#this is how Tim looks upon his return most of the time- he can easily take a ‘classic’ siren appearance but to start seemingly prefers

[fowlblue]

what came back is not what left you…

After the Fowl Star sinks and Fowl Senior is murdered on the cold shore of the Bay of Kola under the watchful eye of the full moon, the rest of the family is devastated. With no survivors found, they are left fearing the worst-

And Fowl Senior did die. Britva saw to that. But when the Mafiya man’s mangled body is found torn to pieces several nights later, the scene stinking of salt and seawater and fresh blood, Artemis gets a strange and sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something tells him to go to the shore, and wait- and eventually, his father surfaces upon it, changed. Scaled and split-gilled and finned in bloody red… and that’s just the beginning.

Fowl Senior has been brought back to life by magical forces beyond understanding, warped by the anger and fear of his death into something one could best call ‘siren’- and he has a monsterous appetite to match.

Some debts can only be paid in blood.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Initial thoughts on that article - I’m excited! I mean the journalist needs to do a bit more homework (I’m looking at you sentence about Eddie kissing Kim!) and I’m always going to take anything Tim says in an article with a giant handful of salt, but by and large all he said is telling me that the arcs for all our characters seem to be interesting and varied.

This got so very long so it’s going below the cut - but if you only want to read the buddie stuff then start reading where I’ve changed the text colour (so you can find it easily - because I’m nice like that!) 🐝🐝🐝

I love that Tim described madney and henren as being a family unit outside of the firehouse and I’m really excited to see that built upon - I loved that we got more hen and Maddie interactions last season and I want more of it. So I’m looking forward to seeing that dynamic develop as part of the Mara arc.

Ortiz hs so much potential to be a truly great villain - with a more sustained arc - something the show hasn’t ever really done and I’d like them to. Ortiz v Hen as a half season or more plotline would be so good and exploring corruption in politics and how it corrupts other public systems and services would be such a great thing to explore (and Aisha would knock it out of the park)

I’m going to say here that season 8 is very much screaming season 3 redux at me - all of the things we know thus far all seem to parallel season 3 events, even down to the bee-nado - which is starting to sound more and more like a mirror of the tsunami - in that the tsunami wave itself was only a brief thing, but the aftermath was where the major incidents and action was for all the various characters and the set up of their arcs. And Tim saying the bees set up I’m super excited for that as a concept.

Since we first saw them filming on a plane I’ve been wondering if we were going to be seen if another 70’s disaster movie homage and it seems I was right - my money is on Airport 77 being the movie in question

And I’m really interested in who it’s going to showcase and what part of her history were exploring. I would really love to see them exploring the Jeffery arc and her trauma from that, but I’m not sure that’s what we’ll be getting (Jeffery being dead doesn’t negate this exploring that part of her story I just don’t think it’s where we’re going)

My feeling is it’s connected into Emmett in some way. It was ‘resolved’ in Athena begins and then never really spoken of again, so maybe we’ll be seeing Dennis Jenkins (the guy who shot Emmett) as one of the prisoners on the plane and Athena will have to confront her remaining trauma there and possibly the damage arresting DJ has had after all that time he passed.

On to Bobby - what can I say technical consultant bobby is going to be perfection. Bobby has had some heavy arcs over the past couple of seasons so it’s pretty obvious he’s got the comic relief arc for at least 8a. I’m really looking forward to seeing Bobby being done with Hollywood etc. And I’m really excited to see how they get him back to the 118 where he belongs.

Onto the bit I know most of you are reading this for!!

The Buck arc is screaming lawsuit redux at me and that ties in nicely to Bobbys arc. Instead of Buck being stopped from returning to the 118, this time it’s Bobby. Gerrard is the Chase Matthew’s of this situation and so I remain convinced of my assertion that buck (having learnt from the lawsuit arc) is going to initially fail against Gerrard before he figures out getting close to him and therefore being able to figure out his weaknesses is the best way to get rid of him and get Bobby back.

The Buck T*mmy section in the article of it all has me laughing so very hard I nearly fell off my chair.

Look, this ‘relationship’ is still fairly new and they are still in the ‘getting to know each other’ phase, so I wouldn’t be expecting Tim to start waxing lyrical about them as a couple, but saying this;

To describe the first queer relationship of one of your mains, whose entire storyline last season was his bi awakening, when it’s at the point when everything should still be new and exciting isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement of said relationship.

It’s entirely possible to gush about a relationship - especially one that is essentially groundbreaking on your show - without giving any plot away or making it seem like they’re endgame.

More comfortable together is the only thing you could come up with to describe them as a couple? - what does that really mean? Comfortable is how you describe a pair of slippers or an old hoodie that’s all worn in and soft. If you’re using more comfortable as one descriptor in a longer sentence with other descriptors that shows the development of said relationship then that’s totally acceptable. But to use it as the only one (aside from saying they’re a couple), well that screams of a relationship that is a plot device.

And you know what else backs that up as a concept - Tim proceeds to use the rest of his answer to the question about Buck and T*mmy’s relationship to talk about Eddie and Eddie and Buck and their relationship. So what I’m getting is that Eddie is still at the centre of things within that relationship - just as he has been throughout the entirety of s7 - where Buck and Tommy managed to have a grand total of 3 scenes out of nearly 20 together where Eddie wasn’t either present or spoken about at length (and one of those was literally just a scene of them kissing!)

Even using the word comfortable again to describe Buck, Tommy and Eddie hanging out together (anticipating some sort of scene that echoes the karaoke bar scene - where we get petty jealous Eddie and I can’t wait!). Which means comfortable is a very intentional word choice - not one that bodes well for the longevity of the reltionship.

So what I’m getting from that. Is that ‘more comfortable together’ means boring and that Tim is using the relationship to create the same distance we saw between Buck and Eddie in season 3 during the lawsuit arc - the distance that ultimately brought them even closer together and led to Eddie changing his will.

Season 3 was when the show really established buddie as a thing - they lay the foundations in s2, but s3 was when they tested and then built the walls of that dynamic ready for the pieces to be put into place over seasons 4 & 5 so they could make buddie canon.

This BT relationship is literally being used to put Eddie in the same space he was in in s3 - isolated (thank you Ryan for that word choice!) because Buck is not available to him as much (or at all in the case of s3) so he spiralled out in his grief over Shannon’s death and joined a fight club.

All this to say that the chess pieces are being manoeuvred in a really positive direction on the buddie front and I expect to see 8a following a somewhat similar pattern as 3a did - big opening disaster which sets up the various arcs, which includes being shown buck and Eddie’s closeness initially, only to separate them off for a bit so Eddie can have his gay awakening (fight club minus the fight club) and Buck can do some more figuring out about what he actually wants of his own (lawsuit without the law suit) and then bring them back together in time for Christmas - which they will spend together with a newly returned Christopher (mirroring s3 Christmas perfectly) and the rest of the firefam.

Even the Eddie question backs up this as a theory;

I’m fully expecting to get Eddie having conversations with his parents - via call and FaceTime - but not with Chris because he still won’t talk to his dad. The choice to say everything has been stripped away from him except his job is also giving some echoes of s5 - juxtaposing when Eddie essentially had everything else except his job which lead to his breakdown. Tim is a master of deploying subterfuge whilst also using very intentional words - so this comment is making me excited. It’s (to me at least) saying that Eddie is secure in his job and there is not really going to be any drama on the job front. That in the past eddie connected his worth to whatever job he was doing (army, his three jobs in El Paso firefighter) so when the job was taken away he had no worth and that therefore meant he was a failure as a father and a husband - so he spiralled out. Now he has his job and he’s in a good place with that and knowing how his worth as a person isn’t tied into that job. Now instead he has nothing else - all the things he’d tied his worth onto away from his job are suddenly gone so he has to go back to the drawing board and this time look at himself and who he actually is and why he wants.

The choice of the word ‘hell’ is also a choice - ‘who the hell he is’ - season 7 laid the groundwork for edddies reckoning with the catholic faith (former nun Marisol, Eddie talking about being a lapsed catholic and catholic guilt and bobby giving Eddie the bible etc) and we know they’ve been filming in a church. Hell as a word choice is just backing that up and hinting at the idea that Eddie figuring out who he is and choosing living his life as his true self would damn him to hell in the eyes of his religion. So gay Eddie here we go!!

This was supposed to be a quick ‘ooh I’m excited everything is being perfectly set up’ post and then I did my usual thing and write a mammoth essay 🤣 so if you’ve read all of this - thank you and I love you and I hope you enjoyed it - can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

[spellucci]

Curious Cousins

Friday, August 11, 2923

In the morning Margaret and Andy get into a far ranging conversation about forests - boreal, Acadian and all sorts of interesting things in between. Andy pulls out book after book to show her about old growth forests and different forest ecosystems. Meanwhile Libby has pulled out a collection of books on the ocean which intrigue us as well. It is delightful to connect over shared interests and learn from each other.

Libby and Andy have owned their house for about 8 years, fixing up an old fishing shack. You walk in and get a waft of fresh cut pine; so much of the interior is wood. And then there are the windows, so many and most are overlooking a pond and harbor. Inside, Libby has decorated the space with lovely objects found in nature. And there are books everywhere. We feel like we are in the best nature library on the planet!

Jeanne decides to take a quiet day in the RV, gazing at the pond, reading and catching up on life in general. Andy heads for a rest - he's doing great a week out from surgery. Libby, Tim and Margaret head off for Martinique Beach - the biggest sand beach in Nova Scotia.

Martinique Beach is a "Barachois" beach. Barachois is a term used in Atlantic Canada that refers to coastal ponds and lagoons that are either fully or partially separated from the open sea by a barrier beach.

When we arrive we see surfers getting ready to ride the waves. The day is gray with drizzle, but the 3 plus little Dora enjoy a long walk looking at waves, dunes and sandpipers. We find rocks to admire and Dora dashes this way and that finding lots of interesting scents.

After lunch and naps the intrepid beach walkers head out again. This time to the rocky beach across the pond from the house. We notice different kinds of seaweed and types of rock - mostly gneiss with a little granite and pyrite here and there. Then sharp-eyed Libby spots the jaw of a fish - 7 or 8 inches long with really spiky teeth. We wonder what kind of fish it was from.

Further along we see the evidence of the forest eroding into the ocean. We follow the old trail through the woods back to the house. It is broken up by fallen trees from last fall's hurricane which makes the going a little dicey. Dora can go under and around anything easily except, as it turns out, thorny brambles. She is not fond of those.

Upon our return we tell Andy of the fish jaw and out come the books again. This time field guides and ocean books. Andy makes some educated guesses on the size of the fish, large, and friends are emailed. Someone suggests an angler fish. "Could it have come up from so deep in the ocean?" we ask? "Yeah we get weird (deep) stuff like that from time to time," Libby responds.

After a day of rest Jeanne jumps into action and cooks a delicious chicken dish to put inside our build-your-own burritos. During dinner we talk more about forests and forest succession. We were inspired to hear of Andy's work with Mi'kmaq folk and getting their input on forestry and industry practices. Andy is a great story-teller and regales us with some details of his life story. Libby interjects with highlights from how they met and tales of her life camping for 3 years straight during Expedition College.

Libby has some friends who are coming to visit. On their way they plan to travel the Cabot Trail. She wants them to be able to use our blog as a reference about what to see and do. When she finds out the blog is not up to date, she chastises us with a sharp clap of her hands, "We want some accountability on this vacation!"

As everyone heads for bed, Margaret finds a dark spot on the driveway and lies down to look for shooting stars as it is the height of the Persied Meteor Showers. She sees one right away and none after that. But one is enough for a sparkle of joy.

[doctoranon]

I Must Be Dreaming

Written for the MGI Civil war for Team Jason Supremacy

TW: Angst, Major character death, swearing

~~~~~

“Come on, baby. We’re going to be fine.” Jason mumbled into Marinette's dirty matted hair, desperation colouring his tone. “Gonna get us out of here, we’ll be fine.” he huddled close to the semi conscious woman, being careful as possible to not disturb any of the rubble that trapped them where they were.

They’d underestimated how desperate the Joker was this time, underestimated how many bombs were placed and now they were paying the price, he and Marinette were trapped under fuck knows how much rubble with sketchy comm links and no way of knowing quite how far off a rescue would be.

They had at least garnered that one was underway through the static of the comms, that they’d called in the big guns with Supes and the Flash to help with getting to them quicker. Still, he wasn’t sure that- no, no of course they’d both make it. Their wedding was next month and then they were starting their life together. The one they’d always dreamed of. But looking at the flow of blood from Mari’s head wound his heart kept shooting straight to his throat. Logically he knew that head wounds bleed a lot and he was trying to stem the flow with a ripped piece of his uniform. But he’d been a vigilante for more than half his life at this point, and he’d seen-

Shaking the thought from his head roughly, he placed a kiss on Marinette's hair line, smoothing it out of her face as she watched him in a daze, mumbling incoherently every now and then. Everytime she did so his heart calmed a little. Consciousness was good. As long as she kept awake and stayed with him they’d both be fine.

“Jay-” his attention diverted quickly to Marinette and he smiled down at her, tears pricking at his eyes.

“Hey, Baby.” he warbled, dropping a kiss to her lips. “You’ve scared me.” he admitted, feeling his shoulders relax slightly. Help was coming. Mari was awake.

“‘M not-'” the words were slurred and seemed to take all of her energy and concentration to push past her lips. Taking a small breath, she let go of a longer one before uttering “‘M Tired.”

“I know baby, but you can’t fall asleep right now. You know that.” he explained, moving his free hand to his comm and trying to get someone's attention, growling angrily when all that could be heard was a static reply. He knew Tim was trying to reply, but he didn’t know what he was saying, and wasn't even sure if Tim was getting his own messages.

Wincing when he bit his already split lip, Jason sighed and kept a watch on Marinette, before he started to feel a shift in the rubble surrounding them. Straightening himself as much as he could he gave a yell. If it was Supes then he probably already knew exactly where they were, but anyone else might have needed the sound to redirect them.

As more and more pieces of rubble started to shift, he bent over Mari, protecting her from as much debri as possible. “See, toldja we’d get out of this, didn’t I?” he smirked down at her, before noticing her closed eyes and shallow breaths.

Immediately becoming panicked, he patted at her cheek. “Hey! No! No, you stay with me for a little longer Baby. They’ve almost got us.” he insisted. Before shouting at whoever it was to hurry it the fuck up.

Patches of light started to come in and he could hear the others now, he wasted no time to relay Marinette's condition to them and their efforts seemed to double. But, as Marinette liked to remind him, Too much of a good thing can sometimes be bad. The universe balances itself out and all that jazz.

One wrong movement of the concrete had a rather large piece dislodge. Jason's position protecting Marinette had put him directly in its path and with a solid crack hit him in the back of the head, whiting out his vision with pain. Ears ringing he tried to shake it off and check on Marinette, but that only served to make him dizzy as fuck and spots dace across his quickly dimming vision.

The last thing he saw was a silhouette against a bright light where a large body sized gap now was in the rubble they’d been trapped in. Then his vision went black and he was swept into unconsciousness.

~~~

Feelings came back to him slowly and consciousness felt just beyond his grasp, but through sheer will he opened his eyes to look around. He was in a med bed in the bat cave. So at least that meant they were out, but Marinette was nowhere in his sight and he needed to make sure she was okay.

Struggling to sit up, Jason had already started to get out of bed when Dick rounded the corner and rushed to his side.

“Get back in bed!” he was scolded, as Dick tried to stop him from getting up, and failing miserably. Jason was going to find his Fiance and no one was stopping him.

“Not till I’ve seen Mari.”

“Well that’s not happening.” he was told, as Dick called for the others not far out of hearing range. “You’re getting back in that bed.”

“Get the fuck out of my way, Dick. I’m seeing Mari.” Jason insisted, trying to push his brother away from him as he staggered under his own weight for a moment. Reinforcements arrived under the guise of Tim, Chloe and Alfred and he groaned internally before noticing the red rimmed eyes the blonde was sporting and his heart froze.

Doubling his efforts, he pushed Dick away successfully this time. “Where is she, Tim?” His tone was frantic as he started on his way past his other brother. “Where the fuck is Marinette.” her name brought a whimper from the blonde and Jason's frantic eyes zeroed in on her. “Please.” he begged, refusing to believe the worst.

When no one moved or tried to answer his question he growled angrily, moving to push past them again before being stopped by both Dick and Tim.

“Jay, please, get back in bed. We’ll explain-”

“NO!” Jason struggled against the two former robins, his eyes beginning to drake on a greener hue. “Let me see Marinette!”

Feeling a presence come up from behind him, he felt rather than saw as something pricked his skin.

“I’m afraid, Master Jason, you need to calm down.” came the guilt laced tone of the Wayne butler. Something Jason felt triple his anxiety before the sedative began to kick in and his weight was caught by Tim and Dick.

“Mari-” he mumbled, before unconsciousness took him over again.

~~~~

The next time he was aware, he felt a hand in his own and a soft humming coming from his left. A familiar humming. A beautiful humming that belonged to-

 “Marinette.” he mumbled, opening his eyes and searching for her visage, smiling sleepily at her when he saw her sitting in a chair next to the bed. Bandages wrapped around her head.

“Hey, Sleepy head. It’s about time you woke up.” she smiled, squeezing his hand and placing a kiss on the back of it. “You gave everyone a scare earlier.”

“You scared me. You weren’t here when I woke up- I thought-” he choked but he grinned at her through his tears. Pulling their hands to him and returning the kiss on the back of her hand. “I was worried, beautiful.”

Chuckling at him, she booped his nose with a scrunched up grinning face; A scrunched up, grinning alive face. “I’m not leaving you that easily.” she comforted, before letting go of his hand and waving her engagement ring in his face. “Besides, you put a ring on it. I’m yours. Forever.” she teased him, gaining a chuckle from him as he relaxed back into the pillows.

“If Dick-head had just old me you were okay-”

“Hey, don't blame your brother for your half cocked plans and jumping to conclusions!” she scolded him, a grin still fixed to her face. “You need to wake up when i'm here next time.”

Chuckling Jason felt at peace, knowing they were both okay. “Or you could not scare me in the first place”

Resting his eyes, he breathed a sigh of relief, letting go of all residual tension he had been holding onto. “So, any chance you’re going to show me that dress before the wedding now?” he teased, opening his eyes and over acting a pathetic look on his face. “Please?”

“Never. The day I walk up the aisle or not at all.”

“I had to try.”

Both chuckling at their antics, Marinette moved to cuddle up on the bed with him. “I can’t wait until the day after the wedding.” She told him, resting her chin on his shoulder. “When I wake up as Mrs Jason Todd.”

“I can’t wait for that either.” he beamed, kissing her sweetly and pulling back to stare into her eyes. “For that day, and every day afterwards.”

~~~~

Over the next few weeks, Jason felt like he was walking through a dream. The days felt like they moved slowly and quickly all at once. They both healed up and anticipation grew as the big day was suddenly upon them, and he was there, standing at the bottom of the aisle waiting for his soon to be wife to join him. 

As the song he didn’t even remember picking played, the most beautiful woman in the world walked towards him. Ready to commit her love and life to him forever. Something finally all his. Something permanent.

Dick leaned over his shoulder and nudged him with a wide grin. “You look mesmerised, Little Wing.” he whispered, the proudest grin Jason had ever seen aimed at him.

“I feel like I'm dreaming.”

Dick chuckled lightly as he faced the front again, eyes on the procession. “Then you better wake up, Jay. Because she's nearly here.”

As Marinette reached him at the altar, he reached for her hands, pulling her towards him and stealing a small kiss.

“Hey, save it for the end.” Tim, who was officiating at the behest of his brother teased them, as the seemingly faceless congregation chuckled in the background.

“I couldn’t help myself.” Jason laughed, feeling so full of love and life. Everything was perfect. Just like he and Marinette had dreamed.

Clapping his hands together with a bright and wide grin, Tim turned to face the audience. “Welcome, to the wedding of my Big brother, Jason Todd, and the girl I introduced him too, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“Both the Bride and Groom have written their own vows and Marinette won the coin flip to go first.” Tim joked, before gesturing to the vision in white.

“Jason, the day we met, I knew you’d be a pain in my ass.” she teased, gaining a chuckle and ‘hear, hear’ from the people present, himself included. “And you are,” she added to a few more chuckles, as tears formed in both their eyes. “The day you first kissed me, I knew forever was what I wanted from you.” she grinned at him, tears falling down her cheeks, and he moved his hand to wipe them away.

“And the day I died, I knew I would leave you heartbroken.” Jason froze, the smile was still plastered on her face, and looking at Tim showed the same, as if Marinette had said nothing wrong at all.

