#and link can’t believe she’s alive until she’s in his arms

[bahbahhh]

Tears of the Past - a totk theory short fan comic

[Part 1]

[hotchscoffeecup]

how do we carry on?

pairing: hotch x bau!reader

rating: m

word count: 4.8k

genre: angst, hurt no comfort

summary: emily was your confidant, your best friend. when she dies at the hands of ian doyle, you find comfort in your boyfriend, aaron. when you find out that she’s alive and that hotch had known all along, your world falls out from under you. can you and hotch come back from the decision he made for the good of the team?

*if this gains enough traction i might follow up with a pt.2 to give it a happy ending*

The criss-crossed lines of the tile floor blur together as you stare blankly between your feet. The tops of your thighs have gone numb from digging your elbows into them, using your cradled hands as a pillow for your forehead. You couldn’t go home, not until you knew.

Rossi had offered to go on a walk and get a coffee, but shitty lukewarm hospital coffee was the last thing you needed. You hadn’t meant to write him off, you just couldn’t justify doing anything to distract from the fact that she was on that operating table, that Emily’s life was literally hanging in the balance.

The rest of the team was no better off than you are right now. Penelope’s knitting needles clack relentlessly, the scarf inside of her purse growing as her hands keep busy so her mind doesn’t focus on how hard she’s trying not to cry. The last time you’d poked your head up, Derek hadn’t moved from the waiting room windowsill where he’d been standing still as a statue staring out at the cityscape. If Spencer didn’t stop shaking his leg, you feared he would wear a hole straight through the tile. JJ exits the waiting room as often as she returns, her liaising days quickly coming back, making her their only link to the operating room. Hotch’s behavior is no different. His cell rings every ten to fifteen minutes, no doubt the Bureau wanting to know how the hell this could happen. It’s the only sign that time is actually passing and you’re forced to accept that you’re not stuck in some fucked up purgatory-esque hellscape where time stands still, torturing you as your dear friend’s life teeters between worlds.

What you wanted, what you needed was for him to hold you; to place a kiss against your temple and tell you that everything would be alright. It had to be alright.

He couldn’t show favor to you though, not now. The team didn’t know about your relationship with him, though you believe a few have their suspicions. You’re all too observant for your own good. Not much goes unnoticed by anyone. So when JJ walks back into the waiting room, everyone shifts toward her to try and get a glimpse into her facial expression and body language for any sign of an update regarding Emily’s condition.

Instantly, you know something is wrong. JJ’s eyes flit from one person to the next, not lingering very long on anyone. Spencer is the first to stand and you follow suit. You close in, forming a small half circle. Behind JJ, Hotch stands in the doorway, brow straight as he folds his arms across his chest.

“JJ?” Her name is an anxious plea on Penelope’s lips.

JJ’s eyes drop to the floor as she presses her lips together. She takes a deep breath and lifts her eyes, yours the ones they land on as she speaks. “She never made it off the table.”

A choked sob echoes from Garcia as she falls into Derek’s arms, his features fixed as he stares ahead though his knuckles flush white as he holds tightly onto Penelope. Rossi pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as he mutters something to himself; a prayer, maybe. Spencer envelopes JJ in a desperate embrace, as if clinging to her will somehow make her words any less true. Afterall, how can they be? Emily can’t go down, not like this; not after all she’s survived.

Someone says your name. Your brow dips, but you don’t respond. You need to see Emily. Your feet move of their own accord, guiding you through the waiting room. Someone grabs your arm and you tug away from their grasp, set on pushing onward and finding the OR.

Someone repeats your name, and you can’t help but latch on to the deep tenor that belongs to Hotch. You halt in your tracks and close your eyes, tears leaking over your eyelids and down your cheeks.

“I need to talk to Emily,” you say, your voice small.

The way Hotch says your name is laced with pity and you hate the way it sounds on his tongue. He pulls gently on your arm in an attempt to reel you into him, but you resist. You bite your lip to still its trembling. Yanking your arm free, you press on into the hallway and stumble toward the double doors that read in bold letters: Authorized Personnel Only. Fuck that. You’ve got a badge, that’s authority enough. Before you can push through, firm hands twist around your arms.

You push back, but their grip tightens. “Stop,” Hotch urges authoritatively. You turn into him and pound your fist against his chest, a sob cracking free from your mouth. “She’s not gone,” you cry. “She’s not gone. She’s not—” Your legs tremble with the wave of grief that crashes over you and you can’t hold your weight as it does so. Falling to your knees, Hotch reacts. His arms fold around your waist, catching you as you collapse into the wide plane of his chest. Your ribs ache as your lungs inflate with each rapid, sobbing breath. Your vision turns fuzzy at the edges as you try and fail to slow your breathing. It feels like you’re dying as the waves of grief assail you over and over again, battering you, body and mind, in an unrelenting tumultuous current of sorrow and pain as the wicked reality sets in. Emily is dead. You barely feel Hotch’s hand in your hair cradling you against him. As he murmurs apologies and sympathies in your ear, you don’t see the weighted look he exchanges with JJ.

•

The funeral comes and goes. The day is too beautiful for Emily not to be there to see it. You sit on the porch at Hotch’s house, breathing in and out as you watch the daffodils dance in the afternoon breeze. You smooth the fabric of your dress down over your knees, the satin wrinkled from the way you clenched it during the service.

Your phone buzzes in your purse. The number of messages and phone calls you’d ignored continues to rise, but you can’t bring yourself to express any gratitude for their condolences. You can’t bring yourself to feel anything except the crushing weight of grief.

You picture Emily sitting beside you on the wooden porch swing. Last Summer, you’d sat here with her as the team gathered for a Fourth of July Barbecue. Jack had made invitations and delivered them to the team at the office. He’d been so excited and so were you. It was around then that you and Hotch had begun to toe the line between colleagues and something more; a morning coffee dropped off at your desk here, an extra visit to his office there. You’d sat here with Emily watching as Rossi backseat barbecued Hotch on the grill. She’d caught you smiling at him alongside the fondness in your gaze. She’d clocked you from a mile away.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad.” Her laugh had tinkled from lips, ringing like a morning bell.

“What are you talking about?” you’d asked, trying and failing to school your features into a mask of indifference.

“I’ll tell ya, it’s a big swing, but if you hit it, that’s a home run for sure.”

You’d nearly choked on your lemonade, coughing and gasping; drawing the attention of the others.

“Wrong pipe!” Emily had called while pointing at you and clapping a hand against your back. “She’s good!” In a low voice she’d added, “Though I’m sure with him, it’d be just the right pipe.”

You’d elbowed her in the ribs and bust out laughing together. For the longest time after that, she’d been the only person that you’d confided in about your burgeoning feelings and relationship with Aaron. Through that, she’d quickly become your closest friend on the team.

A couple of kids shout at one another, laughing, as they ride past the house on their bicycles; shattering the memory. You dip into your purse and withdraw your phone, pressing a button and powering it down. The screen door creaks on its hinges and Hotch steps down onto the porch, the planks shifting beneath his weight. He sits beside you and offers you a mug. The scent of coffee reaches your nose and you accept it, thanking him quietly. Aaron had taken his suit jacket off and loosened his tie. He stretches an arm around your shoulder and draws closer to you. He kisses the side of your face and stares out at the yard.

“It was a beautiful service,” he offers.

“Aaron, don’t.” You close your eyes and take a breath. You hold the coffee with both hands, rubbing your thumbs up and down the warm ceramic. “Please don’t make small talk with me about this like it’s all so fucking normal.”

He sighs and apologizes. “I just wish I could make all of your hurt go away.”

A shudder runs through you and you nestle in closer to him, taking a sip of your coffee as you do so. “I don’t think it’ll ever go away.”

•

Her brown eyes stare back at you, though the photo paper could never capture the light that flared within them when she was alive. Of all the faces you could have seen up on this wall, you’d never anticipated hers being one of them.

Every day you stop by her portrait on the wall of fallen heroes. People talk about her less and less around the office. The team doesn’t stop, though your conversations are stilted and often end in awkward silences; no one really knowing how to carry on once the conversation slows to a natural end. You speak often with Spencer about the ways in which you’ve been grieving, the sleepless nights and early mornings. Derek is reserved. He’s angry above anything else. He feels betrayed by Emily and a part of you understands that. She’d not told any of you after all. You’d be remiss if you’d not also spent some of your time grieving in anger. Of all the times you’d stayed late after work, gotten together to hang out on weekends, or gone out for drinks, she had never indicated anything was wrong. You had told her everything, confided every one of your fears and hopes into her and you’d thought that the street had been going both ways. God, you’d never been so wrong.

“Conference room in fifteen,” Aaron says as he walks past you, hand grazing your back as he does so.

You smile tightly and nod, glancing once more at Emily’s photo before making your way to your desk in the bullpen, ignoring the fact hers still sits empty and unoccupied beside yours. How has it been three months already?

•

“Emily!”

Your eyes dart around the room frantically searching as your heart thunders in your ears. You feel the organ pounding against your ribcage, threatening to break free of it. It only takes a second for you to realize it had been a dream.

Aaron rolls over and sits up, threading an arm around your back and rubbing your hip with his fingers. “Another nightmare?” he asks, words tinged with sleepiness.

You nod, yawning as you rub your eyes. The dreams are further apart, but at least every other week her face haunts your subconscious. You can’t help but wonder if it’s some sort of self-punishment as life goes on and the days get easier.

In reality, you don’t know if it’s easier or if you’ve just forced yourself to become numb to it all, compartmentalizing the pain of losing your best friend because if you didn’t you don’t think you’d be able to leave the house and do what you do day after day.

��Are the appointments with the therapist helping?” he asks.

Another question you don’t know the answer to. On some level, yes. Talking to someone who knows nothing about you or her or anyone else on the team is good. You don’t have to walk on eggshells, worried you're going to dig open a wound the others are equally fighting to heal by talking about her or how much you miss her or wish she was here. On another level, you don’t open up fully to the doctor. There are some layers of this injury you don’t want to see heal and scar over. If you do that, it’s like you’re telling Emily that you’re over her death, as if it’s something as easy as that, something you just get over. No, some things need to stay fresh, to serve as a reminder that Ian Doyle is still out there. The man who took your best friend away from you and your BAU family is breathing and she’s not. You clench your fists, the sheets balling up in your hands as your resentment burns deep inside you. Yes, that’s it, the idea of him walking around thinking he’s gotten away with this is enough to stoke the flames simmering deep inside you.

You take a deep breath, mentally imagining the flames subsiding, and they do. They dial down, but they don’t disappear. You glance down at Aaron, who snores softly beside you. His fingers still curl around your hip and a faint smile graces your lips. He tries, you know he does, but this is exhausting for everyone. He bears the brunt of it at the office. He fought to be the one to meet with the team and conduct the grief interviews, not wanting a stranger to come in and sift through your friends’ and colleagues’ pain over what happened. God knows how much bureaucratic red tape he had gotten tangled in right after the fact, the higher ups demanding how such a blunder could occur right under their noses. Aaron had put out the fires though, as he always did. Reaching around his back, you withdraw his hand from your hip and tuck it by his side, not before pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

You glance at the clock before lying back down. 4:15AM blinks back at you on the digital clock face. In forty five minutes the alarm will go off and it’ll be another day at the office. Settling down into the pillows, you press your back into Aaron’s body, yours molding against the planes of his as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

His arms slinks around your waist and pulls you in as if you can get any closer than you already are. He tucks his chin over your shoulder and his lips brush against your jawline.

“I love you,” he whispers and you relax into the safety of his embrace.

“I love you, too, Aaron.”

•

Nights are hard when Aaron is gone. Pakistan is nine hours ahead and all Hotch has to communicate with anyone is a satellite phone, the number for which you don’t have access to. Whenever Hotch calls, the caller ID flashes the word ‘Unknown’ across your screen. There have been several times you’ve missed him due to being asleep or at work. Each call missed feels like being sucker punched. Every time you talk, a part of you worries it’ll be the last time. You didn’t use to have this fear, not until Emily. Despite staring death in the face on a week by week basis, most of the time playing Russian Roulette with the Grim Reaper himself in each unsub you cross paths with, somehow you never thought he’d actually take someone you love from you; that he’d take down one of the team. You never thought there’d be a last conversation with Emily, and now she’s dead.

Dead. The word is a heavy stone, sinking from the cusps of your mind to the pit of your stomach. It sits there, a persistent ache idling deep inside of you. It never relents and it never allows you to forget.

There are nights you dream that Aaron is dead too, that somewhere far away and beyond your control, he’s dying on the ground, bleeding out, and no one knows. You don’t even know what he’s working on and he can’t say; despite your relationship there are still levels in which Hotch’s clearance supersedes your own and the need-to-know red tape keeps you out. Afraid to close your eyes and dream of his unseeing, you stare at the blades of the ceiling fan whirling lazily overhead of the bed you usually share with him.

“I miss you,” you whisper to no one; and you don’t know who you’re talking to anymore.

•

“He’s back?” your heart flutters in your chest, equal parts excited and anxious at the prospect of Aaron’s sudden return. You push off your desk and swivel in your chair to stand, rushing down the hall and leaving Reid behind as you make your way hastily to the conference room.

The door is cracked and a gleeful sound eeks past your lips as his tall frame comes into view. You slip in before anyone else arrives and throw your arms around you. Inhaling deeply, his familiar teakwood scent envelopes you just as his arms do. You move to pull away, but his arms tighten around you.

“A second more,” he whispers, and there’s an edge to his voice.

You write it off to jet lag and sink into his embrace, though you notice how slight he feels against you. Finally, you pull back and cup his face in your hands. The scruff of his beard is prickly and you laugh as you take in his rugged appearance. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with this much facial hair.” You swipe your thumbs over the hair on his lip and he tilts his head, kissing the inside of your hand. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply before lifting them to meet yours. It's then you realize how tired he looks. The bags under his eyes are puffy and purple, almost as if they’re bruised. His forehead is creased, brow furrowed; definitely not how you pictured him upon reuniting.

“Aaron is everything ok—”

“I need you to know I would never hurt you,” he says quickly, interrupting you.

You purse your lips, brow pinching at the sudden admission. As your lips part to speak he directs a pointed look at you, the depths of his brown eyes wavering. “I love you,” his voice cracks, “so much.” He swallows, his throat bobbing as he does so. “Please remember that.”

There’s a hollow feeling in your gut, a chasm opening wide where every anxious and painful thought that you’ve tried to keep buried since he’s been gone begins to claw their way out as a thousand different outcomes play out in front of you. “Aaron, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer your question as the rest of the team trickles into the room, sitting at the round table or standing as suspense fills the space. It’s tangible. Everyone’s posture is rigid and tense in anticipation of whatever it is he has to say.

“Seven months ago I made a decision that impacted everyone on this team,” he begins, eyes firm.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably beside you. Rossi leans forward, fingers steepled under his chin.

“As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood,” Hotch continues and your ears prick at the sound of her name. Why would he bring her up? No less, her condition the day you all lost her. You all know this.

“…the doctor’s were able to stabilize her.”

Your lips part but no sound comes out as you raise your eyes to meet his. They meet yours for the briefest of seconds before flitting on to the others.The next words to leave his mouth sound far away, interrupted by the blood now pounding in your eardrums. “She stayed there until she was well enough to travel…given identities…”

There’s a lump in your throat and you feel as though you may choke on it. Air doesn’t seem to be able to bypass it and you have to remind yourself that you can breathe even though it feels like all the oxygen has vacated your lungs.

Penelope is the first to speak. “She’s alive?”

Spencer’s brow quirks as he tries to rationalize what’s being said to him. “We buried her.”

You did. You helped carry the casket. You felt the weight of her dead body and watched it sink into the earth. If that wasn’t her, what the fuck or who the fuck did you actually put in the ground?”

“As I said I take full responsibility for this decision,” Hotch continues, eyes downcast. “If anyone has any issues they should be directed towards me.”

The blood pounding in your ears is deafening. When Hotch looks up, you search his eyes and can’t help wondering if you know him at all. All of the nights you literally made yourself sick from crying and he held your hair back as you dry heaved over the toilet and your body spasmed from the grief of losing your best friend, he’d known that she was alive. For a moment, you think you may be sick right there at the round table at the thought of it all. Derek is speaking, his voice tight with anger but you don’t hear him. Heads turn and the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as a haunting feeling creeps up the back of your spine.

Turning around in your chair, everyone else stands but not you. If you do, you know your knees will buckle and fall out from under you. Spencer and Penelope are on their feet, moving briskly to greet the ghost of Emily.

Except she’s not a ghost. Her skin is not the cold blue-gray pallor of death, but pink and bright, the blood beneath her flesh very much pumping through a heart that’s beating. Her dark brown hair is sleek and shining, her bangs grown out and styled; her part now to the right. You watch her arms fold around Spencer and the way he squeezes her in turn. Penelope follows suit, tears streaming down her cheeks as she smiles widely. Derek stares on, features fixed in a cross between anger and shock. Emily approaches him with apprehension. An apology leaves her lips as she draws him in for a hug and his arms tentatively wrap around her. When she turns to you, your muscles tense. Those deep brown irises flicker back and forth across your face, searching for a reaction. You don’t give her one. Instead, you push past her, avoiding any and all physical contact with her, and dip out of the conference room.

You hear Garcia call your name and Derek shouts about having a case. You don’t care. You bypass your desk, not even bothering to get your purse. Your keys are hanging on a carabiner on your belt loop. Ignoring the elevator, you shove your way through the entrance to the stairs and move down them so quickly you’re surprised you don’t lose your footing and tumble down them. Down and around you go, your footsteps echoing as your heart slams against your ribcage. You slap your badge against the keypad that lets you exit the building, ignoring the greeting from the security guard at the front. As you push through the front doors of the office building, you barely make it to the bushes before you fall to your knees and retch.

•

A car door slams followed by the double beep which locks them. You close your eyes and inhale deeply as you prepare to face him, hands clenching around the sweater you were packing. A tear slips free from your eye as you breathe out and look toward the ceiling, as if the answers to why all of this had to happen are written up there. This is not how your reunion is supposed to be. You’d pictured his homecoming for weeks; thought about the outfit you’d wear to dinner and the lingerie you’d bought to wear just for him when you both got home, opened a bottle of wine, and made up for all of the time lost while he was away. That is how tonight is supposed to go.

Now you’re leaving, and you don’t know if you’ll be coming back.

The lock on the front door jiggles before the gears click into place. It squeaks on its hinges as it swings open. Five beeps follow and you can picture his fingers pressing against each button on the alarm system. His keys clatter as he drops them on the table. As his footsteps edge closer to your bedroom, you count each one. The sound that usually means safety and security, now sends a shiver of anxiety throughout your body.

He appears in the doorway, eyes rife with exhaustion and the bags beneath them puffy and swollen. His cheeks are flushed and his nose is pink, as if he’d been crying. Maybe he had been, god knows you had. His eyes flit between you and the bag you’re packing. His lips part and a small sound of desperation slips past them.

“Baby, please—”

You hold up a hand, curling your fingers into a fist. Your lip curls as you speak. “Don’t,” you breathe. You swallow the lump that quickly forms in your throat as you drop your hand, zipping the bag shut.

The inner corners of his brow draw upward and you can hardly stand to look into his pleading gaze.

“You have to understand—”

“Understand, what? Aaron?” You ask sharply, struggling to hold back the thick hot tears pricking the backs of your eyes.

He places a hand on his hip, fingers tucking back the fold of his unbuttoned shirt as his thumb hooks into his belt; a gesture you’re all too familiar with as he does the same thing with all of his suits. His other hand rises to pinch the bridge of his nose. He pauses, inhaling as he tries to find the words. After a moment, he scrubs a hand over his face and turns his gaze to yours.

“I wanted to tell you so badly,” he says. When he looks at you there are tears in his eyes. “I hated myself, watching the agony this decision put you and the team through. I wanted to tell you and take away your hurt, but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair to the team. Just because you’re my girlfriend, I can’t—” He turns his hand and slams his hand against the doorframe causing you to flinch. “Dammit!”

Your voice is soft, but sure when you speak. “You can’t bend the rules.”

It’s what you’ve always worried about, both of you. You always knew the job could come first, especially with him being the Unit Chief. You always understood that that meant no preferential treatment and that is something you never would’ve asked him to do. You just never anticipated it happening like this, a complete and total life altering mind fuck.

Aaron drops his hand and it slaps against his thigh in defeat as it falls to his side. “What was I supposed to do?”

You cross your arms over your chest, fingers curling over your biceps to try and still your shaking hair. You hang your head and a curtain of hair falls across your face, “I don’t know, Aaron.”

He kicks off the doorway, moving towards you with his hands outstretched. It happens without thinking, the way you flinch away. Pain flashes in his eyes and you feel as though you’ve been punched in the stomach the way it’s suddenly hard to breathe.

His hip is close to yours, his body angled away from you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulder as he looks down. “Don’t do this,” he whispers.

Your lip quivers, chin wobbling in response to the tears you’re trying so desperately to hold back. “I have vacation I’d been saving.” You pick up your bag and throw it over your shoulder, not daring to look up at him because you know if you do you’ll shatter into a thousand shards of glass at his feet.

As you move toward the door, you pause. For a split second, you entertain the thought of dropping your bag, running across the room he’d chased you around so many times before, and throwing yourself around him. You consider all the things you want to say and scream and cry about; all of your anger, sadness, betrayal, grief, and love. You crave him so terribly in that moment because his have always been the arms you’ve run to when things become too much to bear.

Instead, your chin dips toward your shoulder as you speak, but you don’t raise your eyes to meet his. If you do, you don’t think you’ll be able to leave. “My gun and badge are in the safe.”

As you make your way down the hallway, you have to bite your knuckles to stifle a sob just as you hear one leave his lips from the bedroom.

You don’t turn back.

[fan-goddess]

The decay of marital flesh

Authors Note: This has taken months to complete, and I am so happy that people have taken time to ask me about this and have wanted to have a part two of my original oneshot that I didn’t know would get so popular. So here’s the depressive thing that took me months to compete cause I needed to be in an angsty mood to write. Here’s my blood and angst

Summary: A part two of this piece here. This is the depressing version of it and the other happy part will be linked to this part here.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of p in v sex, mentions of f oral, self harm, blood, kinslaying, cheating on partner (I’ve probably no doubt missed warnings so if you see any you think I should add then let me know!)

Taglist: @ietss, @papichulo120627, @rorawinters, @introverbatim, @alicentswife, @brie-annwyl, @victoriagaunt, @kyla44, @pax-2735, @omgbcat @bellameshipper, @coolsiaisaqueenstuff, @snh96, @devils-blackrose, @blue-serendipity, @dahlias-and-marigolds, @glame, @jennifer0305, @humanpurposes, @valeskafics, @aemondwhoresworld @leiakim99

Whenever you slept, somehow the weight of the letter always found a way to haunt you. Whenever your hand managed to sweep under and made direct contact with the paper, it practically burned to the touch with no explanation how.

Klarissa had soon became one of your trusted, friends? She would come into your chambers to place your food in the morn and look at you intently and with questions she herself knew would remain unanswered. You never spoke to her again of the contents of the original letter, nor did she ever thankfully attempt to ever bring it up. It was thing about her you found yourself grateful for.

Though it seemed Klarissas silence on the topic may soon be broken. As recently, more letters, similar to the original, were beginning to make themselves known to you.

Though this time, you cannot bring yourself to read them. You can only stare at them while they burn into nothing in your fireplace. You can only watch as whatever words and meaning they once possessed become ash and soot. Maybe they were letters asking for forgiveness? Or asking for a conference where he begged for you to not spill his blood just as you instructed him that you would? Either way, you held firm belief that nothing of that sort would be happening.

Not while Aemond continued to breathe, and to live.

Aemond does not believe that you are reading any of his letters any more. The maid who had given to you his first letter, whose eyes once held fear of his position, now hold only sympathy and sadness. She doesn’t need to say what he had been fearing. It’s written plain and clearly all over her face.

Still, he can’t help but wish to cry at the realisation, even though he knew it would happen some time or later. An act he does not even think he’s done since he was robbed of his eye. Yet his sudden loss of you, the one person who he should have protected and been with, brings to him more emotion throughout his entire body than he’s felt in his entire life. Even when his sorrow begins to spread through out him, throughout his soul, the tears do not fall. He cannot dare let them. He cannot appear weak in front of the court. He cannot dare appear to be weak in front of you.

His chambers seem all too empty when he enters them. The bed appears stiff and uninviting. The books appear meaningless and empty. Even the fire seems too cold. Even when he begins edging closer and closer to the flames until he’s practically face to face with them.

“Aemond, what are you doing?!” His mothers frantic voice breaks him from his trance before he could fully put his arm in the fire. Only hearing the sudden frantic sound of his mother’s voice does he begin feeling the heat of the flames against his skin. It’s an addictive feeling, as for the first time in months he feels alive. It feels like your fiery touch is caressing him again.

“It does not matter mother… why are you here?” Aemond curtly says, begrudgingly stepping away from the flames to look at her with a soulless eye.

“Aemond, my son, I’m afraid that the court are beginning to talk. They question your marriage, they question your-“

“I do not care about what the people question mother!” Aemond shouts. Raw emotion and anger overflowing from his skin in waves as he stalks to his mother and grips her arms roughly in emphasis of his frustration. He can feel his unkempt nails digging into her arms, and he can even see the slight fear that slowly envelopes her. Yet still, he does not relent on his hold of her, even when she tries to escape from him. “The people do not know how it is I have suffered! How much my wife has suffered! I will not have those insufferable cunts dictating things about my own marriage!”

His nails unknowingly leave small dents in his mother’s arms. His nails which have grown long from neglect begin to draw into her skin so deeply that even with the clothing between the two, he nearly manages draws blood. It’s not even until she begins to wince and voice her pain does Aemond notice what he’s doing to her. What he’s doing to his own mother.

