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crowley-in-arkham · 2 years

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An update, for those curious:

I've since returned to work, and my job has been a different experience. Carrion hasn't been much an issue, likely due to the fact that the fear toxin output has ceased in building A.

When I came in, Rook and Squires greeted me warmly. I bumped onto Bolton again, who performed a search on me—mumbling how I'm "one of the crazies" now.

Since leaving my house, Jon and I have been—avoidant of one another.

Hierarchies have shifted since I've been back to Arkham. Jon has become a stern overseer. I believe the nature of our relationship has become somewhat of a tension between us. I believe his curt avoidance is a coping mechanism for the intimacy that, notably, he initiated: but, mine is, of a similar nature so, I suppose I shouldn't judge him.

I seldom see him, and when I do manage to speak to him, he's incredibly curt and hurries away. He's no longer my patient, as if he ever were.

When I returned, Harvey and Edward greeted me warmly.

Harvey's acid-splashed face and single peering eye stared at me, and a hard expression gave a typical short grunt in acknowledgement before softening to a "We mean: welcome back, Miss Mina."

Then, Edward, with arms folded and a what-did-I-tell you expression flatly said: "I'm impressed you didn't see therough his little charade–" he chuckled, "I guess caged birds seldom see beyond the bars."

"Harvey, Edward. Good to see you too."

Then, with Rook and Arthur giving wild chase, Jervis bolted through the corridor, exclaiming: "Cheshire, Cheshire, callooh callay! Hatter prayed you'd come to–" Until he saw me.

When he looked me in the eyes, his face drained of blood.

I was not unfamiliar with a cowering Jervis Tetch but, this time, he backed away from me. His eyes stared frantically through me.

Ed furrowed his brows and scrunched part of his nose, "Oh, what the hell is the issue?"

Jervis muttered without shifting his sightless gaze: "Chitter-chatter, in her ear. The big black beast is somewhere near. Chitter-chatter, the blackbird sings, flying close on familiar wings."

I raised a hand up slightly and spoke softly, "Jervis, it's okay I'm not–"

He screeched, making the five of us flinch. In a hurry to back away, he tripped over a small potted faux plant, and fell onto the floor.

If I even motioned towards him he'd cry out and scramble back: doing so until he could no longer scutter away.

"Get away! Get away!"

He threw a small wooden box from one of the bins at me, that slammed into my cheekbone hard.

"Fuck!" I brought my palm to my bruising cheek.

"Jesus christ!" Harvey barked, "Are you trying to kill her you little fucking weasel?"

Rook and Arthur grabbed Jervis by the arms as he thrashed.

"Hatter didn't mean to harm," he muttered, with some semblance of sympathy, before quietly hissing, and shooting daggers through me; "but the vile beast wears Cheshire's charm."

I furrowed my brows as the short man was dragged from my office, leaving Edward and Harvey in silence as my only two patients remaining.

"The fuck was that?" Harv hissed with a scrunched nose, staring at the now empty doorway.

"Crazy," Edward said flatly, "That's what that was." Ed rolled his neck to look at me: "Well, Dr. Crowley? Any professional input?"

I stared ahead to the slowly closing door, furrowing my brows. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to disclose."

"Mhm. Whatever you say, Jon." Edward shrugged, turning on his heel and slumping into a chair.

"So, what now?" Harvey asked gruffly, a raised grey brow peering down from narrow amber eyes.

"Well, Dr. Crane will pop in every hour to check on me. The board is out so, Chess?"

In a low growly mumble Harvey said: "We'd rather play Clue."

"You?" Edward snickered, "Against two former forensic techs?"

"We were an attorney, dick." Harvey hissed, sitting down near the table.

"How very— uncharacteristically clever, Harvey." Edward rolled his wrist, "You're the reason most of us are in here, legal eagle."

"In one way or another."

"How about something calm," I chuckled, "There is no way in hell am I playing Monopoly against Edward Nygma."

"You'd end up in debt both in-game and out, Crowley."

The door of my office creaked open, and a heavy footed tree waltzed in: "How 'bout spades?"

"Southern man's a gambler?" Edward groaned, "Who would have thought."

I chuckled softly, "I could go for a game of spades."

Jon looked at me with a raised brow, as if to say: "You play?"

Harvey shrugged, "Why not. Ya got a deck of cards?"

"I have several," Jon looked at me with even more curiosity as I rounded my desk, pulled out the bottom drawer, and plucked a series of identical decks from a small wooden box.

I chuckled and answered his silence, "I grew up with soldiers. Spades was their game. I, however, always had a preference for blackjack. We played poker now and again, but usually, it was spades."

Harvey snickered to himself, "Quaint." Only to hiss his own retort: "Get a fucking room."

I plopped one deck of cards on the coffee table in the middle of the room, "We'll play partners."

I sat down on the loveseat facing away from my desk, to the left of Harvey.

Jon had flipped a chair from our typical game table to sit across from me, only to be interjected with a, "Slow down, big guy. I'll partner with Crowley. You know, to make it fair."

Jon scowled silently and sat on my left, somewhat positioned away from me.

"So," Ed asked, "how does it work?"

"You ain't ever played spades?" Jon asked with a nearly baffled expression.

"No, Jonathan," Edward narrowed his eyes, "I'm lucky enough not to pay taxes on stupidity."

Jon raised a brow, "Ya know you don' have ta gamble ta play cards, right?"

"Better safe than sorry."

Jon snickered, "'Fraid you'll get a hickey?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Jon flashed an unusually sharp canine in a twisted, teasing smirk, "I's a lil interested."

I swallowed hard, and cleared my throat, "Here's the game: Ed and I are partners, Jon, Harv, you're partners. Jon already has a grip on the game, Harvey have you played?"

Harvey shook his head.

"Well, you've two greens, Jon." I handed him the cards.

Jonathan looked at me with a surprised expression, "Wha's this?"

"I'm trusting you to deal."

#arkham asylum #dc comics #batman rogues #batman villains #dc universe #working at arkham #gotham rogues #dc #crowley in arkham #jonathan crane #when paper birds fly

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 2 months

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Beauty and the Scarebeast

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ZAHdLwr by CinnamonFlavoredBismuth Edward Nygma, local bookworm, after a mission to save his… closest thing to a father figure he could find, has found himself trapped in a castle with a hulking Scarebeast and sentient furniture, with no hopes of going back to his home town. How will he escape? And more importantly, why is he growing fond of this beast? Basically a Beauty and the Beast scriddler au Words: 387, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma, Ra's al Ghul, Oswald Cobblepot, Harvey Dent, Victor Fries, Jervis Tetch, Garfield Lynns, Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma Additional Tags: There’s probably other characters i forgot, oh well, Beauty and the Beast AU, i love ed and Jon they are so in love, Edward is belle, Jonathan is beast, ra’s is the wizard, oswald is gaston, harvey is lefou, Mr freeze is maurice, jervis is cogsworth, garfield is lumiere, harley is madame de garderobe, ivy is cadenza, alfred is Mrs pots, bruce is chip, selina is plumette, ive had this steamin in my head for a hot minute, gay men, Yaoi, Scriddler read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ZAHdLwr

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the caped crusader #the dark knight #dcu #ao3 #ao3feed

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ao3feed-harleyquinn · 2 months

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Beauty and the Scarebeast

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/1qMp5A3 by CinnamonFlavoredBismuth Edward Nygma, local bookworm, after a mission to save his… closest thing to a father figure he could find, has found himself trapped in a castle with a hulking Scarebeast and sentient furniture, with no hopes of going back to his home town. How will he escape? And more importantly, why is he growing fond of this beast? Basically a Beauty and the Beast scriddler au Words: 387, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma, Ra's al Ghul, Oswald Cobblepot, Harvey Dent, Victor Fries, Jervis Tetch, Garfield Lynns, Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma Additional Tags: There’s probably other characters i forgot, oh well, Beauty and the Beast AU, i love ed and Jon they are so in love, Edward is belle, Jonathan is beast, ra’s is the wizard, oswald is gaston, harvey is lefou, Mr freeze is maurice, jervis is cogsworth, garfield is lumiere, harley is madame de garderobe, ivy is cadenza, alfred is Mrs pots, bruce is chip, selina is plumette, ive had this steamin in my head for a hot minute, gay men, Yaoi, Scriddler read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/1qMp5A3

#IFTTT #harley quinn #harleen quinzel #dc #dcu #ao3 #ao3feed

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celosiaa · 4 years

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hi friend!!! PLEASE keep in mind there is NO RUSH or ANY REQUIREMENT TO WRITE THIS IF YOU DON'T FEEL LIKE WRITING I'M JUST GIVING PROMPT BECAUSE YOU SAID YOU FEEL LIKE WRITING AND I LOVE YOUR WRITING!! what about canon-era POTS Jon? infections can cause really bad POTS flares (my understanding is that it lowers your BP). it could be after any of his many injuries, but even just a cold can mess with it. and ONLY IF YOU FEEL BORED AND UP TO WRITING <3 TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF!!

hello my dear!!!! you are going THROUGH IT right now!!!! I love you very very much and I hope that this fic will make your day a little brighter <3

So have a little Jon with the flu and a POTS flare up! And friends who love him!

CW nausea, fainting

This was a mistake.

Jon knows it, his body knows it—the entire train car probably knows it too. It’s barely a ten minute’s ride from his flat to the Institute, but it might as well have been an hour trapped in a boiler room for all he can tell. Suffocating, you’re suffocating—is the only message his brain will send him, as he sits squeezed in between two very unfortunate passengers on this snowy Monday morning, trying very hard both not to cough and to stop himself from tearing off his coat and scarf this instant.