“Wait, what?” His brow furrowed and heart starting to beat quickly in his chest. “I don't understand, Mari?”

“You need to wake up, Jason,” Tim was speaking now, the happy smile still plastered on his face as if he wasn’t breaking Jason's entire world.

“No. No I don't. We’re getting married,” Jason said frantically, looking around him at the guests and feeling a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck.

“Please, Little wing. Wake up.”

The world both fizzled out to black, the image of Marinette in her wedding dress fading quickly, and also gained a more realistic feeling behind closed eyelids.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jason felt his lips tremble as he turned his head and slowly opened his eyes to his brother sitting next to him in a med bed in the bat cave.

His brother met his eyes, red rimmed and full of pain.

“She’s gone, isn’t she?”

The pause was a hundred years and no time at all.

“I- Yeah, Little wing. She’s gone.”

He closed his eyes again and turned to face the ceiling, tears spilling from under his eyelids.

“We were getting married.”

“I know.” was the choked reply, and he could hear the pain in Dicks voice, but he couldn’t feel anything over the rush of absolute nothing he felt.

“I love her so much, Dick.” he whispered, teeth clenching as he began to cry in earnest. Breathing felt strange, the whoosh of in and out feeling nothing like it should, and two arms encircled him as a low keening noise escaped from behind his still clenched teeth.

He was supposed to be stuck with her, forever. And as the thought of forever filled his mind, a forever now not including Marinette; Jason felt something in his chest shatter so explosively he knew he’d never find all the pieces again.

[daringyounggrayson]

hide and seek

(Read below or on AO3)

The night’s gone from bad to worse. First, communication was knocked out along with the emergency beacons. Next, Dick was left with no choice but to go hand-to-hand with Bane, who cornered him and slammed him into a wall the first chance he got. Now, Dick is simultaneously kicking against Bane’s torso and trying to pry Bane’s fist from his neck. He’s suffocating, and Bane’s grip is so tight that Dick can’t even turn his head to the side, though even if he could, he’s not sure it would give his windpipe much protection.

Pressure builds in his chest and head, and his throat feels like it’s about to be crushed into a million pieces, into dust. He’s dizzy, and his face is already numb and tingly from the oxygen deprivation. His limbs feel weak and they’re not responding to his commands like they should.

His hands slip from around Bane’s fist, and his legs go still. Dick can’t bring himself to raise them, and the only fight that remains is the primal urge to scream—for help, for the pain to end, for someone other than this monster to hear him in his final moments. Too bad he doesn’t have the oxygen to spare, nor an opening in his throat to let the sound out.

Death and darkness creep in. No sense of calm washes over him; there’s no sudden realization or acceptance of what will come to pass within the next few seconds. Just this unbearable pain and fear that this is it, this is the end. And through it all, the voice in his head keeps screaming at him to escape the inescapable.  

Dick gasps as Bane drops him. He tries to blink away the black spots to see why, to see if he has backup yet. He doesn’t hear anyone though, and his swimming vision can’t pick out another body—so why did Bane drop him? He’d been sure Bane was going in for the kill just now, so why would he stop? Why—

A giant boot to Dick’s stomach leaves him coughing and gasping. Something wet dribbles down his chin, and it’s not until he wipes it off with the back of his arm that he realizes that it’s blood. That could be bad, or it could be fine. It all depends on where he’s bleeding; too bad Dick has no clue.

When his breathing is under control and his face is no longer numb, Dick’s vision clears enough to see Bane’s giant boot still standing next to him. Habit tells him to stick a tracker on it, but his brain is mush. He can’t even twitch his arm at this point.

A hand wraps around his arm and pulls, hard. Something snaps and Dick gasps—choked and airless—as his nerves inform him of the new source of pain. Dick blinks violently to keep himself conscious, body writhing to try to relieve the pain in his arm as he’s dragged across the floor.

Bane says something, but Dick can’t hear him between the pain, the blood pounding in his ears, and his attempts at wheezing. All he can do is cradle his arm when it’s finally released and fight for every breath. It takes up too much of his attention and he doesn’t even realize he’s been shoved into a supply closet until the door is closed and Bane is walking away.

He knows he should escape and follow Bane, but Dick can barely breathe, and every sound he makes is distorted. All of his medical knowledge says he shouldn’t move, but staying put could result in death all the same.

He kicks at the closet door. His attempt is almost definitely useless; considering what Bane is capable of, he probably broke the handle to ensure that Dick stays put. But still, Dick can’t accept death so easily.

The question of why Bane didn’t kill him comes to the forefront of his mind again. Is Bane on a tight schedule? Does he think Dick’s as good as dead?

Dick keeps banging on the closet door, hoping that even if it won’t free him, someone will hear the noise and investigate. Bruce was pretty close last he’d heard, so maybe there’s still a chance that he won’t die in here.

“Help,” Dick attempts to shout. What comes out is garbled and incomprehensible even to his own ears, and it’s quiet, airy. Based on sound and pain—not to mention the blood—he knows that if his throat swells much further, he’s a goner. He needs help.

Each kick against the door sends waves of pain up through his arm and head. He’s sniffling pathetically at this point, all sorts of fluids leaking from his face, but instinct forces him to keep going. He’s pushing against his emergency beacon too, just in case it’s back online.

There’s no indication that it is.

Dick’s kicks quickly become weaker and further apart until they stop altogether. His head droops and his body slouches against a shelf. Being tucked away in this closet reminds him of playing hide and seek as a kid. He’d always been good at the game—able to contort into small places most people wouldn’t think to look—and he’d taken pride in being able to hide from Batman. If this is hide and seek, though, it’s a cruel, twisted version, and it’s the first time Dick’s wanted to lose, to be found.

God, he really wants to be found.

In a last-ditch effort, he tries calling for help again, but all that does is make him cough, and more blood spills over his tongue.

Energy gone, he’s left with nothing to do but wait, staring at nothing and wondering if it would have been better to go quickly in Bane’s grasp than slowly alone in the dark. His hope dwindles and he wonders how many breaths he has left as he succumbs to lying on the floor.

“Nightwing?”

He lifts his head and opens his eyes, surprised to find that he’d fallen asleep.

“Here,” he calls back quickly. He sounds worse than before, and he feels like he’s trying to breathe through a clogged straw. He starts kicking again, then falls forward to lean against the door and bang on it with his good arm. “Help!”

“Nightwing?”

A voice, feet pounding down a hallway. The door he’s leaning against is wrenched open, and without its support, Dick falls onto the floor. He blinks until his vision clears, finding Batman’s familiar boots in front of him.

“Bruce,” he rasps, moving his hand until it comes into contact with the boot.

Bruce crouches down and pulls Dick into a tight embrace, says, “Thank god.”

Dick tries to return the hug, but he doesn’t exactly have the strength for it. He wheezes against Bruce’s chest, and even though he’s still not positive he’ll make it out of here, he’s glad he won’t be dying alone in that closet.

Bruce leans Dick against the wall, asking Dick questions that he can’t comprehend, let alone answer. Bruce catches on pretty quickly and switches to checking his pulse and shining lights in his eyes and down his throat. He’s muttering something, but Dick has a feeling he’s not speaking to him.

“Bruce,” he rasps again.

“You’re going to be alright,” Bruce tells him firmly. “I’m taking you home.”

With that, Bruce picks him up, cradling Dick’s head against his shoulder as he runs them toward the nearest exit.

It’s the last thing that Dick remembers upon waking up a few days later in the cave’s infirmary. His arm is in a blue cast and there are bandages around his neck, hiding stitches from surgery and the bruises that Bane left. The pain has been dulled to the point that it’s background noise, like a constant but quiet buzzing. Dick can tune it out.

Bruce and Alfred are sitting in chairs on either side of him. They’re both looking at him patiently, waiting for him to make the first move, to tell them if he’s okay.

Dick swallows, says, “Hey.” His voice is still rough, but only sound comes out, no blood. It’s progress.

Bruce and Alfred relax somewhat, and Dick smiles at them. There’s a rush of movement as they squeeze his hand and run their hands through his hair. After they’re done fussing over him and asking questions, Alfred examines him and Bruce fills him in on everything that happened a few nights ago. It’s a familiar routine, one that Dick didn’t think he’d experience again.

Alfred excuses himself to pick up Tim from school, and shortly after Bruce says something about files and letting Dick rest.

Bruce stands, but Dick grabs his hand before he can get too far. He keeps tugging until he’s pulled Bruce into a tight hug, one that Bruce matches easily.

“I thought I was a goner,” Dick confesses into Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce presses a kiss into the crown of Dick’s head and runs a hand up and down Dick’s back, just like he used to do when Dick was a kid. “You were in bad shape,” Bruce murmurs, confessing that he had been afraid too. “But you’re alright now.”

Dick nods. “Yeah. And thanks, for finding me.”

“Always.”

Dick knows it’s a promise that Bruce can’t keep, but with the fear of his near-death experience fresh in his mind, he allows himself to pretend he can, if only for a moment.

[catxsnow]

BROTHERLY DISTURBANCES W.W

Request: can i request a wally and batsis!reader trying to make out in peace but keep getting interrupted by her brothers?

Warning: fluff, kissing, implied smut

A/N: I love Wally West with my whole heart okay. He deserves better and I hope he comes back in season four of YJ 😩

Word count: 2.2k

It was great that your boyfriend and your brothers got a long. Wally and Dick were best friends long before you even met him. Jason liked the speedster too - you were sure it was because he reminded him of Roy a little bit. Even Tim liked Wally - mostly because Bart was one of his best friends.

Least to say, they were all happy that it was Wally that you were dating, not some asshole. You were glad that you didn't have to go through that awkward stage of your brothers intimidatingly asking your boyfriend what he wanted with you. Wally already knew them all, they knew exactly what kind of person he was.

Dick the most. Their time together on the Young Justice team proved a friendship that would never end. Having him basically be part of the family with dating you was even better.

You and Wally started dating after his endless flirting with you. At first, it had just been a joke to piss Dick off, before he realized that he genuinely had feelings for you. He was trying to spend as much time with you as he could get - and as a speedster it seemed that he had all the time in the world.

It took you a long time to cave to his pleads of asking you on a date. The second you did, it was like your whole world changed. Your brothers got closer to you, Wally was more loving than ever, you were happier. Dating Wally made you a better sister, and a better person.

The downside of them all being friends, was that you were often interrupted by them. Dick was always stopping by your apartment to hang out with Wally or you. It was nice to see him, but there were times that you wanted to get into a classic sibling throw-down with him as well.

Today, was one of those days.

For the first time in a long time, you and Wally both were free of university classes and missions. You got the chance to laze around in your apartment and just enjoy the presence of one another. Wally always complained about how slowly the days passed, but you knew that these were his guilty pleasure days.

The smell of fresh cookies filled your apartment, upon Wally's request. Rain pattered against the window, filling the empty noise. Wally sat in the arm chair in your small living room with you on his lap. His hand grasped your thigh as he met your lips. His favourite part about days like these? Getting to kiss you as much as he wanted.

Wally dragged out his kisses for as long as he possible could. It was one of the few times he despised speed. You smiled into the kiss, wishing that you could spend every day like this. Hands tugging through Wally's messy hair, the heat of his body radiating to yours. Nothing could ruin this moment.

Except for Dick Grayson.

You regretted giving your brother a key to your apartment. Especially right now, when he barged in without knocking. You nearly jumped off of Wally's lap, startled from his sudden entrance. Your fear turned to disappointment very quickly, and it seemed like Wally's did too.

"Cookies," Dick grinned, grabbing one off the plate and shoving nearly the entire thing into his mouth. He finally noticed that you and Wally were sitting on the chair, and awkwardly smiled at your angered look. "Bad timing?" It didn't take being a detective to realize what you were previously doing.

"When do you ever have good timing?" You glared. Wally tapped your leg, gesturing for you to get off of his lap, to which you complied to. Your arms were crossed over your chest as the two friends dabbed it up. In all your time together, it seemed like Wally was never mad at Dick for something like this, always you.

"What're you doing here, Rob?" Wally asked, using Dick's old nickname. His mouth was full of a half eaten cookie and you were sure the plate was going to be gone within the hour. As much as you loved Wally, he was a lot to cook for.

"Was in the neighborhood, thought I'd stop by," Dick shrugged. He swung his arm over your shoulder and when you didn't return his hug, he tightened his grip and completely messed up your hair. Of course, both boys thought it was hilarious to see you so frustrated about a simple fix.

Your peaceful day had come to an end as Wally and Dick settled on the couch and chatted about everything and anything. Their friendship had come first for longer than you were dating Wally and longer than you were siblings with Dick. It was often times hard to compete with that and over the years, you had just accepted it.

It was hours that Dick had stayed over, him and Wally laughing and having fun like the good old days. You loved seeing them happy like this, but you also just wanted your alone time with Wally again. Finally, Dick had decided that he used up his time and that it was time to head back to his own home.

The second that Dick left, Wally sped over to you and latched onto your waist. His lips crashed onto yours, missing your taste just as much as you had missed his. At that moment, your bed - even the couch - seemed too far away. Wally settled with setting you up on the kitchen counter, standing between your legs.

You trapped him in his place, legs wrapped around his waist. Wally's hands rested below your shirt, gently rubbing the pads of his fingers on your skin. He pulled his lips away, just long enough to utter, "I love you."

"As much as you love my brother?" You teased. Wally playfully glared at you, you always teased him about how close he and Dick were. He grabbed the bottom of your thighs, carrying you to your bedroom. You laughed the whole way there, even more so as he literally threw you on the bed.

Wally didn't hesitate to join you. He hovered over you, legs entangled as he kissed you again. His hair tickled the underside of your chin as he trailed down your neck. Hands grasping at your shirt, but not wanting to pull away long enough to tug it off of you. Finally, he pulled away the material.

"Babe, I don't think I'll ever stop admiring you," Wally grinned. He took every chance he got to flirt with you, and you had to admit that you loved it. This time, you rolled your eyes at him, and pulled him back down to meet your lips. He didn't seem to complain about that either.

A sudden, familiar gush of wind made you freeze. You were well accustomed to Wally speeding in and out of a room, along with the mess of loose items that followed. However, with Wally hovering over you, there was only one other person that would be speeding in and out of your room at that speed.

"Please don't tell me..." You trailed off, already knowing the answer. Wally sighed, handing you back your shirt that he had just removed. The two of you straightened up your clothes before leaving your room and back into the kitchen.

Bart was raiding your fridge, food already shoved in his mouth while none other than Tim was sitting in your favourite chair.

"You look great in red (Y/N)!" Bart complimented while still chewing. You could feel Wally's glare, and before he could do anything to his relative, you grasped his hand. You hoped that he hadn't noticed you shirtless, but of course being a speedster he easily noticed everything in a room before you could blink.

"What do you want, Tim?" You asked, looking over at your younger brother. "Bart if you take that last slice of pizza I'll personally send you back to your timeline myself," you snapped. Bart wearily looked between the pizza in his hand and you before setting it back in the fridge and closing the door.

"Haven't seen Kon in a while, thought he might have come here," Tim explained. It wouldn't have been the first time one of your super friends came and crashed at your apartment for a couple nights. Tim looked up at Wally's ruffled hair and your shirt that was on inside-out. "Sorry for the bad timing." Just like Dick. 

"Kon isn't here," Wally answered the obvious.

"A simple text would have sufficed instead of showing up," You snapped. It seemed like everyone was making the effort to ruin your day with Wally. However, family was family and as much as you hated them you couldn't be annoyed for long. They all meant their best, even if it wasn't valuing you in the moment.

"Am I not allowed to come visit?" Tim asked. Of course he was. Just like Dick, you did enjoy Tim's visits to your home as well. Also like Dick, you weren't in the mood for anyone else to come by your home. The hours of the day were ticking down and you knew that by the next day, you weren't going to get the option of peace again for a while.

"Hi, Tim. Thanks for stopping by, great catching up. You too, Bart. Really great visit, missed you both, bye!" You sarcastically vote as you ushered both the men towards your front door. They tried to complain as you did so, but you had slammed the door right in their faces, followed by an obvious click of your lock.

"Really, babe?" Wally chuckled at you. "Just can't get enough of me today, huh?"

"Do you want me to invite them back in? Stay for dinner? Less time that you get to see me nak-"

"Nope!" Wally changed his attitude very quickly. He sped over to you, hoisting you up in his arms and raced back into your bedroom, this time closing and locking the door in case you had any more visitors. The tension between the two of you escalated dramatically throughout the day and it was killing you not to break it.

Wally's finger's danced along your skin. They roamed up your thighs, under your shirt, anywhere that he could reach. All day he had been waiting for his and all day he had been denied. It wasn't just you who was craving his kisses, he was craving yours as well. He needed this moment with you, otherwise he was sure he was going to explode.

Your kisses were no longer slow and tender, they were rushed, needy. Both of you were petrified that someone else was going to come along and ruin your moment. The perfect day that you had envisioned was no more, the last few hours of the night were fading just as you had dreaded.

You were right to fear as well. Wally barely had his belt undone when yet another knock came from your front door. His eyes filled with dread at the sound. "Think we can ignore them?" Wally asked, still kissing along your jaw. You didn't answer, just tilted his chin so you could kiss his lips.

However, the knock didn't stop. It got louder, and louder until you couldn't bare the sound of it anymore. Whoever it was, they had no patience in the slightest. "Fuck," You muttered. You grabbed the closest shirt on the floor and shoved it over your half naked body. Wally flopped against the bed, rubbing his eyes in frustration.

You whipped open your front door, fire in your eyes at getting interrupted once more. Just as you had dreaded - and expected - it was Jason at your door. His arms were crossed and he had a duffel bag over his shoulder, one that held his Red Hood suit.

"Patrol?" Jason asked. There were several times that he came to you asking if you wanted to scour the city with him. Most times, you wanted to. This time, you barely gave him notice.

"No," you deadpanned. The door was maybe a little too harshly slammed in his face. There was no way that you were going to waste the last bit of time with Wally to go out in this city to fight criminals. You wanted this night to yourself and you had even gone out of your way to tell Jason that you were taking the night off. He must have forgotten.

"Babe, I know I've said it before but you look so good in my clothes," Wally complimented as you walked back into your room. You hadn't noticed that it was his shirt that you picked up rather than your own. "Another one of your brothers?"

"Jason," you scowled.

"I thought I had a big family," Wally joked. He pulled you back into your bed so your legs straddled his thighs. Both hands were intertwined as he stared up at you. "How many more interruptions can we expect? My body can only handle so much more."

"Well, if you include Bruce, there's still a chance of five more," You shuddered at the thought. "I don't care what's happening out there. I'm not leaving this bed again. Even if it's Beyonce that comes at my door."

"Babe, I like the way you think."

[ilovebeing-weird]

Fluffy Saturday 2

Skateboarding and a worried boyfriend

Thanks @ur-favorite-queer-queen for the idea!!!! Love you!!!!

Part-1

Tim decided that it was okay to teach his clumsy, but in a cute way, girlfriend how to skateboard. Don't blame him, she was the one who wanted to do his things he liked doing with him as a way to be closer. 

'Like they already weren't close enough.' Tim scoffed

Though, he didn't mind it. He got to spend some time with his awesome girlfriend. The problem was, the said girlfriend kept falling and hurting herself.

He already told her that skateboarding was difficult, but she just made a determined face and told him that she could do it. Everytime she fell she got up again. As amazing as that was, she got way too much hurt, and her saying that, she is Ladybug, she had faced worse. Didn't make things better.

Sighing he held her hands tight, this was the last chance. If she fell now, that was enough skateboarding for today. This is supposed to be fun, but Marinette was hurt and Tim was panicking. He didn't like seeing her girlfriend hurt.

Slowly, Tim let go of her hands, even though he didn't want to. As expected Marinette fell again. 'Of course she did, nobody learns skateboarding in a few hours. She'll have to fall to learn.' A small part of his mind said, which Tim ignored, his girlfriend ain't getting hurt more, not if he can help it. If Marinette was stubborn, he was super stubborn. He may give in easily when it comes to her wishes, but that doesn't mean he is letting her get hurt.

Tim ran towards her, and picked her up. "Come on let's go home. You're hurt." Tim said in a stern yet worried voice.

"Noo, I am starting to get better at this. I lasted longer this time." That was true, she lasted the whole 10 seconds without falling , that was a record.

"But Marinette you're hurt." Blood dripped down her knees and her arms were scratched. There were few injuries on her beautiful face too. .

"But Timmmm, I will get better with practice."

"Mari, bean, as much as I love you, this isn't safe for you. I'll get knee pads, elbow pads and a helmet for you. Then we'll try this again. Till then you need to get checked. Like right now!" Tim was worried. Though it wasn't anything critical, she must be hurting so much right now.

