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all-mirth-no-matter · 7 months

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Time After Time | Chapter Seventeen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: You meet the new Inspector and have a heart to heart with Tommy.

Warning: language

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Chapter 17: Change on the Rise

What good’s a man, who’s lost his soul? Can’t take a stand, mmm when his flame’s gone cold. Mmm fend off the enemy, sing out the jubilee. WIth all the fire we can breathe, we’re singing all day, and you can’t tame it. — Change on the Rise, Avi Kaplan

There were a few things you were still getting used to about the 1910s. The smell. The smoke. The actual shit on the ground. The misogyny. The cold water. The lack of knowledge of what was toxic for your body and what wasn’t.

You thought about the last one every morning as you got ready for work, trying to stay away from any unsafe words you knew, but slightly frightful of a lot of the stuff you didn’t recognize.

Typically, you tried to remain as natural as you could. And if you were honest with yourself, you only really wore make-up or did a double check on your hair when you knew you’d be seeing Tommy — it was only slightly pathetic, you tried to convince yourself when you realized what you were doing.

What was mostly pathetic was recently, when you noticed you started putting in more effort after Grace began working in the pub full time. The woman looked like a movie star from your time, and you hated how insecure it made you feel about your own appearance.

And then there was the singing.

There was a moment, the night of her first shift, when she’d begun to sing in an attempt to distract a fight breaking out. She stood on the table and began to sing something you definitely didn’t recognize, though the rest of the room obviously did. The whole pub had joined in by the time she was nearing the end of her third song (that you still didn’t know), when the first of the Peaky boys entered the pub.

You hated yourself for how envious of Grace’s ability you were in that moment. Just a month ago, you and Tommy had been in this spot, alone, you singing him a song from your own time. It’d been your thing, it felt. And now, he was captivated along with the rest of the bar with Grace’s siren voice. Soon though, everyone finally noticed his entrance and slowly lowered their voices, save for Grace who ended the verse properly despite her confusion of the sudden end. When Harry approached him to comment on how there hadn’t been any singing in the pub since before the war, Tommy met your eyes. For a moment, you thought he was going to tell them to stop — but instead, he said a soft “carry on” before moving into the snug and shutting the door.

But your insecurities with Grace were your problem, and you tried to keep it from affecting you in any significant way, especially in how you treated her. You’d worked in bars long enough to push down the green monster that came with the territory sometimes, which luckily got easier the more you spent time with her. Grace continued to be nice and polite, but she was soft spoken and sort of skittish, innocent almost – something you warned her wouldn’t mix well with the company they maintained at the Garrison. Finally though, you seemed to manage to break her reserve and loosen up during the slower periods of the day, and she was quite funny when she wanted to be.

But still, no matter how well you seemed to get along, you just couldn’t shake the weird feeling you got from her. There was something in the way she over explained herself, like she was trying to convince the room of her place in it. It was an unease you saw in yourself, but mirrored – you often felt like you under-explained, or kept quiet, in an attempt to blend in with your surroundings.

Despite your own reservations of the girl, there was one thing you knew for certain. She definitely lied about her previous experience. She was clumsy with the bottles, needed remindings on drink orders, and thought far too hard on her pours. It made training much more taxing than you’d originally anticipated.

The good news was that she was smart – smart enough to handle money and inventory, at least – which was an area you thought you’d have to overcompensate for.

Still, due to the amount of time you’d been spending training Grace, you started coming into the pub early on the mornings you didn’t have to be at the Shelby’s to catch up on the books.

You heard a loud crash and some shouting outside, causing you to jump up from your seat in the back room of the pub. You rushed to the main room to find a tall man standing in the doorway, a bowler hat on his head. He was significantly taller than you, his long jacket giving him a looming presence as he took up the majority of the entryway.

“Morning,” he greeted in a heavy Irish accent. “We haven’t had the pleasure.”

You crossed your arms, “We’re closed–”

“I’m not here for drinks.”

Behind him, through the closed doors, you heard more shouting. The man noticed your eyes drift around him, and smiled.

“Oh, don’t worry. My Specials have been told not to touch the Garrison. You’re safe,” his eyes giving you a once over, “for now.”

Specials, you thought, looking at him more closely. “You’re the Inspector from Belfast.”

His right cheek pulled up into a smirk. “You’ve heard of me?”

You gestured around the room, trying to convey an air of indifference. “I work in a pub. Your presence has been a big topic lately.” A loud crash came from outside followed by more shouting. “What are they doing out there?”

“Routine inspection,” he shrugged. “I’m here to clean up this town.”

“And that includes ransacking innocent families?” you asked, your face doing nothing to hide your disapproval.

He chuckled. “Innocent. As if you can’t see the degradation and sin that lies beyond these walls.”

Your mouth snapped shut at that. He wasn’t exactly wrong. You’d noticed a drastic change over the last couple months in the town. The high of the war's end was beginning to wane – and the streets of Small Heath were slowly eating away at itself. Veterans were scrounging for jobs, widows were desperate for stability, and children ran wild throughout the city. Brawls broke out in the middle of the streets at least once a night, crowds of men betting on outcomes. Men had women pressed against the walls, not even bothering to make into the alleyways. When you saw some girls who couldn’t even be in their teens, you felt your chest clinch even tighter, the dread and disgust building higher for this place. Every day you felt even more hardened by the harsh realities of the world and your place in it.

Despite this, you’d come to know a good majority of the families who lived on Watery Lane, and regardless of the badness out there, you knew there was good that didn’t deserve whatever was happening just outside of your establishment.

“What do you want, Inspector?” you said, your voice stronger. You gestured around you, “If you’re here to inspect, feel free. You’ll find nothing here but alcohol and cigarettes.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” he took another step toward you, tilting his head as he rose his brow, the sly smirk still tight at his cheek. “You’ve heard of me, well, I’ve heard of you as well. Though oddly enough, no papers on ya.”

Your back straightened at that and he continued his walk closer. You tried not to let it show, but truthfully, that’d been a fear of yours after you’d come to terms with your new timeline. You didn’t have any identification or historical papers, nor did you have any bank accounts (not that you would have been able to have one of your own anyhow, since you were unmarried and essentially orphaned). You’d even masterminded a big story about there being deaths and a fire that burnt whatever record you would have had that said you were a citizen. But after a while of no one asking or no one caring, you let the story fade and your fear along with it. Now, you were wondering how much trouble exactly you would get in, and if there was a way you could acquire some new papers.

Seemingly happy with the threat settling in, the Inspector shrugged. “Lucky for you, I don’t have time to worry about runaways or travelers at the moment. What I am interested in is the company you keep. As I understand it, you’re quite close with the Shelbys, are you not?”

“My friendship with Ada is no secret–”

“And what of the brothers?

You shrugged, “What of them?”

“Are you friendly with them as well?” he rose a brow suggestively, your own furrowing at the implication. Ignoring your reaction, he continued, “If so, you should know that Arthur agreed his people would help us.”

You thought about Arthur’s face, how this man in front of you had beaten a man then asked for his cooperation. You weren’t foolish enough to believe he wouldn’t do the same to you if you were to give off any hint of what you knew. Knowing this, you kept your composure. “As I said, Inspector. I can help you with a drink or a smoke. But if you’re not here for either, then I’m afraid there’s nothing else here I can offer you.”

He hummed amused, finally stopping a hair closer than socially appropriate in what you interpreted as an act of intimidation. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? You will cooperate, one way or another.”

Throwing a coin on the bar counter, he turned and left the pub.

When the doors shut fully, you ran toward them and latched the locks. Despite the Inspector’s promise that his men wouldn’t be coming into the Garrison, you knew you needed to take whatever precautions you could to keep yourself safe. You moved to the snug and peeked through the window, seeing the streets covered with men in uniforms and people pushed and beaten against the side of the building.

After some time, when the final copper rode off, you joined the people outside and began to help tidy the streets. Harry showed up soon to help you open the pub, many of the patrons coming in gripling about the incident.

“They let em do it!” one of the men slurred. “The fuckin’ Shelbys! Copper told me ‘imself. Why do you ‘hink this is the only pub not knackered?”

You and Harry shared a confused look, not sure yourselves why the Specials had hit the other local pubs, but not the Garrison.You suspected it was a power play, intent on this very reaction from the townspeople, since this pub was the favorite amongst the brothers. The fact that the Inspector had paid you a visit was something you kept to yourself, even from Harry. You didn’t say a word about it until you arrived at the Shelbys.

“Jeremiah said he saw the Inspector walk out of the Garrison when the lane was getting turned over,” Polly had said immediately when you walked into the house after your shift. “What’d he say to ya?”

You shrugged off your jacket and took a seat at the table, recollecting your conversation. “That’s not true, right?” you asked when you got to him saying Arthur had agreed to helping.

“‘Course not,” Polly blew out some smoke from her cigarette. “But that copper wants to turn the town against us. The boys are out now paying off the landlords and cleaning up. Showing their faces, and all that. Well, except Tommy. He’s preoccupied with the bloody horse he won against the Lees this morning.”

You weren’t surprised, having been privy to his goal of starting a fight with the Lees. You’d asked him the day before if he really thought it was smart to continue with his Kimber plan now that he had the guns to deal with. Tommy had been adamant that this would only further benefit his efforts, and concluded that not taking advantage would be a waste of an opportunity. You’d given up any argument, mostly because deep down you knew he was right.

But now, after seeing the extent this Investigator would go to, you worried that Tommy may be in over his head.

“Best to stay in tonight,” Polly said, interrupting your thoughts. “Tommy has a plan to push back, get the people back on our side.”

That night, you did as Polly instructed. Close to midnight, you saw the flames through your apartment window. In the street, a bonfire was lit, with what looked like portraits being thrown in. In the middle of the crowd stood Tommy, his face illuminated by the flames as he smoked his cigarette and talked to the men around him.

After finally making out the subject of the paintings, you chuckled. “God, the balls on this guy.”

That was on Sunday. On Monday, Ada had determined she was pregnant. On Tuesday, Tommy confronted her and found out it was Freddie’s, who’d disappeared during the copper raid. On Wednesday, your Monaghan Boy finally lost his first race, earning the gambling den more money than you’d ever seen. On Thursday, Polly tried to convince Ada to terminate the pregnancy.

It was now Friday night. You were walking out of the pub, leaving Grace to her first closing shift, when you ran into a rain soaked Tommy.

“Y/N,” he greeted you, though you could tell there wasn’t something right. “Going home?”

“Yeah,” you answered cautiously, turning back to the locked door. “Did you want to go in?”

“S’it empty?” You shook your head no. “Do you have whiskey at your place?”

Still confused, you nodded, “Um, yeah. I snagged a bottle last week after the raid.”

“Then no,” he confirmed, walking instead toward your flat.

You stood there for a moment, before he turned back around and asked if you were coming.

By the time he settled into one of your dining chairs, you handed him a double shot, grabbing the bottle and another glass before joining him in the second chair.

He threw back the drink, poured himself another finger, then threw that one back as well. “The Lee bastards cursed my horse.”

It was the first words uttered by either of you since you’d left the Garrison, so his choice of conversation starter was a surprise. “Wha– How do you know?”

“‘Cause I started a war, and this bullet with my name on it wasn’t enough,” he pulled out said bullet and set it on the table. As he poured another drink, you lifted it up carefully, running your thumb against the scratched letters, the meaning behind the literal token causing your chest to tighten. “She wouldn’t have been able to stand by sunrise.”

Wouldn’t have, you caught the past tense of his phrase and knew the beautiful white horse you’d met just a few days ago was not alive anymore. “Poor girl,” you said softly as you watched Tommy wipe his hand across his face.

“You know, in France…” his eyes wouldn’t meet yours, instead staring off to the side. “In France, I got used to seeing men die. Never got used to seeing the horses die. They die badly.”

He blinked, shaking his head as he reached into his jacket and pulled out the cigarette case. He ran his thumb across the silver casing for a moment, before opening and pulling out a stick.

“You knew about Freddie, didn’t ya?”

Ada had sought you out after her confrontation with Tommy in the movie theater and told you everything. You’d been both surprised and not surprised by her news, knowing that she’d been sneaking away to be with him any chance she got, and guessing that the birth control of the time was lacking. She was determined that Freddie would return for her, that the Inspector couldn’t keep him hiding away forever.

“Yes,” you answered.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“No.”

He sighed, “Why not?”

Your brow furrowed genuinely surprised. “You of all people should appreciate my aptitude for secrecy.”

“Aye. It’s the secrets you hide from me that I don’t appreciate.”

You let out a breath, feeling the hint of passive aggression in his statement. “It wasn’t my information to share, Tommy. It’s as simple as that.”

He took a long drag of his cigarette. “Fine.”

Guilt began to creep in as your eyes moved to the dresser drawer where the box Madam Desponia still lived. The leaves and vial were gone, but you kept the box as a token. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t told Tommy yet that you’d dranken the tea. Part of you wanted to keep the experience a secret for personal reasons — it was your dead mother, after all. The other part of you was still insecure about Tommy finding the whole thing crazy. You were finally beginning to gain his acceptance with his surlier world, you hadn’t wanted to push it by throwing in talking to dead people.

“I met with the Inspector today,” he finally said, breaking the silence and pulling you out of your own thoughts. “I told him I had the guns.”

Your mouth dropped in surprise. “Tommy—”

“I struck a deal. No interfering with my business, or future business with Kimber.”

Your mouth hardened into a tight line. “And you think he’ll hold up his end of the deal?”

“I warned him of what will happen if I’m taken into custody. The last thing that man wants is for these guns to land into the hands of the IRA back in Belfast, undoing all his hard work.” He took another long drag of his cigarette. “Campbell didn’t serve; reserved occupation. I anticipate he would do anything to keep his reputation among Mr. Churchill. As long as he doesn’t find out where the guns are hidden, my plan with Kimber remains.”

Happily, you didn’t know where the guns had been moved to after Curly and Charlie lifted them from the stables. And you didn’t want to know who knew either — hell, you weren’t even sure yet if his own brothers knew Tommy even had the guns in the first place. The less you knew the better, in your opinion. You anticipated that your meeting with the Inspector wouldn’t be your last, especially now that he knew Tommy definitely had the guns. You wondered if he’d approach you again, or instead have you watched.

“Just in time for Cheltenham,” he continued. “Which reminds me, you’ll need to pick out a nice dress.”

Your brow creased. “Another race?”

“Not just another race. It’s where we’ll show our strength against the Lees, convince Kimber of our partnership. Monaghan Boy’s win finally caught his attention — I’m told he’ll be paying us a visit soon.”

He poured himself another glass, then yours.

“I didn’t mean to attack you,” he said after taking a deep breath. “The weeks just been—”

“I understand,” you reassured, meaning it. You couldn’t imagine the mental hoops he must be going through trying to juggle everything he had going on.

You shared another glass of whiskey before he ran his hand across his face.

“I don’t know what to do about Ada and Freddie. She has no life with a man on the run.”

You licked your lips, resisting weighing in. Instead, you took a sip of your drink.

Tommy rolled his eyes, but his smirk remained. “That was an invitation. You should know better by now.”

Your cheek flinched at the comment, but you sobered it to match your response.

“I think she’d follow him wherever he goes,” you said plainly, shrugging your shoulders. “Your sister and Freddie seem to have real, deep feelings for each other. He may be gone for now, but I do believe he’ll be back for her.”

He let out a breath, “I think you’re right. Why’d he have to turn into such a fuckin’ menace.”

Your cheek flinched again, knowing he was referring to his communist strikes. “He deserves to know about Ada. Give him the chance to do the right thing.”

“You sound like Pol.” He took another sip of his drink. “Fine. I’ll get him a message. Maybe he’ll actually bloody listen to me and stay gone.”

On Saturday, Billy Kimber and his men paid a visit to the Garrison, just as Tommy had predicted.

“You’re what?” your voice giving away more than you intended.

Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette. “It’ll be an advantage.”

“Yeah, but–”

“But what?” Tommy asked, rising his brow. “It’s a good plan. Kimber took a liking to her, I saw it on his face. I can use her to sweeten the deal.”

Apparently it’d all gone according to plan. It’d been your night off, just Harry and Grace tending to the packed pub, when Kimber’s car arrived.

He’d come to punish them for fixing races without his permission, but began to sway when Tommy proposed an alliance in exchange for help combatting the Lees. Tommy mentioned that Kimber’s accountant and advisor seemed to be the brains of the operation, and felt like he was already warming up to him. They left the pub with a promise to speak again at the races.

What Tommy hadn’t expected was Kimber’s lustful intrigue with Grace.

“Do you trust her?”

You met his eyes. Your default was to be nice, give her the benefit of the doubt. But you wouldn’t lie to Tommy. “No.”

“I looked into her–”

“You did? Why?” you asked, quicker than you wished you had. Tommy didn’t need to know of your insecurity.

“I look into all of the branches of my business associates. I had someone ask around about the pub she used to work at. No one’s heard of her. She lied.” You must have shown a knowing look on your face, because he chuckled sardonically. “But you knew that too, didn’t you?”

“I guessed, but I didn’t know for certain,” you answered honestly. “I just knew she wasn’t as experienced as she’d claimed to be. At least not with the bartending side of things. I didn’t think she was a threat, just a little green, I guess.”

He hummed, “I’d agree. And it seems the town likes her songs.”

You waited a beat, conflicted with the topic opportunity dangling in front of you. But you’d spent too much of your life not saying something or asking questions because of some arbitrary anxiety. Since you’d met Tommy, you’d adopted a certain ‘fuck it’ bravado when it came to awkward conversations.

“You know, for a second, I thought you were going to tell them all to stop singing.”

He took a puff of his cigarette. “I was.”

Your brow creased, “What changed your mind?”

“You,” he answered simply, his eyes meeting yours again. For the first time that night, his gaze began to soften. “How can I disallow what I’d specifically asked from you in that very pub?” After a moment, his brow creased. “Why don’t you ever sing?”

“I can’t sing to crowds,” you said with an embarrassed shake of your head at the mere thought. “I don’t have near the range that Grace does, or half the confidence. I love music — me singing is just my way of hearing the songs I miss.”

“Good.” You rose your brow at his response. He offered you a rise of the corner of his mouth, “I enjoy being one of few who get to hear you sing.”

You couldn’t help the blush that spread across your cheeks. God, you were so far gone.

“Well,” you deflected, “since you have Grace, I guess you won’t need me at Cheltenham as well.”

He chuckled softly, “On the contrary. I have a job for you. One week, and we’re off to the races.”

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

#tommy shelby #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #time after time #mine #fanfic #fanfiction

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dem-obscure-imagines · 8 months

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You're So Timeless | Vol. 1

Steve Rogers x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Summary: In 1943, Steve Rogers was visited by his soulmate. He fell hard. Problem is, she was from the future and didn’t stick around for long. Now, in the twenty-first century, he finally found her again, except this version of her hasn’t met him yet and won’t know he’s her soulmate for another year.

Note: So this is a combination of my other two Steve Rogers soulmate AU fics, but lengthened and fleshed out into a full fic. I was literally possessed to write this. I have no other explanation. I really like how it came out. I gave this one chapter headings (I am also going to post it to Ao3) and yes some are Taylor Swift titles. Sorry about that. It takes place roughly around the time Civil War would, but we have managed to avoid the war this time around. I also moved some other characters up the timeline because I think they’re neat and I said so. Without further ado, please enjoy my new Magnum Opus.

Also Tumblr made me split it into two parts. Part 2 linked HERE and also at the end of the post.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/injuries, soulmate au, tons of mutual pining, kind of a slowburn but in reverse. Light angst, but a happy ending.

Word Count: 38.7k total (I am not sorry)

Reader Is: Enhanced (forcefields), 24 years old, female

The End

Time.

It was a fickle thing. In the blink of an eye, a year had passed. A mere twelve months earlier, you had been living a different life. The only life you had been responsible for was your own. And your plants, but…they never seemed to last that long under your care. Now, everything was different.

It was the day before your birthday. Your twenty-fifth birthday, which, in the world you lived in, meant that tomorrow, a name would appear on your wrist, the name of your soulmate. It had been stressing you out all day, the weight of tomorrow and everything it meant.

It was late, and you were exhausted from a day of overthinking. The longer you stayed up, the longer you delayed the inevitable reveal, and thinking about it too much made you nervous, so you just decided to get to sleep sooner than later.

It was once you were just about to climb into bed that there was a knock at your door.

“It’s open!” You called. The door opened slowly, revealing Steve, who was leaning in your doorway, arms crossed, that pensive look in his blue eyes. “Oh, hey.”

“Hi.” He chuckled. He seemed nervous, although you weren’t sure why.

“Everything alright, Steve?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I actually came in here to check on you. Wanda said you were…quiet.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” You hugged your arms around your frame and bit your lip, looking up at the super soldier standing in front of you. “Just…I don’t know. I’ve been looking forward to tomorrow for my entire life, but…now that it’s here, I’m so scared.”

“Hey, come here.” He said, pulling you to him, strong arms wrapped around you, as if he could protect you from the future itself.

“I don’t know what to do…”

“(Y/N), whoever they are, they are incredibly, incredibly lucky. You don’t need to worry about anything. It’ll all work out. It always does.” He said it like he was certain. Like somehow he knew what would happen in the morning when suddenly your life was turned on its head and you had to venture out to find your other half.

Since you’d met him, Steve wore a leather band around his wrist, covering his soulmate’s name. You’d figured he must have met them in the forties and…maybe they hadn’t made it long enough to see him come out of the ice. But you didn’t ask about it. You never dared to put that question into words. He’d been through enough heartbreak already.

“What if they don’t like me…?”

He scoffed, holding you tighter. “That’s impossible. They’re going to love you. So much. I promise.”

“And…and we’ll still be f-friends?”

Steve pulled away, looking down at you, a hand very carefully touching your cheek. “Of course we will still be friends. Nothing is ever going to change that. I promise.”

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Good. Thank you, Steve. For everything.”

He gently wiped the tear away, the pad of his thumb warm. Once he was sure you were okay, he let go, looking at you with that knowing sparkle in his eye once more. He took a little extra time to look at the shirt you were wearing, the Star Wars tee you’d had since high school. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” You agreed.

“And happy birthday, (Y/N).”

We’ll Meet Again

“Ma’am? Are you alright? Ma’am?” The voice sounded far away. You were pretty sure you were still dreaming. You opened your eyes slowly and immediately became aware of the pounding pain in your head.

“Ow, oh my God.” You reached up and felt there, but it didn’t feel like you were bleeding or anything.

“Ma’am?”

You froze for a second, slowly looking up at the figure standing above you, confusion written all over his familiar features. It took you a long moment to put the pieces together. You were on a porch somewhere in what appeared to be New York, but it was…different. A lot different than the parts of the city you knew. Alright, it had to be a dream.

You looked up at the man standing above you and did a double-take. But no, it was him. It was a tiny, frail version of Steve. Your eyebrows furrowed and you sat up slowly, staring at him for a long moment before whispering, “Steve?”

His mouth opened and then shut again and he made a face of confusion, like he was trying to place where he knew you from, but he didn’t know you yet, and wouldn’t know you for several more years, to say the least. “Do I know you?”

“It’s complicated.” You exhaled. “Can we go inside? You’re going to need to sit down for this.”

Dumbfounded, Steve nodded and you stood up from the porch, only to find that he was at your eye level when you did. Weird. He led you into the small apartment and you looked around. It was quaint. There was an easel in the corner of the room and…Bucky Barnes sitting on the couch? You stared at him for a good, long moment, a shiver running down your spine.

“Who’s the dame?” He read your shirt. “What is Star…Wars…?”

“About to find that out myself.” He chuckled, leading you into the living room. “Buck, could you give us a minute?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” Bucky got up and walked to the other half of their tiny two-bedroom.

You sat down on the couch and so did he. The silence was thick. You thought for several moments. You weren’t quite sure how you had ended up in the 1940s. You looked down at your hands and it was then that your gaze finally landed on the writing on your wrist. And then everything made sense.

“What’s the date today?”

“It’s July 4th, why?”

“July 4th…” You whispered. “What, 1943?”

You could see the wheels turning behind his eyes before he replied, “Yes ma’am.”

“Well, happy birthday, first of all. And second of all…” You held up your wrist so he could read it. Steve’s eyes went wide and he stared at the three words written neatly on your skin in his own handwriting.

Steven Grant Rogers.

“You’re my…” He looked at you for a long time, his eyes wide. He hastily undid the cuff around his wrist and held it out to you, your own name written there. He ran a finger across the letters, as if to prove they were really there.

“I’m your soulmate.” You said certainly.

It hit you like a truck, then. The weird look on your Steve’s face, the way he was so certain that everything would work out. It was because he had already lived through this. And that meant that in all the time he’d known you, he’d been hiding his mark not because his soulmate had died, but instead because you were his soulmate and you didn’t know it yet.

Your entire year of friendship, of memories, of roadtrips and missions and movie marathons…he had known the whole time. And that look in his eyes wasn’t just his protective side coming out. It was love. It had been love the whole time.

Oh.

Steve exhaled a long, shaking breath, really taking you in. Once again, he had a million stars in his eyes. He let out a whispered, “Wow,” as tears began to form.

You came back down to earth. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, sniffling as a tear ran down his cheek. “I’ve just, I’ve got a lot of…health problems, so I wasn’t sure if I’d ever…meet you. And you’re here and you’re great and I just…I’m sorry.”

That brought tears to your eyes. “Oh, Steve…” You pulled him into your arms and he didn’t hesitate to surrender to your embrace, his arms wrapping tight around you and holding you close, head nestled into the crook of your neck. “Just breathe. It’s okay. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Always.

He took your advice, doing his best to avoid an asthma attack on what was shaping up to be the best day of his life. Once he finally caught his breath, he pulled away to look at your face again. “I have to ask…How did you know?”

“I don’t know if you can tell from these clothes,” you motioned down to the t-shirt and sweatpants you were wearing, “but I’m not from around here, exactly.”

“I kind of thought so, but I didn’t want to be rude.” He smiled softly. “Um, where are you from, then?”

“I’m from the future. Like…a while from now. It’s hard to explain why or how, and I’m not really sure how I got here, to be honest, but I’m glad I am.” You sighed, thumb grazing his cheek, wiping away his tears. He crooned at your touch. “I don’t know how long we have before I have to go back.”

“Am I there? Where you’re from?”

“You are. It’s complicated. We’re really good friends and…when I get back, I’m sure we’ll probably be even more than that.” You smiled, shaking your head. “I can’t believe I didn’t put the pieces together sooner.”

“(Y/N)?” Steve asked, trying out your name for the first time.

“Yeah?”

“Let me take you out today, show you a good time here before you have to go back.” He took your hand and carefully laced his fingers through your own, testing the weight of it, the feel of it.

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Not to eavesdrop, lovebirds — congratulations, by the way — but if you’re going to take her out, we’re going to need to find her some clothes that aren’t so…‘not from around here.’” Bucky leaned in the doorway.

“Yeah, I thought the same thing.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll call one of my girls and we’ll get her squared away. Sit tight.”

“Thanks, Bucky.” You said, chuckling when his eyes widened after you addressed him by name. “I know you, too. From the, uh, future.”

“Weird…” Bucky decided.

“Long story?” Steve asked, studying the look on your face.

“Very.” You agreed. After staring at him for another long moment, you pulled him back into your arms again, exhaling a long breath before whispering, “Steve, I’m so glad it’s you…”

***

“Wow.” You stared at yourself in the mirror, studying the way Bucky’s, ahem, lady friend, had curled your hair, done your makeup. You did a little twirl and relished in the way the skirt of your dress twirled. It was navy blue, short ruffled sleeves with a flared skirt and buttons down the front. “I think it suits me.”

“I agree. Blue is a good color on you.” Steve was sitting in a chair at the edge of the room, absolutely enamored as he watched you. “Although, I’m sure they’re all good colors on you, doll.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. “Thanks.”

“I mean it.” He stood up and walked to you, slipping one of his hands into each of yours and staring into your eyes, looking at the way you looked standing next to him in his reflection. His soulmate. The kind of girl people write poems about. “You look great.”

“I don’t look out of place?”

“No one is gonna think you’re a time traveler. Well, unless you tell them.” Bucky said. “Maybe don’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning on it.” You chuckled and gave Steve’s hands a squeeze. “Where to first, soulmate?”

His cheeks reddened as soon as you said the word. “Well, I was thinking we could go to my favorite little diner down the street to grab something for lunch, and then maybe we could take a walk through the park, catch a movie, and then go out for drinks tonight?”

“What, you aren’t gonna take her dancing?” Bucky teased, ruffling Steve’s hair under a large hand. “Show the girl a good time?”

“I would if I didn’t have two left feet.” Steve chuckled, a sheepish smile on his face. He looked at you, waiting for some kind of response. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a great time, Steve.”

He smiled. “Good.”

The two of you left the apartment not long after that, and walked side by side towards the diner. Your hands were swinging in the space between you and your hand brushed Steve’s once, twice, a third time, and then you slipped your hand into his, intertwining your fingers.

You caught him smile out of the corner of your eye. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, of course it’s okay.” He grinned and chuckled to himself. “You can hold my hand as much as you want, doll.”

When the two of you finally got to the diner, a little bell rang over your heads and you got seated at a booth by the window. The two of you ordered drinks and you skimmed the menu while you waited.

“So, tell me about yourself.” You said, resting your chin against your fist and looking over at Steve. You studied the way his blue, blue eyes flicked up to your own and the blush that covered his cheeks shortly thereafter.

“You probably know a lot of it already.” He chuckled. “Unless we don’t talk a lot?”

“We talk quite a bit, but I still want to know about this you. Here and now.”

“I like art. Drawing and painting and stuff.” He said. “I haven’t had time to do much lately, but I’d like to get back into it.”

“See, that I didn’t know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know you were into art.”

“I could, uh, show you sometime.” He offered.

“I’d like that.” You smiled. “What else?”

“I like to read. I like going to Dodgers games with Bucky. One time he took me to Coney Island. I don’t like rollercoasters, but I liked playing the games. He wasted three whole dollars trying to win a teddy bear for a redhead named Dot.”

“Three whole dollars…” You chuckled. “Well you don’t have to worry about the rollercoasters too much, I can’t go upside down without throwing up.”

“That makes two of us. Enough about me, tell me about you.” Steve nudged, his hand slowly moving towards yours. “How do we know each other? When did we meet?”

“We’re…coworkers, I guess you could say. We met about a year back and now we live in the same building? I’m sorry for being so vague, I just—”

“Don’t want to give it away, yeah, I get it.” He nodded, understandingly.

“You took me under your wing as soon as I moved in and really made me feel welcome. You’re the one that brought me onto the team, actually.” You took a sip of your drink. “We’ve been through a lot together already, and I’m sure it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Mmm…” Steve nodded. “I know I just met you, but I’m really glad you and I are close. Well, will be close.” He paused before chuckling and shaking his head. “There’s still some little voice in the back of my head telling me all of this is just some amazing dream.”

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it.” You chuckled, tucking a piece of curled hair back behind your ear. “I’ve…I’ve had a crush on you forever, Steve. I can’t believe this is happening.”

He stared at you, almost dumbfounded. “O-on me?”

“Yeah.” You agreed. You’d forgotten, you supposed, that Steve had had this phase, the self-depreciation, the insecurity. Your Steve, when complimented, was shy, sure, but you knew he understood what people were talking about. This Steve didn’t see it that way. Not yet. But it would be your job to use your one day with him to change that, to make your soulmate see that he was worthy of love, even self-love. “Yeah, of course on you, Steve. I can’t believe I get to have you.”

His cheeks reddened and he finally took the leap, taking your hand across the table, thumb grazing your knuckles with care. His blue eyes sparkled. “Funny. I was gonna say the same thing about you.”

***

Once the two of you were finished up at the diner, you took a walk through the park. It was gorgeous out, a bright, sunny, warm summer afternoon. Several couples were strolling down the paths, hand in hand, and you were one of them, your hand held tight in Steve’s, his thumb gently stroking the back of yours.

You went to the theater and caught a movie together. Luckily enough, they were showing the Wizard of Oz. Your current situation had you feeling like Dorothy in more ways than one. The movie had only come out four years earlier, which was definitely strange. Not to mention the fact that the tickets were only twenty-five cents, the popcorn a mere ten cents.

And then, once the movie was over and the sun was setting, you went to a bar, where Steve ordered each of you a drink. You took a sip of yours, something sweet, and smiled at him across the table.

“So, how’s your day been, birthday boy?” You asked coyly.

“The best I’ve had so far,” he replied, his eyes sparkling. The sparkle faded, however, when his expression grew somber. He hesitated, but then asked, “Okay, I have to know…How long do I have to wait to see you again?”

You exhaled a long sigh, biting your lip. If you told him the truth, he might ask questions you couldn’t tell him the answers to. And besides, the real answer would require some math. You didn’t know the specifics.

“I’ll be honest, Steve, it’s…it’s a pretty long time.” You thought for a long moment before continuing, “I…I can’t really tell you why. It’s all really complicated, and if I tell you too much, it might not happen the way it’s supposed to.”

“Oh…” Steve nodded and took a sip of his drink. Once he set down the glass, he reached across the table and took your hand. “Well, however long it is,” he looked straight into your eyes and a chill ran down your spine, “It’ll be worth it. Every second. I promise.”

You could have cried. “I hope so.”

“There you two are! I was wondering which bar you’d wandered into!” Bucky was, apparently, already slightly intoxicated as he approached you and Steve with a date of his own. “How was your day on the town, lovebirds?”

“Spectacular.” You replied. “I wish there was more time to soak it in.”

“New York sure is something, huh?” Bucky’s date asked, giggling innocently. If only she knew the half of it.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You laughed and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“You guys wanna sit with us?” Steve asked.

“If you don’t mind too much, punk.” Bucky grinned.

Steve got up and switched sides of the booth so he was sitting next to you instead of across from you. You slid your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. He smiled, chuckling softly to himself as he gave your hand a squeeze.

“Did you give the lady her dance, Rogers?” Bucky asked, smirking.

“Not yet.” Steve chuckled. “We’ll see. The asthma makes it a bit difficult sometimes.”

“Never seems to stop you from getting into fights.” Bucky muttered, causing Steve’s cheeks to flush.

“Just wait until the band plays something slow,” Bucky’s date pointed out.

“There you go!” Bucky raised his glass to his lips. “Great idea, Maggie.”

“Glad to be of service.”

And so, the four of you chatted until the band started to play something sweet and slow. Steve looked at you for approval and you nodded. He led you out onto the floor with the other couples.

Steve blushed, flustered, and he looked at you before saying, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“It’s easy.” You promised, guiding one of his hands to your waist and holding the other. “That’s it. And then we just move to the music. You can twirl me around if you feel so inclined.”

“Alright.” He chuckled, swaying in time with you. “Hey, uh, (Y/N), I need you to know…I had a really, really great time today. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a soulmate and I’m so excited to spend the rest of my life with you someday, however far away that someday is.”

“I’m glad I met your expectations.” You smiled, tugging him a bit closer.

“No, you exceeded them. You’re better than anything I could have imagined. I’m so lucky.” He paused, and his expression fell a little. “I know I’m a lot. I have a lot of problems and they might complicate things sometimes, but…”

“Steve, you’re perfect.” You shook your head and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “The universe gave you to me for a reason and I’m so, so glad it did. You’re amazing. I can’t think of anyone better to spend the rest of my life with.”

He was quiet for a moment before whispering, “Can I please kiss you, doll?”

You leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, the music swelling around you as you guided his hands to your waist, cupping his cheeks to hold him close to you. When the moment had passed, you rested your nose against his, meeting his eyes and inhaling his scent, committing this version of him to memory before he was reduced to just that, a memory.

“Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.”

You spent the rest of the night together. Twirling across the dancefloor, talking, soaking each other in. But when you reached the front porch of the townhouse, Steve looked back down the steps to find you’d disappeared, leaving him with nothing but the memory of your lips, your laugh, your smile.

“You gonna be alright?” Bucky asked, a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know.” He replied, words swallowed up by the sounds of the night. “Just give me a minute, pal.”

Bucky nodded, solemn. “Take all the time you need.”

The Beginning

Steve remembered the day you’d met—for the second time, though he didn’t realize it right away—like it was tattooed on his brain. It was a few years after he’d come out of the ice and he had taken Tony’s advice to get out more, which had led him to the local mall.

It had been an uneventful day. He strolled around the perimeter, taking in the storefronts, studying the fashion, browsing the menu of a pretzel place, reading the posters on the exterior of the movie theater, the things that were coming out in the coming months. Nothing interested him in particular. He didn’t really care for war movies.

After a few quiet hours, his peaceful walk was interrupted by screams, people running away at top speed, which, of course, caused him to spring into action, assessing the situation. He ran towards the source of the chaos, scanning, scanning, until his eyes landed on the attacker, a guy with a flamethrower, aimed at a teenage theater employee. Steve hurdled over a trash can, moving people out of the way, directing them to safety and trying to put himself between himself and the mallgoers, but before he could, you did, hands out in front of you and what seemed to be an invisible shield poised there, redirecting the flames and protecting the movie theater employee that had nearly been caught in the crossfire.

A quick flick of your wrist knocked the attacker’s gun out of his hands and it slid across the floor to Steve’s feet. He chucked it into the fountain without a second thought, where it fizzled pathetically. The guy lunged at you with heavy metal gauntlets, and you dodged the first swing but caught the second in the face, falling backwards. When you landed, however ungracefully, you sent a blast of energy at the guy, knocking him over a plant and sprawling onto the tile floor.

While the guy was on the ground, Steve tackled him, wrenching the gauntlets off of his hands and chucking them away, too. Soon, the police arrived, apprehending the guy while mall security comforted the distressed mall patrons, ushering them to safety and medical attention.

You sat on a bench after, breathing heavy, a cut on your forehead. Steve walked over, interested in this superpowered rescuer, someone who wasn’t yet on the Avengers’ radar, but would most definitely be on the news the next day if the sheer amount of phone footage recorded was any indication.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just glad everyone is okay.” You told him, meeting his eyes.

He finally got a good look at you and froze, looking bewildered. A deer in headlights. “You’re…”

There you are, doll. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.

It was you. Of course it was you. Since the moment he’d been unfrozen, he’d been looking for you. His soulmate. The girl from the future that popped in on his twenty-fifth birthday, turned his whole life on its head, and then left without warning, hours after their first kiss. Back when he was five-foot-nothing with asthma and more medical conditions than he could even remember.

Back before he was anything.

And you’d loved him anyway. You’d given him the day of a lifetime and hope for not only a future, but for love. That someone could love him for him despite it all.

“I know.” You knew? “I…I don’t know what it is or…why I can do it. I’ve been like this since college.”

Your powers, you meant. You thought he was talking about your powers and not your name, which was burning a hole into his wrist beneath the thick leather band keeping it hidden.

“Right. Well, it’s…” He sighed, gathering his words, hiding the elation and pain behind a warm smile. “It’s a good thing you were here. I don’t have my shield on me.”

“Mine is built in.” You chuckled.

“You, uh…have a cut. On your forehead.”

“Oh, do I?” You reached up and found it with your fingers and they came away a bit bloody. “Shit.”

“Come on.” He offered you his hand and you took it, letting him lead you over to the counter of the theater. “Hi, do you have a first aid kit we could borrow?”

“Yeah, of course.” The girl at the counter said, rushing to grab it.

Steve patched you up with gentle hands, off in a corner on your own, in the room the theater used for birthday parties. Staring up at him, you finally realized the obvious. This was Captain America. And he was using a careful finger to spread a triple antibiotic ointment on your cut.

Play it cool, (Y/N).

“Do you do this often? The hero thing?” Steve asked, trying to sound somewhat indifferent. He couldn’t be, though. Not entirely. Not when it came to you.

“No.” You shrugged. “Haven’t had much opportunity, thankfully. I mean…I’d like to, I just didn’t know how to…get into it, I guess. Any email I sent to Stark or S.H.I.E.L.D. or whatever would end up on a slush pile.”

“Well, I’ve got some connections. If you’re seriously considering it. I can’t say I recommend it, but…Obviously you’ve got that protective instinct and you seem to work well under pressure.”

“I don’t know about that. My heart is about to leap out of my chest.” You admitted, laughing as he carefully laid a Bandaid over the cut, closing the kit.

“That makes two of us.”

“Well, if you think I’m really cut out for it…I’d love to help.”

***

It was three days later that Nick Fury got in touch with you. You thought it was a scam call at first, but no one else would possibly have the info about you that he did. That was S.H.I.E.L.D. for you, you supposed.

You packed up your apartment, your boxes of books, your old journals, your clothes and makeup, your life, and hopped in the jet that was waiting for you at the meeting place. Inside was a pilot with flaming red hair, Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. It was hard not to get a little starstruck.

She helped you load your things into the jet, let you settle into the copilot seat, and then you took off, soaring away from your old life and towards your new one, the mysterious, magnificent facility tucked into upstate New York, that iconic A emblazoned on the front of the building.

“Steve said you’re telekinetic. That’s cool.” She complimented with a smirk.

“Yeah, I’ve got force-field stuff. I don’t know what else, exactly.”

“Oh, we’ll figure all that out. Banner already has a list of tests he wants to run. Nothing too intense. I made him promise not to give you the lab rat treatment too soon.”

“Reassuring.” You chuckled.

“Wanda’s been decorating your room all day. It’s not often we get new blood.”

“I appreciate it. I can’t wait to meet everyone.”

“They can’t wait to meet you.”

The jet landed a little under an hour later and Natasha helped you haul boxes towards the front door, where Steve was waiting. It was like time slowed, that look in his eyes, glistening little stars.

“Come on, Rogers, these boxes aren’t going to move themselves.” Nat waved him over, snapping both of you out of your trance.

“Right, right.” He jogged over. “Is there anything heavy?”

“That one.” You pointed. “It’s got my candles in it.”

“On it.”

You grabbed a few tote bags, slinging your computer bag over your shoulder. A few others came out to help, Clint and Wanda namely, the latter of whom used her shimmering red powers to speed the process along. Were you any more confident in your own powers, you would do the same, but you hadn’t had much opportunity to use them yet, and you didn’t want to drop anything fragile on your first day.

You started unpacking the essentials, your smart speaker, your laptop, some books and your favorite candle. You put some clothes in the dresser, hung some up in the large sliding closet in the wall. Upon further examination, you had your own bathroom, too, which was nice. There was a wall tapestry with sunflowers on it, and several little knickknacks. Wanda’s loving touch.

Someone cleared their throat and you turned to find Steve there, arms crossed, leaning in the doorway.

“Hi there, um, just checking in. Figured you might want a tour when you got settled in. No rush, of course.”

“I would love a tour. I can already tell I’m gonna get lost in this place.”

He grinned. “Not on my watch. Come on. I’ll show you around.”

Steve walked with you through the office spaces, the computer labs, Bruce’s lab, Tony’s. Tony was in the city, but Bruce was home and introduced himself with a dad joke about the Hulk and a warm handshake. You saw the training facility, a giant room with floor to ceiling windows, a wall of mirrors, practice dummies, landing mats, and plenty of sparring weapons. There was, separately, a fully furnished gym, and then the basics, a large, modern kitchen, living areas and lounges, study spaces, a library, a party room with a bar, and a very fancy coffee machine.

You could see yourself making a home here.

Steve walked you back to the hallway where all the bedrooms were. “If you need anything or have any questions, my room is just down the hall on the left. Wanda is next door. Dinner is at six.”

“Six o’clock it is. Thank you, Cap.”

“You can call me Steve.”

“Steve.” You nodded, slowly accepting the fact that you were now on a first name basis with Captain America. “And you can call me (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N).” He said, some twinge of nostalgia at the end of his words. You turned back into your room to get some more unpacking done and Steve walked back down the hall, taking a deep breath and looking up at the ceiling, doing his best to hold in his tears.

…Ready For It?

You spent the first few days in your room for the most part, unpacking but also hiding, if you were honest. You met Vision. He seemed nice. He also had the ability to phase through walls, apparently. Still no sign of Thor, but you weren’t holding your breath. You were sure he was a busy guy.

Sam Wilson introduced himself with the same offer everyone else had so far, to let them know if you needed anything. You appreciated it.

And then, finally, there was Tony, whose dry humor came across immediately. He sized you up, drilling questions about where you went to college, what you majored in, what your top three movies from the 1980s were. You were pretty sure he liked you, but you didn’t think he trusted you. And that was okay. You knew that was something you’d have to earn around there.

“No soulmark yet, kid?” He asked, eyeing up your bare wrist.

“Not yet.” You confirmed.

“That makes you what, twenty-three? Twenty-four?”

“Twenty-four. As of last month, actually.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Well that’s exciting. I’m sure you’re counting down the days.”

“More or less.” You chuckled, catching Steve watching you out of the corner of your eye. He did that a lot, you noticed.

Before Tony could come up with some witty comeback, the lights flashed red, accompanied by a loud siren.

“Vis? What’s going on?” Tony asked as Vision walked into the room, his sophisticated sweater melting into the uniform you’d seen on the news, red and green with a golden cape.

“There seems to be a stir at the local fairgrounds. Tremors and gunshots. Hostages.”

“Alright, let’s go pay them a visit then.” Tony pressed a button on his watch and transformed into Iron Man in front of your very eyes. “You can stay here or come with us. Up to you. But suit up fast. We’re out in five.”

You stood there for a moment, waiting for the shock to wear off, but the sirens definitely weren’t helping.

“Stick with me.” Steve instructed, voice calm, confident.

“Okay.” You nodded, following after him, towards the hangar where they kept the jets.

Natasha was standing at a locker, pulling her catsuit on with impressive speed, Clint beside her, loading a quiver with arrows, checking his bow.

“Nat, can you get her ready?”

“Baby’s first mission?” She asked, impressed.

You nodded, waiting for orders.

“Well, it should be an easy one, from the sound of it. Here, put this on. We’ll get you your own gear in the next few weeks.”

She chucked you an extra suit and you did your best to shimmy into it. Surprisingly, you could actually move in it. There were holsters, but you weren’t gun trained, so you figured it was best to leave that to the professionals. Instead, you followed the others onto the jet, hoping your forcefields and blossoming battle instincts would be enough to protect you out there.

***

The fair had devolved quickly into madness. There was fire, screaming, running, and gunshots. You flinched at the onslaught of it, but followed the others out anyway, listening to the voice in your earpiece, Steve’s voice, as he issued orders. You were put on civilian evacuation with Sam while the others engaged with the attackers. Six of them.

You did your job diligently, ushering people to a safe distance while law enforcement arrived. Until one of the attackers engaged with you, however, mistaking you for a civilian. Something snapped. In an instant your flight instinct vanished, replaced with the need to fight. He punched at you and you countered, sweeping a leg under him and then using a forcefield to knock him into the cornfield.

One of them launched a bazooka at Tony while he wasn’t looking, and without a thought, you trapped the explosive in a bubble, forcing it into the air where it exploded harmlessly, away from everyone.

And when the dust settled, the rest of the team turned to look at you, sharing looks with each other.

“Thanks for the save, kid. I owe you one.” Tony complimented, clapping you on the back on his way into the jet. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Your heart raced with the adrenaline of battle, the feeling of a job well done. Steve gave you a thumbs-up, a proud grin. His risk had paid off. You weren’t a total failure.

“You doin’ okay?” He asked, slinging his shield onto his back.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You replied, letting the energy fizzle back into your palms.

He watched with interest at the faint crackles of blue that made up your powers. “You did good out there.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Thanks, I—"

“Alright new girl, were are we stopping for food?” Natasha asked, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“I get to pick?” You asked with a laugh.

“And don’t be afraid to pick something fancy. It’s Tony’s treat.” Clint added, walking with the rest of you onto the jet. You strapped in while the others tried their darndest to influence your pick, bickering like siblings. Like your family.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

Waypoint

Your training started shortly after that first mission. Bruce took all your vitals, measured them before, during, and after use of your powers. He recorded said powers with every device known to man until he had your ability down to a science. He had a hunch they were of cosmic origin, but you had no idea when you could have possible come in contact with something like that.

Next came a uniform. At the moment, it was a dark indigo color, something similar to navy blue, but leaning a bit more purple. The chest area was left blank, Tony claiming he’d add a symbol once his graphic design team came up with something. He did add some accents up the arms and down the legs, thin, light blue lines that matched the color of your powers.

Natasha and Clint gave you a few crash courses on weapons and your aim left a bit to be desired, but your hand-eye coordination wasn’t bad. Sam put you on a modified military workout regimen to get in shape, get your stamina up with the rest of the team.

