#assassination coming to a theatre near you soon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

artxyra · 4 years

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What if Damian and the miraculous class are friends and they have movie nights, but since Damian is in Gotham he sneaks out of the manor and portal via Max & Kalki to participate. The Fam get suspicious and try to figure out where Damian is going every week. When they find out he goes to Paris they try to follow him but the portal closes and they use the tubes instead. They end up crashing in on them watching a horror movie which freaks the class out. Insert yelling and things being thrown.

To: Demon From: Angel

Are we still on for movie night?

To: Angel From: Demon

Yes. Just need to get away from the family.

To: Demon From: Angel

😀

Marinette looks over smiling from her phone. Today is a good day. There were no akuma that needed Ladybug’s attention, nor had she broken up a fight between Max and Kim about the latest game. So yes, she was ecstatic to know this is how her day is going.

“Hey Mars, is Damian coming tonight?” Adrien asks seating next to her playing with a strand of his hair. Ever since he came out to her, their relationship has blossomed beyond a crush to a blooming brother-sister relationship. That and Luka were more than willing to take on the blonde without a second thought. She kind of feels bad for Juleka having to see Adrien on a near-daily basis and with her brother no doubt.

“Yup,” Marinette continues to smile, “I just received word that he’s good to go. All we need is for Kaalki and Max to open up a portal at the designated time.”

“Sweet, I hear that Kim was the one picking out this week’s movie. I hope it’s nothing horror-related.” Adrien pouts causing Marinette to laugh that the poor kitty’s face.

“I’m sure it’s nothing too crazy.” Marinette hopes that it was something simple to follow and an action pack rather than horror. She may love horror games but kwami be damn if she watches a horror movie in the dark that wasn’t comedic.

“It looks like break is almost over, we’ll continue you this later.” Adrien sends Marinette a comforting smile before jumping down into his assigned seat next to Nino. Alya and Nino just walked in holding hands.

“Hey, lovebirds, who’s ready for a night full of fun?” Alya greets the two causing them to roll their eyes at the nickname that no longer pertains to them.

“Hey Als, I should be asking you that instead.” Marinette lifts an eyebrow that accompanies her smirk. Nino and Alya’s faces turn red and they side glance each other. Marinette and Adrien laugh at the couple.

“After class, I’ll be giving a quick speech regarding tonight’s plans,” Marinette states pulling out her classwork and books for class. They all nod in understanding. Just then the rest of the class filed in with matching smiles and asking pertaining to tonight’s activities.

To: Angel From: Demon

Save me from the idiots that I call my brothers?

To: Demon From: Angel

Can’t love, I’m sure it not that bad.

To: Angel From: Demon

For some idiotic reason, they are watching me like a hawk today. I’m currently in the bathroom with the doors locked listening to them bicker outside.

To: Demon From: Angel

Yikes 😬. I’m sure it will die down before you’re required to leave.

To: Angel From: Demon

I doubt that.

To: Demon From: Angel

About that, why did we move our weekly movie night from Saturday to Friday?

To: Angel From: Demon

It’s a half-day at school.

Shit. Talk to you later.

Marinette places her phone down and slowly turns her attention to Mme. Bustier. The red-haired teacher tried to keep her students engaged with the content, but she was losing them faster than on average. Marinette turns to her classmates. Alix and Kim were trying to out strength each other, Juleka and Rose was trying to pay attention but the drooping in Rose’s eyes say otherwise, Sabrina and Chloe—well doing what they usually do—living in their own bubble, Nathaniel was sketching something down in his notebook while Max was pretending to take notes as Markov does it for him. Finally, Mylene and Ivan were also in their own world.

Hours seemed to past in Marinette’s mind before Mme. Bustier concluded today’s lesson. She was so caught up in watching the time that she didn’t realize that was sketching an outfit in her own notebook. Whoops.

“Marinette is there something you would like to add?” Mme. Bustier prompts sending the class’s designated designer a smile.

“Yes,” Marinette gets up from her seat and walks down to the podium. “Tonight is our weekly movie night instead of tomorrow. Do you remember what to bring? If not, please message me before the event. Remember that we are having this event at Chloe’s family’s hotel as it a makeshift theatre room.”

“Daddy says we can have the popcorn maker also.” Chloe interrupts. The class cheers at the thought of the infamous popcorn maker that was usually locked behind the hotel kitchen doors.

“Thank you, Bee, for that tidbit. Now, Max, you are to arrive at the bakery no later than six o’clock. The demon is having a half-day today and I’m ninety-nine percent sure that he’ll want to be here no later than that. Everyone else, you are free to do.” With that and a pretend gavel, Marinette dismisses the class to their next class for the day.

For Damian, being at school felt like a blessing even if it was a half-day. His brothers have been hounding him all morning. It’s like they are looking for something that isn’t there. Damian’s emotions? Yeah right, they all know he only shows emotions to his beloved animals or animals in general. Damian had to double, triple check the security on his phones because who knows what Drake would find if he had access inside it.

For over six months, he had been going to Paris for movie nights with his beloved and her classmates. At first, he had done it through the zeta tubes but after gaining their trust just enough to be in on the Miraculous Team of Paris, his trips became a lot more frequent. He would make up an excuse about going to a classmate, or Jon’s, house for the night, or to work on a school project. He had gotten away with it for a while, but Tim was the first to notice the lie.

Tim and Conner were having their usually meet up when the Damian had told his family that he was spending time at Jon’s, something that was no unusual. All was fine and dandy until Jon came home with a Damian Wayne. Tim, well it was mainly Dick, had grilled into the young hero about Damian’s whereabouts. Jon either lied or literally had no idea. Which prompted the Batbros to start the search on Damian's weekly disappearance.

Everyone took the day off to “spend time” with Damian. They wanted to trap the teen inside the manor and watch his every movement. Like that isn’t an invasion of privacy or trust.

Alfred brought Damian to the manor around noon. This gives them enough time to hide any open-source of weaponry they could find or items that Damian could use against them in battle. That was a lot of items on the list. Dick inquired for Bruce to hold off on the tracking device as a last resort. He wanted to start everything out with a discussion, but Jason laughs that idea out the window as he cleans his guns.

“The young master is residing in his bedroom,” Alfred speaks walking down into the Batcave.

The Wayne family knew this was it.

To: Angel From: Demon

I’m ready.

To: Demon From: Angel

ETA in 5

Damian smirks at his phone. He loves his girlfriend and how quickly she can manage an entire group of classmates and plan a weekly movie night event.

He had packed his belonging that he usually brings with him when he does to Paris. Which isn’t much.

Four minutes.

Damian thought his ears were playing tricks on him, but they weren’t. He could hear the stampede of footsteps that were no doubt from his family members aside from Alfred. Alfred’s footsteps are like a ghost, you never hear them.

Three minutes.

“Hey little D, since you had a half-day today, why don’t you spend it with us,” Grayson asks the second his bedroom door swings open. Alfred the cat sends a glare to his owner’s family.

“Yeah, Demon spawn, we all took the day off to spend time with you,” Jason adds gas to the fire that was already burning intensely.

“Damian…” Not his father too.

Two minutes.

Damian doesn’t say a word. His eyes bounce from one person to the next and repeat. He didn’t know who to answer them. “Tt.” Was the only word? Sound? That had escaped his lips.

“You need to leave like now.” Damian refuses to have his family find out the very secret he had kept hidden for so long. His quick need for them leaving only pushes them to stay. Worried about various reasons from teen problems to joining the League of Assassins again. They didn’t want to take any chances.

One minute.

Damian could sense the user of the horse kwami becoming active. Soon a blue swirling portal opens up behind Damian. Damian looks at his family and side glances at the portal. The portal wins. The family of vigilantes runs to the portal only for it to close.

“Am I hallucinating or did that just happen?” Tim asks wiping the sleep away from his eyes.

“No, replacement, that really just happened.” Jason states. Tim nods in understanding.

“I’ll do track him down.” Dick sulks at the thought that Bruce was right.

It didn’t take long for the results to come in.

“Uh…so how the hell is the Demon in Paris, France of all places?” Jason shouts from behind his older brother and Bruce.

“The swirling portal thingy?” Tim states the obvious, but it sounded more like a question as he sits down and drinks a cup of coffee.

“Boys we’re going to Paris.” Bruce states over his sons. From afar, Alfred sighs and goes to prepare the zeta tubes with the destination in mind.

“Uh, civvies or uniform?” Dick asks as they all start to make their way to the zeta tube. This was one of those questions that they linger on for a hot minute.

Before they knew it, Damian had gained an hour over his family.

“It doesn’t matter, we need to know where the little demon has been hiding all this time.” Jason screeches talking over to the zeta tube and teleporting to the location.

Bruce turns to the remainder of his sons who shrugged and follow suit.

Entering Paris, they were further from Damian’s location than anticipated. They follow the tracker with some interruptions. Dick wanted to buy something for Kori, Jason wanted food and Tim needed for coffee. After all that was done, they officially made it to the supposed location of Damian’s whereabouts.

“Why would the little demon at a hotel?”

“Hum, this coffee is really good,” Tim says before taking another sip.

“Boys, focus on the mission.”

“I am focus, Bruce.”

“I didn’t say you were, Dick.”

“Touché.” Dick rubs the back of his arm.

They enter Le Grand Paris with tensions high and were surprised by how calm and relax the employees were. Jason swears this was just a hoax and they were torturing Damian behind one of these doors. An employee asks them if they are in need of anything. Bruce states that they were looking for his son.

“Is he friends with Chloe and her classmates?” The employee asks.

“Who?” Dick and Bruce ask simultaneously. Jason had dragged Tim off somewhere to look at some things.

The employee eyes the family skeptically.

“Well if he’s not friends with Mlle. Bourgeois, then I suggest heading to the police department and report a missing child.” The employee states before walking away. Bruce sighs and pulls out the tracking device. Damian is so close to them.

“We’re going to find him, right?”

“And drag the brat back to Gotham?”

Bruce in the direction that would be location, he gestures for his children to follow.

Damian was having a blast. In his arms, Marinette sat on his arm clinging to his shirt cursing Kim’s name throughout the film. Kim had chosen a horror movie for tonight’s showing and by kwami it was fantastic. There was no comedic relief, actual horror storytelling leaving the class on the edge of their seats.

Adrien was curled next to Marinette in Luka’s arms. He was also clinging to a body, a certain musician as if he was a frightened kitten.

Just as the MC was about to open the door to the attic, a series of figures jump from the ceiling. Screams in real-life match those within the movie. Popcorn, empty cartons of candy, soda drinks are thrown at the figures. A string of curses follows not long after that.

“Damian, tell your friends to stop.” He knows that voice from anywhere, it was Grayson’s voice. Marinette slides herself off himself.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He screeches in English. Most of the class didn’t have a clue what was being said.

“We wanted to see where you were?”

“We thought you were kidnapped?”

“I just came for the scenery.”

Damian’s eyes twitch.

“That’s nice and all, but can you move? We’re trying to watch a movie here and you’re ruining it.” Chloe stands up demanding the bat-family to move. They all look to one another before subtly moving away from the screen.

Damian places a quick kiss on Marinette’s cheek and guides his family out of the room. He was not happy that they came in ruining his night with Marinette. Now he has to make up for it with something romantic, not that he’ll do it anyway.

“What made you believe that I was kidnapped?” He asks, the second they were out of the room.

“The portal thingy.”

“You not answering any of our questions.”

Damian breathes through his nose. “You’re all idiots.”

“Well movie night is a bust, but we all agree to stay here to continue rather than going home.” Marinette walks into the hall after a moment of them talking—well it was more of a screaming match between Bruce and Damian with some input from Dick. “Will your family be fine without you for a couple more hours?”

“Habibti, these dunces are my family,” Damian states gesturing to his family,

Marinette nods, “Well then, hello, and can we keep Damian for the night?”

Damian walks over to Marinette and wraps his arms around her. “I’ll return from before it’s nightfall in Gotham, father.”

“Uh, sure. Boys lets go.” Bruce accepts the came and walks down the hall. Before either of the brothers could pester Damian about this newfound relationship, Bruce gave them all the bat-glare and demanded that they follow.

“You know you’re going to get pestered, right.” Marinette laughs.

“Don’t remind me.”

“Come on, we have a movie to finish.”

With that, Damian takes Marinette’s hand and walks back into the room.

Tag List: *View my Tagging System guidelines for how to to be properly tagged or removed.

#maribat #mlb x dc #ml x dc #ml crossover #dc crossover #daminette

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batfamscreaming · 3 years

Text

The Last Night [highschool au]

warnings: long post. Canon-compliant body horror/mutilation, threats of suicide, threats to make it look like a suicide, things that don't die when they should, young Bruce enacting a stupid plan.

masterpost

000

Bruce didn’t come back from the library.

Despite how aware of his surroundings he might have been, he couldn't stop a hand going over his mouth.

A blindfold over his eyes.

Something that made him feel sleepy.

And he was pulled away.

Bruce woke disoriented.

Cold.

He groaned before he thought he should've hidden it, but the thought was far away in the back of his mind as he slowly regained consciousness.

“The prodigal son awakens.” Someone said above him. In front. Their voice echoed.

Bruce was on a slab in the middle of a large room. A circular theatre.

It was filled with people. Staring at him.

… And all of them wore the same white mask off an owl.

...ah.

Here it was.

A cold fog of clarity, instead of a haze to get lost in.

Once he was awake enough to see, he was awake enough to glare, and he set his icy blue eyes on them as he pushed himself up to sit.

“...you guys just sit around and stare at unconscious kids all day?” he asked.

“Only the special ones, Bruce. And you're very special.” The man said, one stood out from the rest in a white suit and black cape.

Bruce could probably feel someone behind him too. Closer than the rest.

Behind him was a man in black and gold, spectacles over his eyes and mask designed like an owl, but different from the rest.

He did feel him, once he'd sat up-- he jerked away, unable to stop himself from showing that weakness once he realized how close that one was standing. Different from the rest. Gloves like claws.

(Talon, his mind told him, with a trickle of ice down his spine, remembering how months ago, the business mongle had been found in his apartment, cut to ribbons.)

...but still, he forced his voice to not shake as he dragged his gaze back to the vacant masks and faces of the Court, and looked up at what he could only assume was the ‘judge’--

And he must've been standing trial.

“So, what?” Bruce asked, wetting his lips. “You going to kill me?”

“Oh no, no, Bruce Wayne. We’re going to recruit you.” The Judge said, his voice as jovial as it had been since the beginning.

The crowd around him was near motionless save for the occasional lean from one to whisper to the other. They were all clearly real people, and all of them well dressed.

Gotham’s Elite.

Just like him.

His throat tightened.

They were nothing like him. Nothing like him, or Tommy, who had suffered, and--

He found his voice loud, even in his own ears, shoving himself off the slab and ready to fight the entire room if he fucking had to. Assassin, no assassin, if it killed him, he didn’t care. He had no friends, and no future, and-- “You killed my parents,” he howled. “As if I would ever let you recruit me!”

As soon as he lunged forward, even if he was nowhere near the Judge, a taloned hand reached down and grabbed his shoulder with enough force to hold him in place, to keep him from running.

“Now who told you that?” The Judge asked. “Why would we ever kill one of our own?”

That stopped him almost as sharply as the hand on his shoulder did. His breath hitched.

He was normally so good at spotting liars, but he couldn’t see their faces. Couldn’t see their eyes. Didn’t even know what their regular voices were like to compare.

But they would have to be lying.

His parents would never work with them.

“You’re lying.”

He grabbed the Talon’s arm, and tried not to think of the knives on their fingers, and tried to throw him over his shoulder in a judo flip.

The Talon hadn’t been ready for the flip initially, but still had more training than Bruce.

Their feet landed before they pulled Bruce with them into a bear hug to keep him still.

“Surely you don’t think even your parents passed up this opportunity?” The Judge asked. “We are Gotham’s richest, just as you are. We decide what happens to our city, not the common riff raff crawling the streets. Your parents worked with us to make Gotham what it is today.”

It wasn’t like being held tight by Clark. The armored body around him moved when he struggled, but still-- still, he couldn’t do anything more than twist in the hold, but not break it, as he started to shake.

“Then how come it all fell apart when they died!?” he said, voice cracking.

His eyes felt hot.

“Even the Court couldn’t hold it together without them!?”

“I’m afraid that’s just another case of correlation not equalling causation.” The Judge said. “Perhaps with your help, you could bring Gotham back to something your parents would be proud of? We can help you. That’s what we do; offer a network of aid to bring Gotham to her full potential.”

“Talon,” the Judge turned his head to address the man bear-hugging Bruce into submission. “Take our guest to his lodgings. Give him time to think.”

The man said nothing as he set Bruce on his feet and shoved him forward.

…

Bruce stopped struggling, watching the Judge with barely-restrained tears. Shaking.

He wobbled on his feet when he was set down and stumbled with the shove.

...but he walked. He walked like he’d gone and drunk a bar dry, but he did it, still feeling the Talon’s arms around him through his clothes and suddenly feeling even colder and more exposed now that his arms were free.

“...you kill people,” he said to the Talon. “Why…”

“To maintain order.” The Talon said, leading Bruce down a series of corridors that became increasingly less lavish as they went.

They came to a steel door and the Talon opened it, but didn’t shove Bruce inside, expecting him to go in willingly.

The interior was nice for what it was. A comfortable bed. A desk with a light.

He was still one of Gotham’s Elite, after all.

“What about their families?” he asked, though he thought he knew the answer.

He was lightheaded.

Dizzy.

He went in, and stood just on the inside, feeling cold and empty.

If he was waiting on an answer he wouldn’t get one.

The Talon closed the door and it clicked heavily as it locked, and then he walked away.

…

Bruce couldn’t even hear his footsteps leaving.

...he wanted to throw up. But he just stood there. Dazed and shaking, and throat dry. No one knew where he was. He didn’t know where he was. No one knew the court, or would give Alfred closure, or be able to do anything if he disappeared down here.

No one would find his body if they wanted to get rid of him. A hole in his neck, just like mom’s.

“...Clark,” he croaked.

“Clark. Clark. Clark…”

… Clark would hear him.

Clark would hear him walking back to their dorm and stop dead in his tracks.

He knew the voice and it sounded so desperate, and suddenly he had forgotten the stabbing in his heart and was turning to run in the direction of it.

Ignoring whoever it was that just yelled at him for running.

He ran to where he thought it was coming from, but-- but that couldn’t be it. It was a dead end. So he circled back.

Another dead end.

It didn’t make sense.

How the fu-...

He started to look harder.

At some point, Bruce found himself on the floor, curled over his knees and pressing his palms into his eyes.

Were there cameras in here? Were there microphones? Would it matter right now?

“Clark, please, I don’t know where I am… I need help, please don’t have your hearing aids in right now, oh, fuck…”

Clark might have looked a little insane staring at the floor and seeing his friend miles down and sort of… throwing up his hands.

Okay.

Uh.

…

Clark snuck out of the school and found his way into the sewers.

Ew.

It was as far down as he could get.

And then his eyes glowed red.

...at some point, Bruce stopped calling for help.

At some point, he just started talking.

Talking into his hands.

“I’m sorry about the bathroom. I was trying to scare you. I don’t know if you can hear but if you can I’m so sorry if you don’t hear from me again--”

He was going to do something stupid.

“--I might join them.”

Clark had no idea what Bruce was talking about. The Court of Owls was so far from his mind right now, he assumed maybe Bruce had been snooping around somewhere and got stuck or something and--

And soon the walls around him shook.

Clark didn’t drill down right over Bruce. He didn’t want to hurt him or have anything collapse around him, but that meant he didn’t really know what he was getting into. He couldn’t use heat vision and x-ray at the same time. So he just… guessed and then blew downward.

He landed somewhere with carpet and a loud thud, breathing heavily.

He had taken off his uniform and wrapped a bandana around his face to help with the smell and dust.

And he knew he had seen other skeletons down here before digging downward, but he didn’t know what that meant.

...Bruce felt it.

Felt the slight tremor in the walls. In the floor.

His head jerked upwards.

Oh no.

Clark had heard him.

“Shit-- shit, Clark!” he said, a little louder, still scared of being heard outside the door, now actually looking for cameras, he’d said the name too many times, though-- “Clark, don’t let them see you! They can take you away!”

There was really no way he hadn’t been heard, but--

He still tripped and stumbled over the rubble before giving up and just flying over it.

(Hide your face when you do it. Be so alien they can’t guess it’s you.)

Clark made sure the bandana over his face was still there and flew to where he could hear Bruce’s voice.

Fuck. Shit. Bruce didn’t know what to do, but the daze in his head had been replaced by the knowledge that Clark was coming, and he needed to find some way to help keep him safe.

He started trying the door, trying to shove it open or tug it that way, and when it didn’t budge, he banged on it. “Hey. Talon! Where the fuck are you!”

Talon is here, Clark, Talon is here, you heard the name, you know, okay--

Talon?? What??

Clark was just starting to wrap his head around what this place was, red carpets and tall pillars, when he saw Talon.

And Talon saw him. Floating.

They were both pretty unprepared.

But Talon was trained.

Bruce wouldn't see it, but he would hear it.

Clark yelling, startled. A scuffle. Something big and heavy being thrown into a wall.

…

And then Clark's face in front of the window of the door, his hair full of dust and face covered.

“Bruce! What the crap!”

Bruce stared back at him, eyes wide and afraid.

“Clark! Open the door!”

Clark tried the handle and pulled.

But the handle just ripped off.

… Okay.

Clark took a breath and shoved his hands through the sides where the door connected to the wall and pulled the whole thing off.

Good.

Bruce was already shoving himself against the floating alien, hugging him tight.

“Oh, God, oh, shit. Are you okay?!” he hissed, eyes flicking over Clark’s shoulder, looking for Talon--

Clark's shirt was torn up, but he looked fine as his arms wrapped around Bruce.

“Y-yeah, I'm--”

His head snapped back as he heard Talon get up with a groan behind him, body slumped in front of a massive dent in the wall.

At the groan, Bruce shoved out of Clark’s arms, and--

And shoved Clark behind him.

“Stay down,” he hissed, voice sharp and strong again, now that-- now that his friend was here. “If you try to touch him again I’ll bite through my tongue and you’ll lose a recruit just like that.”

“What?” Clark breathed, because-- because there was so much going on right now.

“We're leaving!” He yelled, grabbing Bruce again and pulling him close with a grip that said he didn't have a choice.

Talon was getting to his feet.

Bruce sucked in a breath as he was grabbed.

“No-- no! I need to know who..”

But he wouldn’t have a choice. Not with Clark’s iron grip on him. And not with his life not even enough to dissuade Talon.

Clark grabbed him tight and they were flying. Flying past startled court members with masks, away from Talon. Away from all of it.

When they got to the hole Clark made he said “take a breath!”

And they shot up.

It was like a rollercoaster in reverse, enough to take his breath away.

Bruce clung tight, sucking in a breath when Clark told him to and squeezing his eyes shut.

He pressed himself as hard as he could against the only solid thing he knew, and hid his face in Clark’s torn collar as they went.

“North,” Bruce told him, croaking. “Not school. School’s not safe--”

Clark heard him.

They shot out of the hole in the sewer and then up and out the manhole before anyone would tell who, or what, it was.

And then he leveled out and slowed down. They were too high for prying eyes to be able to tell what they were.

Headed North.

“Bruce, what the hell was that?” Clark asked, his bandanna long fallen off his face to hang around his neck.

Bruce still clung around Clark, shivering in the high altitude.

“The Owls,” he finally croaked. “Someone drugged me.”

His expression softened.

“... It’s okay. I’ve got you now.”

Clark hoped that was comforting.

Bruce nodded against Clark.

“...I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

…

“I know. I heard you.”

…

“You were right though. I was jealous of Tommy. So I’m sorry too.”

A shudder he couldn’t control ran through Bruce’s body.

“...don’t be. It’s fine. I didn’t…”

Everything was so wound up inside him. Or maybe that was lightheadedness.

“You don’t have to be jealous of people I don’t like like that.”

“I know. Just--”

…

He sighed. “It’s okay.”

(I know you don’t feel that way about me.)

“I understand.”

Bruce nodded against Clark again, and tried to hold in a sniff.

