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seventfics · 3 years ago

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Autumn Birds

Written for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: We fell in love, but your previous lover reappeared/returned Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier (w/ past!Geralt/Eskel and past!Geralt/Jaskier) Rating: T Content Warnings: None Summary: They’d met just as the leaves were turning yellow.

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* * *

They’d met just as the leaves were turning yellow.

Jaskier had heard of a witcher staying in town and, as was his prerogative since his acquaintance with a certain White Wolf, he’d ventured to see what the man was all about. It was not so often one got to meet someone of their caste. Why not have a little courage to break the ice himself?

The whispers spoke of a witcher with a terribly scarred face. Two swords strapped over his back, their pommels shaped into wolf heads. The women said he had a voice like a dog’s growl, so grave that when he spoke, it made children cry.

He thought that last bit was rather mean, and followed the trail of curses into a grimy tavern where a fight was about to break out.

“You promised fifty.”

“The best I can do is half.”

Jaskier’s hand freezes on the door. Whatever he’s come to doesn’t look good. The witcher’s back is to him, his padded shoulders raised with tension. The village’s alderman paces in front of him, fuming over a contract’s fee. There’s a few antsy people in the crowd too. The anger written on their faces makes him nervous.

He’s seen how this ends a dozen times. It’s gotten his own arse kicked butting into the middle of a witcher’s bargaining, actually.

“Now, now, gentlemen,” Jaskier interjects boisterously from the doorframe anyway. “This is no mood for drink and cheer. Calm your spirits with a little of the former—”

The alderman grumbles under his breath about merry idiots meddling in what they shouldn’t. “Shut up, bard. This here’s serious business. And I’m not about to be robbed by a witcher’s ridiculous high prize.”

“It’s not ridiculous. The contract says fifty, and,” the witcher stops to lift the bloody stump of a water hag’s head, “it’s already done.”

“That contract was up weeks ago. The reward’s gone down. You’re lucky half’s on the table at all.”

The witcher grunts—a familiar sound to Jaskier’s ears which translates to wordless annoyance—and drops the head on the floor. “You’re lucky the hag didn’t move closer into the village in that time.”

“Is that a threat?”

At the rising outrage in his tone, Jaskier slips closer to stare at the alderman over the witcher’s swordless shoulder. “Ah, I believe the witcher means more of your people would have died, had he not taken care of the problem so promptly. The reward hardly sounds like an unreasonable amount. I could get twice as much on a profitable eve of singing. In fact,” he flips to the witcher, who does not yet deign to look back at his unforeseen defender, “I could turn this place around and earn us both a decent share in one night. I’m no fop on the job!”

It’s then that the witcher looks towards him, but the bard only manages a quick glimpse of an incredulous set of eyebrows before the alderman starts shouting.

“Get out! Both of you! Out of my town or I’ll have the dogs chase you out!”

They both take that as their leave, Jaskier with a bit more speed in his jog.

At the outskirts the witcher turns fully, and at the sight of his whole face Jaskier almost gasps out loud. A long scar runs through his cheek, from eyebrow to jaw, and over his lips. It puckers the skin all around it, disfiguring half of his face.

Whatever caused that scar must have hurt a lot.

The witcher shifts in place, quiet for a long second as Jaskier does his best to hide his nerves. “I’m sorry to have involved you.”

“Oh, please, don’t be. I involved myself. Jaskier’s the name, by the way,” he introduces himself, hand extended in greeting.

The witcher scratches the back of his head. His lips twist to one side, bashful. One of his teeth peeks through the scarred tissue over his mouth. “Uh. Eskel.” He takes the offered hand and shakes it.

It’s the firmest handshake Jaskier has ever received.

“Well, Eskel. Are you short on coin? Because so am I.”

The snort he gets is—soft. Not at all like the gruff from before, with the alderman.

“I’m not doing too bad, I’d say. Just currently fifty short of what I expected to have at the end of the day.”

"How about I help with that? I wasn't lying when I said I could earn both a decent share, given the right crowd."

It's the sunset hour, and the leaves were falling on top of them. Everything is gold. The sky, the trees. Eskel’s eyes when they blink at him and he breaks into a genuine laugh.

Jaskier knows he’s a romantic. His heart flutters every odd day over strangers with pretty smiles. He’s just never seen such a shy, sweet smile on someone with such an intimidating facade.

Making him smile again became a personal quest.

* * *

At the next town over, Eskel speaks to the alderman there. This one is more reasonable at least, and up front about the sort of beast that lurks in the northern farms. Which brings up a whole new conversation as Jaskier doesn’t part from Eskel’s side despite the obvious danger.

Eskel grunts and sits him down, not unlike the times Geralt tried—and failed—to convince him to stay put. Jaskier just blinks his pretty blue eyes and says, “and how will I write a song of your prowess in battle if I am not there to witness it?”

“This is a dangerous contract, bard. It would be best if you let me handle it alone.”

“Oh no. No, no, I’ve heard that before a dozen times.”

Eskel pauses at that. “What?”

“I am perfectly capable of staying out of your way.”

The wyvern they encounter says otherwise.

To be fair, he had done a good job of staying out of the witcher’s way for most of the fight. It is only when the beast slams its tail into Eskel’s side on a backswing that Jaskier shouts in worry from his hiding place and brings undue attention to himself.

Wind whips around him for a split second, scattering dust into his eyes. It takes a moment to wipe them clean so of course he doesn’t see the great shadow flying at him. Doesn't realize the immediate need to hide or flee for his life until a giant claw snatches him by the bunched fabric on his back.

Jaskier's stomach plummets as he soars up. The ground recedes. His clothes start to rip. This is it, he panic-screams in his mind, this is his final day. Either as monster food or a blood splatter on a rock, his time has come.

A severe overreaction, and his own mistake for not trusting in a witcher's skill. He doesn't realize it in all, what with all his flailing about, but Eskel fires a crossbow bolt perfectly at the wyvern’s eye.

The beast screeches terribly loud in his ears. It flaps its wings once, twice, before twisting midair and letting him go.

They both fall, but Eskel catches him.

By the silence that follows after an earth-shaking crunch, he knows the witcher's won. Victory is not immediately on his mind, though. The way his sight spins and the sun paints a halo behind Eskel's hair, Jaskier dumbly thinks, oh—I've quite literally fallen in love.

“See?” he says instead, breathless with terror at almost having died, “I’m perfectly fine.”

Eskel raises a thick brow at him. And he's smiling too, the bard thinks. Could just be the scar making it look like a lopsided smile, but he wants to believe that he's made the witcher smile again with his foolish sense of humor.

“Are you alright? The tail,” Jaskier frets once his vision settles. Some of these monsters have poisoned stingers on the end of their tails. Are wyverns one of them?

But Eskel waves him down before he can consider the worst. “Relax. I cast Quen in time.”

“That’s a, uh, magic shield, right?”

Surprise colors Eskel's features. So it seems he's right. A point of pride on Jaskier's belt for remembering witcher signs.

Getting proof of a contract well done takes the witcher a good minute to collect. Wyvern skin is tough. The head would normally satisfy as proof, but it's too heavy to be lugging around town. He will have to make do with the wing tips. Should they question him, the remains aren't going anywhere.

“Come on, bard. Time to get our day's work done. And after that, we're going west.”

“'We'?” Something about the proclamation has his heart beating fast.

“'Course. I'm not letting you out of my sight now.”

He makes a show of bowing dramatically. “I wouldn’t want to be elsewhere.”

* * *

“You’re a friend of Geralt’s.”

Jaskier looks up from his notes.

Traveling with someone is always interesting—with a witcher even more so. So far he's learned that Eskel has far more routines than Geralt ever did, like counting his coin at the end of every week, and making sure he has two of every potion ready.

Jaskier quirks a half-smile. “I am. How did you figure? I never said his name.”

“Your song.” He points to the scribbled mess on his lap. “Or, I guess your work in progress. I see an expression he uses a lot, that he learned from me.”

“Oh?”

Eskel sits by him and nods, as if finally understanding Jaskier’s odd ease partnering with a witcher, and starts the story of where the expression in his handwriting originated from.

It’s funny at first, imagining a much younger, somehow more foolish Geralt together with this huge, frightening man who is not frightening at all to talk to. Eskel speaks so softly, so tenderhearted about the old memory—two boys, witchers-to-be, practically joined at the hip, making crude jokes. So he reciprocates with a tale of where he comes from, as destiny deigned to put them in each other’s paths.

As it happens, a lot of their first stories aren’t even their own, but Geralt’s.

And Eskel has many more over his. He’s more than happy to share them over camp.

Some of it leaves Jaskier’s throat aching. This is someone who clearly cares about his big grumpy friend. It's someone he can understand.

Then Eskel claps a bare hand on his back, his thumb and forefinger a hot press just under his nape, and oh, he’s more than a little foolishly in love actually, as his head is emptied of all reason at the small touch.

“Am I to become your travel bard,” Jaskier quips with an airy giggle. “I’m excellent entertainment at parties.”

“Not for long. It’s almost winter. Soon I’ll have to head north to meet my brothers.”

His heart sinks. “Oh.”

Eskel squeezes his shoulder with careful strength. “You better keep out of trouble while I’m gone, you hear?”

“Of course. I don’t go looking for trouble.”

“No, trouble just finds you.”

Well, if ‘trouble’ is a scarred, smirking witcher, he sure hopes that to be true.

* * *

They meet again when the trees are just beginning to color with spring blooms.

There is also a griffin tearing through the town's cattle, but that’s besides the point. Easily dealt with. Which is good, seeing as Jaskier had been near the scene and probably next on the menu. No one had told him about the griffin, so really. He's just as surprised to find Eskel as he is about the beast.

“You alright, bard?”

“I am now.”

Matter resolved, Jaskier walks in step next to Eskel. The town opens before them, welcoming the witcher not with smiles, but grudging gratitude.

“You sure? Trouble didn’t come knocking while I was gone?”

“Only a man with a lover’s grudge come to kick my ass out of a wonderfully luxurious establishment. Didn’t even get to enjoy the hot bath I paid for, which is such a terrible waste of hot water.”

A deep hum comes out of the witcher. “A lover’s grudge?”

“Just a past dalliance that won’t forget me.”

Eskel stops and shifts on his feet, like he wants to say something but he doesn’t know how to start.

Oh, witchers and their awkward conversation skills.

“You know what, I’m starving. I think a good, hearty meal is owed between us. What do you say we go collect your reward and we break fast at the alderman’s recommendation?”

“We don’t have to get the coin right now. I could go for some food.”

“First tavern we see then. Come on.”

Right as he says it, he wraps his arm around Eskel’s, and maybe he’s just being too obvious, too hopeful, but Eskel doesn’t shrug him off. They make their way to a large and welcoming tavern, him talking his head off about the barn smell that permeates the whole town and ignoring the dark looks people give them down the street, as Eskel listens, not a word coming from his mouth. It worries Jaskier a minute that he’s becoming more annoyance than the teasing meddler he wants to be. But Eskel is just scratching his chin, looking down and letting Jaskier lead.

When it becomes clear that Eskel doesn’t have any rented lodgings yet, Jaskier offers his own. “I’m sure the innkeeper won’t mind us bunking if we pay for two, at the end of our stay.”

Eskel doesn't say no. He also doesn't say yes. It takes them finally being settled in a table of their own, full of fruits, cheese and bread, neither of them taking the first bite to eat, for Jaskier to nervously ask, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” comes the too-quick response.

“If I overstepped in some way, please tell me.”

“It’s nothing like that, I—uh.” Eskel shakes his head, his expression scrunched up unpleasantly.

“Whatever it is, I won’t be offended.”

He's already writing a million apologies in his head for any of his imagined offenses, that he's not quite prepared for what Eskel says instead.

“You are...different from what I expected.”

Jaskier blinks. “How so?”

“I don’t know. You’re just. Human. You’re normal.” He makes a point of gesturing at the table, the people keeping their distance. “I don’t get why you do all this for me.”

It's slow-creeping, but once the pieces align, Jaskier starts to understand what he means. That confusion, he’s known it with Geralt. Why do you stick with me? What does a witcher have to offer a human that isn’t the service of a silver sword? What does a human want with a mutant when there are plenty of other ordinary, uncomplicated folk in the world to have for company?

“Because you’re a good man,” he tells the witcher gently. “Because you saved my life and I want to repay you in kind. Most reasonably of all, because we’re friends, and friends take care of each other.”

Of course there’s more to it than that, but if a friend is all Eskel wants, then a friend he shall be.

The rumble of the tavern fills the air as Eskel stares at him a little wide-eyed. Jaskier gives him a slight smile. As a close, he pushes the platter of cheese forward with an encouraging, “now eat your fill, my friend.”

Once Eskel returns his smile, he thinks that, well, that everything will turn out alright.

And they’re happy eating their food when Geralt shows up for the griffin that’s already dead.

At his distinct silhouette, Eskel stands up. “White Wolf.”

“Eskel,” Geralt calls back gravely.

They clasp arms and pat each other’s shoulders in sync. It might not seem like much to outsiders, but what a rare sight to behold—two witchers, two mirrored grins on both their faces.

Eskel is the first to part from the hug with a chiding, “You didn’t come for winter.”

“I know. I had a lot going on. Saw your handiwork hooked to your horse’s saddle.” Then he looks down, and spots Eskel's table company. “Jaskier?”

“Geralt.”

Their held eye-contact feels longer than it is. Looking away, Jaskier half expects the whole tavern to be staring at them, but as it turns out, no one cares to pay the witchers and their odd bard any attention now that the monster's been dealt with. It's just him, imagining his heart hanging out of his sleeve for everyone to judge.

And maybe Eskel senses something's up between them, because he leaves them with the excuse to collect his coin.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Jaskier says after Geralt takes Eskel's abandoned seat. “Have you really been so busy that you couldn’t let your friends know you were alive?”

Geralt's silence is its own answer—a little shame, a little remorse. He remembers how Eskel had said that as time went on, Geralt just, lost touch. There had been something heavy in Eskel’s eyes when he said it, and Jaskier had felt it in his soul. Now he understands why. Him and Eskel, they'd both gone through the same impossible task of loving someone who doesn’t believe he can be loved.

By gods, he still loves Geralt, but Geralt's heart is a rusty cage, and neither of them can coax the old bird that lives in it anymore. Soft words and gentle promises have run their course.

“So,” the witcher starts, “you and Eskel? Didn't know you knew each other.”

“Maybe if you’d met either of us during winter you would have heard.” The phrasing's rough, but there's no resentment in his voice. He would have liked to know that Geralt had been safe in his wintering home, with Eskel.

“Yeah. I’m...surprised.” Jaskier raises his brow at him. Which just earns a quick shake of Geralt’s head. “He doesn’t make friends easily.”

“Neither do you, and yet look at us.”

“Look at us,” he echoes, staring at the empty plates.

“We missed a lot of opportunities together, didn’t we?” It doesn't make the truth any easier to swallow, but acknowledging the what-could-have-beens has always made him feel better afterward. Like closing a book, and getting ready to open a new one. He hopes Geralt knows that there's no bridges destroyed between them. Only those missed moments.

He still very much cares for Geralt, and he knows that Geralt does as well. They just have to come to terms with what's over—and what might come next.

“I won’t lie to you,” Jaskier adds more seriously. “I don’t want to miss any opportunities with him.”

The 'him' in question is unmistakable. Geralt nods. He looks down, one end of his mouth drawing up to dimple his cheek.

He says, like an olive branch offering, “His favorite flower is yarrow. Not because they’re pretty, but because they’re useful in the most surprising ways.”

* * *

They spend the day catching up, all three of them, before Geralt is on the road again, taking his own path. Jaskier sees how it brightens Eskel’s spirits to have seen him off, and cheers up twofold.

“I’ve known him practically my whole life,” Eskel tells him.

“I’ve known him half of mine.”

“So you understand.”

“That he’s a prat? Oh yes. Good at heart, backwards about verbalizing it. Cheeky when he wants to be. Oh by the way, here.”

From out of his little travel bag, Jaskier pulls a swathe of yarrows.

“Saw some at market street,” he explains, presenting them. “Thought you might find use in them for your potions.”

Eskel turns to him, his bright witcher eyes bouncing between him and the yarrows. Jaskier feels his heart climb up his throat, wondering what runs through Eskel's mind that makes him pause for so long.

Then Eskel takes them with one hand and with the other, he touches Jaskier’s face. It's big, warm, calloused against his skin. And sudden.

“‘Cheeky when he wants to be’, right?”

Jaskier stutters to say, “Well, yes, I mean, but this isn’t about him—”

He forgets how to speak after Eskel kisses him. It’s the lightest peck on the corner of his lips, so light that once he draws back, he wonders if he's not still dreaming back in their rented room.

“Thank you. I know just what to use them for.”

The yarrow gets tucked away with the other herbs in Eskel's saddlebag. A few glasses clink together as he moves things around so they don’t get crushed. And then, as Jaskier stands there, stupefied and slack-jawed, Eskel mounts his steed, a soot-black beauty that neighs softly at Jaskier’s face.

“Where are you headed for now?”

“Nowhere. Anywhere.” Wherever you’ll go, he thinks to himself. Wherever you'll have me.

Eskel grins wide at him, and it's the most beautiful sight, his smile, with all his teeth gleaming.

“That sounds like trouble.”