You practiced making forcefields, seeing how big you could make them, how small, how much force they could endure before they broke. Natasha shot some bullets at them, and your fields caught them, allowing you to kill their momentum and drop them harmlessly to the ground. They could withstand some electricity, but not Wanda’s powers. And they held against Steve’s superstrength, but not for long. Still, a few hits from a supersoldier was more than most could endure, so it would buy you some time in the field.

Eventually, you moved on from just forcefields and started learning to move objects. It turned out, you were not limited to bubbles. You could create platforms underneath things. This evolved into creating platforms underneath people, that they could jump on, or ride on top of while you moved them.

You practiced using them for transport too, but it was harder standing on them while controlling them, especially if you tried to jump from platform to platform. It was a bit like patting your head and rubbing your tummy, and it would take a lot of practice.

There weren’t many missions, and the ones that popped up, you didn’t get sent on. They were high level things, and while your powers were improving, and very quickly, Bruce was always quick to reassure you, you weren’t ready for covert ops yet, especially ones that had been months in the making.

Every time Steve got sent off, he left with that sad little half-smile of his, the one where he pressed his lips together, eyes glittering like a lake under moonlight. He’d give you some words of comfort, usually dealing with how short the mission was supposed to be. It didn’t often make you feel better.

Bruce stayed behind with you, most times. More like all of the times. Code Greens, as they were called, were seldom necessary, and besides, as they had learned with Wanda back during the Ultron days, Bruce could be a liability if someone else got in his head. But it was nice not being completely alone in the big empty facility.

“He always looks so sad when he leaves.” You noted, sipping from a mug of warm tea. Steve had left only moments before, the last member of the team that was shipping out.

Bruce thought about it for a moment. “Does he?”

“Oh. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t know him that well.” You shrugged, the sounds of Animal Crossing resonating from the TV.

“You know, he has, lately. He didn’t used to.” Bruce noted.

“Weird.”

“Uh-huh.” He replied absentmindedly. “So explain to me this game?”

“Okay, so you move to this island and have to spend all your money paying off debt to this raccoon…”

It was in another training session that there was a malfunction. A shock grenade went off dangerously close to Sam. Before you could even process what you were doing, your hand shot out, a bright, pulsating star crackling in front of him, another, second star on the other side of the room. Steve assessed the situation and used the shield to knock Sam into the star, neutralizing the grenade right after. There was a bright flash and Sam appeared on the other side of the room, tumbling out of the second star.

You froze, curling your fingers and closing both of them. There was a slight pinch in your shoulder, near the base of your neck. The others all stared.

“Wait, what was that?” Bruce asked over the intercom.

“You did that?” Steve asked, motioning to Sam as he walked over.

“I think so.”

“What was that?”

Natasha asked, looking you up and down. Sam stared at you like you’d sprouted a third eye.

“I don’t know.”

“Do it again.” Bruce insisted. “Hang on, I’m coming in there.”

The door from the observation room opened and Bruce joined the rest of you in the circle that was steadily forming, all of them watching you, waiting.

“I don’t know, it was just like…” You focused on that feeling again, the desperation to get Sam the hell away from that grenade, and as though you were punching a hole through reality, it opened in the center of the circle, an eight-pointed star, bobbing and ebbing and flowing, made of the light blue energy you were so familiar with.

Carefully, you opened another one, ten feet in the air above the first. Clint shrugged and chucked a tennis ball into it. Sure enough, it popped up to the second one, before falling down through the first one again. This continued until eventually you closed the bottom one, letting the tennis ball bounce harmlessly across the floor.

“Well shit.”

“Waypoints.” Bruce said, deep in thought. “Teleportation. This…this opens up a lot of doors.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Steve murmured.

“Hey, that’s kind of cool. Waypoint.” Clint said, drawing attention to it. “What do you think?”

“What, like as a codename?” You asked, weighing it as an option.

“I like it.” Sam grinned. “Waypoint.”

“Waypoint.” You repeated, trying it out. Hi, I’m Waypoint. I’m an Avenger.

It sounded silly, but it was getting more official by the day. There was, of course, only one way to make it official official, and that was with one of Tony Stark’s famed parties…

Wonderstruck

You let out a sigh, staring at your reflection in the mirror. It was the night of the big party. Your first, as an Avenger, and the official induction of what Tony was deeming the second class of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, Sam: the Falcon, Wanda: the Scarlet Witch, Vision, and You: Waypoint.

He’d gotten you a dress to wear, one that matched your uniform. It was long, sleek, that navy blue/indigo color. It glittered like stars and moved like a dream. And in the middle of it, poised at the base of the sweetheart neckline, was the eight-pointed star that Tony had turned into your symbol.

Your hair and makeup were done, and all that was left was the zipper.

Someone knocked on the door.

“It’s open!” You called, expecting Natasha or Wanda. Instead, it was Steve, who, when he saw you were unzipped, pulled the door almost all the way closed and shielded his eyes with his hand.

“Sorry! I’ll leave—”

“Wait, actually, could you help me zip this up? I can’t reach.”

Steve nodded, slowly lowering his hand and entering the room. He closed the door behind him to give you some privacy. He was dressed in a sharp black suit with a blue tie. His lapel pin looked like a tiny version of his shield.

“Wow…” He murmured, taking you in. “You look great, (Y/N).”

“You think so? I’m not sure blue is really my color…”

He scoffed. “It most certainly is.” He swept the hair off of your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the reflection in the mirror as he gently pulled the zipper higher until it was secure in place. “In more ways than one.”

“Yeah, guess so.” You agreed, nervous energy crackling around your fingers, blue as ever. You dispelled it, snapping out of it.

Steve looked at the two of you in the mirror for a long time before turning towards the door again. Halfway there, though, he turned back around, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a flat velvet box. “This is, um…for you.”

“Oh! Thank you.” You reached for it, heart racing. Inside was a necklace, its pendant a silver star with eight points. In the center, an aquamarine gem. You gasped, looking at it. It was beautiful, delicate. “Steve, this is beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I could do.” He said, offering his hand. “May I?”

“Please.” You said, handing him the necklace and moving your hair out of the way. He did the clasp behind your neck. It settled between your collarbones.

“There. Now it’s official.” He whispered.

“Almost.”

“Almost.” Steve agreed, offering you his elbow. “Right this way.”

You looped your arm through his, letting him lead you out into the initial murmurs of the party. What Natasha dubbed the “extended family” had shown up. Rhodey, Maria Hill, Nick Fury, Happy Hogan, Pepper Potts, and, of course, Thor.

He was a sight, that was for sure. He towered over everyone else at 6’5”, arms the size of tree trunks. It was a bit intimidating to say the very least.

“Rogers!” Thor bellowed.

“Thor! I didn’t think you were coming.”

He grinned. “I never miss a feast.” His eyes fell on you. “And you must be this new team member Banner spoke of.”

“I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“The honor is mine.”

“Here.” Natasha handed you a champagne flute. She eyed up your necklace. “That’s cute.”

“Steve gave it to me.”

She quirked an eyebrow and looked up at the supersoldier, who still had your arm. “Steve has good taste.”

“Steve had help.” He admitted, smiling sheepishly.

“I’d get you one too, Rogers, but Thor has the strong stuff.” Natasha said, patting his other arm while you took a sip of the champagne. It was sweet, tangy. “God’s favorite boy scout has trouble getting drunk.”

“My tolerance is too good.”

“I think we just need to get you a Four Loko. Or two.”

“A what?” Steve asked.

“It’s like four drinks in one can. They’re insane. I tried in college, but tapped out halfway through.”

He considered it for a moment, letting out a laugh. “See, that just might work.”

Tony wandered around the lounge, greeting everyone. He looked you up and down. “You look beautiful, Portal Girl.”

You internally chuckled. The others had advised you not to feed his ego when he used his nicknames. “Thank you, Tony.”

“And you’re also here, Rogers.”

“Tony.” Steve nodded.

“You her date tonight?” He asked, motioning to your joint arms.

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose I am.” Steve agreed, not budging. Neither were you.

“Well, I hope you’ve taken some dance lessons since last time, Rogers. I’m sure (Y/N) wouldn’t want to have her feet walked all over.”

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes as Tony moved onto his next targets. Sam emerged, looking very sharp in a red suit. Even Vision had dressed up for the occasion, Wanda beside him wearing an elegant red dress. The two of them talked and laughed on the other side of the room and you smiled. You could tell when you moved in that he cared about her.

You wondered if robots could have soulmates, too. If any android had a soul, surely it was Vision. Maybe you’d ask him about it sometime.

Once all of the expected guests were accounted for, Tony did the briefest ceremony in the history of ceremonies, introducing you all to the few members of the press he had allowed to come. You spent the beginning of the evening shaking hands, networking, and then once the strangers left, the real party started.

Nat switched you to something a lot stronger to champagne, and she was running the bar, so it was easy to get refills. Clint and Thor were arm wrestling on one of the tables which was…hilarious, admittedly.

Steve found you after a few hours apart. “Hey, will you be my partner?”

“Sure, for what?”

He laughed, loosening up quite a bit with Thor’s Asgardian mead in his system. “Sam and Bruce are trying to teach me how to play Beer Ball or something.”

“Beer Pong?”

“That one, yeah.” He nodded. “Winners play Clint and Nat.”

“That checks out.” You chuckled. “Yeah, I’m game. I haven’t played since college, though.”

“I haven’t played ever so I’m sure you’re a step ahead of me anyway.”

“We’ll see about that. Your physics skills are pretty good, what with the shield and all.” You complimented, earning that charming smile of his. “We might just give them a run for their money.”

“Enough flirting, kids, get over here.” Bruce grinned as he finished lining up the cups.

“You know how to play Beer Pong?” You asked, plucking a ping pong ball off of the table and fiddling with it.

“Kid, I have seven PhDs. I have played my share of Beer Pong.” Bruce admitted.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. It was nice to see the Avengers loosen up like this, have a good time together, really truly bond.

You gave Steve the basic rundown of the rules: no elbows past the edge of the table, balls back, stoplight, island, and that if you let Sam and Bruce get too many cups, you and Steve would get “schwaisted” as the kids said, or, at the very least, you would. Steve would probably be fine.

“Ladies first.” Sam said, giving you the second ping pong ball, one of which, you handed to Steve.

“You’re gonna regret that.” You said, rubbing the ball between your hands before perfectly bouncing it into the cup at the front of the pyramid. “Your turn, Steve.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He said, sinking the ball into the same cup. “I believe that’s three cups, gentlemen.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. He shared a look with Bruce. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“You’re telling me.” Bruce chuckled, retrieving the ping pong ball and rolling it back. He started drinking the contents of the first cup, leaving the other two to Sam. “Alright, do your worst.”

Needless to say, you wiped the floor with the other two. Barely even gave them a chance. Which is why it was only fair that Clint and Natasha kicked the absolute shit out of the two of you.

You struggled to down your third cup, which is why when you reached for the fourth, Steve shook his head and took it from you, only offering a wink when you opened your mouth to protest.

“Hey! Steve, it’s supposed to be five each.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, she already finished hers.” Steve shrugged, chugging another like it was water. “Right, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah absolutely. What he said.” You shrugged.

You helped clean up the mess a bit after the game was over, rounding up empty cups, wiping down the table, and then washing your hands as Tony switched the music to something upbeat, dancing music.

“Come on, let’s dance.” Steve urged, clearly toeing the line between tipsy and drunk. He reached out for your hand and you couldn’t resist. You didn’t even try.

You let him lead you out to the middle of the room, where Wanda and Vision were already dancing together and looking adorable doing it.

“I thought you couldn’t dance.” You laughed as he spun you around to the music.

“I’m a quick learner.” He whispered, mouth against your ear.

You swore your entire body flushed red, but you let your feet lead you through the dance. Steve took both of your hands, swinging you out and then back in, spinning you around. You blamed the alcohol on what happened next. Your heel caught on the fabric of your dress and you fell over the back of one of the couches, tugging Steve down with you.

He laughed, using an arm to push himself off of you, hovering, eyes soft. “Sorry.”

“It’s my fault. You’ve got me falling for you, Rogers.” You murmured, gazing up at him through your eyelashes.

You said it as a joke, a quip, but there was some truth in it. More than some. It had been a magical, magical night. And if it weren’t for the leather cuff on his wrist, you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with him.

Steve closed his eyes, smiling and sitting up, helping you upright again. “I’ll go get us some water.”

You sighed and sat back against the couch, heart hammering in your chest.

Natasha perched on the armrest, looking down at you. “What was that?”

“Not sure. I think I fumbled the bag. If…if there even was a bag I guess.” You chuckled, shrugging.

“No, there is something there. I can see it.” Natasha said, thinking as she nursed a glass of wine. “Hmmm…”

Steve stood in the kitchen, getting two glasses of filtered water from the fridge. He exhaled a deep sigh, leaning against it. He replayed the moment in his head over and over. The look in your eyes, the way your necklace glimmered in the light, the sound of your voice, the flush of your cheeks. You were catching feelings for him, that much was clear. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.

Maybe it was a good thing, he reasoned, thinking back on his first night with you all those years ago. But you still couldn’t know why. Not yet.

It was going to kill him to keep it a secret for ten more months.

Timeless

Sherbert rays of the sunrise lit the training room, filling it with a warm orange glow. You were sitting on the floor, stretching your legs while you listened to music. That was another thing on the growing list of skills that had improved during your stint as an Avenger: your flexibility.

Suddenly, Steve was standing over you, saying something you couldn’t hear due to the noise cancelling headphones over your ears.

You slid one off, looking up at him. “Good morning.”

“Morning. You’re here early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You shrugged, reaching for your other leg.

“Sorry to hear that. Wanna talk about it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I think I drank too much caffeine before bed last night. Learned my lesson. No caffeine after six.”

“That’s a good rule. Mind if I stretch with you?” He asked.

“I don’t mind.” You tossed your headphones onto your workout bag and connected your phone to the Bluetooth speakers, putting on some music you could both listen to.

“I recognize her. This girl’s voice.”

“Taylor Swift.”

“Ah. Yes, her. I keep hearing about her.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” You laughed. “Have you liked any of her songs so far?”

“I don’t know if I could name one for you, to be honest.” He listened to the song that was playing. “This one’s not bad, though.”

“I’ll send you some recommendations. There are some I think you’d really vibe with.”

He smiled. “I’d really like that.”

The others came in not long after, did their warm-ups, and then Steve briefed everyone on the plan for their training session, one in which everyone would swap weapons, practice using each other’s things in case they ever had to in battle if one of their teammates got disarmed.

You started with Clint. He showed you the absolute basics of archery, how to pull back the bow, how to notch an arrow, how to aim, taking into account distance. You fired a few arrows into a target and did okay, you supposed, but you would need some practice if you wanted to actually get good at it. Years of it, realistically.

Natasha showed you how to use her electric batons, which were fun, but did intimidate you a little. You definitely did not want to end up on the wrong end of those things.

And then, inevitably, you were standing in front of Steve. He offered you his shield, which on its own seemed daunting. You held it for a second, assessing the weight of it. It was noticeably lighter than you thought it would be.

“Woah.”

“Yeah. People always expect it to be heavier.” He said, a hand resting on his hip as he watched you hold it. It looked so right in your hands, he decided. “It’s good for a lot of things, but first…” Carefully, he helped you put your arm through the straps on the back of it, holding it in front of your body in its primary and most famous purpose.

You let out a sigh, shaking your head. “This is so crazy.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, you have no idea.” You chuckled, waving it around a bit.

“You keep looking at it like it’s Thor’s hammer or something.” He teased.

“Feels like it.”

“Well the good news is, this thing is not password protected by some Asgardian magic words. The bad news is, that means the bad guys can pick it up, too.” Steve said, gently positioning your body in an offensive stance, nudging a foot with his own, switching your arms around. “You can use it to bash somebody head on, or you can angle it a bit to get a more direct blow. It will take the force of most things. I…I actually kind of don’t know the limits. Hasn’t failed me yet. The paint does come off from time to time, though, so don’t worry about that.”

“Okay, wow.” You nodded. “Good to know.”

“I trust you with it.” He said, eyes meeting yours.

You smiled, heart racing. “I’m honored.”

He showed you a few other tricks, and then training wrapped up for the day, everyone grabbing some water, taking a shower, or making plans for lunch. Once you walked off with Wanda, Nat cornered Steve.

“What was that?” She asked, that catlike grin on her face.

“What was what?”

“I saw it, you know, the way you looked at her. I think you’ve got a soft spot.”

“Yeah, well, I did rope her into all this. Can’t say I don’t feel responsible for her.” He dodged expertly, weaving through Natasha’s mental gymnastics with skill and precision, or so he thought.

“Uh-huh sure. Well, she, Wanda, and I are going antiquing this afternoon. You should come. After all, you know quite a bit about vintage valuables.”

He laughed. “Hey!”

She walked off, smiling to herself. Steve thought about it for all of four seconds before he decided he would tag along. He hadn’t been to an antique shop in this century, so he couldn’t imagine the kinds of things they had there now. He might even learn a thing or two.

***

After a quick lunch, Steve did decide to tag along. It wound up being him, Vision, and the girls, which he certainly didn’t mind.

You and Wanda were buzzing with excitement, Natasha looking on and following behind with Steve. Vision lingered, studying everything, picking things up to get a closer look. He had projected a human disguise over himself, something Steve didn’t know he could even do, but it seemed to work. No one had batted an eye at him since they stepped foot in the shop.

“This place is…huge.” Steve said, glancing down the hall of the seemingly endless store.

“Biggest one in the state.” You chimed. “It’s the whole city block.”

“There’s a basement, too. And a second floor.” Natasha informed him, patting his arm. “This is gonna be an all day kinda thing.”

“Oh undoubtedly.” He said, setting down the teacup in his hands, a petite, floral thing.

You sifted through a box of records, picking up the soundtrack of the Muppets Movie.

“Is that a frog?”

“This is Kermit thee Frog, show some respect.” You laughed, putting the record in your basket.

“Kermit?” Steve asked again, seeming genuine.

“Oh I forgot you missed the Muppets, oh my god.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound familiar.”

“We need to fix that as soon as possible.” You told him. “Can’t have you missing out on cultural icons like Gonzo and Miss Piggy.”

“Okay now you’re making things up.” He chuckled, shuffling through the records as well. You showed him a few good ones and he added them to his basket, saying something about how he’s been meaning to use his new record player.

Wanda browsed some vintage rings, picking out a few, and Natasha rifled through a rack of vintage dresses, most of them from the forties and fifties from the look of it. Nat held up a navy blue one, silky, with short ruffled sleeves and buttons down the front. Steve froze, looking at it. For a moment, it looked just a little too familiar. Like the dress you had worn that night.

Eventually Nat put the dress back. You hadn’t seen it. You were distracted by a shelf of VHS tapes, looking for the old Barbie movies, whatever those were. Wanda was with you, on the next shelf over, calling out movie names when she found something cool.

Steve wandered off on his own, looking around at the different trinkets and toys, old letterman jackets and jewelry, dishes that may or may not contain lead. Finally, he came upon a little room full of art, paintings and photographs, handmade pottery.

Time stood still.

He stared at the large painting on the wall, oil on canvas. Two star-crossed lovers dancing in a bar in Brooklyn, a little guy with a dream, dancing with the most beautiful girl in the world, twirling in her dark blue dress. His heart raced. He never thought he’d see this painting again.

It had been his last painting before leaving for Camp Lehigh, the last painting he did before his life and body changed forever. He’d used the last of his paints to make it, every color mixed with care to get the exact color of your hair, your eyes, your lips, all from memory.

And it was here in front of him. When he had been presumed dead, it must have been sold off. He didn’t really have anyone left it could go to.

In that moment, he wasn’t Captain America. Standing in his shoes was that little guy from Brooklyn.

“Woah.” You murmured, suddenly right next to him. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it…it is.” He agreed, looking away from it. He didn’t want you to get too close of a look at it. However, that didn’t stop you from walking forward to inspect it closer.

“‘Soulmates.’ Artist unknown.” You read from the plaque. “Oh, it’s from the 40s. 1943. Does it look familiar?”

“Yeah, actually. Bucky liked that bar.” Steve said, pointing to the details of the interior. “It’s a little place in Brooklyn, called Val’s. Well, it was I guess. I don’t know if it’s still open anymore.”

Your eyes lingered on the woman’s face, on the man’s. You didn’t say anything about how they looked, about the uncanny resemblance to yourself and Steve. Instead, you sighed. “Someday, I want to be that in love with someone.”

He just about cried. But instead, he gathered his words, put a hand on your shoulder, and told you with confidence, “You will be.”

***

Hours later, when you were all shopped out and you’d checked out with your things, Steve stayed at the counter while the rest of you went to the car.

“Hey, um, that painting in the art room. The soulmates in the bar. I’m interested in buying it. Would it be possible to have it held here for a while, though?”

“Oh I’m sure we could arrange something,” said the old man at the counter with a smile and a nod. He started writing out the purchase form.

Steve glanced back towards where it was, that fragment of his soul he didn’t think he’d ever see again. He knew the fact that he’d stumbled upon it was nothing short of fate.

Wildest Dreams

It had been Tony’s idea. Of course it had. It always was, wasn’t it? He’d insisted that all the members of the team who hadn’t yet been exposed to Wanda’s mind manipulation should be, just in case there was a misfire during combat and one of you got caught in the crossfire. It would be important to see how each of you reacted, the kinds of things you saw so you’d be able to snap out of it.

Theoretically, of course.

This left Natasha, Steve, Thor, Bruce, and Tony out, as they’d already had their fun with Wanda’s magic. The rest of you, however, were waiting for your turn.

Wanda felt conflicted about it. She didn’t want to hurt her friends on accident, let alone on purpose, but Tony was insistent, and he had some of the others on his side. Namely, Rhodey, who had been hanging out more and more, and Clint, who’d had his experience with a different kind of mind control shortly before the Battle of New York.

It was part of why he’d volunteered to go first. Once he came to, he gave you a thumbs-up, shaking it off and walking over to Natasha.

“You sure you’re good?” She checked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No big deal. Who’s next?”

Sam looked at you and the despondent look on your face before volunteering himself to go next. Rhodey went in solidarity, despite being too busy with his government responsibilities to be a full-time member of the team. And then it was your turn. You stood next to Wanda. She offered an apologetic smile before red crackled around her fingertips and it hit you.

For the first few seconds, you were fine. You felt tingly. You blinked a few times and your eyes felt weird. No doubt, your eyes were red, like the others’ turned when they were under the influence of Wanda’s powers.

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, voice urgent.

“Think so.” You replied, mouth full of cotton. It felt like that time in college someone had given you an edible that was too strong. The first and last time you’d ever gotten high. Like you were sinking and melting. Your legs buckled and Steve surged forward, catching you before you hit the floor, gently lowering you into a comfortable position. “Hey, you’re pretty strong…” You murmured, head lolling onto his shoulder.

The others all looked at each other. Clint dragged over a bean bag and Steve gently lowered you onto it, adjusting it so you’d be comfortable.

“She’ll be okay, Steve.” Natasha reassured him, the guilt in his eyes palpable, yet still not explained. Not entirely. She had a sneaking suspicion whatever it was had something to do with the name written on his wrist, the name he wouldn’t show anyone. Not her, not Nick Fury, not even Sam.

“Yeah, I know.” He nodded, slowly taking a step back. His eyes didn’t leave you. He had to force himself to look away. “I, um…I have to go…There’s a…” Steve motioned towards the door before leaving the room, while you sat there, catatonic, off in your own little world.

***

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, his voice close. “That was a long nap. Forget to set your alarm?”

You opened your eyes and you were laying down on the couch. Steve was standing at the island in the kitchen, cooking something. It smelled good. Really good. He was wearing a button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, still wearing his slacks from work. He had music playing from the record player, your vast collection of hits from decades of music, and he was still hooked on 40s jazz. You supposed you couldn’t blame him.

“You cooking?”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded. “Come over here and get a taste.”

You followed, out to the kitchen. He set down his wooden spoon and swiftly intercepted you, pulling you up onto the countertop, kissing you deeply, a hand running through your hair. Your hand came up to frame his cheek. He was growing a bit of a beard these days. You liked it, thought it suited him.

You sighed against his lips and then pulled away to look at him. He grabbed your wrist, pressing a long kiss to your soulmark. Three simple words. Steven Grant Rogers.

“I love you, doll.” His words cut through you, eyes tender and sincere. “Always have.”

But this wasn’t your Steve. And it wasn’t your reality, given away by the slightest tinge of red in his irises.

It wasn’t real. And neither was the glimmering wedding ring around your finger.

***

You blinked awake, the power dispersing from your head, leaving you shockingly sober. And hungry. That familiar sting was back, right between your neck and shoulder. You wondered how long it’d been.

Clint was in the room with you. So was Sam. Natasha was gone. Wanda too, surprisingly. As was Steve.

You got chills even thinking about him, the phantom of the wedding ring still clinging to your finger.

“You alright?” Sam asked, making eye contact with you first.

“Yeah, I’m good. How long…?”

“Three minutes. New record.” Clint said with a grin.

“Oh.” No wonder it had felt so short. Part of you wanted it to last longer.

“We’re sending Rhodey to get some food, if you’re hungry.” Sam said.

“Where from?”

“The golden arches.”

“I could go for some nuggies.” You admitted. “A McFlurry, perchance.”

Clint laughed. “How did I know you would say that?”

In the kitchen, Steve stood, hands on the counter, mug of coffee steaming in front of him, untouched. He stared at the cupboard door.

“That must be one interesting cupboard. You’ve been standing there for like five whole minutes.”

“It’s only been three.” Steve said, glancing at the clock.

“And the fact that you know down to the exact minute is why I’m so intrigued.” Natasha chimed, tilting her head. “What is going on with her? I have never seen you look at anyone like that in the entire time I’ve known you. Is she…what, the kid of an old friend? Grandkid?”

“It’s nothing, Natasha. She’s the newest member of the team, I’m just worried—”

“Steve.” She said, cutting him off, that look in her eye. “If you want to get all defensive about it, fine. Keep your secrets.” She sighed. “But if you need someone, I’m here. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Steve let out a long sigh, weighing his options. It was something to the tune of eight months until your birthday. That was still a long time. A lot of time for that secret to slip through the cracks and, potentially, break the timeline. The Butterfly Effect was something he had researched extensively. Your future together was something he wasn’t willing to risk.

No, it was too important that you stay in the dark, even if that meant keeping his friends in the dark, too.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. But I’m fine, really. It’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded unconvinced. “Well, she’s out of it. Clint just texted. She wants twenty chicken nuggets and an Oreo McFlurry.”

The relief was immediate. You were okay. He could only wonder what you had seen in there, and why it had been so quick. The others had been under for upwards of ten minutes. You’d only been down three. “Well good. I’ll let Rhodey know.”

Invisible String

It was late. A few weeks after your tussle with the Scarlet Witch, if you could even call it that. You could tell Wanda felt guilty about the whole thing, but it wasn’t her fault. If anything it was Tony’s. Sure, the exercise had prepared you for a worst case scenario, but it had also dug a very awkward gap between you and Steve. You could barely even look at him without wanting to burst into tears.

He had his soulmate, whoever they were. You really needed to let it go.

You walked down to the kitchen to get a cold drink, but there was already someone sitting at the table. Steve, sitting there, hand resting on his chin, papers spread out in front of him. There was a picture you recognized as Bucky Barnes.

You’d heard whispers of him around the Compound from time to time. Steve’s best friend turned Hydra assassin, brainwashed for decades and now, rogue, out there somewhere. Sam always seemed to be looking for the guy. Natasha and Clint, too. And there had never been any sign of him. Well, until now, it seemed.

On the TV, Star Wars was playing. Empire Strikes Back. Steve looked up at it every so often.

“Star Wars?” You asked.

He chuckled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Your first time?”

“No. They were the first things I watched when I was out of the ice. I like them a lot. The hope, the Force, the Jedi stuff, the music.” He shrugged. “They’re good.”

“Who’s your favorite?”

Steve smiled, sheepish. “Han Solo.”

“And here I thought you’d say Luke Skywalker.”

“He’s great, too. You like Star Wars?”

“Yeah, I used to be obsessed with them in high school. Haven’t seen them in a while, though. I’m something of a Leia girl myself.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“Does it?”

“Oh yeah.” He nodded. “You’ve got that spark.”

“What order did you watch them in?”

“Nat made me watch the originals first.” He confessed. “I like the prequels, though. Well, two of the prequels. Phantom Menace is…”

“Oh yeah. You’re not alone in that.” You laughed softly. “You know, I never really pegged you as a sci-fi nerd.”

“Yeah, well, someone I really care about seemed to like them a whole lot, so I knew I had to check them out.” He shrugged. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Getting a drink. What are you doing up so late?”

He looked down at the papers and then back up at you. “Oh. Yeah, this is just…Trying to get some stuff figured out.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You offered.

He thought about it for a long moment, letting out a little sigh before nodding. That was the only reassurance you needed before grabbing a can of soda from the fridge and plopping down into the seat next to him.

“They found him. Clint and Natasha. They think he’s hiding out in Kentucky somewhere.” Steve said. He shook his head. “He saved my life a few years ago. After all the brainwashing, he still pulled me out of the water. I don’t know how much of him is still him, but…”

“But it’s worth a try.” You reasoned. “Obviously he’s been through a lot, but he must be pretty strong to have made it through everything.”

“I don’t know when I’m going. They haven’t narrowed it down all the way. And Tony doesn’t want me to even go at all.”

“Tony is full of shit.”

He laughed. “Yeah…”

“If you want to go, you should go. And if you need me, I’m there. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

He met your eyes with a sobering gaze. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed. “When, uh, when I was in the eighth grade, my class took a trip down to DC. There’s a Captain America exhibit in the Air and Space Museum, it had just opened. We learned about you and Bucky. How close you were, what happened. There are videos of me just crying uncontrollably there, learning about it. They had to take me outside, get me some water. I couldn’t go back in. I don’t even know why. Something about it…”

“About me?” Steve whispered.

“That’s embarrassing. I shouldn’t have told you that.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s sweet.” Steve said, reaching for your hand on the table. You let him take it, fingers curling.

“So when you found me that day, I guess I always knew it would lead to something like this. A stroke of fate, or something.” You admitted. “Some part of me knew that you would mean something to me someday. I guess I never thought we would be friends.”

“How old were you?”

“God, this would have been like ten years ago at this point. I was like fourteen or something. I was twenty-one when they found you in the ice. It was all over the news my sophomore year of college, kind of right when I was figuring my powers out, actually. And then everything was all over the news and I…went into hiding more or less, hoping it wouldn’t be me on the TV next.”

“Until the mall?”

“Yeah. But I couldn’t just…let it happen, you know? It was like some part of me knew that I had these powers for a reason, and that if I didn’t stop it, who would? I didn’t know you were there, obviously, but, I think even if I had, I still would have jumped in.”

He smiled softly, eyes earnest. He gave your hand a squeeze. “Well I’m really glad you did, for the record. I think we’re all a little better off because of it.”

There was a moment of quiet. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“How old are you?”

“Oh, um…I’m ninety-eight.”

You chuckled. “No, like how old are you really?”

Steve took a breath. No one ever asked him that. No one really cared about that. No one except you, it seemed. “I’m not sure. I’d have to do some math. I think I’m twenty-eight maybe. Twenty-nine.”

“Thought so.” You smiled. “Well, Steve, whenever you get it figured out, say the word and I’ll suit up. We’ll bring him home.”

Out of the Woods

The next mission you were sent on wasn’t to bring back Bucky. Not yet. Instead, you were on the team that got deployed into a rainforest to break up a rogue Hydra base. It was warm, almost too warm for your uniform, but you were grateful for the coverage, especially when they started shooting.

You ran down the makeshift path, evading enemies and throwing up forcefields to stop them in their tracks. Thor was in town, so he was zipping around through the trees with his hammer, the force of it bringing some down every once in a while.

“On your six.” Steve reported through the comms. You dodged out of the way and sure enough, a Hydra agent tumbled ahead, tripped by a small field you cast at his feet. A few of Natasha’s bullets took care of that.

“Thanks.” You replied.

“Don’t mention it. I could actually use some backup. I’m in the building. There’s more of them than I thought there would be.”

“I’m on my way.” You reported, changing directions and sprinting towards the building housing the Hydra base. What they were doing here, you had no clue, but Bruce theorized it had something to do with a meteor that had landed out that way a few months prior. They were probably harvesting whatever materials had been inside it.

You kicked down the door. Steve had six guys on him, two of which he disposed of quickly. You made a portal beneath one guy, sending him falling down a flight of stairs with the second portal you opened.

The other three guys went down quickly enough, only for a guy in a giant mech armor to come crashing through the interior wall. He shot and Steve jumped in front of you, taking a hit to the neck. A tiny syringe filled with shimmering purple liquid.

“Fuck! Steve!” You ran to him, but that didn’t take care of the large problem looming behind you. Seeing red, you made another portal at the feet of the robot, opened it in the ceiling, and cut it off as it was halfway through, destroying it in a flash of sparks and shredded metal. It shut down, giving you time to get to Steve.

He was sitting against the wall, head slumped to the side. You took the syringe out of his neck, tucking it into a pouch on your belt for testing. If this thing was poison, you’d need Bruce to start whipping up an antidote as soon as possible.

“Steve, hey, stay with me.” You touched his face, trying to wake him.

At your touch, he blinked a few times, drowsy. He gave you a crooked smile. “Heyyy, there you are.”

“Come on, we’ve gotta get you back to the jet.” You told him, pulling him to his feet, but he slumped in your arms like dead weight. You had been working out since you’d been recruited, but he was still heavy. “You’ve gotta work with me, big guy.”

“They used to call me little guy.” He murmured, sounding drunk. “Back in Brooklyn.”

“I’m sure they did.” You slung his arm around your shoulders and started hauling ass out of the building. A few agents shot at you, trying to hit you while you were distracted with carrying Steve to safety, but they forgot you were the one Avenger whose specialty was defense.

You lit a forcefield in your left hand, using its faint blue light to guide the two of you through the dim hallways. It slowed all the bullets to a stop, causing them to drop to the floor harmlessly. There was something kind of poetic about it, you supposed. Steve was so famous for that shield of his, but now you were the shield, protecting him.

“Did you guys find anything in there?” Clint asked.

“The good news is, we cleared most of it out. Bad news is, Steve got shot with something. I’m bringing him back to the ship now. I don’t know what it was but he’s acting really drunk.”

“Tranq darts seem to have that effect on him, yeah.” Bruce explained. “Bring him back here and I’ll make sure it wasn’t laced with something else.”

“On it.”

You lugged Steve along, stopping to rest and readjust against a wall for a second.

“Thank you for takin’ care of me even when I don’t feel so good.” He said, leaning his full weight against you.

“Of course, Steve. I’ve got ya.” You pulled his arm around your shoulders again. “You would do the same for any of us.”

He smiled, face impossibly close to yours. “Oh, I’d do anything for you, (Y/N).”

You knew it was probably just the drugs talking but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t do something to you when he said it anyway.

Once you were outside, you opened a waypoint in front of the two of you, the second portal in front of the jet, and then stepped through, closing it behind you. Bruce opened the door and helped you haul Steve inside, onto the cot of the makeshift mobile infirmary.

You handed Bruce the empty vial.

“Thank you for remembering. Thor always breaks these and then I have to do bloodwork to figure out what was in them.” He chuckled.

“He’s very smash first, ask questions later.”

“No wonder he and Hulk get along so well.” Bruce joked. “Alright, get back out there. I’ll make sure he’s alright.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful out there.” Steve advised, eyes half-lidded. “They have guns.”

“I’ll be extra careful, alright? I promise.” You met his eyes and he smiled immediately. Once you were sure he was okay, you stepped out of the jet again, getting back to help the others.

***

When you got back, you were nursing a bullet wound. They’d gotten you in the arm. It wasn’t too bad, though, the bleeding had almost stopped. Natasha went straight for the med kit when you two stepped foot on the jet, motioning you over to the stool.

Steve was there, still on the cot. He stared as Nat started cleaning your wound. “Wait, you got hurt?”

“I’m okay. It’s not that bad.”

He nodded and reached for your hand. “I’m really glad you’re alright, doll. Had me worried sick.”

Doll. You replayed the word in your mind. Steve had called you a lot of things in the past few months, but never once had he used that somewhat outdated term of endearment. You liked it, though.

You met Natasha’s eyes and she smirked while the supersoldier held your hand.

Sam walked in next, eyeing up the scene unfolding in front of him. “Woah, what’d I miss? Feels like I missed several chapters.”

“Steve is drunk.” Clint explained, counting his remaining arrows.

“Tranq dart. He’s fine. Just needs to ride it out for a few hours. He should be back to normal by the time we get home.” Bruce explained as he put away his tablet.

“You feeling alright, buddy?” Sam walked over and put a hand on Steve’s other arm. “You’re holding (Y/N)’s hand kinda tight there.”

“Huh?” Steve asked, directing his eyes to your joint hands. He let go. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Steve.” You reassured him.

The others trickled in slowly until everyone was accounted for, the base destroyed, the Hydra operatives in SHIELD custody for questioning. Fury and his team would handle it from there. You couldn’t help but play the mission over and over in your head.

Never had you used a waypoint to split something in half. But something had clicked in you when Steve was hurt. You’d never felt like that before, like part of your soul itself was being ripped out. He meant more to you than you cared to admit, especially when your fate was tied elsewhere.

Still, your new ability needed training. It was a dangerous skill to have, and if you didn’t hone it properly, you could end up doing some serious damage on accident.

Come Find Me in the Future

It was the night before you and a select group of the team were heading out to find and recover Bucky. Clint had finally gotten a hit on him. But if he had, that meant others could be after him, too. People that wanted him back. Badly.

You were nervous about it for that reason. You weren’t sure why the rest of you hadn’t already left, to be honest. You didn’t want to race with Hydra. It wasn’t one you were sure you’d win.

To stave off the feeling of dread, you had commandeered the living room TV and popped in Howl’s Moving Castle. You were nursing a mug of chamomile tea in your hands, playing games on your Switch.

You were near the end of the movie, at the part where Sophie was whisked to the past, when Steve walked into the room, in his pajamas, a tank top and a pair of plaid pants.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hey. You’re up late. Big mission tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’s almost over.” You told him. “Drinking my sleepy tea as we speak.”

“Sleepy tea?”

“Chamomile mint. It’s good. There’s some over by the Keurig if you want any.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, walking over. “What’s this?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle. One of my favorites.” You told him.

“What’s it about?”

“That is a complicated question.” You laughed. “I’d have to start it over, I think.”

“Another time, maybe.” He chuckled, crossing his arms.

Steve watched as Sophie got sucked back through the wormhole to the present.

She called out “I know how to help you now! Find me in the future!”

He perked up. “Wait, she…there’s time travel?”

“Yeah, she gets pulled into the past for a bit and tells him to find her and then years later, the first words he says to her are ‘There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ It’s really sweet.”

“They’re soulmates?”

“They are.” You nodded.

“Does that happen? Often?” Steve asked, hung up on it. “In real life?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of that happening before.” You shook your head. “I don’t think anyone would believe it, even if it did. Happens a lot in fiction, though.”

“Oh. Cool.” Steve nodded. He met your eyes and then looked down at his lap, tongue flitting across his pink lips. “I, uh, wanted to apologize.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “For what?”

“The mission last week. I, uh…I said some things and, uh…I just, I’d hate to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if I did.”

“You didn’t.” You assured him. “No apology necessary. You were drugged. I probably would have said worse, to be honest.”

He smiled. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. And thank you for agreeing to come tomorrow. We could really use the help.”

“Of course. I’ve got your back, always.” You told him, earning another one of those earnest, lovesick smiles. “Anywho, I finished that playlist for you. The Taylor Swift one. I can make you a more general one with different songs, but…figured that was a decent starting place.”

“Great, yeah, thank you.” He nodded, looking at his phone as it pinged with the notification you had sent it to him. “I’ll give it a listen.”

“Let me know what you think.”

“Oh I will.” He chuckled to himself. “Really, thank you. I appreciate it. And um, have a good night. See you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early.” You saluted.

He nodded before repeating, “Bright and early.”

Bygones

Bright and early was an understatement. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when your alarm went off. You groaned, rolled over and silenced your screaming phone, forcing yourself to sit up so you didn’t drift back off.

Today was too important for that.

Instead, you got up, brushed your hair, and went out to the kitchen, where Vision had whipped up a full breakfast for everyone going out. It was you, Steve, Nat, Wanda, and Sam. A small team, but enough firepower to bring him back without overwhelming and/or scaring him off.

“Morning.” Steve said, eyes landing on you the moment you walked into the room.

“Morning.”

“Coffee?” He offered, pushing a cup of your favorite iced coffee over to you. You couldn’t lie, you were impressed.

“Thanks.” You grinned, taking a long sip to kickstart your morning. You loaded a plate up with eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast, plus a little side of hashbrowns, thanking Vision thoroughly.

“It is my pleasure, (Y/N). As someone who does not require sleep, it would be rude of me to let you all starve so early in the day.”

“(Y/N), you got him listening to Taylor Swift?” Sam asked, eyes drilling into you.

You laughed. “Uh, yeah. What about it? She’s a cultural icon, do you want him left out of the loop?”

“Hey, I’m not complaining.” Steve shrugged, sipping on his coffee.

“Of course you’re not.” Natasha chuckled, words warbled by her own cup. You noticed the way her lips pursed. If you weren’t mistaken, you’d say she was nervous. About what, you couldn’t tell. She seldom got nervous. Or at least, she seldom let it show. But it was definitely there.

Wanda was the last into the kitchen, already fully put together. She gave the chef her thanks with a warm smile and sparkling eyes. You couldn’t help but smile. Those two, beyond a shadow of a doubt, were absolutely made for each other. You wondered what her wrist would have to say about it when the time came.

Once everyone had eaten, those who weren’t suited up got ready, locked and loaded for a tense mission. You’d have Clint on the coms here, doing recon from a drone. The rest of you loaded up onto the jet, strapping in.

Nat and Sam hopped into the cockpit. Wanda sat next to you, Steve across the aisle, his eyes meeting yours every so often.

“It’ll be alright.” You said, trying to dispel his nerves.

He nodded, but didn’t reply, just giving a short nod and staring at the holographic map on the wall as you approached closer and closer. You could see that little guy from Brooklyn peeking through the eyes of the supersoldier sitting across from you, nervous about his best friend.

You unbuckled just before you landed, walking across the jet to strap on your weapons. The others did the same, arming themselves. Nat was going to keep the jet warm for a speedy exit, the look in her eyes still unreadable. The rest of you got ready for war.

It was an abandoned warehouse, large garage door, broken windows, slanted roof with a hole in it. Definitely not the most secure of places. According to Clint’s drone, Bucky was in the back room.

“Waypoint, I need you out here ready to get us a quick escape.”

“Got it.” You nodded, positioning yourself within eyeshot of the warehouse and the jet so you could make a portal either way.

“Wanda, Sam, you’re with me.” Steve instructed, taking a minute to breathe, to think. “He’s gonna be ready to run. We have to talk him out of it.”

“Uh, Cap. Might wanna work a little faster. There’s another plane incoming. About three minutes out.”

“Alright.” Steve nodded, taking off his helmet and slinging his shield onto his back. He led the other two into the building.

For a heartwrenching two minutes, you didn’t hear anything. And then you heard a plane. And then gunshots.

“(Y/N), now!” Steve instructed.

You did as you were told, opening the waypoint in the warehouse, another just outside. Nat had picked the jet up off of the ground, firing at the one Hydra had brought. She took another shot, damaging the wing and causing it to go down.

“Shit, wait—!”

There was a flash of light and you expected it to be Steve that came through first. Maybe Bucky, even. Instead, it was a grenade. And a split second later, it exploded, knocking you unconscious.

***

Steve stood over you, horrified. Thanks to your suit, the damage didn’t seem too bad. But you had blood and soot caked on your face, the ends of your hair singed.

It was his fault. He had told you to open the Waypoint, only for a Hydra agent to toss a grenade right through it.

He all but collapsed to his knees, collecting you in his arms. Bucky was on the jet already, Sam, too. Only he and Wanda were outside with you.

“(Y/N), come on. Open those eyes for me.” He pleaded, voice soft, eyes aching with tears. “Hey, come on. Please…”

“We should get her back to the jet.” Wanda goaded softly, a hand on Steve’s arm.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. He scooped you off of the ground, an arm beneath your legs, the other around your back. Your arms hung down, limp. Your head rested heavily against his shoulder, eyes closed.

By the time Steve walked up the ramp, Nat already had the infirmary cot down, ready to go. Bucky watched, eyes intense. He looked up when Steve approached, eyes falling on you. They widened when he got a look at you.

“Woah, is that…?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “It is.”

Natasha helped him get you situated in the cot, wrapping the cuff around your arm that would measure your vitals. With everyone accounted for, Sam closed the door, lifting the jet into the air.

“I’ve got Banner on the line.” Natasha told him.

“Good.” Steve’s eyes didn’t leave you for a second, watching as the breaths entered and left your lungs. “Tell him to get the infirmary ready for her.”

“Already on it, Cap. She’ll be okay. Her vitals look…well they look good, all things considered.” Bruce relayed. “Just get back here as fast as you can.”

***

As soon as the jet landed, Steve unhooked you from the vitals monitor and collected you in his arms, carrying you to the gurney Bruce had ready, walking with him as he wheeled you towards the infirmary. Bruce insisted he needed some time and sent Steve away, taking a piece of his heart with him.

Vision checked over Bucky, giving him the okay almost immediately before going to help Bruce in the infirmary.

Steve sat at the table, Bucky sitting down to join him. The others gave them a minute alone.

“Hey, pal.” Steve exhaled, trying to force a smile. “Glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” He agreed. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Of course.” Steve nodded. “I’m with you—”

“Til the end of the line.” Bucky smiled, eyes soft. His irises flicked towards the infirmary and back. “You wanna talk about it?”

Steve let out a sigh, the wall finally coming down and more tears slipping down his cheeks. “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. She’s—”

“She’s gonna be fine. I promise you.” Bucky’s hand grabbed onto Steve’s wrist, the covered one. The one with her name etched onto it. “She has to be. Has she…does she know yet?”

“No one does. Just me. And you.” Steve confessed. He wiped his thumb under his eye. “So you’re right. She has to pull through.”

Steve held onto that spark of hope for the coming hours. He showed Bucky to the room that had been prepared for him, but Sam offered to give him a tour of the place, knowing their friend was in a fragile mental state.

Eventually, Vision found him and told him he could enter the infirmary. Bruce had finished treating you. When Steve walked in and saw you, still unconscious, laying on that bed, he choked on more sobs. The bruising on your face was pretty severe. You were hooked up to several monitors, an IV. Supposedly, your injuries were not too extreme, but you had a cracked rib and would need time to heal before you could do any missions or training.

Hours later, Nat found Steve in there, wringing his hands, tears in his eyes. He fiddled with the cuff around his wrist. The playlist you’d made for him played softly from a speaker in the corner of the room. Timeless. As if he wasn’t already crying enough.

“She’s gonna be okay, Steve. Bruce thinks she might wake up soon.” Nat comforted, sitting in the chair next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder, confused by her friend’s sudden mood. Members of the team had been injured before and sure, he checked on them, but he never reacted like this.

“I know, I just…” He shook his head. “I’m worried about her is all. It’s…kinda my fault this happened.”

Nat pressed her lips together, tilting her head. “This seems like a little more than that. You wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

He wanted to hold onto his secret. He did. But he was feeling fragile, vulnerable. It couldn’t hurt to have just one more person on his side. “I can, just…not here.” Steve nodded, leading her out of the room, out of your earshot, if you could even hear him while you were out, but still in sight thanks to the soundproof windows.

Nat’s hands settled on her hips, waiting for an answer. Instead, Steve took the cuff off of his wrist and held it out to her, letting her read the letters that had been etched there for the better part of a century.

Her jaw dropped. She stammered, arms crossing. She met his eyes and when she saw the sadness there, the guilt and longing, her expression softened.

“I should have told her. A long time ago, I should have told her but I can’t. In six months, on her twenty-fifth, she’s going back in time to 1943 to meet me on mine. And it…didn’t seem like she knew until she was already there.”

“So you’ve just been holding it in this whole time?” Natasha asked. “You’ve been in love with her…”

“Since the forties, yeah.” Steve nodded. “My great lost love, as Tony likes to call her when he rags on the band I wear.”

“Does he know?”

“No. Just you. And Bucky.” Steve amended. “He was there when she…”

“Right. Weird.” Natasha let out a long sigh, looking through the window. Her fingers reached for her own cuff. She hesitated, but pulled it off, holding her soulmark out to him. “Fair is fair.”

