#harvey's stern gaze

[butdaddyilovehimmm]

SUITS 1.02

The "Look at me" scene in all its glory.

[munson-blurbs]

Joker!Eddie Munson x Harley Quinn!Reader

Summary: You're a psychologist who has always done the right thing. Enter Eddie Munson, mandated to attend court-ordered counseling sessions, who has a devilish side you can't resist.

WC: 2.9k

Warnings: dark fic, loosely based on Joker and Harley's story, mention of drug dealing, mention of parental abandonment and death, murder, ex!Jason Carver/Harvey Dent, arson, power imbalance, allusions to smut

A/N: Before y'all say anything, I know that Joker and Harley have a toxic relationship. Eddie and Reader bring out the worst in each other, but this is *clears throat* FANFIC! So long live these fake toxic relationships. And big thank you to @corroded-hellfire for her help with the lore. Happy Halloween!

Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie Munson didn’t sit down once for the entire duration of his first session. 

Most of your clients opted for the couch. The more nervous ones sitting so close to the worn cushion’s edge that they nearly fell off, while the more experienced ones practically lounged as they recounted whatever horrors had occurred since their last session. 

Eddie paced back and forth, his Reeboks wearing a hole in the mildewed carpet, only pausing when he needed to light a cigarette. 

“I mean, this is bullshit.” He took a drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Twenty fuckin’ years, I get shoved to the side, and now they think some shrink is gonna fix all my problems?”

‘They’ most likely referred to Chief Hopper, who had been the one to recommend Eddie receive court-mandated therapy instead of serving time in jail for possession with intent to distribute. The police chief had become soft ever since adopting that teenage daughter, which was probably why Eddie was in your dingy office rather than behind bars. 

Your gaze flicked over the tattoos on his arms, visible where he’d cut his shirt sleeves, and looked him in the eyes. “Have you been to therapy before, Eddie?”

He threw his head back and laughed so violently that you dropped your pen. Before you could reach for it, Eddie picked it up and placed it in your lap, his fingertips grazing the hem of your skirt. 

“After my dad got locked up for, oh, I dunno, the tenth time?” Eddie shook his head and laughed again, though this one was quieter. “My uncle took me to talk to some shrink. Turns out that my old man had actually stolen the guy’s car. Small fuckin’ world, huh?” He scratched at the nape of his neck. “Yeah, he told us never to come back. So we didn’t.”

Your heart broke for the child he once was, rejected by a therapist while coping with his father’s incarceration. “Where was your mother?” You asked softly. 

Eddie flicked some ash into the ashtray. “She’d been dead for a while at that point.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be.” His face lit up, smiling too hard to properly take another drag of his cigarette. “At least she didn’t have to deal with any of this shit. All she had to do was be worm food.”

The visual made your stomach turn, but Eddie was grinning. 

“Aww, c’mon, Sweetheart” he pouted jokingly, snuffing out his cigarette. “You gotta appreciate some dark humor once in a while.”

The nickname would have earned any other man a stern look, maybe even a warning for dismissal, but it felt so right coming from Eddie. 

“Do you use humor to cope?” 

He twisted a skull ring around his finger and walked over to where you sat before crouching down in front of you. 

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do here.” One hand found your knee, his nail catching on a run in your black tights. Eddie peered up at you, lips twisting into an unsettling smile. “But I’m not dealing because I’m sad or trying to fill a void left behind by my parents. I’m doing it to survive in this shithole.”

He rose then and resumed his pacing while he ranted. “We can sit here all goddamn day and talk about my daddy issues, or my mommy issues, or how the system failed poor Eddie Munson over and over and over. And maybe I’ll leave here feeling slightly less shitty about myself. But you know what that won’t do?” He didn’t wait for your response. “It won’t put food on the table or keep the lights on. It won’t stop the bank from taking my trailer. Greedy bastards.”

Only when you remained silent did Eddie glance over at you with his wide brown eyes, as though he’d just remembered his speech had an audience. “You can put all that in your notes. Show it to Chief Hopper, to the judge; I don’t care.”

You closed the marble notebook perched in your lap and capped your pen. “I’m not trying to fix you, Eddie,” you said. “I just want to know you.”

“No, you don’t.” Eddie huffed out a chuckle. “You wanna get inside my brain. You can’t help it. I’m an interesting guy.”

He was. You’d always been interested in understanding people; how they thought and how it affected their behaviors. It was why you chose a career in psychology. But Eddie had something beyond that—a magnetic pull that drew you in, no matter how many times you silently reminded yourself to maintain those professional boundaries. 

For the remaining twenty minutes of your session, you dug for as much information about Eddie as you could get. He played guitar, took six years to graduate high school because of an algebra teacher who was determined to flunk him, and kept a notebook of his own to plan Dungeons & Dragons campaigns.

If you didn’t have another client immediately after him, you would have let him keep talking. You clung to every word like a lifeline, noting the little mannerisms peppered into his personality. 

Eddie spoke with his hands and ran his fingers through his knotted curls when he was particularly agitated or passionate about a topic. His nose scrunched when he asked questions that required your approval. He’d lick his lips every so often, and his tongue poked out of his mouth when he was concentrating. Every movement was intoxicating.

Your next session was more of the same, though this time, Eddie actually sat down on the couch. He lit a cigarette before speaking, taking a drag and holding it out to you. 

You watched the smoke curl around his fingertips, beckoning you to accept his offer. It was wrong; sure, you could smoke during a session, but to share a cigarette with a client? You shouldn’t. You couldn’t. 

You did. 

“There ya go,” Eddie murmured under his breath, watching your chest rise with the inhale and fall with the exhale. “Sweetheart, ya gotta take the edge off once in a while. Do something that makes you smile.”

You cocked your head teasingly, holding the cigarette hostage for a moment longer. “Aren’t I supposed to be helping you?”

“We can help each other.” He plucked the cigarette from your grasp. “Watch.”

Your gaze stayed on his lips, full and slightly chapped from the bitter winter, as he inhaled deeply. He crooked a finger, and your body moved of its own volition to the spot beside him. 

His thumb pulled at your lower lip, a question he could already answer. His mouth found yours, not in a kiss, but just to transfer the smoke he’d been holding back; tobacco mixed with a subtle hint of spearmint. 

“How do you feel now?” Eddie hadn’t moved back, and you felt every word he spoke. 

All you could do was nod, focusing every ounce of energy on going back to your chair. The distance suddenly seemed too far; any distance from Eddie seemed too far. You wanted to be in his lap, sharing the remainder of that cigarette, drawing you in closer…

Swallowing your steadily building desire, you forced yourself to ask him a question that didn’t pertain to the way he tasted. “W-What was it like moving in with your uncle?”

Eddie laughed darkly, taking in your nervousness like he knew exactly how brainless he’d made you. “My uncle, huh? All right, I’ll bite” He stretched, revealing a thin trail of hair that started at his navel and dipped below the waist of his jeans. There was a sick gleam in his eyes when he caught you staring, but he said nothing about it.

He told you about a police officer dropping him off on Wayne Munson’s doorstep in the middle of the night after his father had been arrested. 

“Just me and a trash bag full of clothes that barely fit me,” he proclaimed. “Oh, and the headlice tagging along. Ended up having to shave these gorgeous locks.” He shook his head to exaggerate his point.

“That must’ve been really traumatic for you.” You tapped your pen on your notebook absently, somewhat aware that you should be writing this information down, but not able to look away from him.

Eddie shrugged. “Not really. It grew back.”

“I meant…never mind.” You tucked your lips into your mouth to stifle a giggle.

He looked as though he wanted to say something, but your actions distracted him.

“Don’t hide your smile.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, letting you feel the gravity saturating his words. “Makes me happy when you smile.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was laughing at you.”

He clicked his tongue in mock sympathy, like he pitied you. It was a gesture you were unused to seeing from your clients. “You wouldn’t be the first, Sweetheart.” Eddie sat forward. “You might have been the first to feel bad about it, though.”

Over the following weeks, your sessions with Eddie followed the same routine. You would ask him questions and he would answer them cryptically. Shared cigarettes became more frequent as you convinced yourself it was good for building rapport.

In the early days of spring, where winter’s chill still peeked in each morning, Eddie opened the door to your office and found you crying in your chair. Most clients waited for you to get them from the waiting room, but he always let himself in.

The moment you heard the hinges creaking, you swiped at the tears dampening your cheeks. Embarrassment flooded your veins and heated you from the inside out at the thought of him seeing you in such a vulnerable state.

He was at your side in a heartbeat, reaching for the tissue box you kept on your bookshelf. “What’s wrong?” There was venom in his tone, ready to bite at a moment’s notice.

“N-Nothing,” you lied clumsily, convincing neither him nor yourself. “Just a bad day.”

Eddie gritted his teeth. “Don’t fuckin’ do that, Sweetheart.” He grabbed your chin and brought your full attention with it. “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me. Not when I’ve been honest with you.”

The story spilled out before you could think better of it: You’d woken up that morning to your ex-boyfriend banging on your front door, screaming to let you in, his slurred words informing you that he was drunk. Calling the police would be futile; he was buddies with the whole department and more than likely had them in his back pocket. All you could think to do in that moment was hide under your covers until he eventually gave up and left.

Eddie tensed, never losing his grip on you. “Did he hurt you?” His breathing quickened, fight-or-flight activated. “I swear to God, Sweetheart, if he put his hands on you–”

“No,” you hurriedly assured him. “No, he just scared me. But Jason’s never–” Your eyes widened when you said his name aloud; all at once, you realized your error.

“Jason…Carver?” Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “The hell were you doing with an asshole like him?” He shook his head before you could answer. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he never bothers you again.” Rage flashed in his eyes. “Just say the word, and I’ll do it.”

You furrowed your brows. “What do you mean?” There was no way…he wouldn’t…

He crossed his arms over his chest, obscuring the view of the devil on his shirt. “Do you remember a few years ago when Harrington Enterprises was planning to shut down the plant to build those luxury condos?”

You nodded, wondering where he was going with this. Warren Harrington had all but signed on the dotted lines, but he’d been murdered in his own home before he closed the deal. Rumor had it that his own son, Steve, had orchestrated it in order to gain control of the family fortune. An investigation came up without any suspects, and the plant remained open. 

“If they had their way, my uncle and all of his buddies would be out of a job, and then they’d lose their cars, their homes…well, you know how it goes.” Eddie smirked. “So I did what I had to do to stop that from happening.”

“You…” you lowered your voice in case anyone was listening in, “you killed Warren Harrington?”

He bristled preemptively, only relaxing when he didn’t detect any  judgment. “I’d do anything to protect the people I love.” Eddie’s palms cupped your cheeks, the calluses scratching at your skin. “I’ll kill Carver if it’ll keep you safe, Sweetheart. You won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Everything about this was wrong. He was threatening to commit homicide for you because he loved you. 

You needed to stop this. It had gone too far. And yet you couldn’t, not when he was pleading to let him take care of you. All of your career, all of your life, you had been expected to clean up everyone else’s messes. You were the one who fixed other people’s mistakes, who solved their problems. To lift that burden from your shoulders, to let someone else take it on…

“I love you, too, Eddie.” You reached out and took his steady hands in your trembling ones. “I love you so much.”

“Okay. Good.” Eddie sighed deeply, leaning in and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. There was a flicker of amusement when he pulled back and saw the concern on your face. “C’mon, baby. You should be happy. Here.” He reached behind your chair and grabbed your bag, rummaged through it. Deft fingers uncapped your ruby red lipstick and drew a Black Dahlia smile on his lips, extending from one clean-shaven cheek to the other. “Now, close your eyes.”

You did as he asked, placing full trust in him. You expected him to draw a similar smile on you; instead, he pressed his mouth to yours, transferring some of the makeup to your face.

The words I love you kept falling from your lips, muffled only by the hungry kisses you eagerly gave and accepted. Zippers were unfastened, buttons undone, clothes strewn across your office floor. For a moment, the only sounds were the soft moans and panting breaths that punctuated the silence. It was love, and it was perfect.

It all happened so fast.

You woke up the next morning to sirens blaring down the street, a never-ending parade of noise and flashing lights. There was no way Eddie had already done something to Jason; you’d just talked about it yesterday. Killing one of Hawkins’ most beloved citizens would certainly take more than twelve hours of deliberation.

If Eddie had struck, he wouldn’t have been able to escape unnoticed. 

Black smoke billowed from one of the Loch Nora mansions, visible even in the less wealthy parts of town. You could hear your neighbors clamoring, and the consensus was that it was the Carver house that was burning to the ground.

You drove straight to the county jail, not even stopping off at work or letting them know you wouldn’t be in. The fear of being reprimanded paled in comparison to Eddie’s fate.

Flashing your government ID, you bolted through the doors and blew past the guards. Sure enough, Eddie Munson sat behind the bars of a cell, head in his beautiful hands. The same hands that had touched you just yesterday, fumbling with the tiny buttons of your blouse. The man who was larger than life during your sessions suddenly seemed so small.

“Puddin’?” 

Eddie glanced up when he heard the nickname you’d given him. “Baby, I…I didn’t kill him. I tried, but he got out. Forgot that rich people have those smoke detector things,” he added with a wry smile. It was then that you saw that his mouth was still stained with remnants of your lipstick. “But when he ran out of the house it looked like half of his face had burned off.”

Of course he’d stuck around to see the aftermath of his destruction.

“We can talk about this later. Okay?” You lowered your voice to a whisper. “We’re getting out of town. And we’re never coming back. I’m gonna tell the guards that I’m taking you out for a therapy session. Just follow my lead.”

Eddie was uncharacteristically quiet, so much so that you worried the guards might apprehend him because he wasn’t talking. Their narrowed eyes followed you and Eddie until you exited the building.

“My girl is a natural-born deceiver.” Eddie laced his fingers with yours. “So proud.”

