#and they got that iron lung from smoking all the time in a black and white filter so be careful

[jrueships]

being right about gup acting all petty that jalen got to go to France during the summer while he was stuck in stupid summer league fighting to get fed scraps for the regular season feels so good

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Chapter 10]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

crooked fingers and christmas cheer

cw: minor gore, panic attack, anxiety

wc: 4.6k

You’re dreaming of your dad again. 

Crooked fingers grip the steering wheel in front of him as he sits in the driver's seat, maneuvering through swirling streets with faceless pedestrians. You’re cuddled in the back of the car, blankets weighing you down to the seat like a prison. They’re tight. Serpentine binds. So much so you find it hard to breathe. Fat snowflakes flutter past your window as the engine revs, speeding through London with no regard for traffic lights or stop signs. If there were other cars on the road, he would have crashed long ago. 

Quiet megrim suffocates you as your ringing ears make sense of the song playing on the radio. Static drowns the notes, fuzzies them until you can barely hear it. Your dad hums the tune in a different key. Sweet, and off beat. He’s always been tone deaf. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” 

The acrid scent of blood fills your nose the moment you find his eyes in the rearview mirror. Thick patches of it stain his face, crusting around fat lacerations on his eyebrows, lips, and nose. It dries; flakes off his skin just to be replaced by a fresh stream. Pulled stitches fray at the ends as they protrude from his skin like grotesque teeth, being devoured from the inside out by wounds he can’t outrun. Wounds that will never heal. 

“Comfortable?” he asks. 

You attempt to shift but the cocoon of blankets grows tighter around you, hugging your limbs close to you like a straightjacket. It’s so crowded that your ribs have trouble expanding, and a breathy cough leaks from your mouth. It burns, like smoke in your lungs or mint on your tongue. 

“You should slow down,” you warn him.

“Silent night, Holy night.” The song repeats. You don’t think you’ve heard it make it past the first stanza. A bent record, forever scratching, doomed to repeat a song and never finish it. 

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he assures you. 

“Dad, please slow down.” 

The engine sputters and quiets down as the brakes engage with a gentle tap. Wheels dwindle and slow until the car halts in the center of the road. Traffic dashes by with quiet whooshes. You don’t know where the cars came from. Maybe they had been following you the whole time. They’re all black — like a funeral procession. Exhaust mixes with iron. The concoction is enough to turn your stomach as it burns your sinuses. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” 

“Are you afraid I’m going to end up like him?” he asks. Disfigured, bent, and disgusting fingers still grip the steering wheel despite the motionlessness of the car. You try not to stare, but the horror of it has you transfixed. “Like Row’s dad?” 

Your bottom lip juts out and trembles. “You already did.” 

He laughs at you, and it’s warm like velvet. Comforting just like it was when you were a kid. It reminds you of when he would read you stories before bed, keeping his tone even yet engaging — just calming enough to get your eyes to grow heavy. Your skin itches to throw the blankets off of your body and wrap yourself in his mirth instead, but as usual, you are not strong enough. 

“I’m right here, darling,” he chuckles. “I know the accident was hard on you, but it’s not your fault. It could’ve happened to anyone. You don’t have to be afraid of it.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snap. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” 

Leather seats shift under your dad’s weight, and his eyes no longer look at you in the rearview mirror. You want to ask if he looks away in shame, but the question doesn’t quite reach your tongue. 

“Are you mad at me?” he asks softly. 

You swallow. “I don’t know. I just… wish you didn’t leave me like that.” 

“But I didn’t leave,” he assures. 

“You died and now I have nothing,” you retort. 

There is no denying that you are aggrieved. Betrayed in some aching way that still haunts the marrow of your bones and the ridge of your spine. How many years have you felt this way? Are you even able to recall a time when you felt normal? Felt loved? Felt safe? Maybe you had, but you’re not sure if there was ever a moment of your life that you lived where your father’s shadow wasn’t following you. 

You’re not sure if you ever will. 

How long had he been haunting you? Did his ghosts only come out to play after his death? 

“Silent night, Holy night. All is calm, all is-” 

The radio dies just as the engine does and a wave of tinnitus rings so loud you’re certain it can’t be coming from inside your own head. Someone else must be hearing this agony; it can’t just be you. You blink and witness in abject horror as your dad twists in his seat, hands leaving the steering wheel, torso turning so that he can fully face you. 

He looks just like he did all those years ago. Clothes perfectly pressed, dress shirt steamed, cuffs neatly creased. He always joked that the first time he would ever wear a suit would be at your wedding — instead, it was his own funeral. They did a good job making him look normal. At covering the abrasions and ruptured blood vessels. At setting his fingers and nose straight. Still, there’s something wrong with his skin. There’s no fresh blood, it’s all pooled in the side of his body. Heavy. Weighing it down. 

The mortician did a good job, but no amount of wax can fix the chunk of bone and flesh missing from the side of his skull. 

“But you do have something,” he says bluntly. “I just hope you can escape it before it gets you, too.” 

Your only solace is the alarm on your phone.

It vibrates next to your head where it echoes throughout your box spring mattress like a hollow cavern. It kick starts your heart, which pounds so violently in your chest you’re certain your sternum will shatter. You need it to stop. Need it to shut up. Need to kill it. Sucking in a shuddering breath, your hands fumble with your phone as you tap on the screen, shutting off the alarm and plunging your apartment into silence. 

Throwing yourself on your back, you stare at your water damaged and stained ceiling as you try not to deliquesce into the bed. You can already feel it happening. Muscles convulsing until they liquify, bone marrow seeping out from your pores, soft duvet soaking up the essence of everything that once made you human. You feel the pillow beneath your head and the cotton of your pajamas, trying to ground yourself to the earth that threatens to crush you everyday but the mind is always stronger. There is nothing you can do to free yourself from the heat of a car engine, or shattered glass in your lap, or the gunshot pop! of an airbag — 

Once more, your phone buzzes. Something soft and non-intruding. A gentle nudge that pulls you back into your bed just as the heater kicks on. You breathe in the scent of your apartment. It’s stale. Stagnant air and old dish soap. You’d like to invest in a candle or wax warmer, like the ones your mom used to have. Maybe that way you could pretend that you were still with her, if only for a moment. 

Everything feels lighter when you realize just where you are. That doloriferous anxiety wanes until it’s nothing more than a dormant beast in your chest. You sigh, body twisting to once again grab your phone. It’s just before eight in the morning, and a text from Simon has your heart fluttering so fiercely you swear you feel your stomach shrink and swell in one fell swoop. 

Good morning sweetheart. I’ll be there in an hour. Need me to pick up anything for the trip? 

Not even the primal terror lurking in your chest can stop the small smile that pulls at your lips as you read his message. Always so proper. So kind and considerate. For a moment, you can forget all about crooked fingers and half formed skulls. You swallow back any tremulous sensation as you type your response back to him. 

no thanks, should be good (: excited to see you

You regret the message as soon as you send it. Excited to see you. Groaning, you shut your phone off and hit your forehead against the screen like you can beat the embarrassment out of yourself. But there’s not enough time to dwell on it. It’s Christmas Eve, and you’ve got somewhere to be. 

A quick shower is all it takes to get your mind functioning properly again. Lukewarm water washes away the nightmare sweats and leaves you with a clean slate. Fresh, untouched skin. Eardrums lulling into the quiet hum of the water hitting the cracked tile that lines the tub. There’s a draft that seeps through the gaps of the window, causing your skin to prickle and tighten as you dry yourself off. On windy days, you can hear its whistle. It prompts you to get ready with a sense of urgency, and it isn’t long before you’re swaddled tight in comfortable travel clothes and shoving last minute items into your bag. 

Simon arrives just when he said he would, and you can’t tell if your eyes are playing tricks on you, but his jumper seems to hug tighter around his shoulders than usual. Muscle shifts, hands twitch, and you find your greeting tumbling out of your lips on a tongue that feels too fat. He stares at you with careful eyes, always assessing you like the good worker he is. Soaks up the buzz tingling through your nerves as you fiddle with your travel bag, heat drenching your skin so thickly he can almost feel it from where he stands. 

Smirking, he reaches forward, fingers brushing against yours as he slips the bag out of your hand, and you have no choice but to relinquish it. He keeps the straps firmly in his hand as he steps back, gesturing to the stairs. 

“After you, sweetheart.” 

Breakfast and warm tea brewed in a to-go cup waits for you in Simon’s car. It’s the very first thing you notice when he opens the door for you, and the sight has you biting into your lip. You try to mutter something about how he shouldn’t have, but he only shushes you as he ushers you inside. Really, it makes a good distraction. Focusing on trying not to leave crumbs as you devour a bagel sandwich leaves you little time to worry about why he didn’t get anything for himself. 

It’s good. Better than good. Perfectly toasted bagel, melty cheese, seasoned avocado — something too fancy for you to have ever ordered on your own. The tea is still warm by the time you hit the motorway, and a comfortable silence settles over you as the engine hums along the road. Towering grey buildings dwindle into quaint homes which then shapeshift between natural scenery and city views in the distance. You try to remember the last time you left London. Escaped the prison that’s held you by the throat for the last few years, even if it were only temporary. The only time you can recall is the trip your family took to Italy when you were a child. 

Simon shifts in his seat next to you, and your eyes dart over to him. He’s only adjusting himself, getting his legs comfortable for the long ride ahead — he mentioned something about arriving around one — but your eyes can’t help but wander. You glance at the roll of his hips and the way his thighs fill out the fabric of his jeans. The tight line of his lips as his eyes scan the road ahead, one hand on the steering wheel, thick fingers wrapped around the edge —

You blink and they’re crooked. Bruised, bent, and wrong. Compound fractures — bone piercing flesh. Jagged knuckles, fingers like the ridge of a mountain; you feel your stomach twist as that nightmare continues to haunt you. 

Before its tendrils have the chance to wrap around your spine, your hand dives into your pocket. Frayed string brushes against your skin, and you hook it like a fish on the end of your line before yanking it free. Cat’s Cradle is always your go to distraction. It keeps you moving. Mind focused on string formations as you twist them into designs just to move to the next formation; always flowing, never stagnant. 

Even now, you can hear your father’s voice. Feel his hands as he guided yours all those years ago when he taught you how to play. Move your left hand. They’ll cross if you don’t.

You move your right hand, and it knots; candle sticks now a cross. 

“Cat’s Cradle?” Simon asks. 

As you unwind the string from your fingers, a nostalgic smile pulls at your lips. You don’t think you’ve ever had someone recognize it before. “Yeah. Play it sometimes to keep myself occupied.” 

“Didn’t know you could play it by yourself,” he admits. “Always thought you needed someone else.” 

“You can’t do as many moves as you can with someone else, but it’s still fun,” you chuckle sheepishly. 

He hums, hand adjusting on the wheel, free arm resting on the center console next to you. “You should teach me.” 

A breathy laugh escapes your lips — you think he’s joking. It’s a stupid game with string. Nothing that means anything. Yet when you look at him and find his eyes flickering to you, dark hue reading your expression, you realize he means it. 

You swallow, then smile. “If you’d like.” 

He shifts once more, leather seat creaking beneath his weight. You try to ignore the way your heart hurts at the sound. “I’d like doin’ anythin’ with you.”  

The whole ride feels warm after that. Bubbling mirth lurks beneath your skin, lighting it on fire, heating your cheeks and the tips of your ears. It’s that same feeling that afflicted you the previous week after Christmas shopping. This fervor. This want. It grows more intense the closer you are to reaching Manchester as the reality of your situation hits you. You’re going to be meeting his family.

But as a friend, or something else? 

That question plagues you as Simon pulls up to a small home with effulgent lights lining the rooftop. They illuminate the extremely thin layer of snow that coats the city in crystalline sparkles, and for a moment you’re convinced you’re seeing stars. A thick evergreen wreath sits on the front door and the sight of it is so nostalgic it nearly hurts. A tremble ails your knees as you climb out of the car, useless joints turning into jelly as you watch Simon retrieve both of your bags. Your hands reach out, ready to receive yours, but he raises his eyebrow at you as he closes the door with his elbow. 

“C’mon,” he urges. “Freezin’ out here.” 

He leads you up the stairs and before he even knocks on the door you can already hear the commotion going on inside. A TV drones in the background as quiet chatter mixes with whatever programme is playing — giggles and cracked jokes and faint music. Voices cease as Simon knocks on the door, and you’re certain you hear a high pitched gasp, followed by what you think is someone asking for Uncle Simon. 

You swallow your heart thudding in your throat as the door swings open and you’re met with a mess of bright blonde hair. Simon was right, Tommy isn’t bigger than him yet he still towers taller than most. He grins at his brother, crooked teeth and all as he slaps his hand on Simon’s shoulder. 

“‘Bout time you showed up. Joey’s been beggin’ for you all morning,” he teases, though he can’t quite mask the way his eyes flicker to you standing meekly to the side. “C’mon in, we just started a game of Candyland.” 

The moment you and Simon step through the threshold of the house, you’re enveloped by fresh cinnamon and the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas buzzing on the TV. A fat evergreen tree sits in the corner of the living room next to a coffee table with board game pieces and snacks strewn about its top. You recognize Joseph and his mother Beth, who sit next to the table on the floor, rug cushioning their knees from the hardwood floor. The very moment his eyes land on Simon, little Joseph bolts to his feet. 

Suddenly, it’s a reunion. Everyone stands on their feet to exchange hugs and kisses, Simon attempting to return them with his hands occupied with bags; the walls echo the laughter shared between everyone. And you? You stand there with a quiet smile, soaking in the familial love as you stay out of the way. Joseph clings to Simon’s leg, white teeth on display as he looks up at his uncle, and you swear you’ve never seen him smile or laugh so hard before. 

“Simon,” a voice speaks up from the kitchen. 

You turn to find a grey haired woman drying her hands off on a tea towel. She’s short; surprisingly so for the two boys she’s brought into this world. Rose dusts the apples of her cheeks as she slowly crosses into the entryway, arms spread wide to envelope her son as best as she can with her frail frame. 

“Missed you mum,” Simon whispers as he returns the hug. 

“It’s always good to see you,” she says, pulling away to look up at him. Her lips tighten as her fingers squeeze the side of his arm. “My sweet boy.” 

It isn’t long before her eyes begin to wander, and they’re drawn to you, not even bothering to fight against the magnetic pull. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think she was eager to see you. She removes herself from her son as she approaches you, hands reaching for yours as she pulls you away from the front door and into her home. 

“It’s so good to meet you, Chip,” she says, hand patting yours. 

She already knows your name. 

You swallow. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Riley,” you stutter back in response. 

Everything falls into place after that like a perfect line of dominoes. Simon vanishes for only a short moment to put your bags away in some unseen room and returns just in time for Joseph to drag the two of you into the living room for a game of Candyland. There’s hardly any time for proper introductions as Joseph directs the game all the way down to what color pieces everyone uses — both you and Simon are assigned green — and despite your apprehension, it’s like you’ve been here the entire time. Instantly welcomed and assimilated into the Riley Family like you’ve never belonged anywhere else. 

You learn so much in such a little amount of time. Questions are thrown about as everyone takes turns drawing cards and moving pieces along the board. You learn that Joseph’s favorite color is red because it reminds him of his mother’s hair, and how Beth works with preschool aged children as a teacher. Tommy works as a mechanic and is one of the reasons why Simon has a motorcycle. Both Simon and Tommy can banter well enough to go pro, especially with one another. The table erupts into laughter and playful cursing more often than not. 

They ask questions about you, too. Gently poking, prodding, and peeling back the layers you try so hard to wrap yourself in. They don’t allow you to hide, and after a few hours of games, snacks, and movies, you start to think you might not want to anymore. Tucked into Simon’s side, lazy arm around your shoulder as he chuckles and laughs with his family, you start to realize this is the most at home you’ve felt for a long time. 

You try to remember the last Christmas you attended that you enjoyed, but the memories that emerge taste sour on your tongue. 

Halfway through How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Simon squeezes your shoulder. It’s soft — a gesture that warns you he’s going to move well before he does. He removes his arm from around you, body shifting forward on the couch yet making sure to replace the airplane themed blanket on your lap that Joseph gave you because you look cold. 

“Gonna step out for a smoke,” he assures. 

“Okay. Well, I’ll keep our seats warm,” you smile as he stands. 

Manchester gets darker later than London does, so it’s a welcome surprise when Simon steps out into the backyard and faint rays of sun still ignite the sky above him. It is colder, though. So much so that his skin tenses and trembles through the fabric of his jumper as he lights the cigarette sitting between his teeth. 

Truly, he is happy to be home, but those walls make his skin crawl. Old scars burn and itch every time he sees those old photos hung up on walls or the wood floors creak a certain way. No amount of pine tree pollen or holiday cinnamon aroma can fully cleanse the stale alcohol that permeates every pore in that house. Each time he visits, he tries to override those memories. Create something new from the lingering pain. He’s tried to convince his mom to let him buy her a nicer place, or at least fix that damn bathtub, but she refuses every time. 

