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shroomcult · 4 years ago

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@soulxmakaweek

Day 4: Apologize

I fell way behind with Soma week because I got slammed with work and this monster of a fic took me too long to write.

Summary:

Maka comes to realize that Soul had never felt fully comfortable around Crona, and in ignoring this entirely - she unknowingly hurt her closest friend.

Special thanks to Tori @chichirichick (she betas all of my dumpster fires, bless her) for proofreading this mess of emotions and also to Zi @azroazizah for coming up with the concept for this fic.

**Disclaimer** This story is not about putting blame on Crona, but instead about acknowledging the fact that Soul went through trauma due to their actions and it was never taken into consideration by Maka before inviting them into their friend group. I'm not saying Crona didn't deserve support, but it's also completely valid for Soul - a victim of Crona - to not feel entirely safe around them regardless of their tragic background and circumstances. If Crona is a big comfort character for you and you feel you would likely be upset by this concept, then I recommend not reading it altogether. We all interpret things different and we're all entitled to our own opinions, and I'm not going to get in arguments with people over this.

It’d been a while since the Spartoi team was all together again.

After the fall of Asura, they really had no purpose to join forces as a team. No big baddie to unite them in ass-kickery.

The skies were blue again. There were still Kishin eggs to take down, and a shaky new diplomatic relationship with the witches to maintain as well.

Things were more or less … normal. Boring, even.

The only big difference Blackstar could discern was that nobody seemed to have time to just hang out and be friends anymore.

Kid was over his head with his new responsibilities, and while he was doing an admirable job filling his father’s shoes; there was a steep learning curve and his perfectionist tendencies only made it more challenging to overcome. He upheld a calm and collected demeanor in the public’s eyes, but Liz and Patty spent most of their time holding him together behind the scenes.

Soul and Maka were a different situation entirely.

It was odd enough to adjust to the recent change in the nature of their relationship. They claimed to be the same as they’ve always been - just Soul & Maka. Only, they grew much closer after the hardships they had endured both in the book of Eibon and on the moon.

They had been close to begin with, but this was a different kind of close. Stolen glances, hands reaching for each other when they thought nobody was looking. Blushing for almost no damn reason.

Something was going on between them - he could be sure of that.

More recently, however, Maka had been particularly obsessive about solving the dilemma of Crona’s entrapment on the moon. She was driving herself to a slow-burning insanity, considering every moment that she hadn’t rescued them yet to be a personal failure.

She’d been spending much of her time in the restricted section of the library, consuming every piece of relevant research for hours on end. Soul often stayed up there with her doing the same, or at the very least keeping her silent company when he was too burnt out to read anymore.

He’d also spent much of his extra time with Stein, training to perfect his sound-wave abilities into his own form of wavelength attack.

He’d been giving his all ever since making deathscythe status to hone his strength and better serve Maka. He’d even been able to hold his own for a surprising amount of time in the sparring ring against Blackstar, and that was a feat in and of itself.

All of the focus on Crona’s rescue had appeared to be wearing on him, though.

Soul may have accepted Crona into his friend group for Maka’s sake, even empathized with them - but he had never fully trusted the demon sword meister. Although Soul was outwardly friendly towards them, Blackstar noticed the way his friend had watched them like a hawk before they turned back to Medusa. He was always ready for a scenario like that because he had never felt entirely safe around them to begin with.

Not that Maka had bothered to even take Soul’s feelings into consideration before forgiving Crona on his behalf.

She couldn’t have possibly been that dense. She had to have been actively ignoring the signs of Soul’s discomfort because she couldn’t handle acknowledging them.

And now she was doing the same thing all over again even with Crona as far away as the moon. It was obvious that Soul was doing what he always did - shoving his own feelings aside in favor of Maka’s. The loyal mutt of a boy valued her wellbeing far above his own, that was for certain.

He just seemed so exhausted of it all now. Searching tirelessly with Maka for a solution that may not even exist took up much of his time and energy.

He never had the time to shoot hoops or play video games like he used to, and Blackstar was far above begging for his attention. He stopped even bothering to ask him.

Just for one night though, by some divine luck - everybody was willing to clear their schedule to have a late night dinner at the most beloved and heart-attack inducing burger joint in town.

Every member of Spartoi was crammed into the largest booth in the restaurant and their chatter was loud enough to fill the whole section.

There were multiple conversations happening at a time, but Blackstar was zeroing in on Soul who had his chin resting on his palm and that stupid, dopey look he got on his face when he was proud of Maka. Yuck. Keep it in your pants, loverboy.

Maka was next to Soul, his arm stretched out behind her on the booth, while Ox engaged her in a fiery debate over god knows what across the table from her. Judging by the redness in baldy’s face - Maka was on the winning side. He really couldn’t understand Soul’s hard-on for a bossy know-it-all personality, but whatever floats his boat he supposed.

He decided he’d seen enough of that look on his best friend’s face and crumpled up a straw wrapper, dipping it in his soda and sticking it at the end of his straw.

He blew on the other end, sending the sticky wad of paper flying across the table. The projectile hit its target directly on the cheek.

“Fuck’s sake dude, how old are you?” he grumbled, reaching over the table to grab a handful of napkins to clean his face off with.

Maka snatched some of his napkins for herself, rubbing it vigorously into the flecks of cola that stained her uniform. “You got my shirt all wet, idiot.”

Blackstar simply threw his head back to cackle obnoxiously. “I just thought I should break up your lame little debate team fight before Ox over here pops a blood vessel. You know he can’t handle losing well.”

“I wasn’t losing!” Ox hissed under his breath.

Maka only met her opponent’s glare with a shit-eating grin.

“Hey, Maka! What had you stopped to talk with Professor Stein about earlier today?” Tsubaki cut in, obviously attempting to diffuse another argument between the two competitive brainiacs.

Maka’s expression relaxed into something a little more neutral, seemingly caught off guard by the question. Debate-mode successfully disarmed.

“Oh. Well… I just had some questions about my black blood research for him.”

Blackstar didn’t miss the way Soul tensed up beside her at the mention of black blood. His face was void of any distinct emotion, but something was off in his body language. The way his shoulders squared as if he were instinctively bristling.

Anyone with a shred of social awareness could have deduced that black blood, Medusa, and Crona were not Soul’s favorite topics. It wasn’t unusual for him to shut down and discontinue any contributions to a conversation when any of these things were brought up.

Unfortunately for Soul, all of those subjects were constantly on Maka’s mind since she began her obsessive pursuit for a solution to Crona’s ordeal.

“Oh? And what did he have to say?” Tsubaki pressed, completely oblivious to the tense situation she was potentially triggering.

“As you’re already aware, there’s not really any official research on the black blood that exists. We’ve been digging through countless books - gathering as much information about madness and Kishins as we can, but it can only get us so far. It would be so much more useful if we could get our hands on a physical sample of the substance itself.”

Soul’s eyes widened in concern, but only for a second before he slipped his usual poker face back on. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously despite the veneer of calm he displayed.

“Anyways,” she continued, turning to look at Soul, “I was going to talk to you about this later, but maybe some of the black blood still remains in your system? I know we believed it was all gone, but surely there’s some residual amount of it lingering behind? Something we could maybe isolate, extract and create a concentrate of? Stein said it was unlikely, but technically possible. We have to try for Crona, right, Soul?”

He was no longer wearing his mask of apathy. Unmistakeable, visible discomfort was etched into his facial features and he was clenching his hands, knuckles whitening from the pressure. Everyone at the table was hushed and the tension was palpable.

“He doesn’t have to try anything,” Kid’s voice cut sharply through the silence, golden eyes flashing sternly at her.

A soft gasp escaped her and her eyebrows shot up, clearly taken-aback by the sudden burst of hostility from her boss and close friend. Her eyes darkened seconds later, determination setting in.

“I think that’s his decision to make, and I’d like to hear what he has to say,” she turned her attention back to Soul, hope still shining in her eyes.

He fidgeted with his necktie, loosening it and clearing his throat. “Yeah, s’fine. Whatever you need, I guess.”

Maka’s face lit up into a bright smile that turned Blackstar’s stomach and she pulled Soul into a brief hug. “I knew we could count on you, Soul! You’re the best partner ever.”

“Whatever, it’s no problem. Just try not to drain me of all my blood, alright?” he chuckled weakly, avoiding her eyes in favor of staring a hole in the middle of the table.

She gave an easygoing laugh in response, and went back to conversing with Tsubaki as if she hadn’t just pressured her partner into volunteering himself as a guinea pig for the sake of someone who had literally sliced him open from shoulder to hip and infected him with black blood to begin with.

Is she fucking serious?

Blackstar was practically vibrating with fury from the interaction he’d just watched, and Tsubaki’s normally soothing hand on his shoulder did little to calm him down. When he glanced at Kid, he instantly knew the death god had shared his frustration with Maka’s obliviousness.

It wasn’t long before Soul abruptly stood from his place at the end of the booth, pulling a twenty out of his wallet and placing it on the table in front of him.

“Soul? What are you doing? The food hasn’t even gotten here yet,” Maka blinked at him in confusion.

“I’m not feelin’ too great - gonna head out, sorry guys. Could you just bring my food back in a to-go box?” he said with an apologetic quirk of his lips. He squeezed her shoulder gently before turning on his heels and making his way out of the diner in long strides.

Why does she look so shocked? Does she really not understand that she’s been hurting him?

After that, the night passed by in a haze for Blackstar. He hardly spoke for the rest of the meal due to the fact that he was using all of his mental capacity to keep his impulse to stand up and loudly call his friend out in front of everybody in check.

The only thing truly stopping him was the knowledge that Soul would likely be embarrassed and more than a little pissed off if he’d made a big scene over something that he wasn’t even willing to talk about.

So he waited - held his tongue until he could lash out in private.

As everyone was saying their goodbyes, Blackstar watched her rise from her seat gathering her to-go boxes carefully and giving him a nod of acknowledgement before she headed out.

His eyes bore into the back of her head as she left, and Tsubaki’s hand clamped gently on him for the second time that night. Her eyes were crinkled with a gentle concern.

“I think you should leave this between them. If Soul wanted all of this out in the open, he would have had that conversation with her himself.”

A heavy sigh settled in his chest, “You know how he is. He’s the suffer in silence type and he always does her bidding. If nobody says anything, then nothing’ll change. I just want to talk to her - not like I’m gonna beat her ass or anything … unless she gives me a reason to.”

“Blackstar,” she chided, fully aware that he would make good on that threat.

“I know, I know. I won’t be long, see ya at home,” he said, throwing up placating hands before stuffing them in his pockets and striding in the direction Maka had gone.

_______________________________________________

Maka set her walk home at a leisurely pace, dragging her feet slightly as she watched the sunset bleed into the sky above.

It wasn’t that she was trying to prolong seeing Soul, or that she wasn’t worried about the way he’d acted back in the diner - like something was eating at him.

She was pretty positive that he wasn’t physically ill, which only left the option of it being an emotional issue.

And getting Soul to talk about emotional issues was like trying to pull teeth from a temperamental bear.

She had to figure out a way to go about this delicately, and she had to figure it out soon because their apartment block was fast approaching.

She stopped in her tracks when she felt the presence of a familiar soul behind her. His steps had been so quiet, she wouldn’t have even been aware he was stalking her from behind if it weren’t for her exceptional soul perception abilities.

“I know you’re following me, Blackstar.”

In moments, he was stepping out in front of her. “Wasn’t trying to hide. I need to talk to you,” his voice was uncharacteristically stern.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew Blackstar had some kind of problem with her since dinner. He was deathly quiet and glowering at her for most of the night; very unusual behavior from someone who never shuts up or hesitates to start a fight.

“Okay, I’m listening,” she said, already preparing to defend herself against whatever absurd argument he wanted to pull her into.

“The whole situation with Crona - have you ever once thought about how Soul feels about it?”

Whatever she had been expecting to come out of his mouth - that wasn’t it.

“What? I mean, I know how Soul feels. He wants Crona to be safe, just like I do. What are you trying to get at?”

“I’m not talking about what he thinks about Crona being stuck in the deathdamned moon, Maka! I mean have you ever thought about how he felt when you forced Crona into his life to begin with? After being sliced open?”

Maka’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline and her mouth opened and closed a few times, baffled by the question.

“Soul understands why I welcomed Crona as a friend. He trusts me,” she answered, hoping her voice conveyed the confidence that she couldn’t find in this moment.

This entire conversation was throwing her off.

“Yeah, okay. He accepted your decision because he trusts you, or loves you or whatever the fuck. We all know that - but that doesn’t mean he was comfortable with it. It doesn’t mean he felt safe. He just stuffed his own feelings down, because he knew it made it easier for you.”

Her throat tightened as her own conflicting emotions overcame her. He had no idea what he was talking about. Soul was fine. He’s always been fine.

“Did he say that to you? That he didn’t feel safe?” she choked out.

“Soul? You think he tells people things? About his feelings?” he snorted. “No, he doesn’t have to tell me shit. It’s clear on his face every time you mention Crona, or Medusa, or that fucking blood.”

“Maybe you’re just making assumptions about how he feels!” she shouted back, gripping handfuls of the front of his shirt.

He leaned in, completely unfazed by the rage burning in her eyes. “You ever noticed how when Crona was around, he was always watching them out of the corner of his eye - twitching every time they made some sudden move. You ever noticed how quiet and withdrawn he’d get around them? Or any time they were brought up? You didn’t - because you didn’t want to.”

“Shut up! Y-you’re making something out of nothing. Are you trying to tell me that I should just give up and forget about Crona? That they don’t deserve to have a friend?”

Some of his aggression was fizzling out as he released a heavy sigh, placing his hands calmly over hers, still clenching in his shirt. “I’m not trying to say that you shouldn’t have helped Crona, or that you shouldn’t keep trying to help them now. I’m only telling you that even if Soul has forgiven and moved on - he’s still a victim of Crona’s actions. He suffered trauma from that, even if he’s too fucking stubborn to admit it. Just acknowledge that maybe he needs a break from thinking about them - all of that shit that happened - every now and then. Get your head out of Crona’s ass long enough to check if he’s okay too.”

She stumbled over wordless sounds as her hands went limp and released their vice-grip on his clothing. She was trying desperately to think of a way to refute the awful things he was saying, but Blackstar wouldn’t give her the chance.

“If you gave him even half the thought you gave to Crona - maybe you would have noticed it like everybody else has. I just want you to think about it for a bit, that’s all,” his voice softened towards the end, shoulders sagging slightly as he turned away, leaving her to deal with the aftermath of his confrontation.

The heat of tears prickled behind her eyelids and she clenched her fists tightly to her sides.

She wanted so badly to swing around and scream at Blackstar’s retreating figure that he was wrong, that he had no idea what he was talking about and of course she thinks about her weapon.

But the longer she allowed his harsh words to sink in; the more she could feel the sting of truth settling into her heart.

Had she really been so blind?

_______________________________________________

Soul had been laying on his back in bed, hands resting on his stomach and eyes pointed at the ceiling, unmoving for some time. He wasn’t entirely sure how many hours, but he knew his playlist had ended long ago - no music played from the earbuds that were still jammed in his ears.

He couldn’t explain the heaviness in his heart. The anxiety that often set in whenever Maka mentioned Crona or the black blood. It was all water under the bridge, wasn’t it? There was no point in allowing himself to wallow in all the negative emotions that punched him in the gut at the mention of their name. It was selfish to feel those things - it was his job to give Maka his full support. His own feelings were irrelevant.

