#the robber's pants were the only ones thin enough that I could put them on first without the cape covering them up later

[tachvintlogic]

I'd like to thank @mayhemchicken-artblog for providing the dress up images in a post and @animate-mush for coming up with the idea.

So here's a crack superhero au (or supervillain au)

[fuckprepa]

Following a prompt #2

It's Quin's second pizza delivery of the evening, and his shift ends at 7. After that? Well, after that he mostly just plans on dithering, and then ordering some pizza himself. What a life.

It's been an uneventful day. He thinks he could always make it eventful by whizzing around at superhuman speeds across his hometown-- because he can do that -- but concludes that would be too much of a hassle.

He's not ready. Besides, he has had it all figured out since the young ag of 7, the age where when you can remember the promises you made yourself, you wind up keeping them, for some reason. He's going to stay hidden until he figures out what to do with this superhuman speed. Okay so, yes, technically, his plan is just 'wait until I have a plan.' Sue him. It's not an easy burden.

Quin's been hiding forever, so when he sees a lithe figure literally leaping from rooftop to rooftop... it's weird. He stops in his tracks. Upon close inspection, it's definitely a person, a young man not unlike himself. And, upon even closer inspection, he appears to have a bag overflowing with jewellery in his arms. Huh. Oh and sure enough, that's the sound of the police. A dozen police cars, horns blaring, rush by him.

The man is out of sight, but Quin is familiar with this city's hiding places. This far north, along Avenue Lane, there's only one hideout he knows of.

There are others like him. Others that aren't hiding. Others that are using their powers... for blatant evil?

Quin has a decision to make. He's standing there, pepperoni sauce dripping from the pizza carton he's holding.

"Should I stay or should I go," his ringtone rips through the stunned silence.

Hit the nail right on the head there buddy, he thinks.

It's Marty, his boss. He mechanically unlocks his phone, stares into Marty's dull eyes in the lifeless profile picture he has always hated, and makes a split-second decision.

---

A few seconds later, a very surprised blonde man stares him down from The Elephant's wine cellar.

"Do you want some pepperoni pizza?" Quin asks.

He has some time now to properly inspect his peer. Sandy, as he introduces himself, wears baggy yoga pants and a tight thermal vest. His hair is long, blonde and tied into a rat's tail on the nape of his neck. His eyes are the darkest blue Quin has ever seen, so dark he initially mistakes them for black--

"They're my mother's eyes," Sandy says. "A very dark blue." He flushes. "If you were wondering. People are often put off by them, I... it's not because of you or whatever. I'm just used to having to explain."

He has a thin, reedy voice. If not for the slight stubble under his chin, Quin might have mistaken him for a preteen.

"Oh my god, did you literally just rob a Lovisa's?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"But why?"

"I mean, don't robbers like... rob jewellery stores and stuff?"

"Yes, but why Lovisa's? That shit is going to disintegrate and you'll be left staring at blue fingers wondering what on earth just happened."

"Okay, hold up. So you sprinted into my hiding spot-- which you knew about, somehow-- to berate me, mind you, not because I just committed a robbery, but because I robbed the wrong jewellery store?"

And that, is the first time Quin meets Sandy.

---

Afterwards, he tells himself he can still be the good guy. Disney has left an imprint on him, it ' important for him to stay on "the good side of history" or whatever that means. He has approached a felon, but has left him a second chance to repent after seeing how young and inexperienced the robber was. That was just him being a good guy and giving Sandy-- this young man-- a second chance.

But the thought lingers. Sandy had looked so graceful, so free. And deep down, Quin knows that even as a "good guy," if he were to come out with his magic powers, there would be mistrust and fear and suffocating surveillance. Even as a government agent, maybe especially as a government agent (that has been his plan for some time) he would be kept on a very tight leash.

Plus, even robbing a Lovisa's store yearly would pay better than working as a pizza delivery person.

But he swallows down these thoughts as best as he can, and busies himself with studying and delivering pizza and making sure his rabbit Ted is properly hydrated.

That is, until a rap at his window on a cold Tuesday night startles him out of sleep.

"Hey, it's just me, don't scream."

Bleary-eyed, he stumbles over to the window and lifts it wearily, then tries not to drop it on the other boy's head as he clambers into the bedroom.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

hmmm can vampires get sick? maybe sick vampire chris thinking Jake is gonna pull out or file down his fangs? or just thinking Jake’s gonna hurt him?

CW: Sick whumpee, vampire whumpee, blood drinking, vague implications of past sadistic/creepy whumper, dehumanization, vague tooth/mouth whump (nothing direct, but aftermath)

Sort of a sequel to this piece, part of the Vampire Chris AU

"What hurts?" He keeps his voice low, and carefully doesn't hesitate before he lays a hand over the vampire's forehead. Of course it feels lukewarm, room temperature, but he still goes through the motions of feeling for a fever. It's muscle-memory, instinct, and he keeps forgetting Chris is dead.

He has been dead for a long time, if his occasional comments on what sounds like Prohibition are true.

"Bones," Chris whimpers, twisting where he lays in Jake's bed. There's a bright flush in his cheeks from the blood he'd drained from the two men who broke into the house. Those odd eyes glitter, overbright. "My... m'bones hurt, Jake."

His mouth opens, pulling air in over his tongue and down his throat in soft pants, and Jake is reminded that vampires don't sweat. Not the same way, anyway, although with enough blood they can, in thin sheens of pink-tinged liquid that are even more alarming than their tears.

His fangs are visible this way, razor-sharp canines that come down further than the rest of his teeth, a brighter white than all the others from being pulled and regrowing so many times.

Jake swallows against his nervousness, brushing hair away from the vampire's forehead. His slit pupils are dilated, taking up too much of the iris, and he tells himself that Chris is as scared as he is of the instincts that drive him, barely understands them.

Vampires aren't animals - but when they don't understand themselves, they act like it sometimes.

"Do you think maybe those guys were on something? Like, a drug maybe?" He pets through Chris's hair, fingercombing his hair, and watches Chris's eyes flutter closed.

It's hard not to feel more than a little reassured not having to look at them any longer. Which makes him feel guilty, considering this not-a-kid kid just beat up people for hurting him.

Killed them, his brain whispers. Killed them like he could kill you.

"May, maybe," Chris mumbles, and pants again.

His gums seem oddly dark, where normally they're pale, and Jake frowns. He wishes now he knew more about vampire physiology, that he'd paid more attention in class when they took the safety courses on how to avoid them.

There's not exactly a class on caring for one - not unless you can afford to purchase them outright.

"Well, when you were-... uh, before you found us... did you ever feel like this?"

Chris's eyes blink slowly back open and he nods. "Sometimes. My, my, my, my-... someone would, um, take something before, before the party, and I'd..." He groans and shudders. Jake can see the pain move through his body as he trembles nearly violently. "I'd feel like, like, like this after... for hours..."

"Okay. So... probably you just have to let this get worked out of your system, right? Or... is there a medicine?"

"No... just... just drink more." Chris looks up at him, eyes so wide and sad and scared and hurting, and grabs onto his wrist with one hand. Those cool fingers are never not a little startling, colder than the air around them, than the rest of his body.

Vampires have poor circulation, Jake knows, even when they're filled up on a fresh meal. He's seen Chris heal his own wounds before with his tongue, had him explain that they don't heal on their own with time if they're on hands or feet.

"Chris-"

"You, you, you, you-... can, um, you can take my teeth after. You can. I'll hold still. I'll, I'll be good." Chris's plea is barely a whisper.

His nails, which must have been a little too long when he was killed and turned, dig painfully into Jake's wrist in his desperation.

"I'll be so, so, so so so so good, Jake. So good for you, and then, you can, you you you can take my teeth-... Sir always liked it, it makes me me me cry, we we cry blood, Sir liked to take photos of it-"

"Sssshhhh. Hush, Chris." Jake's mind races. There are others in the house, but-... he can't ask them to give up blood to Chris. They've already taken over cleaning the blood up from the hardwood floor. Nat's already dealt with talking to the cops and the EMTs and the coroner before the bodies were taken away. They already handled hiding Chris in a false-backed closet while Jake was interviewed by police officers who looked interested and excited,, not disturbed.

It's not every day you see a vampire attack, after all.

Mostly they're under control, kept on leashes and muzzled like dangerous dogs, the property of rich celebrities looking for novelty in a world where they already have everything. The few ferals are killed pretty fast.

Or so everyone says.

Jake is starting to wonder if there are more vampires out there than he knows about.

The cops had even insisted on checking the attic, as if Chris was a bat they might find hanging upside down. That had been ridiculous, but it's not like Jake could say he knew better without being asked how he knew so much about them in the first place.

Oh, because we keep one like a stray fucking puppy. That wouldn't go over well.

He feels a little woozy from the adrenaline crash, and still aches from the bruised ribs where he was kicked around. His mouth aches from the duct tape they'd put over it, and he'd got a hell of a rash starting around his wrists. He's so exhausted he might collapse.

But... Chris really did show up right on time, and maybe saved his life.

Chris pulls Jake's wrist to his face, nuzzles into the inside of it against the pale blue veins that show through the thin skin. Jake shudders at the feeling, swallowing back a low-level disgust.

He wonders how old the teenager really is - he wonders that all the time.

"You c-can have my teeth, after," Chris whispers, lips moving against Jake's skin. "You can keep them. Sir used to, to, to keep them in a box and show m-me. Just, please, please help me feel better, Jake, please... It won't hurt."

Jake closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "If it'll help... fine. But I'm not taking your teeth. They're yours."

"Thank you," Chris breathes out. "That's, that's, that's okay. I can still fix it for you. Thank you, Jake." His fangs slip back into Jake's skin as easily as a heated knife through warm butter.

The venom hits his bloodstream before the pain hits his nerves, and Jake feels himself slump over, head falling onto Chris's shoulder as all his limbs go dead.

It almost feels good, as his ribs stop aching, and the bruises stop throbbing on his skin. He can see why rich people love it as a party drug. You could drift in this place of perfect no-pain for a long, long time.

He feels only the wet movement of Chris's tongue, the shift of his fangs, the soft pressure of the other teeth pushing down. Chris purrs softly, drinking his blood like a kitten lapping milk.

It goes on and on, and for one terrifying second Jake thinks he's not going to stop until he's dead.

"Ch-... Chris-"

Those fangs slip suddenly out of his skin, the wet cool tongue licks rough over his wounds - closing them instantly.

The venom slowly fades, the aches and pains settling back into his body. Jake groans, feeling weak and exhausted.

Chris has to push him up off his shoulder, with unnatural strength moving him to lay on his side on the bed. Jake can barely keep his eyes open.

Chris, leaning over him, could rip his throat out and he couldn't even raise a hand to try and defend himself right now. Jake sees the body of the first dead robber behind his eyelids, the expression of horror written in eternal rictus in his expression, the blood down his shirt and puddled beneath him on the floor. The other man, fighting until he stopped, slumping until Chris had drained him to death.

"I feel better," Chris whispers, kneading at Jake's shirt briefly. "I, I, I feel so much better. Go to, um, go to sleep, Jake. I'll fix it so you're safe."

Jake can't even begin to understand what that means before he's already slid into something more like unconsciousness than actual sleep. The world around him simply goes black, and the last thing he feels is Chris pulling a blanket up to his chin.

The last thing he hears is those soft padding footsteps leaving the room.

When he wakes, he finds two fangs, pristine white with bloodied roots, sitting in a washcloth next to where his head lays on the pillow. he finds a pair of small pliers on the bathroom sink, with droplets of red around them.

The sun is shining outside the window, a bird singing loud enough to drive a drillbit into his head, and Chris is curled up asleep in the dark at the back of a closet, mouth slightly open.

Jake stares down at the empty spots where his fangs should be, and wonders if he's grateful, or horrified.

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband

[mustyrosewater]

te amo.

javier peña x reader

request by @hxdxs​ :  hello! i was wondering if you could write smth where javier peña has a nightmare after him and the reader have a fight which results to them sleeping in separate rooms, she wakes up and comforts him no pressure (: 

warnings : fighting, mentions of violence, possibly unhealthy relationship

word count : 3k+ 

you knew what you were walking into when you finally decided to commit to a relationship with javier peña, you knew to expect the disappearing for days at a time without being able to contact with him because he was undercover, you knew that he was walking into a brand new dangerous situation every single day. 

but it didn't hurt any fucking less each time.  at first, you'd tried to tell yourself that you shouldn't be upset, once again telling yourself that it was you who chose this life, getting angry and possibly overreacting would just be hypocritical of you, it would have made you weak.  but as it began to happen again, and again  the last straw had been him coming home at three in the morning, after having been away for a week longer than he'd told you the undercover operation was going to last for. you'd spent hours in your shared apartment, anxiously waiting for a the phone call from the dea or an agent knocking on your door only to tell you that he'd been killed.  you'd spent the night sitting on the couch, clutching his shirt tightly just to smell whatever remnants of his cheap cologne that you hated with a passion was left over on them, suddenly missing it now more than ever.  when he'd finally come back, you'd fallen asleep on the couch, still holding the shirt tight to your chest with dried tears still lingering on your cheeks.  to say the least, waking up at three in the morning to the sound of somebody rustling around in the bathroom was enough to prompt you to slowly grab a knife from the kitchen drawer and slowly make your way to the bathroom. as if being on a streak of being an emotional wreck after what you believed to be the death of your boyfriend, now the universe was truly testing you by having somebody decide to rob you.  seeing the streak of white light poking through the crack in the bathroom door, you approached slowly, feeling your heart beating so loudly that it was thundering in your own ears.  finally swinging the door open, it hit the opposite wall with a harsh crash, only to be followed by you bursting in, knife in hand, cursing angrily in spanish.  only to be greeted by a wide eyed javi looking at you as if you'd gone crazy.  as your heart dropped and your eyes widened, you couldn't help letting out a cry of shock as you dropped the knife onto the tile floor with a sharp clang, unable to process the blade narrowly missing your foot.  reaching to grip onto the door frame in order to balance yourself as you felt your legs begin to go numb, javi sprung forward, reaching out and placing his hands under your shoulders for support.  as you finally got a closer look at him, you could see that his hair was messy as all hell, he definitely hadn't shaved for the past day or two and he absolutely stunk, and you once again found yourself wishing he'd actually been using that horrid cologne.   in that moment however, as grateful as you were that he was alive and wasn't in fact lying dead in a ditch in escobars backyard, the relief had faded away as quickly as it had flooded in, only to no sooner be replaced with a fiery surge of anger.  with no hesitation, you shoved him away from you, now able to stand up straight once more; looking up just in time to see his questioning look he posed your way.  "what the fuck javi!"  you hadn't meant for your voice to come out so hoarse, but the hours you'd spent audibly crying into his shirt had done a number on your throat, as well as the fact that you'd only woken up minutes ago.  he opened his mouth to speak, but you only answered by holding up your finger and continuing to speak. "a week. i don't hear from you for a week! i manage to convince myself you've been shot, and then you just waltz in at three am in the fucking morning and make me think you're a robber!" you can't help but laugh in between sentences, but the laugh is still traced with venom, all too reflective of the angry streak of words flooding out of your mouth. "i mean- what if i'd stabbed you?!" you spoke, gesturing to the knife now by your feet. you didn't even want to picture yourself stabbing javi, especially not after he nearly gave you a stroke due to finding out that he was still very much alive.  as you went to continue, it was now javi's turn to interrupt you, shaking his head as he placed his hands on his hips and stared back at you. you hadn't even stopped to think about how much of a crazy person you must have looked like in that moment, face puffy and red from crying, messy hair and pajama pants you'd been wearing for two days straight, all nicely topped off with a singlet shirt and robe he'd gotten you a few months back for your birthday.  "what the fuck was i supposed to do? i told you i was undercover!" his voice sounded so tired, it was painfully obvious to you how drained he was; but in that moment, the high emotional intensity was blurring all reason within you.  as you listened to him yell, you felt the lump in your throat forming; crossing your arms, you tried to keep yourself together.  "you could have sent me some kind of message, somebody to tell me you'd be gone for another week!" the two of you were no longer yelling at one another, this was screaming at one another. in a brief passing moment you thought about what the neighbours must have thought of you two, but you also just couldn't find yourself to care.  "you know i couldn't do that! i've told you several fucking times why i can't do that!" he turned away from you, taking a step back towards the basin. you could see his shoulders rising and falling with his deep breaths, watching as he reached up to run a hand through his messy hair. "fuck!" you jumped as the tense silence between you two was broken by javi cursing loudly and kicking the small plastic garbage can beside the basin, sending it crashing against the wall loudly. that was when your bottom lip began to wobble and your vision became foggy. you could only reach up a shaky hand to cover your mouth as javi panted, hunched over the basin he was now resting his hands on.  "i thought you were dead javi.." in your effort to conceal that you were beginning to cry, you'd kept your voice quiet, yet i hadn't helped in the slightest; the wobble in your tone was too noticeable for anybody to be able to ignore, especially not javi; who turned to look at you, a few expression laced with regret having taken over his face.  you didn't want to look at him for a moment longer, you couldn't even if you did. so you turned around and walked out from the doorway of the bathroom, only now beginning to audibly weep into your hand.  you could head javi walking after you, only prompting you to walk to the spare room quicker. you just needed to be away from javi for awhile, even if you'd spent the past four weeks desperately wishing he was back.  "wait, just please hang on a minu-"  you can't hear the rest of javi's words before you've slammed the door in his face, turning the small lock over as quickly as your shaky hands allow you to. you turn around and put your back to the door, trying to ignore the fact that you can feel javi standing outside the door, you can hear his faint heavy breaths and the way he's softly cursing in spanish under his breath.  its a few more moment before you can hear his footsteps slowly getting softer and you know he's walked in your bedroom when you can hear the door slam shut, making you jump softly again.  thats the moment that you let yourself break down. your face scrunches up as you slide down the door until your sitting on the ground of the spare room, your knees up to your chest as you rest your palms on your forehead, trying your hardest not to make too much sound as you cry, feeling your shoulders shake as you do.  memories of all the friends who'd advised you not to commit to a relationship with javi over wine came flooding in, remembering the uneasy looks on all their faces the first time you'd shown up to a friends wedding together. the times you'd stayed at their houses because you just couldn't handle the way he acted when a case had set him off; the amount of times you'd told them that you stayed because he needed you as much as you needed him; ignoring the way they shook their heads.  it hurts so much when things get like this between you two, you don't often find yourself fighting, but this had so far been the worst of all; never had the two of you screamed at each other so loudly before.  it takes about thirty minutes of you sitting on the ground to realize that you should probably move to the small single bed in the corner of the room. you had moved the small bed into what was essentially javi's office about a year ago, mainly done for the purpose of giving steve a place to sleep when him and javi were working non stop, it was your idea, knowing that it would probably be easier seeing as him and steve always had to start so early.  remembering when they moved the bed in, you'd brought the two of them beers as they spent hours upon hours trying to put the stupid thing together.  a memory that used to make you laugh, only serving to making you cry harder as you sat down on the bed.  you could hear javi angrily pacing in the next room over, as well as the occasional bang of what you could assume was him knocking something over or throwing something.  as you laid down on the bed, you shut your eyes slowly, trying to pretend you couldn't hear him even if there was nothing but a paper thin wall separating the two rooms.  -- you couldn't tell what time it was when you finally woke up. you couldn't even remember when you'd fallen asleep. you looked towards the window to see a dim blue light poking out of the curtains, signalling to you that it must have been early in the morning, meaning you couldn't have been asleep for more than four hours.  at first, you reached out for javi, only for the events that occurred only a few hours ago to come flooding back in. the fighting, the screaming. it only replaced the lump in your throat as you sat up and rubbed your eyes.  as you began to wake up more, you wondered what had prompted you to wake up at such a random hour, especially when you'd been so worn out and tired when you actually went to sleep in the first place.  you were about to ponder the question for awhile longer, until you heart the soft grunts coming from you and javi's room. though muffled, you could clearly hear javi in quiet distress. its a sound that you wish wasn't as familiar to you as it was; the amount of times you'd been woken up by javi making those sounds fresh in your head, just as fresh as needing to calm him down from them. he was clearly having a nightmare.  and suddenly, it was as if all of those arguements, all of those snarky comments from your girlfriends and all the time you'd spent crying over javi had been flung out of the window and banished to the back of your mind; only leaving room for a sudden concern for javi. with no hesitation to be observed, you walked to the door and unlocked it, heading to the bedroom as the sounds of javi in sleepy distress became louder and louder.  carefully placing your hand flat on the wooden door, you hesitated, briefly taking a moment to prepare for javi still being upset, knowing that it could still very much be the case. pushing said concerns to the back of your mind once more, you push the door open slowly, still aware of the way in which its hinges tend to creak purely due to age and the fact that it was admittedly purely made; remembering the amount of times javi mentioned he was going to fix it himself but still never getting around to it. you spot his sleeping figure on the bed, though sleeping would certainly be a loose term for it. he's shaking and twitching every few moments, his eyes shut tightly. you aren't sure what it is he's dreaming about, much less if you even want to know; it was likely it wasn't something you'd be able to handle. you'd never asked for any details past what he told you about his job; occasionally he would mention things once or twice in passing, and you were simply content to leave it at that. the things that you'd seen on the television were enough to scare you into not asking for anything else past the information he was willing to give. yet in the same breath, the fact that only seeing things on tv was enough to make your skin crawl, you couldn't imagine what it must have been like for him to see it all up and close and personal, much less risk his life every day just by walking into the embassy. you knew what to expect when you committed to this relationship, yet you had found it so hard to think about what he was going through. after what felt like ten minutes of staring at the poor man, you walked forward and kneeled beside the bed, not wanting to put weight on the mattress so as to frighten him out of his sleep rather than calmly wake him. reaching up, you placed a hand on his cheek, ignoring the prickly feeling of his stubble due to having not shaved for nearly a week and ran your thumb back and fourth across his prickly skin. "javi... javi, baby.."  as you try to speak softly to snap him out of it, it seems to only make it worse as he jumps away from your touch; only resulting in a slight cringe forming on your face. the idea that you're only making it worse for him feels horrible, not even wanting to think about what he must be experiencing in whatever dream it is he's having. "please baby, wake up, its just a dream... i'm here."  continuing to stroke his cheek, you watch as he lets out a loud gasp and his eyes go flying open and he sits up, looking around frantically as if he was trying to find out where he was.  this is only one of many times you've had to do this, needing to wake him up softly and remind him that he was safe with you. it pained you to see him so shaken by a dream. you had to wonder how much more of this line of work he was going to be able to take. the more time you spent watching columbia slowly chip away at the man you loved, you tried to pretend that every time you watched him walk out of the door for work that you weren't worried it may have been his last. you tried to pretend that you weren't always noticing his dark circles and the way he'd grunt out in pain from the smallest movements.  being in the dea was slowly killing him and neither of you even wanted to admit it.  you know better than to ever try and convince him to quit, you've known him long enough to know how stubborn of a man he is; and that if you tried to tell him about the danger and how worried you were, it was only going to push him away in the end.  the times you'd had to help him into bed when he came home drunk, the times you'd needed to help him dress his stitches or watch him take of his shirt only to be met with a bullet scratch on his shoulder. while being in the dea was slowly killing javi, watching it happen was just as slowly killing you. reaching forward, you cup his cheeks and force him to look you in the eyes; ignoring the way that his hands grip tightly onto your wrists.  you've learnt to ignore things like this, it hurts when he grips your wrists so tightly, but you continue to tell yourself that he doesn't mean it; you know he doesn't mean it.  you chose to love a broken man, and with all broken things, you needed to be prepared for occasionally gaining a few cracks yourself.  the fear in his eyes is crystal clear, the way he looks at you as if he doesn't recognize you; its painful, but as his face shifts to one of a subtle recognition, you watch as he slowly sinks down from his fear and feel his grip on your wrists begin to relax bit by bit. stroking his cheeks, you smile softly and sit across from him on the bed, feeling his pulse thundering rapidly. "i'm right here javi, it's ok, your ok."  your whispers finally seem to be working as he shuts his eyes, making an obvious attempt to slow down his breathing. he leans forward, resting his forehead on your collar as you stroke his back slowly, letting him try to calm down from whatever violent nightmare he was being forced to endure.  you can feel his arms wrap around you as he pulls you closer, practically leaning against you as he breathes in your scent, just another way of being able to ground himself back into reality.  in that one moment, every fight the two of you had ever had, the amount of time you'd spent crying over your worries, everything you've had to endure becomes worth it as you sit there in each others arms.  he finally leans back to look at you, letting one of his hands rest on the back of your head as he brings you in to lay a kiss on your forehead, shutting his eyes and taking another deep breath.  without saying anything, he leans back down to lay on the bed, pulling you with him so that you were laying your head on his chest; his arms remaining tightly wound around you with little to no intention of letting you go. just as you had no intention of leaving.  "im sorry.." you whispered out softly, beginning to draw invisible patterns on his bare chest with your finger tips. "i was just so fucking scared that i lost you.." you confessed, letting you voice crack as your vision became foggy. he didn't reply at first, but you felt his breathing tense. you didn't want to ask what it was that he was dreaming about, but based upon his reaction, you wondered whether or not that was the subject matter of his dream, losing you or losing himself. when he finally spoke, it was deep and croaky, just as his voice always was after it had been sleeping; a voice you'd heard whispering sweet nothings and pillow talk in the mornings; the voice that would softly tell you goodbye followed by a kiss on your forehead whenever javi would leave early in the mornings and you'd stay in bed.  "please don't cry, hermosa. please don't be sorry." by the sound of his voice you could tell that he felt bad, it wasn't hard to tell that the both of you were hurt over the argument; your high emotional intensity mixed with javi being worn out was a deadly mix that was bound to end badly. turning to look up at him, you rested your chin on his chest and sighed.  javi stared back at you, reaching up to fix the hair that had fallen in front of your face; allowing his hand to linger purely so he could cup your cheek. shutting your eyes, you leaned into his touch; now unable to stop a few tears from escaping and rolling down your cheeks only to be quickly wiped up by javi's thumb as if he couldn't bear to watch them fall. "te amo." he whispered, reaching for your hand and bringing the back of it to his lips, laying a soft kiss on the skin.  laying your head back down on his chest and shutting your eyes, you allowed yourself to begin drifting back to sleep, now finding such a task monumentally easier now that you were back in javi's arms. "i love you too."

