#it has been three years please release me from this prison of a fixation

[tedrickarflata]

hello homosexuals

[peakyxtommy]

Unsteady - John Shelby x Fem! Reader

Summary: Reader having a bad time and John providing comfort. 

WC: 2.1K

Warnings: Dark/Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurities/Sad

A/N: Happy 2021! First story of the new year and Solo John Piece. Please let me know your thoughts. Enjoy! xx 

The darkness covered you yet again, in the clouds that stole away the sun and only sent storms. Storms of bitterness, rage, confusion and exhaustion. It was like a thief came in the night, turning you into a ghost of your former self. A person almost unrecognizable, yet familiar all at the same time. Everything you worked toward, suddenly seemed to be crashing right around you, the world picking them off one by one. Not only did the darkness come, it brought antagonizing and paralyzing fear. The fear that slowly lets you sink until you just get stuck. Stuck to either drown, to rise above the surface again, to stay down, or to pick up the current and move forward in the stream. Into the unknown. That’s where all your fear lived, like a prisoner in chains awaiting death.

The compulsive thoughts wouldn’t go away. It was the same hyper-fixation, leaving your mind spinning like a hamster on a wheel. No matter how hard you tried to get the thoughts out of your mind, it would come back with such force. Force that left you weak and defenseless. Back into submission to the voice in your head. The voice that dictated all the rules, the good and bad, the right and wrong choices to be made, from the time your eyes opened, until they closed again at night. The dull ache that rested in your chest all day long, as you ponder all your thoughts in the stream of your subconscious. 

You couldn’t understand why you were so unhappy with yourself even from an early age. Always trying to be perfect, make peace, be noticed, and be kind to all. That no matter what you did or achieved, it never seemed to be good enough or worthy to you. It was like checking off a long list and waiting for the next great thing to happen. The critics and criticism of others soaked in rather than the positive. Your body was a war zone and was only to be seen by you and your husband. You were never happy with your body. Always being bigger than everyone else and finding ways to make yourself smaller. Not realizing the shrinking effect of shrinking yourself to meet other’s views of yourself. Some days were harder than others, periods of the symptoms you experienced, making your daily living almost unmanageable some days. You wanted to get better and you were but it was harder said than done, like doing the tango of two steps forward to take three backwards. 

It was another one of those seasons for you. You were holding it together pretty well by yourself, until John started to notice the change in your behavior. Sleepless nights and overworking yourself. Having days where all you could do was lay in bed and complete the most minimal tasks. You were more startled than usual, always on guard for something to go wrong. You worried more when John would work or come home later than his usual times or with blood staining his clothes more days in a row than you could count. Making sure he’d call when he’d remember to tell you he was going to be late or you calling to check in on him. How you’d smile and laugh less, you’d spend longer looking in the mirror, and was more quiet than your usual self. You were avoiding his touch, always coming up with an excuse or finding a way to satisfy him just enough with a kiss. 

You always pushed him away when things were bothering you. That was something you had to work on still. The hardest part at the beginning of your relationship (the both of you), but as time would go on, it would become easier. Sometimes you would resort to old ways, but the man that adored you more than all the stars in the galaxy, could read you like a poem from start to finish falling more in love with you by the day but also could tell when you were becoming a shell again. It would happen like clockwork like your body adjusted to its rhythm. 

It wasn’t until one day he came home, that his rising suspicions were true. It was way past the time for anyone in the house to be up. He was working late on a job and was ready to head to bed, glad to have the next few days off. When he makes his usual rounds of kissing all the kids on the heads, just making sure they’re okay before he goes to check on you. He sees the light shining under the door and hushed sounds as he opens the door. His eyes land straight on you as the bearer of the noise. He makes his way to the bed, seeing you with your back against the wall in the middle of the bed hunched over, legs into your chest with your arms around them silently crying to yourself. That’s when it hit him like a pile of bricks and he knew. He expected it to be true with this confirming it to him. 

It’s only moments later his body is sinking into the mattress and pulling your whole body into him. He felt your fingers grip onto him tightly as if he would be gone in an instant. He holds you  just as tight, palms of his hands rubbing your shoulders and back in circular motions. 

“It’s okay love, I’m right here. Not going anywhere.” He whispers, kissing your head as he waits for you to calm down. When you finally begin to breathe normally and continue to dry your own tears, you keep your head against his chest, not daring to look your lover in the eyes. 

“What’s going on love, I'm worried about you.” His voice rasps, trying to hold back his own tears at the sight of you so broken and fragile in his arms. 

You could hear the sadness in his tone. You could hide in the dark no longer. You had to release the world of doom that was swirling like a tornado in your head. You had to be vulnerable and let him into your mind and heart again. To speak the crushing truth of your reality and the pile of lies in the corners of your head. 

“John, I’m not happy. It’s like something’s missing and I can't figure out what it is. I feel stuck in everything I’m doing. I enjoyed working at the flower shop before it had to close down. It’s been nice spending more time with the kids but I miss working. I know I could work for the company but you know I want my own job from Shelby business.

 I’m sad about the kids getting older and them needing me less. My body is still changing since our youngest and I feel like it’s not good enough for you. Every time I go by the office, I see that new clerk Tommy hired and she’s always flirting with you. Makes my blood boil, but then sometimes my mind makes me wonder if you leave me for her. She can make you happy, make the kids happy, and keep the house from falling apart. 

Also has a job instead of being home all day while her husband works dangerous jobs. I’m worried about you not coming home. It’s scaring me again. I’ve been noticing the amount of blood I’m cleaning from your clothes this past week. You keep coming home later and later, it feels like I'm doing everything alone. I keep feeling like I can’t breathe, I need a lifeline.” You feel the tears slowly spark again.

“You’re breaking my heart, love. I’m so sorry.” He holds you close, shedding his own fresh tears. You both stay like that for a while holding the other and crying together until a force of comfort embraces you both. 

“Look at me darlin.” His hand takes your chin in his tips forcing your face up gently to meet his. His eyes were red matching your own, but inside his irises you could see the love he harbored for only you in them.

“You need to stop pushing me away. You always wait until you're the worst to reach out. I’m always here for you no matter what. I’m always going to listen to you and help you. I’m sorry I haven’t been helping enough around here and taking care of my wife in the best manner I should have been. 

It’s okay, you want to do your own thing away from business. I prefer it but maybe we can do some searching around town for a new job or if you want to open your own shop we can do that as well. I’ll do whatever you want and will make you happy. That’s all I want love. The kids and I will always need you, no matter what. You make our world go round, we couldn’t function without you. You’re the glue baby. 

I don’t want Tommy’s new clerk. You're the only girl I have eyes for, the whole bloody office knows it. Nothings going on I promise. I love your body always. Been with you for over 10 years, no other body I want than yours. It does amazing things all day long. Should be thanking it love. 

I’m always going to love you no matter what, doesn't matter what you look like on the outside, only the inside. 

Work has been busier than usual because we’ve been dealing with some enemies but we’ve just put it to rest tonight, I promise. I’ll be more aware and honest next time. We can do this together as a team, I promise. We’ve got each other alright and I'll carry to the end of the world if I have to. I mean it, you're my pretty woman, my lovely wife.” His lips press against yours soft and chaste to the touch. You could feel a spark of light flick through you. Soothed by words of the man you trusted the dearest with your heart.

“Thank you. We can do this together. I love you so much John, best father and husband ever.” 

“I’ll be willing to help you in any way possible, yeah. We can go back to more calls and I’ll try to get some time off for a bit to be with you and for you and spend more time with the kids. I love you so much more than you could ever know.” He kisses you again for a few seconds before breaking away with him standing back against the wooden floors. 

You both head to the bathroom. Him going to start the shower as you began undressing and him doing the same as the temperature became just right. Once both of you are uncovered before another, he leads you into the shower first, following right behind you. The steam from the hot water hits your face bringing a soothing comfort to your tense body. As John begins to wash your body and his under the hot water you both enjoy the intimacy it brings of being this close to one another in a way so sweet and innocent in a long time that neither had noticed. You both manage to sneak a few small kisses between cleaning and rinsing. Once dry from the shower and clothed in the warmest pajamas, you both laid in bed finally on the same page. 

That’s how you went to sleep. Feeling loved, seen, and heard by the most important person in your life. You couldn’t be more grateful to have John as your husband because he really did know how to draw the best out of you. As you laid with your heart resting on his head, head tucked under his chin, resting right in the crook of his neck, smelling his minty aftershave. Your hands with gold laid entangle tight together, bands touching, and his arm holding you from across your back, close to his chest. When your eyes are closed you wish for a better and brighter tomorrow. A future where this pain didn’t feel so heavy and dense in your bones. A future where you were recognizable again, back to yourself. 

It took time because that is what it takes to heal. The journey would be long and hard but worth it. You had the most important person by your side. You were able to believe in yourself once again, finding a strength within which you never knew. You were grateful when the silence would come, like a peace. Safe haven to your mind, to your thoughts, and esteem.

[cherrywoes]

i. i wish i could say i'm sorry.

tw (general): graphic descriptions of blood, gore, sexual content, violence, homicide, physical torture, psychological torture, rape, dubcon, drugs, overdosing, suicide, cannibalism (brief desc/mention), knife play, wax play, dacryphilia, sadism, masochism, bdsm, corsetry, human trafficking, drug trafficking, oral fixation, thigh kink, stocking fetish, food play (and more to be named.)

tw (this chapter): teeth pulling with handcuffs, blood/gore.

THERE WERE THIRTY cinder blocks that made up the sidewall of your cell. Plain, white, unadorned with much else except for photos embedded into the stone with crude pins made out of fork prongs, they had served as both your entertainment and torturers; you counted each individual block and seam of filling down to a microscopic level, eyes flicking over each twist and bend in the layout. You had memorized it, of course, after a time—it was instinct at this point for you to scan the walls, making sure a block hadn’t been magically added into your cell to throw off your count. Each little divot in the spaces between drew your gaze, following patterns that you could imagine were there for a reason, even if they were likely mere coincidence.

“Inmate Akamine.”

The collar of your prison uniform itched at your neck, the cheap white fabric scraping against the flesh under your chin. You reached up reflexively to scratch it, blunt nails digging harshly into the afflicted skin without thought, ignoring the cop standing at the door of your cell with the telltale clinking of cuffs echoing through the open slat at the top of the steel contraption. You could feel the man staring holes into you when you didn’t reply, still lazily scratching at your neck to the point where skin could have started peeling underneath your fingers and you wouldn’t have been the wiser.

“Inmate Akamine,” the cop repeated, knocking the cuffs against the door. “Stand up and face the back wall and put your hands behind your back.”

You knew this routine. You would face the back wall, like he wanted you to, and he would put the cuffs on just a little too tightly, enough for you to feel the pinch of your wrists in the metal and leave something of a bruise or open wound later. You would then be escorted down the white halls, the other inmates as quiet as the grave, watching through the slats as you passed by, head raised high and spine straight. When you reached a certain point in the halls, the cop would stop and push you into a small, cramped room, no more than ten cinder blocks high and with a shitty fluorescent lightbulb swinging from the ceiling by a bare wire. Unsecured to the ceiling, it would swing slowly, tauntingly, from the force of the air conditioning vent beside it, never resting, never coming to a standstill. The room would smell like old paper and mildew and dark coffee wafting in through the underside of the door, creeping from the faculty room just next door where, more often than not, someone was cooking either strawberry flavored pop tarts or blueberry muffins within—it never differentiated. Inside this ten cinder block high room there would be a man waiting for you, sitting in a rickety metal chair with faux leather backing and cheap cotton to provide support. The metal legs would scrape against the floor as he rose to greet you with a too wide smile and too white teeth, his weight slightly too much and tilting the unstable square table slightly forward, rocking it towards you in his haste. He would then crush the wire tap in the potted plant in the corner beneath his fingers, fling it into the fresh, damp soil, and wipe his hands with a satisfied harumph. With yet another smile, he would unlock your cuffs with a skeleton key and lay them on the table, hands splayed wide in a gesture of goodwill. When you nodded your acknowledgement and took a seat across from him, only then would he produce a single immaculately rolled cigar from his lapel, clip it, and pass it over to you. You would huff and press it between your lips and allow him to light it with a cheap plastic lighter, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke from your nose that overpowered the smell of mold and paper and coffee and blueberry muffins or strawberry poptarts. When you had taken a few deep inhales, the air around your head thick with smoke, he would smile and lay his phone in the center of the table, press call, and scuttle out the door before the line picked up and you opened your mouth to speak.

“You know the drill,” the cop added, as an afterthought.

You got to your feet with the groan and complaint of your knees to accompany you. Years of sleeping on a thin mattress full of springs and a lack of exercise had destroyed your body’s constitution. Your neck popped when you rolled it experimentally, easing the tension in your spine and shoulders, turning to face the wall and putting your hands behind your back, fingers rubbing against each other in patient habit. The cold of the floor seeped through the cheap slippers they had given you, turning your toes to ice, but you had stopped complaining after the first week.

The metal door slid open with a disturbing squeal. The cop stepped inside, clearing his throat, smelling of nicotine and the pop tarts you hated so much. The key ring at his side tinkled when he moved to put the cuffs around your hands, cinching them a little too tight, fingers lingering a little too long when he stepped back and gripped your elbow, forcing you around to the open door.

You stepped through the threshold, toes still impossibly cold as the cop escorted you down the hallway. There was no jeering from your fellow inmates, no screaming or shouting or yelling but an impenetrable silence that lasted as you passed easily by the room of mold and coffee and paper, the cop’s encouraging hand upon your back and slipping dangerously close to your backside—a new development—sitting just upon the dimples in your back, made more prominent from lack of good food and terrible mattresses. His hand did not stray any lower, but you could feel his gaze burning into you as he directed you to turn a corner and face the long, artificially lit hallway leading to the first step of your freedom.

“Oyabun,” a man greeted when you entered the door. Dressed in a fine three piece suit, your family lawyer fixed you with a pretty smile and lowered eyes. A black Japanese koi crawled up the side of his neck and behind his ear, fresh work, the ink still dark and prominent upon his skin. There was no cigar waiting in his lapel for you; there was no burner cell tucked away in his coat for your use; there was no cheap lighter sitting in his pocket, mingling with spare change and buds of marijuana that clung to the plastic. “It is good to see you are well.”

The door closed behind you with the careful snick of a lock.

“Shingiin,” you replied calmly, with a voice that wasn’t quite pleased. “Nao. I take it your presence here is a sign that things are going well?”

His answering smile was as dark as the thoughts swirling around in your head. “Of course, Mama. We’ve all missed you, you know; being cooped up in Tokyo without you wasn’t nearly as fun as when you were there.”

“Of course it isn’t,” you answered knowingly, the tiniest of grins working up your lips. The cuffs bit into your skin tauntingly. “But I’m sure you’re not here to talk memories with me, are you, Nao?”

He shook his head, that gorgeous dark hair shining in the artificial light fixture above him. Nao was a very pretty creature of your own making—one of your many joys in life, no less, carefully cultivated from the streets and raised into a proper businessman and lawyer. He was as loyal a dog as they came and he obeyed when you called, heeled when you ordered it, and listened only to you, as all things should be. He owed everything to you, [Name] Akamine, and would drop dead in a heartbeat if you so wished it.

“No,” he laughed, then. His dark eyes twinkled merrily when he opened his briefcase and slid a manila file over to you, opening it up to the first page. In large, bold black letters, ‘case dismissed’ caught your eye. “I’m just here to give you the good news. Your case has been dismissed on the grounds of improper conduct, false evidence, and reports of extortion.”

You raised an eyebrow playfully, a true smile coming to your lips.

“Congratulations, Oyabun.” Nao Akamine stood and bowed low at the waist, victory in his voice. “You win yet again.”

“Do I ever lose?” You replied, peering over the papers with a keen eye. “It was only a matter of time. Tell me, when is my release date?”

Nao’s smile was positively vicious when he replied,”As soon as tomorrow, Mama.”