It was just harder on this particular night. Sure, she droned on about those sore subjects often. Their research revolved around it anyways. He’d just hoped that it could have been different just for one night.

He’d secretly been ecstatic when Maka begrudgingly agreed to shelve her research just long enough to get a late dinner with all of their friends. A break had been long overdue.

Things had been different between them, after all. They’d been sharing a bed, and they’d even shared a few kisses in the small, rare moments that they’d spent alone together - focused only on each other. They were chaste kisses, but he’d greedily take whatever he could get.

As she became more frantic about her lack of results in helping Crona, he may as well have not even existed to her.

He’d just needed that one dinner to pretend things were normal, to pretend as though he was on a date with her and she was willing to spend time with him and think about literally anything aside from her latest fixations. Instead, she’d asked him to play part in some unsound experiment - to prod for things that he hadn’t wanted to find again. It had only been made more uncomfortable by the scrutinizing presence of all of their friends.

He’d felt used.

Soul perked up at the familiar sound of the front door creaking open and slamming shut. He was immediately ashamed of the pavlovian response he had to the sound of his meister returning - the little flip in his heart that made him feel like a stupid dog wagging its tail at the sound of its master.

Just keep to yourself. She doesn’t need to interact with you in this useless state of self pity. You don’t deserve her comfort.

Self-loathing curled in his gut and he kept his eyes stubbornly trained on a water stain in the ceiling.

Suddenly, light flooded into his dark room as his door was hesitantly opened. He reflexively brought himself to sit up on his elbows only to meet a teary-eyed Maka.

All self-indulgent angsty thoughts instantly evaporated from his head, and he was ripping his earbuds out and swinging his legs over the side of the bed to get up.

She made purposeful steps across his room, throwing her arms around his neck and forcing him back onto the bed with the motion.

“I’m so sorry, Soul,” she warbled mournfully into his sweater.

“Huh? Sorry ��bout what? What’s going on, Maka?” he tried to nudge her into looking up at him, but she adamantly refused.

She took a few shallow breaths before rubbing her wet cheek against the quickly-dampening fabric and looking up at him with dewy eyes.

“I haven’t been a good friend to you - have I?

Was that a trick question?

“I-I don’t get what we’re talkin’ about here,” he stuttered uselessly, attempting to compensate for his lack of eloquence by brushing his fingers comfortingly through her soft hair.

“I never asked if you felt okay with Crona being around you. I never asked you if you forgave them at all - I just brought them into your space, your home. I just wanted them to have a chance at a normal life so badly - I ignored your pain, and I’m so sorry,” she rushed her confession out like it had been a breath she was holding in.

He had to fight the urge to bark out a laugh. It wasn’t that he found anything that she said humorous - it was just so strange that she was addressing this out of the blue. She’d seemed completely unaware as usual back at the diner, where had this even come from?

He was so lost in thought, he’d almost forgotten to respond and instantly regretted the prolonged silence he’d left her in. “Maka, it’s fine,” he insisted, “I get why you forgave Crona. I admire you for it.”

“But that doesn’t mean you were okay. I should have at least checked on you, or asked you about how you felt - or literally anything,’ she mumbled numbly from his chest.

“Hey. Look at me,” he said, lifting her cheek from its resting place against his sweater, “Sure, I didn’t feel the most comfortable around Crona. I think it was pretty awkward for both of us to be near each other. That doesn’t mean I dislike them, or didn’t want you to be their friend. You can’t beat yourself up over something I hadn’t bothered to tell you.”

His words hadn’t brought the comfort that he’d hoped they would, and her brows remained stubbornly crinkled. “If it had been me - if I was the one who’d been cut by that sword, would you still say that you don’t dislike them? That you’re okay with us being friends?”

It was a question that he instantly knew the answer to, but he was reluctant to say it out loud. He finally caved, bringing his eyes back to hers, “No. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive them if it was you.”

She closed her eyes tightly, nodding her head in grim acceptance of that truth. She had likely known that would be his answer already, but hearing it must have been difficult.

“But I love that about you. You have so much compassion. I only care for the few people that I’ve decided I love - I don’t have room in my heart for others like you do. I’d like to be more like you,” he whispered reverently, taking her cheeks in both of his hands and briskly wiping away all of the moisture he could reach with his thumbs.

“I should’ve had more compassion for you,” she lamented softly under her breath, eyes downcast.

“You’re not a fuckin’ mind reader, Maks. It was my choice not to bring anything up.”

She nodded slowly, but the way her grip tightened on him only confirmed his suspicion that she wasn’t going to forgive herself for it.

Minutes passed before a word was spoken, but Soul eventually cleared his throat. “You know, I don’t expect you to ever stop being friends with Crona, or to give up on rescuing them. I don’t want that. I don’t mind helping you like you’d asked earlier tonight, too. If that’s what you need from me, then I’m here.”

She brought herself to her elbows on top of him to get a better view of his face.

“I know. I’m not going to give up on them. But It matters to me that you’re happy too, and if that means you need a break from all that, then I want you to know that it’s okay to ask for that.”

“Right, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said in a hushed tone, distracting himself with a piece of her hair twirled between his fingers.

“And I don’t want to use your blood for research. It was wrong of me to even think of asking you that. We’ll find another way,” she assured him, voice tightening with emotion, “I definitely got carried away with all of this. It wasn’t healthy, and I really am sorry I’ve pushed you away in the process. We can’t solve this thing if we don’t have time to properly take care of ourselves. You’ve been working so hard with me, and I think we need more actual quality time together.”

“Yeah, I could get on board with that. I kinda walked out on dinner tonight, so how about we do something - just you and me tomorrow? Movies sound good?”

“Movies sounds great,” she hummed in agreement, hands idly playing with his hair.

As much as he would have preferred for her to continue her ministrations, he stopped her movements to grasp her hand, bringing it to his chest to rest above where she knew his scar was. He pressed down on her hand lightly.

“I’m glad it happened. I’m glad they gutted me, ‘cause I hadn’t understood what you meant to me till that moment,” he muttered, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head.

She only exhaled shakily, hand tightening against the evidence of his devotion.

“I just hate that it took a lecture from Blackstar of all people for me to realize that I’d been hurting you.”

His eyes widened a little at that new piece of information. Blackstar was the one that brought all of this on her mind? He could’ve sworn it would have been Kid if anyone. He couldn’t help but feel a little touched that Blackstar had been so concerned about him, but he was also somewhat irritated that his friend had distressed Maka as much as he had.

“Blackstar, huh? Remind me to have a conversation with him about mindin’ his own business,” he laughed half-heartedly.

“No, don’t. I’m glad that he said what he did - I needed to hear it,” she urged him.

“Doesn’t matter. He didn’t have to make my girlfriend cry from guilt over bein’ friends with someone,” he muttered, but his face immediately burned a bright red as soon as he’d caught what he’d called her.

She was a similar shade, holding her breath as well as his gaze with a tortuously difficult to decipher expression on her face.

“That is, uh- I mean… fuck.”

Very articulate. Great job, Soul.

He hadn’t needed to agonize over whether or not he’d just fucked everything between them for long because her face soon melted into a warm, genuine smile.

“Girlfriend, huh?” she said with a glimmer of mischief in her eye.

“I’d like that. If that’s w-what you want,” he wanted to kick himself for the voice crack he just experienced. Not cool in the slightest.

At least she got a good giggle out of it. The melodic sound squeezed something in his chest and he swallowed nervously as a response.

She brushed back his bangs, leaning in to place a soft kiss to his forehead. She peppered a trail of kisses down his cheek until she reached his lips.

This kiss was far from chaste. She cradled his cheek and jaw as she slanted her mouth sweetly over his, pressing fervently, constantly moving against him and eliciting a breathy moan from him that he would never admit to making.

When she tried to separate, he followed her, bumping noses for a moment and giving the corner of her mouth a few more enthusiastic pecks before backing up and allowing her room to look at his face.

“Girlfriend sounds nice, actually,” she smiled broadly, letting her fingers brush against the back of his neck.

“Glad that’s settled, then,” he laughed easily, not even bothering to feel any embarrassment over the flush of his skin or the lightness of his breath.

He crushed her to his chest, and they stayed like that for a while, just listening to the other’s loudly beating hearts until they were lulled to sleep.

He’d have to thank Blackstar with a game of basketball later.

#SoMaWeek2021 #SoulxMakaweek #soul eater #soul evans #soul eater evans #maka albarn #soul x maka

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clansayeed · 4 years ago

Text

Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ― Chapter 7: The Hierophant

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ⥽

They fled New York with one purpose. Find, hunt down, and return with a way to kill a vampire god. They abandoned their loved ones and survived the City of Shadows; had their trust broken and darkest secrets brought to light. All that... and Gaius still won anyway. But now that they have nothing to lose, Nadya and her friends are finally ready to do whatever it takes to see the King of Vampires overthrown.

They just have to avoid a vampire population eager to gain favor with their new monarch, the ruthless Order of the Dawn, and whatever plans Gaius has that involve Nadya captured and brought to him alive. So... easy-peasy, right? The worlds of both dark and light hang in the balance. The time has come for the Bloodkeeper to embrace her destiny. So if anyone wants to clue her in on whatever that means, now would be great!

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing reimagining project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02, @hellyeah90sbaby, @tayab12, @saratustra4, @imnotdonewiththeelementalists, @thepotatobleh

*join the Tag List here!

⥼ Summary ⥽

In Prague, Nadya and the others seek the audience of the most famous name in histories both mortal and vampire. It's probably for the best that she doesn't get her hopes up.

content warnings: language

[READ IT ON AO3]

Prague is cramped roads and buildings of all sizes and heights all mostly the same four or five different earthy, rusty tones. Cobblestone streets and narrow alleys she can’t help but look at even in passing and think, with the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention, there goes another hiding place for something wicked and foul.

That isn’t to say Prague isn’t beautiful. Because it is. One of Nadya’s favorite things about living abroad in college (and only in the very smallest back of her mind in Paris and the other cities they’ve hopped to and from here while on the run for their lives and the very fate of the human race) was all the old architecture she got to walk past every day like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Prague is full of opportunities like that.

In her most Nadya-esque fashion, she chooses to focus on that instead of what may or may not lurk in the shadows. She chooses to look at the beauty and history around her because you don’t see stuff like this every day.

That, and because she knows it doesn’t matter what hiding place she might spot — doesn’t matter whether that alleyway or this abandoned road is empty or not. There are things out to get them — out to stop them — regardless of whether or not she’s lucky enough to catch a glimpse.

That’s just their new reality.

Prague is chillier; a fact not made any better by the fact none of the bodies she can cling to in the cold have an ounce of warmth for her to leech. Prague is also kinda rainy; and more often than not when she has the chance to push back the curtains of their modest hotel room the sky is the same shade of grey it was the day before. That’s totally fine — just add some snow and it’s almost like home.

Prague is also the long-time home of Vlad Tepes, the vampire more popularly known around the world as Dracula.

Don’t forget that bit.

Lily certainly hasn’t.

“C’mon,” she’s brought this up half a dozen times now and it always ends the same way but when has that ever stopped her before, “he can’t really be that bad.” Because she’s convinced herself that Kamilah, Serafine, and Adrian are all being a touch too dramatic when it comes to their biased opinions on the most (in)famous vampire in history.

And part of Nadya is inclined to agree… but it wouldn’t be fair not to take into account how literally none of the aforementioned vampires are prone to excessive hyperbole. So maybe he can really be, well, that bad.

Kamilah simply sighs and continues sipping her wine in idle silence. She stopped entering the discussion early on; probably of the mindset that Lily will see exactly what they all mean when the time comes. Whatever that means.

At this point the only one who will actively engage with her is Adrian. Which says a lot — that’s really out of character for him. “I thought much the same before I met him in person, but the truth is much stranger than the fiction when it comes to Vlad.” He’s said something to this effect every single time, too.

And don’t think Nadya hasn’t noticed how he usually ends up shifting where he sits and-slash-or stands. Or how Serafine is usually there to offer him an affectionate touch in some form or another. There’s a story there, she’s certain of it. But she trusts him to bring it up if or when it becomes relevant to their current dilemma — and if it isn’t then she looks forward to teasing him when the world is safe and Gaius is dust in the wind.

Because it’s important to note that truth and fiction are as different as oil and water when it comes to the man, the myth, the legend. Who apparently did his fair share of noteworthy conquests in his human years and even his first couple of decades as a vampire; but somewhere down the line wound up going from famed ‘impaler’ to something that — based on Serafine’s general description anyway — is shaping in Nadya’s mind’s eye to look something like a cross between Vegas-sensation Mario Bautista and KISS without the face paint.

“There’s something to be said for the measure of success Vlad has been able to attain while living in the heart of the Order’s battleground,” says Serafine almost absently, “but any praise for him should live and die there — even that I find myself questioning from time to time.

“He has been widely reviled from the moment he brought that ridiculous novel to light. Not only for placing us in the public eye but for doing so with such utter… disregard for our truths.”

Jax raises an eyebrow. “You’d think spreading a bunch of lies that humans end up believing wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” But everything on Serafine’s face disagrees.

“One might think, perhaps. But if anyone was less suited to such an ill-fitting ego…”

“So he’s got a big head,” Lily shrugs, “what’s the big deal?”

The Big Deal is, apparently, how Vlad Tepes has gone from boasting ass to full-on diva in the centuries that followed. Something Serafine seems to take more than a little personally. “And one could suffer his endless tales when they revolved around little more than himself. When he shifted his focus to the Church of the First things became… complicated.”

Needless to say the entire premise of ‘Vlad Tepes—the Dracula—considers himself to be a prophet for the First Vampire in all but official theophany, and serves as Europe’s go-to for all things related to the devotion of Rheya Herself’ is something Nadya has been struggling to wrap her head around for… this whole time.

Maybe seeing it all with her own eyes will do something about that, she thinks, if only so Lily will finally stop trying to poke and prod for answers their friends don’t seem eager to provide.

Unlikely, but, you know.

“How a person takes in faith is unique to them, and a deeply personal experience. Regardless of their…” Serafine purses her lips for the right words. Or at least ones that are a little more in English and a little less like curses. “… unchecked vanity.

“While I cannot speak with certainty as to whether or not Vlad was a true believer in the ideals of the Goddess, whatever he did feel was enough to earn him a place at Gaius’ side during the pivotal years he spent spreading Her belief.

“What he lacks in all else he makes up for in his ability to sensationalize anything that comes tumbling out of that vacant head of his.”

Which explains the whole ‘singing Gaius’ praises’ thing; the largest source of disagreement when it finally came down to whether or not they were willing to risk it all for what Vlad might know.

And while it was unanimous that they would have preferred to wait and see what more concrete information they could dig up, time isn’t on their side. “Still an awful lot to risk on a mere hunch,” comments Cadence — whose natural affinity for research has made spontaneously vanishing away to Prague more than a little stressful for him.

“I just can’t understand how anyone would even consider believing his claims to have seen the Eternal Tree for himself when there’s literal published proof he’s a pathological liar.”

But this is something they’ve been over, too. Not that Nadya doesn’t totally understand venting the same frustrations in the wake of inaction. But it’s not faith in Vlad Tepes that she has.

Her faith lies in Kamilah. That is more than enough.