He swears one day he’ll tear out every tile in that bathroom. 

A squeak sounds behind Simon as the sliding glass doors open, then quickly shut. He hurriedly exhales the smoke in his mouth before turning around, not surprised at all to find Tommy approaching him with his arms hugged tight to his chest. 

“Tryna bum a smoke?” he asks as he shoves the cigarette back between his lips. 

“What, and have Beth maul me in my sleep?” Tommy chuckles. “Been clean for nearly six years and I don’t plan to throw that away now.” 

Dead grass crunches beneath Tommy’s feet as he approaches, but Simon’s chuckle drowns it out. “Good man.” 

Tommy hums as he stops next to Simon, still a good distance away so as to not get the stale scent of nicotine on him. Blue eyes keep flickering to the door where you, Beth and Joseph continue to watch the movie, idle chatter filling the gaps of the film you’ve seen a million times over. He smirks, and it looks an awful lot like Simon’s. Two sides of the same coin. 

“Didn’t realize you were bringin’ a girl,” he admits. “No wonder why mum seemed extra adamant about cleaning. How long have you two been together?” 

At that question, Simon takes a particularly long drag. It expands in his lungs, fills the space until there’s nothing left, and when he exhales it leaves through his nose. “We’re not together.” 

“Oh?” Tommy asks with a poorly restrained grin. “So you just brought this completely random girl home to see the family? Nothin’ more?” 

“It’s complicated,” Simon deadpans. 

“Ah. Complicated. Bullshit,” Tommy retorts. 

The brothers fall silent as laughter bleeds through the doors behind them. Both men turn to find Joseph wrapped in Beth’s arms, swaying side to side as he points at the TV. You cover your laugh with the palm of your hand, but Simon catches on to the way your shoulders shake with the movement. 

“When are you gonna settle down? Start a family of your own?” Tommy questions, eyes still on his wife and son. “Sure mum’ll appreciate you gettin’ married before she’s too old to know where she’s at.” 

In an attempt to hide his laugh, Simon chooses to scoff instead. “I couldn’t do better than you ‘n Beth.” 

“Couldn’t you?” Tommy challenges. 

For a moment, Simon entertains it. The thought of a family. The thought of you. He’ll admit, he thinks of you often, but he can’t determine if it’s because he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, or because he’s still trying to solve the mystery of you. Of Andrei, of your reclusiveness, of everything. He can’t tell if his heart quickens because of you, or what might be chasing you. 

What a silly idea. With his line of work and your anxiety, he’s certain you’d want nothing to do with him if you ever found out. 

“I mean it,” Simon says, standing firm. “Buildin’ the life you did after everythin’ you went through, findin’ an amazing woman and havin’ a good son… I’m proud of you.” 

Tommy scoffs at Simon’s adulation like he’s about to spew something sarcastic at the man, but instead his lips pull into a reverent smile. Nodding, he sighs, breath spewing out in a fit of frost that’s quickly smothered by the bitter air as it rises and vanishes. The sun sets quickly, so much so that it’s almost a distant memory by the time he’s able to find his words. 

“As the older brother, I think I’m supposed to be praisin’ you but… yeah. I’m proud of myself, too,” Tommy admits. “To think about all the shit I had gotten caught up with. Fuck, surprised Beth ever saw anythin’ in me. Nearly got myself killed over drugs. Over that fuckin’ debt. Needed my little brother to come save my ass. Still, I’ve got them. Somehow… I have them. Wouldn’t change that for the world.” 

Hot embers begin to burn too close to Simon’s fingers, and he discards the butt of his cigarette onto the ground and stomps out what remaining life it has left. He looks up at Tommy, but his eyes are focused on the smoldering remains of ash on the ground. 

“Do you ever run into him at all?” Tommy asks. 

“Who?” 

“Marco.” 

Ravenous acrimony eats away at Simon’s chest at the name alone. Memories resurface — an overconfident prick with beady green eyes. He rubs at his knuckles as if he can still feel the way they split all those years ago, and then he presses against them until they shift. Their crack echoes dully off the dead grass and glass door. 

“If I did, he’d be fuckin’ dead,” he assures. 

Tommy chuckles, clearly caught off guard by his brother’s bloodthirst. “Well, I wouldn’t ever ask you to go that far, but… the cunt would deserve it. Besides, with your line of… work, I reckon it’s not too difficult to make people vanish.” He coughs, clearing his throat of any lingering smoke before he continues. “Speakin’ of that… does she know?”

“Know what?” 

“That you run with Price?” Tommy clarifies. Simon’s silence is the only answer he needs. “You haven’t told her?” 

“It’s complicated,” Simon reiterates. 

Some facetious response dances on the tip of his tongue, Simon can see it in the way his mouth twitches, but Tommy stays silent. He sighs, then nods before looking back through the door. Their mother is on her feet, slowly maneuvering around the living room in a slight waddle in order to open the door. 

“Yeah. I know it is. Just… be careful,” he mumbles, just as the door slides open. 

“Dinner’s ready. You two should come back inside. It’s freezin’ out here,'' she urges. 

Both men glance at one another with a curt nod before trudging through the grass back to the house. The very moment they step back into the warm embrace of their childhood home, everything else seems left behind. Any worries. Any sour memories and old scars. All of it lingers in the backyard with the smoking remains of Simon’s cigarette; unimportant, and long forgotten.

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

❛ your fascination with me will be your death. ❜ - Jacelaena!

well i couldn't not do it

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x helaena tagaryen

rating: E

words: 3k

Helaena watched as he circled the long table, abandoning his chair at the opposite end. Though he did not possess the height of her younger brother, nor his uncle and grandsire, Jace still seemed to take up space with his mere presence. There was a surprising amount of strength in the determined set of his jaw, in the taut way he held his shoulders as he approached her, in the large hands curled into fists at his side.

She wondered, not for the first time, the sort of king he’d be if her father got his way, if her mother and grandsire’s plans for the future dissipated like smoke through a thurible. How would those curls look beneath the gold of Viserys’ crown? Would he buckle beneath the weight of all that iron that made up Aegon I’s crown? Which would he choose? Which would suit him? Would Baela wear the other?

‘They will be quite the pair,’ she could not help but acknowledge, though a flash of jealousy as hot as Dreamfyre’s flame flared through her at the notion. ‘Not like Aegon and I, bound only by duty and mother’s fears.’

Those large hands of his were no longer fists as he rested them on the arms of the chair she sat in, and his jaw slackened as he loomed over her, his nose nearly brushing against hers, their matching lavender eyes meeting in a near identical hooded gaze. 

“Your fascination with me will be your death,” she said, arching up toward him, his shaky exhale ghosting over her face. She had no idea why she said it, though surely her mother would call for his head if they were caught, a replacement for the eye her desperate bid for justice could not procure. ‘Kiss me,’ she thought, despite logic and reason. ‘Kiss me so that I might remember, so that I might have this to hold on to when the cold night comes.’

His smile was not cruel like Aemond’s might have been, was not lopsided and weighed down by wine as Aegon’s was; it was altogether different, like the sun parting the smoke and fog that hung so heavily over Dragonstone. The dinner that night had been nothing short of a disaster and now Jace boasted a bruise that was already turning black around the edges, the ridge of his cheekbone slightly swollen where Aemond’s shove had sent him to the floor. She did not stop herself from reaching forward, from trailing her fingertips over the discoloration that marred his skin. When he did not flinch, Helaena pressed harder - just the barest pressure against his face to see if he would wince. 

He smiled once more and nuzzled against her hand. “Then I will gladly meet my maker.” That was all the warning she got before he pressed his mouth to hers, capturing whatever response sat on the tip of her tongue. He did not kiss like he danced. Where that moment had been light, full of a distracting sort of buoyancy, this was heavier, firmer, more intense. A hand came to cradle the back of her head as he leaned into her, bowing her back as her own hands came to rest against his chest, fingers curling into his doublet. She wanted to tear it from his body, to rake hands like claws over the skin of his chest, to leave marks that would remind him after he had gone that she had been there. 

“Why?” The word was more an exhale than a true question, and he did not answer immediately, instead gathering her into his arms and pulling her to her feet. She felt pliant beneath his touch, a feeling almost wholly unfamiliar to her as he set her on the edge of the great table that had been the centerpiece to the evening’s earlier charade. Nudging her knees apart to step between them, Jace raised his hands to cup her jaw, sliding his tongue along her lower lip.

“Why what?” he asked, his voice faraway though he stood so close, the lengths of their chests and torsos pressed tightly together; one could not draw breath without the other feeling it, a push and pull of their lungs with each inhale and exhale. 

Helaena broke away to pepper kisses to his jaw and neck, her teeth finding purchase in nipping little bites that made him shudder. “Why are you doing this?” She knew why she was doing this, but why would he take such a risk? She knew how men were, how he would likely be able to escape back to Dragonstone relatively unscathed by accusations of adultery, facing only the impotent rage of her mother and the apathy of her father. Though she could hardly imagine that he would simply abandon her to whatever fate awaited them should they be caught. No, Jace did not strike her as the type; her fate would be his own.

“I…I look at you and I can't breathe.” He kissed her temple, his hands grasping at her hips, his fingertips digging in in a way she hadn't realized she craved. “Your laughter is so rare and it is the only sound I want to hear.” He kissed the shell of her ear, warm breath fluttering at her hair. “When I look at you all I can think of is each and every way I would make you mine.” He kissed her on the mouth and again her fingers ached to claw beneath his skin to hold him even closer to her. She licked into his mouth and blinked back the burn at the edges of her eyes. “Do you remember when the scorpion stung me and my attempt at bravery failed and I could not help but cry out?” 

Helaena nodded, smiling against his lips.

Reaching forward, she brought his hand closer to her face, running a finger over the small red scar where the maester had excised the wound to release the poison. She pressed a kiss to the mark, and more to his knuckles before wrapping her lips around his thumb, her tongue curling around the tip. This time Jace did not cry out. Instead, he groaned, his head falling forward to rest against hers. His free hand tangled in her hair, suddenly jerking her back with more force than she expected. But he swallowed her sound of surprise, his teeth catching on her lower lip. Helaena moaned, yanking at the front of his doublet, no care for the way the little buttons that held it closed scattered around her on the table. His skin was so warm beneath the thin linen of his undershirt and she shoved her hands beneath it, finally feeling the hard muscle that lay over his stomach. 

Jace made a low noise somewhere low in his throat and the sound reminded her of ones she had heard in the depths of the dragon pit, the timbre of it settling low in her belly as he yanked at her skirts. 

“Helaena.”

It was so simple. Just her name, a name she had not given much thought to except for that it was hers. But on his tongue it sounded like a name revered and she wanted more. She licked a stripe up his neck, savoring the taste of him and the feeling of gooseflesh rising beneath her tongue before sinking her teeth in like the dragon she sometimes was in her dreams. Trembling fingers found her bare of her small clothes and his whine was a choked thing.

“Where are -.”

She cut him off with a shrug. “They're cumbersome and I do not like the feeling.”

Jace growled at that and sucked a biting bruise against her shoulder. But then he was standing, backing away before extending a hand and pulling her to her feet. Her brows drew together, confusion settling uncomfortably over her skin, the feeling of rejection like pins and needles over all her sensitive parts. He chased it away before it could truly take form with another kiss, turning and backing her into the shadows. Helaena grinned as her back hit the wall beside the window, just out of view from the door, and it was her turn to tangle her fingers in his dark curls, like ink against her pale skin. 

He dragged his nose over the curve of her cheek, goosebumps left in its wake, and she sighed at the feeling. So few things came with a sense of rightness for her, and Helaena basked in the utter calm that descended upon her with his hands grasping tightly at her waist. As children, Jace had always been her favorite companion, the small joy they found in one another’s company enough to keep the rising tension and fear of their mothers at bay. She found this joy once more here, now, standing in the dark with him, and her heart ached with it. 

“I would do this differently,” he breathed against her ear, his tongue tracing the outline and sending butterflies blooming in her belly. “I would lay you out over my bed at Dragonstone and take my time with you.” His hand fisted in her skirts, dragging them once again over her legs. “I would keep you there for days and feast on you.” For a moment, she wondered just how many feasts her nephew had partaken in, but his lips against her neck chased the thought away. “I would keep you spoiled in the tribute you deserve. I would kiss you until you were breathless. I would take you until you were ruined for anyone else.” His hand found the juncture of her thighs and Helaena dropped her head against the stone wall, the radiating ache of the impact grounding her in the moment when she feared she would simply break apart and float away. 

She reached up and traced a finger over his top lip, enamored by the way he held his mouth just so. His tongue flicked out, licking the salt from her skin as he gently drew her finger between his teeth. His own hand nudged inside of her, his hips forward to press against her belly. She groaned at the feeling, grinding herself down against him as he watched, his lavender eyes darting over her shadowed face as he memorized each flutter and sigh and fleeting expression.

Tucking her fingers under his waistband, Helaena pulled him forward, relishing his huff of surprise as he crashed against her chest.

"Kiss me," she demanded. It was a whisper in the dark, a soft command, and she gasped when a second finger joined his first. His mouth found hers and she wasted no time tugging open the ties at the front of his pants, reaching in and taking him in hand. He throbbed in her palm, long and just thick enough.

He moaned her name as she stroked him, his forehead coming to rest against hers once more. She bucked against his hand, his slender fingers making her dizzy with a new sort of need. That first peak snuck up on her, quick and sharp and snapping through her very bones with a soft pant of his name. 

He kissed her through it, biting down on her bottom lip as she swiped her thumb over the bead of precum that leaked from his tip. “I want you for longer than this night, Helaena.”

The words came sharply into focus as the aftershocks of her pleasure still danced over her skin. She pushed the hair from his face with both hands. “Yes,” she answered, and suddenly it seemed so clear that she would go with him anywhere, that if she was to look over her shoulder, she would find him following her, a shadow at her back, and she had never felt safer, even as the danger of their current position lingered over them. “I want you for longer than this night.”

It was then that he hitched her leg over his hip and pushed inside, so slowly she thought she might scream as she stretched around him. She cried out at the feeling of fullness and Jace clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.

“I want nothing more than to hear you, but you must be quiet.” His voice was ragged in the shadows, pulling her apart at the seams.

Helaena leaned forward, her lips at his ear. “I cannot help it,” she whispered, her fingers digging in sharply where she held his shoulders. “Jace, I -.”

He kissed her, swallowing down the words as he began to thrust in earnest, slow, long drags of his length within her, and that heat in her belly began to build once more, flame licking at her limbs and through her veins. She dropped her hands to curl against his stomach, the muscles jumping beneath her fingers, and he moaned against her neck, burying his face in her hair to stifle the sound.

“Hel.” It was just a soft breath against her throat before he bit down, his tongue soothing what she hoped would be a mark come morning. Let him brand her, let him claim her, and maybe, just maybe, let him take her away from here. They could figure out the rest, she knew that, her thoughts and plans typically neatly organized and easy to execute. They needn’t go to Dragonstone, needn’t set themselves down on either side of the war that it seemed only she could see coming; they could take her children and flee to Pentos or Lys or even Myr on the backs of their dragons and be free of the dreams that haunted her, dreams of centipedes and flame and eyeless boys taking to the skies. Let her be free of everything but him.

But Jace would never leave his mother, not when it was all so precarious, not when she hid to lick her wounds at Dragonstone, her family growing ever happier as Helaena’s own grew brittle under the strain. Could she truly leave her brother’s behind? Her mother? Even as Alicent’s hands grew talons to keep her children near, tearing at their skin and clothes, Helaena could not imagine leaving her.

Jace clutched tightly at her thigh and she raked her nails over the ridges of his abdomen, meeting his mouth with her own and falling back into the moment. His other hand cradled her jaw and she leaned into the touch, gripping roughly at his curls. He whimpered at that, a sound she had not expected, and now she wanted to bottle it and keep it near forever. Stepping back, he shuddered and Helaena blinked up at him, her mouth parting to question him through the haze of her impending release.

“I can’t - We must be careful.”

She took his meaning and discarded it, pulling his head back by his hair and baring his throat to her. Licking up the column of his throat, she whispered, “Don’t you dare.”

His mouth parted and he panted her name. “Please, I - Helaena.” Hips stuttering, she felt him lose his pace, his movements becoming erratic as he found his end within her. She felt that too, hot and wet in a way that would normally bother her, but here and now she could not be upset by it, too content to hold him close as he trembled in her arms, his forehead coming to rest where her neck and shoulder met. She tumbled over after him, her body falling apart over those last deep thrusts. His breath came in damp puffs of air and slowly, so slowly, he came back to himself, a shy boy once more. “I don’t know what to say.”

