#I KNEW IT I KNEW IT!!!!!! SINCE I SAW THE ROOFTOP IN THE PREVIEW | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

celestialmark · 5 years

Text

Solitude - Part One

Characters: Mark Lee x reader, members of nct

Genre: sniper!mark, mafia au

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings: mentions of death, alcohol, cursing

Author’s note: I've never written anything like this before- but I do hope you enjoy!!

A bead of sweat trickles down the side of Mark’s face and it leaves a subtle trail on his skin, a rare indication of his nerves. Mark hated it. He hated feeling nervous because the feeling was unfamiliar to him, especially on occasions like these, where he’s aligning his viewer to the target. With one eye shut tight, he uses his other to navigate to the precise area he wants his bullet to penetrate. He sucks in a huge breath and tightens his palms around his weapon, exerting all his unnecessary nerves into it so that it leaves no room for second-guesses and doubts in his turbulent mind.

Mark was notorious for his one-shot kills. And the secret to that was to have a perfectly clear mind. And knowing that he was nowhere near achieving that today, drives him to think for the first time ever, that he might actually miss.

But Mark lives up to his reputation when he pulls the trigger after eons of perfecting his centre, the silence boring into his ears, his adrenaline rush pushing him to the edge. It isn’t long before the bullet flies, whizzing through the air in a crazy speed, the initial screech of it being launched deafening Mark momentarily before it disappears into thin air like it never happened. It’s a mere second before the crowd below breaks in a frantic, people running and screaming left and right and in all sorts of directions at the sight of the person at the centre of all the attention having collapsed out of nowhere, bright red blood seeping through clothes. Security comes to aid but the damage has already been done.

Mark shoots you.

And it just so happens, that he doesn’t miss today.

“Mission clear,” Donghyuck, the one who catches your body, speaks discretely into the mic attached to his ear, his words transcending to other members of his team disguised as the target’s security just like he is. “Jeno, clear the target. Mark should be down soon.” The said boy scurries to carry the lifeless body out of the scene, away from the eyes of the press who are shaking in fear, seeking shelter in any direction possible while the police who had arrived prior, attempt to handle the mess. Police surround the area and its vicinity, exerting useless efforts to catch the culprit who by now has successfully returned to the vehicle he left before situating himself on the rooftop.

Mark is already preparing to drive the van parked just metres away from the location of the commotion, when Jeno arrives to dispatch your now blood-soaked body at the back seat. From the rear-view mirror, Mark catches Jeno’s eyes for a second and Jeno nods curtly before sliding the door shut, leaving Mark to rev the engine and zoom into the distance. He’s still sweating and by now his fingers have begun to tremble. But he shakes it off, focusing all his attention on ensuring he escapes with you.

“Johnny!” Mark yells as he bangs on the door with his foot. “Johnny!” he calls again, desperation and haste in his thick voice. “I swear to God Johnny—“

Mark is about to kick the door open when Johnny finally comes into view after unlocking the door. His disheveled hair and the wrinkle in his clothes tell Mark that the elder had been in deep sleep prior to his arrival. Johnny’s eyes that’s squinting to adjust to light immediately widen when he takes in the sight of Mark carrying your barely breathing body. Mark follows Johnny’s eyes and find your eyes rolling back, occasional breaths heavy and uneven, both of your shoulders rising and falling each and every time you draw in air with much difficulty. Your clothes are soaked with blood and even with the temporary patch Mark put on your wound to prevent even more bleeding, the gushing would not stop.

“What the fuck— what is this?” Johnny asks, fully awake, stepping aside to let Mark into his place. Johnny glances outwards in all directions to ensure no one witnessed Mark’s frantic screaming before closing the door shut.

Mark lays your body on Johnny’s trolley in his makeshift clinic, a home for all the wounded members of their gang. Mark tears your blouse open to inspect the damage he caused, eyebrows furrowed and jaw taught. He grabs a nearby gauze to press on the wound, replacing the old one, and it elicits a grimace from you, although a very weak response.

Johnny already has gloves on when he comes beside Mark, examining you from head to toe so that he could formulate a plan. Things were not looking good. You were borderline turning purple and you were struggling to breathe. “How long has she been out for?”

“A little over thirty minutes,” Mark says curtly, eyes trained on you. “I brought her here as soon as she was shot.”

Mark knows there’s questions boring at the back of Johnny’s head and he really didn’t have the time for that now so when his friend doesn’t press on the matter, he silently thanks the heavens. “Mark, she’s lost too much blood. We need to get her at least two units and I don’t have any here. I don’t even know what her blood type is—“

“She’s AB,” Mark interrupts, limbs growing weak by the second at the sight of you clinging onto your dear life but his voice firm and clear. “I’m A. Take some from me. Now.”

Mark finds himself lying on another trolley Johnny pushed beside yours earlier. There’s a dull pain radiating from his right arm, right where the needle’s poking him, drawing his blood and transfusing it directly into you as Johnny tends to your wound. The oxygen mask Johnny has put on you is barely assisting in making your lungs inflate and deflate but you’re way more relaxed now that he’s downed your system with anaesthetics and sedation. He keeps a close eye on you and switches his attention between the monitor above your head, and on Mark who’s just staring straight into the ceiling, focusing on the subtle flicker of the lightbulb that lights up the whole room.

An echo of a clang resonates in the room and Mark knows Johnny has retrieved the bullet he mercilessly penetrated you with an hour ago, placing it to the metal kidney dish. He brings himself to look to his right, to your almost lifeless body, guilt gnawing at him more than he would ever admit. Mark’s beginning to feel dizzy, maybe from the fatigue with a combination of him presently losing blood, but he fights to stay awake, to ensure that he hears Johnny say you’re going to be okay.

It takes Johnny another good fifteen minutes to successfully stitch all the damage up. And another five minutes for him to settle Mark’s silent concerns.

“She’s doing okay for now. But we’ll have to keep a close eye.”

“Where the fuck is Mark?”

Donghyuck raises the phone to his ear for the umpteenth time, dialling the man in question’s number. He lets out a frustrated groan, having not seen his friend since this afternoon’s events and now, being unable to reach him with no knowledge of his whereabouts whatsoever.

“Why are you so worried? Mark always does his job fine,” Renjun, who’s sitting in the corner of the room, feet resting up on the table, says nonchalantly, unfazed by his friend’s unnecessary behaviour.

“Mark isn’t the type keep us in the dark,” Donghyuck retaliates, his forefinger finding its way to his temple to ease an impending headache. “Did he say anything before he left?” Donghyuck asks, turning to Jeno.

Jeno, attention solely on the articles flooding his laptop from today’s shooting, a result of his skills, briefly glances at Donghyuck before shifting his eyes to his screen again, shakes his head curtly, “Nope.”

“Then where could he be?” Donghyuck asks into the void, knowing all too well he wasn’t going to receive a decent answer any time soon.

Jaemin hops off the table he’s been sitting on and walks over to Donghyuck, patting his shoulder to hopefully calm his stress. “On a good note, the whole country thinks y/n is dead.” Jeno looks up from his laptop and nods his head, confirming the truth to Jaemin’s words after scanning all the news headlines with you on the covers.

“We’d be sure of that if Mark picked up his bloody phone,” Donghyuck prods, gripping his phone tight, still on edge, even when he knew there was no need to be because what Renjun had said earlier was right.

Renjun frowns, growing impatient at Donghyuck’s temper. “Mark never misses. He wouldn’t start now. And you were there yourself, you saw how he shot right at her heart. Just how he always does.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, “Whatever.”

Renjun has already risen from his seat and is ready to storm towards Donghyuck in fury when Jaemin purposefully impedes his way, preventing him from advancing further. Jaemin stares into Renjun’s eyes and once he’s sure he’s gotten his attention, he shakes his head to warn Renjun not to start any petty exchange.

The door to their headquarters suddenly open harshly, the steel material making a disturbing bang when it hits the wall from being swung too strongly. By the doorway reveals Taeyong; the very man in charge, the man who has everyone shaking under his mercy. Jeno immediately stands from the couch, fixing his clothes in the process while the others straighten themselves, unconsciously falling next to one another.

“Good job boys!” Taeyong’s voice booms through the room, clapping his hands three times, looking genuinely pleased with a menacing grin hanging on the corner of his lips. “A well executed job done today.” Taeyong scans the place and then lands his eyes on the boys who are staring at the ground. “Oh? Where’s Mark?”

There’s silence that hangs in the air for what seems like centuries and Donghyuck is about to open his mouth to say something, most probably a lie that he can come up with the quickest, but doesn’t get the chance to speak when Taeyong shakes his head, “Doesn’t matter. He can do whatever he wants. He did his part today.” Taeyong nods and exhales a breath, reaching out to tap Donghyuck’s shoulders firmly. “Go out and celebrate. You deserve it,” he winks.

Once Taeyong leaves and is out of sight, the four instantly relax, their shoulders drooping slightly, letting go of the breaths they held. Jaemin rests his arms on Donghyuck and Renjun’s shoulders, a grin forming on his lips, “Well? You heard the man. Let’s celebrate? Where should we go?”

“The usual?” Jeno suggests from beside Donghyuck who still hasn’t looked away from the door Taeyong has just disappeared to.

“I’m good with anything,” Renjun says, shrugging his shoulders.

“What about you Hyuck?” Jaemin asks, turning to his left.

“Nowhere until I find Mark,” he says shortly.

Renjun rolls his eyes while Jeno blinks. “Why are you so concerned with Mark anyways?” Jaemin asks curiously. “He’s probably gotten rid of y/n’s body since ages ago and is most likely catching up on his sleep. All the planning for today did tire everyone out.”

Donghyuck turns his head to Jaemin and Renjun, after glancing at Jeno, his features still rigid and have never relaxed since the day began. “You haven’t noticed anything about Mark?”

Renjun raises a brow, “What?”

“Something’s been off,” Donghyuck admits, blinking into the distance.

“Maybe you’re just overthinking,” Jaemin pipes up, letting go of Renjun so that he can ruffle Donghyuck’s hair. “Come on, a few drinks will surely help ya.”

“Go on, I know you have a million questions to ask,” Mark says, voice low and eyes fixated onto the blood staining his hands, running them under hot water to remove the remnants of today’s events.

“You missed her heart,” Johnny points out, not even glancing at Mark, the unusual observation, let alone the younger bringing his very victim, confusing him to his wits end. Mark stills, his hands freezing in their spot before resuming. “It’s unlikely of you.”

Johnny momentarily halts putting his equipment away on the counter, opens his mouth to say something, but closes them just as fast and proceeds to clean. “And I do have questions. But I know you. You’d be talking by now if you wanted to tell me,” Johnny pauses and contemplates what he’s going to say, quietly sensing the younger’s inner dilemmas through the distraught in his eyes. “So no, I’m not going to ask. You don’t want me to.”

Mark turns the tap off and it emits a low screech. Setting his hands on the edges of the sink, he lets out a sigh, his head dropping low. Johnny was right. He didn’t want to talk about it because if he was honest, he wouldn’t know where to begin. He’s mulled over today’s happenings a million times over in his head and no matter how hard he recalculates his actions, he really couldn’t find a better alternative that could possibly result to an ideal outcome, maybe one that involved him avoiding hurting you in any way or form. But that was his job. He was set out for that task. And he knew better than anyone else that once he’s given orders from the higher ups, there was no asking questions nor objections.

Mark comes back to earth when he feels a palm on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly, “Take it easy, okay? Rest up while you wait for her to wake up. She should be awake soon,” Johnny smiles gently before he’s leaving the room.

Mark takes Johnny’s advice and grabs a chair, lifting it across the room and placing it right beside where you’re sleeping. He stares at you for a few seconds before bringing his head down, fiddling with his fingers and letting his thoughts drown out the constant beeping of the machine monitoring your progress. He realises he doesn’t have much of a plan, unsure of what to do or what to tell you once you awoke from your unconscious state. All he knew was that he needed to save you. He leans forward in his seat, resting his arms on the trolley beside your body. He rests his head on his arm then, closes his eyes and falls asleep slowly, with you being the last thing he sees before exhaustion consumes him.

After an hour, you wake up to an ache in your head, your eyes fluttering open with much difficulty and immediately squinting them shut when they’re met by light from the ceiling. You inhale a breath and that’s when you become aware of the oxygen mask wrapped around your head and also of the stinging pain shooting up on your left chest. The gush of pain makes you groan lowly, your breathing becoming a little heavier as you wait for it to subside. But it doesn’t and it makes breathing a heavy effort. In no less than a minute, a tear rolls down the side of your face, slowly recollecting brief images of what had happened before you passed out. You remember being on the verge of fainting, most likely from the lack of sleep, stress and pressure from being in front of the public’s eyes for as long as you can remember, and then falling apart together because of a bullet. Another painful groan leaves your lips when you try to rise from where you’re lying only to fall back again when the pain intensifies.

You notice then a sleeping figure by your side, who has now woken up because of your haste movements, staring at you with wide eyes and raised brows. It takes him a moment to say something, eyes merely blinking at you who’s struggling to breathe. “Y/n?” He finally speaks out, voice a little hoarse from his sleep. “Are you okay?”

Your head falls back down, eyes darting to the ceiling above, an exasperated breath escaping your lips, your hands balling into fists. “S-sore..” You croak helplessly. “It hurts.”

The stranger switches his gaze to your face and then to your wound and then back and forth a few more times before he’s scrambling off his chair, running into a direction you don’t see. You hear him distantly calling out to someone in another room before he reappears again, his figure now towering over you. He seems to be in a panic, his hands flailing in the air, not knowing what to do to be of any help to you. Another pain shoots up your wound and it travels down to your whole body, making you hiss. You reach your left hand out to anything you can grab a hold of and it lands on the stranger’s arm. You clutch it, not even caring whether you were exerting too much force or not, whether you were hurting him or not, your mind too focused on distracting you from the pain.

He doesn’t back away nor removes your grasp on him, instead, he places his other hand on top of yours, the warmth of his skin comforting you in some way. And if that wasn’t enough, he begins to rub the back of your hand with his thumb in a slow, rhythmic manner, your whole attention now focused on the feeling of his touch. It’s helping. But it’s not enough.

It’s not long before another figure appears beside him, his stature a lot taller with soft eyes. “Hey hey,” he speaks gently, assessing you from head to toe before landing his eyes longer onto the monitor above your head. “How’s the pain?”

“Terrible,” you croak in between breaths. “I can’t breathe.”

The tall man nods and shuffles off to somewhere before coming back to where he was in a heartbeat, this time with something that looks like a syringe in his hand. “I’m gonna give you a strong painkiller okay? It’s gonna make you a little drowsy but should make the pain better.” You barely manage a nod before he’s injecting it into your line you didn’t notice before.

True to his words, the pain subsides little by little and it pulls you back into another slumber. “I’m Johnny,” you hear him say, adjusting another drip he’s connecting you to. “You’re going to be okay.” He smiles at you again, his eyes disappearing in the process and it convinces you to believe his words. Taking one last glance at your monitor, he leaves the room, but not before nodding at the stranger who hasn’t ceased on holding your hand.

You’re falling asleep again and you’re staring hard at the stranger who’s now looking at you, concern evident in his eyes that’s boring into yours. You can’t get your words out, your eyelids getting heavier by the second but you so badly want to know his name because even though you’ve never ever seen him in your life before, you feel good in his presence. Your eyes are shutting, breathing becoming even and steady, but before you become unconscious altogether, you vaguely hear him say something as if reading your mind,

“Mark. My name’s Mark.”

“Quit it already!” Jaemin reprimands, taking Donghyuck’s phone away from his grasp. “For goodness sake Hyuck, loosen up a little!”

Donghyuck glares at Jaemin who’s tucking his phone away in his pocket before surrendering and leaning forward on the counter of the bar they frequented. “Fine,” he says as he takes a sip of the drink Jaemin had ordered for him earlier.

“Finally!” Renjun exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air to which Jeno grins.

“Should we make a toast?” Jaemin suggests, already reaching for his glass. The three follow suit, everyone grinning to themselves happily, remembering the success they attained during the day after excruciating months of preparation. “To future kills!

“To future kills!” The three re-echo, clinking their glasses together and downing each of their respective drinks like a champion, only to grimace afterwards at the after taste.

“Wow I can’t believe it’s really done,” Renjun says, playing with his glass. “Feels like it was just yesterday we were stressing about it.”

Jaemin nods in agreement, resting his chin on his palm, “Probably the hardest thing we’ve had to do so far. I mean killing someone in public with so many watching.. That’s not easy.”

“We could’ve gotten caught so easily,” Donghyuck points out.

“But we didn’t!” Jaemin claps his hands, landing a palm on Jeno’s shoulder. “All thanks to Jeno’s sick hacking skills, Mark’s perfect aim, and our convincing disguises as y/n’s security. Teamwork makes the dream work!” Jaemin winks.

Renjun rolls his eyes, “Lame.”

“So what now?” Jeno asks. “Now that it’s over, what now?”

“We get our money back,” Renjun replies curtly. “Remember the money her parents stole? We get that back.”

Donghyuck clucks his tongue, “Don’t know how that’s going to work now that they’re all dead though. I feel like Taeyong just wanted them dead merely for revenge.”

“Could we not just take their money and go?” Jaemin asks, disappointment hinted in his voice.

“Not unless Jeno can hack his way through,” Donghyuck answers. “I mean it was already hard getting into her world and pretending to be her guards.”

There’s silence for a while, each of the boys getting lost in their own thought before Jeno breaks it.

“Gotta give it to Mark though,” he speaks for the first time tonight. “I’ve never seen him practice his shooting so hard before. He already knows he’s good.”

Donghyuck ponders on the thought, his mind wandering to Mark again and the worry of not being able to get to him. “Just goes to show how this whole thing has been stressful for him too,” Jaemin offers.

“And he did have the most vital role today,” Donghyuck adds.

Renjun shrugs, “Guess his practicing paid off then. He got his target right where he wanted.”

Jeno is about to say something about what he observed weeks back but chooses to drop the topic when Jaemin switches to another one altogether. The four of them fall into conversation just like that, boisterous laughter erupting when alcohol completely takes over their systems. Donghyuck, who’s been on edge the whole day, even after the success of their mission, forgets about Mark completely, allowing all of what he’s downing relieve him of the stress that’s been eating him up alive for so long.

“Is this all Jeno’s doing?” Johnny asks, scrolling through countless of pages containing different articles which all have the same topic on its headlines: your assassination and death. It’s been twenty four hours and the occurrences of yesterday has been the only focus of media outlets.

Mark nods absentmindedly, merely glancing at what the elder’s reading before trailing his eyes back on you, still unconscious on the trolley. “He’s getting better and better,” Johnny comments, clicking on and scanning random articles Jeno had created that seemed so real and convincing. “I’m guessing the others think y/n is dead too then?”

Mark nods again, feeling a little less on edge when he studies the steady pattern of your breathing. “I was asked to get rid of her body after I shot her.”

“Oh man, I’d be well convinced she was gone too if I’d read these,” Johnny says, still so fascinated at the skill Jeno has perfected over the years. “And of course if she wasn’t in front of me.”

Mark remains silent, still waiting for Johnny to break the ice and go ahead in asking the big question. But he doesn’t ask even then, still choosing to avoid the topic like a plague and directing the conversation elsewhere. “Don’t think this is going to sit well with Taeyong though.”

Mark tries not to shudder at the chilling thought and though he knows out of all people that what Johnny had said was true, he’d be lying if he said it had occurred to him, too carried away in the moment, too focused on putting your life on the line just to save it in the end. “Yeah, it won’t,” he mumbles, eyes never leaving you.

Jonny says something but Mark doesn’t quite hear when he’s already leaving his spot beside the elder, realising you’re waking up from your slumber. You’re blinking your eyes to adjust to the light when Mark comes into your peripheral vision until he’s completely all you can see. “Hey,” he says softly, eyes warm and gentle. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you manage to reply, lifting your hand to take off your oxygen mask that’s making communication difficult. “Still painful. But a lot better.”

Johnny is beside Mark in no time just as Mark takes the mask from you and when he examines the monitor again, he looks down at you and smiles, “Your numbers look good. Would you like another painkiller? Maybe a milder one?”

You realise you don’t know anything about anyone in this room apart from their names and in a normal situation, this would be alarming to you. But somehow, for the first time in a while, you’re not fearing for your life even though you’re surrounded by complete strangers. “Y-yeah, that’d be great, thanks,” you croak.

Johnny disappears again and Mark darts his eyes elsewhere when silence falls upon the both of you. “Mark?” you call out, praying to the heavens your memory didn’t fail you to save you from embarrassment. You almost exhale a breath of relief when he turns to you, responding to his name with curious eyes. “What happened? Where are we?”

Mark’s eyes widen for a split second, something you could have easily missed had you not been staring at him all this while. He blinks a couple times, avoids your gaze for another few seconds before finally returning his eyes on you, “Um— What do you remember last y/n?”

You rest your eyes by closing them as you rack your brain for any recollections of the day before blacking out. “The press conference— I remember a lot of cameras, and a lot of people. That’s it. The next thing I can remember is security carrying me out before I passed out.”

Johnny returns and exchanges a quick glance with Mark before injecting another painkiller into your line. You open your eyes when you feel Johnny fiddle with your line and see Mark still staring at you with a glint in his eyes you can’t quite put a name on. He’s about to speak when a vivid image from your memory comes back to you, “Donghyuck!” you almost exclaim and it grabs Johnny’s attention too, now staring at you also. “I remember one of the security’s name was Donghyuck.. I heard someone calling his name. I believe he carried me out. And I remember a Jeno too. I think Jeno was the last person I’d seen before blacking out.”

“Had you seen those people before?” Mark asks, testing your memory and clarifying how much you know. Johnny looks at Mark wearily before returning his attention to you.

You shake your head, “No. I don’t think so.” You look down at your wound, where the pain is coming from and then back up at Mark. “I’ve been shot. Right?”

Mark hesitates. But nods.

“Do you know who shot me? Is it the same person who’s been sending me death threats?” You ask again, not really knowing why you would ask a complete stranger something he might not even have answers to. A thought occurs to you then. Why were you so open to someone you’d just met? For all you knew, this person could be trying to kill you too. But you decide against it, your desperation driving you to trust Mark, probably the only person you could trust right now despite not knowing a thing about him. Besides, he saved your life, right?

Instincts. Your gut tells you to. And your guts were never wrong.

Mark raises a brow, a frown lining his forehead, the mention of death threats catching him off guard. The definitely was not his group’s doing, “Death threats? Someone’s been threatening to kill you?”

“Yeah,” you nod slowly. “Ever since—“

A series of nasty bangs against the door prevents you from speaking further, all of you immediately snapping your head to the direction of the frantic knocks. “Johnny!!” Someone screams, the volume of their voice traveling to reach your location. Mark and Johnny look at each other, a hint of confusion and alarm flashing in their orbs before Johnny’s jogging away to check the culprit.

“Who’s that?” You ask, your heartbeat unknowingly picking up its pace, the numbers on the monitor reflecting your internal panic. You watch Mark seemingly formulate a plan silently in his head when he walks in circles beside your bed. “Mark, what’s happening?”

Johnny’s by the doorway and calls out to Mark, eyebrows meeting in the middle and his features stern, “You have to get her out of here.” Johnny glances at you, “Now.”

Mark doesn’t spare any time when he quickly detaches you from wires you were connected to, pulling at different places, his hands moving in a blur. “You think you can walk?” He asks, not even looking at you, utterly focused on disconnecting you to everything that’s keeping you from leaving.

“W-What’s happening Mark?” Seeing Mark in a frantic makes you fearful and he could tell by the way your voice had begun to shake and quieten down.

Mark stops then. He looks at you, your fearful eyes reflecting onto his rigid ones. “Listen to me carefully okay,” his voice suddenly becoming stern and low. “You’re not safe here. I’ll answer your questions later but I’m going to need you to come with me,” Mark says, his eyes not wavering from yours.

Mark sees your uncertainty and he feels you tremble under his touch when he holds both of your shoulders. “I know you’re scared and I’m a stranger to you. But I need you to trust me,” he pauses, giving your shoulders a light squeeze.

“I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

Mark laughs at himself mentally. How contradicting of him to say that when he was the very one behind your current state.

You put your whole life in Mark’s hands when you give him a nod, a silent signal for him to whisk you away from here, to wherever “safe” was. And that’s all Mark needed because he’s already lifting you off the trolley and carrying you into his arms.

Mark knows he has to tell you the truth soon. Though he didn’t know what or how much to tell you yet, he had to tell you soon.

But not today.

Not yet.