“Time and time again I witnessed retribution served by Gaius unto those who claimed to have been touched by the First in some divine form or another. He would not suffer anyone speaking falsely of Her — for good or for ill. Vlad’s claim to have seen the Tree with his own eyes wasn’t exactly kept quiet, yet he remained untouched and, unfortunately, very much alive.”

Which pretty much confirms it’s the one impossible thing he’s actually telling the truth about. This is a good thing!

“And you’re sure you are up to the task, petit?”

Nadya knows Serafine only asks because this is something they can’t do without her. Serafine could try to suss out the truth from him on her own but it would only waste more time.

For once though, Nadya feels… not-as-uncertain as she usually does about these things. She wouldn’t be so bold as to call it confidence, but how hard can one ordinary (fame aside) vampire be after she literally pulled Gaius’ oldest memory out of thin air?

“I am.”

“And if your way doesn’t work, we can always go my route.”

And perhaps the most disconcerting thing of all is how those who would normally oppose Jax’s methods of sword-related threats and violence remain pointedly and purposefully silent. Not that anyone is particularly inclined to draw attention to it.

Just like they don’t draw attention to the way Kamilah tactfully uses the rim of her wine glass to conceal the barest twitch of her lips.

Though none of them are surprised at his offer however, Serafine seems to have outright expected it. She throws him a coy smile across the table; a devious glint in her eye.

“Actually Jax, I’m glad to hear you are up to the task. As what I have in mind will not be possible without your help.”

Sometimes the best plans are the ones that take the most direct route to get to where you’re going. And there’s really nothing more direct than what Serafine has in mind.

The estate is a little under an hour away from Prague itself; swathed in lush and vibrant countryside — or that’s what Nadya imagines. It’s kind of hard for her to see out of the tinted limousine windows as they venture on their lonely road after dark.

Not that the place itself is hard to see. Like a beacon in the night the Tepes manor and surrounding land is lit up in the night. Even with the moon hidden behind roiling clouds the moment their car pulls in and begins ambling up the long gravel pathway they are met with what’s practically a battalion of lamp-posts to show them the way.

All she can think about is how long it must take someone to travel the grounds and light up every single one.

The rest of Vlad Tepes’ lands are hard to see properly. On account of the towering and neatly-trimmed hedge walls that flank their path. “Vlad’s labyrinth is somewhat of a popular novelty,” Serafine explains quietly, “though our heightened senses take most of the intrigue and mystery from the search from start to finish.”

But some well-manicured bushes are nothing compared to the splendor of the actual castle itself. With its sprawling Gothic architecture in spires and buttresses it’s truly everything one would expect when they hear something like ‘the Castle of Vlad Tepes.’

Flickering flames in old stained-glass windows somehow both perfectly preserved and still allowed to age with grace. Not unlike vampires themselves, Nadya thinks fleetingly, and lets herself drink in the passive appreciation of it while she can.

Before something inevitably goes wrong and, much like in the way of Marcel’s castle back home, has her thinking back on it with a sour taste in her mouth.

“I still can’t believe you just called the guy up.”

Jax has barely paid any of it a second glance; not the journey or the destination. He’s stayed in pretty much the same position the entire drive; arms never uncrossing from his chest and, to literally no one’s surprise, with his sword never leaving his lap.

“How would you rather I have gone about arranging this little parley then, hm?”

The two vampires stare one another down in silence. Suddenly the cabin feels a lot more cramped and heated than it did just a moment ago. Nadya tugs at the collar of her shirt in discomfort.

“I’m not saying I had a plan, but if I’d had time to make one it wouldn’t be walking through his front door.”

But the younger’s irritation only seems to amuse Serafine, who purses her lips into a thin line to keep from smirking at him too obviously.

“Ah, oui. I suspect you would have gone looking for a secret entrance of some kind… perhaps a sewage tunnel by which to secret yourself in and out undetected?”

Jax just shrugs. “Can’t say I wouldn’t.”

“I can.”

Two words and just like that all the mirth is sapped from the air around them. Nothing fills the void left behind; it stays hollow and empty with foreboding.

“If such a passage did exist, which I can assure you it does not, would the Order not have used it long ago in much the same way?” She raises a single eyebrow at Jax, continuing before he has a chance to answer her.

“While your modern methods are indeed a fresh eye on an old war, Jax, they seem to blind you to the full scope of the kind of life we have lived here for all these centuries. Safety is but a fleeting dream to us. No shadow goes undisturbed for signs of the enemy. Every shelter — from a boarded-up chapel on the wayside to a sprawling manor house such as this — has been deemed safe only after proceeding with the utmost caution.

“Even someone as brazen as Vlad would not dare risk his own life by doing anything else.”

Nadya swears she can hear Jax’s teeth grind in his set jaw. That may be the gravel under the tires though.

The limo starts to slow down as they pass through a break in the hedges to reveal a wide arcing roundabout that stops just shy of the castle’s imposing front doors.

“So what you’re saying is if this goes to shit tonight there’s really no escape plan, huh?” Jax finally asks, and with a much softer voice than either Serafine or Nadya would have expected.

It makes the vampiress throw him a sympathetic look. One he pointedly ignores, but when has that ever stopped her before?

“Have you such little faith in my charming disposition?”

It’s a meager attempt to lighten the somber mood at best, but it’s enough to at least ease his suddenly white-knuckled grip on the sheath of his katana.

“More like a lack of faith in your judgment.”

“Inspired by?”

“Whatever the hell you see in Raines.”

It’s as though the driver has been taking his sweet time waiting for a break in their tension to finally get there. Which can’t possibly be the case; since the partition has been up from the moment they pulled away from the hotel and the ones they left behind… can it?

He cuts the engine abruptly. Something about the reigning silence makes Nadya’s heart start to inch its way up into her throat. Jax, sitting closest to her and no doubt hearing the spike in her pulse, reaches out and squeezes her shoulder.

“You okay there?”

She gives a noncommittal shrug, glad when he doesn’t drop his hand. “Situationally or existentially?” The joke, unfortunately, doesn’t quite land.

“At least this one is above ground.” He tries to reassure her. But apparently neither of them are allowed the luxury.

“The parts you can see…” Serafine says; her last words before the door opens to signal their arrival.

The night air is cold and makes Nadya’s eyes water as she steps out between her companions. She would have rather had Kamilah or Adrian at her side but that just wasn’t possible.

Serafine had made a point that couldn’t be denied. Between Kamilah’s assumed death and Gaius’ known ability to hold a grudge longer than most modern civilizations had been around, those two were pretty much screwed if anyone just so happened to recognize them.

With Antony and Isseya off the radar since Kamilah’s return and none of them having any hint or clue as to whether or not Gaius had started extending his reach overseas yet, they were better off housebound (metaphorically speaking) for the time being.

As it is they’re risking enough bringing Jax along, but apparently the fact he hadn’t made “much of an impression” on Gaius, to put it in Kamilah’s own words, was to their benefit. They were playing safe over sorry with Lily and her newly-acquired quirks too.

It was easy to write off the fact that Serafine hadn’t even allowed Cadence to volunteer before shooting him down as being, well, Serafine and Cadence being Serafine and Cadence. But there’s still a lot they don’t know about whatever had happened to their friends when the group split up — whatever it was though was enough to ease that tension in ways nobody would have expected.

“The intention is to meet with Vlad as quickly as possible, and ideally without arousing suspicion from him or any who might be in his entourage.” Serafine had explained. “Seeing as Cynbel of the Trinity has been famously dead for over a century now, seeing him suddenly reappear in the midst of Gaius’ ascension might as well be the definition of suspicious.”

The argument was fair and valid and lucky for them to have that kind of forethought, honestly. But when Nadya thinks back to the vague air of their talk back at Ahmanet in London and pairs it almost absentmindedly with the way Serafine and Kamilah exchanged a long and almost nervous glance at one another when Cadence’s back is turned…

Let’s just say at this point she’s just waiting around for the other shoe to drop. Or the other-other shoe. Like the kind of shoe an octopus might wear or something.

All of that and only Nadya is left; always the odd one out. But the Bloodkeeper can’t not do this, so what choice does she have?

They just have to hope Kamilah was right when she assumed Gaius would want to do everything in his power not to let Nadya’s name and face spread too far or wide. That he wouldn’t dare run the risk of someone else getting to her before he could.

Neither option appeals, for the record. But at least she’s not the only one risking her neck.

The driver gestures for them to wait at the base of the castle steps, letting them know they will be shown in shortly. He doesn’t linger, job completed, and soon Nadya is throwing a glance over her shoulder to catch the bright red tail lights before the car disappears back around the hedge line and out of sight.

Serafine’s hand comes down in between her shoulder blades somehow both heavy and comforting. A simple touch that eases the tension beginning to knot there that Nadya hadn’t even realized existed.

“Your heart is racing, Nadya,” she states the obvious with a gentle smile of her own, “we may be able to account his notoriety for your nerves but please… try to control your breathing.”

She nods, wide eyed, and swallows through her dry throat before inhaling deeply through her nostrils, holding, and letting it out as a warm breath on her lips. In, and hold, and out, and in, and hold, and out several times before she glances and sees the tiniest nod of approval from the vampiress.

“You’re pretty calm, given everything.”

“Why would I not be?” asks Serafine in obvious surprise. A little too sincere, in Nadya’s opinion.

“The way you’ve been talking about him sounds a lot like you guys aren’t old friends.”

Her rouge-tinted lips purse wryly. “No, I would not associate myself with him so plainly.”

“Then why did he agree to meet with you?”

A fair question, too. One that has Jax listening attentively even if he doesn’t look away from the doors still not yet opened to greet them.

Given the gravity of the situation, Nadya’s grateful that the woman doesn’t seem to need the time to carefully choose her words on this. Hopefully that means she isn’t sugarcoating it.

“The truth is that I did not reach out to him, but rather chose to finally accept a long-standing invitation.”

“Invitation to what?”

Serafine’s answer is drowned out by the sudden opening of the front doors; old heavy wood on ornate hinges designed more with the aesthetic in mind. Their harsh squeal cuts into the trio’s ears and makes Nadya flinch violently.

Soft yellowing light spills out into the night. A haze that stretches down the stone steps and all the way to where they stand gathered on the gravel. Nadya quickly throws the back of her hand over her eyes as she blinks away hazy colorless dots in front of her sight.

It’s just one big gaping hole of uninterrupted brightness… until a shadow starts to cut a long path through the din. It stretches longer and longer until it nearly reaches all the way back near the break in the hedges; a towering figure that, once her eyes adjust to the new lighting, doesn’t quite match the reality that stands before them.

“As I live and breathe — what be this vision before me? It could not be the captivating sight of one Serafine Dupont, surely!”

There’s so much to unpack there but Nadya’s brain is already frozen and buffering on account of the singular thought that consumes her entire being.

Those are some tight leather pants.

The fact that Vlad is wearing all black only adds to the formidable, if shapely, shadow he cuts across the front path. He gestures widely and exuberantly and with no small amount of purpose; the kind of motion that makes sure his large billowing sleeves move in precisely the right way and give him the perfect amount of flair.

Even without the combined warnings from Kamilah and Serafine prior to this exact moment, Nadya’s certain this first impression is all it would take for her to know exactly the kind of man Dracula is.

A one-hundred percent unrepentant drama queen.

Neither Jax or Nadya miss the sight of Serafine quickly steeling herself. How she tucks away any lingering distaste (though maybe it’s the whole psychic-connection thing but Nadya swears it’s not that hidden if she can still feel the remnants of it) and slips on what could very well pass as a genuinely sincere smile for how natural it looks.

Oh, she’s good.

“Vlad,” she coos, somehow both a greeting and an endearment both with one meager syllable. “I see the years have remained kind.”

With his hands on his cocked hips Vlad lets out his own rich bellowing laugh. The kind that has Nadya looking subtle as she can over her shoulders to see if there really is anyone able to hear him waiting in the shadows; witnessing them all like a permanent audience for his constant theatrics. Her senses may be perilously human but Jax doesn’t seem to notice anything off… hopefully he’s got a better grasp on their surroundings while their host holds Serafine captive with a gaze.

“Whereas you, my exquisite creature, look absolutely radiant. Perhaps even glowing as much as I am!”

The ‘Count’ is definitely younger than Serafine, which makes his comment more than a little suspect. About as suspect as the fact that he hasn’t moved from his place at the top of the steps… nor has she moved from her place here below.

They’re having a good old-fashioned stand off. Each one waiting for the other to yield their ground and move things along. But it’s different between the pair of them, that much is obvious.

Vlad shifts on the heels of his boots with an expectant lilt to his smile. He’s used to being greeted with respect and reverence — which Serafine isn’t not giving him — but it means he makes others come to him.

And everyone (Vlad included) knows quite well that Serafine only does what she wishes and nothing more. Hence the way she stands graceful, calm, and poised. Hands folded lightly over the bodice tight against her blouse.

She tilts her head to the side so gently her hair falls around her shoulder in a dark pillowing cloud.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asks bemusedly, “aren’t you going to come give us a kiss?”

With his hand forced and no time to find a reasonable way to turn the tables Vlad has no choice but to acquiesce. “Of course, of course!” Then he’s skipping down the worn stone steps two at a time, the rhythm of his heels following him all the way down. “I just needed a moment to take all of you in, darling. Alive and well and vibrant as ever.”

He embraces his fellow survivor with open arms and a kiss to each of her cheeks.

Another good reason Adrian didn’t come with, Nadya finds herself thinking — the only distraction she can muster to keep from cringing at how he gets a little too friendly on her face with his lips, we need Vlad alive after all.

And after that display… that might have been something up in the air.

Vlad coaxes Serafine back to hold her at arms’ length; only he doesn’t actually let her go. Some small attempt to reconcile his failed power play, maybe.

It doesn’t matter. Just as she did before Serafine breezes her way through anything he might do to her — a simple gesture and roll of her shoulders to adjust her hair has Vlad all but staggering back like she’s thrown him backwards with all of her strength.

“You say such things as though they may have been in doubt.”

His recovery is a meager and tight-lipped smile. “My ears on the ground have a lot to say about changes abound on your side of the continent. Absolute chaos, from what I’m told.”

Tension ripples through Jax and has his hand drifting to the sword affixed to his belt. Nadya throws him a worried look; all wide eyes and silent pleas, but from the looks of it she didn’t need to bother.

They might as well be invisible for all the attention the famed vampire gives them. Not when he has whatever old grudge fuels the calculated exchange between himself and Serafine to put his energy into. But never in her life has Nadya been more glad to be considered chopped liver.

Serafine doesn’t immediately answer. The inaction makes Vlad’s eyes flicker in ruby shades of delight; makes his smile grow wider and a little more meaningful — he thinks he’s won somehow.

“Surely you know of what I speak,” hand over his heart and eyes downcast in cheap, tacky grief, “as I can’t begin to imagine why you wouldn’t have been in Paris during the Dark Solstice. A morbid affair, from what I’ve heard. Almost no survivors to speak of.

“Save yourself, of course.”

Tension crackles between the vampires like electricity. It amps up the long pause that lets his words settle in like a rot; one he’s content to let spread so long as he can’t see it, or as long as nothing of his is damaged by it. Though if he lets it fester everyone’s gonna succumb eventually… or some other metaphor like that.

“You’ve always given credence to such boisterous tales, Vlad.” The woman replies a mite too calmly.

“You deny the Order has reared its fearsome head on your side of the continent?”

“Did I say that?”

“You did not say otherwise.”

