#i almost had to send miller in to bat for us

[sidetongue]

4/7 

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part eleven

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

you get the short end of the stick, but it’s worth it.

a/n: okayyyyyyyyy shit’s getting heavy, folks, but things are chaaaaaaanging. hope you’re ready 😈

word count: 4.4k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, a lot of angst, a lot conversation, canon-typical violence and injuries (heavy on both), drinking, Joel has more feelings, I love Tess.

if you haven’t already, please read the announcement/follow up I posted about giving Liv a name.

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters✨

Tess likes to talk. You don’t mind; it makes the walk back much faster, and the QZ is within sight much sooner with the easy conversation between you. 

She talks about how she found Joel and Tommy, how they’d been stuck together ever since Kentucky. She mentions her husband, Nate, and you offer your sympathy — which she brushes off — and tell her about Dean.

“With a baseball bat?” she repeats, an almost incredulous look on her face. “That baseball bat?”

“Yep,” you laugh, hefting the thing in your hand. “Kept me alive this long. All those years of softball finally paid off.”

Tess tells you what she was starting to build in Baltimore, and you can’t help but grin. The two of you are more similar than you thought. You return her stories in kind, details of your own ventures. “There are lots of ways in and out of the Boston QZ,” you tell her, “you just have to know where to look.”

You don’t ask about her and Joel, and she doesn’t offer the information. He hangs back the entire time, a good twenty feet behind you, rifle slung over his shoulder. You chance a glance back once or twice, mostly making sure he’s still there, and his hard gaze makes you freeze every time.

This definitely isn’t the reunion you’d imagined. Honestly, you’re not quite sure what you had envisioned, but this sure as hell ain’t it. Fuck, why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut?

You lead them through as quietly as possible, using a spot on the wall where the bricks have been cracked, leaving footholds behind for those who know to look for them. You send Tess up first, then Joel, and he waits at the top, grabs you by the arm and hauls you up the last foot. You open your mouth to say thank you, but he’s already released you, turned away yet again.

All right, so this is how it’s going to be.

Through the top level of the building, down the ladder into the alley. You stash your bat and your bag in the same place, tell Tess and Joel to leave their guns there, too. Joel’s reluctant, but Tess smacks his shoulder and he does as you say, that hard look on his face the entire time. 

Your boots splash in the same puddle they had last night. Tess is close behind you as you head out of the alley and skirt down the next building. A few more alleyways, heads ducked, avoiding soldiers and civilians alike, and you head down another alleyway, waiting for the coast to clear before shoving a dumpster aside, revealing a hole in the bricks that leads inside the empty warehouse.

“How did you—” Joel starts to ask, but cuts himself off.

You hold your arm out, gesturing him inside. “Quickly.”

The opposite end of the warehouse faces the gate almost directly. The windows on the lower level are covered with newspaper, shattered in some places, and you peer through one of the missing panes. Beside the main gate, there’s an office, of sorts. Where they take any survivors that make it to the gate, test them, either put them in the system or put a bullet in their heads.

“Wait here.” You prop open the window, slide through the gap and pop back up the other side. No one pays you any mind as you head towards the office, leaning up on your toes to peer through the little window in the door. Nick’s standing inside, staring at one of the old computer screens, and when you tap on the glass, he nods.

You turn back, waving at Tess. “C’mon.” They’re quick about it, and you push the door open once they’re close, following them both inside. Nick stares at Joel for a moment, meets your eyes over his shoulder. You try to school your face neutral, but you can’t tell if you get away with it or not.

“In there,” Nick says, the words blunt, and points down the hallway, to one of the smaller rooms. The office used to be a doctor’s office, you think; one main lobby, a bunch of smaller exam rooms down the hall. Joel and Tess do as he says, and you start to follow behind, but feel Nick’s hand on your shoulder. It makes you pause, and you look at him, turning beneath his hand.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice low. “Joel.”

You repeat yourself to him a third time. “Does it matter?”

Nick’s brow creases. “Of course it fucking matters, Liv.”

You shake your head. “Just process them, please? Then you can throw me in lockup and this’ll all be over.”

The look on his face says he doesn’t believe you, but you push his hand off your shoulder, step into the room where Tess is standing, Joel sitting in one of the chairs, elbows on his knees. “This is Corporal Nick Cowan,” you introduce, jutting a thumb over your shoulder. “I trust him. He’ll test you both, put you through the system, and take you back to my place.” Your eyes flick to Joel. “Tommy should still be there.” You turn to look at Nick. “On the off chance he’s not, take them to Deanna’s.”

Nick gives you a curt nod, and you can feel Joel’s stare boring holes in your skull. It’s Tess that finally breaks the silence, concern on her face. “What about you? Why aren’t you taking us?”

“Cuz I’m gonna be in lockup,” you say, and Joel jumps to his feet, but doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t do anything but stare, “for the next two days.” You swallow hard. “There’s enough food at my place for you three, water too. Tommy knows where the whiskey is.” You give a little chuckle, staring down at your boots before lifting your head. There’s something like admiration in Tess’s eyes, whereas Joel is pure fire. You chew the inside of your cheek. “It’s fine, really. All part of the deal.”

“You’ve been in FEDRA lockup before?” Tess asks, crossing her arms.

You nod. “Once or twice. I’ve been caught by a couple other soldiers, but I have dirt on most of them. Makes it easier, but this is all part of the plan.” Your eyes dart to Joel before meeting Tess’s. “It’s fine. It’s worth it.”

Nick grabs your arm then, all business, fingers biting into your elbow. “Let’s go. Now.” His voice is louder, and you lift a brow as he pulls you back through the door. “You two, don’t move, or so help me god, I will throw you both right back through that gate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Seriously?”

He stares down at you. He’s angry, you realize. “Seriously.”

Nick yanks the door shut, Joel and Tess staring at you as it closes, and he all but pushes you down the hall to the door, out onto the road, towards the building where you’ll be for the next two days. Lockup. “There were other soldiers in there,” he mutters under his breath. “I had to make it somewhat believable.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure.”

+

Since the world ended, Joel will admit he’s gotten quick to judge. First impressions were hell before cordyceps ravaged the planet, but now they’re even worse, if not more important. But Joel’s met one too many terrible people, and he’s learned to be quick on the draw, quicker on his judgement.

He knows almost immediately that he does not care for Corporal Nick Cowan. At all.

Mainly, he doesn’t like the way Cowan was looking at you. He saw the way he stopped you outside the door, the two of you whispering under your breath to each other, an almost defiant look on your face. Are you two…?

He doesn’t finish the thought.

Joel’s mind has been churning from the moment he saw you, standing there in the gas station parking lot, that fucking baseball bat in your hand. Something else had taken over, something like happiness, spilling into the corners of his heart the moment he had you in his arms again. Alive, breathing, whole, right in front of him. He felt whole, for the first time in a long time, holding you like that. It felt…good.

And then you opened your mouth, and it all came crashing down.

He hasn’t forgotten. He can’t forget that night. The gunshots and the blood and the way Sarah had cried. The way he’d felt her go. It haunts his every step, her voice a constant reminder in the back of his mind. He knew he’d have to tell you, if he ever found you again, and in a way, he’s grateful his brother was the one to deliver the news, but the way you’d said it, the broken apology, the tears on your face, it was too much.

It is too much.

Cowan returns not ten minutes after he’d hauled you off, and Joel gets to his feet when the door opens. The soldier gives him a look, but Joel doesn’t flinch. He’s used to this shit; the FEDRA soldiers in Baltimore were the same. “You can sit,” Cowan says, but Joel doesn’t move. Tess sinks into the chair he’d been occupying. There’s a clipboard in the soldier’s hand, and he flips the page over. “Names.”

“Tess Servopoulos.”

“Joel Miller.”

“Date of birth.”

“April 9th, 1969.”

“September 26th, 1967.”

On and on it goes, until the page is full. Cowan doesn’t look at either of them once, and then takes the scanner from his belt. He’s not gentle with it, the hard press of plastic and the following tingle at Joel’s neck making him wince. The scanner turns green both times, and Cowan scoffs.

“Well, there you go.” The soldier sighs. “Boston QZ works about the same as Baltimore. You work for the community, keep it running, earn your ration cards. Liv will tell you where to find assignments, what jobs you’re allowed to take. She’s responsible for you for now, once she’s out. You stay in her place until she comes back, and we go from there.”

“We don’t get our own space?” Tess asks, and Cowan shoots her a look.

“You wait for Liv,” he says tersely, “and we go from there.”

Joel bites his tongue.

He leads them through the QZ quickly, both hands on his rifle. Joel itches for his own gun, stashed in your hideaway, but forces his hands into fists instead. Tess gives him a pointed look. Don’t fuck this up.

It irks his brain that Cowan just knows where your apartment is. Tommy opens the door after the soldier knocks, and pulls Joel into a hug, Tess afterward. “You made it.”

Tommy steps aside to let them in, and when Joel turns back to the door, the Corporal is gone.

Good fuckin’ riddance.

“Much nicer than the shit we had in Baltimore,” Tess comments, shucking her coat off, and Joel huffs a laugh. 

It’s…well, nice isn’t really the word. The flower wallpaper is something else but the place looks lived in, which already makes it better than the plain walls and nondescript shit they had in the Baltimore QZ. There’s a butterfly painted on the window, a bookshelf built into one wall, another little shelf between the two windows with a radio perched on top. The flower paper doesn’t continue along all the walls, giving way to a yellow colour, the lower two feet of the wall painted blue. There’s a big window near the bed, a tall wardrobe beside it, a cracked radiator, the bathroom tucked beside the bedroom.

Tommy makes lunch, some kind of instant mac and cheese that tastes all too familiar to Joel. But washing it down with a glass of whiskey definitely helps. Tess busies herself looking through your bookshelves, combing through the titles. 

“Where did she get all this stuff?” Joel asks. The shelves are filled with books, but there are other things too, little knickknacks and candles and tchotchkes. A little elephant made of jade. Joel picks it up, rubs his fingers over the carved edge.

“If you’d been listening, on the walk back,” Tess quips, an almost sing-song to her voice, “instead of being an asshole, you’d know. She’s been doing the same shit we have. Smuggling. Looting places that have been deserted. And she’s clearly better at it than we are.”

Joel says nothing, his brow lowering as he puts the elephant back on the shelf. There’s a little glass dish on one of the other shelves, filled with rings of all sizes and metals. Wedding rings, he realizes after a moment, engagement rings.

Tess hums. Joel watches as she reaches down, rubs her thumb over the silver band on her finger.

“Who is she, Joel?” Tess asks, and a zap of cold slides down his throat. “To you. Who was she? And don’t try to bullshit me and say nothing.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, instead of nothing, and walks away from the bookshelf. There are no doors between the different rooms, the living room and kitchen and bedroom one open space with a dividing wall. He walks towards your bed, lets his hand trail over the plaid sheets and blankets and sinks onto the edge, parks himself in front of the window.

He stays there, until the sun sets. 

Two days in lockup, you’d said. You wait for Liv, Cowan had instructed.

Part of him feels like he needs to apologize. He’s going about this wrong, he knows that. But the memory of what he’s lost has risen to the surface of his mind, and made him hurt. Made him all too aware of how broken he is.

With Tess, it doesn’t matter. He cares for her — of course he cares for her — but the line in the sand is clear. It’s stress-relief, comfort, a placeholder for what they’ve lost. Tess lost Nate, and Joel lost you.

And what the fuck did he do to deserve to find you again?

Tess crawls into bed, eventually. She doesn’t say a word to Joel, doesn’t invite him to lay with her. He can hear Tommy snoring on the other side of the thin wall that separates the living room and the bedroom, his brother sprawled on the couch.

He gets to his feet, scrubbing a hand over his face. The wardrobe door creaks as he pulls it open. There’s not much inside, clothing meant more for warmth than anything else, an assortment of sweaters and flannels. He knows he shouldn’t, feels a prickle of guilt up his spine as he drags his hand through the fabric. His fingers catch on something softer than the others, and he pinches blue flannel, striped with white and grey.

You kept his shirt. All this time. Held it close enough to take it with you when you left.

It makes him ache.

Joel wanders into the kitchen, grabs the bottle of whiskey from where it had been left on the worn kitchen table. It’s a mess of coffee cups, pages torn from notebooks, a collage of maps spread beneath everything else. He sees paths marked in red, on the maps, places circled and x’ed out, scribbled notes and times and dates. The kitchen sink is clean, a few plates stacked beside, evidence of Tommy’s cooking still on the stove. The fridge is slightly crooked, from when Tommy had pulled out the whiskey.

He sees it, from the corner of his eye, on the top door of the fridge. Held in place by a magnet shaped like a strawberry.

July 4th 2002

The magnet falls as he pulls the polaroid off, but he catches it before it can hit the ground. The picture is torn at one corner, the edges a little warped, but otherwise intact. He can remember that night. The warm summer air, your head on his shoulder, beer and barbecue in his belly, the awe on Sarah’s face as you all watched the fireworks together. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Joel puts the magnet back on the fridge, but keeps the picture in his hand, sinks into a chair at the table, takes a swig from the bottle of whiskey.

He doesn’t hear Tess until she’s sliding into the chair across from him. He says nothing, another long sip from the bottle as she pulls the polaroid from his grip. She looks at it for a long moment, smoothing her fingers over the edges before handing it back to him.

“Tell me who she is, Joel,” she says again, more of a statement than a question. “Please.”

Joel’s throat bobs. Tess doesn’t often say please.

He blows out a shaky breath. “A ghost,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “To be honest, I’m still not totally convinced she’s really here. That we’re really here.”

Tess grips his free hand, pushes the bottle away. “We are here, Joel. Liv is here.” She squeezes his fingers. “Please, I just wanna make sense of it all.” Tess pauses, leans back a little. “Did you love her?”

Joel just nods, the movement slow as molasses, making his neck ache. “Her parents owned a hardware store, back in Austin. She moved back from Michigan after she finished school, started working in the store, and I met her there. We had one summer, and then she got a job in Boston.”

“You let her go.”

His brow crinkles, and his fingers itch to reach for the bottle, but he doesn’t. “I couldn’t let her stay in Austin just for me, couldn’t let her throw away her future.” He shoves a hand through his hair. He’s still holding the picture. “We spent the rest of the summer together, and then she left. Came back the next summer, and we had another two weeks.” He rubs his thumb over the photograph, the image of you leaned against him. “But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough.”

“She broke it off?”

He lays the polaroid on the table, thumb still tracing your outline. “She met someone. Dean. The space was too much, for both of us. I understood. I let her go.”

“And then the world ended.”

Joel reaches for the bottle then, and takes a long swig before sliding it across to Tess. “And then the world ended.”

“So, she’s the reason you wanted to go to Boston.”

He can’t bring himself to look at Tess. “I called her that night, when everything happened. Told her to get out of Boston, that I’d find her. It was never about Boston, exactly, it was just about going East, praying that we might meet in the middle. I looked for her at every QZ, every shelter, every single time I saw a body in the street, I was looking for her.”

“But you found her,” Tess says, her voice low, and Joel forces his eyes to hers. “Joel, she’s alive. She’s right here. Second chances like this…” She trails off, shakes her head. “This kind of stuff doesn’t happen all the time, Miller, not anymore. This is…”

“If you call this a miracle, Tess, I swear to god.”

She scoffs a laugh. “No, not a miracle. But…something. You can’t—”

“I told you who she was,” he cuts her off, that same feeling rising in his throat again. What the fuck did he do to deserve a second chance with you? “Now drop it.”

“Joel—”

“Drop it, Tess.” He shoves his chair back, gets up, heads for the bed.

If she notices him take the polaroid with him, she doesn’t say anything.

+

Stairs are hell.

Every step makes your side scream in pain. The pressure you’ve been holding against your ribs has done little to ease the ache, and even breathing makes it worse. Your mouth tastes like blood, iron and tangy against your teeth, and you know you’re lucky as hell your cheek isn’t broken. Bruised to shit, yes, but not broken.

They were feeling feisty in lockup, worse than you’ve ever had it before. Nick left you with two other soldiers inside, muttering something about disturbing the peace. They processed you, put the charge on your record, and when another soldier came to get you, your stomach sank into your toes.

Angie.

The same soldier who’d been working the pharmacy when you’d gone to get inhalers for Henry. You hadn’t threatened her, not exactly, but you’d made it clear that you could do some damage if she didn’t give you what you wanted. The pharmacy is a no-violence zone; she couldn’t have hit you then even if she wanted to. It would get her in deeper shit than you.

But in lockup? A whole other fucking story.

She grabbed you roughly, all but shoving you through the doorway that led deeper into the building. You don’t think the building was originally like this, all cells and interrogation rooms; FEDRA must have built it themselves. 

You were expecting to get shoved into a cell right off the bat, but instead, she lead you to one of the rooms, pushed you inside and yanked the door shut behind you.

“What are you—”

Your words cut off with the first slap, a hard backhand that made your head snap to the side. You grunted, grabbing the back of a chair inside the room. You had half a mind to grab the thing with both hands and launch it at Angie, but that would only extend your time in lockup.

All you could do was sit there and take it.

Her second backhand made your teeth rattle, pain sparking behind your eyes. You nearly ducked to dodge the next hit, out of instinct, but forced yourself still, tears springing forth as her fist connected with your cheek. Over and over again, you just let her hit you. She hit you hard enough that you stumbled back, tripped over your own feet and the chair behind you and hit the ground. She didn’t waste any time driving her boot into your side, and you just curled inwards, just took it.

You weren’t sure exactly when she left, all you knew was that the blows stopped landing, but the pain didn’t. Two more soldiers came in after, picked you up off the floor, and carried you out of the room. They put you in a cell next, gave you a bottle of water and a blanket. The fabric was mottled with blood when you finally opened your eyes, and your face ached something fierce.

You slept it off, the rest of your time inside. Ate the shitty bread when it was offered, used the water to clean the blood from your face. And then, your forty-eight hours were up, and they let you go.

Part of you expected Nick to be waiting for you outside, but you were happy he wasn’t. You didn’t want to feel like you owed him anything more.

It took ages to get back to your building. Every step outside made pain shoot through your side; you’re pretty convinced at least one of your ribs is broken. And now, fucking stairs.

You almost fall against the doorjamb once you reach your apartment, digging in the pocket of your coat for your keys. You’re fumbling with the lock when the door swings inward, revealing Tess, bright-eyed and wearing one of your t-shirts. “Jesus Christ.”

You actually fall forward then, and Tess catches you, sliding an arm around your waist and dragging you over the threshold. 

“A little help here!” 

Tommy and Joel are both sitting on your couch, and they both jump to their feet the moment they see you. Tommy moves before his brother, and is at your side in an instant, taking some of your weight from Tess. You’re grateful as hell, though the movement makes your side scream in pain. They bring you towards the couch, and from the corner of your swollen eye, you see Joel move out of the way, heading in the direction of your bedroom. You’re in too much pain for it to really sting.

You cry out as they lower you onto the couch. Tommy looks frantic, and Tess disappears for a moment, coming back with a wet cloth. She drags it over your cheek and you whimper.

“She’s messed up,” she says, you assume to Tommy. “They have a clinic here, right? Like in Baltimore.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, “saw it when I first got here. I can go—”

You flail an arm out, your hand landing on Tommy’s leg. “Get Deanna.”

You think he nods — you hope he nods — and you hear the door bang shut a moment later. Tess wipes at your face more; guess you didn’t get as much blood off as you thought.

“Tess,” you call softly, and her eyes snap to yours. “You don’t have to—”

“Oh, shut up,” she tells you, her voice almost stern. You want to laugh. “Who did this to you? FEDRA? Cowan?”

“Not Cowan. Pissed off the wrong girl, I guess.” You actually scoff out a laugh, but it makes your ribs sing with pain. “Can’t fight back in lockup.”

Tess’s brow wrinkles. “Good to know it’s the same shit all over in some way, at least.”

You go quiet, for a long moment. Tess holds the cloth against your cheek, and you revel in the cool feeling, letting your eyes flutter shut. The pain throbs with every beat of your heart, every breath you take, but her hands are gentle, almost soft.

“Joel told me,” she says, breaking the silence that’s been filled only with your shaking breaths. “About the two of you, about…before.”

Tears fill behind your closed eyelids, and you feel them slip down your cheeks. “Doesn’t matter now,” you say, trying to shake your head but failing miserably. “He doesn’t…”

“Don’t worry about what he does or doesn’t. He’s a stubborn ass.”

“You two—”

She puts a finger on your lips, shushing you. “I said, don’t worry about it, Liv.” She shakes her head, brow pinched, moving the cloth to dab at the corner of your mouth. “Not right now.”

You hear the door open, and a moment later, Deanna’s face comes into view, hovering over you. “What the hell did you do, girl?”

“Made a deal,” you say, “but it was worth it.”

Through the thin wall, you think you hear Joel sigh, the noise long and deep.

PREV | NEXT

[ohheyitsokay]

good eye

part 4 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

pairing: Francisco Morales (Frankie, Catfish) x reader

wordcount: 3.5k (I’m only 14% sorry about that)

warnings: strong language, extremely mild injury, Benny Miller working out, a little bit of a cliffhanger ending

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball. 

“good eye” is an encouragement for batting players, essentially applauding them for having good judgement when and when not to swing.

In this chapter, the guys becoming increasingly aware of how interesting you are to the whole gang - and what they’re going to do about it. 

>>

Bottom of the ninth inning – the end of the game.

Sometimes players fixated on the score, glancing at the flashing lights or acting desperately but for Will, keeping it in his head was just as natural as breathing. Floating around first base made it easy for him to keep an eye on everything, and stay focused under the summer sun. His team was up by two.

The opposition was at bat – their final advantage as the home team. He didn’t feel particularly nervous, but couldn’t breathe easy just yet. They already had two outs, thanks to his little brother’s inhuman speed and some excellent Garcia pitching, and just one more to go before it was all over. Preferably, this would happen before the man on third made it to home base. 

There was a bead of sweat rolling down, down, down his temple over his cheekbone, and into his beard. The clouds from the start of the game were long gone – even with his cap, his blue eyes were getting tired.

They were focused on the batter, not even Pope, and never the crowd, since it was always just a blur of noise and rival colors and waving hands. The closer the game came to an end, the more the mass of people writhed with tension. It was better just to ignore it. There was no reason at all, but he looked up just for a split second and he saw a single, tiny form make itself clear, sending a confusing thrill down his spine.

