#his best insult was telling miles his suit was too tight in the back

[simplyender]

After seeing your tags on what an interaction between Glados and Spot would look like (100% spot-on btw, especially the part about him being disappointed about some of her quips, I bet he has heard worse), I can't help but wonder whether he and Wheatley would get along. I think not, even though they do have some similarities. Or maybe that's precisely why they couldn't stand each other.

aw ty

as for whether spot and wheatley would get along.....its sort of up in the air- i think theyve got their similarities, but a pretty big difference is that while both of them are convinced everything theyre doing is Correct and that theyre in the right for doing it, wheatley is....meaner? i guess? he tells you that he thinks you have brain damage like 5 minutes in to the game. its not intentional. but i dont think spot would be super keen on comments like that. hes genuinely a smart person, unlike wheatley. lmao.

oh also since wheatleys a little robot, spot will be freakishly invested in how he works. so he probably would gain a few points just for how interesting he is to him on an intellectual level. he might disregard a few boundaries and make wheatley p uncomfortable tho.

overall i think they COULD get along on a base level of interactions in terms of relating to eachothers struggles, since spots a pretty polite guy otherwise. but also since spot outdoes him intellectually he would get frustrated by wheatley if he kept doubting things he KNEW were OBJECTIVELY correct, or getting in his way. so ultimately no i dont see them liking eachother much in the end.

[tomthesoftie]

Hey, it’s me again. For the part two of ‘her blood-stained bodysuit’ where the reader is still upset about tom expecting to high of her, the next morning tom noticed it and try make it up to her..? Something like that... or you can make it your own way 😊 thank you in advance

her blood-stained bodysuit pt. 2

❧ prompt: all you wanted was to help your mobster boyfriend. you never expected your plan to go all wrong and result in failure. when you return home with blood soaking your suit and drying in your hair, how does Tom react?

❧ pairing: mob!tom x assassin!reader

❧ genre: angst, fluff

❧ warnings: cursing, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries, slamming a glass cup onto a counter (?), mentions of insecurity

❧ a/n: i got a backup laptop babies! it’s not actually mine but i’m going to get mine fixed soon :)) hopefully this part lived up to your standards, anon. i tried to make it angsty-er than the first part since someone reposted it saying it wasn’t as angsty as they expected. i didn’t find it as an insult because i took it more in a constructive criticism way. anyways, enjoy!

part 1!

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You flinched awake, placing a palm at the side of your head. Your eye shut in pain, letting out a shaking breath. You looked ahead of you, stabilizing yourself, before using both of your arms to push yourself up into a sitting position. Beside you, you heard the sheets rustling and felt movement beneath them. You froze in your spot, turning to face the sleeping figure.

Tom laid peacefully, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. His steady breathing filled the radio silent room. Flashes of the night before filled your mind, Tom’s voice ringing in your ears. 

“It’s so unlike you to be so reckless.“

“I expected you to know better.”

You let out an audible huff, forcing your aching off the bed. Your blistered feet touched the cool floor, relaxing your tense body. Quietly, you made your way to the bathroom with an occasional limp. 

Looking yourself over in the mirror, you took note that you looked like a mess: (h/c) hair a tangled mop, dry, cracked lips, and bruises littered your figure. You winced at the sight and began towards the shower. 

Stepping into the warm, fog-filled cubicle, you sighed as the warm water relaxed your tight muscles. Your arms wrapped around your torso, holding yourself as your hair flattened against your scalp. You let a hand fall to your thigh, fingertips dancing along the hem of your waterproof bandage.

Sighing, you stepped into the empty gym. You closed the door behind you, pulling off your large, black jacket. You placed the piece onto the bench, sitting beside it to put on your black tennis shoes.

The gym was a sad room at those hours. The hours when everyone was still asleep or slowly awakening, when the rising sun was concealed by the overwhelming fog. Through the teal-tinted glass, the opaque light in the room was faint, shadows hiding in the corners of the room. The air was still, an occasional shift when there was the slightest of movements. 

A chill ran down your spine, as you shook, and goosebumps slowly arose from your soft skin. Rubbing your arms for warmth, you grabbed the black hair tie and pulled your hair up into a tight ponytail.

You worked hard for the next couple of hours, pushing yourself over your limit. Occasionally, you stopped when you felt a sharp pain in your thigh or your vision spun you off balance. 

After another shower, you made your way into the kitchen, smelling of fresh soap. You grabbed a glass of water, chugging the cup in one go. You leaned against the island of your kitchen, staring out the large window and at the gorgeous scenery of trees. 

“I’ve done everything I can to be the top,” you spoke, quietly, “Where did I go wrong?” 

“G’morning, darling,” Tom’s groggy voice filled your ears, as you felt him place a gentle kiss to your temple. 

You flinched back at the sudden contact, strangely alert to your surroundings. 

“Sorry. Did I touch your wound?” A concerned hand came up to your face, gently moving your hair behind your ear.

Shaking your head, you moved towards the stove, thinking about ways to improve yourself on the field. Just as an idea popped in your head, his voice came up again. 

“It’s so unlike you to be so reckless.“

“I expected you to know better.”

Your head snapped up, and you looked behind you. “What’d you say?” You asked with a venomous tone.

“I just asked if you were feeling better, love,” he walked up to you and placed an arm around your waist, “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

Maneuvering out of his grasp, you replied, “Yes, I’m fine. I don’t need to be babied, Tom. I just have a lot going on in my mind.”

Concerned, Tom pushed further, “You know you can tell me anything.”

Frustrated, you harshly put down the glass in your hand, almost shattering it against the counter. 

Tom flinched.

“Look, I’m just really tired and sore and frustrated, right now. If you could just leave me alone for a few minutes, maybe I’ll feel like putting up with you later,” you snapped, walking out of the room, leaving him no time to speak.

As expected, he followed after you, wondering what had gone wrong. He thought back to the night before, trying to remember if your attitude could possibly be a symptom of the medications you took. Shaking his head, he reflected the argument the pair of you had.

That must be it, he nodded to himself.

Unknowingly, you lead him to the gym, but when he tried to pull the door open, the glass wouldn’t budge. From within, he heard your gentle grunts and soft breaths, leading him to the conclusion of you exercising. Thinking to the injuries you had returned with, he began to worry and panic for you and your health.

What were you thinking? What if you injure yourself further? Why aren’t you prioritizing your health? Tom thought, growing frustrated, mostly at himself.

His fist banged on the glass, head spinning with negative thoughts, “Darling, you need to let yourself rest. You’ll only hurt yourself more if you push yourself over your limit.”

You heard the faint murmur of his shouts but decided to ignore it. If you were stronger, you wouldn’t be in the position you were in: a limp in your walk, ache in your thigh, and an occasional blur to your vision.

Stepping onto the treadmill, you dialed the speed to 5 miles per hour to start as a warm up. Within a minute, you pushed yourself to a run at 6 miles per hour, then to a sprint at 7. You were panting for air, sweat dripping down your face.

 You could still hear Tom’s protests, angering you further. 

Unsatisfied that you could still hear the noises in your environment, you brought the speed up to 7.5 miles per hour, a sharp pain slowly becoming more and more noticeable in your thigh. The blood that rushed to your ears drowned out anything and everything you didn’t want to hear.

Barely any time had passed when the faint pain in your leg began to feel like someone was constantly pressing on your wound. Additionally, your head was pounding, and your vision was growing blurrier by every passing minute. 

You brought a hand up to your forehead, fingers pressing into your temples, attempting to massage the pain away. Unfortunately, the pain stayed, and if anything, increased tenfold. 

“Fuck,” you murmured, arms grasping at the hand supports of the treadmill.

Before you knew it, your vision turned black, and the sensation of your body getting thrown into the air was all you felt before you went unconscious.

-

After too many attempts, Tom was able to successfully break the lock of the gym door. Hearing you continuously and vigorously increase the speed of the conveyor belt made him move in haste, leading to his multiple failures. He was too worried about your wellbeing to think straight.

As he stepped into the room, he saw your hands fall limp by your side, and your body rocked to the side, off balance. With wide eyes, he ran to your slipping figure before you could make contact with the hard floor.

“Darling? Love? Are you alright? Please answer me,” he cried, looking at the pain-etched face of yours.

Not receiving a response, he quickly stood, carrying you bridal style in his arms and back into your shared bedroom.

-

You rolled your head to the side, hearing a rustling beneath you. Your body felt overheated, aching to feel even the slightest of breezes.

As you began to move your leg to kick the thick duvet off your body, you flinched in pain, reflexively grabbing said leg to support it.

“Don’t move. You’ll only make it hurt more,” a gentle voice explained from behind you.

Consumed by your pain, you hadn’t even noticed you were tucked in your bed, back in your shared bedroom. 

The familiar brunette you had spent the day trying to ignore protruded from the shadows, eyes quivering and shining with tears.

“What happened?” You asked, throat oddly hoarse.

“You overworked yourself. You fainted whilst running,” he explained, “I was so fucking worried, darling. I almost lost you,” he shook his head, “No, I could’ve lost you, but I didn’t. I’m so lucky to have opened that door before you hit the ground.” A few tears began to leak out of the inner corners of his chocolate eyes as he thought of the scenario of him not saving you in time.

“It’s all my fault,” he let out a loud so, “If I hadn’t said that you weren’t good enough or that you were too reckless, you wouldn’t be here,” he placed a hand onto the bed, “in this wretched bed, resting as you are now. Your thigh wouldn’t be bleeding out, right now, if I hadn’t insulted you out of frustration and worry. I wasn’t—” he hiccuped, “I didn’t have my head on straight. If I did, I would’ve been more generous and not passive to you. You were only trying to help me, and all I repaid you with were insults.”

Pitifully looking at your boyfriend, you moved a weak arm to his hand, tugging him down onto his knees. You patted his curled locks, giving him the best smile you could muster.

“I know you were concerned for me, but what you said really hurt me. You know how,” you thought for a proper word for a moment, “insecure I can be about my abilities in this field. There’s so much— too much competition in my industry and having to keep up this perfect, high-leveled assassin façade is taking a toll on my mental health.”

Tom’s eyes shook with despair. He never knew you felt this way. He’d never want you to have to deal with your hardships alone.

“But, because of you, I’ve been trying my best and pushing myself over so many of my limits to make me the best I can be. I mean, you’re one of the most powerful mobsters to be, so it would only make sense if I were one of the most successful and strongest assassin, right?”

Shaking his head, he cried, “No, not if it means breaking yourself apart and tearing your morale into pieces.” He grabbed both your small hands, enclosing them in his. He looked straight into your eyes, sniffling away his tears, “I don’t care whether you’re number one or number 3 billion. All I care about is your happiness and wellbeing. I want you to live your best life with me. I want you to feel like you can trust me and come to me whenever you need me because I am here. I will continue to be here through thick and thin. I love you. Not because you’re one of the most skilled assassins, not because you’re someone I can flaunt to others, but because you are the most beautiful, talented, intelligent, lovable person I know. I wouldn’t exchange you for the world.” 

This time, Tom’s eyes didn’t sparkle because of his sorrowful tears, they twinkled because of his love and adoration towards you and only you.

“I-I love you, too, Tommy, and I promise that I’ll come to you whenever I need you,” you placed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You can also come to me anytime as well,” you blushed.

“Thank you, love,” he tilted his head, smiling, thumb stroking the blush on your cheeks.

“Thank you, bubs, for having my back and understanding me and putting up with me.”

Pulling on his arm, you dragged him into bed with you to cuddle. He stumbled as he focused on avoiding touching your injuries.

That night you fell asleep in each other’s arms, an unbreakable bond connecting the two of you. You understood him, and he, you.

All left of that tragic night from before had dissipated into nothingness, except for her blood-stained bodysuit.

taglist: @marlenetough @big-galaxy-chaos @chloecreatesfictions-archive @dpaccione

[fanfic-cave]

Request incoming 😄 Since I love your OC Sera so much and Hunter / Omega as Dad / Daughter how about they teach Omega random daily stuff? Like swimming, dancing, singing, ice skating, baking or building an enormous sand castle. Something nice. And then the rest of the batch comes and they all have fun together. Like the big family that they are (at least in my head)

Okay that's not specific at all but I love the random nice familytime 💙

Breather

Rating: SFW/PG-13

Word Count: 2.2k

Pairing: Hunter x Fem Jedi!OC

Warnings: People in swimsuits/swimming, kissing/romance, star wars swears, alotta fluff.

Summary: Sera and the Bad Batch decide to take a day off. They enjoy some time relaxing and having fun, and Sera gets the opportunity to teach Omega how to swim.

Authors note: This is in response to a request, and I was really feeling some fluff. I like the idea of writing a chapter or two where its more relaxed and they get to spend some happy fun times together. Hope you enjoy!

@mangoberry99

The swimwear felt strange against Sera’s body. I don’t think I’ve ever worn something like this, she contemplated internally.

She frowned and looked at herself. She had picked this up at her last stop at a planet with a decent market, where they sold good clothes. The suit was a more modest 2 piece; swim shorts and a top with thin straps, and it exposed some of her back as well as a small strip of her midriff. The shorts were an emerald green, and the top was patterned with the same color green along with white and brown.

This is kriffing weird. She never wore anything so exposed, or tight. Not in public anyways. She then shoved away her thoughts, gathered her belongings, and ran off to meet up with the rest of the group.

They all really needed a break. Doing supply runs and odd jobs while avoiding being hunted by the empire was surprisingly draining. Sera had the idea that the group all go explore the lake just a few miles off of where she currently took up residence. She had crossed it several times while exploring on her own. The lake was a decent size, in a remote area, and it didn’t look like any creatures were living inside it, which seemed as good as it could get.

Sera wrapped herself up in a cloak she had and headed down to the lake, ready to meet them there. After walking a few minutes through a forested area, she could see the lake within distance, and noticed everyone was there.

Hunter was with Omega, they were both by the shallow part. Omega was kicking up water and laughing, clearly enjoying herself. Wrecker was already completely soaked, and was swimming more towards the deeper end, although he looked a bit awkward as he swam. Crosshair wasn’t near the water, and had opted to sit on one of the folding chairs they brought along. Tech was closer to the edge of the water, datapad in hand, and he looked to be researching, as well as taking dedicated notes. Echo had joined Crosshair at the safe distance away from the water, but he seemed to be relaxing. Sera had noted they all wore their swim clothes as she had requested.

“Hey!” She smiled and waved at the group, still holding onto her cloak. Everyone’s heads turned in her direction. “Sera!” Omega waved back enthusiastically. She wore a one piece swimsuit and had already gotten wet. She ran over to greet Sera, Hunter following close behind.

“This was such a good idea!” She jumped excitedly. “Of course it was kid.” Sera smiled at her and ruffled her hair, to which Omega responded by laughing. Sera’s eyes went up to Hunter now. He had green swim shorts on and wasn’t wearing a shirt, and it looked like he looked like he had been splashed a few times. Sera drew from her memory the last time she saw Hunter's shirtless body when he was injured back in Dantooine, and suddenly she felt her heart rate pick up.

“Hey Hunter.” Sera did her best to sound casual, and also made a point to stare at his face, not his chest. Hunter smirked at her, and then nodded in greeting. “I have to agree with Omega,” Tech began speaking. “This trip has given me the opportunity to analyze the flora on this planet, and a body of freshwater seems to affect the plant growth nearby…” Tech went on and Sera began to zone out. After a minute of pretending to listen, Sera turned her head over to Echo and Crosshair.

“Hey! Are you two going to be lazy banthas the whole time?” She shouted at the two clones who were several feet from the waters edge. Echo lifted his head up, and seemed irritated at Sera. “I have a feeling that going in water isn’t going to turn out well for me.” He then lifted his prosthetic hand and gestured to the rest of his body. “Oh.” Sera felt a little bad for just shouting at him. Of course the water would mess with his machine parts. She quickly wrote him off and turned her attention to Crosshair. “What’s your excuse, blaster brain?” Sera found herself growing a little more comfortable with Crosshair lately, and she expressed it by calling him whatever bad name or insult came to her head.

“Kark off.” Crosshair replied. Sera liked to think he was feeling the same way, as they both threw the insults back and forth at each other like it meant nothing. “Crosshair can’t swim!” Wrecker yelled to the group, still swimming in the water. He laughed and splashed water in Crosshairs direction, but only got Hunter, Omega, and Sera slightly wet. Crosshair growled in Wreckers direction, to which Sera raised an eyebrow at. “So if we threw you into the lake-”

“Try me, mir’sheb.” Crosshair glared at Sera warningly. She laughed at him and raised her hands up, palms facing him. “Fine, fine.” He rolled his eyes at her, and continued to sit in his chair. Sera felt Omega grab her hand and she looked down at her.

“Hunter was helping me learn to swim, could you come too, Sera?” Omega looked up at you eagerly. Sera looked at Hunter and he shrugged at you, trying to convey he didn’t mind one way or the other. Kriff it. “Sure Omega,” Sera tossed aside her cloak, along with her insecurities. “By the time we’re through, you’ll be swimming laps.” Omega cheered to herself. Sera smiled down at her and began walking into the water.

While walking past him, Sera looked to Hunter and made eye contact with him for a brief moment. He had a wide eye, nearly slack jawed look adopted on his face. When their eyes met each other, he quickly corrected the expression and looked away from her, heading into the water with the two of them. Is he blushing? Sera smiled to herself at the thought.

Hunter and Sera actually made a decent team with teaching Omega. He helped keep her afloat, and taught her the basic form in simple terms. Sera would step in to encourage Omega, or join Hunter in explaining or correcting her form, even swimming alongside her. Omega was a surprisingly fast learner, and was paddling after 15 minutes had passed.

“Are you sure this is your first time swimming?” Sera remarked questioningly, as Omega circled around her in the lake. “Yup! You guys are great teachers!” Sera doubted that they were that good, and chalked it up to the fact that she was raised on Kamino, which was a saltwater planet. It probably didn’t make sense, but she didn’t want to think about any alternative reasoning.

“That’s not us kid, you’re a good learner.” Hunter added his comment as she continued swimming. He was watching her closely, and Sera could tell he was being protective over her. The thought made her laugh to herself, since Omega had grown to be plenty capable on her own. Who was she kidding though? Sera was pretty sure everyone was protective of her. After all, she had been keeping a close eye on Omega too.

The afternoon passed by quickly. Sera and Wrecker pulled a prank and managed to splash Crosshair. With Wreckers strength and Sera’s use of the force, their combined efforts was just enough for the water to reach Crosshair. He was pissed of course, but they all had a good laugh. Omega and Wrecker played games in the water, with Sera occasionally joining. Echo had dozed off a few times. Eventually, Tech dipped his toes in the lake and surprised Sera with how adept he was at swimming. As the sun dipped down and it began to grow dimmer, everyone decided it was a good time to head back.

“We have to come back again!” Omega remarked, towel around her shoulders as she walked ahead with Wrecker and Echo. Crosshair was at the head of the group, and had been the first to start leaving. “I’m sure we’ll get to come again.” Sera spoke to Omega, and really did hope they could find time to do things like this, instead of missions and hiding. Sera stopped and everyone in front of her continued walking. She tried to dry herself off with her cloak, still feeling soaked. The cloak didn't do much, and it was now too wet to be of any use. She felt herself shiver a bit.

“Here.” Hunter approached her from behind, offering her a large towel. He was in close proximity to her, and she could hear him breathing. She had to concentrate to keep her own breathing steady. “Thanks.” She took the towel and wrapped it around herself, then continued walking. Hunter joined her and they walked together, now more distant from the rest of the group. Being alone with him reminded her of the last time they were alone together. Right. The kissing. She felt her heart skip a beat as she remembered it.

“Thank you, for today.” Hunter pulled Sera from her thoughts. She realized there had been at least a minute of silence. Sera continued to look forward and smiled. “It was no problem. Thanks for coming.” She smiled in his direction and he glanced at her. She felt herself shiver again, and couldn’t tell if it was because she was cold, or if it was a reaction from his stare.

“Still cold?” Hunter asked. “Just a bit.” Sera answered quickly, and looked away from him. “Thank you. For the towel, though-” Her stammering was interrupted when Hunter put his arm around her. He rubbed her toweled arm on the opposite side, trying to warm her up with some friction. Sera was caught off guard, and audibly gasped. “Sorry, this should help you warm up, if you’re okay with it.” Hunter looked down to her questioningly, and had stopped his movements.

Sera reached up and grabbed his hand as she began to speak. “Of course, you just surprised me. Not the first time that's happened though.” She smiled up at him, almost smirking at the memories that flickered through her mind. Hunter laughed quietly at her expression. “Yeah, you get your fair share of it too.” He pulled her in as he spoke, and Sera could feel his warmth from his body, with the more exposed part of her arm making contact with his skin. Electricity sparked through her body from feeling his touch.

They walked in silence for another minute, content with sharing each other's company, and body heat too. “We’re almost back.” Sera spoke up after some time had passed. The path was familiar to her, and she recognized they would turn a corner up ahead and her home would be within sight. Hunter stopped, and with his arm around Sera she stopped along with him. She looked up to him questioningly. “You okay?” She watched him expectantly, waiting for him to say something.

Suddenly, he turned and pulled her into him, planting a kiss on her lips. A small squeaking noise escaped her, and then she relaxed and returned the kiss. One of Hunter's hands was on Seras cheek, the other wrapped around her, palm flat on her back. Sera reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in and herself up to better reach him. Although the kiss was gentle, she could feel the passion behind it. He stroked her cheek first, and then ran his fingers through her hair. Sera felt a sigh escape her, and she returned his kisses more eagerly now. After a minute of kissing, Hunter was the first to break away, but returned to plant a kiss on her forehead.

“Well, I didn’t expect that.” Sera looked up to him as he pulled back to see her face. “I had to do that again. I would say sorry, except I’m not.” Hunter held her gaze with no hesitation, and Sera could tell he was sincere. “Well, I’m glad you’re not.” She reached up to kiss his cheek, and they stood for a moment, embracing each other. She listened to his breathing, leaning her head on his shoulder. Hunter made small circles on her back with his hand, and rested his head on top of hers. She wished they could stay here like this.

“I have a feeling we won’t get to have another day like today for a while.” Sera nodded after Hunter spoke. They seemed to be on the same wavelength more often than not lately, almost like they knew what the other was thinking. She pulled away and sighed. “Who knows. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” She and Hunter looked at each other for another moment, and Sera could tell her lack of confidence in her statement showed. She then turned away and began to walk forward.

Let me have this, Sera thought as they walked together. Hunter intertwined his hand with hers. Just let me- let them breathe for a minute, before we get thrown back into the flames.

She didn’t know who she was pleading with internally, but she continued to silently hope they could keep their moment of peace.

[the-pontiac-bandit]

Tobe + fist (if your still doing that tortall thing) the kalasin thing was AMAZING!!!

i’m SO glad you liked the kalasin story!! here’s one about tobe to thank you for the compliment!

Tobe whistled as he meandered down the long aisle in the center of the pages’ stables, horses perking their ears up or neighing quietly in greeting as he passed. He’d lived at the palace for nearly a month and had found--to the surprise of no one except himself--that it quite suited him. He’d known that Peachblossom, Hoshi, Magewhisper, and the rest were well-bred and well-trained, but even after Lady Kel had described the palace in detail, he still hadn’t been prepared for the sheer number of perfect horses, living stall after stall for what felt like miles of stables. Their coats shone, muscles rippling beneath as they responded to the lightest touch of his knee against their sides. It was like magic.

Stefan and Daine, meanwhile, were teaching him to control his actual magic, spending hours meditating with him and instructing him on the best ways to listen. He marveled for a moment as he walked at how much clearer the voices around him sounded, even compared to only a few weeks before, when he spent most of the ride south translating Peachblossom’s complaints about the mud for Lady Kel’s benefit. He’d spent time admiring and trading wry jokes with Loey’s shaggy ponies in the Riders’ stables and spent most afternoons practicing with his bow on their standing targets while they were busy on horseback, but that was a decision for next year. For now, he was more than content to enjoy the marvel of newly discovered magic and the heady sensation of his newly earned freedom.

He was distracted as he wandered through the stables, making his way towards the hay lofts at the far end, where he’d left some tack that needed mending. He was reveling in the sounds—although really, Daine had explained last week, they weren’t sounds as he understood them—of the horses’ idle gossip. Equine gossip was always so much more interesting than two-legger gossip, Hoshi had insisted time and again when he came to her and Peachblossom with a tidbit about one of his two-legger friends, and Tobe found that he had to agree.

He didn’t notice at first when the tones changed, but suddenly, he was aware that the genial chatter he’d been so enjoying had turned tense and quiet. Some of the more skittish warhorses had backed up to the corners of their stalls, pawing at the floor with hooves the size of the plates in the mess hall while the whites of their eyes shone in the dim light. Similarly, some of the more skittish pages had fled their horses’ stalls, eager to avoid broken toes or bruised ribs.

He knew what his job was now. He was to go find Stefan as fast as his legs could carry him and warn him that a fight was brewing. Then, Stefan would wander through the stables in the casual, quietly purposeful manner he had perfected, silently reminding the pages that they’d best groom their horses properly and pick fights on their own time. He’d witnessed it twice since he’d started as a groom, and he was eager to emulate the walk himself one day.

He’d already turned to go when a sample of the words drifted towards him over the quiet scuffles of pages fleeing the scene, eager to avoid the punishment work that they’d surely earn if they were caught brawling in the stables.

“A stupid trollop…no better than you ought to be…”

Tobe’s blood boiled at the sound of the words, ones he’d heard more times than he could count, from the mouths of new refugees or fellow soldiers at Mastiff, always out of his Lady’s earshot. Before he’d even made a conscious decision to do so, he was spinning on one heel and stalking back down the aisle. As he strode towards the corner stall, where the horses seemed most nervous, he drew himself up to the fullest of his fourteen-year-old height, thanking the gods for his recent growth spurt. He’d put on more muscle, too, as his voice deepened. He spared a moment to warn the horse—a particular favorite of his nicknamed Bonney by her rider—not to intervene, and then shifted his hearing to his ears to better hear the two-leggers, picking up more of the argument as he drew nearer.

“You shouldn’t do this, Halleburn,” Bonney’s rider’s voice was cold, her tone firm. Tobe was sure she must be angry. After all, his own mind was seething with rage. Instead, though, she sounded ice-cold.

“You shouldn’t be doing any of this, my lady,” Brennard of Halleburn replied. Tobe was still new to the manners of the nobility, but even he could tell that lady here was an insult, not an honorific.

“You’re just embarrassed that I beat you. If you spent as much time practicing as you do whining when you lose, you might have more luck next time.” Tobe was tempted to whistle quietly at her bold retort, but he was distracted by the sound of a scuffle, and by Bonney’s insistent Hurry in his head.

He rounded the gate into the open stall, his fist already drawn back like Lady Kel had taught him years ago in the town square of New Hope. Before he’d had time to consider attempting to resolve the situation peacefully, he was feeling the surprisingly satisfying crack of breaking bone beneath his fingers.

Both pages’ jaws dropped, blood dripping into Halleburn’s open mouth as he sputtered indignantly. He spared not a word for Tobe, instead spitting blood in his general direction as he sprinted out of the stall and down the aisle. Tobe was sure he was bound for Lord Padraig’s rooms, but he could hardly bring himself to care. His blood was pounding in his ears, his heart racing in his chest, as he seethed over the page’s words.

He took one deep breath, then another, fighting to control his emotions and his shaking hands. It was as the anger cleared that he recalled he was not alone in Bonney’s stall. The female page was staring at him, mouth still open in shock. Belatedly, he remembered his manners, bowing deeply in the manner Stefan had drilled him on as he stuttered.

“I apologize—I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to disrespect—Page…” and then he trailed off. While he was intimately familiar with the details of the page’s riding skills—well beyond her fourteen years, according to Bonney—Bonney had never thought to mention her rider’s name—or how pretty she was.

“Marinie,” she replied. She finally closed her still-open mouth, but her eyes were still flashing with anger. “Marinie of Shaila.”

“Page Marinie,” Tobe filled in, finding words as he calmed. “I do apologize for my outburst. It was not my place. I hope you can forgive my rudeness.”

She brushed past his formal apology with an impatient shake of her dark braid. He noticed her hair—longer than both Lady Kel’s and the Lioness’ but braided tight against her head. After a day’s worth of hard work, shorter pieces in the front had fallen out, some framing her face while others curled out from her head. One lock fell in her eyes with the shake of her head, but she brushed it away absentmindedly as she replied, “He’s going for the Training Master, you know.”

Tobe shrugged. “Stefan’ll be disappointed, but Daine’ll think it’s funny.” He’d discovered quickly that Daine always thought such misbehavior was worth a laugh. Numair said it was because she lacked discipline, but there was laughter in his eyes as she elbowed him in response.

Marinie smiled quickly at that, her demeanor shifting from frustrated to friendly in a breath. “She probably will. In one of our lessons on horse care, she told Carlin of Irenroha his horse would bite his nose if he kept sitting like a lazy sack of flour at the trot. When Carlin tried to complain to Lord Padraig, m’lord just told him Daine was right.”

“That sounds like her,” Tobe replied. He wasn’t sure if he should go before Lord Padraig returned to chastise him or stay to clean the blood off the floor of Bonney’s stall. Now that the adrenaline was leaving his body, he could feel his fist hurting where it had made contact with Brennard of Halleburn’s face. He shook it out as he turned to leave the stall for the tack room, where sponges and brushes for scrubbing could be found.  

“Why’d you do it?” Marinie asked. She was surprisingly direct, for a noble, and he found the corners of his mouth twitching at her lack of inhibition.  

He stopped, one foot out the gate of the stall, to answer. “I worked four years for the Lady Knight Keladry, and—”

He’d meant to continue to explain, about all of the muttered insults and unfair accusations and his disappointment that such things were said even in King Jonathan’s palace, but Marinie had already cut him off.

“You know Lady Knight Keladry?” Her face lit up at the information, a smile breaking across her freckled cheeks. “What’s she like? Is she as good with her glaive as they say? What about the lance? I didn’t get to see her joust on Progress—my mother said I was too young, even though I wasn’t, and—”

She cut herself off, her cheeks reddening slightly as she scraped a well-worn boot against the stable floor. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to say.”

Tobe grinned properly at that. “She’s even better. You should see her joust against Lord Raoul—that’s a real match. She hasn’t beat him yet, but she sits in the saddle all firm, and her horse is all muscle and speed. She rides him like something out of legend, and he can bite something fierce. He’s too big for pretty much everyone, but they manage well, and he’s got a beautiful strawberry coat—”

“You’re talking about her horse,” she interrupted him again.

“Right,” he caught himself. He rubbed his hand again. It was properly throbbing by then, his first two knuckles already beginning to swell. Lady Kel hadn’t mentioned how much punching someone hurt—he’d have to tell her when he next wrote.