[prisoncitystories]

Fiction: Just Another Day at the Office

The smoke from the cigarette wafted freely through the air like the sultry melody of the dingy saxophone on the radio. I, however, was tied to a chair.

“What shall we do with the pig, Ms. Morgana?” The thug in the dragon mask said to his partner. 

“Surely, we can have a little fun before we gut him, Mr. Pendragon,” Ms. Morgana replied. The pair are part of the Round Table Gang, the latest colorful characters to hit the city with their own particular brand of crime. Of course, they chose the boring task of robbing banks but really who’s keeping track, right?

“Fun, huh? What are we playing? Parcheesi?” I say, with a smirk. Pendragon rears up a fist and drives it right into my gut. I feel his knuckles press against the skin through my shirt. Thankfully, this isn’t my first rodeo.

“Quiet, pig!” Pendragon said. “How about a different game? Five finger fillet?” Pendragon pulled out a knife, waving it back and forth in front of my face.

“Maybe we could play chess, instead?” I said, edging him further. He threw his fist into my stomach again, this time a little harder. Thankfully, he didn’t notice my slight adjustment to put most of the pressure on the back of the wooden chair. A few more moves and the knight would take the bishop.

“Yeah, wrong supervillain, mate. Chess makes my head hurt. Now, Ms. Morgana, she’s the only one smart enough to handle that black and white board.” He said, turning to her and grazing her ornate horse mask granting him a devilish purple-lipped smile.

“Oh? I just assumed you were the same annoying, narcissistic, backwards-” I said,  interrupted by a slap across the face from Morgana.

“I’ve trained you so well.” Pendragon said, pulling Morgana into a kiss. Who says crime doesn’t pay?

“If you’d like me to come back, I’d be happy to go. Otherwise, let’s get this threesome underway.” Pendragon stopped and turned to me. Even underneath the red dragon mask, I could tell I was getting on his nerves. It’s all in the eyes. The little flicker that hides a deep, deep rage and right now, my voice and face are like a broken urn full of oil.

“If you speak one more time, I swear to the gods I will cut your tongue out. Do you understand?” I remain silent. “Do you understand or are you just as dumb as we thought you to be?” He repeated much angrier.

“You told me if I spoke that you’d cut my tongue out. Not an outcome I’m betting on if we’re being honest here.” His face turned to stunned surprise and he brandished his knife again. He raised his leg to boot me backwards and I made my move. As he sent his leg toward my chest, I titled the chair back with my feet that could still touch the floor even tied up, sending me back faster than his boot could catch. While his boot was catching nothing but air, the chair was breaking against the cold concrete. I was initially a little jarred as my hands were the meat in a wood-concrete sandwich (which really hurt), but I quickly scrambled to my feet as Ms. Morgana regained her composure from the sight.

“Why you little bastard!” She said, sparking up her electrified gloves. I have to stay away from those. She stepped forward but her form was so uneasy. Unfortunately for her, confidence isn’t everything. She swiped like a cat and I only narrowly avoided a swift jolt by deflecting her strike with my forearm. I did the same maneuver but this time added a leg sweep, surprising her and sending her to the floor. I heard the clatter of a knife behind me as Pendragon swiped his knife, gashing my thin black necktie in the process.

“Eh, I never really liked it anyway. Gift from a few exes ago,” I said as he continued swiping. Similar to Morgana, I had to subdue him by using his strikes against him. I batted his arm aside as he hacked and slashed and when the moment opened up, I used a classic disarm and sent the knife out of his hand and back to the floor. Suddenly, I felt way too many volts pass through my leg, bringing me to my knees. 

“What kind of detective are you? You fight like a drunkard. You can’t even disarm us both.” Pendragon said. He walked over to pick up his knife again as Morgana stood back up and placed one of her gloves on my shoulder. “Any last words, pig? You blew your chances on a last request.”

“Is it just you and Morgana or are Percival, Lancelot, and Galahad screwing around in your pants too?” I said, baiting him again. As he drove the knife forward, I ducked to the side making him lunge a little too far towards Morgana. I grabbed her arm at her forearm and hand and pushed them into Pendragon’s gut and activated the shock gloves. The electricity ran through him and sent him toppling. I shot up and brought a swift elbow to Morgana’s chin, flooring her as well. I finished her off with a blow to her face. I walked over to the table where that cigarette was still burning. I picked it up, began a drag, but quickly pulled the disgusting thing away.

“Menthols? Dear gods, you guys really are stupid,” I said, throwing the cigarette on the ground, stamping it out, and clicking off the jazz music at the radio. I look around the dingy, chip-titled torture room and find my coat hanging on a coat rack. “At least they aren’t savages.”

I made sure they didn’t steal anything. Pockets still have all my belongings. For bank robbers, they certainly aren’t great at petty theft. I throw the brown trench back on and move towards the door. I slowly turn the handle and open the door to the hallway where fortunately the other members of the gang are not waiting for me. I handled Pendragon  and Morgana easily but three more thugs would land me back in the chair. Not to mention if they’ve added more since their last hit. We’ve been chasing them around the city for about three months, and they’ve robbed four banks in that time. We still can’t peg why they would need that much cash or how they could possibly spend it. They certainly aren’t investing in a headquarters.

Suddenly, I hear a voice from around the corner. I slink behind an open door in the hallway, making sure just to stand in the doorway and not shut the door. I spied through the peephole and saw a blue wolf mask. Lancelot. I think our dossier said he was a sharpshooter. Seems like he’d be useless in a fist fight. He was radioing to someone on his walkie.

“Pendragon, you done with the cop yet? Pendragon, I said are you done with the cop yet?” He put his walkie-talkie back in its holster and pulled out his sidearm. Something street trash would use, not really the mark of a deadeye. “By the gods, do I have to do everything myself?” He said, scoffing and stomping down the hall. I moved into the open room and behind the wall as he walked by towards the torture room. He opened the door and before he could reach for his walkie, I sprang into action and put him in a headlock. He quickly pushed back and slammed me into the wall behind us, but I held firm. I knew if he even got one good aim with his pistol, I was toast. He stomped his feet wildly, trying to bash me anyway he could. He bashed me back again, this time against the door frame, loosening my grip. We both fell to the floor, me out of breath and him gasping for air. We both took a second to regain our bearings and then shared a brief cutting moment. He got up quicker than I could and kneed me in the face. I shook off the throbbing pain and used the wall behind me to brace myself. 

“Percival, Galahad, get-” He started to say into his walkie-talkie but I gave him a solid haymaker to the head.

“Now now, none of that.” I said, taunting him. I used his imbalance to disarm him of his gun, sending it to the floor. He grabbed my neck, but I kicked his legs out from under him. I used the momentum of the fall to bring my forearm down on his face, disorienting him again. He relinquished my neck and I dealt him a clean knockout blow to his smug face. I stood up and dusted myself off and down the hall were the last two members of the Round Table Gang, Mr. Percival and Mr. Galahad, staring at me. I was admittedly a little disoriented from the last two altercations but I can’t imagine I was getting out of here without at least one more.

“Well come on then. Let’s go.” I said, putting up my dukes once more. I examined the two of them briefly, really hoping that Percival came at me first. He was small, compact. Intel said he was the demolitions expert of the group. Can’t be that great of a fighter either, although Lancelot surprised me. He adjusted his gold hawk mask. Mr. Galahad was much larger and muscular than his counterpart. Comically, he had a green cat mask. I don’t know what these guys’ fascination with stupid masks is. Galahad came stomping towards me.

I delivered several quick blows to his abdomen which frankly hurt my knuckles quite a bit. He just chuckled.

“That ain’t going to work, little man.” Unfortunately, he was right. I had to use his weight against him. He reared up for a downward strike, but I only narrowly avoided piledriver fist to the top of my skull. He came down on my shoulder which sent pain through my arm. I used the other arm to swing a fist, tilting his head to the side. He cocked his head back at me and I could see the annoyed look in his eyes. He grabbed me by the shoulders and sent me swinging through one of the walls of the hallway and into the room I initially hid from Lancelot in. Same dingy tile as the other room hit the back of my head hard.

“You call that a throw? Better invest in some gym memberships, mate.” I said, as he stepped through the me-shaped hole he just created. “Although your budget might be taken up by renovations.” He didn’t care for the banter. He stomped up to me and raised his leg up to smash me, but I rolled to the right. The tile cracked underneath and I got an idea. While his foot was still depressed, I swung my body around and kicked his stomped leg with all the force I could muster. His leg jutted further into the floor as he fell and the angle caused him to slam down harder than just a simple fall would do. I clumsily stood up and went to the groaning bastard.

“Nighty night, kitty cat.” I said, stomping his face and breaking his mask in the progress. I briefly take a look at his face. Ugly bastard, really. Maybe it was better with the mask intact. “Alright, Percival. We both know you’re a cowardly bastard so let’s get this over with. If you come quietly, I won’t have to break your nose too.” I said, walking out into the hallway and Percival was kneeling on the ground and he had already cuffed himself.

“Please don’t hurt me! Just don’t tell the others I surrendered.” I chuckled at the weakling. Just another day at the office, I suppose.

[straw-of-the-hat]

Hey!! I love your work and your stories always manage to put a smile on my face when I’m feeling down! I was wondering if I could get some Harper, Dabi, and Kurogiri shenanigans?? I honestly love the dynamics that the trio have and would love to see a lot more of it!! Thank you and continue the great work! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Three's A Crowd: Dabi, Harper, and Kurogiri shenanigans

Wrote this fella on my phone so expect typos and such, my guys.

The one-shot this corresponds with this fic.

Dabi doesn't hate his job or anything. It's actually pretty lax, all things considered. Could be better, could be worse: he's not here to complain. He gets paid good, has met some people he sorta-kinda sees as friends, and half his job is just sitting there and occasionally tackling a grown man composed mostly of gas.

To lay down a basic outline, Kurogiri is extremely attached to Harper Rye, Dabi's initial client if he's being honest with himself. By watching Kurogiri, he's technically protecting her indirectly as well. It's all rather complicated. He doesn't have the full story, so can't say why the warp-gate user is so terribly attached to her. Something about emotions? He has no idea.

It doesn't matter. If Harper is gone for more than ten minutes, or if he even thinks she'll be gone for longer than that, he freaks. Completely flips his fucking lid. It's astonishing how fast he can go from being a composed, ordinary man with impeccable manners to... Well, this.

"She's going to die out there! It's too much!" Kurogiri insisted dramatically, glowing eyes rounded in horror. He was once again latched to the girl's legs like a koala, leaving her to stand there stationary and contemplate why she was still alive. "She can't go out in a storm. She'll catch a cold and die!"

"Dude, it's only sprinkling. I need tampons. This isn't a debatable trip. It's either happening or I'm sleeping in the bathtub with an old sheet." Harper explained blandly. Dabi felt just as dead inside as he girl looked. When he signed on to be a bodyguard, he hadn't been expecting this. Man children and period talk.

"She's right. Let go before I pry you off." Dabi said, tone bordering on exasperated. Harper experimentally shoved at Kurogiri's shoulder, just to test his grip. Solid.

"I can't. It's suicide." Kurogiri was being dramatic, but didn't seem to realize just how irrational his thoughts were. Dabi sighed, running a hand down his face and bringing it down to massage his jaw. This was great. Fine! Totally cool! He wasn't on the verge of exploding and setting this entire place on fire, himself included. He would never.

"You know how human biology works, right? You heard the girl. It's not optional. She either goes or we all suffer. What the fuck do you think Tsukauchi will do to us if he comes home and finds his kid in a tub covered in a ratty sheet and her own bloody? He'll chop me up and feed me to the gators, and you'll be thrown off a cliff!" Dabi insisted. He wanted to say he was exaggerating, but he 100% wasn't. Harper sighed.

"Look. It's heavy flow season down south. Do you know what that means?" Harper raised her brows down at Kurogiri, who sniffled tearfully back. "It means we have about an hour before our time is up. Yeah, I know. The clock is ticking ticking, and it's your heads if my favorite pair of sweat pants gets ruined."

"See, this is a dire situation. Clearly life or death. So let her go, she'll get her shit, and then she'll come right back." Dabi coaxed, his voice not as soothing as it should've probably been, but close enough. Kurogiri stared for a hot second before tightening his grip on the brunette. Harper's eyes narrowed. Ah.

"It's dark out. She'll get murdered." Kurogiri really did turn into a pessimist asshat when experiencing pre-separation anxiety, didn't he?

"And it'll be a blessing, too." Harper breathed. Dabi shot her a look before taking a deep breath. He didn't want to do this. His face looked worse than an eighty-year-old patchwork quilt that had been thrown through a wood chipper, and Kurogiri was still wanted. This was the last thing he wanted to suggest, but Harper's thin thread of patience was about to snap.

"Alright, fine. You did this to yourself. You don't want her to go alone? Fine. Looks like we're tagging along." Dabi marched last them and towards the front door. The sooner the left, the sooner they could get this suffering over with.

"You're shitting me." Harper was horrified. Kurogiri was immediately calmed. He let go of his adopter and got to his feet, straightening his shirt as he did so and brushing off his pants as though nothing had ever happened. Dabi and Harper stared at him with the dryest expressions they could muster. He was pretty composed for someone who'd been wailing like a chicken being murdered a moment ago. Too composed.

"Very well. That will suffice. Thank you very much, Dabi. Harper Rye." Kurogiri gave a formal nod. Harper and Dabi stared for a moment more before sharing a look. Their expressions were alike in the fact that they both appeared completely and totally done with life.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Put your damn shoes on so we can get this over with." Dabi grumbled. It was just a trip to the store. What could possibly go wrong?

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

So, they were at the supermarket, and literally everything had gone wrong.

Again, Kurogiri was still wanted, so they decided to walk. The rain had pretty much vanished, leaving the sidewalks soaked and the roads full of puddles. The store was only a block and a half or so down, so it's not like they had far to trek. Dabi took the lead while Harper and Kurogiri followed behind him, Kurogiri insisting on holding Harper's hand for "safety purposes." As in he was afraid she'd befall a tragic death and leave him stranded and alone in the world.

Getting to the store? Easy. They'd done it as anyone else would. They walked up, entered the store, and boom. That's when it all went to shit. They got twelve steps in before something went wrong. Twelve steps.

Someone barreled through the swinging doors behind them. A humanoid, bull-like figure with twisting horns and a cow nose, along with the ears and frame to match. Like Hound Dog, but a bovine rather than a canine. Glass sprayed everywhere, all dramatic-like, almost like something out of a movie. The store clerk let out an ungodly shriek. Harper just sighed, and Dabi groaned. Kurogiri let out a scream of his own.

He had the best intentions, but he panicked by mistake. He opened a warp gate in time to stop the bull-man from running into them. But he didn't think too much about where they'd pop out, apparently, because they fell from another portal at an angle. An angle that sent them flying into the shelves.

The resounding crash made everyone wince. Everyone but Harper, who'd heard worse to be honest.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Dabi breathed, more to himself than anyone else. Harper massaged her temples as Dabi stared in mute horror at the destruction. "I'm not paying for all that shit."

That wasn't the end, because, uh, why the hell would it be? Dabi's day was going less than stellar at this point. And then boom. Four guys filter through the demolished front door with guns bigger and longer than Dabi's arm in tow. Harper just stares, Kurogiri is just standing there blinking in confusion as he tries to process the mayhem occuring around him, and Dabi? Dabi has accidentally set the floor on fire.

"On the ground, hands up! Now!" One of the men shouts. Customers are panicking, dropping down. Fire is spreading, the floor is melting, and then, the fire alarm goes off. Which caused the sprinklers to come on. But Dabi's fire is hotter than normal fire, so it doesn't go out. It just creates a shit ton of steam.

"Oh my god." Harper groans, dropping down low as the building fills with a muggy fog that's so thick you can see through it. "I just want a box of tampons. Is that too much to ask? Why is it always me?"

"You have some bad damn luck, kid. I'll tell you that much." Dabi snorted. The glow of Kurogiri's eyes pierced through the fog.

"I'm unsure of where the intruders are, and can't warp them away. What do you suggest we do?" He asked in a level tone. Harper rolled her eyes. So he freaked out over nothing and assumed she'd due from the rain, but was ready to chill out during a robbery. Makes sense.

"We leave, that's what. I'm sure a hero will get here eventually." Dabi sniffed slightly. But things weren't that easy, of course. Shit just had to get worse.

So the robbers had been blinded, essentially. People were screaming in every direction, making it impossible to actually aim and take anyone down. Except for Kurogiri. Who had glowing eyes. So naturally, they shot for the light. Their aim was shit though, so all it did was lodge in his right shoulder.

Harper and Dabi jumped at the deafening bang that left their ears ringing. The screams increased, Harper's headache for worse, and her cramps felt like they'd intensified, just as a last 'fuck you' from her body and she and Dabi both gaped at Kurogiri. The man seemed surprised, gazing down at the wound.

"Oh." The warp gate user said. Harper inhaled sharply.

"'Oh' is right, dipshit! You just got shot!" The sound of sirens were getting closer. There was another shot. No screams or thumps followed. "Just- shit, close your eyes. So they don't do it again."

"Are you not in any pain?! I thought you had a body under there." Harper hissed out lowly as Kurogiri did as he was told, closing his eyes. She was huddled up next to Dabi, hating everyone and everything. She had school tomorrow!

"Ah, yes. It hurts quite a bit. But I'm sure you've noticed that I'm screaming in the inside." Kurogiri reached out blindly, finding her hand and patting it. "I heard bottling up your emotions was healthy."

"Literally who the hell told you that?" Dabi scoffed. Another shot whizzed part, and he and Harper both ducked on instinct. Harper yanked Kurogiri down with them when the idiot didn't follow. The steam was so heavy they could barely breathe. They were too afraid to move, to be honest. Better to wait it out while the gunmen raided the register anyway.

"Sansa." Kurogiri said. As if on cue, a fresh set of people entered the store.

"Heard you were talking shit." Sansa's voice said from somewhere near the door, and then, "Oh, yeah. Police! Put your hands up and drop your weapons!"

