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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

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Realignment

Prompt: I love when Remus is a lot smarter than he lets on, so I’d love a prompt where Logan is overworking himself and not taking care of himself and one tic of the clock away from either passing out or having a full on mental breakdown (not the type you can recover from in a day). Remus notices the little signs Logan shows, and hears the intrusive thoughts Logan has. Remus really becomes concerned when Logan’s intrusive thoughts start to involve taking breaks, going to eat properly rather than inhaling granola bars, and even sleeping. Remus storms in and is like “Logan tf????” Then gets hella soft once he realizes the state Logan is in

Thank you for the prompts, babe! I liked this one the best so I picked it.

GUYS PLEASE VIEW THIS AS A C H E C K P O I N T if you've been scrolling for a while (and you probably have) pause here! drink water! get food! walk around the room for a little bit! stretch! do something please! you are very important to me and I care about you very deeply!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: discussions of self-harm, nothing explicit, some self-destructive tendencies and behaviors.

Pairings: focus on intrulogical, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic i don’t care

Word Count: 2410

Realignment: to align again.

Realignment: to reorganize or make new groupings of.

* * *

Remus hears a lot of weird shit.

The problem arises when the shit he starts to hear isn't weird at all.

Remus hears a lot of weird shit.

The more appropriate definition would be ‘fucked up like you wouldn’t fucking believe,’ but one of us has a problem with particularly strong language and shit doesn’t have to be censored in a lot of media anymore. Which is so convenient! For some of us!

It’s fucking great.

Anyway. Point being. Fucked up shit.

Intrusive thoughts literally fall under his purview. It’s the fun stuff! The stuff you don’t wanna think about that makes your skin crawl and your eyes pop open at the witching hour and stay awake until the sun rises. That’s Remus’s job.

And it’s like the whole Mindscape is whack-a-mole that he gets to play with! Buttons here and there, squeeze this part and watch the eyes bug out of this part, bap this one on the head, see which one pokes up next. Who’s gonna have nightmares tonight? Who is having a nightmare tonight?

It’s fun.

Point. Right. Right.

It’s normally pretty easy to tell whose intrusive thoughts are whose. They taste different. Patton’s taste like sugar so sweet it’ll fill your mouth with cavities. Virgil’s taste like spiders, crawling around his mouth. Janus’s taste like salt. So much fucking salt. Dry as hell.

Roman’s taste like blood. Problem is, Remus’s mouth normally tastes like blood, so…

Yeah, they gotta work that out.

Logan’s taste like ink. Which is why it took him so long to figure out that Logan was having them. Not just because the nerdy wolverine was so convinced he couldn’t have them—rationalizing them as philosophy principles, come on—but because Remus isn’t exactly an expert on pens. Writing like normal people. Ugh.

Normal people.

What a lie, Janny probably gets a big kick out of those.

No one is normal and normal is boring.

Logan. Right.

Okay, so here’s the thing.

Logan’s thoughts aren’t really…standard? They are to some extent, you don’t really get a whole lot of variety from him—even when Remus has been so helpful in making his room safe for him to be in during bad days, there’s such a lack of imagination there that he wasn’t sure exactly how to feel—but it’s the recent ones that’ve been getting…weird.

Remus chews thoughtfully on the kraken tentacle. He swings up to the chandelier and hangs by his ankles, letting the blood run to his head. Makes it easier to think sometimes.

It hasn’t been very long since they found out…well, since they found out.

Remus frowns. Why is he censoring himself? It’s not like he can’t fucking say self-harm, it’s not like he can’t describe what it was, it’s not like he can’t close his eyes and see it happening again.

Then his mind jumps helpfully to the shocked, panicked look on Logan’s face and the soft, furious resignation on Roman’s, and his jaw snaps shut.

Oh.

Right.

He cares. So he has to be gentle with them.

He growls, swinging himself up to perch on the chandelier proper. He turns the kraken tentacle over and chews on the rubbery side.

The others are delicate. Not that they’re more breakable than any other metaphysical humanoid, but their minds are fragile when it comes to Remus’s side of things. Could they handle the full spectrum of his side of thoughts and shit? Probably, they’re stronger than they give themselves credit for. Should they have to? Hell to the fuck no. But it means that Remus can’t just throw them in the deep end and see if the kraken spits them out whole or in chunks. Could they survive? Absolutely. Would they still be…them? Doubtful.

Remus lets one of his legs go, hanging by one knee as he tips over.

Plus they’re always a little more fragile when it comes to these thoughts anyway. Poking and prodding too much would hurt. Like, the bad kind of hurt.

They’re not supposed to get hurt. Not like that.

So. Gentle it is then.

Right. The others. He has a point, he’s just gotta get there.

Roman…fuck he’s missed his brother. They got—they got so much shit to still work out but they’re gonna do it together and fuck he loves his brother so goddamn much. Roman knows that, he knows that, and he’s always there to pull Remus out of his head when he needs it, hit him with a pillow, or tackle him onto something and hold him tight. He’s—his thoughts taste like blood and Remus hasn’t bitten anything since so that he’ll never miss it again.

But with Logan...

Logan is…odd. It hasn’t been long since they first found out—or rather, they confronted him about it, and Remus hasn’t tasted ink without it disappearing very quickly or knocking on someone’s door to please go get your fucking nerd, please. But the ink has only written the usual suspects, whispering the theorems in dark corners, muttering about the incompleteness of a set, the need for Logic, not Logan, and how to jump through the little loophole again.

It’s not exactly hard for the others to tell.

Lolo hasn’t been looking great. Sure, he’s all pressed and dressed, glasses perfectly in place, tie done up just so, walking around like everything’s just totally and completely fine, but it’s in his face. Object impermanence aside, normally when Remus bugs him, he reacts in some way.

Sass is an emotional response and you won’t convince him otherwise.

Whether it be a wry comment, effortlessly fixing whatever Remus has done to him this time, or even just a look, Lolo does something.

Not anymore.

Now he’ll just kind of…sigh and move on? He’ll fix whatever it is only if it’s directly interfering with what he’s trying to do, or when Patton or Virgil come round the corner and freak the fuck out because you’re bleeding! Then he’ll fix it.

Remus wouldn’t say he’s bored, but he’s worried.

Mainly because the intrusive thoughts…aren’t what he’d consider intrusive anymore.

Take a shower.

Eat something that isn’t just a granola bar.

Go to sleep.

Ask someone for help.

See?

If those are Lolo’s intrusive thoughts, then what the fuck is normally going on in his head?

Remus waits. Waits. Keeps waiting.

The instant his mouth tastes like ink again, with a question of whether or not Logan should take a break, he sinks straight into his shower. He washes his hair thoroughly, gets every single bit of grime off him he can, and puts on the softest pajamas he has—thank you, Roman—and drops himself outside of Logan’s door.

He strains, mouth still full of ink, to hear anything other than the soft click, click, click of Logan’s keyboard.

He can’t.

Fuck.

He knocks.

“One moment, please.”

Indeed, a few seconds later, the door opens to reveal Logan, looking as annoyingly pristine as he always does, surprised to see him.

“Remus? Did you need something? Why…” he trails off as he takes in what Remus is wearing. “What’s wrong?”

“Can I come in?”

“Of—of course,” Logan stammers, moving aside to let him in, “are you alright?”

“Should be asking you that, Lolo.”

“Remus, you’ve just knocked, first of all, on my door and asked to come inside.” Logan adjusts his glasses as he sits at his desk. “This is extremely out of character for you.”

“Uh-huh.” Remus flops onto the bed. “You know what else is out of character?”

“Not wearing your costume?”

“Not hearing intrusive thoughts.”

Logan’s eyes widen. “Has—is there something wrong? Are you not hearing any? Do I need to get Roman?”

Remus frowns. “Why’s it so easy for you to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Care. Try and take care of me.”

Logan blinks. “Because you deserve to be taken care of, Remus. Your needs are important.”

Remus idly toys with a loose thread on one sleeve. “Why?”

“Why? Why are you important?” Remus nods. “Because you’re—you’re an important part of Thomas, you’re important to us, and we care about you.”

“So it’s easy for you to care for me because…you do?”

“As simple as that sounds,” Logan says with all the softness that should be directed at himself, “yes.”

Remus nods. “I’m not having problems with hearing intrusive thoughts.”

“You’re—you’re not?” Logan sighs, relaxing a little back into his chair. “Then why did you say you were?”

“Because the thoughts that I am hearing aren’t really what I’d consider intrusive.”

Logan frowns. “Like what?”

Glad you fucking asked.

“‘Take a shower,’” Remus says, his eyes fixed firmly on Logan’s face, “'eat something,’ ‘take a break,’ ‘go to sleep.’”

He watches Logan’s face tense.

“Sound familiar, Lolo?”

“You—I—my apologies,” Logan manages after a moment, adjusting his tie, “I did not mean to be an inconvenience. You are correct, those are not intrusive thoughts, I’m not sure why you’re hearing them.”

He turns to his desk and begins to fish around for a notebook.

“That is quite intriguing, I wonder what the possibilities for hearing other types of thoughts are, considering—“

“Lolo.”

Logan pauses, turning back. “Yes?”

Remus fixes him with a look, getting up and walking toward him. “They are intrusive thoughts, Logan. The issue is that your intrusive thoughts are about you taking care of yourself.”

Logan freezes.

“W-well, I’m sure that it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“So either you can admit that was a lie or Janny’s about to get summoned.”

“Remus,” Logan sighs, “it’s fine. As you said, these aren’t what are traditionally considered intrusive thoughts, it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“No, Lolo, it is,” Remus argues, “because it means that the thought of you taking care of yourself is so foreign, so fucking out of the ordinary that not only does it happen to cross your mind—“ he takes Logan’s chair and spins it around— “but you try to force it out.”

Gotcha.

Logan looks anywhere other than Remus’s face and tries to stand. Only to wobble and crash back down.

“Easy,” Remus says quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder, “you haven’t eaten in a while.”

“But I have work.”

“But you need food.”

“Remus—“

“Logan.”

At Logan’s honest-to-fuck pout, he sighs, dragging the poor nerd up and out the chair and sitting him on the bed.

“Why do you think you don’t deserve to be taken care of?”

“I didn’t say that—hey!” Logan blinks up at him, scandalized and covering his stomach. “Why did you poke me?”

“’S what I do when Janny won’t tell me the truth.”

“I wasn’t—okay, okay!” Logan covers his stomach protectively as Remus readies another poke. “I just…I’ve already asked for help for this before. I shouldn’t have to again.”

Remus sighs and lightly flicks the side of his head.

“Hey!”

“Virgil tries that too.” He stares hard at Logan. “Come on, Lolo, you can do better.”

“It’s not your jobs to take care of me.”

For fuck’s sake…

Remus reaches out and tugs gently on Logan’s tie.

“Remus, what—“

“You taking more books outta Patton’s library now?” Remus tilts his head. “You don’t have to beat around the bush, Lolo, just be honest.”

“I am being honest!”

“You’re not lying, but you’re not being honest.” At the poor nerd’s confusion, he sighs and fixes his glasses on that cute nose. “Just talk to me, Lolo.”

“I—“ Logan sighs and oh fuck why does he look so tired?

Well, because he hasn’t been sleeping.

Or eating.

Or taking care of himself.

Unbidden, part of his conversation with Roman flashes into his head.

“Self-harm can be self-denial too.”

“Lolo?”

“It’s bad enough that I’ve made you all worry about me,” Logan says finally, “I would hate to be a burden.”

Oh, Lolo. “You and Roman, huh?”

Logan looks up warily. “What do you do with Roman?”

“You know what I do.”

Logan sighs. “May at least take my glasses off first?”

“You might wanna change too, I’m not letting you up for a while.”

Logan stretches to place his glasses on the nightstand and poofs himself into a t-shirt and boxers. He sighs and opens his arms.

Remus takes two running steps and tackles the poor nerd onto his bed.

“Ah!”

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, no, just—just a little startled.”

“Mm.” Remus snuggles closer into Logan, his arms wrapped tightly around him. “So. Wanna try one more time?”

Logan sighs, deflating them both to the bed. His head lolls to his left, eyes on his open computer screen. Remus follows it, barely suppressing a growl as he stretches his arm out to save whatever’s on screen and shut it.

“I know what I’m supposed to be doing,” Logan whispers, “I understand the process, I am aware that healing is not a linear concept, I know it’s going to take time, I—I understand.”

Remus looks down, giving him an encouraging squeeze. “But?”

“It’s hard,” comes the soft confession.

Oh, Lolo.

“I know,” he murmurs, leaning down to hug him properly, “I know, Lolo, I know it’s hard. But you can’t try and do it all yourself, you’ve gotta remember that we’re here for you, we care about you.”

“But why?”

Remus smiles and cuddles him tighter. “You said it yourself, Lolo. We care because we do.”

“O-oh.” He feels Logan’s throat work as he swallows. “Thank you, Remus.”

“Of course, Lolo. I’m guessing that sinking us to the living room so everyone else can spoil you is a bad idea, right?”

“Yes.” Finally, finally, he feels Logan shyly tighten his grip on him. “Can we just…stay like this?”

“Do I have your permission to hold you hostage until you fall asleep?”

“Yes.”

“Then go to sleep, Lolo,” Remus murmurs, “I’m not going anywhere.”

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thephantomessoftheopera · 3 years

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Notes on Gaston Leroux’s “The Phantom of the Opera” - Chapter 13: “Apollo’s Lyre”

Image of the Apollo statue on the rooftop of the Palais Garnier from Wikimedia Commons

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The chapter “Apollo’s Lyre” constitutes the basis for the “rooftop scene” between Raoul and Christine in the ALW version, but in the book, it is really all about Erik. It’s quite possibly the most important chapter in the novel because we meet our title hero face-to-face for the first time, and because Erik overhearing Christine‘s plan to escape provides a turning-point for the plot.

The symbol of Apollo's Lyre is not only present in the Apollo statue on the highest point of the rooftop (that Erik is supposedly clinging to here), but also adorns the chandelier both in the Palais Garnier and in the original production of the musical.

At the end of the preceding chapter, Raoul had vowed to take Christine away, but she is still at war with herself about the idea. She wants to leave because she is afraid, but at the same time, warns Raoul that he will probably need to force her to leave since she isn’t emotionally ready to let go:

““But if I refuse to go with you when the time comes for you to take me away, you must make me go!” [...] she spoke these words with a forcefulness that seemed to be directed against herself.”

Every time Raoul offers to take her away right then and there, Christine refuses with an excuse of why it’s not possible to leave just now. Yet she is afraid that the next time she goes to Erik, she may never leave again. Erik seems to make her feel very deeply - but too much feeling can be very terrifying, especially if it’s a wild ride on that emotional rollercoaster of ecstasy, horror, pity, despair and passion that he sends her on. It’s no wonder she rationally wants to get out before it consumes her, and yet is afraid of losing it.

While she begins telling Raoul the whole story from her perspective, they repeatedly think they hear sighs, but still remain in the same place. This is a bit odd, considering how they kept running around before, but now, Christine insists that they stay, which is a bit curious. It is possible that she thought they were safe - but considering her general unwillingness to leave, I think it is even possible that she might be subconsciously sabotaging her own escape plan.

When Christine speaks about how she first met Erik, it becomes clear that masquerading as the Angel of Music was not initially Erik‘s idea. When Christine heard Erik in her dressing-room for the first time three months ago, he sang and spoke to her like a real man, except that he had this beautiful angelic voice and was hiding in the passage behind her room, so that he could not be seen. The first person to suggest that he might indeed be the Angel of Music is Mama Valerius, who prompts Christine to ask Erik if he is the Angel her father had sent for her. Erik jumps at the opportunity presented to him and confirms that her assumption is correct, and asks if she will let him teach her. She consents, and together they make amazing progress, developing both Christine’s technique and her inspiration to hitherto unknown heights.

One day, Christine sees Raoul at the Opera, and eagerly tells Erik about it. I bet he bitterly cursed himself then for passing himself off as an Angel, leaving enough space in Christine’s heart for a real man. But his threats to leave cause her to despair and to try to ignore Raoul - also because a marriage to him would be out of her reach anyway. Now it’s Erik’s turn to whine and accuse Christine of being in love with Raoul in the same way we’ve seen Raoul do before. But just like with Raoul, she won’t have that and even challenges Erik that she will ask Raoul to accompany her to Perros. According to her, Erik’s jealous reaction made her realize that she loved Raoul. I wonder if madly jealous Raoul also made her realize that she might possibly be just a little bit in love with two very different men?

