#he blesses himself at the runaway cart

[mudandmire]

Slice of Life

Azris Week - Day Five: Slice of Life

~~~ In penance for the angst of day four, I give you day five, fluff extraordinaire, as a gift. This is just another part of my #giveerisababy2024 campaign - I'm looking at you, Azriel. As always, enjoy!! :D ~~~

Starlight

The room is stunning—the door opening straight into the open, wood floor and slipping seamlessly right into the double doors leading to a small, fenced balcony, looks out into the ocean. The glinting, silvery tossed waves crashing against the white limestone that carves the curve of the coastline. Eris has one hand holding Azriel’s bag, another, smaller one slung across his shoulders. His free hand is taken up by a much littler one; round, pudgy fingers and a deceptively tight grip.

Before it releases entirely.

“Ah!” Mina shouts, padding forward like a runaway cart with no brakes toward the open doors. “O-ten!”

Eris drops every bag—the front door still swung wide open as he hurries after her. “Mina—Mina wait for daddy, please.” He says, catching up to her quickly, but she pauses anyway, her small wings fluttering.

“O-ten,” she whispers, one hand pointing out the double doors and it’s clear, arched windows and out to the water below.

Eris crouches low, holding her lightly at her side. “Yes, I know. But we can’t go to the ocean there, little dove.” His thumb rubs soothing circles on her stomach, and with the other he snaps his fingers and the doors close with a click. He gazes at the side of her face as the sea breeze brushes gently through her dark curled hair, like it’s welcoming her. Saying hello.

Mina continues to watch the view outside, her attention fixed as a spell with her wide, dark eyes taking in everything it possibly can. One of her hands fisted at her mouth.

Eris watches her—astounded, in awe, completely, utterly in love for the second time in his life.

There’s a patch of sunlight shining on the rug in front of the doors, Mina toddles over to it and sits with a thump. Her back to the sunlight, wings shining golden, each spiderwebbing vein burnished blue and red lit up from the inside. They shudder gently, stretching out just a little to bask in the warmth.

Eris uses the time Mina spends on the soft rug with her toy lamb to pick up the bags he had dropped in the front door, and settle them in the main bedroom. Briefly, he’s taken in by the stretch of blue ocean, the green capped white cliffs that appear to cut through it. It has it’s own two doors that don’t have a balcony, more like a metal beam a foots-width and the same iron fencing.

“Mina,” he calls out, poking his head through the door and seeing her little face turn up at her name. “Come here, dove.”

She does so, standing up on wobbly knees Mina walks over with those stiff steps children take—like they haven’t quite learned what their knees are for.

Her little green dress flutters when Eris scoops her up, a happy squeal lifting from her upturned lips and he holds her close.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy.” She laughs into his neck.

Eris melts. “That’s me, darling.”

He moves in front of the bed, with it’s pristine white sheets and soft, down pillows. The heat of the day has seeped into the room, like bathing in liquid sunlight, and Eris pats himself on the back for thinking ahead making sure they all wear something light and breathable for the Summer Court.

Mina lays her head on his chest, the soft, dark curls of her hair brushing against his chin. Eris relents against the impulse to bury his nose in the top of her sun warmed head and inhale—Stars, she even smells like sunlight. Everything warm and precious in this world has blessed her and her little head. He hides a smitten smile in her hair and perks up when she says, “where?”

“Where, what?” He asks, following her gaze to the ocean far below them.

Her feet kick out slightly, like if she moves more the words will come to her quicker. “Where o’ten?” She begins to wiggle, fidgety, and Eris glances over his shoulder to the lovely, comfortable bed. He toes off his boots.

“Well,” he says as he lays down with her on his chest, grunting softly as she squirms away to sit up next to him. “I believe the ocean is right there.” He points out the open doors, the white linen curtains fluttering in the gentle breeze.

“Where’s go?” She wonders, her fingers fiddling with her stuffed lamb.

“Hm,” he hums, brow furrowing. “I think it goes out to Hybern, little dove. But it also goes around the whole of Prythian, way up to the Night Court.”

Mina brightens. “Nana!” She has her hands on Eris’s stomach and bounces along with the mattress.

Eris coasts a finger down the round slope of her cheek. “Mhm, nana’s there, but so is Zeb.”