Harper and Dabi could barely see each other through the fog, but there was enough visible for them to know they were both grimacing. Because honestly, they really couldn't do anything anymore without some shit like this happening.

[redrobin-detective]

Little Matchstick Boy

One of the rare instances of an actual literal dream inspiring a fic, also I want to die a little bit this is so terrible. I’m sorry.

“Captain, are you alright?” Diana asked stepping around the other Leaguers to reach the magical man. There had been something off about him the entire meeting, he had been unusually silent with a drawn, pensive look about him. Though he appeared, as always, in perfect health there was something about him that looked vulnerable. Conversation around them stopped, evidently Diana had not been the only one to notice the unusual behavior. 

“Me?” He asked with surprise, pulling his gaze from the window where the stars twinkled. “Of course, I’m just fine.”

“You seem hung up on something,” Barry said with an inviting smile. Marvel’s eyes ducked down in avoidance. 

“It’s not that big of a deal, just processing something is all, I didn’t mean to disturb anyone,” he said, making to stand up before Diana put her hand on his shoulder.

“It is not a bother, we merely wish to ensure you are well. And though you are mighty in strength it is easy to be worn down by the stresses of this job. It helps to talk about it, I promise. That is the point of the Justice League, to support each other,” she smiled. Marvel smiled back before relaxing, letting his gaze be drawn back to the endless expanses of space.

“I don’t know, it really is kind of stupid to get hung up on something like this but I got a little lost earlier,” he explained, ending in a gentle whisper that hovered heavily in the air.

“You got lost?” Hal said from the other side of the table. Cap was right it did seem a bit silly but the vulnerable look on the god-like man’s face told the Lantern that it wasn’t a laughing matter. “What happened, why didn’t you call for help?”

“I didn’t need it,” Captain explained, “I had just dropped off a couple of would be robbers at the police station and... decided to put my feet up for a bit.”

“Shazam!” the magic lightning came down transforming the Fawcett City Marvel back into Billy Batson, useless, unwanted ward of the state. Gravity took hold once more on his small body, weighing down on his bones and reminding him how far he was away from the untouchable Captain Marvel. He shivered in the biting air. Officially spring was here but winter had decided to push through one last vicious cold snap. The sign outside the bank had said it was 16 degrees out but he could feel through his thin jacket that the wind chill was much colder.

But the shelters would all be full at this late hour and he had some blankets at the place he was currently holed up at. He’d be fine and if he decided it got too cold, he’d simply say the magic word and change back into the Cap. Billy hated using his powers for his own advantage, especially when the other kids on Fawcett’s streets didn’t have that luxury but as long as he was Captain Marvel, he had a responsibility to take care of himself and getting sick would only get in the way of that.

“So it was after you stopped the robbery?” Manhunter asked with a wrinkled brow. 

“Yeah, I was just, relaxing in the only way I could when I noticed it was getting kind of cold out. I’m uh impervious to the elements but it was noticeable.”

Billy trudged forward, clutching his thin jacket close to him. The wind was blowing directly into his face and it seemed to sneak in all the small warm places Billy had been trying to protect. His face and hands were soon aching then numb from the constant onslaught and his whole body was trembling with cold. Criminey, didn’t old man Winter know that it was spring already? He licked at his chapped and sticky lips only for them to be chilled once more. 

Almost to his place now, he stopped at the crosswalk and looked both ways. The Don’t Cross sign was lit up but no one was around and it was super cold out. He got a few steps out into the street when a car skidded around a corner and raced through the intersection, Billy jumped back quickly enough but not quick enough to avoid being splashed by a large puddle. 

“Out of the road you dumb brat! The man in the car shouted as he continued driving. Billy stood there for an extra moment or two shaking both from the near miss and also because his pants and the bottom half of his hoodie were soaked through with muddy water. The wind, already bothersome, became biting and painful. He glared for a moment after the car before deciding it wasn’t worth it for Marvel to intervene. Hugging himself as best he could, he continued his march home hoping nothing else happened. 

“The midwest has been getting hit with some cold weather the last week but it’s only been in the teens, last month you were standing without a care in the world at the south pole,” Barry said with a frown as he tried to understand. Marvel clenched and unclenched his fist nervously. 

“Like I said, it’s pretty stupid,” he deflected, still not looking at them. “It was cold but not that cold, people were out living their lives without care, I didn’t have anyone to save so I was just existing. I... I don’t know, I guess I started feeling very far away.”

“Were you still in Fawcett City?” Clark asked.

“I mean yeah I was but I also wasn’t, I was trying to get somewhere but I was having trouble.”

It took Billy’s numb, shivering hand an extra 30 seconds or so to jimmy the lock on his window so he could crawl through to his temporary home. It was in an old rundown apartment building, up three stories on the fire escape but the main door was rotted and impassible and no adult could get through this window. He slithered into the window and fell to the floor with a thump. Feeling far too achy and tired, he decided to just lay there for an extra few minutes before he got up and changed out of his wet clothes and got into his blankets. Just a few minutes, he thought distantly to himself as his eyelids dropped heavily.

“So it was cold and you were alone and your spirit got lost,” Diana said with sorrow coloring her voice. 

“I just,” the Captain looked down at his hands, strong, big, so different from Billy’s pale skinny hands with tearing skin and dirty fingernails. “It was just an ordinary day and yet I could feel myself getting lost, my soul I mean. I was physically there but I was getting pulled further and further away. It didn’t even seem to be a problem, everything about me had dulled, if that car hadn’t backfired...”

Billy’s eyes opened at the loud sound outside his window. Car, his tired mind supplied. Don’t worry about it, go back to sleep, his body seemed to say as his eyelids grew impossibly heavy once more. It was funny, he was still lying on the floor near his open window in wet clothes but he didn’t even feel all that cold anymore. He wasn’t shivering or anything, all the aches he’d felt earlier... they weren’t quite gone but they just didn’t seem important right now. Nothing seemed as important as getting back to sleep. He’d never been this tired in his entire life and he’d hardly even done anything today, even Cap had a fairly easy day.

Cap, that seemed to stick and settle in his mind. The word rolled around his head a little bit. He was Captain Marvel, he could be the Big Red Cheese at any moment, including right now. Billy, he was just another no name kid without friends or purpose but Cap, he had a whole watchtower full of friends and a job to protect the people of Earth. Billy blinked slowly, practically forcing his eyes to open each time. Captain Marvel was important, Billy wasn’t but the Cap couldn’t be here without Billy. 

It occurred to him that he couldn’t move, not really, his limbs felt heavy and even twitching his fingers seemed beyond him right now. No one really pays attention to their breathing but it seemed slow, shallow, like he wasn’t getting enough air but couldn’t take in any deeper breaths. He couldn’t get his thoughts together at all but he got the sense that he needed to get up and get warm right now. His fingernails scratched on the floor as he sought to push himself up but he only managed to get a few inches before his strength left him and he fell back to the floor. His whole body was so numb, he barely even felt the impact. There was only one option, he licked at his lips.

“Sh-” he croaked and it was hardly more than a squeak. He coughed and tried again, “Sha-” he begged but the incomplete word summoned nothing more than another weak pathetic cough. The effort it was talking to say the magic word was wearing him out and the edges of his vision were starting to blur and fade to grey. For the first time since he changed back to Billy, true emotion burst through him as he realized that if he didn’t get that one word out then he might never say it again. Never say anything again.

“Shazam!”

“So then what?” Barry half-demanded, leaning a bit over the table. It was a whimsical, almost childlike story but something in the back of his head was beating urgency into him, something just out of reach that was constantly knocking him on the head as far as the Captain was concerned.

“That was it, I kind of came back into myself. I shook my head, decided I was done with the cold for a bit so I was hanging out in the Sahara. Did a few good deeds, rescued a few people from a burning building, kind of kept myself busy until the meeting. I guess, I don’t know I guess it was the first downtime I allowed myself after it all went down so it made me a little reflective I guess.”

“Well are you okay now,” Clark asked skeptically.

“I’m always fine,” Marvel grinned but it was a far cry from his usual smile. Clearly the man had gone through something deeply profound, something none of them could even begin to imagine. But he was here now and he might not be alright at the moment but they would make sure he was.

“Thank you for trusting us with your burden friend,” Diana said, once more grasping at his hand. “It sounds like it was a very distressing situation but we are all here for you. No matter how lost you get, we will always be your home.”

“Thank you, Ms Diana,” the Captain said warmly, looking alive for the first time since he arrived. “You don’t know how much that means to me. I’ll keep that in mind and be more aware of when I’m... getting lost.” 

“Please do, now, we all have homes we would like to go home to, including you Marvel,” she added.

“I think I’ll stay here a little while longer, if that’s alright. This right here is my favorite view in the whole wide world.”

“As you wish, we will leave you to your privacy, take care,” with that, the Princess strode from the room and many Leaguers followed, after giving the Cap a few warm and encouraging words.

“Bruce, come on, you got a kid who needs you at home,” Clark said, grabbing his friend by the arm but he didn’t budge. “Bruce?” The other man was tense, his gauntlets were gripping each other tightly and in the little bit of exposed skin Clark could see, he could tell Bruce was rather pale.

“You’re right Kent, I have a child to attend to. Go home, I’ll be out in a minute,” he said with a low growl. “Believe me when I say we will all be discussing this later. No one is ever getting lost again.”

[bow-down-im-your-queen-now]

It’s Not What it Looks Like

Prompt: The relationship between you and Barry Allen was something that was complicated and hard to explain. He was dead set on keeping you a perfect secret tucked away from the world of superpowers and villains and being apart of a super league. His team has other ideas however. Of in which the justice league walks in on a scene that inst quite what they think it is, or is it?

Paring: Ezra!Barry Allan x Reader

Fandom: DCEU, Justice League

Word count: 3K

Warnings: Language

A/N: Was justice league a bad movie? That’s subjective but yeah kinda. Do i still love it anyways? Hell yeah. Ezra did such a good job and i just adore him so Ta-da. Enjoy and feedback is much appreciated!

Barry Allan slept like he was dead to the world. Whenever he actually found the time to just rest and go to sleep he did, hard. He could pass out for twelve hours straight and not move once if he didn’t set enough alarms. There needed to be at least five of them to stir him awake. And yet despite all of that, never mind how exhausted his mind and muscles were he could never find himself falling into a deep sleep when he was laying next to you.

Maybe it was because he was too scared of falling asleep and missing something, or possibly because he was too afraid to let his guard down, too scared to put you in danger. There was the horrifying possibility that he could drool or snore or made an ugly face in his sleep, not that you would care. Of course, there was also the fact that he couldn’t help but find you beautiful when you slept. The soft peaceful look that came across your face was everything to him. He could lay there for hours watching your eyes flicker behind your eyes, a constant stream of dreams causing a smile to twitch upon your lips momentarily. He knew this put him at an equal level of creepiness as Edward Cullen but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

He wasn’t sure what to call whatever this was. Was it a study date, does that make it an actual date? Would you go on a date with him? He figured that whatever it was as you laid in bed next to him, having changed out of your day clothes into a tee shirt and losing your pants in the process somehow made this something not platonic. But then again what did he know maybe this is what happens in platonic male-female friendships, you sleep pant less in the same bed after a ‘study date’.

He had been dozing in and out of consciousness when he heard the movement in his apartment. It sounded as if it had echoed from the kitchen and tension immediately worked its way through him. Of course, of all the nights for an intruder to break in they chose the night that you had passed out curled up against Barry, clutching onto his shirt as you snuggled against him.

He didn’t want to move. My god, he didn’t want to move. He wanted to just pretend that he hadn’t heard anything maybe then the intruder would just go away. Yeah, that’s it maybe if he was quiet enough whoever was breaking in would realize just how shitty the majority of his belongings were and just decide not to steal anything. It was a foolish thought but still, he considered it. But the thought of putting you in harm's way was even scarier than the possibility of never being this close to you again.

He carefully undid your lose grip on his shirt and moved your head from his chest to a pillow as cautiously as possible as he slid out of the bed. You hardly noticed and snuggled more into the pillow and Barry fought the urge to be jealous of an inanimate object. It didn’t take him long, of course, to rush from his bedroom to the conjoined dining room, living room, and open kitchen where he figured the noises stemmed from. Turns out there wasn’t just one intruder, it was five and on top of that, they weren't robbers ready to take his dated DVD collection but instead his team members.

“What is going on?” He whispered harshly gaining everyone’s attention.

“There you are.” Arthur blurted as he looked up from where he was raiding Barry’s fridge. “Get dressed.”

“What are you doing?” He continued to whisper frantically. “Why are you here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.” Victor said bluntly.

“I was asleep.” Barry snapped. “Lower your voice.”

“We need to go.” Bruce finally interjected.

“Why?” Barry still felt half asleep and was struggling to process what he was hearing.

“There is a situation in Tokyo I will explain it more on the way there. We need to go now.” Bruce’s tone left little room for argument and yet that was exactly what the man was about to do.

“What? No.” He couldn’t help but scramble to say. Their timing couldn’t have been worse if they tried.

“Kid, Let's go.” Arthur called out loudly, his voice echoing through the apartment.

“Shhhh.” Barry snapped frantically, looking around his apartment quickly. Most of the group shrugged his spastic behavior off, it was nothing new. And yet Diana caught it, she saw the careful was his gaze lingered on the hallway leading to his bedroom just a little bit too long.

“What’s your problem man, we gotta go.” It was Vic who spoke up this time, his voice a bit softer but not by much.

“Can you all lower your voices?” Barry whispered again harshly. “It’s three am.”

“Are the walls that paper thin in this shithole?” Diana couldn’t help but roll her eyes at Arthur tactless question and blunt tone.

“No there uh- yes I have neighbors.” Barry scrambled to answer tripping over his words. It was at that point that Diana glanced towards Bruce who was already looking in her direction. A quick look between them confirmed that they were thinking the same thing. Barry Allan was hiding something, very poorly at that.

“Barry is everything alright?” Diana started quietly, her voice soft and low much to his obvious relief.

“Pff, yeah of course. Look I’ll meet you guys there okay. I gotta get my suit on and brush my teeth, and-“

“You can do that on the plane jackass come on we need to go.” Arthur cut him off.

“I’m fast I’ll meet you guys there.” Barry insisted flinched at how loud the other man was.

“You're going to run all the way to Tokyo?” Bruce pointed out.

Barry realized the flaw in his argument. Sure he could but he would be exhausted and no help to the group after. But still, he couldn't just get up and leave.

“Pff, yeah why not.”

It was at that point that Bruce decided to get whatever needed to be talked about out in the open. Barry wanted them to be quiet, well... in a quick and casual motion he pushed a glass of the counter and as if in slow motion it fell over the edge. Barry noticed a moment too late and rushed to grab it but for the first time in a long time, he simply wasn’t fast enough. The glass shattered loudly on the tile and echoed through the apartment.

“Damn,” Arthur exclaimed and Bruce tried to hide the satisfied smirk on his face.

“My bad.” He offered up sounding all to unapologetic.

The footsteps were quiet, the sound of them almost nonexistent and Diana probably wouldn’t have heard them if her hearing wasn’t so good. Clark must have picked up on them too turning his head in the direction of the hallway as well.

Barry opened his mouth to say something to Bruce but was cut off by another soft and sleep filled voice.

“Barry?” All heads shot in the direction of the hallway and in the dim lighting the could make out a figure. They were all able to see you easily in the shadows, even the oh so human Bruce (years spent in a dark cave having some advantages). Barry was the only one in the group with normal vision but he didn't need to turn to see who it was.

You walked a little more into the room speaking again. “Barry, what’s going on?”

As you spoke you reached over flicking on a light switch. You had been rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you spoke but when you lowered your hand you jumped slightly at the slight of the five new strangers in the middle of the room.

“Oh shit.” The words left you mouth softly as your gaze jumped from person to person. You knew who they were, even despite the ‘civilian’ clothing they wore in place of their armor. Barry had told you all about them but seeing them all here in person, staring at you was a shock, to say the least.

As for the rest of the league, they all took you in slowly, shocked as well. An over sized red shirt with a flash logo being the only thing partially covering your torso. Barry hated the shirt, you had bought it for him jokingly from one if those stands set up randomly throughout Gotham, still stocked with the ‘Superman isn’t dead’ shirts and plenty of Batman magnets. You wrapped your arms around yourself suddenly aware that the fabric only stretched to the top of your tights.

“______, I’m sorry we didn’t mean to wake you.” Barry started. His cheeks were beet red and nervousness was written all over his posture.

“It’s okay.” You smiled softly, the expression only lasted so long though as it slipped from your face. “I should probably go.”

“No no it’s okay you don’t have to go, I just, I've gotta...” he tailed off rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“It’s fine I didn’t mean to crash here anyway, I have to get ready for work in a few hours.” You reassured glancing over towards the digital clock on his DVR, you had to be up at six anyway.

“Right, right. Okay uhh.” He glanced around nervously as if unsure of what to do next.

At this, a soft laugh left you, with a roll of the eyes you only shook your head and then turned to pad back down the hallway.

Arthur and Vic check your ass out unabashed, the two of them exchanging a quick look in approval. Diana once again found herself rolling her eyes and sending them a hard glare but she wasn’t the only one with a nasty look on her face. Barry looked less than pleased though it was more than obvious he was trying to hide it as he sent a look their way having caught their wandering glance.

No one said anything for a long moment and Barry couldn’t help but squirm under everyone’s scrutiny.

“It’s not what it looks like.” His mouth moved faster than his brain and before he could think out and explain he found himself blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “We didn’t have sex.”

He was truly endearing and Diana couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face. Clark seemed to share a similar sentiment and she even caught a ghost of a smile on Bruce’s face, you had to look closely to see it.

As for Arthur and Vic, well they lost it. A quick look between the two of them and they were practically bent over. Barry was squirming again scratching the back of his neck.

“Shocker.” Arthur’s tone was teasing. “She’s hot. Way out of your league.”

Vic nodded and Barry seemed conflicted in wanting to tell him to ‘fuck off’ or nod in agreement as well. Meanwhile, Bruce’s momentary amusement was gone in a flash and just like that he was back to the grim voice of reasoning.

“Are we just going to pretend that’s it’s okay that she was totally unfazed with us being here.” Bruce started roughly. “Does she know?”

“Well uh... know what exactly?” Barry flinched slightly at his tone.

“About you, about us?”

“Yes.” Barry finally admitted sheepishly.

“You told her?” It was in that moment that Barry realized he really had fucked up somewhere along the lines. He has known you since forever, you were the first to hear about his powers, you went to class together. Barry’s life was so intertwined with yours it just made sense to go ahead and mention that he was apart of the league. You would have found out anyways by simply turning the evening news on.

As for the whole revealing of everyone’s identities, he probably could have kept that to himself but he couldn’t help it. Bruce fucking Wayne was Batman, he had to tell someone. And of course, you had so many questions he couldn’t find it in himself to tell you no. He trusted you.

He was thankful for your timing before he could say anything you reappeared.

“We will talk about this later.” Was all Bruce grunted crossing his arms as you returned. Barry gulped nervously and turned to face you fully.

You had replaced the over sized tee shirt with an outfit you had been wearing the day before. Your backpack was slung over your shoulder.

“You need to eat.” Was all you finally said breaking the silence as you walked into the room heading for the man.

“Oh yeah, I will. Don’t worry.” Barry tried to assure you, so many nerves twisted through him he couldn’t even imagine eating.

“I’m serious Allan. You burned a lot of calories.” You huffed crossing your arms. Once again Diana found herself amused, you were just as endearing as Barry.

“Burned lots of calories last night huh?” Arthur teased, snickering. “Doing what?”

You couldn’t help but peak around Barry letting your gaze fall on the man behind him. You could tell that there was no malice in his tone and had Barry not been so flustered he probably would have heard the yet again endearing amusement.

A smile spread across your lips as you winked at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Your tone was chalked full of faux innocent thrown off by the smirk still playing on your lips and for a brief second everyone was questioning whether Barry had been telling the truth of not earlier.

Arthur was at a loss for a brief second and you turned back to Barry.

“Please be careful.” You mumbled softly, the shift in your tone was drastic.

“Always,” Barry promised with a nervous laugh.

The hug you wrapped him in was tight and once again the team standing behind them was confused as to what was going on. Barry didn’t hesitate to hug you back, his hands clutching at the fabric of your shirt tightly. The hug lasted a second too long to be anything platonic and the quick kiss you pressed to his cheek as you pulled away even further solidified that.

You stepped away and it almost seemed like Barry wanted to follow. He managed to keep himself rooted in the spot and once again his nervous laughter bubbles out of him.

“so uh call me.” Barry finally blurted out.

You could only roll your eyes playfully at him finally moving towards the door. “I will.”

“Or maybe I should call you. Would that be easier? Yeah, I’ll just call you. Or text.” He continues to ramble.

“Bye Barry.” You laughed

“Right, I’ll talk to you later, I’ll uh call you.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.” He was quick to say and a flush spread across his cheeks. You save him one last sweet smile and finally turned around to talk away.

The league watched you like hawks and you fought the urge to shiver under their gaze. The only other woman in the room seemed to have the nicest expression on her face as you made eye contact with her.

“Please make sure he eats.” You couldn’t help but blurt out.

“Of course.” She promised genuinely.

“Thanks.” You returner her friendly smile and continued to approach the door.

Bruce Wayne in the flesh seemed to look in your way. The Batman. He was taller than you expected and powered radiated from him. His expression was indifferent yet the look in his eyes gleamed with a harsh judgment.

“Please tell me your getting him to pay your student debt off.” You teased turned back to Barry. He seemed to flustered to say anything but the others around the room cracked a few smiled and laughs.

As you glanced back to Bruce you half expected a nasty glare but instead your reserved an expression that you could only imagine was mild approval.

“Nice to meet you all.” Was all you finally said looked at each and everyone of them one last time before slipping past the towering man and out the door.

Everyone waited for the latch to softly click shut and then almost immediately all eyes were on Barry. He could practically see the questions forming in their brain and a slinky panic filed him.

“I like her.” Diana was the first to speak. Arthur grunted while both Victor and Clark nodded all in agreement with her. Bruce was the only one to show no sight of approval.

“Yeah me too.” Was all Barry said breathlessly his gaze still settled on the door.

“We need to leave.” Bruce finally grumbled sending Barry a hard look. “This conversation isn’t over.”