Being ill always hits him hard—far harder than it has any right to; harder than he is willing to acknowledge, really—as it always seems to trigger his POTS in the most frustrating of ways. Last time he’d been ill, truly ill, Tim may have paid the price for his stubbornness more than he had himself. What with him refusing to do anything to look after himself, being caught by surprise by a fainting spell, and ending up dragging Tim to the A&E with him to be treated for a nasty head wound. This time around, he has actually taken several precautions, with his compression stockings on, a water bottle, and TENS unit in his bag, just in case the muscle aches from whatever hell bug he’s managed to catch compound the pain from his EDS.

Tim ought to be proud.

Mouth twisting in a smile in spite of himself, Jon resists the urge to bolt out of the train car as soon as the stop is announced, forcing himself instead to stand slowly and carefully before exiting.

—

As luck would have it, the lift had been broken down, forcing Jon to climb the flight of stairs up to the street. Legs nearly giving out on him before he could half-sit, mostly collapse onto the bench at the top, his chest heaves as he tries to convince his body not to faint. With somewhat limited success.

So long as the fading in and out of his vision is not followed by a lapse in awareness, he’ll be alright.

Suffocating suffocating

Whether rational or not, Jon has to pull of his coat and scarf right now, or he’s sure his brain will short out on him completely. He tears at it all as quickly as possible, fingers shaking over the large buttons of his peacoat. Anything to relieve the pressure on his chest, whether brought on by POTS or his congestion, he’s soon to find out. Preferably, he’d like to slow down his breathing a bit before coughing again, but there’s very little he can do to control that—and buries it all in the folds of his scarf, hoping to avoid as many stares from passers-by as possible.

The lightheadedness only bangs against his eyes again as the fit continues, forcing him to fold his legs beneath himself and bend forward in an effort to breathe, breathe. Surely it hadn’t been so bad this morning when he had stepped out of the door—he had been quite certain of his ability to control it enough to get by, and hopefully without raising the alarm about his health throughout the archives. By the sound of it, though, he just hadn’t been getting deep enough breaths to force it all out, as the crackling depth of it alarms even him.

All the same, after a few minutes of breathing deeply with marginally-clearer lungs, he feels finally able to look up again—even shuddering against the soft padding of snowflakes against his shoulders and greying hair, rather than panicking about being boiled alive by his own jacket.

He’ll take what improvement he can get.

Steeling himself to walk the block down to the Institute, Jon pulls up his compression stockings from where they had slipped a bit and pushes on.

—

“So I’m sitting there, right? I’m sitting there, barbecue sauce on my titties…”

“You were NOT!” Sasha bellows at Tim, struggling to raise her voice over the sound of Martin’s cackling. “Don’t encourage him, Martin, he always puts this in his fucking stories.”

“HEY! It’s true!! It could have happened more than once, you know.”

“God I hate you so much,” she shouts, sending both Martin and Tim for another round of uncontrollable laughter.

It’s the perfect opportunity for Jon—who exits the lift as quickly as he can, heading for his office with the all the single-mindedness of a particularly winded and dizzy man. Perfect, because no one saw him beyond a shadow darkening the doorstep. No one to raise the alarm as he sinks into his chair, trembling at the exertion of making the journey from the lobby to the basement.

Burying his face in his hands, he sniffs back against the congestion plaguing him, adjusts his position to take pressure off his throbbing legs, and tries to collect his scattered thoughts enough to get to work.

—

Spinning, spinning, spinning are the walls of his office around him, worsening with every cough he stifles into the sleeves of his cardigan. After the initial recovery period when he had finally been able to sit in his office, chest aching with exertion, he had truly felt alright for those first couple of hours—even finding himself able to get lost in statements for a while, barely noticing an hour tick by, two, three. Until his vision started to go out again, and he found himself leaning aching elbows on aching knees, feeling the nausea that had caused him to lose his breakfast that morning rise up again in his throat.

Please, not now. Please.

He’s got to get something in him, knows it would help to at least keep something with salt down, if he can manage it. Regretfully, the only way to stop the dizziness is sure to worsen it first—as his emergency Gatorade supply happens to be in the break room refrigerator.

Text Tim, the rational part of his mind supplies at once, the sound advice on it falling on entirely deaf ears.

Can manage this myself.

I put it there, I can go get it.

Wishing more than anything he had brought his walker, he moves slowly, ever so slow and careful to standing—and stars explode in his vision at once, driving him right back down to the chair again, head between his knees and panting.

Damn it damn it damn it

Calm, just—

Calm down.

Heart pounding in double time to the ticking of the clock on the wall, Jon does everything he can to slow it down, slow it down, ease the stabbing pain of his overworked heart in his chest with the deepest breaths he can manage. It’s not enough, can’t see, can’t breathe—

No no no—

—

Thud.

The sound drives Tim into Jon’s office at once, not for the first time—though never with any less worry or concern. Even knowing what happened, that Jon was almost certainly fine, would never truly take away the way his stomach clenches every time this happens, every time he sees Jon hit the ground, even if he’s able to catch him on the way. And today was especially worrying, with the damp coughing he had heard slipping beneath the office door since this morning.

Please be okay please be okay—

“Jon?” he calls gently, swinging the door open to find him on the ground, rolling onto his back with a groan. “Did you faint?”

“I—yeah,” he replies, more vague-sounding than Tim would like, rubbing the back of his head as he starts to sit up.

Not good.

“You hit your head?” Tim asks as he kneels next to him, already reaching forward to card through Jon’s hair, looking for any sign of swelling or bleeding.

“I don’t—not badly, if I—oh,” he trails off at once, eyes beginning to flutter.

“Alright, easy, now,” Tim mutters, supporting Jon’s head as he shifts back to lying flat again, eyes clenched again the returning dizziness. “It’s really bad today, huh? And you’re ill too.”

In response, all Jon will give is a sigh, draping an arm over his mouth as it turns into a cough, before placing it over his eyes. Something twinges in Tim’s chest at the sight—knowing how much Jon hates this, hates anyone fussing over him even more—and squeezes gently above his knee in acknowledgement.

“What can I do? Anything?”

Still nothing verbal from him for a few seconds—seconds Tim is willing to wait as Jon sorts through both his own unwillingness to ask for help, as well as through his own likely-scattered thoughts. It had taken a lot for Jon to tell him about his POTS in the first place—in fact, that trust had not been built until Tim had to take him to A&E after a particularly bad fall. Now that he thinks of it, Jon had been ill then too—and even grouchier than his current persona of “Boss-man.”

“Was trying to—ugh,” starts, cutting off for a moment to clutch at his stomach, against what is most likely rising nausea. “Was trying to get—get some Gatorade.”

“That’s what all this is about? Getting your nasty-ass purple Gatorade?”

When Jon huffs out a little laugh with a smile, Tim feels very much pumping his fist in the air for joy—but refrains, if only for Jon’s sake.

“Tastes good. Don’t know what you’re missing.”

And a joke?

Should I call an ambulance?

“Tastes like purple,” Tim replies, letting a smile filter heavily into his own expression now. “I don’t mess with shit that tastes like a color.”

A sharp gasp from behind alerts him to Martin’s presence in the doorway.

“Oh Jon, what happened? Are you alright?” he asks, with such deep concern that Jon immediately buries his face in his hands and groans.

“Just fainted, is all,” Tim says at once, waving a sharp hand by his throat to cut off his well-meaning sympathy.

“Right,” he replies with raised eyebrows, carefully schooling his expression in a way that Tim very much appreciates. “Right. Anything I can do?”

“Could grab him some Gatorade from the fridge, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“On it,” he nods at once, and sets off.

Just then, Jon starts up coughing again, so harsh and damp it sets Tim’s teeth on edge.

“That sounds rough, Jon,” he grimaces, reaching up to his desk to grab tissues from atop it and set them on the floor.

“It’s—fine,” comes the reply, of course, accented in between by a hitching at the back of his throat that drives him upwards to sitting.

“Right. Sure,” Tim mutters, rolling his eyes as he braces Jon, whose harsh coughing bends him double with effort.

When he begins to sway a bit, eyes fluttering again—Tim is already to prepared to push his head gently forward and between his knees.

“Easy, easy.”

“Fuck.”

“I’ve got you.”

The shaking beneath Tim’s hands is not altogether a rarity after a bad faint, but something tells him there might be another cause this time. A fever, namely.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten?” he asks, after waiting for Jon’s breathing to come a bit back under control.

“Didn’t—don’t. Don’t feel well,” he whispers, bending even further forward, enough to have Tim reaching for the bin, just in case.

“Alright, that’s alright,” he whispers in response, feeling powerless to do anything but sit and rub his back.

“Tried,” he starts up again after a moment, altogether shocking an unsuspecting Tim with his verbosity.

“Tried? Tried what?”

“Tried to be careful,” he clarifies, coughing once more into his elbow, and letting it double him back down. “Promise, I—heh—tried. Thought I was fine.”

“I know, Jon,” Tim assures at once, rubbing at his back once again against the trembling, wishing it was doing anything to really help him. “I know, alright? Just save your breath. It’s not your fault.”

Thankfully, by the time Martin reappears with the Gatorade, he’s quite a bit steadier, after the coughing fit has reached it’s end. Much to Tim’s surprise, he even offers Martin a small smile as he cast a long shadow through the office, blocking out the fluorescent light of the hall behind him.

“Alright, time for electrolytes!” Tim cheers, as Martin opens the lid to the bottle before handing it to Jon, who begins sipping at it cautiously.

“You’re shaking—are you cold?” Martin asks, already removing his cardigan and kneeling to place it over Jon’s trembling shoulders.