Page Marinie eyed his fist, a knowing look in her dark eyes. “You should come to my rooms. I have bruise balm that’ll help loads with that. You won’t be able to use that hand tomorrow otherwise.”

“I shouldn’t,” he replied, a bit uncertain. “I really should be cleaning this mess. That’s what’ll get me with Stefan later, if Bonney here tells him she’s been smelling blood all evening.”

She shrugged. “Meet me back here at the second bell after supper, and I’ll help. I finished my punishment work in the armory two days ago, so I have the time.” His heart skipped a beat at the invitation, and he could feel his cheeks redden just a bit.

He started to protest, but she was already interrupting him again. “If you hadn’t done it, I probably would’ve. He deserved it. And if you really want to thank me, you can tell me stories about Lady Kel—not her horse—on the way.”

[lilyharvord]

i need some marecal fluff please help

hehe, ask and ye shall receive. Here, have some older Marecal. (((: 

Grace 

I don’t remember when I stopped looking like myself.

Maybe it was after Coriane. I’m doubtful of that conclusion. She was a tiny baby, and I had bounced back into my uniforms at a pace that Farley had grumbled about for months. I was convinced that I would be able replicate the process almost five years later. My pregnancy with Shade had been a whole different beast though.

It had to be after Shade then.

I turn to the side, and twist my lips at my image in the mirror. No amount of training had been able to remove that pouch between my hips. Nothing could get rid of those stretch marks that crept up the sides of my stomach either. Sara had told me they were beautiful when I mentioned quietly how I felt about them. They’re a testament that you carried two babies in there, and they’re a reminder of that wonderful process, she had told me as she spooned applesauce into her second son’s mouth. She had adopted him out of a war torn Piedmont family, and she adored him as if he came from her own body.

I didn’t need reminders of that process. I had two reminders already, running and shrieking in my house, waking me up at ungodly hours by tapping on my cheek, or driving me up the wall with their antics. I was fine with just having that, I didn’t need the reminder on my body too.

I just didn’t look like myself anymore.

Running a scrutinizing eye over the rest of my body, I feel my lips pull down into an even deeper frown at what I see. My hips are wider than I remember them being a few years ago, and my breasts are definitely two different sizes. I blame Shade and Coriane for that. My son had refused to stop nursing, and my daughter had been terrible at nursing in general. I have more scars than I remember, and those thick branching ones on my back seem to get a little wider every month.

Mare Barrow of the Stilts would be shocked to know what her body would like at 35. She knew she might look like her mother someday, thin and wispy, with a little more chipping off like old paint every day. She probably hadn’t pictured what would happen after countless battle injuries, living more comfortably than she even could have imagined, and two children though. I bet if I went back in time to tell her what she would become, who she would become, she would laugh in my face and spit at my eye sometime between throwing insults.

“Mommy.”

Snapping my robe closed with my heart pounding in embarrassment, I glance over my shoulder to spot one part of my musings. Standing there trying to do his little tie, Shade shows me his tangled up fingers with a pout.

I chuckle softly at his expression and beckon him to me. He hurries across my bedroom so I can crouch down in front of him and untangle his hands.

“Why didn’t dad help you with this?”


“He’s busy on a call from uncle Kilorn. I told him I could do it myself.”


“Uh huh.” I nod with mock seriousness as I start the knot over. He’s only seven, but he’s got an independent streak that puts him in some tight spots that Cal and I have to rescue him from more often than not. He watches my hands with narrowed eyes as I work, probably trying to memorize the movements. When I finish, I ask, “What is Cori doing?”

“She’s done getting ready. She’s in the family room reading.” Shade shrugs as I tighten the knot just a smidge more and adjust the collar of his little suit jacket.

“Did she brush her hair?”


“I dunno.”

“Does her hair look like a lion’s mane?” I tease and he throws his hands over his mouth to hide his smirk, his only tell when he lies. At least he inherited his father’s complete inability to lie. Coriane on the other hand could lie her way to the moon if she wanted, and I blame my parenting for that. I taught her young how to get out of things, I regret that now.

“Did she tell you to lie to mommy and say she brushed her hair?”

He shakes his head quickly but doesn’t take his hands away from his mouth. Raising my brow at him, I wait for him to break completely.

He sits in silence, his eyes darting left and right. Eventually I notice his face progressively getting redder and redder.

“You can’t hold your breath and pass out to get out of this.” I snort before rising from my crouch, deciding to let him off the hook. I hear his rapid exhale and inhale as I leave my room and head downstairs.

Sure enough, my daughter is curled up in the window seat, her nose buried in a book. She’s dressed in the nice pants and shirt Gisa made for this occasion. Unfortunately, her hair is hastily tied back into a ponytail. It looks more like a bush attached to the back of her head than hair.

“What have we talked about?” I ask her as I approach. Her shoulders pull up to her ears at the sound of my voice, and she glances at me with a sheepish smile.

“I’m almost done though; can’t I just finish?”

“We’re going to be late if you don’t get your butt upstairs and brush your hair.” I admonish, as I hold my hand out for the book. Her face falls, before it shifts dramatically into that pleading face she knows gets her anything she wants.

“Just one more chapter? Pleeeeeeeaaaase?” She bats the thick, long lashes she got from Cal and although a part of me still melts at the sight, I’ve learned my lesson. Give her rope, and she’ll walk for miles.

“No, no more one chapter. You stayed up until two reading.” She blushes red, and she opens her mouth to refute my words. “Don’t even try. Dad went to bed then and saw the light on in your room.”

Her lips twist to the side, and she chapters her book off before handing it to me, begrudged. I take it as she slides out of the window box, a knowing smile touching my lips. Giving her a little nudge between her shoulders blades when she hesitates and gazes longingly back at the book, I say, “You can have it back at the dinner tonight. And I’ll even let you bring a second book to start.”

Her eyes light up and she takes off, her feet pounding on the stairs as she goes. Setting that book down on the side table, I follow her. As I enter the hallway, I can hear Shade in her room, chattering away. I can almost picture the layout of her room perfectly. He’s perched on her bed, kicking his heels and playing with the fringe on her blanket. Coriane sits at her little vanity, brushing her hair so quickly she’s probably pulling it out in chunks, while nodding along to whatever he says.

My children remind me so much of Shade and myself that it makes my chest ache somedays. I’m sure it reminds Cal of Maven too. We have yet to truly discuss that with our children. I wonder if I’ll be able to tell them what truly happened. We’d have to do it sooner rather than later though. Coriane is starting higher school soon, and when she does, her history classes will start to turn toward the Nortian Civil war. She’ll need to understand what the names on those pages mean.

I pass my bedroom, and lightly knock on the ajar office door. Cal’s eyes dart up from the papers in his hand when I open it further and stick my head in. I give him a fake smile and hold my hand up to tap my wrist. He rolls his eyes and gestures to the phone he’s balancing in his ear. Huffing at that, I storm across the room before pulling it away from him.

Pressing the receiver to my ear, I try to ignore the look Cal throws my direction. “Kilorn, the speech sounds fine. You’ve had ten different people read it, including me.” I glower at Cal then, who simply shrugs in response. “Now if you don’t mind, I do need to steal my husband so that he can handle our children because I’m not dressed yet, and I don’t plan to be late to my best friend’s inauguration.”

Kilorn is quiet on the other end before saying, “It’s going to be good right? I’m not going to sound too… wishy washy?”

“If you sounded wishy washy, I wouldn’t have voted for you. I’m hanging up now, we’ll see you at the ceremony.” I press the receiver down before he can reply and drag a hand down my face.

“You gave him a much needed confidence boost there.” Cal teases as he sets Kilorn’s speech aside and rises from the chair. His shirt is still unbuttoned, and he’s missing his jacket. I grab at the shirt and start buttoning it up, ignoring the teasing smile he gives me when my cheeks flush slightly.

“You should have done exactly what I did and then helped Shade with his tie. He got his fingers all tangled up.” I admonish before patting the finished buttoned-up product. He tilts his head down to smile before sliding his fingers under my chin and lifting my head a bit more. “Plus, I had to corral Coriane who definitely did not put her conditioner in last night, so we’re going to have to deal with that mess before we leave.”

“They’re going to look fine. Besides, no one is going to be looking at us. This is all about Kilorn today.” He murmurs before pressing a light kiss to the tip of my nose.

I sigh in exasperation at his words. “People will look, they always look.”

“And we’re going to look just fine.” He presses one kiss to my temple, and then turns my head to press one on the other side.

“You’ll like fine; you always look fine.” I close my eyes at the feather light touches, melting just a bit.

A kiss gets pressed to one of my eyelids. “You are always the most beautiful woman at these things, you know that.” Another kiss lands on my other eye. I scrunch up my nose in distaste and open my eyes. He slowly pulls away to tuck my hair behind my ear in response.

Sliding a hand around my waist he pulls me up so that our bodies are flushed against each other. He hasn’t changed much over the years. At 38 he still looks like he’s pushing 24. All those good silver genes that have been passed through the generations. There are laugh lines starting to cut around his mouth, but that’s hardly a fault. I hope Shade ages like him. I don’t have to worry about Coriane, she looked like Cal the day she was born, and she’ll look like him for the rest of her life. She has the same amber eyes, and the same jet black hair. My features are hidden, but they’re there. In the shape of her nose, the hint of honey brown in her hair, and her smaller size. Everything else is her father though.

He guides my arms up to wrap around his neck before sliding his hands down my body to rest on my waist. With a smile that has always coaxed me back into bed on mornings when our children are still sleeping, he whispers, “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and will ever see.”

“Now your pushing it.” I grumble as I try to escape his embrace. He pulls me up against him though so that I have no hope of getting away, and presses a kiss into the hollow below my ear. My eyes close involuntarily and my mouth falls open in a soft exhale at the sensation.

He presses another kiss against my neck and breathes against my skin. “You are, and always will be.”

I can feel my entire body responding to him. Damn, if he’s not careful I’m going to drag him down the hall to deal with this properly. We’ll definitely be late to the inauguration then.

“You know I’m not who I was when you first fell in love with me,” I whisper that thought quietly against his jaw. It had been nagging at me for days, and this morning it had really come to the fore as I stood in front of the mirror. He could say I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen all he liked, but that didn’t mean I had to believe it.

His hands trail along my back and he whispers into my hair, “And I’m not the same either. It doesn’t change anything.”

“Don’t lie. We both you know look the exact same as you did when we first met.” I grumble, earning a little laugh from him.

“Do not. Besides, what does it matter what you look like now?” He pulls away enough to bring a hand up and trace his thumb along my lower lip. With another gentle smile he tips my chin down to press a kiss to the space between my brows. “You’ve brought two beautiful children into the world, and that still hasn’t stopped you from running head first into battle. You are still the force nature I feel in love with.”

I can’t help the smile that creeps to my lips as he presses soft kisses down the ridge of my nose. When he reaches my lips, I hug my arms a little tighter around his neck. “Careful, if you keep talking like this it might be three children.”

His eyes light up, and he presses the ghost of a kiss against my lips. “I would not be opposed.”

“Ew.”

I pull away from the actual kiss to glance over my shoulder with a light laugh. Shade stands in the doorway with his sister, looking every bit as disgusted as he sounds. He makes a face and pretends to gag in the hallway. Even Coriane looks a tad more disgusted than usual. Her lips twist to the side as she looks at us. “Are you two going to make out? Cause that’s gross.”

“Bleh.” Shade makes another pretend gag sound in the hallway.

“It’s hardy bleh.” Cal teases before sweeping me to the side and into a dip. “Your mother is beautiful and I plan to kiss her as long as I can.” I gasp at the sensation of falling backwards before smirking as he presses another kiss to my lips.

“Gross!”

“Yuck!”

“You guys are so gross!”

“Yuck, yuck, yuck!” They sprint down the hallway on the tail end of Shade’s words, both of them making gagging sounds that were comical no matter how unreal they sounded.

“That certainly got rid of them.” Cal smirks as he pulls me back up to my feet. I smack his shoulder playfully in response.

“If they heard what I said, I am not going to deal with the fallout of that.” I adjust my robe that had fallen open slightly and push my hair into some resemblance of order.

“I’m sure they know where babies come from by now, Mare. Coriane is twelve, and kids talk.” He passes by me, but not before hooking the top of my robe and pulling it away from my shoulder to press an open mouthed kiss there. I push his face away and wrestle my robe closed.

“Later, you pain in the ass.” I tease at his back. He doesn’t even give me a response. Instead, he calls down the hallway for the kids, already telling Coriane to get in the bathroom so they can fix whatever else she’s done with her hair. I hear Shade shriek with laughter a heartbeat later which means he must have chased him and caught him.

Smirking, I slip out of the office and close the door behind me. Immediately I can hear Coriane in the bathroom whining that there’s too much conditioner, which Shade immediately laughs about too. Pacing along the wall, I glance over the pictures we have hanging there. Tracing the one of Coriane holding Shade the day he was born, I let my fingers hover over that one the longest.

Another loud protest from Coriane draws my attention back to the bathroom and I glance inside at the scene before leaning against the doorway. Coriane pouts at her reflection while Shade perches on the edge of the bathtub watching the whole thing. Cal continues to thread his fingers through our daughter’s hair through her protests, taming the curls as best as possible. Even when his fingers get caught on a particularly nasty knot and she pulls an ugly face that makes Shade howl with laughter.

Yes, Mare Barrow from the Stilts definitely wouldn’t have been able to guess that this is what she would be watching on a spring day in her future. But in some ways, it’s better than anything she could have imagined.

[currentfandomkick]

I have no excuse on this, just saw the prompt and wrote. inspired by @virgil-is-a-cutie‘s post where Marinette was from Gotham and moved to Paris, many liberties taken on timeline though, and with @justafanwarrior‘s comment on it

-

Marinette blinked a few times when her parents told her the first time that her grandfather on Papa’s side died, and they were going to move into his old bakery.

She was twelve.

She was getting ready for Tim (who’s elven and should not be allowed follow Robin without backup). She just finished working on a bit of embroidery for his suit when the Wayne Gala came up.

She didn’t know how to feel other than dread. (new country, language lessons, culture shock, losing her friends, her connections, her room and so much more).

She was quiet, nodded, and got ready for bed on time.

She whispered about it to Tim, who she watches out for. Because he’s small, an idiot with a very nice camera and she has to. Its her job to—she caught him when he almost fell and they were ten and nine. Like Jason caught her once. (She was so much smaller then, barely remembered the place but she slipped and Jason Todd caught her and told her to always watch her step because no one else will do it for her. well, she decided that she would watch hers and other people’s. because someone should, so why not her?)

She hadn’t seen Jason for years though. She knew he’s a Wayne now, but Waynes and Drakes have some weird rivalry thing and the Dupain-Chengs cater for the Drakes. So she hasn’t seen him in their neighborhood, not around her family’s business (or her ‘Uncle’ Oswald’s) or anywhere really.

Instead she saw Tim who she decided a long time ago was hers to watch out for.

She couldn’t take him to Paris though.

Tim didn’t like it any more than her. They both know they can’t stop it.

But Marinette made sure he was better at looking out and watching before she left.

It was a year of renovations to make the bakery and house above ready for them. Marinette was moved in the summer. She hugged Tim tight before she left, on one of their rooftop runs for fun (the memory, their last run ever) rather than BatWatch.

They didn’t know Robin saw them  for a moment and was ready to give them a Big Lecture, because why would they? They were just moving to breathe, moving to scream in silence and ignore everything they don’t get to control. They were roof top running to have some control in a situation neither of them had any.

Marinette and Tim dropped down to her house, since it was over… for good.

“No going out there again since I can’t go too.”

Tim nodded, crying against her. She cried tooo. They both hated it.

Marinette moved to Paris the next day, beginning of summer. Beginning of the extra crazy as Gotham summers were always ripe with more rogues and more time and more ‘help’ than the rest of the year.

Marinette missed it. She was in Paris helping her parents do a grand opening. It was a success. Maman was glad they got out of Gotham, murmuring it would be better for Marinette. Marinette disagreed, but didn’t contradict her or Papa who was so much happier in Paris than in Gotham. He missed his home city.

(Marinette missed Uncle Oswald showing up at random to make sure no one was doing anything ‘untoward’ to her or people she said he should help. Paris seemed to have a different breed of ‘untoward’ that were well hidden. No one kept them in check. No Batman here to try, no Uncle Oswald to warn her, and no Jason to remind her to watch out for herself.)

On the first day of school Marinette was thrown into being a superhero. Ladybug—she should have used Ladybird or Coccinelle because it was so American but she panicked and now she’s a very American Named Hero of Paris. She prayed no one made the connection.

When Jason Todd died and made the news in the middle of her first year, she cried. A lot. She was Ladybug and couldn’t afford to be akumatized but her parents knew that even if Jason wasn’t around for her since she was little, that she kept those memories close, kept those pictures and wished him the best. They were grieving too—he was almost their son (they tried so hard to get him to stay, but he didn’t want to. He had a mom to care for and Marinette should have asked Uncle Oswald for help when Catherine looked off to her but she didn’t. She was seven and Jason begged her not to say anything so she didn’t.)

She was doing good as Ladybug. (more like putting out fires than fixing the problems, but she did only have observing Batman and Robin to go off of, and none of what she saw was the detective work.) She took down akumas, was working on becoming a good guardian in the future (the kwami admitted she and Chat were the only candidates… the temporary heroes weren’t even in the running) and becoming a better designer. (She now works for Jagged and Clara on the design itself, they have official seamstresses that build her creations to her standards and specifications. She handles the fittings and adjustments when her schedule allows.)

Then Lila showed up and Marinette didn’t get how they didn’t see through the lies. Marinette will admit her lies in French are just… bad. Thankfully they all write it off as her mistranslating her thoughts and her speaking five languages (English, Italian, Spanish, French and Mandarin) rather than it being an attempt at lying. She’s better in English, okay?

But Lila’s were outrageous, even for their school. Maybe it was Gotham, (Uncle Oswald murmuring how to spot a con and a manipulator a mile away, Jason reminding her to be suspicious of every good and too good deal offered, especially with nothing backing it) but she didn’t put too much into Lila on sight.

Then the Ladybug lying and things escalated.

Chloe caught the Drakes talking to one of the events her parents were catering to. Janet was inspecting Marinette’s latest work while Marinette let the woman analyze her choice before being dismissed with a “You have improved, but do try using that sewing machine for your seams next time.”

Tim had been standing with her and they were allowed to escape the crowd to catch up. Tim was not shocked to find out she’d taken to destroying people in Ultra Mecha Strike III on a city wide scale (she won) while Tim was working on more professional photos and debating taking up a sport to be more well rounded (he’s thinking baseball or track because of the running) and they both skirt around her design success because it could jinx it.

Not long after Chloe makes an effort to get along with Marinette. Marinette made a few things clear: she’s not a lackey and neither is Sabrina, that Chloe needs to stop using her family to get out of everything, and that Chloe needs to apologize for hurting people intentionally.

Unsurprisingly, this didn’t go over well the first time.

Sabrina did get close to Marinette instead (Marinette had no issue with this) and joined the girl gang.

Marinette was still skeptical (daughter of a cop versus anyone from gotham is a recipe for disaster) but so far Sabrina just needed to be given normal friend treatment en masses to calm down her obsessive tendencies. It may have reminded Marinette of Tim and his obessions. Kind of like how Marinette took to Alya (superhero obsessed like Tim, and protective like Jason) so she was quick to get used to her.

Chloe did make amends that year (slowly) and kept doing so.

Chloe and Marinette did agree on one thing: Lila is a scam and they didn’t want the class falling for it. So Marinette made suggestions to keep her friends on track for their interests (actually practice, don’t wait for opportunities) while Chloe took to openly opposing Lila as the one Lila can’t touch.

It kept Marinette safe from her attempted manipulations. Chloe was all for it—as Bustier isn’t able to cow Chloe the way Marinette knows the woman would try on Marinette. And language miscommunications could make her seem more complacent and get her in more trouble for not being as complacent as Bustier wants her to be.

Then came the anniversary. The first one. (and the one where Tim is a Wayne now, thanks to Janet passing and Jack being found negligent.)

Lila made the mistake of talking about Jason. Like he was nothing. Like he was a problem and rude and cruel. And a creep.

“I mean, not to speak ill of the dead but…”

“Then shut your trap.” Marinette stuck to Italian. Alya stiffened as Italian had become Marinette’s ‘I am emotional and need you to understand’ language as far as the class was concerned.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to be insensitive…” Lila said in an almost convincing act. Almost.

“Well you are Rossi,” Chloe glanced at Marinette, as she didn’t know what the connection to Jason was.

“I mean, its not like he was much than a…” Lila shut up as Marinette was stalking forward and this? this was not was Marinette was supposed to do. Throw a fit, make a fool of herself, something like that.

Marinette only saw someone trying to drag Jason through the mud. Everyone moved away when Marinette approached (like Uncle Oswald in a silent rage) and she didn’t quite remember what happened from there.

She did remember ending up at the principle’s office with her parents and Lila’s mom.

Who was finding out a number of lies Lila told and Marinette could feel a Talk coming on for her. (Good.)

But then it moved back to why they were there and Marinette saw red as “She was talking about Jason.”

Her parents stilled as that was (almost) family.

Maman was smiling too wide then as “What were you saying about him?”

Lila squirmed as she repeated words that were Wrong.

“She made it sound like he was nothing.”

Tom was the one that terrified them all then, turning to Miss Rossi. “So you mean to tell me your daughter was insulting a child who was murdered that my family was in the process of adopting before he vanished when his mother died and was taken in by the Waynes.”

Damocles paled as Miss Rossi had made it sound like she was getting back at Marinette for bullying her (something everyone but Bustier had denied vehemently. Especially Chloe and Chloe’s word outranked Lila’s) but with all of this… it seemed more like Lila was the issue.

Lila was trying to process the new information. Marinette was going to kill her was her conclusion.

“Miss Rossi could not have known of that connection,” Damocles said, eyeing the girl with something guarded.

It wasn’t more than a day later the school was introduced the Marinette’s uncle.

“Now, which of you is the one that angered my little birdie?”

Marinette groaned as she didn’t call him. Nor had her parents. (He was watching them then. Great. She thought that stopped when they left Gotham.)

Apparently terrorizing her classmates (and the school’s staff) was enough for him. Lila was now at juvie for truancy (the only charge that stuck) and away from Marinette.

She figured that was it.

It was not…

--

Six months later…

“Tim Tam?”

Tim grinned at her. “Hey Marebear!”

He was at Dupont, grinning like a loon at her. She said screw decorum and scooped him up and twirled as he is still too tiny.

“Okay, I love that you’re here but why?”

“Heard there was a problem in Paris you neglected to tell me about.” Tim gestured for them to go into the car behind him..

Heroes was her first thought. And Hawkmoth, but its Tim so heroes are his focus.

“I figured we were staying out of old habits.” She was a hero, not stalking them.

“We are.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow as she knew that tone, and it meant he had an idea. She slipped into the car with a wave to her classmates.

“What do you know,” she began with.

“Ladybug purifies and fixes, Chat Noir destroys. Good guys. Anything animal themed is a hero, expect Mayura. Bug themed besides Ladybug, Toss-up. Hawkmoth is who needs to go down.”

Marinette filled in the blanks on powers for public heroes. She shrugged on the blurred possible hero (MultiMouse) and let Tim rattle on and on.

“So I was thinking, why hasn’t anyone looked for outside help?”

Marinette blinked a bit as… “The Mayor was told it was a joke by Green Lantern when they asked for help the Stoneheart Army.”

Tim furrowed his brow. “Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

“Hair color.”

“Weasely looking, that’s all I remember.”

“That was the ginger who is hated by the JL members, and should not count. Want me to ask Batman?”

“Should I be surprised the Waynes have him on call?”

Tim smiled at her, the one that they used when their parents told them to play and they went roof running and were never caught.

“Never mind. Do you need me to contact Ladybug or Chat Noir?”

“Well, I am talking to Ladybug.”

Marinette knew how to play this off. “And Batman and Brucie are the same person because the butts match.”

“Well, yeah, it would make being his Robin a little harder if they weren’t.”

Marinette took a deep breath before hitting Tim upside the head as “you idiot!”

“Hey, hey! Someone had to!”

“Nightwing!”

“Didn’t want to—not the way he needed!”

“I, urgh! Wait—then Jason—”

Tim softened. “Yeah.”

Marinette hit her head agains the back of the seat. “He told me to always watch out for myself and…”

Tim pressed his shoulder to hers. “I know.”

The rest of the ride was silent.

“How did you…”

“Ladybug, your new haircut and word that speech you made on your debut? A lot like what I found from Jason’s things.”

Marinette may have blushed. A bit. Okay, she had her heroes and hers didn’t wear scaly panties—wait. He did, she just didn’t know that at the time.

“No telling me Chat’s identity.”

“Haven’t figured him out yet, but I would love to see your theories on who hawkmomth could be.”

“Needs the funds to run a butterfly garden, and knowledge to do it in secret, local too, and probably a parent to a Dupont student.”

“That should narrow it down.”

--

A few weeks later, at fifteen years old, Ladybug and Chat Noir defeated Hawkmoth (with Robin playing intelligence, and refusing to take credit). Chat didn’t want to do the reveal after.

Marinette figured it out when he sneezed at a pigeon.

They met up still, but Chat needed a purpose and Marinette was the guardian. She and Tikki exchanged a look. Marinette called Tim.

“Hey Tim? Remember that group project you mentioned? I don’t think I can help, but I know someone who could use an invite…”

--

Marinette is sixteen when Red Hood makes a splash in Gotham. Tim was there at the time, so was Adrien.

She didn’t know what happened (they won’t tell) and she won’t press… them at least.

Uncle Oswald answered her questions. New crime lord, and he has a bone to pick with the Bats.

Marinette convinces her parents to let her stay in Gotham. Jagged offered his townhouse for when he’s on tour and she can’t go with (she has so many commissions, so no touring for her).

Chloe and Sabrina manage to convince their parents its okay. (Sabrina’s dad was a particularly difficult sell until Marinette’s Uncle Oswald offered to have them guarded by his men. In person. Marinette is convinced he has a team watching her at this point, and is glad she’s retired as Ladybug. It’d be dangerous if she wasn’t.)

Alya somehow got an internship in Metropolis (Marinette wasn’t glaring at Tim for that, she was disappointed he meddled so much Superman caught on and had his girlfriend offer the girl a spot.)

Nathaniel and Nino couldn’t make it for the summer, but both managed to visit.

Thankfully neither of those visits coincided with her own run-in with Red Hood. To be fair, it was at the old bakery location. Now run by a friend of Papa’s who uses a different set of recipes.

Marinette was there and making some of the old recipes for old time’s sake. One of the baker’s was from Papa’s staff before they left. Most of the new staff were a bit sketchy, but nothing that raised Gotham Red Flags.

She blinked a few times during the encounter as Red Hood burst in (it was still light out… she thought at the time) and paused when he saw her.

“You’re the old owner’s kid?”

She didn’t get what her family had to do until… Uncle Oswald. Great. Human Bait-time.

“Pretty sure the kid left town with her family.” Not a complete lie, but an easy deflection like Jason taught her. She’s not as snarky as him (as he was).

Red Hood, she couldn’t tell what that did for him (stupid Helmet) but he did grab what she was  and say “yeah, no way the kid would botch a macron like this.”

She really wanted to deck him for that one. As it was her specialty asshole.

He did leave after that and she may have told Jagged and Oswald she’s going to spend a week or two in NYC with Audrey to keep her mind off of it…

Then Tim had her over with Adrien (who Marinette is now convinced is a Wayne ward in all but name since he lives there now) and Just Their Luck, Red Hood decided to break into the Batcave.

Tim went off to defend it, and Marinette sighed as this is her life and she isn’t a hero anymore. Ladybug would be recognized and easily connected but…

“Trixx, Let’s Pounce!”

A fox hero? Unlikely. One illusion spell later (and Bruce, Tim, Alfred, Adrien suiting up) and Red Hood was knocked out.

Alfred was the one to tell her to stay up stairs as “This isn’t something you need to see Miss.”

She dropped the transformation and put her hands on her hips as “This guy tried to kill Tim who I’ve been keeping from dying since he slipped on a ladder in the middle of winter like an idiot. And is already looking for me.”

The group exchanged a look at that.

“How long?”

“He said I couldn’t be me because my macrons were wrong,” Marinette grumbled, ignoring the real question.

“He did what!” Adrien gawked at her.

“Marinette!” Tim was not happy.

Bruce was looking at her like she was the weird one.

“Oh no, you don’t get to look at me like that. I’m not the one fighting crime in as my fursona and teaching other people to do the same.”

Apparently Red Hood was not actually out cold. How does she know this?

He started laughing.

Bruce was sputtering, Alfred was unreadable, Tim was bring pink and Adrien was nodding along as he was one who started calling Batman and other heroes ‘the furrious furries’ when Batman and Robin were brought up as helping them with Hawkmoth over a year ago.

It was strange to think of it as a year ago.

(a year ago she thought Jason was dead, that Hawkmoth was impossible to find and still crushed on Adrien).

Now Jason is alive, Hawkmoth was defeated ages ago and that crush? Gone with that thing called distance and perspective.

Instead she was staring at the guy who broke into the Batcave and implied he was going to kidnap her two weeks ago, if she was herself, and didn’t because her macrons were ‘wrong’ when he clearly has no taste.

“Hey Pixie.”

Her brain shorted as… “Jason what the fuck.”

Her summer was a weird one. Jason was alive, Uncle Oswald and him were doing business, and since Marinette was in shock still, she went to Uncle Oswald’s unannounced (he tells her when he plans to be busy) so she walked in on Red Hood and him arguing over something and…

“Is this karma for helping Tim when I ten?”

Red Hood took one look at her, then Oswald, and it clicked.

“Pixie, why didn’t you tell me this Thing was your Uncle?”

“Mari dear, please tell me your association with this, this brute.”

“He came back from the dead and didn’t tell me,” Marinette told her Uncle as that she could process.

“Ah. That… explains nothing. Mari dear, we’ll talk about this later, feel free to go to the park until I send someone to fetch you.”

“No, I think Pixie will stay right here and find out what you do.”

Marinette did the logical thing one does when a dead almost-was-your-brother turns into a crime lord and is talking to your ‘Uncle’ who you know has a shady reputation.

Get the hell out of there.

She grabbed her things (she kept them in the suitcases just in case, because Gotham) and joined Uncle Jagged on tour because right now? She needed something a bit less insane. And Jagged qualified.

-

She would love to tell you she went after Red Hood, or helped Tim and Adrien, she would, but she’s the guardian and that means staying out of on-going wars of many kinds.