#jaskel #jaskier x eskel #rarepair summer bingo #myfics #tt

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queenlists · 5 years ago

Text

Twisted Halloween

A Dandy mott x reader where the reader is Dandy's friend and gets kidnapped by twisty on halloween and Dandy is angry but doesn't reveal his identity to the reader only gives them special treatment! (Sorry if that doesn't make sense!) ~signed just a simple Dandy loving anon~ (Request)

Word Count: 3104

A/N: Thank you to the Dandy loving anon that sent me this request! I hope that this is similar to what you wanted. We are at 168. Thank you all for the support! I really do appreciate you all. If you want to find my masterlist, please click here! I hope you enjoy this ✌

Post Date: 05/14/2020

“We can just come pick you up. You’re cutting into our Halloween party time,” Dandy whined into the phone. “I’m almost done! Don’t worry about picking me up, I will take my bike,” I stared at my costume, wondering what it was missing. “I’m sure you want your own mode of transportation after everything. I understand,” I bit the inside of my cheek as I slowly worked on my costume, not sure how to respond. “It’s okay. Really it is...is this tomato on my sandwich? I specifically asked for no tomato! Where’s your manager?” I sighed, listening to Dandy tear into an unfortunate caterer. Stepping back, I admired my work “Alright, I’m on my way!” I chirped into the phone before ending the call.

It’s Halloween. Every Halloween, Dandy and I have a small party. Just for the two of us. We haven’t missed a single Halloween since we met and despite the heated fight we had, we couldn’t miss this one..

“You can’t do this to him. You can’t do this to me. Please, Y/n, one more Halloween. Just one more!”

What a mistake

My eyes fluttered open as the sunlight danced on my face, waking me of my involuntary deep slumber. My head pulsated with pain as my dirt covered body shivered. As I lifted my arm to rest my hand on my aching head, I could hear the chains scrape across the floor. Where am I? My eyes scanned the dusty room. A cage. I was in a cage. In a cage on a bus. My eyes continued to scan the room as they fell upon old toys that must have been older than I am. Dirty dolls in worn, ragged dresses. Some missing one eye, one arm, one leg, or even their head. Wheeless toy trucks. Squeaky toys that probably spat dust out when squeezed. I heard a small cough nearby. I slowly turned my head, wincing. My neck felt so stiff. My eyes connected with another's. A girl around my age and a little boy. I immediately identified them as the missing siblings from just a few weeks ago. No one knew just how long they were gone. Their parents were on a vacation at the time of their disappearance. Their faces were plastered on flyers, newspapers, milk cartons, the news channels, etc. They looked different now compared to the clean, polite, bright eyed children the pictures portrayed. They were covered in dirt, dirtier than I was. Their hair matted. Their clothing torn and riddled with holes. Their eyes sunken. They must’ve been here for awhile now.

"D-do you know who did this?" I stammered, licking at my cracked lips. I tasted blood and my lip was swollen. I continued to run my tongue over my enlarged bottom lip as the girl began to sigh "The clown. Twisty the clown,"

Twisty. Dandy, my best friend, had talked about Twisty over a million times before. Dandy became obsessed with clowns and even had his mother buy him a clown costume. A few of them actually. I had always assumed the disappearances were blamed on an urban legend as they were so mysterious and unheard of in this part of town. Nothing happened like this in Jupiter. The streets were innocent. They were so innocent that the cops were so bored from the lack of action in town that they’d drive on down to the freak show to stir up some trouble themselves. As corrupt as that was, no one really complained because without it there would be nothing for the bored to gossip about. There would be nothing to gasp and read about in the daily newspapers. Nothing to wake up tired eyes. Nothing to shake and stir the town. Kids were free to roam around until nightfall and even then as long as they stayed in or around their yards, they continued to play with little to no adult supervision. No harm done. Every child accounted for by supper. The only odd and sometimes looked down on thing in town was the freak show and even that wasn’t bad. Jupiter was safe..up until now anyway.

“Twisty? Isn’t Twisty just a name they plastered onto the missing case?” I looked between the girl and the boys. “Twisty is real. He’ll come back sometime today to give us supper..maybe,” the little boy looked down, poking at a stale piece of moldy bread. “How long have you been here?” I chewed on my lip, producing more blood. “It’s hard to remember,” both the boy and girl whimpered, their eyes lowered as they stared blankly at the floor. I choked down a sob as I shook my head in disbelief. Why me? Why them? Why is this happening?

There were crunching footsteps coming from the distance. My ears perked up as I scrambled to my knees. “It’s him,” the little boy whimpered as the girl pulled him towards her, rocking him back and forth as she hummed to him. As the footsteps got closer, I could hear the tingle of little bells. Goosebumps perked up on my skin as the bells and footsteps got closer and closer. Louder and louder. After a minute or two I could hear maniacal giggling. Shuddering, I closed my eyes as shivers shot down my spine. I squeezed my eyes shut as I heard the bus door peel open. I could hear the tingle of bells paired with heavy breathing. I felt myself slip into an abyss of panic, so I went to my happy place:

The warmth of the sun kissed my skin as I frolicked in the flowered garden with him. My cheeks burned from the stretch of my smile and my stomach clenched with my heavy laughter. His blue eyes hid behind wrinkled eyelids, his sparkling white teeth shone in the sunlight through his smile. I ran my thumb over his hand as he led me towards the big mansion that he lived in. The inside of the mansion smelled of sweet baked goods as a hint of cinnamon lingered in the air. Fresh bread. Fresh pie. Fresh cookies. You name it, it was there. Flowers. Big bouquets of flowers placed here and there, adding a pop of color to the big mansion. A sweet treat for the eyes.

You could hear the faint tune of Dora’s hum from the kitchen as well as you could hear the gentle, light clicks of Gloria’s heels coming towards us. “You look absolutely wonderful today, Y/n. You look handsome as ever, Dandy!” Gloria pressed her lipsticked lips together in a pleasant smile as she stood in front of Dandy and I. “Mother, have Dora bring us up a platter of desserts as well as finger sandwiches and some iced tea!” Dandy ordered. “Please,” I added with a smile. Gloria’s eyes were glued to our interlocked fingers. “Mother!” Dandy shouted, tightening his grip on my hand. “Yes, dear! I heard you clearly. I will send her right up when it’s all prepared,” Gloria’s eyes slowly travelled up to my eyes. We held eye contact for some time before she nodded, walking away towards the kitchen.

“Let’s go!” Dandy grinned, leading me upstairs. I looked through the design on the staircase railing at Gloria who stood in her place, looking back at me. Her eyes were quiet and gentle, but at the same time telling. Almost warning. My footsteps quickly matched Dandy’s as he began to drag me up the stairs and through the house to his playroom.

We laughed and joked around from sun up until sun down. His laugh, contagious. His smile, breathtaking. Time flew by with him. There was so much to do in so little time. “Together we can do anything, Y/n! We’re the bestest of friends that ever existed. We can be rulers, we SHOULD be rulers! We could rule the universe and take over galaxies. We’re unstoppable. We’re immortal and invincible!” Dandy preached, flailing his arms around with a big smile. Pointing everywhere as he stomped around with his head held high. His confidence beamed and poured right out of him as he spewed “Y/n, we could move mountains and drain oceans. Shall we take over?” Dandy’s smirk slithered across his face as he leaned in closer to me. “We shall,” I grinned at Dandy.

Pleased, Dandy flopped onto the big couch that I perched up on, laying his head on my lap “I got this for you,” Dandy handed me a piece of my favorite candy as well as a flower that he had picked from their garden “To an amazing friendship,” “To an amazing friendship,” I smiled back at Dandy, smelling the flower.

I could feel the warm bursts of heat coming from the other side of the cage as Twisty breathy panted by my face. The smell of mint drowned my senses. I heard the wired cage dangle and shake as Twisty grumbled. I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes as I heard the locked cage door screech open. I could hear the bells jingle as metal clanked and spun on the floor. “Mr. Clown, can we leave after supper?” I heard the boy squeak before the girl shushed him. Twisty didn’t respond. There was a continued shuffle then a brief pause. I knew that Twisty or whoever this clown is was staring right at me. I refused to open my eyes even after I felt something drop at my feet. I kept my eyes shut when the cage screeched to a close and keys jangled as the door locked.

I finally opened my eyes when I could hear the shuffling start to fade away. I could see the back of the clown walking away before prying the bus doors open then closed again. I looked at the girl and the boy who were shoveling what looked like plain oatmeal into their mouths from metal plates before looking down at my feet. My favorite candy and a familiar flower along with my favorite meal that looked eerily similar to Dora’s style of cooking. I scrambled to my feet to try to get a glimpse of the clown, but by the time I made it to an open window the clown was gone. I could only hear the faint jingles of the costume.

My stomach grumbled as I fell to my knees, unwrapping the candy and shoving it into my mouth with a satisfied sigh. “He never gives us candy,” I heard the little boy whimper. “Or anything other than oatmeal,” the girl added. I slid the container with my favorite food in it to the siblings “It’s yours,” I watched as their faces lit up, small smiles as a thank you. As they began to eat, I sighed and twirled the flower in between my fingers awaiting Dandy.

“Oh my gosh, Dandy! You can’t just say that,” I giggled, covering my mouth as Dandy stood in front of one of his many mirrors. “But the beauty of it all is that, I can!” Dandy grinned, staring at himself in the mirror. “Do you know what you want to be for Halloween?” Dandy nodded before turning towards me “Have you heard of Twisty the clown?” his eyebrows wiggled as his eyes stared into my soul. “Oh yeah, Jupiter’s killer clown! Instead of pinning the cases on a legend, the police need to be searching and catching leads” I rolled my eyes. “No Y/n it’s not a legend. He’s real!” Dandy stamped his foot before sighing “Twisty is real,” I watched as Dandy pulled out a clown costume, dangling it in front of himself as he posed in the mirror. “You’ve been into clowns a lot lately,” I watched as Dandy began to admire himself in the mirror, his eyes dressing himself up in the costume. “I met Twisty. We are partners,” Dandy ran his fingers up and down the costume.

I mildly laughed, shaking my head at Dandy’s ridiculousness. Dandy was known to come up with fantasies in his head and get wrapped up in them. It was best to not argue with him. “Why are you laughing?” Dandy snapped, his eyes burning holes into my head. “Calm down!” I defended, shocked by his tone. I was used to him speaking harshly, but to everyone else and never me. “I will not calm down. You are disrespecting me,” Dandy began to slowly creep over to me, his tone getting louder and louder. His tone of voice sending unpleasant chills up and down my spine over and over again “You’re supposed to be my best friend and you don’t believe me?””

I quietly stood up, backing away from Dandy “I just didn’t think he was real. I believe you Dandy. I do,” I backed myself up into the wall as Dandy got closer and closer until his body pressed against mine. His sharp eyes searched mine before a smile ripped across his face “Okay! Let’s play a game, huh?”

My thoughts were cut short as I heard the bus doors pry open. I snapped my head towards the clown, gasping. I felt a thousand bullets tear into my body as I looked Twisty up and down with watered eyes. “Dandy,” I whispered, covering my mouth. Dandy grunted through the dirty mask, walking towards the cage. Dandy stood in front of me, staring at me with those eyes. I stuck the flower through the case, staring Dandy in his eyes “Why are you doing this Dandy?” Dandy’s eyes were glued to the flower. “You’re better than this,” I whimpered, looking at the boy and girl behind me “Let them go. Let me go! We can talk about this,” I snapped my head back towards Dandy with pleading eyes “Please,”

Dandy wasn’t hiding behind that mask. It only covered his mouth, leaving his slick back hair and bright eyes open to see. Dandy grunted into the mask, his eyebrows squeezing together as he jumped up and down, rattling the cage. I heard shuffling as the girl held onto the whimpering boy. I didn’t move as I stared at Dandy who continued to rattle and shake the cage in an attempt to scare me. “You don’t scare me. I know you!”

Dandy ripped the flower through the cage, tearing it up into pieces and throwing the tiny brightly colored pieces towards the boy and girl. “Leave them alone!” I demanded “You are a monster!” Dandy began to heavy breath as he threw the bag of stuff at the cage before stomping away and out of the bus. I crouched down as I reached for the bag. Pulling on the string, the bag fell over and some of the contents spilled out: my favorite snacks, my favorite bottled sodas, a greasy brown bag of food from the small diner that Dandy and I frequented, a container of sloppy oatmeal, wet wipes, a brush, a crumpled up ball of paper, and one pair of clothes.

My clothes. The clothes that I had left the night I ran out on Dandy.

I tried to stay away from Dandy as much as I could without him taking much notice. He started to become increasingly angry. More physical. More uncontrollable. More spontaneous. We were enjoying a late night snack with Gloria. We were dressed up in these new, silky pajamas that Gloria had spotted on one of her out of town outings. I had agreed to a sleepover after Gloria showed up to my house, proposing the idea that I come spend time with Dandy sick or not due to his lonely behavior. “He misses you dearly and so do I” she pleaded. The woman goes through hell with that boy, so it was hard for me to not agree.

“Let’s shoot the freaks!” Dandy laughed, waving a gun around. “Let’s not,” I bit my lip as I glanced at Gloria who sipped at her cup of tea. “Stop being a buzzkill!” Dandy shouted at me. “You’re being so unreasonable! You’ve been acting so different, Dandy. This is why I’ve been avoiding you!” I screamed back. I covered my mouth as I shook my head. I didn’t mean to say those words. It was supposed to be subtle. Leaving his house an hour early. Two hours earlier. Three hours earlier. Staying home “sick” for a day. Then two days. Then a week. Progressively detaching him from me was the plan and now it’s out in the open with no way of backtracking.

Dandy stumbled back “You weren’t sick last week?” I pressed my lips together as I looked down. “You are such a liar! No wonder why you refused our doctor to visit. You are nothing, Y/n!” Dandy screamed “You are..nothing,” “Dandy, no!” Gloria screamed.

It all happened so slow. I heard Gloria scream. I heard the tea cup shatter. I felt little drops of the hot tea splash at my legs. I felt Gloria’s hands as she pushed me down and out of the way onto the floor. I heard the loud bang of the gun. I could smell the smoke and gunpowder. I could hear the bullet crack through layers upon layers of the living room wall. Gloria kept shouting, but I couldn’t make out what was being said. The only thing I could really hear was the ringing in my ears. I laid on the ground for a moment not wanting to believe that my best friend would have shot me dead.

I would have been dead had I been alone with Dandy.

It took a minute for that to seep in, but once it did..

“You’re crazy! You’re a monster!” I screamed, scrambling to my feet and running out of the door. I could hear Dandy shouting followed by more gunshot noises. I could feel the heat from the bullets as they chased and missed me. My feet had never ran faster.

“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” Dandy screamed with every bang of the gun.

I opened up and smoothed out the piece of paper and sat down on the floor to read it:

“I’m kind of sorry” was sprawled out in beautiful red writing. Not Dandy’s handwriting but it was Gloria’s.

I shook my head in disbelief as I passed the boy and girl the greasy bag of food and snacks. I watched as they tore open into the bags, hungry for something other than cold oatmeal.

I could hear erratic jingling of bells outside along with the famous words of Dandy “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

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platypanthewriter · 5 years ago

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Blind as a Bat

Silly 5+1 misunderstanding chat prompt for @susiecarter! Ao3 link in the notes!

Clark Kent widened his stance in front of Bruce Wayne’s desk, steadying himself for a blow. He frowned down, and adjusted his press pass. “So, ah, the thing is. I love you.”

Bruce’s smile flickered, the arms of his calf-leather desk chair creaking under his hands, before he spun it around and stood, straightening his blazer. “...really.” He crouched, and ran his fingers along the bottom of the chair, then frowned under his desk. “I, also, yes, our posteriors are obviously designed to complement each other, Mr. Kent.” Standing, he waggled his eyebrows, grabbing his desk phone and frowning into the undercarriage. “Go on, I’m listening--”

“...Bruce. Your office isn’t bugged. I seriously can't make this any simpler, I love you. I, Clark Kent, love--”

“Are you mind controlled?” Bruce stepped in close, eyes narrowed. “This is a clever signal.”

Clark backed away, waving. “Actually, you know what, no, Mom was wrong. I can't do this, Superman out--”

“I have a scanner for interference by hostile entities--”

Clark groaned. “Nope, no, we’re good, it's fine, I fixed it. Just now.”

The stillness made Bruce Wayne resemble his alter ego. “That's an astoundingly obvious ploy, but given the initial attempt at intimacy, not out of character--”

Clark stalked out. “I am having a picnic. With my blanket, on the moon.”

Months later, Aquaman requested their help, and Clark found himself questioned in front of a device humming in the rhythm of the dancing fish that hovered and stared at it.

“No, I’m not feeling it, Arthur,” he sighed.

Batman’s voice burbled through his scuba gear. “I'd know if Superman was mind controlled. We have a signal.”

Clark repressed a vicious urge to point out Batman looked ridiculous with bright orange diving weights strapped everywhere, and a fish swimming in and out of his cape. “Oh my god.” He turned to smile at Arthur. “Yes, okay, if I get whammied I'll just...I’ll tell Batman he's hot even though he can't move his neck in that getup. His little ears make me wild.”

“...that should do it,” Arthur bit back a grin, crouching to frown at the device.

“‘I would thrill to remove his Batboots, and see whether his Batsocks have little Batpatterns,’ I’ll say.”

“...that is more than sufficient,” Batman burbled, drifting slightly sideways. “If we could stick to the actual plan.”

“I could say absolutely anything, couldn't I?” Clark’s Politeness Smile felt more fake than usual, and he dropped it. “Bruce Wayne, I'd like you to smile and suffer through my weekly meatloaf for the rest of our lives. I'd like to help you into the Batsuit, and every night, help you peel out of it.”

The barnacle-covered rebar Batman was clinging to in his inexorable tidal drift burst as Clark spoke, crunching into a cloud of grey shell fragments and rust in the water. Batman adjusted his grip on the machine in his other hand. “Stick to simple control statements, or I can’t recalibrate the sensor.”

