#maybe the corner of a tower dug in?

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

Oh I am an idiot sandwich

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Rapunzel, Rapunzel.

Pairing: Yandere!Vil x Reader x Yandere!Rook (TWST).

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Loose Tangled AU, Prolonged Captivity, Violence (Magic and Physical) and Blood, Dehumanization, Imbalanced Power Dynamics, Vil and Rook Are Making Out In The Corner While Reader's Having The Worst Day Of Their Life, and Manipulation.

The arrows hurt more than the fall.

The fall, you’d been expecting. Rook might’ve been able to scale the tower with little more than a dagger, a few footholds chipped into the weathered stone, and a burning curiosity, but you weren’t so graceful, didn't have the luxury of the physique you might've, had you not spent the last eighteen months restrained to a handful of rooms. You knew that you wouldn’t have the time to be as careful as you needed to be, that you’d be fortunate to make it off of your windowsill before losing your grip, and when the time came to let go and pray you broke an arm rather than a leg, you were ready. You could brace yourself. You could see the threat looming ahead of you, and as Vil called your name in the distance, you were able to fall into its open arms of your own volition.

The arrows weren’t something you’d thought to ready yourself for. Vil’s poison, maybe, the weight of his newest curses being etched into the fabric of your being, but not a weapon, not the sting of piercing metal burrowing into the back of your shoulder, then the plush of your side. Even then, you did what you could to keep running, to move forward through the dense forest despite the jagged rocks and winding brambles cutting through the flesh of your bare feet. You didn’t know where you were going, let alone what to do when you reached your nebulous destination, but you didn’t have to. You needed to get away from Vil’s tower – that was it. You could figure out what to do next after you’d escaped him.

With that in mind, you pushed yourself to run faster, to ignore the pain racing through your upper body as you put a few more steps between yourself and the ever-shrinking tower that sat above the treetops, but even that was an effort cut short. There was a bolt of searing pain, a white flash playing across your vision. Your left leg was buckled underneath you, leaving you crumbling to the ground with a broken, ragged scream. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to swallow the sound back before it could force its way out of your chest, but whether or not someone heard you didn’t really matter. You’d seen him shoot hawks out of the sky mid-flight, thread darts through the eye of needles sitting yards away. Rook wouldn’t fire unless he had his target in sight. He’d known exactly where you were the moment drew his bow. This was just his way of letting you believe you’d ever stood a chance.

This was just his way of letting you believe he’d ever been on your side. 

You pulled your injured leg into your chest, fighting to hold back the pained tears welling in the corners of your eyes. You were tempted to stop restraining yourself altogether and cry until the agony subsided, but your hunter emerged from the foliage before you could start to truly wallow if your self-pity. If he’d wanted to, he could’ve approached you silently, been on top of your fallen body before you so much as noticed he was within arm’s length, but Rook made no effort to conceal his presence. If anything, he seemed to want you to know exactly where he was. There was a deep laugh, the muffled sound of a longbow being swung over his shoulder, the feeling of his body blocking out what little light the setting sun still hard to offer, and then, he was crouching in front of you. A gloved hand cupped your chin as he looked down on you with the same adoring, love-stricken expression he always seemed to wear. You’d always done what you could to return it, in the past, to think of it as a glimpse of sunlight in the darkness that was your life with Vil, but now, it was all you could do to glare and look away.

“Merveilleux.” He wasn’t out of breath, but his voice was airy – barely more than a whisper. His leather-wrapped knuckles ran over your cheek, just as slowly and just as adoring as they had on the day you met – the day you’d woken up to the first stranger you’d seen in weeks kneeling at your bedside, idly stroking your hair and complimenting your lovely (albeit, quite difficult to reach) home. You’d tried to warn him away, to tell him what Vil had done to all the other adventurers and heroes who’d so much as approached his tower, but he refused to listen. If Vil hadn’t taken such a liking to him, he’d be little more than a pile of ash you’d have to sweep up the next day, or better yet – another withering rose left in your windowsill to warn away the next intruder. Vil always did have a flair for the romantic, but he and Rook seemed to have that in common.

He'd changed, since that day. When you first met him, he’d been rough around the edges, his hair uncombed and his skin as calloused as it was burnt. His clothes had been nothing short of a travesty – threadbare and ill-fitting, repaired a thousand times over by someone clearly not used to mending. Now, he was just as much of an embodiment of Vil’s ideals as you were: his hair grown out long and restrained by a violet ribbon, his freckles faded and framed by neatly cut bangs, his clothes of all the same dark silks and pristine furs as Vil would’ve chosen for himself. He was as much of a pet as you were, really. The only difference was how enthusiastically Rook embraced his role and how desperately you tried to escape yours.

“In fact,” he went on, his eyes drifting to the arrows still lodged in your back, your thigh. “I don’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful. A damsel pulled from the pages of the most wonderful sort of fairytale, truly.”

“Go fuck yourself.” And then, with a half-choked snarl, “You were supposed to— I thought you were trying to help me—”

“Ah, the searing heat of rage! It shades the color of your eyes with such life.” Rook clicked his tongue, his grin taking on a wry lull. His hand fell from your chin to the collar of your blouse, toying with the mangled fabric as he spoke. “A poor dove, fallen from its nest. Don’t worry, petit oiseau – I’ll make sure you get home before the wolves find you.”

He moved to take you in his arms, but you did what you could to shamble away from him despite your limited mobility. It was difficult to speak, your ribs having taken the brunt of your initial fall and endured further abuse during his first volley of arrows. It was difficult to meet his eyes, knowing what he’d taken away from you, but you forced yourself to do both. You tried to remind yourself that it was still Rook, that you were still facing down the man who’d held you in his arms as you cried, who told you stories of heroes and villains and happy endings when you began to think you might die in captivity, but fond memories were difficult to recall when his arrows were still embedded in your flesh. “You said that— You said that the prince would distract the witch as her captive escaped,” you spat, already aware of how juvenile you sounded, trying your best to stumble through the same story he’d told you a thousand times. You’d taken it as a code, treated it as if you were both colluders in the same scheme, but an ever-growing part of you was starting to think that his stories had only ever been that – stories. “Why didn’t you distract him?” When Rook failed to answer, you bared your teeth. “Were you ever trying to help me escape?”

There was a beat of silence, of stillness. A rabbit rustled somewhere in the underbrush, a robin called out to its mate, and Rook sighed, shaking his head with the kind of humored exasperation a parent might show to a child who just asked about something very, very silly.

He didn’t just toy with your ragged collar, now, but caught it – taking it in his fist and pulling you upright. With his free hand, he took the shaft of the arrow embedded in your shoulder and pulled it free, the head catching under your skin and rendering everything it touched a bloody mess of gore and viscera. The same process was carried out with the arrow embedded in your side, this one accompanied by a searing burn, another second taken to twist the arrowhead free of your skin. You weren’t able to hold back your tears by the end of it, no matter how tightly you clenched your eyes shut, no matter how much it hurt to dig your teeth into the side of your cheek and will yourself not to break down in front of him, not to lose the last semblance of control you had, under Vil’s care.

“I never lied to you,” he said, as he took up the shaft of the third arrow – the one plungest deepest into your thigh. “You know what Vil would do if you didn’t return. I promised you a happy ending, and this is how I intend to give you one.”

With no hesitation, no effort to clot the blood flowing in thick streams from your gaping wounds, he pulled the last arrow free. You let out a fractured wail, doubling over and attempting to curl into yourself, but Rook was already there, already pulling you into his chest as you sobbed openly, freely. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him pull a hunting knife from his belt, the silver of the blade tinted a deep, shimmering violet. You went stiff, but there was little you could do. There was a flash of light caught on steel, a nick of pain in the side of your neck, and then, you were limp in Rook’s arms, quickly losing consciousness as he pulled you against his chest and started towards the tower.

~

You felt velvet against your cheek, first.

Crushed, cool, deceptively soothing – you recognized it immediately, an image of one of Vil’s favored robes surfacing in your mind against your will. Next were the bandages wrapped around your shoulder, your waist, your thigh, then the fur rug underneath you, that of some great beast a would-be hero had once brought to try and rescue you. Vil had wanted to mount the prince’s head on a pike at the base of the tower, but you’d begged him not to, and he’d taken the monstrous stead’s pelt as a trophy, instead.

You took a long, quiet moment to collect yourself, to bask in the last peaceful moment you were likely to have, but your tranquility was quickly interrupted by the feeling of a wooden comb raking through your hair and over your scalp, the teeth dulled by use and the shape familiar enough to make you shudder involuntarily. Vil’s airy laugh played in response, paired with the last traces of Rook’s muttering voice. A new addition, one that left the taste of bile rising up from the back of your throat. One you never wanted to acknowledge again. “I know you’re awake, little one. Might as well face the light now.”

He said that, but when you finally forced yourself to open your eyes, you found that was no light to face aside from the flame of a low-burning candle sitting on a nearby table and the silver-tinted glow emanating from your hair. Clearly, your unconsciousness hadn’t been a good enough reason for Vil not to refresh his eternal youth, tonight.

He’d positioned you as he always did – at his feet, on your knees, with your head resting in his lap. Despite how close you’d come to getting away from him, his expression betrayed no panic, only confident serenity and the slightest trace of smugness. As was to be expected of him. Vil found joy in very little, but somehow, he always seemed to take a certain amount of pride in your defeat.

Your defeat, and your horror. He’d calmed over the course of your captivity, but you could still remember how he’d lorded over you during your first days in his tower, how open he’d been about just how long he’d spent peering your lonely little life in your lonely little cottage, content in the knowledge that no company meant there’d be no one to exploit your magic. Vil hadn’t just ruined that, he’d done it with zeal.

“Raise your head.” It was a command, because Vil didn’t make requests. Reluctantly, you obeyed, and Vil took you by the jaw with one hand, brushing your hair away from your face with the other. Your hair was damp, your ruined clothes exchanged for a black nightdress, simple in design but impeccably crafted. You couldn’t bring yourself to be surprised. Vil’s standards for you were only second to only those he held for himself. It was more than likely that you hadn’t made it more than a step into the tower’s walls before Vil deemed you in need of one of his ice-cold baths and something more presentable to wear. “No cuts,” he went on, turning your head to either side. “But more bruises than I care for. Couldn’t you have been more gentle?”

You opened your mouth, but Rook answered on your behalf. You could remember, only days ago, being thankful beyond words to have a buffer between yourself and Vil, but now, you couldn’t say you felt anything beyond resentment. “The lasting evidence of a struggle can add a rugged undertone to one’s charm. And oh, if only you could’ve seen the way they struggled!” He was behind you, holding you up, on arm wrapped around your waist and his legs spread around you. He leaned forward as he spoke, his chest slotting loosely against your back, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “It was fantastic, like watching a songbird with a broken wing struggle to fly. The relentlessness of desperation paired with the inevitability of its downfall - truly magnifique!”

That earned another laugh, a row of jewel-tipped fingers raked through Rook’s hair. “I’d prefer to keep my songbird in one piece.” And then, after a slight pause, “In spite of that songbird’s best efforts to snap its own neck, of course.”

You shrunk into yourself. You’d tried to escape before, to pick the lock on your bedroom or poison his tea or, on one memorable occasion, to steal the spell book he always seemed to keep at his waist, and there’d always been a punishment to accompany your misbehavior – a crop taken to your back or one of your few privileges revoked. You couldn’t imagine what he’d do to you, this time. You couldn’t imagine that anything could’ve been worse than finally getting out of his tower only to be dragged back and deposited into his arms. “I’m sorry,” you managed, eventually, with only the intent of lessening whatever rage he must’ve held for you. “I… Rook is right. It was futile. I shouldn’t have tried to run.”

“And?”

And? There’d never been an and, before. When you could bring yourself to offer an apology, he’d always either accepted it ouright, ignored you completely, or clicked his tongue and promised that hollow words wouldn’t be enough to prove your remorse. You pursed your lips, but made yourself force something out. Silence would be seen as disobedience, and further disobedience would only make things worse for you. “And, it was short-sighted. I wouldn’t have gotten very far, and even if Rook hadn’t found me, I don’t know where we are. I wouldn’t know how to fend for myself. I—” Your voice cracked, your vision starting to blur once more. “I shouldn’t have gotten carried away by stories and fairy tales. I’m sorry.”

Vil let out a labored, languid sigh. There was one more squeeze to your cheeks, and finally, he let you go, setting down his comb in the same fluid movement. There was a small smile, a tap to his thigh, and Rook drew back just far enough to let you push yourself to your feet. Your legs immediately gave out, but Rook was fast enough to catch you, close enough to lower you into Vil’s lap himself and drink in the appreciative hum Vil offered, by way of reward.

“That’s very sweet,” he started, once you’d settled against him. Rook continued to hover above you, but you did your best to ignore him. “But I want you to apologize to our dear hunter, too.”

Something bitter leeched up from the back of your throat. You opened your mouth as you turned to face Rook, but closed it as soon as you saw him, as soon as you caught a glimpse of that careless grin, those half-lidded eyes. For as hesitant as you were to approach him, you snapped toward Vil reflexively, unable to stifle your reactions. “But, he doesn’t use my—”

“He went through so much to bring you home.” He’d shot three arrows. He’d tracked you like a wild animal. He’d brought you back to Vil after promising that he’d help you get away from Vil – after promising that he’d make sure you got your happy ending. “And he’s been so patient with you, since he joined us. Not just anyone can bear your sulking.”

You tried to protest, but your voice caught in your throat. It was more disbelief, than anything – another variable you hadn’t thought would hurt quite as much as it did. Vil scoffed, and Rook gave you a sympathetic smile, and you sat there, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“He lied to me,” you managed, finally. “He said he would help me escape.”

Vil’s lips quirked downward. You saw his fingers twitch, his spell book pulse with a sickly emerald light, but rather than summon a poison-coated dagger or turn you into some chirping, cage-bound bird for the next day or so, he looked towards Rook, more trust in his eyes than he’d ever afforded you.

You felt sick.

“I said that our ending would be a happy one. The poor dove must’ve misinterpreted what I meant by that.” It would’ve been a mercy if the affection dripping from his tone turned out to be ingenuine. It would’ve been a mercy, to find out he was only ever trying to hurt you. “I hoped that I might be to stay with the two of you – at least for a time. If you think I might be a bad influence,” A flash of a grin, a length of blonde hair allowed to fall over one of his eyes, “Then I only ask that you allow me the time I’ll need to savor a death by your hands properly.”

There was a bark of a laugh, a sharp snap of Vil’s fingers. Your eyes dropped to the floor as Vil caught Rook’s tunic in his chest and pulled him closer, as he’d done with you a thousand times. Fabric rustled against fabric, mouths crashed into mouths, but you willed yourself to ignore it, to just bite your tongue and be thankful that Vil’s attention wasn’t centered on you. To be grateful that you weren’t the only one stuck in this cage, anymore. You tried to be grateful. You wanted to be grateful.

And yet, you couldn’t seem to convince yourself that Rook was a prisoner, rather than yet another lock hanging from the bars of your cage.

[awhoreintheory]

okay so MCU canon Peter in DC is all funny and games but what about comic canon Peter? Peter who’s in his 30s, whose life is falling apart(again) and has clones to deal with(man I hate the fact that Ben became evil :(.)

extra points if Miles and/or Mayday is with him. This single dad is STRUGGLING. And the bats wanna help him/his kids cause man! Look at them :(

(extra extra points if Dick = Richard Parker. That’s a whole nother can of worms. Like the bats are thinking Peter = Family of Dick they didn’t know but NO! It’s actually Dick’s son! Dicks a granddad!)

I want to PSA to anyone sending asks/requests, I'm not ignoring you!! I'm just a slow writer!!! I hope you enjoy though <33

Peter B. Parker could, 100%, picture landing in (yet another) alternate universe. You know what? As a matter of fact, he expected it.

What he didn’t plan for, however, was being stranded in another universe with his baby girl strapped to his chest. 

But here he was, crouched in a narrow alley in the darkest corner of Gotham City, New Jersey. From the name alone, Peter knew he landed himself in a section of the Multiverse Miguel had expressly labeled as off limits. It wasn’t his fault he’d landed here, though!

One minute he’d been web-swinging through New York, enjoying a rare peaceful day with Mayday babbling happily, and the next he was crash-landing onto a grimy rooftop in the most dangerous city he’d ever seen. It was like New York turned up to eleven, all shadows and towering gargoyles, dripping with rain that seemed perpetual. The interdimensional bracelet he’d been given to travel the multiverse was sparking and smoking in his pocket— total toast. He was officially stranded. 

Ok, so it maybe, kinda sorta, been an eensy weensy, tiny bit Peter’s fault. 

Peter’s, very high-tech and likely expensive bracelet had been, uh, scratched in a fight the day before. Barely even a nick! He swears he could’ve reattached the wires and fixed the screen. 

He probably should’ve also taken the watch out of his robe pocket before he started swinging Mayday to daycare. 

MJ was going to be so mad. 

It became evident early on it’d take a little bit to find a way home, or for someone to find him. If it had just been Peter, he could’ve roughed it on some rooves and abandoned buildings. It wouldn’t be a big deal, he knew he would be getting home eventually. Being a little smelly was the least of his worries. 

But he had his baby girl with him. 

So, with the money in his wallet, he found an under-the-counter, rundown but otherwise warm, apartment in a place called Crime Alley. (What a seriously terrible name) Peter started pulling together whatever side gigs he could, fixing appliances, tuning up electronics, just enough to get by. Even for a guy who was used to scraping by, the situation felt bleak, especially with Mayday depending on him. 

His little red-headed whirlwind was still too young to understand what was happening, but she noticed the tension and started clinging to him more tightly. Peter knew he couldn’t keep this up forever, but he wasn’t sure how to trust anyone in a city that had both criminals and vigilantes lurking around every corner. When he spotted someone in a cape swinging overhead, he instinctively hid in the shadows, holding Mayday close, her tiny face tucked into his shoulder.

But the Bats noticed him. 

It was hard not to notice a single dad with no records, no job, and no explanation for why he was squatting in Gotham’s most dangerous neighborhood. Bruce, ever vigilant, put out word to the family to keep an eye on him. 

Jason, who patrolled Crime Alley, wasn’t thrilled about the idea. “A guy moved into my turf with a baby?” he grumbled to Tim. “Either he’s got a death wish, or he’s crazy.” 

Tim, on the other hand, was fascinated by the mystery. He dug through every database he had access to, and then some. But “Peter Parker” returned zero results— at least, none that matched this Peter Parker. no criminal record, no birth record, no online footprint. It was like he just spawned in! 

Dick didn’t have a whole lot of opinions. He thought the man was nice, though he had only met him once in a routine mugging. He evidently cared for his daughter, and matched Nightwing’s wit and humor pretty nicely, too. He looked annoyingly familiar too. Maybe it was Tired Dad Chic? He kind of reminded him of Bruce, in a way. 

Steph seconded the funny part. This Peter guy could be one of those dark-humor comedians. 

From what they observed, and conversations supplied by Jason (who was his neighbor in a series of fortunate events), Peter really did seem to just be an ordinary guy.  

Then one night, Peter was picking up groceries from a corner store when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find a man in a ski mask brandishing a knife, gesturing for his wallet. 

“Hand over the money, and I won’ hurt ya’ kid.” The man threatened, waving his knife around threateningly. Peter tensed, dropping his groceries in favor of cradling Mayday closer. 

Peter blinked at him tiredly. “The best I can offer is some lint and a can of beans.” 

The man tensed, stepping closer in an attempt at intimidation. Peter thought that his face turning red with anger was kind of funny.

“Don’t fuckin’— are you makin’ fun of me?” The man fumed. Peter might have let out a sleep-deprived chuckle, partially forgetting to respond. 

The mugger lunged, and before he could dodge, Peter felt a searing pain in his side as the blade plunged in, his vision blurring with the shock. Normally, Peter would’ve disarmed the guy without breaking a sweat, but tonight, with Mayday in his arms and his body worn from days of restless sleep, he kind of just… blinked and the knife was there. 

Peter blinked again, then looked back up at the man.

