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riddleredcoats · 5 years ago

Note

Prompt: Voldemort returns to his body after 13 years and finds out that Bellatrix died in Azkaban.

So, I didn’t write the scene where he finds her, because it always came out too melodramatic, but I did write the scene where he finds out. So here, have Voldemort full of feels. (Side appearances of Black Sisters, except Bella cause she’s dead. And a special guest.)

Hope you like it, @knightessofwalpurgis

A phantom pain

The darkened room that had served as his hideout for the past… Only the Gods know how many months… was dirty, filthy and in utter disarray. The blinds which hadn’t been opened since he had moved in, the desk had long since run out of space for his papers, the sofa had the light imprint of his body – less for his actual weight but more for his continued use – for when he slept, and the pile of clothes that were intermittently changed were all lying on the floor resting alongside the books and papers that had made the bulk of his research months ago; the only part of the room that wasn’t grimy was the sheets. He hadn’t used the bed for anything but put more papers and books when the desk ran out of space.

With a hushed rage the book in his hands takes a perfect arch of a flight as another dead end is all he has to content himself with.

It is the same as every other day.

His days are spent in research. Books upon books, papers upon papers, rumour upon rumour are checked, verified, rejected and annotated, and the cycle repeats. So engrossed in study that rare are the days he remembers to eat, much less sleep.

The cause of his research doesn’t help matters. Overcoming death? That is easy a task compared to overturning death. Once a deed is done, undoing it is a arduous task of near heroic exercise. And he had searched for such deeds, of people who had overturned death, no matter how fanciful the tale was.

He still remembers the day when the news of her death – he could never truly say her name anymore, thinking it even could be likened to craving his fangs on the neck of a unicorn; life-giving, yes, if only because the pain and revolt made it known that no hell could compare to the agony of living moment – had capitulated this whole, dull exercise his life seemed to revolve around.

He remembers the confusion of not seeing her with the rescued soldiers, the surprise in his face must have been evident but it hadn’t been Lucius – cowardly as he may be, he fancied himself useful – who had given him the news.

Her sister, tears in cloudy blue eyes had gently – why, why, why was she being so with him? – led him from the hall, and had apparated with him to a familiar site – he remembers her, quietly sobbing in her sister’s arms, as her father’s coffin went to ground, the image of her set against the background he found himself seeing again – and he must have stumbled because her sister, now alone with tears unabashedly running down her eyes, had grabbed his arm to steady him and lead him to a grandiose tomb – how, how how had this happened?

He had knelt before it and heard his companion gasp at the venerable act but paid it no mind, reading, instead, the inscription on the black marbled stone lined with golden veins. He traced the carved epitaph and date with a long, white finger. Arrived too late by a year. A mere year.

“She got the kiss,” broken-sobbed sister interrupted quietly, “Some guard tried to grab her, she fought back and killed him. There was nothing I could-…” he was sure that sobs racked her body, if the sound was anything to go by.

He remembers saying nothing, remembers watching it with muted eyes. He thought himself being able to rarely truly feel anymore but there was a dull pang in his chest that penetrated through his often-desensitized senses that seemed to reverberate through every part of his being.

He also remembers kneeling there for a long time; even after her sister was long gone, he remembers staying. He remembers coming back to Malfoy Manor and being surprised to see the pitying looks, the knowing looks, the sympathetic looks. As if everyone had known how he would react except himself.

If there had been rumours before, after that – after spending what turned out to be three days at her tomb stone –, it became inevitable to avoid them.

He had always known the rumours about them, would have to be blind, deaf and a squib to have never heard them, but that was all that there was to them… Rumours. A fact that would surprise enough people to make it a noteworthy gossip.

Of course that every rumour has a sliver of truth and this time was no different, while there was no interaction between them that hadn’t passed in front of the eyes of someone – anyone would do, at some point they had wordlessly decided – else, a precaution for both of them and a way to keep up the appearances… While that was an ignorable truth, it didn’t mean that sentiment wasn’t there. That need, lust, care, devotion, admiration, respect, loyalty, friendship, love… didn’t penetrate the air between them, infusing tension into every single of their interactions even with a bloody chaperone.

After learning of her death, first the pain had been dull, rarely striking at him even as he prepared his comeback. Then, as if his wall slowly crumbled, the pain began to harass at the back of his mind interrupting meetings, strategies, and sleep. The image of her, a thought that she might have, her voice…Oh, those were always breathtakingly painful when her voice echoed in his cold, unfeeling mind, and yet, it was only in those moments that he stopped feeling half-way real, when he heard her voice.

And then, as was his wont, as was his nature and character… He became fixated with the idea of her, possessed by the idea of truly listening to her voice one last time.

He knows, bitterly and with unbridled – yet still muted, as everything is these days – anger, that had they acted, had they indulged, and succumbed and allowed themselves to partake in adulterous and desired act – the consequences be thrice damned to hell – had they allowed themselves that reprieve from their stations, then he would not be so obsessed, so infatuated, so crippled by his need to listen to her again. To have her say the words they both knew to be true but had never put to lips, to hear her berate him, even, for having neglected his – their – cause in search of her, anything to hear her voice, her sentiment, her fondness and love for him in her quiet, even gentle if she so wished to make it so, voice.

And he had.

Neglected his cause, he meant. Almost bitter, but not entirely. A part of him glad to be rid of the of the conflict he had initiated when he had been too young to truly understand how tiring it was to be at the forefront of war faction, how war could tear at his brain until nothing remained but the ignorable need to survive. A war that he had never truly believed, not when the traditions the war had meant to preserve only resulted in leaving him and her utterly devastated and alone with their desires.

As his search for her became more and more time consuming, the war that had weighted on him for more years than he was comfortable with admitting, fell to the back burner to be abandoned to whoever wanted to take the mantle from him. Although, unsurprisingly, no one did. War, prison, and loss had ravaged the whole country, no one wanted to be at the vanguard of a war anymore.

And so, along the way, the many meetings became few and then scarce, and finally, no one dared to enter his room; all having deserted him, most having left the continent all together to avoid capture, he knew from meetings with Lucius who had eventually also stopped coming into the wing of his own manor he had reserved for him. And he had, eventually, lost track of time, unknowing how many months – years, perhaps – had passed since his focus shifted from blood conflict to bloody sentimental search.

And so the days repeated, books upon books, papers upon papers, rumour upon rumour. Again and again. Round and round it goes.

Cycle as his life might have become, there are days, though, that his brain – bursting with information, brimming with immoral and immortal reasonings – begs for different setting, of which, in his current near-completely-shut-in state left the gardens where the sun’s bright light affected his eyes, or the solarium which presents the same problem only with no solace to the heat from the outside wind, or finally, the library with dark, dusty tomes that would help in his research.

To act as if there is a decision to be made is always a moot point, really for that is where he always finds himself, at any rate, the library of the house of one of his – former – subordinates. Always with a hungry eye on the prize, the Malfoy ancestry would not allow Lucius to squander the possibility that he might return to his former glory. To say to the man that he might be hoping for an impossible result was hopeless and counterproductive, he is not that far gone to unrecognize the advantage of the luxury he finds himself at.

This day is no different as he leaves his bedroom and walks with scarcely used legs the few paces to the library, immersing himself in the smells of old books. Combing through severely lacking old spines of tomes older than the very building, and passing a section he rarely seeks, and something calls his eyes to it.

Out the corner of his eye, he sees it. A faded picture hidden between rarely called upon tomes of three young women, heads thrown back in laughter in the setting of a seedy bar that they must have ran off to in spite of cherished parents advise.

Three Sisters Black.

The oldest, strong, powerful, and warrior-like, none like her was he ever likely to find; having drawn her last breath, she was the one he was searching for despite wasteful death. The middle-one, princess, boulder-bound, saved from terrible fate by a boy’s clumsy hands; the one he always forgot no matter how much pain she wrought. The youngest, delicate, golden, prideful, family’s path did she follow; the one who shared his need and urged him to succeed.

The Three Black Sisters.

Sisters three.

Lightning, painful and mottled, courses through veins as idea materialized in brain.

Sisters three.

Brothers three.

The Deathly Hallows. Master of Death, the one to hold them all would be. Still, for a quick talk, the stone would do, all he had to do was find the one who had it. Plan cocked and ready to execute, he makes to leave the room when sound strikes him still, he had thought himself alone in the library.

Fate is a curious thing, or perhaps, it merely enjoys making a mockery of him, for the sound he hears is intricately linked to the wonderous epiphany reached.

He hears a snort, the rotten sister, he knows the voice well, so like hers, “Who would have thought… When we heard he came back everyone sprint to a frenzy, after ousting Fudge, naturally. But then… Nothing. For three-years. We thought that the Potter boy had lost his mind.”

“If only.” The golden sister, now. He knows that voice too, much less like hers but still known to him. Though, barely, anymore.

“Yeah, I know. And then Draco, last year, spills the beans and says he’s here. We call Lucius in to the Ministry and then he says the words…” a laugh now, loud and like hers too, but less vivid, less enticing, just less, “’He’s looking for a way to bring Bellatrix back’, all snide and everything as Lucius inclines to do. We thought to bring him in but decided against it when we realized that he was better off in his own desperate search of her. Gods, the shock that rippled through the Wizardry World.”

“I know. I have the newspaper articles,” the other argues coldly, out of patience, now too sounding like her a bit, “Why are you telling me this? Did you come to mock? Did you come to tarnish the memory of our sister just that little bit more?”

“Did you know,” the traitor continues as if she hadn’t been interrupted, but indeed ridiculing, “The Ministry almost wanted to give our sister a medal. For ending a war before it started. Only our illustrious sister could do that, long after she’s dead, too. And all that with her cunt. Incredible, really.”

Before he can move, before he can even decipher the words, his addled brain too used to written texts and less to human interaction, before he can react to the obscene, immoral, lewd insult, before he can do any of that… It is the youngest’s voice, harsh and cold and insulted beyond measure, that rises in the room.

“How dare you?!”

“How dare I, what?” Bound Princess Andromeda may be, but of wit sharp as the family and stone she was born and bound to, “We all know that this desperation could only come from one place. That this particular devotion that not even her husband shared is from some rotten place inside of him. That he wants her back, is indication enough that they-…”

Before another foul insult can make its way past Black raised mouth, he speaks, finally loud enough to attract their attention.

“We didn’t.”

Tea-filled porcelain shatters on the floor, the sisters startled by his utterance. Startled gasps fill the silence of his wake and arrogance feigned he walks to them with the intent of walking by altogether.

But when the Princess-named sister looks at him, the urge to advert his eyes almost overwhelms him; family-bound she and her sister were, but it is unfairly unkind for her to look so much like the one he seeks, and although the colouring is all wrong – all far too dull, not vibrant black hair or grey iris – it hurt to look at the look-a-like. No, the golden-haired, blue-eyed sister was much safer bet.

“Come, sit.”

Fear as taken place to gentleness in the youngest of the sisters, either by shared misery or by nature of motherhood. He should care about lost station, but she does not pass any imaginary boundaries that may have existed what feels like centuries ago. He obeys, more out of need to organize his thoughts on his new idea than real obedience or want of small talk.

“So you never…”

Whatever plans he had to remain quiet are quickly broken by noisy-look-a-like-sister looking at him, suspiciously. As if he would lie. He might, to be frank, but not about this – not about her – and certainly not now, now that she’s… not here.

“No.” He admits, unsure as to why he is compelled to do so, “We never. She was married, and even if it did not matter, which it did… She didn’t-…” the phrase hangs in the air, and he cannot unstick the words from his throat.

“She didn’t…?” Prods the look-a-like, glutton for information. Either as gossip or as genuine care for her estranged sister, he does not know.

“The risk for her was high, no denying that. But the risk for me,” He says still unbelieving that it is true, that the pain they bore was born out of mutual feeling and not one-sided apathy, “the risk was too high. It would make me seem even more hypocritical than my lineage already did. She did not want to risk it.”

“Are you even sure she wanted..?” Meddling in the wound she had opened up. The cruelty of her sister would make Bell- her – proud.

“Yes!” Word he breathes forcefully. Too forcefully, perhaps, as the bookcase behind him trembles in tune with his magic, “She did want.”

“How do you know?” Prodding further, Black brutality rearing its head again.

“He knows.” Golden sister answers the question, iron in her voice, shield against brittle princess, unbending with the same certainty he feels, “He knows because she couldn’t hide it. Because looking at her as she looked at him was a masterclass in pain, deep and true and undoubtful. She loved him madly. Fervently. Gloriously … As was our sister’s wont.”

“What a load of bullshit.” Mumbles in response of poetry invoked, but suspicious mist in eyes couldn’t hide the truth of affected sentiment, “Bellatrix would let everyone, and everything, go to hell if it suited her. She doesn’t… I mean, she never…”

“She loves you.” Again comforting for some alien reason that he cannot bear – and does not want – to identify, “I saw her mind, over and over again. Letting you leave was unthinkable, unbearable, even. Not going after you… That was a kindness she seldom affords anyone.”

The blood-bound duo quietens, and he with nothing more to say retreats to his space, his sanctuary, leaving behind two opposing sisters instead of the three harmonious ones it should have always been.

////////////////////////

It takes him longer still to come by the stone he so feverishly searched. This time, he counted. Almost five-years to the day since he found her, dead and broken as she should never have been. He takes a moment, for he must, his heart beating far too fast to be trustworthy at the sight of her.

Taking a deep breath, a complicated sigh of both anticipation and nerve, he grasps the cold black stone in his elegant, white hand. He closes his eyes, thinks of her, and for a second does not understand how some people’s image of their loved ones blur with time when he can see her so clearly, so quickly and so vividly that it must mean love; her black hair shiny and wavy swaying mid-battle, eyes grey and wide lusting after the next breathless moment, nose high strung and proud, neck long and elegant, and lips red and luscious and, deplorably, unkissed by him.

He sees her in his mind’s eyes. And calls to her. And he opens his eyes, heart thundering at the image he expects. Yet when eyelids lift and eyes acclimate to light, the image he expects is not the one he encounters.

Black hair does appear before him, not shiny or wavy but messy and dishevelled of bed-ridden quality as if of never brushed it spoke of. Eyes, not of a faded grey he had come to know better than his own, but of matte black that made a simile of his before blood-red iris replaced it. Nose brash and crooked spoke of no noble quality although known was that most pure ancestry ran in this person’s veins; same could be said of short and stocky neck burdened by inbreed defect. And lips, not red or luscious, but that had never shown him affection either.

A most undesirable picture does the woman in front of him paint.

He speaks first. Not because he must, the ritual says nothing of the sort, but because the other seems to be enthralled by his every image, as if he was the dead one and not she. When he speaks, he does not address her, does not care to address her. He only wishes for the one he called.

“You are not who I called.”

“Hello, Tom.”

The voice he had imagined a thousand times before as being gentle and quiet, sounded nothing like his imaginary folly. Coarse and broken, far too high and enough to grate on his brain. Another thing about this absent figure of his life that fell well below his standards.

“Hello, Mother.”

Title addressed not out of respect or affection, but of needling quality; poking at the wound that he could see in her black eyes.

“My boy-…”

Her sentiment does not interest him. She, does not interest him. The one he wants, the one he was certain he had been about to meet. That is what – who – interest him. So, manners out of the window and mother or not, he asks the question he hungers the answer for, all others having been lost in the wake of his search for her.

“Where is she?” He says, interrupting wounded party, “Where is…Bellatrix?” If his mouth stammers out her name, the name he hadn’t spoken or heard in years it was merely out of rare habit, a lie he would tell anyone but himself. He knows now that the pain he feels precludes strong sentiment – love, even – no matter how wrapped it may be.

The figure he had dreamed of in his childhood resigns to his demands, hurt and longing in her gaze. But mother, as loosely as the term can be applied, hungers to rid child of questions she knows the answers to. He listens, intently, son to her for the first time since their world began.

“The soul sucking monsters, they took her soul. There is nothing to call over.” Gently, she illuminates the dark implications of her presence, “Tom, she is gone. There is no way for you to talk to her.”

No.

He refuses to believe so.

When he was fifteen, he refused to let time expire on him. He found a way around death itself and had done it seven times. He lifted himself out of hellish existence, out of poverty, out of banality. He fought and struggled until his very name became so synonymous with power that eventually fear demanded no one utter it. This stumbling block of meandering quality was the challenge he had been working towards his whole life, he forged himself anew for this. He died and came back. He fought the inevitable and won.

He would do so again.

“Then the beast, who sucked the soul of her… It should have the answers.”

“Child,” Mother, as mothers’ wont, ignores child’s angry scowl at never used term, “do not travel this road. You cannot find what you seek, you are bound to be disappointed.”

“I must try,” Explanations fall on flat ears he knows, “She must be there, in the stomach of a monster who sucked the life of her, who used and abused of her, who does not know the precious cargo it carries. I must relieve her of it. I must end it. She would have done so for me.”

Silence is the answer to his harangue, but not solitude, no. The image of his mother – hideous, broken, black of hair – was still there, looking at him longingly. Expectantly. He ignored her. What he was about to do would require time, it was fresh and impossible – things he excelled at – and he needed to start now. He turns to black board of his room, his ever-faithful companion until he can succeed in findingher,

But when ignored form coughs loudly, he turns from black board to look at her.

“You have nothing more to say to me?” Asks the ghostly figure of his mother, deathly pale and transparent in her image and need.

“No. I have everything I’ve ever needed from you.” He says realizing it to be so, the phantom pain of his mother’s abandonment had simply dissipated somewhere along the way as another took its place, “You can go. I have work to do.”

“She does not deserve you.”

“You don’t know that. Don’t know her.” Quiet rage fills the soul, of which he has an indisputable lack, yet not enough to refrain from his need, “And even if it was true, I merely wish to speak.”

“Have you not spoken all you need? Is there no other act that you should perform?”

Motherly ghost or not, she should not know of the details of his need of her.