She panted and lowered her leg back to the ground, needing to stand on her own two feet. Sliding a hand over his mouth, her grin grew mischievous. “Then say nothing.” Their matching eyes met and she memorized the deeper fleck of violet that sparked in them like shooting stars. She memorized the curve of his nose and the bow of his pouting mouth. Dropping her hand to his chest, she pushed him back a step. “I will find you on the morrow, Jacaerys.”

He shook his head, grazing his nose against hers, his hands grasping possessively at her hips. “You heard my mother, we leave tonight for Dragonstone.”

Helaena ignored the crack that began to splinter in her chest. “Then I will find you in your dreams.”

—

It was still dark when stone ground against stone and Helaena was roused from sleep. Jace bled through the shadows of her room, his face coming into perfect clarity before her blurry eyes. He was speaking but she did not follow, did not catch the words that spilled forth from him.

“Helaena!”

She blinked at the bark of her name, drawing back. “What?”

“Come with me. Come with me to Dragonstone and find happiness - find it with me.” His mouth opened and closed as he searched for the words he wanted to say to convince her. Her stomach felt filled with moths, fluttering and flying and trying to choke her. She could not leave, could she? Run off like some thief in the night, leave her husband and her children.

“My children…” She say their faces then, so small and trusting, eyes the same shade as Aegon’s. 

He smiled then and her heart ached for a new reason as she reached forward to trace the line of his cheek. “Wake them. Bring them. I would never think to part you from them.”

She drew her hand back, something black and oily replacing the moths in her belly as years and years of warnings reverberated through her skull, her mother’s voice like smoke between her ears. “Rhaenyra…”

“My mother will not harm you. She will not harm your children. Helaena, please. Trust me. Let me protect you.” He kissed her too hard then, their teeth clacking together before he eased off and peppered his lips against her cheeks, her eyes. “Let me love you, let us have more than this night.”

‘If you don’t go now, you will never go, and you will regret it always,’ a voice in the back of her mind said softly, timidly, as if used to being snuffed out in the harsh light of logic and danger. A long moment passed, visions of each imagined future playing behind her eyes as she struggled to keep up, to make sense of any of it. Through it all though, she saw Jacaerys, saw his eyes like twilight staring back at her. Nodding, she sat up. “Yes. Yes, alright.”

Jace pushed himself from the bed, his smile so beautiful as to break her heart. He held out a hand and for a long moment Helaena could only look at it. 

Finally, she rose, taking the hand offered to her.

[frodo-with-glasses]

Dreams in the House of Tom Bombadil (and the Four Elements of Trauma)

Now that we've gotten to the point where the hobbits spend the night in Tom Bombadil's house, I'd like to expand on this bullet point from my chapter review:

Much apologies to my girlies on the server who headcanon the hobbits with phobias corresponding to the four elements; sadly, Tolkien is not on the same page as us this time.

For context, I present to you these screenshots of messages sent on the Fig Tree Discord Server back in January:

This started as a half-joke, but it's since evolved into something of a shared headcanon for some of us. Pippin has a Thing about fire, because of the Pyre of Denethor. Frodo has a Thing about water, because his parents drowned. Bri has since told me that she headcanons Merry has a Thing about air, specifically cold air, after his encounters with the Black Breath. And that leaves Earth to Sam.

The good news is that this is a really fun headcanon; and when you look at LotR through this lens, it's actually kind of staggering how well it fits with the events of the book.

The bad news is that Tolkien did not write LotR with this idea in mind; and the whole thing with Old Man Willow, and the subsequent nightmares that the hobbits have in Tom Bombadil's house, make that abundantly clear.

After all, what does Old Man Willow do to Frodo? Lulls him to sleep and then tips him face-first into the water. He almost drowns. He almost drowns. Sam finds him face-down in the water, unconscious, held down by a root and not struggling; there's water in his nose and his mouth and his eyes and ears and he can't breathe, he can't breathe, he nearly goes out the same way his parents did, in a river that connects to the one where they died. If Tolkien was writing Frodo with hydrophobia, this probably would've gotten a bit more attention than it did. But no; in Tom's house, Frodo dreams of Gandalf and Black Riders, because he's the protagonist and Tolkien needed an efficient way to foreshadow things a bit.

What does Old Man Willow do to Merry? Closes its roots over him, so that only his legs are sticking out; and when Frodo and Sam set fire to the tree, Merry screams, and begs them to put it out. "He'll squeeze me in two, if you don't. He says so!" He could feel the roots of the tree clamping like a vice under his ribs, squeezing, crushing, bruising; he could hear the voice of the tree in his head, demanding he communicate the ransom message. And as our beloved former anon, Meg, pointed out: Could he breathe in there? Was it dry and stuffy and stifling inside the tree? How much air could he even draw in, when his lungs were being crushed and had no space to expand? He screams with what little breath he has left, but can they hear him? He's going to die. He can't breathe. He's going to die.

But, ironically, he's the one who dreams about nearly drowning, and his dream-brain convinces him he's lying in a "soft slimy bog" before he wakes up and finds himself in Tom's house again. He's not the one who got tipped into the water, but go off Tolkien I guess.

What does Old Man Willow do to Pippin? Closes its roots over him completely, with a click like a lock snapping into place; and when Frodo and Sam set fire to the bark, and Old Man Willow gets angry, they can hear Pippin's "muffled yell" from deep inside the tree. Fire. Smoke and ash and anger. Could Pippin smell the burning wood around him? Could he feel any heat or sting? Did he hear Old Man Willow's voice, the same way Merry did, cursing the flames and threatening to smother him if it wasn't put out?

His nightmare, out of the three of them, is the only one that makes sense to me; he dreams that he is again inside the willow, hearing the wood creak as it sways in the breeze over him, and hearing the voice of the tree laughing at him again. But, sadly, no mention of fire.

All of that to say, if I wrote Lord of the Rings—which I realize is a terribly presumptuous thing to say given that I am, unlike Tolkien, Not A Genius, but hear me out—I definitely would have Frodo's nightmare be about drowning, Merry's be about suffocation, and Pippin's be about burning alive. This would then be foreshadowing for the later horrific stuff they're going to encounter concerning water, air, and fire respectively.

I dunno. It just seems like a missed opportunity is all. Which is probably why, despite how much I adore the “nightmares revealing inner turmoil and then characters waking up in safety and comfort” trope, I never really liked this sequence in the book all that much.

Sam, meanwhile, is welcome to continue sleeping “in deep content, if logs are contented". Good for him. 10/10, no notes.

[rist-ix]

Hi Rist! Can you give us a snippet of the next chapter of tbhtbh? 🙏🏻

I can't give u plot yet. But I can give u death and destruction if you want?

Layla used to tell them so much about her homeworld.

It's brilliant blue skies, it’s crystal clear waters. The gentle currents that would guide the boats of fishers and shellfish farmers from and to their homes; the salty winds that would rustle through palm trees and orchards, bringing rain in the morning and swarms of jewel colored birds in spring.

She used to talk about it with such warmth, such longing, an undying loyalty and love for her home and her people and her duty as their princess. Even when she had raged and resented her parents for the way they'd caged her in, she would have done anything for them. Anything for the vibrant, beautiful kingdom they all loved.

Bloom had never seen its beauty.

The first time she'd stepped foot on Andros had already been the beginning of its end. Even after Council Hall, when they were in dire need of a place to lay low, they never dared to return here.

The realm of the tides never got the chance to recover. The collapsing Omega Portal had robbed Andros of a crucial magical pillar, and when its atmosphere didn’t clear up, its waters didn’t calm and its mermaids were not freed from the monstrous mark on their necks…

It's like an infected body, desperately trying to rid itself of the sickness festering within. Killing itself with its own seizures, its own fever, its own madness. Murky oceans shaping tidal waves, skies heavy with clouds never ceasing their storms, the very earth breaking open and spitting black ash into the air.

They had met travelers two years later who said the fires were still burning.

Still. There's a difference between hearing about it, and seeing it first hand.

The second her feet touch Andros' rust-brown earth, gusts of hot, searing wind start tearing at her hair and her clothes, burning hot against her skin. Salt, sulfur and smoke make her eyes water, her lungs seize; every breath tastes like poison, and hiding her mouth and nose in her sleeve does little to make it more bearable.

When the glow of teleportation subsides and her vision clears, it reveals the full scale of Andros' fate.

Skies like molten iron, bleeding murky rays of sunlight through blackened clouds that seem to glow red from within. Their light is dim and pale compared to the bursts of sickly yellow lightning striking the waves below, over and over again. The horizon is never calm, the twisted branches of electricity reminding her of a nervous system in panic. To the east, lush green jungles have been charred to pitch black fingers reaching skyward. Beyond, red-tipped mountains cough ash and fire into the air.

It's almost beautiful, this deadly display of colors.

For a few seconds, that keeps the horror at bay.

Valtor lands beside her with his usual grace, showing not the smallest sign of discomfort. She can't tear her eyes away from the shaking, shuddering corpse of this kingdom she once knew, so she doesn’t see his expression. But she imagines he must be proud.

A new Domino. Except this time, he can savor its destruction without his pesky, selfish regrets. He's always hated Andros, after all.

“The view never fails to amaze, doesn’t it?”

Valtor makes a swirling gesture with his hands, and the searing wind tearing at her hair lets up. The taste of ash on the air fades as well, and she realizes he's shielding them from the worst of the storm.

Unwilling to yell against it, most likely.

It doesn’t make it easier to answer. For once, she is genuinely speechless.

She turns around to look at him, and finds him already watching her from the corner of his eyes. Almost eagerly, as if awaiting her outrage. Her revulsion.

Whatever he finds in her expression seems to satisfy him, because he smiles and turns his back on her, surveying their surroundings.

“Do you know where we are?”

She does. She knew before they even stepped out of the portal where it would lead them, and she has dreamed of this place often enough to know it blind.

The crumbling stone arches, the single circular structure rising from the sea. Saltwater in her mouth, her nose; her ribs still aching from Icy's blast to her back. A memory so vivid it’s hard to distinguish from reality, for a moment.

“We met here,” she says. Despite the relative silence within his shields, her voice feels small.

If they had known then what would happen, would she and her friends have even come? Surely, whatever damage Andros would have suffered under Valtor's attacks would have been preferable to this. If they had simply stayed at Alfea, hadn’t snuck out and simply acted like the students they still were, it could have all been so different.

Valtor clicks his tongue, chiding.

“We first met on Solaria, dearest. But I'm glad you remember that day.”

He trails his fingers over the rough, salt-encrusted stone of a pillar.

“I think of it often. I'd been dying to meet you again once I knew who you were. The very last princess of Domino, just when I feared there was nothing left of it. 'How often does one get the chance to destroy the same dynasty twice?' I thought. You must have been meant for me, an opponent like no other. Our final battle, your death, only that could mean true victory.”

He smiles to himself. She can tell from the way he inclines his head, the way he speaks, even if she can’t see his face.

“I don’t make a habit of being wrong, but I suppose even I have to admit foolishness, here.”

The wind around them howls, and the spray of harsh waves crashing against their little ruin evaporates against his shield.

His head tilts in her direction, just a little.

“Do you ever miss it?”

He doesn’t have to clarify. She knows exactly what he means.

How they had chased him through the entire dimension, the thrill of combat hot in her veins. Every fight a point to prove, a cocky race to the top, it didn’t even matter if she failed because she got quicker, closer each time. Locking eyes over the blaze of their colliding magic and understanding perfectly how the other felt.

Knowing that she would be his undoing. No matter how long it took, she would be the one to end him. The brilliant, powerful, immortal wizard that not even Omega could hold; she would bring him low.

The simple, reckless single-mindedness of it.

She also remembers that sense of safety. Tecna's shields humming to life around them, Stella's sarcastic little comments there to take the edge off of their numerous close calls. The unwavering certainty that nothing could hurt her, because her friends were there, and once the battle was over they'd go home and sleep it off, huddled together on Stella's giant bed.

“Every day,” she tells him.

Even Valtor, self-serving and arrogant as he may be, can’t ignore what she's really saying.

[apomaro-mellow]

Rock and Rule 4

Inside the club, music was blaring loud enough to pound Steve's ears. He hoped it was enough to get Creel's goons off his tail. And maybe he'd have enough time to get a drink. He kept his head low and the minions passed right over him. He let out a breath and ordered something at the bar. Just a quick drink and then he was finding the next bus, train, or plane to Hawkins.

"Hey, is that Eve!?", a voice shouted above the music. Then Steve felt someone grab his arm and make him turn.

"Holy shit! I've seen you on the posters! You're gonna be in Vecna's next concert, yeah?"

When Steve imagined getting noticed in public, it was usually due to his or the band's talents. Not from having his face all over town on someone else's posters.

"Um, well, don't hold me to that. Plans change", Steve said, trying to turn away, lest he garner anymore attention.

"Dude, lemme buy you a drink. I'd love to talk shop. You gotta know Lord Vecna himself, right? God, I've listened to him for years..."

Steve rubbed at one of his temples as this guy kept talking. He got up to go. Forget quenching his thirst, he had to get out of here right this second.

"Hey, I wasn't done talking. You're gonna introduce me to Vecna, aren't ya? Come on, you owe me after the drink."

Steve felt his arm being grabbed again and was just about to swing at this man when he was suddenly released. Then he heard a familiar voice.

"Learn to take a hint, chump."

Steve turned so fast, he might've broke his back. Eddie! The guy bothering him looked ready to talk back but then he saw the rest of the band behind Eddie and thought better of it.

"Whatever", he said while sulking off.

"Eddie!", Steve didn't give him a moment to think before embracing and kissing him.

Eddie's hard expression instantly melted as he fell into the kiss as easy as breathing. It took about ten seconds for him remember what he was doing here and why. He pulled off from the kiss but didn't take his hands off of Steve's waist that had mysteriously appeared there.

"You've got some answers to question."

"Huh?"

"I think he means you're got some questions to answer", Jeff clarified.

"We can talk, we just gotta go first", Steve said.

"Right behind ya", Gareth agreed.

The moment they said so though, large hands grabbed them from all around. Steve tried to shout for his boyfriend as they were ripped apart but a hand covered his mouth. He fought and he saw Eddie, Crash, Gareth, and Jeff struggle as well but the hands on him were like iron. He couldn't let this happen. Not again. Steve headbutted his captor and that loosened the hold just enough for him to lunge forward.

That was all he was able to do before something hard cracked against his skull and the world went black again. "It's time for your curtain call, Eve."

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

Eddie felt like he was seeing red as Steve was taken again. He and the rest of the band were thrown into the alley next to the club. And there, Henry Creel was waiting.

"You four are quite persistent. But Steve belongs to me now. Or rather, Eve does."

Crash's face scrunched. "Eve?"

"What's your deal, man?", Jeff questioned.

"'Eve is very appropriate, considering he will bring the downfall of man." Henry had his hands behind his back like he was talking about the weather.

"You're insane", Eddie said. "And a hack and a total sellout and I can't believe I ever listened to you!"

"I think you all just need a little trip", Henry said.

"I'm not smoking whatever messed with your head!" Eddie geared up and tossed a punch only for Henry to disappear like smoke. When he looked around he saw that he was no longer in the alley, but a void, completely alone.

"You misunderstand. But soon everyone will realize", Henry's voice floated through the air.

The gong of a clock sounded and Eddie felt his stomach drop.

"I'm going to send you all back to that town you all love so much."

"Fuck Hawkins and fuck you!", Eddie shouted.

"Oh no, you love Hawkins. You would never wanted to leave it. It's your home after all." Three more gongs went off and the world went completely dark for Eddie.

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

Steve was in fact awake in time for the concert, finding himself dressed in a flowy, white loincloth that just barely kept his modesty. His arms were tied above his head and he was strapped to a beam that kept him upright. His immediate thought brought him back to the screaming blonde woman in King Kong. Steve didn't want to know what sort of creature he was being sacrificed for as the crew did sound checks.

He thought he could fight against Vecna's wishes but right before the show started, a collar was locked around his throat. He heard the crowd getting antsy from behind the curtain and tried biting his tongue but the lights on the collar lit up and notes were forced from his throat.

"Aah ah aah", he vocalized like he was warming up as the band behind him got into place. Vecna was at the ready as well but Steve couldn't see him from behind.

It was his voice but it wasn't him. It was like he was being possessed. Steve wanted to cry. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Just as the show was about to begin, all of the lights when out. He could even feel the collar power down. Steve waited there, tied up, as the techs tried to figure out the problem.

A storm had knocked out the power and there was no hope of it ever coming back on for the evening. Steve felt relief for only a moment. A storm wasn't enough to stop this monster. Henry was already making moves to take the next leg of the concert to Hawkins.

