#just damien doing things that should be illegal again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

batarangsoundsdumb · 3 years

Text

guess fucking what? my inbox is so fucking full right now i'm unloading all of this shit in one post.

For the 11th gotham memes: gothamites react to bruce being jacked in a tiktok he made with kids, like super yoked, ripped as hell

fucking hilarious thanks. i think i did it in one meme post, but i genuinely don't remember which one

i dunno which of the batfam would do this but one time i was sleeping over at a friends house and ended up on the floor bc the bed was so very small and i just stayed there because the rug was soft

that's a drunk jason move i don't know what to tell you

tim and jason are "i listen to pop punk" solidarity. whenever jason highjacks the batmobile theyll go on long ass car rides blaring mcr and paramore and then never talk about it again

as they should!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! tim: no jason it's my turn using the aux cord i gotta put on my jams jason: don't you dare put on weird shit tim: don't worry, you're gonna love this *plays fearless (taylor's version)

hear me out hear me out, red hood stans 🤝 nightwing stans t h i g h s

holy shit yes.

SNL au: Bruce breaks character when pretending to superman and says something like "I'm not superman! You've seen his gps!! It's from 2001!!!" @sabeanybabe

superman flies past the snl building the next day just to say 'actually it's from 2005, i'm not a heathen'

does your back hurt from carrying the batfam fandom

it hurts more from the exotic rock collection i keep in my backpack, but thanks for the concern.

I love your posts by why would you always leave the best parts in the tags?

as a treat for the people that check the tags ;) (and also because i'm committed to the short post aesthetic)

somehow your playlist was everything i never knew i needed. i mean it. this is my new favorite playlist.

and don't you dare get a new favourite playlist!

babe ur stoner tim playlist is exactly too perfect, earth is literally blessed by ur existence

babe thanks so much! i love my stoner tim playlist because it's just my usual playlist but people think it's an artistic choice that i put taylor swift and britney spears in there, when it's just what i unironically like listening to

JANDKSKDK BILLY RAY CYRUS ON THE STONER TIM PLAYLIST I LOVE IT IT

again it's not even an ironic choice, i know every single word and i genuinely like the song

The last chapter of Fundamentals of Casework has me crying at work. Thanks I love it @dudelookitsalesbian

oh babe, i'm sorry, but also, not sorry i love chapter 4 so much it's my lovechild with the 'mental illness' tag

soooo....stumbled on your tumblr by some stroke of fate??? read your DC fanfic first. which is PHENOMENAL btw. then found all the batmemes; the funniest thing EVER bc everyone forgets about regular old gothamites. kept scrolling and your blog pops up as recommended. clicked on the ao3 for shits and giggles and waddaya know?!?!? it's YOU!!! you're LEGEND!!!! ever seen that meme? it's a video of a cat that got into a baseball field and the two announcers get really invested in his escape attempt and start giving a play by play of the cat instead of the game. memeable moment: "GREAT stuff from the Cat!!!"

i seriously think about this ask every single day and it's so fucking funny to me that i've never seen the meme you're referencing, but i still find myself going 'GREAT stuff from the Cat!!!' whenever i see something funny. but wow i'm glad you liked this steaming pile of garbage

Fav dc character overall? And fav batfamily character?

don't ask me to pick between the loves of my life, but i can tell you i've cried about every single batfamily member and also wally west (my beloved)

What's your opinion on fans having a problem with batfam being "too big"? And some even claim that batfam is just "Bruce Alfred Dick Damian" and the rest of them are just "friends and allies" (source: reddit) Personally, I like batfam because of this reason but idk

stupid. a family can never be too big. i'm not that big a fan of like huge batfam stuff with everybody from every single universe, because as much as it's funny for bruce to have like 30 kids, it just feels a little too OOC for me.

This is the best tag I've seen involving the batfam, thanks for thinking of it

This is canon now @nctxrejects

lmao yeah i think at that point alfred has had to sit through like at least a dozen coming out talks and just has a pride flag collection in the attic that he pulls out whenever a kid comes out

idk why batfam hits different as compared to any other superhero family

bc it's found family and usually the other superhero families are almost all genetically related in one way or another

I don't know if you watch the umbrella academy but I saw your last post about batcest and saw the similarities. But the thing is (although I think it's weird) in TUA, they addressed it by saying "they were raised as weapons, not siblings" or something along those lines, which is simply not the case with batfam.

yeah i watched tua but i also thought it was ridiculous and they still treated each other as siblings so i didn't like the luthor/allison thing, and am glad they stopped doing that shit bc it fucking sucked.

Hot take: Batcest shippers are the same people who believe adopted siblings are not actual siblings

smoking hot take: batcest shippers are the people who watch 'my sister got stuck in the washing machine' porn

Duke was adopted by Bruce?

not technically no, but do i, tumblr user batarangsoundsdumb, look like i care?

True story but I had to change my freaking name because it used to be "Damien" and most people would go "OH LIKE DAMIAN WAYNE" like please I'm just tryna live

true story, but i don't actually think of damian when i hear the name damian, literally the first thing that pops up is damian darkh like bruh what?

apparently dc comics company supported comic stores by giving out new titles and stuff during the beginning of the pandemic to help them run and I just think that's wholesome

ah yeah that's so fucking cool, still don't like dc, the company, because this world is a capitalist hellhole and we're all owned by warner brothers or disney with no in between.

ayo looking at tumblr head canons and finding out bruce is actually a terrible father is a punch in the gut

lmao yes, in like 50% of comics bruce is a terrible father and it gives me whiplash

oooh I just saw the jason todd vs winter soldier post and the real question is: batman vs iron man

while iron man has like hundreds of cases of armor, batman could throw out an emp and have the guy dropping out of the sky in 2 seconds.

dickfast = fastdick = quickdick = quickie

magnum hot take

hey bata(?) just thought I'd let you know I have copied the obnoxious emoji and Billy Ray post for use on simping men going forth

thank you 😘🌷 (@spacebarsidecar)

why would you do that to your followers???? i get why i did it, but why would you???

what is scarecrow made the nightwing funko pop himself, like those diy-ers that paint over other ones

oh god no, horrible take, horrible take, that's a disgusting thought oh no

I see your HC that Bruce and Oliver fucked and raise you this: Dick and Roy ALSO fucked

yes they did and it was a horrible moment for jason to find out dick has fucked both of his best friends

"at this rate bruce adds like 1 child to his family every decade or so" Duke is introduced in 2013, Damian as Damian, not as an unnamed child, in 2006. And he is already 14 years old, Robins rarely remain Robins after 16 😬 It looks like a new Robin and Batkid will appear in a couple of years

i mean i can't wait? but somebody will probably die first tho, we're due for another major character death. my money's on either cass or duke this time.

BRO you're so right all of your Bruce's ex headcanons are amazing but they aren't ships, that's kinda wild. Like I don't want any peeks into how their relationship was I just want to see everyone make fun of them

lmao YES it's just i love bruce being a slut, like good for him.

I am in love with your posts your honour thank you

omg thanks are we like,, gonna kiss now?

The justice league needs to have a meeting to discuss how many of their members/partners have slept with bruce. Because through a combination of cannon & fannon (if DC wasn’t homophobic) we have AT LEAST: 1) clark 2) lois 3) oliver 4) dinah 5) john

Thats not counting villains or random civilians @dudelookitsalesbian

yes yes yes, they'll have a yearly meeting about how many of their collective exes could be out for revenge and batman's list just keeps getting longer.

tim was like "i'm drake now" and everyone was like ahh so your fursona is a dragon and tim was like pffffft no. ducks.

and what about it?

when steph's fighting livewire and she zaps her with lighting and nothing happens and then they both just. stand there awkwardly for a second and talk. yeah i couldn't stop laughing at that batgirl steph is the BEST

oh yeah that was fucking hilarious and i think it would be so cool and sexy of dc to give steph a little comic series,,, as a treat

Hi I absolutely adore all of yours "Bruce and Oliver very badly pretending they didn't fuck each other" memes

lmao i do too

I need you to know that “Bruce Wayne had frosted tips” is one of my favorite Bruce takes of all time it’s so galaxy brained. you’re right and you should say it

he also painted his hair blonde once when he was travelling and in conclusion, this is why he's being blackmailed by the gotham gazette.

you know my thing about gordon being branded as the only good cop in gotham is its a load of shit like arguably he's a good person and not working to screw people over or anything but the fact that he also works w. batman makes him a shit cop. like yea batman is better than the mob but its still illegal its still an abuse of power he just not making bank

babe, all cops are bad cops. (but yeah youre absolutely right, working with vigilantes makes you a shit cop, but also working against vigilantes just makes you an asshole cop yanno?)

ruh roh i think i’m about to add “so not yeehaw” every time i don’t like something

that's a very good vocabulary upgrade

somehow i feel like steph already knew. like babs obviously knew but i feel like bruce got high/drunk in front of steph and started telling his boarding school stories and steph was just like “oh you fucked up i’m never gonna forget this”

steph and bruce have weird uncle/rebellious niece dynamic and they just hang out sometimes and bruce will be like 'i once broke my arm when i tripped over a hedge when i was drunk so oliver drove me to the hospital on an electric scooter' and steph will just have to sit there with that knowledge in her head.

Hello I just wanted to tell you you are So right in all your steph opinions bc she is, in fact amazing and I think that's very sexy of you. Ps. Your Bruce/Oliver fic is hilarious

babe, thank you so much and yes steph is amazing and i love her and she deserves the world and she's the best member of the batfam hands down. also thanks

In Supersons we see a couple of kids that are implied to be Damian and Jon's children and the boy has laser eyes and can fly, so I asume he's not adopted. The girl, who calls Bruce grandpa, can also fly, btw. So it's canon (probably by accident) that Jon can have kids and he must have married one of Bruce's kids. (I'm hoping for Damian, mostly because any other of his children would be waaaaaaaaaaaaay too old.) @artemisa97

lmao that was probably an accident seeing as jon is a 17 year old superhero in the year 3000 (by the jonas brothers)

You know, I'm a die hard fan of your memes, but I gotta say one thing: if Gothamites actually took gas mask everywhere with them, then the Scarecrow would just be a weird dude in a weird costume, and not a villain oh so scary. DC really should just takes notes from you.

bold of you to assume there's no gothamite anti-maskers

How does it feel being the funniest person on this app?

horrible, next question.

I can't listen to Green Day or Billy Joel without thinking of your post about how Bruce got arrested at a Billy Joel concert @nightwings-kid

yeah that's your mistake, i on the other hand can't enjoy billy joel without thinking about the glee rendition of 'uptown girl'

I've FINALLY been watching the Batman animated series and I gotta say, after watching "the gray ghost" I am CONVINCED that Batman is a closeted super hero geek who was 100% freaking out the first time he met Superman and is just REALLY good at hiding it.

superman: so what do you do in your free time? batman, thinking about the superman fanfiction he's writing on the batcomputer: i have no free time

bruce and oliver be like boyfriends to co-workers 401k (do the justice leagues get 401ks??? not that bruce and ollie would need them, but-)

lmao yes just 400 thousand words of bruce realising 'oh dip oliver is such a fucking dumbass' (also i don't know what a 401 k is but i assume they don't?)

Gothamites would totally boo superman as he saves Gotham while batman is out. @meenje

he's like 'okay think about that next time you want to be saved from an alien octopus'

I just took long break from dc comics and I come back to see ric grayson ??

i think it's very cool and sexy of dc to see dick and just think 'you know what? let's just give him a traumatic brain injury' and then didn't develop his character in any real way

SPEAKING OF RIC GRAYSON, gothamites making confused memes out of ric grayson is much needed

'dick grayson is my taxi driver? can anyone explain what the fuck happened he looks like an italian plumber?'

i hate to say it but batfam are def "marvel characters" in that sense they are characters who are human but become superheroes unlike most dc characters who are gods trying to be human maybe this is why I like batfam

fair enough

#this is only like half of it #but at least you can get like a few answers #yanno fuck it #bataranswers #ask #asks #anon

219 notes · View notes

fairfaxleasee · 3 years

Note

[Slow] dancing + Fenris/Cass? someone needs to take this boy out on the town!!

For @dadrunkwriting (Thanks to @xqueen0fhellx for letting me use her Damien Amell in this and my AU!)

CW: Anxiety, panic attacks, autism spectrum, Modern (University) AU

Cassia Hawke couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing in her hallway. Not only did she have no idea how her cousin Damien had found her apartment (although her younger sister Bethany was at the top of the suspect list), but she had even less of an idea what he was doing with his arms full of stained papers and a single sneaker.

“Cousin Cass! I did what you asked me!” Damien didn’t wait to be invited and strode into her apartment.

“Uhhhh... no you didn’t.” Cass was positive she hadn’t told her cousin to do anything, let alone something that would involve him showing up at her apartment with... whatever it was he was holding.

“I did though! Don’t you remember? At the Dumar’s party last month you said we were going to spy on Danarius.”

“Uh, no, at the Dumar’s party I said I was going to look into Danarius’ business dealings.”

“Well... yeah, and while you did that, I did this!” he lifted his arms slightly to offer her whatever it was he was holding.

“Damien, I have no idea what that is.”

“I went through his trash! And it was annoying because I had to climb over this really high fence to do it.”

Cass pursed her lips and tapped her fingers on her forehead. “Okay, well we’re going to just pretend you didn’t confess to trespassing and theft...”

“See, these are a bunch of receipts for... well, I don’t know what they’re all for. Oh, wait, and this looks like a coffee filter. But I think the rest of these are receipts-”

“Damien...”

“I know he’s getting extra income from somewhere-”

“Damien!”

“So I brought them here because you’re good at all this thinking stuff!”

“DAMIEN! When I said I was going to look into him I meant I was going to search through public records for his corporate filings and do a bit of catfishing. The corporate stuff is public information and the catfishing is things he’s willingly telling me. Or, well, willingly telling Cecelia. But still.”

“Ohhh...” Damien sounded like he was finally listening to what Cass was actually telling him instead of the voice-over in his personal action movie. “That sounds like a better plan now that you say it.”

“Yes. And it’s also doesn’t involve trespassing or petty larceny.”

“Can I help with that?”

“No!”

“Do you need me to hack into anything?”

“NO! That’s still illegal, Damien! And I need whatever I’m going to use to be clean.”

“Well, what about catfishing? Can I do that?”

Cass barely resisted the urge to throttle her overly-enthusiastic cousin, “I- yes, fine if that will get you out of here. But no hacking!”

“So, what kind of profile do you think I should make up? Can I see the one you’re using? Can we hang out while I make it?”

“Damien, I am going to give you three seconds to get out the door before I push you out a window! Fenris is coming over-”

“Can I meet him this time?”

“NO!” if Cass had her way about things Fenris would never be subjected to any of her relatives. It was bad enough he’d already met Carver and Bethany (albeit briefly), Cass wasn’t about to impose another Amell on him. She started shooing her cousin towards the door.

“Well, I guess I should leave to let you get ready. You probably want to put something nice on. Where are you going with him? You should take him dancing! Ooh! Have you ever heard of the Hanged Man? It’s this club-”

“Damien, just go back to your house and throw all that stuff out somewhere. And don’t do anything else illegal!”

“Bye, Cousin Cass! Let me know how your date goes! I’ll call you when I have something-”

Cass gave her cousin one last shove and closed the door behind him. She looked down at the clothes she was wearing and frowned. They were clean, but that was all that could be said about them. They were her usual combination of a tunic and leggings, and she liked them and was comfortable in them, they were far from nice. Or pretty. She’d never worn anything nice or pretty on any of their dates.

Although maybe it was unfair of her to consider what they did together ‘dating.’ He just came over to her apartment and they’d order carry out and watch movies. She liked watching movies and eating carry out in her apartment, and she loved doing it with Fenris, but... She was probably boring him. He’d been in a band; they’d met in the Hanged Man (even if Cass hadn’t wanted to go to the fucking club in the first place).

She bit her lower lip and tried to force herself not to cry. She hadn’t managed to fuck anything up yet. Maybe she had time. She opened her phone and called Fenris.

“Cass?”

“Mm-hum.” Great, of all the times for her throat to decide not to work.

“Cass, is everything alright?”

“Mm-hum.” She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to force herself to talk. “I... um... I’ve got to do this quick thing. I... I should be done before you get here, but I’m going to leave the door unlocked just in case. So you can come in. And I’ll have Dante and Squall with me so you don’t need to worry about that. But it’s fine, okay? I- I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Cass...”

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

She was slightly afraid he would try to call her again once she hung up, but didn’t have time to be relived he hadn’t as she tore to her bedroom in search of something that wouldn’t make her look like, in the endearing words of her brother, a ‘crazy bag-lady.’

It took a while to find. Most of her regular clothes were similar to what she was wearing already and she had a few suits for competitions that she wore. She’d tried on one of the dresses her mother had bought for her to wear to the parties she was supposed to go to, but it made her skin burn and crawl so she’d yanked it off before she’d even zipped it up. She eventually found a knee-length black skirt (she had a fleeting thought that it might have been from her high school uniform, but as long as it didn’t look like it was from a high school uniform she wasn’t going to be picky) and a scoop-neck split sleeve blouse. She glanced at her phone and cursed that it had taken her all but five minutes of the time she’d had between her cousin running his mouth (he obviously hadn’t meant anything by it, and while she wasn’t mad at him for causing it she was still furious it had happened) and Fenris’ arrival. She rushed to the bathroom in a desperate search for make up. She owned some basic stuff for her competitions, but it was to make her look professional. She flung open cabinets and drawers in search of something as she tried not to focus on the sting of shame at what was in her medicine cabinet.

She heard the door to her apartment open and shook her head as she tried to apply what she’d found in a way that wouldn’t end up with her looking like a toddler who’d gotten into its mother’s purse. She couldn’t enjoy the fact that she’d managed it because when she looked at the reflection in the mirror, she couldn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. Actually, that wasn’t true. She knew exactly who was staring back at her. ‘Cassia Amell Hawke’ was staring back at her. The daughter her parents wanted was staring back at her. Someone normal was staring back at her. Someone Fenris deserved was staring back at her. The woman she could never be was staring back at her. She felt tears begin to prick the edges of her eyes before a voice from the living room distracted her.

“Cass?”

She wiped her eyes quickly as she answered, “Yes! Sorry, Fenris, I’ll be right out!” She grabbed the only pair of heels she owned as she tore from the bedroom.

“Cass!” She watched Fenris’ expression change as he took in her appearance. She bit her lip as she admonished herself silently for not being able to understand what any of it meant. “Cass, why are you wearing that?”

“I... um... do you not like it?” She hadn’t even considered Fenris may not like what she was wearing.

“I - no! You look... stunning but, it’s not what you usually wear.”

“I... well... I thought... I thought maybe we could do something different tonight.”

“Like what, Cass?”

“I... like we could go... out to dinner?”

“Hmmm... we could do that.” He was smiling. She didn’t think anything was off about the smile so she smiled back.

“And then we could go somewhere nice after? Like a club or a bar or something?”

Something was wrong with his smile as she finished. “Are you sure, Cass?”

“Mm-hum.” She nodded. She was sure, she just couldn’t bring herself to actually claim she was sure.

“Let’s see how you feel after dinner.”

“I... okay.” She hung her head as she tried to keep smiling. She’d obviously done something wrong. Maybe if she could figure out what it was she’d be able to fix it.

They had a fairly nice time at dinner. Fenris mentioned he knew a Seheron restaurant he liked that didn’t do carry-out so they went there. It was definitely noisier than Cass’ apartment, but it wasn’t overwhelming. As they left, Fenris reached a hand around her waist to press her gently to him and whisper, “Should we head back, Cass?”

She turned to him, “I - No! I said we could go dancing. So let’s go to a club.”

“Cass...”

“Do you not want to?”

“Do you want to?”

“Mm-hum.” She wanted to want to. That was close enough. He turned away. She reached out and grabbed his collar as she felt her breathing get heavier. She pulled him towards her as her eyes drifted away.

“Cass...” she felt him sigh above her. “If you’re sure, Cass.”

She nodded and pulled him closer.

“Alright, I know a place that’s not far.”

Cass had no idea what club Fenris had taken her to, but she knew she hated it. It was just as bad as the Hanged Man (although for all she knew, it was the Hanged Man again, she’d blocked most of the specifics of the place out): flashing lights, crowds of people, loud music, somehow louder voices, the stench of cigarettes, alcohol, and cologne. It was as though the entire place were determined to make her as miserable as possible as quickly as possible. She thought Fenris was trying to talk to her. She couldn’t hear him. She tried to focus on looking happy; pretending to belong. Keeping up her desperate façade of normalcy for as long as possible as the fire the overstimulation set off in every nerve in her body overwhelmed and consumed her.

The next thing she was fully aware of she was outside with her head pressed against a concrete wall as she gulped lungfuls of cold night air.