Steve stared at the letters for a long time, realization slowly filling his eyes. The name on her wrist was none other than James Buchannan Barnes. “Oh my God.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you until all the dust settled, but it just settled, so…” She shrugged, putting the cuff back on. “I’ll figure out how to tell him, too, if he doesn’t know already.”

“Buck’s mark was grayed out back then. We thought…well, we didn’t know what it meant.” Steve said, shaking his head. It was the reason Bucky had dated around so much back then. He’d figured if he just found someone else, his mark would change and he wouldn’t have to be alone. Never could he have guessed what it actually meant, that his soulmate wouldn’t be born for another forty or so years. “And then he lost his arm…”

“Yeah, that part I did know.” She smirked. “Well, I’ll keep an eye on her. Let you know if she says anything you need to hear.”

“She probably thinks my soulmate is dead, too. Everyone else does.”

“Ironic.”

“No kidding.” Steve sighed, gazing longingly through the window.

“We’ll get you through it, Steve. You’ve waited seventy years. Six months is nothing.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna sit with her for a while. I don’t want her to wake up alone.”

He slinked back into the infirmary and sat in the chair beside your bed, watching your steady breaths and listening to the beeping of the heart monitor. Natasha watched him through the window, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. Nevertheless, she was glad they had talked. At least now, they could be there for each other.

Vol. 2 Here

Tags: @cap-lu20

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers soulmate au #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #marvel #mcu #avengers

177 notes · View notes

ooihcnoiwlerh · 29 days

Text

WHAT UP, MY DARLINGS

Sorry for the long hiatus. New full-time job was kicking my ass, and I also realized there were a lot of changes I wanted to make to what I'd already written. That said, new chapter of my Feyd Rautha/Reader arranged marriage!AU is up.

Link to full AO3 fic here

Tags and CW for this chapter: switching; riding; body worship; come-eating; knifeplay; nipple play; oral sex (M+receiving); mentions of past self-harm; masochism; orgasm delay; teasing; subspace!Feyd; pregnancy discussions; dom!Feyd as well as sub!Feyd; both dom! and sub!reader; subspace and subdrop; collars; leashes; blindfolds; face-fucking; implied/referenced past child abuse; implied/referenced past incest; the Reader being an unreliable narrator/having way too much trust in the Bene Gesserit; mentions of Feyd's mommy issues

This takes place seconds after the previous chapter so if you need a refresher I also have the previous tumblr chapter here. Even with the tags up above this is definitely the softest and most romantic chapter I've put up so far. Like, by a significant margin.

CHAPTER TEN: UNLEASHED

For a few minutes all you do is kiss, lazily, trying not to move your hips too much as you lay atop him and his hands pass over your ribcage, your sides, your hips, before curling into your hair.

You're sweet like this, you almost say. Never thought I'd be able to say that about you.

You drop your head and bring your mouth just below his ear, at the juncture of his jaw and neck. Past experiences dating even prior to him taught you that this is a weak spot for you, and it appears to be the case for him as well as he gasps. You remember the knife beside you, think about how he always enjoys a bit of pain to heighten his pleasure, and curl your fingers around the hilt.

You’re almost stunned at your own confidence as you do it, your bone-deep certainty that Feyd will enjoy this, as you lean upwards, taking the knife, and just barely pressing it against his chest, drawing a thin red line that ends just above his left nipple. The cut’s shallow and the knife’s sharp so it probably doesn’t hurt much, even as Feyd shifts and arches his hips, browline furrowing and mouth falling open in a silent gasp. And then you lean down and lap up the blood welling up in slow, deliberate licks.

His dick twitches inside of you, and you gasp as it starts to fill out–slower than before, but awakening all the same. He gives a rattling breath as you close your teeth around the nipple and tug lightly. His hand curls around the back of your head but applies no pressure, as if he isn’t sure if he wants you to keep going or pull back, groaning and filling out more as you gently roll your hips and set the knife down beside you. You smirk around his bare skin, clench around his finally-stiff cock, and think, Alright. I think it’s safe to say you’re ready for round two .

You sit up all the way, then, fanning your fingertips over his chest at first, fingertips of your right hand catching the last tear-droplets of blood that you bring to your mouth, sucking on your fingertips as you roll your hips properly. Will he wear his favorite collar next time he lets you use him like this? Will he still lie docile, waiting for you to command him?

You picture it, and groan at the idea: him with his hands tied–wrists bound above his head, or maybe, oh, Great Mother, tied to the bedposts. Is that why he has hooks on each of his bedposts? You laugh, the heat already building up your spine, coming swiftly for you as you bear down on him, head falling back as the laughter turns into a moan as you shift your hips in just the right angle. Incredible . You can’t help it as the words spill out of you. “I could do this all night,” you tell him. “I– oh, fuck– I could ride your fat cock all night. Would you like that, Feyd?”

He groans an affirmative, and you feel all the hotter for it, stunned at how quickly the heat builds again, at the obscene squelch of your slick around him. You move his hands from your hips to your breasts and he immediately understands your instructions, squeezing and fondling them as you topple effortlessly into your third orgasm, leaning back at just the right angle, both hands braced on his thighs.

Thing is, you meant it when you said you could keep going, if nothing else than sheer force of will. You keep moving, desperate to come again, desperate to keep him inside of you for just a little longer, searching for the moment where you hit your threshold.

“Don’t come yet,” you tell him, panting. “Not until I come again.”

Feyd groans under you and it takes you a moment to realize that it’s not out of protest, but arousal. You try to make sense of it as you finally understand the phrase ‘ drunk with power ’ because the hold you have over him right now is utterly intoxicating.

It makes sense; one of Feyd’s strongest qualities is his discipline. You venture further, trying your luck. “If you want to come then make yourself useful, Feyd,” you tell him, and he gets to work, spitting on his thumb and bringing it to your bud, as if you’d need the extra lubrication when you can feel his previous spend leaking out of you.

You reach down and pinch both nipples, twisting. His hips jolt up, nearly knocking the wind out of you as it feels like his cock is all the way up in your ribcage, but he doesn’t come, even as he gives an agonized groan and the cords of muscle in his neck bulge. He arches his back, jaw clenched, eyes shut.

Oh, that won’t do .

“Look at me, Feyd,” you tell him. You want him to see your face when you come, and it’s so close you’re about to lose your mind. Four times in one night . You didn’t think such a thing was possible.

He obeys you with a low groan, working your bud faster, managing to meet your frantic pace, his pupils blown wide, beautiful and pitiful and vulnerable and entirely at your mercy. His cock has never felt so good , you think, one final roll of your hips hitting just at the right angle inside of you.

You come with a guttural wail, head falling back, trembling and feeling utterly possessed, hips still moving but quickly losing rhythm, just frantic grinding on top of him to wring every last drop of pleasure you can get out of him.

Feyd gives out a pained growl of his own but you don’t feel the tell-tale sensation of him spilling within you. You open your eyes as you pant and stare down at his slack face.

Please. Please tell me I can come, Y/N, he seems to be pleading with you . I need your permission to come. Have I not been good for you? he seems to ask. And he has been good, hasn’t he? So good and obedient, laying there and taking it, letting you use him. The grip he has on your hips is going to leave bruises and you’ll prod at them later with fondness.

“That’s it, come for me, Feyd,” you tell him, and he does, spasming, hips bucking up into you as he groans, still sounding like he’s either in paradise or agony and that he loves it either way. The moment lasts for another moment, him spurting inside of you as every muscle seems locked, and then on an exhale he sinks back down, his grip on your hips and thighs loosening.

He shuts his eyes as he gathers his breath and his face starts to relax.

“Hey,” you say, voice gentler this time, waiting for him to absorb the words. “Look at me,” you tell him as you stroke his cheek. He does, eyes opening wide and bright, full lips parted. You smile down at him, thinking, you’re so beautiful . And he is beautiful, in the way that a briefly-tamed beast is beautiful. For a moment you remain still, sitting on him, feeling him softening inside of you, wondering what he’s seeing when he stares up at you. If it’s as stunning to him as he is to you right now. Then you finally dismount, panting, looking at the pallor of his face as close to flushed as he’s ever going to get.

You wonder–while he’s like this, open and vulnerable, if maybe he’d–? Even still in a near-euphoric haze, you pay close attention to the way he breathes when you lean down and kiss his neck, when you nip at his pulse point again. He gives a soft sigh and you slide down further and scrape your teeth across one of his nipples. This time he gasps, hands leaving your sides to clutch at the sheets.

“Yes, that’s good,” you murmur. “Keep them there.”

He does, and you watch the corded muscles of his forearms clench and shift to obey you. You smile again, feeling strangely fond, as you go lower.

His pants are still around his knees and it doesn’t take much effort to tug them down and toss them over the edge of the bed. His cock is utterly coated in both of you, and a thought occurs that’s so obscene it surprises you, but piques your curiosity.

After half a second of hesitation, you lick the spend off of his cock and go lower, to where it’s drizzled down one testicle, and then the other. He’s never let you do this before, never let you taste and touch him on your own terms rather than feeding his cock into the cavern of your mouth, and the idea of continuing to play with him is too tempting to ignore.

His breath hitches and his stomach clenches, and for a moment you pause, waiting for him to tell you to stop, but he doesn’t. He trembles under you, spreading his legs a little more, and you look up to see his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open in a wet gasp.

“Do you like this, husband?” you ask him. You keep your voice quiet, as if any volume above your near-whisper would penetrate the fog that’s settled over you. He jerks a nod.

It should probably feel subservient, licking him clean like this. It doesn’t. You’ve never felt more powerful in your life. You kiss the top of one thigh, wanting to bring your mouth to his scars, but refraining. He’s being so pliant, so patient for you–you don’t want to risk ruining it, uncertain if such an intimate touch there would. Instead you finally bring them up. “These scars don’t match.”

Feyd makes a noise like he’s only starting to come back to his senses, but still foggy. Still lost.

“The scars on your legs. One of the legs has different cuts from the other.” You stroke his hip and outer thigh as you stay propped up above him. “How’d you get them?” You don’t think they came from the Baron.

“Left leg, seventeen. A woman did it to me,” Feyd says. “I asked her to.” Asked . Not commanded. Interesting. “Right leg, a few weeks later. Did it to myself, wanted to replicate the feeling.”

You glance back down between his thighs as he’s still obediently laid out before you. The scars on his right thigh look deeper and angrier with shorter strokes. “Did it work?”

“Not really. It’s not the same if you do it to yourself,” he says. “I just ended up losing a lot of blood and passing out.”

You give a soft hum and nuzzle your cheek against his inner right thigh before turning your head and licking along the scars. His breath hitches, and you sink your teeth in. It’s more of a playful bite, not hard enough to even try to break skin, before coming back up, face to face with him.

Feyd kisses you languidly, accepting the taste of you, of him, on his tongue, and burying both hands in your hair. He sighs into it, closing his eyes, relaxing into it and letting you control the pace until you break away, coming down from the peaks you’ve reached.

You’re an utter mess between your legs, you think as you set the knife on your nightstand and the two of you pull up the covers that had been kicked down around both of your ankles earlier.

How did they end up that way, again? Oh, right, my husband ambushed me in bed while I was asleep and rewarded me by letting me use his body as my personal playground .

“You know,” he says, still seeming somewhat out of it–and no wonder, you are, too– “there are devices, something I can wear next time you ride me. It would delay things even further, making you able to come five times for every time I come once. You’d be able to ride me for hours, if you wanted.”

Part of you would prefer to test his self-control to its furthest limits without the use of an aid, but his suggestion makes you smile as you settle in with him. “That so?” you ask.

“You took to it like nothing I’ve ever seen, Y/N,” he says, as you settle back, turning off the lights once more.

He turns to lay on top of you; you feel him squeeze his eyes shut as he rests his head against your shoulder. You can’t help but smile to yourself as you gently stroke the back of his head and neck and wrap your other arm around his back.

It’s something wonderful and powerful he’s given you, and you’re certain that he wouldn’t have unless he felt you earned it.

He takes a deep breath as he wraps his arms around you, as he moves his body down lower and lays his head on your stomach.

“Is this what you need, husband?” you ask. There’s probably proper terminology for this sort of thing, but you don’t know it.

He nods.

“In a couple of days we’ll find out if life’s growing in there,” you say idly as he nuzzles against the soft skin of your belly.

“There is. A boy,” he tells you and you laugh. Wishful thinking. How could he possibly know?

“I saw him,” he says, as if he can read your thoughts. “Dreamt about you giving birth to him.”

“A dream doesn’t predict the future, though,” you tell him as you absently run your fingers over the back of his head and neck.

“It’s not the first time I’ve dreamt of something that came true, faces I’d never seen before but met later on,” he says.

“Oh?” you ask, and he gives a grunt in the affirmative, but says nothing else. His breathing grows slower and his muscles slack. You lay there in silence with him as he drifts off, still nestled against your stomach.

It's not the most comfortable position to try and fall asleep in, but you'll give him this. You laugh quietly to yourself as you look up at the ceiling.

You have to remind yourself that your husband of one month just pretended to be an assassin to test your training and reflexes, and it’s somehow brought the two of you closer together than ever before.

You wake hours later to an empty bed. There’s enough gray light streaming in to tell you before you’ve even looked at the timepiece on your nightstand that you’ve slept in. You rub the sleep out of your eyes as the events from the previous night–into the early morning–trickle back into your consciousness. For a moment you could almost believe that last night had been a dream, but the knife’s still on the bedside table and you feel a delicious soreness in your legs and abdomen and the less-enjoyable feeling of flakes of dried come on your lower lips and inner thighs. You can’t help but smile remembering Feyd slack-jawed and moaning underneath you, how good he felt inside of you from that angle, how insatiable you were.

There’s a knock at the door and you instinctively pull your sheets up to cover your breasts. “Who is it?” you call out, to hear Idrisa’s voice muffled from the other side assuring you that it’s just her with some morning refreshments.

“The Na-Baron wanted to let you sleep in, Na-Baroness,” Idrisa says as she comes in and sets down a tray.

“Oh?” you ask, reaching for your robe to put on as you swing your legs to the side of the bed and sit on its edge.

“He said you could take the morning off, Na-Baroness,” she tells you. “He said you had an eventful evening and you’re going to have a busy day. He said he wanted you well-rested.”

Last time he'd given you the morning off, it'd been because he was furious with you. You can't imagine that being the case today, but you’re also not entirely sure, and that makes you nervous. His birthday is two days from now; you can't afford to be on poor terms with him right now, between the Bene Gesserit visiting tomorrow and Feyd 's arena showing the day after that.

“How did he seem?” you ask, trying to process everything and imagining that a little caffeine will help.

“I did not see him, Na-Baroness,” Idrisa says. “I’d received word from a Fortress guard what his instructions had been. I heard nothing to suggest that he was in a foul mood, though.”

“Alright,” you say, still thinking, still wondering what the shift last night started will mean for you, in and out of the bedroom, going forward.

At breakfast there’s of course no acknowledgement of what transpired last night; neither of you would ever have that conversation in front of Feyd’s uncle anyway, but there’s a cool detachment in how Feyd treats you that feels tangible.

“Your brother sent word that he will not be attending your birthday festivities,” the Baron tells his nephew as soon as you’re seated, presumably continuing the conversation they were having before you came in.

“Best idea he’s had in months; it��ll save him the embarrassment of showing his face here,” Feyd says, wordlessly passing you a tray of fruit. The Baron narrows his eyes for a moment, looking between the two of you, as if there’s something conspicuous about a man passing a plate of food to his wife during breakfast. You look away, accepting the plate with a mouthed ‘ thank you ’ and pretending that you didn’t notice.

The conversation goes back to Feyd’s arena performance, with a brief discussion of the new Mentat, a man named Kalevi Itkonen. It’s a name you realize is familiar because he was one of the first faces you saw landing on Geidi Prime, and one that made another appearance at your wedding; a lean man who had greeted you and your family with a friendly smile that didn’t reach his dark, deep-set eyes. Affable, certainly compared to other Harkonnens, but seemingly amused at your dread and discomfort.

“May I ask what happened to the previous Mentat?” you ask.

The Baron sighs. “An unfortunate casualty during the fall of Atreides. It’s a shame; he was good. Of course, Itkonen’s fit for the job as well, if only Rabban was willing to listen to his statistics.”

If Rabban’s this bad at his job then why not reassign him to something else? Something where he isn’t in charge of Harkonnen lives? you want to ask, but instead offer your condolences. It’s thankfully the most you and the Baron interact but you don’t get any private time with Feyd to set him aside and ask if he’s alright.

Not long after breakfast Idrisa escorts you to the Dressmaker’s atelier, and the Dressmaker curtsies low and deep at your arrival.

“As requested, your gown for the Na-Baron’s birthday,” she says, stepping aside to show you the gown she made out of your measurements.

The dress is all black; common but not a requirement, you’ve noticed, for Harkonnen fashion. Shades of charcoal and gray are also in vogue, even tinted with navy or forest green. This, however, is as utterly devoid of color as Geidi Prime’s sun. That’s not what makes your eyes go wide.

“It’s revealing,” you say after a moment. The top half has thin straps, and you’re pretty sure the leather-like bands around the ribcage were added to make sure to not completely reveal your breasts, because it has a plunging neckline and no real back to speak of, you realize as you slowly walk around the mannequin. It’s fitted tight from the ribcage to the hips, only flowing once the hourglass shape ends. There’s a slit in the skirt that will reveal the curve of your thigh every time you walk. On the floor beneath it are a pair of black boots with a reasonably high heel and around the mannequin’s neck a necklace that looks almost like one of the collars Feyd-Rautha has used on you.

The Dressmaker’s face falls. “Does the Na-Baroness not like it?” she asks. “The Na-Baron specifically requested a gown that would show off his wife’s assets.”

“Thank you,” you say, realizing that you won’t be able to wear anything underneath to protect your nipples. “If that’s what he asked for then that’s certainly what he’s getting. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

It also sends quite a message. Look at the fecundity of the Na-Baroness’s body. Look at what the Na-Baron gets to take for himself whenever he wants . Look at how he owns her.

But that's the image you're meant to play. After his birthday will come the news of his upcoming fatherhood, and depending on how you play your hand, either the birth or Feyd 's coronation will come next.

You spend the afternoon practicing Harkonnen pleasantries and as such don’t see Feyd until dinnertime; he doesn’t say much, not to you or to the Baron, who reminds both of you about the Bene Gesserit visiting tomorrow.

“I trust you’ll have the results that they want,” he says, leaving the implications hanging open in the uncomfortable air between the three of you like wet laundry.

“We’ve done our part,” Feyd says, voice curt, tearing his bread in half with a little more force than usual. You’d not blame him for his irritation with his uncle but for the fact that you’re stuck here, too, sitting in uncomfortable silence, supposing you ought to be grateful that the Baron’s little jabs at your potential childbearing abilities aren’t out of any interest in you. But of course that’s due to the possibility that even though he probably hasn’t forced himself on his nephew in nearly a decade, he may still get some secondhand voyeuristic satisfaction thinking about how he performs in bed and the thought of that puts you off the rest of your dinner.

After the fact, while you’re getting ready to leave Feyd places a hand on your arm.

“Meet me in my room tonight,” he says quietly. You nod, glancing back at him, hoping for some sort of barometer for tonight and getting nothing.

Feyd’s naked, as he typically is during your night-time rendezvous, and you’ve matched him coming into his chambers. He stares at you for a moment without a word, cock not-yet awakened, his expression inscrutable.

You finally ask the question that’s been bothering you all day, hoping the honorific at the end will appease him. “Are you upset with me, husband?”

Feyd tilts his head ever so slightly. “Why would I be upset with you?” he asks, probably knowing the answer and pulling it out of you anyway. You fidget and twist your hands, trying to look him in the eye. Right now they give nothing away.

“Last night…we did something different. I liked it. It seemed like you liked it. But now I don’t know how you feel about me seeing you…like that.”

“Submissive and obedient?” he prompts you.

“Yes,” you manage, blinking, looking down, forcing yourself to look back up. Feyd’s gaze is dark, and for a moment cruel in the brief seconds of silence that drag on and make your heartbeat speed up.

“I do like it that way sometimes,” he says finally. “And I enjoyed it last night. So no, I’m not angry with you; you passed more than one test. If I’d known what you were capable of sooner, I’d have allowed you to take control sooner, but I wanted to wait to make sure you’d be equipped.”

“ Equipped? ” you repeat, raising your eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because in the past I’ve killed people who put me in that role but didn’t do it correctly,” he says. He sounds so casual and detached as he says it. “You know me well enough at this point that it won’t be an issue. My trust is not something I give out easily, so don’t take it for granted.”

“I won’t, husband,” you say quickly. “I assure you that I,” you take a breath, “I appreciate the…the trust and patience you showed me. But may I ask, why did you seem withdrawn earlier? It seemed like you regretted last night.”

A faint hint of a smile appears at the corners of his mouth. “Because it made me wonder if I could have the same effect on you.”

“I don’t think I understand,” you say. When have I not been at least to some extent obedient in bed with you? I’ve almost always been submissive.

“Don’t be naive, pet. It doesn’t suit you anymore. You saw how I got when you were on top of me, like I was almost delirious. Seemed at times like you were, last night, too. I wanna see if I can get you to that place where I’d gone last night. You’ve gotten close, but never quite there.”

You try to think. Yes, you suppose there have been times where you’ve felt a level of catharsis, exhaustion and relief, when he’s pushed your boundaries and tested how much you could take, what you enjoyed despite yourself. Thinking about it, though, he’s right. You never felt quite so dazed as Feyd looked, like he’d disappeared within himself.

Could you get there? Maybe. “So how do you want to go about it?” you ask.

“I want to see how much of it’s natural for you, see how much you trust me.”

“What makes you think you haven’t earned my trust?” you ask.

He looks at you and you can tell that if he had eyebrows, they’d be raised right now. “Because I still frighten you,” he says. “Not that I blame you; you know who and what I am, but even when you’ve enjoyed submitting to me, you’ve never quite let go and allowed me to possess you the way you did with me last night.” He crosses over to his armoire and opens a compartment in the lower drawers. “What’s been bothering me isn’t what happened last night. It’s that all day I’ve been wondering if I can really do the same to you.”

He pulls out a blindfold. You stare at it as you think about the collars, the leashes, the floggers, the clamps, the ropes and chains–the moments of shame for being subjugated replaced with shame for enjoying the sensations of it and his hungry gaze on you.

“So,” Feyd says, seeming to watch for any potential signal on your face. “Will you allow me to try?”

You’d gotten so wet last time he’d put you on a leash and collar that you’d been able to feel it trickling down the inside of your thigh. The only humiliation you’d felt then was knowing what your friends and family would think if they knew you were learning to get off to things like this. But they’re not here; it’s just you and Feyd.

You look at the blindfold for a moment before meeting his gaze again.

“Yes,” you tell him.

Feyd sets out his favorite collar for you alongside the blindfold on his dresser. After he grabs a length of silver chain he takes a step back and looks over at you as if to ask, Think you can handle it?

You simply brush your hair to the side so he can get the collar around your neck and he grins.

“Comfortable?” he asks as he fixes it around you.

“Yes, husband,” you tell him, and he gives a soft hum as he takes the blindfold and wraps it around your head. It's soft; your eyes flutter closed at the silk. His touch feels somehow more intimate with one of your senses gone.

“Good?” he asks again, and you nod. “I want a verbal confirmation.”

“Yes, husband,” you answer, meaning it. You can feel your nipples stiffening as the faint gust of his breath against the shell of your ear, hear the clink and swallow at the sudden weight of the chain being clipped to your collar. If you concentrate you think you can hear him breathing.

“Kneel,” he says, and you do, taking a deep breath, your hands at your sides. The chain starts to have more give, being tossed to you in increments as he seems to be walking way, to another spot in the room.

“Crawl over to me,” he says. “Follow the sound of my voice.”

You think you manage the right direction, moving slowly, until you hear him speak again.

“Stop right there, stay where you are,” he says, and you do, staying on your hands and knees, waiting for the next instructions. Several seconds tick by, and for a moment you drop your head, wondering what the next signal will be, what Feyd wants from you next. It doesn’t sound like he’s moved, but he can be utterly silent sometimes, so hard to detect. He’s still here, at least; you can feel the chain being held upright.

Please say something, do something. You wait, suppressing a whine, trying not to get agitated as the silence grows. You breathe in, breathe out, and try to focus on what’s grounding you–the marble floor below you, the leather of the collar and the weight of the chain. The certainty that there’s someone on the other end of it, holding it for you.

“I’m here, pet,” you suddenly hear above you. “Get on your haunches.”

You exhale. It occurs to you that a month ago you wouldn’t have imagined being relieved at the sound of a voice as rough as his, but warmth floods your belly as you do, sitting back on your heels and settling your palms on the tops of your thighs, waiting for more. Give me more. Push me. Show me what I’ve been missing and the place you went to last night while I was on top of you .

He leads you up to your knees and without thinking you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out. He’s only gotten you in this position before for one purpose, so the gesture comes naturally. There’s nothing to it, you realize.

Feyd laughs quietly above you. “That’s it. You know what to do,” he says as he pushes his cock inside. “My pretty, perfect cockslut. You love this, don’t you?”

You feel yourself flush, heat flooding your face and licking up your spine. No one’s ever called you a slut before; you’d bristle at the term were it not for the fondness in Feyd’s voice, the warmth of his palm cupping your face and traveling into your hair. Without letting yourself question it you moan an assent, hands at your sides, focusing on breathing through your nose.

“Sometimes I think about claiming you in the arena,” he says, one hand secured on the chain, the other clutching the back of your head as he presses in deeper. “Showing my people how breedable you are. But I’d kill anyone else who’d ever see you like this.”

You whimper around him, trying to swallow down, trying not to gag, feeling all the wetter for it even as tears prick up at the corners of your eyes and dampen the fabric of your blindfold.

He pulls out, giving you a few seconds to breathe before pushing back in, and he’s in so impossibly deep, down your throat, that you don’t understand how you’re even taking him, but everything feels as if it’s encased in mist. All you can feel is the marble under your knees, your husband’s hands stabilizing you, his cock so close to cutting off your airflow until it doesn’t, and he releases you again–this time for an even shorter reprieve. You whimper again around it, holding still as he rocks his hips.

“You’re getting so good at this, pet,” he says. “Such a smart girl, learning so quickly.” He stops moving his hips but holds your head still for a moment, as if he’s simply curious to see how long you can take the length and girth of his cock in your mouth and down your throat, how long you can push past the discomfort and keep him there. And then in one practiced movement unlatches the leash from your collar, letting the chain fall to the floor. His grip relaxes in your hair, his hold barely more than a touch. You could pull off if you want, you realize, but he said he wants to see how obedient you can be, so you keep your hands at your sides as you swallow around him, the tears collecting in your lashes as you try to breathe through your nose.

The next time Feyd applies pressure, it’s to pull you off of him. You’re not entirely sure how long you had him down your throat, but you can feel the string of saliva connected to his cock as you gasp for air, coughing and sputtering. Your head swims. Feyd swipes his thumb over your chin and lips, collecting the saliva that’s pooled around the sides of your mouth. You’d give anything to see the expression on his face right now, but you also don’t want to take the blindfold off, not until he says so or does it himself.

Without thinking you nudge your head forward, once you’ve regained your breath and you’re certain you can take more–you can take anything he gives you and you gasp as Feyd stops you, your breath close to the head of his cock, you’re certain, but not quite touching it.

Give it to me, Feyd. Please, I can handle it. I want to prove it to you . You say nothing; you wait.

For a moment the tip of his cock brushes against your cheek and you turn your head, lavishing your tongue along his frenulum, wrapping your lips around the tip of him. You moan, utterly shameless, to try and encourage him to push in deeper. He just stays that way for a moment, though, not thrusting in, not burying his head in your hair to push your mouth onto him, either. He simply lets you feel the weight of him on your tongue before he takes a step back, slipping out, and you wait, unmoving, for what comes next, wet and pliant and ready. It’s only the marble beneath your knees that grounds you.

And then without a word he takes off your blindfold and you blink against the sudden light before you realize Feyd’s staring at you with his pupils blown wide like last night, chest heaving and mouth open. He cups your chin in one hand, eyes darting across your face. Does he see in your eyes what he felt last night?

“Get back on all fours for me, pet,” he says.

For a moment you feel disoriented. Does he want you on all fours on the bed or…?

“Right here, pet,” he says, knowing what you’re about to ask before you can ask it. You can’t speak, can’t form coherent words as you lean forward and brace yourself on your forearms, breathing in, then out. His voice sounds almost like it’s coming from another room or inside your own head, you think as he kneels behind you.

He wordlessly slides his head along the line of your spine, applying only the faintest of pressure, guiding your top half down, down, until you rest your cheek against the floor, your forearms a cage bracketing your head, your ass raised up to expose it and your weeping cunt to him. The cool marble feels nice against your flushed cheek.

He trails his fingertips along your slit, getting all the verification that he could need of what this is doing to you.

“Greedy, eager thing, aren’t you?” he says softly, and you sense him gripping his cock in his fist to line up against you. You can’t help the giggle that spills out of you. You really are, aren’t you?

He finally pushes in and you arch your back into it, wanting to slide the rest of the way onto him but waiting, knowing that you’ll accept what he gives you because you can.

“ Oh ,” you manage when he bottoms out inside of you. He’s still for just a moment, and for that moment you wait in delicious anticipation before he starts thrusting.

He doesn’t hold back, grabs your hips, kneads your ass, knowing you’ll stay face-down because there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. You probably sound needy and pathetic, but you don’t care. There’s no one here but the two of you as he pulls you onto his cock again and again, taking you on the floor, the sound of skin slapping skin, his grunts as he changes his angle that hits your insides differently, dragging against a spot within you that has you seeing spots and stars instead of the vantage point you have of the bed only a couple of meters away. You open your mouth in a silent scream, hips jerking uselessly, stomach clenching.

Feyd, ever so clever, senses your shift immediately and bears down on you from this new angle that’s probably strenuous on him, from the way the muscles in his thighs clench and his grunts become harsher, but he keeps going, giving you everything he can, everything you can take. You want to touch yourself, bring a hand between your legs, but you’re not going to. Feyd will handle it or he won’t. You feel drunk even though you haven’t had anything that could get you drunk in over a week.

“You want to come, Y/N?” Feyd asks behind you, and you moan an assent. “You’re gonna have to use your words if you want me to make you come,” he says, tone on the verge of scolding, but still playful enough to keep it from stinging.

It takes a moment to form any coherent words, the four syllables laborious. “Yes, please, husband,” you manage, voice sounding wrecked, and Feyd obliges you as soon as you get the words out, bringing his fingertips to where the two of you are joined, collecting the slick there, and rubbing circles along your bud. You can’t help but buck your hips, your moans desperate.

“That’s it, pet,” he says, rubbing harder now, probably relishing the sounds you’re making as he brings you over. You nearly black out, tears streaming down your face, clenching again and again around him, coming so hard you think you might actually be drooling, and then when you think the most intense shockwave of it has passed, you feel his seed filling you up.

I feel so full, Feyd , you think, delirious.

You can hear him panting and grunting behind you as he pulls out part way, the last of his come landing hot and viscous on the small of your back. You gasp, feeling decidedly marked up, but you don’t move, waiting for what’s coming next.

Feyd pauses; you hear his breath even out, and from the shift behind you you’re pretty sure he’s settled back onto his haunches. It seems to take him a moment to decide what he wants to do with you next before he’s kneading the soft flesh of your ass. You sigh at the contact, arching your back, and feel your mouth pop open in a surprised “Oh!” as Feyd’s tongue makes contact with your lower back, licking up the remaining droplets of his spend in one long stroke.

And then it’s done, but you don’t move, and for a moment neither does Feyd, who you suppose must just be staring at you and the way you’re exposed to him in a way that you could almost recall being humiliating around the time of your wedding but feels titillating now.

After a minute Feyd starts to get up, but you stay where you are, still face-down, ass-up, presented to him as if he were to start again immediately. He might. You can handle it if he does, you’re certain. You have no idea how long you remain there, the side of your face pressed against the floor, your body weight on your elbows and knees. The combination of yours and Feyd’s fluids seeping out of you start to turn sticky, but you’re utterly calm. You feel weightless. Your breathing evens out.

“Sit back up for me, pet,” you hear as if Feyd was a thousand leagues away. You blink and start to rise up on your forearms, stretching like a cat, rising up to sit on your haunches.

Feyd comes back into view, taking your chin in his hand. You don’t know what he’s seeing in your eyes; perhaps what you saw last night in his. He drops his hand from your face and extends them both to you in a silent offer to help you stand.

Once he has you up, he tips you, a hand behind your back, and you hardly realize what’s happening before he has you in his arms, carrying you to bed. He sets you down gentler than you expect before pulling the covers over you and climbing in with you. Smart idea; you hadn’t realized how cold you suddenly feel, shivering as Feyd gets under the covers with you, braces himself above you, and leans down for a kiss.

You kiss him back immediately, suddenly desperate. Up until this moment you’d felt almost like you were floating on a string, and now that string's been cut and you’re crashing to the ground. You gasp into it, clutching his back. You dig your nails in, your breath ragged, and after a moment Feyd pulls away, eyes darting across the different points of your face.

“You’re shaking, Y/N,” he says.

Yes, you are. A fresh batch of tears comes and spills down your cheeks and you don’t know why. If you didn’t know any better, Feyd looks almost concerned, an expression you’ve never seen on his face before that takes you a moment to place. Has he never reacted this way before? Never been affected quite this way before?

“Can you please hold me?” you finally manage, and he complies wordlessly, shifting to lay on his back, wrapping his arms around you. You don’t know what’s wrong with you, why you’re crying. You’re not sad, not angry. Just spent in a way that you’ve never felt before.

After a few minutes your breathing evens out again. The solid wall of the man holding you and the steadiness of his heartbeat against your ear helps. Feyd senses it and reaches for your collar.

“Let me keep it on for now,” you say, and Feyd stills his hand. “Please.”

Feyd looks for a moment like he wants to ask why, but doesn’t, instead keeping an arm wrapped around you as you nestle against him. You can’t explain it; right now you feel kept, like you’re something precious.

“Better?” he asks after a moment.

You nod against his chest. “But I wasn’t feeling bad before,” you manage, speaking slowly and trying not to slur your words. You doubt you have it in you to do all this over again, even if he asks, even if he manages to get you floating again. “It was just overwhelming for a second.”

“I know,” he says, and when your grip on him relaxes he shifts, moving to sit up, and you furrow your brow, wanting to follow him, nervous at the idea of being alone in this bed.

“I’ll be back,” he says. “I’m not leaving this room, pet,” he says, getting up. You notice that this time on the side table the water pitcher has two glasses and he fills both.

He notices your hands are still shaking and lifts the glass to your lips himself, watching as you gulp half the water down first, then take small sips of the rest, not setting it back down on the nightstand until it’s finished.

“When I first met you I’d never have taken you for such an affectionate little thing,” he says before taking a sip from his own glass.

“Neither would I,” you tell him. “Definitely not with you.”

Feyd smirks at that above the lip of his glass before setting it down next to yours and settling back in with you.

“I’m going to take the collar off you now,” he says.

“Okay,” you manage, fading, tilting your head to give him a better angle as he unfastens your collar and sets it on his nightstand. Not that you want him to get up and leave you alone in bed again, but you’re a little surprised that he doesn’t immediately and meticulously set everything back in his armoire. He’s not the type to leave things until the following morning. But he’s doing it now; he turns off the light and quietly turns you around so he can pull your back to his chest and slide one muscled thigh between your own.

You’re not sure what the name is for what you’re feeling, the way he shifts and wraps an arm around you and nuzzles his face into your hair. It’s a sinking feeling rather than the floating feeling you had earlier, but nice all the same. You start to drift off, the feeling of his heartbeat against your back, his breath slowing down, and just before you fall asleep you remember the word you’re looking for.

Peaceful .

The next morning you don’t wake up until you feel the absence of a solid form behind you and sit up to notice Feyd almost-fully dressed, putting on his boots.

He gives you a small smile when he senses you watching him.

“Excited for tonight?” you ask him.

Feyd’s smile fades as he stands. “It’s an obligation like the rest. We’ll make a good appearance for the guests, Uncle will get the confirmation he needs, and we can plan for tomorrow.”

“So is that a no?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard.

“I obey the Bene Gesserit’s instructions. I don't have to like them,” he says, voice flat.

You look down. He’s implied it before; you’d assume it’s because the Bene Gesserit tend to make powerful men nervous but there’s likely more to it.

His mother was Bene Gesserit. You’re not about to ask if she treated him like a son or a cog in her Sisterhood’s larger plans. Not this morning, perhaps not ever, you think as he watch him leave.

The entire Fortress is bustling, preparing for incoming visitors; not just the Bene Gesserit but Harkonnens living off-planet in colonies and fiefdoms as well as a few guests from other Houses. Your family will not be among them, but they’ve sent a gift–casks of some of your planet’s finest liquor, apparently.

Not that you blame them for not wanting to come to Geidi Prime, but it would be nice to see them, especially when you can feel the mounting pressure on you like a valve you wish you could release.

It’s both too soon and later than you realize when you have to change into a different dress that’s thankfully more modest than your gown for tomorrow, complete with long black gloves and a lace cloak meant to evoke the often-veiled and hooded style of the women you’ll be greeting.

Itkonen will be the first Harkonnen official to greet the Bene Gesserit after they receive their medication to help with the atmosphere, at which point you and Feyd will accept them and act as intermediaries before bringing them to the Baron. The Baron’s also reminded you and Feyd that they’ll examine you to make sure that you’ve secured an heir for the Harkonnen line, as if either of you could forget. As if that’s not the entire reason the two of you even met.

The anticipation builds as you and Feyd wait in the Reception Hall, you on his left and half a step behind him in deference. In front of both guests and other Harkonnens, you call Feyd exclusively by his title, because as far as Harkonnen politics are concerned, you may be his wife, but you are not his partner. You are his subject, and as such you will keep up the appearance of being his doting subject, his broodmare, his doll that dresses and presents herself as he chooses. You’ll live with it, and some part of you might even want to smirk at how the people won’t be privy to what you and him have developed. They won’t see how you’ve fucked him into an incoherent state, how worshipfully he licks your cunt, or how he likes holding you against his chest at night when you fall asleep, but the two of you will know better.

You’re also reasonably certain that these women, certainly the Reverend Mother Mohiam, will know better as well.

Itkonen steps in, inclines his head, and announces your Bene Gesserit guests. His dark eyes slide towards them as they enter, a hint of a derisive smirk on his thin lips that only you and Feyd see as he glances back at him. Duplicitous whores, the lot of them, aren’t they, boss? his eyes suggest.

All the women are veiled, most with their faces hidden. You incline your head in a slow, respectful curtsy. This is what you’ve been training for your entire life. You were made for this, you remind yourself as you then lift your head with a polite smile.

You only recognize the Reverend Mother Mohiam, but there’s another just behind her, one who’s quite beautiful with almost cat-like eyes and high cheekbones. You noticed her, though, not because she’s beautiful but because you could sense Feyd-Rautha just barely stiffen for a moment beside you as they entered the room, and when you glanced over at him saw a glimmer in his eyes that suggested uncomfortable recognition. If you hadn’t been so close to him you wouldn’t have noticed but it’s unmistakable.

They’ve met before , you realize, even as they don’t exchange a word of conversation and the woman doesn’t spare him so much as a second glance, her gaze on you.

Feyd seems to recover almost immediately as he greets the Reverend Mother. “We offer our fondest welcome to your Reverence and your Sisters on behalf of the Baron and Geidi Prime, and gratitude for making the trip here for the occasion.”

Reverend Mother Mohiam looks both unsurprised and unimpressed that the Baron himself couldn’t be bothered to get up from his throne but accepts the greeting with the same dignified coldness she’d shown you back on your planet. She looks over at you, taking inventory of your still-intact hair and eyebrows, and looks back at Feyd. “We appreciate your hospitality, Na-Baron Harkonnen,” she says.

You’d almost forgotten that Feyd does a decent job despite having a menacing presence at playing the part of statesman and representative. Not that he was ever quite able to fool you into thinking that he’s harmless–and he certainly doesn’t fool them–but he manages to keep the small-talk polite without being insipid as the two of them lead the conversation towards the Baron’s throne room.

The Baron stays seated in his suspensor chair, which whirrs forward as he nods his head in acknowledgement. “Welcome to Geidi Prime, your Reverence,” he says. “We do hope you and your Sisters enjoy the festivities during your stay. My gentle niece-in-law will be especially accommodating. She’ll be relieved for female companionship.”

Much as it makes you want to grind your teeth and glare at him to speak as though you aren’t there, he’s right about that. How he’d even know, you’re not sure. He’s certainly not asked you.

“Our services will take only a minute, but we appreciate the invitation to enjoy Feyd-Rautha’s birthday,” the Reverend Mother tells him.

“Forgive me for not knowing the exact details,” the Baron says, “but what process do you use to determine if young Y/N has secured the Harkonnen bloodline?”

“Nothing invasive, Baron,” the Reverend Mother replies. “Just a private meeting.”

“Well, then, you certainly have your opportunity now,” the Baron says, gesturing loosely towards you. “The people of Geidi Prime will be happy to know that my nephew has continued the Harkonnen bloodline.” He looks at Reverend Mother Mohiam expectantly, as if to say, alright, let’s get it over with. Show me if my nephew knocked up this Y/H whore or not .

She holds his gaze. “We’ll conduct the test privately, absent of any men,” she says.

The Baron blinks and looks at her as if to say, Are you dismissing me? Have you lost your mind? You can’t possibly expect me to wait outside , before beckoning a servant over.

“Show the Na-Baroness and our Bene Gesserit visitors to the next room, on the left. It should more than suffice for their needs,” he tells her.

It is; a sort of lounge area that tomorrow will be teeming with guests, you notice as you trail in. There are ample seating areas, tables that can and will hold down trays of food and drink. The lighting is even somewhat hospitable.

“May I ask,” you start as you’ve all filed in, “how you’ll be conducting the investigation, your Reverence?”

The Reverend Mother looks at you. “You seem healthy,” she says. She means, Feyd-Rautha’s been civil towards you?

“Thank you, your Reverence,” you tell her. “Geidi Prime requires an adjustment period, but I believe I've been able to find some decent footing here.”

The Reverend Mother looks a moment longer at you before speaking. “Have you met Lady Margot Fenring before?” she asks, extending her arm to the woman you couldn’t help but notice earlier.

“We have not met officially, your Reverence,” you say, looking over at her. Fenring . She must be the wife of Count Hasimir Fenring, then, even if she looks like she must be a good thirty years younger than him.

“Lady Fenring here is expecting as well, Na-Baroness Y/N,” the Reverend Mother says. “She has a certain talent for detecting pregnancy in other women before doctors even can.”

You glance at Lady Fenring’s stomach and don’t see a bump–a still-recent development, then. She sees where your gaze drops and explains, “I’m only two months along,” she tells you. “A daughter.”

“Congratulations, Lady Fenring,” you tell her, cautious, wishing you knew more about Bene Gesserit customs. Nothing invasive, they said, watching as Lady Fenring delicately pulls off the glove of her right hand and reaches for your stomach.

You take a small step back before you realize it, and Lady Fenring gives a coquettish little smile.

“ Don’t be afraid ,” she tells you, her voice pleasant and melodic, and she slowly places her ungloved hand on your lower abdomen. For a moment, your heart slows down, your limbs feeling heavy, and you’re not entirely sure if her words were spoken aloud or if you thought of them yourself.

The woman closes her eyes and you can’t help but stare, vulnerable at her gentle touch but unable to move. You feel lost, reminded of the early morning fog on your planet, before the sun starts rising. You close your eyes as well to try and snap out of it, but the same murky feeling persists where fear and dread had been.

Did she just…did she just use the Voice on me?

That can’t be right. The Voice is forceful, commanding, or so you’ve heard. Margot Fenring is anything but. You breathe in, breathe out, and wait, until she speaks again.

“Congratulations, Na-Baroness Y/N. Your union has proven fruitful.”

You open your eyes and gasp, unable to tame your reaction before it comes, unable to stop your smile and breathless, “ Really? ” You suddenly feel sharper, everything brighter, as Lady Fenring removes her hand and you move yours to where it had been.

“The life growing within you is new, the seed still very small, but it’s there, and it’s growing,” she tells you.

You can’t help but laugh a little, bringing a hand to cover your mouth as you do. You did it . How long has it been forming? A week? Two? Three? Is it smaller than an apple seed? Can this woman tell if it’s a boy like Feyd claims he dreamt of?

And then you think about the other man waiting for the news outside, probably more impatient for the results than your husband. Your smile fades and you drop both hands to your sides.

“Thank you, Lady Fenring,” you tell her. “The Na-Baron will be pleased.”

You need to help me keep the Baron away from it, keep him from c orrupting it. If you’re anywhere near as invested in keeping it safe as I am then …

This is why they’re here, you remind yourself. They need you and your progeny to be healthy. They’ll look after you.

You emerge with the Bene Gesserit sisters trailing behind you.

“We bear good news,” the Reverend Mother says. “The Na-Baroness is with child.”

Funny thing is that before all of this, before you thought you'd get married to a Harkonnen, you'd never had any expectations about how the moment would happen, when you would find out you were pregnant for the first time and told your husband. It hadn't been a situation you'd ever really entertained even as it was always inevitable. And yet this feels disappointing, not even being able to say it yourself, and having the news shared in front of your vile uncle-in-law as you try to seem demurely pleased and nothing else. You try not to make direct eye contact with Feyd. This isn't for either of you as individuals. It's for the Harkonnen bloodline, for the Baron, for the Bene Gesserit and their selective breeding program. So when it stings a little that Feyd 's only response is a nod in your direction as if to say, Well, done, you feel silly for it.

The Baron says, “We’ll wait until after Feyd’s birthday celebration to make the announcement; we don’t want to overshadow his match. Still,” he glances at you, “the people of Geidi Prime will be delighted to know that he’s continued the Harkonnen line.”

You lower your head. He truly has a gift for being able to suck the joy out of any celebration. The baby growing in your womb will have to share space with the gnawing twin feelings of disgust and dread settling in your stomach.

After that, though, the Baron makes it abundantly clear that his main purpose for inviting these women has been accomplished and foists the responsibilities of entertaining all but the Reverend Mother onto you.

“Mohiam will speak with you tomorrow, young Y/N,” he says to you. “But in the meantime, I’m sure there’s lots for you to discuss with our other distinguished guests.”

You curtsy and assure him that you’ll be an exemplary hostess in your most deferential tone before you and the other women are escorted back into the room you’d just been in; servants have already begun laying out plates of foods, various delicacies representing different Houses, goblets with pitchers of water, juices, and wine.

The veiled women wait until the food and drinks are set out and all the male servants have gone before they show their faces, lifting their veils to take the first sips and bites. Their ages range from possibly even younger than you to their seventies, all quiet at first.

Lady Fenring ranks above the rest of them both in title and within their ranks, it seems, as they defer to her and she’s the one who initiates conversation with you.

“It appears you’re adjusting well to Geidi Prime,” she says.

“Thank you, Lady Fenring,” you tell her. “It was an unfamiliar environment to which to adapt, but the Fortress has been accommodating.”

“We’re in casual company now, do feel free to call me Margot,” she tells you, and you blame it on the fact that you haven’t gotten to talk to any of your friends in over a month that you smile, feeling warmth flood your chest.

“Then feel free to call me Y/N,” you tell her.

“I was curious about your hair,” one of the Sisters says. “The fact that you still have it–was it your decision or your husband’s?”

“The Na-Baron informed me shortly before the wedding that I could keep my hair. It’s my preference as well, but I would’ve made a concession if it had been required,” you tell her. He only allowed the hair I have growing out of my head, though, you don’t add.

“About the hairlessness–is it a personal choice or are Harkonnens simply incapable of growing any?” she asks.

“They are while living here,” you tell her, knowing that everyone’s listening. “Geidi Prime’s bustling with industry but not organic life. I’ve heard that it’s only possible for Harkonnens to start growing hair if they live off-planet for long enough.”

“It is indeed,” Margot says. “The late Abulurd Rabban had not only a full head of hair but a beard when he died, but at that point he’d been living on Lankiveil for over twenty-five years. Have you ever seen a picture of him?”

“I have not,” you tell her. “His memory isn’t widely celebrated here, for obvious reasons.” You’ve never seen a picture of either of Feyd’s parents, but you’ve wondered what arrangement of features they each had that they could have produced such different-looking brothers as him and Rabban.

She looks at you a moment longer, as if contemplating what next line of questions she has for you.

“I’ve done a bit of research,” you say first. “The Harkonnens are of course better known for commerce and warfare but the library they have in the Fortress is very impressive.” You wonder how transparently you’re trying to play ambassador. You wonder how much it’s working.

