen my willpower. Since it requires basic necessities such as food and sleep on a more regular basis than I was accustomed to, I’ve gotten used to denying it what it wants when necessary. And while I don’t normally hold back on its sexual urges, having experience postponing its other needs turned out to be helpful in this endeavor.”

Zamasu sighed. “You’re truly something else. I’m constantly fascinated by how my mind combined with a human body has turned out to be such a curious, marvelous being.” There was still a petty piece of him that did not like being proven wrong, but unlike the other day when he had sought revenge against his partner, this time he smiled inwardly as he thought about returning the favor to Black sometime in the future in a positive way. He cupped his face in his hands and beamed at him serenely. “I feel blessed every day that you rescued me from the unfulfilling fate I was faced with. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you, my dearest counterpart.”

“And I’m blessed to have found you, my beloved kindred spirit.” They brought their lips together in an unhurried, intimate kiss. After breaking it off, they snuggled close together and simply held each other contentedly.

“So what would you mark on me?” Zamasu asked after some time, circling back to the subject that had come up earlier but one he had not wished to discuss in his frantic, sex-starved state.

Black had been so relaxed he had nearly fallen asleep, but his other self’s question jolted him back to alertness. He bit his own finger sharply until there was a small stream of blood running down from it. “Stand up.”

Zamasu complied and Black began tracing letters in the language of the gods on his ass cheek. He sounded out the syllables as he felt what he wrote. “Za…ma…su. I suppose it’s only fitting that I should bear the same marking I gave to you.”

“Really, what else would be worthy of being displayed on the skin of the absolute gods of the universe other than our own name?”

“It’s a bit plain to leave it as just that, though. I know I left a simple burn mark on you in my haste, but perhaps we could pretty them up a bit. Celebrate the beauty of these pure, cleansed worlds that we’ve blessed by adding some natural imagery.”

“Whatever you desire. Basic or elaborate, I’m happy to be etched with any design you wish.” Black stood and embraced his counterpart. “With the same permanence as our existence, our beauty, our blessings upon these worlds and on each other.”

“Yes. Our justice, our ideals, spreading across the omniverse and purifying it for all of eternity.” Zamasu hugged him back tightly, his eyes dewy with joy as they envisioned their unending future together. “And most of all, I look forward to being in love with you forever.”

~THE END~

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Finally…finally I was able to make myself finish this! It’s been more than two years since I started, and a full goddamn year since the previous chapter, but with a Black/Zamasu Week release date as my goal (that I missed…again :P), I found the motivation. And I’m very happy that more people contributed fics for the event this year compared to last time! I’ve been waiting three years for this pairing to get popular, and it seems like within the last year it’s definitely been getting more attention. I hope that means I’ll continue to see more great art and fics for them as new fans find their inspiration (and I’m still obsessed with them, so I’m sure I’ll be back again with more fluffy smut and/or smutty fluff ;P). Thanks for reading and putting up with my shitty release schedule!

#dragon ball super #goku black #zamasu #fanfic #blamasuweek

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nightwingwhatdidisay · 5 years ago

Text

“Jason and the Words That Burn”

Summary: jaykori/dickkory, AU where Jason Todd is a thief with an ear for poetry.

ff.net ao3

...

Chapter 1: The Words of King [Chapter Summary: Jason runs into Kory after a drunken bender]

...

I never pointed out to her the irony of breaking up with me for being a thief, when it was something I stole that won her heart in the first place.

A poem, of all things.

It’s funny how poetry is the most embarrassing thing in the world, until it has the power to pry your sleepy eyes open in the middle of an American Literature class, all because your professor recited a configuration of words you didn’t know existed.

But by the time I finally sat up to listen, the professor was speaking farther and farther away from the poem, and I couldn’t recall any of the words I had just heard. Only the way they made me feel.

Whatever he said, it forced me to look at her.

She was sitting a few rows down in a seat that hugged the left wall of the classroom, leaning her head against the window. It was an 8am class and the sun was just beginning to pour in, its light spilling wildly through her auburn hair like fire.

Now I’m not an idiot; I knew Kory Anders was way out of my league. But that’s the power of a pretty girl way out of your league, she can have you in the campus library at 11pm flipping through a whole damn book, trying your luck anyway. When I found the words that clicked, I tore the whole page out, jammed it into my pocket, and left.

The next morning, I watched from my seat, hood pulled over and face propped in my hand, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, but failing to stop the furious bounce in my leg. She rushed in a few minutes late, wringing the rain out of her hair and sliding into her usual seat, surprised to see something waiting for her.

I’d Sharpied everything out except for those twelve words, and from where I was sitting, I could only see thick bars of black on the paper. I remember watching her pick it up, and suddenly thinking what a shitty idea it was. As far as plans for picking up girls went, this plan wasn’t just plain terrible, it was fancy terrible; it was terrible with raisins in it. I lost the rhythm of normal breathing, mortified with the realization that I’d actually written my name on it.

And just like that, the curl of her lips hit me right in the gut, and I swear I was seeing stars.

... ...

I remember the first time I kissed her, I stole that too.

It was during a time when I thought a quick kiss in the dark from a stranger at a college party was as close as I was ever going to get to a sun like her. I thought I was dreaming when she grabbed ahold of my jacket as I was pulling back, drawing me to her for more.

Starfire. My pet name for her. I’d wait outside until her classes ended and call out to her, loving the way she’d wrinkle her nose at the name. I liked to whisper it into her ear at the worst moments, like in the cinema, waiting for a change of scene to illuminate her face so I could see the flush in her cheeks. It’s the name that spilled out of my mouth—along with a string of dark words—whenever she’d spend a night at my place and the writhing of her body under me left me with no self-control.

I dated Kory with the uneasy feeling that it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. There was no way the universe would let me have someone like her for long. I stole that time anyway.

But Kory Anders was a criminal justice major, and the boss hated that the most. It’s just a matter of time, he assured me. Just because she’s climbing up your leg now doesn’t mean she'll stay when she gets wise about the job.

He was right, of course. She didn’t stay long when she found out the truth. But by the time it was over, love had already infected the bones.

I don’t know. I’m drunk.

... ...

I slide the empty bottle back at the bartender and drop the cash on the counter, grabbing my pack and leaving with a wave of my finger. I can’t stay long; the cash—40k in clean stacks—burns through my bag and all I want to do is throw it in the safe at my place until the boss and his men pick it up in the morning.

I figure I’ll sober up after a good shower, and I’m relying on muscle memory to get me back home. By the time I fall out of the elevator in my building, I argue sleeping in the hall for a second, until I worm my way to my door and jam the key into the doorknob repeatedly until finding the hole.

My jeans and shirt are off without a thought and I’m yanking the fridge door open, squinting through the light to see what could help me with my drunchies. I don’t even recall buying lasagna, but I don’t think too hard on it as I inhale the whole thing in seconds.

By the time I drag my body to the bathroom, I’m stark naked, and I let the shower run hot until I pull myself in, wincing a bit when it hits a fresh wound I’d earned from tonight’s heist.

A memory opens: me piling suds on top of Kory’s head while she runs her fingers over my body.

“Where’d you get this one?” She asks, thumbing at a fibrous scar on my shoulder.

“Motorcycle accident,” I lie, as I sculpt cat ears out of the bubbles.

“And this?” She’s pointing at my chest: clean white lines the boss rewarded me with for being stupid on a job.

“Boy scout dare,” I say dismissively. When my masterpiece is done, I bend down to kiss her forehead.

“What do I look like?” She asks.

I step as far back as the shower will allow me so I can marvel at her, grateful that I get to be the guy who sees this brilliant girl naked, wet, and in cat ears. “Like a kitten, Kitten.”

And suddenly I’m on my knees for her, pulling her leg over my shoulder and letting the numbers on my water bill rise.

Holy shit.

It’s the scent of the shampoo that sobers me right up. I look around in horror: epsom salts, bath bombs, bottles and jars of girl potions in an array of feminine colors that make me want to vomit at the realization. I rip the curtains aside and hurl my body out of the shower. In a panic, I’m pulling my boxers on and rushing out of Kory’s bathroom.

But God is dead, my friends. I hear mumbling out in the hall and the doorknob starts to wiggle before I can reach my shirt. A line of light cracks open as two figures enter and I dive wildly into a nearby closet of her hallway.

“Hm. I thought I locked this,” Kory says absently, and I hear the door shut.

“You think someone got in?” Asks a vaguely familiar voice. “Let me look around for you.”

“What a gallant way to get yourself into my bedroom,” Kory commends with a laugh.

“I can get you a better place in my building, Anders,” says the voice, not giving into her tease. “Something about you living here rubs me the wrong way.”

“And me living in your building will rub you the right way?” Her voice is playful. The other voice stammers and she’s laughing again. “Relax, handsome. I’m just a forgetful girl. Let me put on some music.”

An Elvis Costello song begins to play as their exchange ends and the whole thing makes me bitter, because (1) I hate the way Kory is comfortably Kory no matter what guy she’s with and (2) I fucking introduced her to Costello.

Insert kissing scene here, I imagine, as the room goes silent for a while and there’s the soft sound of fumbling and small giggles escaping Kory’s mouth.

“Anders… the essay.”

“Mm? Oh sorry,” Kory says, and I see her figure pass by. She returns with an open laptop balancing on her bicep as she taps her password in. “I’m having a problem with these three paragraphs, and as far as citations go, I’m completely lost.”

I hear the dip of the couch and the clacking of keyboards, and suddenly they’re both in their own collegiate zone when I begin to think: I’m naked in a closet, with my clothes scattered in various rooms of my ex girlfriend’s apartment; I have a backpack of stolen cash in the same room as two criminal justice majors; and in the kitchen lay my jeans, its pockets holding an unsilenced phone that can go off any minute, a wallet with all my IDs, and a Glock 17.

I’m in the middle of contemplating how truly fucked I am when I hear the guy’s voice. “Damn, I forgot a laptop charger.”

“I think I have an extra one. Sit tight.”

I don’t have much choice when Kory opens the closet door and sees me. So I pull her in and slap a hand over her mouth. “Keep quiet, cutie—oof.” I receive a knee to the baby-maker and it takes everything within me to keep from keeling over. I watch the recognition hit her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” She asks when I drop my hand.

“Accident. I swear.”

She eyes me with suspicion, but accepts the answer, and I begin to wonder how badly I must reek of alcohol for her to believe me.

“I’m fine,” I say, looking away. It comes out defensive.

“You’re naked...” she points out mildly. “And wet.”

I shrug. “Made it to the shower.”

The look she gives me is a mixture of anger, wonder, and pity.

“Listen,” I say, suddenly irritated. “I don’t wanna ruin your cute little study date here. Just help me get my shit together and I’m out.”

“I want my key back.”

“Fine.”

A voice calls from the living room. “Anders? Charger? My laptop’s living on a prayer.”

Kory gives me a look and pulls a white cord from a shoebox on the overhead shelf and steps out of the closet. “There’s an outlet behind the couch,” she tells him. “Let’s move it aside so you can plug in.” She says this loudly and slowly and I recognize my cue. I hear the sound of the couch sliding over carpet and—like a college girl in a co-ed dorm who forgot her towel after a shower—I run.

I slide into the kitchen and I see that my jeans are inside-out in front of the fridge, and I fish for the balled-up sock in each leg before slipping them on. My phone is still tucked in my back pocket, and I quickly switch it to silent mode before it becomes any type of inconvenience. I give myself a pat down and freeze at the realization that my gun isn’t in my pockets.

Fuck.

Kory appears down the hall, looking into the closet and discovering I’m no longer there. When she turns and sees me in the kitchen, she lifts up a shirt in her hand and raises her eyebrows, simultaneously saying Is this yours? and Are you serious?

When she steps into the kitchen, I snatch the shirt from her and shrug it on.

“Where are your shoes?” She asks.

“I have no clue,” I answer honestly.

Kory throws a sharp expression over her shoulder and walks back into the living room.

And just like that, my phone flashes a notification: Change of plans. Picking up stash tonight.

Shit.

I’m in the middle of typing up an excuse that I think will hold when I hear Kory’s voice. “I don’t know if my works cited page is in MLA format.”

“Well I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

I glance at a butter knife on the counter and imagine harakiri-ing myself with it. But something catches my eye: a piece of paper tacked onto the refrigerator with a magnet. I move to touch it, gaping in disbelief, when I hear Kory’s voice again.

“D-dick.”

My blood chills at the name as I fly to the edge of the kitchen entrance and peer into the living room. Kory’s pinned to the floor with her dress hiked up to her hip, running her hands through black hair as he licks my girl’s neck. I see her tremble in pleasure and all of a sudden I’m down for a good throat punching.

“Dick, let me get us some wine,” she says, then shivers.

“Don’t need it,” he mumbles, as he runs a trail of kisses down her chest. But she slides herself gracefully out from under him and brings his lips to hers. “Two minutes,” she whispers into him. “Promise."

They end up making out for a little longer and I pry myself away from the sight, grabbing the wine glasses from the top shelf and pacing wildly back and forth. She enters the kitchen, a little flushed, pulling her dress back down. “I’ve moved your shoes to the door. Get ready to go.”

“Grayson?” I say, almost spitting out the name as I place the glasses in her hands. “You’re hooking up with Dick Grayson?”

“It’s truly none of your business.”

I open the fridge door for her and she ducks for the wine. “He’s a prick, Kory. He’s Daddy’s Money. He’s the type of guy who can pay his way through the system if he hits a kid with his Lambo under the influence. Wealthy people like Grayson think they're above the law.”

“You’re a thief. Do you happen to see the pot and the kettle in that?” She asks as she grabs the bottle, but her eyes widen in shock, and she pulls out my gun from the fridge. Kory looks back at me incredulously and I immediately take it from her.

“At least I work for my stash,” I mumble sheepishly and tuck the gun in my jeans. Kory orders for the bottle opener. Without looking, I pull at a drawer and gesture for her to hand me the bottle.

“He’s a criminal justice major too,” she defends, as I twist through the cork. “Top of the class, volunteers on the weekends, networks of friends—”

“Well I’ve never been a billionaire before, but I bet I’d be good at it too.”