“Bruce.” More barnacles crunched, and they both ignored them. “What would convince you I'm telling the truth. One truthful sentence. What kind of tests--”

“Howzabout you two go back to the boat, if you’re not gonna help--” Arthur glanced back, eyebrow raised.

“If you could take this seriously--”

Clark laughed so hard he had to steady himself against the rocks, and Arthur glanced back with a grimace. “I have never taken anything so seriously, nor been so tempted to fling a human being into the soundless vacuum of space. What tests.”

Batman made a noise. It was hard to tell through the scuba bubbles, but probably he was clearing his throat. “Nothing can rule out every possibility--”

Clark snorted, leaning his head away from an inquisitive fish. “Or we could borrow Diana's lasso. ‘Diana,’ I’ll say, ‘We need your lasso to discuss my mom's recipe for meatloaf, because Bruce Wayne believes in nothing and no one’--”

“...I would never doubt your mom's recipe for meatloaf,” Batman said flatly, and Arthur covered his mouth, shoulders shaking.

Clark, not seeing the humor, hissed back. “In that case, I will tell my mother that at least you believe in something.”

Diana crossed her arms, watching Clark floating on his back in a slow, ranting circuit of her apartment ceiling. “ ...of course you may borrow it. I can do no less, if you think it will help.”

“It has to, right?” Clark turned to frown down.

“I once offered to cover while he was on vacation,” she confided. “He clenched his jaw and said he'd keep me in mind the next time he required transplant of a crushed organ.”

“The...the next time?” Clark froze in midair, staring back, and she gave a wide-eyed, graceful shrug.

“Keep it as long as you like,” she said, eventually. “I’ll use the time I’d spend doing paperwork for interrogations on doing my actual job.” At her soft smile, he dropped to watch her unwrap something extremely...broken. “This just arrived from a dig in Akrotiri. You...understand my fascination, I think,” she glanced over, “--having so little, of Krypton.”

He nodded, and whisked off to get the brushes and glue. Together, they leaned over the shards until close to morning.

“I’d give up on him,” Clark muttered, squinting at what might have been a piece of a pattern, then leaning back to see the sizable chunk of urn they’d reassembled. “I mean, I did quit trying for a while. But it's just bothering at me, now. How can someone so smart--”

Diana grinned. “I wish you both joy.”

When Clark wafted down onto the balcony at Wayne Tower, Bruce was leaning on the railing. “So do you have a few minutes free? Or are you busy staring out over Gotham and adding to the Batman Translate on Google.”

“What?” Bruce snorted, his gaze fixing on the lasso Clark had wrapped around his arm. The ice in his glass settled.

“May I,” Clark breathed through his nose, trying to sound civil, “--have your permission to tie us up securely in this, Diana's lasso, for the purpose of convincing you that you, Bruce Wayne are honest to god my--”

“You have some reason to believe I’ve been compromised.” Bruce's smile faltered, and he held out his hand.

“Uh, I'll, ah.” Clark wavered. “Y’know, actually, I'm--I’m losing momentum. Uh, do you remember what I was saying in your office, when, um. And about meatloaf.”

Bruce frowned deeply, taking the end of it. “I do remember. You suspect someone successfully duplicated a lasso? This is excellent scotch.” The lasso glowed and twined, and he winced. “It seems to be working.”

“...never mind,” Clark sighed, and whipped back to Diana.

Behind him on the wind, he heard Bruce Wayne’s voice. “...what?”

When Bruce showed up at the party Diana and Atlanna were throwing for the finale of Game of Thrones--“To yell at it?” Clark had asked. “They, ah, they sort of address it with great sincerity, and then tell it they’re disappointed,” his mother laughed. “It’s worth watching.”--Clark was in the kitchen, sliding the third pizza in the oven. Arthur and his mom had oddly similar confusion squints at the screen, heads cocked in unison, and Diana was flopped over the arm of the couch on her belly, investigating Clark’s mom’s knitting. Clark found a plate to scrub just as Bruce Wayne crossed from the front room carpet to the linoleum kitchen floor.

“...may I help?”

The gall of him, Clark thought, posing like a fashion ad in my mother’s kitchen. “I dunno, can you understand the words I say?”

“You have been...strange, recently.” Bruce stepped closer, placing a gift bag with two bottles of wine on the counter. Their chests nearly brushed. Their breath mingled, Bruce minty, and Clark, he thought in passing, probably redolent of pepperoni. He met Bruce’s gaze, and watched him swallow, his gaze flicking down. Bruce opened his mouth, closed it, and Clark leaned in without meaning to, letting his head tip just slightly, so their lips would meet. “You’re standing in front of the drawer with the corkscrew,” Bruce whispered.

Clark stalked by him, remembering he was Superman, and as satisfying as it would have been to shoulder-slam by, he could hardly claim Bruce deserved a broken collarbone. He let himself drift to rest on the roof, listening to his city, and only roused himself at the rising smell of burning pizza.

Two weeks later, Clark watched Batman fail to find any crime, and dropped next to him on a roof. He dodged two batarangs, and caught the third. “Okay, as an experiment. If someone were in love with Batman, what signs would you expect them to exhibit.”

Bruce’s voice was especially throaty when startled, unless he was coming down with a cold. “No one knows Batman, he's a construct of--”

“Someone that does.” Clark held up a hand. “Okay. Let’s just say. Someone that does know Batman.”

“...I am not participating in any of the Flash’s ridiculous projects, and I do not need a personals ad.” Batman swooped his cape around him like a smoke bomb, and rapidly scrabbled down the side of the building.

Clark thought about that for a long moment, cocked his head, and then shook it to dismiss the image. Bat seeking partner for aerial maneuvers, his reporter brain supplied. He dropped next to Batman in the alley. “Somebody three blocks away is trying to pee on a wall, but mostly it’s going in his boot,” he reported, saluting. “Unless that needs your attention, can we talk?”

“...you’ll let me know if anything else happens,” Batman growled.

“I’m not trying to get anyone hurt.”

Batman snorted and muttered something, unintelligible in the Batvoice, and stalked away down the alley, and Clark floated along behind him like a balloon on a string.

“I--I know this isn’t anything you want to talk about,” Clark kept his voice low, “--but if--if you are repulsed by--by all the people that know Batman, now’s the time to speak up, and, uh, I’ll. I’ll just--I’ll go buy some ice cream.” Bruce had stopped walking, and the silence stretched out. “...there’s even an apple pie flavor,” Clark forced a laugh. “Perfect for me, midwestern boy, right? And Mom sent me a new comfy sweater, it’s, uh, it’s fine, y’know. Fine.”

“If you already assume I will not be receptive,” Batman’s voice scraped, “--than this is a truly--” He staggered forward as the breeze of Superman’s passage whumped his cape against his back.

When the knock came, Clark was in his Kansas City Royals boxers, and his fluffy sweater with the too-long sleeves and the slightly crooked sigil of the House of El. It still smelled like his mom--her lotion, and instant coffee, and the slight lingering stench of burned pizza. He’d ensconced himself on the couch with a spoon and a gallon of mint chip, just as his phone lit up with a Songs To Cry Through While Heartbroken playlist from Kara.

The knock came again. As it wasn’t likely to be League business, he hunkered down, stuck a huge bite of ice cream in his mouth, and resisted the urge to laser his visitor through the door for interrupting his caterwauled duet with Adele.

“What!” he finally yelled.

The knock came a third time, and then movement made him pay attention to the other end of the couch, where Bruce Wayne stood. He was dressed down, a bit, holding a leather briefcase in both hands. Of course Batman wasn’t slowed by a locked door. “What,” Clark groaned, wishing he could get drunk.

“I did ask if I could come in,” Bruce pitched his voice over Adele, and Clark narrowed his eyes, and clicked her off.

“Pretty sure I didn’t say ‘yes’.”

“...is that...Titanic, The Notebook, and Romeo + Juliet?”

“Yes. I’m watching loving couples die. What do you want.” Clark shoveled in another mouthful of ice cream.

“...of course I’ll leave, if you want me to,” Bruce clicked his briefcase, and shiny cobalt silk billowed out, “--but I did bring pajamas. And--” he waved back towards the door, “I asked for your order at the bodega. Pastrami sandwiches?”

Clark considered for a long moment, eyeing the Batjamas, then the delicious smelling bag of sandwiches. “...I don’t want to make a habit of accepting bribes, but…”

“It is one of the things I admire about you,” Bruce said, straight-faced, and Clark paused half out of his blanket cocoon to stare over.

Bruce’s eyes strayed down the admittedly lumpy sweater to his Kansas boxers, and Clark hugged himself, shuffling over to the bag of sandwiches. “Apology accepted, then. Why’d you bring your...loungewear, or whatever? You can’t think I’d want to see you.” He snorted, unwrapping the deli parchment. “And you obviously didn’t want to see me--”

“What I said about knowing Batman was true,” Bruce came over to lean against the counter, watching the lights of the city outside Clark’s apartment, and Clark rolled his eyes. “No one truly knows Batman, not enough to love him. No one...really knows Bruce Wayne, either.”

Clark wanted to argue, or throw a sandwich at his head, but either of the options involved more pastrami in his mouth, so he listened, and chewed.

“I’m not...perfect--”

Clark coughed. “Well that’s your application in the trash,” he snorted. “I can only date perfect people.”

“I have...hidden some things, even from the League,” Bruce smirked, ducking his head, “--my money makes certain aspects of my...unforgivable lack of foresight just...go away. There have been times I have--not chosen the most effective plan, because it caused me personal discomfort.”

“If this is supposed to make me feel better,” Clark swallowed, and took a sip of the supplied root beer, “--it doesn’t. What do you want, Bruce. I won’t cause problems in the League, I’m not--you have every right to refuse my attentions.”

“I brought the pajamas in case you would like to know...me,” Bruce told the counter, smile practiced and charming, his knuckles white on the handle of his bag. “I will understand, of course, if you--”

Clark dropped the sandwich, speeding so fast around the counter it probably looked to Bruce like he’d teleported. “You’re saying yes?”

“Clark…”

“You brought your pajamas, Bruce,” Clark clenched his teeth, torn between the fizzy feeling of hope urging him to spin them around the ceiling like Mary Poppins characters, and the strong need to tie Bruce Wayne to a lamppost outside a police station--with his own pajamas--and a note taped to his chest that said ‘DANGER TO SELF AND OTHERS’. “When you couldn’t prevent harm as Batman, you did your best to help as Bruce Wayne, that’s what I’m hearing.”

“That is--optimistic.”

“Get in your goddamn pajamas,” Clark pointed with his second sandwich half, and narrowed his eyes at Bruce covering a grin. “I’m not Superman right now, I’m enraged. What do you mean ‘personal discomfort,’ that’s what we’re working on, you not risking yourself in every fight. Flash is talking about making a stamp booklet. You get one every time you don’t dash in front of a bullet--” Clark choked, pounding his chest, as Bruce dropped his pants, revealing black athletic socks, pale, scarred hairy legs, and a rapidly-covered patch of black silk undies.

Bruce shook out the pajama pants, pulled them on, and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Sometimes the strategy requires the strategist endanger himself, for the cumulative good.”

“Don’t give me that--”

“I don't want to watch any of those movies,” Bruce told his own buttons, frowning down. “I’m not sure why anyone does--do you have something less...?”

“Ye-yeah,” Clark swallowed, close enough he could feel the warmth from Bruce’s skin. He grabbed his half-eaten sandwich, slowly chewing as Bruce revealed more scars, and muscles, and he tasted nothing. “Um. Is this a date?”

“Perhaps.” Bruce buttoned himself into his pajama top, and Clark watched his fingers fly, wishing he didn’t have pastrami all over his own. He frowned at the sandwich, wondering if he’d fallen for a trap.

“Depending on what?”

“Whether you like what Martha Wayne’s boy actually turned into.” Bruce smiled his polished magazine cover smile, dropped it to go oddly blank, and then stared into the distance between he and Clark’s bag of sandwiches.

I should enjoy his discomfiture more, Clark thought, but he just changed the subject to Netflix selection, and watched Bruce flick through the selection with a darkening frown. “Does Martha Wayne’s boy want a bowl of ice cream?”

“...maybe?” Bruce squinted back at him, and Clark leaned over the back of the couch to bump shoulders.

“You are your choices, and all, but I promise not to decide who you are based on Netflix special.” He caught Bruce’s eye, and grinned, enjoying the quirked smile he got in return. “Just pick the next thing that looks fun, you’re thinking too hard about this.”

Bruce nodded, watching the preview for what looked like a show about friendship between female wrestlers.

Clark properly served a bowl of the less-melty ice cream near the bottom, instead of passing over the carton, and Bruce’s lips twitched.

“...what.”

“Oh, just remembering Alfred sitting the ice cream out until it wasn’t rock-hard. Your powers are so versatile.”

“I’ll remember to list ice-cream scooping next time anyone asks.” Clark grinned back. “Is that why you're here? You staying the night? There’s a good diner around the corner.”

Bruce accepted the bowl. “I did bring condoms.”

Clark steepled his fingers, frowning at the drippy ice cream scoop. “...so either you’re saying yes to dating, or you’re planning to zipline off my balcony as soon as I fall asleep. I hope it’s the former.”

“Not that kind of boy?”

“I mean,” Clark glared over, “I want to--to at least date you, not just ...have sex with Bruce Wayne, like I’m some--some person you will smirk at in the elevator for the rest of our lives.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows at his spoonful of ice cream. “Batman does not smirk.”

“What a relief,” Clark growled. “And no, look, there is a Bat Smirk--do you want to make up a contract, would that work better for your brain? Should I let you talk to lawyers first?”

Bruce went still again. “...I--I apologize if--”

“No, sorry, I’m--I’m sorry.” Clark took a deep breath, and let it out. “I just--I thought you’d say yes, and--” he scrabbled at his hair, “--this would stop, I feel like--do you even want to be here?!”

“Relax,” Bruce scooted closer, leaning in to press his lips warmly against Clark’s, “--yes. And I can promise I won’t sneak away. If something does come up, I’ll leave a note.” He was smooth-shaven and cologne-scented, his pajamas warm and smooth under Clark’s uncalloused fingers.

Clark pulled him closer, grinning against his mouth, and feeling only slightly guilty about introducing pastrami onto Bruce’s mint-chocolate tongue. “We do usually figure things out,” he whispered, licking in for a deeper kiss, while Bruce waved the bowl of ice cream until it hit the coffee table.

“We do,” Bruce agreed, then relaxed--a bit--into the kiss. “That we do. If anyone could make this work--” He trailed off, letting Clark pull him closer, and smiling against his mouth.

Clark let his eyes close, until he felt Bruce laughing. He pulled back to realize he’d floated up with his arms around Bruce.

“Someone is going to look up and see us...why doesn’t the weight of my body make your points of contact hurt my ribs?”

“You know nobody looks up,” Clark nuzzled into the smooth-shaven skin at Bruce’s throat. Bruce leaned his head back, eyes fluttering shut. “...why isn't my face covered in bugs when I cross the city,” Clark mouthed against Bruce’s thudding jugular, breathing his cologne, “--it’s because I’m magic, Bruce. I’m a magic alien.”

“...hrmph," Bruce grunted, frowning his scientist frown, and Clark grinned, letting himself slowly spin in the air with inertia. He squeezed Bruce carefully tighter. "We should try out those condoms,” Bruce hummed against his mouth, and then staggered as Clark dropped back to the floor.

“There’s not--I didn’t--we don’t have to--”

“I know. But I’m very much that kind of boy.”

#superman #batman #superbat #platypan #platypan fic #platypan FINISHED FIC #crack fic #Clark loves Bruce #Bruce thinks it's mind control #Or a call for help #or a code for surveillance #Bruce is smart yet dumb #5+1 #short and silly

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sabraeal · 5 years ago

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Family, Duty, Honor [Part 2]

Part 1 A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones AU

Obiyuki Week, Day 2 Avarice | Charity

Rumors had always clung to Miss, thick on the air like incense in a bordello.

A natural daughter of the Reach, tongues had wagged, as loose as any whore. A merchant’s girl from the Stormlands. Some minor lord’s get from the Vale. A Lord Paramount’s bastard.

That last one had been enough to worry the Hand, to make him lower himself and exchange Westerosi gold for Braavosi iron. Obi had nearly laughed himself sick watching the Lord of the Rock act as if he were shelling out dragons to put his cock in some sweet flower in Flea’s Bottom instead of partaking in the proud Lannister tradition of paying other people to solve their problems.

After all, what use was shitting gold if a man still had to do his own dirty work?

There had been more amusing ones too, a gray sister who tore off her veil to see the prince’s beauty, or, a child of the forest, come out of her tree for love of him. He’d liked those; they’d shown creativity at least, a flare for drama rarely seen outside the street acts of King’s Landing. But by far the most popular had been, some farmhand’s by-blow, eager to fuck her way to princess.

Even in those early days, when being his miss’s shadow had meant curling himself into the flowering hedgerows of the Red Keep’s gardens to listen to Master clumsily make love and her take his honeyed words as overtures of friendship, that had been the old sawhorse -- a common whore who would spread her legs to anyone, if only they’d promise her a title. It had stayed with her until she left, until she’d turned south under His Majesty’s advisement and made herself a name in Oldtown, one that didn’t involve the prince at all.

But it’s not that one that comes to mind now as her palm burns on his chest, as her wide, pleading eyes sets his blood to boiling.

Look at that hair, a man had said once as Miss had swept by him in the Keep. She could only be a Red Woman.

He believes it now; how else could she set him slight with a touch, with those words --

That’s why there will have to be a babe.

“Miss,” he breathes, though there’s no air in this room, every bit of it burned away by her boldness. “You don’t...you don’t mean...”

There’s no space between them, but she leans in further still, her eyes sparing him no quarter. “I need you, Obi.”