“No,” he snaps sharply, pushing off the cardigan and shifting around, preparing himself to stand. “I’m alright, just—”

“Hang on, hang on,” Tim soothes, pressing back against Jon’s chest as gently as possible to stop his movement. “Just—hold on a second, alright? Let me get the cot set up in here before you try that.”

“Tim—”

“I know, I know, perish the thought. I get it.”

“You don’t—”

“BUT! But,” he cuts in loudly, holding up a hand to shush him. “You shouldn’t even be here, Jon. You’ve probably got the flu, or something, judging by whatever—whatever is clearly going on here. So please. Just have a lie down for, like, an hour. That’s all I’m asking.”

All I’m brave enough to ask, really.

Another pause, during which it’s Tim’s turn for his heart to pound, watching Jon try to formulate an argument against him with furrowed brows.

And then—everything that had been hunched and furrowed goes slack, as Jon starts to sway dizzily again.

“Oh—oh, Jon,” Martin gasps nervously, helping him slowly lower back to lying on the ground.

“M’fine, fine,” he assures, words slurring a bit as Martin checks his forehead for fever—and if the meaningful glance he gives Tim is anything to go by, he can be pretty certain of Martin’s findings.

“Right. Cot. I’m going to get it, and I’ll be back,” he says firmly, glancing back one more time to find Martin carefully placing his cardigan beneath Jon’s head.

Of course, Tim knows there is still a good deal of fighting to do on the “force Jonathan Sims to take care of himself” front, but this will do.

This will have to do for now.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #cw nausea #cw fainting #jon has EDS/POTS #i love you friend I hope you like this #<33333 #my writing

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999moreyears · 3 years

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“im sorry i left you” gay

#tommy talks #its funny bcuz they canotically date at some point #thats like?? the only thing ik #that and jon has POTS i think #(and tim has EDS? i dont know if it was tim or not)

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internalsealpanic · 3 years

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Skating By

Summary: You met Damian Wayne at a frat party where you were helping a plant guzzle down a solo cup lousy with dollar store beer.

A/n: This is my entry for @redhoodssweetheart ‘s writing challenge for the college AU. If you’re a fic writer, I highly recommend joining. This is in the same universe as Icing but it’s not exactly connected. Thank you to @littleredwing89 and @glorified-red for proofreading and helping me write. Warnings: Alcohol and light-hearted death threats

The lights and sounds of the party were messy. They grate on your mind like the smatterings of condiments on a crisp white shirt. You wince again as the bass drops. Your stomach plummets along with it, and suddenly the cheap beer in your solo cup looks as unappetizing as the rest of the party.

You look around to see if anyone is paying attention to you. Your friends had long disappeared along with their dates and the keys to your car. Bringing you to a frat party might be their dumbest idea-- bringing you to an Alpha Chi party was even dumber.

For one, it was the one frat house you didn't know anyone. That wasn't to say they were bad. They just weren't your crowd and this party... was proof of that.

Barely dodging another tossed shoe, you crouch down to pour the contents of your solo cup into the potted plant. It was a pothos. You weren't too worried.

"I'm sure the plant doesn't appreciate the free drink."

"The plant lives in a frat house. It's got high tolerance."

You hear an unfamiliar voice over your shoulder. It's deep and smooth and tastes like dark chocolate. You look over your shoulder and you think your heart falls out of rhythm. How long has he been standing there? Damian Wayne leans against the wall, red solo cup in hand, looking every bit as out of place in the dim party lights as you do.

You feel stupid under those green eyes. They remind you of cats’ eyes, sharp and predatory. You lick your top lip. For some reason, you thought you could grab the right words from your upper lip. The words in your mind are scrambled and the booming music doesn't help.

"Wayne, right?"

He raises a brow and the curl of his lip makes you step back. "Is my face that forgettable?"

"It's hard to recognize you without a scowl." You snicker back. You and Damian have had a handful of conversations most of them boiling down to 'could I see your notes?' and 'sure but my handwriting is inhumane'. You've never really 'talked'.

This is probably the longest conversation anyone has had with him. Well, anyone not named Jon Kent or Collin Wilkins or Maya Duccard.

You feel a little off-kilter being this close to Damian. You weren't exactly the most approachable person. Sure, you knew a lot of people but that was mostly the occupational hazard of tutoring for a gen ed everyone loathed. Being approached by Damian was a little out of left field.

He looks around, frowns, then looks back at you. His hackles are drawn when he doesn't find what he's looking for. Whatever idiots are on the receiving end of that glare had your sympathies.

"Why are you alone?"

Oh, it was your idiots.

Damian crouches down to your eye level. He gently cups your face looking it over. He sighs with relief when he sees you’re lucid.

"My beer was fine- Well, no, it tastes like cat piss but it was fine... I'm just not good with," you wave your hand vaguely, the correct word just out of reach. You realize that you didn't really answer his question.

You'll pretend that you're tongue-tied because of the lousy music and that you can't make yourself look up because of the stupid strobe lights. It is definitely not because of the handsome and annoyingly smart guy hovering in your space. Oh god, you actually sound- damn it. How could you have this huge of a crush you’ve barely talked to? Sure, you two work together a lot and spend a lot of time helping out at the shelter but- Oh for the love of- Fuck.

You breathe. You could easily explain away your flustered demeanor with alcohol.

His eyes soften. It's minute but it startles you all the same. There's an amused curve to his lip but you can't really call it a smile. He lets his weight rest on his heels, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He looks sheepish. Well, as sheepish as you can get when your face is permanently rendered with a look of posh disgust. It's cute but also funny. It's a shy gesture and not at all what you expected from him.

You rest your chin on folded arms. The grin on your face is smarmy and punchable but you can't help it. It's a natural reaction to a guy like Damian acting cute.

He scowls at you, rolls his eyes, and says: "You didn't answer my question."

"Can you guarantee you won't murder them?"

"No." He says honestly.

You snort. You can just imagine Houston and Sita pissing themselves when they find out Damian threatened them.

Your face breaks into a smile half-hidden by your arms. Damian's thankful. He doesn't think he can bear the full brunt of it. "You can't murder them."

“ I know how to hide a body."

"Is that why you're the top figure skater in the region?"

"No, but it is good exercise."

You press a laugh into your palm. People who said he had no sense of humor were so full of shit. "But seriously, I'm fine. Parties are just..." You wave your hand losing your train of thought as something else blares over the speakers. This one had too many voices that tasted of too many things.

Damian looks around before standing up.

"Can you get up?"

"I only had like 2 and a half sips of frat beer. I think I'll manage." You say, falling on your ass.

Damian chuckles and reaches his hand out."C'mon (L/n), you're clearly not sober."

"Lemme guess, you're the picture of sobriety."

"I'm not the idiot on the ground."

"You are an asshat for very different reasons and I'm mad that not everyone can see that." You say accepting his hand.

"And no one will ever believe you," he says. He pulls you up and into his chest with ease. His chest is solid and warm. It's comforting and it takes every ounce of your self-control to step back.

"You're actually evil, you know that?" you say, falling into step with Damian. His strides are long and graceful as you step through the crowd.

"I've been told," he says, stepping around a knot of frat boys singing some pop song you were sure was 20 years older than any of you. You, on the other hand, bungle past them, getting spritzed in the face by leftover beer.

"I'm guessing it was Jon. He was always observant."

Damian looks over his shoulder. "If by observant you mean someone who runs straight into a pole right in front of him, then yes."

"Wasn't he running on 20 minutes of sleep?"

"And?"

"Some of us are human."

"How unfortunate."

You both step out through a side door and the difference in atmosphere hits you immediately. You crumple to the ground drinking in stark relief. Damian leans on the wall, silently observing you.

"Why didn't you just go out?"

"I didn't want to."

He frowns at you. "You wanted to stay in there?"

"Well, I never said that," you don't really wanna tell him why you stayed inside. Damian crosses his arms at you expectantly. You sigh, "Ok, I was scared of the hookman. Sue me."

"The hookman?"

"Yanno--"

"Yes, I know who he is and I assume you're being serious."

"Guilty," you say, rubbing the back of your neck. "It's been going around and I thought there might be a basis to it, so I'm..."

"Paranoid."

"Hey, don't give me that look! Like you're one to talk."

"I'm--"

"Paranoid."

"--cautious. There is a difference."

"Yeah. The spelling."

Damian narrows his eyes at you. You raise your hands in surrender. "Ok. Ok. I might be a little paranoid but it's kind of hard considering where we are."

"I don't think the hookman is lurking around frat row."

"Why not? Easy pickings."

"Too many witnesses."

"I am starting to suspect you're the hookman," you snicker.

"If I was the hookman, that would have been the stupidest thing to say."

"I-"

He gives you a self-satisfied smirk.

Did you just lose?

"Theoretically-"

"Theoretically," he repeats flatly.

"Theoretically," you repeat, "if you weren't the hookman, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be,” you pause, twirling your hand, “practicing?"

"I do take breaks."

You give him a genuinely shocked look. "And you chose to come here?"

"I was invited."

You laugh, "Jon?"

"Collin. What's your excuse?"

"Kidnapped," it was the slightest bit an exaggeration. Houston had stormed it to your room and dragged you out, preaching about youth and beer. "I assume you got the same schtick about the life, huh?"

"With the added bonus that I would stop looking like a middle-aged man."

"What a steal."

Damian hums in response.

You glance back up at him. "You going back in?"

Damian side-eyes the building. "No."

You both wince when someone, not something, gets tossed out the window. "Yeah. That looks like a no for me too."

"Smartest choice you've made all night."

"I offended you in some past life, didn't I?"

"Or maybe I just don't like you."

You feel a pang at that but you shake it off as you stand. "I never skated before," you say for the lack of anything else to say. It was always so much easier to redirect a conversation than address things. Damian gives you a strange look. It must be weird to hear that.

