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crow-summoner · 4 years ago

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Darklina Week Day 2: Role Reversal

Sun Summoner!Darkling and Shadow Summoner!Alina

Alina, a cartographer for the Ravken Army, undertakes a dangerous mission to stay by her only friend’s side. They must cross the Forge, a hellscape of intense heat and unrelenting light that has torn their country in two. Nothing can survive the Forge for long. Nothing but the monsters that call it home. Alina thinks she and Mal will make it as long as they’re together, but when their mission falls to pieces, Alina discovers something shocking about herself. She can banish light. Her powers draw the attention of the Golden General, a military leader who scares and intrigues Alina in equal measure. One thing’s for sure. Alina can’t go back to life of a mouse, and the General’s her best option to fight for something more. Can Alina save her world, or will she die trying?

Or, an AU where light powers aren’t necessarily good, and shadow powers get to be heroic. Content warning for some volcra expy related gore and some canon-consistent sprinkles of Malina at the beginning. There’s plenty of Darkles after that, now with extra sparkles.

Story under the jump

The Forge

Alina sits at the inn window, adding the last buttery yellow lines to her painting. For being such a blight against their nation, the Forge made a lovely landscape. She dons her fabrikator sunglasses, and turning her back to the unrelenting sunlight, she lifts her tented mirror up to compare her painting to the real thing. Her superior officers would kill her if they knew what she was using their equipment for, but the Forge is too bright to look at directly. Her superiors may not appreciate art, but if she’s going to risk her life for more supplies, she wants to leave a memorial for herself.

“It looks too much like a vacation spot,” Mal says, dragging up a chair so he can sit next to her. He’s already wearing his glasses and darkened veil, which will supposedly keep the Forge from boiling their eyes out and trap moisture near their faces. Alina would be happier if more than army issued fashion stood between her and certain death.

“You make a pretty bride, you know that?” Alina says instead of responding to the criticism. There were enough horrors in the Forge. She wanted make something pleasant. She places her canvas between the shelf and the wall, hoping that someone working at the inn will find it.

Mal huffs. “You wouldn’t say that if you saw the bags under my eyes. Don’t know how people sleep around here.”

Alina supposes people can get used to anything, even perpetual daylight. She secures her mirror and knives to her belt and dons her veil and gloves. She shimmies down the narrow walkway as if showing off the latest fashion. “What do you think?”

Mal makes a show of considering it, rubbing his chin under the veil. “I think the sveta will be too smitten to eat you.”

Alina tilts her head in mock coyness. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me.” She leaves it unspoken that she wishes someone else was smitten with her.

“Come on,” Mal says, taking her by the arm. “I want to be on time for once.”

By the time they reach the skiff, Alina and Mal are five minutes late. Thankfully, Alexei, her fellow cartographer, covered for her.

“You owe me,” he says, shoving her maps into her hands.

“I’ll bake you a cake,” Alina promises.

“You already owe me twelve cakes!”

“Then I’ll name my first born after you.”

Alexei snorts. “Like any of us are going to live long enough to have kids. We’re all going to be beef jerky in a few hours.”

“Squeak. Squeak, Alexei.” It’s the code their cartographers have for when Alexei’s boundless optimism is bringing them down.

Normally, Alexei would grumble but acquiesce. Today, he just stares at the skiff. “Do you really think the sveta are real?”

Alina shrugs. “What else could eat our men out there?” Admittedly, invisible creatures made of light sounded farfetched, but she’s seen the battle scars. Other soldiers had claw mark scars across their chest and spots where something inhuman had taken a bite out of them. The light could blister, burn and tan flesh, but it couldn’t do that.

“I dunno. Maybe him,” Alexei said, eyeing the golden carriage in the distance. “The Geldling.”

Alina quickly hushes him. General Kirigan tolerates others calling him the Golden General, but he does not take kindly to the Geldling. Sure, the epitaph was based on an old Kerch word for gold, but gelding is also what one did to a prized horse to keep it docile. It was as good as saying their leader is a ballless pet, and everyone knows it.

Sure enough, one of the heartrenders lifts his veil and glares at them. He might have been handsome once, but his sour expression makes the lines on his face hard.

“Captain Herring may be rough, but he’s not a cannibal.” Alina hopes this is enough to cover over their mistake. The heartrender doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t fight them either. That suited Alina well enough.

“Watch what you say,” she whispers to Alexei. “We have to depend on these people to survive. Don’t make them mad.”

Alexei nods. “Sorry.”

Thankfully, the rest of their time at the dock goes smoothly. Soon, all the soldiers and Girsha gather inside the metal skiff, ready to take off. A tidemaker hoses them all down, making Alina feel like a drenched rat, but the water is important in such a hot place.

Alina makes sure to stand by Mal, gripping his arm for support as the skiff slides along the sand. There’s enough space to move around, but something about the lack of windows makes the room feel unbearably tight. It’s like one big coffin.

Squeak, squeak, Alina tells herself. No one’s going to die today.

The skiff rattles as they pass over marker zero. They’re officially in the Forge. The panels in the side of the skiff slide up. Rows of dark nets allow squallers to force air out without letting the light in. They’ll have to use the tinted mirrors along the sides of the skiff to direct it.

Alina fans herself, wishing the nets could ease the heat. She was drenched just minutes ago, but her uniform’s now bone dry. Sure, the tidemakers periodically release a mist from their fancy containers and push it around the cabin, but that’s like giving a starving man a single bite.

“I bet I can sweat more than you,” Mal jokes, and she’s sure it’s to help distract her. Even the dumbest man in their unit wouldn’t brag about that.

“No way. Sweat more than that heartrender over there, and you have a deal,” she whispers back. It was a hard challenge. The heartrender already smelled like he’d bathed in nothing but used socks for years.

Mal leans back in shock. “Yikes. Are you trying to kill me? I can’t beat that.”

Alexei sniffs beside them, rubbing under his veil. “My lids are scraping my eyeballs.”

Alina reaches over and slaps his hand the way she used to do with the younger kids at the orphanage. “Then stop picking at them.”

Alexei mumbles. He’s a good cartographer, but he also comes from money, and that didn’t always make for a good soldier. Alina wonders if she should have erased his name instead of Ruby’s. This mission called for two cartographers, and Ruby could withstand discomfort better than he could, but Alina wasn’t thinking rationally. Mal was going to go into the Forge by himself, and Alina needed to remove someone so she could forge her own name on the mission papers. Mal wouldn’t give Alexei a second glance, but Ruby had red hair and a slim figure. Alina couldn’t risk Mal having “glad we’re still alive” sex with her after the mission. It was petty, childish even, but Alina couldn’t help herself. If they all survive the skiff, she’ll woman up and tell Mal how she feels. Lord knows hanging in this middle ground wasn’t doing either of them any favors.

The skiff shakes, and Alexei grabs the walls. “Saints! It’s the sveta.”

The squaller at the helm shushes him. “Just a bump. Don’t call attention to us.”

Alexei’s shoulders slump, but he retakes his position behind the squaller without another word.

Alina can’t help but lean around her squaller to peak in her mirror. She’d heard about calcified roots surviving the Forge long after the crops perished. The real thing must be prettier than the paintings. Instead of a root, Alina finds the fragments of a skull and the front of a skiff.

She steps back, her stomach sinking into her boots. It’s one thing to know the odds, but it’s another to stare the evidence in the face. Better men than them have failed to cross.

The crew stand in silence as the skiff passes the first marker. Alina gives her squaller the proper directions and distances, and soon they pass the second marker. The third. The fourth. Alina allows herself to hope. Just eleven more and they’re home free.

She scratches her arm, and flakes of dry skin come off. No wonder the skiff regulars look like leather. She’d rather go AWOL than do this again. Then again, she didn’t have be here this time either. She has no one to blame but herself.

The skiff rumbles and tilts. It’s just another bump, she assures herself, but something raps against the ceiling. The heartrenders tense up, and the squallers shift their positions.

Oh, no.

She checks on Mal just to be sure, but he’s clutching his gun tight, his head tilted up. It’s the same stance he took when he found that rabbit in a barren forest or when he was about to catch her during hide and seek. He’s sighted something, only this time, that something is stronger than them.

The squaller at the helm brings the skiff to a stop and signals for the shooters and heartrenders to take position. All the non-combat staff – cartographers included – must gather at the center. Alina takes out her knife and her tented mirror, praying she won’t have to use them.

“Protect yourselves if you must,” the squaller whispers, “but don’t get in anyone’s way.”

Alina’s never felt more useless in her life.

The skiff continues to shake, harder this time. Something whines above them. Something answers it’s call from somewhere in front of them. Another whine sounds from behind the skiff. From all sides. How many of them are out there? At least a dozen given the sheer number of cries. No one dares make a sound. The sveta are fierce, but they’re just as blind as a human in the Forge. Maybe if they don’t hear anything, they’ll get bored and hunt elsewhere.

The ceiling dents in with a clank, knocking the skiff to the right. One of the soldiers jumps at the sound, aiming where it came from. The squaller at the helm blows him away, but not in time. The shot blows a hole in the ceiling, letting the light in. The beam hits a tidemaker’s shoulders, carving a smoking black line through her kefta. She screams, tearing off the cloth to expose a blistering gash. A healer pulls her to the side as one her friends tries to stifle her screams with a damp cloth, but it’s too late. The sveta cries draw closer.

Something claws a large hole through the ceiling, the soldiers scrambling to avoid the new beams. Some squallers attempt to blow up a tarp to cover the open areas, but it stops in thin air. No. Not thin air. The tarp drapes over something Alina can’t see with her naked eye. Under the plastic, she can make out its large, pointed wings and snout.

“Blast it,” the squaller at the helm shouts, and the soldiers open fire on the creature. It whines, batting away the tarp, and then it’s gone.

For a moment, no one makes a move. The cabin is utterly silent. Then something flashes across Alina’s mirror, and the next thing she knows, the soldier beside her explodes in a splash of red. On the other side of the skiff, a healer’s hand disappears. He draws back, clutching his now bloody stump as one of the creatures screeches in triumph.

Alina backs up, though there’s nowhere left to go. Oh, saints. She should have never come here. She begs every saint she can think of to forgive whatever sin brought her to this horrible moment. Shooting her fellow man in combat. Wishing harm to the girls Mal so much as looked at. Disregarding Ana Kuya’s rules at every turn. Whatever it was, she repented. Just please don’t let her die at some monster’s hand.

The durasts burst dust in the air. It makes their own people cough, but it helps make the sveta more visible.

BAM!

Another chunk of ceiling caves in, forcing the crew to huddle along the perimeter to escape the light. Not all of them were quick enough. Several soldiers blister and peel, crying as the sveta tear off chunks of flesh from their bodies.

Alina can only stare. It’s too late for prayers. Too late to run. She should have talked Mal into fleeing while she had the chance, and now ... Alina holds out her mirror, a new hope setting in. They might not make it out, but she can at least die by Mal’s side. He has to know how she feels.

Alina slowly shifts through the chaos, dodging shots and beams of light. She finds him by the helm, taking deep breaths as he aims and shoots. Something heavy hits the floor, gurgling. Of course. Leave it to Mal to find the creatures without a mirror.

She shines her mirror in the direction the creature fell, hoping to avoid tripping its body, but to her surprise, she can just make out the sheen of its skin. The colors change as she tilts the mirror, first blue, then pink and maybe green. All the colors of the rainbow. It reminds her of looking through a prism. Not invisible then. The sveta are just reflective.

Alina giggles. Ana Kuya would be so proud of her, committing to her education even as she’s about to die. She keeps giggling over and over, knowing that if she stops, she’ll have to cry. There are just so many bodies around her. They used to be people, and now they’re meat.

Someone grabs her wrist, and a shot of energy courses through her, quieting the hysteria. Mal drags her beside him.

“I’m sorry,” she says, but he’s busy readying his next shot. “I lo – ” She doesn’t get any further. Another soldier’s bullet ricochets off the wall and hits Mal in the shoulder. He doubles over, his gun clattering to the floor.

Alina drops her mirror, pressing a palm against the wound. The blood seeps from between her fingers no matter how hard she tries to stop the flow.

Mal slides to the floor, Alina crouching beside him. The light streams against them, burning her chest and his back. The pain means nothing compared to the loss.

“No. Not like this,” she says, covering Mal’s body with her own.

The pain in her back only lasts a second. It occurs to her that this is not a good thing. It means her nerves have been eaten away, but she’s glad to do it if it means Mal can live.

Something rumbles in the pit of her stomach. She feels like she’s going to burst, and she doesn’t have the strength to fight it.

All around her, the creatures cry and flap their wings erratically. She doesn’t have time think about it as the world goes dark, sinking her into a deep oblivion.

*****************************

Alina wakes, draped over someone’s shoulder, face buried in the red cloth of his kefta. She only lifts her head for one moment, but the light’s unbearable.

The light?

“Mal,” Alina shouts. She wiggles to free herself from the Grisha’s grip. The sveta will come back at any moment. She has to find Mal. Protect him. Where is he?

But they’re not on the skiff anymore. They’re back at the dock, the skiff a shredded husk. People rush every which way, some tending to the wounded and some salvaging the cargo from the hold. Mal could be anywhere among them. Then Alina catches sight of the ground. Oh, saints! So many people lay unmoving on the dock, and Grisha and First Army soldiers keep dragging out more. All these people she trained with. Ate with. Sung bawdy songs with when they’d all had too much kvas. Dead. They can’t all be gone. Right? Right?

Alina kicks at the Grisha. She needs to see for herself who made it out. Mal better be among them. Of course, he would be. He was the best tracker Ravka’s ever seen. He’d always find his way back home. Home to her.

The Grisha swears at her, trying to stop her feet with one arm. “Be still.” She recognizes him. The heartrender that had sneered at Alexei’s comment earlier. Alina drives a fist in the heartrender’s back. If Grisha like him had done more they wouldn’t be in the situation. He did it on purpose, didn’t he? He let their soldiers die because someone spoke against his leader. His pride meant more than the supplies they’d get from West Ravka. More than human life.

“Fine.” With a huff, the Grisha drops her flat on her butt, sand puffing in her face. She’s coughing too much to fight him off when the heartrender takes her by her bicep and drags her towards the camp. Another heartrender takes her other arm, his grip gentler than his coworker’s.

“Was that necessary, Ivan?” The second heartrender asked.

Ivan only grunts “Fedyor” as a warning in response. Fedyor shakes his head with what Alina would call fondness if she thought anyone could be fond of something as sour as Ivan.

“Where’s Mal?” Alina asks Fedyor, but he only lifts a brow. Of course, he wouldn’t recognize the name of a common solider. There were so many of them, and Grisha only concerned themselves with their own. “The boy I was with on the skiff.”

“Ah. Him,” Fedyor says. “The First Army tends to their own wounded. He’s in their care.”

Alina knows what that means. He’s laying outside the infirmary tent, waiting for his turn to have an undertrained medic pour alcohol in his wounds then pack them with mustard plaster. If he’s lucky, they’ll still have enough bandages for him to get his own. Having to use the scraps from old uniforms inevitably led to infection, and without supplies from the west, the camp outpost could not provide the steady diet of alcohol needed to survive that misery. Mal is popular, though. She’s sure someone will be willing to sacrifice their stash for his comfort.

Then it occurs to her that she’s not doing the same thing. She’d been horribly burned by the light, and yet her back doesn’t ache. Someone must have removed her jacket while Alina was unconscious, but her undershirt is scorched where the light hit it. Her chest is unusually red, but it’s not blistering or charred. The worst she can say is that she feels like she’s been awake for days.

“Why would someone heal me?” She’s heard it a thousand times before. Healers were too rare to waste on common soldiers. They were for Grisha and those wealthy enough to be a priority. She is neither, and yet when she looks up at Fedyor, he’s gazing down at her with some feeling she dares not define. It was the same look the Grisha gave the golden carriage when it barreled into the encampment. The same look the peasants near Keramzin gave the bones of Saint Felix on his day of worship. If she didn’t know better, she’d call it reverence.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity when he finally says, “We survived.” Alina doesn’t know what she has to do with that. It was luck. Pure and simple. But then Fedyor closes his eyes and whispers, “Thank you.”

A chill runs through Alina despite the heat. She looks at the tents, the people running around them, anywhere and everywhere but at Fedyor and that look, full of expectations she can never fill. They’ve long since passed the First Army section, but they’re now leaving the main Grisha area, heading up the northmost path. There’s nothing there except for the single yellow tent towering over the rest of the encampment.

Alina pulls back, but it does nothing to stop the heartrenders. “What does the General want with me?”

“Just answer his questions, so we call all get on with our day,” Ivan says.

“I don’t know anything! Let go of me!” She turns to look back at the First Army camp, too far away for anyone to see her let alone help. Not that they could do anything if they wanted to. No one says no to the General.

Fedyor grips the back of her neck, and her whole body turns to puddy. The heartrenders lean into her, holding her upright because her knees can no longer bear her weight. She’s too relaxed to move at all.

Ivan sniffs. “You weren’t supposed to do that for anyone but me.”

Fedyor grins. “Sorry, luv. Desperate times and all that.”

They march her straight into the lion’s den.

She doesn’t know what she expected to see. A jeweled throne and a menagerie of exotic animals like the ones she’d seen in the illustrated book of fairy tales back at the orphanage? Enemy soldiers kept in cages and chained otkazat’sya serving the Grisha like the Fjerdan pamphlet a traveler tried to give them before Ana Kuya kicked them off the duke’s property? But this place resembled the main tent for the First Army. Soldiers clustered together around a round table. A large map hung from a board, thread and pegs marking paths, places and interesting parties. And yet the General’s tent was larger than theirs, made of bulletproof core cloth while they had to make do with spun cotten. They must not need to ration oil either given the number of lamps lit, and the gathered Grisha shone like banners in their blue, red and purple keftas. No olive drab for them.

Most of the room turned to face them when the heartrenders dragged Alina in. Some now look at her with open curiosity and others with incredulous expressions. Soft mummers pass through the crowd until someone raises their hand, and the whole lot fall silent. Saints, Alina never heard a tent so quiet before. Even during lights out, at least one person snored.

Without needing to be told, the Grisha step back, parting down the center to make a path. A lone man strides forward, his telltale yellow kefta billowing around him. Notes of silver, white and gold weave through it, enough thread to stitch three tents of this size together, but he’s not wearing the jewelry she’d expect from his high rank, and his clothes are core cloth like any other Grisha. She’s never seen a high officer without any silk on, no matter how impractical it might be. After all, most never saw battle. Not like this one had.

The Golden General is younger than she’d expected given what others said about him. She’d seen a shriveled man with boney hands covered in warts in her mind’s eye, but this man barely had a decade on her, and his warm blonde hair and fair, flawless complexion were pleasing on the eyes. Too pleasing. Even the most beautiful boy back home had some freckle or ruddiness to his skin, but the General’s looks almost painted on. It’s eerie, and yet she can’t look away. He’s like the very embodiment of the light, except there’s a coldness in his gaze and calm comportment.

He may be light, but he’s not warmth.

That right, she tells herself. Ana Kuya warned her about such things before. One of the orphans she’d grown up with saw a gold coin glittering in some bushes under a hill. He’d climbed down for it, only to be rolled by some travelers. They took the buttons from his coat and the boots from his feet. He came home with nothing but his pants and a gash on his forehead. Ana Kuya warned them all then: not all that’s gold glitters. Sometimes, it burns instead. Gold tempts the desperate, but Alina is not blind. The General only looked like a man. He can boil someone’s insides. Make their flesh rot from their bone as if they were already dead. Burn them with a glance. And here he is, looking straight at her.

The General stops a few feet away and clasps his hands behind his back. He looks her over, and she doesn’t know whether to be scared or grateful that she can’t read what conclusions he’s drawn. He nods at the heartrenders, and Fedyor rubs the back of Alina’s neck. Her limbs come back to life, panic rising from her core. She wants to run, but there’s no point.

The General stares at her, impassive, and then finally: “Is it true?”

For a moment, Alina believes the absurd. He’s read her thoughts and knows what she said about him being a monster. Then it occurs to her that he’s talking about the skiff. She closes her eyes. What does he want her to say? She was unconscious for most of what went down, and she can barely remember what she was present for. Flashes of her coworker’s blood and blistering arms intrude behind her closed lids, forcing them open again. Maybe it’s best she can’t remember.

She must have taken too long to answer because the General speaks again. “Is it true that you can banish the light?”

All Alina can do is blink. This has to be a joke, but the General’s expression is serious, and everyone around them is leaning in with anticipation. She knows better than to laugh in their faces and question their intelligence, so she makes do by stuttering, “No one can do that.” It takes a moment, but she remembers to add a quick “sir.” She’s not used to being around anyone important.

She braces herself for him to yell at her the way the generals in their army do, but he merely nods. “Then what did happen?”

Alina struggles for an answer. She tries to tell him that she doesn’t know how the sveta got in, or how their ship made it, but no matter what she says, she keeps returning to those burning soldiers. The General frowns, and she knows she needs to come up with something – anything – to appease him.

The General raises a hand to silence her, and when he speaks, his tone is smooth and calm. “It must have been scary out there. It’s one thing to read about the attacks, but it’s another to live it.”

Alina hadn’t expecting any sympathy, so she just nods.

“You must be exhausted.” When Alina nods again, the General continues. “It’s hard to make sense of anything when you hurt so much. I could help with that if you’ll let me.” He gestures beside him, inviting her closer.

He may have asked for permission, but Alina isn’t sure she really has a choice. Still, he’s been nothing but polite so far. She has nothing to lose by playing along.

Alina slowly closes the gap between them, and the closer she gets, the closer she wants to get. It’s like he’s a magnet, and she’s loose filigree coming together for the first time. She feels the warmth now, not in his continence, but all around him. It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t tingle. It numbs the heaviness of her limbs and banishes the panic that’s haunted her since the skiff penetrated the Forge. Before she knows it, Alina’s pressed up against the General. She’s vaguely aware that it’s not appropriate to stand so close to a superior, and it’s definitely not safe to be within biting distance of a monster, but it feels right. She doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

The General doesn’t seem to mind either, staring deep into her eyes like he’s trapped, too. Her reflection stares back at her in his eyes. They’re just so bright and shiny. She has a hard time placing the color. It reminds her of one of the duke’s vases. The blown glass was iridescent and shimmered with every color around it. She and Mal had argued for years over what color it really was. He said purple. She said green. They finally settled things with a good arm wrestle. Green won, of course. Alina decides that the General’s eyes are green, too.

“May I?” He asks, and though she can’t see where he’s pointing, she answers his unspoken request, sliding her hand in his. His palms are rough from life on the road, but they’re warm, and his grip os gentler than Fedyor’s had been. She could hold his hand and stare into his eyes forever.

“What happened?” The General asks in a voice softer than silks.

The words spill out of Alina on their own. She tells him about forging her name on the staff list. The attack. Shielding Mal. The sveta descending on them, and then – ��All I could look at was him, but I could feel the light getting sucked away. Everything went black, and then I woke up on the docks.”

The General says nothing, but his eyes briefly narrow. It’s not a threat as far as Alina can tell. Whatever she said seemed to confirm something for him. The General pushes up her sleeve with his free hand, never breaking her gaze. She doesn’t fight it. She’s curious, too. Something happened back on that skiff. It’s there lurking there in the back of her brain, begging to be revealed. She knows once it’s free, it can never be caged again. The thought simultaneously thrills her and makes her shiver.

The General trails one finger up her arm. Something inside her responds to act, rejoices in it. His finger stops and curls around her forearm. She notes that the nail on his thumb is longer than the others. Sharp. He drives that nail into her flesh, and it’s like a thousand arms stream out of her at once.

Darkness surrounds them, putting out the lights. No, the lamps are still on. She can feel their flames licking at the shadows just as easily as she can feel the General’s grip on her arm. All around them, the Grisha shout. She can’t see them so much as she feels where they are in the dark. It the strangest sensation, and yet it feels like home. Everything is darkness.

Everything but him.

The General glows, smiling down at her. A true lamp would illuminate the world around them, but there he stands, the sole bright spot in the blackness. Standing together, it feels like they’re the only two people in the world. Then the General lets go of her arm and the darkness withers, fading into the ground or retreating under Alina’s skin to fight another day.

Alina clutches her chest, suddenly empty inside. Her head swivels every which way, desperate to find that surety again, but it’s gone. The aches have returned, magnified tenfold. She can barely keep herself upright, and soon, she’s on her knees, her head swimming.

“A shadow summoner,” some squaller says, and it’s as if a dam broke in Alina’s mind. She stares at her rough, ruddy hands. They’re not the hands of a hero, and yet it’s true. It’s all true. She can banish the light. She saved the skiff from the Forge.

She’s … Grisha.

Alina frowns, remembering what Mal said when that Grisha girl made eyes at him from the General’s carriage. He doesn’t tumble witches. Alina was glad to hear it then. It meant less competition for her, and she and Mal had exchanged plenty of digs at the Grisha over the years. Surely, he wouldn’t think she’s like the rest of them just because she has powers. She didn’t grow up coddled and self-important like the rest of them. That had to count for something. He knew her. The real her. He wouldn’t be scared of her because of her shadows.

No matter how hard Alina tries, she can’t bring herself to believe it.

The General holds out his hand. Alina stares up at him, sure she should bat it away. She’s not one of his Grisha. She’s a mapmaker and an orphan and Mal’s best friend. But that may not be true anymore, and she’d be a fool to burn any bridges.

She takes his hand, letting the General lift her to her feet. He pulls her close again, so close she can feel his breath against her face. She should let go, but she clings to his hand like it’s the last safe ledge in a rockslide. He gives her a knowing smirk, and she wants to wipe it off his stupid face. She’s had a rough day. She would have clung to literally anybody, but then the General leans in, and she feels that warmth again. His lips brush her ear as he whispers, “You and I are going to change the world.”

Notes:

Whoo! This is my first Grishaverse fanfic. It may be a little late, but it’s here. One shot for now, but I might be interested in continuing this in the future. Hope you enjoyed!

#shadow and bone #grisha trilogy #darklinadaily #darklinaweek2021 #the darkling #alina starkov #darklina

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rolotouto · 4 years ago

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Banjou no Geass Gekijou

Before I post a list with all the games Rolo’s been featured in, here's more about my favorite one: the Nintendo DS board game, Banjou no Geass Gekijou. These are some of the lines you get when you land on Rolo’s squares.

へぇ、すごいですね、ライさんって。　何人もの人の声を、同時に聞き分けられるなんて…僕が必ず分かるのは兄さんの声くらいですよ… Wow, you are amazing, Rai-san. To be able to recognize the voices of multiple people simultaneously... The only one that I recognize without fail is Brother's...

すごいですね、ライさん。人を簡単に笑わせるなんて…僕にはできそうにありません。 You are amazing, Rai-san. Being able to make people laugh so easily... I don’t think I could do it.

ライさんはどうして、そんなに簡単に人を笑わせることができるんですか？あ、いえ…　別にうらやましいとかそういうことではないですけど…　ただ、すごいなって… Rai-san, why are you able to make people laugh so easily? Ah, no... It's not that I am jealous or anything like that... It's just, that it’s so amazing...

I think lines like this show how strong Rolo’s true self is despite being trained as an “emotionless” assassin. The sight of someone making another person happy makes him feel admiration. He had the potential to be a really good kid...

やった！僕の勝ちですね！あ、ごめんなさい…　僕ばかりが楽しんでしまったみたいで…　あ、あの…　また遊んでください！ Yes! I won! Ah, I'm sorry... It seems I ended up being the only one who had fun... U-um... Let's play again next time, please!

And he isn’t just in touch with his own feelings, but also those of the individual he’s interacting with. I wish these pretty scenes with Rai could lead to a Good End where, having gained another person he can trust, Rolo actually started believing in his right to be loved simply by being Rolo, instead of assuming his value is tied to his usefulness as an assassin. But yeah, the Good Ends have him killing Rai, so I guess deep-rooted beliefs take long to change...

えっ！事故に遭ったんですか！…兄さんはッ！にィ~さ~んッ！！ Eh! You had an accident?! ...Brother is...! Bro~ther!!

There’s a driving minigame where you play as Rivalz and Lelouch, and this is Rolo’s reaction if you crash Rivalz’s motorbike. Before playing the minigame, Rolo had asked you to please accompany Rivalz-san and Niisan because he(Rolo) doesn’t trust Rivalz-san’s driving skills. I find it amusing that Rolo actually went through the process of learning how to drive a bike and that he probably understands about vehicles (and mechas), while Lelouch likely has no interest or knowledge whatsoever. His fakememory!self was probably initially totally confused by his little sibling’s ability to drive, and it’s things like these that make the time he spent with Rolo be memories with Rolo rather than “with a Nunnally replacement”. Anyway, if you play the driving minigame when Rolo has come to like Rai as well, he will be calmer and say something like “I’m glad Niisan and you are safe”. Rivalz doesn’t even exist for Rolo.

あれ、失敗ですか。もしかしてオモチャのハンマーじゃ本気になれないですか？僕のナイフ…　貸しましょうか？フフフ… Oh, you lost? Maybe it's that you couldn't take it seriously using a toy hammer? Should I lend you... my knife? Fufufu...

This is what you get when you lose on the whac-a-character minigame. Sadly for Rolo, one of the rules in that minigame is not to hit Nunnally.

あ、ライさん。ほら、見てください！兄さんからもらったんです、この回転パズル！ねえ、ライさん。一緒に組み立ててみませんか？ Ah, Rai-san. Look, look at this! I received it from Brother, this rotation puzzle! Hey, Rai-san, why don't we assemble it together?

思ったより簡単にできましたね、ライさん。でも、せっかく兄さんがくれたものなんですから今度はひとりでやってみます。じゃあ… You were able to do it more easily than I thought, Rai-san. But since it's something that Brother gave me, next time I'll try to do it on my own. Well then...

Rolo allowing others to play with something given to him by Niisan? And poor Victor from the OSI had to get killed after touching his locket...

The next part needs some context first. This is from when you overhear his conversation with Villetta and Lelouch at the basement. Once he notices you there, he'll normally just kill you instantly, but if you visit them after he's already grown to like you, he hesitates and, seeing how neither Villetta nor Lelouch noticed you, offers to spare your life with the condition that you don't tell anyone what you heard. You can answer "yes" or "no". As one can guess, saying that you won't keep the secret leads to a game over.

First, "yes": じゃあ、これは…　僕らだけの秘密です…　そう…　兄さんにも内緒の…

Then, this is... a secret that is only ours... That's right... a secret even to Brother...

And "no":

なるほど…　僕がバカでした…　やっぱり信じられるのは…　兄さんだけ…　他のヤツなんて… …ライさん。　あなたならわかってくれると思ったのに…　残念です… I see... I was stupid... Indeed, the one that can be trusted... is only Brother... Of course there would be no one else... ...Rai-san. I thought that you would understand, and yet... It's a shame...

It might be because it’s a game and he’s merely letting the player know what’s going to happen, but still, I like that Rolo doesn’t kill Rai right away and instead expresses his emotions to him/her first. Like Rolo barely talks to people he doesn’t feel a connection with, but once he does feel it, the love he has for that person is really important to him. Enough that he’d die mainly to honor those feelings that made him feel human. Lastly, there’s a conversation between Rolo and Lelouch that you get right before Rolo’s route is completed. (Lulu)やあ、ライ。 Hi there, Rai. (Rolo)あ、ライさん。 Ah, Rai-san. ほらな、ロロ。やっぱりライはここに来ただろ？ See, Rolo, Rai did come here after all, didn’t (s)he? う、うん… Y-yeah... 今、ロロと賭けをしてたんだ。ライが15分以内にここに来るかどうかをね。結果は、俺の勝ち。　ロロ、今日の洗濯当番は代わってもらうぞ。 I just made a bet with Rolo on whether you'd arrive here within 15 minutes. The result is I won. Rolo, today you do the laundry instead. う、うん…　あ、で、でも！夕食当番は兄さんだからね！ Y-yes... Ah, b-but! Don’t forget that Brother is in charge of dinner! む、そうだったか…　じゃあ、こうしよう。俺が今からライと何かのミニゲームで対戦する。俺が勝ったら、ロロ。オマエが夕食当番だ。 Hm, was it so?... Well then, let's do this. I'm going to compete with Rai in some minigame now. If I win, Rolo, you take care of dinner. え、また賭け事？ Eh, betting again? そうさ、わかりやすいだろ？ライ、何て対戦する？オセロか？パズルか？何でもいいぞ。 That's right, isn't it simple? Rai, what will we compete in? Othello? Puzzle? Anything will do. 兄さん、水泳はどう？ Brother, what about swimming? なに！？なぜ体力勝負を…！ What!? Why a trial of strength...! 何でもいいって言ったじゃない？ Didn't you say that anything would do? クッ！いいだろう！速く泳ぐ理論はわかっている！負けるわけがない！ライ！水泳で勝負だ！ロロ！オマエは夕食の献立でも考えておくんだな！ Tch! Fine! I know the theory for swimming fast! There's no way I'll lose! Rai! It's a swimming match! Rolo! Start thinking about what to cook for dinner! It’s adorable how Rolo is so comfortable with Lelouch that he isn’t afraid to show him that he wants him to lose. Lelouch is hilariously slow at the swimming minigame despite “knowing the theory” (lol), so usually you’ll win without trying: やった！これで兄さんの手料理が食べられるよ! ありがとう、ライさん！ Yes! Now I can eat Brother's home cooking! Thank you, Rai-san!