He began to move toward the door and Victor and Clark fell in step behind him, soon followed by Arthur but not before he sent a shark tooth grin to Barry. He sent one last wild look around his apartment before speeding through and turning off all the lights because god knew he could hardly afford his electric bill as it was. When he returned to the living room this time wearing actual clothes instead of his pajamas Diana was still lingering the now dark apartment.

“Oh uh, hi there. Ready?”

“Whenever you are.” She reassured.

It was as they were walking toward stage door that Diana draped an arm over Barry’s shoulder pulling him closer.

“Well, Who is she? Tell me everything.” Was all she said a small smile on her lips. A small groan left his lips and he knew there was no shaking the questioning of a determined Amazonian.

Barry almost dreaded the plane ride to Tokyo. Almost.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The Peacock Prince pt 3

Genre: fantasy, fairy tale, mlm

Words: 5.6k

Summary: A young man who is banished to a vast garden to spend the rest of his days, cursed to grow peacock feathers from his skin and walk the grounds.

A wandering soldier is charged by the neighboring town to fetch three feathers: one for health, two for luck, and three for wealth. Unfortunately, plucking the feathers off a reluctant peacock-boy is not as easy as it sounds.

A love story of avian dimensions in 4 parts

PART 1 ~ PART 2 ~ PART 3~ PART 4

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PART 3

The room smelled like heavy smoke, thick ale, and the tangible garble of voices in the air. Daven’s thoughts were buzzing slightly and he hiccups gently, the room only spins ever so slightly for him.

“A bastard,” he says loudly into the empty air, “a right definition of bastard.”

The garble of voices increases and one old sallow face leans in toward him from across the counter, “so we’ve heard.” Daven shakes his head, “bloody garden, bloody villagers. Let it burn!” The man’s lips twitch up, Daven recalls his name might be Bin or something similar. “You won’t be the first person frustrated with that place.” The man spit on the floor, “it’s evil.” “It’s ugly is what it is,” he takes a deep gulp of his beer, “and petty.” He finishes with another hiccup.

Bin snickers a little bit and another man near by turns toward him on the bar stool, “I take it you’ve met the prince then?” Daven’s eyes flick over to the new fellow, “who?” “The peacock prince,” The man had on a loose red shirt and a brown cap, he had shaggy dark hair and a brazen look to him. “You’ve been calling someone ‘a welt’ for the last hour, so I can only assume.” Daven raises his eyebrows, “you know him too?” He takes another deep gulp of his beer. “My condolences.” “Well, I know of him.” The man clarifies, “everyone that lives near that blasted garden does.” “We should burn it down,” Daven repeats darkly.

“If only!” The man calls, “I did hear though,” his eyes bore squarely into Davens, as if catching them in a glass jar and watching them glow like fireflies, “you got two feathers from the place.” “From the boy,” Daven finishes his beer. “I’ve heard of people getting one,” The fellow was fully facing him now, “but I haven’t heard of anyone managing two in years.” Daven’s face heats up at the memory, he had found a pair of pants drying out on clothes line, but he had to wait buck-naked in the bushes for hours until he could creep out and claim them.

“Well I did,” he scowls slightly, “and let’s just say after all that I could use another beer.”

The man laughs heartily, “Bin, get this man another drink. On me!”

Daven blinks a couple times and sits up straight, “That’s very nice of you,” he finally focuses on the fellow, he also had a long sword at his hip. “I’m Daven. You?” “Thatch,” the man puts his hand out, “nice to meet you lad, I expect we have a lot in common.” Daven tilts his head to the side, “besides the same tavern?” He grins, “you seem military.” Daven sinks into his shoes a little further and tries to his face completely neutral. “You too?” He shrugs, “retired.”

Daven exhales, he wouldn’t know. “Cheers then.”

They clink another round of beers and two of Thatch’s friends come over, he had five men under him and they were guards for hire for the local road. They traveled alongside caravans to keep them safe from robbers.

Daven just nods along and blinks away every thought of Ellis and arrogant flashes of liquid green eyes. He’d done his job, he’d delivered the two feathers to Mary Lee. They’d have a dinner in his honor the next day, it was over.

He was focusing on that and not the idea of whatever his shoes and socks were doing right now.

He nods again as Thatch says his name.

“So, you see Ferin, our new friend Daven here,” there it was, “broke into the gardens and managed to get not one, but two of those blasted feathers.” Daven wipes his mouth, “I don’t plan to do it again.” He tries to clarify, he gives a small smile. “I’m retired.” Thatch just grins and puts a mighty hand on his shoulder, “Wouldn’t ask you to, just a good story.” He hums, “hopefully it will be just a good story soon.” He exhales, “with a happy ending if those fields start growing in.” “Oh they will,” Ferin, an older man with a deep scar over his right eye says. “They always do once you put a little blessing in ‘em.” “Blessing?” Daven’s head was swimming, he tries to drag himself back to the present like hauling a dead body through a swamp.

Ferin nods and his companion gives a low grunt, “curses come wit’ blessings, that’s how the witch worked.” Daven sat up completely straight and looked both directions, “don’t tell me there’s a witch here too.” It almost sound like a long whine.

“Not anymore,” Thatch smiles good-naturedly, he winks, “she’s retired.”

Daven still doesn’t like the sound of that, “so she’s the one that made that place.” He says bitterly, “and… him I take it.” Thatch scratches his chin, “it’s a little… fuzzy. But close enough.” “I heard that prissy prince tried to bed the witch's daughter so she created that ugly maze for him to be trapped in.” “No no, the garden was separate,” Ferin says steadily, “that was all for the mad King Cephissus, for his arrogance for trying to create a place more beautiful than the Gods.” “The witch was no God,” Yeezus, the big fellow, says with a frown. “Just demons and curses this way out. Demons and curses.” Ferin puts a finger up, “and blessings. That’s how the witch worked.”

Daven hiccups gently and tries to follow all the back and forth, “so he… hit on the witch's daughter?” He tries to piece it all together like threading a needle through a cluster of nettles.

“That’s what the bards say.” They all agree with a nod.

“I heard he tried to have all the peacocks in the whole kingdom exterminated for being more beautiful than him,” Thatch says slowly. “That’s why he got those feathers.”

Yeezus chuckles, “I heard it was just for being a cocky little shit.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that,” Daven finishes what felt like his sixth beer. He hoped the party for him tomorrow would be a quiet one for his head’s sake.

“Preening’ and flirting and opening his legs to anyone that will take an arrogant blue blood-” “Yes yes,” Thatch waves his hand. “But those feathers.” The man pet his short beard. “It’s a shame he isn’t… reformed.” Daven leans down on the sticky counter and closes his eyes, “Good people don’t get cursed,” he says slowly with a yawn, “so I wouldn’t hold your breath on reform.” Thatch pats his shoulder, “you should rest up, I hear you’re a hero.” He wipes at his eyes, “for now.” He groans into the counter, “until they ask again.” Daven doesn’t completely remember the rest of the night.

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

Three for Wealth

Daven curls up into himself, his head pounds like a great wave crashing through his temples every few seconds. “Oh my God,” he covers his face and groans deeply as he hears tickles of noise outside.

Bam bam

Daven reluctantly turns over in bed at the thumping and grasps for his short sword, he’s scowling when he comes up empty. Right.

Bam bam

He glances at the barn door and narrows his eyes at the the large wooden door, it was painted with a fine red sealant and it’s windows were at least glazed over. He collapses forward into a ball and takes a moment to gather himself.

Bam bam

He forces his eyes open and calls out, “who is it?” “It’s just us good sir,” Mary Lee calls out, probably referring to the rest of the village representatives as well.

Daven scrubs his face furiously before reaching for his shirt and edging closer to the end of his loft. “Good morning.” He tries to not sound like he was about to find out the contents of his stomach at that moment.

The air shimmers with his own headache and he wobbles upright, “how may I help you good lady?” He tries to sound like he didn’t hate himself a little bit for phrasing it that way.

Mary Lee clears her throat from behind the door, “we were hoping to talk to you.” Oh no.

He considers reaching for his sword again.

He blanches and wishes they at least gave him 42 hours before asking again. “May I get dressed for you first my lady?” “Oh yes,” she says quickly, “it’s nothing pressing. It’s just about upgrading you to different accommodations.” He takes a deep breath in and manages a smile, “oh,” he blinks, “oh yes. That might be nice.” Mary Lee gives her warm laugh, “then come out, Mrs. Shawley was ecstatic about putting you up.” She takes a deep breath, “the villages hero!”

Daven puffs out his chest and quickly fastens his pants and goes to the door.

“Of course,” Mary Lee was blinking at him as he opened the barn door, “we might be able to offer even better accommodations if the inn was still open.” Her face is splashed in light and features shifting like a practiced symphony, “it’s a shame it’s been such a rough couple years.” Daven’s heart sinks and he swallows thickly, “it… it is.” Mary Lee’s eyes flash up, two other representatives stand behind her. “Poor villages can never really get ahead in this world, can they?” Daven gives the longest internal sigh.

Three for wealth.

“The world is unfair,” he says instead and doesn’t meet any of their eyes.

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

“We really can’t afford to pave this road.” Daven hears from the young girl as he walks past.

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

“My son would be going to school right now, but his shoes are worn too thin to make the walk.” The old man at the market sighs, “so many of the village children can’t make it these days.” Daven doesn’t meet his eye as he picks up an apple, “I’m sure once the crops come in…” “Oh yes,” the old man grins at him, “that was you, right young man?” He pats him on the back, “we have no savings, so now at least we won’t starve in the winter!” He laughs and Daven turns back to the road.

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

“That old window is broken, just can never save up enough to fix it.”

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

“My daughter has a toothache but doctors are expensive, he only comes around when we pay.” ----------------------------

“I need at least three more cows to make this a right business, but it feels like the wallet is always empty around here. No one can get ahead.” “I GET IT.” Daven stomps away from the communal bathroom and goes sit down angrily at his own party. He fumes silently.

He imagines Ellis’s smug face looking down at him and just saying slowly ‘I told you so.’ That image alone just makes him angrier.

He bends over and sighs into his hands until it feels like there’s no more air left in his lungs.

He almost jumps out his skin when he feels a soft hand land on his shoulder, “woah.” He almost elbows Mary Lee in the stomach as she wanders over with her old grandma in toe.

“Miss Henri,” he nods, “Mary Lee.” She smiles plainly down, “how are you finding your party?” His eyebrow twitches, “it’s… nice.” His jaw clenches, “though several villagers have been informing me of their… financial troubles.” Mary Lee puts her hands on her hips, “I hope you don’t mind.” She simpers slightly, “they just are looking for hope.” She puts a hand on his shoulder, “they haven’t had hope in so long.”

He looks down at his hands, “I can’t go back.” He grumbles. “He took my sword.” “We can get you another sword,” Mary Lee says happily.

Daven just shakes his head, “I have a bad feeling about going back there. I got lucky so far, but those gardens,” he licks his lips, “there’s a reason no one goes a third time.” Mary Lee’s golden curls bounce loosely as she cocks her head to the side, “I know.” She squeezes his arm, “you’ve already done so much for us.” He exhales slowly, “so you understand…” “But it would be a shame if the military had to know about a deserter that ran away all the way out here.” There it was.

“I thought we were past this,” he mumbles mostly to himself.

Mary Lee’s hand becomes an iron grip, “they haven’t had hope in so long.” Daven grits his teeth and looks up, “I hear you.” He meets her sharp gray eyes and she lifts her chin, a queen with no crown. “I don’t think you do.” She points around, “it’s illegal to run out from the army in the middle of a war.” Daven sinks down into the floor and let’s himself become a puddle, “I hear you.”

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

The war in the Southern Groves was not so much a war as it was a furious attempt to put down a bloody rebellion in the Hanivery county. Daven didn’t know much about it, even after being covered in mud, dirt, and blood for it.

Daven is chewing through his own life decision as he holds a new broadsword in his hand and stands outside the gates of a tall marble wall. The smell of marigolds and mildew wafts out from inside and birds call like hunting dogs from within.

He closes his eyes and rests his head on the thick oak doors. He takes a deep breath, “oh bloody mother, bloody mother. Show us the oysters legs and bring us heaven’s hellfire.”

He hears the click just as it always did. The lock clicks and the doors start creaking and rumbling on their own, he steps back.

An ax falls right where he was standing, he creeps in past the first defenses, watching his footwork and holding up the sword. He doesn’t hear it, but the first creatures eyes are on him faster than a pair of street rat hands on a gold watch.

He lifts his head and turns around in circles until a vivid white panther comes into view, he holds his sword up. “Bloody mother, bloody mother, sleep while you can. Show me the diamonds crown and the King’s grace.”

The panther bares her teeth briefly and turns around, Daven exhales and starts walking. He may or may not have been telling the rest of the village he’s been battling a panther each time he enters.

He does stab a vine as it lashes out toward his ankle and then put his back to a wall and edges his way past the first pit filled with albino spitting lizards.

He passes a clearing with a family of white deer inside and keeps his head down as a sleeping cheetah lies on the corner of the next bend. It feels like any of the times before, but Daven’s insides feel covered slime and a cold gasp.

The air was thicker, he could smell a storm in the air and rumbling clouds in the distance. He secures the scarf around his neck and slashes his way through more outgrowth.

“Stupid village,” he curses, “stupid curses.” He slashes again, “stupid,” he exhales slowly, “me.”

He just had to pick up in the middle of the night one camp-out and run the other direction as fast as he possibly could.

He’s angrily kicking a stone across a wide pool of acid when he hears it skid and sizzle there, a squeak follows. A distinctly human sounding squeak. Daven turns around quickly, eyes darting back and forth.

“Oh fuck,” Someone mutters and Daven’s head jerks up as he recognizes the voice.

His mouth hangs open, “That was quick.” He hears scrambling and flustered footsteps from just around the corner, Daven quickly leaps over the puddle and jerks toward the sound. “This is the last time! I swear.”

Green tail feathers disappear around the next corner, Daven gurgles in the back of his throat, “fine.” He huffs and starts running, “the hard way. Again.” For someone carrying at least five pounds of feathers he is still surprisingly fast and Daven is panting and gasping for air by the third corridor. He’s sprinting around foliage and the snapping jaws of different booby traps as he skids left and right.

He calls out when he can, “please,” he rasps, “can we just talk? A good, reasonable talk. I can even take my clothes off again!”

He hears a rough laugh from ahead, but the feathers are whipping around the next corner.

“Oh come on.”

He sees seven cherubs and a deer up ahead.

Daven groans loudly and holds the stitch in his side as he comes galloping into the seven cherub square. “Ellis,” he says weakly, “I’m not as young as I look.” “You look at least twenty-five!” He hears an answering call, just as he sees a trail of feathers disappearing up the tree like the tail of a disappearing house cat.

Daven slows down and gasps for air, “you are nothing if not predictable.” He says mostly to himself as he approaches the same tree he found him in the first time. He grins up as he reaches the trunk, “But you’re not the only who can climb.”

Ellis just returns a slow grin back at him, Daven scowls. He puts his hands around the trunk before gasping and leaping backward, a sharp pain sizzling through the pads of fingers. He retracts his burning skin from the white bark. “Fuck!” He curses and clutches his hands to his chest. “Goddammit.” A fair head peaked out from the lowest branch and looks down, “everything’s poisoned here, remember?”

Daven sucks on his bottom lip and clenches his eyes shut for a long second, water leaks out, “right.” He counts back from ten before unfurling himself again and standing up straight. The pain dulls quickly, he looks up, “And here I thought you were just being foolish.” He gives a grave laugh.

Ellis peeks down at him and looks nonplussed, “most people do.” Daven lets his head fall backward, “Any chance I have something I can bribe you with now?” Ellis shakes his head, “absolutely not.” “Well then,” he straightens his shirt, hands still stinging, “I guess we’ll have to see how long you can stay up there.”

Ellis makes a face at him, “you’re fighting a losing battle. So far you’ve only gotten some feathers by your own dumb luck and my own good will.” “Good will?” His mouth falls open hotly, “You made me strip for you.”

“My own goodwill, yes,” he repeats and Daven would have laughed if he wasn’t mentally preparing himself for a war of attrition.

He juts his jaw out, “We could both be reasonable men here-” “Absolutely not.” “Ugh.” Ellis winks, “thanks for stopping by. I was almost getting lonely after not seeing you here for a whole five seconds.” Daven crosses his arms over his chest, “I’m doing good deeds.” “Sure are champ.” “Fuck you.”

Ellis laughs a dry and thoughtless sound, “you wish.” Daven raises his eyebrows, “Well I mean... for 3 feathers maybe, hmm?”

Ellis fluffs his hair absently, “are you really that desperate?” He asks flatly, “because trust me when I say I have better options. The albino alligator perhaps, or a very willing looking rock.” Daven kneels down and sits cross legged on the ground, “fine.” He says roughly, “I guess we’re waiting then.” He pouts slightly, “you’ve already given me 3 already. What’s 3 more?” “What’s 3 more fingers says the man after he’s already lost five.” “They aren’t fingers!”

Ellis just shakes his head, “I wasn’t talking about me, I was telling you your future.” Daven raises his head, “Fine. I’ll tell you yours as well.” He clears his throat, “incredible gentleman bird gives local hero three feathers to help a group of innocent people, right?” Ellis makes a face, “Piss off.” “Revised: bird boy accidentally finds his own reflection and drowns trying to make out with it.” He makes sure Ellis is watching as he makes a sardonic jerk off motion as he finishes that story.

Ellis pushes his bottom lip out. “So be it.” He leans down, “as long as one living hemroid-man doesn’t get any more feathers off me I’ll have died fulfilled.”

“Oh? What’s this? I found something else for you,” he reaches into his pocket, “it has your name on it.” He takes out his middle finger and shakes it in the air.

Ellis snorts, “you wouldn’t be quiet insufferable if you weren’t half as dumb as most of them are greedy.” Daven squints at him, “yeah. I didn’t catch that. Just a lot of you choking on your own spit.”

Ellis swings his legs back and forth as he sits on the low branch and looks down, “It’s funny you’re willing to wait, you know I don’t eat right?” “Yes you do,” Daven snaps back.

“How would you know that?” Ellis says with his teeth gleaming.

Daven grins lowly, “I told you before. You’re easy to read.” “Right, right,” he waves a hand through the air, “because good people don’t get cursed.” “And bastards get what’s coming to them,” Daven nods in agreement with himself.

Ellis’s face falls, “you really believe that?” “Yes! You are selfish! It’s just three feathers.” He looks off into the distance, “I’d rather die of starvation up here then give them to you, funny how that is.”

Daven blows air out of his nose, “are you serious?” “Are you desperate?” Daven growls, “maybe we could just wait in silence until you come to your senses.”

He wags a finger in the air, “I have never had any sense and you of all people are not going to give it to me.”

“Look at me, ignoring you. Waiting patiently for you to give in. Like you did before.”

Ellis rolls over on the tree branch, feathers splaying out behind him, “a sudden error in judgement, yes, but…” He gives him a knowing look, “aren’t the villagers satisfied yet?” Daven looks down at his hands, he takes a deep breath in and then sighs.

Ellis chuckles, “that’s what I thought.” Daven looks up sharply, “they just need like… new windows and cows and medicine.” Ellis visibly rolls his acid green eyes, “wake up. They’ll always need more things.” He scowls, “that’s why I’m up here.” His lip curls back, “You can always grow more feathers.”

Ellis shakes his head, “you don’t know anything about this curse.” Daven snorts, “and what should I know fair prince? That you hit on a witch's daughter and got trapped in a hell maze? Which is terrible, but there are better ways to deal with than becoming an ass on top of a peacock.” Ellis gave a slim light smile, “you’ve finally been listening to the town gossip I see.” Daven sniffs loudly, “I talked to some folks.” Ellis’s face disappears as he seems to sit up on the branch, “I never did understand it…” A long pause follows, “understand what?” Daven prompts after a long moment.

Ellis peaks over the edge, “I like your first idea. Let’s wait in silence for starvation.” Daven blows air out of his nose, “fine.” “Fine.” “Fine!”

A long silence descends as they quietly fume at one another. Daven starts counting the feathers he can see hanging off the tree branch and calculating how high he’d have to jump to grab one. Screw asking.

Ellis seems to just lie his head against the tree and close his eyes, some curiosity tickles in Daven’s gut but he can’t place it. What didn’t he know about the curse? He figured there wasn’t much to know.

It was bad, this boy messed with a witch and now I had to deal with the consequences. He watches the boys long eyelashes and measured thoughtful face. This was all harder than it needed to be.

His thoughts weave in and out of each other, possibilities hopscotching over each other: a cold military jail cell, the sharp musical smile of Mary Lee, the girl with no shoes glancing up at him like a question. Ellis, broken as a fine-tuned violin finding the ground, falling from his perch up high.

Daven sighs and leans his head back and closes his eyes. A cold jail cell.

It’s quiet as he ignores his hunger and sinks lower into the hard dirty marble, the material is cutting into his ass and making his back stiff. Not that he would ever admit that at this point. He breathes in the thick air and listens to the nothing.

Something rustles above him, “you should leave.” Daven looks up to see Ellis standing up and looking off in the distance, Daven sighs, “yeah yeah.”

Ellis frowns deeply and narrows his eyes before looking down, “I’m serious. You need to go.” Daven lifts his eyebrows, “hungry, I take it?” Ellis makes a deep rumbling noise in the back of his throat and his lip curls, “look at the sky.”

Daven’s brow furrows and he leans back past the heavy branches above him and looks up at the grey horizon. He hums, the sky was a pure puffing white, thick and milky it lay above them in a billowing current.

Daven shrugs loosely, “so?” “Fog,” Ellis says darkly before crouching on the branch, “the fog is rolling in.” “I guess?” Ellis’s expression goes wild, “you need to leave!”

Daven tenses and feels a shift in the young man, he suddenly wasn’t mocking and brisk. A hardness had entered his movements.

Daven sits up straight, “is this some new secret young prince?” Ellis hunches over and bristles, his feathers fluffing up, “you’re going to die if you…” He huffs and Daven can’t make sense of what exactly he’s getting at.