Arms still wrapped around Clark and suspended so far up they would barely be specks from the ground, Bruce pulled himself up a little in Clark’s grip. And kissed him.

(Everyone wanted something from him. His money, or status, or looks, or… or for Tommy, all three. All three and his dead parents.

And Clark had still come for him, even when Bruce had ripped all of those away and chased him far away.

And he was alive.)

Just like before Clark was a deer in headlights, eyes wide as Bruce put his lips on his. His grip stayed true, growing a little tighter around him, holding him close.

And like last time he closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss as they slowed down in the sky.

Bruce didn’t pull back this time.

...not that there was anywhere to pull back to, and he was very keenly aware of this, his legs dangling down with nothing to support him but the arms tight around his waist and his own grip around Clark’s shoulders.

….this kiss was gentler than the last one Bruce had given Clark. Slower. Like an apology. It was sweet.

When Clark pressed in he opened his mouth a little and tried to guide him through it.

Clark had never kissed someone like this before. It was nothing like sneaking a kiss from a girl break home when he was younger, hoping you did it right and having to take the lead.

… It was nice following for once.

He opened his mouth and followed along, slowly coming to a stop and bringing his legs down so Bruce could use him to lay on rather than hang over the city. And with Bruce's body supported by him underneath he could allow one hand to wander a little.

To feel his black hair.

Bruce could lead. He'd--

...he'd done a lot of kissing, the last two months, trying to forget the softness of Clark’s mouth.

He was still very, very aware of the fall below him, and the fact that even though his weight now fell a little more on Clark's waist, one of the arms holding him had still moved away.

His breathing grew a little deeper as he felt the hand reemerge in his hair, and pulled away just to get a deeper breath from the thin air.

Clark pulled away when Bruce did still looking a little dazed. Happy, but dazed. His hand slipped down, feeling the back of Bruce's neck.

Gentle.

“Okay,” he breathed, “Guess I don't understand.” He smirked.

Bruce frowned at him, though it wasn't an angry one. He swallowed. Clark would feel it under his hand.

“What don't you understand?”

“Thought you didn't like me like that.” He said quietly.

...Bruce finally grimaces, and tries to look away, but there's nowhere to look to but sky.

“...said you didn't have to be jealous of people I didn't like like that.”

“I know, but-- I didn't know that meant-- that meant I meant anything.” He looked down at the world below.

“That's ‘cause you're an idiot,” Bruce said, and leaned up to give him a tentative kiss again

Clark laughed into the second kiss, taking the jab in stride.

...as nice as it was, it would all have to end soon.

He was slowly growing colder in the sky, even when they weren't moving, and even with Clark under him. He was starting to shiver more, even though he refused to complain.

And they… they needed to get down, somehow, and find somewhere safe.

They couldn't go back to school. Not when Bruce had been kidnapped right in the library, in a bastion of the Gotham Elite.

The manor was nearby, but…

...but he didn't know if he could trust Alfred, after this.

But… for right now…

“Come on,” he whispered. “I think I know somewhere we can hide.”

He could feel Bruce shivering even if he didn't complain.

“Okay,” Clark said, grabbing Bruce with both arms again and starting to fly.

“Just tell me where.”

Bruce nodded and sniffed a bit, and told him.

...he told him how to find the little cave entrance, on the side of a hill, with a brick ring built around it to try and stop wandering children from falling in anymore.

It was too small to fly in together, so Bruce slid down first, into the cool, dark cave.

“No one else knows about it down here. Alfred only saw it once. He doesn't know I come back. It should be safe…”

He hoped it was.

Clark flew in behind him.

“... So what happened? I just heard you calling me and you were way down under even the sewers.”

Under the sewers? They must've been underwater almost, at that depth so near the shore.

“...” the cave was dark, despite the stream of sunlight coming down the hole. Bruce had left a box of things down here, though; an oil lantern among them.

He lit it, and relaxed when the wick wasn't too wet to work.

“...I was drugged,” he said again. “...I woke up in the court. And we talked.”

“... What did they say?”

...Bruce remembered the familiar tailor of the suits. The expense of the hideout.

He swallowed.

“...they said my family was one of them. They didn't kill them.”

“... What?” Clark breathed. “Wh-why?”

“...” Bruce knew very well why. But he also was very aware that it was something Kent had previously been defensive about. “...because the rich control the city. Not the ‘riff-raff’. And they want to keep it that way.”

“...and my family's one of the oldest in Gotham.”

(I might join them.)

Clark found himself flying around to hover beside Bruce, eyes catching the light of the lantern in the dark.

“You’re not going to join them, right? They kill people.”

“I know,” Bruce said right away, trying to look up at Clark, but not able to really meet his eyes. “...but if I'm in charge, maybe I can control them.”

The way he'd controlled Tommy. The way he'd held him back.

“Yeah? And how long will that take? To get to the top? Bruce that’d take years. Years of killing people just because they aren’t building things where you want or putting their money where you don’t agree with!”

He bit his cheek. “And what's my other option, Kent?”

“Even if I don't join, people are still going to die-- and I won't be a step closer to stopping it.”

“You’ve got so much you could use to help people, to keep them from dying.” Clark said. “Maybe you can’t fly or shoot fire from your eyes, but you have a name. You have money. Don’t be like every other rich person and throw that money towards your friends. You know that’s what they’re doing. They just pat each other on the back and kill anyone trying to make a difference!”

“You can make a bigger difference then even someone like me can, Bruce.”

“You think I don't know?”

God. He didn't mean for his voice to get so angry it cracked.

“That's what my mother was doing when she died.”

He flung his arm out, out towards the ceiling. “Why do you think we’re in this cave? Because they have names, they have money, and if they don't see me as a threat, maybe I can use what they throw away to fix this stupid city.”

His face was wet.

“You don’t know if they were even telling the truth, Bruce!” Clark said, still floating in front of him. “You know they’re the type of people to say anything that will make you want to join them. And then what? You join them and wade in the blood they spill right along beside them trying to soak it up with a paper towel?”

“You would still be responsible!”

Bruce flinched.

“...I know…” he said softly, head falling down again. “...I'm prepared for that. I just…”

His voice cracked again.

“I knew some of them, Clark. They're my neighbors. They can't… they won't go to jail, even if I find proof, I can't…”

“...I can't think of how to get rid of them..”

… Clark finally landed in front of him.

He started to grasp at straws.

“Can’t you just tell them you’ll stay out of their way? Even though you won’t join them?”

Bruce looked up at him, exhausted. “...if I can't trust them to tell the truth about my parents, why should I trust them with my life when I know I'll be getting in their way?”

“I won't stop getting in their way.”

Control.

Clark was rubbing his hands together.

Nervous.

“I’ll protect you. I’ll be your bodyguard. Not even that Talon guy could scratch me, see?” He smiled, forced, and held out his arms.

Torn shirt and not a scratch underneath.

Bruce reached up and pulled Clark’s hand away from his stomach. Furious.

“He could've disemboweled you!”

“He didn’t!” Clark said. “I felt his claws and they were a little sharp but-- look!”

He tugged off his shirt and pointed at the barely visible red lines.

“It was nothing! I’ve been shot and it’s hurt more! I’ll be fine!”

He was getting desperate.

Begging his friend and pulling at straws to keep Bruce from joining them.

Bruce was staring at the lines, shaking.

“Clark,” he whispered. “I don't even know if I can trust Alfred’s not one of them right now, okay?”

… Clark gripped his shirt, holding it against his chest as he looked down at Bruce.

He had no other excuses.

“Don’t.” Is all he could manage, barely a whisper.

...Bruce felt like the bathroom all over again. Staring up at Clark. Doing something dumb and heart-pounding to try and feel like it made a difference.

“...are you worried about their victims?” he asked, voice soft. “Or about me?”

“Both.” Clark said, then quieter; “You.”

...Bruce lifted his hands and ran his shaking fingers across Clark’s cheek.

“...save the bias for journalism,” he murmured, leaning in for another kiss. “I'm not going right now.”

Clark leaned into Bruce’s hand, reaching up to cup it under his own against his face while leaning down into the kiss.

“I don’t want you to go at all.” He whispered, sounding like he was about to cry. “Don’t do it.”

… But he had no alternatives to suggest.

...Bruce didn't, either. Not if he wanted to stay in Gotham.

He could run, but he was under aged, without access to his parents’ fortune. Underage and famous. He wouldn't get far like that.

He could stay and make Clark be his bodyguard, but he didn't want to be responsible for the pain when one day Clark failed.

And god, he couldn't believe the Owls would let them walk away after that exit. That Bruce could lie and say he wouldn't get in the way would ultimately just buy temporary time.

If he wanted to stay in Gotham right now with Clark, he had to try to appease them somehow.

And they'd only wanted one thing.

(Always. Always, someone wanted something from him.)

So Bruce kissed back. Harder. Hands betraying his nerves as he gripped onto Clark’s unyielding arms.

“They could lock you up,” Bruce said, shaky. “I won't let them…”

Clark breathed heavier into the kiss, trying not to cry as his hands found Bruce's hips and gripped them with a gentleness that betrayed his strength.

“They don't have to know it's me. You said I could hide my face. They-- they don't need to know--”

Begging.

“I was calling your name….” Bruce whispered. “Please, Clark, I can’t lose someone again…”

Clark finally choked out a sob and wrapped his arms around Bruce, pulling him closer and shoving his face into Bruce's neck.

“I can deal with them, I--”

He had nothing left to offer.

…

Bruce just held him. Tight.

...he felt cold and empty inside. But he didn’t let go.

“...I found them. I have to try and control them…”

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince anymore.

Clark cried. He cried into Bruce's neck and held him tight and didn't know what else to say. He didn't know what to do.

So while he had him, he just held onto Bruce and didn't let go.

…

Bruce didn’t know how long they were down there. Or how long Clark cried.

He was numb again. And all he knew was the arms were around him, and he was holding Clark tight as the sun went down, and soon, the only light was his lamplight, without even the flicker of stars.

“...it’s late…” he said, quiet. Tired and getting hungry and sore.

Clark had barely stopped holding him since they got down in the cave.

“... What do you wanna do?” He asked quietly.

Where were they supposed to go?

…

He didn’t know.

“...let’s get food,” he said, “and something to hide your face with. ...And then we should go.”

… Clark sniffed and nodded, finally peeling himself from Bruce as he tugged his tattered shirt back on.

“I'm not leaving you tonight.” He said, wanting to be sure Bruce knew that.

… “Thanks,” Bruce said, voice a little hoarse.

“...I’m going to need your help getting back up the well…”

...he stepped in close again, for a different sort of hug as they got up.

Clark nodded again and put his arms around Bruce, flying him up out of the well and setting him on his feet in the dying grass around it.

...it was still dark out, but not as dark as the cave.

In the far distance, there was a silhouette. Taller than the trees or fields around them. A house: massive and spired.

In front of it were flashing lights. Police cars.

...Bruce watched on with trepidation.

“...they reported me missing,” he said.

“... If Alfred were part of the Owls do you think he would’ve reported you?” Clark asked.

“Why wouldn't he?” Bruce asked, not sure. “There's not a clean cop in Gotham.”

Clark just sighed and took Bruce’s word for it. “... Whaddya wanna do?”

“...interstate gas station?” he suggested.

Food. Something to hide Clark’s face. New shirt.

They didn't need much.

“Okay,” he said. “Want me to fly us there or…?”

He nodded.

“....can't get out of the manor grounds, otherwise…”

Fenced in. Worse than school.

Fenced in everywhere but Kansas.

Clark offered his arms. “Just tell me what direction to go in.”

He would.

It was easy to spot the interstate at night, and the little clusters of buildings that sprung up along it. And--

And it was so different from the daytime flight. Bruce found his breath catching as they flew over the lights of outskirts and the rivers below.

Even Clark looked around as they flew.

“... Never been over a city before.”

But he didn’t linger, not like he had on their way there when Bruce kissed him.

He landed somewhere they wouldn’t be seen by the gas station.

Bruce stripped off his coat once they landed and handed it to Clark, to help cover his torn shirt.

“Can you see okay without your glasses?” he asked.

“I’m a little far-sighted.” Clark said, tugging on the jacket.

It was kinda tight.

He pulled off his glasses and held them out to Bruce, assuming he wanted them for a disguise.

Yeah, he did.

He put on the glasses and relaxed a little.

… “It’ll do, hopefully.”

They looked at least sort of different, and he didn’t think the Court would look at this one random gas station, of all places, right?

Right.

Hopefully.

Clark followed him into the gas station.

The attendant didn’t even look up.

Good.

Bruce grabbed some food and a shirt, and a ski mask (bad winters) and gestured for Clark to pick something to eat out, too.

Clark grabbed a gross gas station hotdog and a soda for himself.

He would pay too with the money Bruce gave him, just in case the guy behind the counter did recognize Bruce.

That was fine.

Routine. Habit.

Bruce just stood behind people while they operated for him.

He wondered if owls did that.

“...wanna eat on the curb?” he asked as they left.

“Sure,” Clark said, walking out with him.

He found a spot that didn’t look as dirty and sat down. Pulled out his hotdog to start eating.

…

“You feelin’ okay?”

…

Bruce opened the sandwich he’d taken from the freezer section and took a bite.

“...I dunno if I’m feeling anything really right now.”

… Clark nodded and took a bite from his hotdog.

“Yeah. I dunno what I’m feelin’ either right now.”

…

Bruce reached over and tried to find Clark's hand. To squeeze it.

“...I'm sorry. Please don't hate me for this.”

Clark looked down at their hands and gave Bruce’s a squeeze back. “I won’t-- I--”

He felt his eyes get hot again and tried not to cry.

“... Just promise me you’ll get out. If you find a chance. Just get out.”

...Bruce nodded.

“...I will. I just…”

…

He curled up a bit again, like he'd done on the bus.

“...All I can think of is leaving Gotham. And I don't want to.”

He'd told Clark he did.

That he was going to run.

But he wasn't going to be chased.

“You can’t do that until you’re 18 anyway, right?” Clark said, still holding his hand.

… “not without permission,” Bruce said, swallowing hard, and glancing back at the way they'd come.

Clark sighed and looked down at his hotdog.

He wasn’t hungry despite everything.

…

“What’d we do after this? Are you going back to them?”

...Bruce nodded.

“...see if I have something they want,” he said.

Just think of it like economics.

“... Do you want me to be there with you? Or do you not think…”

Would they not accept him if the guy who plowed into their court was beside him?

Bruce tried to smile reassuringly, but it fell flat, and he let it wilt.

“...I want you there, yeah, but… I don't think it'll be a good idea.”

… “I’ll be close.” Clark said, face turning serious.

“I’ll be close and if they do anything I’ll see it and come.” His eyes looked over to meet Bruce’s.

…he'd see it, there.

The fear that never left Bruce, dragged to the surface.

The relief that he wouldn't be alone.

He nodded.

“...okay. I trust you.”

Clark smiled, even if it didn't last very long.

He held Bruce's hand while they ate and wondered if his friend would be able to stay himself even after joining the Owls.

(It wouldn't be so bad to stay someone else, as long as no one else died.)

Bruce finished his sandwich. Threw the wrapper away from where they sat.

And he waited, quietly, for Clark to finish, too, watching the stars out here that came out more than in middle Gotham.

...why did it feel like his last night?

He wasn't going to get himself locked in that little holding room forever--

It really did feel like Bruce’s last night, even if in theory they would accept him and… little would change in their day-to-day lives.

When they were both done eating it would take a lot of strength to stand up.

But they both had to. If this was going to have an end. They had to both stand up.

And Clark would have to watch Bruce walk into the fire.

It wasn't Aristotle who said it, but Bruce couldn't remember anyone else right now.

Bravery isn't the lack of fear, but the confrontation of it.

...but all the same, he wished he'd been a little bolder-feeling as Clark brought him back to the entrance of the shaft, and he made his slow descent down, leaving the upperworld behind.

He dusted himself off without much thought once he slid from the broken wall into the spacious chamber of red carpet and pillars, and looked around slowly.

“...hello? Is anyone still here?”

There was no one there when he arrived. The hole hadn’t been cleaned up from Clark’s entrance, but Bruce would know he was being watched.

Bruce could feel it. Prickles on his skin.

Familiar. Being watched.

Bluff. Hands on his sides. Impatient.

“I can hear you breathing. You may as well come out.”

… His bluff went unanswered.

It would be another minute before he would hear footsteps.

Talon walked around the corner to face him.

“Follow me.”

...at least it got him in the light.

...he didn't let himself look back at the hole he'd crawled down through.

He followed Talon.

Talon lead him to a smaller room. Opened the door to a lavish office with wood and soft red carpet that matched the rest of their underground facility. The Judge was sat behind a large desk.

“Ah, he returns.” He said, standing up.

“What, can't use the prodigal son line twice?” Bruce asked, strolling in with his head held higher than before. Eyes sharp again.

He was so fucking aware of the Talon at his back.

“...what you said about my parents. Was it true?”

“Oh I think the prodigal son title is only saved for those who are… eligible in joining our little organization.” The Judge said, and as soon as he was finished the Talon was grabbing Bruce’s neck.

Bruce lunged forward for the Judge’s mask as the word ‘eligible’ died, but was caught mid-air, choking.

One hand tried to pry the fingers off his windpipe in animal desperation.

The other grabbed for the Talon’s mask instead.

The Talon’s mask was cloth, attached to the rest of his suit. Bruce could feel it ripping a little at the clasps by his neck. He pushed Bruce down on the floor and grabbed for one of the sharp throwing knives strapped to his sides.

“I don’t know what it was you had come grab you the first time, but you’re really a fool for coming here again. I’m afraid our offer has expired.” The Judge said, rounding the desk so he could get closer.

But not too close.

Bruce didn't let go.

He needed at least one face.

One way for it to not be everyone he knew--

But he still glared up at the Judge, choking and struggling on the floor.

“Can't negotiate-- if it's fair--huh?” he choked out.

Clark was watching for him.

“You'll wish you had me--”

He’d get one face, the fabric eventually tearing off to reveal… no one he knew.

A nobody, their face generic and plain save for a scar across their lip. They weren’t a part of The Elite.

“Won’t it be a shame when your butler finds you tomorrow morning, bled out in your bathtub from slit wrists?” The Judge said, and Talon pinned down one of Bruce’s arms with his leg.

His heart started to pound a little faster.

The pinned arm was shaking. He'd given his jacket over at the gas station, and though he'd returned the glasses he hadn't taken the jacket back--

The Judge could see the scars on his arm.

Where was Clark?

“That doesn't even make sense for him to find me in the manor--” he said, not sure why. Adrenaline? Fear?

Clark said he'd be watching--

“No? It doesn’t make sense that Bruce Wayne, overwhelmed with all that has happened to him, would run home and--”

The Judge never finished his sentence.

The wall exploded in pieces of wood and drywall and the weight on Bruce was yanked off him.

Oh god. Oh god.

Bruce was up on his feet and running, tackling into the Judge with every one of his 150 pounds, ripping the mask off his face.

The Judge was trying to fight him off, but it was clear he was no fighter, and soon enough Bruce had the mask ripped off.

He would recognize the face behind it. A Galavan, teeth grit and hands reaching to grab Bruce by the throat and get him off or choke him to death himself.

Behind him, through yet another wall Clark had crashed through, there was heat.

And screaming.

He had a face.

And he reeled back and hit Galavan as hard as he could across the face, until his knuckles hurt.

But the screaming stopped him from--

From keeping it up.

He shoved away, still gripping the mask, suddenly thinking of he burnt off their arms.

The Judge wasn’t moving. Alive, but unconscious from Bruce’s onslaught.

But behind him, through another wall into a whole separate room, Clark stood heaving with his hands over his eyes, and a smoking Talon at his feet, unmoving.

Bruce ran towards him. Shaking.

“Clark..?” he whispered, too quiet to even hear himself, scared that there might still be someone around.

He knelt beside Clark, rubbing his back, trying to wrap an arm around him.

Trying to pull his eyes from the Talon’s body.

He suddenly wished he hadn't removed the mask.

Maybe he wouldn't have to see the dead eyes. The same glassy gaze.

The--

The…

Oh god.

“Get up,” Bruce said, voice speaking into a break. “Get up, there's something wrong--”

Clark wore the ski mask Bruce had gotten him. The ski mask and the bandana around his mouth. Around the eyes was burning and still red with cinders as he tried to breathe and get to his feet.

“He won’t-- he won’t hurt you again--” Clark mumbled out.

Rationalizing it in his brain.

Bruce knew what dead bodies looked like.

He grabbed Clark by the shoulder, trying to haul him upright faster. “Shut up, get up, shh--”

The hand was moving.

“He's not dead!”

Clark’s eyes went down to the body.

Moving.

When it looked like that.

His eyes went wide and he felt himself stop breathing.

Before he knew it he was grabbing Bruce again to fly them out.

Bruce didn't protest.

Not at all.

He was already clinging tight to Clark, shaking, with the mask still clutched in one hand against his chest.

“M-manor,” Bruce said. “K-keep your hat on.”

He had to know now, now that plan A was spent.

If Alfred was with them, he needed to know, before Alfred got word of what had happened.

Clark flew.

He flew out of the hole he had made into the room and towards the massive hole he had made from the sewers.

But then he paused.

“I- I should destroy this place…”

Even if he didn’t know how.

Bruce turned, shaking, though not with cold.

“We don't kill,” he breathed, gripping Clark tighter. “We’re not killers.”

Clark looked at him, mouth tight, and nodded.

He flew them out of the hole.

Out of the sewer.

They went to the Manor.

...Bruce had stopped shaking by the time they touched down.

The police cars were gone, now.

It was late in the night.

Everything inside him had gotten carved out and scooped from him, leaving a bare shell that didn't even feel scared anymore as he rang the manor doorbell.

“Don't let him see you right away. Not until we know,” he said numbly, still holding the smooth mask between his fingers.

“Okay.” Clark said quietly, dropping Bruce on his feet and then flying away and off to the side.

Bruce would tell him if it was fine to come down. And if things started going south… he would be there.

Bruce took a deep breath and waited.

...a few moments later, the door opened.

An older man with a thin layer of hair on the top of his head and a thinning mustache opened the door--

--and nearly fell to his knees, pulling Bruce into a hug, to complete shock on Bruce's face.

“Master Bruce! You've had me worried sick!”

Clark waited where he was, hovering up and to the right out of immediate sight.

(No one ever looked up.)

He wanted to believe Alfred was genuine, if not because that sounded very sincere but also… he didn’t want Bruce to lose his guardian too.

Bruce didn't think he could handle losing another person.

He held stiff in the hug until Alfred pulled away, asking, “where have you been?”

“...I needed to get out,” Bruce says, exhaustion in his voice despite everything. “...and I found something. Do you know what it is…?”

Alfred seemed a little taken aback by the question, but was listening. “That isn't… an explanation, Master Bruce, for what caused this wild goose chase…”

But Bruce ignored him and stretched his arm out first.

Letting Alfred see the cracked mask.

… Clark wasn’t sure if this was a safe way to tell. Alfred could lie. He could lie and say he didn’t have any idea what it was.

Even so Clark paid attention to Alfred heartbeat.

It sometimes sounded different when people lied, and sometimes he could tell.

Only sometimes.

Maybe it wasn't. But at least Bruce could see Alfred’s face. Could watch his pupils dilate and the sternness of his mouth.

(And Alfred’s heart rate would not change.

It was already beating like Bruce’s. Like it was already in a waking nightmare.)

“It-- it appears to be a replica of one of your father’s artifacts, Master Bruce, but what does that have to do with--”

(Bruce lost his grip on the mask.)

Oh no.

Oh no oh no oh no.

Despite being told to stay out of sight Clark found himself starting to lower down whether he caught Alfred’s attention or not.

“Bruce…”

He did catch Alfred’s attention.

And Alfred caugh Bruce’s arm, tugging him behind himself defensively and his other arm reaching for something in his suit.

“Who’s there?!”

Bruce grabbed the elbow of the arm in Alfred’s suit, trying to not let him pull it out.

“It's fine! He's a friend!”

Clark stopped where he was, putting his hands up in a show of surrender.

Not that flying eight feet off the ground really helped him appear harmless.

Or the ski mask.