Part 6

[aemonds-wifey]

Summary : You go to the cinema with Tom , afterwards you get another surprise by meeting the Bennett Family

“ I know how well you love complete power, Fouquet, but you will never know complete power until you are obeyed in a place like this”

As the film played on you You crunched on a piece of popcorn as you were engrossed in the story. The cinema was incredibly cozy and small. Your elbow rested on the arm chair , Tom held the small paper popcorn square, occasionally leaning it in your direction offering you some. Sometimes he would offer you some and retract it , laughing shortly as you missed the box trying to grab popcorn.

Out of the corner of your eye you occasionally caught Tom glancing at you, and he probably noticed you looking at him, giving him a smile every time he offered some popcorn.

Tom picked the film the Man in the Iron Mask , you were intrigued by his choice, you expected something else but you liked the film all the same. It was not a crowded cinema, maybe a dozen people in.

Being sat that close to him for just under 2 hours was sweetly reassuring, he enjoyed the film like you did. He made sure that he got the tickets, when you arrived at the theatre he was standing again the wall and when he saw you approach he smiled. You wore your dark green dress, with sleeves that barley touched your elbows and the skirt just to say covered your knees. In the cinema you had the black cardigan over your during the film but being in such close proximity to Tom made you feel even more warm blooded As the film finished Tom stood up and offered to hold your cardigan open as you put it back on . He held his blue jacket over his shoulder and you both walked side by side as you left the theatre.

“Well then what did you think of that?” You asked as you left the main entrance.

He shrugged “Yeah it was alright like.” He scrunched up the empty paper popcorn and dropped it in the bin.

“Next time you pick eh?” He said

“Next time?” You raised an eyebrow smiling at him

He smirked back “Could be fun .”

You nodded “Okay…Next time I’ll pick.”

He smiled at the prospect of another cinema experience, his smile made your knees weak…how could one man have such charm?

The film finished by midday and you walked in the direction of the familiar streets you had grown to known in the past month.

Tom lit up a cigarette as you both walked down the streets , you watched him again and this time he caught you by surprise, he took it out of his mouth and offered it to you “Wanna try?”

You couldn’t respond fast enough as you stuttered “I’ve never tried one…”

He wordlessly put it closer to you and without hesitation you took it , putting it on your mouth and slowly taking a drag. You coughed slightly as you poorly attempted to blow smoke, Tom laughed and stopped you as you walked.

He took the cigeratte from your hand and held it in between his two fingers and slowly , agonizingly slowly he flew it to your lips where you opened them slightly. As he placed the cigarette in your mouth your lips closed, grazing his skin slightly as he held onto it “take a drag…slowly.” He said

It was almost like a command and you obeyed without taking your eyes off his. As you inhaled slowly you felt the hotness of the cigarette fill your lungs and then Tom whispered “Blow.”

You did just that, and a large fluffy puff of smoke escaped your mouth as Tom took away the cigarette and rested it between his lips. Effortlessly

Smoking and smiling at you “see that Wasn’t too bad was it love?”

He asked

You nodded “Rather enjoyable.” As you walked on your fingers briefly Ghosted your lips, you heart was spinning and fluttering. Tom finished his cigarette in what seemed like seconds before he graciously flicked it onto the street , smirking looking at you “Ee what would posh boy say?”

“That your a bad influence Tom.” You grinned a little

Tom laughed “Ah our little secret eh?”

You nodded “Sure..” you both turned the corner

“So what else can we you to try…” Tom mused

You almost chocked on your laugh “God Tom you make me sound like a relic.”

“Speaking of relics” he nodded in the direction of a man in a flat cap getting off his bike “wanna meet me old man?”

You smiled “of course…”

As you both approached him you almost froze in your tracks , it was the man who gave you the pamphlet outside the library .

He recognized you too as you got closer

“Alright dad .”

His dad nodded “Tom…and the Oxford girl.”

Tom frowned “eh?”

You smiled as you shook his hand “your dad and I have met…he gave me one of those pamphlets …you know the night I met you.” You said

Tom laughed “Of course he did…the one that dickhead went after you for?”

“Tom!” The man said “wait what happened with the pamphlet ?”

“Oh I was reading it…and a bloody good read it was. Some drunk tried to ..harass me and your son…” you looked at Tom and patted his chest delicately “was good enough to rescue me.”

The man removed his cap and had a glimmer of pride stretch on his face . He offered his hand “Douglas Bennett.”

You shook it “Y/N. Nice to meet you properly.”

“Wait…you don’t have an uncle Norman…Norman Turner…. do you love?”

You nodded “He is the relative I am staying with.”

“He’s my mate, we go for pints sometimes! He mentioned his niece from down south was staying with him….Small world!” Douglas said laughing.

You were astonished at the coincidence , Tom was too. But that just made Douglas even more interested in getting to know who you were.

You were invited in for tea with Tom and his dad, you met Lois that afternoon too as she came in and insisted you stay for dinner. Lois took to you almost immediately. Welcoming you with a warm hug, like an old friend reunited.

The way they were together took you back, teasing each other but in a loving close way, something you never experienced with your parents - always so serious and so quiet. Yet at the Bennett house it was never silent, they always talked …it was refreshing . Lois and you talked about hair styles and dresses, as she complimented your colours, you in turn remarked how you adored her shoes. You told them of your home and where you worked , how it was just you and your parents. when you told her how Tom had rescued you from the drunken imbecile she smiled warmly At her brother , and in the first time for what seemed like an age, she saw Tom settled and happy.

🍂

“She seems really nice Tom…” Lois said as she sat on her bed removing her slippers and getting under the cover.

Tom was laid on his chest facing the bottom

, still in his clothes and finishing another cigarette.

Looking lost in thought “hmm?”

Lois chuckled “wey Tom I think you really do like her.”

Tom blushed a fraction but looked away “Nah I mean…she’s nice but…she don’t live her Lois..:and she’s got some bloke waiting for her at home.”

Lois frowned “didn’t you say he hasn’t written to her? And they haven’t spent a lot of time together?”

Tom shrugged As he took another drag from the cigarette, he couldn’t quite say how he felt about Y/N. But he knew he had never felt it before.

“She goes back in a couple of weeks ..I ain’t able to just swan off down to Oxford for someone who…”

“Who what Tom?” Lois asked

He blew the smoke from his thin lips and sighed “Someone like her..:doesn’t go for someone like me. A thug.”

Lois smiled “Oh Tom you have no idea have you?!” She almost giggled, Tom frowned as he looked at her , outright confused .

“I saw the way you were looking at her Tom…”

He rolled his eyes “Why is it how Henry looks at you? Another posh lad punching above his weight”

“Harry.” Lois corrected him

He tutted “Harry …sorry.”

Lois blushed a little “Come on Tom stop putting yourself down …”

He shrugged again and focused on taking a long drag , blowing a cloud of smoke before tapping it against his makeshift ash tray.

Lois leaned forward and cleared her throat.

“Tom if she was as serious about this posh lad you mentioned…she wouldn’t have agreed to keep seeing you…fight for her. Give her reason to stay.”

Tom frowned “thought you’d want her to stay with that posh twit…true love an all that.”

She smiled “I want my brother to be happy.”

Tom chuckled “Very funny Lois.”

“Tom?” Lois said seriously

He looked at her as he blew smoke from his lips

“She likes you …I can tell.”

💫

A few streets away, you lay flat on your bed, wide awake looking at the stars out of your window. Your uncle was asleep when you got home , so you couldn’t tell him about meeting Douglas- but you would first thing in the morning.

The sky was so clear to see a blanket of stars which sparkled so bright in the darkness of the midnight sky.

How you felt at ease with Douglas and Lois, normally you fret over meeting new people , but they welcomed you like they had been familiar with you for years. A truly wholesome day, one that you would gladly repeat again.

You were almost annoyed that for the whole day you had not once thought of a George …even though he came up in conversation once. You found yourself wanting a cigarette, the smell lingered within the fabric of your dress and in an instant you knew it was not the cigarette you were craving…it was Tom.

Chapter 5

TAGS

@schniiipsel @moonchildrenandflowercrowns @mischiefmanaged71 @dothrckis @virginslut08 @nolongereviliwantlove @motley-baby @bcon24 @lauraneedstochill

[emmedoesntdomath]

Bumlets 😚😚😚

oh, bumlets. my sweet child.

first of all, go read the bumlets appreciation post that @itteryskay reblogged like,,, forever and a day ago (the OP has since deleted their account). it’s amazing, I love it, and there’s a good deal about dominic lucero (the actor who played bumlets in 92sies), who tragically passed at 26, two years after the movie premiered.

ok, so- bumlets. here’s me acknowledging that I’m predictable as shit, and we’re going to delve into his name. a ‘bum’ doesn’t actually refer to a lazy person, but to the butt of a cigar. also, when one says ‘can I bum a cigar?’ they’re asking if they can have one. when calling bumlets- well, bumlets, they’re essentially saying that he’s either known for smoking cigars (like race) OR that he had a bad/funny experience with them.

and, well. you know me. imma go with the second option.

what I think happened is a lil’ something like this- when he first became a newsie (and I’d say it was around 12/13), bumlets REALLY wanted to make friends, because he had a harder time trying to do that when he went to school (his family was firmly lower middle class, and his clothes tended to reflect that. the other kids…had some thoughts they deemed appropriate to share about this matter). and all of the cool, older guys smoked, right? so bumlets was like, hey! I should do that! (no, sir.) and so one day he just- took?? the butt??? of someone else’s used cigar????? and tried to smoke it??????????? (ha. notice how I said tried?) when he got caught, he was bent over, hacking and wheezing, trying to get the awful taste of smoke out of his lungs. hence, ‘bumlets’.

now, since he was played by dominic lucero (who was latino, according to different sources I’ve found), and he doesn’t have another name given to him by the fandom, I’ve taken it upon myself to dub him michael herrera (which means ‘iron worker’, so it could be a last name acquired when his parents- who probably planned on working in the factories- traveled through ellis island and had to go through customs). not saying we have to use this name, but I am saying I’M using this name from now on. so.

ok, if you’ve made it this far, buckle up pronto. because my favorite bit of ALL of my bumlets hcs (and believe me, I have more. he’s easily one of my favorites, if not tied for first), is who I ship him with. alright, you ready?

…

*clears throat so I can yell this REALLY loudly*

BUMLETS/SKITTERY IS MY LIFE BLOOD AND YOU CAN’T ROB ME OF THAT. LIKE- 92SIES GAVE US SOME GOOD SHIPS- JAVEY, SPRACE (ralbert fans, I love you, too, but this ain’t that show), SARAH WITH ABSOLUTELY NO ONE BECAUSE KATH ISN’T AROUND YET- BUT BUMLETS AND SKITTERY????????? MY HEART. THEY ARE LITERALLY THE BLACK CAT/GOLDEN RETRIEVER COUPLE OF 92SIES. I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL OK

[greyghoulclub]

All I ever wanted, all I ever needed - Mungrove Week prompt 4

Written for @mungroveweek

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46446061

nsfw, minors dni.

At Billie’s insistence, they were taking the Camaro to San Diego. She had said something about Eddie’s van being a ‘hunk of junk’ that would probably take them 3 years to get there. 

“There’s hardly any room for anything!” Eddie had complained when she was shoving her duffel bag into the back seat alongside Billie’s. 

“Edith,” Billie warned when Eddie flopped into the passenger seat and put her feet up on the dash. Billie knew she was a bit ridiculous about keeping her car clean and as much as she loved her girlfriend she also didn’t want muddy footprints on her dash. It was hard enough to get Max to stop doing that. 

Time for the ultimatum, “I’ll let you pick the music if you keep your feet off of the dash.”

That got Eddie’s attention. Her feet immediately fell from the dash and she was rummaging through the glove box for cassette tapes. Billie got in the car and started the engine while Eddie cranked up the volume on Black Sabbath’s Iron Man. Billie looked over in adoration while Eddie did some air guitar along to it. 

They pulled out of the trailer park and set onto the I-40 to San Diego. 

******

They were going at a smooth 65mph on the highway. Billie had opened the windows to let some air in, this summer had been a humid and sticky one in Indiana. Although Billie was from California, the summers there had been spent at the beach where you could easily cool down by jumping into the ocean. In Indiana though, not much luck. 

Eddie had her head outside the window, long brown hair blowing in the wind. Billie could see the dusting of freckles on her nose, god, she found that so cute. If she didn’t have to focus on the road she’d be happy just watching Eddie. 

The speakers in the Camaro were playing as loud as they could, Dave Gahan singing about everything he ever needed being in his arms. This was her’s and Eddie’s song, they had danced to it after their first date. It was sappy to admit but Eddie was everything Billie had ever needed, she made her laugh, she was kind, and great in the sack but don’t tell Eddie that Billie had said that. 

Eddie was singing along in that gorgeous, little bit husky voice of hers. Billie could listen to it all day long. 

“All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms. Words are very unnecessary. They can only do harm,” she then mimicked the drum hits with her fingers.  Billie smiled to herself, her girlfriend was an absolute dork and she loved her so much. Billie didn’t notice that Eddie was looking at her too.  

*****

They were somewhere in Missouri when Eddie was starting to get antsy. She was fidgeting in her seat and tapping her fingers on her thighs. Billie decided to pull over at a turnout so they could both stretch their legs. Being Missouri, the spot they stopped at was a whole load of nothing but Eddie was grateful regardless. 

“Man, I bet someone heard my knees crack in like fucking Texas!” Eddie laughed as she kicked her legs about for a couple of seconds. Billie lit a cigarette and took a drag, almost groaning at her first chance to have a smoke in at least 5 hours. 

“You gonna share that, gorgeous?” Eddie was right in front of her, close enough that Billie could see the small flecks of amber in her dark eyes. Billie leaned in and pressed her lips to Eddie’s, passing along the drag of smoke she had in her lungs. She pulled back and watched Eddie blow a couple of smoke rings. 

“When’d you learn to do that?” Billie raised an eyebrow, batting her eyelashes at Eddie. 

“A magician never reveals her secrets,” Eddie said with a wink. 

****

They were just outside Fort Worth when they decided to stop for the night. They stopped by a gas station to fuel up for the morning and also to grab more smokes and drinks. Billie sent Eddie in with 20 dollars while she stood at the gas pump. She watched the price raise with each tick of the pump. When she was finished and entered the gas station to pay, she was met with the sight of the gas station employee trying to hit on Eddie. Badly. 

“So uh, you’re not from here uh,” the guy stuttered through his pick-up line. It was kind of endearing in a way. 

Eddie chuckled, “Yeah I’m not, but I just wanna pay for the beer and smokes.” It was letting him down gently, and he seemed a little put out but took it in his stride and completed the transaction. Eddie took her stuff and winked at Billie before she went back to the car. 

Gas station guy got a second wind once he saw Billie. So she put on what Eddie called her “maneater smile” and went to the counter. The guy puffed up his chest and tried to push the hair out of his eyes. 

“Hey, can I pay for the gas on pump three?” Billie tapped a nail on the counter while the guy fumbled with the till for a bit. 

“T-that’ll be 50 dollars and 23 cents. And your number.”

Show time.

“Ok buddy, I’ll humour you.” Billie leaned onto the counter with her elbows, she was not above using her assets, shall we say. “You seem like a nice guy, but I’m afraid that I appreciate the female form more.” she slapped 51 dollars onto the counter and started to walk away. “Keep the change,” she called over her shoulder. 

Eddie was waiting for her outside. “I heard that,” she laughed. 

Billie rolled her eyes, of course Eddie couldn’t help but eavesdrop. 

“It was super hot though, Can’t wait for you to boss me around like that.” Eddie shoulder bumped Billie and walked to the car. Billie couldn’t help but short-circuit for a second. She would love that. She needed to find a motel STAT.

They found a motel on the outskirts of the city, it was a small place but they’d only be staying the night. 

As soon as the door was closed, Eddie pushed Billie against it and started kissing her like their life depended on it. Billie’s lipstick was getting smeared but she didn’t care, she just wanted Eddie NOW. She groaned when Eddie cupped one of her boobs and gave a slight squeeze. 

“Nuh, Eddie…” Eddie was now slipping a hand into her jeans, fingers teasing at her clit. “C’mon, bed- ah…” Eddie was sucking a hickey onto where her neck joined her shoulder. Billie ground her hips into hand, her thighs felt tighter as the pleasure grew. 

“You gonna come?” Eddie whispered huskily into her ear. Not yet, Billie thought as she snaked her hands between their bodies and shoved Eddie backwards a bit. “You’re gonna have to work for it Munson,” she said in a dark, sultry tone. They both made quick work of their clothes, leaving only their underwear on. Billie loved how Eddie’s pale skin contrasted with the black ink of her tattoos. 

“God, Bills you look so good in the red set,” Eddie lay back on the bed, spreading her legs, “Makes me so wet,” she allowed Billie to straddle her, and to grab at her boobs, rolling her thumbs arcross the nipple. Eddie whimpered, especially when Billie took off her bra and sucked at one of them. 