979 notes · View notes

fatoomie2801 · 3 years

Text

his queen | kyoya tategami

💫 preview 💫

────────────────────

Kiara had begun her journey around the country, searching for more tournaments to participate in, in order to gain more points. It had been almost a month since she last saw her friends, but she made sure to keep in contact with them to catch up on how they were and to congratulate them on their progress. So far, the girl had participated in a myriad of tournaments, obtaining 15,000 points, bringing her overall number of points to 17,000. She felt proud of herself for being able to gain such an incredible amount in such a short time, and was determined to collect even more in the remaining two months before the tournament.

As she walked through the city she had now arrived in, she smiled excitedly at the tall buildings that towered over her head, the sun's reflection gleaming off of the glass windows. The atmosphere was serene, the birds singing harmoniously as they fluttered their wings across the canvas of blue painted with specks of soft white. The streets were silent, as Kiara had only just entered the area, but the environment was peaceful nonetheless. However, the peace did not last for long.

"Hey!" an unknown voice called out. Kiara turned in the direction of the voice and was faced with an unfamiliar man, his black hair covering his right eye. A smirk grew on his face causing Kiara to feel uncomfortable, backing away in response to the man approaching her.

"Give us your points!" another voice demanded, its figure appearing from behind a building and taking its place next to the first man. Moments later, four more men appeared and cornered the girl, demanding her points to which she obviously refused. However, there was no escape for her as the group of men had now readied their beys, leaving Kiara with no choice but to fight back.

"Look at this punk," the first man spoke as all seven beys were launched. "She thinks she can actually take us all on by herself. How funny!" The rest of them cackled as their beys all clashed with Cassiopeia in a group attack. There's too many of them, Kiara worried internally. What do I do? I don't have a defensive move to use against them. Kyoya and I didn't get that far. I can't use Imperial Barrage right now either. Ugh!

Cassiopeia's rotation was beginning to rapidly decrease; Kiara couldn't hold off the other beys for much longer. Suddenly, a purple flash emerged, causing Kiara to shield her eyes from the intense light. Once the light had dissipated, she looked back at her bey to notice that it was the only one left rotating from the seven; the others all lay beside their owners who were now on the floor. Immediately, they got up, trembling in fear, and scurried away, leaving Kiara alone. Or so she thought. Kiara hadn't known why she didn't realise it before, but there was a single bey rotating a few metres away from her own. There wasn't much time for her to study it as it had flown into the air. Kiara's gaze tracked it to observe it being collected by its owner who stood on the rooftop of a nearby building. The girl squinted her eyes to see them better and noticed that the figure was looking straight at her: a tall man dressed in a maroon sleeveless shirt and white trousers, with long, grey hair, its length resembling her own. The two shared eye contact momentarily before he turned and walked away, disappearing from her view. Who was that? The girl wondered curiously, her attention grabbed by the screech of an eagle soaring above her only seconds later. An eagle?

Kiara reached her hand out to retrieve Cassiopeia, and once she did so, she took a final glance at the rooftop before continuing to make her way through the city. The closer she travelled towards the centre, the taller the buildings got, heightening the girl's excitement as she knew she was close to the bey stadium. She had signed up to join a tournament in that city, the reward for first place being a whopping 5,000 points, second place being 3,000, and third place being 1,000. If I win this, she thought. I can bring my points up to 22,000. That's not bad at all. Soon enough, she approached the stadium and entered its large doors, making her way to the hallway of rooms where bladers prepared before their matches. Upon finding her name situated on the wall outside room 28, Kiara made her way inside, closing the door behind her and placing her backpack on the wooden bench that was against the wall. She took a seat on one of the four chairs at a table in the centre of the room and clasped her hands together, bringing them up to her chin and resting her head on them, her elbows propped up against the table. The TV in front of her played adverts while she sat and wondered about which kinds of opponents she would have to face in battle.

"Welcome to Klegan City's challenge match for Battle Bladers!" Blader DJ declared through the screen, grasping the girl's attention. "Today, we have 16 competitors who are each fighting for a place at the top. Whoever earns first place will be rewarded with 5,000 points! Second place will be rewarded with 3,000 points! And third place will be rewarded with 1,000 points!" Blader DJ continued to outline the rules of the tournament, and then began announcing the names of the bladers who would participate whilst their pictures showed up on the screen. One of them caught Kiara's eyes. "Tsubasa!" she heard Blader DJ announce as a picture of the strange, grey-haired man she encountered earlier was displayed. Tsubasa, Kiara repeated to herself. So that's his name. Him being here means I'm going to have to battle him, and from what I've already seen, that's not going to be a walk in the park. The girl thought back to her battle with the group of strangers from earlier that day.

~ ~ ~

I don't have a defensive move to use against them. Kyoya and I didn't get that far.

~ ~ ~

She realised that she desperately needed to create a practical defensive move if she was going to have even the slightest chance at winning any battles with opponents as strong as Tsubasa, who she earlier observed took out six people with a single move. Kiara diverted her attention back to the TV screen in order to find out what time the battles began, and it was confirmed that she had two hours before any battles started. She decided to use this time to practice creating a defensive move with her bey, so she switched off the TV, grabbed her backpack, and made her way to the nearest bey park. Walking inside, she spotted a handful of bladers using the collection of bey stadiums available to practice for their battles.

"Hey, aren't you Kiara?" she heard a voice ask, turning to face them and being met with a girl of her height. "You're battling in the Klegan City challenge match today, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," Kiara responded. "Would you like to help me practice?"

"Sure!" the girl smiled.

────────────────────

the rest of chapter 6 is available on wattpad:

#beyblade metal fight #beyblade #kyoya tategami #fanfic #gingka hagane #ryuga kishatu #tsubasa otori #yu tendo #kenta yumiya #madoka amano

1 note · View note

frostedroyaltea · 4 years

Text

preview fic for Alexandrite

so. i was at school and wrote this. enjoy!

____________________________________

"Vanya." Ivan looked up from his drawing. "Go up to your room. Just for a moment is all."

"Yes, Papa." Ivan ran up the stairs to his room. He cringed when his parent's yelling voices filtered into his room. The wood muffled their voices but he knew what they were arguing about. Or he had a rough idea. He heard his name and went to the vent to listen.

"- and what happens when they follow through with their threats? What'll happen to Vanya?"

"We'll figure something out. And they're just threats. If they want it they need us alive."

Ivan didn't know who the people his parents talked about were. He understood they were bad though, and that they threatened his parents. They sounded like bullies to his young mind.

It finally happened, five years later, when Ivan had just entered secondary school.

It was late, already dark outside. People came into their house, shouting. What happened next was blurred, hazy, seen in flashes.

Blood spreading across his parent's chests.

Thuds as their bodies hit the floor.

Bright flashes as the guns went off and they searched his house.

Ivan ran outside, sobbing. He stumbled through the bushes and fell to the ground when something hit his leg. The pain hit a second later. It reminded him of the time he accidentally touched a hot coal though this time the pain radiated from somewhere inside his leg.

Ivan stood, attempted to take a step and crumbled to the ground. He cried out and prayed the men didn't hear him.

Ivan woke up in a hospital. His parents were dead. He was alone with nowhere to go.

He ended up staying with a distant cousin's family whom he had almost forgotten.

He had to switch schools and move far from everyone, and everything, he knew.

It was just one more cut, one more bruise, on his already broken spirit. He couldn't sleep at night, flinching at meaningless, harmless, noises. When it got bad he would let silent tears fall and would wish with all his being that it didn't happen, that he could change it, that this was just a twisted dream his mind conjured while fever ravaged his body.

The bad men never came for him. At least he had that to be thankful for.

Ivan's cousins moved shortly after he turned thirteen. They wouldn't be taking him with them. If there was a reason he never heard it.

He ended back at the agency. There was no one for him, nowhere for him to go. He was sent to an orphanage where he was to stay until whatever would happen… happened.

Ivan still jumped at loud noises and still woke up drenched in sweat and feeling his heart pounding, when he was told, a year later, that he had a foster family waiting for him in America.

Before leaving Ivan went to visit his parents. Behind him, he left flowers and a promise to return, someday.

---

It didn’t hurt as much as Ivan thought it would. He watched the ink sink beneath his skin. The Round Stone, coming to life. There was some irony to it, getting the mark of his parents killers on his wrist. He supposed that’s why he did it. They took his family, he would take this thing of theirs.

---

It had been a week. And he was starving. It had been so long since- He had only hoped the man hadn't noticed. If they found out later, if they were angry...

It wouldn't do good to anger them. Then again he had already survived the mob once. What was one more time?

---

Pain rang through Ivan's head and his vision went white. The blood was warm as it trickled down the side of his face. Still, he held his tongue. Ivan supposed he owed something to the brothers. They had saved him, in a way. Their offer kept him from living on the streets and scrapping for food.

---

Ivan never thought he’d be meeting Oliver Queen. He never expected the man to be a thief either. He had the captain’s star. Ivan wondered what the man had done to earn the position. And if the tattoo was fake? The brothers hated anyone who would fake their way to the top or would be bold enough to cheat them.

He saw the man in the black mask for the first time that night. The man had come, wondering what Oliver Queen wanted with him. He had leapt away before Ivan had the chance to say anything else to him, leaping over rooftops like he was flying. Maybe he was.

---

His own “brothers,” if they could have ever been called that, they definitely couldn't anymore, came for him. Pinning him, marking him. He thought he had been angry before but this was something else entirely.

---

The sky opened up and colossal creatures of metal tumbled from it. Green humanoid creatures followed. Ivan saw the man in the black mask the second time then. He was becoming something of a cryptid, in the darkened shadows of the streets. Ivan heard more hushed whispers then, wondering.

The world was something new then. Things were more dangerous. The dark alleys had darkened ever so slightly after that day. Ivan wasn’t looking forward to seeing what would become of it.

________________________________

@magickhajiit

#gun trigger warning #violence tw #blood tw #character death #original charcaters #ivan #Ivan Alexandrite #speak of the devil au #this is just a preview #the full fic is not yet complete

11 notes · View notes

dreamingsushi · 3 years

Text

True Beauty - Episode 10

Hello to you all beautiful souls! Here it is, here I am, ready for a new recap while eating the Japanase curry I ever made. I’m pretty proud of myself. So without any further due, let’s just jump back in the story!

The first minutes are a replay of Daddy Im getting mad that someone’s trying to kiss his precious daughter. Jugyeong smashes him with a pan and they end up going back home together, while promising not telling Mom their secrets: that he mooched at Suho’s place and that she’s dating said Suho. Obviously, they get in trouble when they come back home, but since Dad is more trouble, Jugyeong’s fine. Then she calls Suho to apologize for her dad, but Suho actually liked having him around. I mean, papa Im is quite the good for nothing, but he’s a good housewife.

The next day, Jugyeong tries to tell Sujin that she’s dating Suho, but that girl. So mean. She knows what Jugyeong is about to say, so she’s telling her about how her dad hits her. And that she likes Suho. And insisting that she’s telling her because she’s her bestfriend. THAT NOT WHAT BFF DO. This is going to upset and bother me so much, I can feel it and I am extremely unhappy.

OKAY ONE GOOD THING. ONE GOOD THING. I was so afraid that they would make Jugyeong into a bad character, like using the fact that she’s nice to frame her, when I saw this preview of Suho saying that he and Jugyeong should break up, but that fortunately only in Jugyeong’s imagination as she’s thinking on how things will unravel between Sujin and her since she’s dating Suho. So that night, Jugyeong pretends to be unwell to skip the study group. Then, being worried that she’s sick, Suho brings her porridge and medicine at the comic book store. Jugyeong is so touched.

Sujin takes Jugyeong shopping for a gift for Suho. She tells her that she might confess at the same time. Jugyeong doesn’t really know what to say. Why can’t she be straightforward and claim her man? Like... a real friend would just step back. Or is it just me? Cause when I knew my friend liked the guy I had a crush on and seeing he liked her too, I rooted for them. She voiced her feelings first and the guy wasn’t interested in me. I really dislike Sujin at the moment and I really hate that they can manipulate me in making me dislike her.

At work, Jugyeong overworks herself, probably not to think about the situation. Seojun asks her if she fought with Suho and if she did they should break up. Jugyeong starts crying and poor Seojun feels bad. And here I was thinking he would give her some advice, but no. She was faking it all. Later at night, Seojun pretends he’s going to pick up Gowoon at her part-time to take the bus with Jugyeong. She tries to explain the situation without saying it’s about her. Seojun guesses everything and tells her that Suho isn’t the type of guy that would make her worry. When they’re about to part, they bump into Jugyeong’s mom and invites Seojun over for dumpling.

AWKWARD MOMENT COMING. Because they invited over Suho too. So dinner becomes a fight to see who Jugyeong’s mom is rooting for to marry her daughter. They make tons of dumplings. Sculpture dumpling. Juyeon is bothering Seojun because he thinks he’s dating Gowoon. Well it’s a complete mess. Suho ends up going to Jugyeong’s room and sees some old pictures of her. He grabs one to take with him and as Jugyeong is trying to take it back, they obviously had to fall on her bed. Right? And OF COURSE, dad had to see it.

Then Suho and Seojun get in a fight. And.. omg. Mom treats them as she treats her own child and make them cut each other’s toe nail saying they like each other. That’s a good one.

Seojun’s friend mistake the photoshoot pictures as couple pictures of Jugyeong and Seojun, so everyone thinks they’re dating at school. And now Sujin telling Jugyeong she should date Seojun. SHE’S SUCH A BAD FRIEND. And Su Ah just shipping both couples... ugh. Suho calls Jugyeong to the rooftop. He’s pretty mad. He doesn’t like that Jugyeong is friends with Suho and says that girls shouldn’t be friends with guys, because she doesn’t know of... well he almost told Jugyeong Seojun likes her. So she asks him about Sujin and he thinks it’s irrelevant. So she leaves.

THAT!!!! Please insert your favourite name calling. Sujin goes to Suho’s place, uninvited. When she clearly told Jugyeong they were planning to meet up. And when Jugyeong calls, she picks up Suho’s phone. That’s so bad. How can you call yourself a friend? Jugyeong obviously hangs up and Sujin gives her gift to Suho. And she tells him she was thinking of him lately. But he rejects her. Ugh. I don’t want to go on with misunderstandings. Why did they change a perfectly fine story to give us the same old soup that we always have? It’s so annoying.

Suho calls her back, but she has seen the picture Sujin took at his place and since he didn’t tell her about Sujin coming over, she hangs up. The next day at work she’s really out of it while working with Seojun again. Seojun tries to cheer her up, and succeeds right when Suho comes in, which makes Suho mad. LIKE WHY? WHY? This is so boring. So repetitive. Why??? It was going so well for this serie in the first half. Writers, you had one thing to do, just one thing!!! Seojun tells her to leave and go solve things with Suho. But they just fight without explaining anything to each other. This is getting old already TT

More trouble to come when Suho and Seojun realizes that a boyband is releasing Seyeon’s song, the one Suho composed with him. AND BIG SISTER DISCOVERED SOMETHING BIG. OMG. THe CEO, Suho’s dad, that 6854o47898635 find your favourite curse word. He released the violence story about Seyeon to cover the scandal about him and a younger actress. And now he stole his song. MISTER! YOU ARE A DISGRACE. Sis threatens to let everyone know if bad CEO doesn’t fix the song. AND SUHO HEARD EVERYTHING. That’s bad. Why the drama between him and Jugyeong? This is interesting. Like why are you making so much drama about something when there’s this? Now I’m so pissed. And I want to keep watching, but I have other stuff to do and I won’t have time for episode 11 tonight. Ugh! AND IT THOUGHT THAT WAS A CLIFFHANGER???? Suho runs away and bumps into Seojun, but keeps running away, crosses the street without looking and now... THEY ARE BOTH GOING TO GET HIT BY CAR. WTH? My heart can’t handle this? Why do you do this to me writers? Because I’m upset about the changes in the love plot? This is going too far TT OKay it’s not they are about to get hit, they get hit.

And that’s the end. I’m scared of watching the previews now... Okay they weren’t as bad as I thought, but... Yeah. I’m going to hate what is going to happen. But that will have to wait until... like tomorrow. Or maybe even the day after tomorrow as I am super late on my schedule from today and it’s midnight in five minutes... I need to be more productive, or else I am going to keep on having bad grades...

#true beauty #moon ga young #im jugyeong #cha eunwoo #lee suho #hwang inyeop #han seojun #webtoon drama #webtoon #kdrama #k-drama #korean drama #drama review #drama recap #drama reaction

1 note · View note

whereisten · 5 years

Text

Heaven-Sent

Part 1 - Part 2 Preview - Part 2 (Coming Soon)

Summary: When your marriage falls apart before it even starts, you set off to Atlanta for a new beginning. You decide to face your fear of skydiving. Your guide? Jung Jaehyun.

Chapter Summary: You learn more about the angelic enigma and uncover the truth. But will that change how you feel about him?

Pairing: guardian angel! Jaehyun x female reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Word Count: 900

Part 2 Preview

Jaehyun remembered the first time he saw you.

You weren’t aware that the night you were crying on the rooftop was when he descended from the sky. His wings were beautiful. They were translucent with the pinks and oranges of the Los Angeles sunset. His pale skin glowed with stardust. His wavy brown hair nearly touched his bright brown eyes. He had a determined look on his face. He couldn’t be shaken.

He knew a lot about you. You were a woman who had her heart broken in all kinds of ways. Your parents never got along and the divorce was messy. Your mom never took things seriously and never grew up. So she would leave you at your relatives’ and friends’ places when she partied and traveled all over the world. Your father remarried and slowly distanced himself. Forgetting about you and only coddling his second wife’s kids. Your friends? They all led their own lives and forgot about you, all of them assuming you had other friends to rely on. A foolish assumption, you thought. And most recently, the man you thought was your soulmate dumped you at the altar.

But despite all of that, you still had a heart of gold. Your hope for something better was unwavering. You loved volunteering at the local animal shelter and the local nursing home. You felt love from other places when you couldn’t find it in your own family. You loved to draw your deepest desires. You loved to take photographs of things that were usually overlooked. You took the greatest joy in making seemingly ordinary things extraordinary.

Your work ethic was incredible. You worked in entertainment and helped promote some of the biggest names in Korean pop music. Among the millions of things you did with StarGaze Entertainment, you could negotiate with concert venues and make deals with the right designers for the promotional materials and merchandise. StarGaze rarely had dissatisfied customers and you were integral to its operation. And bonus? You’ve been living your dream of working with Korean pop artists. Who would have thought that your fangirling ways would get you somewhere successful?

Even so, the burning flame inside you had dimmed significantly after that dark day.

Unbeknownst to you, Jaehyun stood beside you. Like you, he looked out to the horizon.

Starting today, he would look after you.

Your hair swayed in the summer breeze and he inhaled your coconut shampoo.

Something about that scent was familiar, he thought. He couldn’t figure out how so he shrugged it off and continued to quietly observe you.

You put your headphones in and listened to a song that always made you smile: “Baby I Love Your Way” by Peter Frampton. You swayed as you drummed your fingers against the railing. You sang quietly along to it. Jaehyun liked your voice. It was low and sweet. It soothed him but it also sent pleasant shivers down his spine. Your eyelashes brushed against your cheeks and you looked so beautiful then that Jaehyun didn’t realize he had moved dangerously close to you.

Thankfully, Jaehyun hadn’t physically materialized yet so he quickly gave you guys some space. In case God wanted to tease him and make him materialize before you in an instant.

Which would have led to a kick to his groin and led to you calling the cops.

His Boss could have a very interesting sense of humor.

Jaehyun had to be careful. You were one of the dozens of humans he was sent to guide in the past two years.

But you were the first one to make his heart rate accelerate.

He shook his head. He couldn’t have anything with you. Fraternizing with a human was a big no-no in Heaven’s By-Laws.

Seeing you, though, was the first time in a while that he let himself long for Earth.

Meeting Jaehyun felt like a divine intervention. You finally understood what it meant to have a rose-colored view of the world around you. Every morning you woke up not knowing what the day would bring but you felt a twinge of excitement at knowing you would see him.

It had been two months since you two first met and you didn’t know how to describe your relationship. He made you feel safe, always asking about your day after he got off work at Highway to Heaven. He made you feel like the only person to exist sometimes.

He burned mixtapes for you. He shared his favorite songs with you and demanded your thoughts in a five-page double-spaced Times New Roman size-12 font free response. He looked at you with such affection: when you asked people to pet their dogs on the streets, when you took the first bite of your favorite red velvet cake, and when you broke out your old cheerleading routines when you beat him at Jenga. You wondered how the hell you stayed with Chanyeol for so long when someone better had been out there for you.

You weren’t ready to jump into the next relationship as much as a part of you wanted to be with Jaehyun. But thank God, he respected that.

It seemed as if he was open to whatever you wanted. In fact, it was almost too good to be true.

So you two did everything a friend and a lover would do.

And you didn’t worry about labeling it.

But you almost felt ready to let him in.

You just needed time.

155 notes · View notes

andaleduardo · 5 years

Text

Rooftop N.13

Ao3 N.12

Read on ao3

Preview: “Do you regret what you did?”

Does he?

No, Eddie didn’t regret pulling Richie back in. He regretted giving in to his overwhelming fear, pushing him away and telling him to leave.

Saturday 29.05.1993

Richie took a look around the small balcony in the back of Mike’s barn while Eddie finished climbing the last steps of the unstable ladder. He was tempted to bend down and touch the floor just to make sure it wasn’t shaking, that it was only himself who was. But instead, he took a deep breath and turned around just in time to see Eddie bang his head on the wooden frame of the passage way.

Richie gasped in shock while Eddie cursed under his breath and lifted both hands to his forehead. Once Richie saw that no damage was done, he had to bite down on his lip to keep himself from laughing.

“Shit. You okay?” He decided against coming closer.

“I’m fine.” Eddie dropped his hands and avoided eye contact while folding both arms around his mid-section. “I’m sure you want to joke about all of this, anyway.” He nodded towards the space.

“Not at all.” In a regular situation, he supposed he would have teased Eddie for going through the trouble of being alone with him up here, where the air felt colder yet welcoming and the noise from the party diminished slightly. But nothing about this situation seemed common, so Richie shot him a quick, reassuring smile and offered a shrug. “I suppose… we’re here to talk?” He cursed the wavering tone of his voice.

It sounded like a question but it wasn’t one, Eddie noticed. He shivered at the thought of actually trying to explain himself. In his head, he had played around with the possibility of a pre-made speech, but he figured that this was the only time in his life where he might want to be as see-through as possible, and that meant being unprepared. So, here he was, unsure of what to do next.

With a helpless sigh, Eddie ducked his head down in defeat.

For a brief moment, Richie watched him study his shoes and play with his sweaty hands. He still wanted to hold them tightly, especially now. Watching Eddie struggle was painful and Richie wanted to end his friend’s embarrassment, he just didn’t know how. At last, he thought he should look away and give Eddie some space. He didn’t want to seem demanding or expectant, so he sat down at the edge of balcony and let his legs hang in the air.

Eddie stared at the back of Richie’s head. Once more, Richie just proved himself to be a great friend. Eddie could only think of how much he deserved to know that. But things worked differently for Eddie Kaspbrak: he had an infinity of things to tell people, yet, he bottled them down, one after another. Inevitably, he would explode one day and say horrible things to the people he loved most. That’s what his life is about, a constant cycle of repressed emotions, thoughts and energy.

It was in that instant that some courage grew inside him. If he couldn’t talk about the things he wanted, maybe he could try and explain that as a starting point.

With one last deep breath, Eddie let his arms drop to his sides and started to talk to the back of Richie’s head. “That’s the thing-” He cut his line of thought, deciding to first sit down by Richie’s side, leaving a small distance between them. Then, he kept going.

“I have a lot of things to talk about, but I… never do.” Richie’s attentive gaze burned holes on the side of his face, making his cheeks burn up from the attention. He had to push through.

“And I want to, like, a lot. I think I’d feel a lot better if I just, said things… But no matter how much I try, the only audience I get is myself.” Without realizing, Eddie tossed his head back to stare up at the dark sky. “And I’m so sick of hearing it. Hearing all the things I have to say, Rich. I say them constantly, you know? I scream them all the time, I obsess over every little thing I need to say to someone, but nothing ever goes further than my skull. I go crazy with it, too. I can pretend nothing’s there if I’m busy, if I’m with you guys, or so. But all the things are still there, as if they could hide from everyone except me.”

Once he finished, Eddie sighed shakily and looked down to his lap.

