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radiorenjun · 4 years

Text

Hug. iv

Pairing: Liu Yangyang x Reader

Genre: Angst, Comedy, Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, Bullying, Attempt Suicide and mentions of self degrading, insecurities, anxiety, negative thoughts, physical injuries.

Looking from the perspective of Liu Yangyang, the boy who bullied a girl to the point she had a scar to burden both of their lives. He lived on with a heavy heart until he finally enters college and bumps into a girl with a familiar scar and the same tattoo on her wrist as his.

Chapters: iii, iv, v

Tags: @wonho-ssi @chuu4you @fullsun-haechanie @you-cant-spell-slay-without-lay @carefreebubble @uglyratlmao @harleyblaze

Yangyang walked down the halls of his school after he was finally dismissed from his class of the day. It had been a while since he came across his supposed soulmate, even then, his life didn't change much. The college life everyone was looking forward to didn't seem as interesting as Yangyang thought.

It was just like his life in high school. He saw a few of his old classmates around the halls and majoring in music didn't seem so exciting than his brother made it out to be. Speaking of his brother , he and Ten agreed that they both should start opening up more to each other just to spend more quality time.

"What?!" Ten exclaimed in the loudest voice possible. Yangyang flinched at the loud tone after confessing what's been on his mind lately. "You got into contact with Y/N L/N again?! That's great! What happened?! Did you two made up?" Ten slammed his palms on the table in excitement.

The bright smile stretched across his brothers face made the memory of his sad smile with bruised lip from back when he was still young flashed his mind. Yangyang winced at the memory before avoiding his brother's eyes.

Yangyang gulped down a chunk of egg yolk before continuing his story. "Nothing much happened, we just came across each other in the same building. And well..." Yangyang paused briefly, biting his lip anxiously as he tried not to eye the mark on his wrist.

"Well?" Ten waited for Yangyang to continue. Yangyang silently tugged on the sleeves of his baggy black hoodie down to reveal his soulmate tattoo, laying his wrist in the table. Ten's eyes darted from Yangyang's to his wrist in confusion before it all clicked.

"Holy. Fuck." Ten gasped, realizing what it meant. Yangyang shushed his brother loudly, putting a finger to his lips, making the sleeves of his hoodie fall down to hide the mark once again. "Ten, you idiot! Chenle's right down the hall!" Yangyang scolded.

"You two are soulmates?!" Ten squealed. Yangyang put his head in his palms in embarrassment, "dont remind me." he mumbled. "Thats-wow. I literally have no words, right now. So what was her reaction?" Ten asked eagerly.

"Well I- I didn't exactly tell her that. I don't think she knows. I don't want her to." Yangyang shook his head profusely, putting his hands in his hoodie pockets to clench his fists. "What? Why?" Ten whined. "Why? Why?! Oh I don't know, Ten, how would you feel if your soulmate is suddenly the kid who bullied you mercilessly back when you were 12?!" Yangyang snapped.

"Okay I get that part but this is your soulmate we're talking bout. They're supposed to love you no matter what!" Ten reasoned. "You dont understand!" Yangyang barked. "She's better off having no soulmate than having her old bully as a soulmate." Yangyang calmed down slightly.

"You don't understand, Ten. This isnt like your relationship with your soulmate. You didn't bully her when you were kids." Yangyang hissed harshly. Ten winced at the mention of his soulmate who had previously passed away.

"Dont bring her into this, Liu Yangyang." Ten snapped, glaring daggers into Yangyangs eyes. "She's your soulmate whether you both want it or not. Your her soulmate whether you feel guilty or not. When the time comes you two will eventually be together, that's how the world works. Okay, kid?" he lectured.

Yangyang felt the pain in his chest tighten. Sighing in defeat, he knew he couldn't battle with fate itself so he did nothing but nodded. "Okay." Yangyang sighed, unclenching his fists. Ten huffed grabbing his plate and walking towards the sink.

"Im sorry for bringing her into this." Yangyang muttered, he hated the thought of his family getting hurt.

"I was just-"

"It's fine. Just promise me you'll talk when something's bothering you." Ten said without giving his brother a single glance. "Okay, baby Yangyang?" Ten grinned, turning his head to his brother who gave him a frown. "Baby- Im not your baby. I'm going to college next month." Yangyang deadpanned.

"Still."

Yangyang walked passed the crowded halls filled with students. His eyes focused on the ground to avoid eye contact, it seemed as if his ears had blurred out all the sounds around him. He felt numb. Yangyang decided that he would walk by the park to get some fresh air before picking up Chenle from his tuitions.

Yangyang walked down the park to see the oh-so-familiar siamese cat that he and Ten rescued months ago, which ran away the moment it saw that Ten was carrying a bucket full of water to bathe the dirty thing despite Yangyang's protests.

"Hey, I remember you." Yangyang spoke softly, kneeling down to brush his fingers against the cat's thin yet fluffy fur. The small creature purred in response as Yangyang gently caressed it's head with his thumb, scratching the underside of its chin.

"How are you, buddy?" Yangyang smiled as the cat stared up at him. "What are you doing here you little rascal?" he giggled to himself. He was too indulged in the cat's hypnotising blue eyes to realise that someone had been coming towards him.

The person kneeled down infront of him, the moment their eyes met with Yangyang. The boy jumped back in surprise, "oh, Y/n!" his body tense at the sight of the girl carrying a small package of cat food. Y/n blushed at the sight of Yangyang, waving shyly before kneeling down to squeeze out some food infront of the cat.

Yangyang avoided her gaze when she patted the small cat's head before pulling out a notebook from her saddlebag, quickly writing down on it before showing it to Yangyang. His eyes widened slightly at the gesture, slowly taking the book in his hands to read what's written.

'Is Yumyum yours?' it read.

"Yumyum?" Yangyang asked, furrowing his brows before looking at the cat, not noticing the flushed look that spread all over the girl's face. "Is that what you name him?" he chuckled, caressing his fingers over the small creature's messy fur as he handed over the girl's notebook back to her.

"No, he's not." he replied, a small smile stretching across his face. "My brother and I found him a couple months ago all wounded. When he got better, he just ran away before we could give him a proper bath." Yangyang chuckled at the memory.

Y/n started writing down quickly on her notebook, the sound of lead scratching on the surface of paper filling their ears as they ignored the people around them. Yangyang looked up, getting a moment to look at his soulmate's appearance as she writes.

The sunlight reflecting on her eyes made it seem as if he was seeing stars in the night sky. Her lips formed into a small pout as she wrote, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Her hair framing her face, exposing her features.

He was brought back to his senses when he realised that y/n was staring back at him in concern, her fingers snapping infront of his face. "Sorry, I was daydreaming." he mumbled, attempting to avoid her gaze by looking down at the cat which was finishing it's meal. He could feel heat taking over his face as Y/n brought her notebook to his line of vision, gesturing for him to read it.

'Not to be rude but, what are you doing here?'

Yangyang let out a soft sigh, sitting down on the concrete with his legs crossed after he put down his violin case carefully on the floor along with his bag. "I just wanted to take a walk before I pick up my cousin from school, then this little guy caught my eye" he replied with a smile. Y/n nodded slowly, her mouth forming a silent 'oh'.

"What are you doing here?" Yangyang asked after a pregnant pause, intertwining his fingers together and laying them on his lap as he stared up at her curiously. Y/n bit her lip before writing down in her notebook once again.

'I started coming here every Friday to feed Yumyum. I like to have sometime after a long week of school.'

"Is being an art major that hard?" he asked, feeling his body relax as he continued to have a conversation with her. Everything felt as if it was meant to be. Y/n was surprisingly nice to talk to, even though she was slightly shy to talk to the person she hasn't seen in years.

Yangyang forgot all bout the tension between them. Her hand pushing against his shoulder when he let out a corny joke, his smile widens as she let's out a silent giggle against her palm. It felt so natural talking to her. As if they had been good friends their whole lives. As if he had never hurted her. As if it didn't feel like a punishment nor a curse to be bounded together by a mark.

Yangyang's eyes widened at the thought, his body tensed up immediately. "I-uh" he stuttered, grabbing his violin case and his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. His hand going over to his left sleeve, tugging it over his fingers behind his back as he stood up abruptly.

"I j-just remembered I gotta pick up my cousin." Yangyang stammered nervously, his heart felt heavy again as he avoided y/n's eyes laced with concern. "I-Im sorry. I h-have to go. I-I'll see you around c-campus," he bit his lip, avoiding her gaze before walking away as fast as he could.

He felt his heart ache as memories flooded his head. 'Shit,' he thought. Flashbacks of him pushing and kicking the young girl, his brother's bruised lip and the bullying he endured fluttered through his mind. He grabbed the waterbottle from his backpack, chugging down some water to calm down.

Yangyang sat alone at the table of the cafeteria like always, mindlessly eating his food. His eyes wandered around the room, gaze falling at the innocent girl with the scar on her lips smiling happily in a table surrounded by her friends.

He sighed at the sight of her, leaning his face against his palm. The sunlight shining on her form making her aura brighter as she let out silent laughs and scribble quickly on her notebook. It felt nice to see the young girl get along with so many people.

Yangyang looked down at his food, playing with food once again. He pondered if this is what life would've been for y/n if he hadn't come into the picture. He wondered if he would be sitting in the same table as her if he hadn't kicked that ball towards her.

Yangyang's thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone pull the two chairs infront of him, two boys filling in the empty spaces. "Liu Yangyang right? The German violin kid who's also in Professor Zhou's class?" the boy who looks as if he came from the sports department.

Yangyang raised his brow, nodding hesitantly. "Great, I'm Guanheng. You can call me Hendery, if you like. This is Xuxi." the other boy introduced, his forearm laying on the table as his other hand pointed towards his friend who waved with a toothy smile in response.

"In case you didn't know. We, too, are also in the same class as you." Hendery smiled. Yangyang nodded in confusion, not seeing why they're sitting infront of him, eyes wandering from theirs to his soulmate's form. "Look, we know that the music project could be done solo and all. But-"

"We need your help!" Xuxi slammed his hands on the table, making Yangyang flinch in shock. Yangyang's eyes widened in surprise before sparing a glance at y/n who was still calmly communicating with her friends.

"What do you need my help for?" Yangyang spoke, raising his brow as he meet their nervous eyes and awkward smiles. "We wanted to do a duet for the project. Then our dumb asses realised we can't play instruments for shit." Xuxi explained.

"So you need my help to be your instrumentals?" Yangyang questioned, raising his brow. "Yes," the two boys said in unison, letting out similar cheeky grins. "Why should I help you guys exactly? I don't even know you guys that well." Yangyang went on.

"He's got a point." Xuxi mumbled to Hendery, only to get shoved by the shoulder. "Come on, we could be your friends! No offense, the table seems empty." Hendery smiled innocently. "I'm good," Yangyang mumbled, going back to his food with his eyes occasionally glancing back at the girl a couple tables away from them.

"Come on, we'll do anything!" Lucas nagged. "Yeah, what you want, Liu? Money? Cheat answers to the exams?" Hendery went on. Yangyang couldn't be bothered to even consider a word they were offering, for he was too busy gazing into the radiant beauty that is his soulmate.

"Yangyang? You listening?" Hendery asked once he realised Yangyang wasn't listening to a word he said. Both boys turned their backs, following Yangyang's eyes to the girl in sight. "Ooh," Xuxi grinned, giving Hendery a knowing smirk.

"Wow man. Didn't know you'd be the type to like someone other than your soulmate but I'll do the job for you-" Xuxi stood up from his chair, causing Yangyang's eyes to widen in panic. He stood up abruptly and reached out to grip his shoulder to stop Xuxi from taking a step further.

He watched as the girls began to stand up and leave the cafeteria. Yangyang let out a sigh of relief before glaring at the two boys, "dont you dare talk to her. I'll join your group, just-" he paused with a click of his tongue. "Just don't talk to her." Yangyang growled, pushing Xuxi's shoulder away before picking up his bag and gripped the case of his violin, leaving without another word.

He jogged out of the cafeteria, ignoring the two boy's loud voices of questioning when to meet up to practice for the project. Yangyang slowed down once he felt like he had gone far enough from the cafeteria, taking small breaths as he walked down the hall.

He stopped when he saw a familiar girl sitting all alone in a table with a pencil hanging on the top of her ears, a ruler in her hand and a piece of paper in their other. Brows furrowed in concentration, tongue slightly stuck out.

Yangyang smiled to himself at the sight of how cute she looked, leaning to get a better look of her expression. But he was soon interuppted by a male stepping into his line of vision, he looked around his age. "Who are you?" the male spoke in a rude tone.

Yangyang took a step back in surprise before stuttering out, "I-I just came here t-to talk to y/n." The male raised a brow in suspicion, frowning as he crossed his arms. "What? Are you like, her friend or something?" he asked.

Yangyang didn't know how to respond. Was he her friend? Or was he still that same bully in her eyes? "I-" he was cut off with a click of the male's tongue. "Thought so," the male then rudely shut the door to his face, leaving a baffled and flustered Yangyang standing in the hallway in confusion.

Yangyang ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He couldn't get this note right for tomorrow's solo presentation, he took a long sip of his Americano, clearing his throat before starting to play once again.

The sound of his violin echoing through the small room, once again. Yangyang's tired eyes never wandering away from the music sheet displayed before him. His mind concentrated on the notes to realise that a girl had walked into the music room.

The sound of a chair grinding against the tile caused Yangyang to jump back in shock, looking back in relief to see y/n placing the chair back to its original place. "Y/n?" Yangyang raised his brow in confusion. "What are you doing here? Curfew's in half an hour." Yangyang asked.

The girl smiled, quickly writing in her notebook and shoving it to the distressed boy's face.

'I was done with my assignment for today, I was heading back to the dorms to hear the beautiful melody of a violin. What are you still doing here?'

Yangyang bit his lip slightly, smiling up at her shyly. "Same here, I just kept getting these notes wrong. I need to get them done before tomorrow," Yangyang explained, scratching the back of his neck with one hand and pointing at the music sheet displayed with his bow in the other.

Y/n nodded, looking around the music room to observe the instruments around them. Yangyang put his violin back in its case, trying to ease his heart rate as he felt his heartstrings being tugged with every movement the girl made.

His left wrist ached to touch hers, but occupied it with tidying up his things and putting them into his case and bag. "Um, I'm closing up soon. You wanna walk back to the dorms together?" Yangyang asked hesitantly, swinging his bag over his shoulder as his eyes wandered to his feet to avoid eye contact.

Y/n nodded, walking out of the room, clutching her notebook in her hands as she waited for Yangyang to lock up the room and walk down the halls together. There was an awkward tension in the atmosphere around them as they didn't know what to talk bout.

Yangyang gulped internally, putting down his violin case as he closed the door, turning the key twice and ensuring the door is locked. Yangyang didn't notice y/n's eyes wandering curiously down his tall form, how his hair was tussled and messy from his fingers running through it I'm frustration.

How his lips were plump and sucked in between his teeth nervously. His freshly dyed brown hair. The baggy sweater making him look casually aesthetic. Y/n knew it's wrong to be looking at her friend like this, especially if Yangyang had a soulmate.

Speaking of soul mates, y/n's eyes wandered down to Yangyang's wrist. The long sleeves of his sweater barely covering the black ink mark staining the skin of his left wrist. Her eyes widened as she spotted two balloons, similar to the ones on hers.

When Yangyang moved away, y/n look up at his eyes which were filled with nervousness. He coughed lightly to release the awkward tension, "let's go." he mumbled shyly, turning to walk to the direction of the dorms before he was held back by a small hand wrapped around his forearm.

Yangyang's eyes widened as he looked back, looking down at the fingers gripping his white sweater tightly as to not make him leave. His eyes hesitantly looked at her own. Yangyang felt like he was going to melt at the sight of her eyebrows furrowed cutely. "Y/n?"

The hand that was on his forearm went down the his wrist, right below his tattoo. She lifted it up, tugging down the sleeves which made Yangyang's eyes widen. "Wait, no-" he stuttered out, trying to tug his wrist out of her grip before she could see the mark.

Unfortunately, he didn't realise how hard he was pulling. With the sheer amount of force he applied to pulling back his wrist, he made the girl fall forwards to the floor, eliciting a small broken hoarse squeak from the girl. "Oh my God, Y/n," Yangyang gasped out, realising his mistake.

His heart clenched. Once again,that excruciating feeling in his chest appeared. He couldn't make himself move to help you get up and once you do, you were looking at him with such concerned eyes, his guilt increased tenfold.

"I-Im sorry, I have to go" were the last words Yangyang stuttered out before sprinting out of there. Trying to go somewhere to clear his clouded mind, leaving his soulmate standing there in confusion. Yangyang took a deep breath as he barged into his dorm room, not caring the questions his roommates bombarded him as he quickly went to his room.

'Life couldn't get any shittier'

A/n: hey! This took me so long forgive me for the delay. I'll probably release the next chapter sooner than later so keep an eye out for that. Sorry for those who waited for so long for this lol. I realised its 12:40 AM and I'm on 10% and there's a chance that I have a quiz tomorrow that I have not studied for. Wml

Btw

#hug.#yangyang angst #wayv yangyang #nct yangyang #yangyang x reader #yangyang #nct angst #nct wayv #nct x reader #nctzen #wayv angst #wayv #wayv x reader #wayv scenarios #wayv au

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xsugarysweetsx · 4 years

Note

Bam! Im gonna hit you with more various Honoka hcs.

⁃ So when Noka was a baby, neither her dad or Shirou knew what the hell to do with her wings.

⁃ Her first word was "Siro" which was exposed to be "Shirou"

⁃ She would fly around and their dad would make Shirou chase her down.

⁃ When Shirou and Noka were taken in by their uncle, he just slept and let her do whatever.

⁃ Their uncle, also known as Eraserhead, was a very kind guardian

⁃ He went to each of Shirou's ballet concerts, and did Noka's hair for picture day

⁃ If you looked through his search history it would be filled with "how to do a braid for beginners"

⁃ Aizawa bought Noka various art supplies and bought Shirou new shoes whenever they needed them

⁃ Didnt want them to become heroes

⁃ Cause he didnt want to see the two children he practically raised to be hurt

⁃ But because of their ties to All for One, the government forced both of them to become heros to "prove" that they had severed their bonds with All for One

⁃ Shirou's dream was to become a professional dancer and Noka's was to become a professional artist

⁃ And Aizawa was not happy that the two lights in his life were torn from their dreams

⁃ And so Shirou got accepted into the hero program, in class 1-A

⁃ He chose the hero name Shifter

⁃ Cause he could shift into any organic form

⁃ When he got 3rd place at the sports festival, Noka ran around her uncle's apartment screaming with joy

⁃ Noka is literally his biggest fan

⁃ Noka's first friend was a small purple haired boy name Hitoshi Shinsou

⁃ So naturally, she called him Toshi

⁃ And she refused to call him anything else all throughout middle and high school

⁃ Shinsou and Noka have sleepovers all the time and you can't tell me otherwise

⁃ When people would tell Shinsou that his quirk was villainous, Noka would always speak up cause she knew Shinsou wouldnt contradict them

⁃ Noka is always like that

⁃ Speaking up for others and herself. And her smart mouth tends to get her in trouble

⁃ Shinsou would fuss over Noka's wings. Like if they were dirty or a few feathers were out of place, Shinsou would sit her down and fix her wings.

⁃ "Toshi, your inner mom is showing"

⁃ "Its not my fault you cant take proper care of your wings"

⁃ When she told Shinsou about her acceptance into U.A's med course, he couldn't have been prouder

⁃ Noka is actually the one who encouraged Shinsou to train with her uncle.

⁃ But before that lets talk about Noka's time at U.A. so far

⁃ She was first introduced to class 1-A during the first combat training

⁃ Healed everyone who got very minor injuries

⁃ At the USJ attack, Shigiraki deteriorated part of Noka's hip. But her extremely enhanced natural healing abilities stopped the deterioration

⁃ So she has this big ass scar on the back side of her left hip

⁃ She wanted to absolutely murder Shigiraki for letting the Nomu loose on her uncle

⁃ But she doesnt have any damaging fire power

⁃ So she just tried to heal her uncle's wounds the best she could

⁃ Nearly gets herself killed many times with her smart assery

⁃ And gives everyone around her a heart attack in the process

⁃ During the sports festival, she helped RG heal all the students

⁃ Reprimanded Deku for overusing OfA

⁃ Oh yeah, she learned about AfO and OfA from her time with All for One

⁃ Is kind of like to Deku like Recovery Girl is to All Might

⁃ So fast foward to the internships

⁃ She interns with another oc of mine, Snow

⁃ Who is a healer but with incredible attack powers

⁃ Coincidentally, Noka was patrolling Hosu when the nomus hit

⁃ She recieved Deku's distress signal and ran to the scene

⁃ She didnt attack the hero killer, but ran to help Native and made sure he didnt bleed out

⁃ The hero killer didnt bat a single eye at her, deeming her not a threat

⁃ In the end, she didnt harm Stain so her hero guardian? didnt have to take any blame for her actions

⁃ Noka however did get nearly ripped in half by a nomu, so she had to stay in the hospital with Todo and Deku

⁃ So— Summer training arc

⁃ She just looked at her class and said "fuck this" and flew over the whole forest

⁃ She actually beat the wild wild pussycats back to the camp

⁃ She got to know Kota, telling him how she never wanted to become a hero

⁃ Kota may or may not have developed a kiddie crush on her 😳

⁃ But anyways, when everyone else saw her all nice and refreshed, needless to say they were upset

⁃ Some more than others

⁃ *remembers Bakugou nearly blowing off Noka's face because she cheated*

⁃ Aizawa just smirking at his niece cause shes so much like her mother

⁃ "DAMMIT TAKAHASHI. YOU BETTER GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE YOU CHEATER"

⁃ "They said to use our quirks. Its not my fault your quirk is too grounded"

⁃ "WHAT— YOU WANNA FIGHT—"

⁃ "No I wanna eat, goodbye—"

⁃ Focuses on her attack and the healing capabilities of her quirk

⁃ Let me set the scene

⁃ At the beginning of UA, our Noka could barely heal up a small cut

⁃ But now, she can close up major wound with little to no effort

⁃ P r o g r e s s people

⁃ N e ways

⁃ So when they do the haunted quirk thingy

⁃ Hairi and Noka are paired up, to their delight

⁃ But they aren't able to go into the forest before the attack happens

⁃ Apparently, the league came for Bakugou and Noka

⁃ Cause the "master" wanted his first nomu to return to him

⁃ But all Deku knew was "they are after Kacchan and the master's first Nomu"

⁃ Nobody knew who the first nomu was except for Noka

⁃ See, AfO took and gave Noka various quirks, eventually ending up with her current quirk(s)

⁃ Eventually, Noka is cornered by Dabi

⁃ His fire power vastly out matches hers

⁃ But she puts up one hell of a fight

⁃ And Kurogiri took her before she woke up and fought back even more

⁃ So everyone was panicking when they couldnt find Noka

⁃ Aizawa was panicking them most

⁃ His precious niece was missing, no, taken by the league

⁃ The students had never seen their teacher so frazzled

⁃ The thing that broke Aizawa more was the look on Shirou's face when he told him that his baby sister was missing

⁃ His precious baby sister

⁃ His whole world

⁃ Shirou didnt go out of his room for days

⁃ He was there when they were to save Bakugou and Noka

⁃ All Might fought AfO, and won

⁃ But there was no sign of Noka

⁃ Shirou nearly tackled Bakugou, demanding, no, more like pleading for him to tell him where she was

⁃ Bakugou merely said "She's gone, and I dont know where she went"

⁃ The whole class was in a panic

⁃ Where was Noka? Was she hurt? Was she scared? Was she in danger?

⁃ And the question that hung on everyone's mind the most was

⁃ Is she alive?

⁃ The emptiness of Noka's desk was deafening

⁃ Their smart ass classmate was nowhere to be found

⁃ And they all felt guilty

⁃ But none more than Bakugou

⁃ For he was the last to see her alive so to speak

⁃ And her last words to him were "Forget about me ya big oaf, you hear me? I don't want you sulking, or I'll personally beat your ass."

⁃ Forget about her? How could he do that?

⁃ Noka was the only person who didn't put up with his bullshit

⁃ From day one she put him in his place

⁃ And honestly shes the closest thing to a sister he has

⁃ During the hero license exam, all of class 1-A decided that Noka would be really upset if they all sulked and failed their exams

⁃ But the fact that only Todoroki and Bakugou failed would make her fall into hysterics

⁃ When class 1-A met the big three, Mirio told them that Noka was strong and stubborn to a fault, so they shouldnt worry about things that arent in their control

⁃ To which they asked how he knew her

⁃ Apparently Shirou, Amajiki, and Mirio have all been friends since elementary school

⁃ So Amajiki and Mirio had been there a lot for many crucial parts of Noka's childhood

⁃ When the work studies started, Deku went on patrol with Mirio and Shirou, AKA Lemillion and Shifter

⁃ Shirou couldnt help but feel so much guilt crushing him when Eri jumped out of Deku's arms

⁃ Cause Eri reminded him of his little sister

⁃ Speaking of little sister

⁃ For the last 2 months, Noka had been experimented on by Kai Chisaki

⁃ In the mean time trying to protect Eri and building a loving friendship with the young girl

⁃ But ive alreadly talked about this part

⁃ So skipping to when they save her

⁃ It was a total shock for them

⁃ To see this wingless, pale, frail, bandage wrapped girl

⁃ And even more so when she spoke

⁃ Not having that bite that their Noka had

⁃ But a softer, more broken voice replaced her normally boisterous and confident voice

⁃ In the big battle agains Chisaki, Noka got slammed against a wall

⁃ Which in normal circumstances would be fine, but with her body in such a week state it immediately cracked her ribs and spine

⁃ Ochako helped get her friend to the ambulance as quick as she could

⁃ Shirou saw a fluff of pale pink hair out of the corner of his eye

⁃ He immediately turned to run towards the medical stretcher, but was stopped

⁃ He kicked and screamed something along the lines of "THATS MY BABY SISTER. PLEASE LET ME SEE HER"

⁃ In the most broken voice you would ever hear

⁃ In the hospital, after Sir. Nighteye had passed, Deku, Kirishima, Amajiki, Shirou, Ochako, Tsu and Aizawa were all waiting anxiously for Noka's surgery

⁃ When all of a sudden the door explodes open and the nurses and doctors are shoved out by an invisible force of heat

⁃ Noka was using her ability to set herself aflame and be healed in the ashes

⁃ But no one knew wtf was going on cause she learned the trick at the Hassaiki hideout

⁃ So p a n i k

⁃ But after the doctors confirmed her stablility, they all went back to school

⁃ The whole class bursted into tears when they told them about Noka

⁃ Jirou, Kaminari, Momo and Mina all being the most emotionally impacted

⁃ Bakugou was almost crying witb relief but he disnt show jt

⁃ They weren't allowed to see Noka for a whole month

⁃ Only family were allowed

⁃ She was hard at work recovering and going through therapy and they didnt want to disturb her

⁃ But when they (Kirishima, Deku, Ochako, and Tsu) did visit, they were shocked

⁃ There was this soft spoken, trembling, woman, and this was after a month of intense therapy

⁃ They hadnt event started physcial therapy yet, they wanted to get her tk the point she could be around others without going into a panic mode

⁃ Thus she needs the wheelchair

I have a bunch more random hcs but this is so long anyways. Im so sorry >_<

~Blurb~

It’s fine anon but seriously you gotta start posting!

#anime #fanfiction #anime x reader #bsd fandom #bsd fanfic #bts #kpop #kpop fluff #btsxreader #haikyuu x reader

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kny-secret-santa2019 · 5 years

Text

from: @sacrasm to: @bi-hop merry crimmus! you asked for something about the nightmare before christmas, but ive never seen the full movie so i hope you like my gift to you!

fast times at fujikasane university

Tanjiro found himself standing in the entryway of an eight person dorm at Fujikasane University, arms full of bags. He could see a living room straight ahead, a few couches and a low table the only thing decorating the space. Well, if you could call the mess of boxes ‘decoration’, then he supposed those counted as well. His sister Nezuko skipped into the dorm before he could, eager to explore the new space.

“Hello?” He called out, walking further into the dorm. There was some loud, crashlike noises coming from one of the rooms off to the side, but it didn’t seem like many of Tanjirou’s dormmates had arrived yet. Nezuko looked at him quizzically, but he just shrugged.

