#Part 11

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hey can I request more from passion for fashion. Maybe with Dan and Danny meeting bane or something? And like maybe realizing that he's their uncle in this universe? Ohh or maybe they don't realize that and just think he's some guy who seems really fond of them and has decided they are his to protect, he could possibly be acting as their neighbor for the time being?

Dan wakes in the most comfortable bed he's ever slept in for the last two decades. A sluggish feeling of laziness comes with that feeling of comfort, so he nearly gives in and closes his eyes again for another nap.

But at the last second, his eyes snap open, and he wills himself to fight against the feeling. His body rebels against his command, trying to go back under, but Dan will not yield. He recognizes the feeling.

Someone is trying to force him into slumber. He may be a dead man walking, but he is no one's helpless prisoner. Reaching deep within himself, Dan grasps around the parts that make him a ghost and warps his form with the burn of his ice-fire.

A familiar sensation washes over him, an ice-fire that builds around his chest and expands down his limbs. It's slightly bothered by the bomb strapped to his core, but it's not enough to stop Dan from burning away whatever they had done to him.

Unlike the drug that the kidnappers gave him a few weeks ago, whatever is in his system isn't overly harmful. It appears that it was intended to put him to sleep so he could actually get it out of his body.

He hasn't shifted into his ghost form the entire time he has been in this universe. It wasn't for the lack of trying, but Clockwork had likely (correctly) assumed that Dan wouldn't help Batman's humanity if he refused to be in his human form, so he locked it near the bomb, and if he tugged on his ghost powers too much, it would trigger the boom.

Dan isn't sure if Danny had the same problem; he never bothered to ask and figured that if he gave a white lie about the multiple cameras everywhere, Danny would be cautious enough not to "Go Ghost" so the idiot wouldn't explode.

The last of foreign sustenance fades into nothing within himself, and the world is suddenly clear. He can concentrate on his surroundings now, frowning at what he saw.

Dan is in a large, luxurious bedroom, fit for a king, with sleek furniture and a black and red color scheme. It resembles a room a villain would use in a modern drama, which is tacky and completely lacking any personal touch.

He was lying on an Alaskan King bed with curtains hung up on the bed frame. To his right is a large screen TV, taking up nearly the entire wall, and various gaming systems are placed underneath it- he's seen some in his fashion trends research. He figured he should know what settings made his outfits pop and what sort of lighting would affect the visual appeal of the fabric. He never had the desire to even touch the gaming systems, though.

To his left is a strangely organized copy of his studio, featuring various mannequins, fabrics that most of which have cost a fortune, and a really nice-looking design table. What really caught his attention, however, was the multiple storage organizers stacked on top of each other: he could spot multiple buttons, threads, glitter, cutting devices, and who knows what else.

It was like a fabric store threw up on that side of the room.

Dan's fingers twitch with the urge to go over there and explore the studio. He dislikes the tidiness; it looks like a museum, and he struggles to work with things in order. He thrives on chaos, and someone completely disregarded that.

A direct insult to his obsession.

Scowling at the studio, now only seeing it as an insult at best, a pathetic attempt to bait him into staying in his cage at worst, Dan leaps to his feet. He feels around the walls, searching for a door. It might be out of sight, since this room had no windows or doors, but there has to be somewhere in and out here.

His fingers run across all the walls, but he does not feel any indents that show there is a doorway. Huffing Dan decided to make his own. Pressing his lips to his right knuckles in a quick kiss for good luck, Dan lets it fly as fast and hard as he can at the wall.

The moment his hand makes contact with the wall, spider-like cracks spread across the surface, followed by a loud bang. The cracks scatter across the surface before it crumbles, falling down like broken cards.

He finds himself looking into a long, dark hallway, with no visible guards. Dan is more insulted that they thought they didn't have to put him under surveillance, so assured that they would not be able to get out of the room.

He steps over the whole, shaking out his fist a little. That was steadier than he was expecting, but nothing he couldn't handle. He looks left, then right, wondering which direction to go.

If Danny were here, he likely would go towards the right, where a spark of light was visible. The brat would justify this decision with an explanation that there was likely a sign indicating the exit. They needed to escape, to regroup, gather information, and only then would they fight the people that did this to them, Danny would say.

Dan goes left.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Danny bolts upwards with a scream of frustration, leaping from his bed and pointing in the general direction his counterpart was known for working on his fashion. "Dan, I know you're doing something stupid! Cut it out!"

It takes him a moment to notice something odd. The first, Danny is cold, which hasn't really happened since coming to Gotham. Yes, it was cloudy, and it rained more, but this felt like he stepped into a freezer instead of walking around Gotham.

The second is the bright light flashing in his face. It's not like they didn't use the lights in their Gotham house, but Dan had so many fabrics flung everywhere in the house that it tended to interfere with the brightness.

And the third, he was not currently pointing dramatically down the hallway of his temporary residence, but instead, he was pointing at a large glass wall. Behind the glass was a man dressed in the weirdest outfit he's seen so far.

A mask with twin peaks at the top and a long cape covered his body like a weird pancho. The man was staring back at him- at least Danny thinks, since the mask blocks the eyes, leaving the man in a white lens stare- without a hint of emotion.

There is a long pause between them before Danny slowly lowers his arm to use it to try to cover his body as best he can. He's not sure why this guy was watching him sleep, but he doesn't think it's for a good reason.

"How are you feeling?" The man asks as Danny slowly lowers himself back onto the bed, scrambling for the blanket —the really soft, fluffy kind that he's sure causes way more warmth than any blanket should.

"What?"

"How are you feeling?" The man repeats. His voice is oddly devoid of emotion

"I'm feeling like you're about to steal my skin." He snarks, curling the blanket up to his chin.

There is a twitch at the man's mouth, as if he's fighting a smile before it smooths over. "I have no use for your skin."

"How dare you. This flawless skin pays my bills."

Another twitch, but this time he can tell that the amusement hasn't slipped away. "Are you not feeling any aches? Sorness?"

Danny narrows his eyes. "Why are you asking?"

"Do you not remember what happened?" The humor is gone now. Storwed away in some emotional vault that Danny knows Jazz would love to break into. The man moves his arm, causing his cape to open and reveal a suit that resembles a blend of spandex and armor.

It's skin-tight, showing off abs, biceps, and leg muscles that anyone back home would kill for. Danny's jaw drops slightly at the display, even if the man is too busy clicking a remote at a wall. A TV lowers itself from who knows where, showing a video of himself being rushed into the glass-wall room by the stranger and a kid in a black hood.

Danny watches himself as his form slowly deteriorates, while the two scramble to plug machines into him. It's like he's watching some of the clones Vlad made fall apart, and it's not until the kid's sword accidentally gets caught on some gas tank. The gas tank is knocked over, breaking upon hitting the ground, and it lets out a stream of white gas strong enough that it flies through the room, somehow covering Danny's half-melted body.

It's easy to tell it's Liquid nitrogen by the sudden frost and ice. There is a moment of genuine panic in the video until Danny's form snaps back into place. The video ends with a man and a child looking at each other in a daze, then rushing out to bring in more tanks like the one he had knocked over.

"Earlier today, you ran to me for help. When we got you back to my house, you collapsed, and your body started melting. We had no idea why, what was happening, or what your situation was. I brought to my cave to try and provide medical assistance- it became obvious that the only thing working was placing you in a low temperature environment." The man explained, distracting body now thankfully covered by his cape again.

It takes Danny's brain a few seconds to process what he said, but when he does, he snaps his head in all directions. They're in a cave, he notices, and he's inside a makeshift freezer with the temperature well in the negatives.

The stranger seems content with letting Danny take all of that in, as his fuzzy mind tries to gather information, when suddenly it all snaps into place.

Leaping to his feet again- and nearly slipping over the edge of it, that has him swinging his arms like a windmill- Danny points accusingly at him, "Batman! You're Batman!"

The man nods once, and Danny lets out a noise that almost sounds like a wild hog releasing a victory cry. Batman stares back impassively, but his shoulders have tensed a bit as Danny scrambles off the bed and scurries towards the glass, pressing his face against it until his nose starts to hurt, his cheeks are flat, still that does nothing to hide his smile.

"I've come to save your humanity, Batman! Have you hugged your children?!"

Batman doesn't respond for a solid minute, allowing Danny's heavy breathing to fill the silence before the man clicks his remote again. This time, the screen displays a woman who looks vaguely familiar, a celebrant of some kind?

"I looked into your mother. I believe she used you as a sacrifice in a death magic ritual-" Batman starts, but Danny steamrolls that boring tale with a stream of emotional good habit tips Jazz had once given him.

"-I know it sounds stupid, but really, if having conversations is tough, writing a letter to yourself or the other person can be a good way to explain how you feel about them."

Batman holds up a hand. " Marina meant well, but the spell she used to try to teleport you off your island. We found this in your chest."

The image changes to one of Clockwork's amulets, and the words die in Danny's mouth. He pats his chest area searching for the ticking sound or sensation he has grown accustomed to.

It's not there.

Batman took out Clockwork's bomb while his body was dissolving. That sentence doesn't even make sense!

Danny's eyes go wide. "Are you a god?"

Batman frowns. "No. I'm not sure where Marina was trying to send you, but it wasn't to me. She was aiming for a death god."

"What? Who's Marina?"

"...Your mother?"

"My mom's name is Madeline. Madline Fenton." Danny pressed himself against the glass further. "Why would you think this Mariana is my mom?"

"She was the one to use a highly illegal and dangerous death ritual. Mariana Fenton is also listed as your mother in the government records of Santa Prisca. Your father's name was also listed: it's Eduardo Dorrance, better known as Bane."

He said that last part gravely, like Danny would be shocked by the news that Bane had supposedly fathered him, but Danny can only blink slowly. "My dad's name is Jack."

Batman's face doesn't twitch anymore. Instead, he frowns. Deeply. Concern. "Was that the man who raised you and your brother?"

"Dan was raised by the screams of his enemies," Danny responds without missing a beat. "Never mind him. We need to focus on you. Have you ever been in love? Love is the strongest magic in the world, right behind the power of friendship. There is nothing more human than the power of love."

Batman opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say is cut off by a giant boom that shakes the whole cave. He spins around, three throwing knives suddenly in between his fingers, and Danny notices he stands in front of him, almost as if Batman were going to protect him.

From behind the muscular back, Lord have mercy, Danny can't see what caused the explosion, but he can definitely hear it.

"My King! I have come to rescue you!" A woman screeches in a curious accent. It reminds him of old Hollywood, the kind that was in black and white and was filmed in the 1920s. Her voice echoes through the cave, and his head comes from everywhere and nowhere.

Danny claps his hands over his ears, trying to drown her out, because she's far too long. "Who are you?!"

"It is I, Gotham!"

The word explodes into darkness as Batman flings his knives.

Danny yelps when the glass walls shatter, the cold air escaping as a being of fog rushes at him, grabbing him as solid arms would and dragging him over the ledge of a nearby railing. He falls into the cave's abyss, screaming at the top of his lungs.

[humlase]

Neil as this cat has RETURNED.

This is part 11 I believe.

I'm realizing I've started giving myself quite a lot of leverage on these but oh well.

[stardancerluv]

What the Emperor Wants

Part Eleven

Summary: Passions are aflame but a stormy cloud rolls in.

Notes/Warning: 18+ & over, p in v sex, consensual sex, mentions & thoughts about old gods, dated thoughts on women…men, Geta shows some of his darker nature, there is a slap, and there is some angst.

This places the story, sometime before the film.

Tablinum an office like room in an ancient Roman home.

❤️s, reblogs, comments, feedback & reblogs are appreciated. Thank you for reading! 💐

A soft sound came from him. You pulled back worried, you had gone too far.

“No, do that again it feels good.

