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elliesbff · 12 days

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“i need you.”

- abby anderson

hi hi! sorry it took me so long to get to this second part, i’ve been going through a lot mentally and have just been trying to get my head around things. i genuinely hope this teeters to your satisfaction ♡ thank you for all the likes on pt 1 c:

cw: nsfw, scissoring, (r and abby! recieving) oral sex, (r! receiving) fingering, (r! receiving) slight dacryphilia, a bit of hair pulling, softdom!abby, sub!reader. enjoy! ˖ ࣪⊹

read pt 1 of i need you here!

.*･｡ﾟ 𝜗𝜚 .*･｡ﾟ

moments prior,

abby’s braid slid graciously past her shoulder as she pulled away from your short lived embraced, already missing the warmth of her sun kissed skin. it seemed like she was in a hurry, scurrying out of the gym in the blink of an eye. as you took a moment to gather yourself, you realised that she’d left her bottle behind, and her bench remained uncleaned. you stood there dumbfounded, what could she have planned that was more important than gymnasium hygiene? after all, it was her that taught all you know.

when you were nothing but a baby WLF, abby took notice of you as a new recruit and instantly saw potential in you, taking you under her wing and training you like hell to fulfil your true abilities. although you were nowhere near as burly or as experienced in combat as her, you were quite good with weaponry and crafting, as well as adapting to your surroundings, making do with what you had on you during critical times.

she calls you ‘the scavenger’ when you were not present. it was her unique way of honouring how far you’d come since joining the WLF, how she paved the way for the indestructible soldier she firmly believes you’ll grow up to be one day. it’s also just her adorable little nickname for you that she beckons nobody uses in her place.

she has the upmost faith in you. growing closer with each patrol, each gym session, and sometimes just casually hanging about the FOB or at each others rooms. your friendship was something others envied; it was pure, full of trust and built upon mutual respect. but those closest to you knew it meant more than what first meets the eye.

abby was out of sight in the blink of an eye, you look around in a suspicious daze, trying to follow her whereabouts. she was quick, but not quicker than you.

you had a long-overdue session to finish, but abby looked relatively… uneasy. something was wrong, and you could feel it. the line between instincts and curiosity began to blur as your feet developed a mind of their own, your duffel bag and towel long gone as you’d already turned the corner outside the gymnasium.

maybe you were overreacting, maybe it was overkill to automatically assume the worst was happening to her. but if something was really up with abby, you wouldn’t live it down if you didn’t initiate help.

the look on abby’s face as you stared at her through the firmly rimmed glass, her beautifully arched eyebrows furrowing only ever illuminating her intense eyes — a million thoughts a minute ran through your mind, instinctively charging for two heavy silver doors and up a random stairwell. you could smell the scent of pine and sweat — that was definitely abby.

all reasoning for your unexplainable shenanigans flew out the window as you approached abby’s room, a series of shuffles followed by a supposed muffled voice echoed from the opposite side.

your hand hesitantly reached up to knock, only to realise the door was never locked to begin with. abby could never be that careless, — maybe manny, but regardless — she would sometimes recall times where she’d have to remind him to lock up before leaving during your sessions at the gym. she’d never make a mistake she so harshly scolded people for.

your face inches closer to the door, the cool solid wood sending a kiss of shivers across your exposed shoulders as it welcomingly swayed open.

with each step, the unintelligible noises grew much clearer, and it was becoming more palpable as to what that was entailing.

you’re heart only dropped to your gut at the sound of your name, uttered by a helpless, whining mess.

“please… please.”

the door conditionally, and gently swayed closed on its own behind you, a little clck locking the door in full as you took a couple steps closer. was this a figment of your twisted imagination? the soft whimpers and subsequent cries of your name begged to differ. it was no secret now. abby had a thing for you. you were almost too afraid to move as each whine only grew more vehement.

with a couple more stalled footsteps, you froze at the sight of abby, completely ruining herself at the fate of her own hand.

your eyes widened instantly, the warm air prickling your eyes as would salt water. seeing her all ruined over the thought of you was enough to lift your hands over your mouth in keen disbelief.

you attempted to gather yourself, debating whether or not confronting her on this was the best idea — but no normal person would just walk away and forget this ever happened — forgetting the image of abby anderson, issac’s top scar killer, ramming her slick-covered fingers inside her wet cunt all while repeating your name under a dumbed spell? it’s not something that can just leave your mind at the drop of a hat. it certainly wouldn’t later, neither.

while lost in your thoughts, your tense arms dropped to your sides as your feet followed closer, the sound of your boots shuffling against the smooth concrete floor not catching her attention,

“abby?”

you watched as her oceanic eyes shot open, the abby you once believed would simply chuckle and brush off the idea of this, now scurried to find something, anything to cover her herculean figure, freckled arms still just poking out the sides.

it took more than an ounce of self control to not let yourself run wild at the fact that the abby anderson had a rather strong fancy for you, not to mention she was fucking herself to the thought of you.

as your initial astonishment subsided, your body beamed with want. seeing abby flushed and heated clouded your acclaimed critical thinking.

“…can i have a turn?” slipped from your lips after tending to abby’s own neglected desires.

and here you were, moments passing almost at the speed of light. you laid flat on your back, tits perked up from the arch of your back with abby towered over you. her estranged braid slid off her shoulder with her eyes staring you down. your neck generously splayed with bruises and bite-marks, only reminding you that she’s been wanting this for god knows how long. unbeknownst to her, you did too, you just never believed you’d live to ever experience it.

her hand lightly grazed over your tit, meticulously attending to your swollen nipple. her thumb teased at it, rubbing the area in circles to provoke a much anticipated and equally expected reaction. with her hand on your chest and her lips returning to attack your already purpled skin, you stifled a whine, bottom lip bit between your teeth. she kissed along your throat, from the point of your jaw to the crook of your neck.

she continued toying with your body as her tongue traversed to your waist, laying another round of sloppy kisses to your hip bones and abdomen.

it was like your skin grew ten times more tender whilst under her touch, each breath of hers against your skin feeling like a gentle tickle, accompanied by her large and surprisingly delicate hands palming your tits, it was growing to be too much, too much being your style, anyways.

her hand left your chest to firmly grip onto your hips, pulling you closer to her lap. she took her already soaked fingers, prodding at your pussy like you’d done previously. your breaths grew shakier with each flick of your clit.

her eyes returned to that intense, fiercely glare from back at the gym, so that’s why she was so concentrated, or rather in her own dreamland.

her tongue laid a generous coat of saliva along her lips, staring at your pussy like the starved woman she was. for how long she’d ached for this, you had no clue. this was bound to be a moment to remember.

your cunts were practically hugging each other, the feeling of being so close to her pussy only added fuel to the fire that gleamed in your core. the longer abby stared, just taking in your breathtaking body, the stronger the feeling of being exposed grew.

her head dives below your eye view, feeling her nose bump at your clit. she savours it, her tongue peeling out at an antagonisingly slow pace as she glares at you through her arched brows. she could taste it all, her juices mixed with yours..

your hand gently took rest within her blonde locks, hooking into the back of her braid.

“abby,”

you huffed, sounding more like a plead than anything. with each soft, trembling breath, she’d drag her tongue along your cunt in sync.

her face would dig further into you, arms slithering to wrap themselves around your thighs. even if you begged for her to slow down, your needy hole that clenched around nothing, desperate to be touched, told her otherwise.

abby would stare at you longingly, finally able to die happy between your tensing thighs as she rapidly swabbed your clit with your tongue, dragging it along in circles and the likes.

your body jerked at the sudden change in pace, back arching instinctively off the bed. the whole lower half of your body fired up, tingly and numb. her muffled grunts sent you haywire, violently gripping onto her hair. she was like a leech that wouldn’t let go, sucking and lapping around that sweet spot like her life depended on it.

“stop squirming.” abby would demand as she shoved your hips back onto the mattress, not once detaching herself from you.

you could barely comprehend anything she’d say as she was practically suffocating herself between your thighs, and you’d both be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

abby teased your cunt with her fingers, carefully slipping her thick digits inside of you. your legs squeezed around her head at the sensation of feeling so full. her fingers, let alone hands, were thicker than yours. and they felt much more fulfilling.

your moans would blend harmoniously, both equally experiencing pleasure from the other as you climbed the ladder of your climax.

abby’s suppressed grunts would only ring through your ears. where was the abby that was so shamelessly call out your name moments ago?

your grip on her hair tightened, practically dragging her face along your cunt to accumulate as much friction as your body desired. her fingers would work wonders, unforgivingly pumping in and out of you as her tongue would rub against your clit. each time she would flick against it you’d jolt, back arched with a shy hand over your mouth.

in a matter of seconds, abby had pulled away — both her tongue and fingers. just as you were about to reach the peak, you’d tumble down with your high dropping in seconds.

“wh.. why’d you stop?” you breathed out, tears that rimmed your eyes beginning to dissipate.

as if abby could read your thoughts, she placed a leg over yours, dragging your helpless body closer to her. your cunts were mere centimetres apart, the slick that built up from your pleasure mixing with hers.

“wanted to rile you up..” she muttered, her beautifully eager smile spreading from ear to ear as she strategically began kneading her pussy against yours. abby let out a stifled whimper, her perfectly toned arms pulling your leg almost over her shoulder.

you whined as she slowly dragged her pussy back and forth. the only thing ruminating through your mind in the moment was how you wished you’d done this sooner. way sooner. if given the opportunity any earlier, you’d have jumped at it like an animal in heat.

tears generously coated your plump cheeks as abby picked up the pace, she muttered curses under her breath with each drag of her swollen cunt. it was evident she was close, her arms would needily latch onto yours in an attempt to pull you closer than you already were.

the sounds of timid whines and skin slapping echoed through the room. you hoped that nobody would mention a peculiar series of moans to you or abby the next day. but all you could focus on was her slick engulfed thighs, her chest and the hickeys that’d covered her tits. her neck that was equally as bruised, and her face that contorted into a smile once she noticed you were staring.

“this feel good?” she asks, a sudden grunt spilling from her lips a second after.

all you could do was nod. you were afraid once you spoke, you wouldn’t be able to stop. abby, abby, abby, abby, was all you could think of. how strong she was and how easily she could throw you around if she wanted to, how easily you could tug on her braid while she fucked you dumb. it drove you insane how she wanted you and nobody else. she fucked herself to the thought of you and nobody else.

she disapprovingly shook her head, slapping your thigh playfully.

“mm mm, i don’t take nods, use that pretty mouth,” abby grinned, her cunt grinding viciously fast against your own. you whined dumbly, the pleasure overpowering your body. you felt numbing tingles along each cell of your body.

you whined shamelessly loud, “it feels.. so good.” abby’s face enlightened, her hips picking up pace from your undying cooperation. anything for her to keep going.

she squeezed a handful of your thigh and massaged it, letting out her pent up urges that she was only able to let out now.

you dumbly mumbled a bunch of nonsense yes’, keep going’s and abby’s, initially climbing the tower of climax yet again. and abby was, too. as much as she tried to hide it, nothing could excuse how her hips would dig into your abdomen from how quick she practically humped your cunt.

abby held your thighs close to her, gaining the upper hand in creating more friction. her clit would bump against yours almost ever second. both your whines enveloped the air around you as the coil inside you snapped, your pleasure releasing out into a white pool underneath you.

but abby was far from finished.

she pulled your hips closer, with pussies rubbing against each other and whines echoing through the walls. you wouldn’t doubt for a second that someone could hear you.

with more than a couple grunts and calls for your name, abby came down from her own high, her hips faulting and slowly grudging to a stop.

you both panted relentlessly. you swore if she kept going you would’ve came a second time at the snap of a finger.

trying to regain your breaths, abby lets out a chuckle.

she doesn’t say anything, but she shakily pulls herself off of you, propping herself up by her elbow next to you.

a sudden wave of embarrassment washed over you as the reality of both your actions settled in. there was no hiding your attraction to one another now, none of this would’ve happened otherwise.

the never ending pining, hanging out one on one every chance you got and saying it was ‘just to train you’. you don’t know why you were surprised at the fact that abby would think about these things behind closed, or more so unlocked doors.

“..so?” abby’s voice was soft and meek, her hand fidgeting alongside her waist as her head rested on her other hand.

you hesitantly locked eyes with her, your previous shyness fading away as she planted a kiss to your forehead. something as cheesy and cute as a forehead kiss was enough to make you blush, subsiding all the things you both just did.

“..that was better than i expected.” you finally replied. abby’s eyebrow quirked, head tilting to the side.

“oh, so you thought it’d be bad?” she kids in a sly tone, that familiar smile returning once more.

you playfully punched her arm in response, the both of you knowing in reality, it felt like heaven on earth.