“Begone.” He says but this close to throwing the stone away from his grasp, “I have work to be done.”

“And after you’ve spoken,” sly nature runs in blood, and he chafes at the purest part of him chastising him now, “What will you do?”

Quiet permeates the sounds in the room, making the desolate space even more so. The stillness accentuates the icy walls and chaos ridden room, muted sounds barely seep in from the rich fauna and warm sun outside, silence dominates the room and the space in his head.

He knows not. He knows not what he would do.

“I do not know.” He admits, unabashed, confusion settling in his brow, “But it matters not. I have a need, and a way to seize it. After…” he frowns, “When it comes, I will know.”

“Very well, boy.” Motherly figure starts to fade, as she always has, but not before parting goodbyes, “Immortal you may be, but the task you have you will not succeed. So, be shrewd, or you will never be free. And there will be no one at the end for you to greet.”

Prophecy bound he seems to be, as his mother spun words with the knowledge from the beyond. He cares not, as he should not have before with the boy with thrice-defying parents that he could trace back as having put to motion this desolate exercise. There is work to be done and pain to correct, a lifetime meant nothing to him, not when he has tons to spare.

END

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Note; Not to be a self-promoting whore looking for views, but if you want a slightly better ending I have another fanfic in which he does end up talking to Bellatrix…(x)

#Bellamort #fanfic #mine #sad noises #The Black Sisters

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eryiss · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter Two ~ Sunset

Summary: When Lucius was told his father was retiring and he was to inherit the company, he was overwhelmed. Naturally, he confided in the advice of H’esper Legal Firm on what to do with his new acquisition, with the expectation of sound legal advice and nothing more. And while he gets this advice, he finds himself much more interested with the handsome intern with deep freckles and a statue of a bird sitting on his desk. [Quillucius | Modern Au]

Here we go, the second part of my Quillucius fic. I hope you all enjoy it, I’ve really liked writing for them and hope to do it again. They’re very wholesome boys.

You can read it on Archive of our Own, or under the cut. I hope you all enjoy it!

Chapter Two: Sunset

Friday; 11th October

Quill smiled as he walked towards the docks of Gustheaven, Lucius standing beside him with an equally content expression painted across his features. Quill knew this for sure, as he kept glancing up towards the other man to make sure he was enjoying himself. Every time he did, the brunette felt both reassured and delighted that he was the person who was accredited to putting such a beautiful expression on Lucius' face.

The two of them were on their first date; first official date at least. As Quill had been the one to ask Lucius out, he had insisted that he be the one who organised where they went. Lucius had agreed without any arguing, and the large smile Lucius had worn told Quill that it would be difficult to do something that Lucius wouldn't enjoy.

And while he wasn't a date aficionado, Quill liked to think what he had planned was perfect for them.

He had remembered the play that Lucius had insisted he watch as soon as he could from their first meeting in the coffee shop, as well as remembering that Lucius said he would watch is as many times as he could and would never be bored of it. It only seemed natural that it was involved in their first date; and the beaming expression on Lucius' face as well as the constant chatter about how perfect it was, which started the moment he saw the theatre and lasted until the show began, told Quill he had made the right decision.

The play had been good. But quill was distracted by the man he was watching it with.

After that, he had intended to take them both for a meal at a tavern that did the best pub-style food Quill had ever tasted. That was where the night had hit a slight roadblock, as the restaurant was apparently being renovated for a few days. That was something that hadnt been mentioned on the website, when Quill had booked their reservation. Earlier the same damn day.

A small amount of panic had followed after finding that out – it was a Friday night; any good restaurants would be fully booked by now – but Lucius didn't seem to mind. He stated that Aila had given him a cheat day on his diet, and if Quill didn't mind then maybe they could go to a fast food place he knew that served the best burgers in the city along with having an extensive menu of milkshakes that were apparently to die for. The fact that the man – who Quill had to remind himself often was a millionaire – was happy to eat a burger and fries made Quill's panic dissipate immediately and made the date even better.

And Lucius seemed to be enjoying it too, given he was sipping one of his two milkshakes.

He had insisted he only wanted one, but seeing his eyes flicker between them both on the menu told Quill otherwise, so he got them both.

They hadnt eaten in the fast food place itself, despite there being a lot of space. Quill, while they waited for their food to be cooked, realised that they weren't that far from the docks, which had a public pier anyone could go to. It wasn't tourist season, meaning they would probably be alone and have a perfect view of the ocean while they ate. When he proposed this to Lucius, the man had beamed perhaps more so than when Quill had ordered the multiple drinks for him.

The blonde really did have an expressive face.

That was how they found themselves walking towards the ocean, Quill holding a brown paper-bag containing their food while Lucius held the drinks. The one he was currently drinking was in his left hand, while Quill's and his other was balanced well in a cardboard carrier. Quill glanced up to see him happily sipping his caramel and Oreo milkshake, and grinned a little.

"You like watching people, don't you Birdie?" Lucius commented after removing the straw from his lips.

"Well," Quill frowned, not sure where Lucius had gotten this idea. "I suppose I do, don't I."

Quill did like watching people. Well, being more specific, he liked being aware of what was going on around him; he was more of an observer than someone who liked to interact with things. He hadnt always been that way, in his teen years he had been something of a show-off actually, but had mellowed out through time. He suspected that the focus on wanting to know what was happening around him stemmed back to the accident. He quickly rid himself of that thought; he was on a date and didn't need to bring himself down like that.

"I'm a little jealous, Birdie," Lucius admitted, still smiling. "I've never been all that good at stepping back form the front of things. I went to a yoga retreat once and it was so boring I could have just died. Sometimes it feels like I'm never calm."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing, though," Quill commented. "I don't remember the last time I was at the front of anything. Too busy looking out for everything that could go wrong."

"I suppose we balance each other out then, don't we Birdie," Lucius grinned, nudging Quill's side with his elbow.

"Guess we do," Quill smiled, before continuing. "And it's not just you that finds meditation and yoga boring. I think everyone does but we've tricked ourselves into thinking it's good for us when all we do is sit down."

"Right!" Lucius agreed loudly, and Quill laughed at the passion in his voice.

The two men walked up the old pier, which was as empty as Quill had expected it to be. They walked to the end of it, the sound of gentle waves accompanying them from the beach below. Though there was a selection of benches they could sit on, Lucius had insisted that they had made it this far and there would be no point in that if they didn't get the best possible view of the ocean. Quill agreed, so they sat on the end of the pier, with their legs dangling over the edge.

Placing the bag of food between them both, Quill looked over the ocean. It wasn't still, but the sun glinted off it as it began to set, and it look altogether rather beautiful. Quill glanced to the side and towards his date, seeing the sun lighting up Lucius' face. He, too, was altogether rather beautiful.

After enjoying the moment for a few seconds, Quill routed though the bag of food and brought out the burger he had gotten for himself. He watched as Lucius did the same with his own food, putting the large bag of fries between them both.

"Sorry it's not anything spectacular," Quill apologised again.

"You can only say that because you haven't had any of it yet, Birdie," Lucius smiled, taking a bite of his food.

"Still, I wanted to make this all fancy and it didn't exactly work out."

"You don't need to keep apologising, Quill. This is lovely," Lucius smiled, and Quill believed him. The fact Lucius had used his actual name meant he was being serious. "Besides, it's not like I still burst into tears or throw a tantrum when I don't get my way."

"Still?" Quill asked with a small smile.

"Well, I'm not proud of it, but I used to be a tiny little bit spoiled," Lucius spoke with a blush on his cheeks. "I'm not anymore, I don't think, and I've become a lot stronger and more independent now that I know Aila and Nova. You've met them, you could probably guess they wouldn't put up with me if I was that bad."

"No, I doubt they would," Quill chuckled, imagining how the tall redhead would react to the overly spoiled image of Lucius Quill was now thinking of. "How did you meet them. You seem… an odd bunch."

"Oh, through university actually," Lucius smiled. "I ran into the wrong lecture hall and Nova was the nicest person there and helped me get where I needed to be. She already knew Aila, but me and her didn't get along very well at the start. We didn't argue or anything horrible like that, but I don't think she understood why Nova liked me and I thought she could be a little brutish."

Lucius then went on to explain the turning point of his and Aila's friendship. They had gone on a weekend away together and rather than booking a hotel as Lucius had expected, Aila had taken them camping. Lucius hadnt been happy about it – it was all muddy and squelchy and he'd worn white clothes that still had yet to be cleaned correctly – but he had stuck it out non the less. What really clinched Aila's high opinion on him was when the owner of the campsite, a Mr Brookstone, tried to get them to pay almost three times what they owed, and Lucius had been the one to stand their ground and refuse to let them be taken advantage of. Apparently it was the first time Lucius had shown any backbone in front of the redheaded woman, and she respected him at least slightly from that point.

Quill had laughed along with the story, maintaining the idea that Lucius was born to entertain. The way he went on little tangents about the small details he remembered – such as the first-time mud went into his boots and how horrible it felt – and the visceral descriptions he managed to conjure were hilarious.

"So," Lucius asked after finishing his story. "How did you and Sentry meet?"

"Erm, in hospital actually," Quill admitted, looking to his lap. "We were the only two people in the ward and since the visiting hours were strict, we could only keep each other company for most of the time. And we just became friends after that."

"Oh. So it's true that every cloud has a silver lining," Lucius smiled. Quill was almost sure he responded that way as to not pry into why they were both in the hospital. He appreciated it.

"I suppose so," Quill agreed, looking out over the sun. "I've been meaning to tell you, you know how you suggested that I try and get into cartography again? Well, I've actually been looking into it and I'm going to start doing it again, I think."

"Birdie, that's fantastic!" Lucius beamed. "Have you don't anything yet? Can I see it?"

"Nothing yet," Quill laughed at his friend's enthusiasm. "All I've done is ordered the ink and asked if Sentry can help me get my old desk out of storage, but it's something. And I should say, it might take a while before I can produce anything. It's been a while, and I'll probably have to relearn how to do everything with only one arm, so don't expect anything soon."

"But when you're ready, you'll show me right?" Lucius was grinning again.

"You'll be the first person I come to, I promise," Quill smiled, and Lucius seemed to be ecstatic as the prospect.

They continued to eat their food, talking as they looked over the rising tide and the setting sun. Once their food was done, Lucius moved the bags to his side and shuffled closer to Quill, so that their sides were touching as they watched the ocean. It didn't take long for Quill to relax against the feeling of Lucius against him, and even slightly rest his head against the man's shoulder. Lucius grinned and didn't say anything.

Sitting in silence for a few moments, Quill was glad that the restaurant had been messed up. This moment, shared between them both as they watched nature at its most beautiful, was perfect. It was if a god watching over them had placed them in the right position for the best date possible.

"I'm glad we came here," Lucius commented. "My nanny used to take me here for a special treat. It was always nice, but I used to think it was missing something," Lucius looked down to Quill, who was looking back up at him. "I think that something was you, Birdie."

Quill blushed under the soft gaze of his date, the comment making Quill's heart beat that little bit faster. Lucius was still looking at him with an expression that could be seen as adoration, if Quill wanted to be arrogant. The brunette had no doubt that he too was wearing such an awestruck expression, as in that moment Lucius seemed to be the exact personification of beauty. Quill couldn't seem to look away, nor did he want to. The rest of the world was shut out around them, condensed into just the two of them and the moment they shared.

Lucius was perfect. His multi-coloured eyes glinted and so perfectly fitted Lucius in every possible way. His clear, blemish free skin was soft under the light of the evening sun. Looking further down, Quill's eyes lingered Lucius' thin, pink lips.

He inched himself forward a little.

Lucius did the same.

Both men were leaning forward slowly, Lucius raising his right hand to gently cup Quill's cheek. His touch was featherlight, but it made Quill's lips part slightly as he leant further forward. They both continued leaning further forward, getting closer by the second until, finally, their lips met in a kiss.

It was slow, cautious and a little messy. But perfect.

Though it seemed to last an eternity, they broke away after a few seconds. They pulled apart just to look at each other in the eye, both wearing smiles at what they had just done. Quill leaned forward again, bringing them into another kiss that Lucius seemed to be more than happy to reciprocate. Quill brought his hand to Lucius' shoulder so he could lean further in, while Lucius now had both hands on Quill's cheeks and was cupping them as if his face was a treasure of some kind. They were blind to the world around them, too engrossed in one another.

The second time they pulled apart, they kept their foreheads resting against each other. Both men were blushing bright red, but had no intention of moving further than absolutely needed.

"So," Lucius spoke after a few seconds. "I've never kissed a Birdie before. I would have thought that the beak-ie would have been a bigger problem."

For a second there was silence, then Quill burst out laughing.

He buried his face in the crook of Lucius' neck, who joined Quill in his laughter. Both men were loud and unabashed, overtaken by a flurry of laughter at the ridiculousness of what Lucius had just said. If anyone had been around to see them, they probably would have thought that the two men were either drunk or just idiots, but neither man cared at all. Because that moment was just between them, and couldn't be tainted.

It was perfect.

-~~~-

Sunday; 24th November

Lucius wasn't the type of man to kiss and tell. He was a gentleman, a well-behaved man of the world who knew where privacy was needed, but the evidence was as plain as day. He had spent the night in an apartment that wasn't his own; he had forgone his usual nightly moisturising routine; and, to put it in polite terms, his pyjamas were folded neatly in their draw rather than being on him as they normally would be.

That was all anyone needed to know about how he woke up that day.

He wore a large smile on his face as he did wake up, and the arm that was wrapped around Quill's stomach pulled him a little closer. His boyfriend was still sleeping soundly – an adorable sight that Lucius had, more than once, considered taking a picture of – and the blonde had no intention of waking him. Nor would he leave the bed until absolutely needed.

After their first date, and subsequent first and second kiss, the idea of returning to anything platonic became absurd. They went on more dates and, within three weeks, they had become an actual couple. Lucius couldn't fight back the smile he wore every time he thought back to that.

He pressed his lips against Quill's cheek, watching him stir for a moment before calming again.

How adorable.

Lucius had, despite what many people thought, always been the type of man to wake up early. There might have been a reason, but Lucius didn't care all that much to look for it, as he was too busy adoring his boyfriend. Quill always seemed to radiate calmness in some sense, but when he was sleeping all the stress in the mans face left him, his occasional movements were slow and unhindered, and the small noises he made would never fail to make Lucius grin and feel all warm and lovely inside. Waking up and cuddling his boyfriend was one of Lucius' favourite things to do now.

With a tired smile, he shifted so that his head rested on Quill's chest and he was correctly cuddled up against him.

He thought back to the first time that they had shared a bed with one another. Quill had been a little nervous, to say the least. It was the first time he had seemed self-conscious about his arm, and it made Lucius sad. Quill had gone so far as to pretend he normally slept on the left side of the bed – which he clearly didn't as all his chargers and a bottle of water was on the right bedside table – so Lucius would sleep facing the side of his body that had an arm. Lucius had called him out immediately and made sure to kiss away all those horrible little doubts about himself.

Besides, cuddling up to Quill's left side was great! He could get as close and clingy as he pleased and didn't have to worry about squashing Birdie's arm or cutting of circulation. It was perfect.

After looking at his adorable boyfriend for a little while, Lucius gave Quill's chest a little nuzzle before closing his eyes and relaxing again. He knew he wouldn't get to sleep again, once he was awake then he was awake for good. Well, not 'for good' as in indefinitely, as he would have died from exhaustion before his first birthday, but that was beside the point. He just wanted to cuddle with his boyfriend and have a nice relaxing morning.

This was lovely~

He didn't know how long it had taken, but eventually Birdie had woken up with a small, tired whine. As Lucius looked up to see his boyfriend waking, he felt Quill's arm wrap around his waist and pull him closer.

"Morning Lucius," Quill murmured, his voice all croaky and tired and cute. "You haven't been awake for too long, have you?"

"No I don't think so," Lucius smiled. "Besides, even if I had, this is nice."

"Yeah, it is," Quill agreed, leaning down and pressing his lips to the top of Lucius' head. "Shame we can't stay here all day."

"We could if we wanted to," Lucius pouted a little, burying his face further into Birdie's chest and smiling; it was rather comfortable being down here, and he would happily stay there for as long as possible.

But as Quill had said, they couldn't stay there all day. Quill was still a lawyer and had a lot of work to get through, even when on the weekend, and Lucius had now committed fully to his aspirations of getting work in costume design. He was making his portfolio as solid and varied as he possibly could, as it was soon coming to the time of year where new productions would start to arise in theatre. And with new productions came the need for new costume designers, meaning this was a pivotal time in the year for Lucius to start working.

That was something that had become habitual for the two. When they had nothing planned for the weekend, they would work side by side on their respective projects. This usually occurred in Lucius' apartment – his studio was there, and he had more than enough desk space for Quill – but as all Lucius was doing was drafting concept designs, they had slept at Quill's apartment and would spend the day there.

"Come on," Quill continued, nudging Lucius and getting a moan of complaint in response. "You know, I've got you a present. But I can only give you it if you get up."

Lucius' eyes cracked open at that, and he looked towards Birdie with a slightly suspicious expression. Lucius liked presents, both giving and receiving, so the idea intrigued him, but he couldn't shake the idea that Quill was lying to him in an evil plot to get him from under his warm comforter. Deciding to trust his boyfriend, though, he slowly removed himself from Quill's person and sat up against the headboard, cocking an eyebrow in a silent question.

Quill chuckled and left the bed, walking to the closet with Lucius' gaze on him constantly; they were dating, he was allowed to look if he pleased! He watched as Quill pulled something out from his closet and presented it to Lucius, who lit up at the sight.

A robe! A beautiful black fluffy robe!

Admittedly, it was a small thing to get excited about. But even from his position in the bed, Lucius could tell that it was the exact same fabric as his robe at home; possibly even the same brand. Lucius loved his robe, and to have one at Birdie's apartment as well just was perfect. He leapt out of the bed, wrapped his present around his body – it was so comfy – and then wrapped himself around Quill in a hug.