All of a sudden, the room farthest from them burst open and two boys tumbled out. One of them was fairly standard as strangers go, but his hair was the color of fake cheese that comes in a can. The other one was wearing what looked like a brown fursuit of some king. They were both yelling at each other and seemingly unaware of Tanjirou’s presence.

“Get off! Get off of me!”

“RAAAAAAAGH!”

“AAAAH SOMEONE HELP oh you, right there, help me!” The blonde noticed him first, and stopped screaming now that there was a third person in the dorm.

The other one continued yelling and flailing around, so Tanjirou headbutted him.

“Ow! Hey, that’s fucking rude!” The other person grumbled, rubbing where Tanjirou assumed their head was.

“Thanks for getting that madman off of me! He suddenly jumped on me and started yelling, I don’t know why! Please protect me from that feral thing.”

The blonde pointed a trembling finger at the furry lump that was still growling, then shrieked in terror as it lunged at both boys. “RAAAAAAH!”

Both of the boys ducked behind the couch and let the feral thing go flying. It landed with a heavy thump, and didn’t move for a few seconds. When it did, a blanket fell to the floor and revealed another guy, except he was fully clad in what looked like a boar onesie. Tanjirou tilted his head quizzically, while the other boy stopped screaming for the first time since they met.

“HEY-”

“IT CAN SPEAK!” And then the dorm was full of screaming again. If the RA hadn’t heard by now, Tanjirou was willing to bet they had.

“IT-”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

“Stop yelling!” Tanjirou shouted, waving his arms wildly. The guy in the onesie stopped, but the blonde continued until Tanjirou bodily picked him up and set him down on the couch. “My name is Tanjirou Kamado, this is my sister Nezuko, and we’ll be your roommates for the year!”

He patiently waited for their own introductions, but all he got was a grunt of “Inosuke Hashibira,” and a very timid “I’m Zenitsu Agatsuma…”

“Nice to meet you! Now, why were you guys yelling?”

Zenitsu peered over the back of the couch to look at Inosuke, who was still glowering a few feet away. Nezuko drifted over to him and pet the soft looking fur of his onesie, and Inosuke just. Stopped glowering.

“I came in and was minding my own business, and that guy over there was just standing in one of the bedrooms! He was staring at a wall like a complete weirdo.”

“Hah?? Who’s the weirdo?? You were the one who screamed first!” Inosuke shouted.

The two boys started bickering again before Tanjirou intervened. This time he made sure to stay in between them, and kept them from yelling too loudly.

Apparently Inosuke had gotten to the dorm first and picked a room for himself. He also apparently slept sitting upright in a onesie, which scared Zenitsu. That’s when he started screaming, then Inosuke roared back, then Tanjirou walked in and the rest of the chaos ensued.

Once they were done talking, Tanjirou found that he liked his new roommates. Zenitsu seemed very kind and understanding if a bit of a ‘fraidy cat, and Inosuke was very blunt and wasn’t afraid to voice his opinions. He also learned that though they were in an eight person dorm, there were only going to be five of them. Their fifth roommate had yet to appear, but Tanjirou was hoping that he’d get along with them as well.

The rest of the afternoon was spent unpacking and organizing his dorm with Nezuko. Tanjirou hung up all his clothes in the closet, made his bed, decorated his half of the room, and helped his sister unpack in the time it took for Zenitsu and Inosuke to finishing fighting over which dorm who would be staying in. Despite there being three rooms to choose from, they decided to share one. Tanjirou could hear something about Inosuke being there first but Zenitsu liked the view and in the end neither boy was willing to leave.

The fifth roommate made a brief appearance, introduced himself as Kyogai as quickly as Tanjirou would let him, and proceed to move in six tsuzumis, one (1) ton of loose papers, and what looked like an entire library. He took the room next to Tanjirou and Nezuko’s, and didn’t come out for the rest of the night. More power to him, Tanjirou supposed.

On the first day of actual school, Tanjirou left his dorm with Zenitsu and Inosuke to go to Inter. Karate. By some stroke of luck, they had all signed up for the same 8:30 karate class. They’d even ended up in the same workout group, along with two upperclassmen. Tanjirou knew one of them; his name was Giyuu and he was a longtime friend of the Kamado family. They’d been neighbors from middle school onwards, and part of the reason why Tanjirou wanted to apply to Fujikasane. The other student was a short girl with sections of her hair dyed a vibrant purple. She looked too frail to be in a martial arts class, much less an intermediate one.

“Hey, aren’t you too weak for this class?” Inosuke bluntly asked the girl, making Tanjirou and Zenitsu drop their jaws in shock.

“Inosuke, you shouldn’t say things like that! It’s rude!” Zenitsu exclaimed.

The girl laughed in response and took a step forward. In the blink of an eye, Inosuke was laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Giyuu snorted and gestured at him. “Is this the roommate you were texting me about?”

Tanjirou vigorously nodded. “How’d you know, Tomioka-san?”

“He’s still wearing the onesie. And don’t call me that.”

The girl who’d brutally judo flipped Inosuke howled with laughter. “Tomioka-san! Ahaha, that’s adorable. You know this kid? He’s a real hoot.”

“Do me a favor Kochou, and just stop talking. Forever.”

“Awww, that’s cruel of you Tomioka-san! Young man, don’t you think he should be nicer to a poor defenseless girl?”

“You just threw Inosuke, I don’t think that’s very defenseless of you-”

Kochou continued to laugh. Giyuu closed his eyes and let out a long suffering sigh. When Inosuke finished getting to his feet and glared at her, she only laughed harder, especially when the younger boy rushed at her. It resulted in the expected outcome: Inosuke fell to the floor in a graceless heap again when Kochou sidestepped and tripped him.

“Man, this kid is a real hoot. Do you want to try again, Inosuke-san?”

He grunted in response and tugged the boar shaped hood of his onesie over his blue-black hair.

The rest of the class went by in a similar manner; though Tanjirou and his roommates were proficient in martial arts, the two older students consistently beat them. Tanjirou eventually got tired of being thrown around by Kochou and started practicing with Giyuu, but the other two boys were determined to best her at least once. By the time class ended, neither Zenitsu nor Inosuke had succeeded. Kochou had given them several opportunities, but the two of them got in each others way or bickered about who got in whose way.

“You two numbskulls are kind of entertaining, I’ll give you that.” She laughed.

“Did she just insult us?” Zenitsu asked Inosuke.

The other boy gave him a hard look. “Do you think I know what an insult is?”

“Ah, oh man, you’re going to make me cry. Tell you what, I’ll give you two a consolation prize: a frat bid.”

“A fraternity?” Zenitsu’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Like the ones where students drink?”

Giyuu sighed for the seventh time.

—

“And that’s how we ended up here, in the middle of the woods,” Tanjirou finished. “Otherwise, my roommates and I probably wouldn’t have shown up to Rush Week!”

Kanao nodded in understanding and signed, ‘My older sister is a Pillar, so I’m going to pledge with her frat.’ To Zenitsu who relayed it back to Tanjirou.

She was a sophomore that he met in the library a week back, and now they were study buddies. He’d wanted a tutor for Biology and met Kanao, and became quick friends due to his friendly nature. She was also mute like Nezuko, and he made sure to introduce them.

“Oh, that’s so cool! My friend is a Pillar, too!” Tanjirou replied, thinking of Giyuu.

“The fuck’s a Pillar?” Inosuke grumbled. “I showed up for free beer, and because you ‘n Blondie stole my room key.”

‘Pillars are the officers for Delta Sigma Chi.’

Inosuke grunted in understanding, but Tanjirou was cut off by the music that began to come from the loudspeakers on the makeshift stage a hundred feet away. An older student with bright pink hair and unique striped tattoos was hanging from the lighting which struck him as dangerous, but the guy seemed to be just fine. The pylons were shaking so much that he should’ve fallen off, but his legs were firmly hooked around the supports.

“Welcome to Rush Week, plebs!” He shouted into a mic. Some of the girls in the crowd screamed his name, but their voices got lost in the blasting music coming from the sound system.

With his shout, the giant party kicked off and all the students went wild. A lot of the freshmen flocked to the drinks table and the dance floor, while another substantial chunk wandered towards the frat court.

“Hey, I think it’s this way!” Zenitsu shouted, barely audible over the bass boosted music blaring from the speakers. “There’s the sign for Delta Sigma Chi!”

Tanjirou nodded and linked his arms with Nezuko, Inosuke, and Kanao to keep them from getting lost in the sea of partygoers as they followed Zenitsu. His blonde hair made a surprisingly good beacon amongst the crowd of dark haired students, even more so with the neon lights.

“Who’s that group of glitter munching idiots?” Inosuke asked, looking in the direction of a platform that had been erected a little ways away. There were twelve individuals standing on top of it, looking down on the crowd. There was a banner hung up behind them, but he couldn’t make out the words on it from that far away.

“I think that’s Alpha Kappa Mu,” Tanjirou replied. He’d heard about them from some of the older students; not everyone was cut out for AKM. They were one of the only fraternities who still engaged in hazing its pledges, and were known for sometimes being the nastiest students on campus. Tanjirou wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, because he was taught not to judge based on appearances, but there was something about its officers that struck him as a little off. Alpha Kappa Mu was also Delta Sigma Chi’s long standing rival, so he made sure to steer clear.

Some girl, probably an officer, had tried to recruit Nezuko as an AKM pledge earlier in the week, but she’d refused. The officer hadn’t been happy and continued her attempts to coerce Nezuko, but Giyuu spotted her across the quad and hurried over to intervene. When he made it clear that Nezuko wasn’t interested, she reluctantly slunk off and Giyuu walked Nezuko back to the dorms in case the girl was waiting to try again.

They continued to make their way through the crowd until Kanao tugged the three of them towards a slightly quieter part of the clearing. There was a small gathering of students already there, but based on the sign that read ΔΣΧ in big, sloppy painted characters.

“HEY HEY HEY!” Someone shouted, making poor Zenitsu shriek in fear and Inosuke roar in response. “Well that’s not very cash money of you,” the person calmly said to Zenitsu, tsk’ing at his reaction.

“Uzui, don’t scare the fresh meat.” Someone called, most likely one of the frat officers.

“I’m not scaring them, I’m just looking.” Uzui huffed. “They seem kinda small this year, don’cha think?”

“Hey! Just cuz I’m short doesn’t mean I can’t bite your fucking face off!” Inosuke shouted, making the Pillars blink in surprise. “I’ll fuck your mom!”

“Inosuke, calm down-” Tanjirou said, trying to placate his friend. Inosuke just snarled and glared at Uzui.

“Shinobu was the one who gave him a bid.” Giyuu deadpanned, making his way through the crowd to Tanjirou and his friends. Kochou followed not long after, waving her hands in the air. Kanao beamed when she saw her, though Tanjirou didn’t know why.

“I thought he was interesting! It would’ve been criminal to pass up on kids like them! Don’t you think so too, Rengoku-san?” “Haha, of course! I welcome anyone who’s proven themselves to a Pillar! I’m sure Oyakata-sama would too!”

A fourth upperclassman had wandered over, well-muscled arms crossed over his chest. Tanjirou recognized him as one of Giyuu’s college friends, though he didn’t know his name. Whoever he was, Tanjirou had to admit that he was cute. He was obviously attractive, but his himbo tendencies made him 10x cuter.

Kanao waved, obviously familiar with everyone. ‘This is the Flame Pillar, Rengoku Kyoujurou, the Sound Pillar Uzui Tengen, the Water Pillar Tomioka Giyuu, and my sister! She’s Kochou Shinobu, the Insect Pillar.’

“She’s your SISTER?!” Zenitsu shouted. “A nice girl like you has an ogre like that for a sister?!”

“Watch who you call an ogre,” Shinobu said, shooting Zenitsu an ominous smile.

“Now it’s my turn to remind you not to scare the fresh meat.” Uzui shot back, smirking down at the other Pillar.

Shinobu flipped her bangs and huffed, paying no mind to his words. She opened her mouth to say something else, when a hush fell over their section of the woods. It didn’t take long for Tanjirou and his friends to notice that a new person had arrived, and that they must’ve been the president of ΔΣΧ based on the way all the Pillars silently deferred to them. As they drew closer, Tanjirou could see that it was a man not much older than the rest of them. The strangest thing about him was that his eyes were kind of glassy, almost like they couldn’t focus. He thought that the man was blind, but he looked at each of them with such ease that he didn’t think a sightless person could possess.

“Hello, Rengoku, Uzui, Giyuu, and Shinobu. And hello to you as well, though I don’t know your names.”

“I’m Tanjirou, and this is my sister Nezuko!” Tanjirou brightly said, vigorously shaking the man’s hand.

Zenitsu and Inosuke introduced themselves afterwards, but Inosuke refused to shake his hand. The man didn’t seem fazed, and began talking to the Pillars. Giyuu introduced him as Oyakata-sama, the president of the fraternity as Tanjirou originally thought. His real name was Ubuyashiki Kagaya, but it was apparently tradition to call the president Oyakata. Something about a holdover from the Taisho Era, but history was never Tanjirou’s best subject. And he was, in fact, blind, but he Ubuyashiki was so well adjusted that aside from the IV cane he held, no one could tell that he couldn’t see. “Well, I think it would only be proper to give them all bids,” Ubuyashiki said, snapping Tanjirou back into the conversation. “You’ll get a flyer about initiation in a week or so, so make sure you keep an eye out for it.”

They all thanked the fraternity president, and then he was moving on to greet another group of pledge hopefuls. Having gotten their bids, Zenitsu and Inosuke headed back to the dorm while Tanjirou, Nezuko, and Kanao stayed behind to chat with their Pillar friends.

—

Stage 1: report to the delta sigma chi frat house to begin the initiation process

—

Like Ubuyashiki said, Inosuke found a flyer slipped under their door regarding initiation. He almost threw it away thinking it was trash, but Zenitsu stopped him before he got rid of it. They also found another flyer, but it had ‘Alpha Kappa Mu’ written across the header. Tanjirou guessed that Kyogai must’ve pledged with the rival frat, since he, Nezuko, Zenitsu, and Inosuke had all gotten bids from Delta Sigma Chi.

It said to find the Delta Sigma Chi house on Frat Row to find out about the first part of initiation, so Tanjirou and his three roommates (plus Kanao) made their way over and found themselves on the porch waiting for someone to answer the door. Kanao had just knocked again when the door swung open, revealing a bright eyed Shinobu.

Instead of a standard ‘hello’, Shinobu looked at each of them and immediately asked, “You kids got any comfy blankets?”

“Uh…” Was Zenitsu’s answer.

“Why?” Tanjirou asked, ever curious.

“Eh, you’ll find out. I hope you do, at any rate. GIYUU!” She shouted into the house. “YOUR PLEDGELINGS ARE HERE!”

The sound of several doors slamming and slippers on stairs could be heard, before one (1) tired Giyuu Tomioka appeared wrapped in a weird half magenta half yellow green geometric patterned blanket slash cape. It looked a bit like a fashionable Snuggie, but also nothing like a Snuggie because there was no front. His hair was in its trademark ponytail, but some of it was falling out and into his eyes. He tucked most of the flyaways behind his ear and tried to redo his hair as he came down the stairs, but it didn’t fix much.

“Stop fucking yelling.” The Water Pillar grumbled.

“YEAH, KOCHOU!” Uzui bellowed from somewhere inside the frat house.

“SHUT. UP.” Someone else screamed, immediately followed by the slamming of another door.

“Ugh.” Giyuu scrubbed a hand over his face and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What’s this about pledges?”

Shinobu pointed at the three boys plus Nezuko and Kanao in the doorway and Giyuu sighed. She cackled and left him with the five freshmen, who filed into the house and into one of the smaller living rooms. They settled on one couch, squishing together to fit four on a loveseat for two. Giyuu took an armchair and pointedly looked at the four other available couches, but none of them moved.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why are you here? Tanjirou comes every other day because we’re friends, and so is Nezuko, but why are the rest of you here?”

Nezuko handed him a slip of paper that read ‘report to the delta sigma chi frat house to begin the initiation process.’

“Oh. Stage 1 is just making yourself one of these,” he gestured to his weird blanket, “and wearing it for the rest of the semester. A lot of members wear it afterwards, since it’s just a blanket. Sort of.”

“IT’S CALLED A ‘BLAPE’, TOMIOKA! GET WITH THE PROGRAM!” It sounded like Uzui, but someone else yelled at him to shut up (again) so Tanjirou couldn’t tell.

“That’s it?? Just wear one of those? Easy!” Inosuke asked.

“For the semester,” Tanjirou reminded him.

“Yeah. It’s a little weird, but bear with it.” Giyuu said, shifting his blanket cape so it wouldn’t fall off. “It’s been one of the few traditions Delta Sigma Chi’s held onto since its founding.”

“Inosuke can barely keep his shirt on, I don’t think he’ll be able to -” Zenitsu paused as he turned to see Nezuko draping a blanket that’d been on the couch around her and her brother. “Seriously?? Am I the only one against this?”

“It’s really not that bad, Zenitsu…” Tanjirou admitted. “This might make my eight A.M. lecture a little more bearable, actually!”

“Now that’s the spirit!” Rengoku boomed, appearing at the top of the stairs in his own gaudy fire patterned blanket cape. “I knew we had some good pledges this year!”

He came downstairs and congratulated them for making it to the frat house before any of the other pledges had. The Flame Pillar even showed them some sewing patterns Kanroji and Himejima had put together as the standard blanket cape for Delta Sigma Chi members. Most of the other pledges would be left to figure out how to make their own by themselves, but out of courtesy (plus Tanjirou and Kanao’s connection to the frat), he decided to lend a hand.

Another one of the Pillars wandered downstairs while the five of them were there, someone that Tanjirou didn’t recognize.

“If you guys come back at five, we’re doing a movie night for all the pledges. We’re going to vote, but honestly? We’re just going to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas.” He said, tossing said blu-ray to them.

They ended up staying and texting Inosuke and Zenitsu to come back later in the evening and had a fun movie night, meeting the other pledges and eating pizza while Jack Skellington waltzed around on the TV.

–

Stage 2: all pledges have one month to play as many funny temporary and NON-LETHAL pranks on any and all members of alpha kappa mu regardless of their membership status

—

“What do you mean you ordered a pizza for AKM’s president?!” Zenitsu furiously whispered.

They were sitting in the lecture hall listening to Professor Urokodaki give a presentation about the Sengoku Period. There were a few members of Alpha Kappa Mu scattered around them, but the president himself was sitting all the way in the back. Tanjirou had seen Kibutsuji Muzan terrorizing other freshmen and lording his seniority over them. He figured that he’d focus most of his pranks on Kibutsuji for that, and also because Kyogai came back to the dorm once with red eyes and bruises.

“I paid Murata-kun who works at the Jake’s down the street and told him to bring it here.” Tanjirou shrugged. “Who doesn’t like pizza?”

“Are you crazy?”

“Well, Professor Urokodaki is a family friend and I asked him beforehand-”

“Tanjirou, you paid Murata-kun to give Kibutsuji a pizza in the middle of a lecture and he’s the president of Alpha Kappa Mu who is our Rival Fraternity??! The guy who is infamous for being evil???”

The student sitting in front of them turned around with a quiet laugh. “Oyakata-sama said pledges have to prank AKM again this year, didn’t he?”

“Uh, yeah. You are?” Zenitsu suspiciously asked.

“Tokitou. I’m one of the Pillars.” The boy said, giving them a distant smile. “I just got back from my study abroad in Kyoto so I haven’t heard much about what’s going on.”

“Well, if you wait about fifteen minutes, you’ll see, or whatever.” Zenitsu sighed. “I can’t believe you’re seriously trying to one up Kibutsuji, of all people! He’s terrifying!”

‘Not everyone is as scared of AKM as you are, Zenitsu.’

“You’re supposed to take my side, Kanao!!”

Tokitou laughed at the pledges and went back to taking notes, when someone hesitantly knocked on the door and stepped into the hall, effectively interrupting Urokodaki’s lecture.

“I, uh, have one medium vegetarian pizza for Kibutsuji?” Murata nervously said, shaking just a little bit.

All the heads in the lecture hall turned to face the back where he sat, red eyes almost glowing with rage underneath the shadow of his fedora. The professor disinterestedly looked at Murata to his student, with the air of someone who’d seen it a million times.

“Well, Kibutsuji? Are you going to come and get the pizza you so carelessly ordered?”

Through clenched teeth, he said, “I didn’t order a pizza.”

Urokodaki rolled his eyes. “Well the delivery man said your name, didn’t he? I don’t know how he’d benefit from lying in this situation.”

“Just pay for the pizza,” one of Kibutsuji’s friends was saying. “You can deal with the prof later.”

There was some mild grumbling from the man but he paid Murata for the food and told him to leave it by the door. For the rest of the hour long lecture, Tanjirou, Zenitsu, and Kanao could feel someone’s venomous gaze on the backs of their necks. Tokitou, on the other hand, leaned back in his seat again and made a face in Kibutsuji’s direction. A few students in between the two of them gasped, but the Pillar remained unfazed.

When Zenitsu’s jaw dropped, Tokitou said “Michikatsu, the senior next to him, is my second cousin. Or something.” By way of explanation. Not that it explained much.

—

Stage 3: hang out with a Pillar or Delta Sigma Chi member of choice for one week

not to do menial labor, that’s hazing

it’s for fun and a chance to get to know your fellow frat members

—

The frat member Tanjirou decided on, obviously, was Giyuu. He was going to go meet up with Rengoku as well, just to call things even, but he and the Water Pillar went to one of the on-campus cafes for drinks one Friday. That’s how Tanjirou wound up standing at the order counter with Giyuu’s recyclable cup with the words ‘ur cute hmu?’ staring back up at him.

Tanjirou blinked, hard. Then he pivoted on his heel and marched the innocuous cup back to Giyuu.

“Um, your coffee’s ready?”

He stiffly placed the cup in front of Giyuu who briefly glanced at the message written on the coffee cup. His face remained devoid of emotion while he read the short note, and without a single reaction he took a sip of his still steaming drink. Tanjirou looked back at the (cute) barista who made a questioning gesture. When Giyuu still hadn’t reacted, he apologetically shrugged and mouthed ‘sorry’ before being yanked down into a chair.

“People are staring.” Giyuu flatly said.

“But - the nice student who made your drink thinks you’re attractive?” Tanjirou asked.

“Ignore him.”

The girl at the table over from theirs giggled and leaned towards Giyuu. “Tomioka, isn’t it rude to do that?” Tanjirou recognized her as Mitsuri, one of the Pillars. He had yet to personally meet her, but knew she was a friend of Giyuu’s and part of Delta Sigma Chi. “You should at least say hello!”

“Yeah,” Tanjirou agreed. “You should at least turn him down if you’re not interested, Giyuu-san.”

The Water Pillar tiredly sighed. Mitsuri grinned like a cat that got the cream, but Tanjirou had no idea why. Then Giyuu got up, walked over to where the barista was still waiting at the order counter, leaned over it, and kissed him with little fanfare. Tanjirou’s jaw dropped in shock and Mitsuri laughed at him. The barista fistpumped and Giyuu gave Tanjirou a look that said ‘are you satisfied?’. On the way back to the table, they both stayed silent. The Love Pillar was still laughing by herself, although there was someone sitting with her now. He’d appeared out of nowhere, and Tanjirou almost fell out of his chair.

“Obanai,” Giyuu said by way of greeting.

“Asshole,” the man said back. “I’m still mad at you about last month.”

Obanai and Giyuu started passively arguing about something petty one of them had done in response to something the other did while Tanjirou watched. He wasn’t entirely sure who was right and who was wrong, but he was leaning towards Giyuu mostly out of personal bias. Kanroji tried to step in and resolve the argument, but Obanai just kept talking.

“And you,” he said, pointing a finger at Tanjirou. “I can’t believe that you made Oyakata-sama give your sister a bid. Delta Sigma Chi is about undeclared majors and acceptance, and she’s declared a major!”

“Obanai, leave it alone,” Kanroji suggested. “Anyone is welcome in the frat, major or no. Plus, Oyakata-sama already said she could pledge. If you keep eating sour lemons, then that’s the only thing you’ll be able to taste.”

Tanjirou tilted his head in confusion. “But Obanai-san is drinking hot chocolate?”

“It’s a saying, Tanjirou.” Giyuu said. “As for what he’s saying, he’s just annoyed Oyakata-sama let in someone with a major. He’s usually stricter about it.” “Oh, I see.” He hummed.

Giyuu took another sip of his drink and Tanjirou found himself not only talking to his friend, but the other two Pillars as well. Half an hour passed like that, until a newcomer approached their tables and sat themselves square on Giyuu’s lap. It took Tanjirou a minute to realize it was the barista from earlier, mostly because he too was wearing one of Delta Sigma Chi’s blanket capes. It was the same yellow-green geometric pattern as Giyuu’s, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Giyuu had used the leftover fabric from his or if he had used it to imitate Giyuu.

“Isn’t that-”

“This is my boyfriend. He works in the cafe and likes to flirt with me, even though we’re already dating.” He explained.

“I’m Sabito,” the barista said, giving Tanjirou a smile reminiscent of a fox.

Immediately, the gears clicked. “You’re Sabito! Oh, Giyuu’s told me about you! He talks about you like you’re the sun and didn’t you go to my high school?”

“Yeah, I think so. Natagumo High?” Tanjirou nodded.

“Wow, that’s so cool! I’m looking forward to being in ΔΣΧ with you!”

Sabito gave him another one of his fox’s smiles and Giyuu let out yet another long suffering sigh.

—

Step 4: congrats, you’re now a full member of ΔΣΧ! make sure to have fun as part of delta sigma chi at fujikasane university!

and remember to antagonize alpha kappa mu as often as you humanly can!

dont forget to set your heart ablaze 🔥🔥🔥!!!