With that, you closed your eyes with a relieved sigh.

Prison whites never looked good on you, anyway.

“Tomorrow,” you repeated slowly. Your wrists twisted in the cuffs thoughtfully, digging deep into the skin, and fixed the file with an interested stare. Your lips, chapped and bitten harshly enough to draw blood, pursed when the edge of a photo caught your eye. Tucked between the papers, you wouldn’t have noticed it at all had it not been jostled by Nao sliding it across the table for you to see. With a jerk of your chin, you nodded to the picture. “What’s that?”

He pulled the photo free from its confines. It was a standard polaroid, the square photo within in black and white and slightly blurry from movement. Whoever had taken it had an unsteady hand or had been in a hurry. You scrutinized it as well as you could without the use of your hands, eyes flicking over a feminine face: pretty, unusually pretty, with oil black hair, a defining mole in the bottom right corner of her chin, and slate gray eyes framed by dark lashes. The photo had only caught her face and part of her ear, her surroundings too blurred to make out, but you could pick out the reflection of kanji in the glare of her glasses.

“Shimizu Kiyoko,” Nao provided helpfully, placing the photo on the table with a sly smile. From the same file, he produced three more photos, each depicting three men who were unfamiliar to you. Each of them appeared civilian, mundane, in the same blurry haste that the woman’s had been taken in. “She’s the provider for a new gang grouping up in the underground. We discovered them by chance, really—she’s good, but she’s sloppy. So are the rest of them.”

You expected as much. “And the three men?”

“Sawamura Daichi.” The dark haired male slid a photo forward. It depicted a man with close cropped deep brown hair, doe brown eyes, and a severe expression upon his face. Sunglasses were perched on his nose, obscuring some of his face, but the tattoo underneath his ear served well enough as identification. “He’s the ringleader in all of this, of course. He’s Ukai’s… protege, so to speak.”

A low hum escaped your lips. “I see. Does he have Ukai’s contacts? His supply lines?”

“No.” Nao smiled, then, and produced a stack of enlarged photos. They were heavy and glossy, produced with expensive stock and not polaroids. They were clear and pristine, and you could recognize the blood upon the walls and the teeth scattered on the concrete—more than one set, if your eyes were proving you right. You even spotted a gold cap littered among the rest of the pearly white front teeth, as familiar to you as the person who had put it in their mouth; you could just see the smile, the sharp edge of that golden canine when his lips were just too expressive to cover it. There were body parts and organs strewn about, of course, taken in the middle of cleanup, but they were of less interest to you. “We got rid of them as the old man’s will was being handed over. It was quick, clean, and they’ll have little idea who did it. Unless you want them to, of course, Mama.”

“I want his teeth,” you said, after a moment of consideration. “They’ll look lovely on my mantle, don’t you think?”

And Nao sighed in both amusement and adoration, tucking the photos back into the floppy manila file. “They’ll be stunning, [Name]-sama.”

“What of the other two?” You interrupted, eyes turning to the photos he had yet to hide from you. He stilled momentarily under your gaze, finely pressed suit enhancing the sharp lines of his torso and shoulders. A closer look revealed reluctance, hesitation, but like a dog with a bone, you persisted, moving so close to him that you could smell the tobacco on his breath and the mint of his toothpaste. “Acquaintances of yours? Friends? Old family?” A minute twitch of his pretty mouth. “Old family, then. I thought I taught you better, Nao.”

“You did, [Name]-sama,” he reassured you. He didn’t dare look up and into your eyes, because all he would see there would be sharp and savage disappointment. “They are—”

“They?” You repeated softly. There was a soft click of the locks on your cuffs. You freed your abused wrists from the metal confines with a small sigh, rubbing the tender flesh into something of a numbing pain, and flicked the fork prong you’d dislodged from your wall into a garbage can. You kept the cuff looped around one hand, the other coming up to flick open the file and page through it until you found IDs matching the photos on the table. You tutted, drumming your fingers in staccato rhythm and scanned the names upon the paper. “Kageyama Tobio,” you flipped to another page,”and Hinata Shoyo. Classmates of yours?”

You had brought in Nao as one of your own—had given him the Akamine name with full trust that he would serve you well, not unlike your mentors had you, once upon a time. You felt that trust had been well founded up until this moment, and it was a sour pill to swallow that he still harbored sentiment for a problematic horde of rats. You thought you had clawed out every emotional bone in his body and alienated him from his own emotions, but it was clear he had been holding out on you for quite some time.

“...Yes.” Nao’s tone was not as confident or self assured as it had been when he had greeted you at the door with news of your impending release. Now it was a noose around his neck, closing slowly enough that he was aware of it, choking off his oxygen supply and cutting off the blood to his brain and putting so much pressure upon his neck that the vertebrae popped and cracked. “[Name]-sama.”

“I see.” You placed the photos in their proper places and closed the file with a whisper of paper and cardstock. It brought with it a breeze of clean, new paper, much better than the smell of molding files accompanying the odor of coffee and blueberry muffins. You flicked the cuff in your hand freely like a switchblade, the arm dancing back and forth with the flick of your fingers. “Kneel, Jun-san.”

He paled at the use of his birth name. “[Name]-sama—”

“I told you to kneel.” Your tone broached no argument. He fell to his knees with enough force that you took pleasure in the way his knees protested at the sudden movement. If he didn’t suffer a cracked patella, you would be sorely disappointed. You inhaled and exhaled leisurely, reaching down and taking his face in your hands as gently as a mother would do a downtrodden son. Nao was so pretty it almost hurt you to do this to him; but weakness was punished in your family, and he knew it well. “Suzuki Jun. It has been a long time since you first disappointed me. I hoped it would have been the last.”

He didn’t apologize. He knew it was pointless to apologize for something he wasn’t sorry for. His eyes were downcast, mouth pulled in a tight line.

With a hum of displeasure, you pushed his top lip up with your thumb and painstakingly scraped the nub of your fingernail over the pearly white enamel of his front tooth. He shivered beneath your grip and attempted to move away, but you held firm, fingers digging into his jaw so tightly that his skin went white, and he was already pale enough. You peeled his cheek open to peer at his back incisors, noting the distinct presence of two gold capped teeth studded with diamonds in the bottom right row.

“These are new,” you observed idly, tapping your fingers against them playfully. When he winced, you knew they were fresh and improperly done. You chided,”Didn’t I tell you never to go to underground doctors for your work? Silly boy.”

A more thorough examination of his teeth proved pointless: you had your prize.

“I’ll take these,” you said, after a moment or two of thought. As if to remind him, you thumped the two gold caps with sick pleasure, relishing in the way he flinched back and his eyes went wide. You might have taken pity on him if he had cried, but so far he was as rigid and stalwart as you had trained him to be. It was almost a waste. “They will be payment for the individual weaknesses you harbor.”

You swung the unoccupied cuff up into his eyesight, holding the connecting hinge just so. You tested it experimentally on your finger, pinching flesh between it and wondering at their sturdiness. When you were satisfied by the way the metal still bit into your flesh like an obstinate blunt tooth worrying away at steel, you pried Nao’s mouth open with little care, sliding your hand in all the way up to the third knuckle. He gagged around your hand, throat working overtime to force you out of his mouth, hand coming up to grip your wrist tightly. Your makeshift pliers clamped down over the first golden cap with enough force to dent the precious metal. Diamonds scattered out of their previous settings and beneath his writhing tongue.

“What poor work,” you mumbled to yourself, wondering if the diamonds would hurt on the way down through his intestines—unlikely, as they were barely even the size of a sliver of your fingernail. With a sickening twist, you watched the cap pull free from the gum; red flesh erupted in irritation at the removal. A quick pop, and a broken fragment of tooth came with it, root pulling behind it. Nao was already shaking and looked ready to drop at a moment’s notice, so you snipped the root promptly and watched his eyes roll into the back of his head. You took your next tooth in a similar fashion, but you were disappointed when a cavity made it crumble into sections small enough for it not to have mattered at all.

A frown upon your face, you tucked the teeth away into his lapel and patted it reassuringly. He was coming to, but he appeared delirious with pain and had broken into a cold sweat. “Don’t worry. I won’t replace you just yet; not when you have so much to prove to me. Keep those teeth for me, will you? I’ll put them on my desk, right beside my cup of red pens.”

Nao gave no indication he heard your words, nor did you care. Tucking your hands behind your back, you cuffed yourself once more, always a little too tightly like the cop wanted, and knocked just underneath the knob to indicate you were ready to go. If the cop had anything to say to you about Nao slumped on the floor with blood oozing from his mouth, he didn’t say it, and instead escorted you back to your cell.

There was no improper touching this time when he removed your cuffs and placed them back at his side, unaware you had just used them to pull the teeth of a grown man out of his skull. Your cell door shut behind you with a penultimate slam, casting you in a faint shadow.

In a fluid motion, you sat back down upon your bed to stare at the wall, counting the cinder blocks one by one, following the pattern of indentations and striations upon them, mouth pulled into a frighteningly evil smile.

masterlist. | ii. come with me, destroy the masses.

[the-sympathetic-villain]

You Belong With Me - Chapter 17

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.  

Word Count: 5962

Chapter Warnings: Anger, Anxiety, Implied non-sexual nudity (Let me know if there's anything else I need to add!)

-

    Roman kneeled on the floor, absentmindedly stroking Patton's hair. Anxiety brimmed in his chest as he stared off into the dark space of the room around him. Virgil had been gone over an hour at this point and pessimism was eating away at his hope. With Patton still unconscious and his other two friends still unaccounted for, his hope that this night would end well was dwindling rapidly by the minute.

    “You seem nervous, Prince Roman.”

    Roman turned his head to see Emile had entered the room and was stoking the fire behind him.  Various packages of open herbs rested at base of the fireplace as he worked. Roman paused, casting glances between him and Patton.

    “Please, just Roman is fine.”

    “I would prefer to use your proper title, if you will allow me to do so.”  

    Roman closed his eyes and his jaw clenched as emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Though Emile’s voice was cordial, Roman sensed tension in his voice as he insisted on keeping Roman at a distance. He knew he shouldn't take Emile's veiled hatred to heart, but his emotions were running to high already for him to simply brush it off like he normally would. He turned to watch Emile for a moment as he stirred the fire back to life, before taking a breath and turning back to face Patton. “I am in your home. I hardly think I have the authority to tell you what to do.”

    “We both know that isn’t true.”

    Roman continued to run his hand the through Patton's hair. “You must have a rather low opinion of me to think I would intrude on home and start ordering you around when you've been so gracious as to help me.”

    “You have the right to do so.” Emile wasn't bothering to conceal his bitterness any longer, and Roman couldn't help flinching at the man's curt tone of voice.

    “No, I have the power to do so.” Roman turned to look over at him. “That does not give me the right to bully people with my title.”

    “There's hardly a difference in your world." Emile muttered. "I've experienced first-hand how those under your command view their power, and the rights of your citizens are hardly a priority, let alone their comfort.”

    “I'm sorry, if you have suffered at the hands of my people. I am starting to see now the corruption of my guard and I want to rectify what's happened to my people as a result of my negligence. I'm only one person though, Emile. I can't fix these problems overnight, nor can I truly offer solace to those who have already been mistreated.” Roman paused, desperate to turn Emile's hate from him before he could no longer keep his emotions in check. He felt grateful for the numbness in his body, grateful that he did not have to work to hide the effect Emile's words had on him. “What is it that you want from me, Emile?”

    Emile stood up from where he sat stoking the fire and moved to stand above Roman, crossing his arms as he stared down at him. “I want you to forget this place exists.”

    Roman blinked up at him for a moment. “Done.”

    Emile straightened as Roman looked up at him. “What?”

    “If you want me to stay as far away as possible, I will. If you want me to never acknowledge or mention you or your home to anyone ever again after tonight, I won’t.” Roman sighed. “Emile, I offer you my oath as prince I will keep your location a closely guarded secret so long as I live.”

    Emile looked shocked as he looked down at Roman, but his tone remained skeptical. “That oath is hardly binding when no one is around but me to hear it.”

    “I will swear it again in front of Virgil.” Roman reassured him. “He has enough repertoire with my fathers to ensure I would face proper consequences in the case that I break my oath.”

    Emile's mouth hung open, and his voice cracked in surprise as he muttered his question. “Does Virgil really have that kind of influence?”

    Roman couldn’t help smiling at Emile's expression as he nodded. “Sometimes I think they even like him more than me.”

    Emile managed to close his mouth, pursing his lips as he stared down at Roman. “Why would you offer me your oath, Prince Roman?”

     Roman's face sobered as reality settled back over him, and his voice slowed as he looked down at Patton laying unconscious on he couch in front of him. “Patton would have died tonight if you had chosen not to help, and from what Virgil said earlier, this isn't the first time you've saved one of my friends.”

    Emile was silent and his expression was neutral as he listened to Roman.

    “I understand the privilege I have,” Roman’s eyes flicked nervously up as Emile's eyes narrowed on him. “But there are few people I am willing to trust as a result of my title.”

    Emile crossed his arms as he moved over to stand next to Roman, staring thoughtfully down at Patton.

    “Fewer even who I trust enough to be genuine around.” Roman ran a hand through Patton's hair, and his voice started to quiver as he spoke. “My friends mean a great deal to me. You acted to protect them, so I will make every effort protect you. I have no issue swearing an oath, because I intend to act in kind regardless of whether I am obligated to do so or not.”

    Emile looked at him suspiciously. “So why bother making the oath at all?”

  “Purely for your reassurance, Emile. You hardly seem to believe I would do it of my own volition.” Roman sighed, closing his eyes as painful thoughts danced in his head. He looked up at Emile with cautious expression. “A moment ago, you said that I seem nervous.”

    Emile raised a finger to his chin and nodded slowly, listening closely to Roman's words.

    “Three people in my life have been willing to accept me into their lives without expecting to gain anything from me. Unlike other people, they don't fear me or want to manipulate me and my power. The three people who have been willing to accept me as their friend are either unconscious or in some unknown perilous situation of which I have no control." Roman's eyes flashed up to Emile, watery eyes glistening in the light of the fire. “So, yes. I am nervous. I could very well lose everything I truly care about tonight.”

    "Surely, you care about your country and your position." Emile said nonchalantly. "You're hardly losing everything tonight."

    "My power is a privilege, and I have no right to be ungrateful for the gifts I've been given," Roman choked in a breath and his facade started to falter as thoughts of losing his friends crossed his mind. "But I am selfish. Tonight, I've been too weak to put my country first. My personal friendships may not serve the purpose for which I exist, but still I cannot bear the thought of losing them."

    Emile's expression faltered for a moment, but he carefully regained his composure. “You don't trust Virgil to bring your other friend back?”

    “If anyone can find Logan, it's Virgil,” Roman felt a lump in his throat as he tried to swallow back the bitterness in his voice. “But the person who instigated tonight’s events already slipped through our hands once. If he continues to elude us, my friends could suffer at their hands”

    “If you are so worried, why did you let him go alone? Could you not have ordered him to wait or overruled his decision to go alone?” Emile mused, watching Roman carefully. "You have the power to control your subordinate, do you not?"

    “Don't put words in my mouth." Roman muttered, unable to conceal the anger at Emile's implication of their relationship. "Virgil may work for me, but I do not consider him less than myself. He was right. It made more sense for him to go, and one of us needed to be here when Patton wakes. I trust his judgment that this was our best course of action, but that will not stop me from worrying until they’re both home safe.”

    Emile looked down at the ground, arms crossed over his chest. “I can see why Virgil took to you.”

    A soft smile crossed Roman’s face as he looked up at Emile. “I'm not the big, bad dictator you thought I'd be?”

    “I thought he was dead.” Emile's voice was deadpan as he spoke, staring down at Patton.

    Roman's face dropped and his voice went weak with disbelief . “What?”

    Emile looked down at him with a serious expression. “When you first took him, I didn't hear from him for nearly half a year. Even after he took off to live in the castle, he'd always sneak back into town to see me a few times a month, but out of nowhere, he just stopped coming and I assumed the worst.”