“Beb.”

“Exactly.”

Eris hears the front door open, footsteps loud and tired walking in on the wooden floors. He tenses slightly, amber eyes flickering over to the door to the main bedroom until the faint scent of cedar greets him like a balm. He sinks back into the comforter with a sigh, watching Mina put the pieces together herself of who’s here.

Azriel stands in the doorway, a tired smile on his face. Mina shouts, loud and excited at the sight of him. Eris can’t help but agree with the sentiment, seeing Azriel with his dark, hazel eyes, lightening like sunrise when his gaze lands on the two of them.

The tension in his shoulders seem to melt away—whatever complication he was dealing with out front with the owner of the house seems to have dissipated by the time he’s next to the bed.

“Ada!” Her little hands grab at air, and then settle on his face when he leans down, palms flat on the bed.

Azriel’s features go molten, every harsh line of him softening along with the slump of his wings as he stares down at Mina. “Hello, little kokhavim.” He brushes their noses together gently, a fond form of greeting for parents and their children in Illyria—something he never had, never was given. He relishes in letting Mina clumsily bump their noses as she shakes her head around.

Eris laughs, eyes crinkled.

“Ada, ada—o-ten!” Mina says, wonder in her dark eyes when she points to the view out the doors.

“I see, I see it. We’ll go visit it soon, dove.”

Azriel toes off his own boots, sighing as he crawls over the plush quilts and comforters on the bed to flop down against the pillows. Mina stays in between them, guarded by the landmasses they make beside her. Her own little island, surrounded by the raging, protective sea.

Eris skates a hand along Azriel’s forearm, the sleeve of his shirt having been rolled up at some point. “Did you get everything with the owner settled?” He asks quietly, keen eyes watching how his lips press into a frown.

“I did, the ba—” he cuts off, glancing to Mina who seems entirely taken with a hung and framed painting on the wall above the bed.

“He wasn’t very nice. The paper work was ridiculous—I know for a fact we told him we had Mina with us—but it was just another add-on to his list of negatives. Don’t do this, don’t do that, keep the noise down, whatever.” He sighs heavily, elbow sinking into the mattress where he keeps his head up.

“Mm,” Eris hums, the back of his fingers brushing against the skin of his chest, the dip of his collarbone. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah?” Azriel’s grin is crooked, taking Eris’s wandering hand and planting small, featherlight kisses on each knuckle.

“Yeah.”

It’s a little thing, looking at Azriel. The strong line of his nose and jaw, the curve of his smile, the one dimple in his cheek, and the glow of his eyes with their sooty lashes. Every part of him masterfully crafted, every part wholly Eris’s.

Azriel’s smile softens like he knows what Eris is thinking.

Mina squeals, and it breaks their attention.

“Sa-baa! Sa-baa, daddy, sa-baa!” She babbles, over and over, bouncing excitedly on her bottom, her wings following the movement.

Azriel glances at Eris, confusion written in the features of his face. Eris shrugs back.

“What do you mean, love? What’s sa-baa?” He asks softly, hand flat on her back below her wings to steady her.

Azriel looks around, trying to figure out what could have inspired this sudden burst of nonsense.

“Sa-baa, daddy!” Mina giggles, shaking her lamb toy around.

“Yes, I know, dove, but I don’t know what that means.” Eris says, trying to hold in his laugh. He never realized how funny children could be when he was growing up. Humor was all but crushed out of each of his siblings, including him, one careless, callous comment at a time.

It was only the presence of Azriel, and now their little starlight, Mina, who had brought it back like bouquets of flowers in spring.

Mina keeps repeating herself, a soothing chant of ‘sa-baa, sa-baa,’ as she keeps her fist in her mouth, drooling around it.

Azriel makes a noise in the back of his throat—a caught laugh. “You mean Sasha, kokhavim?”

“Sa-baa!” Mina screeches, flinging her lamb toy around.

Eris lays his head back on the pillows, chuckling softly. His gaze finds Azriel’s, almost upside-down at this point, and he points to the painting above the bed.

“There’s a black lamb.”

“Oh for the love—Sahsa, right, got it.”

“Ada, sa-baa.” Mina whispers having crawled over to him when he gestured at the art piece.