You laughed. “If they gave us any trouble, I might’ve had to knock them out with their own clubs.” When you started towards your sedan, Eddie tugged you in the opposite direction. “My car is–”

“Forget it. Leave it here.” His eyes scanned the parking lot. “We’ll take that one.” He clocked your confusion and let out a raucous laugh. “Al Munson may have been a deadbeat, but he did teach me one thing.”

You slipped your arm around his waist. “Looks like I have a lot to learn.” 

“It’s gonna be me and you against the world, baby.” Eddie pulled you closer and whispered in your ear. “We’re gonna knock ‘em dead.”

--

[shreddiman]

OHHH!! yall aint ready for this!

I WROTE A ONE-SHOT >:D

Care

Sebastian x M!Reader

!conext¡ the skull mines are my enemy and i wrote this based off that! this is my first real one-shot, so id love any feed back! ENJOY <3

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

I woke to the white light of Harvey's Clinic. Worried murmurs were muffled from outside the room as my eyes adjusted to the blinding light.

I knew what happened, and though I was covered in bandages the only thing hurting was my ego. Shame and embarrassment suffocated me, and it only got worse when Harvey walked into the room, Maru at his side.

My face paled at that and I kept my head down as I stared at my lap. I was about to get lectured, again, and in front of her no less.

And for the record, no. I dont have a crush on her. Even her dad had assumed it, giving me the old fashion "stay away from my daughter" threat talk. I was tempted to tell the man I was gay, but when gossiping to Maru about her dads many issues, she was thankful i hadnt.

adding that to the list. . .

"Y/N! oh thank goodness you are awake, it took you longer this time round. You werent holding out on me now, were you?"

Maru gave a look as I glanced up, my silence caused a flicker of frustration across her face as she crossed her arms over her chest. My mouth formed a thin line as I looked back down at my lap.

"Hm, 'This time around'? What do you mean by that Harvey?" Her voice was sweet, but I can tell without looking there was a bitterness in her tone. All those times I bumped into Sebastian, Robin.. hell maybe even Demetrius, her father, and lied to them about my state of health? Well the cats of the bag now.

"Oh you dont know? This kids a wreck! Goes out to the mines, comes back half dead," Harvey turns to me, a stern look on his face that I catch a glimpse of as he sits down on his stool.

"Listen kiddo, I dont know what Im going to do with you. You really gotta be more careful. Let me do one last check and then Ill send you on your way, alright?" He bent down a bit to catch my eye, I reluctantly nodded and laid back to allow the doctor to do his thing.

-

It was raining, and it only dampened my mood. I was aching all over, the pain medication Harvey had give me for the time being a weight in my hand as I shoved them into my pocket.

It was still early, and with so much time in the day it felt useless to go home and rest.

The walk to the beach was short, my mind elsewhere as my body moved on basically auto pilot.

The change from wet sand to slippery wood is what caught my attention, and I nearly missed the figure standing at the end of the dock. Sebastian was there, hair damp and flat as his cloths looked darker than usual from the rain. He mustve been out there for awhile.

Thinking about it, one of the first days I had moved here, I found him sitting in nearly the same spot. He talked about how weirdly calming it was, even in the unforgiving downpour. At first, I had laughed at the thought. Being cold and alone in the rain? I couldnt see how thatd bring comfort at all.

Yet, here I was.

I hadnt even said anything, approaching his side as I sat down on the wet wood. I felt his eyes on me, but the feeling grew more intense as I suddenly felt my arm being tugged. I whipped my head toward him in surprise, seeing his concerned expression as he examined my wounds. I felt my embarrassment return.

"What the hell happened to you?" He asked, looking up from my bandages, that were starting to fall apart from the rain, and at me. I wanted to look away from his gaze, feeling shameful but the stern look he gave made me feel like a kid who had gotten caught.

"..Mines. I wasnt as careful as I shouldve been." I say, blankly. I doubt that no matter how sorry I was, he'd be off the wall upset that I had lied to him. I just didnt want anyone to worry about me, I didnt want to think about how difficult it would be to explain the concept of this stupid game I was playing with life.

He dropped my arm, a look of slight betrayal on his face. Taking a deep breath he slumped down beside me, his arms crossed over his chest. Just like his sister, heh.

There was silence for awhile, the rain filling in the gaps of unspoken words. I knew Sebastian wanted to be angry with me, maybe he felt since I was physically injured he'd spare my feelings.

"I wish you wouldve told me, how dangerous it was."

Spoke too soon.

"I know, Im sorry. Your sister gave me the dirtiest of looks when she saw me at Harvey's." I gave a weak chuckle, even with the gray sky's I had hopped to lighten the situation, if only a little.

The lack of reply made me feel uncomfortable, so I continued to ramble on,

"I didnt want people worrying over me. I know thats terrible to say, and impossible to wish for- we're humans, it's natural to worry, to"

I paused, almost as if my own words were surprising me.

"to... care."

I held my arms out in front of me, seeing the damage done beneath the bloodied bandages. The image before me getting blurry as my eyes filled with tears. I opened my mouth to speak, but I wasnt sure I trusted my voice.

"I didnt think.. people cared about me that way. Hell I, I think Im afraid of it. Of people caring. Maybe, I dont deserve it,?" I basically whispered my confession, my shame coming back to hit me 10x harder when I saw Sebastian stand.

This was it, this was the crushing reality I had been waiting for. I wouldnt shut up, and now I made him uncomfortable. Maybe I can understand why Shane prefers his drunken'd state.

All that doubt washed away as Sebastians hand came into view.

"Cmon, lets get out of the rain. Youre starting to shiver."

I was shocked, but obeyed regardless. Taking his hand he pulled me up, wrapping his arm around me to hold me close. I felt the color return to my face, he was out in the rain for as long as me, if not longer and he still radiated off heat like he was a mini heater.

It wasnt long till we reached his house and walked down to his room.

"Stay there."

He stopped me outside his door. Before I could ask why, a clean pair of cloths was presented in front of me, "Bathrooms upstairs to the left, past the kitchen. Change into those and come back when youre done."

I stared at him in disbelief. I wanted to ask so many questions, but all I could muster was a soft,

"Why?"

He stared for a moment, a soft smile stretching across his face as he placed a hand on top of my head.

"Because I care."

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

aggressively exists, vibrates, kicks legs!!

SO, did you enjoy it :)? im lowkey very happy with it but ngl i barely do this good at writing so dont expect a part two 💀

(unless you ask nicely..maybe)

ANYWAY THANKS BYE LOVE YOU MWAH

[ave09]

drive

gk!harvey dent x wife!reader

note: i love writing these lmaooo

this one’s got a bit of angst, and the ending sorta sucks but whatevesss! the next one i wanna write is gonna me my interpretation of the two-face debocle, specifically when he actually becomes two-face (dc fans, y’all know what i mean 👀) bc i have a rlly fluffy and sad idea for it and now want nothing more then to write it. that’ll prolly be my last harvey imagine til i get more inspo from the next gotham knights episode. BUT! i also wanna start writing for other characters, mainly star wars and supernatural so if you have any ideas,pls message me!

———

“okay, where are we going?”

“now if i told you, that would ruin the surprise!” you exclaimed, glancing at your husband in the passenger seat. 

he was currently blindfolded, a mixture of curiosity and content written in his expression. harvey dent used to hate surprises. the anticipation, not knowing if he would like it or not, the stress was unbearable.

until you came along.

harvey dent now loved surprises. 

they were never for birthdays, or any sort of special occasion, it was just out of the blue. he’d come home from work very late and you’d be waiting with a surprise dinner of all his favorites, or on his off days, you’d wake him up bright and early, shove him in the car and drive until you reached your secret destination. 

it was moments like these that harvey looked forward to the most. he never had anyone love him and treat him this way, and he was beyond grateful to have you. 

“are we almost there?”

“are you a child?”

harvey laughed at this, “well, we’ve been driving forever, and i’m starting to think that maybe this isn’t a surprise, but you’re actually taking me out here to murder me.”

you scoffed jokingly, “right and leave lincoln march as mayor, you’ve discovered my plan, guess i gotta kill you now.”

you both erupted into a fit of laughter, but it was interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing. “harv, could you-“

“i’m blind right now, darling.” 

“well, i guess you could take it off for a second, can you check my phone?“ you didn’t know who could be calling you, but it never hurt to check. 

harvey pulled the blindfold up, ruffling his hair in the process as he reached for your small purse, shuffling through the contents until he found the phone. his light eyes narrowed, causing anxiety to claw at you. 

“why is a psychiatrist calling you?”

shit. shit. shit. 

“oh, must be a wrong number.”

stupid. stupid. stupid.

“you have her number saved.” 

his voice was stern. not angry, not disappointed, but upset. you suddenly were aware that you knew exactly what was going on. 

“harvey-“

“you were calling about me, weren’t you?“ a sigh slipped past your lips, and he had his answer. 

“are you fucking kidding me?”

“harvey-“

“i told you, i’m fine! i’m just stressed!” he exclaimed, annoyance lacing his tone. “i thought you were fine too.” you said, trying to keep your temper at bay and keep your focus on the road.

“oh yeah, and what changed that?” 

subconsciously, your foot pressed down on the gas pedal, unease settling in your stomach, “the other day, you called me. and it was as though you were a completely different person.” you began, but was interrupted by harvey shouting, “watch out!!” your gaze turned back on the road and you realized you had drifted lanes. so you did what any sane person would do and pulled off road, slamming on the brakes until you came to a halted stop in a ditch. 

heavy breathes filled the air as you tried to recover from the rush of adrenaline. in that moment you were fearful that you’re last moments on earth were going to be in the middle of an argument with your husband.

thank God, He’d given you another day. 

the man recovered quicker than you did. harvey furrowed his brows, tilting his head slightly, “what are you talking about..?”

“exactly. and you told me that you had simply ‘zoned out’. harv, that’s never happened before. and i’m scared.”

“scared of me?” his voice was soft, and it almost broke you. “no. scared for you.” you corrected, your voice slightly breaking. 

“honey..”

he reached across the seat, taking your hand, “i’m gonna be okay. nothing’s gonna happen. but if it makes you feel better, i’ll go see the psychiatrist.”

you glanced at him, “you will?”

harvey nodded, “anything for you, my love.” 

a smile tugged at your lips, and everything seemed okay. 

“but can you promise me something?” 

“anything.”

a devilish smile appeared on his face as a gravelly voice spoke, “promise me that you’ll never speak another word of this. and if ya do, i’ll gut you like a fish.” 

[euphorial-docx]

snippet of my jegulily/dorlene/wolfstar deadly class au

(tw! discussion of murder… it’s a murder school so i feel like that should be a given)

“In the media, when they cover an assassination, or an attempted assassination, how do they paint the picture?” Master McGonagall queries the classroom as she strides in the aisles between silent desks, arms folded behind her firmly-postured back.

Regulus watches her back as she walks, her stern gaze falling upon every student she passes by. His gaze, however, drops to a particular auburn-haired student two seats ahead. She hasn’t turned to look at him once.

“Is the scene a mess, or is it tidy? How much noise was made? Was it a public execution? Or had it been isolated, noiseless? Is the assassin perceived to be competent?” The woman’s steps stop once she reaches the desk of Barty. “Or is he an impulsive madman that can hardly match the intelligence of the most witless in this very room?”

Barty, of course, grins. “You flatter me, dolcezza.”

The only movement is the rise of her brow as she continues to stare at the young man. The quiet classroom seems to get quieter, wary of her stillness. Even Regulus pulls his attention away from his objective to watch the exchange.

“Your need for reciprocation is a sign of weakness, Mr. Crouch. Mind that before an enemy does,” their Master remarks, effectively wiping that grin off his friend’s face.

A few stifled laughs penetrate the silence as McGonagall’s footsteps pick up again. Regulus lowers his head, pursing his lips to keep his own amusement at bay. He doesn’t feel too bad for his friend. He doubts her thorough read will deter Barty for long.

“I’m sure when you think of assassinations, your mind goes to the likes of the emotionally disturbed Lee Harvey Oswald or the obsessive Confederate passion of John Wilkes Booth– I’m here to tell you that impression is far from the reality,” McGonagall tells them. “In about twenty percent of assassinations, the perpetrators are delusional. These acts are rarely impulsive. The more impulsive it is, the more likely they are to get caught. The cases the media shows to you are only the ones who failed.”

Regulus lifts his head, and his heart guides his focus. He’s looking at the red hair again. He’s looking at Lily again. She’s writing in her notes, filling the pages up quickly. He’s seen her notes before, and she leaves not a single word out. She never admits it outloud but he knows there’s an anxiety attached to her success here, and she knows it’s the same for him.

His focus then shifts to the clock on the wall. There are only a handful of minutes left, and the hands are moving quickly. His mind runs through plans, through predictions, in an attempt to find the best course of action.

“You may be expecting me to advise you not to become too passionate about your goals, that too much fire is dangerous and needs to be extinguished, but that is an unrealistic expectation. There is no crime without passion, without some strong emotion to guide it. Passion is good when you know how to control it.” She stands at the front of the class now, eyes sweeping the faces of her students. “Your homework tonight is to write a 3000 word essay about what inspires you to kill and maim. Only when you identify what lights the fire in you, can you learn how to tame it.”

The bell sounds.

[jtrahan]

Batman's Halloween

"Oh, don't even tell me you don't like dressing up! You dress up every night!"

"That's different. That's for work." He gazes stonily out through the manor windows, where an orange sunset is running down the glass. The expression on his face is stern and foreboding, and looks as though he practices it in the mirror, which--she now knows, as of a few weeks ago--he does. It's strange to know these things, having spent so many nights wondering; and she laps them up like milk, always hunting for new ones, the vulnerable little edges of man who has worked so hard to have none. As though she, of the two of them, is the detective.

"If it's the theme that bothers you," she says, toying with the diamonds at her neckline, "You shouldn't worry. It's just that villains always have the best looks, you know, it's not that people don't appreciate--"

"I am not dressing up."

"You can go as Harvey," she says. "That way you'll only have to dye half your hair, and I can scratch up the left side of one of your old suits--"

"No."