Rain came down heavy. The wind had picked ip. Lightning continued to streak across the sky, thunder rumbled loudly but it did not drown out Geta. He was as magnificent as the gods above.

The two of you had not even been able to make it to the settee. Passions had ignited. He ravaged with his slender fingers; he left no part of you untouched. The frame of the balcony did little to support you when your knees grew weak from Geta’s passion.

Soon, together you both moved to the floor. The only comfort the cold stone was the soft fabrics of your clothes and the heat the came off of Geta in his passionate state. The coolness of floor was a relief, he was hot as well stoked fire. The rain fell hard down on the two of you. You slipped and moved the best you could. You had not thought he could look so magnificent but he did.

“I need you now. Will you bid me entrance?” His breathing was harsh, his hair was wild and no longer well kept.

“Yes, Geta please I don’t think I can wait much longer myself.”

Soon, he pulled himself back. You watched as he focused himself. He reigned himself before guiding his arousal which looked bigger then and more enflamed from all the maneuvering and rubbing against each others and the fabrics. You were aching to feel him fill you once more.

A loud moan erupted from you as he slid in.

“Yes, that is all of me.” He managed between placing more of what felt like passionate nibbles on you. His breath hot.

“Make me never forget this night.” You whimpered and clutched onto him.

“That is my intention.” He managed before a moan broke his lips.

Your eyes met, a breath shattered and you both nibbled and even shared what could have passed as kisses. They were delightful.

After what he had said not a long time ago, you had never thought it would be possible.

******

The curtains flapping made you stir. Blinking, you saw that the rain was still heavy. A few of the candles must. Burned low and extinguished from the room being dimmer. Your shared passions had brought a cloak of sleep that settled over the two of you.

A gentle yet insistent knocking woke you further. That’s when you realized your position, earlier brought a smile to your lips.

*******

Geta, had rested his sweaty brow against your shoulder before the sleep had claimed the two of you. You had nestled your fingers in his fiery strands.

You had managed to make sure Geta was able to lay on a settee. When you had turned to give him room, he had refused and insisted you share the soft cushioned spot with him. One of his arms was thrown over you. His face was buried somehow into your side and one of the pillows. Based on his breathing, sleep had a deep hold on him.

“Geta, my passionate emperor there is someone who appears to need you.”

An inaudible sound came from him.

“Yes, have no respect.” You echoed what you felt the emotion was in his incoherence. It made a smile play on his lips. “You are out here for a reason.”

“Yes. You’re right.” He finally looked up at you. He was rumbled and smudged from the passions you shared. For the first time, he looked like truly a young behind the crown. Your feelings for him grew.

A knock came once again, it was sharper and louder.

“Shall I go and attend to that?”

“I don’t know, I am enjoying this moment. I am convinced my blossom might have some of Aphrodite guiding her.”

You brushed errant strands from his forehead. His eyes twinkled as they met yours. His arm tightened around you, keeping you close.

“If I let her go she may take flight like a lot of goddesses are known to do.”

“You’ve captured me.” You smiled. “I am yours but allow me to say, I do believe that even with grace of Apollo; Cupid surely has a given you the blessings of passion.”

He smiled. It was soft, didn’t make his face tight.

“If you promise?”

“I do.”

“Then go and answer, but cover your form, I do not wish to let others lay their eyes upon you.”

*******

The fabrics somehow worked and folded as they should, despite being wet. You had bot realized just how much the rain had gotten to them. They were terribly heavy.

You glanced at Geta. He nodded.

Taking a breath, you opened the door. How did make it look so easy. The torches flickered. You didn’t know who or what to expect would be standing there.

A pretorian guard, perhaps but it was Aelia.

You watched as something washed over her face. What you didn’t know. Though you were still relieved it was her.

“Aelia.” You greeted.

“The general has arrived and has asked to have an audience with Geta.”

You heard some shuffling and glancing back, you saw a scowl come over his face as he stood. He also struggled with the fabrics.

You stepped aside once he as closer.

“Tell him, I will receive him in my Tablinum.”

“Yes, Geta.” She bowed her head before properly departed but not before you felt and met her gaze.

You felt as if something shifted. A fluttering of a chill fell over you as you closed the door.

“Doesn’t he realize, I left the city for a reason?” Annoyance marred his face and his voice.

He threw the extra fabrics of his garments that were particularly soaked, across the room. You flinched as they slammed into vase, it shattered.

“I do not want to be bothered.”

You remained silent, your heart sank. You heard he had moments of rage.

He paced back and forth in what remained of his clothes. A broad golden belt was wrapped around trim his waist, some remaining fabrics flowed down his legs, stopping at his ankles.

“Anything, he wants could have waited till I returned.” His voice grew sharper.

You nodded. “Yes, Geta.” Your words barely above a whisper.

He was in front of you before you could exhale. The twinkle was gone, a fire replaced it and was there. “Did you say something?”

You kept your head down. “I was merely agreeing with you.” Your voice just above a whisper.

He brought your chin up. You winced at his rough touch.

“What have I told you?” He snarled. “Don’t you ever look away from me.”

“I’m sorry.”

You swallowed.

“He should know better.” You quickly added.

“That’s right.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked at you before releasing your chin go.

“Now, go to your quarters. Tomorrow we will ride.”

“You’re dismissing me?” Your heart thudded, his sudden anger stung.

He drew close. “Yes.”

*******

Holding the fabrics and the various bits of your clothes, somehow you made it to your room. Only tripping, by grace not actually falling on the return to your room. One of the guards looked up and down as you approached your door.

“You want something?” You said before you could reign in your tongue.

“Just looking at what the emperor has taken for a concubine.”

You smacked him, the sound echoed louder than your sandals had in the hallway.

His eyes looking fierce in the light of the torches. You took a step back, you’d gone too far. He cast a large shadow over you as he drew closer.

“What are you doing with those wet clothes, we still have to get your room in order?” Aelia called from behind you.

“I was not terribly sure if I was in the right place.”

“You are. Get in there.”

Walking into your room, spotting a table, you leaned against it to calm yourself. Fear still tingled in you. Your stomach churned.

Those honey, sweet words were none you had ever heard for yourself. Sometimes, your father had spoken as kindly to your mother. Then his anger was absolutely awful and a force within itself.

“Over here is the wardrobe that holds your garments.”

You turned to Aelia. Her presence and words brought you back to your room.

“I have a wardrobe?”

“Yes, he made sure you had a selection that would serve you well here and once the two of you are back in the city.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s what has been promised to you. Look it over, I will return shortly.”

His cold detachment hurt and yet his gentleness earlier was such a sharp contrast to now. You would have to remember this; the good would be so good and the bad will be very hard.

*********

He tore off his remaining clothes. How dare he just show up. How would he like it if he just showed up and visited his wife, he raged inwardly. A foul mood fell over him.

He went over to where some of his clothes were stored. The doors of the wardrobes bounced as he tore them open.

Finding one of his robes, he slipped it on and tied the belt. Running his fingers through his hair he attempted to calm the unruly strands.

*******

Only a few torches were alit as he went down the hallways. Aelia stood by the door. He met her eyes and pressed his lips together before he opened the door to his Tablinum. Acacius’s back was to him. He could tell in light in the room he was wearing some of his finest armor.

“General Acacius? Your arrival better be important.”

The man turned sharply on his heel. Some of the armor clanked. He bowed.

“It is, the army is ready. I am taking Darius and our water fleet to finally capture the taking last of Numida.”

A smirk curled his lips. “Good. Teach those barbarians what it’s like when they entangle with Romans.”

“With pleasure sire.”

“Good.” He stepped closer to the general. “Now hear this, when I am here I do not like to be disturbed.”

He noticed despite his still respectful stance Acacius shifted how he leaned.

“Normally, a messenger would have sufficed but this is grand news. We shall take a moment and drink to the victory you will surely have.”

He looked at the doorway. “Aelia?”

On quick steps Aelia came in and poured some wine easily and handed them both a glass.

“May Mars favor you and our legionaries.” He held up the glass.

“With the grace of Mars and you, my emperor. Geta.”

“Yes.” And the glasses clinked. “May Mars accompany you.”

********

Before returning to his chambers, he went and knelt in front of the shrine he kept there. It was private, he didn’t feel like he had the prying eyes of others on him. It pleased him to see that some offerings had already been placed around it.

Closing his eyes he murmured some prayers. He felt good, strengthened. Mars had been guiding him and Acacius. Getting up, feeling good he returned to his chambers. The future was bright.

******

Aelia left, you were still looking at all the clothes and you were left lingering a glance at your bracelet that still sat on your wrist. His words from not long ago echoed in your thoughts.

You will be dressed and groomed accordingly….

Though to actually see it all, to feel it all was something else entirely. You were used to having a shift to wear when you slept and a dress that you had kept impeccable. Now, you’re had already worn one new dress and now since the new garments had arrived you were left breathless, such finery was beyond any dream or prayer you could have made.

Sleep began pulling on you. Rolling onto your back, before allowing sleep to claim you; you murmured soft words of your gratitude to the gods above for all that had been bestowed upon you.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @laura-naruto-fan1998 @helsa3942 @marrowfrog00

[yugogeer012]

Part 10

Part 12

[jmoonjones]

Part 11!! Storytime with Andy returns!

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 11

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: In this episode, we're in for a team up, Greek mythology, and possibly the biggest reveal yet…

Word Count: 3.2K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, mentions of abuse/torture, PTSD, violence, and another cliffhanger (sorry).

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

🎙️ Series Masterlist

Part 11: Heroes and Monsters

The only thing the TNT Twins ever bought with their money was a lavish mansion in Vermont. It was high on a hill, flanked by forest, and therefore perfectly secluded when Ben and Donna broke through the oak wood doors of their house.

“Hey, kids,” said Ben. He strolled into the living room with a smooth, purposeful gait.

The twins jumped with a start on the couch. A loud and crass action movie was playing on the screen.

“Ben,” Tessa gasped.

“Donna?!” Tommy said, pointing from Donna to Ben. “What…what’re you guys…how did you get…”

“Ooh, is that Pulp Fiction? I wanted to see that one,” Donna remarked. Her brows furrowed. “But wait, it’s still in theaters. How’d you get a VHS?”

“Oh, um, Tarantino gave me a copy as a favor, so we wouldn’t have to sit in the theater with all the mouth breathers,” Tessa said, with a wrinkle of her nose.

Tommy’s face slid into a smirk. He raised a conspiratorial hand to his mouth and pointed at his sister.

“She sucked his dick.”

That tidbit of information was accompanied by a lewd hand motion, and gagging sounds. Tessa angrily punched her brother in the shoulder.

Ben raised a brow. He made slow steps forward with an edge of menace. The twins caught on and stood up straighter, but somehow looked even more like cowards as they immediately started groveling.

“We’re so, so sorry, Ben,” Tessa tried.

“It wasn’t our idea,” Tommy added. The twins backed up near the glass doors, Tommy nearly tripping on the Persian rug.

“Of course it wasn’t,” said Ben. “You idiots barely have two brain cells to rub together.”

“Please don’t kill us,” Tessa pleaded. “Or at least, not me. I didn’t really do anything—”

“You bitch!” Tommy said incredulously.

“Shut the fuck up!” Ben snapped. “Here’s what’s gonna happen.”

He was stopped short by a rigorous shootout on the screen as the movie played. The sound of it was like a machine gun, bullets spraying over and over. It made his breath hitch. His eyes began to glaze over as a memory overtook his vision. Of being strapped to that metal slab, and Eisenstein and his team trying to find out what could actually hurt him, on the inside.

Ben’s chest grew impossibly hot. Distantly he heard voices calling his name.

Before he even realized what he was doing, the smell of burning filled the air, and that terrible, nuclear power escaped from his chest.