Subconsciously, she seems to kind of know already that Erik is not really an angel, because when the chandelier falls, she is half-mad with panic and terribly afraid that it may have killed “the Voice” (and it would be a bit difficult to kill a heavenly being even if you dropped a chandelier on it). She also admits that then, Raoul and Erik were both “the equal halves of her heart” (and I think they still are, beneath all the complications that have arisen in the meantime). She runs to her dressing-room because that is where she is most likely to find “the Voice”, and when she hears the sounds of Erik singing and playing the “Resurrection of Lazarus” on his violin, she follows his voice through the mirror without being able to say how exactly she disappeared through it. She suddenly finds herself being gripped by a man in a black cloak and a full-face mask and tries to fight back, but then faints. When she wakes, she is resting on the ground near a fountain, and Erik is gently tending to her, but doesn’t reply to her questions so as not to give himself away as “the Voice”. Christine recognizes César the horse, and realizes that even though she never believed in the ghost, she had heard the rumours about him stealing the horse.

Erik takes Christine to the house by the lake, first on César’s back (that’s what he needed the horse for, after all) and then in the famous boat (which is rowed in the novel). She is no longer terrified, but feels strangely peaceful - an effect which she attributes to the possibility of having been drugged, even though she admits that at the same time, she was still in full possession of her senses.

“Lake Averne”, the name of the lake under the Opera House, is a play on words as well as meaning. First, “lac averne” is almost the same as “la caverne”, which means “the cavern”. There is also a real lake named “Lago d’Averno” in Italy, and in Roman mythology, that lake is one of the entrances to the Underworld. This fits with the fact that Erik also bears characteristics of Charon, the ferryman to the Underworld, whose name can be literally translated as “with glowing eyes”. The iconic boat ride certainly resembles the passage into the Hades, which is even alluded to in the novel.

The water tank below the Palais Garnier. Image from atlasobscura.com

Let’s stay in the Underworld for a moment. “The Phantom of the Opera” can also be seen as a variation on the story of Hades and Persephone (Christine’s ship in “Love Never Dies” is not called “Persephone” for nothing). Hades, the god of the Underworld, fell in love with the young and beautiful Persephone and wanted to marry her, but as the goddess of spring, she wasn’t willing to abandon the world above and go to live in the Underworld. Therefore Hades abducted her, she finally consented to marry him and became queen of the Underworld. Due to the intervention of her infuriated mother Demeter, it was finally decided that she would divide her time between living on earth for some months every year and living in the Underworld for the rest of the time.

When they arrive, Erik sets a confused Christine down in his brightly lit drawing-room, which has been decorated with an enormous amount of golden baskets full of flowers. It is not quite clear where all the flowers come from, so I guess he bought them all for her. With a salary of 20,000 francs, he could probably afford the luxury of spending so much on flower decorations… He tells her that she is in no danger, as long as she doesn’t touch his mask. When Christine realizes that the Voice is not an angel, she starts crying. Erik then kneels down in front of her and proceeds to tell her without further ado who he is, begs her to forgive him, and lays his heart at her feet. He confesses how much he loves her, and how wrong his actions were, but that he did everything out of love for her. It seems that Erik was rather anxious to reveal the truth that he is not really the Angel of Music and end his deception, but at the same time, was waiting for an opportunity that would allow him to explain everything without the risk of her running away from him forever. Keep in mind that he took on the role of the Angel of Music for just a couple of months, not years as it is commonly assumed.

Christine then stands up to demand her freedom, and is taken aback when he actually concedes it to her, telling her that she is free to leave. But after all, she does not leave because he starts to play the harp and sing for her. The piece he is singing here is the “Canzone del Salice” from Rossini’s “Otello”, in which Desdemona laments the cruelty of love. It is often assumed that the „Otello“ Leroux is referencing here is the more famous “Otello” by Verdi, but that one didn’t premiere until 1887, while the story is definitely set before 1886. Furthermore, Rossini’s version of the “willow song” is the only one that starts with a harp solo. The song is included in the playlist, listen to it here:

https://open.spotify.com/track/25ILZhCIWIRjJVK8SqDWzn?si=U5EPiO_ySBOlIy5XvI1BGw&dl_branch=1

The next morning, Christine awakes on the couch in „her“ bedroom (aka the “Louis-Philippe room”) where Erik must have carried her after she had fallen asleep. When she can‘t get out, she suffers a fit of hysterics, although it seems that she has simply been unable to locate the door set within the wall. Erik has been out shopping for her, which is a rather cute scene when he comes back with all the boxes for her while she yells at him. He calmly tells her to get ready for lunch, and she slams the door in his face so she can take a bath in peace. She places a pair of scissors within reach so that she could kill herself if Erik “stopped behaving like an honourable man”. Her concern is understandable, being alone with the man who is madly in love with her, however it is important to note that Erik never physically forces himself on her throughout the story.

Remarkably, Erik’s house had both hot and cold running water, something that was still very rare then, which suggests that he actually lived in better hygienic conditions than most people at that time, and that he was a skilled engineer.

When she finally joins him, he tells her that she does not need to be afraid, and that all he asks for is that she will spend 5 days with him. After that, he hopes that she will come back to see “poor Erik” from time to time, shedding a few tears beneath his black mask as he speaks. He serves Christine lunch in the drawing-room, consisting of crayfish, chicken wings and Tokay wine, but he himself does again not eat or drink. From their conversation, we learn that Erik has taken on his name “by chance”, whatever that means. The meaning of the name is “sole ruler” which is quite fitting for him.

When Christine has finished eating, Erik invites her to see his room, and she doesn’t hesitate as she instinctively trusts him. Apparently Erik has a very gothic taste as far as room decorating goes, and all this also plays heavily into the death symbolism of his character. Erik sleeping in a coffin is reminiscent of vampire stories, especially because it seems to be a choice and not a necessity. There is also an organ with the score of “Don Juan Triumphant” on it, written in Erik’s customary red ink(?). Erik tells her that he started composing it 20 years ago. Christine asks him to play her something from his “Don Juan”, but Erik refuses because “some music is so formidable that it consumes everyone who approaches it”. It is quite significant that the “sing for me” motif is absent from the novel version, in contrast to the ALW version where it is very strong. Erik, in the novel, has no plans for Christine to sing any of his music. He wants her companionship and her love, and he wants to sing together with her and lose himself in their shared passion for music, but he definitely does not see her as an instrument of sorts. He did help advance her career, but not with the intention of having her perform his work.

Erik makes it clear that his own music is very different from Mozart’s „Don Giovanni“ and from “opera music” in general. “Don Juan Triumphant” can be seen as an allusion to Lord Byron’s epic poem “Don Juan” (in which, incidentally, Don Juan is sold as a slave to the sultana of Constantinople).

He sits down at the piano and starts singing the duet from “Otello” with Christine. There is of course more than one duet in “Otello”, but this one is most likely “Non arrestare il colpo/Notte per me funesta” from Act III (here: https://open.spotify.com/track/151M60b3qxzqKLDFwIVuUB?si=WX4TDWCeQVmIChqd6u7CyQ&dl_branch=1 and here: https://open.spotify.com/track/2Ep1OncGZCNR9yFevG6Pb6?si=QzG2JztuQ42MDoiVrLAaew&dl_branch=1 ) In this scene, Othello accuses Desdemona of betraying him, while she tries to convince him that she is innocent. She realizes that she has fallen victim to Iago’s plot, but Othello does not believe her and stabs her. This opera, for once, is in Italian, while most of the other pieces that appear in the “Phantom” are sung in French.

The unmasking in the novel happens while Christine is swept up in the passion of her duet with Erik. She “stepped closer to him, attracted and fascinated, enticed by the idea of dying at the center of such passion. But before dying [she] wanted to see his face…”

It’s not like she is sneaking up to him out of pure curiosity, but rather reacting to an instinctive wish to pull away the barrier between them. The scene is even more tragic because with a normal face, the passionate mood that Christine was in would have potentially led to her kissing him. But sadly, his face is anything but normal, so Christine recoils in horror instead. Erik’s reaction to the unmasking is violent and horrific as he goes mad with rage at her, even hurting his own face with her fingernails - an expression of his self-loathing. Throughout the scene, Christine seems fixated on the horror of his face more than his behaviour, though. Ashamed of himself, Erik crawls out of the room and shuts himself up in his bedroom.

“Apollo’s Lyre” by Annie Stegg Gerard

Erik’s appearance as described in the novel is indeed bordering the realm of the fantastic and supernatural. He is so stuffed with death symbolism that it is hard to take everything literally. Christine’s description makes it rather hard to see him as “real” because he seems to look like something straight out of a nightmare.

It is important to note that Erik is not just run-of-the-mill ugly, but that he is very clearly associated with death in many ways - from sleeping in a coffin and having funeral-style decor in his room to actually looking like a „living corpse“. Erik and Christine can be seen as a literal expression of the artistic topos „death and the maiden“, which especially towards the end of the 19th century associated death very strongly with the erotic (see https://eclecticlight.co/2020/01/05/paintings-for-our-time-death-and-the-maiden/ for a very good overview of the motif). Death here is usually represented as either a skeleton or corpse, or as an angel - which is very much in line with Leroux’s Erik.

”Girl and Death” by Edvard Munch

Combined with the fact that Erik‘s music creates feelings of passion, rapture and ecstasy in Christine, it is not a big stretch to conclude that Erik is associated not only with death, but also with sexuality. The duality of sex as both a life-creating and life-threatening force was acutely perceived by the people of that period. Love and death are connected, and both are represented in Erik‘s character. ALW‘s musical adaptation recognized this strongly erotic undercurrent in the story and translated it very aptly into songs such as „Music of the night“ or „Point of no return“. The way in which Christine describes her lessons with Erik - that they “awakened an ardent, voracious, and sublime life” in her, and made her live in a “kind of ecstatic dream” can also be interpreted as her romantic awakening, with all the frightening emotional chaos attached to it.

Raoul, on the other hand, is more associated with purity and propriety - which is reflected in how he views Christine, and the standards that she must conform to in his opinion.

Before seeing Erik’s face, Christine admits that she *would* have come back, but that now, she would never return because “you don’t go back into a grave with a corpse that loves you”. Note how she switches from the first person to the impersonal “you” in this sentence - “you” might not do that, but we already know she did in fact go back more than once. And she is still able to see something of the angel in him because he does not take advantage of the situation, but leaves her alone, turning to his music again.

And then, “music has the power to abolish everything in the outside world except its sounds, which go straight to the heart”. Erik starts playing the finale of “Don Juan Triumphant” where “ugliness, lifted on the wings of love, had dared to look beauty in the face”. Through the music, Christine can glimpse into the depths of Erik’s heart and soul, feel his torment and suffering, and is overwhelmed with compassion.

Once again, she is the one to tear down the wall between them. She pushes open the door to Erik’s room and asks him to show his face, sincerely thinking that she can handle it - but it turns out, she really isn’t quite able to when there’s no music between them. But she manages to put on a brave facade and lie to him about being able to look at him without horror. She despises herself for her lies, but then she also does what she must in order to be set free. Erik takes her for walks along the shore of the underground lake, and for carriage rides to the Bois de Boulogne (that’s where they ran into Raoul in Chapter 9). After two weeks, Erik finally trusts her so much that he is willing to set her free (with conditions, of course). It’s really heartbreaking when she mentions how he dared to try to make her look at him even when he wasn’t singing, like a “timid dog”. At this point, he is in her power just as much as she is in his.

When she finally leaves, she is moved more by his tears than by his threats, and his pain is what gets her to come back in the first place: “Those sobs attached me to him more strongly than I thought when I said good-bye to him.” Part of why she is afraid to leave is that she fears it will kill him if she leaves him.

At the end of the chapter, Raoul asks the fateful question that sums up the tragedy of Erik and Christine:

“You’re afraid, but do you love me? If Erik were handsome, would you love me?” “Why tempt fate, Raoul? Why ask about things that I keep hidden at the back of my mind, like sins?”

Christine’s reply along the lines of “Don‘t ask” was cut from the de Mattos translation. It clearly evidences that Christine has conflicted feelings for Erik that go beyond only horror or pity, and that she prefers to suppress them so she doesn't have to deal with them. The statement also shows that if Erik had not been cursed with his face, then things might have looked very different for him and Christine. Attentive readers of de Mattos might nevertheless notice that her next line „If I did not love you, I would not give you my lips“ evades addressing the „what ifs“ Raoul posed, but it still makes her appear less conflicted than she really is. Christine’s heart is a pretty deep ocean of secrets, and at the back of her mind, there seem to be quite a few things that she is unwilling to admit to herself, as Raoul suspected before:

“You obviously love him, and your fear, your terror - all that is still love, of the most exciting kind! The kind you don’t admit to yourself.”

I haven‘t really counted, but this must be like the fifth time that Raoul insists on his suspicion that Christine is in love with Erik, and he just can‘t get a „no“ out of her. That “no” is given very directly though when he asks her if she hates him. She kisses Raoul to prove that she loves him, at the same time telling him that the kiss is just a one-time thing („for the first and last time“). Then “the night is torn apart”, and the last thing they see is a pair of glowing eyes looking down on them from Apollo’s lyre - which are clearly Erik’s, who has overheard the entire conversation…

Image from wikipedia

Next chapter >>

#phantom of the opera #leroux phantom #lerouxreadingguide #gaston leroux #erik x christine #erik the phantom #erik in love #christine daae #the phantom of the opera #opera ghost #apollo‘s lyre #leroux #the phantom #raoul de chagny #poto

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daised-daisy · 3 years

Text

The Risks of Being in Love [prologue]

Ships: Logince, side Intruality

Roman never had problems with platonic love. He was the most popular boy in high school, loved by literally everyone. Who wouldn’t love a cute outgoing sweetheart who was always helping out at fundraisers, staying after school to help teachers, and had a best friend who was also a literal ball of sunshine? Roman had so many friends, so he thought his high school career would also be full of cheesy teen romance that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

He knew he must’ve been right when Rhett, a star football player, asked him out. Roman, of course, said yes. And so he and Rhett dated for a few months during Roman’s freshman year. Until Rhett nervously approached Roman with a very shy kid by his side. Roman had seen him in the stands at Rhett’s games. Well, turns out the shy boy, Jonah, was there because he had a crush on Rhett, and Rhett realized he really liked him back, so he and Roman had to break up.

It stung at first, but Roman was happy Jonah got to be with his crush, even if he had to stop going to the football games because he cried watching Jonah run into Rhett’s arms and receive a big kiss after their school’s team won a game instead of him. That was incredibly embarrassing. He also had to convince his brother not to beat Jonah up.

But not to worry! Near the end of freshman year, Ryan, the token bad boy, started getting quite flirty with Roman and eventually asked him out. They dated over the summer and a month into the school year. It was then that Ryan suddenly broke it off with Roman with no explanation. Roman was crushed. Remus took him to a party to try to cheer him up, but it backfired when he saw Ryan making out with a girl that acted like Y/N from every Wattpad self insert story.

At least Ryan had the decency to break up with him before he got all touchy with someone else. It hurt a lot more finding your boyfriend making out with a girl in the back of the library. Turns out their tutoring sessions had gotten a bit more steamy than they should’ve been. Roman let Remus beat him up this time.

After that, Patton, Roman’s best friend, got closer to him as he comforted him. Their sleepovers became more frequent and they snuggled closer each time. Roman started to realize there was more to his feelings about Patton than just platonic love. This excited him because he knew if he got with Patton, Patton wouldn’t hurt him like his past boyfriends had. And Patton was absolutely wonderful! He didn’t know how he never realized this before. He planned a very cute way to ask Patton out. He was on his way to put the romantic poem he wrote in Patton’s locker when he saw Patton was already there… with Remus. They both looked very happy. Roman stood frozen in the hallway for a few moments until Remus noticed him as he was walking away. With a big smile, he excitedly told Roman he had asked Patton out and Patton had accepted. He was on the verge of tears that Friday night as he helped Patton get ready for his date with Remus.

“How do I look?” Patton had asked, spinning around in his adorable outfit.