“No…” Her voice trails into something soft; hand coming up the brush the back of her knuckles over the high arch of Vlad’s almost alabaster cheekbone. He could bat her hand away, step out of her immediate reach; anything to abate the way he’s shaking very obviously now in his boots. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move an inch.

He just takes it.

Topped with the cherry pink of Serafine’s angelic smile.

“No I did not.”

And just like that she’s restored some sort of hierarchy between them. One that existed long ago and that Vlad Tepes had apparently forgotten in the intermission that followed. There’s less fear in him when he finally relaxes, when she lowers her hand to clasp his with a gentle little squeeze. But there’s a difference between showing fear and being afraid.

Serafine continues with a newfound confidence. “But your concern warms my heart, old friend. Such as my heart warms to know that with our differences aside we can remember the one thing that binds us. That which is more important than anything else.

“By the Will of the Goddess.”

She takes their joined hands and twists them gently. The darkened copper of her skin in stark contrast to his as she coaxes his palm facing upwards.

Nadya watches intently. She wonders for a moment if Serafine intends to draw blood from the bright vein under her thumb… but it passes over like a kiss and nothing more.

“By the Will of the Goddess,” Vlad repeats — far more winded than he had been mere moments ago.

To Serafine’s left Jax shifts on his boots restlessly. Not that anybody asked but Nadya’s seriously impressed with him right now; given his track record with these kinds of things the fact that he can resist rolling his eyes and looking for all the world as though he’d rather take his way through this in favor of the bare minimum of neutrality is worthy of some serious accolades.

Not that he gets any. But Serafine can take a hint.

“Vlad, ma puce, let us move this inside, shall we? I’ve yet to introduce my delightfully stoic American friend here; and he’s been so patient with us hasn’t he?”

It isn’t hard for Jax to pretend to be utterly disinterested in Vlad as the man finally seems to acknowledge his presence — simply because he’s not even pretending. But Vlad had been; that much is obvious. As he looks the younger vampire over with a lazy enough eye.

One that makes it abundantly clear that he had noticed Serafine was not alone; but that he simply didn’t see why he ought to make the effort to care.

“American you say,” — oh of course he says it like that; snooty upper crusty and like he’s actively trying to get Jax to put him at the top of his hit list; maybe even higher up than Gaius at this point — “how… bold of you.”

But his attitude aside, it’s impossible to miss the shift in the way Vlad’s eyes rake over Jax to take him in fully and as a person, less like a piece of Serafine’s luggage left aside.

His eyelids lower a fraction, likes like smoldering embers as he drags his gaze up to finally take in Jax’s handsome features through thick lashes. If there was any doubt left as to what the man’s mind conjures up with the sight before him — there really isn’t though — that’s pretty much dashed the moment he swipes a hint of his tongue out to wet his lower lip.

“Yes, bold indeed…”

Before he can say anything else there’s a loud noise from just beyond the castle doors. A heavy thud that sounds an awful lot like heavy furniture or something else being dragged across a floor.

Jax’s shoulders sag in visible relief as the sound jostles Vlad out of his thoughts and back to the present. He turns back to Serafine.

“Yes yes, do come inside! The American too, I suppose… You can even bring your little snack.”

It takes Nadya entirely too long for her to realize she is the snack. That doesn’t sit well, to be honest.

But it’s the first time Vlad’s even acknowledged her existence and… it’s a little underwhelming if she’s being honest. Not that she wants to earn Vlad’s attention in any form — especially with how touchy-feely he’d been with Serafine — but maybe by this point she’s just gotten so used to strange reactions from vampires that being completely and utterly ignored is… a whole lot of strange for its own reasons? If that makes sense?

It does make sense, if Serafine’s face is anything to go by. How she darts a quick look between Vlad and Nadya and just barely manages to wipe the confusion from her face before it becomes something worth noting.

It could be worse… so she counts her blessings.

Without further pleasantries the man takes long strides back up the steps. He assumes they will follow right at his heels, and they do. Though if the looks shared between the three of them are any indication nobody is feeling as confident about this whole mess as they did before they exited the car.

And they can’t even mention it. What with the whole vampires having supersense-hearing and all.

Vlad doesn’t stop at the top of the stairs. He continues striding right on through the doorway and immediately he’s met by an attendant on either side. Each face is pretty in the way model runways are pretty; with a sharpness to their features that makes them look almost feline and, these two at least, with some kind of gold-colored highlighter that accentuates the sharpness of their umber skin in the distant candlelight.

One steps behind him to catch the suit jacket he shrugs off of his shoulders, while the other who places a fresh glass of a brown liquor in his waiting hand.

“I hope you can forgive the mess of the place,” Vlad pauses to sip his drink and thanks one of the pretty faces with a knuckle stroked along their long throat. They remain impassive to the act but the intimacy can’t be denied.

“You know how crazy things can get when planning the social event of the year and all that.”

Only it’s not a mess so much as it is just a bit… bustling. From the front walk Nadya’s human hearing hadn’t caught onto the noises coming from inside the place but seeing it all now she’s considering getting her hearing checked.

One would expect an estate that looks like that on the outside would be no less decorated within, but decorated is pretty much an understatement. Though if anyone were to make sure any place they lived was decorated to the nines regardless of the time of year it would be Vlad.

Despite knowing that, the hectic bustle of bodies between propped open grand doors and up and down a staircase that branches off on three of the castle’s main floors, though the staggering height of the place from afar tells her there are more levels than what she sees here.

Everything is decorated with the kind of taste that comes from old and inherited wealth and is topped off with a modern edge.

Banisters roped with thick twines of velvet in various shades of reds and golds and what look like real diamonds acting as little more than baubles dangling from the tassels at the hems; furniture scattered around the large foyer in plush cushions and couches that look at first like the genuine antique but on second glance are gold-inlaid replicas built with modern crafting techniques and with longevity in mind.

Another thud comes from a handful of attendants moving a large chaise from one side of the hall through another doorway.

On the ground floor there’s a giant ladder propped up against the far left wall and an attendant balancing atop it. They hold themselves perfectly still, almost delicate, while they secure dark nearly blood-red ribbons around the bottom rungs of a chandelier. They must be nearly done, judging by the same material already wrapped around the chain securing it to the ceiling, and the dark color of the fabric dulls the light and leaves the room hazy both from the continuous heat of the flames that don’t quite permeate the thick texturing.

By the time this place — or this space at the very least — is done being decorated it will certainly be beautiful. But it will be a dark kind of beauty — gothic in a way.

Exactly the kind of event decorations you would expect from Count Dracula; but there’s a respect to be had for the fact he leans into the aesthetic with gusto.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Tepes,” praises Serafine through a hitch in her throat. She’s looking around the foyer with a wistful kind of wanting; a small sparkle held in her eyes that has nothing to do with the lavish decor and everything to do with the invisible hand squeezing her heart up into her throat.

Given recent events especially, the vampiress is no stranger to grief and longing.

And Vlad beams like the way she speaks is more of a compliment than the words themselves.

“Only the best for the best of us, as I’m sure you remember.”

“All your earlier words about the Order, yet you insist on throwing your bal masqué.”

“It is specifically because of these troubling times that we must continue with our most important traditions, Serafine!” He feigns shock with a hand on his chest. The ice in his tumbler tinks together delicately in his grasp. “I thought you, of anyone, would agree.”

He’s goading her and getting more obvious in how he does it by the second. She’s taken it with grace up until now but there’s a tight edge to her tone starting to chip through her armor.

“Tradition, in times of war, can be put aside if that’s what ensures it has chance to be continued.”

“When are we not at war? The Order is no less vicious now than it was before…” He stops and sips his drink again. Casting a passive appraisal around the continued decorating.

“Unless,” with a click of his tongue, “there is a different war you speak of.”

Nadya doesn’t know what’s scaring her more right now; the fact that Serafine had let something that dangerous slip to begin with or the fact that Vlad had caught on so easily. She risks a look at him out of the corner of her eye… much to her relief his sights are still set on Serafine.

An easy grin curls his mouth. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment; let me make sure the parlor’s been made to greet us.” And when he takes his leave of them off to the right and around a set of double doors there’s a saunter to his gait that wasn’t there before. His smugness lingers in the air like a bad perfume.

The moment he’s out of earshot Jax rounds on Serafine with barely-restrained frustration.

“What the hell are we playing his games for? We don’t need to do any of this to find out what he knows.”

With pursed lips Serafine continues to watch the preparations taking place around them. Jax’s frown deepens.

“Serafine.”

“I heard you Jax, don’t worry.”

But that’s still not an answer. Before he ends up raising his voice even more, Nadya reaches out and lays her hand over Serafine’s where she wrings her fingers together at her waist.

“Serafine…” If only she didn’t sound as worried as she is; as the woman’s continued silence makes grow inside her. Serafine doesn’t push her away, but she doesn’t seem welcome to the touch either.

She finally lets her head hang with a weary sigh. “I had thought that given all that transpires around us, Vlad might have chosen to postpone this for the sake of his own safety.

“If not because of Gaius, then because of the Order.”

“Because they’ve been attacking more often, you mean.”

She nods. “But that’s assuming far too much of him. Cunning though Vlad may be, he isn’t very bright.”

“He’s certainly…” Jax’s growl drips with venom, “something.” Nothing good.

“So are we keeping with the plan?”

Squeezing the woman’s hand is enough to finally wrench Serafine’s attention back to Nadya. “No, we are not.”

Jax tenses. “Why the hell not?”

“Because this —” Nadya’s hand falls to let her offer a sweeping gesture to the foyer’s decorations, “— his bal masqué? It changes things. It changes everything.”

She says it in a way that has Nadya feeling like she’s missing a few key facts. She and Jax exchange equally confused glances, and make Serafine sigh heavily for it.

“There’s too much to be explained here. We must leave while we still are able.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that he knows who you are, Nadya.”

It’s like a large gust of wind blows out every candle in the room. Not literally — but the warmth of them is sucked from her bones easily enough. It leaves Nadya feeling hollow as much as she is cold; makes her wrap her arms around herself like that will somehow protect her. She shakes her head slowly… but the disbelief isn’t as intense as she would have hoped it to be.

“But he —”

“— is a performer before he is anything else,” interrupts Serafine; and she’s not wrong. “While he may not have guessed you would be at my side tonight, he has likely known your face and who you are for as long as Isseya and Antony have.”

“So Gaius has been in contact with him then.”

Serafine doesn’t even have to give Jax a verbal response.

“Then we need to go. We need to leave the city; regroup somewhere else.”

“We’ll take our leave of him tonight, yes… but—” —there shouldn’t be any ‘buts’— “—we will be back. We’ll be here for the bal masqué, with the others; and, Goddess-willing, better prepared.”

Uhm… what?

“Why the hell would we do that?” And Jax just barely manages to check his volume, though he’s no less angry. “It’s a party for fucks’ sakes. What’s the big deal?”

“Not here.”

The swordsman throws a look over his shoulder towards the doors Vlad should be coming back through any minute now. “He’s not just gonna let us leave. Especially if —”

Especially if he knows.

But Serafine seems to think otherwise.

“He will. He knows we’ll return; I would even hazard to say he is counting on it.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Unsurprising.”

Before he can try and push the issue Serafine wraps a strong arm around Nadya’s shoulders and all but shoves her towards Jax. “Take her and go. I will deal with Vlad and give you what time I can.”

He just barely manages to catch Nadya before she falls into him. Reaching out to steady her and make sure she has her feet before rounding on their companion. “What the he—”

But he’s too late. Serafine is already five long strides away — far enough that he’d need to raise his voice to catch her. And they both know he won’t take the risk in alerting Vlad’s house staff. They’ve all been dutifully working this entire time, but if the woman dusting picture frames or the couple laying down ornate Persian rugs are anywhere as deceptive as their boss they may be ready to strike at any time.

That thought does not sit well with Nadya’s meager dinner.

“We should try and leave.” While we still can.

His jaw visibly tenses, but already he’s starting to slowly nudge the pair of them back through the open doors. “Fine. But she and I aren’t done with this.”

They catch the distant sound of Serafine’s laugh just as they walk through the doorway. The cold bites Nadya’s hands and face harder than before but sheer panic is more than enough to keep her putting one foot in front of the other. When they’re out of the building and back in the darkness, Nadya and Jax don’t hesitate to pick up the pace. Any faster when they hit the gravel and they’ll be full-on running into the night.

Well… they are running into the night. That’s the point.

“What’s with all the vampires on this freaking continent and the fact they can’t give a straight answer to save their lives?”

“Well they can’t all be like you.”

At the glower he gives her Nadya just barely manages a smile through chattering teeth. It definitely helps her feel less panicky.

“And that means what exactly?”

“They can’t all be bold Americans, obviously.”

Jax groans, fully under-appreciating her brand of awkward humor, and takes Nadya’s hand to bring her along as he speeds away.

#bloodbound #playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #kamilah x mc #jax matsuo #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #serafine dupont #vlad tepes #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: bound by destiny ii #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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vikingpoteto · 4 years ago

Text

we don’t have to dance (to the beat of their songs)

Chapter 4 on AO3

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Relationships: (Gen) Tim Drake & Jason Todd

Tags: Battle for the Cowl, Alternate Canon, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Neglect, Domestic Fluff, Canon is not valid I am, and I want them to be friends goddamnit

Summary: In the middle of their battle, Jason asks Tim to leave the nest and be his Robin. Tim decides it's not a bad idea, after all.

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When Tim walks out of the crappy motel room, the sun is already up. He curses inwardly, guessing it must be past eight in the morning at least. He hadn’t meant to stay up all night, but that’s what happens more often than not. He remembers reading somewhere online that ADHD people have a different sleeping cycle, something about working better when sleeping from 2am to 10am or something. He didn’t read the full article because it didn’t seem that relevant at the time.

Alas. Since he’s up, he might as well get himself some breakfast. He walks to the vending machine he was planning on visiting anyway. He blinks his blurry eyes trying to see the options in front of him. He considers buying just an energy drink and calling it a day, but he doesn’t think his empty stomach will appreciate that course of action.

“The fuck? You’re still here?”

Tim turns around. Jason is in front of his own room, only half wearing his leather jacket.

“I’m a paying customer?” Tim says. He hadn’t meant to make it sound like a question. God, he’s sleepy.

“I thought you’d be back in Gotham by now,” Jason says.

Tim frowns at him. “Where would I go?”

Jason considers that for a while. Usually, Tim would be bothered by being scanned like that, but he can’t find in himself to care or to try and figure what Jason might be thinking right now. Finally, the older boy sighs.

“You got breakfast yet?”

Tim gestures vaguely at the vending machine full of snacks.

Jason stares, his expression empty. Then he rolls his eyes, grabs Tim by the collar and starts dragging him as though he’s a sack of potatoes. It’s a testament to how tired Tim really is that he stumbles and barely manages a noise of protest.

“Jason,” he whines, the tone in his voice catching even himself by surprise.

A couple gives them a judgemental glance as they cross the street. Tim wonders what they look like to strangers. Tim’s clothes, while a lot more expensive than Jason’s, are battered and faded from his misadventures. His painfully pale skin doesn’t match Jason’s dark tan at all, even with all the freckles he got from having fun with assassins in the desert. Still, to a passerby, Tim’s juvenile tone and pathetic attempts to slap Jason’s hand away should make them look like bickering friends. In spite of Jason’s size, his young face still betrays his real age. They could pass as…

Tim straightens himself in a swift movement. Whether he’s finally successful in his attempt to free himself or Jason notices his tension and lets him go, is up for debate. He shakes his head and pretends that no stupid thought almost crossed his mind.