When he came to, he blinked the gaudy living room back into frame. Except now, it was burnt to a crisp. There was a large gaping hole where the French doors and most of the wall used to be, leading to a sunny day.

The TNT Twins were gone.

Shaking the fog and blackness from his mind, he turned and only saw Donna. She’d been cowering behind a piano. Slowly she came out of her hiding place with wide, horrified eyes.

“What the fuck did they do to you?” she whispered.

Instead of answering her, Ben strode out of the ruins and grabbed her arm, hefted her to her feet, and took her back to the car. She slid into the driver’s seat and started the car with shaking hands. He settled in the passenger seat and got out the cell phone he'd stashed in the dashboard compartment.

“Yeah?”

“Arthur, it’s me,” Ben said.

“How’d it go with the TNT Twins?”

“They can’t help.”

“What? Why’s that?”

“Because they’re fucking charcoal, that’s why,” Ben snapped. There was a pause on the other line.

“Okaaay,” Arthur said. “Well, I’m still working on some leads on Sirena. In the meantime, I found Gunpowder. He had a little unfortunate incident at a gun show in Texas, so he’s on some mandated R&R.”

Ben blew out a frustrated breath, but he nodded. “Where?”

“Kempton, Pennsylvania.”

Ben and Donna arrived at the Hawk Mt. Shooting Range. There were several steps up to the main building, then even more forest behind as it surrounded the base of a mountain.

“There’s literally a Hawk Mountain Sanctuary not even an hour from here. It’s like going to Sea World to hunt Shamu,” Donna groused.

“Would you shut the fuck up already?” he said. “I don’t want to hear any more of your tree-hugging bullshit.”

“That’s another thing. You’re always so fucking belittling,” she said with a glare sent his way. “Does Sirena like that about you? Or is she just deaf and blind?”

Ben grabbed her arm and yanked her to a stop. He raised a warning finger.

“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth,” he said darkly. “One more smartass word and I’ll sure as shit make you regret it.”

Donna’s mouth snapped shut. She was still angry, but she had the presence of mind to avert her eyes. When he was satisfied, Ben released her. They kept walking, but no matter how he tried to shut her words out, they kept filtering back into his mind.

You’re a bully. A fucking monster. And sooner or later, she won’t be able to stomach you anymore.

He managed to push that thought to the back of his mind as they entered the building. Donna either knocked out or killed the handful of staff members, while Ben continued on to the back of the shooting range.

Well then. Someone ate their fucking Wheaties.  

Gunpowder was a bit bigger since Ben last saw him. He hardly recognized his former sidekick, now a grown-ass man in his late 20s. At least he wasn’t so scrawny anymore.

And he heard the moment Ben stepped into the outdoor range. After he fired off one more birdshot, Gunpowder whipped around with a large shotgun in hand. His face fell into shock when he saw Ben.

A dead pigeon landed on the ground between them.

“Charlie,” Ben greeted, with a tilt of his head. He stalked forward. The man opposite was frozen in shock, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d pulled the trigger on his gun anyway.

“S-Soldier Boy—”

Ben ripped the weapon out of his hand. He closed a hand around the younger man’s throat and walked him back until he hit the fake mountain wall that framed the shooting range.

“Ben, he didn’t even know!” Donna said from behind.

Charlie shook his head in agreement. “I didn’t! I swear—”

“Oh, I know. But I bet you didn’t ask any fucking questions, did you?” Ben said.

He remembered that day with perfect clarity. He remembered how the rest of them turned on him.

Except for you.

“But you’re gonna make it up to me,” Ben said, with a grim smile.

Charlie was shocked, as if he’d expected a quick death. “H-How?”

“You’re going to help me find someone.”

“Who?”

“Sirena.” Ben’s lips twitched humorlessly at the ashen look on Charlie’s face. “You remember her, right? She’s the other teammate you guys sold out and giftwrapped for the fucking Commies.”

Ben slammed him harder against the wall, and his chest began to glow. Charlie’s face fell further into fear and horror.

“Ben!” Donna warned. She didn’t dare touch him, but Ben could feel her close by. He glanced at her over his shoulder.

“The TNT Twins were probably useless, but we need him,” she reminded him. “We need every body we can throw at this.”

Ben hated to admit it (so he wouldn’t), but she had a point. It took him a minute to wrangle in his ire, taking deep breaths to try and calm the power inside him. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

This time, it actually worked.

His hand fell back to his side, letting Charlie breathe freely.

“Let’s go.” Ben turned on his heel and headed out.

“Where, uh…where’re we going?” Charlie asked, rubbing his sore neck.

“Looks like we’re getting the team back together,” Ben said grimly.

He tilted his head.

“Well. What’s left of it.”

Two weeks seemed to be an eternity in this cell. Somehow it was even more dull than when you were in Siberia. At the very least, the torture broke up the day.

Vogelbaum had taken a few vials of your blood to analyze, but otherwise, you were left alone.

Your only companion was John, who you discovered was just a ten-year-old kid. He was occupying one of the untold number of cells in this lab. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly where he was, but he felt close by.

You two had been having daily conversations. He told you that he’d grown up on this compound, in the very room they held him in. He didn’t remember his parents, if he had any. He only remembered Dr. Vogelbaum, some guy named Marty, and a few others in the facility.

All of them had run experiments of their own on him. It had broken your heart to hear it from a child.

They’ve burned me a lot, he admitted once, with a sniffle. It never leaves a mark, but…it hurts.

I know, bud. I’ve been burned before, you said, disheartened for him. They wanted to find out how strong you are, huh?

Yeah, I guess. What about you?

Not very, is the answer. I’m more durable than the average human, and I heal a little faster, but…not that strong. My powers don’t really help me as much physically.

What’re your powers?

Well…I’m a siren.

You sensed his confusion. He didn’t know what that was, though he maybe didn’t want to admit it.

Have you ever seen adventure movies? You know, the ones about pirates and buried treasure? you asked.

Um, I’ve seen movies, but Vogelbaum called them documentaries.

What were they about?

Pioneers in the Wild West. The old South. How we conquered the Indians, and why America’s the best country in the world. Stuff like that.

You grimaced. So that was the kind of education he was getting in this place.

Okay, a lot to unpack there later, you said. But anyway, you read books, right?

Yeah. They give me a lot of books.

That, you could work with.

Okay, have you ever read The Odyssey? Greek mythology.

Y-Yeah. I remember Odysseus. He’s a hero.

Right, exactly. Well, one of the creatures he comes across on his journey are the sirens. In the story, they live on an island. They’re beautiful women, with beautiful voices. They lure sailors in with their songs and their magic, and the men fall under their spell, every time. They end up wrecking their ships and falling to their deaths.

So…the sirens are monsters.

Yeah, they are, you agreed. Your shoulders deflated with your deep sigh.

I can…compel people. If I touch them, I can make them do whatever I want. Especially men. I know when they’re lying. I know what’s in their hearts when they look at me. And I’ve used that to my advantage. To use them.

That fell between you two for a moment. You could sense John thinking, processing.

Do you like your powers? John asked.

You smiled humorlessly.

No, you answered. You’d never admitted that to anyone before. They’re meant to manipulate people, to hurt people.

I don’t want to hurt people, John said, after a beat. But…I um. I did a couple times. You know, on accident.

I’ve known people who hurt others on purpose, because they can. Because it’s fun. You don’t sound like one of those people.  

I don’t want to be. They…want me to be a hero one day.

His voice sounded small again, and almost scared. Like he was afraid of what he could do, and possibly, what Vogelbaum and Stan Edgar and everyone else wanted him to be.

Well, that’s good. You should never hurt someone just because you can. Or even, just because someone hurt you, you advised, even knowing you were a hypocrite.

Then, an idea formed in your mind. How many times had they burned him without leaving a single mark?

Are you strong, John? you asked him.

Yeah, he replied.

For the first time since you woke up in this nightmare of a place, your smile was genuine.

How strong?

Ben claimed the master bedroom of the apartment for himself. It was one of the Legend's properties out here in Vermont, lavish and gaudy, but safe, for now.

Charlie and Donna took root on the couch, catching up and reminiscing on how their careers had shaken out after Payback was dismantled. Donna mostly complained about being a permanent fixture at Voughtland.

“At least they got you set up with something stable,” Charlie said. He passed a blunt back to Donna after a long puff. “I never know where the hell I’m gonna be, week after week. Always putting me up in some piece of shit hotel.”

“At least you don’t have to take pictures with snot-nosed kids all day,” she replied, though she eyed him with a smile. Charlie caught the look, with a smile of his own.

“You look good,” he said. “I like the haircut.”

“Oh, stop.” She absently toyed with a strand of her shoulder-length hair. She’d been dying it a deeper red lately. “You really grew into that helmet though.”

He chuckled bashfully. Said helmet was resting on the coffee table, next to the big bag of weed Ben had bought on the way to Virginia. Charlie leaned closer to her and pointed a finger toward wherever their esteemed leader had fucked off to.

“He’s smoking like a chimney, even more than he used to,” Charlie said.

“He’s self-medicating,” Donna nodded. “The Russians did a number on him.”

Part of her maybe twinged with guilt, but even now, she felt justified in her decisions. It wasn’t like she could go back and change anything. Still, if she had known that it would all end up here…

“Christ,” Charlie shook his head.

They stopped their conversation when Ben’s heavy boots thudded back into the room. It seemed that he’d finished his nap, and now ventured out in search of booze. He grabbed the whiskey bottle on the dining table and a glass from the kitchen to give himself a generous pour.

“Uh, I’m thinking we could get some food,” Charlie broached. He got up from the couch. “I don’t mind grabbing something for us.”

“Sit your ass down,” Ben said sharply. He nodded at the landline phone. It sat on an accent table next to the couch. “Order something that delivers, because no one’s going any-fucking-where.”

Charlie pressed his luck one more time. “I’ll be right back, I swear—”

Ben sent him a look of warning. It was enough to make the younger man deflate in surrender.

“Pizza it is,” he said. When Ben turned to head back to his room, Charlie couldn’t help muttering, “For the third time in a row.”

Ben heard him, of course, but he just rolled his eyes. He returned to the bedroom and cracked up the radio on the nightstand. He couldn’t stand hearing any more of Donna and Charlie bickering about what to put on the pizza or what to watch on TV. In a way, it reminded him of old times.

Fuck old times, he thought. He didn’t even much enjoy them the first go around.

He set his glass down on the nightstand and laid in bed over the covers, folding his hands over his chest. He closed his eyes, but rest wouldn’t come to him. He thought of you, and where those bastards at Vought might be keeping you. He could only imagine what they were doing to you, and by now, he had a good imagination.

His jaw clenched with anger, and he drew a hand over his face in frustration.

He felt like he’d already failed.

He’d promised you that you weren’t going back to a cell, that he wouldn’t allow it…and that he’d protect you.

Believe it or not, Ben knew what he was; or more accurately, what he wasn’t. Despite how he’d propped himself up otherwise, deep down, he knew he wasn’t a hero.

But if he could make just one honest save in his long, long life, he’d be damned if it wasn’t you.

No matter how you tried to convince him, John was reluctant to try and escape his cell. You sensed that he didn’t want to leave the facility, even after everything they’d done to him.

At the end of the day, you realized, this was the only life he knew.

Look, I know you’re scared, but we can help each other, you tried to reason with him. I have a…well, I have a boyfriend. His name is Ben. I know he’s looking for me, but I’m not sure he’ll find me here. I need to get back to him before Vought tries anything else.

John didn’t answer you. You sighed. Maybe a softer approach…

What scares you most about leaving? you asked.

I don’t know! Look, just…just leave me alone!

John, wait—

I said leave. Me. ALONE!