"Never?"

You shrug. "I opted for swimming during the summers. Always wanted to try it though."

"The ice rink is open."

You look back over your shoulder. You search Damian's features for a hint of what he's planning.

"Why?"

"Some skaters need practice," he explains and yeah, that was obvious.

"You're going to take me, a newbie, skating where professionals are practicing."

"Yes."

You give him a crooked smile. "Wow, you really don't like me."

"Wasn't that obvious?"

The chattering of your teeth rattles your brain. Your jaw aches from all the activity. Logically, you knew that ice rinks were cold but you weren't prepared for how cold they got. You should have swung by your apartment.

"Cold?"

You turn to Damian who's taking off his hoodie. You're not bitter but what the hell? "What gave you that idea?"

"The incessant chattering."

"Thanks, I try--" Something thick blots out your vision. "Fuck!" You scramble to pull it off. Bundled in your hands is Damian's jacket. "Thanks, I've always wanted to be a coat rack."

"You can put it on or freeze."

"Putting it on, putting it on," you grumble. You're practically swimming in the thing. The smell of spices billows. Your nerves tickle and your stomach complains. You inhale deeply.

"And you think I'm the stalker?"

"Jerk!"

He makes a face of mock hurt.

It’s not very convincing.

This was a bad idea. For once, it wasn't your bad idea.

"You are officially written out of my will!" you screech as your arms pinwheel.

Instead of falling face-first onto the ice, your face is squished against something warm and solid. You cling to it and try to ignore the other skaters. This was embarrassing. You bury your face in his chest. Damian stiffens.

Damian lets out a put-upon sigh, “I have clearly overestimated your abilities.”

“In my defense, I’m not trained in the art of slipping in style.”

“This is nothing.”

You roll your eyes and huff. Your lip quirks. “Show me.”

Damian scoffs, gliding to the center of the rink.

You slip and slide towards the edge of the rink.

Damian stands stark in the middle of the rink, head bowed and air spiraling around him as if pulled by his gravity. Your ears prickle with the expectation of music, an orchestral sound rising and falling like the cresting ocean waves.

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this.

You watch open mother as Damian Wayne glides over the ice with savage grace. Every movement calculated precisely to hit hard. You expected Damian to be ferocious just as he always is but his beauty was shaped differently by the ice.

Defying gravity, cutting through the air, robbing you of each breath like it was nothing. All done with a calm collected face. The sheer audacity needed to ignore how he electrified the air with every lutz, every double, and every salchow.

You try to pick up your jaw but all your strength is sapped by the effort of thought.

Damian tops the performance off with a flawless triple. Damian glides to a stop, his muscles thrumming from his performance. He bows out of pure habit. Staring at the ice, he hears your laughter echo in the open rink but more than anything it's the excited tone of your voice as your cheer that makes his lips quirk. Damian knows he’s good. Everyone told him as much but being on the receiving end of your unbridled enthusiasm is intoxicating.

Damian rises only to be met with a snowball to the face.

You grin and pack another snowball before Damian even shakes the first one off. Why did you throw a snowball at a world class figure skater after giving you a private show? Hannah would be your best bet for getting an answer, but for now, all you could do was assume that you were stupid.

You relax when Damian scowls at you.

He glides to the edge of the rink, crouching down to pack his own snowball. You grin viciously. You may suck at skating but you are definitely not losing a snowball fight.

You laugh breathlessly, tilting your head back against the wall. You're flat on your ass with shaved ice dusting your hair. Damian, who sat next to you, brushes the ice out of his hair into your direction. You retaliate by collecting ice in your hands then blowing them his way. The flurry hits him in the face and he spits and sputters. You think he's gonna grab a handful of ice again but he just leans back against the wall. At least, one of you is mature.

You close your eyes enjoying the way the cold nips at your flesh. You listen to the way metal scrapes against ice as the two other skaters in the rink glide harmoniously in pure tones. It wasn't quite the same as when the water swallowed you as you swam but the crisp atmosphere was oddly relaxing.

"We should do this again," you say, knocking your foot against Damian's lightly.

He knocks his foot against yours. "Only if you bring your own coat."

"Nah, I like yours. It feels rich," you say, snuggling further into the fabric. You really did like it.

Damian peels himself away from the wall and looks at you like you just offended his honor. "You are not keeping my coat."

“Watch me.” _______________________________________________________________ Thank you for reading! Taglist: @dora-the-grownup @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @bunguz , @birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red @ marshmallow12435 @vvipgot7be @jadedhillon

#Damian Wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #ICE SKATING AU #Redhoodssweethearts1.7KWritingChallenge

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doorinthefloor-aa · 3 years

Text

So, let’s get some of my headcanons and the like out there for my smol little mad boi...

1. I don’t recognize Jervis as being attracted to children. I hate that people like to grab for that low hanging fruit due to him being a whimsical and child-like character.

2. With the last one out in the open? It’s only natural that this now gets addressed. While not a p*d* or ch*ld m*l*st*r? He has no aversion to killing children-- typically when he’s in the midst of one of his episodes.

3. When previously mentioned episode is concluded? He deals with the knowledge and repercussions of his actions. He did what he did-- and he hates himself for it.

4. He also hates himself for a lot of reasons. Like generally existing. He has a lot of self image issues spurring from his height problem and the issues it brought him in trying to correct it. Being dragged through the mud by people who he thought were friends as he grew up.

5. He will do everything to try and forget what he’s done and the pain he’s suffered. Whether it’s drugs especially his, special teas, triggering his bouts of madness, or using his own tech to hypnotize himself. He doesn’t care as long as he gets that blast of dopamine.

6. When he’s not in one of his bouts of madness? He’s a pretty nice little bean. Unless he’s in a depressive episode.

7. The hat is absolutely a mechanism to cope with his embarrassment towards his height. He is compensating. Damaging his hat is damaging his ego.

8. I believe Jerv is pansexual and panromantic. He will pluck the moon from the sky and part the oceans as long as his beloved is happy. However if he’s in a heteronormative relationship? He is a huge danger to his partner. This is when he goes a little far with the world he’s imagined and will kidnap and torture his partner in an attempt to get his “happy ending” with Alice.

9. He hates himself for this too.

10. All he wants is to be happy. Even if it means ruining everything he holds dear to get it. Must not be so dear if it isn’t making him happy, amirite?

11. Absolutely part of the dork squad and Jon is his bestie with Eddie not far off.

12. 10000000000000% a little shit.

13. When he’s lucid? He’s an absolute pleasure to be around. You have never met a more appealing little gremlin.

14. 4′8″ and absolutely embarrassed and devastated by it. Size jokes when you’re not Jon or Eddie will result in a lot of problems. He will take little jokes from previous Secret Six members. Deadshot, Catman, Scandal Savage, Knockout... he considers them all caring friends. Except one member...

14-2. He’s going to fucking kill Ragdoll, that piece of shit. You can’t just yeet a tiny gremlin off a roof.

15. This is a look that means shit’s about to go the fuck down...

It’s NOT a difficult task to figure out of Jerv has checked out or not. Not only do his eyes stop focusing entirely but he’ll have troubles keeping conversation without going into a very “six degrees of Kevin Bacon” game of rhyming and ranting. If you’re not Jon or Ed? You’re gonna wanna leave or get them if this is an option.

16. Using him as an arm rest will get you stabbed. Literally. Don’t touch his hat-- especially in such a display of disrespect. Jon and Eddie ARE exempt.

17. He has a pet! It’s a massive (duh), white (also duh), female Flemish giant. It’s basically his size and he allows it to free roam around his headquarters. It’s a total shit (It’s an unneutered female) that only like Jervis. Your muse may think they like it at first but it will proceed to growl at anyone else. Her name is, and I’m sure you didn’t see this coming, Alice. They’re all named Alice. All being when he eventually loses (he takes GOOD care of her-- but they live 8-10 years and it’s a big painful deal whenever this comes up) her and replaces her with a new one.

18. You have never seen someone more disappointed then Jerv after watching the Tim Burton Alice In Wonderland Movies. He felt personally attacked and he will, like a little pot calling the kettle black, tell you how ridiculous Johnny Depp’s portrayal of the Mad Hatter is.

19. Only tea time snacks when he’s having one of his episodes.

20. Jerv has an impressive resistance to poisons which allow him to be nearly immune.

21. Suffers from macrocephaly. Suffers from schizophrenia. Suffers from OCD. Suffers from delusions. Suffers from hallucinations. Suffers from bouts of madness. May be stuck in a delusional state for months at a time. Suffers from blackouts

22. If you ask-- he’s probably into it. Take that as you will. He wants and desires love and attention.

23. Absolutely a little shit.

24. If you pick him up and move him out of the way? You’ll have to deal with an angry little gremlin that’s out for your blood.

#m: let's CHANGE THE SUBJECT (mad hatter)#hc: egad- you learn something new every day (mad hatter)#about: mad hatter #drug tw #kidnapping tw #abuse tw #mind control tw #murder tw #self negativity tw

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peterxwade24 · 3 years

Text

Safety Found in Red Sleeves

Chapter 9

I know it's been nearly four months (just five days shy of four months) and I apologize for that.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

Thana watched as all of the patrons of the Iceberg Lounge turned to look as they entered. She knew they weren’t the usual crowd, seeing as how Adrien had on a fanny pack, but since they all had red, or some shade of pink, sleeves Uncle Ozzy would let them in.

“I’m sorry. Do I-” Oswald Cobblepott was, fundamentally, a good man. He would never turn away a child in need and he remembered the children he gave shelter to, so imagine his surprise when the person standing in his place of business was none other than the girl who’d managed to burrow under his skin and earn a special nickname. “Chick? Is that- are you- you’re really here?”

