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endless-whump · 4 years

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Nick/Milo: A Whisper of Touch

CW: referenced refusal of food, starvation, fainting spells, referenced captivity, referenced torture, malnourished whumpee, shameless fluff, cuddles, referenced dissoci@tion

Masterlist

4 am gang wheeee somehow I ended up with 2k words lol I should probably sleep

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Nick didn’t like hovering but...he really couldn't help it. He couldn’t help the knee-jerk reaction to throw his hands out to steady Milo whenever he swayed, or seemed off balance, or got that recognizable, pale look on his face. He didn’t like it because more often than not he got a flinch in reaction to the sudden movement, heart twisting in guilt. He was thankful for the instinct, though, when he actually needed it.

They always came out of nowhere, the fainting spells. One minute Milo would be fine, maybe even relaxed if they were lucky, and the next his knees were giving out, sending him crumpling to the ground with barely a second of warning. They were happening almost every day, which was what made Nick develop the protective habit in the first place.

He was at the bar on his laptop, desperately rummaging through deficiency possibilities when his boyfriend came into the kitchen. He quickly clicked off the tab and smiled up at Milo, sighing. He never took a single second he could lay eyes on him for granted, not anymore.

“Hey, love.” Nick hummed, observing Milo’s demeanor. He seemed relaxed enough, which was good. He still had a bit of that far away look in his eyes, though, the one that Nick despised with all his heart. “I was planning on making some pancakes, I’ll make the kind you always like. The one with peaches?”

Milo was quiet for a moment, fingers fidgeting with the oversized sleeves of Nick's hoodie he wore. He nodded, turning and reaching up to grab a glass from the dishdrying rack. That was one victory Nick was immensely proud of. He was getting his own water without asking anymore. Food, on the other hand, was something they were still working on. Nick knew better than to ask if Milo wanted food, he knew the answer would be a hasty shake of the head. It was better if he just...simply said they were gonna have food. It was a statement, not a question. Not something Milo really had the option of saying no to.

Nick ran a hand over his face, closing his eyes. It made him feel awful. He knew it was important to make Milo feel like he could say no, reassure the fact he had options and a choice, but this was the one thing he had to reinforce. He knew that if Milo was given the option to eat or not, he’d say no every time. They’d already tried that, thinking he’d eventually cave and say yes. He never did.

The sound of glass shattering jerked Nick back to attention, head snapping up. Milo’s eyes were wide, hands shaking where the glass had slipped out of his hand and shattered on the floor.

“Milo- don’t move,” He said urgently, scrambling to his feet. The last thing he wanted was Milo freaking out and getting glass in his foot.

“Nick- Nick I can’t, I feel-”

It only took Nick a second to realize what he was saying. He rushed over and kicked the glass out of the way as best as he could, figuring he was better protected in socks than Milo would be with bare feet. He wrapped his arms around Milo as if in a hug, feeling him go completely limp, as if someone had turned off some switch. He staggered with the sudden weight against him, a hand flying to the back of Milo’s neck to make sure his head didn’t fall back.

He carefully lowered Milo to the floor, setting his partner's head in his lap as he gently pressed two fingers against the side of his neck. He wasn’t sure it was necessary, but the small action was always a small reassurance to him. That's what kept him calm, every time this happened. He could reassure himself his partner was breathing, that his heart was beating. It felt stupid, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed that reassurance to cling to.

Milo keened softly as his eyes fluttered open, brows furrowing in disorientation. Nick ran a hand through his hair, cupping his face.

“Hey, you’re ok, love. There you go, I’m right here.”

It was routine now, at least for Nick. He hooked his arms under Milo’s knees and torso, carefully picking him up. The glass he could take care of in a minute. Shaking fingers clutched at his shirt as he lowered Milo onto the couch, but were easily pried away to give Nick room to pull a blanket over him. He slid his hand to the back of Milo’s head, thumb rubbing softly against skin in a soothing motion. He stayed crouching by the couch, humming reassurances, coaxing Milo through the waves of dizziness and confusion that always lingered after he fainted.

It made Nick feel frustrated, how helpless he was to help. The only thing any doctor would tell them was that Milo needed to eat more, needed to rest more, whatever. Nothing he hadn’t heard a hundred times. He knew they were right, but it just made him feel guilty, like he wasn’t doing enough to make sure Milo recovered. All of this felt so out of his range of capabilities.

“M..msorry, sorry-”

“Hey nothing to be sorry for,” Nick reassured, pressing a kiss to Milo’s forehead. “You don’t have control over that, shit happens.”

Milo reached a shaky hand out, and Nick quickly laced their fingers together and squeezed lightly. The deep scars around his wrists were still pinkish, not yet fully paled yet. Nick found himself staring at them, thumb brushing lightly across the raised, healing marks.

“He almost never took them off,” Milo whispered, and Nick's gaze darted to him, brows furrowing with concern, then horror. Milo just stared distantly, eyes fluttering shut as he took a slow, deep breath. “They were always so..cold, and tight. They only got warm when..when I pulled at them, and they bled.” He nodded to his wrist, pressing his lips together. “Those are my fault.”

“None of this is your fault.” Nick insisted, leaning close. “None of it, you hear me? You can’t blame yourself for something like that.”

Milo just shrugged, eyes opening. They locked gazes, both of their expressions soft, but grieving.

“I forgot what you looked like.”

Nick’s heart dropped at the statement, tears filling his eyes. He brought Milo’s hand up to his lips, holding it tightly, giving Milo the space to talk. His hands were cold, and he couldn’t resist the urge to breathe on them slightly, hoping to do at least something to ease his discomfort.

“I..I forgot what your face looked like, after a while. It all got really blurry, I just- I couldn’t remember. I remembered what you smelled like, what your voice sounded like; I heard it when I slept sometimes.” A tear slipped down his cheek, a haunted look in his eyes. “But..I couldn’t remember what you looked like, and it terrified me. I was so scared...scared that I would never see you again, that I had forgotten it forever.”

Nick didn’t even know what to say. He wanted to tear whoever he did this to Milo to shreds, what he could do with just a few minutes with the bastard…

“When I saw you..” Milo continued, grabbing Nick's attention again. “I thought I was dead. At a certain point I kinda just- gave up on the idea of ever seeing you again, I guess. I dreamed so many times about coming home...I still don’t think it's real sometimes.”

God, what do I even say to that

“I’m real,” Nick murmured, running his other hand down Milo’s back, loving the way he smiled slightly, a little lopsidedly. “It's all real, and you know that because if it weren’t, I wouldn’t be here, right? Can’t dream about me if you don’t know what I look like, silly.”

Milo huffed, rolling his eyes. “Guess not, then.” He squeezed Nick's hand before pulling close, pressing their lips together. Nick was a little taken aback by the move but quickly relaxed into it, sighing. He pulled back after a moment, heart warming at the sleepy grin on the others face, the way his face had a bit more color to it amongst the pale skin and freckles, features that could never be overshadowed in Nick’s eyes, not even by the scars over the bridge of his nose and cheekbones. This was the clearest Milo’s eyes have looked in ages, the most aware he’s seemed.

“Never forgot what that felt like,” Milo hummed, letting his head fall back on the couch. His neck was exposed to show the curve of his shoulder, scars wrapping around his throat, a few disappearing below his collar. It didn’t stop Nick from wanting to kiss every inch of him, not ever.

“Me neither,” Nick smiled in return, kissing Milo’s hand again. “You ok here if I go clean up that glass? Need to make some breakfast, too.”

“Mhm,” Milo hummed, nodding. “Can we go back to bed after? I know you didn’t sleep, I saw you on your laptop.”

Even now Milo didn’t miss things like that, it seemed.

“Yep, I don’t have any classes to worry about. We can spend the whole goddamn day in bed if we want.”

Milo smiled, curling up and watching Nick stand. He made his way back to the kitchen, grabbing a dustpan to sweep up the glass on the floor, dumping it in the trash. He made something just for the two of them, some bacon and pancakes and eggs and that gross vitamin c juice Milo always drank without a single complaint. The sun was up now but he knew nobody would wake up for a while, it was Saturday which meant absolutely nobody went to sleep at a decent hour the previous night. Half of the house probably wasn’t even here.

He passed Milo on his way to take the food to his room, and he almost would've guessed he was asleep if it weren’t for the way he picked at a string on the couch, fidgeting idly. Nick smiled, quickly setting the plates down on the desk beside his bed before going back for Milo.

“You ok to walk?” He asked, watching his partner warily. Milo nodded, pushing himself up on his elbows to sit up, eyes tired but blessedly aware. Nick helped him up, watching him closely for any signs he’d pass out again. He didn’t, able to walk back to their room with little assistance and crawl back into their bed. It was nice to call it theirs again. It felt all too empty when Milo was gone.

Nick handed Milo his plate, crawling up onto the bed and sitting cross legged next to him with a soft smile. He ate slowly but he was eating, which is all Nick could ask of him. The hum of the air conditioner filled the room, a soothing sound to fill the silence as they ate. Nick matched his pace, only finishing his own food when Milo did.

“You feeling ok?” He asked as he set the plates aside, watching Milo pull the blankets up around him. Nick didn’t hesitate to join him, the two cuddling up together under the covers.

“Yea, just tired.” Milo said quietly. They were a tangle of blankets and legs, foreheads pressed together. They were warm, perfectly content to lay together under the heavy covers. Nick hummed happily, lacing their fingers together and holding on tight, happy to have his partner close.

“I never want to forget what you look like again.” Milo whispered. Nick squeezed his hand, leaning in closer, their chests pressing together. “I stay awake, sometimes, just watching you sleep. I’m scared if I go to sleep you’ll be gone when I wake up.”

Nick pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his cheek, down to his jaw. He wrapped his arms around Milo and pulled him to his chest, a hand running up the back of his neck up to his hair, guiding his head to rest against his shoulder as they closed the space between them.

“I’ll be right here.” Nick promised. He felt the way Milo melted against the touch, his curls soft underneath Nick's fingers. “I’ll be right here when you wake up, you won’t ever wake up back there. Ever.”

Milo nodded against his shoulder, taking a slow, deep breath. He hugged Nick back, burying his face into the crook of his neck. He could hear the sound of the pantry door slamming closed, the floorboards creaking, a fridge opening. The house was slowly coming to life in the late morning, but the pair only focused on each other in those quiet moments. They both let themselves drift somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, just aware enough to be aware of each other. Warm breath against skin, the occasional kiss against the shoulder or jaw, a hand sliding over a hip to pull the other close. It was all a whisper of communication through touch, something neither of them shied away from. It was a whisper that spoke louder than any words they could say, sometimes.

I’ll never let you wake up somewhere you’re scared

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@haro-whumps@simplygrimly@insanitywishes@lonesome--hunter@deluxewhump@elisabethrosewrites@insanitywishes@iaminamoodymoodtoday @bleeding-demon-teeth @lumpofwhump@redstainedsocks @redstainedsocks @finder-of-rings @insomniacscoprio @inaridriscoll @rosesareviolentlyread @insanitywishes

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hilltopsunset · 3 years

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4 Ways to Breathe New Life into the Pokémon Franchise

I love the Pokémon franchise. It’s because I love it that I truly want new installments of the game to feel meaningful, to make an impact, and to provide players with something new, different, and worth coming back for without relying on complexities that could turn away new players.

As I will talk about in a later blog post, Game Freak seems afraid to stretch Pokémon’s creative muscles any further; meaningful innovation has been petering out since the end of Generation IV in lieu of minigames like Pokémon Contests and Super Training alongside inconsequential time sinks like Secret Bases and Poké Pelago. While I do enjoy the inclusion of things to do outside the main storyline, these additional events and sidequests should not be the only significant additions to new generations of main-series Pokémon games.

The main attractions of recent generations have provided slight twists to gameplay with the addition of mega evolution and Z-moves, but these changes don’t fundamentally change or challenge the way players experience the game on a moment-to-moment basis. And despite the graphical and processing power of recent gaming devices, and even the long-awaited shift of the franchise to a main console, we are still getting the same low-effort and outdated battle animations we’ve been seeing since X and Y. We are continually denied a more genuine battle experience with Pokémon physically interacting with each other through animations that more appropriately suit each Pokémon’s unique identity.

So what can be done? Here’s a short but detailed list of 4 things I would like to see in a new Pokémon game, in no particular order of importance.

1. Let the Player Character Be an Active Part of the Story

When has the player character ever been a consequential part of a Pokémon game? They never speak; they never have any personality whatsoever. They never experience any growth, regardless of NPC’s trying desperately to iterate how much the trainer has grown over the course of their journey. Certainly the Pokémon carried by the player character have some impact on the story, but the trainer?

Let them speak! Let the player character actually interact with NPCs in meaningful ways rather than just listening at all times. Give the trainer a personality of some sort. Don’t just slap a never-changing pleasant face onto the model regardless of tense, frightening, or sinister scenarios (I’m looking at you, Sun and Moon).

Giving the player character a more active role in the story provides intrigue—as a player, it doesn’t feel compelling being pulled from one place to another; it’s not interesting when the only thing pushing me forward is NPCs telling me I need to get the gym badges, or stop Team Rocket. It would be much more interesting if the Player Character had some imperative reason to pursue these endeavors, rather than get involved simply because “it’s the right thing to do” or, worse, “it’s the ONLY thing to do.” I want to watch the character I’m controlling grow as a person and make choices that have positive or negative consequences on people they care about and the places they visit, rather than be a perpetual observer of events with no real stake in the game.

2. Trainer Levels

Speaking of the player character, create a leveling system for them. There are so many possibilities for a system where the trainer more actively impacts gameplay. For instance, there could be a class system and each class can have unique skill trees that provide access to passive and/or active abilities that improve how the trainer interacts with the world throughout the game. It could be required to choose your path at the beginning of the game, or perhaps you can access them all throughout the game, but can only have one active at a time.

Here’s a list of example possibilities:

Explorer: The explorer class specializes in travel, as well as tracking and catching new Pokémon—this tree can be subdivided into those paths: Travel, Tracking, and Catching. This tree provides skills that assist them in accessing otherwise inaccessible locations, increasing encounter rates with rare Pokémon, and specializing in different types of Poké balls to improve catch chances. Experience for this class is gained through catching Pokémon, encountering rare Pokémon, and exploring (walking in new places, finding treasure, accessing hidden areas, etc.).

Combatant: The combatant class excels at offensive battle prowess through its three branches: Type Affinity, Commands, and Reputation. This tree allows a trainer to specialize in certain Pokémon types (up to 2) to improve their STAB damage. Eventually, you can get a skill that provides STAB for your specialized types even for Pokémon not of those types! You gain access to in-battle shout commands that provide momentary buffs to your party, like improving damage, resisting a big attack, or improving critical hit ratio. A strong reputation will allow you to avoid battle even with trainers who have caught your eye; and in battle, an enemy Pokémon may flinch due to your intimidating presence. Experience is gained by knocking out Pokémon, winning battles, using moves of your type specialization, and issuing commands.

Breeder: The breeder focuses on developing deep relationships with their Pokémon. Skills of this class can be divided into the Breeding, Bonding, and Healing branches. Through this tree, trainers can hatch eggs more quickly, improve high IV chance from newborn Pokémon, develop friendship levels more quickly, etc. Bonding provides Pokémon with beneficial defensive capabilities during battle, like providing a chance to survive an attack that would otherwise bring HP to 0, and having a strong will to resist abnormal status effects like paralysis and confusion. A Breeder’s knowledge of caretaking allows for healing outside of battle, and can even teach Pokémon how to slowly recover in-battle. Experience is gained through hatching eggs, developing friendships with your Pokémon (through feeding/petting, etc.), participating in Contests/minigames, and having Pokémon in your party with whom you have developed a close relationship.

