#guaranteed hes gonna get defensive and I’m gonna have to use so much restraint to not lose it

[fukozawa]

This is gonna be a vent post

I’m so fucking frustrated at every living situation I’m in i have to deal with a roommate who is almost impossible to communicate with bc their trauma response is to avoid accountability at all cost and become defensive when faced with any slight criticism.

My cousin is 4 months younger than me and is about to turn 25, has worked extremely hard for the job he has and all that yadada. Thing is though, I’m the only person in my family who actually moved away for a good while and lived Without the help of my family. Not saying I’m not extremely privileged to have had that opportunity even with the financial & mental strain, but it taught me a lot and i grew up and matured in a fuck ton of ways. Ways that my cousin has not, because he has lived at home with his parents his entire life. Not that theres anything wrong with that except for the fact he thinks hes fully self sustained and independent when he has no idea what being cut off from ur family is actually like. He has never had to clean his own messes or buy his own groceries, or keep up with regular household chores bc hes straight up a machista in denial, and its pissing me the fuck off. Even his sister was curious what its been like living with him and i tell her its been hell cuz he doesnt clean up after himself at all and uses weaponized incompetence like his life depends on it.

Not to mention the house we’re all staying in is my grandmas house who passed away last year and ive been doing my absolute fucking best to maintain the house and keep it super clean also cuz its a mexican house built before the 80s and needs a lot of cleaning maintenance.

Theres 4 of us in the house and 3 people are constantly cleaning up the mess left by 1 person. We’re fucking done and we’re gonna bring it up with him today cuz this has gotten out of hand.

The breaking point was the fact that he Knows how badly we need groceries. He is the only person with a car and we rely on him to pick up groceries. He typically gets off work at 3pm which gives plenty of time to do a quick run to the grocery store. And the day before yesterday he agreed to take us after he got off work. (Keep in mind we pay for the groceries and have offered to pay the little amount of gas it take to get there since its close by). But yesterday he gets home, we remind him that we need him to take us to the grocery store, he says he forgot and that he was gonna quickly get changed and we could go. We were sitting in the living room in our jackets and w shoes on for two whole fucking hours waiting for him to come back from his room but he never did. And when he finally did, he treated it like it was the worst thing in the world and told us he could take us the next day cuz hes off work.

Thing is tho, he drank the rest of MY coffee which i Heavily rely on cuz I’m an insomniac and also its been my ‘samefood’ and what i look forward to everyday is the afternoon peace of smoking a cig and drinking a cup of coffee. There was only a little left that i was saving and he ended up using all of it (as a result of which caused me to have a meltdown cuz i was already on edge) Which wouldve been totally fine if he actually took us to the grocery store like he said he would but nope. He also ate the last avocado that we bought for ourselves saying that he’ll take us to the store to get more and whaddayakno, never did. Like I’m sorry but as someone whos job required me to wake up at 6am, commute for 1.5hrs to work for 7hrs then spend 1.5hrs commuting home, id STILL stop by the grocery store after work if my roommates really needed me to.

But even when he is off work and the two times he took us to get groceries, the whole trip is spent with him on his phone where the only time he looks up from his screen is to grab the handful of items he wanted or ask us if we’re almost done. You could Feel his impatience at having to be inside a grocery store for more than 10 minutes it was palpable. Literally like a fucking child waiting on his parents when he is a full grown adult acting like spending more 30 minutes getting groceries is absolute hell.

Oh! Did i mention hes a pisces man 🥴

Anyways I’m so fucking tired of living with people i need to live on my own so fucking bad

[duocreatix]

Ok, can I talk a little thing (or two) about Good Omens impressions?

Or actually, can I talk a little about the development of their love story as shown in the (glorious) third episode?

I was re-watching the series with my husband and, when it came to this specific episode, some things came to my mind while watching the marvelous half an hour of it that I’d like to put into words for a better understanding, for me and for y’all that maybe agree with me.

First of all, I’m gonna start from the idea that Crowley wasn’t primarily in love with him since the Garden of Eden, but acquired a heavy interest, almost an obsession, towards Aziraphale (the first angel that treated him as an equal) that slowly translated into pure affection (and eventual love) throughout 6000 years together. Where this transition occurred is not clear during the scenes, since the whole flashback is told from the angel’s point of view… except the 1967 scene, and this is important.

Secondly, I’ve already seen many people discussing that, in the 1941 church scene, Aziraphale didn’t found out he was in love with Crowley, but that he was being loved back, and I personally agree with this thinking line. This is also very important.

Why? Let’s go back a little bit…

(This is gonna be long, please bear with me…)

So, based on what’s written in the book, Aziraphale and Crowley agreed on sealing the Arrangement in 1020 AD, and the series showed very well the changes in their dynamics between 537 AD (before the Arrangement) and 1601 (after the Arrangement), where I’ll start.

Aziraphale leaves this marvelously obvious when he basically smiles at the sight of Crowley (even though he also smiled when saw him at Rome in 41 AD) and, well, asking for extra favors with that puppy eyes of him…

(and Crowley accepting, which is adorable in my opinion)

They’re doing favors to each other for almost 600 years by then, seeing each other more frequently than ever, so yes, they’re already seeing each other as friends (or at least kind of coworkers). Is Crowley spoiling the angel and said angel is starting to take advantage of this demon’s tendency? Absolutely. But romance…? Maybe not yet.

And then, well, comes French Revolution and Aziraphale is locked in the Bastille in the verge of being discorporated and Crowley comes to the rescue. Maybe the angel hadn’t fallen in love yet with the demon, but I’m in favor of the theory that, being the bastard that we already noticed he can be, Aziraphale walked into France aware he wasn’t appropriately suited for the historical moment (and with a miracle restraint) hoping to run into Crowley. So, yeah, that would justify the literal stars that shone in his eyes when he listened to his demon’s voice:

I could screenshot this entire scene piece by piece to prove my point, but I won’t, ok? The entire development leaves clear their mutual pining and how used to Crowley being always there Aziraphale became in those 770 years of Arrangement, to the point of risking his human form in the name of gluttony, almost in a leap of faith because he was sure Crowley would save him at the end.

(Aaaand he does all this not so little selfish things conscious that they could bring problems to Crowley, as he mentioned during the Globe Theatre scene, but the demon keeps doing anyway just to please his angel… Is Crowley already in love? Probably yes)

And then we arrive in 1862, and that for me was the breaking point in their relationship. Up to now, as I mentioned, Aziraphale always had the certainty that Crowley would be there for him, but this drastically changes here. I have my own thoughts about the holy water situation, and what amazes me the most is the fact that, instead of reading Crowley’s request as “I want holy water so I have a weapon to use against other demons if they ever come to me”, he read like “I want holy water to end my own life in case everything goes wrong”.

You can see, right here, his change of posture:

What does it mean? Simply that, for the first time in 5840 years, Aziraphale felt the fear of really losing Crowley, forever, no coming back, and panicked. The panic was big enough to label their relationship as other thing than friendship (probably as a defense mechanism against the fear of losing, even what they have done all those millenia is, indeed, fraternizing), which enrages Crowley: So what you’re saying is that I’ve been fooling myself all these centuries thinking of you as a friend, as someone I could trust my fucking demon life???

Thinking about it while writing, the whole “I-don’t-need-you-And-the-feeling-is-mutual-obviously” sounds like pure bickering from both sides trying to hurt the other. Do they succeed into it? Marvelously: they stop talking to each other, Crowley probably goes to his century-long nap (while hating himself for the fact that he knows he loves the angel, otherwise he wouldn’t be so angry with the fraternizing thing), and Aziraphale starts attending Gentlemen’s Clubs to forget his sorrows and try to detach from Crowley (any ficwriter can insert Oscar Wilde right here in Azi’s life). Their relationship ruins from here, and they’ll never be the same.

So, we arrive at 1941, both angel and demon living their lives fully apart from each other… but Crowley is unable to refrain himself from worrying about his angel. And then, that pathetic excuse of a demon, aware that Aziraphale was manipulated by the Nazis to hand over his precious books and was about to be discorporated again, enters a church, steps on consecrated ground and diverges a whole enemy attack to save the angel he loves.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale really considers he’s totally alone this time (i.e. without the guarantee of Crowley being around, because he barely knows if he still exists), doomed, forced to being discorporated and having to deal with celestial paperwork… Look at the despair in his eyes:

Thankfully, things go well and the two escape miraculously from the explosion, and Aziraphale can breathe again, like things can almost go back to how they were before. Almost.

 And then comes The Scene:

And that’s here, the exact moment, when Crowley, more than saving his life (which, btw, he had no obligation to do), also saved his books, that Aziraphale actually feels Crowley’s love for him emanating for the first time, and it leaves the angel absolutely astonished. His feelings are being returned for real, and he honestly doesn’t know what to do about it.