When you all conclude your meal, and once all the plates are cleared, the other Sisters find conversation with each other, leaving you and Margot alone, and the thought gently scratching at the back of your mind becomes clearer; this friendly conversation is a soft interrogation. Margot will relay everything, your words and the tone with which you speak them, back to the Reverend Mother. Whether or not she is actually interested in your opinions is entirely beside the point, but even with this she certainly makes you feel that way. Her body language is demure but inviting, her questions polite but never overtly invasive as she asks you about your upbringing and your hobbies, how you spend time on your new planet.

You’ve never met someone who seems both serene and somehow unsettling in a way you cannot articulate but feels tangible. She has a certain poise you realize the longer the two of you sit in the same vicinity, that you just haven’t matured into yet. She’s older than you and Feyd, more complete than either of you.

She tilts her head at you at one point and says, “Forgive my questioning, but had you ever been courted or had an intimate relationship before your marriage?”

“A brief-lived courtship,” you tell her. “Nothing substantial ever came of it nor did I expect it to; neither of us had high hopes that my father would approve of him as a potential husband, and I suppose I’ve always been too practical to entertain the concept of a love-match.”

Margot blinks slowly, and her next words are as diplomatic and polite as anyone can manage with the subject you realize she’s about to breach. “I ask only because I’m sure you’ve heard some discouraging, perhaps intimidating rumors about Harkonnen men?”

Ah . There it is .

“I have,” you tell her. “But I’ve also heard for years about how the best way to temper a man is through catering to his desires,” you tell her. “Even without any substantial prior experience it didn’t take long to understand what my husband wanted and how to provide it for him.”

You don’t need to delve any deeper. She’s both Bene Gesserit and married; she’s known this for years before you did.

But there’s a part of you that wants her to know that you’re more observant than people may realize. There’s an even greater part of you that wants to know what caused Feyd to nearly flinch when he saw her when you’d never seen such a reaction from him before.

“May I ask how you first met the Na-Baron?” you ask, trying to keep your voice a mask of politeness and casual indifference.

She doesn’t look surprised at your question, which unnerves you further. “I was assigned to test him,” she says.

“On what?” you ask, fairly certain you know the answer.

“Whether or not he could play into our larger plans. What I found was interesting. Despite being a man with no Bene Gesserit training he possessed a level of prescience I’ve seen only in my Sisters.”

He dreamt about our son . You try not to let your nerves show.

“And then there was his pain tolerance,” she adds, cat-like eyes on you.

You keep a straight face as you wonder how she’d be familiar with it. Has she bitten him? Flogged him?

She keeps you waiting for only a second before continuing. “Have you heard of the Gom Jabbar?” she asks.

“I think so?” You weren’t sure if it was a real thing or a myth concocted to instill fear of disobeying the Bene Gesserit, but you’ve heard of a test meant to bring whoever takes it to the extremes of pain, and that many of those subjected to such a test did not live to pass it.

“He not only passed, but he lasted longer than anyone I’ve ever tested.” She meets your gaze as she says, “I’ve never seen anyone react to it quite like he did. He didn’t just endure it; he enjoyed it.”

Oh . Well, that would explain how they know each other, you think, trying to parse your own jumbled thoughts. That’s probably all she did; she has a husband, after all, and she was testing Feyd to see if he’d be a good match for you , not herself.

But despite yourself you imagine her riding him with slow, deliberate movements rather than the grinding, bouncing desperation that you had doing the same thing two nights ago. The image makes you inhale and glance away as you try to shake it from your mind.

Weeks ago the thought of him satiating himself with someone else would’ve been a relief. Now a shameful ball of jealousy blooms in your chest, and she can sense it. The Bene Gesserit aren’t truly omniscient, you know this, but she seems almost close to it. It’s embarrassing how transparent and vulnerable she makes you feel, like a child trying to keep pace with an adult who’s skilled at a game you’re still learning.

For her part she seems politely amused when you look away, feeling yourself flush. You won’t ask if she saw him in the arena and took to his bed. You don’t want to know if she indulged him in some of his darker fantasies or if she was able to coax him into a submissive state that took you a month to discover.

Focus on what she just told you, you remind yourself.

“You've seen it in him,” she says. It's not a question. Not from her, in any case, but the Reverend Mother will want to know, and it takes only a couple of seconds to cave.

“I have. Both his masochism and his prescience,” you admit. You won’t share any specific details, though; it’s too intimate to share with this woman, even as it feels as though she’s seeing you naked, like she can extrapolate your most personal moments with Feyd from a single glance.

Margot smiles. “Her Reverence will be most impressed with you.”

The evening concludes when it seems as though the Baron’s meeting with the Reverend Mother has, and servants come in to escort the Bene Gesserit to the guest suites.

As you all emerge you see Feyd, stone-faced, glancing between you and Margot as he notices the two of you walking alongside one another. You look over at her, who curtsies towards you.

“It was a pleasure speaking with you, Na-Baroness,” she says, undoubtedly aware of the attention the two of you are getting.

“You as well, Lady Fenring,” you tell her as you incline your head.

Feyd barely manages a curt nod in her direction before turning away, presenting his arm for you to take as you head back to the private residence wing.

You don’t say it; if you say it you won’t be able to take it back, feign ignorance. You don’t say a word on the walk back, and for a solid few minutes, neither does Feyd. He offers no recourse, and doesn't tell you what he, his uncle, the Reverend Mother, and Itkonen were all discussing over dinner and beyond it. His silence lasts just long enough to set you on edge, make you wonder if he’s upset about something.

“You did well tonight,” he finally says, as the two of you reach your quarters. “Uncle doesn’t care to entertain female company,” he adds, the closest thing to innuendo he’s suggested when it comes to the Baron, “so while he won’t say it, he was relieved to push them onto you.”

You smile. “Diplomacy is what I’ve been training for since I was a child,” you tell him. “I wasn’t prepared for the intimate parts of marriage, but I trained for the politics of it for most of my life.” Marriage is politics for a woman in my position . “Although I’d like to think I’m getting reasonably good at the intimate parts as well,” you say, leaning in, looking up at him as if to ask, Your room or mine tonight? You start to wrap your arms around his shoulders, thinking about how you’ll get to sleep more easily if he’s there, nestled behind you like he usually is.

Feyd doesn’t move, instead staying where he is, rigid and unyielding. “Not tonight,” he says.

You’re confused at first, pulling back, certain you misheard, but he’s completely serious. Hadn’t he talked about wanting to spill his seed in more places than just inside of you? How he’d wanted to continue fucking you even after confirmation of your pregnancy?

You drop your arms and take a step back. Did seeing Margot Fenring put him off? Is she the type of woman he’d prefer? Not a Bene Gesserit, he’s said as much, but a woman with more effortless poise? Or does he intend to find someone else tonight now that he doesn’t need to take you?

“I understand,” you say, trying not to let your hurt and indignation show. “We’ve done what was necessary to secure an heir and now there’s no need.” Not for another year at least .

Feyd looks amused for a moment, taking in your disappointment that he’s not going to bury himself inside of you like usual. It is sort of funny, in a sense. Weeks ago you would never have anticipated wanting his touch and feeling disappointed at not getting it.

“I abstain from indulging any kind of carnal desires the night before arena matches,” he says. “With others or with myself.”

Why? you want to ask, pretty sure the answer lies in something along the lines of discipline or wanting to save pent-up energy to put on a show for his audience.

“I’m pregnant ,” you say instead, more to yourself than to him. It’s almost incredible how shocked you are that the realistic outcome to the past month is finally here. Like being surprised that a seed you’ve planted and watered every day is starting to sprout.

His almost-smile turns as close to soft as you’ve ever seen on him. “How ‘bout that?” he says quietly, pressing the palm of his hand to your stomach. His touch is gentle, his eyes drifting to where his hand rests. For a moment you don’t think you’ve ever felt closer to him. For a moment you’re not concerned with politics, with the Baron, with your future, and you can insulate the two of you inside the warmth you feel blooming in your chest.

“Can I kiss you, at least?” you ask. He looks at you and nods, and you take your opportunity, cradling the side of his face and wrapping your other arm around his shoulder as you pull him to you.

He breaks the kiss first, but still rests his forehead against yours, his hands on your waist. You can’t resist giving him one last peck on the lips, needing to pull away because otherwise you’re going to keep holding on.

“Good night, husband,” you tell him, your voice thicker than you realized, feeling a rush within you.

You finally have allies here; you’ll be able to talk to the Reverend Mother, devise the best way to keep the Baron away from your children so that what happened to Feyd will never happen again.

You will find a way.

You wake up in the morning feeling resolute. It’s not the same quiet dread that you had on your wedding night, but the tension in the air still feels thick.

You won’t be seeing Feyd until it’s time to adorn him with war paint; you will dine separately, prepare separately, and once you have finished painting his body will sit in the stands waiting for his not-match. After that the people of Geidi Prime will shower him with their praise and adoration and the entire Fortress will celebrate the Na-Baron’s birthday. You’re not likely to have any real privacy with him today, certainly not until bedtime and even then you imagine it’s going to be a late night of entertaining well-wishers and keeping up appearances.

Your food is brought to your quarters, and you find you don’t have much of an appetite, between the snug fit of your dress’s bodice and the thudding feeling that starts in your ribcage and spreads downwards. Not just Idrisa but another attendant helps prepare you to look as anointed and pristine as you were on your wedding day.

You wear your hair down, save for two braids starting at your temple and connecting at the back of your head. It’s not defiance against the Harkonnens; they surely know that you look precisely how the Na-Baron wants you to.

Lips painted black aren’t any less common here than teeth dyed the same color, you think as you apply your cosmetics. In fact, when you apply it, you think about how your mouth resembles an inverse of your husband’s.

Your husband .

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is beloved by his own people, feared and despised by others. He’s a force of violence, a killer and stone-cold executioner. He’s a sadomasochist who comes from the most dysfunctional family you’ve ever seen and is set to lead the most bloodthirsty population in Landsraad. He’s also known you with such tangible intimacy that it’s sometimes overwhelming. He’s brought you to heights of pleasure you hadn’t thought possible. He’s the man whose child you’re carrying in your womb at this very moment, even if the whole of Geidi Prime doesn’t know yet.

You are going to go out and watch the arena match as the Na-Baroness, and as the bridge between his world and the rest of Landsraad, both of and separate from the Harkonnens.

You keep your head held high, the quiet clicking of your heels against the floor the only sound you make as you and Idrisa head for the chambers where your husband’s preparing to make his appearance.

At the entrance is another girl whose name you don’t know, and they flank you down a flight of stairs you’ve traversed only once, and two a set of double-doors guarded by two men in white who bow their heads, eyes downcast before opening the doors for you.

On the other side of the room a pair of young women wait, one of them holding a bowl and the other a pair of translucent gloves.

And there’s the man himself, stripped to ceremonial loincloth, watching you enter. His gaze sweeps up and down the length of your body, taking in the sight of your long, unadorned hair, painted-black lips, and every feature your gown shows off to almost exaggerated effect.

You stop for a moment and incline your head. “Happy birthday, Na-Baron,” you tell him.

“Come to give me my gift, then?” he asks, and a month ago you’d have thought his tone cold and mocking. Now it sounds as close to playful as he’s willing to get with other people present, especially as he’s still staring at you.

“Yes, Na-Baron,” you tell him, and glance to the side, at the raised platform jutting out of the wall. His Darlings are all curled up in a pile, lazily but contentedly watching the two of you. They’re wearing clothes this time, matching outfits.

“You dressed them for the occasion?” you ask Feyd.

“I had servants sedate, bathe, and dress them, but yes,” he says.

One has a stripe painted on her forehead; she seems to be the leader of the pack, moving first and the other two deferring to her, and she leans over as far as she can manage, nuzzling against your side

You inhale sharply, picturing her not for the first time taking a bite out of your lower abdomen with those black fangs.

Feyd can sense it. “They won’t hurt you,” he says. “They like you.”

I wish I could say the same about them , you think as she purrs–another feature no doubt installed by the Bene Tleilax.

“Do they smell it?” you ask. The baby?

“It wouldn’t surprise me if they did,” Feyd says,

I won’t allow them near the baby when it’s born , is a conversation for another place and time, when there aren’t other people around and you don’t have an imminent task. The girl holding the bowl steps forward, head bowed, to remind you why you’re here.

“Let’s prepare you, then,” you say, and Feyd gives you a small smile before turning his back to you.

Maybe when he first told you to paint him, he thought it would demean you, but it doesn’t. You doubt he feels that way anymore, either. He rolls his shoulders back briefly, and you watch the taut muscles ripple under his pale skin.

I was terrified of you the first time I saw you like this, you don’t tell him as you press your fingertips against him, but even then I thought you were impressive to look at. Maybe not a traditionally handsome man as far as I was concerned, but I liked seeing you in a loincloth back then, too.

One of the girls holds the bowl for you, and the other gives you a pair of gloves to keep you from staining your hands. You looked up the design–they change depending on the occasion and a birthday or other holiday requires its own set of strokes.

“Is this correct?” you ask, feeling pretty certain that it is.

“Yes, that’s right, Na-Baroness,” the girl holding the bowl says softly, hardly more than a whisper.

“Very good, Na-Baroness,” echoes the girl just beside her, waiting to take your gloves off for you once you’re finished.

Feyd’s silent as you work, turning his head briefly and giving you a view of his profile as he glances over his shoulder at you as if to speak, but ultimately remaining silent. You don’t have much to say, either, nothing that you want an audience for.

He’s going to kill people today; you assume prisoners of war, former soldiers who would put up a tough fight if the playing field were even. Instead they’ll be drugged before meeting your husband, their ruthless and efficient executioner. It’s not fair, it’s not good. It’s not something you can call yourself proud to be associated with, but it’s him. And you’re a part of his life, his legacy. A knot forms under your ribs as you finish with his back and focus on his chest and stomach. Does he share the combination of power and vulnerability you feel now, as he stays still for you to adorn his body with ceremonial paint? Is he looking forward to cutting down total strangers in front of thousands of cheering people? Because for all the discussion in the Fortress for it, Feyd seems less excited for it than everyone surrounding him. Does he quietly long for the thrill of a real fight? A challenge amongst everyone catering to his every desire?

You finish painting him and take a step back, allowing the girl next to you to pull your gloves off before she and her partner scurry to the side. For a moment it feels like there’s no one else in the room, and you think as you look at Feyd in his loincloth and ceremonial paint that he’s devastatingly beautiful.

“Thank you, Na-Baron,” you tell him.

His eyes look dark in these halls; it’s tough to find the blue of them. “For making me a part of this,” you add. “A part of your culture.”

He stares at you for a moment, expression inscrutable, before snapping the fingers of his right hand. Idrisa and the other girl hurry forward, hands clasped in front of them and eyes downcast.

He still looks at you. “Uncle will sit in his usual spot, that's his alone. He’ll have you sit in the private box with the Bene Gesserit Sisters. It’s a gesture meant to insult you, but don’t take the bait. Just keep being hospitable to our guests.”

“Yes, Na-Baron,” you say.

A figure enters; a fat man carrying a cushion laden with knives–the swordmaster. Feyd’s eyes flicker briefly towards him before turning back to you, and he gives a small nod. Dismissed .

For a moment you’re not entirely sure what to say. Good luck? It would be insulting to imply that he needs it. I can hardly wait? He knows that’s not true. In the end you say nothing, opting to curtsy before leaving, taking the same steps you’ve taken once before, ready to play your part as he plays his.

The slaughter awaits.

Tagged: @alexandrainlove @richardslady121 @blazeflays @wo-ming-bai @cavillandevanssandwhich

Also please lmk if you'd like to be tagged!

Our supporting players for this chapter:

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #feyd x you #dune part two #feyd rautha smut #feyd smut #feyd rautha x reader #dune #dune 2

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lo1k-diamonds · 3 months

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💎Masterlist💎

All my writing can be found on ao3 and there’s no way I’m putting my gigantic stories here 🙈😅

That said, I’ll still put here the list with all my stories and links to find them!

[All my stories have angst - from just a misunderstanding to full-blown out-of-proportion fights 😋]

🔥 » SMUT | 📚 » multichapter | 🎀 » fluff [G- general/T- teen/M-mature/E-explicit]

Series

Soul Palette (Soulmate AU) >> [Masterpost] >> In this soulmate alternative universe, there are no marks, no strings, and no traces to guide them to their other half. But if they listen carefully, destiny is just around the corner patiently waiting to mix them in the soul palette and create universes - together.

SX Seoul >> [Masterpost] >> SX Seoul is a new club in Itaewon. Decorated with neon lights, its cozy and enveloping ambiance will have you living your wildest dreams. Each story is standalone - one per member!

Unique (E) 🔥📚 - OC x idol!NJ

Part 1: After overhearing something he shouldn’t have, Namjoon promises to make it up to the bride by keeping her maid of honor company during the rehearsal dinner party. What was supposed to be an unremarkable night became something so much more. [Tumblr]

Part 2: It’s a year later when Angie decides to visit Hyejin, both women looking to get away from their problems. But a certain group is just pausing their tour, and old feelings are rekindled when their paths cross.

Klartraum (E) 🔥📚 - OC x idol!NJ - AU » A story that follows Namjoon as he takes notes of his dreams of you in a dream journal.

Smoke Sprite (M) 🔥 - idol!Namjoon x So!YoON! - A short drabble about the song [Tumblr]

Closer (E) 🔥 - SX Seoul Series » NJ x Reader » Namjoon and you were friends for years — he was your confidant, protector, and haven. You didn’t want to risk it, no matter what, but some things can’t be kept in the dark. [Tumblr]

Jin

Carnation (T)📚 - Soul Palette (Soulmate AU) (1st entry)» OC x idol!SJ » In early 2018, BTS were at a crossroads: after working so hard to set foot in the music industry of South Korea, their sudden jump into stardom became something they never anticipated. Jin believed in his dongsaengs but was just as lost as them when his soulmate entered the picture. [1st chapter - Tumblr]

Break-line (E) 🔥 - SX Seoul Series » Jin x Reader » You’ve been chasing dreams and medals ever since you can remember, with your best friend Seokjin by your side. You thought you had everything you could possibly want — until you find out Jin is keeping a secret from you. [Tumblr]

Suga

Call you mine (E) 🔥📚 - Soul Palette (Soulmate AU) (3rd entry)» OC x idol!YG » A slowburn rejection soulmate story about falling in love with Min Yoongi. [1st chapter - Tumblr]

Sugar Rush Ride (E) 🔥 - SX Seoul Series » YG x Reader » You produced a song based on your hidden desires for your fellow producer and promised yourself that tonight, things would change. You were done pining after him, but then he arrived at the listening party. [Tumblr]

Too Sweet (E) 🔥📚 » You x Demon!YG » Coming from unabashed wealth has its perks — like never having to lift a finger in your life. When that suddenly changes, you end up at a crossroads: how far will you go to have everything you want? [Masterpost]

J-hope

Seeking the sunrise (E) 🔥📚 - Soul Palette (Soulmate AU) (2nd entry)» OC x idol!HS » No one needs a soulmate to have love, right? [1st Chapter - Tumblr]

Jimin

Dress (E) 🔥 - OC x idol!JM » After pining for years, she has reached her breaking point — and it started with a dress. [Reader version - Tumblr]

Like Crazy (E) 🔥 - SX Seoul Series » JM x Reader » You let your desires run wild and things got too far while figuring out the choreography for Jimin’s next single. You thought it was best to pretend it never happened, but he decided to chase you, hoping to set things right. [Tumblr]

Love Crumbs (M) 📚 - OC x Office!Tae - Office AU » Quinn’s plans were simple: win that promotion and maybe have a little fun on the side. Taehyung was in love with someone else, but that wasn’t an issue. It’s a shame things are never really that simple.

A woman's best friend (E) 🔥 - Tae x (f) reader » When you met, you and Taehyung hit it off instantly, becoming the closest of friends. You thought he was off limits, meanwhile, he’s been begging for a chance to put an end to your friendship. [Tumblr]

Paramour (E) 🔥 - SX Seoul Series » Tae x (f) reader » You were born for the quick and glamorous life surrounding celebrities — they had their little dramas and breakdowns, and you were there to clean up the mess. But you have your own secret, and doing your job might get you in trouble with your paramour. [Tumblr]

Jungkook

Far Cry (E)🔥📚 - OC x idol!JK - Lost AU » After barely escaping captivity, Jungkook is lost in a jungle on an unknown island with an injured Namjoon and an amnesiac girl. {ongoing 💜} [1st Chapter - Tumblr] ➡ snippets

Standing Next to You (M) 🔥 - You x Demon!JK - MV based » JK is a lust demon — a powerful being that inflames desires at the simplest glance. That is his nature and all there is to his existence. Until there was you.

Bubbles (E) 🔥📚 - SX Seoul Series » JK x Reader » You’re back in town and your first stop in a night out with friends is a new club: SX Seoul. You had no plans, but when you see your ex, everything changes. - [Part 1] [Part 2]

How to Choose a Valentine (T) 🎀 - reader x idol!JK » Who knew the best company for Valentine’s Day would be a lovely Doberman? And who knew he’d get you a Valentine? Well, sort of. [Tumblr]

#masterlist #bts imagines #bts fanfic #ao3 fanfic #lo1k-diamonds writes 💎

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zelinktines24 · 7 months

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Masterlist 2024

Hey everyone! We had so many entries this year, wow! Here's the master list which wouldn't exist without @deiliamedlini having painstakingly put it together! Thank you again, Deilia! 🫶

I got feedback that more of you want to do a multi-chapter fic next year, so l'm going to try to release the prompts a bit earlier.

Chaptered Fics covering all prompts:

Third Time's A Charm -@mistresslrigtar

Cozy Cozy: A Zelinktines Story- @eugenerapunzel A Warm Embrace- @cjracingpnf First Snow- @writingnocturne Cherished- @sparklyhyperbole Cozy-@gathoscorner

Glow Glow: A Zelinktines Story- eugenerapunzel Flickers- @taapje Past Love- writingnocturne

Reunion Reunion- @floraunderground Reunion- @pitchblackespresso Reunion: A Zelinktine's Story- eugenerapunzel A Century to Fall In Love- @zelzenik To have a choice- @zeldaelmo

Blush A Warm Embrace- cjracingpnf Blush- @louwhose Spring- @wildpeanut Birthday Seal-ebrations- sparklyhyperbole

Sun: To the Moon and Back: From the Sun- @aurathian From the Sky- writingnocturne

Moon From the Sky- writingnocturne Zelink: The Full Moon Fever- @legofanguy To The Moon and Back: To the Moon- aurathian

Stars From the Sky- writingnocturne Stars- @unicorn30067a To The Moon and Back- And even the stars- aurathian Stars- @legofanguy1999 Star- sparklyhyperbole

Bonding Cooking Lessons- pitchblackespresso Bonding with the Princess: A Zelinktines Story- eugenerapunzel Sparring- wildpeanut Bonding- @gathoscorner To have a family- dubiiousfood

A Watery Smile A Watery Smile- louwhose Nightmares- wildpeanut A Watery Smile: A Zelinktines Story- eugenerapunzel A Watery Smile- @floraunderground

Melody An Encounter in Kokiri Forest- louwhose Moving On: ALttP; Zelinktines Melody- @daemosdaen Zelink: Our Song- legofanguy1999

Heartbeat Heartbeat- unicorn30067a Zelink: By a Heartbeat- legofanguy1999 Heartbeat- @kokiriforestspirit

Dusk Dusk to Dawn: Dusk- aurathian

Dawn Dawn to Dusk: Dawn- aurathian Famous Prophets (Stars)- @korokposting

Rumors Rumors- aurathian Rumors- legofanguy1999

That's My Shirt That's My Tunic: A Zelinktines Story- eugenerapunzel Zelinktines: That is my Shirt- legofanguy Of Breakfast and Buttons- @railtracer30

Dare Zelink: A Challenge to Kiss the Captain- legofanguy The Dubious Delite- railtracer30 The Flowers Rage- @dubiiousfood

Fire Soup, Sandwiches, and Burnt Ends- railtracer30 Zelink: By the Housefire- legofanguy Permafrost: Bolero of Fire- aurathian

Ice Bumping the Shoulder- railtracer30 Ice- @unicorn30067a Zelink: Lesson in Ice Skating- legofanguy Permafrost: Serenade of Water- aurathian Ice Skating- dubiiousfood Icebreakers- @ladyhoneydee

Secret Resignation- railtracer30 The Fixed Eye- @bahbahhh A Secret of the Hero of Twilight and His Queen- legofanguy Enough- wildpeanut

Diary Diary- legofanguy1999 Excerpts from the Personal Diary of One Zelda Artemis Hyrule, Mj- railtracer30 Dear Diary- cjracingpnf

Breathless Zelink: Lost Breathing Without You- legofanguy Stabilizing Agent- railttracer30 Oh, You Fill My Lungs With Sweetness- @crazybananacakes

The Worst Pickup Line Last Sheikah Standing- railtracer30 A Broken Knife a Day Doesn't Keep the Blacksmith Away- louwhose

Sentimental Memento Mama- railtracer30 Zelink: The Hero of Time Return- legofanguy Sentimental- legofanguy1999

Candles Dining in the Dark- railtracer30

Just a Kiss Just a Kiss- legofanguy1999 Just a Kiss: A Zelinktines Story- eugenerapunzel Kiss Me, Stupid- railtracer30 Just a Kiss- @jullbnt

Dancing? Here? The Fixed Eye (part 2)- bahbahhh The Barefoot Waltz- railtracer30 The New School Teacher- louwhose

Veil Zelink: Wedding Veil- legofanguy Cherished- sparklyhyperbole

Make a Wish The Care of the Goddess- railtracer30 Of Trust and Trickery- sparklyhyperbole What Did You Wish For?- cjracingpnf Promise- writingnocturne

Here's the link to the Ao3 collection! Some fics that aren't on Tumblr in there, so make sure to check it out!

If we overlooked an entry, please let us know and we'll fix it!

#zelinktines24 #zelink #legend of zelda

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myfairstarlight · 2 months

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A Lover's Quill

AO3 Link.

Rated: M

Length: 2k

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Penelope Featherington

Canon Divergence

Based on my own post here, s1 AU in which a love letter is written instead of a scandalous gossip column...

This will be a multi-chaptered fic, but this first chapter can be read as a standalone. The whole story is already planned out! I'm not sure I will post every chapter on tumblr yet, but I will update on ao3 frequently as long as my life allows it.

Summary:

Dear Colin Bridgerton, As I understand it, this must be a farewell. Penelope’s fingers shake as she wraps them around her quill. Her eyes slide towards the crumpled pieces of paper scattered at the foot of her desk, wondering if such unrequited fantasy is even worth her tortured ink. Or. A s1 AU in which instead of a Whistledown column, Penelope writes a letter to Colin the night before he and Marina plan to elope.

*additional notes on ao3.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Dear Colin Bridgerton,

As I understand it, this must be a farewell.

Penelope’s fingers shake as she wraps them around her quill. Her eyes slide towards the crumpled pieces of paper scattered at the foot of her desk, wondering if such unrequited fantasy is even worth her tortured ink.

I wish I had the courage to tell you what I am on the brink of revealing to your face, so forgive my cowardness for hiding behind a quill instead. These past few weeks have been full of agonising feelings, and ones I had to fully come to terms with before I could share them with you.

She pauses as she hears commotions outside her door. Servants are running up and down the estate in their haste to gather Marina’s belongings.

I must apologise, for my meddling regarding your and Marina’s courtship. It was not my place to dictate what either of you should do or should feel, even in my misguided belief that I was helping. I do believe that if one is lucky enough to be in love, well, one should declare it as loudly and fervently as you have done, claiming Marina’s hand in front of her many suitors.

She has shared with me your plans to elope to Gretna Green, I hope you do not fault her for divulging your secret. That way, I can wish you all the luck and happiness.

Penelope takes a deep breath. She knows the next words to be the hardest to put into paper and her fingers start to shake once more.

I must, once more, beg your forgiveness for my cowardness as I cannot bring myself to say those words in front of you. I truly do wish for your happiness, and yet I know the words would get lost between my heart and my mouth because there is another truth I could never speak into existence, for I knew it to be a meaningless affair.

I love you, Colin. I have loved you for many years before either of us even debuted in society. Perhaps from the moment we met, it is quite embarrassing really.

Nothing would ever come out of it, I was aware. But you deserve to know, and perhaps I also needed to admit it, to put it into the world, so I may now move on and seriously consider my prospects when I had been fighting them all season. I hope I can find a match that ignites the fire that bursts within your heart with Marina. I hope I will be as lucky one day.

I bid you farewell, my dearest friend.

Yours Truly,

Penelope Featherington.

To her surprise, the tears she feels building up in her eyes do not fall as she carefully folds the paper and seals the letter. When the wax solidifies, Penelope drops a kiss over the butterfly design.

She thinks of the ironic accuracy of her family’s symbol. Just like her heart, a butterfly will not live long once it takes flight, but at least it is free.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Sneaking out to Bridgerton House is a familiar affair, Penelope is pretty sure Mrs Varley purposely looks away every time, a part of her cannot believe she truly is that invisible. The letter safely tucked in her bosom, she easily finds John, who looks at her with surprise and worry.

“Miss Featherington you should not—” he cuts himself off as Penelope thrusts the letter in his hand. “Ah. For Miss Eloise?”

“Mr Bridgerton,” Penelope corrects. “Colin, that is,” she clarifies, though John would know she barely ever speaks to Benedict outside of polite conversations and would have no reason to write to him. “Please make sure he receives it first thing in the morning. Is Eloise…?” She points towards the garden.

John nods, carefully putting the letter away. “Is everything alright, Miss?”

Penelope takes a deep breath. “You are aware of his plans, correct?”

“Indeed. I am to drive the carriage to the port.” A beat of silence. “For all that is worth, Miss, I do not think he is making a wise decision.”

She is not quite sure why, but servants have always felt comfortable gossiping in front of her, and even to her. Penelope will not complain, however.

“Well, it is not our place to say.”

“Is this letter not about that? Mr Bridgerton has always keenly listened to you.”

Penelope chuckles. “You flatter me, John. I do not think anyone has ever listened to me.”

But the Ton will gladly consume her every word, as long as it is put on paper. It would not have been worth losing Marina’s trust or breaking Colin’s heart, she thinks.

Although, a treacherous voice whispers in her mind, is it truly for the better, to keep silent? Though Colin believes himself in love, would it be enough to bear the burden of another man’s child? To feel the humiliation upon realising he was but a means to an end? And would Marina be able to live with herself? She has a good and kind heart, Penelope knows that to be true, but even the most beautiful souls can be pushed to cruel means when no other solution is within grasp.

Ultimately, Penelope thought, a couple of hours earlier when she decided against using her greatest weapon in Whistledown, this matter did not involve her. Marina is her cousin, Colin is her friend, but this issue only concerns them. Penelope has tried her best without breaking anyone’s trust, and she is at her limit. She cannot keep being the messenger.

And therefore, she has one more secret to divulge.

Curtseying in front of John — although she is aware she does not need to since he is a mere footman, she thinks it is still polite to do so — she ventures into the garden, to immediately find Eloise sitting at one of the swings. Their eyes meet, but Eloise does not move, nor does she scream at her to leave. So Penelope sits on the other swing.

“El.”

“Pen.”

The use of nicknames makes her smile.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“I’m sorry for not listening to you.”

A pause.

“However," Eloise huffs, "you were so wrong because you’re really pretty, Penelope, if only your mother did not have the most horrendous taste in gowns. Never speak of my best friend as such ever again!”

And just like that, they are friends again. Penelope could cry.

“There was another reason I did not wish to discuss Whistledown with you at the time,” she confesses. Eloise makes a questioning noise, a hand reaching for Penelope’s arm. Penelope squeezes it. “It is because I am Whistledown.”

There is a moment of silence as they stare at each other. For a moment, Penelope worries she won’t be believed. Who could imagine sharp and cunning Whistledown as the petite, two-stones-too-heavy Featherington girl? Eloise's grip has gone lax on her arm before suddenly the brunette girl brightens up.

“Of course!” she exclaims. “It makes so much sense! My best friend, the cleverest woman feared by the Ton!”

Penelope blinks, taken aback, before giggling at her friend’s pure excitement. “Eloise! You exaggerate.”

“Oh, you must tell me how you managed such a fit! And do I get the exclusive before anyone else now?”

Penelope smiles and nods enthusiastically, holding Eloise's hands preciously between hers.

If she must say goodbye to her love, at the very least she will always have Eloise and frankly, it is as good, if not better.

“But say, is it still true? Do you wish to marry even though you have such a gem within your hands?” Eloise asks, her voice gone soft. “You could be entirely independent, you do not need a man.”

Penelope lets out a forlorn sigh. “I still wish for it, although I very much doubt I ever will.”

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

John has never been one to care for his employers’ affairs. When the other members of the staff start to gossip, he tends to turn his head and not listen, out of respect. This season has truly tested his limits, however, between Miss Bridgerton, now Duchess of Hastings, debuting, and Mr Bridgerton, the youngest — bar little Gregory — getting so unexpectedly engaged.

And of course, the now notorious Lady Whistledown who rose from the shadows seemingly out of nowhere, stirring up society for being such a bold and yet secretive woman. Gossip had become an inherent part of everyday life, more so than it already was. Whistledown held up a mirror in the Ton’s face to heighten the whispers, and so the Ton speaks even louder because they love to look at themselves.

All that to say, John cannot help but be curious. Miss Penelope’s letter feels heavy. Not literally, of course, but the metaphorical weight of it feels monumental. It is as if he failed to deliver it in time, the world would not be turning on its axis any longer. There was a quiet resignation on the young lady’s face, so far from the warmth she usually bears. In truth, when he heard that Miss Penelope had debuted early and that Mr Colin Bridgerton was courting someone, John, much like the rest of the staff, had assumed she was the one he was courting. There was obvious affection between them, of a sweet and innocent kind, rare in its beauty, and everyone believed they would follow the path Lady Bridgerton and her late husband followed, finding true love at a young age in each other. Alas, perhaps it was only wishful thinking.

And again, it does not concern John, he is merely the messenger — or the driver.

Even so, he decides he would rather not wait. He is aware most of the family is still awake, including the very Bridgerton he is in search of. He finds him brooding in the library, a likely place for him to be, fidgeting by the window.

“Sir,” John says, startling the young man who almost drops the book he was holding. “A missive, for you.”

“A missive?” Colin repeats, intrigued and wary.

“From Miss Penelope, sir,” John clarifies, giving him the letter. He sees the moment Colin's shoulders relax, and his eyes bear a spark of happiness at the sound of her name.

Ah. Foolish youth.

“Right. Thank you, John.”

John nods, bows, then takes his leave. It seems this social season, although coming to its end, will still be full of surprises.

And if it prevents him from waking at the breaks of dawn the next day, he will not be complaining.

(A mere hour later, he catches Colin sneaking out of the house and running across the square. John suspects a new scandal shall befall this family in the morning.)

#bridgerton #bridgerton fic #polin #colin x penelope #my fics #a lover's quill

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bad-and-drawn-that-way · 6 months

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Electric Love - Full Chapter

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Chapter 3: What's in a Deal?

Link to Chapter 1

Notes: Support me by reading on Ao3! Kudos and comments help motivate me to see multi-chapter fics through to the end! I'll be posting announcements for the updates here. Chapters will come out on Ao3 BEFORE tumblr.

Word Count: 5628

Tag List: @sle3pyh3ad2

The extermination was coming in six months.

News spread immediately after the Princess of Hell met with the angels and to say Hell was freaking out was an understatement. For the first few weeks after the announcement, you avoided going outside as much as possible. No one was in their right mind and the more you kept your head down in your little cloaked observatory, the better.

Baxter really had been a game changer when it came to your living situation. You’d put in a lot of hard work fixing up the abandoned place and it looked pretty nice. Too nice for the dark corner of the Pride Ring you were in. He’d given you a cloaking device that made the observatory look as shit and abandoned as the rest of the dead neighborhood while the inside was in comfortable condition.

Even with the system in place, you slept with one eye open as you noticed more sinners slink into the area. Due to the recent news, it seemed some were considering using the district as a potential hideout for the upcoming extermination. Everyone was on edge and nothing felt safe.

Despite this, you had a life to live. Everyone did. Which is why after a while, things went back to normal. You buried yourself in your work to avoid dwelling on the anxiety of the shitty afterlife you were dealt and that was that. Work wasn’t the only thing occupying your attention either.

For the first couple of weeks, since Vox had gracelessly stumbled into your life, there was silence. Not wanting to get anyone’s hopes up, you kept your mouth shut and didn’t tell anyone about the deal you had made. Even with the protection of the deal, you didn’t doubt that someone as powerful as an Overlord could easily double-cross someone like you.

But then it happened. First, it was just one of your friends texting the group chat you were in that they were free of their contract. You’d all hopped on a group call and planned a celebration while she happily cried uncontrollably. She had no other explanation for Valentino’s change in heart other than him telling her that he simply got bored of her services and didn’t want to waste the studio slots on her. While that comment did bruise her ego a bit, she was too relieved to care.

Then it hit all at once. Everyone on the list was suddenly blowing up your phone with the news that they’d been released from their contracts and could start a new afterlife with their newfound freedom. Apparently, Valentino had covered up the entire thing by saying it was a quality cull for the sake of his image. Only a few people took the time to wonder if there was something more to the whole thing. Especially since some of the sinners he released were fairly popular for their work.

The only time you left your home for anything other than basic errands was the night you all gathered at a club and celebrated over the weekend. It was one of the craziest parties you’d ever been to, filled with drugs, sex, and a lot of happy crying.

You thought that was the end of it. Life would go back to normal aside from the growing political tensions between Heaven and Hell. You would stay cooped up and work your ass off on putting together your game and keep to yourself aside from the occasional night on the town with friends. So you personally thought your disbelief was entirely warranted when your day was interrupted by a certain overlord knocking on your front door.

Vox tapped his foot impatiently as he looked around the neighborhood. The place was a piece of shit. It wasn’t like anyone hiding out here would be stupid enough to attack someone with his reputation, but he still felt unsettled as he knocked again and waited for you to let him in. He wasn’t in the mood to repeat what happened the last time he barged in unannounced.

The sound of you crashing about behind the large double doors could be heard. It took a moment before you finally appeared, opening the door with disheveled hair and a bathrobe lazily hanging off of one shoulder, barely revealing your pajamas underneath.

"Vox," you breathe before you chuckle awkwardly. "I'd say you should have called first, but you don't have my number."

"Technically I could if I looked hard enough," Vox chuckled as he looked at the disheveled state you were in. “But is it really so surprising that I’d check in after finishing the last of our little deal?”

"Kinda, yeah," you shake your head as you step back to let him in. You were immediately skeptical. There was no way Vox came all the way to such a sketchy corner of Hell just to be told he did a good job. He wanted something and you weren’t too keen on having that discussion out in the open. The faint shimmer of a cloaking barrier could be seen in the doorway. "Come on in."

The overlord stepped inside, his eyes flicking around the room and taking in everything that he could. He’d only seen the small office tucked in the back of the observatory the last time he was here. There was a big circular opening with a broken-down telescope that connected to the dome-like ceiling in the middle of the room. A desk covered with papers was pushed up against the side of the telescope and you’d split the large space into three areas in an attempt to refashion the space for living purposes.

There was a kitchen made out of plug-in appliances and mismatched furniture on the left. Vox cringed as he saw the power cords working overtime just to keep everything running. The telescope seemed to act as a secondary office for you and you had a couch with a TV setup not too far from it to imitate a living room space. There were also dozens of boxes filled with junk that he had to imagine originally belonged to the observatory and you just never got around to disposing of properly.

"Can I get you anything?" You say as you step into the main space after closing and bolting the doors behind you. Annoyed that your bathrobe keeps slipping off of your shoulder, you fight with it for a moment before foregoing it entirely and tossing it over a tower of books.

"Coffee, if you have it," Vox replied as he followed you into the small living room area. “The amount of shit I’ve had to take care of every since the bimbo leading Hell fucked us all over has left me running on caffeine for the past month.”

He didn't mind the sight of books being stacked up on top of each other as he glanced around, taking in the area. Though the place wasn't the best-looking, it was evident that you had put a lot of work into making it livable. Considering how it looked on the outside, he could only imagine the state the place was in back when you found it.

You start prepping a fresh pot of coffee, wanting some for yourself as well. "So, my friends texted me," you say.

You turn and lean against the counter to look at him properly while the kitchen appliance worked its magic. "They all told me the same thing. How Valentino cut their contracts, saying he was doing quality control for the studio out of the blue. You kept your end of the deal."

"Yes, I did. But that's not the only reason I've come here," Vox murmured as he idly looked at some of the papers on the coffee table in the corner. "I couldn’t help but be intrigued by your… connections.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him as you watch him put down a paper that doesn’t keep his attention. “What about them?”

“At first, I didn’t care too much about your friends,” Vox admitted. “But I couldn’t help but shake the image of you with Angel Dust. So I did some digging and I’m just going to cut to the point. You’ve been to that hotel the princess has been running, haven’t you?”

You cross your arms, studying him carefully, “Well, aren’t you quite the stalker?”

“I like knowing things,” Vox waved you off with a frown. “But for good reason. It’s true, right?”

“It is,” you shrug, not seeing a reason to hide it. “At first, I just went to visit Angel. Helped him move in and stuff like that. The group there grew on me and I help out around the hotel sometimes if Angel and I aren’t already doing something else.”

Vox grins and you immediately catch on to his line of thought. "I'll say it now, don't get your hopes up," you warn him as the coffee pot beeps behind you. "I care for Charlie and Angel Dust a lot. I helped you against Valentino, but I won't betray the hotel."

"I’m not stupid,” Vox chuckles. “You’re a fool if you think that I don't already know you wouldn't betray them." The overlord scoffed as he watched you turn to search the cupboards for mugs.

"You're far too compassionate for your own good, little drama queen,” Vox said with a roll of his eyes as he walked over to you. “Which is why you're rather easy to read. You claim you don’t care about the power struggles in Hell, but in the same breath, you helped me against Valentino… That tells me that you may be willing to strike up another deal."

Your fingers freeze just as you’re about to pluck a mug from the shelf. You knew it was coming and yet, it still caught you off guard. "...What did you have in mind?"

"You see, my dear old rival Alastor has been up to something and I don’t know what. He's getting a bit too close to little Miss Morningstar for my own comfort, and it's becoming… rather bothersome." Vox murmured as he watched you idly. "Though that's just the surface; there is also the fact that I'd like to be able to keep a constant eye on him. As you well know, Alastor enjoys playing with his cards close to his chest..."

“So what?” You frown as you pour the coffee into the mismatched mugs. “You want me to spy on Alastor?”

“Precisely,” Vox grins. He’d chosen someone too naive and careless the last time he attempted to get eyes on the inside of the hotel. You met the requirements Velvette had clearly laid out and unlike the snake, you had proper potential. Still stupid in your own ways, but not like the previous dumbass he’d tried to use for this particular purpose.

"And why would I do that?" You frown. "You've already played the card you had with me. There’s nothing else I could possibly want from you.”

"Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure," Vox smirked as he took one of the mugs. "I’d like to think our last little exchange was rather beneficial for us both. I’m nothing if not resourceful and everyone has their price.”

"And you think you know mine?" You frown, pulling open your fridge and grabbing the ingredients to turn your bitter black coffee into a mocha. The fact that Vox was drinking his black disgusted you, but you supposed when he needed that much coffee to get by, he didn’t have the time to be picky. "Even if I were to agree to this deal, it'd come with a lot of conditions. I meant it when I said I won't compromise the hotel."

"I’d expect nothing less,” Vox shrugged as he took a sip. “And we’ll get to that part next. Right now, you want to know what’s in it for you. Any smart demon wouldn’t bother with a deal that didn’t benefit them in some way and I’ve got just the thing.”

You’re completely unimpressed by the shift into a sales pitch, but say nothing as you mix chocolate powder and raspberry syrup into your drink.

“I know that you have rather a deep love for your work and your creations, so if you were to help me keep an eye on Alastor... I’m happy to give you what you want more than anything,” Vox grinned as he prepared to offer you what he was thoroughly convinced was the key to pulling you under his wing of control.

“More than just money, more than that Radio Demon could ever offer you… I’m willing to give you your very own company. A company that would allow you to complete whatever project your heart desires with the full financial support of a top-tier overlord in Hell.”

Vox smirked as he watched your movements slow to a stop throughout his sales pitch. “Does that sound interesting to you, little drama queen?"

He knew he had you. There was no way he didn’t. He’d done his research and saw how low your statistics were. You’d posted art and various other types of content on your social media and you had a following, but it wasn’t large. Especially not compared to what he knew it could be. The game you were working on was clearly meant to be your big debut into the industry, but even without that, the quality of your work was nothing to scoff at. With the power and control he was offering you, your numbers would skyrocket. You’d no longer be a team of one and could bring your visions to life at a much higher speed with far more efficiency than you could dream of on your own.

Your hesitation speaks volumes and he’s just waiting smugly for you to take the bait. However, instead, you just smile softly and shake your head. "You're going to think I'm crazy, but I'll actually pass on that."

There’s a beat of silence as Vox replays your answer in his head to make sure he heard you right. He nearly dropped the mug in his hands as he comprehended that you genuinely just turned him down.

"You're… joking, right?" Vox exclaimed in disbelief, as he set down the mug on the counter. "You're going to pass up on being the owner of your very own company with infinite financing and control?”

"Yup," you say with a pop for emphasis. "My content is my heart and soul. It's my passion. It has to be built up from my hard work, my dreams, and my well-intentioned connections. If I let someone else just hand it all to me on a silver platter, it wouldn’t be the same at all."

"You're absolutely insane," Vox muttered, shaking his head as he questioned your sanity entirely. "You’re seriously refusing my deal? You refuse infinite fucking funding?! All because of what? Pride?”

"Yeah," you said easily with a relaxed grin as you went back to stirring your drink like you hadn’t just casually declined all the power and money to make your dreams come true.

The overlord took a deep steadying breath as he tried to process the absolute stupidity of your decision. There wasn’t a single sinner in Hell that would pass up on a deal like this, and you just... turned it down in favor of hard work and dedication. The insane stubbornness of your choice left him speechless.

"That being said," you hum thought thoughtfully. "I do think you have something else that I'd be willing to trade for."

The overlord's attention snaps back to you, looking over you skeptically. "Oh, well now I'm curious... What could you possibly want more than an entire goddamn company?"

"It’s something you actually brought up during our last deal,” you say as you sip your drink and lean back against the counter. “I know Valentino would never release Angel Dust's contract willingly," you start carefully. "So instead, I want you to distract Valentino. For as long as I uphold my end of the deal regarding Alastor, you will do everything you can to protect Angel Dust from Valentino's anger and abuse.”

"Protect Angel Dust from Valentino's abuse..." Vox murmured as he shifted back. It wasn’t an easy request. In fact, Vox wondered if it was even possible. He was already running scenarios and contradictions over in his mind as he considered the possibilities. "And… how would you want me to go about doing that?"

"Subtly," you sigh. "If you're too direct, it could just make Valentino angrier and more violent with Angel. Butter up Valentino, distract him, send other sinners his way, whatever it takes. Just… lessen the damage and keep Valentino from catching on.”

"Hmm... that is quite a fascinating challenge you've given me…” Vox murmured as he ran his thumb along his chin. “But, I think I can manage.”

If anything, your proposition intrigued him. Rather than getting to just hand you money and power, which he had plenty of, you were putting him in just as sticky of a situation as the one he wanted to put you in. It set the playing field on equal ground. Neither of you were asking the other to completely betray their factions, but you were both putting each other at high risk.

"I'll keep tabs on Alastor, just like you want,” you frown. As much as you hated the idea of doing it, Alastor was one of the only people at the hotel you had no real connection with. He’d never seemed interested in what you had to offer, so he didn’t waste his time on you. Likewise, you were too focused on Angel and Charlie to pay him much mind either.

“However,” you clarify. “I'll only relay the information I discover of his personal activities. Anything involved with the hotel or Charlie is off-limits."

"Hm..." Vox murmured, considering the terms of the deal. "Very well then, I'll agree to these terms. I may not be a fan of the hotel, but ultimately I don’t care about it half as much as I do Alastor. I want to know what he’s trying to gain from the hotel, but anything involving the princess’s little pet project doesn’t particularly interest me anyway.”

You pause, thinking hard before nodding. "One more condition. If Alastor catches me and kills me for what I'm doing for you, you have to keep protecting Angel Dust from Valentino until whatever you had planned for lessening Valentino’s influence is underway.”

"Hmm..." The overlord murmured as he thought for a moment before he slowly nodded. "Very well, I accept these terms. I’ll protect Angel Dust until I take Valentino down for my own schemes. Do you have anything else to add before we conclude this deal?"