"Fineee mon canard. As you wish. Now stop worrying." How can he stop worrying!? Deep breaths, she is okay Tim, you're panicking too much. He explained himself.

"Let's go, Alfred will patch you up." Taking her hand in his, he led her to the Batcave, sitting her down.

As Alfred approached them, he gasped at the sight in front of him. "Mistress Marinette, you should be more careful. Master Tim, you should take care of Mistress Marinette better." Both Tim and Marinette squeaked and turned red at the words that left the Butler's mouth.

"S-sorry Alfred." Marinette managed to squeak out. Alfred secretly smiled at the reactions.

Alfred started bandaging her while Tim hovered above fretting upon her. It's not like he didn't trust Alfred, opposite of that. But he was just worried, okay? He knew that it was irrational, that it was nothing critical. Every kid got these injuries, and Marinette was an adult. But it was his girlfriend, the love of his life, the person he loved and adored the most, you get the point. And she was hurt. It hurt him to see her with so many injuries.

With a sigh Alfred turned towards him. "Master Tim, as sweet as it is that you worry so much about Miss Marinette, I need to work without any distractions if I want to heal her. You either sit down quietly, or get out of here."

Tim quietly sat down on a stool on the next of Marinette's bed, and looked at her, wincing at her injuries. He remembered the time he started skateboarding, he also got injuries. Yeah, there was no need for him to be that worried. She would be okay.

As soon as Alfred was done bandaging her, Marinette turned his attention to her paranoid but very sweet boyfriend, who started bombarding her with more questions.

"Are you okay!? Are you hurt!? Does it hurt too much!? Do I-" Marinette cut him with a kiss which he so eagerly returned

"Tim, I am okay, these injuries aren't gonna kill me. They are just minor injuries. I'll take a painkiller and I'll be okay. Hm?"

"Hm." Tim snuggled into her shoulder. Alfred watched those two with a fond smile. As much as he loved his pseudo grandson, Master Tim can be a fool sometimes, he should've already proposed to Miss Marinette. He knew from the way they looked at each other how much in love they were.

He shook his head and walked out of there to give them some time alone, after all once the boys all find out what happened to their favorite designer/sibling (Tim and Marinette always turn red at that) they would rush to her side and Tim would be pushed behind and far away from Marinette.

Tim adjusted their position, Marinette lying on his chest while he played with her hair. This action slowly lulled Marinette to sleep (god knows how much she needs some). As her breathing began shallow and slow, Tim knew that she was asleep, he quietly and carefully got off the bed. Carrying her bridal style to his old room in the manor. Thank god she was a heavy sleeper.

Tim carefully put her on the bed, tucking her in and made his way to the other side of the bed. He hugged Marinette closer and she curled up onto his side, pressing her face in his very toned and exposed chest.

That's how the Waynes found them when they came in to check in on Marinette. Both sleeping cuddled up on Tim's bed, Tim's arm wrapped protectively around her.

[imgoingtocrash]

my teen angst bullshit has a body count

by @imgoingtocrash for @hailxhydra

Rating: T

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Avengers Team

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Ned Leeds, Flash Thompson, Jim Morita, Hydra Agents

Summary:

“Correcting people all the time, sucking up attention with the whole goody two-shoes act. I’m saying you’re a teacher’s pet, loser. And one day, everyone’s going to see it for the act that it is, and when they do—”

Peter’s hearing blanks out.

Pet.

It echoes.

Two years ago, Peter Parker escaped Hydra's control and was taken in by the Avengers. Traumatized from the experience but healing, Peter's starting to get a hang of this whole normal teenager thing. However, when Flash brings up a happily forgotten trigger from his past, Tony comes to give comfort and remind Peter that he's worth more to his loved ones than Hydra could have ever dreamed of.

Read on AO3

My fic for @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! Hopefully you enjoy it @hailxhydra!!!

Full fic under the cut as requested by the exchange:

“—But I’m asking if it’s a good movie.”

“I’m telling you, it was either picking Selena for the third time or Rio, which is a stupid animated movie about birds.” Ned shakes his head dramatically. “Everybody else will fall asleep, and if everybody falls asleep, then Misses Rodriguez will give us a pop quiz instead of letting us have a movie day.”

“But I like animated movies. We like them. We watched A Bug’s Life like last week!”

“Because you hadn’t seen it before! Your film under-education is criminal, and if I don’t help you fix it, who will?!”

Ned has a point. Being kidnapped and raised by Hydra after the age of six really limits a person’s entertainment consumption, as he’s learned more than ever now that he’s surrounded by other teenagers who grew up with movies and tv shows to watch at their fingertips.

“I mean, Steve does have a list…” Peter points out weakly.

Steve keeps it in his little notebook along with other things he doesn’t understand the references to yet. He tried to encourage Peter to start something like that in the beginning, but Peter’s never really considered himself a list person. He just sort of soaks up the world now, like a curious sponge. Sometimes it means he has to Google things he doesn’t really understand the meaning of, but it also means a lot of movie nights with both the other Avengers and Ned, which is actually sort of a bonus.

Ned stops them in the hall. “Yeah, but are they cool movies or are they movies for old people and war veterans who haven’t been alive for the last 100 years?”

“...You know that I don’t really know the difference.”

Ned gives a sad shake of his head. “You’re lucky you liked Star Wars, bro. Otherwise we’d be in a very different place right now, like, friendship-wise.”

“You still didn’t answer the question.”

Peter got to pick the movie for their classes’ Cinco de Mayo party. Peter’s not sure what either movie has to do with the Mexican Army’s historical defeat of the French, but he only picked Selena because Ned suggested it. Maybe he should be regretting that choice, if the other option was harmless little Spanish birds.

“You know, Parker, I have a question,” comes a very annoyingly musical voice from behind them.

Peter just barely resists to roll his eyes. Every time with this kid. Not that Peter is any less of a kid than Flash Thompson, technically, but he definitely feels more mature.

Ned, also more mature than some of their other classmates, completely ignores Flash.

“You’ll be humming the disco medleys for weeks, I promise.”

“Wait, wait, disco? I thought you said this was supposed to take place in the 80s and 90s?”

“Music endures, dude.”

“Hey, el idiots, I’m talking to you!” Flash interrupts again.

“That’s not even how you—” Peter starts to correct, only to realize he’s stepped directly in it when Ned groans.

Flash laughs obnoxiously to himself. “Just can’t help yourself, can you, Penis?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter grumbles. It doesn’t really matter what he says now. Flash has the attention that he wanted, which means he won’t bug off until the bell rings and until he has the last laugh. And that always happens, because he’s really the only one entertained by all of the poking and prodding at Peter.

Peter breathes in, steeling himself. He’s survived worse. So much worse. Bullies with electric prongs and steel cages and control over every other aspect of his life. This is just high school. Normal kids survive it all the time, even when there are bullies and bad test grades and cliquey subcultures. This is just one privileged asshole who thinks Peter’s an easy target.

In some way, Peter’s actually proud of that. No one has ever seen him as un-intimidating before. Even his Hydra captors knew that if they lost control of him as an asset, he could easily turn on them.

(Part of him always asks why he never did. If he wasn’t evil, if he wasn’t like them, then why didn’t he just fight back? But Sam says that’s just his mind trying to deal with trauma, and Peter is trying really, really hard to get better at ignoring those kinds of intrusive thoughts.)

Speaking of talking to himself, Flash snaps his fingers in Peter’s face to get his attention back.

“You’d think for such a genius, you’d be a lot quicker on the uptake.” Flash shakes his head like he’s disappointed.

“Please just get to the point already,” Ned begs, throwing his head back.

“Correcting people all the time, sucking up attention with the whole goody two-shoes act. I’m saying you’re a teacher’s pet, loser. And one day, everyone’s going to see it for the act that it is, and when they do—”

Peter’s hearing blanks out.

Pet.

It echoes.

C’mere, Pet.

Stay down, Pet!

He was property, he was an animal, he was a weapon, their weapon, he was a mutant and he deserved it, needed it, he was the Spider, a mongrel, nothing, he was nothing and no one and Hydra was the only home a no-good runt like the Spider would ever have and he should be grateful—Kneel, Pet, be a good boy and kneel for your masters—but he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t—

Foolish Pet, you wouldn’t survive out there.

You need us, Pet. You’ll always need us.

“Peter?”

He returns to the moment with one heaving breath, only to realize he can’t take in another.

His collar is too tight, they always put it on too tight and if he complains they hit him and if they hit him he bleeds and it gets on his clothes and he won’t get any more until his bath and he hates bath time because they water is cold and stings his skin and the soap is so harsh it burns his nostrils and they’re watching him he knows they’re watching because they never leave him alone because if they did he would try to escape, he would—

“Peter, what’s wrong, are you—?”

He did. He escaped and ran away but now they have him again and he can’t live like this, not when he knows about best friends and pizza and friendly ribbing and how warm he feels when Tony pulls Peter close on the couch and presses a kiss to his head and tells Peter that he’s proud. He can’t be here anymore, he has to go, he has to run.

“Peter, wait!”

Tony is, to say the least, nervous when he gets a call from Midtown Tech’s front office.

He trusts Peter by now. The kid has come a long, long way since he snuck onto the Avengers helicarrier during the chaos of a Hydra raid. Skinny as a rail, scared, brainwashed...abused.

The Spider.

Peter didn’t like being with Hydra since they were the ones that made him enhanced, but he sure as hell didn’t want to be locked in an enclosed space with a bunch of Avengers at the time either.

As was evident by the fight he put up until Steve knocked him out. Steve still feels bad about cold-clocking a kid when Peter jokingly brings it up now, but Tony’s never shamed Steve for the decision. It was that or some kind of drug injection with the way Peter fought back tooth and nail, confused and defensive. Practically feral, from the well-fitting clothing to his lack of speech.

It was all for the better, though, once they got him back to the compound.

Peter was a talkative kid once he let himself be. Funny, too. Almost normal, if you forgot the mutant spider genetics and years of torture from a bunch of descendant assholes that seemed to hate and resent the very thing they created.

That’s why Tony agreed to let Peter start school. Real, normal, human school just like every other teenager in America attended until they finished all twelve years of it.

Because he needed to be normal, sometimes. He needed movie nights, [other things], and most importantly, friends that were his own age rather than a bunch of adult superheroes that often acted like children.

But also because Peter wanted to go, and Tony had a really, really hard time denying anything that the kid wanted when he could so easily provide.

Peter had such a hard time wanting anything, in the beginning. What did Peter want to wear instead of the plain, grey, dirty sweatpants from Hydra? What did Peter want to eat now that he could have an adequate amount of calories for his enhanced, still growing body? What did he want to watch? Listen to?

All of these choices were suddenly available to Peter, but shaking years of being denied any kind of want, any kind of choice took a toll on him that took a lot of work to get through.

Peter had put in the work. Unsurprisingly well. He was smart—tactically from years of being trained for missions, academically from whatever education Hydra must have thrust upon him. Not so much socially, but they were doing better as Peter spent more time around people that actually cared about him and lobbed insults around to tease rather than to actually cause emotional harm.

But was that enough...training, of sorts, to be around a bunch of teenagers? Sure, Peter was technically also a teenager, but they’d found him at 14. Tony still looked at Peter and saw the wide-eyed little kid sitting in the corner of a containment cell, flinching every time Tony moved.

Two years later and a lot of growth physically and emotionally, but was it enough?

Tony was hesitant about it, wish-washing the entire summer with maybes and I’ll think about its until the deadline arrived and Tony had to actually make the call.

Peter had pleaded, citing an extensive, cheesy list of films that made him want the high school experience himself for some reason. He very genuinely enjoyed shopping for school supplies. He passed Midtown’s entrance exam with results that faked years progressing in homeschooling that Tony knew would have been true, if Peter had gotten the chance to grow up like he was supposed to.

So, Tony eventually said yes, knowing that one day this call might come and Tony would have to be prepared for whatever was on the other end of the line.

An “incident” of some kind. Whatever that meant. The secretary was entirely unclear, only insistent that Peter’s family should get down to the premises immediately to handle things.

That was Tony.

Part of Tony couldn’t fathom why Peter chose him out of everyone on the team to latch onto. Another part wasn’t exactly shocked. Trauma recognized trauma, after all, even if the context was entirely different.

Tony knew what it was like to be belittled. To be seen as something you weren’t. To be abused by someone you never really trusted in the first place.

He and Peter talked a lot in that little containment cell. Hours of Tony blabbering like he always did when he was uncomfortable and Peter just sitting and waiting, waiting, waiting for the strikes to start coming.

When he said his first words.

When he told Tony his name—not Spider, but Peter Parker, a little boy from Queens who lost his parents and his whole normal life in the same night, according to FRIDAY’s records.

When he touched Tony’s arm for the first time and got a smile instead of a reprimand.

He waited and Tony was patient and it was a rough road, but...Tony was kind of a parent, now. A parental figure, at least, among others of varying degrees of quality and influence on a scarred teenager.

He was Peter’s family, whether either of them was any good at it in a traditional way or not.

And also, you know. His money was paying Peter’s tuition. His time went into helping Peter study for the entrance exam. His name was technically on Peter’s manufactured birth certificate because he was the one forging it and it wasn’t like anyone else was offering when the subject came up.

And maybe, a little, because he cared about Peter. Loved him. Wanted to be what Peter needed, what he deserved, and what better way to do that than to write his name on a piece of paper that signified the job he sort of kind of wanted?

Tony slams the car door behind himself after pulling into Midtown’s parking lot, putting on his sunglasses for the brief trip into the early afternoon sun. He’s checking security cameras, exits, and also preparing a hefty sum of cash to go into Principal Jim Morita’s bank account as well as a handful of government officials, if that’s what it takes.

Again, not that Tony doesn’t trust Peter, it’s just...when you get this kind of call and your kid is a highly trained former assassin, you prepare exit strategies on multiple fronts.

It’s been two months and Peter has only made one friend at this place. The kids can’t all be angels like Peter proclaims Ned Leeds to be. If one of them touched Peter out of nowhere or said the wrong thing, maybe Peter lashed out. Maybe Peter forgot to hold his strength back like he’s been training to do. Maybe something was broken.

Maybe it’s something far worse.

Tony has to be ready for that. He has to be ready for whatever it takes to protect Peter.

At the very least, the police aren’t on site. That’s probably a good sign that they’re willing to leave this as an internal matter for now.

The unhelpful secretary of before leads Tony out of the office by the arm at a quick pace, not explaining the situation at all before they arrive at the scene. Whatever it is. Tony was definitely expecting more blood or yelling or...anything, really.

A small crowd stands outside of a door, marked by a golden plaque to be the janitor’s closet.

Leaning on the door itself with his arms resolutely crossed is a kid about Peter’s age. Short black hair, light brown skin, dressed so similarly to Peter that Tony’s starting to wonder if that’s where Peter’s new obsession with those geeky little t-shirts has come from.

“Mister Leeds—” An older Asian man pleads, dressed in a suit and standing up straight with all of the authority he can seem to muster against the stone wall that is the teen in front of him.

The kid shakes his head in response. So this is Ned, then.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not moving. If he wants to stay in there to calm down, he should be allowed to stay in there.”

“I’m sure his parents—”

“He doesn’t even have—you don’t even know what he’s gone through!”

“And you do?”

“Well...kinda? No. But—but he’s obviously freaking out and everyone crowding around him is only going to make it worse!”

The adult rubs a hand across his forehead, stressing at a fold of wrinkles that settles there from the stress.

“Ned, I recognize you’re just trying to be a good friend, but this is a problem for—”

Tony clears his throat, catching the attention of both parties.

The older man sighs. “Oh, good. Thank you, Theresa, you can go on back to the office. We’ll take it from here.”

The secretary nods, brusquely turning around and heading off, leaving Tony there to be examined by both Ned and what must be the principal.

“Mister Stark, I’m glad you could come down, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. I’m Principal Morita.”

“Obviously you know who I am,” Tony replies, shaking the man’s hand. “What did happen, exactly? Theresa was sparse on the details.”

“I told you, it’s Flash’s fault! He was being a dick and—” Ned shouts.

“Mister Leeds.” The principal interrupts, stern. “Another student apparently said something...unkind to Peter. He didn’t take it well and locked himself in the closet. I haven’t even been able to assess the situation properly yet. Normally I would start with asking Peter’s side of the story, but...”

He looks to the closet, where Ned still stands, defensive.

“The bouncer is a real stickler, got it,” Tony jokes, aiming a small smile at Ned. “Peter does seem to attract the protective type.”

“Oh,” Ned says, suddenly meeting Tony’s eyes and gaping like a fish. He seems to have finally realized exactly who he’s talking to. “Oh, wow. Mister Stark, it’s an honor. I’m a huge fan, like, so huge. Peter tells me to shut up about you at least three times a day. When he showed me a picture of you guys I was like, ‘Oh my god, your dad is Tony Stark!’ and he was like ‘Oh. Yeah, I guess you’d know who he is, huh?’ like he totally didn’t get how awesome it is that you’re Iron Man. And I know you’re only kind of his dad, but still—”

“It’s suddenly become very clear to me why you two are friends,” Tony responds, keeping his smile on.

It’s actually kind of sweet to see that Peter’s found someone to confide in, even if he’s seemingly left out the more traumatic elements. But he also knows that Peter can hear them through the door, and he wants to get to the kid as fast as possible instead of dawdling for time.

If Peter wants to see him, that is.

He does, doesn’t he? Tony has been there for everything, so far. Every breakdown when the choices became too much, when the world outside of Peter’s little cell and all of the things he did that he wishes he could forget attack him at night. He hasn’t gotten old enough to not want Tony around when he’s upset, right?

“Sorry, Mister Stark. Sorry,” Ned apologizes. “I’m just nervous and worried about Peter and—”

“I get it, kid. You’re good.” He gives a reassuring grasp to Ned’s shoulder. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I really need to see Peter now. You can ask him yourself, but I’m usually the exception to any rule about Peter wanting to be alone.”

“Right, yeah. I’ll just—”

Ned turns to open the door, but gives Morita a shifty look, like he doesn’t trust the man not to dive bomb in if given the chance.

“Peter—”

“Let him in,” replies Peter’s strained voice. He’s definitely been crying. Poor kid.

Ned pulls back and nods at Tony, stepping aside to let him through.

“You did a good job protecting him, Leeds. Thank you,” he says to the teen before stepping into the dimly lit closet and shutting the door behind him.

The room smells musty and over-powerful at the same time thanks to the potent combination of cleaners and the mop cart sitting so close together. Out of anywhere Peter could have picked, this probably isn’t the kindest to his sense of smell if it’s making Tony already scrunch his nose.

It’s lit by a single pull-chain light bulb, and in the shadows of it sits Peter, curled into himself and leaning against a rusty metal shelf filled with paper towels, cleaning equipment, and a few bottles of product that have to be expired.

“Hey, Pete.” Tony frowns at the cracked floor tile, but settles himself next to Peter anyway. His back catches some kind of spray bottle sitting on the shelf that digs uncomfortably into his back.

Peter sniffs, not looking up from the cradle of his arms. “Hey.”

Tony heaves a sigh, for the drama. “So, I hear you got your first bully.”

Peter shrugs. “Guess so.”

“That Ted kid is pretty nice. He’s a good friend.”

“Yeah. And his name is Ned.”

Tony stops beating around the bush. “What happened, Peter?”

“It was fine. It was good, you know? I got an A+ on my Spanish test, and Misses Rodriguez offered to let me choose the movie we were gonna watch for the Cinco de Mayo party as a reward. I didn’t even know any of the movies, but Ned said Selena was good because Jennifer Lopez is hot, so that’s what I picked. It was a good day, Tony!”

“...But?”

“But then Flash—”

“I meant to ask, is that his actual name? Like, legally?”

“No.”

“Oh thank god.”

“Flash said…he said I was a…” Peter’s hesitant to let it out.

“Pete, a lot of kids at this age are testing boundaries. They’re going to say a lot of stupid, insensitive, offensive—”

“He said I was a teacher’s pet.”

There’s a long minute of silence. Tony blinks curiously a few times. He doesn’t want to belittle what Peter’s feeling, but he also doesn’t understand why it’s caused him so much stress.

“I know, I know it’s—but they used to—” Peter swallows hard, probably only delaying another wave of tears. “Sometimes, before, they would call me…”

“Pet.”

Peter nods, starting to shake next to him on the floor, their arms lightly touching at just Tony saying the nickname.

“They liked it. I think it made them feel better about themselves if they acted like I wanted it. Like—like being locked in the cages or collared or—or being muzzled was good for me.”