Billie shuffled her hips back a bit, grinding her wet cunt against Eddie’s. Both girls groaned at the stimulation. Billie stopped sucking at Eddie’s nipple to latch on to the side of her neck, kissing and leaving red kiss marks in her wake. Eddie keened at it, and whined a little when Billie pulled away. 

“Now everyone knows you’re mine,” Billie surveyed her handiwork. Eddie’s chest was heaving and she had a rouge dusting over her cheeks and ears. She looked like a work of art with her dark hair fanning out behind her head. An artwork that only Billie got to see. She then rolled off of the other girl and tugged down her panties, “show me what that mouth can do huh?”

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice, Billie’s toes curled at the feeling of a warm tongue lapping at her entrance, Eddie lifted Billie’s hips a little for easier access and Billie slapped a hand over her mouth for fear of shouting when Eddie poked her tongue inside her a little. 

“Ohmygod Edddieeeee,” Billie groaned and squeezed her thighs around Eddie’s head. If Eddie kept going like this, she wasn’t going to last. She tangled her fingers into Eddie’s hair and pressed Eddie’s mouth against her when the other girl started to suck at her clit. Oh god, she was so close.

“I’m gonna… Eddie!” Billie’s back arched and her gut seized. Her orgasm crashing into her like a wave. Her thighs shook, and she felt like she had run a marathon when she came down from the high. “Oh my god Eds, that was so good,” Billie pulled down Eddie for a kiss, tasting her own come on Eddie’s lips. 

Eddie laughed and touched her forehead to Billie’s, “you make such cute noises when I eat you out.” Billie blushed at being called cute and rolled them both over so she was on top again. 

“What are you going to do to me now?” Eddie said it like it was challenge, knowing that it would rile Billie up a bit. And it worked.

Billie pulled Eddie’s panties down with her teeth and grinned sharklike up at Eddie. Eddie squeaked when Billie spread some lube at her entrance. 

“Shit! That’s cold!” They both laughed at this, Billie giggling that Eddie was such a goob. “But I’m your goob right?” Eddie retorted. Billie kissed the inside of Eddie’s thigh and gently eased a finger into her. Eddie sighed and arched her back a little when Billie found her g-spot. Billie massaged the spot until Eddie was begging for more, she pulled her finger out and laid herself on top of Eddie. 

“And why should I do that?” Billie teased her fingers at Eddie’s clit, just enough that Eddie could feel something but it wasn’t enough that it was be pleasurable. Eddie whined and bucked her hips, trying to get more stimulation but Billie moved her finger away when Eddie moved. 

Eddie couldn’t really talk apart from frustrated whines, she trailed her hand down Billie’s back and grabbed her ass to push their hips together. The room filled with the sounds of slick flesh meeting and their groans and whimpers. 

“Ah, Eddie! Ah!” Billie could feel the tightness in the pit of her stomach again, she was getting close again with Eddie’s grinding. Eddie moved them both so they were sitting, she reached a hand in between them to rub at Billie’s clit again, Billie whined and pressed herself against Eddie, grinding with more urgency. 

Eddie was repeating, “Billie, Billie, Billie,” under her breath, stuttering as she got closer and closer. They held each other close as they both came, both breathing heavily as they went through the waves of pleasure. They both lay down on the bed, blissed out. 

To each other, they were everything they ever wanted, everything they ever needed.

[hopalongfairywren]

Whumptober2022-Run Rabbit

It is bitterly cold. Tommy is shivering, his teeth are chattering, and his nose is bright red and weeping. Whether that be from the weather itself, or the knowledge that Dream had escaped Pandora’s vault, and could be anywhere, Tommy didn’t know. The chilly air stung his eyes and easily pierced his threadbare wool coat. And despite this he is soaked with sweat, his heart pounding in his chest and his legs burning.

The ax of peace. The ax of peace. Tommy needs to find the ax of peace. “Fuck!” Tommy yells out loud as he slips gracelessly over a patch of black ice. He stumbles to the ground, using his non-mittened hands to catch himself. Tommy takes that moment to look around.

White surrounds him in every direction. Unlike last year, snow has fallen thick, covering almost two blocks worth of ground. Tommy swallows heavily, panting. He hoped the stick he attached to the chest would still poke up through the snow, although that seemed more and more unlikely now as fresh snow began to fall once more in little flakes formed ice crystals on his eyelashes.

 Tommy sniffs as the cold air stings his throat, and he wipes his reddened nose with a sleeved arm. His sniffles are caused by the cold- he is not a crybaby. He wouldn’t let himself curl into a fetal position and sob for mercy from perhaps the most merciless person on the server. No, Tommy was a big man, and he’d fight back because that’s what big men do. His breath is condensing around him. Tears form in his eyes, but Tommy ignores them.

They water just like how they did last winter, when Dream would force Tommy to put his meager, dwindling valuables in a hole, and proceed to blow them up. The smoke always got in Tommy’s eyes, his throat, and even his lungs as time went on and he developed a nasty cough. Dream always wanted Tommy to be close to it. He’d point his ax at Tommy, and there was nothing the teenager could do except obey unless he wanted to test Dream’s fighting skills.

And even though the prison had clearly done a number on Dream’s strength and his skill had stagnated from lack of practice, his craziness was enough to make up for that. 

Puffy told him it was yet another of Dream’s manipulation tactics, subconsciously letting Tommy know that Dream saw him as powerless and all that. And while Captain Puffy was nice and a woman, Tommy couldn’t help but think Dream was just a dick who hoped that Tommy would be blown up by the tnt as well, and that was how deep the masked man’s reasoning was. 

Snow crunches on the ground as Tommy wills himself to make it to the chest where the ax of peace would be, (or should be at least.) Tommy came to a halt by the locked chest, digging the patched soles of his boots into the ground to stop him. He shakily unlocked the chest, sighing in relief as his numb fingers wrapped around its supple wooden handle.

And it’s not a moment too soon because then he hears a soft whooshing noise behind him.

Tommy screams loudly, a naive part of him hoping to alert someone to his danger. The wind carries his voice away, and Tommy realizes with a sinking feeling that he’s on his own. That’s okay. Tommy has the knife Technoblade gifted him for his birthday. How ironic, Tommy thought grimly, that Dream could be stabbed by a knife from the same man who broke him out of prison.

Sam looked anguished as he delivered the news, and some little piece of hope Tommy had for mending his relationship with his estranged friend died.

But as Dream advances, like a cat toying with a mouse, all ideas of combat drain from Tommy as he feels his grip on the knife start to shake. And Tommy knew there was no way he could take Dream alone. 

The last time he was on his own with Dream, it had ended with a burst of pain followed by a flash of white that faded into black nothingness. He remembered how the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Tommy could have sworn he heard his heartbeat a last few times,

And then the silhouette of a man appears out of the swirling purple fog. Tommy takes a step backward, astonishment overpowering his fear. The man who most certainly was Dream- still wearing a ratty, dirt and blood smeared prison uniform, lurched forward with a deranged smile on his face.

Tommy can’t breathe. The air around him gets crushed into nothing. His lungs are being crushed, there isn’t enough air. Tommy screams again, louder than before. His forehead begins hurting with a vengeance, and Tommy stumbles backwards as the memories of pain and blood and potatoes come flooding back.

Dream doesn’t say anything, just silently approaches Tommy with what has to be a malicious expression hidden behind a hastily made mask of tree-bark. 

“Hey, Welcome back! Welcome back to exile!” Dream says in the same babyish tone Tommy used on Henery.

Tommy can’t answer, much less breathe. He has no snappy remark or insult to toss at the man who’s been haunting his nightmares for nearly a year now. He can only force himself to move away from Dream.

Tommy’s world spins as Dream laughs maniacally, swinging his ax in an almost playful manner. “Did you miss me?” The masked man asked in mock enthusiasm, stabbing his netherite ax into the blanket of snow. 

How did he get an ax?

Tommy didn’t want to know the answer, because it probably involved Technoblade and Phil. And Tommy just can’t handle that today. He draws out the sword Sam gave him earlier, and puts on his bravest face.

“Stand back Dream, alright? Stand back!” He snarls. Dream clicks his tongue.

“Oh come on Tommy, don’t be a baby!” Dream scolds.

It’s ironic how Tommy thought himself a big man, but with Dream bearing down on him, he feels like a little kid being yelled at by their furious parent.

[nymfaia-archive]

That was it, then. They would go.

Even if the Legatus had turned her down - … she would have wanted to go, regardless, if only for additional medical supplies. Alisaie and Alphinaud had a handle on healing short-term wounds and illnesses, but she knew there were medicines and aids those in Tertium and Broken Glass both could benefit from.

They left once the sun was in the sky, slivers of fire crystals in the palms of their gloves and empty backpacks against their spines. Despite being a healer herself, this was not an excursion she was taking the lead for - that was wholly for Jullus, who had grown up in Garlemald and knew what sort of building they were looking for, and what kind of supplies they needed once they got there.

She wondered how he could tell one heap of iron and concrete from another. They all looked quite the same to her, the architecture sagging and tired, signs grey and black from soot and smoke. But Jullus was surefooted, offering the small woman a hand over taller piles of rubble, his gaze ever fixed forward.

Alta wondered what he was thinking. Was he seeing what once had been, minds eye full of nostalgia and lost days? Or was he recalling a route by muscle memory, trying to find his way on a path that scarcely existed now?

"There."

His voice startled her from her own thoughts. Alta peered forward, at the small, crumbling building, the cracked window carrying text in a no-nonsense Garlean script: obstetricus.

They stepped up onto the smooth walkway. Jullus pulled the hollowed door open, the glass blown out and crunching under their boots. She entered before him, stave at the ready; and as the door shut behind them both, a bell hanging from the hinges let out a gentle greeting.

"I don't - … know what we're looking for," Alta said. 

"I'll tell you if I see one. It's - … a box on wheels, with a screen. Small. Corded," Jullus replied. "If you see any medicines - we should take them, too. Someone in camp ought to know what's what."

He patted down his coat. Jullus withdrew a hand-held electronic, pressing a button and causing it to emit a circle of light in the dim office. Alta readied a spell on her stave, the magic coalescing just enough to cast its own circle of light.

Jullus led the way. From the entry room was a long hallway, multiple doors branching off; some had their doors ajar, and others were simply shut. They gathered gauze and bandages from a room on their left, and further utensils from one on the right. Even in the short time she spent in each one, Alta saw instruments she had never come across: paper tubes with strings at the end; long scissors with blunted, serrated tips; and, on one counter, a Y-shaped item made of tubes. She had hesitated, glancing over at Jullus, who had simply shrugged.

“Stethoscope.”

“St - … what?”

“For - hearing. Your lungs and stuff. Take it,” he said, “someone in camp will be able to show you how it works.”

Alta hesitated. It certainly didn’t seem as if it were constructed with any race but their own in mind, the tips at one end looking much like how Thancred or Urianger’s Linkpearls fit. But maybe she was wrong. She stuffed the item down into her bag, stepping out into the hallway to follow her companion.

She stood still, attention caught by a wall hanging. She held her stave closer to the sign, the collected mana gently ruffling the corners of the paper. Her Echo struggled to keep up in the dim lighting, words warped, half-Garlean and half-common. It was enough to make her stomach lurch, averting her gaze from the words to the images besides them.

“Jullus,” Alta said softly. She went from picture to picture, from a tiny, finger-nail sized bean, to something much resembling a tadpole, to - 

“What is this?”

“You - … don’t know?”

He raised his flashlight. The light did little to aid her translation, her gift unable to find a proper equal that the Warrior of Light would know, words few and far between shifting into common.

“It’s a development chart. Like - … well, how far are you?”

The question sent her reeling. She struggled to fully remember, after all the chaos of the past several weeks: it had been spring, the flowers just blooming, the last time she visited Terncliff. Jullus let her think, looking over the poster himself as she considered.

“I - … last saw him - … three moons ago,” she said. “Before - … everything.”

Before the world began to end. Before she was bedridden in Sharlay, forced back to a semblance of health by their medics - before they had warned her of her plight and she had simply ignored them.

There had been no way something would survive the end of the world, she thought. There was no use to tell Gaius when she was certain she would awaken with blood in her smalls and nothing to show for the knowledge at all.

“Here, then,” Jullus said, pointing at the painted figure. “ ‘By twelve weeks, the organs have formed, and the heartbeat can be heard.’ It’s - … two ilms.”

But it had. The young man beside her fumbled with his fingers, holding them against the life-sized art, as if trying to conceptualize it alongside her. It was smaller than the breadth of his palm, the being within her own.

Alta didn’t know if she wanted to empty her stomach or weep. Was it still around? All the signs had led her to believe so, but - since leaving Sharlay weeks ago - she had scarcely paid it any mind. She hadn’t been brave enough.

“You’ll be able to hear its heartbeat if we find the machine,” Jullus promised her. His words broke her from drowning in her uncertainty, turning to head to the next door. He rattled the doorknob, shoulders rounding with a sigh.

“Must be where they kept the important things. Stand back.”

Alta took a step, only half listening, her eyes still cast to the poster. Jullus raised his leg, the abrupt kick rattling the door with a near deafening sound. She startled, covering her mouth to keep from shouting, just as he readied for a second.

The two was all he needed. The door broke open violently, the locking mechanism tearing through the hollow wood. It hung crooked, letting out an anguished squeak as he pushed it open.

The confident laugh that carried into the hallway told her he had found what they sought. She approached, peeking into the closet, the wall lined with glass cabinets and full with all sorts of medications. Two rolling carts sat pushed against the other wall, cords carefully wrapped and secured; atop each one was a box with a tiny screen surrounded by knobs.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Jullus stepped further inside, allowing his companion to follow suit. The two of them made swift work of emptying the medicine supply, their bags heavy and nearly overfull with what it could hold.

“I brought my own,” she said, gesturing to the small bag at her hip. “I can get more, but - … how are we taking the machine?”

He let out a hum. Jullus stepped around her, disappearing back into the hallway, his boots echoing in the empty structure as he went back into one of the examination rooms. When he reappeared, he had a length of cord in his hands, clearly abducted from another piece in the office.

“Do you think you’re able to carry my bag?”

“Yes.”

She spoke before he had even removed it from his shoulders. The rucksack was heavier than anticipated, but she hoisted it atop the other she carried all the same, and watched as he wove the electrical cord through the legs of the cart.

He crouched down, getting a grip of the ends in both hands, and stood. Somehow Jullus had looped the cord just so, holding the machinery firm against his person so long as he held the frayed ends.

“Back to camp, then.”

The triumphant smile he fixed her was bittersweet: Jullus didn’t notice as she hesitated to follow him, caught up in her memories of their first supply foray. They were little more than reluctant comrades then. He had used her - and the twins - for a job he scarcely wanted to do, watching as the foreigners shivered, coats and boots full of filthy water.

And here he was, holding the door open with his shoe, waiting for her to follow him back into the midmorning sunlight.

Alta couldn’t help the fondness that lilted her lips. She stepped out beside him, the wind causing her to sigh, and adjusted the two backpacks on her shoulders. They had several malms ahead of them before they reached Tertium, fully intending to spend the afternoon asking around for wayward medicus or other technicians. 

She had hope they could return to the camp with them in tow, and have the Legatus his answers by nightfall. And, maybe, some of her own.

The uncertainty was what weighed on her the most. She had been ill, certainly, but had blamed it on stress - the fate of her very home was a heavy one to bear; and she had not had her bleedings along the way, but that, too, had come and gone along the length of her journey. Tending to herself had not been the highest priority.

What if the Sharlayan medics had been right? What if it - two ilms, all two tiny ilms of it - had found a home in her? What would Gaius say?

What if they were wrong, and she was a home for no one? What if the machine looked and she heard nothing? Would it hurt, thinking she had been with child and learning she wasn’t?

She knew the answer already, as the very thought made her heart sink. She had allowed herself to believe such a thing could happen between their races and had grown attached, and because she had yet to tell Gaius, she would have to bear the silence alone.

Not that it would be new. She had borne a lot alone. This would just be another.

“...Alta?”

“--Oh? I’m sorry, I –”

“Do you need a break? You’re slowing down.”

She stopped, boots crunching in the snow, finally looking up to gaze at the boy ahead of her. Her hips and shoulders ached, the backpack’s weight carrying oddly; she had been so lost in her thoughts that neither the pain nor her response had occurred to her. Alta shook her head, taking another step.

“No, I - … was just… away. I’m sorry.”

“Do you need me to take one of the bags?”

“No.”

“Alta -” Her name was a sigh as he turned to look at her, stopping in his tracks. “You’re allowed a rest. I know you’re trying to get all of this done for Nerva, but - … they can wait a few hours.”

She didn’t want to wait a few hours, she thought greedily. She wanted to know her own answers now. 