“does it look like it was bad?” you poke back, pointing to all the hickeys and bite marks along both your bodies.

only now did you realise how much of a mess you made. there was cum all over the bedsheets, saliva all over your cunts and what not — this place was really overdue for a cleanup.

you chuckle as you examine the aftermath.

“we should clean up..”

“we?” abby questions.

“i don’t mind, i made it too, no?”

abby couldn’t argue with that. she sighs, pulling you up and off the bed so you could both clean up. not without peppering your body with kisses first.

fin.

i hope you guys enjoyed this, it was definitely a lot longer than i planned, and sorry again for taking so long!! but i enjoyed writing this a lot, hopefully you guys enjoy reading it too. ♡♡

dt: louise again realest oomf!!

word count: 2,793

#abby anderson #abby anderson tlou2 #tlou game #tlou x reader #tlou part 2 #tlou2 #tlou smut #tlou show #tlou series #lesbian #tlou fic #abby tlou #elliesbff

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flamingpudding · 9 months

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Inherited Driving

A/N: Credits also to @escelia 💖 Thanks for helping flash out this idea even more!!

Bruce Wayne was going crazy about Gotham's newest rogue. He stared at the open case file, the reports were laid out all over the table. On the Batcomputer various images were displayed. Images from bent light posts, street sights that were found three blocks from their original position, buildings that were missing chunks of their walls, and even buildings that had distinct car-shaped holes.

Next to that various reports were open about hit-and-run cases. None appeared to be connected. All the victims appeared to be chosen at random, good or bad didn't matter. No connections. Mugger, Politicians, other rogues, or even his children when on patrol. And then there were also reports of apparently people going insane claiming they had seen a silver car come right at them but never hit them.

He looked at the reports of his children.

Jason complains about a drug deal busted by a car bursting in and nearly ruined it for him by knocking out the main targets before crashing through the opposite wall.

Tim claimed that the corrupted CEO he had been investigating both as Red Robin as well as Tim Drake-Wayne got run over on the open streets and was now hospitalized.

But the most absurd reports came from Dick and Duke.

Dick one night reported that a silver car barely missed him while out on patrol. Nothing strange so far. If his son hadn't reported that he was jumping over roofs when it happened.

And Duke? He just reported that he felt like he had a near-death experience and saw his life flashing before his eyes. The cause? A glowing car came straight at him.

Bruce gripped his hair in frustration. This new rogue didn't make sense. They went for bad guys but also good guys? What was their pattern? The connection? Their goal? Was he lucky that none of his other children had so far encountered them on patrol?

They appeared at night as well as during the day.

Who was going to be the next target? Would it be one of his kids or possibly another corrupted politician or maybe even a mugger again next?

Tim had specifically created software to keep track of this rogue in the news or any online posts. Barbara was not able to get any video feeds or photos of this rogue for some reason. All images or videos found for the areas of his appearance were either entirely static or corrupted to the point of unrecognizability. He didn't even have the damned silver car's license plate!

Then there was the car driver's description from witnesses, which also varied from person to person. One stated him to be black-haired and blue-eyed looking like a tired College Student, another stated the man had white hair and green glowing eyes and lastly a more crazy person stated it was like an Eldritch being possessing the car.

The software peeped and Bruce turned to click on it, a news article appeared and the man groaned at what he read.

Breaking news: Scarecrow in custody after getting hit by car through Starbucks!

Witnesses say that during what was shaping up to be a fear gas attack, the driver hit the man before swerving through the front window of a Starbucks.After confirming everyone was okay, the baristas on shift gave the driver an iced coffee and a croissant while waiting for the police to arrive on scene. One employee even insisted this reckless driver saved their lives. [...]

Bruce closed the news, not reading any further and ready to slam his head onto the table. Who was this rogue?

Danny blinked at the newspaper in his hand, sipping his coffee and wondering who that driver was. He would have to be more careful now on the streets with a driver like that, that's fine. Jazz wouldn't probably call him soon again to nag about these crazy drivers Gotham appeared to have. She had been naggingly worried ever since he started going to college here. He just had to assure her that he would be even more careful to not get involved. Though his parents had already reinforced his car as a stay-safe-son measure. So he would just have to get in the car, drive from point A to point B and not hit anyone or anything like his parents.

He glanced at his kitchen clock and spat out his morning coffee.

"Shit! I am going to be late for my classes!"

In a rush he grabed his keys and ran to his car. He needed to hurry if he wanted to be there in time without upsetting his professor. Good that he learned about some pretty neat short cuts from his classmates.

#danny fenton #bruce wayne #dp x dc #fic prompt #prompt idea #Jazz wasn't the only one to inherit something from their parents #Danny is oblivious to it #Probably desensitised because of his parents #Bruce is pulling out his hair #The new rogue does not make any sense #Where is the connection between the targets #Danny just wants to get from A to B #dpxdc #crossover #How did Danny get his driving license in the first place?!#jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson #duke thomas

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kkrazy256 · 1 year

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👀 number 4 for fox?

Carnival Pierrot [on ao3]

Characters: Commander Fox, Palpatine, the Red Guard, the Coruscant Guard, Remedy

Summary:

Commander Fox walks back to his office with a concussion, three cracked ribs, and a sprained ankle.

The rest of the Guard ignores it.

The rigid plastoid of Fox’s leg armor keeps his ankle in a makeshift brace.

It’s not much, but it’s enough for him to mimic a normal gait as he exits the elevator. At some point, he’s learned to ignore the sharp sting that comes with each step. Fox supposes that means he’s improving.

He expects the soft glare of sunset to breach his visor — ( his Excellency leans a pale finger over the button that shutters the windows, leaving the office dark and silenced from the afternoon traffic. It makes Fox’s own breathing that much louder to his own ears. He can’t hear any of his enemies.

Surely, they can hear him.

‘Time is irrelevant when it comes to these, wouldn’t you agree?’

Not true. He has meetings and patrols, time is very important. But

‘Yes sir.’

His voice betrays his location. The crimson shadows move.) —

Fox is greeted by the harsh beams of the fluorescent overhead lights. If he squints, he thinks he might be able to see the silvers of pale moonlight through the tiny viewports. But his left eye is swollen shut and gummy with dried fluid he hadn’t been allowed to wipe away; he can’t really see much at all with his throbbing single vision.

He does finally notice the chrono blinking on the edge of his HUD.

Nine whole hours, fucking hell. He hadn’t realized.

It’s hard to keep track when every moment is spent dodging and blocking. He’s trained himself for agility but also endurance. He can last, even though he hadn’t been made to.

Still, there is only one of him and dozens upon dozens of Red Guard. A new one always seemed to replace a fallen body before Fox even gets a chance to heave a blood-teased breath through his cracking lungs.

It’s never a fair fight. Nothing for Fox ever is.

He reorganizes the schedules in his mind and wonders how many hours he’ll have to spend on playing catch-up. Maybe only three if he forgoes sleep tonight. Doable.

The world goes dark for three whole seconds, but Fox keeps his pace steady and walks through it blindly.

No one walks into him, which is a plus. The night shift roster is shorter and the number of patrolling vode he comes across is sparse.

Those he does see, don’t spare him anything beyond a slight incline of helmet and side glance through their visors. The concussion makes it hard for him to discern if it’s one out of greeting or concern. Or if Fox’s brain is so hemorrhaged that he had just imagined the movements.

They don’t speak, they don’t stop. They all keep walking as if Fox isn’t even there.

It doesn’t matter. Because the responsibility falls to Fox. Not his Guard. Whether they ignore him or notice him, it’s his fault.

So Fox keeps walking. He just has to make it back to his office. Just a few more hallways and turns. He just has to keep walking like he doesn’t want to limp. Like he doesn’t want to sway and lean against the walls for support the rest of the way (his bloody gloves would stain them and give him away immediately).

Thorn turns the corner and ducks into a meeting room without looking at him. The tension in his shoulders is his only tell. Maybe he had been quick enough that no one saw.

But this deliberate blind eye isn’t what Fox wants. He has to do better.

He straightens, folding his arms behind his back and puffing his chest out. He doesn’t even wince when his ribs protest the movement ferociously. The tease of blood in his breath is a drowning river now. Iron paints his teeth and soaks his gums, there’s no place to escape it.

The pain is everywhere and indivisible from his own body. The pain is him, yet he has no control over how it screams through each cell, begging him to sink to the ground and let the galaxy know just how much he fucking hurts.

He counts and takes himself through each and every step. Just one foot in front of the other, then repeat. And repeat. Think of nothing beyond the next step. There is nothing else beyond that.

And slowly, it works. The pain is the background, and he is doing better.

The fleeting stares now linger, their steps being slowed and thoughtful. Their visor-ed glances search his body and armor for falter and injury. They grow uncertain in their initial judgment.

Maybe their Commander is okay. Maybe everything will eventually be okay.

“Commander.” They all finally decide, nodding and speaking their greetings out loud. There is relief in their stances as they pass him by now.

They’ve bought the facade. They genuinely did. Fox could throw up blood in his happiness.

Just a few more hallways and turns. Then, he will be alone and he can stop the act.

The act.

The Chancellor calls it training.

One random day every few weeks, Fox would get called to his office for a personal audit. Never mind that he’s the only Guard member that gets called for them (Fox prefers it that way, his Excellency isn’t allowed to touch the rest of them. Over his dead body— )

Fox obliges, clearing his schedule as abruptly as the summons had been.

He nods to Moore in the reception lobby before entering the office.

It always starts with 12 Red Guards, standing perfectly spaced around the room, surrounding Fox as he walks to the center. The Chancellor stands by his desk, every piece of flimsiwork and datapad packed away somewhere. It wouldn’t do for Fox to dirty it with his blood.

Fox sinks to one knee, “Sir.”

Palpatine never greets him.

His Excellency leans a pale finger over the button that shutters the windows, leaving the office dark and silenced from the afternoon traffic. Or morning traffic. Or night traffic. The city planet never sleeps. That is why they must blind Coruscant themselves, shield its all-seeing gaze from the events of this room.

The final echoing click of the closed shades signals the waking hum of vibrating electric currents. The darkness is replaced with a blinding purple glow that casts infinite shadows over the furniture. It hides the Red Guard well, leaving only their weapons for Fox to follow with his eyes.

Then it begins.

Nine hours.

It had lasted, Fox had lasted longer than he thought.

Dodging and blocking are second nature at this point. Striking with the intent to kill in one strike is also becoming muscle memory.

Red bodies fall all around him, robes fanning out like liquid pools. He isn’t given even a second to think about whether his hits have done something irreversible.

Because Palpatine is talking.

His Excellency always speaks during these sessions.

And Fox is expected to listen as he fights.

Because Palpatine will know if he isn’t.

“Tell me, Commander. What is the purpose of this?” He hears the rustle of the Chancellor’s sleeves as he gestures to the scene before him.

His voice is gravel, the usual elderly demeanor presented without the usual warmth makes Fox’s heart shiver. Or maybe it’s the electricity coursing through the marrow of his bones from a lucky hit of a Force pike.

Then another hit, followed by another. And another. And another. They are no longer lucky hits, he’s just fucking trash. Fox’s blood boils in his own veins, and he wonders if this is what cooking alive feels like.

“Commander.” He hears the warning lacing his title even through the haze of electric-induced seizures coursing his body.

In addition to the listening, he’s expected to answer.

“To push and improve the boundaries of my limits, sir.” He kicks out his spasming legs, sweeping the Red Guards off their feet and pausing their incessant shock attacks. He crawls to his feet, spitting blood. It smears against the inner surfaces of his visor. He’s managed to keep his helmet on for the past two hours. That’s a new record.

The downed enemies recover quickly, and he’s back on defense again. He should’ve broken their legs.

“And why must you improve?”

“Because my duty is to carry out your will, sir.”

“Why must you improve?”

The hesitation costs him a necessary block, and he bites through his lip to keep in the howl of agony when his ribs snap.

“Because I am not good enough.”

Fox fights, Palpatine asks, and Fox answers.

The seconds turn into minutes, then hours. The two-hour mark seems like ages ago.

Then finally, finally, the Chancellor gives the signal and the Red Guard pauses. The purple glow of the Force pikes disappears, and Fox is blinking spots out of his visions from the sudden darkness.

He lands one final swing that cracks the helmet of a Red Guard.

Because fuck these guys.

Fox spits again, and it lands true in a bubbly mess of pink saliva. He had lost his helmet a little while back. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since then.

But he’s standing. Which makes the next part slightly easier.

He turns back towards the Chancellor. The man is leaning against the edge of his desk, not a single spatter on his pristine robes. His eyes are sharp, watching Fox’s every movement. They seem to set off a glow even without the illuminating Force pikes.