“Beautiful,” Roman had said, forcing a bright smile.

Trevor asked him out Junior Year for homecoming. He was extremely nervous about it, which Roman found pretty adorable. He could see Trevor’s best friend with a supportive look standing a little ways behind him and figured his friend had been the one to encourage him to ask Roman to the dance. Roman accepted. According to some friends who had seen Trevor and his best friend in the park, the best friend was kind of ‘training’ Trevor on what he should do at the dance. Roman thought it was super funny, like a dumb coming of age movie. But then the night before homecoming, Trevor called and said he didn’t want to take him to the dance anymore. He was taking his best friend instead because they had realized they loved each other when they were practicing dancing. It was too late to buy another ticket, and Trevor had given the one he bought for Roman to his best friend, so Roman had to stay home with the pretty dress he had picked out hanging up in his closet.

Roman wasn’t surprised at all when later that year, his boyfriend Noah admitted he had only been dating Roman because he wanted to be popular and he realized he didn’t need to be popular to be happy. Soon after, Noah started dating one of his few ‘unpopular’ friends.

Roman was tired of being a prop in everyone’s high school love story, just there to create a predicament, add drama, or bring the main characters closer together. He refused to let himself get used again, so for Senior year, he wasn’t going to let himself fall in love with anyone.

Remus was pretty pissed too. He felt kind of bad dating Roman’s best friend while he was struggling with romance. I mean, how would he feel if Roman started dating Logan while he struggled to keep a boyfriend. Logan, his best friend, who looked scary on the outside with his tall figure and strong arms that he never hid because he preferred studded vests and sleeveless t-shirts to any other kind of shirt. Logan, who on the inside was just a big nerdy marshmallow who was very enthusiastic about learning. Logan, who always seemed a redder shade when Roman was around. Logan, who’s gaze often followed Roman as he walked away, a soft smile on his face. Logan, who was perfect for his broken-hearted brother.

He started to scheme.

#logince #roman sanders #logan sanders #roman angst #intruality #high school au #daisy writing

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lovelylogans · 3 years

Text

the warmest hello (to the coldest goodbye)

once a spy, always a spy forever, forever the warmest hello to the coldest goodbye remember, remember -spies are forever, the tin can bros

warnings: undercover spy work, mention of weapons, drugging someone into unconsciousness/giving someone a roofie, essentially the start of an enemies to lovers fanfiction

pairings: virgil/logan, offscreen roman/patton

words: 4,465

notes: this is for day 7 of @analogicalweek! the prompt of the day is “free day” and i have decided to write a combination soulmates and rival spies au! please enjoy!

⁂

Not that Virgil would admit it, but, like literally every other marked person, he's tried to imagine how he might meet his soulmate. He just didn't ever spare any thought on what he'd do if it happened on the job.

His official cover to his friends (which was mostly his cousin Roman and Roman’s husband Patton) was that he was an analyst—he was always vague about what exactly it was he analyzed, but since neither of them were particularly mathematically inclined, and both were maybe a bit too trusting for their own good, they took him at his word.

Even when he was sent off on various unusual "business trips.”

It’s not like Virgil’s mark is very specific about when and where it’ll happen. Virgil knows that variations of "sorry about that” make for a large percentage of common soulmarks.

There’s protocols in place, of course, but Virgil had never really paid attention to those classes while training to be a spy. The Lewis clause is the kind of thing Virgil didn’t pay as much attention to, because it didn’t seem as useful as understanding the technology or how to make a cover. The Lewis clause is what to do when someone meets a soulmate on the job—there are specifications for if the soulmate is a target, a team member, or an enemy.

Virgil hadn’t really cared at the time. He’d kick himself for that later.

Any number of meetings occurred accidentally—knocking something over, bumping into someone, or, like his cousin Roman's soulmate did, take Roman's coffee thinking it was his own hot chocolate. They got married two winters ago, just so they could serve hot beverages in cold weather.

He thinks the iteration stamped in black along his left inner arm, "I'm very sorry about this," with the addition of "oh no, it's you” tacked on at the end of his makes it likely that whatever he says will, A, likely be first, B, be somewhat unique, or unique enough to be immediately recognizable, and C, be in the aftermath of some kind of accident.

He ends up being partially right. What he says is first and it is somewhat unique. What his soulmate apologizes for is no accident, though.

Virgil does undercover work, sure, but it's very rare for him to enter the James Bond style locale he's at today, and that he’s been working for the past couple months; the marble ballroom he's circling is dripping with gold chandeliers and matching heavy, velvet curtains that accent the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a string quartet in the corner, barely audible over the chatter of rich socialites. Virgil, deeply uncomfortable in his white-tie attire, is circling the room in an attempt at looking like he attends charity balls all the time.

He sucks at it.

As if on cue, his earpiece crackles to life.

"How the fuck did you ever qualify to be a spy?" Janus, his tech man and eye in the sky, snickers into his ear. "Your acting skills are horrendous. If you auditioned for The Room right now, they wouldn't let you into the cast.”

"Fuck off,” Virgil fake-coughs into his shoulder.

"Christ, at least try to look like you're mingling, not like you've stalked the target here."

Unable to stop himself, he glances toward the target he's meant to be watching.

The target, who is so staggeringly wealthy it could make Virgil, who is trying to pay off his student debt on a spy's salary (not as high as one might think) burst into tears. Or, much more likely, start ranting about the myriad flaws of capitalism. If so inclined, he could honestly probably steal the amount of money necessary from one of her offshore accounts, and it would be as unnoticeable as someone taking a penny from him.

Mary Lee Truman is standing amidst a flock of suited men, like a dove amidst a flock of dour crows; her dress is slinky silk, a shade of champagne that glimmers rose-gold in the right shade of light. She’s standing leaned to one side, her hip popped out and an arm crossed over her stomach, a crystal-cut champagne flute dangling in her fingers as if she was born to hold one.

Her husband, Lee Truman (fuck if that wasn’t confusing, it was really easier to think of them by their codenames) is off by the bar, seemingly getting himself another drink.

His eyes stray to Mary Lee again; he can tell a couple of the suits are hired muscle, bodyguards, which makes sense, as the Trumans are allegedly a massive crime family, doing their dirty dealings in plain sight. A couple of the suits he recognizes from dossiers; one is a business partner of Lee’s father, who might not even know what the Truman family really gets up to; one absolutely knows what the Truman family gets up to, as Virgil’s read his rap sheet and knows he’s been in and out of jail due to his assignments from the mob.

There’s one suit there that really doesn’t seem to fit the mold of either category.

For one thing, he’s around Virgil’s age; for another, he isn’t rippling with muscle. Not that he doesn’t look fit; his well-tailored suit shows off his broad shoulders, his biceps, his lean waist. He’s dark-haired, and pale, and blue-eyed, and he’s standing next to Mary Lee with a look that Virgil would think of as dour, but now that he’s looking closely, the blue-eyed man looks almost... calculating.

This man wasn’t in the dossier.

Almost everyone at this ball was in the dossier.

Virgil looks away from Mary Lee and the handsome man, and instead decides to start taking up Janus’ advice; he slowly moves through the room.

Well. He's doing it to get closer to Mary Lee, but sure, he can attempt to mingle.

He traverses through the room, his fancy shoes clicking on the marble floor, mindful to not step on any dress hems—he has it easy, as his directive was simply to wear his white tie with his hidden weapons, his ear piece, and his lapel pin that records everything he's seeing. The women in the room provide the only splashes of color outside of the black suits and white shirts of the men, the gleaming marble, the gold- accented glasses and dishware. Even what little art he's seen follows that color theme -- white marble busts, abstract black and white paintings in their gilded frames, a gold statue outside the front steps, as if to greet the partygoers.

But the women of the party aren't beholden to this strict color scheme. Gowns of pink chiffon, red lace, blue taffeta, deep violet velvet, Virgil passes them all, keeping one eye out for rose gold silk.

He ends up instituting himself in a ring of people listening intently to an art history professor talking about the architectural significance of his building—he introduces himself with his cover name, James Walker, to the man next to him, who Virgil already knows is a Truman cousin. He gives a fake first name too—he says his name is Alex, when Virgil knows it’s really Bruce. Okay. Something to take note of.

He listens to the art history professor talk about art deco with just one ear, the other straining to eavesdrop on Mary Lee and her suits.

“Do you think our beneficiary approaches?” Mary Lee murmurs to the blue-eyed one, the one that wasn’t in the dossier.

“Oh, I know he does,” the blue-eyed man says to her. He has a pleasant British accent, the kind of voice that would be right at home on a nature documentary calmly narrating the eating habits of wolverines, or something like that. “According to all my research, our previous beneficiary is no longer within our purview. A new one will have been instilled in hasty time. As a matter of fact, I believe I would be able to point him out to you right now.”

Mary Lee sighs, a little, and the man continues talking about their charity. Virgil’s mind races. He knows the Truman’s “charity work” almost always acts as a sieve to run dirty money through, so what would it mean, that they got a new beneficiary? A new target, maybe? A new directive?

Either way, this is almost definitely some kind of code they’re talking in. He tunes a bit more into the art history professor’s impromptu lecture—he’s taking a brief tangent into talking about Tamara de Lempicka—as he ruminates on that particular conversation between the blue-eyed Brit and Mary Lee.

Then he ends up in conversation with an elderly woman beside him, who wants to know who he is—James Walker, I run a business a state or two over, I’m interested in diversifying my assets—and if he’s been to any art museums in town. Both he and the man he is meant to be have not, but it turns out she’s a curator and has numerous suggestions for him.

He also knows this woman, Ida Kelly, has been paying into the Truman business for quite some time, and has potentially ordered hits using the Truman’s muscle.

“Madam,” a suited waiter shows up at her side, as if on cue, and hands her a small glass full of what looks like a gin-and-tonic.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” she says, taking her drink immediately.

The waiter turns to him. There is a singular champagne flute on the tray. “Sir.”

“I didn’t order anything,” Virgil says stupidly, before he realizes that almost everyone here is taking champagne flutes off of trays, and he supposes this waiter just wants to clear his before he has to double back and get more. “Oh, all right.”

He takes it. It’s a delicate, crystal-cut glass. He’s almost a little afraid that if he holds it wrong, it’ll break.

“Really, we’re doing an Impressionism exhibit, and it is positively divine,” she says.

Very suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder, emanating warmth through his suit and Virgil jumps, a little—he hopes whoever it is didn’t feel one his knives. Or, God forbid, his gun.

He turns to see no one, when a hand touches his opposite arm, and he turns again. It turns out to be the blue-eyed Brit, who is staring only at Ida, brushing past him, allowing his hand to trail down Virgil’s arm, touching his hand as if to say, please stay there, I do not want to bump into you.

At such a close range, Virgil can smell his absolutely incredible cologne, see his defined jawline, the way his blue eyes gleam.

Ida brightens. “Darling!”

“Ida,” the Brit says warmly. “I visited that display myself, it was simply wonderful.”

“Oh, you’re too kind,” she says, clearly drinking up the praise. Virgil looks between them, feeling even more awkward than he has all night.

“Wait a goddamned minute,” Janus murmurs in his ear, after such a long stretch of silence that it makes Virgil jump again. There’s the sound of rapid typing.

“A victory!” The man says, lifting his glass—it looks to be full of whiskey. “A toast, to your latest triumph.”

“Oh, now,” she says, but when the other surrounding suits start lifting their glasses, Virgil lifts his, as well.

“To Ida Kelly,” the Brit says. “One of the finest artistic minds to walk the earth at our time!”

Virgil takes a sip of his champagne at the same time as everyone else; another woman in a deep green gown with a shawl edged in feathers takes Ida’s arm, rhapsodizing about the Impressionism movement and the latest event that her art gallery had put on.

It takes about a minute for Virgil to notice his vision going blurry in the corners.

It takes him about ten seconds of blinking hard and rubbing his eyes, hoping to clear it, to stumble over his own two feet.

It takes five seconds for Janus’ voice to buzz to life in his earpiece, urgent, “Virgil, get out of there, get away from that man, that’s Lo—”

It takes him about two seconds after that to notice that the blue-eyed Brit is looking at him with an expression clearly lacking remorse.

It takes him about half a second to realize the finger tapping one shoulder, his hand at his hand—the same hand that had been holding his champagne flute. He hadn’t been looking at his drink. The Brit had made him turn away from his drink.

The Brit put something in his drink.

Virgil’s been made.

“Good God, man,” another suited man says, when Virgil stumbles over his own two feet, “had enough of the bubbly, have you?”

Virgil ignores him; even as his vision is growing blurrier and blurrier, his eyes are intent on the Brit, staggering towards him, and he doesn’t even really know why. He’s been made, he should be running, but—

"Did you just fucking poison me, you fucking asshole?" Virgil slurs, and his sudden lack of physical control resoundingly answers the question before the Brit can; the arms that catch him before he can full flat on his face are muscular and warm. He’s distantly aware of the crystal-cut grass slipping from his hand and shattering on the marble.

The warm, muscular arms are more pressing than that. And, for a dirty rotten criminal who has probably killed people, the man is quite handsome. His bespectacled face swims in Virgil's vision.

"'I'm very sorry about this," he says smoothly, before his eyes widen in alarm. "Oh no.”

As Virgil is on the verge of unconsciousness, he hears, "It's you."

His last three thoughts before he slips under: did he just fucking say what he thought he said, then, good God his eyes are so blue, then, fuck, I should have paid way more attention to the Lewis clause.

⁂

Virgil is aware of three things as he wakes up: one, he feels like he has a dreadful hangover. Two, he’s pretty sure he’s in a plane or train or car or something moving, which makes him feel motion sick.

Three, he’s been stripped of his earpiece and his weapons.

He blinks his eyes open slowly, squinting; it’s night time, but even the low light is making Virgil’s eyes hurt.

This is a limousine, he can tell that much off the bat; the partition is closed, the glass tinted as dark as it legally can be, the interior leather light-colored, the bar fully stocked with different sodas and crystal-cut decanters full of various liquors, which makes him wince in memory of the champagne.

He feels like shit, but when he looks over and sees the blue-eyed Brit—his soulmate—his soulmate who had fucking drugged him and was working with the mob—it makes him feel even shittier.

“Ah,” his soulmate says. He’s sitting with one ankle resting on his knee, a squat glass of whiskey in hand. He has glasses on now that he hadn’t had on before. Also, his accent is no longer British; he’s got a nice Italian lilt to his voice, now. “Good. You’re awake.”

Virgil stares at him. He doesn’t say a word.

“I’ll admit this,” he gestures between them, “rather put a cinch in my plan on how to deal with you.”

“Would you have killed me?” Virgil asks. His voice comes out a croak. “If we weren’t...”

He trails off.

The man’s eyebrow arches, before he shrugs, and rolls up his sleeve. His soulmark is in the same place as Virgil’s—stamped across his left inner arm, in the spiky handwriting Virgil only uses in his personal notes, not the more uniform one he writes reports with.

Did you just fucking poison me, you fucking asshole?!

Undeniably a matching soulmark to his.

“My parents were quite bemused by it, when it showed up,” the Brit—or American?—the blue-eyed—his soulmate says. “I suppose we have our answers now.”

“Do we?” he says.

The man takes a sip of whiskey. Then, he says, “Your predecessor was FBI. Are you the same?”

Virgil tenses. The man rolls his eyes again.

“Please,” he murmurs. “For an organization meant to be secretive, your lot are quite obvious when you trade moles in and out. One comes in, goes out, and coincidentally someone new is knocking on the door within the week. It’s absurdly simple to pinpoint who’s reporting back to your government. So. FBI, CIA, military...?”

“Who gives a fuck,” Virgil says.

“One should know what one’s soulmate does for a living, shouldn’t they?” he says. “This is a very unique situation. I’m simply trying to find out—”

“What do you do for a living, then?” Virgil snarls. His head is pounding, his mouth is dry and it tastes dreadful, his soulmate is an asshole working for the other side, and he’s being carted off to God knows where. This day is one of the worst of his life. Why couldn’t he have had a nice little café meet-cute, like Roman had had?

The man smiles at him, not particularly kindly. “I diversify.”

Virgil pulls a face, because he knows that’s poking fun at his cover.

“What,” Virgil says, “poison people on Monday, go to Ida Kelly’s resort on Tuesday, with a fun little Friday jaunt of killing people who cross the Trumans?”