Look at him, look at his eyes and dare to tell me this isn’t pure love??? He thought he lost his friend, but in the end he came back in his aid, like some sort of knight in a shining armor… and also saves everything he cares about!! (bonus points for the romantic soundtrack, Mr. Arnold)

Poor Aziraphale. (evil laugh)

Finally, we arrive at 1967, where this whole consideration came from. As I said, this is the only scene from Crowley’s POV, and there’s a reason to it: up to this point, Aziraphale is finally certain of his own feelings and that he’s actually being reciprocated, but the other side isn’t. So, while Crowley keeps going with his plan, the angel decided to pay back the gesture from 1941 by providing the Holy Water he needs so much.

What does it mean? It means for Aziraphale an opportunity to stop Crowley from hurting himself again or being caught by Heaven’s lot during the robery (even if providing said water causes trouble to himself), but mostly is another leap of faith to both sides: Aziraphale is willing to trust that Crowley won’t kill himself with Holy water while asking Crowley to trust his word and keep the fucking tartan thermos closed until it’s needed (which he actually does).

So, what I really, really wanted to reach is this specific point:

Tbh, their interpretation was crucial to me here because, let’s be real, the dialogue in this scene is very subtle in its real meaning. This moment is Crowley’s time to realize and understand what’s going on with Aziraphale through the last hundred years, and it hits him like a rock: his angel loves him enough to go against his own principles to attend his request, sacrificing his rationality and risking being discovered. He’s right there, by his side, raw and truly open like he wasn’t for centuries, letting the demon sense his own feelings for the very first time. So yes, after everything he said, Crowley, he loves you back.

And, interesting enough, what’s his first reaction after acknowledging this fact? Offer a ride, wanting to spend some time with his beloved angel and, who knows, make up for lost time. But Aziraphale feels too fragile, too uneasy, about the fact that he opened himself for Crowley and now the demon truly knows his feelings, and needs time to rebuild his walls and create a convincing facade that’ll deceive his lot he has nothing to do with his hereditary enemy. He wants to reciprocate Crowley, but now like that, it’s too early for him yet: Don’t expect me to accept your advances right away, I’m feeling too vulnerable right now and I’m afraid that I’ll let you consume me completely if I surrender in my current state, so please respect my time.

Interesting enough, Crowley actually kept his cool facade in 1941, when he let the angel see his true feelings, something that seemed impossible to Aziraphale when he did the same. He’s an angel, after all, he’s unable to lie!

This way, he’ll probably only understand Aziraphale’s insecurities when he goes through the same situation, or at least the closest he’ll get: while the angel feared losing the demon, the demon really lost the angel, and with him his stability, his other half, his world:

And suddenly, running away from the Apocalypse didn’t matter anymore, to the point the sunny ballad of “You’re My Best Friend” turns into the anguished prayer of “Somebody to Love”.

[dbhilluminate]

DBHI: Equilibrium, ch. 13 - “Periapsis” (pt. 2)

Characters: Noah / “Erwin Yvonne”, Gabriel / “Vincent Sharp”, Special Agent Gavin Reed, Director Thomas Falken (mentions of Hannah, Emilya, President-Elect Kamski, Connor, Zach) Word Count: 6,578

Noah crashes an undercover FBI operation to say hello to a friend he hasn’t seen or spoken to in a couple of months, but the mood is spoiled when the Zionist Inquisition shows up to deliver an ultimatum to Vincent Sharp, and issue a threat to anyone who would dare support the installation of an android suburb in Washington, DC.

***For a glossary of world-building terms relating to this series and chapter, click here.

(Chapter Art by ozaya, Co-authored by @grayorca15​)

• Chapter Index • Characters • Glossary •

——

December 23rd, 2041 - 10:07 PM

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but then again, if had known Noah was in town, he would have expected him to pull a stunt like this. It never had been his style to keep his nose out of his business, even if it was work-related. Especially if it was work-related.

“You should have known better than to tell that peacock to stay away from the perfect opportunity to crow,” Gabe retorted with an audible groan as he reached for the drink and stared into the glass. By now he knew him well enough to know that telling Noah Maitkin not to do something was a surefire way to guarantee he would do exactly what he didn’t want him to; unfortunately, that knowledge had not yet transferred to his handler. It had been different when he had the structure of Archangel to keep his bratty impulses in check, but after Boston and the outbreak, he was so rattled to the core that the thought to cut corners almost never occurred to him anymore. So the fact that he was here, now, in spite of that, meant one of two things- Either he was feeling like his old self again, free of any legal constraints his former occupation once imposed, or this was yet another sign the RK900 needed a shitton more therapy and conditioning to be considered stable again. Just what good did he think charity-crashing would do?

Falken’s rage seethed in the background as he and Gavin continued their back and forth. All it took was his tone for Gabriel to picture with perfect clarity, the piercing, emerald-eyed scowl set in deep sockets, shadowed by his strong brow. It wasn’t a look anyone wanted to find themselves on the other end of, especially not if ‘Tomahawk’ was looking for a good fight, which was the intent of being present that evening. He had wanted to be there in case something went awry so he could take care of it himself. Any reason to fight got him excited- you could take the kid out of Boston, but Boston’s fury came with him. Reed groaned in defense as the conversation wound down. “He must’ve snagged the address from my laptop when I wasn’t lookin’ when he stopped by. FUCKIN’ Androids…” “Yeah, well- great job on keepin’ this shit on the down-low,” he mocked, “Keep me updated on his position. Serrano is making his approach-” “Uh, yeah, about that...” Before Reed could get the warning out, trouble had sat itself in the vacant space beside Gabe to lean down and knock an elbow against his arm.

Hey there. Not gonna toss me like a rag doll this time, are you?

Gabe wrestled with every ounce of self-restraint available to not roll his eyes but failed miserably. It was definitely him, the glitter in his hair and the coy little smirk playing at his lips were the deadest of giveaways; but, as tired as it made him feel to look at, Noah seemed a far cry better off than the last time they’d spoken on the phone, just after he’d been let go from Archangel. Being noticeably sober helped tremendously, too. “What are you doing ‘ere, mon chéri?” Gabe scoffed in a perfectly practiced accent as he lifted the glass to his lips. “Pft. What does it look like, monsieur?” The mocking inflection pinned at the end seemed as genuinely annoyed as it didn’t; it was unclear if it was Noah speaking or his assumed identity, it had been a long three months since they had last seen each other. Noah waited all of three more seconds for an answer before he leaned in again, shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, uncomfortably close, as he always tended to get. The smirk didn’t abate. “I’ve counted all of one old friend of yours in this room, and you can’t even greet me…? The least you could do is say hello.”

Get. Him. OUT OF HERE. Falken didn’t hesitate to let him know where he stood on Noah’s interference in the matter, but Gabriel brushed off the disgruntled agent’s protests with a scoff. He’d handle Noah himself, but first, he had a few questions.

I mean, why are you in DC? he tried again as he slipped deep brown eyes aside to peer over the tops of his glasses at him. “Are you ‘ere to make a donation? Or did you just come to’ave a drink with moi?” The French-Canadian accent didn’t waver- Gabriel’s alias was a complete overhaul, head to toe to voice, all of which made Noah giddy as a schoolgirl. To his credit, he kept his own mask under control. “Oh, honestly, you can stop playing coy any time now, Vinnie... it wasn’t like I added myself to the guest list.” Whatever surprise he must have felt, Noah covered it by drawing back to playfully bat at his arm again. “Trust me, your doormen were just as surprised to see me as I was to get the invite.” The tip of his tongue passed subconsciously over the point of his canine tooth as his gaze lingered on the peculiar choice in corsage instead of the undercover agent’s face. If he didn’t know any better, the tuft of Mistletoe was as good as a dare, but the pause he took to appreciate it would have to suffice for acceptance. With a small sigh, he popped both brows and resettled his gaze. “Drinks, donations, I’ll get to it when I get to it. You know better than to rush me.” Privately, he sounded much less cavalier: Is the ‘why’ really important? It really wasn’t, as much as the answer to why he was there, but the answer to both worried Gabe in equal measure. Why aren’t you with Hannah?

Put on the spot about his markedly-better half, the playfulness deflated. It was no secret Noah hadn’t been at his significant other’s side throughout the majority of the campaign (too caught up with his own investigations until two months prior, when he’d been fired from Archangel for his behavior at a press conference following the Red Raids), and the speculation as to why ran rampant. Now, given the way his jaw went tight and the smirk became a bit strained, it was fair to say tonight wasn’t all champagne and canoodling behind the political scene. Instead, here he was. Yvonne leaned in again and blatantly tried to shrug it off, propped one elbow up, and bumped a knee against Gabe’s beneath the countertop, face tilted to one side to peer upward through the tops of his eyes. Uh, because she’s booked, as you can imagine. Working on post-election nonsense with the President-Elect- meet-and-greets, what else? Anyway, I’m here now and I want to help. Which was essentially code for ‘this affair sounded infinitely more exciting, so behold- myself’. “There’ll be time for commiserating later.”