You shake your head, "I'm guessing you'll want to make at least one other deal with me one day. Knowing that, you'd be foolish to try to loophole or double-cross me with this deal. So I think we're good to go."

"I think you have a rather good understanding of me, little drama queen." The overlord grinned. Every time he thought he knew what to expect, you managed to pull the rug out from under him. Rather than being annoyed by the change in his original plans for this deal, he was excited and curious to see what other surprises could come from being involved with you. "Alright then... with that being said, we should seal our deal."

Your magic flares, as the familiar purple mist flows gently around you. You hold out your hand, ready to seal the deal. For the protection of your friend, you were willing to betray Alastor. You may not have hated him like Vox did, but you were somewhat wary of him. The way he always seemed like he was hiding ill intentions behind his permanent grin never settled well with you. There had been times you wondered yourself what he wanted from Charlie and while you weren’t as close to the princess as you were with Angel, you could tell if things kept going the way they were, you’d care for her just as much as any of your other friends. With that in mind, this was a risk you were willing to take.

The overlord's own magic flared to life, blue electricity filling the air. Your hands connected and the mist and sparks swirled around each other in a bright flash before dissipating entirely.

You slowly pull back, flexing your hand as you feel the sparks from his magic still tingling your skin. "So that's that," you hum.

"Indeed it is," The overlord murmured as he let out a quiet sigh of relief. "Our deal is sealed. There’s no going back now. You realize that, correct?"

"I know," you say softly as you accept the weight of knowing there was a good chance if you got caught, Alastor would broadcast your slow and gruesome murder on the radio for all of Hell to hear. "At least if shit goes south, you'll find out pretty quickly," you chuckle dryly, cringing at the thought.

There was a faint hint of a smirk that appeared on the overlord's face as he considered your words. "Well, if nothing else, you’ve earned my respect. You’re fully aware of what’s at stake, yet you agreed to the deal anyway. You are either insane... or extremely brave."

"Why not both?" You chuckle. You were putting your life at risk, and you had rejected his offer of riches and power, opting for the protection of a friend instead. To say your priorities were skewed would be an understatement to most sinners.

"The longer this little game of ours goes on, the more I want to pull you into the world of Hell’s politics," The overlord murmured with a smirk. "I’ve seen your video game work and I won’t deny it has potential, but I think you underestimate your potential for something more.”

You cringe, sticking your tongue out as if the very thought of it left a bad taste in your mouth. “Pass. I’ll leave the evil overlording to you and your stupid bow tie.”

“Fuck you, it’s classy,” Vox snickered as he shook his head. “Plus, how much room do you have to talk when I haven’t seen you wear proper clothing since we’ve met?”

“Fuck you,” you say playfully with a grin. “We’ve only met twice and both times you’ve shown up without warning to my home. Are you seriously telling me you lounge about in your time off in that getup?”

“Bold of you to assume I have time off,” Vox chuckled. “Now... it seems that we both have our parts to play in this deal. You’ll keep tabs on Alastor, and I’ll protect Angel Dust from Valentino when I have the opportunity to do so. I’m around often enough, but it may take a moment for me to get the hang of things. Do you have any other thoughts you wish to add before we part ways?"

You try not to show that you're disappointed in how quickly the meeting is ending. It was true that someone like Vox didn’t exactly have the time to spare to chat with you. It’s not like you were friends or anything. Just convenient dealmakers. But you’d be lying if you didn’t say you found your interactions to be fun despite the risk that came with them.

"How do you want me to get ahold of you if I learn anything about Alastor?" You ask.

Your phone suddenly vibrates in your pocket and you jump with a startled yelp, spilling some of your drink on your shirt. Vox laughs as you grumble and lightly kick at his shin. When you pull out your phone, his face is mocking you from the screen.

“I have access to every device with a screen in all of Hell,” Vox smirked as you tried to swipe away his face to no avail. “I’ve put my number in your phone and yours is now in mine. I have access to anything on your device I want. Your notes, your texts, your camera, your microphone. I can see anything I want, whenever I want. It shouldn’t be too hard to get my attention.”

You huff, crossing your arms after you shove the phone back into your pocket. "Stalker."

The overlord's grin narrowed. "I prefer to think of it as surveillance. But if you prefer to think of it as stalking, it's up to you."

You roll your eyes and shake your head with a melodramatic sigh, "No more reading fanfiction on my phone in the shower for me."

The overlord couldn't help but laugh at your comment. "I wouldn’t necessarily complain.”

Your face feels like someone just set you on fire and Vox smirks as he mentally checks another point in his favor in the little game of back-and-forth between the two of you. It was extremely amusing for him to see how the occasional little comment here and there threw you off your game so easily. He was used to all sorts of depraved commentary from Valentino and Velvette’s sass was unmatched. Pulling reactions out of you so easily was delightfully entertaining.

Acting like he hadn’t just casually dropped such a comment, Vox switched back to a more businesslike demeanor as he added. “Just know that I will be checking in every now and then, regardless of how often I hear from you. You’ll have to start going to the hotel more as well and I’ll know where you are from now on too.”

Shaking off your embarrassment, you give a mock salute with two of your fingers as you make a note of the conditions of your deal, "Yes Sir, Mr. Stalker, Sir."

The overlord smirked slightly back at you before he chuckled. "Well, little drama queen, it looks like our business with one another has concluded. I’ll keep in touch."

----

It was a while before you finally had a substantial update for Vox. Neither of you were too surprised that it would take time before you could naturally find anything of use. Still, it left you feeling unsettled not having anything to offer. You didn’t want to risk Vox getting fed up with your lack of results and calling the deal off. Especially after the shit show that happened at Valentino’s studio when Charlie tried to get time off for Angel. But now you finally had something.

Charlie had been freaking out as the clock whittled down the time until the next extermination. So much so, that she had put aside her raging daddy issues long enough to invite her father to the hotel. When she asked if you’d come to the hotel to provide emotional support and help in case things went south, you happily agreed. You’d been coming by more often and as you suspected, you ended up growing even more attached to the hotel and the rag tag team keeping it together.

Every time you visited, you had to push down the dark, squirming guilt that behind every laugh, every smile, every mishap, was an ulterior motive. You were always watching Alastor out of the corner of your eye. Waiting for something, anything that could be of use to Vox that didn’t involve the hotel.

Between the chaos of Lucifer setting off something competitive in Alastor, the unexpected appearance of Mimzy, and the chaos that came with Charlie’s desperate attempts to prove her point to her dad, there was finally a crack in Alastor’s carefully composed disposition.

While everyone was preoccupied dealing with their own slice of the chaos, you ducked into one of the empty rooms and pulled out your phone. Vox hadn’t been kidding how easy it was to get ahold of him. All it took was a single text with nothing more than his name and the little bubbles that showed he was typing immediately let you know that you had his attention.

Vox: What is it? Did you discover something of note regarding Alastor?

Y/N: I did. It seems like he's under a contract with someone. I don't know who or what the details are, but I overheard him talking in the hall, and it sounds like someone else might own Alastor's soul.

The overlord's eyes narrowed as he read your text. The idea of someone having a contract with Alastor intrigued him, as it was the potential to have a certain level of control over the radio demon.

Vox: I see... and was there any indication as to who they were?

Y/N: He's too tight-lipped to let something like that slip. But honestly? My bets are on Lilith. She disappeared at the same time he did, and she’s of higher status.

Vox paused as he read the text and considered your words. Valentino and Velvette were bitching about something he hadn’t been paying attention to as he slipped out of the room and rolled the possibilities over in his mind. His heart was racing and he could feel the static sparks dancing across his skin. He finally had something.

The big unanswered question that had been haunting him for so long came with no hints, no arrows pointing him in a direction that could finally give him the answers he was owed. But now? Even if the information you’d given him was circumstantial, it was something. After seven fucking years of having nothing, there was finally a straw for him to grasp at.

Vox: I see where you are coming from. Lilith or someone of her caliber would have something of interest worthy of a deal. The real question is what could be worth a deal like that to Alastor? And what did he offer in exchange?

Vox: This is good. Like really fucking good. If you find out anything else, let me know.

You send him a little thumbs-up emoji before asking,

Y/n: Have you been protecting Angel Dust?

All Vox wanted to do was retreat to his surveillance room and get to work on digging up what he could with this new lead you’d given him. He was already marching his way through the penthouse shared between him and the other Vees as he typed.

Vox: It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve been ensuring that Angel Dust has received a very minimum level of abuse from Valentino. So, yes, I have been protecting his soul for you little drama queen. It is our deal, after all.

Y/N: Stop calling me that >:((((

Y/N: And thank you…

Vox barked out a laugh at your irritated response. He hadn’t realized he’d given you a nickname, but now that he knew it bothered you he would be sure to double down. He ignored Velvette asking him where he was off to in such a rush and simply waved off Valentino with promises of updating them later as he stepped onto the pad that’d take him down to his lair.

He was too glued to his phone to notice the look of bewilderment the Vee’s exchanged from where they sat on the couch. They’d only seen him so attached to his phone when he was in a foul mood from dealing with work shit. They’d never seen him with such a downright giddy grin like the one he was unknowingly wearing as he started a call on your phone without warning.

Not expecting the call, you jumped with a startled gasp as his face suddenly flooded your screen.

“Shit, fuck- motherfucker!” you swore under your breath as you grabbed at your phone in the air, trying not to drop it.

Vox laughed as you tumbled with the device and if you weren’t broke as hell, you would have considered chucking it out the window.

“Vox!” you hiss quietly as you step further into the empty hotel room and away from the door where anyone in the hall could hear you. “You can’t just hack into my phone and pop up without warning when I’m at the hotel! What if I wasn’t alone?”

“I tapped into the microphone and didn’t hear anyone else,” Vox rolled his eyes with a smug grin as he made his way to his surveillance setup. “I’m not that stupid, drama queen.”

You groaned, hating the corny nickname even more as you heard him say it out loud. “My point still stands, you shitty stalker.”

“You’ll learn to love it,” Vox chuckled as he sat in his dark office chair and swiveled around to start doing some research on his computer. “Now then, where exactly did you hear about this contract Alastor may have?”

"One of his old friends came to the hotel to escape some loan sharks,” you say slowly as you sit down on the bed. You take your time, trying to consider what you believed was safe to tell Vox without giving too much away. “I overheard someone telling him what to do regarding her, and it was brought up during the argument. They didn't know I was nearby."

Vox hummed as he started looking into the disappearance of Lilith and the events leading up to it. "Interesting... very interesting indeed. So Alastor may have made a deal with Lilith before they both went off the radar… If not her, then someone of similar status…”

You nodded and hummed along as he began to go down the rabbit hole of research and theories. The sound of Charlie and Lucifer having a heartfelt showtune moment down in the lobby softly reverberated through the walls of the hotel and you couldn’t help but smile as you listened to Vox’s excitement as he followed the lead.

Now if only you had noticed the shadow in the corner…

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #electric love series

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dbnightingale24 · 1 year

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Love Me or Just Let Me Go

A Jonathan Crane Love Story

Look who's back and trying to find her footing again 🙃 sorry for the delay, but between my mental health and personal life, things weren't going well and I needed a break. ANYWAY, I'm back with a new series (as well as ready off a few others), and I hope you all enjoy it! I really missed posting.

Just in time for Halloween, Dr. Jonathan Crane. I just figured (as I start to branch out) it's time to write about my favorite Scarecrow. I'm sorry this is so damn long (I really am), but I hope you all enjoy it! Since Tumblr is still on its bullshit, I can only post part of it here, but the full post will be on AO3 (I'll leave the link). As always, thank you @fuckingbye for the amazing moodboard. I love you!

Word Count: 56,703 (I said I was sorry)

Warnings: SMUT (Minors DNI), Swearing, Drinking, Degrading Kink, Car Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smoking, Arguing, Family Drama, Angst, Mentions of Abuse, Fluff (ish), Childhood Trauma, Self Hate, Revenge, Loneliness, Trust Issues, Mental Health (or lack thereof)...I think I handled everything?

Song(s) That Inspired This Chapter: Man, You Make It Easy For Me. So, Why Can't I Make You Love Me?

I do not give permission/consent for my works/stories to be posted elsewhere. I do not condone this kind of behavior or relationship, this is for entertainment purposes only.

“Doctor Crane,” you smile sweetly as your favorite patron makes his way to the counter.

Your smile may be sweet, but you know your eyes show the same thing they always do whenever he shows up: pure desire and lust. The coy smile he always returns lets you know that he’s very well aware of the effect he has on you.

Effect.

“Same as always?”

“Coffee, black, please,” he smiles as he pulls out his wallet.

“New admittance at Arkham?” you ask, turning and starting on his second usual

At least three times a month, he orders a black coffee.

“No, but it is late night for work.”

“When isn’t it in Gotham?” you scoff, placing the lid on his drink.

“How about you?” he asks, handing you a twenty.

“What about me?”

“Another late night?”

“I’m the only one brave enough to close the store, so yeah. I always have a late night,” you laugh softly, taking his money while typing the amount into the register.

“Gotham doesn’t scare you?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve met my Mother already, and I witnessed what drove her to madness, because I saw my Father’s death, so no. Gotham doesn’t scare me.”

“Your Mother...” he trails off as he looks you over, “Y/M/N?”

“I’m surprised you’re just figuring it out,” you laugh handing him back his change. “Everyone always said I look just like her, but I’m guessing the piercings, dyed hair, and tattoos have changed my appearance a bit.”

“Your Mother is quite the character.”

“You’re putting it nicely.”

“Keep it,” he says, gently pushing your hand back.

“The coffee was only two dollars.”

“Your company is always worth much more than that,” he laughs. “If you don’t mind me asking, how were you able to handle it so well?”

“If I tell you that, there will be no reason for you to come around for your afternoon tea, will there? Besides, you’ve got a late night of work ahead of you, and I’ve got ungrateful customers to tend to,” you smirk, cocking an eyebrow.

“Guess I’ll just have to ask again tomorrow.”

“Play your cards right and you may just get an answer,” you shrug and he laughs.

“You have a good night, Y/N.”

“You too, Dr. Crane.”

“Jonathan.”

“Jonathan Crane,” you smile as he grabs his coffee, nods, and walks away.

And just like that, he was gone. It’s the same conversation every day, today a little more telling just because he knows a bit (or a lot depending on how you look at it) about you. It’s always the same amount of small talk, flirty eye on your part, and him looking as if he’s interested but knows better. Smart on his part.

Sure, he deals with crazies, but he’s never dealt with you.

For the rest of the evening, you live in the feeling of that little exchange. Yeah, the man looks like he can’t carry a bookcase, but you know it’s all an act. You’re not dumb. You’ve heard whispers about Dr. Jonathan Crane, and most of it isn’t pleasant. It’s most definitely in your best interest to stay away, especially considering that your Mother is a patience at his place of work, but you can’t stop yourself. Beside, you live in Gotham.

It’s not like you have a ton of “good guys” to choose from.

You can’t pin down exactly what draws you to him, but you know that you can’t turn it off. You’ve tried multiple times. From the first time you laid eyes on him, you wanted him. No, you needed him, in the most unnatural way. Maybe it’s from living in Gotham all your life but, for whatever reason, you feel a sense of security when he comes in.

Yeah, you’ve definitely been in Gotham for too long.

“You’re sure you’re okay to close up all by yourself?” your co-worker Michael asks as he grabs his backpack off of the coat rack, while the last customer scurries out.

“I do it every night, Mike,” you scoff, wiping down the counter. “Get home safe.”

“Ya know, working with you is hard,” he sighs and you start laughing. “What?! It’s true! You’re the only one ever willing to close up shop-”

“It gives me a thrill,” you smirk with a cocked eyebrow. “Go home and tell Josh that you fought off a mugger, if it’ll help your ego.”

“He’d kill me if I ever tried to stop crime from happening,” he laughs softly. “You sure you’re okay, babe?”

“I promise. Get home safe.”

“You too,” he nods before walking out.

You lean against the counter, pull out your phone, and scroll through all the evening news you’ve missed.

Another raping, another stabbing, another kidnapping....it’s all just another day in Gotham. You don’t even bother to look up when you hear the front door open and close.

“If you want coffee, you’ve come to the right place. If you want anything else, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong damn shop,” you mumble as an article about Arkham Asylum catches your eye.

You may not see your Mother often, but that doesn’t mean you don’t care about her.

“How about a cup of tea?” a familiar voice asks.

You look up to see Dr. Jonathan Crane standing at the counter, small smile tugging on his lips, but his hair is out of place.

“Rough night, Doc?” you question, pushing yourself up with your foot, making your way over to the kettle and setting it up.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your hair is out of place and there’s a bit of blood on your glasses, and the lapel of your shirt.”

“You’re more observant than I thought.”

“You’ve thought about me?” you tease, pulling out his his favorite tea powder.

Ginseng.

“More than you think.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re a mystery.”

“I’m sure you’ve met far more interesting subjects than me. You’ve already met my Mother.”

“While she is very much a fun case to study, now that I know she’s your Mother, you’re much more...complex.”

“I’ll choose to take that as a compliment,” you laugh, finishing up his drink before pouring it in a to-go cup. “That’s the nicest way I’ve ever been called insane.”

“Far from insane, Y/N. Very far. More like-”

“Troubled?” “Not that either...a to-go cup?”

“You’ve never been one to sit and stay since you started working at the Asylum.”

“A good point. What else do you know about me?”

“Nothing.”

“What else have you heard about me?”

“Things I’m sure you don’t wanna hear about,” you promise, looking him over as you lean against the counter. “No charge. You get home safe.”

“You see blood on my glasses and my shirt, but tell me to get home safe?”

“Who am I to judge?”

“You know, this day has been very telling about you but, at the same time, I feel like I know you less than I did before.”

“If I’m not keepin’ ya guessing, what’s the point of our lovely little chats?”

“Who says that I need these little moments to keep me interested?”

“Show me that you don’t.”

“Have a drink with me and I will,” he smiles coyly, mischief in his eyes.

Every red alarm in your brain goes off, but you’ve never bothered to listen to them before, so why start now?

You poured yourself a cup of coffee and slowly made your way from around the counter, ignoring the the sirens as they grow louder and louder, and sit across from him at the small table.

“Jonathan,” you smile, mischief dancing around in your own eyes as you take a sip of your coffee. “Take your best shot.”

“What do you fear?” he asks with a cocked eyebrow and you scoff. “What?”

“What do you think I fear?”

“I can’t get a read on you.” “That’s fair, I guess,” you shrug, swirling the coffee in your cup around a bit. “I’ll tell you what I fear if you tell me something about you. I’ll know if you’re lying, so don’t try it,” you proposition, meeting his gaze with a devilish glint in your eye.

You really shouldn’t be playing this game.

An evil smirk spreads across his face before he responds with, “I’m the one who created the fear toxin.”

‘Will you stop fucking playing this game?! Tell him you need to get home!�� your brain begs, but you’re just starting to have fun.

You’ve never been good at doing what’s in your best interest.

“That tracks,” you shrug before taking a sip of your coffee.

“It tracks?”

“You work at the Asylum, no one in this city really has a good and clean record-”

“Oh? What’s on your record?”

“I put laxatives in drinks of customers who piss me off,” you tell him nonchalantly and laugh and when he practically chokes on his tea. “What? I don’t seem capable?”

“For some reason, I thought it would be something along the lines of murder.”

“No, I’m afraid the only thing I’ve ever really broken is hearts.”

“Why’s that?”

“I learned very early in life to never get too attached to anyone in Gotham. Never works out well for me.”

“Your parents?”

“Parents, first real love, last serious relationship. I fuck until I’m bored and then I leave.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, but you can’t tell what it is. It’s not disdain or disappointment, but more along the lines of...shock? Confusion.

“So, you have fear of abandonment?” he asks as your timer goes off.

“Well, it’s time for me to close up shop, Dr. Crane,” you smile, getting up making your way back behind the counter with your half full cup of coffee.

“I didn’t take you as someone who’s a liar,” he comments and you don’t miss the irritation in his tone.

“I never said I wouldn’t tell you, I said it’s time for me to close up shop. However, I do like having this effect on you.”

“And what effect is that?”

“Rattling your cage.”

“Oh, you do much more than that, and I think you’ve known that for quite some time.”

“Oh, but Doctor Crane, this is the first time you’ve ever had the balls to court me,” you smirk over your shoulder and he laughs.

“How long does it usually take you to close up shop?”

“As long as I want it to. Why do you ask?”

“Do you have any plans tonight?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I figured we could...take a walk around the city.”

“You’re a very confident man, Dr. Crane.”

“No one’s gonna touch me out there.”

“And what on earth would we talk about on this little walk?”

“You.”

“Your obsession with me is cute. I like it a lot.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s an obsession, more like...fascination.”

“And what’s so fascinating about little old me?” you ask, covering the tops of all the different syrups.

“Like I said,” he responds softly right behind you, causing you to jump, “because you’re a mystery.”

Oh, you’re fucking in it now.

You can read the full story here

tags: @autumnrose40

#fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #fanfiction #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane smut #scarecrow #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x oc #scarecrow x y/n #jonathan crane x y/n #Scarecrow Dc

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britcision · 2 years

Text

Okay so… today is a little bit of a long one, so we’ll see if we’re back at Tumblr breaking length or juuuust on the right side

But! Finally, much anticipated, we have the man himself: John Constantine! Here to share secrets and save the day! (Not)

And! This chapter got us right up to the edge, next chapter is gonna push me over to one MILLION words on AO3 y’all!! I’ve been flirting with it the past couple years but finally we’re here!

So. Might push the next one out faster. Might slow the next one down, since we’re in heavy waters again. And, since we are in the heavy waters, Imma tag on some warnings:

1) we gonna be speculating a little more on Jason’s death in this one, from a couple of viewpoints. We’re also discussing Cass’s in particular, and its repercussions.

No gore or details, just some death themes, mostly from Jason’s perspective after he and Danny leave the manor (Jason’s second POV segment)

2) Bruce is gonna make some very bad decisions about stimulants and concussions, mostly off screen but it is mentioned at the end of our first Bruce POV segment

And now the links!

First and link to AO3:

———————

Never Make A Promise You Can’t Keep

Constantine hadn’t been looking forward to discussing Amity Park with the Justice League. Not the first time he’d been sent, and not for a single second after.

But hours turned into days, days to weeks, weeks to years. He’d almost thought he’d gotten away with it and that they wouldn’t ask.

Which was probably what had gotten the big Bat’s fuckin’ attention, wasn’t it. Couldn’t possibly let the universe have something nice for Johnny Constantine.

Luckily it was damn hard to lose something in the House of Mystery unless the House wanted it lost. Today she was feeling merciful and gave him the book on the second try.

It’d have been nice if he needed to refresh his memory of the case. If the knowledge of Amity Park hadn’t been sitting like a weight on his awareness since before he’d been.

Honestly he could probably point to it from anywhere on Earth. Most magic users could, if they had the faintest alignment with death.

Amity Park was goddamn wrong, even if it looked like things had turned out alright for now. Still, there were types of wrong you didn’t poke at.

Going prodding around would only make things worse.

And now he had to go explain that to Captain Prod himself, and try and persuade the fuckin’ Batman that no news was good news.

At least the Superboys had listened when he told them to clear off until he could visit in person. They’d pinky sworn they were back in Metropolis, and he’d heard enough traffic to believe them.

They could just as easily fly straight back to Alaska, but they weren’t stupid. They knew how to listen.

(Possibly from trauma related to the times Young Justice hadn’t listened to him, but he’d take what he could get.)

Now he just had to persuade the Bat that he knew what he was talking about.

Constantine hated debriefings with Batman. The guy had no grasp of magic, which was perfectly fair for most folks.

He preferred that. It kept them out of his kind of trouble, meant he didn’t have to worry about them until it got bad enough they’d accept whatever snapped sentence he managed.

Batman though. Batman treated magicians like it was their fault that the world didn’t work the way he personally preferred. Like they had any say in the how and why of magic.

Asshole.

And now he wanted to scold John like a naughty child about something he had no way to understand. Well, fuck that.

For better or worse, the Justice League made Amity Park his problem. Years late or not, this was his show, and he wasn’t going to take shit from anyone.

Thumbing quickly through the book, he kinda hated how easily it fell open to the relevant page. Like he’d already spent way too long looking.

Even he didn’t fuck with the Infinite Realms. Not if he could help it.

Stuffing in his notes from the city itself he closed the book, left the House, and hurried to one of the closer zeta tubes. Didn’t matter which city he was spat out in, he could find one.

His number didn’t coax even a flicker of the usual dry amusement as he stepped out into the bat cave, scowling up at the massive screen.

League records. Great. He strode across the floor, hoping they could sort this crap out fast.

“What the fuck’s got you lookin’ into Amity Park?” He asked as the Bat turned to face him, book tucked under his arm.

None of his usual prevaricating or fucking around. No chance for the fucker to try his usual “control the conversation” shit.

If it had any effect whatsoever, it didn’t show. Damn white outs. Batman just stared at him for a moment, then turned back to the computer, pulling up another page.

Constantine didn’t look. He didn’t want to know.

“Why did you mark Amity Park as a prank?” The big Bat asked in his stupid, gravelly tones.

Constantine rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t mark it as a fuckin’ prank, I marked it as a no fly zone for your little lot, so again: what the fuck came out of Amity Park?”

Batman stilled for a moment, doing that annoying “human computer” bit again. John preferred each and every one of the actual cyborgs, even the ones that tried to kill him.

Then he turned back, swivelling the chair around to fully face John like a movie super villain. Asshole.

“Over two thousand legitimate cries for help came out of Amity Park, and were ignored. If they were marked for the Justice League Dark, you should have responded, not deleted them.”

And that sounded way too much like an accusation. And completely fuckin’ irrelevant.

Something deeply unpleasant was tugging at the edge of Constantine’s awareness, just below the irritation he scraped over the sense of impending doom he’d been ignoring for the last hour.

He pushed it down, scowling at Bruce as he crossed the last of the distance and slammed the book down on the table next to the keyboard, gesturing up at the screens.

Still not bothering to look. He didn’t want to fuckin’ know.

“Years ago, Batty. This could be time fuckin’ sensitive, so quit pissing me about an’ tell me what. Exactly. Got you looking into Amity Park.”

There was a moment of hesitance, and he just fucking hated that. Nothing that made Batman hesitate could possibly be… good.

The feeling at the back of his mind suddenly clicked. His eyes widened and he groaned, wishing he had something stronger than a cigarette. Maybe a bullet.

“Great. Just fuckin’ great. They’re here.”

Groping around behind him, he grabbed another swivel chair and folded down into it, elbows bracing on the desk and burying his face in his hands.

Well, this was the nightmare situation.

From the fucking death taint seeping into his fuckin’ skin, something extremely fuckin’ big had oozed its way out of the Realms, and settled itself in Gotham.

Batman’s attention had snapped to, the man suddenly alert and watchful as Constantine slumped.

One hand dove into a pocket for the carton of cigarettes, Bat Cave rules be damned. Not much fuckin’ point, but he wasn’t doing this sober, and his flask was too small.

For once the Bat didn’t comment as he flicked the lighter open, lit up, and took a long drag. Just focused that laser stare on Constantine’s face.

At least he’d grasped the gravity of the matter.

“What is here?” The Bat finally asked when it became clear Constantine wasn’t elaborating, sounding annoyed.

Constantine took another drag of his smoke. Some days nicotine just wasn’t enough.

“Start from the beginning, Bats. Tell me everything that led up to you lookin’ into Amity Park, and everything you found since,” he demanded, hoping there was still a point to asking.

“If this is time sensitive, Constantine, you need to tell me what is happening,” Batman growled, tensed like he wanted to leap out of his chair and loom like one of his fuckin’ gargoyles.

The bat sounded cranky. Fuck him.

Constantine fixed him with a level stare.

“Then you’d better get fuckin’ talking, hadn’t you? I need to know how fuckin’ bad it is before I know first steps.”

Batman hesitated a moment longer, then turned back to his computer.

“I can summon the League-”

“No time,” Constantine cut him off acerbically, shaking his head, “and might make shit worse. Just fuckin’… report. Gimme yer damn report.”

For all that the Bat loved paperwork, loved to bury them all in bureaucracy, he dithered another moment before nodding, pulling up…

Well lookie there, he already had a literal report typed up. Great.

Taking another long drag of his cigarette Constantine leaned back in the chair and scanned the document.

Hopefully this wouldn’t take long. Or the extra details he could already tell he’d need, that had prompted the dull and clinical report.

Jason had tensed as Danny did. First because of the sudden alertness he could feel in Danny’s aura, even reduced back down to conversational levels.

(And that had been fun. The more times he felt Danny’s aura wrapped around him, the longer he spent with his chest tight and Danny’s presence right down to his lungs…

He felt cold when it went away. Almost lonely, surrounded by people. Fucking ancients help him, he was getting used to it.)

Was that what it’d feel like if he felt that Danny was in danger? A rush of adrenaline?

It was a little weird being so in tune with someone, but not in a bad way. Danny didn’t seem upset, just suddenly on guard in a way that the whole table noticed.

On guard, and… amused. And then he spoke and Jason tensed again.

“So that’s John Constantine… huh.”

Danny could sense John Constantine. That was… Really not the strangest thing, but it didn’t mean Jason had to like it.

If Danny could sense Constantine, could Constantine sense Danny? Jason wasn’t sure if he should ask in public.

Tim had way less reservations.

“Wait, what do you mean? What just happened?” He asked, breaking away from Tucker for a moment. But at least Tucker also looked confused.

Danny shook his head, chuckling softly and finishing up his food.

“Oh, sorry. It’s Sad Trenchcoat Guy,” he added for Sam and Tucker’s benefit, both of whom relaxed like that actually meant something.

Sam was back in her original clothes now, although Jason hadn’t given her the thermos back yet. Once her parents arrived, maybe.

Jason stifled a snicker, along with most of the Gothamites. It was a pretty accurate description of Constantine.

“Still in the dark over here,” Duke put in, a slight frown on his face.

Danny shrugged again and grinned at him.

“It’s kinda a ghost thing. I can sense other ghosts, or certain kinds of magic users. Constantine came to Amity Park not that long after I died,” he explained casually.

Tim and Dick shared meaningful looks behind Tucker’s head, and Jason stifled another chuckle. They thought they were so discrete.

Dick leaned in again, arms folded on the table as he gave Danny his best innocent interest.

“Oh? That’s kinda weird, do you know why?” He asked casually. Not questioning where Danny thought John was now.

He wanted to try and lead them away from the topic, probably. Too bad for him, if he’d asked he might have gotten some idea of how far Danny’s power stretched.

He’d explained to Jason about his aura covering most of the city, although he hadn’t claimed it as his haunt. But if Dickie didn’t want to know, Jason wouldn’t tell.

Sam fielded the question, rolling her eyes and folding her arms.

“We thought he might have come to help, since that was around when the ghost attacks started. He didn’t though,” she added bitterly, and Danny kicked her under the table.

“We don’t actually know why he came,” he explained, giving Dick a half smile, “he never talked to us. He did talk to some of the other ghosts though.”

“Wait, you can just do that?” Steph asked, her brows furrowed. Whether she was playing civilian or actually wasn’t sure, Jason wouldn’t put a bet on.

The amount most of the bat clan knew about magic and ghosts used to be that Jason was a zombie.

Which, as it turned out, was wrong.

Danny gave her a blank look, then shrugged again.

“I mean, yeah? You literally can just go ask half the time, but he was doing some fancy stuff. Binding circles and demanding truth, that kinda shit,” he added, making a face.

“He wasn’t popular among the living either,” Tucker agreed with a snicker. “Lotta weird questions for people, and no answers. We figured he was one of those occult nuts.”

“That’d explain the binding circles and truth thing,” Duke agreed with a solemn nod, folding his own arms. Honestly, watching them all play civilian was kinda adorable.

Tucker hesitated a moment, then shrugged and nodded, conceding the point.

“I mean, you’ve got me there. But he never tried to get anywhere near the fights, and then one day he just vanished. We got a ton more weird tourists for a while, but he was the weirdest,” he finished with relish.

Sam snorted again, clearly still annoyed about the whole mess. Maybe she’d been the one who actually wanted help.

Danny hadn’t mentioned how he felt about it yet, and Jason hadn’t asked, but they’d all been abandoned. Fucking Jason wasn’t happy about it.

“He was the only one who actually knew what he was doing,” she huffed, scowling at the table. Then she sighed, shaking her head. “So if he’s in Gotham, I’m gonna call it a bad sign.”

Privately, Jason was tempted to agree with her. John Constantine was a danger magnet, and Jason was half tempted to go and have a word himself.

Word in the Bat Chat was that Constantine was why Danny had never gotten any backup before. Danny himself might not be looking to start a fight over it, but Jason had Opinions on teen heroes.

And the adults who should have been protecting them.

Not with Bruce around though. He’d have to wait and see if Constantine stayed in town.

It’d give him time to ask Danny about the suddenly constant undercurrent of suppressed laughter he could feel.

In the bat cave, Constantine squinted at the picture Batman had pulled up from the gala. Not exactly the best picture on earth, but it was clear enough to tell. Shaking his head, he let out a sigh of relief.

“Alright, could be worse,” he decided, tossing aside his second cigarette butt. The report had been complete, he’d give old Bats that, and he’d even been allowed to smoke through it.

But a black gloved hand covered his when he reached for the pack again.

Fucker.

Constantine let it slide for now, raising both hands in surrender and then pointing at the screen.

“Looks like you’ve got the halfa. Not bad news, as it goes. He’s at least still half human, which is probably why your precious city’s still intact.”

He didn’t even want to think about what might have happened if another ghost tried to set up a haunt in Gotham. The old girl’s Curse would have something to say about it.

Batman didn’t look noticeably reassured though.

“Enough stalling, Constantine. What is this all about? What happened in Amity Park?” He demanded roughly, and Constantine was grudgingly impressed.

Seemed like that ol’ bat hyper focus was going to win out over even a threat to his own city. Or he hadn’t been fully listening.

No bet.

Constantine sighed again, gesturing to the screen.

“You got a ley line map somewhere on this thing?” He asked, mostly just to annoy the bat a little further. Not like he wasn’t gonna give him the answers.

Batman hesitated for a moment, then set to typing. Probably… yup, going into the JL Dark files. Zatanna kept a helpful reference folder for the mundanes.

Constantine didn’t think they needed any more help than they asked for, but she’d been right this time and he owed her a beer for it. A second later the map was on screen.

Constantine nodded again, pointing to the general area of Illinois.

“Pull up Amity Park on that map,” he instructed, wheeling his chair back out of reach to pull out a third cigarette.

Both got him an annoyed frown from old Batsy.

“What is this supposed to mean?” He asked in the old gravelly growl, the map already obediently zooming in.

Constantine lit his smoke and waved at the screen again.

“Y’know what ley lines are?” He asked back, watching the map scroll around.

Not one with a search function then. Batsy’d have to find it by hand. Sucks to be him.

It kept him from focusing much attention on John anyway, so that was a win.

“I know the places they meet are magical nexus points,” Batman admitted reluctantly, like he didn’t hoard information about everything on earth.

Constantine nodded, not willing to entertain his issues.

“Amity Park’s on a dozen of them,” he said bluntly, and watched the guy stiffen.

Zoom out a bit, find the flowering spot where damn near every ley line through that part of the world crossed. Zoomed back in to find Amity Park.

The bat scowled at the screen for a while, then at John, who’d put his feet up on the desk. Tough titties, they weren’t coming down.

“But what does that mean, Constantine,” he growled, and John sighed.

Cupped his hands in front of him, paused, and shook his head.

“Alright, I’m crap at metaphors so bear with me. You know about multiple dimensions?” He asked and the bat nodded impatiently.

Like he shouldn’t have asked. Like this fucker hadn’t just asked for the fuckin’ kindergartener explanation.

Whatever.

“Yes. There’s a different dimension on the other side of the ley lines?” He asked, and Constantine did his very best not to roll his eyes.

Well. Maybe not his very best.

But he didn’t do it as hard as he could have.

“No. There’s way too many other dimensions. But what the ley lines do is weaken a place in this dimension, especially where they cross. Amity Park is a fuckin’ sieve,” he said with finality, waiting for the Bat to catch up.

And sure enough, those frown lines etched themselves deep again. This guy was gonna make John Fuckin’ Constantine look like a fresh faced baby.

“So other dimensions can cross through?” He asked again, and John sighed.

Reductive fucker.

“No. Yes. Sort of. Because some stupid motherfucker in Amity Park didn’t just use the natural portals or holes; they punched a fuckin’ permanent portal to the Infinite Realms.”

Honestly using the natural portals would have been bad enough in his opinion. Reality was basically swiss cheese in Amity, and getting anything’s attention would be beyond dangerous.

He hadn’t even liked visiting.

Batman looked more stoic, which John assumed meant he wasn’t keeping up. Scrubbing his free hand through his hair, he blew out a stream of smoke and frowned.

“So you get natural portals between our dimension other dimensions. It’s how all that “evil other self” crap keeps happening. With me?” He asked dryly.

The bat nodded without speaking, which was as close to an admission of confusion as Constantine figured he’d get.

Whatever.

“You get more portals on ley lines, and more again where two cross. About a dozen cross in Amity Park, so they get lots of natural portals. Yes?”

The bat nodded again, face pinching up like he resented John’s tone. Double tough, he’d had every chance to read Zatanna’s primers.

If John was doing Ley Lines For Dummies the dummies could keep their attitudes to themselves.

“Natural portals, they open and close on their own. Rest of the world, they don’t usually stay open for long. They need power to stop the world from… mending the hole.”

Which was the worst fucking explanation of all time and not remotely what happened, but who fucking cared. Batty wanted to weigh in again.

“So natural portals also stay open longer around Amity Park,” he growled, trying to get to the next step of the explanation.

Which, actually, John hadn’t really thought about. Pursing his lips, he let his gaze drift to the smoke swirling around the ceiling.

There were actual fucking bats up there.

Of course there were.

Dramatic bastard.

Forcing his attention back to the bastard in question, he waved a hand to dispel the last stream of smoke.

“Doesn’t matter what natural portals do. Some asshole went to the spot in reality most likely to break on its own, and decided to punch a hole. A permanent hole, into the Infinite Realms.”

Batman took a deep, even breath in, like he was trying to hold onto his temper. Yeah, well, he’d walked face first into Amity Fuckin’ Park, now he had to join John in Hell.

“What are the Infinite Realms?” He asked, sounding as patient as ever. Brownie points for trying, John wasn’t going to.

“It’s where the unclaimed dead go. Souls not ready to move on, souls that were never born, and, much worse, it occasionally pops out personifications of forces or belief,” he ground out the last words, teeth gritting in spite of himself.

The bat stilled for a long moment, drawing in another slow, steady breath. Probably counting to ten.

“What.” It wasn’t even a question really, a flat statement of dissatisfaction.

It meant not talking about Amity Park for a bit longer though, so Constantine leaned in.

“God shit. Concepts like Time, Hope, Growth. Anything that someone, somewhere, truly believes in. Well, not just anyone,” he corrected, and Did Not enjoy the way Batman’s jaw clenched.

Not even a bit.

“It takes a lot of juice, makin’ a whole entity. But the Infinite Realms are the core of all the dimensions, the intersection they all go through, and that’s where the belief settles. The more people who believe, the more clearly they believe it, and eventually you get enough to form a personality.”

He gave the bat a little time to digest that one. To really let it sink in what a fuckin’ problem the Infinite Realms could be.

And then a thought occurred to him.

“Your city’s got one, y’know?” He mentioned almost as an afterthought, and Batty Did Not like that.

His head snapped up, white outs narrowing to slits as he glared.

“What?!” He demanded sharply and Constantine waved a hand.

“Gotham. Dunno if it’s all the shit you lot go through, or the stubborn arseholes that live ‘ere, but Gotham has a city spirit.”

No need to mention the curse yet. Batsy was already having a day.

That’d be for the next time he ticked Constantine off.

This time, just that revelation seemed to have been enough to stun the bat. Constantine left him to sit in this one until he was ready though.

Processing.

He wasn’t completely heartless.

He was a little grudgingly impressed by how quickly Batman put it aside and refocused on the matter in hand.

“And that’s why the Infinite Realms are dangerous? These powerful personifications?” He asked cautiously, like he expected John to say no again.

Smart man.

Constantine gave him a dry smile.

“If fuckin’ only. There’s spirits in there, Ancients, and every one of ‘em could give Darkseid a run for his money. But even the ghosts of the Realms are a fuckin’ dangerous lot. You know Deadman?”

The bat nodded to indicate that he did, brows furrowing.

“He can’t be seen or heard without magical assistance,” he agreed, that same caution present.

At least he was a quick learner. Constantine nodded in satisfaction.

“He’s a ghost made by magic. Ghosts from the Realms don’t have anything like the same limitations. They can’t be seen or touched unless they want to, and they can damn well affect the world around ‘em.”

John shuddered, remembering some of the attacks he’d seen. Nothing stronger than a baseline demon, but the damage you could do when no one else could touch you, or stop you…

And he shook his head, locking the damage back down.

“And worse, they’re fuckin’ unpredictable. Demons, they’re easy. They all want the same shit. Realms ghosts? If one of ‘em decides fuckin’ cheese is their obsession, that’s it. They’ll drown a city in cheddar.”

The bat was staring at him again, back on that stoic “I have no idea what’s happening so I’ll look big and scary til it all makes sense again” bullshit.

Constantine sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look. I ain’t even told ya the worst of it yet. How about we jus’ take it as read that the Infinite Realms are bad fuckin’ news, okay?” He asked as patiently as he could.

There was that little twitch, that little scrunch again. Not a happy Batty.

And he wasn’t gonna get happier while he made John teach him Magic For Dummies either.

But he nodded, folding his arms reluctantly.

“Then why did you leave the people of Amity Park to face them alone?” He asked bluntly, and… well, that was the question, wasn’t it?

Constantine stared blankly at him.

“You want Superman gettin’ body hopped by a ghostie craving all the cheddar in the mid west?” He asked in turn, and there it was.

The little indrawn breath. The fuckin’ scale of the problem.

Fuckin’ FINALLY.

“Look, Amity Park has a hero. Had. The halfa.” He waved vaguely at the screen again, the picture of Bruce’s mystery kid now buried several windows deep.

Didn’t matter.

“He’s got all the powers the ghosts do, an’ can’t be possessed. Last thing the poor little fuck needed was to face an overshadowed super.”

And yeah, the Bat still didn’t look happy (more to the better, that’d be a terrifying sight all on its own), but at least he had a reason for resting bitch face now.

Constantine sighed, waving a hand vaguely and tossing the latest butt down.

“Look, I can’t stop ya from pokin’ around. Not for lack of trying, mind. The Realms are a dangerous place, an’ Amity Park’s practically on the other side already. I dunno why the kid left, I don’t care. You though, Bats? You’re gonna do me a proper fuckin’ oath.”

He levelled his best serious stare, useless as usual against the damn white outs. It’d kill the asswipe to look human.

Batman shifted again, clearly feeling the weight of the last word.

Good.

“An oath?” He asked warily, and Constantine nodded, holding out his hand.

“On yer name, on yer blood, on yer tie to this fuckin’ city. No matter what you do lookin’ at the Infinite fuckin’ Realms. You do not. Fuck. With the Ghost King.”

The bat stared down at his hand like there was something wrong with it. John assumed anyway. The pissy face could be for anything.

And then he asked the question, because of fuckin’ course he did.

“What is the Ghost King?”

John sighed heavily, leaving his hand where it was, waiting for the oath.

“The prettiest fuckin’ princess of them all, what d’you fuckin’ think. The Ghost King rules the Infinite Realms, and by all accounts the last one was a bloody tyrant. Good news is he probably never noticed Amity Park yet, cuz America isn’t a smoking crater.”

Honestly, maybe he’d add a chapter to Zatanna’s document. Stamp it all across any reference anyone tried to make to Amity Fuckin’ Park so he never had to do this again.

He caught the Bat’s gaze again, weighting his words with enough power that every sound in the cave died around them.

“It took all the damn Ancients to seal Pariah Dark once. And someone’s beaten him, and taken his throne. I don’t fuckin’ know who, I don’t ask, but if they’re tough enough to beat Pariah, they are beyond what the League can do. Your only chance is to stay the fuck outta their way. Swear it.”

Batman stared at him for a long moment, and then down at the outstretched hand. Reached out and clasped it in his own.

“I swear. I will not knowingly upset the Ghost King.”

John gripped tighter, realized almost immediately that it was pointless against the reinforced gloves, and did it anyway.

“None of that, Batty. No bullshit. You do not fuck with the Ghost King. You hear the faintest goddamn whisper of their name, you turn tail and fuckin’ run. We will not survive their attention.”

He stared the stupid white outs down, as long as it took, and didn’t let go. Batman stared at him for a while, clearly absorbing the gravity of his words.

Constantine couldn’t remember asking a member of the League to swear to anything before. Usually he was the buyer in deals, not the keeper.

Woulda been nice to remain so, but nothing stopped the fuckin’ bat from sticking his nose in, so here was John Constantine, last condom of the universe.

Last desperate scrap of protection against a fuckin’ dick.

Finally the bat nodded, grip tightening in return.

“I swear. I will not engage with the Ghost King.”

Harley had gotten back just before Sam had to leave, with perfect timing to see her to the door actually.

The look on Pamela Manson’s face when Harley kissed Sam on each cheek and waved her off would keep Danny warm on cold nights.

A quick check of flight times back to Massachusetts (like Danny wasn’t going to take shortcuts) confirmed that Tucker could have one more night in Gotham.

Tim immediately offered to put him up in Wayne Manor again, clearly not allowing the chance to slip by him two nights in a row. Tucker was only too happy to accept, although Steph and Cass begged off.

Probably for their hero patrols. Danny wasn’t exactly sure how many vigilantes Gotham had, there seemed to be a new one every few months, but having eight of them at the gala last night probably meant all the rest had been out.

Obviously Red Robin wouldn’t be out tonight either, but there were enough of them to cover for each other.

Danny was kinda jealous of that. It had been just him for so long, and then him and Valerie, which hadn’t been better until she stopped hunting him too. He’d have loved a night off.

Still, their numbers meant that Jason probably wouldn’t need to go back to the night life unless he actually wanted to. He was definitely still built for it, but Danny couldn’t imagine anyone wanted to ask him to.

Most of the bats had clearly had their own run ins with death, but Jason’s had stuck in ways even Danny knew he didn’t quite get.

Jason had been so tense at just the thought of Danny being a teen hero. It wasn’t like that’d get easier when it was his little siblings swinging from rooftops.

Danny’s hero career might have started with his own death, but he personally was of the opinion that that’d be a perfectly fine reason to end one too.

So Dick, Steph, and Cass headed out not too long after Sam, and Danny wasn’t exactly surprised when Jason’s background angst jumped.

He’d stayed on edge since Danny and Bruce got back, even when Harley told them Bruce was off dealing with his own shit and probably wouldn’t be out of his room all night.

Danny’d bet fifty bucks that the arrival of Constantine actually meant Bruce was in the bat cave being suspicious, but he wasn’t gonna say it.

Tim had shown them to a games room, for all that he’d apparently also moved out. He still knew where everything was, and soon had them hooked up for Mariokart on the biggest TV Danny ever saw.

They’d played a couple rounds (Harley was expectedly devastating with red shells) and while Danny and Tucker were having fun, he could feel Jason stressing.

Like, even if he stuck his fingers in his ears and ignored the aura. The guy was tensed so tight his shoulders strained at his shirt, which woulda been visually interesting if Danny didn’t know why.

Cass was one near death experience from slipping back across the boundary for good.

Cass was off punching criminals with rocket launchers in body armour and spandex.

Duke was probably actually in bed, Signal did morning patrols, and Damian was obstinately refusing to play video games with them perched on the back of the couch, but still.

Dick and Steph had both given one life to the cause too, and for all Dick was a cop and in danger on his day job too, cops pretty famously showed up after the vigilantes ended the party.

More than half Jason’s immediate family were back in the line of fire and Danny could practically taste Jason’s Obsession eating away at him.

As much as he tried to pretend he was playing along and gave a shit about winning, the controller creaked in his hands more than a couple casual races should allow.

So, yeah, if he couldn’t get Jason to crack a smile with this one, he was gonna gently bow them both the fuck outta the manor.

He kept half an eye on Tim, who had a glass of water.

“Hey, you guys heard the theory about Batman?” He asked casually, just as another round of Mariokart started.

Jason kicked him in the ankle but otherwise ignored him, which was fair. He’d been exposed to Danny’s bullshit.