“I’ve never actually been to the museum Ida Kelly curates,” the man admits. “It was an easy way to insert myself near you, to put it in your drink. And for goodness’ sake, it wasn’t poison.”

“Roofie. Drug. Whatever.”

The man’s eyebrows pull together, in a rather petulant expression. “I designed that myself, you know.”

“Well, it’s shit,” Virgil snaps. “I feel like I have the worst hangover of my goddamn life.”

“Yes, that was part of the design,” the man says, and offers him a glass of water.

Virgil stares at him. “Seriously.”

“No trust between soulmates?” He says.

“Yeah, well. Fool me once.”

The man shrugs, putting down the glass of water into a cupholder, before digging out a sealed water bottle. Virgil takes it and places it into a cupholder near him. No fucking way he’s accepting any food or drink from this man.

His lips quirk up into a smile.

“Where are you taking me?” Virgil says, ignoring the way that smile makes his heart pound.

“That rather depends,” he admits.

“On?”

“Well.” He says. He uncrosses his legs, planting both feet on the floor. “I’m assuming that now the man in your little earpiece—he was rather rude—is aware that you have been, what is it you say? Made?”

Virgil nods.

“Well. Now that he, and therefore your employer, knows that you are made, you won’t be poking your nose into Truman business anymore, will you?”

Virgil grits his teeth. “Not undercover.”

The man ignores that. “And I know that no matter which you work for, the Lewis clause has been adopted across every arm of that government, and as such you’ll be prohibited from any mission that might bring you into contact with me.”

God damn it. How does he know the spy lessons better than Virgil does?

And then it occurs to him: Janus knew that man. He warned Virgil to get away from him, to get away from Lo—

He rolls this information around in his head. The Lewis clause isn’t exactly a widely advertised part of being a spy; there was a whole trilogy of novels that got adapted into secret agent movies, years ago, that concerned opposing agent spies coming to face each other again and again, and the secondary soulmate agents teamed up together. Which the Lewis clause would prevent, but the public who went and read those novels or saw those movies wouldn’t know that.

So either this man—Lo? Lo what?—either knows a lot about spies, because he’s one of those know your enemy types, or...

Or he sat down and learned about the Lewis clause the same way that Virgil did, except he actually sat down and listened. Maybe he defected, maybe he’s dirty? Or maybe Virgil’s just overthinking it.

Look. Virgil’s got a lot of questions here. Chief among which:

“Where are you taking me?”

“Away,” the man says vaguely, looking at him. “Are you gay?”

Virgil gapes at him.

“I’d be perfectly fine with a platonic soulmate, but for the sake of disclosure, I am gay.”

“For the sake of disclosure,” Virgil repeats disbelievingly, and pinches the bridge of her nose, rubbing it. God, his head hurts terribly.

“Bisexual, or pansexual, perhaps?” He prompts. “Asexual? Or... you could be straight, I suppose.”

“Ugh,” Virgil says reflexively, then shakes himself. “I’m not—okay. Fine. Yeah, I’m gay too.”

“All right,” the man says, as if noting it. “What’s your name?”

Virgil snorts.

“What?”

“Okay, I don’t—” he gestures to the limousine around them. “Again, you just drugged me. I don’t know where you’re taking me. You probably would have killed me if I hadn’t said those words.”

The man makes a moue of distaste.

“Or had someone kill me, I don’t know,” Virgil amends. “Either way, you’re working with that family, who I’m assuming aren’t pleased at having a spy getting caught trying to work himself into your ranks, so I’d rather you not know all that much about my life, thanks.”

“It’s not like I’m asking for your,” an infinitesimal pause, as if he’s wracking his brain, trying to remember something, “social security number or anything. A name.”

Virgil stares at this man. Lo—. Lo something. Lochlan? Loyd? Or was it a codename?

“Yours first.”

The man pauses.

“You drugged me,” Virgil says.

He smiles at Virgil. “Will you hold this over my head for the rest of our lives?”

The rest of our lives. Yes, that’s meant to be the fairytale ending for soulmates, isn’t it? A nice little meeting, the swell of overdramatic violins in the background, falling into each other’s arms and forming a life together. That’s the popular answer.

More and more recently, though, people have been advocating for choice; that soulmates are not always the best person for you.

Virgil doesn’t know which camp he and this man will fall into, just now.

“Yes,” Virgil says quietly. “Yes, I think I will.”

The man sets aside his whiskey.

“Logan.” He says at last, and his accent has changed again; it’s vague, almost indecipherable, but if Virgil had to guess he’d say Midwestern American. Virgil wonders if it’s his real one. “My name is Logan.”

Logan.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Since discovering you’re my soulmate? I haven’t lied to you at all. Not a word.”

“Except for the accent.”

Logan laughs.

“Habit, sorry. It’s a long story that perhaps the man screaming in your earpiece will be able to tell you one day.”

Virgil jolts with surprise. “You know—?”

He cuts himself off before he can say Janus’ name.

“Reputationally,” Logan says, and, as strange as it is, Virgil believes him. In this, at least.

His soulmate’s name is Logan.

“Virgil.”

Logan smiles, his blue eyes glittering. “It’s nice to meet you, Virgil.”

There’s the sound of a soft knock on the partition, and it lowers; Virgil can’t see the driver.

“Sir? We’re here.”

“Right,” Logan murmurs, shaking himself. He reaches into his jacket and withdraws an envelope, offering it for Virgil.

Virgil hesitates.

Logan rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I’ve laced it with anything. I’m holding it with my bare hands.”

Virgil huffs, but he takes it, opening it and pulling out a thin piece of paper.

It’s a commercial flight ticket to Washington, D.C.

“Why D.C.?” Virgil says quietly.

“Most of those organizations are based there,” Logan says. “Is it too far a jump to assume that you are, as well?”

It is actually too far a jump; it’s not even remotely close, he lives in an entirely different part of the states. But. To be fully honest, he doesn’t want Logan to know the state he lives in, and therefore the state that Patton and Roman live in, until Virgil knows if he can be trusted or not.

Logan opens the limousine door from inside, revealing they’ve pulled up to the local airport.

“What, no private plane?”

“I assumed you wouldn’t trust that,” Logan says with a shrug. “The Trumans may be powerful, but you know as well as I that manipulating a flight of this nature is well outside their purview.”

Logan’s right, he absolutely wouldn’t have trusted that, but. This limo’s pretty swanky. For the time he wouldn’t have been obsessively running over every crack and seam in a private jet and interrogating the pilot, he probably would have had a pretty swell time.

Virgil swallows, looking up at Logan. “There are programs, you know? If you wanted to be a witness. Be in service to—”

Logan smiles at him in a way that’s almost pitying. “I left that life behind a long time ago.”

Virgil looks to the airport, then back at Logan.

“Will I see you again?”

Logan shrugs again, almost delicately. “Who’s to say?”

Virgil nods, once, and he says firmly, “I’ll see you later.”

Logan grins at him. “Not if I see you first.”

Virgil slips out of the limo, slams the door shut, and, with what feels like Herculean effort, manages to get into the airport without looking back to see if he can see Logan through the tinted glass.

He does exchange the ticket for another that’s an hour and a half later, though. He’s not a total idiot.

He gets through security pretty quick, and sits in one of the incredibly uncomfortable chairs, his brain pounding with his headache, the questions swirling around in his head making it even worse. Virgil puts his head in his hands.

He just met his soulmate.

His soulmate is working for a mob family.

He just met his soulmate.

His soulmate is apparently smart enough to specifically engineer a roofie.

His soulmate, though!

Janus knows his soulmate. Janus recognized his soulmate.

His soulmate knew about the fucking Lewis clause.

Was his soulmate a spy too? Was his soulmate in deep cover? Had he betrayed his organization? Was he a good person, or had the universe seen fit to hitch Virgil to someone awful?

How had Logan gotten entangled with the Trumans in the first place? Why wasn’t he in the dossier?

Where was Logan even from? Did he like coffee? Hot chocolate? What had he studied in school? What was his favorite food? If they were normal people, would he have asked him on a date and not drugged him and dragged him off in a limo?

Who was Logan?

Whatever the answers to his questions are, though. Virgil knows himself enough to know that he isn’t about to let this case go. Not the Trumans. Not him.

Lewis clause be damned.

#my post #text #my fic #analogical #analogicalweek #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #virgil sanders #logan sanders

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seattlesea · 3 years

Text

The Poor Character Developments in the Heroes of Olympus Series

Rick Riordan doesn’t know how to write character arcs ✨

-Percy. What arc did he even have? From The Last Olympian to The Son of Neptune it seems like he just got more arrogant and douchey, and this is never explained or expanded on. The readers don’t know why he suddenly got so arrogant. His pride got out of control and he was doing things he knew he couldn’t do but jumped into anyway like attacking a giant head-on alone. He was reckless in PJO, but every time he always had a plan. In HoO he just turned careless. He even put other demigods’ lives at risk at times and honestly didn’t do much throughout the series. He was just kind of there, not really contributing to anything and only involved when the book needed comedic relief or to remind the readers that ‘Hey, Percy is super cool and powerful’. As for his arc, he didn’t change at all. He just got annoying and way too self-involved and vain. I mean- he was literally in front of Hercules, the man who broke Zoë Nightshade’s heart- the girl who literally sacrificed herself for Percy- and he didn’t even say or do anything? He didn’t even mention Zoë or think about her at all. All he was worried about was how ‘big-shot Jason’ got to meet the all-famous Hercules and he didn’t. And this never changed. Percy’s character arc was completely flat cause he never learned from his lessons or mistakes. Even when in Tartarus and was reminded of all the people that he lost during the Second Titan War, how he forgot about Calypso on her island for over two years, and how he left Bob the Titan alone in the Underworld, he didn’t make any move to change. After that scene, he completely forgot to even mention them again.

-Annabeth. Same thing with Annabeth, except her realism was ripped from her. She was well-written in PJO with actual flaws and weaknesses, relationships outside of her romantic one with Percy, a very important and crucial role, fighting bravely, etc., but in HoO, she- just like Percy- was pretty much dead weight, and she became extremely weak. The only thing she really accomplished was following the Mark of Athena and getting the Athena Parthenos, but she still had to be saved by everyone else, and honestly any other demigod could’ve done it way faster. Nico literally could’ve just shadow-travelled to the statue then shadow-travelled it back out. The only times she fought (which was very few times) she was always with another demigod, and the two-three times she actually fought she always had to be saved, by a newbie, especially. In the Temple of Fear, Piper ‘toughened’ her up and saved her three times from the giant Mimas, and when caught by the giants, Piper was the one to save Annabeth (again). She couldn’t do anything by herself without others having to save or help her. And she also became very dull. She didn’t have any more of her pride, short temper, care, ferocity, etc. All she was was a Percy fangirl. Everything was about him and him only. This also didn’t change. We didn’t see any improvement or alterations to her personality whatsoever.

-Jason. The majority of the fandom doesn’t like Jason- which is understandable- but they hate on him for the wrong reasons. They dislike him cause he was ‘boring’ despite him actually having multiple distinct personality traits. They just think he didn’t have any personality cause his traits weren’t directly commented on like the other characters’ were (which is actually bad writing, readers should be able to interpret a character’s personality without it being stated to them by other characters). And he even had a sense of humor. His character arc though...fell short. But! He could’ve had an amazing character arc, Riordan just focused on the wrong parts. Riordan’s take on Jason’s character arc was deciding if he was more ‘Greek or Roman’ and then deciding he was both. But...that makes no sense, cause that’s just stereotyping every single Greek and every single Roman. The fandom says that the Romans are the cruel, harsh, and merciless ones, but what about Hazel? Or Frank? Or Reyna? Or the fact that they immediately accepted Nico while Camp Half-Blood outcasted and even ostracized him? And they say that the Greeks are the fun, cool, relaxed ones, but what about Percy, the only character to canonically torture? Or Annabeth, the unfriendly bossy one? Or Thalia, the merciless, ambitious hunter? Or Piper, the prejudiced manipulator? So really, Jason’s character arc made no sense. It was written to be Jason going from ‘always following the rules and following expectations because of his godly parent’ to ‘doing whatever he wants’, but the fandom forgets that Camp Jupiter is the one who doesn’t care about godly parent, Camp Half-Blood does, cause Camp Jupiter has demigods live in barracks for the sole purpose of demigods without family members not having to live alone while Camp Half-Blood separates cabins and tables by parentage and immediately set Percy to high standards after he was claimed. Besides, does Camp Jupiter have harpies that literally kill demigods if they’re out past curfew? Plus, Jason was breaking multiple rules before his character arc anyways- leaving Camp Jupiter, sailing across the Mediterranean Sea, etc.

-Piper. Oh boy. Where to start with this one. I’ve already gone over how her horribly-portrayed backstory ruined the chances of a good character arc, but now let’s discuss the character arc she actually had. And the best way to describe it is ‘tell not show’. The main idea for Piper’s character arc was that she felt insecure about herself and useless and that she gained confidence in herself and her powers, but that’s not actually what happened, because starting from The Lost Hero, Piper showed multiple narcissistic tendencies that showed that she had a huge ego and placed herself on a pedestal she did nothing to earn or deserve. This is first shown with femininity- Piper immediately thinks that she’s better and above any girl if they so much as wear lip gloss or a dress, which is a sign of an obvious ego: thinking you’re better than everyone else (or in her case, a certain group of people) before getting to know them first. It’s also shown when her and Annabeth are looking for a weapon for Piper and when suggested that she doesn’t choose a dagger cause she’s a newbie, Piper retaliates with “But you use a dagger”...aka thinking she’s already on Annabeth’s level and that she can do whatever Annabeth can despite being a newbie. It’s not hypocrisy if Annabeth has been training for over nine years. Another example would be in The Mark of Athena- "Piper's eyes flashed defiantly, like anything Reyna could do, she could do". Like, no, she can’t, cause Reyna has been training her whole life and Piper doesn’t even know her. Piper shows multiple signs of having a very high opinion of herself, including degrading others (especially other women) for her own sake, thinking she can do what anyone else can, thinking she’s better than everyone else, constantly fussing over her appearance, thinking she deserves everything she’s gotten and that she deserves more without earning it, etc., so her entire character arc wasn’t even there. She just went from quiet about her narcissism to openly expressing it. She never grew from her horrible traits and habits, never realized she was wrong by jumping all over Jason while he was amnesiac, etc., and the whole ‘feeling of uselessness’ was brought up once then never expanded on or mentioned ever again, and nor was her internalized misogyny and fiery hatred towards femininity (which wasn’t even explained). Riordan should’ve used the ‘snobby rich girl learns to be kinder and more modest’ or expanded on the fact that Piper almost killed her friends multiple times. In Katoptris, she saw Jason with gold eyes in Kansas then said ‘Let’s go to Kansas!’ She saw her, Jason, and Percy literally drowning and legit said ‘Let’s go drown!’ without telling them about what she actually saw in her dagger. She saw her and Annabeth exploring some ruins and said ‘Let’s go!’ despite knowing the visions were deadly. She put all of her friends in multiple, life-threatening situations and never felt guilty and wasn’t even called out on it, because no one said if the visions in Katoptris were fate- something you can’t avoid- or destiny- something you can choose and change.

-Frank. Frank’s character arc was clear, but it happened in the wrong way. The main idea of his development was that he was insecure about his appearance then gained confidence from it, but he did only after he magically gained rippling abs and muscle. He only felt good about himself once he lost all his fat as if that’s not obvious lookism, fatphobia, and fat shaming (thanks, Riordan). Frank should’ve learned to love himself despite his flab and appearance and learned that it didn’t matter what he looked like cause he would still be a hero either way. He should’ve shown the readers that ‘Hey, I don’t care what I look like, cause appearance doesn’t matter, whether you choose to do the right thing or not does’, but it was wasted for fat shaming every single reader who was insecure about their weight and didn’t or couldn’t get skinnier and telling them that they should be insecure about themselves because they don’t look like Frank. Is it really so hard for society to believe that a lot of people who aren’t stick-thin are happy and confident about their body?