チッ…　しかたないな…　晩御飯はビーフストロガノフだ！いいな！ Tch... There's no helping it... Dinner will be beef stroganoff, okay?!

うん！ Yes!

I’m laughing at how in-character it is for Lelouch to loose his cool when he doesn’t win. And notice how Rolo didn’t actually mind cooking dinner himself, he just wanted Lelouch to do it so he could eat his home cooking ♥ You can also just do nothing at all during the minigame so Lelouch can beat you, in which case the conversation goes like: 水泳で兄さんに負けるなんて…ライさん、遅い… To lose against Brother at swimming... Rai-san, you're slow... ロロ、夕食は何か凝ったものが食べたいな…そうだな…流しそうめんなんてどうだ？ Rolo, for dinner I want to eat something elaborate... Let me see... What about flowing noodles? 兄さん…たしかに凝ってるけど…それじゃ昼食みたいだよ…大丈夫、もっと栄養のあるものを作ってあげるから。 Brother... That's certainly elaborate but... then it would be like lunch... It's alright, I'll make you something more nutritious.

頼むぞ、ロロ。 I leave it in your hands, Rolo.

A Japanese person will probably find this funnier and be able to explain it better, but I think the joke is that flowing noodles are really plain in terms of what the food itself is, and that what is elaborate is the process to prepare them (you have to make noodles slide down a structure of bamboo pipes). So Lelouch seems to be deliberately choosing something Rolo can’t possibly prepare just to feel a bit evil? On the other hand, it’s really cute that he will eat Rolo’s cooking. He isn’t disgusted by it or anything, as much as he’d want to convince himself that he hates Rolo… And that’s it. Afterwards you get the endings, in which he kills you. Yeah, he spared your life at the basement, but now he stabs you out of respect, because he wants your ghost to protect Niisan. And he smiles and laughs when saying so too!? Well, to be precise, that’s the ending if you are playing as male!Rai. As female!Rai he seems more pained and doesn’t want you to leave, and it’s not so clear whether he kills you or not. Maybe he kidnaps you, since you simply disappear after Rolo took you to the airport. Creepy stuff... Someone uploaded a video of Rolo’s route, where you can see everything we’ve been talking about. ---- By the way, the official blog for this game was run by staff members who seemed to like Rolo a lot. The blog isn’t available anymore, but you can find the original texts in Japanese through Wayback Machine: part 1, part 2, part 3.

For example:

“I’m now playing through the previous game LOST COLORS and I was chased and killed by Rolo!”

“By the way, I wear Rolo on my employee badge.

It’s cute how Rolo’s charm is shaped like a heart!”

“So, since the anime’s last episode aired, there’s a new DS ‘Banjou no Geass Gekijou’ advertisement. We tried changing Lelouch and Rolo’s lines! Rolo 'Niisan... is cute' You are the one who’s cute-!”

“Good... mor ning. It’s No... zawa... First, um, yeah, I haven’t posted updates. U.... Usui san is the only one who... was... writing... If you’re... wondering... why, on 17th August’s broadcast... Rolo Rolo d... died”

“You can see Rolo in the advertisement... (tear)”

“Lelouch’s emperor outfit... I wanted Rolo to see it” ----- It’s nice to know the staff was allowed to openly fangirl about their favorite characters. Although we already knew that from Sakou-san...

#banjou no geass gekijou #rolo lamperouge #translation #code geass #please rolo stop killing

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snowdice · 4 years ago

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Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 60]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27

Okay. Not sure how long I’ll go today, but let’s work on this for a bit. Just gotta finish this side quest and then we can get back to the plot. ;)

Chapter 28

Thomas did not have to be told that something had gotten Helen Heart in a tizzy. He could tell just by the amount of food she had sent up on his dinner tray. She always made and pushed more food when she was stressed, and he couldn’t help but chuckle when he found both a hearty serving of roast beef and a mini chicken pot pie on his plate along with three vegetable side dishes and a side of macaroni and cheese.

He could also guess what had happened to illicit such a response. Thomas had caught up to Jeffers Deknis in his garden and they’d spoken at length about Logan and Patton’s new friend.

There was no way that after said discussion, Jeff had not mentioned Virgil (and more importantly his friendship with Patton) to Helen during their daily gossip sessions. There was also no way that Helen had heard the words “child” and “too small” in a sentence and hadn’t flipped. From there the inevitable sequence of events was clear: Patton went home, Helen talked his ear off until he agreed to bring Virgil to meet her, Helen met him and immediately committed herself to making sure he ate three square meals a day as well as multiple snacks.

Thomas had sussed all of that out before the kitchen worker bringing him his dinner had mentioned what had happened that day.

That in mind, he decided to wait until after dinner should have been cleaned up before walking his own dinner leftovers down to the kitchens.

Thomas was unsurprised to see Jeff already in the kitchen. He was sat at a small table off to the side where kitchen workers usually took their breaks. The only person other than Jeff and Helen left in the kitchen was a dishwasher who was finishing up. Helen usually spent a couple of hours after dinner in her kitchen or her office organizing for the next day and in case anyone needed food on an off hour, and then there was a night cook who would take over so she could go back to her set of rooms.

Helen took the tray of leftovers from Thomas herself and shooed the dishwasher out of the way. “I’ll handle the rest myself,” she told the girl. “You can leave.”

She nodded and started to take her apron off. Helen dumped the tray on the counter without care and turned back around to usher Thomas into one of the kitchen chairs. Thomas went willingly and she turned to fill the tea kettle with water and set it on the stove.

“It take it she met Virgil,” Thomas said to Jeff.

“She’s adopted Virgil,” Jeff replied, taking a bite out of a cookie.

“And what of it?” she asked. “Someone obviously needs to feed the boy. Speaking of, you’re grounding your son by the way.”

Thomas took one of the cookies for himself. “Why am I grounding Logan?” he asked.

“He was worried enough about his health to make him a nutrition potion, but still did not bring him to me,” she harrumphed.

“I see,” Thomas replied.

“In Logan’s defense,” Jeff interrupted. “the boy seems rather timid. He may have worried about you scaring him off.”

Helen slapped him with a dishtowel.

“Actually,” Jeff continued. “From what I’ve gathered he didn’t have contact with anyone since the time I saw him a couple of weeks ago until now.”

“Any adults,” Thomas corrected with a frown. “I’m pretty sure he, Patton, and Logan must have been around each other considering how close they already seem to be.” He paused, “Logan implied he wasn’t particularly… comfortable around adults.”

“I did get that impression, yes,” Helen said, pouring the hot water from the kettle into a tea pot and carrying it and some cups over to the table.

“He was incredibly jumpy,” Jeff confirmed. “I imagine he does not have good experiences with many people, but he seems to have grown attached to Logan and Patton. He defers to them in most things and seemed a bit protective.

“Where did he come from?” Thomas asked.

“I’m not sure,” Jeff said. “I found him hiding in the garden shed a couple of weeks ago.”

“Did he sneak in?” Thomas asked.

“That’s what I would have thought,” Jeff replied, “but when I asked, he said he wasn’t trying to steal anything and that he was supposed to be in the castle. So, I’d assumed that meant he was the child of someone living in the caste.”

“But neither of us could find anyone who knew him,” Helen said. “Of course, we didn’t even know his name until now.” She seemed to decide the tea leaves had sat long enough because she started to pour them each a cup of tea.

Thomas took a sip. “Earl Grey,” he commented. “I guess I’m not sleeping much tonight.” It was her ‘planning tea.’

“We need a plan,” she said, “but we’re going to have to be gentle.”

“At least with Virgil,” Jeff said.

Thomas laughed lightly, “and what do you plan to do with the other two?”

“I have my ways.”

Helen rolled her eyes. “You say that,” she said, “but you’re too soft. The two of them learned to run circles around you and your powers years ago.”

“We should talk to them though,” Thomas said. “Separately from Virgil.”

“We should,” Helen agreed. “I already spoke to Patton a bit yesterday, but I will again. We should see if we can ask around and find out why he’s in the castle. We don’t even know how long he’s lived here. Or who brought him here.” The look on her face told Thomas she wanted to have a talk with his guardians whoever and wherever they were.

Helen took a drink of tea, it seemed to calm herself. “We need to make sure whatever has been happening to him is not happening in these walls,” she said.

Thomas had honestly… not thought about that. He’d assumed whatever made Virgil so skittish was in the past, but it was possible that it was ongoing. The thought made him sick.

“Perhaps you should try to talk to him, Thomas,” Helen suggested.

Thomas winced. “I am not sure that is a good idea...”

“Why not?”

“We don’t have the best track record… I don’t think me being around him would be a good idea.”

“Oh, please, Thomas,” Helen said disbelievingly.

“No, you don’t understand,” Thomas said. “He seems disproportionately afraid of me. I think it’s a mix of me being king and how we met.”

“How did you meet?” Helen asked.

“I… gave him a bit of a fright,” Thomas admitted. “Logan and Patton weren’t in the room and I didn’t know who he was. He… ended up under the bed. Then… the second time I saw him he accidently ran into me. He freaked out again.” The memory still made Thomas feel gross. It also made him think there was a lot more to his backstory than the three of them understood.

43410

“Perhaps Jeff can try to talk to him then,” Helen said. “It sounds like he was calmest around you. I’ll push Patton towards taking him to the garden more often. I bet fresh air would do him some good anyway.”

Jeff nodded. “I will try to talk to him a bit more.”

“Great,” Helen said, but Thomas already knew the conversation wasn’t over. “Now we need to talk about strategic events to throw over the next few months that Patton and Logan to invite Virgil to. We’ll start slow, but we need to make sure he feels welcome in the castle.”

Thomas met Jeff’s eyes. Yeah, it was going to be a long night.

Chapter 29

Virgil finished eating the breakfast Patton’s mom had sent for him. It had been going on a week since she’d made the menu for him. She sent up little cards with each meal and he was supposed to rate each thing she sent on a scale from 1-5. Logan would read it to him before he ate, and Virgil mark the little box on the card. Usually, he would put a 4 for everything (he had tried to do 5, but Logan had told him 5 was reserved for things like chicken alfredo). Three was for things that he was neutral on, 2 was for things he didn’t like but could tolerate, and 1 was for things he didn’t like. So far, the only 3 was the unseasoned porridge she’d sent one day.

“Finished?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil said.

“What would you like to do today?” Logan asked. “Patton is busy until after lunch, and then we thought you might like to go back to the garden again. It’s supposed to drop in temperature over the next few days, so it will be the last good day for it.”

“Sounds good,” Virgil said. “I don’t care what we do today though.”

“Well, there are a few options,” Logan said.

“What do you want to do?” Virgil asked.

Logan made an expression, and Virgil titled his head. “I’m don’t have anything in particular I want to do,” he said.

“You’re lying,” Virgil said immediately.

“You would not be interested in the activity I wish to partake in,” Logan said.

Virgil squinted at him. “I’d be interested in laying on the ground and staring at the ceiling.”

Logan chuckled. “No, truly. The activity I would do if you were not present would involve reading.”

“You can read to me,” Virgil suggested.

“…In Sanskrit.”

Virgil frowned at him. “Isn’t that, like, some sort of dead language?”

“It is,” Logan said. “I taught myself to read it to read a specific book called the Pragilium Text. It’s an encoded book that leads to a magical location that I have been trying to decode for years.”

“That’s fine,” Virgil said. “You can do that.”

“It would be in the library,” Logan said.

“Okay.”

“But…” Logan said. “It would in no way be interesting to you.”

Virgil shrugged. “Like I said. I’m content to lie on the floor for a few hours.”

Logan frowned. “I can’t make you do that.”

“You wouldn’t be making me,” Virgil said. “I want to go. Maybe you can find me an easy book I could try to read?”

“Are you certain?” he asked.

Virgil nodded, decisively.

“Very well, get dressed and I will show you the library.”

Virgil stood to do so and a few minutes later, Logan was leading him out of the royal wing.

Both of the guards greeted him kindly, and Virgil hunched his shoulders in a bit, but said a soft “hi.”

The library didn’t end up being too far away. It was through the small dining hall and to the left where the staircase to the kitchen was to the right.

“This is not the main library,” Logan said. “It is just a smaller one. The royal librarian comes here only about once a week to organize. Some other castle residents might come in too, but it is usually mostly empty.” Virgil could tell just by listening for a few seconds that the place was likely empty (unless someone was lying in wait).

“I’ll look and see if there is something simple for you in case you’d like to read. You can explore a bit if you’d like,” Logan said.

Virgil nodded and stalked off into the shelves to secure the area. There were many books, not that he could quite read any of the spines. The bookcases were mostly cramped into the space. There was the open area where they’d come in with a few comfy chairs and Virgil found a desk near one of the windows. It had stacks of books including one pretty large and old one. He looked at it curiously.

Virgil heard Logan’s footsteps approach from down an aisle. “That’s the Pragilium text,” he said.

“It’s pretty,” Virgil said, looking at the design etched into the cover.

“Yes,” Logan agreed. He reached forward to touch it and opened it carefully. The print was small and didn’t look like the letters Logan had taught him so far. There was a small map on the side that Virgil could at least guess at the meaning of.

“You can read that?” Virgil asked.

“I can,” Logan said. “Very few people can though.”

“Wow, you’re really smart.”

“Thank you,” Logan said with a smile.

“Now,” Logan continued. “I found you a book. I apologize as its subject matter is for younger children, but it has many pictures that can help give you context when you don’t know something. You don’t have to read it if you do not wish to, especially as we haven’t gotten very far in our lessons, but I thought you might like the challenge.

He handed him the book and Virgil took it with a smile. “I’ll try to read it,” he said.

“Well, you have free reign of the library. Feel free to continue to explore and to interrupt me if you need to.”

Virgil nodded and took the book before deciding to finish his sweep of the library. It turned out that appearances were not deceiving, and the library truly was empty. Once he was certain about that, he looked around for a comfortable place to settle down and try to read the book Logan had handed him. He found a sturdy looking bookshelf near where Logan was reading at his desk. He scaled it quickly. It was a little bit dusty at the top, but it wasn’t a bad place. It was close to the ceiling and kept him hidden pretty well, but still gave him enough room to pop up onto his elbows. If he looked left, he could see Logan down bellow with his head in the book, but if he looked right, he could see the entrance to the library.

He pulled the book in front of him and looked at the cover. It was covered in drawings of different colored flowers. One simple white flower was in the center and there were three words on the cover. He squinted at it and silently tried to sound it out based on what Logan had taught him so far. He could guess that the larger word was ‘flowers’ based on context. So, he was pretty sure it read How Flowers Grow.

He flipped open the book. Logan was right, there were many hand drawn beautiful pictures. He could pretty much understand what was happening just from them even if he couldn’t read all of the words.

It was an interesting book even if he couldn’t read it and it was obviously made for small children. Judging by the pictures it seemed to be detailing how plants, or at least, flowers grew through some kid planting and caring for a flower over the course of some amount of time.

Virgil had, of course, known flowers grew from seeds, but it was interesting to see things about how the stem would pop out of the seed in the ground and things about the roots growing.

He more looked through the pictures than read it the first time but had flipped back to the front to try to read the words when he heard the library door open.

Virgil perked up in awareness, but then settled when he recognized Patton’s footsteps. Virgil tilted his head to watch as he walk directly to Logan’s hideaway.

“Hi,” he said, gaining Logan’s attention.

“Hello, Patton,” Logan replied. He glanced at the window and must have seen that time had passed because he closed his book and shuffled his papers.

“The guards said you came here,” Patton said, glancing around. “Where’s Virgil?”

Instead of letting Logan answer that question, Virgil pulled himself forward, with the book in one hand and slid off the bookshelf to land lightly on his feet next to Patton.

Patton screamed before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Logan had placed his hand over his heart. “Where on Earth did you come from?” he asked.

Virgil blinked at him and then pointed to the bookshelf he’d been on top of.

“How long were you up there?” Logan asked.

“Pretty much the whole time,” Virgil answered.

“I…” Logan said. “I didn’t even know.”

Virgil squinted at him. “You need to learn to look up.”

Patton giggled.

Virgil turned on him. “You need to learn to case the area.”

“Oh honey, your shirt is all covered in dust,” Patton said instead of responding to his very valid criticism. Virgil frowned. “Let’s get you changed and then go grab some lunch.”

“Lunch?” Virgil asked.

Patton chuckled and grabbed his hand. “Yes, sweetie, lunch. Then garden.”

“Fine,” Virgil said. “But you do need to learn to be more observant.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say,” Patton said.

Logan just rolled his eyes.

Chapter 30

After lunch, Patton and Logan took Virgil out into the garden to walk around. They let Virgil lead them around wherever he wanted to in the garden. A bunch more flowers had died since the last time they’d been out here, and Patton felt sad despite having never felt very sad about that sort of thing before. But, Virgil seemed to really like the flower he’d found last time, so Patton thought he was probably sad on the boy’s behalf.

Of course, Patton thought, perking up, eventually it would be spring, and Virgil could get to not only see flowers but see all of the flowers grow. Patton couldn’t wait to see him amongst the garden then.

Virgil took them wandering through the orchard for a while, but most of the trees had been stripped of their fruits. They ended up in the food garden after a bit, and Virgil finally seemed to decide on the direction instead of just ambling about.

A few seconds after Patton noticed Virgil seemingly decide on a destination, Patton noticed Mr. Deknis kneeling on the ground a few feet away. Had… had Virgil been looking for him? Patton wondered. That was adorable.

Mr. Deknis looked up as they approached and smiled at them.

“Hello, Mr. Deknis,” Patton said as they came closer.

“Hello you three,” Mr. Deknis said. “Getting into trouble?”

“No,” Virgil said, shaking his head.

Mr. Deknis gave him a flash of a smile. “I know, I’m joking,” he said. “Especially since there isn’t much left in my gardens for certain princes to destroy with experiments.”

“Oh, okay,” Virgil said. He tilted his head. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting the last of the acorn squash out,” Mr. Deknis replied. “It’s the last crop to get finished. Good thing too, it’s supposed to start snowing soon.”

Virgil looked down curiously at the dark green squash.

“Would you like to help me pick a couple?” Mr. Deknis asked.

“Sure,” Virgil said, sounding interested. Mr. Deknis patted the ground beside him and Virgil knelt down to watch him.

“They’re not too difficult to harvest,” he said. “You just cut the fruit off the stem. You want to leave about a hand’s width of the stem left over which will help preserve moisture. The earlier harvests, I left in the field to cure in the sun for a couple weeks, but the frost’ll ruin them so we’ll take them inside the green house and let them sit in the sun for a bit there. We also want to keep the leaves. You’ll probably be eating those for dinner tonight since they have to be cooked up within about 24 hours after they’re picked. Patton’s mom makes a good side dish with them and she’ll be making some curry tomorrow, probably. Maybe some stew if there are some leftover.”

“Put the squash in this wheelbarrow and the leaves into this pile, okay?” Virgil nodded and Mr. Deknis handed him the extra pair of gloves and shears he carried with him in case one set broke. “These might be a bit big on your, but they should work for now.”

Mr. Deknis looked up at Patton and Logan. “Would the two of you like to help?” he asked. “I can get some more equipment.”

“I can help out if you want, but you don’t need to stop and get more equipment just for me,” Patton said.

“The same for me,” Logan said.

“Well, if you’d like to help still, you can sort the leave. Give your mother a head start.”

“Sure,” Patton said. He and Logan went to do that while Mr. Deknis and Virgil worked on cutting the squashes from the vine.

“What do you do during the winter?” Virgil asked curiously. “If this is your last crop.”

“Well, at the beginning, I mostly will be working on making sure things are stored correctly along with some of the kitchen staff. There’s some drying to do and some canning. After that’s done, I’ll spend some time organizing and planning. Then, before the spring comes, I’ll start preparing seedlings in the green house.”

“Seedlings?” he asked.

“I let seeds start to grow in the greenhouse that I replant once it gets warm enough.”

“Why don’t you just plant them where they’re going?”

“I do for some,” he said, “but giving some a head start is good for them.”

Patton watched as Virgil continued to ask questions about gardening while working on harvesting the squash. Mr. Deknis continued to answer them in a calm, soft tone that Patton didn’t think he’d ever heard from the often gruff man before.

Patton wasn’t surprised when, after finishing getting most of the squash off of the vine, Mr. Deknis asked if Virgil wanted to help him with canning some pears in a couple of days. Virgil immediately looked over at Logan and Patton as though asking permission.

“Say yes if you want to Virgil,” Logan said.

“Yes,” Virgil said as soon as he was given permission. Mr. Deknis smiled at him softly and started loading the last of the squash into the wheelbarrow. Patton offered to run the squash leaves to the kitchen while Logan and Virgil helped Mr. Deknis take the actual squash to the green house.

He dropped the leaves off to a kitchen worker since Mama was busy and headed back out to the garden. By the time he returned, Logan was already back from the green house and sitting by one of the more decorative trees near the castle.

“He’s exploring,” Logan said, nodding at the large patch of bushes.

Patton chuckled. “I see.” He sat next to Logan. Every so often he’d hear the bushes rustle, but he couldn’t tell if it was actually Virgil or an animal.

“He’s adorable,” Patton commented, keeping an ear out.

Logan hummed.

“I’m glad we kept him.”

“He isn’t a pet, Patton.”

Patton rolled his eyes. “I know, but I’m still glad. I’m glad he’s making friends with Mr. Deknis. Once he knows how to read better, we should get him a book about gardening. He seems interested.”

Logan nodded. “Having a hobby would be good for him. Clearly he has a fascination with the garden.” He nodded to the blur of dark hair that could be seen through the bushes. It seemed Virgil had stopped his exploration and was now laying down in the bushes a few feet away.

“I’m going to go see what he’s doing,” Patton said. “I’ll be right back.”

Logan nodded and Patton got to his feet. The bushes were part of a small maze that was filled with flowers during the spring and summer months but were mostly just green and brown bushes for now. Despite the fact that Patton had been able to see him only a few feet away, it took him a while to wind through the path to where he was. When he finally turned the last corner and he came into view, Patton gasped softly.

“Ghost kitty!” he said, making sure to make his voice as quiet as possible.

Despite how soft he made his voice, two pairs of eyes shot over to him. The completely black kitten was perched on Virgil’s lap like she belonged there. Ghost Kitty hissed slightly, but Virgil reached forward to pet her head gently.

“This is Ghost Kitty?” Virgil asked. “I thought you said she was hard to pet.”

“She is,” Patton said. He lowered himself onto the ground from a few feet away from them. “How did you get her to come to you?”

Virgil glanced down at the cat and shrugged, scratching one of her ears. “She just came over to me and let me pet her.”

“Wow,” Patton said softly. He looked at the cat. “Could I pet you sweetie?” he asked, holding out a hand in her direction. She hissed again.

Virgil frowned down at her. “It’s Patton,” he said as though he expected to understand his words and the exasperation in the tone he said them in.

He pet the cat’s head to soothe her and then reached over to grab Patton’s hand. He pulled and Patton carefully leaned a bit closer until his hand was within sniffing distance. Ghost Kitty sniffed his fingers contemplatively and then bumped her head against it. He barely restrained a squeal, knowing that probably wouldn’t be taken well.

He carefully turned his hand over so he could stroke the top of her head. He gently scratched her ear, not daring to go for under her chin yet since she didn’t know him well. “Hi,” he said softly. After a moment, she started to purr softly. Virgil reached over and scratched under her chin and she purred louder. “Oh, you’re a good girl,” Patton breathed, letting a hand trail gently down her back once and then again. Patton settled himself carefully into a seating position continuing to pet her. After a few more moments of soft petting, she hesitantly stepped her front paws onto Patton’s thigh so she was sitting in both of their laps. Patton laughed softly. “Hi sweetie.” He glanced over at Virgil who had a wide smile on his face as he pet the cat. This. This was adorable. They continued to pet the cat for a very long time.

Chapter 31

Logan waited for a while after Patton left to check on Virgil, but the two never resurfaced. It was odd, Patton would usually remember to come back and get Logan or at least tell them where they were. With a sigh, Logan climbed to his feet to go find them. It took him a while to weave his way through the maze of bushes to them especially because they were suspiciously quiet (Well, suspicious for Patton. Virgil was often unnervingly quiet when alone.) Luckily, he knew the bushes enough after all of these years not to get lost and managed to find the two after a few minutes.

“Ah,” he said, immediately identifying the reason for Patton disappearing.

“Logan!” Patton said, his voice excited, but also quieter than normal. “We found a kitty!”

“I can see that,” Logan responded, taking a step closer. The cat hissed at him in response. The hissing was so intense and wild that he’d suspect the thing was feral if it wasn’t happily on Virgil’s lap having had it’s head in Patton’s lap before Logan had approached.

“No,” Virgil told the animal as though it could understand words. “That’s Logan. Be nice.”

The cat still glared at him and swished it’s tail back and forth threateningly. Virgil pet the top of it’s head and it broke eye contact with Logan to purr.

Patton seemed delighted by the purring, reaching to stroke under the thing’s chin carefully. “We should give her a name!” Patton said.

Virgil frowned. “I thought her name was Ghost Kitty.”

“That is ‘Ghost Kitty’?” Logan asked skeptically. From what Patton had said about that cat, it was terrified of people and no one could ever get near it, even him. Now it was in Virgil’s lap?

“But that was a temporary name,” Patton said, “for before we officially met her. Now we have to give her a real name.”

“Do not give it a name,” Logan said. “You will get attached.”

“How do you name a cat?” Virgil asked.

“Do not name it,” Logan said.

“You give them names based on their personalities, how they look, or even just because it’s a cute name,” Patton explained. “Like, remember Mittens? I named her Mittens because she has white fur and black paws!”

Virgil looked at the cat. “She’s completely black,” he said.

Patton hummed. “So, we could give her a name based on that like Midnight or Shadow.”

“Those are fine,” Virgil said.

“No, no,” Patton said. “I’m just giving you examples. You get to name her yourself.”

“This is a bad idea,” Logan said.

“Just throw out some names,” Patton said. “Anything you can think of.”

“Uh,” Virgil said. “Knife.”

“…Just Knife?” Patton asked.

“Nightmare.” Virgil seemed to think about it. “No, that’s mean.”

“How about things you like?” Patton suggested.

“Alfredo?”

Oh no, Logan thought, he was worse than Patton at cat naming.

“Good start,” Patton said. “Logan, do you have any suggestions.”

“Cat,” Logan said.

“Real suggestions,” Patton scolded.

Logan sighed and thought for a moment. “Aphrodite.”

“Catphrodite!”

Logan glared at him. “Helena.”

“Helenpaw.”

“Claudia.”

“Clawdia.”

“Persephone.”

Patton smiled at him, cheerfully.

“…Damnit!”

Patton turned to Virgil again. “Like that! They don’t even have to be serious. Like, uh, you could name her Madam Fluffywuffykins the Great!”

“Do not name her that,” Logan said, scrunching up his nose.

Logan sat on the ground, the cat eyeing him, but no longer hissing. Logan gently guided them towards more sensible names despite Patton trying his hardest to drag them into stupidity.

Virgil still didn’t quite get it. He mostly tried to name it after foodstuff, and often not even appropriate foodstuff such as “Corn” and “Acorn Squash” and “Sandwich” and occasionally would drop in semi violent ones such as “Razor,” “Nightshade” and “Void.” Patton suggested names like “Fluffers,” “Bobette” and “Darling” as well as some that were puns. Logan tried to direct them towards more sensible ones like “Salem” and even went so low as to suggest the contrary “Snowball.”

It quickly seemed to become less about actually naming the cat and more of a game. Patton had taught Virgil about playing with cats and had even gotten out a ball of yarn he cared around for his crafts. Both Virgil and the cat seemed to find endless entertainment with that. Logan hoped Patton had another ball of yarn that color because, he was never going to get that ball back.

The barrage of names fizzled out into naming things around them like “Leaf” and “Bush” until they stopped suggesting names altogether. Patton and Logan sat back and watched Virgil play with the cat.

Logan watched as they stopped playing suddenly and Virgil and the cat squinted at each other. “Marisol,” Virgil said, pulling the name out of nowhere. “That’s her name.” He said it with a certainty that was surprising considering how he’d treated the naming process with confusion and caution earlier. If Logan did not know better, his tone of voice would indicate that the cat, or Marisol he guessed, had gotten bored of them coming up with stupid names and decided to tell him her actual name herself.

The cat made a sound and batted at Virgil’s face without claws to grab back his attention.

He turned back to it and bopped its face with a finger in kind. It attacked his finger, but in a clearly playful matter as it still did not extend it’s claws and its teeth did not draw blood.

“That’s a great name, Virgil,” Patton said.

“Much more pleasant than any that Patton suggested all afternoon,” Logan said. He received an elbow to the side for his quip.

“A pretty name for a pretty kitty,” Patton said, scooting over to where Virgil was sat and attempting to pet Marisol’s head. Marisol, however, was too keyed up and batted at the hand.

“I love you too!” Patton said.

Logan rolled his eyes, but he had long since resigned himself to watching the two of them play with and coo over the cat for the rest of the day.

Eventually, though, it started to get darker. Even after Logan pointed this out, it still took over an hour for them to relent and leave the bush maze to go to the door. The problem was of course, that the cat had managed to grow very attached to Virgil in the last few hours and she followed them all the way to the door with manipulatively heart breaking mews.

“You’ve got to stay out here,” Virgil said, when they got to the castle door. He pet her ear softly and she shoved her head into his hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anywhere to put you.” He sounded horribly sad about that fact and Logan felt himself shift uncomfortably. “I basically live in a closet and Logan doesn’t like cats in his room anyway.”

Logan immediately felt unreasonably guilty, probably more so because Logan did not think Virgil was trying to make him feel guilty. “…Bring the dammed thing inside.”

Virgil blinked up at him. “What?”

“It will get cold soon anyway,” Logan said.

He frowned at Logan from where he was crouched. “But you don’t like fur in your room…”

“I will have to find a potion that works,” he said with a sigh, “and we’ll have to say it’s mine to the guards and Father since it will be staying in my room, but it is yours in every other way. That means you are going to feed it, clean it, and clean up after it.”

Virgil nodded immediately and swooped Marisol up in his arms. The cat went without complaint. “Thank you!” he said. “I love her.”

“I know you do,” Logan said, already regretting it already. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to even consider recanting the offer considering how happy Virgil seemed to be. They had a cat now, he guessed.

Chapter 32

“What are you doing?” Helen asked a few minutes after her son walked into the kitchen and started looking around as though he were trying to find something. It was a few hours into the afternoon, and she and a few workers were already prepping for dinner.

“Uh,” Patton said. “Have you seen Virgil?”

“No,” Helen said. “Why.”

“Er… Logan and I sorta, lost him,” Patton said. He was wringing his hands anxiously. Helen put down the knife in her hand.

“What do you mean you lost him?” she asked.

“Well, see, we were trying to teach him how to play hide and seek, um, but then we didn’t think to tell him that he eventually had to come out if we didn’t find him, and now we haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

“He didn’t know what tag is?” she asked. That was just one more thing to add to the list of why Helen worried about Virgil and where he came from. Every morsel of information she’d managed to wring from Patton despite his evasions made her lists of concerns grow larger, even little things like him not knowing about simple childhood games. Actually, thinking of concerning things having to do with Virgil. “Wait, so he hasn’t eaten lunch.”

“Um, we don’t know that,” Patton’s mouth said while his eyes said ‘no.’

“He needs to be on a consistent diet, especially when he’s still taking the malnutrition potion,” she scolded.

“I know, Mama, I know,” Patton said. “I’m trying to find him. I’d kinda hoped he’d gotten hungry and snuck down here. He probably wouldn’t want to risk being caught stealing food though.”

Helen grimaced. Yet another concerning thing.

“Wait! I have an idea, I’ll be right back.” Patton turned and ran out of the room. Helen frowned at the space he’d been and finished chopping the carrot on the cutting board in front of her. If it had been any other person in the castle missing, Helen wouldn’t have worried, but she had literally never seen Virgil without Patton and/or Logan by his side. Even when he’d gone to help Jeff can some fruit, Logan had reportedly hung around to read a book.

Considering that Logan had never exactly been clingy even with Patton, she imagined that either Virgil asked, or Logan thought he should stay with him for his comfort. So, she was surprised that he was apparently hidden away somewhere in the castle where neither of the other kids could find him.

Still thinking about this, she walked over to the entrance to the cellar below the kitchen where they stored most of the vegetables, planning to grab some more carrots. She was confused for a moment when she heard movement from deeper in the pantry. She reached over and touched the panel near the door that controlled the magic lights.

The newly illuminated figure startled as the lights came on, whipping around to stare at her with wide eyes.