It also meant she was able to defend herself when Jason Fucking Todd decided to crash a Wayne Gala that Uncle Jagged and Uncle Oswald were insistent that she attend. Clara and Adrien and Tim joined in. Chloe and Sabrina and Alya combined forces to convince her to attend, while Nino consoled her with pats and good music.

Jason Fucking Todd announcing he’s alive at said Gala, and making a scene before chatting up Bruce and the Wayne Clan (There is new girl named Cass. and she did see a blond with Tim, she thinks its Steph but it could be one of his Titan Friends since she saw Superboy looking like less of a fashion disaster for once with a fast talking ginger that she’s pretty sure is the current Kidflash).

Marinette was so glad she was on the other side of the room, and out of the spotlight.

Jason Fucking Todd catching her the next day when she was getting coffee, was not in her plans.

“So, Pixie Pop, we have some catching up to do.”

And she is not bitter he vanished out of no where. That she thought he was dead when she was a little kid and mourned for months, only to find out he’s a Wayne now. Then not be allowed to see him because of the Wayne-Drake thing. Or that he really died for real and then came back without telling her. Or that he became a crime lord on top of it all and Tim a few scars that line up with what Oswald heard of Robin and Red Hood fights that were brutal.

Nope.

Not.

At.

All.

“We do, but I have an appointment already, and you already know how to contact me, so bye.”

He didn’t, but Tim did. And that meant he had to fix things there.

She’s not sure how to feel about her almost-brother and his attacks on Tim. She’s not sure how to process all of this but she can put some distance, right?

Wrong.

Jason Freaking Todd decided to make up some BS story about having taken time to get better and being grabbed by a goddamn cult and it took him time to escape. (Tim told her it was close to the truth the cult was some group called the League of Assassins… she just. Why. just why?)

Then he decided (re: Alfred Apparently knows Gina, who told Maman and Papa) to get her parents involved in making her talk to him.

How? How does he do this from another continent where he runs his (technical) criminal enterprise?

He just shows up after Tim figured what he was doing and told Alfred.

And now Marinette has to talk to her almost-brother-that-died when she’s elbows deep in a design rut and is far more willing to kick his ass than run (or think about talking to him).

“Pixie pop,” Jason grinned.

Marinette refused to respond on the principle. Her parents were downstairs, and she’s trying to make a nice silloutte but can’t and Fuck Off Jason.

“So, uh, I’m alive.”

“Uh huh.”

“I don’t kill people that don’t deserve it.”

She narrowed her eyes as “Tim.”

Jason scratched the back of his neck. “Okay, I was really messed up for a while.”

Marinette rubbed her forehead. “And.”

“You know of anything called the Lazarus Pitts.”

She did. Also they drive you insane (re: beyond reason) with one use.

“I was recovering from them and mostly have the Pitt Juice out of my system.”

“Bruce?” because he’s batman so what can’t he do at this point?

“A friend of his.”

Cryptic, but she doesn’t want to focus on him.

“So, what have you been up to?”

“Fashion.”

“Oh, what kind?”

Somehow she managed to soften a bit and give real answers. Maybe it was because Jason mentioned debating trying school and vigilantism (apparently he goes after abusers and drug lord and people who target kids and pregnant women and okay, she’ll check with Tim later and all for it being the truth but… she wants this to be real.

--

At seventeen Marinette meets a ten year old Damian Wayne, who is insistent Tim is not a Wayne.

Marinette is ready to throw hands with a teeny tiny assassin child.

Adrien is too.

Tim says he was just leaving, so Marinette makes the “mature” decision to follow him to San Fransico with Adrien on her heels.

They were not expecting Red Hood to show up a week into their stay (Uncle Oswald was expected to pop in and complain about her not being in Gotham, but Red Hood (not Jason but Red Hood)? Not on the list of visitors.

“So you’re telling me this kid tried to start shit with my Replacement?”

Marinette raised an eyebrow and nodded.

Red Hood told her to give him three weeks to fix it.

Somehow, it worked. And Apparently Nightwing was in the doghouse with some of his former teammates? She wasn’t sure how that worked.

She did know that Tim is sixteen, switched to Red Robin (she helped him design it as he’s bad at it and he wanted to look like he was 30 in his first design. 30. Just. No.) and said he had a thing to do.

Marinette and Adrien shared a look.

“I’ll watch the kwami.”

One list of kwami-care later, and Marinette switched to online classes for the year to keep her not-technically baby brother/her idiot out of trouble. Did she mention ninjas were involved? They were. it was a nightmare and she may have let Red Hood know about the League and he may have shown up to help her keep Tim from getting brainwashed.

Oh, and only at that point did anyone bother to tell her about Bruce being missing-missing not just Off-World or on a real vacation-missing.

Tim explained his hunch (because it is a hunch Timmy, and now we have a semi-solid theory) and she just sighs and calls Adrien to meet her in Gotham.

Fluff won’t tell them where (spell stops it) but confirms Bruce is lost in time. Jason is shocked, Dick and Damian are processing, Alfred is bordering on tears and Tim is victorious.

He also calls up the teen titans for help and they get Bruce—Tim and Adrien’s Father figure, not Batman.

She shakes her head and lets them have their reunion, kwami content at her side.

She goes back to Paris as its home now, and works on rebuilding the order in between nagging Tim about his health (he fears only her and Alfred apparently) and harassing Jason about doing his coursework (apparently she, Maman, Papa and Alfred are all effective there).

She’s able to say her parents were right about Paris being good for her, but she doesn’t think Gotham is bad for her.

--

hope you enjoyed!

[izaswritings]

Title: Faults of the Mind

Synopsis:  Having escaped the perils of the Dark Kingdom, Rapunzel finally returns home—but all is not well in the Kingdom of Corona, and the black rocks are quickly becoming the least of her troubles. Meanwhile, over a thousand miles away, Varian struggles with new powers and his own conscience.

The labyrinth has fallen into rubble. A great evil stirs in the world beyond. The Dark Kingdom may be behind them, but the true journey is just beginning—and neither Rapunzel nor Varian can survive it on their own.

Warnings for: cursing, threats of harm, blood and violence, aftermath of trauma, vivid and reoccurring flashbacks to previous trauma, and references to past injury and almost-death. If there’s anything you think I missed, please let me know and I’ll add it on here!

-

AO3 version is here.

Arc I: Labyrinths of the Heart can be found here!

Previous chapters are here.

And, the newly created discord server can be found here!

-

Chapter VII: The Remnants

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.

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Finally, one day, when the Sun had almost given up hope on ever seeing that lovely woman again— the Moon at last left her shadows, and approached.

How frozen the Sun was then! The being who created song itself was struck speechless at the sight. Moon drew up to her and Sun could hardly believe her eyes; here she was, the lovely woman, the one who danced on the ocean waves.

For a moment the two gods stood, still and silent and each watching the other. At last, the Moon spoke. “Why do you chase me so?” asked lovely Moon. “Why did you sing that day? I cannot understand.”

“Oh!” said radiant Sun, overcome with having found the Moon at last. “I never meant to chase, not really. I simply wanted to see you again. And to apologize—I did not mean to frighten you. Your dance was so lovely, I couldn’t help but want to sing for you…”

The Sun’s words trailed into silence, and she flushed.

In the ensuing quiet Moon considered the Sun, secretly touched. For all that Moon loved to dance, she had never before had someone to dance with, nor to sing for her. Though the Sun’s song had startled her, for a moment it had enchanted the Moon as thoroughly as Moon’s dance had enchanted the Sun. In that song she had heard belonging; in that melody she saw a light that took her breath away.

And so the lovely Moon, her stone heart softening, offered her hand and said, “Tell me your name then, stranger, and sing for me again, and perhaps this time, I will dance for you…”

.

.

.

They reach the Great Tree just before dawn.

It’s been a week since that conversation in the Riesling woods, and since that day their journey has been a rush of travel. Adira has pushed them forward relentlessly, even as her own jaw winds tighter and tighter with tension. Varian follows her lead without complaint, even as his blood burns ever colder in his veins, the Moon’s displeasure near-physical. They are in agreement, Varian and Adira, and with their destination set everything else is secondary—he needs the knowledge in the Great Tree, no matter the risks. No matter how much the Moon hates the idea—no matter if there is someone there, guarding the Tree. No matter what.

Adira is right, in the end. So long as Varian can’t control the rocks, he can’t do anything at all.

Varian doesn’t know where they are now, just that they’re close enough to the Great Tree that the Moon’s presence is like an icy needle in the back of his mind. It’s so early in the morning the sky’s still black, with only the barest hints of blue light to suggest dawn is coming at all. Adira has refused to light a torch, claiming stealth, and so beyond the very dim pink glow of the nightlight, they are completely in shadow.

It’s not as dark as it should be, though. Despite the heavy clouds and lack of light, Varian can see fairly well, enough to keep steady on the rocky path he would otherwise be tripping over. He wonders, for a moment, if night vision is another of the Moon’s side-effect powers—and then pushes that thought very, very far away, because that’s something he doesn’t want to think about right now.

Beyond the dirt road beneath his feet and the dry, crumbling cliffs looming beside them, the terrain is barren and cold. It’s still iced over from the winter season, lingering pockets of snow clumping at the overgrown paths. The shadows wind tight around his throat; night-vision or not, darkness still makes Varian’s skin crawl. Every once in a while, he has to reach out a hand to the empty air, just to remind himself there are no walls enclosing him. This darkness is not the labyrinth—it is Adira in front of him, not Rapunzel. Ruddiger is settled warm around his shoulders. This isn’t the Dark Kingdom. This isn’t the black rocks.

Nevertheless, as Varian steps up onto the next ledge, he has to take a moment to catch his breath. His hand gropes blindly for the nightlight, and he clutches it tight to his chest. Even Ruddiger’s weight on his shoulders isn’t quite enough to snap him out of it.

The silence, too, is getting to him. The Moon is quiet now. The closer to the Tree they’ve gone, the more her hissed cruelty has fallen to a seething silence. For the past three hours, she hasn’t said a word to him. And Adira, too, abrupt at the best of times, has become almost mute with every hour that passes, with every step closer to the Tree.

It grates on him. It gnaws at him. Varian adjusts his grip on the nightlight and grits his teeth.

“…Are we there yet?”

It’s not what he wants to ask, and in actuality, talking at all feels rather forced; there is a stranglehold in his chest that makes breathing difficult, and talking more so. But the darkness is heavy and the line of Adira’s shoulders is stiff. She’s standing a few feet in front of him, already making for the next ledge.

“Are you a child?” Adira wonders back, absently. Her tone is dry with mild reproach, and in the dim light Varian can just barely see her fingers flex, instinctive fists. She hefts herself up the next step, and her words come out gritted. “For the last time. We’ll get there… when we get there.”

He’s annoying her, Varian knows. But they are so close to the Great Tree his skin is crawling, so he tilts up his head and keeps talking, just to break the silence. “Even Yasmin gave me a time estimate,” he says, trying in vain to keep his voice steady. “She brought me to the city and it was all ‘half an hour left, boy, keep going,’ and blah, blah, blah.”

“Yasmin is more patient than her mouth would suggest. All bark, no bite. I am the opposite.” Adira looks back, her eyes a pale gleam in the dark. “Stop asking, Moony. I get that you’re nervous, but taking it out on me is just—do not.”

Varian bites his lip hard, near tasting blood, and slowly picks his way over to the ledge. He presses his gloved hands against the dirt and pushes himself up on the first try, wheezing faintly from the strain. Adira helps steady him as he stands, swaying on his feet.

“I’m fine,” Varian mutters and brushes her hand away. This new leg of the path is higher up, less a real road and more a thin line cutting up around the mountain. It’s rockier up here, all gravel and loose stone and sharp jagged edges, barely a blade of grass to be seen. Varian bites his lip at the sight. This is—going to be very hard to walk, even with his stupid night-vision. Actually, how has Adira not tripped yet?

Adira just shakes her head at him. “Watch your feet, Moony,” she says, and draws back to start up the path.

A moment’s pause, and then Varian picks up his feet, almost jogging, staying close to her side. Ruddiger snuffles by his ear. “Stop calling me Moony,” Varian says, instead of what he wants to say. “You make me sound like a sulky child.”

There’s a moment of silence. His shoulders hunch.

Then Adira snorts, and the silence breaks, and suddenly despite the darkness and the Moon and the looming danger, things feel a little more normal again. “Oh, yes,” Adira says, visibly amused. “Because it’s so inaccurate…”

Varian glares at her, even though he knows she can’t see it. “Come on!”

“Hm, you disagree? No, you might be right. I should choose a nickname more suited to your actual personality…”

Varian eyes her. She’s smiling. He does not like that smile.

“…Moonrat.”

Varian splutters. “What!”

“Oh? Don’t like it?”

“Aren’t you just insulting me now?”

“Have you ever seen a moonrat? Tiny things. Like a mix between shrew and raccoon, except you can hold them in one hand, and they always seem to be screaming.” The smile on Adira’s face curls into a smirk. “Well? Moonrat?”

“…I hate you,” Varian decides. “I’m going to give you a stupid nickname someday, and then you’ll be sorry.”

“I’m shaking in my boots.” Adira picks her way up the hill and then turns, offering her hand; Varian makes a face but takes it, and she pulls him up beside her. Her voice lowers. “Look, I get it. I do. But we’re getting close, so we need to be quiet now.”

Varian looks down. It takes him a moment to find his words. “…I know.”

“Good.” She squeezes at his shoulder and pulls away. “Any changes? With your, hm…” She gestures. “Godly houseguest.”

The ease, so hard-won, turns sour on his tongue. Varian swallows hard and then looks away.

“Varian.”

“I know.” He squeezes his eyes shut, biting his lip hard. He feels shaky, trembling on the inside. He rubs at his chest, over his heart, and tries to focus.

Ever since the Riesling woods, all those days ago, when the Moon flashed fury and ice-cold fear through his head at the mention of the Great Tree... she’s been closer than ever, and yet, even farther away. Beyond the occasional hissed threats and momentary tantrums, she’s been almost dead silent.

He understands now why she’d avoided interacting with him all those long months before Port Caul. In the aftermath of Riesling, Varian finally understands. In saving him, in awakening this power to control the rocks—she has linked them. The door is open, the way unbarred, his thoughts and her power tied irrevocably together. This is what it means to be the vessel of the Moon’s power: it is her power, and so she is there, a vague sense in the back of his head, looking out through his eyes and into his mind whenever it pleases her.

But Varian is lucky, though—because it doesn’t please her. He gets the sense Moon despises speaking with him as much as he does her; she is there, yes, like his shadow is stuck to his feet, but though the door is always unlocked there are still times, like right now, when Varian gets the sense she has slammed it shut in his face.

Lucky, lucky. If she wanted to, she could make his life a living nightmare. The only thing saving Varian is the simple fact the Moon needs him alive and cooperative. He knows that, too. It’s the only reason they’ve made it to the Great Tree at all, despite the Moon’s displeasure—she hasn’t tried as hard as she could to dissuade them from coming. The rocks are bursting up like weeds everywhere they go, sure, but neither Varian nor Adira nor even Ruddiger have been harmed. Adira had been suspicious of it, but… in a way, Varian understands that too. Like when he was travelling with Rapunzel, before the labyrinth—he had hated her, he had hated all of them, but he’d still played along. Because he needed them, and that meant he couldn’t make an enemy out of them.

The Moon hates him; Varian feels much the same. But she has said this outright: she needs Varian, at least for now. So of course they are not injured. Of course she hasn’t killed them. If she had hurt them even slightly, Varian would have never, ever listened to her again.

And so they have reached the Great Tree unhindered.

And so they have reached the Great Tree unhindered.

Still—he can’t deny it unsettles him. His connection with the Moon means he can feel, vivid and violently, exactly how much she hates them coming here. It’s more than Varian defying her, and searching for answers—she’d dared him to, after all, and if there’s anything Moon respects, it’s a game. No. Moon’s hatred, her presence, her hissing rage—in this moment, it has little to do with Varian at all.

It has everything to do with the Great Tree.

The Moon’s hatred for the Great Tree bothers Adira, Varian knows, and frankly it bothers him too. The Moon is mercurial at the best of times, but this is uncharted territory. Whatever the Moon’s thoughts on the Great Tree, they’ve only made Varian even more determined to go— and yet.

He can’t forget that moment in the woods, either. The fury and the fear, that feeling almost like a memory, before she snapped the connection closed. And he can’t help but wonder. What is it about the Great Tree—former base of Zhan Tiri, now little more than a ruin of a library—that makes the Moon react so strongly?

For three days after that conversation in the woods, the Moon had been almost violent. Her whispers had been there in the forefront of his mind for hours—hissing, furious, cruel. Varian had dropped bowls and staffs at the sudden pain in his hand, had been struck with deafening static and blinding bursts of light behind his eyelids at varying intervals. The rocks bloomed vicious and vehement around the camp almost every night. And the less said about Varian’s dreams… the better.

But the closer they’d gotten to the Great Tree, the quieter the Moon has become. And now, in the dead of morning, as Varian reaches for that cold presence, he can feel nothing but an icy wall, a muted snarl like a door being slammed shut in his face.

He shakes his head, unsettled. “She’s not responding.”

Adira’s frown flashes across her face. But all she says is, “I see.”

They get moving again. This time, there is no banter. The sun is coming up, little by little—and they are close. Varian can practically feel it: a looming presence like a void, an absence, a gaping maw in the fabric of the world. They climb up together on the last ledge, and turn the corner—and then the mountains break, and Varian can see their destination in full.

There, in the distance, cast against the dark skyline, the Great Tree blots the otherwise pristine horizon like a warped and malevolent growth. The sun is just beginning to rise by now, and in the burgeoning glow the Tree is shadowed and cold and larger than even the mountains. It’s as big as a castle, wide branches twisting up in a mimicry of towers, the trailing ends reaching for the distant sun like grasping fingers. It is the only living thing for miles around, and even from this distance, Varian can see that the dirt around those giant roots has gone white and dead with poison.

There is something sick about the sight, grand though it may be—something awful and rotted. Varian holds a hand up to his nose, convinced for a moment that he can smell smoke, lingering heavy and acrid in the air.

But when he breathes in again, all he can smell is the snow.

Adira’s hand falls heavy on his shoulder; he almost jumps. “You okay?”

Varian inhales sharply—but the air is crisp and clean, nothing burning for miles. After a second, he nods. His mouth feels very dry.

Adira grips his shoulder. Her jaw is tight again. “Careful,” she says, at last.

Varian swallows. “I know that.” His eyes draw back to the tree. His breath shudders on the exhale. “Is that…?”

“The Great Tree.” Adira’s voice is dark. “Ugly, isn’t it?”

“The land looks like… like it’s dying.”

“Old legends say that Zhan Tiri turned the place into a parasite. With that demon at the helm, the Tree sucked up everything. Life, power… even light.” Adira clicks her tongue, shoulders tense. “Tens of thousands of years later, and the world still hasn’t recovered.”

There’s something like a shiver—an icy presence, the afterimage of glowing eyes. He thinks he can feel a hand brush the back of his neck—and tighten, a brief and vicious warning, the sharp prick of claws in his skin before the Moon drifts back again, seething and cold.

Adira waits, lips pressed thin. Varian catches his breath, and squeezes his eyes shut. “She doesn’t like it,” he whispers. “At all.”

She squeezes his shoulder again. “…You don’t have to go in. It might even be safer. I still don’t know if someone might be… waiting for us there.” Her eyes draw to the Tree, before she forcefully drags them away, back to Varian’s face. “I can sneak in alone, look around—”

“No!” Varian sucks in a sharp breath. “I—no. No. I have to do this.”

“…All right.”

“I have to,” Varian repeats. And he does. The rocks are his problem now. If he doesn’t do all he can—if he can’t say he did everything he could—then if things go wrong again, (and they will, they will, because they always do)—well. Varian isn’t sure he could ever forgive himself.

Adira searches his face. Whatever she sees seems to please her; she nods once, calm acceptance, and unhooks one of the training staffs from her back. “Take this, then,” she says. “We’re leaving our travel packs here. Gather up what you need, and be mindful—there’s no telling what we’ll find in there.”

Varian nods and takes the staff, and lets his packs fall back into the dirt. He stares down at the staff, just for a moment—the knotted wood, heavy in his hands. He sets his jaw and meets Adira’s eyes.

“Let’s go,” Varian says, with a bravery he doesn’t feel, and takes the first step down the cliff. Ruddiger chitters soft on his shoulder. Adira’s footsteps follow heavy behind him. Varian grits his teeth.

For over a year, he has been looking for answers. For months, he’s been left in the dark—and now, no longer. The sight of the Great Tree chills him, but Varian is decided. If the answers are there, he’ll find them. He’s done waiting. He’s done doing nothing.

He’s going to do better, Varian promises himself, and so he goes.

.

Rapunzel is watching the sunrise.

It is the morning after her talk with the King—with Frederic—and the storm that has plagued Corona for the past week and a half has moved on fully at last. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the dining hall, the sunrise is bright and clear and crystal, shining pale and crisp in a near-cloudless sky. The whole sea is shining with it, the whole room set ablaze, and there is a weird comfort to be found in closing her eyes and still feeling the echo of sunlight on her skin.

It’s over, Rapunzel thinks, which is in actuality a very silly thought. In truth, things have just begun. But she can’t help but feel some measure of relief. She is tired, and sore, and aching all the way down to her bones, exhausted fully—but this morning, when she’d woke, she’d stared at her ceiling and sighed, and then she had gotten up. And she had gotten ready. And there was no real change to it, no real difference, except that maybe getting up came a little easier to her, this morning, than it has in a very long time.

That’s a victory too, Rapunzel would say. And so she sits at the ridiculously long dining room table watching the sunrise, and has to hide a smile in the rim of her mug.

She’s the only one eating here, at the moment; she looks, Rapunzel thinks with some delight, absolutely ridiculous. One small girl with gloves and no shoes and a plain purple dress, nibbling on dry toast at a table so long it takes up the hall.

Behind her, Elias stands at the ready. She’s relieved to see him. When she’d opened her door and saw him standing there, apparently none the worse for wear, she’d almost hugged him. The poor boy still seems nervous, though—he’s been casting her glances for a while now—but while Rapunzel is curious, she’s content to ignore him, if only for a moment. She has toast to finish. Options to consider. Things to finally process, now that the sun is up and Rapunzel has gotten some much-needed sleep.

For instance: the issue of where Rapunzel now stands with the King.

She’s… fairly sure her father understands her side now. Less sure if he’s agreed to anything, and what might change in consequence. Eugene can probably come and go from the castle as he pleases again, but for Cassandra, and the problem of Varian—let alone Stalyan…

Rapunzel makes a face at her plate and puts down her toast, frowning slightly. Stalyan. Rapunzel still isn’t sure what to do about her, or what she’s planning. Oh, honestly. She doesn’t even know if she’ll be allowed into the next meeting! For all her talk the night before, she doesn’t really have a plan. She doesn’t know what to do.

She still has time, hopefully—she’ll be seeing Eugene soon, if all goes well, and he’s bound to have some ideas. The problem of Stalyan isn’t something Rapunzel has to tackle alone.

Rapunzel hums, and brushes the crumbs from her gloves. That reminds her. She twists back to look at Elias. “Can I ask you something?”

He blinks at her, a little startled. “I, um, that’s… sure?”

Rapunzel manages a smile for him. “I’m sorry, I meant to ask earlier, but—you didn’t get in trouble yesterday, did you? When I…” She trails off, unsure of how to word it. When she ran away? When she snapped? Hm.

Elias shakes his head. “N-no! No. Just scolded. I’m okay.” Rapunzel exhales hard at that, relieved, and he shifts on his feet. “Um, were you—did you get in trouble?”

“It’s fine.” Elias seems uncertain. Rapunzel looks down. “It… it is.” She smiles again, or tries to— it’s a weak thing, this smile, thin and fragile. But true. “It’s fine now. Things are going to be okay.”

She hopes.

“Okay…” But his shoulders slump, and this time he smiles back. “That’s good. I’m—I’m glad.”

“Thank you.” She looks away, ashamed for asking him this question, unable to keep from asking. “Have you… heard anything about, um— if Cassandra—”

It’s a cruel thing to ask him, but Rapunzel can’t help it. She’s missed Cassandra, despite the tension between them recently. And she can’t help but hope, just a little, that maybe… maybe getting her old job back will help. If Cassandra can get re-instated, if she can get assigned out of the dungeons, then maybe…?

Maybe. Rapunzel is praying with all her heart.

Elias catches on quick. “Oh. Oh. No, I… I’m still your guard detail, I— I think. I didn’t hear… anything about Cassandra.” She can hear the regret in his voice; he sounds truly upset at the lack of news. “I’m s-sorry.”

“…It’s okay.” But it settles a little colder in her chest. She should have known—not every problem will be solved with a conversation, after all. And Cassandra’s situation with the King, while not helped by Rapunzel’s silence… well, Rapunzel is starting to suspect the feud has very little to do with Rapunzel at all. She’s not even sure where to begin with fixing that.

Behind her, Elias shifts. “Um… about, about Cassandra…”

Rapunzel blinks, looking back at him. “Yes?”

Elias won’t meet her eyes. He’s staring at the floor so hard he could bore holes, brows furrowed. His hands are clenched so tight around his halberd, the leather of his gloves is stretched taut. “I—I’m sorry, it’s not my place, but… doesn’t she seem a bit—”

He stops. Rapunzel waits, but all Elias does is press his lips, head bowing even lower. He’s trembling, she realizes, with a strike of worry. Shifting on his feet, shoulders shaking, breathing starting to hitch. She leans forward, worried now. “Elias?”

“Just,” he says, but his voice is going small. “I, I think—I think there might be—!”

A knock sounds at the dining room entrance, the doors opening, and Rapunzel jolts around, startled. Her mother—the queen—Arianna, and as much as it hurts to think of her parents so distantly it’s the only thing she can really handle right now—is standing in the doorway, pale-faced and looking frantic. When she sees Rapunzel, sitting stunned at the table, Arianna almost seems to crumple.

“Rapunzel.”

Rapunzel bites her lip. “…Mom.”

“I thought I’d find you in here,” Arianna says, relaxing a little. Her smile is weak, though, pale and thin. “I… I’m sorry to just barge in. Your father told me—well.”

Oh, Rapunzel thinks. She swallows, looking away. Right. She closes her eyes, exhaling slow and thin. “Okay,” she says, and turns back to Elias before she can get truly distracted. “Wait, just, what were you—”

“It’s nothing.” Elias’s voice has gone quiet again. “Just… it’s nothing. I, I’m being silly.” He gives a short bow to the Queen and steps back, giving Rapunzel and Arianna space to talk, and Rapunzel watches with a tense jaw. Elias catches her eye and gives a weak smile.

“It’s r-really nothing,” he says, still small. Then, lower, so low she isn’t sure if she’s supposed to hear this at all, he says: “I doubt you would believe me anyway.”

“What—”

“Rapunzel, dear, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak with you.”

Arianna’s voice, apologetic but firm, pulls Rapunzel away once again. She turns back to the doors, flustered. “Right, right, but—”

“Rapunzel.”  Arianna approaches the table, worry clear in her eyes, and settles down gingerly in the chair beside her. She leans forward, hand outstretched, and reaches for Rapunzel’s hands with a look like despair. “May I…?”

Rapunzel considers her. She bites her lip. She casts one last look at Elias—who ignores her gaze and shakes his head at the floor—and then finally faces her mother, reluctant but not sure what else to do. She thinks about it.

“Please,” Arianna says.

Rapunzel sighs. She offers her hand.

Her mother is careful—too careful, really—removing the gloves, and turns Rapunzel’s scarred hands to the light gingerly. Her face falls. “Your father told me,” she admits, staring quietly at the scars. “But I had to see for myself. Oh, Rapunzel.”

Rapunzel tries to offer a smile, but mostly she just feels tired. “It’s okay.”

“Does it hurt?”

“…Only sometimes.” And even that, Rapunzel is becoming accustomed to, but she doesn’t think her mother would be happy to hear that, even if it’s true. “It’s healed well.”

Arianna shakes her head. “You should have told us earlier. We could have—we must call the healers. Maybe—”

“I already saw a doctor.” Rapunzel tugs her hand back, gentle but firm. She’s sympathetic, but mainly her mother’s words just exhaust her. Rapunzel has heard this for months now, the horror and the pity and the false platitudes. Over and over and over again. But Rapunzel has had these scars for six, now near seven months; she’s gotten used to the sight, to the gloves, to the near-chronic pain that echoes through her fingers. It’s not fun, or pretty, or nice—but she’s becoming accustomed to the idea of living with this. She just wishes everyone else could, too.

But that’s unfair, she knows—her mother only just found out, after all. “It’s fine,” Rapunzel repeats. “Really. I have exercises to do, to help with the healing and the pain, and I’ve been careful. It’s just…” She looks down at her palms. “This is just how it is now. I’m okay, Mom.”

Arianna bites her lip. “Rapunzel—”

“I’m fine.”

“I— I’m sorry.”

Rapunzel stares at her lap. “I know,” she says, unable to look Arianna in the eye. “And I’m sorry too, for not telling you. But—” She closes her eyes. The words are lost. She can’t remember what she wants to say.

So she switches tracks, instead. “I... I wanted to ask, about Cassandra—”

One look at her mother’s face tells her everything. “You can’t,” Rapunzel says, helpless and starting to get heated. She’s my friend. And more than that— “She didn’t do anything!”

“Cassandra’s situation is different,” Arianna says, regretful but with an edge of steel to the words. “You aren’t under house arrest anymore, Rapunzel. No longer under watch, either, though,” she casts a sly side-eye to Elias, who straightens so fast he almost drops his halberd, “your father thinks keeping the new guard might help, if you insist on seeking out danger.” She grins a little, as if it’s a joke, but Rapunzel doesn’t smile back. After a moment, Arianna sighs. “Rapunzel. Cassandra—she gave her word to protect you, and it was broken.”

Varian, and the arrow. Rapunzel grits her teeth. How many times must that day come back to haunt her? “Because of me!”

“And because of her own choices, too.” Arianna’s look is soft and apologetic. “She mentioned it in the letter herself. She was lax on security. She left you alone with Varian, a breach of the protection protocol—and you almost paid dearly for it. That cannot be forgotten, Rapunzel.”

Rapunzel doesn’t agree. But she takes in the look in her mother’s eyes, and has to stare at the table instead, jaw tight.

“I’m sorry,” Arianna repeats, heavily. She presses her lips. “I know, what you must have wanted… but there are always consequences, Rapunzel. It cannot be forgotten, but perhaps one day it can be forgiven. We aren’t doing this to be cruel.” She reaches out, hesitates, then draws her hand back. “I… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Rapunzel closes her eyes. “Me, either.”