Daven settles down in his seat and makes clear that he’s not going anywhere, “nice try.” “Ugh!” Ellis throws his arms in the air, “fine then.” Daven looks away and picks at the stubble on his chin, “it sure would be nice to have three feathers to get me to le-” “This isn’t the time!” The young man growls, “give it a rest.” Daven clenches his jaw, “maybe it’s nothing but a game to you, but this is life or death for… some people.” Ellis’s eyes flick back and forth from the sky and Daven, “this is life or death either way.”

Daven cocks his head to the side, “don’t tell me the fog is a poison.” He picks at his scarf and starts edging it up to cover his mouth and nose.

Ellis just shakes his head, “you don’t know.” He sighs, “of course you don’t.” Daven rolls his eyes, “do you make a career out of being cryptic?” Ellis’s mouth was hanging open and he looked spooked, his eyes drag from the descending sky and Daven again. “I can’t believe,” he groans deeply and leans over the ground, “Don’t fucking tell anyone.”

“What? About your obtuse difficultness? They might be able to guess.” “Shut up,” Daven jumps as Ellis leaps to the ground, “shut up while I save you life.” “Wait, wait,” Ellis swiftly strides over and grabs his arm.

“You better run.” Ellis’s eyes were trained on the fog rolling in on the other side of the square, snaking over the ground and flattening itself across the walls and plants.

“What?” Daven’s heart squeezes, his senses revving up at his strange behavior.

“Do you see that?” Ellis points with his chin, Daven takes a step back. He squints his eyes and studies the thick white wall of moisture. His breath catches in his throat as he sees a gasping dark mouth and a pair of eyes. Daven takes a step back, “What the hell?” Ellis pulls him the other direction, “they roll in the fog.” Daven picks up their pace and they jog out of the square, “spirits?” Ellis meets his gaze, “ghosts.” Daven gulps and turns to start running. He tells himself not to look back, but he can’t help but stumble and look over his shoulder.

He sees hungry smokey hands grasping and clawing out of the whiteness, an empty gaping dark mouth behind them. Daven runs harder, he jumps when he feels a hard prod to his left side.

“Go left!” Ellis says shrilly and forces him to take the next turn.

Daven skids but manages not to fall down as they weave and bob away from the impending natural phenomena. Daven tries not to flinch as a chorus of voices filter through the damp air, they were whispers at first, dark hushes with no words.

And then they form like pieces of silk being fashioned together through his ears: grating and smooth all at once, chilling him to the bone.

“Return, return, return,” they murmured, “he’s taken, taken.” It’s like a sickening echo that becomes a louder rushing wave. “Whore,” the voices slither and crash down upon them, Daven keeps running, keeps not looking back. “Whore!”

“Fuck,” Ellis skids and grabs the end of Daven’s sleeve, “we’re not going to make it.”

The sweat drips down Daven’s brow, his eyes go wide as he sees the end of the next pathway: a thick, wall of shifting whiteness. Ghastly pale hands tumble on its insides and Daven blinks back at a number of black-hole eyes staring back from the depths.

“Whore!”

It comes rushing toward them in one lumbering crawl, like a living beast fumbling for its prey.

“I hate you,” Ellis says through gritted teeth and then he grabs Daven and swings him around, the air is knocked out of Daven as he hits the nearest wall. Ellis pushes him up against a wall and digs his forearms into Daven’s chest as he pins him there.

Daven gasps, a wall of beautiful green plumage fans out around them, encapsulating them like a dome as Ellis held him up against the wall.

The forces crescendo into a wordless murmur of white noise and every part of him stiffens, Daven screws his eyes shut and braces himself for impact.

The forearms dig into his chest and Daven feels a warm puff of breath against his cheek. “Don’t move.” Nothing arrives but the sound of their labored breathing.

Daven cracks his eyes back open and looks anywhere but down, “Did you just…?” Save me?

“Don’t mention it.” Ellis says in a strained tone as they they stand, toe to toe, lingering in the shadow of his great tail as it protects them from the ghouls of the fog. “Your corpse would really ruin the mood of the place.”

“I mean-” He opens his mouth but it quickly interrupted.

“Blood traitor.” The voices rasp. Daven’s body shakes as he feels the wispy of tickle of something around his ankles but it doesn’t latch on. The air is cold and clammy around them, muttering and calling from some veil of the unknown. Something evil really was here.

One deep gravely voice rises from the chorus, “Disgrace,” it was a hiss, “Liar.” A deep rolling murmur hits them, “Whore.” Daven searches above him for something, but he feels Ellis shift against him,  Daven sneaks a look down, snatching a brief private glance of Ellis. The prince’s eyes are clenched shut and body hunched over. “Good to hear from you too, father.” He says bitterly. Daven’s mouth becomes a hard line, his whole being pulsing with a confusion he couldn’t name.

“Indignity, disgrace, blot, blot, blot, taken-” “Wow!” Daven doesn’t know where that comes from, “Some fucked up weather we’re having.” He glances down, “you bring this on us with your piss-poor attitude?” He barks it as loudly as possible.

Ellis’s eyes fly open and he looks up with a confused grimace, “what are you going on about?” The voice shrieks, “Whor-” “This is what happens when you leave the shower on!” Daven is louder, “You’re the type to do that, right? Leave the hot water on, for hours. I can see it in your princely face. Fog the whole place up.” Ellis cracks a slight smile, “I would.” He says evenly, “If I ever took anything other than baths.”

“Who-” “Of course!” Daven was practically shouting at the top of his lungs, “I can see it now: fifty perfumes and those fat white towels they use on people with sensitive skin and purebreds.” “I do have sensitive skin.” “Really?” Daven huffs a laugh, “It seems pretty thick. Or else you might have it in your heart to give me three more feathers!”

“You’re a fool,” Ellis almost whispers, something soft. “You could take them right now.” It was an even lower whisper.

Daven looks all around he sees that it’s true: He was surrounded by feathers, golden eyes that stared at him from all directions. All he had to do was reach out and take one. His right hand vibrates, he sees Mary Lee’s face again in his mind’s eye. And then a cold military jail cell.

He wiggles right his arm free and reaches up, slowly, tentatively, he can feel Ellis’s eyes on him as he does- a challenge or maybe something else. Something open, a wound even, a hare caught in a trap.

Daven can only guess why.

Daven delicately takes one of the closest feathers in hand, holding the very end of it loosely. It’s soft.

His fingers slowly trails down one of the long feathers, feeling the soft plummy texture in between his fingertips. His hand goes down the length- from the colorful tip to the base on Ellis’s shoulder. Ellis still doesn’t move.

Daven exhales slowly. He holds the base of the feather for a very long moment, his heartbeat caught in his throat. Then he leans back.

He retracts his hand and lets it fall loosely to his side. He closes his eyes for a long moment.

A whole-body shiver goes through the other boy in front of him, a choked sound follows and Daven just leans into him.

“I bet,” Daven swallows thickly, “You spend at least five hours in the goddamn bath. Have the servants keep filling it up for you until your just a prune. A huge prune.” Ellis laughs, a surprised sound, wet and free- like it was dislodged from deep inside of him. “Sure.” He chuckles, “go on.”

“You use perfumes, like lavender and persimmon.”

“I don’t think persimmon is a perfume,” he was still laughing.

“See? You know that!” He keeps going.

Daven isn’t sure how long he stands there yelling over the voices of the dead, pressed together with his savior and greatest challenge. Yelling and shivering and waiting for something.

It’s almost twilight by the time the fog finally clears. He is weary and stiff, his voice completely lost and chest aching.

He doesn’t remember saying goodbye, or anything much after that, they don’t meet eyes as he leaves this time. But he does lean into him for just a moment.

“Thank you.” It was a hush of a word, spoken into Ellis’s soft fly-away hair. “Yeah,” Ellis grunts back and they stay there, for a heartbeat, just a heartbeat. And then Daven turns to leave, he tells himself it’s for the last time.

<======= PART 2    ⭐   PART 4=======>

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: An Internal Affair - Chapter 4 (Ao3 link)

Fandom: The Flash Pairing: Leonard Snart/Barry Allen

Summary: Leonard Snart, the CCPD Captain of Internal Affairs, is known as Captain Cold for a very good reason: He hates corrupt cops with a merciless vengeance, and once you’re on his list, you’re in serious trouble.

His next target?

A CCPD lab tech named Barry Allen who’s developed a suspicious habit of disappearing at random intervals.

—————————————————————————————————

"Who the hell even is this guy?!" Cisco exclaims.

"I'm telling you, I don't know," Barry says miserably, holding out an arm for Caitlin to defrost.

Yes, defrost.

Because his newest supervillain is apparently ice themed.

Sorry, cold themed.

An important distinction, apparently.

"Start from the beginning. We need to go over all of this again," Dr. Wells says, folding his hands together. He looks strangely upset - he's hiding it, of course, he always does, but where before he's genuinely looked mildly concerned but calm and level whenever they went up against a supervillain meta, this time he looks like someone gave him a nasty and unexpected shock.

Barry's not sure why. After all, this isn't the first bad guy to kick his ass in the first round.

First one to kick his ass twice, though.

First one to escape.

First one to -

Well.

Maybe Wells is right, and Barry should start from the beginning.

It starts, he thinks, with the diamond heist. He hadn't realized it was a diamond heist yet, of course - he and Cisco were just fooling around on the police band scanner when they heard a distress call about a robbery in progress come in from an armored car, and of course Barry went to go stop it.

The original plan was to stop the robbery and turn the robbers in, but one of the guards got shot and screamed like a banshee getting gutted, so Barry prioritized getting him to a hospital.

Turns out it was just a scratch.

Well, better safe than sorry.

Anyway, at the very least Barry did manage to pull the mask off one of the robbers, so he went to Joe to checks the guy’s records. The robber in question turned out to be a guy named Tommy D'Angelo, nicknamed the Iceman for his fondness for stealing diamonds.

(The second Barry heard that, he immediately made an Iceman Cometh joke that got Joe to look at him disapprovingly. One day, Barry will meet someone who’ll properly appreciate his endless encyclopedic memory of dumb references…)

"He's good at what he does, this guy," Joe observes, frowning at the picture Barry showed him. "Very professional - you think he's a meta?"

"We haven't seen any evidence of that yet," Barry replies with a shrug. "Just a regular robbery. Nickname like that, though? It wouldn't surprise me."

He laughs.

"Yeah," Joe says vaguely, sounding distracted. "Well, good luck with that. Tell me if you need me for anything."

"Something up, Joe?" Barry asks. Normally Joe pays more attention to Barry’s dangerous Flash stuff, especially against a criminal Joe thinks is ‘good at what he does.’

Joe makes a face. "Yeah, sorry. Nothing to worry about, just Captain Cold strikes again."

"What do you mean?"

Joe grimaces again, shaking his head. "It was less than three hours after he brought Cichowski down before the DA announced that they’re bringing charges on three more guys based on his evidence."

"Cichowski?" Barry asks, frowning and trying to remember. He's pretty sure he knows the name, but can't place it to a face.

"One of the old timers," Joe replies. "I don’t think you know him that well; he worked over in the other side of investigations."

"Oh, right," Barry says, remembering. They'd only worked together on a crime scene a few times; he has a vague memory of someone fairly easy-going about Barry's whole punctuality problem, but nothing more specific than that. "Wait, he was corrupt?"

"Captain Cold certainly decided he was, I guess," Joe says with a scowl. "I mean, maybe he was, I don't know, I wasn't paying that much attention to his trial - mostly because I've been too goddamn busy picking up all this extra slack! But with him gone, the rest of us have to take on his caseload, too, as if we weren't already overloaded - and now with three more guys are being put on unpaid admin leave until the charges against 'em get resolved, that means we've got even more to do! And we all have to do it while watching our asses every damn step of the way, in case Cold decides to round up someone forgetting to file exactly the right piece of paperwork at the right time..."

"You should be doing your paperwork on time," Barry says automatically, guiltily thinking about the pile he himself has upstairs. He'd done it pretty thoroughly at first, but since no one ever seemed to really pay that much attention to when exactly the paperwork was filed, and everyone else left it to the very last minute and filled it out retrospectively, it'd been so easy to get into bad habits - habits that persist even though he has super-speed now. He resolves to do better.

It really is important to do it on time. Not just for administrative purposes – whether you filled out the request for a warrant or not could be the difference between a legal search and an illegal one.

“Pot, kettle, black,” Joe says, sure enough. “Hey, maybe you can help me with the –”

“Important Flash stuff to do,” Barry says hastily. He hates paperwork and there is zero chance that he’ll agree to do any more of it than he already has to. Though he doesn’t hate it as much as Joe does, which probably explains why he’s so annoyed about everything happening. Joe's a good guy who'd never abide corruption, especially Family-inspired corruption, but all of this stuff has him drowning in an ocean of work even before the realization that he now has to be even more careful about dotting his "i"s and crossing his "t"s. Still, if the cops who got charged – and cops almost never get charged, so there must be a ton of evidence in play for the DAs to go public with it the way Joe is describing – if they really were corrupt, surely everyone having to be a little careful about doing their paperwork right is a reasonable price to pay...? "Anyway, I'll leave you to it and we'll touch base when this whole Iceman thing is done, okay?"

"You're assuming he's going to show up again," Joe says dryly. "Bar, I know you're used to dealing with metas now, but this guy's a professional. Odds are he's just going to call it a bad job and disappear into the woodwork."

Barry shrugs. "We'll just have to hope that the Kandahq Dynasty Diamond is too much of a lure for him to give up. Can you tell the museum to keep an eye out for the guy?"

"Yeah, sure," Joe says. "We'll station a few guys nearby. I’ll try to get myself assigned a spot if I can and play interference with Eddie if necessary. Won’t be as many people there to back you up as I'd like there to be, but like I said, we're stretched thin."

"Gotcha. No worries. Later, Joe.”

"Later - oh, Barry!"

Barry pauses and looks at him.

"Be careful going after this Iceman guy, will you?" Joe looks serious. "We don't know who Cold might be going after next - and you've got things to hide."

"Don't worry," Barry tells him. "I'll be careful. Besides, like you said, odds are this Iceman guy gives up, right?"

Barry doesn't really think he will, though, and Cisco and Caitlin both agree with him, making a point of keeping a tight watch over the police scanner.

Sure enough, when it starts getting into the late afternoon, there's an alert from the museum - the curator calls in to report someone having taken the intro tour twice, which Barry immediately realizes is super weird (the way any good Central City boy would - that museum tour is notoriously the worst).

The police that Joe got stationed nearby come to check it out and spot D'Angelo hovering around almost at once. The second he spots them, though, he bolts, leaving the police far behind.

"Sounds like you're up, Barry," Cisco crows. "Round two, going up against the Iceman!"

"Sounds like one of your nicknames, Cisco," Caitlin teases as Barry runs into his Flash outfit and starts to head out.

"Pssh, really? Iceman? I could do so much better -"

Still grinning, Barry is at the intersection next to the museum in a flash. He immediately starts looking around for D'Angelo, trying to figure out where he went.

It takes a less than a minute to spot the guy - he's running into a crowded theater where everyone is already spilling out the doors.

"He could be going for hostages, Barry; be careful," Caitlin warns.

Barry nods and runs in after D'Angelo.

The Iceman must not be in great shape, because he only makes it as far as the main corridor of one of the now-empty theater wells before he stops, his hands on his knees, panting hard. Barry runs straight up to him with a cocky grin spreading on his face, thinking that nabbing this guy is going to be a cinch.

At that point, three things happen approximately at once.

First, Barry abruptly notices that the number of people exiting the theater all at once isn't because a bunch of movies just let out, but rather because someone pulled the fire alarm.

Two, it occurs to him that D'Angelo is standing right in the middle of a deserted theater well, which is basically the most obvious possible place that someone suspicious could go stand and wait if a fire alarm’s been pulled, and also that D'Angelo is probably not as stupid as all that.

Three, he's abruptly hit in the side by what can only be described as a rhino made out of freezing cold ice.

Or, rather, by a blast from some sort of cold-blast-producing gun, which he figures out when he catches himself from staggering backwards and looks over at the guy who's casually reclining on one of the theater seats and smirking at Barry.

The man is dressed all in black except for a deep blue parka with an incongruously fuzzy hood pulled up over his head. He's got what must be the gun the cold beam came from on his lap, its muzzle still buzzing with a triangle of bright blue sparks; he’s pointing the gun straight at Barry, just sitting there, casually, with his legs crossed like he's out on a pleasure jaunt.

He's also wearing a mask.

It's a better mask than Barry's, too: a full-face mask with only sculpted curves to show where the nose and mouth and eyes ought to be, all reflective silver like a mirror, concealing everything about this guy’s features from his forehead to his chin. Even the holes for his eyes are covered with glittering silver lenses.

It should look silly, but it actually ends up looking kind of terrifying. Barry can't see anything about the guy that would help him identify him later: no eyes, no jawline, and even his hair color is concealed by the parka.

It doesn't help that Barry's having some trouble making his legs and arm, the parts of him hit by the freeze ray or whatever it is, start working again, which is definitely new. His super-healing should have fixed the damage by now, but for some reason, he's grounded.

Not good.

"Holy crap, that actually worked," D'Angelo exclaims. He's not panting anymore.

Barry's getting the distinct idea that he never was, not really.

"Of course it worked," the masked man drawls, his voice echoing strangely behind the mask. Makes sense, given that there’s no opening for a mouth, but still kind of creepy. "I planned it, didn't I?"

Wow. What an egotistical dick.

Barry wishes he didn't secretly find that sort of confidence kind of attractive. Now is not the time for Barry's weird thing about people being arrogant regarding things they're actually good at.

"Barry!" Cisco hisses in Barry's ear. His voice is distant and tinny. "What's going on? I've lost half of the suit's monitors - are you okay?"

"Are you hurt?" Caitlin asks. "We can't tell from here!"

"I can't believe you made me go on that goddamn tour twice," D'Angelo is saying to the masked man. “I nearly shot myself out of sheer boredom.”

"It got the police’s attention, and the so-called Streak’s, too, didn't it?" the masked man points out, somehow managing to look amused and superior through body language alone. "Everyone in Central City knows that no one goes on that tour twice. Ever. Not even to case the place." He tilts his head, almost like an inquisitive sort of bird. "Did you get the cow story?"

Barry can't help a snort. Everyone always gets the cow story. That's a good 50% of why the tour is so nightmarish.

"He speaks!" the masked man says mockingly. "And that’s very interesting, thank you."

"What's interesting?" D'Angelo asks. "He didn't say shit."

"He knows about the cow story," the masked man says, sounding mildly long-suffering. "That means he was raised in Central. That, or he's a masochist."

"The cow story is not a consensual form of pain for anyone, no matter how masochistic," Barry says, remembering at the last minute to vibrate his voice in order to disguise it. His powers are coming back; good.

"See?" the masked man says. "Central."

"Whatever," D'Angelo says with a sneer. "Getting him this far's all you paid me for, so I'm out of here. Good luck with your little 'plan', asshole."

He storms out.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out," the masked man murmurs, sounding entirely unperturbed by his partner’s (?) departure.

He reaches over to the seat next to him and fiddles with a little box he has there. It looks like a radio or something.

"Barry, what's going on?" Wells demands.

"Not now," Barry hisses, feeling his legs again and using the opportunity to steady himself back into battle-ready position. He looks at the masked man. "Who are you?" he demands. "And what do you want?"

"I think that's my line," the masked man drawls. "Streak. Or do you have another little nickname you and your friends prefer to use?"

Barry goes stiff. "What do you know about my friends?"

"Nothing," the man says, "other than the fact that you just confirmed that you have them."

"He's playing you, Mr. Allen," Wells says. "You need to retreat before he shoots you again."

Barry takes a step back.

"No need to leave so soon," the masked man purrs, his voice still distorted by his mask. "We have so much to talk about - a talk I'm sure you wouldn't want me to be having with anyone else -"

His hand is still on the cold gun.

Given what it did to Barry, with his super-healing, Barry's pretty sure it would kill a normal person.

Is that what this guy is getting at? Is it a threat, albeit a very oblique one?

"So, tell me, Streak -" the masked man starts to say, but he doesn’t get further.

Cisco cuts in then, shouting, "Barry, you need to get out of there! There's police gathering at the exits - they'll be able to get the guy, but if you don't go now, they'll see you!"

Barry takes one last look at the masked man, who's sitting there, smirking, still speaking.

"He's got something planned," Wells says harshly. "It's a trick. Run!"

Barry runs.

He doesn't think he's given anything away, but somehow the masked man figures out what Barry's going to do a split second before he does it, and acts without hesitation. The cold blast from his gun hits Barry straight in the back, slowing him down, but Barry forces himself to keep going.

When Barry finally makes it back to STAR Labs, he's mostly defrosted naturally from the speed and the friction, but he's still deeply disturbed.

"There was a guy there," he reports. "Not a meta - he had some sort of gun -"

"A cold gun," Cisco says, looking sick.

"Yeah," Barry says. "How'd you know?"

"Because I built it."

"What?"

Cisco is full of explanations, apologies, stuttered confessions of how before he’d gotten a chance to really know Barry, he’d been afraid of what Barry was capable of – how he’d figured out that cold was the antithesis of speed and built a gun accordingly – how the gun had been stolen from STAR Labs sometime when he wasn’t looking -

Wells is incandescently angry, and Barry’s not that far behind, more than a little hurt and pissed off about it. How could Cisco think that..? And design a weapon aimed just at him, too!

"It's not like anyone died," he points out, trying to be fair. They can still defeat this guy and get the gun back.

"Still, they could have," Caitlin says. "Pulling a fire alarm at a theater - "

"That's not the point," Wells says harshly. "The only reason there wasn't any collateral damage was because this mystery man was targeting Mr. Allen specifically. Who know what further steps he might take to try to lure Mr. Allen in again, now that his first attempt has failed? Who knows how many people might get hurt the next time around because Mr. Allen couldn’t stop him this time?"

"The police will have gotten to him by now," Barry protests, taken aback by this unexpected attack. If anything, Wells’ criticism hurts more than Cisco’s invention of the gun – it’s not like Barry didn’t try his best to stop the masked man! "He can't hurt anyone when he's in custody, and we can use that to find out who he is."

"I can hack into the police lines -" Cisco starts to offer.

"No need," Barry interrupts, cutting him off. He's still sore about the cold gun, both literally and figuratively. "I know someone who can handle it."