“You need to learn a lesson, little pet. Be a good pet and eat your dinner. Stop your crying, pet. No more of your barking, pet.” Peter quotes with venom flinging from every syllable. “But I didn’t want that, Mister Stark! I promise! They gave me these powers and I didn’t want to be their pet and they made me—”

“Peter, I know. It’s not your fault. None of it is your fault, I know.”

Tony curls Peter into his side, rubbing his back consolingly.

“When Flash called me that I just—I felt the collar around my neck again and I couldn’t breathe though the muzzle and they kept kicking the cage even though it hurt my ears and I could never sleep in there because it was so small and—”

“Peter—” Peter’s hyperventilating. He’s panicking, Tony realizes. Probably just like he did initially. A flashback that triggered him into having a panic attack.

“And I know that’s not what Flash meant but I was back there and I can’t—I can’t stop—”

Peter breaks into sobs, burying his face into Tony’s shirt and clutching on tight.

“Oh, Pete. It’s okay. You’re okay,” Tony soothes.

He presses a kiss to Peter’s hair, unsure when he became this tender. Probably the moment he realized this was the way he wanted someone to treat him in the midst of his worst, most vulnerable moments.

“Sometimes the bad memories come back unexpectedly, it’s alright.”

“But don’t wanna think about it anymore!” Peter cries childishly.

If it wouldn’t break Tony’s ribs, Peter would probably start banging at his chest in frustration.

“What if it gets bad and I don’t talk anymore and I can’t go to school like a normal kid and I lose everything and then you won’t want me anymore because I can’t get over this and stop being a stupid animal who needs its owners to—”

“Peter Parker, no. Absolutely not.”

Tony pushes Peter away so he can hold the boy’s face in his hands. So that he can fucking imbue into this kid how much he is loved and cherished and human.

“You’re not property, and you’re not an animal. What they did to you was wrong, and you know that now. I know that you do.”

Not just because Peter’s been to therapy since integrating with the Avengers, but also because he’s talked to all of him during his recovery from the horrors of his earlier childhood. About how his life felt before and how it feels better now. How he wouldn’t have left in the first place if he really wanted to be a part of Hydra like they raised him to want.

He’s not the child soldier they raised anymore. He’s so much more than they ever allowed him to be in that awful place.

He loosens his grip on Peter’s face only to bring him back again with an arm around his shoulder. Maybe if Peter feels him, touches him, the kid will remember all of the growth he’s made, the family he’s gained.

“Buddy, you are getting better. I know it. I’ve seen it. You know we’re all so proud of you and the progress you’ve made.”

Tony sighs. Part of him wants to sugarcoat it. That Peter has seen the worst of the world and now he’ll just be able to move on from it scott-free. It’s what he deserves, but Tony knows from experience that nothing in life is that sort of kind.

“That doesn’t mean you won’t have setbacks. I have had setbacks. Healing from the bad stuff is really, really hard, but it doesn’t make you anything that they said you were. You’re a wonderful, good kid who deserves everything he’s worked so hard for. And you’re going to get it because you have me and the team and your new best friend behind your back. You’re not alone, you’re not in a cage, you’re—you’re home, Pete. You understand?”

Peter sniffs, a sign that he’s worked himself up again, but his weak nod into Tony’s chest tells him that some of them at least might be happier tears.

“Listen to me, Pete. And I mean really, truly listen.” He looks down at the snot-covered, tear-stained teenager practically in his lap. He does love Peter. He wouldn’t have gone this far for any other kid in the world.

“It doesn’t matter what happens—hitches, mishaps, a dumb teenage mistake. You’re our kid now, Peter. You’re never going back to Hydra. Never. Not with me around.”

He knows it means something to say it out loud rather than leaving it to be assumed. He doesn’t have as much of a problem admitting it as he thought he might.

“I’m never giving you up, or letting you go, or treating you like anything other than a person. Do you understand me? That is something you never, ever have to worry about. Not from me.”

Peter sobs against him. This time it feels a lot more like relief. A release in the safety of Tony’s arms that Peter hasn’t really allowed himself, even after two years of being free of Hydra.

Peter didn’t tell the team everything. He may never even tell Tony everything. But this is one more thing Peter doesn’t have to carry alone, and Tony is happy to help their kid navigate the horrors it's brought back into his improving life.

They sit there for another minute, Peter’s whimpers muffled in Tony’s dress shirt. He’s sure the principal and Peter’s friend are getting antsy. But all the same it gives Peter another chance to calm down, and this time he seems a lot lighter when he picks his head up to look at Tony.

“Feel better?”

Peter gives a sniffle, but accompanies it with a nod and bright, attentive eyes.

“Look, I think school’s a bust for the day. Let’s go home. Whatever you wanna do, just you and me. Nobody else needs to hear about this unless you want to tell them, okay?”

“And if you wanted, I guess…”

Peter tilts his head, expectant.

“We could...nah, it’s probably offensive, right?”

“What?” Peter insists. Tony tried to warn him, but Tony also can’t resist an idea once it pops into his head.

“I just thought, you know, if you wanted—if you thought it would help, we could get you a—“ He almost ruins it, but catches himself.  “An animal. Like a dog or something.”

Peter is silent. He bites at his lip, contemplative. Looks in the direction of a mop bucket in the corner.

“Is that bad? You don’t have to, I just thought it might make you associate that word with good things, but if not—“

Peter finally meets his eyes with a tentative grin on his face.

“What kind of dog?”

[lunarianillusion]

A change in fate

a maribat fanfic

Chapter 08

It was so noisy; it was too noisy.

Marinette’s thoughts were running a mile a minute through her head. They were whirling around and around like a tornado. The thoughts were consumed in worries about everything that had happened in the last few days and could possibly come in the following. Her mind was overflowing with possible plans that her anxiety would then throw down into the void, only for them to resurface and overflow her mind again and the cycle would repeat itself over and over.

“Mari-”

The guardian knowledge, her thoughts, plans and worries colliding and overlapping with each other ripping each other apart, mending back together and whirling around her head like a hurricane. Her thoughts losing coherency until only a buzz like sound could be heard and it was only getting louder and louder.

“-ette…MAR-”

Her body began to feel numb as her brain stopped working coherently. She could barely move or feel her quickening breath, she did not notice her vision becoming blurry. Al the while her mind kept spiralling down, down, down, dow-

“MARINETTE!!”

The noir haired omega’s head shot up from where it had been laying on her crossed over arms. Her wide glazed over eyes locking onto a pair of concerned ocean blue eyes, but any other facial features were obscured in her hazy vision. A muffled sound, almost like rhythmic drumming sound, cut through the static haze in the girl’s ears. Was someone talking to her? She could not tell. Then her tingling hand was moved even though she did not will for it to. It took her a second to realise that the person infront of her had taken a hold on her wrist and had paced her hand a solid but warn surface, their chest.

The warmth of the clothed chest slowly chased away the numbing cold that had taken over most of Marinette’s body. She could now feel the slow rhythmic beat of the person’s heart and breathing, a stark contrast of her own erratic beating heart and stuttering breath. As if by instinct the omega began to copy the steady breathing pattern of the person infront of her and as her breath came back to her so did her vision. When it cleared up, she could see the person that had been helping her, it was Timothy.

“That it Mari, breathe. Just breathe,” The alpha spoke calmingly, his voice finally breaking through the static noise. The feeling soon returned to the girl’s body as her other senses started to calm down and her head started to clear.

Marinette let out a deep breath as she slowly removed her hand from Tim’s grip and used it to lean her head on top of instead. Closing her eyes to straighten out her last few disordered thoughts. That was one heavy attack and bless the kwami for their protection.

“You back?” the voice of the male infront of her once again breaking through her train of thought. Her eyes opening to look again at the raven haired alpha and giving him a small smile of reassurance. Her eyes drifted to her surroundings in order to pick the pieces of the morning for her memory had been foggy. With just a miniscule glace she was able to make out that she was in her classroom way before the bell would even ring. From their her memory started to piece itself back together. After having gained all the collected information from mist she had barely gotten any sleep even after the kwami’s had forced her to her bed. Her head had already started its downward spiral at that moment. That morning she had past her parents through the front of the bakery instead of going through the front door. They had said something to her, but even now she did not care what they had said and had gone straight to class when the whirlwind really overtook her.

“Y-yeah, I-I’m back,” the omega spoke softly to the alpha, who was now watching her like a hawk, with a small stutter. A moment of silence followed allowing Marinette to collect the final pieces of her scattered thoughts.

“Is it okay for me to ask what was happening inside of your head, or is it too soon?” Tim asked in a soothing tone. Marinette gave him another small smile to show her appreciation for his care. The genuine care he showed her warmed her heart, even with the suspicions she still held.

“S-sometimes the bottle cracks from all that we try to keep inside, away from the surface,” the noir girl spoke with a chuckle coming out of the alpha and omega duo. “How can I get your mind out of those thoughts?” “Just talk, the silence drags me back under,” The omega responded to the alpha’s question.

Tim gave a moment of thought to a possible subject to talk about and came to a different topic instead. “How about we ask each other some basic questions to get to know each other better?”  Though this was a nice and normal suggestion to everyday people this suggestion made Marinette’s hero mindset jump to attention at the possible recon opportunity. Maybe she can get a clue on him possibly being Red Robin. “Sure,” she answered softly.

And so, the asked each other several simple question. The very obvious questions of favourite colours and hobbies one enjoyed. Over the short time they talked Marinette noticed a topic that seemed Tim avoided talking about. “Say what is your family like, I don’t think you ever truly mentioned them since we met. Did they move with you to Paris?” The omega asked. An innocent enough question on the surface but could aid Marinette in discerning Tim’s possible relationship to Red Robin. She could ofcourse ask the kwami’s or use soul vision again. However, the headache was still bothering her greatly and made it hard to focus and this was good train for her growing detective skills. That still did not prepare her for his answer.

“They died some time ago,” the alpha’s voice was soft as he spoke and his sent was spiked in discomfort. The words made Marinette silently wince. “I am sorry. I did not mean to bring up bad memories.” Tim gave her a small smile, understanding showing in his eyes.

Still a question rose up with this revelation and concerning his age. “Do you have a guardian though? I don’t mean to say that I do not believe you can’t take care of yourself but we are of the same age and both underage, so should you not have a family or guardian with you?” Marinette asked, or rambled, as carefully as she could, maybe not as subtle as she would have wanted to be though.

Tim gave her a gently smile to reassure her from her anxious nerves. “I was taken in by a family acquaintance of my parents, who took me into their pack. But I emancipated myself a few months back, because I could not stay their any longer,” he told her in a calm manner, that made Marinette tilt her head with a hope for elaboration. Which the alpha gave. “Things started out really well but over time that foundation cracked and I did not feel welcome or save there anymore. So, I decided to start anew. I decided to move contents because I really do not feel like seeing them again and that is basically how I got here.”

No lie slipped from the raven-haired male’s lips. It took the omega slightly by surprise how honest he was about his situation. Marinette could easily tell as the emotions behind that statement lay bare in his eyes to see and the scent of regret seeping through the cracks of Tim’s control. It made Marinette feel more relaxed and made you over thinking brain ease up on her suspicions as her more sympathetic side came to life.

“I am sorry that all happened to you,” she started off, “To a certain degree I can relate to you in regard to worsening pack relationships,” The omega’s eyes were down cast as she reflected on the past few years. Timothy tilted his head with a gentle look in his eyes curious about the full story, what most likely included the lying orange sausage haired spider but waited for the girl infront of him on her own terms. The gesture was appreciated and so the words easily started to flow out of her mouth. “Believe it or not before Lie-la came along I was ‘friends’ with all of our classmates. Then the spider came along and turned all on me making them think I was a bully and now she has even ensnared my parents into her web of lies,” the midnight haired omega huffed before a conclusion she had come to hanks to this whole drama. “To a degree though I am grateful to the lying bitch,” She stated honestly, making Tim look at her in shocked surprise. “Thanks to her I was finally able to see who my friends are truly and who were nothing more then parasitise piggybacking on me for special favours,” Marinette elaborated gaining a nod of understanding from the alpha.

“I do envy you in a sense,” She continued, taking the ravenette by surprise once more. “I hate the situation that you got pulled into and I truly wish you did not have to go through that, but at the very least you were able to pull yourself out. Leave all the bad shit behind and start anew. I have tried getting out several times, but each and every time something or someone block my way to freedom.”

“Trapping you in a cycle of neglect and pain,” the alpha led out a pained breath at his own words as Marinette nodded in affirmation. The two fallen into a surprising comfortable silence, their presence soothing to the other. A part of Marinette’s brain thought that this was mostly due to the bond between true souls, but though that was definitely a factor a small part of her also thought that the raven-haired boy was someone she would truly able to trust. And being honest she did want to trust him.

“If you ever need help,” The male of the wo spoke, breaking the silence. “With trying to get away from humanity’s fucked society. Just say the word I will be happy to help,” he finished with a snap of his fingers, almost in a theatrical way.

A small playful smile grazed the female’s features as she spoke. “I will certainly call upon you should I be in need of your aid,” the omega tone sounding playfully posh. That was quickly caught by the alpha before her. “But pray tell how you would give me your aid?” This sent a banter ball rolling.

“Why can’t I look out for my fellow coffee loving insomniac with a likewise neglectful past,” Tim responded in likewise posh playful tone. “Truly one would think us to be related.”

“Oh, good heavens no,” Marinette gasped dramatically, as she placed the back of her hand onto her forehead. “I as the goddess of coffee am far too radiant to be related to you my dear friend.”

Tim gave a snort at the girl and her theatrics, before responding in in kind once again. “You are right. Your freckles make you to beautiful to ever belong to this mortal realm. I implore for forgiveness from my mistake a great mistress of the divine elixir that gives me life.”

“My, my is quite the development,” A new voice broke into the conversation. The dark-haired duo flushed at the amused voice and turned to the front of the classroom and the one who spoke. Their just on the steps leading to their seats stood an amused looking Chloé Bourgeois, a glimmer to her eyes that send a small chill down the dark-haired duo spine, and an equally amused Nathaniel Kurtzberg. At least it was not Lie-la and her posse of brainwashed fanatics.

In a graceful yet still dramatic motion, as per Chloé style, did the blond take her place beside her female omega friend. Her grin never leaving her face. Nathaniel two shuffling into his seat beside the male alpha. “Nathaniel we must prepare for the future,” the blond girl spoke first, finally turning away from the blushing pair. “If they are already fliting one this level, it will only be a matter of time before the two are married. And it is only the second day no less.”

The duo’s faces turned even more red with the statement and Nathaniel seemed to want to add some more fuel to the fire. “Yes, I think you are quite right Chloé. Before you know it, little dark-haired pups will be running amuck across Paris.” That statement drew a sound kin to a dying animal out of the dark-haired girl, much in contrast to the blonde’s badly hidden laughter. “Truly the end is nigh!”

Marinette’s face was ready to combust, if it had not already, from embarrassment. Looking through her fingers, with she had covered her face, she turned her eyes to Tim who was trying to cover his own face and was also as red as a lobster. At least she was not the only one on the receiving end of the teasing. She watched the dark-haired male take a peek at the clock and copied his action. It was almost time for the bell to ring.

“Though this is truly an enjoyable subject,” The alpha male spoke, his voice laced in sarcasm. “But unfortunately, the toxic spider and her gaggle of annoying flies will soon be upon us.” His statement made Marinette’s fellow Parisians groan along side her in misery.  

“I suggest that after this day of hell, we go over to my place and have some pack bonding time. Even get a head start on our investigation in that deceitful orange sausage, sound good,” The only blond of the group spoke. She may have said it was a suggestion but her tone left no room for question.

It still surprised the two boys at how easily the two females accepted them into their pack. A small warm smile graced Tim’s face for a moment as a warm feeling rushed through his pained heart. It soon changed into something more mischievous as the annoying sound of the liar graced his ears. “Say who wants to make a bet on the lies we will hear today.”

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

The two hidden kwami’s, Duusu and Wayzz, smiled at the turn of events. A rush of relief and feeling of gratitude flooding over them as the young dragon helped the young peafowl and new guardian out of the dark corners of her mind. A feat they had not been able to accomplish, no matter how hard all the kwami had tried, since the child’s awakening.

Marinette may not yet fully trust the boy, but in time hopefully she would. For even though the new guardian could see ones souls she could only see the surface level and could not see the dragon’s scars that reflected her very own. The two kwami present dearly hoped the two true souls would be able to help one and other heal, but only time will tell.

taglist: @moonlightstar64 @iloontjeboontje@mickylikesstuff@myazael @scribblinggraveyard @incredulous-reader@mewwitch@woe-is-me0 @fan-written@coolspidermanmusicflower@heretopasstimebi@jjmjjktth@ichigorose@cmouse @nyx-in-line@chocolatecatstheron@bookgirl14 @toodaloo-kangaroo@iglowinggemma28 @itsmeevie01

[artxyra]

The Secret Life of MDC | Part 4

Part 4 - Riddle Me This!

Part 1 | 2 | 3 |

It just had to be the Riddler who decides to grace his appearance at the strip mall. Just looking at his outfit was a crime against her eyes. Marinette had her far shares of a run-in with the green suited villain, and after countless complaints, he still hasn’t changed his outfit let alone attempt to contact her about an outfit change. Catwoman literally has her number; he could have just asked.

“Now who wants to go first. Choose wisely and you shall survive, but choice wrong and you may get a bullet.” The Riddler taunts his capture victims. They squirm under the threat, eyes widen beyond belief.

From afar, Marinette could see the shaking figures of her classmates. Years of being under Hawkmoth’s terror, showing little to no emotions during an attack, and they are shaking to the sight of the Riddler. Perhaps it was because there was no Miraculous cure or they have forgotten their permanent residency.  To be honest, Marinette was just waiting for Lila to say something stupid that would most likely get them all killed.

“M-my Damiboo would save me!” Yup, there she goes. Everyone, that was not fooled by Lila’s words (ie. Gothamites), facepalmed and groans as she gains the interest of the Riddler.

Tapping his chin, he stares at her before introducing his first riddle of this heist, “It's raining, and you pass a bus stop. There are three people there; your trustworthy friend, the love of your life, and a woman about to go into labor. Your smart car only has two seats. What do you do?”

Lila blubbers her answer, something about taking the love of her life and leaving. She is then scared shitless as a bullet zooms past her, nearly hitting her ear. A shock facial expression stays prominent on her face until she falls down, fainting.

“Oh, how the fibber swoons to darkness. Batsy isn’t here yet and I really want someone to solve my riddles.” He searches the crowd for his next victim. The Parisian teens quickly try to wake up Lila, but they also hope not to be the Riddler’s next targets.

Marinette mentally goes through answering the riddle. Chloe and Adrien stare at one another before shaking their heads. They knew what Marinette was thinking and that is a bad idea. Then again it might bet the better option seeing as they have no idea when the bat crew would make it to the scene.

“You give the keys to your friend so that they can take the woman in labor to the hospital and wait for the bus with the boyfriend.” Marinette confidently answers. The GA Trio stare at the Marinette in awe.

“She does that a lot,” Adrien whispers just enough for their new friends to hear. That was true, Marinette has a tendency of solving riddles which were due to her time being Ladybug.

Chuckling happily, the Riddler turns his attention to Marinette. Marinette doesn’t falter at him glancing at her, but she does narrow her eyes just enough to enforce a challenge.

Dancing closer over to Marinette and her friends, the Riddler chuckles. Half of the weapons turn to them, it's Adrien and Chloe that hold their ground while the GA trio looks like they want to bounce to safety.

“No amount of sass can save you from this riddle, pick the correct answer and your friend shall do free but pick the wrong—”

“They die?” Marinette quirks an eyebrow at the villain.

The Riddler blanches and says, “Only one color, but not one size, stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain, doing no harm, and feeling no pain. What is it?”

Emotionless and quick, Marinette gives her answer, “It's a shadow.”

“How about this one: if eleven plus two equals one, what does nine plus five equals?”

Adrien turns to Marinette, he knows the answer as Chloe taps the ground giving away the crook with a gun behind them. Tensions slowly rise among the group of friends.

“Uh, it’s two o’clock. You’re adding the hours of time.” Marinette answers with a sigh of relief at the end. She knows they are aching to pull the trigger, but unknowingly to the Riddler if anything happens to her, well let's just say he might not live to see another day.

The Riddler growls clearly frustrated with the teen's ability to answer correctly. Only a handful of people can do this to him. “In that case, what is it that given one, you'll have either two or none?”

Marinette only smirks, riddles was also one of her favorite past time against Tim when they are both on the verge of death by lack of sleep. Those late-night twitter messages give much to their twisted mindset on a lack of caffeine.

As Marinette draws on the answer a little longer, Chloe and Adrien take down the henchmen behind them. The henchmen fall to the ground swiftly as the blonde duo nod their heads. Adrien quickly pulls out his phone to see if there were any messages in the group chat. There’s none.