    “I'm so sorry.” Roman looked up at Emile with pleading eyes. “Emile, he was always free to go. I never held him against his will. From that first night, I assured him he was welcome to leave and return as he pleased for whatever he needed. He just took a long time me to convince him that my offer was genuine.”

    “He's never wavered that that was true.” Emile's face softened and a subtle smile curled on his lips. “I always assumed he was covering for you, but it's comforting to know that wasn't the case.”

    “It wasn't.” Roman reassured him. “Despite the way he often talks about me, I’ve always done my best to ensure he was free to do whatever he chooses.”

    Emile paused for a moment, tilting his head in confusion. “I don't think I've ever heard him say a bad thing about you."

    "What?" Roman looked up at him.

    Emile shrugged. "Admittedly, his lack of negative things to say always made me suspicious he was hiding something about you.”

    “You—you’re the second person to tell me that recently.” Roman bit his lip at the thought of Logan, but he continued, trying not to fixate on situations outside of his control. “Now, if only I could get him to play nice to my face, then maybe we'd be getting somewhere.”

    “He doesn't?”

    “He shows affection in other ways.” Roman exhaled thoughtfully. “I guess I just wish he were more direct sometimes.”

    “Have you talked to him about this?”

    Roman could feel Emile's gaze on him as he looked down at Patton sleeping peacefully. His gentle snores filling the deafening silence between them.

    “No.”

    “Why not?”

    “I can't.”

    Emile stood for a moment, staring down at Roman. He took a breath, sighing as he sat down next to Roman on the floor next to Patton’s head. “Why don't you think you can talk to Virgil about this?”

    "You do not owe me your concern, Emile. My problems are my own responsibility." Roman tried to sound confident, but he couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice.

    "I know I don't. I'm asking anyway."

    Roman stopped stroking Patton’s hair. His mouth hung open slightly as a heavy feeling settled over him. He closed his eyes, knowing he shouldn't burden Emile, but in the end he was too weak to deny the release of his suppressed emotions. His voice was breathless when he finally forced the words out. “I can't push him away. I wouldn't survive losing him.”

    “Do you really believe his loyalty is so easily turned?”

    “Any pressure I put on him…” Roman looked down at the floor, struggling to find the right words. “Any pressure I put on any of my friends is always carries more weight because of my title. It's not fair for use that against them, not if they feel they cannot deny me.”

    Emile blinked and raised an eyebrow at him. “So, you’re never allowed to ask for anything from them?”

    “I shouldn’t need anything from them.” Roman's breath caught in his throat. “Compared to them, I have everything.”

    “Just because you're a prince doesn't mean you’re not human.”

    Roman stopped moving for a moment before looking up from Patton to Emile. “That's quite a change of tune from only a few minutes ago.”

    “Perhaps, I made the mistake of generalizing.” Emile sighed, smirking over at him.

    A smile twitched at the corner of Roman's mouth before slowly fading. He leaned forward to stroke his fingers gently through Patton’s hair. “I have to be perfect, Emile. They deserve nothing less from me.”

    “I don't know about your other friend, but I know that neither Virgil nor Patton would expect that from you.”

    Roman felt a knot in his throat and he clenched his jaw. “Logan wouldn't either.”

    “So why put that burden on yourself?”

    “Because I can't lose them.”

    Emile watched silently as Roman stared down at Patton. “Every word you've said in this conversation has been carefully calculated. I shouldn't be surprised. You are a prince. Undoubtedly, most of your interactions are careful and cautious. You have the burden of representing our country at every conversation you have, but if you can't be genuine with your closest friends behind closed doors, when do you get to be yourself?”

    Roman furrowed his brow in confusion and looked over at Emile. “It's not like that. I can be myself around them.”

    “You just can't ask for anything from them.” Emile said flatly, crossing his legs in front of him as he leaned down on his knees.

     “I can,” Roman paused uncertainly. “If I need to.”

    “How often do you need to?”

    “I ask plenty of Virgil and Patton." Roman paused, trying to catch his breath. "Logan is still new, but he'll have tasks in his work as he acclimates himself to his new position.”

    Emile sighed, rolling his eyes. “Let me rephrase. How often do you ask something of them outside of the work they do for you? How often do you ask for something for yourself?”

    Roman bit his lip, guiltily. “I asked Virgil to help Patton when he came here—”

    Emile cut him off. “If you have to go back that far, there’s already a problem.”

    “I asked Virgil to help protect Logan only recently.” Roman leaned back from Patton staring vacantly down at the ground. A moment of silence hung between them.

    “And?” Emile prompted, when Roman didn't continue.

    “And what?” Roman's throat started to ache from forcing his emotions back. He couldn't help but wish the conversation would end, so he could focus on getting his emotions under control.

    “Is that all?”

    Roman opened his mouth to speak, but his words failed him. He foundered for and moment, but fortunately, Emile continued, apparently not expecting much of an answer from him.

    “To be clear, you’ve known Virgil since you were children and you've asked Virgil for help twice? Not to mention, you asked him to help other people, not even yourself.” Emile looked over at him with a gentle smile. “Have you even ask Patton for anything in the years you've known him?”

    Roman took a deep breath, and snorted. A subtle smile curled on he edges of his lips. “You were easier to talk to when you hated me.”

    Emile shrugged nonchalantly. “I suspect I’m the only person you've ever met that's known Virgil longer than you. I know he'd hate to know you felt this way, especially after everything you’ve given him.”

    The beginning of a smile that had started to form on Roman’s face faded. “His friendship with me should never be contingent on what I've given him. He owes me nothing.”

    “I didn’t say it was .” Emile smiled as he stood up and turned back to the fire. Tossing a log on the fire, he turned his head back to Roman. “But I think you’re a fool to think that it doesn’t affect how he sees you.”

    Roman frowned. “I don't want that to be a factor in how he sees me.”

    “Why?” Emile turned back to the fire and stoked the embers until flames lit up along the sides of the new logs.

    “I'm not interested in bribing him to be my friend.” Roman’s skin crawled at the idea.

    “I really thought that's what you did to him.” Emile spoke impassively, and Roman cringed at his matter-of-fact tone. “I mean no kid in his position could have resisted what you were giving him, but—"

    Guilt welled in Roman's chest. His emotions from the night came rushing forward and he barely managed interrupt Emile to stutter a response. “I didn't—That was never—"

    Emile turned his head toward him as Roman’s breath caught in the throat. “Hey, kiddo. Relax.”

     Roman let out a soft gasp as he felt Emile’s hand on his shoulder. He started to shiver as Emile sat down next to him. “I didn't make him—"

    “Of course, you didn't.” Emile reassured him, gently rubbing circles on his back. “One look at your face is enough to know you the thought of forcing a relationship on someone horrifies you.”

    Roman clenched his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears running down his face. Taking a breath, he managed a small nod.

    “Sometimes I forget you were just a child when you met Virgil.” Emile smiled gently at Roman. “You were just a lonely kid who saw another kid in trouble and wanted to help.”

    Roman took a deep breath.

    “That's what I meant when I said you're a fool not to think that affects how he sees you.” Emile paused thoughtfully. “You didn't know him. You could have let him get arrested and it wouldn't have affected you in the slightest, but you didn't. You got him out of a bad situation, and you gave him all the resources he needed to get off the streets for good. He looks up to you, Roman. Not many people are capable of that kind of generosity.”

    “He was just a kid.” Roman muttered, his voice cracking.

    “So were you,” Emile paused. “and though I'm not thrilled with the occupation in which he's ended up, I have to admit you've given him a life most kids in his situation couldn't even imagine."

    Roman chuckled. “His career was entirely his choosing. I would have given him whatever resources he needed to do what he wanted.”

    Emile smiled at him appreciatively, pulling his hand off Roman's back. “I know it was his choice, and even if I disapprove, I know he's good at his job.”

    “I couldn’t have found someone better if I tried. I have all of the kingdom’s resources at my fingertips, but he's the best I've ever seen.” Roman nodded, swallowing painfully. "He's invaluable to me. I wouldn't trade my relationship with him for anything."

    A proud smile twitched at the corner of Emile's lips. “I do also appreciate that you kept him out of the field until he came of age. I can't imagine it was easy to justify the cost of that many years of training without even allowing him to get involved until he was older.”

    Roman shrugged. “I bear none of the credit for that. The kingdom doesn't allow child soldiers for good reason, but it's considered an investment to allow them to train at a young age, even if they later choose not to follow that path. I barely had to justify my decision, and I truly believe the time and resources I invested on him was the best decision I've ever made.”

     Emile pushed himself off the ground to return to the base of the fireplace. “Regardless, I slept easier knowing he wasn't in danger.”

    Roman could hear Emile shuffling packages of herbs behind him as he turned his face back to Patton. He gently resumed stroking Patton’s hair, lost in thought for a moment before he spoke again. “Emile?”

    Emile continued sorting his herbs as turned his head back to face Roman. “Yes, Roman?”

    Roman hesitated, not looking up from Patton as he continued. “Virgil mentioned earlier that you aided him in hiding Patton when he first came into our custody.”

    Emile paused, staring over his shoulder at Roman. “I did.”

    “Thank you.” Roman hung his head as he stared at Patton. “I don't know what I would have done, if we'd been caught. You may think my reaction to be extreme, but he was being—”

     “I know what was happening to him, Roman, and I think your reaction was entirely justified.” Emile turned back to his work. “At the time, I wasn't thrilled that you seemed to have passed the task to Virgil to care for him, but I am glad that you were able to get Patton out of that situation.”

    “I would have killed to have been with them. Those were the longest months of my life, not knowing where they were or what happened with them,” Roman bit his lip guiltily. “but it was suspicious enough that Virgil wasn't around much. I would only have brought the search closer to Patton, if I'd tried to visit or help.”

    “I know, and from what Virgil has said you took as much of the burden off of him as you could once Patton was able to return to the castle.” Emile sighed and Roman heard him pouring water for a moment before he stepped back over to sit next to Roman. “It was an impossible to make a perfect choice in that situation, but everyone made came out of it happy and healthy so I would still call what you did worth it.”

    "If there's anything I can give you for your help, I would gladly do so." Roman offered. "You have done so much for my friends, and I had no idea until now."

    "That would be my fault. I've been adamant that Virgil leave my existence out of his dealings with you."

    "No one is to blame. I can't fault you for fearing my power." Roman inhaled sharply, releasing some of the tension in his body. "I only hope that Virgil knows he can share if he chooses."

    Emile stared at him for a moment. "There is one thing I want from you, Roman."

    "Anything." Roman turned to look at him. "Just name it."

    "I want you to talk to Virgil about how you've been feeling." Emile smiled encouragingly at him. "He'd want to know."

    Roman paused for a moment, but nodded. Lost in thought, he absentmindedly stopping his fingers from running through Patton’s hair.

    “Ro?”

    A soft voice interrupted his thoughts, and he looked down to see Patton had opened his eyes.

    “Hey, Patton.” Roman pulled his hand back and sat up taller to face his friend.

    “Don’t stop.” Patton murmured. His eyelids drooped as Roman resumed stroking his hair.

     A soft, pitched whistle sounded behind Roman turned to see Emile pulling a teapot off the fire. He watched as Emile poured the hot water into a cup behind him. Patton's eyes peaked open as Emile stepped back over with a steaming cup of tea.

    “Emi." Patton’s words were muffled by the blanket near his face as he smiled warmly up at Emile.

    “Hey, kiddo.” Emile set the tea down on the floor next to Patton and kneeled down beside him. “How are you feeling?”

    “Tired, Emi.” Patton drawled quietly, closing his eyes and leaning into Roman’s hand.

    “Are you cold?”

    Patton grimaced in confusion and shook his head.

    “How about sick?”

    “No,” Patton mumbled into the cushion. “I’m good.”

    “Good.” Emile leaned over and put a hand on Patton’s cheek. “Can you focus with me for a second, kiddo?”

    Patton nodded tiredly, looking up at Emile.

    “You’re going to start waking up now. I brought you some tea. Drink it all and take it easy for a bit. No sudden movements.  Okay?”

    “Okay, Emi.” Patton mumbled, already closing his eyes.

    “Promise?”

    “Promise.”

    Patton closed his eyes and slumped back into the cushion as Emile turned back to Roman. “I'll leave you two alone for a bit. He'll probably start coming to pretty quickly now. I imagine you’ll need to fill him in on what's going on, and I don't think that information is necessarily that's for my ears.”

    A frown twitched at the corner of Roman’s mouth. “Probably not.”

    Emile nodded. “That’s fine. Just make sure he stays calm and drinks the tea.”

    “I can manage that much.” Roman nodded as Emile stood to leave.

    “Virgil left some of his old clothes in the chair over there for him when he's ready.” Emile pointed behind Roman, and Roman followed his gaze to the brown, leather chair in the far corner of the room. “They'll be a bit big, I’d imagine but he canmanage.”

    “Thank you, Emile.”

    “You’re welcome, Roman.” He smiled at Roman and Patton before turning to leave the room.

    Roman smiled fondly after him before turning back to Patton, still running his fingers through his hair.  “Hey, Pat. How you feeling?”

    “Sleepy.”

    “Are you sore? Does anything hurt?”

    “Nah. ‘M fine.”

    “Good, buddy. I’m glad.”

    “Where's Virgil, Ro?” Patton said sleepily. Roman frowned but he kept his voice soft for Patton's sake.

    Roman hesitated, before settling on a half-truth. “He's gone to get Logan.”

    Patton’s face scrunched in confusion before he looked wearily up at Roman. “Where's Logan?”

    “I—I'm not sure, Pat, but Virgil’s going to find him.” Roman tried to keep his voice steady, but he couldn’t keep the slight quiver out of his tone.

    Patton stirred, confused. “Are they okay?”

    “They'll be okay, Pat.”

    “‘Das not what I asked, Ro.” Patton tried to sit up but his head started to spin.

    “Hey, take it slow. You need move slowly.” Roman moved to sit on the edge of the couch, and helped lift Patton upright slowly. The blanket started to drop off his shoulders, but he caught it with his hand. Suddenly, he looked mortified.

    “Ro, where are my clothes?” Patton’s cheeks burned bright red as he glanced nervously up at Roman.

    “You were passed out in cold water, Pat. We had to get you out of your wet clothes so you wouldn’t freeze.” He couldn’t help noticing Patton shivering still. “Virgil helped undress you. No one else saw anything.”

    “Virgil. Just Virgil.” Patton’s breathing slowed and he seemed to calm slightly as he glanced around the room. “Where are we, Ro?”

    “We're with Emile.”

    Patton tilted his head in confusion. “You don’t know Emile.”

    Roman smirked at him teasingly. “Well, I do now.”

    “Why'm I so sleepy?” Patton pressed, getting more insistent as Roman tactfully evaded his questions.

     “You've had a rough couple days, Pat.” He hesitated, trying not to scare Patton. “Do you remember anything?”

    Patton put his hands on his temples, trying to focus through his headache. “Someone grabbed me from behind while I was walking home. I struggled, but I couldn't do anything. A cloth was shoved in my face and then I fell asleep.”

     A sudden silence fell over Patton and Roman couldn’t help feeling unnerved by the distressed look on his face. “You’re safe now, Pat. I'm not going anywhere.”

     “I know, Ro. I trust you.” Patton smiled at him softly before returning to his thoughts. “They kept me in a basement for a while. Not much happened there I think, but I only remember small bit from when I faded in and out of consciousness. They must have had some reasonable potent drugs. At this point, I'm resistant to most anything you'd find locally.”

     Roman took a deep breath, preparing himself for the worst. “Did anyone hurt you, Patton?”

    Patton shook his head vehemently, looking up at Roman. “No, they left me alone. I barely even saw anyone the whole time they held me, but there was a man there, and he was so scary, Ro. Something was wrong with him. One look into his eyes had me trembling in fear. I don't remember much else though.”