Fox sinks to one knee again, chewing the inside of his cheek to keep his facial muscles from twitching.

“Status, Commander?”

At least three ribs are cracked. If he breathes too hard, he might start choking on the fluid in his lungs. His ankle is so sprained, it might as well be broken. There is blood dripping from his ears and nose. His hair is damp and sticky with sweat and probably, surprise surprise, more blood. His left eye is swollen shut.

“Operational, sir.”

Palpatine hums, “I trust that you will be able to return to your regular duties then?” His eyes are golden and Fox can’t figure out the light source, “without disruption ?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Then you are dismissed.” The Chancellor waves a hand, and the shutters start to rattle. They must be motion-sensor.

Fox moves to stand, shoving his helmet back on. His ankle doesn’t hurt, because he is beyond this thing called pain.

“Thank you for your guidance and patience, your Excellency.”

He goes toward the private washroom in the lobby. Moore’s pinprick gaze follows him, searching for any sign of faltering. The door closes behind him and there aren’t any mirrors.

But somehow he knows she’s watching.

So he doesn’t fall apart. He simply focuses on meticulously scrubbing the blood from his armor. It keeps his brain away from the increasing heat scorching his nerves. Maybe one of these days, the electricity will finally fry his pain receptors. Wouldn’t that just make everything peachy?

He doesn’t hope it’s enough, he knows better than to leave shit like this up to something as nonexistent as wishes. He scrubs until the plastoid is spotless. He re-attaches each piece methodically.

Then Fox is free, and the second act begins.

The question-and-answer game with his Excellency falls to the forefront of his mind, and he replays the conversations over and over.

It’s the only way to remind himself of the reason for all this.

The purpose of the spars is to improve Fox’s hand-to-hand combat. They’ve all received that type of basic soldier training back on Kamino of course, but the GAR had been made to fight droids. They are supposed to use blasters and other long-range weapons. They had been trained to be good shots with deadly aim rather than brawlers.

Only a rare few like Cody preferred a more direct approach. Though from the stories, Fox has heard that the idiot has convinced his entire damn battalion to adopt his particular brand of fight style.

On Coruscant, Fox receives missives that involved eliminating sentients. Objectives that are passed to him under the table, dressed up in double meanings and subtle messages he’s learned to decipher. The Chancellor has always been of the discreet type.

Not everything is done on a battlefield, Commander. A war is fought in both the light and the shadows. I need you to be my shadow.

He’s gotten better at it. Completing these shadow missions on top of his usual duties with greater success than his initial ones.

But he is also just one man.

He refuses to let the others take on this burden. Practically begging his Excellency for these missions. There is enough darkness in the Senate building day to day, in the soft sobs and restless sleep that plague the barracks each night. The others shouldn’t have to deal with this too.

That being said, he isn’t the one in charge. There’s no guarantee Thorn or Stone or Thire aren’t asked to do the same things when Fox isn’t looking. There’s no guarantee that while he’s on Level 4103 strangling some rebellious faction leader, there isn’t another vod ten levels down executing a politician.

Every time the schedules are suddenly changed, Fox feels sick.

So he just has to be the best. Better at hiding his weaknesses, better at managing the darkness, better at killing. Better than the rest of them, so that the Chancellor’s two yellow spotlights only shine on Fox and none of the others.

Which is why the second act is just as important as the first.

Because a killer has to be able to hide his tracks in order to kill again.

For every injury he sustains in these sessions and on the job, he has to hide.

Injury reports from the medbay that don’t line up with public patrol and mission files will draw suspicion. Where the hell is Fox getting injured if he’s supposedly not doing anything of risk? A well-known Bothan senator is found murdered in his apartment. Why does Commander CC-1010 of the Coruscant Guard have characteristic Bothan claw mark wounds running down his back the next day?

These are shadow missions for a reason.

No one can know.

So he has to hide them.

From the public. From the medbay. From his own vode.

Because even rumors and unease among other clones can grow into something uncontrollable. The Chancellor tells him so, and Fox—

Fox just nods his head, “yes sir.”, each and every time.

“Woof, woof.” He mutters, looking up to see that he’s only two corridors away from his office. There are even fewer vode now. He lets his mind drift away from the pain again.

The first session, he had been completely overwhelmed and underprepared.

Fox stumbled out of the Chancellor’s office that first time looking more unbalanced than a drunkard.

A vod had seen him trailing bloody shoeprints down the halls, and called for Thorn.

Thorn and Stone had both shown up and pulled him to the medbay for Remedy to fuss over.

He woke up to two Red Guards hovering over his medbed side at 0300 Hours and was promptly dragged out, still in his hospital gown, all the way back to the Chancellor’s office.

When he’s returned to his bed at 0710 Hours, his bandages were soaked red and dried to near black in some areas.

The next time Fox woke, Thire was curled around his better side and Thorn was snoring in a chair. His bandages have been changed as if nothing had happened at all. Remedy walked in a bit after, hands clenched around his datapad so tightly, Fox was afraid he’s snap it right in half.

Fox didn’t tell Remedy what happened, but somehow Remedy had figured it out.

The next time he has a training session, Fox walked out slightly better. He had gotten faster and started reacting faster. The injuries were still severe. It hurt like someone had dropped a bantha on his entire body and told the animal to stomp around a few times for good measure. But he was better at hiding it now.

Better but not enough.

He had remembered to wash the blood off this time. But he knew he was still limping, still holding onto his fractured wrist gingerly as he hobbled his way back to his office. The morning light had just started filtering through the windows; it had been an overnight session.

He ran right into Remedy, who stopped dead in his tracks. The CMO looked him over, the corners of his eyes tight. He clenched his fists and—

And he walked away.

The relief that hit Fox at that moment was euphoric. No medbay. No record on file. No Red Guards by his bedside. Remedy figured it out, his kih’vod had always been a clever one. Fox returned back to his office, feeling slightly lighter.

At 0718 Hours, he saw a sudden shift change in the medbay. Remedy was on break; his current shift moved to the third rotation.

Fox’s gut rolled anxiously, and it wasn’t from the extensive bruising. He got back to work, and the painkillers he’d filched made his mind wander away from the apprehension.

By evening, he had caught up with everything. His comm pinged once, and it was a message from Hedge. Fox groaned into the palm of his hands. He had forgotten about cards night. In his condition, he didn’t think he had it in him to even pretend.

He opened the message, a quick apology for canceling ready at his fingertips.

It’s Hedge asking to cancel the card games tonight.

He has to take over for the current shift. His words were the usual brand of sarcastic bite, but something was wrong. Fox remembered the shift rotation and wanted to throw up.

What happened to Remedy. He typed back, chewed fingernails rapping against his desk.

He broke his arm.

Fox dropped everything and ran.

It’s Hemlock who caught him by the wrist, his fractured wrist, as he rushed by. Fucking ow. He cut off his hiss of pain abruptly and let the medic pull him into one of the smaller medical offices.

Hemlock’s voice was stony, a practiced calm as he gave Fox the answers he was looking for.

That’s when Fox found out that Remedy had been abruptly called from his morning shift and then promptly went missing for the next twelve hours.

He showed back up just in time for his shift and was ushered immediately into a surgery for a vod who got caught in a lower-level shootout.

Remedy performed perfectly, Hemlock read the file out loud. His calm was morphing into something closer to anger barely contained.

Two hours later, the surgery was a success and the vod was stable, The shiny assistants were told to take over.

Remedy barely made it two steps out of the surgery room before collapsing. Then, he had been the one carted into emergency surgery by a group of alarmed medics.

His right arm had been cleanly broken but properly splinted, probably by Remedy himself. There had been a big scare with the anesthesia. Apparently, he had been on two different stims to keep the pain at bay while he performed a fucking surgery with one broken arm. That cocktail mixture of drugs reacted badly to the cocktail of drugs they tried to pump into him during the surgery.

It was fucking bad, Commander. Is the only thing Hemlock managed to say outside of reading the report verbatim.

They had finally gotten their CMO stable an hour ago.

That explained the gaggle of shiny medics sitting on the floor outside the medbay, heads buried in shaking hands.

Fox found himself doing the same, muttering colorful curses under his breath.

Hemlock didn’t say anything. After a while, he took out a medkit from the cabinet. Fox started to object, but Hemlock just dropped the case next to him.

The medic began reciting the instructions on how to build a proper splint. Fox swallowed the bile and made a splint for his own wrist.

He was sitting beside Remedy’s bedside when he woke.

“He asked if I was worthy of my rank.” His CMO’s voice was hoarse, eyes staring up at the ceiling, just slightly off-focus.

“Surely the Chief Medical Officer would notice such obvious injuries.” Remedy recited.

“He asked if I was incompetent or purposedly ignoring your injuries for some reason.”

Fox can’t look at anything other than the cast around Remedy’s arm.

Remedy didn’t tell Fox his answer for the Chancellor.

“He told me it was time to brush up on my training. He told me to perform first aid on the Red Guards you—” He stopped, “to perform first aid on some injured Red Guards.”

“But that I may be in situations where I have to perform my duties, even when under high tensions.” Remedy finally looked away from the ceiling, glancing down at his arm, “his Excellency was generous enough to simulate such a situation.”

“I’m sorry,” Fox whispered, gripping his splinted wrist until the pain reignited all over again.

He nearly flinched away when the cold fingers of Remedy’s good hand ghosted over his.

“What can you do.” Remedy shrugged, not expecting an answer to his non-question.

They both knew there’s no answer.

Fox is one hallway and turn away from his office now.

He is suddenly reminded of the market fairs the Guard has to patrol occasionally. The streets are busy, noisy, and filled with hundreds of different scents.

There is so much going on during these festivals, yet their favorite thing to do is observe the games.

Booths that boasted giant plush toys and bags of sweetmeats, luring children and adults alike to try their hand at winning the prizes.

And if Fox isn’t feeling like an asshole that particular day, he would allow his group of shiny patrols to stand close to these booths. They would all whisper through their private comms, trying to figure out the trick to the games. If he’s feeling particularly generous, he would crack a few jokes himself, watching the kih’vod stare at him, shell-shocked through their helmets.

The games are rigged, and they all know it. Yet, no one accuses the booth owner of cheating. The children lose and beg their parents for more credits. The parents know the games are fixed, and still fork the money over. They still cheer as they lose over and over.

If Fox doesn’t hide his injuries well enough and gets the mark on his medical file, he’s failed.

If he lets his vode take the responsibility by pretending not to notice his injuries, they’ve failed.

He had put that burden on their shoulders. He has failed them.

There’s no way for Fox to win.

And Fox will still come running the moment Palpatine calls.

Because if not him, then it will be Thorn. It will be Stone. Thire. Hound. Remedy.

The list is endless. Because he is the cog holding this precariously running machine in place. If he stalls, they all will.

Someone’s feeling self-important today. His mind hisses, sounding concussed and vindictive. Kriff right the fuck off.

His hand finds the keypad to his office, and he fumbles with the code. His fingers are finally starting to shake.

The only thing Fox can do is get better. He has to sustain fewer injuries and hide the ones he does receive more effectively. He has to be faster and deadlier. He has to kill them until there isn’t enough for the Chancellor to throw at him.

His office is a mess, the smell of stale blood mingled with stale caf. Fox pulls the hidden medkit from his desk drawer. It’s the same one Hemlock gave him all those months ago. His half-filled bottle of moonshine is also hidden inside. As an antiseptic and painkiller all in one. The Coruscant Guard is nothing but efficient.

He uncorks the bottle, swirling it around with his barely healed wrist.

And one day, one of these never-ending days, he’ll figure out the trick to this rigged game. He’ll find a way to cheat the cheater.

He’ll find a way to win.

Fox takes a swig from the bottle and starts treating his wounds.

once again, on ao3 if you'd like to leave some kudos <3

#commander fox #coruscant guard #clone medic remedy #star wars #tcw #sw mine

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saintsenara · 6 months

Note

trick or treat!!

thank you very much, anon! oíche shamhna shona duit and you may have the treat (or trick, if you consider it that...) of an irish lesson, a halloween folklore fact, and a snippet of an upcoming piece for @hprarepairfest, which is aiming to become the second thing ever on ao3 for the extremely cultured pairing of rodolphus lestrange/percy weasley.

irish language treat: the irish word for skeleton is creatlach.

halloween folklore treat: not actually folklore, but just full-on medical horror. there is a disease called fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva in which the soft tissue of the body gradually turns to bone. there is no cure.

sneak peek treat: the bit of this fic which you're about to see is very much not a meet-cute... although maybe the flashes from other bits of the timeline might be sweeter.