“How long do you think we can hold him off until they get here?” Chloe whispers side glancing at the rooftops of buildings.

“No clue, they haven’t sent anything in the chat, should I try texting Jon?”

Chloe’s eyes narrow causing Adrien to gulp and quickly tap on his phone.

“It’s a choice.” The blonde duo turns their heads towards Marinette who was now toying with the green suit villain. It was clear that she was slowly becoming agitated. “You know, what I have a riddle for you. What’s green and yellow, has no sense of fashion, and is literally killing my eyesight?” She yells at the villain.

It’s like a pin drop as everything freezes once more. Her classmates on the verge of leaving the scene as they were no longer the targets. Seriously, you’re just going to leave them to fend for themselves. Yup, they are as they make a large dash out of the scene. This then creates confusion among the Gothamite as they are used to this and what did they expect, screaming?

“Uh, I—uh…” The Riddle tries to formulate an answer. It takes him a second before pointing to himself. “Me?”

Marinette, like a disappointed mom, nods her head. “Yes. You dare show your face in such a green that could put someone’s eyes out. Don't you dare get me started on the yellow question marks? That tone does not do well on your skin. Gosh, you had one job, Riddler, one fricking job.” Marinette begins to go off. The Riddler and his henchmen pale at every word she says.

Just as Marinette was beginning to calm down, a shadow in the shape of a bat looms over the Riddle.

“Finally,” Marinette huffs as the Riddle turns his attention from her to fight against the Batman.

“Hey, you guys okay?” It was Nightwing who asks appearing behind the blonde duo. If looks could kill, he would have been six feet under with the look Chloe was giving me.

“Oh, my lord, it Nightwing!” Allegra squeals in the background but she goes ignore as Nightwing rubs the back of his neck.

“Get us out of here, like now!” Chloe screams to the vigilante.

Robin rushes to Marinette and tries to take her away from the situation.

“Are you alright miss?” He asks bringing them to the safety of the public. Marinette stares at him deadpanned before nodding. As much as we would like to kiss her lips, he sends her a shrug over to her friends. “Where are your classmates?”

“Gone, unless Alya decided to do something stupid like try and get a film of you guys in action.” Realization began to set over Marinette’s eyes. “You’re going to need to find them. Hopefully, they made it back to the academy without any problems.”

Robin nods then proceed to send a message over the coms about the missing foreign class from Paris. He quickly joins the search as Marinette turns to her friends.

“Do you any idea how ridiculously stupid that decision was?” Chloe grills the designer before whispering, “You know we’re not even in our suits.”

“Sorry Bee, but did you see that outfit?” Marinette counters before going on a massive rant about the Riddler’s outfit and how he could choose it.

~*~

Nette @GothamsFashionSense Yo, some foreigner just grilled the Riddler on his outfit. I’m so proud of her. #prideful #doIseecompetition

Chloe B. @QueenBeeOfParis Replying to @GothamsFashionSense That was my sista @MarinetteMemes, she too loves your content.

Nette @GothamsFashionSense And I ❤️ her, that rant was amazing 🤩. Need any tips @MarinetteMemes? #futureapprentice #fashionmess

~*~

Case in point, Alya did separate from the class when they were trying to escape once word got out that the bats were on their way. She is quick to make sure that Lila was alright before dashing back to the “crime” scene with her phone recording.

Batman had found her, but before he could get a word out, Alya was blasting him with questions regarding the situation and personal questions. He, of course, ignores them. Alya even tries to bring up Lila’s name but he doesn’t answer. Nightwing pulls on up on his bike to take the “aspiring” journalist back to the academy against her pleases and constant questions.

Upon returning to the academy, Alya was heavily lectured by the GA’s headmistress before her own teacher baby her. Mlle. Bustier was never one to give punishments unless it was warranted and even then, she doesn’t do it right. Alya was lucky to return to her dorm with a slap on the wrist and detention.

~*~

Babe Bee @Iheartthebatboy23 Um… can we talk about the girl that grilled the Riddler and how she looked so much like a Wayne? #newWayne #theorieseverywhere #brucewayneexplainplease

~*~

After a week of grueling classwork (aka grading assessments), getting pestered by her former classmates in Mlle. Bustier's class, Marinette wakes up with a beating headache. She hasn’t felt that way since the last time she had gone days without sleep, running on twelve shots of expresso before crashing.

“C’mon buggy, it’s Saturday and Jon’s in town. You know how much the kitten would want to spend time with him.” Chloe states, standing in front of Marinette fully dress and with a businesswoman power pose.

“And here I thought you did want to be the fifth wheel.” Marinette retorts only to get a chuckle out of the mayor’s daughter.

“No, but I will be FaceTiming Gami while you and the boys have fun,” Chloe responds back as she laughs at the dismal look on Marinette’s face. “But seriously though, get dressed. We’re meeting the boys in thirty.”

Marinette rushes over to her wardrobe and picks out her clothes then rushes to the bathroom. She comes out in fifteen minutes wearing black leggings and one of Damian’s sweatshirts that look like a dress against her small frame.

As the teens exit the school, they were quick to avoid Lila who was making up another story as to where she’ll be this evening. It was something along the lines of going on a date with her Damiboo. It took everything in Marinette’s body to not grill the liar about her boyfriend, but with soothing words from Chloe, they managed to get out the building without bloodshed.

If only that wasn’t the case later on that day.

Part 5 >>

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[phis-corner]

demon’s daughter

I decided to re-open the taglist for this fic because I am sometimes a pushover, so now you can either ask or comment to be on the fic’s taglist or the permanent taglist! 

Additionally, I have no consistent update schedule. My first draft is written by hand- I always like to stay two chapters ahead, so I posted this chapter when I finished copying chapter 5 into a Google Doc and proofreading.

Also, fun fact: I hate chocolate. My senses just do not like it at all. I also have a very sensitive tongue and can taste the barest hint of spiciness in foods, which also means I have zero spice tolerance whatsoever. As a Chinese-American with family in Sichuan, this means I get force-fed a lot of extremely spicy foods anyway.

Masterlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 [Chapter 3] Chapter 4

“Why are you letting them stay? He tried to kill Dick!” Timothy points at Damian, who glowers at him from across the cave as Alfred stitches Richard’s cuts.

Marinette sighs. “Akhi was not trying to murder Richard. If you paid more attention, you would notice that all of Richard’s wounds are carefully placed in non-lethal areas meant to slow him down instead of severely injuring him.”

Batman does not say a word. He hasn’t spoken since Richard called him to verify their claims.

“They were raised as assassins, Timmy. It’s normal that they’d feel threatened a lot, and act accordingly. They’re family now. Give them a chance.” Richard replies, and Marinette blinks. She did not expect to have Richard defend them so easily.

“Pardon me,” She pipes up. “But ‘they’ are currently present.”

“Right. Sorry.” Richard has the sense to look guilty. Timothy just glares.

Damian squeezes her hand three times, their signal for I would like to leave. Marinette sighs as she exits the Batcave. Being accepted into the family is… a work in progress.

.o0o.

Slade is put into Blackgate not long after with the information Ubu gave after being interrogated by the Bats. Damian and Marinette were not allowed to go. 

Too young, Richard had said. They had interpreted that as You cannot be trusted to keep him alive. He did make the right call though. Damian would have tried extremely hard had he gotten the chance.

Of course, the League did dispose of him not long after anyway, but it was the thought that counted.

Damian and Marinette spent their days in the Manor sparring, reading, or practicing their instruments. Richard, who seemed determined to bond with them, bought them both new sketchbooks, for Damian’s drawings and Marinette’s designs. She had discovered an affinity for clothing design while undercover on a mission, and had been designing ever since.

Cass (she insisted that they call her that instead of Cassandra,) was always happy to spar when asked, and although nobody ever defeated her, it was a welcomed challenge to fight someone who knew your every move, sometimes even before you did. Damian grudgingly admits she is a worthy sister, which makes Marinette smile and Cass beam.

Jason had his own home and only visited every once in a while, and Timothy was rarely seen. It didn’t help that Damian continued to make snarky comments whenever they did see him, but if Timothy was scarce, Father was practically nonexistent.

Since they came to the Manor, their father has said a total of two words to the both of them, and that was just their names when he exited his study as they passed by.

Marinette is determined to make her new family work, and so when she finds Timothy completely by accident, typing away on a laptop in one of the less-used rooms in the Manor, she takes a chance.

“You do know we are not trying to replace you, right?” She asks softly, sitting down in an armchair and deliberately not making eye contact with him. 

Timothy snorts. “But is that not what you’re doing? Bruce chose to take in everyone else. I had to blackmail him into letting me be Robin. And then the biological kids show up, born and raised like fucking royalty, so who would care about Tim Drake? The little kid whose parents didn’t even want him and his neighbor only adopted him because he knew his most well-kept secret.”

“We have more in common than you think.” Marinette says quietly.

“Yeah, right.” Timothy laughs bitterly. “The Princess of the League-”

“I wasn’t.” Marinette interrupts.

“Huh? But-”

“I wasn’t the Princess.” Marinette keeps her voice calm with considerable effort. “As soon as I was born, Ra’s gave me over to Lady Shiva. He declared me unworthy because I was a girl, and I was raised as the lowest-ranked assassin. I may have been Shiva’s protege, but that just meant she went even harder on me. I did not know even my last name until after my first death when I was five. I did not properly meet my brother until last year. Ra’s decided that I could be acknowledged, but maintained his stance on feminine inferiority.”

She chuckles hollowly. “You fear being replaced by your father figure’s biological children, Timothy. But your fear is unwarranted. Bruce Wayne chose to adopt you, because he is a good man with copious amounts of generosity. However, it evidently does not extend to his biological children. Talia dumped us at Batman’s feet and left without another word, without looking back. And Father? We may have been a complete surprise, but he has said two words in total to us since that first night- our names. You need not worry, Timothy. You shall not be replaced.”

Marinette stands, her message conveyed, and pauses in the doorway of the room. 

“Have a good afternoon, Timothy.”

The next day, Marinette and Damian watch on live television as their father is killed by Darkseid.

.o0o.

The funeral for Batman is somber. Everyone cries except for Marinette and Damian.

She thinks they should be crying, but Marinette simply didn’t know her father well enough to really mourn him. Damian squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back. The twins stand, faces carefully blank, shoulders straight and unmoving, like rocks in an ocean of tears.

Crime in Gotham runs rampant when they think Batman is gone, and so Richard becomes Batman out of necessity- and chooses her twin brother as his Robin.

Nobody else sees how it crushes Timothy, because Cass has left for Hong Kong, abandoning Batgirl and making her own identity as Black Bat. Jason is holed up in a safehouse somewhere, Richard and Damian are in their own little world as they prepare for their first patrol together, and Alfred needs time to mourn too.

So she finds herself knocking on the door to Timothy’s room, one hand holding a plate of sandwiches and a freshly brewed coffee because he hasn’t left his room since the funeral. Marinette quietly enters upon his muffled “Come in” and sets the plate down next to Timothy, whose eyes are red-rimmed and have even larger bags than normal, and yet he continues to work.

“I… noticed you have not come out to eat, so I brought some food and fresh coffee. Black.” She adds, after a moment of hesitation.

“Thanks.” Timothy mumbles, immediately going for the coffee. “Why are you doing this?”

Marinette shrugs. “Everyone else was caught up in their own situation and had issues to work through too. I am relatively unaffected by the circumstances and therefore my observation skills have not declined.” She says simply. “You should also eat. I will not stop you from drinking the coffee, but you cannot work on an empty stomach, either.”

He begrudgingly eats a sandwich, still typing away at his laptop all the while. Marinette notes the tension in his frame.

“Would you like to talk about it? I have read that venting is significantly better for one’s mental health than keeping it bottled up.” She offers.

Timothy suddenly slams the laptop shut, hard, but Marinette doesn’t flinch. The reaction was trained out of her a long time ago. 

“It’s not- it’s- my entire life, I’ve been trying to prove myself. Robin was- Robin was special. I wasn’t the first Robin, but it was a reminder that I was worth something to someone, that I could do good and be useful. And then Bruce dies, Dick becomes Batman, and he just names Damian as his Robin like my opinion on the matter meant nothing, booting me out of the position, without any semblance of an explanation and-” He breaks off into sobs.

The sight of somebody crying makes Marinette more than a little awkward, because what is she doing? She doesn’t know how to comfort a crying person, but she does know that Timothy was touch-starved as a child. However, she isn’t the most touchy-feely person on the planet either, so she just settles for rubbing his back as he lets it all out.

Once he’s run out of tears, she silently hands him the tissue box she plucked from his desk. 

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you are not worthless.” Marinette says sternly. “Nobody is worthless, and you are far from being anywhere near so. You are the cleverest and most intelligent of us all, a capable, quick-thinking strategist, and you have detective skills that rivaled Father’s. I believe Richard chose Damian as Robin because Robin is always supposed to be Batman’s sidekick. He is always taken under Batman’s wing because there are things he hasn’t learned, that Batman can teach him. Richard sees you as an equal, and therefore cannot keep you as his Robin because you have graduated the mantle. It is time you created a new identity and moved on. Do you have anything in mind?”

Timothy sniffs once. “Thank you. I really needed that. And as for the ideas,” He reaches over and pulls out a sketchbook, a smile spreading across his face. “I’ve got a few.”

.o0o.

They brainstorm ideas for almost three hours before Timothy falls asleep. Marinette easily carries his light frame to his bed and drapes a blanket over his shoulders before quietly exiting his room.

Thankfully, she managed to convince Timothy that the cowl was a terrible idea. Marinette returns to her own room for her sketchbook. Batman and Robin will have each other’s backs. But Red Hood works alone, leaving Red Robin with nobody to watch his back.

Timothy is Marinette’s brother too, and everyone else is headed into the field anyway. She, like Damian, also had the phrase ‘justice, not vengeance’ drilled into her head, and Richard had made sure to remind them daily to aim for non-lethal spots. Not that she planned on taking a life ever again anyway.

Marinette flips open her sketchbook to a bookmarked page and smiles. It seems that Starling would be making an appearance very soon.

.o0o.

It is almost time for Richard and Damian’s first patrol as Batman and Robin. Marinette heads downstairs to wish them well, but freezes at the sight of her twin in Timothy’s old suit.

“This is unacceptable!” She screeches, hurrying forward and looking pleadingly at Richard. “You cannot let akhi out into Gotham looking like a traffic light!”

Richard frowns, as does Damian. “But you never had a problem with Tim wearing it.”

“Tt. Timothy had little to no prior experience in combat before being trained as Robin. Damian has been trained to utilize the shadows in combat since birth. Wearing those bright colors will make him stand out and put him at a disadvantage.” Marinette tuts, already scribbling out a new design in her sketchbook.

“Then what do you suggest, ukhti?” Damian asks.

“I have a design in mind. The colors will stay, but the yellow and green will have to be significantly darker, and the red should be dulled as well. Sadly, you will have to wear that monstrosity tonight, but I can have the suit finished in time for patrol tomorrow, as will mine and Timothy’s new suits.” She replies, not glancing up from her book.

“What do you mean, Marinette?” Richard questions, and Marinette feels a tiny twinge of annoyance at how he handled telling Timothy about Robin.

“I mean that Timothy and I have crafted new identities as well. You did not expect him to just stop fighting crime, or for me to just sit at home while everyone else carried out Father’s mission, did you?”

Damian nods, a small smile pulling at his lips. “It will be nice to see you in the field too, ukhti.”

“What will your names be?” Richard prods curiously.

“I will not tell you just yet.” Marinette smirks. She shows her twin the finished design. “Does this look alright, akhi?”

“It looks wonderful, ukhti.” Damian replies. “Thank you.”

She sniffs. “Well, somebody had to fix the lack of fashion sense in this household eventually.”

.o0o.

Everyone else in the family may use capes, but Marinette decided that Richard’s Nightwing suit was by far the best because of its lack of one. Capes were long, heavy, a waste of fabric, and overall useless.

The Starling suit was primarily black, with a dark emerald mask covering the lower half of her face (because why carry a gas mask and rebreather when it can be built in?) with gloves and boots in the same color. A single silver star with curved sides was splayed on her chest, and a dark green utility belt rested on her waist. Her steel war fans had holsters strapped to her thighs.

All in all, the suit was built for the shadows. Marinette had learned to master slipping through the dark, unseen, and Gotham was the perfect place to utilize that. Starling would be nothing more than a ghost, a legend, if she had her way. After all, the less citizens knew, the less likely the information would hit the underworld, and that way, the vigilantes wouldn’t have all their cards out in the open.

Damian looks much better in his new suit as well, and Timothy is also grinning when he steps out of the male’s changing room. (A/N: the new 52 suit. I’m not letting him out of the Cave with that ugly cowl, or the traffic light costume with an extra R. Don’t even get me started on the Drake one.)

Richard, cowl still down, smiles as bright as the sun itself. “Good to see you, Robin. Tim, Marinette, can I ask your names?”

Timothy fastens his domino. “Red Robin.”

Marinette pulls her face mask up and curtsies with perfect posture. “Starling. I wish to work in the shadows, if that is alright.”

Richard puts on the cowl and becomes Batman. “You guys all look amazing.” He grins, and it is unsettling to see Batman smile. Oracle logs into the comms from the Clocktower.

“You all ready?”

They split the city in half. Red Robin and Starling take the North while Batman & Robin will cover the South. 

Starling trails Red Robin from afar, leaping from building to building and only using her grappling hook when the distance is too great to close by foot. They stop four muggings and two attempted assaults, all without Starling being spotted. The criminals think they hit their head on the alley walls or each other instead of her fist from behind.

It’s almost three in the morning when Batman calls it quits and they return to the Cave, changing out of their suits and showering. They are somehow all unharmed, so Alfred sends them up to bed.

Damian and Marinette brush their teeth before climbing into bed and flipping off the lights.

“Tonight was actually quite enjoyable.” Marinette remarks. “It is a nice feeling, to know that you are helping people.”

Damian hums sleepily. “It is good to know that we are continuing Father’s legacy.”

Marinette smiles. “Yes, I suppose so.” She burrows deeper into her blankets. “Sleep well, akhi.”

“The same goes for you, ukhti.”

For once, Marinette doesn’t have a nightmare.

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[celosiaa]

enough for now

A gift for @taylortut​ who I love so very much!! She didn’t ask for it but I did the dang thing anyway based on things that you’ve said you like! I hope this brings some little bit of extra good to your day, my dear <3 even if it is a lil angsty lol

CW flashback, panic attack

Focus. Focus.

You’re wasting your time.

You’ve already wasted enough.

Hunched over his desk, Tim squints against the dim light of his lamp scattering across the stacks of files and books and blueprints littered across it. He had been nursing a migraine all day—all week, really—and had no real choice at this point but to get used to it, carry on, shove it all down. Since no one had bothered to tell him that the Circus was what they were after, he has a lot of catching up to do, research that Martin should have known he himself would not be capable of.

Added to the fact of his most recent attempt to escape this hellhole making him sick and weak. Again. So here he was, drinking in the sustenance of whatever godforsaken thing that keeps him here, hour after hour making him stronger. All because he let his anger rule again. Ran away.

Just keep on running then, Tim.

Coward.

Christ. One fight with Danny, and it still stings.

Because it’s true.

You left him you left him you left him there with that thing—

Blood—torch—stage—lights—clown—Danny Danny Danny Danny—

Stop stop stop

Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he can’t help the small noise that escapes him—though he does not hear it over the fading static in his own ears.

Stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking

Breathe in; breathe out. One moment to the next. What his therapist taught him after…after. After nothing. There’s nothing, there never was, there’s only now. There’s only the Circus. There’s only his migraine, pounding pounding pounding against his skull, the fury, the bitterness, the knowledge that he’s caught in a trap he’ll never crawl out of—

THUD.

Easily startled these days, Tim jumps bodily at the sound, snapping his head around toward its source. He had not thought anyone would still be here at this hour, as he’d seen Martin go home hours ago for some desperately-needed sleep, and the others had gone out to the pub that night. They couldn’t be here, could they? Surely the archive has protections against those creatures since…

Since nothing.

Nothing happened.

Nothing is happening.

The crash had come from Jon’s office, he’s sure of that. It reminds him of other days; other times when that sound would send him fetching a sports drink from the break room, checking to make sure Jon hadn’t hit his head on anything whenever his POTS flared badly. When they had been friends; brothers, even. Near enough to it anyway.

No, nothing else could have made that sound. Jon was back.

Standing on his own somewhat-shaky legs, Tim gives himself a moment for his vision to clear before striding toward the darkened office door, fury already rising in him at the idea that he was being watched again, distrusted again, betrayed again. He swings the door open.