It’s a good thing Felicity is in town for another visit after her first visit got cut short. Barry runs over to her hotel; it turns out that she can, in fact, handle hacking into the CCPD on her laptop, no problem and barely any questions asked, but she can't make something out of nothing, and nothing is exactly what she finds.

"What do you mean, they didn't make any arrests?!" Barry exclaims. "But there was this guy in a mask - he had a gun -"

"I don't know, Barry," Felicity says, shrugging helplessly. "But they didn’t. There's got to be another way of tracking him down, though. Maybe he'll make another try at the diamond?"

She also has a lot to say about Cisco trying his best and building trust, but Barry's less interested in that and more interested in running around the city looking for the masked man, even if Cisco does call him back a few hours later, evening having turned into night, claiming to have come up with a way of tracking the cold gun and directing Barry straight back onto the path of his newest supervillain.

The cold gun’s signature is at the train station.

"Why would he be leaving town already?" Barry demands, wondering secretly if maybe he should let the guy go.

"Because he got what he wanted," Felicity says grimly. She’s at STAR Labs with Cisco now, apparently. "I just checked the security cameras at the museum; there's no diamond in the display case."

Barry tries to run faster.

"Barry -" Cisco starts. "I just wanted to say -"

"Not now," Barry snaps, and turns off the comms. He's got a bad guy to focus on.

The masked supervillain is sitting in one of the deserted waiting areas, watching the last train to depart pull away from the station and start to gather speed. His cold gun is glowing blue by his side.

Barry comes to a stop a cautious distance away.

"Well, look at that," the masked man - Cisco seriously needs to give him a name already, because angry as Barry is at Cisco, he's also getting tired of fighting someone when he has no idea what to call him even in his head - says when he sees Barry. "You're just full of interesting tricks today, Streak."

"And you've got another thing coming if you think I'm going to let you escape," Barry says.

"What, leave? My own city? Never." The guy even has the gall to put his hand on his chest, pretending to be offended.

What an asshole.

"It's not your city anymore," Barry shoots back. He likes bantering with his villains, but he's wary here: this guy is way too calm.

Even if he hadn't turned off his comms, he wouldn't need Wells' whisper in his ear to realize that this has go to be a trap of some sort.

"Even putting aside the fact that you wouldn't really be able to stop me from doing just as I want, I’d be interested in exactly whose city you do think this is, Steak -" the masked man suddenly cuts off and starts to rise from his seat. "The train!"

Barry would normally assume it's just a "made you look" moment that he's - okay, that he's rather notorious for falling for, but he figures he's fast enough to steal a glance.

And it's a good thing he does - the train is derailing.

No!

Barry runs, desperation pushing him faster than he's ever gone before. He zips through the train from the front to the back, pulling people off each car even as the effects of the crash begin to pulse through the train.

Even as he does, though, he knows he's falling straight into the supervillain's diabolical trap. Sitting there in an empty train station, watching the last train leave, and then the last train derails?

Of course Barry would choose to save the people on the train, just like he chose to save the guard at the diamond heist, and that would leave the door open for the villain's easy escape with the diamond.

Barry has to admit that it’s a great plan, in a sick sort of way. You just have to be willing to risk the lives of all those innocent people.

But what can Barry do? Escape or no escape, Barry can't let these people die.

He pulls the last one off and comes to a skidding stop on the near side of the crash. The train is totaled, but at least he prevented anyone from dying -

The blast of cold hits him right in the back.

It's worse this time, stronger, and he falls, twisting forward as the cold beam hits his legs and freezes him to the ground.

It's the masked man.

"How dare you," the man snarls.

"How dare -" Barry starts, utterly confounded and not a little bit enraged. Who the hell does this guy think he is, yelling at Barry? "What?! What the hell are you talking about?!"

"I bet you think you'll get a medal for this," the masked man sneers. "'Steak Saves Train' - or rather, the people on the train, since the train itself is scrap. Is that what you were thinking?"

"I did save the people on the train!" Barry protests. He doesn't understand - why didn't the masked man take his chance to escape? Wasn’t that the point? And why does he seem so angry all of a sudden?

"Makes a man wonder how many of your own stunts you've had planned out in advance," the masked man says. He steps forward towards Barry, his cold gun up at ready - his gait is very strange, his shoulders hunched over and his leg swerving outward like he can't unstraighten it, a lurching stagger that somehow manages to be no less intimidating than a smooth stride would be. "Easy enough to be the hero that way, isn't it?"

Wait - is he saying -

"Are you accusing me of setting up the train to derail?!" Barry exclaims. "Just so I could take credit for rescuing them?!"

"Why not?" the masked man shoots back.

"First off, I don't take credit for anything I do! The biggest news about me is on a blog!" Run by Iris, no less, which Barry still can't believe. All those journalism classes, and she fixates on the one thing he doesn't want her to...

"Starting rumors," the masked man counters. "Laying the base for a big debut - like, say, this one."

"I don't want a debut!" Barry exclaims. "And anyway, you already know that I didn't derail the train - you did!"

"Me?!"

"Yes, you!" Barry shouts. "It was your escape plan, wasn't it? Get the diamond, go to the train depot, then use my distraction from the train derailing to escape -"

"I have no intention of escaping," the masked man says scornfully. "Least of all from you, kid."

"To take the opportunity to shoot me in the back, then!"

"I shot you in the back because I thought you'd endangered the lives of dozens of people," the masked man snaps. "Are you saying you had nothing to do with the train?"

"Of course I had nothing to do with - wait, are you saying you had nothing to do with it?"

"Streak, if I wanted to escape you, I'd just turn off the sensors on my gun," the masked man says dryly. "You know, the ones you used to track me here?"

...crap, that is how they tracked him. A weakness in the gun this guy already apparently knew enough about to exploit.

"But then why were you in the empty onboarding area if you hadn't deliberately missed the train?" Barry demands.

"Because the waiting area at a train station right after a train leaves is guaranteed to be deserted, obviously," the masked man says. "And I didn't want collateral damage if you decided you wanted a fight - do you know how hard it is to find a deserted place in this city?"

...huh.

The guy's not wrong.

"Besides," the masked man continues, "I'm not the criminal here."

Wait.

What?!

"Of course you are! You - you stole the Kandahq Dynasty Diamond!"

"Don't be ridiculous," the masked man says.

"It wasn't in its case! And you have that fancy gun!"

"The case made out of glass," the masked man says, unimpressed. "Which someone could probably break with a heavy wrench if they wanted. Wouldn’t have even needed this gun if I’d actually wanted to take it."

Uh.

That’s…a surprisingly good point.

"The museum was advised to put the diamond back in the safe at night until the threat of theft had passed," the masked man says. "As far as I know, it’s in their store room now."

Barry reaches up to his ear.

"- so sorry, Barry!" Felicity is saying on the comms. "I didn't even think check the store room - he's right, it's in there - I can't believe I didn't run a multi-level, collusive search algorithm to double-check -"

"...oh," Barry says, starting to feel stupid. Okay, yes, he can maybe kinda sorta see how his appearance, plus his comments about not letting the man escape, could be misconstrued into a threat about the train. "But, the theater - you were laying a trap for me!"

"Yes," the masked man says patiently. "Because you're a vigilante taking justice into his own hands. Which is illegal."

Barry gapes at him.

"Oh come on," the masked man says. "You must know that it's illegal. Why would you be wearing a mask if you're not perfectly aware that you're committing a crime?"

Of all the ridiculous bullshit -

"You're wearing a mask yourself! Right now!" Barry exclaims. "What's your reason?"

The masked man shrugs, pulling off nonchalant in a way Barry would love to be able to do. "Oh, I wouldn't, normally," he drawls. "Wasn't even planning on it, but my secretary insisted I take it. I've got a lot of enemies just waiting for me to make myself vulnerable, so she told me that I wasn’t allowed out without one. Wouldn't let up on it until I agreed."

"Are you kidding me?!" Cisco hisses in Barry's ear, and Barry's got to agree with him.

He's met metas who can duplicate themselves and turn into bombs and he himself can run faster than most people can see, and this is still one of the most ridiculous things he's ever heard.

"You have a secretary?" Barry yelps. "You?!"

The masked man puts a hand to his heart again. "Now, now, Streak. I'm offended. Why wouldn't I have a secretary?"

"Because you're a supervillain!"

"Listen, even when I was working as a full-time thief, I would've benefitted from a secretary. A good secretary is worth more than gold - or diamonds, for that matter." The masked man is apparently one-hundred-percent serious. Also apparently some sort of thief-turned-supervillain? "You should look into getting one sometime. It'll make your life so much easier; you won't even know how you did without them."

"Uh, thanks?" Barry says, because what the hell is happening right now. Is he really being given a hard sell on getting a secretary?

"Wow," Felicity says in his ear. "This is like totally how I would imagine those terrible multi-level-marketing Tupperware parties go, but for, like, executive management, maybe? You know what I mean?"

Barry kind of does, but only because Iris was a viciously competitive girl scout who recruited other girls in her own multi-level marketing scheme in her bid to be the most successful girl scout cookie seller in her district.

"Now to get back to the point," the masked man says. "You're going to stop."

"Stop - what?" Barry asks, dazed.

"This," the masked man says, gesturing around vaguely. "Vigilantism."

"I can't stop!" Barry exclaims. "There are dangerous people - someone needs to stop them -"

"Yes," the masked man says. "The police. Ever heard of them?"

Barry cannot believe this is happening. He’s getting lectured on crime-fighting by a freaking supervillain! "You don't understand."

"Oh, I understand just fine," the masked man says. "You've appointed yourself an enforcer of the law, but you think you're above the law. Just like the Families do. Just like corrupt cops do. Well, I won't have it, not in my city."

Barry's starting to get angry now. He puts his life on the line every day to protect people from crazy metahumans, which this guy knows exactly zilch about, and this guy is acting all high and mighty like he thinks Barry's the supervillain?!

"I'm doing good," he says stubbornly, forcing himself to sit up. "I'm saving people's lives."

"For now," the masked man says. "These things always escalate. Always. There's always an easier path to take. And I'm here to remind you that you're not above the law, even if it means I have to -"

"Drop your weapon!" a familiar voice shouts.

Barry and the masked man both turn.

It's Cisco, and Caitlin, and Felicity, and they've got a giant glowing gun in their hands.

"Well, well, well; these must be the friends you were chatting with earlier," the masked man says. "Are we having a party?"

"The only party we're having is one where you're not welcome," Felicity says. "So it's time for you to beat it."

"And why would I do that?"

"This is a new prototype cold gun," Cisco boasts. "Four times the power. So if you don't back off now, you're going popsicle."

The masked man stares at him for a long moment, then glances at Barry. "Are any of you familiar with the law? At – at all? Specifically the part about threats regarding bodily harm and murder being a crime?"

Barry forces himself to sit up, even though the ice hurts. "Says the guy who shot me up with ice."

"Oh, get off it; you’re clearly getting over it already. Also, as it happens," the masked man says, "I'm allowed to do that."

"Of all the hypocritical -" Cisco starts.

"Put your weapons down and your hands up!" someone shouts from a distance.

This voice is also familiar.

Eddie.

Joe's partner, and someone who is very much not in on the whole Flash thing yet. Joe managed to get his patrol assigned to the train station area once Cisco got him the update about where the masked man was, but he was supposed to be keeping Eddie back in check so that they could serve as backup in case things went downhill with the masked man.

For Eddie to be here, interfering, before they called for help – something's gone wrong.

Barry tenses.

"I guess it is time to go," the masked man says, watching Barry. "Wouldn't want this to escalate any further, after all - at least not until I've got proper backup. Be seeing you, Streak. And remember - I'm watching you."

With that, the masked man turns and starts limping off towards the train platform.

Barry shares a bewildered look with Cisco and the others, but in the interests of not getting caught by Eddie, who would almost certainly tell Iris about all of this, he zips everyone back to STAR Labs.

"Why didn't you capture the masked man?" Wells asks when Barry is done recounting the full story and has mostly finished defrosting. “You should have brought him here as well; we could have put him into one of the Accelerator’s holding cells to make sure he doesn’t cause any more trouble.”

"I don't think he’s a meta, though. Or, uh, that he technically committed any crime, I guess?" Barry says. "Well, assault and battery, maybe, but technically Cisco also threatened him -"

"What was that about him being 'allowed', anyway?" Felicity demands, running her hands through her hair to pat it back down. "That part didn't make any sense."

"Unless Mirror-Mask there is just being a really big hypocrite," Cisco offers. He's still scowling.

“Are we calling him Mirror-Mask?” Barry asks, temporarily distracted.

“No, forget it, it’s a terrible name. He doesn’t deserve to be a rip off of a Neil Gaiman movie like that –”

"Going back to the actual subject at hand, we still don't know whether the masked man is -" Caitlin starts saying.

Barry's phone pings. "It's Joe," he says, reading the message. "He's ditched Eddie for the time being and wants to talk to us ASAP. I'll go get him."

The others scarcely notice the few minutes he's gone, if the way they're still arguing over the masked man's motives is any indication.

"I hate it when you do that," Joe says, clutching at his chest.

"You asked!" Barry protests.

"I know I did," Joe says, his face going grim. "That's how you know what I've got to tell you is serious."

Everyone shuts up and looks at him.

"What have you discovered, Detective?" Wells asks.

"Him," Joe says, jabbing a finger at the display showing a picture of the masked man in his blue parka.

"Wait, you've figured out who he is?" Felicity asks, eyes bright.

"Wait - that was Eddie in the train station," Cisco says, realizing. "And since you're partners, that means you were there, too – you arrested him?"

"No," Joe says.

"He escaped?" Caitlin exclaims. "How?"

But Joe is shaking his head.

"But if he didn't escape, Detective, why didn't you arrest him?" Wells asks. His eyes are narrowed. "Surely, at the very least, his attacks on our Mr. Allen would have given you enough cause, if not the derailed train itself..."

"I don't think he derailed the train," Barry offers. "He seemed really pissed when he thought I’d done it. Like, really pissed."

"Still!" Cisco says. "He shot the cold gun at Barry and threatened me. How is that not enough for an arrest?"

"Because," Joe says, looking extremely disgruntled, "it's not actually illegal to use non-lethal force on individuals who are currently violently resisting arrest."

Barry frowns, and he's not alone. "That doesn't make sense," he says. "That would only apply..."

He trails off.

No.

Surely not.

"The masked supervillain is a cop?!" Felicity exclaims. "No way!"

"Oh yes," Joe says. "And more than that, he's not just any cop, either. You've got yourself a full on police captain on your tail, Bar. And like I told you, Captain Cold isn't the type to stop for anything."

"Captain Cold?" Cisco says. "Wait, the internal affairs guy you were telling us about? That Captain Cold?"

"Got it in one," Joe says. "He might be IA, but he’s still a cop; he's still authorized to go after any crimes in progress that he sees. The mask thing’s a bit weird, guess it’s habit from when he worked undercover, but when we ran up to him, he just pulled it off, casual as can be, and explained that he’d been chasing a criminal. And since he outranks me, there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it even if it wasn’t legal."

"Ohhh that makes so much sense. That’s why he's 'allowed'," Felicity whispers, running her hands through her hair. “Right. It’s legal for him to use force to take down a presumably violent vigilante because he’s a cop acting in fulfillment of his duties. Wow, this explains so much...”

"Hold up, hold up," Barry says, still trying to process everything. "Are you telling me that the Head of CCPD Internal Affairs is a supervillain?"

Barry has no idea what to do with that.

Judging by the echoing silence that follows Joe's nod, no one else does, either.

[wristic]

Now You’re a Real Criminal (Part 3)

Pairing: Edward Nygma X Reader Word Count: 2900 Warnings: I feel like Ed being a jerk in an adorable way should be a warning

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3- -Part 4-

The precinct was about as awkward as you imagined. He did, in fact, kill a few people there not a year ago. It was almost comical watching Ed stride in with a smile, relaxed around so many that wanted to choke him. Yet his threats were anything but funny. In a few words the room was helpless under the power of his authority. It was a wonder how awkward and bright you appeared, left behind after he spurred off to the forensics lab. Reluctant to break the screaming intensity of the room, you gave a small cough. Holding the clipboard close, the grumpy detectives Edward had threatened personally snapped their heads to you. With a glee you smiled and introduced your name, and more importantly, “I’m Mr. Nygma’s secretary!” Their glares raised into confused glances toward one another. “I got promoted this morning.” you added with a chipper tone. They both gave an even more confused smile. Jim was the first to cave, holding out his hand with a demeanor so polarized from the way he spoke to Ed. “Uh, Jim Gordon. Is there something you wanted?” “Oh! That’s right!” you gasped, “Mr. Nygma wanted me to collect any files on those hooded people?” “The Red Hood Gang?” Bullock asked, a hint of judging you in his tone. Your whole department should be talking them, with it being attacked by the crooks after all. “Yeah! I think so!”

The two shifted, Jim glancing away in Ed's last direction. When he came back to face Harvey, there was wide-eyed apology there. Harvey’s face fell annoyed but pleading, only for Jim’s face to twist into a sorry frown. Turning back to you with a bright smile, Jim offered, “If you don’t mind miss-”

“No-no-no-” Harvey begged under his breath. “You can follow Detective Bullock here and he’ll give you everything you need.” “Jim! Jim-no-” In a swish Jim was gone, stalking fast to catch Ed. Left alone with the defeated Harvey, you tilted your head in innocent expectancy. Harvey forced a smile before motioning for you to follow. Pattering to keep up, you decided to start some digging. “It’s hard to imagine Mr. Nygma working here. Was he always so… you know,” “Arrogant? Homicidal? A dick?” Holding back a smile you could only offer a nervous, “Uhh-” “No. Ed was a geeky little worm not six months ago. Annoying to boot. Always going off with his riddles…” He grumbled. “Yeah the riddles, what's all that about?" “Who knows. Ed’s always been a little screwy.” He opened the door and gave a little bow for you to come in. Seeing the file room, a chill ran up your spine remembering the graphic details of Ms. Kringle's death. 'Dismembered' was the favored description. Walking down an aisle, Harvey stopped and leaned on a cabinet. “Hey, how did you come into employment with Ed? You seem so…” He struggled to find a way of pointing out you appeared to only have a small fraction of Edwards intelligence. After a pained few seconds he saved with, “Nice!” You smiled wider trying not to laugh, “Thank you! A lot of people tell me that!” “They’re not wrong.” He pointed. “But Ed isn't the type that works well with others. He’s treating you alright, isn’t he?” “Well we’ve been working together for a little while but we’ve never had much interaction before. We would pass off the numbers for the campaign, you know, like all the stuff we have to buy to look good and sell the election. It’s a lot of work and it takes a lot of money. People might think it’s easy but it’s busy-busy all the time! One time, while I was hanging the bows-” “Is he treating you nice? Like, he doesn’t yell at you a lot does he? Or... make you do thing you’re uncomfortable with?” You bit your lips, looking off. Now was your chance. You could whisper how Ed was threatening you into playing his underling. How he was planning to kill people. How he wanted you involved and would kill you if you backed out in any way. Yet, Ed was Chief of Staff and could no doubt hire his own jury. Also he was a murderer and would be overjoyed to kill you on the slightest provocation you weren’t faithful. Down the road, after a lot of careful consideration and set up, you could come out. But right now this one old time detective wasn’t enough to bet on. “Mmmm-nope! He’s no different from any other boss I’ve had!” Harvey hummed to that, looking off almost disappointed. “But I only started working close with him this morning, if I see anything, I’ll know who to call!” Harvey nodded, not taking the veiled cry for help to heart and instead held out the thin folder. Turning the file over, disappointed with the lack of beef, you followed him out. Ed's gravel reached your ears and you lifted the file, waving it childishly, “Oh Mr. Nygma! I got the thingy!” Unimpressed with your act, Ed patted his knees and cheered like you were a little puppy, “Good job! Look at you! Shaping up to be a spectacular employee!” Offended he’d play so petty, it was hard to keep your glare back, the smile straining not to turn into a snarl as he walked by and ripped the file from your hand.

Bare feet kicked up on the couch, you flipped through what little there was to know about the Red Hood Gang and it’s previous affiliations. All the associates were dead, leaving this copy-cat gang dry on leads, even more so on motives. Ed was at his own large desk with maps and pictures and a notepad he scribbled all over when something connected, boiling down the places the gang hideout could be. Peeking at him, it was strange seeing Ed out of his suit and hat. You dare say he looked like a natural born person in a white t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, hair falling in disarray the more he combed through it in frustration. “I find it interesting they’re not a true copy-cat. The group before was nothing but a bunch of bank robbers. Terrorizing the mayor wasn’t exactly on their list.” Ed gave a vague hum. “Makes me think someone hired them, know what I mean, using the icon as a front?” He gave another uninterested hum. “Come on Ed, motive’s important.” Thinking about it you started mumbling to yourself. “Which is why mine is always kind of embarrassing. ‘I did it cause it’s fun.’ isn’t as exciting as ‘I did it for vengeance!’ or ‘I learned it from watching you!’-” “Motive takes a backseat and can be misleading when the evidence comes to surface. It’ll be easier to put everything in place once we find out where they are.” Glancing over his shoulder he pointed out, “If I got caught up in motive I might not have found you.” You tipped up the papers, ignoring his self-bloating. “I don’t know, this has all been really personal. They decapitated his mother for crying out loud.” “They’re thugs. They’ll do anything for name recognition.”