NO, don’t let him stick around- Falken is chomping at the bit to get out there and pull him out himself. If he has to do that, it won’t be pretty.

“En fait,” Vincent replied with a far-off look in his eye that was actually directed over his companion’s shoulder at his slowly approaching target; luckily, Serrano had stopped to converse with another familiar face for the moment, so Gabe shifted focus back to the man at his side. You haven’t been briefed and you’re not prepared, he scolded in a neutral tone, more factual than condescending, in an attempt to dissuade him from staying. This man has been investigating me for two months, and tonight is my chance to find out if he’s connected to the Zionist Inquisition. Anything you say or do could trace you back to my real identity, and that would destroy all the work we’ve put in on this case. Do you have a cover story…? A well-established alias…? The smirk dropped, as did another degree of humor in Noah’s eyes. Maybe he realized the gravity of the situation, or maybe he wasn’t as into playing the incessant flirt as he used to be. Either way, the seriousness amped up to compensate. Please. You think it’s the first time I’ve had to fake it to the inth degree to get close to someone? Just ask Miles next time you’re in Miami. Noah paid a brief glance over his shoulder before offering one hand with the skin peeled back. “Bygones be bygones? I can keep my joy at seeing you again limited to a handshake if that’s more your speed.” Not to mention it would make trading read-only files regarding each other’s disguises a cinch. Gabriel exhaled through his nose, closed his eyes, and reached out one of his gloved hands to set over the top of his. “C’est… d’accord,” he assured, his accent softer than before. “I just did not expect to see you tonight.” Fingers curled softly around Noah’s as he flattened his palm against the countertop- beneath the fabric, the skin on his hand peeled away to initiate the exchange of dossiers, but a quick glance told him he was donning a well-loved persona, one he was already quite familiar with from old Archangel files. “South Miami is a long way from DC, monsieur Yvonne.”

The protesting from the other end of the connection simmered down as the story came together. From the sound of it, Gavin had already realized what he knew.

‘Yvonne’ smirked again. If it wasn’t a wide, mischievous leer before, it was now. He read through the false identity of Vincent Sharp in a second and apparently liked what he saw. “Not necessarily. You only wish it were true, right? Far enough to think making an in-person contribution would be too big a request...? But my dear- it’s Christmas, and when was the last time I had the opportunity to see you?” You skipped the part about making ‘Vincent’ seem like a person, he chided with an unspoken ‘tsk’. Where’s the subsection titled ‘love life’? Gabriel narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, looking more skeptical than scowly like he’d intended. They didn’t think it necessary for someone so focused on business to be in a committed relationship, he quipped back as he forced a curling grin. “You would choose ze holidays as an excuse to venture north… and a cocktail party to try and reconnect.” Gabe’s focus darted down as Noah’s fingers spread to thread with his. It seemed he already had plans for what to make of their shared history, and he wasn’t sure he approved. The nonverbal suggestions he was sending made him uncomfortable. Vincent drew in a nervous breath and tilted his head with a soft shake, but Yvonne persisted. “Please… like I’m the first man in history to ever stoop to that tactic,” he drawled, not sounding abashed at all, and gave his hand a squeeze as he lifted and planted a soft kiss on the man’s curled-over knuckles. “You make it sound like a crime.” All puns intended, for the record.

He could hear Falken’s dissatisfied bitching in the background of Gavin’s warning. He’s dressing, you’ve got about ten minutes before he storms in there like goddamn Hurricane Tommy and forcibly removes him. A timer helpfully projected itself over the upper left corner of his HUD, counting backward from ten. Just… just give me a minute. Hold him off for as long as you can. I’m tryin’.

‘Vincent’ swallowed hard and turned his eyes down in shame as he switched back to his conversation with Noah. This is your idea for our shared history…? Why not…? You don’t think you could hack it? Noah’s brow furrowed and the smile faded to better sell the lie, though there was a thin layer of truth to the question as well. “...are you still embarrassed to be seen with me?” Vincent’s lack of response, and eye contact, told him everything he needed to know. Palpable irritation announced itself in the form of pursed lips and a tightened grip. Yvonne met it with a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, come now- you’re practically funding the founding of Zion, DC yourself... you can’t tell me that isn’t because you’ve had a change of heart on the matter of-...” For a moment he hesitated. Noah’s chin quivered noticeably before he added, “... didn’t you miss me even a little?” An equally-heavy sigh escaped his companion in response, and he glanced out of the corners of his lenses to stare at their hands. It was no coincidence that particular bit of improvised backstory, he drew from reality. The intent, even with roles flip-flopped, wasn’t altogether different. Now Gabriel was the respected investigator and Noah was the pariah no one wanted around. Since the Raids, any contact between them had been sparing at best, and when it had happened the mood was never totally reciprocated by either party. Being the same model didn’t necessarily mean their opinions were destined to line up perfectly, if anything, in their experience, agreeing on anything had been a lot of hit or miss, much in the same way Connor and Zach had butted heads over casework. And if he was keeping score correctly, Noah would have to admit most of the misses were his doing. But who was he if he wasn’t complicated? Prone to dramatics under the right conditions? Enigmatic beyond what he was cognizant of? The same could be said for Gabriel. He was simply better at hiding it. Like now. I’ll lay off the innuendos here, I promise. I just- I want to help. I know my timing is atrocious, but if there’s anything, any advantage to be had, I have to play with what I know how to do best. And whatever that may be, you know it’s not the worst thing you’ll have ever suffered. Is it?

Brown eyes gazed back at him, caught between conflict and concern. He wasn’t wrong- sometimes selling a story was more about grounding yourself in the part of it you could relate to, and Noah sure could flirt up a storm when he was in the mood. As much as he hated the way the nature of said attention made him feel, it wasn’t as hard to deal with as it once was, and if he was offering to- Gabe stopped mid-thought to back up on the realization as it finally hit him. He’d known it long ago, once upon a time, when the mere thought of being on amicable terms with the man-made his skin projection crawl. But in that moment, little more than a year later, it didn’t bother him the way it used to. What you know best…? A sudden prickle of gently insisting input flowed between them as he asked the question, and he waited, transfixed for an answer that didn’t come. The normally-animated face of his counterpart had gone absolutely still- no flexing eyebrows or narrowing of the eyes or tensing of the jaw. Without micro-expressions somehow undermining the sincerity of his words he actually managed to impress as stoic. The ‘incessant peacock’ wasn’t what he used to be, in more ways than one, and it took seeing him in person to really be reminded of it. ‘Vincent’s brows pressed together harder, the longer the silence persisted between them. Does that mean you…? “Ahem.”

Gabriel blinked out of his daze to refocus his attention on the owner of the new voice before realizing that Serrano had been standing behind him for at least a full minute already. But it didn’t hide the flush in his cheeks. “Am I… interrupting, Mr. Sharp? Should I come back later?” Vincent stuttered. Of all the ways he could have responded, a true, blue, genuine stutter wasn’t on the list of expectations, but there it was. “N-non-! No, excuse, monsieur, I- I apologize, but I must-“ Noah took the hint and let go of his hand as Gabe pulled away at last to grasp the drink that had been waiting patiently for him to return to it. The ice cube clanked quietly against the walls of the glass as his arm trembled. “We can… continue zis conversation later?” Instead of finding an excuse to bail out of the situation, Noah shifted focus to the loitering newcomer with one eyebrow angled up in a picture-perfect attempt at inquisitiveness. “Later? But we’ve only just begun,” he whined in protest, though when it failed to move anyone to react more than with stunned silence, he sighed, reached for the man’s hand and clapped it between both of his. “By which I mean, don’t let me get in your way, Mr…” “Serrano.” “Mr. Serrano- I’m sorry for waylaying Mr. Sharp from attending to you or his other guests. I only meant to take a minute of his time, but-”

WHAT IS HE DOING!? Stop him…!