She’s never spoken those words to him, save for those guilty moments when he has taken himself in hand, imagining a time in which there is no Master to come between them, but --

But she says them now for all the wrong reasons, not from desire but from duty. Fear.

He should be grateful for even that; it’s more that he deserves, but --

Obi is not a good man. Miss may have tamed him, have taught him how to sit and stay and come to heel, but he does not share what is his. And if he is to have her, he wants...

Too much. “If you miss Ryuu so much, Miss, we could just send for him.”

The grin fits ill on his face, like a white cloak on his shoulders, but it does the job. Miss snatches back her hand like she’s the one who’s been scalded, cheeks puffed with annoyance. Maybe there’s a little fish in her after all. “I’m being serious.”

“As am I.” The words come out on a desperate rasp, and by the gods, it’s worse than being naked, having to talk about any of this. “I know you think this is a...solution, but you can’t mean you want me to -- that you want to get yourself...”

For once, his silvered tongue fails him. From the finest beds in King’s Landing to the dustiest corners of Essos, honey’s dripped from his mouth and eased the way for a great many silks on their journey to the floor, but -- but here he is, tripping over himself just to keep them on.

“There’s no other way.” He’s used to her grimness now, to the way her mouth no longer rests in a smile but a grimace, but the way her shoulders round, the way she is so small next to him -- he has never seen her so defeated. “We can’t leave without my uncle’s support, or else...”

Or else all of this will all be as much use as a penny in a whorehouse.

Master’s tenuous grip on the Stormlands and the Reach are all he’s got; they need Riverrun, or else this dance of dragons will be a short one. His only other ally may be the Crown Princess of Dorne, but Sunspear never overreaches itself, not for a Targaryen. Not for no reason.

“Miss...” He wants to tell her to run, to take his hand and forget all this, to sail across the Narrow Sea and lose herself in the press of Braavos or Myr or even Pentos and forget the ever-turning wheel of the Seven Kingdoms, but --

But she would never do that. Even if her heart did not beat in lockstep with his, Miss would never abandon Master. In a kingdom where brother fought brother over bloodline, she was the only one who would not turn away from a challenge, not to save a friend.

“I know you have your...hesitations,” she manages, haltingly, her gaze dropping to inspect the duvet. Unlike the one he’d had in Oldtown, this one is hardly worn, velvet plush and bright under her fingers. “But I’m sure that there wouldn’t be any...hardship for you in--”

“Hardship? Me?” he coughs. Daughter of a bar she might be, but she must not have had a very complete education if she thinks he couldn’t, that he wouldn’t--

“Only the work of a few moments, if Garrack told me the right of it.”

Mother and Maiden, of course Garrack had told her these things.

“Miss, I know what work is required,” he assures her, holding his hand between them as if it might keep any of this from happening. “It’s you who would be -- be--”

Carrying a child. His child. Nine months of it, until she pushed out a squalling babe and--

And called it Master’s. He scrubs a hand down his face. If ever she had to pick someone to take his place...

“No one will be fooled,” he croaks, clinging to reason. “You haven’t seen Master in...”

Months, he had meant to say. But he adds them all up in his head, and it comes out to years. A romance through ravens.

“A secret tryst,” she tells him again, and he’s shocked how easily the lies fall from her lips. His own Miss, who had always scolded him for half-truths and omissions. “Maybe before I left Oldtown. Or--” he can see gears turning in her head, crunching numbers with as much deftness as the Iron Bank-- “Maybe we met on the road, while he campaigned, or -- something.”

“Master has been sequestered in Storm’s End for months now,” Obi reminds her. “You think everyone will believe that he slipped up to the Westerlands for a quick tumble?”

Her cheeks flush, chin ducking as she says, “They’ll believe anything of a prince.”

That’s true enough; the songs had Targaryens doing nothing short of turning into a dragon themselves for a good fuck, but that’s just -- lore, just a hungry minstrel’s way of making a few stags off a melody with naught else to it. But for folk to believe it --

“If you were to --” he can barely think the word “conceive,” let alone say it -- “make a child now, you couldn’t be certain of it for weeks, and even if Master left Storm’s End when you left Oldtown--”

“I’ll tell my uncle when he returns.” She drags her gaze back to his, and it’s determined, not a spot of doubt in her. A dangerous look for her to be wearing, in his experience. “It’s not a short ride to King’s Landing, and Izana won’t be quick to see him with Zen just across the bay.”

“Aye, Miss,” he groans, falling back onto his pillows. It’s oddly satisfying, with them being so soft, though down doesn’t fly everywhere as he’d hoped. “Any fool can count.”

“Babes are always late,” she informs him primly, tucking her legs beneath her. “And everyone’s always so eager to believe in the sensational.”

Now there’s more bitter tone than any he’s heard his miss make.

Obi opens his eyes to a squint, curious. Her jaw juts stubbornly, mouth purse in a moue of annoyance. It’s inconvenient how endearing it is, how much he’d just like to kiss it off her--

“It beggars belief,” he says instead, earning himself a glare. “Even smallfolk won’t believe Master rode across the Reach during wartime to meet you in the Westerlands to make a bas--” he bites down on the word-- “a natural child.”

“He married me. In secret.” She says it this time without batting an eyelash, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and for a brief moment even he doubts that it is false. “And I do not have to fool everyone. Only my uncle. And he...”

Her lips wrap tight around the thought, but the words hang between them. Because he will believe what he wants to believe. He might throw in with His Majesty now, but a rightful prince of the line as a grand-nephew...

Few men could resist the lure of being Hand of the King. And with a simple accident, a regent besides. And so, so many accidents may happen in war time.

Obi huffs, head tipping back against the pillow. “He will not, when the babe comes looking like a man from Asshai.”

A cautious hand, like that of a kitten, presses on his chest. “Is that where you are from?”

His eyes open to see her perched above him, all curiosity. “Now who isn’t being serious?”

Her mouth curls into a smile, soft and secret, and for a moment they could be back in Oldtown, her kneeling beside him on his bunk, laughing over nothing at all --

“It won’t matter what he looks like.” The words are soft, a caress, and he nearly squirms out of his skin at the sound of it. He’s used to bruising punches and hard fucks, not this -- this gentleness. “The war will be over before anyone will even know.”

His breath rasps from his chest, and there’s no way to tell her that is not how wars work, and especially not the way dragons dance. Perhaps in the maesters’ dusty tomes those clashes had been compared to flashes in a pan, to wildfire, but --

Nine months is not enough.

“It could be a girl,” he says instead, trying to ignore the way his heart beats wildly beneath her hand, to ignore the certainty that he knows how this conversation will end. He does a poor job if it, half hard under the wool of his trouser. It’s only inexperience that she doesn’t know its there. “What then?”

The question gives her pause, at least. She blinks, slow, as if the thought is new to her, that she had never considered it would not be a boy, a proper heir to the Iron Throne --

If only it was not borne by a bastard’s seed. “Girl or boy, any babe would tie us.”

He grunts, unconvinced. “So long as it looks right.”

“It won’t matter--”

“Miss.” He says it soft, barely more than a breath, but it still her. “You of all people should know it does.”

Silence settles over them, but the quiet does not last for long. He would choke the life out of any man who called his mistress a bitch, but for all that, she can never drop a bone lest she’s gotten the last of its marrow.

“I understand,” she begins, haltingly, “that you may not want to -- to help me, since I am so...inexperienced..”

He jolts up onto his elbows, heat swarming his cheeks. “That is not what I said,” he growls. “Not at all.”

She shifts, just slightly, on her knees, hand spasming on his chest. “Or maybe you do not wish to hurt me when you take my maidenhead--”

He grabs her wrist, feeling the thready pulse beneath as he yanks her toward him. She only just catches herself, her other hand splaying wide across his chest, so pale against the black of his shirt.

“Oh, Miss,” he purrs, far too close, able to see the glint of gold in her eyes and smell the sweet scent of hay on her skin. “With me, you’d have no pain at all.”

He’s close enough to hear her suck in a ragged breath, canting her head toward his in question. “Then why won’t you?”

Every part of him goes still. There is no reason, none at all, save that he loves her. Save that part of him is selfish, is small and petty and wants only to lay with her if she is his, if she loves him in return and wants to bear his child. His child, not Master’s, not the heir to the Iron Throne -- and --

And there is no way to tell her that would not expose him for the worse kind of fool, a Florian with a Jonquil who will never love him --

And so he kisses her instead.

#obiyukiweek19 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #Day 2 #my fic #game of thrones AU #ans #LISTEN i meant to get to the sexy stuff but YOU KNOW HOW IT IS #i guess this whole thing will be three parts total #but i felt that this was an...important conversation to happen #since you know Obi would throw literally everything between her and his dick #because he's got THE FEELINGS and he doesn't want things being COMPLICATED #and she's asking him to MAKE A BABY and basically COMMIT FRAUD #and you'll notice not one of them thinks about what ZEN will say #so we're already making some bad decisions here shirayuki #I WONDER WHY XD

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slothcritic · 5 years ago

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Dragon Ball Z Abridged - Episode 10 Review

A satisfying conclusion with plenty of jabs, jibs and a ghost whatnow?

While The Punchline has been split up into three parts, I will be reviewing and judging all three parts as a single episode within a single review. I will be giving out scores for each part just for posterity however, but only the overall score will be considered this episode’s actual rating.

In the cold open, Vegeta is absolutely thrilled over snapping Nappa out of existence, and Goku asks Krillin and Gohan to retreat while he deals with Vegeta. Krillin is already gone, screaming and crying. Gohan and Goku have a brief conversation about putting dinner on, because he's hungry. There might be some reference I'm not getting here, or if it's really just a face-value scene, but I think it would've been funnier if the title sequence had begun just after Krillin is shown running (flying) away to safety.

[Title Sequence, Part 1]

Goku and Vegeta opt to find a new battlefield, as the one where Nappa decimated the Z Fighters is a little "corpsey." King Kai starts taking bets on which of them is going to win, and even the Narrator tries to get in on that, despite already knowing the outcome.

The delivery on Vegeta's lines early on is not promising. I'm not sure if it's poor audio quality caused by a crappy microphone or if Lanipator was struggling with some kind of throat infection while recording these lines, but it's noticeable as there's a long extended conversation with a voice that sounds like sandpaper to the ears. I actually went back to check on the previous episodes to see if I was taking crazy pills, and no, Vegeta sounded just fine before. I have no idea what the reason or cause of this change might be, whether it was a deliberately different delivery or if they were rushing to put this episode out, but Vegeta sounds consistently more raspy in this episode than the gravelly deadpan to which I've become accustomed. For all I know, yelling as Vegeta might just by taxing on his vocal chords.

Putting the voice issue aside, Goku's oblivious lack of understanding for the word "elite" and the back and forth between the two of them works on the whole as a great scene.

"I'm going to start beating you now. I don't know when I'll stop."

I can't remember whether or not that's a reference, but I love the delivery on it. Vegeta has just finished dealing with Nappa and now has absolutely zero patience for someone just as braindead.

Sure enough, after being taunted about a cave full of gumdrops and ice cream, Vegeta drops the "That's it! EVERYONE DIES!" which might be one of my favorite things said in this episode, but it’s followed closely by:

"Say goodbye to your planet, Kakarot." "Well that's not very nice." "OF COURSE NOT! I'M FUCKING EVIL!"

The dynamic here works astoundingly well. It's very different from Vegeta and Nappa's duo, but works on similar foundations. With Vegeta and Nappa, Nappa was the ridiculous one and Vegeta served as his anchor. With Vegeta and Goku, the roles are flipped and Vegeta is now the ridiculous one, screaming his head off in frustration and writhing around in the death throes of his pride, while Goku's complete obliviousness and innocence keeping him grounded as the anchor. Nappa was purposefully annoying because he was a bratty, childish mook, while Goku is just annoying by happenstance and being very, very hard to put down. It doesn't help that Vegeta actually wants to kill Goku, and unlike Nappa, he's having less than success with this one.

The overall production of the climatic beam struggle is surprisingly well executed, and is perhaps the best moment in this entire episode from a technical perspective. Goku speaking as he charges up the Kamehameha doesn't sound cheesy, canned or forced, and neither does Vegeta's delivery. The sound effects and music are also on point here. This is an important moment in the series and I'm glad they got it just right. I have no objections with anything here.

If anything, at about five and a half minutes in, the viewer has had enough time to adjust to Vegeta's new raspier voice and it no longer seems out of place. If he had been speaking "normally" up until this point, I probably would have criticized the delivery on these lines, but it almost feels like it fits on the whole now that this has been established as the "new normal" for the last five minutes. The main point I'm attempting and probably failing at making is that my original complaint was that the new voice took me out of the episode, but in this moment with the beam struggle, Vegeta's voice flows naturally and I honestly wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't just (as of now) dedicated two whole paragraphs of this review to JUST talking about how Vegeta sounds slightly different now.

Alright, now it's time to back up a tad, which isn't something I like to do a lot. Twice in this episode, Goku has used the Kaio-Ken and then the Kaio-Ken times three. The first time he used it, he seemed to at least match Vegeta. The second time he used it, he jobbed Vegeta straight into a rocky wall. But it's only good for a few seconds, so it has no sustain. It's essentially one really strong punch or a really quick beat down, but leaves Goku winded and struggling at the end of it.

The reason I didn't bring these up as they happened was because frankly the scenes didn't do enough for me to write about it. I write about what I feel is significant to my review to give context or explanation to my thought process, not to give a play by play. Simply put, they were funny, but nothing notable happened because of it. It was a quick skit, okay, move on. But it's now important to draw attention to those two moments, because while they did very little for me the first two times... Well, during this beam struggle, just as Vegeta feels like he’s gaining the upper hand, the dramatic music quiets to nothing but the sounds of the beams clashing, and all we hear is...

"Kaio-Ken..." Vegeta look on in horror. "...No..." "Times..." "No no no..." "FOUR!"

Vegeta is sent skyward with a loud FFFFUUUUUU- and then twinkles like Team Rocket just blasted off again. Goku is the victor... of this fight at least.

Then there's an odd cutaway back to Roshi's island that's slow to start, but eventually got me to smile. It's all the characters from Dragon Ball reminiscing of times where they used to be relevant to the story. Guest appearance by Baba who almost doesn't appear in Z at all!

It initially felt like a bit of tone whiplash but it warmed up to me. And "Whatever happened to Launch?" actually got a laugh out of me. Seems like Toriyama isn't the only person who forgot about her.

I'm not sure what the point of this scene was, but I agree with the decision that after that climax, a break or calming down period in the tension it had built up was definitely necessary, even if the transition felt a little jarring at first.

"Meanwhile, back at the plot", which is an amazing segue, Vegeta gets off Mr Goku's Wild Ride and the beam continues on without him into the pink sky.

I don't think -UUUUUUCK! counts as an F-Bomb so it doesn't get censored. Booyah!

Vegeta then undergoes a post ass-kicking identity crisis. After devising a plan to turn into the mighty Ozaru, he then undergoes a where's-the-damned-moon crisis.

Good thing Blutz Waves are a thing. He yeets the artificial moon into the sky and boom, King Kong. The other King K attempts to coach Goku through dealing with this beast (that is canonically stronger than Captain Ginyu at this point) and advises Goku to find a safe, secluded location to charge up the Spirit Bomb.

Goku however decides to do it right out in the open. Just as Ape Vegeta's massive fist obliterates Goku, King Kai's crystal ball turns to static and gets the operator disconnected message. I think a dial tone would've been slightly funnier, but this has the same energy so I'll take it with no complaints. An excellent way to end the first part of this episode!

[Part 2]

This part begins with Goku hitting a rock so hard he thinks he's in Dragonball Evolution for a moment. After blinding Vegeta with a solar flare, which I'm still not entirely sure how that works or why people don't use it more often to get cheap surprise shots on blinded targets, Goku finds a quiet spot that he can use to charge the Spirit Bomb. He ends up borrowing so much energy from the planet that he may or may not have drained all the life from an old father deer. Dark, but morbidly hilarious.

Goku tries to fling the Spirit Bomb at Vegeta, but surprise: He's got a mouth laser! Knocks the Spirit Bomb right out of him and sends him tumbling against a rock.

"Hey Kakarot, what's the opposite of Christopher Walken?" "Huh?" "Christopher Reeves!"

CRUNCH! The giant monkey stomps down right on Goku's legs, crushing and immobilizing him.

This is such a bad, good joke. I still think about this one from time to time. And honestly, considering how I started binge-watching these in high school (where I more or less developed into an entirely different person), this joke here might very well be the genesis of my love for black humor. I'm fully willing to admit I'm biased on this, but I think this is one of the funniest dark jokes in DBZA, full stop. If not the whole series, then at least within Season 1. Don't care, evil.

Just as he's about to be crushed for good, Goku shoots a quick energy blast into Vegeta's eye, causing him to stagger backwards. This is where Goku makes his cunning escape, dodging, weaving and doing aerial acrobatics around the massive monkey man, accompanied by victorious fanfare. Or not. Goku's legs are still broken. But it's nice to just imagine how cool that would’ve looked, y’know?

Vegeta then decides he's just going to squeeze the life out of Goku, and his screams can be heard well into the distance, all the way to Krillin and Gohan.

The giant monkey keeps squeezing Goku until he squeaks like a rubber ducky, or a chew toy. He does it again, and another squeak.

"Oh my god, that's hilarious."

In the middle of squeaking Goku relentlessly, Gohan decides to make a stand, having blown back to fight Ape Vegeta. He gives a verbose speech that culminates in "The bigger they are, the harder they fall." and then strikes a fighting pose like his five year old ass is going to do anything against a fifty foot behemoth. Battle gong and everything playing in the background.