“M-mother I-“

“Save it Aemond. I know you are mourning in your own way. I know that your wife is mourning. She is mourning my son because it was you who betrayed the scared vows the two of you spoke together, and insisted that you drew blood for. It is well within her right to burst down these doors and draw that same blood from you with her own blade. I will not let you drag that girl down with you my son, just because you wish to cling to a long rotted away life that you yourself threw away, all for a fucking bastard wet nurse belonging to house strong!”

Aemond does not move when his mother shouts as him. He does not even blink when his mother’s passionate anger leaves small spit trails on his face. For everything she just said is true. It was him who broke the scared marital bond between him and you. For that, he should suffer no less than a thousand cuts.

Aemonds single eye goes back to the fire where he had sat earlier, and goes to sit there once more. Once again, he does not truly feel the heat it should be providing him. He adds a couple loose logs in the fire, prodding them around slightly with an iron poker.

Aemond drops it though when a log jolts suddenly and startles him, and hisses when the red hot poker makes contact with his upper thigh, burning him. Though he cannot deny the slight satisfaction it brings him to feel the pain flare through his clothes. So he strips himself till he is only in his underclothes, and he does it again, and again. Hissing under his breath each time it makes contact with the pale skin. Maybe this is how he will get closer to you? How he will successfully manage to feel the pain that you felt when you had to push the physical manifestation of his betrayal curse you? He knows it is unlike anything he could ever truly experience, but he has to try. For you, and for the baby he will never meet.

When you begin burning the next letter in the fire, adjusting it slightly with the poker hanging on the side of the fireplace, you can hear an unknown person entering the room with an audible creak coming from the direction of the door. Klarissa had slyly mentioned a few days previous how it was like that due to your infrequent comings and goings. If you didn’t know her name and respect her slightly, you probably would’ve had her relocated immediately for such cheek.

“I think my brother takes great time and thought into writing those letters princess.” A distinctive voice and nickname causes a rare smile to form, still looking at the fire before you.

“Good. Then maybe he’ll learn to be sorry and he’ll learn what my pain was like.” Your voice is surprisingly cold, even with such a warm smile on your lips. It even surprises yourself slightly.

“Well, as much as I do appreciate your determination for damning my brother, I don’t think he’ll share that same sentiment. Do you even read them? Or do you just immediately condemn them to ash? Because I’d hate to think some poor soul like my mother writes a letter to you only to have it thrown to the flames…”

“I’m not that overcome with anger, my prince. I do look at the handwriting of the letters before I, as you so plainly put it, condemn them to ash.” It’s almost annoying how easy it is for Aegon to make you smile. He’s become the light to shine you through your dark ages. A friend amongst the snakes and the thorns that weave and poison the court, looking only in ways to further their power.

“How many times have I told you sweet princess to call me Aegon? I think after everything we’ve done and been through together, we’d have been properly acquainted with each others company. As much as my little brother utterly detests the very idea of it.” Aegon now sits beside you at the fire, his everything already making your tensed frame ease into a more calm and relaxed one. He does not make any move to stop you from making sure the letter is properly burned into nothingness. An act you appreciate immensely.

“My brother, was a fool to believe he needed someone else to comfort him...”

The quick comment is also quickly followed by a deathly sort of silence in the room. The only thing being able to penetrate it being the comforting sound of the crackling flames.

Though not a few minutes after, from the corner of your eye, you can spot Aegons hand slowly and cautiously placing itself on your arm, drawing your attention to him as you cautiously drop the poker and turn to him. His face looks like the one of a deer when it’s caught in a trap, fear and panic. Though by the way he had approached you, it was as if he was trying to approach an unpredictable creature from the forest. A beast.

“Can I be so bold princess, as to say something to you?” His voice is practically one of a whisper. So meek that you didn’t know if you had heard him correctly the first time.

“Of course Aegon? You are my closest confidant.” Your words though, supposed to be ones of comfort, makes Aegons lips turn in a slight grimace. Yet still, he wets his lips before speaking.

“You… are everything any man I think could ever need in a wide. Which is why i am so disappointed in him. Why take that bastard into his bed, when he could have had you…” Aegon then cautiously leads his head forward and captures your open mouth with his own.

You cannot move. You cannot think. You cannot say anything to stop what is going on in that moment. There is only one thing that races specifically through your head however. One question that stands out from the rest.

Do you even want Aegon, your husbands brother, to stop?

In your confusion, you find yourself unable to move a muscle. Only it seems Aegon mistakes your lack of action and your confusion as a direct answer. Since his once shy hands move with a surprising confidence from your arm, to delicately cupping at your cheek and your head.

You cannot deny that the kiss did not leave a warm feeling erupting in your chest, and a fluttering sensation to churn in your heart. Yet there is one other thing you can think off while this is happening. You can only ponder on how strange it truly feels to kiss another man other than your husband. How strange it is to betray your marriage like he had done.

When Aegon finally breaks away from you, you can see that his eyes have grown dark with presumably desire. Yet unlike other men, he makes no move to direct you to the nearest bed like you would expect him to do. Instead, it looks as if his eyes have softened as they look into your own. A strange kind of peace drifting over him that you’d never really seen on him, nor even on another person before.

“Why did you do that…” You mutter, watching the way the flames make his skin look almost golden in the light.

His eyes though still hold that same strange look of softness, and his hand begin to stroke at your cheek with a strange type of fondness.

“Because I’ve been wanting to do it for quite some time now.”

It’s so simple. Spoken so calmly with a careless shrug, that it’s almost as if it was the easiest thing Aegons ever said in his life, and yet it causes an immediate feeling of panic and terror to erupt deep within your chest.

Your head moves your body in such a hurry that you had almost toppled over, if Aegon had not clutched at you so quickly to keep you steady. Yet at the feeling of his practically burning hands on your bare skin you push away from him.

Your head races with the discovery of Aegons… desires? Feelings even? Whatever they are, they’re something you never would’ve known about if not for Aemonds betrayal to his vows.

You know you should be angry at Aegon for what he has done. Angry at yourself even for not immediately pushing him off of you, a still married woman. And yet, when he kissed you, you felt more alive and happy then you’ve felt since Aemonds betrayal.

Even as you pace the room, Aegons keen eyes watch you with concern and slight anticipation at your next move. Like a dog always waiting for it’s masters command. He doesn’t move from the spot he originally sat in, only turning on his and trailing after your pacing with his eyes.

“I don’t know if I could ever love you-“

“You do not have to love me!” At the confession, Aegon is suddenly standing before you, your hands clasped tightly in his. Almost too tightly. As if he was grasping a delicate object he was too afraid would collapse and smash into a thousand pieces. The issue with that concern though, is that you’ve already been broken into thousands of tiny pieces and put back together again. In the end, there’s nothing left for him to break that’s not already been broken before. “All you need to do, my sweet princess, is let me in…”

This time, you do not break away so suddenly from Aegon when he kisses you again. Instead, you tightly grip at his warm fire like flesh in your fingers, and allow for his body to envelope you in senses you thought would never be awoken again.

That night, you felt the crash of everything you have ever been feeling, and everyone that’s made you feel that pain hit you all at once. That night, the hurting finally stopped for a time, and was replaced with only pleasure.

Aemond feels tired, exhausted, and drained, all in one. The words that he attempts to write to you blur all into one as his head swims with an ache that he has no idea whether is due to his deformity or due to his lack of sleep and self care. Either way, it’s in the way, and if Aemond could, he would rip it from his head so he could be done with it all.

He’s seen glimpses and heard plenty of tales of Aegon coming and going from your chambers. Seemingly, a strange bond has formed between the two of you, as before his time at Harrenhal, you’d never spoken to him. Yet now, he hears whispers of his brother leaving your presence and your chambers nearly every day.

Now he not only is jealous of his brothers soon to be crown. Now, he must bear witness and be forced to sit and wallow in his jealousy of Aegons access to your touch and your voice. Of Aegons access to his wife.

The letter in front of him, his unknown number attempt at reconciliation, is half written. The quill in his hand half poised to write as it drips dark raven ink onto the page and bleeds onto the dark oak desk.

Maybe he should write it with his own blood? Slice his palm and let it drip into a cup, before dipping his quill into it and writing his heartbreak with it. If he shows you how much he’s willing to bleed for you, maybe you’ll finally be willing to read his words and allow him to see you again…

There’s now a cramp in his hand from where he’s paused himself, and yet he strangely relishes in the onslaught of dull pain being given to him by his hand and head.

Maybe it’s a sign from the gods that he should stop himself? For he betrayed both the maiden and the mother when he laid with that fucking witch from Harrenhal, and it feels as if he should be praying nightly to the father for him to be brought to justice for you.

However now, with the considerable amount of time that he is being forced to spend away from you and your arms, he feels as though he should pray to the Stranger, late at night, when the moon is high and full. He should pray to him to slice his head from his shoulders and place him away from his misery forever more.

Though with his Targaryen heritage, there is no doubt that they have been waiting for an opportunity like this to pluck him and his family from their very roots for their many sins…

It has been a few months since you, ‘let Aegon in’, as he’d so put it. Though if you were to be honest with yourself, you’ve never felt as calm of character, as you were when you were with Aegon.

Still, you must admit, that whenever his head of short and unkempt silver hair is laid in your lap, facing away from you, your mind begins to wander of other things. You end up always thinking of his hair being twice as long, and his body being twice as lean.

You concluded that the gods must be punishing you for your sins. For practically abandoning your husband for a man of his own blood and partaking in pleasures of the flesh with him. But if this was how the gods had decided to punish you, how were they punishing Aemond…

“It is alright my love, we do not need to do it again until you are willing.” Aegon had said whilst stroking the bare skin of your arm with a distinguishable fondness.

You hadn’t the strength to tell him that the reason why you could not bring yourself to lay with him again is because the memory of Aemond still lives on in you forever. The ones that used to make you smile in fondness, but now make you wish to tear out his other eye with your bare hands and have his blood drip from your fingernails.

Aemonds memory that constantly lies within you is now a plague. A plague of constant mourning and sadness. A plague that is never ending and never relenting.

The memory of him still lives on months later, where for the first time ever, you leave your room dressed properly and looking like a true lady of the court. Aegon stands by your side in what you believe in his eyes is for your protection. But why would you need protection when your heart has been broken and stitched back together carelessly two times already?

Though as Aegons tries to murmur what your sure is meant to be encouraging murmurs of affection in your ear, your ears prick up to the sound of a familiar sound of footsteps, and you look up and connect eyes with your husband.

Your feet stop where they stand, and Aegons hands clench firmly against your own as he continues murmuring some kind of unknown gibberish in your ear. But you ignore him and look only at your husband. Who in turn, stares only at Aegons hands that are intwined in your own. You can see even from where you are standing, the way his brows furrow in annoyance at the sight, and somehow, you can feel your heart break for the third time in your lifetime as Aemond swiftly walks away without sparing you another glance.

You’re here. You’re walking close as can be with his brother and you’re standing in front of him looking at him with shocked doe like eyes.

The anger that blooms in his chest is nothing like the anger he felt when he killed Luke. It’s nothing similar to the anger he felt when he faced the injustice of his father when he was robbed of his eye. This is a new type of anger. It’s an obsession. A new type of injustice that only the feeling of blood on his skin could possibly have the power to diminish. But not your blood. Never your blood. No. Aemond craves Aegons blood on his blade.

He doesn’t even realise that he walked away from you until he looks around and realises he’s in his chambers, and his eye stares at the half written letter that still pathetically lays on his desk. An old pot of ink and a ruffled quill still waiting for him to pick up again.

His rage that still boils like a dragons fire within him feels no bounds as he tempts himself into ripping the letter. Into grabbing his dagger tucked away in his belt and stalking his way through the passages to Aegons chambers, where he’d wait till the sun goes down to strike him when he least expects it, and grin as Aegons chokes on his blood with fear and betrayal in his eyes. Watching with glee as Aegon dies for his crime. Trying to take what rightfully belongs to him.

But then, Aemond properly begins to think. You seemed to be close to be brother, if the closeness Aegon held you and the way he so closely whispered into your ears meant anything. If he killed his brother, it would only mean that he killed another one of the people you cared about. And Aemond refused to give you another reason for you to be scornful of him.

Aemond gives in though and rips the letter on the desk, and with a huff begins a new one. His anger and his frustration clear in his writing and with how many times the quill almost goes through the page with how fiercely and carelessly he uses it. He imagines your happiness though as he writes. The way you used to smile at him with such unique brightness. The way your cheeks would flush a beautiful light pink when he teased you. He even dared to think and reminisce on the way your face would shift into one of pure pleasure when he’d sit before the heaven that lay between your thighs, and lick and suck till he felt you spill no less than three times on his tongue.

The last thought soured though as he imaged Aegon seeing you like that. Seeing your smile, your happiness, your pleasure. The grip on his quill so strong he felt it snap between his fingers. A sharp shard of it bringing a small drop of blood to drop and pool on the page bellow. Yet Aemond didn’t choose to begin a new letter clear of his blood. He allowed it to stay there and continue with the same paper, so he could show his devotion to you. So he could show his willingness to bleed for you. Show how much he values his vow to shed as much blood as he needed to in order to achieve your forgiveness. It was truly an addictive thought, seeing you again. And one he could never stop running through his head when he thought of the future.

Aemond finished the letter, writing on the paper front and back with no less than three separate pages before he deemed his rant to be over. Blood pooling on various areas on all of them. His fingers now cramping around the new quill that he’d grabbed with each flex of his hand, and the ache that has sadly dulled around the cut to Aemonds relief remains pungent. If he could, he would pray to all Seven Gods for the wound to never heal. So you could see his devotion to you. To witness the death of his sanity in front of your very eyes.

There are no guards outside the front of your chambers. A fact Aemond cannot help but be disgusted by when he sees it as he walks to the familiar doors. Later that night he’ll find those two men tasked with the purpose of keeping you safe, and he’ll make sure to strip them of whatever dignity and honour they believed to possess. Perhaps the comfort of the wall would suit them nicely? Or the kiss of his blade?

Aemond raises his fist to knock at the door, but voices keep him from doing so. Specific voices. Yours and Aegons voices…

Before he knows it, Aemond is pushing himself against the wood as much as he can so he can hear every beautiful syllable of your voice. He does not care at first for the meanings behind them, but he certainly begins to when he realises what he is listening too are some very familiar high pitched sounds. Breathless sounds that Aemond had told you on yours and his wedding night that only he would hear.

While Aemond waits outside your door, he can hear your voices of pleasure radiating from the other side.

His fists are clenched no more to knock, but instead in anger. And the dulled throb of the small cut earlier on his hand flares up again as it reopened from his carelessness. Yet instead of moving to stem the blood, Aemond grows an idea deep from within him. Aemond snatches his dagger from his belt, and with no hesitation, quickly slices a deep mark on his inner palm.

His posture and frame is deathly still while the blood begins to heavily pool and drip onto the ground, only moving to place his hand firmly against the wooden door, watching it drip down the dark wood and trail to the stone flooring.

He can see the large puddle flow under your door, and Aemond wishes nothing more at that moment for you to see it. To see him. To see his devotion. His love. His sacrifice for you. If he hadn’t already lost it, Aemond would’ve torn out his eye and shoved it under the door too as a gift for you to make you stop your torturing of his soul.

Aemond only steps away when the blood pool reaches his shoes, and even then it’s with great resistance from himself as he stuffs the still bleeding wound against his dark coat that already begins to rapidly absorb the blood. He can even feel it soak his undershirt and his skin.

He goes straight to his chambers that night instead of paying a visit to the maesters. He does the same the next night, and the one after that.

Instead, Aemond relishes in the look he receives from Aegon the next morning. The look of utter horror and fear that speaks at least over a thousand words. The look that tells him you now finally know of his gift and his devotion to you. The look that tells him he is one step closer to you again.

Aemond Targaryen refuses to rest until he is drained entirely of his blood and it is pooled directly at your feet. He refuses to rest until his heart is laid bare in his hands and is presented to you like a septa presents the gods with their offerings. Until his name can be uttered from your precious lips without your own heart breaking from sorrow.

Aemond Targaryens heart could break a thousand times over, each time bloodier than the next, but he refuses to allow yours to break again. Not by his hand at least…

[jxsterr]

something crazy that’s just crossed my mind is the whole thing of does zelda miss link while she’s stuck in the past? i know the memories don’t do shit all justice to tell us ANYTHING about zelda’s feelings on this whole situation but it does make you wonder. i personally think she misses him like he’s dead

because imagine this. you’ve been trapped in stasis for literally a century. you’ve watched all of your friends and family die. then your knight, the one you watched die in your arms, finally comes back and frees you. you then move into a small house together, it’s not much but it’s honest living. you spruce it up with decorations until you can both stand back and say, “yeah, this feels like home.” you live the next year or so quaintly, travelling around hyrule to restore it to its former glory as best as you can, all within the company of someone you hold closer than a best friend. he’s still there, even though he doesn’t have to be, and follows you ever loyally. you wonder if he’ll ever go his own way, but his insistence on remaining by your side makes you think otherwise.

you believe in the strength of learning, that the children of hyrule need to be better educated in order to solidify a strong future for the kingdom, so you build a school. you hire teachers and organise the school’s curriculum, taking part so much that you become a teacher yourself. he greets you every evening when you come home and plates up dinner already piping hot so you don’t have to worry about it. life continues this way, simple and non exhaustive, living earnestly beside someone who would extinguish the sun if it meant you’d smile. you love him, realistically, and he loves you too.

something stirs under the castle and, like the good princess you are, you go trundling into the depths below with your loyal knight to solve the problem. it bears endless discoveries, things you know you’ll stay up all night studying; things that bring you so much joy that he holds your torch so you can enjoy it without interruption. instead of the torch, he’s soon holding a shattered blade in his bloody hand, arm eaten and burnt raw by something that smells so vile it’s all you can do not to vomit. you watch the world fall into peril once more, and as you do so, you feel yourself falling to the exact same fate. you see the way he throws away legend and jumps after you, knowing that he is also falling to his demise. you see the fear in his eyes, the way tears cling to the corners of them and feel the burn of your own.

his plan was always to die by your side, and he will do it by any means necessary.

you wake up and he’s gone, your world is gone, and you’re somewhere new. two strange people greet you and quickly take you under their wing, and while a new world means endless discoveries, you can’t help but wonder if link is dead. did he kill himself alongside you, only for you to somehow survive and let him fall alone? the thought makes the bile creep up your throat.

who’s to say that, during the period of time where link is unconscious, she isn’t wracked with guilt at the realisation that he may be dead? she’s thousands upon thousands of years in the past, and his body may be the only one laid cold at the bottom of that chasm. would people even remember him? yes, he was the hero of hyrule, but he’d always kept a low profile. humble to a fault, she’d tell him. and the fault may be that if he’s dead, perhaps only her name would grace the lips of hyrule. the survivor’s guilt would eat her whole knowing that he’s died for her twice now.

so you can imagine her relief when she feels the pull of him and his sword. the relief when she can make her vow to him. the relief in knowing that he’s okay, somehow, and that he’s alive above everything else. but now that she knows he’s okay, what’s there left to do? well, miss him, of course. they’re inseparable and very rarely do things without the company of the other, she’s going to miss him like her right arm.

in the day she’s surrounded by people—sonia, rauru, mineru and her army of constructs, plus the rest of the people of this era of hyrule—but come the night, she’s alone. her bed lacks the warmth it used to hold, doesn’t bear the imprint of where her love has slept beside her. she’s painfully, irrefutably alone. she’ll step out onto the balcony of the castle alone and wish he was by her side, wish that she could just speak to him again even for a little while. for as long as she walks this hyrule, there is an overwhelming, gaping hole in her chest. she finds comfort in the presence of sonia, rauru and mineru but there’s only so much they can do. she talks to sonia about him. she talks to rauru about him. she talks to mineru about him. anyone who will listen to her speak of her talented hero, she will talk to.

she rides a construct and thinks of him. a steward construct explains to her the biodiversity of the land and she thinks of him. she spends her nights at her desk, quill in hand and illuminated by candlelight, and writes in her diary as if she’s speaking to him. it cuts her open over and over with every day she has to wake up alone.

when she decides the only thing fate has left in store for her is to become a dragon to aid link in the future, she weeps for days on end. she knows that this is it, everything she’s ever known will be beyond her forever now. she lives on in the skies, but her soul dies here. all those years they spent together building a life together, growing, all for nothing. they were cursed from the very beginning. ever since they fell to the calamity the first time fate has had it out for them. and so her last thoughts while she can still think are of him. she prays for his safety, for his success, and for him to have a happy and long life without her. she weeps knowing she’ll never grow old with him or get to experience the revival of her kingdom. it tears her from the inside out, and she screams even as a dragon at the loss. it’s overwhelming, devastating beyond any weight words could hold. she’s lost everything, lost everyone, and lost herself. she was doomed from the beginning. she was never meant to be happy.

so yes, the ending of totk should’ve been a HELL of a lot more emotionally charged. seeing someone you thought was dead AND that you worried you’d never see again?? she’d be crying for hours in his arms

[bitethedevil]

Living with The Devil You Know (Raphael x Tav): Chapter 6

Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

Read this fic on AO3 (Link)

Fic Summary: Tav broke their agreement by handing the Crown of Karsus to Mystra instead of Raphael. Not only that, but she also robbed his house and killed his incubus. Raphael is patient and he is determined to get his revenge.

…Tav isn't too bothered. She will figure something out eventually. Until then she just has to find a way to live peacefully with a devil.

Chapter Summary: Raphael learns that Tav has been up to something. Tav is reminded of the reality of the situation she finds herself in and of who Raphael really is. She also learns that she is beginning to develop a bit of Stockholm Syndrome.

(AN: I can't believe we're already at Chapter 6. I think I started writing this fic early this month. I literally haven't thought of anything else since. I should really try touching some grass...)

TW: Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Blood.

Hope you are still alive and well. What is it that Raphael wants from us and what should we expect if he contacts us?

That was the message that she had received in the morning from Gale. She had to get a message back to her friends, though it would prove difficult as Cassius was watching her with the intensity of a predator waiting for its prey to move before it pounces.

She could take him easily. That was not the problem at all. The problem was that Cassius would not fall for the same trick and he would definitely tattle on her this time if she tried anything. She would have to be very discreet.

She got up from her chair and started slowly walking back and forth in the large main area of the house. Cassius narrowed his eyes at her.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Getting some exercise. It’s not like I can go out for a stroll, is it?” Tav answered and stretched her limbs.

“Sit down,” Cassius ordered.

“Free roam of the house~” Tav said, repeating what Raphael had promised her on her first day there. “You are supposed to follow me, not the other way around.”

“I can’t watch you if you keep pacing,” he said with a sneer. “Sit. Down.”

“No,” Tav said and kept walking at a leisurely pace.

There was a quiet growl of frustration from Cassius, but he did not get up from his chair, although he kept watching her intently.

She kept walking around the room, testing if he would get up from his chair if she turned her back on him. She could sense that he tensed up when she did, but he did not move. All she needed was a moment.

She turned her back on him once again. She quickly and quietly mumbled the message she had rehearsed in her mind for Gale.

Unfortunately, Cassius were on her before she could even say the incantation for the sending spell.

“You insolent little bitch,” he hissed.

He grabbed her hair and pulled her backwards, making her land on her back. She opened her mouth to say an incantation, but Cassius was fast. He punched her square in the face, and it took her by surprise. It was clear that he had just been waiting for an excuse to hurt her.

He held her arms down and muffled her with his hand.

“I can’t wait till he sees your true colors,” Cassius said and pressed down the hand that was over her mouth and nose, making it hard for her to breathe.

Tav bit his hand hard and then she worked fast: Thunderwave, Sleep spell.

Cassius flew back and slumped to the floor.

Tav was breathing hard. She closed her eyes for a moment to try and calm her pulse down a bit. She rubbed her face and when she withdrew it, she saw that there was a good amount of blood on it.

She got up from the floor and walked over to Cassius, before casting another spell that would ensure that he would keep sleeping for quite a while before getting up again.

Tav closed her eyes and said the message she would send to Gale:

The Orphic Hammer. I’m in chains. He is trying to lure you here to try and free me. Don’t come here under any circumstances.

She sent the message and then glanced at Cassius on the floor before sending another as well:

I’m safe and well. I’ll probably not be able to contact you any time soon. Too risky. Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure it out.

Tav sighed. She threw herself down in an armchair and called on one of the servants. The poor halfling woman who entered looked at Cassius’s unconscious body and then at Tav’s bloodied face with widened eyes. Tav smiled politely at her.

“Can you call Raphael here?” Tav asked.

“Yes, miss,” the halfling servant mumbled and nodded.

“Thank you.”

Tav waited and expected the worst when Raphael would come home.

Raphael was in his devil form when he returned home. He looked furious when he entered and saw his warlock unconscious on the floor. He looked even more pissed when his eyes went to Tav.

“Please…” Tav said and held her hands up in defense. “Let me explain…”

“Oh, you will,” Raphael said in a low voice and walked closer to her. “Talk.”

“The day after I got here, I incapacitated Cassius to cast a sending spell to my friends,” she explained hurriedly. “I convinced him not to tell you. Today I did it again. I am being upfront with you, because it’s not my intention to piss you off or to hide anything.”

The latter being a bit of a lie. She would not have told Raphael if she had not been caught in the act by Cassius, and he probably knew that she was only trying to come clean in order to get ahead of Cassius’s allegations.

Raphael’s eyes narrowed at her as he studied her bloodied face. He was quiet for a moment. It was tense and uncomfortable.  

“What did he do to you?” Raphael asked. He said it with eerie calmness, but she could hear the anger hiding right under the surface.

That was…not the question she had anticipated. She had been so busy saving her own ass, that she had not really considered the fact that Cassius might be in danger from getting punished as well. It was not that she had a lot of sympathy for the warlock, but she knew what Raphael was capable of doing to people, and she did not like the thought of being responsible for it.