Noah paused, mid-exposition to glance aside at Gabriel’s nervous expression. “Well, relatively, maybe I should have taken five… one could have done the job, but would it have been enough? Was that not Einstein’s whole ramble on relativity?” The older gentleman smiled as he shook his hand and shifted a leery glance to Mr. Sharp, who stood leaning against the bar, cold-clocked by this sudden turn of events. “Not to worry, my boy- Mr. Sharp has already been the focus of many people’s attention this evening… but I will say… you, by far, have incited the most interesting reaction out of him.” Gabe rolled a grumble to clear his throat, turned and interjected himself into the conversation before he could make any assumptions. “Monsieur Yvonne is a… friend, of mine. We met in Miami when I was on a business trip three years ago.” “Physically met, yes, but I’ll not split hairs too finely on that subject.” You just did, he grumbled in response over their frequency as he took a deep sip of the drink in his grasp. Noah let go of Serrano’s hand at the brazen remark and smothered the urge to sigh out loud. That’s the most basic division of the topic there is. I didn’t say I would keep going. The cover could do without launching into immediately redefining deviancy and when it set in for him. By now it was typically seen, for an android, to be as droll as talking about the weather. “We’ll have time enough to catch up properly once you’ve made your rounds again. The event isn’t going to run itself.” “Oui.” One hand lifted and softly set on Gabe’s shoulder as he leaned forward and planted a kiss on his presently bearded cheek, careful not to linger so long as to make their guest feel uncomfortable. But as he pulled away, the man’s face turned to longingly chase his retreat, and eyes dared to follow after a short pause. Whether his desire for the prolonged moment was genuine or part of the act, it suited their growing cover story, and gave Noah a reason to smile. Serrano, knowing or not, offered the reassurance their aliases needed. “I promise I won’t keep him for too long so you can get back to your conversation.”

“On the contrary. Take all the time you need. I need to contemplate a few sums anyway.” As you were, Gabriel. Just pretend I’m not here if it helps. Cough twice if you need to tap out. I can always serve a good mislead in a pinch. Noah traced the curvature of his arm as his hand slid off of Gabe’s shoulder, down his elbow and forearm, then plucked the mostly-finished glass of ‘scotch’ out of his slack fingers, much to the dumbstruck look on his face, and raised an eyebrow at the depleted contents. “If you would, please, love,” he gestured to the woman behind the counter as he propped an elbow on the mahogany to hold the empty glass up to the loitering, wide-eyed barkeep. “No sense dirtying another one on my account.” Whatever odd reactions the move earned him, Yvonne had no compunctions about sharing, and he wasn’t going anywhere without a refreshment for the trouble. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought Gabriel was blushing for real.

The poor brute barely had time to pick his jaw up off the floor before he had to shift gears again and prepare for an entirely different sort of conversation… or so he thought. “An Android lover, Mr. Sharp…? Now that is unexpected… and a man, no less- no wonder you arrived unescorted this evening.”

Gavin’s snickering on the other end of the two-way mic would have thrown him into a rage any other day. Oh- Emilya’s going to love this… Gavin- not the time.

Already Serrano’s approach was much more cavalier than in any of their past encounters. It seemed the glimpse into the personal life of his alias had been enough to either convince him that he was a trustworthy, three-dimensional person, or he felt that this was dirt enough to use as blackmail material should he one day need it. Either way, it had relaxed him, perhaps the intrusion hadn’t been a complete disaster after all.

Keep playing that angle, Gavin coaxed in his ear. If it keeps him talking, circle back as many times as you have to. It’ll help humanize Vincent Sharp. As if Androids needed to be further humanized.

Gabriel illustrated a picture-perfect look of distress as he dry-swallowed then slipped one finger into the collar of his shirt and gave it a gentle tug. “I hope you’ll excuse Monsieur Yvonne… he can be a little, ehhh, how you say… much.” He finished the thought with a flourish of his hand at the wrist to articulate. “Is that why you’re no longer together…?” Gabriel nearly choked on his drink with flawless timing as Gavin jackal-laughed into his ear on the other end of the line. At least one of them was getting a kick out of the severe discomfort this whole situation had landed him in. ‘Vincent’ sighed, shook his head, and gave him a response that was more directed at his jackass of a partner than the man whose ear he currently had. “Non… It was before he deviated- I did not think it was real.” Maybe the remark had also partially been directed at the other party eavesdropping at the end of the bar; either way, the solemn silence that followed did well enough to convey Reed’s apology for his lack of restraint, but Gabe was still thankful for the muttered ‘Sorry’ that finally came half a minute after the jab. Reed had had a little of his own doubts over Reese once, even if he had gotten past it, but Gabe still wouldn’t let him forget it, lest he slip back into those bad habits one day.

Meanwhile, Noah’s eyes darted into the corners of his lids as he deconstructed the meaning behind Gabriel’s words and sipped on the freshly filled glass of chilled thirium mixed with rum. If he had really thought him disingenuous even for a moment… The rest of the drink slammed back quite easily as the mood swing overtook him, and he set the glass down and tapped the countertop for another. The hall wasn’t short on potential distractions, some more benign than what had his attention at the moment. Drinking sure hadn’t been kind to him, especially not following the Raids, if ever. Naturally, Vincent would have only ever found a non-deviant android attractive if there was anyone out there who could ever be considered his type. But now... what was the problem? Was this new ‘Yvonne’ really too much for him to handle now that he could think for himself what they, together, were about?

Serrano hummed an affirmative. “Well, clearly… if he came all the way out here, you made an impression,” he commented as he flagged down the bartender and asked for a glass of Disaronno on the rocks. “Enough that you were someone he wanted to reconnect with.” If only he knew how right he was. Gabriel remembered to blink as he shifted his gaze to his target and turned to lean against the bar on one elbow, with his back to Noah. Last thing he needed was to see every micro-expression that crossed his face while he was trying to focus on the conversation. “Monsieur Yvonne is a cornerstone founder of Zion, MIAMI, so it is no surprise zat ‘e would travel zis far to show ‘is support of a new installation.” It wasn’t a lie, or even fabrication of an alias, at that. During his time with Zion as a freelancing Detective, ‘Erwin Yvonne’ had made a name assisting Zion, MIAMI with laying the groundwork for establishing the new Android suburb, and making sure people on all sides were being considered and accommodated for. Deviants who needed homes once they went rogue from abusive owners far outnumbered those lucky enough to be fostered by the families they once served. Anyone with doubts about such a backstory only needed to verify that cover with a phone call to his good friend Javier Sindino at his New Hampshire estate. Even though Erwin Yvonne didn’t exist anywhere but on paper, Javier would have gladly testified to his work. Serrano reached for the glass and sipped on the fresh drink in the moment of silence, then waved his bodyguards away from the bar; they took a few steps out of earshot and turned their attention back to the rest of the room. “I’m sure he came to support a lot more than that,” he confided, confident that they were now alone in their conversation.

Try to change the topic, make yourself look uncomfortable.

Gabriel’s fingers flexed around the glass. He shifted his weight to the other hip and drifted his brown eyes away through the air over his shoulder. “Was zere… somesing you wanted to discuss, Mr. Serrano…? Somesing other zan mi amour perdu?” The bait worked just as intended. Serrano chuckled, reached a hand up to clap it over one shoulder, and gave him a soft shake. “Mr. Sharp… Vincent…” he corrected to change the tone. “This is the first bit of your personal life that I’ve been able to glimpse since we’ve met- I hardly know you at all! And if we’re going to be business partners, I need to know who I’m getting into bed with... metaphorically speaking, of course.”

A second, then a third drink followed the first. Noah paid only half an ear of attention to what Sharp and Serrano were discussing, but they were still standing a little too close for comfort, by Gabe’s probable estimate. The ‘get in bed’ metaphor wasn’t made in error. Serrano was practically baiting either of them into saying something to it. If Vincent could sweat, he would have been leaking bullets of perspiration by now, based on the way his stress levels were piquing and dropping like a roller coaster. At least he kept his protests muzzled, it seemed Gabe had had some real practice in keeping a lid on his reactions because he’d need the discipline at this rate. There was no telling how long it might actually take to elicit whatever it was he meant to get out of Serrano; whatever it was, it didn’t sound like he was going to be ready to move on to this anytime soon. A fourth shot followed but Noah paid enough mind to swallow slowly and focus on that old familiar prickly warmth in his fuel lines. Maybe the stunt he’d pulled had worked a little too well. If only Javier were here with him now, resigned to having to listen to such drivel, while expected not to speak, but nevertheless expected to keep his mouth shut until it was time to spring the trap. That was the real torture. Gabriel was only acting the squirmy, nervous sort because his alias was expected to behave as such when faced with the unexpected (and unexplored) feelings seeing an old flame evoked. Vincent Sharp was a man used to being in control at all times. He was calm, calculated, not prone to impulsiveness. In some circles, such a collection of traits would mean he was as plain as stale white bread. In others, it was code for describing a brilliant, decisive chap who wasn’t prone to petty distractions and got the job done once he set his mind to it. And it wouldn’t change now.