Thana let out a laugh and rushed at the man, throwing her arms around his neck before letting out a louder laugh. “I’m taller than you Uncle Ozzy!”

Oswald laughed before his gaze drifted back to the rest of the teens gathered just inside his place of business. “Chick, as much as I love seeing you, who’re they?”

“Oh!” Thana pulled away from Oswald before turning to her friends. “Well, the tall boy with black hair and frosted tips is Kim, the blonde girl is Chloé, the guy with short brown hair is Nino, the other blond is Adrien, and the short sporty girl is Alix. They’re friends I made in Paris, with my mother’s cousin.”

Oswald smiled and waved. “I see my niece has given you a heads up on the dress code around here.”

Kim nodded, a smile on his face. “Mèo con’s always reminding us that we have to wear red when we’re in Gotham, says she’ll ditch us if we don’t.”

Nino snorted before his eyes drifted over to the turntables. “Do you mind if I?”

Oswald smiled and nodded. “Go ahead, you can’t be any worse than my usual guy.”

Nino drifted over to the turntables and began playing some music.

Chloé strode over to the duo, a smile on her face. “It’s so nice to finally meet Fragolina’s Uncle Ozzy.”

“You must be the one my Chick won’t stop saying reminds her of the second Robin.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he pulled Thana close.

Adrien and Alix followed Kim over to the trio, where Kim draped an arm around Chloé’s shoulders. “That’s a possibility.”

---

Thana and her friends, accompanied by Thana’s Uncles Ed and Jon, toured Gotham. Thana made sure to show her friends around, showing them shortcuts to use to get around if they ever get separated from Madame Bustier. Eventually, the group came to an overgrown looking park.

“Uncle Ed, Uncle Jon. I’m going to show them around, and if we run into her introduce them. If we don’t, could one of you text her to let her know where they’re staying so we can do the introductions there?”

“Of course Mini Todd.” Her Uncle Jon nodded and wrapped an arm around Ed, who smiled softly at the act before nodding as well.

“And we’ll keep an eye out for You-Know-Who. He seems to think that you will come crawling back any day now.” Her Uncle Ed rolled his eyes.

“Thank you both so much.” Thana pressed kisses to their cheeks and smiled. “If we ever come across him, I’ll send an SOS to the group chat and then beat his ass.”

Jon and Ed pressed kisses to her cheeks and smiled. “Be safe.”

“With Aunt Pam? Always.” Thana turned towards the park and took a breath, smelling the local flowers and feeling better than she had since she’d been removed from the streets.

---

Thana led her friends around the park, pointing out all of the Poison Ivy original plants and warning her friends to stay away from them since they hadn’t built up an immunity to the toxin within the plants, with a smile on her face. “Aunt Pam always has a new plant that she’s making, and she’s been sorta kinda courting my Aunt Harley since she first saw her, although Aunt Harley used to be with this abusive asshole. I do wonder what happened to Aunt Harley’s daughter, I know she said she was with her sister but still.”

“Who?” Adrien asked, his hand hovering dangerously over a hybrid Venus Flytrap and Trumpet Pitcher plant, as he looked back at the group.

Adrien’s hand was saved by a wall of Boston ivy that shot up out of the ground. A loud scoff could be heard just beyond the plants before a beautiful head of red hair appeared through the leaves. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to touch wild plants?”

Thana smiled and allowed Kim to pull her into his side. “Are all of your relatives ridiculously attractive people?”

“You’ve met my Ma’s cousin,” Thana shrugged and settled more firmly against his side, “and Jervis Tetch is a rotten man, he’s rotten to the core.” Thana’s head rested against Kim’s chest, her ear close to his heart, as she forced thoughts about her birth father out of her head. “My Uncles and Aunts have this friend, Harvey Dent, who’s a little disfigured. He was in this really bad accident a while back and his face is a little hard to look at. He’s kind of nice, never really been mean to me specifically. I think he’s kinda cool though, he’s got a whole schtick about truth and luck.”

Kim nodded, his eyes flitting over the rest of their friends. Kim had never really had a big friend group, not until Thana joined their class, and then suddenly Kim was always around other people, had a shadow who was nearly as protective of him as his Mẹ was, and suddenly his fledgling crush was one of his best friends. Kim would probably always be thankful that Thana showed up when she did. Without Thana, Kim probably would have always been just a dumb jock who fell for some perfect princess. Kim knew his Mè was as thankful as he was that Thana had shown up in their lives, that Thana had stayed after she learned about the skeletons in their closets.

Kim looked at Thana, and he could see how much lighter she was here in what was the darkest city Kim had ever stepped foot in compared to back home. He could only hope that no matter where she went after Lycee, she would keep in contact with him and his Mè.

---

Thana and her friends left Robinson Park just before dinner that evening, her Uncles Jon and Ed escorting them back to the hotel when Thana’s friends went in for the night. Thana, however, followed her friends in and ate a meal with the class before ducking out of the hotel to go spend the night on the streets.

Thana refused to spend any more time in that building than absolutely necessary. She could still feel the cold lead encased in steel as it pierced her abdomen.

Thana hunkered down in an old spot, one she knew like the back of her hand, and could only hope that she would be safe here. She could only hope that she wouldn’t catch a cold while she slept on the streets.

Thana’s friends, however, slept fitfully that night in their comfortable beds in the hotel. Their thoughts filled with worry about Thana on the streets.

-*-*-*

Jason puttered around the kitchen, his feet encased in his slippers, and let out a yawn. He looked at the counter and noticed the already full coffee pot. He glanced around the room and frowned when he didn’t see anything before the sound of the TV reached him a moment later. “Duke?”

Duke’s head popped up over the back of the couch and he gave Jason a sheepish smile. “Yeah?”

Jason let out a breath and his whole body sagged for a moment. “Just had to make sure. Little twitchy after our late night visitor last night.”

“Who stopped by last night?” Duke stood up off of the floor and walked into the kitchen, sitting down on one of the counters like Tim, Steph and Cass had started doing.

Jason set his coffee mug (which read “World’s Greatest Dad” in a similar red to his helmet) down on the counter with a little more force than necessary. “The Bat.” Jason turned to the fridge to pull out the coffee creamer, but frowned when the only creamer left was the Southern Butter Pecan Pie flavour. He simply reached past and grabbed the milk to add to his coffee instead of creamer. “He wanted to know why I’d ‘taken you as well’. Because he sees you all as things to be taken and not children to be taken care of.”

---

Jason pressed a kiss to Steph and Cass’ foreheads before hitching Damian further up on his hip. “I’ll be back later. I just need to take Damian to finish introducing him to his aunt’s aunts and uncles. Unless of course, you two wish to join us.”

Steph looked at Cass and shrugged. “Timmy’s got work. I think Bart is out running around.”

Cass nodded before mussing up her hair and frowning at her sister in question.

“Kon might be in Kansas, I think he mentioned going to visit Clark’s parents. Cassie is hanging out with Donna, getting advice most likely. Cissie is spending the day with Oliver.” Steph slung an arm around Cass’ shoulders and smiled. “Give us a few minutes to get dressed and then we’ll join you.”

Jason nodded, a small smile on his face. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

Steph and Cass disappeared into the room they had officially claimed, coming out a few minutes later in coordinated outfits.

Steph walked out wearing a dark purple crop top with black shorts and a black sweater tied around her waist. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and a pair of black sunglasses, easily recognized as Kon’s, sat atop her head.

Cass, who walked out just a step behind Steph, wore a black t-shirt under a black and yellow flannel paired with black high-waisted jeans. Her hair was freely flowing around her shoulders while her wrists sported scrunchies she’d pilfered from Cassie and Cissie.

Jason shook his head at his sisters, Cass who was just a scant six months older than he was but acted so much younger and Steph who was just a few months older than Tim, and smiled. “Any particular reason for the attire today?”

“Just felt like coordinating.” Steph smiled at Jason and slung an arm around Cass. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

---

Jason led the way into the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, his sisters just behind him and Damian clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping him attached to the planet.

“So, not to question your sanity or anything but, why are we here?” Stephanie’s voice was filled with trepidation and Cass’ arm was wrapped around Steph’s in an act of comfort for both girls.

“One of Thana’s uncles is here right now. He’ll be out soon. Do not compare him to the guy who killed me.” Jason smiled at the guards on duty and continued into the building.

The person at the front desk, a young individual of indeterminate gender with short brown hair and brown eyes, looked up from the clipboard in front of them and deadpanned. “Name of the patient you’re here to see?”

“Jerome Valeska. He should be expecting me, Jason Todd.” Jason smiled and shifted slightly so Damian’s face was more comfortably buried in his neck. “My son and sisters will also be joining us today.”

The receptionist nodded and jotted down the details relayed to them. “Identification?”

Jason handed over his identification card while Steph and Cass pulled out their driver’s licenses. “My son is only nine and only has a passport, will that work?”

The receptionist nodded and smiled. “A passport will work.”

Jason pulled Damian’s passport out of his pocket and handed it over. “We’ll come back to collect those when we’re finished visiting.”

“Have a good visit.”

“Thank you.” Jason smiled and led the way back into the rehabilitation center, his sisters sticking close to his back with their free hands clinging to the back of his shirt just over where Damian’s leg rested, passing the cells filled with the more humane residents of the asylum. Jason paid them no mind, having grown used to their hooting and hollering as he passed on his previous visits.

The little four person group of the family finally reached the rehabilitation center and were let in by one of the orderlies, a bulkier individual dressed in teal scrubs. They all gave the orderly a smile and a nod as they passed into the room.