“Virgil?” she asked.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, taking a step back.

“It’s fine,” she said immediately, “but what are you doing here?”

He considered her for a long moment, but apparently, she passed some sort of mental test, because he relaxed, at least as much as he’d ever relaxed in her presence. “Where are we?” he asked.

Her brow knit together. “The cellar under the kitchen,” she said, “You don’t know that?”

He shook his head.

“The only entrance is from the kitchen.” Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him go through the kitchen at any point.

“No, it’s not,” Virgil said. “There’s a tunnel.”

“A-a tunnel?” she asked. Actually, taking a closer look at him, he seemed a bit grimy. He had dust all over his front and dirt on his nose. She thought he might even have a couple of cobwebs in his hair.

“Yep,” he said.

“Where’s the tunnel?” she asked.

“It’s right over here,” he said. He took a couple of steps and pointed to the ground. There was an open square hole there that clearly had been made a long time ago but which she had never noticed in all of her time working here.

“How did you find this?” she asked.

“We were playing hide and seek,” Virgil explained. “Logan said I could hide anywhere inside the castle. I hid on top of a dresser upstairs in some unused sitting room. There was a hole in the wall above it, so I climbed into it. Then, I crawled a little bit and it let out into a hidden passage in the walls. I wandered around in it until I found another hole in one of the walls. I thought it was a way out, so I squeezed into it, but it took me to a different hallway where I found an old room. There was a different hole in that room that had probably been covered by something because it was in the floor but whatever it was had rotted away. I crawled though it into a tunnel and came out here.”

She couldn’t help but laugh a bit at his explanation. “Well, it sounds like you went on an adventure,” she said, “but Patton and Logan have been trying to find you. You missed lunch.”

He tilted his head at her. “I know. I was supposed to hide.”

“Yes,” she explained, “but you are supposed to come out at some point if they can’t find you for things like food.”

“Oh,” he said.

“They probably should have explained,” she said. “For now, why don’t we get you something to eat? You must be hungry.”

Virgil frowned. “But I missed lunch.”

“You can still eat even though it’s not in normal hours,” she said. “You could even if you had made it to lunch.”

“Really?” he asked, he looked tragically confused by this offer.

“Of course, sweetie,” she said. “In fact, I insist you get something good to eat right now. How about I made you a grilled ham and cheese sandwich? Maybe some cookies too!”

Virgil titled his head. “You are Patton’s mother,” he stated.

Helen laughed softly. “He gets its all from me,” she said. “We should probably go find him and tell him you’re okay. He was worried.”

“I didn’t mean to worry him,” Virgil said with a frown.

“I know,” Helen said. “It’s okay. He’ll probably laugh when he figures out where you’ve been, and Logan will interrogate you all about the secret passageways.” He seemed happy about the prospect of seeing his friends. “Come on, let’s go upstairs for a bit,” she said.

Chapter 33

Patton’s mom had already made Virgil sit down at the small table in the corner of the kitchen and had handed him a sandwich by the time Patton barreled into the kitchen, Logan coming after him at a more sedate pace.

“Virgil!” he said, sounding surprised and relieved.

“Patton,” Patton’s mom scolded. “No cats in the kitchen.” Patton had brought Marisol in with him and had let her go as soon as he’d seen Virgil. She immediately plodded over to him and hoped onto the table to sniff at his face in greeting.

“But she’s the princess!” Patton argued.

“No,” Logan said.

“Yes, she is!” Patton said.

“The stupid cat is not a princess.”

“Don’t be mean to your little sister, Logan.”

“I regret every life decision that has led me to this point.”

While Logan and Patton were distracted squabbling and Patton’s mom was distracted watching them squabble, Virgil tore off a bit of the ham in his sandwich and offered it to Marisol. Marisol gracefully took it from his grip and ate it.

“So, this is Logan’s new cat I’ve been hearing about?” Patton’s mom asked.

“Indeed,” Logan said, his lips thinned. He and Marisol were mostly amicable when alone with just them and Virgil, but Patton had a habit of cooing over the kitten and needling Logan into being irritated.

“Mmm, yeah,” Patton’s mom said. She glanced over at Virgil right as Marisol basically slammed her face into his chin in a bid to get pets. “Your cat.” She shook her head. “But Princess Kitten or not, I do not want fur in dinner,” she said.

“Sorry,” Patton said, honestly not sounding sorry at all. Virgil was always a bit surprised when the insolent shrug garnered nothing more that a scowl that did not reach Patton’s mom’s eyes. “I thought she could help me find Virgil, but you already found him.” He turned to Virgil. “Where have you been all day?”

“Found a tunnel,” Virgil said. He had to use one hand to hold Marisol back from his sandwich as he took another bite, but then gave her a bite of cheese.

“You found what?” Logan asked.

“There’s a tunnel under the cellar,” Virgil said. “It goes to an old closed up room and also to a set of secret passageways.” It was a bit of a security risk honestly, though clearly no one had used it in years by how dirty it was. He did plan to go back into it and make sure the sprawling tunnels didn’t go to anywhere more dangerous like the royal wing.

“A closed-up room?” Logan said. He could see a bit of curiosity already building in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “Where the door used to be seemed like it had been bricked over.”

“Really? Can you show me.”

“Sure,” Virgil answered.

“Ah, perhaps we should be a bit more cautious about climbing through random tunnels we don’t know the stability of,” Patton’s mom said.

Logan’s frown edged on a pout.

“Talk to your father,” she said. “I’m sure he can get someone who understands these things so you can safely investigate.”

“It was safe enough for Virgil,” Logan pointed out.

“No, Logan.”

He sighed but seemed to concede. That was another strange thing about living here. By all rights Logan didn’t have to obey anyone except the king, but he often listened to those around him, not just the adults but Patton as well. It was interesting though it sometimes made the hierarchy hard to figure out. Virgil did sometimes stress out about the hypothetical situation where he got conflicting orders from two people, and he wouldn’t know which one to obey. So far it hadn’t been a problem luckily. They always seemed to work it out amongst themselves in some give and take social interaction that was a bit too complex for him to understand.

Patton walked over to where Virgil was sitting. “I’m glad your safe,” he said. “We should probably put a time limit on hide and seek in the future, so you know when to come out.”

“Did I win?” Virgil asked. He’d honestly forgotten they’d been playing a game until Patton’s mom had asked how he’d found his way into the cellar.

Patton laughed. “I’d say so, yeah,” he replied. He leaned over to kiss Virgil’s forehead, but drew back immediately with a pinched expression. “You are… very dirty,” he said, rubbing his mouth.

Virgil nodded. “Your mom made me sit on a tablecloth,” he said gesturing to the fabric she’d laid over the chair.

Patton snorted out a laugh. “We’ll get you into the bath when you’re done eating and you can tell us all about your little adventure.”

“I would also like to hear about your discoveries,” Logan said. “Though you are not allowed to sit on the bed until you do not have spider webs in your hair.”

Patton’s eyes widened and he jumped away from Virgil, startling both Virgil and Marisol. The latter hopped from the table onto Virgil’s lap. “Spiders?!”

Virgil tilted his head at him in confusion.

“He isn’t a fan of spiders,” Logan informed him, his voice amused at Patton’s reaction.

Apparently deciding that she was no longer startled, but more confused by the noises Patton had just made, Marisol jumped out of Virgil’s lap to investigate, wrapping her way around Patton’s legs. He bent down to pat her back, though he still looked a bit startled.

“Your cat, huh?” Patton’s mom asked Logan once again. Virgil studied her. She had apparently missed Logan mentioning that he allowed Virgil on the bed. Or perhaps Logan was correct in his insistence that it wasn’t actually that big of a deal here. Virgil would rather not test that assumption, however, so was glad that it had been distracted from by Patton’s outburst.

“Creepy, crawly death dealers,” Patton mumbled into Marisol’s fur, having picked her back up. Virgil made a note to not inform Patton of all of the different types of spiders he’d seen skittering around in the castle walls today. Maybe he’d talk about them with Logan once Patton left. He’d probably be interested. Virgil had seen some he’d never seen before! Logan probably could even help him figure out what their names were. “You’ll protect me, won’t you kitty?” Patton asked Marisol.

She made a little ��burrrr’ sound in response, which Patton seemed to take a confirmation.

“Aw thank you, baby! Such a good baby.”

50234

Virgil popped the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. Patton’s mom turned away and grabbed a plate stacked with cookies. She handed it to Logan. “Take these, and please get the health hazards out of my kitchen,” she requested.

Logan took them without complaint. “Come on, Virgil,” he said. “Let’s go get you clean.”

“We’re going to need so much soap,” Patton said.

Virgil looked down at himself. “I can go outside and get most of it off if you get me a bucket of water,” he offered.

“Virgil, it’s below freezing,” Logan said as though that had a baring on what he’d just said. Logan sighed. “No. Bathtub.” Virgil shrugged. “Honestly,” Logan said. He turned with the plate of cookies in his hand, clearly expecting to be followed. “You’re not going to catch your death pouring a bucket of water over yourself in the cold when there are literally over a hundred perfectly good bathtubs in this castle. For goodness sakes.” And well, Virgil wasn’t going to complain.

Chapter 34

Patton, to be completely honest, was not all that interested in the room that Virgil had found. Beyond just the fact that it would definitely have creepy crawly death dealers in it, he really did not understand the intrigue. If it had just been him, he probably would have just let a castle worker deal with it, but it was not just him. Logan was ecstatic with the prospect of investigating a secret in the castle. People who didn’t know him well may not believe it considering he spent most of his time with his nose in a book, but he was an adventurer at heart.

Thomas had been easily swayed into finding someone to help tear down part of the wall into the secret tunnel near the room (so no one would have to crawl through the kitchen cellar like Virgil). It had taken a few days, however, and Logan was practically bouncing off the walls waiting. Virgil, despite having already seen the room before, also seemed excited, though if that was because of his own curiosity or because he was just excited that Logan seemed so exited remained to be seen.

“They are silly, aren’t they,” Patton asked Princess Marisol. He was laying on his stomach on Logan’s bed and Princess Marisol had just put her little paw on his nose.

“Yes, I agree,” he said. “Don’t they know that we’re literally going to be 2 feet away from the normal hallway?”

“It is not silly,” Logan defended himself. “Any number of things could go wrong.” He sounded far too excited about the prospect of something going terribly wrong. “The tunnels could cave in and block off the exit or there could be some unknown pathogen in the air.”

Patton did not ruin his fun by mentioning that Logan’s dad had definitely basically baby proofed the tunnels for them ahead of time. Instead, he just said, “Don’t let Virgil hear you say that sort of thing. It will just stress him out.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said, waving off Patton’s concerns as he mulled over two different weird green planty things (potion ingredients, Patton assumed) before setting one aside and sticking the other in his bag.

“So silly,” Patton cooed at the cat. Logan let out a huff but did not choose to say anything about it this time.

Speaking of silly, Virgil came back from Logan’s bathroom then, and Patton tried not to giggle. “Is this right?” Virgil asked, sounding and looking confused. Logan, in his overexcitement about adventure had commissioned Virgil an outfit that actually fit. Said outfit, however, very much made it look more like Virgil was going on a safari instead of a two-foot detour from the normal castle hallway.

“Almost,” Logan said, “Here, let me.” Logan started straightening everything out and flattening the collar, reminding Patton of an overbearing parent on picture day. Virgil accepted the fussing without protest. It was adorable. Well, the outfit was ridiculous, but still, adorable. “There,” Logan said. “I think we’re ready to go now.”

It was about time. Patton was sure people were already waiting for them downstairs. Patton got up and patted Princess Marisol on the head. She looked up at them with interest.

“You can stay here, sweetie,” Patton told here. She seemed to consider it and then hopped down from the bed to go rub up against Virgil.

Patton guessed she was coming. It didn’t matter too much since Logan had given her a magical collar that allowed her to open most doors in the castle and everyone knew she was the royal cat now, so if she decided she wanted to come back to the room and nap, she could. (She was very aware of the power she held.)

She pranced happily by Virgil’s side all the way down the steps to the first floor of the castle. She was such a good kitty.

Well, she did hiss angrily at everyone who came too close to them, but still, a very good kitty.

Patton did lean down and pick her up so they could actually talk to the man waiting for them at the large hole in the wall. Logan went to talk to the castle worker while Virgil half hid behind Patton. He was clearly listening very intently to the conversation however, at least more intently than Patton was. Patton was busy shaking his head fondly.

“Yes, yes, Princess,” he said to the cat. “I know we do not trust the strangers, but I promise this stranger is perfectly safe.”

“How do you know?” Virgil asked.

“His name is Chester and I’ve known him since I was 9.”

#proofread stories #not writing

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hankwritten · 4 years ago

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Litany

Gen, 2k

Part of the DontNeedADiscord Pride Week, Day 1: Flag

“And what is the meaning of these?”

It was a good idea not to make Miss Helen pissy. She was the Boss around here, and not in the way Miss Pauling was the boss, but like the Boss with a capital B. I wasn’t exactly sure if she owned the building, or maybe the company, or maybe she was just our lawyer so we shouldn’t tee her off because of that, but the way Dell had explained it making her mad was a good way to have your desk packed by the end of the day.

So, I’d have to be very delicate about this. “They’re pins, Miss Helen,” I explained extremely politely. “It’s the first day of Pride Month; I thought everyone could do with a little company spirit!”

“Spirit?” The T on the end of the word popped like a firecracker. Miss Helen could make nice words like spirit or rainbows sound like she was actually saying dog doody. “And how exactly do these pins make you…prideful?”

“They’re fun!”

When she didn’t react, I at first assumed it was because she couldn’t hear me so well through my respirator, but then I considered what I knew about her and wondered maybe she simply didn’t know what fun was.

“Look,” I said, placing one in the palm of her hand. “It has a flag on it! I was thinking as people are coming in during the day, they can pick them out and wear them if they want to, just to show off a little color. See? This one is the bigender flag.”

She held it up and examined it like a jeweler inspecting a diamond. “And you find this…fun?

“Yeah!”

She waited, as though expecting the fun to start radiating out of the pin like a hand warmer. “…You certainly have quite a few of these.”

It was true. Along with the usual lollipops and stickers I kept at the front desk (the former being exclusively for clients and never-ever for sneaking myself one, no siree), the scattering of buttons took up a good chunk of counter space, with as many varieties as I could find. I didn’t want anyone to feel left out, so I’d just kept on printing until I had over three dozen.

“Very well,” Miss Helen said finally. “If it is good for company spirit.”

I clapped my hands in delight, glad the party wasn’t going to get shut down before it even started. So palpable was my relief, I didn’t even notice that Miss Helen hadn’t given the button back.

I didn’t have time to worry about it though, since just then Dr. Ludwig came in through the glass doors. He was normally the first one after me, as he always liked to get an early start down in the lab, and we’d developed a morning routine as fellow early birds.

“Dr. Ludwig!” I said, waving my hand, partly to get his attention and partly to show off the new gloves Dell had gotten me. The rubber ones had been so hard to type in, but these were nice and concealing as well as colorful. “Happy Pride Month! Do you want a pin?”

“Guten Morgen,” he greeted warmly. “Ah, buttons?” He picked up the closest one. “Pride buttons, I see.”

“Here you go!” I said, shoving a bi pin in his general direction since he’d shown interest.

But, to my surprise, he didn’t take it immediately. “Ehrm…” he said, staring down at the circle of metal.

“…Is this not the right one?” I withdrew my hand. Was I misremembering? “I’m so sorry, I guess I forgot…”

“No, no I did say that, didn’t I.” He ran a hand through his hair, sending its usual prim style haywire. “It is just…” He coughed lightly into his fist. “…Would you allow me to confide with you for a moment?”

Immediately, I pulled out the spare footstool I kept behind the counter, patting it as Dr. Ludwig came through the counter doors and took a seat. Our early morning chats were normally something to look forward to, shared over a donut or coffee he’d brought into the office, but today he just seemed run down. As he tucked his heels onto the stool’s crossbar, he rubbed his face.

“You know I am not as…up on all of this as some of your generation, ja?” he began.

“Millennials scare you,” I nodded, pulling my legs into my swivel chair.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” he huffed. “It is…well when we had our first conversations, and it was explained to me, it seemed to fit. At the time. Having to reconcile beginning a relationship with Mikhail when I still was not quite over Frida, nor really sure why things had fallen apart with us there.”

I remembered. “At the time? But not anymore?”

He sighed, ruffling his hair even more. “Now…now I am not so sure. Being with Mikhail is…quite different than any of the thirty years Frida and I spent together. I am starting to wonder if it was more just that I held extreme affection for her, and I was inexperienced enough that I was able to mistake it for attraction.” He chuckled humorlessly. “I thought I was so in love with her, and that’s why I never even looked at another woman. Töricht.”

“I don’t think that’s dumb,” I shook my head. “Everybody’s learning new things all the time. You can’t be expected to have everything sorted right after coming out.”

“Yes, I suppose,” he said. “But I still feel…guilty I think. Several of our coworkers are proudly attracted to both men and women, and I am aware that treating such a label as a ‘phase’ is a crude stereotype they have to deal with. I’d rather not have anyone think I was making a mockery of them.”

“It’s not a stereotype if that’s what’s really happening.” I patted him on the shoulder. “No one’s going to see it like that. If you think that’s where your journey is taking you, then there’s no shame coming out a second time.”

Dr. Ludwig responded to my words with a hopeful, if not entirely convinced, look behind his spectacles.

“Here,” I said, handing him both a bi and a gay pin. “You don’t have to wear either of them, this is just for fun after all! But if you change your mind…”

He looked at the two pins in his hand, then smiled tiredly up at me. “…Thank you mein friend. You are always helpful to talk to.”

“I try to be!”

After a few more assurances, the Doctor did eventually leave for the lab. Right on his coattails, Dell and Marcel came through the front door.

“Hey there, firebug,” Dell greeted. “What are you gettin’ up to here?”

I gave the quick rundown, pulling my shirt to highlight my own pin since I’d forgotten to show it off to my first two customers. “Pick any one you like!”

“Bear in mind I am saying this as a queer person,” Marcel said, sniffing down at the massive mound of multicolored circles, “this is all quite tacky.”

“Aw, learn how to have some fun, Spook,” Dell said, elbowing him in the side. To show him up, he claimed a pansexual pin for himself, and shot me a wink.

Marcel did nothing but sniff; but, when he thought no one was looking, I saw him discreetly sneak one of the pins off the counter as he left.

After that, the morning’s influx picked up too much to greet every person individually, but during lunch people saw fit to swing by and check things out again.

“Hi buddy!” Miss Pauling greeted. “I heard you were giving out Pride pins and wanted to see if- why are there so many lesbian ones?”

“Well!” I said, ecstatic to launch into an information dump. “The oldest of these is actually the ‘lipstick lesbian’ flag which, in absence of a more generic one, was used without the kiss mark in the corner. The one with the orange stripes wasn’t created until 2018, to be more inclusive all different lesbian groups.”

“Okay, but why does this one have an axe on it?”

“That’s the labrys!” I took the purple and black pin from her hand, pointing as I described, “the double bearded axe was used by the Amazons in Greek myth, and reappropriated in 1999 for its symbolism in female empowerment.”

“Wow,” she blinked down at the five different designs. “That’s really cool, except for the fact I have no idea how to use an axe.”

“I bet Tavish could teach you, he loves his Skullcutter.”

“…I’ll think about it. I’ll just take this one for now.” She picked up the orange five-stripe variation and pinned it to her purple shirt.

“Looks good!”

“Thanks!” she grinned. “And it was really nice of you to do this.”

“Honestly, the pleasure’s all mine. I just like seeing everyone happy.”

And everyone was! At least it sure seemed that way, even if it was kind of hard to tell with Mikhail. After lunch, he lumbered past my desk, picked out a gay pin, and put it on without so much as a smile. I took the muted grunt to be that of satisfaction

Tavish was next, dropping off half a roast beef sandwich since I’d forgotten to eat today, and instantly becoming my favorite person. While I was chowing down, he swiped two trans and two bi pins from my collection.

“Wadda you need two of each for?” I asked, quite a feat with my mouth full of roast beef and my respirator hanging halfway around my chin.

“Haven’t you heard?” Tavish asked with a raise of his eyebrow. “They just dropped a new identity: double bi. It’s twice as potent as regular bisexuality.”

I tilted my head, blinking perplexedly from behind my lenses.

“Ah, just a joke duck,” he assured. “The spares are for the husband.”

“Oh, right.” I swallowed down my mouthful. “I actually haven’t seen Jane at all today?”

“Ach, he came in earlier than you. Left at five this morning.”

“What? How?” I shook my head. “I’m the one who unlocks the doors.”

“Said he was tired of waiting for your ‘lazy, unpatriotic behind’ to start the day at seven. His words, not mine.” Tavish smiled apologetically. “He broke into one of the lab side doors.”

“…I bet Mikhail had something to say about that.”

He sighed. “That he did. They’ve been at it for hours. If there’s another office-wide prank war tomorrow, you’ll know why.”

Oh no. That’s how we lost our last two coffee makers, and our last seven office hamsters. Tavish assured me that it wouldn’t get out of hand, but by the time Mick showed up near the end of the day, my mood was somewhat dampened.

“Everything alroight, Campfire?” he asked me. “Ya look glum.”

“Just thinking about the impending damage to all those nice posters I put up in the breakroom,” I said sadly. “But! If you’ve come here to pick out a pin, that might cheer me up a bit.”

Mick chuckled in that cute little way of his, and already I was smiling. “Might have.”

We were close enough that I was ninety-five percent certain which one he wanted, but I’d learned my lesson with Dr. Ludwig and didn’t try to pick it out for him. Still, I let myself entertain a self-satisfied grin as he picked up the aroace flag.

“Hey uh,” I said. “If that’s the one you like, and uh…since I know you’re into archery…”

Carefully, I opened one of my drawers and extracted the special pin I’d made earlier, Mick watching me curiously all the while.

“Someone on the internet made this design,” I explained. “It’s for an aroace, arrow-ace!”

The flag was blacked out in several places to make a bow and arrow shape, and Mick grinned as he took it from my glove. “Clever.”

“Do you like it?” I asked hesitantly.

“Well, let’s see.” He pinned it to his vest. “Looks pretty good ta me.”

I couldn’t keep my stomach from doing a little flip at that. When Dell showed up, the last to leave the office for the day, he could tell I was smiling even through the mask.

“Everything go well, partner?” he chuckled. “You look pleased as punch.”

“Everything went great! Even Scout came by, although all he did was say ‘hey, free crap!’ and dumped a bunch of pins into his pocket.”

“I’m glad to hear the attempt at company spirit was a success,” a voice from behind Dell said, making us both jump. Miss Helen emerged from the shadows, her purple jacket an entire mass of pride pins, nearly one of every kind. When had she gotten all those? Had she been paying Marcel to sneak them out while I wasn’t looking? “A happy work environment is a productive work environment, as I always say. Well done, secretary.”

“Can’t remember you ever saying that, ma’am,” Dell admitted blandly.

“…Why do you have so many?” I asked.

“These are…fun…are they not?” she sniffed. “I am having…fun.”

Huh. Maybe this is just what she looked like when she was having a good time. I shrugged. “Glad you enjoyed yourself Miss Helen! Does that mean it’s okay to do it again next year?”

“…You have my permission.”

With that, she strutted out, and Dell shot me a grin. I scooped the remaining pins into my bag and closed up the front office, chatting with him on the way to the parking lot about how we could mix things up next year.

#dnadprideweek2021 #tf2 fanfiction

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flying-nightwing · 4 years ago

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Act II: The Racetrack

Hey guys! I’m not sure I’m entirely satisfied with that one, especially the dialogue feels off. But this is something to drag me out of my writers block so yeah I’m not at optimal capacity. Anyhow, I hope you still enjoy!

Side note, I think this is the fic I used the least italics lmao. Also this is semi edited

Part 1 in Masterlist!

Part 3 is out now!

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader

Word count: 3256

Warnings:

regular amount of violence, language

“Tim”

At the sound of his name, Tim jumped up from his sleep. He had no idea he had even closed his eyes, but there he was, sleeping perfectly still in his chair in front of his open computer. He blinked, looking down to his coffee, then up to Bruce.

“I’ve got a location”

That woke Tim up better. He was suddenly alert and attentive. “Where is it?”

“The Gotham Cup” Bruce replied, showing him two VIP passes to the Nascar race later that day. It made sense now that he said it, as the big crime families would meet there, as each one of them owned a racing team. “It’ll have to be a no cape mission, we’ll have to operate in broad daylight”

Tim nodded with a sigh. He wasn’t a fan of that type of recon, as he’d have to socialize as Tim Drake-Wayne the CEO and answer questions that would distract him from his mission. It also meant potentially dealing with press corps and cameras, which meant he’d have to be extra careful in his recon. At least the attention would be divided between him and Bruce.

“What time?” He asked.

“It starts at two, but the social event is on at one”

Tim looked down to his watch. It was now almost 11:30. He finished his now cold coffee and stood up with yet another sigh. “Guess I’ll have to go make myself presentable, then”

Bruce chuckled, but didn’t add anything more.

---

The sun was high in the sky and the racetrack was buzzing with activity. People with teams’ shirts and caps were mingling around, and the line of the bet counter was stretching all around the building. Tim walked beside Bruce, both of their VIP lanyards hanging from their necks and contrasting with their black dress shirt. They turned heads as they passed the lines and different booths, mostly ignoring the whispers that arose around them. They soon reached the VIP entrance, getting in without having to raise the badge or lower their sunglasses.

It still surprised Tim, even after all this time, the sheer power of the name Wayne.

They climbed the stairs to the terrasse, where there were considerably less people, and those who were there were dressed in fancy clothes rather than fan gear. There was s soft ambient music playing in the background and plenty of seats under the roof’s shade. The whole place screamed money, yet Tim found it extraordinary bland.

“You take ten o’clock, I’ll take two” Bruce instructed. “Meet at the bar for the start of the race”

“Got it” Tim nodded, checking his watch. He had exactly one hour and three minutes to try and find out more about which big shot would have beef with city hall. He began walking towards the rail, leaning on and pretending to be interested in whatever the entertainers were doing on the turf in the middle of the track. The seats around were gradually filling with fans who were willing to sit still for hours under the sun to watch cars drive in circles, eating their overpriced hotdogs. Tim didn’t understand the fun in that, but then again, they would probably not understand his idea of fun either.

With a sigh, he pushed himself from the rail and returned to his task. However, he didn’t see the person walking by and bumped into them. “Oh f--” He stopped himself from cursing out loud. “Sorry”

He paused, squinting at the semi familiar face in front of him. You smiled.

“What, no champagne to spill on me this time?” You teased as you recognized the handsome face from the gala the other day. The connection clicked in his eyes as he understood where he saw you before.

“Oh, hi!” He hurried to answer. “Uh, it’s you”

“So I’m told” You chuckled. He wouldn’t have recognized you on the spot, with your wide hat and brighter clothes. At first glance you seemed like a totally different person, but as he took in your features, it was obvious it was you.

He could recognize those memorable traits everywhere.

“So uh, you left before I could talk to you, the other day” He scratched the back of his neck. “I haven’t seen you much around either”

“I’m not from Gotham, so that would be pretty normal” You replied as you leaned on the rail. “I’m only here for a few days”

“Oh?” He asked, suddenly a little more interested. He raised his sunglasses on his head, looking at your directly. “I hope you weren’t too spooked by what went down at the gala”

You tsked, shaking your head. “Poor mayor” You sighed sadly. “It’s terrible what happened. At least no one else was injured. I was terrified when the smoke went off, but I’ll be okay”

He gave you a small, awkward smile. “Glad to hear it”

“So, do you have a name?” You changed the subject.

“Tim” He nodded, then told him your name in return. “Nice to formally meet you”

“Pleasure’s all mine” You gave him a charming smile. “So, what does such a handsome man do in such a place?”

He visibly blushed at your compliment. You could see he was not used to receiving blunt raises like that, but he really was handsome and you had to say it out loud. His bright eyes and sharp features drew you in just as much today as they did a few days back at the gala, where you had desperately wanted to stay and chat for a while before kidnapping the mayor. You still had time to spare today, so you wouldn’t miss your chance now.

“I- uh” He scratched the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. He didn’t seem like someone who would get nervous, but you thought it was cute. “My father, he wanted me to come with him. Publicity stunt I guess. What about you?”

“My cousin is a pilot” You lied easily. “I’m here for support”

“Oh! That’s great” He lifted the corner of his lips into a small smile. “Which car?”

Your expression turned sheepish. “... 43? 34?” You tried. “Something with a 4. I don’t know! I don’t follow the sport at all”

He chuckled. “Here for the free cocktails?”

“Guilty” You gave him a complicit grin. “Honestly my family just said ‘hey, let’s go to Gotham for the Nascar cup!’ and I followed because why not”

“I get it” He nodded as you began walking around side by side. He was more relaxed now, his hands in his pockets and his head tilted toward you. “My family does that all the time too. If one wants to go somewhere, usually the bunch follows”

“You have siblings?”

“Yeah” He grinned. “Four brothers and one sister, and I’m the middle child”

“Oh wow” You blinked. “How do you even deal with this?”

“By outsmarting them at every turn” He replied with a sarcastic sigh. “That and arming myself with enough information to blackmail them into doing my shit”

You laughed, throwing your head back slightly. You didn’t know, but his heart skipped a beat at the simple action. He thought it sounded like the sweetest melody he wouldn’t mind hearing again. “Sounds like a good survival strategy” You said. “So, you’re the smart one, eh?”

“I think I’ll go ahead and take this one” He nodded after a small pause. “You have no idea how low the bar is”

You laughed again, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “It sounds like a lot to deal with”

“Do you have any siblings?”

You were walking slow around the outside part of the VIP lounge, under the sun. Clouds were coming and going, giving you intermittent moments of shade. It really was a nice day outside. You looked down. “No, not really”

You could feel his eyes on you, but it wasn’t harsh. Just curious, like he didn’t want to pry and ask. However, he had a gaze that seemed to see through everything at that moment, and you really didn’t want him to see through the half lies you built to avoid the truth.

“I was adopted” You admitted, looking back up to him. That wasn’t a lie.

“Oh” He blinked a few times in surprise. “So was I”

Your eyebrows raised at his quick answer. You half expected the bundle of invasive questions that usually came with it, but at that moment it was clear he wouldn’t require further explanations. You were glad he understood.

“We already have more in common that I would have expected” You smiled sweetly. “I’m glad we bumped into each other again”

“Y-yeah, me too” He nodded with a timid smile this time, like that little shy front took over again. You deducted it returned when you made a move on him so far, but he didn’t seem to dislike it either.

“Maybe we--” You paused when you caught a glimpse of the time on the giant board on the other side of the track. If you kept going on like this you’d miss your window. Shit shit shit. “Oh shoot”

“What’s wrong?”

You recomposed yourself and gave him an apologetic smile instead of straight up bolting away. “I told my mother I’d be down by the pits for the beginning of the race, she’s going to start calling me non stop soon”

His face dropped slightly in disappointment. “Oh, yeah, maybe you shouldn’t worry her”

“Sorry, Tim” You pouted, before lifting your finger and going to the nearest bistro table, and took a napkin from the fancy display. You then snatched a pen from a man walking by, ignoring his protests, and you wrote your number on the fragile material. yOu handed back the pen without looking at the angry man and went back to Tim, who had an amused expression on his face. “Here”

“Thanks” The smile returned on his lips as he glanced down quickly at the digits.

“Call me sometimes, yeah?” You winked, walking backwards. He lifted the napkin and nodded, then you were gone.

As you jogged down the secondary staircase, you forced yourself to put Tim at the back of your mind. There was no rule in your contracts to regulate your private life, but it was obvious you couldn’t let anything get in the way of your mission. You got down to the pits and sneaked in a small storage room, where a change of clothes was waiting for you. You pulled off the stupid hat and took off your clothes to change into a tight black suit and a holster belt for your gun and the roll of duct tape at the bottom of the bag. You finally pulled the black helmet as the finishing touch and got out undetected.

You returned into the pits like nothing, blending with the flow of people gradually becoming more important as you got closer to the garage #29. You really looked no different from the staff with darker suits, only missing the sponsors patches. Behind your visor you spotted the driver you were looking for, seemingly arguing with a blonde girl and walking away, throwing his hands in the air.

The timing couldn’t be more perfect.

You followed him as he watched intensely his cellphone, going somewhere quiet. He paused in a corner away from prying eyes, typing quickly. You stepped in front of him and waited a few seconds until his eyes lifted up to you.

“What the fuck do you want?” He grumbled. “Go back to work”

“If you’re asking so nicely” You said, pointing your gun at him as you dropped your bag on the floor.