It was a lot to take in. Richie couldn’t properly make out what to say, which was a lot on its own. A lot of different responses crossed his mind, but in the end, he empathized with what Eddie said, a whole lot. So, his words filled the silence in a soft, caring way.

“I think I know what you mean.”

To his surprise, Eddie shrugged. As if he didn’t quite believe him but, at the same time, that didn’t affect him. It was, in fact, upsetting. But it’s not like he could expect anyone to get it, not even the person he wished would get it the most.

“No, really.” Richie insisted. “Okay, I know I talk a lot, believe me. But I only ever say the wrong things, you know?” And to prove his point, Richie wasn’t sure if he said something he shouldn’t, but he didn’t fail to see Eddie’s expression fall.

“Did you say the wrong thing on Monday?” The words escaped Eddie’s lips before he had a chance to think them through. Clearly, a mistake that had him flinching in shame.

“It’s okay, you can ask me anything.” Richie’s spoke carefully, voice coated in lightness. They cut right through Eddie’s self-doubt, making the boy shyly nod in acceptance. Richie took some time to ponder his answer.

“I didn’t say a single thing I had planned.” Richie ended up explaining, eyes fixed on his knees. “Everything sort of went the wrong way, I regret not telling you what I had to tell.”

Eddie stayed quiet; brave enough to look at Richie, who copied his actions on instinct. They found themselves staring into each other’s eyes for the first time since they were alone. Eddie’s breath faltered at the same time as Richie’s eyelids trembled, and the moment felt so right that Eddie didn’t hesitate speaking the words that were begging to drip from his lips.

“Do you regret what you did?”

Richie seemed instantly taken aback, shaking his head as soon as he processed the question. “Nuh uh.” He stated, licking his lips anxiously. “Do you…?”

Does he?

No, Eddie didn’t regret pulling Richie back in. He regretted giving in to his overwhelming fear, pushing him away and telling him to leave.

Eddie broke eye contact. At this moment, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t say anything, he could only choke on the hope of being able to do so. His skin boiled with shy heat and his cheeks were so warm that they could melt right off. He knew he must look beat red, but he still shook his head as an answer and kicked his embarrassment in the butt.

Richie was glad Eddie wasn’t looking at him because he did the worst job at hiding his smile, even wiping the corners of his mouth down and clicking his tongue. To top it off, his voice sounded hyper and weird like it usually does when he talks through a crooked grin. “So, what was your dinner yesterday?”

Eddie snapped his head up and stared at Richie with big, questioning eyes. “What?” He chuckled.

Richie smiled, shrugged. “Let’s make this easier. We ask each other questions, that way we give answers, not explanations.”

Eventually, Eddie understood and shook his head weakly. “You really don’t have to…”

“Oh but I wanna.” Richie clapped his hands together. “C’mon don’t keep me on the edge of my seat, Eds. I’m dying to know what your momma cooked for you last night.”

Eddie bit his lip reluctantly while searching Richie’s face for a sign that would tell him this was just a joke to him, but he found none. “You know…just cardboard meals. Also, don’t call me that.”

“Ah, yes. The delightfulness of premade mashed potatoes and frozen hamburgers,” The playfulness in Richie’s tone brought Eddie some sense of reality. No matter what, their friendship is real. “It’s your turn, Spaghetti. Do your worst, I can take it.”

Cursing the dumb nickname under his breath, Eddie got to thinking. He knew that things would escalate from then on, so he opted for light hearted questions as a start in hopes that the tension between them (or just in him) would subdue.

“Alright, uh,” Eddie looked mindlessly around until his eyes landed on Richie’s slim ankles covered by the fabric of his jeans. “What’s the colour of your socks?” He expected an immediate laugh from Richie’s part, however, the boy looked like he was ready to answer his question as if they were talking business.

“Oh you ain’t ready for this, mister.” Richie placed both hands over his kneecaps and raised both feet higher in the air. Abruptly, he buried all fingers on his jeans and pulled the fabric up. It only went as far as two inches, but Eddie was greeted with mismatched colours and patterns. One sock was purple plaid, the other was solid dark red.

“That’s dangerous.” Eddie stated with a smirk.

“You know me.” With a chuckle, Richie bent to fix the cuffs of his jeans. “My turn now.”

They went off like this for some time, asking each other stupid, pointless questions and snickering answers back. They were having fun, even though Eddie’s stomach leaped every time it was Richie’s turn. He kept expecting real questions, the ones that mattered, but each time he was delivered something light and funny. After some time, Eddie began to realise that Richie was waiting for him to ask something deeper first, he was waiting for the green light from Eddie’s part. He just had to figure out the best way to make the transition from careless to serious in their friendly interaction, but it seemed like there wasn’t any good way to do that.

That’s why, after ten minutes of swinging legs and voice impressions, Eddie introduced a short silence that made Richie’s legs stop and all laughter die down.

“Hm… Please don’t be offended,” Eddie’s voice felt weak coming out of his mouth, but in the moment, it was simultaneously deafening. “I just need to know if you drank tonight.”

Richie shook his head, hair bouncing. “Only the cheap tutti frutti juice.”

Eddie nodded. “Me too.” Then, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Not that I usually drink but... forget it.” He stopped talking when it seemed like Richie found something to say.

“I’ve asked you this before.” Richie licked his lips and studied his knuckles. “About when you get all dizzy and stuff. You said you didn’t know what it is but-”

“It’s about anxiety.” Eddie gushed out. Richie waited for him to continue. “Uh, it happens if I’ve been extra antsy for like days or weeks. I suppose it’s because I don’t sleep too well those nights, and it’s like I’m physically and emotionally tired all the time.” The words rushed out of him in a big continuous wave. “It probably doesn’t make sense.”

He expected a bigger reaction than what he got, probably with another string of questions attached, but all Richie said was

“Alright.” With a nod, and then “Your turn.”

It surprised him at first that he didn’t want to push the subject further, but it made him grateful for it at the same time. Richie could have gone for worse questions, but he gave him an easier start with something they had talked about before. Just like that, Eddie got to thinking about a good question when a sudden memory of a recent event was enough to captivate his attention. He couldn’t help it, he had to ask it.

“Remember when we played that game at Bill’s house? Last month?”

“Paranoia?” Richie wondered out loud. A second later he seemed to understand where this was going, but he acted nonchalant. “Sure, why?”

“Well,” Eddie begun. “What was the question that Bev had for you?”

“She had a lot of questions for me that day.”

“You know which one. Don’t play dumb.” Eddie pushed weekly on Richie’s shoulder with his fingers.

“Alright, alright. But just so you know,” Richie lifted both hands in surrender. “I wanted to mess with you, I would answer your name no matter what she asked me that turn.”

Taken aback by the sincerity, Eddie didn’t say anything, curious and a little angry that Richie implied it was nothing but a joke.

“But she did, in fact, ask me who I’d rather see in fishnets and I mean, I guess I didn’t lie-” Before Richie could finish, Eddie was smacking his shoulder again in the same spot, with a greater amount of force.

“You’re such an idiot, Richie, I swear. Why would you even do that just to mess with me?”

“I thought it was obvious by now.” Richie said, helpless. One of Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “I wanted you to read into it, I dunno, think about it after…” With that statement, Eddie’s cheeks turned crimson with the thought of what he did as soon as he got home after the game that day. “And something tells me it worked.” This time, Richie’s own eyebrows danced up and down.

“Fuck off, you wish.” Eddie huffed back angrily. “And go on, it’s your turn.”

“Okay,” Richie recovered easily. “Did it work? Did you think about it later?”

“Are you fucking serious?” Eddie groaned and fought against a smile at the same time. “You seem pretty eager to know that.”

“You can’t embarrass me by that, Eds. We both know that I am.”

“Okay, so, maybe it worked. Happy?”

“Very much so.” Richie said with a teasing smirk.

The lightweight energy that took over the moment settled on a weirdly serious silence that Eddie had to break, eventually.

“I don’t know what else to ask you.” He admitted, all the fire gone from his voice. “I messed up. I should be the one talking but I’m scared.”

Bending his neck down a little, Richie inquired softly. “Yeah?” Eddie nodded. “Of what?”

“I don’t know.” He ended up spitting out, restless. “I don’t fucking know, I’m such a coward.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Richie’s face turned sour. When he was about to protest, Eddie stopped him with an avalanche of bravery, mostly exhaustion.

“ You know what? I’m going to ramble and start by saying that I’m sorry, I really am. I never let you speak and I made us fight ‘cause I was so scared that you were going to ask me for space, that we’re too close. I mean I wouldn’t blame you, I kept embarrassing myself in front of you and made everything awkward so, like, I’d totally understand if you wanted me to back off.

“And I would! I swear I would but I didn’t want to lose you so I tried my best to keep you quiet that night but then everything went wrong and then you- you,”

“I kissed you?” Richie offered, dumbfounded by everything Eddie was saying.

“Yeah!, you did that.. And for a moment I thought, shit what have I been scared about, you know? But then you start crying and I felt like the worst person in the world, making my best friend cry and screaming at him. So, I had to show you that I care about you, Richie. I do, so much and I forgot for a moment that I never kissed anyone so I didn’t even know what to do but in that moment I just wanted to get you closer.

“I’m sorry if I sucked at it.., but in that moment I thought that we were fine, everything would be okay.” Pausing abruptly to catch his breath, Eddie noticed that his eyes were cloudy with tears, but he couldn’t bring himself to fight them away.

Meanwhile, Richie watched him, troubled, worried and fascinated at the same time. When he parted his lips to gently tell Eddie to breathe and calm down for a little, Eddie lifted up both hands and begged him

“Please let me do this before I start regretting it.” And all Richie did was nod frenetically. So, Eddie started off again, and this time his voice came out ragged from the knot in his throat. Despite that, Richie sat still and watched as some lonely tears rolled down Eddie’s cheeks.

“I saw the leper, Richie.” He combusted.

All the air left Richie’s lungs, as if his chest had just gotten punched.

“I heard It, too.” Eddie kept going. “I felt It touch me on the back of my neck while It said those horrible, sick things that It did when I first saw It. I hadn’t thought about that gross, decayed thing in years, Richie, years. And you know what’s fucked up? I couldn’t remember anything afterwards.” At this point, Eddie’s body was facing Richie’s. His face closer, damp, scared and begging for understanding in Richie’s caring eyes.

“I couldn’t remember it…” Eddie shook his head in disbelief as if he was talking to himself only. “Its face, its words… how can someone forget that?” Richie’s eyes lingered on Eddie’s throat as the boy gulped down on nothing. “All I knew is that I felt sick, my skin was wrong and I wanted to tear it off because the only thing that never left me was its touch. Something terribly wrong touched me, or so I believed, that’s why I had to push you away, Richie. I had.”

Richie took notice that his own vision was watery. He blinked repeatedly and opened up his arms to a devastated Eddie, just to show him that he would hold him if he let him. Not a second after, Eddie gave in, hitting Richie’s chest as he fell on the welcoming embrace. Not a second later, he heard Richie’s unused voice whispering

“I understand, Eds. It’s okay.”

The tears had stopped but Eddie’s frame insisted on trembling. After finally being able to say some of the things he wanted, his ribcage seemed big, free and so light that he would have said it was empty if it weren’t for his quick heartbeat. “I’m so sorry.” He added.

“I’m sorry, too. That you had to deal with this alone.” They drowned in the quiet (white noise from the party aside) until Eddie got his breathing back under control. Then, Richie cut in with a new observation. “Being alone on top of buildings seems to be our thing.”

Richie couldn’t see Eddie’s smile from their position, but he felt him nod. Not a second later, Eddie’s body started shaking uncontrollably and Richie’s first thought was that he was sobbing. But then, he giggled. Eddie was laughing.

“What’s so funny, mister?” He asked, surprised. Eddie tried to contain his chuckles, rolling away from Richie’s grasp with a fake serious expression.

“Nothing.” He shook his head just before breaking into a smile. “It’s just that you’re a cliché douchebag, you know that?”

“I’m a what?” Richie’s eyes turned big under his glasses, he sported a confused little smile on his lips.

“You heard me.” Eddie said enthusiastically, his eyelashes still glued together. He lifted up one hand to count the examples with his fingers. “You runaway at night to come in through my window. Stargazing. Song writing. Getting a band together. Throwing high school parties and playing. You get high, that’s bad boy cliché, too.”

Richie chuckled along with Eddie’s list, but with the next and last item, he grew conflicted.

Eddie held up one last finger “And then you give me that ‘Find yourself, speech.’” And lowered his hand to his lap.

“I don’t even know what I meant by that.” Richie admitted.

“If you don’t know, I for sure don’t, either…But I’m glad you said it, I tried my best.”

Richie looked at him fondly. “Wanna share?”

A very blushy Eddie looked back into Richie’s eyes and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Ah, well… i-it was just a stupid, long week until I could admit that I-” He stopped abruptly, once again reminded that there were people close by. People with hearing capacities. In an act of weakness, he looked around to study the distance between them and everyone out on Mike’s lawn. He grew angrier with himself just as fast. Eddie couldn’t give three steps backwards again, no way. So, he turned to face Richie and whispered.

“I’m gay.” And just like that he was powerless, imagining all the horrible reactions Richie would, certainly, have. How grossed out he obviously would be.

But this was Richie. The Richie that broke into a huge, toothy grin and got pink painted freckled cheeks instantly. The Richie that stage whispered through a genuine smile. “I’m proud.” And the Richie that leaned forward and hugged Eddie with all the strength in the world; the Richie that spoke directly into his ear, making him shiver. “Of you.”

The butterflies in Eddie’s stomach made him vibrate with adrenaline as he hugged Richie back, letting go of all the air trapped in his lungs and feeling his eyes sting. A smile took over his face as he proved his point one more time. “Cliché.” Then, surprising even himself, he burst out in laughs again.

Much to Eddie’s dislike, Richie pulled away and elbowed his side. “Sure, make fun of me as much as you want, but you still fell for me so how cliché does that make you?”

Eddie stopped laughing immediately and dragged both hands over his heated face. “God, Richie. Shut up.” The words came out hushed through his palms.

In a string of ‘Cute, cute, cute’s’, Richie tackled Eddie until both of them were laying down on the old, chipping wood. Richie’s arms circled the smaller boy’s waist, his face hidden under Eddie’s chin. “Fuck. You’re so cute.” He groaned.

“If I get splinters all over my hair I’m going to strangle y-”

“I’m in love with you, you know?” Eddie’s breath hitched. He craned his neck and found Richie looking up at him. “That’s what I was going to tell you that night. Not that I wanted space. Not that you needed to back away.” Eddie’s big, nervous eyes stared back at him. “You don’t need to say anything.”

Eddie let his head fall down to the wood and stared at the dark sky. He felt Richie tuck his head under his chin again, messy curls tickling his neck. He didn’t know what to say or do, so he settled for wrapping both arms around Richie, squeezing him tight in a nervous act. “I’ve never done any of this before.” He heard an unfamiliar voice coming out of his mouth, breaking every two words and making him sound just as embarrassing as he felt. “It’s stupid, but I’m worried that anything I do or say will be wrong and you’ll see that I’m really bad at this.”

“You think too much.” Richie said. “I’m not here to judge you, Eds. And who says I’m any better at this than you are?”

“You’ve had girlfriends.” Eddie offered.

“I did?” He chuckled. “I’ve kissed a few mouths, made out here and there. That doesn’t make me better than you.”

“It makes you better at it than me.” Sighing loudly, Eddie tried to explain himself. “I told you, I know it’s stupid, but that’s how my logic goes.”

“Okay. Maybe that’s true, but it doesn’t mean I’ll be sitting there rating your kisses from 1 to 10 while you drool all over my chin.” He got a slap on the arm for that one.

“Why do you have to make everything gross?” But then, “Shit, will that happen? Oh my god, it will totally happen! If I spit all over your face how can I even keep living with myse-” Richie’s hand came down onto his mouth, sealing it shut and interrupting the nervous talk.

After that, there was nothing left for Eddie to do than to relax under the half of Richie’s body that was laying on him. He was positive that his eyes were heart-shaped in that moment, but so were Richie’s, for what he could tell. One of his hands came up to rest gently on top of Richie’s, still covering his mouth and he tried his best to say coherent words. “I’m nwuv w’dyou, too.”

First, he saw Richie squinting, as if that would help him make sense of what he heard. Secondly, he thought Richie had deciphered it, if the way he beamed meant anything. But lastly, Richie didn’t say anything, so Eddie figured there was a chance he didn’t understand, after all. That’s why he began to carefully peel Richie’s hand away from his mouth, so he could say it again even if he’d rather not, honestly. He had accomplished a lot tonight, but saying ‘I’m in love with you, too’ twice might be stretching it a little.

Luckily, he didn’t need to repeat himself.

“I heard you.” Richie squeaked. “You mean it?”

Eddie nodded. “I do.”

He was transparently overwhelmed and insecure, thus Richie attempted to remind him that they weren’t about to become strangers after this. “You know,” Their hands were still touching, so he took the opportunity to intertwine their fingers. “You’ll never get rid of me now, I’m your personal koala.”

Eddie giggled, some tension waving off of him. “A koala? Is that all you’ll be?” Definitely a brave statement that Richie didn’t see coming.

“I can be more.”

“More is good.” Eddie murmured quietly, carefully. He observed Richie’s hair move with the night’s breeze, hypnotized by the way certain strands would always bounce back into place. When he casted his eyes lower he realized Richie was looking directly at his mouth, which made his heart skip a beat and his blood way too hot. “Maybe, uh, maybe we could go somewhere else?” He offered, already pushing Richie away from him gently and sitting up. “Somewhere less crowded.”

They ignored the pointed stares of their friends when they made their way back inside the barn, or at least Eddie did, with that cute frown and blush on his face. Richie, otherwise, locked eyes with Bev and made a show of grabbing his chest as if he’d been hit, his face mimicking someone thanking the skies above. From her corner near the snacks’ table, she started bouncing up and down on her feet from excitement, mouthing ‘Shut the fuck up, really?!’ to which Richie responded with his own little enthusiastic jump, almost bumping into Eddie’s back. Could you blame him for wanting to share the best news of his life with the only person he confined this secret with? Right before passing through the entryway, he shot Bev finger guns and a wink.

Eddie walked a little ahead of him, Richie didn’t blame him for it. They ended up walking side by side as soon as they were at a good distance from the farm, now making their way to Richie’s house.

Eddie took that time to ask Richie about tonight’s songs and his music in general. He listened, affectionately, as he went on and on about the band’s decision to use his originals. How stressing it was, mainly because Eddie and him weren’t on talking terms while he sat for hours on end at home rewriting old stuff and horrible feelings down on paper. Eddie apologized, hating the idea of Richie isolating himself for a week because of their confrontation. But Richie brushed it off, saying the loneliness had always been his muse, it helped with creativity. He was joking, but Eddie hated that they both knew it was true.

They went on with that topic for the twenty minutes it took to see Richie’s house up ahead. In their defence, it was a slow walk. As they made their way inside, Eddie zooned out with the worry of being alone with Richie, despite having been the one to suggest it. He didn’t understand why he was suddenly so nervous about it if they had done things before. His heartbeat fastened at the memory of the two of them up in Eddie’s bedroom, Eddie’s mouth attached to Richie’s neck. He hadn’t known where the courage came from that night, but maybe it was because they were still friends, and Eddie knew how to be friends with someone. However, he did not know how to be more with someone, more with Richie, even if he acted that way before at least twice.

They’ve already kissed, that much was established. The moment hadn’t been planned, perhaps that was the secret. This time, Eddie sort of knew what to expect coming to Richie’s house after confessing feelings for each other. So, now he was aware of what they could do alone, and that automatically made him believe he would make a fool of himself and fail at being what Richie saw him as: an example.

When Eddie came back to himself from all the useless worries, he was already sitting on Richie’s bed by his side, legs touching. Richie cleared his throat to bring his attention back.

“Do you wanna stay the night?”

“Yeah. My mom thinks I’m staying over at Mike’s so… it’s fine.”

“Okay.” Richie nodded, avoiding eye contact.

At that, Eddie’s brows furrowed. For the first time that night he realized that he might not be the only one second guessing what to do and feeling self-conscious.

“Are you nervous?” Eddie tried. “I can leave if you want, that’s alright.” He still placed a hand on Richie’s bouncing knee. It was funny how he got over his own self-doubt once he knew Richie was struggling, himself.

Glancing at the hand on his knee, Richie hurried to answer. “No. Don’t go, please. I am nervous, you’re right.”

Sympathetically, Eddie nodded. “What do you have to be nervous about, Rich?”

“Are you kidding?” Richie looked up at him with big eyes. “I’ve lost count of how long I’ve been waiting for this, Eddie. I’ve wanted you for so long, I’ve thought about this moment a million times before and I just want it to be as perfect as it always is in my head. But the truth is… I don’t know what it’s like to actually have you.” He ended with a frustrated sigh.

It filled Eddie’s chest with pride to have that kind of effect on the boy in front of him. “I thought about you, us, a lot too. Of course I thought I was a horrible person for doing that but you helped me accept my feelings, you see? I also don’t know what’s it like to have you… but I’d love to figure that out, together. That’s what we’re here for.”

A shaky breath exhaled from Richie’s body as he put one hand over Eddie’s, still on his knee. “You should kiss me right now.” He whispered kindly, non-demanding in any way. It was an open invitation, he knew that Eddie was afraid to mess it up, he could see it in him right now. “You’ve done it before, just go with your instinct.”

And sure, it sounded easy, but it was still new. A second, better kiss. It’s okay, Eddie reminded himself as he moved his head forward an inch. It’s okay, because this was Richie, and if he had to be honest, Eddie was kind of used to being and feeling and doing everything with him. This was just one of the many new things he would add to that list, and he would welcome all of those firsts into his life with open arms.

The distance between their bodies was none and soon Eddie’s face was standing mere inches apart from Richie’s. Close enough to be cross eyed and feel each other’s breathing, Richie wetted his lips and let his eyes close. Eddie observed him for a moment, taking in the beautiful, vulnerable features illuminated by the moonlight coming in through the window. It was mesmerizing.

At last, Eddie closed the space between them, making their lips collide in a soft peck at the same time as his eyes closed involuntarily. He could feel Richie shifting closer, a light, eager pressure on his lips and a shaky exhale tickling his skin with warm air. After five seconds, Eddie pulled away, surprised by the sound that filled the room when their lips separated.

Both of them opened their eyes to find matching shy smiles. Richie placed his free hand over Eddie’s jaw, fingers curled around the side of his neck. Mirroring his actions, Eddie guided his own hand to sit over Richie’s hip. With a little more confidence, Eddie leaned back in to capture Richie’s mouth again only to be interrupted midway by the boy himself.

“I give that one a solid 10/10.”

Confused, Eddie blinked twice. “Did you just- Are you actually rating me right now when I was trying to kiss you ag- Why are you laughing, you dipshit?” With Richie’s parents asleep in the house, Eddie had to show his annoyance through gritted teeth and stage whispers.

Richie kept giggling light-heartedly, hand still covering Eddie’s jaw until he felt the smaller boy start to move away from him. Then it wasn’t funny anymore. “No no no, don’t go, I’m sorry Eds. Come back.” Richie pulled him back by the arms, but instead of keeping them seated, he lowered his body down until his back hit the mattress. Eddie followed, helplessly being pulled along until he was laying on top of the lanky boy, slightly uncomfortable to apply all his weight on Richie. “Kiss me again.” Richie pouted, their faces now lined up.

“Then stop rating me, or I’ll drool on you on purpose.” That made the boy laugh again, but he quickly recovered. Eddie sighed, finally giving in and awkwardly bending his head to the right so that their noses wouldn’t bump. He wanted to do something instead of keeping their mouths still, but now that he was thinking about that, it would become a harder task to follow.

It turned out that Richie began to move first, mouth parting and moving thoughtfully. Eddie felt the care Richie put into it, as if he had to make sure Eddie would be okay with it and be able to follow. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt that way. It awoke something deep within Eddie’s core, overwhelmed by all of his senses. The slick sounds, the heat from their bodies touching, the taste of Richie’s mouth and the scent of him, too. All of it turned his blood into fire, burning up is insides and leaving behind a blissful numbness.

It was the best thing he ever experienced.

When he felt Richie’s tongue swiping over his, Eddie couldn’t help the sound that escaped him, surprised and excited at the same time. They got lost in each other, tangled together and unaware of time passing while their curious hands grasped at hairs, roamed over sides and backs and went back up to rest lovingly on the other’s cheeks. The leper didn’t cross Eddie’s mind, not for a single second.