“Oh, wow,” he said, his voice dripping with deadpan sarcasm. “A knife in Crime Alley? Super original. Really, I’m honored to be a part of your creative process.”

The mugger blinked, clearly caught off guard. Peter rolled his eyes, adjusting Mayday to better apply pressure to his side. “Next time you stab a guy, maybe aim for someone with insurance.”

The mugger stumbled back, looking increasingly confused by Peter’s lack of fear. Peter sighed, bouncing Mayday gently as she began to fuss. “Listen, I’m already running on no sleep and the caffeine fumes of yesterday’s coffee. And now you’re just making my night even worse.”

Peter winced, feeling the slow but consistent leak of blood. His healing factor was helping, but it was dulled due to lack of sleep and hunger. 

Between one long blink and the next, someone had jumped down and knocked out Peter’s would-be mugger. 

After another blink Peter realized he was on the ground, Mayday’s wails filled the air, her cries echoing down the alleyway, and Peter tried to smile through the pain. “It’s okay, baby,” he mumbled, clutching her tightly. “Daddy’s fine… just a little… scratch.” But his vision was going hazy as he pressed a hand to his bleeding side. The world began to spin.

One of the vigilantes that Peter recognized as Red Robin rushed over, talking hurriedly into a comm. Peter blinked up at him, his mouth curling into a weak smile. “Hey, nice costume,” he muttered. “Does the utility belt come in dad sizes?” 

Red Robin blinked in surprise, but otherwise keept his focus as he worked to stop the bleeding.

“It doesn’t, unfortunately.” Red Robin offered, popping open his emergency med kit. “I’ve got help on the way, ok? Stay awake for me.” But his attention was snagged when Mayday, overcome with distress, reached out to him, her tiny hands gripping his arm. She wasn’t just clutching it— she was sticking to him, her fingers locked like suction cups on his suit. Tim’s eyes widened as she scrambled up his arm, scaling it like a bug on a wall. 

Red Robin took it in stride, scooping Mayday up as he continued to work. Peter had been on the Meta radar for a bit— a few things here and there just a little off, and it was mostly based on Red Robin’s time spent with super-powered individuals. 

But as he patched up Peter, he discreetly swiped a sample of blood, stashing it in his belt just as the Batmobile pulled up. 

—

Later that night, he ran the sample through the Batcomputer, expecting some small lead. A Meta, possibly insect-based? What with how the kid had stuck to him. Instead, the results left Tim absolutely speechless. 

Peter Parker, the man who was in his early 40s and a single father, didn’t just match someone in the system— it matched Dick Grayson.

Not as a brother, or a cousin, but as a son. 

Tim must’ve ran the test at least 100 times. It came back the same every single time. 

Tim called Bruce and the rest of the family, each of them crowding around the screen with varying levels of shock and amusement as the analysis rolled in. Dick was dumbfounded, staring at the results in disbelief. 

“You’re telling me this guy is my… son?” he stammered, struggling to wrap his mind around it. 

Bruce, socially unaware in all his glory, tried to comfort Dick. “He’s likely from far into the future. Barry said there was a ripple in the timestream around the time Peter showed up.” 

“So what does that make Mayday?” Jason asked, snickering. 

“His granddaughter?” Steph said with a teasing grin. 

“Wow, Dick. You went from a dad to a grandpa in the same minute.” 

“That’s gotta be a world record.”

“You think we can submit this for a Guinness World Record?”

Dick groaned, rubbing his temples as Jason laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. 

“He’s from the future, right? Something must’ve gone wrong on his end," Tim said, folding his arms with a thoughtful look. "He’s definitely got the skills. Moves like you, Dick. It's obvious he's had training.”

Dick couldn't help but smirk, puffing up a little with pride. “Of course he does. He’s got Grayson blood in him, after all.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, because the whole ‘falling on his face with a baby strapped to him’ bit? So graceful.”

Tim rolled his eyes, trying to stay on track. “Look, I don’t know why he didn’t come to us for help in the first place, but the point is, he’s family. We should get him back to his time, if that’s even possible.” He looked over to Bruce. “Are any speedsters available? Maybe the League could lend us Wally or Barry—"

“Hold on,” Dick interrupted, frowning. “I’m not sure we’re ready to ship him off just yet. The guy’s been trying to make it on his own. He’s got a baby to look after, and I think he’s afraid of dragging us into whatever’s going on with him. You know this family and their pride.”

Damian, who had been silent up to this point, finally piped up, his arms crossed. “I’ve seen him with the baby. She’s… persistent.” There was an almost begrudging respect in his tone. “But he clearly doesn’t have the resources to keep her safe here. If he did, he wouldn’t be living in Crime Alley.”

Dick nodded. “Exactly. The guy’s holding it together with duct tape and dad jokes. We can help him and get him back on his feet while we figure out a way home.”

Bruce, listening intently, finally spoke up. “He’s right. Until we find a way to get him home, Peter and his daughter stay here. We’ll pull together whatever resources we can to help them both.” 

Steph and Tim shared a look. He just wanted to meet his grandson and great-granddaughter. 

There was a beat of silence as everyone absorbed the decision, and then Tim looked at Dick, a small smirk playing on his lips. “So… you ready to be a dad, Dick?”

Dick flushed, looking a mix of horrified and pleased. “I’ll just stick to ‘Uncle Dick’ for now. Baby steps.”

EXTRA:

“Hey,” Jason drawled, barely suppressing a smirk as he looked over at Dick, “you think we can submit this for a Guinness World Record? Fastest unplanned parenthood, or maybe most confusing family reunion?”

Dick rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide his grin. “Very funny, Jay. Maybe we can submit you for most inappropriate comments per minute.”

Jason chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just saying, man, it’s impressive. One day you’re Nightwing, lone acrobat extraordinaire, and the next? Boom— you’re the proud father of a scruffy, interdimensional— what'd you say it was, Tim? Spider-dad? A Spider-dad.”

Tim snickered, glancing up from his laptop. “We’re all just living in a 'Strangest Family Reunion’ reality show at this point. Besides, if anyone’s submitting to Guinness, it should be Peter for most relentless optimism under terrible circumstances.”

Bruce cleared his throat, giving them all a look. “Enough. This isn’t a joke. We have a situation to handle here.”

Dick, still grinning, turned back to Bruce. “All right, fine, we’ll save the record-breaking for later. Right now, I say we start by finding this guy and getting him some real help.”

[thisisourlovestory]

Safe and Sound

Finnick Odair x reader soulmate AU

Summary: you are a victor from district 4. The Quarter Quell has just been announced. How will you cope with the turn of events coming your way.

Word count- 2.8k

Notes: Happy New Year! Hope you enjoy this one. My phone deleted half of it so I had to rewrite it but that worked in my favour and I think it’s better than it was

Chapter 3

The next morning I was awoken by knocking at my door. Assuming it to be Lysander I ignored it and took my sweet time getting ready, taking a long shower under burning water, brushing my teeth vigorously, loosely clipping back the front strands of my hair and slipping on a pale blue dress from the wardrobe in the wall before making my way to the dining area. I followed the smell of freshly cooked bacon and pancakes, my mouth watering as I sat down and took a few pancakes, stacking them up, cutting a slab of butter that melted as soon as I dropped it on top, drizzling sticky sweet syrup over them and layering bacon on top. I grabbed a fork and dug into my towering pillar of food, the salty bacon contrasting with the sugary syrup. I polished it off in no time at all and reached for the piles of jewel like fruits, stacked in tiny ceramic bowls in the centre of the table. I had just bit into a slice of watermelon, pink juice dripping down the corner of my mouth, when Mags walked in with Lysander who flaunted a garish purple and gold striped suit and he began to speak as loudly as ever as I quickly wiped my chin.

“Good morning!” My head hit the table.

“Goodness Y/N, did you not get enough sleep last night?” He asked, looking at me with slight concern.

“I'm fine thank you for asking,” I answered, “Just woke up a bit too early.” I rubbed my head, smiling sheepishly and his gaze softened.

“That simply won't do!” He exclaimed, “We need you to be on top form for when you’re in the arena.”

“Lysander.” I called out softly, interrupting what was sure to be a long tirade. “I… I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for my outburst yesterday. I don't know what I was thinking. I suppose, well I suppose I was just a little overwhelmed by all this. I hope you can forgive me. “ I twisted a strand of my hair in my fingers and he took the bait immediately. I could almost see what he was thinking. Such a kind girl, she must be terrified, very sweet of her to apologise. His eyes gained a look of sympathy as he raised a hand to his heart and walked over to me.

“It's quite alright dear, no need for apologies. I completely understand you must be feeling absolutely terrified of all this. You did such a kind thing volunteering for Miss Cresta, so selfless, dear and I’m sure she appreciates it very much.” I nodded, going back to my food, and he clapped. “Now that's all sorted out, we need a plan for you.” He looked me up and down, assessing me as Mags grinned into her bowl at the look on my face. “I'm thinking we play the innocent card, the fact you were so young when you won will help with that a lot. You are one of the youngest in the games this year after all. We simply must also use the fact that you are a true performer and ballet is such a beautiful art form indeed so,” he turned to Mags, “I propose we paint her as an angel.”

I choked on a piece of watermelon, the apprehension on my face giving way to horror. Mags patted me gently on the back and I straightened in my seat, sending a grateful smile her way as Lysander continued, lost in his own world.

“Of course only your stylist can decide this but I’m fairly certain I can put in a word and if they didn't already have the same idea after watching the reaping then I'll eat my hat.” I eyed the purple monstrosity on his head and imagined it being stuffed into his mouth, wondering if maybe that would be the thing that would finally shut him up. I wanted to scream at him, tell him that I was no angel and he was a monster for finding some kind of pleasure in this, deciding what part I should play as I die. Instead I just smiled slightly and lowered my head to stop him from seeing the tears in my eyes. At that second Finnick walked in and Lysander's attention was immediately drawn to him. I sat silently as he practically interrogated him, asking how he was feeling, if he thought he could win. The answers were short, not letting anything interesting slip but giving enough to satisfy Lysander and fool him into thinking he was basically his new best friend. I zoned out part way through Lysanders rant about what the Gamemakers would throw at us this year- as if we hadn't all been thinking about it since they were announced. Suddenly, I was brought back to reality by the sound of my name.

“Y/N, Y/N.” I blinked and my gaze shifted to Lysander.

“Sorry.” I muttered

“Quite alright dear, you must be tired if you didn't get enough sleep. We're going to watch the games you were both in, for reference.” My mind didn't register the words and I simply nodded before I realised what he had said and my eyes widened in shock.

We watched Finnicks first, since he won before me. From the reaping all the way through to the crowning ceremony. He was confident in the interviews, dressed in the most impeccable suit and tie, clearly designed to show off his beauty, laughing at Caesar Flickerman's comments and responding with his own witty quips, not just a pretty face at all. Then utterly deadly in the arena. For the first few days he had lain low, not much excitement but enough to keep sponsors interested. Then he got the trident, the most expensive gift ever seen, and it was over. District 4 was fishing after all, and it seemed Finnick Odair was born to wield the trident. He captured tribute after tribute in a net and killed them all, offering no mercy. And finally the last cannon went off announcing him the winner. Fourteen years old and he had won, the youngest victor, the most handsome victor, the Capitol darling. Finnick Odair. If he was that good back then, I had no doubt he would be extraordinary now. He had it all as well, the looks which first made the Capitol love him, he was intelligent, and undoubtedly one of the best fighters that would be going into the arena. Mags and I sat there speechless as Lysander congratulated Finnick endlessly.

“And how you used that trident, extraordinary! I don't believe you'll struggle in these games now that you've had ten years to practise.” I could only think of how young he'd been, how he'd been forced to grow up so quickly after, how he'd won- but what was the cost?

Then my games were switched on; I saw myself going through it all over again. The walk up to the stage after my name was called, all eyes on me. The chariot ride where they had dressed me up as a mermaid, all shimmering fabrics and a golden crown. The interview, where Caesar asked me questions about my life back home and I answered quietly, barely audible, playing the sweet little girl as I danced for them momentarily. The arena, my frightened face as the boy from 10 died in front of me, running and hiding. Then a cut to as I made my first kills, I saw the light leave their eyes as the blood left their bodies. Another cut, to the chase and confrontation with Arion, the second the knife left my hand I closed my eyes and the thud as it hit him echoed in my ears.

They showed the crowning ceremony last, I stood calmly on the dais with my hands clasped in front of my body. I had been made to wear a white dress that fell to my knees and had a red bow tied around it. The same red adorned the pins in my hair, shaped like roses, and the single gem hanging from a silver chain around my neck. The significance was not lost on me, young as I was. I had killed three people in the arena so I wore three pieces of red. One for each of them, the crimson colour their blood on my hands. President Snow walked up slowly and placed the golden laurels on my head. He looked down at me, a small smile on his face as I gazed up at him, he whispered something that only I could hear. Words that left me pale and confused, words that could have been good but in the circumstances only sounded like the promise of a life of pain. His mouth moved on the screen and I read his lips.

“The Capitol will love you.” He stepped away and proclaimed me their victor. And it struck me how I looked so tiny compared to him and everyone around me, as the Capitol roared with applause and my big eyes stared out over them, disbelieving and uncertain before the tape ended leaving the compartment in silence.

I shoved my seat back, the legs screeching on the floor, and stood up quickly. Everyone turned to face me as I stayed still for a second.

“Y/N.” Lysander began but I cut him off.

“No, I just, I need to, I can't.” My brain was jumbled, old memories being dragged to the surface unwillingly. So I turned and I ran.

I sprinted along the train, pushing doors open as I ran through the compartments. Avoxes jumped out of my way as I barreled past them, looking at me in curiosity. I came to the end of the train and held my hands in front of me to push through the doors. I crashed through them and fell into the railing. I gripped onto the cold metal as if it was the only thing keeping me in reality, the wind rushed past me and my hair floated in front of me, strands whipping in the cold air. I could barely see, tears blurring my vision and hair covering my face. I took a shuddering breath, letting the cold air flood my lungs, and I broke. I cried and cried and cried. Letting out everything that I had kept bottled up for seven years. I had cried before, that day on the cliffs, that was for the games, for the fact that it was happening all over again for so many people across Panem. But this. This was for me. For every pain I had endured since I won, the evenings spent dancing and singing under lights focused solely on me, the fear of making a mistake stopping me from enjoying it fully, the nights spent alone, unable to sleep because of the nightmares, the days spent wandering around like a lost soul, wondering if it would ever be better than what it was.

So I cried for myself, in one selfish moment I allowed myself to only care about myself. Tears dripped down my face, droplets falling on the railing for what felt like forever. Eventually my throat grew raw and my eyes seemed to run out of tears to cry. I dropped my head forwards into my hands and my eyes glazed over with the memories I had suppressed.

I was no longer on the train headed to the Capitol. I was in the arena. Perched on an icy tree branch, pressed against the tree trunk to keep from slipping off. Hidden by the frozen leaves in the white fluffy clothing they had given us to wear. A tribute ran underneath my hiding spot, running away from something, two others followed chasing him. I immediately recognised them as career tributes, this was all just a game of cat and mouse to them. And they caught him. I shoved a piece of cloth in my mouth to stop myself from letting out any noise that would give myself away and clapped my hands over my ears to block out the noise of his screaming in pain and crying out for help from someone as they ripped into him, their laughter echoing in the otherwise silent forest. A warning that they were on the hunt and if you valued your life you would get out of there as soon as possible.

I had stayed in that tree for the first few days until I was eventually forced to move when the gamemakers released mutts into the arena. Great big slobbering beasts that lumbered along harmlessly until someone tried to kill one. Then all hell had broken loose as they chased tributes up trees and then hurled themselves unrelentingly at them, bringing them down and mauling them beyond recognition. They brought about the deaths of five tributes before they just disappeared, presumably called back out after doing their job.

I snapped out of my daze as I felt someone standing next to me. My gaze cleared as I pushed the memories back into a locked box in my mind. I didn’t need to look to know who it was, the mark on my wrist burning and on instinct I pulled my sleeve down and took a small step to the side to lessen the sting. It eased immediately from the small distance between us and faded to a dull throbbing. Finnick said nothing at my movement and we just looked out over the passing countryside, rolling green fields, trees that touched the sky and vast lakes stretching beyond the horizon. We stayed like that, peaceful, just taking it all in until he finally broke the silence.

“You were so young.”

I smiled bitterly, resting my chin on my open palm propped up on the railing.

“We all were but we had no choice. They just want to watch their games. And they don’t care if innocent children die so they can have them.” I laughed slightly. “Then they get the one that lives.” I shook my head, my fingers tightening on the rail, the cold metal biting into my skin. “They get to kill us then they get to keep us.” I turned around, leaning backwards onto the railing and looked up, watching the clouds move slowly away in the blue sea of the sky. Then the Capitol came into view, towering buildings taking up the skyline, marring it with grey,

“I'm going to go back in,” Finnick said, following my line of vision, “You should as well.” With that he stepped back into the train, not sparing a second glance as I watched him walk through a set of doors and out of sight. I relaxed as he left and stayed in my position, head tilted skywards, eyes closed until I felt tiny drops of water on my face. I opened my eyes to see rain falling, a light drizzle but enough to dampen my clothes and hair, I laughed slightly and walked inside, the warmth hitting me in a blast. I hadn't realised how cold I'd been before but the heat warmed me and my clothes quickly dried off. I looked over my shoulder as I walked through the doors that slid open, the rain pattering on the windows lightly, a last glimpse of normality.

I quickly made my way through the train, hearing Lysander screeching at unfortunate avoxes to find me as if I was missing and he had no idea where to find me. I stepped into the compartment to see him looking frazzled, he immediately caught sight of me standing unsurely at the edge of the room and gave a dramatic sigh of relief.

“Not to worry everyone she's here.” The train jolted to a stop. “We have arrived.” Lysander practically squealed and eyed me.” Dear, you should just fluff out your hair a bit, and try to look happy for the cameras.” I nod my head once and plaster a smile on my face. He nodded in approval.

We made our way to the doors. Finnick and I stood either side of Lysander and Mags was just behind us. I can see people through the windows already, screaming and shouting with excitement.

“Now everyone, remember this is the first time they will see you so make sure to leave a good impression. That means smile and wave, blow a few kisses if you have to.” Lysander told us, focusing his words mostly on me. A bell rang and he quickly turned around to me, perfecting everything he could see wrong, the tiniest hair out of place, my sleeves at different lengths and pushing my cheeks into a smile. Facing forward just in time as the doors slid open and we stepped out into the masses.

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[majesty-madness]

"Skin to Skin" - Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader (sfw)

Summary: There’s something about him that makes her think that perhaps he needs to know she’s real. 

Word Count: 2000+

Warnings: slight angst, nudity, cuddling, kissing, pillow talk, mentions of past trauma, fluff all around

a/n: not proofread. I had problems with writing this, almost like I couldn't "get mind in the game" so I apologize if it feels ooc or anything like that. I did try to keep it the way I had envisioned it but I don't know, maybe I didn't. Oh well, it's whatever I guess.

Btw Commissions are open for anyone whose interested.

Main Masterlist

As a member of 141, danger is one of the things she had become accustomed to and with that comes predictability. Yes every situation was different but somehow those different situations would end with the same conclusion so in that respect, Y/N supposes she may have accidentally grown complacent. 

Most missions were: research the target, then locate the target, infiltrate, and so on. It was second nature at this point, no need to even contemplate her actions as she would carry out her orders. 

However this time, the situation got a little dicey. 

It really wasn’t anyone's fault, in fact Y/N blamed herself for not noticing the guard that had managed to seek right into her blindspot and before she knew she was aggressively tussling with the man. No surprise he was stronger than her, so when he wrapped his arms around her waist in the middle of their fight and tossed her like a ragdoll, it was almost to be expected. What she didn’t account for was his speed for as soon as she picked herself up off the ground, he was already charging her. 

Reacting quickly, Y/N brought her legs up and pushed the man back with all her might right as the man closed the distance. 