“I’ll rest at Tertium,” she promised. “We can eat lunch, and take a break. But - … I’m fine. I swear it.”

Blue eyes met blue. Not for the first time did she regret judging him by his youth, his gaze hardened, wholly disbelieving her as he scrutinized her.

“Lunch at Tertium,” he finally agreed. “Mayhaps one of the twins can help us along our way.”

Alta took another step, fully cognisant now of the weight upon her shoulders. As Jullus led the way, she took pains to match his stride, breath puffing in the cold air around them. They fell quiet, the wind whispering between them and the sound of icy snow replying in kind, finally reaching the ends of the city and heading the last malm or two to the train station.

“Have you - … told him?”

No longer were his words those of a commander. They were quieter now, inquisitive, even as he looked onwards, curiosity winning over the knowledge that it wasn’t his place to ask. 

“...no.” She wished her words could be lost to the wind, the denial weighing heavy in her throat. She had entrusted him with the truth once: he was the only one she had told fully, the burden of her secret too much for her to bear alone as the sky fell around her.

The flask of water he had offered when he found her, crouched in the brush and heaving, had been one olive branch. The quiet he had given her as she sat back on her heels and cried into the sleeves of her coat was a second.

I think I’m with child, she had wanted to say, and I don’t think I’m going to make it through this. The world is going to end, and I’m never going to get a moment of peace. We’re going to die here, and I’ll never know what it’s like to be.

“I’m - … not coming back from this,” she had said instead, face freezing with icy snot and frozen eyelashes as she struggled to breathe, her chest a vice around her lungs. “I’m not. I can’t.”

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Jullus had replied, his voice little more than a broken boy’s, an older brother pulling along his sibling as he always did. He had removed his gloves, pulling a cloth from his bag to wipe at her face. “We’ve got to - … who else will?”

The offered hand up was not a branch but a promise, pulling the Warrior of Light back to her feet. 

“I will,” she spoke again, offering him the answer he wanted. “I - … need to be sure. Before I do.”

“Are you scared?”

This time, she needed no time to think of her answer, her voice softening as they stepped onto the brickwork leading down into the subway.

“Always,” she replied. “Always.”

[morphlingunderscore]

Dream A Little Dream [With] Me

Warnings: Slightly graphic (but unrealistic) description of injury. Choking.

"What exactly is your game here, Lawrence?"

The world bends and warps around her words, like a thin film being distorted by heat. The two demons sit far apart, separated by a matte black desk and a gorge cut straight into the mantle. The smell is unbearable, cloying sweetness dancing with the tar bubbling up from the wound in the floor. 

The two demons sit far apart, disconnected. But the world bends and warps around her words, and the younger demon cannot resist the pull. 

He flinches. Tar coats the back of his throat, and marigold blooms in his lungs. 

He should not need to breathe. 

He should be safe. 

He should be far enough away. 

But he is not. He is not. He is not.

He flinches, and he chokes, petals dripping jet black from his mouth and crystalizing into obsidian dewdrops, scattering around him like the shed tears of a monster, unfathomably large, and yet, heartbreakingly small. 

"You can't even say?" The older demon scoffs, acidic smoke billowing from that canyon between them. Clinging, clinging, clinging, staining his suit, his body, his filthy, rotting bones. His claws break skin, and the same smoke echoes forth. "...You don't know, do you?" 

Her words are candy sweet, drenched in pity. She shakes her head, stands from her chair. Remains unfazed as her desk is swallowed by that growing canyon, bubbling with viscous hate, hungrier by the second. 

Remains unfazed when it begins to swallow her, too. 

"You don't know because you've already shown your hand," she continues softly, sweetly, sinking slowly into the molten tar. Her hand reaches out, caresses his face, gentle as anything. "And you're terrified that they'll realize it's all you've got."

For the first time, the younger demon raises his heavy head. His lips, stained black like ichor, twitch around a weak snarl. Smoke slips between his sharp teeth. 

His claws dig into the older demon's wrist, sinking butter-smooth through flesh and sinew. 

She does not flinch.

"They–" 

He coughs, voice hoarser than hell. Tar-coated marigolds splatter on the older demon's deathly pale face. 

She does not flinch. 

"They like playing with me," he grits out, gnashing far too many teeth. The older demon is nearly submerged, now, arm straining to remain in his tearing, iron grip. "T-They don't care what cards I got."

She smiles. It is achingly, painfully sweet. A terrible impression of a doting mother, pasted onto the face of a demon who never wanted to be. 

His claws snap through her radius first, and then her ulna. Her hand falls limp and lifeless in his lap, laid to rest in a pile of river-smooth obsidian and marigolds, like something precious, something holy. 

Blasphemous.

She does not flinch.

"But you won't be fun forever," she croons, tilting her head to the sky. The tar pulls at her taut skin, peeling her eyes open and wide. "And when they get bored of playing, Lawrence, who will you run back to?"

The younger demon watches emptily, eyes dulled and blackened, as the older is consumed in her entirety. The hand in his lap, once a mockery of the divine, rots away into a foul-smelling puddle of ichor. 

The demon, still sat in his chair, surrounded by obsidian tears and once-beautiful flowers, drops his head once more. 

Quiet submission. 

Exhausted acceptance. 

A neck bared to the waiting blade of the guillotine. 

"...You."

Lydia Deetz gasps awake.

[marilini]

The Radio

“Yo, sis, dinner’s read,” Kallard hollered from the kitchen of their shared apartment.

Puppy perked up at the mention of food, his little nose twitching as he sniffed the air. The scents coming from the kitchen forced the small dog to hop of Marilini’s bed, darting into the kitchen. He barked and looked up at Kallard who in turn looked down at the animal, clearly amused by his attempt to beg for people food. Beady black eyes stared back up at the Hyur, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth.

“What’s for dinner?” Marilini signed at her brother as she walked into the kitchen, closing the bathroom door behind her.

“Steak and mashed potatoes. I’ve had the meat marinating in some sauce since I got home this morning. Should I have the dog some?” Kallard replied, setting down two plates on the kitchen table.

“Yes, please. Just a little, though. Puppy’s already had dinner and I don’t want him to get fat,” came Mari’s silently reply as she spoke with her hands before pulling a chair out and taking a seat.

Kallard walked back into the kitchen and grabbed a clean plate off the dish rack. He set it onto the counter and grabbed the cast iron pan he had cooked the steaks on, angling the pan and gently sliding the last bit of steak onto the plate. After setting the pan back onto the stove, Kallard grabbed a knife, cutting the steak into puppy sized bites before setting the treat down on the floor. Puppy dove right into the food, chomping away happily as Kallard plopped down at the table.

“How’ve you been?” he asked Mari.

“Bored!” she signed back with a smile. “Did you find anything cool on your trip back home?”

“Yeah, I found a working radio that I set up in my room,” Kallard said between mouthfuls of steak. “I ran the antenna up to the roof this morning after I got back.”

“What do you need a radio for? With the capitol gone there shouldn’t be any radio chatter.”

Kallard shrugged his shoulders, nudging his empty plate forward with the tip of his index finger. He then leaned back in his chair and fished a pack of cigarettes and a match out of one of his pockets. After a cigarette was shuffled out it was placed between Kallard’s lips he struck the match against the table and brought the flame to the tip.

“For now it’s going to be a handy way of summoning Clank to the city instead of walking to where he’s stored. We can also stop relying on these linkpearls and switch back to two way radios. No one around here uses them so we won’t have to worry about people listening in on our conversations.”

“Were you able to find any that worked?” Mari asked, signing to her brother.

“I found a few that aren’t working, but I can tear them all apart and fix them with what I have on hand. If they continue to be shit, I’ll just grab more on my next trip. Is there anything you want me to try and find for you? I’ll probably take Clank and fly back in a day or two.”

“What, another trip? Kal, is there something going on? You’ve barely been home,” Mari signed, frowning at her brother.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Kallard muttered, blowing smoke from his nose. “I can’t keep doing nothing all day. I need a purpose. Something to do. Adjusting to a civilian lifestyle after two decades of service is harder than the soldiering we did. I don’t know how you’re able to sit around all day without going insane.”

“I know it hasn’t been easy for you. Is there anything I can do to help? I miss having you around all the time, you grumpy butthead.”

Kallard chuckled and shook his head, snuffing his cigarette out in an ash tray before lighting a fresh one. Marilini reached out to his pack and stole one for herself, sticking her tongue out at her brother. Once the cigarette was lit, Mari leaned back into her chair and let out the smoke from her lungs, slowly exhaling. Having finished his own meal, Puppy scampered back over to the sofa and climbed up before plopping down.

“Nah, nothing I can think of. How have you been feeling lately? No bad thoughts?”

“Having Puppy really helps with that,” Mari signed with a smile. “Whenever I get sad or the intrusive thoughts come back he finds a way to calm me down. Maybe you should get your own support animal.”

“What kind of animal would I get?” Kallard asked, shooting his sister a quizzical look.

“Well, you’re allergic to cats so that’s a no. What about a dog? We can find you a cute puppy for you to take care of.”

“What about when I make my trips up to Garlemald. Would you be willing to watch over it while I was gone?”

“Oh,” Mari sighed. “I didn’t think about that. What about a bird? Get a small enough one and you can put it in your pocket!”

Kallard tried to picture himself cramming a songbird into a pocket and the mental image his mind produced caused him to snort back laughter. He shook his head at his sister, who was looking at him with a single eyebrow raised.

“Sorry, I was just trying to imagine me putting a bird in my pocket so I could fly around on a robot. Would a bird even like that?”

“Make a nest in your pocket! That’ll help.”

“A nest?” Kallard sighed, throwing his arms up into the air. “What am I, a tree?”

“Ugliest tree I’ve ever seen,” Mari signed back, sticking her tongue out at her brother.

Kallard opened his mouth to offer some witty reply but went silent the instant he heard beeping coming from his room. Both of the twins stopped what they were doing, looking back at the door leading into Kallard’s workshop/bedroom. Mari leaned forward and put her cigarette out in the ash tray before scooting her chair back and rising to her feet. In the blink of an eye, Kal shot up from his seat and ran over to the door and threw the door open.

“Is that the radio?” Mari signed before pointing at the rectangular box, its surface littered with a series of buttons and dials with a small backlit screen displaying the frequency. Coming from the two small speakers built into the radio was a series of beeps, easily identified as Morse code.

“Wait a minute. It’s telling us to switch to a different radio frequency. Switch over now.”

Kallard twisted one of the dials to the left, the numbers on the display flickering as he surfed through the available signals. Once the radio was dialed into the correct frequency the twins exchanged looks and stared at the radio. Five minutes passed and nothing happened, the radio whispering in static.

“Try saying something,” Mari signed.

“Unknown station,” Kallard said. “Identify. Over.”

“This is Victorum actual. Identify unknown caller. Over,” the radio replied.

“Say again? Over,” Kallard said, a look of confusion washing over his face.

“This is Victorum actual. Identify. Over.”

“What the fuck is Victorum?” Mari signed, looking at her brother.

“I have no clue,” came his reply with a shrug of his shoulders. “I can already tell that they’re military. Is Victorum the name of a ship or a base?”

“Unknown station, this is Victorum actual. Identify. Over.”

“You’re going to have to say something, Kal. Can they trace the signal back to us?”

“No, they can’t. What do I tell him?”

“Give them our callsigns,” Mari signed back at her brother a look of worry lingering in her eyes.

“Victorum actual this is Rascal and Sweets. Over,” Kallard said into the microphone.

“Authenticate. Over.”

“Juliet bravo zulu two five eight.”

The radio then went silent for several minutes, both of the twins finding  their own way to work out the anxiety that was building up within them. Marilini stood there and wrung her hands together while her brother paced around the room, chain smoking cigarettes as if his life depended on it. Neither of them knew what was going on and why it was happening. Something was going on somewhere out in the world and all signs pointed to the remnants of the Empire. Whatever their intention, the twins were sure to find out.

“Rascal and Sweets, it is good to hear your voices. We were worried none of the Frumentarium were left alive. This is Titus Van Malignus, High Legate. What is your status? Over,” came the radio’s reply, someone new now speaking to the twins. They glanced at each other, Mari anxiously wringing her hands together.

“We are taking refuge in Eorzea. Over,” Kallard said into the microphone once more.

“Good, good. I’m going to send an agent to meet with you in the coming days. He will debrief you on the current situation. We all look forward to working with you both. Over.”

“The both of us look forward to meeting with your delegation. Is this the channel you will be sending their information? Over.”

“Affirmative. While it has been lovely chatting with the both of you, I have an urgent matter I must attend to. Information will be passed onto you regarding my agent in a few days on this channel. Until then, radio silence. Over,” came the High Legate’s reply.

“Roger. Over and Out.”

Kallard dropped the microphone and let out a long sigh, running a hand through his black hair. Marilini took a seat on her brother’s bed, looking down at the floor as she continued to wring her hands together. Neither of them said anything for a good deal of time, choosing to remain in silence as they digested this information.

“I will not fight for them again,” Marilini eventually signed, snapping her fingers to get her brother’s attention. “Never in a million years.”

“I agree,” Kallard sighed. “As much as I want to believe this will be a new Empire, we both know that’s a lie. For now, let’s play their little game. Learn what needs to be learned and act when we need to act. It may be worth considering mentioning this to the folks over in Meishuya. It’d be a suicide mission if we tried to tackle this alone.”

“I agree. Let’s play along for now and see what they’re doing. They probably don’t know we went AWOL since they didn’t bring it up. To them we’re still good and loyal soldiers. Whatever it is they’re doing we need to stop it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kallard said as he took a seat next to his sister. “We’ve done a lot of bad shit, sis. It’s time we made up for it and did some good for a change. Whatever they throw at us we’ll just throw back at them. We’re unstoppable, after all.”

“Unstoppable?” Mari signed before letting out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t know about that.”

“We managed to survive to this point in our lives. What’s another war gonna do to us?”

“Let’s stop this before it starts a war. We’ve got the skills and the tools to do this, so let’s do it. Let’s take down the Empire,” Mari signed back at her brother.

“Good, sounds like a plan. For now, let’s go for a walk. I want some candy.”

[kallard]

The Radio

“Yo, sis, dinner’s read,” Kallard hollered from the kitchen of their shared apartment.

Puppy perked up at the mention of food, his little nose twitching as he sniffed the air. The scents coming from the kitchen forced the small dog to hop of Marilini’s bed, darting into the kitchen. He barked and looked up at Kallard who in turn looked down at the animal, clearly amused by his attempt to beg for people food. Beady black eyes stared back up at the Hyur, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth.

“What’s for dinner?” Marilini signed at her brother as she walked into the kitchen, closing the bathroom door behind her.

“Steak and mashed potatoes. I’ve had the meat marinating in some sauce since I got home this morning. Should I have the dog some?” Kallard replied, setting down two plates on the kitchen table.

“Yes, please. Just a little, though. Puppy’s already had dinner and I don’t want him to get fat,” came Mari’s silently reply as she spoke with her hands before pulling a chair out and taking a seat.

Kallard walked back into the kitchen and grabbed a clean plate off the dish rack. He set it onto the counter and grabbed the cast iron pan he had cooked the steaks on, angling the pan and gently sliding the last bit of steak onto the plate. After setting the pan back onto the stove, Kallard grabbed a knife, cutting the steak into puppy sized bites before setting the treat down on the floor. Puppy dove right into the food, chomping away happily as Kallard plopped down at the table.

“How’ve you been?” he asked Mari.

“Bored!” she signed back with a smile. “Did you find anything cool on your trip back home?”

“Yeah, I found a working radio that I set up in my room,” Kallard said between mouthfuls of steak. “I ran the antenna up to the roof this morning after I got back.”

“What do you need a radio for? With the capitol gone there shouldn’t be any radio chatter.”

Kallard shrugged his shoulders, nudging his empty plate forward with the tip of his index finger. He then leaned back in his chair and fished a pack of cigarettes and a match out of one of his pockets. After a cigarette was shuffled out it was placed between Kallard’s lips he struck the match against the table and brought the flame to the tip.

“For now it’s going to be a handy way of summoning Clank to the city instead of walking to where he’s stored. We can also stop relying on these linkpearls and switch back to two way radios. No one around here uses them so we won’t have to worry about people listening in on our conversations.”

“Were you able to find any that worked?” Mari asked, signing to her brother.

“I found a few that aren’t working, but I can tear them all apart and fix them with what I have on hand. If they continue to be shit, I’ll just grab more on my next trip. Is there anything you want me to try and find for you? I’ll probably take Clank and fly back in a day or two.”

“What, another trip? Kal, is there something going on? You’ve barely been home,” Mari signed, frowning at her brother.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Kallard muttered, blowing smoke from his nose. “I can’t keep doing nothing all day. I need a purpose. Something to do. Adjusting to a civilian lifestyle after two decades of service is harder than the soldiering we did. I don’t know how you’re able to sit around all day without going insane.”