The establishment of a class system like this, where experience is gained through different means relevant to each class, incentivizes players to participate in those aspects of the game, and provides extra rewards for players who already want to get involved. It makes the trainer feel like a relevant and impactful part of the team, rather than a hollow vehicle strictly used to lug the real heroes—your team of Pokémon—from battle to battle.

And for those who think the inclusion of such a mechanic would trivialize the content, I have several suggestions: first, they could easily make the game content more difficult to compensate. Second, they could mitigate the strength of these class skills during key battles like Gym Leaders, the Elite Four, the Enemy Team (Rocket, Galaxy, etc.). Third, NPCs (especially the aforementioned key NPCs) could have access to these skills as well. Remember, I’m asking for significant changes, and this would provide something new, interesting, and impactful.

3. Battle Animations

Update them. It’s that simple. Let Blastoise shoot water out of his water cannons rather than out of his face. Let Scorbunny run up to its opponent and give it a nice kick! Get rid of the old, outdated animations of a drawn foot—we now have well-rendered 3D monsters on gaming systems capable of handling the graphical processing necessary for this to happen. Give each Pokémon a more unique identity with their animations; make them feel like they’re actually in a battle with one another. It’s time.

I acknowledge that providing significant animation updates for the 800+ models is an enormous undertaking that would require a massive amount of time and manpower to make possible. To this I say: spend the time doing that rather than developing Dynamax or whatever. Spend the time on more significant animation development instead of wasting that time on another gimmick that isn’t going to significantly impact gameplay anyway.

To be honest, this point alone would be enough to convince me to buy a new Pokémon game.

4. Populate the World with Pokémon

I know that the Let’s Go series and Sword/Shield did this a little bit, and while it certainly wasn’t executed perfectly, it was fun running around and actually seeing all the Pokémon that inhabit it. Spawn rates in both games were often a bit too high, resulting in cluttered areas. Adding aggressive Pokémon would further enhance the immersive experience—being required to sneak around certain stronger Pokémon could be a really fun mechanic and provide tension; it was a bit too easy to avoid Pokémon in Let’s Go and in the Wild Area. While it was nice to get through Mt. Moon without encountering a single Zubat, imagine instead running through a section of the cave with a trail of 15 Zubats on your tail? Make me work for it a little!

Ultimately, I want to see Pokémon behaving more naturally in their habitats, and not just in sections of the world that I can’t get to. I want to run into a Caterpie hanging from a tree, or a Fearow fishing for Goldeen, or a Pikachu grooming itself. I want to interrupt Pokémon from their lives, not run into a giant gaggle of automatons circling tiny areas for no reason.

So there it is: a look at just a few things Pokémon games could include to make things more interesting and breathe new life into an aging franchise. These changes would require work, but any new game should—I would hate to see Pokémon continue the troubling trend of easy and/or insignificant content when there is so much potential to do so much with what they have.

With all that said, I do want to offer a bit of praise—Sirfetch’d and Galarian Ponyta are pretty awesome, and Galarian Weezing is perfectly ridiculous. But I ask that you keep in mind what your money is telling Game Freak when you purchase their games: it tells them that you don’t mind the severe lack of innovation and improvement. It tells them you don’t mind Scorbunny hopping in place as a giant, orange, human foot strikes its opponent. It tells them that you’re willing to fund their copy/paste animations from 6 years ago, their uninspired gameplay updates, and their ever-increasing focus on gimmicks and minigames.

As for me, I will continue holding Pokémon to a higher standard and hoping that, eventually, Blastoise will fire water from his cannons.

#pokemon #game review #game freak #hilltop sunset #suggestions

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years

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What’s In A Name? A Nickname That Is.

Vasco x De Sardet

Word Count: 1,150 Warnings: Explicit Language

Author’s Note: In this house we HC De Sardet as taller than Vasco for the sake of humor. Enjoy! -Thorne

He wasn’t sure when he noticed the difference between his and Vasco’s height, and if he was being honest, it was probably when they first met, but there were other things on his mind then, and poking fun at the captain in charge of getting them across the ocean didn’t seem like a smart idea. That being said, as soon as Vasco joined De Sardet on Cabral’s orders, the Legate had keyed into the fact that while the captain was rightly pissed at the situation, De Sardet found the knowledge, that Vasco was shorter than he, awfully amusing—Vasco however, not so much.

***

De Sardet was too close to him. Again. He could feel the Legate’s body heat from the distance between them, and while that was something he could ignore, he couldn’t disregard the way the man’s smoky cologne made something smolder deep in his gut.

After the fourth shift of De Sardet’s head, Vasco looked over, regarding him with a glower. “What are you doing?” he hissed, watching as the Legate’s eyes narrowed slightly, gaze shifting towards the docks.

“Trying to imagine what it’s like to view the world through your eyes,” De Sardet remarked.

“You’ve got a pair of eyes, do you not?”

“I do,” he agreed, before turning a rather irritating smirk on Vasco. “But I figured you might see something that I don’t because of your…vertical challenge.”

De Sardet enjoyed with an immense glee as Vasco’s jaw set, knowing that the Naut was no doubt grinding his teeth in his barely contained anger.

“Really though, Vasco. Is it different? Do you see something—now where are you going?” he called after the captain with a grin, watching as he stomped off. “Careful you don’t fall into any puddles! Might be perilous for you! Even a trained Naut!”

All that Vasco responded with was an obscene gesture thrown over his shoulder.

“Now that’s not very nice, Vasco!”

***

Surprisingly, De Sardet was an excellent cook, and an even better baker. He’d invited his companions over for a dinner the night after Vasco’s loyalty mission, fixing a, for a lack of a better word, feast for them—Vasco was sure there would be enough food left after to feed his entire crew, seconds even. That aside, he should’ve known that De Sardet was going to make some joke about his height, except he didn’t expect it in the way that it came to him.

“I hope you’ve managed to save room for dessert,” De Sardet joked. “Because we still have that to finish off.”

A groan sounded around the room and he took a moment to observe his group. Petrus and Síora had managed to save a bit of room, possibly Vasco as well, but Aphra and Kurt had their heads on the table, hands to their stomachs.

“I think I’ll just make plates for the few of us while you two recover.”

“Don’t you dare, De Sardet,” Aphra moaned, but her eyes held a look of determination. “If dinner was this good, then I know dessert will be too.” She waved at him. “Hit me with it.”

De Sardet snorted, turning his eyes to his Master-At-Arms. “You as well Kurt?”

“Damn straight,” the mercenary agreed, and the Legate went around the table, placing small plates in front of everyone.

When he got back to his seat, he picked up his fork and looked at Vasco with a grin.

“I think you’ll like this, Vasco,” he said. “It’s a strawberry…shortcake.”

While a chorus of laughter seemed to flow around the table, Vasco merely glared daggers at the man across from him, who simply nodded at the dessert. Begrudgingly, he dug the fork into the cake and brought it to his mouth. And damned if the smart-ass giant wasn’t right—he did like it.

“I take it you like it then?” De Sardet ribbed, waggling his brows, and before Vasco could stop himself, the tip of his boot was colliding with De Sardet’s shin, making him grunt, face twisting in a look of pain that gave Vasco pleasure to see.

“Not exactly the answer I was looking for,” he winced.

With a smirk, Vasco took another bite and chewed slowly, eyes narrowed in contentment as the man bent over slightly, no doubt massaging the place he’d kicked. After he finished, Vasco wiped his mouth with the cloth in his lap and met De Sardet’s eyes.

“That was delicious, De Sardet. I wonder what it would be like if it had a bit of a kick to it?”

De Sardet simply chuckled in return.

***

And of course, Vasco naively assumed that the childish taunting would dissipate in the course of their relationship, but that only seemed to egg De Sardet on to the point that Vasco was ready to strangle him whether he loved him or not.

“So…if you’re going to call me Tempest in private, does that mean I get to pick a nickname for you?”

Vasco didn’t even need to turn around in the man’s arms. “No,” he deadpanned, causing the other to snort.

“Why not?” De Sardet questioned, tugging the Naut towards him until Vasco’s back touched the Legate’s chest.

“Because it’s going to be something amusing to you and not to me.” He answered, eyes slipping shut when De Sardet’s hand started massaging just above his right hip.

“I would never do such a thing to the man I love,” he declared, pressing his lips to the nape of Vasco’s neck.

“You are so full of shit,” the Naut couldn’t help but mutter as he chuckled.

“Full of love,” De Sardet corrected. “How about—”

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“Don’t have to—the answer is no.” Vasco decided making the Legate sigh heavily.

“Fine,” he groaned. “Relieve me of my greatest desire.”

Though De Sardet fell silent, Vasco could feel his eyes on his back and after a minute, he grunted.

“Oh fine. You get—one. One name.”

“Hmm…I’ve got two.”

Vasco’s mouth opened for a quick retort, but thinking against it, he instead asked, “What are they?”

De Sardet smiled. “Ankle-biter?”

“Absolutely not,” he warned, and the Legate chuckled. “What’s the other?”

“The second? Oh, fickle thing. I was going to call you, my honey.”

Vasco’s brows furrowed and he remarked, “That’s actually not so—”

“My honeybee.” De Sardet interrupted. “Because you’re small and you sting with a poisoned blade.”

For a moment, Vasco didn’t say a word, then silently he shifted in his lover’s arms until they were nose to nose, his golden eyes narrowed into a withering glare whereas De Sardet merely grinned.

“I don’t think I’ve ever hated to love someone as much as I do in this moment in time, Tempest,” Vasco scowled.

De Sardet lifted a hand and cupped his cheek, quipping, “As long as you still love me, Honeybee, I’ll take it.”

#vasco x de sardet #de sardet x vasco #greedfall fanfiction #greedfall fanfic #greedfall #vasco #vasco fanfic #vasco fanfiction #de sardet #de sardet fanfic #de sardet fanfiction #kurt #petrus #siora #aphra

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dragonoffantasyandreality · 3 years

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Kamen Rider Thunderbirds chapter 3 (Bit 3)

(Prologue, Bit 1, Bit 2 Updated, Bit 3…)

Just an updated version of the second bit of the chapter, because it was crap and I thought I should edit some things to make it interesting. Still featured my Kamen Rider OCs and their daily lives before Bit 3 :3

(@myladykayo, @janetm74, @willow-salix ) -0-0-0-

Taira was standing near his bike, taking his moment smiling at the sky. The wind blew through his hair as a familiar sensation flowed through his spirit like a river. A sensation of warmth and comfort.

As he turned his head to look at his side, there was a crying little boy he had been comforting. He had to stop from the bike ride after seeing this poor little soul crying at the edge of the busy street near a market area. He can’t help but stop next to the

Channeling his positive energy, he began speaking once more.

“When I was a little boy, me and my papa went hiking on a snowy mountain. We went so far; we got lost, believe it or not," he chuckled to himself as he knelt in front of the youngster, "I remember I have been crying so badly, I thought we couldn't go home… I was a wreck that my tears would become icicles. But then, papa told me, and this is something I would never forget as long as I live! He said to me in his usual calm but firm voice: "Son, don’t ever panic. Panic kills you." and then he simply made a bonfire with flint and steel and after what felt like hours of keeping the fire alive, we were finally being rescued and got home!"

Taira smiled fondly when the little boy calmed down as he listened curiously, forgetting about his problem. “So it's going to be fine.”

The child lifted his poor face, looking up to him with his red, tear-filled eyes, "Y-You sure?"

"Trust me!" Taira grinned. He noticed a police officer patrolling nearby, then he pointed in their direction, "You see this police officer, he can keep you safe till your parents arrive."

"B-bu-but I'm scared…" he started crying again.

Taira swiftly jumped into action. Three white balls appeared in his hands and he began juggling. The kid stopped sobbing and watched in amazement as Taira caught and threw the balls with ease, doing impressive tricks that he had honed. He finished off with a 'ta-da' pose after an amazing trick with a face splitting smile.

The little boy clapped in applause.

"Nice!" exclaimed a friendly voice.

In the corner of his eye, his three best friends stood applauding him for the act. The dog jumped in excitement as a way of congratulation as well. He bowed to both sides.

He stood up as the kid's parents finally arrived, relieved to have found their child safe and sound. They thanked him and he returned with a big, wide grin.

Before they leave, Taira gave the boy one of his juggling balls as a parting gift and gave him the thumbs up. The little child had returned the gesture happily and left.

He felt satisfied, the day didn't pass in vain.

"Always here to make people smile, right bud?" laughed Koji, in which Taira had responded with a grin.

"That’s my goal! To reach 2000 skills to make people smile!" he replied proudly, making Koji, Yuuki and Recko chuckle.

The gang took their break on a bench, as they watched the busy streets of New York city. Cars and bystanders pass by and people preparing for Christmas and the New Year. The snow and ice accompanied the mood; a great setting for the holidays! But not for Koji’s cold feet.

"Man, wish we could've just stayed in Cuba; slagging cold!" he whined a little bit, shaking awkwardly to keep himself warm.

"Your dance is ridiculous..." scoffed Recko in a harsh, toneless voice, "It's not Christmas yet."

"I know! It wasn't that bad in Oklahoma, but here in New York, it is a cold, bloody, wet mess!" Koji's commentary made chuckles out of his circle, even for Recko who simply smirked in amusement

As Taira was about to ask Yuuki a question, he heard a sudden beeping noise coming from his Beatchaser 2000. He zoomed towards the bike and pressed a button in his motorcycle’s controls, in which it activated the radio.

“Mosh, mosh* ?” he asked.

“Taira-kun?” got out a soft, feminine voice from the radio.

“Ah, Sakiko-chan~!” He chanted happily, “What a lovely jovely day to hear your beautiful voice! How are you?”

“I'm alright,” he heard her giggle, “How are you, Little Kuwagata?”

“Ah, just a mundane day with a few twists,” he joked as he explained.

"Then it’s not a 'mundane' day if it had some twists," Taira can sense her teasing smile from the other end, “So, what happened?”

“This morning, we had some ramen noodles with bacon and eggs for breakfast, cooked by our generous Yuuki. Nearly ruined by Koji’s clumsiness, but thankfully saved by Recko fast reflexes,” Taira began joyfully, “Raider would’ve been really happy if some of the bacon had fallen, but at least he got his Puppuccino.” he mumbled, giggling to himself before continuing, "We went on a ride for a bit, then we had to stop, because just now I had to cheer up a poor kid while we waited for his parents to find him."

"Typical of you," Sakiko snorted knowingfully, “Ne(Say), how’s the mission?”

“Well…” Taira eyes darted from one side to another before leaning close to the radio to whisper, “Let’s just say we blew the Kaijin skyhigh and got some News points. Standard stuff.” He straightened up again. "So, what's your plan now?” Now its Taira’s ask.

"I am joining you guys in a few weeks, so I can keep an eye on Yuuki," She explained.

"Ah, I see…" Taira smiled sadly as he looked over at his sad friend, who was sulking at the bench at the moment.

"How is he?" Sakiko asked, a bit of worry in his voice.

"Well, he's recovering alright. But very slowly…" Taira

"Hai. Well, when I'll return, I'll bring your favorite beaver tails."