12 notes · View notes

drawingsanddrabbles · 5 years

Text

Scandals Stick Together

ao3

Prompt: No Capes AU - First Kiss

Woo! I did it! All seven days, hell yeah!

~~~

Tim thinks that if the room was any more glittery he'd probably be having a seizure. He can't help but wonder if the many chandeliers in the room are real diamond. Bruce only uses crystal in his.

Bruce's hand closes on Tim's shoulder and Tim's eyes flutter closed for a moment. He wishes Bruce's hand was his dad's. But his dad is in a coma, he reminds himself. It's not his fault that he can't be here to work Tim through his first professional gala.

"Hey there, Timmy." Bruce says with a smile just as glittery as the rest of the room. "It's good to see you at one of these!"

"Bruce, good to see you too."

"Have you thought any further about my offer?"

"To buy Drake Industries?" Or the other offer? Tim wonders. The one where he offered Tim to move in with him and Alfred. To work at Wayne Enterprises. To become Tim's legal guardian while his father is still in a coma.

Social workers are terrified to touch Tim's case, and as long as Tim keeps paying them to push it to the bottom of the pile they never will. But it's getting expensive. He can't push it off forever, and having Bruce Wayne as his legal guardian wouldn't be so bad. His other strays seemed to have done well--well, Dick anyway.

Tim is losing hold on Drake Industries. Every since the plane crash stock has been going down. It's going to crash soon. News of the buyout could, frankly, make it go either way at this point. If Tim agrees he'll have nothing to lose.

But it's the last thing he has of his parents. Dad.... Dad's probably never going to wake up.

"I told you, I have no interest in selling. I am going to bring Drake Industries out of the ground, you know I can." It's not totally a lie. Bruce does know how competent Tim is. He knows that Tim, if he dropped out of high school, got emancipated, and managed to convince his company that a fifteen year old CEO is a good idea, could do it. If he really tried.

But Tim's tired. He's so tired.

Bruce knows that Lois Lane is watching the two of them too closely for Tim's comfort. One word from her and his stock price plummets, and Tim can lose everything.

Bruce's eyes slide to Clark Kent who sits next to her. He's only focused on Luthor--as always--so even if he did catch something they're saying he wouldn't care, or he'd be nice enough about it that he might actually tick DI up a few points in the stock market.

Bruce lets out a big belly laugh (one that Tim can tell is fake) and slaps Tim on the shoulder. Not hard enough to hurt.

"Well, you know, if you ever need anything, Kid. Come straight to me." He says with an easy smile and he ruffles Tim's (meticulously gelled) hair. But Tim takes that for exactly what he knows Bruce means. They'll talk about this later. Bruce walks backwards away from him with a wave. "Let's do lunch!"

"Yeah," Tim mumbles, a little pink from the way people are now staring at him, "let's."

Bruce goes off to flirt with Lois and (probably, from the way Mr. Kansas City has turned bright red) Clark, which leaves Tim some reprieve from endless questions about his future for the company. Tim's hair is now sticking up in a non-artful way so he narrowly dodges old white rich folks and their perfectly made up children as he weaves his way to the bathroom.

He's not the only one fixing his hair it seems, as two other men are as well. One is a boy a little older than him and (presumably) his father. Both of whom are trying to hide that they are watching Tim out of the corners of their eyes.

As Tim turns his back on them to leave (although he can clearly see them in the reflection on the shiny eco-friendly heat dryer) the father leans over to his son and whispers: "That's Tim Drake. He's acting chair of his company and he's going to lose it to that Wayne idiot in a few weeks. Read it in Forbes."

Tim ignores the way his cheeks turn red and rushes out of there as fast as he can.

Tim hates the way people look at him now. Ives feels sorry for him, but that's because Ives actually cares about him. The fake way these people do, makes him want to snatch a champagne flute from one of the servers and down it. But really the last thing he needs is to get drunk or tipsy, to say the wrong word in a room filled with piranhas who have diamond teeth and lose everything before he ever gets a chance to earn it back.

Mrs. Powers corners him (old Gotham money, he tells himself) and starts with condolences (as they always do) before moving onto the obligatory "How's your father doing?" ("Well! Doctors just want him to stay a little more for observation but he'll be up and about in no time!" He says,) then to "do you need anything, darling?" ("Fuck you too Mrs. Powers," he doesn't say).

Tim doesn't know when exactly he gets surrounded by old rich women, but suddenly they're engulfing him. None of them squeeze his cheeks like they used to, or pat his head, or try to straighten his tie (he hopes that one's because it's still straight but he knows that's probably not the case). Instead they keep distance from him. He's no longer a child of a rival but the rival himself (the floundering rival, perhaps). They're not treating him as an equal so much as something diseased to excise.

He misses the days when he could just blend in next to his father's side or, at least, hang out with the other rich kids. Wow them with his knowledge (and the thrill) of living in Gotham.

Tim passes the drink counter (under which he's positive Winston Price the Third and Jennifer Wallaby are making out, because last gala, when he was one of them, Winston had told him he planned to do just that next time he saw her) and orders a soder despite what he really wants. The waiter laughs at him but cuts it out with a glare from Tim and gets him what he ordered.

He wishes that Luthor would just get on with the dinner part of the night. He was too nervous to eat all day and now he's starving. Also, prearranged seating means people will stop coming up to him to show him they care.

"Tim Drake, I am shocked to see you here," speak of the devil... "shouldn't you be caring for your father?"

Luthor knows. Luthor has always known, just as Tim has. His father isn't waking up, no matter what Tim manages to fool the rest of the world into thinking.

Lex Luthor smirks and Tim turns around. He plasters what he hopes is a Bruce Wayne brand smile on his face. "Mr. Luthor!" He covers his eyes and squints, as if the sun is blinding him. "Good to see you!"

Luthor frowns slightly. "Are... you feeling alright, Mr. Drake?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, it's just," Tim lowers his voice and leans closer to Luthor as if he is telling a secret, "with all these lights, your head is just blinding me." Luthor's lips turn into a pale line. "Really, I think you might want to see a doctor about your perspiration, it's so.... shiny. I'm sure my father's doctor would love to offer some... discreet suggestions."

The snicker behind Luthor almost makes Tim drop his hand. Luthor whips around. Ah yes, and there is the boy that made Tim's takeover of DI old news.

Conner Luthor. Appeared, as if from nowhere, just after everything from Haiti was settled. The de facto heir to Lex Luthor. Being trained to succeed him, but who's training wasn't even close to succeeding.

Partier, playboy, and very hot. Luthor's polar opposite. Also, the same age as Tim.

"Conner, maybe you should carry this conversation with Tim, after all you two have more in common than I do with him." A dig at his youth, lovely.

But before Tim can bite anything back, Conner says in a flippant way: "Well, beauty before age. Isn't that the saying?"

So the rumors are true, they don't seem to be able to stand each other.

Careful, Tim, he warns himself, cute boys with sparkling smiles might be more than they appear.

"Lex! How wonderful to see you!" A familiar voice hums behind Luthor, snapping the tension building. The singsong voice can only be Bruce.

Tim wonders if Bruce has been watching him. Tim doesn't need his help. He doesn't want his help. He just wants to go home.

Luthor grimaces at Bruce. "Wayne."

"Say, is this your son?" Bruce asks, turning his attention on Conner. He sticks out a hand. "Good to meet you, chum!" Bruce flashes a grin at Lex, "And they call me a playboy. Wow, she must have been a looker, huh, Lex?"

Luthor looks as though he might combust. Conner doesn't take the bait or the hand (he's been famously tight-lipped about his other parent and life before he took on the Luthor name). Conner glares at Bruce. Tim notices that Luthor hasn't convinced him to get rid of the earring for tonight (one more scandal to add to the Conner Luthor package) and wishes he hadn't. He doesn't have time to notice these things. He has to network. To try and dig himself back into a good light for the sake of his company.

But Bruce, in his blundering and self-focused way, has managed to give Tim a way to slip out of this interaction. All eyes are on Bruce.

Tim used to have a theory that Bruce was smarter than he appeared. His father had told him that was stupid. Sometimes, Tim thought he was right, but ever since he'd gotten to know Bruce he'd understood his mistake. So he gratefully takes the exit Bruce offers.

He can't hide, but he wants to. He really wants to.

Thankfully, though it seems that it's time for the dinner part of the gala to begin and everyone and their drinks are ushered into the next room.

Tim is seated at table nineteen with eight other people who only represent five different companies. Tim sits next to the daughter of a mogul on his left and the son of a different one on his right and it's clear to everyone that the artful Mr. Timothy Drake (Drake Industries) on his place card is just a courtesy. Everyone knows where he really belongs.

Luthor stands and begins his speech which Tim tries really hard to listen to but gets bored. He knows the gist of it, new tech, bringing Metropolis into the future, thank you for coming, etc etc etc.

Tim's eyes travel to Conner's seat at table number one, and finds that he's not there. Of course not, probably ditching.

Tim wishes he could ditch. He knows that the teens on either side of him will find one of their go-to excuses after a respectable amount of dinner and go up to one of the balconies or the roof to drink and smoke and play spin the bottle and other things their parents wouldn't approve of, before making their way back down by dessert and leaving completely respectably, none of the parents the wiser. Tim knows this because Tim used to do just that.

Despite that Tim hasn't eaten all day his salad just doesn't look that appetizing anymore.

"So, Timothy, I'm so sorry to hear about your parents. Who are you staying with?" The old lady across from him asks. The speech has ended and everyone has begun their first course. He can feel heat rising to his cheeks. None of his family members wanted him.

"Myself. I have an attorney for general legal issues but I can live on my own until my father can come home."

"What a smart young lad you are!" The father of the girl on his right says.

"And so well organized too! I can't imagine my Peter running my company at his age." The father of the boy on his left says. The kid himself looks like he would give anything not to be there right then, Tim agrees.

"Well, I just worry. It's so difficult to be a deciding factor in a company's decisions and for one so young-why, it must bore you to death!"

Don't tell them anything they can use, Tim reminds himself, lie.

"Really, it's a piece of cake."

"Well then!" The other adults (read: vultures) around the table seem delighted.

"Well he may not be bored," one of the younger people at the table says, he's the head of some start-up or another, "but I'm sure we don't want to bore the other kids with this table talk. How is your dog, Miranda? I heard she was sick?" And from there the conversation, thankfully, is led away from the topic of Tim and Drake Industries. The girl next to Tim begins going on about how her teacup poodle has cancer or something and Tim fazes out again.

Just after the soup course is served Miranda explains to her father that she's having some "lady problems" and might be a while. At the end of it Peter tells his father that he thinks he sees Conner Luthor over by that way, would it be alright if he says hi? (Tim glances over, and Conner isn't there). He's excused as well with a chortling: "Already networking! What an entrepreneurial spirit, that one!"

By the meat course Tim is losing his mind. The Start-Up Guy tries valiantly to steer the conversation away from Tim's parents but eventually even he is overwhelmed by rich old people and Tim has to repeat the same lies he's been saying for days now.

It's only once Miranda's father says that Tim might have been a good match for her, if only he were a little older that Tim decides to excuse himself with a 'phone call' from work. Something these people will understand.

Tim makes it all the way out of the ballroom, and then he decides to push his luck and go looking for some people his own age.

Since breaking down in a bathroom isn't an option (old rich people use bathrooms too), Tim decides that he might be able to find himself a secluded area where the kids are.

It's not hard to find them. They're in a much smaller ballroom on the second floor of the Luthor Concert Hall. There's a balcony, Tim knows, he's been here before.

Rock music blares and can be felt outside the room. Tim used to think that them playing music that loudly was a challenge to their parents: catch us. But now Tim understands it for what it is, just loud music.

Tim opens the door and a son of an African CEO hands him a joint. Tim wants to, but like so many things lately, he can't. He can't risk it.

The kid just shrugs, and lights it himself.

The room smells like smoke: all sorts. Tim spies some beers some of them smuggled in, and some wines from the receiving hall downstairs. His eyes snag on the champagne, but it's the cognac that he really wants.

"Traitor." Someone says to his left. He turns. It's Joseph. His dad is COO for Maxie Zeus. It's good natured, Tim knows, because Joseph is smiling. "I thought we weren't going to turn into our parents."

"Didn't have much of a choice."

"Bullshit." Lucy says from Joseph's side. "Let them go belly up and cash out."

"My Dad's going to pick the company back up in a bit." This is the last thing Tim wants, he came up here to stop talking about DI. People are starting to watch him. He can see Conner eating Miranda's face in the corner of the room.

"How'd you even swing it anyway?" Ha Joon asks.

"Yeah, aren't social services up your ass?"

"Guys, leave him alone." He hears Tam Fox say. She's always had his back.

"What happens in Gotham stays in Gotham." Preston snipes.

"Be nice!" Lucy says.

"What about school?" Peter asks.

There's enough of a lull in the interrogation that Tim answers with a shrug and scuffs his shoe against the tile floor. "I'm dropping out." This causes more of an uproar than anything else.

"No way!"

"God, my Mom would kill me if I dropped out."

"Kill you? My Dad would disown me!"

"Only disown? Wow, your parents are uncreative. There's more than one way to skin a kid that's for fucking sure."

It doesn't occur to any of them that Tim wouldn't have to drop out if his father really was doing okay.

"Seriously?" Tam asks. Clearly Lucius hadn't told her. Because Tim had told Bruce and there was no way that Bruce hadn't told Lucius.

"Yeah, seriously." Tim says.

"What's the big deal? I dropped out." Conner Luthor says with a shrug and all eyes turn towards him.

"Did you really?" Lucy asks.

"I mean, I basically did. I never go anyway."

"Ah, young grasshopper. We all don't go to school. But it takes some special cajones to drop out." Vido says.

"What's the difference?" Conner asks.

"See, don't go to school and your Dad just pays the administration office to keep it quiet. Drop out and he pays the reporters to keep it out of the newspapers." Preston tells him.

Conner cocks a wicked eyebrow. "And if he pays both?"

Everyone listening shakes with laughter. "Then you must have done something really bad," Lucy says, eyes traveling up and down Conner as if only now sizing him up. Conner languishes in the attention from her and Miranda who is staring at him like he's a god. Conner winks at Lucy and Tim feels a little sick. The smoke swirls around Tim's head, making it swim.

“What about that girl of yours? What was her name… Ariana?” Peter asks. “Did you ever get that first kiss?”

“My parents were held hostage and my mom died.” Tim says more harshly than he means to. He needs some fresh air.

Tim heads to the balcony but before he gets there Tam grabs his arm. "Hey, how are you really doing? Really?"

Tim grimaces. "What happens in Gotham stays in Gotham, right?"

Tam looks disappointed but she doesn't push and Tim opens the balcony doors.

The night is cool which is good against his burning cheeks. He wants to rip off the monkey suit. The tie itches and the gel is making his hair feel greasy and his feet hurt and he's still a little hungry. All these little things are coming up and bashing him in the face now.

"You really from Gotham?" Conner Luthor asks from behind him, making Tim jump.

"Yeah." He says.

"Rad." He says which makes Tim laugh even though it shouldn't. Conner grins at him. "So, a kid CEO, huh? Didn't know that was possible."

"It's not. Not really. But I'm trying." (And failing, he doesn't say. Again, it doesn't seem to occur to Conner that it wouldn't matter whether he fails or not, if his father is coming back.)

"No one's given you shit about being bisexual?" Conner asks.

"What? I'm not-"

"Oh. Sorry, I just assumed since they said about that Ariana chick and the way you look at me so-"

"I don't-Not you-!"

Conner snorts. "Please, I'm scandalous, not blind."

Tim shuts his mouth abruptly. "What do you want?" Tim asks in a low voice. Conner must be spying on him, there's no way Lex would give up this information.

"Nothing!" Conner frowns. "Why should I want anything?"

So that was how he wanted to play it. Tim frowns. "I should probably head back down-" He says but when he turns around to go back into the room he finds the balcony door is locked.

Tim tries not to cry. This can't be happening. It can't- He has to be able to get back down to the party, he-!

"Locked out?" Conner asks.

Tim leans his forehead on the door. He wants to die.

Conner leans over him and bangs on the door but the music is loud enough that no one hears him.

Conner scowls. "Well I guess now you're stuck out here with me."

"I'm screwed." Tim says in disbelief. They'll be locked out here forever, and even if they aren't it doesn't matter. Coming up here in the first place was a stupid thing to do. Ten more minutes is enough to ruin whatever reputation he has left downstairs.

Maybe he should just accept Bruce's offer. Whatever he'll get for Drake Industries will be more than whatever it's worth.

Tim feels tears leak from his eyes. He rubs at them angrily. He's going to lose everything. Every part of his parents, of his Dad.... Mom...

"Hey, it's not so bad! I promise! I'm less annoying than I seem at first impression!" Conner says hastily. Tim wipes at his face but he's sobbing now.

"I-It's not you. It's not-It's not- I'm not-" but he can't say anything without the words coming out as a garbled mess.

Conner, confused and worried, tries to comfort him by putting a hand on his back. Tim pushes him away. "Hey, it's okay." Conner says. He pulls Tim into a hug anyway.

"I'm going to lose everything." Tim tells him, words spilling out of his mouth. He'll accept Bruce's offer tonight. The paperwork will be done before they get home to Gotham and it won't matter what Conner tells Luthor because it'll already be done. "My company... everything my parents worked so hard for... it's going to be gone. I'm going to lose the last of them."

"But... I thought your father was getting better..." Conner says. Then he realizes what Tim's been hiding. "He's not getting better, is he?"

Tim shakes his head. His shoulders tremble. Conner holds him tight and he cries into Conner's shirt--soaking it.

Tim tells him everything. From Bruce's offer for the company to his offer of fatherhood. Conner listens silently, rubbing Tim's back and nodding. When Tim finally calms down, Conner presses his lips to the top of Tim's head. The kiss so fleeting Tim wonders if he imagined it. "You're going to be okay. You at least have Bruce Wayne, don't you? And don't lose hope, stranger things have happened. Your father could wake up."

"And if he does, I'll have sold his company away, don't think that he'll be happy about that."

"He'll be happy enough that he's alive and so are you."

You don't know my father, Tim wants to tell him. But he doesn't.

Conner wipes his thumb across Tim's tear-streaked face. "I don't even know why I told you all of that."

"I've got a listener's face." He says.

Tim snorts. "Yes, exactly. That's what everyone says about you. Lex's infamously obedient child."

Conner winks. "Only for cute boys. Lex can screw himself."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Really?" The mysterious boy, who came from nowhere, heir to a fortune and company whose CEO he looked nothing like. Tim likes mysteries. Always did.

And then there was the cute boy comment. Tim tries not to think about that one too hard.

"Isn't that what the tabloids say?" Conner asks. He spreads his hands out in a half-shrug.

"Guess I never really believed they really knew anything about you. Not that they really know anything about you."

"I'm a man of mystery." Conner shrugs uncomfortably.

"Clearly." Tim raises an eyebrow. "Come on, tell me something about yourself. Anything. I told you my entire life story."

"Uh uh. That's my business to keep." Conner says shaking his head, arms crossed over his chest. Tim sighs, but supposes that is his right.

Of course, without DI on his plate he can go back to his amatur conspiracy theorist detective work. Maybe he'll figure it out on his own.

Tim sizes Conner up. Yeah, he can figure it out. Conner's a teenager, and he exists which means he had to come from somewhere. He wasn't just born fifteen. Made in some lab.

"Yeah," Tim agrees though, "that's fair."

Conner nods. There's a knock on the door and both boys jump as Tam pokes her head out.

"Tim? Dad's says you better get back downstairs, Mr. Lord is saying some pretty nasty things about your father and Bruce is doing what he can but-"

"Thanks, Tam. I'll head down now." Tim tells her.

She looks from him to Conner suspiciously. "Gothamites stick together," is her veiled response, her glare at Conner showing what she really wants to say.

She leans back into the room and Tim just barely catches the door before it locks the two of them out again.

"Wow. Tell us how you really feel." Conner grumbles at her back.

Tim turns back to Conner. "Thanks. For... not being weirded out by me sobbing into your silk shirt." (Which is now ruined by the way, he doesn't say.)

"Hey, scandals stick together, right?" Conner offers with a quick grin.

Tim smiles back and turns to leave when Conner grabs him by the hand. "Hey, wait-!"

Tim turns just as Conner bends down to kiss his lips gently. Tim is too stunned to react as Conner pushes past him into the room. His first kiss and it’s with a Luthor. "Text me next time you want to vent. Listening face." He says, pointing to said face to emphasize his point. "Wayne's got my number. I think." Then he disappears into the party.

Tim watches him go, shocked. He's standing there so long, mouth open, that Luke walks past him at some point and he says: "I thought Tam told you what Dad said? You going back downstairs?"

Which restarts Tim and he rushes downstairs, cheeks pink.

~~~

"Well?" Lex asks as he and Conner sit in the limo back to the penthouse. "Learn anything useful from that Drake boy?"

Conner stares out the black tinted windows, watching as the streetlights zoom past and trying not to think about how Tim's lips had felt pressed against his. "Not a thing. Didn't even show up to the kid party like you said he would."

Lex narrows his eyes at his son. "I see."

Conner just shrugs. "Better luck next time."

#diana writes timkon #timkonweek #timkon week #timkon week 2019 #timkon week: day 7 #diana writes dc

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imnotcameraready · 5 years

Text

Enjambment (chivalry au)

A/N: it’s the first not-main-story story!!!! wrote this while tryna figure out how to get from point a to point b, and it doesn’t really fit in with the story’s Flow, so it’s gonna be its own lil part! it’s also got a little bit more character building for the Playwright and the Artist, if anyone wanted that lm a o — they’re good bois, they’re just. really bad at being good bois.

also i kNOW chapter 11 came out like, last night, but ,. ., ., .. . ive had this sitting ready for literally a week ., ,. ,.. sorry for bombarding y’all with this au :’’D

WARNINGS: self-deprecation, self-hate, touch starved, threats, cursing/swearing, destruction of property, destruction of art (ewe)

Words: 2085

AO3 link to this story; AO3 link to chivalry’s main plot

MASTERPOST! <-- i dont think this story is understandable without reading the other parts, hence im plugging it so much ; v; i’m sorry y’all ilu <3

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda @askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil

general tag: @jemthebookworm

hope you enjoy!! <3 <3 <3

The Playwright didn’t like admitting he was wrong. He often wasn’t. Having the position of an omniscient narrator meant he got to be right a lot, which was one of Roman’s favorite things.

But his argument with the Artist may not have been one of those “right” things. The Playwright leaned on the table, twirling a pencil absentmindedly as he contemplated. He wasn’t entirely wrong, no. The Artist had to keep in mind the safety of the other Sides. If anything happened to any of them, Thomas would be hurt, and Roman would riot. Every bit of him, except for…. The Playwright winced. On the other hand, this in-fighting was exactly what they should be countering. Sure, everyone disagreed and that was the purpose of this dismantling, but the Playwright was above these squabbles. Should be above them, figuratively, because in physical space, he very much was above them.

Apologizing would be the logical thing to do.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He didn’t enjoy entering the medieval town, didn’t like going deeper into the Imagination, but it seemed he would traverse there more often.

The sound of a paper flipping caught his attention. His eyes shot open as he looked around the room. No one was there.

But he’d definitely heard movement. The Playwright swallowed down his fear. “Hello?” he called out.

Nothing. None of the costumes had moved, none of the shoes or benches or any of his paperwork.

Wait, no, there was something. The Playwright moved a few scraps to the side and picked up an envelope. This hadn’t been there before.

Cordial invitation of Roman ‘Playwright’ Sanders to the Entry Gala — in celebration of Morality, Logic, Anxiety, and Deceit’s welcome to the Imagination.

The Playwright’s eyes widened. Oh, fuck.

He tore the envelope open and read its contents.

The Artist wept.

He ran his hand along the ruined canvas — ruined by his hand, torn open with his own knife and dirtied with his tears — and pressed it fast to his chest.

Why was he so mean? Why did it hurt so much, for his creations to be picked at like vultures and a carcass? Wasn’t that the point, wasn’t that how artists improved?

Ah, who was he kidding. He wasn’t a real artist at all. Just a name he’d selected when they first started this game.

The Artist was so wrapped up in his lamentations that he didn’t hear the soft sound of paper falling onto the floor beside him.

He shouted again, cradling the broken mess of canvas and wooden frames. All good artists got second opinions. No one was safe from criticism, and there was always room for improvement! He should know this, he DID know that, it was reasonable. But hearing it from the others always made him so anxious—

He sniffed, wiping his face with the paw of his sweatshirt. If he was falling apart this bad, it must mean he was losing this challenge thing. But thinking of anxiety and then, well, Anxiety, Virgil…. the Artist wished he’d gotten to meet the two, too. Like every other bit, he did love them.

The sound of debris being scattered, then a surprised yelp. The Artist sighed, curling up tighter. God fucking damnit.

“What—I’ve—Artist?!” the Playwright asked.

The Artist was sat against the wall, cradling a bundle of broken paintings to his chest, previously white sweater dirtied with layers upon layers of paint. All around him, every painting that has previously been neatly stacked in the room was torn to shreds. Broken pieces of wood and canvases halved were strewn around the room in piles, or one thick pile, with only a small circle of ground around the Artist. Sketchbooks were torn, even the drawing tablet was — okay, the Playwright wasn’t going to look at that and think of the physical monetary price, because none of this was real. Holy shit, the Artist had put a hole into the wall of his house. There was a hole? He’d punched a hole into the wall? Good heavens.

The Playwright, in an effort to not damage any of his art, accidentally appeared on top of one of the piles. He fell over, landing on his butt amongst the shreds, and looked around wildly.

“What happened?” he asked once he caught sight of the Artist’s frozen figure in the corner, still since he arrived, “Did Dragon—”

“They weren’t good enough, so I tore them up,” the Artist whispered into his own folded arms.

The Playwright’s brow pinched in worry. That had happened only a few times before, where a single work had been so terrible that the Artist ripped it to shreds in anger, but he’d never done….this. And he especially wouldn’t have done this, since he had numerous pieces he wanted to show the other Sides.

He drew in a breath as his mind filled in the gap.

“Oh, Artist, what did they say?” the Playwright whispered, pushing himself up and slowly making his way closer.

“Nothing. Get away.”

He grit his teeth. The Artist was going to be difficult, wasn’t he? Now, now, it wasn’t a good time to lose his temper. He came with a job to do, and he wasn’t cruel enough to leave the Artist to be upset alone. And he needed his help. This was purely logical.

He wanted to laugh. Being logical was so taxing; how did Logan do it all the time?

“Artist. I’m not leaving,” the Playwright sat in front of him, “I take it that Logic and Morality didn’t take well to your paintings?”

He glanced up at the Playwright, quick enough to now show an expression but slow enough that the Playwright caught a glimpse of his tearstained eyes.

“They–They said my art’s unfinished. Logic did.”

The Playwright frowned. “Wait. That’s it?”

The Artist curled up more, and the Playwright gently put a hand on his forearm. “Wait, wait, I didn’t mean it judgy. I just….that’s something you’ve complained about, too.”

To that, the Artist shot him a small glare. When the Playwright put it like that, then the Artist’s reaction seemed childish. “Yeah, but,” he sighed, “I didn’t want them to say anything about it.”

“Then why didn’t you warn them about it?” the Playwright asked, confused.

“Look, I don’t–I don’t know!” the Artist tossed the painting he was cradling aside and ran his hands through his hair, “It all happened so fast, and Padre was getting mad at me for not letting Child stay here. It—they both got upset at me, and they interrupted my painting, and Padre kept hugging me and it felt weird.”

The Playwright exhaled. He put a mental pin on the hugging thing — a similar thing had happened to him the other day, and he would have to talk to the others about what may be occurring — and then scooted closer again, sitting beside the Artist.

“Seeing as I wasn’t there, I cannot speak to what your argument may have been about. But I know that Logic and Morality wouldn’t have wanted to intentionally harm us.”

“How do you know, Pencil pusher?” the Artist hissed, though his words held an emptiness that betrayed his disbelief.

“Because they wouldn’t. They’re calloused, but they wouldn’t hurt us. Maybe Prince.”

The Artist snorted. “You really hate that guy.”

The Playwright smiled. Good. He cleared his throat and threw up his hands in the Prince’s signature style. “Hoo hoo, look at me, I’m a Disney Prince and I like singing songs and being an idiot!” he said, mockingly emphasizing a mispronunciation of “Disney.”

That got the Artist to laugh, shoving the Playwright gently. “Hey, hey, Disney’s cool! I’ll defend Disney to the death,” he rubbed the back of his neck.

The tension returned, but only slightly. The Playwright didn’t want to push him, but he was a little impatient for the Artist to pull himself together. His feet gently tapped against the ground in a small, familiar tune.

After what seemed like ages, the Artist let out a breath.

“....I did….overreact. A little,” he said. “The knife was too much.”

“A lot. Wait, did you say knife?”

“Yeah. I, um, I lost it a little.” He rubbed the back of his head again, looking up at the Playwright. “Thank you for sitting with me.”

The Playwright smiled. Wonderful. He patted the Artist’s arm comfortingly. “If I cannot comfort myself, then what am I doing?”

They both shared a small chuckle at that. It was easy to forget that they were two parts of a much more cohesive whole.

It was also easy to forget that the Playwright had something else he wanted to ask. He clapped, sitting upright and startling the Artist.

“Sorry,” he put his hands up, eyes blazing with new worry, “I actually came to ask something else — did you get invited to the party?”

The Artist’s brow furrowed. “The….party? No?”

“Oh, come, you must have,” the Playwright looked around.

The same envelope he’d received prior was sitting beside the Artist, on top of some of the ruined paintings. He picked it up and found two more envelopes beneath. “Great Ben Jonson, you got Logic and Morality’s invitations, too,” the Playwright flipped through the three cards and handed the one addressed to the Artist, to the Artist. “You must not have noticed it earlier. I got a letter similar, this morning. From Dragon.”

“From Dragon? Fuck, how’d he find us?” the Artist read the front and flipped it over again, tearing it open.

“I don’t know. Perhaps he just sent it to the location of whoever said Logic’s name last night. I also don’t know how he got backstage to deliver mine,” the Playwright read over his shoulder, “I honestly came here hoping to find the other Sides. We need to warn them.”

“We do? About what?” the Artist shot him a frown, but the Playwright just gestured to the paper, so he read the invitation.

His eyes scanned through it once. His body slowly tense as he realized what was being asked, and he flipped it over, checking all around the letter and the envelope that there wasn’t more.

“This,” the Artist reread the letter once more before lowering it and staring, stricken, at the Playwright, “This is a fucked up joke, right? Like, it’s gotta be a joke. Dragon’s Disney pranking us, without friends.”

“I don’t want to hazard that,” the Playwright stood up and motioned for the Artist to get up, “We need to find the others and warn them. If Logic and Morality’s invitations are here, then they must not know, and it’s a safe bet that if they don’t know, then Anxiety and Deceit don’t know, either.”

The Artist pushed himself up, rolling his sleeves up and wiping his face slowly. “He wouldn’t hurt them,” he mumbled. “Why’s he mentioning Prince, too?”

“I don’t know. And after what he did to Damsel?” The Artist rolled his eyes as the Playwright continued, “I don’t think Dragon would hesitate to hurt them, and he’s using the concept of Prince as bait.”