Vegeta just stares at Gohan, and then after a pause, squeaks Goku again. This has delightfully petty energy to it, especially coming from Vegeta.

While Gohan has caught Vegeta monologuing, Krillin attempts a sneak attack on Vegeta, but he effortlessly humiliates him and thwarts his efforts by simply hopping over the Kienzan that was coming from behind.

However, he couldn't anticipate two sneak attacks. That or Yajirobe was simply that unlikely of a hero, but here he comes sword and all to save literally everyone's lives as he slices Vegeta's tail clean off his rump.

With no more tail, Vegeta regresses to his original Saiyan form. He's no less dangerous, however, and just as Krillin tries to bring the hype, he gets immediately pinballed into the nearest rocky structure and the owned count strikes 9.

The writing on Vegeta's speech following this is actually quite good. "I thought I'd be angrier" is not a take I expected from someone who's had such major meltdowns and cataclysmic conniptions thus far. It does a good job of illustrating how far down the rabbit hole we've gone, to the point where he has become so angry that he's encountered a stack overflow.

Goku and Gohan have a touching moment, both broken, beaten and bloody, but as they share a heart to heart, and their hands extend towards one another's like a Michelangelo painting, Vegeta comes in like a good fiend and gives Goku a killer knee-shot to the ribs. You have to wait for the right moment!

They immediately cut away to an intermission, which they never do in any other episode, but honestly it fits here. The alternative would be to end the episode here and we've still got another three minutes and some change to go. It's an arbitrary production joke but it's necessary and well done for the scene as a whole so it gets a pass and then some from me.

When we resume, Vegeta and Gohan duke it out, which provides a convenient distraction for Goku to hand off part of the Spirit Bomb to Krillin. It turns out he'd been saving some of the earth juices from when he got the snot knocked out of him earlier, but only a little bit of it. Krillin is confused as to why Goku would trust him of all people with it, and Goku concedes that his back is kind of against the wall on this one.

With a yipee-kay-yay and a booyah motherfucker, Krillin lobs the Spirit Bomb Lite at Vegeta, who simply jumps Krillin’s attack for the second time. Maybe aim a little higher next time, or better yet don’t loudly announce your attacks. Not that anyone in this series would understand that concept anyways.

Now the Spirit Bomb is heading straight for Gohan. But it's okay because Gohan is a main character, so he just Uno Reverse Card’s the Spirit Bomb off his hands and it sproings upwards towards Vegeta once more.

Side note, I don't think it's ever explained, either in the abridged or the original series, how Goku is able to communicate telepathically with Gohan. Yes, Master Roshi says in Dragon Ball that "any highly skilled martial artist can read minds" but does that just mean reading minds or actually communicating between them? And if that's the case, why doesn't Goku use this more often? I could probably find at least one plot point that could've been avoided by this, but the answer is probably extremely simple. Goku is a moron. It's very easy to explain away forgetfulness or inconsistent writing when you can just default to saying that your main character is an idiot who forgot he could do those techniques that you forgot existed as a writer. Don't think about it too much I guess.

"What smells like deer?"

I’ve actually missed this joke every single time I've watched this episode so far, except for just now, when I watched it to write this review. The old father deer from before! That is such a cool and unexpected callback.

Anyways, Vegeta gets punked by the Diet Spirit Bomb and goes sailing into the sky. The Z Fighters - which is now just Goku, Gohan and Krillin - are ecstatic in celebration.

"It's been tough, but now, we'll never have to see that rotten Saiyan ever again."

Cue Vegeta's lifeless body ragdolling to the ground with a meaty thwap. Krillin tempts fate by approaching the body, and that goes as expected. Vegeta opens one eye and screams. Then the others all start screaming.

Very weird production mis-step or weird decision with the source footage here. Vegeta's face at least moves, but because all the others have panning shots, they freeze in weird, awkward positions. The action lines don't move, some characters aren't fully in frame, and it's very obviously a still image instead of something like a loop. Maybe this is just what they had to work with. Still, very immersion breaking. Though honestly, I'm almost glad that if something like this had to happen in this part, it was at least in the last ten seconds.

Goku is confused because he can't move. I mean, they won right? Why is everyone screaming.

[Part 3]

This part begins immediately with Krillin getting bitch slapped, earning a 10/10 on the owned counter. Vegeta then decides he has had exactly enough of everyone and everything, and goes for the nuclear option.

Fortunately for our heroes, Vegeta has been so worn down, battered, sent through the ringer, and has suffered so much damage to that one eye in particular, that he doesn't have enough energy left to kill everyone all at once. Instead, he opts to get his hands dirty and cut them each of them down one at a time. Speaking of cut, here comes Yajirobe with his sword. It can pierce through Vegeta's armor, which is wonderful news but ultimately pointless. However, it serves as an excellent distraction.

Remember that fake moon? Remember how Vegeta only returned to normal form because his tail was amputated? Remember earlier how Piccolo had to destroy the Earth's actual moon because Gohan was a rampaging Donkey Kong lunatic? Well guess who just woke up staring right at that fake moon in the sky.

Lacking any barrels in the vicinity, Ape Gohan decides to throw around some rocks.

Goku, again, reaches to him telepathically and reminds him not to go on a rampage killing everyone.

"Remember Icarus? He did it."

Now, purely within this episode, this isn’t an issue. It’s a funny haha moment. However, this scene gets a little more irritating or perplexing once you’ve seen some of the DBZA movies. This knowledge did hamper my enjoyment of this scene on rewatch. However, that ultimately isn’t fair to this episode as a stand alone product, and my gut instinct of “My knowledge of episodes that came out well after this one retroactively makes this episode worse!” is also something I try tooth and nail to avoid. So I’m going to talk about this for a bit and get it out of my system so I can approach it fairly.

Simply put, Icarus is a headache. He's Gohan's friend and pet dragon of sorts, for like three random movies, some episodes of Z and then never gets mentioned again. Goku implies that Vegeta is responsible for Icarus' death, despite the fact that Icarus is still alive at some point after Goku defeats Freeza. I would normally take up the stance of “okay, let’s ignore the official canon / non-canon and just stick to DBZA” but he ALSO features in the DBZA movie Cooler’s Revenge, so this is multiple layers of crazy.

I understand that DBZA exists primarily as a form of parody and thus prioritizes humor and “working with what you’ve got” over some things a harsh anal-retentive person might deflagrate them for (cough cough) and are not afraid to contradict themselves on points of little significance for the sake of humor. I also don’t think they had any long-standing plans to incorporate Icarus into Z at the time this episode was made - They may have simply wanted to make a joke about the DBZ equivalent of Poochie the Dog from Itchy & Scratchy.

Like I said, Icarus is headache. However, simply in this moment and nothing else, I do feel it works. It’s shows a cute dragon geting exploded. Who couldn’t feel bad for this poor random dragon that I totally haven’t ever seen before? It also works within the story itself - Gohan gets sufficiently angry, and Vegeta starts treading the tightrope of desperation.

Gohan's Ozaru form isn't long lived however, as Vegeta suddenly learns the Kienzan and slices his tail off with it. Small problem though, Gohan was airborne, and the regression back to a normal Saiyan form is not instantaneous. His massive body looms over him, and with a Big NO, Vegeta go splat.

He's down but not out. He at least has enough energy to call for his Space Uber to come and pick him up. As he's crawling hands and knees into his escape pod, Krillin suddenly decides he wants to be important, and appears with Yajirobe's sword, poised to strike.

Vegeta is understandably terrified, because after the day Krillin's had, he's gone full ride or die mode and isn't about to wait on an invitation to go full Thanksgiving turkey on this maniac.

However, Goku wants the pacifist ending and gives a very simplified version of the original speech to Krillin. If he's sorry, we have to let him leave. Because that's what being a good boy is all about. It's noteworthy that one of my all-time favorite Vegeta quotes happens right here in the original dub.

"When I come back to this planet, you're all going to suffer. And when you beg me for mercy, I'll stare into your eyes as I crush the life out of you."

However in this version, we're treated to "Yes, I'm very very sorry. Sorry that you're all still alive, suckers!"

And honestly, both versions are fitting for their respective interpretations of Vegeta.

As we pan out, the narrator waxes on the victory of the heroes and how he made bank from his bet with King Kai. Next time, don't make bets with the narrator you stupid idiot. Big dumb idiot god.

I'm writing this at close to 4am if you couldn't tell. Scheduled uploads!

"Has anyone really not seen this show already? Find out in the next season of Dragon Ball Z Abridged!"

And that's it folks! Well, almost. We have one final scene to go through first.

Vegeta is hurdling through space in his Saiyan pod, lamenting his laundry list of losses and failures, but at least concedes that his situation cannot get worse. But we all know what happens to people who tempt fate.

"Vegeta... VEGEEEEEETA..." "Wh-What?" *DING* "I'm haunting you."

And thus, we've reached the end of Season 1! The Ghost Nappa song plays and the outro credits roll.

Conclusion

First off, definitely a longer review than I'm used to writing. Secondly, this was a great three-parter. I wasn't sure if the format would hold up like it does for single segment episodes, but it does. Now I'm sure there are bad episodes to come in the future, but for now I'm happy that the last three or four episodes have all scored relatively high. TFS is going into Season 2 with some great foundations built upon their older, more crude material, and they still have a lot of room yet to improve. I should consider being more critical with this next season as the expectations will be higher!

There’s one noteworthy gripe I have with each of these three parts, but only one worth writing about. -Vegeta suddenly sounding different, as if I didn't talk about that enough. I swear I'm not taking crazy pills. -Weird freeze frames at the end of Part 2. -Icarus, simply because he messes with me on a personal level. This fucking dragon doesn't make any god damned sense.

Other than that, I liked it. I don't know if I'd say "I loved it" but for the series as a whole, we're getting there at breakneck speed.

The first part had some great back and forth interactions with Goku and Vegeta, both the dialogues and the beam struggle, while the second part had more stand-out moments with just Vegeta, from the squeaking Goku, to the "I thought I'd be angrier" speech, his perfectly timed knee to ribs, and the famous last words "What smells like deer?"

The last part... didn't actually have much of this. I didn't find the talk about Vegeta’s father to be terribly funny and nothing else he said was extremely stand-out like in the previous two parts. This part didn't so much have humor as it was the "let's wrap things up" segment. Most of the noteworthy moments happen close to the tail end. I will admit, even ten years later, I still got a little sentimental hearing that outro from LK, and let's not sleep on Ghost Nappa. They may have done you dirty in Kai 3 but we still love you!

Overall, I'm happy that this was as good as I remembered it. I found jokes I didn't pick up the first few times, flaws that I didn't know existed, and a new appreciation for some subtle details that may have glossed over me while I was busy laughing about Christopher Reeves.

Part 1: 75 Part 2: 78 Part 3: 72

Score: 75

Passing Thoughts

"Kaio-Ken!" "Kaio-What?"

Small error on my part - Piccolo blows up the moon in Episode 4, and in my review of that episode, I mistakenly attribute a scene from this episode to DBZ Kai Abridged.

"I'm going to enjoy this far more than I should." - And like that, Vegeta has suddenly become relatable.

"Thank God, I thought he meant penis!"

"Time to crush you like an Arlian." "A what?" "Exactly."

"I haven't killed a damned thing since I got to this god-forsaken planet! Not for lack of trying mind you."

#slothcritic #DBZ #Dragon Ball Z Abridged #TFS #teamfourstar

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gaysparklepires · 6 years ago

Text

8. Waiting For the Damn Fight to Start Already

Read on AO3

BOOK TWO

Jacob

And yet, to say the truth,

Reason and love keep little company together nowadays.

William Shakespeare

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Act III, scene i

PREFACE

Life sucks, and then you die.

Yeah, I should be so lucky.

“Jeez, Paul, don’t you freaking have a home of your own?”

Paul, lounging across mywhole couch, watching some stupid baseball game on mycrappy TV, just grinned at me and then—real slow—he lifted one Dorito from the bag in his lap and wedged it into his mouth in one piece.

“You better’ve brought those with you.”

Crunch. “Nope,” he said while chewing. “Your sister said to go ahead and help myself to anything I wanted.”

I tried to make my voice sound like I wasn’t about to punch him. “Is Rachel here now?”

It didn’t work. He heard where I was going and shoved the bag behind his back. The bag crackled as he smashed it into the cushion. The chips crunched into pieces. Paul’s hands came up in fists, close to his face like a boxer.

“Bring it, kid. I don’t need Rachel to protect me.”

I snorted. “Right. Like you wouldn’t go crying to her first chance.”

He laughed and relaxed into the sofa, dropping his hands. “I’m not going to tattle to your sister. If you got in a lucky hit, that would be just between the two of us. And vice versa, right?”

Nice of him to give me an invitation. I made my body slump like I’d given up. “Right.”

His eyes shifted to the TV.

I lunged.

His nose made a satisfying crunching sound of its own when my fist connected. He tried to grab me, but I danced out of the way before he could find a hold, the ruined bag of Doritos in my left hand.

“You broke my nose, idiot.”

“Just between us, right Paul?”

I went to put the chips away. When I turned around, Paul was repositioning his nose before it could set crooked. The blood had already stopped; it looked like it had no source as it tricked down his lips and off his chin. He cussed, wincing as he pulled at the cartilage.

“You are such a pain, Jacob. I swear, I’d rather hang out with Liam.”

“Ouch. Wow, I bet Liam’s really going to love to hear that you want to spend some quality time with him. It’ll just warm the cockles of his heart.”

“You’re going to forget I said that.”

“Of course. I’m sure it won’t slip out.”

“Ugh,” he grunted, and then settled back into the couch, wiping the leftover blood on the collar of his t-shirt. “You’re fast, kid, I’ll give you that.” He turned his attention back to the fuzzy game.

I stood there for a second, and then I stalked off to my room, muttering about alien abductions.

Back in the day, you could count on Paul for a fight pretty much whenever. You didn’t have to hit him then—any mild insult would do. It didn’t take a lot to flip him out of control. Now, of course, when I really wanteda good snarling, ripping, break-the-trees-down math, he had to be all mellow.

Wasn’t it bad enough that yet another member of the pack had found someone—because, really, that made four of ten now! When would it stop? It’s like they were falling in love on purpose just to kick me when I was already down!

And did it have to be mysister? Did it have to be Paul?

When Rachel’d come home from Washington State at the end of the summer semester—graduated early, the nerd—my biggest worry’d been that it would be hard keeping the secret around her. I wasn’t used to covering things up in my own home. It made me real sympathetic to guys like Embry and Collin, whose parents didn’t know they were werewolves.Embry’s mom thought he was going through some kind of rebellious stage. He was permanently grounded for constantly sneaking out, but, of course, there wasn’t much he could do about that. She’d check his room every night, and every night it would be empty again. She’d yell and he’d take it in silence, and then go through it all again the next day. We’d tried to talk Sam into giving Embry a break and letting his mom in on the gig, but Embry’d said he didn’t mind. The secret was too important.

So I’d been all geared up to be keeping that secret. And then, two days after Rachel got home, Paul ran into her on the beach, they got to talking, laughing and bada bing, bada boom—true love! No secrets necessary when you found your other half, right? They’d hit it off so well that I swear they were already thinking about marriage—marriage!Stupid.

Rachel got the whole story. And I got Paul as a potential brother-in-law someday. I knew Billy wasn’t much thrilled about it, either. But he handled it better than I did. ’Course, he did escape to the Clearwaters’ more often than usual these days. I didn’t see where that was so much better. No Paul, but plenty of Liam.

I wondered—would a bullet through my temple actually kill me or just leave a really big mess for me to clean up?

I threw myself down on the bed. I was tired—hadn’t slept since my last patrol—but I knew I wasn’t going to sleep. My head was too crazy. The thoughts bounced around inside my skull like a disoriented swarm of bees. Noisy. Now and then they stung. Must be hornets, not bees. Bees died after one sting. And the same thoughts were stinging me again and again.

This waiting was driving me insane. It had been almost four weeks. I’d expected, one way or another, the news would have come by now. I’d sat up nights imagining what form it would take.

Charlie sobbing on the phone—Beau and his new husband lost in an accident. A plane crash? That would be hard to fake. Unless the leeches didn’t mind killing a bunch of bystanders to authenticate it, and why would they? Maybe a small plane instead. They probably had one of those to spare.

Or would the murderer come home alone, unsuccessful in his attempt to make Beau one of them? Or not even getting that far. Maybe he’d smashed him like a bag of chips in his drive to get some? Because Beau’s life was less important to him than his own pleasure...

I shook my head, trying not to think about that. I still felt bad about that night at the wedding. It hadn’t been any of my business, ‘course. But I just couldn’t even imagine Beau would wantthat? Who wants to slide into bed with an ice-cold rock? I’d over reacted, I’d been an idiot. Obviously, I was worried about Beau’s safety, sure. But there was the other side of it. I couldn’t stop myself from being jealous about it—about Beau beingwith that bloodsucker like that… I needed to stop thinking about it.

The story would be so tragic—Beau lost in a horrible accident. Victim of a mugging gone wrong. Choking to death at dinner. A car accident, like my mom. So common. Happened all the time.

Would the leech bring Beau home? Bury him here for Charlie? Closed-casket ceremony, of course. My mom’s coffin had been nailed shut....

I could only hope that the bloodsucker would come back here, within my reach.

Maybe there would be no story at all. Maybe Charlie would call to ask my dad if he’d heard anything from Dr. Cullen, who just didn’t show up to work one day. The house abandoned. No answer on any of the Cullens’ phones. The mystery picked up by some second-rate news program, foul play suspected...

Maybe the big white house would burn to the ground, everyone trapped inside. Of course, they’d need bodies for that one. Eight humans of roughly the right size. Burned beyond recognition—beyond the help of dental records.