“Finally decided to show u—oh god.”

Lying on his back on the floor is Jon, beard fuller than he’s ever seen it, painfully thin and grey as a ghost. His clothes hang off him as if three sizes too large, the ones Tim knew had once fitted him snugly, not even a few months prior. What in god’s name had happened to him that he was this emaciated? This ashen?

What had he done this time?

Anger bubbles even stronger now, tingling at the back of his spine.

But something…something feels off about this. Enough for him to bury the resentment, if only for a moment. Just to make sure.

Why do you care?

Stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking

“Jon,” Tim says loudly, crouching down beside him, shaking his shoulder in the process. “Hey, up and at ‘em.”

But there’s nothing—not the usual small gasp as he comes around from the faints caused by POTS, no twitching, only stillness. Tim’s stomach does a turn as he checks Jon’s head for bleeding, any sign of injury, but nothing. Nothing at all.

What the hell happened?

Glancing around him for anything to do, he spots a file box within arms reach that he drags over towards them, propping Jon’s feet upon it. He rolls up his sleeve a bit then, to feel his pulse—and finds himself distracted by the bone-dry nature of  his skin beneath his fingers; the slight shuddering of his limbs. But his face has almost a sheen to it, unnatural, unnerving.

“Jon,” Tim repeats, a bit louder, patting at his exposed bit of arm. “Come on, you’re alright.”

A bit of a moan this time, a deeper breath—and Tim lets out a breath of his own, one he had not realized he had been holding.

“Mmm.”

“Wake up, Jon,” he says loudly, shaking his shoulder for a second time.

At this, Jon’s entire frame tenses under his hand, eyes flying wide open to scan feverishly around the room.

“Woah, easy,” Tim barks, a bit alarmed. “Easy. Just stay down.”

It seems that Jon had either not heard him, or had chosen to ignore—as he sits up rather abruptly against Tim’s hand on his shoulder, this time locking eyes with him. But before Tim can recover from his surprise enough to speak, Jon’s eyelids begin to flutter again. He’s about to go down.

“Lie down, Jon. Lie back down.”

He’s sure Jon didn’t have much of a choice anyway, but Tim finds himself glad that he happened to be there to prevent him smacking his head against the industrial carpeting all the same. Something is wrong wrong wrong, and it sends away all his rage for the time being—and he is filled with that instinct to protect Jon, from himself or from something else. He cannot even bring himself to care which at the moment.

“Wh—Tim,” Jon slurs with effort, some recognition in his expression at last.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

With a pang in his chest, Tim realizes he does not know whether or not that will bring him comfort.

“I’m gonna get you some water, alright?”

No reply—merely a distant look in his eyes as he brings a hand up to press against his own cheek, shaking with the effort of it. Bad, this is bad. He’s never this out of it when he comes back around; not even after they had woken up quarantined together in the hospital, dozens of deep wounds covering both of them in the wake of the Prentiss attack.

Focus. Water, food, then questions.

“Just—just stay there, for god’s sake.”

Wobbling a bit against the disorientation of his migraine, Tim brushes a hand all along the walls to the break room, crossing his fingers that Jon (or perhaps Martin) had restocked Jon’s Lucozade supply. As luck would have it, there are a few left over from whenever Jon had last shown up to work in the archives. Tim had not taken care to keep track.

He doesn’t deserve it.

Not anymore.

Stop; he has to stop—more thinking like that, and he knows he will leave Jon stranded on the floor of his office, only to be found by a newly-infuriated Martin in the morning. And in what condition…Tim could not say. Where had he been all this time? And why did he look so awful?

He grabs a cereal bar from the counter top on the way out of the room.

When he returns to Jon’s office, his stomach drops at the empty space on the floor where Jon had been—until he spots him, sitting with his back pressed up against the back wall of the room, between the bookshelf and the filing cabinet.

“Thought I told you to stay put,” Tim mutters irritably. Though he has to admit, he feels something tight unraveling a bit in his chest at seeing him able to sit up. No matter how ill he looks.

“Tim,” he says in a voice of gravel and salt, as if to reassure himself of its truth.

“Yeah, bad luck.”

Tim takes the cue of the fearful look in Jon’s eyes as he stares up at him, and sits at a bit of a distance on the floor within his eyeline.

“Drink this,” he orders, opening the cap of the Lucozade before holding it out toward him. “Slowly. You look like shit.”

He had been hoping that Jon would simply roll his eyes and respond with a sardonic “thank you,” but…nothing. Instead, he can barely keep hold of the bottle, watching it shaking in his own hand before tentatively bringing it up to his lips. Just a sip—and it’s enough to rattle something in him, seeming to bring him around to the present a bit. He downs the next sips with more confidence, less hesitance. With a great deal of satisfaction, Tim starts unwrapping the cereal bar, ready to hand it to him whenever he was ready.

“M’sorry for this,” he murmurs after a few minutes have passed in silence, no longer meeting Tim’s eyes.

“What the hell happened, Jon?” Tim asks in desperation, needing to know where to put his anger. Shutting down the part of himself that hoped could be placed on Jon again.

Silence greets him. No indication that Jon had even heard him.

Until the shaking begins.

The bottle drops to the floor as shuddering overwhelms his grip—and both hands fly into his hair, clutching hard at it, pressing balled fists into the sides of his newly-ashen face. As his breath picks up speed, so does Tim’s heart, and he wants so badly to reach for him. More than anything, he wants his touch to be the comfort it once had been, anything to stop this from happening. But he had burned that bridge ages ago now.

So did he, he reminds himself. So did he.

“What happened?” he repeats, a little softer all the same.

“Nothing,” Jon whispers, offering just the faintest hint of a smile, a flash, before it fades. “Nothing ha—happened.”

A knife.

A knife in Tim’s chest.

Stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking

“Where have you been, then?”

Even as he keeps his voice low, the shuddering picks up speed and intensity, taking Jon’s breath up to something approaching hyperventilation.

“It’s f-fine,” he stammers between gasps. “Fine, don’—ha—don’t.”

“Whatever this is, it’s not fine.”

A small bit of laughter, then—choked, cut off by his own desperation for air. He tips his head back against the wall behind him, drawing his legs up even tighter as he tries to find his breath.

“The—Cir—ha—Circus.”

Tim’s body is flooded with ice; pins and needles pricking at his scalp, the tips of his fingers.

“Breathe, Jon,” he murmurs through his own lightheadedness, has to push through. “What do you mean, the Circus?”

“Got—got me,” comes the awful reply. The one he had been dreading.

What had they done to him?

How long was he there?

Why was he allowed to escape, and not Danny?

Shut it down shut it down shut it down

Be here. Be now.

“Breathe, Jon.” A little closer, still not touching. Wouldn’t dare. “Just breathe, alright?”

“S’fine.” Another laugh, a small, panicked smile. It makes Tim sick.

“No—ha—nothing. Ha-happened.”

You’re lying you’re lying you’re lying

Danny’s gone, and you’re here, and you’re lying.

“Ah—ha—Tim.”

Even so, something in Jon’s voice, his panic, his absolute terror over whatever is happening in his head right now breaks through the bubbling wall of fury rising around Tim’s heart. It may be back tomorrow, or the next hour, or the next minute. But Jon needs him.

Jon needs him, and that’s enough for now.

“Breathe, Jon,” he murmurs softly, moving slowly to take his hand in both of his own. Not even a flinch from him—just squeezing tight enough to bruise, tight enough to anchor himself here, tight enough to remind Tim of better days, better times. Times when this would never have been a burden. When his presence would be enough of a comfort to bring him back down.

“You’re safe. You’re safe now, and I’m here.”

For the moment, it’s the truth. Tim will take this moment and bury it later, deep deep deep, where the other memories of their friendship now live. Easy to forget; easy to look past in anger.

But, for now.

“Breathe, Jon. I’m here. I’m right here.”

[bibliocratic]

tread softly

S4 Canon Divergence + Mythological Creatures AU Mermaid!Sasha, Pheonix!Tim, Selkie!Martin

cws apply - see tags

Peter Lukas has always prided himself on the timing of his entrances.

He is not there, then he is. The ward slips colder, down into single digits. Martin gives a jerking shoulder-hunch motion when he notices his unexpected arrival, coupled with an intake of breath. No noise this time, no jumping, no explications of suddenness or surprise. Martin Blackwood takes well to both shock and silence with a delightful sufferance, and Peter is indulgently proud.

The lad is, as expected, by the Archivist’s bedside. Crone-backed, ringed with an satisfying corona of misery.  It’s after visiting hours, but Martin likely hasn’t even realised that the gaze of the ward staff and orderlies has simply grazed past him when he came up, when he took his traditional post, when they do their rounds. Martin has not wanted to be noticed, so he won’t be.

Peter idly watches the machinery and tubes threaded though the Archivist like mechanical embroidery. This one seems eminently more worse for wear than Gertrude ever was. Stronger, though. Peter watches Elias’ chosen as he lies still and sedate for all he stalks the landscape of dreamers, and wonders if he might see the Eye’s favoured come to fruition in a way Gertrude never did.

All the more reason to talk to Martin, it appears.

“What do you want?” Martin says. Dulled, thick-throated. He’s wiping his face free from damp with his baggy jacket sleeves, glowering at Peter with a delayed annoyance, as if he’s interrupted some no doubt tender petition for waking. The antiseptic stench of the hospital worsens the tension in his bones.

He is perfect for their God. Peter’s so pleased the Archivist wasn’t so careless to have lost this assistant like he nearly lost both of the others. Elias told him that the Corruption had already sought to burrow into the debris of this lost soul, that Martin has taken the mantle of archivist well, while Beholding’s chosen was indisposed. And it is true that Martin’s gaze is more assessing than he would like. But Peter knows that Forsaken has long laced Martin’s lining with mist and dew-damp cold, filled his stomach with fog far longer than those petty chancers have tried to have him in their maw. That his God’s touch has been settling like thronging, subdued snow in place of Martin’s sealskin.

“I wanted to see if you’d thought about my offer,” Peter replies genially. Pushing his hands in his pockets, ignoring Martin’s radiating desire to be left alone.

Martin has. Peter doesn’t need Elias’ pretty little parlour tricks to know that Martin has likely thought about little else.

“I’ve been a bit busy.”

“Oh right!” Peter says after a moment’s pause. It visibly annoys Martin that it didn’t come to mind faster. “That spot of bother with the Flesh. All sorted now, I’m sure!”

“Why didn’t you do something to stop them?”

Peter crinkles his face in a deliberate confusion. Casting out his line.

“Why, what should I have done?”

Martin takes the bait with ease.

“It’s your job, isn’t it?” His voice pitches with accusation. His hands ball into fists, and he moves to standing, the chair complaining as it’s pushed back. “It’s your responsibility! You’re in charge now Elias is gone.”

“Thanks to you,” Peter replies smoothly. “And your companions seemed to do a good enough job. A few bruises here and there, a few near misses. Nothing they won’t heal from.”

Peter slides closer. Just a step. It makes his skin sing discordant at the proximity, but Martin stiffens, an anxious intake of air despite himself, and Peter knows he’s paying attention.

“I could ask you the same question,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t you do something to stop them?” Peter doesn’t sound judgemental. He doesn’t have to, Martin will paint on layers of meaning without overdoing this particular nuance of his game. “It was very impressive, watching you all. They all held their own very well. Except you. You could argue I suppose, that it’s not the same. That you’re not like the mer or the firebird or the sphinx, no added little genetic extras, and you don’t get any boost from any old helpful Power like that police officer, or the angry one touched by the Slaughter. You’re just Martin. And that’s… that’s the problem, isn’t it? Just Martin. Nothing to offer in the fight, no way to protect them. Holding them back. They could have been hurt, and you wouldn’t have been able to do, well, anything at all.”

“I…” Martin says, and Peter takes another step.

“The Extinction is a pressing threat. There isn’t time for me to wait while you finish your grave-side widow routine. I need you to help me, and it would be only fair, in return, for me to help you.”

“Oh, what, you can fix me then?” Martin snaps.

“Not at all,” Peter says. Smiling, because he is so funny, with his rage sputtering in a fog that seeks to tamp it flameless, stumbling headlong and blinded into the conversational pitfalls Peter’s dug behind him. “No, no, I’m afraid you’re broken, Martin. I speak from experience when I say you’ll never grow your skin back.”

Martin freezes. He looks Peter up and down like he’s expecting to see something different, the scales fallen from his eyes, but this is the only skin Peter has worn for so long now, and he endures the slightly prickling gaze of Martin’s Eye-touched observation.

“You… You were – ?”

“A long time ago. Before the Lonely granted me a better shroud to cloak myself in. It is not a selfish God, Martin. It offers gifts, or payment, if you prefer that way of understanding it, to those who work in aid of its ends. Benefits that could protect your friends, should something as unfortunate as the Flesh’s assault occur again.”

“And what about Jon?”

“He’ll wake up. Or he won’t.” Peter replies cheerily. “Either way, you can’t do anything for any of them like this.”

Martin gives him a scowl. Peter lets it pass over him. He knows, before Martin even opens his mouth, that he’s won.

Sasha avoids the sea.

She does not know why. Its pull is no lesser through her absence. She has dreams of sinking and never coming up for air, and she does not know if it is serenity in the ceaseless drop or despairing surrender. She marks the high days and festivals of her people alone and unremarked upon, speaks to her landward kin infrequently and vaguely. She needs to be here, she tells herself harshly. She can’t go off when there’s so much to do, when she’s in the process of losing so much. One of her family cold and vanishing, one breathing through a machine, and one… he died, died properly, and although he came back purged of something poisonous, the shrapnel scarring of collapsed masonry on his skin and the reddest, warmest wings sprung from his back, this does not settle her terrors.

She cannot leave. Not when she could lose sight of her splintering shoal so easily. Not when she’s unsure the temptation to dive down and out, deeper, further away, wouldn’t ensnare her to cowardice.

She finds the first scales in the shower. It’s a myth that any water will have the skin of her legs go slick, then bumpy, fusing into one muscled tail with her scales folding outwards. She can have showers and baths without impact. It’s the sea, that is the essential component. The same for most deepwater kin. Not the sea, maybe, or exactly, but what it represents in the change. It’s something about floating out into endless space clad only in human skin and human lungs and trusting not to drown. The letting go of one form with the tide and permitting the waves to bring forth another.

Her scales are dimmed, like they’ve smudged. Their colour diminished.

It’s not a molt. Her people don’t. Tim does, normally annually. Before they travelled to Yarmouth, he’d been dropping feathers around the office almost continually with stress. Nesting, and growing in new and painful sections of wing, snapping with a yo-yoing temper.

Tim notices. Maybe because he’s the only one left. Basira is holed up somewhere of course, as is Melanie, but it’s not the same. They weren’t here before, they don’t have the context for how much their group is diminished, falling to pieces slowly like her own skin is.

They’ll be visiting Jon later. She hasn’t seen Martin in weeks.

Tim approaches slowly. Looks at the flakes of blue in her hand. Understand flowers gently in his eyes, and he reaches out and touches her arm, and she forgot the world could manifest in ways other than hurtful.

“You OK there, Sash?” Tim asks.

“I don’t know,” she replies. “I don’t… I just…  When did it all go so wrong?”

“I dunno,” Tim repeats, and he doesn’t move away and she doesn’t want him to. “God, I – I don’t know, Sash.”

Jon’s clothes are dirt-clotted, ripped up by the grind of rock, and holding him tarnishes Tim’s feathers grey, smudges the pattern on his t-shirt into obscurity. His teeth are chattering, goosebumps bobbling up his arms and making the dark hairs up his arms stand on end. Tim suspects it’s more shock than cold.

Sasha brought him a glass of water, holding her palm under it because Jon’s long-fingered grip is so shaky it’s sloshing the water up the sides.

“Told you the rib was a shit idea, huh?” Tim says. Played as a joke and deliberately shorn of any accusation. He breathes in-and-out and Jon follows the rise and fall, and it benefits both of them. Tim’s getting better at control. He’s had to. His anger grows in like pinfeathers but so does his grief these days, a full plumage of emotions he is learning to deal with.

Jon coughs up something that could be agreement, but is mostly dirt and grave soil over Tim’s shirt.

You should have waited for us, Tim thinks but does not say because there would be too much teeth in it, and Jon’s skin is already whittling down to skeletal. We asked you not to go, we wanted a better plan, why didn’t you wait.

You could have died, down there in the dark, and we wouldn’t have even had a body to mourn, he does not say.

We love you, you idiot. We love you and even that wasn’t enough to stop you leaving, he does not say.

We’re already losing Martin, he does not say.

A room full of looping, chattering, overlapping tape recorders. Neither Tim nor Sasha stacked them, and Jon would not have thought to.

It should be a reassurance, that Martin’s been here.

God, Tim hopes he knows what he’s doing.

Sasha rubs at Jon’s back, helps him sip another small trickle. Tim’s wings, voluminous and unwieldy, knock over recorders in a clattering collapse as he scoops them around to shield them both. Against the balmy heat Tim’s throwing out, Jon’s shivers gradually subside.

“Daisy?” Jon murmurs. His teeth are grimy with soil.

“She’s with Basira,” Tim replies.

Sasha’s picked up the rib that’s dropped out of Jon’s clenched palm. Wiping the grime off it and staring at it without clear expression.

“Why, Jon?” she asks.

“I wanted to help,” Jon says. His words small, like he’s embarrassed that he even thought of it. “Even if it was one person. I wanted to be able to do something good for a change.”

“You could have died,” Tim says.

Jon’s horrible flat chuckle scrapes over his lips.

“I’m not sure I can anymore.”

“Yeah…” Tim replies subdued. He glances at the red daggers of his feathers and thinks he understands that.

“I wonder what it would take,” Jon says idly, slurring with exhaustion, and Tim grips him closer and hopes he never finds out.

Martin doesn’t react when Sasha sits down near him. The breeze, a vicious snagging chill tussles his hair, some wisps twisting into nothingness like smoke from an extinguished candle. She is still getting used to this Martin, or perhaps the Martin he never let others see. The toned-down stillness of him, the undisturbed waters of his expression. His skin not quite solid, the patches that have returned pale, sickly-pallored in the softening dim of moonlight. The rest of him is a coalition of fog, a hazy motion to his image like he’s wave-rocked, smoked out.

Long minutes pass. Sasha sits down cross-legged. The waves ripple up the stones that make up the strip of beach surrounding the loch, and they’re hard and uncomfortable under her.

“I can’t swim, you know,” Martin says finally. The sea is louder than he is, and he can make himself so quiet these days.

“No?”

Sasha keeps her tone light, inquisitive without intensity. Martin shakes his head, and his image lags, skipping disjointed, like his connection is poor.

More silence. Sasha doesn’t know what she should say, where Martin’s thoughts are at. She scratches behind the base of her gills, rubs at the dorsal fins sitting mostly flat under her sleep shirt.

“I didn’t live too far from the sea,” Martin continues. Looking at the wavering mirage of his hands without comment. She doesn’t even know if he recognises her presence. “We had Liverpool about an hour away. Even Blackpool, I guess. My primary school had a swimming club, where they’d pack them off to the big leisure centre on a coach afterschool. Kids’d get these little medals for managing like five metres, or ten, fifteen. But there was a small fee, and Mum said…” He snorts out a dismissive breath and his face twists, and neither of these actions suit him. “Doesn’t matter. I never went, and I never learnt, and that was that.”

“You could always come swimming with me?” Sasha proposes slowly. Lost in the swell of this conversation, why Martin’s talking about the sea, what this has to do with anything. She wishes he’d look at her.

Martin doesn’t answer immediately. He might not have even heard her.

“I told Peter, and he said that made it even better. That it was a such a – ” he says the word with a sneer, the words sharp-toothed in his mouth “ – gift, that I’d never even had the opportunity to know what I would miss, not even a memory to embellish or to sour. That there was so much that could root in absence. He said I should be grateful.”

“Peter Lukas said a lot of shit,” Sasha says.

She shuffles closer to him. Puts her hand on his knee.

“Whatever he told you was bollocks, you know that right?”

Martin blinks. After a moment, his hand joins over hers. His image grows denser, less likely to be stolen by the midnight air.

His eyes, fixed out on a horizon point in the slick dark of the loch, are still distant.

“I just wish I understood why she did it,” Martin murmurs.

“Who?”

“I did some research. After Elias… after I found out. I couldn’t have been the only person, and it’s rare enough but there are – help groups… you know, therapists that specialise in that kind of stuff. But I didn’t… I couldn’t face going to one. I thought that… knowing what was so wrong with me would make it easier, but it didn’t. All my life, I…. I was stupid enough to think it might be something I could fix. If – if I changed myself enough, if I said the right things, loved the right people, then I might… that someone could fix me. But it can't be fixed. That’s what all the leaflets said. That it was best to think of it like a permanent injury. Like having a stroke, or some sort of brain damage or something like that. Something irreparable.”