“Oh this?” Tav asked and gestured to her face. Her nose was still slightly bleeding, and she felt that her cheek was starting to swell up slightly. “He only tried to hinder me from attacking him.”

Raphael's eyes narrowed even more.

“Mm…And why are you protecting him, Tav?” Raphael asked in a dangerous tone.

“I’m not,” she said with quietly. “It’s just…he was just doing his job.”

“I am well aware of his incompetence. His job was to call upon me should anything happen. Which he has failed to do twice, if what you are saying is correct,” Raphael said darkly and came closer. He grabbed her chin gently and turned her face to study her injuries. “I did not give him permission to harm you like this, so I will ask you again…Why are you protecting him?”

The intensity of Raphael’s stare and the tone of his voice made her nervous. She swallowed hard and her eyes flicked away from his gaze.  

For once, she actually felt like a little mouse, shaking under the paw of the cat, knowing that one wrong move could mean that its claws would sink into her.

“Do you care for him, is that it?” Raphael asked pointedly.

Her eyes went back to his and her brow furrowed at the odd question. Was that…jealousy she saw on his face?

“No,” she answered as if it was obvious. “I don’t. I’ve told you what I think of him before…it’s just…”

“Just what?” Raphael asked, his fiery eyes still boring into hers.

“I just…don’t want to be responsible for what you are going to do to him…” she answered in a quiet voice.

A sadistic smile flickered across his face for a brief moment.

“Do not worry yourself with such matters,” Raphael said in a slightly lighter tone and ran his thumb over her chin before his tone turned dark again. “Cassius, is responsible for what I am going to do to him.”

He let go of her chin and used the same hand to snap his fingers. Korrilla appeared in a flash of smoke and embers. It looked like she had been in the middle of something when she was whisked away. She looked at Tav and Raphael with slight confusion.

“Take her to the boudoir,” Raphael said to Korrilla and then looked at Tav to address her. “You and I will talk later.”

That little sentence and the tone of his voice made her hair stand on end.

Tav was pacing the room with an empty look in her eyes. She was not easy to scare, but now she was terrified of what Raphael might to do her. She had heard the sounds of when he sometimes punished the servants for disobeying his orders.

Whatever he would do to her, it would be personal. She had told Raphael too much. There was way too much for him to use against her and she felt anxiety bubbling in her stomach. She had not felt fear like that for years. She felt like a scared little girl again and she hated it.

“Sit down, Tav,” Korrilla said calmly. “You are going to make a hole in the floor with all that walking back and forth.”

“I think I really fucked up…” Tav mumbled and kept pacing. “What do you think he’ll do? Do you think he’d go after my friends?”

Tav had not even considered that before she said it. He probably would not. It seemed below him, but her anxiety was telling her that he might.

“Sit down, Tav,” Korrilla sighed. ”And calm down.”

“How am I supposed to be calm?” Tav asked and flinched slightly as she heard the muffled sounds of Raphael’s shouting at Cassius through the barrier to the boudoir.

“Tav,” Korrilla said slowly. “Sit down and tell me what happened.”

Tav sighed. She sat down and explained everything to Korrilla. She noticed that Korrilla was suppressing a smile as she explained, which annoyed her to no end.

“What is it that is so fucking funny about this situation?” Tav suddenly snapped at her.

Korrilla chuckled. She put her elbows on the table between them and leaned closer to Tav.

“You’re a smart girl,” Korrilla said in a lowered voice. “Use that brain of yours. You’ve seen his other debtors roaming the halls, haven’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” Tav said with an annoyed expression. “Yes, obviously. So what?”

“Do you see any of them getting treated as well as you? Are any of them dressed in silks, sleeping in their master’s bed?” Korrilla asked.

“No but that’s just because he needs me alive and in one piece to lure my friends here. He said that himself,” Tav said. She was getting frustrated with Korrilla’s calmness.

“Why?” Korrilla asked and then pointed to Tav’s chains around her wrists. “You’re wearing those. You can’t leave the house anyhow, so how would they know that you are 'alive and in one piece'? Wouldn’t it be more motivating for your friends to come and save you if they were told that you are suffering in a dungeon somewhere in the Hells?”

Tav was looking at her with a mix of annoyance and confusion.

“What are you saying?” Tav asked.

“I am saying that had you been any other person who had defied him, you would be in there watching as he made an example of Cassius. Instead, I was ordered to herd you into the only room that is somewhat soundproof in this house,” Korrilla said. “He favors you, Tav. You are not in any danger of getting hurt. Not yet anyhow.”

Tav rubbed her face trying to make sense of it. Of course, she knew that she was being treated surprisingly well for what she had expected when she got there, she was not blind. It just did not make sense, when she was the one who robbed him of his precious Crown of Karsus that he had been hunting for years. It must be some cruel joke and at some point, the hammer would fall.

“But why?” Tav asked.

“Who knows,” Korrilla said with a shrug. “I’ve worked for him for a long time, and I still won’t bother to try to figure out his motivations when it comes to certain matters. It’s a lost cause. Raphael does what Raphael wants. Which is what Cassius is learning for the first time as we speak.”

As if on cue, she heard the muffled sound of a scream from the other side of the barrier.

Tav hid her face in her hands.

“I feel terrible…” Tav said. “I hate the fucker, but he doesn’t deserve that.”

“Do you want me to make it worse?” Korrilla asked.

“No,” Tav mumbled into her hands.

“In the beginning we were given permission to hurt you if it was necessary to stop you, you know?” Korrilla explained anyway. “It sounds like Cassius overreacted, but technically he was not completely out of line. Aside from the fact that he failed to report it when you did it the first time, of course.”

Tav looked up from her hands and her brow furrowed.

“Then why is he even getting punished?” Tav asked in disbelief.

“Half of the job is figuring out Raphael’s whims and fancies…” Korrilla said. “I suppose he changed his mind along the way.”

Tav was quiet for a moment. She was trying to make sense out of it, but with little luck.  

“But you haven’t heard any of this from me. Understood?” Korrilla said, as she always did when she had said too much. 

Tav nodded. Gods, she loved Korrilla for her tendency to gossip.

“Thank you, Korrilla,” Tav said.

“For what?” she asked. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t common sense…”

Tav flinched as she heard another muffled gut-wrenching scream.

“What should I expect from him when he’s done?” Tav asked.

“My guess? He might yell at you. Perhaps a few threats of what would happen if you do it again,” Korrilla said. “I really can’t imagine that he would hurt you over something like a few sending spells.”

Tav nodded. That helped her calm down somewhat.

Tav and Korrilla went quiet when Raphael entered the boudoir. Korrilla left immediately, leaving Tav alone with him.

He was drying his hands from blood with a handkerchief. He looked Tav up and down. She looked him up and down in return. Her anxiousness was bubbling up in her stomach again. The fact that Raphael’s facial expression revealed nothing, did not help. He was eerily calm. He started walking towards her at a leisurely pace and sat down where Korrilla had sat a moment before.

Tav’s nerves made her break the silence.

“Am I in trouble?” she asked with a tinge of nervousness in her voice.

He looked at her with a slight smile and those same intense eyes he had looked at her earlier.

“Is that fear I hear in your voice, mouse?” he asked. “How delightful it is to see that you do have some sense of self-preservation after all…”

He snapped his fingers and the bloodied handkerchief disappeared.

“Tell me, what did you say to your companions in those messages?” he asked calmly.

Tav hesitated with her answer for a moment. He would most likely know if she was lying, so she decided to tell him the truth.

“Where I was. That I was safe for now…That they should not deal with you no matter what,” she explained.

“Mm…” He hummed in thought. “And this was the day after you arrived, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Raphael said. “And the second message? There were just those two, yes?”

“Well, I sent two today right after each other,” she explained. “I received a message asking what you wanted from them. I explained and once again emphasized that they should not come. Then I told them that it might be my last message, because I anticipated that I would have to come clean to you.”

“I’m glad you did,” he answered calmly. “Cassius will not be guarding you anymore. He won’t even see you if it can be avoided.”

Tav’s brow furrowed in confusion. Surely, Korrilla would not be able to do anything else if she was constantly watching her.

“Who will be then?” she asked.

“No one,” Raphael answered. “You will be granted that privacy you’ve been yearning for. I see no reason why you should not. You haven’t proven to be destructive or shown even the faintest interest in escaping. Not that you would have any luck even if you tried, of course.”

…What?! Tav could not believe it. This had to be a trap, or she was seriously missing something. She was dumbfounded.

“I hurt your warlock twice, I send messages to my friends to discourage them for falling into your trap, and I’m getting rewarded for it?” Tav said in disbelief. “What am I missing here, Raphael?”

“I had expected you to do as much. In fact, I had expected you would do much worse…” Raphael said calmly. “I am rewarding your honesty, not your actions. Besides, I am using a lot of resources on keeping an eye on you and I now find it unnecessary. It is as simple as that.”

Tav was still dumbfounded. She was honestly a bit more nervous about this reaction than she would have been if he had simply punished her or yelled at her. He was up to something. He must be, or it did not make sense.

“Though I need you to understand this…” he said and leaned closer to her. “If I catch you trying anything, I will not let you escape punishment again. I will not let you abuse the trust I am giving you by loosening my grip on your leash. Do you understand?”

She into those fiery eyes of his and nodded.

“Good,” he purred and smiled at her. He studied the injuries on her face from Cassius punching her. “You should get that cleaned up, dear.”

Tav wanted to ask him something, but she hesitated for a moment.

“What did you do to him?” she asked quietly.

There it was again. That look on his face that she could not quite place. Anger? Jealousy? Possessiveness? He quickly replaced it with a smirk.

“I still have a few things to see to before I will return,” Raphael said, ignoring her question and getting up from the chair. “Enjoy your first little taste of privacy, my dear.”

He left her and as promised, no one came to watch her. She was alone for the first time in over a week. There was complete silence. She found herself unable to figure out what to do with herself.

She was left to her thoughts, and it quickly became uncomfortable. She had acted like a good little pet for Raphael, and she was starting to realize that she had almost forgotten that she was there against her will, robbed of her freedom.

She had cowered before him and admitted everything. She had been reminded of what he was capable of and who he really was…and yet…throughout the day she found that she missed him and longed for when he would come home again. And yet, she found herself thinking about what Korrilla had said to her: He favors you, Tav.

Why did that thought excite her? Why did she care that he favored her? She was nothing more than her captor’s favored prisoner, but she found herself feeling warm inside at the thought.

It disgusted her to think of who she was becoming and yet, the feelings were still there...

[sadlybeans]

No More Batman AU Part 4: The Prodigal Son

AO3 Link || Part 1, 2 & 3

Dick could pretend all he wanted and play at being a strong, reliable hero, but he wasn’t.

Nightwing had become a beacon of what any new member of the Justice League could aspire to be, standing next to the founding members after winning his own place and not as a replacement to Batman after his retirement. He had worked hard to be the person everyone could rely on, and in turn he had won many wonderful friends that would undoubtedly give everything for him if he just asked— But Dick Grayson? Dick Grayson was a coward.

Dick Grayson was scared to death every day when he didn’t have his siblings in sight, anxiety building up on his chest until he could call or visit to see them, make sure they were safe, they were home, they were alive. He had lost every drop of courage the day he returned home only to be told his little brother had been killed. There wasn’t a single day since those news that he didn’t feel fear, even if he knew his little siblings were strong and capable on their own.

But… well. He wasn’t sure if he was afraid for Damian, or of what he could do.

Dick had started his vigilante career as a child of all of nine years old when his rage was too much to contain and Bruce had lost every battle to keep him home. He had trained with and against many people and he had grown so much that it was said he had long ago surpassed Batman, and yet— yet he felt that Damian was almost, just almost, as good as him.

Damian, the fifteen year old child that had just been dropped on their doorstep a couple months ago. Damian, who refused to acknowledge their presence most days, who swore in expletives that scandalised even Alfred, and who was a trained and seasoned assassin. Damian, who could heal inhumanely fast, who could see in the dark and move without sound, and who had broken Tim’s arm in three with two strikes too fast for any of them to stop.

He was just a kid who shouldn’t have been in their business -much like none of Dick’s siblings should be- yet he was proficient in many of Bruce’s and Dick’s techniques, and he was unfairly fast in learning amidst a fight… Dick had tried setting him up against Cass, and had thought it worked for a moment… until he learnt to use her own moves and set them equally until they were both exhausted. He had mopped the floors with Tim and Steph, and then almost defeated Dick all in a row.

When Tim had asked sarcastically if that was all he had, Damian had frowned as he opened and closed his fist.

“I’m still adjusting to fight without weapons”

A frightening phrase that had made them all fall silent, and then he had to ask cautiously if he’d like to spar with wooden swords. He could’ve sworn Damian almost brightened to that suggestion, but it was such a quick expression he couldn’t be sure. He then picked a katana and won. Against everyone.

And so, after an entire week of testing, they sat in the batcave and Bruce took a deep breath as he stared at all his children, and Dick for once didn’t know how to feel knowing that there was absolutely no excuse to not let Damian out onto the field.

“It’s… clear that your mother trained you well” he started.

“She didn’t” Damian interrupted immediately “Mother had tutors for me, but baba made me better“

Dick mentally filed another tick for concern on his thoughts about Damian’s mysterious baba.

“Right” B cleared his throat “your baba trained you well, I admit that you’re strong enough— But!” the boy scowled and he continued “Things here are not like you’re used to and….”

“I’ve been told on your family’s stand on killing. It’s stupid, but I’m willing to play along” he grunted reluctantly.

Bruce stared at him, and so did Tim and Dick, but there was no trace of deceit in him. For all his intensity and temper, he wasn’t really the type to lie as they had learnt, so Dick was inclined to believe him this time.

“… Very well. You can’t be Robin”

“You have said that already” Damian rolled his eyes “I’ll take another name”

That is certainly not the point, and none of them were comfortable with him being out there when they didn’t even know why he wanted to.

Things in Gotham had gone downhill when Jason died, and when Batman was put into the case that stood next to Robin, it was up to everyone else to keep the order in the city. They’d done a good job of keeping up the illusion, of pretending Batman still existed, but those who knew him well knew the truth… Joker hadn’t escaped in ten years, not since a week after Jay died and Nightwing beat him half to death before tossing him in Arkham. But now the asylum was on high alert, and a certain clown was said to be in a good mood after those photos of Robin were leaked.

The news had exploded and the topic was trending online, hence why Damian was actually needed despite their reluctance; he was the only one that fit the build and size, and who could also perfectly replicate Jason’s body language as terrifyingly confirmed by the photos and footage. They didn’t look that much alike and Damian’s skin was darker, but the pictures were taken at night and from far off, nobody could spot the difference unless he was close enough and standing still.

“Can you promise that you’ll be careful and follow Dick’s rules?”

The boy frowned.

“I’m not a child, I know what to do”

“We already discussed this, it’s my way or nothing”

“… Fine, I promise” he said in a grunt, crossing his arms across his chest. “Any other ridiculous demands?”

“You never patrol alone, ever” Bruce held up a hand before he could protest “that’s a rule all of them follow, not only you”

He didn’t look any more happy but nodded.

“And one last thing… you’re going to need to learn the ropes of how this works, and Dick can’t supervise you all the time. For obvious reasons, I don’t believe anybody else is qualified to supervise you, so after talking it through with Clark… Superboy is going to be your partner whenever Nightwing is not available”

Damian didn’t say anything, no immediate explosion of anger, nothing. They all waited with baited breath as he just stared at Bruce.

“He’s a child” he finally replied, with actual bafflement in his voice.

“Jon is thirteen, yes, but he’s been in the business for longer than you, and he’s kryptonian. It’s safer”

“So I don’t kill him”

“Safer for both of you”

“No, you really just want to prevent me from killing him because I don’t have access to kryptonite at the moment”

“I… Like to believe you would not attempt to kill a child”

Damian shook his head in disbelief and Tim pushed past Dick.

“Are you serious, B!? Jon’s way too good for him, it’s not safe! Why not— hell, if you want him to be supervised by a kryptonian then Kon might be able to!”

Bruce sighed deeply.

“Supernova is as busy as you are, son. And there is an undeniable advantage on Damian being around a boy his own age, it will raise less suspicion”

“B, this is madness!”

“I don’t think this is a good idea….”

Slowly they all started to argue and Bruce tried to appease Steph, Tim and Duke, with Cass staying silently frowning in the background and Dick letting himself fall seated on the chair next to the computer, exhausted both physically and mentally. Damian didn’t look too upset but he was definitely over the whole conversation and completely tuned it out, moving through a couple sword forms with his wooden katana. God… when had things fallen apart this bad?

A phone rang in the silence and Damian turned his head towards the computer, where his burner phone rested. Dick’s eyes widened and slowly the discussion died down as the teen crossed the room and picked it up, looking down at the screen for a second before he answered it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you ungrateful little brat!?”

Dick fully winced at the furious voice that hollered at the other side, audible in the sudden dead silence of the cave. Damian looked wholly unimpressed, and he wasn’t sure if to think that was stupid or brave.

“I’m fitting in, like you said I should. Wayne has agreed to let me patrol with them”

Damian please, don’t you have any self preservation instincts? Why are you talking to your father like this? Damian, I beg you—

“If you so much as step a single foot out on the streets on patrol I WILL DRAG YOU BACK kicking and screaming if I have to!”

“Ok”

“You have no idea of—! … What?”

Damian’s lips turned into a smug smirk and Dick gaped at him.

“I said ok. You can come drag me back inside the house”

Oh.

Oh, this sneaky little brat… It was such a simple trap but it worked. This mysterious “baba” of his obviously wanted nothing to do with the bats -so far their leading theory was that he didn’t want to risk getting arrested-, which was why he couldn’t check on Damian personally, but if the boy did something so reckless that he wouldn’t approve of, something he knew only he would be able to stop… then he had no choice but to come to Gotham and set him straight.

“Damian Al-Ghul, you know exactly why I don’t want you out playing superhero” the man hissed in a low dangerous tone.

“I know” the teen agreed calmly “and it’s not going to stop me. I didn’t want you to go either and you didn’t listen to me”

“I’m the adult in this relationship you little shit, you don’t get to make demands”

“Well you gave me away so it’s not up to you anymore!” And he hung up. He turned off the phone and turned away to stare directly at Bruce. “When can I go out, then?”

Fuck…. Dick seriously needed a drink.

Robbing a store in Gotham was frighteningly easy, as long as you didn’t run across a very pissed off owner or a vigilante. But hey, Mark was very sure that none of the Bats patrolled that area at that hour, giving him a window of time to act and leave silently without anybody being disturbed.

After emptying the safe and putting a few semi valuable items in his backpack he sighed and turned around towards the door, and nearly had a heart attack right there and then, a strangled yelp coming out of his mouth. There was… god, that was a new one!

The figure was perched atop a car at the other side of the narrow street, crouched and staring directly into him through the soulless white eyes. They wore a black hood that obscured most of their face, but the bat cowl they wore was still visible and the ears poked out of it, easily making them identifiable. The rest of the suit was mostly black and red, with a somewhat childish touch on it that gave it a creepy vibe; the chunky boots of a bright red that matched the knee and elbow pads, the crimson palms of the black gloves, and the bright bat on their chest. Something about this miniature Batman reminded Mark of… of Robin, whose pictures had been supposedly taken not long ago.

Fuck, no, it couldn’t be him! Robin had died ten years ago, this was impossible—

The figure stood from his crouch and jumped down to the pavement to start making his way over, and Mark screamed in terror.

New Vigilante in Gotham! Could This Be Robin!?

Dick folded the newspaper and sighed, looking up to the many screens of the computer again. The media had been in a frenzy the entire week, and the internet was blowing up even more. Hardcore fans had dug up every single video and photo they had of Robin from ten years ago and were comparing them side to side with little Batman, and incredibly… they were thoroughly convinced that they were one and the same, which had sparked an avalanche of theories as to how had he come back from the dead, and why so late. If any of them had been skeptical about Damian’s ability to imitate Jason, then their doubts had been eliminated— hell, he could do it so well that he had added details not even Dick or Bruce could remember until they rewatched old footage to compare.

In just his first night the new Batman had turned the city upside down, and so far after a week of continuous work, he seemed to be doing just fine… which was why now, Bruce wanted them to focus on finding that mysterious ‘baba’.

Damian was still not aware of their active investigation, but either way they had found absolutely nothing, not even Babs had managed to dug up any evidence or record, and it didn’t help that the info they had was severely limited to little facts the youngest Wayne dropped here and there.

“I don’t think we’ll find shit” Tim declared next to him, grumpily staring at the nth file they had on the League of Assassins. “We don’t even know what this man looks like”

Dick let out a long sigh and leaned back on his chair as another article popped up on screen, one mentioning the date of Robin’s death, and a vague memory popped up in his head.

“Hey Timmy, do you remember I told you about that kid I ran into at the faire?” he asked quietly as he straightened back up.

“Yeah, the rude little shit that didn’t even say thank you”

“…. I think that was Damian”

Tim finally looked up and frowned.

“What?”

Dick nodded as he turned to look at him with wide eyes, now remembering clearly.

“He was wearing sunglasses so I didn’t see his eyes, but the skintone and face shape is the same, and he was wearing his black hoodie that day, I’m a hundred percent positive it was him”

And come on, the way he talked was a dead giveaway too.

“Dick, why is this relevant?” his poor little brother asked in annoyance.

“Because I saw his dad too!” he declared triumphantly at last, grinning like a mad man, before he turned to the computer and started typing frantically “I couldn’t see his face either, he wore sunglasses and a mask, but he was tall— hell, I think he’s taller and broader than Bruce. And he— he had white hair, I remember I saw white hair beneath his hood”

Tim scrunched up his nose.

“He’s old….? But that can’t be, his voice sounds way too young… dyed hair?”

“Possibly. It would make sense if he doesn’t want to be recognised”

It was a small trail, but a trail nonetheless. With those small identifiers they could check across the security feed of thousands of cameras in Gotham, and narrow the search to big tall men with white hair that had been spotted around the time Damian arrived and right before it. If they clocked a single glampse on him from one of those, they could follow the lead until it brought them to his doorstep. The man was good at hiding, they had to admit, but they weren’t the world’s greatest detectives for nothing.

Before they could truly start digging on the new lead properly, one of the screens was overaken by Babs.

“Sorry to crash your party boys, but I think you should clock in early today— I just got an alert on East End for way too many gunshots. Mini Batman is requesting to go out”

“I’m not a mini anything, Gordon” Damian called from the stairs, where he was walking down followed by a silent Cass.

Babs completely ignored him and Dick frowned.

“I don’t think it’s wise to bring you to a possible gang war, Damian”

The fifteen year old raised an eyebrow at him.

“Should I remind you that of anybody in this room, I have performed best the entire week?” he replied dryly.

Dick frowned but Cass surprised them by raising her hand to interrupt.

“We need all the help. Batman will play nice”

They glanced at Damian, who rolled his eyes but nodded in accordance to their sister. Well then… time to work.

What they found in East End was not a gang war in fact, but clowns… Joker’s thugs. While Joker himself hadn’t stepped out of Arkham since Dick last tossed him in ten years ago, his clowns usually came back every few months to remind Gotham they still existed, that Joker could come back every time… It didn’t seem like he had escaped, not yet at least; when and if he did, he would definitely try to make it memorable for ‘little Robin’. At the very least, it meant there was no rogue running rampant and the cleanup was dealt with almost completely smoothly—

That is, until Damian was snatched mid air by the tall and imposing figure of a man, grabbed by the collar of his cape like a kitten as he kicked to struggle to get free.

Dick -or well, Nightwing- turned to attack and then stopped in his tracks. That man was big, definitely bigger than Bruce was now, with a shock of white hair amidst black and his face covered by both a domino and a red metallic mask over his nose and mouth. None of them heard him move near them, despite the fact he was not a few steps away… he had managed to sneak up on all the bats, he could’ve done anything before they even relised he was present.

“I warned you, and you didn’t listen” the robotic voice came from the mask and its modulator “You’re fucking grounded, you little piece of shit”

Damian twisted to kick him in the chest despite being held up in the air, although the man didn’t even react or move at being hit. The boy wasn’t upset though, grinning as if he’d just won their little spat, which in a way he had.

“Hi, baba” he said innocently “you look really nice tonight”

[torreshalstead]

On a crowded street in 1944 - Chapter 13

Summary - The four walls of Upton’s General Store were all Hailey knew although she longed to see what else life had to offer. When a handsome soldier walks through the door, she thinks he might just be the answer to the life she wants to have. But it was 1944 and the country was at war. Would fate smile on her or would her heart be another casualty of the war?

Chapters - 13/16

Notes - I can’t believe we are nearing the end of this story. Thank you so much for the love and support on it ❤️ AO3 Link

Her legs moved without her having to tell them to, closing the space between them in a matter of strides as she threw herself around him, her arms snaking around his shoulders as she buried her face into his neck. Social practices be damned.

‘Jay,’ she breathed out, her voice shaking with the realisation that all of the nightmares had lied to her. He hadn’t died, he was right here, she could feel his warm skin under her hands, his breathing against her chest. He was alive, and he had come back to her as he had promised.

‘My love,’ he responded and she scrunched her eyes together desperately trying to control the tears that were threatening to spill out. His arms had wrapped around her waist, keeping her close from the moment she had reached him.

‘You’re alive,’ she said, pulling back just slightly so she could look at him. From the glow of the streetlight above she could see the markings of a scar running down the side of his face, temple to jaw. She let her fingers graze down it slightly, gentle against the puckered skin.

‘Not as handsome as when I left,’ he swallowed, his eyes dropping from hers.

‘Still handsome to me,’ she whispered as she pressed her lips to the jagged marking. She felt him let out a deep breath when her lips touched his skin.

‘How I missed you,’ he sighed, squeezing her gently with his exhale.