He fell back with a thud on the concrete floor, uttering what Y/N assumed to be a curse in a language she didn’t understand. They’re fight continued for several more seconds, Y/N landing several blows to his face and she nearly dodging each attack, and in his growing frustration, the man got in close once more. Y/N didn’t see it but she felt it, the white hot searing pain resonating in her thigh. She let out a pain filled scream, echoing through the enemy compound. 

Ghost had been clearing another part of the building when he’d heard her causing his blood to run cold, the image of her lifeless body flashing in his mind. He rushed out of the room, pushing himself to sprint as fast as he was capable of. 

It took less than a minute for him to turn the corner to where she was, and his eyes were quick to adjust to what he was seeing; Y/N straddling the man, her knife dug deep into his throat. He could tell that she was breathing heavily, her torso expanding in and out as her lungs attempted to gain as much air as possible.  

“Sergeant.” Was all Ghost could think of to say. That seemed to grab Y/N’s attention anyhow because she whipped her head around to see his towering figure. Her eyes were manic from the adrenaline of fighting against someone twice her size. 

Ghost took a breath then took two giant steps forward, hands finding her shoulders to guide her away from the body. In the middle of pulling Y/N to her feet, she let out a strained whimper causing Ghost to freeze. 

“What is it?” He asked, voice hushed and gravelly low. 

She gestured to her right thigh, “My leg…” 

He glanced down, keeping an arm pressed to her back. Easily he was able to see the blood seeping from the wound; from his upright angle alone he saw the wound wasn’t too deep but it still needed medical attention. 

“Here, hold onto my shoulder; I’m gonna wrap this up.” Ghost didn’t give her a moment to respond as he already leaned down to tie a bandage around her bleeding leg. 

She let out a closed mouthed moan when Ghost tightened the bandage though otherwise was okay. He stood back up to his full height and helped Y/N out of the building. 

Luckily, the rest of the mission was completed without any more incidents. Y/N had initially been worried that her scuffle with the guard made the situation more precarious, however Price reassured that nobody else in the facility had been alarmed. After that they left; the team huddled up in their helicopter. 

Things seemed normal until they got back to the compound; Ghost had escorted Y/N to the medical bay to treat her injury but shortly after arriving, he curtly excused himself. Y/N was a bit surprised that he just left. She thought he might’ve stayed to hear how critical her injury may have been. It really wasn’t that bad, of course the initial stab was what hurt the most, other than that the almost burning ache is what remained.

From that day forward, Ghost had been acting strange. Stranger than normal. 

It was no secret that the soldier known as Ghost was an eccentric person to say the least, but this seemed different. For one Ghost kept his distance from Y/N, not ignoring her but definitely avoidant of certain interactions with her. One day she asked about this sudden change, seeing as how they were in a relationship. 

“What’s wrong?” She’d asked, sitting in front of him on her bed. 

It took a few minutes before he came up with the right words. “For just a moment I thought you…” He didn’t need to finish that sentence for her to know what he meant. 

I thought you were dead.

Y/N made sure to give him his space, let him process what happened and deal with the fear that he could very well have entered the room only to see her dead body. And this went on for days, weeks and eventually she started to wonder if he’d gotten lost in his head. 

Her leg was well healed now and nothing changed. She missed him. 

“Ghost?” Y/N said, hand barely tapping his shoulder for his attention. He turned, dark, expressive eyes visible from the underneath skull mask. “Can you meet me in my room later tonight? When you have the time, of course.” 

She watched his eyes dart away from her for a second, clearly thinking it over before he looked back to her, a subtle nod being his answer. 

“Thank you.” She gently whispered to him as if she were attempting to sooth him from an unseen turmoil. 

Around 9 that night Y/N heard a knock at her door, and knowing it was Ghost she called for him to come in. He was still decked out in his full tactical gear with his mask while Y/N had long taken off her vest and weapons, leaving her in her standard uniform pants and t-shirt. 

“Did you want to talk?” Ghost asked lowly as he closed the door behind him. 

She shook her head. “No, I just wanted to see you. And I thought maybe we could lay down for a while, seeing as how we won’t be up and at’em for a while.” 

He stood silent, again, contemplating the best decision when Y/N broke the quiet air. “If you want to, I’m not gonna force it on you. I thought maybe we could spend some time together is all.”

“That sounds nice.” Ghost replied, already beginning to take off his tactical gear and setting it off to the side. 

Y/N began to take off her boots, placing them neatly off to the side then stood at full height to pull back the blanket from the not so big bed. In the middle of doing so, Y/N paused, the fabric of the blanket crinkled in her palm as she stared at a random place on the bed. 

At that moment, she came up with an idea; an idea that might break the distance Ghost had been building between as of late. 

“Simon, can I ask you something?” She spoke, raising her eyes to look up from the bed. 

Now he had taken off all his gear including his mask, leaving him in the same uniform as Y/N not to mention the black like dust circling his eyes. She had to take a second to admire him as he was always wearing his mask. He didn't like to admit it nor would he ever but she thought he was absolutely handsome; a pillar of a man who had suffered in his life that still knew how to extend gentleness and kindness to others just as he’d done for her. 

She loved him so much. 

Ghost simply stared at her, promptly Y/N to continue on with her question. 

“Uh…this might sound a bit odd, but would you be okay with undressing before we lay down?” 

The moment the words left her mouth, Ghost’s muscles immediately tensed. 

Y/N knew what he was thinking so she made the quick decision to ease his concern. “I don’t mean anything sexual by it, please understand that.”

She paused, to give Ghost time to take in what she was saying. “I’ve noticed that you’ve kind of been lost in your head, distancing yourself, and I let you have your space since I don’t want to overwhelm you or pressure you to talk to me. But I miss you.” 

“I’m…sorry. I didn’t mean to-” Ghost started, however Y/N shook her head, taking several quick steps to him to gently grasp his ungloved hands in her smaller ones. 

“No, don’t apologize, let’s just lay down okay? Relax for a bit.” She suggested, gaining enough courage to smile. 

He gave her a semi smile, flashing so fast one would barely notice he even smiled in the first place. 

With that, Y/N stepped back almost to where she was standing previously and lifted her shirt over her head to toss to the floor. Then she unbuckled the belt wrapped around her waist, removed it from the pants loops and took her pants over quickly after that. She spared a glance to Ghost who had mirrored her actions to undress himself. He already took off his boots and shirt, and now worked on getting his belt off. Soon Y/N stripped down to only her underwear and crawled under the blanket, looking up at Ghost as he finished undressing. Much like Y/N, Ghost stripped down to everything except his boxers, the moment he did Y/N extended her arms out to him to join her. 

Ghost took a steadying breath before leaning down and slipped under Y/N’s blanket, instantly feeling her hands caress the skin of his shoulders as she brought him to lay against her chest. She adjusted herself until they had complete skin to skin contact, a comforting warmth transferring from one patch of skin to the other and soon a contented sigh leaving her lips. And when Ghost laid his head fully onto her chest, feeling her fingers massaging the base of his skull, her other hand tracing invisible patterns against his back, he too felt content. 

“How do you feel?” Y/N probed while continuing to tread her fingers through his short locks. 

“Good.” He simply answered, eyes staring off into nothing in particular. 

Y/N couldn’t help but to smile. “I’m glad. Though if you get uncomfortable, tell me and we can stop this.” 

She felt him nod. “Thank you, sweetheart, but I don’t think I’ll want to go anywhere any time soon.”

“I think we’re on the same page with that. Love feeling you so close.” She cooed, pressing herself as close as humanly possible. 

Ghost began to rub his hands along the skin of the side up to her shoulder, enjoying the softness. “Me too, I’m not…used to this.” 

Y/N pulled back enough to peer down at the entirety of his face. “I know, but if you want we could make this a regular thing?” 

“That sounds good to me.” 

Y/N leaned down to plant a soft kiss to his lips and he reciprocated in kind, nothing too fast or rough; it was perfect. Their lips moved in sync, burning from the heat of each other intertwining together in an intimate dance. When necessary, the separated; lips creating a wet smacking sound as they did so. 

The two stared into the other’s eyes, taking in every detail their face had to offer like they’d never see it again. 

“I was scared.” Ghost suddenly admitted, his voice hushed. 

Y/N nodded. “I know, and it’s okay. I’m here now, and hell will freeze over before I leave you.” 

This time, Ghost scoffed in amusement. “I don’t doubt that. You’re more stubborn than anyone else I know.”

“Oh yeah? Well I suppose I learn from the best.” She joked with a laugh.

Ghost dipped his face back to rest between Y/N’s chest and neck, taking a deep inhale of her sweet, natural scent. They remained in comfortable silence, listening quietly to the sound of the nightly crickets and each other’s hearts beating steadily. 

“I love you.” He uttered into the quiet room, noticing Y/N kiss the side of his temple. 

“I know, and I love you too.”

[roanofarcc]

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER FIFTY SIX → GRINNING LIKE A DEVIL

summary: steve harrington x oc

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 3.2k || masterlist || ocs moodboard

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

previous chapter ← → next chapter

Sunshine’s heart beat so loud inside her chest, that she thought the creature lurking just on the other side of the counter could hear it. The Mind Flayer growled, stalking over the broken glass-covered floor as it tried to sniff them out. Sunshine hadn’t dared to look at the creature, yet, too scared of putting an image to a terrifying idea. She focused on the three kids lined up beside her, all paled and shaking slightly in fear. 

Mike slowly peaked around the edge of the counter for no longer than a second before he whispered, “It’s turned away. If we go now, we’ll make it.” 

“No now,” Max argued. “Not with El’s leg.” 

“We have to try.” Both he and Max turned to Sunshine, looking for a tie-breaking vote, but it was El who answered, wanting to speak for herself. 

“There’s another way to get out, through the GAP.” The store was the closest to them, a straight shot if they could get there without making much sound and alerting the Mind Flayer. 

Sunshine wiped her sweaty hands off on the skirt of her dress as she said, “Get ready.” She poked her head up from the counter to see their path. The monster was still turned away. Sunshine trusted Nancy and Jonathan to get the other kids out safely and she’d get her three out. They’d reconvene at Nancy’s car with the broken piece Jonathan had stolen from the car inside the mall, and they’d get out of town before the Mind Flayer caught them. 

On her signal, Mike and Max looped their arms through El’s to support her and her bad leg, and they all took off toward the GAP with Sunshine trailing a step behind them. They ran fast and quietly almost having it into the store without being spotted, but El’s foot slipped on a shard of glass and slipped. The trio stumbled loudly into the store, alerting the Mindflayer. It hissed just as the four of them ducked behind a clothing display. 

The Mind Flayer crashed through the entrance, knocking down mannequins and clothing racks in its wake. The group sat squished together, trembling, waiting to be caught. A tentacle-like limb snaked around the store, on the hunt. Sunshine waited for what felt like the inevitable, waiting to become the victim of a towering beast composed of melted flesh and bones of poor Hawkins's residents. She dug her fingernails into the skin on her knees and swallowed down a scream that was lodged in her throat. 

The monster's arm grabbed a hold of a mannequin and roared once more before it sent it flying in front of them. The mannequin wore the same outfit that El had on. Her eyes were wide in terror; the Mind Flayer was smart, smart enough to recognize the outfit El wore and attack anything that resembled it. 

Its movements sounded closer and closer. Sunshine sat up a little straighter thinking maybe if she was a little taller than the kids, the monster would only grab her, giving them enough time to make a break for it. She watched out of the corner of her eye as the slimy tentacle inched forward right beside where they were, but not spotted them yet. Then, something from back in the main part of the mall popped loudly, drawing the Mind Flayer’s attention away quickly. 

They knew they had a small window of time to escape before it came back for them. They quickly sprang to their feet and sprinted towards the exit. 

Sunshine’s entire world moved in a blur before her eyes as she ran behind the trio of kids down the service halls that led to the back exit of the mall. She was filled with a sickly sense of Deja vu from a couple of hours before when she ran the same path with Steve, Robin, Dustin, and Erica. 

The white lights over their heads flickered frantically in rhythm with their heartbeat. Sunshine hoped the three adults underneath Starcourt were making progress because she had no idea how much longer they all could keep narrowing escaping a fate that wanted all of them dead so badly. 

☀☀☀

As Steve swung Calum’s minivan into the mall parking lot, he noticed only two other cars there. Nancy’s was parked in front of the main entrance. He could vaguely make out her figure standing in front of the side of the car with something in her hand. Then, he heard the shots ring out; Nancy was holding a gun, which was never a good sign. She seemed to be aiming at the car facing her across the lot, which Steve also recognized as Billy Hargrove’s. His engine revved and before Steve fully realized what was happening, Billy stepped on the gas and began hurtling towards Nancy’s car, where Steve assumed everyone was packed inside. They were in Billy’s direct path. 

Little Byers had said that Billy was possessed by the freaky monster who had ahold of the kid last year, but Billy had gotten it even worse. If Hargrove had been a monster before, Steve couldn’t imagine what he was like actually possessed by one. 

Holding his breath, Steve slammed his foot down on the gas and prayed that the rusty minivan had enough power to close the distance between him and Billy before the latter crashed into Nancy’s car. His hands white-knuckled the steering wheel and in the passenger seat, Robin let out a small yelp as she squeezed her eyes closed. She didn’t object to his plan, not that he gave her much time too. 

An awful screeching sound of metal scrapping against metal hit Steve’s ears before he felt it. Tires burned against asphalt and glass shattered as the minivan collided with Billy’s car, sending the latter spinning out. Steve felt his whole body jerk sharply, painfully, to the side. His head screamed out in pain from the minor whiplash on top of his other injuries, but he swallowed it down and turned to Robin. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, breathless. 

She returned his gaze with unfocused eyes. “Ask me tomorrow.” She blinked and turned her head as something caught her attention out of the busted windshield. Steve turned his attention toward it too, noticing an odd shadow shift along the roof of the mall. They leaned forward in sync, peering upwards in the wild blinking lights of Starcourt. Towering above them, in grand horror unlike anything he had ever witnessed, was the Mind Flayer. 

Its body was grotesque with giant spider-like limbs that crawled close to the edge of the roof. Its mouth opened up in the center of its otherwise featureless face, and flashed spiraling rows of sharp, jagged teeth as it roared, coating the air in horror. The Demogorgon at Jonathan’s was scary and revolting. The army of Demo-Dogs in the junkyard and the tunnels were overwhelming and the subject of his nightmares still, but the Mind Flayer was something else entirely. 

When he was little, he thought a monster lived under his bed. He didn’t think he’d grow up to be faced with real ones, and yet, there he was. The Mind Flayer was scarier than anything a child could come up with. It was made even worse by the lumps and oozing red flesh constructed of real people Steve probably saw walking down the street on who greeted him at the grocery store. Mothers, fathers, children. Who knew all of the people the monster had consumed to create itself? 

A car horn blared to Steve’s left as Nancy pulled up beside the busted minivan. Steve didn’t fully realize he was moving until Robin was shoving him into the very back of Nancy’s car. Robin didn’t even have the door closed before the car sped off and hurried out of the parking lot. The Mind Flayer crawled down the front of the mall and scurred after them. 

Steve’s body was consumed by nausea; he’d been knocked around one too many times that night, and speeding down the road was not soothing his stomach. But he tried to shake it off, turning around to see the heads of everyone poking up from the back of their seats. He counted them, a habit he acquired after the tunnel incident last year. He counted them once, twice, three times. 

“Wait,” he said. “Where’s Sunshine? Where’s the rest of the kids?” Four, they were missing four. Steve was positive they were missing that many, even in his slightly disoriented state. They were missing three kids and Sunshine. 

No one answered him, but he saw the kids in the back seat exchange looks with each other. The silence and lack of answers surrounded him uncomfortably. “Nancy?” He raised his voice just slightly. “Where are they?” 

Nancy didn’t turn her head to look at him as she said, “I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” He wanted to scream, but he didn’t. He also kind of wanted to cry, but he couldn’t do that. Instead, he refused to look at the back windshield where the Mind Flayer followed them and kept his focus on the missing four. “They were with you.” 

The air inside the car with thick; the summer humidity outweighed the bodies packed inside the car and their labored breaths. After a beat, Lucas broke the silence in a quiet voice. “We got split up.” 

Split up? That meant that Sunshine, El, Max, and Mike were left behind. Steve wanted to hurl. 

“They’re with Sunshine,” Jonathan said, his words were more pointed at Nancy, who looked to have tears streaking down her cheeks from what Steve caught in the rearview mirror. “They’ll be okay.” Would they? The mall was the center of all of their problems; the place was swarming with Russians who knew exactly what Sunshine looked like and about her abilities. It was where the Gate was open and where Billy remained in the parking lot. Steve doubted hitting Billy’s car was enough to kill him, especially with his monster possession. 

“It’s following us,” Will said, his neck twisted around to see the creature from the window. Steve finally turned to look at it too. The Mind Flayer crawled down the streets of Hawkins with its spider-like legs kicking up asphalt. He was sure that if it caught up to them, they’d be squished by one stomp. “So,” Will continued. “It doesn’t know that they’re still at the mall; it thinks they’re with us.” 

That didn’t make Steve feel a whole lot better. The group of kids and Sunshine were still stuck at that stupid fucking mall with no way out. He just hoped they could hold out a little bit longer. As long as they kept the Mind Flayer occupied, it wouldn’t be a threat to the group, but everything else inside the mall still was a threat. Steve hated that that responsibility was put on Sunshine’s shoulders. He hated that there was nothing he could do about it. 

☀☀☀

The fresh air didn’t taste as sweet as Sunshine exited the mall that time around. She felt stuck in a loop in which, no matter what she did, she ended up right back inside the mall. It refused to end. The four of them limped out the side exit, where Sunshine had been earlier trying to flee from the Russians, only to be chased back inside. And as if someone from above, whoever was controlling their lives, actually laughed at them because once they were just far enough out to believe they could make it to the front of the mall, a figure stalked right towards them. 

Under the glow of the lamp lights, Billy Hargrove locked his gaze on them, and Sunshine felt her blood rush to her head. She grabbed a hold of Max’s shoulder and pulled her to a stop, halting El and Mike since they all were connected by looped arms. Billy walked towards them at a normal pace, not too quickly or slowly, as if he knew he already had them right where he wanted. Thick, black veins covered his exposed arms and trailed up his neck, making him look for from human. Black blood was smeared across his white wife-beater top, and he glistened with sweat.

“Go! Back inside!” Sunshine shoved the kids toward the door they had just walked out of. They took off running as quickly as El’s bad leg allowed. Sunshine turned toward Billy and sprinted toward the gate that he had yet to pass through that separated the loading dock from the back parking lot. She slammed her fist down on the button that controlled the gate. As if started to close, she ran back to the trio using what little time they had spared themselves from whatever Billy and the Mind Flayer had in store for them. 

Once again, she raced through the back halls of Starcourt with sore legs and a depleting thread of adrenaline pumping through her veins. She kept her gaze split between the kids ahead of her and the empty hall behind her. 

She kept reminding herself of the promise she had silently made what felt like a lifetime ago after Will returned from the Upside Down and after Sunshine saw the many lost children of Hawkins Lab inside the party. She’d keep them safe; that was a promise she’d never break. She didn’t let the crashing wave of panic pull her under. 

The trio stumbled into one of the open rooms, letting El rest her leg for a second and allowing them all to catch their breath. Sunshine closed her eyes for just a moment, focusing on her breathing and slowing her aching heart. Time refused to slow down for her and before she could even peel her eyes back open and register what was happening, Max’s voice cut through the air, thick and heavy. 

“Billy, please. It’s Max. I’m your-” The only part of Max Sunshine saw was her leg, stepped halfway out of the doorframe for only a moment before she fell backward and crashed onto the floor. The fall was hard, purposeful, and caused Max’s bright eyes to shut and her limbs to go limp. 

Sunshine yelled out for the girl, rushing forward, but Billy stepped into the room and cut off her path to Max. Broad and towering, Billy looked monstrous with his sickly-colored skin under the flickering lights. Sunshine held her ground, separating him from El and Max. Through gritted teeth, she ignited her hands, letting the white light burn in her palms with a glittering fury. She threw her arm forward, striking Billy in the chest with a burst of light, but it was only strong enough for him to stumble slightly. He shook it off too quickly and launched himself at her with a low grunt and flare of his nostrils. 