The force of his shouted thoughts made you wince. The connection snapped back on you like a rubber band as you lost focus, giving you a stinging headache that radiated behind your eyes. You gasped and rubbed at your temples.

You felt bad for pushing him, but you really needed his help, damn it.

Just when you were about to try and reach out to John again to apologize, and hopefully soothe him, the door of your cell opened.

Vogelbaum was back with a couple of guards armed with tasers and guns. This time, the doctor had a few more empty vials.

“Good afternoon,” he said.

You pursed your lips, but you made no moves to evade him when he came over to sit beside you on your cot. He swabbed at the inside of your arm where he intended to pierce a vein with the needle he held, followed by vials one, two, three, and four of your blood.

“What are you taking my blood for, exactly?” you demanded to know. This was the second time already. “What happens after I fulfill your objective as bait, and you try to set your little trap for Ben?”

Vogelbaum glanced up at you. “We’re not going to hurt you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Somehow, that still didn’t make you feel any better.

“And why is that?”

“I’m taking your blood to run additional genetic tests,” he said, for the moment ignoring your question.

“Why? What genetic tests?” you pressed.

“Well, this is something we haven’t seen before. It’s going to require a closer look, and some close monitoring of your progress.”

Despite his stoic expression, you sensed a spark of interest in him, of clinical fascination. It reminded you of Dr. Eisenstein. Immediately you were set on edge. Prickles of unease crept down your spine and made you feel cold.

“What do you mean? The Russians’ experiments didn’t do much of anything,” you lied.

“I’m not talking about that,” said Vogelbaum. He finished taking your blood, removed the needle, and cleaned you up.

“Then what?” you snapped. You were losing patience and getting even more worried.

Vogelbaum applied a small bandage where he’d pricked you with the needle, then stepped away.

“Congratulations,” he said in his usual monotone, as he pocketed the vials. “You’re pregnant.”

AN: 🫣 hides until next week lol

Next Time:

We come to Payback's Avengers: Civil War moment!

“Look, we don’t have to do this,” Charlie tried. “Just let him get Sirena out of there. After what you guys did, she doesn’t deserve that.”

Ben glanced at his former sidekick. He actually seemed sincere.

Too bad Noir wasn’t about to go for it. He had Vought’s dick so far up his ass, he wouldn’t likely take a shit without Stan Edgar’s say so. He crouched into a fighting stance and unsheathed his katana. The rest of the guards poured in to flank around him and Mindstorm.

Ben rolled a crack out of his neck.

“Fine. If it’s a war you want, it’s a war you’ll fucking get,” he said.

Noir started charging at him first, but Donna shot off a fireball in his direction.

Chaos ignited from there.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 12

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[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

"Hey, Babs,"

"Dick? It's late, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!"

"I'm about to go on patrol, D, can this wait?"

A sigh. "No."

"What's wrong?"

"Blockbuster's after Oracle."

***

Gotham Proper is a thirty-three minute drive from Bludhaven. The drive to Bristol from Bludhaven is a fifty-one minute drive through Drescher, Burnside, Sumerset, Victoria Place, and Little Stockton before crossing the bridge over Gotham River into Bristol. Gotham Proper is made of four islands connected to each other and the mainland via several bridges. Technically, all of those cities and towns - as well as Charon and Brentwood - are sister cities like Bludhaven, but everyone counts them as a part of Gotham anyway.

Dick spent the entire drive alternating between sulking and panicking.

Danny would know. Ghosts, as he's come to understand, are beings made of emotion, meaning that he can sense emotions better than living beings. Though, he didn't need an empth ability to read the air around Dick.

'What if something happens while we're gone?" Dick asked for the nth time in the past few minutes, "What if Brutale decides to blow something up while I'm gone? What if Blockbuster starts something big?"

"Bigger than what he's already doing?" Danny didn't bother to look up from his conversation with Tim. "The fact that you can't even name specific examples proves that you're not actually worried about Blockbuster or Brutale."

"I'm worried about Brutale blowing something up, thank you very much."

"Yeah, 'something'. Who even is Brutale anyway? I don't think I know that name."

"No one you need to worry about." He moved into the right lane.

Danny turned his phone off and set it face down on his leg. "What are you really worried about, Dick? I've known you for five weeks now, and I've never seen you this worried about anything."

"You've known me for three weeks."

"No, you've known me for three weeks. I've known you for five weeks. And don't change the subject."

Dick sighed, running his left hand through his hair before dropping it back onto the steering wheel.

"Is it Bruce?"

"...yeah."

"You know he's at work, right?"

"Yeah, I- How do you know that?"

He waved his phone a bit. "I checked with Tim. So, it's just going to be Tim and Alfred at the Manor when we get there."

"You know Alfred?"

"I know of Alfred." Danny slapped his right shoulder, "Stop trying to change the subject!"

"I can't help it! Deflecting has worked pretty damn well for me up until this point!"

"Oh, yeah? Against who?"

"Literally everyone!"

"Everyone?"

A beat. "Okay, so maybe only most people, but that's not the point!"

"Doesn't matter what your point is because we're going back to talking about mine!" He huffed. "If you don't want to go straight to Wayne Manor, then stop by somewhere else. You had to have gained at least one friend in Gotham before you moved to Bludhaven."

Dick paused for a moment, eyeing the signs. They'd only been driving for twenty minutes. He could hang a right just before Sumerset to cross the New Trigate Bridge into Arkham Island, take another right onto Midtown and drive to Old Gotham to meet Babs/. Yeah, that'd be nice. But, the detour would increase the chance of running into Bruce later on in the day. Maybe he could have Bab's drive to the Manor?

"Is it too late to turn around?"

"Yes."

"Why are you even so insistent on going? You don't know anyone in Gotham!"

"I know Tim!" He argued. "Besides, healthy relationships are good in this kind of work."

Dick raised his eyebrow, glancing at Danny from the corner of his eye. "You wanna second to rethink that or..?"

Danny clicked his tongue. "Look, I know you don't want to talk to Bruce, and I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to apologize to Tim for snapping at him. If you end up with better relations here in Gotham, then that only works in your favor."

Dick groaned, ditching the turn onto New Trigate and continuing on through Sumerset. "Fine! But we're leaving before Bruce gets back. I can't stand him right now."

Danny smiled, a sad look in his eye. "Alright."

He knew very well that Dick's relationship was near irreparable. From what he'd gathered, from either overhearing or snooping, Bruce had been a pretty good dad and boss to Dick up until he'd turned seventeen. He hung up the Robin mantle when he was eighteen, appearing as Nightwing when he was nineteen. Bruce, apparently, hadn't taken this very well, but copped, adopint ong Jason Todd when Dick was twenty years old, giving him the Robin mantle a few months later.

According to Dick, when Jason was killed, he'd been off world. Bruce hadn't even called him to inform him, let alone tell him about the funeral. And, when Dick got back and heard what happened from Batgirl, he'd confronted Batman in the Batcave. Batman, apparently, though he's inclined to Dick's side, punched him the face and shifted the blame.

Danny doesn't blame Dick for being angry. Not for a second. He can't really relate, but he understands.

Entering Bristol, there was a shift in the air. Outside was stuffy and smelled like money. Inside the car, however, was tense. Dick's attitude shifted to his work smile. It was plastic.

This was going to be a long day.

He didn't say anything. Quietly, Danny messaged Tim, letting him know about the shift. Tim was quick to respond, letting Danny know that he was fully prepared for whatever was coming. Danny didn't think he was.

Danny knew that something was going to happen. The air was suddenly suffocating, the world fake manufactured to perfection.

"You alright there, bud?" Dick asked, his voice perfectly professional.

"Yeah, fine. I-I'm fine." Danny wanted this car to turn around.

Part 10 Part 12

[bobadila]

Getting ready to go on your date hang out

Part 11 I’m finally done with this!! I’ve been procrastinating for days and days and I finally finished it. I’m going to work on my radio apple week stuff next and then go back to this comic sooo. Let’s see how long it will take me!

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 11

MASTERLIST

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Summary: Tarnished is met with her struggles in Messmer's "disappearance". She is also visited by a figure she thought she had long forgotten.

A/N: Helloooo! I'm back! I didn't realise I was gone for so long! October has been a hectic month. I hope all are doing well.

A03 link

Chapter 11: Secrets

It is only the next day after your failed attempt to draw Messmer out that you try again. Again, met with little to no resistance, his guards tell you he is occupied. Though they're cryptic in giving a precise time he'll be out, they try and promise you to come again when he's free.

You try not to think much about it, though it nags you in the back of your mind. It's rare to not see him around his own Keep, especially since he suddenly disappeared for no reason. Did you do something to upset him? You try to retrace your steps, thinking over and over again what you could've done wrong. Sure, you were brash and keen on pissing him off, but you didn't think anything had come from your last interactions. Furthermore, you thought your last conversation was civil albeit somewhat awkward.

Nonetheless, you occupy yourself in hundreds of books. The more, the merrier you feel in keeping yourself sane. You find yourself for hours, forgetting about the most basic of needs like having meals and hydrating that when night draws in, you feel more exhausted than ever before.

The next few days are the same: you arrive early to try and catch Messmer, in hopes of seeing him leave his chambers, to no avail. It's the same promises, and you still foolishly believe them, no matter how frustrated you feel.

It's only when some of Messmer's knights take pity on you, suggesting taking some fresh air would do you well, that even Sir Ansbach and Aldwin begin to show concern. But you dismiss them all, keeping to yourself and your books. It takes some suggestions before some of the soldiers in the training yard ask if you're willing to train alongside them, and you seem to give in.

You don't loiter for long, and you find yourself clumsier than ever before being smacked against your limbs by a wooden sword. All because you're occupied in worrying about the stupid impaler. That same night, you find yourself cringing at the amount of bruises that litter your skin, and the way your body aches to no end, but you stick to your books, soon forgetting about sleep and its necessity.

A week passes before you're thoroughly pissed off. You dress simply as you rush to his apartments, remembering to take a sword with you along the way that you hide in your tall boots. Finding two black knights standing outside, they eye you nonchalantly, before you give your answer.

"He's still hiding, isn't he?"

"His Lord is very busy, Lady Tarnished." One of the ones you can recognise by his voice answers, the same who has had to face you almost daily. "I do not have an answer as to when his Lord will leave his apartments."

"That's the thing, I come here almost every fucking day to receive the same answer. Is there something truly up that a man has to be locked in his room?" You demand. "Is he sick? Do you know if he's even in his room, that he's not disappeared into a puff of smoke? You could be guarding fuck all."

"My Lady, Lord Messmer has asked for no disturbances," the same guard gives a vague answer with a hint of grit to his words. It doesn't worry you though, however, you can feel your chest hammering tightly in your chest. "We cannot ask enough that you leave his Lord to his peace."

"And what will you do if I don't leave?"

You can tell the way the knights are looking to one another for an answer - maybe Messmer had ordered them specifically to carry something out if they knew you'd not answer - before the same answers. "We would have to ask politely for you to leave."

"Again, what if I don't want to be politely escorted away?" You make an effort for them to see you go to grab hold of the sword's handle, so they're aware that you're armed. "Will I have to slice through you to get through?"

It's silent in the hallway, and neither of them seems so sure how to answer you. "I will ask this only once: move aside."

They know how much trouble they'll be in if they disobey either Messmer or you, but you think they would rather face the Impaler's wrath than have to take you on in the hallway. The two sides step away, leaving only you and what hides behind those doors.

You charge in almost hastily, the swing of the doors slam and shudder against the walls, echoing loudly as you step into the dimly lit room. His apartments are similar to yours, lavishly covered in red velvet, though his room is much larger, with a dining table as long as the ones in great halls, a lit fire keeping the warmth flowing.

You find the man you're looking for, sat at the head of the table, his back towards the fireplace, his hair laminated against the red of the flames, as he idly chews on his breakfast. 