‘And I you,’ Hailey responded. He loosened his hold on her slightly and her feet returned to their position flat on the floor. Her hands slipped down his side silently checking to see if he had any more visible injuries, until they met his hands and she laced their fingers together.

She immediately wished she hadn’t.

Jay pulled up her left hand that was still joined with his but separated their fingers as the ring that was adorning it came into view.

‘You’re engaged,’ he said flatly, taking a step back and letting their hands drop. ‘I apologise,’ he was blinking quickly, likely to stem the tears. Hailey made no such effort, the salty water escaping from her eyes and leaving wet stains on her cheeks.

‘No,’ she said quickly, shaking her head. ‘It’s not like that.’

‘Tell me that’s not an engagement ring, Hailey and I’ll take you back into my arms,’ he pleaded.

But she couldn’t tell him that. As much as she wanted to. An engagement ring was what it was.

‘Then I apologise for my behaviour. I should not have come here. I wish you goodnight,’ he nodded his head curtly and turned on his heel.

‘Jay wait,’ she called after him, her voice cracking as she called his name but she was thankful when he paused. ‘Come back tomorrow, I’ll explain.’

He didn’t answer, just reached out and pressed a brown paper package into her hand, let his gaze fall to the ground and turned as he made his way back into the darkness, taking another piece of Hailey’s heart with him.

She stifled a sob, covering her mouth with her hand to quieten the noise but her heart was breaking. He was alive, he still wanted her, but he believed her to be in love with another. He hadn’t agreed to coming to see her tomorrow. But when she dropped to her knees by the side of her twin bed, she prayed with every ounce of faith that she had that he would.

His scar told her he’d been hurt, perhaps more so than she could see, maybe that was the reason for the lack of letters. His lack of love was obviously not, she could see that in his eyes. Well she had seen it until it had been replaced by a look of betrayal and hurt when he had seen her ring.

The package he had given her sat forgotten on her bedside, she had no impulse to open it, not until she had a chance to explain herself to him. She needed him to know the truth of what had happened in his absence, if he still wanted to walk away from her after that, she would let him.

——————————————————————————

She jumped every time the bell rang the following morning, her head flying up, eyes darting to see who it was who was entering the store. But still, the one person she wanted to enter never came.

The hours ticked by until her mother came to relieve her for lunch. It was an uncommon occurrence but Hailey thanked her. She stepped out the back door, a breath of fresh air would do her good, her mother told her.

He was standing just outside the door.

‘You came,’ she said, her eyes wide in both shock and hope.

‘You asked me to,’ Jay said, a small smile playing on his lips. His lips that she was longing to kiss again, but before that, she needed to explain. To tell him everything. ‘I could never say no to you, Hailey.’

‘I don’t want you to,’ she said, taking a step closer but pausing when he moved back. ‘I owe you an explanation.’ She swallowed deeply. ‘You were right. It is an engagement ring.’

She saw a twitch in Jay’s cheek but he steeled his expression and remained standing still.

‘But I don’t love him. My heart is still yours, it always has been since that first day. The engagement was my father’s idea, it’s a business arrangement more than a romantic proposition. Oscar, my fiancée, his father is in business with mine and they came to an agreement. I was to marry Oscar. You know I have no money, no prospects and for all they knew, I had no reason to say no.’

It was hard to tell him all of this, but Jay deserved to know the truth so Hailey persevered, ignoring how much her hands were sweating and how they wouldn’t stop trembling.

‘Your letters stopped and I didn’t know what had happened so I said yes. I made him agree to delay the wedding until the end of the war. I hoped, prayed, that you’d come home to me and I could tell them the truth, call off the wedding and marry you.’ Her eyes were boring into his, hoping he could tell exactly what she was feeling even if she wasn’t doing the best job of expressing herself. She was so nervous that her words wouldn’t be enough but she had to make him see. ‘But the end of the war came and you didn’t come home.’ The tears were making their way down her cheeks now but she didn’t care. He was still listening intently to every word she said.

‘But now you’re home,’ she smiled weakly. ‘If you meant what you said in your letters, about wanting to marry me. I’ll go to my father now and tell him the wedding is off.’

‘And your fiancée?’ Jay asked, his voice cracked on the final word.

‘He doesn’t love me, at least not in a way that would take too long to get over. He’s a good man, but I think he’d understand that my heart belongs to another.’

Jay didn’t say anything, but he didn’t turn and leave either. So Hailey asked the question that had been plaguing her since the night before.

‘Why did the letters stop?’ Her voice was timid.

For the first time since she had exited the shop, Jay’s eyes dropped to the floor.

‘I got hurt,’ he admitted, his voice shaking as if the events were too hideous to recall. ‘Taken to a hospital, they didn’t speak English and I was out of it for a long time so couldn’t get in contact with you.’

‘Your face,’ Hailey said gently.

He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed, ‘and my leg. It’s healed, well, as well as it could, I won’t be running a marathon but I can walk without a stick for the most part.’

‘I’m not the same man I was when I left my love,’ he said, his eyes swimming with tears as they met hers again. ‘I won’t hold you to a promise on a page if you don’t want to be with a broken man. You can marry Oscar. I won’t stand in your way.’

‘Stand in my way,’ Hailey said firmly, taking another step towards him and this time he didn’t flinch. ‘You’re not broken, a little bruised maybe, but my love for you is just as strong as it was last year. This doesn’t change that.’

‘I love you Hailey Upton,’ he whispered, reaching out to push a strand of hair behind her ear, cradling her jaw. ‘Will you do me the honour of being my wife?’

It was what she had waited so long for, for him to say those words, she could only nod in response, her voice having abandoned her.

He reached forward, sealing his lips gently to hers.

In that moment it was as though all the pieces of her heart had fitted back together perfectly like a jigsaw puzzle with no gaps. Kissing Jay was just as sweet as she remembered, her dreams hadn’t embellished it at all.

‘Should we tell Oscar or my father first?’ Hailey asked when Jay finally pulled back.

‘It is up to you my love, but I will be by your side for both if you would like me to be. When was the wedding due to be?’

‘Next week,’ Hailey admitted.

‘Good thing I didn’t delay then,’ he chuckled.

‘Will?’ Hailey asked quickly, the name tumbling from her lips.

‘I’m Jay,’ he said softly with a chuckle. ‘But Will is fine too, not a scratch, at least physically.’

‘You found him?’ Hailey asked.

‘He found me, he’s coming back here too. He wants to meet you.’

‘He does?’

‘You’re my family Hailey, that means you're his as well.’

Hailey felt her cheeks warm, family. Jay was her family. And she would be his wife. Once she had told the other men in her life what was to happen, or more accurately, what wasn’t going to happen, they would be wed.

———————————————————���——————

They decided to tell Oscar first, Hailey’s father wouldn’t be able to force the marriage if the other part of the couple had already agreed to call off the nuptials.

He took the news surprisingly well.

‘You’re a lucky man, Jay Halstead,’ he said, offering his hand for Jay to shake. He held on slightly too long so he could add, ‘and thank you for your service.’

Jay nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line.

‘I always knew your heart wasn’t in it Hailey,’ Oscar said, turning to Hailey. ‘I would have been a good husband to you but I’m glad you’re happy.’

‘I know Oscar, thank you,’ Hailey said, leaning forward to gently press a kiss to his cheek.

‘How did your father take the news?’ He asked curiously.

‘We’re to tell him this afternoon,’ Hailey admitted. ‘I don’t think he’ll be as responsive as you.’

‘I would have thought not, but please tell him I won’t marry a girl who loves another man. Especially a man who fought for this country and returned home to his love. I’m not that kind of man.’

They bade him farewell and strolled back down the street. Hailey reached across to grasp his hand, her ring finger bare again as she had returned the ring to Oscar. It was not hers to keep and soon it would be replaced by a wedding band.

‘Are you worried?’ Jay asked quietly.

‘Yes,’ Hailey said truthfully. ‘But it won’t change my decision,’ she added quickly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. ‘I will marry you with or without his permission, but I want him to be happy for me.’

‘And your mother?’

‘She wants me to be happy, she always has. But I don’t know if father disagrees if she’ll be able to go against him and be there for us.’

‘She’ll be there in your heart if she can’t be there in person,’ Jay offered.

‘As will your mom,’ Hailey said.

They fell into a peaceful silence as they walked past the store fronts that lined the street.

‘Did you open the package?’ Jay asked as they walked past Mrs Smith’s store.

‘Not yet,’ Hailey admitted. ‘I didn’t want to until you knew the truth.’

‘I could tell you what it contains?’ Jay offered.

‘I’ll get it when we get back to the store and we can open it together.’

[mmkin]

Shark Bait ch 6 (Arlong x Reader)

Shark Bait has been updated. AO3 link here, story also included under the cut.

Content/trigger warnings - abuse (of various kinds), noncon, dead dove! NSFW, blah blah.

VI

o0o0o0o

Nami comes back from another trip, the freedom of her village so close she can taste it, and you’re happy for her. Considering what she’d been through for the last eight years, not just with Arlong, but risking her life against pirates to collect the money to pay off her debt, you find it impossible to feel jealous of her impending freedom.

You stay where you usually do – the sidelines – and watch the drama unfold as the Straw Hats come to the island in pursuit of their friend and their boat. Nami’s under a lot of stress, and so are you because Arlong is pissed off about these Straw Hats, especially after the one with the slingshot attacked Arlong in Cocoyashi Village. Oh, how he roared and thrashed around, and his fishmen had to restrain him. Much as they dislike humans, the fishmen are pragmatic enough to not allow Arlong to destroy another village.

But oh, he finds other ways to express his bad mood. He’s a bully, and mean, and big and strong. He might be loyal to his nakama, but that doesn’t mean they’re immune to his sarcastic comments or foul moods.

It's been so long since he had his rule directly challenged so close to home. Navy ships, ha! A simple conquest for fishmen, but a handful of teenagers are proving to be more of a problem than the arrogant sharkman wants to admit.

You’ve been ground under the heel of Arlong and his friends, your old life almost seeming nothing more than a dream. You let Arlong and his crew use you as they please, and they make sure to remind you constantly what a slut you are, and how honored that a half-human like you should be able to serve them so intimately. Regardless of whatever privileges Arlong grants you, you’re still his fucktoy, and that was the fate you were resigned to until you hear Arlong talking to Nezumi and telling him about Nami’s Berry stash.

After Nezumi leaves, you whip around to Arlong as the fishmen cackle over Arlong exploiting the loophole in his deal with Nami.

“You’re despicable!” you say, displaying more fire than you have in a while. This only makes Arlong and his peers laugh harder. Your first thought is to run to Nami and warn her, but as if he reads your mind, he grabs your arm, pulling you into his lap as he grins down at you.

“Little clownfish. Why be so concerned over a silly little human? I buy her presents and clothes, just as I do for you. She’ll just keep on making her maps for the rest of her life, fulfilling her purpose as a useful human in the Arlong Empire!”

You squirm and try to kick your way out of his lap, but as you’ve already learned – and been reminded of often – you’re nothing against a pack of full-grown and powerful fishmen. Arlong takes you right then and there, reminding you of your position within the crew as his men watch their captain force you into submission despite your screams and struggles before he throws you into a cell to keep you from interfering, telling you that the rest of his crew will take their time to remind you where you belong when this silly little affair with the Straw Hats is over. Part of you is terrified. But the other part of you is aroused at that thought.

You stand just outside of Arlong Park, mouth agape at the sight of the grand structure in ruins. You almost can’t believe it, but it actually fucking happened. Arlong and his men had been defeated by humans. Mere humans, even if the leader of them was a Devil Fruit user.

Humans – at least some of them – are not as weak and pathetic as Arlong thinks. (Thought, perhaps?) You remain in the shadows under the trees, but Nami notices you and runs over to you.

“Y/n! Are you all right?” she asks.

“I should ask the same of you,” you whisper hoarsely, noticing her bandaged shoulder. You look past said shoulder to the ruins of the park. “Is he…”

“Barely alive. But the Marines – good ones – will be coming to collect Arlong and his men.”

“So… it's over. It's finally over," you breathe, falling to your knees. She sinks next to you and pulls you into her arms as you cry.

“Yes. I’m free. My village is free. You and your mom are free!” she says. This makes you cry harder but from happiness.

You consider your options.

You can go back to your island like nothing had ever happened. After all, there's no more tribute to be paid, and your mother will be happy to see you. You can put this all behind you.

You could take Nami’s invitation and join her crew. Luffy’s enthusiastic about having a half-fishwoman on his crew, and being Nami’s friend certainly doesn’t hurt anything. Going on an adventure doesn’t sound too bad.

Arlong didn't use you as a combatant, but you did plenty enough support work because even with only half the typical Fishman strength, you're still five times stronger than a human and that strength is doubled in the water just like any other fishman. You've learned about ships – and how to take them apart, like you've been taught by Arlong's crew. You could go after the Marine ship that has Arlong and his men on board, attack it from the outside, and help Arlong and his men break free.

Y/n, what do you do?

o0o0o0o

Well, that was an interesting experiment for me. I normally write more vanilla/consensual stuff, but was feeling a bit dark/kinky and was inspired by the prompt mentioned in the first note for this story. So this was a bit of an experiment for me. I know there’s way dark/worse stuff out there, but this was still quite an experience for me to write this sort of project. I hope you enjoyed it, and I welcome feedback, ideas, or suggestions.

[thegreatcaptainusopp]

The Separation

Ao3 link

The Seer, Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Franky

It’s cold here.

Funnily enough, this is the first thing that goes through Franky’s mind as he sits up, adjusting to suddenly being back on solid ground again.

It’s cold here. It’s a winter island, and he’s been flying here for days. The cold seeps through his joints and metal and cobbled-together frame and right into his still beating heart. He’s finally stable again, but he’s cold.

Franky shakes his head. First thing to do: find somewhere to warm up. Second: find his way back to his crew.

There. Easy.

He glances around him. Wherever he is, it’s clearly been abandoned: it’s all snow, creaky and empty houses, and wastelands as far as the eye can see. Maybe he can jerry-rig up some binoculars, try to get a good sense of the area around him, even find some help…

Franky shakes his head again. “Focus,” He mutters to himself. “One thing at a time, yeah?”

For now, he just needs to pick a direction and walk. If he finds someone to help, great. If he finds higher ground, great. If he finds the shore, great. Either way, he just needs to move.

Franky turns around in a circle, considering. “Okay,” He says aloud. “North. South. East. West. Which one?”

He thinks of Luffy, smiles, and worries.

“East it is, then.” Franky orients himself that direction and goes.

Thinking of Luffy is a mistake. The minute his captain’s face had flashed into his mind, everything else came with him. Had he been able to help? Brook had gotten hit, but what about the others? Kuma was so fast, had they been able to avoid him in time? Franky himself is still alive, but what about the others?

“No!” Franky tells himself again, more forcefully this time. “No worrying! Just action!”

Anyway, there’s also the matter of…well.

Still walking, he pulls out the Vivre card and considers it. He’d noticed it right away…Kuma had slapped it directly on him as he’d sent him away, and it was all Franky could do as cling onto it for deal life as he’d flown through the sky for all those days.

He has it now, but he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with it. Why would Kuma even give him a Vivre card? Had he done it on purpose? What would it lead to? Why would he just make him disappear and then give him a way out?

None of this makes any sense.

Franky stops for a moment, lifts his arms out, and lets out a yell into the snowy atmosphere. He pours all his confusion and worry and fear and rage into it, sees flocks of birds take off from the trees in reaction to the noise.

There. That’s done with. Now maybe he can focus up on what needs to be done?

Franky continues walking. Okay. The walking has warmed him up some. He’ll just go til he hits shore. After that, he’ll find some shelter and scrounge up some resources to build a vessel to get him out, following the Vivre card, and then—

Franky falters again. Vessel. Sunny.

He hopes she isn’t alone. Even if only one of his crew is on board, they’ll look after her. He thinks of all the time it took to build her, all the wood, all the ways he crafted her and poured all his dreams and love and hopes into the Adam Wood that makes her…

Oh not this again. Franky feels the tears welling up in his eyes, held back until now, but finally rising to the surface.

No. Whatever it is, he can fix it. He can rebuild anything. If he was able to put himself back together, he can do the same for his ship.

“Um, excuse me?”

Franky startles, then quickly wipes away his tears, he glances up, seeing nothing, then drops his gaze a little lower.

A child blinks back up at him. He’s dressed warmly, in a large jacket and furry hood. “Do you need help?”

-

“Whoa!” Franky stares up at the structure. He can feel his eyes sparkle as he takes in the word VEGAPUNK stamped onto the side. “I can’t believe this. I’m at one of Vegapunk’s labs. This is super!”

Kitton grins up at him “Super!” He echoes, striking the pose.

Franky immediately assumes the position with him. “Super!” He repeats again.

Kitton’s grandfather clears his throat. “Let’s try to get in now,” He suggests. “There may be something in there that’ll help you sail through the ice, like you said.”

“Yes!” Franky says, dashing over to the door. “I’ll get the door open! One moment.”

He grips the creaky and rusty metal door, and gives it a firm push. It gives way instantly, swinging onto half broken hinges and allowing Franky to stumble into the lab.

He looks around at the small room, excitement rising in his chest. It’s just one room, but it feels like so much more. Documents and blueprints line every corner, are spread at around every surface, cover the walls and the floors.

Franky kneels down, grabbing what looks like the schematic for a ship of some kind. “Super,” He breathes again, more awe than excitement. “I can’t believe it. No wonder nobody is allowed in here…these are treasures.”

Well. There’s no time like the present. He dives right in, rifling through the papers, trying to find something that might be useful…

“Mr. Franky, sir?”

Franky, jumps, then turns. “Kitton?” He responds.

The child stands at the door, nervous. “Grandfather is wondering,” He says. “You’re going to need some things, to build your way out and everything. There aren’t any materials here, so…”

Franky scratches his head. “Yes,” He thinks aloud. “I’m going to need…resources, to build. I’ll…hm. Do you have anywhere here on the island where I could buy some things I’ll need?”

The boy shakes his head. “Nah,” He says. “We’re too remote. My grandfather goes to another island right next to us every so often to buy stuff. He’s going today, so…”

Franky’s eyes light up. “Great!” He says, excited. “Then I’ll go as well. I think I’ll need—”

A thought occurs to him. He probably…he shouldn’t show his face around here, right? Too many marines, and he’s really a distinct individual, so…

Franky blows out a breath. “If you don’t mind, Kitton,” He tells the kid. “I’ll make a list now, for your grandfather to get while away. Please tell him that for his trouble I’ll come over and do as much fixing up and improving of your house and items as you need.”

Kitton gives him a quick salute “Yea Franky sir!” Then turns on his heel and speeds off.

Franky chuckles to himself. “Good kid,” He says, then continues searching in the stack, trying not to get too lost in the designs.

It’s a hopeless venture. As soon as he starts, he can’t help but get swept away in everything here: all the designs, all the ideas, all that inspiration…what he couldn’t give just to spend a little more time here…

But he can’t. He has people to help and protect. They come first, always.

He spots a button, skull and crossbones, from across the room. A pirate symbol? He draws closer, trying to get a closer look…

Then, something else catches his eye. A couple designs, but they look…different.

Franky pivots, curious, and grabs the schematics he sees on the wall opposite the door. These are not weapons, nor are they structures. Instead, they look like…little robots, automatons. The designs are in a different hand from most others in the room, with a very different artistic touch.

In short, these are most certainly not Vegapunk’s.

Franky stares down at the designs. “Who do you belong to, little buddies?” He asks thoughtfully. “And why are you here?”

It makes him so sad to think about. Someone had found this place between Vegapunk leaving and himself arriving, and had gotten so lonely they had felt the need to build themselves some companions!

He looks back at the designs. Then again, they do look very friendly and polite…

-

“Franky sir! I have the…wait!”

Franky breaks out of his inspiration trance. “What—” He begins, before he hears the sound of running footsteps, and a small hand grabs at his upper arm. “Mr. Franky!” Kitton squeals. “Don’t touch that!”

“He’s right,” He hears, and turns to see Kitton’s grandfather walk into the lab with a troubled expression. “That’s the self destruct button. Best stay away from that.”

Franky steps back instantly, carrying Kitton with him. “Gramps!” He yelps. “Thanks for the warning. You saved me from blowing myself sky high!”

“Mr. Franky,” Kitton pipes up, still hanging off his arm. “We got you your stuff!”

“Ah, super!” Franky makes a beeline towards the door, scooping Kitton up under his arm. “Thanks for going through all that trouble, Gramps. I’ll fix your house up all nice and good, all on me.”

“That’s kind of you, Franky,” The old man steps back. He has a newspaper under his arm. “What would you like to do first?”

“Good question,” Franky says, leading the group outside. “Let’s do your house first, I think I spotted the—oh.”

Franky stops in place, staring at the newspaper the old man is holding. There’s a headline there, WAR IN MARIN-, cut off by being tucked under his arm.

“Excuse me, Gramps?” Franky says. “Would you mind if I take a quick look at that paper?”

The old man looks a little surprised, but complies, unfurling the newspaper and hanging it over. Franky removes Kitton from his own grasp, swapping him for the paper.

He scans the front page quickly, then flips through the rest of pages, hoping, wondering…

There.

The minute Franky sees the photo, he bursts into tears. “You’re okay!” He wails, clutching the paper to his chest. “You’re okay!”

“Mr. Franky!” Kitton asks, tears forming in his own eyes. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, little bro!” Franky says, wailing growing louder. “Perfectly fine, in fact! So fine!”

The old man wears a look of deep concern. “Franky,” He says. “I’m not sure what happened, but we have to be careful. If we…you see, the Marines…”

Franky takes a couple deep breaths, wiping at his eyes. “Right,” He says. “Thanks, Gramps. I’ll calm down.”

The old man eyes him wearily. “Now,” He says. “Did you say you wanted to get started at—”

“Oh!” Franky exclaims, then catches himself, continuing in a softer tone. “Oh. Sorry Gramps. There’s been a bit of a change of circumstances. I’ll be sticking around for a while, couple years or so. In that case…I won’t put you out, but I’ll be living in the lab for some time. I’ll be here in case you need any assistance, at any time. So we can tackle the ship building on my end at a slower pace.”

The old man looks surprised. He gestures at Franky to keep walking. “You’re staying here?” He asks, brows furrowed in concern. “Are you sure? As you see, we don’t have much in the way of people or resources. You’d be much better off at the next island.”

“That’s what works for me,” Franky says, following along. “I’d prefer to be a little out of the way, for now.”

The old man nods thoughtfully. “In that case, do you have a plan? About what you’re going to do here? And how you’re going to live?”

Franky frowns. “I hadn’t thought that far,” He admits. “There’s…well, I’ll want to build a ship. Make some improvements on myself as well. Perhaps work on some of the things I discovered in the lab. Don’t worry, I’ll have enough to keep myself busy.”

“Is that so?” The old man says absently. He looks deep in thought. “Is that so…”

“Hey, Gramps,” Franky says slowly. “You look like you have an idea. I’d be excited to hear about it.”

The old man smiles. “I do indeed,” He says. “You seem to have quite the aptitude for fixing things. So…how about we advertise your services to the surrounding islands? If you build a good enough reputation, you’ll have orders coming in in no time.”

Franky pounds a fist in his palm. “That’s a great idea!” He exclaims. “Although we’re going to have to make sure that they know that I can’t make house calls, and they’ll have to come to me…” A thought occurs to him. “What about the Marines? Won’t they have a problem with…you know, me setting up base at Vegapunk’s lab and all?”

The old man hesitates. “Well,” He hedges. “Possibly. But I think we can work our way around it by, you know, including them in the deal too. You can fix their things as well, as your ‘rent money’ to occupy the space. They’d probably go through with it.”

Franky has a brief image of a fleet of ships, armed to the teeth with weapons he’d created. “No weapons,” He says flatly. “I’m not fixing any Marine weapons. That’s my line.”

The old man sighs. “Fine,” He says. “We can cross that bridge when we get to it. Other than that…are you in?”

Franky doesn’t really have to think about it much longer. “Yes,” He says, holding out a hand for an enthusiastic handshake. “I’m in. Thanks Gramps!”

-

The early days are slow.

Franky uses the time to really explore the lab. It’s smaller than he would have anticipated, but it’s probably because this is a satellite lab of some sort. Oh well. He’ll take what he can get.

He spends his days working on building his ship out of here, and on testing some of the inventions found scattered in the lab. Of course, he builds his little friends first: the automatons take a while to figure out but they come along nicely. They end up being enormously helpful in the lab, and are very handy assistants as well as companions.

Of course, it helps that Kitton is totally charmed and excited by them too.

The early days are slow, until they’re not.

One night, Franky wakes up from the memory of a large figure towering over him, and his helplessness in the face of the superior strength and speed. He comes to with a gasp, then holds his head in his hands, trying to regain control over his breathing.

He sleeps on the lab floor, so of course he’s instantly surrounded by his little automaton friends, who crowd up to him, clearly trying to figure out how to help.

“I’m alright,” He tells them breathlessly. He looks at them, seeing different faces, and it almost makes him burst into tears. “I’m fine.”

He gets up abruptly. This can’t happen again. He can’t be beaten like that again. Kuma has been big? Fine. He’ll be bigger. He can build himself up to whatever he likes. And he’s going to make sure he won’t ever be overpowered like that ever again.

He stumbles to his workbench, the automatons chittering away near his feet. “Bigger,” He mutters to himself. “Bigger. I need to be—I need—”

He hears a quiet, unfamiliar click behind him, and turns abruptly. One of the automatons stands near the wall, which has now moved out slightly.

Franky stumbles closer. What…

He makes it to the wall and pushes. It gives way with ease, and he finds a staircase leading down into the dark. He follows, taking the winding steps down, until he emerges into a much bigger space, dark and smelling of old, dry paper.