Either of those would be tricky—for me, that is. It would be hard to find them if they didn’t want to be found. Of course, I had forever to look. If you had forever, you could check out every single piece of straw in the haystack, one by one, to see if it was the needle.

Right now, I wouldn’t mind dismantling a haystack. At least that would be something to do. I hated knowing that I could be losing my chance. Giving the bloodsuckers the time to escape, if that was their plan.

We could go tonight. We could kill every one of them that we could find.

I liked that plan because I knew Edward well enough to know that, if I killed any one of his coven, I would get my chance at him, too. He’d come for revenge. And I’d give it to him—I wouldn’t let my brothers take him down as a pack. It would be just him and me. May the better man win.

But Sam wouldn’t hear of it. We’re not going to break the treaty. Let them make the first breach.Just because we had no proof that the Cullens had done anything wrong. Yet. You had to add the yet, because we all knew it was inevitable. Even though Beau said he had no plans on becoming a bloodsucker, we knew. Beau was either coming back one of them, or not coming back. Either way, a human life would be lost. And that meant game on.

In the other room, Paul brayed like a mule. Maybe he’d switched to a comedy. Maybe the commercial was funny. Whatever. It grated on my nerves.

I thought about breaking his nose again. But it wasn’t Paul I wanted to fight with. Not really.

I tried to listen to other sounds, the wind in the trees. It wasn’t the same, not through human ears. There were a million voices in the wind that I couldn’t hear in this body.

But these ears were sensitive enough. I could hear past the trees, to the road, the sounds of the cars coming around that last bend where you could finally see the beach—the vista of the islands and the rocks and the big blue ocean stretching to the horizon. The La Push cops liked to hang out right around there. Tourists never noticed the reduced speed limit sign on the other side of the road.

I could hear the voices outside the souvenir shop on the beach. I could hear the cowbell clanging as the door opened and closed. I could hear Embry’s mom at the cash register, printing out a receipt.

I could hear the tide raking across the beach rocks. I could hear the kids squeal as the icy water rushed in too fast for them to get out of the way. I could hear the moms complain about the wet clothes. And I could hear a familiar voice....

I was listening so hard that the sudden burst of Paul’s donkey laugh made me jump half off the bed.

“Get out of my house,” I grumbled. Knowing he wouldn’t pay any attention, I followed my own advice. I wrenched open my window and climbed out the back way so that I wouldn’t see Paul again. It would be too tempting. I knew I would hit him again, and Rachel was going to be pissed enough already. She’d see the blood on his shirt, and she’d blame me right away without waiting for proof. Of course, she’d be right, but still.

I paced down to the shore, my fists in my pockets. Nobody looked at me twice when I went through the dirt lot by First Beach. That was one nice thing about summer—no one cared if you wore nothing but shorts.

I followed the familiar voice I’d heard and found Quil easy enough. He was on the south end of the crescent, avoiding the bigger part of the tourist crowd. He kept up a constant stream of warnings.

“Keep out of the water, Claire. C’mon. No, don’t. Oh! Nice, kid. Seriously, do you want Elise to yell at me? I’m not bringing you back to the beach again if you don’t—Oh, yeah? Don’t—ugh. You think that’s funny, do you? Hah! Who’s laughing now, huh?”

He had the giggling toddler by the ankle when I reached them. She had a bucket in one hand, and her jeans were drenched. He had a huge wet mart down the front of his t-shirt.

“Five bucks on the baby girl,” I said.

“Hey, Jake.”

Claire squealed and threw her bucket at Quil’s knees. “Down, down!”

He set her carefully on her feet and she ran to me. She wrapped her arms around my leg.

“Uncle Jay!”

“How’s it going, Claire?”

She giggled. “Quil aaaaall wet now.”

“I can see that. Where’s your mama?”

“Gone, gone, gone,” Claire sang, “Gonna play with Quil all day. Never gonna go home!” She let go of me and ran to Quil. He scooped her up and slung her onto his shoulders.

“Sounds like somebody’s hit the terrible twos.”

“Threes actually,” Quil corrected. “You missed the party. Princess theme. She made me wear a crown, and then Elise and Emily suggested they all try out her new play makeup on me.”

“Wow, I’mreallysorry I wasn’t around to see that.”

“Don’t worry, Emily has pictures. Actually, I look pretty hot.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

Quil shrugged. “Claire had a great time. That was the point.”

I rolled my eyes. It was hard being around such happy people. No matter what stage they were in—about to tie the knot like Sam or just teen-werewolf-turned-future-stepdad like Quil—the peace and contentedness they always radiated was downright puke-inducing.

Claire squealed on his shoulders and pointed at the ground. “Pretty rock, Quil! For me, for me!”

“Which one kiddo? The red one?”

“No red!”

Quil dropped to his knees—Claire screamed and pulled his hair like a horse’s reigns.

“This blue one?”

“No, no, no….,” the little girl sang, thrilled with her new game.

The weird part was, Quil was having just as much fun as she was. He didn’t have that face on that so many of the tourist dads and moms were wearing—the when-is-nap-time? Face. You never saw a real parent so jazzed to play whatever stupid kiddie sport their rugrat could think up. I’d seen Quil play peekaboo for an hour straight without getting bored.

And I couldn’t even make fun of him for it—I envied him too much.

Emily’s sister, Elise, had moved to La Push from the Makah reservation to stay with her older sister pretty recently. Elise had gotten pregnant by her high school boyfriend and he immediately skipped out on her, so Emily took her in. Elise had Claire, and everyone sort of pitched in to help raise her since Elise was so young. She and Quil are about the same age so they got along pretty well. One thing led to another, and, well, here we are.

I didn’t envy the idea of being a teenage werewolf dad, but Quil couldn’t have been happier. He had Elise and they had Claire. One big happy family before high school graduation, I guess.

“Quil, you ever think maybe it’s all too much?”

“Huh?”

“No, no yellow!” Claire crowed.

“You know. I mean, Elise is cool, but a kid? Already? Don’t you ever want to just… not have that responsibility? Try dating someone else?”

Quil just stared at me.

“Pretty rock! Pretty rock!” Claire screamed when he didn’t offer her another choice. She smacked him on the head with her little fist.

“Sorry, Claire-bear. How about this purple one?”

“No,” she giggled. “No purple.”

“Give me a clue. I’m begging, kid.”

Claire thought it over. “Green,” she finally said.

Quil stared at the rocks, studying them. He picked four rocks in different shades of green and offered them to her.

“Did I get it?”

“Yay!”

“Which one?”

“All of them!”

She cupped her hands and he poured the small rocks into them. She laughed and immediately clunked him on the head with them. He winced theatrically and then got to his feet and started walking back up toward the parking lot. Probably worried about her getting cold in her wet clothes. He was worse than any paranoid, overprotective parent.

“Sorry if I was being a jerk, man, about the whole dating thing,” I said.

“Naw, that’s cool,” Quil said. “I get what you mean. Who would have guessed I’d be the one to be a dad so soon, right?”

“Not me, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Jake.” He shrugged. “Me and Elise, we just clicked. You know? And Claire is great. I’m happy, man. I don’t even notice any other girls anymore, you know. I don’t see their faces.”

“If you say so,” I sighed. “Though, put that together with the tiara and the makeup, and maybe Elise will have a different kind of competition to worry about.”

Quil laughed and made kissing noises at me. “You available this Friday, Jacob?”

“You wish,” I said, and then I made a face. “Yeah, guess I am, though.”

He hesitated a second then said, “You ever think about… moving on? Dating?”

I sighed. I guess I’d opened myself up for that one.

“You know, Jake, maybe you should think about getting a life.”

He didn’t say it like a joke. His voice was sympathetic. That made it worse.

“I don’t see anyone else, either, Quil. I don’t see their faces.”

Quil sighed, too. “At some point, man, you just gotta grow up a little and embrace the life you’ve got.”

I stared at him, annoyed. That was the last thing I wanted. This life sucked. I’d trade it for just about anything.

He continued, “Because, and I might be wrong, but I think there’s happiness waiting right under your nose. You just gotta see it, you know?”

I shrugged, and turned away. He sighed again.

Far away, too low for anyone but just us two to hear it over the waves, a howl rose out of the forest.

“Dang, that’s Sam,” Quil said. His hands flew up to touch Claire, as if to make sure she was still there. “I don’t know where Elise’s at!”

“I’ll see what it is. If we need you, I’ll let you know.” I raced through the words. They came out all slurred together. “Hey, why don’t you take Claire up to the Clearwaters’? Sue and Billy can keep an eye on her if they need to. They might know what’s going on, anyway.”

“Okay—get outta here, Jake!”

I took off running, not for the dirt path through the weedy hedge, but in the shortest line toward the forest. I hurdled the first line of driftwood and then ripped my way through the briars, still running. I felt the little tears as the thorns cut into my skin, but I ignored them. Their sting would be healed before I made the trees.

I cut behind the store and darted across the highway. Somebody honked at me. Once in the safety of the trees, I ran faster, taking longer strides. People would stare if I was out in the open. Normal people couldn’t run like this. Sometimes I thought it might be fun to enter a race—you know, like the Olympic trials or something. It would be cool to watch the expressions on those star athletes’ faces when I blew by them. Only I was pretty sure the testing they did to make sure you weren’t on steroids would probably turn up some really freaky crap in my blood.

As soon as I was in the true forest, unbound by roads or houses, I skidded to a stop and kicked my shorts off. With quick, practiced moves, I rolled them up and tied them to the leather cord around my ankle. As I was still pulling the ends tight, I started shifting. The fire trembled down my spine, throwing tight spasms out along my arms and legs. It only took a second. The heat flooded through me, and I felt the silent shimmer that made me something else. I threw my heavy paws against the matted earth and stretched my back in one long, rolling extension.

Phasing was very easy when I was centered like this. I didn’t have issues with my temper anymore. Except when it got in the way.

For one half second, I again remembered the awful moment at the wedding. I’d been so insane with fury that I couldn’t make my body work right. I’d been trapped, shaking and burning, unable to make the change but unable to calm down. It had been so confusing. Dying to kill him. Afraid to hurt Beau. My friends in the way. And then, when I was finally able to shift, the order from my leader. The edict from the Alpha. If it had been just Embry and Quil there that night without Sam... would I have attacked that bloodsucker then and there?

I hated it when Sam laid down the law like that. I hated the feeling of having no choice. Of having to obey.

And then I was conscious of an audience. I was not alone in my thoughts.

So self-abosrbed all the time, Liam thought.

Yeah, no hypocrisy there, Liam,I thought back.

Can it, guys,Same told us.

We fell silent, and I felt Liam’s wince at Sam’s words. Touchy, like always.

Sam pretended no to notice. Where’s Quil and Jared?

Quil’s got Claire. He’s taking her to the Clearwaters’.

Good. Sue will take her.

Jared was going to Kim’s, Embry thought, Good chance he didn’t hear you.

There was a low grumble through the pack. I moaned along with them. When Jared finally showed up, no doubt he’d still be thinking about Kim. And nobody wanted a replay of what they were up to right now.

Sam sat back on his haunches and let another howl rip into the air. It was a signal and an order in one.

The pack was gathered a few miles east of where I was. I loped through the thick forest toward them. Liam, Embry, and Paul all were working in toward them, too. Liam was close—soon I could hear his footfalls not far into the woods. We continued in a parallel line, choosing not to run together.

Well, we’re not waiting all day for him. He’ll just have to catch up later.

’Sup, boss? Paul wanted to know.

We need to talk. Something’s happened.

I felt Sam’s thoughts flicker to me—and not just Sam’s, but Seth’s and Collin’s and Brady’s as well. Collin and Brady—the new kids—had been running patrol with Sam today, so they would know whatever he knew. I didn’t know why Seth was already out here, and in the know. It wasn’t his turn.

Seth, tell them what you heard.

I sped up, wanting to be there. I heard Liam move faster, too. He hated being outrun. Being the fastest was the only edge he claimed.

Claim this, moron, he hissed, and then he really kicked it into gear. I dug my nails into the loam and shot myself forward.

Sam didn’t seem in the mood to put up with our usual crap. Jake, Liam, give it a rest.

Neither of us slowed.

Sam growled, but let it go. Seth?

Charlie called around till he found Billy at my house.

Yeah, I talked to him, Paul added.

I felt a jolt go through me as Seth thought Charlie’s name. This was it. The waiting was over. I ran faster, forcing myself to breathe, though my lungs felt kinda stiff all of a sudden.

Which story would it be?

So he’s all flipped out. Guess Edward and Beau got home last week, and...

My chest eased up.

Beau was alive. Or he wasn’t dead dead, at least.

I hadn’t realized how much difference it would make to me. I’d been thinking of him as dead this whole time, and I only saw that now. I saw that I’d never believed that he would bring Beau back alive. It shouldn’t matter, because I knew what was coming next.

Yeah, bro, and here’s the bad news. Charlie talked to Beau, said he sounded bad. he told Charlie’s he’s sick. Carlisle got on and told Charlie that Beau picked up some rare disease in South America. Said he’s quarantined. Charlie’s going crazy, ’cause even he’s not allowed to see Beau. Charlie says he doesn’t care if he gets sick, but Carlisle wouldn’t bend. No visitors. Told Charlie it was pretty serious, but that he’s doing everything he can. Charlie’s been stewing about it for days, but he only called Billy now. He said Beau sounded worse today.

The mental silence when Seth finished was profound. We all understood.

So he would die of this disease, as far as Charlie knew. Would they let him view the corpse? The pale, perfectly still, unbreathing white body? They couldn’t let him touch the cold skin—he might notice how hard it was. They’d have to wait until Beau could hold still, could keep from killing Charlie and the other mourners. How long would that take?

Would they bury him? Would he dig himself out, or would the bloodsuckers come for him?

The others listened to my speculating in silence. I’d put a lot more thought into this than any of them.

Liam and I entered the clearing at nearly the same time. He was sure his nose led the way, though. He dropped onto his haunches beside his brother while I trotted forward to stand at Sam’s right hand. Paul circled and made room for me in my place.

Beat’cha again, Liam thought, but I barely heard him.

I wondered why I was the only one on my feet. My fur stood up on my shoulders, bristling with impatience.

Well, what are we waiting for? I asked.

No one said anything, but I heard their feelings of hesitation.

Oh, come on! The treaty’s broken!

We have no proof—maybe he is sick....

OH, PLEASE!

Okay, so the circumstantial evidence is pretty strong. Still... Jacob. Sam’s thought came slow, hesitant. Are you sure this is what you want? Is it really the right thing? We all know what he wanted.

The treaty doesn’t mention anything about victim preferences, Sam!

Is he really a victim? Would you label him that way?

Yes! Besides, Beau wanted to stay human! He told me so!

Sam considered this for a moment. We can’t attack the Cullens without proof that the treaty has been violated. We don’t know if this illness is a ruse or not.

It’s totally a lie!

Enough, Jacob!Sam snapped.

Jake, Seth thought, they aren’t our enemies.

Shut up, kid! Just ’cause you’ve got some kind of sick hero worship thing going on with that bloodsucker, it doesn’t change the law. They are our enemies. They are in our territory. We take them out. I don’t care if you had fun fighting alongside Edward Cullen once upon a time.

You’re upset, man. You’re not thinking clearly and you’re going to do something stupid.

I’m not going to do anything stupid, Seth.

Sure you won’t. You’re not ready for this fight, Jacob.

Instinct took over and I crouched forward, snarling at the gangly sand-colored wolf across the circle.

Jacob! Sam cautioned. Seth, shut up for a second. Seth nodded his big head.

Dang, what’d I miss? Quil thought. He was running for the gathering place full-out. Heard about Charlie’s call....

We’re getting ready to go, I told him. Why don’t you swing by Kim’s and drag Jared out with your teeth? We’re going to need everyone.

Come straight here, Quil, Sam ordered. We’ve decided nothing yet.

I growled.

We need to find out if the treaty has been broken before we make any decision. I have to think about what’s best for this pack. I have to choose the course that protects you all best.

This is B.S., and you know it. I growled.

Enough, Jacob. You’re overruled. Sam’s mental voice changed, took on that strange double timbre that we could not disobey. The voice of the Alpha. He met the gaze of every wolf in the circle.

The pack is not attacking the Cullens without provocation. We will determine if the treaty has been broken—well and truly violated—before we attack our former allies.

Hear, hear, Seth thought enthusiastically.

I thought I told you to shut it, Seth.

Oops. Sorry, Sam.

Jacob, where do you think you’re going?

I left the circle, moving toward the west so that I could turn my back on him. I’m going to find out what we already know—that they’re going to turn Beau into one of them. I’m going to get this damn fight started.

Aw, Jake—Come on!

Shut up, Seth, several voices thought together.

Jacob, we understand this is difficult for you, we don’t want this to be any more difficult than it already is, Sam told me, his thought softer than before.

So force me to stay, Sam. Take away my will. Make me a slave.

You know I won’t do that.

Then I’m going.

Fine, Jacob. But if you find out Beau is still human, once you determine that the treaty hasn’t been broken, you come straight back.

No, after I find out I’m leaving again.

I ran away from them, trying very hard not to think about what was next. Instead, I concentrated on my memories of the long wolf months, of letting the humanity bleed out of me until I was more animal than man. Living in the moment, eating when hungry, sleeping when tired, drinking when thirsty, and running—running just to run. Simple desires, simple answers to those desires. Pain came in easily managed forms. The pain of hunger. The pain of cold ice under your paws. The pain of cutting claws when dinner got feisty. Each pain had a simple answer, a clear action to end that pain.

Not like being human.

Yet, as soon as I was in jogging distance of my house, I shifted back into my human body. I needed to be able to think in privacy.

I untied my shorts and yanked them on, already running for the house.