A familiar crack rang through the air and he snapped back to focus. The batter was hurling towards him, the crowd was holding it’s breath as he looked around, almost frantically.

Where was the ball?!

Your form was still in his minds eye, he didn’t understand, but then – there, in the outfield. No, here. Instinct had taken over.

It was in his glove, and his left toe had found first base. Will heard a curse as the opposing player plowed behind him a second too late, a yell from the umpire, and then the satisfying groans of the other team’s fans.

Pope crashed into him first, then whoever else was the closest. It was giddy and triumphant chaos, hands clapping his shoulder, sweaty hugs, slaps, and high fives, and Will barely noticed any of it. Jogging back to the locker room was quick, the crunch of their shoes in the grit of the field like a stampede, impossibly loud. The locker room wasn’t as bad. It would have been louder if they had lost, like they had expected. Something still felt strange in his gut as they changed and rinsed off and packed their things.

You were interesting to him, he liked how real you were. He was normally the one that grounded others, that kept his head, learned his lessons and left the game on the field. It was nice, spending time with someone he didn’t have to do that for – or really anything for. There wasn’t a need to put on a show for you, or be your steady sidekick. It was nice. But it had only been a lunch and a night at the bar, no reason to know the shape of you, much less be thrown off by it.

He was taking extra care to clean his newest tattoo, absentminded, when the locker-talk caught his attention.

This was the first away game they had won this season, and everyone was debating why their luck had changed. Some of them were arguing loudly, ridiculously, and as usual, his friends started gravitating together, interested, but with lower voices and cooler heads.

“Do you think it was because I wore last weekend’s socks, Fish?” Benny was grinning, as his friends eyebrows answered for him. Frankie was superstitious, but in a way he’d gotten from his abuela, not the game. Will had a thought, the confusing last moment of the game clicking into the conversation, his eyes meeting Pope's for a moment.

“Actually, I have a theory,” he kept his voice quiet. If the rest of the team got wind that William Miller was participating in the banter, they’d be all over him, sure he was right only because he rarely cared. His friends looked at him, curiously, and he chewed on the idea for a moment, liking it more and more until he actually believed himself when he told them.

Their good luck charm?

You.

-

Tom had missed the conversation, occupied with a love-sick staff member in a quiet corner of the stadium.

He would never admit it, but he always needed a distraction when the winning catch had nothing to do with him. And Molly had to travel with the team most weeks anyway, the availability becoming increasingly more appealing than trying his luck with a random fan.

The next day after practice, he found her again and this time, despite the crude nature of the location, he took little more time. It was strange, to grab her without pent up frustration driving his actions, but not an entirely unwelcome change of pace.

He didn’t dwell on it, almost running away, but she did, trailing her fingers over the places his had been as she put herself together again. She wanted to remember each one, to savor them like it was the first time. And maybe it was – the very first time he had even kissed her with no particular personal agenda. Of that, she didn’t feel as guilty about wanting more.

Tom had long since slipped out the door when she finished the process, just slipping on her heels when the someone knocked.

Opening it, she found an eager and awkward shortstop pushing into her office. He seemed nervous, more nervous than she had seen him during photo shoots and press conferences and final innings. It wasn’t what she expected – not the demeanor the players normally held when they asked for favors. Professional athletes were confidant, suave, even. Ben had something else going on, something sweeter, maybe even innocent.

He called her ma’am, and she rolled her eyes when he asked for you number.

“Don’t you boys ever talk?” she was kind of annoyed. Ben was confused, it showed on his face.

“Tom got it awhile ago,” she started, and he got it, immediately. The older man hadn’t told any of them that you would be at the bar last week. He wondered if you knew he had arranged it. Something felt off but before he could ponder it she finished.

“And Santi got it yesterday.” Actually, she was more than annoyed. You hadn’t seemed special at all when you’d been there opening weekend. Your grandfather was sweet but nothing about that day could explain why three of the players were willing to bend the rules to find you again.

Tom’s voice rang in her ears: he’s got it bad for her. That didn’t quite fit what she was seeing, but she cooled down a little.

She didn’t even have to shoo him away, his thank you, ma’am, sorry to bother you made her feel like an old lady as he turned on his heels and trotted off.

The younger Miller was increasingly thoughtful, but he could feel something shift in the air. Then he shrugged it off. He was sure he’d find out, sooner or later.

-

“Ben, where’s your brain?” Catfish had caught him making eyes upside-down at the girl standing by the athletic trainer while he was mid workout. He didn’t really need a partner to work out, but they tried to go together, to spot on another and to argue over who could bench press the most.

He watched as his friend’s brain and body scrambled to put down the weights and he stood up too fast.

Across the room, girlish laughter bubbled and Benny blushed, still not attending as he grabbed the water bottle he was being offered and squirted himself in the mouth.

“What?”

Frankie shot him an amused look, gesturing vaguely, his point now proven. This had happened before. The young player was almost certainly going to tell him some random information now to distract him and trying to avoid the inevitable teasing.

“Did you know Tom got her number?”

It worked. There was almost no context, but he knew immediately and there was a twist in his stomach. It was the answer to a question he didn’t know had been on his mind - Catfish fully short circuited.

Redfly got your number? That was why Frankie had found him putting the moves on you before they were scheduled to meet. He was shaking his head, dazed, when Ben added, “And Santi got it a couple days ago, too.”

A moment of silence, and then,

“Fucking what?!” 

Heads around the private gym turned.

Ben hissed for quiet as he dragged him towards the locker room, and he found himself allowing it as he heart tried to catch up with his mind. No way Pope was going after you too.

“Weird, right?” Frankie felt like ‘weird’ was putting it mildly.

“I just asked for it,”

“You -"

“- because I wanted to be friends, but,” the younger man was ignoring his sputtering panic. He didn’t know if he should be mad or grateful. “Why wouldn’t they tell us?”

That stopped his racing heart. That was the question, wasn’t it? Frankie dragged his hand down his face, smoothed his mustache, readjusted his hat, trying fruitlessly to ground himself.

He said something noncommittal in response, barely hearing himself as he changed the topic. Ben was watching him, he could tell, but it wasn’t as though he could explain why he had reacted so strongly. He didn’t even know why.

It’s not like the feel of you against his hand was all he had been thinking about for the past few days.

His head was spinning, and not in the same way as when he had heard you were at the last game.

Of course other men had their eyes on you. You were gorgeous. His hand twitched on the locker as an image of him pressing you against it flashed through his mind. Shoving it down, he moved on.

You were smart, too, and kind. Certainly he couldn’t be the only one who liked the way you looked when you were thinking, or the little messiness of your hair, or the curve of your neck and shoulders as you leaned against the table.

There was a flare of something green in his chest. He was thinking about your hand on his arm, the way it made him feel like he was your anchor, the white lines on the ground guiding your feet. That, was his. For a moment, his brain reminded him of your lips on Pope’s cheek, your fingers on Benny’s shoulder, and palm on Redfly’s jaw. The locker door resonated in the quiet room as he slammed it shut. Even your eyes in Ironhead's for just a moment… it made him want to kidnap you, press into your space, surround you with his body until all you could see or touch or think about was him. Or maybe it was the opposite. Maybe what he was aching for was for there to be a room full of handsome, athletic, perfect men, and for you to seek him. Find his eyes, and hold them in yours until you reached each other. To choose him. 

Either. Or maybe both.

Whatever he’d been saying got lost on his tongue.

Benny was looking at him thoughtfully, and Frankie sighed, his anger slowing to a simmer. It was absurd, he knew that. Knowing didn’t make it go away, but it helped.

Really, he should be lucky he got any of you at all, that alone was a minor league miracle. Hiking his bag up, he clapped his friend on the shoulder and changed the topic once again.

The smell of dirt and grass and sweaty men faded as they walked out of the room, and when someone made a group chat that included you, Frankie remembered that he liked his friends. The bats in his bag clanged like bells, and Ben said something that made him laugh, and he thought he was a fool to have forgotten it.

-

Santiago was the first one there, over half an hour early, by accident or design you had no idea. He made all of James' things look small, and it made you laugh, because you knew it was only the beginning.

You’d been added to a group chat a few days ago. The list of total bizarre things happening to you was increasing every day of knowing them but you couldn’t exactly complain. It was exciting and honestly, you ached for them in a way you couldn’t explain. Seeing Santiago sent sharp excitement through the anxiety of preparation, but even with the handsome man removing his shoes, you couldn’t help but check behind him for Francisco.

It had been a joke, sort of. They had invited you out and you retaliated by saying you owed them a meal. You should’ve known, already, they weren't afraid to take you up on it, and you’d had to use James as your crutch. His house was much bigger than your apartment, and he was so excited to talk to them it was adorable. Before you’d even turned to Santi properly, they were already chatting, and you watched, smiling.

He looked good. It really was almost as if they actually were family – not physically but you could see it in how they interacted. Santi was more cleaned up than he’d been at the bar, thanking your grandfather like it really was an honor to be welcomed into his home. Jimbo was standing as tall as he could to scruff the younger man’s perfect hair, and you laughed as he clarified that they were always welcome, as long as they helped cook. And when Santi grinned, agreeing readily, the line on his forehead smoothed.

The stress of hosting even such strange guests lessened again, and you slipped back into the kitchen.

Not two minutes later, he found you there, and you could feel him watching you, lounging against the door as graceful and powerful as a panther. Slicing vegetables to grill, you let him, for the time being. He would tell you what he was thinking if he wanted to.

It made you smile again, when his large, calloused hands began to make motions for you to let him take over. Determined or maybe even insistent, but not entitled. He mimicked your cuts, checking silently for your approval, and you saw something in his eyes you hadn’t noticed before.

Over food and drinks he had been smart and clever and passionate – an idyllic picture for over-ambitious fans. None of that was gone, but there was another layer under it, something distinctly humble, and if your dreams hadn’t already been occupied, you might’ve fallen in love with him a little bit. Prepping food to the sounds of quiet music and the rhythmic thumps of the knife against the cutting board felt domestic, but in a familial way. There was no pressure for words, for you, and when he did speak, it seemed as though he agreed.

“This might sound fu… uh, stupid but I’m glad there aren’t bobble heads around.” Of him and his friends, he implied. You wondered if he checked his language for your sake, or out of mindfulness for James.

“He really respects you guys,” you shrugged. “He’s always lecturing me on remembering that you’re human, and not overstepping normal people boundaries.”

Pausing your salad assembly, you stole a glance at him, only to find deep brown eyes looking at you curiously. His hand scraped over the stubble on his jaw, and you could almost see his thoughts, running diamonds in his head.

“Is that why you shot Redfly down?” he wasn’t looking at you, so he missed the tilt of you head. You didn’t need to know the nickname to know what he was talking about, but he clarified a moment later.

You weren't prepared for this to come up, but it shouldn’t have surprised you.

“Yes and no,” was the most honest answer. “He’s already got a girl, whether he knows it or not.” You felt good, talking to him, good like laughing, so you did. It was a strange moment, when the team’s outfield dreamboat had leaned in to kiss you, and you turned him away, but it wasn’t weighing on you at all.

Santiago was grinning at you, hands still, and you wondered if this was the first moment the two of you were seeing each other clearly. Biases and judgement and wariness stripped away easily in the kitchen, like the peels of potatoes.

“So,” his tone and eyes were mischievous, and you had never felt more like an almost stranger was your brother. “If one of the other guys asked you out, you would consider it?”

Face flaring with heat, you barely contained a squawk. He let out a triumphant noise and you shoved him. There was no doubt he wasn’t talking about himself, but you still wanted to melt into the floor.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen –”

“Shut up shut up shut up!”

Both of you were laughing when the other men pushed through the front door.

Santi answered their raised eyebrows by sticking out his tongue.

-

There was moments all the time in baseball, where when you have the ball and have to choose which opposing player gets to make it safe and who you’re going to try to get out. It’s a split second where you feel torn in two, and that was exactly how Frankie felt now.

When he had seen you, flushed and laughing, part of him wanted to give a damn thank you speech to Pope for helping bless the world with that, and the other part of him wanted to murder his best friend.

They had all pushed into the little home and he tried to focus on greeting James and looking at the cozy, dated furniture, the humble decorations, clearly cleaned just for them. There had been a moment, where you’d waved at what felt like just him, and his heart rate had doubled. He tried to talk with the guys, the friend you had invited, or help grill or set the table or … anything, but all he wanted was to find you again.

Staying by your side the other night felt as natural and the ball hitting the palm of his glove, time and time again. It was exactly where he was meant to be.

And you were so lovely he wanted you to press into him so close he absorbed just a fraction of your glow. He wanted to wrap you up and take you with him wherever he went, or maybe just settle into your shadow, to follow you forever. It felt greedy, which he didn’t really mind, but the problem was that it was unrealistic.

You were working hard to be a good host, floating around, making sure everyone was content, helping, handling things, or happily having heaping helpings of your cooking. There was another game on the TV, and James was telling stories, and his friends had made themselves right at home. In a strange way, it felt like a Sunday with his abuelos, and cousins, casual and comfortable. It was telling, of you, fitting, and he liked that, but it was distinctly missing... you.

Santi found him, listening to James, trying not to look over his shoulder for you, hand twitching to find it’s place on you again. They kept their voices low, trying to be respectful, as they caught up on the last few minutes, hours, days. Frankie felt a pang of guilt, wondering if he had been subconsciously avoiding his friend. There was still some more private communicating they had to do… He offered Pope a drive. That would do it.

There was an understanding as the looked at each other, under the music and talk, and clatter of dishes. Will was making James laugh, loud and care-free. The uneasiness settled in his gut – he trusted Santi with his life. He could certainly trust him now, with whatever this was.

Not long after, Frankie found himself being herded through the little house, around tables with glasses and napkins, and back into the little kitchen. There was a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder, and then he was alone with you, for the very first time.

Your eyes were big, staring at him, as you held a pile of dirty dishes.

He wanted to kiss you.

Of course, he didn’t, only cursing himself as he awkwardly offered to help. When you shook your head, your hair fluffed, and with the sunlight through the window, he was having trouble remembering how to function.

Frankie was solid, known for being sturdy and safe. Not like Will was, with his ethics and upbringing like roots into the ground, but that of Atlas, supporting the world on his shoulders.

He was the cornerstone of the team, the background man behind the curtain, with hair and eyes and thighs that Santi swore made women swoon.

And he was doing dishes in the kitchen of your grandfathers house, weak in the knees because you had smiled at him, impressed and grateful. His mind was telling at him to talk to you more, to say something interesting or impressive or to make you laugh when he heard you yelp.

The sound was awful, and adrenaline pumped into his blood as he realized you were hurt. Swinging around he didn’t see you for a moment before registering you had sat down, hard, and were clutching your wrist. There was a thick line, throbbing and an angry red – burnt.

When his knees hit the tile, he didn’t even notice the dull pain. His hands grasped yours as you tried to apologize, explaining the stove was still hot after you had turned it off. Frankie heard you, really he did, but he mind was chanting do something! And stringing Spanish curses, demanding that he protect you, that he fix it.  

He didn’t realize how close he was to you until your eyes found his. it crashed into him the realization that if he leaned forward, tilted his head a bit, and sunk a little lower onto his knees, he could have your mouth against his. 

Panic slowing, he looked at you. You were so sweet and beautiful, collapsed on the kitchen floor with him like the two of you were the only things in the world, and you were trying to tell him you were fine, that it was a silly accident. Frankie felt ridiculous, caught up in his thoughts, and he just... threw aside logic.

Time stopped, and he kissed the burn.

>>

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize

hey batter batter taglist:

@icanbeyourjedi @studyofawearymind @hnt-escape @athalien @the-witty-pen-name

[themetaphorgirl]

alright but can i request a patron saint hotch loopy on day quill one shot?? bc i would love to read that even if it takes like 3 years to get around to it 🥺🥺🥺

did I get in the mood to write something cuddly and kind of silly with lots of Alex and Aaron: The Wonder Twins vibes???

yes I did. also I wrote over half of this on my phone during my break at work.

----------

“...so when you think about it colloquially, it’s perfectly acceptable to refer to the monster as Frankenstein, so-“

Alex moved Spencer’s glass of orange juice out of the way before he could knock it over with an overenthusiastic wave of his hand. “JJ, what are you doing?” she asked, exasperated.

JJ reached into her cereal bowl, picked up a couple of pieces, and tossed it into an empty mug. “There’s too much cereal in my lucky charms, I only wanted the marshmallows,” she said.

“You can’t eat just marshmallows, Jennifer.”

“I’m not. I got donuts too.”

“Hotch wasn’t here to stop her,” Emily snickered. 

Alex sighed. “Where is Hotchner?” she said. “It’s not like him to be late.” 

“He said he slept through his alarm and he’d meet us here,” Derek said, stabbing his fork into a hashbrown. 

“That’s also not like Hotch,” Alex said. She caught Spencer before he could topple out of his chair onto the floor. “Darling, I’m so glad you’re this enthusiastic at seven in the morning, but please sit down.”

Spencer obeyed, sliding down from his knees to sit on his bottom. “I got the wrong juice, I don’t like this kind,” he said. “I got the kind with pulp.”

“Why didn’t you get the kind you like?” Alex asked. 

“Hotch gets it for me because I’m too short to see the labels. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.”

Alex pulled her phone out of her skirt pocket. “He hasn’t texted me or the group chat,” she said. “It’s not like him to be late.”

“Should we be worried? I feel like we should be worried,” Penelope said. 

“We don’t need to worry,” Alex said. “Spencer, what are you doing?”

“Getting the pulp out of my juice. I shouldn’t have to chew juice.”

“Please put the spoon down.”

“I’ll get you juice,” Penelope promised.

“Thank you,” Alex said. “And can you please get something for JJ that isn’t dehydrated marshmallows?”

“I like them.”

“Eat a fruit, Jennifer!”

Derek paused as Penelope left the table. “Uh...we might need to worry about Hotch,” he said. 

Alex twisted around in her seat to look behind her. “Oh, fuck,” she sighed. 

Hotch’s tie was knotted wrong, leaving one end of the tie dangling by his belt buckle, and his blazer was misbuttoned. His dark hair flopped over his eyes, still sleep-mussed, and his backpack was unzipped. “Hey, guys,” he said. “Sorry I’m late.” He tried to hang his backpack on the empty chair next to Alex but missed completely, sending it crashing to the floor. “Well, shit.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, dude?” Emily said. 

Hotch blinked. “I overslept,” he said, rubbing his ear. “What time is it?”

“Almost time to go to homeroom,” Alex said. “Are you okay?”

He kept rubbing his ear. “Huh?” he said. He sat down heavily next to Alex. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Do I have time to eat?” 

JJ slid her mug of cereal over to him. “You can have the rest of my lucky charms,” she offered. 

Hotch scooped a handful of dry cereal into his mouth and frowned. “What happened to all the marshmallows?” he asked. 

“I ate them.”

“You can have my juice,” Spencer offered. 

Hotch reached around Alex, picked up the glass, and took a swig. “Ugh, there’s stuff in it,” he complained. “I don’t want to chew my juice.”

“That’s what I said!” Spencer said. 

Alex frowned. “I don’t think you’re okay,” she said. She touched the back of her hand to his forehead. “Yikes, Aaron. You’re burning up.”

“Hm?” he said. He coughed, a thick sound rattling deep in his chest. “I’m okay. I drank like...half a bottle of DayQuil.”

“I can tell,” she said, poking at the damp orange stain on his uniform shirt. He squinted down at it and frowned. “Also, drinking half a bottle of DayQuil doesn’t mean you’re okay. I think that’s the opposite of okay.”

“I’ll be fine,” Hotch said. “I have a test in second period I can’t miss.”

Emily caught his arm across the table. “Stop, stop, stop,” she said. “Do you know you’re about to pour your juice into your cereal?”

Hotch paused long enough for Alex to carefully take the glass out of his hand while he blinked in confusion. “Maybe you should make up the test later,” she suggested. 

“No, I can handle a test,” he said. He blinked, then clapped a hand over his face. “Oh, shit. I think I only put one contact in this morning.” He rubbed the heel of his palm into his eye. “Shit. Aw, yikes.”

“You need to go back to bed,” Alex said. “Or the nurse’s office.”

He swatted at her hand. “No, I don’t, Alexandra,” he said. “It’s just a chest cold. Stop treating me like Spencer.”

Spencer scowled. “I think I’m insulted by that,” he said. 

Alex put Spencer’s fork back in his hand. “Eat your breakfast,” she said. “Listen, Hotch, I can’t stop you if you want to go to class. But nobody’s going to judge you if you stay in your room and rest.”

Hotch coughed into his elbow. “I’m gonna get a Red Bull,” he said, pushing himself out of his chair and nearly knocking it over in the process. 

“Oh, he’s definitely sick,” Derek said. “You hear his Virginia accent coming out? He sounds like Colonel Sanders.”

“Don’t worry, Al, I’ll keep an eye on him,” Emily said. 

“Thanks,” she said. “Spencer, you have to drink your juice. You and Hotch have no immune systems and if he gets sick, you’re going to get sick, and I can’t deal with both of you coughing up a lung.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Spencer said. “Although vitamin C-“

“Drink your juice.”

By the time breakfast was over Alex was confident that Hotch wasn’t going to last the whole day. His cough was deep and persistent, and he kept absentmindedly rubbing his ears. She couldn’t exactly blame him- she’d pulled similar stunts herself when a big test or project was coming up- but this was more than a mild cold. Most likely he’d make it to lunch before he relented. 

To her surprise, it was even sooner. 

She got to chapel early and pulled out her book to read, but she nearly dropped it when Emily’s voice cut through the soft chatter of the hall. 

“Hey, Alex, come get your twin!”

Alex picked up her book and set it back beside her. “For the last time, Emily, stop telling everybody that Hotch and I are twins,” she said. She stopped. “Oh, no.”

Hotch was leaning heavily on Emily’s shoulder, his eyes glazed over. “Hey, I think I need to sit down,” he said. 

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Emily huffed, struggling under his weight. “You shouldn’t have gone to class in the first place.”

“I had a test,” he said. 

Alex crossed her arms. “Yeah?” she said. “How’d that go for you, bubba?”

“I’m not sure, I don’t remember taking the test,” he confessed. “I remember sitting down at my desk and then...everything got kind of blurry.”

Alex sighed. “Please tell me you’re going back to your room to rest,” she said. 

“I mean...it’s not that bad.” Hotch said. “I’ve been sicker before.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

Emily scanned the chapel doors. “Oh, wow, is that Haley Brooks over there?” she said. “You should go over and say hello. Haley! Hi, Haley!” 