“I know, little one. But Sasha’s back at home, safe and sound.” He rubs their noses together gently.

From where he’s laying on his side, contentment like perfect sunlight sweeps over him. He would give anything to freeze this moment, imprint it on his mind like a picture pressed in glass—but he’s okay if it moves on.

He’s more than content to find Azriel’s hand in his when he lays down on his side, facing Eris, the other cradling Mina. In fact, there’s a large part of him that wants it to continue, to see where the rest of his life takes him. Wants to see Mina grow up and learn how to pronounce ‘Sasha’ in her strong, little voice. He wants to grow old with Azriel even though it will take practically their entire life before they start to see signs of mortal aging on each other. Most of all, he wants more of this. There’s no longer the embedded fear of every dawn, not of his life or his health or his sanity. Azriel had helped him dig through his veins and bones, helped him root out every poisonous, destructive belief that was burned into him. And after helped him heal with salves and bandages and soothing, warm touch.

When Mina falls asleep in the slowly sinking patch of sunlight, Azriel squeezes his hand.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

Eris’s lips quirk. “Who says I’m thinking?”

Azriel’s hand leaves Mina’s back for a second, tracing the curve of his mouth, the pad of his thumb landing on his bottom lip. “This does,” he says, “you’ve had that soft look on your face the whole time.”

Then he leaves it, lets the silence shroud them with it’s soft blanket of dusk. Mina’s soft, slightly raspy breaths heave and sigh like the ocean tide far below their open window.

Eris sighs. “Did you ever, even once in your life, think you could have this?” He says, and it comes out more vulnerable than he wanted, but Azriel is there anyway—his touch and gentle gaze all searching, all finding him, all cupping the tender aches and bringing them out under starlight.

“Never.” He whispers. “Not once, Eris. But there was a moment with you where I could see it. All of it.”

Eris inhales sharply—even now, the things Azriel says catch his breath. “Me too.” He says softly, barely louder than the crash of the ocean waves.

Azriel smiles, the soft, fond one he reserves specially for him—and now for the little girl asleep on her stomach, clutching her lamb tight, little wings twitching as she dreams. He lays his head down on the pillow, gaze still on Eris who keeps it lovingly.

“Thank the stars.” He says with a smile.

Eris’s eyes squint under the force of his grin. He laughs, breathless and—Ko-kaw’eloi bless him—happy.

“Thank the stars.”

~~///~~///~~///~~

Key:

Kokhavim - 'Starlight'

Short, soft and sweet for today <3. I'm dead serious though I need them to have a baby like I need air to breathe. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, I loved writing this like I've loved writing every prompt. Even though sometimes it's a struggle to get into the vibe, it's still so so fun, I really can't thank @azrisweek enough for this event like it's brought me back to writing - enjoying writing. <3

[breadvidence]

Subjective ranking of I.VI.II versions, chapter title “Punish Me, M. le Maire”. Judged primarily based on horniness and comedy.

1. The Brick. The silent treatment. “The strength of your loins.” “It is lucky that you recognize the fact.” The long aside about accents and the evolution of names, because Victor Hugo wrote this, which somehow does not derail the vibes. I have serious thoughts on this scene but this list is not about literary analysis, it’s about how much Javert wants to be licking M. Madeleine’s boots (to the max), Valjean opposite him with actual dom energy (present), and the lol factor (top of the line).

2. ’98. No, hear me out. Rush’s Javert despairingly tries to lead Neeson’s Valjean to the right conclusion like an experienced sub guiding a vanilla top through a scene. Neeson is bewildered. Rush exudes frustrated erotic energy. I am having flashbacks to bad hookups and dying on the inside. A+

3. A hundred different fanfic rewrites of this scene in which dicks touch. Bless y’all.

4. ’78. Perkins doesn’t bring as much frustration to the table as Rush, making this less funny, but in his defense he’s opposite Jordan, who is as vacant as a beach ball. Solid rendition regardless.

5. ’25. Faithful to the novel, but lacks spice. Best moment occurs when Gabrio gestures with open arms and Toulout looks blankly horrified, as if thinking Gabrio might go in for a hug.

6. 2012 (Hooper). I debated the ranking but this *is* a scene that launched a thousand fics, so while it seems to me that Crowe’s Javert needs aftercare more than a spanking (so wrung out), clearly fandom disagrees. Loses points for lack of comedy.