She had to be careful, using her abilities inside the confines of the small room. El and Mike curled against the wall, holding onto each other in an attempt to become as small as possible. With a twist of her wrist, Sunshine struck him again with a small beam that sliced across the skin of his arm, but it hardly seemed to inflict any pain at all. He was too far gone; his jet-black irises told her that much. 

They danced around the room, Sunshine’s steps light and quick while he was loud and stiff. She tried to hit him in the places where it hurt, the eyes or any exposed flesh, but it wasn’t enough. If she wanted to take him down, she needed to be more aggressive, but then she ran the risk of hurting one of the kids in the process. 

Billy, however, had no remorse for any of them and as soon as Sunshine stepped too close, he grabbed a hold of her hair and pulled hard. Her scalp burned, but only for a moment before that pain was replaced by Billy using the momentum to slam her up against the wall. Pain exploded right where her head collided with the wall and a short scream tore past her lips. She lost her footing and landed on the ground with spotted vision. The figures of El and Mike blurred, and their voices became muddled and frantic. She watched as their figures moved. A mess of lanky limbs collided with the floor a couple of feet in front of her. Mike. 

Mike was knocked out, just like Max. Rage flared inside Sunshine’s chest. She blinked away the dizziness she could and struggled to her feet, against her body's wishes. Those were her kids who Billy was hurting. She couldn’t let him get away with it, no matter what or who possessed him.

She screamed something between a battle cry and utter frustration as she attacked him from behind. She slapped her burning hands against his bare shoulders, digging her fingernails into his skin for good measure. Billy hissed, his body seizing up just slightly under her touch, but it only lasted a moment. He was strong and desperate to heed whatever orders the Mind Flayer instilled in his sick and twisted brain. He spun around to face her, and Sunshine went right for his face. She stung him in the eyes at the same time he went in for a punch. 

Her light hit him, searing his eyes as his fist struck her gut with an inhuman amount of strength. Crying out, Sunshine doubled over, and he recovered. Billy blinked wildly but there was no hesitation in his movements. His hand gripped her throat, fingers squeezing hard and cutting off the air to her lungs. She thrashed and tried to claw her way out, but dots grew darker in the corners of her vision. She felt herself on the verge of passing out. Before she could, though, Billy let go and let her body drop to the floor in a sputtering fit of coughs. 

Air slowly reentered her lugs, but she had no strength to pick herself up. Something wet pooled on the back of her head where she had hit the wall, and the urge to close her eyes was almost overwhelming. She forced her gaze open, staring unfocused as Billy stalked towards El, who tried to use her abilities to fight him off, but nothing happened. 

Billy knocked El out. Sunshine cried, her throat raw. She tried to stand but the room spun, and her limbs felt like jelly. All she could do was watch as Billy threw El’s body over his shoulder. He came for Sunshine next, grabbing ahold of her ankle. She tried to kick herself free, but his strength overpowered her. She felt useless, being dragged down the hall half-conscious. Her last resort after fighting proved to be pointless, was to yell. 

Sunshine yelled out every name she knew. Steve. Nancy. Hopper. Joyce. Dustin. Anyone. She needed anyone; she needed someone. They needed help. 

Tears poured from her eyes, but no one was there. 

Billy carried and dragged them down the corridors and into the main part of the mall, under the sky of shattered glass. The lights that dully blinked started to flash with more intensity.

He let go of her ankle first before he took El a little further away, out of Sunshine’s reach. Everything was quiet for a moment after that. Sunshine's blood drummed in her ears as she attempted to lift her head, even though it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Something rumbled in the distance; no, something roared in the distance, drawing closer. Closer. Closer…

Tagged. @sattlersquarry , @leptitlu , @two-sides-samecoin

[mushies-stories]

Disobedient

Kishibe X F!Reader

Summary: Kishibe comes home to a messy apartment and you seem to want to refuse to listen until you get what you want.

Warnings: SMUT 18+! swearing maybe? sub!dom dynamic, unproteected sex, shower sex.

word count: 2299

Kishibe tossed his cigarette butt to the floor before climbing the stairs to your shared apartment. It was late, almost midnight but when he heard music coming from the door and knew you were going to be in a mood of sorts. He stopped outside the door a moment, taking out another cigarette and lighting before unlocking the door and pushing it open.

All the lights were on and the stereo was low enough just so the neighbors wouldn’t complain. You were on the couch not paying any attention to the door opening and closing, to focus on some game on your phone. The apartment was a mess and you seemed to not care. Taking his coat off he noticed a half empty bottle of booze sitting on the table in front of you. 

Rolling his eyes as you still fail to acknowledge his presence as he stands behind the couch. He leaned over and yanked your phone from your hand. 

“Kishibe!” you shout and turn around to face him. He held the phone up father when you went to reach for it. “Don't be mean! Give it back!” you whined, sitting up on your knees now to reach it. 

Kishibe watched you with a bored expression. “Stop acting like a brat.” He says calm, eyes pointed and blank. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I'm a brat? You wont give me my phone back.” you countered. All in vain because even you knew the mood it would put him in seeing the apartment such a mess like it was. But he had been working a lot and coming home mostly to sleep and shower. 

“Have you seen the mess you made in this apartment?” he asked, anger starting to bowl up the longer you played dumb. “Half a bottle gone for what, just to piss me off?’ he asked, voice growing darker and huskier as he leaned over the back of the couch to get closer to your pouting face. He turned your phone off and put it in his back pocket.

“Kishibe, you can't just take my phone.” you say, bottom lip sticking out a little as you look up at him. 

Shaking his head he stood straight and rounded the couch corner. before you could do or say anything his hand was wrapping around your throat and pulling you so you back was against his abdomen and your head was being craned back to look up at the man who towered over you so easily. “Why don't you use your words and tell me why you're acting like such a little brat tonight.” He demanded as gently as he could manage at the moment, his hand keeping a firm bit loose enough grip so you can breathe and speak. 

And even though he allowed you the luxury of speaking, you chose not to. Instead you looked up at him with slow blinking eyes and a crooked dumb grin. 

Letting out a huff he gripped tighter, pushing his fingers into the soft spots on the sides of your neck and squeezed. He held you there, watching your face redden a little as you tried to keep eye contact with him. A smirk played at the corner of his mouth when your eyes fluttered and you gasped softly for air, hands coming up to tug at his wrist until his free hand grabbed your own and secured them against your chest. “Are you going to be good?” he asked. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you struggled to look up at him. You nodded your head and gasped for air. Your nails dug a little into his skin to show your desperation to breathe again. He nodded and released his grip. Letting you take a sharp inhale. “Go on, explain yourself.” He tells you. 

You frown at him. “You’ve been at work really late… you only come home to shower and sleep.” you say softly, trying to act innocent now that you’ve really upset him.

Kishibe chuckled, low and dark. “Poor baby, getting lonely are ya?” he teased, fingers threatening to close around your throat again. “Upset I wasn't giving you all my attention when I get home?”

Your frown turned back into that bratty pout and you wiggle in his arms. “Kishibe, you're being so mean… I just want to spend some time with you.” you whine again.

“Shut it.” Kishibe growls and reaches to cover your mouth, his hand leaving your throat to grip your jaw and force your whining to stop. “Listen up brat, I have the day off tomorrow and I was planning on taking you out, but if you're going to act up I think I might just have to keep you inside instead.” he told you, making sure you were listening properly and chuckling when your eyes widened at what he was insinuating. “Dirty little thing would probably love that, wouldn't you?” he teased.

You tried to yank at your arms in his hold, wanting to be able to speak and fight back. He knew that's what you wanted, always so mouthy when you drank.

Kishibe let out a soft sigh, relaxing a bit as he held you. “I'm going to take a shower, by the time I’m done I suggest you have this mess either picked up or stripped with your ass up on the bed.” said, voice stern and eyes pointed before he let go and stepped away from the couch and headed to the bedroom where the attached bathroom was. 

You sat for a moment and thought about what you were going to do. You looked around and shrugged, cleaning wasn't going to happen. At the same time, you didn't feel like listening since he hasn't given you the attention you’ve been seeking for days now. You heard the water start and with a small smirk you started to pad your way to the bathroom. Stripping each article of clothing along the way. 

You tried not to make a noise when you opened the door but Kishibe being, well Himself, heard you nonetheless. “What do you think you're doing brat?” he called out. 

You slid the shower door open slowly and met his piercing glare. “Kishibe… please.” you gave your all into acting as innocent and sweet as you could, hoping he would take pity on you. 

Kishibes eyes scanned over your naked body with a low hum. “You got the stripped part right.” he chimes. His hand came up to slide around your throat again, gently he led you into the shower and faced you against the wall opposite the shower head. His free hand slid between your thighs, middle finger teased its way to your clit. 

Your back arches and you let out a small gasp, surprised he was even touching you at all after how you acted. “Kishibe, please.” you begged, leaning your head back as much as you could against his chest. 

Kishibe looked down at you with that same unfazed expression while his fingers continued to assault your clit with harsher and harsher circles. “Begging now?” he said in a dull tone. “You honestly think that will work little brat?” he chimed. 

You nodded your head and stuck out your bottom lip.

Letting out a snort Kishibe yanked his hand from your warm core and used it to push your shoulders forward so you were leaning with your face close to the bathtub wall. He let go of your throat and used that hand to hold your hips still in both hands. “Fuckin brat.” he mumbles. 

You let out a shrill whine and look back up at him. “What are you doing?” you asked, that fake pout never leaving your face. 

Really you knew exactly what you were doing, you loved to push his buttons and the alcohol just made it even easier to piss him off. You were less scared of his spanking and more turned on by his forcefulness towards your attitude. 

He groaned low when he slid his cock between your folds and felt how wet you were. “Teaching you a lesson.” he told you then pushed the tip of his already hard cock against your tight entrance and held himself there. You arched your back even more and used the wall in front of you for support, waiting patiently for him to finally fuck you. You weren't sure how that was a punishment exactly but you weren’t going to complain. “You're going to take all of me and not move, gunna warm my cock while I shower, got it?” he instructed you. 

You didn’t answer, you just pushed yourself back against him to feel him almost push inside before one hand came down hard on the side of your ass. You yelped and jerked forward, away from his stiff cock. “Kishibe, that hurt!” you whine.

Before you could even continue to protest his treatment of your bare ass he was pushing his cock through your slick folds again. Without warning he gripped both your hips, his fingers dug into your skin so much he knew you'd be bruised a little tomorrow. He pulled your back the same time he pushed into your tight pussy. He didn't stop or go slow, he didn't wait when you gasped and grabbed at the wall for more support. He buried his massive cock in your little hole all at once, not allowing you any time to adjust. He smirked when your head hung low and you whimpered and moaned under him. 

“Still want to act like a little brat?” he teased, holding you still on his cock by your hips. 

You shook your head softly, some fight still in you as you pushed your ass back as much as you could to feel any bit of friction. You mewled softly and tried to do it again, only to be stopped be Kishibes hand tangling in your hair and pulling your head back.

His hips snapping into you and caused the side of your face and chest to press firm against the cold wall. “Want to stay just like this?” he asked, knowing this was clearly worse than letting you relax as much as you could. You shook your head no, not liking how much your body had to strain to stay standing in such a position. “Are you going to stop being a brat?” his voice was becoming more stressed and annoyed again, wishing you would just listen already. 

Again you shook your head with what little room you had. “Hurts.” you mumbles and try not to sound too whiny. 

With a grunt as response he pulled you back with him, making sure to keep you nice and stuffed. He let you adjust to a more comfortable position with your hands on the wall. His other hand kept you bent over. “Stay still, if you keep acting like a brat you won't get to cum tonight.” he warned. The threat of not getting to cum made you still in obedience. Kishibe wasn't one to threaten then not follow through. You knew he would make you suffer with his large hands groping you in the night. 

You stayed still and kept all of your little noises in whenever he moved and his cock shifted a little inside you. He washed his hair as slow as possible, letting his fingernails scrape along his scalp as he enjoyed the hot water. Your pussy fluttered around his cock uncontrollably when he washed his body, moving around a lot more and at times pulling out a little and sliding back in. you help in your moans and focus as little as possible on his big cock torturing your needy pussy. 

“Alright, you've done good enough.” Kishibe says, sliding a hand over your ass before spanking you once, then twice for good measure. Your hips jerk at the motion and cant help the soft yelp you let out. “I want  you to fuck yourself on my cock, make yourself come just like this.” he instructs. 

You look back at him with another pout. “But my legs are tired… Kishibe plea-”

“No, you can do it yourself if you need it that bad.” He says firmly and pulls back a little, leaving only the tip of his cock. You whine and jerk your hips back to take his cock back in. “See, just like that, keep going.” You let out a sound like a whine and start at a slow pace, using the wall as support as you fuck yourself on his cock. 

You speed up and throw your hips back harder when you start to feel the familiar tingle of an orgasm building. “Gunna, Kishibe, I'm gonna cum.” You whine and chase your high.

Kishibe takes a little pity on you and presses himself towards you a little more so you would feel him hit even harder when you slammed your hips back. “Good girl, make yourself cum on my cock, just like that.” he encourages. He watches as your ass giggles, your legs spread and pussy devouring his fat cock. 

“Kishibe, feel so good.” you whine, feeling or orgasm creeping up and hitting you fast. Your pussy spasms around his cock and you can't stop your pathetic moans as you come hard on his cock. You thrust becoming erratic and slowing down until you come to a stop to catch your breath.

Kishibe slowly pulled out of you, cock still throbbing and now leaking precum. You whimper when you're left empty. You slowly straighten your back and face him, looking up at him with innocent eyes. He chuckles and rolls his eyes, now you want to act obedient. “I want you on the bed waiting for me.” He instructed. 

You smile, knowing the nights not over yet.

!thank you for reading!

[hanahaki-disease]

I Asked, You Answered

Hell or High Water - Percy Jackson/DC crossover

Summary:

“Was he being manipulative? Maybe. Is this what Jason had told him to do when dealing with rich snobs? Yes, it was. Was it working?

“It was all going according to plan. “

To further enhance your reading experience, go and read “The other side of the Coin” from “Beyond the Farthest Reaches”

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

Percy was prepared this summer when he came back to camp. His bag was thankfully not set ablaze by the laistrygonians in the gym, the metal ball only a foot away from his duffle and it was then that Percy realized all his luck for the summer had been used up before the summer even started. Already he’s had to deal with the fact that he almost got split in half by the blind sisters taxi, been given a cryptic set of numbers by said blind sisters, and almost set on fire by a mechanical bull terrorizing the camp and Tyson.

Oh, and Tyson was a baby cyclops and his half-brother.

Which, wow, that’s a lot to unpack and it’s only been one afternoon. But such is the life of a demigod.

He folded all the clothes he was able to pack into the drawers, pulling out the old musty ones that had been there for a year, and tossing them in the laundry basket to be washed at a much later date. The random shields and various weapons in the corner of his room should have been returned to the armory last year too, but then he got stung by a pit scorpion and it was time to go back to Gotham.

Speaking of Gotham—Percy dug to the bottom of the duffle, shuffling past rolled up socks and his Nightwing hoodie that he stole from Donna when he went to the Tower with Dick, and pulled out a plastic folder. It was an unassuming blue color with plastic clasps that kept it sealed tight, preventing any water damage. Inside were pictures of his family and friends back home. There was one of him and Dick going down the log flume at Six Flags for his birthday last year, one of Tim wearing a shitty Robin costume from when they were nine. A picture of Bruce, Jason, and Percy at his elementary graduation, big bright smiles on their faces as they smiled towards the camera.

There were some Gotham Gazette clippings too, the first article about Jason’s debut as Robin pinned right next to the Minotaur horn. One was a picture of Batman and Nightwing tangled up in some Joker cement silly-string that Robin and Batgirl had to free them from. He also had the one article about the Brentwood Academy Photography competition where Tim had won first place that year.

He pulled out the last picture in the folder, a copy of the one he had on his nightstand at home of him and Jason. When compiling all the pictures he wanted to take with him, he couldn’t leave this one behind. It was one of the best pictures of Jason he had, the rest already being hung up and framed along the various walls of the manor. Jason had gotten a Polaroid for his birthday one year from Dick, wanting to keep pictures of the things most important to him if anything were to happen, and it was Percy’s idea to take one of them together.

The Polaroid had been up in Jason’s room until his death, hung along the string on his bookshelf like the others. It had been the only time Percy had went into Jason’s room since. Not wanting the picture to get forgotten in the mausoleum dedicated to his brother.

“Hey, seaweed brain.” Annabeth leaned on the door frame, arms crossed and her curls pulled back into a ponytail. Her dagger was strapped around her waist, as was the extra she now carried because of the deteriorating border. It was mandatory now that everyone carry a weapon with them where ever they went. After the bull, they didn’t want to take chances. “What’re you doing?”

“Unpacking,” he answered and slid the picture in the empty frame on the beside table.

She came up next to him, reading the newspaper clippings, inspecting the pictures. It was easy to keep the rest of the camp in the dark about his adoptive family, they all knew him as Jackson and not Todd-Wayne. But Annabeth was smart, as all children of Athena were. She’d be able to look at the various pictures she had and the articles and piece it together where he went between summers.

If she realized anything, she didn’t say. Just nodding her head till her gaze found the one of him and Jason. The porcelain of the frame scrapped against the wood as she picked it up. It wasn’t a frame he would’ve picked himself, a regular black or wooden one would have sufficed, but this was the only one Cabin 3 had and he wasn’t going to push his luck by looking for more.

“Whose this?” She sat beside him.

“My brother, Jason,” he answered. “He…He died a year ago, I couldn’t leave without this picture.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “You look a lot like him. It’s weird.”

“Yeah, I know,” Percy kicked his duffle under his bed. He can sort the rest out later since the conch for dinner was going to ring anytime soon. “My teachers at school would call me by his name sometimes, as did my other brother and my adoptive father, but it hasn’t happened in a while.”

“Other brother? How many do you have?”

“Biologically or legally?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes, actually,” Percy unstuck the informal family portrait from the wall, and showed her the first of the two pictures in his hand. “The older man in the suit is our butler, but he’s more like a grandfather, his name is Alfred. Next to him is my adoptive dad and Richard, but he likes to be called Dick. And this guy next to me in this picture is Tim—” He held up a photo of the two of them from when they spent the memorial day weekend at Tim’s house, doing whatever they wanted. “He’s like my best friend.”

Percy watched as Annabeth placed the frame back on the table, careful of the priceless picture within, and took the other pictures from him. “Jason is my only biological brother, same mom and I’m assuming same dad since we look too much alike to have different dads. Tim was adopted by my adoptive dad a few months ago after his mom passed and his dad gave up custody to stay with his new wife. Dick, though, I think he’s still technically a ward, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was given the adoption papers soon. Things have been going pretty okay with my adoptive dad and him lately.”

“Your adoptive dad is Bruce Wayne?” She asked after taking in all that in, her mouth dropping in shock when he nodded. “Why didn’t’ you say anything! You’re Wayne kid, what?!”

“That’s why I didn’t tell anyone,” Percy said. ‘I don’t people being all nice and trying to kiss my ass because my actual last name is ‘Wayne,” Percy stuck the pictures back on the wall. “I wanted people to be my friend because they like me, not because I have a trust fund, not that it did anything, by actual dad is one of the big three.”

He flopped backwards on the mattress, narrowly missing the wall and grunting after remembering how firm the mattress was. “And besides, I am not a rich kid. I grew up on the streets before I got adopted, we had a crate and everything.”

“A crate, really? Did Bruce Wayne just walk down an alley and find you and your brother in a crate and decide to bring you home like lost strays?” She joked.

“Yes, actually, that’s almost exactly how it happened.”

“What?”

“The only part you missed was that my brother tried to steal his tires and that’s how he got his attention by accident.”

“Huh?!”

—

Percy collapsed on the warm sand bank, out of breath and thankful to have survived another trip in the mortal world without adult supervision. Grover wasn’t fairing any better beside him. He was practically making out with the sand from how he was kissing it, glad to have returned to land. (Percy kinda wanted to stay out at sea for a while more but that was probably just the son of Poseidon powers messing with his head.)