"Oh, I miss them!" Taira grinned. They both laughed wholeheartedly. Just as Yuuki approached Taira and his bike with eagerness.

"Konnichiwa, Sakiko-chan!" He exclaimed.

"Konnichiwa, Yuuki-kun! How are you?" Sakiko greeted.

"I am doing fine, really…"

“Ne, how’s International Rescue? What’s their recent news?” Sakiko asked, causing his eyes to lit up.

“Oh, looks like this week they are having an even tougher time than usual," Yuuki sympathized, "Some of the rescues made me swear my heart had stopped! I hope they are ok..." his voice slowly trailed off as he had a flash of worry.

"Oh, Fruit Jesus… Those poor guys. Well, that comes with the job of saving lives. You know..." She responded.

"Like us…" Yuuki whispered under his breath, his mind momentarily drifted into that thought.

"Alright then, I have to go save somebody. Again..." Deadpanned Sakiko.

Yuuki and Taira both chuckled, knowing who she was referring too, "Hai. Tell him I said hi, well, after you rescued him from whatever bad salad he’s in. Sayonara." Yuuki smiled, the salad joke almost made Taira laugh.

"Sayonara, Taira-kun, Yuuki-kun. Please take care. Oh and tell Recko and Koji I said hi as well! Ciao!" was her last words before she hung up.

Recko and Koji approached the duo shortly after.

"Seems like your interest in International Rescue helped you a little," Recko pointed out, his voice not as monotone as usual. Raider who was beside him nodded his canine head.

"I guess you are right," Yuuki smiled, having been so glad his close buddies always got his back. "I feel bad for them, though. They don't seem to have a break..." Yuuki sighed silently with sympathy.

Suddenly, a shock hit Yuuki like a lightning strike to the head, causing him to freeze into place. He saw flashes of something sinister as a familiar sensation rippled across his body. His face of a shy boy morphed into a face of a man who got unfinished business to be done. His own muscles and senses began moving on their own, as if they had got taken over by something. Something inside of him... His inner warrior… his inner warrior must respond to the call… he must purge the unknown evil...

His friends immediately recognized his strange change of behavior. It can only mean one thing…

“Yuuki, something’s wrong?” asked Taira as he turned serious.

“I sense… danger…” muttered Yuuki, the determination of a guardian awakened in his eyes.

“Does that mean…?” began Koji.

“We must go!” Yuuki wasted no time but to rush towards his bike.

“O-Oi! Matte kudasai(Wait)!” Koji frantically shouted as he too rushed to his bike, tripping himself and fell flat on his face only to get up quickly and got on into his machine.

"Klutz…" scoffed Recko as he and his dog followed suit.

The rest of the gang all hopped onto their motorcycles and rode after Yuuki, who was leading them towards the scene of chaos...

*AN: Japanese way of saying "hello" on the phone

#Kamen Rider Thunderbirds series #kamen rider #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 1965 #kamen rider fanfiction #thunderbirds fanfiction #my fanfics

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astyle-alex · 4 years

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[Fanfic] Museum Mishap | the BatFam

Museum Mishap | Chapter 5/6

Fandom: the DC Universe, Batman & co. Pairings: Jay x Tim Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Rating: Gen Audiences Warnings: None

Total Word Count: 38,590

Summary:

Middle-School Tim Drake is on a field trip to the Science Museum, but with a WE exhibition of top-secret new technologies being staged in the basement, Tim separates from his classmates and breaks into the staff-only areas by using the skills he's developed over years of stalking Batman and Robin.

Current-Robin Jason Todd catches him in the act, but he's not there to confront Tim for trespassing or truancy - he's there because there's a rumor on the street that Tim Drake knows Batman's real name. And the rumor's gaining ground, quick, drawing in the wrong kind of attention.

When a Drug-Lord decides to take the rumor seriously enough to kidnap the little genius, Jason jumps into the crossfire. It all goes downhill from there. Fast.

(Jason is 14, Tim is 12)

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Museum Mishap Chapter 5: Checking Up

Dick is the first to notice something’s different about Jason.

Which is fair, because even though Bruce is the first person to see Jason after he wakes up on Saturday, a full 27 hours after being rescued from Sabini (ten of which he’d spent sleeping peacefully in his own bed instead of the Cave’s infirmary) – and even though Alfred is the first person to talk to him after he comes downstairs for breakfast – the bulk of what is actually noticeably different about Jason is aimed directly at Dick.

Literally.

Because Jason is starting.

At Dick.

From across his plate of scrambled eggs and sausage and toast piled high with strawberry preserves instead of the peach marmalade Dick likes and has on his own plate, Jason is staring. At Dick. Directly.

He’s not even glaring at him, he’s just… watching.

Which actually makes Dick more self-conscious than if Jason had been glaring, makes him think he’s done something wrong. Something especially wrong.

Dick had never asked for a little brother, and to be perfectly honest he could admit that he hadn’t exactly been very nice to the one he’d acquired unexpectedly. While he had concrete and valid reasons to be pissed at Bruce for how he’d handled things, Dick wasn’t quite self-centered enough to miss how he hadn’t done right by Jason either.

He’d screwed up their relationship in the beginning and now he spent most of his time trying to avoid making it worse. Which meant most simply that he spent most of his time straight up avoiding it…

The longest span of time Dick had spent alone in a room with Jason since storming off to California a few weeks before his sixteenth birthday – to go be Robin with people who appreciated him and his skill and his right to wear the R, because it was his and always would be – was about the length of a Star Wars movie. The longest they’d spent together without such a specific and effective distraction was about twenty minutes.

In which Alfred usually checked in on them halfway through.

Because Jason does deserve the R.

And he’s always resented that the older brother he’d never asked for thought he didn’t.

Which isn’t exactly true, but Dick has never been able to explain that before Jason – brilliantly observant, woefully astute, and brutally willing to cut to the quick as he was – said something that made Dick get defensive. Which is when the yelling always started.

And the quiet moments in between the yelling had always been punctuated by glaring.

But now Jason is staring – and distinctly not glaring – and Dick doesn’t know what he did, or what he should do now. So, he sits in silence and plays with his eggs and worries.

Because something is different about Jason this morning, and he doesn’t know why – or what it has to do with him. Or what Jason thinks it has to do with him.

Because if Jason’s pissed with him for not getting to him quicker last night, for not jumping in earlier – early enough to stop Sabini from breaking his leg perhaps – then Jason would already be yelling. But he’s not. He’s staring.

And Dick doesn’t know what to do.

“Do you have a driver’s license?”

Dick is so startled by the question he nearly drops his fork.

Actually, he does drop it. He just manages to catch it before it skitters off the counter.

“B won’t let me in the Cave with my leg and Alf won’t let me have the keys to any cars topside until I’m legal,” Jason explains – without explaining anything.

“Yeah, I’ve got my license.”

Dicks voice doesn’t squeak or waver. He’s moderately certain that some sort of magic or robotic voice replacement tech is behind the phenomenon. Or maybe his Robin conditioning is finally proving useful outside of the dark allies where his calm could comfort victims.

Jason nods. He’s still staring.

But now he’s squinting, evaluative. Not quite a glare, but closer.

“Cool. Can you drive me somewhere after breakfast?”

Dick nods. He decides not to ask to ask why Jason isn’t asking Alfred to drive him.

He also decides not to ask where Jason wants to go until they’re already in the car.

They don’t speak again until after Dick pulls into the circle at the end of the Drake Estate’s mile-long driveway, and even then, it’s just a gruff C’mon to hurry Dick along while Jason hauls himself out of the car on his own.

Dick is slightly distracted as he cuts the engine. He nods to Jason – who’s paying him zero attention – as he marvels openly at the fact that they do, apparently, have neighbors.

The Drake mansion isn’t quite a massive or effortlessly grand as Wayne Manor, but it’s a decently imposing imitation. There’s wealth here, excess. And no hint of the soft touch that Alfred has to bring a human element into the aching chill of life with money.

Dick wants to ask what they’re doing here, of all places, but Jason is focused.

It’s a feat for Jason to wrestle his crutches out of the car and limp his way up the wide steps of the ostentation front stair, but he manages. He does it without even making Dick feel terrible about not offering to help – though he knows if he did offer, Jason’s only response would be to curse and try to whack him with the pointy end of his crutches.

Dick follows silently up the stairs after him and waits as Jason rings the doorbell impatiently, pressing it again after only a few seconds of silence.

He’s not quite scowling at the Drakes’ front door, but he’s not smiling either. Whatever he’s thinking about is serious enough to warrant asking Dick for help instead of Alfred. Dick is definitely concerned by that, but there a hopeful anxiousness twisting in him too.

Because Jason needed help, and he asked Dick to provide it.

It’s not much, but it’s something.

Jason’s leaning on the doorbell again when Dick hears a shuffling inside that indicates someone coming to check the matter. Dick hopes it’s not an elderly butler – Alfred moves around pretty well for his age, but it’s a big house and it takes even him a minute to get to the door on the bizarre occasion Wayne Manor has unexpected security-approved visitors.

The Drakes’ equivalent can’t possibly be as light-footed or quick and Dick wants to tell Jason that it’s not whoever’s fault that it takes a while getting from one end of a mansion to the other on a Saturday morning for an unanticipated guest.

There’s the sound of the lock being turned, but the door doesn’t open immediately.

Jason is about to lean on the bell again – and Dick is seriously considering how counter-productive it will be to stop him from being overly rude – when the knob finally spins and the massive solid-wood structure sweeps inward.

Dick plasters a smile on his face and –

It’s the kid from Thursday night.

Dick’s whole being freezes.

It’s the kid that took a beating because Sabini thought he knew something about Batman.

Dick is stuck in a sudden mental rut of wondering why this kid – and Dick know he’s a tough one, he’s seen it, but he’s a head shorter than Jason and probably weighs as much as Dick’s leg and he’s just survived a torturous kidnapping and should be on bedrest with soup and blankets and stuffed animals – why this kid is answering his own door.

Especially in a house like this. His family is clearly rich beyond reason and could have a flurry of staff to care for the household’s daily needs and to fawn sweetly over the poor injured young master. So why is he answering the door?

When his door costs as much as the entire Trailer the Flying Graysons called home in Haly’s Circus. When there are still bruises on his face where Sabini’s fingers gripped him that haven’t quite gone ugly and greenish from healing. When the butterfly bandage on his cheek is still the only thing holding the skin together beneath the antiseptic goo.

Jason’s brain is clearly doing the same acrobatics as Dicks, asking questions it’s not really keen on getting answered because the answers can’t be good, but Jason recovers faster.

Which is good because the Drake boy – Timmy, Dick remembers, except no, that’s just what Jason called him, he introduced himself as Tim in his brief moment of lucidity on Friday morning – is looking between the pair on his doorstep like one of the rescue dogs Dick remembers Haly bringing into the circus fold on their first days of being treated well.

They were cautious and skittish and quick to shy away, but also a little bit awed by the care and attention being paid to them – slightly overwhelmed to say the least. And Tim Drake is clearly in a similar state of mind.

Dick is frozen on the doorstep.

Tim is frozen in the doorway.

Jason falters too, but only for a moment. Then he’s using his crutches to nudge Tim out of the way, so he can swing himself through the door and into the Drakes’ imposing foyer.

Dick follows.

Tim remembers to close the door – and lock it too, with a sturdy deadbolt that Dick knows will provide actual security – and then shuffles after Dick and Jason.

Silent on his feet – impressive, given the floppy sneakers he’s wearing – Tim allows Jason to lead the way through the mansion’s sprawl to its kitchen. Tim is watching Jason’s back as he swings forward on his crutches, which gives Dick time to look around the mansion as they walk. He knows Jason’s scoping the place out too, and he’s glad Jason can manage it with that subtle street-wise skill he’s got ingrained. Dick could probably be subtle – he was trained by Batman – but he’s finding it hard to rein in the reaction he’s having to the place.

It’s absolutely sterile here.

More like a museum than like a house.

Nothing looks soft, or like it’s meant for people to sit on, and the few chairs and cushions Dick has clocked as they move through the sprawl don’t look like anyone has ever used them. There’s not a speck of dust, but honestly that just makes it worse. There are people that come through here, in order to clean it at least, but nobody lives here.

“What’re you saying about your face,” Jason asks bluntly when he stumbles upon the masterwork that is the Drake kitchen. Dick can tell that finding the kitchen has help Jason relax a little, that being in a place that’s meant to be sterile has helped at least as much as the prospect of diving into the soothing rhythm of cooking, but Tim doesn’t pick up on Jason’s new degree of ease and relax himself. If anything, he tenses more.

“I’m going to say that I tried to launch a rocket in the back yard and it blew up in my face,” Tim explains. He watches as Jason moves to investigate his fridge.

He notes when Jason stiffens, flinches as he realizes what he just said to prompt it, and he whips his head around when Dick is the one to speak up about it. “You’re ‘going to say’?”

Dick knows the way he blurted it in aching disbelief is rude. Not calm. Not helpful.

But he’s lost sensation in his limbs and his stomach is still sinking towards the center of the earth at supersonic speeds.

They had dropped Tim back into his bed at 2pm on Friday afternoon, once Bruce had convinced Alfred that he was stable and well on his way to healing. That was almost 20 hours ago. Dick’s stomach churns as he realizes that no one’s been to check on him in almost a full day.

Tim survived a brutal beating, and he’s been dealing with the mental fallout of his kidnapping – not to mention the physical aspects of his recovery – entirely alone.

Dick is staring at Tim, wide-eyed and worried, and he knows it isn’t helping as Tim looks down and toes at the marble floor.

“Mrs. Simz doesn’t work on Fridays,” he mumbles. “She thinks I spend Friday nights with my school’s chess club.”

Jason snorts. “Of course, she does. That sounds perfectly reasonable.”

He pauses. Anyone but Dick probably wouldn’t be able to catch the way he steels himself and forces down a mix of rage and worry before he asks lightly, “Hey, kid, you got any flour hiding in this joint? Baking soda?”

“Why?”

“I’m gonna make pancakes, obviously,” Jason replies, shouldering open the fridge and pulling out milk and eggs. He spreads his haul on the island and shoots Dick a look that he hopes means that he should start investigating the Drake cabinets for mixing bowls and a griddle and such. Because that’s what Dick starts doing.

“Pancakes?”

“Yeah, they’re kinda like pizza – you eat them,” Jason replies, a gruff amusement in his voice that tells Dick there’s some sort of inside joke involved.

Dick wants to think that there’s no part of the joke where he should be legitimately concerned that Tim doesn’t eat, but he also remembers how easy it was to pick the kid up when they rescued him. Sure, he’s only twelve, but Dick is fairly certain that he weighed at least twice what Tim does when he was twelve. Comparing him to Jason – even the emaciated twelve year old Jason that had first been brought to the Manor – would be too tragic to let him keep the smile on his face, so Dick consciously fights the urge.

Tim jumps in to help direct Dick and Jason around his kitchen, Tim acting as Jason’s legs while Jason barks orders. Dick didn’t know Jason could cook, but he’s not as surprised as he thought he’d be – even when Jason whips out the fancy tricks like cracking the eggs one-handed and twirling his spatula as he times the flips perfectly.

Butter and syrup appear on the island as Dick tries to help put the finishing touches on their meal. It’s been over an hour since breakfast, so Dick can definitely eat – and he knows Jason is probably already starving. Tim is looking at the looming stack of pancakes warily, however, and Dick is pleased with himself for not shooting Jason a worried look.