-Hazel. Honestly, her character arc was one of the most confusing ones, cause she didn’t have anything to drive or even start one. Her backstory is tragic, yes, but there isn’t anything in it that she has to learn to change from cause all of that was resolved when she took down Alcyoneus and Gaea. The only thing I can think of is learning to break away from toxic people even if they’re your family or friend or cause you don’t want to hurt their feelings, but Hazel didn’t struggle with relationships at all. She wasn’t even introduced to any toxic people besides Octavian, and she already hated him. Her transition from the racist and segregated days to the modern world could’ve been really good material for a character arc along with internalized racism- she of all people (someone born and raised in segregation who was taught to hate herself and her skin tone) would grow up thinking that there was something wrong with her because of her dark skin tone and- especially after meeting so many different people of different ethnic groups and skin colors- could’ve learned to love herself and learn that skin tone doesn’t define you (which also would’ve been a perfect lesson for younger readers). Another thing that puzzled me about her ‘development’ was her powers. Her Mist control powers are cool, but what would’ve been cooler was if she was reluctant to use them because she wouldn’t want to twist the minds of people just like Gaea did to her mom. Her gem and metal control powers could’ve been expanded on but they were barely mentioned after The Son of Neptune. As for her curse, that...made absolutely no sense. Her curse was honestly just dead weight. It wasn’t even that one thing that had a lot of potential, it didn’t even have potential, cause what would she ever use it for? It was just used to make her backstory sadder, but it was never mentioned again or even explained. The only thing it could’ve been used for (and what I was hoping would happen) was if one her friends or allies took one of her cursed jewels and died because of it. The one thing I was really hoping to see in her character arc was from the quote she said to Hecate after Hecate gave her the three paths to choose from- “I’m not choosing one of your paths. I’m making my own.” This really sparked my interest because almost everything Hazel had gone through was forced onto her by others without her consent. She didn’t choose to be born into racism and segregation. She didn’t choose to be cursed. She didn’t choose to be used as a pawn by Gaea through her mother. She didn’t choose to almost raise a giant and nearly bring upon the apocalypse. She didn’t choose to use her curse against others and move to multiple places. She didn’t choose to be brought back to life. She didn’t choose to be brought to Camp Jupiter and thrown into an army. She didn’t choose to be a part of the Seven and face the same woman who used her and had her mother possessed years ago. The only two choices she made herself- destroying the island and Alcyoneus and sacrificing Elysium so her mother wouldn’t go to the Fields of Punishment- and she and her mother died because of it and she went to Asphodel for years. I was really hoping to see Hazel break free from others always making decisions for her and learn to make her own choices, but that never happened.

-Leo: His character arc was also very confusing, but because it was all over the place. Riordan kept switching up Leo’s internal problems; forgetting about one of them and jumping to another, jumping to three different others, and then going back to the first one a few chapters later. It was so confusing. And then- in the end- he focused on the worst problem Leo had- not finding a love interest. I mean, who exactly focuses on whether or not they have a girlfriend while in the middle of a war and fighting to survive again? I liked Leo’s other problems- guilt over and blaming himself for his mother’s death, seeing his fire powers as a curse instead of a gift, forcing himself to hide his pain with humor instead of opening up to people, running away from all his problems, and his abandonment issues and constant fear of being left out and alone, but they were all replaced with ‘He felt like the seventh wheel’ (cause yes, Riordan, if you don’t have a love interest, you are immediately lesser than anyone who does, obviously). Leo got over his mother’s death in The Lost Hero- which, great- but after that nothing too memorable changed about his character. He never even used or mentioned his fire powers after The Lost Hero, he continued to hide all his pain with humor, hide his emotions from other people, and never learned to open up to others about his pain and trauma, he never learned to stop running away from his powers (shown by when he faked his own death without bothering to talk to the others about feeling left out), and his abandonment issues and fears were never expanded on, he just ran into the arms of a girl who verbally abused and constantly insulted him AKA ran to the person who gave him attention, even if it was the bad kind of attention, as if that’s not something emotionally scarred people and people with abandonment issues do, and he never grew from accepting unfair hate and criticism.

-Nico. His character development was actually pretty good. From going to an energetic, cheerful, and playful kid to becoming a quiet, closed-off, and independent teen who struggled with depression and feeling alone and like he didn’t belong, to finding comfort in his family and friends (especially Reyna, Hazel, and Will) and learning to accept himself for who he was (as a son of Hades and as gay) and how to confide in others about his struggles, problems, and trauma and finally letting people in after being do dubious of people after Percy broke his promise to protect Bianca, he found out that King Minos was using him, and almost all of Camp Half-Blood excluded and ignored him. After being alone for most of his life, by the end of The Blood of Olympus, he has two homes (as stated by Reyna), is comfortable with people hugging him, allowed people to take care of and help him, decided to stay at Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter instead of isolating himself, made a bunch of new friends that helped him through his struggles, and he even showed multiple signs of healing from his depression and anxiety. His character development was pretty well-written. But, there was one thing wrong with it that kind of ruined the rest- his love life. Nico had an incredible character arc that could’ve taught multiple valuable lessons to younger readers, but most of it was ditched after he came out as gay in The House of Hades. Throughout all of his point of views in The Blood of Olympus, Nico never thought about any of his past trauma or struggles, Bianca, his new family and friends, etc. Pretty much all he thought about was finding out how to come out to the others and Percy. And while mustering the courage to come out is a huge deal and is great material for a character arc, Riordan never actually utilized it. Nico telling Reyna he was gay was really touching (best duo) and telling Percy he had a crush on him was great, but after that, his entire character was about his attraction towards Will (which was way too rushed, but that’s for another rant), and it got pretty annoying cause it made it obvious that Riordan only confirmed him gay for publicity by trying to shove it in the reader’s faces as if every gay person needs to have a boyfriend to validate and prove their sexuality. Riordan should’ve stayed on track with Nico’s original character arc.

-Reyna. THE BEST CHARACTER ARC. Hers was actually really good. She started off trying to do everything on her own because she believed that she had to be strong enough to do things by herself without help from others to learning that it’s okay to ask for help. She also started off with the (quite serious and traumatizing) problem of bottling all her emotions because she believed that she always had to put on a strong, brave face for others without showing any signs of weakness to learning that it’s okay to express your emotions and confide in others (and again, that it’s okay to ask for help). This was mostly evident after she met Nico, which (in my opinion) kick-started her motivation to change because once she saw how much Nico needed help and giving him that support and comfort, realized that everyone is allowed to ask for help and started confiding in Nico as well. I like how she stayed strict and serious cause she has a formal job- a job that’s equivalent to an American’s president, that is- so she’s supposed to be serious, and she’s only strict cause she wants to protect her people. Though I do hate when people misjudge her as ‘cold-hearted’ or ‘cruel’ because Reyna is actually one of the kindest and most selfless characters in the series. Even Pegasus (the immortal lord of the pegasi) was ‘touched’ by Reyna’s ‘compassion’ towards Scipio (he didn’t even say that to Percy about Blackjack), and it’s pretty obvious she cares deeply about her family, friends, and people. And overall, her character arc was easily the best-written one in HoO. But then Riordan- just like he does with most things in this series- completely trashed her character arc just so he could have the opportunity to make fun of wlw readers who thought Reyna and Thalia would be a good couple by making her leave everything behind for the Hunters of Artemis just cause she ‘couldn’t find a love interest’ as if joining the Hunters is the only option for single female demigods instead of just...living a normal demigod life without a partner without leaving everything they know and love behind for no reason other than their shitty love life.

#heroes of olympus #percy jackson #character arc #character development #rick riordan #annabeth chase #jason grace #frank zhang #hazel levesque #leo valdez #reyna ramirez arellano #reyna avila ramirez arellano #nico di angelo #piper mclean

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cotncandyboifics · 3 years

Text

A Lovely Night: Chapter 2

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6

Pairing(s): pre-established roceit & prinxiety, anaroceit, eventual anaroloceit, eventual intruality

Word count: ~2k

Story summary: Roman's boyfriends had had a rivalry since before either of them had actually met Roman. Running a bit late to a date night, Roman accidentally gets them to start dating too.

General CW: non-detailed description of an anxiety attack, non-detailed description of physical pain, food, kissing, potentially triggering descriptions of physical bodies, swearing, caps lock, school settings, s-xual innuendos, slight description of gore(imagery), vague descriptions of anxiety, Implications of an eating disorder, fatigue, dissociation, suppression of stimming, implied heavy restriction (ED), inner monologue-style anxiety description, eating,(will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: kissing, swearing, subtle s-xual innuendo, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: this is the starring role chapter! If that makes sense... after this I'm kind of making up the plot stream-of-consciousness style. I'm pretty excited to get CH 5 out.

...

Virgil knew this whole thing was a mistake.

Roman had practically begged him to break out his skirt, fishnet, and heels. He'd only just bought them, and Roman was entirely too enticed by the idea of his boyfriend wearing them. He was very nervous - he'd never worn heels before, and never a skirt out in public - but he just couldn't bring himself to say no to his love.

And so, here he stood, leaning on the railing over a valley as the sun began reaching to kiss the horizon. He'd worn his favorite ripped crop top and leather jacket, fishnets reaching across his exposed navel, down beneath his plaid purple skirt and all the way into the black high heels he wore. He'd done his makeup a little nicer than usual, winging his eyeliner and getting a bit of purple sparkles in with his eyeshadow. his hair curled and twined haphazardly over his forehead and eyes as he watched lights of houses in the valley flicker on.

This was meant to be a special date, just Janus, Roman and Virgil. Roman had planned it, and kept the events a complete secret to both his boyfriends, simply telling them when and where to meet him. Virgil checked his phone; it was two minutes to seven, the agreed upon time. Virgil tended to arrive early to most things, since he was usually anxious that he'd be late even when getting a 30 minute head start. He passed his phone between his hands, the screen flickering on when his thumb accidentally tapped it, and a picture of Roman kissing a smirking Janus on the cheek greeted him. He felt his cheeks heat up, and slid his phone back into his pocket.

A clicking noise sounded from a little ways away, and Virgil turned to seek its source.

Janus was walking up, the heels of his black and white dress shoes clicking on the pavement. He wore a black wool suit with golden accents, a red dress shirt with subtle frills and a black bowtie. On his head rested his favorite bowler hat, concealing the majority of his golden curls - some of which escaped anyway, tucked neatly against his forehead and over his ears. He smirked and bowed as he approached Virgil, dipping his head and holding one golden gloved hand fisted tight against the small of his own back. Virgil scoffed and shoved his shoulder, and Janus stumbled a bit, snickering back.

Janus joined Virgil at the railing, looking out at the valley and the setting sun. They stood in a comfortable silence for a while, Virgil needing to consistently will himself not to rest his head on Janus' shoulder that was painfully close but felt so far.

After long enough, Janus cleared his throat. "Where might our dear prince be?" He ran his fingers down the underside of one of his lapels, not yet tearing his gaze from the pink clouds surrounding the sunset. Virgil opted to check his phone.

"Uh..." He couldn't form the words, so he simply presented his phone to Janus. A single text had come through.

Romano<3 Hey babe, I'm running kinda late. Why don't you and Jannie entertain each other until I get there? Sorry. Love you <3<3<3

Janus hummed, eyebrows raised. "Well it appears we're stuck with each other for the time being." He smirked slightly, and Virgil scoffed, bumping shoulders with him.

"What a waste," Virgil mused under his breath after a few more minutes of them staring out at the sunset together.

"Ah..." Janus glanced at Virgil briefly. "Such a shame. What a lovely view. It's practically hand drawn for a couple." He sighed, a little too dramatically, and Virgil furrowed his brow at him. "If only Roman were here. Unfortunately, you're not really my type, darling."

"Really." Virgil spat, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest protectively.

"Alas it's only you and I," Janus continued, leaning slightly closer to Virgil, "and frankly, we've got no chemistry whatsoever."

"Ah, okay snakey." Virgil bit back, not daring to look at the smirk he was sure was playing on Janus' face. "I think I can make that call, huh? Just because you look all pretty in that polyester suit doesn't-"

"It's wool," Janus interjected in annoyance. Although after a moment he gasped slightly, turning to Virgil fully. "Wait a moment! Did you just call me pretty, Charlie Frown?" He leaned a little too close, and Virgil scrunched his nose, leaning away slightly.

"Stealing Ro's nicknames for me doesn't make you creative," Virgil deflected, smirking right back at Janus.

"Mmm, perhaps not," Janus leaned away, seemingly examining his fingernails through his gloves.

"And for the record, I'm also feeling no chemistry."

"Is that so?" Janus' attention was back on Virgil, and their eyes locked in an intense and silent battle. Virgil wouldn't back down, just as he never had before, but this time he wasn't sure what he was trying to prove. He straightened his posture, making his chest puff out slightly. Even if Janus was taller than him, he wouldn't shy away from a confidence contest. No, not even if his crush was literally looming over him, not even if he could swear he just saw Janus' eyes flick to his lips for an imperceptible millisecond.

"Yeah. It is." He leaned his head forward, almost bumping his forehead on Janus'. Had he ever seen Janus' face so red?

"So you agree, then," Janus spoke, voice ever so slightly unsteady, but he didn't dare back down. Even if he was nose to nose with a boy he was in love with.

"Yeah, I guess I do." Virgil scrunched his nose again. This time, when Janus' eyes flicked to his lips, it wasn't deniable. He watched it happen, clear as day.

And so, he took a chance.

He took one step forward, not moving his head at all but nearly pushing his body against Janus'. Janus responded in kind, taking a step forward as well, and they were chest to chest. Virgil reached up and gripped Janus' lapels. They were impressively soft, and Virgil realized Janus hadn't just been bragging; it was in fact a wool suit. Janus' hands came to Virgil's hips. Virgil pressed their foreheads together, and didn't dare look away from Janus' eyes. They both breathed on each other, caught up in the heat of the moment without even needing to move with each other.

They'd both been waiting for this for so long.

Slowly, Janus' arms wrapped around Virgil's waist, and Virgil tilted his jaw up slightly. Janus met him halfway, immediately initiating a passionate, openmouthed kiss. Virgil's arms wrapped around Janus' neck, and Janus held him as close against himself as he physically could.

Virgil's mind was exploding, and so was Janus'. Neither of them could believe that this was really real. But they were both too afraid to break the kiss to make sure that it was, so they just kept kissing.

Hands wandered as they did, and Virgil had his arms wrapped beneath Janus' and around his back, both of them pulling each other against themselves as snugly as they could. Neither could get enough of this feeling they'd been chasing for so many years, and the fact that it had all culminated into this moment felt intoxicating in a way neither could describe.

Eventually things slowed down, and they went from lovingly tongue battling to trading gentle slow pecks, both of them smiling stupidly as they rested their foreheads together once more.

Janus opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted. "I genuinely thought you two weren't going to stop kissing for a minute there. Jeez."

Janus gasped and Virgil yelped, both of them jumping about a foot in the air and a foot away from each other. Roman, who was sitting on the bench next to them, broke out in laughter.

"Ro you can't sneak up on us like that, man!" Virgil wheezed out though labored breaths, as he tried to calm himself. Janus just stood straight as a pencil with his hands pressed into his face.

After long enough, Roman caught his breath, but he was still smiling so big at his boyfriends. They both looked between Roman and each other, trying desperately to probe the situation without moving a muscle.

Roman brought his hands to his face, fingers curled into happy fists. "Do you know how happy it makes me that you two finally realized?" Roman practically squealed, and if it were even possible, Virgil's face went even redder. Janus collected himself, and cleared his throat.

"Well hello, Roman." He opened his mouth to say more, but the words wouldn't come. He kept glancing to Virgil, who had taken to staring at the floor.

Roman looked between the two of them for a moment. "Oh you big buffoons. Talking always has been hard for the two of you, huh? Come here, my loves." He patted the bench on either side of him, and his boyfriends came at his call, settling in with their thighs against Roman's. "Now hmm, how should we start... I suppose you can fill me in on what I missed?" he looked between them. "Surely you didn't simply see each other in your lovely-" Roman made a point to look Virgil up and down slowly, "-outfits," And Janus as well, "And just decide to attach at the lips immediately? That sounds like something I'd do, more so than either of you." Janus chuckled, and kissed Roman's cheek.

"Well, snakey here decided to make a deal about how pretty the sunset was. And how it was so romantic and all that. And how it was a waste that-" Virgil's snarky explanation was cut off.

"Excuse me, I started it? No no no Virgie," Janus smirked as Virgil's eyes widened at the nickname, "You were the first to make a sly comment about the waste of a romantic view."