Jerome was sitting at a table with blank sheets of paper mixed in with sheets of paper filled with writing, and as soon as Jason could read what was on the paper he could see that the pages were filled with apologies and plans to become a better person if for no one other than his favourite niece and her wellbeing. Jerome looked up when Jason started to cast a shadow across his paper. “Hey buddy. You’re standing in my- Jason! What a surprise!”

Jason’s face grew soft, a smile on his face and pulled out the chair next to Jerome to sit down in. Damian was settled into Jason’s lap while Steph and Cass sat down in the chairs next to Jason’s. “How are you today Jerome?”

“I’ve been better.” Jerome had been better, before his parents and his uncle died, before his twin fell apart and brought him down with him. Jerome had been happy in the circus, performing with his family for crowds of people who adored their act, and then everything changed.

“Jerome, I’d like you to meet my son. Damian al Ghul-Todd, nephew of your niece Thana Todd, as well as my sisters, Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown.”

“Oh come on Jace. Why’d you have to use last names?” Steph pouted and punched Jason’s upper arm.

“Because now that Uncle Jerome knows of your parentage he’ll be less likely to toss anything you say aside.” Jason smiled as Jerome spoke about himself in the third person.

“What he said.” Jason let out a chuckle. Damian frowned at the lack of attention he was receiving and simply headbutted Jason in the chin. “Yes, yes, we know you’re here Kutlat Saghira. I’m sorry that we’re not paying attention to you.”

Damian pouted and puffed out his cheeks. “Baba, not here.”

Jason smiled at his son, knowing that he was safe in his arms. “I love you my Little Nugget.”

“Baba!” Damian frowned and looked towards the table, effectively ignoring the four other people at the table.

Steph and Cass watched the moment between father and son, sharing only a look before looking back at the duo.

Jerome watched as his niece’s brother smiled at his child, glad that he got to see it but all he really wanted was to see Thana.

“She’s in the city.” Jason’s voice was quiet, barely heard over the lull of the rest of the patients in the center. “She’s in the city and she, she got so big Jerome. She has a really good group of friends. You’d be proud of her.”

Taglist:

@amigotasbien @maribat-is-lifeblood @mystery-5-5 @our-preciousss @mochegato @chocolatecatstheron @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @2confused-2doanything @wannajointhecrabcult @dreamykitty25 @tomanyfandomsonmymind @moonlightstar64 @justafanwarrior @mialuvscats @pheony1882 @pepelachanel @moongoddesskiana @abrx2002 @ladybug-182 @greatcatblaze @thatonecroc @vixen-uchiha @superbwhispersconnoisseur @sauseyyy @susiej1118 @bluesimani @thatonecroc

#maribat #ml crossover #mlb crossover #ml x dc #mlb x dc #Safety Found in Red Sleeves #sfirs

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techni-kolor · 4 years

Text

EDS Jon Recs

Dovetail Joints and Other Tests of Tensile Strength (Rating T, Word Count: 2065) by BloodScout

“Hurt very much?”

That surprised him. If she had asked him the same question last year, he wouldn’t have answered. He wouldn’t have told her that when she kidnapped him from Mike Crew’s house, she dislocated his wrist and it took three weeks to get back to normal. He wouldn’t have told her exactly how easy it was the pull his leg out of its socket, that he had a slipped disc that made his vision go white when he bent over in the wrong way. It would have been out of self-preservation, of course. The Daisy-that-was didn’t need more information on how to hurt him. To be fair, the Daisy-that-was wouldn’t have asked in the first place. Not in a way that sounded like she cared.

Friends, then.

Simple (Rating G, Word Count 3300) by @janekfan

Prompt: health scare with Jon and the crew.

Just Hide, They Don’t Need to Know (Not Rated, Word Count 676) by @shuttymcshutfuck

Jon had only been officially back at work after the attack for about a week and he’d spent the week hiding.

Jon hides his cane from everyone after the Jane Prentiss attack and it's a bad idea. Thankfully Martin pays more attention than Jon thinks.

The Trials of Control (Rated G, Word Count 1570) by @kaiserkorresponds

"What part of fine don't you understand?" Jon snapped, the building burn of frustration from the fall, and the pain, and the jealousy of seeing Tim's clear ableness, reaching a fever pitch and exploding into the bitter words. "I said, I'm alright."

He drew in a inhale, fighting to pull it past the tightness in his chest and the still aching clench around his heart.

A look of shock passed over Tim's face, before melting back into concern.

"Jon–"

"Don't. Just don't, Tim."

Jon being frustrated with his limitations and ableism. In this fic Jon has a combination of POTS/EDS and hasn't had great experiences with ableism in the past. [Tim is not ableist in this fic]

“Just Take a Minute, Put Your Mind on Ice” (Not Rated, Word Count 834) by @shuttymcshutfuck

Tim took one good look at him and his demeanor immediately changed. Jon looked terrible, the bags under his eyes were much more prominent than usual, he wasn’t wearing his usual formal wear and was instead wearing a soft looking shirt and one of Martin’s old cardigans he must have “borrowed”.

Tim finds Jon overworking himself and calls in Martin for back up (Romantic JonMarTim)

Make It Small So It Fits (Rated G, Word Count 3555) by @taylortut

A combination of pain, infection, and Not!Sasha paranoia cause Jon to have an episode of delirium at the Institute. The others do their best, but not before panicking a lot

What Is Broken Can Be the Beginning (Or What Is Dislocated) (Rated G, Word Count 1287) by @kaiserkorresponds

Martin flinched at the shout, but didn't falter.

"Your wrist." He stammered. "I heard, well I thought I heard, something break, and so I came to see what had happened, and you were just sitting there. With your wrist like that, and it looked bad, really bad, and well–"

Martin broke off. "Do you need the A&E?"

Or Martin finds out about Jon's EDS in arguably the worst way !!

#The Magnus Archives #TMA #fic recs #eds Jon #This is an incomplete list !! just a few of my favorites !! (I do have EDS myself)#and this is my first ever recs list !!!

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gerrydelano · 4 years

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two ships passing

chapter seventeen: whistle for the wind

Chapters: 17 / 17 Words: 12.7k Characters: Gerard Keay, Jonathan Sims, Miriam Sims (mentioned), Michael | The Distortion (mentioned) And then all of these next guys are more briefly mentioned: Tim Stoker, Sasha James (as far as they know), Martin Blackwood, Gertrude Robinson, Literally Every Single OC That Made An Appearance Before Now And Then Some

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Fix-It, Recovery, Humor, Fluff, Jewish/Indian Jon, Jon is an autistic/nonbinary/OCD cane user, Gerry has POTS/EDS and is transfem nonbinary, (Jon’s in a shalwar kameez and Gerry’s in a nice bralette), Even more dramatic irony than all the chapters previous, Seriously there will be times you want to punch both of them and also me, Lots of entity talk (particularly Spiral/Beholding/Vast), Closure, Open Ending, But a hopeful one

Chapter Summary:

Jon is still covered in old marks, too, like mist fogged over the ancient fingerprints on an hourglass. Faint enough now that Gerry wonders if they stand a chance at wiping them away. The way Jon is talking now, he thinks they just might.

NOTES: the ship has reached the shore! it’s time for the next journey.

READ HERE

#jongerry #gerard keay #gerry keay #gerry delano #jonathan sims #the magnus archives #magnuspod #magpod #tma fanfic #tsp tag #r.txt #r.writes #michael #miriam #tim #sasha #gertrude #tma ocs #paraphrasing the tags a bit for this post alone

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slashscowboyboots · 4 years

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Happy Taco Truck: Ice Cream Dreamboat (Part 1)

(all photo credit goes to owners)

I know it’s only been months, but it feels like years since I’ve shared a fic! This is a continuation of @no-stone-no-bone‘s awesome fic Duff’s Doughnuts (link here). I agree with Skyler, I’d love to see other writers write about the different food trucks and make this a series. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but as I am physically incapable of writing short fics, this is a two-parter. Buckle in!

Tag list: @izzysdenimjacket @no-stone-no-bone @sexcoffeeandrockandroll @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands @smokeandmirrorz @sodalitefully @roger-taylors-car @harley-m-rose if you’d like to be tagged let me know, we all know how wonderful the tags work though

Warnings: language, sibling promiscuity, lonely cooking, terminal embarrassment, Axl and Tracii are Axl and Tracii

Thunk thunk thunk.

It was another scorcher inside your food truck, the vicious heat wafting off the griddle pummeling your face as you deftly raked your spatula through a pile of crisping beef tips, then piled them into a fluffy shell, handing it off for your sister Skyler to kiss with your award-winning cilantro lime crema and hand out to the customer.

You couldn’t resist moving up to the open side to watch the patron, a long-haired man wearing a nose chain with “Endless Burgers” stitched on his shirt, take a bite of your creation, then bend at the knees from ecstasy and dig a ten dollar bill from his pocket, stuffing it in your tip jar.

It has been gangbusters during the lunch rush in The Circle, the informal name given to the parking lot of ornery hooligans who fed the masses during the day and lingered behind late in the evening for a bit of recreational hell-raising.

There was a plethora of culinary delights scattered around you, including Duff’s Doughnuts, Tracii and Phil’s Sno-Cones, Stoney & Cready’s Homewrecker Corndogs, and Jon and Richie’s Jersey Essentials (you never really knew what they were selling, apart from Aqua Net and the occasional cheesesteak, but after they began offering rippers-deep fried hot dogs-Skyler made frequent trips over to ask Richie if she could eat his weenie). And from what you heard, they all knew how to throw down at night.

You never stayed to find out, though. Your shyness forced you to fire up Helen the Happy Taco truck and drive home, leaving Skyler behind to do God-knows-what to who-knows-what, and you arrived in the mornings to find her either helping Kelly from Nickels’ BBQ feed his pink-painted porcine smoker, both of them covered in hickeys, or nearly trading blows with the loudmouth redhead who ran the ice cream truck.