It gets even harder to resist when they actually settle down to eat and Tim expends a painstaking amount of effort on arranging the careful stack of pancakes on his plate instead of making any move to dig in.

“So, Timmy,” Jason says around a mouthful of pancakes, “Find any cool new toys since you’ve been home playin’ with your rocket?”

Both confused, Dick and Tim look blankly at Jason – who rolls his eyes. Then he taps his ear and makes a wide gesture about the kitchen. He’s asking if Tim’s found any Bat bugs.

Dick knows Batman must’ve left some – Tim was suspected of knowing his secrets for a reason, after all, and Bruce would certainly want to keep tabs on any future developments that might potentially occur. What Dick does not know is why Jason’s asking Tim if he found any listening devices hidden in his home – why he’s referencing the plausible option so casually, so openly. Unless… unless Tim knows.

Scandalized, Tim looks between Jason and Dick – redness creeping up his neck until his ears are bright ruby – and then stares down at his pancakes. He nods.

Like he’s pulling teeth, Jason waits a beat to make sure Tim is still alive and then asks with the same casual air, “Find any in here?”

This time, Tim shakes his head, still staring resolutely at his pancakes – and still making no move to actually eat them.

Jason nods, satisfied.

Tim waits, but Jason doesn’t say anything else.

Eventually, peeks up. Looks at Jason. Waits.

Then he slowly, sheepishly turns his head to look at Dick. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the accusations and yelling to start. Tim does know their secret, and he expects to be in serious trouble for it.

Jason levels his own look at Dick, daring him to break the tenuous trust they’ve developed in the last few hours by voicing any sort chastisement.

When they’d first brought Jason and Tim back to the Cave, Batman had been on Jason about getting to the truth of the rumors around Tim – to the point of absurdity, considering that there were two traumatized and injured kids to care for, considering that Jason himself was being questioned before Batman would give his broken leg the medical attention it needed…

Dick had spoken up in defense of Jason – asserting his own opinion that Tim was ignorant of the secret that got him wrapped up in this mess – mostly because he was pissed at Bruce for being so callous. Dick knew that Bruce cared, that he cared so much he buried all of his feelings deep beneath an impenetrable layer of cold practicality so he could deal with the pragmatic details of resolving the situation.

But it was really hard to remember that he cared when it felt more like he wanted answers in his own interrogation rather than to help the adopted son he’d just rescued from a drug-lord who’d been asking the same questions.

But Dick had defended Jason’s stand against Bruce.

At the time, he hadn’t realized Jason was lying – that Bruce honestly did have a valid reason to worry about Tim’s ability to threaten Batman’s secrets. He knew Jason wasn’t being entirely honest, but he’d brushed it off as embarrassment at getting caught and needing rescue.

Knowing what he does now, that Tim is aware of much more than he should be, Dick isn’t certain he would’ve made the same call. On the one hand, he wants to trust his brother’s judgement – to stay focused on Tim as a victim rather than a threat – but he also feels the urge to trust his mentor’s trend of caution, because if Tim threatens Bruce’s secrets he’s also threatening Dick’s. And Jason’s. And possibly Barbara, and the Titans, and any other mask they’ve ever worked with… Tim could be very dangerous if Jason’s wrong about trusting him.

But Tim is waiting to be yelled at – waiting to face the good guys’ wrath for simply being clever. And Dick had seen the R on Tim’s sweater. He’s a fan, and he’s been clever, and he’d taken one hell of a beating for a twelve year old kid to be expected to handle.

And he hadn’t talked.

It was more than Dick would’ve expected from most grown-ups. It was as much or even more than he’d expect from adults trained to withstand interrogation.

If Dick needed proof that Tim wasn’t a threat, that was it.

Tim was still staring at him – waiting for his anger. Waiting to be punished.

Jason was staring too – waiting for a reason to get angry himself.

Resolved to let Tim continue to fly under Batman’s radar, Dick doesn’t say anything. He just takes another bite of his pancakes. The bite goes down easier than he expects, validation that his gut trusts Tim on a level beyond instinctual. Something more like kinship.

Tim keeps staring – like he doesn’t quite recognize what it means that Dick is just going on with eating like a major secret affecting both of their lives hasn’t just been exposed – but Jason relaxes. He even flashes Dick what could pass for a smile.

It makes Dick feel like he’s made the right decision all over again.

He’s got very little good history with Jason, but he’s working on his own issues and he thinks that, just maybe, he and Jason can work with this – can use Tim’s hush-hush existence as a bit of common ground to try standing by each other instead of against each other.

Tim is still staring, though.

Still waiting, still worried, still convinced that he’s in trouble.

“Pancakes not to your liking, Tim?” Dick asks, flashing him a grin. It’s not the dazzling, thousand-watt smile that’s always made him shine as a media darling, but it’s still bright and teasing enough to startle Tim. And genuine.

Jason growls before Tim recovers, retorting, “Hey, my pancakes are fantastic, asshole.”

Dick gives a shrug, his smiling building as he feels out Jason’s grumble and realizes that there’s almost no real malice in it – none of the gritty defensiveness he’s used to from Jason.

“They’re, um, great,” Tim replies in a squeak.

With another snort, Jason says, “You haven’t even tried them yet.”

He reaches across the island and swoops a smear of butter onto Tim’s topmost pancake, giving the terrified youngster a mild heart attack. He pushes the syrup across the table with his fork – it’s good stuff, real maple in a ceramic jug – until it clicks pointedly against Tim’s plate.

“Eat.”

Tim picks up his fork, obedient but still anxious and pushes a few bites around before he finally picks one up and forces it into his mouth and down his throat.

Watching as Tim swallows and waiting until it looks like he might take another bite of his own volition, Jason says, “You gotta relax, Timmers. We’re the frickin good guys.”

Dick gives a supportive smile as Tim forces himself to nod.

His eyes jump guiltily to Dick for a moment but then he settles and takes another bite of his pancakes. This time he looks much less like he wants to throw the food back up immediately.

“How’s, um, how’s your leg,” Tim asks. Guilty, which makes Dick’s lungs tighten, but at least he’s speaking up – which means he might be able to be convinced he’s not at fault.

“It’s good,” Jason replies with a shrug. “I’ve gotta stay off it completely for the next week, and I’m benched for the next three, at least, but it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Dick snorts. “You’re supposed to stay off it for three weeks,” Dick counters automatically. He lets himself fall into older-brother over-dive to add, “And B wants to keep you benched for the next two months. Alf might actually put you in a coma if he sees you trying to go down to the Cave before the cast comes off.”

With a shrug, Jason says, “So like two weeks and we call it even.”

Dick tries to claw back the sigh that’s threatening to cut off all his air.

“It was a pretty bad break,” Tim pipes up. He looks slightly guilt-ridden, but he forges on to add, “But it was direct contact to the bone, instead of to a joint, and I’m guessing it was a stable, simple tibia fracture – no skin penetration or muscle tears – and it was either transverse or very slightly oblique, so it should heal cleanly.”

“Not if he bungs it up by trying to do cartwheels on it too quickly,” Dick counters.

“I’m gonna leave the cartwheeling to you, Dickiebird,” Jason replies with a chuckle that’s warm and teasing and so much nicer than the conversations he’s used to having with Jason.

It almost sounds like they’re just talking about your average sports injury, and Tim even joins in a few more times as the discussion shifts to Dick and his penchant for cartwheeling down the long halls of Wayne Manor. Tim’s a fan of the Flying Graysons, and after a little figuring, Dick actually remembers meeting him before – before the show for a picture and a hug and a somersault promise, before Zucco, before his parents fell… before life got so complicated.

Dick and Jason and Tim stay gathered around the island in the Drakes’ kitchen until Tim has completely finished his plate of pancakes without needing to have Jason force him through each bite. And they stay an hour after they’ve cleaned up, and an hour after that too.

They stay until Alfred sends Dick a text to warn him that Bruce is getting antsy with their absence, antsy enough to start wondering where they’ve gone.

Tim looks sad as they start gearing up to head back to the Manor, but Jason assures him that they’ll be back tomorrow – and after school on Monday, assuming Tim actually goes to school on Monday. Neither vigilante would blame him if he wanted to take a day off.

“Why?”

“Because you got beat up by a drug-lord,” Jason told him with a gruff, but affectionate exasperation Dick can hardly believe he’s hearing from the ill-tempered teenager, “That totally warrants a fucking vacation day or two.”

Tim shakes his head. “No, I mean why are you gonna come here? Why’re you here at all, if I’m not in trouble for… you know.” He mumbles through most of the words, falling back into the timid little thing he was when he first saw Dick and Jason standing at his door.

It’s only now that Dick realizes how much he’d managed to come out of that shell.

“We’re checking up on you, baby bird,” Jason huffs, “Duh.”

“But why?”

Tim stands there like the question is perfectly innocent, like it’s not one of the most heartbreaking thing Dick has ever been asked.

If Jason didn’t have a broken leg and crutches to wrestle with, Dick is sure that Tim would be trapped under Jason’s arm getting his hair mussed beyond all possible repair. As it stands, Jason looks halfway to smacking Tim with one of his crutches.

Or smacking whoever made him feel like his current state of being is somehow one that is in any way an acceptable situation for a child.

But Dick smiles and slings an arm around Jason’s shoulders.

“Because we’re Robins,” he says, promising, “And that’s what we do.”

There’s a pause.

And then Tim nods, smiling back in a way that makes Dick’s limbs feel gooey as he goes all warm and fuzzy. He can feel Jason lean into his side, can see that he’s smiling too – not as broadly as Dick is, but the expression is just as genuine. A bit surprised, perhaps, but happy.

The door closes behind them and Jason clambers into his side of the car without beating Dick with his crutches for helping. The drive back to the Manor is just as quick as the one away from it this morning, but not as quiet.

The Robins get themselves on a united platform about having gone to visit Drake as civilians – he’d recognized Jason as a Wayne and they’d gone to commiserate with Jason as a fellow victim of random, rumor fueled violence. They explain again to Bruce that Tim doesn’t know anything about Batman and latch onto Alfred’s concern that the boy’s parents are still out of the country. The Robins volunteer to go over and check on him tomorrow.

At Alfred’s insistence, they agree to spend most of the day there, and several days next week – and bring over some of Alfred’s amazing, high-nutrition cooking.

With all three of them set against Bruce in this, he relents to giving full approval to their plan – assuming that Nightwing patrols with Batman for the next three weeks while Robin remains obediently on bedrest.

The butler sides with Bruce on that one, but he gives the boys a wink behind Bruce’s back and it makes Dick get that warm and fuzzy glow again.

He’s halfway giddy all through that night’s patrol.

Batman notices.

But Dick doesn’t explain when he’s asked about it.

He just says that he and Jason are finally seeing eye to eye about what it means to hero in Gotham, to be Robin… to be a good Robin.

He smiles into the sunrise after a long night of beating up petty thugs on Gotham’s street corners – of looking into and utterly quashing any remaining rumors that Timothy Drake has any information on Batman. And maybe the throws a few extra flips into the maneuvers that carry him from rooftop to rooftop of Gotham’s city skyline.

It’s a beautiful day and Dick resolves to make the most of the chances he’s been given – however unfortunate the circumstances around them. The world is already a slightly better place, and Dick is determined to make it more so, bit by bit.

Because we’re Robins. And that’s what we do.

|| Read on Ao3 | Read on FF.net | Follow my updates on Patreon ||

#BatFam #Batman #Batman & Robin #Jay x Tim #Jason Todd #Jason Todd x Tim Drake #Tim Drake #Dick Grayson

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jjba-hell · 4 years

Text

Take of Prometheus

Ahhh so... the next two pieces I went OVERboard. This is not character specific but very reader driven. As a warning as well- you’ve probably noticed that I do not really do the whole “soft” reader thing. I want to hold my own against anyone, my reader inserts are no different. (Also conversation flow is easier)

Some context for the piece-

Sorbet is the reader’s brother

Reader does possess a stand that can hold souls by the chain that binds them to their bodies- this can be used to keep people “alive” until their bodies can recover or it can be used to kill by breaking those chains on command.

Reader used to work in forensics before getting mixed up with the mafia.

Prompt chosen: Death, more specifically dealing with the aftermath of an important death

Triggers: complicated family dynamics, death of a relative, pretty intense conceptialization of post-mortem operations and uhh that’s it

@lasquadraweek2020 @risottoneroo @giogio-gucci-gangstar and @junosartsthetic

2,5K words and gender neutral reader- seriously, good luck

The irony of holding a funeral service for your brother wasn’t one you thought you’d have to endure but unfortunately for you, it wasn’t your choice.

You rose up from your seat on the chapel pew and started moving towards the back- passing by the rest of your squad who were scattered in their own pattern among their seats- most of them in pairs.

They were, however, the only ones who could attend- not like you and Sorbet had any other family that would grieve among you. That was a choice he had made, one which you were unfortunately dragged into.

The funeral processions went on as usual- with the caskets being carried out of the chapel and taken to the side-by-side graves. You and Risotto were tailing behind the two caskets being carried by the other members. It would have been nice if you felt sad or morose about the whole affair but that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

All you felt was an uncontrollable rage you didn’t want to deal with, much less act on. Perhaps you were still in shock- the manner of your brother’s death seemed so bizarre you hardly believed it wasn’t some twisted trick he was pulling and at the same time you KNEW the cruelty of your Boss was displayed in those formalin glass cases. Gelato’s horrified expression almost surprised you more- that bastard never feared anything.

Risotto gently took hold of your shoulder and pressed you forward towards the lowering coffins. You had the honors of tossing the first handful of dirt.

You moved ahead, knelt down between the two graves and gently let the clumps of moistened dirt slip from your hands. The first handful for Sorbet was because you were family, but for Gelato-you had forged a marriage contract for the two of them to persuade the church to to let them be buried together. The mafia did many unspeakable things but threatening churches was not one of them- probably the Catholic guilt from their homes making itself known.

The rest of the team followed suit, bowing their heads in a prayer you knew had no use- neither one of them were going anywhere good after death.

When the grave keepers started shoveling the rest of the dirt on you didn’t wait to see them finish the job, you simply left to find a private corner to indulge yourself in a cigarette- a habit you thought you had broken.

You pulled the packet and lighter from your back pocket and soon found a particularly deep set angel statue with a wide base to slip onto, at the very back of the church- overlooking a courtyard you saw no purpose for other than looking good.

The first drag had just left your lips before you heard footsteps approaching. You’d recognize that stride anywhere. “Stop following me, Risotto.”

True to your prediction, Risotto rounded the corner on you and with a sigh he held out his hand. You’d caught him killing a cigarette in the alleyway behind the base once before, but you figured that was only because the pressure of looking for your brother was taking a toll on him. He took one of your cigarettes and lit it before returning your pack back to you- not uttering a word to you.

Illuso had once told you he had gotten a lead on how long Risotto had been in the mafia- more specifically La Squadra, you shuddered to hear the answer of 16. You’d only joined after wasting a few years away at medical school- unable to imagine your 16-year-old self killing people then. It takes time to become desensitized to this sort of thing. Maybe that was why all you felt was anger right now. And somehow you could laugh at the almost awkward question Risotto asked you.

“Holding up?”

“I’m fine. Can’t really say I feel anything...‘cept maybe rage.”

He only nodded, bringing the cigarette to his lips once more. “I’m guessing we won’t be receiving any orders or any pay for a while.”