"Thank you Birdie," Lucius nuzzled Quill's hair. "I love it."

"I'm glad," Quill smiled. "I'm going to have some coffee, d'you want some?"

"Yes please," Lucius said, giving Quill's head a kiss before letting him go.

They were soon in the kitchen, Lucius sitting at the small table wearing only his special new robe while Quill brewed the coffee; much to Lucius' chagrin, he had put his pyjamas and his dressing gown on. It was an old piece of clothing that, if Lucius had his way, would be replaced. But Quill seemed to like it, so Lucius could cope. Even if the stitching was frayed and wonky.

Leaning on the table, Lucius watched as Quill navigated his kitchen. Lucius loved Quill's apartment, it was homely and had lots of warm colours coming from the filled bookshelves and oak furniture. More to the point, though, was how Quill seemed so in his element in his home. It was clearly designed with him in mind, both in terms of aesthetic appeal as well as practicality. Almost everything could be used with a single hand, and the few things that couldn't were simple enough that his prosthetic could pick up the slack, not that he could be bothered to wear it in the mornings. Lucius was glad Quill no longer felt self-conscious about not wearing it.

Watching Birdie move around was fascinating. His movements were fluid and fast, as if well-rehearsed and perfected. He could flick the coffeemaker on, grab two mugs and close a cupboard in a single movement, and he clearly wasn't hindered by his lack of an arm.

"You okay?"

Birdie's sudden question had snapped Lucius out of his admiration for the other man, and he sent a slightly guilty smile towards his boyfriend. "Sorry, just thinking."

"You sure? You looked like you wanted to ask something," Quill probed, leaning on the counter and looking towards Lucius.

"Well, its just that- and don't answer this if you don't want to," Lucius began. They hadnt really talked much about this subject, and Lucius didn't know where he stood exactly. "It's that, well, I was curious about…"

"How I lost it?" Quill picked up where Lucius left off, smiling to assure his boyfriend that he hadnt offended him. "You can ask, I'm not offended by it."

"I didn't want to force you to talk about it if you didn't want to," Lucius admitted. "But yes, that's what I wanted to ask."

Quill smiled again, and the coffeemaker dinged to show that it was ready. He quickly poured out both of their drinks and brought them to the table that Lucius was sitting on. He joined, sitting opposite his boyfriend so that he could look him in the eye as he spoke. He took a single sip of his coffee – which Lucius guessed was probably too hot given the wince on Quill's face – before looking up with a gentle expression.

"It was a car accident," He began, and Lucius watched his face as he spoke. It was hard to read. "I was coming back to college after the winter break. It was pretty late, so the roads were basically empty, so I was going a little faster than I probably should have been. Always liked driving fast, made me feel like I was flying. Ironic, given what you call me."

Quill laughed a little, and Lucius joined him. He was cautious though, not speaking.

"Anyway, it started to rain. Well, that's an understatement. It was a pretty nasty storm. But I didn't slow down because I thought it was a straight road and what was the worst that could happen, I'd see a car coming a mile away," He laughed again, perhaps bitterly. Lucius couldn't tell. "What I couldn't see coming, though, was lightning."

"You got hit?" Lucius asked, eyes wide.

"Not exactly," Quill's face darkened a little. "It struck just in front me. Scared me half to death, so I swerved. Roads were wet, so I couldn't stop and went straight into one of the poles holding up a sign. The pole must have been rusted or corroded or something, because it crumbled where the car hit it, and brought the sign down right onto me. Well, my arm to be specific."

To explain his point, Quill had brought his hand to about where his left shoulder would have been. Lucius winced, not able to imagine how it would have felt to have a highway sign cut into him that deeply. He tried not to think about it, feeling a little nauseous on Quill's behalf.

"There was a hospital nearby, thankfully, so they got to me quite quick," Quill continued. "But the sign had gotten pretty deep and it wasn't exactly sterile. So, they said a lot of stuff about blood loss and possibility of infection, and the end result was they needed to amputate. I was under the anaesthesia and they were operating on me before I could really process what it meant."

"I'm sorry Quill," Lucius frowned.

"Birdie," Quill corrected. He knew Lucius wasn't the type to let this effect how he saw him but needed to make sure it wouldn't happen. "And you don't need to be, it's not like you can change it. Besides, that's how I met Sentry, we helped each other along and get better."

"Can I ask what happened to Sentry?" Lucius asked, not sure if he was pushing it.

"She was in a coma, a little bit before I got there, she woke up but still needed to be under observation," Quill explained. "She had some amnesia as well, so when she was going to therapy to help that, I was going to a physio so I could adjust."

"Must have bene hard for you both," Lucius almost whispered, thinking back to all the trivial things he used to complain about. He still sometimes did get angry at things that probably didn't matter.

"At times, but we kept ourselves cheerful. Kind of made jokes about it," Quill smiled, seemingly thinking back to his time in the hospital. "I used to come up with little general knowledge quizzes for her, and she used to challenge me to arm wrestling contests when the nurses left the room. It felt like, if we could laugh at it all, it wasn't so bad."

That was when Lucius broke, tears prickling out of his eyes and he leant over the table and pulled Quill into a slightly wonky hug. His waist was awkwardly digging into the table, but he didn't care as he wrapped his arms around Birdie and hugged the life out of him.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, Birdie," He whispered.

"It's okay," Quill assured him. "I also probably wouldn't have met you if it didn't happen. I had to take a year off from college so I could get back on my feet, and the reason I got my internship with H'esper was because he came to one of my third-year lectures. He said that I impressed him somehow – I thought I was just asking too many questions; I was a bit like Nova when she found out what Sentry does – but he liked that. But if I hadnt had been held back for a year, I might have missed out on working with him and meeting you. So maybe you and Sentry act as a way for god to apologise to me."

"Well," Lucius chuckled, smiling. "That's a nice way of looking at it."

Quill grinned and Lucius would say it was almost mischievous. "What else have I done to deserve a millionaire with a dick big enough to shag be into the next life?"

Lucius was sure he looked a little like a goldfish after that, and Quill just laughed.

"You're not feeling sorry for me now, are you?" Quill continued, obviously trying to break the tension, and Lucius joined in on the laughter. The room felt considerably lighter now, even if Lucius wasn't exactly sure how to feel; a vulgar comment about how good he was in bed with almost the direct opposite of a heart to heart about a traumatic event that his boyfriend had undergone.

Quill also looked more relaxed, and while Lucius couldn't be sure if it was because he had gotten the accident out in the open, or simply because the conversation was over, the blonde couldn't help but feel glad they'd spoken about it. It would no longer hang over them.

Their normal morning routine took over again, with Quill deciding that he wanted to have pancakes for the breakfast so making more than enough for the both of them. Again, Lucius watched him as he made his way around the kitchen, not hiding how impressed he was with Birdie. Though, he doubted he would be much less impressed if Quill had two arms; Lucius was by no means a cook whereas Quill seemed rather good at it. Or maybe he was just very skilled at flipping breakfast food, something Lucius doubted he could do.

They ate together, Lucius only eating slightly slower than normal so he could prolong actually working. He did love his work and designing was one of the most fun parts, but this particular project had been causing issues. He wanted to show how he didn't rely on colour by designing clothes more gothic and drab; but the idea of creating something drab neatly made him come out in hives.

Lucius insisted on doing the dishes after they ate, and as he was attempting to scrub off a particularly resilient bit of pancake batter from a pan, a thought struck him. He looked over his shoulder towards Quill.

"Birdie," He spoke up, getting his boyfriend's attention. "What do you do at Christmas?"

It was the dishes that had reminded him. Christmas dinner was one of the few times the entire Elenasto family sat down for a home cooked meal, and Lucius had been on dish washing duty; his sister was on drying. As a child, it was the only real chore he had done, so he always made the connection.

"I don't really have anything planned," Quill admitted. "Usually me and Sentry go to dinner somewhere. She doesn't have any family left and I hardly ever see mine anymore. Is there something you wanted to do?"

"Well, I was actually thinking that maybe we could have Christmas together," Lucius beamed at his suggestion. "I know Daddy and Mummy aren't coming back, and my sister's spending it with her wife and kiddies. So I thought we could all have a big Christmas lunch as a group. I know Nova's family live in a different country and she never lets me buy a ticket for her to go back, and I think we're the closest thing Aila has for family, so at least we'll all have somewhere to go."

This had been something that Lucius had wanted to do for years now; have a group Christmas rather than a family one. While he loved his family, it always felt artificial. He knew that Nova and Aila had spent their last few Christmas's together and it had sounded lovely, with Aila cooking an apparently amazing turkey in an old fashioned and rustic way. Now he had a great chance of joining them, and having Quill and Sentry there would make it even better.

"That actually sounds really nice," Quill smiled. "I'll ask Sentry next time we meet up. What made you think about it though."

"Oh my thoughts always wonder when I'm relaxed," Lucius smiled, looking back to Quill. "And I've got the best idea for a Christmas present for you. I can't tell you it though, it's a surprise, but I know you'll just love it."

Lucius then went on to talk about exactly how great their Christmas was going to be together. About how they could decorate their apartments together and make them look perfect. And then they could drive to the countryside and find a farmer's market and get all the food Aila would need for their Christmas dinner. If they wanted to, they could even try and make a traditional Christmas pudding and set it on fire before they ate it!

He wondered if Quill knew he was the kind of man who would happily keep his decorations up into march if allowed. If not, he would figure it out soon.

Lucius had to stop his over-excited planning of what they could potentially do when he felt Quill wrap his arm around his waist and press his lips against Lucius' neck. It made the blonde relax against him again, just as he had when they were cuddling in bed.

"As much as I could spend hours discussing this with you Lucius, we promised to do work today," Quill mumbled, though Lucius thought he seemed to be enjoying this hug as much as Lucius was. "So we should probably get dressed and start before the day ends."

"Fine," Lucius pouted a little. "But the second we stop I'm teaching you how to wrap presents properly. Like colour coordinating the paper with the little ribbons and bow-ys."

"I'll look forward to it," Quill promised, and Lucius believed him with a large grin on his face.

-~~~-

Monday; 9th December

"Quill, you need to stop second-guessing yourself," Sentry's voice came through the lawyer's headphones. "It's a great idea, and I'm sure he'll love it."

The brunette was sitting at his desk outside of H'esper's office. He was on his lunch break, having decided that he should call Sentry so he could get a second opinion on something that he had been debating in his head for days now. He looked at the picture on his monitor with a harsh gaze, analysing it with scrutiny and perhaps an overly critical eye. Even knowing that he was probably expecting too much of himself, he couldn't help but think something was wrong as he looked at the picture.

He used to be better than this, surely.

The picture was a map. It was of a famous fantasy world, the most popular world he had drawn when he had made such maps for his commissions. He knew this design well, which was why he had chosen it as his first attempt at drawing a fully sized map since getting back into it. But he couldn't help but focus on the flaws.

There was instances where he had caught his sleeve in the ink and smeared it unintentionally; times where his grip on the pen had either been too tight or too loose and had effected the strength of the ink; and a collection of other mistakes that jumped out at him.

"I just think that if I'm going to give him something I made, it should be perfect," Quill said back, leaning back in his chair.

"Unless after you sent me the picture, you scribbled all over the canvas, this is perfect," Sentry insisted, and Quill almost scoffed at the idea. "And even if it isn't perfect, do you really think he'll mind. He wanted you to get back into drawing, and he'd be proud and happily accept whatever you made him. You could draw him a big smiley face and he'd love it."

While that might be true, he couldn't shake the idea that just because Lucius would like something it didn't mean it was the best, he could give him. Lucius was special to him, and Quill wanted to give him a Christmas present that encapsulated his feelings towards the blonde. He wanted to give him something that told Lucius how comfortable he felt around him, how he appreciated that he could look past his flaws and simply liked Quill for being Quill. He just wanted something that he knew Lucius would love.

Though, now he thought about it, maybe an imperfect map would fit into all of those categories.

But if he could make Lucius something better, he should.

"Maybe I should start again," Quill commented, minimising the picture and getting back to his work. Even though he was on his lunchbreak, he was pretty overwhelmed with his work and would have to multi-task.

"Don't," Sentry insisted. "It's perfect. You said yourself that this was the first map you've drawn since the accident, and that he's the reason you're doing it. It's special and you know he'd love it."

"Yeah, maybe," Quill relented, though still wasn't sure. "I should get back to work. See you later."

"Bye Quill," Sentry said, obviously smiling. "He'll love it."

"If you say so."

Sentry laughed, said goodbye again and ended their phone call. Quill sighed, wanting to believe what Sentry had insisted but seemingly unable to. He didn't often doubt himself, but whenever he did it was usually rather all-encompassing. It wasn't helped that, whenever they discussed their Christmas present, Lucius seemed incredibly pleased with what he had planned. Quill wanted to give his boyfriend a gift he was equally pleased and confident in.

He tried not to linger on it, though. He opened up a contract that H'esper had emailed him with the request he looked through to see if he could find any inconsistencies or exploitations. It was something he often did now, and while it did sound boring, he actually rather enjoyed it. Contracts were logic and easy to understand.

Not like making a present for someone.

As he always did, he gave the entire contract a quick read through to understand what the main purpose was, and to see where the person who drafted would likely try and get more than they were owed. After that, he started to look at each clause in more detail.

He managed to get around twenty minutes of uninterrupted work before his phone started to buzz on his desk. He glanced down, expecting to see Sentry checking up to see if he had burned his map or something equally ridiculous, but instead was presented with Lucius' name followed by a series of rainbow emojis; below was a picture of Lucius that he had taken of the blonde without him knowing. He had an expression on his face that could only be described as soft, and Quill loved to see it whenever his boyfriend called him.

Accepting the call, he leant back in his office chair and relaxed. If past experiences were anything to believe, talking with Lucius over the phone would leave working practically impossible. Lucius' enthusiasm was boundless, even over the phone.

"Birdie!" Lucius all but shouted. "They said yes. I got it and they said yes!"

"Slow down, who said yes?" Quill frowned, eyebrows furrowing.

"Remember a couple weeks ago I sent my portfolio to all the production people who are casting for their new musicals and plays and things, well one of them was impressed. So I just had a meeting with her and brought some of the outfits I've already made and we talked about it and she like what I'd done. Birdie, they offered me a jobbie! I'm making all the costumes for the entire production. I'm so excited!"

"I can tell," Quill chuckled. "I'm really happy for you Lucius, it's great."

"Thank you Birdie," Lucius grinned. "I know you're busy so we can't go out to lunch, but would it be okay if I came and had lunch in your office with you. I've just got so many ideas and I need to get them out; I'll bring that nice soup you like for you."

"I'm sure that'll be fine," Quill smiled. "And you don't have to bribe me with soup, y'know."

"I know, but I just wanted to sweeten the deal," Lucius was almost definitely grinning.

"The deal's pretty sweet with just you in it," Quill chuckled, though was red at his own words. He then practically whined. "Please don't make a big deal about what I just said."

"Fine fine," Lucius chuckled. "But you're very cute, Birdie. See you soon."

"See you, Lucius."

Apparently the theatre that Lucius had been interviewed at wasn't all that far away from Quill's office building, as it took hum less than ten minutes to pick up a large pot of the soup that Quill had grown to love and make his way to the top floor of the building, which was just long enough for the redness in Quill's cheeks to die down. Honestly, he didn't know what it was about dating Lucius that brought out those stupid lines from Quill, but he felt himself crumbling every time he said one. At least Lucius seemed to like them, which made the self-inflicted embarrassment worth it.

When Lucius did arrive, he was holding a large clothing bag in one hand and the pot of soup in the other. He beamed at Quill when he turned the corner and, after placing the clothing he held onto the back of a spare chair, leant over Quill's desk to place a kiss on his lips. Quill smiled, leaning back with slight redness on his cheeks.

"It should be nice and hot and steamy," Lucius smiled, placing the soup before Quill, who opened it and was met with a big waft of steam.

"Thanks," Quill smiled, taking the plastic spoon from his boyfriend with a smile. "So, before you burst, tell me about it."

Lucius grinned and, without wasting a second, started to explain everything about his new job. Apparently, it was a relatively small production but had a large amount of funding behind it, meaning that Lucius had a large amount of financial freedom. The musical itself was a surrealist gothic comedy, meaning that Lucius would basically be allowed to make his clothes as weird and unusual as humanly possible. There was also a lot of costume changes and one song included a wind machine, so Lucius was going to make good use of it by having the character wear a cape that would bellow and look amazing.

The blonde seemed as though he didn't need to take a breath as he kept talking, and Quill loved watching it. The passion his boyfriend made Quill grin every time it showed itself. It was just utterly endearing.

"Anyway, how's work going for you?" Lucius asked, leaning back in his chair with a wide smile on his face. "You must have some important people coming in here. Any little bits of blackmail for me?"

"You know it's all confidential, Lucius," Quill chuckled. Lucius obviously hadnt been serious.

"I promise I won't tell anyone. And I'd never lie to my cute little Birdie," Lucius grinned, though decided to drop the subject as he opened the sandwich, he had brought in with him. "Seriously though Birdie, anything new happening yet? Am I gonna see you in a courtroom, showing off about how many bookies you've read and putting bad people in jail?"

"Doubt that'll be happening anytime soon," Quill laughed, before glancing at the monitor again. "There is something, actually, that might be pretty big. H'esper actually asked me to be on a case as an actual lawyer, rather than just the intern."

The offer had come earlier in the week, and Quill had been conflicted about it. While obviously he wanted to do it, this was part of his dream job after all, he was still unsure about his actual abilities to do so. It would consist of a lot of debating and, while he had seen H'esper and other members of the company do this a lot since he started to work there, he wasn't sure if he would be able to actually do it himself. He couldn't even flirt with his boyfriend without turning into a blushing mess, and he was possibly more comfortable with Lucius than anyone else he knew.