Tim stiffened and then forced himself to relax, Tucker rolled his eyes and jostled Danny from his other side, but it was Harley who answered.

Innocent as the day she was born.

“Oh? What? Is it that he’s a lizardman? Cuz I got right up on that cowl and he’s definitely a mammal,” she said casually, not even looking away from the screen.

Danny was pretty sure he heard Damian almost slip off his perch.

He was a little bit in love with Harley Quinn. He should get her number for Jazz, maybe his big sister would learn to have a little fun.

Grinning broad and only half fake, he drifted a turn to pick up a double item from under Tucker’s nose.

“Shit, yeah, you might actually know! It’s his secret identity!” He exclaimed cheerfully, and felt the tension in the room ratchet up.

From Tim and Damian. Jason… still wasn’t paying attention.

Not like he was deeply immersed in the game, for all he kept up he was nowhere near the speed demon that handed Danny his ass the night before.

Hmm. Better get his attention.

Tim and Damian had already settled again, probably remembering he was already In The Know even if Tucker wasn’t, and Harley had given him a very knowing look right before she fire flowered him.

Almost ready.

He waited until Tim had taken a hasty sip of water on a calm stretch, nudged Jason in the shins, and made sure he was louder than the music.

“So d’you think it’s possible that Markiplier’s Batman?”

Tim sprayed water across the couch, Harley fucking cackled, and Jason snapped his head around to stare at Danny so hard he cricked his neck.

Danny red shelled him for good measure, just so he wasn’t missing anything on screen.

Tucker rolled his eyes, also deeply used to Danny’s bullshit and much more interested in gaming revenge.

“Fuck off Danny, Markiplier isn’t even a Gothamite,” he said disdainfully and Danny shook his head, grinning.

“That’s why it’s the perfect cover. I mean, Batman wants to keep his secret identity a secret, right? So having an identity that very publicly “isn’t in Gotham” makes perfect sense!” He argued cheerfully.

Jason half snorted a laugh beside him, picking back up and speeding his way back into the race. Across the couch Tim wiped his face, still catching his breath.

“I fucking hate that that made sense,” he moaned, and Harley cackled again.

“Nah, he’s got a point! How does anyone know where a youtuber lives? We only see one room!” She agreed cheerfully, clearly leaning in.

It was so nice to have a true showwoman in the crowd.

Damian looked angry in the confused way now, and Danny would hazard a guess he didn’t watch youtube at all, let alone a lets player. That might have made it funnier, had there been no other concerns.

Beside him Jason huffed out another dry chuckle, shaking his head with the barest hint of a smile.

“I can’t believe Batman has an OnlyFans,” he said in a solemn, almost sorrowful voice… and dropped a blue shell.

Tim groaned like his soul had gone with it, clinging desperately to his first place lead. Harley cackled and added her own green shells to the mix, dropping all three as they came to the home stretch.

“Don’t forget the calendar of tasteful nudes! All for charity, just what Batsy would like,” she crowed with evident glee, and Tucker snorted a laugh.

“It’d explain all the surgeries,” he agreed reluctantly, and Danny had a sudden, utterly wicked idea.

“Hey… now that Batman’s on OnlyFans, d’you think he’ll convince the whole Justice League to do a pinup calendar, or just the other bats?” He asked innocently, watching said bats from the corner of his eye.

Well, Robins technically, but since only Tim was of age birds didn’t seem appropriate.

Tim himself threw his controller to the ground, abandoning the game and throwing himself over the back of the couch and almost hitting Damian on the way.

Damian definitely hissed at him like a startled cat.

No way Danny imagined that this close to the finish.

Tucker hesitated for a long moment, clearly considering his odds of winning, but when Harley blasted past Tim’s spun out corpse and across the finish line he abandoned his controller too to check on Tim.

Harley was surprisingly good at the game when flopped sideways on her chosen couch, laughing too hard to breathe. Danny breezed into an easy third behind her and Jason, giving the other man an assessing look.

A little wary of reaching out with his aura, especially when Jason was on edge. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

Didn’t want to be too invasive, if he was honest. Danny had… kinda always been the one who was new to aura stuff before. And he’d gotten used to it, in the Ghost Zone.

He’d never spent this much time with another halfa before. Especially not without a single trace of punching or stabbing.

Except in Mariokart, where the Geneva Convention held no sway.

Jason had clearly noticed him looking though, and read the concern even without Danny pushing. He gave Danny’s shoulder a gentle bump, a nudge of fine-stop worrying alongside.

Danny nudged back, his own disbelief tinged with understanding-empathy-worried too.

But, that was kinda the other thing… the thing he didn’t really want to bring up around the other bats just yet.

And while Jason had smiled, Danny didn’t think he’d mind them dipping out.

Faking a yawn, he stretched, cracked his back, and looked over to where Tim had rejoined the couch.

“Honestly, I’m beat. I gotta try and get back into a better sleep schedule before classes start,” he said, pulling a face at the self-reminder.

Their break was coming to its end, and then he’d be back into university. His class schedule was flexible, more afternoons than early mornings, but he’d… miss this.

Free time to just spend the whole day hanging out with friends and catching up. Meeting Jason’s family, Jason meeting his.

Danny didn’t actually know what Jason did, whether he was working or going back to school, but it was gonna come up soon.

They had a trip to Frostbite to plan, some ecto shots from Danny’s fridge, and at some point he still had to introduce Jason to Frighty… and probably ask the guy if he wanted to be called that still.

It’d be a little weird to start calling him Halloween or whatever, but frankly him obeying Danny’s orders and calling him “my liege” was way fucking weirder so it’d be fine.

And about four more days before half of Danny’s time would be eaten by lectures, study halls, and projects. Fuck, maybe Jason would give him a hand with those too.

So long as he wasn’t sick of Danny by then.

Another quick glance showed that Jason’s face had reset into that tense almost-scowl again, staring past the TV.

At the other end of the couch, Tim gave a disgruntled huff.

“I’m gonna make you pay for that next time,” he grumbled, shifting to Tucker with an adorable moment of sudden concern. “Do you need me to show you to a room too, or…”

Tucker shook his head with a snicker, giving Danny a side eye.

“Nah, unlike that weakling I got used to the vigilante sleep schedule back in high school. I’m good for a couple more hours at least,” he bragged.

Danny flipped him off, hauling himself to his feet and giving Jason a nudge.

“Yeah, well, this weakling fought a croc last night and needs his sleep. Mind giving me a ride back?” He asked when Jason looked up at him.

Gently offered a touch of easy out-reassurance-trust me.

The deep furrows in Jason’s brows twitched until he caught on and his expression cleared. He nodded quickly and pulled himself to his feet.

“Yeah, we can take my bike.” Then he hesitated and looked a little uncertain. “You never told me where you live.”

It took Danny a moment to realise that… no, he really hadn’t, because that just plain didn’t feel right. But no, he’d met Jason again in that coffee shop, then come to the gala with Sam.

Hadn’t gone home last night, just stopped at one of Jason’s apparently multiple places; at least he was doing better than Danny had thought from the first apartment.

He found himself chuckling at the thought, shaking his head.

“Oh yeah, we’ve only been to your place… I’m at the south dorm at Gotham U, I can give you directions as we get closer,” he offered and Jason nodded.

He felt… weird? Like he was surprised Danny had told him where he lived, and ashamed of being surprised.

Danny decided not to dig into it, offering Jason his arm and bowing like all those Shakespeare plays he knew Jason loved.

“Shall we?”

Jason’s moment of surprise was quickly swallowed by delight and he bowed back, then tucked his hand into Danny’s elbow. Almost definitely knew etiquette better than Danny did, so Danny wasn’t gonna doubt him.

“We shall. I’ll drop you off and head home,” he agreed, then paused and glanced back at Harley.

Whose giggling had completely ended and was now watching them like her favourite sitcom. Chin in hands and all.

“Did you wanna meet up here tomorrow, or…” Jason trailed off, obviously also a little put off by her intensity.

She perked up when addressed, giving him a cheery grin and a double thumbs up.

“Here or th’ station, I don’t mind! Hey, did ya wanna come too, Danny boy?” She asked sweetly, head cocked to the side and just waaaay too innocent.

Not that Danny could work out what she was up to.

“Uh… to do what?” He asked carefully, head cocking to match hers before he noticed and straightened up.

Her grin widened, so she noticed.

“Oh, Jason an’ I are gonna go check on my buddy Waylon, see if we can’t work out what he was doin’ at the gala. If youse threw down he might like ta see ya there?”

Which honestly left Danny at a loss, until Tim explained.

“Killer Croc. His actual name’s Waylon Jones, and he was Harley’s tenant in Coney Island before coming back to Gotham,” he said casually, and Danny stilled.

There was an intensity in the room that hadn’t been there before, a sudden wave that sent a chill down his spine. Something from Harley, suddenly predator sharp in a way he hadn’t felt since Skulker had been a serious threat.

For the life of him though, he couldn’t put his finger on what though, since she didn’t move. Just grinned like she had been all along.

“People called him Killer Croc cuz of his skin condition. He gave up tryin’ ta change their minds,” she said with a light shrug, completely belied by the intensity of her stare.

Danny couldn’t look away until she released him, something satisfied in the quirk of her lip. Like she could see the sudden well of memory in his chest.

He’d never actually given in to all the things his parents had called Phantom. They’d been ashamed of all of them when the truth came out, and he’d only had to put up with them for a few years.

He tried to imagine decades of it, being called a monster for things he couldn’t control. For nothing more than a weird scaly skin condition.

He couldn’t imagine going full bomb vest over it, but Danny was man enough to admit he might just be a little touchy because of Jason’s death.

Which Waylon might not even know about.

Suddenly he actually did want to know why they’d attacked the gala.

Until now it had just been inevitable, someone was going to so why not them, but… well. He’d felt it under the whole plan, every stupid step.

Jason had trusted Waylon, not Danny, to keep things from getting out of hand. To know that a tussle was part of the fun.

Danny hadn’t planned on asking, but. Yeah.

“I’d like that,” he agreed quickly, nodding, at about the same time as Tucker found his own voice.

“Wait, that’s a skin condition? He’s just like that?” The techie asked sharply, staring around at Tim and Damian to confirm.

And got a disdainful look from Damian back.

“Tt, what else would it be? Do you know many scaled people?” He asked archly.

Danny’s mind snapped directly to Dora and her asshole brother. Knew Tucker’s had gone to the same place a second later.

“More than you’d think,” he and Tucker said in unison, and they shared a grin. If there was one benefit to their fucked up ghost hunting years, it was shutting down smart ass remarks.

Damian only looked more annoyed at being corrected, and Tucker shrugged.

“I thought he mighta been a scientist and tried to fuse himself with a lizard or something, like in Spider-Man,” he elaborated, and Danny kinda hated how much their lives resembled superhero movies.

Not that he’d say that in a room full of bats.

Damian’s brows drew down even further and he sneered, displeasure evident, but Jason cut him off before he could speak.

“Before you make a comment about mad scientists I’m gonna remind you we live in a city with Viktor Fries,” he said dryly and Damian’s mouth snapped shut.

Big brother privileges.

Wouldn’t it be nice if Ellie had given Danny those?

Tucker gave Danny a confused look, and Danny just shrugged back. He didn’t pay much attention to Gotham’s various rogues; he didn’t want to tempt his Obsession.

Tim chimed in again, without actually looking at Tucker which was kinda impressive. Guess they were just very obviously new to Gotham.

“Dr Freeze. He uses a lot of liquid nitrogen and freeze rays, he’s usually after money or diamonds to try and cure his wife,” he explained with a slight shrug.

Tucker made a confused noise.

“So… couldn’t Bruce just pay him off and keep him from bothering the city?” He asked carefully, glancing around the room.

Jason actually snorted a laugh at that, shaking his head.

“If he could, he would have. What Fries wants isn’t possible yet.”

Not possible for humans. Part of Danny perked up, wondering if Frostbite might have the answers… but no. It wasn’t his job to solve every problem in the world.

Bringing healthy humans to the Zone was iffy. An already sick woman… well, she might get hastened along her journey to the afterlife.

And this was a conversation he really wanted to keep away from, honestly. Gotham’s rogues weren’t his problem. Couldn’t be his problem.

Danny fought ghosts, unkillable entities who enjoyed missile attacks as sport. He wasn’t interested in learning how squishy human rogues were; it had been bad enough with his friends in the line of fire.

Mega pass on being the firing squad.

He almost reconsidered the trip tomorrow, but… he trusted Jason. Trusted Jason knew where he was coming from, and that neither of them wanted to trip Danny’s Obsession.

So he gave the big guy a smile and an elbow nudge, nodding for the door.

“Not that rogue chat isn’t fascinating, but you were taking me to bed?” He asked hopefully, and only realised what he’d said when Harley stuffed half her fist in her mouth to laugh.

And now, now Danny had a choice. He could feel the heat threatening to build, and blushing? Blushing would make things much worse.

Jason’s cheeks had pinked and that was adorable and Danny would ectoblast anyone who gave him shit for it, but if DANNY blushed, Tucker would never let it go.

No, the better answer had to be to play it off, and what did you do to counter red in makeup? You added green.

Not that Danny had used ectoplasm as a fucking colour corrector before, but he might as well try. So he let his grin go saucy, eyebrows waggling, and tried a teeny bit of spectral ice to cool his cheeks.

It made Jason chuckle again, so he’d take it as a win, and Jason gave him another bow, hand still tucked in Danny’s arm.

“Your chariot awaits.”

Tim and Tucker mimed puking almost simultaneously. They were perfect for each other. And had no taste, so that worked out well for them.

Danny ignored them all and gave the room a last wave, heading for the door and tugging Jason along with.

“Night all, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow Harley, and Tucker just text me when you’re up and we’ll see about getting you home,” he called brightly, definitely not about to stop no matter what anyone said.

Not even when Harley hauled herself vertical and call after them,

“Oh, Danny! If the bat calendars do come out, shall I grab you a Red Hood one?” She asked saucily and Danny felt Jason’s grip spasm in his elbow.

Which. He was gonna try putting together later, but tonight he really did wanna get out of there before long.

Who even was Red Hood?

Danny’d never seen him and he hadn’t turned up at the gala, so he didn’t have a guess ready, just like Batwoman.

A couple of people in one of Danny’s classes simped constantly over his thighs, but Danny now figured it was because they hadn’t met Jason.

It was probably easiest to agree, so he gave her a thumbs up over his shoulder.

“Autographed please!”

The headache that had lessened as he talked to Harley was back in full swing, along with a throbbing pulse in his temples and roiling nausea in his gut.

Constantine’s damn cigarettes weren’t helping, but Bruce just didn’t feel up to wrestling them away from him.

He’d expected… well. He hadn’t expected Constantine to come through full of fire and indignation, accusing Bruce of making the fucking mess.

His bad feeling had intensified too, not in the slightest relaxed that Constantine could feel that scrungly fucking kid all the way up in the manor.

No matter what Constantine said about the “halfa”, that could not bode well. Not with the look he’d seen on the man’s fucking face.

Steph called him an occult OSHA violation in a trench coat. Anything that scared him worried Bruce.

He could put up with some smoke and some pain to get the information he needed with a minimum of fuss.

He was beginning to wish he’d gotten some sleep though. Or could have someone get him a drink of water.

He’d shown Constantine the missed call logs from Amity Park, and the magician swore in ways that made Bruce see flashes of colour.

(That might have been the concussion talking, but Bruce could remember the almost buzzing swearwords he’d heard from Sam Manson and wasn’t sure. Nothing could be trusted.)

Not at the volume of the logs, that hadn’t surprised him. No, Constantine had gotten serious when Bruce shared the logs Tim had first shown him.

‘Earth is gone. The sky is green and Earth is gone.’

“Alright, that? That’s very fuckin’ bad,” the magician grumbled, reaching into his pocket for a flask for the first time since he’d arrived.

At least it wasn’t another goddamn cigarette. Little fucking meow meow magician.

(Bruce wasn’t quite sure what that one meant, but Steph usually said it with enough derision it had to apply.)

“So I assumed,” he gritted out, jaw clenching against another pang of pain.

Constantine levelled him with a blank stare. Bruce made a conscious effort to relax his face. The tensing wasn’t helping anyway.

“No, Batman. I mean really, really not fuckin’ good. They never called again?” He asked, and the sudden gravity in his voice sunk through layers of ache and irritation.

He sounded as serious as he’d been about the oath. That definitely wasn’t good.

Bruce shook his head, scrolling demonstratively to the end of the file.

“Not after this cluster of messages, all within the same day.”

Tim had all sorts of explanations for that. Bruce fervently hoped he was right and it was just pique on the part of Amity Park; he’d take them being angry with the League over anything else.

Especially anything that made John Constantine look that serious.

“An’ the town’s still there?” He asked, like that was a reasonable question.

Except… Bruce suddenly wasn’t sure. There were alumni from Amity Park, people who’d moved away, but the sheer lack of online information about the town itself…

They hadn’t even been able to get a clear satellite image.

He should have noticed that. He should have checked that. If he hadn’t been so twisted up in his worries about Jason…

But no, that wasn’t fair.

Bruce closed his eyes a moment, calming himself down. Breathing through the sluggish throb at his temples.

None of their Amity Parkers talked about the town like it was missing, or anything out of the ordinary. His children would have flagged it.

This wasn’t an oversight, but Constantine may know something that none of his family could have assumed.

He just had to get this finished. This briefing with Constantine, his report to the League, Jason… no. Sleep first, some pain killers, a more thorough scan.

Maybe a day of recovery, as soon as he could afford one. Wait until his head cleared.

Harley was right, Jason deserved the best Bruce could give him, and trying to talk to his son now would not go well. Bruce was only barely tolerating Constantine’s presence.

For all the man was alarmingly combative about this subject, he was a pussycat compared to Jason in a mood. Jason knew far more about what would hurt Bruce most.

Jason had always been what hurt Bruce most, ever since he’d held his lifeless body. Jason, and even the thought of one of his other children following him where Bruce couldn’t go.

No. He just had to get through this.

Refocusing on John-Bloody… no, that wasn’t helping either. On Constantine.

“From what we’ve gathered from people who have left Amity Park since, they still have access to the outside world.” He wasn’t quite sure what else he could commit to now.

It didn’t seem to satisfy. It didn’t satisfy Bruce either.

“Okay, but ya remember what I said about the fabric of reality bein’ swiss fuckin’ cheese around this city?” Constantine asked, his usual drawl starkly absent.

Bruce found himself tensing again. Wishing this was something he could fight.

“Yes. We haven’t been able to receive any satellite imagery of the town, nor any footage or communication online from within.”

He could pull up all the data, all the social media, but he knew Constantine wouldn’t care. It wasn’t what he’d asked for.

And sure enough, Constantine hauled himself back to his feet, striding towards the zeta tubes.

“Right. Well, guess we’re takin’ a field trip to th’ Watchtower, B-man, because you’re really not gonna like what I’d have to do to this lovely cave to get the intel I need. We’ll need every sensor you lot have, because that?”

Constantine half turned on his walk, finger jabbing at that last message. Barely even glancing in Bruce’s direction.

It felt like an accusation.

“That’s not fuckin’ good. That sounds like the Infinite Fucking Realms,” he declared darkly, trench coat billowing around him as he stalked across the cave.

Bruce almost flinched. Like he had no control over his expressions.

He needed sleep.

He needed answers. Needed to know what had happened, and what had to happen to fix it.

Needed to know they hadn’t let a half dead child take on an entire alternate dimension alone, because no matter how little he trusted the man Danny was, the thought of the child still ached.

Needed to know if that suspicion was actually justified by anything but his own inability to accept Jason’s clear. To have an unknown factor in Jason’s life.

Constantine’s reaction was one point in Bruce’s favour.

Whatever they found about the current state of Amity Park… would tell the rest.

He forced himself out of his seat to follow Constantine, hand straying to the pocket on his belt that held his emergency stimulants.

Alfred wouldn’t be pleased, the tiny pills carried an adrenaline boost that was wearing even at full health, but he needed to be sharp. Just for a few more hours.

He could pass what they learned off to Clark and Diana, and to his children when he returned. Just for a little while. A few hours.

Amity Park had gone unnoticed for years, as little as Bruce liked that fact. He could only hope that whatever threat it presented would lie dormant just a little longer.

Fuck the no killing rule, Jason was gonna murder Harley Quinn. And by that, yeah, he probably actually meant “seek vengeance in some small but annoying way”, but still.

He didn’t actually have a crush on Danny. It was a bit they were putting on to fuck with his nosey brothers, and it was probably a good sign that they’d apparently fooled Harley too.

But Harley was a hopeless romantic and prone to see romance where none existed, so maybe it wasn’t that good.

More importantly, Danny didn’t fucking know he was Red Hood yet. He’d have to text Harley tonight and drill that in, since she’d definitely picked up that Danny was in on the secret.

And since apparently they were all gonna be hanging out tomorrow.

He kinda wished he hadn’t brought it up. That Harley hadn’t asked.

He’d monopolised so much of Danny’s time already over the break, three full days and they still had to make that run back to Frostbite.

Danny must have had some other plans. Something he actually wanted to do with his time instead of just following Jason around.

The gala had been fun though. And so had today, it just… Jason couldn’t help feeling he was being too needy. Too clingy, with a guy he’d known for all of a week, if you were generous.

Being around Danny made him feel like himself for the first time in fucking years, and he knew what he’d have given up for that.

He didn’t want to be too much. Too pushy. Didn’t want Danny to get sick of hanging out with him so soon, and leave him right back where he’d been; bitter, angry, and alone.

At least Danny didn’t seem to be thinking too much about Harley’s parting shot. There was definitely something on his mind, but they hadn’t actually unlinked arms.

Jason could feel his aura.

Concern-worry-worry.

Shit, they hadn’t fucking unlinked arms. Should they? Should Jason have? For fucks sake he was literally clinging to the guy, this was fucking ridiculous, he should just.

But Danny hadn’t pulled away.

It’d be weird to pull away now.

Jason managed to keep himself distracted in that little spiral all the way to the garage he’d parked his bike in. Danny waited until they left the manor’s grounds to speak again though, arms tightening around Jason’s chest.

“Pull over a sec?” He called above the wind, and Jason very firmly did not let that pitch him further. He pulled over, still firmly in the heights and far from any living souls.

Unless theirs counted. Probably not.

He dropped the kickstand and pulled off his helmet, hoping Danny just wanted to talk. Maybe ask him to make his excuses to Harley.

Ask Jason to drop him at the university and not follow him home. That’d make sense. He didn’t need a wayward puppy.

He didn’t actually get off the bike. Didn’t want to give up Danny’s arms wrapped around him, even if it was just for expedience.

And maybe realised that wasn’t a great idea when Danny rested his cheek on Jason’s back and a warm wave of relax-safe-reassurance threatened to swallow him.

“I know what you’re thinking about,” Danny admitted softly, and Jason damn near bolted. Barely heard the next words, which…

Well.

He knew Danny tended to overlook things. But it turned out he could be pretty damn perceptive too.

“She’s gonna be okay, you know. Cass. I can feel her anywhere in the city if I try, and I’ll know if something happens to her.”

And just like that, the pit dropped out of Jason’s stomach.

He’d been trying not to think about it. Pretended he didn’t know what she’d be doing when she left, out in the city, one fucking accident from being like him.

Even worrying about Danny getting sick of him was better than that.

She might not even need the pit to bring her back this time. Gotham had a fuck ton of native ectoplasm even for a city; it couldn’t not.

Ectoplasm was made of and attracted to raw emotional energy. For all that people died every day in the city, more were born or moved in to join their ranks.

Gotham would be a metaphorical ghost town if they hadn’t, instead of the literal version slowly creeping across the city’s vigilantes.

From the rogues’ overdramatic schemes to the peoples’ undercurrent of rage and defiant joy, Gotham seethed with emotion. Most of the dead didn’t stay to use the ecto up, and every rogue attack brought a fresh wave.

Not clean ectoplasm like the realms, but tainted with their individual torments, the fierce glee, the desire to burn, it all churned into an ambient ectoplasm Danny swore he’d never seen in another city.

And that defiant spirit, the Gotham je ne sais quoi that made people put up with all the rogue attacks and dangers, was powerful too. Jason had known that even as a kid.

Now, it was literally the reason he was alive.

He might have a second core filling his system with pit water, but they’d both have dried up without the boundless “fuck off” energy Gotham was built on.

He’d felt it the second he returned. He was alive in Gotham in a way he hadn’t been in Nanda Parbat, anywhere but the fucking pit. It let him think clearly.

Well.

Apparently Danny let him think clearly. That still stung. But it shouldn’t have surprised him.

He’d never been much of anything that other people didn’t make him.

It was why he didn’t really mind Clockwork trying to make him Danny’s knight within a couple hours of learning he was half dead. It was kinda what he did.

People had been using him as a weapon since he swung a tire iron at Batman himself. Protecting the guy who gave him his fucking soul back?

He’d have done that anyway, for free. And he got a kickass gun and a supernatural sense of when said asshole needed him. Honestly, easiest job of his life.

The catch would come eventually, but this whole “feeling the intent of people you talk to” thing left him way less suspicious than he still kinda felt he should be.

He’d rather that than be left nebulously owing his whole self to Danny with no way to repay him and no idea where the catch would come from.

It had just… never occurred to him that the same way Danny could reach out and find Vlad, he’d be able to find Cass. Or Jason himself, probably.

Jason hadn’t realised how tightly he’d wound himself until the pressure eased.

He sucked in a breath that seemed to fill his chest for the first time in hours, folded his arms forward onto the handlebars, and let his head rest against them.

Danny followed him down, never losing contact but his face slipping lower and lower down Jason’s back. It almost made him chuckle, imagining how they must have looked.

Actually, he did. Just a moment, a soft and almost giddy sound that he choked back immediately. He sounded… well. Not like himself.

He’d been itching since the girls left to patrol, wishing he could join them. Be Cass’s backup in the field and be sure she wasn’t going in on anything big alone.

Cass was a step beyond competent, she was exceptional and she’d been doing this for years without a shadow. On a regular day, she wouldn’t need help.

But hearing how close she was to losing her humanity and not coming back right no matter what had him on edge. He wanted to shield her, protect her from what he’d gone through.

It wasn’t that he wanted her out of the fight. The idea of asking her not to go out hadn’t even occurred to him. She could make her own choices and he’d back her with all he had.

He just absolutely fucking hated the idea that she was out there alone, while he had fucking nothing on him that’d let him go after her if she did need backup.

If she needed help, he’d have to waste time gearing up before he could go out after her. The other bats would have her back, they all would, so long as they weren’t busy too.

It wasn’t like he was anyone’s first choice for backup even now, he just.

Yeah. He might kinda get what Danny meant about his Obsession being protection. Protecting the bats was a recent addition, but Jason had burned himself out on enough missing kids since he got back to suspect.

He’d have to ask what an actual capital-letter Obsession felt like, but that would wait for another time.

Just knowing that Cass would be safe, had another pair of eyes and more powers than a Kryptonian watching her back made him feel like he could breathe again.

Even knowing that though, he was glad to have left the manor. He could take Danny home, suit up, and… wait.

Danny had no choice but to move back as he straightened, half turning to frown down at the smaller man.

“Is that why you wanted to leave?” He asked quietly, gauging Danny’s face.

Had Danny worked it out on his own? Felt him stressing out about his baby sister back in the field?

Did Danny know that Jason wanted to join her, if not necessarily which costume he wore, and cut his night short?

Would Danny do that for him?

The answer was obvious in the other man’s face as Danny shrugged, even before he spoke.

“I didn’t wanna put you on the spot, and I figured you’d rather get out of there,” he explained casually, leaning just a little into Jason. Enough to feel what warmth Danny had.

Jason hesitated for a long moment, not sure what to say. If he should thank Danny. If Danny would ask, and if Jason should tell him he was the Red Hood now.

It’d be weirder the longer he didn’t mention it. Like he was keeping a secret.

The same secret Danny had kept as a teenager, so at least he’d probably understand, but Jason didn’t like how it felt. He wasn’t fucking ashamed of being the Red Hood.

He’d done shit no one else ever could have, and every inch of his territory was safer than it had ever been without him. He was proud of what he’d done, even if he wouldn’t brag about his methods.

It worked. It got him where he was today, where he didn’t need to kill anymore because people turned tail at the hint of his damn name.

He still didn’t know how Danny felt about killing. It wasn’t something that came up in conversation much. Maybe he’d find a way to ask first.

Tonight, he managed a stiff nod and leaned a little of his own weight back into Danny. Even if the guy thought he was just gonna go home and mope there instead, it was a win.

“Thanks,” he said softly, half wishing for his helmet’s voice modulator. He didn’t like hearing his own voice sound so… vulnerable.

Danny, fucking angel of mercy that he was, chuckled softly and gave him a gentle tap upside the head.

“Yeah, well. Also wasn’t sure how the others would react to “99% of you are permanently on my radar” anyway, and I wanted to make sure you knew for Cass,” he explained cheerfully.

And yeah, Jason still hadn’t really processed that yet, and wasn’t even sure how he’d react. Smart fucking call on Danny’s part.

Chuckling under his breath, Jason shook his head and flipped the kickstand back up.

“Anything else before I take you to bed?” He asked, half teasing Danny’s own unfortunate choice of words earlier.

They were absolutely still fucking with his family to think this was some kind of romantic relationship. Maybe a bit to punish Bruce, who clearly couldn’t handle the idea of Jason happy.

Danny laughed, a hint of something Jason almost identified behind it, then settled himself more firmly against Jason’s back, hanging on properly again.

“Not a damn thing. Oh, are you gonna come pick me up tomorrow or do I make my own way to the manor to join you and Harley?” He asked, snugged up tight.

Jason had almost forgotten that was happening. Apparently. And suddenly he was glad for at least the motorcycle helmet as his cheeks flushed pink.

Fuck he’d say he was trailing after Danny like a puppy, except Danny was the one going where Jason needed to be.

Another excuse to get Danny on his bike, arms around him.

Fuck off Jason Todd, Romance Heroine. It was a goddamn jailbreak, if a legal one. Not a fucking meet cute.

“If you actually want to come,” he agreed a little hesitantly, because the voice that insisted he was just a burden and Danny was only humouring him wasn’t all displacement activity after all.

Or pit related, apparently. Delightful.

He coulda tried to pretend it was, but that had been more convincing back when it was always a background grumble of anger, not the little calm pool of happiness now sitting in his gut.

Unforeseen side effect of getting his toxic sludge cleaned up: he was gonna have to own some of his own bullshit now. Work out what was his and what wasn’t.

Danny leaned back a little, grip loosening, and Jason could feel concern like a whisper soft touch.

“Yeah… I would, if you don’t mind? It seems like he’s important to you.”

Jason wasted a moment trying to work out what the hell Danny meant by that.

Did he want to meet Croc cuz he was important to Jason? Or did he think Jason wouldn’t want him to if he was important?

Cuz while yeah, Jason considered Waylon a friend (and thanks, Harley, for the new name crisis, love that. The guy introduced himself as Killer Croc but Jason knew all about controlling a narrative) it wasn’t like he was family. Not like Dick, Cass, or the others.

Except. Roy was family. Long before any of the bats made it back into Jason’s good books, Roy was one of the first people to be happy Jason was alive.

And Waylon had helped Roy get help when Ollie fucking kicked him out.

Waylon had been a restraining hand on Jason’s shoulder too, in the bad old days. Keeping him from pushing too hard, going too big, doing something he really couldn’t come back from.

Family didn’t have to mean annoying texts at four AM. Didn’t have to come around for dinner every Sunday; how often did any of them really see Harley?

Fuck, how often would they have seen each other if Alfred didn’t have them all firmly under his culinary thumb.

Waylon had to count as a reliable old uncle at least.

And that kinda made it a different question. Did Jason want Danny to meet his family?

It had been an easy “yes” with the bats, not least because the nosy bastards would muscle their way in regardless. Croc…

Waylon never judged Jason. From his highest highs to lowest lows, he never looked down on him. Not even when he was telling Jason to stop and think.

It kinda made Jason ache for what his life should have been. His, and Waylon’s if he’d never been called Killer Croc.

And maybe it’d give Jason a read on how Danny would react to the Red Hood thing. Or whether or not Danny already knew.

Jason was gonna blame Bruce for this chronic overthinking. Definitely not something he’d had on his own.

He’d thought about it long enough that he could feel Danny tensing, and he forced himself to snap out of it. In all honesty, it wasn’t his business what Danny thought he’d get out of it.

In the end, there was no point second guessing what someone else wanted to do with their time. It was Danny’s call. Not his.

And that kinda helped.

He half shrugged, leaning back into Danny for a moment and tugging him forwards again.

“I mean, we’re not “Thanksgiving at each others’ houses” close, but… he’s helped me out since I came back. More than I expected anyone to. I don’t mind if you wanna meet him,” Jason explained.

Danny obediently moved back into position to go, his aura a gentle hum of curiosity-concern-interest at Jason’s back.

“So do I make my own way, or…”

“I’ll come get you, probably around eleven?” Jason offered, definitely NOT thinking about Danny being back in this same position very soon.

He was gonna have to get another helmet for the bike. Immortal Ghost King or not, it just felt rude at this point.

After Danny and Jason left, Tim, Harley, and Tucker played a few more rounds of Mariokart together. Switched to a couple other games. Damian abandoned them almost immediately, disappearing half way through a round.

Probably to start a patrol of his own, or go try to spy on Danny and Jason.

Eventually Harley wished both the boys well and headed out with a cheery wave.

“Right, maybe I’ll see ya tomorrow or maybe not, have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she called cheerfully, then paused and pointed at Tucker. “An’ keep an eye on Tim. Make sure he sleeps.”

Tim rolled his eyes, not looking up from their new round of SpiderHeck to wave her off. Tucker did, and Tim took advantage to swing across the map and cut him down with a lightsaber.

Amateur.

“Huh? Oh, sure! Fucking hell Tim,” Tuck complained as his attention switched back to the defeat screen.

Tim snickered, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs.

“Hey, not my fault you can’t keep your head in the game,” he teased smugly. Tucker poked him in the face.

“Not my fault I have enough manners to look at people when they talk to me. So is Harley gonna be staying in the manor too?” He added curiously, glancing around.

They easily had the rooms for it, though Tim didn’t really wanna think about it. What might Harley get up to on a 2am snack run?

Although it wasn’t that far from 2am now.

“I don’t think so, she has a place in the city at the moment,” he mused, his mind beginning to shift.

It wasn’t that he’d been waiting for witnesses to clear out, exactly. Everyone was in on the secret, so it shouldn’t be a big deal to head down to the Bat Cave even when they had the larger group.

It was just… they’d been having fun. It’d be rude to leave their guests, and Bruce was already being cranky down in the cave.

Of course, Tim’d gotten another ping on his zeta tube monitoring program an hour or so ago. Constantine and Bruce both checking out, probably to the Watchtower.

So it’d be safe now, and they’d reached an okay stopping point. Tim had no doubt that Tucker would prefer checking out the cave over any games.

Tim couldn’t let him on the bat computer yet, but he could show Tucker a couple of Tim’s better scanning programs. Maybe even ping Babs and see how the others were doing.

See if she had time to talk to Tucker in person. Maybe he could show them both how he’d encrypted that server, which Tim suspected would involve ectoplasm.

Not like he couldn’t link the PDA to an un-networked monitor so that they could all see what he was doing though. Hell, they could record it for Bruce.

He’d love having answers to the Amity Park problem. If Tucker would let Tim run the PDA for a few minutes…

Still, it was just good manners to check in.

Alfred would be thrilled that they were learning to communicate.

Pulling out his phone, he shot Bruce a quick text.

‘Hey, we’re gonna head down to the Cave. You mind if I give a tour?’

It didn’t take long to get a reply, which was usually a good sign. It meant Bruce wasn’t hyperfocused enough to ignore his phone.

Maybe things with Constantine were going well.

The length of the reply wasn’t as reassuring, but not a surprise either. Bruce wasn’t exactly wordy in person, and only less so over text.

‘Go ahead.’

No indication of when he’d be back, but that was fine. They could compare notes whenever that turned out to be.

Tim turned to Tucker, grinning in anticipation of the other man’s reaction.

“So, wanna see something cool?” He asked, and felt gratified when Tucker’s eyes widened and a matching grin spread across his face.

But who wouldn’t be excited to see the Bat Cave?

“Hell yeah!”

Tucker followed Tim eagerly out of the games room, mind already buzzing with all the things the young genius might want to show him.

Did they have a tech lab in Wayne Manor? They definitely had the space for it, and it had to be safer than keeping one at Tim’s downtown apartment.

Bruce might not have been much of a techie but Tim was personally responsible for enough big developments that he was considered a prodigy even in Tucker’s circles.

Of course the guy had the advantage of near limitless money and resources, especially after Drake Industries merged with Wayne Enterprises.

With that kinda money, Tucker himself could have revolutionised the world. But, Tuck had the advantage of the Ghost Zone and ecto tech, so he wasn’t too upset.

Especially not if Tim was really going to let him see where the magic happened.

He did nearly let out an audible groan as Tim led him into an office and activated a secret elevator in a clock. Maybe Danny had a point… maybe all billionaires were dramatic assholes.

Maybe Sam had a point, and they were all evil. Maybe Tim was bringing him down to an evil lab.

Caution reluctantly seeped into Tucker’s excitement, but he fought it off sharply. Tim was a good guy, they were becoming real friends, and Tuck couldn’t believe a fellow techie would betray him.

Besides, no one in Gotham knew shit about ghost tech, or liminals. It wasn’t like Tucker would actually be in any danger from a scrawny nerd like Tim.

Even if he did have very nice shoulders. Shapely arms. An almost snatched waist that almost tipped to androgyny, but he carried it so well.

Anyway.

Tim definitely wouldn’t hurt him.

It was probably just a super secure underground tech lab, to keep anyone from stealing secrets. Tucker let himself hype up again, imagining the kind of security measures Tim could install underground.

It’d remove the chances of someone sneaking through a back window for sure. And sure, rock wouldn’t stop a ghost, but it stopped pretty much anyone else if you added seismic sensors.

It made sense, really, putting all Tim’s very coolest and most secret cutting edge tech experiments somewhere that no one would expect, and almost no one could get to.

Tucker found himself rocking forward on his toes as the elevator descended, and flushed a little when he noticed Tim smiling.

He was excited, sue him. It beat worrying that he was about to get his first go at the Danny Fenton Lab Experience.

Thankfully no one ever cared enough to capture the nerds.

Tim was quiet on the way down, clearly savouring the anticipation, and that suited Tucker fine. It wasn’t a long ride, and he all but bounced out of the doors as soon as they opened.

Stopped.

Stared around at blank stone walls, stalactites on the ceiling, and… a waterfall? A robotic dinosaur? A row of display cases?

This was not a super cool high tech research lab.

This kinda might be a supervillain cave.

Tucker’s heart sank for a moment, especially as he noticed more and more Batman themed pieces on walls and cases.

Bruce Wayne (please don’t let it be Tim’s secret project any more, Tucker couldn’t bear it) was obsessed with Batman. Collecting trophies.

Probably wanted to catch the hero himself and stuff him in a case. Rich people were all like that apparently.

Except… the locker room? Off to one side? Where a freshly laundered Red Robin uniform hung, neat and pristine?

Collector freaks never let anyone clean their stuff, especially if it might have had gross hero sweat to obsess over.

And that was the Batmobile, parked next to a large garage door. An array of motorcycles, and Tucker was no expert on Gotham’s heroes but there were at least three colour schemes.

Someone had been changing the oil on one of them.

A massive computer screen, surrounded by smaller screens at various angles, and as he approached in awe he spotted a bat sticker on almost every monitor.

No way anyone ever stole THE Batcomputer. People would notice. Someone would talk, there were legends about Batman’s set up!

Half Tucker’s class would have killed for a look at the tech, no way they wouldn’t know if it ever got loose.

Which meant.

Tucker knew his jaw had dropped. Couldn’t find it in himself to close it as he turned back to Tim, eyes wide, and watched all colour drain from the other man’s face.

“Is this the fucking Bat Cave?! Is Bruce Fucking Wayne actually Batman?!” He exclaimed eagerly, not even wondering why Tim suddenly looked so shocked.

This really was the best day ever.

Wait.

“You DO know the fucking Oracle!”

Well.

The curse of Robin had come for Tim at last. Bruce was absolutely going to fucking kill him.

But, okay, in his defence, it totally wasn’t Tim’s fault! He’d assumed Tucker already knew because Danny one thousand percent definitely did, he called Dick out in costume!

And Tucker was still trustworthy! Still an asset! And he’d help Tim get past the firewalls, get into Amity Park, all they had to do was get enough work done before Bruce came back.

And killed Tim.

For bringing an unknowing civilian into the fucking bat cave.

Best day ever.

Tim sucked in a great rasping breath, suddenly aware that he’d completely stopped breathing somewhere in there, and shook his head.

Okay. Snap out of it Tim.

Those nights with Alfred-supervision had made him weak, no way only thirty-six hours without sleep should have done this to him.

Too bad, sleep deprivation would have been a great excuse.

He wasted a moment lamenting his lack of immediate coffee and turned his focus to the actual problem: the Amity Park firewall.

Tucker was still staring at him in awe and triumph, though worry was creeping in. Tim pulled on a charming smile, walking to the batcomputer and gesturing for Tucker to join him.

“Uh… yeah, sorry, I thought Danny already told you or I’d have said. I didn’t mean to spring it on you,” he lied, like he’d have ever let the secret slip.

Tucker pouted then, folding his arms.

“Oh, of course Danny knows. Bet that’s how he and Jason met. So does that mean you’re…” he trailed off curiously, clearly hoping Tim would fill in the blank.

Tim considered being mildly offended that Tucker didn’t think he could be Oracle, but he valued his digital security. Zero chance Babs wouldn’t be pulling this video up later for a laugh.

He nodded to his suit instead, the new one hanging waiting. Probably for tomorrow night at this point, since there was no reason to change just to hang out in the cave.

“Red Robin. I ah… saw you last night at the gala,” he added sheepishly, wondering just how much of Tim’s minor breakdown Tucker had noticed while waiting to give Tim the tablet.

And Tucker’s eyes lit up, clearly remembering, and he grinned, clapping his hands together.

“Oh! That explains why you left, huh? I guess someone had to deal with the rogues and stuff,” he mused thoughtfully.

Tim had to hope he wasn’t thinking about the exact same thing. At least the discovery was going well so far; Tim couldn’t think of many people he’d had to share this particular secret with, and most of the ones who did had been villains at one time or another, but still.

Tucker was keeping up, wasn’t freaking out, and had gotten over his surprise in record time. Tim definitely wasn’t disappointed.

Tuck had been a vigilante himself after all, it’s not like he was a civilian. And had already admitted he didn’t pay much attention to vigilantes, so he might not even know which one Red Robin was.

It’d just. Have been nice if he was more impressed.

Not that Tim cared. He wasn’t Red Robin to impress people, and usually didn’t even think about it.

And Tucker didn’t seem surprised or upset when Tim steered him to one of the tables beside the batcomputer instead of the big baby itself, and got one of the un-networked monitors out.

“Pretty much. I get a little… antsy if a takedown goes too easily, because with Riddler it usually means we’re missing something,” he explained dryly, pointing Tucker to a second wheely chair to pull over, “but yesterday it was apparently just a shitty rush job on his part.”

Tucker snickered at that, wheeling the directed chair over and sitting eagerly beside Tim, still darting looks at the bigger screens.

“Should I be mad I didn’t get their best work?” He mock-pondered, and Tim snickered.

“Probably. But Riddler and Croc aren’t really A-listers or big on the mass destruction side anyway.”

“Waylon,” Tucker corrected almost absent mindedly, pulling out his PDA.

Tim missed exactly what he did next as he remembered Harley’s little tidbit, and he pulled a face.

“Yeah… I’ve not exactly had the one-on-one time with him Jason’s had, I don’t think we’re on a first name basis,” he explained, shaking his head as the monitor sprung to life.

Tucker snorted a laugh, flicking through screens on the PDA.

“What, Mr Jones then? Want me to just start downloading the Amity Park records first, then we’ll go hunting?” He added, and Tim nodded quickly, snickering himself at the vision.

Nothing threw a shining ball of confusion into a fight like calling someone “Mr Jones”. He’d have to try it if Croc… Mr Jones was gonna be back on the scene.

It was the name that went on all of his prison paperwork, so it wasn’t like it was a secret identity the same way the bats had.

“Honestly? Better than Waylon. And yeah, we can start with the government files and news reports, just so we have a backup. Then we’ll look around and find out what else B thinks we’ll need.”

Tucker snickered beside him, flicking quickly through screens on the PDA. Despite it being purely for his benefit, Tim pretty much ignored the monitor, keeping most of his attention on the device itself.

It was chunky and very retro, but given the processing power and space for storage? There was a definite charm to it.

Maybe Tucker would let him play around on it later.

But, in the spirit of not being killed when Bruce returned… there was one thing they definitely needed to talk about.

“I…” Tim sucked in a deep breath. He’d put good money on Tuck, Danny, and Sam being what actually solved Amity Park’s last calls to the League.

It might be a traumatic memory. Probably was. But he had to ask. And better him than Bruce.

Tucker looked up when he trailed off, making a curious noise. Not exactly asking what Tim wasn’t saying, but showing he’d noticed the pause.

Sighing to himself, Tim wheeled across to the batcomputer. Bruce probably still had the files up.

“I also think we need to talk about these,” he explained, pulling up the records for the Justice League’s missed calls. Hundreds of them.

Tucker just looked nonplussed for a moment, then sobered. Probably when the dates sank in and told him what they were talking about.

“Oh… yeah. Probably,” he agreed, sounding more serious than Tim had ever heard him. Which kinda proved Tim’s point about traumatic memories.

Leaving the records on screen, Tim wheeled back over, pulling out one of his larger recorders. This conversation might take a while.

“Do you mind if I just record what you tell me? B’s gonna want a full write up. He’s off ripping a strip off of Constantine as we speak, probably, cuz whatever he did… this lot went past voice mail and straight to the trash.”

It wasn’t exactly an apology, wasn’t exactly an excuse, and Tim cut himself off before it turned into whining. The past was past, and it was too late to change that now.

Something complicated crossed Tucker’s face as he spoke, and Tim tried not to look too closely. Didn’t want his overly analytical side latching on.

The only thing they could do was work out what happened, and if there was still anything the league could do to make up for majorly dropping the ball.

Tucker sucked in a deep breath of his own, letting it out in a low whistle.

“Y’know, I thought we were coming down here for fun and tech talk,” he said almost wistfully, and Tim chuckled wryly.

“We can definitely still do that. It’ll just unknot Bruce’s panties some if we’ve got this part out of the way before he gets back. That way you’re just telling me, no “swooping menace in the shadows”,” he added half sarcastically, and Tucker laughed.

He looked… well. Haunted. But that wasn’t exactly a sensible descriptor for a guy who spent years hunting ghosts.

Not too bad though. No tremors, no tightness in the eyes or jaw that said he was hiding something. His skin was still a rich, warm brown, no paler than before.

If he was having a deeper reaction than the tiredness, he was hiding it in a way Tim couldn’t hope to spot. That… was probably the best sign Tim had seen about this particular shit show.

Chuckling to himself, Tucker checked the PDA one more time, then set it on the table and turned to face Tim directly.

“Yeah, might as well do it during the file download. Your setup is gorgeous, but that’s still gonna take a while. If you ask me, you’re not gonna need to ask Danny about it later, right?” He asked, and Tim bit his lip.

Less good sign. Seemed Danny carried more of the weight of this one too.

“B’ll probably want his side, and to check the stories match, but Jason won’t let him push Danny into anything,” he offered instead of a blanket statement.

Tucker cocked his head a little, examining Tim for a long moment in a way that made him feel almost… dissected. Like a piece of tech Tucker had taken apart, and was looking for secrets in.

Finally the older boy nodded and shrugged, leaning back.

“Yeah, fair. It’s damn hard to pin Danny down if he wants to leave anyway. There’s some Fenton tech that’d do it, but it’s not like you can get that here. So… where do you want me to start?”

Filing away that comment about the Fenton tech for later, Tim jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the big screen.

“Do we have time to start at the beginning? The first calls?” He asked, half expecting the answer to be “no”.

Tucker glanced down at his PDA, and snickered.

“Well, I can give you the Cliff’s Notes version. And then if you have questions you can ask?”

Which… yeah, Tim glanced at their little offline monitor. It was a pretty big download; Tucker had meant it when he said he was grabbing everything for them.

That had to be a sign of good faith, right?

And then after that they’d have to shift everything over to an un-networked hard drive. After whatever Tuck had to do to de-ecto it.

Shoulders settling, Tim put the recorder on the table before him.