...Alfred was indeed staring right at him, floating eight feet off the ground in a ski mask.

...but somehow, his heartbeat slowed a little at Bruce’s insistence, and he released whatever he'd been trying to take from inside his suit.

“...you always did have the most interesting taste in friends,” Alfred said, straight-faced.

“...” he looked back at the sixteen year old still grabbing onto his arm.

Even with something like this, it seemed like a long time since Bruce let himself be touched.

“...very well. Both of you. Inside. I want some kind of explanation before bed tonight, but we can't very well do it out here.”

… Clark hovered a little lower.

“Is-- is this okay?” He asked uneasily.

Did he trust Alfred?

Bruce still looked like he might shake apart.

But he nodded.

He hadn't seen anything but confusion in Alfred’s eyes at the mask.

The only other way to tell would be hard evidence that was surely hidden away or-- or mind reading, maybe.

But right now he just wanted to fall over.

“... Okay.”

Clark reached up to pull off the ski mask and bandana.

“Sorry for the startle, sir.”

Alfred’s eyes softened a little when he saw the youth under the mask.

“...nothing worse than what I've already been through tonight, young man. Now get inside, the both of you.”

He ushered them in, and locked the door behind them.

Clark finally touched down beside Bruce as they walked inside and looked around.

Even the entrance was huge and ridiculous and nothing he had ever seen before.

“Wow.”

There was a chandelier in the entryway, flanked by two large split-section marble staircases. There were bright, long carpets and healthy plants on podiums, growing long and beginning to blossom for spring.

This was where Bruce lived, whenever he went home for a long, lonely break.

But Alfred ushered them off to the side, rather than up the split staircase, into a little wooden side door that led to a modest kitchen. It was more modern than the entryway, with industrial sinks and stoves, but Alfred simply used one small burner to put a kettle of water on it, and gestured for Clark and Bruce to take a seat at a small wooden table in the side of the room, where Alfred usually ate.

There were only two chairs. Never any guests to fill them.

“Now,” Alfred said, starting to prepare two mugs for tea. “What is going on? Why aren't you at school?”

Clark glanced over at Bruce, then to Alfred.

They were trusting him, right?

“He-- I don’t think he can go back to school, sir.”

Alfred’s face grew a little more grave, and Bruce knew what he was thinking, and it curled inside him.

“I didn't fight anyone,” he mumbled, indignant. Hands clenched. “I found the Court of Owls.”

The graveness left Alfred’s face for the concern of someone who thought an argument had been long, long over, and who'd just had it opened up again at the worst possible moment. “Master Bruce, we’ve been over this, the court isn't real.”

Clark jumped to his friend's defense.

“They are! We've been digging into it and then they popped out of nowhere and kidnapped him! They threatened him! Tried to kill him!”

Alfred watched him, on one hand accepting that this boy had been flying a few minutes ago. On the other hand…

“Master Bruce?”

…

Without making eye contact, Bruce started to tug up his shirt sleeves.

Tug down his collar.

He had freshly-formed bruises ringing around the outside of his arms from where Talon had grappled him and held him still-- and two distinct finger marks on his neck, from where he'd been grabbed and shoved down on the floor, when they'd wanted to cut his wrists.

“Gracious--” Alfred was already leaning in to hover and get a closer look.

“... He's not making it up.” Clark said, quieter this time. He watched as Alfred inspected the bruises on Bruce's body.

“I heard him calling for help. They have a huge thing--” he gestured with his hands, “--under Gotham. Like a big underground mansion, and they tried to recruit him, and, so, I busted him out but we knew they'd just come back for him so--” He was rambling now.

“Please,” Alfred said, looking away from Bruce, holding a gentle hand to Clark. “Calm yourself. You’ve both had a long night.”

...he slips up and away to fill the two mugs with hot water, and sets them before the two boys steep.

He has no chair to sit on, but so he leans forward on the table, frowning, and looks between them both.

“Tell me everything, from the beginning.”

...and so Bruce does.

How they'd picked up looking for the owls again after the murder in fall. How Bruce had been on his way to the library when he was knocked unconscious. How he woke in a room with people wearing those masks, inviting him to culminate his interest, that they'd locked him away to ‘think about it’ and he'd called for Clark, who came--

But that's where his ability to keep his voice steady stops.

“They said… they said my parents were one of them.”

And he looks at the mask, still lying on the kitchen table between him and Clark, where Alfred had set it after picking it up and ushering them in.

Clark fell quiet and let Bruce do all the talking. When his voice started to shake Clark moved a hand out and…

… and he wanted to take Bruce’s hand and squeeze it, but he didn’t want to do that in front of someone he didn’t know. Boys didn’t do that with one another.

So instead he put his hand gently on Bruce’s shoulder.

He didn’t think to ask if Alfred knew if Bruce’s parents were or not, he didn’t know how long he had been around, but he wished someone could tell Bruce they weren’t at least for his friend’s peace of mind.

Under Alfred’s gaze, Bruce--

Bruce tugged away from Clark’s hand. Like he'd been burnt.

Alfred didn't find anything strange about that, even though he wished he could.

But he didn't try to touch Bruce either as he knelt down in front of him, face stern.

“Your parents would have loathed any sort of group such as that.”

“You recognized the mask.”

“And I can think of a million reasons why it is a coincidence,” Alfred said. “And surely you could as well, if you weren't exhausted and strung-out right now. So we will forgive that, won't we?”

Ah. Okay. Even that was too much, he guessed.

Clark pulled his hand away and set it in his lap, his chest feeling tight and his stomach turning.

“They probably said it so you’d join.” Clark offered, hoping it helped some.

Alfred gave Clark a small, approving nod in thanks.

Bruce was just trying to keep the knot down in his chest.

“...right,” he said, as if it hurt to say anything. The doubt had still been put in his mind. “...We hid to find out what to do. And we went back after a while.”

“Why in the world would you do that?” Alfred asked, voice soft, but accepting the continuation of the story.

“... Didn’t… think they’d stop trying to recruit him.” Clark added, his hands folded and resting in his lap.

“And?” Alfred said.

“...they stopped,” Bruce said softly. “But they might be coming after us, now.”

...Alfred could be a target too, if he wasn't with the owls.

Even if all they really wanted was to make him find Bruce and I looked like a suicide.

“We might’ve made them kinda mad.” Clark admitted, then cleared his throat.

He had, really. Bruce had just called for him, it was his fault they had multiple huge holes in their hideout now. And… whatever it was that had happened to Talon.

He thought he had killed him, and he went into the situation being okay with that if it meant saving his friend, but after what he saw…

…

(Bruce wondered if it was the first time Clark saw a human body)

(If he knew what it smelled like)

Alfred watched them with a grim face, and said, “I see.”

He sighed stood again, placing his hands on their shoulders. One on Clark’s, and the other on Bruce's, who twitched but didn't pull away.

“I'll be making some phone calls,” Alfred said. “Master Kent, I can't thank you enough for saving Bruce, but you've also put yourself in danger, unfortunately, in the process--”

“They don't know it was him,” Bruce said softly, and Alfred stopped speaking to look at him again. “...Galavan called him a ‘thing.’ A thing I summoned. They don't know.”

It still hurt. Being called a ‘thing’.

“Flying ‘n smashing through walls will do that. Heh.” Clark said, and he could feel a piece of himself die.

“I covered my face up so they didn’t know it was me.”

Alfred still wore a bit of a frown. Concerned. “Are you certain you could not be identified?”

“...we haven't even talked for two months,” Bruce admitted quietly. “...they don't have a reason to think he'd suddenly help me.”

Ah. Yeah. There was that too.

“... Yeah,” he admitted too. “I haven’t been working on the Court of Owls research for a long time now. Haven’t been talkin’ or… anythin’. Don’t think they would think I’d help, maybe. ‘N I tried to be as weird as possible so they didn’t think it was--”

Ugh.

Shit.

He rubbed the back of his head.

“So they wouldn’t think a boring kid from Kansas could do any ‘a that.”

….

Alfred gave him a nod of approval.

“That was wise of you. Ignorance is often the best defense,” he said.

He removed his hand from Bruce and clapped Clark’s shoulders instead. “You've done more than could have ever been expected of you, tonight. Thank you for that. You can leave the rest to me.”

And there was something steely and familiar--like Bruce’s--in Alfred's eyes.

A butler, but still someone with a hard will, ready to defend his ward. And confident of doing it.

“For now, what may be best is if you continue to play on their ignorance, and make it seem as if nothing has changed. Do you understand?”

“It was Bruce’s idea…” Clark said with a little smile.

(Hide your face. Be so alien they don’t look for a human.)

“Um, yeah, but--”

He looked at Bruce.

“I said I’d stay with him.”

Bruce’s eyes fell down, and he couldn't meet Clark’s gaze again, like he knew what was coming.

“That's very noble,” Alfred said. “But it may place you at greater risk, which I'm sure is the last thing Master Bruce wants. Go back to school. Pretend you've just gotten locked out of your dorm and came back late. Bruce and I will spend the night in the safe room and be out of Gotham by morning.”

“O-Out of Gotham?”

Clark felt something hard in his throat.

Like he was just told he would never see Bruce again.

Bruce said nothing.

“There has just been an attempt on his life,” Alfred said, still calm. Like this was normal. Like it made sense. “It is only prudent we go lie low a while where another cannot be easily made.”

Clark’s bright blue eyes were bouncing between the two of them.

“But… you’ll be back?”

Alfred looked like he wanted to say no--

“Yes,” Bruce said. Not looking up. His voice was still firm. Hands clasped tightly together in his lap. “...if nothing else, I’ll come see you in Kansas. Okay?”

Clark looked at him like he was about to cry again.

“D-Do you know when?”

Alfred had stepped back, looking between the two of them, unsure.

“...sometime in summer?” Bruce asked.

...he looked up at Alfred.

Alfred looked back, eyes dark and sad again.

“I’m sure that can be made possible, Master Bruce,” he said softly.

Clark wiped at his eyes even though he hadn’t started crying yet.

“... Guess you can’t tell me where it is you’re plannin’ to go, huh?”

“We will be in contact with your parents at least, if it seems safe,” Alfred reassured him.

Clark took a deep breath.

“Okay.”

He sounded like he was trying to gear himself up for something, and he was.

Gearing himself up to leave.

He pushed off the counter to stand out of his chair.

Hovered there a moment before looking at Bruce.

“You’ll yell if something happens?”

Bruce snorted, head still hung.

“Yeah. I will.”

….he was still being protected.

“...take care of Harvey. He’s not going to be doing okay.”

“... What should I tell him?”

“...you don’t know what happened with me. You were taking a break from studying and fell asleep. Lost track of time,” Bruce said. “...the news will pick up the rest.”

Clark always got the news.

Another deep breath.

“Okay.”

…

He wanted to hug him, but judging how he reacted from just the touch with Alfred around he figured that wouldn’t work out well.

“G-... Good luck.” Was all he could manage before starting to walk out of the kitchen.

...Alfred glanced back at Bruce, still quiet and head-hung, and said, softly, “I’ll show you to the doorway.”

He followed Clark out of the kitchen.

Clark stopped a little so Bruce could catch up, but still didn’t touch him as they walked out of the kitchen and back towards the front door.

And even then he didn’t reach for him, even if he wanted to.

“... You’d better call.” He managed, voice shaking.

That was fine.

Clark wasn’t Bruce.

Alfred had seen the boy reach for physical comfort.

So he reached out, instead, placing a gentle hand on Clark’s back.

“We will,” he said. “And he will be fine. And he wouldn’t have gotten this far without your help. So please: take care of yourself a while, now.”

“What you can do is very impressive. But you can’t be older than Bruce. Be careful out there.”

Clark cleared his throat and nodded.

He would try.

…

He didn’t look at Alfred or the manor as he stepped forward and pushed off, a burst of air being the only thing that broke the silence as he flew back to school.

Clark listened to Bruce’s heartbeat get quieter and quieter.

...it would finally, fully fade as he returned to Gotham Academy, far out of the three-mile limit of his hearing.

…

Alfred would shuffle Bruce into the saferoom. Phone the police. Inform them that Bruce had been located. That there had, indeed, been another kidnapping and it seemed, this time, a threat on his life. That he was taking matters now on his own.

He gave a description of a man matching Galavan, but expected nothing to come out of it.

He called the school to berate them shortly of letting Bruce be kidnapped on their grounds. That Bruce would not be returning after such incompetence.

...he called the airport, and purchased two tickets, and packed their bags.

By morning, as promised, they would be gone, leaving behind everything in Bruce’s dorm room and a sweep of press activity come the breaking day.

The hardest part was trying to act like nothing had happened.

He had to lie to Harvey, spin the story he had fallen asleep and got locked out like Bruce had suggested, but had no idea what happened to him.

Lying to the press was somehow… harder.

Maybe it was because of peer pressure, or maybe because he wanted to be a journalist someday, but having to pretend he didn’t know and even telling them he hadn’t spoken much to Bruce in over two months was hard.

He was crying less about a broken heart and more through worry over what might have happened to his friend. Clark knew that if he yelled now, wherever he was, he wouldn’t be able to hear him.

But that didn’t stop him from listening anyway.

…

He helped Harvey as much as he could, tried to be some sort of support for him and at least help him academically. It was just them now. The room was empty. And quiet. And he hated it.

But he just had to breathe and get through it. Get to summer.

Look forward to that phone call or visit.

Harvey wasn’t doing great in the aftermath. Bruce hadn’t been wrong.

He’d been… happy, earlier in the year. Reserved as it was. He’d been doing okay with Bruce, and Tommy, and getting to know Clark-- and having three whole friends.

Now, the two he he’d had for almost three years were both stripped away in just a few months time, and summer was coming.

And he had no time to let himself break down.

Where Clark cried, Harvey grew distant and shut down anything that wasn’t the polite tour guide who showed new students their rooms and introduced families to a place that would beat their children for making noise after-hours.

…

It was a good two weeks before the media attention died down.

…

He’d go back to Kansas without hearing a word from either Bruce or Alfred, and start the summer alone.

#let me know if i need more warnings #i don't BELIEVE i need a tommy warning but... every time he's even momentarily remembered i feel like I need one otl #superbat #80s gay superbat #i was going through some stuff sorry for disappearing #rp logs

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pl-panda · 4 years

Text

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 17

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 17

------

The altercation with three footballers had several outcomes. First, Marinette was no longer treated as someone weak. Quite the opposite. The smarter part of the school now had a healthy dose of respect for the small french girl when they saw the camera recording Chloé ‘leaked’. The more sport-inclined part of the faculty was devastated by the loss of the three star players, for which they blamed Marinette.

Erica washed her hands about the whole incident, declaring that the poor souls must’ve just rashly reacted to the gossip going around the school. It still hurt her position a bit. Chloé and Allegra masterfully countered any of her minor lies and started spreading gossip about the head cheerleader instead. It was turning into a cold war, where neither side could get any advantage over the other for long.

The initial background search turned clean on both of them. Lila’s mother was an orphan, raised in one of the covenants in the mountains before studying law and politology. She now headed the French Embassy, after previously working in Germany, Belgium, and Spain. Lila’s father was a mystery and his name was not given at any point. The Italian girl often changed schools. Usually, she didn’t stay even one semester there. Lack of any family and trusted friends made her move around with her mother often. Boarding schools were too expensive for a then-starting diplomat. At some point, Lila started to thrive in each new school. Her files were nothing but praise since then.

Erica Layton was born Erica Blake, then Boyle when her mother married a wealthy CEO. Before, she ran a smaller Blake Industry, which merged with Boyle enterprises after the wedding. When Mr. Boyle was shot during one of the Two-face’s robberies, Erica’s mother started to date again. Until last summer, when she married a star baseball player, Lance Layton. The business was clean-ish and there was nothing that could be used against them really. There were some cases of inner nepotism and a bit of discrimination, but it wasn’t even worth a real investigation. Erica herself was truly a mean character, but her good looks, influential family, and good grades made her the “Gotham Academy Golden Princess.”

Damian wanted to get his vengeance. He tried hacking, but Barbara stopped him. It wasn’t as if anything he got that way could’ve been used against her and forging evidence was wrong, and would only hurt them in the long run. Marinette stopped him from going after them as Black Cat, which only agitated him further. He hated the feeling of powerlessness. Well, he loved Marinette more so he wouldn’t go against her orders.

Sabine also did her best, but she was similarly blocked by Barbara, who went as far as to lock the Bat-computer. A woman of many skills, Sabine was still unable to beat Oracle at hacking. She did make sure to always be available and near the school to intervene if any of the teachers tried to punish Mari unfairly. She was doing the same for Chloé, who she slowly came to treat as her child too, just like Cassandra.

Allegra tried to get her mother involved, but Catherine Hamilton-Kane was a woman of high morals and would not use her influence to fight dirty games. “That’s how corruption took seed,” she declared. And Gotham Academy, as a private school, was beyond her reach anyway. It still gave Allegra enough power to at least counter Erica and her mother, who was at best negligent and at worst co-operating with her daughter.

All in all, Marinette and Chloé settled into some form of routine. The school was much better than Françoise Dupont. It was bigger, which meant Lila had a harder time setting up her court. Erica’s power also suffered a major hit when the ‘outcasts’, as the blonde witch called them, took a bit more active role in the events going around. Claude, who was one of the lead actors in the theatre club made sure that no one aligned with Lila or Erica could join. Felix started to slowly push Erica from politics, engaging in subtle games at every front. Even Jon helped by taking over the school newspaper. The guy that was running it previously happily handed over the reins.

There were few minor dramas at school, like the Witch Club, haunting at the theatre, or the weird carnival. Damian and Marinette didn’t pay it much attention. Claude dealt with the ghost quite easily and met Katherine Karlo, who became his favorite actress ever since. Professor Trent was against including her, but when the usually cheery boy threatened him to quit and take over half of the crew, the discussion was over rather swiftly.

Of course, akumas didn’t make it easier. In fact, they were the biggest holdback. Whenever Chloé and Damian did something too drastic, Lila, Erica, or someone associated with them would become an akuma and then their work was in ruin. Every akuma on their side would earn them ‘pity points’ and serve as ammunition against the Waynes’ front.

The investigation proved fruitless. Sure, akumas could’ve been traced, but they actually made sure to never come from the same spot. Sometimes, it was a rundown building, other times a flat over a crowded restaurant; a hotel; a public toilet at the bus station. Adrien was moving and making sure not to fall for what got his father. They had no idea how he could be so stealthy. The cameras never saw anyone even similar to him at any of those places. Sabine was now running the rooftops as Shadowbat, not wanting the press to associate the Miraculous team with Batfamily too much for now. She had been using her old assassin suit (still fitting perfectly) with a bat logo on her chest as her outfit. She mostly just worked with Cass. Black Bat and Shadowbat. They were probably most feared of all dynamic duos in Gotham. Silent, ruthless, precise, undefeated.

Of course, peace couldn’t really last forever. About six weeks since Christmas, when Marinette’s birthday was closing in, the first real hiccup appeared.

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

Just before lunch, Marinette’s phone vibrated, as well as several other people’s in the class. When the bell rang, she went to check it. From past experience, she knew that mass messages to students were usually bad. It had Erica and Lila plastered all over it. It was a link to the tabloid article. It opened with a photo of Damian and Allegra, sitting in a coffee shop and drinking coffee. She only read a bit of the content, far enough to reach the first quote of GA student, before storming out. People were giving her pitying looks as she walked toward the cafeteria. She didn’t want to do anything rash until she spoke to Chloé and Allegra. That was a new kind of low for the Mean Girls front. They even dared to attach a message of fake condolences to Marinette.

Unknowingly, the Bluenette was channeling Damian the whole way, making people jump out of her path. Nobody ever saw the Angel (not that anyone would call her that within Damian’s hearing range, or where one of his multiple informants could inform him) so angry. Suddenly, everyone remembered how she took three football players in less than twenty seconds without getting more than a light bruise on her neck.

The cafeteria was completely silent the moment she entered. Everyone expected her to rage at Damian, who was waiting next to the doors to intercept her immediately. To their utter and infinite surprise, she instead grabbed his hand into hers and squeezed tightly. A small smile made its way on her face and Damian smirked too. Nobody (but the ‘outcasts’) had any idea what that was about. Didn’t he cheat on her recently, or for a long time?

The two walked past the baffled crowd toward where Allegra and Chloé sat, already waiting for them. There were no words exchanged between the four, but the two blondes nodded like it was a signal.

Marinette and Damian jumped onto the table in a synchronized show of grace and agility. Everyone stared at them.

“Hi!” Marinette smiled. Next to her, her boyfriend was glaring at certain people in the crowd. “First, I wanted to thank all of you who actually meant it when they gave me their condolences. You had good intentions, even if they were completely misplaced.”

“Tt. I did not cheat on my Habibti. Not with anyone, and especially not with my cousin!” Damian growled at the silent cafeteria. They didn’t dare to respond vocally, but some lowered their heads in shame. While the relation between Bruce Wayne and Mayor Kane was not that well-known, they didn’t hide the connection. “The first cousin once removed to be precise.”

“Point is, the article is full of fake news and we’ll be dealing with it later. Still, I appreciate your effort.” She smiled at those who weren’t angry. Then, her face turned to the cold mask and she channeled Damian. “Now onto those who mocked us or tried to use it to break me and Damian apart. It won’t work. Stop. Don’t. I can’t see any situation where we would break up, and even then, there is no chance either of us would lower ourselves to dating any of you. I trust Damian with my life. I’m his and he’s mine!” She declared.

“I’m hers and she’s mine.” Damian echoed. They raised their joint hands before turning to one another and sharing a quick kiss. Many people cooed at the romanticism of the scene.

Erica and Lila were on the verge of a stroke. This was harder than either anticipated and they were, in fact, slowly losing more than they gained.

A black butterfly entered through the window behind Marinette. As soon as she saw it, she acted without thinking and grabbed it. Everyone looked at her in panic. They saw the muscles in her forearm tighten and after a short moment a bit of some dark substance leaked through her fingers. When she opened her hand, the butterfly was turned into a gooey mess.

“Not today, Hawkass Junior.” She seethed. Then, she left to clean her hand with Allegra and Chloé following her. She rarely was left entirely alone, especially at school. As they walked, people gave her a loud applause.

--------

“Why did it not work!?” Adrien raged in his hideout. Next to him, Nooroo was floating with his head bowed.

“She… she touched it only with her skin. There was nothing to akumatize… master.” The little creature added, forced by the magic of the brooch.

“But why didn’t the akuma pass through her fingers!?” The hero-turned-villain seethed.

“She… She damaged it before it could…”

“I paid a handsome sum of money to have that article published! It was supposed to either break them up or give me my own Scarlet Moth!” Adrien stomped around his hideout. “Now it’s all for naught! I want their Miraculouses! I want my family back!”

Another figure walked from behind him and pulled him into a hug. In the darkness, the only visible details were her silhouette and a predatory smile on her face.

“Don’t worry. We will get what we want soon enough.”

“Did you decipher it?”

“Almost. There are several symbols on it that I have no idea what they mean.”

“Hm… I think I might have an akuma just for the occasion. It will require some setting-up though.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it. Meanwhile…” She said, her grin widening

“No. Get out of here, Witch.” He snapped.

“Spoilsport.” She muttered and walked away. Adrien felt anger bubbling inside him. Someone was so getting akumatized that day.

-------

Masterlist // Next

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tev-the-random · 4 years

Text

What it Ursa took her children with her? - Pt.2

As we were saying:

Little over year has passed since the family arrived in Hira’a, and fateful news gets to them: Ozai remarried. His new wife is someone who is honoured to marry the Firelord and doesn’t mind the fact that his head is so deep up his own arse- anyway, and they are expecting a child, who is to be the Firelord’s legitimate heir.

Azula’s hopes and dreams are shattered. At age ten, she is quite literally being replaced in her beloved father’s life. It’s like she’s never even existed, and she can’t help but wonder what she did wrong.

Zuko is also upset, of course. All those years when Ozai told him he was unfit and worthless come flooding back. But somehow, he already expected things to turn out like this. Unlike Azula, he wasn’t so deeply feeding on hopes that things would go back to normal. He sees it more as a situation that was out of everyone’s control.