But as he looked towards the aforementioned boyfriend, he was met with an elated expression of pride. As always, Lucius' overly expressive face left nothing to be confused about, and it was clear that he was very happy with the news. Which also implied that he thought he could do it, which was admittedly a confidence booster.

"That's so great Birdie," Lucius confirmed his opinion. "Tell me about it. Well, as much as you're allowed to."

"I don't know much yet, other than its corporate and similar that your case. But this is apparently a lot more vicious," Quill explained. "But, H'esper did say that if it goes well and I prove that I'm ready, I might get a promotion into being more than an intern."

"Birdie!" Lucius grinned. "That's amazing."

Despite his anxiety about the job, Quill couldn't stop himself from agreeing. He smiled. "Yeah, guess it is."

"It absolutely is!" Lucius insisted.

It was. This was the first time that he had accepted that this could be a good thing for him, as Lucius' enthusiasm for the potential promotion was infectious beyond belief. He laughed a little as Lucius got up from his seat and wrapped his arms around Quill in a small hug, with the brunette reciprocated with a smile.

The two continued their lunch for a short while longer, moving away form the topic of their work life. They discussed further what they were planning for Christmas, now that all of their guests had agreed that they could make it. After that, they discussion turned into anything that came into their minds, something that Quill liked doing. Talking nonsense with someone that he truly cared for was highly underrated.

Eventually though, Quill's lunch hour ended. The brunette was glad that Lucius didn't need to be told Quill needed to get back to work; the blonde seemed to respect how much time Quill's work took. It was a small thing, but nice.

As he left, he leant over the desk and gave the man a short but delightful kiss. When he excused himself – taking the remains of the soup and spoon with him – he explained that he would be at his apartment throughout the afternoon so he could work on his secret project; Quill was almost sure that the secret project was whatever his Christmas present was. The wink the blonde sent him suggested that his guess was correct.

"Well," H'esper's voice said from behind Quill, making the man jump in his chair. "That was adorable."

The brunette slowly turned in his chair to see his boss smiling down at him, and couldn't help blush at the fact his boss had seen his conversation with his boyfriend. "Heard that, huh?"

"Only when he said goodbye," H'esper explained, walking past Quill's desk and towards the elevator. "I like him. It's nice that he's here, the two of you bring a little bit of happiness here. You should keep him."

Quill's boss didn't stop walking as he spoke, turning the corner and apparently walking towards the elevators. This left Quill alone in his office, unable to fight off the small smile that had formed on his face after his boss's words. He had no doubt that he would try to keep Lucius for as long as he possibly could.

-~~~-

Wednesday; 25th December

The apartment had never looked like this before. It had so much personality in it, whereas previously it had felt a little stale. Lucius could only say that in retrospect – before the changes had occurred, he had thought his interior design skills had been rather good – but not he had seen the light and didn't think he could ever go back.

It was sort of an amalgamation of both his and Birdie's things. Law books and novels now rested on the coffee table, Quill's laptop bag hung beside Lucius' coats beside the door, and scatter cushions were everywhere; Lucius had previous hated cushions, now he loved them. But all these small changes that had occurred via apartment osmosis were nothing in comparison to the biggest change in the room: the Christmas decorations.

Previously, Lucius had decorated his home with the eye of a designer. He took into account trends, popular colour schemes and even suggestions from décor magazines. This time he had gone the traditional way; warm colours, a large tree, stockings over the fireplace and a gingerbread house on the kitchen counter.

What really made it great was that he and Quill decorated together.

Lucius had never enjoyed putting up decorations until then. It had been great.

"Do rich people have magic ovens or something," Quill said from the kitchen, holding out a baking tray covered in pastries. "They were only in there for like two minutes. It's ridiculous."

"I've told you Birdie," Lucius smiled. "You need to put some of that fancy big city lawyer money into your kitchen."

The two had awoken only a little while ago at about eight in the morning, which was shocking for Lucius as he usually woke up about four on Christmas morning and refused to get back to sleep; he supposed that his cuddly Birdie made for a good teddy bear. Nova, Aila and Sentry would be arriving at about eleven, allowing the two men the time to have a slow, lazy and relaxed morning before they had to worry about other people. They were both taking good advantage of this time shared together.

So far, they had opened family presents and the smaller gifts from one another, deciding to open their main presents from the other after a drink of coffee. Even in his tired state, Lucius had loved the amazing pair of gloves that suited his style perfectly from a new boutique called 'Arcane Focus.' Quill too had loved his present from Lucius, which was a spyglass from an antique's shop that Quill had offhandedly mentioned liking.

That must have been over a month ago. Even Quill himself had forgotten about it.

As Quill as prepared their breakfast, Lucius couldn't stop himself from glancing at the two gifts still wrapped. The large box wrapped in brown paper and with a string bow was his gift to Quill, and the rectangular gift wrapped in shiny white paper and purple ribbon was Birdie's present for him. He was excited.

"You really are like a child today, aren't you," Quill chuckled, placing the plate of pastries on the coffee table and pressing his lips against Lucius' temple.

"Yes I am," Lucius said proudly. "Christmas is a day for fun, and Children have fun the best."

Quill just laughed at his boyfriend, placing two mugs of strong coffee down and sitting beside Lucius. As they now naturally did when they were alone together, Lucius cuddled up to his left side and rested his head against Quill's shoulder. Quill couldn't help but think about how much of a postcard moment this was; they were cuddling under a blanket in front of an open fire on Christmas day. It was perfect.

As relaxing as the cuddling was, it was also rather funny for Quill. It was obvious that Lucius wanted to get to the gifts – either because he wanted his own, or because he wanted to see Quill's reaction to his – and the fidgeting and faster-than-usual eating made that obvious. It was cute.

"Go on," Quill said after a few minutes. "Before you explode."

Not needing to be told twice, Lucius removed himself from the blanket and picked up both presents from under the tree. He brought them both over, placing Quill's gift for him on the coffee table and his gift for Quill on the man's lap. The large, somewhat puppy-like grin on his face told Quill that he was to open his gift first; nobody could say no to an expression like that.

He opened the gift carefully, removing the paper to see a plain white box. When he opened the box, he saw something made of a soft brown fabric with gold trimming, and a smile found itself onto his face. When he lifted it up, his suspicions on what the gift were proven correct.

It was a cloak. The same cloak he had designed for the bird statue.

He looked over the clothing as if it were made of gold, running his hand over the soft fabric with a soft smile on his face. It was exactly the same as the one he had first designed for his old character, with even the correct pattern throughout the edge of the cloak. It was almost surreal to be holding something that he had thought up in his head, and he looked towards his boyfriend with a smile on his face that was barely restraining a slight number of tears.

"Lucius," Quill's voice quivered slightly. "This is so nice. I-I don't really know what to say. It's perfect."

"Well, I did have to make a few changes. The shade of gold is a little off," Lucius explained, though Quill didn't know how he could see that. It looked identical to him. "And I did have to make a few adjustments to the fittings. I wanted to make it so you could wear it comfortably with and without the prosthetic."

That was when the first tear came. It was stupid, really. But part of the reason Quill liked to wear his prosthetic in public was because of clothing. Wearing a coat of jacket with one sleeve empty drew attention to his lack of an arm, so to have something that was designed to alleviate this anxiety just showed him how perfect a person Lucius was for him. Further proving this was the fact that Lucius had pulled him into a large hug, burying Quill's face into his chest.

"Don't cry Birdie," He soothed, and Quill chuckled.

"Sorry. It's just that you're so lovely," Quill admitted, leaning up and pressing his lips into Lucius' chin. The blonde was holding him too close to get his lips. "You should probably open your present before I make a bigger idiot of myself."

"You can't be an idiot around me; its impossible," Lucius smiled, removing his arms from around Quill, taking the present from the coffee table and placing it on his lap.

He was less careful when opening his present; he liked the wrapping to look nice, but he also liked getting at the present as fast as possible. He had opened it upside down and was presented with the back of a large picture frame. He turned it around carefully, now showing more care as he didn't want to break whatever his boyfriend had gotten him. When he saw what it was, the smile on his face warmed the entire room.

Quill had made him a map. He had taken the time to draw a map all for Lucius. And it was the most beautiful piece of art in the history of the universe.

"It's not perfect," Quill blushed a little, looking at the gift. "There's a few things that-"

"It is perfect," Lucius said, looking at the map with a large smile. His eyes were almost sparkling. "There is literally nothing that could possibly be improved about this. This, and your beautiful face, should be put in museums as they are the only things in the world that are perfect."

Quill laughed, his boyfriend seemed to love hyperbole. He knew that Lucius would just give him more compliments if he showed any more doubt. "Is it only my face that you think is perfect?"

"Well, there's some other things. But that's hardly appropriate for a Christmas morning, Birdie."

Again, Quill laughed at his boyfriend. "So you like it then?"

"I love it. It's amazing. I can see why you got paid for doing it. And I get one for free. Oh I must be so special," Lucius sighed in his melodrama, and Quill chuckled again. "Where should we hang it. I think putting it over the fireplace is where it deserves to be, but if you'd prefer, we can put it in the bedroom so it can be private. But we have to hang it up."

"I think… maybe over the fire would be nice," Quill smiled, and Lucius beamed again.

For the rest of the morning, the two found themselves enraptured by the other. Eventually, as time had gone by and the eventuality of their friends arriving became more likely, they finally pulled apart from each other and dressed for the day. As he left the bathroom after his shower, Lucius was met with the wonderous sight of Quill inspecting himself in his new cloak in the mirror. He looked beautiful, and if the blonde didn't have wet hair then he would have cuddled and kissed his boyfriend without a second hesitation. But he looked all beautiful and Lucius didn't want to run the risk of him getting soggy.

Quill's insistence that they get dressed apparently was well founded, as the doorbell rung only a few minutes after they had finished getting ready; Quill had decided that he would wear his cloak throughout the day. Lucius had absolutely no complaints, especially as he saw this just moments after hanging his new map above the fireplace.

The three guests came at the same time; apparently Aila had needed help bringing all the food and Sentry had been happy to oblige. As they greeted each other, Sentry realised that the cloak Quill was wearing was the same as the one she had modelled earlier in the year.

She didn't say anything. She just watched the couple with a smile.

After exchanging more presents with each other, Aila began to start cooking. Quill watched her work with curiosity, not having taken her as the cooking type. But as she seasoned all the food, made good use of the broth and the balanced all the times without once looking at the clock. She explained that, after being kicked out of her care home at eighteen, she had taken up cooking seriously; she needed to eat to survive and might as well make the food taste as good as it could be, so trained hard in home-style cooking.

His watching was cut short when Lucius wrapped an arm around his waist and turned him around. Quill looked up to his boyfriend with confusion.

"Look away Birdie. The evil woman is putting your best friend in the oven," Lucius shouted with clear melodrama. Quill could see Aila roll her eyes as she closed the oven door on the turkey. "Don't force yourself to watch. The fact that she's making you eat it is more than traumatising. Don't make it worse for yourself."

"You are the most ridiculous man on the planet," Quill chuckled, looking into his eye. That was when the realisation hit him. "Lucius, I love you."

The words had left his lips before he could stop them, but he didn't feel any regret. It was true, even if their relationship was somewhat new, he loved Lucius. The man was absurd, loud, overly confident, randomly put extended words with a 'y' at the end for no reason, and Quill loved all of it. He was so perfect to be around, Quill loved every moment of it, and he wanted to let his boyfriend know how he felt.

"I love you too, Quill."

Lucius' voice had quivered slightly, and his smile was so honest that Quill found warmth overflow him. They leant towards each other simultaneously, embracing in a kiss. Lucius pulled Quill a little closer, with his arms around his boyfriend's waist. Quill had placed his hand on Lucius' neck to pull him closer.

After they pulled apart, they were both blushing and looking into each other's eyes. They seemed to realise at the same time that they had kissed in front of their friends. That didn't cause them from pulling apart, though.

"Birdie," Lucius smiled. "Look up."

Quill did, and as he looked up, he saw Lucius quickly bring his left hand above them both. He was holding mistletoe, which had been sitting on the countertop beside them. Quill looked down towards Lucius again, smiling softly.

"You really are ridiculous," Quill laughed, leaning up and kissing Lucius again.

"I prefer creative," Lucius defended himself, smiling. "And you're not any less absurd, Birdie."

"Suppose I'm not," Quill admitted.

They leant towards each other again, kissing in each other's arms, surrounded by the people they cared for. It was perfect.

#quillucius #quillek ad khollar #lucius virion-elluin elenasto #Quill x Lucius #rollonsunday #high rollers #aerois #fanfic

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can-youimagine · 6 years ago

Text

Teaching and Sweets (Remus x Reader)

Summary: School’s Out: I know it’s summer, but now is the time to idealize school, with teacher or school aus.

TW:

A/N: My write-a-thon is underway!!

Masterlist

You listen to your heels echo through the hallway. Almost immediately after graduating, you were hired as the new muggle studies professor. You were thrilled. Having been raised in a muggle family, you knew quite a bit about the subject, giving you an advantage while in school.

By now, you were used to only having a few students, and having others dislike you for your claim that magic was not necessary. Other teachers often believed your job required minimal qualifications and barely thought of you as a real professor, but you didn’t mind. You were teaching what you loved, and if you happened to upset a few people while doing so, so be it.

You still had a few days before classes started, but you insisted on arriving early to prepare your classroom. You walk into the castle, wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, expecting to be alone for the day. As you climb the familiar staircases to your classroom, you see Professor McGonagall.

“Ah! Professor (L/N)! Pleasure to see you again,” she greets, coming over to you.

You give her a quick hug before responding, “If I had known you would be here, I would have dressed a bit nicer.”

She chuckles. “Oh, I’m just passing through, getting things ready for our new defense against the dark arts professor, Remus Lupin. I believe he was only a few years ahead of you.”

“I look forward to seeing him again.” You never knew Remus personally, but you certainly knew of him and his friends. “Well, if you don’t mind professor, I have a lot to prepare for. This may be my largest class.”

She smiles. “Good. I’ll let you go.”

~~~

You take your place at the High Table next to Hagrid, who greets you with a smile as the first years enter the Great Hall. As Professor McGonagall gives her beginning of the year speech, you feel someone touch your shoulder.

“Excuse me,” someone whispers. “Can I sit there?”

“Oh, of course.” You scoot your chair in enough to let the man pass through.

When the unfamiliar face sits next to you, you stick out your hand. “(Y/N) (L/N). Muggle Studies.”

You see him mutter your name, probably because it sounds familiar. “Remus Lupin. Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“It’s a pleasure to work with you. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Actually, I’d love if you could tell me who I need to watch out for. The troublesome students, I mean.”

You begin pointing to certain tables. “Weasley twins, bright red hair, good hearts, dumb brains.” Remus chuckles a bit before letting you continue. “Potter seems to attract trouble, as do his friends, but I have yet to have him or his friends in my class. And then there’s Draco Malfoy. I’m not sure if you remember Lucius, but well, enough said.”

“That’s how I know you! I knew your name sounded familiar!”

You laugh at his outburst. “McGonagall mentioned that you would be teaching this year. I have to admit, I never saw you, nor anyone in your group, coming back here.”

“That’s not fair. You never talked to us. I only recognized you because we were housemates.”

“And, I recognized you through your countless parties and pranks.”

“Well, I do hope that I can change your impression of me before the year is over.”

“I do too.”

~~~

It wasn’t long before your image of Remus Lupin was completely shattered. You watched how kind he was to each student while continuing to challenge them.

A group of third years bursts into your class almost ten minutes late. Without looking up from your blackboard, you say, “Mr. Malfoy, I trust you and your friends have a good expectation. If not, I’m giving you until detention today to come up with one. Wands away. All of you.”

“But, Professor (L/N), Professor Lupin-”

“I don’t care what Professor Lupin did. If you keep arguing with me, I will take away ten points from Slytherin. Five for being late, five for arguing, which would be quite generous of me.”

The group huffs and takes their seats in the back of the class, allowing you to continue with your lesson.

~~~

You sit at your desk, trying to ignore the commotion in the hallway. You made your students handwrite everything, so you felt that it was only fair for you to take the time to hand grade their essays. Unfortunately, that meant you had to stay inside instead of going to Honeydukes to grab enough sweets to get you through the week.

“What are you still doing inside?” a familiar voice asks, pushing open your door. “I thought Sprout was staying with the kids this weekend.”

You look up briefly before returning to your work. “Oh, hi, Remus. I still have a few essays to grade, and I left all the ‘I-don’t-care-this-class-isn’t-important’ essays to the end.”

He sits in front of your desk. “How many more do you have left?”

You quickly go through your stack. “Four. Malfoy and his friends and Jordan, though I’m almost done with his.” You turn to the last page, which is mostly empty, and begin writing your comments. “Okay, three.”

Remus smiles. “Well, since you don’t have much left, would you like the head to Hogsmeade with me.” He nervously plays with his hands. “I mean if you have time. I understand that you-”

“I would love to, Remus,” you respond, putting the paper back on your desk.

~~~

You and Remus immediately run to Honeydukes, only leaving when you feel guilty for the amount of money spent. The two of you spend the rest of the day back at Hogwarts, avoiding students and coworkers that insist on meddling in your life and eating your sweets.

“These are wonderful, but nothing will ever compare to a Reese’s cup,” you confess, your mouth still full of chocolate.

“Reese’s cup?”

“Muggle candy. It’s my favorite. I’ll have to get you some.”

You don’t see his faint smile as he responds, “I look forward to it.”

#remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus imagine #remus lupin imagine #canyouimaginewriteathon #harry potter imagine #marauders imagine #marauders x reader

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fordarkisthesuede · 7 years ago

Text

At the Brink of Midnight - Prologue & Chapter 1

Category: M/M

Rating: M (subject to change)

Fandoms: Batman: the Telltale Series, Batman - All Media Types

Summary:

When Bruce receives a distressing call from the institutionalized John Doe, the billionaire-philanthropist is thrust back into the darker side of Arkham Asylum, where his strive for the facility's improvements are null when faced with a new threat from the inside. Bruce swore off Batman after seeing what it did to those he loved - will he have to put the cowl back on to save the day? Or can he do it as Bruce Wayne?