"You tell Ro then, if you think you know so much better." Virgil crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his tongue out at Janus, who hummed a laugh.

"Alright. Well," His smirk was lost then, and he took to adjusting his gloves. "I then made a comment about the lack of chemistry between us, and... And I think Virgie said something about me being pretty," His smirk was no longer lost, and Virgil rolled his eyes to try and distract himself from his heart racing in his chest. "And... I'm not sure. We got... lost in the moment." Janus smiled then. A genuine smile. It was such a rare sight (as Roman and Virgil often commented to each other) that Roman nudged Virgil's shoulder so he'd look up to see it too. They both gaped at Janus happily for a few moments, before Janus cleared his throat. "So I suppose then that in the end, I was correct that you find me pretty, Virgil?"

Virgil choked on air for a moment. "Sure, yeah, whatever," He spoke under his breath, "but you were also wrong about the chemistry thing. So suck it." Virgil gave him a challenging grin.

"Ayo!" Roman snickered at the innuendo, and Virgil and Janus both rolled their eyes at him.

"But darling," Janus ignored Roman for a moment, and Virgil swore his chest would explode if Janus kept using pet names for him, "You so strongly agreed that there was no chemistry to be found between us, and yet." He held his hands out, gesturing to their circumstances and smirking yet again.

"Oh shut up pretty boy," Virgil growled in annoyance, reaching across Roman's lap and pulling Janus by the cheeks into another kiss.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #ts virgil #ts roman #ts janus #janus sanders #roman sanders #anxceit #anaroceit #roceit #prinxiety #a lovely night #romantic no?

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

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Can we talk about the Black Bat both in general, and and how he may have been an influence on two superheroes (Dr. Mid-Nite and Daredevil) and a supervillain (Two-Face), but was proven in a court of law to have no connection with the superhero who immediately comes to mind (Batman).

Having finally read a couple of his original stories and runs, yeah I got some thoughts on him.

While not the first bat-themed pulp character, nor the first fictional detective with a disability turned superpower (that would be Max Carrados, who actually was blind), Black Bat’s main claim to fame nowadays is his correlation to superheroes with the mixed traits he has that would all become massively popularized by characters who debuted afterwards. Regarding the Batman lawsuit, it wasn’t so much proven that they have no connection, as much as the publishers of both characters argued they did it first, and then agreed to stay out of each other’s territory, with Batman staying out of pulp magazines and The Black Bat staying out of comics (not that it would stop his publishers from rebranding him as “The Mask” and doing comics).

Black Bat actually couldn’t have inspired Batman, because Batman debuted 4 months prior. Plus, both were already ripping off the same guy, and both of them were far from the first bat-themed pulp characters at the time. And the idea that he inspired Daredevil I find too much of a reach. Dr Mid-Nite I can definitely see the resemblance, and while Two-Face doesn’t have much similarities to Tony Quinn past the origin and the anti-hero aspects, “handsome crusading District Attorney disfigured after getting splashed in the face by acid goes on a rampage” is not exactly vague enough of a concept to pass for coincidence. Two-Face debuted just 3 years after Black Bat, while Bat was still a pretty successful character (he managed to outlast nearly every other pulp hero), so it’s very possible that Kane and Finger had a look at Black Bat’s origin and used it as the basis for their Jekyll & Hyde-themed villain.

Okay so, that’s that for Black Bat, but what’s the character actually like? What’s there to him other than historical oddities? Does he have what it takes to survive and thrive again in a modern landscape?

The thing that sticks out to me about Black Bat is that he is a pulp character who feels like he was designed specifically with the arrival of the superheroes in mind, as when comic book superheroes began to carve a space for themselves, one of the responses the pulps had was to put out new heroes intended to be a part of both worlds, hybrids of pulp heroes and superheroes who could try to capture success in either format, characters like Ka-Zar and Black Hood who started in one and then jumped to the other.

Black Bat’s got a lot of the usual hallmarks of dark detective pulp heroes and his adventures are largely him battling ordinary criminal masterminds and gangsters, but he’s got an iconic costume, he’s got a super dramatic origin story that the stories keep coming back to (unlike most pulp heroes whose origin stories are not usually mentioned), and he’s got superpowers brought in the aftermath of a tragic accident. Not just skills anyone can have by training hard enough, actual superpowers, even if they don’t see as much usage as his pulp hero skillset.

To the world that knew about him, Anthony Quinn, once a virile, upstanding representative of law forces whose name had held terror for evil doers, was now an impotent blind man whose sight had been permanently destroyed by acid thrown at him in a crowded courtroom, and whose face was horribly scarred about the eyes. For a long time he had seemed to live in a world apart.

Such actually had been the case during the long months when Tony Quinn had lived in a sea of blackness. But Nature had been as kind as possible, giving him something in return for what had been taken from him. As a result he had since realized that his senses of feel, smell, and hearing were far more acute than formerly. Under his sensitive fingers whatever he touched had begun to tell strange new stories. His sense of smell had sharpened. His ears had become the ears of a hound, picking up with ease and sifting multitudinous sounds that once had been inaudible.

More months had gone by until, in the darkness of a lonely night, a girl with golden hair and blue eyes hadcome in through an open window like an angel out of nowhere to offer him hope where eye specialists had said there was no hope. Through a delicate operation by an unknown small town surgeon the corneas of the eyes of Carol Baldwin's policeman father - dying from paralysis brought on by a gangster bullet - had been given to him. An extraordinary thing had occurred. When at last Tony Quinn had been allowed to remove the bandages, he had been astounded by the miracle that had happened. His were the eyes of darkness as well as the eyes of day!

Interestingly also, Black Bat actually became one of the most prolific of pulp heroes when brought over to Germany. When German publishers Pabel decided to reprint a couple of Black Bat novels for the KRIMINAL-ROMAN serial, they discovered “Die Schwarzen Fledermaus” was somehow so popular that in 1962, they retitled it Fledermaus (Bat) and ran with it, reprinting all the original 60+ stories and then, when those ran out, creating 900 more at least. In fact, it seems like they are still publishing Black Bat stories even today, and now that he’s public domain it’s something just about anyone could get into.

Problem with that is, it’s not easy to conceive of The Black Bat having any kind of substantial popularity again, when he’s doomed by design to always be compared to Batman, to always just be seen as first glance as “oh it’s earless Batman with Daredevil’s shtick and Two-Face’s backstory”, and of course he doesn’t have a chance in hell of playing catch-up to the popularity of those characters (well, at least outside of Germany). Whatever niche he could have as an alternative to Batman is also null by the fact that said niche of Not-Batmen is already filled out quite extensively. He doesn’t have an incredibly strong personality the way Batman and The Shadow do, nor is he, despite being ostensibly a serial killer, enough of a trigger-happy anti-hero to latch on to the appeal of characters like The Spider or Punisher. The latest Black Bat comic run by Dynamite played up his ruthlessness, outlaw status and drew him on the covers perpetually holding guns and often with a big creepy smile. But smiling murder pulp Batman is already a niche that Midnighter fills considerably better than Black Bat ever could. So what’s left for him?

If I had to find a unique niche for Black Bat, I’d play his unique traits in ways that separate him from the super characters that ran with those later. I’d ditch the whole “oh woe is me I’m poor and helpless because I’m blind” shtick that’s terribly condescending to actually blind people, and make him at least truly blind in some form. Maybe he’s blind by day and by night he sees too much, or maybe his vision has some terrible secrets that go beyond mere enhanced eyesight. Maybe his powers are growing and expanding in ways he doesn’t know where they will lead him. But alongside that, one take on the character could be based on the fact that he really has nothing to lose. He is not Batman, he is not The Shadow, he isn’t Daredevil, he’s got little reputation to speak of, and he’s never going to be any of those characters.

He’s lost the position he’s coveted his whole life, he’s lost the respect of his peers, his former professional ethics don’t mean shit now, he’s had a long and painful brush with darkness that scarred him for life in ways both literal and metaphorical, and in the aftermath he’s begun spontaneously developing abilities that would be incredibly painful and uncomfortable for an average person to just develop without years of growing up with them. And then, a mysterious woman walked through his window one day, gave him the eyes of a dead man, and now he sees things in ways no person was ever supposed to, and now he goes around at night terrorizing and killing criminals in an animal-themed costume.

The most he has to lose currently is the life of his sidekicks who’ve worked very hard to help him heal and focus and find a new purpose, which only means that they are on the chopping block everytime you wanna give a gut punch to Tony Quinn. And no matter how famous, or even great, his adventures are, or how prolific and successful he is or even has been, he’s always going to be the Bat-themed superhero who couldn’t cut it. He’s Not-Batman, stripped of all the grand splendour and allmighty self righteousness and reputation and role as foundational figure of an entire genre and most popular bestest superhero of all time ever praise be thy Bat God, sharing more traits with one of Batman’s most personal and tragic villains than the titular character.

That’s not an indictment, that just means that Black Bat ultimately should have more narrative freedom, since he is unburdened by reputation and status. He is a public domain nobody best known by his association with characters who eclipse him in popularity, who’s always going to have that accursed Bat prefix and costume to damn him by association, so why not work with it? He could be the character you go into to tell stories that you couldn’t tell with Batman or other big name superheroes, the grimiest, sickest, even weirdest crime tales of all. What does the Black Bat have to lose?

Those who have nothing to lose stand everything to gain, after all.

Also, Masks 2 once presented an alternative version of the character called The Black Bats, who dresses like a baseball player and dual-wields baseball bats, which is nutty and I’d definitely prefer Black Bat to ditch the generic pulp hero guns and instead just go crazy batting everything in his way.

“I gotta tell ya, this is pretty terrific! Hahahahah, yeah!”

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #the black bat #tony quinn #batman #two-face

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crystalk17 · 3 years

Text

Using Cookies to Break the Ice

This is my secret Santa gift for @infinimay

For @secret-shifters

Sorry for it being late. Some reason my account would not post anything. I would upload it, but nothing showed up. I called and got it fixed today. Hope you enjoy it!

"Hey, Virg! Where ya at?!"

Roman wandered around the house trying to locate the little guy. Knowing him he was most likely hiding. He never understood why he did this, they had to be passed this stage in their friendship. He knew seeing someone close to twenty times your size had to be frightening, maybe even scarring, but it wasn't like he did anything to warrant this fear. Maybe it was his energetic aura he had attached to him since he was a born dramatist, or maybe it was even how loud he was when he was excited or practicing his lines, but it shouldn't be this bad.

The Prince wandered through every room in his small one-bedroom apartment trying to find a sign. A crumb. A tool left behind. Maybe even the guy's hoodie. Something. He would even appreciate a scared squeak only because that was an indication he was inside.

"Hey Emo! You gotta tell me where you're at!" Maybe calling the borrower by his hated nickname would get him to come running out.

Nothing

He wandered over to the window with worry. "That idiot wouldn't have gone outside would he?"

Roman hoped...no prayed the borrower wasn't that frightened he tried to go outside. That would be a suicide mission, especially since that's why the borrower even met the human in the first place.

About a week ago the biggest blizzard came rolling in. The biggest anyone has seen in years. Most houses were snowed in only the lucky ones could even step outside, but why would they? You couldn't even reach your vehicles that had literal sheets if ice caked on them. For two days straight the wind screamed and raged at Roman to open his door to come outside just so it could claim one victim. After those two days, the storm became a snow day. The wind halted like God commanded it to die down and the weather was no match to that power. The snow still came down with a total of a few more inches after one more day.

Roman was cuddled in his red fuzzy blanket just ready for this all to end. He luckily had a generator for the necessities along with the warmest fire he has made in a long time and a mug of hot chocolate at his side. Nothing was going to make him budge from his forced vacation. Nothing except a little visitor.

As he was trying to fall asleep and balance a cup of boiling cup of chocolate in his hand he noticed something run right in front of the fire. At first, Roman didn't even think twice. A mouse. Probably a creature that ran into his house to get out of the storm. Nothing major he just had to decide between letting it go or removing all of his comfort items just to grab a rat and toss it back outside.

Reluctantly he moved his blanket to the side while placing the cup on the table. "I can't let something get into my food, I should probably take care of this."

The creak of the couch under his moving body was what caused the creature to spin around.

Both creature and Prince stared at each other for a few seconds. This was the first time Roman got a good look at the mouse in front of him...well borrower.

Shaking in place was a smaller human. Roman couldn't tell if the shaking was from fear or the cold. Could have been both at this point. The smaller human life form had on a purple and black cloth that was made into a loose shirt. It looked like a pretty good imitation of a sweatshirt. He wore blackish pants and messed up hair that was doused in melting snow. Well, his whole body was soaking wet, probably from the ice and snow already melting from the warmth.

That night Roman welcomed the new visitor. If he was so desperate to just run out into the open right in front of a human then he needed the kindness. The prince made sure to give him pieces of his cloth and any food he needed that night. He didn't get much in return besides the borrower's name. He didn't share any information, didn't say how old he was, even to give the borrower items Roman had to slide them over to him since the little dark boy didn't want to come anywhere close to the human unless he had to. Roman agreed to just give the guy space and if he did then the borrower would stay here until the snow melted. For a few days now the two have been...cohabitating. They would talk once in a while but never sat down to eat together or talk for long periods. At this point, Roman's curiosity was running like crazy. He had to find out something, get him to talk, something or all of this would be a waste, plus not knowing exactly who was living with him wasn't exactly unnerving, but it would be nice to know the guys eating habits, sleep schedule, family, something.

Today he officially decided no more hiding, he would force the little guy to come out and join him even if it killed him. "Hot topic!" he looked around one last time to make sure he wasn't around the house before putting his coat on. He was not leaving him outside.

"What do you want Roman! I was trying to sleep!" Virgil came stumbling out from underneath the couch rubbing at his eyes. He could see the relieved sight that was Roman but tried his best to ignore it.

"Well my two-inch dark friend we are celebrating the holidays and since you are a guest here you are joining in."

"Yeah, I'm good." Virgil started to walk back underneath the couch to continue with his sleeping but felt a warmth around his torso that he never wanted present. Ever. "I told you to never touch me!"

This was the first time since the borrower came to stay with him that he had the small human in his hand. He knew he probably shouldn't have done this, but he wanted to make sure the little guy knew what he planned. They had to try, but that wouldn't happen if the borrower was given the choice. He could feel the small struggles graze across his humongous hand. He knew this had to be uncomfortable. "Trust me, I don't want to do this either."

"Then put me down Princy!"

There were a few times that Roman swore he almost dropped the little guy because he wouldn't stop kicking or trying to pry the giant hand off of him. Before the horrible inevitable happened he dropped Virgil onto the counter causing him to stumble back and fall. He felt horrible and this was not the plan he wanted at all. "What the hell!"

"Well if you wouldn't struggle so much this wouldn't happen." he was just a bit too egotistic to admit he was in the wrong or even say sorry. "All that I was trying to tell you is that we have cookies to make."

"What do you mean that wouldn't have happened? I told you not to touch me in---wait. Cookies?"

"Yeah. It's a tradition to make them during the holiday season. Just because you're here it doesn't change anything ."

"Well, how am I suppose to help smart-aleck." Virgil crossed his arms not even glancing at the red and white dressed giant.

"Well, you could read the recipe or help me with ingredients. Doesn't matter to me. I just know you're not sleeping the day away"

"Fine if I'm going to be forced and held prisoner. I'll help with the cookies." Virgil said, a bit of irritation seeping into his voice, instead of anxiety. He watched as Roman took out ingredients such as sugar, eggs, milk, flour, then laid a giant piece of paper that took up half of the counter. He could tell it was old and used multiple times with the thousands of crinkles and creases all over it, luckily the recipe was written in red so it was legible. Watching the giant very apprehensively he made sure Roman didn't reach out for him again. He walked over and stood on the piece of paper reading it to himself.

"Are you going to-?"

"Oh right. The first ingredient is 2 eggs mixed with a cup of flour."

It took the two several hours to get this perfect. There were a few mess-ups that neither expected like making the batter too salty, another time the batter got spilled because Virgil was leaning against the bowl not expecting it to move from his weight, and another ended up all over the kitchen because Roman accidentally flicked some batter onto the borrower as he was using the mixer. Virgil growled a bit trying to scoop it off of his now messed-up sweatshirt. He noticed Roman trying to hide a laugh, so he approached his arm and smeared the batter there. Roman got upset and used a finger to placed some batter onto Virgil's head. The two went back and forth smearing the cooking ingredients onto each other trying to get the last laugh. Roman took it easy half the time to allow it to seem fair and exaggerated his reactions so he didn't feel so insignificant.