“No, instead you move through life with a gun in one hand and the orders from your boss in the other.” The cork shoots off into nowhere with a clean pop and she holds out the glasses for me to fill.

“So that’s what happened between us?” I mutter, as I pour. “Dating a bad guy is conveniently checked off your college-girl bucket list without you having to be aware for most of it. And now it's time for Boy Wonder, who walks around campus with his Father’s money and a huge—”

“Dick,” Kory calls out to the living room. “Switch the music for me, will you, handsome?”

“...ego,” I finish, staring at her balefully. The song changes, and the smile Kory is giving me is smug.

And see, that’s the thing that undoes it: a look between us that goes on a little too long. Long enough for my nerves to unsteel themselves and her stare to soften. And suddenly all I can think of is that poem I stole from the library that one night, and the way the morning spilled through her hair as she leaned against the window. All those nights and showers and words that happened between us before the rough hands of my job pulled me away from her.

“Starfire,” I hear myself say.

Kory bristles. “That’s not fair.”

January embers.

I take the wine glasses from her hands and set them aside before lifting her up onto the kitchen counter.

“That’s not fair,” she says again, and I’m kissing her.

Elvis Costello sings from the living room about how the sun may rise and burn through yellow skies, and I trace my fingers over her jaw and revel in the way she kisses back into me. “I begged you to quit,” she says with a breath as her hand finds the back of my neck.

“Can’t, cutie. Turn around.”

But suddenly Wonder Boy cuts through with a, “Kory? Do you need some help in the kitchen?”

Kory rips herself out of the moment and pushes herself back onto the floor, shaking her hands in panic.

“I’ve had a few punch-ups with Grayson before, I’d be happy to do it again,” I say through my teeth, the adrenaline from finally kissing her again pulsing through me.

“Get out,” Kory says instead.

I look at her, and suddenly I hear footsteps heading toward us.

“Anders?”

Kory runs back into the living room, and from where I’m standing, I see her barrel into him, smashing her mouth into his. “Bed,” she orders.

Grayson is chuckling through the kisses. “What happened to the wine? What about the paper?”

“Bed,” she answers, a pleading in her voice. And Grayson graciously responds by picking her up and wrapping her legs around his waist. I watch breathlessly as she moves her mouth to his neck, glaring at me over his shoulder and cocking her head to the door.

When the bedroom door closes, I pick up my heart off the kitchen floor, grab my bag and shoes, and leave.

… …

Kory makes a point to come to class early so she can get the key from me. She inspects it, and I’m offended that she thinks I’m stupid or desperate enough to give her a fake.

“How do I know you didn’t make copies?”

I snort. “I’d rather die than watch Grayson rub his billion-dollar boner on you ever again.”

When class starts and the professor begins to talk about literature of the Harlem Renaissance, I pull out a piece of paper from my pocket and unfold it, looking at the blackened out lines and the twelve words that started everything.

Kory had it hanging on her fridge, and I had to steal it back, a poetic justice type of deal.

... ...

“Your hair is winter fire January embers My heart burns there, too.”

― S. King

...

Chapter 2: The Words of Thoreau

Summary: He's in a year-long spiral to rock bottom and Jason pretends he's loving the journey. Because at least it's a direction.

#Jason Todd #Red Hood #Red Hood and the Outlaws #Red X #Starfire #Koriand'r #Teen Titans #JayKori #Dickkory #Dick Grayson #Nightwing #robstar

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starspatter · 6 years ago

Text

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 11

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 4,380 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Also on ff.net and AO3.

There was a time when I was alone Nowhere to go and no place to call home My only friend was the man in the moon And even sometimes he would go away, too

-Ruth B, "Lost Boy"

————————–

Before.

“Batman, wait!”

Robin was too late; Batman had already charged ahead by ruthlessly breaking down the door to the house with the sole of his boot. A low-key villain calling himself “Cluemaster” (whom Robin had incidentally never heard much of until now compared to the likes of Riddler or Joker, having supposedly gone “straight” for a couple years – at least according to Batman) had led them on a lengthy chase, and they ended up pursuing him all the way out to a small neighborhood in the suburbs. As they infiltrated the dwelling, Robin hastily checked around to make sure no homeowners were present who could be caught in the fray – or worse, taken as collateral.

Fortunately the room was empty, aside from their glaringly orange-clad target in the middle of it, reaching for one of the plasti-glass pellets attached to the front of his costume. Batman had already anticipated the move though and launched forward faster than the other, lurching a blurred glove into his opponent’s throat, which caused him to drop the canister as his body was slammed hard against the wall.

“You’re under arrest for multiple counts of grand larceny, Cluemaster. Or should I say, Arthur Brown?”

With his other hand, he grasped at the bandana covering the lower half of the man’s face, which had already come loose from the force of impact. He jerked the rest of the kerchief off to expose a snarl under the guise, the owner evidently infuriated by the idea his identity had been so easily discovered.

“Now, where’s the money you stole?”

Arthur sneered.

“Why don’t I give you a clue to its whereabouts, and you can figure it out yourself, since you’re so smart?”

Batman growled as he grabbed his foe’s collar, lifting high into the air, letting free-dangling feet flail frantically.

“I don’t have time for these games. Either you tell me voluntarily, or I’ll make you confess.”

Robin was getting anxious by the aggressiveness in Batman’s tone; making threats of violence wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but he’d been out of sorts all night, acting excessively and extremely hostile, leaping into enemy territory with heedless disregard to danger – to himself or those around him. Sans his usual sangfroid. He was starting to sound like that time Scarecrow dosed him with a gas that took away all his fear, resulting in Batman almost taking a henchman’s life. It had taken all of Robin’s strength to haul him back up after Batman cut the line…

The current captive seemed to be getting panicky too, as he quickly changed his attitude, appealing to sympathy instead.

“Listen, I’ve got a wife and kid. They’re asleep upstairs. I just needed the cash to help support them. We’re in a bit of a financial jam, y’see…”

Robin’s conscience wavered, recalling the time they had to prevent a penniless man from holding up a drugstore in order to obtain medicine for his daughter, who was simply sick with a high fever. Of course this was theft on a much greater scale, but he still couldn’t help having some lingering empathy – especially based on his own past experiences dealing with poverty.

“That's one of the hardest things about this job, Robin. Sometimes we have to stop someone from doing the wrong thing for the right reason.”

“…Daddy?”

As if on cue, all three revolved towards the top of the staircase, where a young girl with golden curls – probably about his age – was standing in bare feet and violet nightgown, beholding the scene before her with baffled eyes, big and blue and broad.

“Darling, why don’t you go back to bed?” Arthur choked out, his own eyes bulging as cheeks turned indigo as well. “You’re just having a bad dream.”

“Arthur? What’s going on here? I heard a loud noise…”

Robin swallowed as a woman emerged from behind the adolescent, gripping the girl’s shoulders as she drew her daughter in protectively, eyeing the pair of home intruders with fear and suspicion. The situation was steadily turning from bad to worse. He hurriedly bounded up the steps, trying to block at least the shorter one’s view with his arms and cape, acting as both shield and shroud.

“Both of you should stay back…”

Batman’s prey put on a pleading, pathetic look.

“Now now, you wouldn’t hit a guy in front of his family, would you?”

While his quivering lips pouted, his pupils seemed to flash triumphant. Robin felt a sick chill in his stomach. Had he set this up just to take advantage of innocent citizens – and his provider status for them – as an alibi?

Whatever the reason, Batman wasn’t falling for it. While he slowly lowered his fist, he continued to glower viciously at his victim.

“I’m still taking you in. The police will be here soon, they can interrogate you. And if you don’t admit to them, well…” He leaned in close, crescent slivers narrowing. Intimidating. “They’ll just have to call me.”

With that, he twisted his prisoner around, pressing head harshly against partition again as he slapped a pair of handcuffs on. Robin sensed the two frightened females peering over his shoulders, crying and clinging to each other as sirens started to wail outside, and the junior one almost looked like she was about to join them. He thought about reaching out to try and comfort her, but a cold bark from Batman halted him.

“Let’s go, Robin.”

“But Batman-”

“Now.”

He was already halfway out the side exit when he said this, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Robin bit his lip and vaulted over the railing to race after him, cloak whisking out of sight just as officers began filing in. As they headed back towards the Batmobile parked in the shadows close by, Robin hissed his irritation.

“You know, there were a million other ways you could’ve handled that.”

“I did what was necessary in order to get him to talk. The police should have an easier time of it now.”

“Yeah, but did you have to do it while his wife and child were watching? This is exactly the reason Nightwing left you, remember?”

Batman blatantly ignored the bold declaration of disapproval as his pager began to beep: a message from Batgirl, requesting backup.

“Armed robbery in progress, escalated to a hostage situation over on the north side. We’re needed.”

“Did you even hear what I just said?”

Batman brusquely cut him off.

“We’ll discuss this later, at home. Now get in the car.”

Robin grumbled, but grudgingly obeyed.

They never did discuss it though. Concurring collectively, both Batman and Batgirl determined there were too many hired guns in the building, deeming it far too “risky” to bring Robin – the “kid” – along. …Plus it was a school night. So Batman swung swiftly by the manor on the way, dropping Robin – Tim – off unceremoniously at the front gate despite loud and adamant protests, where Alfred was waiting to pick him up and march him straight on inside to get changed and ready for dinner.

“And ‘don’t forget to do your homework’,’” Tim mimicked Bruce’s reprimanding voice with a querulous whine as the vehicle sped off, leaving him in the dust. “God, he still treats me like such a child.”

The butler patted his charge’s back consolingly, ushering within.

“Come along, Master Timothy. There are cookies and cocoa waiting for you inside – after you finish with your studies, that is. We wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite, now would we?”

Tim shot an exasperated expression at the patronizing statement, but acquiesced. Upon entering, he immediately tore off the mask and tossed it on the table in frustrated anger, flopping sullenly onto the couch without even bothering to remove the rest of the suit. Alfred tutted, but made no remark as he disappeared into the kitchen, promising food would be served shortly.

As Tim gazed at the fireplace, he stewed over Batman’s earlier reckless – not to mention downright rude – behavior. How could he even be so cruel and insensitive? It wasn’t just the bossing around that bugged him, but he was genuinely rather troubled by Bruce’s mental state. …Truth be told, he had a guess as to the cause for callousness. He’d noticed a common trend in increasing indiscretion (and intractability) after their latest visit to Arkham, when they stopped by Two-Face’s cell following another escape – and subsequent suicide attempt. Ever since he’d developed a third personality who judged himself guilty and sentenced to death for his sins, his condition had been gradually worsening. It was to the point he – and his coin – had to be kept under constant watch and isolated lockdown.

Tim was never really sure how to feel about Two-Face (in the same way his chest was always confused and ached a little whenever he faced Clayface). The man murdered his father; Tim supposed he should hate him for that. In addition, he’d even once mercilessly electrocuted Nightwing with a wire taser, forcing the senior superhero’s heart to completely stop. …Had he not promptly administered CPR and literally brought his brother back from the brink of death, he might have lost another family member that day.

But, according to Dick, Bruce and Harvey had been good friends once – which explained why his guardian always bore a grieved semblance whenever they went up against Dent. …Tim tried to imagine what it must be like, to watch one’s once close companion fight a losing battle against himself. Clearly it was taking a capricious toll on the old man’s emotional and psychological well-being as well, making him far more mercurial and volatile – prone to violent vagaries.

Yet, even Tim recognized that didn’t excuse him taking it out on others, especially when it interfered with their work. (Frankly that didn’t seem to be the only thing distracting recently either, given Batman and Batgirl had been ditching him more and more often as of late, citing his “immaturity” as pretense. …But he didn’t really want to think about that right now.) He was concerned about that girl as well. Screw Batman, he should’ve stayed to try and talk to her. At least give her some reassurance after witnessing such a harrowing event.

Making up his mind, he snatched his domino from the counter and was out the door (cautiously evading the security cameras he knew were watching overhead) just as Alfred came to call him for dinner. Upon finding the parlor empty, and after exhausting all other options of where the lad might have gone to within the mansion (including underground area), the caretaker finally murmured in alarm.

“…Oh dear.”

…

It took Robin longer to get back by grapple alone, but eventually he made it to his destination. Descending on the rooftop from a nearby tree, he tiptoed towards a single annexed dormer window which jutted prominently from the tiles. Testing the lucarne’s latch, it luckily wasn’t locked and slid open with relative ease. Silently slipping in, he was greeted almost instantly by an unpredicted punch to the face.

As he was thrown flat onto the bed, survival instinct triggered to roll over and try to fight back, but his own fists arrested when he saw his assailant was the same girl from before, glaring at him with mistrust.

“Who are you?! Some kind of creepazoid stalker?”

“Whoa, whoa! It’s me, Robin. You know, from before?”

She stared at him, realization dawning.

“Oh. …Sorry. I didn’t know it was you.”

The way she said it, she still didn’t seem very impressed.

“…I’d hate to be someone you were expecting,” Robin muttered, rubbing at his sore jaw.

She folded her arms firmly.

“So? What the heck are you doing here? Again?”

“I- I just wanted to check and see if you were okay, after… all that.”

An eyebrow raised.

“And you thought coming in through the window was the best way to go about it?”

“…In hindsight that might not have been the best plan,” he acknowledged, repentant. “Sorry. Being with him tends to rub off on you. I apologize if he scared you earlier. He’s really not a bad guy.”

She exhaled, letting her limbs down.

“No, my father is, right? …It’s okay. I know who and what my dad is. He deserves to go to jail.”

Robin cocked in confusion at this unanticipated acceptance.

“But… He’s still your dad.”

“Yeah, and I hate him.” Her knuckles clenched, tightening. “He just wanted to use Mom and me to get away with his crimes. We’re basically just tools, a means to an end for him. He’s a total class-A jerk.”