“Feeling better, Cass?”

She turned her head slightly to look at Fenris. His whole expression was funny - he wasn’t trying to smile, and he didn’t look angry, but she couldn’t for the life of her understand his slightly furrowed eyebrows. She closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath. She didn’t want to make him wait any longer so she bit her tongue to try to force it to start working. “Yeah... um, just give me a second and we can go back in.”

“We’re not going back in, Cass.”

Her eyes flew open and she turned to Fenris in a panic, “I can do it better, Fenris! Just tell me what I did wrong and I can make it right!”

“Cass, you were miserable in there.”

“I’m sorry! I know I’m not supposed to be. I can- I can get better at pretending it’s fun!”

“Cassia, listen to me,” he reached out and hovered a hand over her cheek. She knew she shouldn’t - she didn’t deserve it - but she leaned into his touch. He rubbed his thumb over her cheekbone. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I don’t want you to pretend with me. I want to be with you, not anyone else.”

“I don’t understand, Fenris...”

“Do you believe me?”

“Yes.” She reached up to grab his wrist.

“That’s enough, Cassia.”

“But... but I want to do more, Fenris. You deserve more.”

“Hmm...” he slid his hand off her cheek and around her back to press her to his chest. “Is there anything you think we didn’t get to do tonight?”

“I... we didn’t get to dance. That’s what people go to clubs for, right?”

“We don’t need a club to dance, Cass. Here, give me your phone.”

She slid it out of her pocket, unlocked it, and handed it over. She saw his eyes narrow at the screen. “Fenris?”

“It’s nothing, Cass. I’m just going to have to have a long talk with this Cousin Damien of yours at some point.”

“Fenris, nothing good ever comes from talking to my Cousin Damien at any length.”

“Well, I agree with that, but I don’t intend to let him off the hook. But let’s leave that for now.”

Cass watched the light of the screen reflect on Fenris’ face for a few seconds before music began to play. ‘I see trees of green; Red roses too.’ She leaned into him and wound her arms behind his head. He reached down with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone to reach around her waist as they swayed to the music. She wasn’t sure it counted as ‘dancing,’ but she was sure she wasn’t able to do anything more just then. She leaned away from slightly so she could press her forehead to his, “I think this is the first time I’ve liked this song.”

She felt him laugh, “My thoughts exactly, Cassia.”

#da drunk writing circle #fenhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/f!hawke #da2 #dragon age #fenris #that was way longer than i thought it would be

9 notes · View notes

wickedmilo · 3 years

Photo

DID YOU MISS ME? | MILO & DAMIEN

PLACE: A bar TIMING: 1:38 AM SUMMARY: Damien and Milo cross paths after a previous ‘almost’ hook-up. They unexpectedly find themselves confiding in each other. WRITING PARTNER: @damienxsheppard CONTENT WARNINGS: Addiction, alcoholism, drugs, violence

There was something complex in the brew the bartender provided Damien, he had a hard time pinning down what flavors lingered on his tongue and which were easy to wash away in thought. A bright orange note burst by the back of his mouth while something smooth and sweet lingered at the front. He didn’t know much about magic or spells, all he knew was that this beer was crafted locally and whoever made it created one fine concoction. Damien sipped it as he surveyed the bar once more, he had ended up in the small pub for the same reason he always ended up there: he had been looking for someone. When he failed to find them, again, he began looking for a drink.

Darkness seemed to leak through the cracks of the old building, its occupants didn’t seem to mind and Damien blended right into the crowd. No one took notice of him, that is, until he caught a body draw close in his peripheral to his table. Damien was not someone people frequently approached and for good reason. Turning to see who’d provoked his attention, a small grin pulled at the corner of his lips as he found a familiar face. “Well,” Damien took the time to regard Milo, something about him had changed since they’d last met but he couldn’t see what, “been a minute since I’ve seen you. Figured you packed up and left, or died. Seems to be a pretty common theme with this town.”

Milo had never credited himself with the ability to function as a human being. It seemed his automatic response, regardless of the situation, was to look for a drink, or the closest hit. It had never been an issue before now, though he felt sure Dani and his parents would claim otherwise, but he was no longer human, he was something other, and this obsessive need to avoid his problems continued to draw him back into town. A place he shouldn’t be, a place he knew he could do an awful lot of damage. He was only a few drinks in, barely enough to warrant a buzz, and he had been careful to frequent the shadows, choose the tables furthest from the crowds. There were merits to this tactic, he felt more in control, less afraid of himself. But there were negatives too.

He was given far too much time to dwell on the fact that he was dead. Clinically dead, as far as he could tell. He had spent days struggling to find any semblance of a heartbeat. The empty sensation was as uncomfortable as the bloodlust. But what else was there to contemplate when he was alone? His anxiety only weakened by the alcohol in his system, usually he liked to assume he would be smarter than approaching the first familiar face he saw. But he wasn’t thinking straight, and he didn’t exactly feel as though anybody could judge him for that fact. Desperate for company, he recognised Damien immediately. An almost hook-up from a few weeks prior. Jeez, had it only been a month? He scrambled out of his seat, downing his beer before making his way over to where the man was sitting. Attempting to keep his distance without drawing attention to what he was doing, he forced a casual smile. “Hm, something like that.” He muttered. “Did you miss me?”

The grin on Damien’s lips grew to reveal a row of teeth, his mouth breaking open briefly as a sharp laugh cut through the air. He couldn’t help the piercing amusement Milo’s question brought on. Damien recalled the night they met, though it was starting to grow hazy as all memories do as they age. It didn’t help that he'd had a few to drink that night, same as now. He knew that Milo had noticed how his attention lingered longer than it should. “The bar was a little boring while you were out,” he admitted, though Damien had found plenty of things to keep himself occupied with. Most nights he ended up picking fights, others he pursued any information, they all usually ended him at the bottom of a glass.

Damien took another drink of his beer, tilting his head slightly as he considered Milo where he stood. He didn’t remember the other trying to keep distance between them before, but some time had passed. Maybe he had learned more about Damien since last they’d met, discovered how chaotic he could be. It seemed unlikely, given the fact those who had learned what he was capable of belonged to the criminal climate of White Crest. That, and Milo didn’t seem to be the type to shy from danger before. “Did you just stop by to say hello or are you going to stand there all night?” Finishing what was left of his beer, Damien flagged the waitress down to request another, “don’t tell me you’ve found someone else to drink with.”

“Everything is boring without me.” Milo teased, surprised by how easy it was to slip back into his usual speech patterns. When his life felt as though it was crumbling around him, it was almost comforting to realize he, as a person, hadn’t changed. He could still be sarcastic, still make a joke if he wanted to. “Well, lucky for you I’m back from the dead.” He added, leaning against the bar, tapping his fingers against his empty glass. It felt like a ridiculous thing to say, but surely there was no harm in a little wordplay. He was hyper aware of being in the centre of a crowd, hyper aware of the fact that his inebriation could work for him or against him. It didn’t exactly dampen the cravings, but it offered him an illusion of self control, one he was actively working not to trust. Damien was apparently the perfect distraction. It wasn’t as though they could pick up where they had left off, but he would settle for good company tonight. He missed good company.

Feeling his smile falter just a little when he realized Damien had noticed his odd behaviour, he shifted awkwardly on the spot. His initial instinct was to move closer and prove he wasn’t acting strange, but that wasn’t an option. “Both?” He said instead, brushing off the question. “Look, my life has kind of become a shitshow, I haven’t showered in a few days and I’m not about to force that on you.” Wrinkling his nose, it was a surprisingly honest response. In fact, he was fairly certain he had never been more of a mess. Mentally, and physically, his self-care had taken a rapid decline, as if it wasn’t already lacking. “Why?” He grinned when Damien asked if he had found somebody new to drink with. The expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you jealous?” Glancing down at his empty cup, he lifted it, attempting to drain the dregs at the very bottom. “Actually, you’ll be pleased to know… drinking alone has kind of become my thing.” He set his glass back down, chewing briefly on his bottom lip. “I was planning to drink here until somebody is forced to drag me out of a gutter, you are a very unexpected treat.”

It would have been easy to dismiss the change in Milo’s demeanor on the poor lighting, chalk up the way his smile faltered a little on the atmosphere or whatever other buyable environmental excuse one could produce. But Damien had spent too much time in the dark to be easily fooled by shadows. His gang had conducted most of their corrupt affairs at night, traded in illegal actions, provoked their worst enemies out into a fight till one pack finally chewed them apart. Damien listened as Milo confessed his life had been less than ideal lately, and there seemed to be some truth in that. Still, there was something unsteady about the man.

Damien slid forward from his seat, slow enough that if Milo decided to leave he’d have the time to do so. Always, he had been bold, on the verge of carelessness really, and often enough he paid for it with a bruise he didn’t regret earning. Damien invaded the space between the two as he stood up, leaning forward and testing Milo’s boundaries. “You don’t smell funny to me,” he mused, giving way to a small grin. For a moment he lingered there before moving even closer to reach around Milo, freeing the waitress of the beer she’d brought to their table. A fresh glass was placed in his company’s hand before Damien fell back into his seat. “I don’t have a right to be jealous, you’re free to do what you want.” An honest answer, released with a small shrug before he continued, “a unexpectant treat? I’ve been called a lot of things in my time, but that’s a first. What the hell’s been going on in your week that makes you happy to see me?” Usually, he wasn’t classified as a sight for sore eyes, he was not welcomed company, but the residents of White Crest were all strange in the way they approached him.

Milo hadn’t been expecting Damien to call his bluff. His entire body tensed as the man moved steadily towards him. He wasn’t sure how close he was intending to get, but he decided to stay planted. If he scrambled away from him that would only make him look suspicious. Holding his breath, tilting backwards just a little as he willed his friend to retreat, he swallowed, closing his eyes in an attempt to maintain control. “Please… don’t…” He muttered quietly, his voice strained as Damien leaned around him to pick up his glass. He felt guilty for saying anything the moment he saw the grin on his company’s face, but keeping his distance wasn’t exactly trivial. It was a matter of will power, and his will power had always been severely lacking. The moment Damien took his own seat again, Milo let out the breath he had been holding. A wave of relief washed over him, though he knew the sense of accomplishment would be short lived. Saying no to one temptation in an entire room of temptations wasn’t exactly something to be proud of. You could only be proud when you left the room. Wasn’t that how things worked? “I’m- uh, pleased to hear it?” He answered quietly, his heart not entirely in the statement. Usually he would have a comeback, something funny to say in response. But his mind was entirely blank.

Staring down at the fresh beer in his hands, he used it as an excuse to avoid eye contact. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s a sign of just how terribly things are going.” He teased, attempting to fall back into his usual humour. “There’s a first time for everything, right? Really, nobody’s ever been happy to see you?” He struggled to believe that. From what he could remember of their past encounter, Damien had been entertaining, flirtatious, genuinely decent company. What could possibly make him think otherwise? “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Imagine the worst of the worst, times it by ten, and you might get somewhere close, but it’s… whatever...”

The reaction he received was hardly subtle. Damien had always found value in what made people cringe, he regularly looked for a person’s weakness in combat, exploited what made them flinch to guarantee an upperhand. It was a practice that carried over into his conversations too. The plea that broke from Milo was so low it could have been buried in the regular commotion of the bar, and Damien might have missed it too, if it hadn’t been for that sharp hearing he’d inherited after being bitten. He couldn’t tell what brought it out of him, but it seemed to bother Milo less when he took his seat again.

The temptation to push on the subject despite Milo’s reluctance pressed into Damien’s thoughts but he took a long drink of his beer instead of asking about it further. He didn’t have a reason to pry, at least, not yet. “No, not usually,” Damien began to answer, a few people in town had learned of him, seen what he was capable of and accepted him, like Solomon and Nell. The wolf’s eyes set on something past Milo as he remembered his family, they were the ones who knew him, truly understood him, and happily welcomed him into their ranks. Damien’s gaze focused once more on Milo as he added, “really, that’s my fault though. I’ve made few friends in town but not many. Been caught up in a few fights, and don’t always end well.” It had certainly been more than a few but he didn’t elaborate. Damien nodded as Milo conveyed he didn’t want to talk about what was clearly bothering him. “My week has been fucking great, thanks for asking,” his tone was not harsh, joking lightly, “we’ve got more construction projects being drawn up every day. This week I’ll be clocking in overtime. We’re working on some old house right now and all the guys swear it’s haunted. Hell, I swear every house in this town is haunted in some way. ”

Milo wasn’t sure Damien managed to hear his quiet plea over the noise that was surrounding them. If he had, he was grateful the man decided to act as though he hadn’t. He knew his behaviour was odd, but he wanted to pretend otherwise. He wanted to live in the moment, even if just for the night, and pretend things were normal. He wasn’t dead, he wasn’t responsible for taking someone’s life. He was Milo. Just Milo. “I’ll make a habit of it then. For you.” He offered a smile, finally able to appreciate the beer he was holding now that there was some distance between them. Leaning against the bar, allowing himself to get comfortable, he raised his eyebrows at the mention of fights. It wasn’t difficult to imagine somebody like Damien getting caught up in trouble. He wondered briefly whether he was the type to start them or finish them.

A laugh escaping him as the subject shifted, he surprised himself by grinning easily. His first genuine smile of the night. “Am I being self-absorbed?” He asked, only half teasing. “It’s kind of my thing, you don’t want to take that away from me, do you? Not when I’m so fucking good at it?” His eyes shining, he listened with sincere curiosity as his company began to talk about construction projects. It suddenly struck him that he wasn’t entirely sure what he did to earn a living. “You’re a construction worker?” He asked, his smile faltering at the mention of haunted houses. It had never even crossed his mind to consider whether ghosts might be real. If vampires were then what else could be out there? “Like, actually haunted? As in you’ve seen a ghost?”

Damien wanted to discourage Milo from making that habit, ward off any sort of promise and the smile that trailed after it. The life he had chosen was threaded with chaos and ruin, his pursuit of revenge only promised bloodshed. No need to drag anyone else into it. Briefly, as the words were uttered by Milo, his jaw tensed as if any semblance of kindness struck him like a punch. Who in their right mind would give a fuck about him? Damien was quick to dismiss Milo, he considered himself good company for the night, but nothing more. It wasn’t like he had a reason to think Milo could endure him longer with the distance kept between them.

“You can be as self-absorbed as you want, if the next round is on you,” Damien replied, masking his previous tension under a slack grin till all bothersome thoughts became a distant memory. The beer helped. He took another drink, his glass already half empty once more. “I am,” the answer came easy, construction hadn’t ever been his trade but he learned most of the tools to the business on site. The guys he worked alongside were friendly enough and never asked too many questions. It was for the best really, at times they’d discover past horrors in houses and didn’t know if it had always been there, or if someone from the crew added it. No one ever asked. “I’ve never seen any ghosts, I think they’re full of it. A guy the other day said he saw some woman walking about and then some of our tools went missing. He said she doesn’t want us to work on the house. Sounds like an excuse not to work, if you ask me.” Damien shrugged as if to say it couldn’t be helped and took another drink of his beer.

Milo noticed the shift in Damien’s expression, but in the same way Damien had chosen to ignore his strange behaviour, he figured it was only fair to return the favour. “Oh, you’re gonna make me pay for the drinks?” He raised his eyebrows, a laugh escaping him. “Fine, but this may just financially ruin me.” He teased, pulling out some folded notes, sliding them towards the bartender. His company didn’t need to know he was already financially ruined, or that he had swiped the dollar bills from the coat of an unsuspecting patron. It wasn’t the first time he had stolen to support a habit, it probably wouldn’t be the last. Turning his attention fully back to Damien when their future drinks had been paid for, he listened to him elaborate with a quiet smile.

It might look as though he was feigning interest, but after the worst month of his life, after being forced to re-evaluate his entire existence, having a trivial conversation about construction work, and ghost stories felt exactly like what he needed right now. “You do?” He asked. “Really? Some guy you work with saw a ghost?” Unable to hide how amused he was by the idea of a dead woman stealing someone’s tools, he took a long drink before offering a shrug. “I think I’d be pissed too, you know. If I was stuck in a house forever, I’d want it to stay looking how it looked when I was alive. Otherwise it wouldn’t feel like home anymore…”

Damien’s grin cut just a little deeper into his cheek as Milo freed up some bills for their next round. Really, he hadn’t expected him to pay their way and wouldn’t have objected to contributing towards the tab, but if there was one thing he couldn’t say no to it was a free drink. “Next time I see you around here, the drinks will be on me,” it wasn’t so much as a promise as it was an offer, Milo was free to take it up or leave it. Damien lifted his glass and finished it, accepting the new one with a nod of thanks rewarded to his company.

“I do,” Damien wasn’t much of a believer in the supernatural, he would have never thought werewolves actually existed until he was met with the proof of their teeth digging into his skin. The event didn’t make him a believer of other unnatural creatures, though White Crest had a way of challenging him on that front. “He said he saw a woman,” Damien leaned forward over the table as he made the statement, emphasizing his disbelief in his co-worker. It was there Damien was forced to feel the influence of the alcohol, his head felt light from the movement before his back crashed back into the seat. He’d have to pace himself through his next drink if he hoped to make it back to his apartment standing. “None of us have seen her though. I haven’t.” The wolf’s head tilted as he digested what Milo said, contributing a few moments after with, “well, that’s the hard part though. These old houses aren’t going to stand much longer without work being done. They can either change, or continue to decay.” A small smirk developed on his features, “if I had to be stuck somewhere in the afterlife I’d aim for a place in the city. Things would always be changing but they’d never be boring. Who needs peace when they’re dead though, right?”

“Next time?” Milo asked, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. “So there’s going to be a next time?” It made him feel as though he might still be able to fall back into his old life. Parts of it, at the very least. If some things didn’t have to change then maybe, just maybe he would be able to stay sane. “You know I’m going to take you up on that offer. I never say no to a drink.” As if to prove his point, he took a sip from his glass, listening to Damien as he began to elaborate on the woman his colleague had seen. Never in his life had he been forced to take a stance on whether he believed in the supernatural. It had been meaningless, inconsequential. Now, it was something he considered more often than not. Almost every second of every day was spent grappling with the fact that he was dead. That he had no heartbeat. He craved literal Human blood. If he existed, then what else was out there?

Catching the implication behind Damien’s tone, he laughed quietly, grateful to be drawn out of his thoughts. “Is this colleague not a reliable source?” He asked, his eyes shining with a quiet humour. “I know how that goes…” He was fairly sure he could approach almost anybody from his past and tell them he was a vampire. Without a doubt they would assume he was high, brush off his admission as the ramblings of somebody who couldn’t be trusted. “You’re the ‘see it to believe it’ type, huh?” He leaned backwards just a little as he waited for his company’s scent to fade. Every time Damien leaned towards him, or shifted in a way that created a draft, he was reminded of just how much he was risking. “Hm, I guess that’s true.” He took a moment to mull over the logistics. “Then maybe it isn’t about being pissed. Maybe she’s got a thing for builders.” He teased. “Maybe she likes to watch.” His tone was suggestive, he couldn’t help himself. Any opportunity to make a joke, to feel as though things were as simple as they used to be.

Taking another drink when Damien began to talk about how he would like to spend his afterlife, the subject felt a little too close to the very thing he was trying to forget. He took in the words, making an effort not to fully process them so that their conversation could remain light, and easy. “I don’t think you get to choose where you end up.” He pointed out. “And I’d say a lot of people, peace is probably pretty great if you compare it to some of the alternatives.”

“Then it’s settled, next time I’ll pick up the bill,” most of the money Damien earned that wasn’t spent on necessities was wasted on alcohol. He didn’t see a reason to save, if his revenge resulted in his demise all of the belongings he’d obtained would just be put to the curb. There was no one around here to understand the value of his possessions. The idea of dying did not bother Damien the way it should, the way it unnerved most. He’d learned to live with death a long time ago, grappled with it the first time he washed blood from his hands. It had become so commonplace it no longer hung above him like a threat.

Briefly, Damien thought back on his co-worker, their history on the site, and their claims. “I just don’t trust him,” the truth sounded harsh, but it wasn’t meant as an offense. Damien didn’t trust most people. “Last week he called off and left us short because of a family matter, then I saw him later that night at the bar.” It wasn’t like he had much of a reason to care what the hell the guy did in his free time, but he had to work harder to make up for the absence. Instead of answering the question Damein returned it to Milo, “you’re not?” Since moving to this town Damien had encountered supernatural creatures and events that had fractured his former beliefs. Still, he struggled to accept them until he was forced to. “A lot of things can happen in the shadows, it’s easy to blame a monster.”

A huff of laughter came as a reply at the suggestive remark, “you might be right. Who doesn’t love a show?” He didn’t chase after the subject too much on the afterlife, instead he gave a wicked grin, “let’s hope we’re a ways from peace then, and the afterlife, for now,” and then took a drink of his beer as if to toast to it.