After placing the fourth batch of cookies into the oven Roman realized there were probably more ingredients all over Virgil than there were in the bowl and oven combined. He felt bad since only his fingers and parts of his arms and shirt were covered. On him, it looked like someone just flicked the materials at him. Virgil seemed to have the bowl dumped on him.

"Here. I can help you back to your place so you can change. I feel a bit bad about this." he was trying his hardest not to laugh or smile.

Virgil looked at the hand still skeptical, even Roman knew after earlier it would take a miracle for him to agree to this much trust. "Alright. Just...walk slow and not so much of a grip!" he barked out a bit.

"Alright Emo."

"It's not...Oh, forget it." Virgil climbed onto the surprised Romans' hand.

As slow as he could Roman crossed the room allowing Virgil to close his eyes and held his own body. He could tell he was trying his hardest not to shake, but it wasn't successful. The thing was, Roman understood. He was a naturally nervous boy.

The princely man placed his hand down slowly onto the ground so Virgil could climb off on his own. The rest of the night Virgil didn't see one sign of Roman. The annoying human didn't even come to check to see if he was clean. What Virgil did find was a cookie placed in front of the couch on a plate with a note.

Hoped this helped. Happy holidays come out to say hi when you can. I don't mind your company.

Virgil couldn't help but smile a bit and break off a few crumbs to bite into.

#secret shifters 2020 #giant #g/t #giant and tiny #g/t sanders sides #gt #gt sander sides #sander sides #cookies #breaking the ice #storm #borrower #getting to know each other

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greenninjagal-blog · 3 years

Text

Deja Vu pt6

Hey guys! Surprise!! Have twenty pages of Dee picking a fight on TV. For those who are new around, [here’s] the first chapter and for those who need a refresher [here’s] the previous chapter!

Summary: Remus and Dee confront The Prince on live TV. Things go downhill rather quickly.

Word Count: 10447

TW: temporary character death, blood,

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Remus is twenty-one and he thinks that people might not actually be worth saving at all.

There’s an electricity in the air, a buzzing so loud that he can almost taste it as he shifts his weight between his feet. There are so many people around him, nearly too many, packed together like sardines in all the crevices that they can fit. Remus wants so badly to kick his leg out just to see if with one nudge he could toppled the human domino train down all the way, but Dee gives his hand a small, gentle squeeze.

His hand is warm, his touch intoxicating in a way that no drug could ever hope to be. Remus has felt it before, in futures that never happened, but it still feels unreal as it's going on. He thinks maybe, possibly that he’s stuck right now, right this second and that his real body is somewhere else bleeding out on the ground.

But he also thinks, traitorously, stupidly, suicidally, that he doesn’t mind as long as he gets to keep feeling Dee’s hand in his right now.

Dee’s touch is featherlight, but Remus is hyperaware of every atom in his body at these moments: Dee goes on to talk about so many things, but Remus’s brain only hears touch, warmth, Dee, Dee, Dee. And the Shapeshifter has to say his name at least four times before Remus realizes that time is passing and he’s not passing with it.

It should be annoying-- Remus thinks that Roman would have tried throttling him by now--but Dee just gives him a wispy, honeyed smile and does it again, like seeing Remus short circuit is somehow the best sight in the world.

Which is sweet, sugary, splendid. It might even mean that Dee intends to stick around after those feelings fade away to the bitter acquired taste that is Remus’s company after a year. So very few people ever got past that: the kids at school had flocked to Roman’s cotton candy exterior and had eaten him all up and then got burned when they mistakenly thought that Remus was anything like his twin outside his face.

(He wonders even now if Roman still shares that face with him. Did he dye his hair? Get piercings? Or did he cover his mirrors so he wouldn’t have to remember Remus existed at all? Does Roman think about Remus nearly as much as Remus thinks about Roman?)

Oh wait, Remus knows the answer to that last one.

Dee squeezes his hand again, even without looking. He insisted on dressing presentably today: shining shoes and one of his new suits tailored to his exact size and a flattering face that just screams trust me with all your finances, I won’t rob you blind, Grannie! When they were getting their coffees, the woman in front of them had called him a gentleman and Remus almost choked on his drink at that. A pretty face, a kind gesture, a mask and Dee wore his like a skin walking alien and no one was any wiser about it. Except Remus.

He reaches over and steals Dee’s latte from his hand. Dee tenses, then relaxes and watches with an amused smile as Remus sniffs it.

“Not nearly enough vodka in this,” he decides and Dee laughs.

“Ah, yes, because the girl at the counter is surely old enough to be serving alcohol,” Dee says. “And the last thing I want to do is be on TV drunk.”

His nose scrunches up at the detestable thought, but Remus thinks it’s the exact opposite of what they should be doing. Dee? On TV? With no inhibitions? Remus listened to his late-night rambles on the flaws of society when there was nothing but sleep deprivation weighing on their souls and Remus was moved enough to find himself here today. There was something about his honesty, his psychological approaches, his confidence, that made him so trustworthy. He was a leader at heart and Remus was happy to follow him, even if it meant going right off a cliff.

(Not like he hadn’t done that a time or fifty before. And besides, Dee could grow wings if he wanted. He’d catch both of them and fly them to safety.)

“A dash of vodka is just liquid courage,” Remus says.

Dee turns his green eyes on him, the light through the window making sparkles in his irises, or maybe that’s just Dee doing subtle magic of his own. Whatever it was Remus decides he doesn’t ever want to look away again. Dee's eyes are priceless; Remus wouldn’t be surprised if Dee had stolen a hundred jadeite stones and shoved them in his eyes for safekeeping.

“Who needs liquid courage--” Dee says “--when I have you?”

Remus tips back Dee’s latte and slurps it so that his tongue burns right out of his mouth, because then at least there’s a reason for the mortifying smoldering all over his face. Dee reaches up and rubs the pad of his thumb over Remus’s cheek, tickling his mustache ever so slightly and laughs again.

“Darling,” he says. “You’re too easy.”

“You going to do something about it?” Remus challenges. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it right here, over this table, you know. Might wanna make sure little Timmy over there is covering his eyes first though. He doesn’t need his awakening until a few more years down the line.”

They’re close enough to the other customers that an elder woman with a pocket dog in her purse gives him a glare and a teenage girl in a sweater turns bright pink and stares out the window just a bit too hard. There’s a good chance that Remus could get both of them to do something more, but before he can open his mouth again, Dee is leaning in.

He’s using his usual height today, which means that Remus is just a bit taller, but Dee makes those three inches feel like hairbreadths. His breath is warm on Remus’s neck, and it sends shivers down his back when the phantom feeling brushes over his skin. He smells like cardamom, and Remus’s mouth freezes, his words long lost and forgotten in the prospect of Dee saying literally anything at all.

But in the end Dee just wordlessly hums and drops back to his flat foot.

It takes Remus a whole second to remember how to breathe. And another to realize that Dee took back his latte and was drinking it like he was entirely unaware of what he had just done to Remus, except that his lips slip off the rim on his cup and they’re curled upwards in that absolutely sensual smirk of his.

“It’s almost time,” the shapeshifter says moving on casually while Remus tries not to let his brain melt right out of his ears. “I should go get into place.” He peeks at Remus and glances away just as quickly. “You…you’re sure that you’re alright to do this, Remus? You don’t have to if it will hurt you.”

Remus wonders vainly if Dee was aware that the term “Martyr” was engraved on his ribcage, imprinted on his heart, seared into his soul. If there was ever a choice between himself and someone else getting hurt, Remus wouldn’t hesitate, and he never had. If Roman had ever looked, like truly looked, he might have noticed that, and then maybe things would have turned out even marginally different. But this time around, Remus nods at Dee and squeezes his hand back so hard that his fingers lose their blood flow.

“It’s not gonna hurt me,” Remus says, which might be a lie and not even a believable one, but they both pretend. “Besides, this means something to you, doesn’t it?”

Dee’s shoulders tense, and resettle, as if he’s reminding himself that Remus is not a threat. He licks his lips, chasing after the taste of espresso. “It does,” he says and it shouldn’t feel like Dee is telling him some big surprise secret, because they spent the past three days planning this whole thing out on the floor of their hotel room while Remus rolled that casino coin between his fingers and thought about how Dee’s hair looks soft and fluffy when he’s just waking up.

“Remus…” Dee starts. “There’s something I haven’t told you yet. About me. And… this.”

Whatever this is. He’s hesitating again, hovering like he’s on top of a fence topped with barbed wire and he knows that he needs to pick a side but can’t quite decide which side will hurt less: the spikes or the lava? Remus shakes away the unneeded thoughts to focus in on the trepidation in Dee’s expression, but as soon as he zeroes in on it, Dee smooths it out.

“Timing,” he says almost as if to himself. Then, “I’ll tell you after we do this. I owe… I owe you that much.”

Remus doesn’t think there’s a single thing that Dee could ever owe him at all. Not when Dee pulled his bleeding body off the balcony, not when Dee kissed him with all the tenderness in the world, not when Dee stayed with him in the face of literally everything. Dee can’t possibly owe him anything when Remus is the one standing here with a power that’s not even helpful unless it’s killing Remus, and Dee is out here trying to save lives with what he has.

But Remus is decently sure that if he opens his mouth to say any of that, what will come out will be something undoubtedly more emotional than they have time for and will probably scare Dee away entirely: a love confession, a proposal, matching headstones for their graves that they’ll probably be in much sooner than either of them would like.

“And Remus?” Dee says, like he doesn’t notice that he’s literally the only thing that matters in Remus’s little world. He gives Remus’s hand another meaningful squeeze. Then he pops up on his toes to brush a kiss to his cheek in a way that makes Remus feel like a middle school girl in a catholic school discovering how attractive boys are for the first time.

His heart beats so hard he thinks he can taste it around the coffee and whatever the hell it is that Dee tastes like.

“Thank you,” Dee says with sincerity.

“If we were characters in a book, this is the part where right before the author kills you off for dramatic effect.” Remus reaches out and clinks his cup with Dee’s. “Don’t make it that easy.”

Dee snorts in that very dignified way of his. “Of course, what was I thinking? My apologies. Here I was, assuming that the soothsayer might be able to help me to cheat Death but apparently I was mistaken.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right there in your ear, Despacito,” Remus says pointing towards the earpiece he’s wearing. “You won’t be able to get me out of your mind even if you wanted me to!”

Dee smiles, quick and wonderful and Remus drinks in the sight like it’s the newest liquid craze, better than the latte in Dee’s hands, or the ice coffee in his own, or fresh drinking water in the middle of the desert. Dee’s hand drip, drip, drips right out of Remus’s, although the atoms in his fingers don’t stop tingling with sensation.

“I look forward to it,” Dee says as final parting and then he weaves his way out of the café. Remus bites his plastic straw and follows with his eyes until he can’t anymore. The people around them move out of the way for him because Dee gives off that aura of someone important and no one wants to be caught dead getting dirt on his freshly polished oxfords.

For all their planning, Remus still feels a little nervous with everything going on. They gathered as much information as they could about the day: the new registration office was being set up in a public library as a temporary location and it was closed for activity outside of the registration. Remus took particular pleasure in reading the heartwarming amount of public backlash about that from regular people who just really liked the library for some reason. The building is a lucky four stories tall-- which Remus thinks is nice. The library back in his hometown was two, poorly funded, and he’d been banned from visiting when he was ten because he’d seen the old librarian fall off a ladder and tried to help her by grabbing which did not go over remotely well.

The street is casual: a bunch of modern buildings with local shops and boutiques. Dee got sidetracked two days ago picking out new shoes from a window display and chatting with the owner who surprisingly was very informative.

“The Prince? My niece thinks he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread,” the older woman said while packing up a pair of single strap monks.

“Oh?” Dee said conversationally which made Remus look up from where he was flicking through a rack of sun dresses.

“I think he has a few screws loose,” the woman said. “No child his age should be running around in a costume like that. He’s just inviting danger to himself, not to mention those around him. In fact, Linda-- you know Linda right? She owns the chocolatiering place on fourth street? It’s got lovely chocolate strawberries-- Linda said over our weekly tea that if she got the chance, she would punch him in the face!" the woman chuckled. "But I don't blame her at all. All this nonsense about super powers and abilities and someone might start looking twice at how her baby girl can get any animal to eat out of her hand."

Dee raised an eyebrow. And the lady waved off his unasked question.

"Magic ability or pure coincidence! I don't care about any of that! If that FBE comes knocking on Linda's door the whole group of us shop owners are ready to stand up against them. Linda’s little girl belongs right here with her family and not anywhere near some secret government building or on some watchlist like a criminal!"

They left after that and paid a visit to the chocolate shop on fourth street. And what do you know, the little shop received a generous cash award from a lesser known chocolate secret society group thing. Remus doesn't remember the actual name Dee used, but he does remember that they were selling dinosaur shaped chocolates and he bought a box just so he could bite the heads off all of them.

The main street leading to the library-turned-registration office was closed off completely and marked that way with crowd control fences, which might have been for the best. In just the two days leading up to the grand opening, the city’s population seemed to have doubled. Remus was moderately amused by it, watching from the window of their hotel room: people came from the woodwork, springing into the city with the rigour of a bunch of busy ants who were so completely unaware of the exterminator coming.

Dee didn’t let him try looking to the future more than a few times and to be very ridiculously honest, Remus is kinda grateful for it. Every time he looks he feels something off about himself, something he can’t put a name to, something he can’t put a finger on. It just seems that one minute he’s fine and the next he’s hacking up blood.

Which by the way, means he’s dying according to WebMD and Google. Remus doesn’t let Dee see the worst of it, but the nosebleeds are stronger, and Dee’s not exactly stupid. He can tell that Remus is using more tissues, that he’s holding them to his face longer, that he’s pale and tired and his hands are colder to the touch.

They don’t talk about it. Not really.

They should.

But if there’s one thing that Remus’s mother taught him, it’s that if you avoid talking about something for long enough it will disappear and you’ll forget about it.

Perhaps the biggest thorn in their sides-- both of their sides and their lungs and the back of their necks right through the medulas killing them instantly-- is the charming Prince himself! The character seems to be everywhere and nowhere all at once: the news has him stopping burglaries and home invasions up and down the east coast, calming down violent criminals, and helping little old ladies cross the street, and flashing his award-winning, crowd-hypnotising smile at the cameras. And yet for all the several hours worth of footage that Dee and him had scoured through, neither of them can quite figure out what The Prince’s power is.

It’s mental, at least. Something to do with information based on what Remus can come up with. He can tell from the way that the guy reacts in the middle of any confrontation: there’s a moment where green lights flash in his eyes, flickering so quickly it might have been a trick of the camera if Remus hadn’t caught it so many times on so many different occasions. One moment he’s acting one way, the next he’s changing course entirely, moving or stopping or avoiding. Like he knows what’s going to happen.

Like he can see the future.

But somehow he avoided all the fun nosebleeds and the feeling of death over his shoulder. Like maybe when his power manifested people actually believed him! Like maybe his friends didn’t shove him away and maybe his mother loved him and maybe he stayed home and watched Disney movies with his brother all night when they were seventeen instead of letting him go to a party where everything went wrong.

Remus’s hands shook far more than they had any right to when he first made the connection, first made the comment, first made the joke out loud for Dee to laugh at without pay attention to what he was actually saying. Then he dry heaved into a trash can for fifteen minutes while Dee rubbed his back and pointedly waited for an explanation that Remus didn’t give him because Roman is nothing and no one and he doesn’t matter when Remus has Dee.

“Perhaps he’s a mind reader,” Dee suggested.

Whatever he ends up being, Remus decides that The Prince better hope he figures out some shit with Dee. Because if Remus has to enter the ring, he doesn’t think the Prince will be leaving it in anything other than a body bag.

“You seem very… invested in him,” Dee said when Remus told him as much over a breakfast of french toast and eggs at a dinner where the waitress didn’t tell them to stop making out in any flickers of the future he blinked at. Dee was choosing his words carefully. Too carefully.