Clarisse shook the sand and as much of the ocean water out of the fleece, the heavy material shifting to look more like a letterman than the shiny gold blanket they saw on the island. “Do you think we can make it to camp on time?”

“It’ll take too long if we all go, it’s better if you go alone,” Annabeth said.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” The daughter of Ares sassed. “I’ll go by myself with the beacon that is the golden fleece and attract all of the monsters along the east coast along the way. For a daughter of Athena, that wasn’t very smart of you.”

“Hey! I was just giving you a suggestion!” she retorted. “And we need to get the fleece back to camp soon otherwise the tree will die.”

“Unless any of us has a private helicopter readily available, it’s going to take us a while, wise girl!”

Percy shot up from where he lay. An idea swimming around in his head much like the jellyfish that was trying to cuddle up to him in the shallow water. He ran past Annabeth and Clarisse’s argument, trying to find the way past the cabanas and beach side shops. Behind him, he heard Annabeth and Clarisse shout for him, confusion easily lacing their voices.

Palmera city was a big place, parts of it belonged to the average citizens and others belonged to the city’s wealthy elites. That side of town was further south than they were, bordering the keys they were trying to take, but it was still a good sprint and a bus ride from where they were along the beach side. They tried to bombard him with questions, Clarisse shifting gears the second they got off the first bus, but if he answered them then he’d forget the name of the bank.

He made a promise to himself that’d never pull out money from his account while on a quest, he wanted to be able to do it by himself with only what he had and whatever he was able to scrape by. But this was too important. He just wishes he’s able to get out of the city before Bruce and them arrive. They’ll be notified that Percy had accessed his account as soon as he opens it. No doubt Dick will be told and he’ll zeta tube to Palmera with Batman on his heels, joining forced with Ted Kord to find the missing Wayne.

And as much as he loves that Dick will be ready and waiting to find him make sure he’s okay, and wanting to bring him home. Percy still has the rest of the summer to stay at camp. If he leaves now, that’s almost a month and a half of training that he might need for when they inevitably fight Kronos. Not to mention that Bruce will be demanding Percy to tell him everything, and he kinda doesn’t want to do that with the others with him.

“Okay, guys,” Percy says, leading them behind the dumpster in the alley across from the bank. It was a pretty sandstone building, terracotta roofs and big open windows into the lobby that reminded Percy of the Wayne Enterprises building. “Quick, how much do you think a flight from Palmera to New York costs, same day travel?”

“A grand, depending on airlines and available seats, why?” Annabeth says.

“I’m going to go in that bank, get the money for a ticket, and ship Clarisse back to camp with the fleece.” He flinched back when they began protesting. “I thought you said we needed to get the fleece back to camp pronto?”

“Not if that means you being a thief and stealing from a bank!” Clarisse whisper shouted.

“I’m not stealing from the bank, I have an account. I’ll pull the money from there, we buy the ticket and Clarisse saves the day,” Percy countered. “Trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing, and if I do it right, then we have to book it after we get Clarisse to the airport.”

“You promise we wont get in trouble for this?” Annabeth asks.

“I promise,” Percy said and cleaned himself off as much as he could before crossing the road. He had never been in the bank by himself, only going with Alfred or Bruce if they were doing errands. Normally he would be sitting at the waiting area while they conversed about something with an agent or a teller, he didn’t really know how it worked, but it shouldn’t be too hard, right? Right?

It was kinda hard.

The security guard was giving him a hard time before he had even made it past the door. And sure, he gets it, alright. He doesn’t exactly look like the type of kid to be getting their monthly allowance on their gold plated card, but he was able to open the door because his fingerprint allowed him access. It’d be pretty embarrassing if he made all those claims to the others only to be stumped by a door.

“Hi, I’d like to make a withdraw from my account please?” Percy gave the teller his best Wayne™ smile.

“Of course, may I have the account name and date of birth?” She asked.

“Perseus Todd-Wayne,” he placed his finger on the scanner watching in the reflection of her glasses his account pull up and notify Bruce where he was. The timer was ticking, he had maybe two hours max to get the money, tickets, and leave the city. “And I was wondering if you were able to help me purchase some airline tickets while I’m here? I missed my flight to New York with my brother and I dropped my phone in the ocean, so I can’t call him.”

“Oh, yes sir, let me go grab an agent to help you with that,” She smiled at him. “You may go and wait in the chairs and a representative will be able to help you shortly.”

“Is there anyway to have the process go a little quicker? I don’t want to scare my dad when the plane lands and I’m not on there.” Percy folds his arms over his chest, bowing his head a little a making his eyes water. He saw the teller’s expression change to shock at his theatrics. “After my brother passed, it really shook the family and I try not to make him worry too much.” Percy could feel the tear wipe away the remaining bits of sand on his cheeks and he cried. “Please, ma’am, I just want to go home to my dad.”

Was he being manipulative? Maybe. Is this what Jason had told him to do when dealing with rich snobs? Yes, it was. Was it working?

“I understand, Mr Wayne. I’ll do whatever you need to help you get home, leave it to me.” The teller steeled her expressions and began to pull up the American airlines website to browse through the availibilities.

It was all going according to plan.

Half hour later and his eyes red from “tears of relief and gratitude,” Percy walked out of the bank with a printed sheet with the ticket information and eight hundred dollars. The look of shock they had when he told them what happened faded as the car for Clarisse pulled up. He handed her four hundred for food and to trade for drachmas to call camp before turning back to Grover and Annabeth.

“‘Not a rich kid’ my ass,” Annabeth crossed her arms before walking back to the bus stop.

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

We needed a little bit of a breather from the angst, and while there’s a wee little bit in the beginning, this was mainly a light hearted installment.

Also, stay tuned for the next update! We’re gonna have a lil visit with Jason :)

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[sweetiebean00]

Of Dueling Debates

This is a lil fluffy continuation of Of Nifflers and Magic, just a bit of Ominis roasting his best buddy with MC lol

Celia dug her teeth into her bottom lip, fighting to keep the laughter from bubbling out of her chest. A snicker escaped when she chanced a glance at Sebastian's face, his cheeks reddened as he leaned back on his hands and sulked from another of Ominis' sharp remarks. Hiding her face in one of the tombs gathered about them, she bit her lip harder at the look of betrayal Sebastian sent her way. She didn't know how long Sebastian was trying to argue his reasoning, to explain the logic behind teaching her transfiguration magic through dueling. 

"In my defense-" Sebastian tried again, speaking loudly over Ominis' dry commentary. "It worked didn't it?"

"If by worked, you mean you worked yourself into being transfigured twice..." Ominis raised an unamused brow, his voice thick with sarcasm as Celia snickered. "Then yes, it certainly worked... to prove you should never teach anyone again."

Of all the ways to teach something, Celia had to agree with Ominis. It was not one of Sebastian's greater ideas, although she had hoped he would have a better idea when it came to trying to drown himself in her potions. Godric's heart, she almost forgot. She still had to brew some wiggenweld, and at the very least see if she can salvage the ones Sebastian swam in.

"Excuse you!" Sebastian cried indignantly. "I'm an excellent teacher!"

"At curses, maybe."

Celia snorted, stepping through the mess of parchment and books. She had intended to study before Sebastian had found her on the way up the Astronomy tower, their impromptu study session interrupted when he saw how utterly useless she was with transfiguration magic. Still, she had to wonder. He watched her fail at turning a goblet into an animal, yet decided the best idea was to duel her into a corner where she turned him into an animal.

"Actually," Celia spoke up, flicking her wand to clear out the potions inside the cauldron. It's not that she didn't trust Sebastian with her potions, more that she didn't trust where he had been. Besides, he had been covered in fur and she really didn't need to gag on a health potion when she used it. "It was more like, five times?"

Refilling the pot, she let the water simmer. Grinding the materials together like Professor Sharp reiterated on the daily. An even, smooth motion. No irregularities. She loved making potions, the easy rhythm. The requirement of enough attention to not butcher the potion, but not too much to be able to think as she followed the recipe step by step. She could almost imagine Sebastian teasing her for still using the recipe, she just preferred accuracy over memory. Better safe than sorry, Sicilian always said. 

"What."

Celia jumped, the sharp tone nearly sending her elbow into the bottle of horklump juice. With the amount of health potions she went through on a daily basis, she couldn't afford to waste even a drop of wiggenweld. Especially with her stash having been gone through in the last week, between the poachers, ashwinders, bandits, and spiders. She needed to make the most of everything she had.

"If you're counting the first time -when he was turned into a chicken, the times I tried turning him back before and after I got you?" As she spoke, she glanced over her shoulder. Letting the cauldron simmer and tugging her braid into a bun, as Sebastian shook his head furiously. "Then it was closer to five times, maybe six?"

Sebastian grimaced, sending Ominis a sheepish grin as his hands raised in defense against his best friend's scowl. Ominis huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. She shook her head, it wasn't like it was a secret. She had admitted to trying to turn him back on her own before she sought out the help of Ominis. Although, now that she's thinking about it...

"Does the time he was turned into a barrel count?" 

Celia’s question was answered with silence. With a frown, she looked to find Sebastian sending her another look of absolute betrayal. Ominis had his face in his hand, if it weren't for the near silence she was sure she wouldn't have been able to tell he was muttering under his breath. Sebastian huffed, running a hand through his curls as she turned back to her cauldron. Holding her breath as she added a pinch of dittany.

"You know what, Sebastian?" 

Ominis broke the silence, and Celia found herself glancing from the corner of her eye as she waited for the snarky comment she knew was coming. 

"You are right, you were successful. Celia, please, be a dear and turn him back into a barrel - I am in some desperate need of peace and quiet."

Celia snorted, shaking the bottle of horklump juice as Sebastian's whine cut through the room. She had just enough dittany and horklump juice for one last batch, maybe a handful of vials if she could stretch it but the potency wouldn't be as strong as a concentrated brew. Adding the drops, she would just have to go gather more when she had the time. She could do with the minimum. She'd just... prefer having more, especially since Ranrok’s loyalists are becoming more of a thorn in her side. She would have had more, had a certain someone not tried to drown himself in them.

"Ya know Ominis," She flashed a sharp smile over her shoulder, a sick sense of delight warming her chest at the way Sebastian paled from where he had frozen mid-argument with Ominis. "You did promise me proper transfiguration lessons, and turning him into a barrel could provide ample practice! Maybe then he'll learn to leave my potions alone."

Sebastian's cry of protest was drowned out by the sound of Ominis laughing. It was cool, as clear and crisp as his speaking tone. And yet... there was a warmth to it that was missing when he spoke in class. It was like stepping out on a hot summer day to feel the cool relief of rain, not the sharp jarring cold that sent you coiling back. But the softer kind, the one you longed for and could smell in the air. She smiled, chancing a glance at the blonde. His head was tipped back, eyes squeezed shut as he laughed from deep inside his belly. 

Her cheeks burned, no one had the right to look like that. Completely unfair to her and the other normal people in a world of magic. The hair on the back of her neck stood and Ceila looked to meet Sebastian’s eyes. He smirked, brows wiggling as he glanced between her and Ominis knowingly. The heat in her cheeks increased and she jerked her attention back to the potion she was supposed to be stirring in a clean and even motion. 

Thankfully the night Ominis had confronted her outside the Undercroft had Sebastian sworn to the utmost secrecy. Not that it’s stopped him, Poppy, and Natty from planning when they can. He still didn’t let her live it down, reminding her of the time he had taken off through the entire castle in search of the sweet Hufflepuff who had just received a threat from someone that left many shaking in their shoes just from a sharp look in their direction. Only he didn’t find her scared, oh no, why would she be scared? No, he just happened to find her cursing Ominis’ “beautiful stupid face!” as she casted confringo after confringo at the dummy the room had set in front of her. 

Releasing a sigh, as she carefully poured the potion into as many of the vials as she could squeeze. She was never more thankful the blonde was blind and couldn't see her interest. Poppy and Natty still hadn't stopped teasing, hadn't stopped trying to "help" by lumping her with the blonde as a partner in the classes they all shared. Sebastian interfering made it so much worse. 

Tucking her potions away, Celia paled. Eyes widening as she took in the sight of the boys gathered about the floor with their school work scattered near and far. Tugging the wand from the bun she had haphazardly thrown it into, she flicked it until a couch was spouting beneath the both of them. Tables collecting their parchment and books and a rug stretched across the center tiles beneath it all.

"Oh my Merlin! I'm so sorry-!" With another flick of her wand, the mess of potions was cleared away before she was shoving it back into her bun. "Forgive me, I didn't even think to-!"

"You know conjuration?!" Celia nodded, ducking her head as Sebastian laughed. "That's amazing! Can you teach me? I want to-"

"Please, there's no need for an apology, dove." Ominis kicked Sebastian beneath the table, earning a pained grunt as Celia dug her teeth into her lip to keep from smiling or Merlin forbid, snickering with the way Sebastian was rubbing at his shin with a pout. "It's not like you intended for us to overstay your welcome after his grand idea of teaching."

"Thought we went over this," Sebastian grumbled. “I'm an excellent teacher, Ominis.”

“Your opinion is not fact, Sebastian.” 

Celia smiled, her heart doing a funny little dance in her chest at the smirk that graced Ominis' lips as Sebastian huffed and crossed his arms. She shook her head at his antics, using her wand to conjure an overly large ottoman. With a huff, Celia flung herself into the soft fabric. Bouncing lightly as she hummed.

 "Yes, because pouting will further your point Sebastian."

The laugh that escaped her chest was bright and full, overpowering any other quips and comebacks they exchanged as she cackled into the ottoman until her stomach hurt.

[keffirinne]

Please do post the rest of what you wrote for please not him!

I think you wrapped up the story in a really nice way, so you could even post these as a separate thick, like a companion piece or separate one shot. But please do post them! I want to read everything you’ve written for him.

Hi anon!

Sorry it took me so long to reply, wanted to wrap it up in a finished, short oneshot for you!

So happy you're still interested in my Roman's fics :3

It takes some pressure off me when I have the whole piece completed and can just post something whenever I feel like it, like this.

I mean, I can do it all the time, but my project management skills turn on, when I have unfinished stuff, waiting to be ended xD

Maybe not everything I have in my drafts I find suitable for posting, definitely not in the form I have it there right now, but your comment really motivetes me to go back to these ideas, rethink and rewrite them.

So here you have it!

Bad dream

Roman Sionis x Reader

#Reader's traumatic experiences from the past #Roman's shitty attempts to comfort the reader #he has no empathy so it is a golden star for him anyway #based on true story when I had a bad dream and started screaming in the middle of the night, waking up myself and my boyfriend (now fiancée). He reacted way better than Roman did

The musty smell of mold settled on your clothes, eating into the fabric. The walls of the cramped room with torn, faded wallpaper were like a prison, surrounding you on all sides, unabling the escape. 

In your throat you felt a bitter, iron-like taste of terror.

You were suffocating.

Your lungs constricted in burning pain from lack of oxygen and every desperate attempt to take a breath ended in nothing. You were opening your mouth wide open till your jaw hurt but it was as if there was no air at all.

And you needed air to scream. 

You needed to make a sound to cry out for help. This thought like a slithery, cold worm crawled up your back, making you realize that no one knew where you were. And no one would come here to help you.

And there he was, coming right at you. His face blur, yet you knew he had this filthy smirk on his face. His approaching figure, like a walking nightmare that you couldn't withstand.

Again, in a hopeless attempt to save yourself, you opened your mouth with all your strength, but no sound came in.

He was only a few steps away from you. Curled up on the floor, you hid in a corner of the room, dug your nails into the rotten wood leaving red marks on the floor.

If only you could scream, call for someone to stop this. To stop him.

You knew what was going to happen, you saw it too many times before, yet every time you wanted to believe that maybe, now, it would be different. And despite it, you were never prepared for the inevitable culmination. 

Every time it felt like the first time.

Your tormentor was towering over you, doing nothing about your vulnerability. You knew that on one hand he had this disgusting salamander tattoo. A design that will be forever remembered. As he was strangling you, the amphibian stared straight into your eyes without any act of mercy. Cold, rough hands were clamping down on your neck, and all you could feel was that burning pain and fear. The body that still wanted to fight was being forced to give up.

Suddenly you heard someone calling your name. The voice was quiet, like coming from afar. It was so indistinct that at first you weren't sure if it didn't just was in your head. But the longer you began to focus on it and listen into it, the image of your tormentor began to blur. The death grip on your neck eased and the room began to disappear. The voice was getting closer. It was calling you. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Stop screaming, woman!"

You woke up still screaming when someone strongly tugged on your shoulder. 

Your whole body was covered with sweat and the heart was pounding like it was about to pop out of your chest.

It was still dark, but you weren’t any longer in that room, your tormentor was gone. You bluntly looked around to recognise that it was Roman's bedroom. The memory from a few years ago was still alive in your subconscious, unlike the man who caused you so much harm. In the shapes in the darkness, you recognized the silhouette of Roman sitting next to you with an expression of angry concern on his face. He was clenching his fingers tightly on your shoulder, staring at your apparently confused face. 

It was just a dream.

The images, as real as the bed you were lying in and the window through which the moonlight was now casting, laying in long, white stripes on the floor. 

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." you hid your face in your hands as the wave of embarrassment started to take over the overpowering feeling of terror from which your heart was still pounding. 

"Fucking finally." Roman grunted and let go of your arm.

He rubbed his face with his hand and leaned against the headboard. He was looking sleepy and tired, which was understandable when he had just woken up in such a violent way in the middle of the night. Crossing arms on his chest, waited for a good explanation why you decided to interrupt his eight hour beauty sleep. 

"You probably think I'm nut." you started, trying to calm down your heartbeat.

"What the hell happened? You just started screaming like a total kook."

"I had a bad dream. A memory actually. Sorry."

Your breathing slowly began to calm down, absorbing the reality that surrounded you. The traumatic experiences from the past began to retreat, hiding in that  corner of your mind where it was probably destined to stay forever.

"I thought someone was murdering you or something." he said reproachfully. 

He wasn't far from the truth. 

"I know, it felt very real. I'm sorry."

"You said sorry already three times."

Not knowing what to answer, you lay down on the pillow. To reclaim the composure you started studying the furniture in front of the bed. It was a trick to focus on a few objects that you learned to calm yourself down. Roman wasn’t saying anything, you thought that he got offended, like he often did for no reason or just went back to sleep and you were embarrassed enough to not speak up first. So when you heard his voice again, not so angry as before, it surprised you. 

"What was the dream about?"

There was something extremely intimate about this question and somehow reassuring. Yet the last thing you wanted now is him to feel pity for you. 

“Old memory. The not-so-good ones.”

He muttered in response as if he understood what you meant by that, but he didn’t insist on more details.

“And FYI, I don't usually act like this.” you added in an attempt to deflect the topic.

“You don't usually scream in the middle of the night as if you were fighting for your life? Good to know.” his sarcasm was back.

Roman settled down on the pillow next to you.

“Next time you want to wake me up with your mouth, there is a better way.”

Not sure if this was his attempt to defuse the situation or was he actually asking for a blowjob, which was also highly likely, you appreciated the humor.

“Very funny.”

Covering yourself tighter with the sheets you lay yourself down to sleep. You closed your eyes, but after a while you opened them again. Staring at the ceiling you started to contemplate the situation. It's not like you expected any sort of compassion from Roman, it actually surprised you that he didn’t kick you off his bed. You turned on your side, so that you were now looking at his face in profile. His eyes were closed and his chest was rising steadily under the thin silk.

“Roman?” you asked quietly.

He grunted without opening his eyes.

“Good night.”

In response, he muttered something that sounded similar to "good night." 

You closed your eyes and tried to fall asleep.

@thegreatwicked @daenerys-skywalker @supernatural-lover @hereticpriest @creativelyquestioninglife

In case you want/don't want to be tagged, let me know! No pressure ☀️

[captain-of-silvenar]

A brain thought that grew too big, and turned into a new project.

Enjoy some Maormer fanfic!

---

Was it unlawful and cruel to go running for the shoreline after a massive storm churned up several lost and sunken ships in hopes of finding leftover treasures or supplies to enhance one's own ship?