Milo grinned, feeling himself steadily falling over the edge of tipsy and into the wonderful world of being drunk. This was what he had been hoping for, a night of pretence. A night of not worrying about the things he knew he should be worrying about. Good company, and some drinks. What more could he possibly ask for? “Hm, could he have been drinking because of the family matter?” He asked. “I know my family has driven me to drink on more than one occasion…” Tapping his fingers against his glass, he made it clear with his demeanour that he wasn’t taking sides. It more than made sense not to trust somebody who took the day off and then spent the night in a bar. But he also kind of understood how that might happen. A frown creasing his brow as he considered the unexpected question, it felt stupid to deny anything.

Until recently, he had never given the supernatural much thought. But if something had made itself known to him, then what choice would he have but to accept it as truth? Wasn’t that essentially what he was doing right now? “Yeah, I guess I kind of am that way.” He admitted. “But it’s not like I didn’t believe in shit, I just never really thought about it… when stuff shows up it isn’t like you can deny it. Not unless you’re fucking insane...” Maybe he was being a little careless with his remarks, but his tongue had been loosened, and he always had been reckless. “Oh, yeah? What are you blaming the monsters for?” He asked, attempting to inject some humour into his tone. “It’d be nice to have someone to blame for my timekeeping skills, maybe my smoking- Mom used to hate the smell of smoke on my clothes.”

Feeling a strange sense of satisfaction when he managed to make Damien laugh, he raised his glass. It felt twisted somehow, toasting to the afterlife. Didn’t this technically count as his? Or could he die again? Come back as a ghost or a zombie or some other creature he used to believe only existed in fiction? Using his intoxication to force those questions from his mind, he smiled, catching his company’s eye. “Cheers!” Downing the contents of his glass, something that was so much easier to do now that he didn’t need to breathe, he only set it down when he knew it was empty.

The idea of his co-worker being unnerved by something at home then finding the bar for comfort received no sympathy from Damien, instead he gave a swift dismissive reply, “fuck if I know, I didn’t ask.” Then the alcohol quickly caused the man to fade from his thoughts as they moved to the next topic. Damien noticed he had to exert more effort to focus on Milo’s response, there was something odd there, “what kind of stuff shows up around you?” He hadn’t really considered what he was asking, didn’t think the answer could be more strange than the creatures he’d encountered lately. Damien’s voice was rough when he answered the inquiry, “everything,” it had been a slip, something released during his drunken haze that he couldn’t catch after it was set free. Damien did consider the werewolves that had killed his family monsters, but that wasn’t a topic he’d divulge in any setting.

The rest of Damien’s beer is finished with the toast, the wolf moving to stand moments afterwards. It proved to be a hasty mistake. The drinks had finally caught up to him and Damien swayed just slightly, catching himself by snaring fingers into Milo’s shirt till the weight of his body felt more even. “Think that’s enough for me for the night. Better quit while I can still walk,” a loose chuckle left his chest as he released Milo from his grasp. “Come on, you can smoke outside with me, cool air might sober me up some, and I don’t mind if it sticks to your clothes.” A little unsteady, Damien moved his way through the bar, pushing past a patron when necessary till they found their way outside the pub.

It was pretty clear to Milo that Damien had started drinking long before he arrived at the bar, and as time moved on he began to see the effects of the alcohol. Feeling drunk himself, it was too easy to smile at the offhand comment. So he shook his head as he realised his friend had picked up on his subtleties, regardless of his current state. Maybe his subtleties weren’t so subtle after all. “Nothing-” He hurried to take his words back. “I mean, nothing super weird. Just forget I said anything.” He should probably make more of an effort not to draw attention to the changes in his life. But it was so difficult when they were all consuming. Damien was one of the first people he had been able to talk to, and he needed that more than he wanted to admit.

Everything. He had been too distracted by his own thoughts to notice any shift in Damien’s expression, but there was something about the way the word was spoken that told him this wasn’t something he could joke about. He couldn’t turn this comment into something funny, or lighthearted. The tone carried so many emotions he couldn’t place, and it left him wondering, with a burning curiosity, just what had happened for him to sound so hurt. “Everything, huh? Shit…” Not expecting him to sway as he stood, the hand on his chest was something he hadn’t been ready for. Holding his breath, it took everything he had to stay where he was. To not react.

Waiting until Damien was upright, and no longer gripping his shirt, he nodded in response, too shaken by the sudden proximity to say very much. “Yeah…” He muttered quietly. “Yeah, okay. We can go outside.” Pulling a carton of cigarettes from his hoodie, he placed one between his lips. It was a distraction from what he was really craving. Maybe if he focused on smoking, he could ignore the growing need for something far more sinister. Standing up too, he offered Damien a smile at the comment, holding the carton out so that he could take a smoke too. “Good to know.” He attempted to tease, but his voice was strained as he attempted to prepare himself for the short journey. Holding his breath again as they were forced to brush past patrons, his knuckles turned white as he balled his hands into fists. It didn’t take them long to reach the door, but it may as well have been an eternity.

It was strange, how defensive his company became over the question. It was far more suspicious that he hurriedly warded off any more attention on the subject. “You’ll have to be a better liar about that,” Damien advised, it might have amused him sober, that Milo tried to hide a potentially dangerous topic. If he knew Damien better, he’d know that any risky or threatening subject only drew in his attention more. They were fortunate however, that in his drunken haze any thoughts that begged to chase after the response slid away from his mind.

Damien was forced to realize soon after he stood that he had not been so careful with his own speech, not that he typically was. The single word had snared Milo’s attention but Damien did not provide a response to his inquiry. He didn’t think someone who had been dodging hard questions would want to hear about the dark chapters of his life, which suited him fine, he didn’t want to read those aloud anyway. Damien accepted the cigarette offered to him and moved on.

As the pair exited the pub to be introduced to the sidewalk Damien freed a lighter from his pocket. He flicked the switch till a little flame danced up, bringing it to the end of his own cigarette before igniting Milo’s. As the light was brought close to his company’s face he could see stress lingering on his features but didn’t comment on it, instead he took a long drag of his cigarette and let his feet start to carry him down the sidewalk on the path back to his apartment.

“Fuck you, I’m not lying.” Milo insisted, his tone friendly even as he caught himself scowling. He didn’t enjoy being easily read, though sometimes it felt entirely unavoidable. Lucky for him, he knew his company wasn’t one to push for answers. They seemed to dance around certain topics which he was more than happy to do, even if it did leave him curious. So long as Damien didn’t make any attempt to pry, he would offer the same level of courtesy. Taking a grateful breath of fresh air as they escaped the stifling environment of the bar, it wasn’t long before his cigarette was being lit for him, and he smiled, genuinely grateful. It was a relief, he could feel his anxiety loosen it grip on his chest, albeit only a little.

Smoking had been a strange habit to continue after his death. Although his body still called out for Nicotine, the specific act of inhaling and exhaling was something he was forced to relearn, to really focus on. Letting out a slow, deliberate hiss of air, he watched smoke curl above him, stark against the night sky. Paying no attention to where they were going, when Damien didn’t stop he assumed he had a destination in mind. He was very much over fearing for his safety, not that he ever had in life. Which meant it was easier to simply follow. Falling into step beside him, he hummed quietly to himself. He had so many questions he wanted to ask, but frustratingly felt as though he couldn’t. “So…” He murmured, breaking the silence. “You’ve been in White Crest your whole life?”

The cold had not in fact sobered him up. Damien felt his world tilt just a little before it righted itself and his thoughts swam in and out of his focus as smoke twisted between his fingers and uncurled from his lips. He was aware of Milo beside him, that as the pair progressed down the streets towards his apartment that they were more alone. It was a dangerous thing, keeping his company, but Milo seemed to follow regardless.

“No, no,” he began in answer when Damien caught the question, “I moved here from New York a few months ago. I thought I’d be gone by now, but, here we are.” That was a little too much honesty, as he turned to look at Milo, more seemed to slip out. “You know, you remind me a little of someone I used to know. He could hold his own at a bar too but he was a little more…” Damien struggled then, because the man in reference meant more than a few sentences could summarize. And he was dead. Instead of continuing, Damien took another drag of his cigarette and let the subject slip past him as he continued, “Different, I guess. Anyway, what about you? Have you always had roots here or did you come from somewhere else?”

“Oh, shit.” Milo couldn’t hide his surprise upon hearing Damien was originally from New York. He had never been the type to dream, more than content to live in the present, to lose himself in his pills, and his alcohol. But cities had always interested him. He couldn’t deny the faint draw he felt when he considered what it might be like to live in one. “New York? How the hell did you end up in this shithole?” He couldn’t imagine having the opportunity to live in New York, only to settle for somewhere like White Crest. The town had its merits, but it was still just a town. Sleepy, and dull, despite the vampires apparently lurking in the shadows. A frown creasing his brow, he took a long drag of smoke before looking back up at his company. He could only assume the familiarity wasn’t a compliment.

“I do?” He asked, absentmindedly tapping ash. “You know a lot of screw ups then?” Maybe it was an unfair comment to make, but also a reflection of his self esteem. There were very few people he allowed to see this particular side of himself, but it was late, he was drunk, and he trusted Damien. “Oh, yeah? Different how?” He was curious to know, he couldn’t stop the question from escaping his lips. Following it up with a shrug, he was almost embarrassed to admit he was from such a stifling place. “Born, and raised…” And died. He added silently. “My parents are from here... and their parents. And I assume their parents. S’not like it makes much of a difference. I got stuck here, same as everyone else.”

Damien’s attention is snared in his drunken haze when his company reacts to his hometown. He had lived in New York all his life, when you set up roots there you don’t think about the appeal of the skyline, you just think about what places you tended to grow more. It was only after Damien was forced to make the decision to leave the city that he had to recognize everything he’d loved about it and the loss that came with moving. “Oh, well,” what reason had he been telling people? In his state, he couldn’t remember. “I had family there...’ no, his chest ached at the memory, his mind dragging him away from the train of thought. He didn’t want to talk about that. Anything but that. He pulled himself together as best he could and tried to muddle down the slip in honesty. “Started heading over here to get a change of scenery. Then the car broke down.” It was a shitty lie.

A sigh eluded him as his thoughts were brought back to the person in his past. It had been a long time since he had left himself think of Tristan. “Yeah I guess he was a bit of a screw up, I seem to be drawn to them,” a small smile cracked his lips before he took another drag of his cigarette. The difference with Tristan was that he got close. He knew who Damien was, learned what he was capable of, and stuck around anyway. But he was too close, to his gang, his heart. He ruined him. Someone aware of the fallout might assure Damien that he’d done all he could but he would have refused this little self-help tip. The fact of the matter was that Tristan would have never gotten involved in drugs if Damien’s lifestyle hadn’t introduced it to him. The cold truth of it was more sobering that any gust of air and Damien just shrugged. He couldn’t confess what the man meant to him, admit just how different he was.

It was easier to turn his attention to Milo, “you don’t want to be stuck here anymore?” The cigarette in his hand was burning low, he took one last pull from it before extinguishing it on a building they passed.

“Hm,” Milo hummed quietly in response. “I know what it’s like... leaving family behind. It used to be through choice…” He scuffed his shoes as he walked, scowling at the ground. “Now, not so much.” It was strange to consider how many times he had tried to actively remove his parents from his life. It was difficult to do when you lived in such a small town, and one way or another, he always managed to get dragged back into their bullshit. But this time? This time there was no getting dragged back. This time it had to be final, he wasn’t sure he was quite ready to face that truth just yet. “Wait- your car broke down and you just decided fuck it, I guess I live here now?” He made no effort to hide his disbelief, even if had wanted to he knew his current state of inebriation would make doing so impossible. Laughing quietly when Damien told him he was drawn to screw ups, he caught his eye, grateful for the lighthearted teasing. “No shit.” He teased right back, unable to help himself. “If you ask my dad I’m about as useless as they come, so I guess you got lucky.”

Following his friend’s lead, he took one final drag from his own cigarette before dropping it too. Usually he found a degree of satisfaction in grinding it beneath his shoe, watching the cherry burn out as he carefully destroyed the filter. But he was feeling lazy, so he left it, red and hot against the asphalt. “It’s not something I ever really thought about.” He admitted. “But, I don’t know… shit got weird, and I-” He swallowed, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment as he grappled with his emotions. It was difficult to say the words out loud, part of him didn’t even know why he wanted to. “I guess I don’t really know who I am anymore…” He said finally, the admission tumbling from his lips. “The idea of a world beyond this town is- well, it’s fucking terrifying.”

There was something peculiar, in the remorseful way Milo regarded what choice, or lack thereof, he had relating to his family. It caught Damien’s attention but he couldn’t articulate what about the strangeness of the subject he wanted to question. Had the guy been kicked out? That might explain why he confessed before his week had been a mess. Or was it something else? Too many factors spun in Damien’s thoughts and it made him feel light headed trying to chase one or the other so he didn’t. Even if he wanted to invest some effort into it, Milo called him out on his lie and he had to think of a better way to justify it. “Had to get some money to fix the car,” that was also a lie, but he didn’t think it mattered “Got the job to get the money. Car’s fixed now, but other bills followed. Been trying to catch up ever since.”

The self-deprecating way Milo referred to himself had started to wear Damien down. He did not enjoy seeing his companion reduce himself to something low. Damien had spent most of his life around other low-life criminals, even joining them; they had savored the chaos in their life and shook free of restraints. He couldn’t understand why Milo would allow for himself to carry such burdensome titles like useless. It didn’t seem like he had a right to ask.

Damien listened as intently as he could to Milo admission. He didn’t think they were just talking about moving anymore. “If you don’t know who you are...then the next step is to decide who you want to be.” He stopped, they finally arrived at Damien’s apartment. It was an old manufacturing building renovated for housing, rift with safety hazardous but it had become his new home in this town. “This is where I get off,” he turned to Milo, offering a small smile, “I’d invite you up, but it is a terrifying world in there. I haven’t done my dishes in a week.” He let the humor sit for a moment before adding, “you can go wherever you want. A few blocks, a few states. Just depends what you’re looking for.”

Milo watched Damien curiously, an element of scepticism clear on his face. It didn’t sound remotely plausible, and if he could, he would put money on the story not being true. Then again, he wasn’t exactly being honest himself. He wanted to push for more, but it went against his nature. Part of him liked to think if he didn’t question people, then they wouldn’t question him. For the most part, the logic had proven fair. “Small towns have a way of never letting you go.” He murmured. “For what it’s worth, I’m kind of glad you got stuck… who else am I supposed to drown my sorrows with?” After everything he had suffered recently, moments like these felt incredibly rare. He was genuinely glad he had crossed paths with Damien, genuinely glad he was getting to spend more time with him.

Coming to a halt as he could only assume they finally reached his friend’s apartment, he leaned against a nearby wall. How many ridiculous instagram posts had he seen? Posts about becoming who you truly are, and discovering who you were always meant to be... As far as he was concerned they were for young parents who were bored out of their minds, or teenagers stuck in retail jobs, dreaming about becoming rich and famous. He had never asked himself those questions before, because they didn’t feel like important questions. Why would he ever need to think about who Milo Summers was? Who even cared about the answer? “That sounds like a lot of work.” He admitted, laughing sheepishly. “I’m not entirely sure I’m up for it.” Offering Damien a smile in return, he hadn’t been expecting an invitation. It was too easy to go home with a stranger, but they knew each other now. Besides, he knew better than to trust himself alone with anyone, given his current state. The days of being careless were unfortunately behind him. “You know, I don’t think it’s ever going to be that simple… not for me.” He admitted. “But I appreciate your optimism.”

Damien’s back fell against the brick exterior for support as he dug through his pocket for the keys to the place. There was something decidedly sad about the way Milo relayed he was happy Damien stuck around, the added pinch of humor didn’t sugarcoat it. There was a sinking feeling from the statement that caused him to sway from the weight of it and fumble retrieving the keys. He did not know how to manage someone being glad he was here, he especially didn’t know how to respond to it drunk. He admittedly didn’t like the idea of someone getting close enough to appreciate anything about his existence, it meant they were close enough to see how fucked up his life had been. No one needed to see that.

After trying in vain for what felt like several long minutes, Damien finally released his keys from his pocket. Then had spent another five pulling up the right key and fitting it into the lock. Fucking hell, being drunk was difficult. “Well,” Damien began, finally confident now that he’d opened the door, “let me know what you figure out.” Shit, no. He shouldn’t be asking for more details, shouldn’t be inviting him to another night out. It was too late to take it back, and he didn’t really want to anyway. Damien slipped past the door then, struggled his way up a set of stairs, and crashed on the couch in his apartment.

#c:damien #milo and damien #alcoholism tw #drugs tw #addiction tw #violence mention tw

6 notes · View notes

sanderssidesfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Royal Growing Pains - Chapter Nineteen

Thank you all for being patient waiting for this update! I was in the hospital yesterday, so I had no Internet access. :') I'm much better, though, now, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, misgendering, sympathetic Deceit

Royal Growing Pains Tag

Roman spent the walk to the library in silence. Damien wasn’t exactly silent, but he wasn’t talking, and he wasn’t forcing Roman to talk, a fact which Roman appreciated. Damien was just nodding to people in the hallways, offering little greetings here and there as they went to the library.

Once there, Damien led Roman to a back corner which held beanbags and some children’s toys, no doubt leftovers from Damien’s years as a child. Damien sat down in one and Roman fell into another, and they looked at each other for a long moment, a silent challenge to see who would speak first. “My dear,” Damien said eventually, “Please, will you tell me what has been bothering you?”

Roman took a breath. “I’ve been struggling with my dysphoria,” he said.

Damien waited a moment, before he sighed. “Roman, I cannot help with whatever is ailing you if you don’t reach out to me first,” he said. So much pleading and desperation was in his eyes, and Roman felt worse because he knew he was the cause of it. “Please. Let me in.”

Roman sighed. “No one will ever be able to love me,” he said softly. “Or at least, no gay man will be able to love me.”

“What?” Damien asked.

“Don’t you understand?” Roman threw his hands in the air. “My body is female. No matter what surgeries I get, I’ll always be stuck in the body of a woman. I might be lucky and some man who’s bisexual might love me, but no man who only feels attraction to the same gender would ever love me.”

Damien opened his mouth, before closing it with a click. He looked furious, his entire body trembling. “No,” he said simply. “Roman, you’re wrong.”

“How can you say that?” Roman asked. “We both know it’s true! I’m doomed to be in this body for the rest of my days! I can’t just magically get a male body with everything I want from it! And if I don’t have that body, who in their right mind would love me?”

Damien shook his head. “Roman, you’re wrong,” Damien insisted. “What even possessed you to think this?”

“That joke about loving each other? Why else would you look disgusted if not at the thought of loving me? And scoffing at being gay with me around Remy? Like, I get it! You don’t want to marry me! I’m not desirable! But you don’t get to behave like that and then immediately after say I’m wrong!”

“That’s not what I did!” Damien exclaimed. “I already told you! I simply wasn’t expecting your joke! Scoffing around Remy wasn’t at the thought that I might like you!”

“Then what was it?!” Roman asked. “Because that’s what I heard from it!”

“It was the accusation that simply talking and joking around could be romantic attraction at work! Not at the notion that I might love you, but the notion that two men can apparently not be friends if they’re both gay.” Damien continued to shake. “And you are a man, Roman. Your mind is what determines your gender, not whatever you might have between your legs at the moment.”

“Oh,” Roman said. “But I’m not...I don’t have...”

“Not having a dick doesn’t make you any less of a man, you dumbass,” Damien said firmly. “And you are a dumbass if you think that you can’t be a man just because you can’t stand and pee.”

“Damien...I appreciate the peptalk, but the fact of the matter remains that I can’t be a man. Not in the way I want to be,” Roman said, tears falling again.

“I’ll get you a binder. A packer with the ability to stand and pee while you use it. My dear, I will help you purchase a strap-on if you think that it will help you feel more like a man. Because you deserve to feel like your gender,” Damien said. “Please trust me. I’ve loved men my whole life, Roman. I know one when I see one. And I see one in you.”

Roman honestly didn’t know how to respond to that. “Why?” he asked. “Why do you see a man in me when I’m...not?”

“My dear,” Damien said, moving to sit next to Roman with a gaze so intense Roman was scared to look him in the eyes, “You are a man. The voice you have telling you that you’re not is not your own. The confidence you’ve shown when you are yourself, when you are free to be Roman, and don’t have to cater to your mother, that cannot be faked. You are at your strongest when you are allowed to be yourself. And I don’t want to presume that I know you better than you know yourself, but I have seen you, my dear. I have seen you happy. And you’re at your happiest when you can be the man you want to be.”

“Okay, so I’m a man,” Roman said. “That doesn’t mean that any gay man will love me. I’m still undeniably feminine in figure. Have you seen how many gay men will say, ‘No fats, no femmes’?”