Goddamnit, he was probably right. The Artist rubbed his eyes and fixed his glasses. “Alright. I just,” God, he was hideous. “Should I change?”

The Playwright squinted. “Have you not left your house since this all started?”

“No,” the Artist looked at him like he was stupid, “Why would I?”

Alright. Alright, this was a predicament. The Playwright blew out a lot of air, eyebrows raising as he tried to figure out, in the most concise way, he could tell the Artist that he wanted to throttle him. His attire was absolutely not correct for the setting that they’d established, and he couldn’t fathom WHY the Artist wanted to parade around a medieval town looking like THAT.

No, you know what? It was fine. Sleep was walking around in a leather jacket, it’s FINE. Perhaps the Playwright was the only one who cared about the sanctity of the setting.

Meanwhile, the Artist looked around and waved his hand. The torn paintings all disappeared, leaving the room empty, looking larger than ever. The hole in the wall faded away, establishing itself as a solid wall once more. He looked down at his outfit and simply wiped it, the paint stains all disappearing as his hand passed over them, revealing a creamy-white color once more.

“That’s good enough,” the Playwright snapped, grabbing a fist of his shirt and tugging him forward, “Come on.”

#chivalry au #roman #roman sanders #ts roman #ts fanfic #sanders sides au #this is truly a sanders au lmasdlkghasldfkj #sanders sides #my fic #fic #now i get to do all the designs for the next part oh hell yes #i love designin fancy #its always s O FUN C ASLDKFHASLKDSHASLKDHASHLDKJSFF

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hannahmcne · 5 years

Text

Can You Hear Me?

Ben is only seven when he is diagnosed with meningitis. He wakes up one morning with a high fever and a headache and can’t keep anything down the entire day. The servants and his parents in Beast’s Castle assume it’s flu until his mom comes in the following morning and discovers that Ben won’t wake up. A doctor is called in, and they get him on a small weekly prescription to see if things will get better by week out. On a Saturday, two months before he turns eight, Ben is rushed to Auradon Central Medicare and formally diagnosed with meningitis.

At the time of his admission, the two outside layers of the meninges that protect his brain have swelled up and fluid is gathering inside his skull, leading to him not being able to stand light and having trouble keeping conscious. The nurses and doctors arrange a set of IV’s that send a steady range of antibiotics straight into his veins, an oxygen mask to regulate his breathing throughout the night, several dozen steroid and anti-inflammation medications he has to take by mouth during the day when the oxygen mask is off, and many other things. Meningitis isn’t a surgery-fixable case, so Ben is left to fight it off by himself.

Looking back, Ben can’t remember the exact specifics, but he does remember waking up one morning, squinting around the room as nurses rushed in with water, food, and medications, and thinking that things sounded rather fuzzy, as if he was underwater or had earplugs in. Then, suddenly, if his mom says something to him, he can only hear half of it. Doctors quickly catch on to the problem and bring in Ben’s first audiologist, who tests his ears and declares that Ben is almost 100% deaf in his left ear and steadily increasing towards deafness in his right. By the time he’s eight, his ears are no longer working.

Ben slowly recovers, but his hearing doesn’t. Those first few nights back home are horrible. People forget, try calling to him, get angry when he doesn’t answer, and then are embarrassed when they remember. His parents get someone to come and teach him sign language, but for the first weeks, he struggles to write what he wants to say to his parents as they wait, fidgeting, for him to express his thoughts. Many times, Ben finds himself sitting in the quiet of his room, tapping silently on the windowsills and walls, hoping by some miracle he’ll hear more than just the memories of what the sound was.

The years pass. He learns to read lips. Exhausting? Yes. Necessary? Equal yes. He slowly starts to make friends again. At first, people are nice to talk slowly while he tries to associate movements to meanings, but soon they start talking just as fast as ever, and Ben’s head spins, trying to make sense of everything everyone is saying. He learns to follow conversations by following people’s eyes when they turn to listen to someone else speak and practices daily in front of a mirror with a transcribing device, making sure he can still be understood even though he can’t hear anymore.

People say he’s a great speaker.

His friends describe him as a great listener.

He guesses he’ll never really know for sure.

He’s Auradon’s future leader, born to listen to the kingdom and fix their problems, and he can’t even hear anything. He wonders if his future wife will have a problem with the idea he’ll never once hear her muttering to herself or singing to anything. He wonders if his future kids will make jokes to their friends about how their dad never listens to them or something.

At the age of sixteen, Ben makes the decision to bring over villain kids from the Isle of the Lost in order to start a re-integration process that will start to heal things between the Isle and Auradon. And yeah, there is lots of fear in doing something like that. What if he picks wrong? What if they start to destroy Auradon? What if they just plain don’t like him? He picks four to start with, figuring it’ll be easier to connect with a smaller group first, and sets about work. Soon enough, the first four names are down. Mal, daughter of Maleficent, Evie, Daughter of the Evil Queen, Carlos, son of Cruella De Vil, and Jay, son of Jafar.

Arrangements are made, parents are notified, and the new students are set to arrive on a Tuesday to the Auradon Prep front circle. Fairy Godmother invites the band(Which is a division Ben appreciates a lot more than the other students, given he can’t hear the horrible beginning practices) down to welcome the new students and Audrey gets herself excused from her class to come down and be with him as he welcomes the new kids.

On the day of, Ben can feel cold sweat dripping down his back as he stands, baking in the mid-afternoon light, waiting for the limo to appear down the road. Audrey’s arm is looped through his, his suit is sticking to his arms, and his hands are shaking. She leans her head on his shoulder serenely and then he sees her start moving her lips out of the corner of his eye. He whips his head around to follow her words as best he can.

“…be nervous,” She is saying. “They’ll love you. Everyone does.”

“I didn’t catch that first part,” He tells her with a sigh. He hates how she likes to talk with her head on his arm. It’s hard to see her. She can’t expect him to know a word she said if he can’t see her, right?

Fairy Godmother puts a hand on his other arm gently and points down the driveway. Ben sees a glimpse of a black hood and his breath catches. He pulls his arm out of Audrey’s and takes a deep breath, rubbing his hands on his suit.

The limo comes to a stop; the door opens. There’s a minor scuffle, but then all four stand in front of him, and then Ben is relaxing because he can see teamwork here. He can see curiosity and wonder and chocolate smeared on Carlos’s cheek. There’s definitely hope. He picked right.

“It’s so, so good to finally meet you all,” He declares, stepping forward with a smile. “I’m Ben.”

All of the VK’s eyes rest on him, and he can see their expressions softening just slightly before their eyes jump to the person next to him and he can see walls going back up again. He turns to see what’s wrong and watches Audrey’s lips form the words: “soon-to-be-king!”

He lets out a nervous laugh, mentally kicking himself in her behalf, and adds: “This is Audrey!”, which is another mistake as Audrey stops the conversation to declare that she’s a princess.

Evie steps forward, and she’s mumbling. He has no idea what she’s saying. She’s barely moving her lips as she speaks, and he’s at a loss. He turns to Audrey, hoping she’ll have caught on(Fat chance, because out of all his friends, Audrey is the one who ignores the fact he can’t hear the most) to the fact he is clueless, and he watches her mouth curl into a sneer as she replies: “The Evil Queen has no royal status here, and neither do you.”

Oh. Oh. Why, dear lord, would she say that?

“Audrey,” He grits out, turning to the side. “Can you just… chill?”

Audrey blinks in surprise. “I am chill,” She protests, wrinkling her brow up.

“No, you’re not,” He shakes his head. “So just stop.” He turns back to the villain kids and moves forward, out holding a hand. “I’m Ben, I’m going to show you around and I’m going to be here to answer any questions you have. You can come to me for anything – anything at all.” He shakes the hand of the first villain kid, who he suspects is Jay from the insignia on his jacket, and then the next in line, who stands slightly forward as if she’s the leader. The wing applique attached to her shoulders make him suspect this is Mal, daughter of Maleficent. Evie is obvious. She has apple jewelry and recently declared herself a princess if he suspects correctly. And that means the last boy is Carlos de Vil.

There’s a short introduction of the area by Fairy Godmother, and the band heads out. Ben turns to Audrey. “I think I’ve got it from here,” He tells her as clearly as he can. “I’ll come to find you later.”

Probably to break up with her. He’s sick of her attitude.

As he leads the Villain Kids into the front of the building, he keeps turned around so he can keep track of any conversations they’re having. They don’t say much, which is good, and the first time Carlos moves to ask something, he raises a hand that immediately draws Ben’s attention and has him mentally sighing in relief.

As they pause in front of the Beast’s statue and the four watch him turn it from a man into Beast, Mal turns with a little smirk pulling at her mouth and asks: “Does he shed much?” And even though he can’t hear her voice, he can tell it’s filled with sarcasm and humor. His response pleases himself too.

“Yeah, Mom won’t let him on the couch,” He replies. And Mal’s expression catches because she clearly didn’t expect an Auradon boy to get her Isle sarcasm. All of the Isle kids exchange little looks as he smiles, and he can already tell that this is the start of something great.

The boys immediately get in with tourney, which is great, because it’s something he gets into as well. His teammates have to tap him on the shoulder and relay any direct instructions that are for him, but overall it doesn’t require lots of communication and is fun for him. Lack of communication is another reason he enjoys swimming. Meanwhile, Evie debuts a few Isle designs, slowly starts letting people buy things off of her, and then suddenly she’s the number one fashionista in the school and people are commissioning her for outfits and accessories. Mal draws a lot, he notices immediately, except she doesn’t sign up for art class until he convinces her to do it with him. Then, eventually, she becomes top of the entire program and the teacher sends one of her Isle-inspired pieces to a country gala where Ben’s parents actually text him a photo of it to get his opinion. Ben, meanwhile, learns how to use a dot to make a 2D picture.

And so he and the VK’s are friends. When they come up to talk to him, they clap him on the shoulder so he knows they’re there and he tells Evie to speak up so he can always understand her, and things are good. Really good.

Until suddenly they’re not.

________________________________________________________________

“Ben!” Mal raises her voice and her hand to wave across the room as the young King enters the lunchroom(He’s the king now, and neither Mal nor her friends really felt like ruining his big day to steal the wand, so now their plans have become a ‘Distant Maybe’ (Aka, probably not)). She keeps her hand raised for a few seconds and then brings it back down when Ben doesn’t reply. She stares at her fingertips numbly as Evie, Jay, and Carlos duck their heads a little in confusion.

“That’s not the first time he’s done that,” Evie mumbles, pushing her plate away and setting her mirror down on the table.

“Maybe he’s getting annoyed with us?” Carlos suggests in a hollow tone, setting his elbows on the table and his chin on his elbows.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Mal murmurs as she watches Audrey raise an

arm from a different table and call for Ben. He sees her arm out of the corner of his eye and turns to smile and wave before he goes to sit down beside Chad Charming, who Mal doesn’t like, Lonnie, who Mal only likes a little, and Audrey, who Mal could watch burn alive and not care. Audrey looks over at Mal with a little smirk as Ben starts to talk with them, and Mal averts her gaze, acting as if she doesn’t care that he’s not sitting with them again. Acting as if it doesn’t hurt that he’s ignoring them.

Jay pushes his plate back too and stares at the table for a few seconds. They all completely miss Ben turning to search around the room from his table and trying to wave when he sees them.

________________________________________________________________

Mal is standing at her locker when she hears footsteps approaching from the other side, which the door is blocking. She closes her eyes. The footsteps are light, so she knows they are not Ben’s, but it is the fact that someone is trying to impersonate Ben that has her heart aching. Nothing good can come out of this.

She shuts her locker door and meets the eyes of Princess Audrey, the King’s girlfriend. And then she leans against the lockers and keeps her face blank as she waits for the girl to state her case or scoff and leave, as she usually does.

“Aren’t you going to say good morning?” Audrey demands after a while.

Mal raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?” She asks.

Audrey scoffs. “It’s never a good morning when you’re around. Ben really is just too trusting.”

Mal slumps internally. She really doesn’t want to hear this right now, but she can’t turn and walk off without showing Audrey she’s getting to her, so she stands there without a single flinch.

“I mean, sure, his mom fell in love with the big nasty beast who turned out to be a prince, but with my mom, the evil fairy was just the evil fairy. Your mother, remember?” Audrey sneers. “Doesn’t look like there’s been much change between generations.”

An arm appears out of nowhere, separating Mal and Audrey, and Mal looks up to see the very cross face of the king himself as he pushes Audrey away from Mal. Audrey’s face falls away into shock. “Ben,” She squawks. “How much did you-”

“I saw it all,” Ben snaps, dropping his backpack on the ground and taking his girlfriend by the shoulders. “And that’s it. I’m sick of your attitude towards me, towards everyone else, towards the people I like… everyone. We’re not your doormats, and I hate how you think you’re entitled to brathood because you’re my girlfriend. This is it. We’re done, Audrey. I’m breaking up with you.”

Audrey crumples, tries to grab at his sleeves, but he’s turning away, already gone. He turns back to Mal with a concerned expression, reaching to put an arm around her shoulders, and Mal can’t bring herself to meet his eyes.

“Are you okay?” He whispers, tugging her chin up a little so he can see her face. “Listen… it’s not true what Audrey said.”

Mal pushes him away. Something about this isn’t correct. He can’t ignore them and then swing around full circle to try and fool them that he cares about him. “Just go back to ignoring us,” She snaps. “We already deal with everyone else hating us – we can deal with you too.”

Though it’s disappointing… he seemed so genuine and funny.

Ben’s arm drops from around her and he repeats: “Ignoring you,’ as if it’s astounding to him. Mal rolls her eyes. She doesn’t understand why he’s pretending now, of all times. She turns her back to him and strides off with her shoulders back and her chin held aloft. She can hear Audrey starting to cry behind her and thinks, at the very least, Audrey is finally getting what’s coming to her.

________________________________________________________________

There’s a light knock at the door that evening. Carlos has mastered his game and is searching on the internet for a new one to begin while Jay cleans his tourney stuff off in a corner and Evie sketches her heart out in a design book, trying to find her next big creation. Mal is reminiscing Ben’s arm around her shoulders and squeezing her eyes shut as she recalls what it was like to hear Ben break up with his girlfriend. And since she’s the relatively least busy, she’s the one who gets up to answer the door when the second knock comes, more persistent and meaning it’s not Ben behind the door.

She slides the lock and uses her toes to swing the door open. Over the threshold is Doug, who is probably going to end up being Evie’s boyfriend, she thinks. Evie stands up with a smile when she sees him and waves. "Doug!” She greets. “I didn’t know you were coming over today.”

“Hi, Evie,” Doug smiles and waves a little. “I, erm, am actually here on Ben’s behalf and – wait! No, don’t close the door!” He jams his foot into the frame as Mal moves to swing the door closed at the mention of the King’s name. Evie sits down with a scowl as Doug opens the door with a sigh, steps in, and closes it. Mal goes to sit back in her place on Jay’s bed without a word or a flicker of emotion. Everyone else looks away with similar expressions of disdain as Doug takes a deep breath against the door.

“Ben said that the four of you think he’s ignoring you. I’ve, ah, come to clear things up with you in case you don’t feel like talking to him.” He swallows, and then Jay speaks up from across the room.

“Man, we get it, he doesn’t like hanging around the villain kids. We get it.” He sighs, sounding dejected. “It’s just a little disappointing because he’s the one who brought us over.”

“Ben is deaf,” Doug corrects with a shake of the head. “He hasn’t been able to hear anything since he was eight years old. So, if you’re trying to get his attention from across a room or walking by him in the hallways, you need to make sure he’s able to see you so that he can read your lips.”

The room is silent. Then, slowly, Jay straightens up, looking mystified. Carlos looks like the heavens have reopened. A revelatory light comes into Evie’s eyes, and Mal gets up and turns to stare at Doug. “He… can’t hear us?” She repeats.

“100% deaf,” Doug confirms. “That’s why he has to have people speak slower or ask them to repeat things. He doesn’t even know what he sounds like. He practices speaking with a transcriber in the morning so he can make sure people can understand them. So, he hasn’t been ignoring you, he just had no clue you were trying to talk to him.”

“But he went to Audrey’s table when she called him,” Mal frowns, recalling Audrey’s smirk as the king joined them. “And he didn’t look at us at all.”

“Were you sitting somewhere he could see you?” Doug asks. The four VK’s fall silent again. Mal leans back into the wall. Ben is deaf. He can’t hear. That makes so much more sense.

“Why didn’t anyone tell us?” Carlos asks, running his hands through Dude’s fur at his side.

Doug shrugs. “I don’t know. We all thought you knew. I was actually pretty surprised when Ben asked if I could come to explain things on his behalf. I didn’t know that you didn’t know.”

The silence stretches out with each of them taking in the revelation. Then Jay, across the room, heaves a sigh and goes: “Oh,” and the other three chuckle in relieving humor.

________________________________________________________________

Mal makes the first attempt at conversation with Ben the next day, as she spots him down the hall, walking with Chad. She pauses at her locker, screws up her courage, and then sticks out a hand and waves it. Ben doesn’t notice for a second, so she keeps her hand out, and then suddenly his head snaps in her direction. He blinks for a second, taking in the fact she’s trying to get his attention, and then his entire face brightens. He claps Chad on the shoulder, bids him goodbye, and hurries over to her with his entire face beaming, completely happy that she’s speaking to him again.

“Hi!” He greets her.

“Hi!” She smiles a little in spite of herself. He goes to open up his arms for a hug before he appears to remember that the VK’s aren’t as open to affection as the Auradonians. But Mal accidentally opens her hands up and so they stand there awkwardly before he puts a hand around her and gives her a hug from the side. She kind of… lets her arms fall into place around him and he laughs, a bubbling sound that she feels rise up in his chest and it makes her feel a lot happier than she’s been lately.

“I saw you trying to get my attention,” Ben smiles. “Do you need anything? I’ve missed talking to you.”

“I’ve missed talking to you,” Mal smiles, shutting her locker even though she still needs to grab her textbook and head to class. He keeps an arm around her, which makes it hard to draw away the arm she has around his back, but she does let her left arm drop. In her hand is her sketchpad with her pencil stuck into the spiral ring. They start wandering down the hall aimlessly together. “Doug explained… things to us. We’re sorry that we thought you were ignoring us.”

Ben ducks down a little to continue watching her mouth as she looks to the ground, and the thought occurs to her: if Ben is to read lips, he has to see said lips move. She brings her head back up, allowing Ben to straighten his neck as well. “Sorry,” she apologizes.

“No, I’m sorry,” Ben shakes his head. “I honestly thought you guys knew. I was a little concerned when you all stopped coming around to hang out and Carlos and Jay would break off during tourney practices, but I just kind of hoped you were starting to feel a little more at home here and were trying to branch out.”

Mal shakes her head. “We had no idea,” She sighs. “I do think, in hindsight, that Audrey realized we didn’t know. There were times we’d try and get your attention and you wouldn’t notice, and she’d try right after us and look over to make sure we got the memo.”

Ben frowned. “I’m sorry about Audrey,” He shook his head. “She got bad leading up to coronation, but after it was over, she was just insufferable. I’ve been meaning to break up with her for a while. When I came up to talk to you and saw her saying that stuff… it really was just the last straw.”

Mal hums and suddenly, she’s not sure how, they’re out on the grounds and their arms are still around each other’s backs, and they’re just chatting like two old friends. He gestures down at her sketchbook. “Have you done anything new recently?” He asks.

“Loads,” Mal affirms, holding it up. “I’m almost out of room. Having you gone gave me lots of angst time.”

“Oh, we can’t have that,” Ben laughs, rolling his eyes. He holds his hand out for the book. “May I?” He asks.

She hands it to him and then watches his face grow brighter as he opens it and starts flipping through from where he last saw her working. He stops to flip back at some of his old favorites – a rose is, notably, one he is always enchanted by – and she can see in his eyes how impressed he is with her recent work.

“You really like art a lot, huh?” She asks. He doesn’t answer, and Mal mentally kicks herself before she waves a little hand in his face, waits for him to rip his eyes away, and then repeats the question.

“I do,” Ben affirms, glancing back at the picture as he speaks. This one is of Jay on the tourney field, diving into a catch in what feels like slow motion. “Art needs no words.” He glances back at Mal to make sure she isn’t saying anything else before they stop beside a tree and take a seat at the base of the trunk. She wraps her arms around her legs and watches him flip through.

No words, meaning he doesn’t have to follow the conversation. Mal watches him continue looking through her work. A little bell goes off in the back of her mind. You have class, something reminds her. Your textbook is in your locker.

She can be late – it won’t be anything anyone wouldn’t expect from a villain kids, after all.

Ben puts his finger down on a self-portrait she’s been working on, with different parts of her personality and the Isle itself detailed into her outfit and features. In her eyes is a curling dragon, under her arm is a spellbook, her friends have images on her arms, and the Isle skyline is worked into the base of her jacket and into the hemline of her jeans. “This is amazing,” He breathes. “You are so incredibly talented.” Ben looks up to see if she’ll respond, but she doesn’t, she only shrugs, and he goes back to admiring the portrait.

“I want to commission you to do anything we ever need ever in the palace,” Ben breathes, leaning back into the tree. Mal laughs a little and then waves her hand a little. His gaze snaps back to her as she starts to speak.

“Is it okay for me to ask what being deaf is like?” She asks. “I mean, you seem to fit in really well – we seriously had no idea you were deaf – but what do you think about it?”

Ben frowns. She can see a little hurt in his eyes, but something tells her that it is not her fault. He folds the pages of her sketchbook back over the binder, leaving her portrait visible so he can keep stealing glances at it, and takes a deep breath. “It’s hard,” He admits. “By this point though, I’ve been without my hearing for half of my life, so I’m used to it.”

“What don’t you like about it?” She asks.

“Trying to listen to other people is hard,” Ben confesses. “Especially when there’s more than one. I get massive headaches trying to figure out what everyone is saying and jumping from person to person. And then there’s the fact I can’t be called. My parents and I use sign language at home, but almost none of my friends know any, so I can’t use it here.”

“Is sign language easier?” Mal asks.

Ben nods. “Yeah. Reading lips can get exhausting. Especially when you have people who have their faces hidden or when they mumble or even if they have lots of, like, braces stuff in their mouth. It’s hard. I couldn’t understand what Evie was saying the first few times she talked because she was trying to do that thing where you talk without moving your face.”

Mal bursts into laughter. That annoys her when Evie does it – she can’t imagine how Ben refrained himself from slapping her. Ben smiles and leans back into the tree. “There are also the things I miss that make me sad, you know? Like, I haven’t heard the national anthem in years, and whenever it’s played, I just have to stand there awkwardly, waiting for everyone else to indicate it’s done. I can’t hear waterfalls or birdsong or everyone screaming at the end of a tourney match. When I grow up, I’m never going to hear my wife sing or my kids cry or anything.”

Mal’s smile fades and she touches her ears lightly as if to make sure they still work. “That’s awful,” She mumbles, trying to imagine a world of complete silence.

Ben leans forward, looking confused. “Did you say something? I couldn’t catch that.” He squints at her mouth.

“Oh, sorry,” Mal takes her hand away. “I said 'that’s awful’. I wish there was something I could try. A spell or something…” She trails off, thinking of her mother’s spellbook in her locker. The chances of her mom having something in there seem minuscule, but she can always check.

“I’ve learned to live with it,” Ben shrugged. “Is there anything else you wanted to ask me, or can I finish looking at your drawings now?”

Mal gestures for him to go on, and he looks down and continues examining her portrait, completely blown away by the small details she’s included into herself. Mal smirks a little as she watches him trace the pencil markings with his eyes, and then slowly reaches over the uses her nail to flip a few pages forward. She pulls the pages up and Ben gasps when he sees the picture that she’s shown him. It’s of himself, though it doesn’t have much detail, yet. She’s doing one for all her friends. This one has Auradon Castle running along the bottom of the page as Ben stands in a tan shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking over his shoulder a little. One eye if shaded and detailed with a little library swirling around his pupil, but the other is just circular markings that will determine the placement of his other features.

“Woah, I look good!” He exclaims, tracing a finger down his sleeves. “You make me look really good!”

Another laugh spills out of her throat. She can’t help it. He just makes her laugh. All the time, whenever she’s with him, she’s laughing.

Ben puts his arm around her and she leans into his side as he flips back and forth between her portrait and his, occasionally glancing through the other three. “When these are done, I want them,” He declares, and doesn’t look down to see if she’ll protest.

Evie finally messages her a 'where are you?’ and Mal knows the gig is up. Ben begrudgingly hands her back her book. “I’m going to have to get you a new one,” He declares, leading her back to her locker for her book.

“I’ll just get one from the school,” Mal shakes her head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“No, I’m going to get you a really good one with lots of high-quality paper,” Ben decides, moving his hands to accentuate his words. “And then we’ll have to get you a lock so no one comes to steal your artwork.”

She’s laughing, again, as she opens her locker and takes out her textbook and spellbook and a couple of other books. Then she shuts it again and they stand there in the sunlight for a little while. Ben’s eyes flicker from her face, checking to make sure she’s not talking, down to the sketchbook, and she knows he’s thinking about those drawings.

“I better get to class,” She finally says, heart falling a little. “I’m already late.”

“Are you free on Friday night?” Ben asks, eyes drifting up to meet hers.

Mal tilts her head to the side. “I think so,” She affirms. “Are you hoping to come around and see everyone?”

“Do you want to go on a date?” Ben asks, crossing his arms and leaning against the lockers.

Mal’s mouth goes a little dry before her smile grows even wider. “Yeah,” She agrees, nodding her head in case her words somehow don’t travel over to him. It’s entirely possible, as her face feels a little numb. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

“I’ll make some plans and come talk to you about them later,” Ben decides. He puts an arm around her one more time, and then they bid each other goodbye, and he goes one way, and she goes the other.

________________________________________________________________

Mal, Jay, and Carlos slam a torrent of books down in front of Evie and Doug as they sit in a hidden corner of the library with completed Chemistry Homework and advanced theory books open in front of them. Evie looks over, startled, as the table rattles a little and a passing librarian pops her head out to frown at them. “What are you doing?” She demands in a whisper.

“Look,” Mal gasps, holding up the thinnest manual of all the various books they’ve dropped onto Evie and Doug’s workspace. It’s a manual depicting how to perform basic conversations in sign language. “Ben knows sign language, and he said almost none of his friends know it. If we learn it, then not only will it be easier for us to talk to him, but also no one will know what we’re saying. It’ll be like Isle code, but with Ben.”

“Oh!” Evie’s eyes light up and she begins to skim the stack of various sign language dictionaries. “That’s completely brilliant! So, is it a surprise?”

“Yes,” Carlos nods, picking up one about various foods in sign language and opening it to a random page. “We’ve got to make sure we don’t botch it first.”

“Guys,” Doug tries to break in carefully, but Jay cuts in.

“This stuff is like, super easy, too. To say 'hi’ you just wave. Simple!” He exclaims, searching through the manuals for one he likes.

“Guys!” Doug calls for their attention. They turn to look at him and then watch as he rattles off a complicated pattern with his hands. Mal’s mouth drops open. “I’m Ben’s only other friend who knows sign language. My dad taught me it. And, by the way, you aren’t going to be able to remember everything in all of those manuals just by reading through them and practicing once or twice. What if you start with conversations, and we can all practice together, and then generally add in things like sports and families and food?”

He has a point, Mal concedes. Jay and Carlos and Evie are all nodding along to his words, so Mal sighs and picks out one large dictionary and the one manual about basic conversation. “So, start here?” She asks.

Doug puts his hands in the air, palms facing outwards, and shakes them back and forth. “Start here,” He instructs. “This is the sign you use to get someone’s attention.”

Helpful, Mal immediately pegs it. This is very, very helpful. They all look a little strange, shaking their hands at each other in a corner of the library, but she feels a little accomplished already because this is something she can use besides holding her hand out forever and hoping he’ll notice her from a distance.

The journey has begun.

________________________________________________________________

Evie walks into the girl’s room a week later to find Carlos sitting on her bed with Dude and Mal finishing her homework on hers. She shuts the door behind her and flips the light on and off twice to get their attention before holding her hands up, fingers splayed and facing the ground, and flipping them upwards. 'What’s up?’

Carlos stretches his shoulders a little before he responds by flexing his index finger as if he’s trying to grab something in front of him, rubbing his knuckles together like there’s something in between them, and then touching his middle finger and thumb together before snapping. 'I need to wash the dog’.