“What are you doing?” Tim complains.

Jason points at the building in front of them — an old diner — and walks in, expecting Tim to follow. He does.

A tired looking waitress squints at them as though she’s expecting trouble for whatever reason. Tim doesn’t know why, he’s sure they look perfectly innocent as they find themselves a place to sit. They make a beeline towards a table in a discreet corner, partially hidden behind a nook of the wall. The spot allows them to see almost all the other patrons without being too visible. Tim notes, but doesn’t comment on the fact that both of them chose that spot seemingly at the same time.

When they sit across one another, however, Tim has a weird feeling in his gut. Maybe it’s the sleepless night, but he has a hard time not thinking about the last time he sat across Jason like this: the older boy had been in jail and Tim’s stupid plan to get him out resulted in… well.

Babs used to say Tim talked a lot or didn’t talk at all, and she had been the first person to realize that the former meant Tim wasn’t thinking and the latter meant he was thinking too much. Tim does what he does best when he’s nervous or uncomfortable: he starts talking. A terrible mistake in retrospect, really.

“Are you buying me breakfast?” he asks.

Jason glares at him. “You’re richer than I am. Buy your own food.”

“Not really. Plus you dragged me here.”

“You said you were a paying customer.”

“Yeah, at the hotel. Credit cards are hackable and Babs taught me a thing or two in case I ever found myself in a tight spot, which I definitely am right now.” Tim points at the ‘cash only’ sign behind the counter. “The pocket change I have is cool for a vending machine, but a diner is fancier than what I’m ready for.”

Jason groans and rolls his eyes. Tim thinks that the closest thing he’ll get from a yes, so he takes it.

Without talking about it and even though they’re not talking about anything too secretive, they go silent when the waitress walks towards their table. Rather than greeting them, she shows her little notepad and arches an eyebrow at them. Tim is loving the service already, it’s doing great things to his nerves.

“Coffee. Black,” he says.

She turns to Jason, but he’s still looking at Tim as though waiting for him to say something else. When Tim simply gives him a quizzical look, Jason appears annoyed.

“What do you mean black coffee?” Jason says. “You’re making me pay for your food and you’re not even ordering actual food?”

“Uh… I’m fine? I don’t eat much this early, it makes me nauseous.”

“Jesus Christ, kid. We gonna have your largest order of pancakes for this stupid child.”

Tim kicks him under the table.

“Little shit,” Jason hisses.

And Tim almost falls over when he pushes his chair to avoid being kicked back.

“Cut it out, Jason!”

While their feet battle under the table, the waitress rolls her eyes and walks away. Tim really wishes he could give this place a five star review.

When Jason’s sole finally connects to Tim’s chair and he has to hold onto the table to avoid toppling over, he groans:

“Truce.”

“Nah. You lost.”

Tim stares.

“Admit you lost and I stop.”

“Fine, you oversized baby, I lost!”

Jason smiles. It’s stupid to get so worked up at such a small thing, not to mention how extremely out of place it feels after his little vacation with the League. Still, Tim can’t help but think this is the first time he’s seen Jason look so satisfied. Annoyingly smug, sure, but satisfied.

Silence stretches. Jason grabs a napkin from the table and starts methodically tearing it apart for no apparent reason. Tim wishes he thought of doing something like that, because his hands are itching to do something. It’d look dumb if he started doing the same thing as Jason, wouldn’t it?

“I thought you were rich,” Jason says, startling Tim.

He shakes his head, reprimanding himself for spacing out. “What?”

“I get not using your own credit card so you can’t be tracked,” Jason says, “but you’re so obsessed with planning everything. I kinda expected you to have a secret stash of money somewhere.”

Tim frowns. “What, you think I just stole Bruce’s money before leaving?”

Now that Jason mentions it, that would’ve been smarter. It’s not like Dick would miss it, and money would’ve left less of a trail than the fake credit cards he’d been using. Maybe Ra’s wouldn’t have found him if… He’s spacing out again. Jason is speaking. Crap.

“... your other father?”

He needs a few blinks to realize what Jason means. “My dad lost everything before he died. You didn’t know?”

“Wait, so what are you going to do when you go back to Gotham? Go back to the manor?”

Tim frowns. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

“He’d take you back.”

At that, Tim gives him a pointed look. Jason realizes his misstep.

“Don’t,” he grits out. “Don’t you dare say it. We’re not the same by any means.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Tim says simply.

He never does. Ever since he reached that weird truce with Jason, Tim only said it once. He said that Jason should go back; Jason told him to fuck off. Tim said that Bruce wanted him back and Dick missed him; Jason told him to be quiet. Tim told him that Alfred wanted to see him; Jason stormed off.

Since then, in the very few times they’ve met and talked like semi-civilized people, Tim never brought up Jason going home again. Jason seems to firmly believe that he’ll never be forgiven. Tim knows that he’s the last person Jason wants to talk about family, and it’s not like he has any arguments that could change his mind, so Tim keeps quiet. It works, unless one of them (usually Jason) is trying to kill the other (Tim). Even now, after the whole clusterfucker before Tim’s trip - had it really happened a few weeks ago? - there is no doubt in his mind that Dick and Alfred would take Jason back with open arms, more than willing to work on their issues. Perhaps Dick would still be a bit upset about Jason shooting Damian, but hey, the kid barely stayed down for a day.

As it is now, neither of them are planning to go back. Once more, the question looms over them. Why would Tim make the same mistake again? What was that fancy quote about insanity? Something about doing the same thing and expecting a miracle or whatever. Tim hopes Jason won’t ask.

But then again, if Jason asks Tim why he wants to stay, he’ll have to explain why he’s accepting it, and Tim doesn’t think he’s too keen on that.

The waitress comes back with their food. Tim twists his nose at the pile of pancakes in front of him. Jason threateningly points a fork at him until he sighs and starts eating.

“We’re taking off after I’m done eating, so get to chewing, Replacement.”

Tim feels a smile stretching his lips. “We?”

“Don’t be a smartass. If I regret this, I’ll dump your ass in the middle of the road.”

“Can’t do, boss. It’s part of Robin’s job to call you out on your shit.”

“But you’re not Robin anymore, are you?”

That wipes Tim’s smile off pretty fast. He has to keep reminding himself that Jason can be as much of an asshole as Tim can, if not worse. He resumes eating in silence, pretending he’s too mature to be bothered by Jason’s stupid smug face.

Never mind that he has to grit his teeth to hold back at least three different smart retorts. He doesn’t want to risk Jason giving up on him out of spite and the son of a bitch knows it.

Tim takes his sweet time poking at his pancakes and sipping his coffee, hoping that Jason will be done first and they’ll leave. When Jason realizes what he’s doing, he starts barking out threats and insults until Tim is kicking him again.

They don’t stop fighting until Tim’s plate is empty and his stomach is filled to the brim.

The waitress looks unreasonably relieved when Jason throws a couple of crumpled bills at the counter and they turn to leave. Tim didn’t think they made a fuss big enough to warrant that reaction. But, then again, maybe they just look like trouble makers.

“We’re going back to Gotham?” Tim asks.

“What do you think, genius?” Jason rolls his eyes. “God, my territory must be a mess by now.”

“No one told you to fall from that height, dude, I’m surprised you’re not out of commission for longer,” Tim says.

“Replacement, I swear to God…”

“Just sayin’,” and his mocking smile is back. “We’re going to one of your infamous safehouses?”

“Hm.”

“The one in Burnley? Or the one behind Crime Alley? Or…”

Jason stops walking. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “No one likes a smartass, Tim.”

“Jokes on you, no one likes me anyway.” Tim grins. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure Dick doesn’t know about the Burnley one.”

“Guess that’s where we’re going then,” Jason huffs. “Can’t have them breathin’ on my neck while I get my stuff together. Can’t believe I have a fucking kid now.”

“You’re only two years older than me, Jason. Less, if we consider you were dead for a couple months.”

Jason ignores that. “You better not go running to them, Replacement. You’re on your trial run. You fuck this up, you not gonna like the consequences.”

Tim rolls his eyes, but says nothing. Jason will find out soon enough how good he is at keeping secrets.

They grab their things at the hotel, not that Tim has a lot of luggage. Jason grabs a motorcycle that definitely isn’t his. Tim doesn’t comment on it, because the one he’s currently riding was paid with money that wasn’t his either.

They hit the road, and the sleepless night and the breakfast still threatening to come back don’t bother Tim as much, because he feels like he’s finally moving again. Finally has a sense of purpose again.

Tim didn’t expect to live with Jason. He thought he’d look around his place, help him set up a functional computer system - how Jason survived alone for so long with the tech he had was beyond Tim - and then he’d leave to figure out what to do. His credit card fraud system wouldn’t work as well in Gotham, at least not if Barbara was in town, but he was willing to figure it out.

The fact that he came this far without a plan told him that his month with the assassins had thrown him off his game. He’d grown used to winging it because the last weeks had been so unfairly unpredictable, but he has to go back to his old modus operandi as soon as possible.

Or at least that’s what he thought, until he emerged from the secret Red Hood bunker downstairs and Jason casually told him to take the vacant room upstairs.

That solved a lot of logistic issues, so Tim forces his mouth shut and heads upstairs.

If you forget about the heavy arsenal in the secret basement (a secret that Tim will spend the whole weekend tinkering because holy shit, his childhood bedroom was more secure) the house is almost… normal. Like an abandoned middle class house. There are boards on the windows and signs that it should’ve been demolished at some point. Other than that, Jason had made the place a functional home. It’s a bit sparse in the furniture department and not unlike the hotel room Tim found Jason in: mismatched pieces, old wood and dust everywhere. There are marks on the wallpaper where pictures had presumably hung once, but that was probably before Jason took over the place.

It occurs to Tim that he’s probably going to be on cleaning duty, which is a bit worrisome. As much as he’s okay with less than hospitable places, he’s never had to clean. Ever. He hopes there’s a YouTube tutorial on it.

His new room clearly belonged to a very feminine person at some point, and all they left behind was an old bed with no sheets, a beaten dresser and marks on the pink walls where posters had probably been. Tears in the wallpaper hint they were carelessly ripped off. Tim carefully removes the mirror from the dresser and puts it out of sight before dumping his duffel bag near the bed. Home, sweet home.

Someone clears his throat by the door.

Leaning against the frame as though he doesn’t know what to do with himself, Jason crosses and uncrosses his arms.

“I’m going on patrol in a bit. Gotta assess the situation.”

Tim nods and waits. This would usually be the time Bruce gave them instructions for the night. Jason shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Whether he’s deliberately trying to be less like Bruce - which is futile, since Bruce is the only reference he has - or he simply doesn’t know how to handle a sidekick… Tim takes pity on him and says:

“I’ll be ready to join you in five.”

Jason aqcuiesces stiffly. Then heads down the hallway. Tim swears he hears Jason mumbling to himself as he leaves, which would be amusing if he wasn’t feeling just as awkward.

He grabs the light chainmail armor from his bag and puts it on. The black, sleek outfit that follows still feels uncomfortable and foreign, but Tim supposes it will have to do. He hesitates before pulling on the black hood and even more before reaching for the Spoiler-like mask that will only cover the lower half of his face. Finally, he discards the piece of fabric to a corner. Associating the thing with Steph does the opposite of making him feel better about it. He’ll have to ask Jason if he has a spare domino mask he can borrow.

He heads downstairs just as Jason is emerging from the kitchen in almost full Red Hood gear, his helmet under his arm. He tries to ignore the tug at his stomach when he sees it. Judging by Jason’s expression, he was thinking something similar.

“What the fuck are you wearing, Replacement?”

“Discreet clothes for an undercover mission. What are you wearing?” Tim tries to play it off as nothing, but, judging by Jason’s expression, he’s failing. “Look, I didn’t have Robin anymore, okay? I had to wear something and this is what Ra’s gave me.”

“Yeah, I’m not going out with a mini-League of Assassins recrutee.”

Tim wishes he had a logical argument against that. He thinks there is one, but the sleepless night is finally getting to him and he can’t think straight. “Well, damn, Jason, what do you expect me to do? Go out in civies? Not all of us can pull off the leather jacket.”

The older boy considers him for a moment, and an irrational part of Tim’s brain keeps him frozen on the spot. This is it. This is when he realizes this has been a mistake, and me thinking he’s like me was a gross miscalculation. He’s going to send me away. He’s going to tell me to go away.

“Stay here,” Jason says. “Now that I think about it, if I go alone there’s less of a chance of them finding out I’m back.”

Tim is panicking, but not hard enough that he misses the opportunity to quip: “I’m not the one with a bright red helmet.”

“Shut it. Do digital detective work while I’m gone. Can you find out what happened in my territory for the past month without bringing Oracle down my ass?”

“Of course I can. What do you think I am?”

“Inferior to Barbara.”

“Bitch…!” Tim pauses. Takes a deep breath. “Okay, fair, I am. But she isn’t actively looking for me and I know her M.O.”

Jason nods. “Then do your thing. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Tim watches him head to the door. So he isn’t fired again, which is good.

“Jason?” He calls, because apparently he can’t take a win and keep his damn mouth shut. “I’m not going to stay indoors. I’m not the computer guy. I’m in this to fight crime and I didn’t look for you to stay back because you don’t like my fashion choices.”

Jason looks absolutely disgusted at that. “The problem with smart people like you is that you keep thinking everyone else is a fucking idiot. I’m not. And you know that, since you chose to come after me.”

Tim could tell him Jason offered first. That would lead to a childish back-and-forth until accusing the other of starting wouldn’t be enough and they would have a fist fight on top of the ratty couch. Considering the thing looks like it’s about to collapse under the mildest gust of wind, Tim wisely stays quiet for once in his life.

He turns around and heads to the kitchen, to the secret entrance that leads to the secret basement. He hears when Jason leaves. He’s still pouting when he boots the stupid computer in serious need of an update.

He’s going to hate this.

Tim hates that he enjoys himself.

It’s been quite a long time since he worked in such a simple case. He’d forgotten how enjoyable it is to work on a puzzle and watch the pieces fall together with ease. Like skating for fun after spending months practicing complicated maneuvers. He doesn’t see time going by as he takes notes and prints info, compiling a thorough report on everything Jason missed, up to some cold trails from when he was in Blackgate.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

At least not until he wakes up and immediately lets out an unholy screech because his bed vanishes under him. Except he isn’t on his bed, he’s spinning around on the computer chair and he scrambles to stay on the seat before the chair finally hits the wall and stops.

After the shock is gone, he looks up and finds a rather smug Red Hood smirking at him from across the room.

“What the… Did you seriously kick my chair?” Tim gasps.

“My chair,” Jason corrects. “That I let you borrow in exchange for work. Slacking on the service on the first day?”

Tim shoots up. “I was not! Fuck you!”

Jason blinks, his eyes widening. “Easy there. And I’m the one with anger issues.”

“I gathered everything that there is to find from the past month,” he protests, frantic and irritated all at the same time. “Sure, I didn’t finish the time you were locked up, but that’s because your internet is fucking slow. Give me until morning and I-”

Strong hands grab his wrists and Tim looks up. Jason’s expression is so oddly telling that Tim thinks he’s trying to manipulate him somehow. His brows are knitted together and his warm brown eyes are still mildly wide. Enough that Tim can see the specks of green in the dark iris, a reminder of Jason’s dip in the Lazarus Pit. He tries to come up with an explanation, because Jason has no reason to make Tim think he’s worried about him.