“It’s not the pay, Ris.”

You let the moment slip by for a second. You truly didn’t care about getting paid- you weren’t stupid. Most of you had some emergency nest eggs carved and duct taped into your mattresses.

“I’m mad at my brother.”

“You’re mad at your brother getting caught?”

“I’m mad that after all this time- years after he promised me he stopped gambling, he took the ultimate gamble and fucked us all over one more time.”

Risotto stepped to the other side of the statue base, leaning against it.

“And you believed him?”

“Stupidly, yes- I did. I thought he had what he wanted. The risk, the danger, the blood, guts and gore but it still wasn’t enough. Now I ask you, Risotto Nero- how are we supposed to move on? The Boss doesn’t trust us, we can’t disband or disappear, the money’s already running dry- all we are, are sitting ducks waiting to be slaughtered.”

Risotto didn’t say anything, those black and red eyes gazing back at you with the same cool anger you could only hope you held in your voice.

He stepped forward, held onto your arm and seemed to be using Metallica on both of you. When you gazed down at your own body you were becoming transparent. Eventually neither one of you could be discerned from the shadows. “I’m not going down without a fight.” He grumbled from where you could only guess his face was. “First opportunity I see, I’m going after the Boss myself.”

It would have been a lie if you said you weren’t surprised. Of all people to go after the Boss, Risotto was the one you least expected to act out.

Metallica wore off and you were back to watching Risotto take a drag from his cigarette. Of course you understood why- why wait to have your throat slit when you could do something to prevent the person from getting to you, it was only stupid because you were running towards the one holding them knife.

“I’m not gonna sugar-coat it, y/n. I know how it feels to lose family, blood family and I need to make one thing very clear.”

He killed the cigarette under his foot and then looked you straight on. “I couldn’t even wish to succeed at this mission without you.”

Life within La Squadra, or specifically Passione, had started off rather innocently a few years back. You had made it into a state mortuary- proud of how far you’d come on your own. By that time, Gelato had become the newest addition to the apartment you shared with your brother. Sorbet never disclosed to you what exactly he did but you’d had your suspicions that whatever it was, it was probably illegal. At the time, you didn’t care...by then you could pay for the apartment yourself, should he ever disappear. It wasn’t like you were THAT close.

It was just that one night, when he and Gelato came stumbling into the apartment- bloody, beaten and a little drunk when everything suddenly started to go downhill. Both of them had stab wounds littering their bodies and you initially wanted to take them to the hospital but they were adamant that you not even look at the phone to call for anyone else.

So you stitched them up yourself. Big mistake.

For no sooner than that same night you came back from work did you find another gang mate asking to be stitched up.

One right after the other- your time was spent with dissecting people during the day and stitching the living back together at night. Of course the gang couldn’t have you as a possible liability- possibly babbling about what awaited you when you got home so you ended up having to join, your job abandoned and because of Sorbet, you ended up in La Squadra as a medic. Or at least so you thought until they started bringing you along on missions so often that you ended up killing all on your own.

You suppose that’s why you felt like you couldn’t mourn Sorbet’s death- if not for him, you might have still been living a normal life.

“You mean my stand.” You narrowed your eyes at Risotto and for once he huffed a bit of laughter- the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Maybe a bit of your brains on the side as well?”

In the stare off you two held for a second you were reminded of everything you had been through since Delivery day.

You couldn’t imagine having to send your brother’s body to the crematorium or anywhere in the state it was in. The responsibility to get it into presentable condition suddenly fell upon you...

It was labor intensive- you had to use a false structure- something resembling his original skeleton- that you could glue and stitch all his severed pieces back together. Dead bodies were not something new to you, he didn’t mean enough for you to care... yet it still made you vomit every time you had to roll the pieces back into the freezer to work on later.

By the time you had finished, Melone asked you what you’d think Sorbet would have wanted- cremation or burial.

You chose burial as a joke- knowing the vain bastard would rather be lowered into the ground in pieces than have his ashes mixed with anyone else’s, the exception being Gelato’s of course.

You just didn’t quite expect Risotto to take you seriously- needless to say it wasn’t an open casket though.

You broke off your gaze from Risotto with a sigh- looking out over the picture perfect grounds in front of you.

It was Risotto who spoke out eventually. “I can’t pretend to know what’s going on inside your head, y/n. The decision remains yours to make, I won’t coerce you. Just know that if we go to hell, we’re dragging the Boss with us.”

With that he walked away in the opposite direction he came from, leaving you to steep in his words.

You said nothing as you took your own cab to your apartment that was now halfway packed away in boxes- shoved into what you could now consider a spare bedroom so that you could at least plop down on the couch without having to run an obstacle race. Not like you wanted to have any reminders of the ghosts of your brother and his boyfriend.

However you soon came to understand that that was inevitable...

Every damn thing you came across in the apartment reminded you of them- the kitchen counter that hosted so many botched up people they had brought to you, the busted up microwave display Gelato had hit with a baseball bat... then you remembered the batch of unfolded laundry sitting in the basket that held more of their clothes than it did your own.

You shoved the apartment door shut behind you and with a groan slid down with your back against the door.

What exactly you were feeling, you were unsure. Were you truly mad at them? Or was that just a guise to hide how much your heart ached that you had lost all blood relative you had? You should be happy, shouldn’t you? He dragged you into this mess, didn’t he? You were stuck here until you’d eventually be killed by it- that was enough to hate him and rejoice at his passing but he remained the one person you’ve ever truly had by your side.

You curled in on your knees, banging your head against your knees in frustration.

“Well, I suppose I owe Risotto an apology.”

You peered up at Prosciutto who was now looking down his nose at you. Of all people to send to check up on you, Risotto chose him?

“What do you want?” You grumbled back at him.

He shrugged, nonchalantly gazing at the hallway around your apartment door. “Risotto tried to convince you of something at the church but I wanted to pitch an alternative to you- if you’re interested.”

You rose up and gave him a side-eye. “I haven’t decide on anything.”

“I’m aware, let’s talk.” He continued as he opened the door behind you, letting you slip in first.

“I’ll be frank dolcezza, nothing is going to bring your brother back and from what I’ve seen from you, you don’t want him back either.” He was talking over his shoulder at you.

“Where is this going, Pros?” You frowned back at him from the front door.

“I’m saying, fuck revenge and fuck your brother.” He turned around to talk to you head on. “You said it yourself- we’re sitting ducks until the Boss decides we’re not and we’re being paid worse than the dealers under some capos. What’s worse is there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“And how does that amount to repeating Sorbet’s mistake?”

Prosciutto sat down on the couch, reaching into his pocket for his cigarette holder. “See it this way, help take down the Boss and either die trying- getting out of the gang if we succeed. OR sit here, do nothing and wait to be taken out of the Boss.”

You took the now lit cigarette from his fingers and brought it to your own mouth. “I’m not stupid, Pros. You didn’t need to come here and explain everything to me like Pesci.”

You moved over to find the crystal ashtray from the kitchen.

“It’s my brother’s death I can’t quite seem to come to terms on.”

You returned the ashtray to the coffee table in front of Prosciutto, taking another drag before handing it back to him.

“Oh come on. What has that bastard ever done to help you?”

“He got me through my first years as a student...he was all I had after our parents died.” You blurted out as you slid off the arm rest of one of the couches to slouch into the single-seater. “Now you tell me- are you really mourning their deaths or are just scared of the message the Boss sent?”

Prosciutto seemed to mull that question over as his cigarette burned out slowly between his fingers.

“We’re mourning. I suppose if you depend on each other as much as we do- it becomes habit to care.”

He didn’t meet your gaze as he uttered those words- killing the cigarette in the ashtray before getting up and striding his way towards the door.

“What was that alternative you wanted to talk to me about?” You called back at him just as he was about to disappear out of sight.

“Simply put? Stay on stand by for when things get ugly for us- if we make it- you get a free ticket out of this shit show.”

#la squadra #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #risotto nero #lasquadraweek2020 #jojo part 5 #jojo golden wind #prosciutto #I hate it #I absolutely hate it but there it is

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loveforpreserumsteve · 4 years

Text

Those Who Fall: “APTF” Story (Modern Domestic Stucky AU)

Two:

"Sophia has swim practice at five," Steve reminded Bucky, stirring lukewarm rice cereal for Holly. "And I can't be there because I have parent-teacher conferences, so I really need you to be there."

"Swim practice at five," Bucky repeated, pouring brownie flavored coffee into Steve's thermos for him, "Got it. I'll be there."

Steve nodded and started feeding the ten month old. Around a mouthful of scrambled eggs and lightly burnt toast, their oldest, Luke said, "Remember, marching band doesn't get over until seven tonight because we're getting ready for Homecoming."

"Shoot! That's right," Steve momentarily set down the small bowl of baby food and grabbed the stack of ghost shaped post-it notes by the fridge and wrote a reminder for himself. Making sure that he wouldn't forget, he stuck it to his phone, and then got back to feeding the sassiest of the bunch.

Inadvertently making a funny face as he fed the baby, by opening his own mouth in hopes that she'd open hers. Most times, she did. When a mess happened, he used the spoon to collect the mush off her light pink-white face and told Luke, "I'll swing by to pick you up after I'm done with conferences."

"That's okay," the teen exclaimed just a little too quickly to not be suspicious. Wiping his mouth on the back of his dark olive-brown hand, he clunkily recovered, "I have a ride."

"You do?" Bucky asked, brows quirked high on his forehead. Steve turned around to exchange a look with Bucky while Luke nodded his confirmation and Bucky questioned, "Who?"

"Oh, uh," a red tint started to color his still childish-chubby cheeks and he looked everywhere but at either of his dads, "Just some friends. Other band kids."

"Stacy," Sophia sing-songed while she pushed her choppy black bangs away from her almond shaped eyes.

"That's not even her name," Luke glared at the eight year old and sneered under his breath, "Shut up!"

Sophia's mouth dropped open and she instantly tattled, "Daddy, Luke told me to shut up!"

"Shut up!" Luke said, louder, with wide eyes.

"Daddy, Luke told me --"

"Shut up!" Ethan, their six year old foster son, copied his idol, the older boy.

"Daddy, Ethan --"

"Luke, don't tell your sister to, 'shut up.'" Bucky reprimanded around a mouthful of eggs, "Ethan, don't copy your older brother. Especially when he's saying a No-No Phrase."

Luke rolled his eyes at that, but didn't say anything. Instead he stood from the island and brought his plate around to the sink. Rinsing it first, he set it in the dishwasher before making his way back upstairs to his room. Steve glanced at the clock to check the time.

Once Holly started getting fussy and made a mess because she wasn't hungry anymore, Steve decided that it was time for him to get the rest of the kids ready. Setting the half-full bowl in the sink, Steve wiped her round face, and noted the way her bottom lip was quivering.

As Steve lifted her from the high chair, Bucky noticed it too and playfully pretended as though he was going to eat her tiny hand. Instantly, Holly giggled and Steve pressed a sweet kiss to Bucky's cheek. Of course, that caused the eight year old and six year old still at the island to mock gags while they complained about the PDA.

Playfully rolling his eyes, Steve shook his head and carried the baby upstairs. Passing the kids' bathroom, Steve noticed Luke digging through the drawers as he looked for something. Switching Holly to his other hip, Steve paused at the open door.

"Need help?" Steve asked.

Sighing, the fifteen year old stood upright and threw his head back as he explained, "I can't find my sponge."

"Well," Steve thought for a moment. But Steve didn't get a lot of sleep and he had a fussy baby on his hip, "Maybe it's in your room."

"It's not going to --"

"Just look, please?" Steve interrupted. Switching hips again, Steve assured, "As soon as I get Holly dressed, I'll help look for it. Okay?"

Although he wasn't happy about it, he still agreed. Nodding, he exited the bathroom and into his bedroom. Not wanting to take too long dilly dallying, Steve entered Holly's room and immediately changed her out of her footie pajamas. Since it was October, Steve decided on an appropriate outfit. Black leggings dotted with metallic gold pumpkins and a matching white sweater with a large metallic gold pumpkin on the front.

"Let's go help bub!" Steve exaggerated as he placed the ten month old on his hip once more and carried her into the bathroom.

Rummaging through the vanity drawers, Steve looked underneath hairbrushes and combs and wondered why the hell they had so many when only four children were currently living with them. Looked underneath the bows and scrunchies, and extra toothbrushes. Nothing. Nada. The sponge wasn't there.

"Did you find it?"

Turning around to find the hopeful teen, Steve's shoulders slumped and he shook his head. "Sorry, bud." Trying to think of where it could be, he asked, "Have you checked in the downstairs bathroom?"

"No," Luke sighed and turned to walk downstairs. Under his breath, he muttered, "Why would it be in the downstairs bathroom?"

Sighing himself, Steve kissed Holly's temple and finger combed her wild red curls. Heading back downstairs, Sophia passed him on the staircase. On a whim, Steve stopped her and asked, "Have you seen Luke's sponge?"

A glimpse of guilt flashed across her expression as she shrugged and went to run upstairs. Steve narrowed his eyes suspiciously and backtracked up the steps. Following his daughter to her room and simply standing there in the open doorway as he repeated, "Have you see Luke's sponge?"

The way that Sophia purposely didn't look at him was answer enough. With a sigh, he said, "I need you to give it back."

"But then Barbie won't have a bed!" Sophia argued, her thin lower lip pouting while she stomped her foot.

"Barbie already has a bed, it's attached to the cottage's wall," Steve answered walking into the bedroom. Bypassing the two spare beds to reach the blue Barbie Dream Cottage. Only, he didn't find it.

Straightening up, Steve quirked a brow at her, and she pointed over to the aisle between two of the beds. Sheepishly, she clarified, "Barbie went camping."

Despite himself, he couldn't help the grin stretch at his lips as he set Holly on the floor and got down to his hands and knees. Under the bed, a miniature pink and purple tent was set up. Lifting it, he found the black Barbie doll, "sleeping," on the large sponge. Specifically on the egg carton foam-like side, which Steve found amusing.

"No," Sophia said.

Standing up, Steve watched as Sophia tried to keep Holly from leaving the bedroom. Although she had nothing to worry about with the baby gate at the top of the stairs, it warmed Steve's heart to see that she did care. Especially with the way she was when she came to live with them two and a half years ago. It filled Steve up with love seeing that growth.

"Pops! Did you find --" Cutting himself off, Luke's eyes were trained on the sponge and then they glared at his sister, "I told you to keep your hands off my stuff!"

"But Barbie needed a bed!" Sophia argued as though it made perfect sense.

"You can't just take things that aren't yours!"

"Papa!" Sophia whined.

Lifting Holly into his arms once more, Steve shook his head and confirmed, "It's not nice to take things that aren't yours without asking. How would you feel if Ethan took your Barbie?"

Sighing Sophia got it, and she said, "Sorry, Luke."

As Steve handed the sponge to Luke, he lifted brows expectantly and gave the eight year old a pointed look. Rolling his eyes, Luke sighed, "It's okay."

Steve simply shook his head. Luke was already rubbing the sponge along his hair in circular motions. Creating twists and defined curls as he entered the bathroom. Sophia followed after him and he helpfully handed her, her glittery purple Little Mermaid brush. Although they fought more often than not, Steve wouldn't trade it for anything. The little moments when they got along was everything to Steve.