There’s a stiff silence. After a moment, Rapunzel sighs, turning around, and finally opens her arms for a hug. Arianna gives it gratefully. She’s warm, and her grip is strong—her mother has always given the best hugs Rapunzel knows, tight and fierce and secure.

Rapunzel hugs her mother, head tucked in her shoulder, and admits, “I don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“I’m still a little angry. At dad. At you.”

“I… I understand.”

“But I did miss you.” Her eyes burn. Rapunzel hugs her mother tighter. “I missed you guys—so much.”

Arianna breathes in sharp. Her exhale is ragged. “We love you,” she says, voice shaking a little. “We do. And I—oh, Rapunzel. I’m so happy to have you back.”

Rapunzel nods against her shoulder and stays quiet, just soaking in the warmth, the comfort, the strength of Arianna’s arms around her. She takes a deep breath and pulls back first, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

Arianna has to take a minute to catch composure too; behind them both, Elias looks like he’s trying to sink into the shadows. Despite the tension, and all her questions, Rapunzel can’t help but giggle at him, and after a moment Arianna laughs too.

Elias splutters. His cheeks darken, and he waves his hands, looking frantic. “Sorry, s-sorry, I should leave, sorry…”

“It’s all right,” Arianna says, eyes shining, bright with tears but now, too, with laughter. “At ease, guard. It’s all right.”

Elias buries his face in his hands, looking overcome. Rapunzel ducks her head with a smile and then draws herself tall, straightening up. A weight has lessened from her shoulders—but there’s still something she has to know. “Mom, can I ask…?”

“Of course,” Arianna says, at once.

Rapunzel hesitates. Time to test it, she supposes. “When is the next meeting with Stalyan? Has she requested one yet?”

Arianna hesitates. Her smile fades. “…Yes.”

A pause.

“…Mom—”

“I know.” Arianna closes her eyes, looking frustrated, and visibly shakes herself. “I know. Yes. It’s—” She sighs. “Five days from now. Dawn of the second weekday.”

Rapunzel watches her, the struggle on her face. She understands. Her mother doesn’t want to tell her. Even now, Rapunzel’s parents can’t stand the idea of her getting involved, of stepping back into the danger. But they are telling her anyway, and that is—

It’s enough. It loosens something in her shoulders, uncurls the knot in her gut. Rapunzel reaches out and rests her hand over her mother’s, and smiles when Arianna looks up and meets her eyes.

They’ve heard her. They’re listening.

“Thank you,” Rapunzel says warmly, and smiles so wide it hurts.

.

It takes them an hour to reach the Tree.

It’s an hour gone tense and taut with silence, stiff and cold with waiting. Varian hardly dares to breathe the whole way there, and in the back of his mind, the Moon’s icy silence is like a magic-induced brain freeze. Adira too is wound as tight as a wire, eyes sharp and watchful, and the whole way there, she doesn’t take her hand from the hilt of her sword, not even once. She’s warned Varian, vaguely, of what they could expect—another former resident of Adira’s Dark Kingdom is supposed to guard the way to the Tree—but beyond his name, Hector, Adira hasn’t said much else.

Varian hasn’t asked, either. The only question that comes to mind, did he know Quirin too? —it isn’t worth asking. He’s not sure if he wants to know. The secrets Dad kept from him… it feels almost wrong, to search for them now. Now that Quirin isn’t here to tell him himself. Now that Varian will never get an answer.

Does it matter, Quirin’s past? Maybe. Maybe not. If Varian is being honest with himself, what bothers him the most about Quirin’s connection to the Dark Kingdom is that Varian had never known.

(That Quirin never told him.)

And so. Varian doesn’t ask, and Adira doesn’t tell him, and this final leg of their journey is made in silence, as the sun rises slow and burning behind their backs.

Yet, despite their caution—nothing happens. No shadows leap out to take them into the night; no monsters loom around the bend. They reach the entrance of the Great Tree—a hollow space that looks more like a gaping mouth than a door—with only the wind to haunt their footsteps.

The Great Tree is even more intimidating up close. It looms so high above it blocks out the light, and despite the fact spring has just barely begun, those bone-white branches are adorned with spiny, fragile leaves that look as brittle as glass and as sharp as needles. There are no birds in this tree; no life surrounding—even the wind has gone flat and dead, even the grass unable to grow in the sickened soil. On his shoulder, Ruddiger takes one sniff and then shrinks back, and Varian is suddenly and vividly struck with a memory from months and months ago, when they first stepped into the Dark Kingdom. His ear had been recently torn then, and he’d been half-out of his mind with guilt and confusion and hatred, but… he remembers, still, clear as day. Halfway to that mountain of black rocks, the animals had stopped stone-cold.

Varian’s steps falter, then slow, then stop. Adira stops too, frowning back at him—but Varian hardly notices. He stares at the Great Tree, that hollow entrance, and something in his chest goes cold.

The Moon.

It’s not like when he called upon her in Yasmin’s home. She hardly seems real at all, like she’s standing in some thin veil between reality and dream. He can just barely see her, distant and thin and faint like a desert mirage. She’s standing there, in the entrance, in their way—her eyes cold and shoulders stiff, like to have her back to the Great Tree is to have her back exposed to an enemy.

Varian doesn’t move. The Moon stares down at him, eyes bright and ghostly in the darkness, and for a moment there is nothing in her face at all.

This is my final warning to you.

Her voice is icy. Her eyes never leave his face.

Leave, now. Never return. Give up this foolish quest for answers, beg for my forgiveness or accept your fate—but leave this wretched place behind you, and perhaps I’ll be inclined to think more favorably of you.

Varian takes a deep breath. She needs him, he reminds himself. For now, at least, she needs him alive.

“I don’t care what you think.”

You know not of what you are doing. The risks involved. To enter this place—

“I don’t care.”

There is a long silence. The Moon’s eyes narrow. Varian hardly dares to breathe.

You will regret it, Moon says, simply. It is not a threat. She says it plainly, flatly, true—almost pitying. And when Varian blinks, and opens his eyes again, she has vanished once more into the wind, and his head is all his own.

Varian swallows hard, and brings a hand to Ruddiger’s head, petting him firmly. Ruddiger hides his face in the curve of Varian’s fingers, ears flat against his head and teeth baring at the empty maw of the Great Tree, and Varian turns, giving Adira a helpless look.

Adira is watching Ruddiger too, eyes darting between the entrance and Varian; her lips press thin. “Is she…?”

So Adira didn’t see her, then. Varian closes his eyes. Magic, ugh. “She, um… she’s gone.” For now.

Another pause. Varian takes a deep breath. Despite all he’d said to the Moon—

“Adira, um, should we—”

“I know,” she says, grim. Varian snaps his mouth shut. “But at this point…”

They can’t turn back.

“I know,” Adira repeats, again, and she says it quietly, almost to herself. Her teeth are clenched so tight it looks like it hurts, and her expression is livid, eyes fixed on the shadows. She looks—he almost can’t place it; the emotion is so strange to see on her. But she looks, Varian thinks, almost as if she is bracing herself.

Varian steps a little closer to her, looking up at the shadow of the Tree, so dark the rising sunlight can just barely illuminate it. In a whisper, he says, “I thought you said someone you knew was here?”

“A former ally,” Adira says, tense. She grimaces. “Well. He should be.”

Varian bites his lip. They stare together into the darkness.

“The Moon?” Adira asks, finally.

Varian shakes his head. “She’s…” Pain flashes up his arm; he pulls his right hand behind his back, trying to breathe through it, the icy chill crawling up his hand. “I-ignoring me.”

Adira side-eyes him. “She’s hurting you.”

“Not seriously.” He curls his aching hand to a fist. “She’s just being p-prissy.”

The pain stabs at him, momentarily blinding, before fading to a dull ache, the Moon apparently losing interest. Varian hisses his next breath through his teeth.

Adira places a hand on his shoulder. For a moment they’re both silent, waiting, watching the darkness of the Great Tree, and then Adira sighs, soft and heavy, and takes her hand away.

“Come on,” she says simply, and pushes him through the door and into the first room of the Tree.

And it is, Varian realizes as he walks inside, a room—a space so big it must take up almost the whole base of the tree, so wide the light can only barely illuminate it. The floor is solid stone, smooth and slate-gray; pale dirt and withered husks of plants break up between the cracks. On the right side a whole section of the floor has completely fallen away into a solid drop. Pillars rise through the gloom, into a distant ceiling Varian can’t quite see. The air, stale and dusty, tastes as rotted as it smells.

It is like a living shadow. It is chill, and dark, and yet: there is something alive about it all. Something breathing, and watching, and biding its time. But maybe alive isn’t the right word—because there is rot here, too, heavy and lingering in the air, and the smell of smoke is so strong it nearly chokes him.

It feels like a dead place. It feels like…

He can sense the Moon, though only briefly—a flutter of cold, a catch of breath like pain. For a moment he thinks he can hear screaming, but when he goes to follow it, the sound has already faded away.

“What is this place?” Varian whispers, feeling sick. “What… what happened here?”

“It used to be a place of knowledge. A stronghold.” Adira lifts the torch higher; the firelight flickers, weak and thin in the whistling drafts of the tree. “Legends say Zhan Tiri took it for his own, when the demon tried to take the land.”

His vision spins. Varian stops mid-step, swaying on his feet, and has to steady himself against a nearby pillar. It doesn’t feel like wood, or bark, or anything natural. It is too smooth and slick, too false. It reminds him of bone, picked clean and polished. A shiver crawls down his spine. The screaming echoes in his ears again.

He snatches his hand away.

Ruddiger chitters in his ear. Varian shakes him off. “Zhan Tiri,” he whispers. Again, the name shudders through him. This time, the Moon speaks aloud, her voice hissing dark with warning.

Stop.

Varian closes his eyes. “Knowledge,” he says, voice unsteady, and when Adira glances at him he only shakes his head. She can’t—he can’t—they can’t do anything. There’s nothing they can do about Moon, except this. “K-Knowledge, um, is—a good place to start. About—the Sun and Moon and their powers, right? Do you know where we could find it?”

Adira never gets the chance to answer.

“Oh, it’s still here,” a new voice says, and Adira inhales sharp, hand flying to her sword. “But you certainly aren’t getting it.”

Adira just barely draws her blade in time.

Varian doesn’t even see the man move.

In an instant, the situation has shifted—and they are no longer alone. From the deep shadows of the tree, a stranger comes rushing into view, jumping down from above with a shout and a thin blade that shines deadly in their torchlight. He slams down between them, dust rising in a cloud, and before Varian can even think to scream that shining sword is swinging for Adira’s throat.

Adira blocks just in time. The man throws himself forward into the blow, and his silver blade catches and locks against Adira’s own dark sword. For a moment they are in a stalemate, and Adira makes to speak—and then the man laughs, high and vicious, and a second blade slips out from under his sleeve.

“Adira!”

The man punches for her neck and Adira throws herself back, the second blade only just missing her throat, scouring up the bottom of her chin. She stumbles back and the man follows after her, blade flashing—and Varian finally snaps out of his shock, inhaling quick and lunging forward with a cry.

He doesn’t know what he plans to do—to help, to summon the rocks—but he doesn’t get the chance. Yellow eyes shine out from the shadows, and Ruddiger’s claws dig so deep into Varian’s shoulder they draw blood. Varian freezes in place, and now he can hear it too—from behind him, from in front of him: a low and rumbling snarl.

Varian steps back, involuntary, and two beasts stalk out from the shadows. They are—they are huge, as big as a horse, their teeth as long as his arm and claws clicking deadly sharp against the Great Tree’s stone floor. The beasts look like a mix between wolves and wolverines, and for Varian, who is already small for his age—they tower over him.

Varian steps back again, mouth dry. The beasts have begun to circle him, caging him in between them. Drool drips thick and rancid from white gums, peeled back to expose every one of the creatures’ yellowed teeth. Their eyes are wild. Their eyes are hungry.

Ruddiger’s claws are starting to dig into the skin of his shoulder. Varian can’t breathe.

Across the room, Adira and the man are again in a stand-still. The man is smiling. Adira is not. Their blades are locked in place, stuck in unwilling truce, and already, both swords are slick and shiny with blood.

“Hector,” Adira grits out, and her eyes burn in the light.

“Adira,” the man replies, mild. He is tall, whip-cord thin with dark hair and skin so pale he’s almost translucent. His yellow eyes shine bright in the flickering light of the fallen torch. His smile is a bare of teeth, feral and cold. “So nice to see you again. It’s a shame to have to gut you like the traitor you are.”

.

One month after leaving the castle behind, Eugene returns with his heart in his throat.

He feels sort of nervous, and isn’t entirely sure why; his palms are clammy, and he keeps having to dry them off on his pantlegs. It’s noon on a clear day, and the streets are cluttered but not crowded, and the path up to the castle is like getting hit face-first with nostalgia.

Honestly, Eugene thinks to himself. A month! When he’d left the castle behind that day, he’d never thought things would go that far. Well, he’s learned his lesson: royals hold grudges, apparently, and maybe Rapunzel came by her stubbornness honestly. That’s the only reason he can think for why that tug-of-war standoff had lasted as long as it had.

And it’s over now, apparently, at least according to Rapunzel. Still: Eugene walks up the winding road, into the shadow of the castle, looming ever closer, and can’t help but swallow hard. It’s not entirely because of the castle, or the guards—though after a month of hiding in the shadows convinced that he was going to get locked out for turning his back on the whole political soap opera scene, he can admit neither guards nor castle is a very welcome sight. It’s just… a lot of things, maybe. Everything.

Lance had told him directly, and Lance wouldn’t lie—not about this. But still, still, Eugene can’t quite wrap his head around it.

Stalyan is here.

Stalyan is in the city.

It makes something in him go cold; it makes something in him go small. Eugene can’t find a name for the feeling. Shame, maybe. Guilt. Fear? He doesn’t know. It’s been years since he last saw Stalyan, and longer since he’s thought of her—of all the things in his past he’s been grateful to leave behind, she is most definitely one of them. Flynn Rider, rogue and scoundrel… but it hadn’t just been his reputation that bid him to run, that day at the altar. It had just been… the look on her face, maybe. The smile in her eyes. Like loving him was less about happiness and more about power, and all that could be gained from it.

Love isn’t meant to be like that—even then, he’d known that. For all the stupid masculinity jokes people make about marriage being a chain, in truth it is meant to be happy. Fulfilling. Freedom. Eugene hasn’t truly understood it until meeting Rapunzel, until looking in her eyes and knowing with his whole heart that staying by her side and seeing her smile was worth the world—but he’d got an inkling of it then too, seeing Stalyan that day.

Stalyan had loved him, albeit maybe in a twisted sort of way. And Eugene, fool that he was, had loved her too, once. But it wasn’t the kind of love that would make them happy. Great, sure, rulers of the criminal underworld; but Eugene had looked in her face that day and known, suddenly and sharply, that with her he’d never be happy again.

Stalyan must hate him for abandoning her—Eugene would expect nothing less, and he can’t even blame her for it. What can he say! At this point, it’s starting to become a trend: Flynn Rider, ruiner of lives and breaker of promises, useless in everything he did. In everything he does.

But even now, he can’t quite shake the feeling that she had left him first.

He can’t explain it. Like most things with Stalyan, just thinking about it gives him a headache. Whether it was the distance in her eyes or the cool chill of her smile, the way she gripped his wrists or the way she said his name, called him hers… who can say? It was a long time ago, and Eugene has left it behind him.

Still, though. Stalyan, here? He can’t deny it makes his skin crawl. Every passerby makes him jump; the distant echo of high laughter sets his teeth on edge. Eugene returns to the castle at long, long last—and because this is his life now, apparently, he can’t even be happy about it. So unfair.

Eugene blows out a heavy sigh and pushes the thoughts away as he approaches the castle gates. He looks up, a grimace tugging at one side of his mouth. Hello there, looming castle. Long time, no see.

The guards don’t stop him from entering, though they look surprised to see him. Eugene gives them a blinding smile and a wink-and-finger guns combo (devastating as always), and scampers on inside before they can stop him, or worse, ask him where he’s been.

The castle doesn’t seem to have changed much, really—a little greener, and covered in a whole lot more flowers, given spring is finally starting up. Eugene stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels, watching the castle gates with one eye. She’d said noon, right? Gods, he should have brought the letter to check.

He doesn’t have to wait long, thankfully. Five minutes after Eugene arrives in the gardens, the main doors push open, and Rapunzel slips out, bare-foot and smiling and hair braided behind her head, rushing down the stairs.

It’s cliché, maybe, but it’s true: for a moment the sight of her takes his breath away. His heartbeat stutters and thuds, and when Rapunzel meets his eyes, Eugene smiles so wide it hurts.

“Sunshine!”

“Eugene!”

He opens his arms and catches her when she leaps, spinning her around once, twice, and again until she’s laughing like she can hardly breathe and his smile has settled wide and true on his face. Her arms wrap tight around his neck; her cheek brushes his as she hugs him. “Eugene!” Rapunzel shouts again, right in his ear, and there’s laughter in her voice, laughter and tears and a smile so wide he can hear it. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you!”

He hugs her back just as hard, and spins her one last time before setting her back down on her feet. Rapunzel laughs, bright and loud, and leans in to hug him again, so strong his feet lift right off the ground. Eugene yelps, then settles, and laughs himself—then yelps again when Rapunzel spins him.

“Woah, woah—”

“You’re here!”

“—I am.” She puts him down, and he fakes a stagger, just to make her laugh again. She ducks her head with a beaming grin, and he straightens, smiling too, pulling back but leaving his hands on her waist, his eyes on her.

Eugene is smiling so wide, his cheeks actually hurt. He winks. “Miss me?”

She’s crying, but not in the bad way, thank the Sun—her eyes watery and wet, a little red, her cheeks flushed. She looks happy. She dabs at her eyes and laughs again. “You have no idea,” Rapunzel says, through her smile and the tears. “I am—I’m so happy you’re here, Eugene.”

“Me, too.” He brings a hand to her face. “I know it’s just for the day, but…”

“That’s fine. More than fine.” Rapunzel rests her head against his chest. “Things are—I’m figuring it out. You’ll come again?”

“Every day,” he swears.

“Eugene.”

“Fine, every other day—” She lifts an eyebrow. “Every three days—” Rapunzel tilts her head. “I’m coming at least once a week, Blondie, spy stuff doesn’t take up all my time, I can spare a day. For you, especially!”

“Mm-hmm…” But she’s grinning again, wide and pleased, and he knows he’s said the right thing.

Eugene sobers, looking her up and down. It’s been awhile since he’s seen Rapunzel face to face, though he’s sent her letters every chance he could. She looks—tired, honestly. More worn than he can remember. There’s an exhaustion to her, a haggardness to her face, that speaks loads about how badly the stress of everything has been weighing on her.

And yet—even so. Despite her red-rimmed eyes, her expression is clear and focused. Her hands aren’t shaking, and neither is she. She’s holding herself tall—taller, even, back straight and chin tilted up, quiet and constant defiance.

“You’re okay?” Eugene asks, already half-sure of the answer, and when Rapunzel smiles, he smiles too. That right there—that’s a true smile. A real one. He can tell by the way it lights her face and crinkles, warm, at her eyes.

“I will be,” Rapunzel says, firm as if making a promise.

He believes her. “Okay.” Still, he draws her in again—and just holds her, for a minute, and lets her hold him, and soaks in the comfort of finally being with her. “I’m sorry,” he says, at last. “About not being able to visit before now. And for not telling you about Stalyan in person. And—”

“It’s okay,” Rapunzel says. He chances a look down at her face. Her eyes are closed. “You’re here now. We can talk about it later, and I—I forgive you, anyway. It’s fine. We’re okay.”

“…Are you sure?”

Her arms tighten around his waist. “Mm-hm.”

He considers this, and tucks his chin down in the crook between her neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of flowers. “I missed you,” Eugene admits, quietly, muffled in her shoulder. “Every day, Sunshine.”

Her voice goes hushed too, like they’re sharing a secret. “I missed you too.”

And they stand there, for a moment, just holding on. Her arms are warm, and she smells like clean linen and flowers. The sun is soft at their backs. If Eugene closes his eyes, he can hear her heartbeat.

Then Rapunzel giggles, and Eugene exhales, almost laughing too, and they step away as one, grinning at each other.

“The day is ours, milady,” Eugene says, with pompous grandeur, and is gratified to see her giggle again at the title. “What do you want to do?”

Rapunzel loops her arm in his. “Maybe a walk around town?”

“As the lady wishes.”

She laughs again. The sound warms him.

Eugene leads her out the gates, and though the guards frown, they don’t stop them. Rapunzel spares a moment to wave back at Elias, lingering behind by the castle doors—the boy still looks totally spooked by everything, so at the very least that hasn’t changed—and Eugene grins and waves too. The boy waves shyly back, and noticeably doesn’t follow them.

“Things have changed,” Eugene observes, relieved and a little surprised. Though not that surprised. He has full faith in Rapunzel to win any contest of wills ever, by pure virtue of being five feet of nothing but sheer determination. Still, he hadn’t been entirely sure the King and Queen would listen—or accept defeat quietly, or whatever the right political term for that whole mess was. But if Elias is no longer being ordered to shadow Rapunzel’s every move… that’s a good sign. A great sign.

Rapunzel curls her arm a little tighter around his. “Yeah,” she says. It’s not exactly a happy tone, and Eugene casts her a side-glance. Rapunzel shakes her head. “Oh, I’m just being silly. It’s nothing, really.”

He nudges her with his elbow, and she looks down at her feet, bare toes flexing against the pavement. “Just. Things can’t go back to the way they were before, can they? I mean, don’t get me wrong, things are getting better, but… even then. It’s never going to be the same.”

Eugene frowns at that, considering, unsure of what to say. Rapunzel pats his arm. “I said it was silly,” she reminds him, and before he can reply, is off with a flutter of fabric, hop-skipping down the street. “Ohhh, a cider stall!”

Eugene looks up to the sky—dear lovely Sun god, are you as stubborn as your Sundrop? —and then jogs to Rapunzel’s side, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. “Sunshine—”

“Raspberry pastry and cider, please,” Rapunzel says to the stall owner, and Eugene rolls his eyes and drops it. For the moment. They get their pastries (divine, as always, how does she find these places, dear gods), and drinks (apple, tart, yum), and for a moment, things feel almost normal—the sun and the Coronan streets, and them, sitting on the side of a bridge, their feet left to dangle towards the water.

But Rapunzel is more right than she knows, and so Eugene waits until she has a mouthful of raspberry pastry before making his move. “You know,” he tells her, nursing his cider absently, “just because things won’t ever be the same as before, doesn’t mean those times are gone forever.”

Rapunzel puts down her pastry very slowly. Eugene laughs at her glare. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, and holds up his hands in surrender. “Just. Er. I’ve been thinking about that too, actually.”

Rapunzel looks away, swallowing hard. She doesn’t speak—just fiddles with the edge of her sleeve, looking tired. Eugene scoots in a little closer, and rests his arm around her shoulders. “Really,” he says. “It’s not—a bad thing. You know. You, uh, you take what you can from everything, you know?” Rapunzel looks a bit confused. Eugene waves a hand, trying to put the thought into words. “Like… okay. Hah, confession time. You know how these past few years, ever since you settled back in the castle, I’ve been… well. Trying to put the past behind me, I guess. The thieving, the sneaking, the law-breaking and… yeah.”

Rapunzel squeezes his arm and leans against his side. “Mm.”

Eugene relaxes. “Right. But, lately… these past few weeks, going back into it…” He grimaces, and blows out a heavier breath. “I’ve spent three weeks digging up my old contacts and brushing off my old skills, and it’s like… it’s just like before, but also really, really not. I’m doing it for a different reason. It’s not the same. It’ll probably never be the same again, I mean, I’m different, so.” He shrugs. “But it’s still with me. For better or for worse. If that makes sense.”

“A little.” Rapunzel blows out a heavy breath, a stray strand of hair fluttering in the exhale. “I get what you’re saying, anyway.” She leans against him, a little harder. “…Did you miss it?”

“Hm?”

She’s watching the sky. “Using your old skills.”

Oh. Eugene goes very stiff, and then, watching Rapunzel’s face, slowly forces himself to relax. There’s no judgement in her eyes, or in her voice; just honest curiosity, and a quiet sort of understanding.

Still. It drags at him, to admit this. It frightens him, just a little, because— “I missed it,” Eugene admits. The thrill of unearthing secrets, of sneaking where he’s not allowed, of slipping through the shadows. Of getting away with the target none the wiser. Yeah. “I missed it more than I realized.”

Rapunzel frowns at the sky, and then cranes back her neck to frown up at him. “That’s not a bad thing, Eugene.”

He laughs, but it doesn’t feel very funny. “Isn’t it?”

“No.” Her voice is firm. Eugene raises an eyebrow at her, and Rapunzel turns in his arms and straightens, leaning forward. “I don’t think so, anyway,” she says, a little quieter. “I mean, Cass might disagree, but—there’s ways to help and defend and—be that aren’t always what people think. Locksmiths can pick locks too. The skills aren’t bad, it’s just… what you do with them, I guess. And why.”

Eugene laughs again, mainly to cover the fluttering in his chest. Is it really so simple? He’s spent so much time trying to distance himself from the past that going back felt like a betrayal, and liking it even more so. Hearing her say that—so plainly, so sure, with such strength—it nearly takes his breath away. It doesn’t mean she’s right, but…

He wants to believe her. Her faith is, as always, contagious.

“That’s—okay.” Eugene takes a deep breath. “We-ell, Sunshine, I don’t know if agree with that—”

“Hmm.”

“—but I’ll think about it.”

Rapunzel shakes her head, but smiles. “You’ll figure it out.”

Eugene has always had faith in Rapunzel, and so her faith in him shouldn’t be a surprise, really—but still.

He turns his head away, uncharacteristically flustered, and grins when he can feel Rapunzel giggling by his side. “Don’t mock me,” he complains, still unable to stop the smile, and swings his legs over the side of the bridge, hopping back down onto the road. He offers Rapunzel his hand, and when she settles back beside him, he checks her with his side. Rapunzel laughs even harder at that, gripping tight to his arm to keep from falling. Gods, he’s missed her laugh.

“Though, speaking of Cass…”

Rapunzel’s laughter drops off, and her smile goes quiet and distant. Eugene looks back at the road in front of them, feeling his heart sink. “You too, huh,” he murmurs.

Ever since that day in the rain, Cassandra has been avoiding him, and he hasn’t stopped her—Eugene of all people knows the value of respecting space. But even so, he can’t help but feel it isn’t the right move to make—and yet, he doesn’t know what else to do.

Cassandra doesn’t want them there. She doesn’t want to talk. And Eugene isn’t keen on forcing his way through regardless, because there’s a thin line between helping a friend, or stepping up and letting them flay you alive.

Rapunzel, too, looks drawn.  “I— she doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Eugene thins his lips. He’s of the mind that isn’t much of an excuse; he knows better than to voice it. He hugs Rapunzel to his side, instead. “She’s… having a rough time.” Or something. He sighs. “She might just need a little space, Blondie. You know how she is.”

“I know, I know, I just…”

He hugs her again. “…Yeah.”

There’s a moment of silence, weighty and awful and stiff, and finally Eugene shakes his head and the troubling thoughts away. They’re almost into the main square now, and it’s as bustling as ever, a welcome distraction. “Anyway! Sad friend times aside—ow, Blondie, don’t pinch me—what are you thinking? Cupcakes from Attila’s? Or, ah ha, I heard a new sweet shop opened in the time we were gone, they make these powdery chew candies and tiny chocolates that taste divine according to Lance—”

Rapunzel stops walking.

Eugene just barely stops in time to keep from dragging her forward. “Hm?” He glances at her, and his heart plummets to his gut. His smile drops. “Sunshine?”

Rapunzel has gone white in the face. Her fingers are digging painfully into his arm, trembling so badly there’s no way it isn’t hurting her, but she doesn’t even seem to notice. Her eyes are wide open and shocked.

“What is it?” Eugene follows her gaze to the street. “What are you—” And then he stops, the words withering on his tongue, the world fading out into white noise. Because there, just down the road, walking in plain view as if she hasn’t a care in the world—

No.

“Stalyan,” Rapunzel whispers.

And so it is.

Bizarrely, his first thought is: she’s hardly changed at all.

Of course, Stalyan looks different now. Taller. Older, obviously. She’s grown out her hair again, and it looks good on her, wavy and soft. She’s figured out the makeup thing—her eyeliner looks sharp enough to cut, and less like she’s suffering from insomnia—and she’s got new clothes. But in every other way—

The cool look in her eyes, judgmental and dismissive. The slightest tinge of distaste as she walks through the streets. Anyone who gets too close gets a sneer and a hand brought to her blade. And this, too—when she turns, and sees them, and her eyes fix on Eugene with a fury that is straight from a memory.

Eugene clenches his jaw, refusing to step back, and curls his arm around Rapunzel, keeping her to his side. “Don’t—” he says, panicked, when Rapunzel makes to step forward. “Rapunzel, we can’t—”

“Hello, Flynn.”

The sound of his old name, in her voice, makes him wince. Hello, old memories. Wonderful of you to join us. Please go back into the locked box you belong.

Rapunzel is frozen by his side, and Eugene takes a deep breath. This isn’t the first time he’s been in this situation—old flame and new flame, and him in the center of the explosion—but this is the first time it’s… mattered, really. What Rapunzel thinks of him.

And, too—because Rapunzel’s hand is gripping his, almost possessive, but the anger in her face has little to do with Eugene at all. The problem with Stalyan is not because of Eugene. Stalyan is a threat not in romance, but in everything else—and that. That, Eugene doesn’t know how to deal with.

Stalyan is blackmailing Corona.

Why? For what purpose? Eugene doesn’t know, except for the fact it likely has little to do with him at all. He’s not a part of this feud, not really. He’s just an unfortunate shared connection.

“Stalyan,” Eugene says back, finally, not quite a greeting. It comes out a bit forced. It’s hard to muster the good ol’ charm when Stalyan is standing those few feet away with narrowed eyes. The idea of being charming, or even mildly flirtatious with her, is nauseating. “How… nice… to see you.”

Her eyes narrow further, but her lips curl in a smile. “It’s been so long,” Stalyan agrees, and it’s almost frightening, how quick her anger vanishes—hidden, now, behind a saccharine smile that makes something in him want to back away. “I’ve missed you.”

She’s ignoring Rapunzel completely, and Eugene is noticing that. Politics, politics. He swallows, mouth dry and aching. There’s no safe answer to that—he’s thief enough to know a trap when he sees one. So he stays quiet instead, and answers in actions: draws Rapunzel closer, and presses a careful hand to her back, a reminder.