The voice cuts through the tedium of his filing at midday.

‘Weasley, would you join me in the office for a moment?’

The speaker is not the Minister, with his Abergavenny growl. It is Barnaby Lee, Mr Crouch’s successor as the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. He is an ordinary man, nondescript and slightly vampiric, with his brown hair sensibly slicked back and his robes immaculately tailored in an upright, professional navy. His voice is light, his tone as it is when he greets Percy each morning.

It’s a little strange for him to have been in the Minister’s office without Percy knowing about it, but it’s not completely irregular. There is no reason not to obey his request.

There is nothing to worry about.

There is nothing -

He has learned, by now, that all the days which upend your life, the days which you will look back on as the years race by, start out as days which are completely insignificant.

The day of the Battle began with toast. The call - Ginny sobbing in a way she hadn’t for years - which announced mum’s death came on a grey Sunday afternoon while he finished a jigsaw. Bill told him about dad’s diagnosis while he was shaving.

The day he first met Rodolphus began with paperwork. The day he last saw him began with a walk.

- to fear.

The Minister’s office is as it always is: sleek and spotless. The vast ebony desk is neat, a pile of papers stacked meticulously in the in-tray, dove-grey quills laid out in a precise line on the blotter. The fake window shows a summer shower - a quick flash of rain against a golden sky. The tiled floor is polished. The fanged geranium on top of one of the filing cabinet stirs listlessly.

The only things which are out of place in this familiar picture are the fact that the Minister’s severed head - congealed blood leaking from it - is lying on a silver platter which floats, suspended, in midair; and the fact that a group of men, who should not be standing in formation behind the Minister’s desk looking at the Minister’s severed head, are standing in formation behind the Minister’s desk looking at the Minister’s severed head.

Mr Lee returns to his place in the group. He stands next to Mr Kneebone, the Head of the Department of Transportation, who stands next to Mr Yaxley, the Head of the Law Enforcement Patrol. At the other end of the line are Mr Callaghan, the Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and Mr Selwyn, from the International Confederation -

‘The Ministry is crawling with them.’

- and Percy doesn’t know what to do. Because these are nice men - normal men - who go into work every morning and file their paperwork neatly and say hello to you in the queue for the lifts. They do not rabble-rouse about Muggleborns in the Wizengamot. They do not pin the Dark Mark to their lapels. They do not tell people that You-Know-Who ‘had a point about the Mudbloods, you know’ when they have had one too many at the staff Christmas party. They are just ordinary, with their sensible robes and their sensible jobs and their sensible wives and children.

Callaghan’s son had been in his year at school. He had been completely, perfectly ordinary.

They are not the sort of men who should be standing in formation behind the Minister’s desk looking at the Minister’s severed head, elbow-to-elbow with -

‘Ten prisoners! Ten top-security prisoners, and they just walk out of Azkaban like it’s a bloody village tea-room!

- demons he has been taught to fear for his entire life, the very worst men in the country.

Tullius Travers, with his crown of bushy grey hair, who had wiped out the McKinnons one-by-one, leaving the children until last.

Augustus Rookwood, with his sardonic expression, who had nearly murdered Ginny when she had followed Harry to the Department of Mysteries.

Antonin Dolohov, with his twisted face, who had killed both of his uncles.

And, in the middle, smiling pleasantly at Percy, as though he thought it was the most normal thing in the world to greet people’s assistants by showing them their bosses’ severed heads, stood -

‘I’ve loved you all of these years in silence. Despite what you’ve done. Despite who you are. I just… love you. Is that stupid? Because I think it is. And yet if I don’t tell you I think I’ll - I’ll - I think I’ll die, Roddy. I honestly think that I will die if I try to keep this inside me even a minute longer.’

- Rodolphus Lestrange.

#trick or treat #asenora fics #rodolphus lestrange #percy weasley #subluxation #asks answered

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miss-boss-bitch · 1 year

Text

Prologue

Kyubi Kitsune smiled as she raced her Lamborghini down open roads, with no destination particularly in mind. Everything about her said she was all business, from her tight, crisp white blouse, down to her smart black skinny slacks with a matching black belt and its silver LoveMoschino buckle and her sky high Louboutins, one pressed firmly on the accelerator. Her pink hair was practically glowing in the early evening sunset, like it was made of cotton candy and looked extremely exotic against her Asian features and petite frame. And although she was smiling, it was not full of warmth, but rather it was the smile of a predator.

Her designer clothes and luxuary car would make anyone meeting her believe she was a high level executive, or a socialite born into a wealthy family. But Kyubi was neither of these. She didn’t need a job that she had to get to, or people she had to associate with. The only people she interacted with were those who could entertain her particular style of amusement. Instead, her affluent lifestyle was funded through…other means. Her life required her to do nothing that she didn’t want to do, and right now all she wanted to do was explore and see what new ‘adventures’ she could encounter. As she reached a junction she decided to take a left on nothing but her gut impulse that something fun was down that way. Soon wide open roads surrounded by vegetation started turning into clean streets, surrounded by buildings. After a few minutes of speeding along, she heard a loud siren and looked in her mirror. She cursed to herself as she saw a police car right behind her. Kyubi pulled over the side of the road and rolled her window down as the officer came up to his car.

He was stocky, even for a tall black man and he sounded pissed off as he berated Kyubi. “Do you even know how fast your were going?! We have you on radar going over twice the speed limit here. Do you have any idea how badly you could of hurt yourself or someone!? You keep this up and you’re gonna end up destroying lives one day! License and registration. Now.”

Kyubi knew she could get out this – easily. But she was bored and wanted to play. As she handed her license over to the officer she smiled at the officer without bothering to look for the registration.

She batted her lashes at him and leaned out of her window towards him. “Are you sure you want to write me up a ticket?" she asked, her voice almost oozing sickly sweetness. “What did you say Miss? Are you trying to tell me my job? ” he barked back to her through the window. “Just get me that registration while I write you up.” The cop growled as he walked off and Kyubi rested herself into her car seat, her small frame sinking into the thickness off the material. She began to smirk to herself as she decided how to play this out. As ideas formed in her head, she left her car and strutted over to the patrol car behind him. “You know what officer? I think that actually you’d rather just tear up that ticket and forget about this whole thing.” Kyubi said, standing almost as tall as the officer in her skyscraper heels. She smiled at the patrolman as he spun around, and placed her soft hand on his check, almost stroking his face with her perfectly manicured nails. “Officer, deep down you really don’t want to give me a ticket. In fact, you’d rather clear off any logs you made of stopping me. So, go ahead and tell me when that’s all done OK?” Kyubi said as the cop’s eyes focused on her. He typed a few keys on the computer in the car and cleared the readings off the radar system. “All done, Ma'am.” The policeman said to Kyubi.

“Very good sweetie. It makes you so happy to be understanding and let people off for all sorts of things like this. You don’t want to write anymore tickets – ever. Actually, you honestly don’t even want to be a cop anymore. You are so depressed in your job that you have started to drink while working. A lot. So much so that after we are done, you’re gonna go and immediately drive to the nearest liquor store and buy a six pack of beer. Then you will get back in your car and drink it all down very fast, while you’re still parked in the lot. And after you’ve done all that, you will take your police car and crash it into a car in the parking area there. I don’t care if there’s anyone in there in not, but do your best to fuck up your car as badly as you can. And when the police come for you, you’ll let them find those empty beer bottles in your car and you will admit to them there and then that you are an alcoholic. You will go ahead and resign from the force and take up a minimum wage job somewhere. You will work there for the rest of your days. Do you understand all of that, officer?” Kyubi said as she giggled to herself. “Yes, I understand ma'am. I am an alcoholic and will drink beer, crash my car, and do as you said.” The man droned back to Kyubi. “Very good officer. Oh, is that a picture of your wife up there on the dash? You want to tell me about her and your family.” Kyubi asked. “That is Candice, my second wife. We have been married for 10 years, and four kids from my first wife who I divorced. She’s a waitress at a nice restaurant downtown.” The cop said to Kyubi. “Hmm, she sure is cute. Too cute for a pig in blue like you. So I think you should go ahead and call her up and tell her you have a friend—me—you want her to say hello to. You want to do that right now, officer. Then just give me the phone and ignore anything I say to her.” Kyubi said as her mind was flooded with ideas. She was annoyed at getting pulled over, even though she had gotten out of the ticket, she was still going to get some more payback. After all, there was nothing more fun than destroying lives, even of those not directly involved with whatever had pissed her off that day. She watched as the officer called his wife on the phone and took it as he handed her his phone.

“Hi there Candice, this is Kyubi, a good friend of your husband.” Kyubi said as she tried not to laugh. “Well, ahh, hello. How do you know my husband?” Candice asked. “Oh, we are drinking buddies. Now Candice, you want to listen closely to everything I have to say. And you really want to do everything I tell you to do.” Kyubi said. “Of course. I will listen to you and do anything you tell me to do.” Candice replied. “Very good, Candice. Now, remember how much your husband drinks. You hate him for it. Over the years in your horrible and abusive marriage, you have come to realize he is an alcoholic. You have told him that you will leave him if his alcoholism causes any more trouble. And later on tonight you will hear about more issues because of his drinking problems. So after you hear that you are going to leave him. You will pack up your stuff and move away. You will quit your job at the nice restaurant as what you really want is to start working at some of the strip clubs in the city. The really dirty and sleazy ones. Go in tomorrow and audition at a few. After the incident with your husband later, you will think of yourself as nothing but a hot, sexy stripper from now on. And you will dance like the best one they have. You have a very dirty mouth and mind, you love talking dirty to horny men and if the pay is right, which it always will be, you’ll even sell your body for extra cash too. You have always been this way, a cheap and dirty slut, and you just want to have guys slide money in your thongs you’re gonna start to wear and take you in back and fuck you. So tell me what you really are, Candice.” Kyubi asked over the phone. “I’m a fucking stripper and part time slutty whore. I love dancing real good and teasing guys for any money. I’m going to get a new job stripping in the shitty clubs downtown.” She said, sounding very dirty to Kyubi. “That’s perfect Candice. Feel free to come up with a new, sexy stripper name when you get your first club job. Something like Kandii. Candice is way too posh for some gutter trash like you. And spell it with two i’s so everyone can judge what an easy basic skank you are. You love being nothing but a stripper and a whore, you will remember it’s what you always wanted to be. You love wearing lots of makeup just like all those dirty street whores you picture in your head right now, it’s what you want to look like so bad. A slut. So don’t worry about applying it perfectly, you’re just a dumb old fuck that is too stupid to think, so make sure to plaster it all over your face from now on and start looking like the slut you are…and love it…the sluttier you look the more you love it. Oh, if you don’t smoke, make sure to pick up a pack of cigarettes. You’re gonna start smoking a pack a day, ‘kay?.” Candice nodded in agreement while listening to the details of her new life over the phone. “And remember Kandii, all of this is who you really are. So have fun, fucking and stripping you little bitch.” Kyubi said as she hung up the phone and threw it at the back of the officer’s head who had ignored the whole call as Kyubi had told him to do.

“Ok, Mr. Policeman. Remember what you are supposed to do now. I’m going to go back to my car and drive away first. A minute after that you will head to that liquor store and do what we talked about. Do you remember and understand still?” Kyubi asked him. “I remember and understand.” He droned back as Kyubi removed his wallet from his pocket. She took a look at his ID. Officer Denzel Remington huh? She gazed down at his address, going there to see "Kandii" could be fun, but also this guy had four kids that she could systematically destroy. “That cop wanted to warn me about destroying lives?! Destroying lives is what I do best” she murmured to herself, as she strode back towards her car. “So, let’s go ‘home’ and see what other trouble I can cause to teach that arrogant officer a lesson.” As she started up her car, she heard the officer’s car start to go in the opposite direction. Kyubi speeded towards her new destination with a big smile on her face. It didn’t matter that the officer would never see the full consequences of pulling her over, as the lives of everyone who knew him would be twisted into new versions, all that mattered was she was about to have some fun doing what she does best. As she got back up to speed she burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Today was turning out to be a good day.

———

Based on: Crystal Power Corrupts by Dr Fakes at Mcstories.com

#Story

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mx-lamour · 2 months

Text

22 - Wilting

The moon is made of moths, which flock to see the flower's face aglow.

“Come on,” Alek said, extending both his hands palm-up in front of Strahd’s melancholic face. He twitched his fingers insistently. “You’re wilting.”

Strahd rolled his eyes. Nevertheless, he placed his hands in Alek’s grasp and allowed the man to pull him to his feet.