“That is not every gay man, my dear,” Damien said. “You can find a gay man who will love you for who you are.”

Roman just continued to cry. “Like who?” he asked, scoffing through his tears.

“Where do I begin?” Damien asked. “Roman, any man with half a brain in this castle would fall for you.”

Roman’s stomach flipped. He couldn’t possibly hope that included Damien...

Could he?

“Like who?” Roman asked. His heart pounded in his chest. If Damien included himself in the list...

“Patton. Logan. Virgil. I know Remy was taking his time with you. Like I said, my dear, anyone with half a brain.”

“What, you don’t have a brain?” Roman joked weakly.

“Well, first of all, I don’t have half a brain, I have one singular brain cell, so jot that down,” Damien said. “Second of all, my dear...could we not make jokes about loving each other?”

Roman felt his heart shatter. “What?” he asked faintly.

“I know we’re to be married, my dear, but the love jokes make me uncomfortable, and you seem to spiral soon after making them. I think it’s in both of our best interests if we try to keep those jokes to a minimum.” Damien scratched the back of his neck. “I’m truly sorry, but I just...”

“No, no, I understand,” Roman said, feeling his hopes be torn into shreds.

“This doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of love, my dear,” Damien said, giving Roman a tight hug. “Understand? I just don’t want either of us getting more hurt.”

And the heartache Roman felt could only mean one thing: he was definitely in love with Damien. And he had no idea what to do about it. “All right,” Roman said softly.

Damien offered Roman a smile, but Roman couldn’t bring himself to return it. Instead, he sighed and mumbled, “We have to go back out to our mothers, don’t we?”

“I’m afraid so,” Damien said simply.

“Do we have to do it right this second?” Roman asked. “Or do we have some time to rest?”

“I anticipate we don’t have to leave immediately, but we don’t have more than ten minutes before everyone comes looking for us,” Damien said.

“Ugh,” Roman muttered. His mood was souring fast, and he couldn’t help but feel resentful for the situation he had been put in. Made to be married to a man who wouldn’t even want to joke about love. “This stupid castle isn’t going to give me a second to rest until I’m dead, is it?”

“Hey, I know it’s not the best situation for you to be in, but this castle is better for you than the other one you had the misfortune of calling a home,” Damien said, defensive.

“At least there my mother wasn’t as aggressive about my not being trans as she is here!” Roman snapped.

“She didn’t know that you were trans! She’d react just as badly whenever you told her in the future, and who knows, she might not have been able to try and pin you to me that time! At least I’m accepting of your identity!” Damien huffed. “I know I’m a royal pain in the ass, my dear. I also know that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I don’t trust anyone else with that job.”

And yet you don’t love me? Roman thought, but didn’t dare say.

Damien pinched the bridge of his nose. “Neither of us are in a great mood. Should we just...agree to move on and head back to our mothers? Continue this discussion at a later date when we feel like it?”

“Yeah, probably,” Roman agreed, and they both left the library.

They didn’t say anything for a minute, until Damien lightly poked Roman in the shoulder. “Poke,” he said softly.

Roman frowned and turned to look at Damien. “What was that for?” he asked.

“Conversation starter,” Damien said with a shrug.

“Lousy conversation starter,” Roman said.

Damien smirked. “Ah, and yet, we’re still conversing after it.”

“That’s how low your standards are?” Roman asked.

“That’s how conversations are started. I’d say my expectations for conversations are on par,” Damien defended.

Roman shook his head and muttered, “You’re a ridiculous man.”

“Thank you, my dear, I do try,” Damien said with a pleased little smirk.

Roman poked him back, significantly harder, and Damien yelped, scowling at Roman when he giggled in response. Damien retaliated by running his fingers up Roman’s sides and Roman shrieked in response. “Hey! Tickling is illegal!” Roman protested.

“Says who?” Damien laughed.

“Says me!” Roman said.

“You’re not the crown prince of this kingdom!” Damien said smugly.

But Roman had too much experience with Remus using this line to just back down. “Oh, well, then. I suppose tickling is legal,” Roman sighed, before his hands darted to Damien’s sides.

Damien yelped before bursting into laughter and Roman grinned wickedly. “So you think you can do this, huh?” Roman asked. “You think you can beat me at my own game?”

“Stop...stop! I yield! I yield!” Damien exclaimed, holding his hands up and out in surrender. “You win! I yield!”

Roman backed away and Damien panted. “That was...far too much for me to handle,” Damien gasped. “I’m a little bit dizzy, now.”

“Oh, no, are you okay?” Roman asked, hands moving to Damien’s shoulders.

Damien took a deep breath and swallowed. “I’ll be fine, my dear. But I’m starting to understand the phrase that my mother always told me when I was younger. I truly am too mischievous for my own good.”

“Right, because I take that mischief as a challenge, right?” Roman asked. “And combined our forces are almost unstoppable.”

“I would think so,” Damien said. “It’s why I’m not allowed near paint, and why we should probably agree to a truce when it comes to tickling.”

“Agreed,” Roman said.

They shook hands and moved further down the hall, before two voices called Damien’s name and Roman’s deadname. They both turned and found their mothers rushing up to them. “Is everything sorted?” the Queen asked before Roman’s mother could start anything.

“Everything’s sorted for now,” Damien agreed. “We might be talking later but the bulk of the issue is resolved.”

Roman silently nodded. He couldn’t say that the bulk of the issue was resolved himself without sounding unconvincing. Damien being so passionate to Roman about his masculinity meant that Roman loved Damien a lot, perhaps too much for his own good. And that was a pretty huge issue. He wasn’t supposed to catch feelings for this man he was doomed to be married to for the rest of his life. He was supposed to just...suffer silently, or at least be friends with this man who was the key for him getting HRT, and the surgery he needed. Catching feelings was not part of the plan.

Their mothers herded them out the front door and Virgil was standing there with a car, and all four of them got inside. Damien’s mother drove, and Roman didn’t fail to notice another car following them down the hill. “My mother insists on driving everywhere,” Damien murmured to Roman. “She says that no assassin worth their salt would try and kill her from a distance. Virgil makes sure all the guards’ cars have bullet proof glass anyway.”

Roman laughed a little. “Frankly, I don’t blame her,” he said simply. “I wouldn’t want to be stuck with someone else escorting me everywhere. Half of the fun is the journey, and someone else will nine times out of ten take the shortest route from point A to point B. Me? I like adventure.”

“I can see that,” Damien said with a soft smile.

Roman lapsed into a comfortable silence with Damien after that. The initial awkwardness and the subsequent irritation of their earlier interaction was no longer there. Either he was too tired to care, or he just happened to be in a better mood and it was difficult to get him down today. Although judging by the dysphoria debate, Roman’s money was on too tired. Dysphoria always took it out of him.

They travelled through the nearest town to the outskirts of the south side, where a jewelry store sat, a little simplified but undeniably charming. All four of them got out of the car, and when Virgil pulled up, he hopped out and led them inside.

The jeweler seemed to be expecting them, as the store was mostly empty, save for a few staff members. “Your Majesty,” the one who Roman assumed was a manager said, “It is wonderful to see you again.”

“You as well,” the Queen said with a smile. “And I presume you have everything ready for our children?”

“Yes, right this way,” the man said, gesturing for Roman and Damien to follow him.

Roman did so, Damien trailing behind. “May I see your ring finger, Your Highness?” the jeweler asked Roman.

Roman obliged, and the jeweler fit a small device over Roman’s ring finger, tightening it. “Hm. Size six,” he murmured. “And you, Your Highness?”

Damien offered his own hand out and the jeweler did the same to Damien. “Size eleven,” he said. “And I assume you want the rings to match?”

“That would be ideal, yes,” Damien said. “We are getting married, after all, it would make sense to have matching rings.”

The jeweler nodded. “Of course. Just making sure we’re all on the same page, Your Highness.”

The jeweler brought out an assortment of rings in their sizes and Roman looked them all over. “See any you like, my dear?” Damien asked. “I’ll be honest, I’m a little overwhelmed.”

“This may seem odd, but I do like the black ones,” Roman said.

“Black zirconium?” the jeweler asked. “I would not have assumed you liked that. Would you like to see more?”

“Please,” Roman said.

The jeweler nodded and brought up a small selection of black rings. Immediately, Roman’s eyes lit up as he saw one of the specific rings. “Oh, that one is gorgeous!” he exclaimed, pointing.

The jeweler picked it up. “You like this one? It’s black zirconium with strands of rose gold throughout the ring.”

Roman nodded. “I like the contrast between the zirconium and the gold.”

“Mm, I agree, my dear. You have quite an eye for jewelry,” Damien said softly.

“Shush, you,” Roman said with a mock glare. “But if you like it as well, then I guess we have our wedding bands.”

“We have our wedding bands,” Damien said with a relieved smile. “That’s a weight off my chest.”

“I wasn’t nearly as worried about it as you were, but I agree. It does feel better to have one less thing to worry about,” Roman agreed.

Damien grinned and the jeweler asked them questions, getting their exact ring sizes and there was a minor bustle trying to find rings that they liked in that style in their size, but they found two rings and the jewelers promised to have them ready the day before the wedding, at which point they left the store. Roman took a deep breath of fresh air and said, “I like it down here. It feels a little less lonely. Even if we have to be supervised, it’s nice to be out and about.”

“Agreed,” Damien said with a slight nod. “I do like going on small errands into town every once in a while, just to feel the fresh air, the sun on my face, and a sense of purpose it’s hard to find when you’re at home all the time.”

“As much as you two may like to be out, we do have to head back. Logan wants you to do more dancing, he just texted me as much when I told him we found the wedding bands,” the Queen said.

Roman groaned and Damien laughed, wrapping an arm around Roman’s shoulders and guiding him back to the car. Roman sat in the back with Damien and let the Queens talk up front. Damien poked Roman’s shoulder and whispered, “Any particular dances you’d like to learn for the reception?”

“Not really,” Roman whispered back. “I’m surprised I can handle the waltz, I’m pretty sure if I tried a foxtrot I’d twist my ankle.”

Damien laughed, clapping a hand over his mouth as his shoulders shook. “I’m sorry for laughing, I just see that being entirely too plausible,” he said.

Roman’s phone chirped and he looked at it. “Is that Remus’ text alert?” his mother asked from the front.

“No, Mom,” Roman said, checking the text and seeing it was from Remus. “It looks like it was just spam.”

can you send a picture of fh? the text read.

not right now, with mother. you nearly got your hide tanned Roman responded.

He didn’t get a text back after that. They reached the top of the mountain and Roman and Damien got out of the car, and Roman sighed. “Hey, Damien. Mind if I get a picture with you?”

“Why?” Damien asked.

“Just thought I might share it with some of my friends whenever I can see them next. Maybe show Remus, too,” Roman said with a shrug.

“Okay,” Damien agreed. “Why don’t we head to the ballroom and take a picture there?”

Roman nodded.

Damien and Roman walked inside, their mothers trailing behind. “Was that really your brother?” Damien asked lowly.

“Yeah. He’s the one who wanted a picture,” Roman said.

“Can I have his number?” Damien asked. “We could have a group chat the three of us, with a different text alert, so that your mother wouldn’t know.”

“Oh, that’s genius!” Roman said, trying to keep his voice down so his mother wouldn’t hear.

Damien took Roman and Remus’ numbers, put them in his phone, and, when they got to the ballroom, took a picture of himself and Roman, sending it to both Roman and Remus. because you wanted a picture of me, remus Damien sent.

Roman laughed as Damien showed Roman that Remus was typing. This day was certainly about to get far more interesting.

Tag List: @lunareclipse-13@sanders-sides-crofters@blushy-gigglee-mess@wannacrymetoo@kaytikitty@magicalspacepanunicorn@bootsinthesun@pricklyfish777@flowersanddinosaurs@leiasolo77@birdybabybird@enby-phoenix@luna--28@justagaygoose@the-prince-and-the-emo@fandomsandanythingelse@randommuffinyt@snekky-boi@thesoftestlittlepuffballwegot@twilight-trix@abby5577@escalatingtoofast@friendlyfacestabbing@remus-is-stinky@foggybanditdreampeanut@ghostskull300@sprinklestheditty@canvas-the-florist@askthesnake@samuel-the-gay@determination-saved@juicy-cashew@demidork84@why-should-i-tell-youu2@nerd-in-space@aphriteblack@loganpatton@lilbeanblr@kittyboof8@irish-newzealand-idian-dutch@sanders-trash-4ever@hamilspntrash@swords-and-kittens@phantomfander@narniasfinestavengingsociopath@rjmeta@ambersky0319@anni-cat-flower@idosanderssidespromptssometimes@nafsbluebery@redisawerewolf23@voidvirgil@msu82@angstyfanfiction

#roceit #sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #deceit sanders #royal growing pains #our creations

42 notes · View notes

hihoneyimdead · 4 years

Text

Secret Field Journal #7

XX/XX/XX

Graham stole my journal. He also ate it. Many pages are gone. Many pages that were full of notes. And diagrams. And very important things. Are gone.

Luckily, I’ll be home soon enough if I don’t die on this next job. Which really begs the question of why I even bother trying to leave Kingstead in the first place. I don’t get anything out of it. Miles takes the glory from the digs, I have more joint pain than I should at my age, I haven’t gotten paid properly in months, what’s the point? Is it to save the artifacts I so desire to recover? Because if so, I’m doing a shit job of it. The pirate bitch still has the necklaces (both, I believe), and the only way I could get them back is by stealing them from her myself, and that never was my specialty. I look at the rocks. Someone else steals them. Maybe Graham could do something, but then she would just throw him overboard, and I cannot afford to lose such a valuable artifact. I... believe I would miss him. Which is stupid, seeing as he’s just a mushroom colony. That is sentient. Oh, gods, what have I gotten myself into?

The old woman has graham crackers. I may ask Graham to recover these precious items for us to share in exchange for me buying him a picture book when I get home. If I get home. I don’t think I’ll get home. I’m not meant for whatever line of work the angry one has lined up for me. I’m supposed to be digging or interpreting or teaching or literally anything that isn’t fucking killing people and nearly getting killed myself. I almost died on the last job, and I hope that woman knows that I will exact my revenge as soon as I work up the nerve to do so. Elle died. Gods, she didn’t even scream, and I can hear it, or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

...or whatever the opposite of wishful thinking is.

I can’t watch people die. I’m not meant for this. The angry one nearly killed me for gods only know what reason and I think that I’m going grey a full hundred years too early. I found grey hairs! Miles is never going to let me hear the end of this. I can hear it now, “Damien, what have you been getting yourself into? You look more like my father’s age than your own.” And I’ll reply, “I got kidnapped by an angry tiger person, nearly died, and now I want to take a nap and never wake up.” And he’ll roll his eyes and drag me to his place and we’ll talk shit on the grad students and get drunk and I hate how I wish I was actually with him right now. It’s unfortunate how lovely he is when we are apart considering he has the personality of a dead pig and the sex drive of a horny rabbit. I’m going to see him again if I live and I’ll remember how horrible a person he really is. Then I’ll give Graham over to the university and...

[Illegible pencil drawings cover the entire back of the page, including everything that Damien wrote on there, making the page unreadable.

It picks back up with a singular sentence at the bottom of the page, barely able to be made out.]

I wonder if he misses me as much as I miss him.

Dr. Damien Grass, Ph.D.

#wandering isles #damien tag i guess #he was bullied for today's entire session because he's a capitalist and not a good person #but i want him to be a good person so bad.#but he's also a capitalist so like rip to that

5 notes · View notes

castielscarma · 4 years

Text

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27470068

Destiel adjacent crack-fic I wrote after 15x18.

Jordan watched the President of the United States, Donald J. Trump pace back and forth in the Oval office. “Any news, Jordan?”

Jordan exhaled but it was soft, he didn't want to alert Trump that he was over the moon excited. He'd just come back from his mandated sixty minutes break and as it was a Thursday, he had watched the latest episode of Supernatural. And oh, boy.

“They are still counting the votes in Nevada, Mr. President.”

“They should stop the counts! We already won. It's illegal to count the votes after election day.”

Jordan looked at Damien, Trump's Constitution aide. Not that the motherfucker was doing a good job of explaining the Constitution to Trump. Jordan adjusted his tie and took a step to the right. “You go and talk to him again, Damien or I swear. He fucking lost. Now go do your job.”

Jordan was grateful that he wasn't the Constitution aide. No, his job was simple. Quite by accident, he was spotted one day when he was mowing his backyard. A Secret Service guy had nabbed him and through a series of other, non-important events, Jordan Adrian had become Trump's People aide.

Jordan had been slightly confused since he didn't even belong to the Republican party but Trump's people had said that it was important that he wasn't. He needed to get to know the other side, the people. Jordan hadn't told them that he wasn't a Democrat either.

He was a fool to think that he could imbue Trump with some sense of decency and compassion. What could he achieve if seventy years of lived experience as a human couldn't? Well, he was gonna resign tomorrow but it was sweeter to do it today, after Trump's election loss.

Damien ambled over to Trump and Jordan could see how he narrowed his eyes and spaced out even trying to grasp what Damien was talking about.

He stared straight ahead. It was not like Trump asked about his opinion often, even if Jordan gave it anyway. Some of Trump's ideas for being likable gave him the chills. Jordan decided to think about the only good thing that had happened so far this day. It was hard because he wanted to sag down to the floor and cry with happiness.

“Jordan, come over here.” Trump was waving at him. Sure, you lumpy, walking Cheeto.

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Not his President. He saw that Trump was holding his phone in his hands. Probably writing nonsense on Twitter again. A small smile graces his lips. He almost asked Trump if all his posts still had warnings.

“These things trending, the Us-election – it's all about me, I won it fair and square, and Putin and ham. Why is the Us-election, Putin and ham trending.”

Jordan tries to keep a blank face. “Ham, Mr. President?”

Trump squints at his phone. “Yes, ham. Diestel.”

Jordan bites the inside of his cheek. Lord, Jensen, and the bluest blue of Misha Collin's eyes, someone help him. Was he really going to have to explain this to the President of the United States.

“I don't think it's Diestel, the uh... ham. It's more of a ship.”

Trump narrows his eyes in confusion. “Ship.”

Jordan keeps forgetting, it's Trump he's dealing with. “It's Destiel. From the show Supernatural.”

“Never heard of it.”

Of course, you haven't you giant sack of turd. “It's a good show.”

“So what is this Diesel thing? Why is that more important than me?”

Jordan looks at Trump's tie. It's red and too long. Off-kilter. Like the man himself. “Destiel. Uh, it about Dean Winchester and Castiel. It's the name of them as a romantic couple, Mr. President. It was just confirmed that it's official.”

On the inside, Jordan screams. It's canon, bitches. On the outside, he's cool as a cucumber.

“What about Putin?”

“He is not in the show Supernatural.” Trump glares at him. “Sir.”

Trump turns to another aide and starts talking. “Nevada is cheating. Those mail-in ballots are all frauds. We'll sue them. We'll sue everyone.”

Destiel is canon. And the President is an unhinged crazy potato. He is the People aide. He is the people. And the people have had enough. And Destiel is fucking canon.

“Trump!”

Trump turns, annoyance written on his face. He doesn't like that people keep forgetting he is the president. ”I yield my fucking time! You don't need a People's aide.” He rips off his security badge. “Destiel is canon, Diestel is ham and you're a turnip! The people have spoken. You're fired. And I'm out.” He tosses the badge on the floor and walks out and stares right at Mitch McConnell.

The aides are stunned. Jordan turns to look at all the aids and Trump. “You are all in this. My ship has sailed but your fucking ship will sink. You're all a disgrace. Bye bitches.”

He turns to McConnell. “You're a fucknut turkey-chin and you'll burn in hell.” Man, he's wanted to say that forever.

Jordan closes the doors with a loud bang and runs to his freedom.

Destiel is canon.

#castielscarma #destiel adjacent fic #15x18 #fuck trump #no dean and cas in it #destiel mentioned #destiel crack fic

1 note · View note

theangrypokemaniac · 4 years

Text

Then Ambipom showed up, and the little miss wasn't half so bad in retrospect.

I never felt too keen on Aipom. It was okay but that inane grin possessed a sinister edge, like Tony Blair after the '97 election.

Bloody hell, what's that?

Yer tail's got more fingers than you!

Nasty thing this freak:

• Teeth like bathroom tiles.

• Grimace about as reassuring as an escaped mental patient peering in the window.

• Chevron nose implying a porcine snout.

• Tail ends like silicon knockers, each sporting a trio of red-raw teats.

• Screechy, gurgling cackle.

• Bobbing up and down, heaving, like a Steamboat Willie reject.

It's the voice mainly. The cheap attempt rolled out by The Pokémon Company ruins much of it for me.