He convinces Azula it’s not her fault, and these kids will still be trying to understand and defend their father later down the road. There must be a reason for all of this, right? They start thinking of a reasonable scenario…

Ursa just feels sorry for the poor woman who has to deal with Ozai now.

So we get a timeskip: about three years came and went. Zuko and Azula – treated as kids and not as weapons – lead a peaceful and happy life whenever they’re not thinking of their father and everything they could be doing out there.

They have become known local troublemakers in their spare time. Kids know better than to challenge them, people know not to leave flammable goods out in the open – a strict policy regarding fireworks has been established after a chaotic incident – and failure to keep an eye on them this one time led to… well, let’s just say that the town is still unsure of whether or not they’re is being haunted by evil spirits.

They aren’t allowed anywhere near Forgetful Valley, but bold of you to assume they never tried. In-jokes arise.

‘No, I’m serious: that tree’s face looked exactly like yours, Zuzu. You really should befriend it,’ Azula mocks, remembering a particularly ugly tree they encountered in their adventure.

‘Sorry, I wasn’t looking at it. I was busy looking for whoever it was that asked you,’ Zuko retorts. ‘Since Forgetful Valley has all the kinds of crazy stuff.’

‘Maybe we should go back and look for your impulse control, then.’

‘None of you are going back in there,’ Ursa reprehends. ‘It was very irresponsible of you. Forgetful Valley is a dangerous place, you could have gotten hurt!’

‘Your mother is right, you know?’ Noren comments. ‘I’ve been to that jungle before, and it’s definitely not a playground. But I swear…’ He makes a dramatic pause. ‘I once saw Ursa’s sense of humour in there.’

The kids burst out laughing while Ursa sighs. ‘Since you can find such amazing things in the valley, dear, why don’t you go back there and find yourself actual funny jokes? I’m sure my sense of humour will be around the same corner.’

*More laughter*

(IDK, I write crappy comedy, ok?)

They still have a bit of a hard time making friends. I wouldn’t say they are shy, but they definitely have a talent to say the wrong things at the wrong times, and it’s hard to make deep connections. Sure, they would play with other kids from time to time, but in the end, Zuko and Azula are each other’s best friend.

They’ve cleared an area by the beach that any Hira’a resident knows to stay away from when they’re training.

Azula discovered a great passion for theatre. Not only are her acting skills fantastic, she also seems to be naturally aware of what makes a good scene. People say she’s Noren’s Little Assistant.

She hates being called Noren’s Little Assistant. She would much rather be called Ursa’s Little Star, because goddamn is she a good actress and she needs everyone to know that.

Zuko is more of a plant-lover guy. Unfortunately, he hasn’t inherited his grandmother’s green thumb, and despite Ursa’s best efforts to teach him, it seems like everything he touches dies.

He has grown to show a way with animals, however. Any variety of frogs and toads love him; lizards of all kinds are attracted to him like he’s a magnet; furry animals big and small adore him and any type of bird-like creature seems to think he is the best human being in existence. But his favourite animals are still the turtleducks.

Back in the palace, Iroh eventually learns of Ozai’s bullshit and how he got the throne in the first place. And you know what? The time has come for Iroh to draw a line in the sand. He confronts his little brother, who confronts him back by telling him that, should he try to tell anyone in the Fire Nation the truth – that Ozai was a top-grade traitor who actually had no right to the throne –, no one would believe him. Since his brother won’t be sensible, Iroh decides that’s it: he’s fucking out.

Now a fugitive from the Fire Nation, he somehow winds up owning a lovely traveling tea shop called the Jasmin Dragon. Most people don’t even suspect he is the fearful Dragon of the West, because he’s just so nice?

You can bet he serves blends of tea from all across the nations.

The tea shop is also a good cover up for his exchanges with the Order of the White Lotus. He gives and receives information, and does his best to help villages to either defend themselves or evacuate during Fire Nation attacks.

One day a member of the White Lotus travels to Hira’a for one reason or another and finds Zuko and Azula. This person then sends a letter to Iroh.

Iroh comes to Hira’a to visit the family. He’s glad to see they’re ok, even if he can’t stay for too long. But long enough for some Quality Time – these kids have grown so much!

Iroh doesn’t know of Ursa’s part in Azulon’s assassination, and only assumes she knew of Ozai’s plan. But now, it’s time that her children learned a couple of things, and he is willing to teach them, so that when the time arrives for them to meet their destiny, they should be able to choose wisely and face whatever comes their way. So he asks the children to accompany him in his travels.

Ursa doesn’t want to let them go. They’re children, they should be here living a peaceful life, not meeting some grand, dangerous destiny! What if something horrible happened to them?

Iroh understands the pain of losing a child. He doesn’t want to make Ursa spend her time worrying about losing two, so he respects her decision and soon leaves the town.

But the siblings are not about to just sit here when they know they’re destined for something greater. What incredible knowledge did their uncle hold? Did their father have something to do with this? They always knew there was more to their fate than just living in Hira’a for the rest of their lives, and this is their chance; it’s now or never.

Zuko and Azula are about to sneak out and follow Iroh when Noren spots them. But instead of trying to stop them – he is well aware that he can’t – he gives them two masks and some advice about never forgetting who they were.

Why yes, I am saying that they eventually take the masks and become partners in crime, Zuko as the Blue Spirit and Azula as the Red Spirit, because parallels.

They catch up with their uncle and adventures and shenanigans issue as Zuko, Azula and Iroh cross the Earth Kingdom.

Now imagine this trio: two of the most awkward firebending teenagers travelling with their old tea-loving uncle, who spits proverbs like he’s made of them. The possibilities for both hilarious and heart-warming moments are endless.

Iroh thinks himself a matchmaker. Whenever he thinks he sees some romance going on, he encourages his nephew or niece to make a move. His flaming cupid arrows do more damage than good, yet he only has good intentions at heart. Teens all around the kingdom encourage you to stop, sir.

Their new life is even more humbling than in Hira’a, since they are constantly travelling. But they manage, and they know their uncle is nothing but wise… even if Azula is still quite arrogant and manipulative, and Zuko is impatient and hot-headed, which can lead to a lot of conflict.

Iroh teaches them both how to create and redirect lightning. Zuko is better at redirecting than Azula. Creating it, on the other hand, is a bit more complicated, and both of them get their fair share of explosions while learning. Neither of them really gets a hang of it – although Azula is better at it than Zuko, that’s not saying much – for they still have a lot of identity-related turmoil inside them that won’t let them grasp the energy.

Guess who else teaches them? Other members of the White Lotus. Both Zuko and Azula get some swordsmanship Skills™ from Piandao, some different (and somewhat unwillingly taught) firebending technics from Jeong-Jeong and a lot of things from Bumi, including but not limited to: creative thinking, the art of patience, strategic planning, dealing with pirates and a surprising amount of rocks-related knowledge.

Bumi adopted Zuko and Azula and gave himself the role of Second Uncle. You cannot convince me otherwise.

So one day, little over a year after the siblings joined Iroh, they wind up in a city where this big circus is performing. Uncle Iroh decides to take his niece and nephew to see it. And oh, aren’t they surprised by who they see performing?

Even though Ty Lee was essentially the only one between her sisters to befriend Azula – and consequentially, the only one to periodically spend time in the palace with her –, Zuko and Iroh still have a hard time distinguishing her from the six other girls who look exactly like her, uncertainly calling her all different names before Azula snaps ‘you idiots, that’s Ty Lee!’.

The acrobat is so glad to see her friend again, because damn: it’s been nearly four years since they last saw or even heard from each other! And Zuko, I thought you were dead? This is such a neat reunion, there’s so much for them to talk about! And sure, the circus has to leave soon and so do the siblings, but Ty Lee reassures them that, if they ever needed her, she wasn’t hard to find. This isn’t the last we’ll see of Ty Lee.

Azula doesn’t let it show, but she resents Ty Lee a little bit for choosing to abandon her noble life. She really wishes she could have had a choice.

Uncle Iroh tells the siblings stories about the war that would have some day mesmerized them. But now, his opinions about those events and what he did as a prince general have changed; that, along with what the family sees in their journey – all the horrors brought to innocent people – gives Zuko and Azula a new perspective on what they used to think was a greater good. It will still take a while for Azula to understand that no, these people are no lesser than her and for Zuko to understand why any of that matters.

Iroh eventually tells them the truth about Azulon’s death. Or at least, what he knows of it: their father killed Azulon, banished them, took the throne by force and planned to gain more power at the expense of everyone. This is a lot to take in, and the siblings don’t quite believe it.

After four years thinking about it, Zuko and Azula decided to take their mother’s early words – they went to Hira’a to be safe – and formulate what for them was a reasonable scenario. They believe that Ozai never actually wanted any of this to happen. The whole family had to have been in danger, be it due to some political, social or personal threat, and Ozai wanted to take it all by himself to protect them. So he sent his wife and children away, concocted a plan with Azulon to cover for them and, once Azulon died and left him the throne, remarried to keep appearances. To Zuko and Azula, this makes perfect sense. And they thoroughly convince themselves of that.

They initiate an argument, thinking that Iroh is jealous of Ozai.

Their uncle sees these children are starting to stray from their path, but he knows this is a necessary journey for them. They will never be able to deal with reality unless they face it.

The siblings leave Iroh, planning to head straight to the Fire Nation capital and find out what really happened. Maybe now that they are older, it would be a perfect time to come back home; they surely could defend themselves from any threats.

Of course, they’ll be very disappointed to know that Ozai was just a bitch and never actually cared for any of them.

I don’t have a full formed idea about how their reencounter with their father would go down, but I say Ozai would officially banish both his children from the Fire Nation for trying to cause a commotion – which could easily be perceived as a threat. Not only that, but Zuko and Azula are the children of a traitor; cue for Ozai revealing what happened that night four years ago, confirming that he was the one to kill Azulon with Ursa’s help.

I also think that, after that day, the Firelord would have discreetly helped spread rumours about Ursa that would drag her name through the mud in the Capital – was she cheating on Ozai? Was she selling Fire Nation information to the Earth Kingdom? Was she planning a coup against the Firelord? Her crimes change from mouth to mouth. In the end, no one would take Zuko or Azula back unless Ozai wanted it. But he doesn’t. Not now, at least…

But Ozai also decides to play with his options: he plants a seed of doubt in his children’s minds; should they prove themselves useful later on, it would only take pulling a few strings for them to come crawling back to him. So he tells them that they needed to prove themselves for everyone to see that they weren’t traitors like their mother. They needed to prove their worth so that he could accept them.

Ozai goes a step further with Azula and tells her that, before his demise, Firelord Azulon had a plan. A plan to bring her back and put her in the leading, prestigious role she was always meant to get. But they needed to wait for the right time. There is a right time, Princess Azula. Your hopes were right all along, they will come for you eventually if you prove yourself.

The siblings have a lot to think about while they’re leaving the Fire Nation. They idolized Ozai so much all these years. But the undeniable truth came crashing down on their heads, spoken by the man himself. What would they do now? They didn’t think it possible, but their harsh actions made things so much worse: they couldn’t come back to their mother, they didn’t have many hopes of running into Iroh again, they can’t even set foot in their homeland anymore; Zuko and Azula are all on their own.

Maybe it’s time to turn a new leaf. It starts with them being fairly neutral, not completely loyal to either the Fire Nation or to the rest of the world. During this period, they would argue a lot about what to do or where to go next, getting separated and going their own ways before destiny makes them stick together again, over and over.

They manage to get a few deals and own a few favours here and there, become known thieves as the Spirits, and maybe meet up with Ty Lee’s circus every now and again. Life is hard.

But there is one thing that is about to be a beacon in their darkness…

Time to catch up to the show. Oh, you thought I wouldn’t go there?

Part 3 coming right up!

(I know I said this would be a two-parter, but it got ridiculously long, so I split it again. Three-parter now.)

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bigtimetired · 4 years

Text

Red ‘n Blue

another one-shot in a wider au- in which robin and superboy meet for the first time (set near the beginning of reign of the supermen, in this au not long after damian wayne meets his father)

Sunday 5th November 1989

[Palisades Avenue, Metropolis, DE]

Tim’s never been in Metropolis in person before, which is far from ideal.

Obviously, he’s looked at maps and pictures- he’s not an idiot- and he’s fairly confident that he could navigate the main streets. There are plenty of signs on the ground after all.

Unfortunately, Tim is neither on a main street nor on the ground.

He’s on a cold and miserable rooftop, somewhere rather far from where he stowed the bike he shouldn’t be riding between cities- between states- after dark, but hey, that’s just life.

It had been a spur of the moment idea, coming to Metropolis- an idea Tim had had (purely coincidentally) after a phone call from Bruce, reminding him that patrol tonight was cancelled.

(Tim hadn’t heard anything to suggest that he was there but had been fairly fucking certain that Damian had been smirking somewhere nearby.)

(Tim had also very carefully not thought about how this was the third time Bruce had either cancelled on him or brushed him off since his son had come to America. He had also very carefully ignored the burning feeling in his chest at the thought- such things didn’t bear further investigation.)

It had been a spur of the moment decision which Tim might be starting to regret, just a little bit.

One would have thought that there would be plenty of crime to stop here, considering what had happened to Superman a few weeks back. (Rest in peace, Big Blue.)

One would have been wrong though, because Metropolis has been cool and quiet and melancholic so far, and altogether very lacking in the crime department. That’s good obviously- great even- but if Tim doesn’t find an outlet soon he’s going to start fucking screaming.

He’s just a tiny bit on edge, recently.

He wonders why.

Tim makes the leap to another rooftop, peers down over the side with disinterest- a darkened movie theatre, shutters drawn, and doors locked. Just like every other building around here seems to be.

(Would Gotham do the same for Batman?)

“Nice costume, dumbass,” says a nearby voice, and Tim whirls, heart thumping and staff in hand.

There’s a boy- only about his own age- floating (actually floating) by the edge of the roof, arms crossed and face unimpressed.

Tim’s eyes skitter around, desperately trying to find some inspiration for a plan. His gaze catches on the bright insignia just visible under the boy’s leather jacket.

Tim blinks. Surely this isn’t…

“Superboy?”

The boy huffs, annoyed. “No, I’m the new Superman.”

Tim eyes the boy’s messy hair and very young face and snorts rather rudely.

Normally he would feel bad- Robin has faced similar disbelief in the past- but Tim hasn’t been in the best of moods lately.

“Sure thing, man. Whatever you say,” says Tim, and the boy’s face twists.

“Yeah, and who the fuck are you?”, he spits, and Tim scoffs, feeling like an absolute asshole and enjoying it.

(And if he’d much rather direct all this vitriol at a certain assassin-in-training rather than a complete stranger, then that’s no one’s business but his own.)

“Robin,” says Tim, as if it’s perfectly obvious.

“Uh-huh,” says Not-Superboy. “Don’t you have a gargoyle to be standing on or something?”

“Don’t you have kittens to be saving from trees or something?”

Not-Superboy floats closer, mouth opening in response.

And then there’s an explosion from down the street.

Tim stumbles badly, is saved from tipping off the roof by Not-Superboy himself, who looks more than slightly dazed.

“Thanks,” says Tim quickly, before taking off towards the smoking crater which used to be a building.

Finally, finally, something to do, to investigate, to-

After a moment Tim realises that he seems to have acquired a shadow.

He slants a hard look at Not-Superboy, who takes this as an opportunity to grab his arm and yank him to a halt.

“What the fuck man?”

Hot, simmering, rage is starting to build in Tim’s chest.

Not-Superboy frowns at him. “What are you doing?”

“My job? What’s it look like?”, Tim snaps, and Not-Superboy rolls his eyes in response.

“No, you’re gonna stay here, out of the way.”

“And why’s that?”

“‘cause you’re just a kid?”

Oh hell no.

“Oh yeah?”, Tim’s ears are burning, and he finds himself stretching up- because the bastard’s still floating like a complete dick- into Not-Superboy’s personal space. “You’re pretty fresh-faced yourself, bud.”

Not-Superboy throws his hands out from himself in frustration. “Yeah, but I’ve got superpowers. You’re just a civilian with a stick and a cape.”

Tim would very much like to smash said stick into someone’s face right now.

It’s at this point that the cause of the explosion decides to make itself known; a huge, spider-like, machine of gleaming silver trundles its way out of the wreckage and into the street, headed towards what Tim thinks is the city centre.

Not-Superboy lets out a harsh breath. “Fine. I don’t have time for this- if you get yourself killed, that’s on you.”

He shoots off after the machine, and leaves Tim standing there, fuming.

A civilian with a stick and a cape.

That’s a fucking challenge right there, in Tim’s book.

He unholsters his grapple gun and zips ahead of the metal spider-thing, mind already whirring with plans and ideas.

If he creates a blockade up here, that’ll hopefully limit collateral damage and buy him more time to shut this thing down before it gets to somewhere slightly livelier.

Tim squints at the scene behind him- the silver thing is still making its way towards him, seemingly undeterred by the colourful shape floating alongside and hammering dents into it.

Tim rolls his eyes, before snapping back into professionalism.

Assess the situation, Robin.

It’s got spidery leg things, that’s for sure, but the machine is actually trundling along on thick caterpillar treads, which gives Tim an idea.

Out of his belt he pulls the largest and hottest flares he owns, and chucks them at two faded patches of road, roughly around where the treads will run over them in several moments’ time.

Hopefully, the tar should start to melt around there and stick to the treads for a few minutes until Tim can stop this thing permanently.

Tim jumps from the roof, swings himself onto the back of the spider with his grapple and a well-placed girder, and starts poking around for a weak spot.

A vent, an escape hatch, any gap in the armour.

Tim narrows his eyes at a tiny space next to a panel of some sort and unceremoniously wedges the end of his staff into it.

Levering a panel that doesn’t want to move is easier said than done- even more so when one is on the back of a trundling monstrosity and in danger of being flung into the street at the next sharp turn.

Tim glances up and catches Not-Superboy’s eye, who has stopped whatever it was he was trying to accomplish and is instead staring at Tim in askance.

Tim jerkily beckons him closer with his chin, not letting go of his bo staff for a second.

Not-Superboy drifts over and yanks the cover up with relative ease- that fucking show-off- and Tim slams the end of the staff into the revealed circuitry over and over until it sparks.

It’s inelegant, but it generally works.

Some of the spidery legs rise up and twist around on themselves in an admittedly very impressive display of dexterity before one of them shudders violently and pierces the shell of the machine with a horrible scraping sound.

The vehicle judders then- once again Tim nearly falls and has to be steadied by the floating dumbass- and slows its steady trundle forward.

Tim glances around and realises that they’ve driven over his melted asphalt and mentally pats himself on the back.

Not-Superboy has landed at long last and is currently stomping on the shell with one foot. Tim wants to ask him what the fuck he’s doing, but it becomes obvious as soon as one stomp makes a slightly different sound than the others.

He’s found another weakness.

This panel is also ripped off with sickening ease, though this time Not-Superboy goes, “Ha!” and reaches in.

Finally showing some sort of effort- see how it feels motherfucker? – Not-Superboy uses both hands and starts levitating again to pull out a full-grown, wriggling, man dressed in various shades of grey and not in the least bit pleased about the current state of affairs.

The man breaks free and takes a swing at Not-Superboy who dodges it, and Tim decides to delegate that particular task to him and instead focus on turning off the whatever-the-fuck’s engine, as the whatever-the-fuck is still slowly inching forward and may or may not have some form of explosive on board.

Tim drops down through the hatch and into the cabin. There are a whole load of monitors and wires and stupidly complicated-looking panels in here, so Tim takes a nice, deep, breath and compares it all to the most complex machine he can think of- the Batcomputer.

Tim knows how to turn the Batcomputer off- he pictures it in is head, the flickering lights, the hum and whirring of machine parts, the button sequence required to switch it all on and off.

And then he slices as many wires as he can with the side of a Batarang until all the lights go out and the ground stops shaking.

Never fails, that one.

Tim clambers up on the ladder back to the top and peeks his head out strategically.

Not-Superboy is still struggling with the man, taking a glancing blow to the arm and being knocked back surprisingly far.

Tim decides to not be an asshole about this and creeps up on the pair.

He kicks out the man’s legs and Not-Superboy takes advantage and socks him in the jaw with an audible cracking noise.

The man crumples, out cold.

For a moment, neither of them say anything, just catching their breath.

Then Tim says, “Do you wanna call the cops?”

“…yeah,” Not-Superboy decides. He hesitates then, “Do you have, I dunno, zip ties or something?”

Tim nods.

“Cool- back in a sec.”

Tim watches Not-Superboy dip down to ground-level, making a beeline for the nearest phone-booth.

Tim rolls the man over with some difficulty and cuffs him like Bruce taught him to. He predicts then and there that Bruce will have called him by midday tomorrow about this whole thing and a part of him lights up with a savage kind of pride.

Not-Superboy is back then, staring up from the ground with an unreadable expression.

Tim raises an eyebrow and nudges the man’s unconscious form with his boot. (Lightly, because he isn’t a complete ass and is feeling a great deal more vindicated than earlier, for some unknowable reason.)

“You gonna help me with this or not?”

Not-Superboy’s face crinkles. “Huh?”

“We’re not leaving him on top of this thing, dumbass,” says Tim, with significantly less venom in his voice than earlier.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Not-Superboy blinks, and Tim rolls his eyes, dragging the man to the edge by the armpits.

Not-Superboy takes him then and Tim hops down to the ground, surveying the scene. He decides that this is a victory for Robin on the collateral damage front and awards himself bonus points for managing it on someone else’s turf.

There are already police sirens in the distance, and Tim blinks.

“Huh. That was quick.”

“There’s a precinct a couple of blocks over,” says Not-Superboy matter-of-factly.

“Ah.”

Tim grabs his grapple again and decides that the top of the movie theatre looks promising.

“Wh-where are you going?”

Tim shrugs, cocks his head slightly. “I dunno how you do it over here, but back home we don’t tend to stick around for the cops too often. Vigilantism, and all.”

“Oh.” Not-Superboy seems to consider this for a moment. “Alright, I guess.”

Tim salutes him and zips up to the rooftops again.

He makes it all of ten seconds before a voice calls after him, “Wait a sec!”

Tim obligingly waits a sec and is only kinda exasperated to see Not-Superboy floating up to him. (Again.)

Not-Superboy rubs the back of his neck and doesn’t quite look at Tim when he says, “Thanks, I guess. I mean, I had it covered, but it was nice of you to stick around, so, uh, thanks.”

Tim nods, not quite willing to unbend yet.

“Am I still just a civilian with a stick and a cape?”

Not-Superboy winces. “Yeah-uh, that was maybe kinda shitty of me and, uh, I guess I was wrong. So sorry about that.”

It’s definitely not the best apology in the world, but Tim’ll take it.

He shrugs. “It’s okay- I was kinda a dick earlier, so we’re even.”

“Cool.”

“Where’re you going now?”, asks Not-Superboy.

Tim rolls his shoulders. “Home, I guess. Just gotta find my bike first.”

“Bike?”

“Yeah? I mean, I hardly walked here from Gotham, did I?”

“Guess not.”

There’s a beat of silence, before Not-Superboy glances around furtively.

“Is he here?”

Tim blinks. “Is who- oh, you mean Batman?”

Not-Superboy nods.

“No,” says Tim, and he decides not to elaborate on that.

“Alright,” Not-Superboy’s shoulders relax a little. “Where’s your bike?”

“In the alley next to some diner back that way,” Tim gestures vaguely behind them.

“Lou’s?”

Tim squints, tries to remember. “…maybe?”

“Oh my god.”

Not-Superboy’s rolling his eyes but his tone is light, so Tim doesn’t feel too offended. He drifts back a few feet, gestures that Tim should follow him.

“C’mon- I don’t think Gotham will ever forgive me if I leave Robin stranded over here.”

Tim snorts but follows anyway.

Tim’s bike is stowed neatly in the alley next to Mary-Anne’s diner, as it turns out. Not-Superboy stares at it for a few moments, eyes starry.

Tim grins. “Her name’s Redbird.”

“She’s gorgeous,” says Not-Superboy, sounding as if he means it.

Tim nods. “Yeah, she is.”

“You know your way back, right?”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Dude.”

Not-Superboy grins, honest and open. “Just checking, man.”