Alek led him through the castle. They traveled through its many halls to ascend a winding staircase, then Alek opened up a window. He climbed out onto the roof beyond, stepping carefully across dilapidated clay tiles. Despite all the years that they had haunted this place together, Alek could still surprise Strahd with new secret routes and possibilities. Strahd followed close behind, emerging from the stony hollow into the fresh air of the night.

The moon was full, hanging low enough that it seemed to balance on the summit of Mount Ghakis, waiting for the faintest breeze to send it rolling down along the mountain's face. Its light washed over the courtyard and the view beyond, casting a diffuse glow of whitish blue on every surface. The darkest shadows retreated deeper into nooks and crevices to cower from its simple beauty. Strahd closed his eyes and tried to feel it on his face. He could not. It was only a cold facsimile of the sun.

Alek touched his cheek. His fair hair was illuminated silver; his pallid eyes were like the moon’s twin children. He ushered Strahd to a secure patch of roof and settled onto it, stretching out his legs along the gentle slope, and offered up his hand again, guiding Strahd down to nestle close against his side.

“The garden hasn’t seen much more than weeds in a while,” Alek said, “but I remember once there was a vine down there with long, thin flowers on it, climbing up the castle wall. I kept waiting for them to open, but they never did—until I happened to walk past the garden on patrol one night, and nearly all of them were in full bloom. Big, round things, reaching wider than I would have guessed. And moths were flocking to them, fluttering around in such a way it seemed the flowers themselves would break free and take flight. Maybe they did. They were gone the next day, withered up, almost as though they had never been. But I know what I saw that night, and I remember them. I remember how beautiful they were.”

“There might be more to plant, if we can locate them,” Strahd surmised.

Alek smiled wistfully and shook his head. He wrapped his arm around Strahd’s shoulders. Carded his fingers through inky black hair, lightly scratching at Strahd’s scalp. “It’s not about the flowers,” he whispered, cheekily hinting at some greater puzzle.

Strahd’s brow furrowed as he thought on it. A moment passed and then he sighed. He turned and pressed his forehead against Alek’s temple, nuzzling the other man’s cheek with the end of his nose. “You old romantic,” he muttered.

“I have my moments.”

Strahd’s countenance seemed brighter in the full glow of the moon. The shadows had retreated from the space under his eyes. Idly caressing Alek’s face, and then his neck, Strahd’s hand slid down to rest over the place where Alek’s heart once used to beat. He could not feel it now, but he knew that it had been there, long ago. It had been beautiful, too… until…

Alek closed his fingers over Strahd’s wandering hand and squeezed it. “All is not lost,” he admonished.

What was a heartbeat, after all? It was not the thing which coaxed Strahd onto the roof to curl safely against his steward’s side. It was not the thing which fed life to him through story, or held his hand to gently reprimand the darkness. Death had stolen both their hearts, but it had left behind their spirits. In that way, they found great capacity for suffering, but also room for Love, when the light touched its face and allowed them to remember how it felt to be alive.

“How are you feeling now?” Alek murmured.

Strahd shifted, drawing up his knees to cant them over Alek’s lap. “Better,” he admitted.

Somewhere deep within the Svalich woods, a lonely flower bloomed.

* * *

[Ao3 Collection]

[prompt list by @syrips]

#vampentine's 2024 #moonflower #stralek #strahd von zarovich #alek gwilym #squishy boys #cuddles #sitting on the roof #saccharine

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crackspinewornpages · 1 year

Text

Les Misérables 120/365 -Victor Hugo

111

He didn’t know which road to choose at the fork but chose the right as the left went to the suburbs. He kept looking back and had to choose where to turn at the wall. Down the left there was a shadow of someone. Port Saint-Jacques, which has advanced over the years since the Revolution. Valjean stood at the Cul-de-sac Genrot and what was he to do about the shadow in wait for him, Javert and his men were coming closer.

112

Droit-Mur Lane was boarded on the right and Rue Petit-Picpus, had houses that grew in height, one house provided a concealing niche. While Valjean was in peril the building had an uninhabited look, he climbed up the piping over the carriage door and tried to open it and found it was just decoration.

113

He heard a heavy sound and saw eight soldiers advancing towards him with Javert’s men. Due to his past escapes, he was a master at climbing and he could get to the sixth story, but how to carry Cosette further. “Certainly, if Jean Valjean had had a kingdom, he would have given it for a rope at that moment.”p.297 (ah the old my kingdom for a horse dilemma) The lanterns in the street were accented by a rope and pully system, he hurried across the street and back in an instant with it. Cosette was getting uneasy and asked who is coming, Madame so keep quiet. (that’s right use the child’s fear to keep her quiet) He secured the rope around her and hauled her up with his teeth and pressed her against the wall as he climbed, he heard the guards call that he is in the alley as he leaped over to the other side.

114

He was in a garden and the building falling in ruin, he took Cosette and his inside the shed as they heard the patrol search. Soon that sound was replaced with women’s voices, celestial, divine and they both felt they must kneel. (you could see this as God’s grace intervening) The song died away and there was no one in the street or garden. “That which had menaced, that which had reassured him-all had vanished.”p.300

115

Two in the morning Cosette was still awake and cold and Valjean assured her that Madame is gone and wrapped her in his coat. He left her to look around in a window, there was a light and thought he saw a figure in white prostrated on the floor seemingly dead. (you might being thinking WTF it will be revealed in a moment) In fear he fled and got back to Cosette who was sleeping.

116

With her near he came to his senses and heard for some time the tinkling of a bell, someone was in the garden tending to the melons. He felt terror thinking of Javert and his spies, he carefully carried Cosette behind old furniture and watched the figure, why did he have a bell attached to him. (so the women would know where he is and stay away) He panicked when Cosette didn’t wake she was pale and sweaty with sickness. (you did take an emaciated sickly child and drag them through the country for several days in winter at that)

117

Valjean took out silver and approached the man and offered it to stay the night. The old man is amazed to see Madeliene, Valjean didn’t recognize Fauchelevent at first. Fauchelevent asks why he is here at the Petit-Picpus convent where no men are allowed. He has to stay here, save his life like he did for him he has a secluded hovel they can share. Valjean requests he not say anything about them, or find out about them, he’ll do it since he brought him here. “Ah! Father Madeliene! You did not recognize me immediately; you can save people’s lives, and then you forget them! That is bad! But they remember you! You are an ingrate!”p.304

118

When Valjean originally escaped from prison after Fantine’s death they thought he went to Paris where fugitives were known to go. So Javert was summoned there to help the police force in their search. After, he no longer thought of Valjean until when it was published that he died. Later there was a report of a child abduction under peculiar circumstances, the mother was Fantine, the child, Cosette. He recalled Fantine and Valjean wanting to retrieve the child, too many coincidences.

The Thenardiers ranted for days and he was given different versions but Cosette was indeed abducted. But how did he receive fifteen hundred francs and Thenardier then made up a story of her grandfather coming to get her. So Javert left thinking himself stupid to believe it was the dead Valjean. Then he heard of a man who gives alms in Saint-Medard who had little girl from Montfermeil. So, he disguised himself so the suspect would approach and followed him to the Gorbeau house where the following day Valjean fled. Having been alerted beforehand Javert alerted the police and laid an ambush but didn’t give Valjean’s name because he wanted the credit to himself. (you’re willing to blow a whole case just because you want all the credit for yourself)

He followed Valjean, still in doubt it was him and didn’t want the mistake on his record or to send an innocent man to the galleys. (you mean like last time) It in was in the light of the dram-shop he saw Valjean’s face. “There are in this world two beings who give a profound start-the mother who recovers her child and the tiger who recovers his prey. Javert gave that profound start.”p.307 He asked for reinforcements and the delay caused him to lose the trail. They got a description at the toll road and he met a guard to help with the chase.

He allowed the cat and mouse game to begin and enjoyed the close success. But Valjean eluded him, the sentinel didn’t see him pass Napoleon, Caesar and Alexander made mistakes as well as Javert in his hunt of the ex-convict. He was wrong to not hurry and arrest him, thinking too much of the chase and trap. However, Javert didn’t lose his head, Valjean had to be close and the search found the lantern with the missing rope, they searched Genrot until morning having found nothing.

BOOK SIXTH LE PETIT-PICPUS

119

The convent of Little Picpus Street was a somber place. If you got passed the porter you entered a corridor that led to a small room that had no furniture. A hole was covered in mesh and a tape attached to a bell wire next to it, if pulled a voice would answer. If given the password they would allow entry to a theatre room with shuttered windows and the voice on the other side. This is the interior of the cloister of the Convent of the Bernadines of the Perpetual Adoration. (all of this convoluted password keeping makes it seem like a secret society)

120

Those Bernadines were attached to Citeaux and has branches all through Europe. The Bernadines had two houses in Paris, one at the Temple the other in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Genevieve. But these days Bernadines were different, they didn’t wear the Holy Sacrament and the only resemblance was the practice of the ladies of the Holy Sacrament. They fast all year, don’t eat meat most times and never see the officiating priest, the only man allowed to enter the convent is the archbishop. They make reparations for twelve hours and the one doing it ties a rope around their neck and when fatigued they lay flat to pray for all the guilty in the universe. (you mean guilty like Valjean)

They dressed where you could only see their mouths, didn’t brush their teeth (having clean teeth isn’t vanity it’s basic hygiene) and didn’t use the word ‘my’ since they shouldn’t attach themselves to anything. They don’t even have private cells. only the prioress can hold communion with strangers. The others are allowed to see immediate family and an outsider has to go through negotiations but they always refused men. (they are so severe three went mad)

#les miserables #victor hugo #books #book summaries #epic #historical fiction #tragedy

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mbb-project-entity · 1 year

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Prologue

Her designer clothes and luxuary car would make anyone meeting her believe she was a high level executive, or a socialite born into a wealthy family. But Kyubi was neither of these. She didn’t need a job that she had to get to, or people she had to associate with. The only people she interacted with were those who could amuse her particular style of amusement. Instead, her affluent lifestyle was funded through…other means. Her life required her to do nothing that she didn’t want to do, and right now all she wanted to do was explore and see what new ‘adventures’ she could encounter. As she reached a junction she decided to take a left on nothing but her gut impulse that something fun was down that way. Soon wide open roads surrounded by vegetation started turning into clean streets, surrounded by buildings. After a few minutes of speeding along, she heard a loud siren and looked in her mirror. She cursed to herself as she saw a police car right behind her. Kyubi pulled over the side of the road and rolled her window down as the officer came up to his car.

“Hi there Candice, this is Kyubi, a good friend of your husband.” Kyubi said as she tried not to laugh. “Well, ahh, hello. How do you know my husband?” Candice asked. “Oh, we are drinking buddies. Now Candice, you want to listen closely to everything I have to say. And you really want to do everything I tell you to do.” Kyubi said. “Of course. I will listen to you and do anything you tell me to do.” Candice replied. “Very good, Candice. Now, remember how much your husband drinks. You hate him for it. Over the years in your horrible marriage, you have come to realize he is an alcoholic. You have told him that you will leave him if his alcoholism causes any more trouble. And later on tonight you will hear about more issues because of his drinking problems. So after you hear that you are going to leave him. You will pack up your stuff and move away. You will quit your job at the nice restaurant as what you really want is to start working at some of the strip clubs in the city. The really dirty and sleazy ones. Go in tomorrow and audition at a few. After the incident with your husband later, you will think of yourself as nothing but a hot, sexy stripper from now on. And you will dance like the best one they have. You have a very dirty mouth and mind, you love talking dirty to horny men and if the pay is right, which it always will be, you’ll even sell your body for extra cash too. You have always been this way, a cheap and dirty slut, and you just want to have guys slide money in your thongs you’re gonna start to wear and take you in back and fuck you. So tell me what you really are, Candice.” Kyubi asked over the phone. “I’m a fucking stripper and part time slutty whore. I love dancing real good and teasing guys for any money. I’m going to get a new job stripping in the shitty clubs downtown.” She said, sounding very dirty to Kyubi. “That’s perfect Candice. Feel free to come up with a new, sexy stripper name when you get your first club job. Something like Kandii. Candice is way too posh for some gutter trash like you. You love being nothing but a stripper and a whore, you will remember it’s what you always wanted to be. You love wearing lots of makeup just like all those dirty street whores you picture in your head right now, it’s what you want to look like so bad. A slut. So don’t worry about applying it perfectly, you’re just a dumb old fuck that is too stupid to think, so make sure to plaster it all over your face from now on and start looking like the slut you are…and love it…the sluttier you look the more you love it. Oh, if you don’t smoke, make sure to pick up a pack of cigarettes. You’re gonna start smoking a pack a day, ‘kay?.” Candice nodded in agreement while listening to the details of her new life over the phone. “And remember Kandii, all of this is who you really are. So have fun, fucking and stripping you little bitch.” Kyubi said as she hung up the phone and threw it at the back of the officer’s head who had ignored the whole call as Kyubi had told him to do.