Robin blinked, unsure how to respond to that. He certainly hadn’t been prepared for this outcome. An uncomfortable hush filled the chamber, which he idly noted details of as he glanced around nervously. He’d never actually been in a girl’s room before, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. He supposed the piles of stuffed animals and boy band posters were probably typical, though he was surprised to see some large prints of Superman lining the walls, and a bulletin board covered with newspaper clippings of Batman and Robin – mostly his predecessor – busting the Cluemaster’s previous petty heists. She apparently wasn’t kidding when she said she had it in for her father. (…The image felt almost eerily familiar, reminding of the days when he kept a similar chronicle in a corner of his own pops’ apartment, much to the old man’s displeasure.)

“…You’ve got weird taste for a girl,” he mused aloud.

“And you’ve got weird fashion sense for a boy,” she retorted, nose wrinkling.

“Hey, I didn’t design the suit,” he huffed defensively.

“And who did? Your mom?”

Robin winced a bit, but bit his tongue. “…Would you believe me if I said Batman?”

She sniffed. “I mean seriously, what’s with that getup anyway? It’s so bright, it makes you look like a clown.”

Fed up with her criticism, he started to skulk back towards the outlet again.

“Look, I didn’t come here just to be insulted.”

A hand reached out to clasp his wrist, and he rotated to see her regarding him sincerely.

“Sorry, I was just joking. …You don’t have to leave.”

He gulped, blushing a little at the light touch. The last time a girl held his hand like this for so long, she’d followed with a…

“Um, okay.” He rubbed the back of his neck uneasily, growing tense as she inclined forward and grinned – before passing him by to hop onto the sill instead, sticking out her tongue at him.

“Ladies first.”

He whirled around in shock as she stepped out over the ledge.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? That’s dangerous, get back here.”

“Relax, I do this all the time. Besides, you jump around rooftops every night, don’t you?”

He impulsively climbed after her, keeping a careful eye on her footing, hovering close behind in case she fell. But, true to her word, she did seem to have practiced this pattern many times before, effortlessly picking her way over the slates to the top, where she plopped down and petted the spot next to her. Indicating invitation. Tentatively, he took it and traced her wondering sightline to the stars above.

“…You know, I used to dream I’d see the Batman someday. Drifting across the moon, dark against the night sky…” She hugged her knees to her breast. “This is the first time I’ve actually seen him in person. For a second, I almost thought he was a monster.”

Robin remained quiet as she continued.

“But, my dad’s the real monster. I know he’s hurt a lot of people – myself and Mom included. He doesn’t care about us at all.”

“How come she doesn’t just divorce him?”

“She can’t afford a lawyer to kick him out. He still owns the mortgage on the house.”

She smiled bitterly, drawing circles on the shingles.

“As a kid, I used to think about running away. Getting on a plane and going somewhere far, far away from here. Someplace exotic, where no one knows who I am or where I come from – like Africa. …But, I could never do that to my Mom. She’d be lonely if I left. Even though she has some… ‘difficulties’, I still love her.”

She looked at Robin, who was still listening attentively. Patiently.

“Sorry,” she mumbled in a slightly sheepish manner. “I’m just making you sit through my random rambling. I don’t usually get a chance to talk to anyone about this, let alone someone my age. Having a lame, insane supercriminal for a dad isn’t exactly something I can tell all my friends at school.”

“It’s all right. I wish there was more I could do to help…”

He replied, feeling as utterly useless – hopeless – as when he came across a bunch of homeless youths in his hunt for Annie after they’d gotten separated, the ragtag group of street rats sleeping together on a filthy mattress in an abandoned shelter; huddled under each other for warmth, sharing but one thin, dingy blanket between them. (…The kind of neglected kid he could’ve easily ended up as had he not happened to be so lucky, to be “chosen” – caught before he slipped through the cracks into faded obscurity and was overlooked – forgotten – by society.) There were some things punches and kicks just couldn’t fix.

“You’ve already done more than enough, thanks. I’m grateful to you both for putting a stop to him. …Even if it’s probably only temporary.”

“There has to be something that can be done though.”

“Really, you don’t have to go out of your way or anything. Besides, why do you care so much anyway?”

He shrugged, surveying the distance. “Maybe it’s because you kinda remind me of someone.”

She scanned his wistful countenance, scrutinizing closely.

“…Was she cute?”

“What- no. I mean yes. I mean, uh-” Robin stammered, flushing red as he was abruptly taken aback by the unexpected inquiry. She giggled in snorting amusement at his oh-so-obvious reaction.

“Relax, Boy Wonder, I’m just teasing you.”

He coughed, regaining composure.

“To be honest, that’s not the only reason. My dad wasn’t much of a prize either. …Although he can’t compete with yours.”

“Ehhh?” She gaped at him in astonished awe. “But he’s so cool!”

“Huh?” He puzzled for a beat, then it clicked what she was talking about. “Oh, you think that Batman’s- no, he’s not my real dad. I’m not even sure I would even go so far as to call him much of a ‘father figure’ actually. He’s more like a… mentor?”

It was her turn to listen as he ruminated, reflecting.

“He saved me though. Took me in when I had no place else to go. Gave me a second chance. I’ve… done things I’m not exactly proud of either. If he hadn’t found me, I’d likely be dead or in jail myself right now.”

Sensing a buzzing interruption from his waist – a warning summons from the butler no doubt – he consulted the timestamp in the corner of the display, and cringed upon calculating how much interval had elapsed in his absence.

“…Speaking of which, I should probably get back soon. Batman’s gonna kill me once he finds out I’m gone without letting anyone know.”

Her forehead creased with contriteness.

“You didn’t have to go that far for me…”

“Hey, don’t sweat it. It’s the least I could do.”

She looked reluctant to end the conversation though. He wondered if he was the first person she’d ever been this open to about her feelings. …After some thought, he fished around in a pocket and pulled out another spare backup communicator.

“Listen, don’t tell anyone about this; Batman doesn’t like me lending out tech. But if you ever need anything, you can get in touch with me on this. I’ll come as soon as I can. …Only if it’s an emergency though. He’ll really give me an earful if he finds out I’m using our gadgets for personal stuff.”

She looked down at the device in trepidation.

“Is it really okay for me to have this?”

“Yeah. It’s no problem, don’t worry. I know how to keep a secret. And I’ll definitely stop by again sometime, so we can hang out some more if you want. Whaddya say?”

Her eyes lit up, and- without warning, she flung her arms around him in an appreciative hug (that very nearly knocked him off balance).

“…Thanks, Robin.”

His hue embarrassed again, but he gently reciprocated the gesture.

“Hey, what are heroes for?”

After an awkwardly long minute, she propelled back from the embrace with a self-conscious laugh. Once the rapid beating in both their ribs had calmed down (and she’d surreptitiously wiped some tears from her face), she afforded him a somewhat odd look.

“…What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just… Calling you ‘Robin’ feels kinda weird. It’s like a girl’s name.”

“Hey, it can be a boy’s name too,” he sulked in indignation. “Besides, at least it is a name.”

She shook her head, concentrating intently on him as she contemplated. After a bit, she brightened with sudden brilliance.

“I know! I’ll call you ‘Peter’ – since you came in through the window. …And ‘cuz of the tights.”

Robin blanched as she pointed playfully at his leggings.

“…I think I’d rather be called ‘Robin’.”

“Nope,” she cheerfully announced. “You’re ‘Peter’ to me now.”

Robin sighed, but didn’t object further to the nickname. It wasn’t like he could tell her his real title.

“Fine. ‘Peter’ it is then. …Does that make you ‘Wendy’?”

She smirked with a wink.

“If you want me to be.”

He blinked, clearing his throat as he stood up, almost stumbling over his heels as he backed up in haste.

“Right. Well then. Wendy. …Guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. See ya.”

“…’Kay, bye.”

“��Kay, bye.”

He waved as he fired his grapple into the branches and swung away, and she merrily returned the motion. Elated, Robin’s spirit soared over heightening city structures back to the estate, performing as many flips and tricks as he could on the way. …Although come to think of it, he had failed to ask for her actual name. …Oh, well. There was always next time.

Rather than directly approach the porch or cave entrance, Robin thought about endeavoring to sneak back in through the second-story opening to his own bedroom, so he could pretend he’d been there all along. …Unfortunately, as soon as he’d made it inside and detached his façade, he bumped straight into a severely stern-looking Bruce towering over him.

“Where the devil have you been? We’ve been trying to contact you for the past hour. Barbara’s out there searching all over for you right now. Meanwhile I’ve had to help Alfred double-check every secret room and passage in the manor. Do you know how long that takes?”

Tim merely shrugged.

“I went out for a stroll. Is that a crime?”

“In this house, it is. Do I need to start putting a tracer on your utility belt again?”

“No, sir,” he squeaked meekly.

Bruce heaved a grunt.

“Just hurry up and go get changed, young man. Your dinner’s cold already. Alfred made soup. Make sure you apologize to him too, he’s been worried sick.”

“Yeah yeah, I hear ya, old man.”

“And did you finish your homework?”

Tim flinched. He knew there was something else he’d forgotten.

“You had better get to it if you want to come patrolling with us tomorrow night.”

“I will.”

Before he vanished into the privacy of his enormous closet (which, in his own private opinion, was way too overly spacious – though no one would certainly hear him complain), Tim paused, calling softly back over his shoulder.

“Bruce.”

“What?”

“Thanks… for caring.”

…

About a month later, a couple men dressed in black arrived at the Brown residence, carrying grim, serious auras and stiff briefcases containing various important-looking official documents. An obstinate Stephanie insisted on sitting down alongside her mother on the sofa as they discreetly disclosed the news she never once conceived she’d get to hear like this:

Her dad was dead.

Apparently he’d cut a deal while in prison, and became a part of something clandestinely known by a select few outside those in power as a “Suicide Squad”. He’d perished while on a covert mission for the government, and – according to these strange men’s confidential report – he’d died a “heroic sacrifice”.

Stephanie didn’t know how to react. What to feel. …How she was supposed to feel.

As she sat in her room, trying to write in her diary but coming up blank, her observation shifted to the window still left ajar each evening, through which a mild breeze blew. Opening her desk drawer, she retrieved the hidden miniature handset from the far back, tucked neatly behind all sorts of stationery. She had avoided using it up to now, afraid of coming off as an annoyance. …But she hadn’t seen Robin at all since then. No one had. Based on what she’d gathered from growing gossip, he’d been fully MIA over the course of the past few weeks, and rumors were starting to spread. It was like his existence had been entirely erased, simply evaporated off the surface of the earth. …She was worried about him too.

She pushed the button, hands shaking in mounting apprehension as she elevated to her ear.

There was a long, low hum of crackling static, before someone (presumably) picked up at last.

“…”

“Hello?”

“…Who is this? How did you get access to this comm line?”

“I’m… a friend of Pet- Robin’s. Is… he there?”

An extensive gap stretched.

“There is no more Robin.”

The pronouncement was deep. Disturbing. Definite.

“Do not contact here again.”

With a final click, the other end hung up.

She tried, repeatedly – desperately – to dial back – but the machine seemed to have been remotely disconnected. Slumping forward in defeat as she let go the last potential link – lifeline – she buried her face in her sleeves, and burst into sobs.

At length, she dried her sniffles and rose, dragging her feet to the wide frame. Casting one last look of longing out at the pitch gloom, she shut the pane. …Shutting out pain, and all the brief memories associated with it.

…

She never saw Robin again.

————————–

He sprinkled me in pixie dust and told me to believe Believe in him and believe in me Together we will fly away in a cloud of green To your beautiful destiny As we soared above the town that never loved me I realized I finally had a family

#TimSteph #Tim Drake #Timmy Todd #Stephanie Brown #Batman the Animated Series #Batman Beyond #DCAU #Return of the Joker #fanfiction #starstories #Happy Father's Day #for some reason I can't seem to insert a horizontal line anymore?#so please excuse the slight change in formatting

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superfreakerz · 7 years ago

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TDDUP 3

"Til Death Do Us Part"

Rated M for smut and heavy themes.

Immortal/Reincarnation AU.

Summary: There are immortals and there are those who reincarnate, though it's best to keep these things hidden. Lucy is attending college and meets Natsu, a mischievous boy with pink hair, a devilish smile, and a body that never ages.

Read earlier chapters on FF.net

Chapter 3

Chemistry

Beer, cigarette smoke, and boisterous laughter hit Natsu the moment he approached Fairy Tail. With a toothy grin plastered to his face, the boy happily waltzed inside, dodging chairs and bottles that were being thrown in one of the daily brawls. He'd definitely join in later after he had his fill of Mira's cooking.

Fairy Tail was run by a family that knew about and associated with immortals. The founder, Mavis, was an immortal herself, one of the first ones to discover her immortality. She and her friends of mortals traveled the world, searching for people like her to bring them to a safe place. With their connections, they managed to make Fairy Tail a home for those that lost theirs over the vast years.

Mavis handed Fairy Tail over to her friend, Yuri Dreyar, who was a mortal that cared about the wellbeing of everyone while she continued her journey to find more immortals. Once Yuri died, control went to Makarov, who was the current leader as of now.

People were born as immortals, but it wasn't passed down through genes. It was just an odd strike of luck- though, it was usually considered a curse to the people affected themselves. Mortals could give birth to immortals, and immortals could give birth to mortals, there was no guarantee.

Natsu didn't find out he was immortal until he was around forty years old, as he had stopped aging at roughly twenty-one. For the first few years, he had assumed that he had gotten his good genes from his father, Igneel. But once he was surrounded by his fellow forty-year-old friends, their faces adorning wrinkles while their hair was starting to grey, he knew something was off, but he couldn't put a finger to it.

He never expected the answer to be his body never aged. That is, until Makarov found him and explained the whole situation to him.

"My boy, just how old are you?" Makarov had asked.

Natsu arched a brow at the old man who had approached him seemingly out of nowhere. "Huh? I'm forty, why?"

"Surely you realize that you don't look it."

Natsu frowned, shoving his hands in his pockets. It was admittedly something he had been wondering about a lot. "So what? I got good genes." He moved to walk past the old man, when he froze at what he said next.

"Have you ever considered the possibility of immortality?"

Sharp laughter cut the air, Natsu peeling over and clutching his stomach. "Oh man, you're senile! There ain't no such thing!"