“No!” Hotch said. “Jesus, Emily, I don’t want to talk to her right now, I look like shit!”

“Then you should definitely go back to your room before she sees you,” Emily said. She gave him a gentle push towards the back exit doors. “Come on, hurry up.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Alex called, but he was out the door already, his still-unzipped backpack dangling off one shoulder. 

Emily tilted her head. “I don’t think he heard you,” she said. “He looks like death warmed over through. I’m kind of worried. Which means your spidey-sense must have bypassed tingling and gone straight to exploding.”

“I should have gone with him,” Alex said. “Although I’m not sure I would be able to explain missing classes.”

“Just tell your teachers you have to take care of your brother,” Emily suggested. 

Alex rolled her eyes. “Listen, I don’t know you and Dave keep telling everybody we’re related,” she said. “We’re in different grades. We have different last names.”

“C’mon, it’s fun, you’re the Wonder Twins,” Emily said. She squished Alex’s cheeks and laughed. “You look enough alike to pass for siblings.”

“Nobody thinks that,” Alex said flatly, batting her hand away. “We’d better go sit before chapel starts.”

She kept her phone close through chapel and her third period class. He didn’t text her, but that wasn’t reassuring either. No news wasn’t necessarily good news.

The bell rang at the end of third period, but she hesitated before she started the walk towards the dining hall. She tapped her fingertips against the back of her phone case, and after a moment she typed out a text. Her phone buzzed seconds later with an answer.

Jamie <3

11:26am

yeah I figured youd want to check on him. dont worry about the baby i’ll make sure he eats a vegetable. love you!!!! 

Alex felt the back of her neck heat up as she smiled at the screen. The whole love thing was still shiny and new and made little sparks prickle at the nape of her neck. 

She slung the strap of her satchel across her shoulder and made the trek across campus to Lincoln House. Hotch had given her a spare key fob- Derek was constantly losing and finding his, resulting in multiple replacements floating around- and she let herself into the quiet lobby. Hopefully there wouldn’t be too many people around.

“Ah, Miss Miller. What are you doing over here? Shouldn’t you be in the dining hall?”

Alex jumped. She was not expecting to see Mr. Gideon standing in the lobby and staring at her. “Checking on my brother, he’s, uh, he’s sick,” she blurted out.

“Oh, the big one or the little one?” he asked. 

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” he said. “Aaron or Spencer?”

“It’s, uh, it’s the big one this time,” she said.

Mr. Gideon nodded sagely. “Your twin,” he said. “Well, go on up. Hope he feels better soon.”

He walked out to his office and closed the door; she sighed heavily. Maybe Emily and Dave were on to something after all.

She made her way up the stairs to the seventh floor and knocked lightly on his closed door. “Hotch?” she called. “It’s Alex. I just wanted to check on you.” He didn’t answer. “Hotch?” She tried the handle. “Oh, of course you locked the door.” She pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and stuck it in the keyhole. 

The lock popped easily after a bit of fiddling and she opened the door. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Hotchner,” she sighed. 

His unzipped backpack had dumped half its contents in the middle of the floor when he’d dropped it, along with his uniform blazer and his right shoe. Hotch was sprawled out on his bed on top of the covers, his long gangly legs dragging on the floor and his left shoe still on. He was still wearing his uniform and his rarely-worn glasses perched at a crooked angle on his nose, threatening to fall off at any moment as he snored. 

“You’re dead to the world, aren’t you, bubba?” she said aloud. She set her satchel and blazer down on Hotch’s desk and sat on the edge of his bed. His breathing was shallow and congested, and his face was flushed red. “Hotch. Hotchner. Wake up for a second.” She pinched him lightly and his eyes shot open. “Hey, good, you’re awake.”

“What the fuck?” he mumbled. He rubbed his eyes, knocking his glasses sideways. “How did you get in here?”

“Picked the lock with a bobby pin,” she said.

He scrunched up his nose. “Like Annie Drew?”

“It’s Nancy Drew, and maybe that’s where I learned it from, I read a lot of mystery novels when I was an impressionable middle schooler,” she said. She tucked her legs underneath her and touched the back of her hand to his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Like hot garbage,” he said. “This cold is kicking my ass.”

“I don’t think you have a cold, bubba, I think you have bronchitis,” she said. “Did you take anything when you got back here or did you just crash?”

“Well, I’ve had most of a bottle of DayQuil today,” he said. He struggled to sit up. “You know what happens when you drink most of a bottle of DayQuil?”

“No, what happens?”

“Nothing good, I’ll tell you that for free,” he said. 

Alex winced in sympathy. “You threw up?”

He ran his hands through his hair and dragged his palms over his face. “It was neon orange, Al,” he said, slightly muffled. 

“That’s no good,” she said. “Did you-”

He broke into a cough, thick and heavy and rattling in his lungs, and Alex rubbed his back. “Hey, you’re okay,” she said gently. “Take a deep breath. You’re okay,”

It took a moment for him to settle down and breathe normally again; his glasses tilted drunkenly on his nose and his eyes were watering. “That sucked,” he rasped. 

“Yeah, I bet,” she said. “You’ve got the sore throat, right? Feels like you swallowed broken glass?”

“I was going to say barbed wire, but yeah,” he said. 

Alex squeezed his knee. “Get out of your uniform and lie down,” she said. “I’ll go get you something to drink. How much water have you had today?”

“If Red Bull counts, then I’ve had two waters.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll go get you water and a gatorade,” she said. “You get changed.”

She started to leave the room. “Hey, Alex?” he asked. She paused in the doorway. “Can you get me a purple one?”

“Yes, I’ll get you a purple gatorade.”

“The light purple, not the dark purple,” he called after her.

“I remember, I remember,” she called back. 

She went down to the vending machines and got him two bottled waters and a light purple gatorade. For all his mature-for-his-age, old soul vibe, Hotch was as hard to handle as Spencer when he wasn’t feeling well.

His door was cracked when she got back to his room, but she paused. He’d changed into flannel pajama pants and he was struggling into one of his wrestling tee shirts. Alex bit back a wince and ducked back into the hallway. She rarely saw the scars on his back, but he usually kept them well hidden and it never got easier to see it. He didn’t like to talk about it, and she didn’t blame him.

When she was sure the coast was clear she stepped back into the room. Hotch sat on his bed, his shoulders slumped and his head in his hands. “Headache?” she asked as she set the bottles down on his nightstand. 

“It feels like there’s a rock concert playing directly in my brain,” he said.

She went into his bathroom and dug around in the medicine cabinet. He didn’t have much for himself; it was mostly medicine they kept on hand for Spencer. “Oh, I can give you the big boy ibuprofen instead of the chewable stuff,” she teased. She set the bottle of ibuprofen down with the drinks. “This first though. Hold still.”

She set the thermometer in his ear and he jumped. “Ow,” he complained. “You could have warned me.”

“If I warned you, you’d try to argue,” she said. It beeped and she held it out so he could see the readout. “A hundred point four. You’re not going to class today, or tomorrow either.”

He rolled his eyes. “At least I got my test done,” he said. 

“How do you think you did?” she asked. 

“I don’t think I failed.”

Alex took his hand so she could place the pills in his hand, then opened one of the bottles of water. “Take these. Drink all of this. And then go to sleep,” she said. 

“I’m not tired, I had so much DayQuil,” he complained as he popped the pills in his mouth. 

“Which you’ve already puked back up,” she pointed out. “You need to get some sleep.”

He chugged a third of the water and paused to cough. “I just need to rest,” he said. “Can you hand me my laptop.”

“No.”

Hotch scowled. “Alexandra. Give me my laptop,” he said. “I have an essay due on Friday.” 

She grabbed his laptop and wrestled it into her school bag. “You can have it back when you’re not running a fever,” she said. 

“Alex!” he whined. “I need to work on that.” She bit back a laugh. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Sorry, it’s hard to take you seriously with your nerd glasses on,” she said. He huffed, which turned into another cough. “Seriously, Aaron. You need to take it easy. And it’s school policy that you can’t attend classes until you’ve been fever-free for twenty-four hours.” He rubbed his ear. “Besides, you know Spencer’s going to try to spend quality time with you, and he’s not going to be able to handle it if he catches what you have. The more you rest and take care of yourself, the sooner you’ll get over it.”

Hotch sighed. “Fine,” he said. “You win.”

“I usually do.”

“You just had to play the Spencer card.” 

“I was saving it just in case.”

Hotch set the empty water bottle back on the nightstand and shifted around until he was under the covers. “Are you going back to class?” he asked. “Lunch is almost over.”

He sounded nonchalant, but he was avoiding her eyes and tugging at a loose thread on his comforter. “I can stay a while longer,” she said. “Besides, if anybody asks where I was, Gideon can tell them I was with you. You know he thinks we’re twins too?”

“For such a brilliant man, he’s kind of clueless,” Hotch said. “I’m not going to sleep, but I’ll rest, okay?”

“Sure,” Alex said. “Do you want to watch something?” She pulled at the laces of her ankle boots. “Do you want to watch wrestling?”

“I don’t watch wrestling.”

Alex looked him up and down. “We all know you’re a secret wrestling fan,” she said. “And even if you say you’re not, I can read your tee shirt.”

“No one ever wants to watch wrestling with me,” he said.

“Yes, well, you’re sick, you should get to watch what you want,” she said. She set her boots aside and handed him the remote. “Now scoot over.”

He paused, the remote balanced in his hand as the TV blinked on. “Why?” he asked.

“Because I said so,” she said. “I mean it! Scoot over.”

He obeyed, still clearly confused, and she pulled and tugged at him until they both fit on his narrow twin bed, his head resting on her stomach. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Wow, you really are mostly limbs, aren’t you?”

“I’ve had a couple of growth spurts,” he said. “You’re sure you want to watch wrestling with me?”

“Go for it,” she said. 

Truthfully she had no desire to watch wrestling, but she knew it would make him happy, and when he was this sick he deserved things that would make him happy. She ran her fingers through his thick hair, and before long she heard him snoring again, the sound thick and rattling in his lungs. When she was sure he was asleep she tugged his glasses off and set them aside on the nightstand. Most likely he would wake up cranky and groggy and he’d try to argue that he could go to class, but for now she could keep him calm and quiet, and hopefully the sleep would help. 

“Maybe you’ll be a little bit less of an absolute disaster when you wake up,” she said, and she kept stroking his hair while he slept. 

[cyantomatos]

Day 6 of my December prompt list. The whole list can be found here.

This is a gender neutral reader, but I do specify that the reader is Jewish.

Prompt: Christmas Tree | Movie | Candles

Character: Joel Miller

Cold is different now. You could face it with a level of disrespect before, safe in the assumption that if you did get sick, it wouldn’t be more than a few days before you were better again. Maybe a week, if it was a particularly nasty flu.

Now though, cold is your biggest enemy.

The infected were dangerous, sure, but after a while you knew how to handle those. Keep your guard up, don’t get cocky, always have a weapon. Aim for the head or take out their knees. Keep them away from your neck, use the quiet weapons when you can so the rest don’t hear. Infected are dangerous, but they’re a known danger now.

The cold is what kills most people. Cold, and the hunger and disease that comes with it. Food is harder to come by now anyway, but winter makes it worse. Something as simple as the common cold could be a death sentence. Medicine was scarce, it was next to impossible to take the time to get yourself better, and coughing or sneezing could draw in infected.

That’s why it currently feels like you’re cosplaying as the stay-puft marshmallow man.

A shirt, a sweater, one down jacket. Leggings under your pants. Two pairs of socks stuffed in a surprisingly nice pair of boots you’d found last week. A scarf - that you’d knitted yourself over the summer in some truly ugly colors you’d managed to scrounge out of an abandoned craft store - and a pair of water-proof winter gloves. A knitted hat - not knitted by you this time - with a cute little pom pom finished off the outfit.

Joel was bundled in fewer layers, something that had you staring daggers at his back. The man was a walking furnace, and it never failed to make you jealous. 

Hours later you paused, stopping to look at a sign. It was badly chipped and falling apart in places, the stonework base looking very close to crumbling under the weight of the wood. You can just make out Timber Trails Tree Farm through the years of neglect, the once cherry red paint now faded and dingy. 

Up the road you can see the farm, row upon row of pine trees stretching on as far as you can see. Clearly this was a prospering tree farm before the outbreak, and the thought pulls up an ache in your chest.

As you walk between the trees, much less room between them now than there would have been fifteen years ago, you can almost hear the sounds of laughter. Families built memories here, picking out the tree, cutting it themselves. You stop in front of a particularly tall tree, craning your head back to look up at the top.

“Did you ever come to one of these farms?” Joel stops when he realizes he’s left you behind, trudging back through the snow to you with a shake of his head.

“Nah. We had a plastic one, less expensive. Less work, too.” A ghost of a smile forms on his face. “What about you? I don’t suppose Jews had much use for a Christmas tree.”

You chuckle and shake your head in response. “I was always jealous though, it seemed like so much fun with all the pretty ornaments and lights. When I was in school, I had one teacher that always waited to decorate the room until I could help, because she knew I liked it so much.” You reach out, batting at one of the branches to knock the snow off. It falls with a soft thud, creating a small pile under the tree.

“Channukah is this time of year though, right?” You glance over at Joel to find him watching you and nod.

“Haven’t celebrated it since before the outbreak. Hell, I have no way of even knowing when it is every year, the calendars don’t line up. I guess I could fudge it, but,” You shrug, looking back at the tree with a sad smile. “I don’t think I can even remember the prayers anymore. Knew them by heart before, could have said them in my sleep. Now…”

A gust of wind sweeps past, shaking the top branches of the trees and sending a fine dusting of snow down on both of you. The trees are all three times the size they would have made it to had the farm still been operating, and that makes you smile. Something that had been so detrimental to the human race, and it was like a miracle to these trees. Like being spared from a death sentence. 

“I miss it. Religion...wasn’t really my thing, it was mostly to make my parents happy. I wish I’d paid more attention now. After all of this, I don’t think I can believe in a god, not the nice one they did anyway, but…” You shrug, looking down at the ground.

The two of you stand there, the silence enveloping you. It’s peaceful here, and for a moment you can let yourself slip into a world where none of the bad ever happened. No blood, no violence and betrayal and heartache. Just peace. The two of you were just here to pick out a tree, and wandered off into the older growth. You’ll find your way back to the appropriately sized trees, pick one out and take it home, and spend the night curled up drinking cocoa and watching movies.

Joel shifts, and the sound of snow crunching under his feet brings you back to reality. There’s no cocoa, or cheesy Hallmark movies, or a comfy couch by the fire. 

There’s just cold.

Taglist

@knivesareout​​ @writeforfandoms​ @gorgeousgrogu​ @leto-duke​ @xoxabs88xox​ @marvelousmermaid​

Join my taglist here!

[sarcasm--and--stuff]

Okay, so in the Eaglemoss Legend of Batman series, the original run is 80 issues following Batman stories from Year One to Year 100. Issues 1 and 2 however, are Zero Year, the retelling of Batman's first year as done in DC's 2011 universal reboot, The New 52. Now, the first thing you need to know about the New 52 is almost no one is happy it happened. The next thing that you need to know, is that basically, DC wanted to give people a starting off point to get into comics so reset all of the characters in their universe. The reason most people don't like it, is because it wasn't clear to the creative teams or the audience, what past content was still canon and what had been undone. As well as this, a lot of origin stories and characters got tweaked, most of which weren't well received.

Now personally, I can't hate on the New 52 that much at this point in time because it was my opportunity to get into comics. It was where I started getting more of a feel for what was going on an a comfort for the world of comics so there's that. However, I'm not starting this tale with them. I'm starting with:

Frank Miller's 1988 Batman: Year One.

This came about shortly after Frank Miller's 1986 The Dark Knight Returns where a much older Bruce Wayne resumes the mantle of the Bat in a gritty and angry tale that brought a much darker tone to Batman. (We're gonna be jumping around with years and titles but hang on). Following this, there was a desire for a darker, more realistic Batman, so in comes Year One, the origin and first year of Bruce Wayne as Batman. Now, frankly, a tiktok user by the name of @nikhilclayton points out that this reads much more like Jim Gordon's origin story and I thoroughly agree.

The opening pages are James Gordon arriving to Gotham after being transferred from Seattle PD and millionaire Bruce Wayne returning after being away for years. We get a steady introduction on Jim's side of the level of crime and police corruption and so obvious in the city while Bruce seems to retreat from the city and take up unspecified training at his mansion. You see for both characters that the wheels are turning. They had ideas what it would be like here and they're adapting quietly to the reality. Bruce is preparing for his war on crime he has spent years abroad training for while Jim wants to just do his job, do it well and look after his family.

Obviously, I don't want to spoil much from this story, if you've not read it and have access to it I would highly recommend. What I will say is that as NikHilClayton points out, the story is very Jim Gordon heavy and don't get me wrong, it's very well told. It very much gives us strong ideas about who Jim Gordon is. Bruce on the other hand, it's his first year. There is no Joker, no Two Face, no classic rouges gallery. When Batman first arrives on the scene, he's a myth, feared by corrupt politicians, crime families and croked cops. While Jim takles the cops primarily, not long after adopting the Bat persona, Bruce does have an amazing scene confronting the powerhouses behind the corruption in Gotham. Silently taking out the guards with minimal violence, charges are set and while the guest enjoy their dinner, the power goes out and suddenly wall blows inwards. As the dust settles, all disbelief of his existence runs from the minds of those who would soon be his victims. Batman, walks in and reveals himself to his enemies, delivering a chilling speech before extinguishing the last remaining light and vanishing into the night.

While I am by no means an expert, if I've ever any information wrong please let me know because I'm happy to correct it so that people are getting accurate info. If you do want to go out and get yourself a copy of Year One, do consider your local comic shop or second hand shop. If that isn't feasible, there are soft copies available online, I would just encourage send hand and small businesses where possible.

Until next time.

[miracle-sham]

When Sitting on the Roof, We are but Coffee Sleuths.

| {Sequel to Death is the Stage, My Art is Your Grave.} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [DitSMAiYG Link] |

| {Repost due to original post disappearing from tags.} |

| Triggers/Warnings: Mentions of drugs/drug ring (in regards to a case), Mild language. |

| After a long day of boring casework, there's nothing better than getting a new commission, and then drinking coffee and having a chat on top of a roof with a certain bat. |

| Word Count: 3051 |

==–==

| A/N: First of all, I'd like to quickly thank everyone for all the positive response and support the original oneshot got on both Tumblr and Ao3! It really motivated and inspired me to continue with this Au (expect at least another sequel, maybe more if I get more inspo but even if I don't there's definitely gonna be one sequel minimum to this). I'd also like to mention, that this took a lot longer to write as I got a cold halfway through writing it and also it's romance based fluff (which is not my forté), but thanks to those who've waited for this! And finally, for reasons that I'll explain in a separate post later, it might be a "little" while before I can start work on the sequel to this one but it will get written at some point. |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics, or a specific Au, then send me a DM or an ask! |

| Also side note, Don't Like? Don't Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

==–==

It's been a month since Marinette got kidnapped, kissed Red Robin, and solved the Elemental Park Serial Killer case. For three weeks she's been held off active duty to make sure her bruised ribs heal but now that she's able to be on active duty again, all the available cases are those that are paperwork heavy. A small part of her misses the immediate healing of the Miraculous Cure but she's not Ladybug anymore and even if she was, it would raise too many flags for her to even use it anyway. But logic doesn't stop her from missing the days when she could literally and metaphorically magic away her aches and pains.

Marinette groans and slumps into her chair, it's been a surprisingly slow day at the GCPD, so when her phone beeps rapidly for a few seconds, she thinks, please be something interesting, and can't help but take a quick glance to see what new notifications she has. The screen reads: '3 new messages from Red'. So she taps the notification and reads through each message.

>RedRob: Hey, found some new evidence on our case, want to meet up for coffee to discuss it?

>RedRob: Rooftop coffee after dark, of course.

>RedRob: I mean I could waltz into a coffee shop during the day in my suit but that might get too much attention for case talk.

Marinette snickers to herself as she reads the messages over a second time. She quickly taps out her response.

>MariBlue: Will we need to worry about one of the other Gotham vigilantes crashing our coffee not-date?

Almost instantly she receives a response.

>RedRob: I'll bribe Oracle or Batgirl, maybe even Black Bat, into keeping the others away.

She sends a heart emoji back, then returns to sorting out her boring paperwork.

Detective Grayson raises an eyebrow at her from over the desk, clearly having caught her looking at her phone. “Red Robin again?”

She flashes him a sheepish grin. “How'd you guess.”

He gives her a deadpan stare. “He's the only person you respond to when working.”

Marinette bites her lip. “Whoops, that obvious?”

“Yes.” Detective Grayson hesitates for a second, he leans in closer—and like a teenage girl at a sleepover in a cheesy teen drama, asks, “So are you dating yet?”

She shrugs. “Well neither of us have asked the other so not really.”

“But you guys are perfect for each other!” He exclaims, gesturing towards her with an outstretched arm—very narrowly avoiding knocking anything off the desk.

It's Marinette's turn to raise an eyebrow. “We literally have only seen or talked to each other when working…”

“So? What do you call you quote unquote "not-dates"” He huffs, making air quotes as he speaks.

She huffs and shakes her head. “There's a reason they're called "not-dates" and that's because we discuss work at them. And anyway it's too early to rush our relationship.”

“Fair.” Detective Grayson stills, frowns and then almost hesitantly, he asks, “Is it because if the mask? The whole not knowing his real identity?”

Marinette rolls her eyes and shakes her head again. “Nope, I couldn't care less about finding out his real identity—at least not without his consent that is.”

He hums, a pensive look on his face. “So you're not curious?”

She shrugs. “Not particularly, why?”

Detective Grayson shrugs back. “Just wondering,” he leans back on his chair and for a split second, Marinette fears he might topple over but somehow he seems unaffected by gravity, “I think you're the first person I've met, who doesn't want to know who's behind a vigilante's mask.”

A smile tugs at Marinette's lips. “I think it's kinda dumb that so many people are obsessed with the people behind the masks because if they're doing good, unmasking them will only deter them from continuing fighting the good fight and all that, y'know.”

He nods slowly, “huh, that's one way of putting it I guess but I agree, the vigilantes do more for this city than people think they do.” Detective Grayson then tilts his head towards the Commissioner's office. “Anyway back to work, don't want to get in more trouble with the Commish than we are already!”