Mal flexes her fingers on her left hand before tapping her wrist against the back of her right hand. 'Homework’. She says. Then, shaking her finger in the air and pointing at Evie, 'Where were you?“

Evie spells out Doug’s name and holds up a new manual out of her bag. Mal smiles proudly. That qualifies as a conversation. They’ve just completed a basic conversation. She balls her fists up and gives them a little shake of triumph before turning her eyes back to her homework. She feels so, so close.

________________________________________________________________

Eventually, it gets to the point that they’re all in remedial goodness together, and they’re signing across the desks instead of talking verbally when the Fairy Godmother gives them a 'discuss this’ assignment. The headmistress watches from the front of the room as Evie, Mal, Jay, and Carlos all move their hands and faces with dramatic, yet silent expressions. Mal recently learned the signs for 'be quiet’ (Crossing one’s hands a little underneath their chin and then moving them apart) and she’s overusing it a little bit as Carlos insists that the answer is 'C’, not 'A’.

"Did you guys know that Ben also knows sign language?” The Fairy Godmother asks when they all settle down. Carlos is fuming in his seat.

“We know,” Mal nods, looking down at the portrait she’s almost finished of him. Hers is done, so is Jay’s, Carlos’s she has to fix Dude, and then Evie’s is falling behind just a little as she works on putting Ben’s parents into his sleeve and them – his friends – onto the other.

“He’s kind of the reason we’re all picking it up,” Jay explains, kicking his feet up on the table. “Now we can talk to him without his other friends being annoying.”

“Oh,” Fairy Godmother blinks in surprise. “I don’t think anyone’s ever learned for him besides his parents. That’s very kind of you.”

She turns back to the blackboard and Mal feels another surge of pride. She can’t wait to see the look on Audrey’s face when the Core Four get to talk to Ben without her knowing a word.

________________________________________________________________

One would assume that Family Day would be an extremely unpopular event for a bunch of teenagers, but everyone seems to get pretty down on the idea that their parents are allowed to visit. Ben tries not to talk about it very much at first because he’s afraid that they’re upset their parents won’t be there, but to be honest the four have kind of given up on their lives back on the Isle and are liking their Auradon lives much, much better.

Ben’s parents, the former King and Queen of Auradon, arrive in a polished carriage that Mal could spot from a mile away. Ben meets them at the gates and she watches as they greet each other with shaking hands and 'how are you’s that she can understand. After exchanging pleasantries with his parents, Ben turns and gestures her forward. She steps up, and Ben introduces her as his girlfriend (Bringing a thumb down from beside his cheek and then linking his index fingers together twice with either palm facing down.)

Belle and Adam’s eyes widen with shock and a little worry. After all, girlfriends either turn into exes or wives and having the daughter of Maleficent as either could get a little messy. But Ben is confident, explaining briefly about her, and she smiles as she pretends she can’t understand 70% of what he is signing.

Finally, Ben turns back to her with his bright smile and re-translates the entire conversation for her. She shakes hands with his parents and then his dad points Ben’s attention to where the Fairy Godmother is calling for him behind his back, trying to get someone to tap on his shoulder. Ben leaves, walking for the Fairy Godmother, and Mal makes eye contact with the royals before she lets loose a few signs of her own.

She touches her fingertips to her brow in a light sort of salute, holds a fist up with her thumb on the outside, then crosses her thumb over her first two fingers, and finally makes an 'L’ shape with her hand. 'I know Auradon Sign Language.’ Then, crossing her arms across her belly, making a motion as if she were flipping a word out to someone from her chin, and turning to point at Ben’s retreating back a little. 'Don’t tell Ben.’

Belle’s mouth drops open a little bit more and Adam straightens up in curiosity. “It’s a secret,” She whispers, leaning forward a little. “My friends and I are all learning to surprise him.” She points back to her boyfriend with a meaningful eyebrow quirk, crosses her arms again, and then touches the top of her head in that same salute. 'He doesn’t know.’

Queen Belle’s eyes fill with tears as Adam nods in the heaviest sort of approval he can muster. Belle gestures to them both and makes the motion to seal her lips closed. 'We won’t tell.’

________________________________________________________________

Mal can’t deny that she is very nervous as she, Jay, Carlos and Evie all sit at their lunch table together, but Doug has pronounced them mostly fluent and they haven’t spoken in each other’s company in a week straight now, so she figures it’s time to put their skills to use. She points to each of the four of them with a questioning look on her face. 'Who will start?“

Jay, Evie, and Carlos all point at her before Carlos signs, pointing towards her and then closing a hand by his forehead before linking his index fingers together in the same way you do for 'girlfriend’ and 'friend’. 'He’s your boyfriend.’

Mal acknowledges this with a deep breath and a nod and then looks up to see the person in question enter the room. She watches as he’s caught up in a group of other friends – Chad Charming, Lonnie, Jane, Doug, and even Audrey. She watches him get caught up in the conversation, looking a little dizzy as he follows everyone’s eyes to figure out who is speaking. Her hands are shaking a little, and that’s not even a sign.

"Go on,” Jay whispers. It’s actually a little weird to hear his voice after just listening to him sign the last few weeks.

Mal hesitates a second longer, and then puts her hands into the air and shakes them a little. Jay, Evie, and Carlos all turn and mimic her motion, and immediately, Ben’s eyes have left his friends’ and he is staring across the room at the table trying to get his attention. After all, that is the sign for getting someone’s attention, and he is the only deaf person in the area.

Evie beckons him forward with a hand. 'Come here.’

Jay gestures to the group, makes claws with his hands and brings them closer to his chest, taps his fingers on his lips, and then points to Ben. 'We want to talk to you.’

Carlos takes up the 'Come here’ sign as Mal puts the tips of her fingers together and curls them outwards at her sternum, a little like she’s presenting a gift, and points at her boyfriend. 'How are you?’ She asks.

Ben stares at them like he doesn’t understand what he’s seeing for several seconds. Chad starts trying to talk to him, but of course Ben isn’t looking; he’s staring at their group and slowly bringing his hands up to cover his mouth as they all repeat their signs, trying to urge him to come over so they can really try out their skills. His eyes fill with tears and he stumbles a little. The rest of the group finally follows his gaze over to the VK’s, who start asking if he’s okay by flicking their index fingers out in concern. Mal gets a great sense of pride when Audrey’s eyes bug out and her entire left side of her face twitches. She’s probably seen Ben’s parents using sign language and knows exactly what she’s seeing, even if she doesn’t know what any of the hand symbols mean.

Ben brings his hands down and then starts his own signs. He points at them, brings a hand up to his face and spreads his palm out like something that blew up in front of him, and then repeats the signs for ASL. 'You learned sign language?’ He asks.

The group all signs 'yes’ as one and it’s at that moment when Ben absolutely breaks down. He has to sit down on the steps of the lunchroom as tears fill his eyes and fall down his face. People go absolutely silent around him as they watch the King of all Auradon wiping his eyes and trying not to make any sound as he cries because he has no idea what he sounds like when he’s sobbing this hard. Mal’s hands feel cold, and she’s not sure what to do, but Doug gestures them all forward and they slowly leave their seats to go crowd around him.

“Are we going to get in trouble for this?” Carlos hisses under his breath as they approach the area where Doug is awkwardly patting Ben’s back as the rest of his friends stare, dumbfounded, at what they just witnessed.

“I think he’s just blown away that we did it,” Mal whispers back. She sits down on the ground beside Ben, chewing on her lip a little, and makes the sign for 'okay?’. Ben watches her through his fingers and then sniffles and takes his hands away from his face to make an arc from his mouth outwards with one hand. 'Thank you’.

He repeats that sign with all of them, several times, and the lunchroom just kind of stays quiet despite the fact most of them have no idea what’s going on. He signs it until Mal finally puts her hand on his. Jay shakes his hands from side to side on her behalf. 'It’s nothing.’

“Did you all… learn sign language?” Audrey asks, dumfounded above them. “You know he can just read lips, right?”

Mal rolls her eyes at an angle so that she knows Audrey can see. Because it’s ridiculous that Audrey is the one pointing this out after she took advantage of Ben’s hearing to tease and mock the villain kids. She presents her palms, face-up, points to Ben, then pretends she’s tapping a flat surface with both hands, taps her fingers against her mouth, gestures to each of her friends, and finally holds one hand steady as she brushes the other past it in a small circle several times. 'Now you can talk to us easier.’

Ben watches her hands move and then buries his face in his knees, giving up on holding his sobs in and breaking down on the pavement.

None of them are quite sure what to do. Audrey looks absolutely offended that this is having such a big impact on Ben while Lonnie, Jane, and Chad look enchanted and a little impressed. Doug looks on proudly as the four villain kids exchange glances, trying to figure out how to comfort Ben. Gradually, Evie pulls some makeup wipes out of her purse for him to wipe his eyes and blow his nose with, Jay awkwardly claps Ben’s shoulder while Carlos continues signing for 'Okay?’. Mal wraps a single arm around her boyfriend’s back and pats his side carefully until he starts to calm down.

Ben tries not to shower them in affection because he knows they’re not used to that kind of stuff but he’s such an affectionate guy that it’s hard. He presses a couple of kisses onto Mal’s hairline and gives Evie, Jay, and Carlos more hugs than they’ve ever had before in their lives as students gradually rip their eyes away and go back to their lunch.

'You’. He points at each of them. 'Didn’t’. He brings a fist down from under his chin with a thumb up. 'Need’. He flexes his finger like he’s trying to scoot something in front of him forward a little. 'To learn’. He repeats the motion of something blowing up in his face with his palm.

Mal reaches into her pocket and unfolds the portrait of him, looking over his shoulder with Auradon around him and tourney bats sticking out of his chest pocket and she and her friends opposite from his parents, and this she presents to him by popping her hands out from her eyes into 'L’ shapes. 'Surprise!“

Ben uses the wipes Evie offered him to wipe the last of the tears away and then turns to Jay, on his far right. He points to himself, makes a heart shape over his heart, and then points to the star tourney player. Jay’s face falls away to amazement as Ben turns to Evie, who is next to Jay. He points to himself, makes the heart, and points to Evie, who sits down with a tiny thud and looks like she might tear up herself. Then to Carlos, whose hands start shaking at the motion. It’s something they’ve never been told before, really, all their lives.

Mal is last. She keeps a little sweet smile on her face as Ben repeats the motion one last time. She kind of wondered when would be the first time they would use this phrase for each other, and she thinks she likes this scenario much better than any of the cheesy things she’s been passing back and forth in her head. It’s a little inefficient to sign out the whole phrase – there’s an easier hand motion for this one – but she repeats it back to him with a smile. Pointing to herself, making a heart over her heart, and then pressing the tip of her finger into his chest, right over where he’s been making all his own hearts.

I love you.

(Bonus Scene)

She flips the light on and off three times when she walks into the study area to get his attention, and also because it makes everyone else jump and complain when their concentration is broken. She ignores the complaining as she walks across the room to him and puts her spellbook down on the table and signs 'How are you?’

As she finishes bringing her hand back down, he brings a flat hand down from his mouth at an outward angle. 'Good.’

She gestures to herself, presses her thumb and pointer finger together in a circle and flicks it upwards, points at Ben, then shakes a pointed finger beside her head, towards the ceiling. 'I found you something.’

Ben spreads his palms, face-up, and brings them towards and away from himself with a confused look on his face. 'What?’

Mal sits down in the chair beside him and begins flipping through her spellbook. It’s a little easier than signing because she’s not as fast as Ben and her hands aren’t quite as attuned to making the symbols yet (Also, she doesn’t know the word for 'spell’ yet). She quickly finds the page she thumbed down about twenty minutes ago and plants her index nail into the page before she scoots the book over across the table to show Ben. He wrinkles his nose in distaste, and yeah, she understands why. But then she points to the side note, which reads ’*Temporary for five minutes*’ and watches him relax a little. He clearly doesn’t get what she’s thinking at this moment, but his expression does lose the concerned edge.

She makes grabbing motions towards her chest, then uses two fists facing foward with the thumbs out to make a motion of knocking against something, and then gestures to the spell. 'Want to try it?’

He shrugs, clearly not sure what to think about it, and so she holds her right hand up. He takes it in a firm clasp like they’re about to have an arm-wrestling match, and then Mal guides him through the series of claps and snaps that completes the second part of the spell. "Cambia Corporum Meum Corpora Sua Nominavi.” She declares, and then there’s a dizzy rush where all the lights in the room seem really intense and she loses the feeling in her fingertips, but then all is normal and she’s still blinking over at Ben, not daring to hold her breath as he leans forward.

Ben’s brain is busy. She stays silent as she listens to him examine himself, make sure nothing bad happened to either of them, and glances suspiciously over at her to see if it worked. She can hear his thoughts just like if he was speaking, but his mouth isn’t moving at all. 'Did it work?“ He thinks, furrowing his brow.

'I don’t know,” She replies, making sure she’s not moving her lips along to the thought so there’s no mistaking it. “Did it?”

Ben’s. Brain. Shuts. Off.

She gets it, on some level. This is the first time he’s 'heard’ anything outside of his own thoughts, and it’s a very, very real and intense moment for him(for both of them, really). But it’s still odd to watch everything behind his eyes die and his mouth fall open as he stares at her, wondering if he really heard anything after all.

'You’re cute,“ She tells him, trying to prod some feeling back into his numb existence. 'I like it the most when you smile. When you smile and you’re in the sunlight, it’s like you’re the literal embodiment of sunshine. I don’t know why you’re going for someone like me, who likes shadows and hiding away from people, but I’m always going to be grateful for you.’

Ben takes his hand away from hers carefully and feels his ears, making sure they’re still off and useless and deaf. Mal decides to try something else. She tries to remember what his parents, Belle and Adam sound like, and as she replays little snippets of things they’ve said in their tones and voices to Ben, she watches his eyes fill with, again, more tears.

She doesn’t have many good things that Audrey has said, so she carefully skirts around Ben’s old girlfriend while replaying Chad talking to Lonnie about a school project, Doug whistling 'Heigh-Ho’, Carlos shouting in joy as he completes a level, the rush of the crowd after Jay won the last tourney match, Evie singing in the shower, and she even takes care to replay several things that he’s said to her so that now he knows what he sounds like. He doesn’t think a single thing to her as he sits back, taking it all in and trying to memorize everything she presents as she does.

She tries extra hard to remember what the national anthem sounded like when it was played at the tourney game last week but can only remember a few bars since she’d been busy talking to Evie and Jane. Next time, she promises herself, she’ll pay extra close attention so she can share it with him.

The five minutes ends. Mal knows when it does. She can see Ben listening harder and harder as he gradually goes deaf again and is left to his own thoughts. She lets her own mind go slack and stops trying to feed him sounds and voices and then they both sit in silence while he processes everything, wiping his eyes occasionally to keep tears from falling. It’s just a really long, comfortable silence where neither of them moves and he’s just kind of staring off into the distance

Finally, his hand twitches on the table. Mal reaches over and puts her hand on top of his. He swallows, and it’s like the spell of silence is broken. She brings her other hand down from her mouth, and then popped her hands out from her eyes into "L” shapes. 'Good surprise?“

He gestured to himself and then, pressing his index and middle fingers together, rolled his wrist up by his forehead. 'I can think-hear you.’

She struggles with all of the signs for her next sentence; not all of the words she knows the signs for, and so she ends up mouthing a little as she moves her hands. She tips her hands up and down like scales, points to her spellbook, shakes a pointed finger beside her head, slams a fist into a palm facing up, and then taps the side of her ear. 'Maybe there’s something to help – like a hearing aid.’

Ben takes her hands to keep her from signing anything else and leans forward to kiss her cheek. "This is already fantastic,” he whispers slowly, focusing on the feel of the words in his mouth now that he knows how he sounds saying them. “Thank you for showing me.”

Mal smiles a little and then makes a bold motion, acting like she’s grabbing something from her chest and presenting it to him. He laughs, and she relaxes into this perfect portion of her life.

#ben #mal #ben florian #mal bertha #evie grimhilde #jay son of jafar #carlos de vil #disney #disney descendants #descendants #descendants 2 #descendants 3 #fanfic

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inawickedlittletown · 6 years

Text

Walking The Wire (109/?)

Summary: Tony Stark always knew about Peter Parker. He didn’t know that Peter was going to get superpowers and become Spider-Man, but he always knew about Peter because Peter was his son.

This will span from pre-Iron Man up through the rest of the MCU (eventually including Infinity War) and will be for the most part canon compliant except where I’ve taken some liberties and interpreted canon a certain way.

Pairings: Pepper/Tony, Tony/Steve (endgame), Tony/Mary (past)

A/N: If you want me to tag you when I post new chapters let me know. This fic is also on AO3

I used Collider’s MCU timeline to stay canon and the title of this fic is an Imagine Dragons song that is just so fitting for Peter and Tony

@findmeinthestarss

Masterpost

Chapter One Hundred Eight

2018

Ben & Jerry’s came out with a whole bunch of new flavors that were Avengers inspired. Peter found out when Ned texted him and MJ about it in a group text. Later, when he got home from school, he found out that not only were there new flavors, but that Ben & Jerry had gone ahead and sent them at the tower a few pints of each of the new flavors.

“This is amazing,” Peter said when he peered into the freezer. “Did you know this was happening?”

“Despite your metabolism, I don’t expect that eating all of it at once would be wise,” his dad said. “And no, I didn’t.”

“How long do you think they’ve been working on this?” Sam asked. He was leaning against one of the counters and already digging into a pint box of the A Hunka-Hulka-Burning Fudge. “Don’t they take years creating flavors?”

“Not sure. Don’t care,” Tony said and reached into the freezer to pull out Cap-ilicious Triple Berry. “All I know is that apparently I’m not off dairy and that this is delicious.”

“I would have thought they’d do a more patriotic look to Cap’s ice cream,” Sam said.

Peter reached blindly for one of the containers so he wouldn’t have to make a choice and he saw his dad shrug as he took a bite of the Cap inspired ice cream. Peter had wound up with Stark Raving Hazelnuts which really was not all bad. It was certainly a nice thing to come home to. He took another bite and then took a picture of the ice cream to send to Ned.

“You know, I’m really glad we got a wedding planner,” Tony said as he looked through a few cake design options.

Steve who was in the middle of painting something laughed. “You mean, you’re glad Pepper got us a wedding planner even though this whole thing was supposed to be a small thing because Peter despite his excitement is still just a teenage boy that knows next to nothing about weddings.”

Tony shrugged. “Sure, what you said. But I’m still glad. Anyway, people like parties. And at this rate we just really have to make a few choices and then just show up. We can even leave early if you really want. What are you painting anyway?”

“The view,” Steve said and sure enough he was. Everything outside the window had been transferred to the canvas. It wasn’t exact -- more of an abstract, but that didn’t make it any less beautiful. Tony had never really understood art or even bothered to like it -- but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate everything that Steve created.

His art room had filled up with more and more art since Steve had finally focused on his hobby. He wasn’t obsessive, but he spent hours painting away or sketching. It kept him entertained and Tony was happy about it. He liked that Steve had something to do that was all his own. Tony also loved watching him do it -- the concentration that he put into his art was unlike anything else. In another lifetime, it was possible that Steve would have just become some artist that everyone admired.

Tony got up. “I’ll leave you to it. I have a bit of work to finish up in the lab.”

Steve nodded. Tony pressed a kiss to his temple and walked out of the room. He found Sam and Wanda watching some odd cartoon and then spotted Vision in the kitchen.

“Hey, Viz.”

Vision and Wanda spent a lot of time on their own on their floor but it wasn’t odd to find them up in the penthouse some days. What Tony found weird about it was that Vision seemed to be more and more human-like these days. He had started dressing like a regular person a long time ago but now he seemed to not mind changing his appearance to look human. It was a little strange.

“A letter arrived for you,” Vision said.

“That’s odd,” Tony said. “We usually don’t get any mail sent up here.”

“It is possible someone brought it up and left it in the kitchen for you to find,” Vision said.

“Right,” Tony said but it all still sounded a bit odd.

Vision didn’t respond and he picked up the bowl of popcorn and went to join Wanda and Sam in the living room. The letter was in a manila envelope and Tony figured he’d take it with him, but his mind was already turning to the new designs he’d been working on. Natasha was already out of her house arrest unlike the rest of them and she’d been cleared to rejoin The Avengers officially. It also meant that she was free to do whatever Fury wanted from her and Tony wanted to give her the best gear to do that with.

The heater in the Spider-Man suit was one of the best things ever. It meant that Peter could actually patrol without feeling the brisk cold air. It had snowed a few days earlier and there was gray and dark dirty snow on the edges of most streets. Peter also found that most rooftops were covered and useless to him. But he was still out and about for a few hours.

But it turned out that when it was cold out that there wasn’t a lot of crime to go after. Not a lot of people were out unless they needed to be. Peter did save a woman from slipping on ice.

“Anything going on, Karen? I’m kind of getting bored.”

“Not that I can tell,” Karen said.

“I should have just gone and trained with Steve. I guess it’s a good thing, right, that nothing is happening.”

“I believe so, Peter.”

He swung off of a fire escape and headed towards the tower. Maybe he’d just go and actually work on his homework. There was an essay due in a few days that he should get on top of. His junior year of high school had brought along a ton more work and college was a thing that everyone was starting to get worried about. Tony liked to mention MIT in passing all the time and then May brought it up in her own way too, always hinting at how Peter would need to give up Spider-Man for it and Peter just -- he didn’t want to think about that.

He got back to the tower to find Natasha was back from a mission and sitting in the living room with Sam, Steve, Wanda, and Vision.

“Hey, Peter,” Natasha said. She had a split lip and yet she still smiled at him.

“We left you food in the kitchen,” Steve said. “We also left food for Tony if you want to bring some to him.”

“Cool. Thanks. I will.”

Food turned out to be sub sandwiches so after getting back into his normal clothes, Peter just grabbed both and went to the workshop. He was expecting to find Tony working, but instead his dad was looking at paperwork.

“Hungry?” Peter asked.

His dad turned to look at him. “Oh, you’re home. I -- I must have lost track of time.”

“What are you working on?” Peter asked.

“Nothing. Nothing. Just something that got in the mail today got me a bit distracted.” He waved his hand and the display disappeared. “Anyway, food. How was school today? Patrol?”

“Same. Not much going on.”

Tony nodded. He was oddly distracted. It made Peter worry a little. His dad only tended to get weird when something was happening.

“Did I ever tell you that I can’t actually have kids,” Tony said after they’d sat in silence eating for a while.

“No,” Peter said, not sure where the conversation was going. “I mean, maybe. I kind of think I knew that already.”

Tony nodded. “I -- it was to do with the arc reactor. Anyway, there was a time when I didn’t think that I would ever meet you or that it would make a difference because you were growing so fast and I never needed my parents when I was your age -- well, I probably did but I didn’t really have them. I guess that’s what makes more sense.”

“What are you getting at?” Peter asked. He was so confused.

Tony sighed and he wiped his mouth with a napkin and then he got up and grabbed a few sheets of paper. “A while back I applied to adopt. Sort of on a whim. Sort of because I really wanted to be a dad since at the time I couldn’t really be yours. I thought I’d never get to meet you. It takes time to adopt and I had forgotten about it just because of everything that happened. Actually -- I don’t remember if I told Steve about it. Thing is, nothing came of it and then I met you.”

Peter remembered a conversation about his dad possibly wanting other kids and how much Peter just -- he didn’t know how to feel about it. He hadn’t really let himself think about any of it especially since Tony had said he wasn’t sure if anything might happen.

“But why are you -- what’s that paper?” Peter motioned to the papers that Tony was holding.

“They want to know if I’m still interested,” Tony said.

“Oh,” Peter said.

Tony let out a breath. “I don’t think this is the right time,” Tony said. “Not for any of us.”

“Oh,” Peter said again and it was as if he didn’t know how to say anything else. He just -- he didn’t know if his dad wanted his opinion or if he was just telling Peter about it to tell him. Peter was also quite sure that he didn’t know how to feel.

It was getting closer to the end of the school year when a school trip was announced and Peter was dismayed to hear that it was a tour of SI. MJ cackled and laughed for a solid minute once she found out and just wouldn’t let it go all throughout lunch and then later when they were walking out of Midtown. Ned on the other hand seemed as excited as everyone else. The trip wasn’t for another few weeks, but Peter was already dreading it. He just knew that it wasn’t going to go well. He had kept the fact that he was living at the tower a secret from everyone including Ned and Michelle for over a year and this was going to be thing that finally revealed that to them -- he could just feel it.

“Aha, so we finally get to find out that Penis Parker has been lying about that internship all this time,” Flash said when he walked past them.

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Or prove Flash wrong,” Ned said. “This is actually really awesome. Do you think any of the Avengers will show up?”

Peter shook his head. “It’s not a trip to the living floors. Just the labs and SI. They don’t usually go down there.”

“But wouldn’t it be awesome if Flash saw you talking to them and they ignored him.”

Peter settled him with a look. “That’s not going to happen, Ned.”

When he got back home, he almost hesitated to mention the whole thing. He was going to have to get May to sign the permission slip since she was still his guardian, but if Peter was going to go -- and he really couldn’t not without giving ammunition to Flash to make fun of him with -- he was going to have to make sure that he did appear to be an intern at SI. Peter couldn’t remember the last time he had gone down to those floors of the building. He assumed that the trip was going to be geared towards the R&D rooms. Maybe he could get Pepper to help him out with making his story seem legitimate.

He ran into Steve as he was getting out of the elevator.

“Hey, Peter,” Steve said. “Not patrolling today?”

“I might go out later,” Peter said and followed Steve to the kitchen where Sam was in the middle of taking cookies out of the oven.

“Well we were planning on a movie if you want to join,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I will,” Peter said. It offered for the perfect distraction. He would figure out what he was going to do about the trip later.

Chapter One Hundred Ten

#peter and tony #peter and tony fic #mcuwriting #mcu fic #iron dad #iron dad and spider son #stony #stony fic #marvel

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vitavitale · 3 years

Text

drabble IV — Nightmare (At His Core)

It took me over a year to write about V’s encounter with Nightmare and I will genuinely not understand why. In any case, I’ve finally gotten around to it. Remember that this is all headcanon-based since my V isn’t, you know, canon. Except in my heart. Beware of 13,038 words, whew. I tagged it as “coming of age” because that’s how I interpret this event even if it may not play out that way. For easier reading, find this on AO3.

Trial after trial, failure after failure were not sufficient deterrents to a man driven by a greed that was unbecoming of him. He had never been so fixated, so stubbornly determined, so mad while he dedicated almost all of his time to the study and practice of necromancy. To resurrect life from death was a risk, and a business few had the guts or the aptitude for. This was a craft better left untouched, but he trifled with tests and from each failure he learned, improved, and tried again. The cycle continued for many nights; between jobs he would make the time for study, and of time he had plenty to dedicate to his obsession. A desire for strength was born in him from his apparent lack thereof. To have tasted power, however, in the aid of his familiars was almost like poison to the mind, for he had seen within his new means a potential for invulnerability. The illusion of becoming untouchable, undaunted, and subsequently intimidating and dangerous was too powerful for him to dismiss. Rather, he indulged in fantasy. Griffon and Shadow protected him as they attacked for him, and while he loathed his reliance on others he saw the opportunities such help would yield for him, and he saw value in becoming as threatening to others as others had been to him. There was something like revenge in his fixation on power.

It was not only his familiars he'd gained from, but he had conjured demons in the space of a couple of years from whom he would make further gains, draining their diabolical energies to amplify his own. Rite after rite he performed, drawing a demon to the mortal plane only to take from it before returning it to its Hell—or to slay it entirely. This really did appear to work, and every success tainted his expectations for himself. He saw his potential grow, day by day, until an idea was born—and this, he thought, would be the thing to make him more frightening than any demon alive in Red Grave City. This he sought not out of malice, but for self-esteem. Pride, worth, a need to be useful and effective when he believed himself useless and weak.

Perhaps Griffon had been at fault for the decision his master made. Indeed, it was from Griffon's mouth that V had learned of the demons dwelling in the underworld, those that lived and even those that had died. Among the deceased was one so destructive, so terrifying that even its name told of the menace it posed: Nightmare. Once in service to a devil of an emperor, the beast was slain by a man with only half the blood of demons in him. But it was this creature that haunted the warlock's mind for many a night, so it might have been only inevitable that the idea was spawned to return to it life, to conjure it for his own, and to his body bind it as he did Shadow and Griffon. V was only a child when he first heard of Nightmare, and then took only superficial interest in it. Years down the road brought it back to memory, for better or worse, and it was at the age of one-and-twenty that he'd decided to resurrect the demon. Necromancy was necessary for this, a skill not known yet enthusiastically learned while upon the idea the young man brewed.