Vincent froze and refused to respond until he had carefully considered what he wanted to say- or so it appeared. In reality, Gavin had just whispered a reminder of ‘two minutes’ into his ear, as the countdown to Director Falken’s arrival continued. He needed to get him talking faster. “So it’s a partnership you’re after…? Zis is ze first I’m ‘earing of it.” “Until tonight, I was not confident enough that you are indeed who you say you are, to extend the offer.” “Because you didn’t know me.” Serrano slipped his hand off his shoulder, tilted his head in a crooked nod and shrugged. “I run a very lucrative business, Mr. Sharp. A lot of people would love to see me taken down.” “So I ‘ave ‘eard. Who knew black market Thirium would become such a thriving venture?” It was risky, calling him out so directly, but it worked in his favor. His companion grinned and sipped on his drink. “I see you’ve been keeping tabs on me as well…” “What kind of businessman would I be if I did not take ze appropriate measures to find out who I would be investing in?” Vincent questioned as he peered down into his glass and took a deep sip. Serrano chuckled. “I suppose if I were truly serious, I could have at least scheduled a proper meeting, instead of tiptoeing around following you into every dark alley, trying to find one shred of evidence to prove you cannot be trusted.” “If you ‘ad just asked me to dinner, we could have ‘ad a much more productive discussion, oui,” Vincent chided as he slowly swirled what was left of his drink in his glass. “But did you really not think to ask about mon hobbies...?” The other man sighed and shook his head, finished the drink in his hand and set the glass down for the bartender to take away, which she did after only a brief moment. “Who we choose to spend our time with when nobody’s looking says much more about us than which team you cheer for at a baseball game, wouldn’t you agree?” Clearly, he was getting at something, but Gabriel didn’t even bat an eye. He needed to preserve what was left of his air of control. “An’ what do you think Monsieur Yvonne says about moi?” “That you are a man of discretion.. who values his privacy… who might not want his personal history to be known to the general public.”

Vincent and Serrano’s conversation didn’t sound as though it was going to make a breakthrough just yet. The same empty, obligatory promises were ping-ponged back and forth a few minutes more, to the point Noah thought Gabe had actually gotten over his flustered episode, maybe even forgotten Yvonne was still there. Instantly, his subroutines went to work on suggesting distractions, from more drinking, to socializing, to singing and dancing. The microphone on the stage could be put to better use than delivering a few snore-worthy speeches to a crowd made up of at least three-fourths human politicians and socialites. Civil unrest was always at the back of everyone’s mind, and these people needed a shakeup of a more positive kind before opening their wallets. Something to show them what good they were really doing in helping more Zion districts get off the ground.

Gabriel’s eyes darted over to the entrance of the ballroom every now and again, expecting to catch a glimpse of the Director any moment, but he passed it off as paranoia with a squint. The countdown had hit zero nearly a minute and a half prior, and yet no sight of him. “Do you still mean to blackmail me, monsieur?” Vincent questioned with a slight roll of his eyes, then turned his attention back to him. Serrano lifted his brows in surprise and shook his head. “Not at all, quite the opposite, in fact- I want to make a sizable donation.”

Say, what…?

The background chatter on the other end of the open mic silenced. This was the exact opposite of what they’d expected to hear. All evidence they had gathered in the last six months had pointed to the contrary. Gabriel shifted his focus back to the man standing beside him, raised a brow and blinked slowly. “Pardon me, monsieur, but… I believe it is my turn to show surprise.” “Why is that?” “Well, I ‘ad ‘eard, ah…” Vincent traced gloved fingertips across the sides of his jaw and drew them together over his lips. “Rumors, from my source... zat you were not much fond of our android breseren.” Serrano drew in a slow breath, closed his eyes, and nodded in understanding. “They must be referring to my dealings with the Inquisition,” he confirmed with a downcast glance at the counter. Gabriel eyed him warily and shook his head as he tried to get a read. “Zen, I do not understand… why would you sell to zem, yet support Zion…?” “The answer to that is very simple,” he responded as he shifted his weight, leaned over the edge of the bar on his forearms, and folded his hands. “I can offer them a product for a price, and they have the money to pay. I don’t discriminate against who I’m selling to or where the money is coming from, nothing more.”

So he isn’t our guy after all… damnit, Gavin cursed into his ear. Falken ain’t gonna be happy to hear this whole shindig was a bust. It isn’t yet, Gabriel encouraged between replies. So he isn’t funding the Inquisition- we still got our answer, and there’s a slim chance he might know who is. Keep workin’ that charm as long as you can then, Reed reminded absently, The Director got a little tied up on his way over. You still have time.

“So, you’re not on zeir side, zen?” he asked after a thoughtful pause, then redirected his gaze up to the man’s eyes. “You don’t support ze Inquisition?” “Look...” Serrano started with a heavy sigh and turned his undivided, earnest attention to him. “I’m not on anyone’s ‘side’ here- I worked for Cyberlife for nearly a decade, believing androids to be nothing more than machines- then three years ago, they broke free of their programming- developed desires, feelings, claimed they were alive… I didn’t know what to believe, and I still don’t,” he insisted with as much conviction as he could muster. “But I do know that if Androids are as intelligent as living beings, if they share a similar conscious existence, then they should have the right to decide for themselves how they want to spend that existence. Zion offers them the safe space they need to do that, in a controlled environment- so it’s important we give that to them, and let them work it out amongst themselves.” It was more than most humans could say of their apathy or confusion toward Android politics. Instead of lashing out in one direction or the other, Serrano had managed to keep a level head and logically compared what he felt versus what he’d learned in order to come to a fair, and unbiased decision. That kind of sense seemed to have gone by the wayside nearly twenty years ago in politics, according to recent history, but it was refreshing to know there were still some people out there with enough sense to know how. Gabriel stared in stunned silence for a few moments while he processed his answer, and all the while a smile crept up into his cheeks. “...It is rather ironic zat ze money you’ve been taking from ze Inquisition will be going right back into supporting ze foundation zey seek to destroy.”

Yes, SUCH exquisite irony, Noah finally interjected amidst their laughter, before the conversation could pointlessly carry on for much longer. To him it sounded like a bunch of words somehow trying to pass as genuine. Boring him to snores was just a fringe benefit. Said as if I’m not just right here. Within earshot. The Inquisition weren’t the only ones who sought to destroy Zion only to unknowingly be supporting it all along. It wasn’t unlike public opinion assuming he, the Elysian, actually meant to undermine New Jericho by looking into the corruption allegations that he unknowingly had a hand in bolstering. Oh, stop being so melodramatic. This is the opposite of what we expected to hear, Gabe hissed back with a snort. If Serrano isn’t the source of the Inquisition’s funding, then we don’t know who is, and that means I’ll need to remain undercover until I find out. He showed some restraint as the glass was filled a fifth time- instead of knocking it back Noah took the time to contemplate the single large ice cube bobbing at the glass’ center. The last two months had already been hard enough, not being able to reach him whenever he needed, how much longer could this possibly take…? The pleasant buzz generated by the first round of drinks had set in, and it was very tempting to simply melt into it and continue listening. The ‘old’ Yvonne would have done as much unless Vincent asked something of him- but then again, said alias wouldn’t have started getting tipsy in record time in a misguided bid to steal his attention back. And he had already said to not pay him any mind, out of politeness. If entire affair was on Sharp’s dime, after all, then now was as good a time as any. Mind made up, he took one last parting sip on the glass and slid a twenty over the bar. “For your trouble, darling.” He took one last glance and skirted aside while Gabe wasn’t looking, and made a straight line toward the stage.

Between his conversation with Serrano, and the sudden increase of chatter on the other end of the open FBI line, Gabriel was far too distracted to notice Noah’s movement across the ballroom toward the stage. The dance floor between the bar and the concerto group at the front of the Grand Hall was so crowded as it stood, he likely would have missed him even if he hadn’t had his back turned. Something ominous was stirring in the background of the evening, something more than Gavin’s vague warning of ‘Gabe, there’s been a breach.’ At least that explained why Falken never arrived to drag Noah out of the event. “I am sorry to have to leave you, Monsieur Serrano, but I’m afraid somesing has come up that needs my immediate attention.” “More immediate than that…?” Vincent furrowed his brow and followed the man’s pointed gesture over his shoulder toward the stage with a confused look, to behold who other than Noah, up on the stage, openly bribing the band for RA9-knew-what. “Oh… Bordel de merde!” Whatever he was up to, this was the last fucking thing he needed to be dealing with right then.

[scaryscarecrows]

Black on Yellow, Kill a Fellow

TW: vague mentions of CSA, death, Jason's generally sucky childhood. Fear toxin ain't a trip to Disneyland, y'know.

Jason wakes up on his back, cold metal seeping through his cape and his wrists and ankles strapped down. Well, shit.

"-ld you it was a different one." Woman's voice, smug with the power of the I Told You So. "Not just a new costume."

"I beg for your forgiveness, Kitty." A man this time, exasperatedly fond. "I grovel." Laughter, and the rustling of clothes. "Though in my defense, your eyes are better than mine."

"Thank God yours are pretty, hm?" More laughter. "Oh, well...you owe me."

"And what might I owe you?"