Marinette huffs in amusement and rolls her eyes but complies nonetheless. Wouldn't do to get in trouble so soon after getting back onto active duty!

==–==

It isn't until gone seven pm, that Marinette finally gets home. She slips through the door, locking it behind her. Now that she's in, the first thing she does, as she does every day, is check her online portfolio and commission site.

Marinette plops herself down in her wheely chair and logs onto to her computer, going through all the verification and security Max had kindly added. A new commission notification grabs her attention. With three clicks, she brings up the new commission's details. She scrolls down to the name of the commissioner: one Mr 'T. Drake-Wayne'.

Curious as to why the name sounds vaguely familiar, Marinette opens up a tab on Google with a hum and types in the name. Upon reading the top results, she half chokes in shock and thinks to herself, Are you kidding me? She blinks and breathes in, a small part of her very glad she wasn't drinking anything otherwise she definitely would've fully choked on that or spat it all up from the shock. I know a bunch of well-known celebrities have all commissioned me many times before, but still why the heck is a fortune 500 CEO commissioning me? I'm not Audrey Bourgeois, Gabriel Agreste, or even Valen-hecking-tino. I do celebrities, not fortune 500. The heck. What. The. Actual. Heck.

Eyes wide and gobsmacked, Marinette shakes her head and clicks back to her latest commission's details page to read through the actual commission. After reading the first line, she scrambles for her sketchbook and begins jotting down notes and scribbling down ideas.

Half an hour in, Marinette takes a break to sort out and eat dinner, no point designing on an empty stomach but once she's done eating and washed up, she goes straight back to designing.

Even at a quarter past midnight, she's still at it—surprisingly only three drafts in and so thoroughly lost in her own head in designing, Marinette nearly misses the knocking against her window facing the fire escape.

The rapid rap-tap-tap spooks her so much that she falls out of her chair with an “Eep!”

Marinette, face flushing bright red, scrambles up and scurries over to the window in question. Shoving her blinds out the way, she stares through the window and is greeted with the absolutely glorious sight of a beaming and uninjured Red Robin holding two takeaway coffee cups on the fire escape. He waves at her with one hand and gestures for her to join him on the fire escape.

She can't help but grin back at him and deftly opens the window and slinks out onto the fire escape. He hands a coffee cup towards her and instead of taking it, Marinette gives him a good ol' bearhug—smooshing pressing her face into his Kevlar armoured chest. Which is unsurprisingly, very uncomfortable. She shifts her head to stare up at him (as he's at least whole head taller than her) “Hey,” she greets.

Awkwardly hugging her back, as to not spill either of the coffees in the process, “hey yourself,” Red Robin responds, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

Marinette pulls back from the hug and nabs the coffee cup that had been offered to her before their hug. “Thank you~!”

“No problem.” He then gestures towards the fire escape stairs leading to the roof, “after you.”

“So which of our cases did you manage to get a lead for?” She asks, making her way up to the roof.

“The one pertaining to the new drug ring in the fashion district. I've narrowed down where they're storing the drugs to potentially three warehouses near Miller Harbour.” Red Robin answers, following after her.

Reaching the roof, Marinette sits down on the half wall around the roof edge. She glances over at Red Robin as he joins her on the improvised seat. “That's the drug ring dealing Miraclo right?”

“Yeah, that's the one.” He pauses to take a sip of his coffee, “I got the intel from an old friend of Catwoman's called Mackey lives in an apartment that overlooks the Harbour and saw a shipment of the drug arrive at the warehouses.”

Taking a sip of her own coffee, Marinette raises an eyebrow. “And will Detective Grayson and I will be able to get that intel as witness statement?”

Red Robin nods. “Yep, Catwoman's vouching for you both.”

She jerks back in surprise, nearly toppling off the half wall but managing to cling to the edge in time to keep her from falling. Miraculously somehow managing to avoid dropping or spilling her coffee. Oof, if it wasn't for my stint in Spandex I definitely would've made a fool of myself in front of Red Robin. And here I thought that part of my life had since passed. Marinette thinks to herself, wincing at the newly gained superficial graze across her palms. She clears her throat and attempts to look like she didn't just nearly fall off a half wall. “Catwoman's vouching for us? Since when? I've literally never encountered her before.”

Red Robin, the traitor, snorts at her predicament. “You are the epitome of elegance. And Detective Grayson's bumped into her a few times on the job.”

“Thanks.” She responds drily, layering on the sarcasm thickly. She shakes her head and sighs. “So do you know what the addresses are for the warehouses and this Mackey's apartment?”

He takes an excruciatingly slow sip of his coffee before speaking. “Of course I can, what kind of vigilante do you take me for?” He then proceeds to rattle off the addresses.

Which Marinette jots down on the napkin that came with her coffee, and puts it into a pocket for safekeeping. “Thank you.” With it written down, she pauses then starts kicking her legs in the air. She sniffs. “And I take you for the kind that flirts with innocent police officers.”

Red Robin grins at her as he gently elbows her in the ribs. “I don't hear you complaining.”

Marinette scoffs and slaps her hand to her chest in an overly dramatic mock of shock. “Unfair! If I complained I wouldn't get any hugs or kisses from you!”

Humming he wraps an arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss to her temple. “That's true, what a shame it would be for you to miss out on all those hugs.”

She hums back and the two ease into a comfortable silence; leaning against each other and sipping their coffees whilst staring at the night sky.

Once Marinette gets halfway through her coffee, she glances at Red Robin and hesitates, her earlier conversation with Detective Grayson springing to mind. “Communication is key in healthy relationships,” she prefaces, “so are you okay with our current relationship? Y'know the flirting, the not-dates, the whole me not knowing your identity?”

Red Robin laughs, sounding slightly bitter. “Of course I'm fine with the flirting and not-dates but I'm not going to lie and say I don't have any worries over you not knowing my identity. It's one of the reasons a relationship I had with a fellow mask didn't work out.” Rubbing at his jaw, he tilts his face away from her slightly, as though reminiscing about something. He then shakes his head and turns back to her. “Really, I ought to be asking you that. So what about you, are you okay with how our relationship is?”

Marinette hums. “This isn't the first time relationship I've had with a masked hero.” Then takes a calm sip of her coffee.

“So you've got a thing for masks then huh? Lucky me I guess.” He responds, smirking mischievously, and whilst she can't see the rest of his face thanks to the cowl, Marinette just knows that he's wiggling his eyebrows at her from underneath that cowl.

His comment nearly sends her tumbling off the half wall—again. She coughs and splutters in laughter as she nearly spits up her sip of coffee. It takes her a full thirty seconds to recover and mock gripes, “remind me why I love you again.”

Red Robin cocks his head to the side and grins. “Because I bring you coffee?”

She huffs, “good point.”

“So back to the mask thing, can I ask what happened with your masked hero relationship?” He asks, tone hesitant. He stares at her, ready to back off the topic at the slightest sign of discomfort from her.

Marinette hisses through her teeth and states, “I can trust you.”

His stare conveys an 'I would hope so' whilst he bobs his head a little in a 'yes you can' and a 'please continue' gesture.

She takes a deep breath before speaking, “I used to be a hero, back when I lived in Paris.”

“Oh?” Red Robin freezes, thrown off guard by her admission.

Nodding, Marinette continues. “It was difficult. We started when we were barely teens and had no training and no support except for temporary heroes we could bring in when the battles got too hard for just me and my partner to handle. When we started, we were repeatedly told to never, under any circumstances, let anyone find out our identities. My partner and I, neither of us knew who the other was beneath the mask. And we only knew the identities of the temporary heroes because we gave them the ability to become superheroes. But even then we didn't always know their real identities and they certainly never knew ours.”

“Yikes.” Is all he can respond with, mind racing with questions. “That can't have been good, at least I had Batman and Nightwing when I was starting out, but you had no one to talk to about being a mask, outside the mask.”

She flashes him a watery smile and sighs. “No, I did have someone. Tikki. But we're uh, not in contact any more. Since I retired.”

Still, Red Robin makes a noise of concern at that.

“Anyway, one thing led to another led to another, and my partner found out my identity.” Marinette puts her coffee down then tips her head back and closes her eyes. “We started dating not long after that. But once we defeated the BBEG terrorising Paris and some… concerning things came to light, our—we,” She shakes her head, “we realised that because of that, neither of us were emotionally able to continue our relationship in a romantic way. So we decided to stay friends and I—uh, I retired and moved to Gotham.”

He puts his coffee down as well, and pulls her into a tight hug, although making sure it wasn't too constricting as to not make her uncomfortable. “I'm sorry.”

She leans into the hug, rests her head on his shoulder, and delicately wraps her arms around him in return. “What? Why? It's not your fault.”

Red Robin frowns, not that she can see in their current position, “I know but no one should be forced into becoming a hero at such a young age with no support network.”

Huffing, Marinette buries her face in his shoulder, somewhat muffling her voice but not enough to make her unintelligible, “what about Spoiler? She became a hero around that age and had no support network.”

He sighs. “Spoiler chose to become a vigilante, she wasn't forced. And anyway, she had Robin and the rest of the bats to support her once they realised what she was doing.”

“Hmm… fair.” Marinette pulls back from the hug and pauses. “On a lighter note, I got a commission on my fashion site from Tim Drake-Wayne!”

Red Robin raises an eyebrow and with poorly concealed amusement, responds, “Oh? And what's so special about him”

She rolls her eyes at him. “He's the youngest fortune five hundred CEO, founded the Neon Knights among other charities, and often donates to various charities around Gotham! Plus Wayne Enterprises is one of, if not the most ethical company in the fortune five hundred bracket. Employees get living stipends, and training and higher education paid by the company. They get healthcare and dental insurance. They get flexible work hours, paid breaks, and receive above minimum wage pay!”

He laughs. “I guess he is a pretty decent sounding guy then.”

“Mhmm.”

“So what's the commission then? Or is it a secret?” He teases, leaning towards her.

Marinette dramatically places her hand over her heart. “I guess I can spare you the details this one time.”

“Wooh!”

She bites her lip before launching into a long ramble about the commission, gushing over what design and colour palette she's thinking of going with, what bots and bobs and patterns to add, what stitch to use and how to make sure it fits his style, etc.

Red Robin spends the entire time listening attentively, despite not really understanding half the fashion terms, and staring at her like a love-struck puppy.

“Damn, I love you!” He exclaims once she finishes speaking, then leans in to kiss her on the lips.

Marinette bursts into giggles and kisses him back. Her giggles are seemingly infectious, as once they part from the kiss, both are giggling and flushed red.

A bright flash of white followed by a camera shutter sound immediately distracts them both. They just manage to catch sight of Nightwing swinging away.

She gives him a look, which is somewhat less effective as she's still smiling from the kiss. “What happened to bribing Oracle, Black Bat, or Batgirl?”

Red Robin groans and drops his face into his hands. “Clearly Nightwing was able to one-up my bribe. Probably in the form of giving them copies of the photos both he and Detective Grayson have taken.”

“You mean to tell me those two are working together? No wonder Detective Grayson was asking about our relationship earlier today at work!” Marinette gasps, sounding mildly horrified and betrayed.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Red Robin asks, lifting his head up and grinning deviously at her.

She smirks back, “Revenge?”

He nods—the sagely kind of nod. “Revenge.”

==–==

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

@casual-darkness

[alas-poor-cesario]

Okay so here's my take on the Protomolocule, the characters and their growth @miller-bot

This is probably a load of bollocks but my partner and I discussed this after episode 3 of season 4. Mostly ideas that while we don't think are actually accurate, are an interesting way to go with things.

Protomolocule is the generic name they're using for what is actually technology that was created but in like different strands

So you have what is the equivalent of an ai (the stuff that got sent out to form the ring) and then whatever is on the planet that the Not-Miller-But-Miller is trying to get working again

Protomolocule is the thing that got sent out to see if the "infection" is hiding in other places in the universe so when the Creators had to flee bc they were going to be wiped out, they had suitable places to go

Infection: the weird bat like metal things that fly really fast. Hence why the ring had defences against things moving quickly.

Creators: whatever race it was originally that engineered or used the Protomolocule

What we've seen up until this point is almost like an ai. Send it out there to learn and create a wormhole but only once it's learned about where it is.

It didn't understand that dismantling humans would kill them. Or that exploding the ship into it's parts would damage it and the people inside.

It was drawn to the energy and feeds off that but that was instinctive and it wanted to learn more about how that was a thing to then have sustainable food source.

It's like a child learning. It didn't know that if you drop a coffee cup and it shatters then it can't just be put back together like a jigsaw puzzle and be fine again

It needed Julie as the catalyst, and she was able to keep her consciousness and more of herself because she "fought" the infection of the Protomolocule long enough unlike the others on Eros

Miller: teaches it about humanity, their fears and values. What they see when they look around a room, the important things.

Which is where we come to Holden; hes the one that gets places. Which is the goal of the Creators

And Holden is important af to them because he's been saving the galaxy, doing what he can selflessly and somehow that's the defining trait the Protomolocule has latched onto for him - he's trustworthy and will save them/it

The Protomolocule reacts aggressively with people because it's acting like a parasite or virus idek the right word to use but basically with Julie it was an infection that got to go through each stage and then kill her. But with the forcibly infected it ripped them apart more because it didn't have the time to go through each stage

With the hybrids it's like that but worse - both parties know there's something wrong and are fighting each other. In pain, aggressive.

The Protomolocule kept the voices on Eros alive because it didn't want to wipe them out.

I have my theory that the entire thing is focused around the theme of children:

Prax's little girl

Errinwright's sympathy coming from his connection with his kid

Amos being the lost child

Holden being the innocent child / the archetypal child

Naomi losing her chimd

Avasarala's dead kid

Fred Johnson atoning for killing the kids on Anderson Station

It brings the idea to the forefront that whatever we do affects the children in the world and we need to make it a better place for them. There's more to this list but it's currently 4am and my brain isnt working for that.

[thatbangtanbloom]

all that glitters || bts [3]

all that glitters | bangtan

prologue | chapter one|chapter two|chapter three

Characters: Jungkook, Taehyung, Namjoon, Jimin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Reader

AU(s): 1920s!AU, Mafia!AU, Historical!AU

Word Count: 3,255

Late springs in New York always proved to be grueling. Clouds lined the somewhat aesthetic atmosphere, hiding away the rain that would inevitably fall. There were the rainy days, causing havoc on the shabbily remodeled apartment buildings, with water leaking through thin roofs. Children were often inclined to pull daisies from people’s flowerbeds and said flowerbed owners often found themselves yelling at the aforementioned. The busy hustle and bustle meant daylight rising earlier and people leaving for work to get a head start on life, to achieve the American dream that was allegedly promised to those daring enough to take a risk. For many, spring symbolized new beginnings. For many, every cloud had its own silver lining.

Yet, you could not find your silver lining. Your routine, however habitual it may have been, was welcoming. You liked waking up at five in the morning to catch the bus to the nearest train station and then squeeze into the metro for a thirty-minute commute to downtown New York. You liked stopping at Sears and Roebuck to buy yourself a sandwich and spend ten cents on a strawberry milkshake for your lunch before reporting to the Yankees Stadium to catch any practicing players for interviews. You also liked working overtime at your small cubicle, just to make the same amount as your male counterparts. You liked having a routine. Until you no longer did.

Gone were the days of your usual routine, because it seemed that the Bangtan Boys were squeezing themselves into every crevice of your life. You noticed the raven-haired boy lingering near the metro station with glasses over his face at six-fifteen in the morning on Fifth Avenue. It was hard to ignore the blonde haired man in Sears and Roebuck as you ordered your strawberry milkshake when his eyes never left your figure, ignoring the waitress when she asked him what clubhouse sandwich he would like. And when you attempted to leave from work at the later time, there was an impressionable car at the corner with its lights on, that always turned off the moment your head peaked outside.

To put it simply, you did not see a single silver lining.

Taehyung was inclined to think clouds had their own silver linings too, especially with your monogrammed memo pad burning a hole into his freshly imported Guccio Gucci suit. His hair that once was an ash gray was now dyed black, matching his own busy eyebrows to give him a colloquial look. Though, it be in vain, for his features were not common in the hustle and bustle of New York City.. but it would do.

Ever since your little game of cat and mouse began a week ago in the speakeasy, Taehyung has been working around the clock to plan a way to lure you back to the speakeasy. He had dropped hints purposely, leaving a single flower at your desk with a note tied to it in efforts to draw you back. He had considered the idea of having Jungkook do the honors of returning your memopad, but the younger boy was shyer than he would like to admit and time was money. Every action one of the seven members partook in was a building block for the enterprise.

So here he was, arriving at your place of work only ten minutes before your regularly scheduled lunchtime with a single bouquet of flowers in his hand and a blue box dangling between his fingers as he walks over the steps and smiles prettily at the secretary.

“O-oh,” She is awestruck when her eyes fall over his dark alluring eyes and his masculine features. She can barely breathe when she notices how deep he stares into her, almost as though he could stare through her.

Taehyung knows that she is not the first woman to fall privy to his charms, so he does not hesitate for a moment to use them against hers. He had one objective and one objective alone - to get to you and to find out what information that you knew. “Darling,” He purrs and she swears that he is the devil incarnate himself. “My… my doll works here and I wished to surprise her. Her name’s Y/N L/N… Is it possible for me to go up there and visit her, darling?”

“Y-yes. Of course. Y/N? She should be on the third floor…” She stutters as Taehyung nods at her every word. She wonders if all men are able to stare that intensely and keep a platonic gaze. She thinks that he is one of one. “S-she covers the sports column from time to time, so she should be out-”

Taehyung sends her his prized boxy smile and he knows that she is a goner. “Darling, do you know if she is upstairs or not? I would hate to have come all the way to visit my dollface and she is not here…” His tone is sultry as he caresses each syllable of each word with his tongue. “Can I just.. Can I just go up there to see her?”

“O-of course! Let me just write you a small note…” She is absolute putty in his hands. She practically trips over herself writing down your cubicle number and department before batting her lashes up at him. “And if she is not here… feel free to come back and keep me company.”

Taehyung only winks in reply, not giving a verbal confirmation. As beautiful as she was, Taehyung had bigger fish to fry. You were at the top of his list, and he would be damned if he would let you escape him for a second time.

“For the last time, do you think Miller Huggins would let Chick Autry bat over Wally Schang? He is a seasoned player.” You lament with a frown as you sit down across from your editor of the sports column, Calvin Bush. He was three years your senior and biologically male to the point where he felt that it was quintessential to run everything by him first. At times, you questioned if he actually took anything that you said seriously or if he only disagreed with you because you did not have the same biological makeup as him.

Calvin scoffs in response as he rolls up his sleeves, glancing over the New York Times’ sports statistics and shakes his head. “Look, I get it. You’re trying to commit yourself to the big leagues, but do not let a pretty face fool you. Chick Autry is the present. Wally Schang is the past. Do you think that because Schang has more experience that he has more precision? That doesn’t suggest causation.”

“I could say the same for you,” You murmur under your breath as you sit back down in front of your typewriter. You were certain Wally Schang would be played against the Washington Senators before Chick Autry would. Breakout star or not, Schang had the consistency that Autry lacked. “Autry was just recruited a couple of weeks ago. He may have the tenacity and the ambition, but precision is something he lacks. We’ve seen that in how he can only bat with his right.”

He pauses, as though considering your words. He did have a point. While Autry was a top pick, it was news that he was having trouble adjusting from his school league to the Majors. But who was he to let a woman one-up him that much? “Not everyone can be as skilled as Schang..” He ends up conceding, deciding to focus his attention on the way your shoulders look under your blouse. That was one perk of the job. “Say, so you think that we could discuss Schang’s greatness a bit more at Sears?”

“That is exactly what I was saying,” You reply, thinking that Calvin had reached some sense in his head. You do not even notice the hidden meaning of his words. You sigh as you go back to writing your article, being greeted with the Courier font before you hear the clearing of your throat.

“I do not believe I appreciate you staring at my woman that way.” A voice says from in front of you and your eyes furrow.  A bouquet of roses blocks your view of the man who spoke and you frown. You certainly were not anyone’s woman but your own.

Calvin scoffs in reply as he stands up straight to meet the gaze of the taller man. He almost feels intimidated, observing the tweed suit that the unfamiliar man wears and how deep the timbre of his voice is. “I did not know that she was taken.”

“Well now you do.” The voice quips with a slight scoff before the owner of the voice kneels in front of you to place the bouquet of flowers into your arms. “My doll.. Mon chéri, my Y/N… I have missed you so.” He purrs into your ear while sending daggers to Cavin. You immediately recognize that purr from anywhere and you know that it is none other than the silver-haired man from the bar… well, now the black-haired man at the bar.

“I am not taken.” You deadpan before unwrapping Taehyung’s arms from your body before standing up. Your blood runs cold that he has managed to know where your job is… Well, it was not very hard for him, considering that it was the only other address that your roommates, Elizabeth and Margot, had given him. “Please leave.”

Taehyung forces a tight-lipped smile as he notices Calvin’s lingering interest before pulling you into a tight embrace. His chest is warm and welcoming despite his intimidating aura. He pulls you between the small aisle and places a soft kiss to your forehead before whispering softly into your ear, “Would you rather waste your time with bluenose* over here or would you like to get information on that Bangtan Rouge place you’ve been scoping?” His voice is low enough so that only you could hear it and your heart skips a beat at how close he holds you. “You’re not a damsel in distress, but some of them won’t take a hint.”

You hate how well he reasons with you, but you concede with the agreement that he will give you the information that you want. “It sure is the berries*.” You murmur as you pull away from him and force a smile. “Can we talk about this in private?”

“I thought you would never ask, baby.” Taehyung absorbs himself all too quickly into the role as your quarreling lover and passes you the flowers before sending one last glare to Calvin like any self-respecting actor would before grabbing your jacket and placing it onto your shoulders. “Let’s go.”

The atmosphere is tense as Taehyung immediately sits in the corner of the Sears and Roebuck with your memo pad still burning a hole in his pocket. He is smirking at you as though you hold the key to all of his problems, and quite frankly, you do. The elder members of the group had been ridiculing him from letting you get away in the first place when he had the largest window of opportunity of bumping you off*.

“You promised to tell me about Bangtan Rouge.” You grumble after you have taken three half-hearted bites into your club sandwich. It was unsettling that Taehyung had paid for you when you knew that you were a fully autonomous woman. Sure, it was 1924, but you would be damned by letting this man upend your life without lifting a snap of his figure.