Rapunzel exhales hard. She glances at him from the corner of her eye, quick and darting. Eugene just looks at her. He squeezes gently at her arm. There’s a pause, a moment of thought—and then some of the tension wound in her shoulders eases away.

When Eugene looks back at Stalyan, she’s no longer smiling.

“Stalyan,” Rapunzel says. Her voice is a little shaky, but there’s a force and control to her tone that almost makes Eugene duck his head to hide a smile. Rapunzel, setting her feet. This is about the time when the frying pans start swinging, hah. “What do you want?”

“How rude. Not even a hello?” Stalyan’s jaw is tight, eyes flashing. She tosses her hair, her hand settling on one hip, and eyes Rapunzel up and down. Her gaze lingers a little too long on Rapunzel’s bare feet, the flowers in her hair, the paint cracking on her gloves and the hem of her dress. Stalyan’s smile curls small and smug. “Don’t forget your manners now. I know you’re new to learning them, but after two years, that’s really no excuse, princess.”

Rapunzel’s jaw goes tight. Even Eugene is struck silent. That’s a goddamn low blow.

“Just Rapunzel,” she corrects, at last, stiffly. “I don’t have much use for the titles. Also—” Her arm tightens around Eugene again. “His name is Eugene. Not Flynn.”

Stalyan scoffs. “Look, you—”

“She’s right, actually!” Bright, bright, bright. Poisonous. Stalyan’s eyes snap back to him. Eugene smiles with all his teeth. “I don’t use Flynn anymore. I’d appreciate it if you used my actual name.”

Stalyan laughs. It fades quick. “Oh, you’re serious? Please. That’s—”

“What do you want?” Rapunzel repeats, cutting Stalyan off again. Stalyan looks livid.

Eugene presses a hand against Rapunzel’s back, trusting in her, unable to keep his gut from twisting. Stalyan is dangerous angry. Stalyan is always dangerous. How many times had he and Lance snuck into a place to rob, trusting her to clear the way out—only to walk out to find all the guards poisoned and dying on the ground? It had never been overkill to her. Non-lethal is rarely an option in her eyes.

And more than that—Stalyan frightens him. The more he sees of her, the more unsettled he is. There’s something off about her, something odd, something biting and cruel. He has never known her to be jealous; normally she would just dismiss Rapunzel, not mock her so blatantly and so doggedly. She hasn’t even mentioned the fact he left her at the altar, not even once.

It hits him all at once. Of course. Of course. How obvious is that? Just as Rapunzel’s anger towards Stalyan has very little to do with Eugene, neither is Stalyan’s anger towards Rapunzel about him either.

Corona—it must be about Corona. This whole situation. The blackmail, the attacks, the Baron risking his neck and his empire for this impossible deal… and why? Why is the Baron backing this? Why does Stalyan want this? What is it all for?

He has no idea, not even an inkling, and yeah: Eugene will admit it. It scares the shit out of him.

“Can’t a girl walk around and shop in her spare time?” Stalyan’s voice is light. Her eyes promise a knife to the back. There’s a light in her face like a spark, maybe just from the midday glow, that washes her pale and bright and grim like a corpse. It reminds him of campfire nights from long ago—of sitting before a fire, crackling cold, and looking across to see nothing but the reflection of the flame in her eyes. “Silly me—I didn’t realize negotiations started today.”

Rapunzel watches her. Her lips press. Eugene squeezes her arm again, bouncing restless on his heels, and she glances up at him. Her brow furrows. Then her eyes harden, and she nods.

“Okay.”

Eugene blinks. Stalyan looks startled. And Rapunzel is already turning away, her back to them both, walking back up towards the castle. “We’ll be going, then. Enjoy the shops.”

Eugene casts one last glance at Stalyan and then follows after her. It makes his skin crawl to turn his back on Stalyan, and he is wound tight and ready for if she decides to draw her sword. He lingers by Rapunzel’s side, uncertain. They’re leaving? He looks at Rapunzel. She is shaking, faintly. She isn’t breathing right. The cool determination on her face is faltering.

He puts his arm around her shoulders. They’re leaving.

“Flynn.”

He doesn’t turn around.

“Flynn Rider.”

Eugene grits his teeth so hard he tastes blood. He looks back.

“You’ve gotten soft,” Stalyan says. It’s half-challenge, half-coaxing. An offer veiled and sharp. “Don’t you miss the game?”

Eugene searches her face. And he realizes, all at once, that he was wrong. She has changed. He knows because he knew her best; he knows because he once felt it too. And it horrifies him, to recognize it, to see it in her smile. It’s terrifying.

There is a hunger in Stalyan’s eyes that chills him to the bone.

Guilt is such an ugly emotion. He can’t ever bring himself to regret leaving that altar, but—he used to care about her, once. He regrets that it hurt her. Because he did love her—and he did miss her, once upon a time. He did miss the game. He still does.

But in this moment, all he can feel is cold—because she, too, is lying.

This isn’t a game at all. To either of them.

“My name is Eugene Fitzherbert,” he says. It’s all he has left to say to her. “Enjoy your stay in Corona, Stalyan. I get the feeling you’ll be leaving the city real soon.”

He turns around before he can see the fury in her eyes. He walks away.

Stalyan doesn’t follow. For a long moment, she doesn’t speak. But her eyes weigh heavy on his back, and when she finally speaks again, her voice is cold with promise. “We’ll see about that.”

Rapunzel reaches out and takes his hand. It’s shaking. She squeezes his palm. It probably hurts her, but she does it anyway.

A moment’s pause, and then Eugene squeezes back.

.

The sun is coming up, the beasts are closing in, and Varian doesn’t know what to do.

His breaths come in short bursts, and the darkness wavers before his eyes. The beasts approach, and Varian backs away, knees weak and hands trembling, and for a moment he doesn’t know if their eyes are shining yellow or a cold unfeeling blue, if those are claws he’s seeing or the hand of the golem, the Moon’s puppet, reaching out for him from the shadows once again.

He needs to get out of here, but he’s trapped. They are behind him, they are in front of him, they are everywhere he turns. There’s nowhere for him to go, nowhere safe to run, and for a moment the whole world feels whited out and thin, the walls closing in and Rapunzel’s hand crushing his, screaming at him to run—

Ice shocks up his hand.

The memory shatters. Varian cries out, almost falling to his knees, gritting his teeth against a cold so sharp it throbs in his head like a heartbeat. For a moment the air is weighted and heavy, and around the back of his neck, fingers curl with the prick of claws—not a threat but a reminder, a grounding force.

Wake up, you idiot child! The hand tightens. Her voice breaks through the fog. Do you not see the sun behind you? Do you not see your mentor there in the shadows? The little rat on your shoulder? Would such things be in my labyrinth? No!

“I—”

You chose to come to this wretched place, against all my attempts to drive you off, the Moon hisses in his ear. If you die here after all I’ve done to keep you alive, little vessel, I’ll throw you off that ledge myself!

But I’ll already be dead, something in Varian thinks, snide and sarcastic, and the irritation is a relief, something to ground him back to reality. The cold in his hand and Ruddiger on his shoulders, the beasts circling around him—the nightlight, pink and soft and swinging off his coat strap. He’s not in the labyrinth. He’s not in the labyrinth.

Varian sucks in a deep breath, shakes away the lingering echoes, the whispers of a scream, and yanks his training staff into his hands. He holds it out and in front, pointing the blunt end at the beasts encircling him. “Get—get back!”

Yes, because that is so intimidating.

On the other side of the room, from the corner of his eye, Varian can see Adira still in the midst of a fight, pushing back against the newcomer’s sword. Her teeth are bared in a snarl. “Hector.”

The man grins back, wide and furious, and pulls away only to cut in close again, blade flashing for her face, so quick Varian can barely follow it. “Traitor.”

“I didn’t come here for a fight!”

“I told you what would happen if you showed your face to me again. You betray your king!” The man—Hector—sets his feet and lunges, lashing for her ankles; Adira dodges back, just out of range. Blood is dripping a steady stream down her face, almost invisible against her red face paint if not for the way it stains her shirt collar. “It’s too late to say you don’t want to fight, Adira.”

A low growl rises behind him, and Varian jumps, attention torn back to his own problems. One of the beasts is approaching him, too close for comfort. He clutches his training staff to his chest and backs away, his heart in his throat. “Adira—”

Her eyes flash to him. She shoves Hector away, snarling openly now. “Varian! Fight back, kid!”

“I—!”

“And who’s this, anyway?” Varian stills, breath catching, as Hector’s bright eyes fix on him. In his head, the Moon snarls, and the shadows grow ever darker around them, a low mist beginning to tangle at their ankles. “Not the Sundrop girl you said you’d drag through here, unless the rumors of the Sundrop were greatly misinformed. A random child?” He laughs, high and mean. “You brought a kid, here? You?” He turns, eyes flashing. “In addition to disloyal, you’ve apparently gotten soft.”

“I have never been disloyal!” Adira snaps. For the first time since the fight began, she looks truly angry. Her sword holds steady, but her knuckles are near-white from tension. Her expression is livid. “Maybe you were content to let the Dark Kingdom die, but I—”

“I follow the word of our king!”

“As did I!” Adira takes a deep breath. Some of the fury fades from her; her sword lowers, just slightly, and her eyes flutter as if she is in pain. “Hector. You’ve been here a long time. You don’t know what—”

“I know enough.”

“Listen to me! King Edmund—the Dark Kingdom is already—”

But it is clear that Hector isn’t listening. He lunges forward, grinning again, and the clash of their swords scrapes so loud it aches. Metal against metal, stone against stone—

The golem—

But no, no, he already knows—he’s not in the labyrinth, he’s not. But each time their swords clash, his skin crawls, and Varian shakes his head and stumbles back, breath hitching, hands rising for his ears.

(And Yasmin had asked him once, weeks ago: Are you afraid of the dark?

Yes, he thinks. Yes.

I’m terrified of it.)

His hands clap over his ears. The screech of metal rings in his head. His knees feel weak, and the walls are spinning, and he almost loses his feet entirely.

And again, that icy hand—and her voice, rising in his ears, sharp with offense. What are you doing!? Snap out of it! The binturongs, boy!

Varian blinks fast. He feels dizzy. “I— the what?”

The beasts, you little idiot!

Oh, he thinks, shit, and the world rushes back just in time for him to see one of the creatures—a binturong? —lunge for him. Varian yelps, scrambling back. He only just manages to get out of the way, and he drops to his knees, hands fumbling for the staff again. Ruddiger is clinging so tight to his shoulder that it’s starting to go numb.

The binturong lunges again, almost testing, and Varian has just enough muscle memory in him to remember to dodge. His staff slams down on the beast’s nose—it yelps and recoils back, and then it peels back its lips and snarls.  

“Adira—!”

“Go, Moony!”

“But I can’t just—” He doesn’t want to leave her; Adira had mentioned an old ally, now possible-enemy, but she’d never said he was like this. But Varian clutches the staff close and knows his options are limited. He whips his head around, breath caught. The pressure behind his eyes is dizzying. He can’t think like this!

I don’t suppose you could help? he thinks at Moon, and gets a blinding spike of ice-cold pain through his temple in response.

His vision spins from the sudden shock of pain. He drops to his knees. The snarling rises to a howl, high and screeching. Varian snaps his head up just in time to see the binturong lunge for him, jaws unhinged and claws outstretched—

“No!”

Light flashes across his vision, burning and blue.

The first thing that hits him is the silence. He can no longer hear their fighting, or the metal shriek of the swords. Even the growling has stopped. Varian pries his eyes open, chest sore, heart aching—and already knows, on some level, what he’s going to see.

The black rocks have saved him.

They are tall, they are unmistakable; they have blocked the beast from reaching him. They are not his doing. In the piercing blue glow of the rocks, already fading, he can see a flash of white hair and yellow-white eyes, Moon’s snarl etched dark across her face.

You asked for help and received it. She sneers at him. Reap what you sow, little fool.

His hands are shaking. Varian backs away from the rocks, and looks to Adira almost on instinct. All the color has drained from her face. She looks horrified. Varian feels his heart drop to his knees.

“…What is this.”

Varian snaps his gaze to the side. The man—Hector. His mouth goes dry. Hector isn’t smiling anymore. His eyes have gone hard and flat, and for the first time, Varian feels a shiver crawl down his spine at the look in his eyes.

Hector’s hand clenches around his sword, his eyes wild, and rushes right for Varian.

Varian throws himself away—and backs right into the wall of black rocks. Ruddiger yips in his ears. His eyes widen. Oh, fuck—

But Hector never reaches him. Adira throws herself in-between them, swinging for Hector’s neck. This time, it is Hector who pales. His block is rushed and desperate.

It’s too late. The angle of the blade is wrong, and the black rocks are absolute. Adira’s black blade cuts right through his sword, the tip ricocheting away across the stone floors, cutting up across Hector’s cheek. Blood wells and drips down his chin.

He doesn’t even flinch. Just leans forward, fury in the set of his face, and hisses, “What have you done.”

Adira sets her jaw. “Moony—Varian, run!”

“I—I—”

“We came here for a reason, kid! Move!”

The rocks—learning control—the scrolls. Varian catches his breath and throws himself onto his feet. His eyes dart around. There, just to the side: a hollow pit of a tunnel, half-concealed in the rubble. Still, he pauses, something ill twisting in his gut. “I can’t just leave you here!”

“You can! And you will.” Hector haymakers at her temple; Adira ducks and then kicks him so hard he goes flying back. “This doesn’t involve you—let me fight my battles! You have your own to worry about right now.”

“I don’t think so.” Hector is climbing to his feet, a snarl twisting his face. He tosses away the broken sword and draws another from his belt. His expression is blood-curdling. “What power is that, boy? Where did you get that?”

“Varian!”

“What did you do!” Hector howls, and the binturongs scream and lunge again.

The room is spinning before his eyes. The Moon is a weight in the back of his mind that nearly cripples him. The world wavers, caught between reality and something like a memory—the Great Tree old and broken and rotting; the Great Tree new and cold and so utterly empty it makes him feel ill—and the distant screaming, once again, high and shrieking and pained, echoing in his ears on loop.

(And he thinks: he has heard this voice before. He has heard this once, long ago. In a tower, half-dead and half-awake, drawn back to life by a burning gold, and as Varian opened his eyes, that same light had twisted around Moon like a vice and she had—)

Varian forces the echoes away, breath rattling in his ears. He is in the Great Tree—he is Varian—Adira is fighting again, pushing Hector back, buying him time. She is waiting for him to run. She is waiting for him to leave, and that is—

And what is Varian supposed to do? What is he supposed to think about this? She’s not his dad. She is nothing like his dad. But Varian is frozen still and shaking with it, struck with the sudden and terrible fear that if he runs, if he leaves, he will come back and she will be gone too.

Don’t, son!

“Run, Varian!”

Varian takes one step back—then another—then again. Then he turns his back on Adira and Hector both and sprints for the tunnel, into the shadows, deeper and deeper into the twisting labyrinthine halls of the Great Tree.

Hector screams at his back. Adira matches him; the clash of their swords shrieks through the air. The mist that has tangled low at their ankles surges up in a wave, consuming the room in seconds, and Adira and Hector both vanish from sight. They are swallowed by the fog, by the darkness, and Varian—

Varian does not look back. Varian runs. On and on and on, until he can no longer hear them at all, and the only light left is the nightlight on his belt and the only sound is his breathing and Ruddiger’s low growling, harsh and ragged in his ears.

And in the back of his mind, quiet and grave, the Moon whispers. Foolish child. You should have left when you had the chance. You should never have come.

I warned you, boy. I warned you.

And now it is far too late to run.

.

.

.

Andrew is awake, when the footsteps come; he is always awake, always alert, before she even thinks to walk through the door. In these past few weeks her approach has become routine, and never fails to make him grin. His role in this part of the game is minimal—minor manipulations only, using this new power his partner has given him, to twist minds and wills with his words—but important, all the same. She passes by his cell and Andrew hisses soft poison for her ears, each moment, every hour, every chance he has.

Cassandra is not here for him. Of this, Andrew is well aware. But she is drawn to this cell block by a force more than she can comprehend, led like a lamb to the slaughter, forced to listen to the whispers Andrew has been ordered to cram inside her head. And Andrew is a simple man. He is easily pleased. The idea of that strong-willed guard now serving as a puppet to the same thing Andrew is partnered with brings him a feeling of sick satisfaction.

He delights in it—the show, the slow fall. Every day she walks by; never does she know why, if she remembers walking here at all. Each day, the shadows in her eyes are a little deeper, her scowl darker, her eyes glazed and exhausted. He can see the bitterness wound tight in her shoulders, can almost taste the hatred building behind her tongue and in her throat.

This day is no different—Andrew is awake and aware and watching as Cassandra stalks through the halls, half-hidden by the shadows and grinning so wide his white teeth look almost like tombstones. She looks so wretchedly terrible today, he thinks with glee. She is as composed and put together as always, a lie of control, but her expression betrays her: her face is drawn and her teeth are grit, her lips cracked and bloody from all the times she has bitten angry words back.

She never sees him—never looks—never will, because Andrew’s new helper is clever and quick and will not let Cassandra see until the time is right and she is on their side. So Andrew watches and Cassandra does not look, and his smile stretches wide and cruel.

“Soon, you think?” he says to the air.

Cassandra’s hands are curled to fists.

“I think so too.”

In the great depths of Corona’s prisons, Cassandra walks by the prisoner hall with a cold expression and trembling fists. She doesn’t hear Andrew’s whispers. She doesn’t see him smile.

But in another room, sitting cross-legged in the empty cell above Andrew’s, another does. A hand shakes and then curls tight around the halberd. For a moment the other, unseen, unnoticed by shadows and prisoner and Cassandra all, sits there in that open cell and takes in all he has overheard, all he has overheard for the months and months Andrew has been whispering. All the things this boy has seen, ever since that first day months ago, when he and his friend stumbled upon this empty cell by pure accident, and heard Andrew muttering underneath.

For a moment this boy almost seems to tremble. His head bows, shivers wracking his small frame. His hands shaking, fingers cold. For a moment fear grips him like a vice, as it has for all these months before, walking through the castle knowing a monster was sleeping beneath it. For a moment he is lost to it.

Then his shoulders set. His teeth grit.

And when Elias finally raises his head, his expression is cold, and his hands are no longer shaking.

[indiavolojones]

anon it’s like you’re LOOKING at my diary ヽ(｀Д´)ﾉ

2.5kish, gen, dia/luci.

“Before you do anything stupid that involves my permanent work on your body," the distaste radiating off of Lucifer is palpable, "Try an ear piercing first. It's plenty shocking to you business types, and a helluva lot less painful.”

“So, what do you say, Lucifer?"

SPECIAL THANKS TO @canonlucidia​ FOR BEING THE LUCIFER TRANSLATOR WE ALL NEED TO ELEVATE OUR FICS

~

“Huh,” Diavolo tilts his head, “I would have never guessed you were over eighteen.” 

Lucifer's ID shows none of the telltale signs of forgery, nor does the man look like a teenager. Diavolo just likes to have fun with people that seem too serious for their own good. 

Besides, it would be impossible for Diavolo to misjudge the man in front of him as a child—there are no children with eyes as hard-edged as Lucifer’s. Lucifer’s drenched coat is slung over his arm, the layers beneath thankfully still dry.  His long hair is twisted up in a messy, haphazard bun—something about this man makes Diavolo think this is unusual. 

Probably the impeccably tailored, expensive-looking vest and suit jacket. The watch peeking out from underneath his shirt sleeve is worth at least a couple hundred dollars, if Diavolo’s instincts are right. Minutes within meeting Lucifer and he already knows that this is a man that takes an incredible amount of pride into his appearance. 

Lucifer narrows his eyes, but the effect is less than intimidating to Diavolo, who has faced far worse than severe looks. Besides, the dark, exaggerated bags under his eyes can’t lie. The proud jut of his chin and squaring of his shoulders be damned; Diavolo can sense his bluff a mile away. Lucifer is more likely to pass out from exhaustion than start a brawl. 

“What an interesting business model, insulting your potential clients like this.” Lucifer retorts, and Diavolo thinks he’s probably terrifying when he’s had at least eight hours of sleep.

“There are plenty of other tattoo parlors around town,” Diavolo offers with another disarming smile, his arms crossing. An asshole customer is an asshole customer, no matter how pretty their mouth is. 

“No,” Lucifer insists, “It has to be this one.” 

“Okay… Then you’re going to need to relax a little, because it’s not often that I have people come in during a storm demanding a full back tattoo out of nowhere,” Diavolo shrugs, passing Lucifer’s ID back to him. 

"I wouldn't do any work on you today anyway. You haven't paid the deposit and we haven't had a consultation meeting. Sorry, it's my policy." Diavolo shrugs, not very sorry all and Lucifer can tell. Lucifer looks like he's about to spin on his heel and march out the door, and Diavolo, damn his soft heart, holds up his hands.

"But… if you'd like, we can set you up for a piercing session. We've got an open slot and I'll give you a returning customer’s discount." 

"I want the tattoo." Lucifer says, like Diavolo's stupid for offering anything else and he has to stamp down his own mild tinge of annoyance. 

"And I get that. If you can afford my rates, I'm willing to discuss." Damn it, Diavolo knows the man is trouble, but Lucifer's mouth is so pretty when it frowns, as if affronted at the possibility of him not being able to pay. "But I can tell this is some kind of act of rebellion. I see types like you all the time."

"Types like me—" Lucifer repeats, suddenly furious, and Diavolo holds his hands up placatingly. 

"Hear me out." He says, and Lucifer's mouth snaps shut at the interruption. 

"You’d have to be blind to not see that this is part of some… bigger thing for you," Diavolo gestures at all of Lucifer, "And you're an adult that can make your own decisions. But for now, before you do anything stupid that involves my permanent work on your body," the distaste radiating off of Lucifer is palpable, "Try an ear piercing first. It's plenty shocking to you business types, and a helluva lot less painful. So, what do you say, Lucifer?"

Lucifer doesn't look keen on it, but he at least seems to be seriously mulling over Diavolo's offer. 

More time passes where Diavolo grows more and more convinced that Lucifer is about to tell him to fuck off and walk out of his life. At this point, it would probably be for the best. Diavolo is a sucker for sullen, gorgeous businessmen with obvious emotional baggage—not that he'd realized that until a scant ten minutes ago, but Diavolo's always been a bit of a masochist. 

As if the day's events have finally, truly weighed down on him, with a barely visible slump to his shoulders, Diavolo sees when Lucifer relents before he hears it. 

"Fine."

-

-

Barbatos' workstation is immaculate as ever, and the other works with maximum efficiency to prep his required instruments. 

“You’re the one that pierced my brother, Mammon,” Lucifer says, and something in Diavolo’s brain clicks. Mammon. Lucifer’s brother is Mammon—the very thought almost makes Diavolo burst into laughter. 

Barbatos is nothing if not polite as he tips his head to the side, as if trying to remember Mammon. He snaps his gloved fingers, and nods. 

“Ah, yes! He’s the one that passed out, I believe.” Lucifer looks strangely… delighted by that. 

“I’ll be over there, then,” Diavolo says, leaning against the door frame and gesturing back behind him at the front office. Diavolo almost laughs again when he sees the clear alarm in Lucifer’s eyes, can hear the silent why aren’t you doing it before it’s said out loud. 

“Barbatos is one of the best piercers I’ve ever worked with, you’re in expert hands,” Diavolo hums, soothing. 

It somehow works, because Lucifer is lowering himself into Barbatos’ chair. Not a word escapes from Lucifer as Barbatos finishes prepping the earrings, two black studs that Lucifer had chosen from Diavolo’s display case. Lucifer actually looks a little pale, and Diavolo thinks it’s adorable.

“Unless… you’d like me to hold your hand, if you’re scared?” He teases, and Lucifer’s eyes narrow in purposefully unconcealed fury for one beautiful, brief moment. It shutters away as fast as it comes, and Lucifer is staring impassively at the wall before him. 

“You may leave.” Lucifer dismisses Diavolo.

Diavolo hangs out, just to be a dick. Lucifer does not flinch, or sway in his resolve past that one moment of weakness. Barbatos finishes one ear—Lucifer does not react in the slightest—and moves to the next. He tilts Lucifer’s head gently to get better access, and it makes Lucifer have to look at Diavolo in the doorway. Diavolo gives him a brilliant smile, but Lucifer glares at him the entire time. 

Diavolo loves it. 

-

-

Diavolo doesn’t see Lucifer for one week; but he hasn’t received any terrible reviews on Yelp, and no department official has come knocking down his door with a surprise audit, so he thinks he’s in the clear. All in all, he chalks the experience up to some kind of weird twist of fate. He’s perched on a stool behind the register at the display case when the automatic doorbell chimes. Diavolo’s lips part to welcome the guest even before he looks up. 

“Hey, how’s it—oh,” Diavolo says, finally glancing up from his newspaper, “You got bangs.” 

Gone is the messy, windswept bun that Lucifer had his long hair tossed into, and instead, a short, layered cut has replaced it. It makes him look younger, somehow. Or maybe he’s just gotten more sleep. Lucifer reaches up to card a hand through his hair, pushing the now loose strands out of his face.

Diavolo spares a moment of silence to mourn that he never got to see how long Lucifer’s hair was in person, “It looks nice.” 

He places his cheek in one palm, grinning at his client. It would be easy to miss the light blush on Lucifer’s cheeks at his comments, but Diavolo is more perceptive than most. 

The blush on Lucifer’s cheeks intensifies, and he coughs into his fist. “Thank you. The hair was a nuisance, so I cut it off.”  

Silence passes, and Lucifer blinks, as if he’s not quite sure why he overshared. Diavolo takes pity on him, and tries to continue the conversation.

“How are your ears healing, then? Are you—”

“I’d like to set up a consultation meeting.” Lucifer breathes, and Diavolo blinks at him. Then he sighs. 

“Before that… I suppose I should apologize for my impudence the other day, Mr. Morningstar.” Diavolo says, finally, elbows propped up on the glass counter. He watches for Lucifer’s reaction like a hawk. 

“How did you—” Lucifer’s lips remain tight, before realization dawns behind his eyes. "You saw my ID the other day." 

He glares, no doubt wondering if Diavolo gone to the press with information of his spontaneous request. It would be like dumping chum into shark infested waters for them to hear how the otherwise resolutely tight-lipped eldest brother is doing. Too many people are already trying to pick at the man’s psyche for more garbage to feed the greedy masses. 

“I barely even noticed your last name," Diavolo waves his hand in the air dismissively, "However… it's a little hard to ignore a face like yours when it’s been plastered all over the news,” Diavolo spins the newspaper around, sliding it across to show the grainy picture of Lucifer and three of his younger brothers at the last company gala. Lucifer's proud, intimidating stare is unmistakable in its intensity. 

The headline ‘FALL FROM GRACE: Lucifer Morningstar Leaves Celestial Industries over Disinheritance Scandal with Brothers’ stretches across the page in blocky, damning font. 

"I didn’t reach out to any media outlets. You can relax,” Diavolo huffs, “But really? Your first move after all this is to go and get a tattoo?" 

“Do all of your consultations feel like interrogations?” Lucifer shoots back, lips turned down in a frown. He does not look down at the article, his gaze keeping level with Diavolo's.

Diavolo laughs, and holds his hands up, “No, not really. I only try to make sure my clients understand that this is too permanent and expensive of a decision to make on an emotional bender. Tattoo removal is possible, but it’s costly.” Diavolo lets his own eyes narrow in the slightest, “Considering you don’t have the fortune of a multi-billion dollar corporation to fund your whims anymore, I doubt you’d have the money to spare if this is something you regret.” 

“Why are you antagonizing me over this,” Lucifer grits out, hands fisted at his sides. 

“I take pride in my work, Morningstar.” Diavolo stands, inherently pleased to see that Lucifer’s furious gaze has to tilt up in the slightest to continue meeting his eyes, “I have no desire to see someone else's terrible work slapped over something I created." 

"If you get paid, what does it matter?" Lucifer spits, clearly reaching his wit's end. Diavolo stares at him, silent, and Lucifer shuts his eyes. He exhales through his nose for strength, and cards a hand through his hair again, clearly unused to it still. When he speaks, his tone is genuine, and he sounds tired. 

"I apologize," Diavolo blinks, not expecting the other to deflate as they have. When his eyes open again, they are alight with a fervor that Diavolo's breath catches at. “I have had…. An interesting week.” His smile is wry, too tangled up with hidden meanings that Diavolo isn’t sure if he should consider it a smile at all. 

“I understand that this is permanent. As permanent as being disinherited publicly.” Lucifer’s stare is unflinching, his resolve ironclad and as spirited as Diavolo’s own, “Which is why I have come to request a consultation appointment, rather than demand you do it today. You are the only one who I want for this.”

Why rests on the tip of his tongue, but Diavolo knows the hard look in Lucifer's eyes, the kind of determination that refuses to be ignored, denied. It's entirely possible that Lucifer himself does not know why, only that he must. Diavolo keeps his gaze for another moment longer, fingers suddenly twitching for a habit that he quit long ago. Barbatos would kill him if he started smoking cigarettes again anyway.

Another moment, and Diavolo allows himself to smile. 

"You could have scheduled a consultation online, you know," Diavolo laughs, and moves from around the counter towards his small side office. 

"Come on," Diavolo says, but Lucifer does not move, still staring Diavolo down from his place in Diavolo's front desk area. Diavolo looks up at the heavens, exhaling ruefully, "I'm assuming you have an idea of what you want." 

Lucifer only takes a moment to shake himself out of his stupor, the cool, almost snobbish expression back on his face. 

"Of course."

--

--

Diavolo's laugh shakes the walls of the small office, and Lucifer's face is, amazingly, deep red. Diavolo is hunched over, hands gently sifting through the sketches. 

"You're insane. Your first tattoo and you want a fully detailed back piece? Not to mention it's huge." 

"We’re looking at somewhere between twenty and thirty hours of work. What if you can't handle the pain? Back tattoos can be rather painful, depending on where I'm working at the time."

"That won’t be an issue." Lucifer sniffs, back straight as he sits across from Diavolo.

“It’s going to cost you,” Diavolo warns. He knows what his work and experience is worth, and charges appropriately. 

“Everything does,” he says, simply. He catches the quick glance Lucifer tosses at his now bare wrist, and remembers something about Lucifer wearing one of those fancy watches last time he’d seen the other. Had he sold it?

Diavolo hums, before looking back down at the sketches in front of him.

"Did you draw these?" Diavolo asks, impressed with the amount of detail. It'll be a challenge for sure, but if Lucifer wants to keep the tattoo exactly like the source drawing, Diavolo's confident he can do it justice. However… if Lucifer allows him to add his own touch... it'll be spectacular.