"If you believe that to be true, then go ahead and keep going about your day," Makarov said, giving him a hard stare. "But if you are hesitant as to why your body never grows or why your wounds heal at miraculous paces, come with me. There are others like you. You aren't alone anymore, boy."

Since then, Natsu was introduced to the world of the immortals. He learned of the networks, Fairy Tail, even more about himself.

Immortals all had what they referred to as their death day, the day that they stopped aging. Of course, nobody knew for sure what their death day was, considering that it was impossible to pinpoint the exact moment they stopped aging. But they could roughly guess the age at which their features stopped evolving.

In Natsu's case, it was around his low twenties, same as Erza and the others. Mavis' was in her mid-teens. Laxus', Makarov's grandson, was in his mid-twenties. There was no specific reason for people's death days, it was all arbitrary.

Natsu followed his friends behind the counter where only immortals were allowed. Past a hallway, there was a set of stairs leading to the large basement, full of pool tables, lounging areas, a large kitchen, and plenty of other amenities. The top floor was a coverup, a way to make money to help feed the immortals while the basement was for the immortals that couldn't roam around with it being too risky of a time period.

Though it sounded cruel to be stuck in a basement, it wasn't too bad. The people had plenty of friends and things to do to occupy themselves. Plus, they could leave the basement and go upstairs once the pub closed.

Cana sat at a table, clutching a barrel of booze to her chest. She had been an immortal longer than Natsu and the others.

"Oh, how was your first day of school?" she asked, her words slurred and her cheeks pink from the alcohol.

"Pleasant," Erza answered with a content smile. "Though I do wish professors went over more than the syllabuses on the first day."

"Nerd," Natsu muttered beneath his breath. A dark shadow loomed over him, his lifeforce seeping out of him under the harsh glare that Erza was giving him.

"Care to repeat that?"

"N-No, ma'am!"

Everyone laughed at Natsu's misfortune, save for the boy himself, who crossed his arms with a huff.

"Is Levy out with her friend again?" Mira asked, cooking up food in the kitchen.

Gajeel scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Yep. Shrimp never learns, and she's supposed to be the smart one."

"I actually met this Lucy girl today," Jellal announced. Everyone's heads whipped towards him, but he didn't fluster under the attention. "I sensed no malicious intent from her. It seems she's just a college student with a love for writing and books, which is probably why Levy took such a liking towards her."

Natsu's ears perked at the word 'writing', reminded of the girl he sat by in class and the story she was writing. Part of him couldn't wait for Friday so that he could read more of it. That is, if she continued to slack off from school and write more.

"I don't care what she's like," Gajeel retorted. "I don't trust her. There's something off about her, I just don't know what it is."

"I understand your suspicion towards mortals but-"

"That's not it. Yeah, I don't trust mortals, but I especially don't trust this one."

"Why?" Erza questioned, her need to protect flaring for their friend. "Has this Lucy girl done anything?"

Gajeel rubbed the back of his head. "Nah, not exactly. But there's something about her. If you met her, you would understand. It's just, whenever I look her in the eyes, it feels like she's hiding something."

"Perhaps we should all meet this girl."

"I don't know how Levy would feel about that," Cana said, wiping alcohol off of her chin. "She'll probably know that you're going to interrogate the girl. Probably scare her off in the process."

Erza shrugged. "Perhaps that's what's best."

"I think it's good that Levy has a friend she is close to, even if it is a mortal," Mira argued, her signature, pleasant smile glued to her face. "If Levy does agree to bring her friend, I want you all to be on your best behavior, got it?" Her face barely changed, but her smile suddenly felt sinister, like that of a demon.

"Fine," Erza agreed, crossing her arms. She glanced towards Gajeel. "Well? Think you can convince Levy to invite her friend over so that we can all see if she's a threat?"

The boy nodded. There was no way he was going to let his girlfriend dive too deep with the mortals and get hurt the way some of the others had. Some scars were too deep.

Sunlight filtered through Lucy's curtains that Thursday morning, to which the blonde tried to avoid by shoving her face in her pillow. As if on cue, birds began chirping their morning melodies, only making things worse for the sleepy girl. Knowing there was no chance of her going back to bed, she rose in a slouching position, glaring at the wall in front of her. She wasn't a morning person.

Glancing at the alarm clock that rested on her nightstand, Lucy's eyes widened, a gasp escaping her lips as she scurried out of bed. Her ankle was tangled in the sheets, so she ended up tripping and falling face-first onto the floor, but she ignored the pain and quickly got ready for school. Waking up late on the second day of school wasn't what she had in mind.

Her golden locks were thrown in a messy bun on top of her head and her clothes were haphazardly thrown on. Lucy frowned, knowing that she didn't have time to eat breakfast before bolting out the door.

Reaching the classroom just in the nick of time, Lucy collapsed in the nearest available seat and laid her head on the desk, not paying attention to who else was sitting at the table with her.

"Oi, why're you here?" a familiar voice questioned, quite rudely she might add.

Lucy swallowed thickly and dragged her gaze towards the harsh voice. Immediately, she was met with crimson eyes that felt like they could turn her to stone. "G-Gajeel. I didn't know you were in this class."

"Got a problem with it?" the boy asked, crossing his arms and giving her a look that could freeze all of hell.

"N-No, of course not!" Lucy glanced around the room, searching for another table she could sit at. It was clear she wasn't welcomed there, and she didn't want to spend the entire quarter by someone that hated her guts. Finding one in the opposite corner of the room, the girl rose. "W-Well, I'll just go-"

"Nonsense," a girl at the table interrupted. She was mesmerizingly beautiful with long locks of scarlet hair, her bangs sweeping to the side to cover one of her eyes. "You're welcome to sit anywhere you'd like. Ignore Gajeel."

"You two know each other?"

"Unfortunately."

"Oi! Why'd you hafta go and say that!?" Gajeel barked, though he went unheard.

Lucy, having a feeling that it would be rude to turn down the redhead's offer, slowly sat back down once again. With it being a chemistry class, they were in a lab with stations that had two chairs on both sides and then one on the end. She was sitting at the end of the table and felt like the odd man out.

To her left were Gajeel and the redheaded girl and to her right was a couple. It was obvious they were a couple with how the girl was clinging so tightly to the boy's arm. She had wavy blue locks of hair and was dressed for the winter, despite the warm weather. She had fair skin and her lashes were dark and noticeable. She was stunning.

Lucy's eyes widened and her mouth parted as she glanced towards the boy. To her surprise, it was the same boy that was late to her math class yesterday. She recognized his scar that ran along his forehead, not to mention the fact that his shirt was unbuttoned yet again.

"Hey, we're in math together," Lucy said, facing the raven-haired boy.

His browsed raised, recognition lighting in his eyes. "Oh yeah. You're the one that sits next to-"

"Love Rival," the girl next to him interrupted through clenched teeth. Her grip on the boy's arm tightened as her eyes shot daggers at Lucy.

"Th-That's not it!" the blonde denied. She really should've just moved to the other table.

"Ignore them, too," the redhead said with a sigh. "You must be Lucy." She could tell by the way Gajeel acted with her.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. How do you know my name?"

"We're friends with Levy."

At that, Lucy's features lit up. "Oh, really? That's great!"

"I'm Erza. This is Gray, and this is his girlfriend, Juvia. And you're already acquainted with Gajeel."

Erza studied Lucy. In truth, she seemed like a nice girl, but looks could be deceiving. She learned that the hard way. Now, there wouldn't be a need to have Levy invite Lucy over to Fairy Tail. Through dumb luck, she could watch over the peculiar blonde herself.

"Yo!" a sudden voice rang out. Everyone turned towards the front of the classroom to find a man in his mid-twenties strolling towards the professor's desk, placing his bag down. He was a peculiar looking man with red and white hair split perfectly in the middle. He wore a red button up shirt with a large collar, though just like Gray, he opted to leave quite a few buttons undone. "I'm Scorpio. This quarter, we're gonna be learning about chemistry. We are!"

"He's kinda weird," Lucy thought. "But at least he seems nice." She couldn't say the same for her last professor.

"Hope ya like where you're sitting, because from now on that's your assigned seat. We're gonna be doing a lot of group projects and it's just easier if everyone works with the same people every time."

Lucy suppressed the urge to sigh. She didn't want to work with Gajeel, or his friends for that matter, even if they were also Levy's. Aside from Erza and perhaps Gray, she didn't get a very warm welcome. The other two kept glaring at her the whole time, not even bothering to be discreet about it. Despite what class they were in, she did not have chemistry with these people at all.

Luckily, the class went by quickly as Scorpio used the time to go over the syllabus, as most teachers do on the first day of class. Lucy quickly packed her things and gave a hesitant nod as farewell to her new deskmates. With that, she was out the door.

Grabbing her phone, Lucy typed a quick text to Levy, careful so as not to trip or bump into anyone.

"So I met some of your friends today."

The reply she got was instant. "What? Who?"

"Erza, Gray, and Juvia. And Gajeel was there too. Turns out we have chem together."

"That's perfect!"

"Maybe for you but not for me. Juvia called me her love rival the entire time and Gajeel was being his normal lovely self."

"Sorry about that. Juvia is overly jealous and I try to talk to Gajeel but he's a hardheaded idiot."

Lucy couldn't help but laugh aloud at that text. Though Gajeel was a huge ass towards her, she thought his relationship with her best friend was quite entertaining. She found their bickering way more endearing than other couple's lovey-dovey statements. She momentarily wondered what she would be like if she had a boyfriend before shaking her head and staring at her phone again.

"It's okay. Maybe I can finally win him over now that we see each other twice a week!" Lucy texted back.

"How about we make it three times this week?" Levy replied. "Why don't you hang out with us tomorrow! It's a Friday, so I know you don't have to rush to do homework!"

Lucy stared blankly at the text. Hang out? With Levy's friends? "I don't know, Levy-chan. I had some stuff planned for tomorrow."

"You're a horrible liar, Lu-chan. C'mon! Hang out with us! It'll be fun! Please do it for me?"

Lucy sighed, knowing that she couldn't turn her down now. "Alright. Only for you, Levy-chan."

"Yes! You and I can go get smoothies after school and then I'll bring you to where we all hang out!"

"Where's that?"

"Fairy Tail!"

#nalu #fairy tail #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #ftfanfiction #tddup #my writing

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notoriousjae · 7 years ago

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72 Rules of Cat Grant || SuperCat || (9/?)

Chapter Title: Crash (Ukiem Khap...)

Pairing: Kara Danvers/Cat Grant

Rating: M

Chapter Description:

“It’s been a while since I got to watch everyone crash the cover.”

“Ah,” Catherine hums, teeth crunching a candy shell, “Right.” A wave of fingers as she holds a small little orb of ill-lit yellow, “You weren’t here for the last one. Something about a spaceship being embedded in your head.”

“Right.” Kara slowly unwraps the candy bar with more reverence than she had tugging off Catherine’s dress a few minutes prior. But, then again, as empty as the building is, if curious eyes had happened to look, no one would give her a sideways look for sensually unwrapping a candy bar.

That’s just a Thursday.

Unwrapping their CEO on the other hand…

Well, no one in the office knows that that is also kind of a beautiful, wonderful Thursday for Kara Danvers, too.

Chapter 1: AO3 Link | FF.Net Link | Tumblr

Chapter 2: A03 Link | FF.net Link | Tumblr

Chapter 3: AO3 Link | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 4: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 5: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 6: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 7: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 8: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 9 (Current): AO3 | FF.Net | Below:

Rule #47. No sex on the same night as deadlines. Deadlines always come first.

3:12 AM.

The spread is impeccable--it’s always impeccable, really, after Cat’s finished with it--and a ring of coffee’s trickled a moon’s dance around porcelain white along the protected surface of the large art desk. A formidable table set in the corner of CatCo’s resident Art Director’s office. Protected acrylic is a crowning frame to the articles hung around the tilted desk, pictures adorning words with heralding, artistic grace and a flare that screams Jimmy Olsen. It’s been a long day in CatCo’s pen and the hallways are littered with exhausted bodies like they’ve just seen through a war, 3 AM (an hour before Cat needs to finalize the print before sending it off for the early morning run, thank Rao for technology) has come and gone a little past, most people either crashing at their desks or slowly filtering out into the empty National City streets to head home.

Kara spent an hour in an empty office at 2 AM staring at the picture of Kal-El holding her in his cut arms until she found herself in front of the completed spread, at all, discovering Cat Grant’s own personal form of victory high the moment she’d followed the crook of a slender finger.

She couldn’t erase the picture of Kal-El’s eyes as much as she could erase the feeling of Cat’s, unrelenting and haunting and warm.

James, himself, had left this very office twenty minutes prior, sleepy smile greeting a friend’s peace offering of hot coffee on his trek home, Kara Danvers there to rally the troops into the night even if she technically shouldn’t be at CatCo, at all.

Not that that stopped her.

After all, Kara Danvers is a stickler for rules, but Cat Grant’s issuing order to her the night before had been that she wasn’t allowed in the building in any professional capacity, and given the fact that she was also benched (due to Doctor’s Orders of sleep and rest at the DEO, neither of which she’s enjoyed much of), she’s found great comfort in this oversight.

Which might be why she’s been a constant presence here, all day, wandering aimlessly (careful not to disrupt the flow, relying on her most impressive talent of simply blending in amidst the chaos) as every one of her colleagues pitched into overdrive to help crash the cover.

She’s happy not to blend into the wood-work, now.

The acrylic of the desk has seen countless scratches from a pen’s tick, but there’s suddenly five more that adorn its surface, long lines slowly digging down the edges, scraping to catch the edge and failing miserably, a stack of proofs scattering to the floor in a fluttering symphony from the sharp sweep of an arm.

Hours and hours of hundreds of employees’ lost work fluttering like jagged snowflakes to a white floor as a gasp breaks against a shoulder and Kara can’t even bring herself to feel all that remorseful--okay, she does feel a little bad, but that doesn’t last nearly as long as the heat does--breath catching.

Heels clatter next to the pages--one followed by a rough thud, the next followed by a groan, flinging halfway across the room--a pink stiletto showcasing the gruff picture of this week’s politician’s highlights.