He glances around in amazement, then makes his way to the new sets of plans, blueprints, and schematics. Here, they’re all weapons: everything he can thing of, from firearms to additions to warships to things he wasn’t even familiar with…

Franky glances around at the workshop that will make him better, make him stronger.

“Battle Franky 37.” He mutters. “Let’s go.”

-

It’s not long after that that business starts to pick up.

Franky is glad he’s mostly completed the repairs on his ship, because he gets absolutely slammed with orders, and they only start building up with every successfully completed project. So, he stays focused, and stays busy, and learns with everything he’s given.

He also works on his other important project in secret. In the dead of night, he tinkers with what he can find in the secret lab. He comes up with things to add to the Sunny, to Usopp’s stash, to Nami’s clima-tact.

He gathers up most of the weapons modifications he can find, and begins work on a giant set of armor. He’s going to make the most fearsome machine the world has ever seen. Just wait.

Of course, not all of Franky’s work can remain secret. Battle Franky 37 is also a work in progress, and it’s one that he can’t hide. One day, when Kitton and his grandfather come in to greet him, and realize that he looks twice as tall as the previous day, well. There’s not much he can say about that one.

He also fixes up his hair into various styles to make Kitton laugh, but that’s neither here nor there.

Kitton and his grandfather end up being regular visitors, and business partners. The old man is quite a good walking advertisement for his business, and Kitton is quite the handy assistant. As the business grows, Franky is very aware that it has a time limit, and he doesn’t want to leave the two in the lurch. So he officially takes on Kitton as his apprentice, hoping that between him and the automaton, the workshop will be able to continue running in his absence.

Kitton had, of course, been delighted. “Cool!” He’d gasped, eyes sparking with excitement. “Do you think I can do it?”

Franky is suddenly reminded of his other current apprentice: expression just as excited and determined. “Of course,” He says, a pang going through his soul. “You’ll do great!”

Armed with his own upgrades and a new apprentice, Franky is sure he can hold down the fort until it’s time to go. And, well…he can. But the biggest challenge aren’t his upgrades, or the work, or the crushing feeling of not being where he’s supposed to be.

The biggest challenge are the Marines.

True to the old man’s word, they start sniffing around soon after Franky sets up shop: classic intimidation, trying to catch him off guard.

Franky is familiar with these games, and he doesn’t let them shake him. So, they leave, and come back with some work for him to do. Remembering the deal, he does it for free. After that, he’s good to go.

It gets a bit hairy the first time they bring a weapon that he refuses to touch: he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to fight his way out, somehow, but they eventually notice he never fixed weapons for anyone (too much a of a liability) and they don’t know about the secret lab and his own secret plans, so…

They keep coming back, and don’t cause him more problems, although the atmosphere is still tense. Marine visit days are the worst, and always guarantee Franky a few extra hours of personal modifications, just in case.

And that’s how it stays, until a certain project crosses his workbench, and everything changes.

-

One day, the Marines come in with someone else in tow.

He’s not one of them. This man is very clearly a pirate of some sort: he has the Look, a look Franky is very familiar with: a wild sort of aura and the tense need for adventure in his eyes. He would look intimidating too, if not for the cute and fluffy polka dot hat on his head.

The Marine officers with the man approach Franky at his front “office”. “Cyborg,” One says abruptly, icily. “This man is with us. His ship is in need of repairs.”

Franky looks around. “Where is this ship?”

“At the shore,” The other Marine responds. “Follow us. We’ll take you there.”

There’s no choice, really. Franky stands up to his full (new) height, making sure to really tower over the rest. “Alright,” He says, fixing his sunglasses. “Let’s go, then.”

The man (pirate) remains silent, but takes the lead as they emerge, walking to the shore. He’s an enigma, and Franky can’t help but be curious about him. “What’s your name?” He asks, easily keeping pace with the pirate.

The pirate gives him a sideways glance, but doesn’t respond.

“You’re looking at Trafalgar Law,” One of the Marines responses. “He’s one of the new warlords of the sea, you know. So you can imagine that this project should be given your…utmost effort, and your utmost discretion.”

Ah. Well then, that would explain that.

Franky allows himself to be led, still burning with curiosity but not wanting to speak in front of the Marines. As the shore comes into view, he’s struck dumb for a moment, actually skidding to a stop as he sees the ship.

It’s not a ship. Not really. It’s a submarine.

“Wow,” He breathes, lifting his sunglasses up to check if he was seeing things. “That’s magnificent.”

He notices Law give him a backwards glance. “The Polar Tang,” He says, abrupt, cool.

Franky can’t contain his excitement. “Super,” He says. “I can’t wait to get my hands on this.”

As they approach closer, he can see a large group gathered near the submarine’s base. They seem to be in the middle of a friendly, but loud argument, all violent affection and waving arms. It looks familiar, and it forms a lump in Franky’s throat.

He clears it, trying to get their attention. “Hello, all,” He says. “What a super ship you have there. Mind if I help you with your repairs?”

The talking dies down instantly. “Whoa,” one of them breathes, a polar bear with huge, excited eyes. “You look so cool. Are you a cyborg?”

Franky flashes him a thumbs up. “I sure am, kid,” He says. “Now. Let’s see what’s up with your ship here.”

-

Franky warms up to the Heart Pirates quite quickly.

They’re a super bunch. Very friendly, and up to anything. They take his advice with careful, earnest expressions, and include him in their group decisions and activities.

Their captain is different, though. He stands out to the side, never participating, never engaging, never smiling. He just watches, eyes weary, as if daring Franky to make a mistake.

When repairs are almost over, he brings this up to his crew. “I don’t think your captain likes me very much,” He comments.

“No!” Bepo, their navigator, says, eyes wide. “He’s just a little grumpy, but he’ll come around. He already likes you, I know it.”

Franky glances back at the captain’s glowering face. “Sure,” He says. “You know best, buddy.”

But there must be some truth to that, because the Heart Pirates visit a few more times in the span of a couple months. “We’re in the New World more often now,” Another crew member, Penguin, informs him. “So we have to make sure everything is in perfect condition before we stay there permanently.”

The other visits are devoid of Marines, and the atmosphere is noticeably different. Law is certainly more relaxed outside of their presence, and slowly starts to drift closer and closer to the larger group working on the ship with each new visit. He even makes a comment from time to time, and asks a question.

This project is a definite highlight in Franky’s temporary career. The work is interesting, the people are nice, and the machine is challenge. What more could he ask for?

Two months after their initial meeting, Franky can tell almost right away that they are on their final visit to him. They’re a bit more somber, and a bit more serious, less talkative.

Funnily enough, Law is practically gregarious by comparison. “Cyborg-ya,” He says suddenly, as Franky puts the final touches on the Polar Tang’s exterior. “You are a pirate, aren’t you?”

Franky can’t help but grin behind his tools. “Yeah,” He says. “How’d you know?”

“I thought you looked familiar,” And here, Law swoops in to catch his eye. “You work with Straw Hat-ya, am I correct? Or, perhaps, you used to?”

Franky’s smile turns sad. “I still do,” He says. “We should be regrouping fairly soon.”

Law nods absently. “You’ve done good work here,” He proclaims, seemingly out of nowhere. “We have good engineers on board, but we could always have room for more.”

Franky is touched by the invite. “You’re a good guy, Law!” He exclaims, holding his free hand over his heart. “And I’m honored at the invitation. But I’m not a free agent: I already have a ship, and a captain.”

Law does not seem deterred by his outburst. “Are you sure?” He asks. “This will be the last opportunity for you to join.”

So, this would be their last visit. “I’m sure,” Franky says, without hesitation. He puts down the rest of his tools. “It’s been an honor to work on your ship these past few months, though. What a vessel. I wish you the best of luck out at sea in her, wherever you end up going.”

“Hm,” Law pins him another look. “You’ve done all this work free of charge. Allow me to provide compensation, in some form.”

“Nah,” Franky says. “The experience was payment enough. And you know, friendship is the most valuable currency of all!”

Law’s lips twitch. “Friendship?” He asks, sounding vaguely amused.

Franky nods furiously. “Of course!” He exclaims. “Friendship! Don’t you think so?”

Law still looks amused. “Regardless,” He says. “There’s nothing you are asking for in compensation?”

Franky is about to deny it again, and then hesitates.

What if…

“Well,” Franky says, an idea forming in his mind. “Do you happen to know anything about Haki?”

Law’s face flashes in recognition. “I do,” He says. “I can show you too, if you like.”

“Please do!” Franky says. “That, and your continued friendship, will be payment enough!”

“I see,” Law says, looking slightly puzzled. “Well. Let’s begin, then.”

-

The morning that Franky leaves is cold.

It’s always cold, but this morning is particularly icy. He’s decided to get going a few weeks early, so he’d have plenty of time to get wherever he needs to go.

He glances down at the Vivre card. He thinks he knows where this will lead him, and he’s given himself plenty of time to make it there.

Kitton is all tears as he boards the ship after tucking away all his new inventions and items. “We’ll miss you,” He sniffles, rubbing his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket.

Franky feels his own eyes well up in response. “I’ll miss you too kiddo,” He cries, lifting the kid up into a big hug. “Take care of Gramps, will ya? And the lab, and our automaton friends.”

Kitton hugs back just as hard. “Of course I will!” He cries back.

Franky puts him down, patting his head as he goes. “You’re so tall now!” He says. “You’re gonna do great!”

Kitton preens, and Franky takes the opportunity to bid the old man farewell too, shaking his hand enthusiastically. “It’s been an honor, Gramps.”

“The honor is all mine,” Then, “Off you go. You don’t want to be late.”

“Will do!” And with that, Franky hops back on his ship. “I’ll see you both later, I know I will!”

He heads out, navigating through the icy water with the ease of practice, following in the direction the card leaves him. He glances back at the slowly shrinking forms on the shore, ready to give his final goodbyes, before…

“Mr. Franky!”

He turns back. Kitton is jumping, waving his arms in the air, only barely audible. “Look!”

He strikes a pose, arms up and to the side. “SUPERRRR!”

Franky lets out a “HA” of joy and recognition that quickly develops into a flood of tears. He repeats the pose back “SUPERRRR!” He yells in response, before waving his arms enthusiastically in farewell.

He turns back towards the water, tears burning cold in his eyes. “I’m coming!” He yells out into the Grand Line. “Everyone! I’ll see you soon!”

Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

[vikingmagic33]

Part 3/3 is ready for this wonderful Helion/Lady of Autumn fic started by @thehaemanthus and @hlizr50

As a preson who writes mostly Gwynriel, I've had a wonderful time meeting new writers and flexing my sklls for some of the smaller and delightful ACOTAR ships. Thank you to @azrielshadowssing for organizing ACOTAR Writing Circle 3. Here is the link to the entire collection of amazing fics. ACOTAR Writing Circle 3 Masterlist.

Someday, Today | Helion x LoA

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 are also on AO3. For those of you who are all caught up, the NSFW text of my contribution for Part 3 is below.

The feel of his warm mouth on hers was more intoxicating to her senses than the single flute of champagne she’d allowed herself at the gala. Cora hadn’t been kissed in longer than she cared to admit, even quietly to herself. Beron had never been one for kissing and she hadn’t even thought about dating since the divorce.

People had assumed that seven kids meant a healthy, amorous marriage, but that had never been her life. Socialites at the club used to titter behind their hands and wiggle suggestive brows, ‘Beron just can’t keep his hands off you.’ No. He could not. Only a handful ever saw past his smooth words to notice his too-tight grip on her upper arm or his disapproving glare at some invented misstep she’d pay for when they were alone. He was always looking for reasons to prove that she belonged to him.

When she dared to sit on a committee with some handsome donor, she paid. If she spoke to another man at a fundraiser, no matter how briefly, she paid. If one of the boy’s many coaches, tutors, or even the few male members of Beron’s household staff chose to approach her, she was the one who paid.

Beron was insane. She hadn’t seen it at first. It started so slowly that she could hardly notice or object. His devotion shifted until stifling. His protection contorted to control. His manipulation was so thorough that she hadn’t even been surprised by the first slap. She thought she might even deserve it. Either way, he didn’t have the time or the inclination to try to kiss her. When he had, it was all pressure and teeth and filled with anger until it hurt. It was meant to hurt. With Beron everything was meant to hurt.

Perhaps that was why she’d risked a night with Helion those years ago. She was tired. She was lonely and sad. She needed something to cling to that was beautiful and her own. Helion had been hers. They’d been young and stupid, but they had loved one another, she was sure of that. As he kissed her, she could recall how tenuous her hold had been years ago. She knew that unless she found something beautiful to believe in she would die. She would die and leave her children alone with a monster.

She could never think of harming herself, but Beron would break something inside her irrevocably, eventually. It hadn’t been honorable, but it saved her nonetheless.

Where Beron was lean and handsome but hard, cold, and sharp, Helion was muscular, warm, and rolling. He managed to hold his massive body in a way that promised care and tenderness. He was power, but all promise with no threat. He was a heat that fed and never burned.

Beron used sex to demean her. That part had been a shock that Cora hadn’t been ready to learn. Helion had broken her heart with indecision and fear, but when they’d been together he was sensuality that only cherished and worshiped. She’d seen him four years ago and she’d known that she needed him. She’d needed him to remind her of that tenderness like she needed air.

That one night had kept her alive for years. She’d felt his tenderness take root inside her and she’d known that Beron had not broken her yet and he could never claim her again. Her proof had quickened and squirmed. Then she’d birthed it into the world in pain and hope and defiance.

His warmth surrounded her again. She craned her neck to kiss him and felt her back stretch up along the wall. He pressed harder and they tumbled away from the bedroom and her sleeping boys.

They made it down the hall, their backs gliding along outdated wallpaper and nearly toppling the tiny thrift store table she’d painstakingly restored. It held her keys, her mail, a whistle, and her mace.

“Shhh.” She giggled, reaching out to right the table before the noise clattered down the hall. She relished in the sound and the proof that she could still laugh. “And don’t you dare break my table. I like this one.”

“God, I’ve missed you.” He breathed. “I was such a fool, Cora.” She loved the sound of his voice. She loved the way he pressed her against the wall.

Thankfully, her boys were deep sleepers. But, what was her plan exactly? Helion pulled her leg up over his hip and she arched into the feel instinctively. She wanted him and that fact alone floored her. She’d been on autopilot for years, decades really. She’d locked that part of her personality away. She’d hidden her need and her desire from everyone, but mostly from herself. She could be that and live, but that was before. Feeling him against her, holding her up against the wall with his strength and his promise, she let the locked box dissolve and she welcomed that freedom with a moan.

She slid her leg down his thigh to stand again against him but on her own weight. Helion spun her around. They loved this position in college. It was feisty and raw. He pressed his cock against her ass, as one massive hand clamped down on the delicate curve where her neck met her shoulder. Her whole body froze, frigid with horror and slick with shame.

Cora was frozen in his arms. He felt that immediately. “Cora?” He whispered her name and released his grip on her neck and her hip. His hands remained on her, but they were soft and waiting.

“Don’t.” It was a grunt, not a world. “Please,” Cora begged. “Just not like that. I can’t,” She tried to continue, but her voice was rough and strained. “I mean… I could try.”

“No.” He cut off her words. She didn’t need to explain. She didn’t need to beg, and she certainly didn’t need to try. Whatever that meant. “Hey, babe. It's okay. I’m sorry. We don’t have to do anything. You know that, don’t you?”

“I don't want it to ruin this.” She hissed and finally turned to face him. “To ruin us. I can try.”

“Cora, stop,” Helion spoke more firmly than he’d intended and he caught her wince. “I don’t want you to try. Whatever we do tonight or in the future, I want you to love it.” Helion tilted her chin up so he could see her eyes. He kissed her again softly, once on the cheek, then her nose, then her lips. “Show me what you want. What sounds fun to you, Cora? You were very turned on a minute ago.” She blushed at his words. “Don’t try to deny it.” He teased.

“Very.” Her breathiness held no shame or embarrassment and they both relaxed at the sound.

“Okay.” He kissed her again. “Let's start there.”

“Let's.'' She pressed her face up into his next kiss. Then she kissed him hesitantly, but he could tell she was back. She was her and she wanted him.

Cora felt it stir again. It was just like the last time. She let her eyes drift closed and her body melted into this warmth. She felt whole and safe and sexy. She saw herself then and she was a woman, not a wife owned and not a mother doting. That woman wanted him and that woman would take him. Cara thanked her doctor for her IUD and giggled again.

“What's so funny?” Helion kissed a little spot on her ear. She smiled, remembering that it had been a favorite of his.

“I just told you that you’re a father.” It still felt a bit heady to admit it out loud. “And that my life has been a horror.” She refused to turn away from his knowing gaze. “And you still want me, just like we were teenagers out after curfew.”

He didn’t move, but his face sobered a bit. “We can sit and talk. We will eventually need to make a plan about Lucien.” He started to pull away, but she grabbed his wrist and held it somewhere near her hip. “But honestly, Cora, I just want to touch you right now. I want to feel you. I want to be close and show you that it doesn't have to be bad or hurt. I see a strong woman, a mother doing the best she can for her boys, but I also see a sexy coed who turned my head and drove me fucking wild. Whoever you want to be, I want her in every possible way.” His intensity was potent.

“I don’t know what or who I am yet, not really.” She paused. “but I want you, Helion. I’ve always wanted you.”

“Show me.” He begged and she liked the sound. She could feel his muscles bunch under her hands. He was holding back. He was waiting for her to lead him. She was in charge and her world tilted a bit on its axis. It tilted toward happiness and possibility.

Cora reached up and unclasped her pearl studded earrings and dropped them into the dish on the tiny table beside her. Helion collapsed back against the opposite wall and moaned slightly, entranced by the sight of her starting to undress. The sound startled her. Shit.

“Wait here.” Cora dashed down the hall to the kitchen. She’d just seen that stupid thing in the junk drawer and had been meaning to drop it in the donation bin at work. Thankfully, she’d been too distracted at the time. “Aha!!” Cora fished out an old baby monitor and punked it on the counter to keep rummaging for a cord, handset, and hopefully a fresh set of batteries. All of which she found quickly. She thanked the powers that be, who apparently wanted Cora to get laid.

She crept back into the boys' room. She’d never used it in that room, but after seven kids she knew the exact spot to angle the camera. Once back in the kitchen, Helion was nibbling on her ear, as she bent over the counter fumbling with the pack of spare batteries for the handset. She felt him rub his hands over her body and pull her flush against his erection. He was kissing her ear and her neck and it was nothing like the sensation that had froze her lust before. This was all heat and pleasure. She finally got the batteries in. An image sparked to life on the device, just as a screech of feedback cracked the air.

“Shit.” She huffed as they both froze. Her house was so small and the monitor was only a few feet away. She turned it off,

“Did we wake them?” Helion whispered through a nibble. She listened. Nothing.

“No.” Cora tugged him down the hall toward the front door. “Let's go.”

“Go where Cora?” He asked, but she noted he was still following her. He always would.

“To your car.” Cora turned and kissed him again as she pushed him out her front door. “Now, dammit.”

“Whatever you say.” He purred and she knew it was true.

Helion would stop the second she was uncomfortable. He’d pivot perfectly if she changed her mind. He was truly confident and open and he’d never needed to prove his worth on her flesh. His type of love seeped into her marrow and steeled the strength that had always been there.

He watched Cora pull open the passenger side door to the buttery leather backseat of his new Jaguar. It was impractical and selfish, but he drove it rarely to compensate for the conspicuous luxury.

“Get the fuck in here.” She hissed at him with want and suddenly he was twenty years old again and horny as fuck. His body pumped every spare drop of blood down into his throbbing cock. Damn. She’d always had that effect on him. Thankfully, she seemed willing to help him with his condition. Though the feeling of her freezing in his hands still lingered in his mind. What had that fucker done to her?

If only he’d been ready all those years ago, maybe he could have spared her. He’d traveled the world and built his empire and fucked anyone he wanted. That had been his plan and he’d been happy. Then he'd seen her and held Lucien in his arms and all he could think was that he’d missed the first three years of his son’s life. Then he’d heard about Beron and all he could think was that he could have saved her from it. Every one of those boys could be his. She’d have never had to endure all that she’d shared.

His hand clenched on the door handle. He wanted to rip it from its hinges. He wanted to find Beron and unleash the same level of harm that he’d shoveled onto Cora for all those years. He wanted to feel Beron freeze in terror and watch his eyes go round and furtive, looking for an escape. He wanted to watch the bright color in his face shift to a haunted pallor. He wanted him to be afraid of any movement.

Helion grit his teeth. He felt the energy in his body changing for a fight instead of for a fuck and that just could not be born. Cora was the one who deserved his undivided attention. By some miracle, she still wanted him and he wouldn’t let her feel any of his menace or his rage. He’d find a way to ruin Beron later. That fact was clear. He would ruin that man, but he would never become the monster that he hunted. He could be vicious, but he was way more creative and Beron wouldn’t see him coming.

He silently vowed that he would commit his life to Cora. They would both learn what it was to have love and respect. The boys would see what it meant to be your best for your family. They would see what was to cherish and to love. He would be the example for them that Beron never could be.

But that was for later. Beron and the boys would be something to sort out later. Standing at that car door, Helion would worship, fuck, and tease that woman in a way that was only for them.

He hunched down and slid onto the seat. He’d never been in the backseat of his own car before and it was weird to see it all from back there. He turned in the dark to Cora. The windows were tinted. The lights of a passing car barely registered on her cheek, but it illuminated her smile and he melted.

“Come here.” She demanded and Helion complied.

He’d always been drawn to her. He’d had many lovers over the years but nothing compared to touching Cora. He needed her. He needed to taste her and to be inside her. He prayed that was what she had planned.

He watched as Cora reached under her gown. Her shoes sparked from the floorboard. She was still in her dress from the gala and he watched as she slid her panties off. They were not lace. They didn’t match her gown as he’d been imagining earlier in the night. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that to himself. They were hot pink and clearly made more for the gym and never intended to go under a designer dress. It was dark and he reached for them, but she batted his hand away. He could have sworn they had tiny barbells in the pattern. For a thong, they had a shocking amount of fabric and probably came up to her waist. She blushed and started to speak, but he’d never seen anything hotter. She was a grown woman owning her sexuality and her body and she was what it meant to be sexy without even trying.

Helion took in the sight of her. This woman’s body had created seven people. He noticed a few stray marks of those miracles etched into her physical strength. His gaze snagged on a few scars. There was still the one from when they first tried rollerblading at the waterfront. She’d needed twelve stitches just above her knee. He ran his thumb over it and they both laughed. His laugh died on his lips though as he saw the others. Beron’s evil had stayed on her skin in a few raised welts and tiny jagged snarls. But Beron was her monster and she had conquered him. The scars were part of her and she was beautiful.

He devoured her mouth in seconds. His hand gripped one luscious thigh as he dragged her leg across his lap. She turned to face him as he notched her knee into the leather, pressed into the curve of his waist. She moaned and lowered her weight onto his straining lap. Then she giggled at his sigh.

Another passing car cast light across her beautiful face and that time she ducked into his neck with a slightly nervous laugh. His hands slid down to her ass and he rolled up against her core suggestively.

“What do you want, Cora.” He breathed, but it was begging.

“Want?” Her voice was a raspy snarl that he hadn’t heard all night, that he hadn’t heard in years. “We are well past want, Helion. What I need is for you to fuck me. Show me what I’ve been missing. Make me remember.” He had been begging, but she was commanding and he was game.

“Fuck.” Helion muttered as he reached down to his waistband.

She rode him slowly dragging her dress further up around her waist. She arched back and draped one pale arm out over the headrest of the front passenger seat. Her shoulders settled in the space between the seats and everything he’d ever wanted was on full display before him.

Helion was frantic. He unzipped his pants and lifted slightly to drag them down over the muscles of his thighs. She hissed at the sight of his length.

“Oh.” Cora breathed and licked her lips “I’m starting to remember already.”

Many women were intimated by his size. It was a blessing and a curse and had ruined more than one night of passion in his life, but never with Cora. It was like she’d been built just for him. As though she could hear his thoughts, she lifted up onto him.

“Go slow, babe. Don’t rush it.” He warned her. He didn’t want to hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her. It wasn’t really fair to expect that they would just fall back into their old patterns as though no time had passed. She leaned forward again. This time dragging her core over his naked cock. She was wet.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Hel.” She nipped at his ear.

There she was. She was the fiery woman he’d fallen in love with so many years ago and never managed to find a way to fall out. She reached between them and wrapped her long cool fingers around his throbbing length. She swiped her entrance a couple of times with the tip and he nearly came. Then slowly she pressed down hungrily until she was perfectly flush with his body and his cock was buried deep inside her.

He ground his teeth to keep from screaming. There was a real chance that he’d alert the whole neighborhood to the fact that two grown-ass adults were fucking the backseat like horny teenagers. A light snore came from the monitor on the seat and Helion nearly laughed, until she started to move. Just a slight roll of her hips at first. It wasn’t timid, but testing. She was adjusting, feeling.

“Oh god.” She moaned.

“Is it coming back to you now, Cora?” Helion teased.

“I never really forgot.” She breathed the words and his chest tightened.

She gripped the front of his shirt with her right hand and he squeezed her ass. He expected to pull her closer, to feel her face against his neck, but Cora held the tension in her arm. She hooked the tops of her feet into the inside creases of his knees and pulled his thighs apart as she leaned further back and sunk even deeper around him.

Then she started to move with more authority and he held his gaze in the darkness. She was claiming something with each movement. Was it him? Perhaps, but also so much more. She was claiming and she was giving. She rode him harder. There was no fucking way he was going to last. Not with all his emotions so close to the surface, not with the weight of every single revelation she’d offered him that night, and not with the years he’d spent pining for this amazing woman.

“Yes.” She huffed. “Right there.” She grunted.