But that voice, the same voice that once struck such fear into the heart of a petty jewel thief at the wrong end of a dark alley, holds no terror for her now; and she revels in it. "Then you can go as me," she says, and removes the headband from her hair, placing it on his own much larger head. It strains, but stays. "And you can't possibly complain about that, Bruce. It would be rude."

Two little black cat ears stick up from the top of Bruce Wayne's head. He glares at her; but she sees, with a fierce rush of triumph, that he can't help but begin to smile.

[elizaviento]

Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine (Part 3 of ?)

(Stardew Valley — Shane/Female Farmer/OC)

This chapter is rated SFW — 2943 words. Mentions of blood and injury.

(FYI: Additional chapters of Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine can be found in the Stardew Valley Fic Masterpost link in my blog description.  Or, you can click the #green on the vine strawberry wine tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)

*****

Kristen wasn't sure how she'd managed to make it inside the farmhouse when the last thing she remembered was counting the steps toward the porch as she stumbled toward it from the coop enclosure. Harvey's warm, honey-like voice filtered in through the static, recognizable but speaking utter gibberish. No matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn't make sense of what he said, only that he must be asking a question due to the inflection of his words.

"Harvey?" she managed to ask as his face hovered so close to hers that she could count the flecks in his irises. A second later, large hands tucked under each of her armpits, coaxing her upward from the kitchen tile.

"There she is," Harvey replied. Relief softened his tone, allowing his usual friendly cadence to replace the stern professionalism she referred to as his doctor's voice.

Awareness still felt fuzzy around the edges — soft and nondescript. Floaty, yet her head throbbed, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis with the few wobbly steps she took toward the small kitchen table.

Thudding footfalls echoed through the farmhouse, seeming to pulse in time with the throbbing within her skull. Pacing back and forth, hurried. A door squealed on its rusty hinges, and Kristen immediately recognized the abrupt scrape across hardwood as it stuck without closing fully — the linen closet.

"Who —" she began, scrubbing at her eyes with her uninjured hand as the footsteps backtracked and approached the kitchen.

Shane rounded the corner, towel in one hand and glass of water in the other, his expression grim. He spoke, but Kristen was too preoccupied with remaining upright — so as not to drag Harvey back to the floor with her — to filter what he'd said through the only two brain cells operating at full capacity. 

Once her ass made contact with the solid surface of the oak chair, she slumped and released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The glass of water Shane placed gingerly on the table called to her like the siren song of some mythical beast, beckoning her to sample its magical concoction, and made her painfully aware that her mouth felt stuffed with sticky cotton.

She nearly gagged when Harvey mentioned juice. She'd consumed enough of the cranberry variety to last her entire life but didn't protest when it was presented in her favorite mug. Despite her initial desire to resist, he was right — the sugar helped to clear her head, and the sobering reality of her situation slammed home with Harvey's casual mention of the possibility of surgery.

And the final topping on the shit sundae?

Shane. The intensity of his gaze sliced through her like a scalpel as he stood in the corner of her humble kitchen. Regret, shame, and unmitigated humiliation saturated every pore of her flesh, staining her cheeks and searing up the nape of her neck. No matter how well she'd convinced herself she knew him, his deadpan expression remained as unreadable as ever.

The second he disappeared through the front door after excusing himself, a strangled sob escaped the farmer's chest. Her body crescented of its own volition, attempting to curl into the fetal position even as she sat upright. Instead, her knees made contact with the underside of the table as her cheek flattened on the cool, rough surface.

"Kristen? Everything alright?"

She hoped that Harvey assumed her irrational fear of needles and blood was the catalyst for such childish behavior. Admitting to the alternative — Shane witnessing her in such a disheveled state — was simply out of the question.

"Yeah. I just — I'm sorry I dragged you all the way out here," she said, squinting her eyes shut as the hooked needle pierced her numbed flesh. Even with the absence of pain, the slow tug and drag of the suture was enough to sprout fresh droplets of cold sweat from her grimy scalp and coat the back of her throat with bile.

"It's my job," the doctor replied, matter-of-fact tone firmly back in place as his brow pinched in concentration. "Try to keep your hand still."

"Sorry."

She hadn't realized she was trembling, but it was just as well. Her teeth also began to chatter despite the stuffy climate of the kitchen, the clack, clack, clack rattling her brain.

❦❧🍓❦❧

Stepping outside onto her front porch, Kristen closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sun. Earlier that morning, she'd cursed its very existence, but now its comforting warmth seeped through her skin and settled around her bones like insulation. Her right hand was wrapped in gauze so thick that it could be mistaken for a Mickey Mouse glove, and the painkillers Harvey had instructed her to swallow were settling at the base of her spine in the most delightful fashion.

"Keep your hand dry and avoid use as much as possible," Harvey said as he came to stand beside her. She nodded absently and sighed when he added, "I mean it" for good measure.

"When can I take the stitches out?"

" YOU can't," he replied, shooting her a stern look as she shielded her eyes with her good hand and scanned the farmland before her. "Swing by the clinic in a few days, and I'll change the dressing. I want to keep an eye on it. I have a friend in Zuzu — an orthopedic surgeon. She's usually booked for months, but I'll see what I can do."

Another dejected sigh escaped Kristen's chest. She'd spotted Shane through the afternoon glare, hauling an armful of hay from the silo toward the coop, a flock of eager hens close at his heels.

"I'm truly fucked," she groaned. No amount of narcotics could dull the anxiety that sat on her chest at the prospect of being partially incapacitated as summer slowly ebbed into fall.

"I wouldn't say that," Harvey said. He'd removed his glasses and was idly cleaning them with a handkerchief he'd pulled from who knows where. Kristen smiled, his quaint aesthetic plucking at her heartstrings. "You have more friends in the Valley than you realize, farmer."

Shane had disappeared from view, ducking inside the coop. The hole in the fence had mysteriously been patched with the chicken wire Kristen had battled with hours earlier.

Perhaps Harvey was right.

"Does that mean you won't be sending me a bill?" she joked, shooting him a sidelong glance. He didn't even flinch, tucking the handkerchief in the pocket of his slacks and sliding his glasses back into place.

"Don't press your luck."

Kristen spotted a suppressed smirk below his signature mustache and chuckled. The pair had developed an effortless rapport over the years, and she felt comfortable in Harvey's presence enough to unleash her true personality now and then. Relationships like that were few and far between, and she cherished them — held them gently like a fresh hatchling and did her best to nurture them accordingly. It was carefree and easy with people like Harvey, Emily, and even Leah. For people like Shane… considerably more attention and care were required.

"I'll take my leave," Harvey spoke up again after a moment of silence, pulling Kristen from her thoughts. "Don't forget — come by the clinic in a few days."

"Promise," she said, dramatically placing her comically bandaged hand on her heart before adding, "Thanks again, Harvey."

"No thanks needed. Just be more careful. I think you almost gave Shane a heart attack."

Gilt rolled in the farmer's gut, and she shifted her attention back toward the coop as Harvey descended the rickety porch steps and strode toward the property line. She gave him a parting wave and waited until he disappeared down the footpath, gathering her wits.

It had been quite a long time since she had to consciously prepare herself to approach Shane Davis. In the early days, a stray "fuck off," "what do you want now?" or an irritated sigh would sap every drop of joviality from the farmer's body, along with wiping the goofy grin from her face. More than once, she'd berated herself for even trying to befriend someone who clearly hated her guts, but something kept nagging at her. She knew, instinctively, that it wasn't her he hated. It was the world.

The march toward the coop was more gruesome than she'd accounted for. Small puddles of her blood, already dried and cracked by the blazing heat, reminded her of her stupidity and the lives she'd upheaved in the process. Shane had obviously missed work, and it was all her fault. She wondered if calling Morris to apologize on his behalf would be toeing an unspoken boundary…

Skidding the soles of her boots through the dirt to cover the evidence as she went, Kristen approached the coop enclosure and took a closer look at the patched hole. Shane had done an excellent job. Better than what she would have done herself under the excuse that new fencing would be replacing it soon. Just like how she'd ignored the hole in the first place, convincing herself she could stretch it until fall.

Nope — she couldn't approach Shane just yet. She needed more time to wallow in self-pity. Get it out of her system and be done with it. So, she took a slight detour, veering off to the left and toward a mound of freshly turned soil tucked between the small pond and the rock face of her property line. A large stone had been placed atop the mound, the word "Sassafras" scratched on the surface with the blunt blade of her grandpa's old pocket knife.

There hadn't been much to bury — a handful of crimson-soaked feathers at most. But Kristen gathered them up, dug a two-foot deep hole, and dropped them inside regardless.

"You look like hell."

The gruff voice penetrated her thoughts like a torpedo, shattering them into a million unrecognizable pieces. She wasn't sure how long she'd been there, staring through the grave of her hen and straight into a dissociative abyss, but it was long enough for her to sit down cross-legged at its base and unconsciously cradle her bandaged hand to her chest.

Hoping he hadn't noticed her jerk and gasp, she rolled her eyes at her involuntary reaction and twisted her upper body to face him. At this angle, he towered over her, features blackened out by the backdrop of blinding light he obscured from the heavens. 

She was at a loss for words, only then wondering just how horrible of a sight she posed. It hadn't even occurred to her amid the chaos, and she flushed, thanking whatever God that may exist that Harvey hadn't dragged her to Zuzu City Hospital.

"Shane. Shit, I'm so —"

"You're about to say you're sorry. Just don't."

His tone held no malice, and even though she still couldn't make out his face, he extended a hand toward her like an olive branch carried across miles and miles of turbulent sea. Without hesitation, she reached for it, her callused palm slipping smoothly into his before he gripped and pulled, hauling her up from the ground with what felt like zero effort on his part.

Now at eye level, Kristen could clearly see the sheen of sweat glistening across Shane's face and neck, a small patch darkening the collar of his Joja uniform. It must have been stifling in the coop at this time of day. Guilt settled on her chest once more, and she shifted her gaze toward their feet to hide the evidence behind her eyes.

The walk back toward the farmhouse was silent save for the whoosh of blood in Kristen's ears. No matter how much Shane protested, she absolutely did owe him an apology, and she wouldn't let him leave without one.

Now on the porch, he lingered awkwardly just outside the door, even as she entered and held it open for him. Rolling her eyes, she tilted her head, a silent insistence he follow her inside. Even being the only person in Pelican Town who held a spare key to her house, he still wouldn't enter without an implicit invitation.

"I'm going to apologize whether you like it or not," she said, shuffling toward her bathroom to survey the damage. " AND say thank you. Especially for repairing the hole in the fence."

His answering scoff could be clearly heard, even as she shut the bathroom door most of the way, leaving a crack so that she could continue to talk at him. However, once she flipped on the fluorescent overhead light, a burst of laughter reverberated in the tiny space, drowning out the buzzing hum of the ancient bulb.

She looked absolutely insane. Curly hair, wild and matted with blood and dirt. Splotches of blood smeared across her face, neck, and chest. Blood soaked into the top half of her overalls straight through to the formerly white tank top underneath. Blood. Blood. Dirt. Blood.

"Did you think I was fucking dead when you got here?" she called through the crack between giggles.

"Actually, yeah…" he replied, somewhat muffled by the distance between them. She guessed he was in the kitchen, possibly cleaning himself up too.

"Shit, I really am sorry," she said, a bit softer. Silence greeted her, along with the kitchen tap running at full blast. Following his lead, Kristen twisted the faucet handle of the bathroom sink, grabbed a hand towel, and scrubbed the morbidity of the day from her skin.

❦❧🍓❦❧

Cleaning up took far more time than usual, given the newly acquired handicap of her dominant hand. She hadn't realized just how useless her left hand was until she was forced to use it exclusively, hunching over the rim of her clawfoot bathtub to scrub at her mass of hair under the unforgiving flow coming from the faucet. Water and shampoo dripped down her face, stinging her eyes, somehow creeping up her nose and seeping between her lips. The entire ordeal would have been considerably easier with help, but she'd rather drop dead than ask Shane to wash the gore from the unruly mane attached to her head.

He did knock on the door once, though, taking care not to look through the crack while he asked her if she'd fallen in the toilet. She'd laughed and told him to fuck off before asking him to wait for her as sweetly as possible while contorted to keep her bandaged hand dry. Another 30 minutes passed before she finally emerged into the living room in a clean pair of worn jeans and a simple t-shirt, damp curls hanging loose down her back.

"How much trouble will you be in for calling off at the last second?" she asked, taking a seat next to Shane on the sofa she'd slept on during childhood summers at grandpa Homer's farm. He shifted as her weight settled into the cushions, but only slightly. Nothing like the total rigidity that would claim his body anytime she was within 5 feet of him during her first year in the Valley.

"Doesn't matter," he answered, staring intently at the television screen. The ambient noise of whistles and bodies slamming into each other on the gridball field wafted from the speakers until Shane picked up the remote and pressed the power button. The screen winked to black, and silence settled between them again, oppressive. "The next time you need help, just ask, okay?"

"What?" Turning to face him, she attempted to squint past the gloom. No matter how wide she opened the curtains or how many lamps she littered around the farmhouse, it was never ever bright enough.

"Lewis called my phone like ten times. Marnie must have given him my number."

"Shane, what are you talking about?" she asked, genuinely confused about what he was trying to say.

"He saw me in town when I got to the clinic and — actually, never mind. Just promise you'll call me the next time you need help and not afterward when you're bleeding out like a stuck pig."

"I thought about calling you," she admitted, trying not to hyper-focus on the emphasis that she call him specifically, "but —"

"You should have."

"Okay, I promise." The statement, meant to be a reluctant acquiescence, warmed her belly and sent tingles across her scalp. Something she'd have to unpack later when she was alone and could brood over a giant slice of pink cake left from Jas' birthday. 

Obviously satisfied, he stood and pulled the Joja cap from his back pocket in a finalizing gesture that tugged Kristen's lips downward at the edges. 