So it was many nights, many tries and many failures later when it seemed a breakthrough was at hand.

Neither Griffon nor Shadow held very much esteem for their master's plan. His descent into obsession concerned them, but it was his decision to conjure so formidable a demon that worried them above all. While V may not have noticed, his familiars certainly had: the forces with which he surrounded himself had been detrimental to his body. He was far more human than anything, and his human body could only take so much that was well beyond its capabilities. Forces of a supernatural nature were hard on any human's body and mind, but V had gone a step further with his exposure to them. He would have more than enough on him, only now he sought to add too much to the load all too quickly. He was already frail of health, but he saw fit to weaken his bones and muscles as well. He had begun tiring as of late, and he tended to chalk it up to overwork, sleeplessness, and an almost nonexistent diet. But his demons knew better, and ultimately so did he. Or, at the very least, he had a hunch—one he didn't heed. That was his first mistake, but V insisted on making another. Griffon let him know as much, arguing that V had no need to take pointless risks, but men like him were not easily swayed. There was some kind of art to stubbornness like his.

Oh, but to be so young and foolhardy! The boy knew so little of the world, yet he'd known that it was rife with all manner of peril. Two familiars were not enough. He would head out into the desolate country under the cover of night to practice his black craft. A sigil was drawn up for the purpose of conjuring, a symbol of the demon he hoped to bring forth. Night after night, he tried. Tried and failed. But a step he'd been missing for weeks became clear to him. Infernal or otherwise, the soul was intangible. Its body had been destroyed completely, and V would not have been content to conjure a ghost. With magics old and new would he craft a body, and it would be with or without his demons' help that he would conceive of a form he hoped the soul, if in existence at all, would inhabit. Born in the mind's eye, but taken form in the flesh. V would resurrect the demon he sought, believing firmly in strength of will and the blending of techniques.

“I think I have it,” he said when he had his next epiphany. He was all enthusiasm, eager in the eyes, jotting instructions down in a notepad in an effort to preserve what he'd learned before memory would lose it. These would be looked over and memorized. It was late into the night, and he had the audacity to wake his slumbering familiars for the news. “I've finally figured out how to reconstruct the body!”

Griffon awoke with a start, though held on to his perch on the sofa's backrest. “Huh? What?” Barely gotten his eyes open and already V strode to his side, pad in hands, noticeably excited given the tone of his voice. “The what now...?”

“Nightmare's body, for its soul.” It'd been all V would talk about the past several days. It surprised him that Griffon had forgotten so readily, but that was like him. V had left the lights on through the night for his work, and the yellow glow to the sitting room was bothersome enough for his drowsy familiar. Nevertheless, the warlock would pester him to open his eyes. “I've been going about it the wrong way, but I think I now know what I must do.” His eyes fell upon the page he'd scribbled on. “I have to create it, shape it, with my hands. You know how Jewish folklore tells of mystics imbuing golems with life? Think of it that way, only I'd be...borrowing that part of the process. Then...I should channel the soul to the new vessel during a rite of resurrection. If I'm right, the demon should accept it.”

“Never heard of that part before,” the demon mumbled.

“I'll be improvising.”

“Oh, so that's your big discovery? That you've gotta make it up as you go?” Griffon was being sarcastic with him, likely because he was chafed that he'd been woken up for no good reason.

“I'm at least one step closer.” V was resolute when he countered, frowning his disapproval at the demon who'd appeared to think so little of V's ambition. “You could be a little optimistic.”

“I don't see why I've gotta go along with this utter fuckery. You're only hurting yourself.”

V didn't want to hear that. It was fortunate that he'd stepped beside Shadow, who was not dead to them but ignored their discussion while she rested on the floor, with his back to Griffon by the time the criticism was delivered. He would not acknowledge it, not even Griffon, and it was to his detriment that he kept silent. Though he did not agree, he also did not argue, and that must have been the plainest evidence of his conscience weighing more heavily than he'd let on. But he did think of something to say, and with it stepped into his own bedroom after turning off the lights. “Good night.”

V would sleep as peacefully as his subconscious allowed, for the few hours that were left of the night. But the sun was set to rise before long, and soon he would resume his practice until night again would fall.

He'd fallen asleep fast, curled on his side as was his habit. His study had exhausted him, both physically and mentally, but that didn't stop memories from reshaping themselves, painting themselves in fresh colors, and stitching together pictures that the sleeper had no desire to see. Still, they would appear to his mind's eye and wrench his heart from its boney confinement and wring it dry. There suddenly was the face of a demon with rows of pointed teeth, a short, stout abomination snapping mad like a rabid piranha. He fled from it, the white of his hair blurring his vision as he scrambled from its wrath. He saw a broom closet, hid in it and held on to the door knob for dear life. In his panic he could not grip it firmly, and his soul quaked from the snarling and the thrashing and the clawing against the door. His whimpering barred any screams for help, but all the same he heard his mother's voice outside. A great dread sickened him but fear left him petrified. He could not understand her. The door was left alone, he heard part of his name called and the sounds of flesh tearing and a thud on the floor—and he awoke with so violent a start that his heart raced, he cried out when he shot right up, and he caught the first light of the morn peeking through his window. His chest heaved with every labored breath, and he felt his eyes wet with sorrow. Just like it'd been the first time, like it was new, like he didn't see it coming.

But with the memory he was intimately acquainted, frequently re-introduced to it, and was fast to realize that it was yet again a dream. One of several nightmares.

A nightmare.

It almost seemed a calling at this point, to obsess over a demon so appropriately named. V hated to cry, but here his psyche took advantage of his helplessness to draw the tears forth. He wiped them away, sniffled through a stuffed nose, and sat silently as sleep was as good as forgotten. No use in trying again; he preferred to set to work, do whatever he could to forget that which haunted him for seven years going. But loneliness was not his safe harbor now, for a shadow had crept into his room to observe. To find that he had suffered no physical harm, the demon took form and joined his side on the bed. Like a cat she purred her concern, her inquiry and her comfort. V was not surprised to see her, he knew this was her way. Like a pitiful child he pouted and shed his tears, looking at her with some reassurance behind a curtain of grief. Guilt was too strong for so wretched a youth, and here he was sick with it. Seven years was virtually the same as seven months. With Shadow offering her comfort like a parent, V could not help but appreciate her—and feed his misery with memories of feelings he'd had once before, before even the seven years. It was a double-edged blade but, all the same, he ran his fingers through her crown to comfort her in turn. He whimpered, “I'm fine,” sniffling still. And she knew he would be: she'd seen this too often to assume different.

V would get up after all and give himself a good wash. He didn't care for breakfast but forced himself to eat a single slice of toasted bread. Over his routine, thought of his nightmare and his mistakes diminished, and while they remained present, they'd at least lost enough intensity to allow him to get on with his work. He could think about his goal, his rite, his approach to it all and how he'd shape the demon's vessel. By noon, he was all but absorbed in his crafting of the thing. A very simple shape was drawn among his notes, which would serve as the foundation for the model he sought to shape from earth. So, he would go outside, look for mud or deliberately make it, and wear down his haunches as he crouched from his secret labor. No devil-hunting or charm-making today. As desperately as he needed income, he seemed to need a new familiar even more. But he was wise to hide himself from his neighbors and had gone a distance to where no man should eye him and peg him as an unstable eccentric. V did very well wear the look of a youth who was touched, his hands deep in wet soil and incidentally rubbing some on his face whenever he had an itch to scratch.

Now, it didn't take long to make mud. To craft from it, however, was the tricky bit. V had never played in the stuff before, he'd never known what it was like. He thought he hated it the moment his hands mixed water with soil; the sensation was cause for repulsion. He should have brought a pair of gloves with him... Alas, he wasn't the sort to think things through, though that didn't stop him from pushing on. He was quick to learn how much water to use for the softness of soil he required. Once he'd gotten the hang of it, he knelt on the grass to alleviate the aches in his joints, more or less settling to mold the form that would be his golem.

Griffon had peeled from his master's body to observe him, sat almost right beside him beneath the canopy of a thin tree. If he had any criticisms or advice, V would largely ignore them. The frown on his brow was hard and it drew clear shadows beneath the deeper wrinkles on a face too youthful for any grimace. V didn't need his notes to begin forming the soil; he'd had the image clear and ever present in his mind's eye, and guided by little else but that and his drive he pressed and pinched and rolled chunks of dampened soil, and dunked his hands into the pond he'd knelt beside to wet the earth even more. He needed it all to stick, and if it wouldn't then he'd spend the entire day, possibly even night, out on the desolate field. Fortunate that the week had been so rainy, but if showers should fall in the middle of his work he would be foiled. But, weather notwithstanding, he'd gotten his pieces to stick. Very nearly mud, the consistency, while solid enough to hold form. V's fingers would easily become difficult, caking in dirt as long as he'd work over the forming vessel. Bits would come off and others would stick where they shouldn't, and V had constantly to dip his hands in the water.

“V, why the hell are you going to all this trouble?” Griffon watched him toil away, unimpressed by the boy's wasted effort. He couldn't approve of the way that warlock was tiring himself out, testing the limits of his own patience, and running headlong toward ruin. Because that was all the good Griffon saw coming out of this wild goose chase: a pained, miserable, defeated V.

The young man on his knees saw different. He spared Griffon a sharp glance to communicate his feelings. However, when his eyes settled upon the amorphous lump in his hands, he felt his confidence shaken. He stood to relax his legs, staring at the unfinished vessel that was crumbling in places, losing form beneath the pressure of his fingers in others; and though his snowy-white hair fell to conceal one half of his face, he felt Griffon's several eyes on him anyway. He knew what that bird was thinking. Still, he stepped back and took a seat very near the trunk of the tree to shade himself beneath its leaves. Against it would his back rest as over the muddy object his eyes would rake. It was half formed, the top molded more completely than the bottom; legs were harder to build than he thought, and the arms...were not quite separate from the body yet. Frustration suddenly dawned on him as he realized this may well go nowhere. But he'd lost hope so fast, after only a few minutes at work.

He had one deep frown come upon his countenance before getting up from the grass. “This is stupid,” he relented at last, exhaling irritably as he stepped toward the pond to set aside his craft and rinse off his hands. Griffon must have believed he'd finally gotten through, because he'd begun assuaging V's concerns with useless, likely hollow words of solace. V was perhaps cruel to ignore him, but something like the devil was in him and he knew that, one way or another, he had to have the one called Nightmare.

With his hands soaked and as clean as he could get them, he shook the excess water away to grab the shapeless figure of dirt—but not before he stilled where he stood, examining the thing and thinking a little more about it. While his hands dripped, Griffon watched him, blinking his golden irises at the perplexity of man.

“Uh, V? You're awfully quiet.”

He was thinking.

“Don't tell me you're mad.”

Mad? Funny. He'd certainly felt mad, at times, and he supposed he was. A madman. But even a mind gone beyond earthly bounds had its plans to complete and successes to achieve. V was not finished here, not by any stretch. When gray began to creep beneath the sun to steal away the blue of the sky, he knew his dirt doll would turn to pure mud. He'd have no use for it if it could not keep its shape. Time was, however, still his to act upon, the heavens clear and peaceful, affording him the chance to make refinements. His own impatience would not best him. To be so young and pressed for time—an oxymoron in the flesh.

“V, come on, you're gonna get soaked out here. That lump of dirt ain't worth it. You don't even really know what you're doing.”

The warlock had picked it up after all. “I think,” he answered while rounding out the form, “it's worse if I don't try. If I fail, it should be because...this simply isn't the way. I...don't want to have put in so little and that be the reason for failure.”

“Why don't you not look for this demon? There are about a zillion others—”

“That,” he snapped to cut off his friend, “is not an option.” At least, not for now. V frowned at Griffon, but any inkling of anger was a hollow one. The boy was determined, not angry, and he'd made that plain with a wistful sort of tone and some distant, far-off pain in his eyes. Griffon had no further argument. The pair descended into silence; but nature would not leave well alone. More gray crawled overhead, eventually ushering in the first droplets of another summer shower. When they tapped on V's nape and sent a chill through his paper-thin body, he shivered instantly. The decision to retreat had come and Griffon was returned to the warlock's skin. With his prize, however misshapen and incomplete, in his hands he abandoned the little pond to hasten home. Maybe to build there.

It was only a drizzle that speckled his clothes and hair on his walk back. But upon returning to the sanctuary of his flat, a proper shower broke that kept him homebound. He had mud on his face, on the ends of his hair, stuck to the soles of his shoes, and entirely in his hands. With his familiars retiring to the small living space, V set about a thorough cleansing of his person. Before he'd known it, he spent his day at home when he should have been out in the field; but the day was gray, even with the rain having cleared, and it matched his mood. Somber, morose. He'd gotten a dish on which to place his vessel and stored it in the refrigerator to keep fresh. Meanwhile, his bedroom was where he isolated himself, well cut off from the raptor and the jaguar lazing the afternoon away. He supposed they could afford it: what else had they to do? They could be so much like pets, obligated to nothing and owing no one.

The grimoire had been opened to the last page, where the original content of the book ended and his own notes began. Several sheets and scraps of paper, that's all they were; but on each were written spells, instructions, all manner of information he would have needed on call. Among these were his latest notes, the ones on Nightmare, on necromancy, and on golems. It should have made sense, yet here was his brain revolving around things anyway. With the book laid out before him, his legs folded on the bed and his knuckles to his cheek, he thought about failure. He thought about what it would mean, since his vessel was shit, and he'd never conjured life from death, if he couldn't claim the demon he sought. It wasn't only a matter of principle—he could get over botching a rite. It had more to do with what it would entail, the fact that he'd have dashed his hopes for acquiring the power he believed he needed: the power to protect himself, to turn the tables and prove that he was not all prey but predator, too. He was easily intimidated, easy pickings, and he loathed that with a bitter passion. It was why he needed another demon. He needed the strength, he needed the confidence, even if it came from beyond himself, but he needed it. And he loathed also to be as needy as this. He loathed his weakness, his appearance to others and how he was regularly perceived by them. If he wasn't a freak for his white hair, he was effeminate for his body, childlike for his behavior, stupid—

Weak to demons. But...if he had a familiar like Nightmare, he didn't have to be any of those things anymore. Didn't he? Quarry and foe alike could no more undervalue him or judge him a creature too meek to take them on, or to take from them: because one of their own made of seemingly unstoppable force, a weapon of mass destruction itself, would be doubtlessly perceived by them; and, if necessary, would annihilate them. According to what V had heard, Nightmare was beyond any lesser demon he'd known of. Incomparable to even Griffon and Shadow, combined.

How he would ever subdue and tame such a beast was rightly beyond his imagining. The boy had gall to think that he could dare at all. Or maybe it was that he didn't think.

He still didn't, even poring over his notes and mentally constructing the outcomes on his bed, he didn't think far enough ahead. But if he did, he would only shake himself up at the size of the task, and he didn't need that. He had to enter the rite undaunted, possessed by conviction, and wrench the demon from its lifelessness with that same vigor he'd conjured Griffon and Shadow. So he mulled over other things, and briefly considered going out tonight if the weather permitted. Frankly, he wanted to. To delay was pointless. Ready or not, his vessel was finished—and so was he. To live this kind of life, in the kind of shape he was in, was not something he'd been looking forward to for however many years remained for him. Even if he would die by the conjured colossus' retaliation upon resurrection, he would at least go out in a way that would not leave him feeling unfulfilled. If lightning was to strike him squarely, in a month, it wouldn't happen until he'd had Nightmare spread across his body. It may have been more a matter of life and death than even the warlock realized. Regardless of the circumstances or the consequences, V was a man of a settled mind. Sitting as idly as he did, boring himself over the information that'd become monotonous to read so repeatedly—well, he supposed he'd made up his mind at some point.

Grays and yellows colored the sky when V bothered to peek out the window of his sitting room. He'd had a whole two of them, one by the front door and another in his bedroom; but the blinds to the latter were always kept shut. Privacy concerns, as he lived on the bottom level of his building where his neighbors and his absent landlord would walk about. Birds drawn by the rainfall called out on the rooftops, among the trees beyond the property, and on the street. While the bulk of the shower had passed, still heard was the pitter-patter of rain drops just beyond the glass. The weather was clearing, the sun shining like a hunk of polished citrine behind the scattered cloud cover, bidding its radiant goodbye to the day that closed. The moon chased it not far behind, nightfall near.

Griffon and Shadow were at as much peace as afforded by the event-free afternoon, and they appeared dead to their master's arrival. When he turned from the window to get a look at them, he could only think that they were sweet to snooze on the sofa—one taking up all the seat, the other perched atop the backrest cushions. Such a shame that they were so against his endeavor.

V had his supper early and offered to his familiars scraps of old cold cuts he didn't want. It was clear to them that he'd intended to do something, because he was all astir in his bedroom as he'd dressed himself for the night. Only, he was donning not sleeping clothes but something else entirely. On his legs were a pair of utility pants, slim, and a belt around the waistband; a wallet chain consisting of skulls of a silver tone; on his feet were gladiator sandals with straps that were thin along the length of his feet, and bore buckles at the ankles; leather cuffs adorned his left wrist, an unconventionally long, silver-plated signet ring the middle finger; a fingerless leather glove covered his right hand; and, in a daring move, he chose to garb the upper half of his body with a sleeveless, knee-length coat held together only by laces affixed to the garment's inner lining across the abdomen. No shirt, no nothing underneath all that leather: only his skin and the tattoos that adorned it. It was brave of him, to cover so little of himself—he partly regretted it already, looking himself over in the bathroom mirror—but people would change, and tastes would evolve, and V was just another one of the many young adults on the Earth who would experiment with fashion. Still, he'd never before worn anything so revealing, and his chosen outfit was quite modest in that as it stood, but it felt comfortable and that had to be the most important thing when it came to clothing. His qualms notwithstanding, he thought he liked the way he looked. His signature choker remained where he'd always worn it. His hair was the only contrast to all the black he'd dressed himself in. Every single article was black, as was the string of his choker, but his hair seemed to...set things askew, a little. So white like freshly fallen snow while all the rest of him could easily blend into shadow. Well, that wouldn't be a great issue tonight: he sought to walk out the door under the cover of darkness. He wasn't sure he'd wear such a get-up during the day.

When he emerged from the bathroom and walked into the sitting room, Griffon was the first (and, in fact, only) to voice his impression of the night-clad youth.

“Whoa-ho! What the hell is all that?” For the sake of a better look, the hellion descended from the sofa to hop right up to V, and eyed him up and down in a very rare moment of silence. “You gonna go out slumming or what? You look like hell in those rags.”

“Don't we already live in one?” V reminded, bored with his critique. He was messing with his collar, undecided whether to flatten it down or wear it upturned.

“Not only that, but don't you think you're gonna catch a cold walking around with your, uh, chest out?”

“It–it is not,” V argued bashfully, suddenly tugging on his lapels. “You can hardly see it.”

“No, I see it. Think I see your nipples too—”

“No you don't!”

“Oh! So I guess all six of my eyes are wrong. Am I wrong about that thing being too big on you, too? I think you gotta tighten those laces, kid.”

“Are you finished?” V was completely flustered when he had no need to be. Suddenly, the styling of his collar was unimportant. He had a blush he fought hard to suppress tinting his face, and he thought he would resent Griffon for the rest of his life for spoiling what little confidence he'd managed to scrounge. If Griffon could see such unflattering things, others were likely to see the same. But V wasn't about to change his clothes. Night had fallen, he had no time to waste now before the sun was up again.

Out of sheer defiance, the warlock marched to the kitchenette. His treasure of dirt had been taken from the fridge and given some water to keep from crumbling some little while ago. He hadn't needed the thing too fresh; he would water it like a plant, only with drizzles and drops intermittently. To little effect, however, as it would, as if out of spite, continually chip away regardless of his efforts. Looking at it again made his subconscious frown. He still hated it. Maybe he hated it more than he did at the start. He hated himself for being impatient enough to hasten his work on it. It could have turned out better if he'd learned, gone through trial and error, in due time; but he felt he didn't have that same time to lose. The impetuousness of youth, the desire for instant gratification—it ruined him thus far. But he needed supplies, and he at least had the wisdom to gather them beforehand. Even if Griffon had utter shit to say, V would walk all around him and dodge his bullets.

Thankfully, the raptor did not moan for long. He was left to loiter in the center of the room, watching V dart in and out. Shadow couldn't have cared one way or another; or, perhaps, she was wiser to simply let the boy be. Lounging on the sofa suited her. Ruby-red eyes blinked every so often. V had made a little pile of materials by the front door: a lantern, a canister of salt, five wax candles, a matchbox, a vial of ritual oil, an athame, and of course the grimoire.

Oh, and the vessel in its dish. It was the final item V had retrieved, and with it collected he was prepared to head out. Ultimately, he didn't give a damn about the state he was in, his appearance to demons either allies or foes. It was not his dress that would determine his success but himself: spirit, drive, skill, smarts. All materials minus the dish were placed in a rucksack. V slung it over his shoulder and carried the dish in both hands the minute he'd locked the door to his flat, familiars dissolving into soot-like particles and attaching to the warlock's body as if ink. He wore his coat's collar upturned after all.

A terribly long walk would see him to his destination. It was the same spot he'd been going to for the past fortnight, every night he wanted to try to conjure Nightmare. He'd memorized the path by now, and he would always go in shadow, at night. The poor, unfit thing would have to trek from beyond property grounds to a hilly area backed by a meager woodland out onto the fringes of town. The border, as it were, between named places. Red Grave City was one, to which V lived closest, but the means to move cities were not his. It was always a long walk anywhere for him. Tonight, he would benefit from clear skies and quiet townsfolk. While midnight had not yet struck, the residents around here were generally of mild manner and disinterested in goings on. They would be in their homes, doing as country families do. If they should spy a lanky young man traversing beyond their overgrown yards and vacant lots, they wouldn't give it a second thought. V realized he went through a lot of trouble for a whim, but what was one more night to try?

It might not have been midnight when he set off, but once he'd arrived at the designated spot he was certain that it could not have been earlier than eleven. The exertion tired him out, so all he took was a short breather with his eyes full on the patch of dirt and grass on which he'd made his previous attempts at summoning. He could certainly recognize it under the cover of night; but of course he'd been here countless times already. He remembered where, upon the hill, he would stand, and where the forested wall opened to the east. He remembered the trampled grass underfoot made by his coming and going, and the placement of lit windows in the town in the far distance.

Surrounded by such perfect seclusion, Griffon and Shadow could emerge from their hideaway. Of Griffon this was expected, but not so of Shadow: she was not in the habit of being present during her master's rites, and for her to suddenly sit beside her infernal comrade was a genuine surprise to the young warlock. Her reason was understood, however, and it filled him with some palpable regret. Shadow may not have been as vehement in opposition as Griffon was toward his goal, but her feelings were the same, and still she would let him know with scarcity and subtlety. As evidenced by his being here, he was not swayed by their shared concerns. For her, more so than for Griffon, V had a look of nigh-unreadable apology. In the darkness, her eyes were almost luminous rubies. A contrast to his dimmed peridots.

The dish was placed on the ground by his own trodden path. He fetched the lantern from the sack and switched it on—nothing quite so archaic as an oil lamp, but battery-powered for ease. The rest of his materials were laid out before him; and taking the dagger and lantern, he stepped carefully about the area to find the precise spot where he'd cast his prior circles. They were not hard to find, the etching in the soil still visible even after days of rainfall. V cleared away any debris that'd fallen during the day before setting the lantern between both the circle of summons and the circle of protection. He didn't want to think about the potential pitfalls he'd encounter once the rite would begin, but he would call himself a liar if he'd ever claim he wasn't nervous. He had never before practiced necromancy and there were about a dozen ways his inexperience—along with his deliberate improvisations—would foil him. This was not merely a game of chance he was playing, but one that involved real risk to his flesh and soul. He may not have anticipated failure, but he did fear from it nevertheless.

All those other instances when he'd failed to conjure the demon were failures only because the demon was deceased, and had no physical form with which to manifest. But now V would provide one for the spirit to inhabit, and that was entirely new to him. What's more, he hadn't bothered to practice at any point prior to tonight. His first shot at necromancy would also come as the real thing.

He didn't think about much, as a matter of fact, apart from the steps he was to take and the outcome he so desired. It was his intent that he should, and would, focus on, with nothing more to distract him. So, he cast his circle with salt before casting that of the demon, using his athame to carve the circle in the soil, its blade lightly coated with the necessary oil. It also carved an inverse pentagram within the circle, and the five candles were then arranged to sit on each point of the pentagram. The wax was dabbed with oil as well, and the candles were thus lit. Before the young sorcerer would enter his circle, he set what he'd need within it, and his familiars were wise to sit by the rest that was unnecessary so as not to interfere with the rite and its air. A strange stillness came upon the three, the wind dead and not one of them uttering a sound. Perhaps they knew it: what was about to take place would either ruin him or free him from his obsession.

It was also possible that such freedom could ruin him. Maybe he didn't consider that, but the raptor and the shapeshifter did. They watched their master outfit his circle, blade and oil left of center, grimoire and dish right. The vessel he'd prepared was taken into his hands, its dish abandoned beyond the circles as he had every intention of needing the molded dirt no longer after tonight. If the rite didn't work, he'd try another way. He was already decided on that.

Before V would step into his circle, he gave the lump of soil his final attentions. It wasn't like mud anymore, and it hadn't ever been since he'd brought it home; he knew that was the first mistake, remembering that golems took life from mud or clay—but both came of the Earth, were earth, and V would believe that plain soil would serve its intended purpose. So, he was satisfied before long with what little he'd managed to do with it and gently placed it in the middle of the inverted pentagram. Hands were wiped off, he took in a long breath, and entered his own circle at last.

“V.” Griffon.

“What?”

“Just... Watch yourself with all that, all right? We're right here if shit goes to shit.”

Gratitude needn't come across verbally. V felt it, his familiars knew it without knowing it, and nothing else was said between them. Eyes closed and incantation in mind, palms turned upward at his sides, he steeled himself and spoke words which were new. The candle flames did not waver, and neither did V. “To the lords of Hell and its kings and masters, I ask that a soul stripped of form and life hear my voice, and I implore unto thee, most fair and wise and powerful, with all of my humility, to send unto me thy lost and lifeless kin: that which is singularly named and so bears the name of Nightmare, once brought into being and commanded also by thine banished emperor-kin Mundus; and to this soul I offer life from death, death to rebirth, all powers and wisdom restored, and a vessel for its material form, and every liberty to refuse my supplication.”

His voice was loud and clear, firm and mature; he thought he felt electricity round his fingers. The young man did not yet open his eyes as he honed on the name, the image of the demon in his mind's eye, and the essence of the very thing he wished to will into being. His body was numb to the world around him, his mind ignorant of all things in existence apart from himself and the vessel, and the demon to inhabit it. Not a draft caused the grass to stir or the trees to wave their limbs, not a part of his body seemed alive but the easy rise and fall of his chest. But something had changed, something between the circles, and V felt it like a great oppressive eye, watchful from above. He did not lose his nerve to it but remained focused, knowing and feeling the adjudicators who had come to assess the sorcerer. From the very outset he sought permission to restore one of their fallen. He'd come to learn that it was sound practice to offer every respect to the forces he'd bargained with, and to resurrect an infernal spirit was no different. If V should open his eyes, he would find the flames twitching in the deadened night. But with his body so faintly tingling now, shoulders to waist, he knew it right, only then, to put into sweet, soothing words more of his modest, magic, flattering intent; and for this, he spoke gently as a poet recites to one who is beloved.

“How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot! From the morn to the evening he strays; He shall follow his sheep all the day, And his tongue shall be fillèd with praise.

“For he hears the lamb's innocent call, And he hears the ewe's tender reply; He is watchful while they are in peace, For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.”

He meant himself the shepherd, the demon he sought his flock—or a member of it, and while he was aware of the religious symbolism loaded into Blake's poem, he hadn't a fear of dashing his hopes as he had used these very words to summon in his presence a score of other, lesser demons. He needn't his grimoire to check his memory: he remembered every line, every foot, syllable for syllable. In this, V was experienced. He had come to learn that infernal creatures quite enjoyed poetry, often as much as he.