Once they finally pulled apart, now resting on their sides with intertwined legs, their foreheads touched while they attempted to catch their breaths. Richie’s glasses had been placed aside a while back, the frame kept digging into Eddie’s nose and cheeks.

After some time, Eddie cleared his throat and did his best to keep a straight face. “I’d give that a 7, to be honest.”

Richie lifted his head to look down at him. He seemed conflicted, trying to understand if Eddie was serious or not, but then a smile cracked through Eddie’s lips. “You’re a prick, Eddie Kaspbrak.” He dived in to Eddie’s neck, attach himself around the boy like a leech and loudly blow raspberries on his skin, for once not caring about waking up his parents.

Eddie squirmed under the touch and his happy giggles filled up the room. Everything was in the right place right then, he was happy, finally lighter from coming clean about so many long held secrets. Maybe that was the true meaning behind Richie’s words.

Finding himself. Eddie thought this was the closest he would be to achieve that.

rooftop taglist: @richietoaster @rainydayriots @reddieloves @thetrashmouthclub @lemonboi03 @noodleboyshane @pillsandglasses @studpuffin @dandelion-stan @reddiesetrichie @squishynonbinarytwink @itschunky @burymestanding @duderrific @its-rye @salty-kaspbrak @youtubequeens @reddieseggrolls @addimagination @pastelstozier @sleepysirenprincess @constantreaderfool @mrs-vh @eds-trashmouth

perma taglist: @constantreaderfool @mrs-vh @eds-trashmouth @girasol-eddie

55 notes · View notes

virellya · 5 years

Link

I just posted a new chapter! here’s a preview:

Rick sat on the ruffled sofa in Dr. Stratfords office and sulked. He was beyond furious upon being served his notice of expulsion from West Point, and spent the duration of the flight thinking up what he would say to Hershel. He beat him to it however, and met him at the airport with a stoic face, but a supportive clap on the shoulder.

“I’m really disappointed.“ Rick told Dr. Stratford once he was back at Atlanta Command. “I was doing really well for a while. I didn’t mean to freak out. It just kind of… happened.“

The therapist looked up from the legal pad he was scrawling on and adjusted his glasses slightly.

“Well, it seems like it’s always that way. You’re fine for awhile, and then suddenly, boom. We need to find ways to stop the boom. How was the mission you went on recently? Let off some steam?“

Rick took a sip of water from his glass on the coffee table and nodded. “Yeah, it was alright. It’s weird, the missions are so stressful in the moment, but when I’m finished I feel …accomplished. Almost proud of myself. Like I’m ready to shout from the rooftops and celebrate. What kind of person gets happy after taking a life?“ He shook his head in self-disgust as his eyes fell. “Hershel he-.. I’m not what he think’s I am… I’m just another monster too. No wonder I don’t belong anywhere.“

Dr. Stratford blinked at him in surprise and resumed his scrawling.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve used that word to describe yourself. Have you felt this way the whole time?“

Rick nodded solemnly.

“I don’t think you’re a monster. Think about the improvements you’ve made in the last 4 years.“ The doctor said.

“Well, I am one. I mean look at me.“ Rick replied. “I’m a straight-up lunatic. I can’t function in average society because if I tried they’d lock me away. I can’t be around normal people because I’m not… I’m not normal.“ The muscles in his throat tightened horribly under the strain of him forcing himself not to cry. He hated his life. He hated how hard it was for him to control his temper. He hated how Hershel always had to convince people to ‘give him a chance’. He hated the way Maggie had to scold others for staring at him or whispering when they believed him out of earshot. He hated the way people walked on eggshells around him constantly because they were all afraid of him. He hated knowing that his life would never be anything but a constant struggle to find his place in the world.

A knock at the door paused Rick’s melancholy thinking and he looked up to find Hershel cautiously entering the room.

“Colonel.“ Stratford said in greeting, “Please come in. I’m glad you could take time out of your busy day to be a part of this session. Is that alright with you, Rick?“

Rick gulped a little nervously, it had been 3 years since Hershel had sat in on his Psychiatry appointments. He nodded and Hershel settled into an adjacent club chair, with fingers steepled in front of his mouth as he waited for them to continue. Dr. Stratford looked back at the morose teenager.

“Rick, I’m sure the military doesn’t make it a habit to waste anyone’s time. I’d be willing to bet they don’t practice wasting taxpayer’s money on frivolous pipe-dreams either, and I can tell you for absolute certain,“ he said as he once again adjusted his spectacles on his nose, “that I would never waste my time on a patient I believed to be beyond helping. It’s counterintuitive to what I do; I’m a healer. I’m here to help those who can still be saved. I would not have so whole-heartedly invested the last 4 years of my life to someone I didn’t think I could help. I saw greatness in you the first time we met, when you barely uttered a word to me. You’ve done incredible things in service to our country since then, and I know that even greater things are to come. You’re right about not being normal, Rick. You’re too extraordinary to be lost to simple obscurity. One day, you’ll see that as a good thing.“

Rick rolled his eyes and scoffed as he picked at loose lint on the couch.

“How could I ever learn to see all this as a good thing?“ He asked.

“Well, I’d be willing to bet that one day you’ll find a special someone who will see you the way we all do and will be able to make you see yourself for who you truly are.“ The doctor implied with a smile. Rick found this idea to be beyond absurd, and suddenly his anger was back. He stood from his spot on the couch.

“Who I truly am? Are you kidding me with that shit? How can you sit there and act like you all know me so damn well when I don’t even know myself? I have no idea who I am! I don’t know where I’m from, who my parents are, when I was born, I’m not even sure my name is actually Rick!“ He shouted, looking back and forth between the therapist and Hershel, who he wished wasn’t in the room. “You people seem to have me so fucking figured out yet you can’t give me any answers about how this all happened. I’m sick of everyone telling me to have faith in the system, when the system hasn’t figured out who kidnapped and tortured me! You think someone is ever gonna understand this? Nobody would want to spend their life with a mess like me. Don’t patronize me, Stratford, I know I’m gonna spend my fucked up life alone so I might as well start now.“

As he stormed out of Dr. Stratfords office, Rick couldn’t raise his eye level to meet Hershel’s because he knew if he did he’d only find the same anger and disgust he emitted being mirrored right back at himself.

#richonne #rick grimes #michonne #andrew lincoln #danai gurira #richonne fanfic #richonne ff #walk upon water #mine #rick and michonne #grimes 2.0 #michonne grimes

39 notes · View notes

leehanji · 5 years

Text

The Right Partner

In light of recent events, I’ve decided to post a little preview of a new stucky fic I started working on literally the second I posted the last one! This is an unbeta’d wip so sorry for any errors!!! Also it’s probably going to be long and this is literally all I’ve written so far so it’ll be a long while before the whole thing is done, but I hope you enjoy anyway!!!

It’s an Assassins/Mr. and Mrs. Smith-esque AU where modern Steve and Bucky work for SHIELD and HYDRA respectively and don’t know the other is their rival agent... Check it out! (But also check the tags first!!! :D )

———

Steve brushed a finger down the spine of a blue hardcover surrounded by a dozen of its identical twins. He pulled it out and examined the cover.

La Combinazione Perfetta, it read. The Perfect Match.

Steve put it back. Romance wasn’t exactly his favorite genre. Not in English and definitely not in Italian. He glanced out the bookshop window at the café across the piazza. A middle aged woman sat in the afternoon sunlight with a small cappuccino in one hand and her phone in the other. Steve had never seen the allure of fancy coffee; probably because his enhanced metabolism negated any effects the caffeine would have on him.

He turned back to the bookshelf and perused a little more, occasionally pulling a book out and flipping a few pages before putting it back and glancing out the window again. The woman was still sipping at her coffee. Steve estimated she’d continue sipping for another 12-18 minutes before returning to the Embassy at the far end of the piazza. Why Martina Giudici had chosen to ignore the death threats sent her way, Steve didn’t know, but apparently, she was essential in finalizing SHIELD’s authorization to eradicate HYDRA in Italy and Fury insisted on her making it to the meeting that afternoon alive. Giudici was a politician so perhaps she thought the threats were good publicity and that being seen out in public with no bodyguards would make her seem tough. Maybe she was secretly trained in advanced martial arts and could totally take whatever assassins HYDRA threw at her. Maybe she was just an idiot. Either way, Steve and his team were forced to keep a distance, protecting her in secret from the HYDRA agents aiming to slit her throat as the meeting ticked closer.

“Report,” Steve whispered, keeping an eye on the woman at the register and the hearing aids he could see under whips of long white hair.

“East corner, clear,” Gabe said.

“North corner, clear,” Dernier reported.

“South corner, clear,” Jim whispered.

“West corner,” Dugan grunted and Steve heard the sound of someone getting kicked in the stomach, “clear.”

Steve checked his watch, wiping a small smear of blood off it with his thumb. The HYDRA gunmen on the roof had gone down a little messily.

“Keep an eye out,” he muttered, glancing out the window again, “Jobs almost over.”

“Copy.”

Giudici was still sipping her coffee. Eleven minutes to finish. Two minutes to pay. One to gather her things. Four to walk across the square. Two to get through security and then it would be over. It would be a piece of cake from here on out anyway. He and the Commando’s taken out nearly three dozen guys in the past twenty minutes, proving that their perimeter was impenetrable, as always. Steve knew HYDRA’s tactics well and he wasn’t worried.

He switched the com in his ear to radio, monitoring the chatter around Giudici as she casually returned her cup to its saucer. Steve pulled out another book when the bell above the door to the little shop rang out and a man stepped in.

A quick once over revealed to Steve that he appeared to be a civilian. He was wearing jeans, a red henley, and a light olive jacket. American, Steve assumed due to the soft, poorly articulated “Ciao" he greeted the owner with, but not a tourist, judging by the lack of backpack, sweat, and sunscreen. Bright blue eyes met his and a small smile twitched on the mans lips. Steve had never known himself to be into guys with long hair but he quickly found himself making an exception. The man was attractive, that was undeniable. He had a square jaw, wavy brown hair that hung half above his shoulders and half pulled up into a little ponytail, and kind eyes that crinkled in the corners. Steve found himself watching as the man approached the small English section of the store along the far wall. He was built, his broad shoulders accentuated by a narrow waist and defined pecs.

Steve blinked and glanced out the window again. Guidici was typing something on her phone. Ten minutes.

“Mi scusi.” The man approached Steve with a small paperback in one hand and a shy smile on his lips.

“Hey,” Steve replied smiling back.

The relief on the man’s face was instantaneous.

“Oh, hey, thank god,” he sighed, laughing at himself a little, “my Italian is okay but boy does make my anxiety go through the roof.”

“I hear you,” Steve agreed easily, glancing over the man’s shoulder at the café. Guidici lay her phone down and picked up her half empty cup again, “what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you happened to know a good place to get a cup of joe around here,” the man said with a wry smile, “American style.”

Steve suddenly wished he knew more about coffee. He immediately tried to remember whatever it was Gabe and Jim had been complaining about that morning.

“You mean something that doesn’t taste like a shot of bitter non-alcoholic ass?”

The man threw his head back and laughed. Steve watched his smile light up his whole face, making his blue eyes sparkle in the early afternoon sunlight. God, he was a vision.

“Yeah, exactly,” the man laughed, “I need sugar man, with a shot of vanilla and whipped cream on the top.”

“I think I saw a Caffe Nero a few blocks over,” Steve suggested, trying not to get too carried away, “It’s technically a British company but they might have something you’d like.”

Steve glanced out the window again. Guidici was still there. Eight minutes.

“Oh, perfect,” the man grinned, his eyes flicking down Steve’s chest and across his shoulders before finding their way back up to his face.

Steve felt his face start to flush involuntarily. He blamed his penchant to blush at the slightest hit of flirting on the fact that up until he was 23 he was a 90 pound asthmatic with scoliosis who came up to around 5’4 on a good day and even now any reference to his appearance made him unfathomably shy. It was his biggest weak point, one that his teammates teased him about relentlessly.

“I’m Bucky, by the way,” the man—Bucky— said, holding out his hand.

“Steve.”

Bucky’s hand was warm and firm. Solid and gentle.

“Well, Steve,” Steve’s name rolled through Bucky’s mouth like he was savoring the taste, “I should get going.”

Steve nodded with a small smile, stepping out of the way so Bucky could head to the register.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” Bucky added as he handed a handful of bills to the lady working the counter, who seemed to be resolutely apathetic toward the pair of them. He was buying an old second hand copy of Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein. It might last him trip down to Naples, Steve thought, maybe Florence if he took his time.

“Yeah,” Steve found himself agreeing as Bucky tucked the book under his arm.

It was harmless to flirt, Steve told himself, after all, he’d be on a plane home in less than an hour. The odds of him seeing Bucky again were slim to none.

“I’ll buy you a Frappuccino,” Steve grinned, “heavy on the whipped cream.”

The man laughed again, low and resonant. It made Steve’s skin tingle.

“Throw in a chocolate croissant and you’ve got yourself a date.”

Steve felt his blush return as Bucky tossed him a wink before pulling the door open and stepping back out into the sunny piazza. Steve watched him cross the square and disappear down a small side street before reluctantly turning his attention back to the task at hand.

Guidici was pulling coins out of her wallet. Steve flipped his com back to the Commando’s channel.

“Update?”

“Since you asked three minutes ago?” Falsworth replied, “I’ve got nothing.”

“I saw a dog steal a bread roll from the bakery in the east corner,” Dernier said.

“I saw Cap blushing at some long haired dude in the bookshop,” Jim contributed gleefully.

“Oh! Was he hot?” Dernier demanded.

“He looked pretty ripped from here,” Jim replied, clearly holding back his laughter, “What do you say, Cap? An 8? A 9, tops?”

“I didn’t know you were into long hair, Cap,” Dugan chimed in with a low chuckle, “Always figured you were more of a clean cut kinda guy.”

“Well, who doesn’t love a rebel?” Gabe added, “an Italian rebel, no less.”

“Can we focus, please?” Steve muttered, glaring out the window toward the rooftop he knew Jim was perched on and rolling his eyes, “6 minutes.”

Guidici stood and stepped out into the piazza. Steve left the bookshop empty handed and kept to the opposite side of the square, pretending to examine the pastries in the bakery window and the ornate stone sculpture of various gods pouring water into the wide fountain in the piazza’s center as he discreetly watched Guidici cross the cobblestones until she reached the steps of the embassy.

Steve breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped under the archway, officially relieving the Commando’s from duty—

Guidici hit the ground with one foot over the threshold. By the time Gabe was at her side half of her body’s blood content was dripping down the steps of the embassy from the severed artery in her neck.

“Package down, mission failed,” Gabe reported grimly.

Steve was already hunting for the shooter amidst the chaos of the panicked crowd. There had been no audible gunshot, the angle must have been high, a sniper most likely. He examined the buildings but the only viable vantage point he could find was currently occupied by a stunned looking Jim.

Clean, precise, efficient, and deadly. Too good for HYDRA’s usual MO.

Whoever the shooter was, they were something else entirely.

~TBC~

#stucky #steve x bucky #assassins #meet cute #blood #death #assassination #shooting #canon typical violence #the howling commandos #dum dum dugan #gabe jones #jaques dernier #james falsworth #jim morita

150 notes · View notes

holy-fate-worse-than-death · 5 years

Text

Red has a new chapter!

Chapter 12 is here! Have a preview!

Content Warnings:

Graphic depictions of violence, canon-typical violence, swearing, blood, injuries, life-threatening injuries

***

It’s been two days since Damian woke up. Two days, and Bruce has already ditched Gotham again.

Jason’s in the grounds of Wayne Manor when it happens.

He’s perched on top of the roof of the garage, doing a handstand, with Dick by his side. They’re precariously close to the edge, and Alfred has told them off four times already for being up there. Don’t you think you’re setting a bad example for your brothers, Master Dick, Jason mimicked in his head, Must you spend all your time on the rooftops, Master Jason. But Alfred’s words hadn’t had the same bite to them that they usually had when he was ripping into them for something (not that Jason had been on the receiving end of that for many years). There’d been a softness in his eyes, a look of understanding. Jason was pretty sure he was the only one who’d caught it – that it had been intended for him, even.

He still wasn’t used to that feeling. Standing on his hands, shirtless, like some frat boy on the garage roof of his childhood home, trying to outlast his older brother in a vain and juvenile contest, he had the distinct sensation that people wanted him there. The soft look in Alfred’s eyes, Tim’s laughter as he looked up from his laptop by the pool every so often. The way even Damian had to shoot him a smirk once or twice as he goaded Dick with the best insults he could muster.

Truth was, Jason was doing it for that last part: for Damian’s sly little smirk. They spent so much time being teammates, tentative allies, or enemies, they hardly knew what having a brother was like. Tim’s words echoed in Jason’s head as he felt the blood finally starting to pulse in his ears a little, He’s not here half the time anymore!

Jason was just beginning to contemplate packing it in and climbing down. He was thinking that maybe he’d feign exhaustion, flop to the ground and place a hand over his forehead. You’ve bested me, oh great Nightwing! he’d say, and he’d get another contented little laugh out of Tim, and Nightwing would somersault off the roof effortlessly, landing a gentle kick in Jason’s ribs before helping him up. With any luck, his older counterpart might even be smiling.

They’d hardly spoken a word since that night in the Cave – when he’d promised Dick he’d stay – but Jason was pretty sure Dick knew what game he was playing at. As if on cue, Dick cocked his head slightly, sparing a glance towards the pool and indicating that Jason do the same. Jason followed his brother’s gaze, their hands almost grazing where they were braced on the tiled roof. And sure enough, Dick’s eyes were on Damian. The kid was smiling again, shirtless and soaking up the sun, though his torso was still bandaged. His cat (another Alfred) was curled on his lap, enjoying the soft heat of the day as well.

“You’re doing good here,” Dick said pensively, letting out what might have been a sigh.

The acrobat readjusted his stance then, and now his hand brushed Jason’s. Were they in some stupid teen movie, Jason might have thought it was accidental; a little static shock brought between them by happenstance. But Jason knew Dick was the most precise and coordinated man in the city – maybe even the world. Somehow that made it better, knowing that Dick had meant to touch him like that.

“His mom would be pissed if I wasn’t,” Jason admitted sheepishly, turning his head fully away from Dick’s now so that he could only see Damian and Tim.

That’s when they saw it. The familiar green glow of energy from a Green Lantern’s ring, rising up from the tree-line at the edge of the Manor’s lawns like a great bubble. From Jason and Dick’s vantage point they could just make out a few other figures within the emerald orb, one of which took on the uncanny silhouette of a bat.

Jason and Dick immediately turned to look at each other. Dick’s pupils were blown a little wider than usual, and his face was flushed from standing upside-down for so long. It reminded Jason a little of the kiss they’d shared that night when they’d thought Damian was going to die, and he chastised himself for even thinking about that. Right now, Dick’s mouth was nothing but a thin line of concern.

They shared a synchronised nod and then they were both somersaulting off the roof gracefully, neither of them making a sound as their bare feet connected with the sealed concrete of the Manor’s rear driveway.

Dick locked eyes with Tim almost immediately, who was already shoving his commlink in his ear and typing furiously on his laptop.

Alfred was behind them in an instant, saying something like, “Master Bruce would like you all to know he’ll be out on League business for a few days.”

Jason didn’t really hear him though, the buzzing in his head drowning out the butler’s words as he sought out Damian’s gaze. The boy had been petting the cat in his lap, but now his hand had stilled; the only indication that something might be bothering him.

After an acceptable period, Damian gently scooped up the cat from his lap and deposited it on his shoulders. He stood carefully, but even so, he winced a little. Before Jason could think he was crossing the lawn to the pool area, padding over the warm, smooth tiles in his tracksuit pants.

Then he was helping Damian up, even as the boy protested with an acid tongue.

“I’m not an invalid, Hood,” Damian hissed, shoving Jason away.

Jason bit down the bile he felt at the use of that name when he wasn’t wearing the helmet or armour. He thought about how he’d called Dick Nightwing two nights ago though, and promptly decided that, all things considered, he probably deserved whatever low-blows were about to come his way.

Damian had stretched his ribs too far when he’d shoved Jason, and now he fell back down on the sun bed he’d been sitting on and winced.

“You’ll be healed within the week,” Jason assured him, his tone colder than he’d meant it.

Jason was still god-awful at talking about the Lazarus Pit and all of the effects it had had on himself – let alone on his younger brother – and he was sure Damian could hear it in his voice.

But if his youngest counterpart noticed, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he took to staring at Jason’s feet like they were the most interesting things he’d ever seen. Jason wondered if the kid was thinking to himself, Seriously, how did he manage to get a bullet wound in his foot?

“Damian,” Jason tried again when the boy made no other attempt to move or respond to him.

Jason could feel eyes on him – Dick’s and Tim’s – and it made him unsure of himself. He found himself crouching down until he and Damian were the same height, and he carefully leaned back onto his haunches so that he wasn’t crowding the kid.

“Look,” he said, dropping his voice so that the other birds couldn’t hear him, “You just have to let your body do its thing, okay, kid?”

Damian didn’t say anything, but eventually he nodded. Jason just sat there for a while, as Tim caught Dick up on the Justice League case that Bruce was working. Something off-world, apparently, and Dick seemed pretty convinced that Alfred’s estimate of a few days had been on the low side. Jason knew Damian could hear all of this too, and that he knew what that meant.

After a while, Damian spoke. His voice held a familiar quietness, the kind that the League of Assassins drilled into you. It wasn’t a whisper, it was decibels lower than that. To the untrained ear it would have sounded like Damian had just exhaled a particularly long breath.

“Red Robin can’t go out on his own tonight,” the boy said, his words for Jason and Jason alone.

Behind the boy’s black-haired head, stretched out on a sun bed, Dick was already talking about the case he’d be working in Blüdhaven tonight. Under different circumstances Jason might have been mad at his older counterpart, but how could he be? Dick’s perfectly chiselled abs were on full display, the only thing covering his body a pair of tiny cotton pool shorts. They were pink, which Jason had heckled him about earlier. Dick had dipped his mouth towards Jason’s ear and whispered you sure you don’t like them? and Jason had felt his whole face go red. Dick had made a tiny huff of pleasure before traipsing away.

“Well,” Jason said, smiling now and standing upright.

He held his hands out for Damian, who took them carefully and allowed Jason to steady him as he eased himself to his feet. Alfred the cat was still draped lazily around his neck, and Jason reached out to give the creature an idle pet. That seemed to earn some brownie-points with Damian. Encouraged, Jason continued, a little twinkle in his eye:

“It’s a good thing the Red Hood’s in town then, isn’t it?”

Red Hood and Red Robin fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Their combat manoeuvres were perfectly synchronised even with only one fight under their collective belts. Jason felt like he could do anything beside Tim, and the electricity in the air told him that his younger counterpart felt the same.

Hell, I haven’t even called him ‘replacement’ once tonight, Jason thought to himself as he crouched on the gargoyle of a building in Park Row. It was his old haunt – his oldest – and Tim hadn’t protested when he suggested they start their patrol there. Jason figured Tim knew he was from here; Tim knew everything. According to Dick, his stalking of the Bat-clan had begun even before Jason’s untimely demise.

Tim couldn’t have been older than Damian then, and Jason thought briefly of his own youth. In his mind’s eye he saw himself on his knees just a block north of here, the hood of his jumper pulled up over his head as he frantically unscrewed one of the Batmobile’s hubcaps. He still remembered the rush in his belly when Bruce had caught him, those hideous fangs Bruce called teeth curling upward into what should have been a blood-curdling smile.

Jason wondered if Tim had felt the same way, taking his little pictures of the three of them – Batman, Robin and Nightwing. He figured the kid probably did, because once you got a taste you couldn’t go back – not really.

Click, click, click.

Tim’s spy-sized bat-camera clicked a few times and then he was adjusting the lens with a green-gloved hand, zooming in.

Tim sat on the gargoyle next to him, his long black cape draped around it and encircling them both so that he was nothing but a shadow on Gotham’s murky horizon. The smog dimmed the moon tonight, as it always did, but it suited them both that way – suited their work.

They were doing their due diligence, as Tim had put it, by standing vigil in the very heart of Park Row for another fourteen minutes exactly. Tim liked schedules and had spent the ride here recalculating his to suit Jason’s preferred route.

“We’ll take Park Row first,” Jason had said, because that’s where it always felt right to start patrols.

If he was being honest with himself, it made him feel closer to Batman. Not to Bruce, but to the heart of who Batman really was. Jason had slowed the car down as they drove past that fateful spot, and Tim had asked him why. There had been a true innocence in his voice, so Jason had said, “thought I saw something” and kept driving.