“Ok, Mr. Policeman. Remember what you are supposed to do now. I’m going to go back to my car and drive away first. A minute after that you will head to that liquor store and do what we talked about. Do you remember and understand still?” Kyubi asked him. “I remember and understand.” He droned back as Kyubi removed his wallet from his pocket. She took a look at his ID. Officer Denzel Remington huh? She gazed down at his address, going there to see "Kandii" could be fun, but also this guy had four kids that she could systematically destroy. “That cop wanted to warn me about destroying lives?! Destroying lives iss what I do best” she murmured to herself, as she strode back towards her car. “So, let’s go ‘home’ and see what other trouble I can cause to teach that arrogant officer a lesson.” As she started up her car, she heard the officer’s car start to go in the opposite direction. Kyubi speeded towards her new destination with a big smile on her face. It didn’t matter that the officer would never see the full consequences of pulling her over, as the lives of everyone who knew him would be twisted into new versions, all that mattered was she was about to have some fun doing what she does best. As she got back up to speed she burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Today was turning out to be a good day.

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 1 year

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“Nova Scotia Miner Gets Month in Jail,” Toronto Star. November 8, 1932. Page 2. ---- Can Return to Maritime Coal Fields After Completing Term --- Harry Hewbury and James Glass both suffered fines of $50 or 1 month in jail in men’s court to-day when they came before Magistrate Arthur Tinker for being drunk. George KErchuk and Thomas Watson were assessed $10 or 10 days.

Murali Robbins was remanded for sentence on a charge of drunkenness. He had one of the purplest ‘shiners’ seen in court for some time.

‘I was taken out of my room on King St.’ said James Bell, who with Fred Hastings was charged with being inebriated.

‘You must have been having a noisy party if they had to call the police to take you away,’ commented Magistrate Tinker as he remanded them for sentence in the care of Captain Bunton of the Salvation Army.

Daniel Roach was charged with vagrancy.

‘Give me a chance,’ he pleaded, ‘and I’ll leave town. I want to get back to the coal mines in Nova Scotia.’

‘You’ll get your chance after you’ve spent 30 days in Toronto’s jail,’ replied the bench.

Sam Aiza was awarded a 30-day jail term for vagrancy.

Calls Charge ‘Comical’ Counsel W. B. Horkins was very incensed over the case of Jack Harris, 40, charged with vagrancy.

‘This comical charge of vagrancy,’ he said, ‘is just a stall for the police to hold him.’

Harris, alias Jacob Miller, and alias Roth, was arrested by Detective-Sergeant Arthur Levitt during the matinee at a downtown theatre last week. He is being held for deportation pending investigation in the United States.

‘They are willing to make restitution,’ said Counsel Austin Ross, on behalf of Frank Crozier and Alexander Robinson, who pleaded guilty to the theft of an automobile and some markers on Oct. 10.

‘They are going to make restitution,’ said Magistrate Browne, in a firm tone.

The police state that the boys drove the car to Montreal and did $50 damage to it.

‘They will be put on suspended sentence and probation for two years,’ said the bench. ‘They will each pay $50 to the owner of the car.’

The magistrate told them to keep out of trouble as it would not be so easy for them next time.

Nearly a Platoon

Form fours, Right turn!

Twenty men marched into men’s court to-day and faced Magistrate Robert J. Browne.

The captain of the squad was Fred Bonemier, 24, of Elm St. He was charged with keeping a common betting house and his 19 men were charged with being ‘found in.’

They were all remanded until November 16.

‘Your face is too familiar in this court,’ said Magistrate Browne to Frank De Laurentis, Bay St., who acted as bondsman for Bonemier. ‘I won’t accept your bail in the future. You are to keep out of the court and police stations.’

The same edict was delivered to Alexander and Rachel Segal, of Sumach St., and Eva Feder, of Markham St., who attempted to go bail for the 19 men. Their bail was refused and the men were allowed to go on $50 bonds of their own.

Officers Were Surprised The arrests were brought about yesterday by Morality Officers Hugh Jackson, Joseph Sunderland, and William Martin. They became suspicious when they saw several men enter a house on Church St. They entered the house with some of the visitors,

Utter confusion broke out when the officers appeared and they were just as surprised as the 20 or more men who were gathered in the room. Tables were pushed over and cards and silver scattered on the floor as the people in the room made for doors and windows.

Four men jumped to the roof of a Chinese laundry and crashed through to the interior. The startled Chinese owner ran out shouting.

Twenty men were finally rounded up and crowded into two patrol wagons. Decks of cards, money, and betting slips on horse races were taken as evidence.

Bonemia was said by police to have had a roll of bills ‘big enough to choke an elephant.’

Had the officers been expecting to find anything unusual, they would have prepared themselves and made a clean sweep of the place. As it was, three or four men escaped in the confusion.

Stole Auto Parts Richard Dunn and John Sosnowski were found guilty of the theft of some automobile parts and some gasoline. They were remanded until Wednesday for sentence.

One of the boys said he was in the mechanical department of one of the technical schools.

‘I suppose that’s where you learned to syphon gasoline,’ said Magistrate Browne sarcastically.

Harry Codling, charged with fraud, was remanded until Dec. 6. Bail was set at $200.

Richard Thomas, 33, of Cornwall St. was found guilty of the theft of a bicycle from Fred Halse of Coxwell Ave. Accused was remanded for sentence until Nov. 9.

He told a story of having bought the bicycle two years ago. ‘I’m sorry I can’t believe your story,’ said Magistrate Browne. ‘It is a pack of lies. The boy has told the court that he bought the bicycle new and reported its theft a year ago.’

The wife of accused appeared and in her arms she held a bonny baby. Her pleadings were of no avail and Magistrate Browne said he would register a conviction. The woman broke down and cried when her husband went down to custody.

On Two Years’ Probation William Whitehead pleaded guilty some days ago to several thefts of automobiles and was to-day placed on suspended sentence and probation for two years.

‘If you behave yourself you won’t hear about this again,’ said the bench. ‘ But if you get into bad company we will send you to the reformatory.’

The charge again James Scott of obtaining $70 by false pretences from Douglas Nixon was withdrawn upon payment of costs by complainant.

Walter Nolson was committed for trial on a charge of false pretences. Bail was set at $1,000.

Boys Fined $1.25 Each ‘Hallowe’en won’t be here again for another year,’ Magistrate Browne told the woman who complained that her fence was broken down last week. The four boys who did the damage were each fined $1.25 and told to keep away in future. They couldn’t scrape up the $5 between them but promised to get it.

Thomas Wilson, who worked for E. Taylor for $5 a week, was charged with stealing six books valued at 50 cents.

Magistrate Browne dismissed the case. ‘Imagine bringing a charge of the theft of 50 cents against a man you only pay $5 a week,’ he said.

James McLean, charged with theft of bottles from Max and Harry Koroltek, was remanded for sentence until called upon.

‘They hit me over the head with a bottle,’ he complained.

A charge of assault against the brothers was dropped.

S. S. Shoot, who was charged with false pretences, was also on probation.

‘I will withdraw this charge and cancel your probation,’ said the bench.

Nathan Tusher charged Sam Lewerman with obtaining $25 from him by false pretences.

‘This young man,’ said Magistrate Browne, referring to Tusher, ‘had an accident in his car. When he went to see about his insurance he was told he didn’t have any. You took his money for a policy and kept it for yourself.’

The bench told accused that it was his second offence in insurance dealings. ‘I am going to remand you until Nov. 14 for judgement.’

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

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What Is A Mother, But The Woman Who Loves Us Most?

A Batmom x Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: I know there is a story like this already (by a different author) but I should preface that this is a story that I posted a year or so before but deleted my previous blog last year, so it's not going to seem like it. I haven't copied any ideas, this is my own that I posted a year or so ago, and re-posting again now. -Thorne

You are not my mother!

The loathing words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he watched the cave go deathly quiet around him. Everyone's eyes were wide, even hers, but a millisecond later, they set in a hard stare as she stood straight, her jaw tightening.

She nodded, staring at him. "You're right Damian. I'm not Talia al Ghul. I'm not your mother. But I will tell you what I am." She raised her left hand, flashing the silver wedding ring on her finger. "I'm your father's wife. And what I tell you to do in this manor is what I expect from you."

He shook his head in anger, glaring at her. "This is my father's manor!"

"No Damian, this is the Wayne Manor. And I've been, to use a rather weathered term, the lady of the house for almost fifteen years. Long before you were even a thought in Talia's mind." He stopped and she crossed her arms. "I may not be your mother, but you are a child and your father and I are the adults. When you turn eighteen, you can make all the decisions you want. Until then, what we say goes."

His lips drew in a taut line and she added, "I've already talked about it to Bruce. You're not allowed on patrol after what happened at the gala. If you want to complain to him about it, he's going to tell you the same thing." Her eyes shifted to the others, then she looked back at him one last time before turning around and walking up the stairs.

When she was gone, he let out a shout in anger and threw silver coffee pot against the cave wall. It hit the wall with a clang and dropped, rolling on the ground a few times as it spilled its contents, much like his mood.

He felt their eyes on them and he whipped his head up, glaring at them. "What?!"

Tim and Jason simply narrowed their eyes at him, but Dick walked forward and knelt in front of him. "Kiddo, that wasn't a nice thing to say to mom."

Damian scoffed at him before shoving past, climbing up the stairs. “Like the three of you haven't said that to her before." There was no return to his statement, giving him all the answer, he needed.

***

He stepped out of the study stretching his arms and listening to the sound of his bones popping before he shifted, moving towards the door. The boys had left a few minutes earlier to catch a rerun of an episode of Vikings, leaving him alone in the cave.

Alfred walked up to him, handing him a sweater before motioning to the door. "Mrs. Wayne has taken a seat out on the patio. I suspect you'll wish to see her."

Bruce nodded, taking the sweater from him before thanking him and moving out of the study and towards the patio. He crossed into the living room as he did, stopping to stare at his four sons passed out on the couch. The TV was still going, so he leaned down, gently taking the remote from Dick's hand and shutting it off.

He set the remote down and started his path again, but stopped when he heard, "You going to check on mom?" He turned around, looking at a his oldest.

Bruce nodded, taking in the sight of Dick’s arms wrapped around all of his brothers. “After you boys told me what happened, I thought I should talk to her about it."

Dick nodded, reaching up and rubbing his eyes, careful not to wake the others beside him. "He didn't mean it...he'll see that when he gets over being angry."

Bruce nodded and leaned over, ruffling his hair. “Tell Jason that you two should stay at the manor tonight...it's too late for you to head home anyway."

Dick started to argue, but a look from his father and quick, “Your mother would have a fit if you two tried to drive home now or later…you know that.”

His son nodded and Bruce turned around once more, this time making his way to the dimly lit patio. His hand curled around the cool metal handle of the sliding glass door, and he quietly opened it, stepping out onto the deck. She lay on the porch swing, covered by a heavy hound’s tooth blanket, with a barely full wine glass in her hand.

He walked towards her and bent over, picking up the wine bottle; he shook it lightly before quipping, "I can't believe you've drank an entire bottle in one sitting."

As if finally noticing his presence, she tipped her head lazily to him and mumbled, "It's empty?"

He snorted and tipped the bottle upside down. "As it was the day before it was bottled."

Bruce paused and grinned as she huffed a laugh and brought the glass she had in her hand up to her mouth. He watched her down the rest of her red wine before she set the glass on the table; he set the bottle beside it and shifted her forward, easing his way behind her until they were both comfortable. She rested her back against his chest, her head dropping against his shoulder. His arms came up around her as he pulled the blanket up to her neck, keeping her warm.

He was quiet for a second then he murmured, "...The boys told me what happened earlier."

There was a moment of silence, then she whispered, "I know I should be used to it after hearing it come from each of them..." She stopped, then continued with, "But it still stings to hear it."

A sad smile crossed his lips as he pressed his lips to her temple. "Of course it stings (Y/N)...you're their mother and you love them." After he didn't receive a response from her, he tipped his head and looked down. "(Y/N)? Love?" She turned her head, and he took in the sight of the tears in her eyes; his face fell at the sight and he brought a hand up, cupping her cheek. "Oh…sweetheart."

(Y/N) choked out a sob and pressed her face into the crook of his neck as she clenched a hand in his sweater. Bruce rested his chin on the top of her head as he rubbed her back, comforting her with quiet words.

***

Damian watched them from the screen door, feeling his heart clench in his chest at the sight of (Y/N) sobbing. He swallowed thickly and stepped back, only to come into contact with someone—something. He let out a quiet gasp and spun around, seeing Dick staring sadly out at his parents, Tim and Jason behind him doing the same.