The other heel has cast its lot in the working roulette wheel on a flashing green aura--a picture of the villain who almost took down the Wonder Twins, as Catherine Grant is calling them around the office, this week--the CEO had suggested the name Green Goblin until her ex-assistant had run fingers along the edge of a sharp jawline in memory and murmured--

Metallo.

--over lunch. The name had carved granite against the edges of usually-smiling teeth from the way it shook and the circles under blue eyes had set like chiseled lines of stone in her usually vibrant cheeks and Cat had looked up at her across a sea of white the same moment Brad roughly jostled her shoulder to get passed.

Unassuming (jobless) Kara Danvers didn’t think to hide her wince, rubbing at a shoulder, and she felt that look down into the depths of her stomach--felt fire licking at the wick of her nails--and had quietly excused herself from the desk and avoided Cat’s eyes at all cost, for the rest of the day.

But she didn’t miss the way Cat’s eyes lingered on the picture Kara had spent an hour memorizing over a too-white desk.

She didn’t miss the way Cat’s eyes lingered on her in the hallway.

She doesn’t miss how Cat’s eyes linger on her, now.

Now, everything is scattered along the mids as long fingers tangle in long locks and long legs wrap around long arms and strong biceps flex underneath a strong, unrelenting voice. Wicked teeth and wicked tongue and every single rule lost along words they couldn’t place if they tried.

“If you...had a job.” Naked and sprawled among the pages, silver glasses pushed down to the edge of a nose, askew. “You would...be fired...for this.”

“I'm...lucky I have...an eidetic--Ahh--” It’s a groan of a pant as the taller of the two forms rolls over into a familiar hip, tugging out a stapler from underneath her back on the floor and tossing it across the room, wincing when it undeniably shatters.

Oops.

A huff through flaring nostrils sounds to her left.

“You’re fixing this. I am not risking my company because you wanted a qui--ck--hmm--” For once, Kara rolls over onto a panting form and cuts Catherine off, stealing any breath her lover might have with an eager, slow mouth until she feels her heart relax in the back of her ears. “Kara.” Cat protests the moment Kara pulls back because that same eager mouth traces a very, very knowing trail downwards, biting at a neck. “I--fuck, don’t you dare--” It’s a hiss when Kara bites a little too hard, tongue soothing the roughness of it with a small, apologetic breath. “You’re--”

“You started this. And you said...you were worried about me.” Kara tips a chin back to suck an earlobe and to breathe her in and she can feel the smallest smile in the air between them. When she pulls back just enough to see it, showcased underneath a faint desk lamp, it takes her breath away. “I’ll take care of it.” And just with that--with that sole promise--Cat’s body relaxes, just a little.

Probably because Kara has spent two and a half years telling Catherine she would take care of it and making sure she kept her word, every time.

“I did no such thing.”

“Okay, so you looked all...worried. All day. Distinctly worried with the frown and the--” Kara waves a finger between knit brows towards Catherine’s very unamused face, hand smoothing down an abdomen a moment later, drumming fingers along hips, “That. That look. The look on your face right now.”

“The look that says that I’m going to throw you out of the window like Perry White with a chair?” Cat arches up into her despite the protest, hands moving up to rake through unruly, desperate strands.

“No,” Kara huffs, crawling up the length of her body, hands spreading on either side of Catherine’s head, holding herself up on arms that glow for more than one reason underneath moonlight in James Olsen’s office. “You smile when you think of throwing me out of a window--” On cue, Cat’s lip tucks up on the edge and Kara’s so glad to be close enough to see it, “Hey, stop it.” Cat laughs (dazzling and shameless) and then schools features into a serious face that would make J’onn proud. Which…makes Kara a little nervous, given how quickly she was able to pull that off. “Oh, look, no smile. See? You’re worrie--hey.”

Cat lovingly swats the back of her head, obviously knowing full well that Kara can’t feel it, a hint of a smile that’s far more genuine and far less long-lasting, slipping off her features.

“Of course I’m worried.” The smile drops fully--serious and quiet and furious, like she’s read another political tweet before lunch, 140 characters limited and poignant and resting on the edge of her lover’s tongue like fire, “You were hurt. More than once this week, might I add, you almost died yesterday and you’re starting to look like that crypt keeper in Animal Cemetery--”

“Oookay,” It’s a breathy drawl, a hint of a laugh caught in flaring nostrils, “I’ll work on not being offended by that. My confidence is taking a serious nosedive, today, with all the compliments. My sister? Told me I was starting to look like Keith Richard’s balls in a bath? Which, was, well…” She scoffs, “Rude and this is not helping. In the meantime,” Kara’s mouth drags down clenching, quivering muscles--down a gasping, fluttering stomach--down arching hips and spreading thighs. She curls her fingers underneath knees and looks up at Catherine’s anxious, yearning eyes, covered underneath the edge of a press table in shadows and moonlight and a singular, ineffective desk lamp. “I’m showing you how okay I am.”

“Kara.” Cat’s fingers tangle a little harder in her hair, like she’s intent on keeping her here in tugs and desperate, clenching fingers, and Kara leans up to kiss the sliver of skin of a bicep that’s visible. The fingers barely shake--almost imperceptible--but it’s Cat’s eyes that are endless and open and Kara wouldn’t dare shift her lips from that small little sliver of skin. Not when she can feel the faintest vibration of a pulse underneath it with every rise and fall of breath. Cat’s fingers curl even tighter and push her downwards and there’s nothing but certainty lingering along the edges of her lover’s jaw even if there’s lingering fear in those eyes. “You beat him.”

“We beat him.” Kara agrees, humming as Catherine insistently pushes her further down, roughly sliding her lover up underneath the hook of knees--dragging beautiful skin along mountains of paper, the noise of sheets ruffling and wrinkling as beautiful as the sound of a book’s page turning--to wrap thighs around cheeks. To hear that pulse in her ears.

Suddenly, she isn’t cold, anymore. She doesn’t feel ice on her spine, at all.

“We beat him, I healed, and I came home.”

“You came home.” Catherine eagerly--desperately--agrees, mouth parting in a way Kara can feel in the tremor of mountains around her shoulders.

“I came—"

“Kara—”

“Home.”

The day is (thankfully) one of the least interesting in all of Kara’s days, as far as…explosions or alien invasions or near-death crises go.

But it’s been special, too.

Like magic, watching CatCo paint life along blank canvases like painters with words and determination and angles.

Yelling, angry, frantic, beautiful magic.

Ice.

She sees Kal-El diving after her, and sees her mother’s hands curl in his shoulders—Astra’s hands on a knife—sees Alex tumbling over the edge of a bridge as Catherine—

The sleep doesn’t last long and Kara bolts upright with a faint, pained gasp, when she feels that ice wrap around her spine, sheets falling down as she clenches her fingers around—something.

Some—

Nothing.

Nothing’s in her palm and when Kara opens her hand, she realizes nothing ever was, blinking owlishly, the tension in her back easing a little when she feels familiar hands sliding up her back, curling over shoulders.

Muscle memory is a powerful thing.

It takes her a moment to realize she’s not asleep, at all. Wonders if she ever really was, and she knows that if she doesn’t actually get a decent few hours in—

“It’s okay. Hey—” A whisper in her ear, soft and familiar and safe, Kara’s swallow thick and sharp as that ice melts to glass in her throat and then that glass melts into a choked, breathless sob of a laugh. Water. Water in her lungs like—

“I’m sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

Those same hands pull her back and soon Kara’s enveloped in a familiar soft scent, immediately twisting around to bury a nose in a warm neck—in that warm, constant familiarity—as strong fingers curl tighter into shoulders, sheets crumpling around their hips as a decidedly-not-super girl tries to measure her breath.

“I’ve got you.” She’s so calm and so confident and so…Alex. Kara’s fingers quake as they curl, desperately trying not to hold too tight—never too tightly—as they skim along a tank top, smoothing underneath mussed hair and gently tugging her sister against her, both of their bodies settling on the too-small bed in her apartment. The sun slowly warms the discarded comforter and the metal of a gun, carefully set aside by their heads next to an unlisted virtual badge. But even with the warmth, she hasn’t felt this cold in a long, long time, and she wants it to stop. “I’ve got you.”

Kara laughs a little, shaking her head as the deadly thud in an aching chest slowly gives way to something more familiar…but she selfishly doesn’t try to unravel herself from the contact as long as she has it, the faint fear in the back of her mind melting underneath the promise of an ever-warming sun (eventually) and Alex’s reassuring, sleep-filled drawl. She’s a little less cold, at least, like this, because even if she doesn’t admit it out loud, she thought she would never warm up after she woke up from that ice pit, at all. “You always do.”

Eventually Kara lets her go if just to shift closer to the sun, body as exhausted as her mind, but Alex’s arms don’t go far, even as her sister slumps back into the singular pillow that had valiant propped up both of their heads the night before, a lone soldier on the messy battlefield of mussed sheets.

Sheets Kara hasn’t really spent all that much time in, the past half-year. Maybe they’re not silk—not really much, at all—but they’re hers and that’s more of a comfort than it should be.

“Someone has to.” A yawn breaks the words, dark eyes slitting underneath a mess of brown hair, unruly and rebellious, sticking up enough ways that Alex could make a valiant attempt at a punk rock album cover. “You didn’t sleep, you know. That was an hour. At most.” The grumble is accusatory—eyes softening around the edges even if her voice still chews gravel from her own exhaustion—and Kara feels that home-worn guilt well in her chest, “I thought I lost you, yesterday.”

“And leave you alone to have a minute of peace and quiet?” Kara brushes that punk rock hair out of tired eyes, catching sight of a clock out of the corner of her own. “That’d make me a pretty bad little sister.”

7:02 AM.

Three minutes.

“So does backflipping off of a bridge—”

“Why does everyone keep saying that I backflipped? Trust me, I was not in a backflipping mood. I don’t even think I could backflip—”

“Not without landing on your face.” Alex knowingly supplies. Okay, some things haven’t changed, at least, her sister isn’t that worried. “Which I guess you did. Yesterday. Land on your face.”

“Hey,” A waggle of an accusatory huff of her own, over-protective, “You’re the one that rushed off with no back-up to a totally not ominous abandoned warehouse to find Metallo on your o--”

“Because he almost killed you.” That jaw tightens and Kara softens, trying to make her point a little less antagonistically because, really, the antagonistic thing is Alex’s job. They’ve spent two years perfecting their good-cop, bad-cop routine, the fire of which has been tempered over Thanksgiving dinner. Admitting with a rough, shimmering smile:

“I almost lost you, too.”

“I know.” A restless, calloused hand pushes up through dark hair, tangled strands falling down like dominoes in waves around her ears and Kara scoots a little closer, “I saw you, you know. You almost crushed his—his heart, Kara. Whatever the hell that thing was, anyways. I don’t even know if he had a heart.”

There’s shame with the guilt, now, and suddenly Kara can’t look Alex in the eyes, at all.

Maybe it’s better that Cat didn’t give her anything to hold onto, this time, because it might snap underneath the weight of nails, soft sunlight painting a bed they’ve never shared. A bed her and Alex have shared over the worst times since she’s moved to National City—this is the same mattress she had in college, and Alex had shared it then, too, during the worst and best times—and idly Kara thinks Cat would think the springs would be too hard to sleep on, at all.

Cat would never know—because Kara would never tell her—that that’s why she’s kept it all these years. When Kara sleeps on it, she feels like she won’t float up into the sky.

Alex, Kara realizes, will be there even after Cat won’t—after this inevitably ends—and fingers tremble like a leaf from the effort it takes to keep from crushing her.

“He tried to kill you.”

“I know.” It’s quieter, barely audible, but Kara squeezes her hand, anyways, even as Alex lets her avoid her eyes in the dim light of a too-small apartment. Alex admits something neither of them probably should— “I would’ve crushed it.”

A pained smile shifts between them when Alex tugs Kara back against her chest, and an ear finds a slow heart, familiar. She could pick it up from a line-up. Athletic. Strong. Honest. There’s an undeniable skip to her sister’s heartbeat, and she’s certain she could listen to the entire city and found her, if she tried hard enough.

She’d tried hard enough to do just that, the day before.

“Do you remember…after Jeremiah died?” Kara clears her throat and Alex’s arms wrap around her shoulders even as that strong heartbeat kicks up—even as an entire body stiffens—a hand apologetically patting her sister’s stomach for mentioning it, at all, “Well…apparently died. I’m sorry, Alex. We’ll find him. But…do you remember, we spent four months in that tiny little twin bed.”

“Because you wouldn’t let me out of your sight.” It’s a fond grunt, still full of sleep even as Kara hears her slowly waking—becoming a little more aware—Alex is always aware. Always ready. They both are, always ready for a siren, or an alien attack, and she misses the days when she used to feel Alex relax and reach up towards the stars with her like she might find her father there, too. Maybe that is where Jeremiah’s been all this time, up in the stars. “I needed you, even if I was…bad at admitting it, then.”

“I know.” Kara hums, “You were hurting, Alex. Trust me…I know.”

Both of them look towards the muted hum of the city, the dim light coming through the windows, and Kara wonders how the crash is going, if the halls are lined with frantic coworkers desperately trying to avoid the wrath of Cat Grant. If Cat slept, at all.

If there was a crash, maybe Cat didn’t go home to Carter, at all.

What stories will they weave, today?

“I wasn’t there for you like you were for me…after you landed.”

“You’ve always been there for me. You just…were kind of bad at showing it, at first.”

Alex snorts, both of them settling, and Kara’s thankful her sister’s here, at all—it’s likely the only reason either one of them got any sleep, period. An hour is probably better than none.

Probably.

“What’s going on with you, Kara?” Alex asks, fingers brushing through blonde locks and Kara leans into them, a breath quivering like fingers had. Like it might break her. Eventually, the air settles like that ice had in her chest, shaking a head and looking up into kind eyes with a thin-lipped smile.

“I’m just…growing up, Alex. I think I’m just growing up.”

“Oh, so…” And her sister tries—she sees it—sees her swallow down her questions in favor of smiling with a quirk of lips, “So you know we’re adults, now, right? So you can, like, buy a bigger bed. Like an adult. An adult bed. For tall people, which we both are. Kal-El has an entire fortress of solitude, I feel like you could compete a little better, Supergirl.”