(read on Ao3 or continue below cut:)

Prologue

[You have: (ONE) new message. First message: ]

Bruce! Buddy! Uh, it's me, John. I-I know you're busy - it's why you haven't come to see me in the past two weeks, probably.

Look, it's-it's okay, Bruce. I get it. It’s water under the bridge…okay? It has to be, because I... I need your help, Bruce.

Please... I need you to trust me on this.

BAM.

I don't have to time to explain-

"Damn it, ram the door!"

Dang it - Crane, Bruce, Jonathan Crane! I thought it was just the meds they put me on at first, but -

CRASH .

Gotta go.

[End of message. There are no more messages.]

Chapter 1: The Sign Forward

Important Spoiler Warning: use of slur - f*g (mentioned)

Bruce pulled the phone away from his ear, barely feeling the weight in his palm. The people walking down the hall - past him, towards him, down the corner - seemed to be moving at a snail's pace. There should be sound, from the footsteps on the tile and voices and doors swinging open somewhere, but it was like there was nothing at all in the world but Bruce's breathing and the whispering echo of John's voice in his ear, so close and yet so far away.

The transformation of John's voice from nervous to hurt to rushed and desperate chilled him in the same manner Bruce might discover a body floating in the Gotham River.

His phone buzzed, a reminder for the meeting he had in ten minutes sitting above the display for his voicemail, and sound came rushing back all at once.

The message had lasted thirty seconds, from an unsaved number that Bruce had a feeling registered to the old landline in the hallway of John's floor at Arkham. The echo of the bangs and crashes were probably from the orderlies trying to open the hallway door, which miraculously had gotten stuck - John probably locked it, probably caused a distraction in another room to get their attention for the precious seconds he had to dial and pass the message along, tell him to come help...

Bruce felt heat burn his stomach. He should have picked up when it rang, damn the fact that he'd been in the lavatory and damn the way it looked so like the auto-dialing spam he'd been getting for the past few months. He could have picked it up on the second ring, saved Joker some time -

No. Not Joker. John.

Joker was the vigilante, the persona hung up for good like the bat-cowl of the person he was modeled after.

Bruce felt a light pang in his side where the latest scar sat, a twinge that seemed to come and go at odd intervals. There he was, thinking about John like they were still working together in the cover of that warm night several months ago, where things had gone from good to bad to absolutely terrible, where Bruce had decided that the crusade had to stop. Their partnership had been like a dream, too fast and too short, a taste of something that, with time, could've been wondrous.

It was nothing more than a dream of a dream, now. Batman was retired, Joker with him, and now the both of them were trying desperately to get back to a normal life. John's would just take longer. A lot longer.

The air in the hall seemed stifling all of the sudden. Bruce walked as quickly as he could to his office, tempted to break into a run.

The office was cool and bright, but even as he shut the door behind him and let the air conditioning wash over him, the guilt and anger and worry that bubbled under his skin didn't fade. His eyes automatically went to the chessboard - one moved piece and he could just fire up Lucius' old computer, slip right back into the old ways and try and get one of Tiffany's drones over the asylum as he dug into Arkham's files...

Bruce shook his head.

John needed his help. It just couldn't be Batman that helped him. Bruce was an ordinary civilian now - well, a civilian with more money than was sensible and an unusual drive to fix the city's problems in any way he could, but a civilian nonetheless. He could still look into Arkham, into this Johnathan Crane, before things escalated out of hand.

Bruce tried to concentrate on his breathing. John was intelligent and surprisingly strong; even if he was put into isolation as punishment, John would be alright. He hadn't been hurting himself or causing trouble for a couple of months, anyhow...

Bruce paused, staring at the vent on the ceiling. He had tried to see John every Wednesday at the very least, but two weeks ago he was told that John didn't want any visitors, and Bruce had regretfully let it slide, thinking that their argument a few days prior still weighed on his mind. (It wasn’t improbable, what with his tendency to hold grudges, but it had seemed strange.) Last week John had twice been put under observation for some kind of medical testing, and thus was not allowed to be seen under any circumstances, despite the drastically different times Bruce had shown up.

Each time, though, Bruce was under the impression that John would at least be told about his attempted visits. The young doctor-in-training from last time had given him a sympathetic smile and said as much herself, along with a clumsy attempt at flirtation Bruce had played along with for his image's sake.

The thought that John had been left hurt worse than before because of a misunderstanding like that didn't sit well with Bruce. It made him feel like he’d been hit with a burning punch.

His phone buzzed at him, and Bruce glanced down at the calendar notification with annoyance. It was tempting to blow the meeting off, just make up some excuse and head home so he could start digging as much as his civilian identity would allow, maybe make a phone call to Arkham and see if he could get a word out to John under the guise of looking into the progress on the asylum's improvements he was sponsoring.

He breathed deeply, going back into the hall and telling himself that John would be alright for a little while longer - Wayne Enterprises came first in the day, regardless of whether or not a cowl was involved.

Bruce apologized for his tardiness and sat at the too-long table with the rest of the board, his phone practically burning a hole in his pocket as he tried desperately not to think about flipping the table and running out the door like he was giving chase in amongst the humid smog of Gotham's nights.

As per John's voicemail (which Bruce thought he must have listened to half a dozen times), any spare moment Bruce had at Wayne Tower was spent looking up Jonathan Crane. There was no telling who was trying to keep tabs on his phone, so he resorted to double-hopping on his VPN in a private window.

There were a few Jonathan Cranes in the state, spelling considerations included, but only two stood out - one was several cities away, working as the head of a generic-replacement pharmaceutical company, and the other was working right in Gotham, a former professor of psychology at Gotham University who was added on to the Arkham payroll not long after the incident with Lady Arkham.

While the pharmacist had several photos on the company website and a seemingly normal (if seldom used) Friendbook page and several mentions on the company's Chirper, Professor Crane had no social media accounts whatsoever and only two photos, one of which was a tiny faculty photo obviously used on his university I.D. However, he did have several published articles in psychology journals, the last three dealing with the subjects of treating fear and anxiety and how it manifested, the last two of which had rebuttal articles from other doctors listed.

At least some of his courses were listed on RateTheProf, and while many of the higher-rating students listed him as incredibly knowledgeable, they and the lower-rating students warned about his seemingly abrasive personality from over the years:

(*) queenofdiamonds

creepy know-it-all fag kept giving me ds and didn't allow me to do the extra credit!! he likes ds so much??? he can eat my DICK!!!!

(***) vintage-or-die

I swear his office hours are ridiculously tight. Make sure to arrive to class on time and take REALLY good notes - I missed a day I regretted it ever since, he gets the point across so well that the only way you can really copy it down for yourself is to hear it firsthand... Seriously, record the lectures if you suck at writing, it'll save your life.

(*) BigD@ddyy

Fucker put down my final paper so hard i think it broke my ribs. He thinks he knows everything, he doesn't take two words against anything he talks about. I don't know why GU keeps his emotionless scrawny ass.

(****) itty bitty pumpkin pie

Great teacher, but not very personable; he doesn't talk much out of lectures. Make sure to ask before using your phone to record lectures, he'll kick you out if you don't. Also I SWEAR he uses a cell blocker, I can't get any tower or wifi signal in his classes even if we change rooms...

(****) dank memes only

He kicked me out for taking a picture of him once. He's lucky he's such a smart silver fox or I might have quit right there. Learned loads tho.

(*****) dr. psychosubb

Amazing. He gave me a C on my final but his comments on it were so good I can't be mad, I learned so much!! Also if you like hot stern daddys that's a big plus. Hard to hate a face like that!!

(*****) the-night-falls-hard

Seriously the best teacher I ever had. Pay attention and you'll feel like you could take on anything.

Bruce breathed through his nostrils. Professor Crane was critical, solitary, and stubborn, but he clearly left an impression on those who he came into contact with.

While there wasn't many mentions of the professor in news, he managed to find a letter to the editor in the last psychology journal that Professor Crane contributed an article to, aimed at the rebuttal to his last paper - and Bruce figured by the language that it was Crane lashing back:

My Dear Editors,

I'm surprised that such an acclaimed journal of psychology would sink so low as to publish the distasteful words of the so-called Dr. Strange. His work - if you can even call it that - is pure fantastical speculation when it is organized enough to be decipherable. Not only does he genuinely believe in the concept of telepathy, but he is under the childish delusion that he can devise a way to see thoughts put into visual form as if it were something to be filmed. Tell me: do you think someone with such an obvious deficiency of realistic thought could provide any kind of counter-argument to any sane research? I don't believe he's sound enough to comment correctly on the weather.

If you continue on with publishing the work of people who earned their doctorates by shelling out thousands of dollars to a fly-by-night online institution, you will lose more than just subscribers with half a brain more than you.

Regards,

A Competent Doctor

Bruce read over the last paragraph twice: it could be read as either a warning or a legitimate threat, and it was impossible to tell which one it was without even knowing what it was that John suspected Crane of doing. But considering the rebuttal in question was published over a year ago and the editor at the time was still in alive and in charge, at least Bruce could say that Crane didn't have that murder in mind. Dr. Strange, however, had no other work published since, either in Psychology Now or any other reputable magazine.

Naturally, he could find nothing on the current work of the former-Professor Crane in Arkham. That would require a hack of the asylum's systems, and even though Bruce knew Tiffany would be up to the task, he decided against it. He knew it would tempt him to go back to his old habits, and that was strictly a no-go.

He'd have to pay Arkham a visit, see what he could figure out from the inside - and hopefully, talk to John.

A/N: Here we are, just as I promised! I got super into TellTale’s Batman universe last year, and like many fans, S2E05 hurt so bad and so so good that I immediately wanted more. Before I knew it I was already crafting a potential season 3 storyline! I’ll try to update this weekly, since I already have a lot done and I can’t stop thinking about it! (ღ✪ｖ✪)｡o○

Also I seriously try to put any trigger/squick warnings in the front of chapters. If you need something tagged, please say so!

If you’d like to give kudos or comment (or just read all the story’s tags), my ao3 is here, but I really appreciate feedback in any form!

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sunlitroom · 7 years ago

Text

Gotham - s4e02 - The Fear Reaper

As I watched it, and some random observations here and there.

Previously on Gotham.

Victor crashes a wedding. Crime is legal now. Oswald keeps you safe, not GCPD. Fried Babs. Selina wants more. Poor, poor Jonathan. Sleazy warden and the gang who all need to die. Oswald climbs Jim like a big blond tree with a constant nagging fear that it’s a fraud and gives him a hug. Bruce is arrested. Jonathan Crane isn’t here anymore – Scarecrow is.

As always, long post will be long - reaaally long. There are likely to be rambling digressions. Gobblepot may appear (although I welcome all shippers and non-shippers alike :)). There will be naked favouritism and naked not-favouritism. Broader comments at the end on plotlines and parallels and general direction.

GCPD turn up at the hideous gang's hideout. Jim tells everyone to stay cool. We see a makeshift lab. Harvey comments that,

This place smells like death

And then banters a bit about getting something to eat later. Jim isn’t in a season 1 mood, though, and tersely notes that they’ve made more toxin, as Harvey notices Jonathans old Arkham uniform. Glancing round into a mirror, Jim notices the reflection of a suspicious-looking scarecrow outside.

They both run out, and find the one of the gang guys tied up. Do they even all have names? Who cares. Fuckface #3, that’ll do. He’s terrified and tells them:

He's coming.

Who?

The scarecrow!

GCPD, where Bruce has been arrested. He’s claiming that this is all a ghastly misunderstanding. Alfred arrives, and assures Bruce that Wayne Enterprise’s most talented and expensive lawyer is on the case. If you’re going to illegally meddle in police business, it really helps to be enormously wealthy and privileged. Bruce hurriedly explains to Alfred that he fell through the skylight, when an unimpressed Jim arrives.

Bruce hastily concocts the excuse that he was up there looking for Selina. Chivalrous, Bruce. Jim releases him without bail, but promises they’ll talk more about this.

Meantime, the gang member still flipping out in the other cell.

At Arkham, where they’ve presumably been forewarned about the danger that might be heading their way. They’re roughly ushering the patients to bed and strapping them down. Fuck everything about this place.

In his office, the oleaginous warden is burning his papers. God only knows what he’s been up to. When his back is turned, Jonathan enters, dragging his scythe along the nasty table we say last time. He tells the Warden it’s too late for all that, and that his dirty deeds have stained him. Yeuch.

He talks about his treatment there for three years, upon which the warden realises who he is. Also - because, you know, he’s dressed like a giant scarecrow.

Jonathan

(Like his paternal tone last episode, his use of Jonathan’s first name here bothers me too.)

He was thrown in a cell and ignored, except for occasional ice baths (why, exactly?) and ECT.

The Warden says if he leaves now then he won’t tell anyone he’s been here. The phone rings and he makes to answer, but Jonathan slams his scythe down.

Pay attention!

Jonathan talks about he cured himself. He made himself one with his fear. The Warden, meantime, is eyeing the gun in his drawer. He tries to beg again – but Jonathan responds badly to the use of his name.

Jonathan Crane is no more. Call me by my true name!

He sprays the Warden with serum, and he begins to hallucinate.

GCPD – where Alfred and Bruce are just leaving

Rough night, Bruce?

It’s Lucius. They wheel out the Selina excuse again. Lucius is not fooled, and points out the concrete and stone residue on Bruce’s clothes. Somewhere across town, in his icy cocoon, Ed just breathed a fluttery little smitten sigh.

They come up with the terrible excuse that he’s been rock-climbing. This is the kind of rubbish lying that made Smallville’s Lex very, very cross. Lucius looks very unimpressed by this lie, but lets them leave.

Back at Arkham. Jonathan is telling the Warden that his father was a genius, who wanted to end fear for his sake, because he loved him so much.

(An aside. Oh Jonathan – possibly the rightful president of Gotham’s ‘They fuck you up, your mum and dad’ club. Your dad was a terrible, terrible person. He knowingly and repeatedly caused you fear and pain, and made you think that you should be grateful for it, and guilty for not appreciating it. His experimental design also sucked – with sample group that was both unrepresentative and too small. And I’m not even going to tell you what he did when he was the Phantom of the opera that one time….)

Anyway – it turns out the Warden’s greatest fear is clowns. We see him grab the gun from his desk and run down the corridor – shooting all the clowns he sees, who actually turn out to be his orderlies.

Meantime, Jonathan has gone to the ward, where the patients are strapped down. He calls them brothers and sisters, and tells them his father would have cured them. He was, however, murdered by GCPD. They will be his army now

(An aside – this is not a very organised army)

And those men will know fear.

GCPD

James Gordon!

Jim looks up to see Oswald walking in with a pack of reporters behind him. Harvey tells him to play nice, but Jim doesn’t want to.

Oswald approaches – and being Jim and Oswald – they decide to stand toe to toe. Oswald comments that he sees they’ve caught one, but he’s also figured out Jonathan is the likely culprit, and wants to know if Jim’s caught him. Jim tells him his whereabouts are unknown.

Oswald laughs – he’s just about taut with tension in this whole scene, I don’t think he gets the ‘no emotions’ thing – and comments that he is unsurprised by GCPD’s failure. He and Jim stare off, and Harvey thinks this is a good time to mention the newspaper headline that called him a chicken – presumably as retaliation for that last comment. Because infuriating Oswald always works so well.

Just about bubbling over with fury now, Oswald calls GCPD

Outdated, ineffectual, corrupt

Jim retaliates that the innocent suffer when criminal have a license to commit crime. Oswald tells him the scheme is working. He doesn’t want to destroy GCPD – he wants to save it, and – through that – Gotham.

Jim maintains that he will arrest those committing crimes. Oswald turns on him. He asks him how well his ‘boy scout morality’ has worked in the past, and asks if he wants a list of the victims of Jim’s ‘antiquated righteousness’.

Jim is taken aback by this. It’s pretty much nail on the head in terms of his self-image. And there’s also the fact (more at the end on this) that while he and Oswald routinely squabble – there are rules to their engagement. There’s an intake of breath when he mentions this – he didn’t quite expect this jab from this person.

Oswald offers a deal. If he can find Jonathan and lock him up in 24 hours, then fair enough. If not – he admits he failed and let the city down. Could this be anymore personal, Os?

Jim just stands there, so Oswald – to grab his arm – leans forward in this odd hugging/embrace move. His face is turned towards us as he does it, and there’s the oddest expression there. First off – the expression change as soon as his face is turned away from the press reminds us that he is almost constantly playing to an audience these days, whether that’s the journalists or his enemies. Secondly, yes - he’s mad as all hell, but there’s a whole tumult of emotion going on, and you see it for a split second when he leans close.

He leans back, gripping Jim’s arm, and shakes hands.

Good for you, Jim, game on.

Jim’s actually fairly calm throughout that whole thing. He goes from a big no to the crime licenses, to his response to the boy scout thing, and then a look of slight bafflement at Oswald’s temper.

(An aside – I know I may as well consign this to the ‘this will never be answered’ bin – but I do wonder whether Jim even expressed any remorse about Fish to Oswald? He was clearly regretful at the time – but I suspect he’s since buried it with all the other things he doesn’t want to think about).

Selina is walking alone at night. Tabitha is able to sneak up behind her, cross that she has apparently not learned much from their lessons. Turned out they both received an embossed business card which said ‘opportunity awaits’, and decided to go at night-time to an isolated building to check out the fabulous opportunity mentioned on the mysterious business card. Gotham rogues need stranger danger lessons. At this point, I don’t trust them not to get into a stranger’s car if offered sweets or puppies.

It’s from Babs it seems. She now has a lovely velvet couch. Selina and Tabitha express disbelief at her not-deadness, but Babs reminds them no-one really dies in Gotham. Tabitha would still like to slit her throat. Barbara gives her a look that is…not as easy to read as usual. I’d say that there’s an element of threat-assessment going on there. She’s trying to read her.