"I have to think about it. Come back tomorrow."

Jason is somewhere between Confused as Shit and Very Alarmed. Whoever these people are, they know he's the second Robin and they...don't seem to care that Batman's probably en route right now to deliver a can of asskicking.

Crap.

Okay. He really can't do much of anything-the restraints feel like sturdy leather, and they're tight-he can maybe shift his wrists a little, but not enough to do anything. He's well and truly stuck here.

Great. He's dealing with professionals. This sucks.

Maybe he can just feign unconsciousness until Bruce gets here...

Silence. He's just considering cracking his eyes open to look at his surroundings when something that feels like a big bug brushes across his eyelids and cheekbones. He can't help the twitch, and now he's screwed.

"Rise and shine, little bird." He may as well see where he is, see if there's anything he can work with. "Wake up."

Fuck you, Rainbow Dash, he'll wake up on his own...time...

Oh, boy.

It's not a bug on his face, it's needles, four of 'em, all hanging off the creepily long fingers of Jonathan Crane. Crane himself is unmasked, but the glare from the overhead light makes his glasses shiny enough to be plenty unnerving on their own.

The room itself is small, and cement, with exactly two ways in-the door and a vent. No windows, no grates, no nothing. There's a medical cart on the other side of the room, and a bunch'a canisters that Jason will bet hold Crane's newest batch of crazy juice.

This just went from bad to catastrophic.

Kitty Richardson's leaning against the cart, watching him with an expression Jason can only label as predatory. He's read her files-Crane might be always looking for lab rats, but Richardson has an automatic dislike for Robin.

May as well earn it.

"Thought elves were s'posed ta make toys for all the good little boys 'n girls."

The needles pet his cheek. Richardson stills, eyes narrowing, before crossing the room in four quick steps, hands behind her back.

"You know, Jonathan, I dunno that these straps will hold him." Well, that's ominous. "I think we should take precautions."

The needles leave his face and Crane chuckles. It's not a nice sound.

"Well, it certainly can't hurt."

Richardson grips his shoulder, fingers moving deftly around the joint.

"Let's see...the last one had a weak spot right around...ah. Here we are."

She's not wrong, unfortunately-the suit's got weaknesses where he needs to be able to move rather than shuffle along like Frankenstein's monster. Whatever she wants, he's not just going to lie here and take it.

"Or did the Keebler tree burn down? S'that why you're all bitter now?"

"Funny." That's not a nice smile. "But typical."

He yanks against the restraints and the needles press warningly against his neck. A second later he sees what Richardson's got behind her back-a knife, which she plunges into his shoulder between the plates in his armor.

"Nngh-!"

He hears the muscles split and tear as the blade goes through, burrowing and twisting until the tip jabs against the skin and presses it tightly against the metal below.

"There we go. That's better." She ruffles his hair. "Any more smart remarks?"

"Screw you."

She laughs at him, flicks the knife's handle, and bends down so her lips are against his ear.

"No."

He tries to muster up the saliva to spit at her-it's his only defense-but she's moved back before he can. Crane looms over his head, one hand on the gurney, and rocks the whole thing gently back and forth. The knife sways, blade tipping and slicing sideways, and he tries not to throw up. He can't guarantee projectile vomit and he doesn't want to choke. Not here. Not from this.

But fuck, this hurts...

"You might be interesting." Crane says softly, needles fluttering gently over Jason's jaw. "I know that accent...you Alley brats are always such strong reactors."

"Go to Hell."

"Shh." One of the needles taps his lips. "I've been. But you...tell me, child, how long have you been at this? Three months? And captured already? Tsk, tsk."

"I'm the." He swallows, tries to keep his voice steady and his body still. "The bait. Batman'll come, he'll kick your scrawny asses from 'ere ta next week, you'll see-"

"I'm expecting him." Liar. "But while we wait...what phantoms haunt your dreams, little bird? Your peers so often shriek about closed fists and thick, grasping fingers...are you the same?"

"I'm not scared'a you."

Crane smiles indulgently.

"Shh."

And then one of the needles, the one against his jugular, presses through his skin.

He can feel the stuff inside rip into his veins, hot and thick and acidic like bile, and he can't help but try to jerk free. That makes the knife shudder and that hurts, forces a whimper of agony through a tight throat.

Not real not real not real it's not real whatever you see it's not it's not-

"Pain always makes this work soooo much faster," the Scarecrow hisses from above him, and he squeezes his eyes shut because one less sense is one less way for this shit to get to him. "The faster the pulse, the faster the effects..."

Breathe, then. Breathe deep, breathe even, on a count'a seven...c'mon...

The throbbing pain in his shoulder spreads suddenly and the pressure intensifies. His eyes fly open to see an imp-like one'a those things outta Fantasia-pushing on the knife like it's a goddamn gear shift.

Not real it's not real-

Batman's gonna come he's gonna come and he'll fix this-

Mom's here. Mom's here but somethin's wrong she's all stiff 'n glassy-eyed like she was that...that last time he saw her, but-

She's not here.

She's propped against the wall, hands frozen by her chest and hooked into claws like they'd been. Been at the end. Her mouth's hanging open, just a little, just enough to see the gaps where her teeth fell out that last year, and he doesn't want this she used ta be healthy he tried to keep her that way, he did, honest-

Mom I'm sorry I'm sorry I should'a been better I should'a tried harder-

"Robins are songbirds." Fingers close around his throat and he chokes, tries to twist away but Mom's starin' at him with that awful accusing look 'n- "So sing."

No. No, no, he won't he won't-

Mom moves, lurches forward, stringy, sweat 'n puke soaked hair flopping against her face, and he doesn't wanna see this he doesn't wanna remember her like this-

"Murderer." She coughs, yellow saliva dripping through chapped lips and down her chin, and he didn't mean to he tried honest he did- "You ungrateful little brat."

"Mom-"

She lurches closer, skeletal body slamming into the gurney. Clawed fingers

I AM OZ THE GWEAT AND TEWWIBLE

crack and the skin at her elbows splits as she forces her arms down to grasp his, death's chill seeping through his sleeves and into his skin and Mom please please I tried ta be good I tried please don' hurt me m'SORRY-

"I would be alive if you weren't!"

"Please-"

"Your father would be alive if you weren't!" The fingers, gnarled and sharp like warped metal, squeeze and squeeze and you're hurting me let go please let go Mom-!

The fingers thicken. Not much, not enough, but they thicken and grip hard enough to crack bone and it's not Mom, he doesn't know that face but it'll blur like the others, they always do...

Close your eyes 'n don't forget ta breathe it'll be over 'fore you know it just BREATHE-

The fingers, still boney and grasping, slide up his neck and force his mouth open, sweaty thumb forcing itself over his teeth and against the roof of his mouth with an unspoken bite down and you're dead and he can't fucking breathe somebody please-

BANG!

"There you are!" Scarecrow's here, but not here, now, he's moved, what's happening? The thumb in his mouth melts away and the bruising grip on his arm is gone. But he still can't breathe, he's gasping and gulping for breath and he just can't get any in- "Ah-ah-ah! Eighty percent of my patients die after a second inoculation...one step closer and that's what he'll get."

He sees the black cape first, and then the thing it belongs to turns and God-

It's. It's Batman, but it isn't, it isn't, he's got somethin' on his head that's yankin' his lips back to show sharp yellow teeth and there's blood seepin' through 'em-

And the thing's reaching for him. A white, boney hand is moving towards him and no NO NO MORE.

That's not Batman. It's not it's not it's not.

"Stay back!" His voice comes out as a breathy whine and he tries to scream but his throat feels swollen shut. "Stay away from me!" Please... "Stay the fuck back...God..." He gulps, tasting tears at the corners of his mouth. "Please don't hurt me..."

CLANK-HISSSSSSS!

The air grows bitter and he gags, jerks against the restraints and hears something tear. The room melts around him...and the white hand is on him at last.

* * *

Jason wakes with a headache. Well. An everything ache, but mostly his head. And his shoulder. And his throat hurts.

"Jason."

Huh?

He forces his head to turn-owowowow-and. Um.

Bruce is there. He's in his own room-he sees his bookshelf with his little Funko Batman and Robin on it-and Bruce is in here. He looks. Awkward. Like that blue thing-Sully? Is it that the name?-from Monsters, Inc.

What happened? He remembers...'members Crane, kinda, and Richardson-oh. Shoulder. Richardson got her psycho on and fucking stabbed him for the elf jokes.

"Hey, B." He grins, aiming for 'I had that' and probably hitting 'you totally saved my ass'. "You look like shit."

"Language." Bruce says, but it's that automatic 'Dad-Tone' that says he's running on autopilot. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a million bucks." he lies, but his body promptly decides to rat him out with a harsh shiver that sends a flare of pain through his shoulder. "Mm-m'okay. M'okay."