7. Stage musical. “But Bread,” you might say, “The musical doesn’t adapt this scene.” I am counting the end of “The Runaway Cart” as an honorable mention, since it still includes Javert embarrassing himself.

8. ’35. All I remember is Laughton quivering and maybe a repetition of the line about laws good, bad, and indifferent (a line which reflects such a misunderstanding of the character I can only squint). Erotic levels at 0%, not amused.

9. ’52. I have zero recollection of how the scene plays out and can’t be fucked to rewatch.

10. BBC 2018. I do recollect this scene and I wish I didn’t. I watch, I’m bewildered, Oyelowo telegraphs meaningfully into the camera, his meaning is unclear, none of the implications are derived from the source text. Oyelowo tries to look like he’s experiencing gay lust and fails. They shake hands, I clutch my pearls. -100

[lillianabluejeans]

33 with Lilli and Merle?

Prompt list

~

There’s a calming air of serenity in Merle’s beachside house, which isn’t something he can often say when his kids are with him. Mookie, Pan bless him, has endless amounts of energy, and Merle for the life of him can never figure out where he got it from. But Mavis, smart as she is, found the one thing that can calm him down. 

Reading. 

More specifically, Mavis reading to him, and it has to be a book he likes. Angus got Mookie started on Caleb Cleveland, so Mavis and Mookie have slowly been working their way through the series. 

On this particular day, during this particular weekend, a storm was passing through, leaving Merle to entertain his kids inside. Mavis, luckily, pulled out Caleb Cleveland before Mookie could do too much damage to the house. 

Merle’s in the kitchen, trying to decide what to do for dinner, when Mavis calls out, “uh, Dad? Your stone of farspeech is going off.” 

Merle grumbles, walking over to where the wretched little stone is sitting on the coffee table, lit up a faint blue colour. He picks it up and holds it out to Mavis, “answer it for me, I never know what to do with the damn thing.” 

Mavis marks the page in her book and sets it aside, taking the stone from Merle, Mookie watching her every move intently. 

“Hello?” Mavis pauses, quietly listening to whoever’s on the other end of the line. She holds the stone back out to Merle, “it’s uncle Barry.” 

“So,” Merle says, taking the stone for himself, “finally decided to give old man Merle a call, huh?” 

Merle can feel Barry rolling his eyes through the stone. “I call you all the time, you just never answer.” He pauses for a moment. “Anyway,” he says, “remember that time I saved your kids from a runaway cart and you were forever grateful to me?” 

Merle takes a moment to register the question then says, “maybe… what about it?” 

“I need a favour.” 

“What kind of favour?” 

“The babysitting kind.” 

“Why can’t Taako do it?” 

“He’s in the middle of some important school meetings, I don’t want to bother him. The Raven Queen is summoning us, and I know you have Mavis and Mookie this weekend, so I figured you weren’t busy. Please, Merle.” 

~

And then Merle says yes and he, Mavis, and Mookie have a fun afternoon with a ~2 year old Lilliana which, when I started this two weeks ago I was actually going to write, but then I forgot everything about that fun babysitting afternoon that I wanted to get down soooooooooo  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[settle-down-frohike]

fic trope mashup: 38, 56

Spoilers: Redux II

Rating: R for language

38. Grief Fic 56. Awful first meeting, fill in the blanks fic

Part 2 of this (sort of a fleshing out of this) Sorry this one took me so long!! Tagging @today-in-fic and @edierone

Two nurses and a very insistent Maggie help him from the floor, huddling and fussing over him appropriately, his ears vaguely registering Scully’s voice in the background insisting that he go down to the ER to get checked out. Christ, but it was good to hear her scolding. He wished he could faint every day of his life from now on if only to hear her bark, “Mulder!!” over and over again. Voice meant breath and breath meant she yet lived. She lived. She was going to live.  Isn’t that what she had meant?

They finally all agreed on allowing him a cup of juice and a cookie to bring his blood sugar to an acceptable level, provided he stay put in a chair keeping his head between his legs, which suited him just fine being that he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. He had no intention of making a sobbing spectacle of himself with Bill glowering in the corner like a petulant teenager.