#a place to fall #jump then fall #those who fall #bonus #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #marvel #fanfic #wattpad #ao3 #modern au #domestic life #fluff #smut #otp

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cubedcoffeecake · 6 years

Text

Unfortunately, That Was Better in Theory

Pairing: gen Drarry

Word Count: ~3200

Beta'd by the AMAZING @drarrytingz. Much love to her. <3 This is the top right corner square of my board for HD Birthday Bash's first challenge, Fic Tac Toe. The picture is of Hogwarts at night, and my brain went right to first year. So, understandably, the Drarry is far from romantic at this point. The story somehow started picking up headcanons as it snowballed down the hill, though, so I have to admit that this is only very loosely based on the actual prompt. Also posted on Ao3. I hope you enjoy!

It was terrifying, sneaking out of the dorms at night. Draco couldn’t fathom why Potter did it so much. Initially, he thought Potter just enjoyed the freedom of it, but this wasn’t freedom. This wasn’t just getting to do whatever you wanted, which was an admittedly pleasing thought. This was knowing that you’d face horrible consequences if anyone saw you—consequences heavy enough to negate any enjoyment. He had a mission, though, and it was a noble one.

From the time Draco was a small child, he had loved dragons. They were mighty, and strong, and beautiful, and special. They were a remnant of the times of wizards past, when dragons were commonly known by both Muggles and magical alike. All of the Ancient Noble Houses claimed some convoluted connection to dragons. They were associated with riches, and with preserving your own. Everything Draco was and wanted to be could be found in a dragon.

Adoring dragons and owning them, however, were very different. Mother and Father encouraged him to admire dragons, but ensured he never forgot that dragons’ most noteworthy trait was their independence. They did not share their hoard. They did not fly with others. They were great, but they were solitary. They had neither masters nor friends. Dragons were meant to be remembered and respected, but admired from afar. Owning one was a preposterous concept that disregarded and denied dragons their independence, and always ended poorly for the foolish “owner.” Draco wanted to be like a dragon, but he knew not to want one.

Hagrid, however, was a fool. No matter how great the creature, he always believed that he could be both their owner and their friend. As if dragons had either! “Raising a dragon egg” was an insult!

Draco had known the moment he heard of this travesty that he had to put a stop to it. The authorities would kill it, though, and dragon reserves were too scrupulous for the appearance of a random dragon egg not to arouse suspicion. Draco had to find a way to alert the professors. Surely, they would take the matter to the school board, and Father would ensure the dragon was given sanctuary! It was the only way everything would work out. The only problem was, Draco had to catch Potter with the egg, or Hagrid would have a chance to hide it, which would only cause more trouble.

In Draco’s mind, using Potter’s own nightly stint against him would work perfectly. Aside from the minor rule-breaking on his part, this was a chance for everything to go smoothly.

Chances meant nothing, as it turned out. The dragon was now beyond Draco’s help and he had not only broken the rules, but also fallen for Potter’s ruse and was, therefore, a fool. Professor Snape may have believed him, but whether or not Draco was in the right would not matter to Father. He had been caught. No matter how wonderful your intentions, they’re meaningless if you’re caught.

A Malfoy had not received detention in four generations, and no Malfoy had ever been in a detention as severe as Draco’s. No Malfoy had ever lost Slytherin as many points at once as Draco had, and many Malfoys had not lost that many points during their entire time at Hogwarts. Many, Draco thought, was more likely most. Though Father was softening the blows a bit in his letters, Draco knew the underlying message was true.

He had been at Hogwarts for less than a semester, and had already sullied his family name—the one thing he was trying hardest not to do. So, as frustrated and worried as Draco was leading up to his detention, he knew he deserved it, at least to some extent. Though he was giving Vincent and Gregory an earful about the unfairness of it all, Draco knew it was more unpleasant than unfair.

Well, that’s what Draco had thought before learning that he would be entering the Forbidden Forest. There was nothing fair about that. Had Father known? Surely, this must be illegal!

The bushes crackled, and Draco jumped. He had read all about the kinds of creatures that occupied the Forest, and heard of the lesser known ones from Father. Draco used to believe the Forbidden Forest would be similar to the ones he enjoyed exploring on the Malfoy lands, but they were in fact extremely different. Malfoy forests had mice and nice little rat snakes, swift and shining, but ultimately harmless. There were owls and hawks and songbirds, toads and beetles and worms, buzzing insects he knew better as potion ingredients, deer, foxes, and some other harmless small creatures. Few things magical, though, outside of a few benign creatures and plants also commonly used in potions.

In the Forbidden Forest, though….

As Draco trudged along by Potter and his Gryffindor cronies, his mind was filled with visions of werewolves and centaurs and too-big cats with too-big teeth, and twisted magical versions of foxes that worked in packs to disorient you and then eat you, and fish with teeth as long as his fingers, and poisonous toads, vicious disease-bearing insects, deadly flora, and whatever was apparently killing unicorns, some unknown monster beyond imagination that no one knew how to combat. Draco had been afraid many times in his life, but he had never been so acutely afraid of his own death before. His only solace was that Hagrid, brute that he was, might be a more desirous food source for whatever they’d encounter. Perhaps Draco would have time to run while it ate him. He could grab Potter, too, maybe, drag him with him. Even gits like Potter didn’t really deserve a death that terrible. As long as it got to Hagrid first….

No, but of course, Draco was paired with Potter while the other two got Hagrid and a feral dog that was as likely to attack them as anything of the Forest. He’d changed his mind. Potter could die as horribly as he wanted, Draco was just going to run.

Unfortunately, running worked better in theory than in practice.

Yes, of course, Draco and Potter encountered the unicorn-killing beast. Humanoid, horrifying, and looking like it would eat them next. And of course, Draco followed his plan and ran, leaving Potter to be eaten first.

It was faster, though—so much faster. Which would’ve been all right, as it did indeed go straight for Potter, but…

Draco had gotten into this mess because he cared too much. He could pretend to be as logical and cold-hearted and calculating as could be asked of him, but in reality, he was willing to break a school rule and endanger his own status to save a dragon. Draco couldn’t just leave Potter behind at the mercy of that… that… thing.

He stopped, and he turned around, and he tried to think of the strongest, nastiest curse he’d ever heard Father cast. Not an Unspeakable, Draco knew you couldn’t cast those until you were older… not anything that would mess with the mind, who knew if it even had one…but it needed to cause extreme physical harm…

Too long! He was thinking too much! It had grabbed Potter by the neck, and now he was screaming, screaming, screaming. Draco couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but there was blood everywhere, both red, human blood and the priceless silvery unicorn blood already turning black as he watched. Why was he still just watching? It was reaching its other hand up; it was going to snap Potter’s neck, oh Merlin, he was going to watch someone die. Merlin Merlin Merlin, where was Fang? How could Draco do anything if the terrifying hellhound had fled?!

There was a sound, echoing over Potter’s screams. Laughter. It was laughing as it reached to snap Potter’s neck, and… that was it. Rage overpowered Draco’s terror. He didn’t know what he incanted, or if he spoke at all. He simply cast, wildly, and it looked up at him, but his magic was faster than even its reflexes, and Draco’s magic launched it across the clearing with an inhuman howl. It hit the ground by the unicorn with a crunch.

Draco paused for a moment as what he’d just done sunk in.. He’d… he’d attacked it. Oh Merlin, it was going to wake up and kill them both now!

“Potter!” he cried, running forward. “Potter, get up! We have to go now, before it comes back over!”

“I—what?” Potter started to sit up as Draco reached him, but his eyes were dazed and unfocused. With a grimace, Draco guessed that Potter probably wouldn’t be okay enough to think for a while. Hopefully, he was just recovering from the lack of oxygen; if he was concussed, Draco likely would not be able to help him escape the Forest in time.

“Look here, Potter. You are going to do exactly what I say, and you’re going to do it quickly, and we’re going to live. Yes? Yes?!”

“Yes! I—okay,” Potter stuttered.

That was enough answer for Draco, who grabbed Potter’s arm and pulled up. He couldn’t hear any noise from the clearing, which wasn’t nearly as reassuring as it should have been. Potter scrambled to comply with Draco’s tugs, and together they got him upright. Immediately, Draco started pulling them into a run toward where he thought the edge of the Forest probably was...hopefully. Potter stumbled more than ran, but Draco’s vice-like grip kept him upright and moving.

“Where are—do we have a plan? Or are we just running?” Potter huffed after a minute, beginning to run more on his own power than Draco’s. He seemed far too calm for the situation; Draco was so scared he couldn’t articulate an answer. After a moment, Potter must have realized this, as he suddenly started yelling for Hagrid’s mutt, which… was actually brilliant. Draco joined in with the yelling. The unicorn killer was probably on their tail already—though Draco couldn’t bring himself to look back and check.

There was a sharp crack to their right, and Draco gasped. At the same moment that Fang leaped through the bushes, Draco lost his footing and fell, his ankle cracking more sharply than the twigs Fang had snapped.

“Fang! Thank Merlin, he can show us the way—oh no, Malfoy?!”

A distant part of his head registered that someone—Potter, probably—was speaking, but Draco couldn’t focus on it. All he could feel was the shooting pain in his lower leg, the thudding of his heart, the lightness in his head, and the soft but solid ground under him. His eyes drifted shut, and he let out a shallow breath. Draco could feel himself losing consciousness, but wasn’t fighting it, until he felt a hand on his shoulder, distracting him from the pain and his heart and his breathing, and bringing the terrified begging, “Please don’t pass out, Malfoy, please, I don’t know what to do—” into focus.

Potter, he realized. I—I have to get up. I have to get up. He doesn’t know what to do. I have to get up. Draco’s breath rushed back to him, and he pushed himself off the ground just enough to roll over, wincing at the pain that shot through his leg.

“Oh, thank Merlin! Malfoy, are you alright? I don’t know where it is, but it can’t be too far behind us, just enough that Fang isn’t scared, I think—oh—oh—your ankle… it shouldn’t bend like that.” Potter sounded like he might be green in the face.

“Brilliant, Potter,” he groused, “but I did notice.” For once Potter didn’t rise to the bait.

“You’re gonna—we’re gonna need to find somewhere to hide, for the night, and then we can have Fang lead us out in the morning, I—I can help you walk, I think….”

“No! Well, I… I…” Draco didn’t have a better idea. “Okay.”

“O—Okay. Yeah. Here, let’s just, I’ll drag you under those bushes over there. Yeah. Can I grab under your arms?”

“I suppose.”

“Alright… here we go… I’ve got you… Ouch, you’re heavier than you look!”

“Are you calling me fat?! Now, here?!”

“No!”

“Maybe you’re just weak.”

“I am not! How could you—can you not? For one minute?!”

“Not what? Point out your stupidity?”

“Yes! I mean, no! I’m not stupid—”

Suddenly, Fang whined, and both boys gasped and fell silent. Potter nearly dropped Draco as he quickly looked around. There were a bunch of glowing eyes in the trees behind them.

“Oh Merlin—we’re going! Help me, please, if you can?” Potter said quickly, sounding panicked. Draco’s heart was pounding again, and he tried to use his uninjured leg to push himself along.

The eyes disappeared for a moment, just to suddenly reappear all around them. Everywhere. Draco screamed.

Draco thought he’d woken up, for a moment, but all he could see were faint, swimming lights. Dull ones, at that. His body felt weightless, with some kind of light pressure all over. He drifted away—no, he couldn’t have, he’d never been awake in the first place.

When he awoke again, however, it was to pain and screaming. His pain, not his screaming. Harry…Harry’s screaming. Potter. Oh, Merlin.

Eyes shooting open, Draco gasped as he blurrily surveyed his surroundings. There was movement everywhere, and Potter was still screaming—though it sounded more like a battle cry than Draco thought his ever had. Looking closer… oh.

Spiders. All of the movement was from spiders. Huge, hairy spiders that were all revolving around Potter, who…

Well, Potter was just curled against a tree, and when Draco realized there was a giant snake separating him from the spiders… he fainted. Not from terror, of course; it was entirely due to his injuries. He’d swear it later. Injured, remember? Ankle.

“Malfoy. Malfoy! Are you in there? Please, please wake up… I don’t… I don’t know what I’ll… you cannot die. Do you hear me?!”

“Of course I hear you, you never shut up,” Draco mumbled. Then he paused. “Wait.”

“I’ll explain everything! Just, whoa, I don’t think… that you can—should! That you should stand yet,” Potter stuttered as Draco tried to push himself upright.

“I—” Draco had too little leverage. He didn’t know what was going on at all. He’d been in the Forest… with Potter… unicorn-eater… spiders. Giant snake. “Yes. Explain. Everything. Now.”

Potter looked disbelieving and exasperated. Good. Draco shouldn’t be the only one miserable here.

“So… we were both, um, attacked by spiders? Really big ones. I think they attacked us. But yeah, we—I, woke up in a spider web… cocoon? All wrapped up in silk. And I was… well I didn’t have my wand, so… powerless, I guess. Couldn’t do anything.

“I just started crying for help as loudly as I could. I called for Fang, and Hagrid, and McGonagall…even Snape, eventually. I thought he might care about you enough to look, and all. But no one answered or anything, so I started calling for anyone to help us, please, and all of a sudden I heard someone! They answered! Something about hearing a speaker, and that being rare or something, and that they’d save me! I mean, us; I insisted they save us both….”

“A… mysterious voice. Agreed to save you.”

“Us!”

“Uh huh.”

“It did!”

“Oh, so go on. How was I saved by this wonderful voice?”

Potter appeared to be full of righteous indignation for his friend, the disembodied voice. “They cut us free from the spiders’ ropes! And then chased off the spiders!” Wait. Wait.

“Potter...was this disembodied voice a giant snake?!”

Potter froze. “You… woke up during that?” he asked tentatively, starting to… blush? “I swear, Malfoy, I was just screaming because I was disoriented. I grabbed you as soon as I realized what was going on!”

“You talked to a snake! Do you know what that means?”

“I’m not as stupid as you thought I was?”

“You’re a Parselmouth!” Draco screeched.

“Can you at least stick with insults I understand?” Potter complained.

“No, you utter imbecile! Being able to speak Parseltongue is a blood-given magical ability passed down in the most powerful descendants of Salazar Slytherin, that allows the witch or wizard to speak to snakes—and some variations of dragon—and cast some spells wandlessly because it is a distilled language of literal magic! You don’t learn it, can’t learn it, but if you speak it, you automatically know everything about it! Perfect grammar, full vocabulary… Potter, you being a Parselmouth means you are the greatest Slytherin to grace Hogwarts’ halls since… I don’t even know! Slytherin himself, perhaps! The Dark Lord was also a Parselmouth, but you’ve bested him, which makes you a stronger Parselmouth, and… Merlin.” Draco gasped in a few breaths and stared dazedly at a tree. He now knew a Parselmouth. He’d been saved from giant spiders in the Forbidden Forest by a Parselmouth. He’d…

“But… I’m a Gryffindor!”

He’d forgotten that Potter was also stupid.

“That’s your personality, not your magic identity,” Draco recited. “I don’t remember the rest of that drivel, it’s in Hogwarts: A History somewhere, but it’s a true bit. I’d hate to room with you or Weasley, but all that means is that I like a quiet, clean dorm room, not that I can never do a brave thing, or be bold. They have nothing to do with each other. No, Potter, you’re definitely a Parselmouth.” Draco was gazing dreamily again.

Potter’s jaw hung open for a moment, and he seemed insulted, for some reason, but Draco went on, not paying him much attention.