“Yo what the f--”

You used his momentarily surprise to side step him and sneak an arm around his neck. He trashed in your hold until he went limp. You let him drop on the floor and began undoing his suit, pulling it off with a few difficulties when the limbs were concerned. You then slipped it on and bound the driver at the wrists and ankles, then taped his mouth and threw the roll on him. You returned to the pits, ignoring people who tried to talk to you, including the blonde from earlier. You went straight for the car and slipped in, only waiting for the crew chief to place one last word before you headed for the start line, getting into your designed position. As the other cars joined the start grid as well, you warmed up your tires like the rest of the pilots around you. You observed the commands of the car, making sure you hadn’t forgotten a function since your quick training in nascar driving.

Soon enough, the lights turned green. You didn’t hurry like some cars, you opted to lay low in the main platoon. You would avoid getting attention to yourself that way. You especially chose an average team to hijack, so nobody would expect you to be leading or trailing behind. You made sure to spot your target a few cars in front of you; a bright orange car with the number 12 painted in blue.

The pilot was your target. He was one of Gotham’s influential men, drawing attention with his sudden philanthropy gestures and involvement in city politics. He liked to flash his money out, and that apparently went through buying an entire nascar team and racing as the pilot as well. But his fervent support for Batman and his bunch of vigilantes got him a big red dot on the forehead by other influential characters of Gotham. Falcone did not appreciate the support for his enemy.

You counted your laps, getting closer to the 34th. You launched your offensive, accelerating and taking your curves more towards the center. You swerved around cars to come head to head on the right of 12, taking your gun from the inside of your suit. You rested the nozzle on your elbow to stabilize your aim, then waited out the curve. As soon as the track hit the straight line, you shot three bullets in his neck and retreated your gun again. You saw the body fall back into the seat, the car losing control and crashing in another one. 12 went up in the air, flipping several times before the yellow flag went out.

The medical staff hurried to the accident, and you knew they’d soon see the bullets and stop the race. So when the pits came into view, you got in. Staff were flagging you off, yelling at you in confusion as to your presence there. You only accelerated, knocking equipment as you went. You pulled the hand brakes to realize a 90° turn into the garages. People jumped out of your way as you escaped by the pits and to the outside of the stadium. You drove into several metal fences until you ended up in the fan zone. Only the security was there, but they were on foot or on segways, so they didn’t stand a chance. You tore through the Cup banner and drove straight for the highway.

Drivers honked as you speeded by them, heading for the city before the police helicopters could spot you. The buildings would provide you with a much needed cover, even if the risk of you crashing would be greater with significantly more obstacles. As you entered the first shadow of the skyscrapers, you took an exit ramp to Chinatown. You accelerated in the traffic, rolling on the sidewalks and knocking down trash cans as you went. You crossed through five just-turned red lights, causing one small pile up at the junction of one of the big avenues. You knew the helicopter was hovering somewhere close, and the police began tailing you once you entered Gotham Lower. However, the motorcycles were no match for a Nascar grade car.

However, you knew the game was on when you heard something being thrown onto your door and denting in the metal. A pointy end got through, and immediately, you knew what it was: Batman had entered the game. You were surprised he’d show up in the daylight.

You were even more surprised when you noticed it wasn’t in fact Batman, but his pupil in red. He was on an unmarked motorcycle with a black helmet, trailing slightly behind so you couldn’t shoot him with a good aim through the window. So instead, you took a series of sharp turns in hope you could shake him off, as you didn’t have a rocket launcher to deter him from following you this time. You ended up in the Diamond District, where you decided to change your strategy. If he wanted a piece of you, he could have it.

You made a last turn into a dead end alley, then made a U-turn and waited at the end. Soon enough, you saw Red Robin pull up at the other end. He put a foot down as he came to a halt, no doubt staring at you through the tinted visor of his helmet. You revved the engine a few times, your foot pressing on the gas pedal in controlled movements. He leaned on the bike, ready to accept your challenge.

Before he could prepare too much, you shifted gear and took off, clouding the brick wall behind you with smoke from your tires. He pushed the bike straight and accelerated too as you drove toward each other full speed. You were about to start a manoeuvre, but had to abort as three shurikens shattered your windshield. You stopped at the other end and faced him again, before punching your what remained of your windshield. Immediately after, you speeded toward him again. This time however, you didn’t leave him time to take out weapons. You deployed the emergency brake and gave a tug left to your steering wheel, making the rear of your car tracing an arch. Red Robin deducted your intention last second, and had to swerve into the pile of trash bags so as to not get violently reaped. You took the opportunity to drive off back into the streets, where the police presence had quadrupled and the traffic cleared.

But you had a plan for that too.

As if on cue, two identical cars to yours pulled out from garages on both your sides. You changed formation, placing yourselves one after the other and changing the order every two intersections. When you felt like you had confused the police enough, you drove into an underground garage, forcing the police to slow down. You however, cruised over the speed bump without a hassle. After a tight, 180 degrees turn, you slipped into a side unit, where a member of your team closed the door right after. You stopped the car and heard the police fly by, holding your breath. Then, silence fell. You pulled off your helmet, then slipped out of the car through the window.

You took the phone your team member handed you, pressing the first and only number saved.

“It’s me” You spoke up when the other end picked up. “It’s done”

“Great work, (Y/N). Meet back at the corner of sixth and 24th”

“Copy that” You replied and hung up, letting the phone fall on the ground and crushing it with your boot. You caught the bag with your change of clothes, slipping out of the suit and putting on the clothes to blend in outside.

You sneaked out of the garage, regaining the busy streets of Gotham with a smirk.

#tim drake x reader #tim drake x you #tim drake imagine #tim drake fic #red robin x reader #tim drake #red robin #red robin imagine #dc #dcu #dc universe #dc imagine #dcu imagine #dc universe imagine #imagine #red robin x you #batfam #batfam imagine

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kinglazrus · 5 years ago

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Make Tacos, Not War

Phic phight 2020

Submitted by @nocturna-starr: Why did Sam Manson choose to be a vegan? Sam explains to Tucker why she refuses to eat meat and why his diet bothers her.

Summary: Sam, tired of Tucker constantly ragging on her for her dietary choices, challenges him to go one week without eating any meat. If he succeeds, then maybe she'll finally tell him why she went vegan in the first place. (A montage of Tucker's first, and only, week as a strict vegan)

Word count: 5339

Monday – The Bet

Monday morning, Sam and Tucker sat down at their usual lunch table without Danny. They were used to him skipping out on quality friendship time because of ghost stuff, but this week, it was his family that had him occupied. Danny had been on edge lately, acting paranoid, and maybe even hallucinating. Danny's little stint on the Spin-o-Matic definitely didn't help.

Sam and Tucker blamed it on lack of sleep because of all the ghost hunting, not that they'd tell the Fentons that. Maybe a little time away from Amity would do him good. Until then, it was just them holding down the fort until Danny got back. This meant that Sam knew exactly what Tucker was going to ask when he opened his mouth after they sat down.

"So, really, why do you–"

"No," Sam said, cutting him off. Ignoring Tucker's bewildered look, she popped the lid off her pasta salad. It was a new recipe she was trying out, with a spicy almond butter sauce rather than her usual vinaigrette. She was looking forward to it.

Tucker reached across the table, covering Sam's salad with his hand, forcing her to look up at him. "You don't know what I was gonna ask," he said.

Sam glared at him until he moved his hand. Gathering up a forkful of fusilli and red peppers, she took her time savouring the bite, chewing slowly. The sauce could use a bit of a stronger kick, but overall, she liked it. Only once she was satisfied that she had gotten a good taste did she swallow and answer. "Actually, I do, because you ask it every time Danny goes away."

Tucker scowled and folded his arms, unable to argue that point. "Okay, maybe I do. Answer me and I'll stop asking."

"Stop asking and maybe I'll answer."

"That... doesn't make any sense."

Sam jabbed at Tucker with her fork. "Neither does you being obsessed with why I'm vegan."

"I'm not obsessed! I just want to know, there's nothing wrong with that," Tucker said.

They glared at each other. By now, this was all routine. They weren't actually mad at each other, but their conflicting views meant they got annoyed with each other sometimes. It was fine, because they were always friends in the end, but sometimes Sam wanted to eat without someone questioning her dietary and moral choices.

Setting her fork down, she steepled her fingers and fixed Tucker with a calculating gaze. "Fine. I'll tell you. If you go one week with a vegan diet.

"Um, what?"

"One week, no animal products, and I'll tell you. I know that would be practically torture for you, but–"

"Okay."

Sam faltered, "Wait, what?"

"Okay. I'll do it."

Leaning forward, Sam scanned Tucker's face. He looked completely serious, grinning at the challenge. Sam never thought she'd see the day where Tucker Foley would be excited about eating vegetables, but she wasn't about to toss away such a golden opportunity.

"Okay. It starts tomorrow, goes until next Tuesday. No cheating. I've got a binder of recipes at home that Anna uses. I'll bring it to your place tonight," Sam says. She makes a mental note to talk to Tucker's parents about the bet, knowing how much they love their barbecue nights. With any luck, they will make Tucker stick with the diet. Tucker's mom should. Sam knew how much she liked to cook, and some of her vegan recipes might interest Angela.

"Cool. Wait, who's Anna?"

"Our maid."

"You have a maid?!"

—

Surprisingly, it took Tucker a few hours to regret accepting the bet. He spent most of the afternoon feeling smug, knowing that Sam would finally divulge why she was vegan. And then, when he got home, opened the front door, and was hit by the glorious smell of roasting ribs, he realized just what he'd agreed to.

"I'm going to die," Tucker moaned. Swinging his backpack off his shoulder, he tossed it into the living room and trudged over to the kitchen. Inside, his mom was working on dinner. They often ate early since she worked the nightshift at the twenty-four-hour pharmacy. Dinner for Tucker and his dad was usually breakfast for his mom.

"What's wrong, baby?" Angela asked, glancing at Tucker over his shoulder.

"I'm going to starve from lack of meat this week," he said.

"Oh, is this about that bet?"

Tucker lurched upright, slamming his hands on the table. "You know about that? How do you know already?"

Angela laughed. Tucker always thought his mom was really pretty when she laughed. "Sam called me not too long ago. I think it's a great idea! We should all try it for the week. As a last hurrah, I'm making your favourite food tonight."

"Cajun ribs?" Tucker asked, earning a nod. "Marinated steak bites?" Another nod. "Beer-braised Szechuan chicken wings?"

"All of it!"

"Mom, you're an angel, I love you so much," Tucker said, practically drooling over the table. If he died this week from lack of protein, at least he will have had one last good meal to remember.

—

The doorbell rang halfway through dinner. Tucker, sticky-fingered, mouth covered in Szechuan sauce, went to answer it.

Sam stared at the orange sauce staining his lips. "Nice, Foley. That's a great look for you."

"Oh, shut up," Tucker said. He quickly wiped his mouth on the paper towel he'd brought with him. "Thanks for calling my mom, by the way. She's making all of us vegan for the week. I won't even get to come home and smell the sweet, juicy scent of steak and burgers. For a whole week!"

"You can't tell, because it's on the inside, but I'm weeping for you right now," Sam said, deadpan.

"Yeah, whatever. Just give me the book."

Sam passed him the binder. It was surprisingly heavy, filled to the brim. Tucker was impressed the rings managed to hold all the pages. Didn't stop him from holding the binder away from his body like it was a feral animal, though.

"These are all vegan?" Tucker asked, gaping at the pages.

"How many recipes were you expecting?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know. Ten? It's vegetables. How much can you do with vegetables?"

Sam shook her head, sighing in disappointment. Clapping a hand on Tucker's shoulder, she leaned and said, "I really pity you, Tucker."

"Hey!" Tucker shouted, indignant. "Rude."

Sam, unswayed, rolled her eyes. "Suck it up, it's not that bad. Just look at a few of the recipes. You might actually like them."

"I am going to die," Tucker moaned. Opening the binder, he flipped through a few pages, his grimace getting deeper with each one. "Veggie burgers? A travesty. Zucchini noodles? Do I have to say it?" He paused halfway through the book, pointing to a stained page. "Fried bean tacos?"

"I use that one a lot," Sam said, explaining away the stains. She wasn't the neatest cook.

"Okay, that one actually sounds kind of good." He snapped the binder shut and tucked it under his arm. "I still don't get why you can't just tell me why you're vegan."

"I could, but it's a lot more fun this way."

Tucker disagreed.

—

Tuesday – Day One

In the morning, Tucker had a smoothie for breakfast.

"Sorry, baby. I need to go to the store and get some groceries to make most of the really good recipes," Angela said. She sipped at her own smoothie, bags under her eyes. This was her dinner before she would go to sleep. "I don't work tonight, so I'll pick some stuff up later. For now, your lunch is in the fridge."

Tucker shrugged. He liked smoothies, although he wished they were more filling. Downing the glass without complaint, he grabbed his lunch from the fridge—a single container, which didn't bode well—before setting his empty cup in the sink.

"Later, Mom. Have a good sleep!" he shouted over his shoulder before heading out the front door.

—

Tucker stared in dismay at his lunch. Tomatoes, cucumber, olives, red onions, sliced and diced and tossed into a cheap plastic container with a strong-smelling dressing. And some weird little green stuff scattered all over it.

"That's oregano. It's a pretty standard herb that your mom probably uses all the time. Don't be such a baby," Sam said. She tore into her bean burrito with gusto, smirking at Tucker from across the table.

"It's just... vegetables..." Tucker says.

"It's vegan."

"There's no cheese!"

"It’s vegan. And there's dressing. Just shut up and eat it."

"As soon as Danny gets back from his road trip, I'm going to tell him you tortured me. Tortured!"

Sam ignored him, instead savouring her burrito and silently delighting in what a nice day it was. Sunny, but not too warm, with a cool breeze. The perfect day for lunch outside. They weren't the only ones who chose to sit outside instead of in the cafeteria, but everyone was scattered across the lawn, so it wasn't too crowded.

Tucker groaned. "I gave my mom the whole binder, and she chose to make this?" Looking across the table, he stared forlornly at Sam's burrito. "That at least looks like something I'd eat. This," he gestured to his Greek salad, "is just plant stuff!"

"Congratulations, you know what vegetables are." Sam rolled her eyes as Tucker groaned again. "It's not going to kill you. You didn't have to agree to the bet."

"You didn't have to make it a bet. I just want to know why you don't eat meat, that's all."

Sighing, Sam put her burrito down. She folded her hands on the table and stared intently at Tucker. "I want to know why I have to explain my personal choices to you. Maybe I'm allergic to the preservatives people put in certain meat. Maybe I'm allergic to beef. Maybe I just don't like how meat tastes."

"I think we both know it's none of those reasons," Tucker says. Reaching into his container, he picks out an olive, grimacing at it, and pops it into his mouth.

"You're right. It isn't any of those reasons, but if it were, that would be my business. Do you get people constantly asking you why you eat meat?"

"Well, no, that'd be stupid."

"So why isn't it stupid for people to ask me why I make my dietary choices? I'm tired of having to constantly justify being vegan. Yeah, there's more to it than me just liking vegetables. But, quite frankly, I don't owe anyone an explanation, especially when they're just going to scoff in my face about it and act like it's dumb."

Tucker stared guiltily down at his salad.

Sam stood up, re-wrapping her burrito, and shoved it in her backpack. "If you want to know why I'm vegan, then you have to respect the effort it takes to be vegan first. So shut up and eat," she said before leaving.

—

Tucker picked at his quinoa cakes, watching them crumble under his fork without actually eating them. Sighing, he stabbed at a chickpea and dragged it through the balsamic sauce decorating his plate, drawing meaningless swirls.

"Something wrong?" his dad, Maurice, asked. Hiding his mouth behind his hand, he leaned toward Tucker and whispered loudly. "Not a fan of the quinoa either, huh?"

"Maurice, you are going to eat every little seed on that plate or else I'm never making you ribs again. You need less red meat," Angela chastised.

"Oh, man," Maurice grumbled, but dutifully went back to eating.

"But your father has a point. What's up, Tucker?"

"I think I made Sam really mad today," Tucker said, lowering his fork. "I didn't think she really minded me asking about being vegan, but she got all huffy talking about respect and stuff."

"Do you respect her?" Angela asked. Her stare was intense.

"I mean, yeah. She's my friend. She's cool, and smart, and stuff." Tucker shrugged. "We wouldn't be the same without her." In a lot of ways no one else would ever realize.

"So, show her that. She wasn't 'huffy,' she was upset, and probably didn't think you were respecting her and her boundaries. Even if it seems like a small thing to you, it could be incredibly personal to Sam." Angela reached across the table and squeezed Tucker's hand. "Apologize to her tomorrow, and then everything'll go back to normal."

Tucker squeezed back, smiling. "Thanks," he said. Feeling better, he finally dug into his dinner. It wasn't half-bad.

—

Wednesday – Day Two

Catching Sam outside science class, Tucker grabbed her backpack and stopped her from going in. He had seen her from the other side of the hall and sprinted all the way down to intercept her.

"What do you want, Tucker?" Sam asked, shaking him off.

He held up a finger as he caught his breath. For someone who ghost hunted on the regular, he was really out of shape. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was kind of an ass yesterday."

Sam pursed her lips. "Yeah, you were."

"You're one of my best friends, and I respect you, even if I don't always act like it. You don't have to go through with your end of the bet if you don't want to," Tucker said.

"You just want to eat meat again."

"Obviously I want to eat meat again. It's only been a day and I can feel myself wasting away." Sam started walking away. Tucker scrambled to stop her, latching on to her sleeve and saying, "But! But I want to make it through the week. Even if you decide not to follow through, I will."

Sam's pursed lips softened into a smile. "I respect you too, Tucker. I may not like that you're practically a carnivore, but you're a decent guy."

Tucker grinned. Letting Sam go, he straightened up and reached into his backpack. All that honesty made him hungry. He pulled out his snack for the day, homemade fruit roll-up, and took a generous bite.

"You think we could have that exact same conversation in front of Melanie from calculus?" he asked Sam. "She said she really likes guys who respect women."

Sam hummed, like she was actually considering it. "I don't know," she said before walking into the classroom.

"Is that a yes?" Tucker shouted after her, mouth full.

"See you at lunch, Tuck."

"Sam, is that a yes? Come on!"

—

Thursday – Day Three

A solid block of tofu was not Tucker's idea of a good meal. A solid block of tofu marinated in a Sriracha-soy sauce, grilled, and stuffed into an English muffin was an okay meal. He licked a line of sauce dribbling down his fingers, enjoying the taste of turmeric.

"Is your mom only making the spicy recipes?" Sam asked. A victorious grin overtook her face at the way Tucker devoured his lunch.

"No, she made that fruit stuff, too. Tomorrow's pancakes for breakfast, apparently," Tucker said. He took another bite, chewing happily, and swallowed. "Tonight is some kind of pilaf thing?"

Sam frowned and asked, "Is it the one from the front of the book or the back?"

"I don't know. Why does it matter?"

"There are still a few recipes in there from when I was just vegetarian. My parents wouldn't let me go full vegan when I was younger because they were worried about protein intake," she explained. "Some of those recipes have eggs, milk, and cheese in them still, and maybe some fish. Most of them are at the front."

"Wait, wait, wait." Tucker lowered his sandwich. "Fish?" Last time he checked, fish was meat, which meant it definitely shouldn't be in a vegetarian recipe.

"I had a pescatarian phase before they let me go full vegan. Those recipes have blue circles in the corner. Make sure you warn your mom about them."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. But what the hell is pescatarian?"

A familiar glint entered Sam's eyes. It was the look she gave right before she was about to lecture someone. "I am so glad you asked," she said sweetly.

"No, I take it back," Tucker said, shaking his head vigorously, but it was too late.

"There are actually a few different variations of vegetarianism. Lacto-vegetarians can eat dairy products, but no other animal products. Ovo-vegetarians allow eggs. Lacto-ovo is both dairy and eggs. Pescatarians, on the other hand, usually have no dairy or eggs, but they do eat fish," Sam said.

She was brimming with excitement, eager that Tucker was actually showing interest in her lifestyle for once. In all their arguments about food, never once had he shown genuine curiosity for vegetarianism, only disdain.

"Isn't that kind of hypocritical?" Tucker asked. "Fish are animals. That's meat. That's exactly what being vegetarian is against."

"It depends on why they're vegetarian. It could be for dietary reasons, not because of a concern about animal cruelty. Fish has a lot of health benefits, especially for your heart, while too much red meat is bad for you. Or, they can be using fish as an alternative protein source. While mass fishing isn't without its issues, it has a lower environmental cost than raising livestock."

Tucker stared at her blankly.

Realizing she had lost him, Sam sighed. "Basically, there's a lot of reasons," she said.

Tucker nodded, finishing the last bites of his lunch. Even if he didn't really get what Sam was saying, she appreciated that he tried. Maybe Tucker wasn't a hopeless carnivore after all.

—

Long after Tucker was meant to be asleep, he sat at his desk, a bowl of Cajun-seasoned popcorn in his lap, and stared intently at his computer. The glow of his screen washed him in pale blue light, glinting off his glasses as he shoved handfuls of popcorn in his mouth.

Opening his browser, he typed into the search bar: what makes vegetarianism better?

—

Friday – Day Four

"Ha!" Tucker shouted, slamming a piece of paper down on the picnic table as soon as he reached it.

Sam tried to read it, but his hand covered most of the text. Lifting her eyes to Tucker's, she asked, "How were the pancakes?"

"Aggressively mediocre," Tucker said, flopping into his seat. He swung his backpack up onto the table and pushes the paper toward Sam. "I found out your secret," he said in a singsong voice as he reached into his backpack.

Sam snatched up the paper, sparing Tucker an annoyed glare, and scanned it. "Did you print out a page from a discussion forum?"

"I needed evidence," Tucker said. Digging around in his backpack, he searched for today's lunch, eventually pulling out his burger. Portabella mushroom, carrot and cucumber slaw, avocado spread, and a tangy sauce stuffed into a rye bun. He was actually looking forward to this, but he'd die before telling Sam that.

"Evidence of what?" Sam said, giving the page a more thorough read.

"You vegans aren't so great."

"First, I never said we were great. Second, what the hell, Tucker?" Sam's gaze halted halfway down the page.

Tucker grinned smugly, knowing exactly what she had found. "Most of your precious vegetables are farmed using exploited labour. It's practically slavery. At least raising livestock doesn't have that."

"You think big corporations deadest on producing as much meat as possible are against exploiting workers?"

"Well, no, but–"

"And you're forgetting about local farmers. I get my produce as local as I can. I have a greenhouse so I can grow my own food year-round."

"Maybe you do, but I was just–"

"And just because the produce industry isn't 'pure,' that doesn't make certain livestock practices better."

"I didn't say that."

"And I agree with you completely," Sam finished.

Tucker's next protest died on his lips. "You what?"

"I agree," she repeated. Folding the paper Tucker gave her in half, she slid it across the table back toward her. "No mass industry like that is perfect. That's exactly why I try to grow my own food and buy local as much as I can. But one person isn't going to affect much, so I protest, too. I speak out in the hopes that these practices will stop."

"Oh." Tucker deflated, his righteous indignation leaving him in a flash. "At least you know," he added weakly.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Sam enjoying the very same tacos Tucker had pointed out the first time he opened her recipe book. Tucker chewed thoughtfully on his burger—which he decided was only okay because he didn't like the texture of the mushroom—and turned Sam's words over in his head. He specifically thought about her callout of big industries, something her family was deeply involved in.

"So, does everything you just said have anything to do with why you're vegan?" Tucker asked.

"Three more days, Tuck," Sam said, smirking at him over her taco.

"Ugh." Tucker groaned but let it go. Three days. He could wait three days.

—

Saturday – Day Five

Standing at the counter, Tucker flipped through Sam's recipe binder, giving it a more thorough look through. He easily found the recipes his mom had already tried, marked with green stick notes. A few more were marked in green. He figured those were ones she wanted to try.

Angela shuffled into the kitchen, yawning.

"Morning, Mom," he mumbled. After a moment, he blinked, frowning in confusion, and looked up. "Didn't you work last night? Why are you awake?"

"Anderson asked me if he could take my shift, needed the extra money. I don't work again until Sunday night, which means you have to suffer through me all weekend, baby," Angela said, giving Tucker a quick hug and ruffling his hair.

"Ugh, Mom, nooo," Tucker whined half-heartedly.

"What are you doing?" she asked, seeing the recipe book laid out before him.

"Well, one of the reasons Sam wanted me to do this was so I could appreciate the effort being vegan took. Or something like that." He waved his hand dismissively. "But just eating the food doesn't take a lot of effort."

A proud small graced Angela's lips. "Do you want to help me cook today?"

Going back to the binder, Tucker showed Angela a page he had marked with his thumb. "Sam's got a couple snack recipes here. Appetizer stuff, like mini-tacos, stuffed peppers, assorted veggie bowls, stuff like that. I thought it might be fun to make a bunch of them."

"That sounds fantastic!" Angela said, giving Tucker another squeeze. "We can pick out which ones you want to make and go to the store. I'm going to tell everyone we run into what a considerate young man you are."

His cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"We should have breakfast before we go. Anything in particular you want?"

"Um, actually..." Tucker trailed off. Blushing even more, he pointed toward the table. "I tried making the lettuce wraps, but, uh.... yeah."

The lettuce wraps were more like lettuce massacres. The iceberg lettuce wouldn't peel neatly off the head and Tucker ended up ripping most of the leaves in half, resulting in wraps that couldn't wrap around anything. Unevenly chopped vegetables spilled off the cutting board into the table. Off to the side, a ramekin filled to the brim, with sauce dripping down the sides, was in the process of staining the tablecloth.

"You are so lucky I'm here," Angela teased.

"Mom," Tucker lamented, but he actually sort of liked it.

—

Sunday – Day Six

Tucker rocked back on his heels, cradling his chin in his palm, as he scanned the Nasty Burger menu. He finally understood what Sam was talking about every time she complained about how there was nothing to eat her. For Tucker, who loved big, sloppy burgers, there was an abundance of options. But for vegans? Or even vegetarians? It was woefully lacking.

Which made sense, because it was a burger place. But Sam said she couldn't get a decent vegan meal anywhere in a five-block radius around the Nasty Burger, which meant whenever she, Tucker, and Danny went to eat there, she couldn't pick food up somewhere else and bring it over.

Tucker hummed, looking over his limited options, and almost missed Valerie walking in front of him, heading around the counter to start her shift.

"Hey, Tucker," she said, pulling on her hat. She gave the acne-riddled teen currently at the register a wave. "You can go on your break, I'll take over."

"Thanks, Val," the kid said.

"So, Tuck. Might Meaty Melt with extra meat?" Valerie asked, already punching it in.

"Actually, no," Tucker said. He couldn't decide between the veggie burger or one of the salads. The kitchen probably didn't have a separate grill for the veggie patties. Would the meal not count if it touched beef juice? It wouldn't be the same as eating a beef burger, but Sam always said it made her uncomfortable knowing the veggie patties might have been grilled in raw juices.

"We've got a new meaty burrito, with sausage stuffed beef." Valerie waved to the promotional sign on the menu board.

"Sausage stuffed beef? How does that even work?"

"No idea, want to try it?"

"Not today. What kind of fryer oil do you use?" Tucker asked, finally looking away from the menu.

"Uh..." Valerie frowned. Glancing back at the kitchen, she squinted at the fryers. "I think we just use canola, why?"

Tucker nodded, finally settling on his order. "I'll get the veggie burger, but can I get the patty deep-fried? And no mayo."

Valerie didn't make a move to punch it in. "What?"

"What?"

"You want a veggie burger?"

"Yeah." Tucker shuffled his feet, feeling awkward. "Why?"

"You. Tucker Foley. Carnivore of Casper High. You want a veggie burger. With no mayo." Valerie looked like she just saw her dad petting the ghost dog that ruined her life. She looked like the world had turned upside down.

Immediately, Tucker realized he could have fun with this. "I'm vegan," he said.

Valerie's face went completely blank for one glorious moment before she screeched, "What?!" Leaning across the counter, she grabbed Tucker. "Since when?"

"Uh, for a while now. Geez, where have you been, Valerie? Don't you know meat is murder?" Tucker asked, tutting and shaking his head.

Valerie, looking like she had woken up in another dimension, slowly punched in his order. Her shocked expression had Tucker giggling all throughout his meal. He made sure to look extra pleased with his burger whenever Valerie looked his way.

—

Monday – Day Seven

Tucker popped the last bite of his burrito into his mouth. It had been an absolute monster full of three kinds of beans, guacamole, salsa, and a wide range of vegetables. His mom specifically saved that recipe for Monday night because she knew it would be his favourite. Chewing fast, Tucker didn't even take the time to savour, instead swallowing as fast as he could and throwing his arms in the air.

"I did it!" he cheered. Pushing away from the table, he leapt to his feet and whooped. He pranced around the room. "I did it, and I didn't cheat, and nobody can ever say I can't appreciate a good vegetable ever again!"

Sam, who had joined the Foley's for dinner that night, shook her head as she watched Tucker. She still had half her burrito left, as did Tucker's parents, because they didn't try to inhale it like they hadn't eaten in a week.

Tucker skipped around the table and stopped beside Sam's chair. "Now you have to tell me."

"I thought you said I didn't have to?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tucker went completely still, his face falling.

Sam laughed. "I'm just kidding. But I'm going to enjoy my dinner first. We aren't all heathens," she said.

Groaning, Tucker returned to his seat. For the rest of the meal, he kept motioning for Sam to hurry up and finish eating. It only made her chew slower. When she finally finished, Tucker eagerly stood up.

"Okay, let's go," he said, grabbing her hand.

Sam pulled back. "Mr. Foley, would you like some help with cleaning up?"

She and Maurice shared sly, conspiratorial grins as Tucker protested loudly.

"That sounds lovely, Sam. Thank you for offering!" Maurice said.

Twenty minutes later, when the dishes were clean, the kitchen was spotless, and the floor was swept, Sam turned to Tucker and said, "Okay, let's go."

"Finally!"

Tucker dragged Sam into his room, closing the door. He took the beanbag chair in the corner of the room while Sam claimed his desk chair.

"So, the reason?" Tucker prompted.

"When people get rich, the first thing they want to do is make more money," Sam started.

"What does that have to do with being vegan?"

"It's relevant! My great-grandfather invented stuff, and he was good at it. Made a lot of money doing it. By my grandfather wasn't as savvy. He took over the company, but he wasn't as innovative. To keep the money coming in, he looked to other industries," Sam said.

"Like farming," Tucker said. "You've mentioned that before."

"Yeah. When I was eight, before he passed away, my grandfather took me to one of his industrial farms. He knew I liked animals and he thought it'd get me interested in the family busy."

"When you were eight," Tucker deadpanned.

Sam nodded. "When I was eight. I saw how horribly the animals were treated there, and it honestly scarred me. I couldn't stand eating meat after that, not after knowing that's how they're treated."

"And that's it?" Tucker asked. He frowned, a little let down. The way Sam built it up, he thought there would be some big reveal. Maybe a deep, dark secret she never shared with anyone before. But it wasn't. She had just been a little girl who loved animals and hated to see them hurt.

"Sorry it wasn't worth the wait," Sam said with a wry grin.

Tucker shrugged. "Eh. My fault for building it up so much." He paused. "Are you going to take over the family business one day?"

Sam lowered her cheek to Tucker's desk and frowned. "I don't know. I don't want everything to be handed to me on a silver platter just because my family has money. I want to work for it. But..."

"If you take over," Tucker said, realizing where Sam was going.

"I can change the way they do things. There are lots of ways to farm ethically. Small local livestock growers? I support them wholeheartedly. They care about their animals and make sure they have good lives before they're killed. I want the Manson Company to be like that," she said. "And until I can make that change happen, I refuse to eat meat.

"Huh. Well, if anyone can do it, you can. I don't think I know anyone as stubborn as you are," Tucker said.

Sam smiled softly. "Thanks, Tuck. That means a lot."

"Now will you talk to Melanie from calculus?" Tucker shot finger guns at Sam. "You never actually said no."

"Oh my god, you're unbelievable." Leaning over, Sam snatched a pillow from Tucker's bed and whipped it at him.

"Hey!" he rolled away, jumping to his feet, and hoisted the beanbag over his shoulder. "Was that a threat, Manson?"

"You think you can beat me, the reigning pillow fight champ since our first sleepover in third grade?" Sam asked, snatching up another pillow.

"I can damn well try!" Tucker pounced.

Sam immediately beat the stuffing out of him. But he wasn't too choked up about it. He made good on the bet, after all. Thanks to that, he now understood Sam a little better. Tomorrow, Danny would be back, and everything would go back to normal. There was no way Tucker would give up his food arguments with Sam, even if they had an understand now. They were just too much fun.

Lying on the floor, panting and wondering how Sam could bruise him with pillows, Tucker hoped Danny had fun this week. Tucker certainly did.

#phic phight #phic phight 2020 #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #phanfic #phicc #tucker foley #sam manson #tumblroneshots

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years ago

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 139

139

Cuba was loud. Loud and people everywhere. Lance had bugged him to call Shiro, his brother giving him a hard time for forgetting, but Matt had already called to let him know that he and Lance had a very... intimate reunion. Stupid perverted wolf. He was having a moment with his boyfriend, not some kind of scandalous tryst.