Kara, too exhausted to think of a retort, just shoves her sister’s shoulder with an indignant noise, hopping up to tug the curtains open with a happy sigh the moment she feels sunshine.

A groan sounds from the bed at the sight of Kara’s beam the moment she whirls around.

“Aaand the look on your face says we’re definitely not getting anymore sleep. Great.”

“We both have the day off,” The beam doesn’t falter, eyebrows raising, “And I had plenty of sleep—”

“Kara, you look like hell. You’re starting to kind of look like Keith Richards’ balls in a bath level of hell--”

“Okay, that’s offensive and I don’t even know what that means and I don’t want,” Kara raises up both of her hands the moment Alex’s mouth opens, “To know what that means. Come on,” She reaches over and tosses her sister a jacket, sucking in a sharp breath before she’s ready in a Flash.

Idly, she wonders how many times Barry makes that joke, toothbrush hanging out of her mouth as she points over to Alex’s gun.

“We both know you’re going to go into the DEO anyways and I…” She looks down before shrugging on a shirt, ignoring how naked she feels without armor underneath fabric, “Am going to CatCo.”

“Okay, first off, I’m just going to run tests on Mon-El, who is starting to get…really annoying, and that’s only going to be like…an hour. Tops.” Kara gives her sister a knowing look—they’re a family of workaholics, after all—and she slowly starts to rise from the bed, jabbing a finger towards what Kara can only hope is an innocent look, “I’m not enabling you.”

“Yes you are.” Kara pouts around her toothbrush, “That’s your job. Hey, remember when I helped you sneak out of the window to go to that party Senior year when you were totally grou—”

“And you milk it. You’ve milked it for so long—”

“And you told me,” Kara recalls over Alex’s grumbling look as she hops into boots, “We’re sisters. We cover each other, no matter what. That means I look after you even when you make really dumb decisions like sneaking out Senior year to meet Bobby Macin—”

“Okay, that’s a really bad impression of me—”

“Uh, nope. Spot on.”

“And I didn’t even like Bobby Macinaw! Worst night of my life. You never should’ve let me do that. It was stupid—”

“Oh, hah—” Kara laughs, hands finding her hips, “Really stupid, but I did it anyways. Because sisters help sisters do stupid things, like sneak out to meet boys they don’t even like and unhealthily obsess over their totally-not-dangerous jobs.”

Alex lets out a noise of a growl—a protest that makes Kara’s beam settle right back onto her features, because she knows she’s won. Unfortunately, she knows that she’s also only ever going to be able to milk to Bobby Macinaw story for probably a year more, tops. “Fine, whatever, we both know I’m going to go until J’onn tries to kick me out. But you…don’t even have a job, anymore. CatCo will be fine without you. Why don’t you stay here, get some rest—”

“Of course CatCo will be fine.” A little quieter, to herself, “Cat will be fine,” She shakes her head, huffing out of her nose as she zips around to offer her sister her gun with a happy hum, “James, the news staff--everyone will be absolutely, perfectly fine without me. But they’re going to have a tough day and…there’s nothing wrong with bringing coffee, right? Seeing how the crash unfolds—this happens…well, never, Alex. This is big. And then maybe I could help you come train Mon-El and--”

“Nope. You’re missing the definition of resting.” Alex is leaning down to tug on her other boot, apparently not bothered in the least at the thought of shuffling out of here in the same clothes as the night before—the majority of which she slept in—standing before she yanks up the gun, tucking it safely by a hip with far more care.

“Fine, then I’ll…” A huff, but Kara knows Alex sees it when the innocent smile tucks up her lips—knows she gets that glint in her eyes, “I’ll do nothing.”

“Kara,” Alex’s sigh isn’t much of a warning, both of them exhausted and Kara just blinks when Alex tugs her against her chest, steel bending underneath the familiar touch to settle underneath a chin, smiling at the sound of that heartbeat. “Come get breakfast with me before you do…whatever it is that I don’t want to know you’re doing. Which you’re going to call and tell me about. Whatever it is that you’re doing that I don’t want to know what you’re doing.”

“You had me at breakfast, Jerry MacGuire.” Kara beams, tucking her arm underneath Alex’s as she tugs her towards the door.

“All you can eat pancakes if you promise not to zip around in the suit until you’re fully healed.” Alex snaps the door shut before the can leave through it, holding up a hand in a shake, eyebrows raising. Kara takes the liberty of tugging her sister’s hair up into a ponytail to distract knowing eyes from the thoughtful look on her features. “Kara…”

“My own sister, trying to bribe me over listening to my own good, honest word—I mean, I’m a superhero, Alex, can’t you trust--”

“About not saving people? About as far as I can throw you. Which is no where. Because you weigh about the same as Fort Rozz.”

“Hey!” It’s a weak protest.

“What? You do.”

“Fine, fine, okay, the bribe works. No suit, and maybe I’ll even catch a cat-nap halfway through the day.” Kara snorts despite herself once her own words catch up with her, immediately clamoring to grab a jacket to avoid Alex’s slitting, curious eyes, clearing her throat as she guides her out of the apartment and onto the street fast enough that only someone who’s spent over a decade running after her could keep up with. The faint hint of red on her cheeks likely doesn’t help. “Or, like, a regular…person nap with sleeping. And no…anything but sleeping. There was no joke there. None at—okay, stop looking at me like that. Please. Come on, those pancakes won’t eat themselves.”

Kara is certain her body is happily comprised of around 92% (that was her doctor’s professional estimation post-breakfast) pancakes a few hours later, still exhausted and stiff but full as she finds herself somewhere that’s as peaceful as it gets, resting against a wall inbetween two glass windows, listening to the sounds of life fluttering on behind her. It’s familiar and hectic and Kara finds no small sense of comfort in it, thumb swiping along the edge of a phone as she watches the clouds cover the sun and uncover them again like an excitable toddler playing hide and seek.

Kara doesn’t have to wait long until heels sound next to her and a familiar power-suit comes striding to the edge of a balcony, shoulders tightening like some kind of journalistic sixth-sense has flared, immediately twisting around to take Kara in.

Kara, who just-as immediately raises her hands up in apology with a shake of her head, a cloud taking that time to slide over the bright sun, painting dark, tired eyes in flutters of light before shadows overtake them both.

“Just me. Sorry, I was just…”

The sun flares to life for a bright spatter, reflecting off the bent metal of a railing, before it fades away, again. Like a fair-weathered kaleidoscope, the only colors Kara sees the dancing twinkle of hazel eyes.

“Lounging on my personal balcony like a stalker?” Cat supplies, but her spine eases into something familiar as heels click, closing the distance between them as she saunters in front of the curled, hidden form of her ex-assistant. Even with her shorter stature, Cat does a good job of blocking a good bit of the sunlight left in the sky and a shiver thoughtlessly runs up Kara’s spine as she adjusts glasses, a faint laugh on the edge of her lips.

“Um…no? Not…stalker. Stalker is a very bad word for this.” The laugh rumbles a little louder, glasses catching a glint of sun before it’s gone behind those clouds, completely, “I was just,” A finger wags helplessly up towards the sky like that explains anything which, likely for Cat, it doesn’t, shrugging a shoulder. “It’s the tallest building in National City. And it lets me stay a little closer to listen out for you which…might be a little,” She pinches the air with her fingers, sheepish, “Okay, I don’t like ‘stalkerish’. What’s a nice word for loving or…chivalrous and not just going back to agreeing with stalkerish.”

“Oh, but a little stalkerish is perfectly justifiable.” Cat waves a wrist before that same hand gently smooths up the lapel of a shirt, eyes squinting, “I built a career on being a little stalkerish. But you’re right, ‘stalkerish’ is a little…Wynona-headline. I just like to call it journalistic savvy.”

Kara laughs and Cat looks pleased despite the circles lining her own eyes—more expertly hidden with makeup than they had been at 5 in the morning—and long, warm fingers catch a strong hand before they can adjust glasses, again.

Long, warm fingers which gently slide the frames down off and Kara blinks, adjusting, her body sagging the rest of the way against the wall, a breath catching her nose, settling between them in this moment. This moment where the world swirls in color and outlines and information—where the sun eclipses behind clouds and the world blooms to life before lips are pressed against her own, quiet and gentle and…and like a hello Kara hadn’t even known she needed.

Was scared she wouldn’t receive and doesn’t even know why.

And the world fades into something that feels just like this when Kara’s eyes close, the faintest outline of Catherine’s smile visible through her lids like a constant presence, not something stolen and voyeuristic. Her shoulders settle against the wall as that small, strong body leans up into her and Kara can’t help the smallest smile against warmth in retort.

“Hi.” It’s hummed, pecking Cat’s lips, again, nose barely wrinkling as a finger dances an almost loving nail down her nose.

“Hi.”

Both of their eyelashes flutter open and Kara decides it’s better to see Catherine’s smile than just feel it.

“So…it sounds like the crash is going well.”

“Hardly.” The tension is back in those shoulders, again, if a shadow of what it was moments before, “I’ve seen better news come out of the bathroom of a Wendy’s in Texas.”

“Okay, so that means it’s going not well and…that was an oddly specific reference.” Brows knit, shaking a head before fingers curve along the line of the ones holding her glasses, curling Cat protectively around them as she holds her. “So you’ll fix it.”

“You should be in there, not out here.” The tension seems to have worked its way into Cat’s curling tongue and Kara’s brows only knit deeper, the crease forming between brows slowly rivaling the Grand Canyon.

“I’m…not allowed inside under any professional capacity, Ms. Grant. You know me…total rules girl.”

“Oh, please,” Cat gives her a surprisingly cutting, if knowing, look, “When has that ever stopped you before? When has that stopped any of us? There’s a building of people behind you that love shoving their noses where they don’t belong. You’re one of them. That, along with a little bit of that aforementioned stalking, has been the backbone of journalism since long before Steve Coll started writing exposes on the SEC--long before Paul Shoenstein started sticking his nose in the Vatican’s dirty drawers and pulling penicillin out of the walls. That undeniable frothing at the mouth for that story—that truth—don’t tell me you’re just here because of me.”

“I’m…mostly here because of you.” Kara admits, sagging a little more against the wall, tugging Cat closer because even if she can’t feel that sunshine, there’s an undeniable warmth in those hips. In that breath and that smile. “It sounds less romantic if I admit I couldn’t help but wondering all morning, though. How it was going here.”

“Of course you couldn’t.” Cat says like it’s no surprise, at all, sliding glasses back up Kara’s nose like they might belong there—at least at CatCo—a hum on her lips, “There’s still a choice for you to make, after all.”

But there’s such a soft smile on Cat’s lips that Kara is too stunned by it to suggest anything different, at all, reaching out when she turns away.

“You…” Kara clears her throat, shifting on the balcony, changing the subject—a little bolder with her lips so warm, “You forgot to give me something. This morning.”

“I...did,” Cat breathes, slowly turning around to face her, something indistinguishable in her eyes as the realization settles and Kara’s selfishly glad that it apparently wasn’t intentional, “Didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” She shifts again--adjusts the glasses back on her nose as she brings Catherine a little closer, their bodies slotting together against the wall. And there’s that gaze, again, like Cat can see straight through her, a hand falling down to untuck the edge of a hastily-tucked in shirt, blinking at what she finds. “Yep, just me.” Kara gently curves fingers around Cat’s hand and slides it further up underneath the bunched fabric, a shiver down her spine (decidedly not from the cold, this time) as fingers splay knowingly, if surprisingly hesitant, against bare skin.

“No suit.” Cat breathes it, eyes searching, nails skimming over to an abdomen before dancing up a side and settling, intimately, along a hip, fingers brushing underneath the hem of pants.

“No suit.” Teeth tug at a lower lip. “I’ve...been benched. For a little while.”

“Benched? And here I thought you were just honoring that unspoken little agreement between us.”

“I would have still come here first to talk to you, if I wasn’t. Benched, I mean.” Kara offers, sincere, and Catherine’s features soften just enough for her to imagine there isn’t a building full of people behind them, at all. It’s easier when they’re tucked away like this.

“If you’re benched…” Cat reaches up to her neck and doesn’t seem to find anything there—no earrings, either--hesitating before she unclips the same bracelet from the night before, carefully sliding it around Kara’s wrist with a caught breath. Something attentive eyes can see visibly swell her lover’s chest—catch along the rising swell of her throat—and without a second thought, Kara tugs Catherine back against her, reveling in the feeling of hands clenching in the fabric of her shirt. “Who did my helicopter see flying around National City, this morning.”

Kara shrugs, murmuring, “Supergirl.” Because it’s true enough before she kisses her.

And amazingly enough, Catherine kisses her back, pressing her up against this small sliver of a wall that no one could see, without breaking through the glass of an office. A finger skims underneath the healing line underneath Kara’s brow when she pulls away, barely detectable save for the silver edges diving underneath the hair rebelliously escaping its prison of a ponytail.

“Imagine that.” Catherine hums, lingering for just a breath longer before she straightens her blouse, heels clicking as she strides back into the office she came from, leaving the door open.

Kara smiles, the sound of the office a little louder and she realizes, now, just how tired she must be, because Catherine’s heartbeat disappears into the mess of it and she wouldn’t be able to pick it out, if she tried.

Or, maybe, some of Cat’s heart will always sound like this—like this mess of jumbled stories coming together, the sound of furious computer clicks and screaming bi-lines and endless possibilities of truth—even if the part Kara’s more familiar with, these days, is softer and quiet and muted.

But, maybe…part of Kara’s heart sounds like this, too.

With a quiet, happy hum, adjusting glasses and following behind her, dutifully closing the door in her wake, Kara stands in front of the mayhem with hands on her hips, breathing in the faint scent of paper and ink and chaos.

The news is a constant, breathing life and Kara wonders, with more excitement than she expected this morning, whose story they’ll tell, today.

“Imagine that.”

3:48 AM

Kara sets down her phone, sucks in a sharp tug of air, and blows it into the scattered pages along the floor until they’re all pressed up, unmoving, against the wall before disappearing in a whirlwind, herself, re-arranging them into the order they were in save for two that appear in front of Cat Grant’s knowing eyes a moment later, a thin-lipped smile above her.