The fucking nerve.

He's not fully dressed, the helmet is one thing you spot is missing, and it gives you a clearer view of his face. He's picking at his food, but he's holding a steady "what do you want" stare down at you. "Didst thee killeth mine men?" Is the first thing to come out his mouth once he's chewed through a bite.

"No." You seethe, watching him through narrowed eyes. "Is this what you've been doing this whole time? Hiding in the dark?" You eye his room and the paperwork, scrolls and letters that are placed around him. He's been busy preoccupying himself, away from the world outside his room.

"T'is none of thy concern as to what I doth in mine spareth timeth, Tarnished." He's coldly calling you by your title and there is disgust that is in his tone in the way he speaks down at you. Messmer pushes back his half-empty plate, "I asketh again: what doth thee wanteth?"

You feel as if you're a child being scolded by your mother for raiding the pantry late at night, and you merely scoff at his indifferent tone. "You've been missing for the last week. I-- we've been wondering if you just left without any of us knowing." You dry laugh to hide the fact that you're nervous for some reason. Is it because you're lying to him? That people around you have been going about their day as if this is a normal occurrence. Why was it you then who was the one who wished for his whereabouts?

Messmer lightly hums, "I've been missed, thee sayeth? Then I shalt arrangeth a meeting with mine own top generals." He coolly responds as if it's been nothing, but he's caught off guard by the look of anger that crosses your features.

"What are you hiding, Messmer?"

"If it is of concern, I am awaiting news from mine mother. She shall wisheth to knoweth of mine own progress." He says. He seems proud anytime he talks about Marika, and you think those letters surrounding him are proof of him trying to hear of updates.

"Your mother," the very mention of Marika leaves a fire in your stomach, and you feel a wretched disgust in its wake, "why are you so sure she will return here?" You think you're going half mad, and you visualise your fight with him that left you imprisoned in his tower. You think he's gone back on his word, after everything, so why is he so certain she will come now after all these years?

Messmer is the one who dismisses your words and his words sting like a slap across the face. "Thou art a fool if 't be true thee bethink otherwise. Marika will hear back from me-"

"Your mother is not fucking coming to get you, Messmer!" You snap so abruptly that it shakes the foundation of the rock of his room. You're certain you can hear the drop of a pin from the silence that follows and the way multiple feelings flash through Messmer's golden eye. Hurt, revulsion, fury. They're gone in an instant, replaced with the same deadpan expression he carries always.

You realise your mistake, that those days of trying to befriend him, sacrificing your time and your life to ally with him are tossed as quickly as a match into the flame. You take a hesitant step towards him. "Messmer."

"I wanteth thee to leaveth." His voice is scarily calm, so quiet that you don't hear it against the scraping of his chair as he abruptly stands to his full height. You're startled back, trying to compose yourself as you're frozen on the spot. "Messmer-- it was a mistake?"

"T wouldst beest a misprision if thee didst not leaveth mine own chambers this instance." You watch from his right hand pour flames, smoke and embers flow as he slowly and methodically walks around the table to get to you. They grow as large as his height, swirling around him in great awe and horror. The room grows incredibly hot so suddenly, and you're struggling to breathe.

You wheeze, tears making it harder to see through as you're consumed by heat and smoke. "Messmer, please." You beg, but the redhead is not relenting in his footsteps as he finally makes his way towards you. His winged serpents hiss and lunge as if trying to bite you, and you look up at him with dread and doom running a course through your veins.

"Leave at once!" He roars, and you stumble out as you push through the doors, air returning to you as you hurry away as far as your legs can take you. Messmer watches your retreating form, his head pounding, chest aching as if yearns for nothing more than the abyss.

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

He nor anyone but your maids come to give you your dinner that night, bidding a goodnight and leaving you to the silence of your apartments. You have found yourself stuck in the same part of your room, staring out the barred windows, hoping that you won't have to see him again.

The tears and smoke had dried on your face, leaving your eyes dry and struggling to see through, so you bid the maids to draw you a bath, where you had to stop yourself from drowning in it. You could still feel the heat that poured over your skin, cooking you in the spot you stood in. 

You had never felt more alone in your existence, confided to the fear of staying or fleeing, to await Miquella and Lady Leda. Would it be a better fate than to face Messmer's wrath again?

You thought he knew it himself Marika would not return, and your temper had gotten the better of you. You admitted it, you wanted to tell yourself there had to be a reason why you lashed out to him, why he was making you worry so much.

Your mind drew back to the moment he had caught you from making a fool of yourself in front of him once more, the warmth that came from him, wishing to be close to him like that again.

"Oh, Gods," you hid your face in your hands, "I cannot like him like that?"

But announcing it left a stammer in your chest, and even when you closed your eyes, you could see his face as if he was right in front of you. Your face warmed with heat as you stepped out of the bath, preparing to dress for bed. The candles were beginning to wilt as darkness slowly started to close in on your room. You paid it no mind as you dressed in your shift dress, sitting at the dresser as you grabbed the hairbrush to brush through your curls. It was only when you looked up into the mirror that something caught your gaze.

You blinked, almost letting out a scream as you scrambled to look behind you, only to find nothing there. A vision or hallucination? You blamed your lack of sleep, though you felt evermore afraid than before. It was humanlike and watching you, tall yet beautiful.

You sighed, drying your hair as you tried to think of anything but what could've been a ghost in your room. Perhaps you would sleep with a knife under your pillow just in case. 

Just as you stand and go towards the bed, do you hear the softest of voices, whispering languidly in the dead air.

"Oh, my sweet knight. How I've missed thee."

It is right behind you, and you turn swiftly to meet your attacker, only to find it is a figure standing by the window, staring out. He is tall, hauntingly beautiful as you saw before, long golden locks drift as he turns his head towards you, his smile as sweet as the summertime.

"Prince Godwyn?" You grasp the closest thing to you, your hairbrush, not a good weapon against the former demigod.

Godwyn looks at you warmly, his blue and gold garbs sway as he moves closer towards you. "After all this time, thee don't remember me?"

You're confused by what he means. "I know of you, My Lord... I apologise-- you're... you were-"

"-The first of the demigods to die, was that what thee wished to say?" He answers for you, and his words are as deep and smooth as poured honey. His golden eyes meet yours and you feel as if he is staring directly into your soul. "Indeed, I was, and only now do thee remember?"

"We--" it confuses you greatly what he means, and you cannot recall a time when you think you would've known him. He was before your time, you tell yourself, and you wish to tell him he is wrong, but you're stuck with uncertainty. "I'm sorry--- I... Forgive me, this is all just a dream, isn't it?"

"A dream? Thou art in one?" His laugh is warm as a hot day, there is power that resides and surrounds him, a great aura that came from his golden lineage. You blink and he's standing behind you, collecting a curl to run through his fingers. "T'is funny, that night thou had to leave, I begged thee to stay, I could've promised thee the entire world. I didn't want my mother's crown nor my father's lands, nor the lineage they wished me to continue." He circled you like a hound, ready to strike as he stood before you.

"Did thee know what I wished for dearest of all?"

You stammer as you answer, "No."

"Thy hand."

His touch is lightning speed when it comes to reaching out for your hand. You don't react in time before you see flashes of a time you don't remember living:

You see yourself in the golden armour of the Lyndell knights, marvelling at the dragons that circle the sky. Another vision was you kneeling towards Queen Marika and her cause, the gold and pride that radiated off of her could be felt through your entire being, down to your very soul. It clung to you like a disease the day you first died, clutching the sword you had been given as a gift, blood pouring from your mouth as you spluttered the name of the man you marvelled at in awe and wonder. "Godwyn."

You pull back your hand from his as if he had burnt you the same way Messmer had done too. "No, it would've never worked. What you showed me, was false."

Godwyn holds now a sad smile on his face, his white teeth glowing in the darkness as well as his eyes. "And yet, thou have become Elden Lord, it could've been done then too, but thee left me."

"No, I didn't leave you... it was an order. You knew this but you sent me away."

"All in the name of my mother." Godwyn bitterly laughs. He is gentle in the way he cradles you to his broad chest, the warmth that comes from his body is enough for you to feel the need to sleep overwhelm you. He is gentle as cradles your face in his hands, and you think he is about to lean down and kiss you when he whispers into your ear.

"It does not matter now, my lovely knight, I shall bid you a goodnight."

"Godwyn, wait!-"

You screech as you're pushed backwards onto the bed, and yet you're awoken with yourself buried in the sheets, light pouring in the windows to set for another day. Your mind is wracked in a tangle, your heart still pounding from what you have just experienced. 

-

A/N: Sooooo… Tarnished is now seeing a ghostly apparition of Godwyn… I wonder what that's going to do to her psyche. I hope you all enjoyed it, I missed writing this and I look forward to writing more!

[feletida]

Fairytale

[forgers-therapist]

tiny PEOPLE (Part 11)

[agathawellbelov3d]

Okayyyy I just posted like 5 “chapters” of the twt fic in the past 20 mins so if you’re reading it read those first ‼️‼️

If not that’s cool too, keep scrolling 🙂‍↕️

I don’t really write much so sorry if it’s bad. Trying to get into writing again so a twt fic with little written parts is how I’m doing that. Plus I don’t have much time.

This is a Baz POV. Reminder they’re in college because I hate writing teens. Simon has a tail in this bcuz why not

Simon is doing that thing again. Pretending to study.

His notebook is upside down and his pen hasn’t moved in ten minutes. And exams are in two weeks, which would be a crisis for most people. Not Snow, apparently. He seems to be more concerned with sneaking glances at me and trying not to combust.

I grit my teeth and keep reading the same sentence over and over. It’s not making sense.

Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll stop.

Or maybe if I snap at him, it’ll startle him so much he leaves the dorm with his tail between his legs and I can finally study in peace.

(And yes, he technically does have a tail. It swishes when he’s nervous. It’s swishing now, because of course it is).

(He has wings too, but they disappear sometimes. I figure Bunce has something to do with that).

I look up and he’s still staring at me.

“Do you mind?” I snap, slamming my textbook shut.

He flinches. “What?”

“What?” I gesture, mocking him. “You’re staring, Snow. And it’s obvious. And distracting. And weird.”

“I am not,” he protests, “I’m studying.”

“Your notebook is upside down.”

“Oh.”

His cheeks go pink. Not just a faint blush, but completely flushed. Like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. Or thinking something he shouldn’t be.

He turns away, muttering something under his breath. His tail twitches behind him.

I hate that goddamn tail.

It’s like a lie detector for his thoughts, and it betrays him every time. It flicks when he’s lying. It twitches when he’s anxious.

It’s twitching right now. Which is fine.

He’s glancing at his notes - which are still upside down - brow furrowing.

I can feel the frustration coming off of him in waves. He’s clutching at his pen like he holds a dagger, as if he thinks if he threatens his textbook maybe it will start to make sense.

His tail twitches again.

It’s ridiculous how much it gets to me. I’m supposed to be irritated by him for being such an irate idiot, but instead I shift in my seat, turning to face him.

“Snow,” I say, “what are you even trying to study?”

“Um, Cryptozoology.”

“Your notebook is still upside down,” I deadpan.

His ears go pinker, if that’s even possible.

He mumbles and dramatically flips it right side up. “Happy now?”

“Not particularly,” I say. “I’d be happier if you stopped wasting your time staring at me and actually read your textbook.”

“The textbook doesn’t even make sense!”

“Then maybe try reading it instead of looking at it like you want to throw it across the room.”

He sighs dramatically, running his hands through his curls. “I’ve been trying, but the words just don’t make sense. I must have read this a dozen times, but I can’t piece the sentences together. It reads like gibberish.”