“Still can’t believe we’re taking the Batmobile,” he’d muttered after that, shaking his head even as his hands gripped the car’s tactical steering column.

Jason was pretty sure he still remembered what all the buttons did, but he’d probably double-check with Tim before he touched anything anyway. The kid had been using the car’s onboard computer system but now he looked up, furrowing his brow.

“Two sweeps of Park Row?” he’d inquired.

“Yep,” Jason had replied, “One at the start of the shift and one at the end.”

Tim had paused for a moment, chewing on his lower lip. Then he’d just murmured, “God knows the place needs it.”

Now Tim was rattling off the rest of their itinerary, “… Midtown via the hospital and the university, then into the Diamond District through The Narrows, followed by a quick loop around Toxic Acres and- are you sure you want to go right through the main street of Chinatown?”

“Mm-hm,” Jason hummed.

When Tim didn’t look convinced he nodded down at the alley below, their gazes both falling on the now-parked batmobile.

“In that car?” he said shortly.

“Draws a lot of attention,” Tim murmured.

To which Jason countered, “It also scares most of the petty crims away.”

Tim didn’t argue with him after that and finished listing all the places they’d hit. When he finally wrapped up he said, “It’s better when we can delegate and give everyone their own beat.”

“Beat,” Jason laughed, hopping nimbly off his gargoyle to stretch his legs before they went numb. “You sound like a cop.”

He snorted when Tim turned to level a glare at him.

“Or Dick Grayson,” Tim said hotly, his voice lowering a little as though he were scared someone would hear him.

Jason tossed the kid’s conclusion around in his head for a moment. It was true, Nightwing was the vigilante who most resembled a cop out of all of them, and that was the part he played in his daily life. But Jason wasn’t so sure that was true of Dick Grayson, not deep down, and Jason knew from experience that no Robin was a cop.

“Maybe he’ll arrest daddy for all the breakin’ and enterin’ he does,” Jason finally quipped back as he bent down to touch his toes.

He was in the middle of readjusting his domino mask – which still felt a little alien on his face, especially with the shit that passed for adhesive these days. Tim had explained that it was resistant to most commercial and industrial solvents and was only compatible with the kind kept in the Batcave and at the various League headquarters around the country. It meant that no villain with a little chemistry know-how could compromise their secret identities, but the stuff smelled like a tyre fire.

“Shit,” Tim said emphatically, and Jason was immediately on his feet.

He crossed the roof and stood just behind Tim’s perch on the gargoyle. Tim was looking through his bat-noculars and frantically trying to chase something a few blocks in the distance.

“What?” Jason barked, and Tim shot him a frankly terrified look before handing the binoculars over.

It took Jason a moment of frantic searching to find Tim’s target down the street. When he did, he found himself unexpectedly smiling.

“Look,” Jason began, eyeing the tension in his younger counterpart’s shoulders and jaw.

Jason felt his brow furrowing in confusion as he noticed how Tim was white-knuckling the gargoyle beneath him, how his legs trembled just slightly from how tight he was clenching his whole body.

“I know you got a history with KC,” he continued, “But Waylon’s not the monster you think he is.”

“No,” Tim hissed, snatching the bat-noculars back from Jason’s hands, “You idiot, didn’t you see what he was carrying?”

Jason hadn’t seen Croc carrying anything. In the brief moment he’d seen Croc, he’d been poking his head out the door of an abandoned building, like he was concerned about being followed. Jason supposed that it was their city, so they should go and at least ask the big guy what was happening, but the panic in Tim’s voice seemed unfounded.

Tim took Jason’s silence as a ‘no’ and blurted, “He was carrying R- Arsenal. Unconscious.”

Jason’s eyes widened, but even as concern for his friend coiled itself deep in his gut he stared at Tim’s hands, the way they were shaking around the bat-noculars. He hadn’t known that Red Robin and Arsenal had met, let alone were on a first name basis. Something in Tim’s shattered expression caused Jason to push his questions away though, and in a heartbeat, he was springing into action, already about to leap off the roof and down into the alley were the batmobile was lying out of sight.

“Go!” he shouted at Tim, hoping the frantic scurry across the rooftops to Roy’s position would focus the boy somewhat. “I’ll bring the car around.”

The tyres of the batmobile came to a screeching halt in front of the boarded-up apartment building not a minute later. Tim hit the ground in front of the car at a run, staff already out, and Jason was barely a second behind, leaping out of the batmobile’s rooftop hatch and scarcely remembering to lock the thing behind him.

He was out without a gun again tonight, but Damian had quietly tucked his sword – Talia’s sword – into the backseat of the batmobile. Jason had seen him do it, of course, and they’d shared barely a second of eye contact before Damian was disappearing into the shadows of the Cave and making his way back to his bed upstairs. In that brief moment, Jason had looked stern, he knew – which was no doubt why Damian had made a beeline back to his bed – but he hadn’t been able to help it. On the one hand, he wanted to tell Damian that the blade was too long, too gaudy, and completely impractical for the kind of close-quarters combat that Gotham vigilantes were so often faced with. But on the other, Jason was being bestowed with a family heirloom; a trusted and irreplaceable possession from the woman who had trained them both.

Jason grabbed the sword from the backseat as he leapt out of the car and pounded up the stairs of the duplex after Tim.

By the time he was inside he had it slung snugly across his back, and the loud “FUCK!” he heard echo through the gutted building made him draw it from its sheath.

It was Roy’s voice – that distinct Star City accent he’d picked up in his many years there as Speedy clear as day – and Jason felt panic rise up into his throat like the green bubble that had carried Batman away earlier that afternoon.

He approached with Damian’s sword clasped firmly in both hands, holding it in a proper stance that he knew Roy would make fun of him for if he had all of his senses.

Another scream told Jason he didn’t, and he heard a heated exchange between Roy and Tim.

“Don’t you fucking touch it, Red,” Roy hissed, then groaned in pain again.

Jason rounded a pile of debris – an old TV, a couch that was so old it was practically decomposing, and a stack of chairs piled to the sky. When he got around it, the pair finally came into view.

“You have to let me take it out, Roy,” Tim was saying flatly, his voice conveying none of the panic Jason had seen in him on the rooftop a minute ago.

Roy was stretched out on an old kitchen countertop, the only thing left standing in the entire apartment by the looks of it. His hat was missing, and his orange hair was slicked to his forehead with sweat. His eyes were open; wild and manic, and his whole body was bucking off the table in pain.

In his abdomen, the lone, red spine of one of his own arrows stuck out of his flesh.

Jason had sheathed his sword and swept across the room in an instant, and then his hand was on Roy’s forehead, sweeping his hair out of his eyes.

“T-thanks, Jaybird,” the archer replied weakly, his eyes fluttering shut.

The fact that he didn’t even have the wits to be surprised that Jason was working with Red Robin in Gotham was terrifying, but what was worse was how much blood had already pooled on the counter below him.

“You need a hospital!” Tim exclaimed shrilly, bandages and gauze appearing from nowhere in the kid’s hands as he applied pressure around the arrow.

Roy howled in pain and Jason silently wished he had a gun strapped to his leg to grip onto, or to put the handle of it in Roy’s mouth so he had something to bite down on.

So, he took his combat knife off his belt and tried to put the thing between Roy’s teeth, a weapon that had been between both their teeth numerous times before when anaesthesia wasn’t an option.

But Roy wrenched his head away, arching away from Jason until he was curled up on his side, facing Tim.

“They’re still coming for us,” the archer managed to grit out.

Jason saw his eyes close and his breathing grow more laboured, like it always did right before he threw up. Instinctively, Jason rounded the table and put his hands on Red Robin’s shoulders, gently peeling the boy away just in time to avoid getting puke on his shoe. Roy looked up at him with what might have been gratitude, and Jason snatched a piece of clean gauze from Tim’s hands to wipe at Roy’s mouth.

“Who’s still coming for you?” Jason asked as he folded the gauze over and patted it against Roy’s forehead.

Jason could hear Tim behind him, the boy’s breath whistling hard and fast through his nose. There was a history here. Jason didn’t know what, but he knew that he was the only poor sucker in the room who was used to seeing the people he loved on their deathbeds. Tim, on the other hand, was losing it.

“Some guns Waller hired to track down KC after he escaped,” Roy managed to say.

Then the idiot tried to sit up and Jason and Tim both had to wrestle him back down onto the bench.

“He needs to go to the Cave,” Tim said meekly, the shrillness from earlier still tweaking his voice an octave or so higher.

“Not until it’s done,” Roy growled, anger streaking across his face like a great jolt of pain (which was probably what caused his sudden outburst).

“But what if you die,” Tim was saying, his voice barely more than a gasp, and then Roy was looking at Jason pleadingly, with the ghost of something else between his eyes that Jason would have to piece together later.

“Where’s Croc?” he asked instead, cocking his head over his shoulder at Tim.

Suddenly Jason felt bad about being between the two men, so he extricated himself and shunted Tim closer with a hand on his counterpart’s flank. Tim took up the position easily, one of his hands reaching for Roy’s face and then withdrawing it immediately. Roy shot a look at Jason that said don’t do this now, but Jason knew that Tim’s hesitation hadn’t been because of Jason’s prying eyes; Tim’s hands were covered in blood, and he didn’t want to smear it all over Roy’s already bloodied body.

“Checking the perimeter,” Roy finally answered.

Jason was turning on his heel and stalking out of the room before anyone could say another word. He turned so sharply he thought that if he wore a cape it would have snapped in the air. He felt like Batman, especially when he called orders to Tim back over his shoulder, “Get him behind that bench and keep him alive,” he was saying, then shouting as he took off at a sprint down what remained of the apartment building’s hallway, “And stay in radio contact!”

The ensuing firefight was hellish. Never in his life had Jason enjoyed a fight less. Croc fought valiantly beside him, tanking bullets like they were raindrops, while Jason dodged out of the way with the grappling gun he’d taken out of storage at the Cave. If he wasn’t going to be shooting anybody, he needed an extra element of surprise.

He dropped down on the men one-by-one, like Batman… if Batman carried a sword. He knocked them unconscious, mostly, smashing the hilt of Damian’s sword into a lot of brainstems and slicing a lot of ankles. When he broke the first guy’s jaw with a well-placed punch and his machine gun clamoured to the ground, Jason had to grind his teeth together to keep himself from picking it up.

He thought of Roy in the next room, bleeding out and probably dead, and then he thought of Tim. Tiny Tim, the one who’d cried into his chest for hours that night in the Cave. Tim who was so opposed to death and who had such a righteousness in his heart that he’d chosen to be Robin in a way that no one else ever had. He imagined Tim cradling Roy in his arms as he died, and Jason tossed the machine gun down the jaws of a mouth made of jagged floorboards that opened up into the basement.

He slammed his boot into the throat of the next one, knocking him clean out. He sliced at the arms of some of the others, brought the tip of Damian’s sword up to the neck of one in particular who had spat an insult at him. He was so close to doing it that his hands shook, but then Croc was smashing an end table over the guy’s head and that was the last of them.

Jason’s suit was nicked with cuts and scrapes and he could feel bruises forming everywhere on his chest. He could barely breathe, sucking in air like he was drowning, and Croc swayed on his feet. But Jason couldn’t rest – didn’t dare.

Instead, he was sprinting along the length of the apartment block, leaping over piles of debris and bodies without a second thought – he figured the cops would be here soon anyway. Croc was hot on his heels, and Jason came to a screeching halt halfway to the apartment where he’d left Roy and Tim.

He turned to Croc and barked, “Go find someplace to lay low, I’ll know how to contact you when I know something.”

Croc was looking at him with the eyes of a predator, adrenaline (or whatever crocodile men had) no doubt still pumping through his veins. His fists clenched and then relaxed, and Jason took that as agreement.

But he stepped towards the prehistoric man anyway, lowering his voice and holding Croc’s gaze firmly.

“I will not let him die,” Jason promised, even as he imagined Roy dead as he spoke those words.

It’s what Batman would say – what Robin would say – he realised, and he silently cursed the ghost he could never quite escape.

But that ghost seemed to comfort Croc somehow, and then they were peeling their eyes off each other and running in separate directions down the hall.

When Jason reached Roy and Tim’s room, Tim was already hauling an unconscious and pale Roy to his feet.

“Think I stopped the bleeding,” the kid muttered, his suit covered in blood from his collar to his boots.

Tim grunted as he slung one of Roy’s arms around his shoulders and Jason was struck by how small Tim was – how young. Roy wasn’t even six foot and Tim could still barely lift him, and the archer was on the light side as far as superheroes went.

“Here, let me,” Jason offered, reaching out his arms and getting ready to carry Roy bridal-style – not for the first time in their long and gory history.

“No!” Tim growled, the strength in his voice surprising Jason.

With another strained grunt, Tim somehow managed to haul the older ex-sidekick into his arms. He looked possessive and he was fuming. Jason wondered if it was because he’d missed out on the fight, missed out on getting a chance to crack the skulls of the people who’d done this to Roy – who Tim apparently cared so much about.

Jason took point on their way out the front door, not even bothering to draw his sword so that he could unlock the batmobile faster. He could hear sirens in the distance now, drawing nearer, and he urged Tim onwards with a short, “Quick.”

“I know,” Tim grumbled, allowing Jason to help him hoist Roy’s limp body into the back of the batmobile.

“Get in the back and keep an eye on him,” Jason was saying as he leapt into the front seat and took the steering column in his hands.

Tim seemed grateful for the direction and his eyes started to come back into focus somewhat then. He kept one finger on Roy’s pulse and lifted the other up to his radio, where he hailed Alfred on the comms and warned him to be prepared for triage.

Jason was glad they were still so close to home, and was thinking about saying, see, this is why you visit Crime Alley twice, when Roy began to stir.

Jason put his foot to the ground then, which caused the batmobile to blast past everything in its way. The other cars on the road were a blur, the buildings were a blur, and if Jason hadn’t known this route so well that it was muscle memory, he might have taken a wrong turn.

Roy was murmuring something, and Jason strained his ears to hear it.

“Kori…” he managed to say, his breath ragged and catching on fluid in his throat. Probably blood, Jason thought grimly. “Went back to Tamaran,” the archer finished, and Jason felt his stomach sink on his friend’s behalf.

For a moment, stuck in the cramped batmobile with Red Robin between himself and Roy, Jason felt like he and his best friend were the only two people in the world. He thought about their crashed ship, and their little tropical island, and wished that Roy had been allowed to die there in the sun.

“I’m sorry,” Jason breathed after he wrenched the steering column again.

It was the second last turn he’d have to make, the last one being onto the side road that led to the Batcave. Now they had about two minutes to sit and pray as they crossed the bridge out of Uptown and towards the mainland where the Manor stood alone in its fields.

Some air escaped Roy’s lungs that Jason thought might have been the poor guy trying to laugh, and when he spoke next, he had a smile in his voice.

“Don’t be, Jaybird,” he breathed, and Jason heard a shifting sound as Roy and Tim rearranged their limbs on the backseat.

Jason caught a glance of what they were doing in the rear-view mirror and his heart shattered right there. Not two days ago Jason had seen Tim hold Damian’s hand the same way, and now the seventeen-year-old was being put through it all over again. Only this time… Well, as Roy put it:

“Be sorry if this one ever leaves me.”

And then Roy was smiling, and his eyes were closing, and Jason was easing up on the accelerator to make it safely past the Cave’s waterfall. Jason and Tim both held their breaths as the car dove through the curtain of water, like if they didn’t they’d drown in it.

Drown in blood’s more like it, Jason thought darkly as he slammed on the brakes and opened the roof in the same movement.

Tim rocketed out of the car in an instant, already barking a description of Roy’s injuries and relevant medical info at Alfred, who was already clad in gloves and a surgical mask.

Jason made short work of hauling Roy out of the car. He sprinted down the hall to the med-bay and was assaulted by a not-so-distant memory of carrying Damian down here the same way only a few nights ago.

Jason felt panic rise in his chest, and thoughts that he’d been trying so hard to keep hidden started to rise to the surface. This job is too dangerous, the weak voice that had reared its ugly head after his resurrection said. I won’t be here to watch them die.

Jason put Roy in a different room to the one that had held Damian, just to make it feel like this was somehow different than that night had been. Sure, Damian hadn’t died, but Jason knew deep down that the Lazarus Pit had determined that; not his own fortitude or some cosmic luck. And Roy didn’t have any powers, not even the Lazarus Pit to give him a boost.

Jason didn’t realise he was crying – might not have been – until he was shouting at Tim. He’d meant to bark out an order the way Bruce would have, but he just wasn’t that fucking strong.

“Go clean that blood off you,” he snarled, ignoring the way Tim’s own eyes were brimming with tears, “and bring me everything you’ve got on Amanda Waller.”

***

Read the whole fic here!

#fanfic #fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #batfam fanfiction #batfam fanfic #jaydick #royxtim #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #roy harper #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #killer croc

25 notes · View notes

lifeseverchanging · 5 years

Text

MMX #6 (SPOILERS)

Mr. and Mrs. X Issue #6 - The bottle issue we have all been waiting for! I managed to sleep through past the midnight hour this time around but not without waking up at 5:30 a.m. and realizing I should use the small amount of valuable time before the workday began to read this issue! I had wanted to wait until I bought the floppy from my LCS so I can read it from the pages of the book to try to avoid my usual knee-jerk reaction from my groggy sleep deprived reads during the wee hours of the morning. But, yeah right. Like that happened! What? Like I suddenly grew self control? out of NOWHERE? No sir, not I.

Before we begin I want to explain that I am ridiculously emotionally invested in our heroes story. Since I was a child and long since before I could really comprehend what romantic love actually is I had fallen in love with the idea of the kind of love that exists between Gambit and the untouchable Rogue. After the many years of heartache and heartbreak we are witnessing the best times Romy has ever seen as a couple. Their story is being written by a person who truly loves the pair and what that does is makes the expectations incredibly high from the diehard fans. We are the ones who held out hope and turned to fanfic when Romy was barely a memory in the Marvel universe. The hopefuls who kept the torch lit throughout the darkest and most desolate of times and we are a thirsty bunch who won’t let even a drop go to waste.

So away we go! The book opens up at GAMBIT AND ROGUE’S APARTMENT in Manhattan. Bobby arrives to the party on time and is the first guest to Rogue’s dismay.

We can clearly see trouble is lurking ahead from the loft windows.

CAT SPOTTING: I spy with my little eye a Fiagaro and an Oliver and Figaro again!

Rogue takes advantage of Bobby’s on time arrival and terrifies him into helping cut the cheese and refrain from making fart jokes. Our hostess is clearly flustered and behind on schedule when the doorbell rings again... (Loving Gambit’s third party dialogue)

CAT SPOTTING: Remy picks up Figaro and bravely holds him again his shirt (if you have cats you know what I mean) RING SPOTTING: Gambit’s ring, ahh!

Remy’s father, Jean Luc, makes his appearance however Tante does not. Jean Luc drops some foreshadowing of things to come with this comment about Tante demanding a visit from Gambit and Rogue in New Orleans.

Naturally Rogue is utterly sweet to JL (if you have ever read a fanfic by the name of “Treading Water” you will understand why this embrace between Rogue and JL caused me to shudder) and Remy gets all of the blame about the spontaneous wedding not allowing any of his family to be there.

CAT SPOTTING: Figaro Jean states he can’t stay but needed to warn Remy of the pending attack.

aaaand in comes the party crasher.

Love this little moment between husband and wife... “Wild Horses couldn't stop me” - Rogue

@cajuncajole spotted that something was missing. See: RING SPOTTING below

RING SPOTTING:

And the uninvited guests quickly goes back out.

Rooftop fighting ensues where the unknown t’ieves point out that their King doesn’t even recognize his soldiers. This is certainly going to lead us into the Guild issues Kelly has planned after the Mojoverse arc.

Rogue is a complete bad ass who joins the fight up on the roof with no regard to not having her powers but she quickly finds herself in a bind of which Remy helps get her out of. RING SPOTTING: Rogue!

It’s important to note that this scene draws out how well they know one another and why Gambit and Rogue have always made a great team and just how much trust they have in each other.

Love that the card he throws is none other than the QUEEN OF HEARTS (The card he gives to Rogue)

RING SPOTTING: Rogue!

Quite the flashback to X-Treme X-Men days!

Though it doesn’t stop Rogue from becoming infuriated and ready to nip this fight in the bud because they have guests arriving and a party to host!

Rogue is going to have to pull out the big guns and take a much needed break from that collar.

This is now probably my new favorite phrase: HOO BOY! Remy leaps off of the building in his bad-assery ragin’ cajun kind of way.

The comical moment where Laura and Bobby are a witness to his jump while Rogue knocks all of the thieves out with her new powerset. I can already hear the Gambit-only fans being peeved over this but simmer down, they need to get back to their party and this is the quickest way!

Then we have the amazing loft view/party scene.

CAT SPOTTING: Lucifer at the top of the loft, Oliver and Figaro down below watching the party goers.

One of my favorite moments of the party scene was certainly when Bishop retells the pie story and Rogue corrects him on the type of pie it was (she baked Boysenberry!). I also loved when Remy threatens to push Kitty out the window while standing directly behind her as Lorna, Jean and Angel were discussing how impressive Remy’s amazing rooftop jump was.

Sidenote: TIL Bobby is cheap. I truly wish we had focused more on the party in this issue but alas we move along to the party winding down (Remy threatening Bobby not to freeze anything - I wonder what exactly?) when suddenly Belle pops in as an invited guest. I can’t say unexpected because because we all saw the preview and knew it was coming but Remy certainly did not see it coming. She’s there to warn him that the Guilds are after his crown after he married the “Princess o' all tings good an’ honorable”. Remy defends his new bride against his ex wife however Belle won’t be deterred and has the balls to let him know exactly how she feels. I noticed Remy didn’t close the door in spite of her presence.

I wasn’t a fan of the scene where Remy looks like a little kid who just got scolded but this last shot was lovely... and it transcends into the next scene where we find an upside down Rogue in the fetal position taking a much needed break from that collar.

Speaking of unexpected... Magneto pays Rogue a visit. Though it makes no sense why Rogue summoned him at all it is incredibly unclear as to when she contacted him.

This panel got a lot of people talking... some were mad (raises hand), some didn’t mind or care at all (mainly due to the fact that there was no real sense that these two have romantic feelings for one another) and others are claiming this is proving Rogue still loves Mags and trusts him more than Remy. (Bullsh*t)

Listen, aside from the obvious parallel Kelly was going for with the “Exes” the main problem with this scene is that she makes it seem as if Rogue doesn’t trust Remy. It makes her look as if she will confide in a person like Magneto over her husband, her best friend and partner in life. After mulling over this GD scene for about 48 hours I finally did some real soul searching to make sense of this panel. Kelly knows that continuity should not be ignored so I think she felt compelled to make an attempt to shut that R and Fapneto ship door as best as she could.

Did this moment belong in this particular issue? I think not... I feel as if this panel was removed and more party panels were shown people would have loved the hell out of this issue. I think Kelly really didn’t want to leave the ex situation one-sided and she felt as if she needed to prove that the only thing left between the two of them is friendship.

Like it or not, Rogue is the kind of person who wants to stay friends with people that matter/mattered to her. DO most of us feel the need to stay friends with our exes? NOPE. Do some? SURE. The point is that we as humans are complex creatures who do stupid things from time to time. People are pissed because Rogue is naive enough to call on her ex around a time she ought to be embracing her new marriage/husband instead of confiding in her old friend (and boy do I mean “old”). Rogue is the kind of idiot who would feel the need to apologize to the man she shot down that she didn’t tell him about her wedding in person but there is also probably some need for her to confirm that he has drifted back to the darkside because as a friend she would care about that too.

The upside? There was no hint of romantic love between the two of them. Magneto for once isn’t bad mouthing Gambit and is in fact saying good things about him. Rogue SAYS IT ON PANEL that she does not want to scare off Gambit with her warped powers. She even gushes to Mags about Remy’s approach of their relationship... smells like nothing but friendship to me. There was no hint of jealous ex talk in anyway but some folks will never be convinced. Anyway, with Mags out of the way I can only hope he won’t make any further appearances in this book because he’s the reason I quit reading comics in the first place and I don’t want him anywhere near our newlyweds. Ever again.