Another whirlwind tapes all of the pages up.

“Never use your powers at work? I knew that was a bald-faced—"

“I’m not working.”

But Catherine’s eyes haven’t moved from the two possible headlines.

“Publicizing the fact that there’s a way to kill you won’t do you any favors.” Cat hums, but her glasses are back on her nose as she looks over the pre-prints.

“It won’t do my cousin any favors.” Kara quietly agrees. “But, trust me, if there’s one thing he understands, it’s a story.”

“Spinning the narrative that you’re not indomitable might strike fear into the city, but it might also remind us that you’re not, in fact, Gods. You’re mortals. And I can’t forsake this--” She flicks the edge of the page knowingly, “This is a Pulitzer photo, Kara.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Kara slides up behind her, taking in the photo she’d spent the better part of an hour looking at. She should have protected Kal-El from that. “When my mother put me on that pod, I was...just a girl. I’ve always been...intimately aware that I’m mortal, Catherine. I watched everyone I knew and loved die in front of my eyes. A burden I’m not sure I’d ever want Kal-El to have, and I’m glad to bear it for him.” A hint of a small laugh on the edge of her teeth that falls flat when she looks down at her palms. But when her spine rolls backwards, she stands taller than she ever should in this building, chin barely dipping upwards even as she sucks in a small breath, finger tracing along the line of a warm jaw—her cousin’s.

Jor-El’s jaw.

“I was sent to be my cousin’s protector, but we became the protectors of Earth, instead. We won’t be here, forever. Either one of us, Cat. We were never Gods--the opposite—I don’t…people shouldn’t think we’re Gods. Rao. We’re just...two very, very lonely people trying to make up for being the only ones that survived.” It sounds so dark, so desperate, and she’s worried Catherine will see the truth in it, like she does everything else, so she tries, instead, to temper it with more of the truth: “Trying to keep anyone from feeling what we feel every morning we wake up--every time the sun sets on a planet that hasn’t existed, not really, since long before any of us were born.”

“I don’t see your point in how--”

Kara’s chin falls to rest on her lover’s shoulder, arm wrapping around a waist as she pulls her back, hand curling over Cat’s fingers, tightening the other woman’s grip on the picture in her hands before she can think of setting it aside.

“My sister goes out there every morning fully aware she might die and she does it every day. Cops--soldiers--even doctors in DMZ’s, so many people go out every day with the knowledge that anything could kill them, and do their best to help their communities, their planet, anyways. Yes, my cousin and I are much, much larger targets than my sister--” Kara quietly agrees, “But it doesn’t change the sacrifice they make. It doesn’t lessen my cousin’s. All of us are called to something greater just like you are, Catherine, and we have targets on our backs because of it. People need to know we’re not Gods, that my cousin and I have almost died countless times because this planet--our people--are worth it to us, and that our sacrifice isn’t something frightening...just like how my parent’s sacrifice wasn’t frightening. They gave their life so that I might live and someday, I’ll give my life so that someone here might. That’s not fear. That’s hope. And you,” Kara drops her arm in favor of slowly buttoning up her shirt, still getting used to the feeling of cloth on skin where a suit should be. But the action doesn’t pull her from Cat’s side for a moment, chin still slotted over her shoulder, lips brushing over a jaw, “Know that. That’s why you were going to re-arrange these right before I came in here. That politician was never going to be front page.”

“You think you know me so well.” Cat hums, turning around to bat Kara’s hands away, slowly sliding buttons in loops for her.

“Don’t I?” Kara smiles, soft and quiet, watching the way a smile tugs up the corners of her lover’s thin lips.

“You’re not very fun at parties, are you, constantly talking about the inevitability of sacrificing yourself for the greater good. It’s a mood-killer, Kara. Really.”

Kara lets out a hum of acknowledgment as her thumb gently tucks up Cat’s chin so that she can meet those eyes in the dim light of a building they’ve spent far too much time in, tonight, a quiet smile sure to greet her.

And a beautiful, quiet smile does.

“I’d much rather focus on living in the present. On how easy it is to imagine disrupting every possible cover I can, just like this.” She teases, “I was terrified, yesterday, but I fight for my future. For yours. For this planet’s. Sacrifice doesn’t make me weak, Catherine--the possibility of it reminds me to focus on what matters to me. And whether or not you didn’t want me to say what, yesterday, I--” And when her mouth opens, again, to tell Catherine just what that is, a hand raises up from buttons to stem the words, a smile instead of words brushing along those warm digits.

Because Kara laughs and kisses Cat’s fingers, instead.

“So you intentionally ambushed my cover, then?” Eyebrows raise even when arms lower to wrap around a waist, slipping underneath the hem at a hip to run fingers along skin instead of a suit, “Are you certain Clark Kent isn’t trying to poach you to the Planet?”

“Even if he was, I’m as loyal as they come. Maybe he thinks me living on his couch in Metropolis would be fun,” She shrugs, only catching the curious look on Cat’s face out of the corner of her eye before moving forward, “But someone keeps reminding me that I have the world at my feet right here. And that’s an opportunity I do not plan on squandering, Ms. Grant.”

“Wisely not. So you’re still,” There’s a look full of intent there, “Considering my proposal.”

“I haven’t really been thinking about anything else in-between getting my head slammed through cement walls. Well, and listening to Milo let out a very impressive string of curses the moment he realized today was a crash.” Kara sighs and she imagines it--just for a moment--sitting next to Clark and Lois by their desks, fingers tapping along it with a pen. “Everywhere I go...people love Superman, you know. I’m so proud of his success, of how he’s grown, but sometimes--” She pulls away, bending down to snag up the clip that had rattled onto the floor, slowly starting to gather together her hair and force it upwards. Her hair, after all, is the one part of her that doesn’t naturally defy gravity. “Sometimes I wonder if I would make this choice to be close to him, or if I’m still in his shadow, or if--” She shakes her head, clip snipping as she drags it all upwards. “This is another thing I can’t protect Kal-El from.”

“Well, you can’t just keep wandering these halls aimlessly like the Headless Horseman, Kara. The crash was one thing.” Cat hums, watching as Kara shoots forward, gathering back the pages from the wall and settling them in their proper alignment on the table, nodding downwards when everything is as it should be.

It takes her literally a minute of shuffling to get it over to print.

Somehow, that feels a little anti-climactic after an entire day’s worth of work.

“Oh, but I can give it a good old college try, righ--oh, okay, you’re not smiling, anymore.” Kara sighs, hopping up onto James’ desk, popping open the drawer he keeps his (not-so) secret stash of candy bars. If he had wanted her to keep out of it, obviously he should have encased it in lead. “I know.”

It’s not stealing if she replaces them.

Probably.

It’s probably not stealing.

She tugs out a bag of M&M’s and tosses them towards Cat with a smile, a hint of a laugh rumbling on lips when a perfectly-manicured hand catches them, Kara tugging her up onto the desk next to her—and it’s a testament, really, that Kara isn’t surprised that she lets her—looking towards tomorrow’s issue with a proud sigh.

Just as Kara had tugged Cat closer the day she received an office, she wants to be here for this, too.

For Cat.

“It’s been a while since I got to watch everyone crash the cover.”

That’s just a Thursday.

Unwrapping their CEO on the other hand…

Well, no one in the office knows that that is also kind of a beautiful, wonderful Thursday for Kara Danvers, too.

12:03 PM.

“Someone spin this. I'm not talking half hearted Betty Davis on a bicycle, we need a full Exorcist three-hundred and sixty.” Cat snaps, waving towards the screen. Miraculously, only a few strings have picked up the Supergirl story and they’d managed to get the jump on it this morning with the newscycle. But the print was where the real test lay. “Now.”

“Puppy dogs with the president?” James tries. “Positive light. We don’t want a fluff piece, but they both lived, they kept fighting. Something hopeful for the city--”

“What are you, a Disney Princess?” Snapper gruffs from the corner and Cat pinches the bridge of her nose.

“While your muscles are far too ripply to look like Divine in a dashing ballgown, James, I’m with Snapper. Thomas Kincaid couldn’t paint this in a positive light.” Cat’s sigh is eternal, eyes flicking over towards Snapper. “I don't want the city running every suicide jumper they see, especially not with the holidays coming up a few short months away, but we can't down play this. Next.”

Snapper sighs, arms crossing over his chest, one wayward hand scratching underneath his chin like the Godfather of bilines at a perpetual five-o’-clock shadow before offering: “Doom and gloom treatment. Everyone loves an underdog, or a flying super Jesus. She tried to sacrifice herself for those people. Best of both worlds?”

“No, no, we don't want that Superfall take two, people will start to think,” Cat's voice closes on a hard k and Kara avoids her gaze, glad that she doesn’t actually mention the name Fort Rozz to a room-full of journalists, “She has a death wish.”

“Doesn't she?” Snapper shrugs, like this is a commonplace thing for everyone to have.

“No.” Both James (adamant) and Kara (quiet) supply, to two sets of unimpressed eyebrows raising.

“What's the puppy dog doing in here?” Snapper asks like he's only just now noticed her--Kara isn't sure if he notices everything or perpetually notices nothing unless it suits him--and her lips nervously tug upwards. “When did—”

“I'd like to think I'm at least a...full grown dog. Actually.” She shuffles her glasses. A hint of a laugh, “Potty trained and...everything.”

James smiles but neither Cat or Snapper look particularly impressed, an elegant wrist waving in front of a whiteboard before gruff lips can open and comment.

“Save it for your therapy sessions, not the workplace, Clifford. Moving on.” She caps her pen, tapping it against the board, “No, no...we need a heroic, realistic spin.” Her shoulders barely tense before they sag downwards in something close to resigned. Something that Kara knows she's the only person who sees and, from the faintest dip of a chin towards her direction, though their eyes don't meet, Kara knows she's right. “Supergirl almost died. That's clear. There's no point hiding that from the public, Lois Lane won't.”

Lois Lane actually hasn’t stopped texting her all day, but that’s not a fact she needs to share, nodding as Cat continues.

“So we keep the cover and keep the mid focused on how she didn't. She triumphed, just like the people of National City will. Some...cliché quote about a bright light that would make Nixon cry. Some touched mother explaining how the action saved her children in the car. Some fisherman on the beach who didn't understand the gravity of what he saw. All tied in a neat little bow of a weaved narrative about how humanity will push that little murky lake water out of its lungs and continue to fight another day when adversity throws us into the depths.”

“Quotable.” James hums.

“Honest.” Snapper agrees.

“Relatable.” Kara murmurs, tucking her notebook against her lap, gaze searching shoulders like they might hold the map to a holy grail.

“Yes, I am quite the genius aren't I? So I understand staring at me slack-jawed and in awe, but the news will not write itself. So let’s go, people!”

Two seconds pass before Snapper jumps back into action, twisting around with a clap and rallying the troops with harsh, precise orders so that Cat doesn't have to, although her yell did enough to make them scurry, anyways. Eventually he turns to Kara with a pointed thumb, last three in the office, lips parting before Cat hums:

“Clifford will stay as my awkward, uncomfortable, perpetual shadow today, Snapper. That's all. Get to work.”

His lips close, eyes barely slitting, thumbing down glasses thinner than Cat's before he seems to decide he has better things to do with his time, stomping out of the office with intention littering every step.

If she didn’t know for a fact that Napoleon was historically not actually short, she might think Snapper Carr was the reincarnation of Napoleon.

A really angry, very intimidating, brilliant, Jewish Napoleon.

Once Kara listens to them all retreat, she holds up a hand to Eve, who pokes her head into the office before standing with a faint shake of the head.

Ice rattles in a glass as Kara slides behind her boss, offering up whiskey to fingers that immediately snatch it up.

A weathered, strained sigh.

“Thanks,” A twitch of lips, “Clifford.”

“What can I say…” Kara sighs, chin dipping back as she shifts on a heel, hands pushing into pockets when she smiles, “Well, I guess if I’m a dog, which is a recurring theme, isn’t it? All I can say is, um…” Lips purse, settling with a nod: “Woof? Ms. Grant.”

The laugh—a faint chuckle rumbling along rim of a glass, reflecting white teeth and an easy smile--makes it worth it. When Kara turns around to see Eve smiling, something soft and surprised as she leans against the doorway, Eve catches her eyes and she offers an exuberant thumbs up, waving between the two of them with a wink that makes Kara shuffle her glasses and shrug to a curious look from Cat at the gesture.

Cat, who looks over her shoulder just in time to see Eve scrambling away and sighs into her drink.

“You’re hopeless. I do not want to know. Go…do something. Be professional without being here. Shoo.”

Kara just shrugs again before following after the current assistant.

“Woof?”

She really should sleep.

When Cat looks like she might throw the glass, she shuffles away just a little bit faster, glad to catch the faintest tail-end of a smile on her lover’s lips out of the corner of her eyes when she does.

3:58 AM.

“Funnily enough, all day, that Supergirl was just fluttering about, today. Minor things, until around lunch, she was upstate when a mysterious force put out a fire a few blocks from here. Curious. No one happened to see who it was.”

Even nearing 4 AM, Catherine Grant is ever the reporter and Kara leans into her shoulder, humming around a mouthful of...oh, it’s Twix. She could’ve sworn she grabbed a Snickers. So she leans back to rifle through the desk until she can grab one of those, too, thumb running along the bracelet about a wrist, idle and content.

“Oh, no,” Kara hums, taking another bite, listening to make sure there’s no stragglers, smiling a little sheepishly up at raised eyebrows. “That one was me.”

“During lunch. Where you were sitting right next to me with that burger grease trap and--”

“And you happened to get up to yell at Snapper…”

It takes a moment because Cat’s yelled at Snapper for the majority of the day, but the moment realization passes, memory found, Kara offers a sheepish smile.

“For all of thirty seconds before he slumped out of my office like Eeyore.”

“Two minutes and seventeen seconds, actually. It doesn’t take long to put out a few fires. And…maybe stop one petty theft.” She raises her hands, candy bar waving in pointed defense, “Which was on the way back!”