Aipom began Sinnoh as Ash's Pokémon, but so enamoured was she of the whole Contest palaver, and with no chance of joining whilst still in his custody, the decision was made to trade her for Buizel.

I repeat: she left Ash, whom she clearly cared about, given the hat antics, because Contests were a wondrous jewel in her eyes.

It did then anyway. The boss-eyed ugliness is more of an issue now.

It was all going so swimmingly. Dawn and Ambipom made a grand team, sticking it to Ursula and Gabite good and proper.

That is, until she made the mistake of entering a table tennis event.

Really? To this we are reduced?

Remember that. It's important for later.

His name is O.

It is not. That's blatantly an alias for ulterior motives.

What's he up to, sneaking about under a pseudonym of evident fabrication?

O? Yer couldn't even think up a proper sobriquet for this devilish creep?

It's all Barry's fault, the bitch.

I consider folk who fanny hither and thither, referring to themselves by initials only, to be insufferably pretentious.

T.A.P. won't have it on this blog.

Dawn progresses with ease, thoroughly thrashing opponents, for Ambipom reveals herself to be quite the skilled operator.

With no fingers, no wrists, and no joints. Just the palms.

As if!

How can Shiftry be a champion? Look at it, man!

Alright, it's not so severe a drawback as Oddish, who had No Bloody Arms, but it ain't much of an improvement.

It's got no bloody hands!

Yet they come up against real competition at the close, for O and Shiftry are legends of the art.

It's a master ping-pong player... with No Bloody Hands?!

You're 'avin me on here!

What's it meant to do, slap away with a frond?

How?! There's no bloody bones in them there leaves!

Can't have a cup of tea with them, can yer?!

What a surprise, Dawn loses in the final.

Something else to fail at then?

Oh come on love, can't you do anything right?

Then O guilt trips her. Apparently the shrieking simian is a natural talent, but her deadweight presence is cramping its style.

Charming.

Ambipom is given the choice: spotlight and seals or bats and balls. She picks the latter.

Each time the ball approaches, either it'll just bend the foliage, or, when aflame, burn a hole right through, and Shiftry would go up like a woollen nightgown!

Of course she does. The compelling story arc of twenty minutes could lead only to this conclusion.

Aipom gives up entering Contests, a career she adored, in preference for a thing no one knew existed before this single episode, even if it means parting from all of her friends forever.

Perfectly logical thought process there.

Two options:

1. Contests are crap. They look all flash at a distance but it's a soulless procedure.

Ambipom twigged this early on, jumping ship at the first opportunity to escape a lifetime of feudal drudgery under Dawn's baronial whip hand.

O claims to run his own ping-pong school, because in these parts that's how people fill the empty hours waiting for death.

Bizarrely it's situated in Vermilion City.

I know. It's on a entirely different continent to Dawn, as if they don't want her visiting.

Back in day Ash and Brock almost died trying to reach said settlement. It ain't easy even for them.

Oh Vermilion City! Of course it is! I remember it so well now from Electric Shock Showdown.

Lieutenant Surge loves a game of ping-pong! Him and Raichu batter fragile Pidgey and Rattata all day then unwind with a bit of back-and-forth paddle-whacking.

He's at every hour under the sun with the Fishing Guru and Fan Club Chairman.

2. The writers responsible are baggy-arsed oafs and this is the most inept exit in the show.

Yeah, and I bet O's vehicle is the one hiding Mew.

Ah! That's the explanation I've waited for!

Disembarking from the Saint Anne? It's the first place you go when in town.

Captain, calm thy sick, and Sailors, put down those women of ill repute. There's pongs to be pinged.

A likely scenario as ever I did see.

Or is it?

Well, well, well. This tissue of lies is unravelling before me.

• Calls himself O?

• Has such a mundane, yet ludicrous profession?

• Works with a disabled Pokémon incapable of the very action for which it is famed?

• Professes to own an establishment we know from past experience isn't there?

• Enters the aforesaid competition, immediately targeting his favoured prey?

• Grooms Ambipom with flattery, adding a reduction in status by beating her, inspiring a useful hunger for better?

• Emotionally manipulates a young girl into surrendering her Pokémon?

• Shows no remorse in removing an animal from her family?

• Travels thousands of miles from home, keen to avoid recognition by fellow countrymen?

• Supposed base happens to be in a city difficult to access for Dawn?

• Oh, and a port town to boot, stamping ground of smugglers passing illegal goods, like exotic pets and contraband?

• Disappears on a bus, never to be seen again?

The evidence is piling up!

He ain't no ping-pong player! He's scouting for specimens for his animal research lab!

Ambipom's gonna get stuffed and placed in a cabinet for snotty students to study!

Hey, science man. Anything's justified in its name. The future's now thanks to it.

Thumbs up from Pope Clemont.

Could be worse. Could be talentless twat Damien Hirst picking up creatures to bisect in a vat of formaldehyde for the pleasure of a lot of beard-stroking bourgeoisie.

If I were Ash I'd be well aggrieved at the entire situation.

You give away yer best chimp, assuming it'll be safe with a friend, and she gifts it to the vivisectionist!

Oi bitch, yer wanna take the shirt off his back too?

You should've handed it to Jessie when asked. She never would've done such a thing.

She cares.

She just dumps all hers in the tender embrace of H.Q. and forgets.

Might be dead now. Much better.

What is it about Sinnoh? Chimchar gets grief, and Aipom's headed for China's cruelty-free wet markets.

From Poffin to coffin: aye-aye-aye.

Mmm-mmm: Mashed Ape coming to a dinner plate near you.

I tell yer, shameless spanking of monkeys going on all over.

But lo, the somewhat misnamed Galar region is set in Vermilion City!

Obviously Ambipom will be at Chloë's for a cup of tea and a banana on a regular basis.

Yep, definitely will happen. No doubt about it. We're due a remake of Diamond and Pearl after all.

Should that come to fruition, any old excuse to promote it on screen will do.

I'm handing yer that loose story strand, Game Freak!

Any time now. The first day Ash was in town he raced to the famous ping-pong school round the corner.

He couldn't resist, not when he hadn't bothered to visit in three previous generations.

It's coming. It will. Just wait a minute.

...

That's right, you wave goodbye. That's the last we'll be seeing of 'er outside of a packed lunch with mustard.

No? Again I give you two options:

1. What choo expecting canon coherence from this shower for?

I keep telling yer: when a new era begins it erases all that has gone before. That's why they explain the concept of Pokémon EVERY SINGLE BLOODY TIME.

2. It is consistent, and Ambipom can't return as her skin's decorating a fine Gucci handbag.

Plus the rest of her made a top-notch tin of dog food.

#Pokémon #Aipom #Ambipom #Dawn #O #Shiftry #Sinnoh #To Thine Own Pokémon Be True!

8 notes · View notes

selemina · 4 years

Note

(i hope Im not sending too many!) Can you tell me about First Casters Romance? That's your game right? :3

(You’re not, really. :D I’m just worried the responses are too long! ^^’)

Romance in first Caster! Pardon me while I sit down and pull out my notes... XD

We’re going to have thee cathegories : confirmed, in development, and crackship. :)

CONFIRMED : Ivan and Courtney : Our grumpy, God-plagued cleric and his sweet and mischievous husband twice his size. Tastes like those acidic sweets : Dear god it pricks, but you want one more. XD Permid and Ryan : HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT PEACOCK HUSBAND??

Ryan the social butterfly, lover of nerds, very determined to have ONE occasion to talk and hang out with Permid after all of this craziness settles, and the feeling is apparently mutual! ;) Nervous Wizard ‘bout to get some cuddles for his anxiety! Saka and Zahz : Our local magic cop has been running away from his controlling ex for 3 years, fearing to come back... Surprise surprise however when he gets back, said ex has had such a slap in the face when he left that he was put into therapy and it opened his eyes to his manipulative and controlling tendencies. They’re both still very lovestruck, but... they have a lot of work to do to be actually good for one another. But they are ready to try this trip together, as soon as they deal with the current situation. Not everybody looks at this favorably... But Zahz is determined to make amends. Isn’t fantasy wonderful? You can have exes that actually DO give a shit and are ready to become better! :D Glaire and Raph : With their friendship having lasted for years, now that Glaire is more confident in her body, things have developed... ;) Yay for one happy trans lady and her non-binary tech wizard partner! :D

IN DEVELOPMENT : The Standon Household : Originally just with Ivan and Courtney, the household has seen the addition of multiple bachelors, to the point where most men under this roof are considered one of the husbands. First, Peter, the lost vampire gentleman.

Arrived in Earth by accident, he took this opportunity to escape his old vampiric habits. Adept in blood magic, he saved Courtney’s life earlier, discovering the temporary addictive side effect of it. It took 2 weeks for Courntey to recover from his sudden crush, but in the meantime, Peter has been getting closer to the Standons, and now lives under the house as they make him a new coffin. Before that however, he was housed at Permid’s father’s place! And said father, Archeon, was very grateful for the company. Peter serves as a bridge between the Standons and him, and it seems like this is heading towards a big polygamous house! :D So, Standon Prime (Ivan), Soft husband (Courtney), Night husband (Peter) and Science husband (Archeon) in total. :) But nothing is official yet, if very seriously pursued and hinted at. :) Isa and Jef : Our cute bard has found a soft boy, the local druid NPC and coffee shop employee Jef! :)

Although Isa is quick to accept any kind of flirt out of curiosity and panic (with a complete disregard for her own safety, might I add), this seems to be a possible path. Actually, I should have put Permid and Ryan here, since they’re still getting to know one another... Woops! XD Tethys and Damiana : One is an exchange student with top grades, a massive familial sword, and is definitely not Lyn. (Same player though. XD) The other is a tiefling in disguise, artificer with a deployable shield on her forearm, a gun-brella, death rumbas, and a tendency to throw imaginary knives! They have only met recently, but a shopping trip is planned, so... Hopefully we see more about that soon! :D

CRACKSHIPS : Oh boy. XD

Alexia and Damien : More or less childhood friend, Damien still sees Alexia as the person he’d die for to protect her. Because she’s the only true positive influence in his life, but also because she gives him pastries. ;) He’s still in shock every time she handles things herself with extreme prejudice : She’s a dangerous warlock! Also tsundere Damien is VERY fun to play. XD

(There was also some low-key shipping between Alexia and Jef, but I didn’t see it in time, so we missed the opportunity... But it could have been amazing. XD) Quiet self-indulgent desire to push Dylan and Peter together as a crackship because the snark would be legendary but ignore me playing with my NPCs. Damiana and Permid : Or how to get a teacher to stop talking to you, by Damiana : Expose Permid’s fake love life and hope it makes EVERYBODY uncomfortable! :D And it worked! XD Those two actually have a nice friendship, it’s always nice to watch them interract! Damiana’s big enabler/sister energy comes out when there is a Permid around to go do slightly illegal stuff with! Personal crackship : Lyn and Oni. Oni crossed half of france with a full storm to make a dramatic entrance and challenge her, and she headbutted his ass right out! If Lyn wasn’t blatantly ace, their rivalry could be a textbook kissmesitude! (My homestuck is showing)

In the same vein, Oni and Shanti! New addition to the group, Shanti is a soft girl trying to wrap her head around things. Oni is weak to honest, purely good people. And his duty to protect people that Ivan sees as allies means he fought off a full group of SWAT officers so they wouldn’t try to arrest Shanti during an emergency! :) Permid and “5th dimensional friend” : As a Horizon walker, Permid sometimes ends up in a space between planes, where unfathomable beings reside.. And one of them, noticing the cute little 3 dimentional being appearing now and again, has taken a liking to him! :D There was also talk of an Archeon and Master Kavoleg crackship!

Eminent atomic scientist meets other-wordly wizard master.. And picks his interest. ;) Please picture Archeon excitedly explaining what an atom is to an enraptured mage, and the scientist marveling at each and every spell the tiefling casts!

I’m sure there are a lot of others I don’t know about. Some of the off-sessions rp happens in private chats, depending on everybody’s preference. :) But now is a good time to link my players, if you’re curious about some of those ships! :D

Saka, Glaire : @girugin (master DM, energic, soft boi!) Permid, Archeon : @hands-of-fate-ocs (Hug this man, he deserves it!) Ivan “Standon Prime” : @techpirate1 (With distinction and drama, please!) Alexia : @ember-menia (A very passionate lady, with writting power!) Isa, Shanti : @space-caramella (the absolute softest bean!) Damiana : @quynh-tessance (Oh my god, this wonderful, talented human being!) Tethys, Lyn : @entransta (Praise this quiet girl! Hell yes to powerful women!) Unfortunately due to the time of the session, @ask-manda-of-the-6 does not have a character in this campaign... é_è but she participates in most other campaigns! :D The sweetest, puniest canadian!

All of these people are dear friends and good people, please be nice to them, alright? :) They are wonderfully creative and I love them to bits!

4 notes · View notes

mutantsrisingrpg · 4 years

Photo

Congratulations BECKY! You’ve been accepted as VENUS.

Becky’s back, back again. Becky’s back, tell a friend! Now that I got that out of the way, I can make this a serious acceptance note. I can honestly say there was not a moment while reading this app that I didn’t think your Hana was it. Hana is obsessed with power and the way you hit on that through her bio had me on the edge of my seat. You created this storm of a girl that I want to know more about even if I know the danger associated with her. Both of us are beyond excited to see the “human embodiment of pikachu with anger issues” on the dash!

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information:

NAME/ALIAS: Becky

PRONOUNS: she / her

AGE: 24

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: GMT ( but technically GMT +1 currently bc summer! ); online daily, particularly active atm because ya girl is working from home

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Venus / Hana Mercado

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Female; she/her

DETAILS & ANALYSIS:

Even in a city like Miami, Hana is hard to miss in a crowd. Bubblegum bursts, her lazy chew concealing the switchblade sharp smirk that slides across her mouth a little too late for anyone to be able to avoid the trouble that comes from it. She thinks she’s wired up wrong, like a casino gambling machine full of bullets that just keeps dishing out violence while playing its disjointed electric-warped song of congratulations, bright lights flashing wildly.

To your left, a man walking his pet leopard down the sidewalk; to the right, Hana Mercado paralysing a man with the touch of a fingertip for wolf-whistling her. She fits in well here, Florida born and raised, helping the drug lords keep their territories and the mutants keep their identities and everyone and anyone in between keep what’s left of their slowly unravelling sanity. Despite the bustling sea of tourists that ebbs and flows with the good weather, it’s easy to feel lonely. Hana isn’t great when it comes to other people. Pushing them away is a lot less difficult than making them stay.

Everything is loud. Everything is bright. The electricity is near palpable as she splashes through the remnants of a thunderstorm, rainwater spraying over fresh white sneakers. She’s quiet when the sun sets, bleeding red across the sky, the colour of the popsicles she’d eat for dinner as a kid. It’s hard to fear the consequences of her actions when she’s as close to a young god as anyone’s ever going to get. Mutants? Deities? Same difference if you know how to play to the right narrative.

Fuck you has always been easier to spit than a genuinely spoken I love you and that’s the honest-to-fuck truth.

[ + ] driven / brave / resilient / passionate [ - ] arrogant / reckless / unpredictable / childish

BIO:

Money is power. And power is power. And electricity? The sort that decorates the country like a spiderweb, an interwoven network of wires, all humming, all singing to her, the siren’s call of greatness from above ground and beneath it? Power.

Hana is a vicious formation of blood and desire, with the scent of someone burning from the inside inhaled like a nicotine hit. Interrogation comes naturally to her; smiles that should be sweet on a face like hers turn sharp and deadly. She likes to hear them beg. To watch them shake. People spill their secrets to her whether they like it or not.

It’s been that way since she was nineteen years old, static dancing between her fingertips after getting too riled up in an argument with a neighbour’s son over stealing her family’s gas cylinder. An impromptu lightning strike had left the tarmac lining the trailer park sizzling, black and sticky like summertime ( and don’t worry, the Cheeto-dust-decorated-rude-mouthed-slacker-of-a-punk-ass-brat had survived – getting hit by lightning suddenly made him interesting, too, so if anything she’d been doing him a favour ).

A freak accident, they’d called it. Another one of those unexpected Florida storms. But she knew better than that. As had her mom, smoking a fresh pack of Camel Blues from the other side of the door’s insect screen, fresh foils in her hair, acrylic nails the colour of the algae in the neglected community pool down the street. Thinking back, maybe this all stemmed from swallowing too much of that fucking nuclear-waste-looking water when she’d dared to swim there as a kid, hot and sweaty as a storm breaks on the horizon.

But the point – the point is that, to her mom, having the human embodiment of Pikachu as a daughter was as good as winning a jackpot at one of her weekly bingo sessions. She tries to sell it. Power. The ability to pluck electricity from charged particles in the air makes her daughter useful. A living battery. Studies on mutants at University of Miami dish out hefty paychecks after the right terms and conditions have been signed ( note: if you die, that’s on you, don’t try to sue us ). Hana attempts to protest but even she can’t deny that the allure of getting rich sounds like a dream come true.

So she goes to college. Not in the usual sense, sure, but she gets to live on campus ( in a secure underground testing facility beneath the BioMed building ) and hang out with others ( mostly mutants ) her age. And it’s fine for a while until simple fitness tests and blood sampling turn more extreme. Some days are hazy, pumped full of drugs and hooked up to machines that she doesn’t know the name of, let alone the purpose, beeping their own idle hospital-like symphony. Other days are dark and quiet, plunged into sensory deprivation for the sake of whatever it is the boffins in their lab coats are trying to figure out.

She’ll get rich or die trying and, ironically, neither of those things happens.

When the anti-mutant-testing protestors storm the building, they free Hana from both the confinement and the contract. The money she was supposed to get at the end of all this vanishes, along with the pleased looking humans who pat themselves on the back for doing a good deed and disappear to go and celebrate. None of them ask her if this was what she wanted. None of them stop to think that maybe liberation was never an option for her.

Her mom’s gone too. A new trailer stands where Hana’s home once had. The monthly paychecks from the university never reached her bank account, instead wired directly to Mrs Mercado. She laughs until she cries, the air crackling overhead.

After all that, turning to a life of crime is far easier than it has any right to be. Angry and alone, she fucks a guy in a gang in the back of his drop-top and makes herself useful when it comes to getting money out of those who owe it. She runs from the cops. Has a gun pressed to her temple. Watches an illegal weed farm burn at the flick of a lighter. Nothing phases her because she doesn’t let it. Rules stop meaning anything when you realise just what having powers can get you. Making a living from getting spineless people to open up their mouths and offer the gold that is information makes her feel a little less like a failure. Interrogation has a nice ring to it, after all. And once she makes a name for herself, sought after by those who know that secrets are worth a decent stack of bills – well – who is she to turn a job down?

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

YVETTE. It’s more than just the sticky sweet sugar of sisterhood. Hana would fight tooth and nail for Yvette should she say the word; would go to war for her if needed. There are very few people in the world that she cares about more than herself, but her partner ( in crime, in the sport of bringing their enemies down, in a vodka-tasting kiss that she’s managed to take a little too far ) holds the throne to Hana’s adoration. If only Yvette would take another step further into chaos and embrace becoming the seductive sort of danger that people run from.

ANDREAS. He knows how to say the right things, she’ll give him that. Hana wants what is hers. And sure, she may not know what that is exactly but the whispers of power he offers are captivating. After so long of operating alone for anyone with enough money to afford her services, the concept of joining strengths is a tricky one to navigate. She keeps him waiting, keeps him on his toes, avoiding a crystal clear answer for the sake of keeping her cards close to her chest. Better to have multiple options on the table than settling for the first one that comes along.

DEREK. Oh, the joy of knowing she’s the shiny new model; a glossy picture-perfect upgrade; a brand new battery to keep Damien and his clowns energised. The temptation of coaxing out Derek’s anger to watch him slip up and fall further from grace is all too great. She’ll press a cherry red lipstick kiss to the dark shades of the sunglasses he will no doubt need down here in paradise. Her future is bright, can he say the same about his own?

DAMIEN ft. JACKSON. He sends his loyal hound. She can only assume that Jackson is missing a collar because he doesn’t like wearing it in public; his Tiffany heart-shaped dog tag would probably get too warm glinting in the Miami sunshine. Hana knows a mob boss pet when she sees one, sniffing her out amongst the cheap cocktails and plastic palms of a Tiki Bar on Ocean Drive. Who’s a good boy? It’s appealing, the carefully constructed dream Damien offers. Almost a little too good to be true given the circumstances. She knows his gang has chased others out, a fine show of strength and organisation, but how long will it last when he doesn’t even know this city?

EXTRA:

Inspo [ x ] Pinterest board [ x ]

ANYTHING ELSE: ily both

#Accepted #accepted: venus

3 notes · View notes

codybatson · 4 years

Text

Holy Kidnapping, Batman!

A (COMPLETELY) CANON MISADVENTURE (HAHA JK JK.. UNLESS?)

part 3: homosexualizing

“I wonder how Lon’s doing. He’d know what to do.” Cody muses.