    Roman smiled at him encouragingly. “That’s okay. That's probably enough for right now anyway. Just let yourself rest for a bit.”

    “I feel like I'm waking up for the first time in days. I don't want to sleep anymore.” Patton held his head, desperately trying to stop the spinning.

    “You don’t have to sleep, Pat.” Roman reassured him, trying to calm him. “Just don't stress yourself out, okay?”

    “Something’s wrong, Ro. Where are Virgil and Logan?” His words became clearer as the fog in his mind began to fade away.

    Roman pulled Patton into his arms. “They'll be back soon, Pat."

    “But where are they?”

    “Pat, please don't overwhelm yourself.”

    “Tell me where they are, Ro.” Patton's voice cracked as he nearly yelled the words.

    Roman sighed, feeling guilty. “I don’t know, Pat.”

    “You don't know?!” Patton yelled, lunging forward to get off the couch. Suddenly, he stopped mid-motion, clutching his hand to his chest as his face twisted in surprise.

     “Please stop, Pat. I'll tell you everything, but you have to stay down and try to remain calm. You could hurt yourself really badly, if you get worked up too much.” He pleaded desperately as tears welled in his eyes. “Do it for my sake, Pat? Please?”

     Patton looked down at Roman’s worried face and reluctantly nodded. He let Roman gently pull him back on the couch.

    “You were missing, Pat. We were worried about you.” He leaned down and picked up the cup of tea that Emile had left for him and handed it to Patton, waiting for Patton to start sipping before he started to catch him up on the night’s events. He spoke calmly and softly, rubbing Patton’s shoulder as he talked, but still, he could feel Patton growing more uncomfortable. Roman's heart throbbed as Patton's face dropped as he finished. Patton sat quietly for a while, staring at the wall. Eventually, Roman reached over to take Patton's empty cup and set it off to the side. The action seemed to pull Patton from his thoughts and he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

     “Why'd you let Logan do it, Ro?”

    “You know I don’t control anything that any of you do.” Roman could feel his heart break as Patton’s voice trembled softly. He swallowed painfully, guilt aching in his body, but he kept his voice quiet and gentle as he comforted his friend. “I tried to stop him, Pat. I really did. I even threatened to keep him in the tower, but he wouldn’t allow me to follow through. He threatened to escape and turn himself over, if I tried to force his hand. He wanted to help you, and none of us intended for him to get taken tonight.”

     Patton was quiet as he leaned back into the couch with a distant look in his eyes.

     “Patton, if we hadn't followed Logan's plan, you would have died. We barely made it to you in time as it was.”

    Roman watched as Patton slumped back into the cushions, looking miserable. “I know and I’m grateful to be here with you, but I wish we knew Logan and Virgil are okay. What if—”

     “They’re going to be fine. If anyone is going to bring him home, it’s Virgil. He knows what he's doing, Pat.”

     “I know, Ro, but I'm worried.” Patton bit his lip, nervously. “Do you think Logan's—”

    “He's coming home to us, Pat.” Roman interrupted, shifting the conversation. He bit the inside of his lip guiltily, knowing he couldn't keep a strong face for Patton if he lost himself thinking about what might be happening to Logan right now. “Do you want to put on some dry clothes? There’s some here for you.”

     Patton looked at him for a moment, confused by the sudden change in topic. “What?”

    “I think they’re some of Virgil’s old clothes. You still need to warm up and that will help." Roman smiled encouragingly at him. "Do you think you can change while I switch your blankets out for dryer ones?”

    Patton nodded and sat up, holding the blanket on his chest, but Roman held a hand up to stop him, looking down at him seriously.

    “If you feel unsteady, let me know. I'll help you if needed. I don't want you to hurt yourself, okay?”

    “Okay, Ro.” Patton nodded, but even in the dim light of the fire Roman could see Patton's cheeks turn red at the thought. “I think I'll be fine on my own though.”

     Roman nodded as he stood up and turned his back respectfully. He waited until he heard Patton move off the couch to the far side of the room before he turned back to the couch, carefully focusing on the task at hand while Patton changed. He let himself be absorbs into the task, grateful for something to focus on besides the persistently anxious thoughts bouncing around in his head.

    He stripped the couch, tossing the damp articles aside as he lined the cushions with dry blankets. After he finished, he gathered the damp bedding and started to lay the piece in front of the fire, hoping they would start to dry. A few minutes into his work, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to look up at Patton. His heart dropped as he saw tears in Patton’s eyes, and Roman jumped to his feet, pulling Patton into his arms. Roman’s heart sank even further as Patton didn’t return the hug, hanging limply in Roman’s arms.

     “I'm so sorry, Ro.” Patton mumbled into Roman’s chest.

     “What are you sorry for, Pat?”

     “It’s my fault.”

     Roman’s heart shattered as the despair in Patton's voice. He pulled back from Patton, gripping Patton’s shoulders and forcing him to make eye contact. “None of this is your fault, Pat. Do you hear me?”

    Patton stared numbly up at him for a moment before hanging his head as tears streamed down his face.

    Roman pulled Patton close and squeezed him tighter.  His own voice started to shake as the night’s emotions came rushing forth. “You didn't ask for this. It just happened. I don't know what we would have done if we had lost you. You matter so much to us, Pat.”

     “But—”

    “But, nothing. You do so much for all of us. Logan knew what he was doing. He wanted you home safe, just as much as me and Virge did. You healed and protected him, and put yourself in danger for him when you didn't have to. Of course he wanted to protect you." Roman stifled a sob as he looked down at Patton. "You matter so much to all of us. We wanted you home.”

    Patton inhaled sharply. “He shouldn’t have to go through this for me.”

    “He shouldn’t, but without his incredible act of bravery, you might not be here, Pat.”

    “Remus is going to hurt him, Ro.” Patton choked on a sob as he leaned into Roman's chest.

    Roman's chest ached with worry for his friend, but he fought the thought back. “Logan is going to be okay, Pat. I won't rest until that's true.”

     Patton didn't answer but his sobs eventually subsided, and he finally wrapped his arms around Roman's waist. They stayed there for a long time, taking solace in each other’s arms as they worried for their friends' safety. By the time Roman finally pulled back from Patton, his joints had started to stiffen. He sighed, gently wrapping as arm around Patton as he guided him back to the couch. “Come on, Pat. You need to rest.”

    Patton nodded, reluctantly releasing Roman. "Okay, Ro."

-

Author’s Note: Just a heads up, I don’t know what’s going to happen with next week’s chapter. I’m moving into temporary housing for a bit until my new place opens up. So, chapter may be short or delayed next week depending on what happens :)

You Belong With Me Taglist:

@cas-is-a-hunter @insert-cool-blogname @ironwoman359 @i-know-im-smart @imbadatnames8d @croftersphoenix @optimistic-violinist @chronicallynervouschild @croftersjam15 @unbefuckinglieveable @eeveeeclair246 @dwbh888

[angst-fairygodmother]

Sing Once Again With Me: Madame Giry’s Tale (The Witcher; A Phantom of the Opera AU)

A/N: Alternate title: Yennefer explains. This was a hard chapter for me, and a turning point in the story, because I had to decide if we were dealing with a man or a monster. Word Count: 1370 Content Warning: None; Exposition heavy Taglist: @ficsandcatsandficsandcats​ @joz-stankovich​ @sennextheassasinkingoflight​ Previous Chapter: Masquerade/Why So Silent Cross-posted to AO3: here

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Yennefer stared the guard down with a look somewhere between wry and the kind of bored where people start disappearing without a trace. He appeared to be reading the papers she brought with her for the fourth time.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” she snapped. “Are you going to let me see the prisoner or not?”

“You know, we don’t allow…conjugal visits until the person has been condemned.”

“You know,” she mocked his tone near perfectly. “I could make your death incredibly painful.”

The guard swallowed nervously and rushed to stand and lead her back into the heart of the prison. Geralt sat, head bowed over his knees, on the rough straw pallet in the darkest, dankest cell in the building. He was still in his party clothes, though the doublet was unbuttoned, his hair unbraided, and in general he looked worse for wear. In fact, as she inspected the witcher, Yennefer guessed that he had been subjected to torture, or at least a harsh beating, more than once in the days since his arrest.

“There is to be a trial,” she told him without preamble. “Jaskier’s spent a year’s worth of earnings to find you a defense.”

Geralt looked up, startled by her voice as it echoed against the stone, briefly considering that she was just an illusion. Only the nonsense she spoke told him she might, might be real.

“Whose earnings?” he asked, voice cracking with disuse. “I know well enough that he doesn’t save money.”

“He took an advance. He indebted himself to the music hall for you. So you had better not screw it up.”

Shame made Geralt drop his head once more, staring at the hands he saw stained with blood even if no one else did, before turning back to the sorceress.

“Tell me what’s going on here Yennefer.”

“There haven’t been any new sightings or events since the masquerade…everyone is rehearsing the Phantom’s show because they’re too frightened not to. Most people don’t believe that you’re him, but there’s still enough people pushing the narrative that they won’t just release you.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it. The creature, spirit, whatever. Tell me about it.”

“What makes you think…” she was cut off by Geralt’s snarl.

“Your wife implied that you know more than you’re letting on Yennefer. And when she wasn’t busy vaguely threatening me with piscine nicknames, she also told me how much you’ve come to care about Jaskier. I can’t protect him, or Y/N, or anyone else, if I don’t have answers. Please Yen?”

She sighed. “Very well. I hate it when you’re right.” She rubbed one hand against her temple in frustration. “I don’t know Valdo Marx, though I spent enough time in courts to be familiar with him by reputation. And of course, from listening to Jaskier’s stories.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“He used to perform at the music hall; he was their lead for years. Until a few years ago when the city was sacked…”

“Nilfgaard,” Geralt growled, unsurprised that the empire was the root of yet another problem in his life.

“By Cintra.” Yennefer corrected pointedly. “And the music hall was all but destroyed. Valdo Marx was listed dead after everything was over, but they never actually found his body.”

“So you think that the thing beneath the music hall could actually be Valdo Marx?”

“Well no. Not just him…”

Geralt sighed in frustration. Even after all this time, with everything at stake, she was still holding out on him.

“I think, and I could be wrong, I haven’t been able to find proof, that Valdo Marx merged with something much eviler, or was taken over by it. I might even know the creature that is…inhabiting him.” She turned away from Geralt’s piercing gaze, wrapping one arm across her chest to grip the folded elbow of the other. “I brought it here when I was younger and…stupider.”

Geralt sighed, knowing that she was referring to the years of her desperate, reckless quest to undo her sterilization by Aretuza.

“I came here chasing a rumor, and because it wasn’t a city considered important enough for the Brotherhood to bother with. There was supposedly a creature here, a spirit older than the city, maybe even older than humanity. It was said to be made of pure chaos, to be dark and powerful, to hold sway over the fabric of reality, to play with life and death like one might light matches just to let them burn out. I thought…if I could bind the creature to a single place for a while, I could bargain with it.”

“Yennefer…” the tone of Geralt’s voice bored a little too close to pity for her taste and she shot him a glare.

“It worked. I was able to bind the spirit, to a point in the catacombs that is now long buried under the basement of the music hall. When I left, I didn’t bother to consider the spirit; I had no more use for it, and didn’t care what happened. That is part of why I took the position here, to make up for that. But when I went down, it was gone, and it left behind no violent sign of escape. I thought it must have been freed. So I waited. And now all of this happening, I can’t buy as a coincidence.”

She began to pace, the swishing of her skirt highlighting her agitation.

“I didn’t bind the spirit alone though. I had help. It would have been too powerful otherwise, overwhelmed me. And after the djinn…well I did learn. There were three other mages who helped me do it, but I don’t think we can turn to any of them to help undo it. Sabrina is dealing with something of her own; Istredd’s lost behind Nilfgaardian lines. And Triss …is soft. I think she would view the creature as a something to save instead of destroy. We have to do this ourselves.”

She stopped, facing Geralt head on and meeting his gilded eyes in all their anger.

“I don’t know how or why it merged with Valdo Marx. He may have been trying to escape or survive the attack and accidentally released or he may have done it intentionally. But it is some shadow of his memories that is why the creature has fixated as it has. Having human vessel is making it more dangerous and unpredictable than it would have been alone.”

“If something happens to Jaskier…” the threat did not need to be finished, his tone said enough.

She laughed, harsh and mirthless. “I am less afraid of your wrath than I am of my own self-hatred, should anyone else come to harm from this.” She met his sharp gaze with one of her own, burning equal parts rage and fear. “I’ve no love or loyalty left to the spirit Geralt. And if you seek to destroy it, I’ll help you. But if at any point it comes to a choice between you or her, I will not lose Y/N.”

“I understand Yennefer. I would never ask…” his shoulders slumped, knowing that he was probably lying even as he spoke.

She reached through the bars to give his hand a gentle squeeze before turning sharply on her heel and returning to the prison office.

“You have a single piece of easily planted evidence,” she accused the guard captain before she was even through the door completely. “The rest of your case is based on conjecture and prejudice.”

“Excuse me?” the guard captain snapped, standing from his desk and blustering, fat walrus-like mustache wobbling. “How dare you barge in here?!”

She looked him up and down and narrowed her eyes. “Do you really want it getting around that you arrested and held a man for murder based on a single word from the lyrics of a ballad?”

“The trial hasn’t taken place yet. What would you have me do, Mistress…?” he waved his hand as if waiting for her name.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg.” She smiled somewhat smugly as he paled. “Release the witcher…into my watchful custody. I’ll ensure he shows up for the trial, and we can put him to use in the meantime.”

[centrifuge-politics]

Brick Club 5.4.1

Late late late! I would say something about this compelling illustration but it feels in bad taste. This maybe goes without saying, but TW for suicide and suicidal thoughts. I don’t talk in detail about that aspect, but it very much is the lens this chapter is presented through.

To start off with a mild observation, I don’t particularly picture the Seine as a rapidly flowing river, so I’m wondering what the geography of this area must have been like to create deadly rapids in the Seine.

“There had been a new thing, a revolution, a catastrophe in the depths of his being.” I just watched Hello Future Me’s very good video on redemption arcs and Javert is absolutely primed for the start of a redemption arc that we are tragically deprived of. (The video also just provides really good frameworks for thinking about contextual character growth from any starting point). In the video, Future Me identifies three interconnected aspects of a character’s being that, when altered, create the tension that drives a character to change. These are stakes, views of self, and views of the world. For Javert, these have been in harmony thus far; he must maintain order, he is irreproachable in his duty, and people will always act according to their roles, respectively. But one of these points changes when Valjean spares him; his view of the world is challenged. As a result, his view of himself is no longer compatible with how he sees the world. If this had happened halfway through the book we would possibly see all of these aspects change one after the other as Javert struggled with the new tension between these factors and subsequently changed as a character. But, alas.

Javert has blown past rigid morals and entered into complete prescriptive essentialism. “One thing had astonished him, that Jean Valjean had spared him,” not even because Valjean is ‘bad’ and therefore does ‘bad’ actions, but that taking revenge against Javert would have been justified and even right in Javert’s eyes. It’s a startling view into Javert’s thought process, that every person is so inherently defined by their social positions that they their actions should be 100% predictable at all times, like rational choice theory on steroids.

However, there’s also a really interesting individual element that complicates things. Javert has a personal sense of honor that he has seemingly developed entirely based on his assumptions about society which dictates his response to this situation. It’s like he’s a computer program that hasn’t coded for any exceptions and assumes that every other person is the very same. It has such a twisted Hegelian flair, “the rational alone is real.”