"My sister," he hesitates on the word, and Diavolo knows there's a lot to unpack behind that, and immediately labels that as 'definitely do not touch', "She was the artist of our family." 

Ah, was. Lucifer's gaze darkens as he stares down at the papers, and Diavolo sighs. He runs a hand through his short hair, and leans back on the couch. Crossing his arms, he huffs when he looks at Lucifer again.

"Alright, you're crazy, but it's your money." 

-

Other assorted headcanons/thoughts:

Not exactly sure what Lu’s desired tattoo is but it’s something like this pic

Lilith has like, Just Died. Is v sad. 

Getting his ears pierced felt like absolute nothing to Lucifer, but having no point of reference he’s allowed to be a lil apprehensive. (“It’s like a shot, just… really close to your face!”  Thanks, Mammon.)

Mammon has awful tattoos from different artists, but ever since he discovered this Diavolo fellow, they've all been coming out beautifully. Asmo has also gone! Lu doesn't trust online reviews, and while he takes what Mammon and Asmo say with a grain of salt, he can’t deny the quality he's seen of Diavolo's is phenomenal. 

Diavolo's art style is similar to Lilith's.

All the brothers are around in this lil universe. for certain Reasons, it's just Luci/Mams/Levi/Asmo that have all been disinherited for now. 

It's been several years since I got a tattoo so I pulled details out of my ass sorry for the inaccuracies 

as always ty for reading (ノ°∀°)ノ⌒･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

[nothingeverlost]

The Writing on the Wall (4/?)

We finally meet Benoit

TW for an uncomfortable and unwanted sexual situation.

II

“How much further is it?”  She hadn’t been this far away from the center of the camp before.  Marta had a general idea of where the lake was, but it would take some time to figure out the paths and the sun was setting.  This far into the woods it wouldn’t take long to get dark.

“Just around the next bend.  You’re going to like this.”  Ransom was just a few steps ahead of her.  He’d sat with her at lunch and had been strangely attentive and charming.  Usually he just ignored her, and for the past week since he’d arrived had barely said a word to her.  When she’d been little the seven year age difference between them seemed momentous; she’d still been in elementary school when he was a senior in high school.  Once he left for college he was the family member least likely to attend a holiday event.  Often she only saw him at Christmas; no one in the family dared miss that one day.  In Ransom’s case it was probably more about the presents; her papa didn’t believe in saving gifts.  If you didn’t show up you didn’t get your present, and his gifts were always generous.  The year Ransom had graduated college it had been a new car..  

“Maybe we should wait until tomorrow.”  He had told her about the small lake he’d found, more private then the one lined by cottages and filled with canoes and people.  Thinking that solitude wouldn’t be unwelcome she’d agreed to go with him, but she was getting more and more uncomfortable with the idea.  He never talked to her, why was he being nice now?

“We’re here already.”  True to his word they had reached a small lake.  Pond was perhaps a better descriptor; it was perhaps twice a big as their swimming pool at home.  Ransom was right about privacy, though.  There was no one else around.

“How did you find it?”  He wasn’t exactly an ‘explore the wilderness’ type.  From what she knew of him he preferred private clubs and expensive meals to walking in the woods.

“I heard someone talking.  You like this type of thing, don’t you?  The whole rustic lifestyle.”  He didn’t sneer but it felt like a subtle dig.  She’d grown up in a home bigger than his, but her mom had lived in a one bedroom apartment when she met papa and had retained her Cuban accent all her life.  Both she and Alice had a little of it too, something that made her papa happy.

“It’s nice.  Sometimes it can be refreshing to unplug from all the technology and relax.”  Alice wouldn’t agree, of course.  Ransom probably wouldn’t either.

“It would be a good place to go swimming.”

“Maybe some other time.  I don’t have my suit on.”  Alice and Meg both seemed to live in theirs, but she only put hers on when she was planning on going into the water.  She wasn’t interested in tanning and she didn’t like the looks she got when she wore a swimsuit without a shirt.

“Neither do I, but we could always go au natural.  There’s no one else around.”  Before Marta had a chance to register what he was suggesting his hand was on the first one of her buttons, slipping it out of the hole.  She jerked back.

“What are you doing?”  The single button didn’t expose much, but she clutched the fabric together.

“After three years of college I would hope you’re better at recognizing a move than that.  You don’t actually spend all of your time studying, do you?”  He uttered ‘studying’ almost as if it was an insult.  

“We’re family.”  It felt ridiculous to remind him that he was her nephew.  She never thought of him that way, but even if she was interested, which she wasn’t, the connection made things too weird. 

“Are we really?  How much do we really know about each other?”  He walked around her, circling behind so she couldn’t see him without turning her head.  His breath was warm on the back of her neck but it made her shiver.  “I’d like to get to know you better, Marta.  There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“Papa says you used to play Go with him.  We could play sometime.”  It was important to her papa that she tried to connect to the family.  She didn’t want to alienate Ransom.

“Not the kind of fun I was thinking of.”  If it had been someone else she might have liked the feel of his lips on her neck.  She might have enjoyed the hand that groped her breast.  But it was Ransom and he was holding on too tight.  She tried to pull away but he only laughed as he turned her around.  “If I have to spend my summer here there should be some perks.”   

His mouth was demanding and unpleasantly minty tasting.  When he pressed into her Marta took a step back, finding herself trapped against a tree, the bark sharp against her skin through her thin blouse.

“No.”  She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed as hard as she could, managing to make him stumble back a step.  “If you leave now I won’t tell anyone.”

“Who would believe you?”  He straightened his monogrammed polo shirt and tilted his head to the side.  He was right, there were plenty of people that would believe whatever he said.  He was good at making people believe what he said.  But not everyone.

“Papa would.”  It would hurt him.  It hurt her, to imagine the look in his eyes.  She worried about how he would react.  “Just leave and we can forget this happened.”

“You probably don’t even know enough to make it interesting.”  He looked very pointedly at her breasts and then further down before shrugging and turning to leave.  “You’re not going to get a better offer.”  

Marta counted to ten after he left before her legs wouldn’t hold her up any longer, they were shaking so hard.  She collapsed to the ground.  Despite the fact that she wasn’t wearing a suit she thought about jumping in the water, washing away Ransom’s touch and the taste of him.  If only she could make herself move.

“Do you require assistance?  Guests don’t usually come so close to the staff cabins.”  Marta wasn’t sure how long she stared at the water before the voice startled her.  The warm southern accent was as unlike Ransom’s voice as it was possible to be, but she still found herself shifting away.  

“I’m fine.”  It was a lie, of course,  The untruth of the statement wasn’t the only reason she found herself leaning over and losing her lunch, but at least she wasn’t shaking as much when she was done.

“I’m sure you are but it’s going to be dark soon and it’s easy to get lost around here.  Perhaps I might escort you back?”  To Marta’s surprise the man that she recognized from the dancing the other night didn’t seem disgusted by her vomiting.  Rather he stepped towards her slowly and offered her a hand.  He stopped shy of touching her, giving her time to make the choice to accept his offer.

His eyes were bluer than the water of her mom’s native Cuba.  She hadn’t been able to see his eyes when he was dancing.  His hand was warm, which didn’t surprise her.  She almost missed his touch when he released her hand after she was steady on her feet.  “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.”  His smile faded into a frown.  “Are you cold?”

Marta opened her mouth to protest again that she was fine, but she was suddenly too tired to pretend anything other than the truth.  “A little.”

“If you might allow me?”  He peeled off his sweatshirt, holding it out to her.  She’d seen plenty of people in the green sweatshirts with the camp logo, but she was certain none of them smelled the same.  He didn’t smell of cologne like she might have expected.  There was a hint of something almost floral under the smell of soap and pine trees.

“Won’t you get cold?” Just holding it in her arms made her feel better.  She was reminded of a blanket she’d carried around until she was five when it had been destroyed in a superhero cape incident.

“I’ll have to take it off as soon as I get to the lodge anyway, and I think it would do you more good than me right now.  It’s just about a mile to the lodge from here, are you okay to walk that far?  I’m afraid this path is too narrow for the golf cart, but if you don’t feel up to it the staff cabins are closer.  You could lay down for a bit if you needed; this time of night the place is pretty quiet.”

“I can walk.”  The last thing she needed was to have to explain to her papa why she was missing from dinner.  Breakfast and lunch he usually wouldn’t notice, but they always had dinner together at the lodge.  Marta pulled the sweatshirt on over her head.  The arms were too long, almost covering her hands, but she didn’t mind.  “Thank you again, Mr…”

“You can call me Benoit.  It’s Benoit Blanc but no one calls me Mr. I’ll answer to just about anything, though, as long as it’s not Benny.”

“You don’t look like a Benny.” Listening to his voice helped her to focus on where she was now and nothing else.  His voice and her   “I’m not going to make you late, am I?”

“Not at all, ma’am.”

She shook her head.  She was never comfortable with people calling her ma’am.  It happened sometimes when she traveled with papa, but it always felt strange.  “Please, it’s just Marta.”

“Everyone’s heading for dinner, Marta, and it will be more than an hour before anyone’s looking for me.  It’s nice to have the time to take a nice quiet walk in the woods.  Reminds me of when I was a boy, though the trees up here are a bit different from what I grew up with down in South Carolina.”

“A place like this is as rustic as papa gets, but when we were little mom would set up camp in the backyard for me and Alice.  I loved making s’mores over the campfire.  Papa would tell the best stories at bedtime, and mom would stay in the tent with us,”  Papa’s stories had been scary even then, until mom had given him a look and they somehow always ended in a joke that would have them laughing.  They had laughed a lot when her mom had been alive.

“Alice is your sister?”

“Yeah,”  Her only sister, in all but biology.  Certainly Linda would have never been interested in campouts in the backyard.  Thinking about Linda reminded her of Ransom, distracting her enough that her foot caught in a root.  She might have fallen if not for her companion.  Marta wondered if it was the dancing that gave him such quick reflexes, or if he was always like that.  

“There’s a nice log up ahead just a dozen feet or so.  Makes a nice place to sit a spell.”  They rounded the corner and true to his word there was a log on the side of the path, looking just perfectly placed enough to suggest that it hadn’t fallen there by accident.  Any branches that might have been there originally were worn away, making it a comfortable place to set. “Comfortable?”

“Yeah.”  For a moment the only sound was an owl hooting, and she was glad of the quiet.  

Benoit seemed to understand.  They sat next to each other for a few more minutes without saying a word, but the silence was companionable.  It wasn’t until she made a move to stand that he stood as well.  This time when he offered his hand she took it easily.

[the-headbop-wraith]

X

3 _ 39 The Land Time Forgot

  A rebounding thunder of cries tumbled across the vibrant blue sky, terror gushing forth, metal grinding and mashing and rattling. The clank and rasp howled forth, and then a yellow blur winked out as it hurtled through a subterranean burrow. Further wailing echoed within, until the terror-stricken voices extinguished, and silence curdled forth.

 “Oh my god, did you see that!” A blue blur dashed to the side of a rail and peered over into the hollowed pit, she leaned far over with her leg slung up high behind her. “That had to be sixty mph!” She’s joined at the shoulder by a snazzy dressed figure, his grin dazzling.

 “Vii, indoor voice. Save it for the rides, or you’ll go hoarse again.”

 She snickered. “Neigh!”

 Further from their station, another wail of cries exploded, hooting as a small train cart blazed across the tight woven and spiraling track. As far as the eye could see, the colorful flashes and whirls of other attractions, laughter and screaming – though a few of utter horror wound through the wild rush of adrenaline junkies. The theme park was a popular tourist destination, long established and flocked by trees and clean-cut brush winding among the many pathways dominating the sprawling acreage.

 It was slow season, a good time to take a vacation for young people who could nail down a select date that would allow minimal competition with typical season swarm. This was one of the rare occasions that the Mystery Skulls crew could set aside some time for a much needed vacation, in-between assignments and on the road. They totally did not travel a hundred miles out of the way for this.

 “Where d’we even start?” Vivi bounced at the rail. “Do we work our way up, or just hit up the biggest, scariest, heart attack?”

 Mystery borked. Maybe… work your way up. He gave his whole body a shake, his collar twittering with the vigorous motion.

 “C’mon guys” Arthur beseeched, hands in his pockets. “I think we’re gunna get evicted from the place before we even get through a line. This is not gonna work.”

 Vivi looked at him innocently. “What’s not going to work?”

 He pointed to the Mystery hound. “Stick a vest on Misty. It won’t work, they’ll figure it out. And he hates it.” On that note, Mystery gave himself another rigorous shake. “Knock that off, or they’ll catch on you’re not a real service dog.”

 Vivi went over to Mystery and wrapped her arms around his chest, lifting the hound by his front. “But we can’t exile our most devoted case worker.” She swayed Mystery. “This is as much our vacation, as it is his.”

 Mystery gave Arthur a snarky grin.

 “Lighten up, Art.” Lewis set his hands on his hips. “The park and staff don’t want to deal with regular puppers. Mystery’s better behaved than some teens.”

 Ruff!

 “It’s not an insult. Work with me.”

 Arthur groaned and ran his hands over his head, pushing his spikey hair back. “Mind you, if we get caught this’ll be the fifth theme park we’re blacklisted from!”

 Lewis winced. “The ghosts in the spook house were so lifelike!”

 Vivi defended with, “You can’t tell me that magician wasn’t actually turning his audience volunteers into rabid hyenas!”

 Mystery barked! That whole buffet was going to waste!

 “You guys are nuts!” Arthur slapped his arms over his face and groaned. “I give us a half hour. We’re gunna beat our best record.”

 Lewis threw an arm over Arthur’s shoulders. “You worry too much, Artie. Relax for once.” He swept his other arm out, across the expanse of the theme park set before them. The looping coasters, the spinning gyros, lush fields of trees for the aesthetic. “This is our day to scream, not because crazy freaks in masks are chasing us. But because we’re having fun. You remember fun, right?”

 Vivi plucked Mystery up in her arms. “And I read the rules and regulations in-depth. No one’s allowed to ask invasive questions about our lovable teammate. All we have to do, is remind them he’s very important.” She did pouty eyes. “You wouldn’t say no to this face.”

 Mystery did pouty puppy eyes and made his lip quiver.

 Rolling his eyes, Arthur checked Lewis – who did eyebrow waggles – then returned his eyes to Mystery, who leaned forward and gave his nose a lick. “I get ‘Told you so’ rights, and unlimited churros, IF we get caught.”

 Vivi laughed and let Mystery drop out of her arms. “In the meantime! There are rides to check out and an assortment of foods to sample.” She bolted off, chasing Mystery.

 Lewis gave chase. “Vii! Honey! Don’t eat before the really big rides!”

 Arthur was not far behind. “Guys! Wait. Mystery! You can’t run, they’ll get wise to our illegal activities!”

 For the benefit of Arthur, the gang started off on some of the less thrilling rides. They tried the high-speed coasters, with tight turns and mild dips. In between the crazy coasters, they tried the wicked spinners or the high-flying swings that soared above the parks landscape. Most of the ride selection was based on Vivi spying the next tallest spire, and the group navigating towards that through the winding paths, and then getting distracted by rides or shows along the way.

 Though Mystery couldn’t go on some of the rides, there were a few picked out specifically by the group that he could participate on. Those being low speed with minimum restraints, the bumper cars – which he enjoyed excessively. There was a log ride, that allowed him to sit aboard and ride alongside Arthur. Or the leisure car ride, where Vivi let him drive his car; due to the karts being on magnet tracks, and not a lot he could sabotage.

 None of the ride attendants questioned the dog presence. The most they got was a ‘well, he seems large enough for this ride’. He was so well behaved, but it helped that the park was having a relatively quiet day. The lines for some of the main attractions were nonexistent, and even in the mellow themed districts of the park, there were not a lot of kids.

 At around eleven, the crew stopped in one of the Ages Gone district for some eats. The aroma of sauces and simmer meats enticed Mystery, and when it came to food Vivi tended to trust the canine. Each member of the Mystery Skulls elected a preferred food item from the one stop cafeteria they were drawn too, and then took trays off for a secluded space under a tree. It put them on the edge of a cool plot of land, which divided their location from a nearby coaster track Vivi was adamant about riding right after.

 “We’re not doing that,” Lewis denied. “We’re going on the low-key rides, have a little down time.”

 “Aye-aye,” Arthur chimed. He dug into his ultra-saucy, meat burrito, getting sauce all over his hands. “No rush anyway. I can’t believe how much free time we got, without every other family not coddling Mystery boy here.”

 Woof. Mystery dipped his nose into the Styrofoam box, nosing at some toasted apples.

 The group finished their meal, Vivi somewhat in thought and a little quiet. Lewis gathered up the trash and dumped it in one of the trash reciprocals. Then, they went on their way scoping out the rides on this side of the park. They strolled on one of the paths near the river rapids, where a circular boat transported riders across frothing waters and through tunnels with theme appropriate critters.

 “I know this is off season,” Vivi mentioned, while watching an empty boat sweep through, “but I’ve seen more people in line at the dentist for root canal specials.”

 Woof. Mystery gave a large yawn. He wasn’t fond of big, congested crowds bumping and brushing against his doggy shoulders. All that static was a nightmare.

 “Maybe that’s the latest attraction,” Arthur muttered. He was still sipping the liquified ice of his beverage from lunch. “Scariest attraction yet! The dental experience! Check it out, people are already fleeing in terror.”

 The group stalled, Arthur choked on his flat seltzer coffee. “Wait—”

 On the other side of a high fence, a roller coaster train thundered by, momentarily drowning out the factual and alarmed shrill of park goers vaulting through a small garden plot. People launched over fences, darting across pathways, someone landed in a small decorative pool but kept going, drenched.

 Lewis sided up by Arthur, pointing. “Um, is that supposed to be happening?” Upon a better examination of the action, the initiator of the stampede became apparent.

 A dinosaur! A legitimate dinosaur was rampaging across one of the attraction landscapes; one decorated with lush plants and tall fronds, elephant ears, and palms. Ride goers burst through the greenery, as the feathered and toothed monster lunged or ducked through the flora. The species of prehistoric nuisance was game for debate, but one factor was certain – it was a biped, with a sharp snout, dozens of teeth, and claws. It roamed to the edge of the boarder set around the acreage and gave a theatrical roar.

 Arthur frowned. “Oh crumb, it’s just one of those costume meet-and-greets. Ignore them.” He swung away and began walking. “I hate those, I always get heckled.”

 Mystery tilted his head, whining.

 “Those are screams of legit horror, not glee,” Vivi pronounced. She ran back and snagged Arthur by the shoulder. “You should know screams of horror! You’re a connoisseur.”

 Arthur stumbled backwards. “It’s a skill I’m not proud of!”

 Lewis had his head tilt. “Is that a dinosaur?”

 “It’s a guy in a suit!” Arthur spat.

 The dinosaur clambered over the fence and flopped to the pavement. With some effort, it righted itself and crawled across the pavement. It used the shorter front arms to lift up on its large, muscular back legs and trotted forward. It hissed, turning its snout and many teeth toward one of the tourist that had not scampered out of range. With a snarl, the prehistoric nightmare lunged at the man.

 Despite the clear panic and full retreat, the person now under attack made an attempt at snapping off a picture. He wound up dumping the camera in his newfound occupation of retreat, and darted across the pavement a rock formation that served as a makeshift barrier. He made it over the top but tumbled, and crashed into a bush on the other side.

 The dinosaur didn’t fool around with scaling the boulders, it charged at a section of fence built up beside the rocks. It bit through the decorative wood barrier, the glittering claws splintered chunks of bark. The fence collapsed, and the dinosaur prowled in among the shrubs.

 “Whoa!” Lewis yelped. He snatched Arthur’s drink and abandoned his group. “Hold up now!”

 Vivi tried to snatch his shirt back. “Lew! Wait! Art, Mystery! C’mon!” She charged after him. Mystery yapped and wasted no time.

 With a sigh, Arthur ambled after them. “No, Lew. Don’t. Ahh. Scary. Come back. Danger-Danger. Eek.”

 In seconds flat Lewis reached the destroyed barrier and chucked the drink at the dinosaurs shoulder. “Hey! Pick on someone your own size!”

 The dinosaur gave a low, cackling growl and spun away.

 “I said hey! You!” Lewis braced and leapt. “I said, pick on someone—” Before he could clear the brush tangled around the dinosaur, it lashed out with its tail and smacked the would-be hero clear off his feet. He hit a portion of fence that remained standing and flopped to his side, groaning. “Ow….”

 “Arf-Arf!” Mystery dove in and snagged his collar, with every intent to haul the large mortal back. His fur bristled as the dinosaur shoved its snout through the brush and growled through its many sharp teeth.

 Still a distance away from the drama, Arthur stalled in his tracks. “Wait! Holy shit! That’s a lawsuit right there!” And nearby, Vivi shrieked:

 “Arthur!”

 On her way to assist Lewis, she happened by a cafeteria and caught sight of a fire extinguisher attached to a panel on the side of the building – along with a fire hose, and one of the emergency phones. The phone box was locked tight. How practical. She rolled her eyes and delivered a high kick to the fire extinguisher box. The glass shattered, and the door popped open.

 “That… was unlocked. Wasn’t it?” She sighed and took the red cylinder and unclipped the nozzle. “Good to know.”

 Meanwhile, Lewis kicked back from the snapping jaws. The dinosaur clamped down on the standing fence and the whole pole cracked. Lewis pushed Mystery back, while he scooted away from the thrashing menace.

 Right as the beast lunged, Vivi dove in with the fire extinguisher. “Eat therma frost, extinct reject!” She unleashed a torrent of white froth, making sure to cover the eyes and get as much as she could into the mouth. When she tried to move closer, Lewis snagged her leg and the back of her shirt.

 The dinosaur shrieked and sprang backwards. It shook its body and appeared to be trembling. One final roar, directed the groups way, signified its withdrawal. Lewis heaved Vivi backwards, before the tail could slice out and knock her down. The dinosaur didn’t hang around, and stormed across the pavement back to the attraction it may have emerged from. The Land that Time Forgot ride.

 It was only when Vivi allowed the mist to clear that the three could see, the creature had retreated. Arthur came over and barreled through the mystification of what occurred.

 “For that, we should get dibs on every ride in this darn park!” Arthur stooped and patted Lewis on the shoulder. “C’mon. Ya gotta check the guy.” Lewis grumbled confirmation, and let Arthur with Vivi haul him to his feet.

 Vivi inquired, “How you feel?”

 “Mostly shookin’ and stunned.” Lewis flexed his arms and stretched. “It takes more than that to rattle me.”

 Together, the group ventured into the thicket to check the guy that fell. For the most part he was well, a little scratched up from the brush but that broke his fall and saved him a broken bone or two. Not long following, the security force showed up like secret service agents to assess the damage. Secret service agents dressed in dark blue and sweating through their uniform. They gave out checks to everyone who signed a release form, in the presence of one of the parks attorneys, alleging they would not press charges or speak about events, or anything. The affidavit was vague on details.

 “So,” Lewis rolled out, pointing to one of the guys clearly younger than him and getting minimal wage. “This kind of thing happens often?”

 “Um… no?”

 The park attorney, a short lady, pushed her glassed up on her face. Then, pushed the park security aside, and stood up to Lewis. “They’re not authorized to say.”

 Vivi pulled Lewis back and got before the attorney, and pushed her own glasses up. “Y’know what I smell. I smell corporate cover ups. You guys do a lot of that?”

 The attorney glared at Vivi. “I’m not allowed to say.” The two had a stare off, the electricity sparked between them threatening to ignite.

 Lewis got his hands around Vivi’s arms and hauled her back. Park security took ahold of the attorney and ‘escorted’ her aside. “Vamos arándana, don’t antagonize the staff.” Under his breath, “We might yet not get blacklisted from this park.”

 Vivi tried to look back. “I don’t like her.”

 Nearby and with Mystery, Arthur sat on a rock. “Honest, what attorney type are you chill with? I say, don’t sign the slip. Munnies or not.”

 Mystery reached a rear leg up and scratched at the strap of his vest. Woof.

 “Are we going to get back to our vacation?” Arthur harped. “Didn’t really sign up for dino-wrangling.”

 Attorney lady pried out of securities hands, and approached the group. “You three won’t be able to continue your stay with Fanatical Hypes ™, unless you sign the release forms.”

 Lewis looked down at Vivi. “Could it hurt anything? Signing away our souls for corporate profit?”

 Vivi stroked her chin. “Depends.”

 Arthur jumped off the rock. “Oh boy, I know that look. Vii, please. Vacation.” He pressed his hands together. “I’ll sign—”

 “We’ll sign,” Vivi blurted. She went over to the attorney. “On one condition.”

 The attorney sighed. “I am not legally allowed to speak of anything, regarding… this.” She gestured to the damage, and the work crews arriving in golf carts and supplies to begin clearing up the area. Another work crew was off beside the attraction entrance, clipping a chain across the yawning portal.

 Vivi shook her head. “I don’t want to hear what YOU have to say. I want to speak to your manager.”

 Arthur dropped his face into his hands. “Lew, don’t let her do this. Speak some sense into her.”

 Lewis rubbed the back of his head and turned to Arthur. “I think we’re gunna go ahead and do this.”

 With a wet sob, Arthur hauled up Mystery and buried his face in his neck. “We’re getting blacklisted for sure, buddy.

 Mystery sighed and rolled his eyes. He patted Arthur on the head. There-there.

 __

 It wasn’t so easy convincing Ms. Attorney lady that her employer should have a chat with the Mystery Skulls. What this all came down to, was they wouldn’t sign the release forms, and they were suspicious of the dinosaur creature which attacked visitors. Arthur had to pull up their work credentials on his phone, and show off some of the cases dealing with masked people getting into trouble and all that shenanigans for a profit. While Vivi handled pressuring the attorney with her shrewd businesses conduct, and disinterest with discussing further details with attorney lady until she spoke with top management. Lewis backed up his team, being kind of tall and scary when irritated, but mediating the two parties when his team got a little overbearing. The bottom line of their negotiations came down to:

 “And even if they won’t speak with us,” Vivi concluded, “We’ll sign your… sinister contract anyway.”

 Attorney lady blinked. “It’s just a release form.”

 “It’s a legally binding contract! Ya can’t fool me!”

 Now, the group sat in the large and luxurious office. A replica model of the Fanatical Hypes ™, theme park, on the table beside the large desk. A door off to the right led to another room, where the attorney lady vanished into. The trio sat in chairs, and Mystery lay curled beside Vivi’s feet. They examined the room over, gauging the personality and temperament of the manager-owner. Some photos hung in order on one wall, underscoring debut attractions through black and white lens.

 “Daylight’s a’wasting away,” Arthur mumbled.

 “How are we going to enjoy the remainder of our day, if that thing comes roaming again?” Vivi snarked back.

 Arthur leaned back in his chair, letting his head recline on the headrest. “We can’t be like those storm chases, but we’ll be dino chasers. We should get pay per encounter.”

 Lewis leaned a little his way. “We already do that professionally.”

 Arthur twitched. “So why are we tryin’ to get tangled in this mess, on our one day off?”

 Woof. Mystery raised his ears toward Arthur. We’ll get benefits! His bob tail wagged.

 The back door opened, and a man emerged. He wore a nice suit with stripes, along with a bright electrifying tie. He surveyed the group, a set of small but trendy sunglasses fitted over his eyes. Following him was the Ms. Attorney lady. She shut the door and stood to the side.

 “I’m told you three refuse to sign some release forms,” he stated. The attorney nodded.

 Vivi shrugged. “We’re willin’ to sign, but we want to know what that… nasty thing was first. It’s for a little insurance. Your people seem to have a problem, one which my crew is prepared to assist you with.”

 The manager took his seat at the desk. “You think the three of ya’ll can help with an issue my park staff is prepared to amend? With our standardized procedures and dozens of work crews, on standby?” He leaned forward over the desk. “What’s your pitch?”

 The group exchange glances. Lewis stood up. “To start, your go to solution for this gig is have people sign the ambiguous release form. So I ask you, sir, what have you managed to accomplish with all your resources and park staff?” He crossed his arms and grinned.

 Manager blinked and edged back in his seat. “Er, well, my people are adequately trained—”

 “Adequately ain’t cutting it.” Vivi stood up. “My people are experts in this field of work, and we’re gunna save you so much money.”

 Attorney lady inched toward her boss. “Sir, you don’t need to listen to them.” She brought her arms from behind her back, and revealed the sinister clipboard with the forms. “They agreed to sign, if you afforded a short audience. You need not go further with this discussion.” She jolted when Vivi snatched the clipboard away.

 “Oh dear, you’re tots right. Guys.” Vivi set the clipboard on the desk and twirled the pen around her finger. “Guess we’ll be signing and leaving. We’ll just head off to some other amusement park, one with better rides, and the less likely hood of getting mauled. Though I love-love-LOOOOVVE the thrill of danger!” She cackled.

 Lewis brightened. “I love her when she gets like this.”

 “You would.”

 Mystery put his paws up on the desk and looked up at her. Vivi gave his head a pat.

 “A shame, isn’t it Misty?” She put the pen to paper. “He’s so excited to solve mysteries. It’s our raison d'etre. Isn’t that right, Mystery?”

 Lewis reached over and pulled Arthur up by the collar of his vest. The whole group standing, ready to sign and be on their way. When the manager looked his way, Lewis dropped the big grin on his face.

 “Hold on a moment,” Manager stammered. “Let’s not be hasty. Your group is qualified, in this field of work?” He snapped his fingers, looking to the attorney lady. “The Mysterious Stalls?”

 “It’s Mystery Skulls,” Vivi huffed. “And that requires some assessment. What exactly is your problem here? We’ve seen the results,” she gestured around the room, “damaged property, terrified guests—”

 Arthur piped up, “Potential lawsuits. If that thing tangles with the wrong people.” He shrugged, “Those checks won’t cover an amputation, and our guy nearly lost his feet to the jaws of death.”

 Manager groaned and touched his head. “All right-all right.” He reached over the side of his desk and fumbled with the drawers. After a brief spell, he pulled up a pill bottle and a bottle of water. “Ms. Carter,” he turned to the attorney lady. “Can you draft up some new affidavits?” To the Mystery Skulls:

 “You won’t be signing these.” He took the clipboard from Vivi.

 “Sir?” Ms. Carter posed. “Are you certain? These are freelance….”

 “Investigators,” Vivi offered. “And we don’t have a long list of clients, since we are thorough with our work.”

 Manager waved her off. “A brief work contract, swearing their silence if they so choose to work for me. The details of compensation will come later, with the results. Go to it now, I’m paying you.”

 Ms. Carter cast her eyes towards the group, then her employer, before exiting the room by the back door.