If the demons were decided in his favor, the spirit of the deceased should find its way to the proposed vessel. But V need only open his eyes if he wished to spy weird, dark miasma twist and dance about the earthen offering; and if he had, he'd have disrupted the flow of things and his concentration would break. That which went unseen was surely felt, however. In the subconscious were sensations translated into images before the mind's eye, sufficient communication that informed the sorcerer of what went on around him. He could feel the darkness, the infernal curiosity and diabolical greed filling the space within the summoning circle. While it was all aware of him, he'd protected himself expertly to allow no evil thing any passage through his barrier. The anticipation was beginning to find room in his mind, and that was a flaw to be entirely avoided. But while he tamed his own spirit, focusing on his intent and his breathing, the energies swirling above the dirt vessel were joined by another. A faintly thing to V's tuned senses, and when left alone it was far weaker than anything he'd sensed before. Lifelessness!

“The demon, Nightmare,” he acknowledged politely, “I bid thee come.” Truthfully, he couldn't have known what it was. The boy clearly was not beyond taking such liberties; but if he should be welcoming, peaceable, and respectful, the spirit should take to his voice—his vessel most importantly. His will remained strong, his intent clear, and with both combined he visualized with all of his psychic prowess the soul pouring into the desired golem. This, too, was new to him, but he sensed it came without challenge. Through mental murmurs he invited the soul to find its comfort and refuge within the earthen form. His hands had begun to move toward one another, palm to face palm but never joining when they hovered before the warlock's center. Calm as he could manage to be, now was when he opened his eyes. To his surprise, a diluted mist hovered above the crafted soil, black like smog but flecked as if with glitter of a violet hue. That was his own magic at work. A heartening sign.

His power, small as it was, had a color to it.

There was more to V's work than will. The closing of his hands was not plain pantomime. Envisioned between them was the soul and its designated vessel, and by drawing his palms closer together he suggested he'd been helping merge the two. The power of suggestion, backed by the power of will, could have been an unstoppable force if executed correctly. If V were any master sorcerer, he'd have doubtlessly infused the vessel with all of the demon's soul in less time than this. He could be patient when it mattered, however, and in this instance he was collected and determined not to fail. The oppressive air that'd permeated the environment amplified the nearer V's hands drew to one another, and there came a point when wind began to stir and blow against the warlock, pushing his hair from his face and disturbing his garments. This tipped him off against pushing any further: he remembered he had to be respectful, to allow the soul a chance to refuse him. He'd never forced his will upon the demons he wished for familiars, never felt it right, and he would not make that mistake now. Griffon and Shadow were his by choice, by mutual agreement, and they'd become friends, even like family for it. V remembered this, knew said friends' eyes were on him all through the rite, and he was prompt to correct himself—and thus the pressure was eased off the miserable spirit, as yet undecided about the offering of renewed life. Perhaps it wasn't impressed with its gifts, with him. That...had to be all right, to the conjurer. He'd have to accept that and let the spirit return to its plane, free.

With the slow separation of his hands, a curious shift in air tickled at his consciousness. He hadn't realized he'd been frowning, but the moment he did he softened immediately. The phantasmal wisps before his eyes, along with their violet glow, had begun to bleed into the misshapen vessel.

So...it had accepted! But of course, the allure of life was irresistible. V did not think for a moment, instead focused entirely on his work. He was absorbed by the sight of the soul feeding into the lump of earth, to fatten it up with life and grant it the gift of sentience. V's hands would come together only when the last of the entity entered the vessel, and this he did to signify the finalization of the first phase. He'd eased off on his psychic influence only for this step so that it would be Nightmare's decision to enter the vessel, not his. Once that was done, however, V would wait. To observe the outcome, to see what would go wrong. His hands rejoined his sides as he watched with, now, apprehension, the vessel illuminated only by the dancing candle light. As he understood it, he was not to engage yet, not until the demon was fully formed and in control of itself. Only then could he attempt to tame the beast, and then bind it to him through the awaited rite of bondage. His heart was as strong as he could have made it, but it still alarmed him to watch movement within the inverted pentagram. The soil once lifeless stirred and shifted, and before his very eyes began to deform itself. It was abrupt, violent, and it had stricken V with genuine nervousness with every motion across the ground, fidgeting left and jerking right, and sometimes nearly flipping itself over—and all the while changing shape, gaining mass, growing. The flames snapped wickedly in the air, and even V could feel it, a sudden explosion of demonic energy that flooded the circles and the area surrounding. It was smothering, but V held fast. He fought it like an ocean, as if wave after wave crashed down. If he'd lose his footing, he'd be pulled into the sea of darkness and potential malevolence, and forced to suffer the torment of a likely vengeful spirit. How was he to know that it was not already at peace, and that he'd come only to disturb its eternal slumber?

Uselessly, he put his arms up like a shield in front of his face as if that would have any effect over the whipping winds. Griffon and Shadow could only watch while on pins and needles, but they were in agreement that the second things turned south, they would charge in to his aid. That young man could get himself into such messes, but he hadn't quite learned to learn from that. One could call him stupid for it, but he preferred to think of it as drive. The grit to stand firm and unflinching was necessary in the face of adversity, and it was proven to him now that such a necessity came twice as strongly when dealing with a demon of so much size and power. Based on what he knew, Nightmare was built like a tank and commanded like one, an annihilating force V should have been wiser not to play with. And when he saw just how large it'd grown, taking on an amorphous form that exceeded even that of the vessel it claimed and turned inside-out to make it unlike any useless heap of anything he'd seen before—and when he realized it hadn't stopped expanding—he understood, finally, that he'd bitten off more than he could chew. And he paled a little at the sight of it now, beyond the obfuscation of his arms, stretching to a height far beyond his own and eclipsing the circle it should have fit into.

Large and bulbous, glossy and flowing as if wet, black as tar, no more resembling the dirt in which it was reborn. It claimed a human shape, as much of one as V could have crafted out of earth, but appeared to re-imagine itself of its own accord. Parts of it were not as V had built, but he didn't have a care for the shape. He supposed he never really did. He simply needed the thing alive, and here he'd achieved it. His golem, his golem, alive! And in the center, toward the top of its...whatever V would think was a head, glowed an orb like a great violet eye, and like an eye it darted in all directions as if it saw for the very first time. Like a human it stood upright on two legs, two disproportionately large arms hanging at its sides. No digits, but broad, round ends like clubs for “hands.” By the candle light, he could note several hooked claws protruding from the thing's arms. Parts of its body looked craggy, almost unnatural, as if shrapnel or rocks had wedged into its hide. This was the demon he'd brought to life from eternal death. This titan called Nightmare, a thing of destruction. It towered above the sorcerer, a dark and hulking thing that could easily snuff him out with its weight alone. His heart was fast in his chest.

It jumped at the sight of the demon's sudden movement and V felt he'd almost folded to the instinct to step back. Ungainly on its smaller legs, slow and heavy, the beast lumbered with every dragging step forward it took. Forward, unto the protective circle!

With its restless eye it perceived him, his body language and the demons not far from him. All things were new to it, like it had the whole of life to relearn. When V's arms came down and his eyes pierced the dark, it was perceived that there was no defense, no offense, and full attention. Ah, but here it seemed to remember—some memories had not gone, and with them had also come the memory of mercy. If Nightmare had remembered any more, it would have likely tried to kill him for his intent. But the demon was almost like a newborn: it knew too little of others, and itself, and regarded the black-clad warlock beneath it just as an infant would fix its indeterminable gaze on a thing of interest.

If V had had the opportunity to savor the success of his first resurrection, he might have. He might have patted himself on the back for once, admired the golem as a thing of beauty, but as he was uncertain and on high alert, he could not think of anything but the very real chance that the demon might retaliate after all—or go berserk. But he remained in the circle, watched the demon hesitate before the uppermost grains of salt on the ground, and felt his heart skip a beat. The demon stalled, right outside the protective circle, and stood motionless as its eye looked in all directions. Perhaps it wondered what stood in its way. V needed to find his nerve or he'd lose the demon to its untamed instincts: he could not afford complacency now that he'd gotten so close, with work still needing to be done in order to claim the demon for his own. So, he would appeal to it, with a voice that came across more meekly than he'd intended. “Nightmare...?”

His voice surely caught its attention. If only he knew it was perceived as only noise.

“Do you understand me?” he probed. “You are alive. You've come back from death.” That stirred nothing. “It was my voice you heard that guided you here. To me.” He was gentle with his words, cautious as he assessed how they'd affected the golem—but no indication of its awareness, of its comprehension, gave him next to no encouragement. He wondered if Nightmare had ever understood spoken language. But, if that hadn't gotten through to the demon, then he supposed something physical might. Much to the horror of his watchful familiars, V pushed himself forward to extend an arm, to reach out his bare hand, to...touch.

“V, what're you doin'?!” The raptor could not have left well enough alone.

Violet pulsated.

The small warlock had stepped beyond the perimeter of salt. He broke his protection and exposed his vulnerable soul to infernal powers for the sake of connection. And he sensed it. At the back of his mind, a tingle; at his fingertips, something sentient and...perceiving, at least, cool to the feather-light touch but so very warm with devil's blood at its core. The silence might have unnerved him, but to know that he was not dismissed gave him heart. “You can feel me?” he wondered with his eyes cast up, searching that deep and indecipherable purple for his answer. Whether or not it was a product of psychic communication, a sense of calm ran through his fingers, and comfort grazed at the very door to his mind. That dark and obsessive demon within him smothered itself the instant man touched demon, demon touched man, and in its place was born a tender affection. His hand was soft over Nightmare's arm and free from its claws.

Now...he admired it, just a little.

But if he could get inside that titan's mind, he'd know what he looked like to it. And to be acknowledged by the thing that gave it new life was new, also, in this way: because it was novel to feel warmth, respect, and to sense that no subjugation would come from the pale little hand that seemed also to lay claim. And it was a strange contradiction. Nightmare seemed to remember something familiar, something like dominion and disregard that came with a claim of its own over the newborn. But these impressions were faint and centuries distant, and Nightmare was not roused to belligerence by a perceived wrong but remained placid and curious before the human boy it almost, almost could have known as a father. It felt, it understood, in its own innocent way, and therefore it sought. But why, why did the black-and-white figure that so kindly welcomed it suddenly peel away in retreat? The demon only wanted to know him, experience him, and mimic his gesture with an arm of its own. It tried to graze him with the claws on its arm, but the human stepped back with a change in his demeanor. Was this rejection? Was this human false?

V's circle was breached by inhuman hands and feet, its protectiveness nullified when V had broken it. He found that his salt did not burn when the demon walked through it. He was swift in collecting his grimoire and scrambled out of the circle entirely, ignoring one familiar's calls to cease and desist as he still so stubbornly held his ground to win favor he didn't know he already had. “Nightmare!” he called with firmness, attempting to command its attention. He was so sure he'd angered it. The grimoire was opened to the page he needed and he, in utter darkness, recited more from memory than from print. “How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot! / From the morn to the evening he strays; / He shall follow his sheep all the day, / And his tongue shall be fillèd with praise.” He glanced to find Nightmare had stilled before him, within his broken circle. That's good. He inhaled a breath to steady himself, to soften, to finish. “For he hears the lamb's innocent call, / And he hears the ewe's tender reply; / He is watchful while they are in peace, / For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.” In a maddening mix of apprehension and anticipation, V watched the violet orb spin: the demon was thinking. Even if such a creature could not understand the human, artful tongue, he knew that a creature could still sense emotion, and from within words so delicately crafted and sweetly delivered, emotion was the only intent he'd meant to convey. Like music soothed savage beasts, poetry soothed soured demons.

Nightmare appeared to like the sound of those words. Its confusion was dashed for a moment, and now only watched V with its same curiosity. When a fleeting moment of broad silence passed, Nightmare wanted to inch closer to him—and was again stilled when another string of pretty words touched its consciousness. Was it meant to stand still when the human talked so affectionately? It decided not to move again.

And this, V determined, was a sign of domestication. He thought he'd tamed the beast, at least halfway, so quickly!

“V,” the raptor persisted, “I don't like this! That thing's an accident waiting to happen!”

“Quiet! I know...it knows.”

“It knows you're a chump—!”

“Shhh!” V pressed a finger to his lips when he'd turned to Griffon but donned a friendly, inviting air when again he faced the colossal golem. He smiled, his eyes glimmered, and he approached it with calm. “Nightmare,” he said quietly, intimately, “will you...be my demon? Will you bind to me?” Predictably, no response, so V reached his hand out again to connect—and tried again, focusing on intent rather than speech with a harder, genuine look over his countenance. “I need you, and I...hope...you need me, too. Will you be my familiar?” His palm was firmer on the demon's flesh this time, but not at all merciless or pressuring.

V never believed he was telepathic, but with Nightmare on the other end of the communication, he could have sworn his feelings had been answered. The demon stood still, as did he, and here he would perform the rite of bondage. His technique evolved, every time, and he'd come upon the simplest form of claiming a familiar to date. If magic was all about intent, then for ceremony there was little need. Through incantation and intent, and mutual agreement, the warlock would bind the demon to himself as effectively as he'd ever done. Griffon swallowed every last complaint to let his master be; Shadow had been wise from the start to observe.

Nightmare was still as it watched the little creature who'd given it life. His words it understood vaguely, but his touch was the easiest language it'd ever known. The golem it came to be was nothing at all like the machine of chaos in its previous life. Whether or not that had something to do with the man who'd willed it into being would ever be a mystery. But it, like him, was calm and patient, and listened to a language it largely heard as noise. He uttered words on and on, and some were pretty while others were fair, and some were soft while others were hard; and when he would speak the same word, “Nightmare,” he was warm with his intonation. And the demon, within, felt a warmth as well that had come upon it quite suddenly. A whole change in the air confused it. But so long as the giver of life held his touch and gave it comfort, the golem would be peaceful in its trust.

Magic leaked into the air from his lips, every syllable of incantation imbuing the forces of life and nature, Earth and Hell, those that were human and diabolical—all, combined, alive with the distinctive violet hue of his art, would grant the warlock that which he sought in all fairness of practice. There was power in the atmosphere, a presence of miasma that was inherent in all demonic dealings, but V was no stranger to the forces whirling about his body or the sensations bouncing and dancing all across his skin. This was a power only he could wield, which only he understood in the way that was so personal and individual, his and his alone. His eyes had been closed for concentration; and as he felt the demon's spirit closer to his own, he bridged the gap by granting the demon knowledge of his sacred name. “My name is Vitale.”

Vitale, not V, who he really was, whom he would always be. All his familiars knew it, and now, too, did Nightmare. He'd forbidden anyone else the privilege—to such an extent that he would forget a moniker was only a moniker.

And maybe, with the bond formed and the final pledges made, he could be less of V, more of Vitale.

“Come, on wings of joy we’ll fly To where my bower hangs on high; Come, and make thy calm retreat, Among green leaves and blossoms sweet.”

It shot through him—power, life, trust, a connection. All of Nightmare, all at once, vanishing from sight as the finest black particles to join with its master on his body, new markings alongside those previous, fitting snugly between each one to fill more of his skin, claiming him for itself in so doing. But this demon took more than the warlock had counted on. It cloaked hair so white in its embrace and painted it black, a deep, true ebony that could have contested even the darkest of shadows. It startled him when his eyes opened, and he grabbed at the strands and his scalp as if to make sense of what had just happened. With the demon finally bound to him, the air fell flat. Magic, left; power, absorbed; spirits, gone. Only V now, and his familiars.

The changes in him were not only skin-deep. Somehow, in some way, he felt Nightmare's weight on him. He felt its strength, too, albeit faintly in his psyche; and he felt his strength, greater than it had been minutes ago, spiritually, but still quite subtle materially, in presence. It was like Griffon's or Shadow's, but Nightmare was a demon on an entirely elevated level. And it must have been for that sole reason that V could feel his body suddenly so tired—and this to such a degree that he slouched a little as a result. His two familiars neared him, relieved to see that he'd survived his experiment.

That's right... He'd succeeded. He hadn't even remembered what hell he'd put himself through for the past several weeks. It all paid off. But he didn't think of it. He used his foot to clear away the casting on the ground, the salt spread in all directions as it was rendered ineffective anyway. When he took one solitary step forward to pet his doting shapeshifter, he felt a weakness in the knees that nearly downed him. It was a stumble, that was all...! No one pointed it out to him, and he was thankful for that.

He'd never felt that before, not even when he'd run himself ragged.

“I gotta hand it to you, kid,” Griffon praised, “you stuck to your idiot guns and got what you wanted. You've gotta be feeling so good about yourself.”

V couldn't help answering distractedly. “Yeah.” He ran his hands through Shadow's fur all the while she circled him, offering fond nudges as though to comfort him. “It's...kind of strange.” He did not eye Griffon.

“What? Too much power for you?”

Was that it?

The answer had to wait as V spent a moment collecting the candles, pouring salt over the area, and defacing the inverted pentagram. This circle, too, was cleared away. But his silence often spoken volumes, so he did not doubt that his demons were already forming conclusions in their dark minds. Their eyes were certainly fixed on him as he had his back turned. When he should have been feeling joyous and fulfilled, he found that, instead, he was...undecided with his feelings, ultimately.

“What about your hair, anyway? I've never seen that happen before.”

“It's strange. I don't know if I'll get used to it,” the warlock admitted, knitting his brows as he caught sight of a strand of black hair falling in front of his eye. What a change—and now he was as if a perfect shadow, black on the bottom and black on top. God, that must have screamed something about him.

“It's not that bad on you, actually,” the chatty demon observed, his tone impressed. But he wanted to know about Nightmare, and he wanted to know that V was satisfied and had finally gotten over his obsession with it. “But we're avoiding the subject, aren't we? Tell us how you feel. I mean, after everything you went through, was it worth it after all? Sure, the big lummox agreed to entering the rite and all—and I'm still shocked it didn't go berserk on us—but it didn't exactly strike me as the intelligent kind. I'm not saying you gotta talk to be smart, but—”

“Sometimes talking less masks stupidity.” V flashed a fleeting smirk. “I guess...I feel all right. Exhausted, but...all right. I think the pressure's just finally catching up to me.” A soft breeze rustled the canopies some feet away. What time had it been? He packed up his materials as Griffon continued to talk his ear off. V blocked him out for the most part, concerned by the strange sensation in his legs. It wasn't tiredness, it wasn't pain. He knew the difference. Lacking a better idea, all he could compare it to was weakness; and all he could figure was that it was his fault in the end, because he'd been so desperate and power-starved that he threw all caution to the four winds for the sake of summoning a demon that was potentially out of his league. Maybe what Griffon had said, about “too much power,” was right. Maybe it had been too much for V, but he'd never given that the kind of thought it deserved. All he wanted was some semblance of self-reliance, the knowledge that he could really hold his own and fold in fear to no one, not man nor demon. It was all he wanted and he'd found it. He had it. Nightmare was his. A demon once under the command of an emperor was now in V's bony hands, and it should have gratified him more.

If anything, he came to realize that he was in error for believing that he could just take from demons as much as he'd wanted, without repercussions. The essence that was Nightmare's which he'd felt through his touch was felt in the back of his mind, only now it was perpetual, and he thought that demon might read what he was thinking, might even influence him if he was not careful.

Because he did, he did feel different. Physically and psychologically. He felt the weight on and the weakness in his body. He felt an intangible strength, and with it an unusual sway to his psyche. While his thoughts remained his own, and he felt himself his own man, he too sensed that there was suddenly more to him. In heart and mind where his inner demon dwelt, he felt it with more clarity than ever. All that was demonic in him, purely of him and from which he was born, seemed more alive now, so suddenly, after Nightmare joined with him to serve him as intended. But it was not Nightmare's doing: V knew, with every familiar claimed, that the demonic blood in him which was so diluted had gained some amplification; and after every demon bound to his skin, more and more of the devil liked to play. It was no wonder that he'd gotten so much more impertinent and stubborn and dark-humored, and that he more and more enjoyed slaying the infernal interlopers who had no place upon the Earth so long as they posed as threats to it. It was no wonder that V was more and more a devil in his own right. Puberty had brought that on, but surrounding himself with demons helped it along. And even that was no such concern for him, because he still believed he could stand a change in character. He hated his meekness.

Maybe there was something more to it all. A change in character would suit the change in his fashion—he'd forgotten he'd been wearing something new, and only when he slung his filled rucksack over his shoulder had he remembered that he'd not worn sleeves. He felt good in what he wore, and comfortable, and he liked that the loneliness of the field afforded him a peace of mind with which to walk freely. No one around to judge him, watch him, or try to break the ice with him. And even if there had been, he liked to believe that the devil inside shouldn't have to care anymore. When he used to be a boy who'd been too frightened to make decisions and take first steps, tonight he'd proven that he was dauntless and relentless, and impossible to sway when he'd had his mind set; and though he showed recklessness, he often paired that with a quick resourcefulness and the ability to rebound. In his teenage years he was too shy to function, but the coming of age brought about a kind of daring that was, more than anything, born from his own distaste toward himself and a desire to mature, evolve, improve. And he had. Every year that passed, he grew up a little more, learned better of the adult world, and adapted more nimbly to things that were outside of his control. And though he had still a ways to go, he was getting there. He was only twenty-one, still too naive and fresh-faced, inept and awkward with people, and continually healed where his trauma was concerned. Emotional scars ran deeply, and they hadn't quite closed. They didn't. That's why the young man, though still a boy for all intents and purposes, bled from his hidden wounds to the present day.

Perhaps there was something more to be gained from Nightmare than simply its alliance. V had finally realized that he'd met his goal—probably his hardest one to reach yet. He'd resurrected a demon from death! He formed a vessel for the spirit to inhabit, to use as its own body and reshape it as it pleased. He tamed the demon with the art of the spoken word, nothing more, and successfully bound it to him, himself to it. Things that he had not even practiced before had all worked on his very first attempt, and if that in itself was not a sign of growth and experience, then nothing else could be. Before his own eyes he improved upon his craft, gained a new skill while mastering older ones, and granted a second chance to a soul which, in its previous life, had been used as a tool only to be slain by its master's foe. That couldn't have been any kind of life to live and it certainly wasn't any kind of afterlife. Here, V showed he was merciful, too; and it may have been by sheer coincidence that things had turned out that way, his intent originally to bind the most powerful demon he could host on his body, but ever since he'd laid eyes on the thing—touched it with heart and soul—he felt differently. He wanted more than what he bargained for, and in several ways he'd gotten it. Nightmare was to be as much a friend to him as Griffon and Shadow, as much a part of their small family unit as anyone else in it. More than power and bravado, he wanted connection, and comfort, and someone more to trust, and someone to trust in him, to need him, to value him as he'd value them. And he found it in Nightmare. He found a lot in Nightmare. When the demon joined with his body and the cloud of maddened obsession lifted from his psyche, the warlock could finally see it all: his mistake, mistakes, his flaws and talents, his honest needs, what he was and who he thought he wanted to be, should be, and how he ought to be it. There was a truth revealed to him in bonding with Nightmare and in everything he'd done to get there in the first place. Everything from his devotion to his dress, from his guts to his tenderness.

V thought he'd found himself, through this. He'd found at least a part of Vitale—and he'd chip away at himself to find even more until he was all out in the open. Still so young, he had so much time for it.

As he walked back the path he'd taken, Shadow had melted to darken his form along with Griffon shortly after. There was no conversation to be had between man and devil; and V got away with leaving many of Griffons' questions unanswered. Fatigue, he'd explained. Partly true. Already was he tiring himself out, pushing more than he was used to just to keep on the path. If he expected to stand on his own two feet with his head held high, confidence on his brow and the steadfast backing of his infernal friends, he wouldn't do it looking and feeling so tuckered out. But he'd done wrong to reflect on it now. V had inevitably seen himself home.

Griffon and Shadow were freed to sleep where they pleased the moment V locked the door. Sleep was not often something that he looked forward to. Given the frequency of his nightmares, he would start in the middle of the night with his traumas and insecurities brought to the forefront of his mind as if he'd lived through every painful experience all over again. But he was too tired to care when he flung himself on his bed, and he likewise did not fight the fading of his consciousness when he slipped right off to sleep. He always would, and horror would reliably wake him. Only, tonight, it didn't. He didn't wake. He'd slept in unintentionally when dawn broke. It was strange to him that he'd felt mildly rested in the morning, when he would oft feel sleepy. He didn't remember any disturbance in his sleep. But the black of his hair made him wonder; and, still, the tiredness in his body hadn't left him. He would go to the same field that night in an attempt to call Nightmare from its hideaway for the first time, but the demon did not come. Try as he did, driven to worry and exasperation, thinking even that he'd betrayed his new friend in some irreversible manner, the familiar would not emerge. Griffon suggested a thousand things to try, and those that were sensible resulted in failure.

But...V did think of one thing before quitting for the night. He thought to be playful, as if coaxing a child from its hiding place, when he poured his will and his warmth into a snap of his fingers. From the sky came crashing down a meteorite, V's hair suddenly white.

Ah, so that's how it is.

#drabble ;#// I post this here because it's all a part of V's character development.#// I can't expect anyone to read it directly on my blog because. I mean really. 19 pages.#// After seven days I show signs of life on Tumblr omfg

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iphoenixrising · 7 years

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I can't stop thinking about your Dr!Tim verse (This isnt a prompt btw, I just wanted you to know that Ive been thinking about your writing and how much its inspired me. Sorry for how long this is). I keep imagining the man on the bridge being the hot topic on every news station and paper, even more than Batman and Robin. Everyone wants to know who he is. Is he ok? Did he give his life saving his fellow Gotham citizens? There are a lot of questions

(2)and few answers. Those in the loop are more than content to leave it that way,but somehow it gets leaked that Gothams new hero is a young prodigy doctor atGotham General. Tim is not made aware of this until he gets mobbed by reportersas he’s leaving his 36 hour shift and getting asked a lot of innapropriatepersonal questions. And it’s not nearly as funny as you seem to think it is,Jason.

(3)Of course his boyfriends quickly stop finding the situation funny once the joboffers from all over the world start rolling in. Dozens of them, all offeringthings like millions of dollars in salary, positions like chief of surgery, allin state of the art hospitals that are properly funded and don’t reside incities with crazy clown attacks. And it hurts because, how could they ask himto stay? How could they ask their genius sugar to tie himself down to a city

(4)that chews everyone in it up and spits them out, to be a doctor in a hospitalbarely scraping by, how could they ask their genius boy to refuse a once in alifetime opportunity to escape this shithole of a city and make something bigof himself, all to stay with two vigilantes who cant guarantee they’ll make ithome each night. They couldn’t do it, they want whats best for their boy, evenif it means he leaves them. They can’t ask him to stay.

(5)Damian of course has no such qualms about blackmailing, er requesting Drakestay in the city, and subsequently with his older brothers (Because if he hurtsthem, Damian will hurt Tim twice as bad). Which leads to a very awkwardconversation in which Damian threatens Tim not to leave, Tim is confusedbecause “who said anything about leaving?” And then they have a heartto heart about how Tim isn’t stuck at Gotham general, he chose that hospital.And that he’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

So, hi babe :D Iknow this has been sitting in my inbox for a minute, sorry >.

Brilliant, babe. Justbrilliant.

I also get to play withanother back-and-forth I haven’t really gotten to yet in these little things,so I’m super excited for B and Tony Stark to just have a little snark-fest,yeah?

Tony showed up a fewweeks early for his quarterly “visit” to Gotham.

It’s disconcertingbecause Tony Stark goes between creating new innovations to privatelyconsulting around the US on the most dire of cases in need of a precise handand large enough ego to make miracles happen. He might have to do somebookkeeping even though Pepper is his CEO and runs his company with iron heels. When he’s not working, he has a nice relationship waiting for himat home.

All of it didn’t leaveTony much time to be running to Gotham before schedule to do someridiculous amount of pouting.

And yet?

Here they are.

When Tim actually getsto turn away from the stack of charts he’s updating, he has an oh shitmoment because Tony…isn’t immediately talking. No white coat, just asnazzy three-piece, arms crossed over his chest, and utterly

Silent.

Tim automaticallystands, taking in his old mentor from head to foot, looking for clues toadd to the inevitable diagnosis hovering in his brain pan.

(Because, you know, thattime when he was still a lowly bachelor and could take a month off of Mercy topretty much live in Tony’s facility while things like brain tumors threatenedhis Tony Stark’s life. His hands didn’t shake the whole time he was rootingaround that famous mound of grey matter–that’s when he knew he’d hit the bigleagues.)

“If you even think,”Tony starts, low and angry, “of taking the offer from UCLA over mine, Iwill be an even bigger asshole about your terrible life choices.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Word has apparently gottenaround.