Taehyung smirks, his red lips contouring into the perfect arch to display his amusement. “I did promise to tell you about Bangtan Rouge, but I think that it is necessary that you tell me first what you know. Would it not be a drag if I just rattled off everything that I know?”

“I think you are pulling my leg here.” You retort with another bite of your sandwich. You glance out to the window, noticing the way that the school children begin to file their way in, immediately running to the candy machines to deposit nickels and dimes to attain sugary euphoria. You wish that Taehyung was that easy to satisfy. “Why would we beat around the bush? I am well aware that you came here to ask me what I know, and the truth is, I know nothing.”

Taehyung scoffs as he leans back into the faux leather suits. He looks like a million dollars, seemingly out of place in the small time diner. You notice how his eyes soften at the sight of the kids playing so happily and you almost forget that he is a complete stranger to you who quite possibly has your very existence’s timeline in his hands. “Then you would not mind telling that to my Boss.”

“Your Boss?” You nearly scoff in reply at the idea of meeting someone who one openly referred to as ‘Boss’. That was the classic signature for mafia talk. The very last person that you wished to meet was Boss.

Taehyung smirks before he eyes your sandwich and slides the small ceramic plate in front of him to take an eager bite before letting his arm relax on the back arm rest. “Yes. Don’t worry, we have no intentions of making you a moll*.”  

“Moll?” You yelp in surprise before Taehyung leans forward to cover your mouth with his hand to silence you. The very idea of being called one shook you to your core and you could not even fathom such things. “I am not and nor will I ever--”

Taehyung finds it amusing to see you freak out in such a way. To put it simply, he thought of you as the cat’s meow. He did not know many women who were not as entangled in life in the underground as you, but he did know a self-respecting girl when he saw one. It was not to say that he did not respect the women he often frequented with, but it was less prominent than how he felt it with you. “You’re a regular sheba*, you know?” He replies with a small grin as his brows wiggle suggestively at the way you eagerly drink your milkshake. “It’s a shame that you witnessed such things. Though, I’ve always wanted a girl with a deadline.”

“I am not that girl.” You retort as you force yourself to look away from Taehyung and his evident prowess. Something about him was overwhelming, and you are unsure if it is his attractiveness or his level of conceitedness.  “I am only a girl who wants to be the head editor and bring back the Times to where it should be. If you are not going to give me the information that I desire or patronize me, do not waste my time.” You reply before putting down your milkshake and forking out a couple bills onto the table.

Taehyung chokes on the sandwich at the sudden statement, “I beg your pardon?”

“I do not know who you are, nor what you are capable of… but I will not let that deter me.” You reply adamantly before you swallow your courage and force yourself to walk around the booth and kneel over him. “All my life, men have tried telling me what to do, when to get married, who to marry, how many children I should have, and practically dictate my entire life without my say in it. You will not be one of those men.”

And Taehyung sits there, utterly gobsmacked and surprised that you had the courage to speak to him that way when your fate is dictated by a mere tug of a string from his hands. Yet, he finds himself all the more intrigued in you. It is almost instantaneous, as he watches you leave the Sears and Roebuck and cross the street fiercely through the crowd of businessman and schoolchildren. He almost thinks you look like something off a silver screen, a modern-day woman. And if he did not realize it before, he definitely knows that he will not let you go anywhere now.

The rest of your day remains uneventful as you go through the motions of listening out the latest statistics of the New York Yankees in your all-too familiar best friend of Courier Font until the lights outside have begun to grow dark. You are left even more unsatisfied as you hear the dewdrops crash against the glass window, distorting your margins and forcing you to groan when you have to start over every so often because of your perfectionist tendencies. You curse yourself, knowing that you would have to run to the subway to try to avoid getting pneumonia, much less in the dark.  You had been warned many times about leaving so late, especially alone, but you were a strong woman. A couple years in Chicago had taught you what it meant to grow tough after leaving your original small town.

Though, you are more surprised to find someone waiting for you when you leave the building with a dimpled smile and an umbrella in his hands. You do not recognize him from anywhere, but you can not help but grow weary as you think back to Taehyung’s statement of you needing to meet his boss. Had this been him?

“Y/N L/N?” His voice is softer than you expect, matching the gentle tone of his voice as his deep brown eyes meet yours. You immediately wreck your brain to try to remember him seeing from before but draw nothing.

You swallow hard before nodding slowly. “That would be me, but who is asking?” You ask, a bit nervous to hear his reply.

“Someone who you will be knowing well in the future.” He says with a soft chuckle, as though he has told you the most charming joke in the world before he hands you a small, beige packaged envelope and the umbrella. “I believe this is something that belongs to you, but I have conditions. Review them and get back to me in three days if you want it to be worth your while.”

You do not even have to open it to know what is inside as you awkwardly hold the umbrella in your hand. You are no longer the one being drenched in water, but now it is him, standing six feet tall with his beige trench coat. He looks like he stepped out of a silver screen film. “I do not wish to have any part in this.”

“It is not a choice.” He replies with a smirk on his face before shaking his head. His voice is sweet like velvet, sickeningly sweet to the point where you question if it is stable to have such thoughts cross your mind. “Do you think that we chose this? It chooses you.. And, you, my lovely butterfly, are our latest addition.”

And that was the last words he spoke to you before climbing into his car and disappearing into the night. You almost wish that you would have been alone until you open up the envelope slowly to look into its contents - your lovely monogrammed memopad with a single note attached to it.

Even angels come down to play with demons at times.

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

1920s Decade Specific Terms:

Bluenose - prude

Berries - something that is attractive of pleasing

To bump off - to murder

Moll - a gangster’s girl

Sheba - a woman with sex appeal

- - - - - - - -

Don’t be a silent reader! Feel free to send your reactions! :) 

[theonyxpath]

Our next Kickstarter is for the Legendlore RPG, and starts on this Thursday, March the 12th, at 2pm Eastern US time!

From the Kickstarter:

Legendlore was originally a comic, first published by Arrow Comics in 1986 and since procured by Caliber Comics, about four people who fall through a Crossing into the Realm. The Realm is home to fantasy creatures from elves to dragons, and the characters discover they too have ‘fantasy powers’ – the jock becomes a Fighter, while the bookish one becomes a Wizard, and so on. They go on adventures and some of them eventually find their way back to Earth.

This is the basic premise of the Legendlore RPG. You Cross into the Realm, where you become a hairfoot Bard, or maybe an elven Sorcerer. You can change any characteristics you like. For example if you have hay fever and glasses, you choose if your Legendlore self keeps or drops those. Your identity might not always match your outward physique, but your Legendlore character does. We’ve also updated the 1980s setting so Realmborn characters represent all ethnicities, genders, and sexualities. No one in the Realm will bat an eyelash at your agender panromantic self.

This comes hard on the heels of our fantastic Kickstarter campaign for Hunter: The Vigil 2e, which ended up at over 500% of the funding goal and just a couple of folks away from 2000 backers! Truly, the Vigil was a rewarding one, and we’re thrilled so many folks came along with us on the hunt.

Even though we’re jumping right into the new KS for Legendlore, Hunter 2e‘s campaign left us with a number of Stretch Goal projects to continue with, and, for us, Legendlore is such a different kind of project that creatively it is a nice break in our recent string of Kickstarters in the Chronicles of Darkness and V5 game worlds.

Legendlore will also be our newest game line to use the d20 system for 5e fantasy gaming, along with Scarred Lands and (much-simplified) the Realms of Pugmire, so that also gives us a chance to stretch some system creative muscles we like to keep toned up.

If you’re a fan of D&D, etc. then I think you’ll find a lot of fresh spins you’ll enjoy in how Legendlore treats genre expectations and tropes while still providing a sweeping setting ripe for adventuring in. And if you aren’t so much, I still think you may find value in supporting developer Steffie de Vaan and her creative team’s 2020 take on this multi-decade saga and setting.

Like almost every one of our Kickstarters these days, Legendlore is pretty much finished in the writing stages, and backers will get sections of the finished text during the course of the KS campaign. Steffie is working with at least one Twitch streaming group to create actual play episodes showing how Legendlore plays at an actual gaming table, and we’re really looking forward to airing those (and they’ll be linked on the KS page).

So, anyone interested is going to have multiple chances to check this project out in a way that works for them, as we’ve been working to set up with each of our KSs. And, James Bell, our Kickstarter Concierge will be back for this KS to once again provide information and guidance, as well as his patented affable banter!

V5 Chicago Folio art by Felipe Gaona

Items From Our Monday Meeting:

In no particular order, which is a lot like our meeting style!

DriveThruRPG‘s massive GM’s Day Sale has another week to go, and hoo-boy are there a lot of our PDFs for sale over there! All of our game lines are represented, as well as offerings from the Community Content sites!

This was a Twitter note sent out during our meeting by Eddy Webb:

“Thanks to Justin Achilli, I got to be in a work meeting where we talk about the aesthetics of urine and throwing bears at the moon.”

Which is pretty much true.

Mighty Matt McElroy was scheduled to attend Emerald City convention this coming weekend, but the whole con was postponed due to concerns about the Coronavirus (COVID-19). He’d already had a bunch of meetings cancelled out from under him and was figuring on cancelling, when boop! the convention cancelled instead!

You folks all take care of yourselves out there! We’re a virtual office, so aren’t going to infect each other, and we don’t have anything currently being manufactured in China, so I’m just encouraging all our folks to stay in and work 20 hour days at their computers. (I’m kidding.) (But not really.)

Mirthful Mike Chaney wonders how that’s any different than his usual day, anyway?

They Came From Beneath the Sea! Heroic Land Dwellers art by Brian LeBlanc

We’re still getting folks asking about whether projects that come out as Advance PDFs will be released in PoD versions or if Backer PDFs will be sold to the public, along with PoDs, on DTRPG. First, we’re always glad to answer folks’ questions, and second, yes, our sales strategy has always been to deliver PDFs and PoDs of projects on DTRPG and so we have been releasing them that way for the whole time we’ve been in business.

The only caveats to that are projects we might do like printed Screens offered on Kickstarters, which DTRPG can’t create in PoD form, and recently with the V5 Cults of the Blood Gods Stretch Goal rewards which will only be available in PDF as the V5 managers at Modiphius do not want PoD versions made available.

We’ve scheduled a nice surprise for the backers of Exalted 3rd‘s Dragon-Blooded KS that should put some folks’s concerns to rest about getting their rewards. So keep your eyes open for that, DB backers!

I’m out next Monday, so Dixie Cochran will be in as our guest MMN blogger! Please be nice to her as she wrangles the rusty and arcane controls for this blog, and I’ll talk to you in two weeks about our:

Many Worlds, One Path!

BLURBS!

Kickstarter!

On Thursday, March 12th at 2pm Eastern US Time we start the Kickstarter for Legendlore!

Onyx Path Media!

This Friday the Onyx Pathcast Terrific Trio take a deep dive into Vampire: The Requiem 2e‘s Spilled Blood! Messy, but fun!

As always this Friday’s Onyx Pathcast will be on Podbean or your favorite podcast venue! https://onyxpathcast.podbean.com/

We’ve got a stupendous number of shows on Twitch this week! Tune in for V5, Chronicles of Darkness, Scion, Pugmire, Hunter: The Vigil 2nd Edition, Scarred Lands, MORE Vampire: The Masquerade, Changeling: The Lost, Mage: The Awakening, even more Scarred Lands, Werewolf: The Forsaken and a third Vampire: The Masquerade game! We’ve even got Eddy Webb’s Workshop, which takes you through the development process of our books! Hail Ming!

A big shout-out to our three Vampire: The Masquerade games running this week, which have been running week-in, week-out! You can subscribe to our channel over on twitch.tv/theonyxpath to catch up with any episodes you missed! This Ming’s a psycho.

Come take a look at our YouTube channel, youtube.com/user/theonyxpath, where you can find the following videos uploaded last week alone:

The Onyx Path News: https://youtu.be/zKo1h7bLPE0

Scion: Behind the Screen: https://youtu.be/v9Wo38rl5-Y

Changeling: The Lost – Littlebrook Reunion: https://youtu.be/hxSbemynBLs

Changeling: The Dreaming – The Last Faerie Tale: https://youtu.be/gKAm-zGxTW4

Even more Scion: Behind the Screen: https://youtu.be/QDSIS_ClFbE

A special shout-out to the Scion: Behind the Screen series, which has provided a wonderful entry point for people new to the game! Flying blind on a rocket cycle!

Do subscribe to our channel and click the bell icon if you want to be notified whenever new news videos and uploads come online! Spare me the madness.

In case you missed it last week, the Story Told RPG Podcast continue with their excellent Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2nd Edition chronicle right here: http://thestorytold.libsyn.com/the-78-laments-episode-3-riders-in-the-sky

And back once again, the Story Told‘s review of Trinity Continuum: Aeon http://thestorytold.libsyn.com/episode-40-trinity-continuum-on-overview

Red Moon Roleplaying‘s V5 Cults of the Blood Gods “The Family” chronicle continues on their YouTube channel, Spotify, their website redmoonroleplaying.com and everywhere else good podcasts and New York City girls might be found! https://youtu.be/J1qCIhMPn7Q

Now, the tributes from Ardentia.

Even more shows from Occultists Anonymous for all you Mage: The Awakening fans out there!

Episode 86: Risky Business Wyrd the Seer prepares to found a legacy and shape her soul. Songbird makes contact with the Carthian Movement. Atratus meets with the Phantasm Society who have a daring plan.https://youtu.be/9XWLaxl_B-Y

Episode 87: New Lives Wyrd the Seer pays the price for tying herself to the Rookery. Songbird makes himself useful at the Arrow Armory. Atratus kills Emily Miller.https://youtu.be/ZZklb6-fC7o

Please check any of these out and let us know if you find or produce any actual plays of our games!

Electronic Gaming!

As we find ways to enable our community to more easily play our games, the Onyx Dice Rolling App is live! Our dev team has been doing updates since we launched based on the excellent use-case comments by our community, and this thing is awesome! (Seriously, you need to roll 100 dice for Exalted? This app has you covered.)

Update: the devs are working on the updates for the roller in both Android and iOS – here is the rundown from them:

1) Redo the UI for system for android.  It will look the same as the current design.  My goal is to have something ready by Saturday to send out to the Facebook users, asking them if this fixes the issues.  This will be a beta type thing.  This will break several of the fancy dice.

2) If the above worked out and the android users give all the clear, we’ll redo the graphics system to fix the fancy dice that got broken.  We’ll do another android beta through Facebook.  This might take up to two weeks, as my schedule allows.

3) If everything worked well, we’ll release to android for real at that point.

4) Port all of the existing stuff to iOS and release on that.

On Amazon and Barnes & Noble!

You can now read our fiction from the comfort and convenience of your Kindle (from Amazon) and Nook (from Barnes & Noble).

If you enjoy these or any other of our books, please help us by writing reviews on the site of the sales venue from which you bought it. Reviews really, really help us get folks interested in our amazing fiction!

Our selection includes these latest fiction books:

Our Sales Partners!

We’re working with Studio2 to get Pugmire and Monarchies of Mau out into stores, as well as to individuals through their online store. You can pick up the traditionally printed main book, the screen, and the official Pugmire dice through our friends there! https://studio2publishing.com/search?q=pugmire

We’ve added Prince’s Gambit to our Studio2 catalog: https://studio2publishing.com/products/prince-s-gambit-card-game

Now, we’ve added Changeling: The Lost 2nd Edition products to Studio2‘s store! See them here: https://studio2publishing.com/collections/all-products/changeling-the-lost

Scarred Lands (Pathfinder) books are also on sale at Studio2, and they have the 5e version, supplements, and dice as well!: https://studio2publishing.com/collections/scarred-lands

Scion 2e books and other products are available now at Studio2: https://studio2publishing.com/blogs/new-releases/scion-second-edition-book-one-origin-now-available-at-your-local-retailer-or-online

Looking for our Deluxe or Prestige Edition books? Try this link! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Onyx-Path-Publishing/

And you can order Pugmire, Monarchies of Mau, Cavaliers of Mars, and Changeling: The Lost 2e at the same link! And NOW Scion Origin and Scion Hero AND Trinity Continuum Core and Trinity Continuum: Aeon are available to order!

The massive GM Day’s Sale continues for another week with huge savings on PDFs from all of our game lines!

https://www.drivethrurpg.com/rpg_gmsday.php

As always, you can find Onyx Path’s titles at DriveThruRPG.com!

On Sale This Week!

This Wednesday, we will be releasing the Advance PDF of Night Horrors: Nameless and Accursed for Mage: The Awakening 2e AND the electronic, PDF, and physical book PoD releases of Haunting Shadows: the Wraith20th fiction anthology on DTRPG!

Conventions!

Assuming these conventions are not postponed due to plague, here is our current list:

UKGames Expo: https://www.ukgamesexpo.co.uk/

GenCon: https://www.gencon.com/

Tabletop Scotland: https://tabletopscotland.co.uk/

Gamehole Con: https://www.gameholecon.com/

PAX Unplugged: https://unplugged.paxsite.com/

And now, the new project status updates!

DEVELOPMENT STATUS FROM EDDY WEBB (projects in bold have changed status since last week):

First Draft (The first phase of a project that is about the work being done by writers, not dev prep)

Exalted Essay Collection (Exalted)

RUST (Working Title) (Scarred Lands)

Under Alien Suns (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Mission Statements (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Adversaries of the Righteous (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Novas Worldwide (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Exalted Essence Edition (Exalted 3rd Edition)

The Clades Companion (Deviant: The Renegades)

The Devoted Companion (Deviant: The Renegades)

Saints and Monsters (Scion 2nd Edition)

M20 Rich Bastard’s Guide To Magick (Mage: The Ascension 20th Anniversary)

Wild Hunt (Scion 2nd Edition)

Redlines

Dragon-Blooded Novella #2 (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Hundred Devil’s Night Parade (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Trinity Continuum: Adventure! core (Trinity Continuum: Adventure!)

Assassins (Trinity Continuum Core)

The Book of Endless Death (Mummy: The Curse 2e)

N!ternational Wrestling Entertainment (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Contagion Chronicle Ready-Made Characters (Chronicles of Darkness)

Second Draft

Exigents (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Crucible of Legends (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Many-Faced Strangers – Lunars Companion (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Kith and Kin (Changeling: The Lost 2e)

They Came From Beyond the Grave! (They Came From!)

Development

Heirs to the Shogunate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

TC: Aberrant Reference Screen (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Across the Eight Directions (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Contagion Chronicle: Global Outbreaks (Chronicles of Darkness)

M20 Victorian Mage (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Manuscript Approval

Scion: Dragon (Scion 2nd Edition)

Masks of the Mythos (Scion 2nd Edition)

Trinity Continuum Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum Core)

Scion: Demigod (Scion 2nd Edition)

Post-Approval Development

Scion LARP Rules (Scion)

One Foot in the Grave Jumpstart (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2e)

Editing

Legendlore core book (Legendlore)

Pirates of Pugmire KS-Added Adventure (Realms of Pugmire)

Terra Firma (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Lunars Novella (Rosenberg) (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Buried Bones: Creating in the Realms of Pugmire (Realms of Pugmire)

Tales of Aquatic Terror (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)

Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition core rulebook (Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition)

Titanomachy (Scion 2nd Edition)

Player’s Guide to the Contagion Chronicle (Chronicles of Darkness)

Contagion Chronicle Jumpstart (Chronicles of Darkness)

TC: Aberrant Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Post-Editing Development

City of the Towered Tombs (Cavaliers of Mars)

W20 Shattered Dreams Gift Cards (Werewolf: The Apocalypse 20th)

Cults of the Blood Gods (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Hunter: The Vigil 2e core (Hunter: The Vigil 2nd Edition)

Trinity Continuum: Aberrant core (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Deviant: The Renegades (Deviant: The Renegades)

Monsters of the Deep (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)

Indexing

They Came From Beneath the Sea! (They Came From…!)

ART DIRECTION FROM MIKE CHANEY!

In Art Direction

Trinity Continuum: Aberrant – Awaiting replies to pings.

Hunter: The Vigil 2e (KS)

Cults of the Blood God (KS)

Mummy 2 – Starting to contract the rest of it.

City of the Towered Tombs

Let the Streets Run Red – Some finals in.

Deviant

Legendlore (KS) – KS prep of bits.

Technocracy Reloaded (KS)

TC: Aeon Terra Firma – Contracted.

WoD: Ghost Hunters (KS) – Cover in, getting rest of KS art set.

Tales of Aquatic Terror

Pirates Extra Adventure – Loboyko lined up for this one.

Scion Titanomachy – Contacting artists.

In Layout

Yugman’s Guide to Ghelspad – Ongoing.

Contagion Chronicle – With Josh, interior proof coming.

Vigil Watch – Ongoing.

TCfBtS!: Heroic Land Dwellers

TCFBtS! Screen and Booklet

Ex3 Lunars – Yep, pretty much my March right here.

Scion Companion

Proofing

Dark Eras 2 – Sending back to Aileen for errata input.

Trinity Continuum Aeon Jumpstart

Chicago Folio – Creating PoD files.

Pirates of Pugmire – Fixes in, working on cover.

CtL Oak Ash and Thorn – At WW for approvals .

Geist 2e fiction anthology – Backer PDF out to backers for errata.

Dragon-Blooded Novella #1 – The Silence of Our Ancestors (Exalted 3rd Edition) – Backer errata being gathered.

Distant Worlds – Errata being gathered.

VtR2 Spilled Blood – Errata being input.

At Press

Geist 2e (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2nd Edition) – Prepping to go live with PDF/PoD versions on DTRPG a week Wednesday (the 18th).

DR:E – Shipping to backers, PoD files uploaded.

DRE Screen – Shipping to backers.

DR:E Threat Guide – Helnau’s Guide to Wasteland Beasties

Memento Mori – PoD proof ordered.

Scion Mythical Denizens – PoD files uploaded.

Wraith20 Anthology – ePub, PDF, physical book versions all live Weds on DTRPG.

MtAw2 Night Horrors: Nameless and Accursed – Advance PDF on sale this Weds on DTRPG.

Today’s Reason to Celebrate!

Yesterday was International Women’s Day, and that’s certainly worth celebrating today as well! (Especially since here in the US we lost an hour from yesterday due to the return of our Daylight Savings Time. Typical).

Today, we heard of the death of actor Max von Sydow at 90. The man who played chess with death, acted in just so many roles in mainstream and genre films that I’m not listing them here, and, just for Matthew Dawkins, starred as Ming the Merciless.