Tim swings his leg over Redbird, settles down and brings the engine to life.

He looks at Not-Superboy, who looks much friendlier than he did earlier.

“Thanks again,” says Tim, meaning it. “This was fun.”

Not-Superboy shrugs, but he’s still smiling. “Yeah, it was a lil bit. See you around?”

Tim nods. “See ya.”

He shoots off into the night then, feeling much lighter than he did on the trip in.

(He gets to school by lunchtime the next day, waves a forged doctor’s note at the necessary people and doodles in the margins of his notes until the final bell.

Bruce is either busy or getting old- he doesn’t call the house phone until 6pm. Tim lets it go to voicemail, grins a little as he listens to it over dinner, despite himself.

Bruce is disgusted, Tim is benched until the weekend, and somehow he’s not quite as upset as he thought he would be.

Funny, that.)

#dc #tim drake #kon-el #conner kent #robin #superboy #timkon #if you want #one-shot #first meetings #dgs #i can't write action scenes

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sunflowersteves · 4 years

Text

The Price of Freedom

Modern Mob!AU

2/11 Sam Wilson

Steve Rogers x fem!reader

Author: @cap-n-stuff

Chapter summary: Steve has agreed to help you escape the treacherous Russian mob. Now, you’ll need Sam’s help to escape. What happens when the Council figures out your plan? [Heavily based on John Wick]

Ба́ба-Яга́ means the boogyman.

Also for those of you who don’t know, “bumpy” Johnson was a real mobster and the biggest in Harlem!

Song for Chapter: Death On Two Legs by Queen

Word Count: 3.4K

Author’s Note: LMAO I’m sorry I ended it on a little bit of a cliff hanger. I really enjoy this series. It’s so fun to write! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! I’m not adding any links accept my masterlist so we’ll see if this works. I also tagged my own self but maybe that’s the issue too. I’m not sure. Hope it works!

Warnings: angst, some fluff, swearing, mentions of murder and illegal activities, mentions of minor character death, eventual smut, VIOLENCE AND BLOOD!!!

Masterlist // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

You are now sitting in Steve’s car and driving to Harlem to meet Sam. The car ride was ridden with complete silence. He had one hand on the wheel and the other was gripping his knee. You sat in the passenger seat and tried to look anywhere but him. Honestly? You were a fidgety, nervous mess. Normally, you were an unresponsive, apathetic assassin that had blank expressions on your face at all times but Steve’s presence just makes you nervous. Especially considering the last time you saw him, really saw him, was the day you left.

His eyes drift onto your silhouette and you quickly looked out the window watching the sunset. Right now, you wanted nothing to do with confrontation. You wanted out of this disgusting corrupt world and start a family of your own. Of course, this leads to you thinking about Steve.

Being with him was one of the happiest memories you had other than your family. Steve showed you a life above the violence and killing. He showed you that despite learning more than five ways to kill somebody, you were still capable of normal romantic emotions. Damn, you remembered the night you left him pretty clearly.

Even that day had even been one of the best.

Steve had promised to show you aspects of Brooklyn since you were raised in Manhattan and in Harlem. So, you were going to a Cyclone game. You had never really watched baseball but before your parents passed, they considerably enjoyed the sport. Steve also reassured that he would teach you. You and Steve stood near the front of Calvert Vaux Park, near the MCU stadium in Coney Island. Clouds rolled into the area, casting shadows on the two of you.

Steve smiled and pulled you into an opened mouthed kiss, tongue swirling sweetly. He put a hand on the small of your back and pulled you in closer. Your hands came up and cupped his cheeks, feeling the slight gruff of his subtle coming in. Your lips tangled with love and passion, getting lost in the smell of sandalwood and cinnamon, aka, him. He pulled away making you whine. You stood there still entangled in his arms and watched him smirk.

You pick up your hand, and gently caress his cheek. “C’mon, мой сладкий [my sweet], let’s go watch the game.” He chuckled and interlaced his hand with yours. “God, you speaking Russian is the single most sexist thing.” You laughed wholeheartedly at his comment and shook your head. “Whatever, Залупа [dickhead].” Your lips slid into a smirk as he pestered you the whole walk about the meaning of that word. After a couple of blocks, you both walk into the stadium and sit down in your seats.

Being born into a Mafia had made both, you and Steve, forget what normal life was like. Until you found each other. Steve had then promised to show you that life. Steve told you that after the game, you were going to walk around Coney island and ride some of his favorite rides like the Cyclone Roller and the Soarin’ Eagle. To say you were jumping with giddiness was an understatement. Even, the next week, Steve was going to take you to a Brooklyn Nets game in Barclay stadium and he said while watching, you both had to have hotdogs and beer.

You were excited about this new life with Steve. You were both carefree and happy. Something you only found with Gamora and when Wanda was born. Never had you left love before this.

Now, sitting in your seats, Steve was yelling at some of the players for a ball settling on foul territory. His arm was around you while you snuggled into his side, enjoying some stadium nachos. And occasionally you’d slip a nacho in his mouth when he begged. Then, Steve was full of anger, making your seat wiggle slightly and you laughed at his demeanor. He poked his tongue at you but then one of the players scored a home run and the anger vanished into cheering. Your laugh was soon interrupted by your phone buzzing with an incoming call. You didn’t answer it at first but they kept calling. Steve watches as you check it.

No Caller ID. You knew it was your director, wanting some information on the next target they assigned you. You looked at Steve with sorrowful eyes but he understood, nodding his head and slightly waving his hand dismissively. As you walked away to a more private area, Steve was now furiously standing and continuing to yell at the poor players.

You pick up the phone, looking around for others so they don’t hear your conversation. “Да?” “Ба́ба-Яга́, you are to be reassigned immediately. You are to have no distractions. Leave for Senegal at 9 pm.” They immediately hung up and your stomach plummeted to the ground. You quickly return to your seat and don’t say a word, suppressing any tears that wanted to roll down your face.

How were you supposed to tell Steve? How were you supposed to tell the man you loved that you could no longer see him? You knew the ‘no distractions’ was a quip at Steve. They knew you were here. They always knew. God, your heart aches at the thought of telling him.

You could only look ahead, acting like you were intently watching the game but Steve could sense your displeasure. His hands slid onto your back, trying to comfort you. “Who was that? You okay, doll?” You nodded and you both continued to watch the game in silence. You just told yourself that this was for the best. There is no love in the world you two live in. Did you both really think that? Did you both really think you could be together? Have a happy life together?

That night you packed your bags and left for Senegal, never looking back.

Your mind was soon interrupted by Steve’s voice. “We’re here.” By this time it was dusk, the warm kisses of the sun split into the darkened twilight signifying that night has only begun. While the dimmed sky sits as if cushioned upon pure charcoal velvet, Steve finally pulls up into a hidden alleyway. He puts the car in park and slowly turns to you, eyes trying to lock with yours.

“Y/N.” You first don’t meet his but your eyes ultimately gravitate and clasp with him. “Look, Y/N, I think I-” He was interrupted by a figure tapping on the window. He sighed up pushed the button that rolls down the window. A masked man tells Steve to continue to drive into the parking garage. You pull up into a parking spot and get out.

You both walk towards the elevators of the garage to see a man in a purple suit and a bunch of men behind him.

You grinned widely at the man in front of you. “Hey, Cottonmouth.” Sam walked up to you and wrapped his arms around you, giving you a tight squeeze. “Hey, little pumpkin.” You snorted at the nickname. And gave him a ‘whatever I can kill you.’ He punched you lightly in the shoulder and laughed. He then looked at you and Steve with a raised eyebrow. “Thought you two weren’t a thing anymore.” Steve was quick to defend you both. “We aren’t togeth-” Sam immediately interrupted Steve and gestured towards you. “It’s so good to see you! Thought you were in Saudi?” Steve just rolled his eyes playfully.

You nodded, “I was but I was relocated back to New York.” He nodded in understanding but quickly pulled you into another hug, sniffling a bit. “I’m sorry about your family, little pumpkin. Gamora was always a good business partner and friend. Wanda was a burst of sunshine too.” You sighed a bit at his words, lucky to have a friend like Sam in this grim life. He patted your back and guided the two of you inside.

You stared in awe at the inside of Apollo Theater, long ago, the Tarasov and “Bumpy’s” Mob did a lot of business in the theater together. “Bumpy” Johnson was the first really big mobster in Harlem, which coincidentally was Sam’s grandfather. The two mobs doing business resulted in you and Sam being trained together for their benefit which is why the two of you became good friends. “Damn, I didn’t realize how much I miss this place.” Sam chuckled and continued to guide you both to a table at the center of the theatres’ stage. The red and gold accents striking to the eye. “It’s a place easily missed.” The three of you sat down at the rounded table and continued to talk business.

“So you do the big weapons now, Cottonmouth?” You teased Sam slightly while he just playfully gasped. “I’ll have you know I’ve been doing this for a while!” Steve was pretty quiet when the two of you caught up which then made Sam tease him even further.

“I gotta admit, little pumpkin, this is not going to be an easy ride but I’ll be dammed if I don’t help you. One of us has to have a happy life.” He paused looking at his men, prompting them to go get the weaponry. “The Council can actually fuck itself. They’ve been corrupt for far too long.” You and Steve agree with him and he continues. “Now, to be able to get through the council’s reign and possibly the Tarasov, you’ll need some fine weaponry.”

Sam has his men pulls out a table from backstage that has a long line of weapons from grenades, AK-47’s, different types of daggers and blades, revolvers, battle rifles, shotguns, sniper rifles, pistols, grenade launchers, push blades, machetes, and polearms. You clapped your hands and rubbed them together as you stood up and gravitated towards the weapons.

“Woah there, little pumpkin.” Sam chuckled at your eagerness. “These are for Steve to pick from. I got something special for you.” As Steve grabbed what he wanted and placed them in duffle bags, Sam snapped his fingers towards one of his men and they came back with a velvet case. Sam had the man open it and your eyes widened at the set of gold daggers in front of you. “Sam. These are 2 million dollar knives I-” “oh, shit up and take it.” He rolled his eyes and paused, pushing the case of daggers towards you. “Think of it as thanks for all these years.” You nodded and picked up the golden knives in awe. “Thank you, Sam. You’ve always been like a big brother to me.” He smiled brightly and ruffled your hair endearingly.

Your talk was quickly disturbed by the sound of explosions in the distance. The three of you both look at each other but quickly take action as a redheaded woman came barreling inside the main theatre, shooting at anything that moves. She yelled at her men to come inside and they came rushing in. They were all able to get quite a few of Sam’s men. Steve throws the table on the ground, blocking the bullets that come hurtling towards you.

You quickly grab two of the knives and attach them to your waist and take ahold of a pistol that fell onto the ground. Checking the ammunition, you then swiftly shoved back the chamber of the gun. Steve does the same on his end with an AK-47 in his hands. Sam retreats towards backstage, a pillar blocking the bullets.

You look behind the table to see the woman fighting off more of Sam’s men and then with every chance, shooting at the table or pillar. Her aim was clearly all three of you. You brace yourself for a quick second. Steve’s eyes widened at your demeanor. “Cover me, Steve.” “Wait, Y/N, don’t-” You cut Steve off by you running from the table to the strange woman. He curses to himself and jumps above the table, shooting anyone that comes near you.

In that success, you grab ahold of the red-headed woman’s shoulders and lift yourself onto her back, triumphantly putting her in a chokehold and throwing the pistol she has away from her. She’s only caught off guard for a second as she then wraps her other hand around you and grabs your head yanking it to the ground.

You were able to catch yourself from falling and you waste zero time by aiming your gun at her but she quickly blocked the bullets with a dead body. She then runs up to you, aiming to punch your sides and legs but you blocked them. You were just about able to pull the trigger again when she kicks the gun out of your hand.

You took that opportunity to grab her by the neck, holding her in place, and repeatedly kick her stomach. She staggered a bit but got out of your hold by punching your jaw. You quickly try to reprimand her again but she instantaneously pulls out a dagger and throws it, lodging into your shoulder. You yell out in pain but your composure was fast and quick.

Steve was trying to get to you and give you help, especially when he heard you yelp in pain. He knew you could handle yourself quite well but he still wanted to help. For now, there were a bunch of this woman’s men surrounding him and he just kept fighting them off.

Steve looked over a quick second to see Sam help some of the men that were still alive, all while fighting off some men that come barreling towards him.

You quickly took the dagger out of your shoulder and slice down her arms in a zig-zag. Blood splatters onto you, thick and warm but this woman doesn’t want to back down. You went to cut her again but she blocks you and puts you in an arm hold. You use your leg and raise it high to kick her in the head. She stumbles at the impact which releases the grip she has on you.

She looks at the three of you, Sam and Steve fighting off her men that keep getting closer and closer to you both, and then she looks at you. She knew that if she continued she wouldn’t last. You were too good, the Tarasov’s ‘best.’ You were about to attack again but she suddenly runs, trying to escape to one of the balconies. You ran after her, wanting as many answers from her as possible but she escapes through a small window. You look out the window, panting as she runs across the street, disappearing in the distance.

She was able to get away, unsuccessful at killing the three of you. Sam looks around, counting how many of his brethren had died from one woman. “I swear, I know her from somewhere.”

Sam turned towards the two of you, holding pressure on a gun wound. “I think you should visit T’Challa in Toronto. He’s there on business and may have some information about the Council and what the fuck they’re up to. Or even the Tarasov. I bet they both know you want to leave.” You nodded and made your way towards the car in the garage, both you and Steve getting in. You were still trying to figure out why that woman looked to familiar.

The car was indefinite in its silence. You just couldn’t believe that someone knew you were there. It was clear she was in the Tarasov but how did they know. How did Sam know?

You knew word travels fast in this world and secrets are practically nonexistent but the only person you’ve told is-

You whipped your head towards Steve which made him slightly jump at your action. “Jesus, Y/N-” You narrowed your eyes. “Did you tell them?” He quickly shook his head, trying to defend himself but you growled at his defiance to confess and continued to talk. “Fuck, Steve, I just want to know why? I thought I could trust you, I thought you could trust me.”

Steve’s face quickly looked at yours and then turned back towards the road. “I didn’t tell anyone, Y/N. I’m just as perplexed as you are. The only one I’ve told is Sam but there’s no way that he would rat you out nor let that many of his men die.” You nodded, knowing his statement was true. “Then how did they know?” he wiped a hand across his face, smearing some dried blood. “I don’t know-” You interrupted him, fury covering your eyes.

“You know, I can do this on my own. I don’t need you.” You cringed a little at Steve’s slight broken face. He wouldn’t lie saying your words didn’t hurt him. However, he quickly masked his face back to an emotionless one. “I swear to you, Y/N. I didn’t know. Even if I do have resentment towards you, I don’t hate you. I would never put you in danger.” He paused, knuckles tightening slightly on the steering wheel. “I owe you that.”

Then it clicked. Oh. Of course, he was just doing this to repay his debt to you. You’re fucking ridiculous to think otherwise. That’s how this world worked. If one had a debt, one kept that promise to fulfill it.

Steve pulled into a cheap motel as it was around 4 in the morning and because the road to Toronto was long, he knew you both needed some sleep. God, how could he say that to you? He wasn’t just doing this because he owed you. He knew that. He genuinely cared for you despite the deep internal wound that you left, which made him angrier than ever. How could the woman that left him, the woman that he was going to ask to marry still have so much effect on him?

He parked and you grabbed your belongings while Steve went to convince the concierge to give you both two rooms. He came back in success and gave you a key. You both immediately went on your separate ways. Although, without the two of you knowing, you both look at each other’s backs with anguish.

Once you get inside your hotel room, you immediately strip off your clothes and take a long steamy shower. Your thoughts came caving in about today. Fuck. How did they know? You thought you could trust Steve but was he just ratting you out for revenge? You really wanted to trust Steve and believe you meant as much to him as he means to you but something it doesn’t look like he’s telling you everything he knows.

Was it Sam? Was it just some spy that the Tarasov had assigned to you? One thing for sure was that you needed to find Nick Fury, an ex-council member and old friend.

After standing in the shower for a long time, you turn off the water and get out, put on a robe, and let your hair drip dry while sitting on the bed. Your head was buried deep into your hands as your mind continued to race.

There was no way a close and old friend like Sam would tell the council, however, people change. But you just refused to believe it. And Steve? You knew you were a bit resentful at yourself so your anger was just portrayed onto him. You honestly didn’t think Steve was the rat.

Your whole body tenses at the sound of a knock at your door. The only word going through your brain was ‘The Council.’ So, you instantly grab the Glock and magazine loader on your nightstand. You knew it had a full round of bullets so you quickly insert the loader and the clicking sound of the bullets being locked in followed.

You slowly make your way towards the door and as quietly as possible, shift back the chamber. Several more knocks have already sounded behind the door by this point. You hold the Glock slightly hidden on your side. You don’t even open the door, crouching near the side of it in case the intruder comes whisking inside. “Yes?” “It’s me.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. It was Steve. You open the door to see a freshly showered Steve. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and you lowered the gun, putting it on the table next to you. “Hey...Can we talk?”

Next Chapter

#steve rogers x reader #mob!au #mob!steve rogers #steve angst #mobster!au #mobster!steve rogers #captain america #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #mobster au #john wick inspired #sam wilson #mob!sam wilson #captain america au

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onlykooks · 4 years

Text

Bucket list

pairing: jungkook x assassin!reader

genre: fluff, angst, nonidol au

summary: in which you are tasked to kill a son of a well known business man. it was supposed to be an easy kill but apparently you’re agency has a stupid policy. bucket lists.

It was a long day and all you ever wanted was to simply go get some sleep but apparently your boss won’t let you as the amount of paper works stacked up on your small desk inside your office, probably profiles of your soon to be targets.

You sighed as you leaned back towards your seat while looking at the profile that had been sitting on your desk for a few months now.

The photo attached to the profile had been mocking your very existence the minute you took the file from a meeting last September and it was February for heaven’s sake!

As an illegal hitman who’s in an agency where you are tasked to make sure that your target’s bucket list had been fully crossed, the fact that you were paid to kill someone was the easy part but the part where you help them cross out their “wants” or “needs” on their bucket list could be hard.

Being able to accomplish all of the person’s bucket list in just a span of a month was easy for you but with Jeon Jungkook, it seems impossible to accomplish this task in just a month.

Jeons. Everyone in the business industry totally despised them for sure. There were rumors roaming around about how their road to success was filthy, they’d step on people who’d get in their way.

That’s why the money on their heads were too damn high, especially on the only heir to the business, Jeon Jungkook. The kid was a walking time bomb anytime, anywhere, there’d be trouble.

That’s why you agreed to take his file the day it was presented to you during a meeting, you took it because of the money and damn you were in for a hell of a ride after meeting the kid.

He only has five listed on his bucket list and you've crashed out four out of five.

be not jeon jungkook

This happened on a very unexpected situation, It was in the last week of October and the both of you were picking costumes from your local store near the university where Jungkook went.

You were looking through the racks of the costume that you’ll wear for the party you’ll be attending with Jungkook tomorrow, as you skimmed through the racks you felt a tap on your shoulder, you turned to look and there you saw Jungkook wearing an Iron Man as he posed in front of you.

You giggled, “Jungkook, you look stupid.” You commented and returned to skimming through the rack. He kept on babbling about how he’ll need to gather the avengers once again. “Thought Iron Man was dead?” you interrupted him through his babbling.

”Excuse you, weren’t you listening that Iron- No, I am reborn again because of Doctor Strange’s help — ”

”What kind of nonesense is that Kooks.”

“But I’m not Jungkook!” He exclaimed behind you, “I’m Iron Man!” He added and you just simply ignore him by walking over to the other side of the room to look for more costumes that’ll fit you.

“Y/N!” you heard him whine behind you as you try to stifle a giggle from his cuteness. “Look at me come on!”

And that’s how you ended up as Harley Quinn for Halloween and Jungkook as the Joker.

Jungkook was happily running around the street with kids trailing behind him, you were sitting on the side walk and kept an eye on him with an unknowing smile on your lips.

Jungkook was trick or treating with you— Well, it was just him but he made you dress up too. It was chilly autumn night, leaves were dancing with the wind as the tree swayed.

“Be careful,” A familiar voice warned you, you looked away from Jungkook who was sharing his candy with the kids and looked up to your left to see Taehyung. “That kind of kid makes everyone fall at their feet.” He added, eyes glued on Jungkook with his eyebrows knitted together, it was as if he was trying figure out something.

You sighed and stood up, “I’m here to work Tae,” You started to explain, “But aren’t you a charmer, Mr. James Dean.” You commented on his outfit, Taehyung was already good-looking but his outfit made him stand out more.

He chuckled, “Gotta blast, my target is getting out of my sight.” He stated and you noticed how his eyes move, as if he was following his target with his eyes. “While yours is walking toward us.” He whispered so that only you two could hear and he kissed your temple and walked off.

You rolled your eyes at his playboy tactics and turned your attention to Jungkook who has his attention on Taehyung who just walked passed him. “Yo, Kooks.” You called out to him to get his attention.

But still his eyes were glued onto the man who kissed you.

kiss a girl

This happened during the annual Christmas bonfire of Jungkook’s theatre club— and that club of his was pretty huge to the point where only club members and their plus one were allowed to join the event.

And surprisingly— not really, you were Jungkook’s plus one as you were always together.

Jungkook was pretty much excited the whole night as he kept on introducing you to his club mates and also dragging you towards different types of booths that they made to make the event more interesting as Jungkook would phrase out.

You were standing in front of a booth and tried to warm yourself up as you looked around the place for Jungkook.

“Where did that little rascal go to?” You mumbled to yourself and let your eyes scan the place once more. You heard a small cough beside you and you noticed it was a guy operating the booth, you also noticed how lonely his booth was as you were the only person near it.

When he got your attention he smiled a bit, “Hi there, are you okay?” He asked you and you walked towards the booth. “I noticed you were alone and w-well I thought— I thought.” He stuttered out and made you giggle a bit.

“Its all good...”

“Jimin, Park Jimin.”

You smiled at him, “Nice to meet you.” You greeted him and reached out your hand for him and he happily shook it.

But then he suddenly pulled you closer to him which took you off guard, “Gotcha!” He cheered and there another man pulled out a tied up Jungkook from the side of the booth and let him stood beside you.

You were confused, until Jungkook mumbled, He was looking down, as if he was trying to ignore your stares. “Look up.” You looked up and saw a mistletoe on top of you and Jungkook.

You just shrugged and kissed Jungkook on the lips.

It was no big deal for you as you, while he was being untied, you can’t help but notice how Jungkook’s cheeks have turned into a deep shade of red.

And you were sure, that it wasn’t because of the cold night.

go on dates

This just happened a few weeks ago, when the both of you were joking around on the dimly lit streets of Seoul after eating at a cheap food stall that Jungkook wanted to eat at for ages.

It was already eight in the evening and the bustling cars were still evident on the streets and masses of people were still roaming at this hour.

As you and Jungkook were about to enter his parked car, you noticed a crowd and heard someone singing through the loud speakers. You looked at Jungkook and he was also looking over to the crowd curiosity.

“You wanna go watch, Kooks?” You asked him with a small smile on your face. You noticed Jungkook was now looking down at his watch with a wary expression. “Kooks, it will be just a few minutes, your dad’s not gonna flip if you were only a few minutes late right?” You told him, as a way to make him calm down.

Jungkook gulped, thinking about what you said, "I guess so...” He was hesitant to walk towards the crowd but you were already tugging at his arm.

The both of you squeezed your way through the crowd until you were at the front you let out a small gasp when you saw your fellow hitman, Taehyung.

You looked at Jungkook and he has a big smile on his face whilst you had a nervous one on yours. You turned to look back at Taehyung waiting for him to notice you, when he did notice you, he just gave you a wink.

You didn't know why you were nervous at all, Jungkook doesn't even know who Taehyung was.

But whatever this feeling was, you were sure as hell something bad is going to happen soon.

Jungkook slightly nudged you which made you look at him, “Did he just winked at you?” He asked confusion written all over his features.

You shrugged, "Guess he noticed my charms right away." You teased expecting to hear a chuckle from him but instead you heard him snort. “Kooks?” You looked at him and he just ignored you, pretending he didn’t heard you over the loud music.