They walk nearer each other. Tabitha puts a knife to her throat. Barbara starts speaking. It seems sincere, but it’s also so calm that it seems planned, or trained.

Not a day goes by where I don’t think about what I did. I wish I could take it back.

Tabitha says she’d like to go back too, and finish the job. Barbara calmly continues

I was jealous. I was stupid. I am sorry

She then puts her own hand over Tabitha’s, which is holding the knife. In an echo of Oswald and Jim’s confrontation way back in season one, she says:

Kill me if you don't believe me

Like Jim, Tabitha can’t go through with that – and shoves her aside instead.

They talk briefly about what this place is. Essentially – Barbara sees a business opportunity. The Oswald-licensed crooks will need weapons (well – yes – but they seem to already have those?) – and she’s going to supply them. In doing so – they’ll learn about the crimes they plan to commit – and this is a sure-fire way to get on top again.

(An aside – uh, what? What we’ve seen is a lot of fairly low-level crime. And how would this enable them to get on top, exactly? Oswald would figure out pretty fast who would be likely to be screwing him over – even if there is a way to somehow do this. And if crooks start to draw a connection between getting guns from Babs and Tabs and your plans getting fucked over, surely they’d just go elsewhere.)

Barbara says that she won’t proceed without them both. And again – yes, she might well have lingering fondness for them both – but she also knows Tabitha is likely to bear a grudge, and Selina is really still a child. What is indispensable here, exactly?

Tabitha refuses. Barbara took something from her that she will never be able to get back, and she should feel lucky she doesn’t just raze the place to the ground. She leaves, and a still preternaturally calm Babs asks Selina to talk to her on her behalf.

Wayne Manor, where Bruce and Alfred are arguing about his lack of preparedness. Long story short, Bruce only feels truly alive when he’s falling through skylights, and Alfred is worried he’ll got shot. Bruce leaves, and Alfred angrily makes a sandwich. This incessant snack making is why he and Victor could work.

At GCPD, they’ve learned Arkham is more chaos than usual. The patients are rioting. Jim decides to head out there, and call for support – but no-one moves. They’ve chosen to back Oswald. Jim says – and just bear in mind that this is a man with two murders committed in sound mind under his belt – that none of them are fit to wear the badge.

One cop points out the badge doesn’t get you a very good time in Gotham, and they don’t make a difference. He calls on Harvey to go with him. Harvey reminds him that one day it would be now or never, and this is never. He’s Captain, and if he back Jim, he loses all the other cops – and they will need them. If they lose their help – Oswald will get to choose the next captain, and God knows who that would be – so Jim’s on his own.

Jim leaves.

Arkham – where every scary asylum trope is being hit even more so than usual. The Warden is wearing bad clown makeup and claiming that he’s not scared anymore, because he is a clown now.

Meantime Jonathan watches Jim on a monitor – and we get a quick flashback of his original episode for anyone who didn’t watch s1.

Ah - it's you

He rallies his troops over the tannoy, saying that Jim will pay for what he has done, and know fear. He closes the gates and Jim is trapped with the patients ready to attach. However, he fires warning shots and they run. Jonathan realises he’ll have to do the job himself.

Oswald, Ivy and Victor at Babs. Victor is distracted by all the guns, but Oswald is more busy listing all the different types of payment Barbara will have to make to him for him to be willing to allow this. Barbara says she’s waiting for partners to come on board. Ivy pipes up – and asks if it’s Selina and Tabitha. Oswald grins

Good luck with that – they’re slippery characters

He also comments that Tabitha might just be pissed at Barbara killing Butch.

Ivy cuts in again

I could talk to them.....

Oswald snaps at her –

I distinctly remembered saying that you could come if you kept your mouth shut

(So – aside from the fact that Ivy and Oswald are tossing the conflict ball back and forth because the writers seemingly got bored of this team-up within two minutes – you can, I suppose, understand some of his irritation. Yes - he’s snappish and dismissive, deliberately so – to explain away Ivy’s eventual defection – but he doesn’t smack down her first, relatively useful observation. What he does smack down is her offer to negotiate between his enemies: the visit is clearly meant to scope Barbara out and intimidate. The remark is stupid. He could be nicer and more respectful. He could be more restrained and not let an enemy see internal dissent. But this idea that they want to convey – Oswald is needlessly mean to Ivy - doesn’t hold water.)

Barbara smiles while Ivy sulks. Oswald promises Babs that one hint of trouble, and Victor will step in and end her with her own merchandise. As he’s leaving, he remarks that this didn’t all come cheap, and says he’ll find out who paid for her new fancy place. Victor takes a gun as he leaves.

In the Warden's office, Jim searches for Jonathan. Jonathan knocks him to the floor.

Do you believe in fate? I didn't before today.

He does now, though He can’t believe that of all the cops – Jim shows up. He unmasks. Jim blinks.

Jonathan. What happened to you?

(An aside - This is what he asked Ed, too. Jim seems to have difficulty in understanding how people are pushed past snapping point – which doesn’t really make sense, given boozy bounty-hunter Jim. Maybe it’s obviously ‘unwell’ behaviour as the outcome of strain that he can’t understand? He certainly seems incredibly unsympathetic to Barbara. Also – Jim – you’ve seen Arkham before. What kind of treatment did you think he was going to get?)

Jonathan accuses Jim of killing his father. Jim counters that his father was insane and wanted to harm him – but Jonathan, presumably due to a complete dearth of anyone else in the world giving even the slightest damn about him, has made a plaster saint of his father – and won’t be convinced.

He tells Jim,

We can live imprisoned by fears, or we can embrace them

And sprays him with the serum. I feel compelled to keep adding ‘with the serum’ when he sprays someone – otherwise it makes him sound like a misbehaving cat.

He wonders what Jim will see. His victims, perhaps?

(The serum apparently gives you unattractive yellow crust round your mouth, which – as we’re about to discover how easily it’s neutralised – is probably its worst feature.)

A dosed Jim hears screaming and wanders into a room where Lee lies in a bath full of blood, having slit her wrists. He tried to help – but she doesn’t want it.

Don't touch me, let me go. You’ve caused me so much pain. I’ve suffered you long enough. We could have been a family, had a child. You destroy everything you touch.

We see – before she sinks beneath the surface, that she has her black virus nailpolish on

Jonathan tells Jim to join her to show how much he loves her.

(Just an aside – how come Jonathan can see other people’s hallucinations?)

He tells Jim not to let her die hating him, but to prove his love – it’s what Lee would want.

Jim mutters this to himself for a bit, and is apparently able to reason his way out of the virus by remembering Lee loves him

(An aside – hang on, this sucks. Everyone else is a weeping wreck, but Jim can just power through it? First off – his hallucination is totally different. A demonic Lee, hounding him from room to room with blood streaming from her wrists would follow the pattern of the other hallucinations. But Jim get this relatively calm scene – giving him space to reflect? It also raises again the messiness at the end of last season – where Lee’s explicitly stated motivation was a fascination with the dark side, which explained her attraction to Jim. That lazily morphed into Babs’s ‘Jim and I are meant to beeeee’ in the finale. Has Jim swept all that under the carpet too?)

Having snapped out of it, he looks for Jonathan, who is as pissed as the audience.

How did you do it?! How did you defeat it?!

Inconsistent writing to further the plot, Jonathan.

Jim says he overcame his fear. Jonathan calls him a liar.

You can't just stop being afraid! You can only become your demon like I did

Jim tells him that he has a choice, in the self-assured tones of someone who never did time in Arkham.

He tells Jonathan that whatever his father was, he didn't want this for him. He needs help. Jonathan says – the first time he wobbles in his adoration of his father – that his father thought he was weak: scared little Jonathan.

Jim nods.

Ok - I can help you. Let me help you

Jonathan rallies - though

But I’m not weak anymore! I’ll never go back to being that boy!

He runs, and Jim pursues.

Bruce on another roof top. He hears laughter, and follows some shady men into a warehouse, and right into a trap. The men want to know why he’s following them, and assure him they have a license. They ask if he’s some boy scout or do-gooder. Little do they know he’s just a rich boy with an exciting new hobby.

Pulling his mask off they comment that he’s just a kid. They remind him again of the license, and that it’s within their rights to do anything they want to him. Anything. Yeuch.

Bruce headbutts one of them. A scramble ensues. Bruce manages to escape, but is followed (easily, because he confusingly decides to stroll away from the scene, instead of legging it. Even the crook comments:

You think you're so slick

He is saved from actual consequences yet again – this time by Alfred with a crowbar.

Tabitha and Selina’s apartment – where Selina is trying to convince Tabitha to overlook that whole tired murder and betrayal thing and just team up with Barbara.

(An aside – just want to point out, at the outset of a scene and storyline that are both a complete mess, that this is not in keeping at all with what we know of Selina. She’s hugely driven by loyalty, and caring for her friends. Yet she’s persuading Tabitha to overlook the inconsequential matter of betrayal and the murder of her lover? Nope)

Tabitha asks why she wants this so much. Good question. Apparently Selina is

Sick and tired of not being taken seriously by all those selfish guys out there who treat me like I'm stupid.

She can’t do much alone, but as a team, they can – give those creeps a run for their money

(An aside - this is just bilge. Does she mean Bruce? Seemed fine accepting his apology last episode – and this isn’t exactly an accurate summary of their relationship anyway. Aside from that – who does she mean? The one person who did Selina more wrong than anyone else is her mother – showing up again to swindle her. This is lazy, lazy bullshit to try and sell us on the idea of a girl gang.)

Ivy materialises in their apartment, seemingly making it past all their super sophisticated ninja skills, even though she’s about 6-foot-tall with bright red hair.

I want in

Tabitha tells her to get out and calls her a ‘penguin stooge’. Ivy retorts that she hates ‘that freak’. Tabitha tells her she’s a liar, and that she was quick to guzzle down his koolaid

(And again, Tabitha, a short, to-the-point – fuck you. Where does she find this self-righteousness? Just a reminder – got her jollies listening to a scared old woman crying and begging, and then stabbed said old woman in the back, and his demonstrated no remorse. Cherry on the cake – when a clearly child-like and damaged Oswald showed up after Arkham, she wanted to murder him, and only settled on humiliation when she wasn’t granted permission. The only reason she’s still alive is because Oswald decided not to take retribution for Butch’s sake. Tabitha’s dreadful.)

Ivy then mystifiyingly remarks that there’s

Nothing I wouldn't do to get back at men who treated me like garbage

(An aside – again wtf is this asshattery? Ivy’s abusive father aside (she uses the plural) – what we’ve seen so far is Ivy use her perfume to control men, and kill more than a couple. Why are she and Selina suddenly victims?)

Selina says she believes her, but Tabitha tells her to get out again. Ivy retorts that Tabitha is rude. Tabitha says she’s going to get her ass kicked. Selina – again out of character – says nothing. Ivy leaves.

To cap off a scene that only escalated in stupidity, Tabitha then apparently has a total change of heart and tells Selina to arrange a meeting with Babs (also seemingly discounting any risk to Selina in a lone meeting with Barbara.). She’ll talk business, but wants something in return.

Jim is still searching for Jonathan, who is rallying the patients against him.

The demon who haunts and tortures you is here! Destroy him! free yourself from his tyranny!

(An aside – but why aren’t they all distracted in their respective hallucination?! This is all so dumb.)

Jim is fighting off mental patients while Jonathan screams

Kill him!

Almost overcome – he pulls an extinguisher from the wall, and sprays with them with water. Water apparently completely neutralises the serum. Are you fucking kidding me?

Jonathan escapes. One huge guy keeps fighting, but Jim smacks him in the face with the canister, and leaves.

At Wayne Manor, Bruce and Alfred are arguing again. Bruce could have been killed, and refuses to accept the realities of what he’s doing. Maybe because you showed up with a fancy lawyer to ensure his release, Alfred?

There’s a knock at the door. Bruce opens it. A handsome man enters.

Bad time?

It’s the always collected and elegant Lucius. Wayne Enterprises has a prototype of some super-fancy armour, and he wants Bruce to have it for when he goes ‘rock-climbing’. He tells Bruce he just doesn’t want to see him hurt again. Bruce says he feels safer already.

Back at Babs’s House of Guns – where she thanks Selina and Tabitha for returning. Not so fast, though. Tabitha wants her to lose a hand as proof of sincerity.

Both Butch and I lost a hand due to Penguin's machiavellian wargames

(An aside - Um - no? Butch lost a hand as indirect result of Theo and Tabitha's actions in kidnapping Gertrud, Tabitha lost hers because Ed drank stupid juice and thought she and Butch were responsible for Isabella’s death. So – is Tabitha’s explanation the one the show has decided on, then – as a way of explaining Tabitha’s antipathy? If so – that sucks, and relies on the audience apparently having no actual memory).

She has a meat cleaver. Selina shakes her head – but does little else. Barbara puts her hand out, calm. Tabitha brings the cleaver down onto the table. Barbara has passed the test, for now. A dubious looking Selina follows her out, Tabitha saying she’ll start Monday.

Back at GCPD – where Oswald has arrived to see if Jim has managed to arrest Jonathan.

We had a deal, Detective Gordon.

Jim’s not into all this exhibitionism, though – preferring shady deals to be done in dark bars and alleys.

You made a demand in front of your cronies in an attempt to undermine me and the department. No deal.

Oswald is furious. He talks again about GCPD no longer keeping citizens safe, and asks the officers how many of them are sick of risking their lives – or seeing this actual building become a warzone?

He looks right at Jim and says that we must police ourselves. Looking round again, Oswald says he will triple wages if they work for him

The future is now. Follow me.

Jim calls after him that he’s only paying them to look the other way. It…. sort of weirdly fizzled, that scene.

Harvey approaches. Jim tells him not to talk to him – but Harvey says this is a war, not a battle and they need the cops onside. He wants to buy him a drink.

Ivy is in a weird shop, talking to the shopkeeper, whom she’s apparently repeatedly drugged and robbed another one of those terrible men who made her feel stupid.

She’s apparently done with the extremely useful and powerful perfume that made people do her bidding and that Oswald presumably doesn’t remotely value or use at all. She wants ancient mystical potions now to make her badass. She uses the perfume again to get her way, underlining the stupidity of this whole plot point. The shopkeeper pleads with her – telling her that it will mess with her blood and DNA, and is too dangerous is bad to her again and makes her feel stupid.

She takes potions from the safe and starts knocking them back – her face shifting weirdly.

(An aside – this is just…. beyond a mess. The first problem goes way back. Young Ivy was reserved, cynical, suspicious. She didn’t get easily hurt because she had learned not to trust people. She was tight-lipped (making her new tendency to babble stupid and contrived – just a means to create conflict) She was also incredibly careful and intelligent – manufacturing drugs from plants and staying safe is no mean feat. Her current flailing, therefore, is just irritating and out of character. Secondly, Ivy has the means at her disposal to control people and extract a huge amount of cash from them. We saw that she seemed to be doing this for a while. When did she suddenly become useless? And if Oswald was irritating her so much – why not just leave? Or confront him? Or try to resolve it? And that’s not even mentioning that Oswald’s total antipathy for someone who saved his life and offered family is massively not in keeping with anything we know of him, and basically just ooc-ness so they can do whatever the hell they want to do with Ivy now.

In short. No.)

Jim and Harvey are drinking. Harvey says he can understand the cops’ disillusionment. And besides, they’d need an army to tackle Oswald. Harvey then makes the most irrational jump ever and says he misses Falcone – who was a vicious bastard, but had honour. A code. Tell that to Liza, Harve. Falcone ruled with an iron fist, says Harvey.

He then notices the lightbulb above Jim’s head and tried to reverse, but too late. He reminds Jim he killed his son, but the writing is paying no heed to logic this week – and Jim is off to see Falcone who, apparently, has ‘an army’.

Bruce on the rooftops – trying out his new suit and rhapsodizing about it to Alfred via a walkie talkie. Unfortunately, after commenting that it’s incredibly light, he utters the phrase:

Feels like I'm wearing nothing at all

Which only makes me think of

And now the whole scene is lost for me. Stupid sexy Flanders. Alfred tells him to put his proto-Batman mask on, but it still can’t save it.

We finish with him standing on a ledge, looking smug, gazing out over the city. I hope that suit is also ‘sudden-gust-of-wind-proof’

General Observations

Mostly commented above as they happened – but what? There’s so much ooc-ness and hasty plot patching here. So much.

Jim and Oswald.

Ah. Everything here is just so personal. Although it seems that he’s attributed Jim’s actions at the end of last season entirely to the virus (that sharp head turn when Tetch mentioned Jim was infected indicates this) – Oswald is still smarting that Jim didn’t protect him. His repeated assertion that GCPD has failed in protecting its citizens is loaded with personal baggage. It seems – at core – that he still trusts Jim, since he made a beeline for him when dosed with the fear virus: but he’s also still angry, and it’s informing at least some of his actions.

Meantime, we know that Jim – at heart – worries not only that he’s a fraud, but that he is ultimately destructive to anyone he touches. The look he gives Oswald after he comments on the lives he’s ‘wrecked’ has a fair amount of shock in it – like Oswald managed to read his deepest, most personal thoughts.

I would also argue – though I might be wearing shipper glasses – that it’s reminiscent of the look he gives Oswald waaaay back in s2, when he goes to question him about the dead mayoral candidate, and Oswald lashes out to protect Gertrud: there’s some honest surprised hurt there. They might snipe back and forth, but their game has certain unspoken rules. Jim expected Oswald to confide in him – reliant on the fact that they have – however you might describe it – an actual relationship. When Oswald not only refused to confide in Jim, but also lashed out – Jim looks properly startled, a slap in the face from an unexpected person. Likewise here. This isn’t the tit-for-tat at the Iceberg Lounge. This was intensely personal, and Jim didn’t expect Oswald to use it in an argument.