[nerdlife0612writes]

‘Animals’ Part 7

The Songfic Universe ‘Animals’ By Maroon 5, Part 7 Pairing: The Shield x OC (Amber Miller) Rating: NC17 to R Word Count for actual story:  1,802

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SMMMMUUUUUUTTTT: unprotected sex (If you ain’t on BC or trust your partner, wrap it before you tap it kiddies!), spanking, choking, tease/orgasm denial/edging? I think that covers the biggies?

SEE ‘ANIMALS’ INTRODUCTION FOR DISCLAIMERS!

LAST WARNING ~~~> THIS PART FINISHES THE SMUT. UNDER 18 YEARS OF AGE? TURN THE FUCK BACK NOW.

TAG SQUAD - MOUNT UP!

@evilangel84 @gold--gucciempress @thedevilnisworld @bigpixiefoot @theneverendingthirst @kingslayers-queen @princess3733 @tacoshu @queenofthearchitect @i-am-beyoutiful @scuzmunkie​

LAST TIME ON ‘ANIMALS’: Humming, feeling at peace for the first time all night, he ran a hand up and down her spine. “I didn’t mean to use you up so badly. I’m so sorry.” Roman was a little remorseful – just a little until she giggled and turned her head into his neck.

“Don’t be. A night like this has been long over due for me.”

He couldn’t help but to smile. “I suppose that’s true. But it’s not over yet.” He rolled her gently off of his chest and into his side. “Rest now, babygirl. I’ll stay until you drift off. Which,” He laughed as she yawned, “I don’t suppose will be long at all.”

She giggled sleepily, shaking her head as she felt sleep overtaking her. The final thoughts in her head were of the remaining Alpha – the ginger with the beastly eyes – and what awaited her with him.

**************** After watching her fall asleep and staying put for a little while entranced by the Omega tucked next him, Roman sighed and got up from the bed. He couldn’t help the self-satisfied grin that graced his face watching her curl up into the spot where he laid previously. Finding his sweatpants, he slid them on and made his was out to the balcony, chuckling at the grimaces that were plastered on the other Alpha’s faces.

“What?” Roman stretched and sat down on the lounge chair.

“Ain’t even gonna shower bud?” Dean cocked an eyebrow at him, swallowing hard when the wind wafted the combined scent combination of Roman’s claiming of the now blissfully unaware Omega.

Roman threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Hell. No. Not ready to let go of this scent yet.” Dean shrugged, unable to deny Roman’s strange sense of logic.

Seth snorted, “I don’t blame ya, man. Not one bit.” The trio then lapsed into a silence that for Dean grew more and more uncomfortable as the minutes ticked by – which felt like an eternity with as much as his whole being buzzed with the insanity he was holding back when it was maybe two or three hours.

Dean grunted. “Fuck this. I’ma go wait on her to wake up.” Dean stalked inside leaving a bewildered duo on the balcony.   He slipped his way into Roman’s room, heart nearly jumping out of his chest at the sight of their Omega sleeping. Taking a steadying breath, he bent down to scoop Amber up. He was successful until he made his way towards the door to his room – where he slammed his elbow into the doorframe.

“Fuck!” Dean hissed thinking that whoever called it ‘the funny bone’ was a sick twisted bastard. Unfortunately for him, this caused the sleeping Omega to stir.

“Dean?” Amber asked mid-yawn, blinking several times to try and clear her vision.

Dean let go of the breath that he didn’t realize he was holding as he made his way for the master bathroom of the suite. “Sorry, doll. I’m – uh – not exactly graceful.” He shot her a look of ‘I’m sorry’ and was rewarded with a giggle.

“I get it.” She patted him on the shoulder lightly. “I’m a hardcore klutz myself.” As he neared the garden tub, he sat her down on the edge. “What…?” She arched a raven eyebrow at him. He smiled, a weird mix of softness and a predator all at once, “I figured a bath might help…” He leaned in, burying his face in her neck as he turned on the water. He inhaled deep, “God the images flashing through my mind right now….”

“Tell me?” Amber spoke right against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Growling, he stood up and jerked his shirt over his head.

“How about I show you, little Omega?” He lowered his hand to his belt, only for it to be batted away by Amber’s hand as she slid to the floor. “Oh, Omega have something in mind?” Amber bummed, blinking up at him in a faux-innocent way.

“You could say that…” She cupped his already hard as a rock dick through his jeans, earning a sharp hiss.

“Don’t tease me doll. It’s all yours.” Dean stared down at her, eyes hard as steel and hot as lava. Amber quickly undid his belt and zipper, tugging at his jeans and boxers. As soon as they were down around his ankles, he quickly shook them loose along with his boots and licked his lips as he watched the Omega before him wrap her hand around his cock. Amber gave the head a tentative lick before she wrapped her lips around it, sucking hard as she stroked the rest of him.

“Fuck, doll.” His hand went to the back of her head, pushing lightly down – giving her the hint of ‘more, need more’. She batted her eyes at him teasingly as she slowly took the rest of him into her mouth as far as she could go. “Teasing little wench.” He groaned lowly as he felt her free hand cup his balls and knew it wouldn’t be long before he lost his mind. Jerking her off his dick, he closed his eyes doing his best to focus.

“Awww….” “Bend over, hands on the tub.”

The confusion was evident on her face. “What….?”

“Do it, Omega.” He gritted out between his clenched teeth. Amber slowly did as she was told and yelped as his hand landed on her ass – hard enough to sting but not truly be painful. “Omega needs to be punished for teasing me so deliciously. “ Another smack and he couldn’t help but to notice how she started to pant. “Oh?” Smack. “Does my Omega like it a little rough?” Smack. Amber moaned quietly. “Answer. Your. Alpha.” Each word was punctuated with another smack.

“Zoohmygod Alpha. Yes. A little rough.” Amber gasped out, surprised at her own response. Dean rubbed his hand on soothingly on the reddened skin, leaning down to nip at her back.

“Ass on the edge of the tub. I think the honesty earns a little reward.” Dean eyeballed the tub, figuring it was almost the right level. Amber turned slowly and gingerly sat down, hissing at the cool porcelain on her tender posterior. Dean knelt in front of her, cupping her face and bringing it his. Lips met lips in a hungry kiss as his free hand slipped between her legs and lightly teased her already swollen flesh. Amber jumped at the contact but managed to fight the instinct to close her legs. “Tender doll?” Dean whispered as he kissed his way down her neck, making his destination evident. Amber whimpered. “Well, let me help with that…” His hungry mouth was soon on her core devouring it like a man possessed.

“Dean!” Amber gasped as his expert tongue went to work teasing her clit as his fingers pumped in and out at a near alarming rate. She soon felt the heat beginning to coil her stomach, moaning and gasping for breath. All too soon he pulled back, licking his lips.

“Damn doll you not only smell like heaven but taste of it too. I’ll have to do that again sometime. But for now…” He leaned up and stepped into the tub, pulling her with him, her back to his chest as he leaned against the back edge of the tub. His hands cupped her breasts, squeezing and massaging them. “You’re mine. All mine. I don’t give two shits about the claim the others have. I’m your leader. Your primary. Is that understood?”

Amber threw her head back on his shoulder. “Yes, Alpha. You’re primary. Absolutely. Take me. Claim me. Please. I –“

= But don't deny the animal, That comes alive when I'm inside you…=

Dean bit down on the back of her neck lightly. “You want it, you got it!” He reached between her legs, shifting her legs to where hers were on top of his and guided himself inside of her. Amber hissed as he groaned long and low. “Gods Omega. I’m tired of being alone.” He started moving slowly until she said something that broke everything inside of him.

“You’re not alone. Not anymore, Alpha.” Grunting, he lifted her leg up with hand as the other wrapped around her waist.

“Fuck!” He started an almost vicious pace. “You’re fucking perfect. You’re fucking mine. Do you hear me Omega? I’m never letting go of you. Fuck. So hot. So tight somehow - how are you this fucking tight?” Dean was absolutely lost in the feel of her and the fact that even though she’d been so thoroughly used through the night she was so tight around his cock.

“Al-al-alpha! Fuck! Like that!” Amber moaned, gripping the edges of the tub with everything she had. Suddenly, his hand was on her throat applying a moderate amount of pressure causing her walls to start fluttering at a maddening pace.

“Did the others make you feel like this? Huh? Did they unlock these things like your Alpha did?” Dean growled in her ears as his hand that was supporting her leg reached down to rub her clit. Amber’s eyes watered, as she shook her head ‘no’ furiously. “Good! Fucking good!” His fingers on her clit became harsh as he was barely holding back his release. Hell be damned if she didn’t get off first. “Cum for me! Cum for me doll! Your Alpha fucking demands it! God your pussy is crushing me so damn good! Cum for me! Come on!” One last harsh press of her clit sent her flying over the edge in such an intense manner but the nail in the coffin was when Dean roared his own release as he bit into the back of her neck – placing the final mark on her. Amber found herself blacking out as he released her throat, collapsing against him.

“De…dean…..” Amber’s speech slurred as she slipped further away. His grip on her tightened as he released the bite, sealing it like the others before him. Dean kissed her on the temple.

“It’s okay, doll. I got you.” With those words, Amber’s world went black as exhaustion overtook her. Scooping her up bridal style, Dean kicked the drain open and stepped out of the tub, stumbling to the bed. Jerking her back to his chest and doing his best to catch his breath, he could only marvel at the woman next to him.

“I always got you now, don’t I?” Dean whispered, content to just stay that way until she woke up.

And what a new day it would be for all of them.

= Baby, I'm preying on you tonight/ Hunt you down, eat you alive/ Just like animals, animals, like animals-mals/ Maybe you think that you can hide/ I can smell your scent from miles/ Just like animals, animals, like animals-mals = ***************

[therearemonstersinthedark]

Astronautical Book 1: Epilogue

Title is from “Things We Lost in the Fire” by Bastille

Epilogue: The Things We Lost in the Fire

[Meanwhile, on Terra: Early 2015]

"Hey Peter!"

Peter Parker looked up from his backpack to give Michelle a quick shushing gesture.

"What are you doing?" he whisper-shouted between his teeth, glancing around the empty store as though expecting someone to come bursting forth from one of the other aisles any moment. "You can't be that loud!"

"This place is empty," Michelle said, crossing her arms and giving a tin can in front of her a light kick as she passed, sending it rolling through the rubble and trash scattered across the floor. "No one's around to hear anything."

"You don't know that." Peter quickly zipped up his backpack and hefted it over his shoulder. The cans inside clanked together and dug little bruises into his spine and ribs. The worn straps cut into his shoulders and he shifted the bag around, trying to find a position that was almost tolerable. "This place is a red-zone, we shouldn't even be here."

"Whatever," she huffed, adjusting the bag across her own back. "Those maps are probably as outdated as the rest of this junk. Let's just get out of here. I think it's officially been picked clean. You know, figuratively."

"Sounds good." Peter followed as she lead the way towards the front of the little corner store and pharmacy, picking his way through the glass scattered across the doorway. Most of it had been tracked away or crushed underneath the boots of past looters, but the pieces that remained, dusty and dulled slightly by the passage of time, were still plenty sharp enough to slice through the worn soles of his Convers if he wasn't careful. "Did you find anything good?"

"You might say that," she said, pulling a little paper bag out from her jacket pocket. "Look what I found wedged in a corner between a desk and the wall. I dug it out from under a pile of trash that some mice were using as a nest."

Michelle handed the paper bag over to Peter. It was a sad, crumpled little thing. The edges were all bent, one corner eaten away, probably by the aforementioned mice, and rippled with water stains, but when he unrolled the top and peered inside, the contents made his heart skip with disbelief.

"No way!" he gasped, barely remembering to keep his voice down as he pulled one of several orange bottles out. The pills inside rattled while he rolled it over to read the lable. "You found real antibiotics? I can't believe it. Are they still good?"

"I think so," she said, taking the bottle and the bag back and shoving them into her pocket again. "They're past their expiration date on the label, but they're all still sealed, and antibiotics last like, a decade after expiration, right?"

"I think so..." Peter kept his eyes on the surroundings as they walked down the empty street. The only sounds were the rustling of leaves and trash in the light autumn breeze, and their voices echoing oddly against the empty streets. "We can check with Mr. Miller when we get back, he'll probably know, but that's a great find."

"I know." Michelle ducked her head, but the smile that tugged at her mouth and the corners of her eyes was enough to make Peter's heart flutter. "I told you it was worth coming here."

Definitely worth it, Peter thought. Michelle almost never smiled anymore.

"I guess," Peter admitted. "but we should still get back before anyone realizes we're not where we said we'd be."

"You worry too much." A fist knocked against his shoulder, so soft he barely felt it, but Peter still pretended to stumble as if from a mighty blow.

"Someone has to," Peter shrugged.

"I mean it." Michelle turned to look at him as she walked and her face was suddenly serious. "You work too hard. You're so thin you could hide behind a lamp post, and if the pools under your eyes get any bigger we're going to have to start calling you Robin."

"Robin?"

"Like the comics, Batman and Robin. I talked to the others. We had a vote. For the record, I voted to start calling you a raccoon and find you a nice box to live in beside the dumpster."

"Why couldn't I live in the dumpster?"

"Because we're using it."

"I'd rather be Batman."

"Batman would know when to take a break."

"As the bigger comic book nerd here, I strongly disagree."

"Shut up!" Michelle hissed, grabbing his sleeve.

"What? You started it."

"No, shut up. I think I heard something."

Peter froze and immediately began listening for anything out of the ordinary. At first, all he heard was the endless shuffling of dry leaves and decaying trash. Then he heard it, too. A distant hum that made his blood run cold.

"Oh, no," Peter breathed, freezing in his tracks. "Oh, crap. We gotta hide!"

At the end of the street sat an old bank, according to the bold lettering still bolted over the doorway. Peter and Michelle quickly scrambled through the broken windows and fled into the shadows of the interior.

"There! The counter!" Michelle grabbed Peter's sleeve and steered them behind the teller's counter. The thick glass that used to divide the bank workers from their patrons was fractured in several places, like some early rioters had tried to break through. Peter poked his head up behind one of these points, hoping the dirty, distorted glass would hide him from any passing glances. One hand reached for the wooden baseball bat that hung from his bag, slipping it free and twisting it anxiously in his grip.

Michelle was kneeling next to him, the whites of her eyes glinting bright in the light filtering in through the broken windows.

Outside, the humming was growing louder at an alarming speed. Peter held his breath as something huge and silver glided past the window. The alien on top of the scooter twisted its head around as it peered into the passing buildings. Those creepy yellow eyes met his and for a moment Peter could swear even his blood had frozen in fear. Then the eyes were passing on and the scooter rolled out of sight, it's unearthly hum fading now down the street.

"It's gone," Michelle breathed.

"That was way too close." Peter's fingers were still trembling where they gripped onto the counter. "Let's get out of here before it comes back."

-x-

After giving some time for the humming to fade away, Michelle and Peter made a run for the chain-link fence that marked the edge of the red-zone. No words were exchanged until long after they had slipped under the hole Michelle had discovered on her last run and the sight of the small town had been swallowed up by the thin forest on the other side.

The dingy old sedan was right where they'd left it, parked behind some bushes just off the main road. Peter threw his bag through the back window that didn't work anymore and slipped into the driver's seat while Michelle ripped the branches off the hood that they had left there for camouflage.

"We're good," she said as she took her place in the passenger's seat, her bag held on her lap.

Peter turned the key and the engine came to life with a reluctant whine. "You should put on your seatbelt," he said for the thousandth time, but he was too shaken to sit here and have the usual argument with her, so he hit the gas and they tore off down the street anyways.

-x-

Michelle was curled up in her seat, the bag hugged against her stomach and her head leaning against the dusty window, still not wearing her seat belt when they pulled into view of the camp a very long hour later.

"So what's your plan to explain all the stuff we found?" Peter asked, glancing at his bag in the back seat. "There's no way Mr. Miller is going to believe we got all of this from where we were supposed to be going. It's all been picked clean by now."

Mr. Miller had been one of the teachers at Peter's school, and was one of the very few adults in their camp, alongside Mr. Engler, their bus driver who had lost his leg in a crash during the initial blast, and Mrs. Twohey, a history teacher that Peter had only ever known in passing before all of this. She had already been well on her way to retirement before things fell apart. Some retirement.

"It's Thursday, right? Ned's in charge of inventory today. We can sneak in the back way and have him add it in quietly. Mr. Miller never even has to know."

"Wait, it's Thursday?" Peter asked, pulling up to one of the makeshift gates and flickering the headlights in a pattern he would probably have memorized for the rest of his life. "Are you sure?"

"Yep." Michelle dug around in her bag for a moment and pulled out something Peter hadn't seen in so long he nearly did a double take. "Happy birthday idiot," she said, handing over the Hostess Twinkie to a very speechless Peter. "Now stop gaping and hurry up, they're not going to hold the gates open forever."

"Oh!" Peter hit the gas a little to hard and the car lurched gracelessly forward through the open gateway.

"Just park behind the inventory, it'll be easier to sneak in that way," Michelle instructed. "So now that you're fourteen, what are your plans?"

"Oh you know, early retirement, enjoy the golden years. Fourteen's a pretty good age nowadays I hear. Maybe grow a mustache, that's all the rage."

Michelle burst into a laugh and smiled for the second time that day. "A mustache? You? I'm pretty sure I'll grow a mustache before you do."

"Do you... have plans to grow a mustache?" Peter asked through his own grin as he pulled to car to a shuddering halt behind a sturdy cabin. "Are you going to grow a beard to go with it?"

"I might. Why? You jealous?"

"Totally."

Michelle rolled here eyes with a small but definite smile and slipped from the car, shutting the door quietly behind herself. After taking a moment to check the surrounding area, she snuck up to the nearest window. "Ned!" she hissed, tapping on the glass. "Open up!"

End

[miracle-sham]

Vent Your Spleen Until You Keen.

| {Maribat 2k20 – Day 3: Out Sick} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] |

| Triggers/Warnings: Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Pneumonia, Concussions, Blood and Injury, Drowning, Explicit Language/some swearing. |

| Bloodied Robins aren't built to swim with clipped wings. Good thing the bats, birds, and bug are there to patch him up before it's too late. |

| Word count: 1968. |

==–==

| A/N: So as I mentioned in the authors note of the previous Ficlet, I got mugged in the dark dank alleyway by the Maribat2k20 MariTim prompt calendar and stabbed by the knife of inspiration. Except this time it was the angsty knife of inspo. So enjoy a nice but of hurt with comfort. |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics, or a specific Au, then send me a DM or an ask! |

| Also side note, Don't Like? Don't Read. Also please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

==–==

 Crashing into the Miller Harbour waters after being thrown from the roof of a warehouse is not how Tim thought his evening would go. Then again, earlier, he hadn't realised this drug trade would be a trap, meaning now he just so happens to be the unlucky bat to get caught. Or in this case, dumped in the harbour. Which is great. Lovely. Abso-fucking-lutely spectacular.

 The crack of the armoured suit and gear slamming into the dubiously murky waves is accentuated by the thrumming pain from where his back and neck take the brunt of the impact. Tim arches in pain as the air is knocked out of him, leaving him gasping for breath. It's not helped by the chilly water breaching his suit and stinging his open wounds. I'm going to get so sick from this, urgh. He grumbles internally. Even if he wasn't lacking a spleen, the harbour's waters are polluted enough to make probably even Superman sick.

 Tim kicks upwards and is struck with the realisation of oh no, oh fuck. As the water weighs his suit down even more and he starts to sink. The cold saps his energy and makes him clumsy. Fingers slipping at the straps and zips and security measures on his suit. Grimacing, he struggles, strength waning too quickly. Sploosh-Thwip-thwip-thunk-clink, chunks of his armour detach and sink below, significantly slowing his descent but he's still sinking.

 He fumbles around his belt for his rebreather and manages to get it over his mouth just as his vision loses colour and goes fuzzy around the edges. Breathing heavily, he listens to the creepy sound of the rebreather working and flurry of air bubbles surrounding it.

 Shit, I'm running out of time. Tim curses in his head. He keeps kicking and the water is looking lighter, meaning he's close. So close. But not close enough.

There's a thunderous splash as Tim breaches the surface. He doesn't stop—can't stop, not if he wants to live. His swimming is the only thing keeping his blood pumping and head above water.

 His vision blurts violently and the darkness at the edges of his sight flares. Not enough time, not enough. The bank is closer though, I might make it?

 Tim blacks out.

 One second he was swimming for his life, now he's lying face down on the cement bank, gasping for breath like a dying fish. He pushes himself up, muscles protesting and shaking from cold and pain. There's a shallow pool of watery blood surrounding him—not good but could be worse. Just need to get back to my Nest and I'll be fine.

 Tim fiddles around his remaining armour and gear, tapping the self destruct buttons for the discarded gear, and grasping at the grapple hook in relief—it would be a pain getting back home without it. He limps forward and shoots the grapple, swinging himself home.

 He barely makes it through deactivating his security measures and stumbles through his window. Limping over to his sofa, Tim immediately collapses and passes out—still in gear.

==–==

 The next day, Marinette's halfway through patrol and already fairly banged up—with a particularly nasty headache among other things—when she spots that the window to Tim's Nest is open. She swings by to inspect and sees his handiwork on the deactivation of his security measures. She hums and glanced through the window to look inside, thinking, Probably nothing to worry abo—

 Tim's lying half on the sofa, covered in blood and muck. He's pale—paler than usual—and his hair is plastered to his forehead. Breathing laboured and nasally, and shaking like a leaf. He looks sick and injured and he's not even managed to switch into civvies before passing out—not good, really not good.

 Okay maybe definitely something to worry about. Marinette mentally amends, a spike of worry slamming itself into her chest. Especially since no one's talked to or heard from him since early patrol yesterday... She climbs through the open window, closing it behind her and then resecures the security measures.

 With a whispered “Tikki, spots off,” she drops her transformation and wobbly bolts to Tim's side. Checking his pulse and status. Too-quick heartbeat, infected lacerations to the arms, legs, and torso, bruised or maybe broken ribs—Marinette flinches and takes a second to calm herself down so she doesn't retch—bruising to the side of the head, and a ton of minor bumps, scratches, and grazes from the looks of things. She then checks his other symptoms: rapid and shallow breathing with occasional wheezing, high temperature, sweating and shivering—clammy.