You rolled your eyes and just looked ahead of you to see Taehyung already looking at you with an eyebrow raised. He was eventually surprised that Jungkook is still alive.

You simply imitate a gun with your fingers and mouthed a ‘soon’ to Taehyung.

Speaking of guns, you remembered that you left your gun on your desk beside Jungkook’s bucket list.

Something sparked in your mind that you immediately looked at Jungkook.

“he wanted to sing in front of people.” You thought and looked at the doe eyed teenager beside you as a plan popped onto your mind.

Jungkook turned to you as he felt you staring at him, “Does he look a bit, familiar to you?” He asked you but you payed no attention to what he was saying and just prepared a cheeky plan in your head.

You grinned and pushed him forward which made Taehyung stopped singing and Jungkook stiffened, “He volunteers to sing!” You shouted and that’s how you made Jungkook sing in front of a crowd with your fellow hitman’s help.

And that’s two crashed out of the bucket list, perform in front of a crowd. You can’t believe you just hit two birds with one stone.

fall in love

You were going dizzy, how the heck can you cross out that one last wish on his bucket list, you thought it was quite stupid to fall in love at the age of twenty-two but then love simply chooses no one, it just comes.

Jungkook was that type of kid who always have that beautiful light in their eyes, the kind of light that never seemed to burn out.

He was the type that would get excited over the simplest things, like when you gave him a little key chain for his bag’s zipper that got broken, he was really happy to have it.

But Jungkook was not like any other kid, he was a Jeon. The last name Jeon is pretty much known in South Korea, since they’re a family of businessmen, they tend to step over people to get where they are now.

Hence, here you are tasked to kill him because of this client who has a big amount of hatred towards his father. You feel sorry for the poor boy, every single one of his father’s enemies wants his head.

Just as you were about to think about just killing Jeon Jungkook on the spot instead of finishing his bucket list, your phone rang.

You pulled it out of your pocket and saw Jungkook’s name flashed on it.

“Y/N!” He beamed from the other line as you unconsciously smiled at his voice, “I’m going to pick you up later at six, okay?”

You hummed in response, “Why do you sound so happy today?” You teased him and he just laughed.

“You’ll see.” He sang out and ended the call.

You think carnival dates are for kids, not for you. Jungkook wanted to go and try almost every ride in the place, you were being dragged by him in every direction.

“Y/N! Let’s go ride that one!”

“Let’s go on that roller coaster over there!”

“I wanna ride that horror themed train!”

Your head was spinning after every ride that Jungkook dragged you into.

Finally, you were seated comfortably on the ferris wheel and the both of you over looked the carnival from above.

But then suddenly, you stopped at the very top, you looked at Jungkook with worry and he just gave you his bunny smile.

“I may or may not have slipped a few bucks to the operator earlier.” He confessed and gave you a wink, you just rolled your eyes and stared down onto the carnival. “Oh come on! These are the best seats!” After he said that fireworks popped out of nowhere.

You were at awe, you rarely see a sight like these. “Kooks—“

“This is the perfect time to kill me now.”

Your eyes went wide and immediately looked at Jungkook who has a small sad smile on his face, “Kooks, what do you mean—“

He just shrugged, “The Taehyung dude kind off gave it away,” He sighed out and looked away from you to see the fireworks, “I now know why he looked so familiar to me.” He chuckled a bit and looked down.

You saw tears dripping down his face and tried to touch his shoulder but he moved away once he felt your hand on him. “Jungkook I—“

He looked up at you with a smile, “You don’t have to comfort me Y/N,” He said softly as tears kept on falling down his face. You desperately want to dry off his face but you can’t seem to do it. “He killed my mom, you know.” He shared with you.

You gasped, your eyes wide at what he told you. “I didn’t know, J-Jungkook—“ You stuttered out, your heart ached for him, “I’m sorry.”

He sniffed and gave you a smile. “Kill me Y/N.” He whispered out. “Its better to be killed by you than any other assassins.” He added and looked at the fireworks.

He looked so pretty under the light emitted by the small pod of the ferris wheel. He even still looked pretty with tears running down his face. “You know what Y/N, I hope you don’t mind but,” He sighed and looked at you. His eyes were full of hurt and betrayal, “I actually fell for you— Heck, I’m in it deep for you!” He exclaimed and let out a laugh.

You gulped and looked away from him, “Jungk-kook, s-stop that, please.” You stammered.

You felt him softly grab your chin and made you face him, “I love you, Y/N.” He said softly, you looked up at his eyes and his eyes were now full of love and emotion, there were no traces of hurt in his eyes anymore.

With that, He kissed you and you kissed him back.

This was a goodbye kiss after all. You’ve got to accept the fact that you were gonna lose him.

Forever.

From that night on, You walked out of the carnival alone, no more jumpy and giddy kid by your side. You let out a bitter laugh of how Taehyung was right.

No more laughs and giggles.

No more holding hands and stolen kisses.

And no more Jeon Jungkook.

#bts scenarios #bangtan #jeon jungkook #jungkook au #taekook #bts au #bts angst #assassin au #bangtan bookclub

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newstfionline · 4 years

Text

Monday, November 16, 2020

After thousands of Trump supporters rally in D.C., violence erupts when night falls (AP) Several thousand supporters of President Donald Trump in Washington protested election results and then hailed Trump’s passing motorcade before nighttime clashes with counterdemonstrators sparked fistfights, at least one stabbing and at least 20 arrests. Several other cities on Saturday also saw gatherings of Trump supporters unwilling to accept Democrat Joe Biden’s Electoral College and popular vote victory as legitimate. Cries of “Stop the Steal” and “Count Every Vote” continued in spite of a lack of evidence of voter fraud or other problems that could reverse the result. After night fell, the relatively peaceful demonstrations in Washington turned from tense to violent. Videos posted on social media showed fistfights, projectiles and clubs as Trump supporters clashed with those demanding they take their MAGA hats and banners and leave. The tensions extended to Sunday morning. A variety of charges, including assault and weapons possession, were filed against those arrested, officials said. Two police officers were injured and several firearms were recovered by police.

Coronavirus Deaths Are Climbing Once Again (NYT) For weeks, as coronavirus cases spiked across the United States, deaths rose far more slowly, staying significantly lower than in the early, deadliest weeks of the nation’s outbreak in the spring. New treatments, many hoped, might slow a new wave of funerals. But now, signs are shifting: More than 1,000 Americans are dying of the coronavirus every day on average, a 50 percent increase in the last month. Twice this past week, there have been more than 1,400 deaths reported in a single day. “It’s getting bad and it’s potentially going to get a lot worse,” said Jennifer Nuzzo, an epidemiologist and senior scholar at the Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security.

US, Israel worked together to track and kill al-Qaida No. 2 (AP) The United States and Israel worked together to track and kill a senior al-Qaida operative in Iran earlier this year, a bold intelligence operation by the two allied nations that came as the Trump administration was ramping up pressure on Tehran. Four current and former U.S. officials said Abu Mohammed al-Masri, al-Qaida’s No. 2, was killed by assassins in the Iranian capital in August. The U.S. provided intelligence to the Israelis on where they could find al-Masri and the alias he was using at the time, while Israeli agents carried out the killing, according to two of the officials. The two other officials confirmed al-Masri’s killing but could not provide specific details. Al-Masri was gunned down in a Tehran alley on Aug. 7, the anniversary of the 1998 bombings of the U.S. embassies in Nairobi, Kenya, and Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. Al-Masri was widely believed to have participated in the planning of those attacks and was wanted on terrorism charges by the FBI.

Hurricane Iota heads for battered Honduras, Nicaragua (AP) Iota became the thirteenth hurricane of the Atlantic season early Sunday, threatening to bring another dangerous system to Nicaragua and Honduras—countries recently clobbered by a Category 4 Hurricane Eta. Iota was already a record-breaking system, being the 30th named storm of this year’s extraordinarily busy Atlantic hurricane season. The U.S. National Hurricane Center said Sunday morning that Iota had maximum sustained winds of 80 mph (130 kph), making it a Category 1 hurricane. But, forecasters said Iota would rapidly strengthen and was expected to be a major hurricane by the time it reaches Central America. The system was forecast to bring up to 30 inches (750 millimeters) of rain from northeast Nicaragua into northern Honduras. Costa Rica, Panama and El Salvador could also experience heavy rain and possible flooding, the hurricane center said.

Peru’s interim president resigns as chaos embroils nation (AP) Peru’s interim president resigned Sunday as the nation plunged into its worst constitutional crisis in two decades following massive protests unleashed when Congress ousted the nation’s popular leader. In a short televised address, Manuel Merino said Congress acted within the law when he was sworn into office as chief of state Tuesday, despite protesters’ allegations that legislators had staged a parliamentary coup. The politician agreed to step down after night of unrest in which two young protesters were killed and half his Cabinet resigned. Peruvians cheered the decision, waving their nation’s red and white flag on the streets of Lima and chanting “We did it!” But there is still no clear playbook for what comes next. Peru has much at stake: The country is in the throes of one of the world’s most lethal coronavirus outbreaks and political analysts say the constitutional crisis has cast the country’s democracy into jeopardy. “I think this is the most serious democratic and human rights crisis we have seen since Fujimori,” said analyst Alonso Gurmendi Dunkelberg, referring to the turbulent rule of strongman Alberto Fujimori from 1990 to 2000.

Lessons From Europe, Where Cases Are Rising But Schools Are Open (NPR) Mahua Barve lives in Frankfurt, Germany, with her husband, a son in first grade and twin daughters in kindergarten. All three children are currently attending school full time and in person. That’s despite a coronavirus surge that has led Germany to shut down restaurants, bars, theaters, gyms, tattoo parlors and brothels (which are legal in the country) for November. Schools were allowed to remain open. Despite the resurgence of the virus, Barve says, her children’s school’s careful safety strategies give her confidence. “When I see all the parents who are coming to pick up and drop off, they’re wearing masks. The teachers are always wearing masks. They’re doing their best to minimize risk. And as soon as something is detected, they are quarantining.” Across Europe, schools and child care centers are staying open even as much of the continent reports rising coronavirus cases, and even as many businesses and gathering places are shut or restricted. Countries such as France, the United Kingdom, Germany and Italy appear to be following the emerging evidence that schools have not been major centers of transmission of the virus, especially for young children. The U.S. has taken a different approach. As new cases climb above 100,000 per day, there are very few places in the U.S. where classrooms have remained full.

German government ad hails couch potatoes as virus heroes (AP) The German government has released a tongue-in-cheek ad hailing an unlikely hero in the fight against the coronavirus pandemic: the humble couch potato. The 90-second video posted online Saturday begins with an elderly man recalling his ‘service’ to the nation back when he was just a young student “in the winter of 2020, when the whole country’s eyes were on us.” “I had just turned 22 and was studying engineering,” he continues, “when the second wave hit.” With violins stirring at viewers’ heart strings, the setting switches to a scene of the narrator as a young man. “Suddenly the fate of this country lay in our hands,” he says. “So we mustered all our courage and did what was expected of us, the only right thing. We did nothing.” “Days and nights we stayed on our backsides at home and fought against the spread of the coronavirus,” the narrator continues. “Our couch was the front line and our patience was our weapon.” The ad ends with a government message that “you too can become a hero by staying at home.”

Austria orders three-week lockdown to rein in surging coronavirus cases (Reuters) Austria on Saturday ordered a three-week lockdown in a last-ditch effort to bring surging coronavirus cases under control and relieve the stress on the health service in time for retailers to reopen in the run-up to Christmas. The country had so far used a lighter touch in dealing with the second wave of cases than it did with the first outbreak. A nighttime curfew is in place from 8 p.m. to 6 a.m. this month but shops are open; cafes, bars and restaurants are limited to take-away service; theatres and museums are closed. The current nighttime curfew will become an all-day requirement to stay at home, with only some exceptions such as for shopping or exercise. Working from home should happen wherever possible. Non-essential shops will close, as will service providers such as hairdressers. Secondary schools have already switched to distance learning; primary schools and kindergartens will now follow suit but still provide childcare for those who need it.

900 reported arrested in Belarus protests (AP) A human rights group in Belarus said more than 900 people were arrested Sunday in protests around the country calling for authoritarian President Alexander Lukashenko to step down. The demonstrations continued the wave of near-daily protests that have gripped Belarus since early August. In the capital Minsk, police wielded clubs and used tear gas and water cannons to disperse thousands of demonstrators. The Viasna human rights organization reported detentions at demonstrations in other cities, including Vitebsk and Gomel. It said the nationwide arrest total was at least 928 and that some of those detained were beaten by police.

‘You Cannot Say No’: The Reign of Terror That Sustains Belarus’s Leader (NYT) Appalled by savage police violence at the start of Belarus’s would-be revolution, the host of a popular morning show on state television quit his job in protest and declared that his country’s veteran leader, no matter how brutal, would never “force Belarusians back into the box they existed in for these 26 years.” Arrested soon afterward and held in a grimy prison, the broadcaster, Denis Dudinsky, reappeared a few days later—this time with a video message calling on opponents of President Aleksandr G. Lukashenko to stop protesting. Asked what made him change his mind, Mr. Dudinsky declined to go into details, just remarking obliquely that “these people know how to formulate their requests in such a way that you cannot say no.” After nearly three months of protests that began with widespread anger over a rigged election, Mr. Lukashenko seems to be surviving the challenge to his power. He has managed this not just through harsh police tactics, hollow promises of reform or the passage of time. Rather, he has relied on a more insidious and often invisible machinery of persuasion, coercion and repression: a domestic security agency little changed from the Soviet era that, indeed, still uses its old Soviet name, the KGB. It controls a network of spies and monitors—known as “curators”—who oversee every establishment in the country, from schools and businesses to the presidential administration. Its agents collect compromising materials on just about anyone suspected of disloyalty and eavesdrop on the conversations of senior government officials to make sure they toe the party line.

ASEAN, China, other partners set world’s biggest trade pact (AP) China and 14 other countries agreed Sunday to set up the world’s largest trading bloc, encompassing nearly a third of all economic activity, in a deal many in Asia are hoping will help hasten a recovery from the shocks of the pandemic. The Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership, or RCEP, was signed virtually on Sunday on the sidelines of the annual summit of the 10-nation Association of Southeast Asian Nations. The accord will take already low tariffs on trade between member countries still lower, over time. Apart from the 10-member Association of Southeast Asian Nations, it includes China, Japan, South Korea, Australia and New Zealand, but not the United States. It is not expected to go as far as the European Union in integrating member economies but does build on existing free trade arrangements.

Palestinians torn as Israel seeks Gulf tourists in Jerusalem (AP) When the United Arab Emirates agreed to normalize relations with Israel, the Palestinians decried the move as a “betrayal” of both Jerusalem, where they hope to establish the capital of their future state, and the Al-Aqsa mosque compound, the city’s holiest Muslim site. But with Israel now courting wealthy Gulf tourists and establishing new air links to the major travel hubs of Dubai and Abu Dhabi, Palestinians in east Jerusalem could soon see a tourism boon after months in which the coronavirus transformed the Holy City into a ghost town. “There will be some benefits for the Palestinian sector of tourism, and this is what I’m hoping for,” said Sami Abu-Dayyeh, a Palestinian businessman in east Jerusalem who owns four hotels and a tourism agency. “Forget about politics, we have to survive.” The prospect of expanded religious tourism could end up benefiting Israelis and Palestinians alike, as wealthy Gulf tourists and Muslim pilgrims from further afield take advantage of new air links and improved relations to visit Al-Aqsa and other holy sites.

Ethiopia’s Tigray leader confirms firing missiles at Eritrea (AP) The leader of Ethiopia’s rebellious Tigray region has confirmed firing missiles at neighboring Eritrea’s capital and is threatening more, marking a huge escalation as the deadly fighting in northern Ethiopia between Tigray forces and the federal government spills across an international border. The brewing civil war in Ethiopia between a regional government that once dominated the country’s ruling coalition, and a Nobel Peace Prize-winning prime minister whose sweeping reforms marginalized the Tigray region’s power, could fracture a key U.S. security ally and destabilize the strategic Horn of Africa, with the potential to send scores of thousands of refugees into Sudan. At least three rockets appeared to be aimed at the airport in Asmara, hours after the Tigray regional government warned it might attack. It accuses Eritrea of attacking at the invitation of Ethiopia’s government after the conflict in the Tigray region erupted on Nov. 4 with an attack by regional forces on a federal military base there.

UN food agency warns 2021 will be worse than 2020 (AP) The head of the World Food Program says the Nobel Peace Prize has given the U.N. agency a spotlight and megaphone to warn world leaders that next year is going to be worse than this year, and without billions of dollars “we are going to have famines of biblical proportions in 2021.” David Beasley said in an interview with The Associated Press that the Norwegian Nobel Committee was looking at the work the agency does every day in conflicts, disasters and refugee camps, often putting staffers’ lives at risk to feed millions of hungry people—but also to send “a message to the world that it’s getting worse out there ... (and) that our hardest work is yet to come.” Beasley likened the upcoming crisis to the Titanic saying “right now, we really need to focus on icebergs, and icebergs are famine, starvation, destabilization and migration.” Beasley said WFP needs $15 billion next year—$5 billion just to avert famine and $10 billion to carry out the agency’s global programs including for malnourished children and school lunches which are often the only meal youngsters get.

#headlines #news

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pernatius · 4 years

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The Forbidden Blade: Ch 85

Ch 84

I let go, and with that our eyes meet. I then go on to continue, “But you do. You deserve everything: the praise, power, and just having a stable empire overall. I regret a lot of things. I’ve done so many selfish things and things I should’ve done, but I didn’t because I let my pity towards myself get the better of me. Yes, at one point I thought I wanted this. Now, Beteka, I don’t even know what I want anymore. However, right now, what I do want is to save my people. Please, Beteka, stop this madness.”

The roaring flames from outside grow, and with it the screams of the People of Krala. I hear them cry. It pains me to just listen, but I can’t do anything about it right now. Not without making amends to the girl before me can I save them.

She looks away from me. I watch her open her mouth, seconds from giving me her answer to my desperate plea. Eyeing her grip, I see it loosen. I feel relief begin to tingle from my fingertips. That is until a dagger is jabbed into my shoulder. I bellow out a shout, and then quickly turn towards the culprit. My eyes widened at the sight.

A group of Shadowmen stood behind me. The others had their arms motion towards me, swinging their daggers at me as well. The action plays out slowly before my eyes. I try to swing my weapon as well, hoping to block. However, I’m too slow. This body doesn’t keep up. My heart drops.

Someone's sword comes shooting between us. My eyes follow down the long weapon. It’s Ignitus’s blade. Beteka is breathing heavily, trying to keep hold. The Shadowmen, though hindered from stabbing me, still pull forward. “Arthus, are you going to do something anytime soon? I can’t keep holding them like this.”

I swing. They dodge the attack. Then, in unison, dash towards us. Beteka and I raised our swords. Neither of us are given the time to even step toward them because a familiar figure rises from our shadows and lunges at them. With just his fists he’s able to outclass the group quite easily. One by one they fall to the floor, unconscious. The man, who is my sort of dead father, comes stepping towards us. He eyes me, but his eyes immediately turn towards Beteka once he notices I have noticed.

“Oud wasn’t in the castle. He wasn’t even anywhere near it,” the Shadowman revealed.

Beteka stabs the sword into the ground. She flares her arms. “Of course he knew.”

“Knew,” I questioned.

Beteka pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose, frustrated. “We knew word would catch on quickly that we were attacking Krala, so we thought he would think we would just have our focus over here. Jäger was sent to assassinate him, as Oud was entertained with the little theatre over here.”

“Little? You’ve slaughtered so many of my people. Innocent people, I need to add. You used me again. No, you used the whole empire.”

Something broke within me. A growl comes spewing out of my mouth. Everything around us comes to a halt. The battle beside us paused, and more importantly the fire outside froze. In a blink of an eye it became quiet. The two of them turn pale, confused and shocked over the abrupt change in scenery.

I grab Beteka’s shirt and raise my fist. A hand is placed on me, stopping me. Turning towards it, Jäger calms me, “Arthus.”

Upon letting go of her I finally realize what I have done. With that the actions around us return. The screams, shouts, crackling of flames, and blood shedding continue. I gulp, trying to hold back myself from becoming nauseated. The buzzing in my head, blurry vision, and the shaking of my feet quickly become prominent. “Arthus,” Beteka questioned concerningly.

“Please, just stop.”

The stench of ash hit my nose. We all sat inside the Palace’s meeting room. I sat on the far end, where Cetius would always sit. My eyes shifted towards where I would’ve sat. Instead of seeing myself, a young me, I see Beteka planning out with Jäger who’s sitting next to her. Sitting across from Jäger is Reess, the person who my eyes have been the most reluctant towards. We ended on alright terms, yes, but I don’t feel like looking at her with my red eyes, especially when we’re inside the very room that planned the massacre of her own people all those decades ago. However, with the tension I feel towards Jäger and Beteka, and especially Reess I want to chuckle. The desire to do so isn’t one of merriment. It’s one of sorrow. So, these are the ones that made it.

A finger circles before me, wishing that Reina could’ve been here. I even wish that Amber could’ve been as well. At least she has a strong background in this stuff, but It’s not like I can’t participate in this. I have studied hundreds of battle plans from generations of Krala’s generals because of Xyetius. My eyes roll from the thought of him.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Beteka’s voice finally makes it into my ears, “the castle is the safest place.”

“Oud is a smart man. He knew that’s the first place we’d look.”

“Then, where on earth could he be?”

That’s when it hits me. “What if he’s not on earth?” It’s weird to have their eyes on me after all this time, especially Reess’s eyes, but I go on to continue, “What if he’s in the Mindscape?”

“Not many people know how to get in the Mindscape, and I doubt he knows how to get into it. I don’t even know how to get there. I can only reach a certain point between our world and the Mindscape. Besides, even if he does, why would he risk having his physical body out in the open,” Beteka criticized my theory.

“Oud is dead. He’s been dead.”

“What do you mean?”

Jäger strokes his chin.

“Somehow he’s been able to create a new body. A solidified soul, if you will.”

“Solidified soul? What? What are you even talking about? How did you come up with such an insane conclusion?”

“That does make sense,” Jäger confirmed.

As for Reess, the old woman is watching us converse quietly.

“You can’t just solidify a soul.”

“Beteka, yes, you can. I am a product of such an odd case.” This causes her to look at the Shadowman strangely. She’s about to touch him, but I bring her attention back to me.

“So, I don’t think Oud would leave anything if he were to go into the Mindscape.”

“Let’s say I believe you. Do you even know how to even get into the Mindscape?”

“Well, I don’t know exactly how to get into the Mindscape. Xyetius didn’t properly teach me how to, but I know someone who can.”

We stood before the tavern. The stench of alcohol hits me. She looks at me oddly, but I continue straight ahead. I swing its doors open. The patrons inside look as defeated as they did last time, heads down. They sipped their drinks slowly. None of them thought to question any of us, the new faces beside me. None of them dared to look up, get a better look of the bare woman and dark cloaked figure on either side of me. “Where’s Detr?”

#162 #the forbidden blade #chapter 85 #writers on tumblr #creative writing #spilled ink

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fluidityandgiggles · 4 years

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Dalton Big Bang day 11 - The Natural Next Step (coffee shop AU)

Writing Masterpost, AO3 Link

Notes: Sperril will not let me go, and so I shall write for them.

(Who cares? They're adorable)

Meeting one

"Logan, back me up here?" Charlie called into the break room, to his fellow barista, who was currently on break. "Your boyfriend is here!"

"Good!" Logan called back, pushing his glasses up without even looking at Charlie. "I'm having lunch."

"Okay!" Julian laughed as he saw Charlie come back and immediately turn to Dwight, letting out a loud "yeehaw!".

"Yeehaw?" Dwight replied, getting away from the cash register to join Charlie. "Yeehaw, yeehaw!"

"Yeehaw, yeehaw yeehaw—"

"You made your fucking point!" Logan almost screamed by then, getting out of the break room as the two Texans started laughing. "Yee fucking haw. Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too."