Cassie’s voice seems… distressed. Lonnie can tell, even over the phone.

“Your boyfriends frickin’ kidnapped Robin!” She says, cutting straight to the chase.

“What do you mean they kidnapped Robin?”

There’s a bit of a shuffle as Tori grabs the phone, “They literally knocked B and Robin out and took him!! That’s what she means!!”

“Oh… Good for them?” Lonnie answers.

“No! No, not ‘good for them’!! They jumped a bridge! And shot at Batman!”

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Cherry bomb!

Cody answers his phone nonchalantly, “Hey babe!”

“Tori and Cassie want you to give Robin back.”

“Well, that’s not gonna happen. We jumped a bridge. And shot at Batman.”

The store clerk gives them a sideways glance, but continues scanning the bag of Doritos.

“Where are you right now?” Lonnie asks.

“A store like, 50 miles out of Gotham.”

“Keep driving until you get to DC, and we’ll figure it out from there.”

“Gotcha! Gotta go, but I love you! Mwah!” Cody says, homosexualizing.

“Love you too, Codes.”

The four head out of the store, snacks in tow. Robin got back in the car without (too much) protest.

“Want a pepperoni stick?” Tony asks.

“I’m vegetarian.” He answers curtly.

“Ohh okay, Dorito, then?”

Robin sighs and grabs a chip from the bag

They’re on the move again, still speeding, but a bit slower.

Robin suppresses a yawn, “Why are you guys being so nice? Aren’t you going to at least try to kill me, or whatever?”

Cody scoffs, as if what he just suggested was completely offensive and preposterous and not a reasonable assumption for a boy that had just been kidnapped by wanted criminals.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re trying to save you from getting beaten to death by a crowbar. Like, once things settle down we’re gonna get you in witness protection, and-”

“How do you know about that?” Robin tries to mask his boiling rage.

“Know about what?”

“Crowbar. That’s too specific to be a figure of speech, you a-hole.”

“We know things, Damien. It’s our job.” Cody answers.

“Wait- Damien? Like, Wayne?” Charlie asks, alarmed. “Please don’t tell me you’re actually 10 years old and fighting crime.”

Robin just grunts and goes back to staring out the window. He looks at the shiny speed limit signs and directions racing past the window.

“You know, Tony and I used to be just like you. You know- young, innocent kid sidekicks. The lifestyle gets to you though.” Cody says, looking at Robin. “No kid should have to go through that. Not you, not anyone.”

“Cool motivation. Still illegal.” Robin replies sarcastically. He suspects it’s Stockholm syndrome that’s making him feel a prick of sympathy for them, and tries to push it off. Batman’s going to be here soon enough, he tells himself. And he’s going to kick their butts.

#holy kidnapping batman

3 notes · View notes

chelseareferenced · 5 years

Text

What's Wrong With Wanting Both?

((Something happened in a discord server and now this ship is a thing to me))

Ship: It's The Law (Damien x Y/N x Abe)

Abe was frustrated.

Well no, frustrated was the wrong word. Annoyed. From the moment he laid eyes on Y/N L/N he had fallen completely and utterly in love with them.

It was something about their eyes.

They were amazing.

Except when they were practically heart shaped when they looked at Damien. Who Abe couldn't exactly blame them for. Damien was so handsome it should be illegal.

Now he wasn't the jealous kind... Most of the time. But damn he wanted to grab the DA by the shoulders and just tell them how he felt. Which he actually did.

However, he grabbed them by the shoulders with no warning and panicked. He ended shouting some nonense about how the should be wary of bedroom boobie traps and how to take the internal temperature of a corpse. Needless to say they were slightly freaked out.

As Abe wondered if faking his death seemed like the best course of action, Mark, William and Celine were watching from the sidelines trying not to laugh at what had just happened. For all the anger and frustration between the three, something about watching the aimless detective chase after the clueless district attorney, who was chasing after the lovestruck mayor made them want to help.

So they all agreed to help the three of these idiots confess their feelings to each other. Mark went straight for Abe, Will for Damien and Celine pulled Y/N aside and whispered something in their ear, something that made their cheeks flush and made them laugh a bit.

Celine winked before walking away from them.

"Abe has a crush on you, so does Damien. Don't let them know you know because it's hilarious to watch"

Mark on the other hand was giving Abe some very... interesting advice. "Abe, c'mon you gotta sweep them off their feet! Make them feel like you worship them! How do you think I got Celine to marry me!"

"Hang on, didn't she divorce you and get with Wi-"

"AS I WAS SAYING!" Mark announced loudly, opening his arms dramatically. "Woo them!" Mark sat on one of the steps of one of his many staircases "Pretend I'm Y/N, seduce me!"

"Mark-"

"SEDUCE ME ABE!"

Abe's face went bright red as be saw Y/N look over at him and give a little laugh. They said nothing but soon left the room. Abe sighed, realising that this might be the only way he could learn how to properly woo someone.

"Hey Y/N-"

"CUT!"

"What?"

Mark sighed and rolled his eyes. "You're trying to seduce me, not giving me the opportunity to send you straight to the friend zone!"

Abe groaned in frustration. If this didn't work, so help Mark.

Damien, on the other hand, was being pestered endlessly by William, who was giving him equally bad advice about confessing to the district attorney. "Come on Dames! You just have to fall to your knees and promise them everything! Say you can't live without them! That you would rather die than go another day without them in your arms!"

Damien looked around awkwardly, looking for a way out, he knew it would be pointless, William had this ability to just randomly appear. "Listen Colonel, I don't think they'd appreciate that..."

William chuckled and slapped Damien on the back "Nonsense! It worked on Celine!"

"Oh ok well if you-" Damien suddenly tensed up as William's words sunk in. "Colonel. William. Dear friend." Damien clutched onto his cane "You have exactly 10 seconds to vanish before I smack you over the head for seducing my sister with that crap!" The Colonel vanished, laughter filling the mansion.

Damien ran a hand through his hair in annoyance. Why did he put with this? Why couldn't he just tell them how he felt?

It had been a couple of hours since Y/N had found out how the detective and the mayor both had a crush on them.

And they were stuck.

They were sitting outside by the pool, trying to figure out what to do next. Damien? Or Abe?

"You look troubled" Y/N turned around quickly, seeing Celine standing nearby. They sighed, gesturing for the seer to sit down. "I'm glad you told me but..."

"You don't know what to do, who to choose?"

"Exactly"

Celine paused, pondering her words carefully. "Well... the heart is a strange thing, sometimes you want more than one person..."

"Is that what happened with you, Mark and Will?"

Celine shrugged "Maybe... Like I said the heart is a strange thing. But think about it, is there anything wrong with wanting both?"

Y/N didn't say anything, but Celine stayed next to them. Both of them finding comfort in the silence between them.

Eventually, Mark and Will gave Celine a wave, it was time. Celine grabbed Y/N's hand gently, guiding them, and their heart, to the next big step.

"Now make it look natural!" Mark commented as Will shoved them in the direction the detective and the mayor were in. Y/N swallowed, it felt like their heart was trying to escape through their throat. Something strange happened when the pair saw the object of their affections walking towards them, Abe practically sprinted over before dipping them over his knee, like they were dancing and Damien, who had started running but soon slid over on his knees, taking one of their hands in his own.

Everyone was very awkward and Mark and Will were practically dying with laughter. Y/N shook their head quickly, standing up and taking a few steps back.

"Listen to me now my darling" Abe sounded like something out of a cheesy romantic comedy "I love you! I adore you! We are soulmates! Please be mine!"

Damien soon added his own level of cheese to the already cheese filled scene.

"Y/N my dear, we have know each other for years, I couldn't live without you! I need you "

Y/N soon doubled over laughing at the sight before them. The two men coughed awkwardly.

Y/N pondered for a moment.

They loved Damien for how gentle he was, gentle and calming. No matter how stressed or upset the DA was, Damien would always offer them a kind word and a warm hug. There was, however, an obsessive streak Damien. If he set his mind to something, unless someone was there to calm that need to succeed it could very dangerous for everyone, including himself.

But Abe on the other hand...

He was rather intense, passionate and loud. But at the same time, he was awkward. Almost like there was a vulnerability to the brash detective. Y/N wondered what if would be like to be in Abe's arms. He looked so strong and yet so fragile. He needed someone who would care for him, someone who wouldn't go away.

But which one? Damien or Abe? Abe or Damien? Y/N was incredibly tempted to run away. Until a small voice whispered.

"Is there anything wrong with wanting both?"

"You pair of idiots! I love you both!"

Stunned silence filled the room. Even Mark and Will had stopped dying with laughter. Both Abe and Damien went bright red in the face glancing at each other. Y/N felt their heart flutter at the two idiots that they had fallen in love with. "I love you both so much. I was so... confused? Not really confused but... Worried. I was worried that I would have to choose one of you. But" Y/N turned and smiled at Celine before facing Damien and Abe again. "Someone made me realise that I shouldn't have to choose. I refuse to choose between you. I love you both and that won't ever change."

Once again silence filled the room. But it was different kind of silence.

Y/N turned bright and look at their shoes, waiting for whatever outcome to hurry up and happen.

Y/N didn't look up until they felt two pairs of arms wrap around them. One gentle yet protective, the other strong yet fragile.

No words needed to be said.

They were meant to be.

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

I will not apologize for this. I wanted to write something for this the moment ship came into accidental existence

Tagging: @toasty-tart @statictay @gay-spaghetti @captainsaltypear (happy birthday friendo!) @xdamienplier @raimeyl @blackaquokat

80 notes · View notes

welcometothepenumbra · 5 years

Text

SECOND CITADEL – THE HALLOWED HALLS OF HELICOID (PART ONE)

SOUND: RAIN. TRAIN ARRIVES, CREAKS TO A STOP. DOOR CLANKS OPEN.

CONDUCTOR: Ah, good evening, Traveler. And welcome… to The Penumbra.

SOUND: DOOR CLANKS SHUT.

Take your seat, please, take your seat.

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING.

MUSIC: STARTS.

The junction lies ahead, so if you’ll allow me just a moment.

SOUND: TRAIN WHISTLE.

We are now approaching Fort Terminus.

SOUND: TRAIN BRAKES.

Our next stop?

The Hallowed Halls of Helicoid.

SOUND: DOOR CLANKS OPEN, RAIN.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

MUSIC: STARTS.

SOUND: WATER DRIPS, ECHOING.

RILLA: Quanyii? Can I ask you a question?

QUANYII: Oh I so hope you will, Rilla.

RILLA: If magic is really, um—

QUANYII: My favorites are the ones I don’t feel like answering, because then I just lie! Or sometimes, I lie just because it’s fun. Do you ever do that, tall, dark, and cranky?

SIR CAROLINE: I don’t.

QUANYII: See? She’s doing it right now!

RILLA: Uh… okay. So, if magic is inconsistent, and unreliable… how could you just make the sun look like it was setting, or make this brace that helps me walk without—

QUANYII: Ughhh. Boo. It’s no fun at all when you ask me a good question. Fine, fine. It’s really very simple…

SOUND: RECORDER STARTS.

Oh!

RILLA: That’s good. Just speak clearly into the receiver.

QUANYII: Ohhh, what is this?

CAROLINE: Have mercy, they’re encouraging each other.

RILLA: It’s an audio recorder. I made it.

QUANYII: Ohhh, I adore it! And it’s so handy – usually I just put my voice in a rock when I want to remember something, but I always forget where I put it.

RILLA: You can just… do that?

CAROLINE: Ughhhhh.

QUANYII: Oh sweets, that’s nothing. Give me a few days and a part of your soul and I can teach you to put your voice in anything! (LAUGHS) That was a joke, obviously. The soul is useless. I’d probably ask for a toe.

RILLA: Just one? That’s not bad…

CAROLINE: Enough.

SOUND: RECORDER CLICKS OFF.

You have outstayed your welcome, witch. We have agreed to your terms. But you will not continue meddling in official Citadel affairs like this. Leave us.

MUSIC: ENDS.

QUANYII: Oh, she’s angry now. Do you think I should have asked for her toe instead?

CAROLINE: When I tell you to do something, witch, I mean now.

SOUND: SWORD UNSHEATHING.

QUANYII: Oh no, a sword. How pointy.

RILLA: Sir Caroline!

QUANYII: You’d really hurt me? Me? With the sword that I gave you, after the big, bad monsters stole yours?

CAROLINE: I am on the job. Technically, I would be justified.

QUANYII: Oh so we’re talking technicalities! Well if that’s the case, then technically, without me, you don’t have a sword. Pop!

SOUND: POOF, JINGLE.

All gone!

CAROLINE: Ughhhhh.

QUANYII: If you can’t handle one cursed sword, cutie, you’re not ready for this fortress. And definitely not ready to fly solo.

CAROLINE: I have broken out of many prisons before, and I am stronger than I was then. I can handle whatever these monsters have in store.

QUANYII: Breaking out? Breaking out is nothing compared to what we have to do next. We’re breaking in, then out.

CAROLINE: We don’t need you for this.

QUANYII: It’s not about need, babe; it’s about want.

SOUND: WOOD CREAKING.

Like how I don’t want you to get crushed by that wall trap you’re ignoring above your head.

CAROLINE: …What?

RILLA: Sir Caroline, look out!

QUANYII: And stop!

SOUND: CHIMES, CREAKING STOPS. CLOCK TICKING.

RILLA: You froze it in midair!

QUANYII: Stopped time around it, actually. It will continue on its course… in a second.

CAROLINE: Magic.

QUANYII: Okay babe, maybe step out of the way of the falling trap and then whine? Because this is starting to get exhausting.

RILLA: Sir… Caroline?

CAROLINE: Hmph.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

QUANYII: There… we’ve passed… through!

SOUND: BIG WOODEN CRASH. TICKING STOPS.

(BIG SIGH) And that, sweets, is how you make magic work for you. Magical spells, commands, etceteras, and so-ons only work if the universe feels like answering them. If I asked the universe to stop that pile of wood from crushing our sweet little knight, it might work once every hundred times. But, if I ask the universe to take this watch I worked on so very hard, and pretty pretty please, universe, can you just make it a time-stopping watch, just for me, just if I do enough so it’s basically already one anyway, then—

RILLA: Then the impossible, magical phenomenon isn’t stopping time… it’s making the thing that can stop time.

QUANYII: Very good. See? And you wanted to leave me behind. Whatever would you do without me?

RILLA: Thanks, Quanyii.

Sir Caroline?

CAROLINE: (SNORTS) Hrrraaaah!

SOUND: CRACK.

I would have been fine. Goodbye.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

QUANYII: Now what did that trap ever do to her?

RILLA: Excuse me just a second, Quanyii.

What is your problem? I thought you said you didn’t hate witches!

CAROLINE: I didn’t until today. She doesn’t belong here.

RILLA: So? She’s helping us, isn’t she?

CAROLINE: Only because she’s more likely to get what she’s after by helping us than not. But this is not the arrangement.

RILLA: What arrangement?

CAROLINE: It doesn’t matter for you. This will likely be the only day you ever see a real witch.

RILLA: Well, then… what does it matter? We need to help the Citadel, right? Maybe this witch is breaking the witch-rules, or whatever, but, that only affects her, right?

CAROLINE: (FRUSTRATED SIGH)

RILLA: Why can’t you just accept that we got lucky?

CAROLINE: Because this is my investigation, under my control. And I will not allow anyone to insinuate that the first investigation I earned was a success only because I got lucky.

RILLA: So you’d rather fail?

CAROLINE: I would not have failed. I would have solved it on my own. And now she has taken that from me.

RILLA: Okay, fine. She broke you out of the cell, you didn’t get to come up with a big plan, cool. But unless you want me to lock you in one of those cages myself, that’s over. So deal with it and do your job.

CAROLINE: (SIGHS) Fine. We will use the witch. But if you breathe a single word of this in the Citadel—

RILLA: Sure. Whatever.

CAROLINE: Good.

Witch!

QUANYII: (SHRIEKS)

RILLA: What?!

CAROLINE: Are you alright? Damn it, why wasn’t I watching her—

QUANYII: I’m fine! It’s my pocketwatch! Your mean little show making me work extra hard to save you from that falling trap put a crack in my pocketwatch, you beast! My poor baby! Shhh, it’s alright; we’ll get some crushed dragon-eye jelly on you in no time, little tick-tock.

RILLA: Wait… dragon’s eye? L-l-like from—

QUANYII: Dragons, silly! They exist just a little outside of time themselves, you know. That’s why there never seems to be one around when you need them; because they’ll be around some other time instead.

RILLA: So… you study monsters? Use their parts?

CAROLINE: Where do you think all those magical powers come from? Witches are scavengers. They take stronger creatures’ power because they can do nothing on their own.

QUANYII: I couldn’t say it better myself! Very smart of us, isn’t it? I know grumpy is impressed.

CAROLINE: I am not. It’s pathetic.

RILLA: Aren’t you here because you literally pushed Damien down a flight of stairs and stole his job?

CAROLINE: You, charmed one, probably haven’t noticed the disadvantages one starts out with in a field brimming with people who want to see you fail. I will do anything to level the playing field.

RILLA: So you think you’re better than me because you made it big in the boys’ club?

CAROLINE: I know I’m better than you, actually. The men have nothing to do with it.

RILLA: Despite the fact that my job is so dangerous, difficult, and illegal that nobody else will do it? That’s really where you’re putting your foot down, here?

QUANYII: Oh, are we measuring how hard our lives are? Should I take out my magic hardships yardstick?

CAROLINE & RILLA: (IN UNISON) Yes!

QUANYII: Well, I don’t have one, because that makes so little sense even magic won’t touch it. Instead of measuring your problems, why don’t we just agree that we all have it hard, and try to make things better for one another? Everyone deserves a little help. Everyone.

RILLA: That’s… not bad advice.

QUANYII: Yes, we all have problems, ladies. Look at me, for example. I have this little cough that just won’t go away. (FAKE-COUGHS) And on top of that, I’ve wanted the four thumbs of a reptilian familiar for nearly ten minutes now and I still don’t have them!

RILLA: His thumbs?!

CAROLINE: The lizard is mine. He must answer for his crimes.

QUANYII: And does he need his thumbs to answer for them? No? Good. See? We help each other and we all get what we want.

CAROLINE: Hm. That’s the first sense you’ve made all day, witch.

RILLA: No! You- you can’t!

CAROLINE: Excuse me, herbalist? Do you have something you’d like to say?

RILLA: Yo- you can’t hurt him! I- I have to talk to him!

QUANYII: Oh, that’s perfect! Then you can talk to him while I take off his thumbs, and then the knight can have his head. And if you decide you have more questions later, I’ll just put my hand in his skull and we’ll have a little chat! (LAUGHS)

RILLA: But—

CAROLINE: This argument is over. Her terms are fair enough for now. We can decide the rest when the lizard is dead.

RILLA: No, we actually can’t—

CAROLINE: And in the meantime, if he is as heavily-guarded as you say, witch, we should have a plan of attack before we press on. What can we expect from this fortress?

QUANYII: Ooh, just the biggest, spookiest, creepiest-crawliest monsters of all! Fort Terminus is the monsters’ last stronghold in the Northern Wilds, and that’s saying something. Monsters as individuals love to stake claim to a spot and stay there; but as a group, they can never agree on one place to defend together, let alone a building. I hear even their Senate never meets in the same place twice. So the fact that they work together to keep this place up should tell you how badly they need it.

RILLA: For what?

QUANYII: Things so horrible no monster wants to be near them. (LAUGHS) Oh, that was a face! Do it again, again!

CAROLINE: Then this is their point of exile.

QUANYII: It is. And the few times they’ve managed to work together to come up with a combined method of attack… it’s their armory. (WHISPERS) A warehouse of horrors.

RILLA: Few times? Like… they aren’t now? But aren’t we at war with them?

QUANYII: You are! So imagine how you’d do if they really unified!

RILLA: Saints…

QUANYII: Oh, don’t worry, sweets. They’ve only done it once in all of recorded history, and that was nearly three thousand years ago.

Though, of course, that one was so bad it wiped out most of recorded history before it.

RILLA: Three thousand years… the Fall of the First Citadel?

CAROLINE: That’s enough about the fort – one mission at a time. How are we approaching it?

QUANYII: Because the monsters fear it so, few know how Fort Terminus is operated from within. There are no guards assigned to it – that would defy their freedom – so I can only tell you about what the monsters know: the entrance. Fort Terminus has no front gate. Instead, its only entrances are through its cells, each of which have two sealed doors: one on our side and one leading into the fort itself.

CAROLINE: So the lizard’s sealed in on our side… and then whatever operates the fortress takes him in from the other side.

QUANYII: It takes some time, I hear, but yes. And that’s why we’re headed toward those cell blocks now.