He had to admit that loved the position. He loved the view of her small breasts bouncing slightly under the silk of her dress and the way her eyes blazed and her lips parted on the animalistic sound. He needed her to come. He needed her to know that it was about her. He needed to know that she would let him take care of her. His hand slid up her thigh. He splayed his fingers around her hip and dug deep into the flesh as his thumb found her clit.

“Come for me, Cora,” He begged. “Let me get you off. Let me give you that.” Please. He thought the word but managed not to say it.

She was taking her own pleasure on his body. That much was clear and he loved to see it, but he wanted her to let him give something too. He wouldn't manipulate her, especially in the bedroom or even in the backseat of a car. He’d have to be careful with her though. There would be so many triggers after so many years of abuse, but he was honored to navigate them. He wouldn’t trust anyone else with her ever again, except for her.

A few strokes of his thumb and her forehead settled against his own and her mouth opened in a silent scream. He felt her walls clamp down around his cock and her movements were jerky and erratic. She managed those few small squeaks that he remembered so well. Her eyes were closed but he felt her breath on his face and felt her attention on every bit of his body and soul. He would never walk away again. He would never again fail to be the man she needed.

The sound of their breaths filled the space and then she smiled a lazy sated smile only inches from his face. She kissed the tip of his nose as she lifted herself slowly along his length. Both his hands grabbed her hips and he looked down to watch his glistening cock disappear inside her warmth and then reappear covered in her release and chilled by the air. He shuddered. Cora was fucking perfect.

She built the rhythm that he craved and she devoured him with a ferocity that had his body threatening to finish with an embarrassing quickness. A few more thrusts and he clamped his hands on her hips to keep her still as he spilled deep inside her. He opened his eyes and she was watching him closely. There was a nervousness creeping back into her gaze.

“What happens now?” She asked quietly, but not shyly.

“Now, you should consider going back inside that house. Maybe kiss your boys. I do suggest a shower though, you reek of sex, my love.” She swatted him on the shoulder.

“You don’t get to judge. You’re the reason I smell this way,” She smiled. “Plus you’re no better.”

“True, but I don’t have anybody to hide it from.” He said it casually, but his tone carried the weight he wasn’t saying. She nodded once with a satisfied smile. His message had been received.

“The boys wouldn’t understand anyway.”

“Unless Eris comes home again.” He hadn’t meant to mention the boy. His rudeness from earlier still prickled. She started to apologize for him but stopped.

“He’s just a senior in high school.” She said with a tone that told him that she recognized her foolishness. He cut her a glance of knowing eyes. She just rubbed her hands over her face. “I can’t deal with that right now. Can we not talk about that tonight? Can we not talk about Eris?”

“Yes, anything you want.” He purred. “But I want you to go inside and kiss the boys, shower, and I want you to fall asleep knowing something for sure: I'm ready, Cora. I’m not some green boy anymore.” She raised her eyebrow and glanced around the car. “Fine. Backseat shenanigans aside. I’m a grown man and I’m not afraid. I’m a father and I plan to do everything in my power to be that every day for you, for them, and for myself. I won’t squander this chance.”

“I should tell you.” She paused and he slid from her body with a hiss. “I can’t have more.”

“More? What do you mean?”

“Kids.” Cora rushed ahead. “The doctor said it could be dangerous for me.”

“Should we have waited?” His heart raced in panic. He’d only just vowed to protect her. “Did we just put you at risk?”

“Oh no. It's fine. It's taken care of.”

“You’ve had surgery?” He was relieved. That was probably the safest solution for her. Her face went stony.

“Beron golfed with my doctor. Beron wouldn’t allow it. Kids were his… well. Nevermind.” She shook her head. “I went to Planned Parenthood. I got an IUD. No record for him to find.” She locked gazes with Helion, needing him to understand. “He’d have beaten me if he’d suspected.” She paused again. “He’d have killed me if he’d known.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I send a little bit of each check to them and a few other charities for women.” Her voice softened. “I’m not telling you this for sympathy, but you should know that I cannot give you more children. I wouldn’t even if I could. I’m done.”

He grabbed her in his arms and she sighed. It was easy to let whispered promises fall from his lips into her ear and against the skin of her neck. He tried to stay in the moment with her. He knew that his drive home would be full of moments spent relishing the scent of her on his skin and the memory of her pleasure seizing and rippling around him.

He’d also be hatching a plan. The seeds of which had already taken root. He’d need to use someone good. He needed someone he could trust and who was subtle enough to pull it off without any blowback on him, but most importantly on Cora or the boys. Thankfully, money was no issue. He could afford the best. Shit. He could afford The Shadowsinger. He was just the man to bring Beron to his knees and to know how to leave him there long enough to break him.

Beron had his chance to be a good man and to be a good father to those boys, but he’d been nothing but just poison. He’d manipulated his money and his power to harm those he could have loved most. Never again.

“I don’t need more kids, Cora. All I need is you.” He kissed her once on the cheek. “Plus…” He laughed. “We already have seven, my love. I think we are good on the kid front.”

She pulled back and studied his face. “You mean that don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“I do. Now get some sleep and I’ll be back to take you all to breakfast.” He smiled back. “I plan on wooing you, Cora. In the full light of day. Are you ready for that?”

“I guess we will find out.” Cara giggled and beam back at him.

“I guess we will, my love.”

[alpydk]

The Circling Sky - (Part 8)

CH8/9 Come with a little comfort. CH10 does not. - No I mean it CH10 has no comfort. None.

She bristled a little at his question. “Last night, I wanted to forget myself…” At least with this, he felt a small measure of relief at having recognised the signs in time. “Do you even feel anything towards me?”

Ao3 Link

Come morning, Lissa was still in Gale’s arms, her fingers curling the stray locks of hair that hung down beneath his ear. She’d spent a long time with him in silence, her quiet tears never building up to much more than that. No sobs, still no real grief but a small release of the tension that she’d been struggling with the day before. She hated how she had dumped all this on him, how they’d gone from practically strangers to whatever they were now; friends? Lovers? Did it even really matter? Either way, it was unfair on him, how she was treating him. She either had to start distancing herself or she had to start listening, and not just listening but believing what he was saying if only to give him something back.

She lay with her thoughts; Do it for him, but don’t become dependent on him. Set your boundaries and say what you want. Is it selfish to even say these things? Where is the line between selfless and selfish? At what point would I stop being a burden? Am I right to hate my father? Why can’t I be mad at him? I wished him dead, and it’s come true. It’s all my fault.

Gale held her a little tighter pulling her in. “You’re still here.”

She smiled, resting her forehead on his chest. “Hm. I wanted to be here.”

***

Six days. That was all that was left before they reached Baldur’s Gate. Six days until Gale would get the answers he sought. Was Tav really dead? If they were, then how did it happen? If they were still alive, then why did he get the letter?  

They walked behind the cart, and he let his mind wander to his earlier adventure. The days on the Risen Road and jumping the bridge that had made his knees ache that little more, his revelation to Tav about his condition at the time; Tav who had been so understanding, helpful to everyone they had come across and even accepting of him, of everything about him.

He thought of his moments under the stars with them, when he had spoken as if it would be his last night on Toril. They’d listened, they’d bonded and neither had held back any part of themselves. And then Mizora happened. How had he gone from having someone he felt so connected to, to having someone in his life that he understood so little of? He’d blamed himself for a short while for what had happened before rightfully blaming Mizora and Tav in like. Eventually, though the dust had settled amongst them both, much like the dust of the Risen Road.

“I’m sorry about last night.” Lissa’s voice drew him from his memories.

Her voice seemed serious, less detached than it had seemed yesterday, but he was confused about what exactly she should apologise for. “Sorry?”

“Hm, well not just for last night. My father, my behaviour, for not speaking up when I should have...” She let the last words linger in the air, fearing how he was going to take them.

He heard the sincerity in her words and understood the first parts well, but the latter left him a little lost. “Speaking up? What exactly do you mean, my dear?”

She swallowed her nerves, unsure of what to say or how to word it. “The other night, when we slept together. You called me Lis’... You said you wanted to have me....” She looked away and her voice grew quieter as she spoke. “It made me uncomfortable, and I wanted to stop. I didn’t want it to be that way with you, and I should have just said no.”

Now the pieces fit, her moment of uncertainty, the offish behaviour the following morning. “Lissa, I- “

“No, Gale. I should have said something, and it’s not on you at all. You weren’t to know and really, I should have been upfront from the start. I just wanted to apologise for all of it in case you thought there was a problem with you. There’s not, I’m the problem.”

He stopped, letting her walk a few paces ahead as he tried to work out how to handle the situation. He felt as if he had hurt her without even intending to. He felt guilty for what he had done and now she was the one apologising. He quickly caught up with her, taking her hand in his. “Lissa, you need not apologise. None of it was your fault, I should have been more attentive to your needs and to everything you had been through. I should have recognised it in the moment and stopped everything.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t know though. I made the choice, but...” He watched as she turned her gaze from the path up to him, her face more confident. “But I understand now. That I can say no at least. All I wish is that I hadn’t put you in that situation to learn the lesson.”

“And last night? Would that have been the same?”

She bristled a little at his question. “Last night, I wanted to forget myself...”

At least with this, he felt a small measure of relief at having recognised the signs in time. “Do you even feel anything towards me?” A harsh question but one he needed to know. Was she using him in a similar way to how Tav had? Is this all he was to people, an easy target, worthless, no better than he was a year ago?

Her reply came with a hint of sadness behind the words. “More than I’ve felt with anyone. But you deserve better than me.”

Gale looked over at her, their pace slowing as they walked. “Lissa, you think too lowly of yourself.” He sighed. “I can’t say I’m not hurt by what has happened, but I understand it at least, and I’m sorry for what I did.”

She nodded at his words and gave his hand a small squeeze of recognition. “I’m sorry too, for everything.”

***

Night fell as they settled at the camp. They’d both gone their separate ways, Gale to his tent alone, Lissa to the fireplace where she tried to write. Guilt was pulling her apart and fighting the emotions was becoming more difficult. She expected that by the time they reached Baldur’s Gate she’d be nothing but a quivering wreck, eyes red, standing alone at the border.

She’d apologised to Gale, and he had taken it better than expected. He hadn’t abandoned her, he hadn’t shouted or raised a hand to her. That was good and yet the guilt had not really eased. There was only one thing she could do to solve this and that was to be better for him, to try and improve herself until maybe one day she could feel worthy of him, of the perfection he deserved. She could start by managing her grief.

Her father’s body had only been in the ground for a day, too soon to move on and there was no way she could fix all the issues caused by him overnight but maybe she could do something to process what was going on; she began to write. The words flowed for a moment before being crossed out. A poem to say goodbye perhaps? Maybe one to say of the good moments? Or one of the bad. Lines written without any feeling or with all of them. She found herself growing frustrated at the page. She just wanted to start grieving, why was this so difficult?

“Well, it’s certainly been a more pleasant day.” “Everyone has seemed so much more relaxed.” “It’s a shame that had to happen though...” “Oh, tell me about it, that poor man.”

Lissa gritted her teeth, knowing full well who they were talking about, and grabbed her book, leaving for her tent; maybe sadness was not the emotion to write with, but rage.

***

Her apology had lingered with Gale for most of the evening, the conversation being replayed over and over to him. He was trying to work out what he could have done differently to help her at that time, instead of doing what he had done. That night with her had been incredible but now thinking back over it, it felt tainted, wrong to even consider it again. How stupid could he have been to have acted the way he did? Was he so desperate to feel loved like she was trying to? He considered if he had been right in never detonating the orb when he had the chance. Would things have been better off without him?

Tav had really hurt him; to bring him out of his pit of despair, to save him from Mystra’s clutches only to break him again afterwards. At least by that point, he was stronger, he knew himself and what he was worth to be able to have shot them down rather than grovel at their feet like the past version of him would have tried to. But with Lissa, this was complicated. He kept wanting to help her, and yet could not understand why. He kept believing that what he was seeing was Tav and yet as he lay there, it was more and more himself that he envisioned. The lack of self-worth, the devotion to someone who cared so little for him, the willingness to give everything to appease another. He’d broken free with the help of Tav’s trust, maybe this is what he needed to give to help Lissa.

“Gale?” He heard the whisper from outside the tent. “Are you awake?”

He sat up, straightening out his shirt and hair. “I’m awake, you can come in.”

Lissa poked her head through the tent flaps. “Sorry if I’m interrupting anything. You’re probably tired of listening to me.”

“Lissa, my dear. I would never grow tired of you. Come and sit down.”

He felt as she sat next to him, closer than he would have expected considering their earlier conversation. He was aware of her movements, the minute details of her face, examining and waiting for any changes, so as not to hurt her again.

She breathed deeply before speaking. “I need your help.”

Gale could see how much this simple request took out of her. To lower her defences, to show a sign of vulnerability, to allow someone else to possibly take control. “In what way?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. But it is important, to me at least.”

He was still unsure of what this could mean. Would it be for advice or another physical escape?

“I’d like you to help me with my poetry...”

“Poetry?” Gale relaxed upon hearing the words and gave a broad smile. “Why certainly. Now that is something I can most definitely assist you with.” He repositioned himself so he could see her better. “What exactly do you need my help with?”

“I need help writing a poem for my father. I can’t seem to get anything on paper, it’s all just a mess.” She opened her book in front of her, notes and words scrawled onto the paper, some with question marks next to them, others crossed out entirely.

“I hate to be rude, Lissa, but does he really deserve a piece of your heart like this?”

She nodded understanding his words. Poetry was more than just rhymes, it was a piece of your essence itself, your soul bared for all to see and have. It was just like any other art form and providing the feelings had gone into it, then it was worth something, if only to the creator at least. “He can have the blackened part. Hopefully, the small part left will be enough for you...”

He smiled at her words, just a small remark putting his fears to rest. “Then I’m happy to help you.”

***

They spent the evening together speaking of her father, of the life she’d had with him; of the good moments and the bad and the feelings that came with both. They discussed his death and what had been going through her head, of the guilt over her words, of the anger, happiness, sadness, and everything in between, of what was to come. She cried, and he held her. They shared jokes and laughed together, a night of normalcy between them. No apologies, no doubts over who they were or where they stood, just two friends finding their way to each other. As the night ended the words flowed between them, the poem written, the goodbye created, a piece of her heart willingly given away to let the rest heal.

***

I don’t know why this is so hard, To write a poem just for you. I’ve changed the lines so many times, Just trying to make it perfect.

 From lines of songs and card games played, To feelings deep and unexplained.  No matter what I seem to say, It gets erased and changed again. 

I wanted to give something back to you, Despite all that you took from me. To show that I’ve accepted loss,  Have shed my tears and moved on. 

Though you were never there for me, And the words stopped long ago, You deserve at least to get this much, This poem I try to write for you.

 Yet after all the years together, I am now so lost for words, My feelings for you not making sense, The lines just will not flow. 

And so, this is what you’ll get from me, Just another failed attempt. A chance to say the words we missed, Another guilt-filled regret.

[duckybarnes1917]

Your Eyes Outshine The Town...Chapter 19

Bucky Barnes x Black Female Reader

18+ ONLY

Summary: In the series finale, Bucky finds some solace in the arms of his sister...and starts to truly look forward to his future.

Warnings: EMOTIONS. Fade to black smut...but if this gets a lot of feedback maybe I will post a full smut for it.

AN: THANK YOU. This is the last chapter for this series 😭 I am so proud of this series and I really hope you all found joy in seeing Bucky get everything he ever deserved (even though I had to hurt him a bit along the way). Your feedback means everything to me, so please if you have read and enjoyed this series let me know with a comment, a reblog comment, an anon (or not) message! I'll take anything! Happy Holidays ❤

*Tumblr is not letting me add links to the prev or next chapters. Please see the masterlist pinned to my page for the rest of the story!*

You refilled your drink, glad that Bucky would be the one driving them tonight, and sat on a plum velvet couch between Deena and Betty. You all laughed as you watched the many great-grandchildren fight for a turn hanging from Bucky’s arm. They had all been obsessed with him ever since he stepped through the door. The various parents gave up trying to teach them manners several hours ago. But Bucky didn’t seem to be bothered by their questions in the slightest. So many ‘whys?’ Why do you have it? Why is it gold? Why is it cold? Why won’t my mom let you show us how strong it is? 

You couldn’t hide your smile, Bucky was going to make a great father someday. A day you were starting to hope would come sooner rather than later. As if he could sense your thoughts, Bucky smirked at you and sauntered over to the couch. He picked you up easily and spun you around so he was sitting in your spot and you were  in his lap.

“I thought you forgot about me over here,” you teased as you snuggled into the warmth of Bucky’s arms. 

“Of course not.” Bucky squeezed your waist. “Had to come make sure Betty wasn’t sharing anymore embarrassing stories.”

You shook your head. “Just the one about you almost getting arrested for indecent exposure.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “That makes it sound much worse than it was!” 

The women laughed, and you kissed Bucky’s reddening cheek. You stayed there in his lap, giggly and tipsy, until the shadows grew long and the room quiet.

**

Bucky squeezed your waist. The feeling of you, warm and soft, underneath his fingers reminded him to check the time. As much as he was dreading the drive home, he was looking forward to getting you in his bed. 

“James, let your dame go and help me to my room. I need to lie down.” 

Betty stood without waiting for Bucky to respond. He was quick to follow, offering her his elbow.

They were quiet as they made their way to her guest room, and Bucky helped her settle onto the bed. 

“Can I get you anything?” 

“Sit down,” Betty patted the edge of the bed. 

Bucky did what she asked, still feeling–well, he didn’t know how to feel. Overwhelmed didn’t begin to cover it.

“You know I’m still older than you, right? I don’t remember you being this bossy.” 

“James–”

Bucky looked up at her light blue eyes, and his joking demeanor dropped. “I missed you.” 

Betty opened her arms and Bucky fell into them without question. 

“I can’t believe you’ve been alive this whole time. I didn’t believe Connor when he told me. I didn’t think you’d actually show up. Thought he was crazy.” 

Bucky chuckled, holding her tighter. “I’m so sorry,” a wave of tears strangled his voice. 

“What in the world are you apologizing for?” Betty sounded exasperated, the same tone she used to use when Bucky didn’t play by her rules as a kid. 

He sat up and was surprised to find she had been crying too. Her voice certainly didn’t sound like it. 

“I–should have tried to find you.” 

Betty waved his words away. “Don’t be stupid. Now stop crying and tell me about the girl downstairs that looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.” 

“Language,” Bucky shook his head. It was so easy to slip into the big brother role again. “First, I brought you something.” Bucky gave her the blue velvet jewelry box and Betty gasped when she saw the diamond and emerald teddy bear pendant inside. 

“James–how much did you spend on this? What am I going to do with this? Wear it on my robe at the nursing home?” Betty snapped the box closed and tried to hand it back to him.

Bucky laughed and refused it. “Well, if I knew you had so much money,” Bucky waved his hands around the elegant room. “I would have spent more. I made you a promise. Remember?” 

Betty went quiet for a moment, opening the box again as more tears welled in her eyes. “That you’d bring me something pretty.” 

Bucky nodded and squeezed her frail hand. He tried not to let that affect him, not now. He couldn’t think about how much time he may or may not have left with her when he just got her back. 

Betty dried her eyes and motioned to the drawer next to her bed. “Give me the black box in there. I have something for you, too.” 

Bucky did as she said and let out his own gasp when she opened it for him. 

“It was mom’s, do you remember?” 

Bucky nodded quietly and took the box with his shaking hand. Her wedding ring. A thin band with intricate lace-like metalwork. A European-cut sapphire sparkled in the middle, surrounded by little white diamonds. 

“It was always meant for you and I was the only one crazy enough to save it this whole time. Becca was pissed when I refused to give it to Charles when he got married. It’s yours.”

“Betty–thank you.” Bucky didn’t know what else to say. He remembered rolling his eyes every time his mother expressed her excitement to see it on the hand of his wife someday. The fact that she never would was enough to make him crumble. With the ring tight in his grip, he laid on his sister’s lap and sobbed. He thought he had suffered the worst of his eternal pain, but this felt new. The wounds were so fresh he could feel every rip of his heart. 

“I know it wasn’t, Buck—I know.” 

Bucky hadn’t realized he had been talking—yelling, really, about how unfair his whole life had been. Betty held him as tight as she could, her hand rubbing circles on his back. 

“S—sorry-sorry—I can’t—” 

“Deep breaths, take your time.” 

Bucky nodded, still trying to stop the sobs that were now making him hyperventilate. Betty was patient, humming to him until he fell quiet, silent tears still streaming down his face. He sat up and looked at the ring in his hand. The conflicting emotions were exhausting him… his mother wouldn’t be here to see it, but Betty would be. Sam would be, and you—he could really have a normal life after all.  

“Is she worth it?” 

“You have no idea.” Bucky sniffled, wiping his red eyes. When he looked up, he smiled at the way Betty’s face had lit up. She was happy for him, proud, and that’s all he had hoped for. 

**

Bucky was not looking forward to the drive home. The day had been amazing but draining. As he said his last goodbyes and loaded the copious amounts of leftovers Deena insisted he take, Bucky kept his smile in place. But as soon as his car door shut, he let out a tired sigh. 

“You better not fall asleep on me,” he told you as he put the car in reverse. “You made me a promise. It’s the only thing that’s gonna get me through this drive.” 

“Actually,” you smiled mischievously, “I have a surprise.” 

Bucky raised a brow as he exited the driveway. “Is that so?” 

You nodded, quickly typing an address into the car’s gps. “Just follow the directions.” 

You gave him no other information, just sat back in your seat with that teasing smile on your lips. 

About an hour later, Bucky was pulling up in front of a cute white house in the suburbs. 

“Whose house is this?” Bucky sat on the brakes in front of the house. 

“Come on, pull into the driveway.” You nudged his arm, and Bucky did as you said. 

Before he could ask any other questions, You were out of the car and waving for him to follow. Bucky shook his head and let out a little huff, but quickly turned the car off and joined your side. 

“You gonna fill me in now?” Bucky asked nervously as you turned the handle on the front door. 

You opened the door and turned to face him. Bucky took a quick glance around the inside of the house before sending you a questioning look. 

“It’s ours for the night,” you beamed. “Go get the bags out of the car.” 

Excitement thrummed in Bucky’s veins, and normally he would ask a hundred questions, but tonight, he didn’t care. He ran back to the car and found the bags you had snuck in at some point. You were giggling as he jogged back to the front door with a big smile on his face. 

“Don’t move,” he huffed as he slipped past you and set the bags in the hall. He stepped back outside and lifted you into his arms, bridal style. “I don’t know how you did this, but I’m gonna ruin you, sweetheart.” 

“It’s just an Airbnb,” you giggled, running your hands through his hair as he carried you through the house. 

It was cute, but Bucky would have to appreciate that more in the morning—maybe while he was making you breakfast—fuck, why did that just make him hard? 

He pushed the bedroom door open and laid you on the large bed, immediately joining you. “You couldn’t wait until we got home, could you?” His fingers worked frantically to pull the zipper on your skirt down.

You scoffed but helped him pull your skirt and tights down your legs. “I didn’t want you driving all the way back tonight; it’s been a long day.” 

Bucky stopped and looked up at your face. A lump caught in his throat. He loved you so damn much he felt he might burst. 

“What’s wrong? We don’t have to if you’re tired, baby.” 

“Sweetheart, you have no idea how much I want to.” Bucky kissed the insides of your thighs. “But you’re about to.” 

“Fuck,” you mumbled, still running your fingers through his hair. 

“Now, lay back and let me relax.” 

You did as he said and Bucky pushed you to the head of the bed so he could lie on his stomach between your thighs. With the first taste, so uniquely you, he felt his muscles relax and his stress dissipate. 

**

Finally in bed, Bucky snuggled against your back, holding you as close as he could.  

“Thank you for doing this with me,” he whispered as he placed a kiss behind her your. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” 

“I’d do anything for you, Bucky.” 

Bucky’s chest burned pleasantly. “I love you. Get some sleep.” 

“Love you more,” you mumbled. 

Bucky held you tight until your breathing evened out, and he knew you were asleep. The ring, now safely tucked away in his backpack, was all he could think about. It wasn’t even a question of if he would do it. It was a question of when and how. He never thought he’d even get the chance, maybe in another life, but here and now? Suddenly, he felt like things were moving far too quickly in this new life of his. He never let himself want anything, because he never thought he would have anything. And now so much had been dropped right in his lap in a matter of months. He sat up and took a few calming breaths before he opened the little box again. The ring looked even more beautiful in the moonlight. He could already imagine it on your finger, the sapphire and diamonds sparkling against your skin; the smile he’d put on your face when he asked. How would he do it? How did people propose these days? He’d have to ask Sam for help, of course. Maybe he could do it in Louisiana. Would that be too soon? He’d already been stupid enough to ask you to have a baby with him–and it was definitely too soon for that. But you weren’t running away. He glanced over his shoulder. You had turned on your side, facing him, probably seeking his warmth. His dog tags still hung around your neck and you looked almost innocent as you slept so deeply. He briefly considered never sleeping again if he got to look at you like this every night. 

He snapped the box closed and hid it away. He’d ask Sam. Sam would know what to do. 

Don’t forget to reblog! 😉

*Tumblr is not letting me add links to the prev or next chapters. Please see the masterlist pinned to my page for the rest of the story!*

Taglist: @delaber @mannien @raindrcpsangel @cjand10

[countrymusiclover]

34 - Dutton Life Goes On

Part 35

Country Rancher

Tags @whateverthecostner @rosie-posie08 @kaycejdutton @kayceduttonn @kcloveswrestling @the-morning-star-falls @kaymudd @hcwthewestwaswcn @hcllfireandhclywater

“Carter, there’s always a choice here. I - I can talk to my husband and make him see that there can be another way.” He picked his tan hat up from the dust sitting on his head giving me the best brave look he could. “I’ll do it Mrs. Dutton….I’ll take the brand for Bree.”