As Logan went to greet (read: kiss) Julian and get his order, and the others could not help but make fun of the two, Merril silently thanked them for keeping her out of it. They were her friends and she loved them all very dearly, but they could be a wild bunch when they wanted to be… and it could honestly sometimes be a lot. So these times when they all got this chaotic, Merril counted her blessings and smiled to herself.

She was in the middle of piping the meringue on top of a lemon pie when she heard another commotion outside, looking as Dwight ran into the kitchen to grab a cup of water.

"Are you okay, darling?"

"He's here."

----

Spencer Willis didn't think, not in a million years, that he would ever become a set designer for an off-Broadway show. He didn't even think he'd enjoy set designing at all, until getting discharged on medical grounds from West Point.

It took him a year to recover, spent while living with Justin in New York and not doing much more than physical therapy and just being dorks together, and then he applied to Syracuse. It was an easy choice to make - it's still in New York, so he could still see Sydney from time to time; he could afford it, between his parents and some scholarships and grants he could apply to; and best of all, it had a great art department, at least according to his research (and Justin's sister's friend Lucy who also applied).

Lucy Westwood was, for a lack of a better word, quite chaotic. The eighteen-year old costume design major quickly took to the twenty-year old art major, which didn't go unnoticed, and before Spencer knew it he was asked by his professors if he thinks theatre design would be a better major for him. Well, less asked and more told to try a couple courses and see how he likes it, and… in stage design he ended up staying. It was still art, and amazing art at that, but it was also a lot of physical, tactical work, and he fell in love with all of that.

It's been four years since graduating Syracuse. Four wild, wild years, where he got to meet and befriend Reed Van Kamp, get roped into the theatre world harder than ever before, and as of a few months ago and thanks to Reed's insistent pleas, also start working off-Broadway on a revival of Assassins.

He still couldn't quite wrap his head around how this happened, but somehow it just did.

"I saw Shane again last night," Reed told him and Lucy as they joined them for lunch, in the middle of a long day none of them could guess just how long it'll end up being. "He's so good! Lucy, he's so good!"

"Now you're going to tell us we need to come see Once On This Island," Lucy laughed, bouncing as they waited at the queue at the cafe they ended up going to. "You've told us that several times already."

"Mercedes Jones is a goddess, okay? And a literal one in this production! And Shane is really good as Daniel, and Jane, the girl who plays Ti Moune, is just… I can't praise them enough! I think I'm in love with a whole cast. Can you be in love with a whole cast?"

"I think you definitely can," Spencer answered them, watching as the cashier ran away into the kitchen. He started doing that after the third time Spencer and Justin came here, to meet with Justin's boyfriend Charlie, and they had a conversation about Cats that got the whole cafe involved in it. He always felt bad for the poor guy, but to each their own, he supposed. "Hey, Chaz."

"Oh, hi," Charlie chuckled as he came to the register for now. "I swear, Dwight needs to get over that Cats debate…"

"No he doesn't, he's fine."

As Reed and Lucy left the queue to sit down and Spencer stayed to order - "two caprese sandwiches, an omelet sandwich, two chocolate cake slices and three iced coffees, everything to-go so Reed won't hurt themself" - Dwight showed up again, being pushed out of the kitchen by possibly the prettiest girl Spencer's ever seen.

"...Spence? Dude, you're gonna pay?" Charlie even waved a hand in front of his eyes, and it's only after the girl runs back to the kitchen that Spencer shook back up, realizing he's been staring.

"Uhh… yeah, sorry. Yeah."

----

Meeting three

The depression hit Merril pretty hard about two weeks ago, and this was the first time in ten days that she left the house. She showered, changed clothes, cleaned her apartment somewhat, all in attempt to make herself feel better, but nothing really worked.

But… that nice guy from the c-- Spencer! Spencer asked her out on a date last time they met, and she'd never back out on this… not to mention she might seem like a flake if she does, and it's so unfair to him, he's so nice and sweet and, and…

"Merril, go home," Charlie told her the second she stepped into the cafe. "Honey, you don't have to work today, remember?"

"I'm here for a date," she reminded him, sighing tiredly and going to hug him. She could smell his detergent as she did so, calming down almost instantly. Charlie… smelled like home to her.

Then again, isn't that what he was for her…?

"You look beautiful," he reassured her, patting her head gently. "You bought this dress with Casey, right?"

"Mmhm."

"It looks very good on you. I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you…" She smiled into his chest. It's the first smile she managed in over a week.

"Get away from the counter now," he told her after a few moments of hugging. "Go sit down. You have a date."

"Who has a date?" Came the question from Logan, who came back from the break room, wiping his hands with a paper towel.

"Merril does."

"Oh, hello!" He smirked at her, in that uniquely Logan way of his, and she just had to smile back. "Who's the lucky fella, mom?"

"Don't you have band rehearsal today?" She teased back.

"Drew canceled in favor of meeting Alex's parents."

"Oh, poor guy… sucks to work an extra shift, doesn't it?"

Just as Logan stuck his tongue out at her, Spencer stepped inside the cafe, barely looking for her before just heading over and sitting down next to her.

"Hi."

She smiled at him, swatting at Logan to go away. "Hi."

----

Seeing Merril in that blue floral dress, with her hair curled around her face and her eyes sparkling so beautifully, Spencer didn't want this date to end.

But alas, he was needed back at work soon.

"So…" Merril twirled a lock of hair around her finger, sipping her iced tea. "You really don't mind dating me…?"

"No!" He called almost immediately, startling her. "Merril, you're… so out of my league. You're so beautiful and smart and nice, and-- and you're the baker here, so obviously you're talented, and--"

"No, no no no, Spencer…" She took her hand, her face falling. "Spencer, I'm transgender."

"Okay, so what?"

It took a second, but then she just looked at him so weirdly, like she can't believe his words.

"What… what do you mean, so what?"

"You… absolutely ruined my expectations in women. I don't care what your body is like, you're perfect in my opinion, I enjoy being around you, I would love to keep dating you, and I very much hope you would the same. So, so what? You're a girl that I like. I like you very much even."

Merril just laughed.

"What… what's happening--"

"I like you very much too," she told him, through sad laughter. "And I would love to keep dating you too."

"Oh, that's-- that's good! Can I kiss you?"

She laughed again, and nodded, and Spencer could swear he heard Charlie and the other barista cheer as he leaned in to kiss her.

He did too, in his own way.

----

Meeting twelve

It was Julian's birthday, and Merril could see Logan avoiding work and just hanging with him and their best friend Derek near a window. She was almost finished with his cake, just piping a small happy birthday on top of it, when Dwight ran into the kitchen.

"You need to stop doing that, darling. Spencer isn't going to kill you."

"He's a cursed man," Dwight told her, making her chuckle. "You're dating a cursed man, Merril."

"Oh dear… did you not know I like Macavity?"

It took him exactly three seconds to put his cup of water down and march right out of the kitchen, hollering "I HATE THIS FUCKING FAMILY".

"But I do!" She called after him, going back to finish the cake right afterward. Poor guy… She never meant to upset him, but…

Huh. Maybe it was just a touchy musical.

"I want to try something new," she heard faintly from the front, smiling a little to herself. On their third date, Spencer told her that he decided to try new types of coffee every day - he's an artiste, after all, so what's a little experimenting going to do - and that she should be prepared for some bizarre drinks. Of course, she reminded him she's not the barista, but…

"And what would it be today, Spence?"

"A cortado with lemon."

Of course.

She stifled a laugh when she heard that, almost dropping the cake before she even picked it up. She steadied herself, picked the cake back up and left the kitchen, watching Charlie hold back from beating himself up over Spencer's order.

----

"A cortado with lemon?" Spencer nodded as Charlie just stared at him. "Do you know what you're ordering?"

"Nope."

"...I'm fucking glad you're not ordering an iced pumpkin spice latte at least," Charlie sighed as he slid Spencer's card for him. "It's the middle of August."

"Glad to not disappoint for once."

As Spencer waited for his coffee, he watched Merril hug Logan after serving his cake, then come over to hug Spencer himself.

"Hey there, Gilear Faeth."

"Stop calling me that," he laughed. "But hi."

"You know a cortado is just an espresso with a bit of milk foam, right?"

"...what the fuck did I just order?"

Merril just giggled. "I can't tell you, I've never tried it."

"I'm going to die…"

"Spencer?" Charlie called after a bit, and he let go of Merril to go get his coffee. "Here's your poison, man."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're here late," Charlie pointed out as Merril ran to the bathroom, kissing Spencer's kiss as she goes. "What's the occasion?"

"I got two tickets to see Once On This Island. Reed finally convinced me…"

"That's their boyfriend's show, right?"

"Yeah. They finally broke me, and Merril's interested, so I got two tickets." He took a sip from his drink. "Oh god, this is disgusting."

"I'll replace it for you with hot chocolate for free if you stop ordering stupid drinks," Charlie laughed.

"I would like that very much, please and thank you."

Merril came back from the bathroom after a few minutes, dressed in a clean red dress instead of her black shirt and jeans, her makeup retouched, to see Spencer drinking a cup of hot chocolate instead of his absolutely random abomination.

"I'm ready. Are you?"

----

Meeting seventy-seven

Merril and Charlie were closing the cafe that day - well, more like Merril was closing and Charlie spent most of his time talking with his boyfriend (who just so happened to stay there after closing so he could "pick Charlie up") - when Merril found an envelope under the counter.

An envelope addressed to her.

"Charlie, darling, it's not payroll day, only tomorrow…" her eyes got dark as the boy turned to look at her. "What… what's going on…?"

"Mom, it's not what you're thinking," he was quick to say, but she was quicker to cry.

"I… I don't understand, what…"

"That… was supposed to be for tomorrow. Spencer asked me to help him surprise you…" She just looked at him confused. "It's nothing bad. Let's finish here, go home, you'll get to cuddle with your boyfriend and watch whatever cheesy show you two watch nowadays. Tomorrow it'll all make sense."

"Spencer adores you," Justin tried to add, looking quite worried. "This is a good one, we promise."

"I…" she took a second to stop shaking before putting the envelope back in place, feeling something hard inside of it. "Okay… you're his best friends, I'm going to trust you."

"Go home, Merril," Charlie sighed, watching her fumble. "I'll finish here. Please."

"...fine."

----

Spencer showed up for lunch the next day, ordering his omelet sandwich and iced coffee, and a slice of lemon meringue pie. It was a quick order, one made fully knowing that Merril would join him for lunch today.

"...and a chocolate cupcake, please."

"Sure thing."

Merril joined him after thirty minutes, looking grateful to be off the clock for the day as Dwight brought over a cup of green tea and an envelope, looking rather suspicious to be near the table.

"God save your soul, Spencer," he told the man before putting Merril's things down and leaving.

"...is he still about that?"

"I don't know, honey. We're working with him on it."

They ate lunch, talked about their day, but Spencer couldn't help looking at the envelope like it was about to kill him.

"...and then Dwight just-- Spencer…?" Merril kissed his cheek, making him look at her. "Honey, what's happening?"

"Can you open the envelope please…?" He looked off to Charlie, who gave him two thumbs up. "The anticipation is killing me."

"Oh! Oh… sure." She frowned as she opened it, too focused on making it neat to ignore Spencer getting down on one knee as a ring fell out of the envelope.

A delicate gold ring with a lovely blue stone in the middle of it, and three tiny diamonds on either side of it.

"Spencer…?"

"You're perfect for me," Spencer managed to say as he grabbed the ring, holding it up to her. "Merril Portman, you are perfect. I love you more than words can describe, and if I started listing the reasons why we'd be here until Sunday in fifty years."

"Spencer, I love you too, I…"

"You complete me, Merril. God, I can't tell you how much I've gone through that just seemed to… go away when I'm with you. So… this is just the natural next thing to do."

She started crying. Merril won't lie, she started crying. Prompting Spencer to give her a hand, squeeze it a bit, watch her smile through her tears.

"Merril Portman… will you do me the honor of--"

"Yes!" She laughed, still sobbing. "Yes, absolutely, I will marry you."

They kissed and hugged and kissed some more, to the cheers of everyone around them, and it didn't really matter how much Merril cried or how odd Spencer felt the rest of the day afterwards. This was just the natural next step for them.

#kylo cant write #daltonfic #daltonficbigbang #day 11 - coffee shop au #sperril are too cute #so merril is depressed and it might just be my fault #dwight houston hates cats pass it on

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born-to-lose · 5 years

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Classic Rock interview with Roger Taylor (2013)

Let's cut straight to the chase, Roger - what is the status of Queen right now?

I'm still in that band, but there's only two of us left, Brian and myself. And only one of us can walk [laughs]. We still run the brand - that's what it is these days.

So if Queen is a brand, operated by you and Brian, where does Adam Lambert fit in?

I wouldn't say he's always going to be a part of Queen. We're doing the live TV show in Vegas with Adam and a couple of other guests, in a 10,000-seater, but that's all we've got planned. There are no rules, really. We do things very much on the spur.

But do you plan to continue performing as Queen, with or without Adam Lambert?

Yeah, but it's only an occasional thing now. Last year, with Adam, we did three really big shows in Europe and three at Hammersmith Apollo, which was a lot of fun. Brian and I realised a long time ago: this is what we do, this is what we are. I'm afraid, readers, it goes on forever.

Are you happy with Adam as Queen's singer?

He works very well with us. He's an incredible singer. He's got a really magnetic stage presence. He's very sexy. And, of course, our more theatrical songs suit him perfectly. He's a diva - a male diva. And that's what he should think about being.

Before you began working with Adam, you toured and recorded an album as Queen + Paul Rodgers.

Paul is a singer that Freddie admired. He led two of rock's greatest bands: Free and Bad Company. In that sense he is the antithesis of Adam Lambert.

We actually loved playing the Free and Bad Company stuff with Paul. But strangely enough, although Paul was wonderful, with that amazing blues-soul voice, Adam is more suited to some of our bigger songs than Paul was.

Some Queen fans think you're selling the band short by having a guy from American Idol as your singer. Do you understand that?

Whatever you do, people have to take it or leave it. That's always the case.

The same applies to The Queen Extravaganza, this new 'official tribute show'. What does that mean, exactly?

Good question. It means that we, or rather I, had a hand in making it. There's an awful lot of Queen tribute bands around, some good, some bad. So I thought, why don't we try to make a really good one, with brilliant musicianship? I put the band together in America, using the internet to audition. And the singer I found, Marc Martel, is an absolute dead ringer for Freddie's voice.

What's Marc Martel's background?

He's in his 30s, from Nashville, originally from Montreal. He's been in Christian bands. He's an extraordinary singer. We also found these amazing musicians. We had a nine-piece group at the beginning and it was too unwieldy. Too much like a showband, with three singers. Now it's a six-piece.

Three singers has the whiff of musical theatre.

And that's the last thing I'd ever want. I can't stand all that over-singing. What these guys do is play our music brilliantly. They can perform the whole of Bohemian Rhapsody, because they can all sing.

How good is the drummer, Tyler Warren?

Brilliant. And he can sing higher than I can. We all know that the drummer is the most important member of the band.

And in some cases the best looking?

Yeah, that as well [laughs].

Seriously, are Classic Rock readers going to like the tribute show?

I'm a rock and roller. I'm not a balladeer. And I think rock fans will love this band. They really get me going. Everybody who sees them will be impressed, I can pretty much guarantee it.

There were rumours in 2011 of a new Queen album, based on 'lost' demos of Freddie's.

Not true. We wouldn't want to put out an album of demos anyway.

Are there any remaining Queen songs, recorded with Freddie, which might be released in the future?

Yes, there's a couple of tracks. Brian and I are going to work on them. One of them we all worked on, the other one was mainly a Brian song.

Were both songs written near the end of your time with Freddie?

Actually, no, they're quite old. I'm not bigging them up or anything, but yes, there are a couple of things that we're going to finish, and I dare say they will come out.

Are there any plans for another Queen album?

Universal want us to put together an album of the slower songs that people don't know so well, so I'm compiling that this week with Brian.

You also have a new solo album out soon.

It's been written over a five-year period, so it's very eclectic. Some gentle stuff, some rockier stuff, and some fairly political stuff.

Where did the political stuff come from?

I wrote a song called The Unblinking Eye, about disillusionment, the mess the country was in, shops on the high street closing and out politicians being such a despicable bunch.

Are you the kind of man who rants at the telly when the news is on?

I've grown out of that. The TV can't hear you.

What's the title of your new album?

My first solo effort [in 1981] was called Fun In Space. I was reading a lot of science fiction at the time. So I've called this one Fun On Earth. I've come down to earth a bit, but there's still a bit of fun in there - some smiley tracks.

Is it influenced by any modern music?

The best band I've seen in a long time is Sigur Ros. I love that atmospheric, semi-ambient thing they have. They're magnificent too. I saw them at the Academy in Brixton.

Do you still get out to gigs?

Very rarely. But I went to see that, even though I had flu at the time. Well, a nasty cold.

Also released in September is a collection of all the music you've made outside of Queen - including solo albums and your 80s side-project band The Cross.

Yes, it's called The Lot. I said: "Let's have the lot in there," so I thought let's call it that.

Is it all good stuff, or is there some rubbish in there too?

Like anything, there are some things you regret. But my last solo album, Electric Fire [1988], still sounds great.

What's the best song you wrote for Queen?

Hard to say. I like Radio Ga Ga. It was a nice fusion of synthesisers and... what can I call it... epic pop.

And the worst?

There's a few. I hate Delilah [on Innuendo]. That's just not me.

Was Modern Times Rock 'N' Roll, on the first Queen album, the first song you wrote for the band?

Yeah. Although before that we'd all written Stone Cold Crazy together. I think that was our first proper song.

As a drummer, you've cited John Bonham as your biggest influence.

For me there were three main influences: Bonzo, Keith Moon, and Mitch Mitchell, who I think was so underrated. I heard Ginger Baker saying some incredibly cruel things about Mitch Mitchell and I thought, what a cunt. Ginger Baker didn't have any of the subtlety or dexterity of Mitch Mitchell, whom he slagged the hell out of. That really got up my nose.

Who are your biggest influences as a songwriter?

Oh, Ginger Baker, definitely [laughs]. Seriously, it would be Dylan, Lennon... and Springsteen is fabulous.

Which song would you say has your best lyrics?

Heaven For Everyone [recorded first by The Cross and later by Queen] had some good stuff about love and dignity, the usual anti-war thing. These Are The Days Of Our Lives was quite nice in a reminiscing, rather old-fashioned kind of way.

And that song took on a greater meaning after Freddie's death.

It took on a resonance, yeah. I was sort of referencing us at the time I wrote it. We knew Freddie wasn't well.

Did you ever see a better frontman than Freddie?

You'll never see anyone connect as well with an audience as Freddie could.

But for all his showmanship on stage, wasn't he somewhat insecure in private?

Oh yeah. He was quite insecure about all sort of things. Strangely, he was also shy in some ways. But he could switch it on and off. He was great when he was with his close circle, but if there were people he didn't know very well, he could feel quite awkward.

Was there any part of Freddie's personality that used to get on your tits?

Almost nothing. But he used to clear his throat in a quite nauseatingly loud way. But we got on famously.

In the 2011 documentary Queen: Days Of Our Lives, when you talk about the last year of Freddie's life and the hounding he received from the tabloid press, you sound furious, even after all the years.

I still feel it today. It was The Sun. It was like an assassination in order to flog a few newspapers. How vindictive and horrible. I thought that was a bit much. I felt very protective of Fred then. And just recently when the News Of The World went down I danced a fucking jig.

Did you ever court the tabloid press?

Not really. I never believed that tabloids sold records. Or actually furthered your career. And I think you're better off trying to keep out of them. I don't think they help you. If anything, they make you look like a tit. And there's too much ammunition there. The less they know, the better. Freddie got a lot of crap printed about him, Brian had a lot, and I had a little bit but not much.

Did you believe there was a homophobic subtext to some of the media coverage of Freddie's death?

Absolutely. "This is what you get..." It was just prurient, wasn't it?

Do you ever dream that Freddie is still around?

Yeah. Brian would tell you the same - that Freddie sort of lives with us. We spent so many years together, living in each other's pockets. And we'd socialise quite a lot together. So he's someone who's not going to go away. But I don't intend to spend the rest of my life living under the shadow of Freddie Mercury. He was my best mate and he's gone, bless him, and we miss him, but you've got to get on with life.

The first Queen album is now 40 years old. What are your memories of making it?

It was all very exciting. Time in the studio seemed so expensive - 30 quid an hour, a huge amount of money back then. We would go in at four in the morning. It was hard work. And we never really got the sound that I wanted on the first album. We didn't have quite enough control, which we got on the second album.

In those early days, what were your hopes and dreams for Queen?

We wanted to get lots of work. We wanted to be recognised. We wanted to be rich and famous.

And how did that work out for you?

It worked out all right. But it's always a more gradual process than people imagine.

Looking back over Queen's career, what are you most proud of?

The way that the music has seeped into the general consciousness, the fact that we are still occasionally played on the radio, and a lot of the music is still popular. Kids know our music now, and I find that fantastic.

Any regrets?

Many regrets. Most are small ones. But I think we made a bad decision to go to South Africa [to play in Sun City in 1984, during the era of apartheid]. I think we were badly advised. Although we went there with the best intentions, I think it was the wrong decision.

But the following year Queen did the right thing and played at Live Aid. And stole the show with a performance that people still talk about today.

Live Aid was a great day. I remember Bob Geldof describing it as a global jukebox. And we got that: right, we'll ram in as many songs as we can. If you're appearing on a global stage, you know that most people watching on television won't be your fans, so we thought the most sensible thing was to play the ones they know. Or rather, play the ones that they might know. So that's what we did.

How would you describe your relationship with Brian May?

We're best mates, really. It's amazing what Brian fits into his life. He's a genuine polymath. He's an astrophysics PhD, one of the world's foremost experts on stereophotography. He does all sorts of things. A bit bonkers, some of it.

You and Brian have continued as Queen without Freddie and without the band's other founding member, bassist John Deacon, who retired from the music business in the 90s. Can you understand why Robert Plant chose not to tour again with Led Zeppelin?

Yeah. Robert's a very pure-spirited man. Also, Zeppelin is very demanding on a singer - all those vocal gymnastics. Pehaps he thinks in some way he might not deliver at the level he was delivering at. And also there's the huge respect for Bonzo, who was the motherfucker of all rock drummers. So yeah, I can see why he won't do it. And Robert has a very respected career of his own.

But if Freddie had lived and had declined to tour again with Queen, that would have been hard for you to accept.

I guess it would. But Freddie always felt his real comfort zone was when we were all together... bickering away [laughs].

Did that bickering come from having four songwriters in Queen?

Very much so. There were definitely four schools of writing going on. John and I found our strengths later than the other two. Right from the start, Freddie just went on in leaps and bounds. He just sort of invented himself. But, at the end of the day, we understood each other. And it worked very well.

In the glory days of Queen you had a reputation as a playboy. Were you?

No. I think that's overplayed. We had a good time - we had a really good time - but we didn't shout about it.

Have you slowed down over the years?

Of course. Everybody slows down. Or dies. And I don't intend dying yet.

What's next for Roger Taylor? A solo tour for your new album?

I'm thinking about getting together some mates in a really hot band and getting out on the road. And if I did, I'd have my son Rufus Tiger Taylor playing drums. He plays with Queen when we tour. He plays percussion most of the time, and when I do anything out front he plays drums. He's Brian's favourite drummer, I think.

Did you teach him too well?

Actually, he's more from the Taylor Hawkins school than mine.

Have you ever thought about stopping playing drums?

I can't imagine it. It would be horrible to think I'd never play the drums or sing again. It's like a painter, really - most painters keep painting.

But it's a bit easier to paint than to play drums.

Very true. But my style gets more economical and relaxed, without me realising it. It's not quite as wild as it was. But I still love to play. I've done a couple of shows with Jeff Beck recently, which is a delight. Jeff is just the most wonderful guitar player.

So you're not thinking of retiring?

Why would I want to stop? It's not like I have to get up at seven o'clock in the morning to go and play the drums, it's something I can pick up and put down when I choose.

All those years ago you wanted to be rich and famous. And your dreams came true. Is there a downside to all of this?