Damian looked at them and whispered, "What are you three doing?"

Dick glanced at him briefly before motioning to them. "We heard the sliding door open, and we went to listen."

"I didn't know you were eavesdroppers."

A hand came up and cuffed him upside the head; he held his head, glaring at Jason who bit out, "Shut up, two-bit. You were eavesdropping too."

Damian opened his mouth to retort, but shut it and turned back around, looking at her. A moment passed, then he mumbled, "You said the same thing I did." He looked up at his brothers, who wore clouded expressions; each of them nodded after a few seconds, and he asked, "What happened?"

Dick was the first to speak, remembering a time from when he was a mere ten years old.

***

He stomped angrily through the house, not even caring about her following him; she called after him repeatedly. "Dick. Dick, honey, stop for a second."

He didn't listen, still moving. "No! You grounded me!"

"And I grounded you for a reason. You deliberately disobeyed me." He grunted at her and she called out, her voice ringing with authority, "Richard John Grayson. Not another step young man." He stopped at it and she continued, "You left the cave tonight and went on patrol without asking. As your mom-"

He spun around, his eyes angered as he spit, "You're not my mom! Stop acting like it!" Her mouth shut, and her eyes went wide from the declarations.

She blinked, obviously stunned at his words, and she stared down at her hands murmuring, "I may not be your real mother...but I...I am...I..." She drew off, bringing a hand up to wipe at her cheek. Dick's widened when she looked up at him, and he saw the tears beginning to spill, running down her cheeks.

He raised his hands out to her. "Wait! I—I didn't mean it!"

(Y/N) looked down and she brought a hand up to her mouth, moving past him, letting out a broken, 'excuse me'. He watched her go past him, then a few moments later, Bruce walked into the room and he turned to him.

"Bruce!" Bruce looked down at him, taking in the sight of Dick, who was almost in tears.

The lecture he had ready for him went out the window as he squatted in front of Dick. "Dick?"

The boy looked up at him, tears filling those big blue eyes. "I—I messed up B-Bruce."

He reached out a hand, wiping his tears away. "What happened Dick?"

Dick lowered his head and he whispered, "I a—accidently told (Y/N) that she wasn't my m-mom."

Bruce sighed at him and murmured, “Oh, Dick." The boy began to sob, and Bruce reached out, pulling him into a hug. "It's okay, bud."

***

Dick looked at her and murmured, "I've never forgotten the look she gave me after I said it to her..." He looked down at Damian, and said, "And neither has she."

Jason nodded at that. "I'm sure she's never forgotten how I left the cave telling her I had to go find my real mom.

***

"What are you looking at baby?"

He jerked forward, clicking the screen to minimize the images. "Nothing!" He spun around to see her walking towards him, an amused smile on her face.

"And I'm assuming that nothing is not important?" She questioned.

He nodded. "Not at all."

She stared at him until he sighed and turned around, clicking the screen to reveal the images of the three women; she walked up to him. "Who are these women?"

He pointed to each one. "Sharmin Rosen, Lady Shiva, and Sheila Haywood."

(Y/N) nodded, looking at them. "They're very pretty women." She paused and looked at him. "But why are you looking at them." He dropped his gaze and picked at his fingers. "Jason? Hon?"

He looked back up at her. "One of them is my mom."

Her eyes widened as she said, "Like...your biological mom?"

He nodded. "I found out after I went back to my old apartment." He looked between the screen and (Y/N). "I'm gonna track them down." She was silent, her eyes moving to the screen, and he turned to her, rising from the chair. "I have to go find them...I have to go find my real mom."

***

"And those were the last words I ever said to Ma." They stared at Jason as he leaned against a table by the door. "And it got a lot worse when I came back...I said horrible things to Ma...about her not caring...about her not being a mother." He went silent and shook his head. "I fucked up a lot of things between us for a good couple years."

Tim watched him, then nodded. "I hadn't even realized I'd actually said it to mom...it was such an offhanded comment that I didn't even know what I said until she was gone."

***

He barely registered the sound of his bedroom door opening, let alone the sound of her footsteps as she walked up to him. He did, however, hear the disappointment in her tone as she said, "Timmy...you need to go to bed."

He shook his head, typing on the keyboard. "I'm fine."

"Honey, you've been awake for almost forty-eight hours." She rested a hand on his shoulder. "It's not good for your body if you stay up like this."

"I'm fine. Really, I'm good."

She squeezed his shoulder, the other hand reaching out to close the laptop. "You'll be good when you're asleep in bed." Skimming the top of this laptop, she stopped when his curled around her wrist.

He turned to her and said, "Will you stop mothering me? I'm fine. I don't need your help."

He let go of her and turned back to the screen, barely registering the way she quietly whispered, “Alright Timmy...goodnight”, and walked out of his room.

***

"The only reason I actually realized what I said was after a few minutes, I realized that she hadn't told me she loved me after saying good night." He paused, digging a groove into the carpet with his toes. "Mom didn't say anything about it the next day, but I could tell that something had shifted. She was more reserved when it came to me." He looked at Damian. "Look, I know you and I don't get along, but I'm going to tell you something brother to brother. Go apologize to mom and tell her that you didn't mean it."

It was all he said before he looked at the others and waved. "I'm going to bed.

Jason soon followed saying, "I'm with Timbers. I'm gonna go crash."

The two of them began making their way to their rooms when the sound of the screen door opening and closing brought their attention back. They looked towards it, seeing Bruce carrying (Y/N), her head pressed against his chest.

He stopped when he saw them, his surprised look giving way to a hard expression. "Were you four watching?" They all started making excuses, but he shushed them, nodding at their sleeping mother; they shut their mouths and he brought his foot back, sliding the door closed.

"Is mom alright?"

Bruce looked at Dick and nodded. "She's fine. Wine drunk...but fine." He looked down at Damian. "(Y/N) does a lot for all of us. You owe her an apology when she wakes up." Damian nodded, watching as he walked past them, carrying her up the stairs to their bedroom.

***

The dull throb in her head told her the migraine was something she was going to need some aspirin, water, and a heavy blanket to block out the light to fix. She groaned lightly as she burrowed her face in her pillow, then she opened her eyes and looked around the room.

Immediately, she took in the sight of the four of her boys curled up like cats in the bed with her. A smile graced her lips and she reached down beside her hip, running a hand over Tim's head; he shifted in his sleep, burying his face in her side and she struggled to bite back the laugh that wanted to come out. She reached over again and ran her hands through Dick and Jason's hair, watching them do the same.

She smiled at them, then a voice sounded from beside her. "Are you awake, Umi?" (Y/N) looked to her side, seeing Damian curled up beside her. Bruce's broad shoulders made him look so tiny from where he was laying and she nodded, raising a hand and caressing his head.

"I'm awake, sweetheart." He nodded, then moved under her arm, resting his head on her shoulder. Her arm settled comfortably around him, and she brought up her hand, gently running her fingers through his short hair.

After a few moments he whispered, "...I'm sorry, Umi."

Her response was to press her lips to his forehead, and murmur, "I know, baby."

He swallowed thickly, feeling the beginnings of tears gathering in his eyes. "I didn't mean to say it."

She nodded; her lips still pressed to his forehead. "I know you didn't, sweetheart. It was something said in anger."

He moved to sit up, looking up at her as he whispered harshly, "But I have hurt you! I made you cry! I...did this." He dropped his gaze, closing his eyes, and (Y/N) watched the tears begin to fall down his cheeks. He looked back up at her a few seconds later and said, "You are my mother, Umi...you are the only mother I've known."

(Y/N) shifted, careful not to wake her sons, then she cupped Damian's cheeks in her hands. "Baby...it's okay...I'm not angry at you."

He shook his head in her grip. "But you're sad because I said you weren't my mother."

(Y/N) brushed her thumbs under his eyes, wiping away the tears. "We all say things that we don't mean." He looked up at her and she searched his eyes. "What matters is that when they are said, we try our best to fix what we've done wrong."

Damian nodded his head and whispered, "I'm sorry, Umi."

A sad smile crossed her lips and she leaned forward, kissing his forehead. "I am too, baby." She pulled away and brushed his cheeks again. "I still love you though...with all my heart."

"You do? Even after what I said?"

(Y/N) nodded, pulling him to her; he rested his head under her chin, and she wrapped her arms around him as she murmured, "The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness." She brought up a hand, caressing the side of his head as she whispered, "Each of you has told me as some point that I am not what I am. But I know deep down that none of you meant it. And each time I heard it, it hurt...but forgiveness is a good thing when used."

"To err is human...to forgive...divine."

She smiled at his quote and squeezed him gently. "I love you, Damian...my beautiful baby boy."

The feeling of tears gathered in his eyes, but he blinked them away, his hand clenching in her shirt as he replied, "I love you too, Umi."

There was a moment of silence between them until, "How come the demon-spawn gets all the love? We were here first."

Damian raised his head, glaring at Tim. "I am Umi's favorite, Drake."

"The hell you are, Tater-tot. If anyone's the favorite, it's me."

"I think you're wrong, Little-wing. Iwas the first. I'm the favorite."

"No one asked you, dickhead."

"Mom! Jason called me a mean name!"

"Stop mocking me!"

"Mom!"

(Y/N) rolled her eyes at her two oldest as they began to shove at each other, and eventually, Tim and Damian got into the mess, and she watched their fists and feet fly at each other.

A grunt sounded from beside her and she looked down to see her husband glaring at her. "You just had to get them going this early, didn't you, Mrs. Wayne?"

(Y/N) let out a 'pfft' and leaned down, pressing her lips to his before laying her head on his arm, their foreheads touching. "Yeah...but I know that when they're fighting like this, they're giving each other love."

"Tough love."

She snorted and tickled his side, feeling him jerk away. "But love nonetheless."

He opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of someone grunting cut him off. "Mom! Jason won't let me out of this headlock!"

"Mom! Jason won't let me-"

"STOP MOCKING ME, JASON!"

"You're unbearable, Drake! I am Umi's favorite!"

"Keep telling yourself that, oompa-loompa."

"I am not an oompa-loompa!"

(Y/N) sighed and looked at her husband. "Never a dull morning, is it Mr. Wayne?"

He grinned at her but grunted when one of them hit his side. "No, it's not Mrs. Wayne. No, it is not."

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imaginestuffs · 2 years

Text

Now and Forever- (Andrew Garfield) Peter Parker x Reader

word count:1440

warnings: flufffff, just fluff

Summary: Peter comes home from patrols and all he wants to do is dance with you. You take the pain away from him just by being close and that's what he needs.

(When I hear this song, for some reason I think of Peter, and I wanted to write something for it! so all credit to my favorite band ever)

You sat on your bed and waited for your boyfriend to come knocking at your window. It was quite a while before you and he got together, he was wary, and you understood more than he could know. You lost someone too and were fearful of loving anyone again but the more you got to know him the more you felt yourself slipping off that precipice you were on the edge of. Every time you heard his laugh or saw him smile you fell more in love with him, and it scared you.

Peter was your everything, and on days when he took a bit longer to come home, you would get scared. You would get scared that he wouldn’t come home at all. You were scared that you’d have to find out on the news that something had happened to him.

You had ended up setting your phone down and letting your music just play as you waited for him to come home. You looked at the window every once in a while, just hoping and praying to see him there.

A song came on that reminded you of him and it made you sigh and smile at the thought of him dancing around the room with you whenever it played. You chuckled at the memory of him spinning you around. Soon enough you heard the familiar knock on the glass and your heart rate picked up as you saw the red and blue suit you came to love. You quickly opened the window, and he hopped in. “Your smile is beautiful, even from through the window,” he said and you blushed lightly. “Were you watching me you weirdo?” you asked with a chuckle. He took the mask off and shrugged his shoulders, “I was admiring you,” he said and you smiled softly at him while shaking your head. “You’re too much sometimes,” you said and gently shoved his shoulder. “So are you,” he said and poked your sides playfully.

He suddenly perked up and you quirked your head in confusion at the expression on his face. His lips turned upward and it made you smile as well, “Why are you smiling?” you asked “It’s the song,” he said and grabbed your hands. You chuckled and nodded your head. “Yeah, it is. That’s why I was smiling,” you explained to him. He tugged you closer to him and kissed your forehead. “Will you dance with me?” he asked. You nodded your head, “the song is almost over though,” you said. “Well, we’ll just have to play it again won’t we?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. He let go of you and went to hit the replay button so it would start again. He wrapped his arms around your waist, You looked up at him and noticed the small cuts on his face. You took a step back to assess him and saw that he had a few tears in his suit where there was blood seeping through.