“Why haven’t you asked Bunce for help?” I ask. If it wasn’t for her holding his hand through practically everything, I doubt he’d even be alive. I applaud her for being able to deal with him, truly. It takes a lot of stress off my hands.

His tail flicks again. I hate that I find it entertaining.

“She doesn’t have time, Baz. She’s a TA, has like, four classes or something. And other smart people stuff.”

“Then ask your girlfriend,” I say.

“Girlfriend?” he snorts. “What girlfriend?”

“Agatha. The blonde one?”

“We broke up two years ago. We don’t have any of the same classes.”

“Ask Shepard.”

“I am not asking Shep to help me study.”

A beat.

“Why can’t you help me,” he asks.

“I’m too busy for that, Snow.”

“With what? Brooding and kicking a ball around campus?”

“I don’t brood, I just like spending time alone. And football is so much more than just kicking a ball around.”

“But you don’t hate me, right?”

“I hate you right now,” I say.

“Okay, but you don’t hate me. You said that yesterday.”

“I don’t,” I say reluctantly.

“Okay,” he grins. And I hate how hopeful he looks. He’s never grinned at me before. “Then help me study.”

I stare at him for a second, feeling a mix of irritation and fondness that utterly betrays me. It’s not like I don’t care that he’s struggling. It does bother me, but he’s also just incredibly annoying. And attractive. And I really don’t need more of him in my life than I do already because I think that would truly drive me mad.

“Fine,” I say, standing up and moving my chair to his desk, “but this doesn't mean we’re friends. I’m only doing this so you don’t flunk out and some poor bastard has to be your new roommate in two years.”

His tail flicks again, but this time, I can’t help but recognize the slight excitement in his posture. It’s pathetic how endearing I find it.

“So what do I do?” he asks, way too enthusiastically for someone about to read about Cryptozoology.

“You read the textbook, obviously?”

He flips through the textbook dramatically, trying to look focused. But I can see him stealing glances at me every so often.

“If I’m so distracting, maybe helping you isn’t the best idea,” I say without looking up from my notes.

“I’m not distracted,” he says, but a quick flick of his tail betrays him. “I’m just trying to process this whole vampire thing.”

I suck in a breath. “What vampire thing?” I ask, playing dumb.

“Don't be coy with me, Baz. I know you’re a vampire. That’s like, the only part of the textbook that made sense.”

“Vampires aren’t real,” I say.

“Then why is one helping me study?”

“Fuck off.”

Simon grins. “So you are a vampire,” he says. He leans forward a bit, “Can you see yourself in mirrors? Is it true you’re immortal? Can I see your fangs?”

“Christ Snow, I’m not a walking textbook. I thought you said you read that chapter, anyway.”

“I did, but I’m curious if any of it is true.”

(Most of that chapter is not, but I’m not going to waste my time explaining that to him).

I want to snap at him, but instead I say: “Is it true that you can breathe fire?”

He looks at me like I’m stupid. “Just because I have wings doesn’t mean I can breathe fire.”

“And just because I’m a vampire doesn’t mean I can’t see myself in mirrors.”

“Okay, so mirrors are a myth. Is it true you can turn into a bat?”

No. “Will I need to bite you to get you to shut up?”

“Will it hurt?”

Two minutes in and I’m already regretting helping him.

“Maybe instead of treating me like a personal search engine, you can shut up and read chapter two.”

[casuallivi]

The Midnight Kiss

Warning: agression, cursing, sexual harassment, and your usual Elain antics about things i do not remember but are definitely there...

Enjoy. Comments are welcomed and cherished :)

Part 11: God curse Azriel Hardin for leaving her S.O.L on the roadside!

Heart still racing and out of breath of her shameless runaway, Elain used her swelling hand to turn the faucet on, wincing slightly as the water hit her bruised knuckles. Damn it, that hurt! She hadn’t thought it would hurt this much, Nesta had always made it look so effortless in all her years of fighting that Elain forgot how it actually felt doing it in real life.

Jesus, what was going on with her? When had her bubbly bright life turned into this cloudy dark mess? Elain moved her wrist from left to right, pain radiating from her hand to her wrist, a humorless laugh escaping her lips. Ah, but she knew exactly when. It was all Azriel’s fault! Elain had been perfectly happy and content, doing her job effortlessly, and only one imaginative step away from crushland to appease her lady desires until Azriel had the brilliant idea to steal her thunder kissing her at the stroke of midnight.

Damn him and his lucky-stealing-super-kissable-lips!

By now, Elain was pretty sure his last name was Hardin and he used that kiss to steal her luck leaving her with a crap-touch worse than Lindsay Lohan's because her life was going down shitty-avenue fast, and now even her job, her perfect and amazing job, was being jeorpardized!

Elain was officialy S.O.L, and that meant she was Shit Out of Luck. The term looked silly the first time she heard it in a movie, but now she could totally relate to it, because boy oh boy wasn’t she out of hers!

A suffering sigh escape as she watched her frazzled reflection stare back at her in the cracked mirror, the chaotic events of the last two hours swirling back to her.

+

I hate this trip. I hate this trip. I hate this trip. God! How I hate this trip!

Elain’s mind repeated the same mantra over and over as she set up her computer, ensuring the wireless connection to her camera and the cloud was flawless. The last thing she needed on this godforsaken trip was a malfunction.

The pungent smell of hairspray and baby oil was making her eyes water, and Elain thought that was a good excuse to cry for a bit. Except she wouldn’t. She was a strong headed Archeron - with an incredible amount of debit card to her name - and she would forget her mean poopie head of a boyfriend, his telenovela worthy actress of an ex, and do her job perfectly as the goddamn crazy good professional that she was!

Focus. Just focus, she told herself, You have a job to do.

She patted her camera as an old friend, adjusting the settings to her needs. For most people a camera was a device for taking pictures and not to be thought about too much. For Elain, her camera was her safe heaven, her refuge when the world got too crazy, the lifeline to her sanity. Her memories, her growth, her pain, her happiness, her mistakes, her rights, her entire journey could be contained in the small black body which played with mirrors and light to capture every moment she decided to kept preserved in time.

And Elain loved to preserve moments in time.

She had always loved document her life, collecting moments of her loved one as if they were different trinkets from an around the world trip. And now that she got the pleasure of taking her passion to next level and being a full time photographer, finally managing to support herself with a full monthly wage that was not attached to a gig, Elain was willing to do everything in her power to do a good job.

Elain was no spaghetti to be tossed and twirled around. If Azriel decided he was done with her and didn’t bother to communicate, she would also be done with him and pretend the whole dating ordeal was a fever dream! She was a full time photographer and she would not let this Italian love mess strangle her chances of keep being a full time photographer.

She hummed a calming beat to herself.

If everything went well today, maybe —just maybe— the rest of the trip wouldn't be so bad. Elain would spend every free minute training her poker face, and who knows, maybe by Monday she would already be perfectly capable of returning to her pre-Azriel era. Hell, she could even find a new crush to help her here! The small studio was crowded with models, agents, and a couple helpers they managed to hired from the farm hotel staff. At total, she counted seven men, and seven amazing opportunities to repopulate her Crushland. Yes, a trip to crushland is due, her brain decided.

But her brain had a habit of being second in command once her heart stepped forward, and the red bastard was currently signaling to her stomach like crazy! Which was soon twisting and knotting as different images of Azriel flashed in her mind like an unwanted montage in a romcom. As brain became a photobook, a particular moment of a sweaty runner Az mauling her against the passenger door of his car took longer to fade than the rest. Slutty traitor.

Focus, Elain. Focus! Forget Azriel, his adequate shape and his ordinary kissing technique and come back to earth!

Elain was so focus tring to mentalize Azriel was mid she didn't realized someone had approched her until she spoke.

“Uh, excuse me miss.” A youngish voice with a crack at the end caught Elain’s attention, who turned back to find a petit model calling her. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

The 5’4 brunets, with not a blemish in her flawless skin, had her long black hair in a ponytail, her perfectly proportional body covered from neck to ankle in a leather jumpsuit that made Elain really glad she didn’t choose modeling while watching the girls struggling to get in it earlier.

Oh no, Elain thought in despair, the clothes must be exactly why she was here. She slapped her own forehead.

“Please, tell me you are not out of baby oil again. Someone went shopping for more, but the driver already told us the shops closer earlier here. We’ll be doomed if I can’t get this shoot done today.”

The model gave her a yellow smile.

“No miss, the girls are all dressed up.”

“You know, you don’t have to call me miss, we’re probably the same age.” Elain shivered at the amount of formality. Judging by her features, they were probably born in the same year.

The girl scratched her neck, looking a little unsure of what to say, until.

“I’m seventeen.” She mumbled self-conscious.

Okay, maybe Elain’s sense of self was a bit warp, since this girl was eleven years her junior. She laughed at herself, suddenly feeling like one of those cougar who refused to acknowledge they aged, constantly comparing themselves to their teenage daughters.

“Just call me, Elain.” she concluded with a grimace.

The girl changed her weight from one foot to the other, looking over her shoulder as if to know if they were being watched. Queasiness spread in Elain’s belly. Oh boy, whatever this was about, she had a feeling it would not be good.

“Is just… I was wondering if we have to shoot together with the man.”

Elain frowned at her odd question. This was a mixed photo shoot; it had been previously established in their briefing that the models would mingle after taking individual close shots to better display the sponsored jewelry. 

“I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“I’m Marla.”

“You were in the briefing last week, correct?”

Marla scratched her covered arm, looked over her shoulder, then back at Elain.

“Yeah.”

“So you know the answer to that.”

Elain didn’t like to be a jerk, but her years in the industry had taught her that it was better to be firm and clear than to be too friendly and not respected by anyone on the set. She loved gushing over the models, trading beauty secrets and gossiping about famous people in their breaks, but once the camera was rolling she was closer to a boss than a friend.

“The studio is only booked for the day. I need to make sure everything is covered till 17h." The sun set was extra early here, and Eain liked working with natural light the best. "Your agency shared this schedule with you, yes?”

“Yeah, they have. It’s just… I just… Can’t you shoot us first and them later, of something?”

Elain shook her head.

“Sorry, that’s not the concept for the day.”

“Can’t you change it?”

The girl screeched herself again, on the neck this time, her nails making the skin angry red. Elain stopped her holding her wrist, only them noticing the shakes in her. She watched the girl more carefully, Marla tension making her anxious.

“Is everything all right?”

The girl looked over her shoulder again, and this time Elain followed her gaze.

The only studio they manage to book was nothing but a remodeled basement, the space growing moist and hot after lunch, so a table had been set with snacks and beverages to improve the mood of the crew. Now, beside the same table, a couple clad in leather suits were speaking quietly to each other, a mand and a woman. Then the man did something Elain wished she had not seen; he slapped the model’s ass , grabbing it to bring her closer. Elain squinted, pulse quickening as she recognized him.

Yep, it was him.

Eris fucking Danaan.

Elain couldn’t stop the I-have-a- stomach-ache look from taking over her features, because having to deal with Eris Danaan was the closest she ever came to shitting herself and spreading the poop on the walls with both hands. The carrot fart with a big ass head full of ginger fur was the most hideous man she had ever have the displeasure of working with.

Okay, fine, he wasn’t ugly per say. Eris was actually a highly requested model known for his lanky frame and exquisite beauty. His porcelain skin, paired with a ginger hair that when styled correctly fell across his forehead in a chick careless way, and the freckles that peppered almost every inch of his face – reminding Elain of her own beauty marks, much to her dismay – were the features that made casting agents piss themselves to get him. The motherfuck was A-list and he knew it. But he was ugly on the inside, and Elain couldn’t unsee it.

Like a twisted prince from a modern fairy tale, his full of white teeth smile hide a disgusting personality that made him very difficult to work with, the pig being famously known specially among the female staff, because he had a taste for disrespecting and disregarding them all. He was also known for not being able to keep his hands to himself.