Rogue’s comment above about not being sure how many more surprises she can take is what makes the moment when Mags shows up seem like she hadn’t called on him right then and there. (~B’s 2 cents) Then of course she runs (literally) into Beast who provides her with another surprise. A pleasant one. (lol, love Gambit’s playing cards in the closet... I sure hope he buys in bulk from Amazon). RING SPOTTING: Rogue (yeah I just love seeing the rings)

Beast comes through for Rogue and makes her a new and improved power inhibitor tennis bracelet. You know she was totally kidding about the design but good ol’ Beast doesn’t know any better. Whatever, it works and is a much needed upgrade from that collar that made Rogue look like a poor puppy. The concerned expression on Beast’s face as he embraces her does make me worry a bit. Or maybe it’s just sympathy that Rogue has to be confined to a power inhibitor at all.

The look on their faces. Yeah, hosting is a shit ton of work especially when exes show up. How exhausting!

I loved the moment between Remy and Rogue here that they both acknowledge that they need to talk (Hoo Boy, don’t they!?) but that it can wait... you know, for science reasons.

Unfortunately they spot a gift they had missed... (speaking of spotting - CAT SPOTTING: Lucifer!)

... and they’re immediately warped into Mojoverse. I thought it was funny that Kelly took a stab at herself with the last page. Ahhhh, those uniforms... In my perfect version of this book we would not have addressed the Magneto thing so soon (but I am glad it’s out of the way) so we could have had a little more party and an indication that the newlyweds get a moment to test out that new bracelet *wink* before jumping right into the next crazy arc with Mojo. All in all the bottle issue of MMX was a fun one that had a lot of fun callbacks to the past (some not so fun) and the change of art was a breath of fresh air! (even if Rogue wasn’t the most flattering - at least Belle looked gorgeous). THINGS I LOVED: Cats and Rings! Gambit and Rogue’s fancy loft Seeing the X-Men party Silly humor Rogue got her new power inhibitor bracelet THINGS I DIDN’T LOVE: Magneto

I think Kelly has a game plan that is not entirely visible at the moment but I’m ready to dive into whatever it is she has in store for all of us next.

MMX #7 is out the first week of January!

#Kelly Thompson #David Lopez #mr and mrs x #mrandmrsx #gambit and rogue #rogue and gambit #Marvel Comics #romy

102 notes · View notes

codynaomiswireart · 5 years

Text

GitW - Part 19, Sneak Peek

Sneak peek for Part 19! Subject to change.

With a grunt of exhaustion, King Frederic sat down and wiped the sweat from his brow as the noontime sun beat down upon the palace square. It had been about two days now since the Saporian raid had taken place, and the citizens of the capital (as well as Frederic himself) were still hard at work repairing all of the damage that had been done that night. As he took temporary shelter underneath the awning of Uncle Monty’s Sweet Shoppe, King Frederic couldn’t help but feel some slight resentment towards that heavenly body that relentlessly poured its hot rays down upon his kingdom that day. As if his people didn’t have enough discomfort as of late already…

Feeling the first aches of sunburn along his neck and shoulders, King Frederic couldn’t help but wonder how his kingdom came to revere that celestial giant the way that they did all those years ago. Sure, the sun gave life in abundance. There was no doubt about that. But it could also burn it away to a crisp, and cause great pain. The Sun Drop had saved the lives of Arianna and Rapunzel, but it had also been a part of why Frederic had been robbed of sharing Rapunzel’s childhood all those years ago. And it didn’t stop there; it had robbed him of her a second time – sending his daughter to a far-off, unknown place, where anything might happen to her.

He knew she had to go. It was her destiny after all. But it had been months since Rapunzel had been home, and it had been weeks since Frederic had received any correspondence form her. And Arianna was gone now too, and the whole chain of events leading up to her and Varian taking it upon themselves to go and get Xavier could be traced back to when all of the trouble with the black rocks had begun, and that was all because of Frederic’s removal of the Sun Drop Flower all those years ago, despite Quirin’s dire warning. Frederic knew he couldn’t have done any different, and that Rapunzel and Arianna wouldn’t have even been there in the first place had he not taken the risk of removing the Sun Drop, but he still couldn’t help but wonder if things could’ve somehow turned out better than they had, if only he had known better about the other side of the coin that had been the payment for the lives of his family.

“Perhaps the moon isn’t the only light in the sky to have a dark side to it…” Frederic mused with a hard frown as he thought of these things. “Though at least it has the decency to not pretend otherwise…”

Frederic sighed as he took a bitter gulp of water from his canteen, and squinted hard into the bright glare of the noonday sunlight as he watched his people work hard to repair the walls and rooftops of buildings, and the steering rigs of the ships docked in the harbor. The sabotage done by the Saporians had indeed been calculated, and though any injuries during the attack had been minimal, there were still those who had been hurt in all the chaos, and it would be another day or so before any force could be spent to do anything about bringing the perpetrators to justice, or doing anything about Arianna, Varian, and Xavier’s situation, wherever they were.

Frederic swiped a hand over his face as he tried to steady himself and to prevent the anxiety that burned in his chest from showing outwardly. He hated to admit it, but Nigel had been right. His people needed him at this time, and he couldn’t let himself fall apart now. “Besides,” he thought, “the sooner we make repairs, the sooner we can look to figuring out what to do about Arianna and the others.”

After another moment of rest, King Frederic rose reluctantly to his feet, and stepped back out into the daylight as he made his way to where several of the city’s carpenters were cutting new boards to repair the roof of the bakery. As Frederic came to the center of the plaza, he stopped suddenly as he saw and felt the large dark shadow of a bird swoop its way over him, and he looked skyward as he heared the trilling screech of an eagle sound overhead. Frederich raised an arm to shield his face and his eyes from the bright daylight as the eagle in question came swooping down towards him, and soon alighted itself on one of the sideboards of the lumber cart before him. The lumbermen around the cart all jumped back with surprise as the large bird of prey landed near them, and it again let out a cry as it raised and clapped its wings, clearly calling for attention as it fixed its eyes on the king.

“Steady on everyone!” the Captain called out to anyone nearby as he rushed in to investigate, and Pete and Stan also came forward to provide security as they placed themselves on either side of the king. After Nazeem’s stunt with the Saporian messenger hawk, any unexpected avian visitors to the capital were definitely suspect. Frederic was grateful for the Captain’s caution and vigilence as he approached the great creature, who had folded in its wings and bowed in greeting as the Captain came near. It was clearly a wise, clever beast, and didn’t seem at all put off by the people’s skittishness as it settled itself down on the rim of the lumber cart.

“That’s right beastie,” the Captain said, his tone neither hostile nor lax as he addressed it. “No funny business. Now, what are you here for, and where have you come from?”

In answer to the Captain’s inquiry, the eagle raised his left leg, and the Captain could see a small graphtyc tied securely onto it. With caution, the Captain removed the graphtyc from the eagle’s leg, and after making sure that the container wasn’t booby trapped, the Captain unscrewed the lid and removed the note from inside. His eyes widened upon recognizing the handwriting on the letter.

“Sire!” the Captain exclaimed as he brought it forward to the king. “It’s for you, and it’s from her majesty!”

In an instant, Frederic found both hope and dread kick into overdrive inside of him as he hastily took the rolled up parchment from the Captain, and felt his heart beat hard against his sternum as his eyes turned to read this unexpected message. Did the Saporians have Arianna write her own ransom note? Or was it to reassure him that she was all right? Was it some sort of sick hoax and not really from her at all? Was it perhaps her desperate final words to him before the worst had happened!?

But as Frederic began to read the letter with quivering hands, most of these fears were immediately put to rest as the handwriting, style of language, and other small signs made it clear that it was indeed Arianna’s hand that had penned those words, and that she was neither held for ransom nor in any immanent danger at present. The relief Frederic felt would’ve been enough to make him melt that very instant. However, as he read on, Frederic came to have whole new fears rise up in him and make him tense as Arianna conveyed to him all that had happened on their mission.

“Your majesty?” the Captain asked after a few moments, having noticed Frederic’s face turn pale as he read on. “Is…everything all right?”

Brow furrowing hard, Frederic then rolled the message back up (though very unevenly) without a word, and seemed to stare hard at the ground for a moment before collecting himself with a deep breath through his nose. “Thank you,” was all that King Frederic said quietly to the eagle as he managed to look up, and after the eagle gave a small, court nod in return, Frederic turned to the Captain with a look of determined bewilderment.

“Captain, I need you to organize a company of about ten men, and have them ready to travel to Molson’s Grove within the hour. That’s an order.”

“Er, yes, right away Sir,” the Captain said with a salute, and though still clearly puzzled by what was going on, he began to gather together the men who would be heading out for whatever errand King Frederic had in mind. Setting a steely gaze forward, King Frederic made his way back to the palace to make his own preparations for travel…and for any possible confrontations with a potential familiar yet also new threat.

“Oh Quirin…” was all that Frederic could think to himself as he heard the palace doors shut behind him with a low clang. “Old friend…what have you done…?”

[end of preview]

#tts #rta #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #fan fiction #gauze in the wound #king frederic #captain of the guard

15 notes · View notes

pagerunner-j · 5 years

Text

So: writing.

I haven’t written any fic in ages. I’ve had ideas bouncing around for a while, but long story short, morale was low. A project came up, though, that sounded like a good excuse to bust one of those concepts out of the closet, and I started tinkering around with it this week to see if it might work. Of course, I promptly realized it’ll be WAY too long, sooooo...yeah, I’ll have to go back to one of the other ideas instead.

Still, I’ll probably have to finish this one eventually, too, because now I’m invested. Dammit. ;)

For now: have the first draft of the first section as a preview. Future!Keyleth goes back to Whitestone to inspect something very interesting up for auction...

The placard in the display case read, Lot 19: Automaton clock, 830-835 PD, Whitestone Society of Artists and Artisans.

The label was understated, but the tabletop timepiece was anything but. It resembled a classical building, surrounded by miniature figures. A small bird perched on the rooftop, viewing everyone below. Most curiously, at least unless you knew Whitestone’s history, a bear had pride of place before the front door. It was rearing up on its hind legs, standing taller than the townspeople. None of them seemed afraid of him. One even seemed to be offering something, although she, and everything else, was suspended in motion. The delicate handle on the back of the clock suggested its potential. The stern guard standing nearby also suggested its value.

The woman who’d walked up to see it did her best to ignore the guard—a tall order, considering he was a very tall half-orc—and bent closer to the case.

Her reflection in the glass was faint, but it still showed the vivid red of her hair and the intent flicker of her eyes. She’d dressed in muted, formal clothes like everyone else, but she moved like they fit uncomfortably. Her short hair was brushed down far enough to cover her pointed ears, but her sun-bronzed complexion and freckled nose still stood out in this town, as far north as it was and as close to the edge of winter. She could have disguised those features better, but doing so hadn’t felt right. Even the name she’d registered under — “K. Ashe” — wasn’t exactly a lie. She could only hope that no one would think she was more interesting than the extraordinary artifacts in this room. So far, she’d been proven exactly right.

After all, the Frederickstein-Graves collection, built up over the years by cousins and companions of Whitestone’s ruling family, ran toward the esoteric. It also kept an eye to local history. Ms. Ashe had surveyed the catalog already, which included an elaborate game set dating back to the re-opening of continental trade routes (lot 9) and an unusual harp by a 10th-century artificer famous for her impossible-to-mimic performances (lot 12). But the prize items claimed connection to Whitestone’s greatest villains and heroes. Ms. Ashe had already overheard an enthusiastic discussion about a set of onyx jewelry that once passed through the hands of Lady Briarwood. It came complete with legends about a curse. From the sounds of it, that was somehow adding to the lot’s appeal. She hadn’t even wanted to ask.

But then there was this clock.

Whitestone’s renowned artisans’ society was founded by Percival Frederickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, said the catalog on page 32, where she’d left a slender bookmark. De Rolo was Whitestone’s original Sophist of Native Ingenuity and member of the legendary group Vox Machina. This automaton clock, styled in the manner of his clock tower installation, dates from the period of his involvement with the guild and was gifted directly to the Frederickstein family. He has been credited in family documents as the maker of this timepiece.

Ms. Ashe, who had some familiarity with de Rolo handiwork, reached back into distant memories for a comparison. It took more effort than she was expecting. Suppressing a wince, she tilted her head to see the clock at a better angle.

“Magnificent craftsmanship, isn’t it?” said someone behind her. When she glanced up at the glass, she saw a young woman in a tailored suit, with her dark hair bound in a tidy braid. Her smile was just as tight, just as precise. “It’s truly something to see it up close.”

“It really is,” the redhead agreed. She straightened and turned around. “Jewel of the collection, everyone’s saying.”

“For once, the wisdom of the masses is entirely correct.” The woman’s smile had gone a touch condescending. “I traveled all the way from Rexxentrum to see it. It’s good to know the journey wasn’t wasted.”

“Did you now.”

“Indeed.” She proffered a hand. “Celia Corrigan-Whitburn. And I suppose you’ll be one of my rivals at auction, Miss…?”

“Ashe,” she answered, and then, somewhat awkwardly, “Kiki, specifically. To my friends. And the occasional rival.”

“Kiki. Really. Well, that’s charming.” Celia smiled again, mostly to the guard. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to show us the clock in motion?”

“That’s a question for one of the specialists, ma’am.”

“Of course. Could you call one over, please?”

His expression didn’t change, but he touched his earpiece and murmured something Kiki couldn’t hear. She reflexively reached up to her own ear, touching the jewel that still hung there, but as ever, it remained perfectly silent.

Celia, who was speaking again, didn’t seem to notice.

“I was sent to inspect this at the behest of my employers,” she said. “We specialize in far more complex devices, but we still appreciate the classics. Especially when their makers are so interesting. Ah, there we are.”

The auction specialist, a tall human woman with an aquiline nose, nodded a greeting. “I understand you’re interested in the de Rolo clock.”

“Are you saying that’s its official provenance, then?”

“We can’t say it with 100% certainty, but all the hallmarks we’re aware of are there. I can show you one or two of them. Just a moment.”

While the guard hovered close by, she produced a small key and unlocked one side of the display case. Then she reached in with one gloved hand and pointed.

“That right there, of course, is the famous trained bear that belonged to the reigning de Rolos,” she said. “Trinket, by name. You’ll see him in motifs across Whitestone even today.”

“Trinket,” Celia repeated wryly. “Whatever inspired that name for a bear?”

“We don’t actually know,” the specialist admitted. “Much of Vex’ahlia’s history before becoming Baroness remains vague. But the popular theory is that since her husband was so clever in crafting trinkets, the bear was nicknamed thus to prove he was one of her own.”

Ms. Ashe, who knew that that wasn’t the story at all, twisted her lips but kept her mouth shut.

“The building is a stylized representation of a de Rolo property,” the specialist went on, indicating architectural details and commenting over a few. “Back in the 9th century, it was a shop. Part of the economic renaissance of Whitestone after being reclaimed from the Briarwoods.”

“It was a bakery,” Ms. Ashe added, unable to help herself this time. “The Slayer’s Cake. You can see part of the logo on the sign.”

The specialist’s eyes lit up. “Good eyes. Yes, that’s the name we have on record.”

“Again with the strange titles,” Celia remarked. “Slaying cakes?”

Kiki felt like she had to reply. “It was a tongue-in-cheek reference to another guild. The Slayer’s Take. Still exists, but under a different name and very different regulations. They hunted a few things too close to extinction, so now they claim to be about responsible wildlife management and environmental stewardship.” She quirked an eyebrow. “I understand a druid or two nudged them in that direction.”

Celia sniffed. “The Green Coalition at work again. We’ve had debates with them about our mining operations.”

“I imagine you have,” Kiki said under her breath.

“So what was the connection between the Slayer’s Take and a bakery?” Celia asked.

“The bakery founders used to be members,” said the specialist. “It was something of a retirement venture, after they were done with the adventuring life.”

“Actually, they opened it slightly before they fought…” Kiki began, then shook her head and waved a hand. “But close enough.”

The specialist turned to her. “So you’re also a student of local history.”

“Something like. Just…long experience.” Kiki shrugged one shoulder and changed the topic. “But this clock. Anyone could make a clock themed around the city. Is there a maker’s mark to identify it?”

Celia nodded as if she also wanted to know. The specialist gently tilted the clock back to show the symbol on the base. “The mark is for the artisans’ society,” she said. “We have a chart of different iterations of this logo. This is the earliest, the one Lord de Rolo personally designed. It didn’t acquire the double border until the 850s.”

“Hmm,” Kiki said, studying the little symbol.

“Also, the way the figures move is very typical of his work. Let me show you.” She set it back down and delicately wound the clock.

Celia bent closer this time. Kiki, her attention caught, didn’t move. She just held her breath and waited as the gears turned and the hands realigned, and the figures began gradually to stir.

“Look here,” said the auction specialist, indicating the townspeople in motion. “The articulation is particularly clever. My favorite is the woman offering a pastry to the bear.”

Kiki whispered something that might have been a name, but no one else heard it. The clockwork bear, though, lifted his head and seemingly looked straight out through the glass at her.

“The scene’s all very prosaic, isn’t it,” Celia said. “You’re right, though; the craftsmanship is terribly clever. There’s familiar techniques here, actually. I’ve seen clockwork like this before. Might lend credence to a few theories.”

The bear took a polite sniff of the pastry. Kiki’s side glance was less friendly. “What sort of theories do you mean?”

“That there really were ideas exchanged between Mr. de Rolo and our company founder. Maybe even outright collaboration.” She paused. “Well. Our honorary founder, I should say. The original inventor of the rifles that we licensed and continued developing. Did I mention I work in weapons manufacturing?”

“You might have left that out,” Kiki said thinly. “Are you speaking of…”

Celia’s tone turned conspiratorial. “Dr. Anna Ripley,” she answered with a smile. “She may still be a controversial figure, but I’ve always found her fascinating. And I’ve studied both her works and those of her competitors for a very long time.”

The clock chimed, and the bird on the rooftop opened its beak in a warning caw. Kiki, struck dumb, distantly felt that it might have been laying on the dramatic irony a bit thick.

The specialist, who’d missed that exchange while listening to something over her earpiece, closed and locked the case before nodding to them both. “If you’ll excuse me, it seems I have another auction-goer to speak to. But it’s good to see your interest. If you have other questions, come find me. I’ll be here until the end of the afternoon.”

“Of course,” Celia said, smiling brightly. “Thank you.”

The specialist walked off. Celia, too, readied to go. She faced Kiki again, though, and gave her one more little smile. It was taking on distinct shades of a smirk. “I hope you understand my interest in this item now, at least.”

“I do,” Kiki said, her voice low.

“And if I might ask—because now I’m curious—what brought you here to bid on this?”

She thought about it. “History,” she said at last. “Legacy. And a certain personal interest.”

“Care to share what kind?”

Kiki met her gaze levelly. “No.”

Celia’s eyebrows lifted. Then she started to laugh. “Well. You’ll make for an interesting competitor after all. But I’ll warn you, the Whitburn Company coffers run deep.” She winked. “I’ll see you at the auction, Miss Ashe.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Kiki said, and watched Celia go. The woman’s heels clicked rhythmically on the stone floor, almost mechanical in their precision, and only slowly grew quieter until they were lost in the sound of the crowd.

Kiki let out a long, long breath when she was gone. She looked briefly at the guard, who didn’t react, then slowly returned to the case. He didn’t seem bothered when she pressed one hand to the glass for support, at least. And if he was listening when she murmured one last thing aloud, she found she didn’t care.

“Oh, buddy,” Keyleth said to the little clockwork bear. “This just got a lot more complicated.”

Trinket roared his agreement before slowly, slowly winding down, going silent and still once more.

#critical role #fic #keyleth

17 notes · View notes

bluerene · 6 years

Text

river, part four [starx] PREVIEW

Hey all!

So I said that after RobStar Week 2018 I’d focus on some content that should have been published ages ago but for various reasons (excuses) did not get finished. By this I meant wrapping up “river” (starx) and a story I started about a year ago called “Liability” (robstar). Since “river” is the shorter of the two and closest to completion, I’ll be finishing + uploading it in next week or so. It was originally intended to be around 5 chapters + a bonus scene inspired by @fireflyxrebel (!!!! ILY!!!!!) but I don’t know how keep things short and sweet so it’ll be closer to 6 or 7 OOPS

Anyways, I figured I owed some people a bit of an update. If you need a refresher, visit the links for chapters one, two, and three. Without further ado, here’s a preview of river, part four.

peace & love,

blue

Raven was quick to notice the scarlet blush I was undoubtedly wearing, but knew better than to comment until we were safely in the confines of her room.

We teleported to the common room, where Robin, Cyborg, and Beast Boy were still waiting.

“All good?” Robin asked, rising from the couch.

Raven shrugged, sparing me the trouble of responding.

“Didn’t catch him, he was long gone by the time we arrived. Nothing was stolen, but the security officers received an alert that the main lab was breached so there’s a chance some research may have been copied.”

Robin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “okay, we’ll have to deal with that later. Thanks, guys.”

He was rarely so collected when an instance like this occurred. I couldn’t help the warmth that filled me when he turned my way.

“You okay, Star?”

“Hmm?” my blush deepened as I realized what he was asking, “oh, yes, I am the o and the k.”

“Lookin’ a little flushed, princess.” Cyborg teased, nudging Beast Boy with a grin.

“I am simply tired. I would like to turn in for the evening,” I replied in my most dignified tone.

“Good idea, I vote we all do it,” Raven said.

Beast Boy raised an eyebrow, “it’s not even midnight.”

“You could use the beauty sleep,” she shot back.

I giggled behind my hand, grateful for her ability to distract while I composed myself. Cyborg laughed loudly while they bickered, which had become rather frequent as of late. I believe all of us were waiting for them to ‘kiss and make up’, as Cyborg so often told them.

“Guys,” Robin interrupted, shaking his head, “it’s late. If you’re tired, go to bed, if not, make sure you lock the tower down before you leave the common room.”

“Sure thing, Dad.” Beast Boy replied, flopping back onto the couch.

Robin grumbled under his breath and cast me one more glance, before turning and exiting the room.

Raven curled her fingers around my wrist and tugged gently, “we should talk.”

“I believe that would be prudent,” I said, following her into the hallway.

She pulled me into her bedroom and onto the floor, crossing her legs and looking at me expectantly.

“Well?”

I touched my fingers to my lips and smiled faintly, “he kissed me.”

The lights flickered and Raven’s eyes flared for a moment.

“What?” She asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

I explained that I had accidentally interfered with his belt and arrived at his home, and after a brief conversation, returned to the rooftop, where he then kissed me.

She waited until I was finished speaking, her mouth pressed in a thin line by the end of my narrative.

“So you guys are dating?”

“We are going on a date,” I corrected, “it may not lead anywhere.”

“But you kissed.”

“Yes.”

“And you enjoyed it,” she confirmed.

I blushed, “surprisingly, yes, very much.”

She leaned back on her hands and sighed, “wow, okay, that’s a lot.”

“I do not mean to burden you-”

“It’s not that,” Raven reassured me, “it’s just...what about Robin?”

My heart fluttered, my stomach churned, my head ached at the sound of his name.

Raven’s eyes widened as I let my emotions flow through me, “I see.”

“Indeed,” I murmured, “my feelings for Robin are complicated. They are still there. I do not think I will ever be rid of them. But Red X makes me feel...desired. Powerful, even. He sees me differently.”

“I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you how terrible of an idea this is?”

I smile, “I am well aware of the repercussions at hand, Raven. I will be discreet.”

“Azar, I hope so,” she muttered, allowing a half-smile to quirk up on her lips, “If this is what you want, I have your back.”

I squeezed her hand gratefully and stayed with her for a little while after, eager to chat about her developing relationship with Beast Boy. She kicked me out of her room shortly after, advising that I go to sleep, warning me that it would not come to me easily.

She was correct. I tossed and turned, contemplating various messages I could send him. Nothing came out of it, except for a single, full thought - I wanted to see him soon.

Just as my eyes gave way to heaviness, the sound of a message pinged from my phone, jolting me awake.

3:26 am - unknown: saturday, 11 am, key cove. see you there.

I bit my lip, thumbs hovering over the digital keyboard. X’hal, how could I possibly wait another day and a half? I could barely make it through this night, let alone another.

If I could establish a means of escape, I could attempt to see him tomorrow.

I opted to set my phone aside and try to sleep. I hoped the next morning would bring some clarity.

I continued to fret quietly for an hour, recalling the kiss over and over in my mind until it was seared in place.

I had never been kissed properly. The others might tell you they witnessed it in Tokyo with the boy on the street, or when I assimilated Atlantean from Aqualad, or when I first met Robin, but that is not true. Language transference, while not unpleasant, does not evoke any enjoyment from me. It is a skill I have used many times with many beings, regardless of how I might feel about them.

But kissing was different. It was not the hard connection between unmoving mouths, guided by a tight grip on the person’s shoulder or neck. There was no rush of thought, no compounded headache as a side-effect.