“Parselmouths have a unique advantage over ordinary wizards, just like Metamorphmagi, for example. Most known Parselmouths have either become hermits, so they can live peacefully with mostly snakes and natural magic for their company, or have become strong leaders of something or another. In those cases, they’re usually untouchable because the level of servitude they receive from serpents makes it terrifying to even think of assassinating them…”

“Stop!”

Draco jumped and looked over at Potter.

“I don’t even want to know how you know this much about this stuff, but all I’m hearing is you spouting off facts about people who are…” Potter’s voice was trembling. “Who are not me, and are not stuck in the Forbidden Forest with another injured person. Yeah, I talked to a snake, they saved us from the spiders, but from now on, we’re on our own. All that about… greatness? Was that the moral of the story? That can wait. Right now, we need to live.”

At first Draco was hurt, a feeling that soon became offense. Moral?! He wasn’t a bloody Gryffindor! Potter had a great gift! He was equipping him with knowledge, as a fellow Slytherin! That hadn’t been Potter’s point, though. As soon as his ankle was mentioned, the pain in it returned with a vengeance, and Draco faced the truth. Potter was right. They must escape the Forest, and they must do it quickly.

“It’s… it’s morning light right now. You were right, a few minutes ago,” Draco said softly, “Headmaster Dumbledore will be sending out professors soon to look for us. We should be alright, if we can stay awake...are you...injured? Should I try to wrap anything?” Though the offer was extended awkwardly, Draco did it anyway. This was no longer just another ignorant, Muggle-raised peer. Potter was going to be great.

#oneshot #my post #drarry #hogwarts era #harry potter #draco malfoy #first year #fic tac toe #hp #fanfiction #short story #preslash

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askthelittleassistant · 7 years

Text

A Shopping Trip

((Sorry for taking so long with this one, hopefully y’all enjoy! P.S. This is a continuation of Dark Days, so be sure to read that first if you want a bit more context!))

Dark closed his eyes, adjusted his suit, and took a deep breath.

What does he say to someone who’s practically gone through hell and back?

“Hello, how are you recovering? My apologies for causing you extreme distress and anguish, would you like to come with me to a mall as my apology for nearly ending your life?”

He groaned and rolled his eyes. “This is ridiculous… Why did I think this would be a good idea?” He recalled the past few weeks after Doctor Iplier had patched Shop up after Dark’s… outburst. The doctor had to repeatedly ask Dark to leave the room, as his ringing would seemingly increase around her, making it very hard for the doctor to concentrate.

Soon, Shop was discharged from Doc’s office, being sent home under strict orders to rest and recover, lest Dark lose his dear assistant. This make the ego’s home a little quieter, and a little more dirty…

And now, here he was, hesitant to announce his presence to Shop. He had to remind himself that she wouldn’t just hear him step up to her doorstep, seeing as he was, regrettably, human sized. For the moment at least. Dark, or anyone else for that matter, could never figure out how exactly Bim could change other’s sizes, as it seemed to happen at random, and for random intervals of time.

Dark hoped this time was one of longer duration.

He exhaled deeply through his nose and lifted his fist, hesitating a moment before knocking softly against the door.

There was silence, a bit too long for his liking, before the door’s lock turned and Dark snapped to attention, the frame opening cautiously.

“Hello-”

Shop’s eyes widened in the doorway as she stared up at Dark in muted shock. He smiled with the knowledge that even at this feeble size, he still stood above her.

“Hello Shop. I do hope you don’t mind me ‘dropping in’ as it were… I, er, wanted to see how you were…recovering and…”

Dark looked up from his stuttered speech to see that Shop was still gawking in the open doorway, in her pajamas of all things. How early was it?

“You can stop staring dear, I’m not here to cause you harm or take you back, I simply wish to… treat you for your efforts. And… *sigh* to apologize for… my earlier actions.” Dark shook his head slightly and closed his eyes at the statement. Why should he have to apologize when she was the one who made him angry in the first place? Dark looked up once more from his silent debate, growing annoyed with Shop’s still shocked expression, snapping his fingers in her face.

“SHOP!”

“ACK! S-sorry! Agh…” Shop winced a bit as she jerked back, holding her chest lightly as she took a deep breath. “Sorry… this is just… a big surprise, or, well I guess it’d be a smaller surprise, hah…”

Dark rolled his eyes with a groan, about to snap at the aching girl before he’s met with her dejected smile and tired frame. This made something churn inside Dark and made him pause before he spoke again.

“Ha, well, yes, I suppose you are correct in that statement, I believe Bim’s strange ability DID come in handy for this occasion… May I?” Dark commented before he gestured to the interior of the house.

“Oh, yeah, sure, come on in!” Shop chirped before stepping to the side. “I guess I can make some breakfast for us… Um, you do realize it’s like, 6 in the morning, right?”

Dark smirked and shook his head “Best to get a head start no? You and I both know how it is when it comes to our ‘hilarious’ size shenanigans. I don’t feel like dealing with the militia or what have you with reports of a giant attacking a mall.”

“…You have a good point there. Uh… lemme just get changed and then I’ll make breakfast, feel free to help yourself to something to drink!” Shop said, still a bit in disbelief as Dark waved her off.

Shop made sure to change as quick as her body would allow, her chest starting to burn from over-exertion. She opened the door back towards the kitchen and was hit with the smells of breakfast being cooked, a sizzling sound accompanying the scent.

Shop turned the corner and was met with the sight of Dark cooking some eggs and bacon on the stove, his suit coat draped over a chair and his sleeves rolled up.

“Ah, hello again…” Dark paused, seeing the brace Doc had ordered for his assistant peeking out from under Shop’s loose tank top. Dark grimaced at the thought of how pain she was still in and forced the most genuine smile he could.

“I figured, since you had all the necessary ingredients… and it has been some time since I had properly cooked… well, how do you like your eggs?” Dark lifted the pan to avoid any further awkwardness, watching how Shop grabbed her sides, as though to massage them as she stepped closer, peering over and past Dark’s arm to the pan.

“Oh, uh, scrambled is fine, thanks…” Shop curiously patted Dark’s shoulder, making him look down at her curiously as she moved to a pantry. “You might need to add some seasonings though, heh.”

“Ah, of course, that does make sense doesn’t it?” Dark nodded in agreement, thanking Shop for the recommendation as he took the extra ingredients from her, raising an eyebrow as she ducked her head to avoid eye contact, making him chuckle.

“There is no need to act so submissively dear, you are not ‘on duty’, as it were.” Dark hesitantly touched her shoulder lightly, as though she would crumple under his touch. He wasn’t quite used to comforting anyone, but he knew Shop well enough to know what she was thinking at that point in time.

Shop felt herself blush at his touch, making her chest ache and her face scrunch up in pain.

“Shop? Have you taken your medication the doctor prescribed?” Dark looked on worriedly.

“I just woke up a half an hour ago, damn.” Shop hissed at Dark’s question, taking a deep breath. “Sorry… didn’t mean to snap at you, ugh… I’ll take it before we eat…”

Dark nodded, feeling something new within his body as he stepped back, a lighter than air feeling when Shop had said ‘we’.

It would have been just as easy for her to say ‘I��, after all, since Dark wasn’t exactly planning on eating, but the simple thought that Shop continued to think of him, even through her pain… the idea fascinated him. What fascinated him more so was the idea that he might actually care for this human-

“Dark?”

Dark snapped out of his thoughts as Shop looked back at him, holding the fridge open.

“I was asking what you wanted to drink, you alright?”

“Yes, yes I’m fine, orange juice will do.”

The rest of the early morning went well, the two sharing a meal and planning the rest of the day, or at least, what they could do so long as Dark stayed as he was.

The monochromatic man stayed largely silent as Shop chattered on excitedly about everywhere she wished to take Dark, only speaking up to agree or dismiss Shop’s worries, assuring her this was all a treat on his behalf. He found comfort in her calm smile; admittedly, Dark had thought it would be much harder to win back Shop’s trust, but it would seem that she had already forgiven him…

Soon, the two made it to the mall. It had taken some time, since Dark had to convince Shop to let him drive, but other than that, he found the drive to be enjoyable, finding himself trying not to smile as Shop rambled on with stories and sang along with the radio as much as she could. It baffled Dark how cheery she could be in light of recent events, or maybe she had just moved on from said events, as he admitted to himself he needed to do as well.

The trouble began when Shop noticed that Dark seemed a bit taller than he previously was, with her noting that she had gone from being level with his chin to being level with his shoulder.

“No wonder all these bags started feeling lighter…”

“…Was that a joke?...”

“Perhaps? I am not so sure that is important right now…”

By the time they had gotten to the car, Shop had to move around the seats inside to make just enough room for Dark to squeeze in.

“I promise to fix your vehicle, should I cause… extensive damage at any point…” Dark grunted as he forced himself to be as small as possible while Shop had set her phone to lead them to the back and empty roads.

“Won’t taking this route make the trip home longer?”

“I figured you won’t really last in here much longer, and besides, I can just adjust it after that point, so it’s no problem, honest!”

Still thinking of him… she is too much. Dark smiled to himself as Shop drove, humming along with songs as they enter a lonely road.

“Shop, I…” Dark started before he felt the car begin grow smaller around him, the motor beginning to sputter as metal started to scrape the asphalt, creaking under Dark’s increasing weight.

Shop jumped, wincing at the sounds as she pulled over and jumped out, opening the car door on Dark’s side.

“Can you still make it out?...” Shop asked as she watched Dark twist his body; she took a step back as he slowly slid a leg out, planting it in the dirt as he managed to pull himself out, tumbling backwards with a loud grumble before he perked up.

“Shop? Shop where did you go!” Dark called out as he rubbed his joints, groaning softly before he rolled his neck out, letting himself begin to grow back up at a decent rate, thankful he no longer had to fight Bim’s influence.

“I’m fine Dark, you sound better now…” Dark could tell she is smiling through her pain by the way she held herself, her breaths deep and largely audible, even from his growing perspective.

“And you sound worse dear…are you sure you’re alright?” Dark sat up, fussing over his hair momentarily as he addressed Shop, a note of genuine worry in his voice.

“Eh… too much excitement is all… I just need a breather-” Shop froze, looking up at Dark in honest surprise.

“S-since when did you care about how I was doing?...”

“Mayhaps you just need to relax before you get back on the road hm? I suppose we can do so here, seeing as no one else is around to report a giant glowing being and his… associate. It is quite a nice day to be out anyway.” Dark hummed with a small smile.

“I… I…” Shop struggled to find the right words to say, settling for delighted confusion. “Sure Dark… It’s been a while anyway…”

She walked over by Dark’s thigh, taking deep breathes as she relaxed against him, letting her head roll lazily to the side.

Dark moved a hand to scoop her up to sit on his lap, but hesitated after he reminded himself of the last time he handled her, sighing through his nose as he laid his hand out. “If you would like… You could perch on my lap. Only if you want to.”

Shop watched as the hand descended and laid itself next to her, accompanied by a quiet offer. “I think I’d like that very much…”

Shop stepped over and slowly sat in the hand, mentally preparing herself for anything Dark may pull; but no such thing happened. One moment, she was in his palm, and the next, she was on his lap, about to ask something before she was silently answered by the feather light touch that was Dark, gingerly stroking and rubbing her shoulders.

“I… had fun today. Thank you for allowing me to… experience this with you.” Dark muttered without glancing down.

Shop felt several, unspoken agreements happen in that moment. And it made her heart swell with hope and joy.

“Thank you Dark.”

#shop writes #g/t #giant tiny #gtmarkfanclub #oof managed to crank this one out after sitting on it for too long #apologies on this one not having as much g/t as usual #i think this one is more to show the nuances of the relationship between Shop and Dark #so I hope you enjoy it!#have a good day/night!

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jeichanhaka · 4 years

Text

The Robbed That Smiles

Chapter Six

“You better send me back, wizard!” Thor rounded on Strange after the man stepped through another portal, their surroundings some official appearing offices similar to those the thunder god had been to an hour or so ago. “The cowards are planning to apprehend my brother and lock him up for something that you did!”

Strange threw Thor a look, one both condescending and screaming at the thunder god’s audacity to not trust him. “He’s safe. No one will be able to get in or out of the New York Sanctum without a Sanctum approved sorcerer allowing it. That means myself or Wong.” The Midgardian sorcerer paused, considering the thunder god’s angry confusion. “Now, do you want to convince the US government to not lock up your brother in a civil manner? Or would you rather go knocking heads in to help him escape? Mind you the latter option could have ramifications for New Asgard, seeing as you’re your peoples leader.”

Thor bristled. “I will not sacrifice my brother nor will I endanger my people.” He glowered at Strange, his clenched fist itching to strike the other man. Ever since his meeting earlier that day where he learned about the newest statue fiasco and saw how quick S.H.I.E.L.D and the US officials were to place blame solely on Loki, the thunder god was furious. It made him second guess his decision to bring his people to Midgard after Asgard’s destruction. “You will clear things up, wizard.”

“I will do what I can.” Strange replied, while Thor scowled, annoyed by the sorcerer’s answer. Recognizing the rash anger brimming in Thor, Strange stepped away from the thunder god’s reach before continuing. “But I doubt it will be as easy as my confessing. Sending military to the New York Sanctum and waiting for us to leave, just to capture your brother seems more serious than to be simply about a statue.”

“You’d be right.” Came a voice, drawing their attention. The owner, a middle aged man dressed in a blue-gray suit and dark loafers, strode forward. Clean-shaven with a mess of burnt sienna hair on his head, eyes pale gray, the man peered at Thor and Strange. Neither recognized the man, and there were a few moments of looming silence as they gauged each other. “Agent Finley J. Morfield.” The man introduced himself, flashing his credentials as he did so. “And you are Dr. Stephen Strange and Mr. Thor Odinson. It is an honor to meet both of you. I am a...admirer of yours. Of your team.”

Thor scowled, his expression saying all he needed: That he didn’t care who the other man was, and that the agent needed to buzz off, the thunder god not being in the mood to deal with the Midgardian. Dr. Strange’s reaction was different. The wizard gave his fellow human a careful glance over, having caught the whole of the other’s credentials in his photographic memory.

“Agent Morfield, what is the Department of Mediation and Evasive Defenses for the United States of America? It isn’t a section of US defense or intelligence that I’m familiar with.” Strange queried the other man, scrutinizing him.

“It’s a new department. An offshoot of S.H.I.E.L.D, similar in scope but designed to be separate from it.” Finley Morfield replied. “Ever since it was revealed that Hydra had managed to infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D, it was decided best to not put all our eggs in one basket - as the saying goes. To prevent such a thing happening again.”

“Ah,” Strange thought for a moment. “Since you’re here rather than S.H.I.E.L.D, should I assume it’s your department behind the US military that are camped outside the New York Sanctum waiting to storm the building?” The surgeon-turned-sorcerer inquired, while beside him Thor glanced at him and then at Morfield.

“Not exactly.” The agent replied, causing both Avengers to become suspicious. Wary. “On the contrary, my department is what’s keeping S.H.I.E.L.D or other arms of government from just bringing you all in. They want to. Ever since one of Loki’s pranks last year nearly caused nuclear war to break out, everyone’s been wanting him captured and sealed away. They just needed a reason.”