It had been a few weeks since Kayce and Carter had their little fight in the middle of the ranch. Walking down the wooden stairs I saw Kayce sitting on the couch in the living room slowly drinking from a beer bottle from the kitchen. “So are we just not going to talk about getting that boy off the ranch. Because I don't understand why you are still defending him.”

“I am defending him because he is choosing to stay. He is choosing to be there for her, Kayce. Most guys when they get their girlfriend pregnant when they are a teenager don’t stick around.” Crossing my arms over my chest I leaned against the stone fireplace.

Kayce sent me a glare rolling his eyes at me. Our first long standing fight between one another was dealing with Monica until she broke it off with him not being able to accept his lifestyle. “I told you how that boy can earn my trust and make me believe in his loyalty.”

“You're forcing him to take the brand. Do you not see that by doing that you are turning into the man your father used to be. I thought you didn’t want to be like that.” I spat stomping up to be in his face.

Kayce jumped up from the couch getting in my face where we were both death glaring at the other. His brown eyes never broke away from mine where I could see the seriousness yet regret remaining there too. “I am not going to do what my father did. But he doesn’t deserve our daughter. He…he isn’t good enough for her!”

“That’s what this is really about isn’t it, Kayce?” Parting my mouth open I suck in a breath finally realizing that he was being a natural protective father. He repeatedly told me that he didn’t want her growing up but now he truly meant it. “You’re terrified that she will get her heart broken and as her father you feel responsible for her happiness. But we can’t control who she loves and how her life goes-“

He cuts me off short, crossing his arms over his chest. “I sure as hell can so long as she lives underneath my roof and on this ranch!”

“Kayc, come on you have to believe what I am saying here. Yes we are her parents but we have to add the truth that she will grow up. She will become a mother like I am and she will have her own children. That’s how life goes on. That is how the legacy of this ranch and everything we fight for goes on.” Grasping his hands in mine I unfolded his arm’s making him look me in the eye.

He sighed heavily, resting his forehead against mine releasing some breaths. Closing my eyes I wanted to freeze time here and now. Keep our chin all the same age and keep the ranch just how it is. So that there wouldn’t be any more changes. The wooden stairs creaked making us pull slightly apart seeing Bree coming down. “Mom. Dad, I have a doctor's appointment today. Can you guys drive me and Carter?”

“Uh sure sweetie. I’ll grab my coat and keys.” I broke away from my husband heading up the stairs to go find Tate and ask him to babysit the twins until we got back. Walking down the hallway I halted in my tracks seeing a bunch of papers scattered on my daughter’s bed. Entering her room I picked one of them up reading the dates that were all linked to 1923 and were written by a woman named Cara. Unfolding one of the letters I mumbled something under my breath one last sentence there. “Dying is the most alive you will ever feel, Spencer Dutton.”

Footsteps came down the hall where I glanced over my shoulder seeing Bree leaning against the doorway. “Mom, are you coming? Dad says he will get the truck ready.”

“Bree, where did you find these letters at? I’ve never seen them before and I mean the dates are so old.” Holding up the letter in my hands I showed it to her, moving some of the others counting a lot of them. I hadn’t studied the family tree that much even though I had named my second daughter Elsa. It was certainly complicated as most family trees are.

Bree entered the room locking gaze with me where I could see that her stomach was getting bigger where we could hopefully learn the gender considering she told me she was pregnant when she was into her pregnancy by a month or two. “I got bored so I went searching around in grandpa John’s room. I found them hidden away in his closet so I decided to read them. Please don’t be mad. I know I shouldn’t go to his room without permission.”

“You’re not in trouble this time but don’t do it again, get it. Now we should go, otherwise we will be late to the appointment.” She nodded leaving the room before I turned back towards the bed finding the bag that the letters were in. Quickly going downstairs I put them away in our bedroom needing to read them later tonight.

The drive to the hospital was quiet and intense where none of us dared to utter a word. Closing the passenger door Carter and Bree walked side by side with him wearing his tan cowboy hat. I was wearing my black one with the golden clip and Kayce had on his normal hat opening the front door for us. The nurse got us into the doctor's room. “Well I am surprised to see you back so soon Mr and Mrs. Dutton. I would have thought after the twins you two would take a break.”

“Well you see the thing is we’re not pregnant doctor. This time it’s…” I trailed off sending my daughter a look while she sat on the table playing with her hands before she gave me a small head nod. “Our eldest is pregnant, Bree.”

The doctor had to blink a few times before he got everything set up so she was laying on the table. Carter and Kayce were asked to wait outside leaving me alone with my daughter. The doctor put the cream on her stomach showing the video on the screen. “Then I suppose congratulations are in order. And according to this I should tell the gender how far along you are. Would you like to know, Bree?”

“Mom…” She lifted her head up grabbing my hand in hers.

Squeezing it back I move to the door telling the boys to come back inside so that they could hear at the same time. “It is completely your choice, Little B.”

“The gender of your baby should be a boy.” The doctor declared looking between Kayce and I then it shifted down to Carter and Bree. The Dutton name would always keep growing.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[nightiingaled]

Warning Sign | Tae-mi & Cass

Blackwatch Years Tae-mi when a mission goes awry. Trigger warnings for mentions of blood, momentary gore & near-death. @quick-drawn

The desert is alive with the sound of gunfire.

“One left!”

Tae-mi Jin is in the process of placing her final clip into her gun, licking her lips and whispering a soft prayer. She has her back against a collapsed stone wall, long worn from time.

“You’re talking about targets, right?”

Across from her – on the other side of the crumbling entryway into the long-destroyed building – Jesse McCree aims and misses one of the remaining soldiers creeping closer and closer to their position.

“Not with that aim!”

“You’re one to talk!”

Sure enough, the moment Tae attempts to take a shot at one of the soldiers, they open fire in her direction, and she misses her shot as she takes cover once again. She grumbles something to herself, but she knows that of the two of them she is the weaker link here.

Gunfights have never been her thing. Hand-to-hand, close combat has always been where she excels, if her continued wins in the fighting rings had anything to say about it.

“You think if we ask nicely, they’ll line up easy to let us punch them out instead?”

She can hear him thinking across the space between them and it almost makes her laugh.

“Can you two take this a little seriously?” Commander Reyes’ voice cut through their radios with a crackle of faint static.

A tight-lipped smile stretches across Tae’s features despite everything. “Not to rush you, Commander, but how’s it coming?”

“We’re in the clear. Light them up!”

Tae gives Jesse a thumbs up, Jesse returning the gesture. Tae thumbs the detonator in her other hand, pressing it with more force than probably necessary. The ground rumbles around them as multiple bombs go off in a location less than a mile east. Tae can see the haze that has erupted in its place as she dives into her hideaway.

 There’s the sound of screaming and shouting of orders and suddenly the soldiers assaulting them are leaving hurriedly in two vehicles towards the direction of the compound in the distance.

“Can’t believe that worked.”

Tae laughs, having crawled out of the crevice in the wall and crossed to Jesse’s side of the entryway. She offers him a hand up which he accepts with a smile. “I owe that man a dri—”

Gunfire breaks out once again, shattering the moment. Tae throws herself back to the wall, dragging a startled Jesse with her. “Damnit,” she spits.

“What was that?” Reyes clips through.  

“They left someone behind. Can’t be many we got—Jesse!”

Jesse is semi-conscious, flopping over as his body struggles to hold itself upright.

“Flesh wound, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his eyes flickering open and then closed again.

Crimson red is seeping through holes in Jesse’s vest and Tae swallows thickly.

“Stay still.”

The building around them has gone quiet. Tae is sure they couldn’t have left more than three behind. They would send as many as possible to see to the supposed attack on the compound and the two agents had done their best to leave few to spare.

Tae slips her knives from their sheathes.

The first comes through the entryway – poor thing was practically bait. Tae takes him out at the knees, quite literally taking her knives and slicing away at the back of his legs. He lets out a wailing scream and collapses as the second comes around the right corner. Tae knocks the soldier’s aim down towards the ground with one arm, using the other to slice up under and into his jaw. She lets him keep the knife as she turns the other on the third soldier hurrying through the entryway to help. Again, and again and again she thrusts her knife into his chest until he’s blubbering blood all over her.

“Three,” she tells herself, “They left three.”

The fourth doesn’t exactly take her by surprise so much as uses a different approach than the others. He rushes through the doorway and subsequently towards Tae herself. Smaller than him and more practiced, she manages to dodge to the side. It isn’t enough. He launches himself at her and throws her to the ground. Tae doesn’t realize his hands on her throat until they suddenly aren’t she’s breathing fresh air again, ears ringing from the nearby gunshot.

She rolls the body off her, looking over at Jesse. The man is sheet white, but the grip on his gun is surprisingly steady.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“What?”

“You say, ‘thank you’, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she grumbles as she picks herself off the ground and hurries back over to his side. It’s at this moment that she realizes Reyes is still trying to make contact. His voice had become a distant buzz, a distraction she had to ignore for the time being.

“Jin, I swear to God if you don’t answer—”

“Sorry, sir. The pickup crew is cleared out, but McCree is injured.”

“Stay put. We’ll evac you as soon as we make the rendezvous.”

“Sir, I don’t think we have that kind of time. You still have miles ahead of you – we have a shorter distance we can hit the rendezvous at the same time.”  

While she’s talking, Tae is tearing spare fabric from the soldiers’ uniforms and her pants, wrapping the bandages around Jesse’s stomach, and tying them tight.

“Jin, don’t tell me you’re thinking of—”

“This isn’t a viable rendezvous point, sir. You said so yourself. We just blew up the safest landing zone for miles. And it’s going to be too Hot to land. It’s not worth the risk.”

“Jin, I mean it – do not leave your position.”

“Sorry sir, I’m getting nothing but static. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous.”

And then the line goes silent as she turns off her comms. Tae-mi reaches down, pulling Jesse up by both arms with a grunt and leaning him over her shoulder.

“Come on, Jess – we got a long walk ahead of us.”  

& & &

Tae didn’t doubt her logic, but she realizes that she might have misgauged how quickly she would be able to move with Jesse.  For what it was worth, he tries to help as much as he can. When he’s awake. But the man’s consciousness comes and goes. Here and there she catches him muttering to himself and wonders what delirium he finds himself in. She remembers him saving her so many years ago and it feels like only yesterday. To think she finally gets to return the favor – she hopes it’s worth it.

It's sad that even after all this time, she’s barely let him in. Barely let anyone in. It’s just her and her sister. The two of them have grown together in Blackwatch, different in multiple ways but so similar in so many others. What would it be like to lose him?

Tae swallows. No, she tells herself. Stop thinking like he’s dying.

But he is. He is dying. He’s dripping crimson through the makeshift bandages. He bled through the bandages, even after she ripped more of her pants to add to it. He’s bleeding into the remainder of her shirt, just bleeding and she can’t stop it. He’s paler than he was at the start and that is saying something. His sweat is almost drowning her.

“Gonna be sick…”

“Not on my shoulder you’re not.”

But she hopes it bodes well that he’s saying anything at all. He doesn’t get sick. They keep moving on.

There comes a point – as much as she hates it – that she must stop again, simply to rest. If she doesn’t her shoulder will give out. The two of them are covered in blood. Jesse has soaked through every bandage she’s thrown at him and down his pants. Tae has sacrificed everything but her tank top and enough of her pants they’ve become shorts. There’s no point making herself naked at this point – it’s not going to help, she knows.  

“…Behind…”

She has Jesse leaned against a rock ledge and she leans closer to him. “What’s up?”

A tongue licks slowly over his chapped lips. “Leave me…. behind.”

“Over my dead body.”

She reaches out to grab his arm, but he catches her wrist and holds it. His grip isn’t tight – he didn’t have the strength, but she doubts it would be even if he did. “Don’t die here….with me.”

“Neither of us is going to die, Jess.”

A crack creeps into her voice and she notices her fingers are starting to shake. She needs to get moving again before she can’t anymore, but Jesse’s other hand is touching her hair.

“You’re really pretty with this haircut, you know?”

“Jess – stop talking nonsense okay, let’s get out of here. You’re going to be okay. You’re gonna –”

He cups her jaw and leans forward, and Tae sees what comes next. She doesn’t stop it. It’s not the right time – it’s NEVER going to be the right time for her, but this is next level of not right. But what if they never get another chance?

Their lips meet and it’s so soft and weak on his end, but there’s still a fire behind it that she returns. Tae wraps her now free hands in his hair and leans him forward into the kiss, tears tracking down her worried features.

And then it’s over, but it remains abuzz within her. She thumbs his hair away from his eyes and sighs.  “I hope you didn’t think that was going to convince me to leave you, Jess,” she murmured. “Come on.”

& & &

She turns her comms back on the moment she sees the form of the helicopter growing nearer in the distance. To her surprise, Reyes does not immediately proceed to curses upon hearing her voice back on the radio.

“How’s he doing,” she hears instead and smiles softly to herself.

“Holding out.”

“We see you. We’ll meet you halfway.”

The group of agents do indeed meet them halfway with a stretcher. Jesse’s weight is transferred from her shoulder to someone else and Tae almost loses her balance at the loss. The realization of her own exhaustion settles on her, and it takes everything she has to keep walking towards the helicopter.

“Jin!”

Tae turns to see Commander Reyes approaching her at a brisk march. She swallows.

“Never ever and I mean ever pull that shit with me again, do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

She turns away and keeps walking towards the ship before he calls her name once again. “Tae-mi…”

The woman turns back, and the Commander has a half-smile on his face. “Good job.”

She smiles back at him. “Yes, sir.”  

They pile into the ship as the medic works around them to try and stabilize Jesse.

Tae-mi clutches his hand the entire time. Tae-mi doesn’t care who sees at this point and no one says anything.

[preyofolympus]

Worried About Bernard (You know that I won't let you fall) chapter 3 by etpereatmundus

“The person you have dialed can’t take your call now. At the tone, please record your message. When you have finished recording, simply hang up...” 

It doesn’t take a conspiracy theorist to conclude that a shitty magic cult goes about giving people shitty magic powers, or even more shitty hallucinations. 

Though fuck it, Bernard Dowd thought, with my luckthe two events could just be completely unrelated and I’m just built like that. Which would objectively suck. A lot. Either way, the likelihood of something shit happening and it not being linked to the cult I left almost exactly a month ago wasn’t exactly low, objectively speaking. Oh, you left a cult run on mania and now you’re seeing monsters? Gee Willikers, causation over correlation would be the village idiot’s guess.

He put the phone down after the fifth time he rang Asher Kensington’s phone, and it went to the same monotone voice. So much for trying to call the only ex-cult member he had the phone number of.

The cult was where Bernard had formed some of his strongest relationships since… since the day at the school when… since his last day at school with Tim and… her. Her. He shook his head of the memories. At the cult, they’d been joined in their goals- their very lives, running from the parts of themselves and others that they couldn’t face. Despite the fear, the pain and the madness of it all, they did draw a kind of strength from each other Bernard had never felt before. So he hoped that he could reach out, call his old contacts for help, for that strength they once shared even if he did end up being the only one with his recent experiences. But… he couldn’t be, right?

 The cult opened up their vulnerabilities, but Bernard and his fellow members were vulnerable together, and knew each other's truest selves as they endured the trials together. 

Asher piercing him, Yekaterina tattooing Bernard’s skin when she hadn’t known him the day before, parting skin and tracing fingers through streams of blood- they all spurred each other on, kept each other alive even as they tore each other apart. Dissected each other. 

Asher was the first person to dissect Bernard. On Bernard’s first day in the cult, he’d wandered the halls of the catacombs lost, unsure amongst the bustling crowds- until Asher grabbed his arm and pulled him to the wall. With a smile he took a knife and ran it down the back of each of his fingers. Gently held Bernard’s arm in place, allowing him to brace himself against the Asher’s thin frame. At first, Bernard tried his best to stay still. To not show the pain. However, he quickly learned that wasn’t the point- pain cults want to see the pain, they don’t want you to overcome it, but commit to it, experience it fully. 

The rituals weren’t all physical, and all the physical things ended up being piercings and tattoos, or exerting the self through things like running until you collapse. Isolation; navigating the dark caverns after a frenzied party; the fear that made you jolt so hard at the slightest sound you’d pull a muscle; the hunger that left you curled up clutching your stomach to alleviate the rolling nausea that came stronger and stronger each time. You had to really stretch it, find new ways of embracing pain. The memories of why they ventured further in pursuit of pain eluded Bernard- some reasoned it was for higher elevation (whatever that meant), others to show determination, devotion. Maybe, above it all, it was a show- they wanted to all be noticed by the higher powers, to be told they were good, that their suffering meant something. ‘Look at me, I’m going to rise above you all by cutting myself down.’

Somehow, the pain was meant to help them find themselves. Find salvation.

Suffering is holy. 

Asher believed that. He’d been there much longer than Bernard, and had stuck by his side, hoping to help him adjust to the new underground world he’d turned to to escape himself and his family. It had been months, and towards the end, Asher had begun to help other new recruits, as had… 

Then Bernard saw Tim.

He almost felt like he’d betrayed Asher more than the cult. Bernard had walked away from the life Asher had spent almost half a year acclimating him to, snuck out without a word, like there was nothing easier than leaving the family he’d found in the catacombs of Gotham. 

But Robin- Tim- had saved him, saved them all. 

The Chaos Cult was no more, and they were all free.

Bernard never reached out to the others, after, never spoke to those he’d once called family. He remembered the feeling- the way they all belonged. The intentions of the Cult were never made clear to the followers, but as the confusion lifted over Bernard’s first few months, he felt lighter than ever. They’d all felt the same way, felt the relief as they began to settle into the life they all came to share. Some had for years. How could he look them in the eyes after taking all that away? Especially with what they were all running from?

He called Asher. He needed the reassurance, the short, thin frame to lean on as he adjusted to his new life. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t do it alone. He couldn’t be the only one. So, he concluded that if they’d all felt the same way before the cult, felt the same way on their journeys as members, then surely there’d be someone out there who felt the same as they left. Wondering if they were going mad, or if they were something other than human after their experience.

Finally, he gave in, and opened his phone to try the next ex-member. Esen.

Esen Polat had been a Turkish influencer before the cult. They’d run away because, like Bernard, their family made them scared of who they really were. They were the only other one Bernard had seen change like him after the cult- changing the he/ him in their bio to they/them- so he figured if he couldn’t rely on a person he looked up to, why not rely on someone he saw himself in?

So there he sat, Instagram open on his phone, eyes flicking over the keyboard as he hoped some letter or other would prompt him to think of the right way to open his message.

He typed. 

Backspaced.

Typed.

Backspaced, then re-typed, then backspaced.

Turned off his phone.

What was to say they’d even answer? Maybe they also resented him for taking away the cult. Maybe they’d never see the DM because he wasn’t a friend. Maybe they just didn’t care about him. 

Then Bernard thought back to the Things; the fear as a Thing turned the corner before a person; trying to figure out whether he should tell someone or if it would get back to the wrong people; the itch to go back to the catacombs, to do what he didn’t know.

He sighed, and typed.

‘Hi Esen, it’s Bernard. I know we haven’t talked since we last saw each other, but I think something’s wrong. I need to know if I’m the only one.’

<<<<<>>>>>

Twenty minutes later, his phone buzzed.

From Esen Polat-

‘Thank fuck, I was wanting to find someone else too. Can we meet at my place? I’m kind of scared to leave the house with my… new condition.’

Bernard held his breath.

From Bernard-

‘Does today work?’ 

Three dots popped up.

From Esen Polat-

‘How quick can you get to mine? I can’t wait a second longer than I have to.’

<<<<<>>>>>

The apartment Bernard was directed to rose high above the trees of Gotham park, a red brick wall crumbling with old vines from Poison Ivy’s last attack. Each balcony had its own personality, adorned with flags, plants and Knick knacks that all came together into a single tapestry of colour that wrestled out a small feeling of hope that warmed Bernard’s chest. It was a pretty typical Gotham scene- the dandelions growing in the cracks. Pretty to those that noticed. Refusing to be stamped down.

He pressed the buzzer for flat five, and the door opened with a crack of the hinges.

Esen Polat entered the door in a lilac silk dressing gown, an almost empty, incredibly large wine glass clutched in their grip. Their eyes scanned Bernard up and down, bloodshot. A smile broke across their face.

“God it’s been so long since I’ve seen a familiar figure. Come in, come in! Just be careful where you stand.”

Following his host’s frantic gesturing, as the goosebumps rose on his arms, Bernard stepped inside. 

No Things inhabited the space. He tried to convince himself that was a good sign, even though he was too early into the whole seeing Things issue to know that for certain.

“So, there is no point in me pretending I don’t know why you’re here. Bernard, have you been blessed too? Do you… have you got the snakes too?” Esen’s voice dropped to a whisper on the last line, even though they were the only two in the room.

“The… snakes? I mean, cursed sounds more fitting than blessed if you ask me, and I haven’t seen any snakes since I left-“

“Not seen them, dear- spit them out.”

Bernard blanched. “You- you spit snakes? Well shit, I see weird monster Things attached to people, and I think I can touch them and affect the people they’re attached to. I mean… at least we’re both able to be more open minded to each others’, um, situations? When did you start spitting up reptiles?”

“It happened a week after the cult was disbanded. What about you? Your… monster Things? When did they start?”

“Three weeks after leaving,” Bernard said. “It’s been almost two weeks now, and until literally just now, I couldn’t tell if I was going mad or if it was some Metahuman shit manifesting. I guess at least I know I’m not mad, but being a Meta in Gotham isn’t great. Do you… have any snakes you kept?”

Emphatically, Esen nodded. “Five from this week. I drop them off at various shelters just before they open. I was almost drowning in them until I realised I could get rid of them in a more discreet manner. Follow me, just down this hall. The first few were so small, I thought I had some dreadful case of worms, but quickly they grew in size, now I’m coughing up snakes almost as long as I am tall. Truly terrible business.” They shook their head, ushering Bernard inside a room at the end of the hall.

A small cage, sat in one corner,  covered haphazardly in chicken wire and emitting an ominous low hiss from within. Shadows obscured whatever was inside, but a dark shadow rose and fell, silhouetted against the white walls. 

Esen crouched down, opening the hatch, and Bernard panicked.

“Don’t just let them out! What if they bite?”

Esen laughed. “They do what I will them to. I believe my power lies as much in their control as it does in their creation. Quite like a god of snakes.”

A shiver worked its way up Bernard’s spine. “Do you really think it’s like that? Like you’re some god?”

“I think therefore I am, right? I quite believe the cult left us with some left over gifts, as a thank you for our servitude. Why, you almost gave your life for the cult. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d been on that table…” they looked away wistfully, an expression that invoked both revulsion and rage in Bernard.

“What would have happened is you’d have been torn to fucking bits, tortured, and ended up nothing more than a dead body,” Bernard hissed. “Don’t be so naïve.”

“But we all wanted that, didn’t we? The pain, the conclusion?” Esen asked, tilting their head.

“I wanted to run away because I realized I was gay, for fucks sake. That’s all it really was, and they took advantage of that. They took advantage of all of us, and tortured us for months because we were all stupid.” Bernard sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, at the end of the day, I don’t care if we think differently of the cult. Can we at least both agree that being Metas in Gotham is a bad idea?”

“Of course it is, no one stays a Meta in Gotham for long before the Bat comes. I may call myself a god, but the Bat and his clan are a whole different breed of entity. Something else entirely. I don’t want to go against that.”

“At least we agree on that, sort of.” 

Tim was certainly something else entirely.

“I don’t want to see the Things anymore, and I want to find out where exactly these powers come from. So, there are two things we need to agree on; we need to keep this as much of a secret as we can, and we need to see if there’s a way we can get rid of the powers. Even if you don’t want to lose your powers, I do, and you might need to just in case.”

Esen nodded, placing their hand inside the cage. A Copperhead slithered out, winding around their arm, tongue flicking out as it surveyed the room. Yellow eyes trained themselves on Bernard. He shuffled away, back against the wall. 

“Of course,” Esen agreed. “But if I get even a slight feeling that you’re taking this away from me, I’ll stop you.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less,” Bernard sighed. “Just don’t get too paranoid.”

Esen waved a hand. “You can never be too paranoid, Bernard dear.”

“Once again, agree to disagree.” 

A high pitched noise rose up outside the door, and Bernard jumped, crouching low with his hands ready to strike. He really needed to remember the actual defensive positions he’d been taught in Krav Maga classes. 

Behind him, Esen laughed. “That’s just Kadri, my lovely little boy. He’s just a bit timid around my snakes.”

Bernard craned his neck around the corner, locking eyes with a dog that could hardly be considered ‘little’. A lanky, golden furred creature with a long nose and twig thin legs peered up at the newcomer, head cocked to the side. It’s tail tucked between its legs, as it danced back and forth on the fresh hold of the room, clearly nervous as Bernard felt around the snakes.

“He’s a Borzoi, truly a lovely creature,” Esen crooned, stoking a finger under the snake’s chin. “Now, as much as I love small talk and company, I have a feeling you would like to be sorted and far away from my snakes as soon as possible. Do you have any proposals for how we go about figuring out the root of our new powers? Whilst I am more than happy to return to the catacombs, I’m sure you are less than eager.”

Bernard huffed. “You can say that again. Look, I haven’t kept in contact with anyone since I left, Asher never answers my calls, and I only found you out through social media. If we’re going to find the origin, we need to find out if all of us have powers too, or if it’s a select few. If it’s the latter, it might even help us figure out more about the way we got our powers.”

“I have a few contacts. Most fled Gotham though, going back to their hometowns, going into hiding, some seemingly disappearing off the map. Not to mention the deaths.”

A breath hitched in Bernard’s throat. “How many?”

“Five that I know of. Likely more. I know some were accidents, in a sense, just people trying to carry out the rituals and going too far. Others were not so accidental. Didn’t you see Geoff on the news, getting pulled out of Gotham harbor? Dreadful news. If we were still together, we could make sure we all were ok.”