“I know it hasn’t been easy for you. Is there anything I can do to help? I miss having you around all the time, you grumpy butthead.”

Kallard chuckled and shook his head, snuffing his cigarette out in an ash tray before lighting a fresh one. Marilini reached out to his pack and stole one for herself, sticking her tongue out at her brother. Once the cigarette was lit, Mari leaned back into her chair and let out the smoke from her lungs, slowly exhaling. Having finished his own meal, Puppy scampered back over to the sofa and climbed up before plopping down.

“Nah, nothing I can think of. How have you been feeling lately? No bad thoughts?”

“Having Puppy really helps with that,” Mari signed with a smile. “Whenever I get sad or the intrusive thoughts come back he finds a way to calm me down. Maybe you should get your own support animal.”

“What kind of animal would I get?” Kallard asked, shooting his sister a quizzical look.

“Well, you’re allergic to cats so that’s a no. What about a dog? We can find you a cute puppy for you to take care of.”

“What about when I make my trips up to Garlemald. Would you be willing to watch over it while I was gone?”

“Oh,” Mari sighed. “I didn’t think about that. What about a bird? Get a small enough one and you can put it in your pocket!”

Kallard tried to picture himself cramming a songbird into a pocket and the mental image his mind produced caused him to snort back laughter. He shook his head at his sister, who was looking at him with a single eyebrow raised.

“Sorry, I was just trying to imagine me putting a bird in my pocket so I could fly around on a robot. Would a bird even like that?”

“Make a nest in your pocket! That’ll help.”

“A nest?” Kallard sighed, throwing his arms up into the air. “What am I, a tree?”

“Ugliest tree I’ve ever seen,” Mari signed back, sticking her tongue out at her brother.

Kallard opened his mouth to offer some witty reply but went silent the instant he heard beeping coming from his room. Both of the twins stopped what they were doing, looking back at the door leading into Kallard’s workshop/bedroom. Mari leaned forward and put her cigarette out in the ash tray before scooting her chair back and rising to her feet. In the blink of an eye, Kal shot up from his seat and ran over to the door and threw the door open.

“Is that the radio?” Mari signed before pointing at the rectangular box, its surface littered with a series of buttons and dials with a small backlit screen displaying the frequency. Coming from the two small speakers built into the radio was a series of beeps, easily identified as Morse code.

“Wait a minute. It’s telling us to switch to a different radio frequency. Switch over now.”

Kallard twisted one of the dials to the left, the numbers on the display flickering as he surfed through the available signals. Once the radio was dialed into the correct frequency the twins exchanged looks and stared at the radio. Five minutes passed and nothing happened, the radio whispering in static.

“Try saying something,” Mari signed.

“Unknown station,” Kallard said. “Identify. Over.”

“This is Victorum actual. Identify unknown caller. Over,” the radio replied.

“Say again? Over,” Kallard said, a look of confusion washing over his face.

“This is Victorum actual. Identify. Over.”

“What the fuck is Victorum?” Mari signed, looking at her brother.

“I have no clue,” came his reply with a shrug of his shoulders. “I can already tell that they’re military. Is Victorum the name of a ship or a base?”

“Unknown station, this is Victorum actual. Identify. Over.”

“You’re going to have to say something, Kal. Can they trace the signal back to us?”

“No, they can’t. What do I tell him?”

“Give them our callsigns,” Mari signed back at her brother a look of worry lingering in her eyes.

“Victorum actual this is Rascal and Sweets. Over,” Kallard said into the microphone.

“Authenticate. Over.”

“Juliet bravo zulu two five eight.”

The radio then went silent for several minutes, both of the twins finding  their own way to work out the anxiety that was building up within them. Marilini stood there and wrung her hands together while her brother paced around the room, chain smoking cigarettes as if his life depended on it. Neither of them knew what was going on and why it was happening. Something was going on somewhere out in the world and all signs pointed to the remnants of the Empire. Whatever their intention, the twins were sure to find out.

“Rascal and Sweets, it is good to hear your voices. We were worried none of the Frumentarium were left alive. This is Titus Van Malignus, High Legate. What is your status? Over,” came the radio’s reply, someone new now speaking to the twins. They glanced at each other, Mari anxiously wringing her hands together.

“We are taking refuge in Eorzea. Over,” Kallard said into the microphone once more.

“Good, good. I’m going to send an agent to meet with you in the coming days. He will debrief you on the current situation. We all look forward to working with you both. Over.”

“The both of us look forward to meeting with your delegation. Is this the channel you will be sending their information? Over.”

“Affirmative. While it has been lovely chatting with the both of you, I have an urgent matter I must attend to. Information will be passed onto you regarding my agent in a few days on this channel. Until then, radio silence. Over,” came the High Legate’s reply.

“Roger. Over and Out.”

Kallard dropped the microphone and let out a long sigh, running a hand through his black hair. Marilini took a seat on her brother’s bed, looking down at the floor as she continued to wring her hands together. Neither of them said anything for a good deal of time, choosing to remain in silence as they digested this information.

“I will not fight for them again,” Marilini eventually signed, snapping her fingers to get her brother’s attention. “Never in a million years.”

“I agree,” Kallard sighed. “As much as I want to believe this will be a new Empire, we both know that’s a lie. For now, let’s play their little game. Learn what needs to be learned and act when we need to act. It may be worth considering mentioning this to the folks over in Meishuya. It’d be a suicide mission if we tried to tackle this alone.”

“I agree. Let’s play along for now and see what they’re doing. They probably don’t know we went AWOL since they didn’t bring it up. To them we’re still good and loyal soldiers. Whatever it is they’re doing we need to stop it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kallard said as he took a seat next to his sister. “We’ve done a lot of bad shit, sis. It’s time we made up for it and did some good for a change. Whatever they throw at us we’ll just throw back at them. We’re unstoppable, after all.”

“Unstoppable?” Mari signed before letting out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t know about that.”

“We managed to survive to this point in our lives. What’s another war gonna do to us?”

“Let’s stop this before it starts a war. We’ve got the skills and the tools to do this, so let’s do it. Let’s take down the Empire,” Mari signed back at her brother.

“Good, sounds like a plan. For now, let’s go for a walk. I want some candy.”

[wolken-himmel]

In which Crewel and Crowley turn into a dog and a crow respectively.

Thus poor (Y/n), who has to take care of them now, gets two overbearing bodyguards.

Idea by anon.

"Headmaster Crowley should be banned from the laboratories!"

Your face was as red as a tomato as you stood in the middle of an alchemy classroom, still surrounded by a sheen smoke that slowly escaped through the windows. The disappearing mist revealed the silhouettes of two animals — a dog and a crow; in their place, your two bickering professors had stood just a few moments prior.

Grim shared the blank panic written all over your face. "Oh, woe is us, henchhuman!" he cried out and clung to your sleeve once the dog started trotting towards the two of you. The crow, too, took off, only to land on top of your head happily. Once Grim had made sure that he was safe, he exhaled and patted your hand comfortingly. "But fret not, you can do this. Sorry, I'm not good with consoling people when I'm hungry..."

You nodded slowly, the anger on your face slowly morphing into acceptance when the dalmatian rubbed his snout into your other palm. The way his shimmering eyes bore into yours gave you courage that you didn't think you could muster. "Yeah, I can do this..." you muttered under your breath while gently petting the dog. "I already have you as a pet, Grim. How worse can these two be?" An ironic chuckle escaped your lips.

"Hey! I'm not a pet!" Grim yelled, offended. "You got it all wrong. You are my servant, (Y/n)."

Doing your best to ignore him and his shrill voice, you turned away and grabbed the crow from your head that was in the process of building a nest up there. The black-feathered bird let out a playful caw as you stared him down in concentration. "Hmm... you're both adults... you, Headmaster Crowley, not so much..." The crow cried out in disagreement when your gaze shifted to the dog. "But hey, Professor Crewel will be easy to manage, right?"

Sadly for you, you couldn't have been more wrong.

°°°

"Professor, leave poor Ace be!" you screamed out at the top of your lungs while doing your best to hold onto the leather leash.

The dog bound to the leash wouldn't stop his attempts of attacking Ace, who by then had scurried over to a tree and climbed it with the grace of a squirrel. His eyes were wide in horror, and his face contorted into a grimace whenever the dalmatian began barking.

"By the Great Seven, get ahold of your vicious dog, (Y/n)!" Ace yelled out in panic. "What if it has rabies?"

That caused the anger of the dog to worsen again after you had managed to calm him down with head-rubs. As stubborn as he was in the beginning, the dog ripped the leash right out of your hand and sprinted towards the tree. Ace let out a frightened shriek, but luckily was able to pull his leg up just in time to avoid being bitten or grabbed.

Only when you threw yourself on the dog and tightly wrapped your arms around him in a calming embrace did he actually grow quiet again. Once that was dealt with, you turned your attention to your frightened friend. "Excuse me? Of course Professor Crewel—" Your cheeks grew red as you caught yourself about to reveal something you shouldn't. "I mean..." you corrected yourself, "Crewie is as healthy as he could be."

"Crewie?" Ace raised an eyebrow as he climbed down again. "You named your dalmatian after our stinky alchemy professor?"

At once, the dog began barking and growling again.

Your hand frantically ran up and down the dalmatian's neck in order to prevent a bloody accident from happening. "W-Watch out what you're saying, Ace!" you cried out in frustration.

"Why? The dog doesn't understand me, anyway..."

Right then and there, another figure approached the three of you. You craned your neck in order to look past Ace; that way, you found Deuce coming closer towards you. Your heart fell in horror, not wanting another friend of yours to be potentially at risk.

"Oh, hello (Y/n). I've been searching for you," Deuce said shyly and shot you an awkward wave. You returned the gesture with a nervous smile while clutching onto the aggressive dog for dear life. Deuce opened his mouth, about to say something, but stopped in the middle of his sentence. His eyes trained on your hair, he tilted his head to the side. "But wait, you got a leaf stuck in your hair."

"Really?" you asked while frantically running your hand through your hair. "Uh, autumn strikes again..."

"Let me remove it for you—" Deuce offered and stepped closer.

You could feel the dog growing angry again the closer your friend came towards the two of you. It was then that you realised the reason for the dog's aggressiveness.

Just like his human-self, Crewel was trying to protect you from boys...

Gulping down the fear that dried out your throat, you carefully began, "Uh... I'm not sure—" Sadly, you were interrupted when, in a moment of surprise, the dog shook you off and leapt at your blue-haired friend.

Promptly, Deuce fell onto his bum with the dog on top of him, the animal busy swinging his paws at the student. Luckily, no claws were involved, and it seemed like the dog merely pulled this stunt as a warning.

"What?" Ace yelled out in anger. "Get your aggressive dog off of Deuce!"

A frustrated frown on your face, you jumped forward and grabbed the dog by his collar. "I'm so sorry, Deuce..." you cried out while detaining the dog. As Ace helped Deuce to his feet again, you turned your attention to the dalmatian and shot him a reprimanding glare. "What's gotten into you, Crewie..."

And indeed, the disappointment in your eyes made the dog shrink into itself in shame. A soft whimper escaped his maw.

"Uh Deuce, is that your food over there?" Ace asked nervously while dusting the dry soil off the victim's jacket. The red-head's gaze drifted over to the bench where a bento box lay, but his friend seemed too deep in thought to notice.

Deuce smiled proudly, already having forgotten about the assault just a few seconds ago. "Yeah, I made it with Trey today. I brought a few leftovers for (Y/n)," he explained while fidgeting with his hands.

Your stern eyes softened at his words. "Oh, you're such a darling, Deuce..."

The dalmatian narrowed his eyes, but didn't act upon the anger that overwhelmed him.

Deuce shyly averted his gaze from yours, an awkward smile appearing on his face as he did so. "W-Well, if you say so..." he trailed off with a red face.

"Uhm..." Ace interrupted the sweet moment. "I think you should know that a crow is eating your food right about now."

Deuce snapped around at once. "What!?" And indeed, the food he had spent hours preparing sat sprawled out all over the bench, a certain crow picking at the food with his beak. Deuce's eyes fell in sadness, and he could barely stutter out, "But I spent so much time and effort on this..."

"Crowie, bad crow!" you yelled, which startled the bird. His golden eyes bore into yours sheepishly, and he immediately flew over to you. "You should be ashamed of yourself!" He rubbed his head into your palm innocently, crooning soft and ingenuine apologise.

Ace raised an eyebrow. "Your pets' names are overwhelmingly creative, (Y/n)."

"I... I... So it was all for nothing?" Deuce was at the end of his wits. His face grew red in fury, and his hands turned into fists. A low growl escaped his lips as he glared at the crow on your shoulder. By then, he looked just the dog in your arms in terms of anger and aggressiveness.

Your smile adopting a nervous twinge, you exclaimed, "Oh, Deuce... don't be sad— or angry, please." His eyes turned to you, and you mustered the most grateful smile you could. "I appreciate the gesture, I really do..."

You rose to your feet, now that the dog was busy fighting and arguing with the crow. As they cawed and barked at one another, you walked over to Deuce and put a hand on his shoulder, tightly squeezing it.

His tense body loosened up at your words, and his anger turned into disappointment. "I just wanted to cheer you up. You've been so stressed out all day."

"You did cheer me up." Instinctively, you shot forward and wrapped your arms around him. He tensed, and his head looked like it was about to explode. "It worked, Deuce," you murmured and put your head on his shoulder.

Sadly for you, the adorable moment was destroyed when Deuce was ripped away from you rather harshly. The wind was knocked out of your lungs, and upon second glance, you realised that the dog had assaulted the poor boy again — and this time, the crow joined in as well.

Your eyes grew large: Crewel and Crowley working together for once? What a miracle. Yet, you rolled your eyes upon realising that it was for the sake of protecting you from boys; such overprotective parental figures they were... The thought caused your lips to pull up into an amused smile.

It took Ace's yelling and screaming to snap you out of your trance. "Get that crow and dog off my buddy, (Y/n)!"

[onmyyan]

Straight Venomous ch.6

A/N: I’ll give u 2$ if u pretend this was posted in a timely manner. No but seriously thank you for sticking with me I love this story!! Feedback is always welcome please lmk what y’all think if you want more of a certain character or what!! Also if you want to be added to the Taglist lmk!! This chap is pretty Tim/Jason/Bruce centered but next chap will have everyone!! EDITED 1/11/2023

TW: cannon typical violence, Yandere themes, Cursing

Taglist: @foggyturtleknightangel @j-ma26-rb @bandaged-despair

”This wasn’t the kind of protection I imagined-“ You paused both Symbiote and human left too stunned to speak at the looming gates of Arkham, old and imposing as ever. Seriously all they needed was a moat and the dungeon vibe would be complete.

“-When you said it be somewhere He’d never look.” You finished with a squint at the Halloween attraction that was Arkham Asylum.

”Well I didn’t lie did I?- he won’t.” Oswald smiled, more to himself than anyone in particular, his magenta-tinted Versace shades glinted in what little light Gotham offered.

”If you're telling the truth about him being interested in you, you’ll be out in a breeze. Think of this as my final test, your last hurdle.” He finally turned to look at you, his form as ridged as ever from the back seat of his Mercedes.

”If you survive I’ll genuinely have some use for you.” His sleek black car sped off without another word, if you didn’t know better he seemed almost uncomfortable, like if he got too close the building's jaw would open and suck him back in. 

No more than a second passed before the stone-faced man beside you set his firm grip on your arm.

The man currently dragging you like a raggedy Ann doll was dead silent, letting the wails from within echo that much more. It took more self-control than you anticipated not to rip the arm off of you (and off in general)

‘I get to eat these ones right?’

“We’ll see buddy.” You muttered, too uneasy to care that you’d responded out loud, if anything it made you fit right in.

The guard ‘escorting’ you in had an iron grip on your arm like you were gonna book it the second you could. The almost eerie silence of the lobby was immediately replaced with screaming from all directions.

The air inside Arkham was sterile and thick, if anguish had a smell it is the one invading your lungs, they gave you the almost cartoonish black and white striped uniform the rest of the inmates dawned and shoved you into the common area, after your third ignored question you figured it is best to observe, men and women sat in the large cage, a few tables and torn up sofa chairs adding to the bleak atmosphere. With a huff, you managed to find an open seat, the whispers, and eyes following your every move.

It didn’t take long for the biggest man in the room to lumber over, his brooding figure stood above you. A perfectly shaped brow rose in question at his sudden appearance. 

“I’d ask if I can help you but I really don’t wanna.” You spoke at the giant, eyes flickering over your nail beds. “The names Al.” He leaned on his knuckles, hot breath wafting over your skin making you wince. 