Lance didn’t talk as much as he thought he would. So Keith didn’t push it. He’d sent Shiro a proper message explaining Miriam had passed and that Lance needed a little more time before they’d be headed back to America. Matt had let Shiro know, but Keith felt like maybe that’d been Lance’s place to say. Shiro and Curtis sending their condolences. Each time Lance would point something out, Keith tried to take as many photos on his phone as he could, so Lance would have physical evidence to match his memories.

Stopping for lunch near the beach, Keith realised how screwed he would have been without Lance there to translate for him. Sure, there was English to cater to the tourists, but Lance made it look easy. Chatting away with the servers, swimming in the jumper that he was wearing. His boyfriend had already managed to get him new shoes. They weren’t shiny red converses with smiley faces on them, but they were sneakers because Lance simply rolled his eyes at the idea of boots in the heat.

Sitting across from his boyfriend in the cafe, Keith realising that Lance actually looked a little older. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but there was something there. Then again, he hadn’t seen his boyfriend’s face in the sun like this in far too long

“You’re staring”

“You’re cute”

Lance huffed at him. Keith couldn’t help how in love with Lance he was

“Can... can you maybe... not compliment me as much?”

“Nope”

His boyfriend huffed again. Did Lance think he was complimenting him to cover other feelings? Or was hating on himself so hard that he struggling to see how beautiful he was? All he had to do was look at Lance and he wanted to say nice things. The Keith from this time last year wouldn’t have believed it. He probably would have broken someone’s face had they suggested he’d be like this with anyone.

Forcing his attention to the meal, he wasn’t sure what it was. It smelt really good. Keith wasn’t sure about the beans, his diet didn’t consist of much outside green beans and baked beans. Baked beans banned because Shiro’s farts were no joke. Pointing with his fork, Lance explained what they were eating

“It’s Ropa Vieja. It’s very good. It’s mostly pulled stewed beef with veggies”

“I don’t think I’ve even heard of it”

“You missed out. Mami used to make a mean ropa. It’s like Cuba’s number one dish and she would come back and murder me if you didn’t try it at least once”

Lance was right, Keith’s eyes widened at the first taste of beef, scoffing down a second forkful. Lance seemed to find it funny enough that he laughed. An actual, proper, barking laugh where he scrunched his face up and people stared. Swallowing quickly, he got hit with the heat of the spices, Lance’s shoulders were shaking with laughter

“What’s so funny?”

“I told you it was good and you still looked like you’d come in your pants at the first bite”

“It is good... Wait, are you trying to say I make weird faces during sex?”

“You make very manly and sexy faces... but that face was gold”

Keith pulled his phone out his pocket, snapping a photo of Lance who sobered as he drew his brow realising what Keith had done. It’d make the perfect proof of life photo for Pidge

“Did you just take a photo?”

“You mocked my “oh” face”

“You have a many manly sex face. Just be careful with where you’re taking photos”

That was thing? Then again, there kind of seemed like a vague memory that maybe a thing

“I didn’t think about that. It was nice seeing you laugh, even it was at me”

He had no idea of the etiquette of Cuba, probably acting like the dumb America tourist he was

“It’s fine here. Mami and I came here a bit on the way too and from the hotel. On Wednesday’s they clear out the tables at night and they have dances”

“I bet Mami loved that”

“She did. We mostly shuffled on the spot but she said it reminded her of when Papi took her dancing. It’s weird when your mum gropes your butt”

“I bet she winked too”

“Yep. I wish I’d come back here sooner with her. I feel like I wasted time not”

“Nah, I’m sure she was happy. Oh, I better text Pidge and Hunk. Is there anything you want me to say?”

“Just tell them I miss them. I do... miss them I mean, but at this stage I’m not sure how to face them”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here. Coran kept getting pushed out the way so Pidge could talk to me. He actually looked annoyed”

“He’s got a hard enough job. He paid for all of this. I mean, I know he used funds from VOLTRON, but that hotel isn’t cheap...”

“He did it because he loves you. I’m sure there’s plenty of funding, and I’m sure there’s things you haven’t cashed in on because you didn’t want to make a fuss”

“He did try to give me my blood for free... I feel better when I’m paying. More independent and not like a teen getting money from dad”

“See. There you go. This is like really good, can you make this at home?”

“You want me to?”

“Heck yes. Don’t get me wrong, Rome is like a food lovers paradise but pasta gets sooooo repetitive”

“You better make the most of it. There’s still a lot of dishes to try”

“What about going out for dinner? With Matt and Rieva?”

Lance fumbled his fork. Keith kicking himself but the words had slipped out

“I’m... I was really rude to them”

“I doubt they care”

“I care. I ran the first time I saw them”

Keith raised an eyebrow at the thought of a pregnant Lance thinking he could leg it from two werewolves. His boyfriend had zero chance

“Babe, they missed you”

“They’ll want to talk about what happened and I’m... telling you is...”

Right. Lance was still trying to tell him what he could, how he could...

“... telling you is because she saw you as her son. Telling them, I just... it’s harder”

“We don’t have to tell them the things you’re not comfortable with. If we have dinner, we can go after... but it’ll be a good step”

“What if they can’t forgive me?”

“The only person who can’t forgive you is you. Just put it in the back of your mind”

“I’ve been thinking about it too much...”

“I’m shocked you’d over think anything ever”

“Now you’re being mean”

“You still love me. Seriously though, this is really good. Can I help you make it?”

He was going to text Pidge but his food was too appealing. Shovelling down another forkful, Lance swallowed as he watched him, seeming a little flustered. Keith wished he knew what kind of expression he was showing the man he loved

“Uh. I guess... we should eat. We’re heading back to the hotel after this. I can’t seem to make it through without my afternoon nap”

“I’ve deprived you of your morning nap, haven’t I?”

“Yeah... and my morning self wallowing”

“I’m like the worst boyfriend ever”

“Nah. You’re pretty much the best I’ve ever had”

It took Keith a long moment. His heart filled with pride at the praise until he realised he was the only boyfriend Lance ever had. Lance chuckled when the realisation hit him, Keith kicking him lightly under the table. His boyfriend was a brat.

When Lance went down for a nap, Keith was shooed off to let him sleep. The cafe was the perfect distance back to the hotel for Lance to have processed eating and be needing to throw it back up. The vampire had eaten enough human food to rival Matt. Keith could keep up, though he tried. Everything tasted amazing, and all he wanted to do was bask in his food coma, then Lance had kicked him out because his hand had slipped a little too low rubbing his boyfriend’s belly. It wasn’t his fault he loved feeling the swell... Lance didn’t trust him to behave. Lance declaring his arse off limits.

Throwing himself down on the sofa in the living area, he was bored already. He’d messaged chat rather than just Pidge, then avoided checking the messages he got in reply. Shay knew he was in Rome for work, and that Lance was on holiday visiting family with his grandmother. Their chat looked rather sad. Shay had expressed her condolences, which Keith accepted on Lance’s behalf. He didn’t have much to do on his own. People were tiring, the noise reaching the hotel room through Lance’s still open bedroom door. If they were going out to dinner, he really should make the effort with Matt and Rieva. Lance was sleeping and he was sure the pair would let him know if Lance needed him back.

Doing what any normal person would do, Keith climbed over to their balcony, knocking on the back door rather than going out into the hall and all the way around. Rieva opened the door with a laugh

“We were wondering how long it’d be before you came over. Couldn’t take the front door?”

“Too much like effort”

“Fair enough. Come in. Mi casa es su casa. Matt, Keith’s here!”

Their hotel room was as nice as Lance’s, decorated the same, complete with clothes everywhere. Keith ignore the thin lace thong hanging off the corner of the sofa as he stood there with his hands in his pockets

“I know Keith’s here! I heard him!”

Matt was rubbing sunscreen on as he came out of his and Rieva’s room. The werewolf having either squeezed too much out, or accidentally burst the tube. The second option seemed more likely seeing it was in his hair. Rieva laughed at her boyfriend, walking over to him. Keith thought she was going to help with the mess until she drew a dick on Matt’s chest. Matt rolling his eyes at her as he smeared sunscreen across the outline to erase it

“Anyway, what brings you over? I didn’t think you wanted to be balcony buddies”

“Leave him alone. You know he only arrived last night”

“He did? Really... Hey!”

Keith snorted as Rieva slapped her boyfriend hard enough for Matt to double over

“Ignore him. I told him we’d go to the pool and he’s been acting like a hyperactive child since”

“Who says I’m not a hyperactive child in disguise?”

Rieva smacked him again

“It would explain so much. Anyway, how is Lance? We saw you two left earlier?”

Keith shrugged, it was really awkward standing there with lingerie just laying around

“About as well as can be expected. Convinced himself that he needs to be strong for everyone else. He’s worked himself up about being rude to you”

Matt huffed, giving up on rubbing in the sunscreen in favour of wiping it on Rieva’s arm. Both werewolves had new scars. Making a face as Rieva wiped sunscreen back on him, Matt sounded as chill as expected

“Lance is “bro-dude” for life. He gets the only free passes we give”

“We really do owe him so much. Garrison is such a lovely town. My boss even let me keep my job despite everything. Now we just need to turn Matt into a respectable member of society”

“I am pretty respectable... This sunscreen is awful”

“As awful as those dead things we found on the beach?”

Matt lit up

“I forgot about those! Hang on...”

Dripping sunscreen from his hair, Matt jogged back into the bedroom. Rieva seemed to know what was happening here.. he was sure he hadn’t missed a hint

“What’s he doing?”

Why was he questioning Matt’s action. He was weird as hell every day of the damn week

“You’ll see”

What was that supposed to mean? Matt calling out

“We found these last night. We thought something had washed up dead on the beach... like a whale or something because there’s sharks and the stench. Anyway, we thought you’d find it interesting”

Coming out with his red converses, Keith could have hugged Matt

“I thought I’d lost them!”

“You would have if we hadn’t been making sure you and Lance were okay. Rieva stopped me from rolling in them...”

“They’re new!”

“They still smell like your feet! And where is the thank you?”

“Thanks guys! Lance had to pretty much organise a new pair for me... you guys are awesome!”

“You’re lucky someone didn’t steal them. Don’t go leaving them around again”

Handing his shoes over, Keith really could have kissed Matt. Finally his stalkerish ways were beneficial

“I had to stop Matt from rolling on them last night. You can take the wolf out of the country, but that doesn’t make him civilised”

“I’m just happy he didn’t chew them... Any way, I wanted to know if you two wanted to go out for dinner with me and Lance tonight? It’s nothing special, and Mami is kind of... he’s still processing. He goes from not being able to say a thing to telling me all about their trip”

“We’d love to. Do you want to come down to the pool with us?”

He’d love to... but he should get back to Lance. Lance had had long enough to fall asleep and he wanted to show him the smiley faces on his shoes...

“I better head back, but I totally owe you for saving my shoes”

“You can pick up tonight’s drink tab...”

“Not with the way you drink. That bill would be higher than both sets of sneakers...”

Matt huffed at him, crossing his arms and channeling the most “Pidge look” he could... Failing on account of the sunscreen

“Cheapskate. Fine. Go back to Lance. We won’t be hurt that you’re bailing on us”

Pidge would have been much more aggressive, with more threats of “ankle biting” or “dick punching”

“It’s only until tonight... I know he’s been... well, Lance, but I’m glad you guys came down here to be here”

Rieva seemed to have “baby fever”

“We couldn’t leave him alone. Did you see how big he’s gotten!? I can’t wait to see the twins... he looks so cute!”

“Careful, babe. Keith might stab you if you make a move on Lance”

“I missed him! Plus werewolves love pups... I can’t wait to see the nursery... you are living in Garrison, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. That’s the plan. Shiro and Curtis are going to live in Platt...”

Matt rolled his eyes

“They should just move out to Garrison. Curtis is going to have fun with those horns of his”

Coran was going to have a proper look at Curtis when he returned. Breaking his horn had had affected his quintessence, now he had two... It was science and quintessence stuff above him

“Yeah. Anyway, thanks for this. I’ll just hop back over the balcony. See you guys later”

Lance was still awake when Keith came back with his shoes. Leaving them in the living area, Keith washed his hands then headed into Lance’s room, Lance raising his head to smile at him

“Have fun?”

“I thought you were sleeping”

“I heard you go...”

“I didn’t want to disturb you sleeping”

“It’s fine... they’re your friends”

Moving over to Lance’s bed, Keith pulled his shirt off before climbing under the covers in with his boyfriend. Spooning up around him, Lance rolled over onto his back, biting his lip as he did

“What’s up?”

“Nothing... just wanted to look at you”

Tucking back a stray curl behind Lance’s ear, he realised his boyfriend had a few small grey hairs. Lance had lamented the lack of grey in his hair...

“What’s wrong?”

“You’ve got grey hairs...”

He expected Lance to shoot up and rush to check. Instead his boyfriend nodded

“Yeah. I look a little older too... Coran pointed it out. He said it’s because so much energy is going into the pregnancy”

“Are you okay? Are the twins okay?”

“I... yeah”

Lance wasn’t telling him everything. He could tell. Gone was the Keith that didn’t pick up on social cues

“Babe, there’s something you’re holding back”

“If I tell you, you’ll hate me”

“That’s impossible. Is it to do with the bleed? Is there some kind of complication?”

“It’s... kind of Coran trying to work things out as it progresses. He said some things, that he’s only guessing... he said I might not carry to full term. That they could be born early. I mean, twins usually are. But another bleed could bad... like actually really bad. He did some genetic testing too... that was scary. A big huge needle right into the stomach...”

Keith’s heart was sinking. That didn’t sound like something people did when things were normal

“Was there something wrong?”

Lance’s hands went to his belly, his boyfriend cared more about his bump than he’d let anyone see

“It’s just a theory that I’m sick because these two are full human, with your blood type instead of mine. Despite floating around in me, feeding on my blood and nutrients and all that, they’re human. But that... could change. I mean, they really should be part vampire... it’s possible that my body could get too weak and start feeding off them... when they’re bigger... My body is kind of unique... I’ve been spending... a lot of time trying to eat as much as I can. You saw me at lunch. I’ve had pretty much no appetite since Mami passed, but I’ve been working hard for them... it’s so frustrating throwing everything back up when I’m trying so hard”

This was the kind of thing Coran should have told him... Coran had tried to talk to him alone. He’d been so desperate to get to Lance... he could have kicked himself. As it was, he didn’t know if the twins were from his weak pull out game or a dodgy condom. He’d never doubted paternity. Lance wasn’t like that... but he was pissed that Lance hadn’t told him this sooner

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because... because I’m trying so hard. I promise I am. I have fresh blood brought to me and I drink more and sleep more and I’ve been careful about not tripping or slipping...”

“Their my twins too. You have to stop taking everything on your own shoulders”

“You weren’t there! You weren’t! I know you couldn’t help it but you were gone and I had to cope the best I could!”

Lance rolled away from him, curling around his stomach as he started to cry. Keith didn’t want to not be there

“I couldn’t help it!”

“I know! I told you to go! And I hate that I did! I hated it! I wanted to go. I wanted to go find you but I couldn’t even be that courageous!”

“Yeah, well it wasn’t that fucking easy being away from you either! Matt and Rieva got hurt! People died! Lotor is now a fucking prince of a whole damn empire! We were being hunted by those loyal to Zarkon. Honerva turned her magic on Curtis! He nearly ended up dead! It was fucking shit!”

“How am I supposed to know this if you don’t tell me?!”

“I don’t know, how am I supposed to know if you run off with our twins and won’t even fucking face all the people that have been there for you!”

“Get out!”

Lance bellowing at him froze Keith. What had he done...

“Lance...”

“Get out!”

“Babe...”

Lance covered his ears, shaking his head

“No! Get out! Get out! Get out!”

“Look... look, okay. Okay. I shouldn’t have snapped, but... I can’t be there for you if I don’t know. I feel shit enough for all I missed”

“How could you think I’m not trying!? You left and everything fucking fell apart! I didn’t know if you were dead or had just run off with someone else!”

“What’s going on here?!”

Rieva and Matt rushed into the room. Rieva demanding to know. Lance was crying on the bed. Keith in tears too

“Lance, I think that’s enough. Keith never looked at anyone else. He was pathetic about missing you the whole time. If there’s something wrong with the twins, you really should have told him sooner”

Rieva growled at her boyfriend, eyes turning yellow. Matt shutting up

“Both of you need to go”

“Bu...”

“Go. You’ve upset him enough and I’m disappointed. Yes, Lance should have told Keith, but when has he had the chance? And when he does, everything turns straight into a fight. Can’t you see how much he’s hurting thinking about the twins? I’m upset that you guys would even consider him capable of hurting the twins”

Keith never said he thought Lance would... He was hurt he hadn’t been told properly. And angry again that Lance seemed so ready to give up on him... He’d never given up on Lance. Then again. He didn’t lose his mother last month and have to deal with his douche siblings

“I didn’t think he’d hurt the twins... but... I... I’m supposed to be the father. All I want is him to lean on me more. To be able to tell me these things, and not act like he’s protecting me by not telling me”

“How am I supposed to tell you I’m defective! That it’s not enough to be fucked up but I’m defective on top of it!”

“You’re not defective! There’s nothing about you that I don’t love!”

Rieva let out a level breath

“Matt, take Keith and go for a walk. I’ll stay with Lance until he calms down”

“But...”

But he was Lance’s boyfriend...

“I think you both need to cool your heads”

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #ashratherose

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hillbillied · 5 years ago

Text

(Warning: NSFW, entirely. 18+ smut content. | Ao3 link.)

After the war's end, Andy and Eddie invite their favourite mortarman over for a visit. Eugene agrees to the visit, and some other things.

The ruin of one Eugene Sledge (by pleasure of Andrew Haldane and Edward Jones)

They discuss it at length, the two of them.

Full novel length, chapters upon chapters, with subheadings and notes in the margin. Clauses and subclauses and sub-subclauses are proposed and ratified over the course of many an afternoon. Debates rattle over dinner plates, wild hypotheticals meet very real concerns for thorough consideration. (Which might be deemed a little much for what would probably fold into under five hours of action, including the inevitable water chugging between rounds.)

Their exceptional communication skills and stable relationship certainly allow proceedings to progress without a hitch. They have always discussed their sexual endeavours at length, after all.

Being in the commonly considered ‘sexual deviant’ category of existence means even your most vanilla sex is beyond the comprehendible realms of your white picket fence neighbours. (Not that they have a white picket fence. Theirs is cast iron. And their Boston apartment comfortably on the city lines, not in the suburbs.)

They end up taking no small amount of pride in it. That they can casually discuss exactly what turns them on, slipping further into potential depravity as they open up about themselves. Usually, however, these conversations last all of half an hour before they fall into bed to test their proposed plans. That aside, the process is exactly the same.

Andy says he’d be open to watching Eddie with another man. Or sharing him with another man. Or something to the ‘another man’ effect. Eddie asks him to elaborate.

Ack Ack considers, chews his lip with half-lidded eyes. “Maybe blowing him.” He says.

“Only if ye’ hold m’ hair.” comes the reply on Eddie’s part.

“You want me in control.” Andy deduces.

His aroused smirk makes Hillbilly’s blood boil. What a smart, omniscient cunt. The greatest displeasure? He’s right. That is exactly where his lover wants him.

They chew it over from there. Negotiations last longer than necessary due to constant courtroom breaks, since the prosecution and defence keep getting turned on and needing to take the time to fuck. The most fruitful discussions are never when the topic is spontaneously brought up, but rather at least an hour after, when Eddie’s lit his post-sex cigarette and Andy’s playing with his hair.

Eventually, the green light is given. They’re eating dinner across their humble wooden kitchen table. (Hillbilly’s gravy could drown a dead rat on a plate and it would still taste divine.) They’ve settled on an agreement and want to go ahead with the idea.

“Well,” Eddie says around a mouthful of beef, “Pick your man.”

This choice is harder than it sounds because it has to be someone they know. They’re an item, sweet and simple. A stranger might get some bright ideas about their place in this scenario. Plus, it’s 1952. Some secrets need to remain under wraps.

Another problem is that the shortlist starts with Burgie.

Eddie’s rubbing his forehead in exasperation, reclining in their frayed armchair. “We attended his weddin’, Andy.” He explains, talking to nothing short of a fool, “Ye’ was with me in the arch a’ sabres.”

That absolute fool is currently pacing across the carpet, tapping his finger against his lips.

“Is it not polite to ask regardless?” Andy muses, pausing in his motions.

He receives an aggravated grunt. Low, drawn-out, and unimpressed.

“Not Burgin, then.” The captain finally acknowledges. The name is mentally crossed from the list, though not before he points an accusing finger his lover’s way, “But you wanted it, too.”

After a deep, longing pull from his cigarette, Eddie gives the answer they’ve been looking for.

“Sledge.” He says.

The name floats upwards with the smoke. It catches on their small porch roof; one they share with the apartment next door, divided by more iron fencing. He’s sitting on the steps, Andy leaning against the doorframe behind him.

“What about him?” The blond asks. The conversation had previously been about weeding, what to do with all the insects tearing up the captain’s petunias.

Eddie takes another drag.

“He’s our third man.”

“I know he’s queer,” Andy asks, “Does he know he’s queer?”

‘He’ is Eugene Sledge. The name stuck, dangling over their heads constantly since they’d been stupid enough to mention it. The possibility of their fantasy scenario drifts ever closer.

“By now, yeah.” Eddie says, staring up at their bedroom ceiling. He’s playing with his chest hair, curling it around his finger, “But I bet he ain’t got his dick wet much.”

Lying beside him, Ack Ack smothers his laughter in his lover’s neck. The words ring so horribly true. He reaches up regardless and slaps Hillbilly’s peck. Right on the nipple for that extra sting. The hiss the man emits confirms an acceptable amount of pain, retribution for his mean words. (Honest words but mean nonetheless.)

If they didn’t have sweat cooling on their bodies from a good fuck, the smack would turn Eddie on.

“It’ll be good f’ him.” He suggests instead, not wanting to earn another punishment.

“You think?” Andy replies, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Yeah.” Hillbilly says, “If he’s up fer’ it.”

Andy writes the letter.

It’s scribbled with barely pent-up excitement and the slightest tremor in his hand. The penmanship is far from pristine, the careful innuendo and wax poetic only legally veiling the message conspired within. The raw arousal motivating the ink is on full display.

He’s absolutely fucking losing it.

Watching from the doorway, Eddie shakes his head. That’s the moment he knows Andrew has been fantasising about this longer than they’ve been discussing it.

He tries to pretend he’s shocked by the realisation.

“Why Eugene?” Andy asks.

Again, for the fifteenth time. They have, as per, already discussed the reasoning at length. Eddie’s about ready to grab the man by his sweater vest and give him a good hard slap across the cheek.

Instead, he summarises.

“’cause he’s always wanted to fuck you, Andy.” Hillbilly explains, “And I’m about t’ let him.”

If Eugene’s smart, which he is, he won’t pass up this opportunity.

If Eugene accepts the opportunity, which he does, any nervousness he may have will be proven weaker than his excitement over the proposition.

And if his excitement is that strong, which it definitely feels like, then it’ll be all over his face when he arrives in Boston.

Andy collects him from the train station. Hands in the pockets of his pale slacks and short-sleeved shirt tucked in. He’s wearing a braided belt because it complements the look. He’s gay and he’s about to show this young man a wild time, why not make it special from the start?

He waves at the redhead who steps off the 4 o’clock train from Birmingham. It’s sunny and warm, painting that ginger hair with yellow streaks. It’s very attractive when seen without the sweat and dirt of combat or those ugly helmets crushing it flat.

Not that they haven’t seen each other several times before now. This is the first time, however, that Eugene’s wore his shirt without a tie. Today, the white of his collar is unadorned, handsome beige suit jacket left unbuttoned. Casual, familiar. No formality in sight, which is relieving.

He’s got a green carnation pinned to his lapel.

Andy has to keep his smile from splitting his cheeks. It wouldn’t be polite to wear the satisfaction of victory across the entirety of his features.

“I should have known you’d be familiar with Wilde’s work.” Andy says, referring to the flower.

He’s driving Eddie’s blue pickup, which they have come to share the use of. Fancy cars are for rich cocksuckers and married couples who don’t have the imagination to use the truck bed. You can’t fuck beneath the stars in an estate.

“It was always my favourite.” Eugene notes. He chews on the bit of his pipe thoughtfully, “Even when I couldn’t place quite why.”

“It’s a fantastic touch.” Ack Ack compliments.

Pleasantly calm, every glance he sends across the cab radiates pride. The young man – just a man, really, but that might teeter on Andy thinking himself ‘old’ and they would be having none of that – has grown so much since ’44.

Eugene’s strong nose and dark eyes will never bleed with unbreakable confidence, for sure. But that’s a favourable trait, it keeps him far from arrogance and the unattractive features that come with it. Yet Sledge is still surer of himself than he used to be. Or perhaps he’s just learnt to hide his self-consciousness. (Really, they’re the same thing.) The only hint of nervousness is the drumming of his nails against the door, resting his elbow out the open window. A touch of trepidation for what’s coming.

Keeping the wheel steady, Andy reaches out and places a hand on his company’s thigh.

Eugene doesn’t flinch as his captain used to expect. (They both distinctly remember how a tipsy and boisterous young lady had ran a hand over Sledge’s ass at Burgin’s wedding. The redhead had jumped high enough to paint the ceiling ginger. And spilt wine all over the poor girl’s dress.)

Good. Better than good.

“I’m glad you could come, Eugene.” With a laugh, Ack Ack quickly clarifies, “It’s always a pleasure to see you, I mean that wholeheartedly.”

Pink colours Sledge’s cheeks, his smile sweet. He’s convinced it’s the truth, should have known that already. That doesn’t make it any less warming to hear.

“I’ll admit I did consider replying in a more-“ He searches for the word across the dashboard, “-reserved nature, so I could visit without fear of gettin’ cold feet.”

The hand on his thigh is reservedly placed nearer his knee. It pats him comfortingly. Andy opens his mouth to speak and assure the young man that his excited scribbles – and the excited scribbled response – are not legally binding. They can enjoy a repeat of prior visitations if desired.

Eugene beats him to the punch.

“But sittin’ here now-”

Those dark brown eyes flutter downwards. Over the steering wheel, that neat braided belt, the front of Andy’s slacks. Sledge’s tongue flashes across his lips, wetting the dry skin. His pipe hovers uselessly, forgotten as his mind drifts elsewhere.

He catches himself enough to speak. His gaze is torn slowly from the fabric over his company’s cock.

“I think I made the right decision.” He mutters. It’s quiet and a little shy, but not unsure.

The fingers on his thigh squeeze happily.

Eddie opens the door with a grin of true happiness. The sunlight turns his curls that slightest hint of ginger, though it’s nothing on the crop of hair sliding out the passenger side of his truck.

“Eugene Sledge.” He drawls like he can’t believe his eyes, like he isn’t in on the plan. His arms are folded loosely across his chest, “M’ favourite mortarman.”

Jury might be out on that one, prior to this moment. Right now? This is absolutely his favourite mortarman.

“Hillbilly.” Eugene greets with a bashful smile.

There’s a respect lingering there that has already been dropped with Andy. Not that it didn’t take a couple of years’ effort to achieve that, too. They’re steadily working their way to Sledge dropping all pretence from the Marines, the two of them. They are so remarkably close, the title of captain and lieutenant fully thrown to the wind sometime around 1948.

That might prove to be a spanner in the works later. Andy fully planned on bringing those titles back this evening.

For now, though, he focuses on Eugene and Eddie.

“It’s good t’ see you ag’in.” The latter says.

They stand as far apart as the compact space of the porch allows. (Not much, apparently.) They both glance Andy’s way as he shuts the cast iron gate and ascends the steps. He’s carrying Eugene’s suitcase like a gentleman. Now there’s three grown men in a one-and-half-man area of entranceway.

Eddie has to huff out a laugh. He kicks the door open behind him.

“C’mon,” He says, “We’re drawin’ more attention with this tomfoolery than if I’d kissed ye’.”

It’s a pleasure of an afternoon.

Eugene helps Eddie cook dinner. Andy had insisted on it. A strategic placement of their visitor, if he does say so himself, perfectly aligned so the two can share close quarters. Unpressured by expectations and protected by clothing for the time being. Sledge chops vegetables, unphased as Hillbilly stands behind him, chest against his back to guide his hand.

Their captain sips his tea from the kitchen table. His boys work to cook a meal for him to enjoy, at his instruction, without him lifting a finger. That victory smile returns and this time he can hide it behind his mug.

While he’s certain Eugene will be learning a few things tonight about how to draw submission from a man, there’s no outmanoeuvring a master.

They eat, they talk. Some of it about the letter’s content and expectations for the evening. Most of it about how Alabama is and Eugene’s new job. About the petunias in the front garden and the pests that are ruining them.

Eventually, they clean their plates away. (Well, two of them do. Andy gets brought more tea.) They retire to the sitting room. It’s small and cosy. Andy takes the armchair, facing the men on the couch so he can actually finish his drink in relative peace.

Eddie sits and reclines against the arm of the sofa, head propped up by his hand. Eugene moves to sit on the other end. His company has different plans.

Hillbilly grunts. A complete and non-verbal ‘no’. Ass halfway to its destination, Sledge is off balance enough that the arm around his waist completely topples him. He’s brought down in the middle of the couch, all but in Eddie’s lap were it not for their closed legs.

They all laugh at the familiar horseplay. It’s short only a ruffle of red hair. (The lieutenant declines that, it’d be too condescending considering he plans on blowing this boy’s mind soon. And blowing him, period.)

“You gonna surprise me like that every time I sit down?” Eugene asks.

“I’m gon’ surprise ye’ a whole lot.” Eddie replies.

Andy hums approvingly into his mug. They both turn his way. It’s a good distraction; the redhead doesn’t notice Hillbilly adjusting their position. Getting comfy with the other man leaning against his chest, his hand coming to rest on Sledge’s hip. A warm hand on warm skin, separated only by thin shirt fabric. His thumb rubs small circles over the ribs he can reach.

“Let that inform tonight’s exploits,” Ack Ack muses, finished with his tea, “Whatever they may be.”

He sets the mug down on the small table to his left, beside the room’s ashtray. Eugene’s raised eyebrow begs him to explain.

Andy obliges. “Eddie can lift me quite easily.” He says, “He could probably break either of us in two. Don’t worry about playing rough.”

Behind his head, Sledge can feel the warmth of Eddie’s grin at the acute description. A strong arm is slung around his shoulder now, no longer content on his hip. The taller man’s hand is running over his chest absentmindedly, brushing his collarbone. Without any conscious effort on his part, Eugene has leant his full weight backward and against the warmth holding him.

“I have every confidence that if he wants you to stop,” Andy continues with a shrug, “He’ll stop you.”

Sledge glances to his right, head turned just enough to glimpse confirmation. At his back, he can see Hillbilly’s smile. His lips brush red hair as he speaks into the young man’s ear.

“He’s right.” is whispered against his skin, “But he’s still bein’ a bastard about it.”

“How am I being a bastard?” Andy laughs.

“Ye’ just are.” Eddie calls across the room.

They all chuckle. If they can’t have a sense of humour about this, there’s no point even attempting the deed. A little comedy won’t kill the mood and can save most faux pas.

During their bit, Eugene’s hand drifts to Hillbilly’s thigh. Testing at first, fingers ghosting over the thick denim of his jeans. Then pressing down, sliding over the fabric close to his knee. It sits there presently, finally building up the confidence to squeeze exploratively.

Those dark brown eyes glance down at his own machinations. Eddie’s hand on his chest slides across his peck, arm around Sledge’s shoulder gripping him tighter.

Andy sits back in his armchair, stretches his back. He’s convinced he can watch this forever. Or however long it takes to play out, at least.

“I want you to know,” Eugene drawls softly, his focus still on rubbing circles on Hillbilly’s thigh, “I’m not the most experienced at this.”

Politely, neither of the other men mention their knowledge of the fact. (Especially not mentioning how the fact may have played into a prior discussion.)

“Experience isn’t particularly important.” Andy says, “Attitude and a little guidance goes a long way.”

His fingers play idly with the handle of the mug at his side. Every pair of eyes are on him, yet he can’t care less. He looks like he can’t care less, cultivates the persona whilst he speaks with absolute authority.

“For example,” Ack Ack explains, “If Eddie were to keep his hands to himself for a moment…”

There’s no ‘if’ present in his tone. The hypothetical is a veiled command, upheld by the man who uttered it with crossed legs and gaze focused nonchalantly on his empty mug.

Eugene feels the rumble in Hillbilly’s chest behind him. That large hand retreats from where it had ventured over his nipple. While still leaning against the tall man, Sledge is no longer held captive in his grasp. (Not that he wanted his hostage situation to end.) Eddie even sits back, arms now slung over the back and arm of the couch, respectively. The heat of his breath disappears from the redhead’s ear.

All without so much as a raise of Andy’s voice.

“Then,” The blond continues, turning to the pair on his own cue, “You can come sit over here, and I can show you exactly what I mean.”