The thunder god tensed and swallowed, understanding the prank to which the agent referred. Loki had ‘kidnapped’ a member of an important Midgardian family while pretending to be a member of an enemy country’s ruling family. Things escalated after members of the enemy country caught on, but rather than out Loki’s prank, they attempted to extort their enemy for weapons and territory in exchange for the kidnapped member’s safe return. The extortion was stopped once Loki revealed his prank and released his ‘kidnap victim,’ furious that the Midgardians had taken advantage of the situation. The ‘kidnap victim’ himself had been in on the prank, a sheltered 20 year old who was enthralled by Loki’s devil-may-care, do what you want, attitude.

The fallout in the weeks following that prank had horrified Thor, and he almost agreed to lock up Loki; relenting only after realizing that his brother had been shaken by how close his prank got to triggering nuclear Armageddon.

“Are you saying your department doesn’t want Loki locked up?” Strange quirked an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

“On the contrary, we would prefer he was secured, in all honesty. The higher ups in my department just think it unwise to make an enemy out of the Asgardian refugees and their leader. After all Mr. Odinson here and his people could just leave the planet and come back in a few centuries or so to get revenge on our unsuspecting descendants.” The agent turned to Thor as he said this, the tilt of his head and mirthful twist to his lip indicating he was partly joking, but mostly serious; the thunder god simply shook his head and started denying he would do or allow anything of the sort. “Our department’s goal is to prevent conflict or the escalation thereof, using pragmatic means rather than being bound by ideology or nationalistic sentiment. We simply want to be positive your brother isn’t a threat, but not in a way that will make you hostile.”

“Then call off your military. Loki isn’t behind this most recent statue prank.” Thor replied.

“That...is not about the statue. The statue is just an excuse S.H.I.E.L.D is using. Let’s talk in here.” Morfield gestured towards a conference room door, and after the three of them entered he elaborated; the door clicking shut as he spoke. “Today’s prank is nothing compared to last week’s. Lady Liberty replaced with a statue of the god of lies? Accompanied by a citywide illusion of destruction? That was much more serious than swapping the poem at the base or making the whole statue 3 feet off.” Morfield caught Strange’s curious gaze. “Yes, that part was noticed. You rebuilt the statue so every part of it is about 3 feet skewed from the original.”

“3.33 feet to be exact.” Strange corrected, earning a raised eyebrow from Thor and an unfazed stare from Morfield. “Anyway, if S.H.I.E.L.D is so gung-ho on apprehending Loki, why didn’t they just do it last week? Rather than issue the ultimatum: statue or prison?” There was another pause as the wizard realized the answer to his question from the agent’s demeanor. “Ah...That ultimatum was from your department. Not S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Morfield tilted his head in an acknowledging gesture, while Thor bristled, his good eye narrowed furiously. “It was our idea. Washington was ready to declare war on Loki last week for that prank. They took it as a hostile attack, thinking he was attempting to resume his conquest of Earth. My department thought otherwise. The Ultimatum was a test to prove it.”

“Hn.” Thor huffed, standing up straighter and more menacingly over the shorter by a quarter foot man. “Well, my brother passed your test. He restored the statue as best he could.” The thunder god explained, further divulging with the agent that they were in the process of recovering the real statue from where Loki had hidden it after he supplanted it with his own. “My brother isn’t a threat.”

“I believe you. And I am sure many in Washington do as well. Your word has been good as gold, Mr. Odinson, since your people asked for Asylum on Earth three years ago and you’ve been an asset in defending the planet. It’s the main reason your brother has been given any leeway.” Morfield watched as Thor’s expression shifted to slight confusion, while Strange just grimaced without surprise. “Your brother has been given lots of leeway, Mr. Odinson. Lots. Or do you really think fines and community service are the usual punishments doled out for the sort of problems Mr. Loki causes with his pranks?” The agent asked before immediately waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, when Thor started to protest. “But that’s all moot. Most countries have effectively given Loki diplomatic immunity just so they don’t have risk angering you or arresting him.”

“Diplomatic Immunity…?” Thor faltered, his confusion prompting Strange to explain the concept of legal immunity given to diplomats; the thunder god quietly absorbed his fellow Avenger’s words. His expression grew more remorseful and righteous as he realized the extent of leniency Loki had been given by the Midgardians. “But my brother isn’t…”

“What is important is what showed up on radar recently.” The agent continued, ignoring Thor’s interruption. “Scientists in S.H.I.E.L.D, NASA, and other agencies caught a blip - an energy signal that struck alarm bells through the entire science and research sector. One belonging to something we’ve studied before, a handful of years ago.” Morfield paused, glancing from Thor to Strange and back. “The Tesseract.” He focused on Thor. The thunder god tensed and his good eye widened. “The artifact that your brother stole before, when he attempted to conquer earth, and which you subsequently brought back to Asgard. Its energy signal was recently picked up on Earth.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“....hell!” Lokki hollered and slammed shut a cabinet door, her stomach rumbling. The nausea she’d felt earlier at the cafe had abated and she felt ravenous. Prodded by that and by Reyda’s exclamation that she hadn’t gained enough weight, Lokki had gone to the makeshift kitchen to search for something edible. But being more of a breakroom to keep snacks than to prepare meals, as the current Sanctum’s residents were more inclined to eat out rather than in, she’d found little to entice her.

What she did find was both unhealthy and unappetizing, and she glowered at the food. Although nutritious for Midgardians to some extent, the snacks that were appetizing weren’t at all nutritious for a pregnant Jotunn. And though with her previous pregnancies she’d been less vigilant, Lokki didn’t feel like settling for processed Midgardian junk. The raisin bread muffin from the cafe that morning had been enough processed crap for the day.

“Milady, are you al…” Reyda hurried into the makeshift kitchen, Wong directly behind her. Both of their expressions were saturated with concern, fearful that the pregnant goddess may have been hurt by the Sanctum’s security spell. Their fear shifted to confusion seeing Lokki glowering at the cabinet. “...right?”

“Miss Lo….”

Noticing their approach, Lokki faced Wong and Reyda, sulking and irritable. Addressing the monk, she demanded. “Go get me something to eat. I’m hungry. You don’t have anything good to eat here.”

Wong blinked. “That’s why you shouted? You’re just…”

“Starving? Yes.” The frost giantess snapped, staring furiously at the Midgardian. “What? Did you think I hadn’t noticed the Sanctuary Spell and tried leaving? Seriously?” Lokki crossed her arms and shook her head. “In what universe would I be so oblivious I’d….”

“...be fooled by such a thing?” Interjected Loki, the mischief god siding up next to his doppelganger; his affect schooled in complete denial that he himself had been so oblivious mere moments ago. Having been listening out of sight, hoping to observe his double’s shocked response to being trapped in the Sanctum, he’d felt his pride bruise the moment Lokki mentioned the Sanctuary spell. She hadn’t missed it. “Unthinkable.” The mischief god smoothly lied, knowing that Wong and Reyda being witnesses to his injury wouldn’t be fooled, but hoping he could fool his doppelganger. It was a relishing thought, managing to fool himself of sorts.

Lokki grimaced, but said nothing to refute the mischief god. Instead she just repeated her demand that Wong go fetch her something to eat. “You’re the only one of us who can leave while Sanctuary is in effect.” She countered when the monk tried refusing her request, claiming he wasn’t her errand boy. “I am pregnant, hungry, and you have nothing I can eat here.”

“There’s snacks.” Wong motioned towards the cabinets Lokki had just searched through; contained within were shelf stable goodies like fruit juice, nuts, chips. Some cookies. The least processed thing being the nuts.

Lokki just glared at Wong.

“Lady Lokki’s right.” Reyda spoke up, looking over the snacks in the cabinets. During the three years she and her fellow Asgardians had lived on Midgard, she had researched Midgardian cuisine. Researched the additives and ingredients they used, and their methods for preparing food. As a healer and particularly as a Maternity doctor, she needed to know what foods were right for her Asgardian patients. “None of this is really healthy for her. If she was Asgardian, perhaps. But Jotunns have specific nutrition needs during gestation. Raw and unprocessed produce, sparsely cooked meats. Or fully cooked meats that are cooled considerably. The colder the better, considering Midgard is much warmer than Jotunheim.”

“See? My doctor says I can’t have any of this...junk.” Said Lokki, even as she eyed the cookies Reyda removed from in the cabinet while searching through it. The frost giantess hadn’t bothered with the cookies before, other than giving them a brief glance, knowing from her universe that Midgardian sweets weren’t good for her. Despite how delicious they were. Noticing the wording on the wrapper around the cookies, Lokki licked her lips and gazed longingly at it. “Oatmeal raisin…that...that’s not too unhealthy, right?” She leaned over Reyda and attempted to swipe the cookie package, only for the Asgardian to move it out from Lokki’s reach, shaking her head.

“No.” Reyda frowned as her attempt at siding with Lokki and insisting Wong get the Jotunn something nutritious to eat lost steam. The Midgardian monk appeared less inclined to get the frost giantess proper food now that Lokki apparently found something she liked amid the snacks. “Midgardian grains and oats are not good for pregnant Jotunn.”

“...how about just the raisins?” Lokki muttered, frowning when Reyda still shook her head, the Asgardian mentioning something about Midgardians adding too much sugar. Before the frost giantess could protest further or make another grab for the package, it was taken from Reyda. By Loki.

“I’ll take that.” The mischief god smirked, before handing the cookies to his doppelganger. He watched her beam and immediately rip open the package, savoring the sweets. Reyda just sighed, exasperated but at the same time not about to deny her pregnant patient sustenance, even if it wasn’t optimal. The oatmeal cookies were among the least objectionable foods available to Lokki at the moment, the only better option being the nuts mixture.

“Fine for now. But we’ll need to talk later about what you need, nutrition-wise.” Said Reyda to Lokki, before addressing Wong. “Would you know why this Sanctuary spell was activated? To keep someone in or keep someone out?”

Wong started to reply, but a loud alarm reverberated through the Sanctum. The sound warning that someone was trying to access the building despite the Sanctuary Spell. But unlike Loki’s attempted exit, whoever was trying to enter was doing so through a portal. A portal originating from one of the other Sanctums. And cast by a fellow Kamar-Taj sorcerer, but not one approved to pass the magical lockdown.

The monk’s demeanor shifted from surprise to curiosity, while hurried footsteps outside approached the Sanctum. There was a large crashing noise outside as the Sanctuary Spell repelled whoever had approached.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“How’s it looking?” Asked Stark through the iron suit he’d sent to aid Rogers in the latter’s surveillance on the New York Sanctum. The mecha suit had just arrived next to the Avenger, barely doing more than a brief scan of the perimeter.

“None of them have made a move yet.” Rogers replied, not bothering to more than glance at the iron suit. His focus was set on the undercover soldiers waiting in the abandoned house and by the unmarked car parked down the street. As a veteran himself, he had no desire to fight against fellow US soldiers. “Are you sure they will?”

“Absolutely. If this was just about a prank, they would have had us detain Loki as we’ve done for the past three years. Even if Thor refused, S.H.I.E.L.D would’ve requested the rest of us bring in Reindeer Games.” Stark said through the iron suit, while he scanned through the files displayed on his computer monitor. “You recall Mischief Night two years ago, right?”

“Yeah.” Rogers nodded, thinking about the eve of halloween two years back. Loki, having learned about the tradition to pull tricks on people around everyone’s favorite costume holiday, pulled non-stop pranks on everyone. Both the Avengers and random strangers. None of the pranks themselves were dangerous or terribly bad-taste, but his trickery was excessive. Enough that the local government asked the Avengers to curtail the mischief god’s antics. Thor had refused, not seeing how non-dangerous pranks done on a night set aside for such warranted detaining his brother. “I admit, it is unusual not to ask us to bring Loki in first.”

“Right, and…”

A shrill alarm cut Stark off, the noise coming from the direction of the Sanctum. At the same time another alarm sounded, this one from Stark’s end and originating from his computer. The inventor immediately focused on the tower alarm, while Rogers focused on the Sanctum, as did the iron suit, Stark having switched it to defend mode over surveillance.

Rogers hurried down from his lookout point, intent on aiding in protecting the Sanctum against whatever threat triggered the alarm. He stopped midway from his perch when he caught sight of one of the soldiers from the abandoned house doing what he was. It happened so quickly, he hardly registered the soldier being repelled from the Sanctum by whatever protection spell Strange had set.

His eyes widened, realization sinking in; it sunk in faster once he realized that the iron suit Stark had left to help him, though closer to the building now than him, wasn’t entering. Instead it seemed to be scanning the Sanctum, attempting to find a way through the protection barrier. And so far failing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“The Tesseract? You’re sure it was the Tesseract your scanners picked up?” Thor ran his hand through his hair, frowning heavily at the Midgardian agent.

Behind the thunder god Strange also frowned, though his dismay was equally spread between Morfield and Thor. Having never fully believed that Loki was truthful about leaving the Tesseract behind in Asgard, he wasn’t put off by the agent’s claim. Nor was he surprised by the actions S.H.I.E.L.D and Morfield’s department took so far, considering how dangerous the artifact could be in enemy hands.

Not that the mischief god was an enemy exactly, but he was dangerous. And the idea of Loki having possession of the Tesseract made Strange wary - even if the trickster had no true plan to harm them or Earth, the god favored chaos too much.

“S.H.I.E.L.D’s scanners did, but yes. We’re sure.” Morfield answered Thor, matching the god’s glower with a piercing stare of his own.

Thor shook his head. “That’s impossible. The Tesseract was destroyed with Asgard. Three years ago.”

“Did your brother tell you that?”

Thor bristled and took a step towards Morfield, furious. Despite his previous misgivings about Loki’s claim of not possessing the powerful artifact, the thunder god refused now to disbelieve his brother. He certainly refused to simply listen to the stranger in front of him, a stranger who knew nothing of his family, speak as though he knew more about Thor’s family than Thor.

“Calm down.” Strange grabbed Thor’s arm, his own thoughts already moving on from his suspicion of Loki. Holding the thunder god back, the wizard addressed the agent. “Agent Morfield, when exactly did the Tesseract get picked up on radar? I assume not until after the statue fiasco nine days ago.”

“The day of actually.” Morfield replied after a few seconds of hesitance, his inscrutable gaze shifting towards the wizard after glancing at the god. “A recent recruit without knowledge of the Tesseract discovered its signal, and thus it wasn’t brought to the attention of the higher ups in S.H.I.E.L.D until that night.”

“I see.” Muttered Strange, before letting go of Thor. “The signal wouldn’t have happened to originate in New York City, would it?” The wizard asked, not needing to bother waiting for a verbal answer as Morfield’s suspicious glower was enough. Thor glared at Strange.

“Loki isn’t behind…”

“Good day, agent.” Strange cut across Thor and ignored the blistering scowl the thunder god gave, his attention focused on Morfield. “But I agree with my colleague here, his brother is neither in possession of nor behind the resurfacing of the Tesseract.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Aside from the fact that he’s had three years to use it unfettered, but didn’t?” Replied Strange, while Thor gazed curiously at him, having caught the emphasis the wizard placed on the word ‘brother.’ The thunder god kept quiet though, realizing the wizard’s suspicion and also the reason why Strange wasn’t keen to share it with Agent Morfield. “A hunch. Now if you would excuse…”

“No.” Interrupted Morfield, while the door to the conference room opened and people entered; some sort of combat guard or soldiers judging by their footsteps. Strange and Thor shared a look, wondering at the agent’s foolishness; neither one surprised by the agent’s sudden shift in tactics. Morfield did say earlier that the government wanted to bring them all in.

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