"You're not going in, are you?" she asked, incredulous.

"I gotta make up the time, Kriss. Jas needs new shoes soon, and I have to get a head start on saving up for her winter coat."

Weariness settled on his face as he spoke, the fine lines around his eyes seeming to etch deeper with the realization he wouldn't make it home until after midnight and would still have to get up at the break of day the following morning.

"Shane…"

She stood, reaching out with her good hand and lightly brushing it down one of his shoulders. The tension she felt from such a light touch made her jaw clench in response.

"Do you want me to tend to the hens in the morning? I can swing by before my shift."

Kristen immediately attempted to protest, realizing all at once what he truly meant when he made her promise to ask for help. But before she could utter a single word, he turned and walked toward the front door, tossing a casual "I'll see ya then" over his shoulder as he closed it behind him.

[crowley-in-arkham]

An update, for those curious:

I've since returned to work, and my job has been a different experience. Carrion hasn't been much an issue, likely due to the fact that the fear toxin output has ceased in building A.

When I came in, Rook and Squires greeted me warmly. I bumped onto Bolton again, who performed a search on me—mumbling how I'm "one of the crazies" now.

Since leaving my house, Jon and I have been—avoidant of one another.

Hierarchies have shifted since I've been back to Arkham. Jon has become a stern overseer. I believe the nature of our relationship has become somewhat of a tension between us. I believe his curt avoidance is a coping mechanism for the intimacy that, notably, he initiated: but, mine is, of a similar nature so, I suppose I shouldn't judge him.

I seldom see him, and when I do manage to speak to him, he's incredibly curt and hurries away. He's no longer my patient, as if he ever were.

When I returned, Harvey and Edward greeted me warmly.

Harvey's acid-splashed face and single peering eye stared at me, and a hard expression gave a typical short grunt in acknowledgement before softening to a "We mean: welcome back, Miss Mina."

Then, Edward, with arms folded and a what-did-I-tell you expression flatly said: "I'm impressed you didn't see therough his little charade–" he chuckled, "I guess caged birds seldom see beyond the bars."

"Harvey, Edward. Good to see you too."

Then, with Rook and Arthur giving wild chase, Jervis bolted through the corridor, exclaiming: "Cheshire, Cheshire, callooh callay! Hatter prayed you'd come to–" Until he saw me.

When he looked me in the eyes, his face drained of blood.

I was not unfamiliar with a cowering Jervis Tetch but, this time, he backed away from me. His eyes stared frantically through me.

Ed furrowed his brows and scrunched part of his nose, "Oh, what the hell is the issue?"

Jervis muttered without shifting his sightless gaze: "Chitter-chatter, in her ear. The big black beast is somewhere near. Chitter-chatter, the blackbird sings, flying close on familiar wings."

I raised a hand up slightly and spoke softly, "Jervis, it's okay I'm not–"

He screeched, making the five of us flinch. In a hurry to back away, he tripped over a small potted faux plant, and fell onto the floor.

If I even motioned towards him he'd cry out and scramble back: doing so until he could no longer scutter away.

"Get away! Get away!"

He threw a small wooden box from one of the bins at me, that slammed into my cheekbone hard.

"Fuck!" I brought my palm to my bruising cheek.

"Jesus christ!" Harvey barked, "Are you trying to kill her you little fucking weasel?"

Rook and Arthur grabbed Jervis by the arms as he thrashed.

"Hatter didn't mean to harm," he muttered, with some semblance of sympathy, before quietly hissing, and shooting daggers through me; "but the vile beast wears Cheshire's charm."

I furrowed my brows as the short man was dragged from my office, leaving Edward and Harvey in silence as my only two patients remaining.

"The fuck was that?" Harv hissed with a scrunched nose, staring at the now empty doorway.

"Crazy," Edward said flatly, "That's what that was." Ed rolled his neck to look at me: "Well, Dr. Crowley? Any professional input?"

I stared ahead to the slowly closing door, furrowing my brows. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to disclose."

"Mhm. Whatever you say, Jon." Edward shrugged, turning on his heel and slumping into a chair.

"So, what now?" Harvey asked gruffly, a raised grey brow peering down from narrow amber eyes.

"Well, Dr. Crane will pop in every hour to check on me. The board is out so, Chess?"

In a low growly mumble Harvey said: "We'd rather play Clue."

"You?" Edward snickered, "Against two former forensic techs?"

"We were an attorney, dick." Harvey hissed, sitting down near the table.

"How very— uncharacteristically clever, Harvey." Edward rolled his wrist, "You're the reason most of us are in here, legal eagle."

"In one way or another."

"How about something calm," I chuckled, "There is no way in hell am I playing Monopoly against Edward Nygma."

"You'd end up in debt both in-game and out, Crowley."

The door of my office creaked open, and a heavy footed tree waltzed in: "How 'bout spades?"

"Southern man's a gambler?" Edward groaned, "Who would have thought."

I chuckled softly, "I could go for a game of spades."

Jon looked at me with a raised brow, as if to say: "You play?"

Harvey shrugged, "Why not. Ya got a deck of cards?"

"I have several," Jon looked at me with even more curiosity as I rounded my desk, pulled out the bottom drawer, and plucked a series of identical decks from a small wooden box.

I chuckled and answered his silence, "I grew up with soldiers. Spades was their game. I, however, always had a preference for blackjack. We played poker now and again, but usually, it was spades."

Harvey snickered to himself, "Quaint." Only to hiss his own retort: "Get a fucking room."

I plopped one deck of cards on the coffee table in the middle of the room, "We'll play partners."

I sat down on the loveseat facing away from my desk, to the left of Harvey.

Jon had flipped a chair from our typical game table to sit across from me, only to be interjected with a, "Slow down, big guy. I'll partner with Crowley. You know, to make it fair."

Jon scowled silently and sat on my left, somewhat positioned away from me.

"So," Ed asked, "how does it work?"

"You ain't ever played spades?" Jon asked with a nearly baffled expression.

"No, Jonathan," Edward narrowed his eyes, "I'm lucky enough not to pay taxes on stupidity."

Jon raised a brow, "Ya know you don' have ta gamble ta play cards, right?"

"Better safe than sorry."

Jon snickered, "'Fraid you'll get a hickey?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Jon flashed an unusually sharp canine in a twisted, teasing smirk, "I's a lil interested."

I swallowed hard, and cleared my throat, "Here's the game: Ed and I are partners, Jon, Harv, you're partners. Jon already has a grip on the game, Harvey have you played?"

Harvey shook his head.

"Well, you've two greens, Jon." I handed him the cards.

Jonathan looked at me with a surprised expression, "Wha's this?"

"I'm trusting you to deal."

[butdaddyilovehimmm]

lil marvey ficlet based on this gif (cw: spanking)

"C'mere," Harvey said, hand tapping his thigh threateningly, foreshadowing the deep shit Mike was in.

Mike hesitated, dreading what's to come. He didn't necessarily hate spankings. In fact, he would even say he enjoyed being over his Dom's lap, feeling safe and secure despite the pain. It was moreso about having to deal with Harvey's disappointment. He hated having Harvey disappointed at him.

"Over my lap, Mike," Harvey said, voice full of authority, stern gaze fixed on Mike as he made his way over to his side. Pulling down his pants and boxers in one swift motion, Harvey guided Mike over his lap, running a palm over the smooth, porcelain skin of Mike's bare ass.

As usual, Harvey's hand lingered over Mike's butt for a minute, building up the anticipation that left him on edge. Drawing his hand back, Harvey delivered a sharp swat to the center of Mike's ass, earning a quiet whimper from the boy. He repeated the action in a steady rythm, alternating between both cheeks, continuing to pepper smacks on the quickly reddening skin.

"Please, Sir!" Mike pleaded, backside burning at Harvey's merciless swats. He'd writhe, and squirm, and beg, but it was to no avail. When Harvey decided that Mike's been punished enough, he helped Mike onto his lap, letting his boy cry out burried in the crook of his neck while rubbing small circles in the small of his back.

"Sorry, Harvey," Mike sniffled, looking at Harvey apologetically.

"All is forgiven, Mike. I love you," Harvey smiled, planting a gentle kiss on Mike's lips.

“I love you too,” Mike replied, hugging Harvey tighter.

[halfdent]

Staggering  aback  ,  trying  to  slip  away  they  stop  ,  not  grappled  in  strength  for  the  gloved  grip  of  The  Bat  is  surprisingly  tender  ,  caring  dare  they  think  it  .  And  for  a  moment  he's  there  .  He  wasn't  completely  submerged  into  his  own  darkness  ,  it's  a  flash  ,  it's  in  his  eyes  ,  staring  back  .  Lingering   somewhere  within  the  broken  mind  . 

❝      Hah  ,  so  what  ,  where  we  goin'  then  ?  Yer  really  gonna  let  us  free  to  run  the  streets  ,  𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 ?  , take us t' Black Gate ? !   ❞  

Proof.  A  case  against  the  newly  appointed  ,  and  corrupted  man  calling  the  shots  at  Arkham  .  That  was  something  Harvey  could  do  .  Not  officially  these  days  ...No  ,  it  was  futile  no  one  would  believe  a  monster  .  Though  he  would  be  lying  if  he  would  say  he  wasn't  tempted  by  even  just  the  thought  of  it  .

Gaze  drops  .  Of  course  in  the  Halcyon  days  a  young  District  Attorney  worked  closely  with  the  rising  force  of  the  caped  vigilante  himself  and  the  captain  of  the  police  force  .  His  shattered  voice  finally  rises  from  the  ruptured  vocal  chords  . 

❝    There's  evidence  , enough to make the case against Strange .  𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴  𝙰𝚁𝙴  𝚃𝙰𝙿𝙴𝚂 .  ❞    He  informs  .   ❝    𝙱𝙰𝚃𝙼𝙰𝙽 .   ❞    The  crusader's  sternness  is  almost  met  by  his  former  ally  .  ❝     You  have  to  lock  𝚄𝚂 - 𝙼𝙴  away  .  As  long  as  I'm  out  here -  ❞   Face  seems  to  tighten  as  the  other  voice  protests  against  such  a  frailty in his head  . 

  𝐍𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 !  𝙲𝚁𝙰𝚆𝙻 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙾 𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳 , 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚅 , 𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙲 𝚆𝙰𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙽' 𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙻𝙰𝚈 𝙾𝙽 𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚆𝙸𝙽' 𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙻𝚈 𝚃𝙾 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝚁𝙾𝙳𝙴𝙽𝚃 ! 𝙻𝙴𝚃𝚂 𝙹𝚄𝚂' 𝙺𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴 . 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙱𝙻𝙴𝙼 𝚂𝙾𝙻𝚅𝙴𝙳 . 𝚂𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙼𝙴 𝙰𝙽' 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙼𝙱𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙱𝙴𝙶𝙶𝙸𝙽' 𝚃''𝙱𝙴 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙷𝙴𝙳 𝙰𝙽' 𝙼𝚄𝚉𝚉𝙻𝙴𝙳 !

ARM   REACHES   FOR   THE   REMNANTS   OF   THE   MAN   HIS   FRIEND   HAS   BECOME,   curling   digits   around   the   elbow   in   unnatural   gentleness   to   support   the   other's   burden,   to   SHARE   it.   A   gesture   that   may   not   be   met   with   appreciation,   and   yet   unyielding   in   confronting   the   acid   truths.   “   I   know,   but   we   can't   change   the   past.   All   we   have   is   the   present   to   act   on,   ”   grief   settles   upon   shoulders,   heavy   with   the   failure   that   bleached   Harvey's   gaze,   another   blight   he   could   not   prevent.   DARKNESS   claimed   everyone   who   dared   to   approach   him,   and   always   would   unless   he   started   to   acknowledge   it.

“   Except   Gordon   and   I   didn't   know   about   the   full   extent   of   the   operation   in   that   hideout.   And   we   still   wouldn't   if   you   hadn't   put   it   in   the   spotlight,   ”   resolve   stiffens   glare,   hoping   words   would   resonate   within   the   split   mind.    “   I   care   about   what   happens   to   you   in   Arkham   as   much   as   you   care   about   this   city.   That's   why   I'm   not   sending   you   back   until   we   prove   Hugh   Strange   is   not   a   suitable   director.   ”

[buttonso]

Teamwork: An Aura/Harvey short

AKA: Buttonso Very Unsubtly Projects FEELINGS Onto Poor Aura.

I am going to put this below a cut both for length and because the whole thing concerns fears/anxieties around pregnancy. If you like it and want to reblog it, you may, but I will not tolerate any form of judgmental commentary. I'm prepared to block people if needs be.

2,685 words. Contains a few swears. Forgive any typos ^^*

So. Ok. Well. A few weeks ago, I learned that I was pregnant. I did not think it was in the cards for me, for various reasons, so it's been a surprise, and while it's a good surprise, I have found it to be more than a little overwhelming. My husband has been amazing and has been doing a good job of keeping me off the ledge, and this whole thing is based on one of the many pep talks he's given me in the last few weeks.

This clearly would take place after Breathe With Me is over. It may or may not be considered canon, as I could end up contradicting it in the future sequel of Breathe With Me...... which may be a long time coming now that my life is changing.

Maybe this is TMI, and if I've made anyone uncomfortable, I do apologize.

*

Teamwork

Harvey whistled under his breath, a cheery tune befitting the sunny day and his sunnier disposition. No matter how busy he got at the clinic, nothing had been able to dampen his spirits for long over the past several weeks. It was a lovely spring and promised to be an even lovelier summer. His home and his wife were lovelier still… and he was going to be a father. Oh, not for a awhile- Aura was nearing the end of her first trimester, but everything seemed to be going well so far.

It seemed that having everything he wanted in life agreed with Harvey.

His last appointment of the day had cancelled on him, and he’d decided to close the clinic early and head home to surprise Aura. He’d stopped by the General Store for a few things, the plan spinning out naturally as he shopped. He would draw a bath for her so she could relax after she came in from the fields while he cooked a nice dinner. He harbored vague, hopeful notions of offering her a massage after dinner, but that would be dependent on her energy levels after- it was entirely possible she would want to go straight to sleep.