What passed for a cookie was bland and dry but downed easily enough with the “juice” that tasted more like a melted popsicle than an actual orange. Slowly his racing heart began to recede to an acceptable rate and the sweat coating his body began to dry, leaving him sticky and chilled. Daring a glance up, he found Maggie at Scully’s bedside, kissing her daughter’s knuckles and thanking God, oblivious to Scully’s sobering definitions of what remission really meant, that the cancer was not gone in fact but dormant. The Devil would not be defeated, only smothered for the time being. According to their faith, Satan could only truly lose his hold on this world when a Savior had been born and sacrificed to one day resurrect from the dead, eventually claiming the victory in the Last and Holy war on evil. He knew of no such savior. Not yet, not in this story.

Time had been bought nonetheless, and as for Mulder, he could only thank whomever had been listening to his offer of sacrifice in the chapel. He would meet his end in exchange for this charity, of that he was sure. If it be tomorrow, he was ready. Samantha was alive, albeit a stranger to him, and Scully’s beautiful heart was still beating. He could be done with this life in a moment knowing those two things. Til death do we part…his left ring finger faintly tingled, sympathetic nervous system recalling Maggie’s thinly veiled hint at her understanding of the order of things.

He shook his head against maudlin thoughts, reaching desperately within himself to try and find a smile or at least a joke that Bill might find inappropriate given the circumstances. Finding none and feeling suddenly claustrophobic, he mumbled an excuse to use the men’s room, feeling rather than seeing Scully’s attempts to make eye contact. He felt her reaching for him, and he wasn’t yet strong enough to be any sort of tether, so he ran. Ever selfish, and wasn’t that just like him. Maggie was joyously sobbing on her phone to their priest it seemed, blubbering something about miracles and answered prayers. Bill continued to play the part of sullen watchdog, and though he would never admit it to the towering Irishman, Mulder was grateful. However misguided his actions, he loved his sister.  And maybe he was right to protect her from this ominous, looming form dressed in a suit. This fallen angel who seemed to have ushered in a good portion of their family’s sufferings. 

His legs still felt limp and toneless as he searched the hallway for any sign of a restroom, which mercifully ended up being just past the nurse’s station. Before he could truly embarrass himself once again he made it to the sink and began to splash generous amounts of icy tap over his cheeks and around his neck. His heart had begun to thud again suspiciously and he had hoped he could ward off another attack of the vapors. A look into the mirror revealed glassy eyes and ashen skin, and he chastised himself inwardly for his inability to pull it the fuck together. His heart continued to pick up its pace, and yet he could not physically draw in enough oxygen to pacify its need. A sudden painful, unrelenting tension in his chest began to build until he could only collapse back against the outside of a stall, desperately tearing at his collar and tie in search of freedom from a sense of helplessness and terror that had rapidly begun to consume him, making his vision swim and the floor seem to tilt on its axis.

A hand on his shoulder made him flail out reflexively, “DON’T TOUCH ME!!” he yelled at the beige blur hovering over him.

“Dude are you ok?” he could hear it say, barely able to make out shaggy brown hair and a stout form in what looked like a uniform.

“I’m fine…” he gasped, “I just can’t breathe. My chest—“

“I’m gonna get a nurse man hold on—“ 

“NO! No nurse…” Oh God he was dizzy. He was going to be sick. This oaf was probably going to have the calvary with a crash cart in here at any second and Scully had seen enough of his antics for one day. God please, just give her 24 hours of respite. He could die tomorrow he promised but give her today.  

“My chest…I just need to breathe. I can’t….my chest hurts…I just need to breathe…” he pulled futilely on the reigns of his galloping, runaway pulse, unable to command the beast that continued to carry him to a sure and humiliating death. 

“I can’t do this..I can’t do this…I can’t…’ the words tumbled from his mouth, unbidden.  The grip on his shoulder tightened, and he swatted weakly at the offending gesture.  

“Hey man I think it’s a panic attack. I get’m all the time. Listen to me you gotta breathe in your nose, dude. Breathe big. Big breaths. Focus on the floor, man. Look at the tiles. Focus on the still stuff.” 

Infinitesimally, the grout, then the grid like pattern of the floor came into focus, as did the owner of the west coast valley-guy accent. A janitor. Name tag: Todd…Young. No… Not young… Thirties…Flunky..Another wave of nausea washed over him as he watched the other man rise and swing the door open, then closed. 