A long-winded, almost indulgent sigh is her response, but there’s a hint of that ever-present journalistic fire in familiar eyes.

“I assume your nameless, alphabet letter soup employer wasn’t too happy?” Cat pops in another M&M, leaning in a little closer to Kara’s shoulder.

“Oh, they didn’t care. Probably. I heard Supergirl was busy elsewhere punching very important, very tall things. I got a voicemail from my doctor threatening not to buy me any more bagels if I didn’t go home and sleep, though. But she said no suit, and--” Kara points down at her recently-buttoned outfit, “No suit.”

“You should, Kara. Sleep, obviously.” Fingers gently wrap around a wrist, holding the metal of a bracelet against skin--a thumb dips along a pulse--adding with a hint of a smile that curls up words more than it does lips, “Not that I’m worried.”

“Oh, of course not. Nothing to worry about.” Another hum--a happy sigh, looking down, “It was...nice, though. Watching all of this,” She waves towards the board--what was chaos over the past few hours, re-named articles and stress and fury now a composed stack of perfection--tipping back her chin, “It felt like...magic. Really stressful, really important magic.”

“It feels like home, doesn’t it? Like you belong in the thick of the action.” There’s a wistful hum, there--something that makes Kara’s head fall down to her shoulder, “Oh, I know, because I recognize that youthful little gaze in pictures of myself when I was younger. That twinkle in the eye that comes from a well-fought battle in the trenches. You know better than anyone how...disillusioned I’ve become, but being on the ground floor...it always has a certain life to it, doesn’t it? It is very stressful, very important...truth. Not magic. Hard-work, perseverance, and dedication. And it’s where,” Cat pats her wrist, hopping off the desk with so much grace Kara’s certain Cat Grant might be an Olympic gymnast, stepping back into her heels. “You belong, whenever you decide to tug your head out of those clouds of yours and join us...Ms. Danvers.”

Kara hums, again, smiling at the words, a little distracted, but is snapped right back to reality when fingers tuck up a chin and Catherine gently--so gently--pecks her lips in parting.

Where her Snickers had sat, unopened, there’s now a separate bracelet—making up for lost time?—and Kara smiles as she listens to heels as they slowly click along the hall. Those heels stop outside the elevators, undoubtedly intent upon calling a car, given the fact that she’d sent Eve home before making her way up here, at all.

That? It’s definitely stealing.

Kara doesn’t mind it one bit, happily popping the last of her Twix into her mouth with a mental note to fill back of James’ drawer with all of his favorites.

Blue flickers towards the other desk that they just, well—mostly defiled. Oh, wow, really defiled. She doesn’t leave until it’s clean—spotless—and then clears her throat at the door, unable to help the small smile on her lips.

Maybe she should get him a fruit basket, too.

A fruitbasket made of protein bars and a separate, larger fruit basket made of candy bars.

She catches up to Catherine by the bottom of the elevator (after her nightly sweep of the security footage and making sure a car is out front) whispering a quick press of lips by her brow, air fluttering through blonde locks and the faintest hint of a smile spreading, soft and gentle, on a lover’s lips before Kara disappears down the street and across the city. The street she inevitably finds herself on might be across Cat’s apartment and she might wait until Cat settles Carter, and then moves down the hall, slowly settling into bed, herself.

There’s a book but Cat doesn’t last long, light left glaring through the room and Kara sighs, teeth fussing a lip before she’s suddenly there before she can re-think it, hesitating for only a moment before testing the window, a sigh of relief fogging glass when she finds it cracked.

Cat always leaves it cracked open, these days. Just for her. Just in case, Kara knows. This shouldn’t be a just-in-case moment, really—it’s…unspoken and reserved for after crime-fighting and tough nights and this is more of that whole…little bit of stalking thing, from earlier—but she pushes it open, anyways.

Because she hadn't said goodbye. And that feels worse, somehow, than not having a bracelet on her wrist.

A flick of the light and Kara makes sure to curl the blanket up and around slim shoulders, sure to be gentle—quiet—smiling in the darkness when Catherine’s fingers curve around her wrists, stilling her.

“Hmm…should I be worried that you’re starting to turn very Single White Female, Kara?” Cat’s voice is laced with sleep, humming, and Kara laughs, leaning down to brush the hair out of eyes with the one arm she frees.

“Well, I’m really not sure of the term for it, but I’m not really single. Two out of three isn’t that bad, though, so even though I would say don't be worried, the signs are starting to show—but, wow, you are really on top of it with the references when you first wake up, aren’t you?” Kara sits down on the edge of the bed, next to a hip, feeling the soft mattress dip underneath her weight. There’s no way Cat would ever sleep in her bed. “Impressive.” A hint of a spreading smile.

"Always be ready." Cat's smile sleepily matches.

“I’m sorry. For the stalking. I just…I just wanted to make sure you got home alright and I saw the light was on and I just—”

Cat squeezes her wrist, “Thank you. I’m fine.” And then those fingers guide her down, lips brushing, a sleepy hum lost between them, “Is there a reason you’re still not sleeping?” A shrug isn’t much of a response, Kara knows, and Cat blinks, shifting further up as her own vision must adjust, “Still no suit.”

“I sold my heroism for a stack of pancakes, this morning.” Kara grouses, “Alex made me promise no suit, remember? So…no suit. Well,” A thoughtful hum in retrospect, “I guess I didn’t tell you about the pancakes part.”

“You weren’t wearing a suit at all when you flew in here? When you dipped out for your little hero lunch?” Cat’s shifting further up, now, any hint of joking gone, “Aren’t you worried about—”

“No.” Kara answers simply—quietly, “Trust me, Catherine, if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to…blend in. How to not be seen or noticed.”

Catherine sucks in a sharp breath, reaching up to a glasses-less face, probably taking in the sight of Kara with her hair tucked up and yesterday’s clothes without them. But it’s impossible not to lean into the hand that skims along the tired muscles of a cheek, eyes flicking over to the bed for a moment—a longing, aching moment—before sucking in a breath and standing.

“Kara—” Catherine calls when she makes it back to the window and she pauses, looking over her shoulder. She watches Catherine in the bright moonlight, those warm hands curling into sheets in a too-large bed, an unread book by her hip as lips that could part the heavens if they wanted to part for some other reason, entirely. And Kara—stupidly; maybe even selfishly in a way she’s horrendously learning how to be—wants nothing more than for Catherine to ask her to stay. To crawl into bed and…stay. “…Go home. Get some sleep.”

A tense nod, lips thin as they spread in an understanding smile before she slides back open a window, hesitating when the wind starts to dance through her hair. A wayward, rebellion strand flicks about in front of her face like a restless flame, and she half-heartedly shoves it behind an ear. "I...didn't say goodbye, yesterday. I, um--I know it's...it's a little ridiculous," A hint of a laugh, "And I can't sleep, and I was standing up there, and I realized I didn't say goodbye. I don’t know why I didn’t just…say anything, or why I still haven’t--"

Catherine's body slides up behind her, warmth settling so easy and familiar against her back and Kara feels a world of tension she hadn't even realized she was holding since she woke up from a nightmare she hasn't entirely been able to shake flood from parting lips. She hadn’t even heard Catherine move—how tired must she truly be? How out of it?—and eyes close as a dusty, aching swallow bobs her throat. Her jaw barely quivers and her forehead rests against the cool pane of a half-opened window, heart pounding against the fabric of a regular shirt, no sigil resting over a quivering drum, and Catherine's lips brush over her jaw. And Catherine’s arms snake around her waist. And Catherine’s fingers are so warm against her hips that Kara thinks--for a breath--that she might have never been cold, at all.

"Are…we okay?" Kara's voice sounds like a plane that's lost its engine, rumbling and quaking and unsteady and doesn't know why she asks because she's not even sure she wants to know. But she feels Catherine's smile quiver at the edges of her jaw and leans further back into her arms, a slow nod the answer settling between them. But Cat doesn't leave much up for imagination, a firm believer in absolutes, Kara knows:

"Of course we're okay, Kara." It’s murmured, however strong, in a swallow so close to her ear that, even exhausted, Kara hears it, and she's certain that those thin arms--pilates sculpted, Cat is very proud of this fact--are the strongest in the world, in this moment, holding up a girl that doesn't feel much like a hero underneath the moonlight. "Kara," Lips brush over a cheek--a jaw--an ear--and she's close enough that she can hear the trepidation in it, the rare, consuming quake of Cat's voice. And this—this—oh, Rao, she loves this, too. "We're okay."

Kara squeezes her arms and allows herself another moment to breathe--to rest against Catherine and that faint smell of ink and perfume and M&M's on her breath, mixing with wine and whiskey and sleep--before she untangles herself, because otherwise she won't know how to leave, at all. "We're doing the right thing." Kara reminds them both, but her heart doesn't sound quite in it.

"We are. And as much as I hate you for it…" That smile fades, but the lips remain, “You did the right thing yesterday, too.”

And Catherine's done many things for her in the past few seconds, alone, but asking Kara Danvers to stay isn't one of them, so in a breath, Kara appears in front of her, instead, across a threshold of glass and open air, floating for only a moment in front of her window, hair tugged back and clothes barely rustled by the wind.

"Goodnight, Catherine." The smile doesn't quite meet her eyes and, at least, neither does Catherine's as she raises up a singular hand in gesture, one of the bracelets—the one that was almost crushed—left in her palm, catching the moonlight in its bends and twists.

"Goodnight.” A shaking breath that Kara can hear, now, no matter how straight Catherine’s shoulders spread, the smile a little more genuine as she murmurs, “Mon oisillon."

Kara disappears for the second time to the faintest sound of a window shutting tight.

Her home is empty and large and Kara tries sleeping for all of an hour, body beyond exhausted as she tosses in the sheets—the sound of siren in the back of her mind and that picture of Kal-El holding her, the look of pure fear in her eyes when she fell—when there’s a pointed knock at the door.

A slow smile spreads across her features the moment she stands and spots slumped shoulders through the familiar wood, tugging it open to a second pillow being thrown into her face, barely catching it as a tall mass of grumbles shoves her way past a willingly-bending form into the apartment, plopping down on the couch with a sigh.

“Shut up, I’m still mad at you,” Alex yells over her shoulder as she pops in a movie, Kara sleepily following after her, catching the DVD case her sister throws her way. “But I can’t sleep either. So…”

The screen flickers and blue owlishly blink down at the cover.

“Funny Face?” Kara practically beams, hopping after her sister, the beam only spreading when she sees the open container and groans, excitement exponentially growing, “And a whole tub of ice cream for myself, no way—”

“Ahhh—” Alex’s hand snaps up to cover her entire face, getting a bite in. “Half! Half, Kara, hal—”

“You’re the best,” Kara snatches it up and laughs when Alex tries to wrestle it away from her.

“God, I’m getting you a Kryptonite spoon.” Alex yells, crawling on top of her, boot settled on Kara’s chest as the Kryptonian just plucks her sister away, popping in another mouthful before handing the tub over to a very sour-looking agent.

“Too bad all of it’s probably in space, now.”

“So not buying you any more bagels.”

Halfway through the night, Alex slumps down onto her in a very dignified grunt (that Kara somehow resists the urge taping), fingers brushing through her sister’s hair, and she feels warm, and safe…

And looks back up to a picture of a smiling, nervous Audrey Hepburn with a falling smile of her own. She brushes lips over her sister’s temple when the older of the two (Earth-wise, anyways) lets out a sleepy grunt when Kara shifts to shut off the end of the movie, seizing the opportunity to turn on Xanadu (she can get away with it with Alex asleep, at least), instead. Fingers run along the faint line of an un-bent bracelet while she settles in with a melting tub of ice cream for another long, hero-less night.

But it’s not so bad, really.

Alex snores and Kara settles further into the couch, one arm wrapped around a tub and the other protectively wrapped around her sister, eyes lingering on the window for a long moment before turning back towards the television.

She has no clue what time it is, anymore--no clue how long it's been since she slept—no clue how long it will be until Cat brushes past Eve on her way to a desk at exactly 7:05 AM—

Goodnights are feeling just as important as goodmornings.

"Goodnight, Alex." She murmurs into dark hair, feeling a little better for it, a much louder, much less flattering snore her sister's response. (That one, if her phone wasn't across the room, Kara would tape in a heartbeat). Half an hour later, she offers: "Hey, maybe I should just go into the muse business? Rollerblade around." A near-empty bucket of ice cream gestures towards the screen. "Have a nice Don Bluth animated sequence of me inspiring someone as a fish from kind of out of nowhere? Or just an animated Supergirl short. That'd be pretty cool."

"Whatever." Alex grunts and shifts into her, grumbling, because no amount of sleep can stem off a good tease, an agent just as ready as a sister: "Can't pull off...Olivia's hair." That's about the last bit of consciousness before she falls asleep again and Kara sighs, pursing lips towards the screen.

"Kicks to my ego just keep on coming." A beat, quietly agreeing as the lights flicker across her face, exhausted body not sleeping but...resting. Resting, here, safe and sound with her sleeping sister, watching Olivia Newton John twirl around like she was made for it. No matter how many times Alex insists this is the worst movie on Earth, she loves it, anyways. Inevitably coming to a far more important conclusion than her job or her love life or the fate of Earth: "Yeah, okay, definitely couldn't pull off the hair."

Alex grunts in acknowledgment.

“I bet I could pull off the 50’s curls look, though? Maybe. I don’t know.”

Another grunt, followed by a very sleepy:

“Shut up.” And an even sleepier, softer--“Love you.”

Before Alex Danvers once more snores into a shoulder.

Kara just smiles.

"Ukiem khap Je."

Not so bad, at all.

**Kryptonian Translations**; Source

*ukiem: Familial love. Noun P: [u.kjem]; K: ukÉm *khap: I. (Me) Feminine form of "I". Pronoun P: [çæp] K: hA}p

*je: Sister. Noun P: [je] ; K: IE **Essentially, this phrase means that...well, Kara loves her sister, too. Always, yo. Always. **

"ukÉm hA}p IE"

#supercat #supergirl #kara danvers/cat grant #ff #fic: sc #fic: 72 rules #fic: 72 rules ch 9 #sc

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