It was much softer and gentler, like the first kisses I saw so often in films and on television.

One of Red X’s hands had found my waist while the other held my wrist, rubbing circles on my skin with his thumb. His mouth moved sweetly against mine, coaxing movement from my frozen state.

I tugged my hand from his grip and wound my arms around his neck, sliding my fingers along the bottom of his mask to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He squeezed my hips and pulled me closer, drawing a squeal of surprise from my lips. He deepened the kiss, shaking with silent laughter at my enthusiasm.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew it was not the time, nor the place. Reluctantly, I drew back, stumbling through a goodbye before darting into the air, fighting the urge to look back at him.

I felt angry with myself afterward, for too many reasons. Angry because in a way, I had betrayed Robin. Angry because I had let it go farther than I intended. Angry because somewhere, I knew with full certainty, Raven was correct. Somewhere, something in me had attached itself to Red X. And I was happy because of it.

I slept fitfully through the night, coming in and out of lustful dreams that left me flushed and nervous and exhausted. I was no stranger to these feelings, but with Robin I felt in control, certain of the boundaries and lines we had drawn, comfortable in our established relationship. Now, every rule I had given myself had vanished. I did not know where X’s feelings stretched or where his walls were built; I did not know where he felt comfortable being touched or what he saw in me. It was unexplored territory, and it ignited a delicious fear in me that I could not help but enjoy.

Now, I suppose this was a side-effect of the many romance books I indulged in, where heroines had their hearts stolen by handsome thieves as they were rushed into a whirlwind love story. It was an idea that I found both charming and delightful on so many levels.

I woke when the first rays of sunlight peeked through my curtains. I opted to stay in my room and observe the sunrise on my own. Robin usually liked to join me on the roof most mornings, but I could not bear to be around him while I was feeling so guilty and confused and struck with the love.

Not that I was in love. But I have learned, despite what the phrase implies, that you do not have to mean you love something just because you say you do.

#blue writes #starx #river #starfire #red x #oooooh shipperific #ava i love u #hope u enjoy!!!#raven #cyborg #beast boy #teen titans

23 notes · View notes

thingr1 · 5 years

Text

Focus on the Fallout (1/2)

Rating: T

Warnings: Depression, suicidal thoughts, past suicide attempt.

Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd.

Preview: Why was this so hard? Just walk into the room, talk to Tim, make sure everything's cool...

Who was Dick kidding.

How were you supposed to act around someone who'd secretly tried to kill himself not even 48 hours ago?!

Cross posted: FFN and AO3 (6-9-17). (A/N found on both sites)

Prequels: Of Milkshakes and Marathons (recommended, but not necessary) and Weighing One’s Worth (essential to understanding story.)

Second Chapter: Here

Lights will guide you home And ignite your bones And I will try To fix you

~ "Fix You" by Coldplay

Dick hastened down the hallway, the faintest hint of worry fluttering in his chest. Okay, make that a sinking Titanic full of worry.

It had been almost two hours since he'd asked Damian to go upstairs and see if he could find Tim. Although he knew his second brother had arrived sometime this afternoon to spend the weekend at the Manor, Dick had seen neither hide nor hair of the teen despite Alfred's assurances that he'd arrived in one piece.

Of course, Tim was infamous for disappearing for hours on end, caught up in some aspect of his work. But he usually at least said 'hi' first.

Reaching Tim's ajar bedroom door, Dick peeked around the doorframe, squinting into the dark chamber for any sign of a tell-tale lump on the bed. Nada. A quick glance told him that Tim's desk was empty, too, and the light in the adjacent bathroom was off.

Frowning slightly, he pulled his head back into the hallway, prepared to check the living room when a quiet, breathy sigh echoed from the opening behind him. Dick froze, whirling around to probe the shadowy depths for any sign of the source. But his probing gaze still found nothing out of the ordinary.

Unless...

Utilizing every ounce of his training, Dick crept back into the seemingly empty bedroom, tiptoeing around the foot of the bed. He peered around the corner into the space between the wall and the mattress—and promptly had to stop his jaw from dropping at the scene in front of him.

Tim, of course, was wedged tightly within the small space, head drooping in sleep. The surprise came from the fact that one arm was wrapped around the compact little ball that was Damian Wayne, who, for lack of a better word, had curled around Tim like a baby koala, hand fisted almost protectively into the front of Tim's sweater without any hint of malice or attempted strangulation.

His little brothers were...snuggling?

Despite himself, a huge grin spread over Dick's features, and it was all he could do not to coo aloud as he carefully backed up from the scene, phone raised to snap a photo (read as, 'collect blackmail') of this momentous occasion... Only to nearly slip and fall onto his butt as his foot tread on something hard and round.

Soundlessly regaining his balance while mentally screaming curses, Dick bent down to grasp the cold, metal object that had nearly sent him flying.

Squinting, his heart stuttered in his chest as the thing glinted in the pale moonlight wafting between the curtains. It was a bullet.

Immediately on alert, Dick glanced at the window, searching for any signs of forced entry. None. Nevertheless, he swept his eyes over the room again for some indication that there was an intruder hiding in the shadows, double checking for any blood visible on either the floor or his two brothers. Nada.

Another glitter of metal twinkled in his peripheral vision, and he whirled around to face the corner. Five more bullets lay scattered on the floor. In addition to a presumably empty gun and a familiarly patterned knife.

But...these weren't bullet shells; they were complete bullets, meaning they hadn't actually been fired at anything. Which probably ruled out an intruder.

Taking a quick glance to ensure his brothers hadn't stirred, Dick ghosted toward the corner, crouching beside the two abandoned weapons.

With unerring certainty, he took in the design on the hilt of the knife: The symbol of the house of Al Ghul. This was Damian's knife. And the gun...he'd never seen the gun before.

The pieces slowly clicked into place in his mind, but Dick refused to acknowledge the horrific picture they were building.

This couldn't be right. He needed more evidence. There was no way…it wasn’t right, it…

Dick’s eyes wandered to his peacefully sleeping brothers. No. Before he dared draw such a terrible conclusion, he needed proof. He needed a witness.

And seeing as Damian was the one who'd walked in on Tim...

Creeping from the bedroom, Dick carefully eased the door closed behind him. Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow, he was going to find out exactly what happened between his two youngest brothers.

It was almost two days later before Dick found an opportunity (mustered the courage) to bring it up to the former assassin. The two of them were in the library, Damian stretched out on the couch reading a book while Dick curled in a nearby armchair, fingers tapping nervously on his knee. Considering the circumstances, it was all he could do not to be more conspicuous. It was approaching their usual patrol time, the sun just visible over the horizon outside the window at his back.

Well…might as well get this over with before he did something stupid like stalk Tim across the rooftops due to unfounded paranoia.

Before Dick could fully process his decision, his mouth opened: "Damian."

The boy froze for a millisecond, fingers clenching almost imperceptibly around the edges of the book before relaxing—instant red flag. "What is it, Grayson?" Damian snapped, annoyed.

If Dick didn't know him so well, he probably wouldn't have caught the slight shrill quality in Damian's voice. (Damian may have been a good liar, but when something was pressing on his mind that he knew he shouldn't be keeping to himself, he’d never been very good at hiding his guilt.)

No point in beating around the bush; especially since it was clear Damian had more than an inkling about what was about to go down.

Dick hesitated, sucking in a breath. Half out. “I need to know what happened with you and Tim the other night."

Damian's already guarded expression completely closed off, the book coming up almost protectively to hide his features. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, Grayson."

"I saw you," Dick admitted. "Both of you. Sleeping on the other side of Tim's bed. And I saw the...the things you tossed in the corner. The knife and the gun."

Damian tensed again. "It's none of your business, Grayson."

If that wasn’t a tell as to how serious the situation had been, Dick was an elephant.

"Please, Damian," Dick begged. "I need to understand. Please help me understand. I want to help you, help Tim, but I can't do that if I don't know what happened."

The child before him remained frozen, blue eyes fixed on the shadows just outside the doorway. Dick forced himself to remain silent, waiting for Damian to make a decision one way or the other.

Just when Dick thought the boy might walk out on him altogether, Damian spoke: "When you sent me to look in on Drake the night he first arrived. The door was locked. I picked it open. Then I walked in and...and he..." Damian swallowed, face momentarily twisting with some foreign emotion before settling back into a carefully blank expression. "He had a gun. To his head."

Dick sucked in a breath. He'd been hoping against hope that the obvious wasn't true; had struggled to come up with any scenario other than the one that was staring him in the face.

But apparently his striving was in vain.

"How did you convince him not to?" Dick asked carefully. There was no point in asking if Damian was responsible for Tim's change of heart; Tim wouldn’t be upstairs (alive) at the moment otherwise.

Damian hesitated.

A frozen wave of horror shuddered through Dick's chest. "Did it have something to do with the knife." Not a question.

There was a beat of silence. Two.

Then, “I may have held myself hostage until he saw sense," Damian admitted flatly, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Damian!" Dick cried, horrified.

Flashing cobalt eyes whirled towards Dick, meeting his gaze for the first time since the conversation began. "It worked, didn't it?"

"The ends don't always justify the means, Damian."

Damian's eyes flashed. "Are you saying you would rather Drake had shot himself in the head while I just sat still and watched him do it?!"

"No!" Dick protested. Ran a hand through his hair, mind whirling with the attempt to fix this. “Oh Dami, that's not what I'm saying at all. I'm just...there had to be another way."

"If you're going to say I should have attempted to talk him out of it, I did," Damian stressed. "The point is he wouldn't listen. How do you convince someone not to kill himself if he's so bent on doing it whether you're in the room or not?!"

And...Dick didn't have an answer for that. Then the words sank in fully. "Wait. Are you saying...Tim almost...while you were in the room?"

Damian's studious glare at the empty fireplace gave him his answer.

Dick's heart sank, horror fluttering in its place. "Why would he do that?" he breathed, mostly to himself.

"I'm a former assassin who hates every fiber of his being," Damian answered, monotonous. "I don't have feelings."

"That's not true," Dick interjected.

"I know that," Damian snapped. "He obviously doesn't."

Sighing, Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. This just kept getting more and more complicated, and not in a fun way. "Okay, let's back up," he suggested. "Why did Tim even try to do...that...in the first place?"

The current Robin shrugged stiffly. "I'm the last person he would tell as to his reasons. I do not pretend to watch out for his feelings."

"Which also might make you the only person he can confidently confide in," Dick theorized. "Because he thinks you don't care anyway, he'd think you wouldn't try to stop him."

"He was wrong," Damian spat vehemently.

"I know, Dami. And I'm so proud of you for it. But..." Did Tim think the same way about everyone?

"I'm going to go talk to him," Dick decided, unexplainable guilt gnawing at his chest as he stood, slipping around the couch toward the door. "See if—"

"No!"

Dick froze. Turned around. Forced himself not to snap at the stiff child before him. "No?"

Cheeks beet red, Damian shuffled his feet against the carpet. "He...he doesn't trust you, Grayson."

Dick blinked. "What?" he questioned, even as his heart sank deeper in his chest. "Why?"

Damian hesitated, actually appearing...uncomfortable. A word Dick had never associated with Damian Wayne before.

"You replaced him," Damian blurted. "After my father was lost in the timeline, Drake had a sum total of one person he cared about left, and that was you. You betrayed his trust when you took away the one thing that had been an indefinite constant in his life: Robin. A role that he admitted himself to not believing he had ever been worthy of, that he felt he had to earn along with his place at Batman's side. And even then he never believed he was good enough. You proved that to him by removing him from the costume seemingly without a second thought. He feels replaceable and unnecessary."

Damian sucked in a breath; exhaled slowly. "While I am not saying you made a poor decision, as I am clearly the better Robin, I believe that due to that instance you have as of yet to regain his trust.” Almost an afterthought: “If he'll ever give it back to you at all."

Later that night, Dick positioned himself at the end of the Manor's second floor hallway, staring at the meager band of light shining under the bedroom door a short way down. He wasn't stupid enough to sift through his thoughts in front of the actual door. They were all Bat-trained, after all.

Why was this so hard? Just walk into the room, talk to Tim, make sure everything's cool...

Who was he kidding.

How were you supposed to act around someone who'd secretly tried to kill himself not even 48 hours ago?!

In truth, Dick had no idea what he was doing; how to fix this situation, fix his brother. Tim may have had neglectful parents that the Bats could blame for Tim’s self-deprecating state of mind, but everything that happened afterward was completely on them—completely on Dick.

Because after Bruce died, Dick had scrambled to fill his shoes in every way, struggled to fill the void the Bat had left behind both in the hero world and in the family by trying to be exactly like him. Unfortunately, that included doing what was practical in the long run without considering the consequences of the moment to others’ feelings on the matter, or at least explaining his reasons properly. And part of the collateral to those decisions was Tim.

And even before that…after Jason, Dick had been so afraid of getting to know the newest Robin—so terrified of getting close only to lose a brother all over again. This fear had carried through Tim’s first couple years in the Cave, before Dick finally consolidated the fact in his mind that he would rather know Tim and lose him then simply tick him off as another dead Robin. Except that initial paranoia caused just what he’d feared, only in a way Dick could never have imagined.

He'd isolated Tim. Most recently by taking Robin from him without giving him the exact reason why. Before, by leaving him alone to deal with a closed off, grieving Bruce who could barely consolidate the fact he had lost Jason, let alone taken yet another Robin under his wing. Or rather, had another Robin force his way under his wing.

Realization dawned. That was what the problem was, wasn't it? Bruce didn't choose Tim. Tim chose Tim. Though that had never been a problem for Dick, it was in Tim's nature to keep at least a thread of doubt, even guilt, hidden away in his mind that maybe because he wasn't handpicked by the Bat, he'd never be good enough.

And now it was up to Dick to try and remove that doubt before it consumed his second brother completely…while also not letting Tim know that he knew what had happened and was trying to help him in the first place.

When Dick had asked for siblings, he'd never thought it could get this complicated.

Before he could change his mind, Dick stepped into the hallway, not attempting to hide his footsteps, but not pronouncing them either. Forcing a smile on his face, Dick burst into the bedroom. "Hiya, Timmy!"

And shoot, Dick's heart broke at the sight that greeted his eyes. The teen looked normal. Clothes slightly crumpled from the second day's wear; mouth curved slightly downward in concentration; just too long hair mussed around his face, hanging over pale blue eyes squinting at the laptop perched on his knees... Looking decidedly not like he'd been about to put a bullet in his brain a couple nights before.

Tim had always been great at hiding his feelings, at pretending certain things didn't happen if it meant forgetting and moving on to a cursory 'I'm fine' whenever someone questioned his well-being. But attempted suicide wasn't something you just forgot. Or something you could recover from alone.

Dick jerked from his thoughts as Tim glanced up from the computer, almost absently. "Hey."

And there it was. Beneath the carefully controlled facade, Dick could see the cracks lurking below the surface—the pain flickering behind the confusion in his eyes, purple bags like bruises on his lower eyelids, the empty hollow of his cheeks....

"What are you doing here?" Tim asked. And Tim shouldn't sound that surprised.

"I haven't seen much of you lately, Timmy," Dick replied honestly, trotting over to the bed and settling onto the mattress beside Tim, careful not to upset any of the paperwork spread over the comforter as he slung an arm over his little brother's shoulders. "S'okay if I chill here for awhile?"

Tim opened his mouth; hesitated. "Uh...sure. Yeah, that's fine."

For a moment, they sat in silence, Tim's fingers eventually finding the keys on the keyboard again and tapping away at some report or other.

"Anything you want to talk about?" Dick asked casually, squeezing his brother against his side and pressing his lips into Tim's soft black hair.

Minutely, almost so Dick thought he'd imagined it, Tim stiffened. Then, "Nah, I'm good. Why don't you see if the Demon Brat needs anything? I think he was complaining about some homework assignment or other yesterday."

"I will," Dick promised, deciding to let the not-so-subtle attempt at kicking him out slide. "Later. Whatcha working on?"

"Just some Wayne Enterprises stuff," Tim said, relaxing marginally as he selected an entire paragraph of text and hit 'delete.' "Finalizing the data Lucius sent me and writing it up in report format for the next board meeting. I'll need to put it in a Power Point later."

Dick hummed lightly, planting his chin in Tim's hair. "Sounds boring. We should watch a movie instead."

He was rewarded with an amused snort. "Maybe later. Deadline's coming up, I have to finish this."

"Need any help?"

"Nah, I'm good." That was a bit too quick.

"Hey," Dick said softly, rubbing Tim's arm. "You know I'm always here when you need me, right? Just...let me know if there's anything bugging you or I need to go kick someone into next week. Don't pull a Bruce and hold everything inside. S'not healthy."

Tim barked a laugh; half amused, half bitter. "Sure. I'll keep that in mind."

It was all Dick could do not to cry as he pressed his lips back in that soft black hair, squeezing his brother against his chest despite the small grunt of protest as the laptop slid from the teen’s lap.

Because Tim didn't believe him. And Dick was beginning to worry that he never would.

Why Dick thought it would be a good idea to get Bruce involved, he had no idea. Desperation? Yeah, probably. Bruce wasn't exactly the go-to person for problems in the emotional department. But with Alfred off on his yearly trip to England (and Dick tried so hard to block the thought that Tim was probably counting on that fact when he decided to pick up the gun), it wasn’t like Dick had many options left.

After briefly checking the locations of the Manor's two other current occupants, Dick stepped into the passage revealed by the old grandfather clock in Bruce's study and padded down the familiar stone staircase into the dimly lit Batcave. As expected, Bruce was at the massive computer to his right, various news channels, reports, and video clips flashing on the multiple screens as Bruce worked his latest case.

Hesitating only a moment at the foot of the stairs, Dick moved to stand behind his mentor's chair, glancing at the rapidly expanding algorithm Bruce was pounding out on the main screen.

Bruce certainly looked busy. But this couldn't wait.

"Bruce."

The man grunted noncommittally, continuing his record-breaking typing on the computer. (Maybe that's where Tim got it from....)

"Bruce, I need to talk to you."

"Later," Bruce said shortly.

"It's about Tim."

"What about him?" Not even remotely concerned—either too trusting, or too uncaring. (Dick hoped the former.)

"He tried to kill himself."

That gave Bruce pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard as white lenses remained fixed on the screen in front of him. "What?"

"You heard me."

There was a moment of silence. Dick braced himself for the coming interrogation.

Sure enough, Bruce whirled in the chair, pulling back his cowl in the same motion to reveal mussed black hair and narrowed cobalt eyes. "When?"

"Two nights ago."

"Where?"

"His room, on the wall side of his bed."

"How?"

"With a gun."

A flicker of something—surprise? apprehension?—crossed Bruce's face, so fast Dick thought he had imagined it. Then, just slightly breathy: "Why?"

"I'm not sure yet," Dick admitted, starting to pace a line paralleling the massive computer terminal, but still within easy talking distance. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

"Who or what stopped him?"

Dick exhaled slowly. "Damian."

Definite bemusement crossed the Dark Knight's features. "Damian," he repeated. "How?"

Dick shrugged. "He talked to him. Somehow convinced him that suicide wasn't the best option."

Suicide. Dick realized that that was the first time he'd called what Tim had almost done for what it was. It didn't make him feel any less sick to his stomach at the admission.

Bruce's eyes flickered with...something. "I see."

There was a lengthy silence.

Finally, Bruce (miracle of miracles) was the one to break it, repeating: "Why?"

"I told you, I don't know."

"Damian must have known something if he talked to Tim," Bruce growled, back to his default Bat-mode. But when Dick glanced back into the man's cobalt eyes, behind the stubborn stoicism, Bruce's expression was anything but controlled. For the first time since Dick had known him, Bruce looked lost.

"You have to know something," Bruce insisted at Dick's hesitation.

"He feels...unnecessary," Dick admitted finally. "Unneeded, unwanted. Like he isn't even an actual member of this family, no matter what the adoption papers say."

Bruce frowned, genuine confusion flashing across his hardened features. "Of course he's wanted. Why would—?"

"He doesn't know that, Bruce," Dick interrupted. "We—I replaced him without his consent. I broke his trust, and ruined what little progress we'd made in the way of showing him he had a real family; one that doesn't believe he's just there for the grunt work and easily replaceable."

And Bruce gave him this look.

"Hey, I'm guilty, too," Dick assured, holding his hands up in surrender. "But haven't you noticed how many of your responsibilities, both Bat and Wayne, that Tim has been doing lately? Without receiving or expecting anything in return?"

The furrows between Bruce's eyes deepened, eyebrows drawing together in an almost scowl.

Dick barely resisted the harsh, 'Exactly,' that threatened to escape his lips.

"We've got to help him," he blurted instead after a moment. "But we can't make it obvious. If Tim knows we know, he'll think that we're only being nice to him because we pity him for almost...yeah." Dick paused in his pacing, turning on his heel to stare Bruce full in the face. "We have to make sure he feels wanted—loved. You have to make sure he knows that."

Bruce made no reply. Not that Dick expected one.

"Look," Dick said, placating, "I know you're not so good with telling someone how you feel, but if you could just...I don't know, actions speak louder than words? Show Tim he has a family."

"He did have a family," Bruce said.

"Yeah, but they weren't real," Dick protested. "Bruce, Tim's parents spent his childhood hopping around the world and leaving Tim to be raised essentially by the housekeeper. Not to mention all those boarding schools. Sure his dad did better in the end, but then he died and it was too late."

Dick froze. "Bruce," he breathed, cold, hard realization washing over him. "He doesn't know what a real family is supposed to look like. We can't show him what's normal family behavior if he doesn't know what normal is." He swore. "Bruce, how do we fix him?"

It was on a total hunch that Dick decided to call Jason.

He sprawled on the armchair in the Manor’s library, staring up at the white ceiling in thought as the phone rang in his ear.

It was only 1am. Jason should still be awake. The question was whether or not he was patrolling tonight. Hopefully, that would be a 'no.' Talking personal issues and all that jazz over the comms, even using their code names, had been strictly prohibited since...well, as long as Dick could remember. For good reason, too. He didn't even want to think about what might happen if someone hacked their line and discovered that Red Robin had nearly teetered over the edge from depression...

His musing was cut short as a disgruntled, sleep rough voice snapped in his ear: "This had better be good, Goldie. I was all set up for a solid 12 hours until you stuck your mighty big butt in the way."

"Tim nearly shot his own brains out, and I don't know what to do."

Shuffling was heard on the other line as Jason presumably sat up in bed. "What? Why?"

Dick shrugged helplessly, then realized the gesture was lost over the phone. "Overworked. Unwanted, unneeded. He doesn't see himself as...necessary, I suppose."

"I thought he'd gotten over that," Jason muttered.

"What?" Dick demanded, jerking upright. "What are you talking about, Jay? This has happened before? Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Cool your jets," Jason snapped. "If you're asking if Tim has tried to put a bullet in his brain on my watch, then no, this has not happened before."

Dick winced at the abrupt phrasing.

There was an awkward pause.

From the other end, Jason huffed. "Look, Dick, you remember how I told you to rearrange the kid's schedule a couple weeks ago so he could have a day off?"

Dick nodded minutely—realized Jason couldn't see him through the phone and added: "Yeah. Why?"

"I may not have told you that I found him doping up on milkshakes just before then," Jason admitted. "The kid wasn't only overwhelmed, but depressed as heck. I swear, I've seen zombies that looked more alive than he did. Myself included."

"What did you do?" Dick breathed.

"Nothing much," Jason said dismissively, though Dick sensed a slight self-consciousness in his tone. "Talked to him, dragged him to my apartment after he passed out. And when he woke up, we marathoned Sherlock for the rest of the day. He seemed happy enough when he left."

If he was happy then, what changed? Dick thought.

At the silence from the other end of the line, Dick realized he may have accidentally said that bit aloud.

"Maybe his feelings never actually changed," Jason offered, almost a question. "He just pretended they did until it became too much. Fake it till you make it kind of thing.”

"Maybe," Dick allowed. "But there has to be a starting point to all this. I don’t know, some sort of buildup. Tim's the most logical person I know. He wouldn't just throw himself into something like...like that."

"Hey, even the best of us get down and overly emotional sometimes," Jason said. "As both you and I should know, Goldie."

Dick managed a weak chuckle. “Yeah, I suppose.” Didn’t bother admitting: “Can’t say I haven’t considered jumping from a high place a couple times. Nothing new, ‘cept, y’know, I hadn’t exactly been planning on catching myself,” because that kind of feeling went without saying in this line of work. But he’d never attempted to follow through.

And that’s where the problem was, wasn’t it? Tim had.