“I put my sign on the door. Just take a minute man. It’s cool.” 

As the room around him expanded and stilled, the hysteria began to abate. His throat began to close around a heavy lump and stung behind his jaw, his mouth watering. He clenched his teeth and refused to cry on the grimy floor of a public restroom in front of an equally grimy guy who just so happened to have missed his calling as a therapist. With some effort, he swallowed the tears down along with his insulting first impressions. Todd sat cross-legged next to him, and remained otherwise silent for a time, allowing Mulder to finally reach some form of stasis. 

“You ok dude? Man I thought you were having a heart attack. Guess I made the right call, he chuckled soberly, “Shit. I’da lost my job. You aren’t gonna die on me anyway are you?”

Mulder chuffed, “Not today.” He’d managed finally not to gulp down air.  Todd nodded and added distantly, “Cancer ward, man. It happens a lot here.” 

Now Mulder was truly remorseful for his earlier aggression. This guy had probably seen a lot of grief in these halls. He wondered about this Good Samaritan. Probably tossed aside by most, and yet a blessing to the injured who happened along his path. Todd. He would not forget his name.

Feeling sufficiently contrite and knowing his extended absence from Scully’s room would not go unnoticed, he gathered himself from the floor and picked up his tie to tuck in his pocket. Whatever words of thanks he could have formed during another moment when his wits were about him, they weren’t forthcoming right now. Todd heaved himself up as well, and went to retrieve his cart. One job finished, another to start. Mulder understood the feeling. It never really does end. He strode slowly from the restroom, leaving Todd to his duties, and the festering source of his malaise bubbled up like a bratty child, refusing to be ignored. 

Samantha. The feel of her snatching her hand from his had been akin to a slice to his palm. Quickly over and done, leaving a gaping wound destined to scar. He had failed and yet he hadn’t. She was returned to him and yet rejected their reunion. He had her back and yet had lost her all over again. 

Scully. Alive and warm and…incomprehensibly lovely… and doctoring him from a hospital bed. He was so sure that call had meant the end. And yet they had been granted, by some deity or  malevolent force, another chance. A life to live or to barter for some future price, he had still to know. Why can’t he smile? Why can’t he be happy? He’d gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? The questions presented themselves in his mind in Scully’s voice, not tauntin exactly, but coaxing him into focus on the here and now, on the what is, and not what might be. And wouldn’t that be just like her…Is just like her…because… she’s okay. Today, right now. She’s okay and in the next room to his left. The idea seemed so ridiculously improbable at that moment that he began to giggle, manically at first, then fitfully, finally collapsing into full blown sobs on the bench just outside her door. Hands hiding his face, head between his knees, just as he’d been instructed. For a moment, he had release. 

[dylan-hague]

Chapter 14

November 21st, 2017. 5:47 PM.

"Welcome to Gotham City, Miss Roth."

Damian smiled as he watched Raven step off the plane to the rain-covered concrete below. This was her first time in Gotham, and it was comforting for Damian to know that her first experience in the city would be in the best care possible; Gotham was was a dangerous place, but they were in the care of Bruce Wayne. They couldn't possibly be more safe.

Awaiting them at the bottom of the steps, umbrella in hand, was Alfred, a sight for sore eyes if there ever was one. He smiled up at the girl, his eyes tired, but full of life. This time of year was special to him; he'd grown to love all of the members of Bruce's little family just as much as Bruce had. They were like his grandchildren, and it was truly a blessing to see them all together, especially when it didn't involve some dire threat to the city.

"Th... thank you, sir." Raven stopped for a second, turning back for a moment to look back at Damian before taking the the elder gentleman's hand. As she stepped down onto the wet ground, Alfred turned to Damian, who was now making his way down the steps.

"Master Damian!" Alfred smiled up at the Titan. "It's good to see you again, sir! You look well."

"Thank you, Pennyworth," Damian smiled as he stepped down underneath the umbrella. "How are Father and Alfred?"

"I'm happy to say that the both of them are in good health, sir," the butler said he led them to a golf cart parked near the runway.

"Wait..." Raven's eyebrow rose as she hopped into the passenger seat of the cart. "I thought you were Alfred."