 “Now,” Manager replied. “Where to begin?” Again, he rummaged around on the side of his desk. This time he brought forth some folders stuffed with files, and from between the documents tumbled blurred photographs.

 The attraction for The Land Time Forgot, had several independently mobile and free roaming dinosaur animatronics. Models were based around prominent carnivores and herbivores of the cretaceous period – such as stegosaur, the tyrannosaur, raptors, spinosaurus, to name a few. Guests partaking in the ride, rode in a small buggy that navigated through a preset path. The ride was always fresh and exciting due to the primary attraction, the dinosaurs, roaming around or other times interacting with each other. Naturally, certain fail safes were programmed in, which prevented the animatronics from becoming unruly with one another or getting into traffic jams, which would shatter the existence of a natural ecosystem. It was also imperative to keep the imposing machines from wandering through the buggy’s trail, or exiting the park – these features self-sabotaging, since the mobility of each animatronic was limited.

 Save for one.

 “It was a gimmick, an innocent error,” Manager admitted. “One animatronic, the baby Allosaur, began to… deviate from it’s program parameters. At first it was considered an acceptable risk, it was almost real with its behavior. Reacting to lights, the sounds, other animatronics – the flash of a riders camera. But now, it’s an issue.”

 The allosaur deviated further, no longer reacting to only flashing lights or screaming guests. It began lunging at the buggy’s, though it remained within the programmed barrier which kept it from passing onto the road. This as well changed, and now the machine was routinely venturing out of the attraction itself. It was fine for a while, but now the theropod was attacking guests and the outside rides. For the time, the park staff managed to keep a low profile on these events, but rumors spread that one of the rides went haywire and now attendance was dropping.

 “Before,” the manager went on, “Profits boomed. People wanted to come by and see where the Allosaur would appear next. What mischief it’d get up to. But now, it’s damaging property, and I have to pay a higher commission for my attorney to handle guests who encountered it. Profits have plummeted, and thus far we have not been able to contain it. The artificial interface is out of control.”

 While the park manager spilled his tale of woe, the Mystery Skulls crew had resumed sitting. When he dallied on further exposition, they sat quietly, brooding through the context of their situation. Arthur did not look impressed.

 Vivi cleaned her glasses, and spoke, “So… stupid question. Why don’t you, I dunno, shut it off?”

 Manager nodded. “I wouldn’t say that’s a stupid question, more intriguing if anything. There’s a remote kill switch, along with a switch on all the animatronics which cuts power flow. The remote, I guess signal – I’m not good with the technological tactics – the animatronic overrides it. It refuses to shut down.”

 Now Arthur spoke, “That’s some hella AI game there.”

 “It’s cutting edge!” Manager gushed. “The ride was refurbished recently. When I purchased this theme park, I was told it was because the latest innovations went well beyond the anticipated recurring profits the original owner intended to make. Now though? I’m not certain if that was the genuine issue.”

 Lewis held up a hand and began counting off fingers. “Okay, so that we’re on the same page. One, you can’t shut it down. Two, you haven’t been able to catch-slash-stop it.” Manager nodded. “Cool. I think we can manage one of those two things. How ‘bout it Vii? You think we can handle this?”

 Vivi crossed her arms. “I actually think we should. We can handle it sir….”

 “It’s Klayton.” He rose from the desk and extended his hand.

 In due time, Ms. Carter returned from the back room with the paperwork for the short-term contract. It was a few pages long of formality, barring the Mystery Skulls ™ from speaking about the park, or do anything aside from detaining the Allosaur. There was a termination order, should they fail within a week to fulfill their objective. The group signed, as with Mr. Klayton and it was notarized by Ms. Carter.

 From there, the Mystery Skulls exited the managers headquarters, and returned to the attraction which housed the disastrous Allosaur.

 The first stop was the small disaster zone, where the Allosaur rampaged. Caution tape and some mobile barriers had been set up, barring guests from the traumatized site. Arthur slipped under a slant of the tape and examined the splintered pole from the fence. A couple meters away, Vivi stood examining the blocked entrance of the attraction. On the pavement, Lewis checked a muddy footprint.

 “What’d you take from all that?” Lewis called. “About the AI going haywire, and targeting guests?”

 Arthur dropped a splinter of wood. “Utter bullshit. I think it could still be some guy in a costume, like those meet-and greets.” He pulled out his phone and began swiping through the internet. “Allosaurs are much bigger, so why not make an animatronic to scale? Also, the movement was too smooth for a machine.” He approached Lewis and gave him a show of the images. Lewis nodded.

 “What about the Walking with Dinosaurs show? They mix people in costume and animatronics.” He poked Arthur’s phone, swiping away the images.

 Arthur muttered under his breath, “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

 Lewis grinned. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. And we can bargain in free food and lifelong passes.” Mystery came over to them, and he reached down to pet the hound. “And there’s no way we’ll get Blacklisted.” He unclipped the vest from Mystery and folded up under his arm. “You won’t be needing that.”

 Mystery had a full body shake. His hair poofed up all across his formerly lean dog shape, making him look vaguely pufferfish.

 “This was our holiday.” Arthur snorted, and pulled up some more search sites with images. “Let corporate avarice deal with berserk Jurassic Park gone exactly as expected.” When Vivi came over, he handed his phone to her and gave a brief of the speculations.

 “Don’t get confused,” Vivi stated. “We’re not doing this for Park Avarice. We’re doing it for the people that come here, unaware that the ride is dangerous ‘cause of the coverups. Still, someone is out there spreading the rumors, and persuading people to stay away. That’s definitely not done out of any kind of Whistle Blowing moral obligation.”

 Lewis cooed, “You think someone tampered with the animatronic.”

 “Yup. Someone wants to sabotage the park, and they don’t care if anyone get’s hurt along the way.” She turned to Arthur and handed back his phone.. “You wanna help people, right? And you’re good with electronics, maybe better than the engineers enlisted here.”

 Arthur pocketed his phone. “I work engines. There’s a distinct difference between circuits and engines.”

 “Anyway,” Vivi announced. She brushed past the guys and climbed onto one of the lower rocks, within the small garden plot. “We’re gonna solve this case, and prove once again you don’t mess with professional investigators!” She pointed her finger high, a playful gust whipped around her hair. Mystery hopped up onto the rock beside her and posed.

 Arf!

 Arthur leaned into Lewis. “She’s doing the pose again.”

 Lewis slipped a hand beside his face, and stage whispered, “The pose is empowering. It speaks to the spirits, beseeches their protection.”

 Arthur sighed. “We’re cursed now. Our quest is doomed.”

[slashhinginghasher]

Social Engagement for Misanthropes: Jesse Cromeans x Marena Polunochnaya

Jesse Cromeans cleaned up nice, and he damn well knew it. It was one of the first skills he’d cultivated after leaving his shithole hometown. One of the best ways to get money, he’d found, was to look like you already had it. The looks he got from women (and some men) were a welcome (some would say unnecessary) boost to his ego, and a sharp suit could always be counted on to draw the piggies out of their pens. The first few times he’d worn designer had felt strange, like a kid playing make-believe, though after a while it became as natural as breathing.

Now, as he stood in front of the mirror in his walk-in closet and fiddled with a tie he hadn’t touched in over three years, he felt a bit like that broke, backwater kid again.

He didn’t particularly want to attend this event, but it was, unfortunately, somewhat necessary. Spann had called it “proof of life” when she handed him the invitation, an actual, physical piece of paper that had been calligraphed and embossed within an inch of its life. It contained phrases like “humble gathering” and “the pleasure of your company” and had, apparently, been mailed with an honest-to-god wax seal.

Pretentious prick.

Jesse had been to his fair share of “humble gatherings”; you couldn’t conduct real business without them. They were mind-crushingly boring affairs, a slow-moving social dance of caviar, expensive booze, and pathetic attempts at wit. If nothing else, the people-watching was usually interesting. For all their “good breeding”, wealthy families could be far more dysfunctional than the most slovenly of small town homes. Upper class socialites didn’t blink at multi-million dollar checks, but flash a bit of ink and they’d fall over themselves to choke on his cock while their husbands talked golf in the next room. He’d even picked up a piggy or two at a few events, though you had to be extra careful with that (chain of association and all).

But he hadn’t shown his face in public since it had been ripped off and reattached, and some of his business contacts were getting suspicious. Spann’s iron-clad assurances were no longer enough to quell the rumors that Jesse Cromeans had died, or been deposed, and that someone else was running the company under his name. And that just would not do. He’d RSVP’d immediately, memories of Preston’s failed takeover flushing his system with old rage.

At least he’d be guaranteed some interesting company tonight, he thought, smirking at the garment bag draped over the stool next to him as he tapped out a quick text.

💀🖕: COME UPSTAIRS, I HAVE A SURPRISE FOR YOU

Macarena: IF IT’S YOUR DICK I DON’T WANT IT

Jesse chuckled and went back to his tie, certain that either Marena’s curiosity or the urge to insult him to his face would bring her up shortly. He knew bow ties were traditional for black tie events, but wearing a fucking bow around his neck was a concession he’d never been able to force himself to make. Besides, he had a reputation for being… unconventional, and reputation was everything. Satisfied with the crisp Windsor knot, he shrugged on his black waistcoat, secretly pleased with the way it showed off the breadth of his chest.

“You look like a goth pirate,” came Marena’s voice from the doorway. “What the fuck.” As usual, he hadn’t heard her approach. She was the only person he knew who could sneak up on him, which was fun. Made things exciting.

“Haven’t you ever heard of ‘black tie’ before?” Jesse signed with a grin.

“Call me surprised then. Are we done?” In lieu of a verbal response, Jesse tossed the garment bag at her. Marena unzipped it enough to peek inside, then immediately re-zipped it.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nyet.”

“Can’t go to a gala wearing that,” Jesse replied, looking pointedly at her worn t-shirt and jeans. Marena threw the garment bag back and crossed her arms.

“How sad. Guess I won’t go.”

“Sure you will. I can think of a few things to make it fun.”

“So can I. Like not going.”

“Not an option.” Jesse was struggling to smother his laughter. The stubborn furrow of Marena’s brow was too cute to keep a straight face around.

“Why are you going?”

“Business.”

“And that has what to do with me?”

“You’re my plus one, little wench.” Marena visibly cringed.

“If we’re being pirates, I want a fucking sword. And I don’t mean your dick,” she snapped, cutting him off before he could sign a single word. Jesse’s shoulders shook with a full-body laugh, composure completely shot. He cupped Marena’s face in both hands and kissed her forehead, which he knew she hated, before pressing the garment bag into her hands once more.

“Try to look a little less like a corpse,” he advised, stepping around her to grab his dinner jacket. A litany of Russian curses followed him.

***

Marena’s concession to not resembling a corpse was a violently red lipstick that made it look like she’d been eating human hearts for every meal, which Jesse immediately wanted to smear across her face. The dress was black, of course, with a high collar and long sleeves. It would have covered her neck to toe had she not hiked one side of the skirt nearly up to her hip while she slipped a set of throwing knives into the holster around her slender thigh.

She made a compelling argument for ditching, Jesse thought, feeling a familiar tightening in his slacks. He couldn’t resist smoothing a hand along her exposed leg, fingers coming to rest just shy of her underwear.

“Once this dress comes off, it’s not going back on,” she warned.

“Noted and appreciated. You still have to come to this party.”

“Fuck.”

“Later.” 

Marena said nothing, just glared at him through her curtain of hair - which she had brushed just enough that the messiness looked intentional - and let her skirts fall back down to her ankles. Jesse quickly ushered her out of the room before he could do something ingenious like cancelling all of his commitments for the next month and spending the entire time in bed.

The ride in the Bentley was tense and silent. A sick pit of nerves was brewing in Jesse’s stomach, all too similar to the way his boyhood self felt on the way to school, and that was ten kinds of bullshit. He was a grown man. He was motherfucking Chromeskull. He should not be feeling like a little kid about to face a playground bully. But he was finding it very difficult to push the feeling away. His face looked a damn sight better than it did several years ago, but it would never go back to the way it was before, and he was about to walk into a room full of people who treated a minute blemish like a national scandal. He wanted his mask. He wanted to say fuck it and just keep driving until he hit someplace tropical. He wanted to kill something, to drown his insecurities in blood and adrenaline.

He half-wished he’d flown Asa out to rig the whole venue beforehand in case things went south.

Beside him, Marena was deathly still, one white-knuckled fist gripping the fabric of her skirt. She looked a million miles away, lost in whatever personal hell her own brain was conjuring for her. Jesse reached over and squeezed her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. It was his version of a concession; a silent expression of gratitude. The fact that Marena didn’t push his hand away was a testament to how anxious she was.

“I still want a sword,” she grumbled. Jesse smiled and chucked her under the chin, which she also hated, and felt the knot in his chest loosen a bit.

***

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. People stared, of course, but they were too “polite” (which was money-speak for “two-faced”) to say anything to his face. There were far more eyes on Marena, which Jesse both loved and loathed. The women’s jealous eyes tracked her every move like sharks scenting new prey, which was admittedly hilarious to watch; but the barely-concealed desire on the men’s faces sent prickles of possessiveness down Jesse’s spine. He kept his hand glued to Marena’s lower back, low enough to skirt the line of what their current company would consider decent.

If there was one thing the rich understood, it was possession.

“Cromeans!” the host bellowed, arms spread like they were old friends. “Still alive and in the flesh, I see! Some of the lads were getting worried!” A few of the “lads” murmured noises of agreement while the host gave Jesse an overly enthusiastic handshake. Jesse could feel their gazes catching on the eyepatch and the new curl of his lip, and he almost wished one of them would say something, just to give him an excuse to lash out. But the host’s attention wandered over to Marena, whom he foolishly deemed to be a safer topic of discussion.

“And who might this lovely creature be?” he asked, ignoring the sinful glances his wife was casting Jesse’s way.

“No one of consequence,” Marena replied sweetly with a tight, close-lipped smile. The man tipped his head back and guffawed, trying not to wither under the combined weight of Jesse and Marena’s unimpressed stares. He forged ahead anyway.

“You always did have a penchant for… unusual company, Cromeans, I’ll give you that. Tell you what,” he rubbed his hands together eagerly, “I’ve got a bottle of Lagavulin with your name on it in the gentlemen’s lounge. I’m sure Genevieve here can handle your lovely companion for a bit while we talk business.” He beamed benevolently at his wife, who looked as though she’d rather eat glass.

“Of course, dear,” she said, pasting a megawatt smile on her botoxed face. “It’s such a treat to see a new face around here. I’m sure the other girls would love to meet you.” She swept away towards a group of tittering young women draped in diamonds and pearls, Marena following with the stiff spine of a person walking to their execution. Jesse felt much the same way as “the lads” filed into the oak-paneled gentlemen’s lounge.

“Business” was code for the same inane bullshit being discussed in the ballroom, with the addition of whiskey, cigars, and complaints about wives and mistresses. These conversations were usually a goldmine for Jesse. As a mute, he was rarely expected to be an active participant, and the number of weaknesses people revealed when they assumed they were surrounded by allies was astounding. Tonight, though, he was twitchy and bored, distracted by thoughts of Marena stabbing one of those debutante brats through the eye with the stem of a champagne glass. As if on cue, his phone vibrated.

Macarena: I’M GOING TO KILL EVERYONE IN THIS BUILDING

💀🖕: DON’T START WITHOUT ME

Macarena: IT’S CUTE THAT YOU THINK I WON’T TAKE YOU OUT FIRST

💀🖕: AWW YOU THINK I’M CUTE?

Macarena: I WILL RIP YOUR SPINE OUT AND BEAT YOU WITH IT

💀🖕: DON’T TEMPT ME WITH A GOOD TIME BABY ;)

Macarena: THIS FUCKER KEEPS TRYING TO GET ME TO DANCE

Macarena: CAN I KNEECAP HIM

Macarena: I’M GONNA KNEECAP HIM

The little bastard’s kneecaps were spared when a staff member scuttled into the lounge to inform the host of some dire emergency, effectively breaking up the little gathering. Jesse strolled back into the ballroom and spotted Marena at a table near the exit, cornered by a little bitch with slicked-back hair and a greasy smile. The waves of irritation coming off of the girl were palpable and her smile obviously fake, and Jesse couldn’t decide if the guy was too stupid to notice, or was ignoring it because he had that effect on every woman he spoke to.

“Come on, baby,” he goaded, and Jesse could have broken his neck just for that, “it’s just one dance. Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?”

Marena’s smile froze on her face, and Jesse could practically hear the Kill Bill sirens going off in her head. The barb would’ve worked on any other woman in the room - horror of high society horrors, to be considered ill-mannered! - but for people of Marena and Jesse’s backgrounds, it hit much harder and much deeper.

“No,” she said, rising slowly and deliberately from her seat. “She didn’t.” She turned on her heel, leaving the idiot to gape at the failure of his clumsy manipulation tactics. Jesse grabbed her elbow and she passed and made a beeline for the exit. Not that he didn’t relish the prospect of a bloodbath, but initiating one right now would make future business dealings… complicated.

He memorized the fucker’s face on their way out, though.

***

Marena spent the next few days in a well-deserved sulk, resulting in the destruction of two punching bags and a serious case of blue balls for Jesse. He’d really been looking forward to ripping that dress off of her, damn it. He distracted himself with work and few more personal arrangements. At the end of the week, he tracked her down on the rooftop deck.

“Say your piece and fuck off,” she growled as he stood silently next to her chaise lounge, hands behind his back. She sounded exhausted and looked as though she hadn’t slept in at least two days. Affecting an air of mock seriousness, Jesse moved in front of her and bowed, offering her conciliatory gift on open palms.

“You did not.”

The shashka’s scabbard was a deep midnight blue, with subtle patterns of tree branches embossed in the fine leather. The hilt was smooth, black horn. The blade gleamed in the afternoon light as Marena unsheathed it with a fluid schnick.

“You are the absolute worst fucking person in the world,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching dangerously close to a smile. A glint of wicked delight sparkled in her eyes as she gave the sabre a few experimental twirls and slashes.

“Only for you, baby,” Jesse replied with a cheeky grin. “Want to test it out?”

***

All it took was a pair of handcuffs and a dark warehouse to really bring out the bitch in some people. The asshole from the party (Jesse really needed to come up with a term for male piggies if this was going to be a recurring thing) had been tied up for barely a day and he was already a sniveling mess. Jesse, on the other hand, was in a great mood. He had his mask, his camcorder, and his favorite knife, and judging by the way Marena was practically purring as she traced her fingers around the shashka’s hilt, he was for sure getting laid tonight. 

The rich bitch didn’t recognize Jesse with his face covered, but his eyes went wide and he started screaming obscenities into his gag when Marena stepped under the light. She yanked the fabric out of his mouth.

“You fucking cunt! You’ll fucking regret this! Do you know who I am? Do you-” All the blood drained from his face when Marena drew the sword and held it to his throat in a lightning-fast move. He swallowed hard, the tip digging in just below his Adam’s apple and drawing a bead of blood. She really was a natural with that thing, Jesse thought as he circled the tableau with his camera. It was hot as fuck.

“Hi,” Marena said.

The man sweated in silence.

“I wanted to go back to our conversation a few nights ago,” she continued. “About my mother.” She let the sword drop to her side and the man relaxed fractionally.

“See, she did not teach me manners, but she did teach me a lot of other things.” She pushed the gag back into place and patted him a couple times on his quivering, tear-soaked cheek. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a black butterfly knife.

“Lesson one: bleeding.”

[emospritelet]

Closing Library : Marshall summons Belle for a private interview with Sutherland bc she did kinda ruin his outing so his team wants to take pictures of a peaceful chat and handshakes for press

I intended to include Belle in this but kind of got distracted with Anna convincing Sutherland to do the interview. So that’ll be next if someone wants to prompt me

x

Politicians had to develop thick skins, and Robert Sutherland was no exception. He’d been told in no uncertain terms to go fuck himself by members of the electorate more times than he could count, and so being chewed up one side and down the other by a petite brunette shouldn’t have fazed him. And yet it had. The visit to Avonleigh was supposed to have been a success, a chance to show the Opposition that his party had succeeded where theirs had failed, a chance to get some positive headlines running in election year. He hadn’t reckoned on meeting the librarian of a provincial town with an axe to grind and no sense of decorum. Sutherland was in a bad mood, and his staff sensed it and wisely kept out of his way. Only Anna chose to spend more than a few minutes in his company, but given that she had also told him to go fuck himself more times than he could count, he didn’t mind that.

“Stop tapping your fingers,” she said absently, as she went through some paperwork. “I know you’re angry, but it’s bloody annoying.”

Sutherland grimaced, curling his fingers into a fist to stop them drumming on the arm of the chair. The press conference at Arendelle plc had gone as expected: a few questions on the defence contract and an irritating number of questions about the young woman who had confronted him, and the effect that Government cuts were having on public services. It was now mid-afternoon, and Sutherland and Anna were closeted in his hotel suite, going over the plans for the next day’s visit to a local school and hospital. Which should pass off without incident. Or so he hoped. The way things were going there would be a group of militant eight-year-olds manning barricades and calling for him to be guillotined.

“Any word on how this is playing on the news?” he asked Anna.

“Nothing you want to hear,” she said lightly.

“Fuck!” He pushed up out of the chair, and began to pace again. “So it’s all been for bloody nothing, then! We drag our arses hundreds of miles north to celebrate some good fucking news, and it gets completely derailed by - by…”

“By a young woman who just found out that she’s losing her livelihood, and the town an important public service,” finished Anna, looking up from her papers. “Apparently she got the letter telling her the library would lose its funding about half an hour before she stormed into the market square to tear you a new arsehole.”

“That’s not my fault!” he snapped, aware that he was sounding petulant, and Anna sighed.

“We can try to argue our case for spending constraints, of course, but she’s already won the battle for public opinion,” she said. “The Today programme has asked for someone to do the ten past eight interview tomorrow morning. I was going to tell them no one was available, but if you want to press the issue…” 

Sutherland waved an impatient hand, still pacing.

“If we don’t send anyone at all, we stand no chance of turning press attention back the way we want, do we?” he said. “Maybe we should send Ursula.”

Anna pursed her lips, nodding slowly.

“She’s calm and unlikely to be pushed off course,” she agreed. “I’ll give her a call, tell her to prepare.”

“And what do we know about the young woman herself?” he asked.

“Her name is Belle French,” she said. “She’s twenty-eight, and she’s been librarian in Avonleigh for the past three years.”

“She sounded Australian.”

“Studied at Cambridge, and decided to stay,” she said. “She’s a British citizen now.”

“Is she likely to be giving many interviews?”

“I would, if it was me.”

Sutherland growled under his breath, running a hand through his hair in agitation, and Anna sat back, shuffling her papers.

“Apparently both The Sun and The Mirror are claiming to be running exclusives with her, but there again I’m told she’s given an interview to The Guardian too, so it might just be a load of bollocks from the tabloids as usual.”

“Well, they’ll have moved onto something else tomorrow,” he said dismissively, and she gave him a level look.

��Whether or not that’s true, the focus is still on her, and not on the 2,500 jobs we secured for the town,” she said. “She had the nerve to say to your face what thousands of people are probably moaning about over their pints. The tabloids love her.”

“They bloody would,” he muttered, still pacing.

“Of course,” she added, “it helps that she’s very pretty.”

“Can’t say I noticed,” he lied.

“Hmm.”

She didn’t sound convinced, but let it go.

“Fiona Black’s already been doing the rounds of the broadcasters,” she said, and Sutherland whirled to face her. “Apparently she called Miss French to express her support and to commiserate with her on the harmful effects of Government spending cuts on local services.”

“Oh, I just bet she did,” he muttered. The leader of the Opposition had been a thorn in his side ever since winning her party’s nomination for the leadership. “They’re not gonna let it drop, are they?”

Anna tossed her paperwork onto the coffee table and fixed him with a look, opening her mouth.

“Alright, fine,” he said wearily, and she closed her mouth with a snap.

“You don’t know what I’m gonna say.”

“No, but you’re about to tell me I should do something, it’s probably something I’m not gonna like, and it’s probably the right thing to do, so let’s hear it.”

She smirked a little at that.

“I think you should meet her,” she said, and held up a hand as he let out an indignant noise. “It’s election year. The papers will forget about this, but you know full well that the footage of her calling you a knobhead to your face will be circulating every time you go out on the campaign trail.”

“So I should let her call me a knobhead in private?” he said sarcastically. “Yes, what a wonderful idea!”

“No, you should tell her that you recognise and appreciate her passion for public service, and you want to know what the Government can do to help ensure that people don’t get left behind as the country moves forward.”

Sutherland stopped pacing, fingers tapping against his lips as he thought it over.

“Alright,” he said. “I think it’s probably best to face this thing head on, not run away from it. You’re right, that footage is gonna play every time I leave Downing Street otherwise.”

“It’s already trending on Twitter,” she said. “Hashtag FuckThePM. Not sure if that’s meant as an insult or a suggestion.”

Sutherland’s mouth flattened.

“Oh, you’re fucking hilarious.”

“Come on, where’s your sense of humour?”

“Always disappears when I get chewed out on live television,” growled Sutherland. “I presume you’re intending to make a press opportunity out of this?”

“I was thinking that now she’s had a chance to yell at you, she might be a little calmer,” she said. “Showing that you’re listening to people’s concerns will play well.”

He sighed, letting his head roll back.

“She won’t agree.”

“I think she will,” said Anna. “Just let me talk to her.”

“Time’s tight,” he said. “I want this done before tomorrow’s headlines make the press.”

“I’ll see if she’s willing to meet this evening,” she said. “Cameras outside for the meeting, but the two of you talk in private.”

He hesitated, but nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “See if she’ll meet me.”

[sugarglider-s]

A Hero On His Own

(So I fell in love with your Mario Au and decided to write a fic on it. I don't know if your still doing it or not but hope you enjoy it)

Warning: mild cursing, panic attacks, and forced marriage.

(Mario Au Fan fiction)

*All credit to sugarglider9603

Virgil walked along the path humming a bit to himself as he admired the creatures that went by, it was just about the time for the sun to start to rise. He hadn’t been able to sleep and this had been the end result. He stopped promptly when he heard something rustle behind him. Virgil turned and raised his eyebrow a bit before sighing and turning his attention back to the route ahead of him just another mile or so then I’ll turn back…he yawned and took a brief look back up at the sky couldn’t be night a little longer…figures. He sighed and looked to one of the creatures bet they sleep just fine. He couldn’t help but smirk at the ridiculousness of that thought. He heard another rustle and stopped turning around once more…ok…maybe I should just head back…he frowned a bit knowing his brother would likely sleep till late afternoon giving the adventure they had been on…I guess I could visit Roman later…maybe even Patton haven’t seen them in awhile since….the thought was cut off promptly when someone grabbed him…um excuse me? Instantly he tried to push the said assailant off I don’t know who you are but you don’t just…before he could cry out a hand covered his mouth roughly…crap where’s Logan when you need him? He looked over briefly and scowled when he saw who had him…Bowceit? Really, it’s way too early for this! The former simply smirked at him and dragged him off in a specific direction…shoot got to get away, got to get away…he let out a muffled protest and wrestled against his grip.

Apparently he was not the stronger of the two and before he knew it Virgil had been brought into the airship and was in the process of being tightly bound “Now I admit you obviously wouldn’t be my first choice…but it’ll have to do…” Virgil growled and tried to back away “first choice for what…” Bowceit looked him over and scoffed “well surely you can’t be that slow…or maybe you are.” Virgil narrowed his eyes at the koopa…if I wasn’t restrained right now…” but I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough.” Virgil glared but focused on freeing his hands…or trying to…. why does it have to be so tight…”Oh and because of your history of…let’s say forwardness…” he snapped his fingers and in an instant a gag was tightly wrapped around his mouth. “there now…No distractions.” Virgil glared and watched as he went to the front. At the very least could have brought my phone with me…or maybe have woken Logan up and tell him where I was going but nope…had to be in a rush. He let out a muffled cry and started struggle against the restraints ugh…it’s fine I’m just going to get out of this….fight the scaly freak and leave…he kept struggling occasionally letting out a few string of muffled insults or just glaring at his kidnapper…I swear the minute I get free from this I will kick your scaly behind…what was he planning anyway? It wasn’t to long until it seemed like the airship had landed.

By then he was exhausted and could only let out weak protests as he was carried into the castle. He was soon brought into the throne room and further restrained to a pillar “You know…” Bowceit started to say a hint of amusement in his voice “with an attitude like yours you should thank me for what I’m about to do.” Virgil glared…is that so…he stepped back and for a moment seemed to examine his work “you know…you’re not a prince but…can’t get particularly picky, can I?” it was only then did Virgil realize what he wanted to do wow he must be desperate if he thinks I’m going to marry him…he thrashed a bit in the restraints and let out another slew of muffled insults. “I’m sorry what was that.” In an instant the gag was removed. Virgil glared and practically spat at him “If you think I’m going to walk down any aisle with you keep dreaming.” Bowceit smirked and simply stroked his cheek “You know the only say your going to have in this is the wedding itself….” Virgil glowered “heck I’ll even let you choose what to wear…but you will be mine.” At least it wasn’t the princes this time…Virgil again attempted to kick him “Keep dreaming freak.” Bowceit tssked and again placed the gag over his mouth “now is this anyway to talk to your future husband?” piss off creep…it didn’t matter either Logan was going to come to his rescue (something he partially doubted since nobody but him had been walking and he hadn’t left a note…or took his phone.) or he was just going to have to wait for the perfect opportunity present itself. “Now if you’ll excuse me…I have a few things to do before we can properly start planning our wedding.” Virgil glared and let out one more muffled insult.

Once the door had shut…he looked around ok he’s got all those stupid buttons…I wouldn’t be surprised if I was standing on one of them…already the rope was cutting into his wrist causing him to groan in discomfort….he looked around at the floor and wondered if he could hit any of the buttons…can’t believe the princes have to deal with this crap on a weekly basis…well monthly now…Logan had made it top priority to have the princes kidnapped less by training some of the citizens more to be on guard and fight….and for the most part it was working. He rested against the pillar and glanced around …I have been in this castle plenty of times…know it like the back of my hand…I just got to wait for the right moment…he heard the door open and shut “I’m back…now lets start our planning shall we? After all we only have a few hours till the wedding happens.”