Today, however, you’d found her with someone new. When you pulled into the lot, you saw her with her arms wrapped around a guy with long hair wearing a flannel shirt and shorts, gazing raptly into his piercing blue eyes. “Bye, Ed,” she murmured, pecking a kiss on his mouth.

“Who was that?” you asked, your eyebrows shooting skywards.

“Produce man,” she answered quickly.

“Were you getting us a good deal?’

“You know it.”

You peeled your gloves off and wiped your sweating face with a paper towel, trying to blot off as much grease as possible. “I’m taking a break. I need some ice cream.”

“I got you a frozen lemonade on my break. It’s gonna taste like shit when you drink it with that ice cream.”

“I don’t care.”

“Punch that dick Axl in the face while you’re over there. He’s on my last fucking nerve.”

You trudged down to “Axl and Izzy’s Frozen Delights,” eager to leave the brutal swelter inside your truck. Standing in front of their window, you bent backwards and cracked your aching back, then a raspy voice asked, “Can I help you?”

You looked up into the most beautiful doe eyes you’d ever seen, hazel verging on gold in the afternoon sunlight, belonging to a guy with messy brown hair tied back with a bandanna, and suddenly your feet didn’t hurt anymore. “Hi,” you said faintly.

“Hey,” he replied, smiling at you, and you felt your breath leave you. “I’m Izzy, who might you be?”

“Y/N.”

“What can I get for you?”

Your brain instantly forgot how to make words. “Cone,” you muttered.

His smile grew even bigger. “What do you want in your cone?”

“Ice cream.”

He chuckled softly. “What kind?”

“I don’t know.”

Those gorgeous eyes were full of merriment, crinkling at the corners. “You don’t know?”

“No.” Get ahold of yourself, you’re sounding like a moron. “Uh, chocolate?”

“Sure. I mean, as long as you’re sure about that.” He winked at you, then turned to the freezer case behind him, and you got an exquisite view of his perfect ass, your mouth open and your breath coming in gasps, then he turned around and grinned, catching you mid-gawk, and you immediately wanted the earth to swallow you up.

“Thank you,” you blurted when he handed you your cone, then you turned to leave.

“Uh, Y/N?”

“Uh huh?” You couldn’t believe he was going to prolong putting up with your awkward ass.

“Aren’t you going to pay me?”

“Oh,” you said, humiliation bringing a knot to your throat, and you handed him a crumpled pile of bills and scuttled away before you could cry.

“Sis, you mind if I head out a little early?” you asked. “I’ve got a headache and I want to go home.”

“Sure. I think we’re done for today. You sure you’re okay?”

You hadn’t said a word all afternoon, just cooked and sweated and tried not to think about what a failure you were. This was why you didn’t stick around at night, even though you longed to, to laugh and have fun with all the crazy characters around you. Because you’d fuck it up if you did.

Why wasn’t I born normal? you thought bitterly. Why am I the disaster in the family?

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’m fine.”

That’s why your tacos were so delicious. Because you were such a loser, you stayed home and perfected them instead of going out and having a life. With no demands on your personal time, you discovered that lime made your chicken taco sing, while a little tomato sauce was the secret to juicier ground beef.

Your loneliness was the key to Happy Taco’s success.

And you’d give everything you knew away just to be cool for five minutes.

“OPEN UP!!” a male voice hollered. Bam! Bam! Bam! “Little pig, little pig, let me in!”

Skyler dropped the hatch. “Tracii! Ferfucksakes! We just got here!”

Tracii grinned under his bandanna. “I wanna eat your taco.”

“It is an honor and a privilege to serve you a Happy Taco,” she answered, leaning on the counter and linking her fingers. “However, we haven’t got anything set up and the only kind we can get you is our el pastor.”

“Okay,” he said, “gimme two,” and Skyler nodded to you.

You sliced the meat off the trompo, carefully evening out the sides, all the while reliving the embarrassment of the previous afternoon in your head. Maybe you could drive Helen down to Baja California and start life anew, under a different name.

“Hey!” Tracii yelped, his eyes on you. “I know you! You’re the one Izzy was talking about last night,” and your knife nearly stabbed the metal pole holding up the pork and pineapple mass.

“Yeah,” he smiled lazily, “you are a looker, aren’t you? How come you don’t party with us? Izz said you seemed kinda shy.”

With your eyes wide and heart hammering, you handed the tacos to Skyler, whose mouth was hanging open in shock.

Before she could say anything, Tracii handed her his money and sauntered off, orgasmically moaning as he chewed, and Axl stepped up to the window.

“The fuck you want?” Skyler snapped. “”It’s too early in the day for you to pick a fight, asshole.”

“I’m not here to fight,” he growled, slamming down a wad of dollars. “This is from Izzy. For her ice cream,” and he jutted his chin towards you. “He says you eat for free at our truck. The bo-both of you,” he gritted, the agony of that idea etching deeply on his face.

“Thank you,” you smiled in surprise.

His eyes met yours, waving off your delight. “Yeah, he’ll be down later.”

“Yes, thank you, Axl,” Skyler said. “May we offer you an el pastor taco?”

“No,” he said, already retreating. “Pork gives me the shits.”

Izzy did come by later, just in time for your sister to run off on her break.

“Hi, Izzy,” you said, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Hey,” he smiled, looking delicious in his sunglasses. “So what kind of tacos do you have?”

You recited the list. “El pastor, carnitas, beef tips, seasoned ground beef, chicken, shrimp, and uh, lengua.”

“What’s that?”

“Uh, tongue.”

He pulled a face and stuck out his tongue, and you giggled, your shyness melting away at his goofiness. “No, no, it’s really good. Imagine the most tender, flavorful pot roast. Everyone always orders seconds.”

“I think I’ll pass on the tongue, that one anyways, and have one shrimp and one chicken. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. Uh, you and Axl, you eat for free here too. Thank you, by the way, that’s very generous.”

He grinned wider, and you noticed he’d hadn’t stopped smiling at you since he showed up. “Don’t mention it.”

You opened the shrimp and chicken containers, then threw the meat down on the griddle and moved it around, forcing yourself to focus on sauteing and not burning down the fucking truck because Izzy was outside.

He peeked in the window, looking around the interior of the truck. “So how long have you been cooking?”

“Oh, since I was small. I was at a stove before I could see over it. These are all my grandmother's recipes.” You scooped the fillings into their shells, then grabbed the crema.

“Hey, I only ordered two,” Izzy protested when you handed him his tacos in a cardboard to-go basket.

“One of the chicken ones is Axl’s. Consider it a peace offering.”

“Thank you. Hey, Y/N, I was wondering if-”

“Hey, Y/N, I was wondering if I could get some fucking service around here,” a mullet-sporting, Confederate flag t-shirt wearing asshole growled, and Izzy waved, then walked away.

He returned the next day, and the next day, and the next day, and the next day, working his way through your menu and bringing you a different-flavored milkshake each time. He loved all of the tacos he tried, even daring to sample the beef tongue, then immediately ordered another one.

“Told you,” you grinned.

He always made conversation with you while you cooked, his eyes locked on yours as he ate, but every time he finished, there was always a line to tend to, and Skyler made herself scarce as soon as she spotted him. You never returned to his truck for ice cream, and spent your downtime cleaning the flattop, lighting out as soon as you turned over the CLOSED sign.

“You know,” your sister said to you as you turned the key in the ignition, “if you stayed, you’d probably hook up with Izzy.”

“No,” you said sadly, “I’m a hot mess. I’d say something stupid and he’d run away.”

“Can’t talk with his tongue in your mouth,” she teased, “or some other part.”

“SKYLER!” you shrieked as she cackled, then you sighed and leaned your head against the steering wheel. “I’m not like you.”

“You don’t have to be,” she said, leaning over and stroking your hair. “Just give him a chance.”

“I can’t stay here and have Helen be a-a sin wagon.”

“It’s not like we have orgies!” Skyler laughed. “At least your man doesn't. He plays guitar and Axl sings, when he’s not being a dumbass.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And then Izzy sings, and Kelly gives me The Look and……”

“Or the produce man shows up.”

“Or Eddie the produce man shows up.” She gave you a slight smile. “C’mon, Sis, stay. He likes you.”

“He doesn’t know me.”

“Then get to know him. Axl says he’s pining.”

You looked at her in surprise. “When did you talk to Axl?”

“When he told me that chicken taco you gave him was the best thing he’s ever had.”

You smiled at his praise, drumming your fingertips on the steering wheel. “Maybe I’ll stay sometime.”

“Pining,” Skyler said, then hopped off the truck.