I’d done it. I’d hidden what I was thinking and now it was too late for Sam to stop me. He couldn’t hear me now.

Sam had made a very clear ruling. We would determine if the treaty had been broken. The pack would not attack the Cullens. Okay.

He hadn’t mentioned an individual acting alone.

Nope, the pack wasn’t attacking anyone today.

But I was.

#Breaking Dawn #Breaking Dawn Revamped #Twilight #The Twilight Saga #The Twilight Saga Revamped #Jacob Black #Beau Swan #Sam Uley #Liam Clearwater #Seth Clearwater #The Pack #Gay Twilight #Gay Breaking Dawn #Rewrite #ao3 #ao3 link #AO3 update

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shsummertimefest-blog · 7 years ago

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Enjoy, @onthecyberseas!

Surprise OnTheCyberSeas!!🎊🎉🎊🎉 I’m your Summer Fest Gifter!!! I really, really hope you like this LOL 💚💚💚 HUGE HUGE thanks for the lovely souls Kriszti and Mac for letting me vent and for the Beta work 😁

~*~

Lydia plops the plate onto the countertop in front of Alec, a tense moment of them just eyeing the dessert promptly following. But her steely gaze never falters, a set jaw telling Alec she’s ready to fight him on any critique…of which there is aplenty if there’s anything he has to say about it.

“‘S too much frosting.”

“I like frosting,” Lydia grits out through clenched teeth, her glower only deepening further, and honest to God Alec wouldn’t be surprised if she just started too stomp her feet and shoved the pastry straight into his face out of frustration.

“It takes away from the cake itself.”

“Fine,” she snarls. “I’ll scrape it off. Anything else oh great arbiter of baked goods.”

Alec kindly chooses to ignore the snub, and moves to instead pick out a toothpick from the jar sitting precariously atop a shelf over his shoulder, piercing it into the slice of cake before him. “The middle’s too raw.”

“Is not,” Lydia squawks, hands flying to her hips. “You just have some anti raspberry agenda! Admit it!“ She waggles an accusatory finger at him.

“And if I did?”

“Well if I owned this joint, I’d let my hired bakers make whatever they please, and have total and complete faith in their pallets.”

“Good thing ’s not your bakery then,” he snarks back loftily, focusing more on the piping of some hedge fund banker’s anniversary cake, than on Lydia’s increasingly reddening face—Most probably looking like she might actually start fuming from her ears if you know—this were a Disney cartoon or some shit.

Alec here’s Lydia’s frantic sputtering before the tell tale smack of the kitchen door slamming shut.

“Why is Lydia cursing your name while smashing together a bunch of fresh pastries? Ooo wow the girl’s got some rhyming skills.” Izzy perches atop the stool opposite Alec, looking out of place in the vanilla scented, wet doe splattered kitchen in her pencil skirt and razor tipped red bottom heals.

“She was trying to get me to sell that raspberry concoction again.”

“Hey, I like her raspberry cheesecake,” Izzy defends with pinched lips, a discrete finger scraping across one of the bowls strewn across the counter top before licking it clean.

“Yeah,” Alec scoffs, spinning the cake to the next side. “Maybe if we were an amateur bakery run by a single mom out of her kitchen.”

Izzy cuffs him on the back of the head. “Rude.”

“Factual.”

She sighs through her nose. “You are such a neurotic perfectionist, do you know that?”

“You say that as if it’s news,” he needles with a hiked brow, Izzy’s lips twisting up in exasperated annoyance.

“Fine I’ll tell you something you don’t know loser,” she stretches across the island to smooth her thumb across his forehead consolingly. “IF you don’t learn how to actually relax, you’re gonna start getting premature wrinkles. And we don’t want this pretty face disappearing before ‘s time, do we?”

Alec smacks her away where Izzy’s moved to start pinching his cheek—like they were kids again and she was taunting him about his crush on Mr. Starkweather.

“You’re a pain.”

“You say that as if its news,” she parrots all too smugly, and Alec can’t help but smirk right back.

“Extra! Extra! Hot off the presses!” Max shouts out from where he’s marching through the doorway, ever a little shit.

“What the hell! Do you have to be so loud? It’s like eight in the morning.”

“Oh ho, big brother don’t you give me that attitude now,” Max kisses Izzy’s expecting cheek, leaning besides her. “I’ve got some intel on Code Name Sparkles.”

“Code Name Sparkles?” Izzy deadpans with a decidedly disapproving glower. “Dios, do you think you guys are actually in the FBI or something?”

“Oy, I’m affronted big sister,” Max grapples for his chest, pained. “The CIA is way more bad ass , and if it were not for the laws of this land, I would have you slain for your insolence.”

Izzy just rolls her eyes before locking her arm around his neck., and grinding her knuckles into his scalp.

“Ouch, fuck ouch! Iz! Uncle! Okay! Uncle, uncle! I give up, women are superior in every way! Your prettier than that dumb racist Ariana Whiteclaw from your finance class! You can totally borrow my car whenever you want!” Finally satisfied, Izzy pulls off with a smirk, and readjusts his bangs.

Alec watches the tableau with a very subdued downturn of his lips.

“Okay, now that you guys are done, Max, you said you had something on Bane?”

“Oh yeah, totally,” Max straightens. “They’re having a huge half off any dozen purchased sale this Saturday at Pandemonium.” He passes over an almost obscenely pink flier.

“You mean the same exact day that we’ve been planning to reveal our brand new cake design for the past three months?” Alec seethes, almost ripping the paper in half with an iron clad grip.

“Ah, I guess—maybe it was a coincidence or something?” Max reasons with a noncommittal shrug, far more interested in the chocolate croissant he’s currently munching down, over any potential calls to arms that Alec’s way too close to declaring. “Dot just told me bout it today.”

With a start, Alec cuts a skewering glower at him, “That better not be a fucking croissant from the enemy Max.”

His lips pinch with a peevish scoff. . “Hey! Don’t bite my head off, It’s the only way I could flirt her up on a daily basis, Dot said that if I came back a hundred days straight with an original come on, and buying something from Pandemonium, that she’d let me buy her lunch, and tell me her favorite color. But I can’t miss a day or else I’ll have to start over.”

“She’s dating Maia! You do realize that right? You understand that she’s just playing you to spend your money there!” Alec feels like he might faint of fatigue over his sibling’s almost blasé attitude over this very real rivalry against everything that has to do with Magnus Bane and all his stupid hotness—NO! Not hotness! Stupidness—All his stupid stupidness! That’s what Alec meant—he definitely does not find Magnus Bane attractive in the least.. And even if he did, that would not detract from the fact that he is a total assmunch who’s trying to run Heavenly Sweets out of business.

“Oh hush Alec,” Izzy toots, carding a fond hand through Max’s mop of curls. “He’s in love.”

“She’s the enemy! We can’t be fraternizing with the enemy!”

“Doesn’t stop you from checking out Magnus’s ass any chance you get,” Max huffs, with a pointed crossing of the arms.

“That—That is not true! Slanderous! I have never! Nor would I ever! With the enemy? As if!” Izzy starts to cackle, and Max smirks like the cat who’s gotten into the cream. Alec hates them both. This is why Jace is his favorite.

“Jace told me that you were drooling last week when you ran into him headed to his yoga class,” Izzy snorts…And scratch that. Alec hates them all, every single one of them. He’s disowning himself—No better yet, Alec’s gonna fire’m all and pick out his own, personalized siblings. One’s who don’t tease him about nonexistent crushes, or broad around in his personal life, or eat half the merchandize before they could even get them out on the display to lure in paying customers. Honestly they’re all such blunders, Alec would be better off just starting with a clean slate.

Izzy just gives him a vapid, unimpressed look, as if she could read Alec’s every thought and is not amused in the least, —)Which actually maybe quite possible considering how she’s a certified, scientific super genius and is only helping out with Heavenly Sweets’ number crunching on her downtime between taking over the world, and going on romantic holidays with Clary. But not the point.

The point is that Bane is a bonafide douchesnozzle supreme, and Alec needs to beat him playing his own game.

“Staff meeting, in ten minutes stat!”

“That’s definitely not how you use the word stat…”

“Not the time Iz! We’re planning full out warfare!”

“Ah—Right?”

Max leans close to her ear, “I think our little Alexander has lost a few marbles.”

If he had the time, Alec would point out how he’s got a good five inches on Max—but he doesn’t because Magnus’s stupid face is searing through the paper in his hands and boring into Alec—taunting him, nudging him to do better, be better.

“This means war.”

“More than a few Maxy,” Izzy groans. “more than a few.”

~*~

Alec met Magnus for the first time on a Tuesday afternoon.

At first Alec mistook him for a costumer, and he was just this beautiful enigma that Alec couldn’t stop marveling over. All impossible cheekbones, and eyes that flashed molten when they hit the light just right, and a charisma that appeared to enrapture any and every passerby. And then his smile, his fucking smile, just a little, upturn of the lips, but it was so totally disarming. A small gesture that promised elicit nights and swept away whispers, and scorching touches on throbbing skin. And Alec just couldn’t reign in the hunger to lick off every rogue spec of frosting that dotted Magnus’s beautiful face…

But then he thrust out his hand, and opened his mouth.

“Hello, I’m the owner of Pandemonium—the bakery right next door.” he gave Alec a deliberate once over, leering in that coquettish way that tells Alec that Bane likes what he sees—And he might be just a tad bit smug that the visceral attraction is mutual. “sorry if we end up running you out of business cheekbones, you understand ’s just the rules of the jungle. Nothing personal on my end.”

At that, Alec kind of jolts back, affronted. “Put the champagne on ice, why don’t ya?” He scoffs derisively, to which Magnus just fucking beams, as if this is a fun little game he’s amused by—a dog chewing on his favorite toy. (Yiyks, Alec should definitely not imagine Magnus’s mouth doing anything to anything related to a bone…far too dangerous of a picture.)

“You sound doubtful towards my sincere apology,” he noted, rocking back on his heels.

“Ever heard of not counting your chickens before there hatched?” Alec needled with a one eyed squint.

“No, I must admit that particular idiom has never crossed my mind cheekbones.”

“Is that right sparkles—“ Okay, so admittedly a whole hell of a lot less charming than cheekbones, but it’s factual. Magnus’s got on this shimmering gloss, and his jewelry is all bright and shiny—and his personality…It’s just all sparkly and Alec’s always been a man of facts over opinion. It’s a fact that Magnus Bane is an all around sparkly guy.

“Well yes, it’s not necessary to heath that particular warning if you’re always right, don’t you agree pretty boy.”

And that was it. Their fate was sealed.

IF Alec was anything, it was competitive. So now it was his fucking duty to not only thrive, but turn the tables and make it so Pandemonium was the one hanging for dear life, and it was Alec offering up his condolences to the dying business.

Oh yeah, it’s so on.

Alec is going to destroy him. It’s law now…Admittedly not a very easy one to follow when Magnus is standing there before him, all haughty smirks and double edged words…But he can’t let a pretty face fuck him over.

“We’ll see about that Sparkles.”

“I welcome the challenge.”

~*~

It takes more like fifteen minutes for everyone to meander into the dank break room in the back of Heavenly Sweets, save for Izzy who magnanimously offered to man the register up front. (“Anything to get out of listening to Alec’s insane diatribe against Bane for the third time this week.” “I heard that Iz.” “You were suppose to loser, and while you’re listening take my advice and finally quench that thirst.” “I’m leaving.” “You know I’m right.”)

She is so wrong. Izzy is so wrong that Alec and all his entire one and a half semesters of law school could not begin to articulate each and every way she is mistaken. Seriously—it’s just a time concern, that’s why he can’t list off the reasons Izzy’s wrong—Alec’s to busy conducting a very important meeting that is not all about lamenting over Bane, and everything he has ever done that proves how awful of a human being he is.

A very important meeting.

“So, hold up,” Jace raises a placating hand after Alec’s finally finished. “You want us to come up with three brand new flavors to premier on the ninth?”

“Yes, what’s so hard to understand about that,”

“And then we’re gonna have a fifty percent off sale on every transaction—“ Raj tacks on doubtfully.

“Glad to see you’re all literate.,” he sniffs curtly.

“Bro, this wouldn’t have to do with a certain, sexy, owner for the opposing side, and your total rock hard woody for’m. Would it?” Max rolls back his entire head—obviously finding merely his eyes as to tame of a gesture to properly communicate his annoyance.

“I have no clue who you’re talking about,” Alec plays dumb.

“So the date was just a coincidence then?” Lydia challenges, her eyes sharpening, and looking as if she might just start to give him a lecture about etiquette or how his brash attitude is completely off-putting. (It’s happened before, and yeeesh Alec was properly chastised, but mostly just mournful for whenever John fucked up.).

“’s not important, this is our agenda for the next month. No questions asked.”

“Alec I love you, you know that right?” Jace’s face goes pained, but Alec just gesticulates with the paper in his hand for him to continue. “Don’t you think it’s gone a tad bit far…You know this rivalry thing—Like. both businesses are pretty well off. THere’s no need to continuously be at each others throats like this.”

“The north never forgets Jace!” Alec flails, very nearly toppling over a whole stack of order forms. “This is full out warfare!”

“A game of baker hats wouldn’t you say?” Max provokes with a shit eating grin.

“Shut up Max.”

“Hey, I’m just saying we better have some bad ass dragons to help us out on the battlefield. Bane ’s pretty fierce, and trust me Dot’s a force to be reckoned with all her own,” he gets heart eyes, earning a fist bump by Raj, a roll of the eyes by Lydia, and Alec shooting him what he hopes is the most terrifying glare Max has ever been on the receiving end of. (Well there mom is Maryse…So probably not, but it’s the effort that counts.)

“Listen, I’m just saying, the ninth is a big deal for Bane’s crew. That orphanage is locally owned, and they know the owner Catarina really good…and well they’ve been doing this drive for like the past three years. It means a lot to’m.”

“How do you know it means a lot to them?” Alec spits out to an increasingly reddening Jace. And yeah, his suspicions that Jace’s been seeing that fucking Pandemonium cashier—Sheldon or whatever—on the sly, are being so totally proved as they speak.

NO loyalty, Alec swears, every last one of them is sleeping with the enemy. Well not him, no, nope,, never Alec. His only intention in life is to destroy Bane, not to sleep with him. He has no interest in seeing all the lithe muscle Magnus oh so inconspicuously hides underneath apparel that makes Izzy green with envy—or to hear the way Magnus moans from being stretched out beneath him—or knowing how his face looks like when Alec is giving him the best fucking blow job of Magnus’s entire life.

Yeah—none of that.

Alec is a fucking temple of zen—And its definitely not zen getting all heated over the prospect of fucking stupid Magnus and his fucking stupidness and just generally fucking Magnus stupid.

Alec tries drinking some ice water as discretely as possible.

“Look,” Jace tries to temp down his still blazing blush, but to no avail. “I’m just saying, they’re doing a good thing for a charitable cause, we shouldn’t mess around with that.”

“Oh but brother you missed the best part,” Alec leers before presenting them all with the cover photo of the local Animal Humane Society, that he had printed off right before they all ambled in. “We’ll be donating that other fifty percent of the order to a local animal shelter.”

The room stays silent.

“Please, don’t bother keeping your applause to the end,” Alec snarks, tossing back the sheet of paper.

“So…We’ll essentially be making no money,” Raj deadpans.

“Not the point!” Alec reprimands with a huff. “The point is our name will get out there even more, and Bane won’t get any customers, and we’ll finally win!”

“Yeah, that definitely seems like a totally plausible sequence of events,” Lydia snorts flippantly.

“You guys should just fuck and get rid of the UST,” Max blithely recommends from where he’s moved to practice balancing a spoon on his nose.

Alec pointedly ignores him.

“Man, I still feel like this ’s a bad idea.”

“Warning noted Jace, but I’m the manager and I say this goes full force ahead.”

“This is gonna end badly,” Lydia jeers with a sing-song sort of voice, helping Max tare off the spoon he’s somehow gotten plastered onto his face.

Again—they’re all such blunders.

~*~

“Lightwood!”

With a bit of a start, Alec pivots around to meet a very blotchy faced, and scowling Magnus. curious Hazel eyes piercing into very cross Brown ones.

“Bane, hate to chat, but thankfully I actually work for a living.”

“What the hell is this,” he pounds a finger into the neon flier Alec had commissioned Clary to make, one which advertises the sale, and charity event that Heavenly Sweets will be holding.

“Paper…I didn’t think you were that daft.”

Magnus’s brows lower even more—Alec had no clue that such a deep vee could mold into the bridge of someone’s nose like that.

“You know what I meant,” he seethes. Alec should probably think it’s ridiculous that none of his staff is even bothering to glance there way, but has long ago been lectured by a very irritated Maia how they all have plenty better things to do than be witness to Alec and Magnus’s little melodramas whenever one gets all huffy and decides to storm the other’s grounds of operation.

Even though Alec is pretty sure he should still be concerned that one of them yells at the other so often that it no longer deserves even the slightest bit of attention, he always ends up just forgetting about the whole ordeal, unintentionally opting to just get distracted by everything Magnus whenever he so much as steps into a room, instead.

“Oh, you mean the sale we’re having?” Alec perks with a sneer.

“You know that we have our charity event for Loss’s Orphanage every year on that exact date.”

“Oh?” Alec blinks, eyes going owlish. “Is that right?”

“You are such a fucking piece of shit!” He fumes.

“Language Magnus, we’re in a professional setting,” Alec clucks his tongue and awaits the sharp comeback that Magnus always shoots back his way. Something debauched, and cunning and with a pixilated gleam to his eyes all the while. Probably an innuendo, or taunt about going somewhere a bit less professional—his words forever hugged with something this edge of dangerous. And Alec would just clip something back until they’re in the midst of a full out repertoire that makes Alec feel alive and giddy and just more buoyant than he ever has before. (And then Alec would usually round the day out by shamefully jerking off to the little sparring match in the secure darkness of his loft, where he is never forced to face any unwanted feelings.)