 Marinette chews her lip, eyes watering. “Oh, Tim…” She shakes her head, heart-pounding, and whips out her phone, scrolling down to the contact with shaky hands. It rings twice then picks up. “Leslie?” She cuts in as soon as the call connects, shoving the phone between her ear and shoulder to free her hands. “I'm at Red Robin's place and he's hurt, really bad, I—” She breathes in before recounting all his injuries and symptoms. “He's unconscious, and I think he's either in septic shock or got pneumonia, maybe both…” As she's talking, Marinette grabs the nearest first aid kit she can find and goes about cleaning out and patching up the injuries she can with the equipment she has.

 “I'll be able to treat him at the cave. How quickly can you get there?” Leslie answers in a clipped but calm tone.

 “Uhh…” Marinette pauses both in speech and in movement, “We'll need someone to drive him there because I can't drive. I don't know who's close enough and can drive. I'll call B, O, or Agent A after this.” She continues to apply first aid.

 “I'll be at the cave in twenty-five minutes,” Leslie responds, cutting the call off not a second later.

 She grabs her phone from her precarious ear-to-shoulder position and scrolls to Agent A's number and it only takes him one ring to answer. “A.” Marinette pulls the same thing she did with Leslie's call, cutting in before the other can speak whilst putting it back between her ear and shoulder so she can continue applying minor treatment. She repeats the same thing she told Leslie. “I've also called Leslie, she's heading to the cave now, she said she'll be about twenty-five minutes.”

 She doesn't quite catch all of Alfred's response because Tim wakes with a groan and coughs, his pupils are blown and his gaze is worryingly blank—glazed over. Marinette thinks she hears something about the batmobile and three minutes but she's more worried that it looks like he's concussed as well. “Concussion. He's also got a concussion.” Marinette relays on autopilot, and maybe she hears Alfred inhale sharply but she can't tell. She's not sure when or if the call ends but she's too stressed to care.

 She's fumbling with the first aid and it takes every speck of focus she's got to make sure she isn't making him worse—next thing she knows Nightwing and Red Hood and jumping through the window (security deactivated and opened first, so no broken windows here).

 Red Hood pulls Marinette away from Tim, and Nightwing carefully scoops his little brother up. The world blurs around her and then her vision wavers, going completely colour blind as it goes fuzzy and dark at the edges, getting worse and worse. She thinks Red Hood's talking to her, he's gripping her arm rather tightly, almost painfully but it's giving her something to anchor on to… But it's not enough, her vision spins, going completely black, and distantly she hears panicked yelling and feels the world tipping to one side—

 ==–==

 The world slowly comes to and Marinette's feeling absolutely wretched. She's lying on a medical cot from what she can tell, but her mind's so fuzzy. She doesn't want to open her eyes. People are talking in hushed tones the distance. She thinks this isn't the first time she's woken up here since—

 She has vague memories of opening her eyes and people bustling in and out of view, asking questions and doing things. She doesn't remember much.

 Then she hears a voice closer to her, she can't remember whose voice it is but it's warm and rumbly but not too gruff—familiar. “Hey kid, you awake again?”

 Marinette groans in protest—she would rather not be awake right now.

 “Yeah, yeah, you're in pain, life sucks. I know.” The voice sounds amused.

 She huffs in indignation which only causes the voice to bark with laughter.

 The voice quietens down after a second. “You an' Timbo gave us quite the scare y'know. Don't think I've ever seen B that worried before, when we dragged the both of you to the Batmobile.”

 Marinette hums, unsure how else to respond.

 “You've got a concussion if you're wondering, you were lucky I was already holding you up when you fainted. Could've made your concussion worse if you had hit the ground instead.”

 She groans again, the mention of the concussion brings the full throbbing pain in the back of her skull back to her attention. She huffs again to express her displeasure at the voice reminding her.

 The voice snorts—probably at her pain like a sadist. “Timbo's fine, by the way, surgery went off without a hitch. Even woke up a few times, so if you're up and about the next time he wakes up you can help the others smother him with love and affection.”

 Marinette smiles lopsidedly. “Coo'.”

==–==

 Of course, the first thing she does once she's no longer bed-bound, and Tim's awake and somewhat healed, is take Jason's (it took her a while to recognise it was him who had been speaking to her) advice. In the form of her relentlessly hugging Tim like a clingy koala—much to his joy and begrudging dismay.

 “Mari… please.” Tim begs, staring at the ceiling as if it would somehow save him.

 If anything his words prompt her to hug him even tighter, “Nope! I will hug you for as long as I physically can.”

 In exasperation, he exclaims, “Mari, no!”

 “Mari, yes!” She shoots him a smug grin.

 “Mari please.” 

 “Tim, I will keep hugging you.” Marinette threatens

 “Mari, let go.” He says with no real intent behind his words.

 “No letting go! Only hugs or death!” She declares with an even smugger grin.

 He grins back then dramatically proclaims, “Guess I'll die then.”

 “No!” She half screeches, struggling to contain her giggles.

 “Oh no! I'm dying! Blargh!” He lays back down on the medical bed, pretending to die dramatically. “Marinette, as my dying words I must tell you that—that I—I—” He fake coughs and lets himself go limp.

 “Tim! Nooo! Clearly, the only way to save you from dying is to give you the magical fairytale kiss of life!” As soon as she says that, not giving him any time to react, she pecks him on the lips.

 “Wow, I'm alive again, what a miracle!”

==–==

 Around the corner, unbeknownst to the two, Jason eyes Dick with amusement. “You taking blackmail photos there, Dickiebird?”

 Dick makes an undignified squawking sound and nearly drops his phone. If not for his bat training, he definitely would have dropped it. Trying to pull off an air of nonchalance, he leans against. “Pfft! What are you talking about? Of course I'm not, I'm just collecting evidence that Timmy's okay. For uh Bruce and Alfred's sake. And the Teen Titans too, they've all been worried once they heard how bad he got.”

 Jason snorts. “"For evidence he's okay", sure you are.”

 Dick narrows his eyes. “If you tell anyone, I'll release all the cute photos I have of you when you were still wearing the Robin suit.”

 Jason gasps. “You wouldn't dare!”

 Dick grins. “Try me, Little Wing.”

 Raising his hands up, Jason backs away. “Fine! You win!”

==–==

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

@maribat-2k20

[aeaean--bliss]

the kanadovs part 7

summary: in order to retrieve some important documents, Y/N has to pretend to be the wife of the person she hates the most. (enemies to ???)

pairing: Pietro x Reader

chapter list

masterlist

part six

Part Seven

You applied your makeup before changing into the dress. Glancing at your watch, you realised it was almost nine o’clock. You hurried out into the hallway, knowing it was only a matter of seconds before he started whining.

Putting your earrings on while looking in the mirror, you happened to glance at him. He was leaning against the wall to the bathroom in his tux, his arms crossed and his eyes on you. He seemed to be lost in thought, so you decided to wake him up.

“You lose something over here or something?” you said aggressively, and his eyes snapped up to meet yours. 

He quickly averted his gaze and turned around, walking out onto the balcony and gazing outside. You rolled your eyes and grumbled some unclear profanities under your breath as you slipped your shoes on.

The two of you entered the gala and were met with a large crowd of people. Nobody seemed to notice you slipping in among the people, and that suited you nicely.

“Let’s split up,” Pietro muttered in Sokovian. “That way we’ll find it quicker.” 

You nodded and started moving away from him, when you felt something pull you back. 

“Be careful.” 

You inhaled sharply, before tensing your jaw.

“I can take care of myself.” 

You moved towards the bar and he sighed. He watched you as you walked away, before heading towards the gambling tables.

He began to play, engaging in introductions and small talk with the people there.

“You have a beautiful wife, if you don’t mind me saying.” 

Pietro laughed habitually as if the comment were a joke, turning around to see who had spoken to him. It was one of Verratti’s business partners whom he’d introduced himself to earlier that week. Miller, or something. 

“What, you don’t agree?” the man asked, furrowing his brows.

 Pietro’s eyes moved to you, who were chatting to a few couples on the other side of the room. He realised his outburst didn’t make him seem like a loving husband, and tried to think of a cover-up.

“I’ve never given it much thought,” he responded, cringing instantly at his lack of character. 

The man frowned again.

“Never? Why, how could you not?” 

Pietro cleared his throat.

“I always liked her personality, really,” he replied, and the man seemed satisfied.

“You’re a very classy man, Mr. Kanadov, but surely even you can see that she is a gorgeous woman. If you don’t mind me saying.” 

Pietro’s eyes flickered over to you again.

“Yes, yes she is.” 

Mr. Miller- or whatever his name was, chuckled and walked away, but Pietro’s eyes remained on you. He watched from the poker table as you conversed, frowning when he saw you laughing and smiling. His expression turned into one of thoughtful confusion.

“Mr. Kanadov, your bet?” 

He snapped back into reality, shaking his head to himself and resumed his game.

“I can assure you our interests are perfectly honourable,” you chuckled, taking a sip of your drink. 

You felt a nudge at your side, and turned around to see your loving husband standing beside you.

“I think it might be time for a dance,” he said, his voice husky. 

His breath tickled your ear, and you glanced over at the Verrattis, whom you had been talking to before you were interrupted.

“Oh, but I was having such a lovely conversation with Silvia and Luca,” you said, sugarcoating your voice as much as you could and batting your eyelashes. 

Once again, he felt himself struggling to hear you speaking with a Russian accent, but he brushed it off. 

“For instance, did you know that Luca’s father was-”

“I really like this song, Milana. Please?” he asked, sending you a discreet yet pointed look. 

You nodded and placed your drink on a nearby counter.

“Do excuse us,” you said, turning to the Verrattis. “He is a hopeless romantic, and cannot withstand dancing if he can help it.” 

The Verrattis smiled and nodded understandingly, chuckling between them.

“Of course.” 

You nodded in return, smiling. Pietro took your hand, something that made you jump slightly in surprise, and he led you out onto the floor, where other couples were dancing. He gripped your hand and wrapped his other hand around your waist, leaning in close. You weren’t used to him standing this close, but took a deep breath to remain calm. You felt the familiar knot beginning to form in your stomach, but you quickly forced it away. You rested your head on his shoulder as you moved to the slow music, sighing softly.

“It’s on the 17th floor,” he mumbled in Sokovian, his mouth mere millimetres from your ear. You refrained from shivering.

“What do you propose we do?” you mumbled back, also in Sokovian. Even though it was doubtful anyone else here understood Sokovian, it was best to keep your voice down to be on the safe side.

“We need an excuse to gain access to the other floors. The guards are stationed at the bottom of the stairs on the first floor, to prevent anyone from going up, but if we can get past them, we can go anywhere.” 

You furrowed your brows ever so slightly in thought, before glancing around the room.

“Follow my lead,” you whispered, closing your eyes, before slowly crumpling to the ground. 

Pietro was on the ground in seconds.

“Milana? Milana!” he exclaimed, and you could hear the distress in his voice. 

He fumbled for a pulse on your wrist, before patting your cheek to wake you up, albeit almost a slap. You heard gasps and exclamations around you, along with the shuffle of feet.

“Is everything alright? What happened?” somebody asked.

“Señor Hernandez! My wife, she must have fainted. Is there anywhere I could take her so she can lie down?” Pietro asked desperately. Hernandez must have taken a few seconds to think it over, before responding.

“Of course,” he replied. 

It was as if he was reluctant to the idea, but had come to the conclusion that it could not harm anybody. 

“There is a room on the third floor where she can rest. Come, I’ll take you.” 

You felt Pietro slip his arms underneath you and pick you up, and you thanked the heavens for having gone for a knee-length dress.You heard footsteps, and you figured you must have been on your way to the stairs. The sound of the party died out, and the clicking of shoes on marble was the only sound that could be heard.

“Señor Hernandez, come quick!” a voice shouted, and Pietro stopped moving.

“Please lead Mr. and Mrs. Kanadov to a room on the third floor, and give them their privacy,” Hernandez said, and you assumed he was speaking to a guard.

“Very well,” someone else responded.

“I hope you can forgive me, but I have some other business I need to attend to.”

“Of course, I would hate to keep you. Thank you very much for your hospitality,” Pietro said, which was met with a chuckle from Hernandez. 

Pietro started moving again, and you tried your best to lay still.

part eight

[aion-rsa]

The Many Deaths of the Joker

https://ift.tt/2IxLjBw

There have been many stories to kill off the Clown Prince of Crime, but Batman's greatest enemy isn't so easy to get rid of for good.

facebook

twitter

tumblr

In fictional worlds where heroes and villains who can shrug off bullets like they were nothing, there exists “plot armor” for the more ordinary folks. Plot armor is the reason why the Punisher can mosey through a room with an uzi in each hand and somehow kill every single enemy while somehow never getting shot in any vital area. It’s why Stormtroopers have the worst aim and why the red-shirted Enterprise dudes have all the bad luck.

I’m having a hard time coming up with someone with stronger plot armor in comic books than the Joker. Hell, even Frank Castle died at least twice in continuity. The Joker should be dead a million times over, not just due to his injuries, but because with all the lives he’s taken, surely somebody would have murdered him by now. But again, not only does he take vicious beatings, if he isn’t apprehended at the end of a story, he usually falls off a cliff or is at the heart of an explosion or gets hit by a truck.

Then he’s back the next time, no worse for the wear.

While the comics won’t ever truly get rid of him, there are many continuities that have done away with Mr. J. Yet even then, the Joker is never really gone. He tends to haunt and taunt Batman in one way or another via his violent legacy. For someone with such an ill-defined identity, he sure is resilient.

So here's a look at all the times the Joker has died (or apparently died) in comics and on the screen.

Main Comics Continuity

Joker dying in main comics canon is an iffy subject. There have been times when he's been clinically dead, only to be brought back minutes later. Like the time Nightwing beat him within an inch of his life. He's even taken a couple of dips in the Lazarus Pit.

read more: Every DC Comics and Batman Easter Egg in the Joker Movie

But here, let's focus on Joker's second comics appearance. In Detective Comics #64, Joker decides to turn himself in and confess to every one of his crimes. The confused judge sentences him to death. Joker is put in the electric chair and acts like he's got stuff to do so wrap it up, B! Minutes after his death, his goons sneak in, find his body, and inject it with some special kind of serum that awakens the very recently deceased.

Joker pops back up and continues his life of crime. His reasoning? They can't charge him for the stuff he already did! That's double jeopardy!

Tim Burton's Batman

Jack Nicholson’s Joker completely ate it at the end of Tim Burton’s Batman. He fell from a great height while dragged down by a gargoyle. We saw the body. Dude was absolutely dead.

And he stayed that way! After that first movie, the most mention Joker got in that universe was a brief allusion in Batman Forever when Batman told Robin that revenge leads to emptiness.

We almost got a bit more of him, though! Before Batman and Robin ruined the concept of fun and killed that franchise, Joel Schumacher was originally going to do a fifth movie in that universe. Batman Triumphant would have revolved around Scarecrow and Harley Quinn as the new villains. Scarecrow means fear gas and that would have meant Batman getting a hallucination sequence.

What would Batman fear the most? Probably the skin-dyed dirtbag that killed his parents. And so, had the movie existed, we would have had a scene of Jack Nicholson's Joker confronting Batman during a psychological breakdown.

The movie would have been a dumpster fire, but...man, part of me is bummed we never got it.

Similarly, an unused Superman vs. Batman script from the early '00s would have included a plot point where Lex Luthor cloned the Joker to bring him back as part of a scheme to traumatize Bruce Wayne out of retirement and trick him into fighting Superman. Probably the most sensible reason to connect Lex and Joker.

Batman for the NES

Sunsoft made Batman: The Video Game for NES and the story was the general plot of the movie, only with lots and lots of ninjas and robots added because Batman needs something to fight. The ending is roughly the same, though Batman is a bit more cold-blooded. He beats the Joker down, tells him, “You killed my parents,” and then tosses him to his doom. We see Joker’s lifeless corpse and roll credits.

read more: Joker Movie Review

Then a year later, they released Batman: Return of the Joker. The Joker returns with some scheme involving stealing explosive metals and...he’s back. He’s alive again. Somehow. Neither the game nor the manual have any explanation. Just go with it.

Upon further review, both the Genesis and arcade adaptations of the movie make it vague whether or not falling from the top of a cathedral is enough to take out the Joker, so maybe Jack Nicholson's Joker is more resilient than anyone ever realized.

The Dark Knight Strikes Again

Dark Knight Returns features one of the most chilling incarnations of the Joker, who comes out of a catatonic state the moment he finds out Batman is back on the streets. Joker’s killing spree goes farther than the 1980s comic-reading public was used to and Batman ALMOST has it in him to kill the Joker for good. Since killing Joker is neither a horseshoe nor a hand grenade, Joker finishes the job by snapping his own neck and making it look like Batman’s finally gone over the line, thereby making him a prime target of the authorities.

Enduring one massive beating and a fake death (which people regard as “totally beat Superman in a fight” for some reason) later, Batman is fine.

Many years later, Frank Miller made his sequel Dark Knight Strikes Again, otherwise known as, “that mess.” In a story that focuses on Lex Luthor and Brainiac while including lots of DC heroes and Hal Jordan’s dinosaur space penis, the Joker appears a couple of times as a looming threat. He kills the Creeper, Guardian, and even Martian Manhunter while bringing up the mystery of who he could possibly be.

read more: The Secrets of the Joker Movie

Joker II shows up at the end of the comic as a kind of final boss showdown. He is, in fact, Dick Grayson, whose only mention in the original story was not being on speaking terms with Bruce. As the story goes, Batman fired him for being an incompetent whiner once upon a time and rather than celebrate being free of the lunatic that is Miller Batman, Dick instead went a bit mad and allowed Luthor and Brainiac to give him shape-shifting/quick-healing powers.

Even though he’s capable of surviving decapitations and the like, Joker II is eventually done in by getting knocked into some lava. Can’t heal if there’s nothing left of you.

Justice League: The Nail

Back in the late-90s, Alan Davis and Mark Farmer put together a three-issue Elseworlds story called The Nail. This “what if” tale shows how the DC Universe would have formed had Superman’s rocket not been discovered by the Kents. Without Superman as a symbol, metahumans aren’t exactly looked upon with love and astonishment. It’s more of an X-Men deal where the public’s mood is, “Thanks for saving the world...I guess.”

As part of the comic’s big villain conspiracy (and I won’t spoil who’s behind everything), the Joker is armed with a pair of gauntlets made from Kryptonian tech. They make him virtually unstoppable and he proceeds to liberate Arkham Asylum and then make the Bat-villains fight each other to the death for his amusement. Batman, Robin, and Batgirl appear and Alan Davis finally answers the question, “What would it take for Batman to murder the Joker?”

The answer: have the Joker use his telekinetic gauntlets to slowly and painfully tear Robin and Batgirl to pieces while forcing Batman to watch. Jesus. Yeah. That’ll do it.

With some assistance from Catwoman, Batman’s able to free himself, damage the gauntlets and snap Joker’s neck. While the public display and selective context makes the Justice League look bad, nobody takes the incident harder than Batman himself. Both the graphic deaths of his sidekicks and the realization that he murdered a man sends him to the brink of sanity. It’s the comfort of Catwoman, who becomes Batwoman, that keeps him from falling apart.

read more: The Actors Who Have Played the Joker

Regardless, once the story is over, Batman gives himself up to the police. He’s acquitted of murder charges, but chooses to leave the Justice League.

Several years later, we get Another Nail, which basically exists to give upbeat closure to a story that had a bunch of downers. Batman continues to fight crime in Gotham, but he starts hearing the Joker’s laughter. Due to the convoluted plot of the miniseries, things are screwy with the afterlife and the Joker is able to escape Hell.

Threatening to kill Batwoman, Joker – who has Carnage-like powers – fights Batman. Batman attempts to sacrifice himself by tackling Joker back to Hell, but the spririts of Robin and Batgirl rescue him. Batman finally decides to get on with his life and rejoin the Justice League.

Kingdom Come

The Joker’s death in Kingdom Come is a major turning point for society. After Joker murders Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen, and a lot of other people at the Daily Planet, he’s apprehended by the police. We’ll never know how Superman would have instinctively dealt with his loss since new superhero hotness and Cable pastiche Magog stops by to vaporize the handcuffed Joker.

Magog is put on trial, everyone and their mother is pretty okay with the Joker being murdered in any way, and Superman leaves in a huff. This causes a new dawn of “superheroism” where it’s less about heroism and more about people in cool costumes getting into fights with no care for anything but themselves. You know, kind of like a Zack Snyder movie.

While the Joker doesn’t come back from the dead, he does inspire one troublemaker to become the new Joker’s Daughter (otherwise known as Harlequin). Although we never get much on her, as she’s mostly a recurring background character, she represents the chaotic world where the mighty can do what they want while the weak are left deal with the consequences.

read more: How Joaquin Phoenix Became the Joker

It does remind me that one of the most clever moments in the whole comic is when Batman betrays Lex Luthor and admits to only joining up with him in the first place in order to see what Shazam’s deal was. As he puts it, Shazam is a wild card and if there’s anything Batman hates, it’s a wild card.

Love that.

Batman Beyond

Batman: The Animated Series is arguably better than sliced bread and its dark future Batman Beyond wasn’t bad either. Despite taking place years in the future, the writers were stingy on the details of what became of a lot of the old guard. While we got to see what became of Mr. Freeze and Bane, bigger deal characters like Robin and Joker were glazed over.

At most, during the show’s run, we saw that the Joker was replaced with an ever-changing circus-themed gang called the Jokerz. That was cool and all and fits into the nature of this list, but Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker went even further.

read more: The Best Episodes of Batman Beyond

In the dying days of the Animated Series era, the Joker kidnapped and tortured Tim Drake Robin. He warped the poor boy, made him squeal about Batman’s secret identity, and then transformed him into a giggling child version of the Joker. Depending on which version you watch, Tim would get his revenge by either shooting Joker in the chest or electrocuting him to death.

In the Beyond era, the Joker appears yet again, making the futuristic Batman Terry McGuiness question the many ways that’s possible. In the end, the Joker turns out to be Tim Drake, unknowingly taken over by a secret implant that transforms him into having the Joker’s DNA and personality. Terry is able to put an end to this Joker by frying the implant with an electric joy buzzer.

Batman: Digital Justice

Speaking of the future, there’s this Elseworlds taking place towards the end of the 21st century. While the Joker presumably died of old age, considering Batman retired, he lives on in the form of a sentient computer virus and...

For God's sake, look at that thing. Actually, better idea, let’s not. Just...next entry.

Batman: Red Rain

Throughout the '90s, Doug Moench and Kelley Jones did a trilogy of Elseworlds stories based on the very simple high concept of Batman being a literal "bat man." In the story Red Rain, Batman gets bitten by a vampire and fights Dracula. It’s pretty rad. Batman wins and Dracula’s dead for good.