You gave an opposing hum. “Has he pissed anyone off recently?” Edward scoffed, “He was a crime lord that brutalized everyone he had to climb by. There are plenty of criminals who would want him dead or terrorized.” You looked back to the pictures of the past exploits that had nothing to do with Oswald. “This is why motive doesn’t mean much when you gather evidence. Evidence narrows it all down to an absolute, motive is too broad a scope and half the time relies on a gut feeling.”   “Have you pissed anyone off recently?” Edward shot a glare over his shoulder before turning back to his work. “I’m serious.” You chimed. “Did you step on anyone’s toes to get into your position? Maybe someone who would want to make you look weak to Oswald in an effort to get it back?” Ed spun around in his seat, his mouth opening to no doubt demean you in some way. Instead he halted, tilting his head away as he thought allowed, “Butch has been staring me down a lot lately… but it couldn’t be. I know he’s an idiot but to attack Oswald in that way, he would at least know the anger to erupt from Oswald-.” You hopped up excited, stalking and dramatic as if it was your plot. “Would taste so sweet if it turned on you should someone, say, a spurred lackey came to save the day instead.” his features softened in realization. With a smirk you leaned on his chair, teasing with a down-tilt of your giant glasses. “If I were you, I’d throw out the idea of underestimating someone just because you think they’re stupider than you.” His eyes side glanced you, returning the smile. “Still,” He pushed his glasses up and turned back to his map. “Motive means nothing without evidence.” But you didn’t leave, hands still fastened to the chair as you looked off in thought. It started distracting and annoying Edward, making him huff. “Could you go think somewhere else please?” “Is there anything coming up soon? Something with a lot of people or media presence?” “Oswald is having a party and inviting some of Gothams richest.” “Oh the gang is definitely going to hit that party-” “Obviously. That’s what I’m trying to prevent.” Ed grumbled, still agitated with your looming presence. You mocked him behind his back, tipping more to look at the map with black circles and lines all over it. “So what evidence do you have?” “The only thing out of place was potassium-chloride found on the abandoned vehicle.” You started putting your weight on the chair, making its front feet tip despite his weight. Just as he was about to snap at you, you asked, “Like the stuff they use in laundry detergent?” He was struck silent, spinning back to his map and crossing out a few circles before doubly circling a foundry in the Narrows. Sitting back with a clap and a laugh, Ed's voice dripped in satisfaction. “I know where they are.” He shoved the chair back, no mind for your stumbling to not get your toes bashed. “Get your coat!” You tip-toed the cold floor to slip on your shoes by the couch. “Wha-why?!” “We’re going to pay the Red Hood Gang a visit!” You gave a tiny helpless, “What?!”

Deep in the night of the foundry, some lights were on where they shouldn’t have been. You two crept up to the building echoing with distant voices, the car far behind. Edward stood up straight and adjusted his coat as soon as the entrance was at his feet. “You called for back up right?” You whispered, curled up behind him. “Not yet.” “What do you mean not yet!?” You rasped, smacking his shoulder. “I want to ask them a few questions first.” He argued, turning amused by your anxiety over the situation. “You can’t just walk in there Ed! You said it yourself, they’re thugs! They’ll probably get spooked and shoot you on the spot! I know you want to find out what this is all about but you can’t honestly think-” Smiling, he placed a single finger on your lips. “I can never be stolen from you.” You deflated and glared at him. “I am owned by everyone. Some have more, some have less. What am I?” You rolled your eyes with a frustrated sigh. Hands on your hips, you were stern, “What does knowledge have to do with walking into a death trap?” Ed only held his smile, his eyes searching in yours in a dizzy way before tapping your lips and ordering, “Watch, and learn.” With that he straightened his back and waltz headlong into the abandoned foundry. You stuttered a bit, far too frightened with following but came to break, charging in to stand behind him. “Hello gentlemen.” His voice reverberated off the steel walls. Ed held his hands up as they all jumped from their card game and drinking, pulling out weapons. “Easy now, I only want to talk.” He eyed the red masks all scattered on the table and smiled wider. “I see I found the right place.” Guns of every kind pointed at you two, the leader tilted his nose up, “What do you want to talk about?” “The routine. Who you’re working for, what they want, how much I need to pay you to tell me all that such n’ such?” They scoffed among each other. Ed turned to you, “I’m gonna assume you have a couple thousand on you, yes?” Caught off guard, you looked wide-eyed at him, at the men all perked by the sound of currency. You’d ask him how he would know you kept emergency cash on you but, of course he’d know. Finding your character you announced to them, “I do!” With your innocent facade you lifted your purse and pulled out a thick bundle of cash bound in a rubber band. “Probably a couple thousand more if we leave here happy!” Stealing a glance of Ed, wondering if you’d played your part right, you found him smiling gleeful at you. Turning that smile to the goons, he shrugged, “Couple grand doesn’t sound too bad in exchange for some answers… does it.” The leader leaned back to his group, the five huddling and whispering to each other. The guns started lowering as they wrapped up in heated and hushed debate. You clutched the money a bit close like it was your body armor, hoping they’d not realize they could shoot you both and take it. You didn’t realize Edward leaned into your proximity until you felt his breath on your neck. "This might be a pretty nice dynamic.” You gave him a questioning look and he explained with a big smile, “It’s often the woman as the wise guide while the man is a bumbling buffoon. It’s kind of cute we have the reverse of that.” Ed looked back at the five while you seethed up at him. “You know, I honestly can’t tell when you’re insulting me on purpose or insulting me on accident.” Taken back, he countered your glare with an accusing, “Why are you so defensive about your caricature?” The question flustered you, made you shift as you tried to defend, “She’s doing her best, okay, she doesn’t deserve to be mocked by you.” huffing the frustration, you snapped at him, “Just, stop making fun of my persona. I don’t make fun of yours.” Edwards jaw set and the air around him prickled. You stepped on a nerve, and that idea after all this brushed away bickering made your skin cold. “I don’t have one.” He growled. Swaying on your fears, gambling how to treat the situation, you murmured, “That’s not what Harvey Bullock had to say.” “Oh?” The smirk he gave had such a bitter edge you could taste it. “Asking around about me were you?” Ed shifted, looming over you and pointing at your chest like he wanted to rip out your heart. “Now you listen, the man I was before-” An insistent cough grabbed the tension. Ed’s glower crawled to the thugs, chests puffed with consensus. With a last warning look, he pushed his glasses back up and faced them with an impatient smile. “Butch Gilzean.” All your fear rushed out with a hard victorious clap of your hands. “HA! CALLED IT!” A reluctant smile made its way on Ed, some of that angry air slipping. “Two thousand for the name, but... would another five be enough to hire you for myself?” The whole room raised a brow to that. The leader gave an impressed upturn of his lip, “Buddy, for five thousand I’d even tap dance and sing for ya. Though mind ya, the vocals might shatter some windows.” “Noted.” Ed tried to give you the okay to hand over the money but you were hesitant, leaning in and whispering out the corner of your mouth. “Five thousands a lot don’t ya think? I only managed to steal like eight.” That earned you a look of indignity. “We’ll plan to rob a bank when we get home, would that make you feel better?” Your face shifted as you thought. Giving an agreeable shrug you walked up to the big men with big guns, plopping the roll of cash in their hands. Rushing back to Ed, the leader unwound and flipped through the bundle. “They’re all twenties and tens.” He was downright disgusted by the scene. With your cheery ditsy aura, you explained, “Oh! When you pull out a hundred in public, people want to get in your business wondering where you got hundreds. But when you pull out twenties and tens, well that’s business as usual!” The leader hummed in surprise, looking down at the bundle before offering you a flirty smile, “That’s awful smart of you little lady.” You twisted, bashful and cute, finding Ed frowning at you in disbelief. How many times did you break out of character tonight, and they wanted to believe in the ditsy persona instead? A chuckle escaped you at the irony you saw so often, bubbling one up from Ed after he got over the shock.

[nocteverbascio]

what are your intentions (9/10) - rated m

Pairing: Alex Danvers/Lucy Lane Summary:  It was a fun to push each other’s buttons because it not only brought out the best in one another. Both women met their match in one another. Only now, things have changed. And Alex is pissed. A/N: yall wanted to see lucy’s reaction right? okay. 

ao3 link

Alex practically counts the seconds the minute she is back at the DEO. She’d already got a minor scolding from J’onn but it was in the heat of the fight, so it was cut relatively short (no doubt, midyear reviews should be fun). The mission went as well as any mission could have gone with the band of robbers trying to do their worst. With only a few hiccups and cuts and bruises, they managed to apprehend all but one.

For Alex, that was more of a success than she had expected. Kara’s waiting for her to go home and Alex actually can’t wait to go home. And while her mind drifts to the thoughts of what tomorrow is going to bring, there’s a nagging source of anxiety that floods the forefront of her mind.

After coming out to Kara about the whole thing between her and Lucy, Alex knew she had to do something about it. Kara wouldn’t let it drop and she stuck by Alex to make sure that Alex could just stop suffering from not being with Lucy. Her sister had made it sound so easy and simple. Alex didn’t come around until Kara practically forced a pros and cons list.

Every time she thinks of Lucy now, it’s not this constant war inside of her. She wants Lucy. She wants to be with Lucy. And even as she trembles inside, absolutely mortified of being with Lucy like she’s standing at the edge of a cliff, there’s a thrill in the idea of just falling.

She presses her head against the cool metal locker and hisses from the cut above her eyebrow. She’d just finish putting the stitches on those too. She huffs and opens her locker to throw her thigh holster and heels in.

When Lucy stepped onto the floor in her charcoal suit that hugs every slim, finely worked curves of her hips and pants that make her legs go on for days, touching just above her high heels, Alex felt like she was getting nudged closer to the edge of the cliff. Her thoughts were full of Lucy’s presence. Lucy is here. Lucy is here! Now that Lucy is back, she really has to think about what she’s going to say to her. How was she going tell Lucy that she wants more?

God, she really wished that she remembered they were on an open comm. That Lucy had came back early from her mission to hop onto controls at base. And god, she knew she fucked up the minute she turned off her comm.

This wasn’t how she was expecting things to turn out. She didn’t know that Lucy would be back so soon. When she left, Alex didn’t expect her to come back so soon, or at least without notice from J’onn. She was hoping for more time to solidify her plan to lay it all out for Lucy, what to say and how she was going to do it.

Suddenly, there’s a slam of the locker room door opening and clicking of heels. Alex turns her attention to the all too familiar sounds of Lucy’s heels against the floors. She curses to herself because Lucy is standing before her, looking absolutely furious.

And beautiful.

Alex knows it’s an inappropriate time to take in Lucy’s gorgeous sunkissed skin under the white lights, but she feels like she’s actually seeing Lucy for the first time again. The way Lucy’s lips thin and jaw clenches and her eyes darken with gravity. Lucy stares at Alex with a furious intent.

Alex opens her mouth to say something when Lucy huffs angrily and crosses to Alex. She shoves the locker shut with a loud slam that it startles Alex.

Before Alex realizes it, she’s being pushed back against the lockers with Lucy’s lips on hers in a bruising kiss. She unconsciously moans because it reminds her of how good it feels. All of the times they’ve argued and bickered that led to passionate fucking. It definitely feels like the first time all over again.

Alex kisses back as she crumbles back against the lockers, knees giving out on her with how Lucy kisses her. Angrily. Hungrily.

“Lucy--this isn’t--” Alex breathes heavily through the kisses. She can’t keep her focus as Lucy kisses her; she can only focus on how much she wants to kiss Lucy back.

Lucy’s hands roam her sides, gripping her firmly before sliding down her body. “What do you want Alex?” Lucy demands. “Tell me now.”

Alex’s heart stops briefly at how serious Lucy sounds. She can feel the way Lucy’s fingers tense at her waist, exercising restraint until Alex responds. It affects her to the core, the wetness floods between her legs.

She lets out a moan out her approval and guide’s Lucy’s hands to the edge of her dress that’s already high up her thigh. “Lucy....” she sighs out as she throws her head back. “Fuck me.”

Lucy moans against her skin and pushes the dress up to Alex’s hips. She keeps kissing Alex fiercely, trailing her lips down the column of her neck, across her clavicle, to the nape of her neck. She sucks hard without any precedent. Alex shivers and clutches at the lapels of Lucy’s blazer to anchor herself. Lucy lets out a low hiss as Alex grips her tightly but she doesn’t stop.

It feels like Lucy’s hands are all over her body, trying to map out every inch of her body. Alex whimpers at all the places Lucy touches her. Just under her breast. Her waist. The crease at the apex of her thighs. A single hand trails down the back of her thigh and Alex struggles to stand up.

Lucy grabs the back of her knee and hikes her leg up around her waist. Alex groans, falling back hard against the lockers. She shifts and feels Lucy press into her core.

Alex holds Lucy’s head in place as she grinds into Alex slowly and continues to suck at the nape of her neck. She slams her eyes shut as a guttural moan rips from the back of her throat. The thought of Lucy leaving a mark leaves her drenched, rolling her hips against Lucy’s for more delicious friction. Lucy’s left marks on her before, but now Alex desperately wants Lucy to.

Lucy’s hand comes up between them and tugs at Alex’s panties. Alex gasps at way the fabric tightens and rubs against her folds. Lucy grasps at them like she wants to tear them off of Alex. She can hear the material rip.

Lucy lets out a low growl that vibrates against Alex. She doesn’t tear off the panties completely. Instead, she shoves them aside to cup Alex’s mound.

“You like being wet for me?” Lucy rasps out as her fingers press hard between Alex’s folds.

Alex fists Lucy’s dark brown locks tightly. “Uh huh,” she whimpers out weakly.

“You like my fingers fucking you?” Lucy pushes two digits in firmly. She doesn’t move them.

Alex whines, shifting her hips.

“Answer me,” Lucy demands.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Alex answers quickly and Lucy responds by pushing them until she’s knuckles deep inside of her. Alex cries out.

“Fuck,” Lucy curses as she drops her head against Alex’s clavicle to thrust her fingers in and out of Alex’s sopping core. “You’re so drenched. I miss fucking you. Do you miss me too?”

Alex nods, feeling the dampness dripping from her core.

“Do you get this wet for anyone else?” Lucy snarls.

Alex shudders because she can hear it in the woman’s voice. The jealousy. The possessiveness.

“Answer me.”

Alex shakes her head. “Just you,” she breathes out as she clutches Lucy even harder as if Lucy could disappear.  

“Who else fucks you like this?” Lucy groans out. She curls her fingers and presses her thumb against Alex’s clit. She rubs back and forth quickly that Alex’s eyes roll back.

Alex curses. “No one--just you,” she gasps, remembering to answer. She rolls her hips for Lucy’s fingers to go deeper, leg hiking higher around Lucy’s slim waist.

Lucy’s fingers card through her hair before gripping them to force Alex to face her. “Open your eyes.” Alex opens her eyes to meet Lucy’s and she gasps. The intensity of Lucy’s eyes, pupils blown, staring into hers sends gooseflesh rising across her skin. The green practically shines like emerald as she maintains eye contact with Alex. Lucy wants her to know that she's the only one that can fuck her like this.

Alex feels her stomach shudder and walls quiver. “Lucy, I’m close,” she whines. “Please, please, ple--"

Lucy tips her head just enough to kiss Alex. Her kiss is so gentle that Alex inhales sharply. The sensation is starkly different from the way Lucy’s fingers mercilessly fuck her. Alex tugs Lucy’s blazer to pull her in and kiss her fully and deeply. Lucy mewls loudly, almost painfully, into her mouth before deepening the kiss. Their lips slide against one another in a slow dance and explore one another, trying to commit how they kiss to memory.

Lucy breaks the kiss first, breath hot against her face. “Come for me, Alex,” she whispers.

The words echo in Alex’s mind. For me. For me. For me. Alex feels her whole body tense up, the orgasm crashing into her as she obeys Lucy’s quiet demand. She wraps her arms around Lucy’s body to pull her in close and feels Lucy jerk in her arms.

Just like that, Alex feels like she’s falling. The ground beneath her ceases to exist and Alex feels her heart drop to her stomach as she free falls. But she isn’t alone. Her senses are full of Lucy. From the sweet floral scent of her shampoo, to the natural shea butter and coconut body wash, to the rich perfume underneath the stale air from the plane cabin. It’s all Lucy. The Lucy that she’d been fucking for months that she’s already commit to memory.

Alex breathes in deeply and it smells like home.

Lucy kisses her and Alex melts, sighing into the kiss like her body is finally landing on a soft cloud.

Alex opens her eyes and stares at Lucy. She doesn’t look angry anymore. The frustration and jealousy is cast aside and all Alex sees is the uncertainty in Lucy’s eyes as she stares carefully at Alex. There are so many things Lucy wants to say and she opens her mouth to speak, but shuts it to just stare at Alex.

Alex takes in Lucy through her daze. Her heart pounds inside of her because there aren’t too many words that can describe how light and free she feels. A smile crosses her lips. Without even thinking, Alex sighs out, “I love you.”

[fr-owlistuff]

ICCC Character

FR INSPIROBOT CHARACTER CHALLENGE with @talross-fr and @shadowdrac-rising :D :D :D This was so much fun! 

PERSONALITY  

cunning, opportunistic, chaotic neutral/evil, alluring, psychotic, clever, quiet, one-track-mind for some things, observant

‘They were scavengers of forgotten places, burrowing into the dilapidated remnants of civilizations long gone. Their dirt-encrusted hands greedily grasped the dusty doors and pawned at the rotten wood. They left seeds in their wake so that none could follow after them, their figures ghostly and fleeing.’

Belongs to a clan of wandering scavengers who pillage ruins. Those of the clan are half-mortal, half-wraith; descendants of some sort of nature spirit that left the earth long ago (or so they believe). They take whatever riches the ruins might offer them and sing to the plants and to the earth so that they know where to grow and shift; after they depart, the ruins they visit vanish from the face of the earth.

Some ruins are so grandiose that it takes the clan years to strip them of objects and valuables; others are small and only keep them for a day. They sell the objects to wandering merchants or gift them to outsiders who have earned their favor.

 EARLY LIFE

His first memory is of the taste of ashes in his mouth. The clan told him he’d come to them covered in cinders, his cries sharp and echoing in the silent aftermath of the forest fire. He later learned that some of the clan were born and that others were made - how, they were not entirely sure.

He was just a mewling baby when he came to them, and so was placed into the care of a slightly older clan member. For most of his life he would know her as Am‘ryn (sister, soul-friend, blood of his blood), but others called her Lyrrae.

He was not unlike a clumsy puppy at the time as he followed his Am’ryn through the thick foliage and between the ancient slabs of stone, his small legs struggling to keep pace. She’d look back at him and would struggle to keep from laughing as Vaschel carefully patted the vines away from his path so as to not damage them.

Lyrrae taught him the songs of their clan and watched as he struggled to pronounce each word and follow each cadence. She gently corrected him when he stumbled and stuttered, but at the end of the day they joined the clan in their singing amidst the firefly-infested clearing, hands clasped together and love intertwined into the movements of their joyful, chaotic dance.

Years later Vaschel started following his Am’ryn into the depths of the ruins, so deep into the earth that light became a distant memory. For a little while he lived in the darkness, guided only by the voice of his Am’ryn as they burrowed into the depths. Sometimes they found age-old mummies, sometimes they found fresher bodies, usually of bandits and grave robbers that had been slain by Vaschel and Lyrrae’s clan. They spent months in the darkness, stripping the ancient buildings down to the very bones and relying on each other to survive.

It was on one of those long journeys into the underground that Vaschel first glimpsed the lie woven into his life. His Am’ryn had been tense all day, mouth pulled tightly shut and eyes dark. Vaschel noticed with a pang of dread that she’d barely even glanced at him as they began their descent. It was three days into their journey when his Am’ryn finally sat him down, looking so weary that her shoulders dropped down. She told him a story then, her story.

‘I was a hunter before. While others ransacked and retrieved, I stood watch over our camp and fought off or killed intruders. I was also tasked with hunting down creatures we called Arvors. They were spirits made flesh, creatures born out of earth in places where either great tragedy or great happiness had occurred. You see, the trees and the earth, they remember, and while we are their children, we are also other, mortal. These creatures… They were wilder, unpredictable, filled with and controlled by whatever memories and emotions had brought them to life. So we killed them before they had a chance to grow as we believed was our right. That is, until our numbers began to dwindle, so much that we were quickly heading towards extinction. The elders decided that we’d adopt these creatures into our midst instead of killing them, at least until they gave us a reason to destroy them. They gave each of the adopted Arvors a Warden who would monitor them, raise them and report back to the elders… Which is how I got to be your Am’ryn, sapling. And I… I have grown to love you so much. Which is why you must run now.’

He hadn’t understood at first, but when the steely blade barely grazed his neck he was quick to put some distance between himself and his Am’ryn. He doesn’t remember crying, but he must have. He sprinted his way through the darkness, ducking and jumping over obstacles, his breathing too loud in his ears for him to be aware of Lyrrae scarce feet behind him, sword carefully tucked into its scabbard. She caught up to him not long after that, ramming into him from behind and making him fall. He quickly turned around, but his Am’ryn was quicker and Vaschel screamed in agony when she pinned his leg to the ground with her dagger. He couldn’t see the way she flinched or how she took a step back from him as if he had hit her. He could only feel the agony racing up his leg and somewhere between a heartbeat and the next something in him cracked.

The following memories are enshrouded in a fog he can’t pierce. He vaguely remembers a struggle and an unfiltered, frothing rage within him accompanied by a feeling of betrayal. When he comes to he’s looking down at his Am’ryn’s eyes and she’s smiling up at him and there’s so much love in them he recalls being left breathless as another kind of pain bloomed in his chest. He remembers the thin trail of blood running from her mouth and she was so tired, but so happy.

And then her eyes dimmed and she died, and a part of Vaschel died with her.

‘I loved you, sister, but it was not enough.’

  AFTER THE ESCAPE

He never returns to the clan after that. Maybe because of the lack of mortal connections, Vaschel becomes more like the wraith the elders accused him of being. He phases in and out of existence, sometimes a shadow, sometimes an older boy lost in the woods. He wanders away from the forest in an attempt to escape his former clan’s hunters, and stumbles into the mortal settlements. They are foreign to him at first, but he sticks to the shadows and quickly adapts to his new surroundings. He observes and learns from mortals’ behaviors, finding a twisted sort of delight in the way they create their own misery.

He never expected to fall in love.

The boy is a study in sunlight and kindness. Vaschel literally stumbled into him as he was walking down the streets, pockets full of gold coins from selling his latest relic. The boy almost fell over, but Vaschel reached out to steady him. There was a quiet ‘thank you’ and Vaschel caught the edge of a gentle smile and simmering amber eyes before the boy was gone around the corner. Hours later Vaschel genuinely laughed when he found his pockets a few coins lighter.

He found the boy again days later, and curiosity got the better of him as he watched the amber-eyed boy go door to door. He was delivering bread, he’d found out later, and it had probably been bought with his own stolen gold coins. Before he could help himself he’d approached the boy, and an amused grin stretched his lips when the boy paled at the sight of him.