CAROLINE: (CHUCKLES) So that’s your strategy? Entering through the front door?

QUANYII: I made it all by myself!

CAROLINE: Of all the inane, stupid—

QUANYII: And I will not be accepting criticism at this time.

CAROLINE: If you had consulted a strategist – like the one you’re speaking to right now – you would know that approaching an encampment from the front is a recipe for failure. If there is ever a way to approach from behind, you take it.

QUANYII: Oh, she likes it the other way in, does she? When’s our date, again?

CAROLINE: The other way– uh, opening– uh, hole! Augh! The other one! Yes, the other one is the only one that makes sense!

QUANYII: Oh, the other path, you mean, that’s fine. Well, we’ll just turn around and go that way.

CAROLINE: I think we should.

QUANYII: Right now?

CAROLINE: This instant.

QUANYII: And then we’ll just navigate this labyrinth backwards, wake up the gigantic snail-slime-beastie that so easily trapped you and sent you down here in the first place, kindly ask him to scoot over so we can access the hidden chamber that he’s sleeping on top of, and then, navigate a second and far more dangerous labyrinth, directly into the monsters’ high-security nightmare-fort, just so we can take the back door in to trim the gecko you’re after. Sounds fun, sweetie! Lead the way!

CAROLINE: (AFTER A PAUSE, GROWLS)

QUANYII: (LAUGHS) Oh, don’t be so grumpy. You wouldn’t want to take that other path anyways. Musty, smelly, covered in that nasty Judge’s slime… oh, and positively dripping with deadly boobytraps. Everywhere. Floors, walls, you name it. You’d have to be… (LAUGHING) You’d have to be a complete idiot to go in through there!

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

TALFRYN: (FADING IN, YELLING)

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS.

JUDGE HELICOID: (FADING IN) Get back here! I say, get back!

SIR DAMIEN: Talfryn! Another spike wall, on your left!

SOUND: CLINK.

TALFRYN: Guhaaahaaaahh!!

SOUND: HEAVY CREAKING, SQUELCHES.

SIR ANGELO: Come now, Sir Damien. If you tell him about every obstacle, he’ll never learn!

DAMIEN: And if I don’t, he’ll never live, Sir Angelo, so– pit trap!

TALFRYN: Whoaaaaaaahhh!!

SOUND: STUMBLING FOOTSTEPS.

ANGELO: An excellent attempt, warrior-in-training! One pointer: most great jumpers lift off with their legs, not by spinning their arms in a circle—

DAMIEN: Pit!

TALFRYN: Again?! Gah!

SOUND: THUD.

Ooof!

ANGELO: Much improved! Now may I recommend landing with your feet instead of your face?

TALFRYN: You guys… you guys, I can’t run forever!

ANGELO: Think of it as training, Talfryn! A knight must have an open heart, and jogging does wonders for the valves!

TALFRYN: But—

JUDGE: If you don’t want to run, then don’t. Listen to your instincts, hem hem! (SNORTS, SPITS)

TALFRYN: Whoa!

ANGELO: Excellent work! Remember to stay hydrated, now!

DAMIEN: Sir Angelo, this really isn’t the time!

ANGELO: (GASPS) Not the time?! Sir Damien, there is always time for two things: hydration, and stretching! And he has that wonderful backpack canteen his brother made him, with the straws and… what is that called again, Talfryn?

TALFRYN: Backflask! Please!

ANGELO: Backflask! Ingenious invention. I’ve already ordered five of them myself.

TALFRYN: Please, guys! You gotta help me find a place to hide!

DAMIEN: A room! There’s open space just ahead, Talfryn. A perfect place for you to make your stand against this terrible snail!

JUDGE: Don’t you dare!

ANGELO: Excellent advice, my rival!

SOUND: CLANKS.

Stare the beast down, spear in hand—

SOUND: CREAK.

—and it will surely listen—

SOUND: CLANKS, THUD, CLANKS. RUNNING FOOTSTEPS & SQUELCHES STOP.

ANGELO: (THROUGH THE DOOR) …Saints, man, did you just close the door on us?

JUDGE: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Open this door! Shellwrecker! Open it, I say! (GRUNTS)

SOUND: BANGING ON DOOR.

TALFRYN: I just gotta… find a place to hide until… (GROANS)

JUDGE: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Intolerable rudeness! To come into an honest universe-fearing snail’s home and invade his basement. And without even the simplest formal request!

SOUND: BANGING ON DOOR.

ANGELO: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Hmmm! Sir Damien, did you hear that?

DAMIEN: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Do you mean the creaking of the wood, or perhaps the giant squelching beast of slime that threatens to kill us both unless someone does something about it, Talfryn!

ANGELO: (THROUGH THE DOOR) No, no. Something the monster said gave me an idea.

DAMIEN: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Well, what is it? Quickly!

SOUND: BANGING STOPS.

JUDGE: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Yes, yes, I too would like to hear this plan.

ANGELO: (THROUGH THE DOOR) It’s…

DAMIEN: (THROUGH THE DOOR) …Yes?

JUDGE: (THROUGH THE DOOR) We’re waiting.

ANGELO: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Well that’s no good. I’m afraid I’ve let the dramatic pause go on too long and now I’ve forgotten.

JUDGE: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Alright. Back to it, then. Hmph! (GRUNTS)

SOUND: BANGING ON DOOR.

TALFRYN: Nowhere to hide! Just a bunch of tapestries and stone walls and rugs and chairs and… why does a snail need a chair?

Ahh! No time!

JUDGE: (THROUGH THE DOOR) A basement! The gall! A snail’s basement and nothing more! (GRUNTS)

ANGELO: (THROUGH THE DOOR) The idea! It happened again! When he said snail!

DAMIEN: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Don’t build it up, then, just say it!

TALFRYN: (STRAINING) This rock seems… loose!

SOUND: SCRAPING.

(GRUNTS)

SOUND: FABRIC RUSTLING.

Stuck! No! Third lunch, why would you do this to me? I gotta leave my armor outside! (GRUNTS)

SOUND: FABRIC RUSTLING.

ANGELO: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Snails fear salt! My satchel is still upstairs, and it is full of the finest salt, which you must throw on him, young Talfryn!

TALFRYN: (QUIETLY) Now he wants me to run all the way back?

JUDGE: (THROUGH THE DOOR) No! No, I say, no! Not the salt! I, a land snail, cannot bear salt! Oh, you wouldn’t dare! (GRUNTS)

SOUND: BANGING ON DOOR. BIG CRACKS.

Ha! Nearly through!

SOUND: FABRIC RUSTLING, SCRAPE.

(MUFFLED GRUNT)

SOUND: MUFFLED BOOM, SPLINTERING. HEAVY CREAKS, SQUELCHES.

ANGELO: (MUFFLED) At last! Run for the salt, my… begads, where has my pupil gone?

DAMIEN: (MUFFLED) And why is his armor in a pile on the floor?

ANGELO: (MUFFLED) Well, that’s simple enough, Sir Damien. Nudist combat must be a specialty of this family; we’ve seen as much from his brother—

DAMIEN: (MUFFLED) It’s only his armor, Sir Angelo.

ANGELO: (MUFFLED) Oh! Then the answer is simple. I have no idea.

JUDGE: (MUFFLED) He can be as clothed or as nude as he likes; I say, as free or as contained; but please, gentlemen, he cannot use the salt! Aaanything but the saaaaalt!

TALFRYN: (QUIETLY) Okay, salt. Maybe I can make it to the door while they distract the big snail… (DEEP BREATH) It’s just one monster. You can do this, Talfryn.

Sir. Talfryn.

JUDGE: (MUFFLED) Defensive measures must be taken! (GROWLS)

SOUND: BUBBLING.

ANGELO: (MUFFLED) Sir Damien!

DAMIEN: (MUFFLED) It wasn’t me! The bubbles are just… appearing!

ANGELO: (MUFFLED) My friend, for such an impressive storyteller that excuse was shockingly unimpressive.

DAMIEN: (MUFFLED) Sir Angelo, listen to me! The slime itself is boiling!

ANGELO: (MUFFLED) Oh my, it has become a bit warm, hasn’t it?

DAMIEN: (MUFFLED) He’ll boil us alive, Talfryn! Slay him! It is your duty!

JUDGE: (MUFFLED, STRAINING) Not… boiling… just…

SOUND: SEVERAL WET POPS, BIG SIGH. BUBBLING STOPS.

…birthing. Now that’s better.

BAILIFFS: (MUFFLED, IN UNISON) Most Horrible Judge Helicoid! Tell us how we may serve!

DAMIEN: (MUFFLED) Little soldiers of snail’s slime! They’re everywhere!

ANGELO: (MUFFLED) Hm, yes. Perhaps it is time to end our lesson for today, Talfryn! There are… rather a lot of monsters out here now, and we may have jumped from Basic Knighting to Extremely Advanced. Now, Sir Damien and I will free ourselves and slay these fiends! (GRUNTS)

SOUND: STRETCHING, SNAP.

Oh, dear. You weren’t pretending to be stuck, were you, Sir Damien?

DAMIEN: (MUFFLED) No. No, Sir Angelo, I was not.

JUDGE: (MUFFLED, BIG LAUGH)

TALFRYN: (WHIMPERS)

JUDGE: (MUFFLED) Now, Bailiffs. Your instructions are quite clear: we guard the entrance to Fort Terminus, and no humans are to pass the doors of our court without our capture. Is that understood?

BAILIFFS: (MUFFLED, IN UNISON) Yes, your Horror!

JUDGE: (MUFFLED) You two will stand guard by the entrance. And the rest of you: search this room! Every crook and crevice! I want that human found immediately, this moment, at once! Hem hem!

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS, CAVE AMBIANCE.

QUANYII: (WHISPERING) And… stop.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS STOP.

This is just about the place, ladies. Ohhh, who’s excited? I’m excited! It’s supposed to be so very dangerous!

RILLA: (QUIETLY) What kind of security measures do they have?

QUANYII: (QUIETLY) A guard, for one thing.

CAROLINE: And?

QUANYII: (QUIETLY) A second guard. (NORMAL VOLUME) And that’s it! But they’re really very powerful, I hear.

TROTTER: (DISTANT SQUEAL)

PORCUS: (DISTANT) Ha! How’s that for master prankster, ya stupid—

TROTTER: (DISTANT SQUEAL)

SOUND: THUD.

Wipeout, dude!

PORCUS: (DISTANT) Loser! You big… dumb…! (SQUEALS)

TROTTER: (DISTANT) Hey, man, you started it. Just give me back my nosh!

PORCUS: (DISTANT) Get lost!

TROTTER: (DISTANT) Give me the bones!

CAROLINE: This is your high-security prison cell? Two pigs fighting over scraps? (LAUGHS)

PORCUS: (DISTANT) Fine! Take ‘em!

SOUND: CLATTERING.

You stand guard here. I’m gonna wait around the corner.

TROTTER: (DISTANT) Suit yourself, brah. (CHEWING, CRUNCHING)

PORCUS: (QUIETLY) Moron. He didn’t even count them.

CAROLINE: If it’s just a few monsters that need slaying, I can finish this in seconds. So. Witch. Can you stop those pigs in time, like that trap in the hall?

QUANYII: They’re much bigger, sweetie. I might be able to manage one.

CAROLINE: One’s enough. Herbalist?

RILLA: I’d be able to do a lot more if you’d give me back the compounds you confiscated.

CAROLINE: Mmm, yes. Then that’s a dead end. I threw your weeds away when my bag began to stink.

RILLA: You threw away all my…! (GROANS)

CAROLINE: But, you can sing, can’t you? Do that.

RILLA: Why would I sing?!

CAROLINE: I’ve been advised to use my subordinates’ strengths when strategizing. If it works, wonderful. If not, you can tell the Queen she’s wrong later. And that’s beautiful in its own way.

RILLA: Sir Caroline—!

CAROLINE: It doesn’t matter what you do, because I will be doing the actual work here. Just distract it for one second and it will be dead the second after that. Do you think you can do that, herbalist?

RILLA: (SIGHS) Fine. But I’m not gonna sing.

QUANYII: Booooring.

CAROLINE: Witch: freeze the wide one. I’ll sneak up where the unsettlingly muscular one can’t see me and behead his frozen comrade. Then, herbalist, you will distract the musclebound one, and when he sees you I’ll behead him, too. It should be over in seconds. Now: places.

RILLA: But I—

CAROLINE: You will follow my orders or this will fail. Remember the courtroom? Now: places.

RILLA: Fine.

QUANYII: Someone’s cranky.

CAROLINE: Freeze the pig.

QUANYII: But still, babe, you’re being a little harsh to—

CAROLINE: Just do it!

QUANYII: (SIGHS) Alright.

SOUND: CHIMES, CLOCK TICKING.

PORCUS: (VOICE SLOWS TO A STOP) What? Trotter, did you hear…

QUANYII: You only have a second. Go!

CAROLINE: I know that. Stop holding my hand.

QUANYII: I’m only worried about—

CAROLINE: I meant literally!

QUANYII: Oh, oh, right, there you go.

CAROLINE: Good.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

And… ha!

SOUND: SLASH, WET POP.

QUANYII: (EXHALES)

SOUND: TICKING STOPS.

CAROLINE: A clean cut. And, ugh… softer than I expected.

TROTTER: Porcus? Did you say somethin’?

CAROLINE: Come on, herbalist…

RILLA: H-hey! Hey, you!

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

TROTTER: Whoa, dude, your voice got really different! All high and nice and stuff!

RILLA: No, look over here! Over here!

TROTTER: Whooaaaa, huh huh, I am trippin’ on these bones, man; you sound like you’re behind me or something! (SQUEAK-LAUGHS)

RILLA: (SINGING) Hey, I’m a human and I’m over here!

QUANYII: (QUIETLY) Oooh, she is good!

TROTTER: Huh?

Candy-canes! Whoa-hoa-hoa-hoa! What are you doin’? (CHUCKLES)

We just locked you up, didn’t we?

RILLA: Uh… yeah.

SOUND: DISTANT FOOTSTEPS.

TROTTER: Gnarly, candy-canes. ‘Cause there’s really only one option from here.

SOUND: BLADE UNSHEATHING.

RILLA: Sir Caroline, any second now!

CAROLINE: Now.

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS.

(BIG GRUNT)

TROTTER: Whuh—

SOUND: SLASH, SQUISH, WET THUD.

RILLA: Saints, they’re really just… bags full of blood, aren’t they?

CAROLINE: They were, until they met my blade—

QUANYII: Caroline, the pig!

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS.

PORCUS: (BIG SQUEAL)

SOUND: HEAVY BOOM.

CAROLINE: Ahhh!

PORCUS: You’re pretty quick, ain’tcha?

CAROLINE: You…?! I cut your head off!

PORCUS: Yeah, and. What’re you gonna do about it?

CAROLINE: Cut it off again, obviously.

PORCUS: Wha—

SOUND: SLASH, WET POP.

CAROLINE: There. He’s dead this time, yes? We can all agree that the pig is dead?

SOUND: BIG WHOOSH, PIG SQUEAL, POP. THUDS.

QUANYII: Well, he definitely was dead.

RILLA: But… but he’s…

PORCUS: Back in business, candy-legs. Trotter, now!

TROTTER: (SQUEALS)

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS.

RILLA: Whoa!

SOUND: CLANG.

TROTTER: Dang, candy-canes, you can really hustle—

CAROLINE: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: SLASH, WET POP.

PORCUS: Whoa!

SOUND: CLANG. BIG WHOOSH, PIG SQUEAL, POP. THUDS.

TROTTER: Man… (CHUCKLES) …that always feels cool.

PORCUS: A little help, Trotter! (SQUEALS)

SOUND: CLANG.

TROTTER: Ughhh, just a second, dude, just a second.

CAROLINE: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: SLASH, WET POP.

TROTTER: I’m comin’!

SOUND: BIG WHOOSH, PIG SQUEAL, POP. THUDS. CLANGS, GRUNTS.

RILLA: Saints, she’s… taking turns dueling both of them?!

SOUND: DISTANT WHOOSH, POP. THUDS.

QUANYII: Fun to watch, but not very useful. (CALLING) Cutie, unless you’re going for a personal best on most times you’ve killed the same pig, I don’t think this is getting you anywhere!

CAROLINE: Well I don’t see you helping! Can’t you throw lightning-bolts or something?

QUANYII: Lightning bolts! What do you take me for, some cheap little sorcerer?

CAROLINE: Yes, actually! (GRUNTS)

SOUND: SLASH, WET POP.

QUANYII: Ooooh, that’s so sweet! But I don’t do lightning, babe. It makes my hair all frizzy.

SOUND: DISTANT WHOOSH, POP. THUDS.

CAROLINE: Well, do something, you—! (GRUNTS)

SOUND: CLANGS.

PORCUS: This ain’t workin’, Trotter! We’re gonna have to take her on together!

TROTTER: But, uh… I mean, what if she, y’know…

PORCUS: Don’t be a moron! It ain’t like she can fight both of—

CAROLINE: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: SLASH, WET POP. BIG WHOOSH, PIG SQUEAL, POP. THUDS.

PORCUS: Nyeeaah! I said, it ain’t like she can—

CAROLINE: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: SLASH, WET POP. BIG WHOOSH, PIG SQUEAL, POP. THUDS.

PORCUS: (SIGHS) I said—!

CAROLINE: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: SLASH, WET POP. BIG WHOOSH, PIG SQUEAL, POP. THUDS.

TROTTER: I think I get it, dude.

PORCUS: Ugh, good! Now get her!

TROTTER: Okay…

SOUND: CLANGS, GRUNTS & SQUEALS.

RILLA: He sounded… scared.

QUANYII: Wouldn’t you be? She’s a force of nature with that blade, isn’t she?

RILLA: No, I mean if they keep coming back to life, why would they be afraid of teaming up against her?

That’s it. (CALLING) Sir Caroline! They’re magically bound! I think they’ll only stay dead if you kill them both at the same time!

TROTTER: See, bro? This is what I was tryin’ to—

PORCUS: I told you to shut up! (SQUEAL)

SOUND: GRUNTS, SQUISH, HEAVY CLANG.

PORCUS: Wuh-oh.

CAROLINE: Thanks for the help, pig. Now let’s test her theory! (GRUNTS)

SOUND: STAB.

PORCUS: (GASPS)

(PAINED) Alright. Alright, knight, ya got us.

CAROLINE: I know.

PORCUS: (PAINED, GASPING) Ya beat us, fair and square. Damn, you’re good. Hoo-ee!

CAROLINE: I know that, too.

PORCUS: (PAINED) Please… just… one more thing, lady… now that ya got me. Somethin’… super important… about this fortress… (GASPS)

CAROLINE: Your words. Then your head.

SOUND: SHINK.

PORCUS: (PAINED) I just… gotta tell ya… that…

SOUND: DISTANT WHOOSH, POP. THUDS.

Every one’a you losers likes to gloat over your wins, don’tcha? (GASPING CHUCKLE)

CAROLINE: Why, you…! (GRUNTS)

SOUND: SLASH, WET POP.

(PANTING) Damn, he was stalling! Herbalist, look—

TROTTER: (SQUEALING LAUGH)

SOUND: GRUNTS, RUSTLING.

RILLA: Let me go!

QUANYII: Oh, his sweat smells like barbecue! Get him off, get him off!

TROTTER: I’ve got both of your human buddies, dude! Let Porcus through or I give ‘em both the kibosh!

SOUND: BIG WHOOSH, PIG SQUEAL, POP. THUDS.

PORCUS: (GRUNTS) Good goin’, Trotter! Now kill ‘em and let’s get outta— (YELPS, CHOKING)

SOUND: FABRIC RUSTLING.

CAROLINE: Give them both if you want your friend to leave here.

TROTTER: Haw! You blind, brah? You can kill him as many times as you want.

CAROLINE: But we heard you in court. The herbalist said it herself—you’re magically bound. If he doesn’t leave here, dead or alive, neither do you. And I may not be able to kill you, but I can certainly make you wish I could.

PORCUS: (CHOKING) She’s got a pretty good point there, Trotter!

CAROLINE: Give them here and you both leave.

TROTTER: (SIGHS) I’ll toss you one now. But, you don’t get the other ‘til Porcus and me split.

CAROLINE: Fine.

RILLA: What?!

QUANYII: Oh, babe, I knew I could count on you! Just say the word and—

CAROLINE: The herbalist – the one you call “candy-canes.” Give her here.

QUANYII: You beast! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!

TROTTER: Bummer. I’ll miss ya, candy-canes.

RILLA: Ahh– oof!

CAROLINE: And here’s yours.

PORCUS: (SQUEALS)

QUANYII: How dare you! You take that back! You take me back! You’re heartless, heartless, HEARTLESS! (SOBBING)

PORCUS: Just… shut up and go, Trotter! Take the witch with you!