Aura, of course, stubbornly insisted on continuing to do all the work she was accustomed to doing, and despite Harvey’s misgivings, he’d yielded to the judgement of her OB, who had said she could continue to work as long as she felt up to it. Well, the doctor was right, and he himself would have said the same thing to a patient, but that didn’t stop Harvey from worrying.

He did not see Aura anywhere near the farmhouse as he stepped up onto the porch, but that was not unusual. She might be in the far fields, or the barn, or the woods… she might well even be inside, working on something in the kitchen. But she always came home at 6:30 for supper, so he would be ready when she arrived. Harvey’s cheery little whistle became a contented hum as he set the groceries down on the kitchen table, then headed towards the bedroom to change clothes, loosening his tie as he walked. The living room and kitchen was empty- even the cat was nowhere in evidence.

The hum died in his throat as he pushed open the bedroom door and he saw her. Aura was lying on the bed, fully dressed on top of the covers, curled on her side. Her back was to him, and her body was shaking with soft, hopeless little sobs. Alarm shot through him- he couldn’t help the automatic, instinctive lunge towards the bed.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He asked, as she jumped, clearly startled, nearly lurching off the bed as she turned to face him, eyes wide as she hastily wiped at her tear-streaked face. Murphy, who’d been hidden from Harvey’s view by Aura’s body, scampered off the bed in alarm, his tubby body hitting the floor with a thud on the opposite side of the bed, claws scrabbling on the floor as he scampered off.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack!!” She exclaimed, one hand pressed to her chest and the other held out towards him, her finger pointing at him in accusation. “What are you doing home so early?!”

“My last appointment was canceled, and I thought I’d surprise you. Please… tell me, what’s going on…” He fought down the panicked, instant assumption of utter disaster, but he’d never seen her like this before. “…Did… did something happen? Are you well?”

“I-I’m fine…physically, anyway.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose before rubbing at her eyes and cheeks again with both hands. “I’m just… having some feelings. Dealing with feelings was never my strong suit and it’s harder than ever these days.”

“What sort of feelings?” Harvey moved cautiously towards the bed, sinking onto it beside her.

“It’s… it’s nothing,” Aura sighed, but she leaned into his touch when he reached out and put a hand on her cheek.

“It’s not nothing, you were in tears.” Anxiety made his voice tight and his tone a bit sharp. She flinched, biting her lip as she avoided his gaze. His hand slid from her cheek to her shoulder. “Sweetheart… please… tell me.” His heart raced and he felt himself trembling a little, despite his need to be brave. “Please,” He repeated, when the silence stretched between them, and he felt her shoulder beginning to tremble again.

“I-I…” she took a deep breath. “I’m… I’m scared, okay?” She blew out a frustrated breath and covered her face with her hands. “I’m… scared and I feel stupid, immature, selfish… I…I hate myself for feeling this way…”

“Why? What are you afraid of?” He slid his arm around her carefully, but she stiffened, rather than relaxing into his embrace as she always did. Dread crept up his spine, and panic made another attempt at clawing its way out.

“…I…I should be happier than I am. About the baby.” Her tone was extremely reluctant, her silver eyes downcast as she continued to avoid his gaze. She put a trembling hand on her stomach as the other hand came to rest on Harvey’s thigh. “But once the excitement of telling you wore off… every day, every week since… I’ve only gotten more and more worried.”

“Oh.” Harvey released the breath he’d been holding in a trembling sigh. “…Is… that all.” She still had a long way to go in her pregnancy… but still, that meant she’d been agonizing for several weeks in silence. It didn’t speak well for his attentiveness as a husband. “I’ve been floating around here like a happy fool, and I never noticed you were in distress…”

“You didn’t notice because I hid it from you,” She sighed. “I…I didn’t want to rain on your parade. And your excitement was definitely contagious at first, but now…”

“…Now?” He made another attempt at sliding his arm around her, and this time she did lean into him, to his relief.

“Everything… is gonna change, Harvey,” she said softly. “Everything. And I… I’m not sure I’m up to the challenge.”

Harvey ran his hand up and down her arm slowly in an attempt to soothe her. “I’m of the firm belief that there’s nothing you can’t handle, my dear.”

“But… don’t you see…” Aura paused as she seemed to try to compose herself, only to have her voice break. “I’m… I’m not good enough, Harvey.”

“Not good enough?” He echoed, biting back the automatic impulse to deny it. “Why do you think that?”

“There’s… there’s no doubt in my mind you’re going to be the best Dad ever. I mean… baby, you practically have nurturer tattooed on your forehead. But me? I’ve spent my entire adult life just doing whatever I wanted to do. I’ve learned how to be considerate of you, and to accommodate you in my life, but… a baby… I don’t… I don’t know how to be in a normal family. I just can’t see any way I’m not going to totally fuck this all up.”

“Sweetheart…” He tightened his embrace and pressed a kiss to her temple. “It’s perfectly natural to have concerns about impending parenthood… I know I’ve been all smiles since you told me you were pregnant, but I’ve been worried too… I grew up without a father, so I have no example to look back on. But we’ll learn together. We have friends with experience to draw upon, and we’ll be just fine. All three of us.”

“No, no it’s not… not just that…” Aura shook her head and gestured with one hand, as if she were shaping a lump of dough while she worked through her thoughts. “It’s not just worrying about doing a good job… even though I am… but I…” Her hand tightened into a fist, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “All this worrying I’ve been doing… I’m thinking about myself. How my freedom is going to be curtailed. How my relationship with you may be affected, may even suffer. How… how much I am not enjoying feeling the changes in my body.” Her cheeks reddened as her voice wobbled. “I hate feeling low-key sick all the time… my clothes are getting uncomfortably tight… my breasts feel too big, I’m not sleeping well... I mean, do you hear this? It’s all me, me, me, I, I, I… what kind of fucking self-centered monster am I? Instead of worrying about whether or not my baby is healthy I’m only thinking about how uncomfortable I am and how scared I am of all this change.” Her voice broke at last, and she began to sob again.

“Oh… my darling…” Harvey had never seen her in such a state, and he wasn’t quite sure how to react for a moment, but hugging her seemed like a safe bet, and he used both arms to do so, pulling her against his chest. “I wish you’d told me sooner…” He was no obstetrician, but Aura’s doctor was a friend of his, and he’d read quite a lot on the subject of pregnancy ever since they agreed to try for a baby. This felt like mere reassurance wouldn’t be enough. “You know… I meant it, earlier, when I said there’s nothing you can’t handle,” He said after a few moments of simply holding her.

“I know you think so, but…” She sniffed and he shook his head.

“No but.” He put just enough sternness into his voice that she blinked at looked questioningly at him.

“When you first came here… I was so in awe of how confident you were. You came here all by yourself and resurrected your grandfather’s dying farm. You ventured into those dreadful mines and fought monsters… and you told me once that you were not going to stop taking risks if you had a shot at something better. I remind you of all this not to dismiss your concerns… but to tell you that I have every confidence in you,” Harvey told her, doing his best to be calm. He hated seeing her this way, but he knew he needed to be the strong one now, even if that was normally her role.

“How can you not be… disgusted by what I just told you?” She asked damply, sniffing again, and wiping her face inelegantly with the back of her hand, blinking several times to clear the tears from her eyes.

Harvey fished a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. “Because you’re my favorite person in the world, and I love you so very much.” He smiled, feeling a bit shy and awkward. “I think you should talk to some of the other mothers in town… or if you aren’t comfortable with that, find a support group online. You cannot possibly be the only woman to feel this way. I of course cannot know what it feels like to be pregnant, but… it is not surprising at all that the physical changes may be disturbing. I’m no obstetrician but I have treated pregnant women before.”

“…I… thought about reaching out to Doctor Delecroix… I hadn’t talked to her in a while, but she always makes time for me if I need it…” Aura admitted, hesitantly. Aura’s therapist was a big believer in the power of the internet and was more than willing to have video chats with patients if they couldn’t make it to her office in Zuzu City, even a patient she was no longer seeing regularly, such as Aura.

“If you think it will help, then you should.” She’d stopped trembling, at least. “You’re not doing this alone,” Harvey added. “It will be a big change, it’s true… but it’s a change we’ll navigate together.”

“Just… just admitting how I’ve been feeling… It does help, a little…” Aura said slowly. “I’m still scared, but…right now, at least… I feel… I feel a little better… I…” She hesitated a moment. “I do want this baby, you know… I just… I didn’t expect to have all these mixed feelings.”

Harvey pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We’re doing this together,” He repeated. He’d say it as often as he had to. “We’re not just a team, we’re a family. No matter what happens. You, me, the little one…” There was a soft thud and a little “mrrrp” as Murphy returned to the bed, making his way to Aura’s lap and purring as Harvey stroked his head. “And him,” Harvey added. “We’d never forget you,” he said with a chuckle as the cat shoved his blocky head up into Harvey’s hand.

“I was so afraid that you’d be hurt if I admitted how I’ve been feeling…that… that was the worst part…” Aura said quietly, rubbing at her cheeks again. “I’m sorry if you were…”

“I was only worried about you,” Harvey said as they took turns petting the cat, who settled into a happy loaf on Aura’s lap, reveling in the attention. “Please don’t ever suffer in silence… our little one has a lot of growing to do yet, and I’ll do whatever I can to keep her mother happy.”

“Her?” Aura chuckled. “We can’t possibly know the sex yet. Besides, I thought all men wanted sons.”

Harvey shrugged. “Whenever I imagine it… I see a girl. Someone who will grow up as strong and beautiful and brave as her mother.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. “Though I wouldn’t say no to eventually having an assortment.”

She snorted and tilted her head a bit so she could kiss him lightly. “How about we make sure everyone survives this one before we talk about assortments… I’m still not loving the physical side of all this. I’m afraid I may be difficult to live with the next several months…I’ll… I’ll try my best to not be a complete monster.”

“Just be honest with me about your feelings, and I’ll extend you the same courtesy.” It was Harvey’s turn to initiate a kiss, brief and tender though it was.

“I…I should get back out there…” Aura said reluctantly, swinging her legs off the bed. “Got a few things that need doing before the day’s over.”

Harvey wanted to argue, to insist that she stay in and rest, but he didn’t have the heart to try to cage her now. “Go and do whatever you need to do… just be careful, please… and I’ll have a bath and dinner waiting for you when you get back.” He caught her hand as she nudged the cat off her lap and stood up. “And as for whether or not the baby will hurt our relationship… of course I can’t see the future, but… I can’t imagine any outcome apart from loving you more.” Harvey felt his cheeks heating in the familiar old blush that she could manifest in him with little more than a smile.

“I…” Aura gave a brittle little laugh and pulled his knuckles to her lips, giving them a brief kiss. “I don’t deserve you, you know.”

“I’ve told you before that you should let me be the judge of that.” Harvey answered as she quickly wound her hair into a loose braid.

“And you’ll… you’ll tell me if you have things you’re worried about, right? Or if I do or say something to hurt you? You won’t suffer in silence either?” She asked pointedly.

“I promise,” Harvey answered as she headed towards the door. “I love you, Aura.”

She paused at the doorway and blew him a kiss with a weary chuckle. “I love you, too, Harvey. Thank you… for being you. I couldn’t ask for a better partner.”

Harvey smiled as she left the room, listening to her footsteps fade. Murphy shoved his head against Harvey’s arm, and he gave the cat a stroke. “Well, boy… life isn’t simple even when you do have everything you want,” he said to the cat. “But we’ll just have to do our best and look after each other… it’s all anyone can do, I suppose.”

[boxesandrings]

Hello! First off, I simply adore your writing. Your characterizations simply feel so... natural! It's lovely! Second, could I request some fluffy Harvey/Elliott at either the Feast of the Winter Star or the Spirit's Eve festival? That would be grand. Thank you!

Teehee sorry this took so long! I had written a story about the two of them at the Feast of the Winter Star and then hated it so much I completely started over 🤪 So I hope you enjoy this now seasonally appropriate Spirit's Eve fluff!

Title: Meet me Halfway

Rating: G

Summary: Harvey is crushing on Elliott, but is more than okay with keeping things the way they are. When Elliott invites him into the maze at the Spirit's Eve festival though, the men get much closer than Harvey ever thought.

Characters: Elliott, Harvey, Sebastion, Marlon, Maru, F!Farmer

Words: 2841

Harvey had been standing by the refreshments table when Elliott passed behind him, his fingertips lightly grazing against the Doctor's shoulders. Harvey jumped, almost spilling his drink but managed to steady himself, cheeks flushed as Elliott laughed.

“A bit on edge, Doctor?” Harvey cleared his throat and set his cup down, his other hand reaching to the back of his neck.

“No! I mean, kinda. I have to say, I think this is probably my least favorite festival.” Elliott nodded. Harvey studied his face, trying to read the man next to him. Was there a slight blush in his face as well?

Even though they had lived in the same town for years now, only a few months ago had it struck Harvey how cute the man living on the beach was. They had talked a bit around town and at festivals, and of course Harvey was Elliott’s doctor. But since the community center had been restored Harvey had begun to spend more time there, reading articles that his colleagues from the city had sent him or using the craft room to work on his model planes. Elliott was there constantly as well, and the two men began to grow more familiar.

Harvey’s feelings surprised him. It wasn’t that he had never had feelings for another man before, but just how suddenly they had developed after getting to know Elliott was strange to him. Harvey had accepted who he was at this point in his life; he was rigid and methodical, overthinking most aspects of his life. But Elliott had somehow swept in and threw his life out of order— Harvey acted impulsively around him, and it scared him.

But what scared Harvey even more was that he couldn’t tell how Elliott felt about him. Elliott was definitely flirty with him, he couldn’t deny it. But Elliott flirted with everyone, or at least seemed to. Elliott was confident, outgoing, and rather touchy with almost everyone in town. There was no way Elliott felt the same way about him, introverted and anxious, but Harvey couldn’t help but feel the hard thumping in his chest everytime Elliott was around.