Nylarril didn't think so, and so did a majority of the others living on Pyandonea.

For months now the sea was in a state of unrest with storms regularly falling over the island. It was the summer months when such storms were meant to happen. Scouting and raid operations were at a halt until there were calmer waters. Only those ordered by King Orgnum himself venture out and with no less than three storm mages per ship to grant them safe passage out of the misty veil.

Until then, Nylarril was home and was going scavenging. 

It was going to be awhile before he was called to action and he was hoping to find some decent tools leftover on the ships. If not, he could find some old weapons to turn over to the smith to remake them into new blades. And if it really was a worthless endeavor to search around the wreckages, he could at least find dinner.

There was no one around his area of the shoreline, at least to his knowledge. He did wake up pretty early after the storm had passed over the island. It was a blessing none of the trees had crashed down on his home and only blew leaves onto his path. A minor inconvenience, so long as he didn’t slip on any of them.

Nylarril was waist deep in the belly of a ship, cracked open like a shucked oyster. He could see the different levels and what was left of the cargo floating pitifully around him. Nothing survived their stay in the sea as plenty of them had been eaten by the fish or boring clams chewed the wood into splinters.

He did find the armory of one ship and started collecting the best looking pieces onto a floating crate for ease of carrying.

‘At least today wasn’t a total waste,’ he thought as he piled more miscellaneous pieces into the crate. ‘I can probably convince the smith to make me a new sword out of this. If any of the metal is good.’

With loot in tow, and maybe a few pieces of gold he found in some random corners, he started to wade his way back to the shore. He momentarily got lost inbetween the towering shells of the ships around him and found himself deeper into the ship graveyard. It was there that he heard a noise.

There was a persistent splashing sound somewhere inside the ship’s hull. It could be any number of things that could’ve been caught up in the wreckage. Maybe it was a bit of debris that was hanging in a weird way to keep splashing. Maybe it was a creature wrapped up in some rope trapped. Either way, it was making noise and that could mean something worthwhile to see.

With a new goal in mind Nylarril waded toward the noise. Rope around his waist to keep his floating crate nearby, it took him longer than he thought to find the source of the noise. The closer he got to the splashing the stranger it sounded. It sounded less like a piece of debris being pushed and pulled by the waves and definitely like something was caught and thrashing around.

It wasn’t long until he ducked under a fallen beam and turned the corner when he finally laid eyes on the cause of the sound.

“Mother Sea preserve me!”

Trapped, wrapped up in a tangle of netting and ropes, was a mermaid.

Serpentine in shape, trapped half in and out of the water, Nylarril could see the glittering silver of its tail splashing in the water as it thrashed around trying to get out. Its arms were pinned to their body and it twisted this way and that way to try and loosen the ropes but only serving to tighten them more. It had gotten to a point where one of the nets must’ve dug into flesh as a steady trickle of blood dripped into the water around it.

His exclamation instantly caught its attention and Nylarril was caught frozen by the eyes that gazed into his own.

Like two pieces of onyx set into a silvery face, glittering from the reflections of the water. They squinted and were accompanied by a snarled mouth lined with razor sharp teeth. This mermaid meant harm in every way possible despite being trapped.

This could be a benefit to him.

There was very little to no information about mermaids, neither here in Pyandonea or in Summerset. Were he to capture this mermaid and bring it to a Captain or even a Commodore this could be a great boon to him. On the other hand… it was also told in myths that to try and use a mermaid for selfish reasons would only bring ruin to a person's name. 

Choices, choices. 

Of which were about to be severely limited as the longer he stood there like a dumb bluegill with his mouth open the more aggravated the mermaid became. So much so that Nylarril noticed the water orbs starting to rise up and were about to skewer him.

“Wait, wait, wait!” he exclaimed while also dispelling the orbs with a wave of his hand. Without magic to keep them up, the orbs splashed harmlessly back into the sea. Much to the surprise of the mermaid it seemed by the shocked expression on their face. It stopped it’s thrashing just long enough for him to raise his hands and speak again.

“I’m not going to harm you,” he blurted out. “I can… I can cut you down… If you let me.”

Great job, offering to help the thing when not a moment ago he was thinking of passing it off to a Captain. 

But also he didn’t want to get stabbed to death with water.

Nylarril wasn’t exactly sure if it even understood Pyandonea but it wasn’t thrashing around anymore. It just kept… staring at him with those giant eyes. Blood kept trickling down some netting and dropping into the water, tainting it red. If there was ever a time to approach it was right now.

He untied himself from his crate, pushing it against a wall so it didn’t drift away. Hands up and slowly walking forward he approached the mermaid. As he approached he started to get a better look at it.

They were silvery before, but even closer up he could see the brilliance in their scales. The little bit of direct sunlight piercing past the clouds bounced off their scales in a kaleidoscope of colors. Nylarril’s knowledge of mermaids was sparse and few, but some of the readings and myths he knew mostly described mermaids as perfectly half fish and half humanoid.

This mermaid certainly was not, with the scales completely covering them from head to wherever their tail ended. They were more akin to lamia he’s seen on Tamriel, part women part snake beings. There was a long dorsal fin he could see poking out and tearing through a piece of a sail, possibly traveled the length of their tail.

Once he was close enough, Nylarril risked getting his dagger out. Slowly it came out of his sheath and the mermaids eyes were locked onto it instantly. There was a moment where he saw their tail twitch and causing a surprising amount of water to shift around him. Just how long was this thing?

But it wasn’t thrashing, and no shift of magic in the water made him think he was about to get skewered. So he carefully started to cut them free.

First starting well away from their body, pulling away the excess sails that were keeping it bound. Once those were away he could see the netting that were digging under their scales and causing them to bleed. Along their chest were familiar ridges of gills where the net was actually digging into flesh. And fairly deep with how much it was bleeding, and the pink of the inner gills were starting to become exposed.

“This is going to hurt,” he explained, as if the thing could understand him. Perhaps so, as it did nothing when his blade got closer to it. Maybe a slight flinch when the blade peeled away the first layers of netting, but nothing threatening anymore. It had to hurt eventually though, as he began to pick the netting and start to dig it out from the flesh. He heard a low rumble through their body and glanced to see it grimacing but looking away from the sight.

More netting he dug out of the flesh, a few small scales falling into the water below, until he finally tugged the last of the twine out of it.

“No more netting in there,” he announced. How strange that he was rather calm next to a practically mythical being. It probably had to do with seeing it trapped and bleeding that assuaged some of the glamour of it all. Not all things from Mother Sea were impervious after all.

There were only a few bundles of netting left keeping them hanging above the water and he solved it with a quick swipe of his blade.

Several things happened all at once then.

No longer bound and free to move, the mermaid shoved him backwards and into the water. Underwater, Nylarril was able to see the true length of this mermaid as it shifted around him. The length of two fishing boats stern to aft, it was a massive amount of body that was swirling around him and out of this ship graveyard. As the mermaid left he could see other parts of it’s body wrapped in sails and netting. And just like that, they were gone.

Nylarril got his feet under him and stood back up, wiping water out off his face to look at the empty area around him. All that was left was some blood lingering in the water, and glittering scales in the sand. He crouched down to pick one of them up. No bigger than one of his thumbnails, but it reflected sunlight like a mirror. Without this scale in his hand one could almost imagine that the mermaid was never here at all.

“I need a drink,” he finally said after a long pause. Nylarril collected his floating crate and retied himself to it and found his way out of the ship graveyard. When he reached the shore did he find others dragging their own loot out onto the beach. A few of them waved at him and called out,

“Found anything interesting out there?”

He thought about the glittering scale he stashed in his pouch. For a moment he thought about saying what he saw. Of onyx eyes and snarling teeth, and blood dripping from a mythical creature. And how it looked at him with wide eyes and kept still as he cut it free.

“No,” he lied. “Nothing interesting at all.”

[konigsrose]

🌸🌿🪴🌹Well, I’ve started a little slow burn for Gardener König! 🌹🌿🪴🌸

Unsure whether I’ll keep going with it, it’s very much going to be a side piece to my current WIPs but we shall see…

A snippet below 👇

“Can I help you?” A soft, nervous voice, spoken with a heavy accent - German, perhaps? - came from behind Esme’s shoulder. She whirled around, feeling embarrassed. The voice had come from a man, probably around her age. He was huge. Esme was only five foot two, but this man towered over her, well over a foot taller, and with huge, broad shoulders and thick muscular arms, almost bursting from the shop’s uniform polo-shirt he wore. Despite his size, he looked sheepish and a little afraid. He also looked handsome, not just because of his muscles, but his piercing blue eyes, and dark hair which was cropped close on the sides, but flopped into his face a little at his forehead.

“I um…” Esme hesitated, wondering how honest to be; she didn’t want to sound like a fool, but at the same time, this man surely would have some answers for her. “I’ve just bought my first house, got my first garden and… Well, I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing. How hard is it to kill a lavender plant?” She smiled as the man huffed a soft little laugh at her question.

“That depends. They are quite low maintenance, if you’ve got sunlight and soil that drains well, and is not too acidic,” he smiled, as if in reassurance.

“There’s definitely sunlight,” she said, her brow furrowing a little in concentration. “How would I know if the soil drains well? Or isn’t acidic?”

“What kind of plants are there at the moment? That might help work it out.”

“None,” Esme rolled her eyes, “it was all fake grass and paving slabs, but I’ve ripped it all out and dug down to actual soil again.”

“You did this yourself?” The man’s eyes briefly roamed over Esme’s body. She was short, yes, but plump, too, and didn’t exactly look the type for hard manual labour.

“Couldn’t afford to pay for someone else to do it,” she shrugged. “Most exercise I’ve done in years, I was aching in places I didn’t know I could ache!” Esme grinned, and saw the man’s cheeks go ever so slightly pink as he grinned back.

“Impressive.” He glanced around nervously, before pulling a little card out of his pocket. “I am not supposed to advertise at work, but if you need anything else, I do landscaping and things when I am not working here. If you would like, I could come and help you make a plan, free of charge. You would only need to pay if you want me to labour for you, or for materials.”

Esme read the card. It was simple, a little Austrian flag in the corner and the words “König - Gardens fit for a King” followed by a phone number. She smiled.

“Is König your name, or…?”

“It is a nickname, but everybody calls me it. When I first came to England my colleagues used to call me the King of Austria, and it stuck,” he shrugged and gave Esme a shy little smile. “Of course, you do not have to call, but if it would help…” he trailed off, nervously.

“Thanks König, I think I might. For now, maybe I’ll just have some herbs in pots to grow on the windowsill,” she grinned. “Until you’ve assessed the garden and given me your expert opinions, anyway.”

[nekohime19]

Bimawen Design

I thought it'll be cool to share my inspiration for both Wukong and Mengai (Macaque) appearances in my Bimawen au. Because while they both mainly come from rhesus macaque I did also took some inspiration from other monkeys.

Wukong

I wanted Wukong to be more JTTW accurate so, like his JTTW counterpart, my Bimawen Wukong got forked ears that point to the sky, a thunder beak mouth (which means a mouth with upward fangs) and sullen cheeks. He's fur is light brown/blonde but it can have russet accents, even red when under the sunlight.

Here is a picture of what a thunder god face could look like. (You got the artist on the side).

He's four feet tall and is kinda skynny and lean.

For his body shape, it's very close to those of rhesus macaques. Except maybe his face wich is a lot more rounder.

Rhesus Macaque

His face is reddish and he got a short fuzzy tail like a rhesus macaque. His eyes are also golden/brown like on the picture, and he also got reddish accents on his eyes corners, like on the picture.

Wukong's head shape is in fact a lot more closer to squirrel monkeys than rhesus macaques.

Squirrel monkey

However, contrary to JTTW, my Bimawen Wukong has a very fuzzy and luxurious mane, almost like a lion. And that's because he's not Buddhist and thus doesn't have to be shaved.

Tamarin monkey

Wukong's mane is very much like a tamarin monkey's.

Here are some excerpts of Wukong's appearances in the story :

After a few minutes, the doors bursted open, violently slammed by a blonde-furred monkey dressed in red. The lavish round-neck robe looked ruffled, as if he slept with it, and his soft-winged futou was falling on one side of his head, unable to contain his knotted mane. His face was ball-like round and incredibly hairy, he had the beak of a thunder god and forked ears pointing towards the sky. His cheeks along with his body were sunken, almost as if someone dug into his very flesh. His fur was lush, abondant, so much that the macaque felt like he could drown in it.

He was barefooted too, monkeys didn't fit well with shoes after all, it was too constricting and it felt wrong at so many levels.

He found his sharp fangs appealing, they protruded from his lips like daggers, the luster of danger gliding upon them.

Truly, none could match this mighty bimawen in terms of beauty!

Look at his blonde fur wet with ruby-red accents under the sun's kindness!

Look at his forked ears fanning the side of his head like the soaring wings of a phoenix!

Look at his thundering fangs standing proudly against his lips!

He left his room with a joyous sway of hips, his short fuzzy tail, not unlike the one of a squirrel, twitching in delight.

There was care in Sun Wukong's sun-kissed eyes.

Mengai let his hand creep on his boss's back, slowly going up until it reached his shoulderblades. They were sharp, protruding from his back like two prideful hills.

Mengai

Mengai also comes from a rhesus macaque so he's body shape is very similar to Wukong's in this aspect.

Rhesus Macaque

But his limbs are longer and thinner. And he also got a long serpent-like tail. On this sense he's very reminiscent of a spider monkey, even he's color schemes is based on a spider monkey's (he's black, entirely black, like a raven).

Spider monkey

He's four feet tall like Wukong and a lil bit thinner too right now because he's still recovering from being starved, his cheeks are gonna be rounder and fuller than Wukong's once he'll recover.

His six ears are forked, like those of a rhesus macaque's, but they're longer and thinner too.

His fur however is very short and fuzzy, very reminiscent of a lemur.

Lemur

Here are some excerpts of Mengai's appearances in the story :

As a monkey he was less than four chi tall, everyone constantly towered above him no matter what he tried to do. Only children were of his height.

His gaze fell on the monkey half-hidden behind Guanyin's robe. He was small, no taller than four chi, and had a serpent-like tail that slithered at his feet. He was entirely black, from the tip of his toe to the edge of his snout, black as the night. He reminded the sage of a ruffled raven. He looked like a skeleton coddled in monkey flesh with the morning luster sliding in his fur, his ribcages pierced his sides, digging in his skin.

His new attendant arrived shortly after, clothed with more practical fabric, a shorter linen robe tied by a white slash.

In comparison (to Wukong), his fangs were little, no bigger than fimsly thorns. They didn't protrude from his lips like proud daggers, instead they hid behind his mouth like measles toothpicks. Mengai shook his head. It wasn't the time for bouts of envy.

He was lean, perhaps leaner than he ought to be. His limbs were overly long and thin, like the paws of a spider, and he had fuzzy fur, reminiscent of a young panda's coat. His build was more or less similar to Wukong's even if perhaps on a thinner side.

[axratsffxivwrite]

FFXIV Write Day 4 - Reticent (Familiar Strangers)

Guard duty was hardly Miriam’s preferred choice of mission. Nonetheless, the survivors of Rabanastre needed supplies, and merchants needed a safe route west across the Estersands. It seemed with each passing moon the desert grew more dangerous, lending credence to rumors of the end of the world. 

Final Days or no, she had people to feed. Perched atop the back of a chocobo-driven cart, her light armor and loose, breathable clothes kept the worst of the sun from baking her alive. She carried a simple hunting bow in one hand, a handful of arrows in the other. 

Kemal sat across from her, his eyes fixed on their right flank as hers were their left. While she observed silently, he… talked.

“I was thinking, you know, once father’s business fully relocates back to Rabanastre, maybe we could do more partnerships with the clan, bring the coin back to the Desert Sapphire.” 

She watched. She waited. 

“I mean just ten years ago there was so much coin in Rabanastre, do you remember the bazaar? Merchants from everywhere selling their wares! Could you imagine the day we have merchants from Radz-at-Han again?” 

A fat, round harpy observed them from afar, but declined to approach. It rolled away instead.

“Oh, that’s a thought; maybe we should look outside Dalmasca. All the other merchants pulled out of trade with Thavnair when that tower appeared, and then when the whole burning skies thing started… but now that the skies no longer burn, I bet there’s good coin in it. High risk, sure, maybe they will have a third catastrophe, but if we’re partnered with the clan we’ll have blades enough to guard our wares. Do you think Kutok would take the contract?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Hm, well, maybe I’ll talk to my father and he can talk to Kutok and we can… what’s wrong with that wolf?” 

Miriam narrowed her eyes and turned her head. She spotted the beast in question at the crest of the dunes, some twenty yalms to their north. It was a twisted, hairless beast with skin the color of raw, rotting meat. Spines grew from its back in an array of sizes, from spikes no smaller than her forearm to nearly as long as the beast was tall. Long fangs and tusks crossed in front of a flat muzzle, and glowing red eyes stared out at them. Claws as long as its tusks dug into the sand as it crouched low to the ground, hunting them. 

Two more of the beasts rose from behind the sand, flanking their packmate. Miriam nocked an arrow. 

“I don’t think that’s a wolf.” She stated. 

“I’m starting to think you’re right… It doesn’t look like anything in the huntmaster’s bestiary.” He turned toward the driver. “We need to move, quickly!” 

The merchant called back an affirmative and cracked the reins. The chocobos quickened their pace, the cart bouncing on the uneven terrain. She saw Kemal reach for his bow out of the corner of her eye.

The monsters charged, kicking up sand and dust as they careened down the dune. Miriam let her arrow fly. Despite the bouncing of the cart, her aim was true. The bolt struck the beast in the shoulder, dug deep into its tainted flesh, but it did not so much as flinch. 

The beasts were gaining. Kemal fired off his own arrow. It pierced the lead creature’s flank, dug into what should have been bone, but still it charged. Twenty yalms quickly became ten as they nocked, drew, and fired once again. Their arrows struck in the head and throat respectively. The beast charged on. The merchant screamed, the chocobos bolted, the cart bucked violently, and Miriam went flying. 

She hit the ground and rolled, pain radiating across her body. The lead beast pounced at her. She fumbled for her knife. 

A purple blur shot past her and collided with the beast instead, sending it well off course. A tangle of red and purple fury careened through the sand. The remaining two beasts peeled off, circling the field to assess this new threat. 

A chocobo, Miriam realized. An armored chocobo with feathers as purple as a plum. The beast struggled to find purchase against the bird’s barding as its claws and beak tore into its tainted flesh. Not far behind, a Viera darted past her and launched himself at another of the beasts, grasping it by the spines to grapple it in the sands.

Kemal sprang from the cart and rushed to her aid, but she brushed him off. She scrambled to retrieve her bow and her remaining arrows from the sand. 

“Beasts first,” she snapped to Kemal, “bruises later.” 

“Right.” He hurried away, arrow knocked and drawn as he moved to flank the remaining beast. 

Ignoring the protestations of her sore shoulder, Miriam nocked her own arrow and fired. 

Nearby, the chocobo tore the head off of its adversary. There was no blood, no gore, only an empty black mist as the creature dissipated into nothingness. The bird let out a triumphant cry as it rushed to aid the stranger. The Viera fought claw to claw with the snarling beast, even as it tore into his own flesh and blood splattered across the sand. 

The third beast charged toward Kemal as he repositioned, their arrows adding to the array of spines along its back. Miriam ran around, letting loose arrow after arrow into the monster’s flank. The pain drew its attention back to her as it pivoted, turning its crimson gaze on her.

She let her last arrow fly. It sunk deep into the creature’s skull, directly between the eyes. In an instant, it burst into mist, as if it had never existed in the first place. 

Miriam turned in time to see the Viera claw open the final beast’s chest and tear out the ichor that constituted its organs. It, too, burst, its remnants dissipating on the desert winds. The chocobo once more cried out in victory. 

For a moment they all paused, as the battle rush faded and they caught their breath.

Finally, she called out, “thank you! I do not know your name, but I appreciate your timely arrival.”