"Alfred is what I named my cat," Damian explained. "Here, let me drive."

"I'm afraid not, sir." Alfred folded in his umbrella as he sat down behind the wheel. "Master Bruce gave me specific instructions not to allow you to drive for the duration of this trip."

"What? But I know how to drive, what's the deal?"

"Apologies, sir..." Alfred grinned slyly at Damian. "But your father was quite adamant. He said that you are, and I quote, 'a madman behind the wheel'."

Damian chuckled as he flopped across the back seat of the cart. "I steal the Batmobile ONE time..." Raven looked back at him bewildered as Alfred laughed, driving off towards their car...

After avoiding the lecherous members of Gotham's press as best they could, the three of them arrived at Wayne Manor. As Alfred opened the door for the two Titans, Raven looked up at the old mansion curiously.

"Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss Roth." Alfred gestured toward the front door, beckoning for the two to head inside.

"Thank you, sir. It's a beautiful building," Raven replied as they made their way up the steps. "How long as it been here?"

"This manor has been in the Wayne family since the early 1800s," Alfred began to explain, reaching for the door. "In fact, the tunnels underneath were once used to conceal runaway slaves in the Undergro--"

Before he could open the door, it burst open from inside, nearly knocking Damian back down the stairs. As the boy sat back up and shook the dirt from his hair, he looked up to see a red-haired, bespectacled girl standing in the doorway. Judging by her stature, she looked to be about Damian's age.

"Oh, jeez! Sorry, dude," the girl ran to Damian and helped him to stand back up. "Didn't see ya there! You alright?"

"Um... yes?" Damian replied, bewilderment displayed on his face. "Who exactly... are you?"

"That," a voice replied from just inside the house, "is Carrie. Carrie Kelley." All four of them turned to see Bruce Wayne standing in the foyer, his arms crossed as he looked down at his boy.

"Hey, boss! Sorry about your guest..." Carrie stopped for a moment as she looked back and forth between Damian and Bruce. "Wait... is he one of..."

Bruce nodded. "He was the fifth. Just before you."

Carrie grinned. "Coo'," she said, walking back inside. Damian paused for a moment as the realization came to him.

"You already had me replaced?" He looked at his father in surprise.

Bruce nodded. "Carrie comes from a rough home. Her parents are both drug addicts, not providing the environment she needs to grow."

Alfred smiled with pride. "She's every bit as energetic as Master Richard was at that age."

"Wait, so you just..." Raven stuttered for a moment, blinking rapidly as she took in this information. "... you just swooped in and pulled this girl out of her terrible home life?"

Damian shrugged. "He tends to do that. It's kind of his thing."

"We'll have plenty of time to discuss the misfortune of all of your siblings, Master Damian, once they've all arrived. For now, let us get out of this rain. Come now, Miss Roth, let me show you to your room." Raven followed the butler into the manor as Damian walked with his father into the study.

"So this new Robin..." Damian began as he scanned the shelves. "How long have you had her?"

"I found her early September, started training her right away," Bruce replied as he approached the old grandfather clock against the wall. "I haven't let her come on patrol with me yet, not until she's ready."

"Does she take to it?" The younger Wayne turned to face his father as the clock moved out off the wall, revealing a passageway behind it into the Batcave. "She seems like she has the energy for it, especially considering how old she is..."

Bruce grinned. "Like a fish to water," he said, beckoning for his son to descend first. "In fact, when I told her the last Robin would be here, she insisted on sparring with you."

Damian smirked as he walked down the stairway. "How does she like the uniform?"

"Oh, she... has opinions on it," Bruce sighed as he followed behind his boy into the Cave. "Opinions that I don't necessarily agree with, but..."

As they entered the cave, Damian was surprised to see Carrie standing in the training ring, wearing her uniform... or, at least, part of it. She had no cape, her mask was replaced with what looked like some kind of goggles, and her legs were completely bare.

"Hey, you! Five!" Carrie called out, addressing Damian as she spun her staff in her hand. "Wanna go a few rounds?"

Damian looked the girl up and down, and almost had to stifle a laugh. "Maybe once you actually get dressed, sure," the Titan quipped, cocking an eyebrow. "That can't possibly be your whole uniform."