Elain was sure as daylight that she would never had selected him for a job, so her face frowned in confusing seeing him on set.

“Thank’s for your time,” Marla mumbled leaving Elain behind and going to her friend, no doubt creating a silly excuse to pull her away from the predator.

Eris laughed as he watched the younger one literally drag her friend away. Elain’s heavy stare must had lured him, because next thing she knew he was looking at her, the smile turned into a daring smirk. He chose an apple from the table and rubbed it against his leather-covered manly bit before taking a bite of it. Elain didn’t know if she felt more stunned or disgusted, her confusing giving him enough time to wink her way before moving along as well.

+

Her camera flashed dozen times per minute, the models swiftly adjusting their poses under the bright lights effortlessly, Elain’s guiding voice breaking across the other noises made by the production time. The makeshift studio buzzed with activity, flashes firing, the Nuala and Miguel changing the set of jewelry the models were using every couple minutes, and Elain’s assistant for the day – one of the hotel staff – sitting with the laptop, making sure the photos she took appeared on the screen simultaneously, which indicate her wireless connection was flawless.

The studio should’ve been a place of creativity and creation. The lights, the models, the schedule, everything had been meticulously craft to aim at the perfect result, the perfect photos. Nothing and no one should be able to disturb Elain once she was in the zone.

Except, today of all shit days, she had the displeasure of having Eris in her set. Elain soon learned who he ended up here, to her misery, he was covering for another model who got covid, and now the ginger freak seemed to be doing everything in his power to disturb her working zone.

“The embrace looks stiff guys, relax please.”

She squinted at Eris, telling him in focus, double checking the position of his hands.

"“Hand higher on your left."

Yep, the fucker was touching a models ass with no need for it. Again.

"Higher!”

A few more clicks and shouting and the current female model stepped aside to be replace by Marla. Eris smile grew slight as she adjusted herself beside him. The young girl tried her best to pose, but Elain could see all her tension flooding her movements, her discomfort evident in from behind the lenses.

"Two steps to your left. Torso forward, knees to the side." Elain instructed the girl. "Relax your shoulders."

Her camera flashed, Elain holding a sigh deep in her lungs, breathing in and out to avoid exploding.

“Relax, Marla."

"Hands higher! On the collarbone, not the chest." Elain would lose it any moment now, she could feel it in her bones. "Do you know what higher means? Still on the chest."

God, she hated gropers.

"Deep your chin a little bit, eyes up-turned.”

Eris stepped behind Marla for a pose, and placing both hands in her waist, he pulled her to his front. Elain's fingers tightened around her camera, a vein pulsing quickly in her neck, heart beating faster. The girl’s eyes grow wild as she stepped out of his hold, and from her stance Elain could see it clear as day light; a freaking boner straining his leather pants.

“Let’s take five.”

She yelled to no one in particular, marching to the couple.

“Go freshen up," she told the girl to urge her away, "I need to run him by a couple instruction.”

The ginger asshole watched her curiously while Elain motion for him to look at her camera, going to the gallery to point a few photos.

“You see your stances here and here? All wrong. I told you to put your hands higher.”

Handsy motherfucker. The more she looked at the photos the clear it got that the ginger ale git was putting his hands on the models. "If you can't follow a command so simple, I don't need you in my set."

Eris only sneered at her, a smug arrogant grin plastered across his face.

“Listen sweetheart,” he drawled in a nasty stretchy voice she had no doubt he thought it was sexy, “I have fifteen years of experience. I think I know how to pose.”

Elain fumed on the inside. God, she hated the conceited assholes who thought they could get away with touching and feeling everyone up.

Breathing to stay calm and not stir a confusing, she said, “There’s no need to be touchy, this is no sexy concept.”

“The leather suits tell otherwise.” Elain frowned in disgust as he ran a hand over his front from neck to waist, grabbing his crotch at the end.

“The leather suits were a brand choice to emphasize the jewelry. We’re are aiming to make the clients thristy for them.”

Grinning, he stepped closer to her, dropping his voice lower.

"You know what makes people thirsty? A good young and fuckable couple going at it right in front of the camera." He placed a hand on the small of her back, so low his finger laid on her ass. "Like me and that nymph you send away, so bring her back and stop giving me shit."

“Get your hands of me!” Elain snarled stepping away from him. She was done pretending this was an amicable conversation now. “I don’t care how many years of experience you have, you don't touch my models and you don't fucking touch me. Get out."

He ignored her command, laughing instead of leaving.

“Your models?" the mockery was more than evident in his tone "Look at you, thinking you are somebody."

Eris tried to tower over her, eyes shine with malicious intent, but all models today average height. Elain stand toe to toe with him.

"Get out." She repeated.

"I don’t take orders from someone like you," Eris said, leaning in with a smirk to make her feel small. "You think you can talk to me like I'm some kind of underling? I’m at the winner of Brigget Jones award for most influential model of the decade, sweetheart. And you are... well, you’re just a photographer."

Elain had no idea what award was that, and honest she did not care. He moved to walk away, but hell would freeze before she stood there quiet listening to a midsized carrot trying to insult her. She held his arm.

"Does this Brigget lady endorse harassers?" she cocked her head to the side, feigning confusion as he glared at her. “What about pedophiles? Because the girl you were groping just know is a child. That's what you will you be when I take these photos to a police station. When I show them what you’ve been doing all day."

She lifted the camera to his face, a photo of Marla uncomfortably stepping away from him showing on the display.

“You will go to the police, huh.” He mocked her, chuckling. Then his face transformed.

It happened fast. One second she was showing him the photo, the next he was smacking the camera from her hand, the equipment falling far. The sound of the impact echoed through the room, and for a split second, Elain couldn’t breathe. Her camera. Her beloved camera which was gifted to her by her sisters. Her most precious possession on this earth laid broken and shattered at the ground.

Her shocked eyes stayed glued to it, while Eris hateful stared stayed glued to her.

“You think because you fucked your way in here, I can’t fuck you out?” Her eyes snapped to his, confusion evident in her face.

“What?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“What? Surprised I know who you are fucking? You know, is hard to find a squeaky clean guy like Azriel in the industry. Zero misbehaving rumors with that one. Until you." His words were cruel, nasty, with every intention to hurt, make her ashamed of herself. "Words traveled fast, dear. Everyone knows he’s been fucking you in every corner of that little headquarters you call an office." When she said nothing, he continuing, taking her shock as a clue to continue. "Is that how it works for you? You suck his Italian cock and he lets you do jobs you are way underqualified to do?”

Eris took one step close, invading her personal space, but Elain didn’t took one step back, didn’t move, too shocked to act.

“Maybe if you focused on more affluent cock you’d be higher than a measly photographer by now." His voice dropped lower as he lightly slapped the side of her face in a condescending motion. "Let me know when you tire of him. Who knows, maybe I open an assistant position just for you.”

+

His molars were hurting from all the gridding he’d been doing in the last days.

Arms crossed and jaw tight, Azriel watched Elain withow a clue she was being watched.

In the corner of the studio, Azriel stood still and watched her command the chaotic mass of people with sharp and precise orders until everyone had chore to do. She directed the models with confidence, owning the place, and Azriel let her, because he knew she was perfectly capable of directing without him, knew she would delivery great result whether he gave her inputs or not.

How far they’ve come from their first shoot where he nitpicked at every choice of hers. Azriel smiled fondly at the memory of her raising her voice at him, but his lips soon curved downwards. He had shut her down. Azriel had pushed away from Elain and he knew it.

After Morrigan’s latest ambush Azriel had been consumed with an anxiety he hadn’t experienced in a long time, feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness invading his mind. Elain’s bright view of life had contaminated him, leading Azriel to believe he could cut off his past and start anew, live a new and fresh relationship without having to touch that mess ever again, and he was arrogant enough to believe he could do it.

Being immersed in Elain’s world meant Azriel got to experience her affection, and that was changing the way he viewed affection, the way he allowed himself to display certain behaviors that weren’t allowed before. He hadn’t known what it was like to not be a secret until Elain showed him, and in returned he paid her silence and distance.

Azriel sighed deeply.

He hadn’t meant to cut Elain, not completely. When she first texted him, Azriel hit her number to dial and stopped when a call from Morrigan came true. Unable to deal with her again he turned the phone off and left, needing to escape before he did something stupid like listening to her. It took him long, but Azriel had learned that Morrigan was a mastermind, a manipulator, and going back to her out of pity would take him nowhere. Azriel had done that one to many times to know he would be the miserable one at the end.

Morrigan didn’t love him.

Worse, after everything they shared, Morrigan didn’t had an ounce of consideration for him and that hurt Azriel more than he liked to admit. She made him feel weak, less of a man, not enough, not worthy of being in a relationship. And those were the feelings he didn’t want to convey to Elain, didn’t know how to hide from her. So he pushed her away, cut contact without any explanation and now their dynamic had shifted to something different, heavier, unnatural. He didn’t even know how to talk to her anymore.

Azriel liked Elain, her vibrant personality, he respected her working ethics and her appreciation for her coworkers, hell, he had even began to find some of her silly jokes enjoyable, not that he would ever let her know that. Azriel liked Elain and missed her constant presence in his days. The realization that Azriel missed Elain dawned on him in a manner he had not expected.

He wonder if that was what healthy love felt like, fiding a soul that is different but resonates so closely to yours you begin to forget what you used to be like before them. Forget your shortcomes and insecurities, and begins to think you are worthy of sacrifices and compromising, begins to understand idolizing someone is no foundation for romance, that recognizing one's flaws doesn't make then less worthy of being loved. Azriel didn't remeber what being in love felt like, but if it was anything like the relationship he had before he didn't want it.

He much prefer this new fragile alliance disguised as ruse to forget old lovers. An alliance he was terribly close to screw. Azriel watched Elain step closer to a model to adjust her posture, moving her chin slightly up, her mouth moving, no doubt giving her tips of how to pose so she could capture the moment better.

“I would let her boss me all day long. Or night.” Azriel tensed at his brother's nosy remake, not noticing he had been standing there. “Is that why you fell? Do you have a brat kink I didn’t know of?”

He shouldn’t engage. Azriel knew he shouldn’t engage with his brother, not yet, not when his emotions were all over the place. So Azriel said nothing, turning back to his vigil, eyes tracking Elain as she asked someone to move the positon of the lights and bring her a stepping stool.

A heavy hand settle on his shoulder. “Man are the ones supposed to lead, baby bro. You don’t let a pussy control you, no matter how good it is.”

Azriel tried not to engage.

But Azriel was only a man, and sometime man were dumb.

“Do you ever shut up?”

Cassian grinned, knowing he won.

“You wouldn’t either if you sounded like me. Or looked like me.” He placed one arm around Azriel’s shoulder, using his other hand to slap him in the belly. “You're getting fat. You looked better when you hit the gym.”

At the mention of gym a memory returned to Azriel unwanted.

“Quit the club.” Cassian snarled at Azriel, blood dripping down his nose. “No.” Azriel breathed hard, holding his hurt hand. “Quit the fucking club!” Cassian yelled. “No!” he yelled back.   Cursing, Cassian vented his anger on Azriel’s the room, kicking the fixed old-sewing machine from their mother across the place, ripping the magazine pages from and sketches form the wall, notebooks and pens flying everywhere.

Azriel pushed his bother away, not one bit fond of the memory from his teenage years. “You used to hit me to hit the gym.”

When he was a freshman, Azriel decided joining a sewing would be interesting, a place where he could combine his passion for fashion with a new crafting hobby. Cassian wasn’t happy about it, destroying everything Azriel owned and dragging him to the gym instead. Till this day he hated lifting weights. Sometimes he hated his brother too, and that didn’t dwindle with age.