“The fuck is wrong with you? I didn’t expect you to be done before I got home. And I didn’t expect you to get info about the time I was in jail either.”

Tim is confused. He misinterpreted his mess up? “You didn’t want me to know what was going on before? That’s counterproductive. Plus a lot of this isn’t new information, I was monitoring…”

“Tim,” Jason cuts him off again.

It’s weird that he says Tim and not Robin. It’s correct, because Tim isn’t Robin anymore, but this is Robin time regardless. Tim feels as though he’s back at the cave and he’s 13 years old. This time he doesn’t have Dick’s hesitant encouragement or Alfred’s worried glances, but it feels too similar to being around a grief-stricken man, broken almost beyond repair. That man is his boss and, in order to earn his stay, Tim has to succeed.

Except next time Jason speaks, he doesn’t sound like Bruce. Not like Bruce after he started healing. Definitely not like Bruce sounded when he first met Tim. He sounds - and that’s extremely weird - like Cassie when she found Tim pulling an all-nighter reviewing the case files. It was right after they got their team approved and could take over Titans Tower. Tim had to make sure everything was running smoothly, but Cassie thought not sleeping after sparring all-day was a bad call. She had been absolutely bewildered by the concept, for some reason.

It’s ridiculous that Red Hood reminds him of Wonder Girl.

“I don’t fucking care that you checked old news,” Jason says. “I’m just surprised you’re done already.”

Tim’s brow furrows and he reviews the night, again trying to assess his mistake. “You said I was supposed to do digital work while you were on patrol,” he repeats slowly, almost to himself.

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, letting go of his wrists. “I thought you were gonna collect some info and go to bed. Continue tomorrow.”

Tim gives in and straight up asks: “And you’re angry because…?”

“I’m not?” Jason is the one looking confused now. “You think me kicking your chair was me being angry? I was just being a jerk. I didn’t think you were that sensitive.”

Oh. Tim feels his cheeks warming. “I-I’m not! That is, I don’t care that you kicked the chair and sent me careening across the room while I was asleep.” There’s a beat. “Wait, no, I do care about that, what the hell, Jason?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Come on, I’m gonna make it up to you. Don’t get used to it, though. Just come here and take a look.”

Tim notices a bundle of what looks like fabric on the computer desk. It definitely wasn’t there before he dozed off. His confusion peaks when he notices it isn’t simply fabric… it’s leather and kevlar and a freaking cowl connected to a cape and…

“You stole Dr. Mid-Nite’s suit?” Tim asks.

“Wha- No, dumbass! It’s my suit! My old suit, anyway.”

Tim takes it and holds it in front of him. It’s a bit heavier than his old Robin suit, but it looks more resistant, if not as much malleable.

“From the time you went to a different dimension,” Tim gasps.

“How the fuck do you know that?” Jason asks, bewildered again.

Tim turns to him. “Why do you have this?”

Jason shrugs. “I grew out of it. Figured you could have it. You’re a bit taller than I was then, and skinnier too, but nothing you can’t work around. Beats making a whole new suit from scratch.”

Words fail him and he simply stares at the suit, unresponsive.

“If you don’t like it, deal with it,” Jason says, suddenly less blase. It’s almost as though he’s nervous. “Or make a new suit, I don’t care. Just don’t go out in that stupid ninja suit.”

“R.R.” Tim mutters, his voice hollow. “What does R.R. stands for?”

It’s Jason’s turn to hesitate. Silent stretches for a little before he blurts: “Red Robin.”

“Huh.” Tim says, eloquent as ever. “What’s with all the red? I thought your favorite color was green.”

“How do you-” Jason sighs. “Whatever. Grab your shit and get the hell out of here.”

Tim whips around, alarmed again. “Why?”

“Because I wanna fucking change,” he gestures at his clothes, “and it’s weird to do it with your scrawny ass down here. This ain’t the Batcave, I only got one room.”

Oh. That sort of “leaving”. That makes more sense. “Right. I’m gonna go… uh... “ Where, again?

“To bed,” Jason snaps. “You’re gonna sleep on an actual bed instead of drooling all over my keyboard. Scram.”

Nodding jerkily, Tim obeys. The suit he holds tightly against his chest feels heavy and not because of all the body armor hidden within layers of leather.

#jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #batfam #poteto writing #red bros

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howdoyouspellepiphany · 6 years ago

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The Prophecy (Yoonmin Demon!AU)

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Park jimin (DemonAU), established namjin

Words: 3671 words

Summary: Long ago, the Divines and Fallens received a prophecy that promises their demise in the hands of a mortal that says:

Beautiful as the creature may be, fire doesn’t burn, ice doesn’t freeze, water doesn’t drown and lightning doesn’t destroy.

Now, the demon prince (Min Yoongi) meets a pink-haired waiter (Park Jimin) who looks like heaven and smells like sin. As their relationship blossom, the Divines and Fallens are beginning to wonder about the prophecy.

Warnings: Crude language, violence and of course, ignorant author

Note: yay i know how to use tumblr now!

Previous chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Jin was pacing across the living room of Yoo Jung’s apartment as his fingers twirl around the pear-shaped ruby necklace that sits elegantly in between his collarbones. He had originally come to the apartment at his lover’s call to receive the present the prince had bought specially for him. Jin thought it was going to be yet another beautiful day spent with his lover in his arms, contented with just holding Namjoon close when Jeongguk called. And just like that, his ephemeral happiness came to an end.

And now, Jin and Namjoon are waiting for Yoongi to return. ‘Should I go?’ Jin’s jaw is tensed and his hazel eyes have taken more of its godly golden hues. Jin’s Divine characteristics will only show whenever he possesses strong emotions. His eyes have completely turned golden as he fiddles with the pendant. He is insanely worried for his best friend for Yoongi is known to make impulsive decisions that may and may not cost everyone their asses. ‘Of course, I should. It’s only right, right?’ He wonders, fingers grabbing the ruby a tad bit too tightly.

“Yoongi isn’t stupid, you know.” Namjoon mumbles staring at the beautiful male before him, worry etches on his lover’s delicate features. The demon takes the cigarette that was sitting in between his plump lips with his thumb and forefinger and blows the smoke before he looks away. He is equally as worried as his lover. But instead of making a run towards his prince, he hopes Yoongi would seek for his insights before doing anything.

“You’re right, he isn’t. But he’s known for making rash decisions and he’s someone who acts impulsively. For all you know he has long flown back to Gehenna.” Jin huffs, folding his arms across his chest. Gehenna is the central city of Infernum and is where the castle is located. “Can’t you please go check on him?” Jin stops in his tracks as he looks at Namjoon who is leaning against the railings of the balcony as the demon flicks the ash on the ash tray that looks like a gold dipped leaf.

“He’s still on Earth. You can feel him, can’t you?” The demon takes another whiff before putting the cigarette off.

“Yes, but for how long?” The beautiful male with golden eyes looks straight into his lover’s black eyes. He can see his own reflection in Namjoon’s void eyes and looks away. “Things are already bad enough in Gehenna. You heard Styx-noona, didn’t you? He has an army of Aqrabuamelu and Gogmagogs. If Yoongi were to charge head on-“ Jin stops himself as he grabs the pendant harder and digs his nails into his palm with the other hand that is balled up into a fist.

“Then what do you want Yoongi-hyung to do, love?” Namjoon asks, pushing his hair upwards. “Save himself and hide? Should he throw the Fallens away and see his kingdom fall down to ashes?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jin mumbles.

“I know. But, you can’t expect him to stay idle. Yoongi-hyung isn’t like that.”

“He once was.” Jin argues petulantly and when Namjoon didn’t reply him, Jin knows he’s being childish again. “Okay,” He sighs, frowning. “So, what will happen if Yoongi knows about what happened to Hos-”

“What will happen if I know about who?” Yoongi asks, perching on the railing of the balcony with his grand wings on display. Namjoon immediately turns around and gives space for his prince to step on the ground. Jin follows suit as the beautiful male crosses his arms across his chest.

“Well, we’re about to find out.” Namjoon mumbles as Yoongi lands on the solid ground and retracts his wings back in. Yoongi had originally looked at Jin for answers but when he sees for a split second the Divine’s eyes turn to the right, Yoongi immediately finds out that Jin is trying to sugar coat it. At that point, in Yoongi’s eyes, Jin is no longer relevant to give him the answers he wants. Therefore, the prince averts his eyes towards his advisor. Namjoon isn’t like his lover. He’s a straight forward man. It’s probably because it’s always better if you don’t try to cover shit up when a problem comes. It makes the solving easier. “So?” The prince asks, greyish blue eyes staring straight into his advisor’s eyes.

“Hob-ah got stabbed.” Yoongi looks taken aback at the answer but still keeps a tight hold of his breaking façade. Namjoon quickly analyses Yoongi as he chooses his next words carefully. “Guk is currently looking up into the matter but it seems that the perpetrator wasn’t aiming for his vital organs. The incision is deep and it hit his wings so he will need some time to get back on his feet.”

“Where was he attacked?” Namjoon licks his lower lip as he wonders on how to answer his prince. When his advisor hesitates to answer him, Yoongi presses on. “Namjoon, I’ll ask again.” It was no secret that Yoongi has been livid since he received the call from Guk. First, it’s the bastard in his abode and now Hoseok got slashed. Why does everyone think it’s okay to fuck with him? “Where. The. Fuck did he get stabbed?”

“Bunga.” Namjoon sees how Yoongi’s eyes change in a matter of seconds and he had never been truly afraid of the prince before him until he witnesses how heavy the air gets almost immediately after. Bunga is a restricted area where ill willed creatures and evil spirits like Sluaghs can’t enter. Yoo Jung have made it so and the barrier had been up for as long as she’s alive and well.

‘If Hobi is attacked in Bunga… Shit.’ Yoongi grits his teeth as he tries to let the situation sink in properly. He has too much on his plate at the time and he couldn’t attend to all of them personally. The prince knows he can handle the bastard in his own birth country and his trusted advisor to handle the mermaid in Sweden. “Namjoon,”

“Sweden, right?” His dark pink haired advisor immediately calls Jackson as he patiently explains the change of plans.

And now, who will Yoongi send to check on his mother? He usually sends Hoseok but unfortunately, the angel isnt deemed to be useful at the moment. A certain blonde-haired Divine with hazel eyes should be the next most suitable candidate but the demon knows how much the older man hates returning to his roots. The next most suitable candidate is the prince himself. ‘Is it possible to check on mom before going back to Gehenna?’ Yoongi wonders and purses his lips.

“Don’t make such an ugly face, Yoongi.” Jin sighs, hand still twirling the ruby necklace. Kim Seokjin knows that he had done so much for Min Yoongi in the past but nothing he does can ever top the favour Yoongi had made for him; the one that grants him freedom. “I’ll go confirm Queen Yoo Jung’s status. I just need you to promise me to not be fucking stupid and use your head once in a while.” The blonde said without any bite behind it.

“Maybe I am an idiot but are you even aware that you’re serving the wrong king?” The mint-haired mumbles.

“Oh, please.” Seokjin snorts. “Wrong king, right king… Is there even such a thing? If you ever need my insight on this, I think there is no such thing as a right ruler. There is only a ruler who is more humane. So, if you’re telling me to stop, I will refuse. Why? Because I am listening to a ruler who cares about his people. Also, don’t give me a lecture on the whole Hera thing. The old hag can go fuck herself for all I care. There’s nothing wrong in helping you at all. Pushing everything aside, I’m just helping my friend.” The hazel eyed Divine places his hand on Yoongi’s head. If Aphrodite can give pleasure to those she touches, Jin calms them down. “On another hand, please bring Gukkie along with you if you’re planning to go to Gehenna. We don’t know what kind of army the bastard owns so please don’t go alone. Please. Going alone is no different than committing suici-.”

“Alright,” Yoongi sighs, cutting his friend off. “You’re babbling and I understand where you’re coming from.” Yoongi looks up to Jin and closes his eyes in frustration when he sees the worry behind his friend’s clear, golden eyes. “I want results and I dont want you to come back injured.”

“Where’s your fucking trust, Yoongi?” Jin huffs, fingers playing with the ruby pendant. He isn’t confident about this at all. But he’s the only one fit for this job at the moment. He knows it. Yoongi knows it. Namjoon knows it.

“Alright, then. Get me Gukkie.”

‘I guess Jimin and my banana chocolate milkshake and coffee have to wait.’

As soon as Jin enters the entrance to Olympus with his see-through pink floral lace shirt and a pair of black trousers and long earrings, he immediately received ‘the glorious’ unwanted attention. He takes off his rose coloured sunglasses with a fancy twirl of his hand before putting them on his fluffy hair. His hazel eyes hold his anxiety behind the fake confidence his form radiates. His plump glittered and glossed lips curls upwards into a smile as he takes in the city he loves so much but never misses. How can he not love Olympus? The place radiates from the most expensive jewels and rocks they make his feet tremble. There are so many beautiful things, they blind his hazel eyes.

Gold isnt as precious here in Paradisus than it is on Earth. In the city of Olympus, gold aren’t worn as accessories. Instead, they are moulded to be used as a primary ingredient to for a lot of things and some of which are the manors of the Gods and Goddesses, cutleries and toilet seats. Precious metals on earth are only used and utilized in that way. Stones that can be found on Earth usually grace the very ground they walk on. The Divines only wear precious stones found in the land of Paradisus and they are nothing compared to the Cartier Seokjin wears so proudly around his neck. He then thought that maybe he could get either Namjoon or Yoongi to get him upset to get his hands on one of the beautiful diamond earrings he saw which are sold at a highly ridiculous price.

Neverthless, he walks with his head up high; showing it off as he smiles at the way the ruby shines and how it complements his skin tone. He smiles at everyone he crosses paths with politely. Even though they are all judging him with their eyes, Seokjin tries to not let them get to him. One of the children running around has her eyes fixated on him and it warms his heart to see that at least the young don’t judge him. He waves his hand at her as to which she giddily replies back with two hands. When her mother turns to look, Seokjin couldnt explain how mortified and disgusted she was at her daughter for waving at him. “Darling, don’t mix around with someone like that. He is a humiliation to us all.” Seokjin frowns at the ‘subtlety’ before she drags her daughter away.

The little girl, however disregards her mother and continues to wave at him. He gives her a genuine smile as he begins to get hyperaware of the attention he receives just by waving at a little girl. And so, he continued walking down the streets. He isnt even dressed his level best and he couldn’t help but indulge the attention they shower him and the whispers that come with the ogling. ‘Have I really became this handsome to get this kind of attention from everyone?’ he thought smugly even when deep down, he knows that, that isnt the case.

Kim Seokjin is very used to the looks they throw his way. Their gazes – he noted – have never changed and neither did the content of their loud whispers. ‘Ugh someone please give them a tutorial on how to be subtle.’ He thought bitterly as he shamelessly struts onto Paradisus’s busiest street. The Divines mostly have a colourful vocabulary when it comes to describe Seokjin, Aphrodite’s only son as the latter embraces and welcomes the hatred and disgust in their eyes. It makes him feel welcomed; it makes him feel at home – for his mother has the same pair of eyes as them. He grew up with those eyes.