“Martin, sweetheart…” Sasha starts. She doesn’t understand. The flotsam of Martin’s speech grows erratic and he’s started shivering, and it’s no wonder, dressed in a t-shirt, pyjama trousers and some thick socks.

“Do you know much about selkies, Sash?” Martin powers on. Chattering teeth and goosebumps and it’s like he’s drawing something out of himself, some infection long done its damage. “Not many of them left, and they don’t usually venture landward like some of the other deepwater species. They mate for life apparently. Staunchly social communities, and some of them can’t… can’t cope, if they lose their group, or their partner. They take off their pelt, and just swim off to drown. A-and those help groups and therapists, those people who had theirs stolen, or destroyed… they’re, god, they’re all terminal. They last six months, maximum. Because it kills them, losing it. They waste away and they die. And here’s me…” Martin’s face twists again, and it’s bitter and angry and despairing all at once, “and I just get to keep going.”

“Selkies…?” Sasha says. “Why are you….”

She trails off in a gradually dawning horror.

“Martin?”

“She burnt it,” Martin says, his tone stringing higher now, distress sweeping in like a squall to break up the unnatural apathy in his voice. “I don’t think she knew what it would… I mean, I don’t know, maybe she did, maybe she wanted me gone just like dad, I don’t know, and I’ll never know because I can’t ask her why. I didn’t even… it was so long ago. I was sick and then I got worse and it was awful and I didn’t understand why I was so ill, why everything hurt just so much… and after, when I was better, Mum said it was appendicitis. I believed her. Course I did, why wouldn’t I. I didn’t know… not until Elias, and I’ll never know what I’ve lost, or why it didn’t kill me, maybe it was because I was so young, or because it’s only from one side of the family, I don’t –  I don’t know! I’ll never know! It’s a whole part of me that she just… she just took a-a-and…”

Martin’s back bows like whalebone. He takes long shuddering breaths like his words are keelhauling across his lungs.

Sasha’s never heard of a selkie with only half their soul. She can’t imagine, what it would do to someone.

She moves in front of Martin and he moves forward against her like a wave crash. He’s taller and heavier than her, and the impact pushes her back momentarily before her arms catch him.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” she says, “You can do it, breathe.” She holds him so surely, and she always will. And he starts crying then, the first time since Jon was in hospital, and he won’t or can’t stop shivering, and it is horrible to hear every emotion inside him claw itself back from the brink.

She keeps telling him to breathe, and he keeps following that instruction through sniffling and sobbing and broken-voiced confusion,  and she counts it as a small victory nonetheless.

Jon’s mouth cannot scream.

Tim’s in the next room, the kitchen, drying plates and bowls and cutlery, within shouting distance, and he’d be here in a moment – he’d help if only Jon could speak a word other than his unbidden, unwanted recitation.

Jon’s mouth doles out its terrible missive, and he doesn’t not feel like a person as Elias rolls out the triumphant red carpet of his plotting and scheming, the self-satisfied weave of his grand finale. And no, he’s not a person, not for a long time now;  he’s a catalogue, a testimony, an archive, and he would never have chosen this.

His hands scrabble at his throat, and his eyes are blurred with tears, his vision obscured, but it does not seem to matter, for his skin ripples and sloshes like an inkwell and a hundred eyes swell and pop and inflate again like bubbles against his skin.

Someone else screams. And the multitude of Jon’s eyes are newborn, fractal-imaged, gummed up with a feast of far-reaching horror all witnessed by him, overseen and devoured in his sight, and it is hard to translate what his original set of open, weeping eyes see. There is motion. Commotion. There are apologies being spoken in his ears, fervent, petitionary, but he is hearing the rising insistent thrum of the summoning and it is as sickening as it is beautiful. Someone is holding a hand hard over his mouth, the grip painful and punishing but even then the words burble out through the cracks. Another hand clamps over his eyes, and he shrieks and thrashes as his words gather to a crescendo.

A hand tears the paper from his grip. There is an acrid whoosh of smoke. Jon drops like the rigging of a ship being torn down. The hands at his mouth and eyes lower quickly to loop around his waist, catch him and hold him up.

Jon sees Tim, wide-eyed and shimmering with terror even as his skin burns gold and his feathers shine and there are only sooty flakes left of Jonah’s statement, scattering down from his palms.

He thinks it’s Martin behind him. Jon folds further, all his weight pitching forward and Martin’s forced to come down with him as he retches the leftover words in his mouth; king of a ruined world, he vomits up with bile and ink, and it splashes with a disgusting slop over the living room floor.

Sasha’s partially webbed hands are holding back his hair as he hacks and gags, his lips stained black, his stomach heaving as he chokes on everything that comes up, his stomach roiling with an overwhelming nausea.  Conduit of fear, he brings up, dribbling from his lips like paper pulp.

After a long while, it’s over. Sasha carries him to the bathroom, and helps him clean up, although Jon has little memory of it.

He wakes, feeling like a shipwreck, and Tim is there. Sat nearby, his head in his hands. His fingertips stained with ink and soot. He can hear Martin and Sasha talking in low tones nearby.

They're still here. Even now, he’s surprised that they haven’t left him.

And Jon has no words remaining, so his body betrays him with airless, silent tears, at all he could have wrought upon this world, at all the suffering he could have brought to their door to still be granted forgiveness for.

It is not the end. It is an interlude, a reprieve. In some ways a kindness, and in others, waiting is its own cruelty.

They’ve bought blankets to the beach in order to cushion the hardness of the stones rounded by tide and time. It’s the first time they’ve gotten Jon to come outside for more than a few minutes.  The scratches up the column of his throat healing. His voice still damaged, scratchy and scraped from misuse.

They’ll have to be moving on soon. To make plans for whatever future they need to avoid.

She sits up, and stretches out from where she’s been lying against Tim’s thigh. Glances at Jon, barely four metres away on a separate towel. Grey-haired and tired-eyed. Martin’s holding his hand, the left one crinkled by burns, as they talk about something treasured for its meaningless. Despite everything, Jon’s face practises relearning its smiles, even as he touches tentative at the marks around his neck, the bruising at the edges of his mouth.

The tension has not faded from Tim’s shoulders. His plumage sharp and strange even now. Her own scales patchy and bare, whole sections that have not grown back.

She considers her battered but striving shoal, and wants to show them that their past is not all there will ever be. That there will be an after-this, whatever that looks like. She wishes they spoke her tongue, so she could gift them names, new names, for the things they have become, this things that they have survived, and all that has survived them.

“Martin!” she shouts over, a sudden inspiration seizing her. “Want to come in the water with me?”

Martin’s expression barrels through at least three iterations before it hovers between wary and uncomfortable.

“I – er… I might just be better off here, actually.”

“No pressure,” she tells him, and she means it, for all she remembers that he has never had the chance to know the sea as she has, to feel his whole weight held up by the water. “But I am a pretty spectacular swimming teacher. I promise I won’t let go.”

Martin, to his credit, thinks about it. Gnaws on his lip, stares away from her and at his knees. Next to her, she can feel Tim bite back an enthusiastic declaration of encouragement for fear of spooking him.

Martin stands gingerly, and she is so proud of him.

“I haven’t got a costume,” he says.

“Your boxers will be fine.”

“We want something pretty to look at, show us those legs, Martin!” Tim says. He times the tone playful, the perfect balance of joking and complementing, and it works, with Martin’s blushing and ‘shut it Tim’ distracting him from the enormity of his decision as he neatly folds up his jeans, and takes off his shoes and socks. Sasha peels off her long skirt, rolls down her tights. She dislikes shoes on principle, and rarely wears them.

The rocks dig into the soles of Martin’s feet as they waddle down to the shore, slow going and interspersed with wincing.

She takes his hand as they stop, stand a foot from the border between land and sea.

“We’ll just go a little way out,” she promises. “The water’s fairly calm but for your first time…”

“I don’t think I can do this,” Martin whispers. He hesitates, and she waits for his decision.  And then, he creeps forward, and she follows. He swears vehement as the water hits his toes, and he almost balks to feel the frigid temperature, but he pushes forward, his swearing getting more and more creative the further he walks out against the tide.

From the headland, someone cheers, likely Tim.

“Don’t look at them,” Sasha says. “Come on, this is all you, ok?”

Her legs unfuse into her tail, and she shivers out a feeling like cramp, luxuriating in the sensation against her skin.

Martin tentatively wades out. He’s tall, but there’s a point where he stops, knowing to move forward means his feet won’t touch the ground.

“A little further, yeah?” Sasha encourages, and he nods jerkily, a frantic up-and-down, his expression petrified. “You can do this. Don’t look at the water. Look at me.”

Keeping her eyes fixed on his, she pulls him slowly into deeper waters. His fingers are pressing rounded marks into her forearms. His leg gestures are sloppy, thrashing, and at one point he dips below the surface with the disturbance he’s making, and he splutters as he resurfaces, surging up, eyes bulging in a betrayed panic. She continues to reassure him and doesn’t let go as they stop and simply float, the shoreline easily in sight.

“How does it feel?” she asks.

“Wet,” he grumbles. Clearly concentrating, he treads, kicking out in a motion that gradually finds rhythm.

For a long while, it is them and the sea. The waves rub up against the bare patches in her scales, but the reminder is not painful.

Martin’s breathing calms. His terror recedes, and he looks down at the obscured water under them.

“Can we go out a bit further?”

She’s not doing as much pulling now. She shows him how to use his arms to push himself through water, and stopping and starting, correcting his gestures and posture and breathing as they go, they drift further out before stopping again, hanging suspended above the depths.

Martin smiles at his own unexpected success. He lets out a long, satisfied sound like something’s loosened in him for the first time.

His eyes, completely black, reflect the dour and overcast midday sun.

“Martin, your eyes.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Martin says, but no – he doesn’t say, he barks, and then gasps, and then barks again, stunned, unsettled. He doesn’t look upset. He’s bitten his lip with his too-sharp teeth that now line his gums, and he touches the sharp pain it has caused with incredulity, his still human fingers marking out the sensation of the new.

“What’s happening?” he asks and Sasha grins, and says “I don’t know, Martin, I don’t know” and he’s splashing, a seal without skin, something entirely himself, shivering minutely in the cold shock even as his smile shows off his pointed teeth. He barks again, the sound almost jolted out of him as he figures out how it works, and she trills in delight, and it sets him off grinning and kicking. And for the moment, for this moment, the Lonely is banished entirely landbound, and there is only them treading water, surrounded by the endless sea and trusting they will not drown.

They have to go back to land eventually. The waves around them start to wash choppy, the sky colours grey with the surety of rain. They swim back, and sometimes Sasha lets go, bobbing near his elbow as he swims slowly but steadily on his own.

Martin’s teeth flatten when they crawl onto the shore, panting and burbling out the dregs of their laughter. Tim and Jon have come over to greet them, Jon holding the towels and garments like an overladen clothes tree. Tim chucks Sasha a towel to fold around herself into a makeshift skirt before her tail bisects back into legs.

“Tim, Tim, Tim!” Sasha says excitedly, waving her hands and gesticulating.  “Did you see, did you see?”

“See what…?” Tim starts, but he glances at Martin, whose eyes are slow to fade from black to blue, and Tim might not realise what exactly has happened, but he senses the tenor of the mood because he’s barrelling in, knocking into Martin, wrapping him in a hug and nearly smothering him with his wings. Once released, Jon approaches slowly, putting his burdens down. Martin glances up at him, almost anxious now that the initial buzz is wearing down, but Jon goes softly to his knees, and his smile spreads across his face like paint in water.

The grey of the sky feels far off as they allow themselves the momentarily uncomplicated gift of being happy.

[ontowanderlust]

Koi no yokan., phr. 

"There's a phrase in Japanese: koi no yokan, ever heard of that?"

She loves her friend, she really do. It's just that, of all Minor's impeccable timing, he chose to bother her on the hour where all she ever wanted was some peace and quiet, just away from people…even from her friend.

She could always drive him away, make up ridiculous excuses that even her father would have a hard time deciphering if what she's saying is true or not, but for some reason, she didn't have the heart to turn her friend away... nor lie to him as the boy could always see through her.

Heaving out a sharp sigh, forced out her reply. "Minor, not everyone has the talent to pick up new language as they please." she sounded patronizing but they both knew that's as responsive she can be.  

When she is greeted by silence, she turned her head towards her friend only to find him looking at her with those same owlish eyes, psychoanalyzing her as he said nothing while shaking his head.

"You look like shit,"

"Thanks, that's exactly what I want to hear, Minor."

"No problem!" the bastard really had the gall to beam at her, chuckling as he poked her cheek. "No really, what the hell have you been doing?"

"Studying," she replied dryly. "Can't say the same thing about you." he poked out his tongue in retaliation.

"Come on, do you wanna know what it means or not?" he asked her impatiently earning him a roll of eyes from her.

"Alright, I'll bite. What does it mean?"

For a moment, she could've sworn she saw her friend's eyes twinkle but when she looked closer, the twinkle was gone. Huh.

Minor shifted on his seat, angling his body to turn so he was facing her, giving her his utmost attention. "Koi no yokan doesn't have a direct translation but the closest thing to describe the phrase is... love at second sight."

She blinked, biting back a groan at his dramatics. "What does that even mean? You look at a person, they're not pretty enough, you look at them the second time, they're now lovable?"

There's something oddly comforting about the autumn rain, she mused as she sat by the bus stop, temporarily sheltering her from the downpour. Maybe it's because of how the rain makes the weather even colder-in which she would thrive the most, she'd often tell her dad.

Or maybe how the rain makes the world look alive, the rain being a blessing to the dying season- a gift by the goddess Persephone to her beloved world before she lets the world slumber, before she reunites with her husband that is.

Either way, it's nice, she decided, letting a small hum as she swayed on her makeshift music while her feet swung back and forth, not caring if the scenery before her was deserted.

Or not, from her periphery, she could see a figure emerging from the school building. From afar, she could tell there's annoyance painting his features as he looked up from the darkened skies.

He probably didn't have any umbrella with him, she deduced, feeling a little bit of sympathy for him even though she's in the same situation as him.

Despite the rain fogging up her line of vision, she could see his appearance and couldn't help but think how familiar he looked- was that the reason she kept staring unabashedly? Probably, but she couldn't deny the demand of attention just from his presence alone and if it weren't for the small sound coming somewhere near the trees, she wouldn't be able to stop staring at him.

Before he could even notice her, she ducked down the trees where she found a small cat shying away from the downpour of rain. Out of impulse she reached for her pristine white handkerchief, placing it on top of the cat's head- offering what little she can to give the cat shelter for the time being, even going as far as offering snacks as well.

She didn't know for how long she had been there, crouching as she watched the satisfied cat but the next thing she knew, a jacket was being placed on top of her head.

Surprised, she looked up only to see the boy- the same figure she had been ogling earlier, jacket less. It took her a moment to figure out what just happened before flashing a grateful smile for the boy and his small sacrifice. She opened her mouth to give her thanks only for the rain got heavier, leaving him no choice but to run from it.

As he fled, she came out of her stupor, yelling her gratitude, not knowing if he could even hear it from the echoes of dripping water.

Oh well, there's always next time, right?

He looked at her as if he had grown another head, reaching out to flick her forehead to which she protested at. "Hear me out, okay?"

She narrowed her eyes at her friend but gestured for him to continue.

"It's like this, koi no yokan is when you look at them, you see the possibility of falling in love with them."

She let out a scoff. "What, like soulmates? It sounds like you don't have a choice in the matter."

Watching her friend launch into his ramblings, she couldn't help but smile at the effort her friend is putting through just for her. He may not be much but she knew her friend had sensed her wallowing in self-loathing. And as her friend delved into the discussion of soulmates, she couldn't help but reach over and ruffle his hair to which he protested at, claiming his head is far too precious than hers.

She wanted to hit her head on the piano keys over and over and over. She would gladly done so if it weren't for the fact that the grand piano was owned by the school and she might get killed by their principal for destroying the beautiful instrument.

In her defense, she just really wanted to be able to perfect the piece she had been painstakingly practicing for weeks now however there was this particular note she had been stumbling upon, messing the entire thing.

Closing the piano, she turned her gaze over the window where the gingko tree proudly stood by.

If you could talk, Mr. Gingko Tree, what would you tell me right now? She giggled at the silly thought that crossed her mind, the solitude getting to her as she cracked her knuckles before opening the piano once more. Just as she turned her attention back to keys, she swore she saw something white flashing by the window. A figment of her imagination, perhaps?

As her fingers fly through the keys, she swore the gingko tree were swaying, the leaves falling as the melody surged. She liked to think it was the tree's way of encouraging her and when she managed to play through the note she was having a hard time with, she felt her happiness being carried by the wind.  

Before she knew it, she was singing along the music, silently and softly as if it was a secret not shared beyond the four walls of the music room.

And as the music come to close, she glanced back to the gingko tree, surprise creeping on her face as she saw the boy she had encountered before, currently perched on the lower branch, his back turned against her. His shoulders were rapidly rising and lowering as if climbing a tree took a toll on him.

Is he actually a weakling? He doesn't seem to be the type.

Doesn't matter. As she lifted her fingers from the keys, she gave the boy a silent bow as if the performance was all for him- even if he couldn't see her bowing at him.

Maybe next time, she'd be able to play with him in the audience and maybe when that happens, she'd be able to give him her overdue gratitude.

"Are you still listening?"

Minor's voice broke her out of her reverie, giving him a sheepish smile to which earned her a sigh as she gestured for him to continue his spiel, curiosity getting the best of her, wondering what prompted him to go on about random Japanese phrases out of all things.

"It's like...a feeling when you meet someone that you're gonna fall in love with. Maybe you don't feel anything now and you doubt you'll feel anything for them but it's inevitable that you will."

She felt like a bucket of freezing water was poured over her, her breath hitching as Minor-despite all the ramblings- managed to hit her where it matters.

Despite his appearance, despite what he had shown the world, he really is in tune with people's emotions.

But no matter, it's not like she'd readily tell her friend about how close she had guessed what's bothering her the entire afternoon.

[I don't know you, but I want you, all the more for that...]

Gavin. His name is Gavin, she smiled to herself, her fingers gliding through the keys, flawlessly playing through the notes of the song that has been stuck in her head the past few weeks.

She swore it was just curiosity- her asking for the mysterious boy's name from Minor, that is. She only asked  so she could find him easily to thank him from the little shelter he gave her way back then- his jacket all dry cleaned and ready to be returned.

Easy peasy.

She swore that's all it was. It has been weeks since she asked Minor and yet, here she was, hiding away in the music room. It has been weeks and yet she had never made the move she swore she's gonna do.

[Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice, you'll make it now...]

It was faint and yet she managed to pick up the sound. Musician's ear, she bragged one time to Minor when he complained how easily she heard his quiet muttering. It was faint and quiet and if it weren't for her beloved musician's ear she wouldn't have heard the soft strumming of guitar coming from the adjacent room- the music room that was reserved for classes.

She might be a little obvious with her spying but she couldn't help but pause from playing just so she could focus on the sound.

It was a little clumsy as if the person was playing by the ear, obviously they didn't know the song but for some reason they were playing along to her music, making her heart skip a beat.

It might be a coincidence, her subconscious thought, not letting her hopes get the best of her. Shaking her head, she continued to play slowly as if she's giving the person a little leeway so they could catch up with her, subtly of course. She didn’t want to scare them off, after all.

[You have suffered enough, and warred with yourself, it's time that you won...]

And just like that, they both found their footing quickly as if they were meant to play the song together. For the first time since she set afoot in the music room reserved for her, she found someone she could play with- quelling this small sense of loneliness within her.

And, she dared to think that maybe, just maybe it was the guy who she kept seeing from her periphery. Gavin, she thought. His name is Gavin.

[Falling slowly, sing your melody, I'll sing it loud...]

Scoffing, she shied away from his knowing gleaming eyes. "That sounds so cliche. Like a quote from a book."

"It actually is." he agreed, pulling the aforementioned book in line with her sight, brandishing it as if it's the next best thing. "Nicola Yoon's The Sun is also a Star. The book club just finished reading this book the other day. See, I did cover for you!"

She gave him a pointed look. "I'm oddly proud at what you've become. Look at you, listening in on book club meetings!" she grinned, pinching his cheek while he swatted her offending hand.

"In the wise words of Andrew Taylor, it senses the first tentative tremor of a feeling." his gaze on her softened as she stiffened from his gaze. "It's a surrender, above all, to the magic of potential." he whispered, crossing his arms on the table as he laid his head there, staring at her, all jest completely gone.