Beside him Elliott nodded, scooping some of the hot apple cider Gus was providing into his own cup.

“I can understand that. While I’m sure you’ve caught on that I tend to have a certain… flair for the dramatic,” Elliott regarded Harvey out of the corner of his eye, a coy smile on his lips, “this holiday quite honestly might be overdoing it.”

As if the universe was proving a point, a loud clanging noise rang out behind the men. Elliott’s eyes went wide with fear as he jumped, his body colliding with the Doctor’s as he moved away from the noise. Harvey dropped his drink as he steadied the man in front of him, not sure whether to be disappointed by the loss of his cider or elated by the touch. Once Elliott was no longer falling, Harvey turned to investigate the noise.

Behind him, one of the walking skeletons was at the edge of his cage, a bony arm outstretched and rattling against the bars. Sebastian had fallen back onto the ground and was trying to crawl away from the beast with wide eyes. Marlon stepped in quickly after the skeleton had made its move, pushing the monster further back in with a large stick. Once the skeleton was far enough back, Harvey watched as Marlon offered a hand to Sebastian and pulled the boy up, saying something stern but inaudible from this far away. Harvey turned back to Elliott, who was watching the scene with a grimace.

“You want to move somewhere else? Like, away from this?” Elliott’s gaze snapped back to Harvey, his unsettled look quickly turning into a smile.

“I’d like nothing more, my dear doctor.” Elliott linked his arm through Harvey’s and began to march off, Harvey blushing furiously as he stumbled along.

Elliott led them far away from the refreshments, until Harvey found them standing in front of the maze. Elliott looked toward the entrance, then turned to the Doctor.

“Do you want to go in? I’ve never actually tried the maze before, but with you I’m feeling a little bit more bold.” Elliott winked and Harvey coughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m not sure how much of a help I’d be in there. Honestly, the one time I tried before I barely made it 20 feet.” Elliott laughed.

“Well, maybe with the two of us working together we’d go 30.” Harvey chuckled. Before he could agree, someone called out behind him.

“Hey, Doc! You going in?” Harvey and Elliott turned and saw Maru and the Farmer walking toward them, hand in hand.

“Yes! The two of us are going to try to make it an astonishing 30 feet in.” Elliott had answered before he had gotten the chance to, so Harvey nodded along. Had he really agreed to go in, though? Beside him, he saw Elliott tip an imaginary hat toward the Farmer. “Howdy, partner.”

The Farmer sighed, letting go of Maru’s hand to brush her hand through her hair. “El, just because I live on a farm doesn’t mean I’m a cowboy.” Elliott tilted his head to the side, smiling slightly.

“I mean, you sure ride that horse of yours almost everywhere.” Harvey bit his lip, using the moment to bring himself back to reality. Elliott wasn’t flirting with him, he was like this with everyone. The Farmer sighed again, grabbing Maru’s hand once again.

“Whatever.” She began to pull Maru toward the maze. “Later, losers. We’ve got a maze to finish.” Elliott laughed next to Harvey, and waved the two women off. Maru looked over her shoulder grinning at Harvey, mouthing ‘you got this’ in an animated manner until she disappeared behind the first hedge, trailing after her partner.

Harvey furiously blushed. Maru had figured out his crush weeks ago after the two of them had gone out for drinks after work, when Harvey had been so busy staring at Elliott that he had walked straight into a stool and fallen over it.

“Well, no time like the present, I suppose.” Harvey blinked back to reality. Elliott was standing in front of him, the two men eye to eye. Harvey swallowed.

“I guess.” He put on a weak smile, attempting to feign some kind of confidence. Elliott nodded.

“Then let’s away!” Elliott turned and began to walk toward the maze. Harvey sighed, and followed quickly after.

It wasn’t long until the pair came to the first challenge of the maze. As Elliott and Harvey walked side by side, making pleasant small talk, that green hands began to poke their way out of the ground. Elliott jumped, his body colliding with the Doctor’s.

“Oh, Yoba!” Harvey instinctually grabbed Elliott, pulling him close.

“Oh, no, nope! No. Come on.” Harvey let go of Elliott’s shoulder, his hand grabbing the man around the forearm. He took off down another branch, Elliott running behind him.

Once they no longer saw the hands coming out of the ground, men stopped, panting.

“Okay, I get why you didn’t like to go in here.” Elliott looked up at Harvey, still out of breath. Harvey, unsure of how to react, just began to laugh, dropping to the ground as he tried to regain his composure. Elliott sat beside him, brushing his hair back.

“Yeah! No duh.” Elliott began to laugh as well, the men giggling in the dark. Once composed, Elliott turned to face Harvey.

“You know, I quite like it when you’re more relaxed like this. Not that you’re always stiff, just… you seem like there’s a lot going on in your mind.” Harvey weakly smiled and stood up. He was getting too loose.

“Well, that’s being a doctor, I suppose. Especially being the only one for quite a distance.” He offered his hand to Elliott, who took it and pulled himself up.

“That makes sense. You’re always thinking of others.” Elliott smiled. The two men regarded each other. Harvey found himself getting closer, their bodies almost touching, until he noticed a hedge off in the distance reflecting light. He took a step away.

“Wait, what’s that?” Elliott turned around and tilted his head, searching for what Harvey was referencing. Once spotted, Elliott faced him again.

“I guess we know where to go next.” Harvey nodded, and the two moved toward the light source.

The pair came to a large TV, alternating with static and a series of strange images, weird whispers emanating from the speaker bar attached.

“I mean, it’s not as unsettling as the hands but… I’m not a fan of this either.” Elliott was scanning the TV, frowning.

“I know Lewis is trying to boost tourism, but this seems like a lot,” Harvey added, taking a step closer toward his companion. It was human nature to huddle when scared, right? Elliott surely wouldn’t notice. Harvey thought about how he had held the writer when the hands came out of the ground. As terrifying as that was, he almost wanted to do it again.

“I don’t think Lewis built it. I think the Wizard in the woods said he was doing this,” Elliott suggested. The pair heard a snort and both jumped back, trying to find the source.

Maru stepped out from behind the TV, a funny look on her face. “He’s not a wizard, he’s just some hermit in the woods who likes to play with grass.” Harvey’s shoulders relaxed. It wasn’t a monster, it was his nurse.

“I don’t know. Leah said she’s seen some weird things going on at his tower at night.” Maru snorted again and turned her attention back to the screen.

“He probably has some of those LED strips that change colors on the outside of his home.” Elliott nodded, but didn’t look too convinced.

“Maru, what are you doing just lurking out here? And where’s your girlfriend?” Harvey looked around, making sure the TV was the only horror nearby.

“I wanted to figure out how this is working. There’s no plugs out here, and when I opened the battery compartment it was empty. There has to be some other energy source in here.” Maru held up her pocket knife in one hand, a couple of screws in the other. “And she went on ahead to keep exploring so I could play with this. When I’m done I’ll meet her in the middle point of the maze, it’s just up ahead.” She returned her full attention back to the monitor, walking around it’s backside once again.

Harvey turned to Elliott, who shrugged. “Should we move on?” Harvey smiled.

“Lets.”

From where they were standing, Harvey could see the middle point that Maru had talked about. The pair headed toward the fountain, and paused to watch the water shoot high up into the air.

“Well, I’d venture to say we made it quite a bit farther than 30 feet.” Harvey chuckled as Elliott gently elbowed him.

“Quite a bit farther than I made it last time, for sure.” Harvey smiled at Elliott, then turned his gaze back to the fountain. “I’m surprised it’s already the halfway point. It doesn’t seem like we’ve gone too far.”

“I suppose what this maze lacks in physical size, it makes up for in psychological horror.”

As if on cue, the men heard a yell from beyond the midway, and Abigail ran back in toward them, a blur of purple.

“No way, nuh-uh, nope! I’m out.” She blinked out of her confusion, and looked up at Harvey and Elliott. “Dudes, I’m OUT of here.” Harvey stuck a hand out, trying to stop the teen from bolting past him.

“Woah! Abby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” He scanned for any obvious signs of injury, his doctor instincts kicking into gear. Abigail was generally fearless, even in regards to her own safety. It took a lot to rattle her.

She looked up at the doctor, her eyes wide with fear. “Dude, I mean Doc, there’s some big spiders back there. Like, me-sized. I’m outta here.” She brushed past Harvey and Elliott, making her way toward the path that the men had just come from. “Good luck!”

Harvey looked toward Elliott, who had noticeably paled. Elliott swallowed, then met the doctor’s gaze. “I mean, making this far was a personal victory anyways? Why push it?”

Harvey stared at Elliott, mouth ajar, before bursting into loud laughter. He sat on the edge of the fountain, trying to take deep breaths to contain his joy.

“Oh thank Yoba, I did NOT want to go in there.” Elliott laughed and sat beside him, his fingertips resting only an inch away from Harvey’s own.

“I think we did very well, though! I mean, halfway is nothing to sneeze at.” Elliott looked toward Harvey and winked. “And you’ve been so brave! Why, the way you rescued me from those hands was quite impressive.” Harvey coughed and stood up, suddenly aware of how close he was to Elliott.

“Yes, well, of course.” Elliott looked up at him, his smile slowly falling. Finally, Elliott sighed.

“I don’t know how much more direct I can be, Harvey.” Elliott’s voice was low, and much more serious than Harvey had ever heard. He turned to Elliott.

“What?” Elliott stood up and crossed his arm over his stomach, nervously rubbing his forearm.

“I mean, I hoped you would have caught on by now, over the past few months, or maybe you have and are just trying to be nice? I don’t…” He trailed off, his gaze lowering toward the ground. “I guess I just like you, Harvey, and I was hoping that by inviting you into the maze with me something would happen, but you keep pulling away and I just… I don’t know.”

Harvey’s jaw dropped. Elliott was flirting with him. Him! And oh Yoba, he had blown it, overthinking each touch, every word, the tone of his voice. Elliott had liked him, and Harvey was too full of fear to do anything. Had Maru known? Is that why she wished him luck?

Harvey sputtered, trying to spit out something, to reassure Elliott. He likes me too. Elliott sighed, meeting Harvey’s eyes again, forcing a smile.

“I’m sorry, that was probably a lot at once. I don’t know why it all came out like that. We can head out if you want.” Elliott took a step back.

Harvey needed to act, to break through his fear. He likes me. Now was not the time to be frozen by indecision, to read far too much into every action. Elliott was there, in front of him now but moving away.

Without thinking, maybe for the first time ever, Harvey reached out and grabbed Elliott’s shoulders, pulling the man in closer to him. Their lips connected, and as Harvey kissed him he could feel his heart beating violently in his chest. Elliott had tensed momentarily when the Doctor had grabbed him, but Harvery could feel him smiling now, melting into the kiss as Elliott placed a hand on the side of his face.

When he pulled back, Harvey was breathless, his hand shaking as he brushed a piece of hair out of Elliott’s face. Elliott was smiling, his cheeks flushed red.

“I like you, a lot, Elliott. I just… I didn’t think you felt the same way.” Elliott laughed quietly, his thumb stroking Harvey’s cheek.

“For such a bright man, you can be awfully dense.” Harvey smiled.

“Yeah.” Harvey moved to kiss Elliott again when he heard something shuffle in the maze behind him.

The men looked toward the path, still holding each other, as the Farmer huffed out of the maze, holding a rather large pumpkin in her hands.

“It’s just a pumpkin! I had to make my way through all that for a pumpkin! And not even a special one like last year, it’s made of foam!” She looked up, her expression softening when she realized what she had walked into. “Oh, um.”

“Maru’s back at the TV still,” Elliot said, his hands not moving from Harvey’s face. The Farmer’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two men’s faces, trying to press her lips together to stop from smiling.

“Thanks. Uh… yeah.” The Farmer walked quickly toward the way back, passing the men with a poorly suppressed smile on her face. Harvey figured she’d break the news to Maru as soon as she saw her.

“Well, where were we?” Harvey turned his attention back toward Elliott, who was smiling warmly at him. Harvey bit his lip, smiling.

“Oh, yeah.” He kissed Elliott again, much calmer than before, enjoying the feeling of their lips touching. Harvey pulled back again. “Want to go back and get a drink? I spilled my cider earlier”

Elliott dropped his hands from Harvey’s face and laced his fingers between the Doctor’s. “I’d love nothing more.” The two men went back into the hedges, hands swinging between them as they made their way back through the maze.

[gloriouswhispers]

fiene's gaze follows elliot's to the door, but it quickly returns to the cross wolf as she nods in response to his request. 'of course.' she utters in promise. 'is that where her sister is?' fiene would admit easily that her senses have been fixated on finding cece, a singular focus that left her eyes and ears half-closed to everything else. but names and snippets of conversations have reached her. over the shared experiences with elliot and isla, her observant nature has peeled back layers of the cross wolf. he exudes a palpable energy, but is a puzzle not easily solved. there's a complexity that emits from him and an intensity. and beneath it all is an undeniable devotion for isla and their daughter. and it's this that makes her respect him, a sharp contrast to the day she leaped out of the shadows to assail him. 'i think it is a matter of time until searches take us further than canada and back to america.' fiene muses, her shoulder lifting in a shrug. 'depending on supplies.'

she watches him with tentativeness and fiene is ready to dive into every suggestion, leaving no stone unturned. if this was for her own daughter, she would be tearing the world apart. and cece has taken a residence in her heart, making fiene eager to do the very same for her. 'yes. i was in a panic, it would be easy for me to have missed something. i was unsure if there were still soldiers nearby. i had to just take what i could.' she admits about the town. 'i will go back with you.' fiene promises again, her words as stern as an oath. 'i was thinking the same about human towns.' she nods, but her mind keeps whirring with ideas until her eyes flick to elliot. 'is it worth trying to find liberated facilities? for the documents? i cannot say for certain that harvey was not taken again.'