A couple of years later, they did a sequel called Bloodstorm, which is based on the very human Joker leading Dracula’s horde for the sake of taking over the criminal underworld. Vampire Batman teams up with Selina Kyle, who also goes literal by being a werecat. Selena’s love is the only thing keeping Batman from going all-you-can-eat-buffet, so once Joker kills her with a crossbow, Batman has nothing left to keep him in check. Although part of him tries to fight it, he still powers through multiple crosses and holy water to snap Joker’s neck and feed on his blood.

Being that Batman is the smartest dude, he knows to shove a stake through Joker’s heart just in case...because Vampire Joker is the last thing we need.

It’s moot, since not only has Batman killed his rival, but he’s given into his vampire instincts. He has his buds Alfred and Commissioner Gordon stake him to prevent any further benders.

read more: Creating a New Joker Origin Story

Those two, unfortunately, never got around to removing his head, so despite being rendered immobile, Batman is still kicking. A few months later, Alfred removes the stake because Alfred is dumb as hell in this world. Not only does Batman have a taste for blood while being driven insane from months of his body rotting, but it’s implied a few times that ingesting Joker’s specific blood makes him even more out-of-control.

Yeah, things do NOT end well for any named character in that final chapter.

Batman 666

During Grant Morrison’s lengthy run on Batman’s comics, he wrote a one-off story in Batman #666 that depicts Damian Wayne as a more ruthless Batman in the future who may or may not have sold his soul to the actual devil. There are two alternate follow-ups to this story. One of which has Damian adopt and raise Terry McGinnis, leading to a take on the Batman Beyond era.

Then there’s a path where everything goes wrong. The Joker has died and while we don’t know the details, we do know that the madman had his own failsafe. In his death, he releases a virus that transforms its victims into Joker-like monsters, like a clown version of 28 Days Later.

Damian Batman finds a baby who appears to be immune to the virus, but his attempts to use the child to create a cure leads to disaster when he discovers that the baby is merely a carrier. Overwhelmed by infected clown people, Damian watches in horror as Gotham is nuked to contain the outbreak.

I think I like the first future better.

The Arkham Games

In the Rocksteady Arkham trilogy, Joker suffers from injecting himself with Titan, an upgraded version of the Venom drug that gives Bane his strength. In the aftermath, he’s dying, so he figures he’ll inject his own poisoned blood into Batman’s veins to push Batman into finding a cure. I’m guessing Joker saw that episode of South Park where Cartman had AIDS and had a moment of inspiration.

Though Batman cures himself, Joker shivs him. Either because he thinks Batman’s going to leave him to die or because shivving seemed like a good idea at the moment. That makes Batman drop the antidote and Joker succumbs to illness and dies, laughing at Batman’s claim that he was totally about to give him the antidote after all.

Then in Arkham Knight, we discover that having Joker blood in your system plus breathing in Scarecrow’s fear toxin transforms you into superhero Fight Club. Joker appears in visions while Batman (and some other soon-to-be-dead saps who also have Joker blood) gradually becomes Joker-like in behavior and appearance.

Batman ultimately wins out by turning the two infections against each other and confronting Joker with his own fear: being dead and forgotten. Batman goes back to normal and gets back to his mission of handing Scarecrow a knuckle sandwich.

Gotham

Batman prequel Gotham features Jerome Valeska, as played by Cameron Monaghan. Jerome is what I’d call the How I Met Your Mother of Jokers. He’s the Joker, but not really. The narrative plays up that he's either the actual Joker, he'll somehow create the Joker, or he's just thematically the Joker.

For all intents and purposes, he’s the Joker. Until he isn't. And then it's revealed that actually his twin brother is the Joker. Don't ask. Gotham is bonkers.

The charismatic psychopath and showman is killed off early in the second season during an attempt on the life of the adolescent Bruce Wayne. He gets stabbed in the neck by Theo Galavan in an act of betrayal, but dies with blood covering his lips as he smiles. Various people watch footage of Jerome on TV and go into giggling fits, including two guys who laughingly murder a homeless person, then turn on each other.

read more: Joker Movie Ending Explained

With that not being enough for viewers, they then go and bring Jerome back to life via televised comic book science. He eventually dies for reals by falling off a building while cackling, but sends his brother Jeremiah a jack-in-the-box booby trap that infects him with a venom that turns his skin white, hair green, and makes him gradually go crazy. Sure enough, Jeremiah goes on to commit crimes as "Mr. J."

Coincidentally, Jerome’s father, a fortune teller, claimed that Jerome would leave behind a legacy of death and madness. Sounds about right.

Injustice: Gods Among Us

The Injustice: Gods Among Us storyline is the aftermath of the Joker growing bored of messing with Batman and moving on to Superman. Using some kryptonite-laced fear gas, Joker gets Superman to hallucinate that a pregnant Lois Lane is Doomsday. Lois’ heart is linked to a detonator that nukes Metropolis upon her thrown-into-space death.

This especially puts Superman in a bad mood to the point that he appears before the captured Joker and impales him with his fist. Over the next five years, Superman doubles down on his decision and ultimately transforms into a frustrated dictator.

read more - The Many Deaths of Injustice: Gods Among Us

Over the years, as Superman’s hold on the world becomes more frightening, Jason Bard starts up a protest group invoking the Joker’s image. Superman doesn’t take this well and fries a whole lot of them in a fit of anger. Even then, the Joker Clan grows to become an anarchist underground counter to Superman’s regime. Even though Harley Quinn has grown to despise the Joker and what he stood for, she chooses to become the leader.

Then a handful of superheroes from the regular DC Universe are brought in via portal. Inadvertently, Joker is one of them. He quickly takes over the Joker Clan and wins over the heart of Harley, undoing years of personal progress on her part. Eventually, that world’s Lex Luthor helps Harley break the spell and she not only beats the shit out of that Joker until he begs his world’s Batman to take him home, but her more loyal Joker Clan members rebranded themselves as the Harley Horde.

Injustice 2 has Joker as a playable character and the various intro dialogues come up with different options of what his deal might be. In terms of the game's canon story, he's nothing more than a fear illusion that Harley has to fight through.

The Batman Who Laughs

Then there's the most literal take on a Joker death that affects Batman. In this world, after Joker infects some kids with a Joker virus, Batman seems to have enough and snaps his neck. Then again, Batman insists that Joker died due to the chemicals in his system finally catching up with him.

read more: The Inside Story of The Batman Who Laughs

It's discovered that the Joker has a chemical curse that comes with his death. An airborne virus that infects whoever is nearest to him when he dies. That means that Batman transforms into a white-skinned, cackling maniac. Known as The Batman Who Laughs, he kills his allies, turns Damian into a Joker Jr., and goes on a worldwide killing spree that eventually sets its sights on the main DC Universe. As it turns out, the only way to defeat a Batman/Joker hybrid is to have Batman and the Joker work together.

Gavin Jasper writes for Den of Geek and appreciates that Flashpoint Batman killed the Joker a couple hours before the world exploded. That’ll get you the last laugh. Read more of his articles here and follow him on Twitter @Gavin4L

facebook

twitter

tumblr

Feature

TV

Games

Movies

Gavin Jasper

Oct 7, 2019

Joker

Batman

Gotham

DC Entertainment

from Books https://ift.tt/2VlyBe5

[adhduck]

Why the Change of Mind (More a Change of Heart) Ch 6

@blyedeeks​ thanks again for being the biggest motivation for this and also like, it’s godmother, tbh. also @muffinblake​ @dr-camerongoodkin​ because u wanted this updated first in the poll thing <3

(Ch 1) (Ch 2) (Ch 3) (Ch 4) (Ch 5) (AO3)

Strangers Starting Out on a Journey

Clair was woken roughly by a large hand on her shoulder and an accompanying voice saying, “Rise and shine, Princess. We need to leave.”

           “Hey, leave her be, it’s barely dawn,” another voice – Lincoln’s – protested.

           “Yes, and that’s the time we needed to be leaving. Any earlier and people will be out and about, which will make it much harder for a group of four people to get out of town without being seen. So come on, get up.” He pushed at her shoulder one more time and she finally relented, opening her eyes blearily.

           It took her a moment to reprocess where she was and what was going on, and when she did she was still not sure it had happened. Was she really doing this? Running away from her clan, tagging along with some strangers to find a long-lost parent that might not even be hers? She’d never been far from home before, and surely Anya would look for them eventually.

           Then she thought of the forest, the images pressing in the back of her head without shape, and she got out of bed.

           Bellamy smirked at her as she patted down her hair awkwardly, realizing it was going to be a tangled mess without a brush or way to pull it back. She gave him a quick glare, forcing her eyes not to linger on his uncomfortably good-looking bedhead – it couldn’t be fair to be that attractive all the time and be a jerk – and made up the bed as best she could. If anyone came looking, the least they could do was make it look like no one had been there for a while.

           Miller gave her a nod of approval as he finished his own bed and grabbed four large backpacks from the back corner, passing one to each traveler. “This should have enough food and supplies to last us for a while, and if that doesn’t work I assume you can hunt?” He inclined his eyes to Lincoln.

           He nodded. “Except I doubt I can bring my bow along for fear of being noticed, which would only leave me with my knives.”

           “Can you still do it, if needed?” Bellamy asked, seeming distracted by whatever he was checking in his own backpack.

           “Yes, and Clair can too if you give her something. She’s better than I am.”

           Clair couldn’t help but lift a little at his remark, and Bellamy side-eyed her. “The Princess can hunt, huh? Then I guess you’ll need one of these.” He held out a large knife, hilt out, and she took it carefully.

There was nowhere good to put it on the clothes Bellamy had given her – they were simple and strategically useless – so she went to the pile of her old clothes, which they would dump once they were further from the town. She uncoiled the small weapons belt to retie it around her, tucking the knife into one of the sheaths.

           She noticed Bellamy eyeing her. “What?”

           He blinked, seeming almost embarrassed. “Sorry, I just noticed the gun holster. I forget your people use those now.” He paused, then reached at his side and pulled out a pistol from his waistband. “Think you’ll need one of these, too?”

           Clair considered for a moment, but realized that appeared to be his only weapon and shook his head. “I’ll only need the knife.”

           He raised an eyebrow. “Good to know the Princess has some confidence in her abilities.”

           “Oh, shut up,” she said, piling the rest of the clothes into her arms. “You said we needed to hurry, right? So let’s hurry.”

           There was a little light when they left, but not much—only enough for Bellamy and Miller, who seemed used to working under cover of darkness, to lead the way. She had a little more trouble adjusting and kept to the middle, Lincoln right on her back.

           “We should be able to avoid any early-risers if we stick to the back alleys,” Miller murmured to Bellamy. “Just as long as we—”

           “Is someone there?” The unfamiliar voice rang out from much too close and Bellamy cursed under his breath, backing them further into the shadows.

           “I know I heard something, so if you’re looking for trouble, just come out now.” There was a distinct edge to the voice, a promise that trouble would be more than some choice words.

           “You three, head that way and out,” Bellamy whispered urgently. “Miller, you know the way. I’ll handle this guy.”

           Clair thought of what Miller had said the night before, about how bad to would be for Bellamy if he got caught. “No, I’ll do it.”

           “What?” the three of them hissed simultaneously; she quieted them urgently.

           “You two will get recognized and dragged away,” she argued, pointing at him and Miller while trying to ignore the sound of a door slamming closed and footsteps. She lowered her voice. “And Lincoln doesn’t look much like Skaikru still, so I’m the only option. I’ll just talk the guy down and find my way out.”

           “Come out now!” cried the voice, louder now. She heard the click of a gun and felt her stomach lurch.

           “Go!” she urged, throwing Lincoln her pack and batting them away with her hands, then turned and stepped away, into the light.

           “Okay, okay, don’t do anything,” she said, arms raised in a show of surrender. “I don’t mean any harm.”

           The figure stepped forward; he was thinly built with narrow eyes and a crooked snarl. He had a pistol in his hands, though at least it was pointed at the ground instead of her. “What are you doing on my property? I own this whole area, you know, not just the house. Being in those alleyways around it is trespassing.”

           “Sorry, sir, I didn’t realize,” Clair said, holding up her hands defensively. “My family’s visiting for a few days and I wanted to catch a sunrise, see if it’s any different here.”

           The man snorted. “There’s no difference in sunrises, you idiot. But at least it explains why you don’t seem to know who I am or where property lines are.”

           Clair swallowed, relieved he was already seeing her as just an ignorant teenager. “You’re...well-known, then?”

           “I’m Commander Shumway, head of the scouts, of course I’m well-known.” He paused, looked her over skeptically; she shifted so the knife sheath wasn’t noticeable. “Be warned that if I see you around again, I’ll send you straight to the juvenile center, visitor or not, Miss....”

           He trailed off, clearly wanting her to fill in the blank, and Clair balked. She didn’t know if her name was passable in Skaikru, and she didn’t want to find out testing it against a irritable scout master with a gun. “It’s...Clarke, Mr. Shumway.”

           “Got a last name with that, Clarke? If I see your parents around either I want to give them a piece of my mind, too.”

           Clair scrambled for a last name she knew and remembered what Miller had called Bellamy when he was yelling at him earlier. “Blake. The name’s Clarke Blake.”

           Shumway froze. “Blake? As in Bellamy Blake?”

           There was something about his tone that made Clair’s hair stand on end. This had to be one of the guys Bellamy had gotten on the bad side of. She went for a confused tone. “Who?”

           “Bellamy Blake,” he repeated, slower, like she was two years old. “The wanted criminal.”

           “Criminal? Well, there are none of those in my family, sir. Just my mom and my dad and me. We live a long way up north, near the mountains, you see, and there isn’t much news up there.”

           Shumway stared at her skeptically for a moment, his fingers twitching on his gun. Clair didn’t even dare to breathe. “Then get out of here,” he grunted at last. “Before I change my mind.”

           Not about to reject his offer, Clair turned and ran the opposite direction, weaving in and out of houses with only minimal care of how loud she was being until, after a few bad turns, she saw the edge of town and the three figures waiting half-hidden in the tree line.

           “What happened? Are you okay?” Lincoln demanded, looking over her anxiously.

           “I’m fine, Lincoln,” she promised, batting his nervous hands away from her face. “Nothing happened; the guy just asked me what I was doing and I told a bunch of lies until he let me go.”

           “Who was the guy, anyway?” Miller asked. “He sounded familiar.”

           Clair tried very hard to not look at Bellamy, but her eyes flitted over to him anyway. “Said his name was Commander Shumway.”

           Sure enough, Bellamy froze, muscles tightening until the veins bulged in his neck. Surprisingly, though, he stayed silent.

           “Shumway? Commander Shumway?” Miller hissed. “You’re sure?” Clair nodded, and he whistled. “Well, then congrats on getting out of that one unscathed. Not everyone who goes his way is that lucky.”

           Bellamy cleared his throat loudly and flexed his hands and if trying to force feeling back into them. He wouldn’t look at her. “If you’re alright, we should head out. Before someone else gets interested in you.”

           The next town was only about an hour’s walk, but it felt like much longer to Clair; winter would be setting in soon, and her clothes weren’t designed for frigid temperatures. She thought of the thick shirt and armor they’d dumped some miles back longingly, but said nothing to the others. Besides the scouting jacket Bellamy wore, none of them had good clothes for these temperatures.

           Scouting jacket.

           Clair nearly stopped dead in her tracks. How had she not noticed before? Bellamy was a scout, or had been at least. He must’ve known Shumway; maybe that was even the link to the past he refused to share. Her veins buzzed with newfound curiosity, and she slowed her step casually to fall in line with Miller.

           “Can I ask you a question?” she asked, low enough for the others to not overhear.

           Miller raised an eyebrow, probably sensing this wasn’t going to be a question he’d enjoy, but nodded.

           “What happened between Bellamy and that Shumway guy?”

           He winced a little, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s my call.”

           “Come on, Miller, I nearly got shot giving you guys time to get out,” she pleaded, though that wasn’t quite true. “I just want to know why he flinched at the mention of that guy’s name like he was about to get shot.”

           “Well....” Miller glanced Bellamy up ahead; he walked stiffly. “It’s really not my place, Clair. Sorry.” She sighed in defeat and went to move forward, but he grabbed her arm. “Don’t ask him about it, okay? If he wants to talk about it, he will, but it’s a sensitive subject for him. You’ve probably pieced together that Bellamy was under Shumway at some point, but that’s the tip of a very painful iceberg.”

           “But—” Clair started, then dropped her head. “Yeah, okay. No questions from me.”

           “Thanks, Clair. Now keep moving.”

           They managed to make it into town before Clair’s hands could freeze, and Miller left them at a small park while he took Bellamy’s mystery backpack into town to do some trading. Not wanting to attract attention, they just sat on a bench and talked about mindless, fake topics—a brother Bellamy didn’t have, Lincoln’s fieldwork, what Clair was learning in school. It was sort of fun, making up another life for herself, but then she realized she was almost doing that already and grew quieter.

           “Hey, Princess, not a one-way conversation here,” Bellamy said, nudging her.

           She blinked at the lack of malice in his tone. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “What were you talking about again? Your girlfriend, or your mom? The descriptions blur together.”

           He snorted. “My uncle, actually. He works in a factory, remember? Said he’d seen crazy things in the mountains? If you paid attention, maybe you’d—” He cut off abruptly, staring at something just past Clair’s shoulder.

           “What is it?” she asked, looking at him curiously.

           His hand went to his side, where Clair knew his gun rested under his jacket, then his eyes widened and he shouted, “Get down!”

           Lincoln rolled off the bench before he even finished speaking, but it was an unnecessary command for Clair because Bellamy pushed her off the bench himself, landing flat on top of her as a bullet whizzed over their heads.

           “A friend of yours?” she managed to say, struggling to form coherent thoughts between the pain of the backpack digging into her spine and the obvious weight of Bellamy on top of her.

           “Get under the bench, Princess, and stay down,” he replied gruffly, pushing her away from him a little before rolling off and scrambling for better cover. She winced as the next gunshot ripped through the air, spurring screams of passerby and a flinch from Bellamy, but he didn’t appear to be hit. He kept going until he reached a wide, thick tree and ducked behind it, gun ready.

           Lincoln, meanwhile, was ducked at the side of the bench; it wasn’t much cover but he didn’t seem willing to leave Clair’s side. Which was, of course, idiotic, and she told him so. “You’re going to get shot!”

           “So are you. I’m your brother, blood or not, and I’m going to protect you.”

           “What, by getting shot beside me? No deal,” Clair muttered, rolling out from under the bench before he could stop her. A shot fired and she dropped instinctively; she felt it go by just inches above her. She kept running, hearing shot after shot ping on trees and structures behind her, comforted only by the fact that the park had emptied and they were following her instead of Lincoln, and rolled almost right into Bellamy, who looked like he wanted to kill her himself.

           “I told you to stay there,” he hissed. “I have the gun; you won’t be any help at long-range.”

           She scowled. “Sorry that I’m not the damsel you want me to be, but I was going to get shot anyway under there. The guy has good aim.” She noticed his arm, the red gathering there, and her stomach lurched. “Better than I thought.”

           He saw her looking and shifted, grunting angrily. “You’re the one who has to stay in one piece; otherwise Ab—Mrs. Griffin gets no daughter and Miller and I walk away empty-handed.”

           “Good to know I’m just a reward to you,” she sniped before she could help it.

           A few more bullets whizzed by, splintering the bark by their heads, and Bellamy stuck his head out from behind the tree to deliver a few shots. When the shooter returned fire and he ducked back, he gave her a distinct look. “Didn’t we begin this partnership on that notion?”

           “Yeah, well, it won’t end well on that,” she grunted, “and this battle isn’t going to end well if you keep just hiding and shooting, either. Do you even know who you’re shooting at?”

           “There’s a figure in the trees; can’t make out a face.” Clair went to see and he grabbed her arm, pulling her back fiercely as yet another shot fired. “Geez, Princess, don’t look.”

           She realized he was holding her with his wounded arm and wriggled out of his grip. “Well, I’m not helpful here and pretty soon they’re going to go after Lincoln if he hasn’t moved yet, so we need a better plan.”

           “Yeah? And what do you suggest, Princess?” he scoffed.

           “Don’t give me that. I went on hunts; I know strategy. We need to draw him out so you can get a better shot.”

           “If you say anything along the lines of you as bait, I’ll just knock you out myself,” he warned. “You barely made it across that firing range without getting hit, and now he knows what to expect. Your movements are predictable.”

           “Well,” she said, forcing herself to shake off the sting of his half-insult, “then I’ll just have to be unpredictable.” And before he could grab her again, she ducked from behind the tree and sprinted for the next one. As she expected, shots followed, and instead of diving for cover like she normally would’ve done, she rolled and kept running in an irregular zigzag pattern closer to the shooter and further from Bellamy. A bullet grazed at her leg and she had to bite back a scream, giving in and rolling for a nearby tree.

           Quickly, she looked at her leg; it was bleeding but not badly. She’d been lucky. Breathing in and out to steady herself, she called out in a clear voice, “Miller! Time’s up! You’ve got to do it now!”

           She waited for a few seconds and heard no shots. Holding her breath, she peeked out from the tree and saw a hooded figure maybe a hundred yards away, pointing his gun to the area around him and looking intently for something in the trees. He was probably looking for another cohort, which should’ve comforted her but just made her more nervous instead—the fact he was looking near himself and not towards her or her companions meant he knew Miller was not one of them.

           Out of the corner of her eye she could see Lincoln barely concealed behind a tree, clearly without weapon or defense but at least out of the open; Bellamy was still behind her, peeking out briefly before hiding again. What was he doing? He had a much better shot now. Was he nervous about missing it?

           Guess I better give him incentive, Clair thought, and jumped out from the tree.

           The shooter caught the movement and shot, but she knew he’d shoot directly at her in his moment of confusion and easily ducked to the side. “Miller!” she screamed, even though it was the other boy she wanted a response from. Still no shot; maybe she was too close. She rolled for the nearest tree, making sure she was at an angle the shooter couldn’t shoot at easily, then popped out again for a moment and let the shooter focus his energy on her.

           Then, right when she thought she had him, the shooter turned his attention away from her.

           Clair threw a glance back and saw Bellamy standing right in the open, gun up. They’re going to kill him, she thought, and her heart stopped. “Bellamy! No!”

               Two shots fired, almost simultaneously, and she screamed.