It started out with aquick blurb on the news, blurry camera phone picture of emergency workers andplain clothes civilians jumping to action in the middle of a crisis, a humaninterest story and all that. A glimmer of goodness among the chaos.

More picture with betterquality once the shock and aftermath died down, started to flood Social Media,even various videos of cables snapping and people running, trying not to gettrampled. One the media latched onto just happened to be of him carrying thelittle girl from the car and helping her mother up in the back of a truck tosend them to safety.

The one with himbreaking through the fallen debris made Dick gasp from the table where he waspatching his suit and Jay wrap a big hand around his ankle to squeeze.

The one where he almostlost his grip climbing the wall of broken shit and flaming car remains isprobably where someone saw the connection because the class of kids went on thenews, holding up colorful signs with Thank-You, Dr. Drake!

He was happy they allseemed fine and after an uncomfortable call from Channel 11 Gotham (howthey found out his name is still a mystery even though he suspects B is an evenbigger troll than he’d already surmised), in which he stipulated nocameras this time, went by the elementary school for a visit. They gripped hisnerd shirt with excited hands, and his arms are long enough for a lot ofhugs.

But while Channel 11agreed to his term of no cameras, no interviews, that didn’t really panout when it came to the story later on that night.

His picture flashed allover the damn place, the resident angel on the bridge as one Dr. Drakefrom Mercy General trying to save as many lives as he could. More video clipsand interviews after the fact (he’s so glad to see that Karmen and her mom areokay), and dammit, he’s being literally attacked outside thedouble doors to his ER after a very long shift without Steph. He mighthave been a little mean when he told them in no specific terms that he was onlytrying to make sure people didn’t, you know, die horribly, as is hisnormal, every-day job, and please let him go home where he can pass outfor a day or he’s going to lie down on someone’s shoes and take a nap.

Jay was predictablyentertained at the whole of it. Dick merely told him his kick-ass doctorinstincts deserved appropriate accolades.

Both of them areassholes, but still, they’re his assholes.

But eventually, likeeverything in Gotham, those videos became old news and the next wave ofinevitable oh shit became front and center. Which, should have meant hisfifteen seconds of fame was pretty much over (thankfully)–if he hadn’tstarted getting other interest.

Several offers startedcoming first by mail to the Penthouse, more by phone and email. Unassumingproper stationary with silver and gold lettering, bright voicemails about his“heroism” and obvious skill in emergency situations, emails from high-rankingdoctors or board members extending an invitation to visit their campus and seeif his career might be going in a new direction.

(Gag)

It was pretty easy atfirst, chucking those finely detailed introduction letters in the trashdiscreetly, sending back appreciative declines without Dick or Jason gettingwise as to how many there actually were.

(John Hopkinsthough…that one he had to think about)

A month later and thingsslacked off (or might be routed through Drake Industries so they stop coming tothe Penthouse). Apparently, though, the attention had been somewhat noticeable.

“I don’t know what youmay have heard, Tony, but–” he starts out calmly, putting the penpointedly down.

“Let me start with the shortlist,” it’s the usual sarcasm laying the mood, mimicking an imaginarychecklist, “John Hopkins, Department Head of Emergency Medicine. Mayo, General Surgery Residency Program Director. MassachusettsGeneral, Chief of Surgery. UCSF, Chief of Residents. UCLA, Chief of Staff.Cedars-Sinai, Neuroscience research grants out the ass. Sound morefamiliar?”

Well, there’s only oneway to get this conversation started.

Bonding over coffee.

Gathering up hischarts with a sigh, Tim shakes his head a little and grabs the cane he’s beenusing since his leg is finally starting to get with it (and no Steph,the House MD jokes were funny a week ago, now you need new material). Heshoos Tony out of the room and down the corridor to the chaos that is his ER.

“Notice I didn’tmention the very generous and consistent offer from StarkMedical, Tim,” because Tony really has nothing to be mad about per sayand falls in step beside him anyway, slowing down his unusually fast strides toaccount for the limp. “Because I’m not here to smooze.”

He pauses at the maindesk to arrange the charts in order, gets the approving nod from his favoriteHead Nurse.

“There’s story behindthis,” he fills in casually, “it’s more complicated than just–”

“You almost died,”Tony interrupts smoothly, “on a bridge. You ran around on a crumbling bridgeinstead of getting people the hell off while you got the hell off. Halfthe nation saw that guy with the crazy bat fetish catch someone out in openwater wearing purple scrubs, Tim.”

Well, none of that isa lie really.

Hands free, Tim gripsTony’s elbow and steers them pointedly into the break room, closes the door.With Dr. Stark roaming around Mercy, most everyone would stay clear unless somecatastrophe hits anyway.

He lets Tony stew fora few minutes while he makes a fresh pot of coffee and thinks very, very hardabout how this is going to go.

“You were worriedabout me,” Tim finally gives a half-grin in the face of Tony’s nope, andputs a fresh paper cup in his hand, “you can bluster all you want, but you wereworried, and I appreciate it.”

“That is absolute crapand you know it. I’m here to make sure no other hospitals or researchfacilities snatch you up, Drake. Not after all the effort I put into you overthe last few years.”

Sure, Tony. “The bridge. I survived. A lot of otherpeople survived, so you can ignore whatever crap the news stations aresaying–”

“All of it is true.You stupidly risked your life when the structural integrity was compromised,and since it just happened to involve that wing-nut in the cape, thenation is going to pay the fuck attention.”

Which is probably whyhe’s suddenly Mr. Popular in his field. Well, that does answer some questions.

“You’re taking thisout of proportion,” even if it’s fruitless, he’s still going to try,“there really haven’t been that many–”

“Twenty of the topfacilities in the world have made offers that would put this place to shame.Three of your last publications have shown up in recent journals. The nextsymposium you’re supposed to be at is already sold out.”

And well, shit.He…he didn’t know all of that.

“Besides, if I wasblowing it out of proportion, we wouldn’t be talking about it in thedeserted break room, Drake.”

Tim groans out loud,rubbing a tired hand down his face. How is he going to explain without soundinglike a complete moron?

“Tony, the offersare…nice, okay? I’m not going to say it isn’t cool to be wanted by someof these places. I mean Cedars… they have equipment and research facilitiesmost places couldn’t even dream of. Just the possibilities–”

A very pointedclearing of the throat makes him take a pause to breathe, count to ten becausehe has to get in the mindset to deal with Tony like this again (it’s been aminute) when he’s being incredibly stubborn.

Neither of them noticethe dark blue against black right at the side of the building, but the presenceunder the open window narrows white eyes and stays hidden in the Gotham shadow. Who even knew how long he’d been there.

“Excuse me,Cedars has equipment most facilities–aside from Stark Medical of course–couldn’teven dream of.”

The look he gets backis unimpressed at most, but Tim can see past the usual Tony Stark mask. Theexuding confidence is there like the nice, expensive suits he wears, but underneaththe brilliance and the snark, Tony’s eyes are bloodshot and the dark circlesunderneath look like bruises. He keeps his dominant hand in the pocket of hispants, probably to hide the slight tremble (which is why he isn’t wearing acoat, right? If Tony’s riding the sleep dep train, he won’t operate if hishands are starting to shake).

Tim eases back alittle, sips on his terrible sludge while idly thumbing his phone open.

“I’m very well awareof the opportunities right in front of you, Tim,” Tony starts moving, a shortwhirlwind of movement, activity, and energy. “I’m just saying–”

“What I told you ayear ago is still true,” Tim comes back, finishing up the quick text to one ofTony’s significant others, (just a little knowledge drop on how exhausted hismentor really is). He puts his phone away and crosses his arms over his chestin a firm sign of ‘this is how the discussion is going to go.’

“You can’t be serious.”And yes, that’s Tony Stark without all the touchy-feely, I care if you diekind of thing. “I’m outraged. I’m outraged on your behalf, Tim.”

“You can’t be,” hedeadpans.

“The hell I can’t.You’re going to stay here, in this death trap of a city and practicemedicine in this ill-equipped, dilapidated chop-shop hold-over from the secondWorld War–”

“Tony, c’mon.”

“While half thegoddamned world is out for you?! Do you have any idea what kindof direction your career could go if you accepted even one of thoseoffers?”

“I–”

“Anything else isliterally going to be professional suicide.”

“When you put it like that–”he snarks back, getting a little closer to his patience. It had taken longerthan usual because Tony, like Layla, needed to adults to lay it out for themonce and awhile.

“It’s time to listento reason, Tim. You’ve had plenty of time to try, I don’t know, winningthe Nobel for putting up with terrible conditions and homicidal maniacs withbomb fetishes. Isn’t it time you started challenging yourself again, and notby trying to die in this trash-dump city?”

And the shadowsoundlessly slides away in the night, leaving the conversation to finish up anecessary patrol. The rushing wind doesn’t take away anything he’s alreadylearned.

Dr. Drake, blissfullyunaware of the company, narrows his eyes dangerously, straightens up because dammit,he thought he handled this.

“I. Am. Not.Interested.” He tries, wondering if the emphasis counts. “As appealing as theresearch capabilities are, I’m not taking any of the offers. At all, atall. I’m staying right the fuck here where I choose to be.”

And he sees Tony startto open his mouth to start-up with another fast and furious argument on whyGotham is a cesspool of death and more death, but Tim walks right overanything he might have started in on by just getting right up in Tony’s faceand laying it all out.

“I appreciate the fuckout of the interest, Dr. Stark. Thanks but no thanks.”

“I need someone tocheck you out obviously.”

“I like ithere.”

“Oh? And what’s hername Mister I-Like-It-Here?”

“His name,Tony, and their names for your information.”

That has the intendedeffect and makes his old mentor pretty much pause on the next syllable.

“But just so you know,they aren’t the only reasons why I’m staying in Gotham City. It’s more thanbeing close to my parents’ graves or close to my best friend and my niece. It’smore than just finally coming home, Tony. I belong here. I’m neededhere. It’s dirty and dangerous and so fucking what if there’s a guy in aBat suit running around kicking the shit out of criminals? It’s my city,so no. I’m not going anywhere.”

And Tony just blinksdown at him for long moments, this scene so painfully familiar from their daysof arguing back and forth during his “internship” with Stark Medical. It hadn’ttaken him long to understand what needed to be done to make someone like TonyStark change his mind.

Get all up in his faceand drop some truth bombs.

“I really, really hatethis,” Tony finally replies flatly, but his eyes are scrunched in amusement.

“I know. If I ever dowant to leave it behind, then you know the first place I’m going to go,” Timcomes back more gently, giving Tony a smirk.

Even though he’sobvious not happy about it, some of the pissed off fades out of Tony’sstiff posture. “Promise me, Drake. No one gets to kill you before I pick yourbrain about the neuro-stimulation device we’re working on.”

And with the obviouspun, he leans over laughing until his damn leg starts to ache and Tony has tohold him up by the arm so he doesn’t fall over.

The very impressiveRolls Royce greets Dr. Stark when he finally makes his way out the front doorsto attempt finding some palatable coffee.

The older man waitingby the passenger-side door is familiar enough that a smile cuts across Tony’sface.

“Alfred! Long time, nosee.” He smirks at the irony since his “visits” to Gotham didn’t alwayscoordinate with Pepper’s insistence he at least be in the city for SMbusiness.

“Master Stark, apleasure to see you again, Sir.”

“Always. Let me guess.You have some incredible coffee in there waiting for me?”

“Of course, Sir. Flavoredjust how you prefer.”

“You are a master ofall things, Alfred. Don’t even let Bruce tell you any differently.”

“I shall remind him atevery opportunity. However, you may do me a service and tell him yourself,”Alfred opened the back door with a slight flourish to show the billionairehimself sitting in the back, drinking from a thick, glass tumbler.

“Aw, Bruce, is that autility belt under your shirt or are you just happy to see me?”

The surgeon foldshimself down to get in, eyes sparkling for the slight scowl on his old friend’sface. He pays little attention to Alfred getting back in the driver’s seat andstarting the car. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t trust me inyour city.”

Tony stick up hispointer fingers at the side of his head, wiggling them to mimic the ears on theside of the cowl.

He’s smiling likecrazy when B just rolls his eyes and takes a deep pull from the tumbler.“You’re early, even after you’ve been running the gambit at your facility andStark Industries for the past few weeks. Forgive me for being curious.”

“I had to see anotherdoctor about a job prospect.”

“The doctor we have amutual interest in?”

“That would be theone. Next time he needs to be saved, leave the tights at home. Don’t you have aWE helicopter for a reason?”

“And exactly how wouldI explain that one away?”

“You have PR people,Bruce, let them have a field day with ‘rich socialite accidentally savespeople on a crumbling bridge.’”

“That would make morework for me as Bruce Wayne. Batman is a better figurehead for that kind ofthing.”

“Figurehead? Oh,you mean the persona you’ve gone to great lengths to hide as some kindof myth or urban legend all these years? That guy just suddenly shows up in thedaytime?”

“He’s beenphotographed before, Tony. Sometimes even with other superheroes, likeSuperman and Wonder Woman. All drawback of being on a team.”

“Teams are wonderfulthings, Bruce.

“Says you.”

And from a pocket inthe door, Bruce finally has a little bit of mercy on the overworked genius bypulling out a warm travel mug with the Batman logo on the front.

Tony laughs maniacallyfor long, painful moments, earning another eye-roll. The contents, however, arejust as Alfred promised: full of caffeine and just as tasty.

After a long moment ofsatisfaction, Tony lays his head back on the cushy seat and just sighs.

“You’re pushingyourself too hard,” Bruce admonishes gently. “I’m going to send the WE chopperto pick up Jim and Steve instead.”

That wakes him up.

“Don’t you even dare,B. I’ll never forgive you.”

“I’ve made worseenemies.”

Tony doesn’t snortcoffee up his nose, but really, it’s a close thing.

“You obviously can’ttake care of yourself,” Bruce is his usual brusk, no-nonsense about it, butTony can see there’s already some kind of plan in the making. “I can seewhy the two of them have such a hard time with you.”

“Says the guy thatneeded an emergency arthroscopy for meniscus tears.”

“Then I guess I’m verylucky you were in town.”

Tony hums, but hiseyes are sparkling. “How is the knee doing by the way?”

“It hurts when I breaksomeone’s jaw. Other than that, it’s fine.” And because it’s Bruce, he wavesit away without a second thought.

Tony hums again, buthis eyes go down to the knee in question.

Bruce sips his drinkagain while Alfred continues driving and Tony makes him wait for it.

Finally, once they’repassing the old Mylar building, B looks at him head-on, “all right. What did hehave to say?”

Trying not to grin,Tony shrugs a shoulder, “you’ve got nothing to worry about. Drake is staying inGotham, even with the more-than-generous offer I’ve made him. Believe me, B,I’m not happy about it, but he doesn’t seem too keen on leaving Mercy General.”

And as Tony is well-awarein their long and industrious friendship, the real Bruce Wayne is like a closedbook, doesn’t let even the smallest twitch break his facade (well, except infront of his boys, which is when BatDad makes an appearance), but thesigns of relief are really hard to miss for someone that literally kept B’sright arm moving after that rotator cuff injury.

“Dick and Jay will behappy to hear that, I suppose.” Tony observes with false cheer becausehonestly, who wouldn’t put two and two together at this juncture.

(Bruce isn’t the onlydetective. As a surgeon, Tony has to deduce with little evidence, so it’s notreally a shocker to find out the vigilantes have a doctor for a sweetie. Smartmove all around.)

“…yes, they will.Tim…?”

“He didn’t have to.You just told me yourself, Mr. Wayne.”

At the frown, Tonygives himself a mental point. The day he can get one up on the Batman is reallya day he needs to remember.

“All right, fine. Jayand Dick might have mentioned he’s been getting attention outside Gotham. I’vealready taken some steps to try making it seem like staying in the city mightbe a better deal.”

And Tony’s jaw drops,“you’ve been trying to get Mercy to partner with WE! That’s why they aren’tplaying nice with Pepper! Bruce, you devil.”

“Demon, actually, ifyou believe the stories,” and now it’s Bruce smirking into his tumbler. “We’lltalk more about it over dinner. Besides, the Batcomputer is on the fritz again.You can dazzle me over filet mignon.”

“Flatterer. How can Ipossibly say no?”

Bruce taps theintercom to tell Alfred they’re ready to go back to the Manor and Dr. Starkwill be joining them for the evening. Alfred gives him an affirmative and the planis set into motion. If there just happens to be a comfortable surfacefor Tony to pass out on during the visit, well, the pictures for Jim and Stevewould be well-worth the effort.

The conversation withTony didn’t end well, leaving him with a mental hangover by the time his shiftis finally over.

Night hadn’t startedbreaking away into dawn yet, so he’s still walking by dark alleys where thestreet lights are flickering.

He gets out a, “whatthe fuck–!?” before he’s just suddenly swept up off his feet by a strongarm holding him up hundreds of feet in the air.

Really, he should beused to things like this by now.

Robin undoubtedly givesno shits about how tight he’s holding onto the doctor or, the obviousdifferences in their height as punctuated by the botched landing, putting himliterally on his ass.

“Wow, thanks for the warning,Rob. I really didn’t need legs anyway.”

In some way that mightactually show he’s sorry, Robin bends down to pick up the cane and handsit over so Tim can get back on his feet.

“Alright, what’s goingon? Where are you hurt?” He doesn’t bother with niceties, just grips Robin bythe bicep and turns him, uses the cane to hold the cape out of the way. “Pleasetell me no one stabbed you because wouldn’t that just be ironic?”

He sees no blood ortorn suit. Takes a second look just to make sure.

Robin, in a creepyparody of his conversation with Tony earlier in the evening, is silent.

“Rob? Robin, what isit?”

A litany of oh shitruns through his brain pain in the form of toxins, mind control, and bloodborne pathogens (oh my).

“I have beeninformed,” the youngest vigilante starts slowly, “you are considering other opportunitiesoutside of Gotham, Drake.”

He blinks once. Doesit again while staring down at the whiteouts.

“Opportunities? Rob–Dami,what are you talking about?”

“Facilities are vyingfor you, offering you more advantages than any in Gotham possibly could.I understand the temptation of such offers–”

“Whoa, what? Wait aminute. Just. Wait.”

“However,” Robin goeson, his tone low in the night, “I am here to offer you a bargain.”

And that in no waywhatsoever sound anything less than ominous. Like, ‘I’ll promise not to takeout your spleen’ kind ominous.

He leans down a littleso the crime fighter doesn’t have to look up at him, “First: yes, I’ve gottensome job offers. It’s nice they’re thinking of me, really, but those offers arebased off a one-time emergency incident, not because they’ve seen me inaction or know anything about my…hobbies. They’re not offering a jobto me, Dami. Do you get that?”

The ensuing silenceand Bat-stillness are signs of the younger processing.

“Besides, I choseto come back to Gotham when I could have gone pretty much anywhere after myinternship with Stark Medical. You have no idea how many places wantedme on staff after I survived Tony Stark. If I wanted a job outside of the city,I could have had it in spades. The point is I chose to be here. I wantedto stay, and that? Isn’t going to change, okay? No bargains, no threats,nothing. I’m not leaving–”

He stops himselfbefore saying I’m not leaving Dick and Jay because really, he isnot, repeat Not talking to Dami about his relationship. Poor kid mightbe traumatized for life, so nope, not happening.

(Their last littleconvo to the vibe of ‘harm my brother and I shall eviscerate you per one ofyour textbooks. I shall do it slowly and methodically. Your screams would nottrouble me’ turned into a pretty good discussion on the best possiblescenario in effectively ripping someone’s spine out. His argument against thelogistics of it had spurned Robin out of the killing mood).

The obvious relief inthe small crime fighter is right there in how his shoulders sag just slightly.

“So, you’re going tohave to put up with me saving your ass when you do stupid shit like take on anarmy of zombified Jokers without backup.”

“Then…I shall haveno other option but to deal with your meddling when necessary,” the youngerwaves off his concern, but a corner of his mouth is tilted up just enough tonotice.

It’s really nice ofDami to drop him off on his fire escape. Walking would have been fine, but whenyou can travel Air-Robin, well, why not?

He pushes his windowup and gingerly eases in, maneuvering the cane to steady his leg. Hands are onhim before his head is inside and he wacks himself a good one in surprise.

Dick is smiling gentlydown at him, still gripping his elbow to steady him.

“That sounded like ithurt,” is a failed attempt at a joke because the mirth doesn’t reach the darkblue of Dick’s eyes.

Oh. OH. Welp, that’swhere Dami got this nonsense from, is it?

His stern lecture isgoing to have to wait for at least one cup of half-way decent coffee because hereally need to wind it up so the message hits home.

Jay is already there,his chair pulled out from the kitchen table and the pot filled with somethingdarker than the night.

“Hi honey,” he tiredlycalls, “did my boys have a good time kicking the shit out of bad guys tonight?”

Making grabby hand athim, Dick is one of his hugging moods, and pretty much lifts him off hisfeet to nuzzle/carry him to the table where blessed coffee awaited. Fine.Lecture pending.

He gets a last goodnuzzle to the face before the smell of pizza hits and a plate appears in frontof him. Jason leans down to blow a breath across his jugular before his mouthpresses just enough to be a kiss, the usual effect takes his nerve endings up anotch or two before the tease pulls away.

The three of them eatin sluggish silence, the strain of their night jobs hitting a little close tohome. The call of a communal shower and their large, comfortable bed a siren’ssong to the over-worked, sleep-deprived do-gooders.

But Tim knows them bynow, knows what’s already running them further down.

Through the last yearof their relationship, they’d already been through the whole we’re puttingyou in danger just by being with you argument.

Yes, yes it possiblywas.

Yes, he is fullyaware.

Yes, he can make hisown choices fuck you very much. Apparently, his no, not changing mymind is going to come out for a second time tonight.

“Robin picked me up onthe way home,” he starts out while the two of them are finishing up and lookingless likely to start up arguing before he’s made his point.

“Dami was still out?”

“What? Baby Bat ain’tget enough in that warehouse down on 23rd?”

Tim finishes off hiscoffee and finally sets his eyes on first Jason and then Dick. “Going to ask mewhat he wanted?”

Both crime fighters gostill, doing that eye slide thing they can still pull off with a domino andhelmet.

“Lay it on us,Timmers.”

“He pretty much askedwhat offer I was accepting for some mystery job half a continent away,”and now he’s glaring, eyes narrowing when Dick looks quickly away and Jasonsits back with a tense jaw jutting out.

“Which is absolutelyfucking ridiculous considering I like right where the hell I am.Where could he have heard such a thing, I wonder?”

Oh yeah, that’s Dick’sguilty expression.

“It’s fine if theywant to offer me a position, but the nice thing about it is that I can politelydecline, you know.”

“Top twenty facilitiesin the world, Timmy?” Dick’s voice is softer than he’d like, shakingly unsurefor a vigilante that literally risks his life every night to keep peoplehe doesn’t even know safe. “That’s not something to take…lightly.”

His mouth drops openwith an are you even kidding me?

“‘Sides,” Jayintejects without really looking at him, “ain’t like this is the fucking centero’ the world fer a fella like you, Sweets. Smart, sassy, moves like yerass is on fucking fire when someone’s on the line. Ya got moreguts than anyone outta the cape I ever met.”

“Gotham doesn’t haveto be the hill you die on,” Dick picks up, looking down into the sludge left atthe bottom of his coffee mug, “we would absolutely understand andsupport you if you even wanted to look into any of these places–”

“Even go ta seewhatcha might be lookin’ at,” Jay shrugs indifferently, “make sure ya’d findsomewhere safe ta build a nest.”

“The kind oftechnology they could offer you would be, like, ground-breaking stuff and…andGotham just can’t give you that, Tim.”

“No motherfuckersgonna break inta yer shit, I guaran-fucking-tee ya on that.”

“It’s not just beingin the ER or in surgery, it’s moving up to management or teaching or being afull-time researcher with grants and–and everything.”

“Make a safe routethere n’ back, you feel me? Me n’ Dickie’ll scope it out a few days, check the scene.”

“We would never wantto hold you back, baby. Not when the only thing Gotham has to offer you isexploding bridges and insane mad men that kidnap you and ninjas that are readyto attack at any second, and…and Timmy, you could never be safe, notreally, not here. Not even with us and B and Dami and everyone else,it’ll never be completely safe for you.”

“But fucking believeit, Timmers, we’ll make any place ya wanna lay yer head down as safe as wecan, yeah?”

“We…we love you, andwe want the best for you.”

“If leavin’ is what’sbest, Sweets, then we’ll make it fucking happen.”

It’s DIck’s voicecracking and Jay’s shiny, averted eyes that end it for him right then andthere.

He shoves himself upfrom the table abruptly, a jarring motion. The sound of the chair fallingbackwards a loud clatter against the softness of their voices. He keeps a handon the table top to walk around the damn thing and almost strangle Jason bylooping an arm around the base of his throat and pull the Red Hood into hischest. He holds out his other hand to Dick, glaring with the best of hisabilities.

It’s a tremulous thingwhen Dick rises tiredly out of his seat and takes that hand, lets Tim pull himover and secure the both of them to him.

“I’m going to say thisbecause it’s obvious the two of you are too tired to use your detective skillsfor anything more than superficial clues.”

Slowly, Jay’s face isin his stomach, arms wrapping around his waist while Dick secures his chest,the two of them almost holding him up.

“After all thefighting I’ve had to do to get here, to get this far, I’m not giving up jackshit. I run the gauntlet because that exactly where I want to be. I staywith my people because that’s my fucking team and no, I don’t wantor need another. I can watch Layla grow up into this kick ass little person andmake sure Steph has someone to Netflix and chill with while we kill a pint ofBen & Jerry’s. But what matters the most, what I can’t fucking give upis being here with the two of you in whatever capacity I can. Asyour boyfriend, as your surgeon, as the guy that is totally, you know, inlove with you. As someone that can share your lives like this. All of it isexactly what I want and what I get to choose. You two? Don’t get to tellme what’s best for me. I decide that. Got it?”

The quiet, still menattached to him give half-shuffling nods where they’re buried in him.

“I don’t want to hearanything else about leaving Gotham, like at all, okay? The answer is no.I’m not going anywhere to tour the facilities or listen to stupid speechesabout what they have to offer or how good the benefits package is. None of thatshit. They can’t offer me my ER, they can’t offer me time doing research in theBatCave, they can’t let me play around with alien DNA for a minute, and theycan’t give me you two. So? No. Case closed.”

Dick lets up justenough for him to tilt Jay’s head back and lean down to slide their lipstogether, giving the Red Hood a little something to seal the deal. Those eyesare bluer when he pulls back, making him smirk before he straightens up to giveDick the same treatment.

(Because they’re bothtall, he has to pull them down to effectively fuck his tongue in their mouths.Such a pain in the ass.)

When he pulls back,Dick gasps in a little, tightens his hold around Tim’s chest.

But the reliefpervades the air between them, giving him a reason to go a little more lax,just to feel them pretty much ready to hold him up completely.

“So the plan is,”he continues easily, one hand on the back of Jay’s neck to rub the tensionaway, and the other gripping Dick’s wrist tight enough to bruise tomorrow, “weget a nice, hot shower with plenty of scrubbing and maybe a little play time.Then, we climb in bed and pass the fuck out. You can fix your suits tomorrow,and we’ll all feel up to having dangerous acrobatic vigilante sex after about eight hours. If you’re both good,I’ll…I’ll wear that thing you got me for my birthday. Deal?”

He knows he’s alreadygot their acquiescence when both his boyfriends noticeably perk.

“That sounds like adeal to me,” Dick tries to be mock-grave, but he’s laughing in the back ofTim’s neck, running his nose over the knob of bone.

“Fucking righteous,Sweetheart. I been waiting ta see that.” Jay is grinning up at him with thatlook– all kinds of anticipation without any of the previous hesitation.

“Good. Peel yourselvesoff of me and lets get naked. For mostly clean purposes. Or not. Really, I’mpretty beyond compromised, so I’d probably like to make you both come at leastonce before I’m unconscious.”

“Sweet-talker,” Dickteases and steps to the side so he can be the first to lift their civilianboyfriend up in a princess hold that has become way too reminiscent in the pasttwo months.

“He’s just talkin’ my language, ‘at’s all, Baby Boy,” Jaystands to give him a fast n’ dirty before he gets their mugs to the sink andfills them with water to wash tomorrow. He hits the lights and follows his boysdown the hallway where slippery skin and things like I’m not giving upare waiting.

#doctor!tim #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #winter answers #my fic #my writing #this really was fun babe #bruce wayne #with guest star #tony stark #dr!tim

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