When he thinks about it… Yoongi and Namjoon are the only two who didn’t look at him like he’s a vile creature who isnt worth taking care of. They look at him the way he had always wanted to be seen – raw and beautiful and thirsty of love. He dare say his thirst is now half quench by the attention and the love Namjoon showered him every night. Every little kiss and touch – all so careful and full of love. Namjoon treated him like he’s fragile – like he’s the most precious stone in Paradisus and again and again he devotes his love for him until Seokjin couldn’t breathe.

And just like that, he becomes prettier with every attention and love.

As for Yoongi, it was maybe that fateful day where Yoongi beat the other Divine kids up and stood up for him. The prince yelled something about friendships and loyalty. It used to be hilarious in his ears but as Seokjin gets to know the prince, he realised that all Yoongi had ever wanted was to be seen and deemed enough for his father. Yoongi was just like him.

Seokjin is snapped out of his daydream when a familiar perfume hits his olfactory. The perfume – this wretched flowery scent that is smothering and asphyxiating him means she is close. And she is the reason why he dreaded coming back.

While his wild, fearful eyes roamed the streets, his heart stops when his hazel eyes finally meet her own pair of hazel. The colour and the liquid in their eyes are the same as the mother and son stared at each other from across the street.

Yoongi and Jeongguk had parted ways the minute they open a portal to Infernum. Yoongi had gone to Gehenna, the central city while Jeongguk went to the Styx River near the Saqar district where Styx and her lover, Acheron resides. As soon as Jeongguk gets there, the heavy air of Infernum begins to take a toll on him. He breaks into fits of cough as he tries to calm his body. His body must have gone into a shock due to change on environment. It isnt because he had spent most of his life on Earth but it’s more like he couldn’t spend the rest of his life in Infernum. Jeongguk has always resented this weak part of him but how can he ever reject the ones who made him?

When he calmed down, Jeongguk took small and frequent breaths to calm his body down and once it is more familiar with the air, he is finally able to breathe normally again. ‘Baby steps,’ he reminds himself as he makes his way to Styx and Acheron’s love nest. When their small house is in view, Jeongguk jogs slowly towards their house, still being mindful of the limited air he could take in. As soon as the house is in proximity, he hears Styx’s loud screams and without much thinking, Jeongguk bolts towards the door, ignoring the burn in his chest and the ripples of violent coughs that are trying to escape his system.

He had broken the door down when Styx screamed louder only to find her struggling in her lover’s arms. “Hyung, what’s happening?” Jeongguk asks as Acheron keeps a vice grip on his lover’s fluid body. He keeps letting her slip past his fingers and she keeps crying and screaming. It was insanity. It was pure chaos.

“Her eyes were gouged out.” Acheron said to the black-haired boy standing in the middle of his home in a grim voice as he tackles Styx into a hug. “Please, love…” He whispers into her ear in a begging tone. “Please come back to me.” He repeats in the same soothing voice as he rocks her back and forth. “Love, please, listen to me. It’s alright, now. The prince had come. Jeongguk is here, too. No one is going to hurt you anymore.” Styx’s eyes are her weak spot and also her strong spot. She has now turned to water and her eyes are the only thing that she was allowed to keep to witness the oaths taken by the gods and goddesses – Fallens, Divines and everything in between.

And now, it has been taken away from her.

With a final scream, Styx had thrown something away before she passes out. One of the things that she had thrown hit his favourite brown boots. Out of curiosity, he had bend over and taken the peculiar object. His blood turns cold when he realises the object had been her eye. Jeongguk knows for a fact that gotten her eyes ripped off hurt and growing it out hurt even more. The memories that came with it are even worse. “Help Y’ngi.” Styx mumbles in her sleep and Acheron looks at her, pained to leave her side.

“Hyung, go. I’ll stay with her.” Jeongguk said and with a curt nod, Acheron left. Who was he to defy his lover and the prince’s brother? As soon as the Guardian Acheron left, Jeongguk stares at the eyeball in his hand and without hesitation, he pops the eyeball into his mouth.

Yoongi had never once in his life ever thought that he will have to face this situation one day. It is rather hilarious to him that these are the creatures that was once sweeping and cleaning the ground he walks on and now are throwing a rebellion against him. ‘All the fucking ugly and ungrateful little pieces of shit.’ He growls as his eyes scan the giants, the race of destruction – the Gog Magogs and the Aqrabuamelu flooding his castle.

Amongst them, he could see 4 of his fine palace guards with their weapons pointed straight at him.

“Prince Yoongi, please, we don’t want to hurt you.” Leviathan pleads as she slithers closer to him.

“Come on, Levi, don’t be a pussy. We’ve all been waiting for a long time to kick his ass and this whole rebellion is a perfect chance.” Mammon jumps on his feet. It has been a while since he had gotten excited.

“Yes, but not like this, Mammon.” Leviathon frowns, looking at her prince sorrowly. “He’s still our prince and any attacks on him will mean treason.” The serpent tries to reason out.

“You, not wanting to serve our rightful king itself is treason.” One of the Gogmagogs hiss as they raise their weapon up.

“How dare you raise those things you call weapons up against me?” Leviathan turns, her eyes turning dark red. “Know your place for I can easily gobble you all up.”

“You should watch your mouth. There’s a million of us. Remember that our kind are made to destroy. We are the race who will drink all your seas up and beyond.” One of them seethes. “We are enough to devour you.”

“Enough.” Yoongi said, retracting his wings. “I didn’t come here to witness your fight. Those who wish to fight me may advance and those who you don’t, stand back.” The prince said, eyes turning black and the first two who came lunging at him had him swat them back just fine. When the giants came in and the Aqrabuamelu joined the party, Yoongi knows he was fucked.

He could feel his wings getting plucked off and his skin bitten off. The giants had kicked him and slammed him against the tiles.

Before he blacked out, he could taste the blood in his mouth and randomly thought that maybe something with marshmallows would taste more like Jimin.

Back in a hospital in one of Paradisus’s province, Mejiwoo was looking out of the window from her hospital bed with a cup of strawberry flavoured tea in her hands. She had requested to be sent to a more peaceful area of Paradisus where the Gods and Goddesses here are much tamer than they are in the capital. They are less stuck up and acted more of a Divine here in the countryside. They teach their children to be grateful and happy. It the only place where the buildings aren’t built with gold and pavement aren’t paved with precious stones. Everything is normal, peaceful and calm.

And suddenly, the beautiful angel thought of her twin brother. Three soft knocks on the door before it opens, revealing an elderly nurse, holding a bouquet of hyacinths. She stares at the bouquet in her arms and sighs. “Throw them away.” She said, frowning.

“Are you sure, honey?”

“Yes. I don’t need those flowers.”

“But the sender must have felt really guilty. They are always hyacinths…”

“I know what they mean.” Mejiwoo said, not meaning to be rude as she bites her lower lip. “It’s just I’m waiting for a sign to know that he remembers me.”

And it’s true. She couldn’t bear to face him knowing that he wouldn’t remember each touch and each kiss and memories engraved in her heart. It hurt. Each day, she was hoping for another flower – the flower. So that she knows Yoongi can somehow remember her or even remember what they have been through. She wasn’t searching for forgiveness. She had forgiven him a long time ago. She just wants him to remember. Remember himself, remember her, remember them.

“Please, Yoongi. Please, remember me.” Mejiwoo whispers into the air like a secret as it evaporates into the air.

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keyofjetwolf · 8 years ago

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Jet Wolf and Act 17

The manga and I are repeatedly clashing, and so instead of full liveblogs, I’m reading each manga act (mostly) silently, and then writing up summaries at the end. I’ll be very candid, which could well include criticism and snark about the manga either wholesale or in details. If that isn’t a thing you feel like reading, please skip this post!

We open on Usagi having a nightmare about Rei and Ami’s abductions, featuring recycled art of them in their Senshi forms, and her calling them “Mars” and “Mercury”, because the manga hates me even more than it hates them. Usagi takes this opportunity to deliver the “previously on”. Little does she realize that Chibi-Usa is skulking nearby. When Luna-P bounces in, telling Usagi to stop crying and spilling its own tears or possibly blood -- how it’s doing either is an equal mystery -- Usagi rightfully freaks the fuck out and tries to kill it with a pillow.

Robot violence incenses Chibs, thus ensuring she will be a Bastion main in Crystal Overwatch. Still, she tries another tactic, and hands over her Tuxedo Puppet (as seen last issue and literally every incarnation for the rest of time). Despite Usagi throwing a temper tantrum about Chibs having one when she doesn’t (you’re batting a thousand with me today, Usagi), Chibs trying to reach out to help Usagi not be sad in the only ways she knows how is legitimately touching.

Chibs then follows Usagi to her date/meeting/?? ? ? ? with Mamoru at the arcade, because Tokyo is like small town America with exactly one McDonalds and the combination bar/post office, and that is the full menu of your hangout options. Chibi-Usa then wins everything, but it’s maybe Luna-P’s fault? I have no idea why any of this exists in the story frankly, but I’m assuming it’s just so Minako can look at Chibs like this when she wins every crane machine doll:

Chibs cuddles with Mamoru and spies on Ikuko’s dinner plans, while the remaining Sailor Team enter the plot portion of the issue and wonder what the fuck is going on. PS: Mako has a cold. This is very relevant, because of course it is, no one is ever sick without it being a plot point.

Actually, most everyone in the city is sick, making me curious as to whether this chapter or the Nurse Minako episode came first.

Chibs is wandering around, causing umbrella-related havoc and having hazy Pluto flashbacks. Despite Tokyo having a population of thirteen million or so, Mamoru happens upon her, just in time for a crack of thunder to make her lose her tiny pink-haired shit. It becomes apparent that her reaction has triggered a flashback to the attack on Crystal Tokyo however, and again, Chibs pulls at my heartstrings with surprising effectiveness.

Cut to the Black Moon Clan, where Demande is spying on unconscious Rei and Ami, because his Creepy Fuck dial wasn’t at eleven yet. But he’s talking about them like they’re actually SilMil Mars and Mercury? So are they SUPPOSED to be SilMil Mars and Mercury? Literally none of this makes sense, and I have no confidence it’s by design, so whatever. Saphir whines and Demande’s like “BITCH WHAT”, so basically everything is as you expect. Also, Petz is totally going to kick Mako’s ass, and my heart is just “Yeah, probably, sigh.”

At Fruits Parlour (DOES MOTOKI’S FAMILY OWN THE ONLY PLACES TO GO IN TOKYO), Usagi and Mamoru have a super secret conversation about everything going on, outside, in public, in broad daylight, where anyone could possibly overhear. But that would never happen! HA FOOLED YOU MAMORU’S FANBOY HEARD EVERYTHING. He is not surprised to learn Mamoru has magic powers in his hands, it only confirmed everything he ever dreamed.

Did I mention Mako’s sick? Mako’s sick. She collapses and has to be helped home. Motoki is given charge of this, but somewhere between panels he becomes Mamoru’s Fanboy because reasons. This is the kind of clear and concise storytelling and character work I’ve come to expect from the manga.

Whoever the fuck this is now, Mako returns home, where she is wildly inappropriate, and they flirt maybe. I don’t know. I really hate Mamoru’s Fanboy, who has at this point existed for three issues and had more meaningful scenes and dialogue than Rei has had in fourteen BUT I’M NOT BITTER. Anyway, he reveals that he thinks they’re all superheroes or something, and Mako tells him everything because why the fuck not I guess. I too find all of my best decisions are made when dealing with overly enthusiastic dudes I barely know while I teeter on the brink of unconsciousness.

Later, Mako wakes up to find herself strangling herself, AS YOU DO. Etc. Etc. There’s a fight, Mako gets taken, gasp shock horror who could have ever seen this surprise tragic ending.

So for all that, Mako gets a fairly decent chapter, particularly as compared to Rei and Ami. While it wasn’t 100% about her, she was in enough of the issue to where I did feel it was as much her story as anyone’s. Still, I can’t say I’m entirely happy with the QUALITY of the story. Once again, Mamoru’s Fanboy is given the spotlight, with six pages or so devoted to him talking about all this stuff he suspects and pledging to protect and whatever, which is jarring as FUCK when in the same scene, we have a luxurious TWO WHOLE PANELS to be introduced to and learn the fate of Mako’s parents. It was also frustrating to me to have all this potentially wonderful stuff about Mako and friendship and how important Rei and Ami are to her (SHE ACTUALLY CALLS THEM REI AND AMI I DIDN’T KNOW THAT WAS LEGAL), when there’s been approximately fucking nothing to show that at any point in this journey. Once again, if I want this to have particular meaning or emotional value, I have to bring my own materials to class. I’m not ever going to be willing to let laziness on this take a pass.

As for Mako’s fight, again, she came of really well, far better than Rei or Ami. It can even be argued that she was only taken down because she was sick and weakened first. There’s never an explanation for WHY Petz unleashed the virus, only that she did, but it’s as good a conclusion as any. I’m glad to see Mako getting props in this respect, but god damn does it make me angrier that Rei got fuck all.

BUT THERE WE ARE. This was the better of the three Black Moon stories I’ve read so far, but I’m guessing Minako is next, and we’re rapidly running out of characters I’m going to care to follow in this damned thing.

#JW reads Sailor Moon #sm manga act 17 #a novel by jet wolf

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ironinkpen · 8 years ago

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“The Leader That You’ve Become”: Allura and the Blue Lion

Alternatively Titled: Dreamworks Let This Poor Girl Have Fun For Once In Her God Damn Life

I already wrote a long ass meta about putting Lance in the Black Lion and talked about Allura in it, but fuck it. I have free time (ie homework I don’t want to do) so let’s write another one about just Allura. This is gonna be long so like, in summary, my argument is that I think that: 1. Allura’s personality and quintessence match the Blue Lion pretty well, and 2. Putting Allura in the Blue Lion might allow for interesting character growth.

But yeah okay let’s go:

So I’ll be the first to say that Black Paladin Allura would make me shit myself out of pure joy. And scenes like the above definitely point in that direction. Coran says it himself, Allura’s a leader. She’s been running this universe saving thing since day one. Sure, Shiro leads the team, but he’s Allura’s second in command. She’s the one who owns the lions, chooses the missions, makes everyone train, builds alliances, gets the team to safety, organizes resistance efforts, and operates the castle. Shiro might be the head of Voltron, but Allura is and always has been Voltron’s leader.

Alright then, I’m sold. Let’s put her in Black!!

But… would that really be the best move, narratively?

For one thing, if the purpose of removing Shiro from the equation (for at least a little while) is to shake up the team, then putting Allura in as Black (at least immediately) is a very strange move. None of the team dynamics get challenged at all, really, because just be swapping out one stable leader for another. It would make sense, but it would kind of be a cop out to the whole big “ooh, what’s the team going to do without Shiro” build up.

Plus, the idea of consolidating the two roles of Leader of Voltron and Head of Voltron kind of stresses me out. That might just be a personal thing, but I feel like it’s really critical for these roles to be kept separate, and what happened to Shiro is proof as to why. If something happens to one of the leaders, the other is still there to handle things. But like, if Allura gets both jobs, and god forbid something happens to her, the team is left with two vacancies and no leaders at all. Then they’d really be screwed.

And on that note, we need two leaders to question each other’s judgement and decisions. We see this dynamic play out between Shiro and Allura frequently. When Shiro says “yeah let’s trust Ulaz,” Allura’s the one to step back and be like “what.” Shiro ends up being right to do so, but Allura’s questions are completely valid. How do we know this isn’t a trap? What have these guys been doing for the past 10000 years? Shiro was ready to trust Ulaz kinda just… ‘cause, while Allura brought the more realistic concerns onto the table.