“You start a fight? You ask me first. You need to piss? You ask me first. I run shit in here and I’m only gonna tell you’s this once.” He spoke in a gravelly voice. A bit of spit landed on the table in front of you. “Are you high? It’s amazing they let inmates smoke.” His hands slammed into the metal before you, shaking it with enough force to knock over the tray of food beside you. “You’s looking to get that pretty face of yours fucked up huh? I don’t tolerate that kinda’ shit bitch or not.” Once more his breath fanned over you in a hot wave, and your expression twisted into a grimace. He took that as a sign of fear, grinning darkly from across you.

”I’m in a forgiving mood, maybe if ya get down and put that smart mouth to use-“ your hand twisted his collar, smashing his head to the table twice before releasing the now bloodied man. He stumbled backward into another inmate, clutching his broken nose, tears streaming down his face.

”Y-You bitch! Yer fuckin’ dead for this shit ya’ hear?!” He barked out, blood splattering through his fingers, a loose tooth falling from his maw as the surrounding people didn’t spare you a passing glance, all except the ginger staring at you with the stars in his eyes, an almost eager look on his face. Like he was waiting to see what you’d do next. 

You stood with a sigh, stepping over the small pile of blood he’d left in his scurry backward. You now towered above the trembling man, as he tried to stand you kicked him in the chest as hard as you could, a crack of something breaking echoed throughout the loud room, his limp body slid back hard enough to crash into the wall, your eyes widened at his now still form. “Oops. Too hard.” 

‘Can I have a bite? Just a nibble, as a treat.’

”Absolutely not.”

’you never let me have any fun!’ The child of a Symbiote grumbled in your head. You heard the rushed footsteps of a group of people, most likely guards quickly storming their way to the commotion. On instinct, you sat as far from the body as you could, which just so happened to be on the busted-up sofa, near that oh-so-attentive ginger. He watched you with a wide, skin-splitting grin, his green eyes were almost too vibrant, and pale skin contrasted against bright red hair. 

“That’s certainly one way to make an entrance doll face.” He grinned even wider, resting against his fist, eyes flickered over every inch of your resting frame, you mimicked his stare, fighting the urge to look at the now scrambling guards, two of them held batons, electric you imagined, they bullied their way past the straggler’s lingering around the body, freezing at the sight of the corpse. “Move! Every one of you pieces of shit against the wall!” The shorter of the two barked out, threateningly pointing his baton at the group of inmates. 

“Come on sweet cheeks - we better get moving fore’ they get twitchy.” The redhead pulled you up and to the side, with a speed you hadn’t anticipated from him. He stood tall against the peeling wall, much too eager at the sight of blood.

”Alright- which one of you shit stains did this huh?!” The same guard from before spoke again, making his way down the line of people, most were too delirious to comprehend his demand, and the few still coherent said nothing much to your surprise. When he made his way to you, he lingered. “You see something interesting meat?” He sneered down at you, the crackling baton dangerously to your eye, it took more self-control than you’d like not to shove said baton up his ass.

”Oh I’ve seen something real funny.” The ginger spoke from beside you, it made you tense, would he be so quick to snitch?

The stodgy guard spit at the taller man’s feet. “Valeska. What am I gonna have to do to get you to shut the fuck up?”

”Hm, maybe a gag? Although you’ll have to use your own, I left mine back with your mother-“ the electrified tip was pressed to his chest before the snark could be finished, he crumpled to the floor with a twisted laugh, the cackle trailing into a moan at the end, his lanky form slumping against the dirty wall.

”Oh Johnny boy- I love it when you get rough with me.” The guard kicked at the still-twitching man, quickly ushering another guard to help him. “Of course it was you. Fucking lunatic.”

The drooling redhead is dragged out by his wrists and ankles, his piercing green stare not breaking until they pulled him out of sight. 

“Okay, that was a fluke. Heads down from now on V.”

There was a vaguely irate huffing sound in your mind. 

‘This is lame. I get a little bit of action and you’re pussying out.”

”Bite me you leech.” 

‘I AM NO SUCH THING (Y/N) TAKE IT BACK RIGHT NOW.’

Elsewhere

Tim was conflicted, he was almost always confident in himself and his plans, but this one was making him uneasy. He knew where you worked, and the people you were surrounded by. Penguins club wasn’t the place for someone like you, but he knew his best option was to wait for an opening to get you out, considering the circumstance. 

His original idea was to ‘run’ into you again and arrange a meeting where he could get you alone for a few hours. Get some of that electric-nerve-punching banter in again. Then he’d casually ask for your number and thus would begin your epic romance, he had everything mapped out to a T, even his family’s unusual interest in you couldn’t deter him from his bliss.

That is until you had to go and run.

Then again, he should have considered Bruce would make a move before him, should’ve planned for him to scare you off, but he didn’t. He was distracted, consumed with thoughts of you flashing through his mind like a projector on the wall. You’d taken up permanent residency in his day-to-day thoughts, and it had made him sloppy. 

You’d gotten away, slipped through his fingers just as he was closing in, you had no idea but he was planning a little ‘staycation’ at a cabin well off into the woods a few towns away from Gotham. He’d been getting to know you, the real you hidden in your private browser history and your late-night searches, and he was smitten. He’d done the math, ran the numbers, and knew the two of you were perfectly compatible, from your star sign to your favorite movie, he had all your likes and preferences listed alphabetically, and the scarily accurate list had been memorized in no time. In his frenzied- but thorough- planning he’d neglected to anticipate you pulling such a stunt but he wasn’t worried. It will never happen again. 

 He returned to the cave this morning, popping in briefly wasn’t out of the norm for Tim as the internet down here was much faster than the Portable server he had on him, and he needed this information quickly, he’s certain Bruce wouldn’t mind, he wasn’t home anyway. Alfred greeted him with his usual brand of warmth and eagerly saw him to the wall of computers he’d spent countless hours in front of. 

All was normal until the older of the two paused in his retreat upstairs, Tim could tell something was on his mind, he cocked his head at the man hovering beside him. “Everything okay Al?”

 “You’re going to see some unfinished work when you start her up,” he spoke, dismissing his question entirely, “Master Bruce had an emergency at the corporate office, which means you should have ample time to give that unnamed file a proper look.”

The grey-haired male paused as if worried about the way he delivered whatever message he had, “I believe your father would benefit from your assistance before he lets his passions get the best of him…again.” The older man spoke cryptically, patting a comforting hand on his shoulder as he retreated back upstairs. Tim paused, dark brows furrowing as he processed the old man’s words. He put a pin in his original plan for coming down here, instead of focusing on that pesky mystery file, he knew it burn him up inside if he didn’t at least peek through his father's new dirty little secret. 

The last thing he expected to see was your face, every possible angle of that perfect face. A concerning amount of shots of your dark (e/c) eyes, in a few you even stared directly at the camera, almost as if you knew you were under the harsh eye of Gotham's most dangerous predator. A scoff bubbled up past his lips, his free hand was now aggressively squeezing the little red stress ball that had sat before him, the flesh of the toy nearly burst from the force he used. It took him a few minutes to calm down, once he could think a little clearer, the plan began to form behind his eyes.

He now knew of his Mentor’s dark obsession, his twisted focus on your life and being. Honestly, Tim was worried about his Father, it wasn’t healthy to harbor such intense feelings for someone you didn’t know- Bruce didn’t know you, Jason didn’t know you- Dick sure as shit didn’t know you. None of the others did, not like Tim. He’d be able to read you in ways you’d always wanted someone to. But before your happily ever after could start, he was going to use his family’s dark obsession with you to his advantage, this and this alone is what pushed him to tell Dick you lived with Jason, Why he was letting the older male crash on his sofa bed, and it was the only reason he’d been pulling the strings behind the scenes. It didn’t take much to find your current location, all he had to do was give himself access to every camera in Gotham and run that Gorgeous mug of yours against them, granted once he actually found you he nearly had a heart attack, why in the hell were you beating the bricks off some schmuck in Arkham? After forcing himself in check he quickly saved the footage of the incident, his mind running a mile a much on how to spin this in his favor.

 He made a point to linger in the cave, Bruce was back within an hour, his steps rushed, eager, and Tim knew just who he was rushing to.

”Hey Bruce.”

The older man paused his trek to his desk, finally noticing the man in his seat.

”I didn’t know you were stopping by.” He responded gruffly, his long fingers moving to nimbly undo his tie.

“Well, I was in the neighborhood, needed Ol’ reliable’s for some intel. Nothing too fun.” Bruce made a noise of acknowledgment, now undoing the buttons on each sleeve, “Find what you were looking for?” Bruce was calm as he rolled up his sleeves, if Tim was anyone else his calm facade may have worked. But he wasn’t just anyone. He was nervous. The thought made Tim smirk, he dropped his face to a more neutral expression, turning to face his Father and Mentor. 

“Sure did.” He rose from the seat without pause, “Even had time to look into that folder for you- Alfred said you might need a little help.” 

Bruce didn’t falter in his movements, his expression remained in its usual stoic demeanor. 

The tension in the air had Tim’s heart pounding against his ribcage, Bruce Wayne was the variable he couldn’t plan around, and it made him dangerous.

The older man had an aura of authority around him in or out of the suit, Tim knew this could be a monumental setback if he reacted negatively-

Bruce quickly sat with an amused huff, turning on the monitors with practiced ease.

Just like that the tension evaporated. 

“Exactly how are you going to help me, Tim?” The statement had weight behind it, two dark pools of blue clashed in the reflection of the computer, his fathers accompanied by a lifted brow, his facial expression almost daring Tim to say the wrong thing.

The younger of the two wordlessly typed in a few words on one of the smaller screens pulling up the feed of Arkham’s common area. The video was dated today and was only about an hour old, the footage itself was your run-of-the-mill CCTV quality, so it wasn’t the clearest, but Bruce immediately recognized you, and his heart all but stopped, forced to watch as you were put in the exact kind of situation he was fixing to keep you from. His fists clenched so hard the skin on his knuckles turned white, he wasn’t so shaken at the way you’d brutalized the man, but rather the fact that you were surrounded by such individuals in the first place. Logically as a Metahuman he knew you were the strongest person in the room, but this fact didn’t give him comfort. It did the exact opposite. You’d found yourself cornered in the most dangerous situation and he was all but helpless to get you out.

He knew he couldn’t waltz in there and pull you out, okay he very well could, realistically he could leave now and have you back in time for dinner, but he also knew he needed to pace himself. Because Batman doesn’t break people out of Arkham, no matter how badly they don’t belong. His nostrils flared at the screen. His original plan to observe you from afar was thrown out the window the moment Damian took an interest in you, this Bruce could understand, he even planned for the scenario of you running from him, he hadn’t anticipated this is where you’d run through. 

A beat of silence passed between them before Tim began making his way back upstairs, just before the elevator doors could close he made sure to get in one last quip to seal the metaphorical deal, something that would give Bruce no choice but to intervene.

“I hope that poor girl is safe in there.”

As the doors shut on his Father, a small but genuine smile grew on his face. Now that he’d gotten Bruce in the game it wouldn’t be long until you were right where you belonged, right where Tim could see you without a screen in the way. 

Elsewhere

Jason does a lot of thinking now’a days. He thinks about where it all went wrong when you started hiding things from him. Of course, he couldn’t be upset with you for feeling unsafe enough to run, he hunted murderers and scumbags on a daily basis, if you were intimidated by his occupation, he could understand. But the longer he sat with the thought the less sense it made, he could keep you safe, he could keep the bad shit away, and you knew that he’d saved you as the Hood once before, so what could have changed your opinion so fast? That is if it was a what.

If it wasn’t a what it had to be a who.

As Jason’s mind worked a mile a minute, he paced, and when he had walked a dent into the floorboards, he turned to his favorite outlet. Some people preferred to jog or write when they got stressed, and Jason liked to clock into work.

Usually, he started with a steak-out, leaned against his Harley Davidson* custom in some rank alley, the flickering fluorescents occasionally catching his helmet in a menacing shine. He always chose the most time-sensitive task he caught on the police scanner not-so-legally installed in his bike, but his brain was far too muddled with thoughts of you to put his all into work. It had been a grueling 12 hours since you’d made a break for it and ripped his sense of peace out with clenched fists.

 You’d taken up permanent residence in the worst way, he tormented himself with the most gut-wrenching kinds of scenarios. The intrusive kind where you came under harm because he wasn’t strong enough to stop you- no he wasn’t prepared to stop you. The moment you left was playing on loop, specifically, that split second he had where he could’ve taken you out from behind, gently subdued you until he could find out what had you so scared. 

But he didn’t, he couldn’t force himself to move in any way that would harm you, it went against every cell in his body.

And now you were gone.

 A bitter lump had taken up in his stomach, made of ice and nails, every moment he didn’t know where you were, its spikes dug their way in deeper. He feels stuck in that moment of the horror movie where you see the monster coming but the girl doesn’t, but unlike the movies, Jason can and will be doing something about this monster. He just has to find it first.

No one was talking and that meant one of two things.

You were working close to someone with enough connections to concern Jason, or you were-

He had to physically shake the thought away. Not willing to entertain the idea for even a second. He could feel it, you were fine. In a ludicrous amount of danger yes, but alive. And that’s all he needed. Because when he found you again, he promised himself he’d keep you safe, he knew something major had happened that night forever ago when you crept into the apartment so eerily, leaving a trail of murky water as you passed. You’d been different, in little ways, offering to get the takeout instead of ordering in and always coming back unscathed despite where you lived. Of course, he had to follow you, he vividly remembers a man running through busy traffic to avoid you, of course, Jason marked it as odd from his view above the streets, but he couldn’t have known you were well whatever you were, from that alone, what really clued him in was how confident you’d become before he could only hope you’d chime in the conversation with him and Roy, desperately trying to include you and praying it wasn’t obvious, now you spoke your mind no matter what, almost like you couldn’t help it, and it made your light burn even brighter.

He was beyond excited when you began to open up, the two of you bonding in the kind of way people wrote stories about, slowly, surely, at your pace, you’d begun to unravel the layers of each other. And then someone came along and ruined everything. 

Jason also thought a lot about what he was going to do to this person when he got his hands on them.

The only reason he wasn’t beating the answer out of someone right now was because he was running on fumes and he knew it. Roy had just barely managed to talk him out of his gear. “I care about her too Jay.” The redhead gave Jason’s back a comforting squeeze.  “I’ll ask around some places you can’t okay? This is (Y/n) we’re talking about, wherever she is, she’s in control.” It was that last thought that pacified him enough to passively pace himself into a silent almost boiling anger. It was in this quiet, dangerous moment, his least annoying sibling strolled in the front door like it was an everyday occurrence. 

“You are bad, Roy was right to call me.” The voice of his replacement spoke suddenly, Tim had been snapping his fingers in an effort to clear that dark haze that had begun to fog over his brother’s eyes.

Tim was concerned, that much was obvious from the tone he used like he was speaking to a wounded, feral, animal. As he snapped a few more times in front of his face, Jason’s eyes focused on his successors, “I’m fine. How long have you been there?”

”Long enough J.”

The older of the two sighed deeply through his nose, his thumbs rubbing long circles into the sides of his temple. 

“Yeah okay, I spaced a bit who cares? You really here to check on lil’ ol’ me?”

”Nah, mostly just to tell you your little girlfriend there works for Oswald.” 

His smile fell instantly. You were forced, no choice, blackmail maybe? Debt? Did you gamble? Cashed a favor? 

“Are you absolutely positive?” Tim’s face held rather calm at the ever-growing frustration of his predecessor. He could tell how worked up Jason was, to think (Y/n) had such an effect on him, he looked like a puppy dog waiting on its owner to come home.

“You need some serious sleep- and that’s coming from me so,” Tim said not answering the older man’s question, with a deep sigh he shoved the taller of the two onto the couch, soon sitting beside him, it didn’t take long for Tim to set up his two favorite machines, bulky things he’d built himself that way too many people wanted to get their hands on, lots of dirty little secrets embedded in their code.

Tim was worried. More worried than Jason could comprehend. Because he knew exactly where Oswald had put you- a glance at the unusually shaken man beside him was all he spared as he continued to type- now wasn’t the time to share, that would come later. A time for everything as they say.

Right now all Jason needed was a way for you to get out of the snakepit you found yourself in, so that's what Tim gave him.

"Bruce has a file on your girl, think it has anything to do with her new occupation?" He spoke offhandedly, silently observing Jason’s reactions. That’s all he needed to say, the show had officially begun.

"No." Jason's answer was quick and concise, the lost look had faded from his gaze, hardening into his thinking face. His back straightened, muscles coiling like a snake in the grass. 

He cracked his neck, tired eyes once more meeting Tim’s, “Bruce n’ I need to have a little chat, that’s all.” He was out the door before Tim could stop him, not that he would, this was all going exactly as he’d anticipated. The match had been lit, it was only a matter of time before the fuse blew, the question of the hour was who would break first? Tim’s bet is on Bruce.