In fact, neither of them are really reasoning much right now. It’s interesting that all of their interactions thus far have been in front of an audience, because they’re both primarily concerned with self-image and saving face.

Jim’s experiences in Gotham have involved frustration at the power of the criminal world, as well as his own deliberate collusion. He’s flouted authority, broken rules, and broken laws. He is planning to go off and make a deal with a mafia don.

But the idea that people should know about this kind of thing is intolerable. He’s going on about how the reputation of the police force must be upheld with two murders under his belt. There’s always been a sense of strain about Jim in terms of how he wants to be seen vs. what he actually believes and does. Oswald’s scheme doesn’t allow for that division, and Jim can’t stand it.

Oswald is obsessed with control, power, and respect. It’s always been a driver for him, apparently from a childhood of severe bullying, and his latest experiences – public humiliation, mental torture and virtual destruction – has only reinforced his thinking that complete control and absolute power are the only ways to be respected and to stay safe.

As such, his whole scheme is all tangled up in that. He tends to think emotionally anyway – but this whole idea is creaking under all his psychological baggage. The press are constantly present because he’s desperately trying to be seen as powerful and successful again after being brought so low.

Jim, Harvey and the Falcone idea

I’m honestly mystified by Jim’s willingness to go along with Harvey’s reasoning. Refusing to dance to Falcone’s tune is pretty much Jim’s big defining moment in the first episode. He’s hugely instrumental in the corruption Jim hates. Jim has since found out that Falcone was hand in glove with the Court of Owls, and that he was involved in his father’s death.

But – Falcone’s suddenly palatable? And what about the practical consideration that, you know – Jim shot his son?

It really doesn’t make a blind bit of sense, and it’s hard to figure out how to understand Jim’s actions (without making recourse to wtf, writers?). Does Falcone still somehow hold some mystique for Jim due to his relationship with his father? Are Jim’s psychological issues around his father’s memory so deep-rooted and overwhelming that he really can’t see clearly, and so Falcone – by dint of association alone – is still an acceptable authority figure?

He definitely doesn’t see Oswald as an authority figure – they’re really more peers, as their current squabbling would indicate.

Because, ultimately, what Falcone offers isn’t really much different from what Oswald is doing. It’s just that Oswald is blatant about it. When Jim arrived, he found a police force riddled with corruption, and the establishment puppeteered by Falcone – who also ran the underworld. This is really roughly the same set-up that Oswald is currently running.

So we’re to understand that Jim’s actually fine with that as long as it’s all at least superficially ‘wrong’? As long as everyone is willing to pay lip service to the notion of a police force that upholds the law and protects citizens, then what actually goes on is OK?

Selina, Tabitha, Ivy and Barbara

Try harder. There’s way too much contrivance going on here. I’m not going to care about it ‘just because’.

The Scarecrow

I thought Jonathan was great – swithering between vulnerability and threat. He’s not too far gone to be reached yet – and I’m keen to see where they go next with him.

Thoughts?

#gotham commentary #gotham s4e02 #the fear reaper

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ask-jaghatai-khan · 7 years ago

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The BF Reacts to the Primarchs

In which @asking-ask gives first impressions of all the Primarchs based on art I provided!

For each Primarch I listed the legion, name, and three pieces of art, two of which were always from Aerion’s Primarch Project, and the Iconoclasts portraits. Gonna be a long post, so just click the “read more” tab.

(I) Lion El’Johnson

His name’s Lynel! That’s incredible! The art looks so different, because the first guy looks like a fuckboi, but the third guy looks like Lucius Malfoy by book seven, and then the middle looks like Soldier 76 in fantasy. So I don’t really know how I feel about that guy. I like the first one, the other two not so much.

(III) Fulgrim

(I listed by legion.)

I was gonna say, three does not come after one. Fulgrim—I like the name. Once again it goes fuckboi—I mean it looks like a Tarot card, which is neat. I love the sword, it’s zippity. He looks like if you had a baby with Samus Aran and the entire Belmont clan! Like the power armor, but it’s still very fantasy-like. And once again, he’s like an old fuck.

(IV) Perturabo

I’ve been pronouncing it like “Pervtabo”, like a pervert, so I’m sorry. Ah, it’s Reinhardt! It’s Reinhardt but with Hanzo’s face. I didn’t know this was—oh, it’s Battlefield Earth! I didn’t know this was secretly Overwatch. Yeah, I don’t really like the cable-hair, but the second one where he looks like Reinhardt and Hanzo’s lovechild I’m super into. He’s got caution signs! “Look, I’m dangerous.”

(V) Jaghatai Khan

It’s yo boiiii! He looks like he’s straight out of Big Trouble in Little China. The lightning bolt thing frustrates the hell out of me because in every picture it’s in a slightly different place. So once again, electric sword, I’m super into it. He’s got a parchment like pinned to his armor? Yeah, no, you need like Gorilla Glue or something, you can’t just thumbtack it on there, that’s not how it works. I LOVE the color scheme though, that is slick. White and gold and crimson, that is legit.

(VI) Leman Russ

First thing I thought was Lemon Brothers, or Leman Brothers, or whatever. WOAH, dude, it’s the Scotsman! God, I’m seeing a theme with these swords, they’re all very similar. He’s got a wolf on his crotch. Is that your boy in the background?

(No, that’s a Sister of Silence.)

Disappointing. Yeah, I don’t know, this guy’s kinda I don’t know. He looks like he’s from Samurai Jack.

(He’s a Viking werewolf.)

Yeah, that’s pretty neat! Oh, I see! Well, at least in all of them he’s got a wolf on his crotch, so that’s cool. Continuity.

(VII) Rogal Dorn

Yeah no, that’s just straight-up Soldier 76. Like, I can’t even comment any further because it’s just him. He’s got like the 70s porn-stache.

(Friendly muttonchops.)

Friendly muttonchops? I like porn-stache better, though. Porn-stache-chops. And what—he’s also got paper on him! I like to think that’s a grocery list and he doesn’t want to lose it, so he pins it to his armor. Like he looks down, “Oh! Right, I forgot eggs.”

(VIII) Konrad Curze

Ooh, ooh… This is like if Grima survived and wanted to wreak his revenge on fantasy and sci-fi. He’s not an attractive lookin’ fella.

(Oof! People are gonna be mad at you.)

What? He’s not! He’s greasy looking! He needs a bath. He needs a trip to Lush, he needs fucking cosmetics, and moisturizer, and detangler, and—he needs a lot of work. I am not a fan. Though I do like the bloody claws, that’s pretty neat.

(IX) Sanguinius

Oh my god, this is a straight-up lost Belmont. He’s straight-up, y’know, “BY THE POWER OF THE CHURCH, I SLAY THEE, DEMON!” kinda type deal. Look at him! Look at him, he’s so fancy! Oh my god, he’s so beautiful.

(He’s got majestic wings.)

I see that. Are those attached to his armor, or…?

(No, those are his actual wings.)

WOAH! I would party with this dude. I would go to a club with him and get drunk, he he’d probably be like—I’d be in the corner crying and he’d be giving me life advice. That’s a misleading name, though, it doesn’t sound very happy. His name should be like—uh—Lord Goldmeyer, or something like that.

(X) Ferrus Manus

He reminds me of Cable.

(He has metal hands.)

Yeah, he’s Cable. He’s just straight-up Cable, from Deadpool. Can he teleport? Can he travel through time?

(I don’t think so.)

Disappointing. Work on that, and get back to me. Uh, and then team up with Deadpool. I like him, he seems pretty chill. I would trust him to house-sit. He looks like—he looks like a dependable dude. I’m goin’ off of looks here.

(XII) Angron

Uhh, that is one angry-looking fucker. Oh, another Battlefield Earth guy! He looks VERY angry. Mm, that’s a lot of blood. I do not trust this guy to house-sit. yeah, no thanks, I’ll pass.

(XIII) Roboute Guilliman

*gasp!* He’s got a sweet bird! Birds? Bird.

(Is it a two-headed bird? It might be a two-headed bird.)

That’d be pretty neat! I would be down with that. He kinda looks like what I assume Master Chief looks like. Like he’s kinda got that generic white dude face, but it’s war-torn. Like, this dude’s seen some shit. But, I don’t know—he still—I feel like he still has hope for the world, y’know? So he’s not Soldier 76, ‘cuz he’s given up. So I think he’s like Master Chief.

(XIV) Mortarion

Oh my god, how many of these are there? This dude looks like a straight-up Ringwraith, or some sort of wraith. Or uh—Darth Sideous, or Plagueis? Which one is the Emperor?

(Sidious?)

Yeah, there we go. Yeah, he looks like Sidious. Oh, that’s a wicked scythe, though! Oh, same. We should chill, but maybe not. No.

(XV) Magnus the Red

Yo! It’s Starfire’s older brother! I mean, he’s ginger and huge! Oh, I like this guy. He’s neat! And he’s got like—cool, purple rune powers.

(He’s a wizard.)

Aw, dude. Is that like, an army of automatons, or something?

(Uh—later, yeah!)

*gasp!* I would party with this guy! I want this guy to be my best friend.

(You’re so good at guessing some of this shit.)

I know my fantasy, yo!

(XVI) Horus Lupercal

Uh, he reminds me of, um, the animated version of Dr. Freeze.

(I should have included him when he’s at, like—max evil. He looks more like the second picture.)

Yeah, he legit looks like a different skin for the Batman Animated Dr. Freeze. And because of that I don’t trust him. Lotta eyes, a lot of people just have eyes on their armor. Do they serve any purpose, or are they just, like, cool?

(Uh, I think that’s the Eye of Terra. It was like a symbol they used.)

Oh, very neat, I like it.

(XVII) Lorgar Aurelian

Lotta bald dudes. And if they’re not bald they’ve got hair to their legs. Yo—OH, he makes me think of the Elder played by Leonard Nimoy from Atlantis!

(Oh yeah, the facial tattoos.)

Yeah! That’s cool! I—I trust him. I don’t know, just based on that; based on the fact that he reminds me of Leonard Nimoy as the Elder in Atlantis. I dunno, he strikes me as a chaotic-neutral. Just because he’s got a lot of, like, scary shit, but he’s also got incense and he’s got a book. So he probably knows how to fuck you up, but he probably also doesn’t care. So, that’s what I’m gleaning from how he looks.

(XVIII) Vulkan

Yooo! This dude—I would not fuck with this dude. He’s scary lookin’. He looks like someone left him in the fryer for too long. He’s a little toasty-lookin’. Not, like, trying to harsh on his personality, I’m just sayin’ that’s what he looks like.

(Would you believe me if I told you he’s the nicest guy of all of ‘em?)

Yeah, I could see that. He’s got a bit of a Drax vibe to him. Where he’s, like, really scary looking but I bet, y’know, you just met him and he offers you lemon squares. You’re like “I didn’t even know you could make lemon squares!”, and they’re pretty good lemon squares. He probably has a cat named Snuffles, that he really loves. But he could also kick your ass, so…

(XIX) Corvus Corax

I know this name, I’ve heard this name. Ah, it’s Wolverine! He’s got—his primary weapon is his nose, right? ‘Cuz he’s got a straight-up Ocarina of Time nose.

(He’s got a beak.)

Exactly! No, that’s not a nose; that’s a beak or a weapon. I love the color scheme! Like, a lot of these dudes have gold, but, like, gold in different places, which is really cool. Also, he’s got feathers, which is neat. So I’m into that.

(XX) Alpharius/Omegon

(Or “Alpharius Omegon”)

Are they the same person, or are they twins? What the fuck—?

(They do like a “I am Spartacus” thing. He’s got a twin brother nobody knows about.)

I hope they get along. Oh, that’s cool, they look like they’d get along. I like the mirrored scar thing, do you think they did that on purpose? I like to think one of them got scarred and the other one was like “Bro, you gotta cut up your face so that we look like mirror images of each other, ‘cuz that’d be neat!” I dunno, mm— there’s something—unsettling that, I don’t know, it creeps me out a little bit. Ehh. Naw, I don’t like ‘em.

Final Thoughts

I think out of all of these, I like Vulkan, because you said he’s chill; and I like Lllorgar, because he’s, like, I dunno. There’s a vibe about him, where I’m like “Yeah, you seem like a neat dude!” Uh, who else? And I want Magnus the Red to be my BFF. I wanna chill with him on the weekends and if I have any crazy house parties he’s the first person I’m calling up, because I know everyone’s gonna get fucked up. Like, that is LEGIT. I trust him with my booze, and I trust him with anything. Um, and I’m trying to think—I don’t like the greasy guy; and I feel like Sang-Sangweenus? Sanguinius, that guy, he’s cool too. Though I don’t know, I feel like if I tried to hang out with him he’d just—I’d form a guilt complex. Like, he probably eats really well and works out and has a spice garden…

(He’s Rob Lowe?)

Exactly! So I just look at him and I’d be like “Mm, you’re a little TOO perfect.” But I trust him. No, Konrad, I don’t—he reminds me too much of the midway point when Viktor Krum turned into a shark. That makes me uncomfortable.

(So who would you say is your least favorite, or the one you’re most suspicious of?)

It’s Konrad, yeah. The other ones seem cool, and if not I feel like I’ve got bros. I just need a three-man army and I feel like I’d be safe from the ones I don’t trust. So yeah, I like ‘em, they could kick my ass!

Thanks again to @asking-ask for the commentary! Glad to know my BF is a filthy heretic in the making, save for Vulkan being part of his triad-squad.

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narcissusneverknewme · 8 years ago

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Protection Detail P3C2

Chapter Six: The Beginning is in the End

The first time Draco sat at the Gryffindor table he and Harry had been arguing so heatedly on the subject of broom handle regulation for international games, that neither noticed when they had come to stand next to the table. Hermione had caught hold of them by the sleeves and guided them to chairs. The boys didn’t seem to fully take in their surroundings, even when dinner appeared, making them drop their argument.

“And that’s another thing!” Draco announced, reaching for some biscuits, “Hermione, you got ten points in class for saying that there is no defensive magic designed specifically to fight nymphs.”

“Yes, because there isn’t. Nymphs are protective sprites, they don’t generally pose a threat--” “Yeah, but you’re wrong. I read about a confusion spell created to fool nymphs,” “But that’s used to steal! Historically it’s been cast on guardians of trees whose wood or fruit was particularly precious. The caster would then--” “Regardless of past use, you can’t deny the spell’s potential as defensive,” Draco said. “I don’t think you can ignore the spell’s intended purpose.” Hermione said.

Draco opened his mouth to reply when he pulled a strange face and look up and down the table, “This is the Gryffindor table.” he said.

“Well spotted,” Hermione joked, “You’re starting to sound like Harry.”

“Hey!” Harry exclaimed reproachfully.

“No, I’m not.” Draco was still looking around, eyes flitting from person to person down the length of the table, “Why did you let me sit here?”

Ron snorted at him, annoyed, “Yes, you are. And, if you hadn’t noticed, no one cared. They’re so used to you practically living in their common room, at this point they don’t care where you eat.”

“But I do.” Draco muttered, but stayed where he was.

After that he ate with the group fairly regularly. Whenever Hermione wanted to discuss politics or Harry and Ron needed potions help, he ate with them. One day Draco and Neville even ate at the Ravenclaw table with Thanatos and (to Harry’s dismay) a very handsome sixth year that Harry recognized from an embarrassing encounter in a third floor corridor. This, then, was their Advanced Herbology work group.

Harry had been extremely surly, something Hermione mistakenly attributed to Thanatos’ hand resting on Draco’s arm for unnecessarily long periods of time. Harry made sure that it was not a particularly enjoyable meal for anyone at the Gryffindor table that evening.

Exam week came sooner than made any logical sense. The last days leading up to the first exam were already a strange, half-remembered blur by the time Harry sat for his last NEWT. By the next Monday he could recall nothing from the past two weeks but fatigue and a dull kind of panic.

It took hours after the last test papers were collected for Harry to calm down enough to contemplate that the remaining three weeks were not only class and homework free, but were to be his last in Hogwarts.

That night Harry dreamed the sun was rising over Hogwarts. The red dawn light turned everything a lovely rosey color. The light spread across the quidditch pitch, swept across the castle’s stony side, and turned the lake into a shining red jewel.

It was stunning. Harry stood transfixed. When he looked up at the sky directly overhead he saw that the glow of the growing sunrise was choking out the stars. He watched, helpless, as he lost sight of them one by one. He tried uselessly to stop them from being snuffed out, but he couldn’t reach them. The long tendrils of sunlight stretched towards the last remaining star.

“No! Please!” Harry jerked awake. His hand was outstretched, reaching into the darkness above him. His throat felt raw, and he was sure he had shouted.

From somewhere to his left, a muttered, “You alright Harry?” told him he’d woken Ron.

“Yep. Sorry. Go back to bed.” A second later the sound of a familiar snore informed Harry that Ron had taken his advice.

###

A week of sunny days by the lake and cool pumpkin juice at Hagrid’s cottage passed. One night they had a party with all of the DA members, plus Draco and minus Marietta. A few morning were spent in friendly inter-house quidditch games. An afternoon was spent in the Forest with Hagrid, gathering ingredients for Slughorn.

Then, on the last morning of their lives as students, an owl came with Hermione’s Daily Prophet. The arrival of mail had caused a larger stir than usual, and Harry noticed that the Great Hall seemed to be filled with louder, more excited chatter than was normal.

Hermione paid the owl, took her paper, and scanned the front page. She gasped and bumped Ron’s arm, spilling his coffee and drawing his attention to the paper.

“What?!” Harry demanded, “What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened, per se,” Hermione said, “You’re on the front page again.”

“What for?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Just rumour and gossip, as usual.”

“I’m on the front page over rumours?”

Hermione nodded.

“Oh, come off it, Hermione, he’s going to see it eventually--” Ron was cut off by a loud thud! as a copy of the Prophet was dropped in front of Harry, who gasped.