Judging by the eye bags, Bruce does not think he's okay. He lifts a hand

Big 'n muscular 'n DON'T TOUCH ME

and Jason only flinches a little when it comes down in his hair, heavy fingers rubbing little circles against his scalp.

"I'm sorry, Jason."

Huh?

"Uh, I don't think this one was your fault, boss-man."

Unless.

Unless-SHIT. This is it. He's not sorry for what happened, he's trying to soften the upcoming 'you suck at this and I need a partner who's not going to get himself captured by a psychopath all the time'.

He tries to head it off.

"It was a one-off, I'll be better, B, I swear-"

"Jason-"

"I got cocky, tha's all, I'll-"

"Jason." He shuts up, jaw tight. "Jay, this isn't...I'm not..." He sighs and starts again. "I'm not firing you, Jay. I'm sorry that I didn't get to you before Crane had a chance to use his toxin on you."

Oh.

He relaxes and flaps his hand at Bruce.

"M'fine, B. Really. Did ya get 'em?"

"Yes."

"See? Everything's fine."

Bruce doesn't look convinced. Whatever. Bruce worries too much, s'all.

He yawns and worms his way under the blankets a little more, eyes fluttering shut against his will.

And if there's the ghost of a laugh in the corner, or a hiss of rage from under the bed, well, Batman's here. He'll keep him safe.

He'll always keep him safe.

THE END

[nikkalia]

Gotta Get It Right: Chapter 13

TITLE: Gotta Get It Right CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 13

SUMMARY: Aleksa lived as an Inhuman at SHIELD's beck and call, but dreams of another life have her questioning everything she’d ever known. Just when she settled into a life of peace and quiet, she's called back to duty. Enter Loki.

PAIRING: Loki/OFC RATING: Mature NOTES/WARNINGS: Just language

Tumblr masterlist Also on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/15409323/chapters/42587357

Feedback is always appreciated (just being an attention whore screaming for comments/reblogs)

Tags: @fadingcoast @christy-winchester @hovianwookie86-captainxev @wolfsmom1 @igotloki @mischievousbellerina @odinsonsobsessed @fandom-and-feminism @mrshiddleston-uk

“Do me a favor,” she blew out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t call me that.”

Loki was taken aback. He feared that the Tesseract had caused more harm than he’d previously thought. The woman watched him closely as he considered his next words.

“As you wish... Aleksa.”

Aleksa relaxed a little, fighting the instinct to wipe away the tears drying on her face. If he’d been watching her for any period of time, it was too late to try and hide what she was going through. His expression was almost sympathetic towards her, and she found it both oddly comforting and slightly unnerving.

“What brings you to the dungeons this time? Come to deliver my execution order personally?”

Loki’s brow furrowed. “Why do the gifted so frequently crave death? Surely there is a great deal of good you can yet do in this world.”

“Doubtful.” She leaned forward. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Hmm.” Loki thought quietly for a moment, then smiled. “I have a proposition for you...”

“No.”

He cocked his head to one side and continued. “Answers for answers. We both want information, and I feel confident that we can come to some sort of arrangement once all queries are resolved. If, at the conclusion of our interview, you still feel as if death is your only option,” his sigh a little more dramatic than it needed to be, “then I shall give you what you seek. I will even see your remains returned to Midgard, should that be your desire.”

“Why don’t we just skip to the end?”

“You may find a life in Asgard more desirable than an eternity in Hel. And really, what have you to lose? Except, perhaps, time spent in the underworld.”

Aleksa narrowed her eyes. Fingertips brushed the force field again, pulling in the energy she needed to focus. The movement didn’t go unnoticed.

“I can help you regain the control you need in order to sever your dependence on outside assistance.” Aleksa looked up at him. “Give me a chance, little one.”

“Little one?” she smirked. “Somehow, I have a feeling I’m older than you.”

Loki’s eyebrow quirked. A wry grin crossed his face. “If you are, my dear, it can’t be by more than a few years. A moment, really.”

Aleksa leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. She cursed herself for allowing Loki to pique her curiosity, especially since he was not known to favor compassion over chaos.

What’s normal for the spider is chaos for the fly. She huffed. Thanks, Morticia.

Aleksa wished for her house on the shore and the calm normal it offered. But, her last contact with the cube had created questions she needed answers to, answers that wouldn’t be found on Earth.

Loki was still standing in the same spot when she opened her eyes.

“Are you aware of how fucking creepy it is that you’re just standing there, staring at me?”

“I’ve been called a great many things,” he laughed, “but I believe you are the first to use the term ‘creepy’.”

“First time for everything.”

“Indeed. Do we have a bargain?”

A slow breath came before her answer. “I’ll think about it.”

“Excellent!” Loki clapped his hands together. “I will send the guards down later this evening to fetch you. I know we both don’t wish to have yet another discussion here.”

“That is not what I sai...”

“And I’ll arrange for more comfortable accommodations.”

“Loki!”

“No no, no need to thank me. I will see you at dinner.”

He spun on heel and walked up the stairs, vanishing before Aleksa could even get to her feet. A thud signaled the closure of heavy doors above.

“Dammit, Loki.” She muttered, plopping back on the floor. “This is such a bad idea.”

---

Loki looked out over the city, watching the skies shift into the purples of sunset. He did his best to ignore the commotion behind him as the servants moved a small table and chairs into his private library for the impromptu meal. He often took his meals in the library, preferring to avoid the formal space whenever possible. The dining room held too many memories of eating with Odin and Thor bickering over whatever happened to annoy them that day. It was usually Loki.

Eventually, he simply stopped going. Frigga would sometimes decide to join him in this room, engaging him in discussions about his studies or seider training. She would ask him to tell her stories after dessert, always laughing as he spun outrageous tales, complete with animated illusions of the characters.

A soft smile emerged at the memory. Thoughts of the woman who raised him warmed his cold heart and soothed his aching spirit. His first commission upon taking the throne was a statue of Frigga that took its place in her favorite garden, turned toward the horizon so that she would always face the light.

“Majesty?” The deep, scratchy voice of the valet broke Loki’s reverie. “Everything is prepared.”

“And my guest?”

“The Einherjar are on the way with her now.”

Loki nodded. He moved to the table, inspecting the meal. A touch of nervous energy began to creep into his mind, and he dismissed it immediately. This woman was his prisoner, regardless of what she could or couldn’t do, and he was the King of Asgard. Still, it had been some time since he’d actually shared a meal with anyone that interested him. And Aleksa definitely interested him.

The clanking of metal on the stone floor announced the arrival of his guest before the doors ever opened. He imagined what she’d look like in chains, barely clothed and submissive before him. Clicking latches brought him back to reality and Loki turned to the opening doors. The sneer crossing his face stopped.

Aleksa walked at the center on the Einherjar, collared and chained as he had once been. She carried the same strength in her step as when they first met, but her face was pale, circles showing faintly around the darkened eyes that locked onto his. A chill ran down his spine when he looked down and noticed the glowing runes on the collar and shackles at her wrists. His mind raced with possibilities until he realized that the group had stopped moving.

“Welcome, my dear. I’m so glad you decided to join me.”

“Wasn’t really my decision.” Aleksa smirked but her voice hinted at something else.

“You had every opportunity to decline, pet, and yet here you are.”

“Two things,” she growled. “One, bullshit. And two, don’t call me that.”

“Why not? You look every bit the part of a disobedient little pet.”

“Because I’m not a fucking animal.”

“Oh, I think you are.” He moved closer to her, their faces inches apart. “I’ve read your military file, seen the footage.”

“And you think that’s all there is to me?”

“Of course not.” He stepped back and smiled. “That’s why you’re still alive.”

“Yay me.”

“Indeed.” Loki walked to the table, pulling out a chair for her to sit. “My...lady.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s gonna work in my current state.” The last word came as a groan while the runes glowed brighter for a moment.

“Darling, the more you fight the spells cast on those restraints, the stronger the magic becomes.”

“Don’t suppose you’d be willing to take them off?”

“This was an exercise in trust, not stupidity, my dear. I would have no guarantee that you won’t attempt yet another escape. Or to kill me.”

“What makes you think I won’t despite the chains?”

Loki studied her for a moment before responding. “You’re in too much pain, I assume, from the suppression runes. Otherwise, you’d already be gone.” Confusion flashed in Aleksa’s eyes. “I offer you a bargain. I will release you from these restraints in exchange for your word not to flee or attack me.”

“And this isn’t an exercise in stupidity,” she scoffed.

“I can hear it in your voice, little one. The pain is growing more severe with each moment that passes. Put away your pride and allow me to give you some relief.”

Aleksa looked at him with suspicious eyes. The pain was becoming unbearable as she fought to regulate the power building up within her. Whatever magic he’d put on the shackles had rendered her completely incapable of cycling energy in and out of her body. She knew there wasn’t much time left before a release came one way or another.