“Bruce didn’t know what to do either,” Dick sighed.

Jason scoffed, disbelieving. “You told Bruce? The guy with so much emotional constipation it’s a miracle the Manor’s toilets are still intact?”

“Okay, first of all, ew. And second, I didn’t know what else to do,” Dick protested. “Besides, Bruce has a right to know if…”

The slightest hitch of a breath echoed from the hallway outside the ajar den door.

"One sec, Jaybird," Dick muttered. Then, louder, “Heigh ho, the hall!“

A shadow flickered in the doorway as its owner twitched.

Too short for Bruce. Too tall for Damian.

Dick’s heart stuttered, dread pooling in his stomach. Forcing levity (denying the obvious), he called: “Tim? That you?”

Jason cursed in his ear. Dick ignored him.

A moment passed.

The shadow shifted, a single wide—vulnerable—blue eye becoming visible in the crack. And then it was gone, replaced by near-silent footsteps echoing rapidly down the hall.

Dick’s turn to swear. “Jay, I’ll call you back.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, ending the call and tossing the phone back onto the plush armchair as he shot toward the door.

Dick's heart pounded wildly in his chest as he bolted up the Manor steps, chasing the fleeting shadow of a certain Tim Drake as the teen slipped down the hall out of sight.

How long had he been there? How much did he hear?

Stupid. Stupid, talking about something so sensitive in the Manor when he knew the subject of the conversation was in the house.

Whatever happened next was entirely on him.

Panicked, he crested the top of the stairs, slowing to a halt. The bedroom hallway was deathly quiet, and ominously empty. Dick's gaze landed on the third door on the right—Tim's room. No light flickered from the crack to reveal if the room's occupant was currently within.

The air seemed to hang still and heavy around him, as if holding its breath. Ha, air holding its breath...

Focus, Dick.

Slowly, he tiptoed to stand before the thick slab of mahogany, hand hovering over the brass doorknob. Bracing himself, he grasped the knob and turned.

The door wasn't locked. Dick didn't know whether that was a good sign, or a bad one. Carefully, he pushed it open, stepping through the opening and leaving it slightly ajar behind him. (The last thing he wanted was for his little brother to feel more trapped than he probably already did.)

He wasn't quite sure what he expected to see on the other side. Well, he had a couple of ideas of what he didn't want to see there. But the scene that greeted him could only be described as...neutral.

Tim stood before his desk, hands splayed on the polished surface and head bowed so his face was hidden by a curtain of black hair. Other than the tense, sharp slant to his shoulders, he seemed calm, his tone unreadable when he spoke: “Did Damian tell you?”

Dick hesitated. "Yes. But only because I forced him to," he added hastily as Tim's back stiffened, fingers twitching against the desktop. "I was worried about you, and after I saw...I saw the gun in the corner..."

"You saw it?!"

"I asked Damian to check up on you, and when he didn't show up for a few hours, I wanted to make sure everything was okay," Dick explained. "So...yeah."

Tim took a shaky breath. "And you felt it necessary to get Bruce involved?"

"I didn't know what else to do," Dick admitted. “He’s your father, Tim. I thought that if he knew, we could come up with something, figure out a way to help..."

He stopped short as he realized Tim had begun mumbling under his breath, "No no no no no no," steadily gaining volume until he was shouting. "No no! This is all wrong!" Tim's hands tangled in his too long hair, yanking, revealing wide, frantic blue eyes. "You weren't supposed to find out. This wasn't supposed to happen. Everyone was just supposed to...to forget and get on with their lives!"

"Forget what, Tim?" Dick asked softly, heart sinking in his chest.

Tim didn't respond.

"Come on, Timmy," Dick pleaded. "Talk to me."

"Oh my gosh, Dick, I'm fine, just please, go away—"

"No," Dick said firmly, ignoring the way Tim’s fingers curled against the hardwood. “We’re Robins. More importantly, we’re family, even if we don’t always act like it. And family always watches out for one another.”

Tim snorted. Disbelieving.

“That wasn’t a joke.”

“I know,” Tim stressed, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re right. Family’s always there.” Then, so quiet Dick had to strain to hear, Tim murmured, “Not like I ever really had one.”

Before Dick could form some semblance of a response, Tim turned, smiling tightly. “Honestly, Dick, you don’t have to do this. It’s fine. I’m over it. You can leave. Now.” Pointed. Calm.

“I’m not doing this because I have to,” Dick protested, fighting against the walls he could see just slamming down around his brother. “Tim, I’m—we’re worried about you. We just want to make sure you’re okay. We want to help.”

“And I’m telling you, your help is not wanted,” Tim reiterated coolly, spreading his arms. “I have no intention of trying anything anytime soon. I can still work. Still patrol. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Dick stared. Shocked and slightly horrified. “What can I do to convince you that I'm not doing this under any obligation?" he demanded, exasperated (scared). "I love you, Tim. We all do. And what you're doing to yourself is breaking our hearts because you're part of our family and we want to help you. But we can't do that if you don't trust us."

Tim barked a laugh. "Trust you? Of course I trust you. It's me I'm worried about." His eyes widened, whole body stiffening as if he hadn't meant to let that last bit slip out.

There was a moment of silence, so thick Dick felt like he was suffocating.

“Tim,” he tried, quiet. “What do you mean by that?”

Adam’s apple bobbing once, Tim suddenly couldn’t seem to meet Dick’s gaze.

“Tim. Please. I want to understand.” (Something he could no longer seem to do easily with Tim anymore, which pained Dick more than he cared to think about.)

A long moment passed.

Just when Dick was about to give up on an answer, Tim sighed: “I was fooling myself to think I could ever be Robin. No one wanted me; never really met the standard.” He laughed, short and bitter. “If anything, it's my judgement that's compromised. I should've just cut my losses when you both said I couldn’t do it and gone back home.” Almost an afterthought, “Would've kept my dad alive that way.”

“Tim,” Dick breathed, “I’ve done the guilt thing. Your dad’s death was not in any way your fault.”“But if I’d never tried to be Robin he never would have died, Dick!” Tim snarled. “That’s what I get for nosing around in someone else’s business. No one ever accepts me, and someone else always gets hurt. Always.”

Wiry hands twisting in too-long black hair, Tim cast a desperate (trapped) glance around the room. “I was never truly Robin in the first place. It never should’ve happened if I wasn’t even Robin… It doesn’t make any sense.”

Dick’s heart stuttered in his chest. “What do you mean? Of course you were Robin, Tim. Why would you think otherwise?”

The teen’s eyes squeezed shut. “You and Bruce said ‘no.’ You know what's best. You're always right."

"Unless we're not," Dick interjected. "You remember when Bruce was stuck in the time stream, but everyone believed he was dead? Everyone, Tim. Except you. Who was in the wrong in that instance?"

"Every ounce of logic and evidence said he was dead," Tim snapped dismissively. "I was being irrational from grief, and it just so happened to work out in the end. That hardly counts."

"But it does, Tim," Dick insisted. "You were the only one to truly believe in Bruce, to risk everything to bring him back. That kind of loyalty only comes from faith. Two-sided faith." Dick approached slowly, placing a hand on the sharp angle of Tim's shoulder. "Would Bruce have left clues if he thought no one would be looking for him?"

Tim hesitated a moment. Gave a small shake of his head.

"He knew you would come for him, Tim," Dick continued quietly. "Because he trusts you. What would have happened if you had stopped believing? Bruce would have been forever lost in the timeline. But because you, Tim, you had faith that Bruce was alive, he came back. You brought him back.

"That's why Bruce trusted—trusts you, Tim. Trusted you to be Robin, and still trusts you as Red Robin. Because he knows he can always count on you to be there when he needs you. Oh, I know he doesn't show it," he added at Tim's incredulous glance. "Bruce is funny like that. You know that. But why would he leave you with his cases—with his company—if he truly didn't believe you were capable of doing it right?”

Tim remained silent, eyes fixed on the ground.

Realization dawned. “Trust itself…isn’t what’s bugging you, is it.”

Tim squeezed his eyes shut. Swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “No.”

Dick remained silent; because contrary to popular belief, he was actually capable of keeping his mouth shut when it counted, thank you very much.

Finally, Tim spoke: “It’s…it’s more the stuff leading up to it.” He ducked his head against his chest, clarifying before Dick could summon the strength to ask: “I just…I find it difficult to…think that anyone can…can trust…love me when…when…” He swallowed again. Clearly struggling. “When whenever I think, ‘I’ve done it. I’m finally getting something right; I’ve figured it out, I know what I’m doing,’ it all gets yanked out from under my feet…because I’m not good enough. I’m not worthy enough, can’t be trusted to get the job done according to what’s expected.

“And then I’m alone again…trying to…to figure out…where I went wrong, and…how to fix it, and sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe under the pressure of having to learn a whole new set of rules and parameters, a whole new personality, and…I can’t anymore, Dick. I want to be useful, and I just…can’t. I’m not…no matter what I do it’s never good enough. What’s the point in trying anymore?”

Tim sniffled, the sound thick with unshed tears. “My parents. Bruce.” A swallow. “You. Just shoes that I never seem to be able to fill, no matter how hard I try. It’s impossible. Just when I think I finally fit, I’m…I’m just booted out before I even have a chance to truly settle in. I’m…I’m so tired of it, Dick. Of…of not belonging anywhere because after so long I’m just n-not enough anymore.”

Tears welled in the teen’s eyes, escaping down his cheeks as his eyes squeezed shut, expression twisting into something pained. “I’m there…to be whatever’s needed at the time: An heir, a partner, a harebrained quest taker. And…when I’ve served my purpose…that’s it. I’m done. There’s…no point, I…I…” His shoulders shook in a barely concealed sob.

And Dick couldn’t hold back anymore. He crossed the remaining distance between them in one stride, wrapping his shaking little brother in a hug, pressing Tim’s face into his shoulder, and burying his own chin in soft, raven hair.

“I know it may be hard to believe,” Dick whispered finally, squeezing his eyes shut against the tell-tale pressure, “especially since our little clan is awful fond of the ‘goes without saying’ habit, but… You’re part of the family, Timmy. You always have been. It has nothing to do with what what you bring to the table, or your partner status. And it kills me that you think otherwise. And the worst thing is, I know I’m to blame.”

Tim sucked in a breath, maybe to contradict him, but Dick was not about to let this boy shift the blame off of Dick yet again.

“I broke your trust when you were at your most vulnerable. When you were grieving. We all were. But in my desperation to pick up all of the slack Bruce left behind when he disappeared, I acted more like him than I ever thought I would: I put the mission before the members. And that’s never been how Nightwing operates.”

Shifting, Dick leaned back, gently guiding Tim’s head up so red-rimmed, watery (shattered) blue eyes met his.

“I trust you, Tim,” Dick insisted, soft. “I do. But when it mattered most, I didn't. I let you down. And not a day goes by where I don't hate myself for that. I don’t ever want to fail you in that way again, Timmy. I know that I’m not perfect. I know that no matter how hard I try, I won’t be able to keep every promise, no matter how much I want to. There’s only one who will never ever break your trust, and I’m certainly not Him.

“But I love you, Timmy. Nothing will change that. And though they may not be great at showing it, the others do, too. Bruce. Jason. Even Damian. We…we all love you, little brother.”

Dick rubbed his thumb against the curve of Tim’s bony shoulder, swallowing past the rapidly growing lump in his throat. “You’re not replaceable. Never have been. Never will be.” Dick pressed a kiss against the teen’s forehead. “This family only has one Tim Drake. And we don’t want to lose him, ‘kay?”

Tim’s eyes were angled toward Dick’s chest. A fresh stream of moisture curled over damp lashes and down his cheeks. He nodded, almost imperceptible.

“Hey,” Dick said, soft. “Look at me?”

After a moment, Tim glanced up. Eyes wide, wet, and so openly anguished Dick’s heart broke.

"Please, little brother. From now on, you have to promise me: Don't shut us out. We're family. I know we don’t always act like it, and we could all learn a little in the emotional department. But please. Next time you feel this way, or next time we’ve screwed up…talk to us? We can’t help if we don’t know what’s wrong.”

For a long moment, Tim said nothing. His tongue darted out to lick the corner of his chapped lips. Finally, quiet, husky from tears: “I’ll…I’ll try.”

Dick crushed him back to his chest, burying his face in his little brother’s hair. “And that’s all I can ask for.” Pressing another kiss to his (precious) brother’s forehead, Dick whispered: “We’ll get through this. We’re a family, little bro. And family means no one gets left behind. Or forgotten.”

There was a long stretch of silence, during which Dick clutched the third Robin tightly; unwilling to release him just yet as the teen’s trembling slowly ceased, body slumping farther into Dick’s embrace so Dick almost thought Tim had fallen asleep.

Suddenly, the teen murmured: “Lilo and Stitch? Knew…you were starting to sound a bit too much…like a Disney movie."

Dick blinked, thrown for a moment by his brother’s unexpected statement. Unexpected humor. Then, realizing what he was referring to, grinned. “Exactly,” Dick agreed. “This family really should take some pointers from Old Walt. Learn a thing or two about how families are supposed to act.”

A shaky snort. “You do realize…nearly 100 percent of Disney parents are dead as a plot point...right?”

“Then we should be peachy,” Dick said brightly.

The resulting (watery) huff of laughter sent Dick’s heart fluttering with excitement and relief. Maybe his little brother wasn’t too far gone. Maybe they could save him after all.

Because that was what this family was all about, right? Saving people.

It was about time they turned those efforts inwards.

4 notes · View notes

damagedspinach · 6 years

Text

“Imaginary Friends” Preview Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Adrian’s World

September 4th, 1999

On that same day, before the two boys met, Adrian Carter was sitting in the front of his dad’s car, running his hand back and forth across the window, increasingly bored and in desperate need of a stretch. To compensate for the long drive, his dad had let him pick the music, but eventually switched to NPR when he could no longer take listening to Smash Mouth’s “Astro Lounge” for the collective 48th time. With his one silver lining revoked, Adrian took it upon himself to count every cow they passed, as this was both mildly entertaining and clearly something the world needed. By late afternoon, when they’d arrived at the old farmhouse Mr. Carter had purchased, he’d counted at least seventeen, but might’ve missed a few while he was rolling his head back in sheer road trip agony. Adrian was all too eager to step out of the car and race around in the fresh air, but before he could get too far, his dad grabbed him around the waist and propped him up on his shoulders.

“Are you excited?” Mr. Carter said. “This is our new house!”

He gestured to the vast farmhouse in front of them. It was tall and decaying in some areas, but mostly alright, and had a wide front porch protected by a glass screen. With no fence, Adrian could spot a large barren tree in the backyard, as well as a peeling white barn just north of that. Past the barn was a forest with a wheat field to its right. Adrian couldn’t think of the words to answer his dad, so he just responded with, “It’s old.”

“That’s why we’re gonna fix it up!” Mr. Carter set his son down. “Why don’t we take a little break and eat something before we unpack the essentials?”

“I want pastrami.”

“We have turkey.”

“Bleh.”

“Oh, come on, you like turkey. That’s all you used to eat.”

“But now I don’t like it.”

“My finnicky son. What your mother would’ve thought of you, I’d like to know. Okay, here’s my compromise: you eat the turkey now and I’ll take us out for dinner later. Deal?”

“Burger King.”

“Burger King again? But we’ve eaten at Burger King twice in the past two days!”

“I’ll eat the turkey if we go to Burger King.”

“Fine. Shake on it.”

Mr. Carter rubbed his palm across his cheek before extending his hand to his son. Adrian did the same and shook it. This was the Carters’ alternative to spitting on their hands to make a deal. Once that was settled, they both gave huge stretches and ate the turkey sandwiches from the cooler in the backseat. Both father and son sitting atop their white Ford Taurus, Adrian thought he saw something rustle in the wheat field but figured it might just be his overactive imagination at play again. Of course, we know who exactly was in that wheat field, but in his five-year-old brain, Adrian wagered that it could also have been a ghost or a spirit haunting the land. And while most children would be frightened stiff by that notion, Adrian Carter was not.

As he was helping his dad by dragging the sleeping bags across their leafy lawn, Adrian spotted the figure again, this time exiting from the back of the house—though his vision was partially obscured by the sleeping bags drooping over his right eye. He put both beddings on the porch and ventured off to find the ghost and befriend it. As soon as he did so, however, his dad appeared and redirected him back to the car to finish unloading what he could. Once that was over, Adrian jumped right back into his original goal and wandered away to the wheat field. He stepped carefully forward, thinking of what one might say to a ghost to make sure it didn’t vanish upon initial interaction, hoping that it was a friendly spirit and not an evil one. Imagine his surprise when, instead of a ghost, Adrian ran into a small ginger-haired boy rummaging around in the dirt. Their eyes connected, and Adrian could see his pupils were a strange shade of crimson. This was not at all what he’d prepared for—yet, in a way, he’d ended up with what he wanted all the same.

March 28th, 2010

Easton was the first to fall asleep, as he usually did when the rain started to weather down on the rooftop. He was so peaceful-looking curled up in his bed that Adrian couldn’t help but stare at him from his own. Adrian did this sometimes when he couldn’t sleep: just laid down and memorize the freckles of his best friend’s face from across the room. When he’d first started doing it back in middle school it felt sort of creepy, but that feeling had long since passed and a passive contentment had settled in its place. In his dreams—more frequently than he’d like to admit—he would be laying in Easton’s bed instead of his own, nuzzling him from under the covers, their bodies pressed together as he wrapped his arms around his friend while they breathed to the rhythm of the rain.

But these were the dreams Adrian would wake from with tears down his cheeks, for even unconsciously he knew that fate’s cruel hand would never allow such a treasure. He’d wipe the despondency from his eyes, smile wide, and meet his best friend at the bus stop where the bus would come and pick Easton up first, then Adrian a minute later. He’d go to school, do the ear scratch that signified waving to each other in the hallway between classes, kick around the soccer ball afterschool during practice, then walk home and meet Easton at their usual spot in the tree. Easton would read to him a passage from whichever book he was currently reading (or rereading) while Adrian would challenge his friend to whatever game he’d come up with during study hall. Or sometimes they would just play Name That Tune.

That was a typically uneventful day for Adrian. Or at least it had been. Right now, he was feeling a small distance from his best friend, who’d been acting a bit more emotional lately. But as he stared at his fifteen-year-old roommate who turned away from him towards the window, illuminated by the occasional bolt of lightning, Adrian couldn’t help but feel a bit empty. How could he be filled with such joy and such erosion at the same time? This, dear friend, was because life, despite common misconceptions, is not all or nothing: it is all and nothing. Adrian loved Easton with all his heart, but nothing would change the fact that they were on two separate islands, each barely visible from across an ocean, seeming only a mirage to the other. And unfortunately, my friend, asking for help was a futile task, as life will continue to be unswayed towards the feelings of those in longing.

September 4th, 1999

A few moments after Easton had left for dinner at whatever nearby house he lived at, Adrian heard his dad hollering. He walked out of the wheat field to find Mr. Carter frantically jogging around the estate, looking for him. When they spotted each other, Mr. Carter ran over to him and clutched him to his chest. Adrian could feel his dad’s heart beating fast against his right ear.

“Oh, you scared me, son!” Mr. Carter broke away from Adrian. “I’ve been calling you for thirty minutes.”

“I didn’t hear you,” Adrian replied, which was true.

“Where were you?”

“I was playing with my new friend.”

“New friend?”

“Yeah, Easton. He lives ‘round here.”

“Huh. That’s strange. I haven’t seen a house for miles. But be that as it may, you can’t go wandering off just yet. I’m not comfortable with you being out of my sight for right now.”

“Okay. I’m sorry…”

“Well, there’s no use dwelling on it. Once I’ve surveyed the area, I’ll let you know where I think it’s safe for you to play, alright? In the meantime, it’s starting to rain, so let’s go inside and unpack those clothes!”

“What about my bed?”

“Uncle Jesse’s bringing it by tomorrow with the rest of our stuff. Don’t you want to explore your new home? I’ll show you your room!”

Adrian nodded, and they headed into the house through the backdoor, which was unlocked. As soon as they entered the bare kitchen, the five-year-old started looking around with curious eyes. The inside was much like the outside, yet it held a certain charm to it. It was cozy and contained, if not incredibly spacious. It wasn’t particularly clean though and, as Adrian stepped forward, he left a trail of footsteps in the dust. Mr. Carter took notice of him looking back at them and said, “Don’t you worry. I’ll be doing some tidying up tonight.”

“Where’s my room?” Adrian asked.

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

Mr. Carter led him upstairs to the fourth door at the end of the hall. Opening it, Adrian walked inside and saw that his room was fairly large, even for adult standards. The grey curtains on the windows, like the rest of the house, were drawn, but he could hear the rain starting to thump against the glass. He opened them and peered outside to find a slightly blurred view of the leaf-stripped tree in the backyard. He turned around and looked at his dad.

“I like it!” He smiled. “Can we get Burger King now?”

“Alright…” Mr. Carter sighed. “Let’s go.”

Due to the moving boxes and other things blocking the front door, the Carters left the way they came in. The storm had taken no time at all in becoming unruly, so they had to race to the car while unavoidably getting soaked. Young Adrian laughed as he did so. Once they were buckled up and safe from the downpour, Mr. Carter revved the engine and backed out of the muddy gravel driveway and onto the main road. They had to drive all the way out to Altus to order from the closest Burger King and consumed everything within the seven minutes it took to get home. The rain showed no sign of letting up, so Adrian and his dad, again, sprinted for the backdoor, tracking in mud from the bottoms of their shoes.

“Let me find a towel for you to dry off,” Mr. Carter said, and went into the living room. He returned with a folded towel and a change of clothes for his son, who promptly made use of them. While he was doing so, out of the corner of his eye, Adrian spotted another figure scampering upstairs. Perhaps it really was a ghost this time! He left his dad, who was still drying off, and tiptoed towards it, excited at the prospect of finally meeting an otherworldly being. But when he arrived at the second-floor hallway, he found his surroundings wholly empty.

Adrian walked into his room, disappointed again by the results until he looked down. On the floor, staring at him with the same red hue in its eyes as Easton had, was a pearly white cat with a mess of fur grooming itself. This development delighted Adrian. Where had this cat come from? Was this old farmhouse its home? If that was the case, he certainly couldn’t send it out into the rain. Evicting it from the place it already resided simply because they’d moved in was a cruel notion, even if it was the American way. Adrian resolved to care for the poor thing right then and there, slowly sitting down as not to frighten it. The cat, however, seemed unaffected by his presence and continued cleaning its fur.

“Here kitty,” said the young boy. “Come here.”

At this, the cat looked up at him and gave him a hard stare. It was almost as if he was seeing straight through Adrian to something behind him, but Adrian knew there was nothing there. (Unless his dad had come up, but he hadn’t heard any creaks in the floorboards.) Then, quite unexpectedly, the cat darted from its place on the dusty floor and sped past Adrian with the force of a bullet. This caused the young boy to spin around and immediately look up at the person standing in front of him. It was the boy he’d met in the wheat field, Easton.

“What are you doing in my room?” they said together.

For a moment the two kids could only stare at each other. Then, without a word, Easton ran off. He returned moments later, his hand outstretched as he seemed to be dragging something invisible alongside him. Adrian stood up as Easton threw his other arm out and glanced expectedly at the empty space beside him.

“Huh?” said the boy. “But he’s right there!”

Adrian tilted his head, mystified. “Who’re you talking to?”

Easton turned to him. “My brother!” Then he turned back to the empty space. “He’s not imaginary! Touch him!” The red-haired boy grabbed at something in a sort of pantomime, and moved it towards Adrian, stopping when his hand was only a fist’s length away. His eyes went wide. “What…?” Suddenly, Easton let go of what he’d been holding and shoved has hand into Adrian’s chest. His fingers stuck through to the other side. Both boys jumped back, startled by this development.

Adrian’s face lit up giddily. “Cool!”

Easton on the other hand looked frightened for his life and ran off again. Confused, but utterly enthralled by this strange wonderment, Adrian just stood there, smiling, as he didn’t know what else to do. After all this time of imagining something greater, he finally had the unexplainable to indulge in. It was a good thing too, as if he hadn’t had that mindset, the two might never have found the secret to this bizarre happening.

“Dad!” Young Adrian cried, misinterpreting things. “I just met a ghost!”

But of course, we both know that things were not that simple and couldn’t be fully rationalized by two five-year-old brains. For the best of mysteries take years to wind up and a lifetime to unravel. And for Adrian and Easton, a lifetime it would take.

Author: @besttardywrites (Best Tardy)

1 note · View note