“One of his causes of anxiety was, that he was compelled to think.” Honestly, it’s likely Javert would have never been able to comprehend that he even had an individual sense of honor had it not, at this moment, diverged from the one straight line he’s been following his whole life. There’s suddenly a divide between societal regulations and individual morals that he didn’t even know existed. Of course, the purely rational course of action is to turn Valjean in; a good act doesn’t absolve you of past crimes (legally speaking, because only state sanctioned penalty can exonerate a violation against state law). But Javert has made the mistake of making this personal, he’s no longer objective! Or he never was and is only just now realizing it. Instead, he’s suddenly developing subject/object awareness. Mmm, yes, Hegel. “He had, he, Javert, thought good to decide, against all the regulations of the police, against the whole social and judicial organisation, against the entire code, in favour of a release; that had pleased him; he had substituted his own affairs for the public affairs; could this be characterised?” Yes, sometimes we aren’t mindless cogs in the machine. Imagine if the world were actually imperfect and imprecise. “Terrible situation! to be moved…to be obliged to acknowledge this: infallibility is not infallible.”

The most surprising thing about this crisis is that it took this long for Javert to have it. I would have thought his continual dealings with corrupt individuals with the police would have triggered this crossroads ages ago. In the musical, this maybe works better because Valjean is Javert’s personal obsession. In the book, he’s really just a particular felon that Javert happens to run into every decade or so. He’s not hunting Valjean, he’s not even overly fixated on him until the moment when Valjean does him, personally, an unexpected good turn by not killing Javert as expected. Ignoring the fact that, by everything Javert knows, Valjean has never ever been a violent criminal and his worst crime is breaking parole, this is merely the ‘good’ reversal of the corrupt cop.

Below the cut, more discussion about Javert and rationality.

It’s also notable that this is not a moral awakening, it’s entirely a dilemma of moral logic. “Javert’s ideal was not to be humane, not to be great, not to be sublime; it was to be irreproachable.” And also, something not identical but similar to this has happened to him before! “But how manage to send in his resignation to God?” What a fascinating way of thinking about this. Javert’s mindset truly exemplifies the concept of anomic suicide—which I’ve often linked Marius to as well—which, to review, is characterized by an intense disillusionment and disappointment due to an abrupt shift in circumstances. In Javert’s case, the norms and values he has predicated his entire life on have been violently contested. He no longer feels able to fit into the societal niche he filled, he can’t be a police officer, he can’t be an agent of order, he can’t be a just man. Unlike Marius, Javert’s dilemma has very little to do with emotion and interpersonal conflict and everything to do with established rules and logic.

Javert is an interesting study of how macro structures perpetuate in micro cases, because it’s clear that he’s internalized the strictures of society into a personal ethic, but without any of the context that those strictures were created within. Society says ‘justice’ but what they actually mean is ‘rule of law.’ If Javert simply followed the letter of the law, he could turn Valjean in without reservation, but Javert genuinely believes in the spirit of the law and, well, the two are simply inherently incompatible in a corrupt system. Not to say Javert is a secret advocate of social justice, he definitely still has some screwed up ideas about the worth of poor people and oppressed ethnic groups and, I’m sure, women that definitely influence his idea of what is punishable. But his priorities show in what is functionally his last will and testament. He doesn’t show anything that could be called compassion or empathy for the prisoners he mentions—remember, he isn’t humane—but many of his observations would be a benefit to the prison population and restrictive for the guards. He’s a creature motivated by impartial reason and just exchange built on a questionable moral foundation.

So much of the imagery on the last page is adapted really beautifully in ‘Javert’s Suicide’ and this scene recalls Valjean’s initial epiphany years ago in Digne just as Javert’s melody is reprised from ‘Valjean’s Soliloquy,’ “Immensity seemed open there. What was beneath was not water, it was chasm. The wall of the quai, abrupt, confused, mingled with vapour, suddenly lost to sight, seemed like an escarpment of the infinite…the swollen river guessed at rather than perceived, the tragical whispering of the flood, the dismal vastness of the arches of the bridge, the imaginable fall into that gloomy void, all that shadow full of horror.” Javert, in the end, chose the unknown of death over the unknown of life which, in my opinion, if the core tragedy of his character.

[umisabaku]

Could you write a snippet for KiKasa and your prison AU, please? Those headcanons are amazing and I'm crazy about Kikasa and your writing! Thank you very much for spoiling the knb fandom

AHAHA oh man,anon-friend! I didn’t think anyone was still interested in prison AU! 😁😁😁Hahaha, Iwasn’t really expecting to write anything after those headcanons you mentioned,but I was always very fond of the headcanons I had created for KiKasa so woooo,here we are. It was more fun than I was expecting and now I’m wondering if Ishould go back to Prison!AU…

Under the cut, becausePrison AU has some dark themes and what not and might not be everyone’s cup oftea.

When Kasamatsu Yukiois released from the prison hospital he’s still sore and slightly broken fromthe cracked ribs and repeated punches to the face. The first person to greethim is another guard, who just smirks and says, “Your boy killed three morepeople because of you.”

Kasamatsu has to becareful not to let his reaction show on his face. The other guards in thisprison are not his allies. They are not people he can trust.

He has no allies here.There are no people he can trust.

The news bothers him,a lot, even if it’s not all that surprising. As he was recuperating in thehospital, it had been his big fear—the Copier King’s retaliation. And nowpeople are dead (again) and it’s all his fault (again) and he’s not surehow much more of this he can take.

But he can’t let thatshow. He hasn’t quite figured out the right way to respond to the other guards’taunts. He’s reacted in anger, he’s reacted violently, he’s tried laughing itoff, and now he just ignores it, but none of it seems to actually get them tostop.

“Sure must be nice tohave such a powerful fucktoy,” the guard continues. “Hey, who is the bitch inyour relationship? I’m betting it’s you, right?”

Don’t hit him, Kasamatsu tells himself. Don’t hit him,because that only makes things worse.

One of these dayshe’ll figure out what the right response is.

*

“You have to stopkilling people,” Kasamatsu says.

“Senpai! You’re out ofthe hospital!” Kise bounds to the very edge of his cell. If he reaches out hecould touch Kasamatsu, but he doesn’t, not yet. He knows that’ll only makeKasamatsu angry, and maybe even make him leave, and that’s not what Kise wants.

“I mean it, Kise,”Kasamatsu says. There’s no point in telling him to stop calling him “senpai”—eversince he’d found out they’d gone to the same high school (although not at thesame time, Kise is five years younger than he is) Kise won’t stop with thenickname. Kasamatsu’s not sure why he objects—maybe because he feels like if hehad been a proper senpai, Kise wouldn’t have turned out like this.

“I will stop killingpeople,” Kise says, “Once they understand they’re not allowed to hurt you. Ithink they’re getting the picture after this last time, it was reeeeallynasty.”

Once again he has tonot react. But no matter how hard he tries to remain calm, Kise must see itanyway because he softly adds, “They weren’t good people, Senpai. They don’tdeserve your sympathy. And they hurt you.”

Kasamatsu holds hisside, almost unconsciously, still feeling the pain. “But I didn’t want themdead. And you need to—you aren’t like this.” Kise Ryouta hadn’t been a killerbefore he’d been sent to prison. But now he’s here, in this place that’snot a prison so much as a shared hell on earth, and he kills all the time. Itmakes Kasamatsu sad to think about, because he wonders if that’s theinevitability of this place.

“It’s always who Icould have been,” Kise says with a shrug. “Hey, Senpai, I promise I’ll be goodand not hurt anyone for like, two whole weeks, if you just answer my question.”

Kasamatsu sighs. Hedoesn’t want to know this man. Kise is too dangerous, too fixated, (too tempting)to get to know better. So Kasamatsu didn’t want to answer Kise’s question—whatis an honest man doing in this prison?—because he hadn’t wanted to createany kind of familiarity between them. If he answers one question, he’ll answerthe next, and they might start being friends, and then—he can’t start goingdown that path. Or at least, he never did before. But maybe he can barter himinto good behavior. Maybe it would be worth broaching that dangerous line offamiliarity.

“I tried to speak outagainst a man who had friends in high places,” he replies. And he at least hasthe satisfaction of shocking Kise, who clearly hadn’t expected him to respond.“I tried to stop someone and was punished for it. That’s why they sent mehere.”

Kise tilts his head. “Yeah,I figured it had to be something like that. Alright, I promise to be on my verybest behavior.”

“Good,” Kasamatsusays, and he turns.

“You’re leavingalready?” Kise says, sounding dismayed.

It’s too dangerous tobe fond of this man. He knows what Kise wants and Kasamatsu is not—he’s not—thekind of man who would sleep with a prisoner.

Even if that prisoneris incredibly attractive and makes him feel certain things (want certainthings). Even then.

“I have a job to do,Kise.”

Kise sighs and then says,“You have friends now, Senpai. You should remember that. Friends in somelow places, you could say.”

“No, I don’t,”Kasamatsu says. He has no allies here. And he walks away feeling relieved,because at least that’s one more day where he says “no” to Kise.

He’s very worriedabout the day he stops saying “no.”

[mewmewchann]

RWBY: Y.v.S - Attack From the Skies

The city of Vale is now under threat from a sudden Grimm invasion during the tournament. But, even after the Grimm arrive, it seems to only be the first stage in a malicious plan...

(Oh yeah, I actually mention a member of team JNPR in this chapter. That’s a first. XD)

She was striding happily through the interior of an Atlesian airship, humming a tune which can only be described as similar to that of the jingle of an ice cream truck.

She didn't seem to care much about the others on the ship. Most of them were now dead, anyway. She was only looking for one specific person.

She found the locked door to a prison-like cell in one of the ship's many hallways. She whirled out a bloodstained keycard that she stole from one of the guards on the ship and used it to unlock the cell door.

The figure in the cell looked up at her when she opened the door. She smiled at him and handed him his signature hat and cane.

"Well..." Roman Torchwick replied, a sinister grin creeping across his face. "...It's about time."

Penny was fixated on the Nevermore that was slowly wrecking the arena's protective shield.

The arena was nearly empty. The majority of the audience had left the arena.

It wasn't like there was very much people in the audience, anyway.

The Nevermore slowly flew upwards and rammed right through the shield. Penny realised what was going on moments too late.

Suddenly, the Nevermore crashed to the arena floor.

As it turns out, three of Beacon Academy's rocket-powered weapon lockers had landed on the Grimm's head and wings. Before the monster could get up, a blur of rose petals flew straight into it.

"R-Ruby!?" Penny said, surprised.

Ruby pulled her scythe out of the locker on the Nevermore's head.

"LEAVE HER ALONE!"

The Nevermore tried once again to take to the skies, but something had been rammed into it's right wing.

"Sorry about that," Fox said nonchalantly, as he was shoving his own weapons into the Grimm's wing. "But we're not gonna let you leave."

Velvet, who was taking care of the left wing, agreed.

An astonished Penny looked over to Ruby. "Ruby, I-"

"Don't worry about it." Ruby replied reassuringly. "We'll take care of this."

Fox backflipped off the Nevermore's wing, followed by Velvet also leaping off of the giant Grimm, as it was starting to get up.

"I have a feeling that it's going to start moving again..." Velvet started.

The Nevermore suddenly flew upwards and took to the skies once more.

"Well..." Fox replied, clicking the triggers on both of his weapons.

Part of the blades on his weapons folded open to reveal a pair of miniature machine guns.

"We're just gonna have to slow it down."

He used a secondary trigger on his weapon to fire both of the guns. Every single one of the bullets he fired hit the Nevermore directly in the head. While the Nevermore was distracted, Ruby used this as a chance, and retracted her scythe into sniper mode.

Her bullets, however, missed the target entirely.

"Ruby!" Fox stopped firing. "You're directing it's attention towards-"

Fox was cut short as the Nevermore Flew upwards and, with a flap of it’s great wings, sent a flurry of razor-sharp feathers towards him.

“FOX!!!” Velvet cried out in alarm.

Fox managed to get up after the attack, but the dark flash of his aura immediately indicated that his aura had been depleted completely. Not only that, but one of the Nevermore’s sharp feathers had sliced a deep cut into his right arm.

But not even the blood that was running down his arm seemed to faze him from trying to finish the monster off. He charged over to the Grimm, his blades ready.

“Fox, stop it!” Ruby pleaded desperately. “You’re going to get hurt!”

Penny, who had been watching the ensuing struggle with the Nevermore, had had enough with watching her friends get hurt.

Six swords suddenly flew out of the backpack on her back and lodged themselves in the Nevermore’s wings.

“Penny!?” Ruby exclaimed, surprised. “What the heck are you-”

“Can I please ask you and your friends to get back, Ruby?” Penny asked calmly.

Ruby understood, ran to the stage’s edge and signalled to Velvet. Velvet grabbed Fox and also moved him to the side of the arena.

As soon as she knew her friends were safe, Penny pulled down on her swords. The Nevermore slammed into the arena floor.

This proved to be the finishing blow, as the Grimm began to disintegrate into ash.

Weiss and Blake were running through the fairground area. They had both gotten their weapons in case a Grimm had attacked them.

The fairground area was in a panic. After the Grimm had attacked the colosseum, the general panic in the area had brought the creatures of Grimm to the city, too.

“Where are we going!?” Weiss asked, running out of breath.

“Where do you think we’re going!?” Blake responded. “We have to go to Beacon’s campus! The Grimm aren’t gonna kill themselves!”

Weiss nodded in understanding, and both of them kept running.

“Hey!” Someone said behind them. Weiss and Blake turned around.

It was a girl, who looked at least 12 years old. She had short blue hair, was wearing a white top with a black cloth belt, had a blue staff in her right hand and was carrying a huge gourd of some kind on her back.

How can someone so young be able to carry THAT thing!? Blake thought.

“What is it?” Blake said.

“Do you know the nearest way to Amity Colosseum?” The girl asked. “And if you do, can you tell me?”

Blake was taken aback. “You...Do know that there most likely will be Grimm there, right?”

The girl nodded. “Yes.”

“And that they could seriously hurt you, right?”

“Yes. Which way is it?”

Blake glanced over to Weiss. She shrugged. Neither of them knew the quickest way to the colosseum.

But it seemed that someone else was solving that problem.

“You want the way to the colosseum, right?” Another trainee huntsman said, approaching the girl.

The girl nodded. “Do you know the way?”

“It’s that way.” He said, pointing to a direction.

The girl smiled. “Thank you, mister…?”

“Ren. Lie Ren.” He responded. “And you are?”

“Marina Aqua.” The girl responded. “Thanks for your help.”

She ran off, saying something to someone. It wasn’t clear what she was saying, but it was along the  lines of “Crimson I know where to go.”

“Thanks for that, Ren.” Weiss said gratefully.

“No problem.”

Roman was playing around with the airship’s controls, using it’s artillery to shoot down other Atlesian ships.

“It is GOOD to be back!” He said excitedly, as he shot down another craft. “Nice try, buddy! You can’t stop me now! Ahahaha!”

Neo approached him with a scroll in her hand. She tapped him on the shoulder.

“Not now Neo, I’m on a roll here!” He dismissed her, continuing to shoot down other ships. “You think you can get away? TOO BAD, SUCKER! Pew! Pew! Pew!”

Neo tapped him on the shoulder again.

“Hold on a sec! Let’s see if I can release the robots on this one-”

Neo, getting impatient, pushed Roman away from the controls.

“GAH! Neo, what the heck are you- oh.”

Neo handed the scroll over to him.

“Well...” He said, as he plugged the scroll into the ship’s controls. The screen turned a bright red and a black chess piece appeared on it.

“Now THIS is going to be fun.”

“You did it!” Ruby exclaimed happily. “That was so cool!”

“Those swords do put you at a tactical advantage.” Velvet said, getting out her camera. “And since you still have them out...” She took a picture of the swords. Penny wasn’t fazed by the click of Velvet’s camera.

“How did you even manage to pull it down?” Ruby asked excitedly.

“Well,” Velvet answered. “Can’t you see the strings?”

“Uh...Guys?” Fox was looking up at the skies above the arena, where Atlesian ships were flying above them.

The girls didn’t seem to take notice of him.

“Wait, strings?” Ruby asked.

Velvet shrugged. “Puppet strings.”

“Guys!” Fox said urgently.

“Oh!” Velvet said. “What is it?”

He gestured towards the Atlesian ships, which were deploying different robots. The only thing the robots had in common was that they each had a glowing red light.