Elliot frowns, not at Fiene, but her words. Worse over the border. Where Isla's sister is. He clears his throat, nodding. "Right, would you mind," he pauses, and glances to the front door of the cabin, as though Isla might walk trough it at any second. "Can you leave that part out if she asks?" He requests, eyes back on the map. He wishes that if he looked long enough, searched hard enough, a path would present itself. As it stands, the map seems like a bunch of lines to him.

"Maybe we need to go back to Sinnett to see," Cece's last known location, "I know we been putting it off 'cause it's dangerous but...maybe there are more answers than you were able to look for at the time?" Elliot makes the suggestion with a slight sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "There're the towns we know of, and been to, but I been thinkin'." He gestures to Sinnett on the map. "Beyond goin' back there, we should check out some of the human towns we might've avoided before. Maybe they've been abandoned since we last heard?" Supernaturals could've taken shelter in the husks of what's left. Everything feels like a shot in the dark, but it's all worth a try to Elliot who'd do anything to find his daughter.

[screamting]

Falling Out [highschool au]

masterpost

warnings for: unsuccessful sexual assault, forced institutionalization, obsession, self-harm, just very bad coping strategies all around.

[Previously] As they returned to the dorms, Bruce had a weight of dread in his chest that he wasn’t unused to, but…

It hadn’t been there the last two weeks.

And knowing Clark could hear his heartbeat just made him more anxious, now, about keeping secrets.

…

When they came into the dorm again, Harvey had a broken wrist. Tommy hadn’t arrived yet. He would an hour later, gaunter and with shadows under his eyes.

And Bruce would quietly take them all three out for ice cream as the new semester began.

--

Clark didn’t really need told to not say anything. He just got that… feeling from Tommy. Even without the weird bathroom assault.

He did ask Harvey what the hell happened to his wrist though.

After that, and some ice cream?

… Back to normal.

Classes. Hanging out in the library with Bruce. Study time.

Things had changed though. Clark seemed looser around Bruce. He was much quicker to laugh and sit closer to him provided Tommy wasn’t around. The nervousness that Bruce might find out simply wasn’t there anymore.

--

Bruce didn’t push him away from sitting close. He wouldn’t. But…. it wasn’t as if Tommy was the only one who paid attention to who Bruce sat next to.

Especially not as Samantha Vanaver broke up with him in a letter, having not received so much as a phone call for Christmas, and with that--

And with that, it got harder to ignore the looseness, sometimes.

...Tommy cut his hair, at some point. Slicked it back, too. And Bruce was left noticing, slowly, that-- he’d always sort of known, they were status equals-- that Tommy had the same shoes he had as well. Same brand. The same swiss watch.

But he kept his mouth shut. Said nothing. Watched him write a letter to Samantha Vanaver and get rejected the next week in the response, and comforted him about it--

He sat next to him at meals, and in classes together, and tried to give Tommy a bump on the shoulder whenever he saw nerves about to fray--

And it was…. It was some day. Bruce couldn’t remember it, later. But it was a school day, and Harvey was out of the room, at a meeting with other student leaders, the wrist brace long off his arm.

And Clark, too, was gone from the room. Supposed to be gone for a while.

And it was him and Tommy. On the bottom bunk. Tommy’s shorter, red hair, pressed against his chest while he clung to Bruce’s sides, with desperate, frustrated sounds heaving out of him.

And Bruce held on, trying to keep him together.

--

Clark didn’t wear his hearing aids to class. He kept them mostly for sleeping when he needed them most, so from where he was he could hear from his dorm, but… he wasn’t always paying attention.

He was working with another classmate on a report.

But he had started to notice too. Not the brand names, those were lost on him, but the similarities.

The hair. The clothes. Even the same food.

It was an obsession.

It explained the kiss.

Clark made an effort not to let it bother him even though he was becoming increasingly more bothered by Tommy’s relationship with Bruce. It wasn’t healthy but they had history. Bruce had made it clear he didn’t like Tommy and yet…

…

There was a lull in the noise around him and he found himself catching onto what was happening in their dorm, and he couldn’t help but pay closer attention.

--

...yeah. They had History.

Bruce couldn’t remember when Tommy wasn’t his best friend. But sometimes, he wished those memories stopped at age ten, at summer camp on the lake, a few months before his parents died.

Not since Tommy’d started going to therapy with Dr. Crane.

(“God damnit,” Clark would hear through the door, along with one pounding heartbeat, and Bruce’s steady, normal thrum. “Why do you have to keep being you?”

“Sorry,” Bruce said, quiet and not meaning it, just trying to get it over.

“You don’t even try--”)

--

Clark kept listening. He knew it wasn’t right but he couldn’t stop himself. He spun his pencil between his fingers and stared at the wall.

What did he feel right now? Jealousy?

God. That wasn’t a good look on him. He had to stop it.

(He wished he could lay like that with Bruce.)

--

Tommy’s head shifted to the crook of Bruce’s neck, and Tommy dragged himself up a little more, still slumped against Bruce’s chest and letting his friend’s arms lay heavy on his back, trying to not let loose some furious emotion heaving his chest.

It was a letter from his mom that set it off this time.

Another one.

“How?” he groaned, voice raspy. “Why’s she only want a son like you--”

Pressing his face into Bruce’s neck, Tommy slid a hand under his shirt. And Bruce went stiff, breath stopping.

“...Tommy,” he warned softly.

“What,” he snapped back in return.

--

“... I gotta go.” Clark said, and started to pack up his things while ignoring the protests of his partner.

He could feel something burning in his chest and his eyes grow hot; not because of tears but because of… god. Was he angry?

Why was he angry?

(Part of him knew and didn’t want to admit it.)

He kept watching as he quickly walked out of the library.

--

“Tommy, get your hand off,” Bruce was saying, face stern, “Or I’ll hit you again.”

“What?” Tommy said. “Just like dad?”

And Bruce froze. Stiff and all edges, all knives, as Tommy shoved his face up onto Bruce’s and blocked Clark’s vision for just a moment--

But Bruce grabbed his cut hair and gave a tug that ripped out a chunk of Tommy’s hair.

And it made him yell in a way that people other than Clark would be able to hear.

--

… Clark jogged the rest of the way even though he wanted to run. He stopped in the hall and power-walked so it didn’t sound like he had run here from the library, but gave little warning when he grabbed the doorknob and opened the door.

He couldn’t keep his pupils from looking a little… red.

--

They had left the bed by then, and were struggling with each other on the floor, barely noticing the door opening, except by Tommy letting out a furious shout and kicking Bruce off with a second wind of strength.

“You!” he roared.

He rushed Clark.

--

It was like running into a bull. Clark didn’t bother to move this time. Didn’t bother to make it look normal. There was just something in him that didn’t want to. Wanted to throw his weight around.

(The reason was on the floor after fighting off his assailant.)

Clark snatched for Tommy’s collar.

--

The reason was pushing himself up off the floor, a little off balance with adrenaline and eyes blown wide as he saw his friend grabbed by the collar.

(blew their arms off)

“DON’T.”

--

Clark’s pupils looked red and he stared down into Tommy’s as though daring him.

…

But he didn’t do anything.

His mouth set in a line and he let go of Tommy’s shirt.

--

...even in the state he was in, Tommy seemed to have felt the brush with danger.

He knew what it looked like when someone was just dying to beat the shit out of you. He didn’t need to see Clark’s freakish red eyes to recognize that, and he thought, vaguely, about the promise he’d made Bruce to keep quiet.

...there were footsteps coming rapidly down the hall to see what the commotion was, and Bruce was there, standing by the beds again with a bite on his lip and his hands shaking as he reached forward and dragged Tommy back towards himself.

“Go, Clark, go, Clark, go.”

HIDE.

--

His eyes snapped up and over to Bruce, and suddenly that confidence was gone.

He couldn’t run out of the room, not with how close those footsteps sounded, so he took Bruce’s advice.

Clark hid.

He darted for the closet that Harvey used to change in so often and closed the door.

--

“Coward!” Tommy shouted after him.

And as Clark hid and the dorm overseer arrived in their doorway, Bruce reeled back, and clocked Tommy across the face, sending him skidding down to the floor.

There.

Now he was the bad guy.

--

Clark would watch the rest too, his eyes glowing blue in the dark of the closet as the overseer stormed in.

“Wayne! Elliot!”

… There was no getting out of this.

Both of them would be dragged to the headmaster.

--

….Bruce went, keeping an expression of silent fury on his face the whole way.

His lip was bleeding. But he didn’t look as bad as Tommy, whose hair was in disarray and whose eye was slowly turning black, and whose gaze had gotten lost somewhere between manic and vacant.

--

… Clark stayed in the closet (hah) for far longer than he probably needed to. Only once he couldn’t hear anyone in the hall did he come out and stare at the mess leftover from the brawl.

He sat on his bunk and forced himself to keep from listening to what were undoubtedly harsh words from the headmaster and definitely a caning.

He felt bad. He couldn’t feel it, but he knew Bruce did.

--

…

It was almost more than half an hour before Bruce came back. Alone.

His face was stiff and caught in one expression, and his bitten lip had stopped bleeding, but his hands shook a little while opening the door to the room, and as much as he wanted to pretend not, it did hurt to walk as fast as he usually did.

...he closed the door behind himself, and didn’t seem to know where to go from there.

--

Clark was already standing when he arrived, looking guilty.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean--”

--

“I know,” he said.

His voice was much softer than Clark’s, but it still cut whatever he was about to say off with a hard end.

...Bruce finally looked up at Clark.

Exhausted.

Dead-eyed.

“...they’re calling his mom in to take him away again.”

--

Clark swallowed.

He slowly sat down on the edge of his bunk.

“... I overheard it. And. And I got angry.”

--

...Bruce tried to control his face. Tried to keep down the turning in his guts.

“Overheard what? His breakdown?”

His own anger, leaking out.

--

“No. When it-- when it wasn’t really a breakdown and more just… him… on you… and I…”

Clark clamped his mouth shut and looked down.

“Sorry.”

--

“Yeah?” Bruce said. “Well me too.”

He stormed across the room, ignoring the pain in his legs, kicking off his shoes and starting to ascend to the top bunk.

--

Clark didn’t say anything else. He didn’t even watch Bruce struggle into his bunk.

…

After a few minutes he grabbed his bag and notebook.

Maybe it would be better if he hung out in the library for awhile.

--

…

Bruce let him go.

Lay facedown in his bunk and just… let himself suffer a while, trying to not think of Tommy up in the office, waiting.

But he was only sixteen. And he couldn’t do anything for another two years. He couldn’t even pretend.

He could only wait.

…

Clark would end up hearing it. Hearing the story the next day, whether through school gossip or a mag.

Elliot Estate heir returned to psych hospital after schoolyard brawl.

(whispers, whispers, whispers, whispers. Who the hell needed a shrink, what kind of dangerous person, didn’t he hang out with Wayne, and--

And everyone had an opinion. And no one knew anything.)

…

It would not be a good week.

--

Clark just tried to give Bruce his space.

Their library visits ended while his friend was so wrapped up in what happened, and even though Clark mentioned them things were just… they were bad, and Clark felt at least partially responsible.

But what could you do?

He kept inviting Bruce to the library anyway even if he was turned down. He still sat with him at lunch. Still read over his papers.

Just.

Tried to be there for him.

(He was glad Tommy was gone.)

--

The dorm room felt quieter.

It felt so much quieter with him gone.

Harvey had folded into himself. Didn’t speak much. Watched Bruce with worried eyes, and no idea how to help, and turned to throw himself into the work with the teachers instead. Trying to keep himself safe.

Bruce understood that.

...it was why he’d told Clark to run. To hide. If it was just two people, only those two had to be punished.

If it was three, why not bring in the fourth? So that the whole room understood the punishment.

...and despite fucking everything. Despite everything and all the long hours and the years spent together, Bruce couldn’t protect Tommy from this, either.

He threw himself into international newspapers and homework, silently plotting out where to go when he was eighteen, biding out his time. Not able to look at the library work with Clark when he could barely make himself speak up in class for answers.

(half of him was missing, no matter how much relief. Pain came with it.)

(‘Love is one soul inhabiting two bodies,’ Aristotle said. One translated this as being about friendship. Another translation had… another idea.)

...but there were other things, too, that changed. Things that fell apart without a second body behind him, bumping into him and calling out his name whenever it was time to move.

Bruce found himself growing dazed with no one to shake him out of it. He worked long into the night before anyone came to tell him to shut up and sleep.

He didn’t have a hand around his wrist whenever he felt himself falling away from the world.

…

It was this realization that made him snatch up a steak knife at dinnertime, and hide it in the leg of his pants.

--

Clark didn’t know of all the small things that Tommy had done for Bruce. He didn’t know how much the other boy had kept him grounded, how often he snapped Bruce out of his daze and made him focus on the now.

Despite how much he liked Tommy being gone, it was clearly having a much bigger negative side effect on Bruce than Clark could have ever imagined.

Maybe it was this heightened awareness of what Bruce was doing, or not doing, that lead Clark to catch him sneaking the steak knife.

He saw it, but he said nothing.

Not while they were in public.

Maybe it was for something else.

--

He and Tommy had been fucked up. But at least the last six years, they’d been fucked up together.

And he’d adapt. He’d done it before, when Tommy’d been taken to the hospital last time, but right now he was suffering. His grades were suffering. His memory was hazy and his emotions were dead. And he needed something to focus on.

...so late at night, once everyone else was asleep, Bruce crawled out of bed as if he were simply going to the toilets, and snuck the knife he’d hidden in his cot springs out with him, hoping Clark’s nose wasn’t as good as his ears.

But all the same, he did go to the bathroom for this.

Sinks would make an easier cleanup.

--

Clark might have had his hearing aids in, but he didn’t need them to know what Bruce did.

He had never told Bruce he could see in the dark. The glint of metal.

Something horrible sunk into the pit of his stomach.

Clark pulled out his hearing aids and set them aside before quietly rushing out of the dorm after him.

--

...he’d just made it to the bathroom.