But the thing is, Magnus never opens his mouth to drawl out one of his artfully precise remarks. He just stands there for a moment longer, glare deepening, and this look about him.

This look that kind of shakes Alec to his very core—and Alec doesn’t care how fucking pretentious or trite that sounds, the feeling’s factual. Magnus is looking at him As if he could not believe the gall of Alec, as if Alec has just blazed across this line they’ve been teetering on ever since they had first met. As if Alec had gone so far past it that Magnus can hardly recognize him. And Alec’s actually tempted to ask what makes this so much worse than all the other slights they’ve doled out to each other throughout the years, but then Magnus just gives a rough shaking to his head, and sashays out of the building without ever looking back, or tossing Alec one last smirk.

And Alec feels hollow for it.

~*~

“You’re sulking.”

“Am not.”

“Jace is he sulking?”

“Hmm, well he did just eat an entire bowl of uncooked doe…”

“I did not,” Alec harrumphs, giving each of them a downright mutinous glower, stirring the ingredients with much more force than necessary.

“Well denial is the first step,” Izzy commends with a nudge of her elbow.

“That’s for grief.”

“Yes, and you’re grieving how a certain someone hasn’t bothered to even speak with you since the incident that shall not be named.”

Alec gives her a very flat look. “I have no idea to whom you’re even speaking of,”

“Sure,” she sneers. “So then you don’t want any advice from either of us—you know two people who love you, and are both in serious, fulfilling relationships themselves.” Jace doesn’t even try to flounder for a way to contend with Izzy, it’s basically common knowledge that he and that cashier have been sucking face for the past six months, no use in trying to deny it.

Alec’s gaze goes steely. “I don’t know why you think I’d want to relate with you and Clary or Jace and Stefan.”

“His name is Simon,” Jace cuffs him on the back of the head irritably.

“And you shouldn’t be sleeping with him in the first place.”

“oh, damn. Point,” they knuckle punch.

“Fine,” Izzy interrupts their little bro moment, flipping back a lock of her hair facetiously. “I guess I won’t tell you about this major fight me and Clary had way back at the start of our relationship.”

It’s an involuntary response when Alec strays his gaze to focus on her. and It’s something rote when Alec inclines his head, silently pushing her to continue, as if he were actually at all interested beyond the arbitrary older brother trying to protect his baby sister from the scum of the earth alertness.

Izzy’s smirk tells him she knows she’s caught him, hook line and sinker. “Well it wasn’t anything terribly serious, just about trying to balance our times so that we don’t sacrifice our relationship to all the other shit swarming around us. You know, just trying to get serious.”

“How did, erm,” Alec coughs, and tries to not sound so terse over how Izzy’s squeezed him into admitting how the severe lack of speaking with Magnus has effected him. “How did you guys resolve the issue.”

She beams like the fucking sun. “You’d never guess, it’s a totally retro practice!” Izzy leans closer, as if to divulge to Alec a long hidden cure to all relationship perils. “We spoke to each other, put everything on the table and went from there.”

Alec glares at her, but Izzy’s probably been long ago immune to Alec’s surliness considering they’ve been siblings for her entire life.

“I know, don’t go crazy over the sudden rush of information.”

“I loath you,” Izzy just pets him like mollifying an upset pug. “Does it actually work? Just talking I mean,” he directs the question to Jace, because again, he loathes Izzy.

Jace gives him a one armed shrug, “Worked last weekend when me and Si were trying to decide between Lord of the Rings, and Star Wars for our movie night.”

“Aww,” Izzy gushes, locking her arms around Jace’s bicep. “You guys are so totally like an old married couple.”

“Yeah, we are,” Jace’s face goes sickeningly fond, and his eyes look like they’re actually shining stars.

Alec’s heart gives a sudden thud when he thinks to how unbelievably happy his siblings are with their other halves—even fucking Max and his unrequited reverence over Dot.

Alec’s stomach twists when he pictures the face of the only person who has ever made him remotely that passionate.

~*~

He spends the remainder of the day telling himself that he won’t let Izzy or Jace’s words effect him, telling himself that he doesn’t care that he hasn’t spoken with Magnus since the verbal lashing Magnus gave him nearly three weeks ago. He tells himself that he’s fine, and he doesn’t need to see Magnus to alleviate this tension that’s begun filling the wholes that Magnus had once mended over with his megawatt smiles and dancing laughter that use to make Alec want to cocoon himself within it’s warmth.

Nope, he’s fucking the great wall of China, that’s how unmovable he is.

~*~

Alec is admittedly a very weak man when it comes to Magnus—and he won’t even bother to psychoanalyze that fact. So it’s unsurprising when later that day he finds himself standing outside of Magnus’s door, a tray of lemon squares in one hand, and hoping that they could convey how sorry he is to Magnus—even if Alec doesn’t know what it’s over.

“Okay Lightwood, you got this,” Alec hypes himself up, sucking in a breath before giving three quick wraps against the wood, holding in a gasp once detecting the subtle puttering of feet striding ever nearer.

Magnus swings open the door, finds Alec standing there, and promptly tries shutting it again.

“Whoe, just hold up,” Alec tries pushing his weight against the force, but fucking hell those bolding muscles are not just for show. Before the door could shut completely, Alec squeezes the lemon square tray to act as a temporary barrier.

“There’s nothing I want to say to you Lightwood,” Magnus growls, just glaring all the more mutinously.

“Okay, fine I’ll leave you alone,” Alec raises his hands up. “But I just don’t get why you’re angry, I mean we’ve always been in competition with each other. I don’t get why you find it so offensive that I bested you this time around.”

At that, Magnus’s pallor goes scarlet, and he moves so that he’s standing close enough that Alec could feel tendrils of Magnus’s warm breath skirting across his lips. “You don’t actually think I’m upset over this shitty rivalry, do you?”

Alec gulps dow a breath he hadn’t known he was holding—he thinks he never really knows what he’s doing where Magnus is concerned. “Well yeah—I mean why else?”

“God cheekbones I didn’t think you were this fucking dense.”

Alec parts his lips to retaliate, but then Magnus’s pressing a finger to his mouth in admonishment, and cutting his gaze to a clock behind him. (One of those posh, grandfather contraptions that only the elderly and people as staunchly fashion forward as Magnus, actually bother to keep in their homes.)

It’s still early, Alec knows that for sure. He had come straight hear after closing shop. It couldn’t be past quarter after three.

“C’mon, let me show you why I have a fucking problem with this shit you’ve pulled.”

Alec knows damn well he’d start spewing a thousand different questions, and would refuse to go anywhere until any of them were answered, if it were not for the fact that Magnus grabs his hand, and Alec kind of loses focus of everything but them, and where they’re interlocked, and how fucking good that looks, and how that’s not something someone should think about their fucking business rival.

Alec doesn’t care, because damn do they look good holding hands like that.

~*~

Alec isn’t really surprised when their little promenade through the congested Brooklyn streets ends with them standing outside of Loss’s Orphanage.

“Um, why are we here? I mean it’s not as if i didn’t know what charity you guys were donating to.”

“Just shut up for a while Lightwood,” Magnus bites back before strolling in.

He greets the pretty woman in the front, Catarina, easily, sharing a chemistry only developed between the closest of friends.

“Who’s this Magnus?” Catarina flashes Alec a kind grin after at least ten minutes of them catching up, and he thinks she might’ve been an angel in another life.

“Cat, this is Alexander Lightwood, cheekbones, this woman deserves nothing but the upmost respect, so cut the bullshit now.”

Alec glares at him, and Cat’s smile goes mischievous. “Oh so this is the James Dean wet dream you couldn’t stop talking about?”

“Oh, woah there Cat, you feeling okay?” Magnus pounces to clamp a hand over her lips, and an arm around her shoulders—Alec just standing there very confused. “Those kids running you so ragged that you’ve started spouting nonsense again?

“I like him,” Cat tells Magnus in a stage whisper, ignoring his antics.

“Can’t say I feel the same way about you at the moment my dear.”

Cat’s laughter is something booming and lively. And Alec can definitely see how the pair have become such close friends—both larger than life, and seemingly standing on a pedestal that normal folks could only dream of reaching.

“Testy, testy. Well I’ll go grab Madzie, stay put and don’t do anything I wouldn’t while I’m gone.”

Magnus and Alec burn matching shades of scarlet.

“You were leaving, yes?”

Cat just follies him another smirk before disappearing into the back dormitories.

Alec is jolted back to being a kid, finding Jace in one of these orphanages after his fathers death, and then the elation he felt once the two close friends could finally regard each other as brothers. It’s a strangely bitter sweet sensation, and Alec wonders if any of the kids in here are another family’s future Jace—someone to make them finally feel whole, and complete.

“You’re uncomfortable being in a place like this?”

Alec is thrust back to the present. “Huh, no…Why would you-?”

“You’v been pretty silent, even for your standards, since we’ve gotten here.”

Alec hadn’t noticed how close Magnus has gotten, his breath hitches with the proximity—the way Alec could take in every shadow that dances across Magnus’s lovely eyes, the way he smelt like the most darling combination of sunlight and sandalwood—Alec could feel himself losing touch yet again, but he can’t help it. He thinks Magnus is the embodiment of a fucking fire—awing, and beautiful and consuming, but when it’s gone all it leaves in it’s wake is ash and burnt embers—he could most probably destroy Alec if he let him, and the worst part is…Alec would. Alec would let Magnus destroy him over and over and over again, and that’s so fucking dangerous that he gives a harsh shake to his head, and chides himself to focus, all the while ignoring the pang of longing that hits his chest.

“Ah, no. No not uncomfortable,. I guess maybe wistful’d be the best way to describe it?” Magnus kinks his brow in question. “My brother, Jace, he was adopted, and I guess I’m just thinking back to when we first got to call each other brothers. Me, him and Iz all got these weird matching tattoos that were suppose to symbolize thicker than blood or some shit. Even colored one in on Max’s leg when our mom wasn’t looking.”

Magnus laughs, and Alec thinks he could live in that sound for the next eon to come.

“Mangnus! Mangnus!” Before Alec really has time to process it, a little ball of kinetic energy, and thick curls is leaping into Magnus’s waiting arms. She has big brown eyes, and sparkles in her hair, and a smile that could rival the fucking sun.

“Look, look,” Crowing, she smacks a small hand against Magnus’s cheek, using the other to emphatically gesture towards her hair. “S’pose to be just like yours!”

“It’s lovely love, absolutely beautiful. I must have you do my hair one of these days.” The little girl, Madzie, beams.

“My darling, I’d like to introduce you to a new friend. This is Alexander, he’s here to play with us today.”

With all the vitality of a five year old, Madzie whips her head towards Alec—big, cat like eyes brightening ten fold once catching sight of him. “Oooo he’s pretty, just like you Mangnus! ’S he you’re boyfriend?”

Queue another round of awkward blushing.

“You’ve been talking to Catarina for too long,” Magnus mutters morosely, to which Madzie just titters with glee. “No pumpkin he’s just a friend. Is that alright if he interrupts our playdate, just for today?”

“Hmm,” Madzie kicks against Magnus, wanting to be set down. Then, with assurance in her every step, she saddles up right to Alec, glaring up at him with a terribly adoring grimace. “Mangnus is the best,” she informs him.

“Ah, yes—I think he’s great also,” Alec offers timidly, knowing she wants a response but not knowing how to at the same time.

Madzie starts to rub her thumb against her little chin, assessing Alec—And Alec is really far too worried of what she’ll decide than what should be warranted.

“M’kay,” she finally decrees measuredly, taking his hand in her own, and then doing the same to Magnus. “C’mon, you can color in my unicorn.”

“I’m honored.” Madzie preens, and Alec’s overjoyed that he’s actually said something right.

~*~

It’s close to seven when Cat finally steps into the makeshift playroom and tells them that the orphanage will be closing for the night, and that Alec and Magnus have to see their way out.

It’s begun snowing once they finally meander into the open streets, and Alec can’t help but marvel at how the puffs of snow swirl around Magnus in a heavenly glow—It’s not the first time Alec has thought that Magnus is beautiful.

“I can see why you make such a big deal about that promotion at your bakery every year,” Alec shuffles closer to him, basking in the glow of fairy lights, and aroma of hot chocolate clogging the air. “Those children are remarkable.”

Magnus flickers his gaze up at him, a ghost of a smile dancing over his lips.

Alec feels lighter for it.

“Thank you Alexander, but I must admit my intentions are not as pure as merely adoring all the children, and Catarina to the moon and back.” Befuddled, Alec gives him a one eyed squint, hip checking him to continue. “The little girl we were coloring and playing dress up with today-“

“Madzie.”

“Yes, Madzie.” Magnus’s gaze turns softer when realizing that Alec actually enjoyed his time today. “You see, I’ve been trying to adopt her-“

Stunned, Alec petrifies right there, in the middle of the sidewalk. “No shit.”

Magnus hikes up both his brows. “Surprised?”

“Yeah, I mean—I guess just a little. Fucking hell, for how long?”

Magnus let’s out a breath through his nose, before continuing his walk a bit more briskly. Alec almost needing to jog to catch up. “Three years.”

“Wholly hell, does it ordinarily take that long?”

“NO,” Magnus shakes his head solemnly. “But I’m a single, bisexual, man…Not exactly prime material for a candidate to adopt a little girl.”

“That’s fucked up, you love her. A fucking monkey from space can see that.”

Magnus let’s out a little huff of a laugh. “Yes, well I did feel an immediate kinship with her—but that really has no room in the logistics of the whole ordeal. I just thought if the lawyers handling the case saw how I was donating, and helping the orphanage, while spending every afternoon with her…”

“That they’d see the potential of you guys being an amazing family. But then I just fucked it all up.”

Magnus just smiles at him consolingly. “Not your fault at all—They’ve been pressuring Catarina to close up the place for a while now. Too many kids and not enough resources, and trust me if you knew Cat you’d know how she’d rather quit eating for a decade than leave one of those munchkins without a toy for the holiday.”

“I fucked it up,” is all Alec could say. Over and over again.

“Alexander, ’s just how the cookie crumbles. I’m sure a nice, two parent, unit will find Madzie and demand to adopt her soon enough—just not me. Now c’mon, there’s a Gelato place a couple blocks down, and you’re not such terrible company.”

Mechanically, Alec follows suit, but knows that he needs to do something, to make a difference.

~*~

Izzy practically squeals with delight when Alec explains to her his intentions, and it’s not very hard at all to get the rest of the crew, from both Heavenly Sweets and Pandemonium, to join in on the plan.

~*~

The morning of the ninth Alec is leaning against the register of Pandemonium when Magnus pads through the doorway.

“Ah—Alexander, not that it’s not wonderful to start my day off with your pretty face, especially now that I don’t want to scratch your eyes out any more but-“

“Follow me,” Alec doesn’t give him time to shed off his jacket, just snatches Magnus’s hand, mildly notices how his heart still decides to do a gymnastics routine whenever they touch, and leads him into the back kitchen.

“What are you-“ Magnus’s words die on his lips.

The whole crew is piled on top of each other, mixing, and frosting and pulling out of ovens. Simon’s adoringly looking over Jace’s shoulder while the former ices very intricate roses onto a red velvet cake, while Clary, Meliorn, and Raphael are sketching out their intended creations for later on in the day. Maia, Izzy, and Lydia are pounding together the base of a particularly large project, with Dot sitting imperiously on the back counter, instructing them all, and basking in the fawning by Max and raj.

It’s a disarray, but a functional one.

“What, what’s going on?” He looks back up at Alec, as if seeing him for the first time—and yeah, Alec can’t help the swell of pride that comes over him when he sees that look on Magnus’s face.

“We postponed the pet shelter special for the eighteenth,” Alec just shrugs blithely, laughing out loud when Magnus punches him in the arm. “Look Bane, I don’t care what you say, it’s just fact that with us working together you guys will be able to make more goodies to sell out to the public, and get more money for Loss’s Orphanage, and it’ll just be better for all of us.”

Magnus still looks flabbergasted, scanning his gaze around all the faces of everyone that Alec’s wrestled together. “I still don’t get why you would do this for me?”

Alec feels his face heating up. “I wasn’t lying to Madzie when i told her that I think you’re great—I actually think you’re fantastic and brilliant and a bunch of other shit I’m sure a five year old wouldn’t have the patience to listen to.” Magnus laughs again, something light and wonderful. “Oh, by the way I got Cat to bring her and all the other kiddos over here to help us sell—You know using guilt against people and all that jazz.”

For a moment, Magnus just freezes, boring his eyes into Alec’s, and making him feel like his heart is on fire. But before he could try and lighten the mood, Magnus just pushes his head forward, and slants there lips together.

Alec thinks Magnus tastes like lilac skies and warm summer days and promises made to be kept and Alec thinks he loves him. Thinks he’s loved him for longer than he could remember not loving him, and it’s this edge of spectacular.

When they finally pull apart, they both pointedly ignore money being exchanged, for just kissing over again, and again, and again.

~*~

They make enough that day to safely say that the orphanage will be up and operational for a long time to come.

~*~

They get Lydia’s husband, John, to take on Magnus’s case for adoption, and he wins custody of Madzie six short months later.

On the one year anniversary of them being a family, Alec proposes. Madzie is the flower girl and couldn’t be happier over her pretty daddies.

Alec and Magnus still banter and jibe like nothing else, but now their words are lilted with fondness, and their feelings are modified by hungry kisses and proud I love yous screamed across any room.

#onthecyberseas #shgiftfest17 #fic #malec

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