As Eugene stands, he uses the hand on Hillbilly’s thigh for leverage. It’s the last part of him to abandon the couch, sliding his way over to the armchair with all the grace he can muster. His steps are casual, taking their time. An impressive display, complimented by the hands casually slipped into the pockets of his slacks. Like he’s in no rush, can’t care less.

(Behind him, Eddie forces down a knowing smile. There’s no finer flattery than imitation and the young man has always been a fast learner. Copying Captain Haldane, even now, will serve him well.)

Dark eyes meet pale blue for a moment at the armchair crossroads. Andy uncrosses his legs, spreading them wide to he can lean purposefully on his knee. Eugene’s eyes wander back over the front of those beige slacks. The fabric had been just a fraction tense during their car ride. It sits taught in the living room, but it’s not for Sledge to ogle freely.

Andy reaches up and tilts the man’s chin towards his face. Eyes on mine, please.

Eugene’s smile has grown bashful under the gaze of Captain Haldane. He doesn’t reach to touch like he had with Eddie. That stare is intense. It’s too much too soon and Ack Ack can recognise that. Not a problem.

“Unlike our rude associate over there,” Andy teases, bringing some comedy back into the thickness of the air, “I’m going to ask you to sit down.”

“The rudeness was ye’ takin’ that boy off this couch before I was done with him.” Eddie remarks.

He makes no move to leave his position or rectify the offence.

“Can you believe him?” Andy mutters.

The soft-spoken, relaxed-rhetorical disguises the arms he puts around Eugene’s hips. Turning him around without meeting his eyes, acting as he had with the mug. Calm, collected, like it’s nothing of note to him. Manhandling the chuckling redhead to face away, towards Hillbilly. (Out of line with that intense stare, until further notice.)

Pausing his motions, Andy glances up at Eugene. He nods, satisfied.

He then waves his hand across his lap.

“There’s enough space for both of us.” He comments.

Sledge, no doubt picking it up from the bastard tactics continuing across the evening, frowns for a moment. His consideration is definitely not genuine.

“I think there is.” He agrees. Andy beams in response.

Eugene settles down between his legs, the armchair being fairly deep. (It isn’t a lie to say it can fit them both.) Ack Ack adjusts himself with a hum, arms around his company’s waist. Hugging him momentarily to set him just-so.

His forearms withdraw partially but leave his hands to dangle between Eugene’s legs. Noncommittally, tapping the muscles of his inner thighs as if it were the arms of the chair. He’s thinking.

“Mnn, yes.” Andy concludes, “This is much better.”

Orange hues momentarily bring Eddie’s face into sharp relief. His pale eyes are absolutely fixed on the display, flashing in the flame of his lighter. Smoke trails towards the ceiling, unnoticed. His first drag is deep, steeling himself. He scratches his crotch without shame, the denim only failing to tent due to its weight.

The two men in the armchair embrace the staring competition.

“What was I talking about before this?” Andy chuckles against Sledge’s ear.

“Attitude and guidance.” The redhead recalls.

“Right.” It comes out as another laugh.

The captain is enjoying himself and it shows. Far too much for the role he’s playing within their trio, relying on his collected vigour to operate the steering wheel.

“Well, attitude is obviously about a man’s words, his manner, his posture-” Firm hands run up over Eugene’s forearms and onto his shoulders, “Making sure your orders are followed without needing to ever threaten a punishment.”

Those fingers roll the muscles under them, relaxing Sledge’s posture. Who hums instinctively, blush returning as he shamefully enjoys the feeling of his beloved captain massaging him. Doting on him, Ack Ack’s handsome nose gently poking the soft skin behind his ear.

“Not that you should be afraid to mention punishments.” Andy mutters. His eyes trot leisurely over to Eddie before trotting leisurely to Eugene, “Rewards just work better.”

His breathing is perfectly regulated as he moves his lips to Sledge’s cheek. Suspiciously perfect, timed and regimented into slow, deliberate motions of his chest. (Without the heavy cloud of lust on the redhead’s mind, he might have deduced that the captain is reigning himself in purposefully. That his collected aura is but a façade to an equally aroused interior.)

“So,” He whispers, hot and husky against Eugene’s ear, “We could ask Eddie to take all his clothes off and say we’d whoop him if he didn’t, or-”

The sentence is punctuated by a jerk of Andy’s head, turning to face the man on the couch opposite. The motion brings cold air to the skin he’d been breathing on, making Sledge inhale sharply. As if he’d been spanked. He enjoys the sensation.

“Take your clothes off, Jones.” Ack Ack orders.

His tone is grave, terrifyingly level with just enough give to keep it below a threat. A perfect command.

“Can I finish m’ smoke first, Skipper?” Hillbilly asks. He hadn’t waited for an answer, already sitting up from where he’d been reclining and rubbing himself through his jeans. An order is an order, after all.

Andy blinks, raising his eyebrows in consideration. He chews it over but gives no answer. He turns to Eugene instead. The redhead mirrors him, both twisting in their entangled sitting position so they can face each other. Ack Ack waits for his response.

“No.” Sledge says carefully, studying the blond’s features.

Though nowhere close to the dominating tone before, Eddie relents. This isn’t a competitive match. It’s a team game and he definitely wants to continue playing. He crosses the short few paces of the room and leans towards the pair.

The other men watch as he bends before them, head bowing as he stubs his unfinished cigarette into the ashtray beside Andy’s mug. Hillbilly twists the smoke gradually, holding himself in that position, an inch lower than their seated statures.

When he straightens up, he steps back a single pace. Enough that he can move his arms freely without fearing his elbow will whack anyone’s skull as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. He tosses it away dismissively.

Andy can feel Eugene’s chest rise with elation as Eddie’s muscles are brought into the light. Just as Eugene can feel Andy’s erection twitch, against the base of his spine, when the man’s boyfriend undresses for them.

Hillbilly is smart enough to have removed his socks earlier and avoid the difficult chore of tugging them off for an audience. He can smirk freely, letting his heavy belt buckle rattle in the quiet room as he tugs it free. He looks like he’s about to drop it when Andy holds out his hand. His fingers make a come-hither gesture.

Sledge’s chest hitches a second time as the folded leather slaps against Ack Ack’s palm.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He says, pulling the belt into Eugene’s lap.

Eddie huffs out the ghost of a laugh. Yet he averts his eyes and scratches the front of his jeans, failing to cover the elation and arousal he takes from Andy’s simple gratitude.

“Praise goes a long way, Eugene.” The captain muses.

His hands are slipped under the man’s arms, using one to draw the belt across the palm of the other. All done in Sledge’s lap, the leather falling free to drag across the front of his slacks. Accidentally, of course.

Eddie pops the buttons of his jeans one by one. Eugene fights to draw his eyes away, finally turning to Andy. Whether brewing with confidence or just overwhelmed with lust, it doesn’t matter; he presses his face to Ack Ack’s cheek.

“It’s hard to order an officer around-” He hisses. His breathing is the opposite of Andy’s, uncomposed and erratic as he speaks, “-as an enlisted man.”

Andy sniggers quietly, nodding his agreement. The hand unclaimed by the belt retreats, fishing around in his pocket for a brief moment. It returns to Eugene’s lap in time with the fall of Hillbilly’s jeans. The tall man steps free and kicks them aside.

The removal of his underwear is paused only by his wide grin, shake of his head, and hands landing on his hips.

“Ye’ are a bastard.” He concludes, watching Andy clip a silver bar pin to the collar of Sledge’s shirt.

Two bars joined together, in fact. The insignia of a captain.

“Congratulations, Captain Sledge.” Ack Ack says, “You outrank our friend here.”

All three of them laugh, giggles that rattle their chests and set the final ghosts of tension adrift. You have to have a sense of humour in these scenarios.

“You’re very prepared.” Eugene notes. He’s smiling as he says it.

It’s an accusation rather than a compliment. The blond has to suffer a moment of all eyes on him and not in a submissive sense; in a pointed, silent judgement sense. He’s been planning this longer and more in depth than he’d admitted, even to Eddie.

Not one to let his authority slip, Andy lets his chuckle fade.

Both his hands move in unison, a precise pincer movement on the room. His right reaches down between Eugene’s legs, grabbing a handful of the man’s slacks. His fingers tug towards him, forcing a yelp from Sledge as his cock is squeezed suddenly. Ack Ack’s left hand, still holding the belt, cracks it hard against the armrest. It lets out a distinct smack that has even Eddie’s back straightening.

“Thought I told you to strip, Eddie.” Andy muses, tilting his head up to fix Hillbilly with a small, pleasant smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s being kept waiting.

His hand is moving against Sledge’s slacks as he speaks. Palming his length, feeling it already stiff and yearning under the fabric.

Eddie catches his eye briefly, cheek twitching in that familiar lustful frustration that they both know means they’ve struck oil. His thumbs hook into his underwear and pull them down. He straightens up without another word.

For the first time, Andy has to take a steadying breath. (Hillbilly probably notices, Sledge definitely doesn’t. The former’s lip curls just a touch.) With his hand kneading Eugene’s dick and his own pressed tantalisingly up against the redhead’s ass, the heat is more than even Captain Haldane can ignore. The pleasure of drinking Eddie in is exquisite, every curve of his muscles and colour of his ink, his unsheathed cock bouncing free from his waistband.

He forgets occasionally that the hill country man really can snap the two of them in half. He’s incredibly muscular, built like a brick shithouse. It’s only his height, drawing his limbs out a little lankier, that hides the weight behind his hands.

Andy huffs quietly. Short and soft and barely audible. The exhale allows him to turn back to Sledge, who’s head has tipped back, leaning on his shoulder. The redhead’s eyes remain on Eddie, watching with stricken desire as he grinds rhythmically against Ack Ack’s hand. None of his usual gentlemanly conversation will be escaping him presently.

“Do you want him to suck you off here or in the bedroom?” Andy asks. His lips press hard against the man’s ear, tilting their weight against the armrest.

Around gritted teeth, Sledge manages; “Bedroom.”

“You heard the Captain.” Ack Ack says, nodding Eddie’s way. His grip releases from Eugene’s slacks.

Hillbilly reaches out his hand. Sledge takes it enthusiastically. The taller man leads the way, squeezing his smitten follower’s fingers.

Neither of them catches how Andy exhales, a quiet ‘woah’ blowing out his cheeks as he composes himself. A glance down at his slacks reveals the smallest of droplets seeping into the fabric. He considers himself lucky he’s still hard and hasn’t come prematurely.

He wipes his brow, gets his shit together, and stands up to follow.

#the pacific #warning: sm*tty and LONG #i have 0 commentary for this it's just #it is what it is forgive me dom!Andy

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the-gory-gardner · 4 years ago

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Nightingale Part Five: Opening Up

(The Meeting Between A Huntsman And A Lonesome Kitten One Year Ago)

Jonathan West x Katrina Evans

Katrina watched as Jonathan gently applied some gel to her wrist before wrapping a new bandage around them. “They should be fine in a couple days”. Jonathan told her as he put everything back into his first aid kit. “Okay thank you”. Katrina replied before setting her hands down on her lap.

She had woken up a little while ago with her head still rested on Jonathan’s thigh. Now that she was more awake she’d gotten flustered and attempted to apologies. Jonathan had of course told her it was fine and that she had been exhausted. After that he had suggested it would probably be a good idea to look over her wrist. They were certainly better than they had been the night before that was for sure. With her wrist redone Jonathan returned the first aid kit to the bathroom.

“I was thinking of starting dinner, anything you have a taste for”. Jonathan asked when he made his way back to the living room. Katrina just shrugged she didn’t want to ask for anything that would take long to make or he might not have ingredients for. She was already intruding in his home she didn’t want to make things any harder for him. “Anything is fine”. She finally said. Jonathan thought for a moment trying to think of something to make. “How does soup sound I have enough to make a few kinds if you want to help me choose which”. He suggested.

Katrina found herself nodding as she trailed behind him to the kitchen. Jonathan looked over what he had while listing which kinds of soup he could whip up. After a few minutes they both agreed on having beef stew. While Jonathan started dinner Katrina returned to the living room and burrowed herself back into the fluffy white blanket she was slowly beginning to call hers. She hesitated for a moment before picking up the remote wondering if Jonathan would be mad at her for changing the channel. He was so nice she didn’t want him to be upset with her.

“J-Jonathan”. She decided to call for him just a little louder than she usually spoke. “Yeah”. He called back barely a second later. “Do you mind if I change the channel”? She asked ready to put the remote down if he said yes. “No you can find something else that movie was boring me anyway”. He replied. Katrina didn’t know why the answer made her lip twitch upward but she started flipping though the channels. She caught glimpses of old sitcoms, action movies, sport games and cartoons. Nothing she had an interest for at the moment.

What she did stop on if only briefly was a channel showing an orchestra production. They had just began focusing on the violinist when she started watching it. She was so caught up in watching and listening to the music she didn’t notice when Jonathan walked back into the music. “Hm Beethoven”? He suddenly asked which startled her slightly. “Mozart”. She shyly answered.

“You like classical music”? Jonathan asked her curiously. “A bit, I play the violin”. She told him. For a moment she wondered where her violin was, was it still in the man’s car. She mentally shook her head from the thought not wanting to think about the man or the dark look on his face. “Do you like it”? Katrina decided to ask to get her mind away from her straying thoughts. Jonathan simply shrugged. “Never really had a favorite kind of music but classical is definitely nice to listen to”. He told her.

“Yeah it is”. Katrina replied with a slight nod. “So have you ever played anywhere”? Jonathan asked. He wasn’t really into music but if it was a topic she liked it might help to get her to open up. “Mostly school recitals no where exciting”. She replied modestly. “But you’ve performed for audiences that has to be nerve wrecking”. He stated. Katrina found herself nodding quickly at that, getting on stage had always been terrifying and she always tried to make herself as small as possible and just focus on the music.

“I think I almost fainted a few times”. She told him causing Jonathan to chuckle. “I bet I don’t think I could perform in front of anyone let alone a whole crowd of strangers, gotta be pretty brave to be scared and still do it”. He told her. Katrina felt a slight flutter in her chest at being told she was being brave for doing something so simple. “Th-Thank you”. She remarked not taking her eyes off her lap. Jonathan just gave her a small smile before going back to the kitchen to check on the soup.

Katrina continued to watch the orchestra performances until it ended ten minutes later. Once it was over she began flipping though channels again until she stopped on a kids movies that she’d always enjoyed. A few minutes later Jonathan came back with two bowls of stew sat one in front of her. “Thank you”. She told him as she picked up the spoon. “Your welcome”. He replied as he sat down next to her. Neither made a comment that he was sitting a tad closer than he had before.

“Oh I remember watching this when I was younger”. Jonathan stated as he recognized the movie on the TV. “Yeah I’ve always liked it”. Katrina said before eating some of her soup. “Me too I use to watch it whenever my da-”. Jonathan cut himself when he realized what he was about to say. It was a movie he’d always watched with his mother when his dad wasn’t home. Katrina looked at him curiously furrowed her brows in what almost looked like concern.

“Ar-Are you okay”. She timidly asked. “Yeah fine just old memories is all”. He replied hoping she wouldn’t pry and much to his relief she didn’t. Katrina didn’t pry knowing whatever he’d stopped himself from saying he didn’t want to say and she understood wanting to keep things to herself. Even if it hurt sometimes to keep everything bottled up. “What’s your favorite part”? She asked referencing the movie in hopes of getting his mind off of any unwanted thoughts.

Jonathan felt himself smile as he told her which part of the movie was his favorite and why which she did in return. By the time the movie had finished Jonathan had eaten two bowls of soup and Katrina had finished one and half of a second. Jonathan found himself pleased that she’d eaten so much since the memory of how light she was never seemed to leave his thoughts.

“How long have you played the violin”? Jonathan asked when he returned from putting the bowls in the sink. “Um since I was about five-six I can’t remember exactly”. Katrina answered thinking back to the first time she’d picked up the instrument. “What about you when did you start doing photography”? She asked in return. “Probably about seventeen”. He said remembering how he’d gotten into the hobby turned career but didn’t feel like going into details.

“Must really enjoy it to decide to make it your whole career I don’t know if I could perform for a living I’d be so afraid of passing out the whole time”. Katrina stated. “I’m sure you’d do wonderfully”. Jonathan replied without much thought making the girl flustered. They spent hours just talking and asking questions about each other never revealing too much about themselves or their pass but enough to feel like they knew each other.

This was more than likely the most the two had talked to anyone combined. Though they still stumbled over their words or cut themselves off when they almost said something they didn’t want to think of. But still they found the time almost enjoyable. They didn’t stop until they both found themselves tired rather late into the night. “I could sleep on the couch I don’t want to keep taking your bed”. Katrina said rubbing her eyes. “No I’m fine you need it more than me while your sick”. Jonathan replied.

“I’m not too sick right now I’ll be fine”. Katrina argued. Jonathan huffed trying to think about how to get the shy but obviously stubborn girl to take his bed. “How about we just share”. He said a little uncertain if she’d agree. “Share”? Katrina asked. “Yeah I mean the beds pretty big and we could put some pillows between us”. He explained not sure she’d go with the idea. Katrina thought about it for a moment biting her lip at the thought of Jonathan sharing a bed with her.

“Well I mean if there’s pillows between as that should be okay and it means neither of us have to sleep on the couch”. Katrina said. “You sure”? Jonathan asked not wanting to make her uncomfortable or like she doesn’t have a choice in the matter. Katrina nodded. “Yeah and I mean it might be good to have you close by if I start feeling sick again”. Or have another nightmare but she didn’t say that. Jonathan nodded before they went back to his room. He took out more pillows and blankets from his closet.

Once they’d set up a little barrier of pillows in the middle Jonathan grabbed some clothes for him to change into before heading to the bathroom. Katrina got into bed a little nervous but certain Jonathan wouldn’t try anything. She was barely holding her eyes open when Jonathan returned and got into bed on the other side of the pillows. “Goodnight Katrina”. He said as he got in. “Night Jonathan”. She replied with a yawn before drifting off into a deep slumber.

#Jonathan West #Katrina Evans #The Huntsman #Slashersona #Slasher OC #Slasher Sona #Jonathan West x Katrina Evans

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v-thinks-on · 4 years ago

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Jeeves Gets Sick - Part 2

A small warning: This installment includes some referenced/implied past violence and the resulting scars.

The next morning, I awoke with a rummy feeling that not all was well with the world, call it a premonition, if you will. My dreams had been restless ones that had me tossing and turning in the night and I awoke none too cheerily to the morning sun streaming in through the window. I took only a minute or two to blearily blink into awareness, hoping, but not expecting Jeeves to come rippling in through the door at any moment, tea in hand, but I could have told myself it was all in vain, and I believe I very well did say to myself that Jeeves would not appear.

All was probably well with the man - as well as it had been the night before, that is. In fact, it was a good sign that he was still sleeping, resting away his illness, but I couldn’t shake the suspicion that the man had taken a turn for the worse in the night. I slipped out of bed, flung on a dressing gown, and toed it to the man’s quarters, just to be sure. I didn’t pause to knock, perhaps that was my first mistake. I pulled the door open and found myself face to face with the broad, sturdy back of my man, Jeeves.

Now you may be saying to yourself, what’s so remarkable about the sight of Jeeves’s backside, certainly he must occasionally turn away from his employer in the course of his usual duties? To answer that, a few points must be clarified; it was not merely Jeeves’s back, but his bare back, not precisely in front of me, but only a couple feet away - plainly I had caught the man mid-dressing. But it was not the bareness of his back that really caught my attention, but the scars. Every inch of his skin was covered in scratches - most long and thin, but some deeper and more contorted - as though the surface had been cut up and reassembled.

I did not stare for long. Jeeves didn’t so much as have a chance to turn around and greet me with a weary “Sir?” I stumbled back away and shut the door behind me with rather more force than was strictly necessary. I may have shouted an apology as I retreated.

I hobbled back to my room and was myself in the middle of fumbling with a tie when Jeeves rippled in, as silent and sure as ever. He put aside the tea tray and deftly took the tie from my hands to tie it into a perfect knot. I tried to stand dignified and unaffected, but my eyes acted of their own accord, flickering back to Jeeves’s torso, now glaringly aware of what lay beneath his starched suit. I could only wonder how he moved so effortlessly despite the fabric chafing against raw skin.

“My apologies, sir, for my tardy appearance. I assure you it will not happen again.”

I waved it off eagerly, relieved to be back on familiar ground. “Not at all, Jeeves. You’re sure you’re clear to be up and about? I don’t want to run any risk of relapse, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

I tried to subject the chap to my strictest scrutiny, but the man was inscrutable as ever. By all appearances, he seemed to be back to his usual self, the very image of health without a single hair out of place. His movements were silent and efficient. But now I knew there was something lurking beneath his impeccable appearance, that even though his illness had passed, all was not right with Jeeves.

“Why don’t you take it easy today, what? Just to be certain, I mean.”

“Sir, that is hardly necessary.”

I shushed him. “No, Jeeves,” I said firmly, “you should rest. Work a little if you must, but take it easy, will you?”

“Very good, sir.”

After breakfast, I went for a long rambling walk, echoing the shape of my thoughts. I wandered to and fro, eventually, inevitably winding up at the Drones for a rather earlier lunch than is my usual wont. The place was on the quiet side, most of the Drones presumably not yet out of bed, but Bingo was in on account of Mrs. Bingo Little - the celebrated novelist of romantic drivel known to her public as Rosie M. Banks - being occupied with authorly duties, as Bingo had informed us at the revels the night before.

“What ho!” I shouted upon seeing him, and he shouted back the same, and waved me over to his table.

Bingo and I, if you don’t know, are old chums, going back years and years, and as such know each other only as such pals do. He was truly a sight for sore eyes, especially under such circs. He was just the chap to lend a sympathetic ear in a fellow’s time of need.

“Tish,” I declared as I took a seat, by way of letting him know things were less than rosy in the life of Bertram W.

“Girl trouble?” Bingo asked with a knowing smile.

I shook my head. “Jeeves.”

“Dictating your wardrobe again? What’s it this time, a tie? Or those trousers?”

“My trousers are perfectly fine, thank you. I’ll have you know Jeeves picked them out himself.”

“What is it then, if it’s not a girl and not clothing?”

I hummed and hawed a little over this part. Bingo is a lifelong pal and all, but there are some things a chap doesn’t even tell to a pal like that. I knew well enough to tell that I wasn’t supposed to see Jeeves’s injuries, I couldn’t very well go telling the rest of the world.

“Jeeves came down with a horrible illness!” I said at last, sticking to the truth, just not all of it. “Well, he’s better now, but it was touch and go for a time.”

“Oh! No wonder you were so mopey last night. The lads had a bet going after you left. Gussie’ll be disappointed; I convinced him to put his money on you having fallen in love at last.”

“No, nothing like that,” I insisted.

“But if Jeeves is back to his problem-solving self, then what’s there to beef about?”

“I’m just worried about the chap, that’s all. Getting sick isn’t like him, you know? What if he’s been out over-exerting himself or somesuch?”

“Jeeves, over-exerting himself?” Bingo asked skeptically.

“I know, but there must be something! Maybe he’s been sneaking out at night fighting bears in the woods.”

“What, and he caught the flu from the bear?”

I hastily added, “What if it rained while he was out? Or maybe he’s a secret agent and got attacked by enemy spies - in the rain!”

Bingo gave me a skeptical l., “Bertie, what’s gotten into you? Jeeves is a remarkable cove and all, but I doubt he’s doing any of all that. What does it matter anyway, if he’s back to form already? Nothing’s ever gotten in the way of his work before.”

“I suppose not. But it’s my responsibility, isn’t it? He does the feudal thing and gets me out of the soup, and I’m supposed to do the feudal thing and give him a fiefdom and what not.”

“A fiefdom, Bertie? In your London flat? I know it’s spacious, but that’s a bit much.”

“Not exactly, but you know, all the things you’re supposed to give a vassal, protection and justice and all that. And I know his quarters aren’t exactly the height of luxury, but I have plans to fix that.”

“And he’ll go fight for you in the Crusades?”

“Bingo,” I protested.

“So not fighting for you in the Crusades. But so Jeeves got sick once in - how many years has he worked for you? And?”

“It’s-” I stopped myself short of revealing Jeeves’s secret, whatever it meant. “Oh, it’s nothing,” I said moodily.

“That’s the spirit! Now, you have to hear what happened last night after you left! I’m sorry you missed it, leaving early.”

Bingo chatted eagerly about the later part of the previous night’s revelries, but my heart just wasn’t in it. After we finished eating and such what, I made my excuses and set out across the city - while half-listening to Bingo prattle, I’d come to a decision.

It wasn’t too far from the Drones to Dr. Watson’s practice. I knocked haltingly at the door, still rather out of my depths, but no longer in such a frantic rush as when I stood on that very spot the morning before. Again, the maid ushered me in.

“What ho!” I said as she directed me to a little waiting room of sorts. “Dr. Watson about?”

“No, sir,” she said. ”He’s on his rounds, but he should be back shortly, or I can take a message for him.”

I settled in to wait and the maid biffed off for some tea. It felt like a rather long while before the good doctor returned, but in fact, the clock informed me that it wasn’t more than half an hour that I waited, sipping at a cooling cup of merely passable tea - when a fellow is accustomed to Jeeves, any alternative seems rather lackluster in comparison.

“Mr. Wooster, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Dr. Watson asked as he appeared at long last.

I jumped to my feet to greet him. “It’s Jeeves,” I explained without even a “what ho” in greeting.

“It may take him a day or two to recover,” the doctor cautioned.

I shook my head. “It’s not that. He’s all better now, but well-” I hesitated.

The doctor showed me into his office and took a seat behind the desk. I belatedly perched on the seat across from him, too keyed up to make myself comfortable as he suggested.

“Now, what was it you were concerned about?” the doctor asked patiently, though he seemed a little wary of what I might say.

“Well, it all started when I woke up this morning. You see, Jeeves didn’t come in with the tea - thinking back on it now I suppose I was up a bit earlier than my usual fashion, but after everything, well, you can understand my being a bit worried about the chap. So, I went to check on him, I know I shouldn’t have barged in, but-” - I faltered a little in embarrassment, my cheeks flushed red - “well, I’m afraid I caught him in the middle of changing. I didn’t see anything, just his back, but it was covered in the most horrible scratches, and I don’t know what’s caused it; if he’s fighting bears or secret agents or what not, but dash it all! Plainly something’s wrong with the man and I don’t know what to do. But you’re his doctor, you must have seen them when you checked on him the other day - it was only yesterday, wasn’t it? So much has happened between then and now that it feels like it’s been a bally week.”

Dr. Watson nodded as though he’d somehow managed to follow the outburst - a remarkable feat given that I wasn’t even sure I could follow everything I was saying. It seemed to take him a bit of a while to compose his thoughts, however, before, at last, he said, “I am aware of Jeeves’s scars and I don’t believe there’s any cause for concern. To my knowledge, none of them are recent; he’s had nothing more than ordinary scrapes and bruises in the past ten years. I doubt he’s been fighting bears or secret agents.” He gave me a somewhat indulgent smile, but I let it slide.

“You mean to say they’re all old wounds? From long before I met him even?”

“I would say so,” the doctor answered.

It should have been comforting, but I found I only had more questions. “That’s an awful lot of them. What was he doing?”

The doctor sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wooster, but I can’t say.”

“You mean to say you know?” I demanded.

He grimaced. “Yes, I know. But it’s up to Jeeves to tell you if he wants to, and I doubt he’ll want to, not if he’s anything like…” the doctor trailed off. After a moment’s thought he picked back up the thread not too far from where he left off, “It’s not a pleasant thing, but thankfully it’s all in the past; there’s nothing to worry about any more.”

“But what is it?”

The doctor only shook his head. “Try not to worry about it, Mr. Wooster, and don’t worry Jeeves about it either. He’s come a long way since then, his fondness for you is a clear enough indication of that.”

I nodded and agreed not to trouble too much about it, but I was still very much troubled when I left the doctor’s office. I took a meandering way back home, torn between wondering what horrible accident had befallen the man and trying to pluck up my courage for what I knew must come next.

When I arrived back at the flat, my slippers were waiting for me at the door and everything else was back in its place, bearing all the tell-tale evidence of Jeeves’s renewed efforts, though the man himself was nowhere to be seen - the chap could never be heard, his recent illness notwithstanding. I stopped at the door to the kitchens with some trepidation, but it was too serious a matter to let I dare not wait upon I would - or whatever the expression is exactly - like the cat in the adage. Still, keenly aware of my fraught errand, I knocked at the door.

Jeeves opened it with a curious, “Sir?” With the door open, I could still smell the aroma of a recently lit gasper, and the Spinoza sat bookmarked on the table, no doubt interrupted in the middle of the scene where the detective discovered the second body.

“What ho, Jeeves,” I said without my usual pomp.

“Is there anything you require, sir?”

“Well, um, actually, I was rather wondering if I could perhaps have a word,” I managed to stumble out the words.

“Very good, sir.” He waved me into his lair, where I had spent an awful lot of time of late - I found myself almost missing the place, though I was happier than anyone to have Jeeves back up and about.

I stood about awkwardly, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I cast about the room in search of a place to start. It’s not an easy thing to talk about, walking in on your valet while he’s changing and finding that he’s got more scars than a fellow who ended up on the wrong side of a tiger.

At last, I blurted out, “I went to see Dr. Watson.”

“Sir?” Jeeves asked, sounding a bit concerned now. His eyebrow raised about a quarter of an inch.

“About those scratches, those scars, I mean. I know I shouldn’t have walked in on you without knocking, but once I did, well, I just had to know what was wrong - to do something, what?” I stopped short, preoccupied with Jeeves’s expression and out of words besides. He was watching me warily, with an actual frown rather than that usual stuffed frog expression he does sometimes.

When it was clear I was finished, he asked, more composed, “May I ask, sir, what Dr. Watson told you?”

“Nothing. He said I had to ask you and not to bother if you didn’t want to tell me.”

He nodded. He seemed relieved, though it was hard to tell behind that mask of his - figuratively speaking, of course. “If I may say so, sir, Dr. Watson is a very honourable gentleman.”

I could tell I was trying my luck, but still I had to ask, “But what happened? What gave you all those scars?”

“I prefer not to speak of it, sir.” Jeeves spoke with a solemn air of finality that made it perfectly clear that further inquiry was not welcome.

“Oh. Right-o, then.” I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment, but I knew better than to harp. “Been taking it easy, what?”

“Yes, sir.” Jeeves’s lips twitched a fraction of an inch upward, signifying his approval of the change in topic, and I didn’t have the heart to begrudge him it - or anything for that matter.

One morning, some days later, I was sitting, picking at my breakfast, when Jeeves shimmered over to the table.

“What is it, Jeeves?” I asked.

“I have procured something which may be of interest to you, sir.” He held out a bound manuscript, written in an unfamiliar hand.

I took it from him and read aloud the title, “An Unpublished Adventure of Sherlock Holmes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You mean to say this is the real thing?”

“Yes, sir, penned by Dr. John H. Watson himself.”

“Jeeves this really is the top! How did you manage a bally thing like that?” I stopped. “Are you saying that old doctor is the Dr. Watson?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of all the rummy things, Jeeves! How did you get to know a chap like that?”

“As I said, sir, he’s my family physician.”

“Does that mean you know Sherlock Holmes too?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why, Jeeves, this is beyond belief! How did you get Dr. Watson to part with one of his manuscripts?”

“I asked him, sir. Given your appreciation for his work, I thought it would be a fitting expression of gratitude for your assistance during my brief illness, and Dr. Watson was happy to oblige.”

“I say, Jeeves! I don’t know what I could ever do to thank you enough.” It seemed a little thick to me that Jeeves was going so far out of his way to thank me for doing practically nothing when I already owed him so much for everything he does for me. I added a little belatedly, “And it’s awfully kind of Dr. Watson to give me a peek at a Sherlock Holmes story.”

“Dr. Watson has taken something of a liking to you, sir. However, he did request that you not distribute the manuscript, as he has deemed it unsuitable for publication for personal reasons.”

“Personal reasons, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir.”

I delicately paged through the manuscript, all the more intrigued at what it might hold that Dr. Watson had deemed suitable for my eyes only. Probably nothing terribly interesting, but a fellow could only wonder.

“Will that be all, sir?” Jeeves asked, the corner of his lips turned up just a smidge in the suggestion of a fond smile.

I beamed back. “Yes, Jeeves, thank you!”

“Thank you, sir.”

Part of The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves

#v writes #Jeeves and Wooster #The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves #Jeeves Gets Sick #Dr. John Watson

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keelywolfe · 5 years ago

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FIC: Separate Lives (spicyhoney)

Summary: Edge can't be anyone but himself, but he is nothing that Rus needs.

Notes: This story strikes me as almost an AU of 'By Any Other Name', what might've happened if Stretch and Edge didn't get together. Sadness ahead!

Tags: Underfell Papyrus, Underswap Papyrus, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Angst, Self-Worth Issues, Post-Break Up, Yearning

Read It On AO3

Read It Here!