“Sounds good. So… Tucker Foley, current top student at MIT and soon to be receiver of a Wayne Enterprises internship,” he teased, enjoying the way Tucker snickered again, also visibly relaxing.

Might as well make this as comfortable as possible. They could break after Tucker finished for some drinks or something.

“What happened in Amity Park?”

On the Watchtower, Bruce slid his phone back into its pouch on his utility belt and returned his attention to the pacing magician.

He’d pulled up every type of reading they could gather from Amity Park for the week of the last distress call, and from their current logs.

Thermal imaging, infrared and ultraviolets, seismography, electromagnetic waves, spectrography, and several that Bruce wasn’t sure what they were, just that the Justice League Dark were the only ones who used them.

The fact that even Bruce could see extremely obvious spikes on more than half of them was not a good sign. It made checking the dates almost superfluous.

Nor was the way that even though those spikes had lowered within that same day… they’d never gone all the way back down.

In every magical sense they could detect (and half a dozen scientific ways he was actually comfortable with), Amity Park glowed like a cartoon nuke.

The only good news was that their radiation sensors had gone straight back down to normal after the initial spikes. Which made no scientific sense given the normal decay of radioactive materials, but Bruce was not going to argue.

He appreciated Tim checking in though. The gesture towards clearer communication. He wasn’t sure exactly what Tim would want to show Harley in a tour of the bat cave, but honestly?

He wasn’t going to ask. It was nice to have something that wasn’t his problem, and he trusted Tim and Harley, together or separately.

It wasn’t like Tim would bring anyone else down to the cave.

——————

😇

I regret nothing.

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna

Next Chapter:

#danny fenton dead and loving it #dp x dc #dpxdc #dead on main ship #danny x jason #never make a promise you can’t keep #jason: oh man danny must be so sick of me i’m taking up all of his time 😔#danny: dang i gotta go back to school soon instead of spending 24 hours a day with my new bestie this is clearly normal to be sad about #and suddenly constantine was there! wooooo #gonna try and wrap up waylon and harvey next chapter (wish me luck)#we gots bigger fish to fry 😏#and maybe a justice league meeting just for fun #chapter 12 #counting is hard

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seiya-starsniper · 2 months

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Six Degrees of Separation - Ch 4 (Sandman x Dead Boy Detectives)

Tags: POV Multiple, Hob Gadling gives live advice to a bunch of teenagers, while helping them solve cases, that's it that's the fic, also he maybe plays matchmaker for his hot mess bestie, fic starts out as crystal/charles and ends with charles/edwin, Mutual Pining, Slice of Life, Hob Gadling adopts the Dead Boy Detectives

Summary:

The Dead Boy Detectives run into a familiar pub while out on a case, and Crystal has to contend with an unfortunate event from her past. Hob Gadling wasn't planning on adopting three teenagers and a full grown woman, but stranger things have happened in his long centuries of life.

Tumblr Posts: Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3

Read Chapter 4 below, or at the above link on AO3

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

“Jenny, can you help me with these boxes?” Hob calls out to the kitchen as his supplier finishes unloading their cargo from the delivery truck. It’s early, and only the two of them are at the Inn at present. Hob had told Jenny that she didn’t need to come in the mornings when she’d first started, but the former butcher had wandered in anyways on her first week, claiming she needed to do something with her jet lag or she’d go insane.

Almost two months later, Jenny’s still on the morning shift most days and Hob’s grateful for it, honestly. Having run her own place back in the states means she’s efficient, and doesn’t take any nonsense when suppliers are late or trying to argue with him. She’s also great for commiserating with, whether it’s about customer service or really annoying supernatural occurrences. Like the poltergeist in her apartment that the boys had to exorcise the week before.

When they’re done unloading everything, Hob stays back in the kitchen to put everything away, while Jenny gets ready for opening. There’s not usually a lot of people right at opening, except on Sundays, when all the hungover university students are craving brunch, so Hob’s not worried about leaving Jenny alone out there while he preps in the back.

When he finally emerges a little after 1:00pm, right when the lunch rush starts to pick up, one of his newer regulars is chatting happily with Jenny, and he can tell by her body language that she seems utterly charmed by the American.

“She seems nice,” Hob teases his newest employee later. “Pretty too.”

“Yeah I’m not—really into blondes,” Jenny replies, and something about the caginess in her voice tells Hob that there’s a story behind that. He’s not sure if it’s related to how she ended up with the Dead Boy Detective Agency or not, but he makes a note to ask Edwin about it later. He was coming by later to look at Hob’s tomes again to see if there was a spell in there that could help with their latest case.

“Ah well, plenty of fish in the sea,” Hob says easily. “Especially when you go from living in a small town in America to great old London. How are you adjusting, by the way?”

Jenny happily accepts the subject change and takes the opportunity to complain about her flat. The boys had exorcised the poltergeist, but not before it had flung nearly all of her belongings about the entire place, and put a few holes she’d have to fix before her landlord noticed. Hob had offered to help her find a new place while the whole incident was occurring, but Jenny had been stubborn and refused to move. Still is refusing to move, in fact.

Godspeed to her, Hob thinks. Hopefully another ghost won’t move in.

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

“Niko attempted to play matchmaker with Jenny by arranging her to meet with her secret admirer,” Edwin tells him later that afternoon as he peruses the pages of one of Hob’s, or rather Mad Hettie’s, cursebreaker books. “Unfortunately, Maxine also revealed herself to be Jenny’s stalker, and when she saw that made Jenny uncomfortable, tried to kill her.”

“Oh bloody hell,” Hob says, nearly choking on his tea. “Yeah, I’d swear off dating for a while too.”

“Indeed,” Edwin says, flipping through the pages of a particularly heavy looking volume. “Relationships seem so much more…complicated in this day and age,” Edwin notes casually. Hob studies him for a moment, wondering if Edwin had come to talk to him about something that wasn’t quite related to his work.

“They are,” Hob agrees, taking another sip of his tea. “But there’s a lot more freedom too. You can choose who you love now, regardless of status, race, religion or…gender,” he adds, carefully studying Edwin’s face for some sort of reaction.

“Ah ha! Found it,” Edwin exclaims, either completely ignoring Hob’s comment, or too caught up in his discovery to notice what the immortal had said. He looks up at Hob and smiles. “Do you mind if I borrow this for our case? I promise to bring it back unharmed.”

“Go ahead,” Hob nods, waving casually. Edwin snaps the book shut and heads towards the door of Hob’s flat, then abruptly stops. Something tenses in the boy’s shoulders and Hob thinks he can guess what it is Edwin wants to ask him.

“Mr Gadling?” Edwin asks, turning back around to face him.

“Hob,” Hob corrects him. “What is it? Did you need something else?”

“No I—this is a more—personal question, if you wouldn’t mind,” Edwin says, his tone now shy instead of confident like it had been moments before.

“All right,” Hob says, shrugging and trying to look as non-threatening as possible. “What is it?”

Edwin’s face goes through a multitude of emotions before the boy finally seems to find the words he’s looking for.

“How long have you known your proclivities tended towards men as well as women?” Edwin asks, and the bluntness of the question causes Hob to choke on his biscuit. He coughs violently into his sleeve, which catches most of the small crumbs he manages to dislodge from his throat. When he looks up next, Edwin is staring curiously at him, arms wrapped around the book he’d decided to borrow, waiting for Hob to answer his question.

“Uhhhh…” Hob coughs again, then gulps down the rest of his tea, dislodging the last of the offending biscuit. “I guess since the 14th or 15th century?” he says uncertainly, flailing about as he tries to recall the first time he’d ever fancied a man. “I know when you were alive there was all this—” he gestures vaguely, “nonsense around homosexuality, but well—things weren’t always like that. So I guess I’ve known for. A while,” he finishes somewhat lamely.

Edwin sighs, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He looks like he wants to follow up on his question, but doesn’t seem to know how.

“Something you want to talk about?” Hob asks after a brief silence. Edwin sighs again, then steps back towards the living room, and Hob makes a mental note to make more tea for this longer conversation.

“It was brought to my attention recently that I am in love with my best friend,” Edwin says, still as straightforward as ever. “But I assume you already knew that.”

Hob shrugs helplessly, not willing to confirm or deny his conversation with Charles. Edwin seems to understand the gesture immediately though.

“I don’t require the details of your conversations with Charles,” Edwin follows up. “However, I suppose I am seeking some—commiseration. For a broken heart.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right spot,” Hob says with a soft smile. “I know a thing or two about unrequited love with your best friend and all that.”

Edwin tilts his head curiously. “You are speaking of your patron? Death’s brother?”

Hob chokes again, this time only on air.

“Why,” Hob groans, burying his face in his hands, “Does everyone seem to know this?!”

“I am a detective,” Edwin replies, deadpan. “However, you are also extremely obvious in your affections. Perhaps more so than Charles is about Crystal, and that is a feat, I assure you,” he adds, rolling his eyes.

Before Hob can retort that he is very much not obvious, and that Edwin himself is oblivious to just how affectionate Charles is about him, there’s a loud rapping at the front door, which causes both Hob and Edwin to jolt in surprise.

“Oy, Hobsie! Open up, I need your help with something!” a female voice yells from the other side of his door. Hob sighs, knowing the source of the voice all too well, and then reluctantly gets up from his comfortable position on the couch to answer the door.

Johanna Constantine strides in without so much as a hello, making a beeline straight for his study, but then stops suddenly, making direct eye contact with Edwin.

“Hobsie, don’t be alarmed but there’s a dead child in you flat right now,” Johanna says. “And it looks like he’s stealing one of your books.”

Edwin scoffs. “Excuse you, I am borrowing this tome, with permission, I may add.”

“Right,” Hob interjects before Johanna can get another word in. “Jo, this is Edwin, Edwin, this is Johanna Constantine,” he says gesturing between the two of them. “We’re all friends here, no one’s stealing anything.”

“Oh, a Constantine!” Edwin exclaims with delight. “How ever did you get involved with her?” he asks, turning to Hob.

“Long story, kid, but I don’t have time for that right now, I need some help with a case,” Johanna says. “Unless you’ve got any expertise on weird fish men who live in swamps and eat people.”

“Actually, I do,” Edwin says, much to the shock of both Johanna and Hob. “1974,” he adds, as if this explains everything. “I’m happy to help, and I’d love to pick your brain on an old cursed fountain pen, while we’re at it, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Johanna stares at Edwin for a moment, her eyes narrowing.

“You’re those ghost investigators or something, aren’t you?” she asks. “I’d heard of you, but I hadn't realized you were actual children.”

Edwin scoffs. “We are the Dead Boy Detectives, thank you very much, Miss Constantine,” he says. “Now would you like our help or not?”

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

A week later, Hob is questioning whether he should’ve introduced Johanna and Edwin as he hangs suspended above a supposedly haunted pond.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Hob yells from his precarious position.

“Don’t worry Hobsie!” Johanna yells back as she adjusts the rope to lower Hob closer to the pond. Hob swears he hears a weird growling coming from below the water’s surface. “This shouldn't be low enough to kill you, I think,” Johanna continues. “And anyways, if it is, you’ll just come back!”

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN I WANT TO DIE IN THE FIRST PLACE JO!” Hob shouts back.

“Not to worry Mr Gadling!” Edwin pipes in. “Charles and I shall ensure your library is well guarded should you unexpectedly perish and we’ll help Jenny out the Inn. Crystal is also quite experienced at sneaking bodies out of hospitals.”

“That was one time!” Crystal exclaims indignantly.

“If you die, do I still get paid on Friday?” Jenny, who has inexplicably decided to tag along for this case, asks. “Or is there like, a 3-5 business day turnaround for resurrection?”

“You better still pay her, Hobsie!” Johanna chimes in, and Hob can see her grinning devilishly at his employee. “A girl’s gotta eat after all,” she adds with a wink towards her.

Terrible. These people were all terrible and he was going to have to die and start over with a new life. And he was going to find some new friends while he was at it too.

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

Hob doesn’t die, but he does lose a chunk of shoulder to what’s later revealed to be some half shark, half man monstrosity. At least the damage from that will be gone by tomorrow. Hopefully anyways. Even if Hob did have to cover it up, it certainly wouldn't take nearly as long to heal as a whole resurrection does.

“Jenny is romantically available, by the way,” Hob hears Edwin tell Johanna in a low voice once he's been let down and wrapped in five layers of bandages.

“Is she now?” Johanna asks, in a tone Hob knows is definitely interested. “And you’re so interested in my love life because—?”

Edwin shrugs, and Hob catches the barest hint of a smile on his face.

“I think you’d like each other,” is all he says, enigmatic as ever.

“Are you trying to play matchmaker to distract yourself from your own love life?” Hob asks Edwin later when the boy comes to return Hob’s book. “Because I can tell you from first hand experience it only makes you more sad when you do that.”

Edwin hums. “It’s something Niko would’ve wanted to do,” he says. “She felt so bad after the whole thing with Maxine. But she’s no longer here, so I’ll have to do it in her memory. At least this time I can guarantee Miss Constantine is not a serial killer. The rest of her character though...I suppose she seems...pleasant?”

Hob howls with laughter. “Yeah okay, that’s fair. Need some help with your little scheme then?”

Edwin’s eyes dance with mischief and delight, and Hob’s painfully reminded of Robyn in that moment. He’s never had another child with anyone else besides Eleanor, not knowingly anyways. Being a father was far too painful when you would easily outlive your own child.

But Edwin was already dead, and would be around forever, just like Hob, so perhaps it was inevitable that Hob would love him like a son.

“Okay, so let me tell you what I know about Johanna—”

#dead boy detectives #dbda #dead boy detectives fanfic #the sandman #dreamling #payneland #seiya writes dreamling #seiya writes dbda

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pastafossa · 2 years

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Warning About A Plagiarizing Fic Author

*edit: FIC HAS BEEN TAKEN DOWN OFF AO3! Her blog posts here on tumblr however remain up so I ask that this keep circulating. *Edit again: all accounts appear to have been taken down, and all blogs look down save for her @k-9bails account which she had the audacity to use to try to follow me again. I’ve got a reblog with all the relevant updates but I’m adding it here, too. Original post: Right. Time for the callout post, since the thief has refused to answer my messages or take down the fic. Before we start: do not send her hate mail. At most, I’m looking for firm requests that she take down her fic and, as you’ll see, all the blog posts where she’s stolen content from me. Mostly I’m just trying to apply firm pressure so she takes all the stolen work down, and so that people are aware of what she’s doing so she can’t do this to anyone else. So, let’s start. If you’re in the Daredevil fandom on tumblr and AO3 at all, you might have heard of my fic The Red Thread about a psychic reader/OC referred to as Jane Hind/The Hound, who can see, via third eye, psychic threads of connection between people, animals, and beloved objects. It’s this fic that’s been blatantly plagiarized by @k9bails (who’s blocked me at present, so here’s the link to her main blog which I managed to access before I was blocked). Her fic on AO3 is called Legend, under the username K9bails. She’s also got a side blog called @k-9bails which appears less active, and a wattpad profile here, so please, if you write, make sure your work hasn’t been stolen. She’s only got the first chapter as of today, but it’s already full of stolen material, and her blog is absolutely bursting at the seams with things she’s stolen from me. Fortunately, before she blocked me, I was able to get screenshots, both of the fic just in case she edited it later, and her blog (which I had to screenshot on PC, so apologies for messiness). I’ve made a report to AO3 (please DO NOT report it on AO3, they prefer only one person do the reporting so that the volunteer team isn’t overwhelmed) and I am awaiting word back. But she’s also got my stuff all over her tumblr, and since she’s ignored my messages, it’s time to post it, since she’s active in the fandom and I don’t want her taking anyone else’s work.

Let’s start with the main bit from her fic. Left side is my first chapter, right side is her fic. If you’ve read TRT, you know that the concept of psychic threads seen through the third eye is incredibly important. They connect friends and acquaintances, family, pets, and even beloved childhood objects, with each type of connection denoted by a different color. She’s rotated some colors around, and taken some of the colors I introduce later like white, black, and purple, but this is very much my concept. Note she’s stolen a line almost directly word for word here: ‘Silver threads always struck Scout as the saddest,’ to compare to my, ‘That last always struck you as the saddest.’

In this case, she’s also taken the kaleidoscope effect line from a few chapters later:

I thought this was blatant, but it only got worse: she lifts two of my other original characters, and doesn’t even bother to change their fucking names. In this case, in her very first chapter, she’s lifted both Ciro, my OC’s Italian father figure (I’ve added a screenshot on the upper right from Ch17 of the first time his name is used), and Eli, an OC adopted by Ciro (also added to screenshot, bottom right). Eli doesn’t even appear until ch 36 so this stretches a long ways.

The rest of this I’m going to put behind a see more tag, cause we got a lot to go.

But we’re not done, believe it or not, considering there’s only a single chapter of hers so far - a single chapter containing a very similar opening line, and a bizarre lift of my frequent End Note message that leads to my tumblr??? That one puzzled me because there’s no real reason to steal that.

Yet another: she’s made use of the Hound theme, and made a barebones attempt to change the summary line enough to slide under the radar. If you’ve read TRT then you know, but if not: my OC’s code name is Hound, she’s frequently referred to as Hound or the Hound of Los Angeles, there are Hound metaphors galore, and Matt has taken to calling her his Hellhound, and those references are honestly so common it’d take hours to list them all.

I also happened to notice, after all this, that she’d linked to her tumblr, much like I did. So I wandered over. And it only got worse from there. Her own ‘answers’ to asks mimic mine, including lifting answers from posts I made here on tumblr. I’m not going to keep having side by sides because the post will get crazy long but if anyone wants receipts on any of these, I’ll go find it on a case by case basis.

Here’s where she mentions her character using threads to track people down for Bad Figures who want to kill them, along with tracking down threads for information, aka a major plotline of my fic and literally my character’s stated profession. Screenshot:

Here’s where she describes more about how ‘her’ threads and abilities work (starred paragraph is an almost exact summary of how my character’s abilities work, including how she can send them images and feelings, down to how a red thread is needed to control a person, definitely her taking my major plotline involving body jumping via red threads). She also, SURPRISE! Steals my psychic animals that inhabit the threads, that I’ve hinted relate to the subconscious, and that usually have some traits from the character. Oh, and the part about how doing all that makes her sick, yet again lifted from my fic, where my character gets incredibly sick the more she pushes herself doing all this.

Here’s another section in which she lifted Ciro - my Ciro that adopted Jane Hind is a native Italian, founded the particular family-like group he’s a part of, and also basically adopted Eli - who was raised in the US.

This section is where she’s roughly stolen Jane Hind’s mental trauma and the cause: her childhood arc. I’ve discussed at length here on tumblr (going to work on finding those posts in my tumblr history and update here when I can) and in the fic itself all the things she’s missed, using exactly this sort of phrasing. In fact, our major arc we’re currently going through in the fic (chapters 130 or so)... hm, references frequently missed out Christmases, birthdays, and little things we take for granted. This is one reason I’m sure she’s reading the fic as it’s getting posted. On top of that, she decided she’d also lift how Jane had never seen a beach and fell in love with it the first time she did. It’s a small detail but it’s just yet another thing she’s acting like is hers, just like the details about how this is all new and her Nelson and Murdock friends have taken her in.

Perhaps most bizarrely, her blog has even been reblogging posts friends have tagged me in that I’ve responded to. In this one, though, she gets a little too obvious - not only is she reblogging a post, maybe a few days after another friend tagged me in it and I reblogged it, but she also tried to tag her fic ‘the psychic thread’ as opposed to ‘the red thread’, which is my own series tag.

I have no idea why she’s done this. I have no idea why she was so blatant, why she thought she could get away with it. She also appears to have a few sock puppet accounts - for example, she makes a claim lifted straight from a half-joking post I made about my OC’s potential pokemon and then makes her own post using the same pokemon for her OC, and credits it to another account that seems to just exist to make her look more realistic. It was one of the more bizarre things stolen, since my post about it didn’t get much attention, but it proves she’s actively following me on tumblr quite closely, proven by a friend who snagged a few screenshots of her likes tab where she’d liked my posts.

She’s blocked me now, so I can’t see her main blog. I can’t ask her to take it down anymore, outside of the comment I’ve left on her fic and the report I made to AO3. But she knows, 100%, that she’s stolen my work, and just as frustrating, has gone on at length on her blog about how all your characters should be original, and truly yours, and how you should never imitate other authors. It’s a ballsy move considering how small the Daredevil fic circle is here on tumblr and AO3.

And look. I don’t want her to drown in hate mail. I really don’t. All I want is for her to take down the fic, and remove the posts in which she blatantly stole content from me. I’ve worked on TRT for years, I’ve poured hours and hours and almost a million words into this story, and the fact that this person is still reading it as they’re plagiarizing it is both incredibly insulting and incredibly hurtful. If you’re an author in the Daredevil fandom, I highly recommend blocking her. She’s mentioned a few very popular authors in the fandom in the blog posts, so I know she’s reading your work, too, and I don’t want yours stolen anymore than I do. If you see someone commenting about her fic, tell them its stolen. Warn your DD author friends. And if you’re going to say something to her, let it be a request to take down her fic and delete the blog posts that have plagiarized my content. That’s my end goal - not to burn her life down but to just pressure her to stop stealing something very, very dear to me, and hopefully learn not to do this in the future.

That’s all I want. *Edited 12/20: as of today, her fic on AO3 has been taken down! The scores of comments, or AO3′s plagiarism team, has done the job so this is a huge win, and I’m grateful to everyone that helped! Her tumblr posts on her k9bails account, however, are still up, and she has yet to respond, so let the pressure continue. I’m also hunting for her other accounts since it’s become clear the k9bails account and the @k-9bails account are both not her main blog. If anyone has any leads or knows who this person is, please send me a message! I want to find their main blog in case it’s following me so I can block it, and potentially apply pressure there to get her to take my work down on her k9bails account.

#plagiarism #the red thread #fanfic #fic #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x OC #daredevil x OC #using some of her tags so hopefully browsers will see it

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all-mirth-no-matter · 2 years

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Time After Time | Chapter Seven

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Will the Delphi family have the answers you seek?

Warning: language, ethnic slur, supernatural (kind of)

ao3 Link | Catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 7: Vagabond

Go and see the sorcerer, look into a ball. You might find the answer written on the wall. The left one was a dancer, can you see the answer, oh? Put her in a mansion on top of the hill.

Please, don’t make her do things against her will. I found something special, I don’t know why. Looking into her pretty little eye, ‘cause I’ll tell you everything about being free.

— Vagabond, Wolfmother

The cool air hit your skin as your lungs took in a deep breath, a familiar mix of sea salt and flowers. The wind whipped your long hair from your shoulders, lifting through your chiton dress and twirling the fabric around you.

You leaned against the railing of the garden’s terrace and took in the view. From your height, you could see the ocean from every angle beyond the mass of the city beneath you - one of the perks of living on a peninsula, you always thought.

Your father and brothers would be quick to tell you the perks from a combative standpoint, but that was for them to worry about.

The sky grew golden with the descent of the sun and a warm feeling crept threw your chest at the anticipation of what you knew would follow.

“Please,” you whispered your prayer, closing your eyes as the light in the sky began to dim.

“Your Highness.”

The deep voice felt like a warm blanket as it wrapped around your shoulders. You turned to find the object of your selfish prayers as he stood before you.

The palace gardener. The young man with the golden eyes and the sharp cheek bones. Who you met every day at sunset as he tended to your favorite place in the whole world. The place where you’d talked for hours, days on end since he started working at the palace.

Where, as of a moment ago when your prayers betrayed your desires, you realized you’d fallen in love.

“I’m so sorry,” you felt the tears begin to well just behind your eyes, swallowing thick to try and collect yourself. “I made a vow, a promise, a fealty to another.”

“A prince?” he asked politely.

You narrowed your eyes at his reaction, expecting him to be hurt, upset, even angry. But in the light of the moon, you caught the uptick of his cheek as a smirk threatened at his full lips.

“A god,” you replied, your heartbeat increasing as he took a step toward you. “I’ve promised myself to priesthood. I didn’t expect you —“

His smirk turned into a smile as he rose his hand to your face. “My love, you prayed for me, to me.”

Your eyes searched the meaning behind his words. The gold of his irises began to shine, then burn.

“My Lord,” you whispered, realization washing over you like a vase of cold water.

“What I didn’t expect,” your gardener — your god — went on as his thumb gently ran across your cheek down to your chin before catching your bottom lip, “was to fall for you.”

The wind was stolen from your lungs at his admission before he pulled your face up to meet your lips with his own. The kiss made your body feel like it was being consumed by the sun and you poured your own love into the unspoken act.

You pulled away, eyes wet with tears and cheeks tight with a smile, your body consumed with love as you met his eyes again.

You gasped — where you’d expected to see the warm golden eyes of the man you loved, instead they were ice blue. Cold, angry, hardened of any care you thought was there.

A terrible, horrible feeling began to consume your body as you felt unable to breathe. The man before you grabbed at your arms, this time with hatred and malice.

“I curse you, Cassandra! From this day forward—”

“Y/N!”

You jerked awake, the feeling of two hands holding you caused you to panic, the feeling of impending doom still lingering over you as your heart rate beat out of control. Pushing away, you tried to fight against the hold.

“Y/N, look at me!”

You stilled long enough for the hands to turn you toward the body attached to them, your eyes finally clearing as they met another.

Cold, ice blue eyes.

You gasped in fright, your brain fog still telling you you were in danger, the face of the man from your dreams come to life before you. But the eyes were different than they’d been before. Softer, kinder, worried.

“Fuck, Y/N, it’s me! It’s Tommy — look at me!”

“Tommy,” you repeated, your breathing finally slowing as the fog began to lift.

The eyes that you’d once been afraid of brought you comfort as you searched them. Tommy seemed to recognize that you were coming back, because he breathed out a sigh of relief as he lifted his hand to your cheek. You flinched for a moment, but at the warmth of his palm you leaned your head into it, your breath finally slowing enough for you to look around.

You were still in the seat of the wagon, which was currently stopped as the horse in front of you bent forward to eat.

“You fell asleep,” Tommy spoke again softly as he kept watching you, as if knowing that you were still working your way back to him. “You were dreaming.”

Dreaming. It was a dream.

As if a dam had broken, you gasped for air as the tears began to fall. It was a strangled cry, one of defeat and emotional pain. The dream, the loss, the confusion of being in this place, of being ripped from everything and having everything ripped from you.

“Hey, hey,” you heard Tommy say softly before you felt arms wrap around you and pull you into him. You gripped his shirt in an attempt to stable yourself, pushing your face into his chest. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

He pulled you back to look at him, taking your face between his hands again, doing a sweep with his eyes across your face.

“I’m okay,” you finally said, your cheeks still wet and breathing still deep, but you were back. You looked around to see that the sun was low in the sky. “Where are we?”

Tommy watched you for a second longer, dropping his hands and straightening in the seat. “Just outside of the Delphi camp. Johnny Dogs went ahead to let them know of our arrival and make sure it was safe.”

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps pulled both of your attentions forward as Johnny emerged from the hilltop, accompanied with another.

“Tommy,” you grabbed his hand and his head snapped back to you. “You have to tell me about your dream. The one in France.”

His brow furrowed and you spied a flush at his cheeks, “Now? Is now the best time for this?”

“Please,” you whispered out in almost a pathetic plea.

Not sure why, but you were overcome with the feeling that time was running out. And despite your hesitations, you needed to know now more than ever what Tommy’s dream was about. And more urgently, if it had anything to do with the one you’d just had.

“You said you saw me. Were we in a garden? Something ancient, with long tunics and dressings?”

Tommy’s face continued to contort into confusion. “A garden? No, now look. I don’t know what just fucking happened there with you — you looked like some of the men back from war. But Johnny Dogs is about to be here. We’ll have to be on guard in this place, with these people — they’re dangerous when offended. There’s a reason why they’ve been able to survive as long as they have. Be careful what you say, what you give away.”

The part of your brain that was catching up with the present more quickly than the other wanted to scold Tommy for not telling you such information sooner. You liked to be prepared for a situation before walking in. But, whether it was because he still didn’t trust you, or because he was just so used to keeping secrets for himself, he was putting you in yet another situation where you felt you were playing catch up.

This seemed to snap your brain back to itself. You nodded, momentarily forgetting your dream and Tommy’s as the two men approached you both.

“Follow us,” said the Delphi member.

Johnny Dogs sent Tommy an unspoken look along with a nod. Tommy must have interpreted it as a sign to do as the other man said and follow, calling out for the horse to walk on as the two men walked alongside the animal to steer it.

“It wasn’t a dream,” Tommy said in a whisper, eyes still facing forward. You moved your head to look at him but saw him shake his head. Adjusting back to the front, he went on. “Or maybe it was, I’m not sure. In the tunnels we uncovered an enemy explosive, the ricochet of it sent me backwards, cut at my chest. I was layin’ in the mud when my team found me, covered in blood.”

You took a deep breath, not daring to interrupt him or react in a way that would draw you both attention.

“In the dream,” Tommy continued, his voice barely loud enough for even you to hear. “I just saw you, not us. You were wearing a shirt — it was long, stoppin’ at your…” he cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed by his own dream but he pushed through, “thighs. You appeared to have nothing else on. The top was an odd thing in a dark blue color with a pyramid and a rainbow on it.”

Pink Floyd, you identified, the shirt in question appearing in your memory. It was your favorite sleeping shirt — old, soft, and baggy enough for you to walk around your flat like it was a dress. It was the shirt you were wearing your last night in 2018.

He went on, his voice still low enough to not arouse the company still leading them to the campsite. “In the dream, it was like I was hoverin’ over you. You were laying, surrounded by red sheets. Then a bright light lit up behind you, surroundin’ you before your eyes opened and looked at me. I reached out for you, tried to pull you back. But the light became so bright, I couldn’t see you anymore. I woke up to Freddie poundin’ on my fucking chest to start my heart back.”

A theory began to form in your brain as you started to put the pieces together.

“I think we saw each other that night,” you whispered, mostly thinking out loud. “I saw you in the mud, sinking, with blood covering you. You saw me in my bed…”

Traveling to the past, you wanted to finish, but kept the words to yourself.

Tommy took a deep breath next to you, taking in your theory. Ahead of you, the campsite came into view.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “I’m hoping this place will have some answers.”

Tommy didn’t say anything more as they pulled into the camp, parking the wagon just outside next to Johnny Dogs’. The sun was fully set now as Tommy adjusted his jacket and jumped out of the wagon.

The Delphi member who had escorted them approached the wagon and offered you his hand to help you down. Tommy appeared next to him, eyes steady at the man until he took back his arm and retreated. You felt yourself want to roll your eyes at the exchange, but there was something in Tommy’s warning that made you appreciate it instead.

After the dream you’d just had, it felt good to feel safe again as you took Tommy’s hand and he steadied you to the ground. He kept his hand to your back as you both walked forward into the camp.

Watching him from the corner of your eye, you noticed him slip into something else. His face hardened into the signature Thomas Shelby glare, as if building a wall around his thoughts as you began to walk into the camp. His eyes were nonstop, scanning everywhere as if looking for potential threats or escape exists. It reminded you of how your father used to walk into crowded places — always alert for impending danger.

You took that as your own cue to do the same, finally taking in the camp around you.

You weren’t really sure what to expect, half picturing some of the movies you’d seen depicting gypsy campsites. A couple large fires were lit throughout the grounds, each surrounded by a gang of caravans — the largest was parked at the end of the alley, almost like a head of the table. There were more people around you than you imagined there’d be, with dogs running around and barefoot children chasing them.

One thing you did expect, but still found chilling to see in person — the sigil on the caravan the Delphi escort was walking you both toward.

A painting of a tree — a near perfect resemblance to the mark on your back.

“Madam Despoina will meet you now,” the escort said, opening the door of the caravan. “She’s asked that you wait for her here.”

You took a step toward the large caravan, feeling Tommy begin to follow you.

“Just the lady.”

The man lifted his hand between you and Tommy, stopping him from moving further. Tommy’s eyes flicked down to the hand, then back at the man.

“No,” you spoke up, the Delphi man looking back toward you but Tommy’s eyes never left his. “He comes with me.”

“She said nothing of the sort—“

“I don’t care,” you shrugged.

The man held your glare for a moment before exhaling in defeat. Tommy held the door of the caravan open for you to enter before following behind.

Inside, the caravan was dark, with a handful of candles lit around the parameter and on the table in the center. Tommy moved to sit on the far side of the table, facing the entrance, while you took the seat to his right. Across from you was the empty seat.

As you waited, you began to grow nervous, but you were desperate to stay aware of everything around you. In your quest to disprove your mother’s fortune teller claim, you’d gone on your own crusade to debunk the myth. But despite your skepticism, you found yourself wrapped up in the excitement of the moment.

“Do you know what kind of divination they practice?” You found yourself asking Tommy.

He shook his head.

“Palm readings, tarot cards, crystal balls, tea readings,” you rolled your eyes, giving the caravan a once over again. You noticed some unlit candles, pointing them out. “It’s all such bullshit, see. It could be brighter in here, but they chose to keep it dark. It’s part of their trick — a dark atmosphere decreases people’s sensitivity to movement, heightens their sensitivity to noise, and causes them to be more on edge and frightened at the little things. I can’t believe we’re here.”

Tommy’s brow rose at her deduction.

“I bet you dollars to donuts that when she sits down, she’ll ask for our hands. Another part of the act — decreases the possibility of disrupting the play. A form of misdirection. Keep your eye on her hand and you don’t see her move her knee to knock against the table crying out spirits.”

You felt your temper rise as you continued, not being able to stop yourself now from just rambling out of pent up anger and nerves. Your eyes met Tommy’s, who was appraising you curiously.

“Not a fan of gypsies, I take it?”

There was a hint of defense in his tone that punched at your gut. He thought you were judging his people and suddenly you felt the need to explain yourself.

“No, I didn’t mean— it’s not that. It’s just—“ you were having a hard time backing yourself out of this corner. You took a deep breath. “My mother wasted a lot of money and sanity on fortune tellers and seances. She thought they had answers to her questions and it became an obsession. I learned a lot to try and convince her that such stuff didn’t exist. That it was all parlor tricks, unconscious muscle movement, static electricity, light trickery—”

“She never believed you.”

An older woman’s voice came from the entrance of the caravan. Madam Despoina, you assumed, climbed into the wagon and took the seat across from you.

“She always knew there was an answer out there. A truth, just outside her grasp. She searched, the same way you now search. It’s ironic, no?”

“Madam Despoina,” Tommy greeted, nodding his head down as a show of respect.

The woman nodded in return, “Thomas Shelby.”

Madam Despoina turned then to you and reached her hand out, silently asking for your own. You sent a sideways glance to Tommy, who was already smirking at the action.

Did they have donuts in 1918? You quickly found yourself wondering.

“Please,” the Madam said softly. “It has been so long since your line has had answers.”

You crossed your arms, a direct defiance of her request, “My mother was desperate. I am not. What could you possibly know about me?”

You felt Tommy inhale sharply, an uncomfortable energy radiating off him as his back straightened and he kept an eye on the woman to his left. Obviously he had a better understanding of Romani decorum than you did — you wondered if you’d gone a little too far with your disrespect, misjudging the consequences.

But Madam Despoina only hummed and smiled, her eyes nearly sparkling with a challenge.

She folded her hands together as she leaned against the table, talking directly to you as she began. “Our lineages have traveled from the same ancient roads. I am a direct descendent of the original Pythia.”

“Pythia?” You repeated, the pieces finally beginning to take shape.

Greek history and mythology had been one of your favorite subjects in school, as it seemed to be for most kids in your time. But after learning that your own history may have led back to that country, that culture, it made you hyper-fixate on learning as much as you could. You loved the idea of these stories, these grandiose themes that people of an ancient world told to explain every day occurrences or creations.

Your dream began to itch at the back of your brain as you thought back to those lessons.

“The Oracle of Delphi,” you continued, a sly smile from the woman across from you aiding your confirmation. “No wonder the name sounded so familiar.”

“Oracle?” Tommy’s brow furrowed as he looked to you for an answer.

The Madam nodded, as if encouraging you to explain.

“They were priestesses of Ancient Greece,” you replied tentatively, careful with your words.

You knew this was another tactic used by fortune tellers, to get the payee to divulge information to use back at you, making you unwittingly believe that they knew all along.

You cleared your throat. “They told prophecies and were considered the most prestigious oracles in Greece.”

Madam Despoina nodded. “The Pythia was the most powerful woman in the ancient world. We channeled our ancient god and he spoke through us.”

“You know, there’s some that believe the explanation for the prophecy inspiration came from vapors in the springs below the temple,” you interrupted.

You remembered a professor who always loved to bring reason or scientific explanation to some of these tales as a way of relating them back to real world scenarios. You’ll never forget the way he’d compared Hercules killing his wife and children because Hera spelled him to see them as demons to a fit of roid-rage. You channeled that professor at this moment to regurgitate some of his words.

“That the shift of very specific, active fault lines and earthquakes released some kind of hallucinogenic gas, giving the illusion of connecting with the divine. And as for the possessions, some thought them to be epilepsies, brought on by either the gas or from chewing and inhaling the leaves of a poisonous plant — like the way Vikings used to eat magic mushrooms and burn leaves to see visions of trolls and giants and gods.”

Madam Despoina kept her smile as you talked, chuckling as you finished. “That is a very astute observation of our history. Perhaps it’s true. I never did believe that our power was fueled solely on magic or the divine alone.”

That surprised you. You hadn’t expected her to take your reasoning seriously — part of you thought she’d kick you out on the spot. As if reading your thoughts (or your facial expression, you reasoned), she chuckled again.

“Despite how the root came to be, it does not negate the clarity of the branches. We continue the Delphi name and practices in honor of that lineage,” she went on after giving you a moment with your thoughts. “Just as it seems, your mother continued yours.”

Your brow creased, “What do you mean?”

She closed her eyes and began to speak in another language, Latin perhaps, before opening them and speaking again, this time in English.

“Know thyself and thou shalt know all the mysteries of the gods and the universe,” she said cryptically, obviously reciting something, but you didn’t know it’s origin.

“Know myself?” You repeated, your brow creasing. “That’s what I came here for,” you replied, half annoyed, half skeptic.

“I know why you came here. It’s been long predicted of your arrival.”

You took a deep breath. “I was starting to like you. Do you have anything less generic to say?”

She smirked, “You still disbelieve our power, our connection?”

“I believe you’re trying to probe me with leading questions,” you replied, leaning your elbows against your lap. “That the power of suggestion is half the battle of divinity. You know why I’m here, you wouldn’t have agreed to meet with me if you didn’t already know there was some connection. I’m here for real answers, and you either have them, or you don’t”

“Aye, you are perceptive,” you were surprised to see her smile. “Most readings are easy — love, fortune, death, these are all pieces that are simple to persuade. But not you, not the one who branded herself with the tree of knowledge, of universal balance on your back.”

You felt yourself shift in your seat, your shoulders moved at the mention of your tattoo between them.

As you said, you guessed they already knew about it. Tommy would have had to give Johnny Dogs a reason for reaching out to the family, a reason strong enough to request an audience with the woman before you.

A quick glance at Tommy, who had narrow eyes on Madam Despoina, confirmed such.

Playing it off, you shrugged. “So, tell me something I don’t know.”

The woman smiled again, leaning forward to match your stance. “You were named after the cursed one herself. The first of your matriarch. The infamous Trojan princess.”

“Cassandra,” you answered. “The unbelieved prophet.”

Your dream itched harder in the back of your mind at the sound of your middle name being said out loud for the first time in years.

“A gracious gift given by the god himself at the promise of her body, who then twisted into curse once she refused to lay with him,” the Madam explained with almost a song-like quality.

Of course you knew the story. You’d been ecstatic when you began the Iliad and found your own name amongst the pages.

You hummed, “You know, there’s another side of that story. One that paints Cassandra as a devout priestess, who had the gift bestowed to her freely. She didn’t ask for it, nor did she consent to it. And it was only after he made his advances, believing that she owed him for this gift she didn’t ask for, that he cursed her in rage of an ego blow.”

The Madam nodded, “And which do you believe? The temptress or the victim?”

“Seeing as most history is written by men, I tend to sympathize with the female viewpoints,” you stated, crossing your arms again.

“What if I told you there’s a third side to this story. One that I believe you have already begun to uncover.”

Your itch turned into a burn as you thickly swallowed.

“Yesterday was the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. Some say it’s the mark of a death and rebirth of the Sun.” Madam turned then to Tommy, who’d been quietly observing during this time. “You’ve had experience with that yourself, haven’t ya, Thomas? You were dead, and now, reborn.”

“What does any of this have to do with why we’re here?” You asked, feeling a sense of protectiveness over Madam’s focus on Tommy.

“Why did you bring him?” She asked you, still looking toward Tommy. “My men told you that I’d meet with you alone.”

“I promised him no more secrets —“

“No,” she cut you off. “You wanted me to reveal your secret for you. But I cannot.”

“Because you don’t know—”

“Because it’s not time!” She shouted, pivoting back toward you quickly. The humor in her eyes had gone now. “You are a traveler, but you don’t belong here. You have been sent to this place, to this time, for a reason. A curse brought you here, but unlike the others, you have a chance to mend ancient mistakes. You have a chance to save lives with your knowledge, with your insight. You must get the right people to listen. Break the cursed chain, end the line of travel.”

Your mouth gaped as Madam Despoina had gone on, but your brain was doing everything to absorb every word, every micro-expression you could make out to understand.

The woman stood from her seat and began her retreat, taking a deep breath before turning back around.

“You will find the answers you seek, so long as you stay true to thyself. Listen to your dreams, your visions, your memories. And above all, know you are stronger than those who came before you — you are stronger than your mother.”

With that, she left the caravan, leaving you and Tommy alone.

You looked over to Tommy, who was staring at you — a look you couldn’t quite make out. You opened your mouth to say something when the caravan door opened.

Johnny Dogs stood at the open end, “We’ve been invited to stay for dinner and to rest for the night. They have a caravan for the two of yous.”

Your brow creased as you looked back to Tommy, “We can’t possibly stay the night here. Not after that —“

“We must,” he replied, his voice as even as it’d been before. “It’ll be an insult if we don’t.”

He stood up, offering you his hand to help you up as well. He pulled you close to him, his voice low enough so even Johnny Dogs couldn’t hear.

“But we leave first thing in the morning. We speak nothing of what happened here tonight. Understood?”

“How can you expect that of me?” You asked genuinely, hoping he didn’t mistake your question for childish disobedience. Your mind was swimming with everything that’d happened in the last few hours. Your eyes sought his, “How can you not have questions for me?”

He exhaled a humored breath before swallowing, pulling your head the inch it needed before his lips brushed against your temple. His hand returned to your back as he whispered into your ear.

“Oh believe me, love, I do. But there will be time for that later. Come on, we can’t keep them waiting.”

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

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cheerycherrycandy-resurrected · 2 months

Text

What You've Done, You Cannot Undo (Medieval AU)

Chapter 14

Dew has a heart to heart with Cirrus. Mist has an idea of how to help Rain.

This chapter was fun to write! I hope you enjoy it.

Rating: M Content: hospitals Words: 6566

Links to full fic: Tumblr | AO3

Hi tag gang! @everybodyshusband @rainsbasspick @revengeghoulette

Read below, or on AO3!

The rest of the pack came running in to find Dew sat next the bed, shaken. Rain appeared to be sleeping again, although a quintosis-induced slumber would never be truly restful to anyone without a quintessence connection. After he had been pulled away from Rain, Dew had continued thrashing to reach him for a while longer, before calming down rather suddenly. He suspected quintessence was involved, but due to the number of hands on him at the time he didn't know who to blame.

Dew stared straight ahead, seething quietly, his eyes never leaving Rain even for a second as his pack joined him.

“What happened?” winced Aether, smelling both the lingering fear and the telltale sting of ozone from large amounts of quintessence.

“Rain had a nightmare,” Dew answered flatly, “I wasn't here to help him, and he panicked.”

Quietly, the ghouls seated themselves next to Dew by Rain's bedside. Until they could work out exactly what was wrong with him, this was the best they can do.

Cirrus, Cumulus and Sunshine were still hovering nearby, watching the mood switch from frantic concern to a sombre wait for news. Feeling like they were intruding on a private moment between the pack, they excused themselves with promises to report back to those in the library and bring lunch to them in due course.

The pack stayed there for the rest of the day. Eventually, the quintessence wore off and Rain began to stir, at which point Dew kicked his shoes off and dove for the bed. He wasn’t going to risk Rain having another nightmare without him there to wake and comfort him. Tactfully, the others made no comment. They stayed by his bedside all afternoon, until the sun disappeared from the windows and was replaced by enchanted lanterns and candles.

Cirrus came by in the evening to try and coax them into joining the ghoulettes for dinner. Rain’s condition was unchanged, pointed out the quintessence ghoul currently checking in on him, and they had to eat and rest too. Somewhat reluctantly, Aether agreed, then the Swiss and Mountain followed suit. Dew however, refused. Rain was close to sleep, he argued, and shouldn’t be left alone.

“Fine,” Aether sighed, “but we’re going to fix you a plate, and you are going to eat that and change into pyjamas while we watch Rain later.”

Dew huffed, but agreed. It had been silently acknowledged by all that Dew would be spending the night in the infirmary again, everyone knowing better than to argue or even draw attention to it. The quintessence ghouls orbiting the infirmary sighed in relief: Dew had involuntarily hissed at them three times as they tried conducting their various check-ups throughout the afternoon, and they would be glad of the chance to tend to him in peace.

When the ghouls returned an hour later they were well fed, and in slightly better spirits for having got out of the stuffy infirmary. Dew was still curled around Rain like a dragon around it’s hoard, fussing over the sleeping ghoul.

“Food is with Cirrus in the common room, pyjamas are laid out on the bed.” Aether announced, knowing that if any task took a second longer than necessary that Dew would simply skip it.

Dew reluctantly untangled himself, fussing to make sure Rain was comfortable, and grudgingly put his shoes back on before taking one last look and bolting from the room like a bullet from a gun. Aether cracked his knuckles, attracting the attention of the lurking quintessence ghouls, and gestured to Rain.

“He’s all yours.”

Dew tore down the corridor, anxiety prickling at his skin with every second he was away from Rain. What if he had another nightmare? Logically, Dew knew that he was in good hands; an infirmary full of quintessence ghouls and the rest of their pack were perfectly capable of waking the water ghoul and calming him down like he had done previously. Emotionally however, Dew was a wreck. He had promised Rain he would protect him, that he was safe now. Yet he still couldn’t save him from the torment of his own mind.

Thinking back to barely two weeks ago, Dew had resented the water ghoul’s very existence. He would probably have called him pathetic for still having nightmares at his age, let alone comforted him through them and holding him while he slept. However, with their souls flayed bare; their vulnerabilities shared, Dew saw just how much they had in common. In taking care of Rain, he felt like he was healing a part of himself from the past. There was one key difference between them, Dew realised. One which may account for why he felt so protective over him now: Rain still believed there was good in the world. Dew’s jaded life view had followed him around and weighed him own like a ball and chain for as long as he could remember, however Rain still trusted people to be good and kind. He saw the joy in the mundane, when Dew struggled to see happiness when it stared him in the face.

Rain was too gentle a soul to risk being hurt, by him or by the world he was so optimistic about. He was too precious for Dew to be entrusted with, yet selfishly he wanted all his radiance for himself. Dew didn’t know how it had taken him so long to see; maybe his own misery had been dulling Rain’s shine this whole time. Now though, this creature that he finally recognised the beauty of, both inside and out, was trusting Dewdrop not to hurt him. He was relying on him to guide him through the darkest moments of his existence, and Dew finally felt a flicker of hope for himself. If he could protect Rain, guard him against the harm his own mind seemed determined to conjure then maybe, just maybe, he could deserve to bask in his presence for a while.

Every step further from him, lying sick and helpless in the infirmary, felt wrong. He should be next to him, prepared to fight. Aether and the others were right though; he was no use if he made himself sick. He needed to eat, to sleep, to let his mind be occupied by other lighter thoughts. Only if he cared for himself would he be prepared and deserving of taking care of Rain.

Reaching the Den, Dew was greeted by the warm and comforting smell of tomatoes and onions. He slowed to a walking pace and slunk into the common room. Cirrus was just laying cutlery beside a foil covered dish as he entered, her gentle smile nourishing his mind as much as the food would nourish his body. She uncovered the plate of steaming pasta for him and placed a small dish of dried chillies next to it. Touched that she remembered his dislike for the kitchen staff’s somewhat bland food, even after so long, Dew felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He tried to drown them in forkfuls of spaghetti, unsuccessfully, his bottom lip beginning to tremble and a sob bubbling up in his throat.