‘I mean you no harm,’ he’d told the boy, and wove compulsion into his voice, feeling satisfied when the boy relaxed.

He wanted only to assuage his curiosity, but the more he learned, the more he wanted to know. He kept his distance from the boy, whose name was Sorin he later learned, but made sure they crossed paths once in awhile. He kept an eye out for him, and once hunted down a group of petty thugs who thought the small boy had encroached in on their own territory and wanted to teach him a lesson.

Unfortunately for the amber-eyed boy, this gave Vaschel an idea.

He waited for the cloak of darkness before venturing out into the streets. He knew the way to the boy’s house by heart now, and arrived just in time to see the flames devour the building. Already a crowd had gathered a safe distance from the burning building, but Vaschel moved between them unnoticed. He took a step, two, and vanished into thin air.

Vaschel found the boy unconscious by the door, flames eating at his pants and sleeves. Unfazed by the fire around him, Vaschel crouched down and blew out the flames eating at Sorin’s skin. The boy was feather-light in his arms as he picked him up, and vanished them both from the inferno eating up part of the city. Vaschel never gave a second thought to the other lives lost that day.

When Sorin came to Vaschel was sitting across from him and the boy’s lovely amber eyes found his own immediately. Something akin to alarm flashed in their depths. Sorin sat up, wincing at the burns in his arms and legs. ‘What do you want?’

Vaschel had to smother a grin - the boy was not as unaware as he had first appeared. He’d noticed the strangeness of the interactions between Vaschel and himself, and had drawn his own conclusions. The trickle of fear apparent in his posture only made Vaschel’s amusement grow tenfold.

‘Now that you owe me your life, I propose a deal.’

  NOW

Vaschel haunts the border between forest and mortal settlements, venturing into one or the other when it befits him. Sometimes he wanders farther away into deserts or coastlines in search of ruins or ancient battlefields to plunder, ones he knows are too far away from any kind of woodland for his former clan to find interesting. He does business with many merchants and nobles, but his most reliable business ‘partner’ is Oleksander, a wandering merchant that knows far more than he leads to believe; he has the common sense to never ask a favor of Vaschel, and Vaschel respects him for that. Although he wouldn’t mind keeping Oleksander for a time…

A tiny round vial hangs from his neck and he touches it lovingly when distracted. Inside is his most precious acquisition: an amber-eyed thief with too much kindness and too little common sense.

 NOTES:

The forest fire in which Vaschel was born was the one that destroyed the Blacktalon Witches, hence his birth.

The scavengers clan can collectively phase out of existence and teleport long distances, hence why they never have to leave the ‘forest’ to search for ruins. They teleport from one forest to the next.

[zephfair]

FF7 ficlet pre-Cloud/Seph AU

I’ve been wanting to write something for @owmyhearteries because she is just very incredibly amazing both as a writer and an artist and I crush on her from afar so hard, but all I have to offer is this little ficlet. I was inspired by a post you reblogged. I hope you enjoy this very humble, silly offering. I AM SO SORRY FOR FAILING YOU IN THE PROMPT MEME!

Sephiroth was kneeling behind the counter, trying to get the glasses sorted back into some kind of order, when he heard the creak of the saloon doors swinging.

“We don’t open until noon,” he called out then swore under his breath when boots stepped forward anyway. “I said, we’re not open.”

He got to his feet irritably and noticed three things immediately—first the barrel of a tiny single-shot pistol pointed at him, followed quickly by numbers two and three: the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen above a faded bandana.

Sephiroth’s hand was reaching for his trusty rifle under the bar without thought but he stilled when the robber’s gun twitched and he said, “P-P-Please sir, hands up.”

Sephiroth smirked and didn’t move. The kid—it had to be a kid, he was head and shoulders shorter than Sephiroth and rail-thin, possibly underfed, only his voice deep enough to hint that he was an older teen—was shaking hard enough that the gun was visibly trembling.

Sephiroth had already noted the rust and dirt on the tiny pistol pointed in his direction. He had no doubt he could dodge the only shot, be over the bar and overpower the kid in a heartbeat—if the poorly cared-for weapon didn’t misfire and take off the young man’s hand. And that would be a true pity.

“Please, sir, just put your hands up. And give me all your money,” the kid implored again.

Sephiroth slowly slid his hands up to shoulder height then stopped, asking, “Now how can I do that?”

The kid’s head tilted for a second then he tossed an old feed sack on the counter and grasped the tiny gun with both hands, but it only seemed to shake more. “Fill that up. Please?”

“No,” Sephiroth said patiently, “how exactly am I to put my hands up and then give you the money? I’d have to put my hands down again, and then you might shoot me.”

The kid’s eyes widened then squeezed shut as though he was rapidly trying to think. Or, Sephiroth thought, when the brilliant blue eyes reopened with fire in them, maybe Sephiroth’s insolent attitude was getting to him.

“I’m a r-r-real bad m-m-man, honest,” he growled, or tried to, sounding about as vicious as a kitten attempting to attack a mountain lion.

Sephiroth let his eyes widen and slid his hands over to pull his shirt collar closed in an exaggerated manner. “Should I be worried about my virtue then? Just how bad a man are you?” he purred, and he could literally see the sweat pop out on the kid’s forehead and cheeks as his eyes grew huge.

Sephiroth suddenly understood Angeal’s irritating and totally unexplainable tendency to coddle Zack when he was training the apprentice. This boy was amusing Sephiroth greatly, and he was, in fact, rather as adorable as a kitten.

“Sir, p-please, just give me the money,” the boy begged, voice tremulous again.

“But, as I told you, we’re closed. And I’m afraid I haven’t been to the bank yet this morning, so I have no money,” Sephiroth explained carefully, eyes now trained on the gun’s up-and-down and side-to-side motion as the boy swayed a little. “I suppose you could take it out of me in other ways.” And with the graceful motion that left every woman—and frankly, most of the men—speechless, Sephiroth tossed his head and pulled his glorious hair around over one shoulder.

He was sure the kid bit off a moan.

While they stood there at an impasse, Sephiroth cataloged the kid’s clothes—very poor and threadbare but carefully mended; the concealing bandana—also faded but at least one hole had been darned in tiny stitches; and the large, wide-brimmed hat that couldn’t totally conceal some light blond hair peaking out around the edges. The kid would be a knock-out if he had some weight and muscle on him. And some basic gun safety, Sephiroth mused, as the kid used the back of the hand holding the gun to distractedly wipe at the sweat on his forehead.

“Wherever did you find that gun? It looks like an antique woman’s piece, more for a last defense than an armed robbery. Have you ever even fired it?” Sephiroth asked.

The kid cradled it to his chest before remembering he was supposed to be using it as a threat. “It’s my ma’s gun. We don’t have no need for pistols, but it’s sure easier than carrying my rifle in here,” the kid said, eyes blazing again and voice firm with the passion that was starting to enchant Sephiroth.

There was little real passion in the town anymore, since Shinra had finally pulled out. The company typically moved into a settlement, took over the mining operations and got rid of any competition that dared raise its head. Then they took over all the land, rented it to the settlers for a premium and moved on once they’d stripped all the resources they could.

Sephiroth had moved back to Midgar after he’d finally gotten out of the Shinra’s private army, or as the company publicly called it, the company militia.

The town had already been pillaged by Shinra and was only slowly finding its own way now that it was free. But no one in Midgar or anywhere else had ever caught Sephiroth’s eye with such a mixture of bravado and sheer ballsiness. This kid was capable of a lot more.

“Won’t your ma be missing the gun? Or is she in charge of your gang? The mastermind of your robberies?” Sephiroth teased.

The gun suddenly leveled out right between his eyes as the kid stepped forward. “Don’t you talk about Ma like that,” he ground out. “She’s sick and I promised I’d bring her some medicine. Now, put whatever money you got in the sack. Sir.”

“I told you, I haven’t been to the bank yet. You’re welcome to wait here until we open at noon,” Sephiroth said. And then with an uncharacteristic sting of guilt, he said, “I’m sorry I joked about your ma. I hope she gets well soon.”

The kid nodded then shook the gun at Sephiroth. “Don’t you have any money hidden away?” he asked. “I ain’t waiting around.”

“I could give you something,” Sephiroth murmured, meeting his eyes again, but the flirting went over the boy’s head. “Why don’t you have a drink? On the house. It’ll settle your nerves.”

The boy twitched then shrugged. Sephiroth reached for the cheapest, roughest bottle of rotgut that he had, the homemade moonshine he only served to the poorest miners looking for the quickest drunk. Or when he wanted to strip the varnish off the bar counter to refinish it.

He poured a shot and slid it toward the boy. The kid reached for it with his free hand, tugging the bandana down with the hand that still held the gun. “Thank you, sir,” he said and Sephiroth almost cooed. The boy’s slightly rounded cheeks were colored with a rouge of embarrassed pink, and his lips were perfectly formed. Sephiroth had known it would be so.

He leaned an elbow on the bar and rested his cheek in his hand as he watched the spectacle. The kid had probably never had anything as potent and certainly never anything as rough. It was a good thing the kid slung it all back at once quickly, before the alcohol could curl his nose hairs, but he was obviously not ready for the punch.

His eyes met Sephiroth’s as they began to water, and Sephiroth smirked as the boy’s Adam’s apple worked, apparently caught in the terrible decision of whether to swallow the burning alcohol or spit it back out. Sephiroth admired his courage to swallow, even when he gasped loudly and panted. “Holy jumpin’ Jehoshaphat,” he croaked and coughed, and it took him two tries to get the shot glass back onto the bar with a clunk.

“Guess you don’t drink much,” Sephiroth drawled, not moving as the boy used the bandana to wipe his eyes and face, still moving the gun around as if he’d forgotten about it. “It’ll put hair on your chest.”

“I don’t need hair on my chest,” the boy snarled between coughs.

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you are such a bad man,” Sephiroth teased again. “If you stay here, I could definitely make a man out of you.”

That seemed to get through to the boy whose face blushed all over into a blossom pink that Sephiroth suddenly longed to touch. “Just, please, give me whatever you got so I can be on my way,” the boy said.

And Sephiroth sighed at all the things he could say in response when a loud shout from one of the early morning carters rang out from the street. The kid jumped and the gun swerved toward the doors like he’d just remembered it.

Sephiroth realized he’d better stop while he was ahead before the boy accidentally hurt someone or himself.  Or before someone else barged into the saloon and mistook the situation and tried to hurt the kid.

“The till really is empty, but here.” Sephiroth shook out his pockets and found a little over $3. He slid it onto the bar then ducked underneath to find the lunch that the boardinghouse lady’s daughter always wanted to press on him whenever he had plans to start work extra early.

He pushed the basket toward the kid, too, and watched the boy take a deep breath as if he could smell the delicious leftovers through all the wrappings. The kid probably was half-starved, Sephiroth thought.

“I’m sorry I can’t help with the medicine, but if you try the general store—”

“No,” the boy interrupted with a frenzied head shake. “They weren’t no help. I’m sorry I had to do this, sir, I really am. And when I get us back on our feet, I’ll pay you back, I swear.” He scooped up the money, shoved it into a pocket then picked up the basket with something more like reverence.

“Just run along home,” Sephiroth said. “And put the gun away. You don’t want someone to see and get yourself in trouble.”

The kid stopped and looked back at him then smiled a smile that made Sephiroth wonder if he had accidentally been shot in the chest from the way the warm feeling spread through him. “Thank you, sir,” the boy said.

He bumped into Zack who picked that moment to careen wildly through the swinging doors in his usual manner. “Oops, sorry, about that! You okay?” Zack asked. “Hey, didn’t I see you earlier in the… okay he’s gone.”

Zack ambled up to the bar where Sephiroth was just standing. “Didn’t think you were open yet.”

“I’m not. Zack, do you know that boy?”

“No, but I saw him earlier in the general store. Mr. Lockhart was arguing that he couldn’t give out any more flour or supplies on credit, certainly not any medicine, that’s much too expensive to trust a little shit like you,” Zack said, impersonating the gruff old shopkeeper’s voice.

“Do you know of any blond settlers around here?”

“I think there’s some up the mountain, in that little settlement they call Nibelheim.”

“Nibelheim,” Sephiroth repeated, mind whirling. “I remember it, five or six families, up in the middle of nowhere. They get snowed in at least five months a year. This might be the earliest I’ve seen one of them around town.”

“Huh, it was a rough winter,” Zack agreed. “So what was that kid doing in here?”

“Robbing me.”

“Robbing you?” Zack yelled and Sephiroth had to smirk at his reaction. “Didn’t he know who you are?!”

“Obviously not.”

“Wow, that’s just… wow.” Then Zack perked up with a grin. “Should I go get Angeal and Genesis and raise a posse? We can find him in no time!”

“No,” Sephiroth snarled and Zack had the good grace to look sheepish. “But I do want you to go after that boy and stop him—gently, no violence—just detain him and bring him back here before he rides out of town.” Sephiroth yanked his apron over his head and vaulted the bar. “Meanwhile, I have to go see Mr. Lockhart and explain the good sense of helping to keep potential customers alive during a harsh spring.”

“Will do,” Zack rushed out of the bar and Sephiroth allowed himself a little grin.

He would do whatever it took to get in the boy’s good graces and get his mother well so that he could convince them to move into Midgar proper. Then Sephiroth would enjoy taking it out on the boy and teaching him exactly what it would take to be a man.

(And then Zack dragged Cloud back to the saloon by the scruff of the neck, kicking and hissing like a furious kitten, but Sephiroth had all the supplies Cloud needed for the village loaded up in a borrowed wagon, including the medicine for his ma. And Cloud had hearts in his eyes as he delivered the much-needed supplies, so as soon as his ma got better, they moved down the mountain to Midgar where Cloud worked off his debt as an odd-jobs boy. But his favorite duties were helping out the blacksmith Mr. Hewley (which mostly involved sitting on a barrel quietly out of the way while Angeal beat on those long, hard steel rods with his shirt off, all sweaty except for the leather apron) and his assistant Zack (who taught him all kinds of things about being a better potential outlaw). But his favorite times were spent with Sephiroth either helping out in the saloon or finding an empty field and learning all about how to properly shoot and care for his weapons.

And then there was the time that Cloud lost a bet to Aerith and had to wear the costume Aerith had just conveniently “borrowed” from the Honeybee Inn brothel and serve in the saloon, but that worked out okay because he ended up spending most of the night on Sephiroth’s lap while he played poker with his friends and serving him drinks exclusively. And although all the saloon regulars begged Sephiroth to tell them where the “little lady” had run off to, she was never seen there again, much to Cloud’s delight and Aerith’s disappointment.)

[mybukz]

Fiction: The Home of the Heart by Syazwan Sharani

Image by Peter Lloyd on Unsplash

About three months ago, while I sat in my office chair typing a letter to finance, I felt a severe throbbing pain in my chest. Then my surroundings shrivelled into a blur, and the next thing I knew I was on the floor, unconscious. I woke up in a hospital bed,b barely conscious of my sobbing mum, a few colleagues whom I’d exchanged files more than I did words, and Dr. Kumar telling me that my heart had failed and if I didn’t get a donor by the end of January, it was going to be the end of me. It was a hereditary condition, and my mum broke down in tears as she spoke of my late aunt (before I was born into this world) who fought the same battle. Mum and I tried everything to secure a heart but the list was excruciatingly long, and even if the universe had cramped the stars into stellar constellations, still I would never get a heart by January’s end.

Desperate, mum resorted to a powerful shaman that had healed a malfunctioning kidney of a friend of hers, just few weeks prior. The shaman stood by my hospital bed, threw tiny pieces of buffalo skull on my palm, and told me that I possessed the spirit of a wild animal; that I would survive, and help was already on the way. A week later, two women with dark robes from a remote village in Indonesia turned up at the hospital, and it was revealed to me that a distant, estranged relative who was dying was going to provide me with a heart. I never knew we had Southeast Asian roots in our blood, and when I asked my mum, she was silent. The operation went fine, and Dr. Kumar said he had never seen a donor’s heart match a recipient so well in the span of his career, like mine did, and it was like the heart had really been mine all along.

I was allowed home the next month, and Dr. Kumar, mum, and everyone kept assuring me that I should be feeling fine, but deep down I wasn’t. I felt less and less like myself ever since I got the new heart. I despised the skin I was walking in, my brown curls, and even my thin nails; I hated seeing them every time I looked in the mirror. I felt like they weren’t me. I ate steak more than I ordinarily would, but they tasted weird, marinated and cooked on a stove, before I realised it had been the red meat that I really wanted. That day my mum went out on the lawn to speak with a friend on the phone, and on the counter were raw meat and salmon from the store. When she turned to the neighbour’s fence, I pounced on the counter, tore the meat with my nails, and devoured them manically, like I hadn’t eaten in weeks. They tasted so good. When she came back, I told her Shamby, our old retriever, had eaten them. I felt bad that Shamby had to sleep outside that night.

I dreamt of woodpeckers making wild sounds in the woods and the noise of tambourine playing a very poignant ancient tribal tune that night. I felt like they were somehow trying to call me. Tangled in sweat and fed by the adrenaline in the dream, I took my clothes off and hit the shower. As I massaged my head, I began to realize that my brown curls were shedding under the jet of water, and soon the tub, sink and the bathroom tiles were flooded with hair from my body. I stared at my bald, hairless self in the mirror. I looked closely and saw that not only had all hair gone from my body, uniform brown spots had developed all over my skin, and I now looked like I was wearing the skin of a feline. I’d always had soft features but now my cheekbones and jaw had become sharp and pronounced. I remember trembling in front of my mother’s door, so close to waking her up to rush me to the hospital, but I got so terribly scared that I didn’t. I quietly entered her room and rummaged through the drawer that in my twenty-five years of my life I had never dared to open, but I knew that part of the answer had to be there. In there were antique brooches—some her favourite, some she’d never worn, polaroids dating back when I wasn’t even born, and a few carefully kept files. I took out the green file that looked the most recent. I knew where I had to go now. Lampung, Indonesia. That must be where the two Indonesian women in dark robes were. The ones who had provided me with the heart. Perhaps they knew what was going on with me.

I kissed my mother on the cheek for one last time, got back into my room, panting like I had been chased by a robber, and stuffed whatever item that was five feet away from me into the tiny trolley luggage. I remember packing my brown blanket, a couple of tissue packets, the green file that I had taken, a pair of sweat pants and an oversized shirt that I had repeatedly worn for the last two weeks straight. I looked over at the short dresses and silhouettes hanging in the wardrobe, neither of which I had brought along. Somehow, I knew I was never going to take them out and have them placed on my skin ever again. I was about to book a ticket on the phone, but my trembling fingers wouldn’t allow me to tap on a single screen function. They were growing unnervingly sharp as I poked them on my skin. I called the airline instead and got the first flight to Lampung in the morning.

I was in an oversized black hoodie and donned a pair of wide shades that went above my brows. The brown spots dotting my face were choked with layers of compact that nobody would take notice of them, at least if they didn’t stop to look twice. I could be perceived as nothing out of the ordinary, if I was lucky. I sat at the circular window, next to a gentleman in a business suit, who was too engrossed in his Sudoku to take note of my suspicious spots. I was too on edge to sleep in the four-hour flight and was nervous in my seat, few steps away from biting my bottom lip off.

I remember dozing off the last 10 minutes before landing, before I was jolted awake by the creak of the storage door above my head. I panicked and needed to get out of the plane and storm my way to the village as soon as I could. I accidentally launched my shoulder into the back of the gentleman in the business suit. Even from his back, I could imagine his smug face. As he was about to turn to face me and express his dissatisfaction, all of a sudden, the only thing I saw smeared across his face was shock, as if his face had been wiped by the cloth of the grim reaper’s cloak. “What…what is that?” His fingers pointed at a place slightly above my forehead. Even though he struggled with words, the horror upon his face was enough for me hear what he was trying to say. I turned towards the black TV screen on the seat in front of me, and caught a glimpse of my face that I had never seen nor I thought I would see in my life.

Two tiny antlers sprouted from my temples like some twigs poking up soil, and my eyes were a black, hollow universe unrestricted by boundaries, blacker than it had ever been. I dashed past all the other passengers and aircraft crew, who looked with horror, springing past them like a wild animal. Each nudge I forced on any human arm that was in my way landed them on the floor or slammed hard against the wall of the plane. I never recalled being this strong. I was sure that I took a small leap, but now I found myself across the stairs of the plane, on the tarred runway. As if orchestrated by a supernatural force that was welcoming me home, spirals of dark clouds began sending the sun away, and contained me under a gloomy choreography of a thunderous rain, intertwined by the most chilling wind. I could feel whatever toner and powder I had smeared across my body melting away into the rain puddles. I took my hoodie off and whatever else fabric wrapping my body. There I stood, stark naked in the rain, wearing nothing but the brown spots on my skin and the tiny antlers crowning my head. My heart reverberated, as if it had picked up a call. I looked up, and saw a dark forest growing out of the horizon of the thunder and rain-splattered sky, I ran towards one end of the runway. as if it was where my heart really belonged; and I could feel it pumping stronger and stronger as I stormed through the rain. As I was just a few breaths away from the forest, there they were, the two figures in dark robes whom I figured were the two Indonesian women at the hospital. The ones who had brought me the heart I was carrying now.

“What did you do to me?” lips trembling, I asked them.

Only one of them spoke, while the other remained silent. “We did nothing to you. We only put the thing back where it belongs,” she placed her two tough fingers on my chest, and tapped rhythmically on my heart.

“Welcome back, Namybia. Come, we have to get you home,” she said.

Both women unveiled their robes and I could see the same brown spots dotting their skins, same black eyes and similar antlers on their temples, albeit much longer and tougher-looking than mine. The two of them crept on all fours on the ground. I followed suit. The three of us sprung into the dark dwelling in the woods, together on all fours, like a troupe of hyenas in a hunting rage, under the solemn dark sky, and disappeared into the woods, forever.

*

Syazwan Sharani is a practitioner of story-telling on paper, penning on selected occurrences and encounters trapped in my arena of thoughts. His work is heavily inspired by Neil Gaiman, Lemony Snickett, Laika movies, and words left by a kind stranger on the last page of his journal that he cannot disclose.