“I think the bad guys have a backup plan.”

“Wait,” Velvet responded, going closer to her teammate. “Aren’t those just the Atlesians?”

Fox nodded. “But something isn’t right.”

Velvet noticed what he was talking about. “The robots all have red lights...”

“And, according to most sources, that’s the main sign that a robot has gone evil.” He shrugged. “Seriously. Why do robot builders always install red lights into their robots?”

“W-well...” Ruby said. “Let’s just hope they don’t come over here,” She turned over to the other person in the arena. “Right, Penny?”

Penny didn’t respond.

“Uh...” Ruby tried again. “Penny?”

Penny still wasn’t saying anything.

Suddenly, she turned around.

Her eyes were bright red.

[iamthestrangerinmoscow]

My assignment for @autisticfanworkexchange - a fanfic for  @kyrfiore

I’m sorry that I couldn’t write anything more specific, but we were matched by mods and I’m only familiar with Harry Potter. However I tried my best and I hope you will still appreciate it. Also sorry for my weird punctuation - twelve years of learning English, still can’t punctuate dialogues the English way.

“We’re Scully and Mulder”

fandom: Harry Potter 

rating: PG-13/T

AU (alternative to “Nighteen Years Later”), Luna/Hermione, detective, mystery, fluff, autistic!Luna, autistic!Hermione; ~5500 words long

content warnings for: death/murder (but there’s nothing too nasty or graphic)

“They got together; wave and stone,

Verse and prose, ice and flame…”

Alexander Pushkin, ‘Eugene Onegin’

 Today Hermione came back home even later than usual. Her fumbling with the door keys woke up the neighbors’ yappy dog, and she quietly cursed under her breath, as she continued to look for the keyhole in the darkness of the alleyway. The door seemed adamant about not wanting to be opened. Glancing over her shoulder to check for strangers, Hermione took out her wand and whispered ‘lumos’. A beam of white light shone from the wand, and finally she could locate the keyhole. She couldn’t just use ‘alahomora’ on this one – it was protected from unwanted entrance.

The door clicked, hissed and screeched – as if tiny gears were spinning and turning inside it. When, in the end, it opened, it revealed a small room lit by a soft, orange light. If someone was to enter it without a special key, all they would find in the house was dust and empty halls. But the muggles believed the house was abandoned years ago, so they rarely bothered to even pass by. Sometimes kids would come to explore the place, out of curiosity or for a dare, but they didn’t stay for long. For them, it wasn’t entertaining enough, simply because they never saw the truth.

Hermione closed the door behind her, and tiptoed her way into the living room. It was quiet and dark, so she assumed Luna was already asleep. She wasn’t surprised – it was already past midnight when she left the Ministry. It must have been very late now. Or very early, depending on your point of view. She dropped her heavy bag on the couch, took off her coat and boots, and headed for the kitchen. There a big plate covered by a metal lid was waiting for her on the table. Hermione smiled, took of the lid and breathed in the smell of food. One time she asked Luna what kind of magic she used for cooking. To that she replied with one word: ‘spices’.

She heated up the cold chicken curry with a silent movement of her wand and sat in the kitchen eating. All around her on the walls were paintings, paintings of rare (and sometimes imaginary) creatures, beautiful landscapes, and friendly faces. Luna’s life centered on her art, it was everywhere you looked. In the morning, right after sunrise, she was already in their garden, painting another masterpiece. Often she would draw the same picture over and over again, perfecting the technique, focusing on every tiny detail that seemed important to her. Hermione was pretty sure that, by now, their every friend had at least a few of Luna’s paintings in their house. And still, there was never a shortage. She didn’t seem to ever run out of inspiration.

After finishing her late night dinner, Hermione put the dish in the sink and tiptoed up the stairs to the bedroom. As she has guessed, Luna was in the bed, wrapped in three heavy blankets and asleep. Not bothering to change into pajamas, Hermione took off everything apart from her underwear and quietly slipped under the blankets. Luna’s sleep remained undisturbed. With a sign of relief, Hermione turned on her side and pressed her face into the soft, cool pillow. She was so tired that sleep kidnapped her mind before her thoughts came back to today’s events, and luckily so. At least the disturbing images stayed out of her dreams.

***

She woke up because something heavy was sitting on her chest. Hermione rubbed her eyes and squinted. It was Vincent – their fluffy, slightly overfed cat. She stretched, making Vincent jump from her chest and walk away on his short legs, evidently not very pleased.

As she got up and started picking a new set of clothes, Luna entered the room.

-Good morning, buttercup. – She murmured, fiddling with a lock of her hair. – Breakfast is ready.

And immediately after she turned round to leave.

-You’re not gonna ask me about yesterday? – Hermione asked.

Luna shrugged. – I’m not gonna interrogate you before your first cup of coffee. Besides, I have flowers to water. – She pointed at the shirts that Hermione held in her hands. – That one. – She said. – It is softer, and looks much better on you. Now, gotta check on those tulips.

Hermione smiled. Luna and she couldn’t have been more different. Luna was quiet and gentle, moving like a flower petal on the wind, carefully avoiding every obstacle in her way. She spoke rarely, and even when she did, her words were sometimes puzzling, sometimes outright nonsensical, but Hermione could always understand her. And Hermione spoke a lot, maybe even too much – even when exhausted beyond the point of no return, she would still create long, sophisticated monologues filled with meaning. But she always envied Luna, her creative talents, the grace in her movements… Hermione couldn’t walk across her own house without bumping into something.

The differences didn’t stop there. Hermione was order, and Luna was chaos. Hermione took the same route on her way home, every day, for the last seven years. She read the same books she had as a child, and kept her interests and obsessions for decades. Luna collected obsessions like stamps – every few months, there was something new. She loved re-decorating the house, moving the furniture around in ever so subtle ways, which sometimes pissed Hermione off. Luna resided in randomness; it seemed her world was bigger than just the objects around her. There was a universe in her mind that she didn’t share with anyone.

 The golden rays of the sun were crawling slowly up the walls, highlighting every scratch and dusty surface. The air was thick and smelled of syrop and coffee beans. Hermione held her cup firmly in her hands, sipping the hot liquid. She loved her mornings: sitting near the window, eating breakfast and watching her beloved girlfriend take care of the flowers. Her house was a safe place. It was calm, quiet, and familiar – pleasantly devoid of surprises. Well, except for Luna’s eccentric decorating projects.

-Did you enjoy the waffles?

Hermione didn’t catch the moment Luna came back to the house. She was standing in front of the table, her blond hair messy and tangled, dirt under her fingernails.

-I did. – Hermione nodded, mixing her coffee absent-mindedly.

-What is bothering you? – Luna asked, and took a seat opposite her.

Once again, Hermione was surprised by Luna’s abilities to read her state of mind. Five years of living together, and she still relied on taking sneak-peaks at Luna’s mood stone. Despite sounding like a cheap fake, that trinket of her actually worked.

-The usual. – Hermione replied. – Rather nasty case in the ministry.

Hermione loved working in the Magical Law Enforcement, she truly did. But every time they sent her to be an expert on a ‘special case’, the memories would haunt her for weeks.

-Murder?

-Suspected. And nobody has any idea what might have killed him.

-Who was the victim?

-A man, Sebastian Abbey. He lived alone, no family, no friends, recently released from Azkaban after two years of service for various small crimes – not exactly a celebrated member of society. That’s probably why he was found a week after he died. No one checked on him. They aren’t sure if it has any connection with magic, they called us because he was a wizard.

-What do you think has happened? – Luna was twirling a ribbon in her hands, wrapping it around her index finger, then unwrapping, then doing it again.

-I have no idea. Couldn’t have been murder, or suicide, or natural cause. But it sure is creepy.

 They climbed down the wobbly staircase, and it felt like it could break under their feet at any minute. The cellar was dark, and the smell of rotting and decay was overwhelming. The wooden floor was covered by dirt, dry leafs and old, yellow scrolls. And there, in the middle of the room, was the reason they were here – a body of a young man.

Avior, Hermione’s trainee, stood in the corner, eyes fixated on one spot. He was easily frightened and didn’t deal very well with stress, but it didn’t stop him from choosing his current job. Hermione wanted to encourage him, but she didn’t feel well herself. She almost had to force her own hand to move and direct the source of light to the victim. The dead man laid on his back on the muddy floor, his eyes closed, his skin grey and slightly wrinkled. There were no signs of trauma or struggle. In fact, he looked as if he fell asleep and passed away for no reason at all. Hermione has seen things much worse, during the war and at her work. Nevertheless, the sight was bothering her immensely.

-This place looks deserted. Like no one has lived here for years. – Avior said, cautiously taking a step forward.

-He returned from prison a month ago. – Hermione explained. – His name is, was, Sebastian.

-Did the previous team come up with any explanations?

-They haven’t got a clue. – She was waving her wand over the body, checking for any used spell. – That’s why they called us.

-Doesn’t look like a human could have done it. Could it be an animal, or a magical creature? Like a dementor.

-Dementors don’t kill. – Hermione replied. – They are only interested in the soul.

-Maybe it was an accident. I saw a cauldron in the living room. Many potions prepared improperly can kill. – He forced an awkward smile. – I was good at potions at school.

-I’m very happy for you. – She told him, only then realizing how sarcastic her tone was. – I’m sorry, Ave. I like this no more than you do.

The other workers soon arrived to take the body to a facility. They had specialists who could identify tiny traces of any substance, or any spell. Yet they discovered nothing. When they came back to the ministry, Hermione turned to the best source of comfort and knowledge she knew – a library. Her own collection was so extensive, finding the right volume was already a challenge. She spent the rest of her day with her books. She was so absorbed by the confusing, contradicting statements that her perception of time just turned off. By the time she got up from her chair, it was already late evening.

What was the mysterious force that killed a man right there, in his house, leaving no traces and no clues? She didn’t know, and it was making her feel uneasy and rather anxious.

 -When lost, look for someone who is lost too. – Luna said, then got up and started picking up the dirty dishes. She hummed a tune under her breath as she guided the plates into the sink with an upward motion of her wand. – Nevil will love the asters. They are about to bloom.

Immediately, Hermione understood what Luna meant.

-You’re right. – She said. – I’ll ask Harry about it.

-Say hi to thestrals from me. – Luna added, kissing Hermione on the cheek.

And a minute later she was gone from the room.

***

The Floo network between the ministry and Hogwarts was due for a renewal decades ago, but the wizards and witches in charge of budget kept postponing it. ‘We already have the Hogwarts Express to pay for!’ they said. Hermione wondered what they would say if they had to use the system, at least once in a while. She cursed under her breath, then sneezed, and a small puff of Floo powder erupted from her nose. Trying desperately to brush it off her robe, she climbed out of the fireplace and stretched.

The Defense against the dark arts professor’s office was empty and looked rather lonely. Hermione has heard that Harry didn’t use it very often, and preferred to spend his free time in the Gryffindor common room. It made the students increasingly uncomfortable, but no one wanted to talk to him about it. Twenty years later, Harry still couldn’t take a hint.

She found him in one of the classrooms, cleaning up after some sort of magical accident. There were tiny pieces of shredded paper everywhere: some of them smoking, some already burning. Harry was leaping from one pile of paper shreds to another, distinguishing the fire with swift motions of his wand, completely absorbed by the task. Hermione giggled, but he didn’t notice. She took her own want out of her pocket, raised her arm in the air and said:

-Scourgify.

And the mess disappeared. Harry turned on the spot and looked at Hermione as if she just did something absolutely inexcusable.

-Thanks a lot. – He said, and sighed. – Now I’ll have to set it up again for the next class.

-You mean this was done on purpose?

-Of course! I am simulating a snow storm.

-You do know there is a spell that creates snow, right? – She pointed her wand upwards, and snowflakes started falling from the ceiling.

-Oh. – Harry scratched his head, rather embarrassed. – Well, paper still looks nicer.

 They sat near a window and drank tea while a bunch of first year students had their broomstick flying class outside. Hermione smiled as she remembered her first try, and Harry’s ultimate triumph on that day.

-Oliver Wood comes to give a masterclass or two every year. – Harry informed her. – I go to Hogsmeade when it happens. He always makes me do a demonstration, and I hate that.

-Sure, because you can’t stand being in the center of attention, the chosen one.

-I’d love it, if I could fly as well as I used to. – He replied. – No, I’d rather stick to my own subject.

Once they have discussed all the recent news and rumors, Hermione was going to get to the purpose of her visit, but was interrupted by a girl in Ravenclaw robes sneaking into the classroom without knocking.

-Professor Potter? – She called, her hands clasped awkwardly behind her back.

-What is it, Jamie? – Harry asked.

-There are pixies in the corridor near the Clock Tower.

-No there aren’t. I checked. Twice.

-But sir, Lin and I, we saw them!

-If there were any pixies there, I would have found them. – Harry insisted. – I have been an auror, you know.

The girl giggled. – For six months.

-Have you been an auror for six months, Jamie? – He asked, a kind expression on his face.

-No. – The girl replied. – But I might be, when I grow up.

-You shouldn’t miss your classes then. Don’t you have Herbology right now?

She nodded, and turned to leave.

-Kind of tired of those pixie rumors. – Harry told Hermione when the girl closed the door behind her. – To be honest, I did hear some noise in that corridor. Hope they won’t actually find any. That would be embarrassing.

Hermione laughed. – You know, I am still a little bit shocked by the fact McGonnagal even allowed you to teach, with no experience and no recommendation letter.

-They don’t exactly have people lining up for this position. – He shrugged. – Besides, at least I do my job better than, say, a man with Voldemort on his head, or worse – Umbridge.

-Can’t argue with that. – Hermione smiled.

-So, might I ask you why you are here? – He asked. – Apart from insulting my teaching abilities.

-Oh, you should be pleased.  –She replied. – I am here for your wisdom and expertise.

He listened to her speak, and not a muscle moved on his face. Harry wasn’t easily disturbed. Maybe he developed an immunity, or maybe he just learned not to show it. Once she had nothing more to say, he shook his head.

-I’m sorry, but I have no idea. My only original guess was Basilisk, or something of the kind. There is magic that leaves no trace, but I am not familiar enough with that. I can list a dozen or so of potential spells, but I don’t think it will help you.

-Right. – Hermione frowned. – I guess we’ll have to postpone the case, until more evidence resurfaces. It’s a shame though. Maybe he wasn’t a very nice guy, but he deserves justice too.

Suddenly someone burst through the door.

-Professor Potter! – It was a tall, skinny boy with a Slytherin scarf around his neck. – Pixies! Near the Clock Tower!

-How many times…

-No, they caught them now. They really did!

Harry rubbed his eyes, thinking.

-Do I have to deal with it?

-It was your son who set them free though, sir. Headmistress wants to see you.

-I’ll be there in a minute. Now go, Augustus, go.

The boy nodded and left the room.

Hermione got up. – I guess I’ll be going. James is in trouble, probably.

-Three weeks at Hogwarts, already two detentions.

-You aren’t proud?

-He caused them all by accident.

Hermione smiled, but covered her mouth. – Like father, like son.

Harry didn’t react.

-Okay then, I’m gonna go see Neville. Luna gave me some aster seeds for him.

***

There were many things Hermione disliked: cruelty, hypocrisy, itchy sweaters, lukewarm tea… the list went on. However one thing never failed to ruin her emotional stability – uncertainty. Ambiguity. Mystery. When asked a question, she would spend her every waking moment thinking about it, until the answer was clear to her. People thought of her as an obnoxious know-it-all, but the truth was, absence of knowledge simply made her incredibly uncomfortable, so she strived to fill that vacuum. The problem began when a question existed, but nobody knew the answer. That’s when her need for certainty would get on her nerves.

She was biting her nails again, curled up in an armchair, and Luna noticed how tense and uncomfortable she looked. A minute later she was there with a warm blanket and a tin of sweets.

-Take one. – She said, opening the tin.

-My parents would be furious if they knew you are feeding their beloved daughter pure sugar.