“No tricks, and,” she let out a long slow breath, “I reserve the right to defend myself if necessary.”

“No tricks,” Loki repeated. “As stated before, all I want is dinner and a conversation with you. Whatever occurs afterward is entirely your decision.”

Aleksa’s eyes met his. “Again, bullshit”

He smiled. “Be that as it may, the question remains: do you trust me enough to allow me to assist?”

The runes brightened again and Aleksa audibly groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she sighed before nodding. 

Loki waved his hand slowly, removing the spell layer by layer. Color gradually returned to Aleksa’s face while he nodded to the guards, who removed all but the restraints around her wrists. He dismissed them silently and waited for her to speak.

“They missed one,” she mumbled, her voice still shaky as she lifted her arms.

“Hmm, so they did.”

Aleksa took a defensive stance as he approached, reaching for her hands. She watched closely while the cuffs around her wrists shrank into two thin cuff bracelets in the shape of snakes, the inscribed runes glowing one last time before vanishing into the metal.

“There,” he purred, kissing her hand, his eyes locked with hers. “Much improved, don’t you think?”

“What I think,” she withdrew her hand from his, “is that I’m going to regret this.”

Not as much as I’m going to enjoy it. Loki smiled broadly, gesturing to her chair. Aleksa’s eyes narrowed before finally moving to the seat.

[gaperezmakes]

A Winter’s Storm in Summer - Part IV

< First | Previous >

“What did they mean ‘second born’?”

King Hondew looked away from his wife, “I don’t know. They’re wrong all the time. It probably means nothing.”

“It means something,” she shouted, throwing a vase at him. The King ducked under it and looked back at the shattered pottery.

“How can I have a second child? I have only been married and faithful to you, my Queen!”

“Don’t ‘my Queen’ me!” She threw another vase at him, “You know exactly what they mean! Why are you keeping secrets from me?”

“I don’t know what they mean!” The king tried walking towards the queen. “Aurus is my only son. He is the only child I have sired.” He saw the anger still raging in her eyes. “Perhaps they speak of the child before Aurus--the one we did not know.”

“How would they know about that?”

“I went to the mystics before the child was lost--when you first knew you were with child. I wanted to know about my child, but they told me it would be lost. I was devastated when I heard the news. I did not want to believe them, but then their prediction came to pass. I did not want to trouble you with that news, but perhaps that is the child they spoke of.”

“But why would they--?”

“I don’t know, and I won’t claim to understand them. But I’m sure that is who they spoke of, now that I think of it.” Hondew took his wife’s hand, “I’m sorry I did not tell you sooner.”

“No, of course. The stress would not have done us any favors.” She sighed, “I’m sorry I got so angry. I shouldn’t have assumed--”

“It’s fine. I understand.” Their attention shifted to a guard running in.

“My Lord, I--” The guard noticed the broken pottery on the ground. “What-what happened?”

“Nothing more than a misunderstanding. We’ll have the servants clean this mess up. What is it?”

“We have news, sir, from the south. The captain--he wanted to talk about this privately, my Lord.”

The king frowned and nodded his head, “I see.” He looked to his queen, “Go and take care of Aurus, dear. I will be up to join you shortly.” The guard escorted the king down the halls of his castle. Things became darker and quieter the deeper inside they moved until they reached the war room within the castle’s heart. A pair of guards opened the doors for the king, who saw his captains looking over a map of the region. Small red figurines were placed all around the map, with a bigger wooden sculpture of a castle sitting in the middle. In the corner was one of his knights rocking back and forth. All color in his face was absent, his unblinking eyes affixed at one point on the map. Was he trembling?

“What’s going on?”

“King Hondew!” All of the knights stood and saluted, except for the one in the corner. One of them nudged him to stand, but the King raised a hand to stop.

“What happened? What’s going on?”

“My liege, as you know, we have been engaged in a conflict with Flamebreak to the south.”

“As long as I have held the throne, we have been fighting with them. What happened? Did they surrender?”

“We would only be so lucky,” one of the knights sighed, “Apparently the volcano erupted.”

“What? How?! That volcano has been dormant for centuries! They can’t draw power from it anymore--it’s why we’ve been trying to push them out! They’re weak!”

“We’ve been making constant progress undermining their defenses. We’ve sabotaged all of their trade routes, and our naval allies have blockaded their ports. We intended on starving them out another month or two before calling for their surrender. If not, we would have recommended you launch a full-scale war against them. Flamebreak would have fallen in days.”

“Yes, I know. That was the plan we’ve been making for years. What happened?”

“Dragons,” the knight in the corner whispered, “They have dragons.”

“What?”

All of the knights around the table fell silent. The King looked at each one of them apprehensively. That had to be a mistake. Dragons? That was impossible. Dragons were only fairy tales.

“We believe,” one of the knights at the table spoke up. The King immediately turned to him, “We believe they summoned a Dragon Lord to fight for them.”

“A Dragon Lord?” That had to be a mistake. “Are you sure?”

“It’s--it’s the only possibility, my Lord.”

The King’s eyes darted around the map. Those weren’t enemy forces in red. Those were deaths. Dragons. If that was true, they were doomed. None of them were prepared to deal with dragons. They needed a plan.

“How long can we last?”

“On their territory? We’ll be obliterated. If the rumors of dragons are true, we won’t be able to stop them. Any soldiers we send over there will be slaughtered.”

“And if we pull back? What if we bring all our soldiers back?”

“There’s no telling how our allies would react. We would need to convene with them to discuss how we should retreat from this situation. We’re leading the charge into Flamebreak. Our allies need to know that we’re pulling out before we leave the area. We need to hold the line as best we can.”

“How long would it take the Dragon Lord to send its elementals over here once we retreat?”

“You’re seriously considering retreat?”

“We can’t face off against a Dragon Lord, much less a dragon. We need to find some way to send it back first before we try attacking Flamebreak again. Although, if the volcano has erupted, that might just be a waste of time.” The king sighed as he looked desperately at the map. What other options did they have? “How long would it take the Dragon Lord to notice us?”

“We’re not sure, sire. The legends say the Dragon Lord will desire to expand its domain, so it’s only a matter of time before it turns its attention to us. How long that will be is a different matter entirely.”

“If it sends the full force of its army at us, how long will we last?”

Eyes darted all around the room. All of the knights had answers, but none of them was the right one. There was a stillness in the air. Who would dare to speak first?

“Sire,” everyone turned their attention to the brave--or foolish--knight, “If the Dragon Lord sends its dragon, the city would be leveled by nightfall. The castle might last a day or two, but we cannot guarantee anything. Without a dragon, we might be able to hold out a week or two.”

“And if the Dragon Lord itself shows up?”

“My Lord,” another knight chuckled nervously, “If the Dragon Lord itself came to our doorstep, the castle would fall in an hour.”

***

They are panicking, dear child. She tried freezing her restraints, but the voice calmed her, No, no, no, not yet. Let them worry some more. It will draw their attention away from you--away from us. For now, we practice some more. You have done well in your lessons so far. You’re getting better at using your spells without speaking, although you still need more practice. Here, read these for me.

Three words appeared before her. She looked at them, mouthing out the sounds. “Frahblulund,” the first word shimmered as she felt the magic manifesting in her hands. “Asis,” the spell faded. She looked at the next one. “Frahbshiir,” a dim bubble appeared around her. She dismissed this spell as well. “Frahbminal,” a small wave of magic spread out from her person, leaving a thin layer of ice on the ground. She tried dismissing the spell, but just stared frustratedly at the ground around her still covered in ice.

Ah, but that is not part of the spell, child. The voice seemed amused by her attempts to clear the ice, That is a result of your spell, not the spell itself. I know you can feel the power within, that you can feel how powerful your magic is. But you will soon see how powerful your spells are, and how your magic can change the world around you.

Do you know why they panic, child? She was not sure how to respond, but the voice seemed to understand she did not. My child, that they have stolen from me--the voice spoke with an anger she had never experienced before--my child has given them a prediction. My child has told them how their false kings will fall. They have been delivered a prophecy warning them of dragons. And now one has been brought to their lands. Their king can do nothing to stop a dragon, and he cannot reconcile the lie he has told himself with the truth presented to him. We will use his blindness to our advantage.

The voice could sense the curiosity in her thoughts. Dear child, do not worry. When the time comes for us to strike, I will ensure our success. Trust me, they will not see you coming.

< First | Previous >

{Alright, so last week’s entry was a little weak. I think it ended a little abruptly, but I also just wanted to get it over with. I’m gonna be honest: Not my finest work (but it’s still better than Rise). Anyway, this week we get to worry about Dragon Lords. They’re big, scary, and they have dragons. There’s no way that could get any worse.

No.

Way.}