“You mean we could supervise each other while we tore ourselves apart? Fucking hell, Esen.” Bernard shook his head, expression creasing into a scowl. “Whatever. Call everyone you can, arrange to meet them on the weekend. There’s an old dive bar nearby that is loud enough for us all to have a conversation without being heard. Just dress discreetly, ok? No fancy gowns or designer brands, just put in a hoodie and jeans or something.”

“You do push me, but fine. I have no interest in being noticed in Crime Alley.”

Bernard thanked Esen for agreeing to help, deciding to ignore their somewhat classist sounding remark, and said his goodbyes.

 Kadri the Borzoi nudged his nose into Bernard’s hand, and he petted him as he passed, almost certain the dog was the nicest part of the visit. He resolved to bring treats if he ever came back.

<<<<<>>>>>

Dusk had begun to settle on Gotham, the neon lights of Robinson Square illuminating the lush plant life of Robinson Park.

Bernard sat on some old bench dedicated to some old dead guy, watching as people passed. 

Now he knew he wasn’t going mad, he’d decided that he might as well get used to his powers while he had them- and that meant practice. 

The Things weren’t always noticeable, sometimes because of their size, sometimes because of their appearance- but they were almost always there. Esen had actually been the first person Bernard had seen since he first saw the Things to not have one. Bernard had been looking for his own Thing, some little monster attached to himself, but hadn’t had any luck. Maybe their lack of Things had something to do with the cult- whatever them not having their own Things meant, a creeping feeling that that wasn’t a good thing had begun to grow on Bernard’s consciousness.

An old woman passed, her Thing bounding on ahead, its odd shape vaguely resembling a small dog- at least, a small dog with three necks and a dozen legs. She smiled as she looked at the passing flowers, and Bernard turned his attention to the next passerby.

A young couple walked in the opposite direction, holding hands and leaning on each other. Their things took on bird-like forms, one chasing the other in a never ending circle. The young man pulled out his phone, and as the woman angled her head to look, he moved it out of her line of sight.

The night sky above revealed no stars, and the smog caught the lights from Robinson square, turning the edges of the park into a red and purple setting that resembled some lost good dream. Bernard allowed himself to appreciate it for a minute before deciding to set off, not trusting anything beautiful in Gotham. 

He left the park fifteen minutes later. The north-east end of the city was only ten minutes away from his apartment, and in the southern distance, the Bat-signal lit up the sky, visible from the clutches of the entire city

The East End wasn’t a far cry from The Bowery- slightly better kept, but still clearly abandoned by the council, covered in old graffiti tags, with trash cans overflowing and glass bottles turning the ground into a hazard to simply exist around. He’d already pulled glass from his shoes on three separate occasions since moving down. 

It was on one of these streets that he heard a scream. 

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and Bernard spun around in the direction it came from, seemingly out of some alley to his left. It was certainly a man’s scream, and Bernard froze as he realized something.

The scream was one he’d heard many times before: one of pain.

Trying to shake the feeling of claustrophobia that rose whenever he thought of his time in the cult, Bernard sprang forward, sprinting in the direction of the scream before he’d even thought about what he was doing. 

The further down he ventured, the darker it became as the lights from the Main Street slinked out of view.

He came to a stop, Blood rushing in his veins. The alley came to a dead end. 

Had he missed the person who screamed? 

Alarms sounded in his mind, to get the fuck out as soon as possible. Instantly, his mind went to it either being a trap or something much bigger than what he could handle. What was he even thinking? What idiot ran towards danger? What if he-?

“You lost?” 

Bernard jumped, turning around to see a tall man rise up from behind a dumpster.

He wore a baby blue tracksuit, two swords strapped to his sides, his face shrouded in the darkness. Light hair, possibly blonde, possibly white, hung in strands around his shoulders. He stood about two heads taller than Bernard, and seemed to be doing his best to use that to his advantage, towering over Bernard to try intimidate him.

It didn’t work.

“Were you just… hiding behind a bin?” Bernard asked.

“Umm… yeah, I, uh- shut up, I asked first.”

Bernard sighed. “Clearly not. What’s your gig? You gonna rob me? Are you one of the local traffickers? Maybe a shitty wannabe villain?”

“I’m not a shitty wannabe! I’m a villain. A super villain. See?” The shitty wannabe supervillain unsheathed two glowing swords, a menacing grin growing on his underlit face, long shadows leaving his eyes covered. 

Then, one sword stopped moving, and he tugged at it a bit. After a moment's struggle, the sword came free, something ripping as the lights went out.

“Oh my god,” Bernard groaned. “Tell me you didn’t add LED strips to your swords to make them seem magical. Please.”

“I didn’t do it to make them seem magical, I just-“

Bernard cut the man’s defense short. “Actually, I don’t care. I’m not being involved in your embarrassing ass origin story, so I’m leaving. If you try to stop me, I’ll give you a real tragic backstory, capeesh?”  A shiver of secondhand  embarrassment ran laps up and down Bernard’s spine, before finishing his sentiment. “Just… sort whatever this is out before you try again.”

“I am the Blue Hood, also known as the Blue Death, and I’m going to kill the Red Hood.” The idiot straightened up, puffing out his chest. He tried to cross his arms, but couldn’t with the swords in his hands, so ended up just trying to pose with them on his hips, his wrists bent awkwardly. “You won’t be leaving, and I’m going to hold you hostage to lure in the Red Hood.”

“Wait, is that why you screamed? To lure in the Hood?” Bernard threw his hands in the air, frustration rising. “Do you even know how ridiculously fucking stupid that plan is? Let me guess, you have no clue when his patrol times are. What’s your genius plan, just hide behind that dumpster for the whole night, occasionally screaming on the off chance he turns up? I genuinely think I’m starting to hate you just for how dumb you are. I actually feel insulted that you’re trying to… what is this? Kidnap me?”

He sidestepped the idiot, holding a finger up as he began to move his swords. As he made his way down the street, he caught a glimpse of something glowing nearby, and turned to see a Thing stalking him. Shit.

The Blue Hood (stupid, stupid name) lunged forward, swords raised at Bernard’s chest. Because of course, a dead hostage was a great idea. 

Bernard dodged under the strike, ploughing his fist into Blue Hood’s groin.

Bernard’s attempted kidnapper fell, cursing at the pain, as his swords clattered away from him. The light of the one unbroken sword illuminated the alley, and Bernard pulled the hood of his jacket low over his face, not wanting to be seen on the off chance the Red Hood had actually been drawn in.

“Please,” Bernard begged, “just fuck off.”

“Never!”

The Blue Hood scrambled towards his swords, blue light illuminating his pale skin. He grabbed one, rolling around and waving it wildly in the air, only to realise Bernard had simply stepped out of his reach in his attempt to regain his weapons.

“Come at me if you think you can take me,” he snarled.

“No. Fuck off.”

As Bernard watched the Blue Hood roll around on the trash strewn ground, he didn’t notice the Thing behind him gradually growing closer. It leapt, landing on his back and knocking him to his hands and knee with a yell.

He reached behind himself, grabbing the weird glowing blue and black substance of the Blue Hood’s Thing. He pulled, and slammed it into the ground with all the force he could manage.

The Blue Hood screamed, back arching as the Thing flattened itself against the ground. He gasped, grasping his head, his feet kicking out.

Had Bernard managed to hurt him through his Thing?

Bernard drove his fist into the center of the squished Thing, and another scream made its way to his ears. Definitely related then.

Bernard stood, brushing off the dirt on his hoodie and jeans, making sure his hood had stayed low.

“You ok?” He whispered.

The Blue Hood whimpered.

“Well, I would help you, but you did attack me, so…” 

Tim would help the idiot. Fuck.

He sighed. “I’m too tired for this shit. There’s a clinic nearby, I’ll take you there, and if this shit ever happens again, I will leave you.”

The Blue Hood just groaned in response.

“Good. Also, seriously consider changing your name. Blue Hood will just get you laughed at. I’m literally dying of second hand embarrassment. Maybe that could be your schtick, killing people by being yourself.”

Maybe he was being mean, but as Bernard scraped the Thing off the floor and slung it over his shoulder, and threw the Blue Hood over the other, he realised he really couldn't care less. He’d earnt the bitchiness.

<<<<<>>>>>

Thompkins’ clinic was one of the places Bernard had first learnt of when he moved to the Bowery. He’s heard in passing that some locals could go there and get free, confidential treatment, no matter their issue. 

In the many turf wars and conflicts of Gotham, Leslie Thompkins’ clinics were always steadfast in their neutrality, treating anyone who stepped in, on the condition they never caused problems once inside. Rumor had it that the Red Hood even used it, not to mention the many local villains, and it had some level of protection from any power that had found help in her walls.

Bernard knocked on the front door, nerves coursing through him as he waited for a reply. What time was it? Ten pm? Eleven? Would there even be anyone in?

No lights were on, bar the glow of a fish tank in the office window. 

Next to him, the Blue hood whimpered, rubbing his head. Turns out, he only wore a cheap face mask from some corner store, and his outfit had no reinforcement except for skater pads on his knees and elbows. Bernard held no hope for him improving.

Then, a miracle. Warm lights flickered on in an upstairs window, and the curtains flickered.

Bernard thought about Leslie Thompkins’ clientele- if Red Hood, an associate of the bats, was known to come here, what if the bats did? What if Red Robin did? 

He looked to the still half-conscious Blue Hood, in his stupid trackies, and decided he was happy to bet on Thompkins’ confidentiality on behalf of the president wannabe villain, ripping off the shitty mask and putting it over his own face. He prayed the Blue Hood wasn’t sick.

The door opened, and a white haired old woman appeared, a young, brunette boy at her side. She was dressed in a casual linen shirt, white baggy trousers stopping at her calves. The boy wore a massive red hoodie, his wide blue eyes peering up at Bernard.

“Does your friend need help?” She inquired. “I don’t tend to get unfamiliar clients at this time of night.”

“He has… a migraine, I think. Also I might have broken his dick. By punching it.”

“Oh.” She straightened up. “Alright then, I can try my best. Follow me.”

“There’s no one else inside, is there?”

Bernard tried to peer around the door, suddenly paranoid that Tim would turn around the corner as Esen’s words came back to him; ‘Can’t be too paranoid.’ 

Bernard still had his doubts, but not in this instance. 

He stepped inside.

<<<<<>>>>>

Three hours later, Doctor Thompkins had patched up the Blue Hood, who lay sulking on the cot. Lucky for him, his dick wasn’t broken, but a few other body parts were, and his splitting headache had only just begun to subside, 

“Somehow, I have a feeling I’ll be having this Blue Hood guy in my clinic again.” Doctor Thompkins turned towards Bernard. “What about you, Mr. hidden-in-the-shadows? You’ve been trying your best to not be seen by me, so I’m assuming that means you’re some vigilante type who got caught out with your mask.”

Bernard shrugged. “Not really. Just don’t want to be known around here. I guess I'm… hiding?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she said, shrugging. “You’re new to the Bowery then?”

She could be trusted. Neutral grounds. Right?   

“Yeah I'm new, but I know the area well. You work with vigilantes a lot though, don’t you?”

“Put up with them is more like it, but yeah. It’s kind of why I asked if you were one- Vigilantes always get mysterious airs about them, just like you have- and you’re definitely in your lone wolf stage, something I hope you get over soon.”

“My lone wolf stage..?” Bernard shook his head. “I’m not even a vigilante, so stop… whatever it is you’re talking about. I’m just a guy that got jumped.”

“Oh yes, a guy who got jumped and managed to give the guy an awful head injury with no physical marks?”

“The guy got a migraine,” he grunted.

She laughed, turning towards her computer. The blue light lit up the small room, and Bernard let his gaze fall on the illuminated equipment laid out on a nearby table. The warmth of the small orange lamp on the desk clashed with the cool lighting, and his gaze followed the dark neutral line between the two lights, trailing the path up the wall, across the ceiling, returning down the cross over the half-asleep Blue Hood.

“You know,” Doctor Thompkins said softly, “I’ve lived over half my life working with vigilantes, so I know a thing or two about them. But I’ve also worked with the civilians of Gotham too. You can come here, vigilante or not, and I’d be happy to help you if ever you need it.”

He hmphed, tilting his head. “Thanks, I guess.”

“I’m serious. I don’t take kindly to scooping people off the pavement. Come to me, I am not asking. I opened this clinic to keep the streets clean, and I won’t be happy if you mess them up with your insides.” Her tone was serious, but the smile in Doctor Thompkins’ eyes settled Bernard’s nerves.

“I’ll keep you in mind if I get a papercut.”

Bernard headed towards the door, head turned under his hood to avoid the light of the hallways showing his face under the shadows. He stopped, just as he reached the door frame.

“Thank you… I appreciate your help with the Blue Hood. He’s clearly too stupid to survive on his own. Maybe you should give him the talk you gave me. I can’t deny it’s got me thinking.”

“I think I’ll give him a modified version of the talk,” she laughed. “Maybe suggest that he retires the- supervillain gig, was it?”

“Hard agree doc. Thanks again, but hopefully I won’t be seeing you again.”

“I hope the same for you. Goodbye, Mr. Hidden-in-the-Shadows.”

“I really need a better name than that.”

“I thought you weren’t a vigilante?” she called after him. 

“Bye, Doctor Thompkins!”

Bernard rounded the corner, making his way down the tight staircase towards the front door. The walls were lined with medical degrees, group photos of patients and medical practitioners alike, and even a few kids’ drawings to brighten up the atmosphere.

He reached the door, but just as he went to turn the lock, a small voice piped up from the doorway leading to a reception area.

“The man you brought in called himself the Blue Hood. Why?” 

Bernard turned, to see the young boy from before peering around the doorway.

“He called himself the Blue Hood because he’s unoriginal and not very bright. You don’t need to be scared of him.”

“I know he’s unoriginal, because I’m the Blue Hood.” Indignation lit up the kid’s voice. “Well, I’m actually called Tyler, but the Red Hood told me I could be the Blue Hood for my superhero name.”

The kid knew the Hood? Bernard was reminded of how close the clinic was to the vigilantes that roamed Gotham- including one elder vigilante, who would definitely dislike his newly-Meta-human presence in the city. Definitely time to disappear.

“Well, in which case, I’m sure the idiot upstairs will soon learn to change his name. You seem like a tough kid. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be caught stealing the name of someone as fearful as the Red Hood’s left hand man. Look, I’ve got to go home, so goodnight-”

“Tyler? I have Batburger for you!”

From the back, a gruff voice called out, as a door opened and slammed shut. Heavy footsteps grew closer, and Bernard stepped back as a familiar figure loomed up behind Tyler.

The Red Hood.

A grey armored shirt and red, sleeveless jacket stretched over six feet of pure muscle. A red face mask combined with a grey domino glared down at Bernard, red eyes directed at his face. His face, which was only covered by his low hood. If they were making eye contact, that meant the Hood had seen him. Shit fuck shit. 

Bernard ducked his head as low as he could. No way was he letting the Hood recognize him from the other night.

“Uh, hello?” The Hood muttered, seemingly taken aback by a stranger in the clinic. “You here on business or somethin’?”

“No,” Bernard whispered, willing whatever luck he had to manifest in the Hood not to recognize his voice. “Just dropping off some idiot. I’m on my way, so you two have a good evening.”

“Bye-bye,” Tyler called, waving Bernard off, a gesture which he returned.

“Yeah, see you around,” The Red Hood muttered, a farewell that set Bernard on edge.

Would he follow Bernard? ‘See you around’ implies that the Hood was expecting them to cross paths again, something Bernard really hoped against. 

He shrugged off the feeling of the Red Hood's eyes following his back, and sprinted down the dark street the second he knew he was out of the sight of the clinic’s windows.

It was only as he walked away that he realized something- The Red Hood had no Thing attached to him either.

<<<<<>>>>>

Five minutes later, Bernard had finally reached his street. Only one streetlamp worked, and even that flickered as he passed underneath. With his apartment only a few more meters away, and the street so quiet even the local dealers had vacated their corners, Bernard was finally able to stop enough to appreciate just how goddamn tired he was. His joints almost ached, and his head definitely ached. He sucked in a deep breath, counting to ten before letting it slowly escape. 

Just two doors away from his apartment building, Bernard stopped.

A small party shop, full of masks and costumes caught his eye. 

The bright colors, the light up decorations, the shiny glitter that coated every surface- none of that caught his eye.

But in the corner, a thin black mask, covered in matching black roses, with two curled horns on either side caught his eye. The piece sat nestled against a wall display, a small white tag attached, reading sale- $10. 

‘Vigilantes always get mysterious airs about them, just like you have’

Bernard smiled, and decided to come back the next day.

[viola-halogen]

12 Days of Thanktival — Day 7: Traditions

—

[AO3 link]

Relationships: Pat Butcher & Fanny Button, Pat Butcher & Everyone

Characters: Pat Butcher, Fanny Button, Everyone else

—

Summary: How the Button House Christmas Quiz came about.

AKA Pat refuses to accept that just because they're ghosts, they can't still celebrate Christmas.

A/N: Happy (belated) Christmas to everyone who celebrates it! Also this is probably clear in the fic but this takes place during Christmas 1984, the first Christmas since Pat's death.

—

The Limits of Being Dead

“What do you mean, you guys don’t do anything for Christmas?”

“Well, what do you expect from us? It’s not like we can buy each other presents, or eat Christmas dinner…”

“Or visit family.”

“Or pull crackers.”

“Yes, but… it’s Christmas!” Pat said. “Couldn’t you guys… sing carols, or play charades?”

“Absolutely not,” Fanny said. “I won’t have such nonsense going on in my home.”

Pat sighed. In the few months that had passed since his death, he’d learnt a lot of things, but somehow the knowledge that his fellow ghosts made no effort whatsoever to celebrate Christmas was one of the most shocking. He supposed because, up until this point, he’d somehow believed that his life would continue, even beyond the grave. Here, it seemed, was the proof that that wasn’t the case.

“What is big deal anyway?” Robin said. “Christmas. Is just passing fad anyway.”

“We’d all love to celebrate if we could, Patrick,” Thomas said. “Well, most of us would. It’s just easier when you accept that things can’t be the way they were when you were alive anymore.”

Pat sighed. “I s’pose you’re right,” he said.

“Well, now that that’s dealt with,” the Captain said, turning to leave the room. Most of the others followed him out. Kitty did reach out and put a hand on his arm as she was passing.

“I still like to pretend that when I wake up on Christmas morning, I’m going to go downstairs and open all my presents,” she said to him. Then she skipped out of the room, humming as she went. Pat folded his hands behind his back and went to look out of the window. Heather had strung some fairy lights around the fountain on the drive—they weren’t on yet, but Pat could just make out where they were.

“It is a pity, I know,” a voice said, and he turned in surprise to see Lady B standing on his right, staring out of the next window over. “When I was alive, we would cut down a great tree every year and stand it up in the parlour. We always decorated it on Christmas Eve, and on Christmas Day we held a great dinner for everyone in the house. It’s not the same any more, of course.”

Pat startled. To say he was surprised to hear the formidable, uptight Lady Button confiding in him would have been an understatement. It was even more of a shock to hear the sentimentality with which she spoke about her life.

“Carol and Daley and I decorate together every year,” Pat said. “Up until now, I guess…” His heart fell as he wondered whether Carol and Daley would decorate without him, or if doing it at all would feel wrong now that he wasn’t there.

“Hmm. Well, there’s no point dwelling on the past,” Fanny said, and turned away from the window.

There she is again, Pat thought. But the slightest shape of an idea was beginning to form in his mind.

“What if we had a tradition of our own?” he blurted out without thinking. “Something we started now, this year. Something that had nothing to do with any of our lives—something we can do as we are.”

“Like what, exactly? It’s all very well and good saying something like that, but if you don’t have an actual idea…”

“I’ll think of something,” Pat said. “I don’t know what yet, but I’m sure it’ll come to me.”

“You’d be lucky to get the others to agree to it,” Fanny said. “For a bunch of people with nothing to do and infinite time, it’s like herding cats trying to persuade them to take part in something. But as for me…” she grimaced as if it physically pained her to admit what she was about to say. “I wouldn’t exactly… hate having some way of marking the festive season. As long as it’s not a pantomime.”

“Okay, I promise you it won’t be a pantomime,” Pat said. Then he turned back to the window. The knowledge that he had Lady B behind him lifted his spirits—it made him think that maybe what he was trying to pull off would prove possible. All he had to do now was come up with an idea.

~~~

“A… quiz?” Thomas said doubtfully. “That’s your idea for our all-new Christmas tradition?”

“Yes, but not just any quiz! All the questions are going to be about us. So the more you know about your fellow ghosts, the better you’ll do.”

“Sounds boring,” Robin said.

“Just give it a chance, guys!” Pat said. “I’ll write all the questions myself, and all you need to do is show up. It can just be fun… a way for us to acknowledge the season, and… I don’t know, maybe bond a bit? Don’t you guys ever want to get to know each other better?”

“Well, I want nothing to do with it,” the Captain said. “I already turn up to the clubs, and I conduct the daily briefing—that’s good enough for me.”

“I think you should all give it a try,” Fanny said. She’d refused to help Pat present the idea to others, and was standing at the back of the group with her arms crossed and her chin raised. Pat had been beginning to worry that maybe she’d decided to retract her support. “This is a good Christian household, and we should all be doing something to mark this most auspicious and important time of year.”

The Captain immediately stood up straighter, turning to address Fanny as if reporting to a superior. “It certainly wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. In fact, I think it’s an excellent idea. I shall be encouraging each of you to participate fully.”

Well, at the Captain’s on my side, Pat thought. Even if it was only because of his weird desire to align himself with Lady B, it was a victory Pat would take.

“How exciting! A Christmas quiz!” Kitty said.

“S’pose it might be a bit of funs.”

“I think it’s a good idea, by the way,” came Humphrey’s voice from somewhere, and they all looked around in surprise. Eventually he was found underneath the sofa, and the Captain lifted him up so he could join in. “Although I may have a disadvantage in terms of knowing about things that go on in this house.”

“Why not? I often excelled at competitions of wit when I was alive,” Thomas said.

“Yeah, it’s more about… getting to know your fellow ghosts than how smart you are,” Pat said. Thomas said nothing, and he didn’t push it. As long as he was on board.

“Fine. Le’s do it.”

“And Robin makes seven,” Pat said. “Awesome! You guys aren’t gonna regret entrusting me with this, I promise!”

~~~

In order to get the quiz done in time for Christmas Day, Pat enlisted the help of Fanny and Robin. Fanny because she had insisted on it so forcefully that he’d had no choice but to let her help, and Robin because he’d had nothing better to do when Pat had asked for volunteers. Robin’s help turned out to be mostly useless—he was good at gathering information, yes, but seemed to have a very different idea of what made a good quiz question than most people. And Fanny’s creative input was something else entirely.

“You should make it at least a hundred questions long,” she told him sternly. “Anything else would simply be too easy for everyone.”

“It’s not meant to be University Challenge, Fanny,” Pat said. “It’s just meant to be fun.”

“Well the only way to make something fun is to present a proper challenge. Otherwise just about anyone can do it.”

“That’s… sort of the point, isn’t it? Besides, we can’t do a hundred questions, or have you forgotten that I have to memorise them all?”

“Do my question about squirrels!” Robin said.

“Robin, for the last time, the questions are meant to be about us. We all agreed on that. We have to at least give everyone a chance to get it.”

Robin shrugged. “Your loss.”

“Did you get anything useful when I sent you out to find information?”

“Oh yeah! Super cool cloud over east garden, kind of look like bum.”

“That’s a no then. Fanny, please tell me you have some ideas.”

“The Captain talks to his pillow sometimes when he thinks no one is around to hear. Thomas can’t actually tell the difference between Baroque and Renaissance and has been making it up this whole time. Humphrey still doesn’t know who Shakespeare is. Robin claims to have been the inspiration behind Stonehenge. Kitty likes to befriend the pigeons that live on the roof. I’ve read the entirety of On The Origin Of Species. The Captain can play the violin. Mary never travelled beyond the house and her village in life. You’ve seen Les Miserables live eight times. Thomas is allergic to hazelnuts.” She folded her arms and looked smugly at him.

“Wow,” Pat said, blinking in shock.

“That should be enough to get you started,” she said.

Eventually they were able to agree on a compromise—the quiz would be fifty questions long, and Pat would remember the first half, and Fanny the second half. Everyone playing would have to keep track of their own scores. Robin was very little help and spent the rest of their planning time chasing shadows around the drawing room, but he did agree that if anyone was having second thoughts about taking part, he’d be there to give them some gentle encouragement.

Christmas Day came, and Pat was beside himself with excitement to finally get the quiz started. They waited until early afternoon, and then Pat and Robin rounded everyone up in the common room. They even managed to find Humphrey’s head, which now lay contently in Kitty’s lap. He seemed the most excited about taking part in the quiz—as for everyone else, opinions seemed to differ.

“I just hope this doesn’t take too long,” the Captain was saying. “The King’s—Queen’s—speech must be on right now…”

“Heather never watches it,” Thomas said gently. “This year won’t be any different.”

“You don’t know that!” the Captain protested.

“Oh, isn’t this exciting?” Kitty gushed, stroking Humphrey’s hair. “A whole Christmas tradition all of our own!”

“I thinks we shoulds have gone with the pantomime instead,” Mary said.

“Okay, everyone!” Pat said, stepping to the front of the room. “The moment you’ve all been waiting for has finally arrived… Welcome to the first ever Button House Christmas Quiz!”

There was a smattering of applause. Pat stood for a moment looking out at his fellow ghosts, and felt a bubble of hope rise up in him. I did this, he thought. I got them all here together, to take part in something as a group. It may not have been a real Christmas, not by any means, but it was something. And he’d gladly take that over nothing.

“Get on with it, man!” the Captain shouted, and Pat came quickly back down to earth. Still, he held on to that warm feeling as he took a breath, and began to recite the first question.