-But they aren’t here. – Luna replied, and took one to demonstrate. – They taste like mint and lemon.

Hesitating for a second, Hermione took a sweet as well. Maybe it’s not very good for her teeth, but at least she isn’t biting her nails anymore. She wrapped herself in the blanket that Luna brought and made room for her in the big armchair.

-You look stormy. – Luna said. – Like a cloud when it’s about to rain. What’s on your mind?

-Oh, you know. The case. It’s bothering me so much! I just need to know what it was.

-Maybe it was tacita interfectorem. – She suggested. – It’s a wild spirit, lives under the ground, hides in there at night: in mole tunnels and in between the roots of trees. It doesn’t usually attack people, but when it does, they die instantly, and there is no trace. Blink of an eye, and that’s it.

-I appreciate your effort, but I doubt it was an imaginary creature.

-They are as imaginary as nargles. – Luna told her, slightly offended.

-Exactly my point. – Hermione nodded.

For a moment, they were silent.

-I wonder if the flavor of the quarks is a nice flavor or not. – Luna said, suddenly changing the subject. – I think their colors are pretty.

-What are you talking about? – Hermione asked.

-The quarks. The tiny things that electrons and protons and photons are made of.

One of the muggle sciences, quantum physics, was Luna’s latest obsession. She would go on for hours about the properties of Higg’s bosons and particle-wave duality of light, and to Hermione it sounded indistinguishable from her usual tales and fantasies. She found it hard to believe that those unfamiliar with magic could take these peculiar ideas and call them science, but then she saw Luna write a rather complex equation right on the living room table, and it changed her mind. She wasn’t surprised that out of all people Luna took interest in the area, and managed to make sense of it. She was a true Ravenclaw after all.

-Quarks have a spin, a color, a flavor and strangeness. And some other properties, too. I’ve told you about it a week ago, when we were outside in the garden.

-Yes, I remember. – Hermione told her. – And I still don’t understand it.

-Want to know a secret? – She asked, then leaned closer and whispered in her ear: - Nobody does. And if they say they do, they are lying.

Then Luna laughed, and her laughter was clear and melodic, like tiny bells ringing. It made Hermione feel warm and fuzzy.

-What did Harry say? Did he help you? – Luna asked, returning back to point.

-Not really. But I’m glad I talked to him. And being at Hogwarts was nice. Things are really changing there, in terms of equality. He said that back in April Slytherin students had to stay in other dorms because there was a stink problem at the dungeons again, and barely anyone protested.

-Was it Peeves that ruined their dorms?

-I think it’s just a natural thing. Maybe one day they will have to rebuild the whole building. Wouldn’t be a bad idea. The sewers definitely need a renewal – there’s a skeleton of a huge deadly snake somewhere in there.

-Are you gonna keep investigating?

Hermione sighed. – I don’t know. I think we will have to leave it unsolved.

-Okay. – Luna said. – Do you want to listen to the radio?

-With pleasure.

 They sat in the armchair together, wrapped in one blanket, with Vincent on Luna’s lap, and listened to Lee Jordan go on about the crisis in the broomstick industry – and in that moment, no evil existed in the world, or at least not in their home.

***

Sometimes Luna’s mind would play tricks on her. Sometimes her wild imagination kept her awake at night. She had a tendency to be haunted by the ghosts of the pasts. She found it hard to let go of old fears and heartbreaks. To this day every time she saw someone laughing, her first thought would be ‘they are laughing at me’. Hermione couldn’t relate. For her anxieties of the future were more common, and much more bothersome. But she always tried to support her the best way she could.

Luna woke up mere minutes before the first rays of sunrise touched the windows. She tossed and turned trying to fall asleep again, but it only made her feel worse. With a sigh she gently poked Hermione’s arm, and she immediately woke up, and looked at her, her eyebrows frowned.

-What is it? – Hermione asked.

Luna made a high-pitched, distressed noise. Words were difficult for her to process when she was worried.

-Dreams. Bad dreams. – Luna said, finally.

Hermione rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clocks. Six fifty three in the morning. There was no point in going back to sleep now.

-Dreams about what?

-Things that never was, never have been. – Luna told her, squeezing Hermione’s hand. – Parallel universes.

-Parallel universes?

-Yes. Other worlds, worlds that don’t look like ours. Foreign, and cursed. Not all of them, just the ones I saw.

-How can parallel worlds exist?

Luna blinked, gathering her thoughts. – They keep separating, with every decision that we make. Sometimes they are kind, and beautiful. Sometimes they are wrong. I saw a world where we never met, where you, and Ron, and Harry, and Neville haven’t been my friends. It was lonely. I don’t like lonely.

-Well, you aren’t alone now. – Hermione assured her, and they embraced.

-We’re Scully and Mulder, and we need each other. – Luna said.

Hermione smiled. – Sure, if you want to believe.

And together they watched the world drown in pallid pink shades of the young dawn.

***

Hermione looked to her right, then to her left, then to her right again. On one side of the table laid an enormous stack of parchment, her neat handwriting all over it. On the other was a second, even bigger stack, of blank parchment. It didn’t seem to diminish no matter how much time she spent working on it. And it was nearly lunch break.

Suddenly her decision to help everyone in the department seemed not very wise. She was trying to be nice, get people to like her, but now she just had a headache from all the paperwork. Perhaps she should turn people down, tell them to do their part themselves, but then they would dislike her even more. She stretched, and got up from the table. She will feel better after a break.

Before she had time to return to her self-appointed duties, there was a knock on the door. ‘Weird’, Hermione thought. Usually she didn’t have any visitors in the middle of the day, unless something bad has happened. And she definitely didn’t need any more bad in her life right now. Cautiously, she opened the door leading to her office.

Behind it was a short woman, casually dressed, with very long hair and dark circles under her eyes. She hid her hands in her pockets and coughed.

-Excuse me? – Hermione wasn’t sure about what to say. – Are you looking for something, or someone?

-Mmmm, yes. – The woman replied. – Can I come in?

Hermione shrugged. – I guess.

-Thank you. – She stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind her. – I’m Ruby, Ruby Whittaker. I’m here to collect the personal possessions of Sebastian Abbey.

-Oh. – Suddenly Hermione felt weak and pale, as if she alone was responsible for the man’s murder. – Are you his family member?

-Friend, or at least we used to be friends. We weren’t that close. – She quickly added.

-I’m sorry for your loss. – Hermione told her, as the only socially acceptable thing she knew for this situation. – Want a cup of tea?

-Sure. – Ruby said, taking a free seat near Hermione’s table.

 ‘Drinking tea is such a British thing’, Hermione thought to herself, mixing the brown liquid in her cup. ‘In case of emergency, put the kettle on’. She liked it though. There was something calming about the whole ritual, from boiling the water to adding milk and sugar. It brought confidence.

-I do not have the possessions here. – Hermione said. – We’ll have to descend two levels down for that. But I can talk to you about… it, answer any questions you might have.

Ruby was rather occupied by the photos on Hermione’s table: one with Ron and Parvati, one with Neville and Hannah, and the one where Harry and Ginny stood with all three of their kids, waving at the camera together.

-Are you Hermione Granger? – She asked, scratching her nose.

-Yes, yes I am. – She nodded.

-I have read that book about you all. I didn’t believe most of it, but I must say – your contribution to winning the war will never be forgotten.

Hermione felt awkward. It has been a lot of time since it happened, and less and less people would bring it up. This has been the first time in months.

-I was a second year student when it happened. I wanted to stay and fight but we were all evacuated. Sat it out safely while so many people died. It is sad. I just want you to know that people remember and people are grateful.

-Thank you. – Hermione finally made herself say something. She sipped her tea, hoping that part of the conversation was now over. – So, do you have any questions about the investigation?

-Not really. – Ruby replied. – I don’t have illusions about Seb. He was never a lawful citizen. It’s a shame though. He was a great student, brilliant at transfiguration. But he used his talents in the wrong way. He would sell transfigured stuff at the Diagon Alley for a lot of money, and as soon as the “happy customer” would come back home, the trinkets would turn back into a piece of rusty metal or something like that. He made a fortune on that. Too bad they took it all away when he went to Azkaban.

-Not all people have enough good in them. – Hermione said. – Doesn’t mean they deserve to die.

-Oh no, I’m not saying he deserved death. But I am not surprised he ended up like that. I really tried to help him, but he didn’t want my help. He just wanted more gold. – Ruby sighed. – I missed being his friend. I remember our time in the Hufflepuff dorm rooms, sharing secrets, exchanging chocolate frog cards. Good times.

Ruby looked up and saw a big Hogwarts banned hanging on the wall.

-I see you are nostalgic too. – She smiled.

-A little bit. – Hermione agreed.

-Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandes. – Ruby read. – Funny thing, I still don’t know what that means.

-It means ‘don’t tickle a sleeping dragon’. – Hermione explained. – It’s Latin.

-Latin?

-Yes, like ‘veni vidi vici’, or ‘homo homini lupus est’, or… - Suddenly she felt as though a light bulb lit up in her mind. – Or ‘tacita interfectorem’. – She murmured.

-What does that mean?

-Silent killer. It means silent killer. – Hermione got up. – Sorry, I need to go now. Knock on someone else’s door, they can lead you to the right place.

And without a reply, she stormed off. As she ran across the corridors, thoughts swarmed once again in her head, pieces of a puzzle assembling into one picture. Everything made sense now: the pale grey skin, the horrible smell, even Luna’s comment. She practically forced her way into Avior’s office, and he nearly chocked on a slice of pie.

-Lunch is over. – She told him. – We’re going to the crime scene.

 Apparition didn’t go that well for Avior – a patch of his hair was removed in the process. Now, while Hermione examined every corner of the building, he stood in front of a dirty mirror and scratched the back of his head.

-You’re okay? – Hermione asked, passing by with a wand in her hand.

-Sure. – He didn’t sound very convincing. – I wanted to get a haircut anyway.

-I think we need to go down there again.

He nodded, wrapping himself in his coat for comfort. ‘Should have taken that job in an ice cream shop’ he said to himself as they climbed down the same wobbly staircase.

-It should be here somewhere. – Hermione seemed to be sniffing the air in the room, very focused on her task.

-What?

-Silent killer! Ugh, I should have known from the beginning. It’s obvious!

-Not to me.

She turned around and looked him in the eyes. – H2S, hydrogen sulfide. It’s a colorless, poisonous gas. It can kill in a minute, and it leaves no trace. Except for the smell.

-The smell?

-The smell of rotting eggs. It must be somewhere in here, that’s where we found him. – One more minute of searching, and finaly success. – Aha! – She exclaimed. – Here. – And she beckoned Avior with her finger.

He came closer and cautiously sniffed the air, then immediately made a step back.

-It’s disgusting.

-We better move away. – Hermione added, stepping back as well.

-How can you breathe that in for a whole minute?!

-Your nervous cell start to die – after ten seconds, you don’t even smell it anymore.

-Huh. – He scratched his head, which reminded him of the bold patch. – So he must ‘ave been trying to fix something in there, breathed in too much, and died.

-This thing leads straight to a container filled to the brim with garbage. Perfect conditions for the gas to be produced.

-So there is no murdered then?

-No. It was an accident.

They paused. The whole event still seemed rather tragic.

 -It’s not pointless. – Avior said, when they were back upstairs. – This house was already bought. If you didn’t solve this mystery, the next owners could have died as well, or people who came to clean that thing. You saved their lives.

-Thanks. – Hermione replied. – But it wasn’t me who solved it.

-No?

-It was my girlfriend.

***

The evening was pitch black and unusually warm. Outside dozens of moths flew in circles around a lamp, pushing and fighting for a better spot, looking for god knows what. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and ginger – Luna was making an apple pie. She hummed a tune under her nose, hoping from one spot to another. Hermione sat opposite her, knitting a hat, or maybe a sock. She wasn’t sure yet. It didn’t really matter anyway, she just liked the sensation of having the soft material in her hands, and the motion of the fingers.

-I wanna go feed squirrels tomorrow. – Luna said, adding some last pinches of spices into the dough.

-No problem. – Hermione told her.

-If we feed them tomorrow, October will be sunny and not too dull.

-What about the birds?

-The birds can feed themselves. They are wizards and witches too.

-Really? – Hermione couldn’t help but smile.

-Not all of them. Robins are, and so are magpies and crows. But not sparrows. No, that’s silly.

The pie was in the oven, and Luna joined Hermione in her seat. Every now and then they would share a kiss, or laugh at a silly joke, or simply look at each other, and see sparks in each other’s eyes. Hermione was never good at feelings, but she knew one thing – this is where she belonged. With another person, in her own house, where it was safe to be who she is.

-What kind of baby names do you like? – Luna asked, completely out of the blue.

-You want kids?

-One day. I like flowery names, like Lilly. Could we name our kid Lilly?

-That’s what Harry’s daughter is called.

-Right. – Luna frowned. – Okay then, what about Poppy?

-That’s our old school nurse, Madam Pomfrey.

-Hmmm. – Luna paused, then smiled. – I know! Rose.

-Rose?

-Yeah, Rose. It’s a lovely name, isn’t it?

-Sure it is. – Hermione agreed. – We will call our daughter Rose then.

-Uh-hu. – Luna confirmed. – We can come up with more names later.

Hermione nodded, and continued to knit.

The world could be a nasty place sometimes, but it had nice things too, and it was hers – or, rather, theirs. And their world was bright, complicated, exciting and absolutely, mind-blowingly beautiful.

[thefaeriereview]

Blitz: Matched to His Bear

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RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Matched to His Bear

Author: Lorelei M. Hart & Colbie Dunbar

Publisher: Surrendered Press

Cover Artist: Megan J. Parker-Squiers

Release Date: September 10, 2020

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance, MM mpreg romance, paranormal romance

Trope/s: Shifters. Fated love. Shifter hero/Human hero. Bond or die

Themes: Blind dates. Dating. Jealous pack member. Losing control of his bear

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: approx. 35,000 words

Even though it’s part of a dating app series, each book can be read as a standalone.

This is the second book in the series. Matched to His Wolf was the first.

Buy Links - Available on Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

  Fate doesn’t use dating apps to pair true mates...except when it does.

Blurb Fate doesn't use dating apps to pair true mates...except when it does. Alpha Brad Galway is a hot successful lawyer and Beta of his Den with omegas throwing themselves at his feet. From the outside, it appears as though he has everything he could possibly desire. Inwardly, he has a bear clawing to get out—no longer willing to stand by and let his mate go unclaimed. But there’s a problem with his bear’s plan. Brad doesn’t know who or where he is, just that they crossed paths in an airport over a year ago. If he doesn’t figure out how to control his bear soon, he risks losing everything—including his life. Human omega Gabe Rafferty is excited to start his new job as a professor of English Lit. Ever since a layover in an airport last year, he’s felt like his luck has changed. He can’t explain how or why...but something happened that day, and everything from that point was onward and upward. He just wishes he had someone to share it with. When Gabe is talked into using a dating app, he isn’t expecting much until he stumbles onto profiles that are fixated on the TV series, Shifter World. And he definitely isn’t anticipating the smoldering alpha who recaptures that feeling he experienced at the airport. Sparks fly, feelings grow, and their worlds are turned upside down in the very best of ways, but is it too late for Brad’s bear?