The Viera half-turned back to her. She felt herself lock up. He had the brown skin of a Rava, deep green eyes, a handsome face framed with shaggy black hair, and a geometric tattoo under his left eye. His black-furred ears seemed unusually short for one of his kind. His off-white traveling clothes were torn and stained with his blood, but the Bozjan medal pinned to his belt still gleamed. 

He stared back at her, his expression inscrutable. “...are you alright?” 

“You… you remind me of someone, that’s all.” She replied. “A friend, from a long time ago. I’m Miriam, by the way.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly. “...a pleasure, I’m sure.” 

Miriam frowned. Why hadn’t he offered his name? Male Viera were rare to start with, but male Viera with the stunted ears one might see in those of mixed heritage were even rarer. Plus the green eyes, the black hair… 

She held her tongue, doubt gnawing at the back of her mind. 

“Kemal,” she turned toward him, “check on the boss, make sure we’re good to move. We shouldn’t stay here.” 

Kemal hesitated. His eyes trailed from her to the wounded Viera, then back again. 

“...I don’t know that I’m comfortable leaving you alone with him.” 

“I can look after myself.” She looked past him to where the cart had come to a stop some two-dozen yalms or so down the path. “...besides, if you can’t shoot an arrow that far, then we need to send you back to train with Myrmidia.”

Kemal followed her gaze, a frown on his face. “...fine, but if he tries anything…” 

“I’ll skin him before you can.” She replied. 

Kemal offered a grunt of acknowledgement. He reluctantly turned to walk away, though she caught him glancing back in her direction every few steps. 

Overprotective dolt. 

With a sigh, she turned back toward the Viera. He had turned away to fuss over his chocobo. Gentle hands coaxed open the bird’s wings, examining the feathers for any signs of damage. In return, the chocobo wiggled its tail and summoned up a swell of restorative aether that washed over the man’s wounds, staunching the bleeding. 

Miriam smiled, despite herself. “Well, I was about to offer my own magic, but it seems you two are more than capable of looking after each other.” 

The Viera paused. He turned to look at her, then his chocobo, then back at her.

“Exodus and I have been partners for years, it only makes sense.” He paused. “Are you alright? I saw that fall, it looked rough.” 

She shrugged. “I’ll be sore, but it’s little more than bruises.” 

“Good,” he smiled, seeming genuinely relieved. “I am glad to hear it.” 

She couldn’t help but be struck by that smile. That familiar, yet oh-so-handsome smile. He felt familiar, safe, and she couldn’t help but be drawn to it. She pushed the feeling down, locked it away deep in her chest, and reminded herself that there was a good chance this man was simply a stranger on the road. 

He cleared his throat. “I should ask… is your friend always so protective, or does he really think I’d hurt you after I went through all that effort to save you?” 

“Kemal’s… like that.” Miriam shrugged. “He means well, he’s a good man. Just somewhat…” 

“Territorial?” 

“Hmm… that would imply he has territory.” 

The Viera chuckled. “...fair.” 

An awkward quiet lingered for a moment too long as uncertainty built in Miriam’s chest. If he was who she thought he was, then all she wanted to do was wrap him up in the tightest hug and weep tears of joy for his overdue return. Her heart longed for her old friend’s arrival, and yet… doubt lingered in her mind. If this truly was him, why would he try to hide it? Why would he not just say as much? Furthermore, why the Bozjan medal? Last she heard word of her friend, he was adventuring in Eorzea, though it had been too long since his last letter…

Without thinking, she blurted out, “you should come with us.” 

“Hm?” 

“Come with us. You can clearly handle yourself, but if more of those beasts appear, strength in numbers will do us some good.” 

His eyes glanced past her, then returned to meet her gaze again. 

“You are bound for Rabanastre?” 

“We are.” 

His expression remained impassive as he considered the notion. A slight frown toyed at the corner of his mouth. 

“...I will come with you until we have full view of the city. Then I must return to my hunt. The skies no longer burn over Ilsabard, but the blasphemies born during the Final Days need to be culled.” 

Her shoulders slumped slightly, but she maintained an even expression. “I understand, though I must ask you to come with us to the city so our acting Huntmaster can properly repay you.” 

He shook his head. “I don’t need payment. I was hunting them anyway, if anything you helped me by keeping them occupied.” 

“You’re certain?” 

The Viera hesitated. “I… I appreciate your offer, but I would not be welcome in the city. Better to keep my distance.” 

Not welcome? Well, that would certainly explain his reluctance to identify himself, but why wouldn’t he be welcome? It didn’t add up. Her friend was but a child when he left. Maybe this was a stranger…

“If you say so…” She shifted. “...still, you are welcome to accompany us the rest of the way. Come, you should introduce yourself to the boss…” 

She turned to guide him back toward the cart where Kemal and the merchant fussed over the draught birds. Though she couldn’t shake that feeling of familiarity, that sensation of warmth that crawled from her heart and through her body, the chill of doubt held fast. She locked those feelings away, resigned herself not to act on them until she had some hint of his true identity. 

If it was him, surely he had reason to hide. 

It only took a few moments to right the cart and steady the chocobos. Exodus’s confidence gave the draughts their own back, and before long they were on the road once more, plus one. Miriam resumed her post across from Kemal, while the Viera rode alongside on his own vibrant bird. 

She couldn’t help but glance to him every so often. Her heart ached with longing. Even if that wasn’t her friend, he reminded her of him. Loneliness gnawed at her. Kemal was fine and all, but he was little more than a trusted colleague to her. 

He caught her staring at the Viera more than a few times as the cart rolled along. By the fourth time he simply sighed, resigned, and turned his gaze outward to scan for threats. 

Despite the longing, despite the pain, Miriam kept her thoughts to herself. Perhaps it was better not to say anything after all.

…right? 

[fandomsallthetime94]

"Take A Break" - Gale Dekarios

Word Count: 594

OC Used: None

Warning: sexual explicit implied.

I walked into Gale’s home in Waterdeep after going into the city to get a few new herbs for my medical magic. I hung up my cloak by the door and was greeted by Tara who was sitting in the window.

 "Has he locked himself in his tower again, Tara?” I asked the tressym as I gave her a quick pat on the head.

“I’m afraid so, mistress. He’s discovered some new magic, so as you know he has to now lock himself away for days on end until he has studied every last subject about it.” Tara replied, stretching out before lying down on the window ceil.

I rolled my eyes and sighed before nodding.

“I’ll go check on him.”

Tara gave me a quiet meow before relaxing for her afternoon nap. I smiled at her before heading towards the stairs that led to Gale’s tower and library. When I reached the top of the stairs, I could see that his door was slightly ajar, mostly likely due to Tara checking in on him. I softly knocked on the door before pushing it open.

Gale turned in his seat a little to look at the door and smiled when he saw me.

“My love, I didn’t expect you back so soon.” He said, before turning his attention back to the book he was reading.

I walked into his library and over to him before wrapping my arms around his shoulders from behind.

“Tara says that you have been locking yourself away again.” I whispered, placing gentle kiss on his temple.

“Darling, I’ve discovered this new magic and there are so many interesting subjects on this magic that it’s a lot of reading.” Gale replied, as he flipped the page of his book.

“I understand that, my love, but you need to also spend time with your loved ones.” I said, my hands rubbing his chest lightly.

Gale sighed and bit his bottom lip as my hands rubbed his chest. He tilted his head back to rest against my shoulder as his eyes closed.

“You’re a great distraction, my love.” He whispered, as he looked at me from the corner of his eye.

I smiled and removed my arms from around his shoulders before walking around his chair and straddling his lap, placing my hands on his chest. His hands immediately went to my hips, pulling me a little bit closer.

“You need to take a break.” I whispered, looking at him with a loving smile.

“There’s so much that I have to do yet.” Gale replied, looking back at me.

I pouted at him before grinding my hips against his a little bit, a satisfying smirk coming to my face as I felt him getting excited.

“Are you sure?” I asked, placing a kiss on his chest.

A soft moan left Gale’s lips as his fingers dug into my hips.

“Maybe I do need a little bit of a break.” He said, bringing one hand up to grab my jaw and force me to look at him.

I smirked and pulled him into a passionate kiss, his hand moving from my jaw to my neck and squeezing lightly. Gale stood up quickly, his arm going under my butt to keep me up as I wrapped my legs around his waist. He pulled away from the kiss and kissed my cheek.

“I think we should move this party to the bedroom.” He said, his voice raspy and deep.            

“I could not agree more, my love.” I said with a chuckle before kissing him again

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

(Never) Satisfied, Part 1

Chapters 1-5!

Masterlist is here

Chapter 1

Never does life truly feel complete.

Stories are allowed to feel complete. Are supposed to in most cases. You’re supposed to turn that final page or watch the credits roll or watch the stage lights dim… and you’re supposed to be content with how the story ended. Whether the ending is happy or sad, it’s supposed to be an ending. All of the arcs, all of the themes, should be tied up with a nice little bow.

And Marinette… well, she would admit that she had expected something similar. She watched as Gabriel Agreste was stuffed into a cop car – the tall fucker hit his head on the top of the door – and, even from a distance, she could hear the fervor with which the cop slammed the door. And she waited. For that single sigh of relief, for the tension to drain from her shoulders, for that complete feeling that was supposed to come with a job well done. The door had closed with a ringing sense of finality. She could finally rest.

The tips of the butterfly pin dug into her palm.

Chat Noir ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, and he gave her a hesitant smile. “It’s over,” he said, and she could tell he meant it.

She bit her lip. “Not quite.”

His eyebrows knit together.

“It’s… his son, Adrien Agreste. We don’t know if he was in on it.”

It was a surprisingly good point despite the fact that she had made up on the spot. Maybe they should have taken that into account before they had arrested Gabriel. If Adrien was involved in this, then he was definitely going to be more cautious from now on. It would take ages for him to drop his guard, they would have to continue working for what could be months – decades, even.

She tried to ignore the way the thought made something that might have been elation bubble in her chest.

But humor tugged at the corners of Chat Noir’s lips. “Oh. No. That won’t be a problem.”

It was her turn to frown at him, but he waved her off.

“I’ll explain when the reporters get here,” he said.

He bumped his shoulder against hers, and she gave him the best smile she could.

“I can’t believe you’re making me wait,” she huffed, giving up on trying to smile in favor of an overexaggerated pout. It was much easier to do that, anyway. “Aren’t I your best friend?”

He laughed and ruffled her hair, pushing her head down slightly with the force of his half-noogie. “Oh, hush.”

She did not, in fact, hush. She batted at his hands and continued to complain about how he had messed up her hair until the reporters came.

(And maybe for a bit longer than that.)

~

She sighed as the pair of them leaned over the railing of the Eiffel Tower.

Detransformed in front of each other for the first time. But not strangers.

Marinette’s eyes scanned over the skyline, looking for akumas (habitually or hopefully, even she didn't know).

“You know that you can’t keep the ring anymore,” she said carefully. “Now that you’ve broadcasted your identity to the public.”

He winced. The pleasant smile that had come over his face as he watched the parades, the fireworks, the people of Paris finally getting their conclusion… it faded slowly. He cast his gaze upwards. “I know,” he said, and his voice came out shaky. “But…”

“It’s dangerous for you to have it,” she reminded him.

Part of her wondered if she was punishing him. For revealing his identity, for being a coward when it came to helping her out while Lila isolated her from all of her friends but brave for the sake of the city and his own ego, for ruining her chances of continuing on with this life with a simple detransformation. She certainly had reason to, and she would never deny that she could be petty.

But whether she was doing it to punish him or not, she still had a point.

Still, her eyes landed on her partner, on the person that had once been her friend, the person that still was in some ways, and he had tears spilling down his face, and that part of her ached.

She pulled him into a hug. He slotted himself against her perfectly, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“It wasn’t healthy for you, anyways,” she mumbled, absently playing with the tiny curls on the back of his neck. “And you’re free, now, you don’t need Him anymore. You can be yourself, as yourself.”

He sobbed harder. His nails dug into the back of her shirt, but she paid it no mind. Neither of them had been allowed to cry in years, it was no surprise that he was pent up. It had been inevitable, really.

She rested her chin atop his head and closed her eyes.

They stayed like that for a long time.

~

Marinette blinked out of her stupor when she felt a hand tap her on the shoulder.

She craned her neck to look at her mom, still absently working the dough in her hands. It wasn’t quite the right texture yet, but it was close.

“Head up front,” her mother said, swatting at her arm lightly to get her to move so she could take over.

Marinette yelped and backed up, grinning as she evaded the hits, her hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, okay mom, I’m going!” She dusted her hands on her apron. “Is there someone I need to scare off?”

Her mother rolled her eyes with a fond smile. “For the last time, Marinette, you don’t need to get rid of every person you deem a ‘Karen’.”

“But I wanna!” She huffed. “They’re evildoers! I must vanquish them!”

“So dramatic,” Sabine chided lightly, and swatted Marinette again. Marinette gave an offended screech that went completely ignored. “Someone’s waiting for you at the counter.”

Her eyebrows knit together, the playfulness disappearing from her expression in favor of pure, unadulterated confusion. Adrien was in therapy at the moment – he wasn’t stupid enough to skip, and he was definitely not stupid enough to let her find out he was skipping this easily – but it couldn’t be anyone else.

She poked her head around, and only ended up more confused when her eyes landed on the only person in the store. Audrey Bourgeois stood at the counter in clothes that were far too warm for late summer, with a white trench coat to compliment her signature large sunglasses and even larger hat. She probably didn’t want to get infected by the ‘poor’ness of the bakery… though that begged the question of why she was visiting her parents’ bakery at all. Surely, she could get food catered to her by her private chefs back home in America?

She slowly made her way over to the counter. “Mme. Bourgeois,” she said, tipping her head forward respectfully. “What brings you here?”

The woman crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re MDC,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.

Her eyes widened and she backed up a half step. “What? How do you –?”

“If you have money, you can find out anything,” Audrey said shortly.

Marinette gave her a flat look. “Jagged let it slip, huh?”

It seemed the woman had spontaneously gone deaf. She continued on with her point: “I like what you have made so far, and I would like to buy you.”

Marinette opened and closed her mouth several times without managing to say a word. What could you even say to that?

Oh, right.

“I’m not for sale?” She said slowly, sounding more unsure than she probably should have. But give her a break, she was very confused.

She tilted her sunglasses downward so she could peer directly into her eyes. “Aren’t you? You’re not going to get far in this industry on your own – your designs are amazing, but fashion design is an industry that even I will admit is heavily affected by nepotism. You need backing. I can help you.”

“And if I don’t care about being ‘world famous’ or whatever?”

She scoffed. “Don’t you get tired of standing around here, baking all day? Will you really feel happy when you inevitably take over for your parents after they retire? Do you not have any dreams of your own? Don’t you want more?”

Marinette’s mouth went dry.

Because she did want more. Desperately. She had been puttering along after Hawkmoth’s defeat, unable to find anything that gave her anything more than momentary happiness. But the thing she missed so much was no longer an option, not really.

She bit the inside of her cheek, quietly considering.

“What would change if I did this?”

Audrey’s lips curled into a victorious little smile. “I would like to relocate you to America, to be closer to me.”

She nodded slowly. But something poked at her mentally, and she ran over the words a few times in her head until she figured out what exactly had thrown her off.

“Where in America, exactly?”

Audrey’s smile lessened just slightly. Clearly, she had been hoping that that wouldn’t come up. She sighed. “Gotham,” she admitted.

Marinette’s eyes widened.

Gotham?

Something sharp flickered over her expression but she was quick to tamp it down. She reached a hand across the counter, the grin on her face just barely off. “I think I can handle living in the most crime-ridden city in the world if it means I get to take advantage of this incredible opportunity you’re offering.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

The flight was far shorter than she thought it would be, all because her thoughts were on one thing – or, rather, one person: Chloe Bourgeois.

She wasn’t sure where they stood. Back during their school days, they’d had a kind of truce, if only because they both hated Lila (admittedly, for different reasons). It was nice to bitch about her over lunch. But they didn’t have much connecting them beyond that, and Lila was no longer around, which meant that the nature of their relationship was up in the air.

Maybe things would be better?

Her hopes were dashed the moment she saw Chloe.

She stood there, in practically the exact same outfit she had worn to school every day, leaning against a conveyor belt. She was on her phone, doomscrolling from the looks of it, her other hand just barely holding onto a piece of cardstock with Marinette’s name on it.

Well, actually, upon closer inspection, it said ‘Marinete’.

Great.

Well, if Chloe was going to be petty, then why shouldn’t she?

“Interesting that you were sent to get me,” Marinette said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is your mom’s company doing so poorly that you can’t even afford a butler or whatever to come and help? Because I would have preferred if she’d disclosed that before hiring me.”

“Mom said you’d want to see a familiar face,” Chloe shrugged. “I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how she is.”

She sighed. Yeah, she certainly did. “Well, let’s get this over with, then.”

Chloe hummed her agreement.

~

Marinette managed to open and sort out a single box before she flopped onto her bare mattress, groaning. “Tikkiiiiiiiiiii…”

Tikki poked her head out of her purse. “What?”

“Can you magic all of the moving and stuff to be done?”

“‘Can you magic all of the moving and stuff to be done?’” Tikki repeated, and Marinette could hear the laughter in her voice even without looking over.

“You got what I meant, didn’t you?”

Tikki snickered to herself. “I suppose that’s true. No, Marinette, I can’t.”

“... maybe I’ll ask Stompp,” she sighed, glaring at the ceiling as if it had personally offended her. It had. It was blank, without her usual fairy lights, but she didn’t want to unpack. She hadn’t come to Gotham to be normal, hadn’t even come here for the job opportunities (she would go to work, obviously, she rather liked not starving to death), but she needed to do all of that other stuff before she could go out and do any superhero-ing.

Tikki sighed fondly. “Honestly, that would probably be better, but I don’t think you should skimp out on things like this. It builds character, and it’s not as if these normal, everyday things are bad .”

Marinette made a face of mild disgust to convey just what she thought of that particular opinion.

And then she frowned, the first part of the sentence registering a little bit late. “Why would it be better?”

Tikki’s amusement bled out of her. She hesitated, glancing to the side.

“Tikki,” she said, sitting up properly. “What aren’t you telling me?”

The kwami looked sheepish. The exact expression she made when she got caught sneaking bites out of the cookie dough back at the bakery.

 “Remember how Master Fu mentioned how Plagg and I are two halves of the same whole?”

“Yeeees?”

“When Plagg isn’t active, I get weaker.”

Marinette frowned to herself, mulling this over. It had been a little over three years since Hawkmoth’s defeat, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t noticed the kwami getting quieter, but she had assumed that she was just winding down during peacetimes. After all, she loved to preach that Marinette should enjoy her ‘retirement’, why wouldn’t Marinette assume that she was simply trying to prove that she was right by leading by example?

But that certainly put a damper on her plans to be Ladybug again…

Unless, of course, she found a new person to play the part of the Cat.

She… didn’t want someone else to play her Cat. She loved Adrien, replacing him felt wrong. Like a betrayal, even if she knew that he could not – should not – be a holder again.

And, even if she had been interested in another Cat, it wasn’t as if she could go grab someone off the street. Ethics and sentimentality aside, miraculi only truly bind to people with specific personalities. As Guardian, she could tell when people met the general criteria, but the cat miraculous was tricky. People who held the cat miraculous were to be chaotic, and if they were too chaotic they had a tendency to become corrupted.

She sighed and toyed with her own miraculous, spinning the earrings around and around in her ear. She couldn’t properly bond with any others, so she was either to give up her own for a while so she could find a new partner or she would have to limit her use of the miraculous until then.

Damn it.

She bit her lip, thinking hard.

Okay. She needed to find someone to be her Cat, then.

She was stubborn, she would admit that this was one of her more unsavory traits (it was good during a fight, but outside of that it led to problems), but she wasn’t intent on hurting Tikki just because she was a little bit bored.

She had lived with her boredom for three years now, she could handle another few months.

Unfortunately, that left her with nothing to do.