TROTTER: Obviously, dude! Smell ya later, humans! CAROLINE: What’s that? No ‘thank you’? Nothing?

RILLA: (PANTING) That… was so stupid!

CAROLINE: Of course.

RILLA: Why did you pick me? Quanyii could’ve helped you more! She could’ve stopped time, or put them to sleep, or something! You could have killed both of them!

CAROLINE: That is very possible, Rilla. But slaying monsters is only the second of a knight’s priorities.

RILLA: What?

CAROLINE: Instead of taking two irreplaceable trophies, I have chosen to protect you, a citizen of the Second Citadel. I will never forgive you for it. But it is my duty, and a good knight is bound to her duty.

QUANYII: Duty! I’ll show you duty, you fairweather knight!

TROTTER: Aw man, dude, listen to her! She’s so heated!

PORCUS: Just move it, already!

QUANYII: Deal-breaker! Ice queen! Frost-fraud!

SOUND: SIZZLING.

TROTTER: She’s– o-ow. She’s like… really heated, actually. Ow– ow, ow!

CAROLINE: And also, I knew the witch could take care of herself.

PORCUS: Trotter, what the hell is it now?

TROTTER: Hot, brah! She’s hot! Hot! Yeeeeowww!!

SOUND: SIZZLING FADES.

RILLA: So, you didn’t learn anything? This was still just part of your plan?

CAROLINE: Oh, well, now you’re both whining. Isn’t being in charge a treat?

QUANYII: Nobody likes a cop, babe. Thanks for the reminder. And those dates you begged me to go on? Cancelled.

CAROLINE: There are no dates.

QUANYII: Cancelled!

TROTTER: Let’s get outta here, man! Forget the Senate!

PORCUS: Right behind ya!

CAROLINE: Enjoy it while you can, pigs! Your heads are mine!

TROTTER: Over our dead bodies, dude!

PORCUS & TROTTER: (SQUEALING LAUGHTER)

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING.

CAROLINE: Yes! That is very literally what that would entail! You stupid…! (GROWLS)

SOUND: CLANG.

RILLA: Whoa!

CAROLINE: (PANTING) Thank you.

RILLA: But… you saved my life.

MUSIC: STARTS.

CAROLINE: I’m going to make something absolutely clear: you will have questions about what I say next. I will not answer them.

RILLA: Uh, okay?

CAROLINE: I’ve lived a lot of lives before this one… Rilla. And when you reinvent yourself, or when you’re forced to reinvent yourself, well it’s… (SIGHS)

RILLA: Like the old versions of you keep bleeding into the new one. It gets hard to draw boundaries and figure out the new rules. I know.

CAROLINE: That’s… yes. Precisely. (CLEARS THROAT) I like my life as a knight much better than any other I’ve had yet. I’d like to keep it. So thank you for reminding me how to do that.

Well?

RILLA: Well what?

CAROLINE: I said you’d have questions.

RILLA: No, it’s cool.

CAROLINE: Well I told you, I won’t answ- what?

RILLA: You’re a knight now. And you’re even a good one. So… I don’t care what you used to be.

CAROLINE: Good.

Thank you, Rilla.

RILLA: Thank you, Sir Caroline.

QUANYII: And thank me, Quanyii—

CAROLINE: Quiet.

QUANYII: Hmph.

CAROLINE: That’s a good girl.

(DEEP BREATH) Now, let’s get you two patched up, and then we’ll find our lizard.

MUSIC & SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING, MUSIC.

CONDUCTOR: If you’ve enjoyed this tale, please consider donating to The Penumbra on Patreon. Our artists work tirelessly to bring you these stories, and if you have the means, we hope you will support our efforts. Every dollar helps. You can find that page at patreon.com/thepenumbrapodcast.

You can also support The Penumbra by liking us on Facebook, following us on Twitter @thepenumbrapod, following us on Tumblr @thepenumbrapodcast, telling your friends about us, telling your friends to tell their friends about us, and especially by rating and reviewing our podcast on iTunes. Every rating, comment, and kind word spreads our stories further and inspires us to keep creating more and better tales to come.

We would like to give special thanks to all who support us on Patreon, but especially to Minchowski, Aurora Cyr, Demi Prince, Camille Blanton, Ota Arcana, Christine Kim, Rowan Collins, Garrett M, Jay Iannuzzelli, Karin Z-H, Fiona Parker, Regan, Ko, Kim Zeugin, Atha Lang, Charlie Spiegel, and Jaimie Gunter for their incredibly generous contributions per episode. Thank you.

Did you know that The Penumbra has merchandise for sale? It’s true! The Penumbra has partnered with DFTBA to bring you the posters, shirts, and pins your heart desires. Just go to dftba.com and search for The Penumbra Podcast.

This tale, the Hallowed Halls of Helicoid, was told by the following people: Melissa Ennulat as Rilla, Leslie Drescher as Sir Caroline, Melissa De Jesus as Quanyii, Jason Mellin as Talfryn, M Sutherland as Sir Angelo, Matthew Zahnzinger as Sir Damien, Glenn Moore as Judge Helicoid, Stuart Evan Smith as Porcus, Michael Underhill as Trotter, and Kate Jones as the Bailiff.

If you wish to know more about our ever-expanding, infinitely-creative team of artists, musicians, editors, designers, and managers, you can read about them in the show notes of this episode.

I’m afraid this is the end of the line for today, dear Traveler. We hope you will ride with The Penumbra again soon.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

#second citadel

6 notes · View notes

damienthepious · 5 years

Text

yeah i already posted a link but i figured i should post the actual thing to tumblr too so......

When the Reckoning Arrives (Chapter 3)

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [ao3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]

[Summary: There are, inevitably, consequences for being too complacent while having a highly illegal affair with an enemy combatant.

Chapter 3: The chapter during which Sir Damien is alone, Rilla has an awkward conversation, and Arum makes his presence known.]

The cell in which Sir Damien is sealed is clean, with a simple straw bed and a high, small window to let in the light.

Damien steps towards the bed, but now that he is alone, his legs have begun to shake so badly that he wobbles, and then he goes down to his knees, the cool stone bruising his flesh. The tears he had fought off while facing the Queen rush back, choking him, and he reaches forward and pulls himself to the bed until he can rest his forehead on the rough blanket while the worst of it passes over him.

“Oh Saint Damien,” he gasps, “it has all gone so wrong. How could I have been so careless, so foolish-”

Damien feels a coolness like a pool of ink spilling through him. He hears no voice, but he has memory. Be calm.

Be calm.

Damien inhales, shaky but careful and slow, and when the breath hisses back out of him, it is steady. So is he.

“My carelessness has endangered those I love, my Saint,” he murmurs, “and for that I beg your forgiveness. I beg for your steadying hand on the tiller of my life, but even if it is my fate to fall for this folly… I beg you, Saint Damien, please protect them. Please, protect my Rilla. My Amaryllis, herbalist of healing hands, with brilliance beyond compare and patience eternal… she should not suffer for my sake. She should not suffer at all, but certainly not for me. Not for my mistakes.”

Damien pauses, feeling the rhythm of his inhale, exhale, inhale as the waves on a shore, as the breath of the sea itself.

“I do not know… I do not know if you will heed a prayer for the sake of a monster, Saint Damien. You have done so once before, but I know not if your answer and your aid were given for his sake, or for my own. But you already know my heart, my Saint, better than I myself do at times, and you would know this prayer was within me even if I did not speak it. If you will, Saint Damien, I beg you to protect Lord Arum. I beg you to grant him some measure of your tranquility, some measure of your grace. I fear that Rilla will be found out as I have, but Arum- I fear he will act recklessly when he learns what has happened to me.”

Damien hears, distantly, the noises of the marketplace down below. He is too high for anything distinct to reach him, but the gentle cacophony of his home- with his eyes closed, he could almost pretend to be somewhere else. Resting in the barracks, perhaps.

He thinks of the people of this city. He thinks of their safety, their happiness. He thinks of what threatens them.

He thinks, at length, on the concept of Exile.

“Is this… oh, but that is a mad thought, isn’t it?” He pauses. “Oh, my Saint… is this newest test a part of your will as well? Was it your will, for my falsehoods by omission to out this way? Because… I have considered, on occasion, that Rilla and I must not be the only ones to have seen something… more, in a monster. To look deeper than the surface, to look in their eyes and see that spark. To see the soul… to see…”

A bell rings down below, and a laugh carries up to him like the fluttering of dove wings.

“If there are others like us, Saint Damien, they must be suffering, mustn’t they? Suffering, as I suffered, in trying to understand how the things they had been taught since lullabies in the cradle could all be… wrong. If they could only know- if they could know that they are not alone-”

He remembers the story Rilla told him, the ghosts of the monster and the man deep beneath the edge of the world, echoing their final moments of love and fear into eternity. Fossilized love, proof that they are not the first. His arms ache with the desire to hold his loves, to be assured of their safety, and he blinks tears back again.

“We must not be alone, in our love and understanding,” he says, more certain. He looks up, drinking in the honeyed light drifting in the small window, the soft clamor from the square below. “If… if I am to die… I will at least speak my heart. Yes, I believe that is the right thing. I will speak my heart, speak the truth, and give my words to those who need them. They must know they are not alone.”

“You aren’t just going to leave the poor pretty thing to rot, are you sweets?”

“Shut up, you. Go home, I’m trying to work.”

“You know they’re going to kill him, don’t you?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of my business. Nor yours. Go home.”

“You don’t feel even a little bitty, teeny tiny bit bad for them?”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel. My duty is clear, regardless of the trouble those idiots have gotten themselves in.”

“If you say so, my big strong brave knight. But I just want to make sure that you’re sure.”

A pause, the soft noise of a kiss on a cheek.

“Just... be careful today. For me?”

“… Fine. But you had better do the same.”

“It’s a deal, sweets.”

Rilla follows Damien’s metaphorical footsteps into the Citadel with her jaw clenched and her head held high, but the fight she is expecting does not arrive. No spears halt her, no guards come running to shout her down.

There are whispers, though. As she lets her steady stride carry her towards the center of the city, she certainly notices that. Whispers, and stares, crawling up her spine. It reminds her of the first time she reentered the Citadel after her exile was lifted; a gossipy, syrupy hunger that clings to her heels.

It’s impossible to tell how much anyone knows, and it would be pointless to speculate- so she doesn’t. She keeps moving.

Rilla feels an odd mixture of relief and annoyance when she sees Sir Caroline outside the entrance to the building that houses the dungeon, leaning against the wall and unabashedly watching Rilla approach.

“I don’t suppose I even need to ask what you are doing here, herbalist,” she says dryly.

“Where is he?” Rilla presses a hand to the bag at her hip to keep it from swinging wildly as she skids to a stop. “I need to talk to him.”

“Not just yet, I don’t think,” Caroline says. “You are to follow me.”

“And why would I do that?” Rilla asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Because the Queen thought that you might just happen to drop by, and she has requested your presence.”

Rilla only barely contains the urge to sneer. “Requested? So I can decline, then?”

Caroline takes Rilla’s arm as if she’s escorting her through a fair and drags her back in the other direction. “No you may not.”

“Hey, ouch!” Her feet catch on the stone ground as she’s pulled into motion, and she glares at Caroline but doesn’t bother to try to pull away. Caroline could probably lift her with one hand if need be; it’s not like Rilla is going to be able to fight her off. “Funny definition of the word ‘request,’ then, don’t you think?”

“I don’t care.”

“If the Queen wanted me, why wasn’t I stopped coming into the city like Damien was?”

“Because you aren’t under arrest for treason,” Caroline barks, and then she says, in a voice almost too quiet to hear over their own footsteps, “not yet, anyway, and not at all if you just stay quiet and smart about it.”

Rilla frowns, but she feels one layer of the tension in her body ease. “You didn’t tell them,” she says, a statement of fact rather than a question.

“I said it was none of my business, and I meant it,” she says, scoffing. “Now shut up and come along. I don’t know exactly what the Queen intends to say to you, but the quicker you get it over with the better, I imagine.”

Rilla opens her mouth to protest automatically, but that actually makes a fair bit of sense. The quicker the Queen is done with her the quicker she can talk to Damien, regardless of whether she’ll be doing it through the bars or while shoved into a cell next to him.

The guards they pass on the way seem tense, to Rilla’s eyes. Flighty, maybe. Well, the Citadel’s tied-for-best knight being arrested for treason would do that, Rilla reasons.

Surprisingly, Caroline doesn’t drag her to the Queen’s usual audience chamber. They ascend, instead, towards her personal chambers, and Rilla feels an oddly specific twinge of worry. The Queen has no way of knowing that this was the last place she spent time with Damien before he met Arum... that this is the place where Damien met Arum, in fact. She couldn’t possibly know that, but the correlation still punts Rilla’s pulse up a bit higher than she’s happy with.

There are two guards on both sides of the door, which is excessive to the point that even Sir Caroline’s frown deepens at the sight. There’s no way, Rilla thinks, that they consider her that much of a threat.

The Queen herself looks somehow both impeccable and exhausted at the same time when they enter, something like an extra tension in the straightness of her spine giving her away.

“Thank you, Sir Caroline,” Mira says primly. Caroline nods and slips back out without another word, which Rilla is fairly certain isn’t the proper protocol for leaving the Queen. Mira’s brow creases for a moment, but she doesn’t comment. Instead she turns, and stares at Rilla for a long, silent moment before she gestures to the balcony. “Would you join me?” she asks. “I think I could do with a touch of fresh air.”

“Sure,” Rilla says with a shrug. She’s wary, but too curious to do anything but play along. “Why not?”

The Queen’s smile flickers on for half a heartbeat, and then it’s gone again, and she drifts outside with Rilla following behind.

It’s hot out there, of course, but they are on the lee side of the tower, and high enough that uneven, stuttered gusts keep buffeting the worst of the heat away. Mira leans on the railing and looks down over the city, and Rilla is just about as uncomfortable as she has ever been in her life. She opens her mouth to start asking about Damien, but the Queen speaks a moment before her.

“I hope you understand that I do not in any way enjoy ruling on cases of treason,” she murmurs, still looking at the city instead of Rilla, her scarf rippling softly around her tired face.

Rilla clenches her jaw. “I think you’d have to be pretty damn cruel to enjoy something like that, so. Yeah, obviously.”

“I endeavor not to be cruel,” Mira says, even more quietly. “However, with so many lives on the line… cruelty to one can on occasion be the only measure of protection for others.”

“Are you going to get to the point eventually?” Rilla snaps.

“Of course,” Mira sighs. “This must be difficult for you, Amaryllis. Discovering that Sir Damien has betrayed his oaths, and betrayed our Citadel.” She pauses. “And that he has betrayed you, as well.”

Rilla feels herself go rigid, and she can see Mira glancing at her sidelong. “What do you expect me to say to that?” she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. “Damien- Damien wouldn’t-”

“He admitted it.” Queen Mira drums her fingers thoughtfully off the stone railing. “Insisted that he loves this monster. Insisted that the thing loves him.”

Rilla digs her nails hard into her own biceps to keep from flinching at Arum being called a thing.

“That was the main issue, of course, so I didn’t stop during our… interview to question the very obvious in retrospect.”

“The… the obvious?”

“Sir Damien said very much, this morning, when we spoke. We discussed the creature, we mentioned Fort Terminus and the fear monster, we even spoke on the nature of the monsters themselves. One subject, however, was lacking in the discussion, and I did not realize it until he had been taken to his cell.”

Rilla has a suspicion. She does not give it a voice. She stands on the Queen’s balcony and she tries to keep her expression from becoming a glare.

Mira glances towards her again, tilting her head. “Sir Damien neglected to mention you at all, Amaryllis.”

“H… huh.” That is all that Rilla trusts herself to say.

“I find that curious. Do you not?” She pauses, long enough that it becomes clear that Rilla isn’t going to comment further. “I have never heard him discuss love without your name coming up in approximately every other sentence. I have barely heard him discuss anything without your name hovering in the wings. And yet, his morning was spent in defense of his love, and this- creature seems to have superseded you entirely. Why would that be?”

Rilla is fighting the mad urge to bolt from the balcony. “Am I being interrogated now?” she says instead, hoping that she doesn’t sound too breathless, too panicked. She isn’t even sure what she should do. Caroline told her to stay smart and stay quiet, and oh does that grate against her, mostly because that had been Rilla’s plan in the first place and now if she does it’ll be too much like doing as she’s told. The alternative is to throw herself to the wolves, though, and if Damien has put himself in more trouble to keep Rilla out of it-

“I merely want to know the full scope of this… whatever, precisely, this is.” The expression on Mira’s face is approaching a grimace. “If this enchantment upon Damien has caused him to forget you in exchange for this monster, somehow- I thought, perhaps, you may have some insight.”

So. That’s what the Queen thinks Arum has done. The idea is so repulsive that Rilla isn’t sure she’s kept the disgust from showing in her expression, and she lifts a hand to hide her mouth just in case. “Damien still loves me,” she says, because a truth is much easier to say than a lie. “He loves me.”

“He says,” the Queen murmurs pointedly, “that he loves this monster.”

“He loves me,” Rilla says again, and it’s an addendum, not a denial. “Are you going to have him executed?”

Mira doesn’t flinch. “You understand that he has admitted, outright, to treason.”

Idiot, Rilla thinks, with a fierce sort of love. “He- no, you know what? I don’t need to talk to you. I want to talk to him. If you’re going to kill him already it doesn’t matter what I say, so if you don’t mind terribly I would like to spend the last few hours Damien has with him, not with you.”

And, if Rilla can get in decent distance of the bars, she has at least three ways in her bag to get him out. The difficult part will be convincing him to leave.

“Well,” Mira says, her eyes cooler than they had been. “I suppose I have no reason to keep you, do I? I have no evidence that you are involved with Sir Damien’s treason, and so I have no call to detain you. I cannot allow you to speak with the traitor unsupervised, but-”

A creature lands on the Queen’s balcony with a whump a few feet to their left, leathery wings slapping against the stone railing as it clumsily keeps itself from falling. It looks like a mess, a hodgepodge of bits from different animals including the head of a parrot, the body of an enormous frog, and bat wings, large as well but too small to make sense supporting its weight.

Rilla recognizes Arum’s handiwork, quicker and shoddier than usual, an old prototype revised and reconstituted, and her heart drops like a stone down a well. The creature’s head wobbles on its neck, wavering until its eyes focus on Mira. Then, the beak creaks open, and a voice falls out.

Arum’s voice.

“Hello, Queen Mira of the Second Citadel.”

Rilla’s pulse pounds, and she knows that her face is giving her away, though thankfully Mira is too busy looking at Arum’s monster-parrot.

“I am Lord Arum, though I suspect you already know that much, at least. It is in your best interest, human, to let my construct deliver this message to its conclusion. You have taken and threatened what is mine, and I will not let that stand. At sunset, today, you will clear the western gate of your Citadel of meddling civilians, and you shall release ho-” a pause, a crackling noise while the creature readjusts its limbs on the railing. “You shall release Sir Damien and the herbalist Amaryllis, unharmed. You will let them free, and you will not pursue them.”

Rilla doesn’t bother to hide the wince, this time, and Mira graces her with a scathingly disappointed look. So much for playing things smart. Thank you for that, Arum.

“If you do not deliver what is mine, if either of them are injured, if I even so much as smell a hint of deception- well, then I cannot be held responsible for what happens to your Citadel’s second greatest champion.”

The creature pauses, and Rilla closes her eyes in utter, utter despair. Angelo. Damn, damn, a thousand times damn that knight-child. If this was his idea of a not stupid plan-

“Yes. I’m sure you understand, now. Would you care to prove your position, little knight?”

Angelo’s voice, too brief and not quite scared enough, though Mira seems convinced judging by the way her face pales. “What- ah- I am captured, my Queen!”

Another crackling. Rilla imagines Arum yanking the echoing creature away from Angelo in irritation. “That is quite enough of that. So. The stakes are clear, are they not? Even humans must understand something as simple as a hostage exchange. Amaryllis and Sir Damien will be granted freedom at sunset, or Sir Angelo dies. Do not disappoint me.”

The creature’s beak closes, and then it squawks in a much more animal way before its eyes roll back and it collapses entirely. Rilla frowns, but Arum was probably in too much of a hurry creating this thing to bother keeping it alive after its purpose was served.

Rilla can hear the guards bursting in through the door back inside; they must have heard the construct's death rattle. A little late to the party, Rilla thinks wryly. Wouldn't have done much good if that construct was any actual threat.

“Not a threat,” Mira mutters, as if reading Rilla's mind. She stares at the body of the messenger for one deep, measured breath before her eyes raise towards Rilla. “Not a threat indeed.”

#elle's fanfic #tpp #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #part 3 of.... four? maybe five maybe #check ao3 for more specific tags #the formatting of this will probably break on mobile so..... sorry about that this site is garbo #when the reckoning arrives

11 notes · View notes