Had just rolled up his sleeve, and leaning over the sink, started to cut shallowly on the back of his arm, where there were no veins to risk, or--

--

Clark was in the doorway, and then right beside him like he had crossed the threshold in an instant.

“Bruce--!” He hissed between his teeth, grabbing for the blade of the knife to stop him.

--

Bruce flinched, startled at the intrusion, and nearly lost his grip, cutting deeper than intended. “Eeyah!”

--

Too late.

He was grabbing the blade but it had already been too late.

“What the hell?” He hissed, sounding more concerned than angry as he tried to force the knife out of Bruce’s hand.

--

“What the hell yourself?” Bruce hissed back, not letting go of the knife more out of principal and stubbornness than anything-- but the blade was bending, and his arm burned, and so he gave it up to grab the nearby paper towels and start pressing down, letting out a pained breath.

--

“If I spot my friend sneak out a knife from the cafeteria and he’s been kinda messed up lately, I’m going to pay close attention!” Clark said, still speaking quietly so they didn’t wake anyone else up.

--

“God, you really can’t mind your own business,” Bruce grumbled, pressing down the injury.

There were other scars there, on his arm. Partly hidden by the napkin. Small, careful cuts.

“I wasn’t gonna do anything.”

--

“I can’t mind my own business when it’s you. And you just did.” He gestured to the cut, which was clearly something.

--

“Clearly, nobody can,” he muttered. “That’s nothing. It’s a cut. It’s not a big deal.”

--

“Yeah, but difference is, I know not to go around assaulting you.” Clark said.

--

Bruce turned, icy glare furiously meeting Clark’s eyes.

“Excuse me?”

--

“Tommy!” His voice was still quiet, but in a loud whisper.

“I know you miss him but he was forcing himself on you! That's messed up!”

--

He was messed up.

Bruce’s nostrils flared and before he could think about vetting his mouth he’d already spat out, “Yeah? And maybe I should’ve let him.”

--

Clark looked… stunned? Horrified?

Then angry.

“No! What the hell, Bruce!”

--

Finally. Something that shocked Clark a little. Finally.

It felt like a small victory, even though he knew it shouldn’t. Maybe it was the knife or the adrenaline of being interrupted and a fight, but he was here, now.

And he was still trying to figure out what emotion it was that was trying to claw its way out from inside of him.

“I started that fight,” Bruce said, stepping closer. “I threw the first punch even though it was him. I couldn’t keep him feeling secure. I got him sent back to a hospital! If I just gave him a stupid kiss, that wouldn’t have happened.”

--

Clark didn't back down or shrink like he would sometimes do. He stood his ground, back straight and eyes looking down at Bruce.

“No, he started that fight as soon as he didn't stop when you asked. And what if you did give him a kiss? You know that wouldn't have been enough! It would have kept going! There would have been no end to it!”

--

“Then I would have lived with it!” he said, voice verging on hysteric, though he kept his volume low. “I was supposed to hold him together!”

--

“It's not your job to hold him together!” Clark said, finally dropping the knife so he could grab Bruce's arms.

“Your job is to hold you together!”

--

“That’s what I was trying to do,” Bruce hissed, kicking the knife.

His breath hitched when his arms were grabbed, but it could’ve been the pain in his arm.

--

Clark stared at him for a few moments, mouth tight and sharp inhales through his nose. His voice got more leveled.

“You can't let even your friends take advantage of you.”

--

Bruce’s eyes were sharp and full of fury.

He shoved himself forward, into Clark’s chest, and kissed him full on the lips, pressing against him with force to ache.

--

It wasn't the force that knocked him back, it was the action itself.

Clark stumbled back and gripped the sink so hard he felt it crack. His eyes were the size of saucers, like a deer in headlights.

But he didn't pull away or push Bruce off when he easily could have.

--

Maybe he didn’t have the experience he would as an adult in another life, but Bruce already knew how to kiss. He sucked on Clark’s lower lip and slid his tongue in if Clark gasped. And he didn’t try to hold on. Didn’t pretend to push Clark down.

But when he broke it and pulled back, his eyes were just as icy and cold as they’d been before.

“Sure you’re not just mad it wasn’t you?” he hissed.

--

Clark fell into the kiss. He had done it once or twice before, but this time it was more than just quickly sneaking a kiss from a girl. His eyes closed and just as he was starting to enjoy it, it was over.

And Bruce was glaring at him.

… He felt his heart crumble. Clark shoved him away maybe a little harder than he intended and already felt the tears sting his eyes.

“Asshole.” He choked out, and quickly turned to leave.

--

Bruce was shoved back.

He smacked into the stall door frame, and stayed where he hit, head a little bowed and eyes down, now that Clark had pushed him away.

“...yeah,” he agreed quietly, and made no move to stop him.

--

Clark couldn't stop the sob come out of his mouth as he walked back to the dorm.

Asshole.

Asshole.

That hadn't been the reason at all. Feelings for Bruce or not. But now he knew. He knew and he played him.

He bit down his sobs before opening their dorm again.

Didn't want to wake up Harvey.

--

…

Bruce felt the cold numbness wash over him as he moved from the stall, finally stepping forward to pick up the busted knife, its blade twisted from Clark’s hands.

It was useless, now.

He dug his nails into the wound he’d successfully made on his arm, and shambled off to the common area to lie on the couch, with the full knowledge that he’d be found in the morning, and probably brought into the overseer’s room to be caned.

And.

He was fine with that.

--

… Clark stopped looking at Bruce.

He stopped asking him to come to the library.

He didn't ask for help with homework.

He just… tried to get through the year with a horrible hole in his chest that felt like Bruce had dug his nails in and ripped open.

--

Bruce didn’t need anyone to invite him to the library after that.

It was his parents he was investigating.

It was his city.

He might’ve left out stacks of papers and piles of notes for Clark to go over if he had to, but no one had to invite him to the library.

He still helped Harvey with homework, but it was brief and he knew the guy was smart enough to deal on his own. If Harvey passed it on, that was fine. If not, that was fine.

(Harvey hid, practically, unable to stand the tripwire-filled room that school was supposed to be his reprieve from.)

(and Bruce felt bad about that, too)

Bruce, actually, just felt like shit in general, but he was getting used to it again.

He started to drink more coffee. He shoved his way into a second sport. He went to mixers, but only for the night: no more phone numbers.

No more fake dating.

No more broken hearts.

And slowly, the knot in his chest grew hidden under the web of tension he wove around it.

--

The fact that Bruce just… went on with his life and didn't say anything about it only solidified the pit in Clark's gut.

He sat in the bathroom a lot and cried.

He wanted to go home.

He hated it here.

Clark had trusted Bruce with more than anyone else in a long time and just when he was trying to be a good friend, to keep him safe, Bruce had thrown it right back into his face.

It was all he could do to keep his head above water and try to graduate. He wasn't overly talented academically so he had to work harder now that he didn't have the support system the dorm had become.

He just… longed for this all to be over.

--

Harvey still tried to help Clark, mumbling quietly about them being in the same situation.

(“God damnit,” Harvey said one night, the polite, happy-to-help facade cracking under pressures of the teachers. Of the tests. Of spring break coming up, and having to go home for it-- “Why couldn’t Tom have kept him on his leash?”)

But god.

Bruce didn’t care.

He didn’t talk to any of them. He found the group he’d made and led and he shattered it in under a month.

When Spring break came, he headed to the manor without a word and walked until he found the entrance of the cave he’d fallen into years before, and climbed down, until he was alone in the damp and dark, and could be the monster he’d always wanted to be--screaming and scratching and fighting no one until it was late and he was exhausted, and he could hear Alfred’s frantic yelling above ground, asking where he’d gone.

…

And he went to the library.

[doobler]

Luke/Alex - 1

"Go long, Sam!"

The sound of uproarious laughter filled Pelican Town. Sam stumbled but managed to keep his stride, arms extended forward after he chased after the gridball. Alex's throw had been mighty, a deadly spin and strong arm making it sail clear across the grass. Sebastian and Haley watched from a nearby bench, Emily cheering excitedly. Maru and Penny stood by her, chatting together and periodically joining in with Emily's voice.

"Damn!" Sam lunged but missed, sliding on his belly through the grass. The ball thudded a mere foot in front of his outstretched hands. "Best five outta seven!"

"You're on!" Alex grinned. He held his palms up high above his head, touching his thumbs to form a small makeshift goal. "But don't come cryin' to me when you wake up with grass burns and bruises tomorrow!"

The game went on, Sam scoring the occasional point as Alex pushed himself harder and harder. He was winning for sure but he'd learned that this was simply for fun, a way to hone his skills while bonding with his fellow friends and townspeople. Plus, the activity easily counted for his daily workout and he was having a damned good time.

Luke made his way up the slope towards the community center. He heard everyone well before he saw them. A little smile played at his lips as he propped his little basket of freshly picked fruits and vegetables against his hip.

"Oh, hey, it's Luke!" Emily waved with her whole body and everyone's attention shifted from the game to their beloved local farmer. "Whatcha got there?"

"Today's harvest," He rumbled, patting the basket affectionately. "Nothing ready to eat right now unless you wanna crunch on a cranberry."

"I'll do it if you pay me." Sebastian joked.

"Do you have anymore sunflowers?" Haley skipped up closer, hands clasped, eyes big and pleading. "The last one you gave me was so gorgeous."

"Maybe in a week, we'll see if these winds die down," Luke beamed. "Where's Abigail? I have a pumpkin I think she may like."

"She's in the forest last I heard--"

"Shit!"

Everyone whipped back to the game. Alex was on his rear, clutching at his ankle as Sam hovered over him. The little group shuffled over, a chorus of worried voices building.

"Are you okay, Alex?"

"What happened?"

"Oh no, are you alright?"

Luke crouched down and they all went terribly silent and still as stone. He gently pushed up the hem of Alex's jeans, ghosting his thumb along his ankle. Alex winced then promptly tried to stifle the pain.

"Sprained. I can tell," Luke cuffed his pant leg, leaning a little further into Alex's space. "I'll take you to Harvey's. He'll have a brace."

"I'm fine! I'm fine," Alex snapped. He didn't push Luke away, though. "I just tripped is all. No worries. We've got a game to play--"

"You can't play on a sprain. You'll destroy your ankle. Then you'll never play again," Luke's usually blank and neutral expression was stern, his brows drawn in. "Which do you prefer?"

"... We can go to Harvey's." Alex muttered at last, wrenching away his gaze.

Ignoring the volley of curses, Luke easily scooped Alex up into his arms, carrying him bridal style. He started making his way back into town, towards the clinic.

"At ease," Luke called back over his shoulder. "We'll be fine."

"I'll take your basket back to the farm if you want!" Emily volunteered.

"If you could bring it to the saloon, I'd really appreciate it." Luke twisted back for a moment, shooting her a smile.

"No problemo!"

Their little group of friends cheered their condolences and goodbyes before shuffling back into their regular activities.

As they made their way towards the town center, Alex fidgeted. He only stopped when Luke came to a halt, standing in the shadow of Pierre's store.

"Are you alright?" Luke spoke softly.

"... Yeah. Thanks," Alex glanced at him sideways. His cheeks were flushed. "You didn't have to. Carry me."

"You can't walk on an injury--"

"You. Know what I mean. Thank you."

Luke huffed, though a smile graced his lips. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of Alex's mouth. Alex tightened his hold on Luke's shoulders. He was trembling.

"C'mon. Before Harvey packs up for the day," Luke resumed his pace. "Then maybe you could join me for dinner?"

"Yeah. Maybe," Alex managed a cocky little grin. "And for anything else that might happen after that."

Luke laughed, bright and loud, and Alex's heart did a little backflip.

"One thing at a time, love," Luke's thick accent cloaked the petname like thick dark honey. "Let's get you looked at first."

[that-bi-bitch-writes]

The Rumor Around Hogwarts (prologue)

Hi everyone!! This is the prologue and it is pretty much exactly what the author wrote and I don't take credit for it. I made a couple of changes to the chapter but it is towards the end so if you want to skip through you can until about the last paragraph to find the part about Y/N L/N. Enjoy!!

Male reader insert for now, future addition of they pronouns as it will lean more towards a non-binary insert with the only change being less reference to Y/N as a young boy and more gender neutral terms. Still masc/male aligned.

Previous // Next

Prologue:

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had two small sons, too, but they had never even seen them. These boys were two good reasons for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with children like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.

"Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar -- a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realise what he had seen -- then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive -- no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes -- the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt -- these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying. "The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard--" "-- yes, their son, Harry--" Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey Or Harold There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her -- if he'd had a sister like that... but all the same, those people in cloaks...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drill that afternoon and when he left the building a five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside of the door.

"Sorry" he grunted as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realised that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary his ace split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passerbys stare,

"Don't be sorry my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw -- and it didn't improve his mood -- was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?" "Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early -- it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er -- Petunia, dear -- you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son -- he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"

"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of -- well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on -- he yawned and turned over -- it couldn't affect them...

How very wrong he was.

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again -- the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, I've been celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no -- even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone--"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense -- for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too -- well -- noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what they're saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are -- are -- that they're -- dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..." Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder.

"I know... I know... " he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke -- and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's -- it's true ?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore.

"We may never know." Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here ?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore -- you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son -- I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!?"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous -- a legend -- I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future -- there will be books written about Harry -- every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly." said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes -- yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"You think it -- wise -- to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore. "I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to -- what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky -- and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild -- long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir -- house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where -- ?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" "Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map o

f the London Underground. Well -- give him here, Hagrid -- we'd better get this over with." Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house. "Could I -- could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it -- Lily an' James dead -- an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles--"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall -- Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply. Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley... He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter -- the boy who lived!"

The boy who lived, however, was not the only threat to Voldemort's plans. There was another baby boy who would grow up to be extraordinary. His fame would not reach the height of Harry Potter, but he need not be the boy who lived for he will be the boy who decided to speak.

        "I heard a rumor"