And when Allura and Keith leave the castle-

-Shiro’s the one to be like, uh, we kind of need you guys here. He and Allura balance each other out. If you combine the two roles, the only judgement the team will follow is Allura’s, because no one else would have the authority to really challenge her. And while she is, again, a brilliant leader, that doesn’t mean she’s always right. Like, specifically in this whole “Keith and Allura run away” thing, they could have tested whether or not it was them being tracked in a different, safer way. Ditching the team and leaving them open to attack in the middle of the night was not the wisest move. This is why we need two leaders, so that one can point out when the other is being too brash or too trusting.

The final issue is:

It’s been emphasized by Coran time and time again that Allura’s quintessence is needed to operate the castle (specifically the wormholes, so that the team can escape if need be). Who would be able to do it in her absence? Can Allura even pilot a lion at all?

Alright so that lays out all of the potential issues with Allura being Black Paladin (and I want to reiterate: I could be completely wrong about all of this lmao, I’m but a mere teenager overanalyzing a children’s tv show). But how would her being the Blue Paladin instead solve any of them?

Well, for one:

This is the same episode where Keith and Allura run off together. Coran is shown to be capable of operating the castle (to an extent) without Allura!! We don’t know the full extent of the castle’s reliance on Allura, and I’m sure that’ll be relevant / explained in season 3, but one thing she’s definitely needed in the castle for is wormholing. It’s a pretty well-established fact that Allura’s the only one who can activate the wormholes.

But that could change soon.

Like Slav points out, the castle is outdated. There’s a chance that someone (maybe him, maybe Coran, maybe someone else) might fix it up to solve that problem.

So, who’s to say that they might not be able to fix things so that Coran might be able to make wormholes instead?

If that happens, Allura could pilot blue, since the team would still be able to wormhole away (assuming that’s really the main thing they need Allura in the castle for).

On another note:

Allura’s quintessence seems to be blue (it was pink at the end of season two but that was probably because of Haggar I think). I’m still kind of unsure on the whole quintessence thing because the only people on Team Voltron that we see actually using quintessence are Allura (seen above) and Shiro (seen with his arm), so there’s no proof that the color of the quintessence matters when it comes to piloting, but Allura does say:

And if Allura has blue quintessence… Hm.

We’re never told in the series what the traits of the Blue Lion are because Lance cuts Allura off, but a look on the Voltron website tells us that it’s “the friendliest of the lions and the most accepting of new pilots” along with having a confidence that “comes in handy in tough battles against bigger and better opponents.” Allura is undoubtedly friendly, as the Alteans are a diplomatic race. We see the extent of her friendliness when she’s willing to work with the Galra despite the fact that they killed her entire civilization (which, in her mind, happened like a few weeks ago thanks to the whole cyro freeze thing). She’s also quite confident in her abilities and judgement– like I’ve said, she’s a leader.

Additionally, the Blue Lion is the Guardian of Water, and water is typically tied to traits like adaptability and healing. We see Allura healing the Balmera, and we see her being adaptable when she… does anything tbh. Allura is frighteningly well-adjusted. As soon as she comes out of the healing pod she basically accepts that she’s been frozen for ten thousand years off the bat. She’s really good at going with the flow. She throws together a resistance between the Marmora, Balmerans, and the Olkari, works to train the team despite them being young and inexperienced because hey, they’re all we’ve got, and agrees to work with the Marmora (again, despite the fact that the Galra killed everyone she knew like a month ago).

And then there’s the whole “most accepting of new pilots” thing. The fact that that information is purposefully kept from the audience makes it seem to me that the writers are setting things up so that someone new is going to pilot the Blue Lion next season. And Allura’s a good bet for who it might be.

The main reason people seem to be nervous about about Allura not becoming the Black Paladin is that they feel that if she doesn’t, it means that Dreamworks is shoving her character to the side. But, like I’ve said, Allura is and always has been the leader of Voltron. She’s the Commander of the Castleship! Her not becoming the Head doesn’t invalidate the power she already has within the group. She is and always has been the most powerful member of the team. That first picture I showed, where Coran calls her a leader, comes before she’s ever stepped foot in a lion.

Also, it’s basically impossible for Dreamworks to push Allura aside next season anyway lol. We’ve just found out that there are other Alteans! And that they’re evil!! Plus we’ve got a mini-resistance with the Blade of Marmora and the Balmerans and the Olkari going, and Lotor, who in the OG series basically completely revolved around Allura, is coming to town. Allura’s. Got a lot on her plate, and her plot’s going to be central to the next season anyway. So I wouldn’t consider it too much of a loss if she didn’t pilot Black (or even a Lion at all!).

Okay so anyway I’ve been arguing so far that Allura could be the Blue Paladin, that it would make sense, and that it wouldn’t hurt her character, but to be honest, the biggest reason I feel like Allura should be Blue Paladin if she does become a paladin is that I think it would be good for her character.

We always see Allura as being this very serious person. She’s just lost her people in a war, the man who did it is still out there and is doing the same thing to others, and now she’s gotta deal with a bunch of punkass kids who don’t really know what they’re doing. She’s mourning and stressed. In the Space Mall episode when everyone leaves, she says it herself: “What am I supposed to do now, sit around and worry all day?”

She worries about the paladins, about her duties, about Zarkon. Sure, she handles this all incredibly well, but it’s clear that there’s already a lot on her plate. And she runs a tight castle-ship as a result.

But, on occasion, we get to see another side of her:

She likes having fun! She plays road trip games with the mice and gossips with them, she wants to go out and see pirates, and when she’s left alone in the castle, she plays bumper cars and races down the hallways (god bless the comic tbh).

The Voltron wiki describes the Blue Lion as an energetic and fun-loving lion. And I’d say that’s an accurate assessment. The first thing Blue does it take Lance out on a joy ride!!

The Voltron website describes Allura as “often feeling the weight of the universe on her shoulders.” Putting her in a happy, energetic lion like Blue would allow us to explore the playful, lighter side of her more, which would add a new dimension to her character. Whereas if she’s put in the Black Lion, I can’t see her character changing / getting more depth from the placement. It would be yet another responsibility, which would reinforce Allura’s current feelings of personal responsibility for the successes and failures of Voltron. And, from a writer’s perspective, why would I want to put my character in a role that wouldn’t change them? It’s much more interesting and dynamic to put them in a situation they have to adapt to and learn from.

Plus, we’d get to see Allura bond with the team! She’s sort of removed from the rest of the paladins at this point. We see her try to chat with Pidge in Season 1, but for the most part, the only conversations Allura really has are ones involving training/missions/fighting Zarkon (minus the ones she has with Lance, which are him being thirsty and her shutting him down lmao). Being the Blue Paladin would allow her to integrate herself into the team more fully and just. Be with them. Not as the Serious Leader but as an equal.

Alright I’m gonna wrap this up here before I write another ten paragraphs on why Allura deserves to be happy and have fun and have friends and kick ass without having to worry about that god damn particle barrier. Basically Allura being Blue Paladin would make sense, wouldn’t make her any less of the leader she already is, and would allow us to explore a new side of her! She was Blue Paladin in the OG series, and there’s a possibility that she might in this one, too!

And for one last parting shot:

Everyone else is color coordinated with their lions (minus Lance, kind of). And guess what color Allura wears?

#voltron #voltron meta #allura #god i should really do my homework lmao #if you read this mess i love you #i just really wanna have allura pilot a lion!!! but if she doesn't she's still a badass and I love her

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canaryatlaw · 8 years ago

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Well today was pretty good. I couldn't fall asleep for my life last night, I just couldn't get comfortable between my back and my stomach hurting me it just wasn't happening, and I ended up being up till some time after 4 am, which meant when my alarm went off at 9 I was hella tired, but I still managed to drag my ass out of bed like a good little soldier and get ready for church. Got there and checked in with the babies room to make sure they had enough people for the 11 am service as someone cancelled last night, then headed back down for the actual service. It was pretty good, starting a new series called "managing the money monster" which was interesting. It's kind of weird because I know this is the only sermon from the series I'll be there for, and it's not a topic that's super relevant to me because I don't have a job and I'm not earning any money (well, I have a job, but I'm not earning any money, that's the crucial part here). It was generally good advice though, obviously a lot about believing in God to help you handle things, and how finances can kind of be the last hold out for that type of thing. So yeah, it was good. After the service was over I went back upstairs to the babies room and set up for the next service. I was supposed to be joined by the high school girl who helps out pretty often, but she ended up just straight up not showing up, which happens sometimes, so it was just me. I've never really had an issue with it because I know it's not like she has her own car and can drive herself, but the girl who's in charge was slightly miffed about it and ended up texting her about it so *shrug* I'm not terribly invested either way. It ended up being completely fine though, the service went on without a hitch. I ended up with 3 little guys, each almost 2 years old (like they were all 22-23 months) and everything was entirely peaceful pretty much the whole time. First there was a little girl who's been in and out a bit and last I saw was still throwing royal fits for her parents, but surprisingly she calmed down within about 5 minutes with me talking to her and her watching Cinderella on her Amazon Fire, lol. Hey, if it helps, I'm definitely not opposed to using technology to satisfy children that would otherwise be screaming (and it's actually a very helpful trick when there are many of them). So she was content pretty much the whole time. I tried to get her interested in the toys, and she did eventually end up picking up one of the little squeaky ones and squeezing it for a while, so that felt like some progress lol. Then there was my tiny girl, who sadly I think might've had her last service with me because she's about to turn 2 and I'm gonna be gone for the rest of the month. She was good though, enthusiastic as always, and we ran around and played and did everything. She kind of started saying some variation of my name, very very roughly haha, like when you tell her to say "thank you" she makes like a two-syllable noise that sounds vaguely like the words, and that's pretty much what she was doing with "Ra-chel" but hey it's progress so I was pleased lol. Then the last one was the little boy who had previously stayed by the gate the whole service and refused to move, but he apparently also had a change of heart from the last time I saw him because right from the start he ran in with a smile on his face and couldn't have been a happier camper, so I was like okay I'll take it haha. He was a bit rambunctious, mostly because the kids got a heck of an arm on him for a not-quite-yet 2 year old, and took pleasure in throwing the plastic balls from the little ball pit (which was somewhat deflated and apparently a new one is coming) across the room, but then we just made a game of throwing them back so it was fine. And yeah, I have no complaints, it legit went as smoothly as an service ever has haha especially when there's only one person, so I was pleased. The other ladies helping out did check in with me frequently to ensure I was still managing, which I appreciated of course. So, when that was over I headed home, train to the bus, except by the time I got there the bus was still a solid 17 minutes away, and I figured now would be a good time to try the super epic donut shop that's right next to the train station that I've been passing every time I go to work or church since August and have yet refrained from trying (because I don't like eating out on things I know are just gonna be massive calories, or at least when I'm alone, which is often) but I figured now was as good a time as any to give it a try. Chicago has several rather legendary donut places, and this is one of them. They have a few locations around the city but are definitely a Chicago exclusive thing (it's called Stan's Donuts if you're interested). So I go inside and get on the decent sized line, but by the time I got to the counter I still hadn't been able to make up my mind haha because the choices were too awesome, so the lady helping me recommend the "Biscoff pocket" which was a yeast donut stuffed with cookie butter, and it was every bit as amazing as it sounds. I'm always slightly hesitant about cookie butter (only slightly though) just because the texture is similar to peanut butter and I hate peanut butter with every fiber of my being, but it didn't bother me too much. I sat in the window for a few minutes before heading back outside shortly before the bus arrived, so I'd call it a successful adventure. Took the bus the rest of the way home and dove into my schoolwork, first up with trial ad which I had to write an opening statement for. No problem writing it, but the annoying part is the assignment was like "don't even think about using notes" when legit every lawyer uses notes for an opening??? Ever??? So it's basically bullshit that I'll have to work on getting down over the next few days which is annoying, but oh well. Writing it wasn't too difficult, just banged out a few paragraphs and we're good. Then I had to deal with the field observation paper I have to give a presentation on tomorrow in my mission based lawyering class, which I was low key dreading, until I actually looked at the assignment and realized it was just supposed to be a summary of our field observation, not like a "reflection" or something similar that would require substantial bullshitting on my part. Just summarizing my day? Oh, I can do that very well, I do it every night on here for these posts. And of course I took copious notes on the cases, which helped immensely. So I started typing it out and within an hour I had 4 and a half pages (the range was 3-5) ready to go that I was quite happy with, so I'm glad that is done. Lastly there's crim pro, which probably wasn't totally necessary to do because we're backed up on cases and may not even get to these cases this week, but it was only 20 pages so I figured I'd just get it done. Two cases, easy enough. I finished just at 8, which was of course my goal, because I'm actually so good at meeting deadlines like that lol. During this time I was also running back and forth to do laundry, which was super overdue and I ended up doing 3 full loads, haha. The weird part was that when I got down there there was a solid two inches of water just chilling in the bottom of the washer and not appearing to be going anywhere. I didn't want to stick my clothes in there if it was having a problem, so I texted my landlord and he said that happens sometimes when people overload it, but if I run a load on empty it should work again. So that's what I did ($2 in my precious laundry quarters down the drain, not that I'm actually annoyed enough to make an issue of it though) and it was back to normal afterwards so I was able to start and was happy to get that done, especially because the end of this week is the start of spring break and I'll need clean clothes to pack, so it was really a necessity to get it done. For the evening I first tried to find the episode of Powerless my dvr supposedly didn't record, only to find it apparently just doesn't exist yet (thanks for nothing, IMDb) so I moved on to Suits which I watched the rest of the season of. I have to say I'm much more satisfied with the ending of this season than I was last season, so I'll give them credit there. I think it helped that they were a lot more focused on actual cases instead of inter-firm drama and personal agendas, even if those cases were brought in relation to personal agendas. I have to say though, they do so much sketchy shit there's no way they would've have been caught so many times over and so screwed over. And I'm sorry, there is zero chance of Mike ever getting admitted to the bar in reality. Like, ZERO CHANCE. Are you fucking kidding me??? That's ridiculous. I am mostly willing to overlook it though because I'm interested in seeing Mike as a lawyer lol so I can forgive their ridiculousness. The ending with Louis was sad of course, but it was still a much better and a much more joyful season finale than last season so I appreciate that. And JESSICA. YAAAS. Only Jessica Pearson could manage to appeal to compassion and blackmail someone at the same fucking time. She is legit like, lawyer goals and I don't even care if that's sketchy lol she is a boss. And of course it was hysterical when she was like "yeah let New York disbar me, they won't give a fuck in Chicago" for obvious reasons. So overall I was pleased with my watching and catching up, especially since I'd lost a good amount of faith in the show at this point, some of which was restored here. And yeah, that about sums up my day. Get to sleep in tomorrow thanks to yet another weird Chicago holiday that closes the courts and gets me the day off (I swear I'm never going to actually make it to the DV clinic at this point, but I'm not complaining about the extra time). It's like Casamir Polaski day I think? I don't know, some crazy made up Chicago holiday but hey, like I said, no complaints here. Still have class at night with presentations, but that should be easier enough and at least I get to sleep in, which is the important part really, and speaking of sleep that's what I'm going to do now. Goodnight angels. Stay beautiful.

#daily journal #March 2017

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