~~*~~

It was past dark by the time Edge returned home from work. The lights in the main room turned on automatically as he stepped inside, closing the door against the chilly evening air. He hung up his jacket in the closet, keys deposited in a decorative bowl on a small table by the front door, shoes lined up carefully on the mat.

Dinner was waiting for him, already prepared in the crock pot which in his opinion was one of the best inventions Humans ever developed. Perhaps some gourmands would be rolling in their graves if they were forced to taste his modified version of beef bourguignon, but if so, they could keep their complaints beneath the ground.

He changed before he ate, hanging up his suit carefully and dressing in a soft pullover and jeans. When the workday was done, it was best to get out of that mindset and a simple change of clothes helped to keep him from turning Embassy issues over in his head all night long.

He ate at the table in silence, washed his plate and set it in the drainer.

Mettaton was on and he watched the variety show. The detective movie. Even the Quiz show. If he were asked tomorrow what any of them were about, he wouldn’t have been able to think of a single word.

His sockets felt dry and grainy by then, exhaustion starting to pull him down; he was tired and tomorrow would be an early day, technically today, and--

But his cell phone ringing cut off anything else.

He waited for the second ring to answer, “Hello.”

“heya, bestie,” The voice on the other side of the line was low and amused. “didn’t wake you up, did i.”

Edge relaxed back into the sofa cushions and closed his sockets, allowing that husky, malted voice to roll over him. “Would you care if you had?”

“nah. we both know you were waiting by the phone.” Rus said it teasingly, unaware of the uncomfortable truth.

“With bated breath,” Edge said dryly.

“heh, well, you can cut your fishing trip short cause here i am. told you i’d call when i got home safe.” The blurred, liquid quality to his laughter implied several drinks over the course of the night. His eye lights would be bright from the alcohol, faint orange bleeding into the normal soft white. There was the sound of rustling, perhaps blankets, it could be that Rus was lying in the unmade mess of his own bed, looking up at the ceiling with Edge’s voice in his skull.

“At 2am?” Distantly said, the words weren’t ones he wanted to think too closely about. “Burning the late-night oil, were you.”

Rus made a rude, scoffing sound, punctuated by the creak of the bed frame and there was a soft thunk, quickly followed by a second; he must be kicking off his shoes. “it was a date, not a tinder hookup! gotta take a little time, you know, get to know them, takes a few hours. isn’t that what a date is for? getting to know someone, making a match, letting someone light my fire.”

“Knowing your jokes, he was probably ready for the burn unit by the end of the night.” Perhaps he took an Uber home, alone, perhaps he’d allowed his date to take him. A last few teasing jokes before he got out of the car or perhaps leaning in through the driver’s side window. Perhaps, perhaps—

“ouch, okay, i’m hanging up, i need to report a murder,” Rus laughed, then his voice dropped low, secretive. “speaking of fire, might not make it to the third date rule with this one, whoa, momma, he’s igniting something, all right.”

The low growl that escaped was not of his choosing and Edge stifled it immediately.

“didn’t catch that, what did you say?” More rustling sounds, Rus’s voice was muffled, likely pulling off his sweatshirt. There was a heavy flump of it hitting the floor and Edge could see it very clearly. The clutter of dirty clothing littered around with the occasional empty honey bottle sprouting through, a trash flower blooming through fabric. Rus lying back on the sheets, rib cage bare, the path of his spine leading to his pelvis where his pants interrupted the journey. Or perhaps not, perhaps he’d already kicked them off to join their brethren, another patch in his laundry garden. Perhaps he was dressed only in his own bare, lovely bones, perhaps--

"Oh, I was just thinking,” Edge said lightly, “that you might try playing a little hard to get. That is, if you’re hoping for something past date three.”

“we’ll see,” doubtfully, rich with amusement, “anyway, i’m home safe, worry wart, didn't end up in any stranger's dust pan. you can get some sleep now. night, edgelord, see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Rus.”

Edge disconnected the call and sat on his sofa with his phone in his hand for a long time.

~~*~~

Once, he’d been the one on the verge of date three, all of Rus’s teasing flirtations forging a direct path to it. Edge was the one who stopped things there, halted them at the crossroads to choose a different path.

He could still clearly remember Rus’s face when he’d told him; the bland acceptance complicit with the way he blinked a little too often, a fraction too hard. There would be no third date, but when Edge offered friendship, Rus took it eagerly, and now, months later, they were best of friends despite their differences.

It was for the best, Edge knew, necessary, the only choice Edge could make. He’d needed to break things off before he learned how Rus’s mouth tasted, before he ever felt him in his arms.

Dates were a chance to get to know someone, Rus said, a learning experience of sorts, and what Edge learned all too quickly was that Rus deserved better than he could offer.

Truth be told, he should have cut him off entirely, kept his distance rather than endure this slow, aching torture. It was a weakness, Edge supposed. Too weak to properly let Rus go, but at least like this the only person he was hurting was himself.

They were friends, the best of friends, and it was enough. It was.

~~*~~

The next morning Edge got up with his alarm. He went to work, did his job, came home. Left his shoes lined up by the door and listened when Rus called him to let him know he was home safe from his date.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

~~*~~

“unf, how do you always make the best stuff for lunch,” Rus said around his current mouthful. His chopsticks were delving back into his bowls, scooping up more noodles before he’d even swallowed the first round.

They were sitting together in the Embassy cafeteria as they always did on their once a week meeting. It was nothing unusual, hardly a second glance was sent their way. Everyone else was focused on their own lunches and conversations, a roomful of meandering chatter

“I like eating.” Edge took a bite from his own bowl with more care. The broth was rich and salty, the noodles cooked to satisfying perfection and generously flavored with plenty of scallions.

“please, everyone likes eating. most people, anyway. not everyone raises their game to an art form like you, damn.” Rus slurped up another mouthful of noodles and Edge reached over to slap him lightly on the back of the skull.

“Show some manners or you’re going to get banned from the museum,” Edge told him dryly. He looked down into his ramen bowl, swirling his chopstick through the broth. “Speaking of which, the Embassy is sponsoring an event this Friday at the Ebott Art Institute. Did you want to come?”

“can’t,” Rus said around a mouthful of soft-boiled egg. It should have been the furthest thing from charming. “got another date.”

“Date number three, isn’t it?” Edge said idly. As if he didn’t know very well. “I’m sure that will be far more entertaining than ‘Monster and Human Art Trends Through the Ages’.”

“might be, i’m a little more into current events. ‘specially when its currently in my bedroom. eh, don’t worry, edgelord, i bet you won’t have any trouble getting someone else as a go along.” Rus offered him a sharp grin and cast a glance over the room, his eye lights touching on various Monsters consideringly. Edge didn’t follow his gaze.

That would only be true if one considered his shadow a companion.

Edge didn’t answer him and asked instead, “You’ll call me when you get home?”

“wouldn’t dream of not, captain concern.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, banked heat hidden in his eye lights. “might just be a text, though. could be busy.”

“Of course,” Edge said crisply. He took another mouthful of noodles, too soft beneath the force of his teeth.

~~*~~

“you’re an idiot, you know.”

Edge stopped just inside the door of his office, sighing to see his brother sprawled out on the sofa. Instead of at one end, Red chose to lay on the middle cushion so he could prop his filthy boots up on the arm.

“Yes, please do instruct me on how I’ve failed you this time.” Edge took hold of the untied laces and yanked those boots roughly off the fine leather. Red only rolled with it, shifting to sit upright. His coat needed washing and Edge absently began making a plan on how to get him out of it long enough to do it.

“ain’t failing me,” Red scoffed. He pulled out a slender vial, tipping a toothpick into his hand, and the faint smell of cinnamon rose in the air. “too busy failing yourself.”

It would be better to ignore him. Eventually Red would get bored and either wander off or fall asleep, adding drool to the dirt he’d already gotten on the sofa. Either way, he’d be silent. That would be the intelligent thing to do. “How so?”

There was enough disgust in his expression to sting. “you think no one else can see it, don’t you? just cause rus can’t find his coccyx in broad daylight with both hands and a map don’t mean i’m blind.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” The noodles were long since incorporated into his magic, it wasn’t possible for them to churn within him nauseously. He went over to the coffee maker and poured out a cup.

“oh yeah?” Red’s eye lights glittered, the color of old blood, and his grin widening to border on vicious. “what about last movie night?”

Edge stilled, cup in hand.

He should have known that was what would give him away. His weaknesses would glare out for his brother, as easy to read as the daily newspaper.

Rus always sat next to him these days at the movie gatherings, the line of his body pressed lightly against Edge from their shoulders down to their knees. Sharing a large bowl of popcorn that Edge would eat too much of, glutting himself on greasy kernels until he felt nauseous for the simple reason that their hands would brush inside the bowl.

An utterly pathetic excuse for a too-brief touch and he was greedy for it, every time.

But last week, Rus fell asleep halfway through the movie. Sagging in increments, until he ended up in Edge’s lap, and Edge couldn’t remember a thing about the film. His only memory of that night was of warm weight against him, of soft, even breathing, the lingering drowsiness when Rus awoke, blinking up at him with languid temptation.

If the phone calls were slow torture, that evening was a white-hot spike through the soul, and all he’d done afterward was help Rus sit upright, let the others tease him for getting drool on Edge’s pantleg.

Red’s mouth twisted into a knowing sneer, “yeah, s’what i thought. you’re forgettin’ all your lessons, little brother.” He leaned forward and his expression was savage, gleaming teeth and blazing eye lights were of memory long past, of Underfell. “you want something that bad, you find a way to get it.” Then the fiery blaze eased, leaving nothing but soft crimson as Red sank back into the sofa cushions, his sharp-fingered hands clasped together over his middle. “unless you’re getting a little too used to the soft life on the surface, eh, boss?”

“Shut up,” Edge told him, the words felt brittle between his teeth.

Red’s laughter cut, the honest amusement at his expense. “truth hurts, yeah?”

He was gone in a shortcut, vanished before the hurled cup could hit him. It bounced uselessly off the empty cushion, hot coffee puddling on the leather.

Edge stood for too long, panting, staring at the ruined sofa, before he called down to housekeeping to send a cleaner to his office.

~~*~~

“home safe, edgelord, no one stayin’ over on either side.” Rus was a lot more drunk this time, all his words a soft slurry, blurred nearly to nonsense.

Edge closed his sockets, listening. It was well past three am, the Embassy event ended hours ago to muted applause and well-funded success. He’d been sitting here alone in his living room, tearing a magazine into little strips. The confetti of them flutter to the floor as he sat forward, “Are you all right?”

“jus’ fine, honey, i’m doing great. came home ‘lone, but he gave me a swell time first.”

The temptation was there to go to Rus’s home, to burst through the front door, ignore Blue’s surprised questions that demanded to know what he thought he was doing. To go up to Rus’s room, to pull him close, ignore the scent of someone else on him and— “You didn’t take my advice to play hard to get?”

“can’t play hard enough, never enough, is it. never. never ever ever,” Singsong sweet, tripping over his tongue, and it trailed into something like a muted sob, wretched and wet, “edge? why’m i so hard to love?”

He needed to say something to that, couldn’t let Rus think that, he couldn’t, he needed—

“nah, s’okay, don’ matter anyway, it don’, you listen to me, yeah? worry about me, you do, every time, all th’ time.” Rus drifted off between words, those weak sobs slowing, evening out to only the occasional hiccough.

Edge sat up for most of the night, listening to him breathe.

~~*~~

“fuck, it’s so early. how could you sign me up for this?” Rus groaned. The darkened hollows beneath his sockets were stark, but Rus was up and moving, helping Edge carry the tables to the outside storefront.

“Believe me, you weren’t my first choice for the early shift,” Edge told him.

The fundraiser was one for a local family who’d lost all their possessions in a fire, a bake sale held by the local chapter of Wilderness Scouts group that was made up of Monster and Human children. The goal was one of more than money, it was part of a continuing an effort to familiarize the Human community with Monsters showing them working beside Humans in harmonious unity. Or at least that was the goal and as children tended towards adorable regardless of species, it seemed an excellent opportunity.

Not that Edge was planning on staying for the actual event; he’d baked an assortment of treats, another calculated move, chocolate chip cookies and rice krispie treats, familiar snacks to Humans from an unfamiliar people.

His baking skills notwithstanding, Humans tended to find his appearance somewhat unnerving. He’d volunteered the two of them to set things up for the children and after they were done, the rest would be up to the chaperones.

That was the plan anyway and Edge was hopeful.

“If we work together, we should be able to get this done quickly enough,” Edge said. Although his doubts grew on that as he watched Rus struggle with the folding table

“uh huh,” Rus grunted, finally battling the capricious thing into submission. “sorry if i kept you up last night.”

“What?” The table Edge was setting up seemed to be of a kinder temperament. “You didn’t.”

“no?” Rus unfolded a plastic tablecloth, fussing to spread it over the table with uncommon precision. “that call lasted for four hours.”

They weren’t actually talking about this, they weren’t-- “I must have forgotten to hang up.”

A touch on his wrist stilled him, cool fingertips against the slim line of bone showing between his gloves and his sleeve. His head jerked up involuntarily and Rus was standing too close, too too close, the shadows beneath his sockets garish and obvious.

"how long are we going to do this?" Tiredly, so terribly soft, too low to be heard by any passersby going into the store. Rus seemed worn, the world almost blurring around him as if he were nearly about to step into a shortcut.

"It shouldn’t even be a couple of hours,” Edge said doggedly. “Once we get set up, I think--"

"edge."

Rus didn't say another word, only his name, once. Anything else stayed unspoken and he was so close, his eye lights soft, pale, searching Edge’s face and it would be so easy to lean in, to take his mouth, to see if the sweetness of his kiss matched the rest of him, this endearing fool.

But Rus deserved so much better, he deserved a pure soul that glowed a silver to match his own, not the stony, LV-scarred one that was all Edge had to offer, the memory of murders bound within it in blood-shaded crimson. Rus deserved someone who could offer him their world.

Edge couldn’t even offer a piece of his.

Don’t do this, don’t, don’t be kind, don’t know how I feel, don’t, please, please—

He reared back, turning away to smooth the last tablecloth into place. "Let's finish getting this set up."

Rus said nothing, stood unmoving and Edge tried not to look at him, unable to bear seeing the banked unhappiness within him. Then, abruptly, "yeah, okay. guess we're gonna do this for a little while, then." Rus gathered up one of the boxes, pulling out baggies of cookies and setting them up in fairly neat rows. “we can go out for lunch after if you want, but i need to get home in time for a nap, i got a date tonight."

“You’ll call me when you get home.” It should have been a question. When Rus didn’t answer, Edge glanced at him, involuntarily, searching his face, and the taste of his desperation was flavored with shame.

Rus smiled a little, a faint curve of his mouth. “yeah, sure. i’ll call, let you know i got home okay. this is date number one, maybe i can make a good first impression, for once.”

“I’m sure you will.” Edge stood next to him, both of them piling up cookies and treats, readying them for the children to sell. They’d finish soon enough, go out for lunch, and then Edge would go home, alone. He’d line up his shoes on the mat by the door, sit on his sofa, and wait for his phone to ring. It was enough, stealing brief, borrowed moments of Rus, more than he even deserved.

Despite everything, Edge was still himself. It was all he could ever be.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus

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scribblestatic · 6 years ago

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Midoriya Haruto is the name engraved on the tombstone. The name of his wife, Midoriya Suzume, is engraved on it and painted in red, an indication of the still-living. And yet, Izuku hasn’t really seen much of her either, honestly. But he stands there on a bright Sunday afternoon, after his maternal grandmother and most of his aunts, uncles, and cousins have already visited. He can tell by the way the gravestone has already been washed, how there’s already a fresh set of flowers and peaches in front of the tombstone. Incense is already burning softly. And so, his mom puts down the pail of water and begins to pray, not using the water and ruining what has already been done.

Izuku stands beside his mom in prayer, wearing one of his school button-downs and jeans. Upon the end of the prayer, he watches his mom add the flowers she’s brought to the ones already there, carefully arranging them like she’s a florist. She sighs and straightens up when she’s done.

“Hello Dad,” his mom begins, and Izuku stays silent as she tells him about the past year. His eyes flit around to the other tombstones. Names flash past his vision as he stares at flowers and bees. Some tombstones are made from marble, others from lesser stones. A cat is eating fruit given to one person’s ancestors, and the cat’s kittens are gathered behind their mother. An elderly man is sharing a rice cake between himself and an old tombstone, and he laughs with it like it’s his old friend.

“Izuku is doing well, too. His grades are always improving! It’s only his first year of middle school, but I know he’s going to excel.”

There’s a butterfly fluttering around before it lands on a stone and rests, occasionally flapping it little blue wings in the wind. A little toddler is hugging a tombstone further down as a man stands behind her, his face a bit wet. A bird is building a nest near a smaller stone one, gathering little branches and moss to make its home.

“I really wish you could’ve met him, Dad. I mean...you did. Once. But I wish you...I wish you spent more time with us.”

Other names are painted in red on the tombstones. Spouses who have yet to pass away and join their loved ones. One of them is abandoned altogether. Had it not been for the funeral home, he’s certain spider webs would’ve already been set up around them. It’s off in a quiet corner, away from the sunlight. Abandoned by the living. Alone. All alone. All alone and by itself without anyone to wish their soul well…

“Izuku?”

He blinks, then turns his head towards his mom, who gazes at him with wet eyes, expectant. He glances quickly at his mom’s dad’s stone, then at her. She does it as well, nodding her head towards it.

He looks back at the stone. Well loved. Well cared for. The red name of a living spouse without any chipped paint. Perfectly done. Perfectly scented. The perfume of flowers and incense becomes suddenly cloying to him.

Izuku knows good and well his grave will never be like this.

“Hi. Uhm… Hope things are good over there.” He nods a bit and fiddles with his fingers. “I wish…”

Breathe.

Why did you abandon your daughter because of me? Why didn’t you want to see me? Why didn’t you love your daughter despite me? Why did you let me make Mom’s life worse? Why did you abandon us? Why?

Why am I here with you instead of with Tadao?

Swallow.

“...wish you well in the afterlife.”

Izuku wants to go back home.

— —

Izuku has a quirk. He knows he does. He has a quirk, and it makes him unlucky.

Because of all the things to do, while walking through Northern Higashiyama, he finds himself knocking into his mother’s sisters. Three of the four of them, anyway.

“Oh my gawsh~! Look at you, baby boy! I haven’t seen you since you were thiiiiiiis little!” one of his aunts cheer, her green-tinted hair straight down her back unlike the style his mom puts hers in. She smiles, but it’s false. There’s a superior tilt to it, obviously in reference to her own son, his cousin, who is being greeted by his mom at that moment with kind smiles and genuine appreciation. “How old are you now? Ten? Nine?”

“I’m 12.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry! You must’ve inherited your mom’s short genes, hahahaha!”

Her lips are painted red, the brightest of the sisters as they toddle around and coo at the little chicks they’ve all brought up. One of his aunts isn’t there, staying at his old grandmother’s side. So if his grandmother never meets him, by extension, anyone watching over her won’t see him. He finds himself wishing that all of his aunts were taking care of her.

“So, little mister, you just started junior high school, huh? How is that going? With a cute face like yours, I’m sure you have all the girls gaga over you!”

Izuku stares off to the side, wanting so badly to back up and just...walk back to Musutafu to see Tadao. He’d rather tell the baby boy about all the interesting things he’s seen at the graveyard than be here now.

“Mmmh.”

“Oh come on, speak up clearly, won’t you? Your mother did say you had a mumbling habit. You need to speak clearly so people will understand what you’re saying!”

“Yes ma’am.”

She smiles brightly, red lipstick stark against her pale face. “That’s better, that’s better. Now then, how about you, Yuji, Junpei, Kamiko, Souma, and Kawaru all play together for a while? I’m sure you guys will have a lot in common. My boy, Yuji, he’s a second year in junior high now! He’s in the basketball club, you know? Do you play any sports?”

He shakes his head, and his aunt frowns a little. “No ma’am.” The smile returns.

“Gosh, that’s such a shame. I bet you’d be good at sports...something like ping pong? Tennis, maybe? But, well, you’d have to beef up a bit, wouldn’t you? Maybe you could ask my boy Yuji for some tips, hmm? I’m sure he’d love to tell you how to...hmm...how do they say it now? ‘Get swole’? Yeah, that’s it! Hahahaha!”

Izuku smiles so tightly his lips curve in a bit. When his gaze leaves her to look past her, the boy who his mom has been talking to is nodding down at her. He’s taller, like Kacchan. His hair’s more green and much straighter than Izuku’s is, and he doesn’t have any freckles or pimples. His eyes are smaller than his own, so with that and his muscle, he looks older by a good three or four years instead of the one year difference between them. He’s an ikimen for sure. The name ‘Midoriya’ is a blessing wherever he goes.

And Izuku’s a loser who can’t become a hero. His one good feature is that he can somehow get Tadao to stop crying by being there with him.

He wants so badly to go back to the hospital.

“Are you in any clubs? You should join a club, even if it’s not for sports! Like painting or homemaking. Those aren’t very manly things, but you’d have some skill for it, I’m sure! Oh, but Inko says you’re a smart boy...you should be in the reading club! Or the science club! What do you think about those? You should join one of them!”

Izuku smiles. “I’ll think about it.”

I won’t.

Suddenly, his aunt gasps. “Oh goodness, here I am just talking your little ears off. Precious boy!” She grabs one of them and tugs a little like one would tug his cheeks, and he winces, resisting the urge to smack it off. Her touch feels...not that great. “Here, you know what? You should spend some time around people your own age. Let me get out of your hair, alright?” She turns around then. “Yuji! Why don’t you and your cousins spend some time around town while us ladies keep clucking on?”

Yuji turns away from his mom and nods. “Okay.”

He sounds more mature, too. His voice is deeper. How is it that a one-year difference has done such a thing?

A few moments and some cash exchanges, and the four sister Midoriyas are walking off, chatting amongst each other. He watches as his mother lags behind a step or two, not quite in the group though certainly among them. Sighing a little, he turns back towards the group of kids he’s been unfortunately grouped with.

Yuji isn’t actually the oldest, though he looks it. The oldest is Junpei, who’s already 14. He has straight hair like the others, short cut and more mature-looking. He wears glasses, too. Kamiko is 13, too, and she’s really pretty. She looks kind of like his mom when she was younger, before she began stress-eating from his quirklessness, and she wears a headband in her long hair, the tips touching the small of her back. Souma and Kawaru are younger than him—Souma’s born in August, and Kawaru’s 10. The two are siblings, Souma being the older brother with sharper eyes and a scar over his nose, and Kawaru somehow gaining a little curl to her short hair, some of it pulled into a ponytail on the side of her head.

The group of cousins chat amongst each other like they know each other well. They probably do. But Izuku, like his mom, stands a little further away and observes what’s around him. Watches them like he’s watching a TV show, trying to gage what they’re all feeling. But he does get a little distracted. Distracted enough that he doesn’t really realize when Souma’s walking up to him.

“Hey, my mom says you’re disabled. But you don’t look like it.” Souma crosses his arms, a frown on his face.

Izuku blinks for a moment at the slightly taller boy before what he said registers.

“Uhm…”

Souma opens his mouth to say something again, but suddenly, a slightly blue highlight of a hand appears and smacks him on the back of his head. Behind him, Kawaru’s face has flushed up, but it’s Kamiko’s hand that glows blue.

“Hey, don’t just say things like that! Are you stupid?” she hisses.

But Izuku’s not really paying attention to the insult anymore. He’s more focused on the quirk.

“Is that...is that your quirk?” Izuku asks, watching as the girl blinks at him. “It looks like a kind of telekinesis, but it’s more like projection.”

“Oh, yeah.” Kamiko smiles cutely and puts her hands into peace signs. They glow a little, and two hands show up at her sides, larger and glowing, making the same peace signs she is. “I can make a projection of my hands to move out at a distance from my body~ It’s really useful for picking up far away things, like the TV remote!”

The conversation seems to pick up from there, and Izuku moves in closer as his cousins start talking about their quirks.

— —

Junpei’s quirk is more memory-based than physical. He can read a book and remember every word in it for up to 48 hours on one single read. After two reads, up to 96 hours, so on and so forth. Eventually, he just remembers the book entirely. It’s even more efficient for signs and maps, which are much shorter than books. He’s been top in his class since 1st grade and not a single person has been able to beat him since.

Yuji’s quirk is an attraction to objects, similar to his mom, but rather than just small things, after training his quirk, he can attract larger things. Nothing bigger than a mini-fridge though, or his head starts to hurt. He can also push things instead of only pulling them. Pulling and pushing a basketball during a casual game rather than one for his team is very fun to do, according to the guy. He also likes pulling on his girlfriend’s sweater from a distance to get her to come closer, which makes Izuku blush red while Souma calls him gross, a similar flush over his own cheeks.

Kamiko, of course, can project her hands and hit and grab things as need be. There’s a range where she can’t reach, but the closer she is, the faster the hands are. She showed off her particular skill by swiping a little kendama from an old woman’s little market store so quickly that no one but a camera would notice it. Even then, it would be blurry. After playing around with the toy, which made Kawaru rather silently distressed, she eventually put it back much to her own displeasure.

Souma’s quirk allows him to pull himself to objects or pull the objects to himself. Rather than being affected with a headache or a nosebleed by the weight of the object, the weight relative to himself and the object is what affects what happens. If he weighs less than the object, he’ll be pulled towards it. If he weighs more than the object, it’ll be pulled towards him. However, he hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it. In fact, the scar on his nose is from when he pulled on a lighter object a bit too quickly and broke his nose when it collided with his face.

Kawaru’s quirk almost seems to come out of nowhere. Rather than pulling or pushing or anything of that sort, her quirk is memory-based like Junpei’s...sort of. She can touch inanimate objects and see a brief history of the object or things that have happened near the object. However, for the moment, she can only look at an object’s history once. Once before, she used her quirk to figure out who stole some fundraising money by looking at the history of the desk the money had been placed in. She was able to identify the culprit by the feeling of the hand that reached in and took the money. Her school life, as it turns out, is a little turbulent because of that.

Izuku can relate, only, for a different reason. Which ends up rearing its ugly head when they ask what his quirk is.

“Oh...uhm...I’m actually...uh...quirkless.

There’s a sudden silence among the kids. A realization...no. A remembrance, like they had forgotten something and his statement suddenly flipped a switch.

Izuku feels himself start to sweat. “I-I mean, I just really like quirks, you know? I think they’re really interesting, so I’m always...well...studying them. I guess.”

The warm atmosphere becomes colder. Eyes begin to avert from his body. He sees a slight smirk on Yuji’s face before it quickly clears off, and Junpei’s glasses seem almost to cloud over. Kamiko’s smile becomes pointedly pitying in a way that he really, really hates.

“Oooooh...that’s what Mom meant by you being disabled,” Souma says, eyes wide.

He gets another smack to the head, but it’s less harsh.

As they keep walking on down the stairs at one of the more populated areas, lanterns on and people shopping, the group begins to separate from him. Their steps become a little faster, they ask them fewer questions, and their group seems to close in. Though Kawaru sends him occasional, sympathetic glances, peer pressure wins out and she abandons him like the rest of them do.

Eventually, two people could fit between the distance they’ve built away from each other, like they’re a happy group and he’s their freckled, curly-haired stalker.

Well...Izuku went into this expecting something like this to happen, but it hurts no less. In fact, knowing that they’re family, that they are likable, that they could’ve been friends...it makes it hurt even more than being abandoned by everyone at school and in their neighborhood.

It’s not fair. But nothing is.

So Izuku decides that, if he’s going to be dragged around like the ball at the end of a chain for the rest of the day, he’s going to do it doing things he enjoys. So he takes out his phone and turns on the camera setting, and he starts taking pictures.

A lantern glows before evening at a storefront, hanging from the roof of an old Heian-styled building made of wood. A window of one of the shops has a lot of little glass figurines that glimmer from the white Christmas light display they have around it and little golden lucky cats that wave their paws to invite luck. An older woman fans herself as she wears a kimono, sitting on a bench as she calmly eats her mochi. Crows land on a fence and caw at each other, having gathered in a solid murder, eyeing a nearby tempura place where enough customers have given them treats that they wait to eat.

“Hey.”

He nearly takes a picture of Kamiko’s face, but stops before his finger hits the button.

“Uhm...what is it?” he asks. A quick glance up shows the others waiting, antsy and curious.

“We’re going to this shrine we like to visit. Keep up, okay?”

Izuku nods. “Yeah, okay.”

She smiles, satisfied, and turns around as she rejoins the group. Surprisingly, he’s grown even further apart from them, so he speeds up a little to make sure he’s closer.

He catches the word “weirdo”, and decides a solid two-people distance from the group is good enough.

With his phone still out, he sends a quick text to his mom.

[I’m tired. Can we go back to the hotel yet?]

She responds faster than he would’ve expected had she been talking with her sisters.

[Not yet, sweetie. Just have a little fun with your cousins, okay?]

…

[K.]

#tadao au #this new installment was starting to get so long i was getting bored <:3 #i'm probably going to go back to shorter installments from here on #not cause i don't want to write longer but...my attention span and patience are thin right now #static writes

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somethingjustsouthofbrilliance · 6 years ago

Text

Heartsick (chapter 3)

@tonystark5ever and I are back with a new chapter. Finally. Progress :D

Tagging a few folks here. If I forgot somebody, pls, let me know.

@i-fucking-love-the-avengers @random-fandom-stuffdom @keltainen13 @giulisetta @bad-days-and-beautiful-nights @ashleymarie1684 @itsafandomaddict @konoriart @swanheart69 @almhw85

Link to chapter 1 (masterlist)

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

Chapter Three

“Dr. Rhodes?”

A young voice, quiet and unsure, pulls his attention away from Stark’s retreating back, stopping short his intention to follow after the man.

He turns, frowning slightly at the skinny, curly-haired teen that stands behind him, fiddling nervously with the line of his IV pole.

“I’m… I’m… I’m Peter. Peter Parker.”

Rhodey feels his lips twitch into a smile despite his unpleasant mood. “Ah, yes, Mr. Parker. I had the pleasure of listening to you play just now.” He nods toward the room the teen has recently vacated. “Very impressive.” And it had been, the bit he’d heard.

His grin widens as the teen ducks his head at the praise, the tips of his ears flushing pink. Adorable, Rhodey thinks, amused, and feels the uncomfortable sting of anger at the idea of Tony Stark doing anything that might put the kid in harm’s way. “What can I do for you?”

“I...uh….” Peter starts fidgeting with the IV pole again; throws a hesitant glance at Rhodey’s face. “I heard your argument with Mr. Stark just now and…”

“I see.” His mood sours instantly; Tony Stark is the last thing he wants to talk about with this kid. He frowns, waiting for the boy to continue with whatever was on his mind.

“You need to get him to hire you back!”

The unexpected nature of the request and the heat of the conviction behind it bring him up short.

“What?”

“I… I mean….” Peter takes a step back, flustered, his gaze dropping back down to the floor. “Mr. Stark, he’s… he’s a really good guy. He… he takes care of everyone around him, but he doesn’t really… he doesn’t let others take care of him.” The kid looks up again, brown eyes intent. “And he needs to,” he insists heatedly. “Especially now. His heart-”

“You’re defending him…” Rhodey can’t quite hide the incredulity coloring his voice. “Even after what he’s done to you. Taking your place in line?” he adds at the puzzled expression on Peter’s face.

The teen’s expression darkens, his large brown eyes hardening in clear disapproval. “That was my decision,” he says mulishly. “Mine and my aunt’s. We came to Ms. Potts when we found out from Tony that things were getting worse. We made her agree not to tell him, as a matter of patient confidentiality. He was never supposed to find out about it.”

“Is that so?” Somehow Rhodey had assumed that Peter and his aunt had been kept in the dark. The fact the kid knew about it almost made it worse. “And why is that?”

“Because he never would have allowed it if he knew.” Peter shakes his head, heaving out a dejected sigh before he plops tiredly onto the nearby bench. “I just wanted to help him. I wanted… and now, because it’s me, because he knows it’s me, he won’t…” The teen trails off, eyes momentarily squeezed shut; wraps his fingers around the IV pole in a white-knuckled grip. When he looks up again, the desperate intensity of his stare nearly forces Rhodey to take a step back.

“I wouldn’t even have a place in line if it weren’t for Mr. Stark. He is the reason I have a chance to live, Dr. Rhodes! And I… I can’t be the reason he loses his!”

And that right there? Definitely not what Rhodey was expecting to hear. He frowns down at the earnest, wide-eyed gaze that meets his; bites his lip at the guilt-tinged despair he sees there.

“Alright, kid.” He knows he’s already given in; doubts there’s anyone alive out there who can stay strong in the face of these imploring puppy eyes. He just really hopes he doesn’t come to regret this later. “There’s a couple things I need to get straight, and I think you’re the one to help me.”

“What do you mean?”

“How about you tell me all about Tony Stark over a cup of hot cocoa, huh? Start with why you think you owe him your place on the organ recipient list.”