She looked around at her bare apartment, at the boxes piled high in one corner. It was a small place, a one-roomer, because getting too nice of a place would make her a prime target for getting robbed, and she could not let that happen when there was a box full of all-powerful jewelry hidden in her closet. She should really get to work decorating the place because, at the moment, she didn’t think it would be all that good at providing inspiration for her job, and she would only get so long to settle in before she would be expected to start coming up with designs…

Nah.

She looked at her friend, her eyes gleaming. “Want to explore the city?”

Tikki sighed.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3

She checked to make sure that her door was locked about five times before she left.

And then doubled back to check just one more time before she’d even gotten ten paces away.

She narrowed her eyes at the lock. Most locks are relatively easy to pick given the right tools and even a base understanding of how they work. And that's if someone didn't just break the door down entirely. She didn’t like the idea of leaving the miraculous box behind one flimsy piece of wood, not when she was in the most dangerous city in the world, but she couldn’t exactly take it with her either, it wasn't the most inconspicuous thing to carry around.

She slipped back into her apartment and made her way over to her closet, where her miraculous box lay hidden behind all of the other boxes that she hadn’t wanted to unpack yet. She squinted at it. It was certainly flashy, a bright red ball with the occasional compartment tucked inside. She took the ‘box’ (she supposed it was a ball, actually, if you wanted to be exact about it) into her hands and tilted it this way and that, examining it for a moment.

And then she closed her eyes, envisioning it as a sewing kit instead, filled with different textiles and threads and a pincushion, all so she could hide the miraculi in the false lining at the top…

The feeling of it molding itself to her whims was strange, almost as if she was playing with some particularly warm playdough. It was the complete opposite of her Lucky Charms, which were often strangely plastic-like no matter what the things they were modeled after were ‘supposed’ to be made of. She wasn't sure she liked it, but at least she would only have to do it once before...

She peeked an eye open, and brightened up immediately upon seeing that it had worked.

She's still got it.

She hugged the miraculous box to her chest, relishing in her not-so-stellar accomplishment for just a few moments longer.

Then, as always, it was back to it.

Marinette put it on her desk. Pulled her sketchbook out of her backpack and set it on the table as well. Tossed a couple of pencils onto it. Skewed the angle of the sketchbook just slightly.

She stepped back to admire her work.

There. She looked like a frazzled artist who had been desperately trying to jot down her ideas before they disappeared. It wasn’t out of character, and wouldn’t draw any eyes.

Secure in that her Guardian duties had been taken care of for the time being, she finally left.

(After checking the lock another seven times. It never hurt to be careful, did it?)

It was just starting to get dark. People were still out, though, walking with a kind of hurriedness that suggested that they were just as aware of the time as she was. Huddled in small groups, craving safety in numbers.

When the group nearest her passed, they slowed down just slightly, as if inviting her to join, and she did so, because she wasn't really sure what else there was to do.

She pulled out her phone for directions, as any good Gen Z person should, deciding that the thing to prioritize during her first expedition through Gotham was food. She hadn’t gone to get groceries yet, and she really wasn’t intending on doing it right then, either, she wasn’t even sure her fridge was cool enough… so… she looked up local bakeries. There was one decently close by, but in the opposite direction, she would have to settle for walking an extra ten minutes…

But as the sharp-eyed reader might notice, she had made a fatal mistake: she was on her phone, visibly lost, while walking through Gotham.

It wasn’t long before her skin started to crawl. If there was one thing that she could always sense, it was when there were eyes on her. One might think that her time as a famous superhero would dull that sense, eyes were always on her, it should be no big deal after a while, but instead it had been heightened. There wasn’t a moment while she’d been wearing the suit that she wasn’t aware of the fact that people were watching her, depending on her.

This person wasn’t quite as innocent as the other people she had saved, though. Whoever was watching her had so much evil intent that she was starting to feel a little sick to her stomach on their behalf. She bit the inside of her cheek, the purse on her hip warm even through her clothes.

Okay.

Okay okay.

She broke off from the group suddenly, turning down an alley, and wasn’t that surprised when the teen who never seemed to take his hands out of the pockets of his jacket followed after her.

She checked herself in her phone screen. Out of an abundance of caution, she had headed out in a dark hoodie pulled low over her hair and a face mask to try and block out some of the pollution that hung heavy in the air. It was a pretty common outfit in Gotham, anyway, she might as well assimilate. And, as a secret plus, her identity was decently well-hidden. She could go all out without it being traced back to ‘Marinette’.

But she really didn’t want to face the other end of whatever weapon that lay in the teen’s pocket without any kind of magical protection.

So, as the teen stepped into the alley behind her, she mumbled the words that had been on the tip of her tongue for what felt like a lifetime:

“Tikki, spots on!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 4

The first thing that she noticed was that her Ladybug outfit was different. Over the years, as she’d become a stronger holder, her outfit had gained more and more intricacies and details, until it was basically unrecognizable – save for the signature red and black color scheme. Now, though, she was back in her original jumpsuit. Now, she was getting more and more tired by the second, as if the suit had recognized that Tikki didn’t have as much magical reserves as usual and had started pulling from Marinette to compensate. She tried not to think of what that could mean.

This was relatively easy to do, because the teen had snapped out of his shock. And he had a gun! Joy!

“What the fuck?” said the teen, pointing his gun at her. The mask he had been about to pull over his mouth and nose was askew, only serving to make his head look lopsided, as if he was looking at her in confusion.

Which he was also doing, his eyes were practically popping out of his head.

Okay, not entirely past his shock, then.

Marinette flashed a peace sign. “Well, since I’ve done my super cool magical girl transformation, how about you say you’ve learned your lesson and won’t try to rob ‘weak’, unsuspecting people –?”

He tried to shoot her, but his hands were shaking, and the bullet whizzed past her ear.

She didn’t give him the chance to try again. Her yoyo shot out and looped itself around the barrel of his gun, and one quick tug sliced the end right off.

He gave a quiet hiss of frustration and retaliated by throwing the weapon aside.

She had to admit, she was not expecting that. Her eyes traced the motion absently, surprised that he had managed to toss it perfectly into a nearby dumpster despite the fact that they were in a fight, only to remember that they were in a fight, just in time for a fist to connect with the side of her head, throwing her back a bit.

Right, this wasn’t an akuma. You can’t just destroy their weapon and watch their will to fight dissolve into nothing, for it had never been their will in the first place. But this teen? This person who was probably just in dire need of money? He had nothing but willpower and a healthy dose of adrenaline. He wasn’t going to go down unless she made him.

But this wasn’t an akuma. If she hit him too hard, he would die. People were surprisingly fragile.

Damn, she really hadn’t thought this through at all.

She latched her yoyo to her 'belt' to make sure she couldn’t feel tempted to use her Lucky Charm.

A kick towards her stomach was thrown in hopes that he would her off guard while she was considering what to do.

Amateur, she thought vaguely. Don’t throw a kick unless you know it’s going to land. You really are just a kid.

She grabbed his foot and pulled him off-balance, her free hand coming up to sock him.

There was a whirl of silver.

The teen was yanked from her grip. He hit the wall behind him.

For a moment she almost didn’t process it, her fist just barely missing his nose, instead sailing past him to crack the brick by his head.

The teen shrieked and tried to scramble away, but he was unable to. And not because of her.

He hadn’t just hit the wall, he’d been pinned.

Was that a shuriken?

The teen struggled to pull out the shuriken for a second but, with a few more flashes of silver, all of his limbs were successfully taken out of commission.

She managed to track the trajectory on the last one, following it back up to where someone was crouching on the roof. She didn’t need to wait long to get a good look at him, though, because he dropped to the floor beside her.

“That was my arrest,” she said, her nose scrunching up in distaste (both at the fact that he had stolen her win and the bright greens, reds, and yellows of his outfit).

Robin walked right past her, to the teen, and gave him a quick hit to the head. The kid stopped moving. He nodded once, to himself, as if confirming that he had done a good job, and then turned back to face her. "I don’t see why you care.”

“Because I’m the one who went through the effort to fight him! You don’t just go and steal someone’s win at the last second!”

He raised his eyebrows. “Do you have a point to this?”

“My point, is that you can’t just rush in and get the last hit! I worked hard for it!”

Robin sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “You can have the arrest, I don’t mind giving it to you.”

“Giving it to me?”

“Sure. I’ll let you take him in.”

She clenched her fists. “Let me?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Would you prefer I say this in French?”

Her hand flew to her mouth. In her anger, she hadn’t realized she’d been speaking with her actual accent.

She had wanted to try and fake one for a while, at least until she’d managed to get her way to an American one, so she’d be able to claim it was a coincidence that she’d had similar a look and theme as the Ladybug that had once protected Paris. She could shift to something else, but it would only be more suspicious now.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Ultimately, it wasn’t about the arrest or even the last hit. It was

about the fact that he was being an absolute prick about it. Acting like it was some honor that he

wasn’t going to prevent her from getting an arrest she would have rightfully earned if he had just given her the chance.

But, as mad as that made her, she wasn’t going to argue further. He knew what her actual voice

sounded like, she couldn’t really risk making him too angry.

“I’m an American,” she told him.

He looked unimpressed. “Are you now?”

“Yup,” she said, pulling out the shuriken and shoving them into his hands.

She pulled out her yoyo, all too aware that he was staring at her, and bound the teen as tightly as she could without hurting him further.

“You have a weird weapon.”

“Thanks,” she muttered sarcastically, throwing the teen over her shoulder.

She sent Robin a mocking salute as she set off toward the police station.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 5

Marinette leaned against the wall of the police station, exhaustion threatening to tug her down. She swiped a hand over her eyes, but her mask prevented her from getting any kind of relief from the action.

Apparently, choosing to drop the teen off inside the station instead of out front like a pet cat bringing a mouse to its owner had immediately given her away as being unaffiliated with the bats. Which meant she got a surprisingly warm welcome. Or maybe it was because she was polite and wasn’t, quote, ‘disappearing in the middle of conversations’. It might have been funny if she wasn’t so appalled. Were all of the bats really so rude that they would only respond in vague grunts of affirmation and denial? Should she be more or less offended that Robin actually took the time to sound out syllables while arguing with her?

Anyways.

Yeah, it had taken a lot out of her. Especially because, the entire time she’d been trying to find a way to politely decline being interrogated and wriggle her way around small talk with leading answers (because, happy or not, cops are still cops), she had also been dealing with the miraculous eating away at her stamina. She found herself wishing that teen hadn’t chosen to try and rob her – not because of the attempted mugging itself, that was whatever, but because she really could have used that restaurant trip right about then.

She would deal, she supposed, since there wasn’t any other option.

She walked down a couple of blocks to detransform, waiting just long enough for Tikki to drop into her purse, and then started heading home. She tugged her hood lower over her head, trying to avoid eye contact even as she rushed through the streets. She was fucking starving, but she would rather go hungry for the night than be stabbed.

Something told her that she wouldn’t be able to call Tikki for a Hail Mary again, at least not that night.

And wasn’t that a strange thought to have? That she was back to having proper limitations on how she used the miraculous? After all these years?

She bit the inside of her cheek, nerves quite literally gnawing away at her. It wasn’t helping that she was currently walking in the dark in Gotham and there were people eyeing her and she was fucked –.

She tasted blood when someone dropped down in front of her. She shrieked, stumbling back a few steps, only for a hand to grab her by the wrist, catching her before she could hit the ground.

She looked up at Red Robin, who was smiling sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to scare you that bad,” he mumbled, apologetic but distinctly not apologizing.

Which, after her experience with Robin, wasn’t all that surprising, if she was going to be honest.

Still annoying, though.

She narrowed her eyes at him, if only slightly. She righted herself, running her tongue over the torn skin of her cheek, checking the damage, and wasn’t particularly pleased to find that that hurt.

“Saying ‘that bad’ implies that you were intending to scare me a little,” she said.

He stared at her for a moment, processing this, before snickering. His expression split into a cheeky grin that was no less real than his previous apologetic look, but certainly more natural on his face. “I have a reputation to keep up, you know. Bats have to be spooky bitches, those are the requirements to apply.”

“Maybe don’t say ‘spooky bitches’, that doesn’t really help,” she advised.

“I’ve already gotten the job,” he waved off her concerns. “They’re stuck with me, now.”

She knew, somewhere, that he was just trying to help her relax. She had done this before as Ladybug, joking around with someone she knew was stressed out – it was practically her go-to move, seeing as emotions weren’t really her forte – so it shouldn’t work, but… it did.

“Sorry about scaring you,” he said, his grin softening once again, into a smile.

She nodded, however hesitantly. She could hold a grudge, she wanted to hold a grudge, but he genuinely did seem guilty about the whole ordeal, since he had gone to the effort to soothe her.

And, besides, she needed to know why he had decided to drop down in front of her.

“How did you…?” she said, tugging on the strings of her hoodie, trying to force herself to relax and look nonchalant when all she could think about was how she stood out and how bad that was for a Guardian …

“Know that you’re new here and could use a hand? You’re… both too nervous and not nervous enough.”

She paused, if only momentarily, to give him an odd look. “That doesn’t make sense.”

He huffed. “It does, you just don’t have enough experience here to get it yet.”

“I think you might just be bad at explaining things.”

He gave her a sour expression. “I’m not, I’m not! Look, okay –.” He pointed at a random man. Said random man did not seem particularly happy about this, immediately turning to disappear down the first alley he could find. “He wasn’t paying enough attention to our conversation to know that we mean him no harm. So, he’s less anxious than you. But. If you look around, you’ll see everyone is looking up for bats –...” he trailed off. Everyone was looking at him, actually, not up. This both proved and disproved his point. His face flushed beneath his mask. “Er, I guess, not right now, since they already know where I am… but! If they hadn’t! They would be looking up to make sure they weren’t about to get dropped on.”

Marinette thought she might have understood what he was getting at.

However, was she going to admit that? No.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re terrible at this.”

She loved lying.

He groaned, but there was something amused tugging at the corner of his lips. “You suck. And here I was, coming down to help walk you where you needed to go, but if I’m terrible…”

Uh oh. Consequences.

“Haha noooooo no no,” she said hastily. “I said you’re terrible at explaining things, I’m sure you’re great at this whole vigilante thing! And, as long as your day job doesn’t have anything to do with explaining things, I think you’re set!”

Red Robin made a pained expression.

“Oh… I think I might be the first person to say this, but man, you’ve got to quit your day job.”

He stepped back a half-step, clutching his heart, as if he were wounded.

She looped her arm through the crook in his elbow, and only took a moment to snicker at his stunned expression before she started dragging him along. “C’mon, you’re my hostage now, and my ransom demand is cookies.”

“Oh, there’s a bakery back that way,” he said, pointing behind them. “I think it’s pretty good.”

She spun them around sharply and ignored his bemused grin as she started off in the general direction that he had pointed.

Getting a snack was a quick, almost normal affair. If it were not for the fact that Marinette was buying an entire baker's dozen of cookies ‘for herself’ and Red Robin dropping a hundred dollar bill into the tip jar as an apology for freaking out the workers by simply existing within their vicinity.

“Damn,” she breathed, looking at the tip jar. “I take it back. Do not quit your day job .”

He gave an abrupt puff of laughter, tipping his head back, and she couldn’t help but smile a little in return.

It was fun, she didn’t mind the company.

Not until she reached her apartment building.

“Uh, how about you drop me off here?” she said.

The lenses of his domino narrowed, if only slightly. “Yeah? Why not?”

“Because of the drugs I’m hiding,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes. She elbowed him in the side, hard , not bothering to hold back when he was wearing as much armor as he was. “I’m still unpacking, the place is a mess.”

His suspicious expression softened back into a smile. “That… makes sense. Sorry. Too used to people being shady here.”

“Someone needs a better work-life balance,” she teased, as if she had any leg up in this kind of conversation.

Of course, he couldn’t know this, so he only smiled and nodded.

“I’ll work on it,” he said, giving her a two-finger salute. “You should sleep before your work-life balance is affected, too.”

“Too late,” she sing-songed, lifting her hand in a lazy kind of wave behind herself as she started up to her apartment.

Weird guy, she thought as she took the stairs. At least he’s better than Robin.

At least he didn’t disappear in the middle of the conversation like the policemen lamented. Maybe this is why you shouldn’t trust cops.

She gave an amused little huff at the thought, glancing towards the street absently, and found that Red Robin had disappeared into the ether.

Okay, maybe there was some truth to it, then.

She stepped into her apartment, toeing off her shoes and taking only a moment to make sure she locked the door behind herself…

And then dropped into bed, groaning. She should probably get out her snack but, now that she didn’t have someone to riff off of to distract herself, she was so… drained.

Perhaps in a literal sense, thanks to the miraculous.

She felt something poke her cheek, and lifted a bleary eye to see Tikki, holding out a cookie for her.

Marinette smiled, however strained it might have been. She lifted her head, propping it on her hand, and took the cookie with her other. Tikki beamed, grabbing the rest of the container and promptly emptying it over her own head. Marinette didn’t really see the cookies get eaten, it was more like they simply dematerialized the moment they got within an inch of the kwami’s mouth, but whatever.

She nibbled at the cookie. It didn’t quite bring her up to par again, not in the way it did for Tikki, but it was still nice to have a bit of sugar to wake herself up.

“Is this how you felt after fights?” Marinette asked.

Because it wasn’t like she hadn’t been tired after her encounters with akumas, don’t get her wrong, she wasn’t a superhuman (not technically, at least), but the tiredness she had felt had been akin to the way one might feel right after a particularly good workout. In desperate need of a rest, perhaps, but satisfied with a job well done.

This was just…

Exhaustion.

It probably didn’t help that it was late, but she had pulled plenty of all-nighters in her day, and this was something more. A bone-deep kind of tiredness, as if she had put her very soul through a wringer, and now she desperately needed to lay down before her will to live withered away into nothing.

Tikki nodded.

Guilt was quick to bubble up like bile in the back of her throat, and Tikki was quick to try and soothe her worries:

“Usually it’s not this bad, though. With no Plagg…”

Emphasis on ‘try’, for she felt no less terrible. Marinette grimaced. “I’m sorry, Tikki, I didn’t want –.”

“Please don’t say sorry if you intend on doing it again.”

She… didn’t have much of a response for that.

“I – I’m not planning on it,” she said, eventually, awkwardly. “I just – if it comes up again –.”

Tikki cut her off with a sigh. She reached out and patted Marinette on the arm. “Don’t worry, I know… why you came here, I know you’re eager to get back into things. But, if you choose to keep doing this, it will likely have ramifications for both of us.”

She nodded slowly.

Tikki smiled. “Now, there is a way to fix all of this. You can get a partner.”

Marinette blinked. She nodded. She knew this, they’d already gone over this.

But Tikki was looking at her like she was supposed to be realizing something, so Marinette was forced to put some thought into it.

Unfortunately, she came up blank.

Tikki sighed, again, though this was more fond than sheerly exasperated. “Robin. I’m saying Robin could be a good fit for the Cat. Did you really not notice all of the Chaos radiating from him?”

Marinette thought back to the conversation they’d had. Nothing about him had particularly jumped out at her, and all of the things that had caught her attention hadn’t been exactly good qualities worthy of a miraculous.

Not that Tikki seemed to agree:

“And, oh, he’s already a hero, so we know he’s not going to get corrupted. It’s perfect –!”

“I didn’t really care enough to check for something like that over all the yelling,” Marinette cut her off, her tone utterly flat, even if she felt like a dick for doing so. It was best not to get the kwami’s hopes up, after all. “But I don’t think we’d be good as partners – because of the aforementioned yelling, you know.”

Tikki crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe you could talk it out with him –.”

The doorbell rang, cutting her off from whatever she was going to say. Marinette sprang up, glad for the excuse, and waved for Tikki to hide.

She gave the kwami three seconds before flinging the door open. “Hey!”

Chloe stood there, leaning in the doorframe, breathing heavily. Marinette would think Chloe had run there, but she distinctly remembered Chloe’s constant insistence that she would never run even if her life depended on it. Besides, there was red rimming her eyes, and that suggested that the Chloe Bourgeois was on the verge of a breakdown.

But, surely, she was misreading things. Even if Chloe was emotional (already doubtful, really), why would she go to Marinette –?

“You – you’re Ladybug!”

She should have just let Tikki lecture her.