"Okay, one: I don't wear the cape when I'm training." The new Robin stood leaning on her staff, one arm wrapped around it and the other on her hip. "And two: you're just jealous my legs are awesome."

"It isn't about how you look, Carrie." Damian pulled his shirt off, revealing his Red X uniform underneath. "It's about how protecting your body. It won't matter what your legs like if someone gets lucky and shoots them full of holes."

"That's exactly what the big guy said!" Carrie grinned as she shifted into stance.

"Well, that makes sense," Damian said before flipping into the ring, his pants flying off, leaving him in the top and leggings of his uniform as he landed in a stance of his own. "After all, he IS half of my DNA."

"This'll be good..." Bruce said under his breath as Raven and Alfred walked into the cave. "Grab some popcorn, you two."

Carrie launched off her staff, flying at Damian feet-first through the air. The Titan shifted out of the way of her body, but threw his arm up to block the staff coming behind him. The instant her feet touched the ground, the girl shot forward, swinging her staff low, knocking Damian off his feet. Damian caught himself on his hands, throwing himself in a circle on the ground and sweeping Carrie's feet out from under her.

"Beast Boy taught him that one," Raven whispered to Alfred. He nodded in acknowledgment.

Carrie threw herself into the air with her arms as Damian rolled away, pulling himself to his feet. Carrie leapt at him again, stealing the offensive back as soon as Adam had taken. Damian ducked just as her leg tore through the air where his head had just been. Damian felt the wing behind her kick, and threw his arms up in front of him just in time to block her other leg. But when it connected, the sheer force behind it was more than Damian had expected, and she tossed him into the air. Just as Damian realized he was airborne, Carrie leapt up after him, locking her legs around his head and driving it into the floor.

"Catwoman taught her that one," Alfred whispered to Raven. She remained motionless, save for a twitch in her fingers.

"You give, Five!?" Carrie taunted, squeezing Damian's neck between her legs. "Tap out if ya give!"

Raven's brow began to furrow.

Damian gripped at the new Robin's legs and pulled. Good lord, it was like trying to pry open a vice! "Robins don't give..." he growled, deciding on a different tactic.

Raven's hands clenched into fists.

Damian slid further up, pushing himself to his feet with Carrie sitting on his shoulders, her legs still locked around his neck. He threw himself forward, hoping to catch her off-guard, but Carrie caught them both with her hands before her head could crash to the ground.

Raven's eyes widened.

"Whoa, now!" Carrie shouted, flipping the two of them over and grabbing Damian's hair as he clawed at her legs for breath. "You're gonna hafta try harder than that, cowbo--"

The two of them were suddenly lifted into the air, pulled apart by a dark energy. Damian looked down to see Raven with her hands raised, her eyes glowing with a deep purple light.

"Let's get something straight, 'Robin'..." Raven growled. "His name is Damian. And he's mine."

"Oh, dear..." Alfred muttered under his breath.

"Raven, please put my kids down." Bruce's voice was low, as to avoid aggravating the girl any further. After a moment of glaring up at Carrie, Raven gently set them both down, walked into the ring, and put wrapped her arms around Damian's neck.

"Wow..." Carrie sat on the ring floor blinking for a moment. "... I'm sorry, I wasn't tryin' to..."

"Daaaaaaang, kid!" Everyone turned to see Dick Grayson drop into the ring. "Who would have ever thought you'd be the jealous type?"

"Oh! Hey, One." Carrie held her hand up, and Dick pulled her back onto her feet.

"Good to see ya again, Six," Dick replied, before turning to Raven and Damian. "Listen, Raven, Carrie didn't mean any harm..."

"I know," Raven said, looking back at the new Robin, one arm still around Damian. "I'm sorry for snapping like that. I just..."

"Hey, I get it!" Carrie threw her hands up with a grin. "You don't like people messin' with your guy. That's fine."

"Gotta admit, though," Dick said as he turned back to Carrie, "I actually expected Damian to pull the win out. That was impressive how you pulled that out!"

"I told ya already..." Carrie stood proudly, hands on her hips. "Awesome legs."

"You should wear something to protect them," Raven said. "If they're your best weapon, you have to take better care of them."

"Thank you, Raven!" Bruce shouted as he walked back up the stairs into the house.

Damian groaned. It was going to be a very long week...