On the front page was a black and white photo of Harry and Draco. They were sitting on the earth beneath Harry’s favorite tree. Light streamed down through the leaves and a soft breeze was dancing in the grass and stirring Harry’s hair. Harry and Draco were seated closer together than Harry remembered them being. They were looking at one another, the shadow of laughter still in their faces and something far softer in their eyes. There was something private in the openness of their expressions, something intimate.

It was a breathtaking photo, artistically speaking, and certainly more flattering than any picture of him the paper had ever run before. Still, Harry fervently hoped that he never had to see such a sappy look on his own face ever again.

It dawned on Harry that for the Prophet to have landed on the table in front of him, someone must have dropped it. Slowly Harry looked up. The eyes that glinted at him from above were the same shade of silver as the eyes in the beautiful photo on the table. They were the same size and shape, framed in the same white lashes, and yet… they looked different. Maybe it’s the way this pair screams “murder.” Harry thought.

“Granger,” Draco said stiffly, turning towards Hermione, “A word.” He stalked out of the Great Hall, leaving Hermione to scramble after him.

“Way to make a scene,” Ron muttered.

Harry returned to the paper, avoiding looking at the picture and focusing on the text surrounding it. His own name assaulted him from the headline “HARRY POTTER, UNEXPECTED ROMANCE” and then, in smaller print, “THE NEXT CHAPTER IN THE LIFE OF THE CHOSEN ONE?” Harry looked up at Ron as if hoping for answers.

“You’re doing that thing, the one that makes you look like an angry fish?” Ron said.

Harry closed his mouth and resumed reading:

“Harry Potter has once again confounded all who thought they understood the MO of The Boy Who Lived.

‘One might expect the Savior of the Wizarding World, the Downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, to be the enemy of ex-Death Eaters,’ says one Gary Bracekin, of the Auror Department.

‘I think that no one expected him to go around picking fights with everyone that was ever persuaded to take up with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but we definitely didn’t expect him to openly court the son of Lucius Malfoy. I’ve even heard that the Malfoy boy himself took the Dark Mark,’ said one anonymous source in the Ministry. Indeed, it seems safe to say that no one anticipated an alliance of any sort to develop between Harry, the Wizarding world’s favorite heroic heartthrob, and Draco Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy, Draco’s father--”

The article went on to detail Lucius’ history with Voldemort, included in stint in Azkaban. Harry took a moment to cringe again at the words “heroic heartthrob” and then flipped to page seven to scan through the rest of the article.

His eyes lighted on a passage near the end.

“... the unlikeliness of the match almost leads one to wonder if the young Malfoy has ulterior motives for this close association with our Chosen One. We can only hope that he is being honest about his intentions and that he will do right by Harry.”

Harry closed the Prophet irritably. He looked back at the photo on the front page. It was captioned, “Harry Potter and ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy share a private moment in the sun.”

That’s right. Harry thought, It was private. Where did they get this picture? Did a student take it? That seemed doubtful. The picture was stunning, it was hard to imagine anyone but a professional taking a shot like that.

Harry glanced at the image. His photographic self just crinkled up his eyes and showed photographic Draco more of his teeth. They blinked at each other stupidly. What a sap. Harry found the byline. Of course.

“Ron, guess who wrote this article.”

“I dunno… wait. No way. She can’t have.” Harry flipped the paper around and pointed. Rita Skeeter. “Well,” Ron said, “she always get at the truth somehow, eh Harry?” Harry was spared responding by Hermione and Draco’s return. Draco plucked the Prophet from Harry’s fingers and swept over to his own house table without a word.

“He’s moody today,” Ron said. Harry raised his eyebrows, “Well,” Ron said defensively, “He’d going to have to get used to this kind of stuff. He’d better get comfortable before the article about him viciously breaking your heart and stealing your last cauldron cake comes out.”

“What did Draco want?” Harry asked Hermione and trying not to think about how embarrassing it was going to be if the Prophet continued to publish articles on the subject.

“Tell you later,” She said.

That evening the three of them were tucked away in a quiet corner of the common room. Draco was with his Advanced Herbology group, the whole class was having a party to celebrate surviving test day. It did not bother Harry in the least that Thanatos and the hot Ravenclaw would be there.

“Hermione,” Harry said, suddenly very quiet, “about that photo in the Prophet…”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Do you think it might have been tampered with?”

Hermione cocked her head to the side, “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t… I mean that isn’t…Well, do you think it has been?'

“No, I don’t. I’ve looked into it but I don’t think it’s been altered or enhanced in any way. Why though? What made you think that it might have been?” She pressed, fixing him with a piercing look.

“It’s just… I don’t actually look like that, right?”

“It’s a very nice photo, Harry.” Hermione said.

“Yeah, mate. You look great.”

Harry struggled for a minute, then let out a deep sigh. “I don’t actually look at him like that, do I?”

Hermione stared for a moment and burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny Hermione!” Harry hissed, reddening.

“It kind of is, mate,” Ron said, grinning.

“You don’t understand, Harry. That’s what Draco wanted to talk to me about, he thought the photo had been meddled with somehow, but he didn’t say why or what kind of tampering he suspected.”

“Oooh, I hope he suspects the same kind Harry does!” Ron said, clapping Harry on the back and laughing. Harry looked away irritably. Hermione pulled the paper from her bag, smoothing it out and setting it on her lap. Harry looked over at it.

Seeing the looks between the two of them, Harry half expected his black-and-white self to try to hold Draco’s hand or kiss him. In fact, when he had first seen the image on the front of the Prophet, he had been terrified that the picture people would do exactly that. But now, just as before, they two stared into one another’s eyes, unmoving except for their matched breathing and erratic blinking.

“Harry, if you ever do it for that long in front of me,” Ron said, “I will hex the both of you. That’s just indecent.”

“But why aren’t we moving?” Harry asked, choosing to ignore Ron, “it’s definitely enchanted, look at the wind. But we aren’t trying to push each other out of shot or anything. If it hasn’t been messed with then why aren’t we acting like normal a normal photograph?”

“Harry, photos aren’t like paintings, they don’t have quite as much… life.”

“I know,” Harry said, thinking of a little book Hagrid had given once given him, “but they can move more than to just blink and smirk.”

“They’re snapshots, they capture the emotion of the moment.” Hermione said.

“You remember when you had that picture take of you and Lockhart?” Ron interjected.

“Yeah,”

“And little photo-you kept trying to get out of frame?” Ron continued. Harry nodded. “Well, that’s because when the photo was taken you desperately wanted to be out of shot, so that’s what got left behind on the picture.”

“I imagine you and Draco both felt like you’d have been perfectly content to remain in that moment forever when the picture was taken, and so you have.”

Harry was starting to get angry. He hadn’t signed up for this. Help Neville out? Yes, good. Stop people beating up Malfoy in between classes and over the holidays? Alright. Become accidental friends? Ok. Take Draco to the Burrow and integrate him completely into Harry’s friend group? FINE. But this? This was too much.

Harry stood up and walked out of the porthole, letting the painting of the Fat Lady swing shut behind him. Shaking his head and walking fast, he made his way onto the grounds. Harry had almost reached the whomping willow when he noticed he was being followed and turned to see Ron hurrying after him.

Harry sat down out of reach of the willow’s longest branches and let out a heartfelt sigh. As he did so he felt all his angry energy leave him. He had no one to be angry with.

When he turned to greet Ron he decided that he may have come to that conclusion too soon, as Ron was carrying the newspaper with him. Ron took a seat next to Harry silently. They sat there for a long time without saying anything. Finally Harry spoke.

“I like girls.”

“Yeah, I know. I noticed. I’m observant like that.” Ron joked.

“A lot.” Said Harry.

“Sure you do, mate.” Said Ron cheerfully. There was another long pause.

“I like guys, too.”

Ron snickered, “Yeah, I know. I’d noticed.”

Harry threw a twig at him.

“It’s not weird?”

“What are you on about? ‘Course it’s not weird. Blimey, Harry, haven’t we been through this already? Ages ago?”

“No, I mean… It’s not just guys. It’s that… I’m a bit attracted to... Malfoy. That’s weird, right?”

Ron gave Harry a look that was equal parts amusement and frustration. He held up the picture from the Prophet.

“Harry, that is not attraction, my friend.That’s not even remotely what attraction looks like.” He jabbed a finger at the image, “That isn’t even affection. That’s tenderness, that is. L-O-V-E. Love. Romance. You’re a complete goner for Malfoy.” Ron was choking on laughter before he’d reached the end of his speech. He wiped his watery eyes and continued, “And yeah, it’s a bit weird, and a lot funny, but it’s good for you, good for both of you.”

“Both of us? No. No. no.” Harry was shaking his vehemently.

“Harry, Malfoy’s right about one thing: you can be really dense.” Harry tried to look appropriately offended, but his heart wasn’t in it. Ron went on, “We’ve graduated, Harry. We’re not school kids anymore. We aren’t going to have classes and homework and vengeful groups of 3-7 Malfoy-hating fifth years to bring us together. What was it Dad said? At dinner?”

Harry tried to think, “Something about choosing who stays in our lives?” He said slowly.

“Right. He said everyone who’s in our lives from now on are going to be there because we decide we want them there. That definitely includes Malfoy, Harry.”

Ron and Harry sat by the Willow for a few minutes longer, and then they went inside and found Hermione, Draco, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Dean, and Seamus. They spent the rest of the night together and most of them only went to bed only a few hours before sunrise. Draco left to sneak back to his common room sometime after two. A few minutes later Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map.

He caught up to Draco easily. He snuck up quietly and tapped Draco hard on the shoulder. This was very nearly a fatal mistake. Draco spun around before Harry had time to blink, whipping out his wand and pointing that the place Harry’s hand was occupying in space.

“If that is you Peeves--”

Harry interrupted him by pulling off the cloak. Draco dropped his wand at the same time and speed that he rolled his eyes, making him look like some kind of ridiculous wind-up doll.

“Just like you to be sneaking about after hours,” He sneered.

“Look who’s talking,” Harry said. Draco raised his eyebrows but Harry ignored him, “anyway, I came to make sure you didn’t get caught on the way back. I know you’re a bit of an amatuer.”

“Bugger off.”

“Get under the cloak.”

As soon as they were both invisible and on their way it became clear that Harry had miscalculated. His clever plan to ensure that neither of them get caught had been that the two of them would go to the dungeons, wait until the map gave the all clear, have Draco leave the cloak and enter his common room, and then Harry would return to his dormitories. An excellent plan for sneaking around undetected, but a terrible plan as far as general comfort goes.

The cloak was never made to conceal two people. When they were young he, Ron, and Hermione could easily fit. Every year it grew harder, but they had not tried it in a long while. There was a reason.

In order for the two of them to move together, both hidden from view, Draco and Harry were so close to one another that Harry could smell Draco’s hair and feel his body heat. One of Draco’s hands was actually resting on Harry’s back for part of the trip, reminding Harry of when they had danced at Christmas. They had to pause a few times to let first Peeves, and then Mrs. Norris, pass them. The third time they stopped Harry leaned over to see the evil cat pass. His breath ghosted Draco’s neck, causing Draco to shiver and making Harry deeply thankful that it was far too dark for his blushing face to be visible when he straightened back up. In the end, it turned out to be one of the longest walks of Harry’s life.

When the reached the dungeon and it was time for Draco to leave, he pulled off the cloak, took a hasty pair of steps back, and immediately donned his old, mocking sneer. In a voice just slightly higher than his own he said, “Thanks for walking me back, Harry. I had such a great time.”

Harry rolled his eyes and flipped him off, but he was grinning as he set out on his way back to his own dorm for the last time.

###

The train ride was pleasurable. Hermione had done the work and snagged Draco before he could exile himself to an empty compartment somewhere, and the four of them took the journey together.

They talked and joked and ate sweets. Harry kindly pretended not to see when Hermione and Ron’s gazes lingered or they got a little too wrapped up in each other’s smiles. It was only fair, given that all three of his companions were dedicated in ignoring the way Harry would get lost for a while, staring out the window and looking at the floor. They were less dedicated to ignoring the occasional look he may have cast in Draco’s direction.

Before boarding the train that morning, Hermione and Ron had “suggested” that Harry “seriously consider” having an “open conversation” with Draco “just about how you feel.” Harry had every intention of ignoring that advice.

More uncomfortably still, Ron kept giving Harry meaningful looks and Hermione sent him repeated “thumbs up” which there was no possible way Draco could have avoided seeing if he’d been trying. Which he might have been. At one point, Hermione even engineered an almost-subtle excuse for Harry and Draco to be alone in the compartment.

When they got back and saw that Draco watching, fascinated as Harry and Manasa held what looked like a very deep conversation, Hermione gave Harry a deeply disappointed look. Ron covered for her by passing out little packages Luna had given them. The packages held a picture of a weird little imp with long, curling and eight toes, some handmade sweets, and an invitation to a party at her home in a few weeks.

Apart from the scheming, the ride was wonderful, and Harry found himself wishing that they could remain on the train for days; but they couldn’t. Eventually, the train pulled in to King’s Cross, and they all shuffled onto the platform.

“Where are you going to be staying?” Harry asked Draco as they waited together for the Weasleys to arrive.

“An apartment in London. It’s paid for by the program.” Draco’s tone was casual but he was not looking at Harry, “You?”

“Well, I’m going to the Burrow for a few days and then I’ll be heading to London myself. Sirius had a place, a lot smaller than his family home. Ron and I’ll be rooming together.”

Harry could see the Weasleys in the distance, and for once the sight of them hurrying towards him made him feel upset rather than safe. He was running out of time. Harry started panicking. Draco looked like he intended to flee before Mrs. Weasley had the chance to force him into eating an entire Thestral or something. His knuckles were growing white where they gripped his trunk.

Harry looked down and saw that his own knuckles were a similar shade. He took a few hasty, deep breaths. This was not the plan. This was not the plan at all. This was a very bad idea. But when did the combination of a lack of planning and a very bad idea ever stop Harry Potter?

Ginny had joined their group and the Weasleys were in clear view because Harry had waited to the last second. Too late now. This was happening. Harry let his trunk fall from his grasp with a thunk. His friends looked at him curiously.

Harry met Draco’s eyes. Draco’s expression went from casual interest, to mild concern when he saw the intensity of Harry’s gaze. A moment longer and look like fear crossed his eyes. But it was too late. Harry was already leaning in.

Harry gently held Draco’s face between his hands and, very softly, brushed his lips against Draco’s. He almost expected Draco to pull away or even disapparate on the spot.

What Harry had not expected was for Draco to make a little sound of alarm. Harry had not expected, after a very long millisecond, for Draco to lean into his touch. Harry certainly had not expected to feel Draco’s fingers card through his hair, tangle in his curls, and use it to draw them even closer together. Surprises, Harry thought, were good. Very good.

When Harry pulled back a little Draco was giving him a smug smile.

“What?” Harry said.

“Have fun dealing with hoard of Weasleys coming this way. I hope you know they saw that.”

“What do you mean, ‘have fun?’ You’re not going anywhere.”

“Oh yes, I am.”

“Oh no, you’re not.” Harry said.

Harry leaned in again and caught Draco’s smirking mouth in a another kiss, this one not so hesitant but still achingly gentle. Hands caressed faces, traced along throats, ran acrossed shoulders. Fingers tangled in hair, swept over backs, and wound into fabric. Every movement tugged the two of them closer and closer. Harry wasn’t sure if he was breathing. There was a feeling in his chest that he couldn’t name. It was flying, it was the smell of the Burrow and the sound of Hagrid’s kettle. It was Sirius’ laugh, it was fairy lights at Christmas and the Giant Squid eating toast. It was Hermione’s color-coded notes and Ron’s chess set. It was de-gnoming gardens, playing quidditch, and walking down Diagon Alley. It was home.

All day Harry had been thinking that the train was taking him away from the first home he could remember. He was right. Hogwarts lay behind him now. The first place he had been welcome, the place that had given him people who cared about him, people he had been willing to fight for, to die for. What Harry had not understood until now was that the train was also bringing him to another home, another place to belong, new things to fight for with life and limb, new lessons to learn.

Mr. Weasley had been right, if Harry wanted Draco to stay in his life, it wasn’t going to be easy. Harry had decided it was worth it, and he was going to do what was necessary, even if that meant abandoning all good sense and snogging Draco on platform nine and three-quarters in front of the entire Weasley clan.

Harry sighed against Draco’s mouth and felt him smile in response.

"Oi!” a voice that sounded like Fred’s called, “If you two are ready to kindly disentangle,”

“I think the rest of us would like to leave the platform at some point,” finished a loud voice that sounded like George.”

Harry lay his cheek lightly against Draco’s, arms still wrapped around the other’s waist. “Don’t even think about taking off. This is your fault too.” He whispered.

“I hardly see that. I’m not the one who decided to do this so publicly.” Draco said, equally softly.

“Yeah, well. We’d never have done it at all if it were left up to you. So. If you want to duck out you’ll have to splinch me.”

Draco’s right hand was playing with the hair on Harry’s neck, “Might be worth it. Value goes down with any permanent damage sustained, of course, but… The damage to might be comparable to how much I value the opportunity to avoid Mr. Weasley’s overwhelmingly positivity and Fleur’s awkward questions.”

Harry chuckled, “Why Fleur’s questions?”

“Because,” he whispered against Harry’s cheek, leaning in just far enough that his lips grazed Harry’s ear as he spoke, “tu es mon petit ami.”

Harry shoved him away, rubbing fiercely at his own ear and turning red. “Ew, don’t do that.”

Harry was then unfortunately reminded that they had an audience, because said audience erupted into laughter.

Eventually, they all headed to the Burrow. Harry kept hold of Draco’s hand, making good on his promise that any disappearing act would have to be executed over his splinched body. As he walked away from Kings Cross Station for the last time, Harry overheard Fleur say slyly, “Bon ami, Draco? Très très bon! N’est-ce pas?”

#drarry #harry/draco #harry x draco #harry potter #hp #Draco Malfoy #maykomakesstuff #protection detail #fanfiction #fanfic

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