If looks could kill he would have been more than happy if the reptilian king had just suddenly fallen over, not only did he have to stand there and listened to Bowceit plan this very unwelcome wedding he was actually being forced to participate. And honestly that was worse…having to help out with something you didn’t even want to be apart of. Occasionally he would glance at the door and half-expected his brother to come bursting through and turn back when it was clear it wouldn’t happen, still he had no choice but to sort of participate as the planning continued. Virgil just glared at the koopa as he continued to secretly try to free himself from the restraints. Finally, he was grabbed by the chin and forced to look up “and I suppose we could pick a few people to come?” Virgil glared and simply spit in his face. “Rude…” Bowceit removed his hold and turned “I was just trying to be inclusive but…guess we can make it private.” Virgil watched as he picked up the binder “Don’t…you go…anywhere near them.” He threatened angrily. Bowceit turned and simply grinned “And what are you going to do stop me?” Virgil glared and thrashed against the chains “why don’t you let me go and find out.” He simply rolled his eyes and walked up to him…grabbing his wrists as he did so. Virgil winced a bit as the nails dug into him “quit struggling it’s pathetic to watch and quite frankly won’t get you anywhere.”

With that he let go and stepped back “Now I won’t lie when I say it’ll be enjoyable to watch your brother fall apart at this…If it weren’t for him, I could have gotten myself a nice prince…but instead I have to settle for you.”  Oh, figures I’m part of a petty revenge plan…he then smiled again running his hand down his cheek. “But look on the bright side…at least you get to become one…and it’ll be a nice feast…good cake…of course they’ll be no chance of you seeing your brother again but hey…who needs family?” Virgil hissed. “Classy now we have to get the suit all nice and tailored out…if you behave, I’ll let you wear it.” An idea came to him and he relented “good boy, now let’s get you something to eat…can’t have our groom on an empty stomach, can we?” he chuckled darkly and turned to leave.

After he had been fed and hydrated Bowceit had started to release him (to get the suit fitted) and handed him over to two minions. Virgil practically had to hide a smirk at the koopa’s stupidity I may not be like my brother but if he thinks I’m not going down without a fight…he’d get home tell Logan the story and promptly they both would ultimately pay him back for this. As they stopped outside the door Virgil pretended to not know what to do…after all they seemed to think he was slow…the two minions rolled their eyes and went in…. big mistake on their part. He slammed the door shut and locked it time to go…he raced down the steps doing his best to avoid capture (apparently a few had been close by watching him) he skipped the last three steps and looked at the platform oh this is going to suck…still he wasn’t going to let anyone down or a dumb mistake. Ok the exit isn’t to far off…got to take my chance. Instantly he ran through the platform like he had done many times before being careful to avoid the lava around him…it didn’t help that now enemies were after him…good thing I had a head start…he took as many power-ups as he could and used them to his advantage…he jumped on a platform and glanced back…good got some distance…he turned and stopped…oh crap…moving rocks that was new. No frickin way am I going to be able to make this…behind him he could hear a loud slow clap behind him “Well done…very well done perhaps your smarter than I gave you credit for.”

He turned and glared at Bowceit “don’t come any closer…” he threatened. Yet he advanced just so slightly “Of course now I know it might take a while to build up that trust in the relationship.” Virgil stepped back “There is no relationship you psycho…lets get that straight. Come near me and I swear I will throw you in the lava.” Bowceit smirked “I’d love to see you try.” Crap he’s a lot taller than me… “Now why don’t you stop resisting…it won’t do you any good.” It wasn’t too long before he was pinned down. Virgil cringed a little as his arms were held firmly behind him “Let me go you spineless…” a hand covered his mouth “shh…why don’t you face it we had our fun but you lost…and now.” He was ultimately lifted up “your going to be by my side every step of the way until the wedding comes around.”

Hope was dwindling by the moment. At first what he thought was a minor setback grew much much worse as he had been heavily restrained and gagged now unable to even let a single sound out, A collar was now attached to his neck so that he wouldn’t be able to resist in the slightest. Virgil had to watch as the finishing touches were made and could only glance at the door at this point really hoping that his brother would come to his rescue…but by the time they got to the chapel he knew it was likely not going to happen. He couldn’t even struggle…as the music played, he knew what was going to happen…but even with his hope dwindling no way he was going to make anything easy for Bowceit.

He was dragged down the aisle at this point practically begging with his eyes to be let go, but it was to no avail. They stopped at the altar…tears were threatening to spill over but he tried to force them away. The peace slowly began his spiel and Virgil could feel his body shake this is all my fault…I’m going to be forced to marry this creep and there’s nothing I can do about it…tears were now freely flowing down his face I’ll never be able to see Logan again and I’ll be…he lowered his head trying to hide the tears…he could hear the victorious chuckle of Bowceit right next to him. “If anybody has any objections….” He heard a loud slam and then “I ACTUALLY HAVE A FEW…” he looked up…Logan? He was thrown on to a seat “funny can’t say I invited you to the wedding but if your good…” Virgil let out a plea…but it didn’t slip past the gag.

He closed his eyes and silently pleaded for his brother to just leave…Please don’t hurt him please! He was shaking and trying so hard not to cry I’ll do anything you want just please don’t hurt him…it wasn’t to long before he heard a thud and something being said…No Logan Please! Please! He hoped that it wasn’t him…. he heard someone sit down by him “Virgil…” the voice was soft and soothing… “Virgil look at me…” he won…he actually won…all though he wasn’t to sure why that surprised him. The moment the restraints came off he flung himself to his brother “L-Logan I couldn’t stop him…I couldn’t fight him I couldn’t…” Logan shushed him and just embraced him “Lets go home…I promise this will never happen again.” He noticed Logan had turned to glare darkly at the now unconscious king. They slowly made their way out of the chapel knowing that the promise was empty…but comforting never the less.

—(Sugar) Oh my goodness this is awesome!! Thank you for making it!!!

[holy-fate-worse-than-death]

We’ll See About That - Ch 1

Warnings: major character death, smoking, swearing

Summary:

Conner Kent is dying. Clark is hell-bent on using Kryptonian technology to find a cure, not yet at the point of desperation that would drive the Big Blue Boy Scout to ask him for help.

But, after watching his own son’s heart break at the prospect of losing his best friend, Bruce realises Conner’s other father figure is the boy’s only hope.

More than that, Bruce thinks, Lex deserves to know.

In which Bruce Wayne fights for Lex Luthor because he knows all too well what it’s like to lose a son. Angst ahoy!

*

‘The last time we were this quiet was at Jason’s funeral,’ Lex says.

And, for the second time in Bruce’s life, Lex Luthor breaks his heart.

Pairings: Lex Luthor/Bruce Wayne, TimKon

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lex Luthor, Conner Kent, Tim Drake, Jason Todd

Word Count: 2034

Chapter 1 under the cut >>>

‘What could I have done better?’ Bruce asks quietly.

'This is about Superboy, isn’t it?’ Jason replies sharply, 'You want to tell Luthor.’

His second son has always had a knack for cutting through the bullshit, a trait that Alfred would say is a reflection of Bruce. Were it any other day, it might have made him feel proud. Today, it humbles him.

The sun is rising over Gotham’s bleak skyline as father and son share cigarettes and pointed gazes atop a secluded rooftop ledge, the only terms of the uneasy alliance between them being that neither will tell Nightwing about the cigarettes.

’Lex,’ Bruce replies equally as sharply, 'was the only man brave enough to stand beside me at your funeral.’

If that touches a nerve, Jason doesn’t show it.

His helmet is off, much like Bruce’s cowl is drawn back. Black hair, blue eyes and broad shoulders mirror each other; a subtle challenge evident in the tension in their backs. Who takes the last cigarette? Who gets up to leave first? Do they part ways, or head in the same direction?

The cogs turn in both of their heads, synchronising like clocks without a word being uttered. A plan unfolds in tandem. One ashes their cigarette, then the other.

When Jason finally speaks, Bruce senses the apprehension in his tone, though it’s a near-perfect imitation of apathetic even to his mentor’s ears.

'I’ll keep Tim distracted,’ Jason says.

What goes unsaid is far more powerful, communicated in the briefest of glances Bruce’s way before Jason stands and returns his helmet to his head.

The shiny red thing is a relic of days past. Days when Batman was still the feverish daydream of an angry young boy. Days when the taste of Lex Luthor was still fresh on his lips.

He deserves to know, Jason’s eyes say.

Perhaps Bruce is imagining it, but he thinks they might also say, I wish someone had been there to put us back together.

*

'You’re here to tell me not to break your son’s heart,’ Conner says.

Bruce is seated next to him on a patch of yellowing grass, somewhere amongst the vast nothingness that spans the width and breadth of rural Kansas.

The cheap two-door he’d rented from a town a few hours north of here is parked behind them on a shoulder lane, shielding them from the prying eyes of truckers on the dusty road.

Bruce had thought better of the expensive suits he normally wore, and now finds himself in ill-fitting jeans and a pale blue polo shirt. He’s wearing a hooded sweatshirt over it all that makes him feel a few decades younger than he is.

It’s cold and foggy; early evening.

'I’m here to tell you to ask your father for help,’ Bruce counters.

The ensuing silence speaks volumes. Bruce notes clinically that at no point does Conner think he might have been talking about Clark, nor does he deny that Lex is his father.

'Your son didn’t really die,’ Conner says eventually, eyes fixed firmly on the horizon.

It’s a deflection tactic, Bruce knows, or perhaps just a low-blow designed to knock Bruce off his game. And it might have worked, had The Joker himself not been employing the same tactic against him for nearly half a decade.

Bruce briefly contemplates telling Conner everything he’s wanted to say since he found out Jason was alive. Perhaps, That’s not my boy, or, The little bird I knew and cherished never came back to the nest.

Instead, he finds himself thinking about the man he’d sat atop a grimy Gotham rooftop with that morning. His son, certainly, but not the one he lost.

So he says what he thinks that man on the rooftop would want him to say:

'I think Jason would be insulted to know he’s still thought of as the boy who died that night.’

Conner doesn’t speak for a long time. When he does, it’s with another protestation, just as half-hearted as the first.

'Lex Luthor is an evil man.’

'Evil,’ Bruce says slowly, chewing on the word, 'is a hyperbole Superman is quite fond of.’

'And you’re the right man to judge that?’ Conner quips back, voice pitching upwards, 'One exploitative billionaire to another?’

Bruce lets out a wry laugh. It comes out sounding more like the type of short bark a dog would make if it felt threatened.

'Certainly not,’ Bruce concedes.

He finally turns towards Conner, his demeanour something approaching friendly.

'I hardly think Lex Luthor’s ex-fiance is the right man to judge the virtue of his past deeds,’ Bruce says boldly, surprising himself not for the first time since this exchange began.

There’s a pause, during which the sun descends fully below the horizon and they are engulfed in near-complete dark.

Bruce waits for Conner to speak, but instead he finds himself speaking. Perhaps it’s the bat in him; emboldened by the dark.

'But perhaps I’m the right man to offer you some insight into your father’s humanity.’

Another long pause. The wind stills as though Mother Nature herself is holding her breath alongside Bruce.

Just as Bruce is starting to frantically cobble together another moving speech, Conner exhales. A long, deep sigh.

'I’m dying,’ he says.

There’s no sadness in it, just a bone-deep resignation that damn near rips Bruce’s heart out.

'You know what your father will say, don’t you?’

Conner responds with a tight nod.

'We’ll see about that,’ they say in unison.

On the way back to the car, Bruce finds himself saying something else that is far too honest for such a young man to bear:

'As for Timothy.’

He hears Conner suck in a pained breath, wonders if it’s the illness plaguing him or the pain of thinking about the boy he loves.

'You Luthors have a certain knack for breaking the hearts of Wayne men,’ Bruce says plainly, 'I doubt I could stop you if I tried.’

*

In the car, Conner asks the practical questions; the ones that come to mind only after the gravity of the situation has settled on your shoulders:

'How did you find me?’

'Kryptonian scanners are quite good at picking your genetic signatures from amongst the other lifeforms on this planet.’

Bruce’s hands tense on the steering wheel as he braces for the next question, and for the answer he knows he won’t be ashamed of even though he ought to be.

'So Clark sent you?’

The bleak greys of mid-evening Kansas speed by out the window. The moon and the stars are still obscured by cloud cover, though they’re yet to see a drop of rain.

It had felt somehow wrong to do anything but drive from here to Metropolis. A waste of time that Lex would chastise them both for, Bruce was sure. But there was something Bruce couldn’t shake about the notion that every boy ought to experience a cross-country road-trip at least once in his life. Maybe they’d have a greasy breakfast at some non-descript gas station and forget their capes for a few short moments.

Superheroism seemed like a burden too great for a dying boy to bear. Though perhaps not as burdensome as dying itself.

'The Watchtower is equipped with Kryptonian sensors,’ Bruce finally says.

'Partners in crime, then.’

Another dozen miles of road pass.

'Is Dick with Tim?’

'Jason is looking after him.’

'Is that wise?’

'No less wise than letting him date the half-Kryptonian son of Lex Luthor.’

*

They arrive at LexCorp’s head office a day or so later. The gas station food has been mediocre, and the car rental company has been ringing him off the hook.

Neither of them have slept, and it shows in their eyes.

A nameless Wayne Enterprises employee brings them fresh clothing – a suit for Bruce, something relaxed but fashionable for Conner.

They change in a parking lot that’s entirely too close to the Daily Planet for Bruce’s liking.

It feels a little too much like they’re changing into their costumes for a mission, and Conner looks a little too much like Clark in this light.

He thinks of a hundred missions in Metropolis that started just like this one, long before the Justice League was formed – before they’d even taken on protégés like Conner and Tim.

They waltz into LexCorp fifteen minutes later like they own the place, exiting a top-of-the-line sports car (Bruce would be lying if he said he paid any attention to car manufacturers) that the Wayne Enterprises employee had exchanged for their rental.

Bruce is unsure if the receptionist at the front desk recognises himself or Conner, but by the time they reach the sleek elevator at the opposite end of LexCorp’s glossy atrium, she is chittering into a telephone receiver.

Bruce hears something like, Yes, Mr Luthor, as he guides Conner into elevator first, a tentative hand clasped on the boy’s shoulder.

Lex knows by now, Bruce thinks as he watches the floor numbers tick up one by one. He’ll have these precious seconds to prepare.

What else could it mean, when Batman arrives on your doorstep with your son in tow?

'He knows who I am,’ Bruce thinks to say a few floors before the hundredth.

Conner doesn’t speak, but nods almost imperceptibly. Equally as imperceptibly, he leans closer to Bruce, toward the hand on his shoulder.

The hundred-and-first floor is Lex’s. The gentle ping of the elevator is like shrapnel tearing through their heads. Conner flinches, Bruce squeezes his shoulder.

The doors slide open, and Lex’s face is so pale Bruce is sure his heart stops when he sees it.

Mercifully, however, Lex has eyes only for his son.

They teeter there, the three of them, for a few heartbeats too long. Bruce wonders if this is how people who aren’t bats feel when they stand on the edge of a cliff.

Then, Conner does something that surprises all three men. He leaps into his father’s arms, nearly knocking him off-balance.

Bruce is there to catch Lex’s elbow and keep him right way up. It’s a scorching hot moment of contact; skin-on-skin because Lex’s dress shirt has been hastily rolled up around the elbows.

Bruce swallows it down and turns his back to the father and son, allows them their privacy.

Conner is whispering something like, I’m dying, over and over. In stark contrast to the resignation of yesterday, now Conner sounds terrified. Beneath the anxious fog that has settled over Bruce’s mind, he is faintly aware that Conner’s newfound terror comes from the realisation that this is it. Turning to Lex is the Hail Mary they had all prayed they would never have to make.

Bruce is reminded of Clark in the past, the way he would so callously say things like, Lex Luthor? I wouldn’t go to him if I was dying. Bruce files that away for later; to ruminate on the impression that has left on Conner, to chastise Clark and remind him of his responsibilities as a mentor. If, after this, he still has someone to mentor.

'We’ll see about that, son,’ Lex says.

There is comfort in it – perhaps more than there ought to be. Lex’s confidence is unwavering, even in the face of crisis. Difficult? A few seconds. Impossible? A few minutes. But Bruce is sure he is scared; that any moment the cracks will begin to show.

Bruce glides across the room unnoticed, and finds himself idling awkwardly in the middle of it. Perhaps it is the sleek, futuristic furniture that Lex has decorated his office with. Is that a couch, or a table? Either way, it puts Bruce directly in Lex’s line of fire the moment he spins around, and Bruce supposes the room is designed with these exact moments in mind.

'How did this happen?’ Lex demands, voice booming throughout the sparse, cavernous space.

Bruce takes a moment – selfishly – to breathe deeply. Lex watches him with keen eyes, every muscle in his body going rigid at the thought of Batman needing to steady himself before this conversation.

'Truthfully,’ Bruce says.

He grimaces, because he knows not even the ever-fatalistic Lex Luthor will have prepared for an answer this grim.

'We have no idea.’

[drgnrder82]

Fictober 2019: Day 28

Fandom: Pokemon / Detective Pikachu

Prompt: “Can you wait for me?”

Rating: G

Trigger Warning: None

Characters:  Tim Goodman,  Emolga, OC’s Alison Angeles,

A/N: These snippets follow after the events of a fanfic I finished called Heart of Gold that can be read in full on AO3 here.

I needed some fluff after reading Miraculous fanfics.

_________________________________

Ties always felt like they were strangling him even after years of wearing them at Whimsmore. There he could get away with loosening them up so they weren’t so damn tight. Not with a full suit. He would just look messy and he already felt out of place walking up to the estate house that, very possibly, sat on a plot of land bigger than Leaventown.

Wouldn’t have been so bad if his better half were with him but she texted that she got held up and would meet him there and not to worry. Sure. Not worry. His dad’s little beat to hell sedan sure blended well with the black and silver sports cars that lined the driveway. For miles. Felt like miles. That was only the beginning of how out of place he was. But he bit down and walked up the driveway, through the palatial garden right up to the security guard at the door.

“Name?” The guard asked half heartedly after an obvious glance up and down and fingering his radio.

“Guest of Alison Angeles.” His name wouldn’t be on the list. Hers, well, he assumed would be.

“Oh,” the genuine shock stung and his Pangoro partner stood at ease again. He got waved in and the torment would continue, just in a different way than being turned away.

He literally had no idea why he was here. Nothing about the event or why he had to wear the best suit he had. Nada.

The grand foyer alone made him feel so tiny and insignificant. Then as he followed the people trickling into a great room off the foyer, apparently the gallery as he’d overheard, he had a sinking feeling. Crystal chandeliers hung high above him, casting soft light in the room to play off light from wall sconces around the room. A mixture of light and shadows that sunk deep into the dark panels of wood lining the walls. The wide French style doors meant he could try to make a casual escape if things went south. Based on the way people were already staring at him, he might just go hide in the garden until Alison did show.

Then his phone buzzed.

Alison: I’m so so sorry.

Alison: Can you wait for me? I should be there soon.

Tim: Of course.

Well, he would get to play the waiting game all alone. No one stopped to mingle with him. They avoided him, skirted around him. But looking around he noticed that few Pokemon were here. A Liepard raised its head at him. Staring right into his soul as it swished its tail around. A few small Lillipups yapped from their partner’s purses, more of accessories than anything else. A fluffy Minccinno scuttled around feet taking up post on the piano in the corner. It was going to be a long night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

This was dumb. It was the stupidest idea ever. Ever ever! Why did she let Lei rope her into this? Even if it was his birthday. Every single time she came to one of his or the other guys official functions it ended up a mess. Not bar fight mess but still.

“Stop fidgeting. I’m almost done with your hair.” Lei pinned some curls up as if it were going to make any difference.

“I told you I would make you dinner. That is your birthday gift,” she couldn’t help but whine now. She really just wanted to grab Tim and leave. It was entirely possible that over the years as Lei’s friend she had pissed off several of his female friends that may or may not have only hung around him to try to get in good with his family. “Why am I even here?”

“Has he ever seen you in a dress?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Meaning, no. No, he had not. Finally, he turned the mirror around so she could see his handy work. “Really? That’s too much make up!”

“I thought you wore make up for work.”

“Sometimes. And much different.” Little paws furiously swiped behind her, batting and hitting and soon there would be claws. “What are you doing to Em, Yu?”

Lei grabbed her chin so she couldn’t turn to protest even more. “She’s fine. And,” Lei added sweetly with that damn grin that made all the other girls swoon, “this is also a birthday gift.”

Swatting away his hands Alison huffed. “Fine. Fine. Let’s go get this stupid party over with.”

He’d brought Em over, “Will she sit on your shoulder?”  She could have argued. Could have left. Instead she nodded.

Waiting until Yu and Lei were out of earshot she said, “You’re really soft. What did they do to your fur?”

Building her courage, Alison made sure Em was stable on her shoulder. Wiping out on the stairs would just add injury to insult. The ones that were on their way once she got down the stairs.

She never wore heals and her feet reminded her with every step. She wouldn’t have to make it far, down the stairs in the Grand Foyer and just across through the doors into the Gallery and she could sit. If she could make sure the dress didn’t ride up too far.

Light murmurs followed her down the stairs. Lei and Yu were somewhere in the throng of people. Tim, though, was the one she was looking for and couldn’t find. Each step brought her closer to the insults she could already see forming in the petty childhood friends that recognized her. Every ‘street Rattata’ or ‘Diglett should go back to sleeping in the dirt’ slur they used to humiliate her. Push her away from Lei. She’d never told him about all those times, just buried it deep within herself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tim couldn’t tell if Lei was serious. It was a sweet idea, would be cute. Eyes turned toward the staircase in the foyer as another guest was entering. She kind of reminded him of Alison. Silky skin, strong legs shown off by a beautiful floral pale pink dress. Ok, that was not the kind of thing his girlfriend would wear. But her auburn curls caused a pang. He missed her being with him.

And the Emolga.

Glass shattered sending shards across the marble floor.

He heard the murmurs start back up. Nothing distinct. Alison had locked eyes with him, trying hard to tug the dress down further. A butler or server or whoever was trying to move Tim out of the way to clean up the broken water glass.

Stopping in front of him Tim realized he was frozen. Just staring like a Deerling in headlights.

“Hey.” She broke his reverie when he really didn’t stop staring. “Sorry I’m late.”

Like it had been jump started, his mind started working again. He was fairly sure if he tried to form any words they would…just sound idiotic. The only thing he could think was what Lei had said.

Taking her her hand in his, he swept it up just high enough to brush a kiss along her knuckles. She’d never once turned so bright red in all the months he’d known her as her smile faltered.

Everything in the room stopped. Except Lei, who laughed behind his phone, “Best birthday gift ever!”

[i-have-a-dc-problem]

In Her Arms, Chapter Two

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16219166/chapters/37981061#workskin

Jason had awoken once more to the sunlight piercing his room through the window he loved to sit in. "Master Jason," Alfred called from the hall. "It's time for school!" Jason had had trouble leaving his bed in the mornings at first, but he complied and walked to his wardrobe. "I'm up, Al, I'm up." He dressed in his Gotham Academy uniform which he despised at first sight. It was tight, itchy and stiff. Jason knew, however, that this school wasn't something he could pass up. He wanted to the best education he could get his hands on. Might as well, right? He'd probably never get a chance like this again. "Make the best of it," he smiled to his reflection in the mirror as he tied his tie. He grabbed his bag and headed down to the stairs to the parlor. He stood still as Alfred attempted to comb the boy's thick black hair.

"Forget it," Jason said, impatiently. He waved his hands above his head, disrupting Alfred's. Alfred took a step back and followed the boy to the kitchen, but he knew Jason was nervous. Alfred had already prepared breakfast, and Bruce joined them, dressed in one of his work suits. "Morning, Alfred. Morning, Jay," he smiled. Jason smiled at his father, taking a break from his strawberries and cream oatmeal.

"Morning, Bruce," he replied, but a bit of oatmeal came flying out, landing on Bruce's jacket. Jason's eyes widened in fear. Bruce looked at Jason, and laughed. "Gotta remember to swallow before you speak," he said.

"You're rather lucky, Master Jason. Whenever Master Bruce would speak with food in his mouth, his parents had me smack his bottom," Alfred laughed. Bruce rolled his eyes and smiled. He went upstairs to change blazers, and soon returned.

Jason had finished breakfast, and they headed to the Rolls Royce. Alfred sat in the driver's seat, as usual, and Bruce joined Jason in the back. "Nervous?" Bruce asked.

Jason was quiet, but he nodded. "Yeah," he finally spoke as Alfred started the engine and pulled out of Wayne Manor. "It's okay to be nervous, Jason. You're strong, you're smart, and you're brave. You can handle it."

Jason's quivering lips softened and curled into a smile. His blue eyes beamed with confidence. He nodded softly and looked up at Bruce. "I'll give it my all, old man," he smirked.

Bruce smiled back. "Good to hear. Now, let's do something about about that hair." He pulled out a comb and parted Jason's hair down the middle, curling up at the corners of his forehead. "How's that look?" he asked the boy.

Jason pulled out his phone and looked at his reflection in the front facing camera. "I look a hellova richer than I did a few weeks ago," Jason chuckled. "It'll do just fine." Alfred parked the car. "We've arrived, sirs," Alfred spoke. "Ready, champ?" Bruce smiled. Jason nodded and hugged Bruce before bolting out of the car. Alfred and Bruce smiled as the boy raced up the stone steps leading up to the Gotham Academy.

Bruce looked on with pride, and a bit of worry. He wondered how other kids would treat him, and how he'd react. Jason hid his anger well, but kids could be cruel. Bruce shook off the thought as Alfred pulled out into traffic, now headed for Wayne Enterprises. "As you said yourself, Master Bruce, he'll be fine."

Jason roamed the halls memorizing his surroundings and getting his bearings. He felt eyes upon him from his peers. Their stares pierced him as their whispers infiltrated his mind. "That's the new kid?" "I hear Bruce Wayne found him in a gutter." "I dunno, he's kinda cute." "Dick was cuter." "Nah, I heard he's killed a guy befor-" Jason couldn't take it. He held his head high, braving the world and walked to the nearest bathroom. He looked at himself, into his own eyes. "Everything is what you make of it, Todd. Even you, err, me. Whatever. We got this." He stepped out and struck up a conversation.

"So you're the newest heir to the Wayne fortune?" Cindy Highmore asked him, Lucy Westminster right beside.

"It probably depends on how I behave," he said, showing off his cocky grin. The girls giggled. "Say, it's my first day. Mind showing me around?" Jason asked politely. The girls agreed and each took one of his hands, leading him down each and every hall. Jason felt more powerful than ever. He knew he wasn't ugly, but the thought that he was cute hadn't occured to him. Mrs. Walker would pinch his cheeks and give her two cents, but Jason was no more than a tyke then. He had no idea how he remembered that, let alone Mrs. Walker herself.

"Soooo this is the gymnasium, and over here is the science wing, biology, chemistry, geology, physics, you name it," Lucy spoke up. They led him all over the school, showing him the art room, all of the literature and language art rooms next. After showing him the mathematics department, they pulled him out of view from the hall, and Lucy and Cindy pecked Jason's lips. Jason stood there, stunned. His face ran red, and he went to the office to get his schedule.

Even though Jason had said nothing of it, the girls had spread it through the school like wildfire. Jason was still uncomfortable with the attention. By lunchtime, he had his tray in hand, and sat at a table with friends he made in English Literature. He was chowing down on his food when some older kids came to the table.

"Are you Jason Todd-Wayne?" One young man asked. His newfound friends ran, scared.

Jason kept eating, not even looking up. "That's what it says on my underwear, more or less.

He grabbed Jason's collar and lifted him off the ground. "You have insulted the Highmore name, and the honor that comes with!"

"Normally, at this point, I would ask 'What did I do?', but let's be honest. You're obviously a tool and I have enjoyed upsetting you. I mean look at you. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a voice like Thurston Howell the Third. You're like a villain out of a cheesy '80's movie. What are you gonna do, tear down the ski lodge my ragtag orphanage friends go to?" His friends start to snicker, and he gets angrier still.

"You little shithead! Do you know who I am?!" He roared.

"Honestly, I don't know and I don't care. I've just been stalling until someone of authority shows up. Gotta pick your fights, pal. Oh, and by the way, your sister and her friend kissed me. I didn't make the first move," Jason replied. Highmore was baffled as some teachers ran in. "What did you think was gonna happen? That I was gonna challenge you to a duel? Please." Andrew Highmore let go of Jason. "This isn't over!" he snapped. "Yes it is," Jason replied as Andrew was sent to the Dean's office.

Jason let out an exasperated huff and sat down to finish his lunch. "Entitled prick," he muttered under his breath.

The next period they had physical education. Jason had been looking forward to it. His blood had already been pumping. Unfortunately, he and his classmates were instructed to watch videos, explaining how to play the sport they would do for the next two weeks. To make matters worse, it was croquet.

The final bell of the day rang, and Jason left. He felt eyes of someone on him. He looked around, to find Andrew Highmore glaring at him from a third story window. Jason promptly hooked each side of his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and crossed his eyes at him. Jason looked for the Rolls Royce, but didn't see him. He shrugged and started walking home, back to Wayne Manor. It wasn't long after that Bruce and Alfred pulled up to the school, completely forgetting that they had a child. Bruce ran all around the block, looking for Jason.

Jason was already 3 blocks away. "He's a CEO," he shrugged as he talked to himself. "He's probably working hard, doing... hell, I don't know what CEOs do, but it's important." Jason kept stepping when a car pulled up. "Jason!" A voice called out. The boy turned his head and saw Bruce. "Where were you? I was worried sick!"

"I was just walking home from school," he shrugged. "Don't kids normally do that kind of thing?"

"Not when the walk is 14 miles!" Bruce said, wrapping his arms around the boy. "I'm sorry, Jason. The time slipped away from me. I-"

"It's okay. I get it," Jason replied. "Let's go home?"

Bruce nodded and helped him into the car. "So, how did school go today?"

"Well, to be honest, there was a lot more drama than I was expecting," he sighed. "Why do white kids have to be so damn dramatic?" The willpower it took for Alfred to not laugh, especially at Bruce, could have earned him a Green Lantern's power ring, but a knowing smirk shined through.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Bruce asked. Jason shrugged. "Well, these two girls were showing me around, and then they kissed me. I wasn't expecting it, but you won't hear me complain," he blushed. Bruce was surprised. "Well, they told like all of their friends and it got back to her older brother, and he got pissed on me. 'A plague upon thine house,' quoth the dweeb, or something like that. He got detention for putting his hands on me so he's probably gonna try something again."

"Well, I know a thing or two about bullies," Bruce smiled. "If you want, I could show you a few moves. A little bit of fencing, a little bit of boxing, or your Uncle Oliver can come down from Star City to show a few things with a bow and arrow if things get too out of hand," Bruce chuckled.

Jason thought on it, and nodded. "Yeah, better safe than sorry." Bruce smiled and nodded. "We'll lace up some gloves as soon as we get home. Besides, I have a few secrets I want to tell." Jason nodded again, with a smile, and looked out the window for the rest of the ride, watching Gotham get just a little smaller than it already was.