“I asked you one fucking thing, Cass. One.” Azriel exhale, suddenly feeling exhausting all of this running aroud. "Why can't you listen to me, brother?"

Cassian exhale deeply.

“Really? Still stuck on this? We know Mor since forever, dude. Sometimes you need to stop being so rigid and embrace a bit of nepotism."

Azriel didn’t like to keep getting involved with Morrigan. He knew the fashion word was small and there was a probability of them working together again. Hell, she had even featured in one of Marinos covers after their final breakup! But this wasn’t about personal feelings. Marinos was the apple of his eyes, his passion, his mother legacy, and Azriel wouldn’t stand by and watch someone ruin it for the sake of personal privileges. Even if that someone was his brother.

“It’s a waste of resources.” Azriel refused to look at Cassian. "We don’t sign models, Cass. We work with different agencies to achieve different goals. Fresh faces, variety of body types, new talents. This shot for example, Morrigan doesn’t fit here.”

Cassian rolled his eyes, clearly unfazed. “Oh, I’m sure she doesn’t fit in your neat spreadsheet, but she is fit. She’s fucking hot. She’ll do just fine.”

Azriel clenched his jaw so hard he thought he might break his teeth.

“No one taller than 4’11, no beach blondes, no tattoos.” He felt the words souring his mouth, each one more reluctant than the last. “These are some of the specs for the selection of today. Every single model in here fits the quota, except for one. She doesn’t belong here.”

Cassian rolled his eyes again. Azriel had always had a flare for the dramatics, and today he was going hard at it.

“This is boring me. She’s signed, it’s done, move on.”

Azriel shook his head, growing irritated. “Marinos is a brand Cassian, not some toy you get to play with when you’re bored. It needs to have quality and consistency, and– ”

“Yeah, yeah. Marino is special, important, and makes your dick hard, yada yada. I get it.” Cassian slapped his arm, interrupting him, half-amused, half-slightly irritated. He was tired of all this whining. “She won’t stay here long Azriel, this is a one-year venture tops. She’s not getting any younger, so I intend to proposed before she can look wrinkled in the pictures.”

The air around then stifled, Azriel blinking slowly.

“Excuse me?”

“What? Surprised the stallion is settling down?" Cassian smirked, glad to finally break his brother's complaining monologue. "Well baby bro, what can I say, we all have to slow down at some point, find a nice piece of ass to possess, put her to pop a kid or two, the basics of life. People envy the life style when we are younger, but in the business world it paints better to be a family man.”

“And that’s your reason to propose?”

“Precisely.”

Azriel stared at his brother, his mind scrambling to process the words. Marrying? Morrigan? He could barely hold his ground in the conversation. The thought felt like a punch to the gut. Morrigan—Morrigan, of all people—marrying his brother?

He couldn’t decide whether to laugh or rage. The choice, of course, was easy. He did neither. Instead, his voice was as cold as ice when it finally left his lips.

“You’ve lost it.”

Cassian gave him the shoulder.

“Be as it may, but I’ll be a married man by this time next year.”

Azriel opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment a noise caught his attention. His gaze instantly moved to Elain, checking her from head to toe to make sure she was okay. That’s when he saw the scene unfolding. Elain wasn't photographing anymore.

Some point during his conversation with his brother, Elain had stopped the shooting, the whole set watching as she stood face to face with a model, her camera liying discharged on the floor. His whole body went taunt as he watched the model touch her face.

No.

No, he wasn’t touching her face.

The soon to be dead idiot was slapping Elain's face as one would do to a petulant animal misbehaving.

"Son of a bitch."

“Motherfucker.”

The brothers cursed simultaneously.

Cassian's news were forggoten in a second, his feet moving before his brain could. All his life Azriel had regarded himself as a better man than his brother for not resourcing to violence no matter how hard life treated him, but watching Elain getting slapped made him realize he was not so different from his brother at all. Because he was about to beat the shit out of that guy.

Except he didn’t get to.

Because Elain was faster.

So fast he barely saw her arm moving, a right hook hitting the dude straight in the jaw. Azriel paused his stride watching the ginger drop cold on the floor.

[lyss-overcomplicates-everything]

Tavrok unironically being super logical and generally a great guy???!

[ejzah]

Blunt Force, Part 11

***

“You know, I’m not a big surprise guy. I kind of like to know what’s going on, particularly given recent developments,” Deeks commented. Kensi had arrived at his apartment early Saturday moment, armed with a hot cup of coffee just the way he liked it, a donut, and instructions to get ready for an excursion.

Normally, he’d have a few questions, but three weeks out from his TBI, cabin fever had started to set in. The worst of his concussion symptoms had resolved, but he still wasn’t cleared for most activities that would he’ll pass the time. Definitely not surfing or running, which he’d relied on a lot to deal with both frustration and boredom.

So, he’d changed into jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed his phone, and let Kensi drive without any idea of their destination.

“Deeks, relax, I’m not kidnapping you,” Kensi said now, calmly driving along a road lined with a mix of gas stations, apartments, and retail establishments. He dipped his head to glance out the passenger window.

“Well, two minutes ago I wasn’t too worried, but this does kind of look like my old stomping grounds. Please tell me you didn’t stage an intervention with my mother.” He intended it mostly as a joke, but the surrounding area did look pretty familiar.

“Deeks, I’ve never even met your mom.”

“Really?” That surprised him after the amount of time they’d spent together since his injury. He started to ask why, but Kensi signaled to turn into a parking lot with a strip mall, which contained several chain restaurants, a boutique, and supplements store from what he could see. “Did you have a sudden craving for the Chinese buffet?”

“No. Though the crab Rangoon from that place are amazing,” she said.

“I know. I used to come here all the time when I lived in the area,” he told her.

She flashed him an odd look, but didn’t say anything else as she slowed in front of a nondescript gray building and parked towards the back of the parking lot.

“Kensi, where are we?”

“Do you trust me?” she returned, fingers clamping and unclamping around the steering wheel.

“Yeah,” he said without much thought. She hadn’t given him a reason not to.

“It’s a firing range.”

“That’s what I thought, which leads to my next question. Why?”

Putting the SUV in park, Kensi sighed and turned to face him. “We spent a lot of time practicing and training, so I thought being in a familiar environment might, I don’t know, bring up some memories. And if not, it’s a good bonding exercise.”

“And we could do that at the buffet or a walk in the park. Literally, anything else,” he said. Kensi pressed her lips together, staying silent for several seconds.

“Do you trust me?” she repeated, more softly this time.

He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t call her on the blatant manipulation. “Ok, let’s go shoot stuff,” he said unenthusiastically.

Kensi rented two lanes for them along with ear protection. When the attendant asked if they needed weapons or ammunition, she said they had their own.

At this time of day, there was only one other patron at the far end of the room. Deeks instantly felt tense at the muted sound of gunfire, the smell of gunpowder.

Once they were set up in their lanes, Kensi removed a gun from her waistband. He instantly recognized the model thanks to way too many cases involving firearms.

“This is your preferred service weapon at the moment,” Kensi explained, offering it to him with the muzzle pointed towards the floor. “You switched from a Smith and Wesson a while back. Here, take it.”

“Guns aren’t my favorite thing,” Deeks drawled, side-eyeing the weapon with distaste.

“I understand, but I’d bet a month worth of dish duties that Hetty will ask for a firearms demonstration, so…” she presented the gun to him again.

With extreme reluctance, Deeks took the gun by the handle. The weight and coolness of the metal didn’t surprise him, but the vague sense of familiarity did. He hadn’t held a gun of any kind in his bare hands in over a decade. It felt odd, not wrong exactly, but certainly not something he enjoyed.

“Why don’t you take a shot?” Kensi suggested.

“Or I could just watch you.”

“Deeks.” Coming up behind him, she cupped his elbows, physically adjusting his arms and hands into the appropriate position. When she stepped back, he missed the warmth again his back. He automatically shifted slightly in a way that felt more natural. Raising his hands a little higher, he pulled the trigger, and the bullet pinged off a piece of metal outside of the target.

“Yep, I’m a natural,” he commented.

“It’s going to take a minute,” Kensi assured him. “Though I’m going to remember how bad that was later on.”

“Sure, keep making fun of the concussed guy.”

“Yeah, you poor baby.” Moving over to her own lane, she removed a second gun from her waistband, adjusted her headphones, and aimed with an impressive amount of speed, shooting several bullets in a row.

She casually stepped back with a smug smile and brought the target forward.

“Wow, that’s impressive. And kind of terrifying.”

“Thank you. Now it’s your turn again.”

“As delightful as your demonstration was, I don’t think I’m going to be any better this time around.” He tried to hand the gun back, but Kensi shook her head.

“Close your eyes and visualize yourself aiming the gun and shooting,” Kensi instructed him, and he followed along as she kept speaking. He’d never taken Kensi for the type to buy into this kind of thing. “You’ve done this a thousand times before. It’s second nature at this point. It’s easy.”

He focused on his breathing, letting his thoughts drift with the sound of Kensi’s voice. He imagined the times when he’d wished he could defend someone over the years. The little girl who got bullied by kids twice her age, the eighteen year old boy hurt in a carjacking, the terrified mom just trying to protect her children. Eleven year old Marty Deeks.

Deeks’ eyes sprang open and he raised his arms, gun held between his hands; everything stilled around him as he aimed and pulled the trigger six times. He lowered the gun, breathing as hard as if he’d just finished a race.

Beside him, Kensi reeled in the target, revealing six bullet holes clustered around the bullseye.

“Wow,” she commented. “I guess that muscle memory kicked in after all.”

Shaking, Deeks pulled the headphones off and shoved them into Kensi’s hands.

“Yeah, it’s fantastic,” he muttered.

“Deeks,” he heard her say, but he pushed past her, ignoring her repeated calls.

***

A/N: Was that too much?

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 11

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.

You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.

But your life had never been quite that easy.

“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.

He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.

The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.

George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.

“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”

George thanked him.

And you sat very still. 

A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.

His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.

“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”

You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.

Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.

Your fault.

When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.

“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.

“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”

George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.

“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”

“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”

George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.

You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.

He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”

“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.

“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.

You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.

“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.

You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.

Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”

You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.

He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.

“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.

“Normally?” you echoed.

“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.

George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”

“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”

At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.

Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”

“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”

Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.

Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.

“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.” 

You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”

“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.

“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.

Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”

And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.

He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.

Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.

“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”

Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.

Dean’s lips quirked.

“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”

Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”

George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.

She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.

“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”

Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.

“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”

He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.

Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.

Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”

“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”

“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”

“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”

“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”

Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”

“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.

“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.

Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.

So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.

Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.

However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.

While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.

“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.

“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.

“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.

It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.

On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast. 

“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.

However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.

“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”

She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.

“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”

You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.

“Nothing.”

Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”

“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.

“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.

Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.

“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.

“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”

Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.

“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”

“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”

By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”

“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”

You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.

She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.

But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.

By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.

Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.

He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.

“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”

Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.

“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.

“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.

“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”

That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.

Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.

George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.

“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.

“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”

“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.

“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.

When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.

“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”

Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.

“Tell me,” he said.

“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”

Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.

That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.

But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made. 

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.

In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.

This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.

But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry. 

He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.

So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.

And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.

“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.

He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.

Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”

You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.

“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”

Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”

You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”

Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”

You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.

“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.

Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.

Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.

“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.

You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.

“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”

“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part. 

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.

For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes. 

He’s not leaving you. 

Not like everyone else in your life.

You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.

When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.

It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.

“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”

Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart. 

“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”

You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.

Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.

Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.

He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.

Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t leave you. 

I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”

A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.

“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”

With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.

“That matters to me,” he told you.

You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”

Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.

“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”

You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand. 

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.

But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.

Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙

Next Time:

The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.” 

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.

Keep Reading: PART 12

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