"Call me whatever you want but you...you just thought of someone didn't you?"

Rumors are nasty things.

If she's ever in need of reminder why she decided to be by herself instead of surrounding herself with huge groups of friends, it's because of rumors spreading around. It doesn't matter if a person is good or bad, if the student body decided they're interesting enough, be sure to expect rumors coming through.

"Really? Tsk. And people say he's really cool to be with."

"I know right? I heard his father is the Loveland City General! He must've come from affluent family right? So why would he bully students for lunch money?"

"Maybe he's in it just for the sake of it?"

"That's sickening. He's worse than I thought!"

Whispered conversations floated throughout the entire school. She's not dumb not to know who they were talking about but with every conversation, every whispered rumors came with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

He's not...he's not like that, right?

"I know you're kind, but if you're not careful you might get swept up with the bad kids. I'm just saying this since I'm looking out for you. You're a candidate for valedictorian place right?"

"People like him aren't bound by the rules. Sooner or later you might end regretting if you ever sided up with him."

"He's got the looks. Don't get fooled by him."

Please stop, she wanted to plead with them. They don't know him enough, she wanted to argue but then again, so had she. What does she know? How confident was she to defend someone whom she had limited interaction with?

"Just...stay away if you know what's best for you."

Hanging her head low, she clutched the paper near her chest, a small apology dying upon her lips.

Written on the paper was ink clear as day, Saturday 9 am, I will be waiting for you.

She let out a bitter laugh, joining her friend as she buried her head on the space next to Minor's head, hoping that by doing so, she's able to bury the feelings raging deep within her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Can you wait for me for a little bit more?

Hi. Hello! I did say that I am not writing long fics as of now but this idea has been haunting me for some time now. Don’t be deceived, I’ve written a similar piece which is posted in ao3 and what I did with this one is that I’ve tweaked it to suit the fandom more so even if the idea is similar, it’s not. 

Also. High school AU! where MC is actually secretly pining for Gavin cause why not right? That high school timeline is really helpful so thank you, @ginkgomoon​ you’re such a blessing to someone who sucks at keeping track with the timeline like me!

Do check out my other contribution to the MLQC fandom aka MLQC Dictionary and send me some prompts if you guys wanted to. 

[justasparkwritings]

Exile: Five Whole Minutes

Previous: Breaking Branches

Pairing: Timotheé Chalamet x Reader

Genre: Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Timothée’s crossed the line... now what?

Exile Master List

         She left a kiss on his cheek as she ran down the stairs and out to the garage. She knew he’d remember her 10:30 workout, a Saturday staple, but she texted to remind him that today she had brunch with a few friends. She delicately wrote a note, which she set next to a freshly filled glass with water before setting it on the bathroom counter, ibuprofen next to it. She knew he would be dehydrated when he awoke, not only from their intimacy the previous night, but from the copious amounts of alcohol they drank.

         Timothée had begun shipping a few boxes home from vineyards and distilleries that he’d enjoyed while filming, often holes in the wall that had no Yelp review, often small family owned places. He’d send a case to his parents, one to his agent and manager, and one home. She loved that he brought home specialty liquor, particularly because it made their bar a little gauche and allowed her to feign any understanding of the complexities of alcohol. She preferred prosecco, preferably under $15 and easily accessible in her local grocery stores liquor aisle.

        Timothée was a connoisseur, a wannabe sommelier. He had an impeccable palate, which always terrified her when out at restaurants or catching a drink on a Thursday, unsure what to order. She often deferred to him, leaning on his expertise. At first, he thought it was charming, he liked that she wanted him to pick it out. In reality, she was avoiding looking like an idiot in front of a man she liked so much so quickly. Eventually she shared her insecurity, and the next time they were out, he asked if she wanted him to order for her, and since then, he had taught her a lot about alcohol, about making drinks, about which wines paired with what. In her heart, she didn’t care, but she felt more confident every time they went out.

           They loved sharing nights over a new acquisition. But it could also be their downfall. Last night they had tasted three different bottles of vodka, sipping slowly on their drinks while they caught up and made out.

           Timothée had returned on Tuesday from filming. Much like his other projects, he was completely burned out. Yes, set tended to have a lot of downtime, but Timothée was a pro, and he knew that the last two weeks were often the most grueling. Filming all hours, getting shots and different takes and angles on every scene. His body was physically worn down, and his mind had tried to separate himself from the incident two months prior. The minute he got to their house, she was waiting with a scalding bath, the perfect balance of Epsom salts and lavender. She knew him so well and slowly undressed him and herself, languidly moving into their tub. The music was low, the lights were dimmed, and they sat together, skin pruning, reacquainting themselves with the intimacy they had missed.

           She’d made dinner and they ate in comfortable silence. Then, she gave him a melatonin gummy and he passed out at 8PM.

           There was nothing like falling asleep in your own bed, in your own house, with the person you love, after being away for three months. His accommodations abroad were always nice, often over the top for him. He took it upon himself to become friends with the staff, to say hello to every member he saw, and he took his politeness very seriously, particularly in a country where he didn’t speak the language. But his own sheets… waking up to her … his own bathroom with the perfect water pressure … and a closet where his clothes were put away correctly, where laundry was done when he wanted it to be when, where he could cook any time of day. Their house was home, whether it was this estate or the flat in New York.

           He fell asleep quickly and awoke early afternoon to find her gone to work, but his favorite pastries from their local bakery waiting for him. Upon her return she found him doing laundry and making space for his new purchases. He left a surprise for her on the top of the counter in their closet, knowing she’d find it when she came up to change.

           “Babe, what’s this?” She asked, carrying the bag into the laundry room.

           “It’s a gift,” He said, folding the stack of t-shirts.

           “You didn’t have to,”

           “I wanted to,”

           “Tim, this isn’t because you feel-

           “No, it’s because I saw it and I thought you would like it. I like to buy you things while I’m gone,” He said shrugging.

           “I really like it,” She said, holding the bag tight to her chest.

           “I’m glad,” He stopped folding to take her in. She was still in her professional attire, hair pulled back and dangling earrings still in. “You look beautiful.”

           “Thank you, I had an important meeting this afternoon,” She looked up from the bag and caught him staring.

           “That’s a good color on you,” He said, moving towards her to rest his hands on her hips. She’d missed his touch and shivered at the contact.

           “Thank you,” She whispered, eyes darting from his lips to his eyes. He mimicked the movement and leaned in to kiss her. She turned her head. “I need to change.”

           She turned on her heels and walked back to their closet, silently screaming.

           Timothée didn’t protest or pry, he knew why she’d pulled away. Perhaps after dinner they would talk, air things out. She was often hesitant to be intimate when he returned, unsure who he’d been with… the fact that she knew, the fact that she’d spent Friendsgiving at her house and had invited her to movie nights made it worse. Maybe she needed more time.

           Which is how they ended up drunk and having sex in various places in their home all Friday afternoon, evening and night. There was something in the liquor that loosened her up, and something in how he looked and spoke to her that reminded her how much he loves her. It was also because of the alcohol that they had officially ended their open relationship, deciding monogamy was what they both wanted. The incident with Florence had caused them to reevaluate their relationship. Wasn’t that the point of a relationship? To grow and challenge one another, and at the end of the day, make decisions together? It was on that note that they had made love most of Friday, and why he was sleeping until eleven on Saturday.

           Timothée was awoken by his phone ringing and loudly vibrating off the nightstand. Jolted from his dreamless slumber, he quickly reached for it and furrowed his eyebrows at the caller ID.      

“Hello?” He growled softly as he cleared his throat.

           “Hey Timmy, can we meet for coffee? I have something I need to talk to you about,” Florence said.

           “Oh, yeah. Sure. When?”

           “Can you do 30 minutes?”

           “Uh, yeah, yeah, where?”

           “Do you want to just come here?” She asked.

           “Sure, see you in 30 minutes,” He hung up the phone before jumping out of bed. He made the bed quickly, and thankfully tossed back the water and ibuprofen left for him. He scanned the note while he brushed his teeth. He slipped a baseball cap over his curls and slid into his favorite trainers. He hopped into his car, grateful that she was kind enough to put gas in it and drove off.

           It was three hours later when he heard the garage door open. He tried to wipe the snot from his face. He wondered if he washed his face quickly, would it make a difference?

           She came in through the garage, singing. As the door shut behind her, she was stopped by how quiet it was. Their home was never quiet, particularly in LA, where they often played music or podcasts throughout the house. As she paused, she listened, where was he?

           “Tim? Timothée?” She called moving through the kitchen. “Babe, where are you?” It was then that she heard a sniffle from the living room. She turned down the hallway and beelined for the space.

She stopped dead in her tracks as she took in the sight in front of her. His eyes were swollen and puffed. A pile of tissues sat on the coffee table, the box flipped on its side, no tissues left. His hat was long forgotten, the pile of tissues starting to form a dome on top of it. His curls were blown from his hands running through and tugging them. He glances at her through swollen eye lids.

           “Babe what’s wrong?” She asked, rushing to his side. He engulfed her into his arms, tears falling onto the exposed skin of her neck and shoulder.

           “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” He sobbed.

           “Tim, what’s going on?” She questioned, still holding him.

           “I’m so sorry,” He cried.

           “Tim, you’re starting to scare me. What’s wrong?”

           “Florence called, she wanted to have coffee,”

           Her mind began racing. She called today, she knew of their arrangement, had she decided she wanted more from Timothée? Had he slept with her, a day after they had decided to be monogamous? Had she called to say she gave him HIV or Chlamydia? Was she dying?

           “Okay, and?” She whispered, bracing for the hit.

           “She’s, she’s pregnant, and it’s mine, and she’s keeping it,” He tried to breathe, to inhale the air she’s exhaling, but she was rigid.

           “What?” She asked. She could feel her entire body going cold, her eyes filling with tears.

           “Florence… She wanted to get coffee and she told me,” He said. He sounded like a teenager who had had sex for the first time and gotten his girlfriend pregnant at Christian Summer Camp. Like his entire life was over, like his future was ruined. His voice was already pleading, though he didn’t know for what.

           “She’s pregnant?” She whispered.

           “Yes,” He said.

           “And it’s?” She asked.

           “Mine.” His voice cracked. “She wanted me to know and said we could talk about how involved I wanted to be. I have to think about it! I, I’m going to be a -

           “Okay,” She said, arms dropping to her sides. Her tone was hollow. “I’m um, congrats. I’m going to ...”

           She stalled, brain trying to work in overdrive to compensate for the sludge it was peddling through. She decided on her next action before running up the stairs. At first, he thought she was slamming the door to tell him to stay away. But then she came down the stairs, large suitcase packed. She didn’t stop to talk. She didn’t stop to listen to him. She didn’t stop to console him or offer him support. She didn’t stop as he called her name, as he followed her to the garage. She didn’t stop as she watched him fall to the floor in the space her car once was. She didn’t stop as she drove away from the house and the life they shared. He didn’t stop calling after her, even after his knees hit the concrete, the snot and tears mixing on his tongue as he tried to will her back.

Next: My Town

[lemondoddle]

The Incident

ao3 link

It was Thursday afternoon and Jon was hiding in his office, pretending that he wasn’t avoiding Martin. Well. Alright. He was avoiding Martin a little bit, but it’s not like he was avoiding him out of malice or irritation, he just… can’t really look at him right now, which doesn’t exactly sound better. Look, the whole mess had started because Martin had suddenly become a lot more...tactile around Jon. It’s not that Martin wasn’t a touchy-feely person in general- Jon noticed Martin’s friendly touches with Sasha and listened to rave reviews about his hugs from Tim- it just seemed so sudden and unlikely for Martin to extend that to Jon. He assumed that technically being Martin’s superior (along with being a bit of an ass if he’s honest with himself) would have deterred the man from being so friendly, and yet...

  It was little things at first; a hand on the shoulder to get Jon’s attention, seemingly not being aware if their hands brushed while he handed out tea, and on one particularly distracting occasion, a large but feather-light hand placed on Jon’s back as he squeezed past him in the breakroom. Each time left Jon still feeling warmth in the areas Martin had made contact, as if he was still there. Nothing he couldn’t shake off and ignore to fall back into his work though. At least- it was like that until The Incident.

The Incident had occurred just minutes ago.

Jon had been walking through the stacks of the archives looking for a specific statement that might have been related to the one he’d just recorded. He would describe making his way through the shelves as “a bit lost in thought” while others might say “dead to the world”. Either way, his attention was preoccupied and therefore did not notice Martin making his way from the other end. The thing about the stacks is that there is very little space in between shelves even for one person, much less two. Martin did his best to stay out of the way, as he often seemed to do, but inevitably bumped against Jon as he made his way past. Jon jolted back, snapping out of his trance, twisted to face the sudden contact and immediately slammed his back into the shelving unit behind him somewhat violently. Upon impact, some of the file boxes haloing Jon began to wobble and tip forward. Martin took notice and lunged forward with an “Oh!”, splaying his arms out to stabilise the boxes. Once the commotion settled and Jon was aware of his surroundings, he desperately wished he wasn’t as he took in the scene in front of him. Pinned against the shelf with Martin in incredibly close proximity, arms on either side of Jon’s head. None of which was helped by their disparage in height leading to Jon being nearly face-to-chest with the man.

It took several agonizingly long seconds to process what on earth just happened before either of them started to move. “Oh christ- I’m so sorry Jon I didn’t mean to startle you-” Martin sputtered, face flushing an impressive shade of pink as he backed away quickly as he could while still being mindful of the shelves. As he did so his hands rested feather-light on Jon’s shoulders for just a moment before falling away, but Jon felt that phantom heat all the same and had to take yet another moment to compose himself.  

“It’s, uh, it’s fine Martin. I was a bit zoned out there, I had no idea you were there.” Though not quite as red as Martin, Jon’s face still burned as he desperately avoided eye contact. While the shock and mortification dissipated, Jon’s mind lingered on that small touch and took note of another feeling, familiar from his previous moments of contact with Martin that he couldn’t quite place. There was something else there, an underlying emotion lurking after each of the brief touches Jon received, but only after the contact had ceased. Relief didn’t feel quite right. Coldness? No, it was more- wait.

Loss. Longing. A desire for the contact to return and to stay.

Fucking Hell.

At this realization coming on with all the grace and tenderness of a freight train, Jon did his best to spit out an excuse and promptly sped out from the stacks, refusing to look back and silently thankful for always having been a fast walker. He snaked through the bullpen back to his office and caught a glimpse of Tim and Sasha, who were fairly in view of the whole scene and most likely having an oscar-worthy dialogue through eyebrow and facial expressions alone. Jon somewhat succeeded in not slamming the door shut before collapsing into his chair, throwing his glasses off and pressing his hands so hard into his face he’d be concerned of bruising in any other circumstance.

So, there he was. squirrelled away in his office and wishing he could deny himself as easily as he does the statements that surround him. As if taking on the archaic archives mess in a position he was unqualified for wasn’t enough, now he’s got a traitorous heart to boot. Great. It just had to be Martin of all people hadn’t it? Might as well be his luck to fall for the one person he’s been the biggest ass to. What on earth was he going to do now? He was only good at ignoring his feelings when he didn’t look too closely at them, but now that he has unwillingly confronted them he doubted they’ll be easy to push down again. Before Jon could get even farther down his thought spiral though, there was a knock at his door.

“Jon? Are you alright in there?” Martin’s muffled voice could be heard through the door.

 Uh oh. He was in no way recovered enough to be facing anyone at the moment, let alone the source of all these… feelings. Jon froze like a deer in headlights (or as Tim would say, a deer in the headlights of lo- nope nope shut that thought down immediately. focus.). It seems as though Jon’s indecisive silence was enough of an answer for Martin, who called out again.

“Jon? I’m coming in there, okay?” 

Shit. Act natural. Jon scrambled around his desk for a few seconds and managed to shove his glasses back on and grab hold of a statement copy and a pen to pretend like he was doing something as Martin timidly stepped through the door. “Hey, I just wanted to check that you were okay after I knocked into you, you looked pretty spooked back there if I’m being honest.” Jon didn’t even have it in him to pull a face at Martin’s use of the word “spooky” as he fumbled for a sufficient answer.

“H-honestly it’s okay Martin, not the first time I've been startled due to focusing on something, that’s not what I was worried about.” It seemed like a perfectly reasonable response, that is until Jon replayed the last sentence in his head and realized his mistake.

“Really? Then what was?” Martin’s face scrunched up a bit while he recalled their encounter, which only seemed to deepen the furrow in his brow. “Oh, jeez Jon you should have told me that I was being too touchy with you if it made you uncomfortable!” His hands fluttered to reach out in an apology before seemingly catching himself and withdrawing again. Jon wished that implication would have brought relief, however he found panic spiking yet again and a desperate need to correct it as he rose from his chair.

“No no Martin i- it’s fine I don’t mind when you, ah-” he stopped short. This was all getting to be a little too much for his brain right now.

“Really? Because you don’t sound terribly convincing at the moment..”

“Yes, really! Look-” he reached out to Martin to prove his point. “See? Completely fine.”

Martin’s face turned from slightly concerned to wide-eyed and rapidly reddening. “Um...Jon?” he squeaked out.

“Yes? what is it?” Jon finally looked down at where he reached to Martin and briefly wondered what Elias’ strategy was in hiring a head archivist who lacked a brain.Turns out that Jon hadn’t settled for just a hand resting on the arm, oh no, instead he opted for taking Martin’s hand in his. So there they stood in Jon’s office. Holding hands. Jon wondered what the odds of lighting striking him were while standing in a basement.

“O...kay.. Um, do you think you maybe need to sit down again?” Jon would have liked to be irritated at the way Martin was speaking to him as though he was an elderly particularly off their rocker, but he had to admit that the rapid string of events has done quite a number on his composure, so he conceded and moved back to sit down. “Uh, J-Jon?” 

“Hm? Oh-” Realizing that his hand was still gripping Martin’s, Jon finally pulled his hand away and sat down. Martin let him settle down for a moment before grabbing another chair and pulling it to his side to sit by Jon.

“...Right. Now,can I ask what’s actually going on, Jon? Because even before what happened today you've still acted odd when I would touch you, but I had just kinda shrugged it off before, thought it was just you being you, I guess. But seriously, if it makes you uncomfortable I’ll gladly stop! You just need to tell me.”

 “Martin, I can assure you that how I have reacted has not been because of you specifically,” He hoped Martin couldn’t tell how bad of a liar he was, “I apologize for worrying you, but you don’t have to change how you interact with me. I-i don’t mind.”

Martin stared at Jon while the words sunk in before he tentatively reached his hand out and placed it gently (always so gently) on Jon’s arm. “So. is this, okay?” Jon once again stilled and did his best to sound sure but not too eager.

“Yes.”

“A-and...this?” Martin’s other arm reached out to rest on Jon’s other arm as well, mirroring the touch from earlier. “This is okay too?” His eyes were locked onto Jon’s, face in an intense yet unreadable expression. Jon felt his own hands moving of their own accord to lay on Martin’s arms, only trusting himself to nod as they stared into each other’s eyes. Jon’s brain was already frazzled at this point but he could have almost sworn that the space between their faces was shrinking and inching together, closer, closer…

“-Hey Jon if you’re done being weird I finished the follow-up on the goldfish statement if you w- uuuuuhhhhh…” Tim’s voice rang loud and clear as he barged in but quickly stopped short at the sight in front of him. The two flinched away from each other instantly, Jon smacking his elbow on the desk and Martin nearly knocking off the contents resting on top of it.

“CHRIST Tim!! Knock! Please!!” Martin squawked, face turning bright red that, combined with his freckles, made him look like a rather embarrassed strawberry. Jon was caught between glowering at Tim and avoiding eye contact with him at all, still rubbing his sore elbow. Tim’s face on the other hand was transitioning from bewilderment to an unreasonably cheeky grin while he caught on to the situation.

“My, my! So sorry to interrupt the newlyweds, how ever rude of me!” If Tim’s smile got any wider it could have been statement worthy. “Come to think of it, I just remembered some important case notes I want to check over with Sasha, it’s very important she hears it. Well then, I’ll just leave you two to it then, eh?” And with a dramatic wink, Tim left almost as quickly as he entered. Jon and Martin stared at the office door for a few moments waiting for their heart rates to settle when Martin broke the silence.

“I should uh, go out and check on them before they get too loud about it.”

“Right…”

Martin looked back to Jon once more and, after a moment’s hesitation, quickly grabbed Jon by the hand and gave a light squeeze, offering a shy smile before quickly heading out of the office.

 Jon, left staring slack-jawed at the door once more, decided what his next move as Head Archivist would be; dig out his phone and earbuds, pull up an ancient playlist, lay on the floor and maybe think a little too much about hands and warmth.