“Oh Dewbug, what’s wrong?” Cirrus gasped, slipping into the seat beside him and immediately pulling him into a hug. She stroked his hair as he cried against her chest, fat, wet tears staining her nightshirt as every confusing and upsetting emotion he had hed onto so tightly came bursting out of him at once. Dew sobbed harder as she comforted him, feeling like a kit. However, unlike when Dewdrop was a kit, Cirrus didn’t tell him to stop his wailing. She simply held him, rocking him gently until he was all out of tears to cry.

“I’m scared, Riri,” he choked out between harsh breaths, “I’m so scared.”

“I know, Droplet, I know.” She continued petting at his hair soothingly, as the wracking sobs shaking his entire body subsided. Dew seemed to want to talk but she could tell he didn’t know where to begin.

“Are you scared about Rain?” Cirrus prompted gently. Dew nodded, sniffing back yet more tears. With a shuddering breath, he lifted his head,

“What if he doesn’t get better?”

“Oh Sweetheart,” Cirrus hoisted him until he was practically on her lap so she could hug him tighter, “he will! The quintessence ghouls will try everything!”

“A-and,” Dew struggled even more, burying his face in her chest again, muffling his words so she could barely hear them, “what if he does get better, and then realises he doesn't need me anymore?”

“What do you mean Dewbug?”

He looked up at her with heartbroken eyes,

“Rain deserves better than to be chained to me the rest of his life. And I'm scared it's going to hurt when he realises that.”

Cirrus wrapped him up tighter in her arms, tutting softly at him.

“You deserve happiness too, Dew. He'd be a fool not to want you.”

“I'm scared of that too,” Dew whispered, “I'm scared of how much I want him to want me.”

Hearing those words spoken aloud, however softly, made Dew finally grasp the truth of them. They had been weighing so heavily on his mind over the last few days, stirring it into a frenzy. He wanted Rain. He wanted Rain to want him back. He wanted, so badly it hurt. Dew even didn't know that he knew how to want; he had only ever known need before.

“I know I'm not good enough for him,” Dew shook his head at the look Cirrus gave him, “I can barely take care of myself, I run away from all my problems... Rain needs someone strong, a protector. How can I be anything but a drain on him?”

“You want to be good enough,” Cirrus reasoned, “that's all you need. Nobody is ever perfect.”

Dew sniffed, unconvinced.

“Besides, it's not up to you to decide if you're good enough. If Rain thinks you are, that's his choice!”

"How can I be though Cir? He's stuck in the infirmary, sick because I dragged him all this way when he was already fragile, and I'm sat here whining instead of being there for him!”

“You have three other pack members, no?” She swept away the tears that were threatening to fall again. “They're keeping an eye on him now so you can take care of yourself, that's what pack are for! You don't have to do everything alone.”

Dew wiped his nose on his sleeve. “What if I mess everything up? I have no idea what I'm doing!”

Cirrus smiled, feeling like the big sister she supposed that she was to him.

“You'll learn. You should've seen me and Lulu when we first met; dancing around each other for so long, it's a wonder our clan didn't bash our heads together in frustration!”

Chuckling wetly, Dew tried to imagine the cool and collected air ghoul with a crush. He found it almost impossible to picture.

Another thought continued plaguing his mind, however. The crushing weight of the secret he had kept from his whole pack felt extra heavy in this place, surrounded by people who had known him before as a ghoulette. He felt queasy at the thought of Rain or any of his pack finding out from someone other than himself. Within this room however, there was no secret; Cirrus knew and accepted him, she understood.

“Rain doesn't know about– doesn't know that I'm–” he gestured wildly at his body, the head to toe sweeps of his arms nearly overbalancing him. Cirrus squeezed him tightly,

“All you can do is talk to him Dew. I can't tell you what so say other than be open with him, show him your heart, and hope he understands.”

Dew nodded; he knew that really, but it didn't make it any easier.

“What if Rain is only being nice to me right now because I'm helping him? Or out of some obligation from the human marriage ceremony?”

Now Dew had started sharing his thoughts, they just kept coming. Every fear, every doubt, all pouring out and fighting with each other for attention.

“Do you really think Rain would be playing with you like that?” asked Cirrus with genuine concern. She knew nothing of the water ghoul's sweet and naive personality, Dew supposed. He considered it for a moment, before shaking his head thoughtfully. “I don't think he would even think to.”

Cirrus hummed, “You both sound unfamiliar with all this, he's probably having some of the same worries you are.”

“No, he's not,” Dew sighed, something that felt like jealousy tickling the back of his throat, “he was courting a water ghoulette to be his mate, back when he was with his birth clan.”

One of Cirrus's perfectly arched eyebrows shot unbidden towards her hairline.

“Well then,” she said after schooling her face back to one of familial concern, “he understands how longing feels. If you think there's something there with him, explore it!”

She mussed up Dew's hair affectionately, then immediately smoothed it back down before he could fuss.

“Protect your heart, but don't keep it locked inside a cage forever, alright?”

Dew managed a weak smile through watery eyes, leaning into her for a final hug.

“C'mon,” Cirrus said after a while, releasing him, “let's reheat that pasta and get you back to your water ghoul.”

She stayed next to him as he heated his hands around the bowl, blowing the warmth towards the food with her own power like a fan oven. As Dew ate, she leaned against him for comfort and occasionally stole odd ends of spaghetti for herself. When he was done, Cirrus brought him a drink of water and Dew stood up on wobbly legs, ready to go and change. She left him to head to his room with a final squeeze of his hand.

“Things are going to be alright,” she cooed in his ear, “Rain will get better soon, just give him time to recover.”

Dew reached for the doorknob,

“Oh,” Cirrus added with a smirk, “and if for some reason he doesn't feel the same way about you, then he's the stupidest ghoul I've ever laid eyes on!”

Rolling his eyes, Dew headed to his room with a blush tinting his cheeks a deep peach colour.

As Aether had promised, a full set of fresh sleep clothes were folded neatly for him on the foot of the bed. Dew changed quickly, carefully avoiding the mirror so as not to see his undoubtedly blotchy and tear-stained face. With the bathroom in darkness, he splashed cold water on his face and hoped that would be enough to disguise his recent crying from the others.

He pottered back into the common room to give Cirrus a final goodnight hug before returning to the infirmary. She was clearly expecting him to; leant against the counter and facing the door while two cups of camomile tea for her and Cumulus brewed.

“Night Dewbug.” she gave him a bone crushing hug, which he returned in sentiment, if not in strength. “Good luck.”

When Dew flitted along the hallways and back into the infirmary, he found the ghouls sat almost exactly where he had left them; with no sign of the hovering quintessence ghouls and their tests. Swiss was perched closer to the bed, holding Rain's hand and gently chattering at him about the people they had met that day. Dew was pleased Rain wasn't laying there alone.

Aether and Mountain looked up as he approached. He saw the concern on their faces, both at his unexpectedly lengthy dinner break, and no doubt at the clear signs on his face that he had been crying.

“You're back! We were starting to wonder if Cirrus hadn't let you leave!” Aether tried to make light of the situation, shooting a glance at Mountain to do the same. Dew laughed weakly, appreciating their efforts.

“No, but she did sit by me to make sure I ate the whole plate before coming back!”

Dew slunk up to the other side of the bed from Swiss and hopped up to slot himself behind the water ghoul.

“He's not asleep anymore,” murmured Swiss, “but he feels more relaxed than this morning.”

“Thank you.” Dew whispered back, not meeting his eyes. If they were full of pity, he didn’t want to see.

A short while later, once it was apparent that Rain was slowly slipping back into unconsciousness and Dew was not in a talking mood, the ghouls left the infirmary. Out of their watchful gaze, Dew pressed himself even closer to Rain and allowed himself to follow him into a deep slumber.

The next morning, Dew awoke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee; a delicacy in the northern region.

“Wakey wakey!” Cooed Mist, wafting the mug near his face. Well, as close to his face as she could reach, seeing as how Dew had once again embedded it between Rain’s shoulder blades, his nose and chin perfectly settling into the divots of his spine.

“Wa’ time ‘s it?” He managed to slur out, still not fully awake.

“It’s mid-morning already,” Mist cackled, “you’ve slept almost twelve hours! Neither of you were moving, so Sunny took your pack out for a tour of the greenhouses.”

Dew reached up to rub sleep from his eyes – crying always left them crusty the next morning – before realising the rather compromising and intimate position he was in. Not only was his face pressed flush against Rain’s back, their legs were also slotted together, every possible inch of Dew plastered along the water ghoul.

Mist raised an eyebrow, as Dew blushed scarlet and tried to scramble free. Rain snuffled in his sleep, pressing back to chase the warmth of Dew’s body.

“Aren’t you meant to be in the library?” huffed Dew, straightening out his sleep shirt that had ridden up, and accepting the coffee from Mist.

“Nope!” She gloated, popping the ‘p’ with a smirk. “Copia sent me to tell you we’re all done! I thought I’d come and bother you for a proper catch-up.”

“That’s nice,” murmured Dew, distracted by the water ghoul’s tail emerging to curl around his own.

“What’s up with husband dearest?” Mist slurped at her own steaming mug. “He must’ve taken a Hell of a beating to still be sick now.”

“We’re not sure,” Dew sighed, “I keep seeing the Quints in long and deep discussions and they keep prodding at his energy, but all they say is he’s weak and they don’t know why. I don’t even know if it’s something they can fix…”

Mist narrowed her eyes.

“He's not just injured? Explain to me exactly what happened to him.”

Dew recapped everything he could remember. From Rain’s magic snapping into place so suddenly when he went to try and use it; to his beatings and strange shocking power; to his fluctuating recovery and decline and eventual fainting in the Abbey courtyard.

“So, he had a sudden burst of energy just over two weeks ago, another one a few days ago, and he was at his weakest somewhere in-between.” Mist spoke very slowly, like Dew was missing something obvious. Dew nodded, confused where she was going with this.

“He’s weak, but you don’t know why, far more malnourished than he should be, and not talking.” She made prompting hand gestures, but Dew had no idea what he was supposed to be catching onto.

“He’s also having nightmares?” He tried. “And he’ll only sleep if I’m here, otherwise he just stares at the ceiling.”

Mist let out an incredulous laugh.

“You really don’t get it?” She looked at Dew like he had grown a second head. “Aren’t you supposed to be half water ghoul?”

Flagging down one of the hovering quintessence ghouls, Mist sent her to fetch the whole team that had been trying to figure out what was wrong with Rain. Still in the dark about her apparent revelation, Dew couldn’t help but think they were about to be made to feel very, very stupid.

With the quintessence ghouls assembled, Mist levelled them with a condescending glare.

“What element is the ghoul you have been treating?” she asked them with a saccharine smile. The general murmur of water seemed to be good enough for her. “Exactly. And what should you not do to a sick ghoul?”

Feet shuffled, but no one dared answer.

“You don’t keep them away from their element,” Mist almost growled, “of course Rain isn’t getting any better, he’s dehydrated and needs water!”

The young ghoulette she had first spoken to turned and glanced at the sink, but didn't dare move.

“Now, as for why he is sick in the first place,” Mist started with a patronising tone, “who’s heard of Spring Tides?”

Astra and another ghoul raised their hands, but the others shrugged their shoulders. Mist sighed, like she was being burdened with explaining the most basic concepts to a room full of kits.

“Water ghouls’ strength is closely tied to the moon cycle,” she explained, “Spring tides happen when the moon is closest to Earth, and so we feel its power the strongest. That is, a full moon and a new moon.”

“It was a full moon the other night…” mused Dew.

“Well spotted Dewdrop,” the sarcasm in her tone rather spoiled the compliment thought Dew, “and two weeks before then it was a new moon. On the day after, our power is at its strongest, and the last two such days just so happened to coincide with Rain here losing control of his magic; and then regaining it.”

The quintessence ghouls scribbled notes, eagerly devouring this new information.

“It’s quite rare for a young ghoul’s power to appear so suddenly and violently,” Mist acknowledged, “but Rain was already a late bloomer in that regard by the sound of things, so it’s not surprising it was just building up until the dam burst. The new moon was likely a catalyst for it.”

“Why is he so weak now though?” asked Dew, talking over a quintessence ghoul with his hand raised politely. “It’s still close to the full moon, shouldn’t that mean he’s strong still?”

“Our energy ebbs and flows,” explained Mist, “we do not simply create it. Any additional power must come from somewhere, and in these instances, it comes afterwards as a period of intense exhaustion. For Rain, the sudden burst two weeks ago was probably enough to knock him flat while he was in jail, and then the full moon more recently allowed him to reconnect to his element but left drained him afterwards.”

“Is he going to be like this every few weeks?” Dew asked in a panic. He didn’t know if his heart could take seeing Rain this sick every time there was full or new moon.

“Not once you get him back in the water to recover,” Mist threw her arms in the air as she finally got to the crux of her explanation. “What he really needs is a good soak in the damn lake!”

Dew and the other infirmary ghouls nodded quickly.

“He was better on our journey than he is here,” mused Dew, “is that because it rained, and he was able to swim in the river?”

“Now you're starting to understand.”

“And then when his powers came back the other morning, we came straight here afterwards,” Dew thought out loud, “he’s not really seen water since.”

Mist nodded sagely.

“But what about the nightmares?”

“Dewdrop, he killed three people then was almost hanged by a mob of angry humans. Of course he’s having nightmares! You would be too if you’d been through what he has.”

‘Right.’ Thought Dew; that made sense.

“We’re taking him down to the lake now.” Mist announced. Seeing her start towards Rain on the bed, Dew leapt to help. Together, they struggled until Rain was sat upright. Huffing and puffing with exertion, they tried to pull him to his feet. However, with Rain’s armpits at the same height as – or higher than – the two shorter ghoul’s shoulders, this swiftly proved impossible.

“Why’s he so tall, Dewdrop,” panted Mist, letting Rain sink back to the bed, “couldn’t you have picked a shorter ghoul to mate with?”

“Not my mate.” Wheezed Dew.

“Sure,” Mist leaned on the bed, smirking, “in the same way Sunny and I aren’t. It’s only a matter of time.”

Dew felt his ears burning red again, and tried not to let himself get distracted thinking about the position he woke in this morning. If Rain hadn’t been sick and had actually been conscious, where could things have gone?

In the meantime, Mist had turned her icy blue eyes onto two tall quintessence ghouls. They leapt to attention, racing to sling Rain’s arms around their shoulders and follow Mist outside.

The small procession of ghouls made their way outside, traipsing along the paths of the Abbey gardens down towards the lake. Along the way, they passed Aether, Mountain and Swiss being led between sunlit greenhouses by an enthusiastic Sunshine. As though she sensed the presence of her partner, the multi ghoulette looked up. Waving frantically, she came running over with Dew’s packmates in hot pursuit.

“What’s happening?” Aether cried, skidding to a stop.

“We’re taking Rain to the lake.” Dew supplied, only raising more questions in the ghouls’ eyes.

“Somehow, none of you knuckleheads thought to try getting the water ghoul wet,” said Mist drily, “so we’re off to rectify that situation.”

Mountain silently swooped past them all, taking over and scooping Rain into his arms as he had when they arrived at the Abbey. He set off quickly in the direction they had been walking, Sunshine darting ahead to show him the way.

“How did none of us think of this until now?” Aether fretted, chasing alongside Mountain’s giant strides.

“Most of the water ghouls here arrived well into adulthood,” Mist reasoned, quiet enough that the quintessence ghouls hovering awkwardly where they had left them couldn’t hear, “what happened with Rain and his sudden flood of power is very rare at the best of times, and typically only happens when water ghouls first gain their full power. I’m not surprised they haven’t seen it before, but as healers they should have read about it.”

“Still, how did no one think to try putting him near his element?”

“You tell me,” she rolled her eyes, “I’m starting to think you all need a water ghoul biology lesson!”

Aether shrugged; it couldn’t hurt and would probably be interesting.

They reached the lake, and Dew was blown away by the size of it. Its dark, glassy surface stretched seemingly for miles, linking up to the river they had been following for days. Several wooden docks jutted out over the surface, worn smooth with years of use. The path led down to one such pier, the grass around it growing longer the closer it got to the water. The sunlight glimmered and sparkled so brightly on every minuscule wave that it almost hurt to look. As they got closer, Mountain ignoring his own comfort in favour of loping straight into the water with Rain, they saw that the water was almost entirely clear with every pebble at the bottom visible.

Mist waded in after him, taking a guiding hold of Rain as he started to float in Mountain’s arms.

“I’ve got him,” she said reassuringly, “he just needs to soak for a bit. Go and get Dew to dry you off.”

Mountain carefully lowered Rain further into the water, before wading back to shore and squelching over to the dock where Dew, Swiss, Aether and Sunshine were sat. He squeezed himself into a non-existent gap between Dew and Swiss; the fire ghoul shifting to give him room, before cranking up his heat to start drying off the wet earth ghoul.

Mist continued floating with Rain in the shallows, making sure he didn’t splash and startle himself as he started to regain consciousness. The others stared in wonder at how quickly the colour seemed to be flowing back into his cheeks, how his limp arms began to swirl sluggishly through the water as though experiencing the feeling for the first time. With Rain in safe hands, they allowed themselves to relax. The air was a little chilly compared to what they were used to, but the sun was warm on their faces.

The contented quiet made a nice change from the tense and worried silence of the last few days. Swiss was on the verge of falling asleep, leaned against Mountain's shoulder while the earth ghoul ostensibly held him to stop him falling off the dock. Dew was sat cross legged, watching the two water ghouls interact. His tail was trailed over the edge, just reaching the water's surface where it gently played with it. Mist looked over to them as Rain sculled his hands, independently keeping himself buoyant.

“If the Quints were here, I'd say ‘I told you so’.” she grinned.

“I take it we missed a lot in Water Ghouls 101?” Aether asked, in a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Nothing you’d be expected to know,” Mist shrugged as she bobbed in the water, “Rain’s going to spend a lot of time down here, all the water ghouls do. It’s a miracle he survived living with you lot without a body of water like this.”

“He was always in the river next to our farm, I suppose.” Aether mused.

Mist nodded. “You want that biology lesson now? I’ll explain to you what I told Dew earlier.”

Aether and Mountain both eagerly agreed. Swiss snored, so Mountain nudged him gently to wake up: he wouldn’t want to miss this. Sunshine sat a few meters away, not wanting to intrude on the pack, but leaned forward in interest.

They listened closely as Mist explained lunar cycles and water ghouls’ connections to them. She briefly touched on how Rain’s apparent surge in power, followed by lack of water, the day they arrived at the Abbey had likely been the cause of his severe exhaustion. Mist moved on quickly however, not wanting to make any of them feel guilty for things they couldn’t have known.

“Would this really have made him cause all that damage?” Dew asked in disbelief. The amount of destruction Rain had apparently caused seemed beyond the power of the strongest ghoul, yet he had apparently caused it by accident?

“It depends, what was he trying to do at the time?” Mist asked.

“He was just going to water a field,” Mountain replied, “he was meant to pull some moisture up from the river into the soil, but he flooded over an acre and drowned three people!”

Mist winced, imagining the scene.

“He was under a lot of pressure,” Dew added quietly, “I made him feel like he had to do a perfect job.”

“That might explain it, yes.” Mist looked thoughtful, before noticing Dew’s guilt-ridded expression and drooping ears and attempting to lighten the mood. “After all, I’ve seen how you get when you’ve got big feelings Dewdrop, every candle in the room becomes twice as tall!”

He chuckled weakly.

“It’s an unfortunate combination of events,” Mist continued, “but Rain’s going to be fine. What he needs right now is water, and his pack.” She looked pointedly at Dew and winked.

“Do you think his need for water is why he’s been best around me?” Dew asked, thinking of his tenuous connection to water that Rain had previously identified, and ignoring her suggestive comment.

“It could be,” she hummed, floating pensively, “he’s probably just comfortable around you though – you don’t have as strong a connection to water as Swiss, since he’s a true Multi.”

“What d’you mean?” yawned Swiss, wriggling back upright. “Dew is a fire ghoul.”

Mist looked at Dew, letting him explain what she had noticed about him so quickly.

“Yeah, I’m fire, but my father was a water ghoul,” Dew shrugged, “my water element is practically non-existent though, only Mist and Rain have been able to smell it.”

The looks of shock on Dew’s packmates faces were testament to how unnoticeable his water element was, and how well he had hidden his past from them.

“Shouldn’t you be a multi ghoul like me then?” questioned Swiss, squinting at him as though if he looked hard enough, he would see Dew’s supposed water ghoul features.

“Do I need to explain multi ghouls to you too?” Mist asked, incredulous.

Dew could have kissed her, as his packmates stopped staring at him and turned back to look at Mist.

“We can’t all be book smart like you Mimi,” Sunshine laughed and turned to look at Swiss, “I’m pretty sure she understands my elements more than me!”

“Swiss would be correct, if we were in the Pit,” Mist started, pausing her distracted circling to tread water and face the others, “down there, His influence and magic are so strong that unborn kits have their elemental connections from both parents ‘activated’ as they grow. That’s how a multi ghoul is born in the Pit. Generations of mixing is what lead to the blend of all elements that you two have.”

Sunny sat politely hugging her knees, having heard this before, but Swiss stared at Mist open mouthed.

“We’re so far removed from His influence here on the surface, that kits can’t develop their magic in the same way,” she continued, “instead, they take the power from the strongest source around them, which is the ghoul who carries them. It’s like how humans’ babies are born with the same protection against diseases that their mothers have, because they pick it up in the womb. So, any ghoul born here on Earth has the same elemental makeup as the parent who birthed them. It means multi ghouls like Swiss and Sunny are practically a sixth element, as they can only be born from another Multi.”

“Your mother is a fire ghoul then?” Aether looked at Dew, who nodded.

“I didn’t know how it worked before though. I thought I was just fire because I only grew up with fire ghouls.”

“Nah, he’s got water in his bones,” Mist grinned, flicking water at him, “if you’re a water ghoul you can smell it on him. But he wasn’t exposed to water magic before he was born, so he’s only got a connection to fire.

This was fascinating information to them all, but none more so than Swiss and Dew. The former, finally understanding why his type was so rare on the surface, and the latter understanding his own confusing heritage. Dew absentmindedly wondered if his dormant water connection could explain his love for fish, that none of his birth clan had shared.

While they had sat listening attentively to Mist, Rain had been continuing to grow in strength and had floated off on his own. He felt empty; like he hadn’t eaten in days. He supposed that was possibly true. As Mountain had lowered him into the water, Rain had felt like a set of heavy velvet curtain around his mind had opened, allowing the midday sunlight to cascade in. The water around him felt alive, like it was flooding into his veins. He thought he remembered most of the events leading up to his most recent episode: he could recall the happy morning spent showing off to Dew and his pack, the final leg of the journey where he felt exhaustion creeping in. It had been like the tide, inching incrementally higher and higher, until it suddenly overtopped his mind upon reaching the Abbey, dousing him in a cold flood and pulling him under the surface.

Rain only half paid attention to what Mist was saying; he knew it was important, but that meant it could be repeated later. For now, he wanted to luxuriate in the feeling of clarity the cold water brought him. Floating on his back, he saw his packmates sat on a wooden pier. He smiled to see Swiss and Mountain’s closeness; maybe they had finally got somewhere while he was out of it in the infirmary? He wasn’t even sure how long it had been – it could have been two days or two weeks for all he knew.

Beside Mountain was the ghoul who really caught his attention, however. Dew sat with stress visible in every line of his body, and Rain desperately wanted to pull him into the buoyant embrace of the water until he was as relaxed and pliant as the liquid itself. Over the last week, he had come to realise that Dew was nothing like the brash and antagonistic fire ghoul he had thought he was, having seen a different side to him. Rain now saw that while Dew was well-practiced at keeping up a front of false bravado, underneath it lay a myriad of his own insecurities. The care he had shown to the water ghoul over the last week, aside from their few arguments, had made Rain feel special, loved even.

He wondered to himself if that care would continue now that he was out of danger. Would Dew continue to dote on him without the lingering guilt and fear to motivate him? Rain hoped so. He had enjoyed the time he spent with Dew, slowly pulling the fire ghoul out of his shell over the last few days of their journey north. He liked the softer side of Dew that had emerged; possibly a side only he had seen before, and that he secretly wanted to keep forever as his alone.

That thought had come out of nowhere for him; the idea of Dew being his. He had felt a similar pull before, the longing that had inspired his courtship of the dark-haired water ghoulette. This felt different though – both stronger and more dangerous. She had felt like the ending to a trite romance novel; an inevitable conclusion tied up neatly with a bow. Dew felt the type of inevitable that was two ancient stars orbiting ever closer, destined to collide in spectacular fashion. Where she had felt safe and predictable, Dew felt erratic and intangible in the most intoxicatingly alluring way.

Rain let himself sink under the water, afraid if he stared at Dew any longer that all of his inner thoughts would come pouring out. Through the crystal-clear water, he could see the spade of Dew’s tail lazily stirring hypnotizing circles. He watched it closely, entranced.

While the ghouls were talking, they lost sight of the silently floating Rain. Dew was the first to notice, sitting forward in alarm.

“Where did Rain go?” he asked, a tinge of panic in his voice. He couldn’t have drowned; that was almost impossible for a water ghoul, even one in a weakened condition. Frantically, he scanned the surface of the water, looking for any ripple or disturbance that might give away the water ghoul’s location.

Suddenly, Dew felt something brush against the spade of his tail, still trailing through the water. He screamed, a high pitched noise that hurt the others’ ears, and clutched the edge of the dock to keep himself from falling in. Peering into the water, he tentatively looked for the culprit. Staring back at him in the shadow of the pier was Rain; horns glowing brightly and mischievous blue eyes locked with his, full of light and life.

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thefairywithboots · 6 months

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Welcome To My Blog

Hi there! ;)

Welcome to my fanfic blog. My primary places to post are AO3, Wattpad, and Dreamwidth, but I have moved a lot of my stuff over here to Tumblr because I love the community and friends I've made over here!

All of my NSFW work fics will be labelled as such. I am not responsible for any minors who ignore the warnings and read such fics anyway.

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About Me

Hi there! ;) You have managed to somehow stumble upon my little corner of the internet. So welcome!

My name is Rita, and I have written fanfiction ever since I was 11 years old - by hand in spare spiral notebooks that I had - back before I even knew what fanfiction was. I’d just sit scribbling alternative endings to video games whose canonical endings had left me emotionally traumatized (Twilight Princess, Valkyrie Profile, etc.) But I didn’t start writing fanfic to post for the public to read until a full decade later.

I have always used writing as a form of escapism, to create worlds when I felt like the one I am in was too restrictive. This blog will be my safe space from the world, and I want it be just as much as an escape for others as it is for me. I want this to be a positive vibes only blog. 🌻

I am a hopeless romantic at heart, and spend a lot time trying to spread positivity, peace and love. ❤️ 🌻

My other interests include crochet (I often post pictures of clothes that I make,) painting/drawing, video games, fantasy/mythology, and most importantly music. Music is my catharsis. The reason I am alive.

I usually keep to myself in fandoms to avoid drama and fights, but am a really nice person as long as you are not an asshole, so please don’t be afraid to slide into my DMs if you want to chat.

Fic Requests

Stuff that I write:

• Fluff

•Smut

• And most importantly, angst because I love torturing my characters/muses as well as myself.

•X Reader inserts

•x OC

•FxM (fluff and smut)

• FxF (fluff and smut)

• MxM (fluff)

Stuff that I will not write:

•Obviously icky stuff (pedo/necro/rapey shit)

• Jimbert - nothing against people who write or enjoy these kinds of fics - there's actually a few fics of this ship I enjoy myself - and people can write whatever fictional scenario they want. It's just that a very small handful of people on here take things way too far insisting that this is not fantasy, and these two had very real feelings for each other. So... yeah. That shit ain't for me. So I won't be writing this ship. I'll read others' fics though, and any other MxM ship is open for requesting. :)

So... yeah. Other than that, I'm willing to write anything. So feel free to send in requests.

My Fanfic Library

Iron Maiden

Dave Murray x Janick Gers

Fates Warning (Book 1 of Into Darkness) a Dave x Janick fic that follows their relationship throughout the 1990s.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Led Zeppelin

Robert Plant x Reader

Your Most Sacred Place (Smut)

Submissive Robert (Smut)

Aftercare (Smut)

Fire At Midnight

A Little Deal (Smut)

Way Down Inside (Smut)

Who’s In Charge (Smut)

Daddy, I Just Can’t Wait (Smut)

Far Too Long (Smut)

If You Wake Up With The Sunrise

Just Pretend

Robert and Evanna (OC ship)

Depollute Me, Gentle Angel

Steal Away Now (Smut)

I'm Gonna Put You Down For A While (Smut)

I'm Gonna Crawl (Smut)

Song Fics

Tea For One

Crack Fics

What Is And What Should Never Be

Legend of Zelda

Link x Malon

Welcome Home (Smut)

Recommended Blogs

@bijouxcarys writes incredible Robert Plant fics, is such a prolific writer, and is also the sweetest person ever. So check her out. ⚔️🌈

@firethatgrewsolow @brownskinsugarplum76 and @nature-and-music have also written some of my favourite Robert fics, and just overall extremely talented writers who inspire me to get better at my own. So please check them out. 🌻

#fanfiction #my fanfiction #my masterlist #led zeppelin fanfiction #iron maiden fanfiction #robert plant x reader #janick gers x reader #janick gers fanfiction #dave murray x janick gers #robert plant fanfiction #legend of zelda fanfiction #link x malon #malink #fluff #angst #smut #⚔️🌈 forever

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dunbonnets · 4 months

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READ CHAPTER ONE NOW

synopsis. ━━ when sonja smith's entire life goes to ruin with the fall of wall maria, she decides to join the cadet corps, in hopes of becoming a scout like her uncle. and it is there that she finds not only her purpose in life, but meets a boy that will change her life entirely. ( read full synopsis here. )

word count. ━━ 3,958k words

reading links. ━━ available on tumblr and ao3

tag list. ━━ @pseudonym-lux @void-daniella (want to be tagged? either comment or send me an ask or dm!)

Year 847

　　Two painfully slow years had come and gone since Wall Maria had fallen, and Shiganshina District along with it.

　　In that time, Sonja Smith had lost everything; her home, her family, and dare she say, even her heart and spirit. She was but a hollowed shell of the person she used to be, unable to remember the last time she was even happy or dreamed without reliving such horrible memories of that day.

　　Alone and with nowhere to go, Sonja made the choice to enlist in the Cadet Corps as soon as she was able, knowing that dedicating her life to protecting humanity was far better than cowering behind yet another wall for the remainder of her life — however long that may be.

　　She had talked about it once with her mother, who was not at all enthusiastic about the thought of her only daughter going beyond the wall to fight titans. And now, as she stood in orderly fashion with her fellow classmates of the 104th Cadet Corps, Sonja couldn't help but wonder if her mother was looking down on her with disappointment for the choice she had made.

　　Would she be angry with her for enlisting and for putting her life on the line? Or would she finally understand that this had always been her dream?

　　Sonja bit down on her bottom lip, ridding her mind of those thoughts, and peered up through her blonde bangs at their Cheif Instructor, Commandant Keith Shadis. He stood before them in uniform, his hands clasped behind his back, announcing with authority that their introduction ceremony had begun.

　　Upon hearing those words, Sonja immediately straightened her back, lifted her chin, and looked forward, trying her best to make herself look presentable as the Commandant's surveying eyes skimmed over the class of the 104th Cadet Corps in an almost intimidating manner.

　　“Hey, Mop-Top!” Commandant Shadis shouted, and the nickname, though not directed at her, had caused Sonja to frown.

　　From the corner of her eye, she could see a blonde boy tense up before raising his arm in a salute across his chest. “Sir!”

　　“What do they call you, maggot?” Commandant Shadis asked.

　　“Armin Arlert, from Shiganshina District, sir!” The boy introduced himself, voice loud and unwavering, though lacking confidence as he appeared to be nervous from being singled out amoungst the class already.

　　A sharp pain pierced her heart when she heard where the boy was from. Shiganshina. Her home. Their home, as it turns out. She never thought she would miss it so much. Silently, she wondered how many other cadets were from there as well.

　　Commandant Shadis quirked a brow. “Wow, seriously? Why would your parents curse you with such a dumb name?”

　　Sonja's jaw clenched, and she bit down on her tongue to keep herself from speaking up and defending the boy. She knew that the their Chief Instructor was only trying to intimidate them, but she couldn't help but feel slightly angered by his method.

　　Though she had not turned her head to properly look at the boy, she didn't see anything wrong with his hair, let alone his name. Armin was a nice name. She had never heard it before today, but she liked it.

　　“It was my grandfather, sir!” The boy—Armin—answered promptly.

　　Commandant Shadis was now standing directly in Armin's face, leaning down slightly to be eye level with the blonde boy. “Cadet Arlert! Why is a runt like you here?”

　　“To help humanity overcome the titans!” Armin shouted his answer, seemingly more nervous than before.

　　“That is delightful to hear!” Commandant Shadis straightened his spine, the volume of his voice never lowering as he spoke. “You're gonna be a great light snack for them!” He then reached out, placing his hand on top of Armin's head, spinning the boy around and making him face the other way. “Row Three, About Face, runt!”

　　He stepped away from Armin Arlert and approached another cadet standing in line, shouting in their face and demanding to know their name and hometown as well. And Sonja stood there, silent, her gaze forward as she listened to him move around, using the same method he used on Armin in an attempt to intimidate even more of them.

　　Nervous beads had accumulated along her brow as Sonja silently prayed that Commandant Shadis wouldn't direct his attention upon her. But just when she thought she was in the clear, he was suddenly towering over her small frame. Her racing heart leapt into her throat, her mouth drying.

　　“Now look at what we have here,” Commandant Shadis said, his booming voice nearly making her flinch, but she managed to keep her composure. “Tired of the tea parties, runt?”

　　Sonja almost scoffed, but raised her arm in a salute across her chest instead. “I've never been to a tea party, sir!”

　　“Is that so?” He leaned down slightly, getting right in her face. “And what do they call you, runt?”

　　“Sonja Smith, from Shiganshina District, sir!” She introduced herself, and it was just as she had feared.

　　A series of whispers erupted from her fellow classmates when they heard her name. She had to refrain from nervously biting her lip and looking down at her boots as she felt their stares burning into her head from all directions.

　　Sonja hadn't wanted people to know her name. It wasn't that she was ashamed of it, but she was worried upon enlisting that people would treat her differently because of who her uncle was. More importantly, she feared what would happen if they contacted her uncle and informed him of her enlistment into the military.

　　Would he decline her application? Would he send her back inside the walls? Sonja was scared to face him, though she hoped by the time she did that she would have proven her worth. Surely, her uncle wouldn't be able to send her away if he saw how capable she was… right?

　　Commandant Shadis continued to stare down at the uncomfortable cadet standing before him in silence, his eyes widened slightly. He observed her appearance carefully and couldn't help but notice the similarities between the girl and the Commander of the Survey Corps. Same eyes. Same hair. Same name. This couldn't be a coincidence.

　　“Smith, huh?” He eventually said. “Any relation to Commander Erwin Smith?”

　　And there it was.

　　The question that Sonja hoped would never be asked. But it had. And she knew she couldn't lie, so she gave an honest answer, which only seemed to erupt more whispers from her fellow classmates.

　　“Yes, sir,” Sonja replied, fist still pressed against her heart in an unwavering salute as she addressed her chief instructor. “Commander Erwin Smith is my uncle.”

　　Nothing but silence followed, and Sonja suddenly felt uncomfortable in her own skin as she waited for the Commandant Shadis to address her again. But he never said another word, at least not to her, and Sonja wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

　　He walked away, and Sonja relaxed her tense shoulders, exhaling a shaky breath.

　　The man went back to humiliating more of the cadets, one by one, choosing his targets carefully to see who would break and who wouldn't. He head-butted a boy named Jean Kirstein and lifted the bald-headed boy, Connie Springer, by the sides of his head, giving him a thorough talking to due to the disgraceful salute he had given.

　　It wasn't long before Shadis was standing in front of a brunette girl, shouting in her face as he had with many of the other cadets. Although, this time, Sonja could tell something was different, so she couldn't help but steal a quick glance at the girl to see what had caused the tone of Commandant's voice to change so suddenly.

　　The girl was… eating a potato?

　　Sonja couldn't believe it. What the hell was the girl thinking of stealing a potato and eating it out here? This was neither the time nor place to indulge yourself with a snack!

　　“You are officially on my shit list! Just who in the hell are you?” Commandant Shadis shouted into her face, yet the girl never once wavered. Her expression remained the same, and she didn't stop chewing her bite of potato either.

　　Immediately, the girl swallowed her food, and while still clutching the potato in her right hand, she lifted her arm across her chest in a salute. “Sasha Braus from Dauper Village, at your service. Reporting for duty, sir!”

　　He towered over the girl. “Sasha Braus, huh? And what is that you're clutching in your right hand?”

　　“A steamed potato!” Sasha replied. “It sat there in the mess hall begging to be eaten. Sir!”

　　“The theft, I understand,” Commandant Shadis said, the tone of his voice changing so drastically that even Sonja felt on edge from where she was standing. “But here? Why eat it here of all places?”

　　“It looked quite delicious. And it was getting cold,” Sasha answered nonchalantly. “So I gave it shelter in my stomach, sir.”

　　By now, all the cadets—including Sonja—were staring between Sasha and their Cheif Instructor with wide eyes, unable to believe what was happening. Their minds silently wondered just what sort of punishment the girl was bound to receive for her behaviour.

　　“Why?” He questioned, appearing both confused and curious at the same time. It was obvious this was the first time something like this happened, so naturally he was dumbfounded by the nonchalant answers the girl was giving him in return. “I can't comprehend. Why would you eat that potato?”

　　“Are you asking me why people eat potatoes?” Sasha asked with some hesitancy laced in her words, either not fully understanding the question or at the very least was ataken by it. “I'm surprised you don't know, sir.”

　　Commandant Shadis continued to stare at her in silence, eliciting a nervous sound from the girl as she lowered her head a moment later. Then, much to everyone's surprise, Sasha Braus tore her potato in half before offering the man a piece of her stolen, steaming food.

　　“Here, sir. Have half.”

　　The Commandant was surprised by her actions, and he snatched the half she was offering to him into his hand. “Have half?” He repeated. “Really?”

　　And then, shortly after, the girl received her punishment in full.

　　Not only had she lost meal privileges for the next five days, but the girl was told to run laps until she was on the verge of death. And as if everyone wasn't already surprised enough by what the girl's behaviour, Sasha Braus offered their Commandant a tight-lipped smile and accepted her punishment without a fight.

　　What the hell?

　　⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

　　Sonja Smith was, in simple words, an absolute nervous wreck.

　　Ever since her classmates had discovered she was the niece of Commander Erwin Smith, they had done nothing but stare at her for the remainder of the day, whispering amoungst themselves. They didn't even try to hide it either, which made her even more uncomfortable as she did her best to ignore them all.

　　When the sun had set, a bell rang across the camp, announcing that it was time for dinner in the mess hall. Having already changed out of her uniform and into some casual clothing consisting of brown pants paired with a navy blue blouse and a light blue cardigan, she had soon found herself sitting at a table alone with a tray of food placed in front of her.

　　Sonja kept her head down as she began eating her dinner in silence, avoiding the stares she could feel being cast her way. For a while, she thought nobody would join her, that she was going to be all alone. But that didn't seem to be the case when a tray of food suddenly appeared beside her own.

　　She looked up from her food and turned slightly, finding a blonde boy sitting beside her. He offered her a kind smile, which she was too nervous to return.

　　“Hello,” Sonja offered instead, her voice quiet. She wondered if he could even hear her over the consistent chatter in the mess hall.

　　“I'm Armin,” he greeted, and it was then she realized that he was the same boy Commandant Shadis had insulted earlier during their introduction ceremony.

　　Finally, she produced a timid smile. “Sonja.”

　　“So is it true?” A twinge of sadness had found its way into his voice all of a sudden. “Are you really from Shiganshina District?”

　　Sonja frowned and looked away, her food suddenly far more interesting. “Yes,” she said eventually, her fingers fumbling with the sleeves of her cardigan.

　　“Is that why you are here?” Armin asked with caution.

　　She stiffened at the answer, remaining silent, flashes of bodies and blood and dust soaring through her mind, and Armin realized his mistake then.

　　His eyes widened when he noticed her reaction. He could tell he had overstepped by asking such a thing. It certainly wasn't his intention to make her sad or relive any painful memories, he had only asked because he was genuinely curious why she had joined the Cadet Corps. Because he couldn't for the life of him understand why someone like her—so kind and shy and a complete mystery to him—would be here otherwise.

　　“I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you,” Armin apologized. “You don't have to tell me if you are not comfortable. I just thought, if you were there that day too, maybe that is why you were here.” He eventually averted his gaze, unable to bear the sight of her sadness anymore. “I don't remember seeing you around Shiganshina much.”

　　She could hear the sincerity of his apology in his voice and turned to face him after a moment. He wasn't looking at her anymore, and his bottom lip was drawn between his teeth as he seemed to be internally scolding himself.

　　Is that why you are here. That's what he said to her. But she knew what he was really asking. He wanted to know if she had lost someone that day. She didn't have it in her to tell him that she had. That she lost everything. Even though it has been two years, the pain was still so fresh.

　　Sonja frowned as she stared at the side of his face, realizing that he had lost someone when Shiganshina had fallen too. She understood his pain, and suddenly felt a strong urge to reach out and comfort him but ultimately chose not to.

　　“It's okay,” Sonja said reassuringly. The sound of her voice caused him to look at her again. His brows were knitted in surprise, as though he couldn't believe she had forgiven him so easily. “And… I don't remember seeing you around much in Shiganshina, either. Though, I hardly left home, and didn't have any friends there, so I suppose that is why you must not recognize me.”

　　“Oh,” Armin frowned. “Why?

　　“Why?” she repeated in confusion.

　　“I mean, why didn't you have friends,” Armin elaborated. “You are not like the others. The kids who would… who would be mean to me back in Shiganshina.” He seemed embarrassed to admit that he had been bullied back in their hometown, and she couldn't for the life of her understand why someone would ever be so cruel to someone like him. “You are nice.”

　　Nice. The way he said it made her heart flutter.

　　Sonja shrugged and lowered her head, attempting to hide behind her curtain of blonde hair. “I've never been very good at making friends,” she admitted, almost painfully, and was unable to stop herself from wondering what he thought of her now.

　　Would he think me pathetic now that he knew I was too scared to make a friend?

　　“Well, you can be my friend,” Armin offered kindly and without an ounce of hesitation. Her eyes snapped up to meet his own, a look of surprise covering her pretty features, and his cheeks flushed as he averted his gaze once again. “I-I mean, only if you want to…”

　　For most of her childhood, she had been alone, with nobody but her older brother to play with. She had always wanted to play with the other kids outside, but never had the courage to ask if she could join them. The fear of being rejected or bullied had always made her look the other way. But now, after all this time, someone was asking her if she wanted to be their friend. She could almost cry with joy.

　　A sheepish grin inevitably spread across her face, which seemed to bring Armin some relief, her silence having been torture to him and only making the blush on his cheeks deepen.

　　“I would really like that. Thank you, Armin.” She bit her lip. “But you don't have to be my friend just because of what I said.”

　　“N-No!” Armin exclaimed, shaking his head at the assumption. He wasn't taking pity on her at all and he desperately wanted to reassure her of that. “It's not like that. I-I want to be your friend, Sonja. I wouldn't have offered otherwise.”

　　She believed him.

　　“Okay,” Sonja smiled. Then she held her hand out towards him, surprising even herself with her own actions. “Friends?”

　　Armin glanced down at her hand, and a relieved smile broke out across his face. She believed him. And that made him so happy that his cheeks started to hurt from how big his smile had suddenly gotten. He reached out and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Her skin was warm and welcoming, as was her smile. His cheeks were burning as he met her blue eyes, and he realized in that moment just how much they reminded him of the blue hydrangeas he would often come across in Shinganshina from time to time.

　　“Friends,” he echoed, his smile unwavering.

　　Neither of them seemed to be aware of the lingering moment that passed between them, far too engrossed in each other's smile to realize they'd been holding hands for far longer than they initially intended.

　　It was Sonja who eventually withdrew her hand from Armin's, a faint blush coating her freckled cheeks as she looked down at her tray. She took a bite of her bread in a futile attempt to hide the relentless smile still on her face, and swallowed just as two more people joined them at their table.

　　She looked up to see who it was, and found a boy sitting across from her. He had much darker hair than Armin's and his eyes were teal. The girl sitting beside him had dark hair as well, though hers was much darker and her skin was far paler, and a red scarf was wrapped securely around her neck.

　　Before Sonja could greet them, Armin spoke up from beside her. He was eager to tell them her name, as though it was something special and he had the great privilege to do so. And then he told her that their names were Eren Jaeger and Mikasa Ackerman, and that they were his best friends from Shiganshina. She offered them a polite smile as stared across the table at them. They returned it with one of their own, offering her polite greetings.

　　Not much later, a group of their classmates had formed around their table, their attention solely on Eren as they asked the boy questions about what happened in Shiganshina the day it had fallen. The topic of discussion had stirred an uneasy feeling in Sonja's stomach as she lowered her head and attempted to block everything out.

　　Eren didn't seem as bothered by their questions as she was, and it was something that Armin noticed as he turned slightly to look at Sonja.

　　Her head hung so low that he could barely even see her face through her blonde hair, and she wasn't eating her food anymore, her hands now in her lap underneath the table. He frowned, knowing that the conversation was upsetting her.

　　Armin was itching to reach under the table and grab her hand, wanting to comfort her in some way, but he didn't. Nor did he know what to say to make her feel better. Instead, he sat there in silence, a permanent frown etched into his features as he simply watched her, as though he was waiting for something to happen.

　　At one point, when Eren dropped his spoon with a clutter and reached up to cover his mouth, his teal eyes widening in a way that told Armin his friend was reliving terrifiying memories, Marco Bodt had suggested they stop asking questions. But before Armin could voice his agreement, Eren quickly reassured everyone that it wasn't like that, and he went on to further explain everything that had happened and how he was going to eradicate the titans.

　　When Armin saw Sonja shift uncomfortably in her seat and stiffen up beside him at something Eren had mentioned, that is when he finally decided to speak up, unable to bear the sadness practically wafting off of Sonja any longer.

　　However, before Armin could open his mouth in hopes of putting an end to the discussion all together, he suddenly heard Sonja's voice from beside him. She so quiet that he could barely even hear her over everyone else. But he had. Of course, he had. His attention had been only on her.

　　“Excuse me,” were the only words Sonja could muster up in that moment, as she quickly stood from the table and grabbed her tray of barely touched food.

　　Sonja wasn't hungry anymore. At least, not since her classmates had started asking Eren questions about that haunting day she could never seem to get out of her mind. Her stomach was in knots and the entire room felt hot and crowded. She felt like she was going to be sick. So she left without sparing anyone a single glance or another word.

　　When she stepped outside, taking a moment to breath in some fresh air, Sonja finally realized that her eyes were burning. She quickened her pace to reach the barracks before the girl, Sasha Braus, who was still outside running her laps, could notice the state that she was in.

　　Sonja hastily opened up the door to the girls' barracks and walked inside, completely unaware that when she let the door close behind her, she did so in the face of Armin Arlert, who had quietly followed her outside to make sure that she was alright.

　　She crossed the room in long strides and climbed onto the top bunk that she had claimed as her own earlier, her bunkmate, Annie Leonhart, rather insistant about having the bottom. She turned so she was facing the wall and pulled the blanket up to her nose. And she laid there for the rest of the night, silent tears spilling down her cheeks as images from that day flashed behind her tightly shut eyelids.

　　She saw everything as if she was reliving it all over again.

　　The Colossal Titan peeking over the wall. The clouds of dirt when the gate had been breached. Pieces of the gate soaring through the air, raining down on their homes. The titans that had flooded inside. All the blood. Their faces. She could suddenly hear their terrified screams and cries, loudly echoing in her ears, and she reached up to cover them with her hands, as though it would help block them out.

　　Eventually, the boy standing outside the barracks turned around and left, sadly trudging back towards the mess hall to be with his friends. And it wasn't much later that Sonja had cried herself to sleep, finding herself trapped in yet another nightmare.

authors note. ━━ ughhhh Sonja and Armin are just so cute already that I could literally cry 🥺 I can't wait to develop their friendship into something more. Most of all, I can't wait to share all the fun (and painful) things that I have planned for this story with you all.

anyways, I really hope you all enjoyed the first chapter and are as excited as me for more! Thank you so much for giving this story a chance, it means the absolute world to me ❤️

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