“Peter, wait,” you said and went to stop the song before it could really start. “What’s wrong babe?” he asked with furrowed brows and a frown. “You’re bleeding,” you said and were about to walk away to get the first-aid kit you had stored in your bathroom. He grabbed your hand and tugged you back to him. “It’s nothing bad, please, just dance with me,” he said and squeezed your hand gently. “Peter,” you tried. His eyes looked like they were glossy. “Please, just dance with me. It will make it all better, the pain will go away,” he said and you sighed. “Alright, but then I take care of you,” you said and he smiled softly before kissing your head. “You are taking care of me,” he said before hitting play again. He pulled you close to him, and you really didn’t care if you got blood on you, you just cared about him.

He placed his hands on your waist and yours were locked around his neck.

“A painted heart on the sidewalk

A bleeding sun on a silver screen

I feel my ego when I talk

Lost myself in the in-between

Lustful eyes filled with love now

Sending in every cavalry

A few more souls on the bus now,”

He swayed with you softly making sure to hold you close to him. He rested his chin on the top of your head. You pressed a kiss on his chest and closed your eyes.

“Shut my eyes right at seventeen

Always hits me

I'm always shifting

Take my hand, now and forever

Where I stand, how can you live and let die?

Young man, look in the mirror

Take my hand, and don't you ever let go

(Take my hand, now and forever

Take my hand, now and forever)

Don't you ever let go

(Take my hand, now and forever

Take my hand, now and forever)”

You moved one hand from around his neck and reached to grab one of his. He smiled softly and laced your fingers together. He pulled away slightly so he could spin you out and back into his chest. You smiled up at him and rested your other hand on his cheek. He turned his head and placed a kiss on your palm sweetly.

“Told myself maybe someday

I'd fall down from the centerpiece

I treat my mind like an ashtray

I owe you an apology

Breaking plans on a Sunday

With myself, maybe make some peace

I forgot every birthday

Open eyes right at twenty-three

Always hits me

That I'm always shifting

Take my hand, now and forever

Where I stand, how can you live and let die?

Young man, look in the mirror

Take my hand, and don't you ever let go

(Take my hand, now and forever

Take my hand, now and forever)

Don't you ever let go

(Take my hand, now and forever

Take my hand, now and forever)”

He spun you once again and you giggled with a smile on your face. He looked at you with eyes filled with love. The t-shirt of his that you wore flared out just the slightest bit when he spun you around and it made him smile. He let you go for a second and you just continued to spin for a few moments before he stopped you and pulled you close again. “You’ll get dizzy if you keep doing that,” he chuckled. “Then let’s get dizzy together,” you said and grabbed his hands to make him spin with you. He laughed as felt you tug him around in a circle. He fell even more in love with you.

“Pick apart all of the pieces

While I'm running out of time

Iron out all of the creases

And just hang it out to dry

Shallow hearts for shallow minds

That ache to be alive

You fall apart and redefine

What keeps you up at night

Oh, take my hand, now and forever

Where I stand, just as you're losing yourself again

Look in the mirror

Take my hand, now and forever

Where I stand, how can you live and let die?

Young man, look in the mirror

Take my hand, and don't you ever let go

(Take my hand, now and forever

Take my hand, now and forever)

Don't you ever let go

(Take my hand, now and forever

Take my hand, now and forever)”

He gently let you go so he could bend down and pick you up. You gasped at the action and giggled. “Pete, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” you said. “No, I’m not, remember this is taking away the pain. I’m ok,” he said and you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. You rested your forehead against his and placed one hand on his cheek. “I love you, Peter,” you said and kissed his head. He looked up at you and smiled softly. “I love you too,” he said before leaning in to press a kiss on your lips. He backed up slowly until he could feel the bed against his legs. He sat down with you on his lap. His lips still pressed to yours. You smiled into the kiss and pulled away. He held you with one arm and let his other hand come up to grab the one on his cheek.

“Take my hand, and don’t you ever let go,” he said softly and kissed your hand. “Now and forever,” you said and did the same to him. You rested your forehead against his once again, and just sat with him, holding each other for as long as you could.

---

Hope you liked it! -M

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arty-shadow-morningstar · 3 years

Text

My Maribat Betrothal AU: Take Two

Okay so people like that post that is more of a train wreck produced by my sleep-deprived brain. I expanded on it and added some changes. Fair warning: Most of my ML and DC knowledge came from Maribat fics, a few episodes and the DCU movies like son of Batman. I have Mari's pov and background stuff written and it needs some editing. Anyways, enjoy <3

It is not a continuation but: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0

[Masterlist]

(Part 2)

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

PART 1

Damian groaned.

He was not having a good day.

First, Father decided to pair him with Todd, TODD of all people, for patrol.

Second, while doing a stake-out for the warehouse near the docks which might be used as storage for criminal activity and enduring Red Hood's annoying taunts, they both were knocked out by tranquilizers and his mother's face was the last thing he had remembered seeing.

"Don't worry, little one. You are just fulfilling your duties as heir to the Demon's Head. Then, all will be perfect." She had said, just before he fully lost consciousness.

Third, he woke up to being chained up with a major headache. Taking a bearing of his surroundings, the room he was imprisoned in had two exits, an iron door and a window that had the view of his childhood home. He was dressed in wedding ensembles of the League of Shadows. Red Hood was chained up next to him as well but unlike him, still had his suit and helmet on. Glancing to the other side, he saw a raven-haired girl, chained up and dressed in the black and gold robes of a bride. She had also retained consciousness and was staring at him.

Bluebell eyes met his piercing green.

His betrothal was petite with Asian features. She had freckles dotting her button nose and rosy cheeks.

She is fragile and will break easily, he thought. Why did his mother want him to marry such a weakling?

"Savez-vous où nous sommes? (Do you know where we are?)" Her voice was sweet and trembling with fear. Her eyes were wide and seemed filled with innocence yet carrying great sadness. She was an Angel, an ordinary girl, not fit for this harsh and unforgiving world she was forcefully going to get married to.

She opened her mouth to ask another question and suddenly, she went limp, appearing to be unconscious. Damian furrowed his brows in confusion. Why did she-

A moment later, he heard footsteps approaching and the iron door opened to reveal his mother.

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

Jason woke up to the sight of the Bitch Talia and Demon Spawn, face to face, glaring at each other.

Talia broke the tense silence.

"Damian, I hope you know what you should do."

"To be forcefully married to that little girl. She is no one special. Why am I getting married to her?"

Married? The Demon Spawn is getting married?!

Jason saw through his helmeted vision, a girl about Damian's age, chained up like them but not yet awake. He raised his hand and saw the shackles around his wrists. The chains were connected to the wall. He experimentally yanked the chains, drawing Talia’s attention.

“Well, Jason, you are awake. You can be the best man for the wedding.”

“No. I don’t know what game you are playing but you better release us. B is gonna find us and you will pay. Let the girl go. She is innocent in all of this.” Jason said vehemently.

"Ladybug may not seem like it but she possesses great power that my father converted for centuries. Speaking of, she should be awake by now."

Talia stood up and grabbed Ladybug’s(?) hair and yanked so that her eyes met the girl's. The girl, who unfortunately was going to be the Demon Spawn's bride, lets out a cry and starts to tear up. Jason felt anger at how she was being treated, seeing the girl as a little sister already.

"Tch, See, she is more pathetic than I thought. She is not powerful." Demon Spawn growled out. The girl starts babbling in French. From the little French Jason knows, she was begging for mercy.

“Like I thought, weak. She is not deserving of the title of my wife.” Damian spat out.

"Appearance can be deceiving. Despite her demeanor, she is the current wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous and the Current Guardian. The old Guardian, the old fool had promised her in exchange for his protection." Talia countered, letting go of the girl.

Miraculous? Guardian? What the hell?

"That doesn't mean I want to marry her. She is not worthy of an Al Ghul or a Wayne. Look at her, crying at the slightest feeling of pain."

The mother and son begin to bicker. Damian refusing to marry and Talia trying to change his mind.

“Yes, both have to be willing to be married but the curse placed on both of you will ensure that you will agree.”

The dark haired girl had stopped crying and started whispering in a strange language when the fight started, fiddling with the silver ring she wore. Jason saw a terrifying smile crossed the face of the girl across him that chilled him to the bones. Later, a black blur came out of her robes and went through the door. He wondered if he imagined that before he was a determined glint in her eyes.

He blinked.

Talia was choking on the chains that were previously chained to the wall and were now around her neck. Fortunately for them, Talia had closed the door after her entrance and the guards most likely to be stationed outside didn’t storm into the cell. The girl whispered something in Talia's ear, making the woman's eyes widen with what could be fear.

The experienced assassin struggled to get free and gain an upper hand on the girl but was unsuccessful, passing out from the lack of oxygen and strangely strong grip of the small girl.

What happened next was surprising. She breathed hard on her shackles which instantly disintegrated into flakes of rust.

Holy Shit! Demon Spawn's girl is magic. Jason knows his mouth was hanging open under his helmet at that realization. Damian seems to be in the same state.

Talia didn't have the keys to the locks. Being crafty like that. Bitch

"Call me Lady." she said in lightly accented English as she summoned black orbs at the tip of her hands. “Stay still.”

She then proceeds to place her hands on Jason’s shackles, turning them into nothing more than specks.

"I am Red Hood." said Jason, rubbing his wrists.

"The little shit here," as he kicked Damian's leg, " is-"

"Damian Al Ghul" she said the last name with venom. She moved on to Damian's bonds. "Son of that bitch over there, grandson of Ra's, demon heir, blah blah blah. Hold still, mon mignon. I am sure you don't want to lose a hand."

Damian stopped moving at that, due to the pet name or fear Jason couldn’t tell but by the red at the tips of his ear, it could be the former. And she used her powers to free him.

Lady somehow managed to use what remained of the chains to hog tie Talia up.

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

“How do we get out?” Damian asked, inspecting the blade that he flinched from his mother.

“Hey, kit.” A nasally voice called out. “I checked out the place we are in. Like you asked. The way to the Throne room is heavily guarded and they seem to think old Ra’s the target. The Pits are guarded too but they are nothing you can’t handle.”

“What is that?” Jason shrieked.

“Thanks, Plagg, you will get that camembert danish when we get back. This is a kwami, a god of sorts and his thing is destruction so I wouldn’t insult him if I were you. He likes to go by Plagg”, answered Lady, which doesn’t clear up Jason’s confusion.

“So, Pigtails, what’s the plan?” The floating, black cat-shaped god(?) asked.

“I was thinking of destroying the Pits to give Al Ghul a middle finger and call Maman to use the Horse to get home.”

“We need Tikki to get rid of it..”

“I will just tell Maman to bring the earrings.”

Damian snorted, “That sounds like a foolish plan. You are insane and not strong enough to take on the League alone, despite having a ‘god’ of destruction at your side. This Tikki or magic earrings will destroy the Pits, many have tried. And sorry to disappoint but no horse can make it up the mountainside of Nanda Parbat.”

“Have to agree with Demon Spawn here and I rarely do that. Your plan sounds insane, Pixie. You are just one girl. Let us help, we know the League better than you. We can come up with a better one.” Jason was worried for the girl, she was crazy if she thought her plan would work.

Lady smirked, “It is a perfectly sound plan. I know what I am talking about. Despite the weak girl act, I am no Damsel in distress. After this is all over, we will split our ways and hopefully, never see each other again.”

“We can’t separate. My mother said there is a curse that will ‘make us fall in love.’” Damian said, using air quotes. “You need to come with us so we can get someone to break it.”

“Fine. But I need to do something before I am coming with you. Plagg, Claws out.”

Bright green light flashed around her and she was now dressed in a black bodysuit with green linings. It was armoured at the chest, knees and elbows. (Add whatever details you want, I can’t do it. Jacket, designs, use your imagination) Her gloves were claws-like, reminding them of Selina and there was a belt carrying some vials, pouches and throwing stars. Her hair was now longer and braided and seemed to move on its own. Cat ears were attached to her head. Her eyes were changed so the sclera were the same shade of blue as her iries and the pupils were slitted like a cat. A black domino mask framed her face. Two ten-inch daggers appeared out of thin air in her hands.

The transformed Lady did the inhuman feat of kicking the door open. The assassins stationed outside were immediately knocked out by Lady.

“Well, are you coming or not?” She called out, before running down the corridor. Jason patted his shocked brother’s shoulder, “You doing okay there, demon spawn?”

“Tch, Let’s go, Todd.” Damian replied, trying to get rid of that funny feeling in his chest.

#damian x marinette #maridami #mlb x dc #maribat #daminette #betrothal au: take 2

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