Peter watches him silently for a few moments, his expression wary. Nods, his curls flopping over his forehead. “Okay.”

***

They settle on a bench outside some ten minutes later, Peter cradling a cup of chocolate ice cream he opted for instead of hot cocoa. It’s nice and quiet out here, the air pleasant, tinged with a mild spring morning chill, and Rhodey finds himself relaxing just a bit, letting go of the angry tension he’d been carrying around since daybreak.

“Thanks Dr. Rhodes,” Peter speaks up beside him, poking hesitantly at the mound of chocolate in his cup. “Dr. Banner told me to try and beef up my calorie intake since I can’t eat much.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy it,” Rhodey responds, smiling encouragingly as the teen scoops up his first spoonful. Urges mildly, “Whenever you’re ready, Peter.” He doesn’t want to push the boy, but time isn’t exactly a luxury he has to waste.

Peter’s expression darkens, the second spoonful dropped half-heartedly back into the cup. “I’m… I’m not supposed to tell anyone about this. I could get in big trouble, but even worse Mr. Stark could get in big trouble. I had to sign some huge non-disclosure agreements, there were lawyers there and everything, it was crazy. If anyone ever found out I told you, then they could sue Mr. Stark and he could even go to jail.” He shoots Rhodey a slightly anxious, pleading look. “So… you… you won’t tell anyone, right Dr. Rhodes?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Rhodey agrees, his curiosity piqued.

“No, no, I need-- you have to understand. No one can know.”

“Peter. I promise. On my word as a doctor, doctor-patient confidentiality, do no harm, Hippocratic oath. I won’t tell anyone.”

This seems finally enough to reassure Peter and he leans forward, a frown of worry on his face that speaks of a lot of fear and anxiety… more than he would expect for one so young. “Okay, well. It all happened about two years ago. The hospital was losing money, all the political stuff going on right? So they hired a consulting company to come and make it profitable again. You have to understand, there were talks of closing the doors.”

“Right,” Rhodey nods his understanding. He’s not surprised, even given the hospital’s reputation for excellent care; healthcare in general was facing a major crisis and there were systems all over the world taking the same kind of steps in order to keep their doors open.

“So the first thing they do is fire all the administrative people here,” Peter goes on, ice cream forgotten. “Let them go with severance only. I remember it a little bit because the nurses and doctors were in a huge uproar about it, it wasn’t pretty.”

“I’ll bet!”

“Well yeah. So they hire this new guy, Thaddeus Ross.”

Somehow Rhodey thinks the shudder that goes through Peter at the mention of that name has little to do with the morning chill.

“Ross… Yeah, I’ve heard of him. He did some great things for that hospital system in Orlando.”

Peter scoffs. “Wherever you heard about that, I’ll bet it didn’t mention a body count,” he counters darkly.

“No… it didn’t as a matter of fact.”

“Well, I can practically guarantee you that there was one. Because Ross doesn’t come in and fix things, he comes in and he cuts corners. First thing he did after firing the administrators was fire all the experienced nurses and techs. Forced some of the higher paid doctors into early retirement -- claimed their judgement would be called into question and their malpractice insurance would go up, that kind of thing.”

“Peter,” Rhodey cuts in, trying, rather unsuccessfully, to keep the skepticism from his voice, “even if that were true, how could you possibly know about it?”

“Because I’m one of the schmucks that almost got killed!”

“Oh…” He pulls back, stunned silent by the teen’s outburst. Motions for him to continue.

Peter nods grudgingly, huddles in on himself. “I was born with hypoplastic left heart syndrome and had, like, three surgeries when I was a baby and all that. I was doing good, real good, until a year ago I got bit by a spider. So like, not normally a big deal, but for me it was. I got super sick. But Dr. Banner… he’s my cardiologist, right? He found a treatment, and it seemed like a miracle because there was nothing anyone else could do. I mean… it was a miracle. Only the drug I was on was crazy expensive, like $20,000 a dose.”

Rhodey lets out a low whistle and Peter huffs angrily in response.

“I have to take it every three months for three years,” he says, nodding toward his IV bag. “Obviously, there was no way for us to afford it. Our insurance wouldn’t cover it because it’s technically not even approved by the FDA. So the hospital was writing it off. You know. They were using it as a charitable donation, which means it technically doesn’t cost them anything because they get the money back in tax credits and government payouts. Only...” Peter falters, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Only they weren’t making money off it.” He gives a vicious stab at his now mostly-melted ice cream before hurling the cup into the garbage can with a bit more energy than was strictly necessary.

“Right.” Rhodey can already see where this is heading, and he feels his own fingers itch with the urge to curl into fists. Money. Of course. Of-fucking course! Everything always comes back to money. It was one of the reasons why he’d gone into medicine, to do something about this kind of thing, to do surgery for the right reasons and not to make a buck.

“Yeah! Right!!” The teen slaps his hand palm down on the bench, agitated. “I mean, can you believe I had the audacity to exist and want to live and not have a disease that the hospital could benefit from? Ross came through and he eliminated most of those programs. The ones that helped people.”

“Why don’t people know about it?” Rhodey interjects. “Why wasn’t any of this on the news?”

“Oh it was.” The sharp bitterness in the teen’s voice surprises Rhodey. For as broken, small, and sick as the kid appeared, he had clearly developed quite the backbone. “The headlines were ‘Local CEO Turns Failing Local Hospital into Model of Health Care Efficiency.’ He’s a jerk but he’s not an idiot! Dr. Banner did what he could but they were threatening his license. There were a couple of assault charges thrown around when Dr. Banner got really mad during a meeting and punched the guy. Satisfying, right? Except now he was suspended and I was getting sicker and sicker because no medicine. And this is the only pediatric cardiac hospital in three states that’s able to deal with my problems. We were looking at moving to Colorado but I was too sick and May, my aunt, had been out of work to take care of me so no money. I was…”

There’s a suspicious hitch in the teen’s voice, his breath coming a little harsh, a little fast. He shakes his head viciously, swipes irritably at his cheeks where thin trails of tears cut a path across anger-flushed skin.

“I was so tired,” he admits in a whisper, “I wished I could just die and get it over with!”

“Okay,” Rhodey exhales past the stunned horror of the teen’s admission, “okay.” Reaches out haltingly to put a soothing a hand on the kid’s trembling shoulder. “Do you… uh… do you need a break from this?”

“No.” It takes him a few moments, but Peter swallows down his emotions; manages to steady himself. “Sorry. It was just… it was hard. I hated it. I was sick and things were getting so much worse. It was hard to see these things taking their toll on May.”

Rhodey gives the boy’s shoulder one last squeeze before letting his hand fall away. “I imagine she must have been pretty upset.”

“Upset doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Peter scoffs. “She was furious. And she wasn’t taking it sitting down either. She was calling our legislators, trying to see about the legalities, but we weren’t having any luck. She tried to go after him directly, you know, suing him for medical malpractice. Failure to treat. Medical neglect.” He shrugs, exhaustion written into every line of his body.

“Like I said, it got ugly. And here I am… dying because my heart is failing, and I get sick on top of it and it’s looking like the end for me. They start talking about hospice and making me comfortable, but I’m in the ICU in the meantime…”

“What happened?” Rhodey prods cautiously, afraid to push too hard because the kid is a walking war wound and it feels like even the slightest amount of pressure could cause him to bleed out.

Peter blinks as though coming out of a trance, his expression softening, pale lips pulling into a small smile. “Tony Stark happened,” he murmurs, sounding simultaneously awed and fond. “He got admitted the same time as me, just on the adult side, and he was being monitored because he was on some weird drug that was giving him trouble, but he was not so sick as me. He bumped into May in the hallway one time, and they got to know each other a bit. They had a lot in common, you know? Going through all this. Tony, see, he wanted to help, he offered to pay for everything. And May, she was real thankful and she wanted to take him up on it, but the thing is? Ross could just turn around and do it again to some other kid and their family. May said if it happened again it was because of them not fighting so she wanted to keep pushing on.”

Rhodey shakes his head, a bit conflicted. On the one hand there’s an already familiar flare of annoyance at Tony Stark, whose answer to everything seems to be to throw money at it. Yet on the other - it was a hell of a thing for him to offer to do for someone he had just met.

He also can’t help but admire May Parker’s bravery and tenacity. To go up against the hospital with all of its money and its fancy lawyers all on her own? That took guts.

“One night, Ross himself comes by and says he has a court order to withdraw treatment on my case.”

Lost in thought, it takes Rhodey a moment to realize that the kid is talking again, and once the actual meaning of the words registers, he feels himself grow cold all over. “What??”

“Yeah.” Peter swallows hard several times, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “See… what he’s done is… he’s accused May of child abuse. For doing all these expensive treatments and prolonging my life. He got all these doctors to say that it wasn’t in my best interest, it was causing pain and suffering. He had all these records that showed it was harming me and wouldn’t save my life in the end and he said a third party should be asked to make medical decisions on my behalf. Basically, Ross made it so the government had medical decision-making power over my course of treatment.”

Rhodey sits back, stunned silent once again. He knows there are certain laws for that kind of thing, but they are meant to protect kids from abusive parents, who use medical diagnosis to harm their kids-- Munchausen by Proxy, that kind of thing. He can’t believe anyone would do what Peter’s describing. It’s… it’s... unconscionable!

“Ross and May get into a big fight, and May… she’s in tears, alright? I hadn’t seen her like that since my uncle died. She starts pleading with him. Promises to back down if Ross doesn’t withdraw treatment. Says she’ll stop the lawsuits and the push to get the laws changed - drop the whole thing just… just to keep me going.” Peter grits his teeth, his breath hitching once again. “Ross was in my room, see,” he continues, voice tight with barely controlled emotions. “He didn’t want anyone witnessing what he was doing, and he’s right in her face, laughing at her tears. And I’m… I’m just lying there like a rag doll, useless!”

Peter’s face screws up as if in pain, eyes squeezing shut, and Rhodey can’t help reaching for the teen once more; lays a gentle hand on his back. Peter nods in mute thanks; breathes, slow and deep, in an attempt to calm down, in and out, in and out.

“And then Mr. Stark walks into the room, out of nowhere,” he continues, hoarse, “with like three lawyers in tow. I don’t know who called him or how he got there so fast, I don’t know any of that. He’s just there, looking like a king even in a hospital gown, you know? The lawyers, they’re talking fast, serving Ross with all kinds of notices and cease and desist orders, and there’s even…”

Peter’s voice chokes up a little, and he fists his hands around the edge of the bench, white-knuckled fingers digging in.

“There’s even a restraining order, so he has to leave us alone. He can’t say anything to May or me, not ever again. And he never… he never does. Ross never has talked to us again. And I start getting my medicine. Because of how sick I got without the medicine, I was moved way up on the list, but then thanks to Mr. Stark, I’m okay now. I’m good to wait. It’s actually good for me to wait, to get stronger, let this medicine heal my body.”

He turns, his gaze boring into Rhodey, intent, pleading. “But Mr. Stark, he… Dr. Rhodes, he can’t wait anymore. He passes the rope again, he, maybe, won’t be around when a chance comes back up again. That’s why… that’s why we went to Ms. Potts about giving him my spot.”

Rhodey nods grimly, digesting that information. “What about Dr. Hammer?” he wants to know. “He did the surgery on Mr. Stark, didn’t he? How did that--”

He trails off, taken aback by the abrupt shift in the teen’s expression. Peter’s whole face darkens, lips twisting into an ugly, bitter grimace.

“Hammer’s a hack,” he spits out with such venom that it leaves Rhodey gaping at him in frank surprise. “He botched that surgery. On purpose probably, too, I’m willing to bet!”

“Come on, Peter…” Rhodey shakes his head in disbelief, because an accusation like that? It’s utterly ridiculous!

“Ross threatened Mr. Stark, did I tell you that?” the teen cuts in as though Rhodey hasn’t spoken. “When they were arguing in my room, when Mr. Stark told him to get out? Just before he left, he pinned Mr. Stark against the wall and he told him, told him Mr. Stark would regret doing this. And you know what the last thing he did before leaving the hospital for good?”

“He assigned Dr. Hammer to do the surgery,” Rhodey guesses, feeling a horrible numbness spread forth within his chest. “But… why?”

“Hammer’s a butcher,” Peter sneers, voice dark with resentment, “everyone knows that. He only ever got to be a surgeon thanks to his daddy’s money and Ross’s influence. He never should have… he never should have gone anywhere near Mr. Stark.”

“He… I heard the nurses talk after. Hammer ignored the warning on Mr. Stark’s chart; gave him a drug that should never have been combined with the medicine Mr. Stark was taking. Nearly killed him right on the operating table. It’s what… it’s what’s killing him now!”

The teen grits his teeth; drops his gaze to where his hands are clasped impossibly tight in his lap. “I visited him the day after his surgery. He looked… he… I’ve never seen him look so bad. Like… like death. And he was in pain. He was trying to hide it, but I could tell.” He looks up again, his face twisting in anguish. “He’s dying, Dr. Rhodes. And there’s no one who can help him but you. Miss Potts, she told me, she said you’re the best in the field. That’s why I told her to take my spot, so you could… so you could save him. And then I hear he fired you, Dr. Rhodes, and I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

He looks at Rhodey with such raw, open worry that Rhodey wonders if he’s ever felt worse in his entire life, as if he’d kicked a puppy or pulled the wings off a butterfly. Killed a mockingbird, all that. Guilt and shame spread through his chest with hot prickles, as well as a burgeoning fear that he’d done something irrevocably foolish. He’d just thrown away the one chance he had to save someone… someone who is, despite what he’s been initially led to believe, utterly worth saving.

At the same time, he’s not sure how much he can rely on the opinion of a child, much less one so obviously emotionally compromised. There’s a chance that Stark had manipulated him, he hates to think it but it is a fact. People do... desperate things when they are desperate.

But Peter seems so damned earnest.

“Peter. I… I didn’t know any of that,” he manages finally -- as close to “I’m sorry” as he can get.

Peter nods gravely, brown eyes boring into Rhodey’s, dark, urgent. “I know, sir. I know. But… the thing is. Now you do. So what are you going to do about it?”

***

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, he really doesn’t. He went looking for Pepper after he dropped the Parker kid back in his room, and he will honestly blame his conversation with the teen - the conversation that left him so thoroughly shaken and off his game that he doesn’t become aware of his surroundings until he nearly collides with a group of interns that huddle in an oddly conspiratorial-looking clique in the middle of the hallway in front of Pepper’s office. It is only then that he snaps back to the here and now. It is only then that he becomes aware of the raised voices coming from behind the closed office door, and of the awkward glances the interns are throwing each other as they wait for Rhodey’s reaction.

“I refuse to allow it, Tony!” Pepper’s voice rages from behind closed doors, and Rhodey can see through the haphazardly open blinds as she paces angrily in her spacious office. “I can have you blue slipped!”

“A psychiatric hold, really?” Stark sounds peeved, his temper from earlier having escalated even further. “Don’t think I won’t sue you if you pull that crap, Potts! My lawyers are faster and smarter than your corporate lackeys. I’m not your hostage or your science experiment and you agreed, you agreed! I say when I’m done. And I’m done!”

“Well I take it back! You can’t do this! I won’t let you!”

Pepper is shouting now, her voice - a heart-rending mix of anger and despair, and Rhodey doesn’t even have to pretend not to overhear them now. Everyone in the vicinity can hear their argument, and the interns once again begin talking in low voices to each other, flicking awkward glances in the direction of the office.

Rhodey has had enough. Calling on his most authoritative tone, he shoos the interns back to work. Waits a few beats as he watches them disperse, chastised, and then marches determinedly toward the office, trying his best to ignore the angry rise of Stark’s voice.

His ears register an abrupt, almost choked-off cessation of Stark’s response just as his fingers curl around the door handle, followed by a clatter of office supplies being knocked off the desk and a heavy thud of a body hitting the ground. Alarmed now, he yanks open the door and freezes, just out of their line of sight, struck momentarily dumb by the scene that opens before him.

Stark sits on the floor, slumped gracelessly against the desk, his legs splayed out before him. His eyes are closed, ashen face pinched in pain, his trembling left hand tugging unsuccessfully at something inside the pocket of his pajama pants.

Pepper is kneeling before him, wide-eyed and almost as alarmingly pale as Stark himself, one hand resting on his rapidly heaving chest, the other gently pushing Stark’s hand out of the way to take out what the former has been so desperately trying to reach.

A bottle of pills.

Odd, Rhodey thinks, squinting as he tries to make out the label. Because he doesn’t remember seeing any mention of any specific pills in Stark’s chart. And yet...

“How many of these did you take? Tony? How many?” The undeniable urgency in Pepper’s voice cuts off his train of thought, and Rhodey notes the undisguised worry on his boss’s face.

“Three,” Stark huffs out, barely audible, eyes still stubbornly closed.

Pepper pulls back, lips pressed together into a thin white line, the bottle clasped tight within her trembling fingers.

“You know that's not safe,” she says finally, sounding like she’s pleading with Stark. “You know they're just supposed to give you time. They’re not a cure! Tony, these damage your heart if you take them too often, you know this! You know--”

“Yeah,” he cuts her off abruptly, pain-glazed brown eyes sliding open to stare back at her with tired defiance. “Yeah, I do know Pepper. I’m the one who helped develop the damn things. Mixing Palladium and Epinephrine, not in the usual bag of tricks. So yeah. I know.” He nods weakly to the bottle almost completely hidden within her crushing grip. “I need one now, though. Please.”

She watches him a heartbeat longer; sucks in a quick, shuddered breath. “Okay,” she concedes finally, carefully jiggling one out into her hand. “Okay, Tony, you win.”

Dejectedly she hands the pill over to him; stretches to get a bottle of water from her desk, while he pops the pill into his mouth. Reaches out to support him as he drinks, washing down the pill. It takes another few minutes before he nods to her, shifting as though to get up, and she helps pull him to standing, careful, anxious, her hands lingering on his shoulder, as if unable or unwilling to let go.

“Please, Tony, please promise me you won’t take any more of these today,” she pleads, and there’s an uncharacteristically vulnerable note in her voice, one Rhodey has never heard before. “Just… just give me some time, I’ll sort this out somehow--”

Stark smiles in response, weary and almost apologetic. Leans in to place a soft kiss on her cheek.

“Okay. Time. Sure,” he agrees placatingly. “All I got is time, Pep, you can take all of it you need to.”

The words sound wrong somehow, coming out of his mouth, like their meaning is different, like Stark is saying goodbye. And Pepper must sense the same thing, for Rhodey sees her open her mouth in protest…

Stark shakes his head, presses a gentle finger against her lips, silencing her. “We both knew it was a long shot, Pep. Part of the journey is the end, all that; I've been on borrowed time, I'm not about to borrow any of Peter's. We knew this doctor was a hail mary and it didn't work out. Let me leave, Pep. Okay? Just for a little bit. I'll see you soon.”

Rhodey doesn’t stay to hear her response. Steps back outside, letting the door close softly behind him. Mere moments later the door creaks open again, and Stark walks out, shuffling slowly toward the elevators. Rhodey watches him go, wondering briefly if he should go after him and stop him. But there are things about him he still feels he needs to know, needs to understand. So after a moment of hesitation he turns on his heel and pushes his way back into Pepper’s office before he can change his mind once more.

***

He finds Pepper seated back at her desk, face buried in her hands, shoulders trembling ever so slightly. It’s an uncomfortable sight, to be sure, and he has half a mind to tuck tail and run, but she raises her head just then, a pair of tear-filled blue eyes pinning him firmly in place.

“Dr. Rhodes.” She straightens out, a professional mask slamming back into place. “What can I do for you?”

And he flinches despite himself. Because this is Pepper. He’s known her for years, been a close colleague of hers for years. And he has been “Jim” or “Rhodey” to her for nearly as long. But the look in her eyes now is cold as ice - the same look he’s seen her level at those who dared cross her, and he finds it frankly terrifying to be on the receiving end of it.

Though, to be fair, he supposes he deserves it.

“I… I formed an opinion about a man based on the word of someone I don’t respect as a surgeon and barely tolerate as a human being,” he begins carefully, stepping closer to her desk, gauging her reaction. “What I have seen until recently seemed to have confirmed that opinion for me. And yet…”

“And yet?” Pepper prods, blue eyes narrowing in silent warning.

“I can’t help feeling that I’ve missed something,” he admits. “A couple people pointed out to me that maybe I was wrong in my initial assessment. That… that I should get a second opinion.”

He takes a deep breath, trying his best not to fidget under her steely glare. Squares his jaw in quiet resolution.

“So this is me,” he finishes softly, spreading his arms out to the sides, “asking for that second opinion.”

TBC

#ironhusbands #ironhusbands au #tony stark #james rhodey rhodes #doctor/patient au #hurt/comfort #angst #pepper potts #peter parker #co-authored work #tonystark5ever #somethingjustsouthofbrilliance writes

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mirrorimage003 · 6 years ago

Text

Title: cut me open, bleed me raw

Fandom: MCU

Feat: Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, Romanogers

Rating: T

Summary: set during the five year gap // natasha-centric // “His jawline could cut her, could slice her six different ways with barely any effort.She doesn’t quite understand why that intrigues her.”

His jawline could cut her, could slice her six different ways with barely any effort.

She doesn’t quite understand why that intrigues her.

Because really, despite her appearance and reputation, she’s not the kind of woman who enjoys unnecessary displays of violence. On the contrary, she’s a sucker for a well-written rom-com, and she still sleeps with the stuffed lion that Clint won for her at an amusement park over a decade ago (although that may be for deeper reasons than just her sentimentality).

Maybe it’s the way he’s grown into himself, into the Captain who exists and thrives in this era, instead of the freshly thawed, punch-before-you-look kid he’d been. Maybe it’s the way he’s learned how to slip in a lie with the confidence of a politician, but none of their dirty underhandedness. It could even be the way he spars with her like she’s someone to be reckoned with, not a girl playing at guns and knives.

More likely, it’s that he’s the only one who still visits her regularly at headquarters and looks at her with all the understanding that she needs without any of the pity.

They haven’t slept together. Haven’t even kissed, really. At least, not since that one time in that one mall running from that one guy all those years ago (funny, how the world had seemed like it was ending at the time).

But there have been moments among the Moments—instances occurring between the events of complete lunacy that is now their lives.

He’ll find her, after particularly devastating news have been delivered by one of the remaining team members—after she’s tucked away the part of her that is shredded open and throbbing with hurt hurt hurt—and has implemented some semblance of a plan for damage control. In those moments, he’ll hold her hand, or run fingers through her brittle hair, or sometimes just sit, shoulder-to-shoulder, and let the despair overtake them both for a minute.

There are other times, when the world (the universe, she corrects, because it’s not just Earth that they have to avenge anymore) seems to be on an upward trend, and they can almost forget how epically they have failed as people laugh and live around them.

Those times, it’s usually her that approaches him. She’ll pull up to his rundown apartment in the city (because even still, he prefers the simplicity of a “lower-class” life) with her 1996 Harley-Davidson, and he’ll meet her at his front door already sporting a worn leather jacket and an even more worn out grin. And they’ll go to that tiny, under-crowded Mexican restaurant on the corner of 8th and Broadway and eat their weight in beef tacos with extra cilantro.

He always bets that he can out-eat her, and she always wins.

And if she gets tipsy off of one too many margaritas (he drinks too, but his super soldier blood is still a huge pain in the ass), he’ll take the keys to the bike and she’ll cling to his broad back all the way home. She doesn’t mind, even though she knows he only buys her countless rounds because he loves getting to drive her Harley. Sneaky bastard.

It’s all of these moments and hundreds more that’s led her to where she is now: sipping at her bitter coffee, standing in the shadows of the destitute auditorium, and watching Steve wrap things up with his support group.

When he’d first come to her with the tentative idea to lead a few people in an emotional support group, she’d been the one to find the location and give him a few not-so-subtle nudges. At the time, she’d been relieved. It had been months after the First Moment (aka the Moment it all ended, and the new Steve and Natasha and Avengers began), and he’d been slowly waning into a dark solemnity that surpassed his usual contemplation.

She was already heading the Avengers (what was left of it) and attempting to locate anyone who was lost, and he’d been desperately needing a purpose. It wasn’t that he was doing nothing—because he was shouldering whatever responsibilities she hadn’t been able to catch and doing a phenomenal job at it—but there was a certain heaviness to his whole countenance that made her hackles rise.

That heaviness began to lift incrementally once the group had kickstarted. She’d never asked about the specifics of why or how his old self had returned, but she’d been overwhelmed with relief all the same.

He’d nicknamed the group “The Fledglings” half out of an off-brand kind of humor, and half in respect for Sam Wilson, who’d inspired his idea.

Now, as she listens to the soft, vulnerable tones of the members as they methodically and intentionally face and reface their pain, she thinks the name couldn’t be more perfect.

Natasha studies the slope of Steve’s nose as he announces the next meeting date and time.

Years ago, she remembers doing the same thing during some boring SHIELD debriefing—back when she and him had been a favorite duo of the recon and special ops department—and she’d noted that his nose wasn’t actually as straight as she’d always thought it was. Halfway down the bridge, it juts just slightly to the left, belying a previous break.

It must’ve been from his pre-serum days, since she knows for a fact that he’s taken more than a few nasty hits to his nose in the past few years (one from herself during a particularly aggressive spar), but they’ve always healed perfectly in less than a week. Fucking super soldiers.

She fixates on that little divot for a moment, then follows it down to his lips (which she promptly skips over for reasons she would rather not examine), and finally settles back on his jaw.

It’s still sharp, and she still wants to try her hand at dulling it.

The members begin to disperse, some hanging back to thank Steve or ask him a question. Natasha watches the muscles of his neck shift as he speaks.

Finally, the door shuts behind the last stragglers, and it’s only them.

“There’s no one to hide from here, you know.” Steve doesn’t even look at her when he says it, forearms flexing as he stacks the blue plastic chairs.

She finally steps out from her dark nook, dumping her empty coffee cup in a waste bin on her way. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

At her lack of playful sass that he’s so used to receiving, Steve pauses and eyes her.

“What happened?”

Natasha debates drawing this out, but she’s never been one to play coy—at least not when she doesn’t have to. She finds that she almost never has to around Steve, but mostly because he has the uncanny ability to sniff out her bullshit like a bloodhound on a rabbit.

“Rhodey found another trail.”

Her voice does not waver. Her body doesn’t even twitch. She’s very careful to remain relaxed. He purses his lips and sets down the chair all the same.

“Where?”

“Guatemala.”

“How bad?”

She stutters in a breath, hiding her shaking hands behind her back. He notices.

“Rhodey wasn’t even looking for him. Some teenager—a kid, really—ran right up to Rhodey, begging him to help his family. When Rhodey asked him what was wrong, the boy told him about a strange man who’d come and slaughtered his father. Along with eleven other men in the same night.”

Steve’s eyes are somehow achingly tender and sharply assessing all at once. “Who were they?”

“Dirty cops. All associated with arms dealing and drug trade in some form or another.”

He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, hands sliding into the pockets of his khakis. “And you?”

He’s using his I’m not Captain America, just your loving and concerned friend voice. She hates when he does that, because it always manages to wiggle underneath her emotional armor and she hasn’t figured out how to develop an immunity to it yet.

Instead of answering right away, Natasha pulls one of the stray chairs towards her, ignoring the awful screech it makes on the linoleum floor, and sits down. There’s a nervous kind of energy hovering just below her skin, something that itches and makes her want to run a few miles just to burn it out.

She ignores it—suppresses it—with a well-practiced numbing of her mind and a painfully steady breath.

“I wish I could meet you as Little Steve.” Her voice is distant even to her, and she’s not even sure where this half-accidental confession is coming from, but she dismisses his surprised look and plows right on. “Sometimes, I think I can almost see the shadow of him when I look at you. Like this vintage kid in baggy clothes and a too-big forehead is just blinking back at me. Just for a second.”

He doesn’t interrupt, recognizing that she has more to say, more to give.

“I think...I think I would have liked Little Steve.”

He quirks his mouth into a barely-there-smile, and sits on a chair directly across from her. If she stretches out her legs, she’d be able to poke him with her big toe. She doesn’t, even as she eyes the wrinkled fabric on his knees.

“I think he would’ve liked you too.”

Natasha glares at him then, though it lacks no bite. He’s bullshitting her, trying to make her laugh and realize that this hollowness she’s full of is just a passing sting, not a lifetime of biting down.

From all the reports and stories and files she’s read or heard, Little Steve was a thing of light. Coulson used to ramble on to her—before the Avengers were even a suggestion on Fury’s lips—about the incredible, straight-laced, honor-bound Steve Rogers who fought Hitler with a star slapped to his chest and an iron gavel of justice clutched in his bleached-clean hand.

For most of her life, she’d basically been raised by and with the kind of guys Little Steve used to sling his shield at on the battle lines.

She tells Big Steve this now with an arch of her brow and a tired sort of smirk.

True to form, Steve doesn’t back down. “I’m serious. Little Steve had a habit of getting drawn to people with bites worse than their bark.”

She does laugh then, a huff of hot air filling the space between them. “Is that what I am?”

He grins and nods, thick forearms crossing over his chest. “That’s what you are.”

His smile softens into something nostalgic that makes her heart pulse with I understand, I know I know I know you.

“Peggy was like that. So was Buck.”

“Peggy?”

It’s his turn to slant her a look that cuts her innocent facade down to the bone. She grins a little sheepishly and tilts her head for him to continue.

“I don’t know about what he was like in the Red Room, but the Buck I grew up with—he was the thing that grounded me, among everything. A lot of people think my life is divided by before-serum and after-serum. It’s not. It’s divided by before-Buck and after-Buck.” Steve’s eyes are unfocused, the echo of a deep appreciation, an unrepentant affection, resonating from inside out. Little Steve rises to the surface more vividly than ever. “And Peggy... I didn’t know a person could be like that. Could be so present, so built for the time and space that they occupied. She gave me something to work for—a purpose I could never reach, but I would gladly chase for the rest of my life.”

There’s a little bit of regret and a lot of longing in his voice as he says this, and Natasha finally gives in to her previous urge, the tip of her sneaker pushing against his leg with a comforting weight. He slides his foot out until the back of her ankle rests on the top of his.

“They were the ones who made me who I am now. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them.” Steve clenches his jaw once, twice, then relaxes. “I owe everything to them. I owed it to them. And now they’re gone.”

And it happens here. In the space between one second and the next, she knows. She understands—all too suddenly, all too intensely—why she wants to trace the hard edges of the man before her.

His edges are the same as hers.

In the oddest, most unexpected—most understated—way, they are the same.

The revelation washes through her with the force of a scorching bullet. She blinks hard against it, unable (and unwilling) to shake it.

In the absence of Steve’s voice, the silence has stretched out before them for minutes.

Finally—after allowing her spiking blood to settle, her heart to fit neatly into the Steve-shaped space (Big or Little, she isn’t sure) she’s only just realized that she’s been carving all this time—Natasha stands and eats up the floor between them with slow, steady strides.

Her knees are between his, and his hands are somehow already on her wide hips, but he looks up at her without any of the lust she’s come to expect from men. His face is relaxed, eyes leaking a patience she never knew could be directed at her.

And finally—with a shaky tenderness she cannot help—she lays the calloused palms of her hands on his marble-cut jaw.

“Clint,” her voice breaks here but Steve’s ice-blue eyes hold no judgment, “Clint used to tell me that it doesn’t matter what we tell someone; it only matters what we get someone to tell themselves.”

He doesn’t cut her, but it is a very near thing, because the feel of his stubble scratching at the pads of her fingers is enough to peel back the last layers of her self-preservation and leave her bare.

Her words are filled with a soft sort of confidence. “I don’t think anything that they had done or said could have made us who we are now unless it was already there from the start—unless we had already been planting those seeds from the very moment we existed.”

His broad chest fills with air under her hands and his thumbs dig into the meat just below her hipbones.

Only now does she allow herself to inspect his full lips. They are parted at the seam, parted with a silent promise she swears she can return, she can keep.

When it happens, it is not a passionate, messy thing that she has often seen in movies or read in cheesy romance novels. It is not burning with need or thrown to the wind like an afterthought. Neither is it wholly innocent or lighthearted.

First comes their foreheads pressed to one another’s, as if the mere proximity will be enough to meld them together. Then their noses bump, hot breath fanning over high cheekbones and soft dimples.

And even still, they remain, the demand of being heroes forgotten and abandoned for pressing on this still-fresh bruise that they have only just discovered to see if the pain is a healing one.

It is only when their heartbeats have properly synced that he tilts up, and she down, and they meet solidly somewhere in the middle.

It is not passionate or burning or needy. But it is whole. It is becoming one in a way that sex could only hint at.

It is enough.

Iron sharpens iron, Natasha thinks, and when she pulls away, she swears there’s a phantom trace of blood where her lips cut into his.

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

also found on AO3.

#romanogers #avengers: endgame #marvel #mcu #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #clint barton #james rhodey #marvel cinematic universe #mi3-writes #mirrorimage003 #romanrogers #capwidow #black widow #captain america #fanfiction

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