Matched to His Bear is the second book in the sweet with knotty heat Dates of Our Lives, an M/M mpreg shifter dating app romance brought to you by the popular co-writing duo of Lorelei M Hart and Colbie Dunbar. It features a human who stumbles into a world he never knew existed thanks to a silly little soap opera, an alpha who is losing his humanity, a stalker bear who turns out to be more trouble than anyone could’ve suspected, and an adorable baby. If you like your shifters hawt, your omegas strong, your mpreg with heart, and your HEAs complete with true mates and a bundle of joy, one-click today Excerpt The kitchen island was covered in bowls, pans, and other stuff. “Has the food delivery guy been and gone?” “Nope. We’re cooking breakfast.” He glanced at his watch. “More like brunch.” “You cook?” I asked, holding up a bunch of green things and studying it. “You don’t?” “No,” I replied. “I do,” he informed me. “And about the whole ‘we’ cooking thing…” My voice trailed away as Brad handed me a wooden board, a knife, and an onion. “What do I do with this?” He grinned and kissed the end of my nose. “Can you chop it, please, Gabe?” “Okay.” I was game for anything. I placed the onion on the board, and with both hands on the knife, brought it down over my head, and missed. Though I got the board, the knife sticking out of it reminded me of the aftermath of a pirate battle in a swashbuckling book. “Gabe!” “Sorry, I’ll try again.” Brad stood behind me and murmured, “Here lies our dearly departed knife…” “Did I kill it?” “Almost. Let’s try again.” He placed his hands on mine, but I wriggled my ass against his crotch. A sharp intake of breath from him had me giggling. He pressed himself against my body and placed his lips on my ear. Food first, and then I’m taking you back to bed.” “Mmmm.” “First we have to peel the onion, and then we chop it.” But by the time he cut into it, I was blinking tears from my eyes. “Owww! It hates me.” Brad took over and I sat on a stool. “You watching, Gabe?” “Mmmm. Yes. Taking it all in,” I said as I leaned sideways and peered at his ass. That wasn’t a fib. I was paying attention, just not to what he was doing. “Liar.” He held up an oddly shaped red lump. “Know what this is?” “Something you’re going to cook?” I was quite proud of my answer. “A pepper. A red pepper.” “I thought pepper was something that came out of a grinder.” Brad slapped a hand on his brow. “How is it you’ve managed to survive in the world up until now? And have no idea what you’re putting in your mouth.” And as he said it, his mouth formed the perfect O. He understood the hole he’d fallen into, and I was going to tease him about it. I tilted my head to the side. “I always know what I’m eating, but I’m not talking about food.” I grabbed a dish cloth and swatted his ass. He leveled a glowering look in my direction. “Keep distracting me and we’ll never get brunch.” “Promise?” But my belly grumbled and I bowed, awarding the first round to him. He made quick work of cutting the pepper, threw oil in a pan, and asked me to stir the red pepper and onions while he assembled herbs and spices, which were all shades of red or brown. I peered at the mixture as I stirred, not sure what it was supposed to be. “You can leave it for now. We’ll keep an eye on it,” he told me as he turned down the heat and opened a tin of tomatoes. “Time for extracurricular activities, I asked?” I swooped under his arms and bobbed up, kissing him on the mouth. “You are a delightful distraction,” he croaked as my tongue flicked over his teeth. “But let’s finish cooking and then you’ll be my prisoner, unable to leave the bed for the rest of the day.” I clapped my hands. “Are you going to tie me up? “I wasn't planning on it, but if you behave…”

About the Authors 

Lorelei M. Hart

Lorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming now joined by their friend, Ophelia Heart. Friends for years, the three decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).

  Social Media Links

Facebook | Newsletter Sign-up

Colbie Dunbar

My characters are sexy, hot, adorable—and often filthy—alphas and omegas. Feudal lords with dark secrets, lonely omegas running away from their past, and alphas who refuse to commit.

Lurking in the background are kings, mafia dons, undercover agents and highwaymen with a naughty gleam in their eye.

As for me? I dictate my steamy stories with a glass of champagne in one hand. Because why not?

Social Media Links

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      Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

  Follow the tour and check out the other blog posts here

via Blogger https://ift.tt/3jWMzOG

[spiderfan22]

DAY TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-TWO - 7/25/17

“SCENES FROM THE NEW BATMAN” by DJS

And this is coming from a guy who actually LIKES Batman!!!

                       Scene one: an alley

 In which Batman beats the shit of a middle-aged white politician.  Robin enters. He is shocked at Batman’s brutality. And all that blood.

 BATMAN

           (yelling in politician’s face)

TELL ME!!!!!

                         POLITICIAN

           (whimpering)

But I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about, Batman!  I don’t know about any bribes!  I’m clean -- I swear I’m clean!

                         BATMAN

UN. LIKELY!!!!!!

 Batman is about to punch the politician in the face again, when Robin steps in:

 ROBIN

Batman -- Jesus Christ!! Stop!!  You can’t just, I mean it’s clear he doesn’t know what you’re talking about or he’d have told you already -- confessed.  But look at him.  You’ve knocked like a bunch of his teeth out and his eyes are swollen shut. He can’t even see anymore, Batman!

                         BATMAN

You’re the one who’s blind, Robin. This piece of shit knows the truth! And I’m getting it out of him.

                         ROBIN

But you beat him up anymore, Batman, and you might kill him!  I mean he’s gotta have suffered brain damage already.  Look he’s practically unconscious!  His tongue’s hanging out and, and… oh God.   I mean the blood alone!

                         BATMAN

Fine!

           (He releases the politician)

We’ll let Gordon and his men take the next crack at him.  But I’d bet my life -- and yours, “Boy Wonder” -- that we’ve only scratched the surface with this sonuvabitch.  

                         ROBIN

Okay.  Fine.  Just -- please?  Can we go now?

                         BATMAN

Yeah, bring the Batmobile around.

                         ROBIN

I’m 14.  I can’t drive yet.  

                         BATMAN

Oh.

 Batman considers that.  Then he slowly walks away.  Robin stands there shaking his head for a moment.  Looks down at the bloody and beaten politician.  Then he follows.

   Scene two: the Batcave

 In which Batman cyber-stalks his ex-girlfriends. Alfred arrives with a bowl of hot soup on a tray.

 ALFRED

           (seeing the computer screen)

Aw, Master Bruce.  Is that wise now, taking a trip down memory lane? Best to let sleeping dogs lie.

                         BATMAN

But this is Silver St. Cloud, Alfred.

                         ALFRED

Yes sir, I remember Miss St Cloud quite vividly.  Beautiful, charming, the life of the party.  But then she could never reconcile the man with the bat, so you quite humanely called things off, letting the young woman go on with her life.

                         BATMAN

She’s dating some politician now.

                         ALFRED

Yes, I have read the same in the society pages.

                         BATMAN

He doesn’t deserve her.  

                         ALFRED

           (he hesitates)

Perhaps -- and if I am out of line, sir, I apologize in advance -- but just perhaps, Master Bruce, that is your own jealousy speaking.

                         BATMAN

It’s not.

                         ALFRED

           (slowly)

Alright, sir.

           (pause)

Well, I’ve brought you some hot soup. Beef consommé.

                         BATMAN

I’m not hungry.

                         ALFRED

But you haven’t eaten a solid meal in over a week, sir.

                         BATMAN

And what’s beef consommé now, a “solid meal?”

                         ALFRED No sir, but it does possess the necessary vitamins--

                         BATMAN

I said I’m not hungry, Alfred.  

                         ALFRED

Yes, Master Bruce.

                         BATMAN

You should learn to listen the first time.

                         ALFRED

Of course.  I’m sorry.  Sir.

                         BATMAN

Good.  You’re excused.

 Alfred leaves with the bowl of soup.  Batman obsesses on the screen in front of him, fixating on a closeup of a smiling Silver St. Cloud in the arms of the politician from the previous scene.  He zooms in until it’s just a closeup of her cleavage.

   Scene three: the rooftop of the Gotham Police Department

 In which Batman argues with Commissioner Gordon. The Batsignal is present but not lit.

 GORDON

I can’t do it, Batman.

                         BATMAN

           (grunts)

WHY. NOT.

                         GORDON

Because it breaks about a dozen laws -- not to mention it’s completely unconstitutional.

                         BATMAN

Question: would you be throwing the Constitution in my face if this was the Joker we were talking about?

                         GORDON

Look, Batman: we’ve done some digging and as far as we’ve been able to tell so far, there’s just no immediate threat. On the contrary, in the eye of the law, the Senator is a hundred percent clean.

                         BATMAN

Impossible.

                         GORDON

NO.  The guy’s a pillar of his community.  Gives back, gives to charity.  Never even the whiff of a scandal around him.  His wife passed away a couple years back -- cervical cancer.  The incredible thing was it was an election year; he was up for reelection at the time.  But he effectively suspended his campaign so he could be at her bedside the last few months. And get this: when the story gets out that that’s what he’s been doing, his constituents come out anyway and vote the guy back into office.  For Christ sake it was a landslide, with him getting over 90 percent of the vote. Which I don’t care who you are, is unheard of.  So he’s basically a revered kind of figure.  The local boy made good.

                         BATMAN

I don’t believe it.  You need to bring him in for further questioning. Only this time I’ll be in the room too, for a little… extra intimidation.

                         GORDON

Definitely not, Batman.  

           (hesitant)

And speaking of which, while we’re on the subject:  the Senator seems to have recently suffered a number of bumps and bruises, scrapes… Hell, I don’t know why I’m mincing words here.  He’s got cracked ribs, his left arm’s busted in two places and his face looks like someone took a baseball bat to Goddamn pomegranate.

                         BATMAN

I told you, he’s connected to the mob. Which means the senator’s injuries could only be attributed to Carmine Falcone, probably some form of retaliation or warning.  I suggest the GCPD bring him in for questioning as well.  We can play them off each other.  Give new meaning to the term “hot box”.

                         GORDON

Yeah, well.  I got CCTV footage of an alley up in The Narrows that shows you quite clearly beating the Senator half to death.  That’s until Robin has the good sense to pull you away.

                         Small beat.

                         BATMAN

Enough!  There are too many people interfering in my investigation now, it’s becoming clouded.  Obviously I have to go this one alone.

                         GORDON

Yeah, uh, Batman…?  I can’t let you do that.

                         BATMAN

What?!

                         GORDON

Bruce Wayne--

                         BATMAN

How did you--?

                         GORDON

Mr. Wayne I’m placing you under arrest for the assault of Senator Martin Graham.

                         BATMAN

Preposterous!  Jim, how far back do we--

 Through a door on the roof, a bunch of police officers in Kevlar and helmets emerge and surround Batman.  Guns drawn.

 GORDON

You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law--

                         BATMAN

JIM!  THIS IS INSANE.  

                         GORDON

--if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you--

                         BATMAN

Are you--?  Of course I can afford an attorney!  I’M BATMAN!!

 Batman struggles but the officers overpower him. He is forced to his knees and his hands are cuffed behind his back.  

   Scene four: Prison cell

 In which Batman has been denied bail due to being an extreme flight risk.  He shares a cell with a serial rapist.  A hulking brute of a guy covered head to toe in tattoos.  Batman is dressed in a prison orange jumpsuit, but still wears his cowl.

 RAPIST

So this is what essentially is going to happen.  This is how it’s gonna go down.    I’m horny. I mean I get horny.  And since because there ain’t no available chicks around to pound their fucking pussies, I’m forced to go with the most immediate and available wet hole.  That means your ass, Butt Man.  And I ain’t gonna be gentle neither.  What, you think we got anything nice as lube up in this bitch?  Man, you in Rikers Island!  So I’m not gonna lie, it’s going to hurt.  Bad.  So bad you probly gonna bleed.  But am I gonna give a shit?  Izzat going to make me stop?  Shit – am I gonna even pause in my stroke to check on your delicate, sensitive little lady feelings?  Fuck no. I’ma just keep ramming it home, ramming it home, till Daddy gets his nut.  Now how’s that sound, Mister Caped Crusader?

                         BATMAN

Please… don’t hurt me.  I’ll… I’ll pay you.  Whatever.  Anything. A million dollars… two million.   All you have to do is take care of me, don’t let anyone else harm me or… just while I’m in here, just until I get out.  I’ll wire the money to your account.  As much as you want.  Only please--

                         RAPIST

My account, huh?  And what account would that be?  My one in Switzerland or down in the Caymans?  You are seriously divorced from reality, you know that Batman?

                         BATMAN

I’m beginning to see that, yes.

                         RAPIST

I tell you what, let’s make us a deal. Because I gotta get my rocks off, there’s no getting around that.  But I’ll spare you ass – and protect your ass too round here – long as you keep me satisfied in the general sense.

                         BATMAN

What do you [mean] --?

                         RAPIST

Suck-jobs and handies.  That’s it.  That’s all.

 Beat.  Batman looks around the tiny cell, nowhere else to turn.

 BATMAN

What other choice do I have?

                         RAPIST

None.  And that attitude of accepting your fate and just going with the flow will serve you well behind bars.  Believe me.

 They sit there a moment, in silence, the Rapist waiting.

 RAPIST

Uh, well??

                         BATMAN

Well what?

                         RAPIST

What do you think, Dork Knight? Get to fucking sucking or the deal’s off.  

                         BATMAN

Oh.  Right now?  It has to be right now?

                         RAPIST

Right now and every evening round this time.  I like to keep my schedule regular.

                         BATMAN

Oh… okay.

(The rapist pulls down his pants.)

Uh, how should I--?

                         RAPIST

Start with the head.  But word of advice: I wouldn’t try and shove too much in your mouth to begin with, though I understand the impulse, you want to come on all professional, do a pleasing job, but for the moment just focus on the head and let your hand do the rest of the heavy lifting.  Then you can work up to deepthroating me.  

                         BATMAN

Oh my God.  I think I’m going to be sick.

                         RAPIST

Understandable.  But wait to after.  ‘Cause so help me, you get any puke on me, we gonna have a real problem.

 The rapist lies back on his bunk.  Batman stares, open mouthed, until the rapist gently pulls Batman’s head down towards his crotch.

  Scene five: Wayne Manor, several years later

 In which Batman has retired after spending a couple years locked up.  He is severely overweight now, with chronic diabetes.  He is blind and his right leg has been amputated below the knee.  In a wheelchair.  He drinks and takes pills to excess.  

 Selina Kyle has come to pay him a visit.  She is older but still quite attractive.

 BATMAN

           (sniffing the air)

Selina.

                         SELINA

Hello Bruce.

                         BATMAN

The Catwoman.

                         SELINA

It’s been a long time since anyone called me that.

                         BATMAN

Well, it suited you.  You’ve always been curious.

                         SELINA

Not to mention flexible.

                         BATMAN

Heh.

                         Pause.

                         SELINA

I must say, you don’t look too good Bruce.

                         BATMAN

I’d imagine not.  

                         SELINA

When was the, the--?

                         BATMAN

When did they amputate my leg? God it must have been… what, four years ago?

                         SELINA

I meant to come see you in the hospital.

                         BATMAN

I won’t hold it against you.

                         SELINA

Suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here now.

                         BATMAN

Well, a healthy curiosity is something I like to think we shared.

 Selina sighs.  Pulls a gun from her purse.  Points it at Batman in his wheelchair.  Cocks it just to be sure he’s gotten the message.  Beat.

  BATMAN

I see.

                         SELINA

And I’m sorry, Bruce, but this is the only way he said I could ever be free.

                         BATMAN

Who said?  No, wait, let me guess.  Joker.

                         SELINA

‘Fraid so, Bruce.  It’s the end of the line.

                         BATMAN

It hasn’t occurred to you that I still might have a trick or two up my sleeve?

                         SELINA

It has.

                         BATMAN

And that doesn’t give you pause?

                         SELINA

I don’t know.  Maybe?  

                         BATMAN

Selina please now, we can discuss this. With our history.  There was love there once, if not a mutual respect. And--

 But Selina is already crossing the room, moving behind Batman.  She puts the gun to the back of his head.  He feels the muzzle against his scalp and freaks:

 BATMAN

Wait!  No!  Selina!! SELINA DON’T NN--

 She pulls the trigger.  The gun goes off with a loud bang.  Blood and brains and bone explode out of the front of Batman’s head and he slumps forward, falling out of his wheelchair.  Smoke wafts in the air.  Selina places the gun in the dead Batman’s hand, making it look like a suicide. It’s only now we notice she’s been wearing gloves this whole time.  She looks down at the body for another moment.  Then she goes.  

We hear her high-heeled footsteps receding through the front hall.  Then the door creaking way off and slamming shut, quietly.

 The Dark Knight Has Fallen.

 End of play.