#izzy stradlin x reader #izzy stradlin fanfiction #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses fanfic

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 2 months

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Beauty and the Scarebeast

by CinnamonFlavoredBismuth Edward Nygma, local bookworm, after a mission to save his… closest thing to a father figure he could find, has found himself trapped in a castle with a hulking Scarebeast and sentient furniture, with no hopes of going back to his home town. How will he escape? And more importantly, why is he growing fond of this beast? Basically a Beauty and the Beast scriddler au Words: 387, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma, Ra's al Ghul, Oswald Cobblepot, Harvey Dent, Victor Fries, Jervis Tetch, Garfield Lynns, Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma Additional Tags: There’s probably other characters i forgot, oh well, Beauty and the Beast AU, i love ed and Jon they are so in love, Edward is belle, Jonathan is beast, ra’s is the wizard, oswald is gaston, harvey is lefou, Mr freeze is maurice, jervis is cogsworth, garfield is lumiere, harley is madame de garderobe, ivy is cadenza, alfred is Mrs pots, bruce is chip, selina is plumette, ive had this steamin in my head for a hot minute, gay men, Yaoi, Scriddler via https://ift.tt/ZAHdLwr

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the caped crusader #gotham #dcu #dc #ao3 #ao3feed

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ao3feed-harleyquinn · 2 months

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Beauty and the Scarebeast

#IFTTT #harley quinn #harleen quinzel #dc #dcu #ao3 #ao3feed

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celosiaa · 4 years

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hey friend!! i'm here with a drabble prompt (or just a Thought if you prefer!)!! you kNOW i love your jon with EDS/POTS headcanon, so possibly something with that in the canon timeline? i'm sure one of the things he was prescribed for pain after the worms was a muscle relaxer, which we have to be careful with. perhaps something where jon is having a bad enough day to take one (he usually doesn't at work) and some soft caretaking? it could be either an injury or preventative, for fluff! :)

thank you for the prompt my friend!!!! Got another transcript style one for everybody. I set this shortly after Jon returns to work, while Tim and Sasha are still out. His paranoia about Martin has not yet developed because I said so lol. Hope you enjoy!! <3

[CLICK]

JON: Statement ends. (pause) Are you alright?

STATEMENT-GIVER: (shaky) Y-yes, I—I think so.

JON: We will follow up on your statement just as soon as we have the capacity. As I’m sure you noticed on your way in, we’re a bit—short-staffed, at the moment.

STATEMENT-GIVER: I did notice, actually. Bit dead, I suppose.

JON: Yes, well—

[SOUNDS OF CHAIRS BEING PUSHED BACK AS THEY STAND]

JON: Bit of an—ah—

[HISS OF PAIN]

JON: (breathless) Bit of a long story.

STATEMENT-GIVER: You okay?

JON: Of course. My apologies.

[SOUND OF TWO PAIRS OF FOOTSTEPS, ONE ACCENTED ON EVERY OTHER STEP BY THE TAP OF A CANE]

[SOUND OF A DOOR SQUEAKING OPEN]

JON: (with effort) Can you—I’m very sorry, will you be able to find your way out?

STATEMENT-GIVER: (with light surprise) Oh.

JON: If you just take a left down the hall, you’ll see the lift that lets you straight out into the lobby.

STATEMENT-GIVER: (confused, awkward) Right. Erm—okay. Afternoon, then.

JON: (quietly) Afternoon.

[BRIEF SILENCE AS HER FOOTSTEPS FADE]

[JON SITS DOWN RATHER HEAVILY]

MARTIN: (worriedly) Hey, you okay? Do you—are you feeling faint?

JON: (through gritted teeth) No, no, I— (sigh) I’m fine.

[SOUND OF CHAIR BEING PUSHED BACK, FOOTSTEPS GETTING CLOSER]

MARTIN: Leg bothering you?

JON: (irritably) It’s fine. Just—

MARTIN: (pointedly) Jon.

[HE SIGHS]

JON: (quietly) I just—it’s seizing, a bit. Just need to take something for it.

MARTIN: (eager to help) Can I get it for you?

JON: You don’t have to—

MARTIN: Where is it?

JON: (almost defeated) Desk drawer. I-I mean—there’s a couple different ones in there. It’s cyclo—benzaprine? I think.

MARTIN: On it.

[SOUND OF FOOTSTEPS WALKING AWAY AS JON SIGHS]

[FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING]

MARTIN: Here you are. And your water bottle, too.

JON: Thank you, Martin.

[SOUND OF PILLS BEING SHAKEN FROM THE BOTTLE]

MARTIN: (worried) Hey, wait—isn’t that—isn’t that a muscle relaxant?

JON: (shocked) What?

MARTIN: I just didn’t—erm—I just didn’t think it was good to take those. With EDS, I mean.

[BRIEF SILENCE]

JON: (incredulously—perhaps suspiciously) How did you know that?

MARTIN: (stammering quickly, with an audible blush) OH! Erm, sorry, I was just—I sort of got interested? I guess? I’ve been doing some research, I-I didn’t mean to overstep, I just—I just—

JON: (concerned) Good lord. Take a breath, please.

MARTIN: R-right!

[HE BREATHES IN AND OUT SHALLOWLY]

MARTIN: Right, sorry.

[SOUND OF JON SWALLOWING THE PILLS WITH A SIP OF WATER]

[FEET SHUFFLING NERVOUSLY ON THE FLOOR]

[JON SIGHS]

JON: It’s fine, Martin. I’m taking a lower dose to be safe.

MARTIN: (relieved) Okay, good. That’s good.

[SMALL SILENCE]

MARTIN: (quietly) What can I do?

JON: What do you mean?

MARTIN: You’re—you’re hurting. Is there anything I can do?

JON: (exasperated) Martin, you don’t— (sigh) —you know this wasn’t your fault, right? That I got hurt. It’s no one’s—

MARTIN: (interrupting) This isn’t out of guilt, Jon. I just—well. I just worry.

JON: You don’t need to—

MARTIN: (interrupting) I just want you to get home safely. That’s all.

JON: Well. You don’t need to worry.

[POORLY-MASKED GRUNT OF PAIN AS HE STANDS]

JON: I’m fine.

MARTIN: (worried) Jon—

JON: (back to annoying professionalism) Just focus on your work, Martin.

[SOUND OF FOOTSTEPS AS JON WALKS AWAY]

MARTIN: (under his breath) Like hell I will.

[CLICK OFF]

[PAUSE]

[CLICK ON]

MARTIN: Jon? Hey, Jon.

[JON LETS OUT A MUFFLED PROTEST AT BEING DISTURBED]

[FABRIC RUSTLES AS HE IS SHAKEN LIGHTLY]

MARTIN: You with me?

JON: (very bleary, slurred) M’tin?

MARTIN: Yeah. A little groggy, I see.

[JON LETS OUT A LONG GROAN]

MARTIN: I think—I think you ought to go home, Jon. Seems like the meds have gotten to you.

JON: (unconvincingly) I’m fine.

MARTIN: Have you taken these before? Or was this the first time?

JON: (still bleary) Erm—first time. Didn’t—god.

[PAUSE AS HE TAKES A DEEP BREATH]

[FABRIC RUSTLES AS MARTIN RUBS A HAND OVER HIS BACK]

MARTIN: (soothingly) Alright. I’ll call you a cab, okay? Just lean on me—I’ll help you up.

[FABRIC RUSTLES AS THEY START TO MOVE]

JON: (gasp) Wait wait wait—

[MOVEMENT AS HE IS SET BACK DOWN]

MARTIN: (very worried) What is it? What’s wrong?

JON: (confused, bit panicky) I think—everything just feels so—loose. Can you—would you get—

MARTIN: Where are they?

JON: Cabinet. Knee and ankle.

MARTIN: Got it.

[SOUND OF CABINETS BEING RIFLED THROUGH AS MARTIN SEARCHES FOR THE BRACES]

[LONG SIGH FROM JON AS HE LEANS OVER HIS DESK]

JON: (shakily) God damn it.

MARTIN: (worried) You alright?

JON: (sigh) Dizzy.

MARTIN: From—from the meds, or…?

JON: (snappy) I don’t. Know.

MARTIN: (intentionally quiet, calm) Right. Sorry.

[SILENCE AS JON BREATHES DEEPLY]

[SOUND OF CABINET DOORS CLOSING AND FOOTSTEPS CROSSING THE ROOM]

MARTIN: Here. Do you want me to help you with them?

JON: (sigh) M’sorry, Martin.

MARTIN: (soft) It’s okay.

[SOUND OF SHOES BEING REMOVED]

[FABRIC RUSTLES AS MARTIN KNEELS TO SLIP THE KNEE BRACES ON]

[SOUND OF VELCRO AS JON TIGHTENS THEM]

JON: I’ll—I’ll do these, if you could do the ankle ones.

MARTIN: Got it.

[SILENCE AND VELCROING]

[MARTIN SLIPS HIS SHOES BACK ON]

MARTIN: Feel okay? Still dizzy?

JON: A bit. Need to be careful.

MARTIN: Right. (audible puffing of chest) Well, I’ve got you, so don’t worry. Here we go then—

[SOUND OF MOVEMENT AS HE HELPS JON TO STAND]

[SOUND OF CANE TAPPING ONCE ON THE FLOOR AS MARTIN HANDS IT TO HIM]

MARTIN: Okay? Steady?

JON: (quietly) Okay.

MARTIN: Slow as you need.

[SOUND OF TWO PAIRS OF FOOTSTEPS, BOTH SLOW, ONE A BIT STAGGERING]

[BRIEF SILENCE]

MARTIN: (worried) Jon, maybe—maybe you should come back to my place, you know? Or I could go to yours. Just to make sure.

JON: (focused on walking) …what?

MARTIN: (nervous stammering) I won’t be any trouble. I-I’ll just make you some tea, and—and make sure you’re breathing, alright? Until the meds wear off. That’s all.

[SILENCE AS THEY KEEP WALKING]

MARTIN: Oh, watch—

JON: (overlapping) Oh—

[SHUFFLING FOOTSTEPS AS THEY MANEUVER IT AROUND THE OBSTACLE]

MARTIN: Ooh, alright, there we are. Close one.

[BRIEF SILENCE]

JON: (lowly) Thank you, Martin. That would—that’s very kind.

MARTIN: (he’s just been told he’s going to Disneyworld) OH! Oh, it’s no trouble. Really.

JON: It is. And I’m thanking you for it.

MARTIN: (small laugh) Well…you’re welcome, then, I guess. Just so long as you don’t take these meds again, eh?

[JON CHUCKLES LIGHTLY]

[CLICK]

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma fanfic #jonmartin #hurt/comfort #my writing

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