Not really. I slide around fairly unrecognised, which suits me down to the ground. Some people enjoy making an entrance and being noticed. That's not really me.

It's been a good life, hasn't it?

It has. I'm very lucky.

#i would have scanned the pages but idk how to do that #roger taylor #queen #mel talks #also sorry if there are any typos just tell me and i'll correct them #long post #interview #roger taylor interview

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kat-astrophic-todd · 6 years

Text

when the night had veild the pole

@silverhawkeye221 asked for: Alfred shoots Joker in the head

Also on AO3

...

Alfred Pennyworth was a man of good.

Every minute of his life he had attempted to be a man of honor, a man of justice, a man of good.

He started out young and naïve, playing on the theatre, so many decades ago he barely remembered the stage. But, sometimes, if he closed his eyes just right and caught a whiff of petrichor, he felt the thick velvet of the curtain, the nervous actors whispering right before getting out and playing their part. He could feel his heart pounding in anticipation, the feeling of the tights covering his thighs, the dread of going blank midsentence and starting to improvise. For a golden instant, he could feel it all. And just as soon, it would all be slipping through the cracks of his mind, back to that specific corner in his memories.

He had always differentiated every part of his life, so many years gave him time to process it. To treasure the best parts, to bury the ugly ones.

Sometimes, he would be working in the kitchen, thinking about nothing in particular and feel a change in the air, a creak on the ceiling, and instinctively reach to where he would have carried his gun, a lifetime ago. It was funny, indeed, how the tiniest of stimulus could trigger the memories, the pain, a completely different Alfred Pennyworth.

Some nights, usually when galas took place in the manor, he would look up the staircase and be sure Martha and Thomas Wayne would be descending, hand in hand. In more than one occasion, Alfred would stare at Master Wayne and feel almost horrified by the lack of that characteristic moustache, moments before realizing it was his boy at whom he was looking. Those memories stung.

But some memories would tear the old man to shreds. They would carve and burn and claw their way through him. They would make his knees buckle and his skin prickle. They would make the tears feel like acid on his cheeks, blind him with pain for a few seconds. Sometimes he would serve coffee to the man he had raised and discover himself already preparing hot cocoa for a scrawny, very tiny boy. He would dust the abandoned bedroom (intact, like a macabre museum of the past) and see him stomping his way into the room, telling Alfred all about his classes because Alfred, we’re reading Hamlet and I think I like it, but everyone’s just crazy, amiright?. And then he would stop and bend over and try to get past the urge to puke on a dead child’s duvet.

His dead grandson’s duvet.

And he would run to bathroom that hadn’t been used in years and throw up and let the pain run him over once again.

He would walk into a room where Master Bruce and Miss Barbara would be talking and feel the reflexive there’s no need to stand up, Miss Gordon almost leave his mouth. He would swallow and not meet Master Bruce’s eyes, because he would feel it. He would see it. And god knows the poor man had suffered enough.

He watches, every night, as a man who’s his son (by definition, by fate, by right) stands in front of a glass case (a reminder, a torture, a trap) and then walks away, dresses up as a flying rodent to save a city that doesn’t deserve the sacrifice. He sees a father and a son, too hurt to talk, too afraid of losing each other once again (but that’s what they do, the chasm between them turns a little rockier, a little bigger, each night.)

He sees an exceptional young woman that has been pushed to change her life, to work harder to keep up with the others. Someone, who has a gifted mind that makes her the biggest threat in the family. A fighter, a warrior, a woman who can no longer stand, but stands up for herself.

So, when Alfred Pennyworth prepares to leave the manor on an unremarkable Tuesday eve, there isn’t really much to think about.

He checks his holsters, palming the guns, and tucks away the silencer in his coat pocket. The walk is uneventful, peaceful, he feels comforted by his decision of avoiding vehicles. There’s something cathartic in having to do everything himself.

He almost feels stupid for having wasted all this time pondering the possibility, trying to hire people to do what he knows he would do better. Not that he’s going to take pleasure in it.

But he’s sure he’s going to enjoy the light coming back to his grandson’s eyes, the lightness in Miss Barbara’s. He’ll enjoy letting them know they don’t have to worry about their next patrol, anymore. They won’t have to wake up sweaty and in tears, wondering for some agonizing minutes if everything had been real. If it had happened again.

He would do that for them. He would provide that comfort. It was the least he could do.

The warehouse is filthy and dark. Neon lights in shapes of smiles and guns are the only thing illuminating the space in red and green tones. The clown is cackling. Alfred’s waiting.

The henchmen are retreating to the nearby warehouse, where they, no doubt, have their accommodations. The only one left around is the unfortunate Miss Quinn, who leans over the madman.

Alfred’s patient, that’s something the British intelligence appreciated about him on his missions. He makes himself comfortable in his hideout. He prepares his gun and screws in the silencer. He checks the magazine and the chamber. He checks twice for the safety mechanism.

The sun is rising when the clown shoves the woman to the floor and kicks her without holding back. Alfred’s blood freezes in his veins and watches as that excuse of a man kicks her again and shouts at her to get out of his face.

The list of people benefitting from his, soon to take place, assassination grows by the minute.

The clown sits back on his desk, taking notes frantically and pulling at his hair every few seconds. He’s murmuring and crossing out scribbles, a collection of knives carefully ordered on the table. The only thing ordered in the table.

Some of the knives are still bloodied.

Alfred Pennyworth is a man of good, but he’s been also a man of war, a man of life. He’s no stranger to taking lives, to placing the safety of thousand before the survival of one killer. He has been awarded with the highest honors for serving his country.

But when he shoots the gun, twice at the head, twice at the heart, he realizes there’s no biggest reward than protecting his own family. Than protecting his adoptive city.

He lets the body bleed out. The blood will be good proof of what has happened in this unimportant Tuesday night, where an unimportant deranged killer has been put down. History will not remember this. Will not remember an authorless kill.

He takes the Polaroid from his pocked in his gloved hands (nothing personal, a mere camera that nobody would miss from a lost property section in a Central City library). He takes the picture and leaves it near the knives, and then takes one of them and starts to cut off the right hand.

It’s when he has completely cut it off and laid it on the table when he sees it. The scribbles, the photographs, the scheme that would have involved each and every one of his family members. Plans of torture and murder.

Alfred doesn’t let it get to him. Maybe in a couple of days, he’ll let himself feel the fear, he’ll let his mind wonder what would have been of his son, of the children, had he not decided to continue with his plan.

He’s careful not to step too much on the blood with the boots he got in a shelter for old homeless people in Star City. He cuts two strands of hair and puts them in two separate plastic bags. Then, he drags the body by the armpits and takes him to the back door.

It takes him more time than he would like to admit, but he’s not a lad anymore.

The months he’s been planning the deed have let him study his target. He was fairly acquainted with him, that’s true, but meticulousness was always required. Alfred shoves the body in the truck of one of those hideous purple 4x4 and ignites it cutting some cables. He drives very slowly and avoiding any other vehicle. His own warehouse is not very far.

He introduces the body extremely carefully into the hydrofluoric acid inside the plastic container. Alfred picks up a duffle bag from a corner and starts changing into one of his regular suits. The madman is still disintegrating when he gets closer again and throws the clothes inside.

When he leaves the warehouse, far enough from the crime scene that they won’t discover it in a few hours, he’s still wearing the shelter’s boots.

He walks at a normal pace, covering his face with his favorite trench-coat until he nears a populated zone. Then, he takes off the boots and throws them in a dumpster (the garbage truck won’t take long to do the route in this neighborhood). He takes off the plastic bags covering his feet, too, and puts them in his pocked after putting on his dress shoes.

It’s 4 AM when he finally gets off the bus in Old Gotham and then takes a taxi to the fields surrounding Wayne Manor. He tips the driver generously and proceeds to take the Batcave entrance.

Master Bruce finds him at 5:33 AM, dusting off the T-Rex suspended by the ceiling.

“Oh, Master Bruce, I see you’re finally awake,” the butler hums.

“How are you functioning at this unholy hour?” Master Bruce groans, the moment reminding Alfred of every time he begs for just five more minutes, Alfred. No, no! Don’t pull the curtain-

“I can assure you, Master Bruce,” the old man huffs, descending from the ceiling and unclasping the harnesses, “That this is a perfectly holy hour to be awake for us, normal human beings.” He places a hand briefly on his son’s cheek, smirking. “Breakfast will be served at six o’clock.”

He hears the defeated sigh behind him and lets himself enjoy the moment. He feels a tangible weigh being lifted from his shoulders. He has some writing to do.

ᴥ

Dear Master Jason and Miss Barbara,

By the time you read this, you will, most likely, have already heard the news. I assume you may have also noticed the strand of green hair attached to this letter.

I will not apologize for what I have done. I could not simply ignore all the pain and trauma that man has caused to this family, to my family. I do not seek after your forgiveness or approval.

I wanted you to know who did it and why, to know you can stop looking over your shoulders, wondering what he might do next. I wanted you to know this old man did it not only for the both of you, but for the people who were going to be next on his list. The mothers and fathers, and children that were going to suffer and those who were going to die.

I am no stranger to murder, I was, after all, in the army. So this was not a sacrifice for me. Do not think for a moment that this will bring me despair.

I only hope I can see a smile again on you faces when you see me. I only hope you do not look differently at this old man when he hugs you.

Having said that, I am not asking from you anything you are not willing to give. I will understand if you do not immediately burn this letter and the biological proof. I will understand if any of you tells Master Bruce.

After all, what I did was illegal, but someone had to finally do it. Someone with the skills, someone too old to care for what happens to him.

I have lived a long and happy life. Whatever you decide to do after this letter, I only wish two have a long and happy life, too.

Yours truly,

Alfred T. Pennyworth

...

If you liked this prompt, you can ask me for one on my writing blog @anchinoe

#fanfic #alfred pennyworth #jason todd #bruce wayne #batfamily #feels #family #angst #murder #barbara gordon #joker #gotham #dc #comics #kat.txt

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imgonnabeyourbubblegumwitch · 6 years

Text

I Love You, You Pay My Rent: Chapter Twenty

First Chapter (Prologue)

Previous Chapter (Chapter 19)

Nico had been living with Will for almost three months. The two of them had been through a lot, but at least now Nico could honestly say he didn't think Will was a murderer anymore. He was just worried that someone in his family might be. And the person they might have murdered was Will's mum. And that Will was only in a relationship with him as some sort of twisted plot of revenge.

It was all Jason's fault.

One suggestion was all it took and now Nico couldn't get the idea out of his head. Why else would Will be with Nico? What did he see in him? Somehow it made much more sense for Will to be dating him out of some twisted revenge plot that because he liked him. Will had once called him cute and funny. That was clearly a lie.

"Nico are you thinking again?" Will asked.

Will had maybe, possibly noticed his downward spiral towards almost complete paranoia. At first he'd been dismissive of Nico's concerns (which at first had manifested in needing constant reassurance that Will wasn't mad at him), sometimes gently dismissive and sometimes rolling his eyes and telling Nico he was being silly or that he had an active imagination.

As the days wore on Will had become more concerned.

"You want to go out?"

Nico murmured something vague and unintelligible in response and left it up to Will to decide whether it was agreement or dissent.

Will sighed.

"Nico please can you just look at me?"

Nico didn't want to because, whether maliciously or not, Will's eyes were hypnotising and he'd only have to look at Nico all sincere and beautiful and Nico would fold and give in and they'd end up doing something and Nico would probably have a good time and forget all about the fact his boyfriend might be some kind of super spy sent to destroy him and his family. Which on one hand would probably be good for him.

But on the other, what if that's what Will wanted?

He heard Will sigh and walk off. Nico tried to ignore the spike of guilt that stabbed him in the chest. He drew his knees up to his chest and forced himself to stay still, to not run after Will and give Will what he wanted -

"Will wait!"

Nico was weak and Will had him completely under his thumb.

Will turned and he was so hopeful, his whole being lit up with a tentative light as he watched Nico, waiting like he'd been asked.

Nico didn't really know what he wanted, what he was going to suggest and eventually Will took pity on him.

"We could go watch a movie?"

It was actually not a bad suggestion. It was something to do, which would satisfy Will, without requiring too much interaction Nico didn't know if he could fake, which satisfied him.

"Movie sounds good," Nico said.

A weight seemed to come off Will's shoulders and he seemed about ten pounds lighter, the corners of his mouth turning up in a delighted smile, he quickly squashed.

"I'll be ready in ten minutes," he said softly, clearly trying to be carefully neutral. He'd been treating Nico like a scared wounded animal for the past few days, trying not to push Nico too hard or too far, giving him space and generally being supportive and kind.

And yet no matter what Will did, Nico still couldn't bring himself to trust him.

Nico was a terrible person.

They walked to the nearest cinema, side by side. The grey clouds had finally broken, allowing sunlight to peek through, but the pale warmth didn't seem as strong as it should be. There was still a pressure in the air and Nico thought they were due another storm sometime soon.

Will was quiet as they walked, and thoughtful. Nico didn't try to make conversation, and left Will to his thoughts whatever they might be. Worry or glee at Nico's downward mood? Was he concerned, or happy that his plan was working out perfectly.

In the theatre lobby, Will left Nico staring at the playlist and went to buy popcorn. Nico must have zoned out staring at the billings because the next he knew Will was beside him again

"Are you okay?" Will asked. "Not dizzy or anything? I don't want to have to call another ambulance for you."

His tone was light, teasing but there was something beneath it, and Nico realised Will was actually concerned. Irrationally concerned maybe, but concerned.

"Fine," Nico said.

Will's answering smile was pale to his normal smiles, like the reflection of who he used to be.

Nico felt another one of those stabs of guilt.

"What are we watching?" Will asked.

Nico had forgotten he was supposed to be choosing the film.

"Uh Bridesmaids," Nico said, picking the first movie his eyes fell upon.

Will raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Nico just shrugged.

If he'd expected Bridesmaids to be a nice, cheerful rom com that was light enough that he could pretend to be invested in the plot for an hour or so, so that Will would be happy, while really thinking over and over, round and round, he was mistaken. Bridesmaids, it turned out, was a horror movie.

Will particularly seemed oddly affected by it and Nico suddenly felt the distance between them sharper than ever when Will jumped, jogging the stranger on the other side of him rather than Nico. Jealously warred with guilt then and Nico took his hand, lacing their fingers.

Jason and his stupid accusations could go to hell. He was screwing up a perfectly good relationship over nothing.

Probably nothing. Because there was a chance however slim that -

Stop it Nico.

The next time Will jumped it was Nico who ended up being elbowed, and the popcorn spilt on the floor. Nico smirked at him and Will looked sheepish.

Nico had seen worse films. The shapeshifter was creepy, as was the idea it was among them and no one knew where or what it was plotting or who it would manipulate next, but it didn't really scare him. It was scaring Will and Nico didn't really understand why since Will too had seen worse and most of the time had actually come out better than Nico. Reyna had been cautious of Will as a match for Nico since, on the surface of it, they had so little in common, up until she'd watched a horror with the two of them and it had been Nico that was grabbing at Will, Nico who wouldn't sleep unless Will was next to him.

It was the first time Nico had really understood that somehow Will had been equated with safety for him, and he'd fallen a little further.

They got to about twenty minutes from the end (Nico judged) and were well into the climax when Will suddenly stood and told Nico he'd meet him afterwards. Nico watched him go stunned, and then his brain kicked in and he stood and followed.

It took him a full five minutes to find Will and a traitorous voice in his head wondered if Will was making a call to have him assassinated. Then he found him outside, sitting on the pavement in a patch of sunlight.

"Smart," Nico said. "Shadows can't get you in the sun, it's their biggest weakness."

Will closed his eyes and gave a rueful smile.

"You didn't have to leave," he said.

"I wasn't overly invested. The cheerleader one was going to get killed, the snooty businesswoman was the shifter and the one about to go off to collage was going to survive at the end."

"You see it before?" Will asked.

"No but it was really cliche and predictable. We've seen worse."

Will nodded.

"I know," he said. "I know. I don't know what got me. The special effects weren't all that good -"

"I'm pretty sure at one point they were using ketchup for blood."

WiIl laughed shakily.

"Real blood doesn't look a thing like that," Will agreed. "The consistency was all wrong." Nico was about to mock him for having a good knowledge of blood when he remembered Will quite frequently ended up covered in the stuff in his role as a medic to a scary gang so he shut his mouth and decided not to ruin his new hour long streak of acting normal around Will by starting another fight about Will's extra curricular activities.

"Exactly," Nico said. "So you're fine? You know no shapeshifter is going to come and kill you in the middle of the night."

"In theory," Will said.

He was actually trembling Nico realised.

"Will come on," Nico said, trying for the gentle sincerity Will was so good at when it suited him, and failing almost entirely.

"It was just a movie. A bad movie."

"I know," Will said again but he wasn't looking at Nico.

Nico stood, pulled Will up with him.

"Forget about it," Nico suggested. "Let's go do something else."

His something else was unspecified and he and Will ended up walking around a bit, searching for the something else. Will didn't feel like eating, Nico didn't want to go into the arcade because he thought the lights and sounds would make him want to stab something and eventually they just sat found a bench and sat in silence. Nico wasn't entirely sure if it was a comfortable silence or an awkward one. He alternated between trying to shut off the part of his brain that was busy formulating a list of accusations against Will, and watching Will watching the sky, eyes tracing the patterns the sunlight made as it filtered through the edges of the gathering clouds.

Will remembered he had to go into library, and Nico was left to walk home alone. Jason had tried to call him several times since the meeting between their fathers. Nico had picked up exactly once to ensure that, to the best of Jason's knowledge Will was currently completely off his father's radar, or at least so near to the bottom of his list of priorities he may as well not be listed at all. Jason had affirmed his father seemed preoccupied with Thalia, the theft and the associated drama and had lost interest in Will.

Every time he'd called since Nico had ignored him. He tried again as Nico wandered back to the very empty apartment, and Nico again swiped the call away. Then the thought of Will, so vulnerable and scared after a film that really shouldn’t have bothered him, had him tapping to call back.

Jason was the answer, Nico realised. Jason had started it and maybe Jason could stop it.

The relief in Jason's voice when he answered the call was so strong that Nico almost felt bad for ignoring him. Almost.

"What if Will really is just using me?" he said interrupting Jason's greeting.

Jason was quiet for a moment.

"Do you believe he is?"

"No," Nico said firmly.

"I didn't," he added.

"Well I don't think I did," he clarified.

He ran his free hand through his hair.

"This is all your fault Jason. I would never have thought it but now you've got me wondering. He knew about Percy. He keeps being nice but it's like he knows exactly how to control me, we were just watching a film and he freaked and he wouldn't normally freak but he did and I went after him and it was so manipulative. Except maybe it wasn't. How am I supposed to know?"

Jason was quiet.

"Jason!" Nico snapped. "Help me. This is your doing."

"I don't know what to say," Jason said. "I'm sorry I brought it up at all, I was trying to look into it on my own and find out either way because I knew you'd descend into paranoia."

"Well I’m there. I’m very much there. And if I don't stop with my descent into paranoia I'm going to screw up and decide Will is some kind of master criminal. So this is your responsibility. Fix it."

Nico had reached the apartment.

"Still with Will?" Octavian asked as they passed in the lobby.

Nico ignored him, tried not to think about Octavian as he climbed the stairs. Octavian had always told him to stay away. Nico had always thought Octavian was a lying, reprobate but maybe his warnings meant something after all.

"Nico are you listening?"

"What?" Nico snapped, stress bleeding into his tone. "No, look Jason I'll talk to you later alright?"

It was a lie.

When Will came back from class, tired and stressed, and Nico refused to have dinner Nico saw the first signs of frustration in Will, his patience and sincere give-Nico-space-and-let-him-figure-whatever-this-is-out slipping. There was a flicker of annoyance in his expression and he seemed about to say something, but then he just gave up and swapped to resigned, shoulders slumping.

"Alright," he said and left Nico.

Nico felt another stab of guilt and he ignored it.

Will ran out of patience after a fraught week. He probably would have lasted longer if he didn't have so much work. Or perhaps the work had been a distraction and without it to return to he would have lost it with Nico much quicker.

"I don't get it," he finally snapped. "It's my mom who's dead. If anything I should be the one sulking."

"So sulk!" Nico had responded waspishly. It was the wrong thing to say, Nico knew it, but it came out along with an all too familiar rush of anger.

He saw Will draw back and something splintered between the two of them.

We're not broken, just bent Pink had sung on the first track of Will's heart CD. Pink didn't know anything.

Nico had stopped bothering to use his own room when it occurred to him that Will's was bigger, his bathroom was nicer, the mattress was better. Plus Will's room had Will in it. The first few times he'd simply been talking with Will on the bed and at some passed out, curled next to him. Will had obviously caught onto the charade pretty quickly, faster than Nico himself had as it turned out, but he had kept it up with a slight smile.

It felt weird sleeping in his own bed again. It made his heart twist when he heard Will cry out in his sleep, the sound muffled by the wall between them. Nico lay still, paralysed. He wanted more than anything to calm Will's nightmares, but he couldn't make himself move.

Will was taking over the living room again, textbooks piled around him and bags under his eyes. He didn't greet Nico when Nico came in to try and watch TV, didn't even seem to register him.

"Hey," Nico said.

Will didn't respond.

"Make sure you drink something," Nico told him in a small voice.

Will didn't answer and Nico left, wondering how they'd managed to fall back into being little more than strangers and why he couldn't just go and apologise, walk over to Will and beg his forgiveness. Kiss and make up.

Percy was probably one of the least observant people in the world when it came to relationships. Nico had had a crush on him for years and he'd never even noticed. But when he came round one day to invite in inverted commas Nico to go suit shopping for the wedding he winced.

"It's like an ice age hit," he said. "Please tell me you're not still hung up on the idea that Will's manipulating you?"

Nico shrugged.

"Jason meant well but he was clearly wrong. He never saw the two of you together. Will likes you Nico. He couldn't fake the way he looked at you."

Nico really, really wanted to believe him.

Will didn't ask where he was when he got home. Nico supposed that was fair enough, he seldom asked where Will went when he went out these days, and he hadn't commented on the blood staining Will's sleeves when he'd come home at 3am. Octavian had and Nico had just let the comment wash over him, too tired to form a response.

"You lasted longer than the last roomate," Octavian commented as Nico walked away.

The second time Will cracked Nico had been texting Hazel about some projects he was doing and Hazel was texting him about why he seemed so sad. Nico didn't know how that had turned into an argument, or even that at some point Will had come home, but suddenly the two of them were shouting and Nico was vicious, more vicious than he had any right to be.

"At least I'm not healing dangerous criminals!"

Will had flinched back and all the rage that had been burning through Nico suddenly vanished. He had crossed the line, he knew. And so, when tears began blurring against the blue in Will’s eyes, and he turned and fled back to his room, slamming the door behind him Nico didn't follow. Will wouldn't want to see him now.

Will apologised first which was typical. Nico tried, and failed, not to be mad at him about that.

"I don't get it," Will said. "What is going on in your head?"

Nico didn't tell him. Even if he'd wanted to he couldn't form thoughts clearly explaining the rationale behind how he thought the only reason Will would ever like him was out of some twisted revenge plot, let alone explain that to Will.

Will had waited, eyes pleading but Nico just shook his head. And then it wasn't a wall between them anymore but an abyss.

To his surprise the next time Jason called it wasn't Jason at all but Piper.

"Jason told me," she said. "He feels awful but he didn't know how to help. He thought maybe I'd be able to give some advice."

Nico liked Piper but he really didn't think she'd be able to help, and besides he didn't know exactly how much Jason had told her.

It was a Thursday when Nico found himself in the living room with Will. Neither had been in the same space without something to do for a horribly long time: Will was burying himself in studying again and Nico was getting good both at avoidance techniques and finding things to do that meant he wouldn't have to think and form a conversation.

In retrospect Nico knew what was coming. It was the feeling of dread again, but more localised his time, as he watched things spiral out of control between the two of them.

He didn't know where to go, so he went to Reyna's. She told him he was an idiot and he couldn't help but agree. She tried to talk to him, casual conversation at first but then gently trying to get him to open up. Nico didn't - couldn't respond. She asked him how he felt and he didn't know how to respond to that either. He couldn't feel anything. He was numb.

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