“His face is very punchable,” Remus said, squeezing ketchup in his orange juice. “I’m surprised no one else sees it! Don’t you just get filled with rage when you look at him?”

The way Dee blinked said a lot, but Remus pretended not to notice as he used a straw to stir his drink and poured a bit of syrup in too. For flavor and fun. Dee doesn’t say anything more on the topic, and Remus doesn’t ask because he gets the feeling Dee will tell him the truth if he does.

And Remus doesn’t think that this is a truth that Dee wants to tell right now.

Maybe later. After Dee’s dragged the Propaganda Prince from his golden pedestal and Remus has had his fun in the mix. After they stop the FBE from their nefarious plans. After.

Remus tastes the word in his mouth and he’s not sure why it feels so foreign to him. It’s a strange mixture of bitter and unforgettable, of sweet and strange, of something he’s never tried before and might never get to taste again.

It’s better than blood. Less red too.

Remus taps his foot as he watches out the window of the coffee shop. There are a lot of people inside here and he’s not sure how many of them are regulars compared to how many of them want to just watch the possible freaks that have to walk down the street and enter the building pretending like they can’t feel all the world watching them do it.

Remus isn’t even one of the suckers doing it, but he can understand how it might make someone queasy. The number of eyes looking, watching, remembering them is something of a curse; the cameras are blatantly obvious and the gawking of the other people is unignorable. If things were different, Remus wonders if he might have been nervous about this, about entering the building, about taking a step out of line and telling the whole world what he could do.

It was supposed to be a secret, right? At least that’s what his mother had always encouraged him to believe. She told him to stop talking, to stop crying, to shut up and pretend nothing was happening, smile at the cashier, Remus, but don’t tell her that you can see her tripping over her shoe laces and cracking her head on the floor. When people asked his mother how her children were, she never had enough to say about Roman’s achievements.

Remus sticks his straw all the way in his mouth until it pokes his uvula and his eyes water.

She tried.

And in the end it wasn’t enough, isn’t enough, because now she talked so much about Roman that she didn’t even remember that he existed anymore. He’s grown up and she’s still the same.

He wonders if she would even recognize him if they passed each other on the street.

Something to think about. Perhaps he can convince Dee to take a trip with him to the other side of the country, to his hometown, to his old neighborhood. He’s sure that by now they have enough cash for a couple dozen eggs that belong on the outside of his old two story suburban house. After all this, after they save the day, after they put Princey boy in his place. After.

The clock on his phone ticks down, and Remus feels like his chest is going to explode if his heart gets any faster. The FBE registration office opens at ten a.m. and he’s not entirely certain the world will still be standing by ten oh five, but that’s what makes everything fun, isn’t it?

The coffee shop customers shuffle and move like a complex organism trying to rip itself apart but never quite managing it. Outside there are more people, pressed together, close enough to be touching, to be talking, to be nervous and excited and emotional. Camera flashes go off, news crews stand in the middle of the street with microphones interviewing the normal people who are treating this like a festival or a parade rather than the thinly veiled death threat it is.

They’re packed so closely together that Remus has a hard time seeing over their heads, and peeking at the temporary stage that’s been set up in front of the entrance to the library. There’s a podium on it, though, and decorations of a brilliant red, white, and blue, along with speakers and microphones being tested for the brilliant speech that the Prince is going to give for his adoring fans. There’s security and police patrolling everywhere, news crews and reporters and civilians watching with bated breath as the time draws near.

Part of Remus wants to wonder why here, why now, why did the Prince choose to come cross country out of the blue like this? Surely he could get just as much adoration from his fans in New York.

There must have been something that happened on the East Coast that drove him out here. Bad publicity that might make him look bad-- for a moment Remus entertains the idea that the Superhero managed to kill someone and now the FBE was graciously covering it up and sending him to Oregon so that he stays out of the way, stays out of trouble.

Too bad for him; Remus and Dee had claimed this part of the country as their own playground and they brought nothing but trouble with them.

Dee would take extra special delight in taking a bat to the Prince’s glass house reputation if the man let him. Remus would take extra special delight in watching Dee do it.

Remus tapped the screen of his phone again, checking the time. Dee should be in place by now, hiding among the normal people, slipping between the patrolling law enforcers, and plotting the best place to be in order to make his grand entrance.

((It was adorable watching Dee figure out what he wanted it to be: the man curled up in a sweatshirt with hair still wet from his shower and chewing the end of a pencil in between spitballing ideas at Remus. His eyes seemed to glow when he got excited, and they were hypnotizing to look at, swirling with all the colors: grey blue, jade, hazel, silver. Whenever he liked an idea he scribbled it down on a piece of paper and smiled with his fangs out and Remus had to resist the urge to kiss him again, lest they fall behind in their planning phase due to an excessive make out session.))

In the end, planning this whole thing wasn’t all that much different from their other heists: the casino where they met, the fancy banks, the jewelry stores, a privately owned winery. There was less of Remus looking at the future, true, but that just meant that they spent more time lying next to each other scouring the internet on their individual phones for relevant information and eating chocolate dinosaurs.

The clock strikes thirty-till ten and the whole world seems to hold its breath. Remus can feel it, the way the air holds itself and suddenly the whole coffeeshop, the patrons, the cashiers and the machines go quiet with anticipation.

“There!” yells a kid from a window seat, covered in chocolate from a partially devoured muffin and bouncing on the cushion. He presses both his hands to the cleaned window, as if he can phase right through it if he pushes himself hard enough. “There! It’s a car!”

“Where? I wanna see!”

“Is it The Prince?”

“The Prince! Move I want to see!”

Remus barely has time to brace himself before there are people pressing up against him, strangers shoving and pushing and yelling and trying to get to the window to see exactly what is going on. Remus himself leaves a nice face print to the glass that he suspects the long suffering employees are going to have blast cleaning later.

Assuming that the shop is still standing after all this.

Someone’s elbow goes into Remus’s spine and for a second Remus blinks and there’s a guy standing over him, pressing a hand to his pulse, and the manager at the front desk of their hotel is screaming again. Remus hisses out a harsh breath that fogs up the window and scrubs the thought, the concept, the memory from his mind. Because he’s not dead, he’s not dying, he’s not on the hood of a car. And the last thing he needs is to forget that.

The car that the kid had pointed out was actually a caravan of cars: black nondescript SUVs with tinted windows and tires thick enough to be bulletproof. The type of cars celebrities and CEOs and politicians ride around in when their limos are being deep cleaned. The crowd blockers leave more than enough room for the cars to parade through the street right to the stage. Someone outside even sets off a confetti cannon so it rains red and gold and white paper through the air.

Remus grinds his morals together and shoves himself backwards, knocking into about six more people who are swarming for his spot so quickly, so frantically, so vehemently, that Remus doesn’t actually make out any of their faces or forms or bodies. The whole shop was swarmed with people, but now all the bodies were pressed against the street windows and Remus thinks if they were on a boat, they would have capsized. He tugs the front of his leather jacket to straighten it and elbows his way through the front doors and out into the street.

Outside it’s not much easier to see anything. The cheering crowd is the most annoying thing ever. Although the hand made signs people are waving are a close second. Remus fights the urge to knock several of them out of people’s hands because the crowd control are watching like hawks and--

-- “HEY! HEY!” one of the uniformed guys yells at him. Remus flips him the bird, and because he’s so busy laughing at the guy he misses the sign holder’s left fist coming for his face.--

-- “HEY! HEY!” one of the uniformed guys yells at him. Remus flips him the bird, and because Remus knows better now he manages to dodge the incoming fist and drive his elbow up under his attacker’s guard and right into his diaphragm. There’s an exhilarating feeling flowing through him as the crowd around him jostles and shouts and falls to chaos in a way that completely derails the plan Dee worked so hard to put together.--

--Remus tears himself back to the present, stumbling slightly over a swaying ground. He coughs into his fist as his body is checked by a passerby into the outside wall of the coffee shop. There are flecks of red, so small Remus wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t looking for them. That’s good, that’s great, that’s fine.

He’s fine.

The crowd pulses and the volume of dissonant cheering increases tenfold. Remus wipes his hand on his thigh and looks up to see over through the crowd for what was happening, although he already has a good idea. The cars must have completed their slow circuit and the doors of one of them must have popped open for the guest of honor to step out.

Another burst of confetti shoots out filling the air with white pieces of paper that almost look like snow. Remus ignores them mostly as he slips through the crowd in ways that his body probably shouldn’t be able to move: under an elbow here, passing a shoulder there, winking at the college student his face is three inches from as he scoots between him and an older woman with a crying child on her hip. He feels his spine crack more than he hears it as he moves.

He makes it to the crowd barriers with an impressive number of bruises, a bit of coffee from an off balanced teenager, and a scrap where someone hit him with one of those stupid signs. He’s close enough to the stage that his skin itches, that his throat burns, that his toes curl; the Prince isn’t even looking his way but Remus thinks that the white of his super suit would look excellent covered in his blood. There’s a rapier at his side that glistens in the sunlight, silver and shining and ready for use although Remus has yet to see him actually use it as a weapon rather than a fancy prop.

The Prince is an actor on a stage waving to his fans, a red herring meant to distract everyone from the implications of the FBE headquarters right behind him. He blows a kiss to the crowd and Remus gets the urge to punch his face again.

Instead he presses up against the barrier wall, hooking his arms around the metal bars to hold himself in place and watches with his tongue in his cheek. He nods at the techie standing on the other side: a guy with hefty headphones, bright purple hair, and a mouth mask with an anime character on it from a show Remus vaguely recognizes. The guy squints at him suspiciously for a moment but ultimately just shrugs and goes back to writing something in a pocket notebook and leaning against the side of a News Crew van he presumably works for.

On stage, The Prince approaches the podium waving still and smiling twice as broadly as before. Remus isn’t sure how anyone can look at him and think “safety” when his charming show of teeth also makes it look like his mouth was going to split his entire head open. A police line-up stands along the wings of the stage, like he’s a real prince about to address a nation.

Someone Remus doesn’t recognize is also on the stage in a suit. The Prince grins and shakes the guys hand like they’re old friends. They pose for a camera flash for a moment, sharing a laugh that can’t possibly be that funny, and the new techie rolls his eyes so hard his head shakes. Another person from the crew joins him standing side-by-side and they share a short conversation that leaves the one with the headphones glaring.

The guy on stage claps The Prince on the back and offers him the podium with microphones before stepping back clapping enthusiastically.

Remus thinks boredly that it would have been funnier if Dee were up there, dressed up in a stranger’s skin and stepping back only so that The Prince never gets to see the knife Dee shoves in his neck. But Remus knows Dee better than that; he’d never kill, and he'd definitely never deliver a fatal blow when his victim didn’t know his name.

(Remus wonders distantly, when he realized how much names meant to Dee. Was it before Dee offered up his name at that casino? Or later when Dee was breathing into Remus’s mouth and Remus was trying to figure out what was wrong with himself? Dee wanted people to know his name, wanted people to remember him when he left, wanted them to recognize him-- but he also didn’t and Remus isn’t sure how to solve that puzzle yet so he sticks it in the back of his mind to work on when its just the two of them alone in a hotel room in the dark.)

The Prince winks to someone in the crowd and finishes his last wave. Remus glances back at the line of SUVs but no one else comes out of them-- which isn’t that weird? Remus seems to recall the Prince being very specific that he had a team and a partner and yet he’s up there all alone receiving all the glory.

Of course they could just be shy, but based on how little information there actually is about the team and partner existing, Remus thinks that maybe it’s a farce meant to placate children’s dreams of being on a super team with their super hero!

(Remus is not alone in this thinking either. Dee’s favorite website called AnxiTEA has several dozen articles written about how The Prince sucks and that he’s just doing all this for publicity and recognition-- along with a carefully worded warning that if The Prince begins losing either of those things, he’s most likely going to become feral and turn on them all.)

Remus adjusts the earpiece in his ear just as The Prince opens his mouth to start off that particularly exciting, bold, inspiring speech of his. But before he gets more than a syllable out, a shadow floods from overhead.

The crowd collectively gasps and screams, spreading apart in every which direction; Remus lets out a hefty groan as the guy next to him bowls into his shoulder and he nearly flings over the fence. The techie on the other side drops his little notebook in shock, and his friend pulls out a phone immediately.

The shadow sweeps downward through the air like the largest bird in history. Remus laughs as he watches, Dee’s wings glisten with black wings that glisten yellow when the sun reflects off them. In fact just watching him, Remus has a hard time believing that Dee didn’t grow up with wings attached to his back. He makes floating and flying and landing look graceful, ethereal, easy and breathless and exhilarating. Dee lands on the stage due left of The Prince, safely with his knees bent to absorb the shock. When he stands back up, his blond hair flows slightly in the kickback wind and his trustable dark eyes sparkle.

(He went with the black and yellow color scheme. That had been Remus’s favorite option. The black of his suit makes the shimmers of gold look expensive, dangerous, and untouchable. Although, Remus is a little biased on the front that he always thinks Dee looks dangerous and untouchable. He’s a caution sign, a warning, and Remus can’t wait for The Prince to ignore it.)

“Hello,” Dee says and Remus thinks he can hear his barely concealed laughter over all the crowd's confused chaos. The police line behind The Prince lurch into movement at the sound of his voice, but the hero himself throws out an arm and stops them where they stand with hands on their tasers.

Dee raises an eyebrow, a polite expression on his face. And the Prince mirrors him.

“Oh wonderful!” the hero says in a confident tone, in a reassuring tone, in a placating tone that tells the audiences watching that there’s nothing to fear from the black winged Angel that just descended down on them like a herald of Death. Dee’s eyes shine with amusement that Remus can pick out even from over here. “Another friend like me!”

The Prince offers a hand to Dee, a handshake. Remus digs his teeth into his tongue as he watches Dee take it from above, like he’s royalty allowing the poor publicity prince to greet him.

“Not quite like you, my dear Prince,” Dee says. “If the wings weren’t a dead give away already.”

The Prince’s lips tighten. Remus thinks that his expression screams “calculating”. He looks at Dee like he’s still trying to figure out if he’s a friend or foe, and Dee’s body language offers no hints at all.

Or well, maybe a few hints. Remus can see it, because he can see Dee: the tilt of his head is a challenge, the light in his eyes is condescending, the openness of his body facing the crowd speaks in volume of who he’s actually there for. Remus can read every bit of Dee and it sends a shiver down his back to realize.

The crowd bobs and murmurs, unsure of what to do with the surprise visitation. Several camera flashes go off like someone is trying to prove to themselves that the wings are real. The techie on the other side of the barrier reaches up and hooks a finger over his mouth mask as if he’s debating ripping it off to breathe easier. Remus digs his chin into the metal bars of the crowd barrier and wishes he had some popcorn.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Prince,” Dee says silky smooth.

“Good things I hope,” The Prince says back. “I would love to sit down and have a conversation with a fan as elegant as yourself, but I really must be getting back on schedule. I’d be happy to sign somethin--”

Dee laughs pleasantly, although Remus thinks he should be swinging to dislodge the superheroes head from his neck.

“You are a riot!” Dee takes a few steps forward. “You think I’m up here to get your autograph?”

The Prince’s eyes narrow slightly. “Aren’t you?”

Dee flexes his wings just as slightly, letting them shimmer so beautifully for the crowd up front to see. “Oh no. I must confess I’m not much of a fan at all. I’d really much rather skip to the debate portion of this.”

“The debate,” The Prince repeats like he hasn’t ever heard the word before. Remus half expects him to snap at that guy behind him to offer up a dictionary so he can read the Webster definition before he responds. But in the end the Prince merely moves his arm back and settles his right hand on the hilt of his rapier.

“I’ve been fascinated by you, Prince,” Dee continues, gliding around him and stretching his wings so that the police line is forced to take another step back or get bumped. Dee circles the hero much like a snake starting to coil around its prey before the final strike. He’s slow and methodical and Remus doesn’t think anyone can look away from him. He knows he can’t. “They call you a superhero. The first real life one to walk the streets.”

The Prince follows Dee’s motions with his head. “I have no control over what the media says.”

Dee gives him another condescending look. Remus thinks it’s eerily similar to the ones that his teachers used to give him when Remus insisted that the other kids shoved him on the playground when he did nothing to them first.

“Of course you don’t,” Dee says. “The media can be rather misleading at times. After all they said that my way of handling an out of control child with an arbitrary grasp on fire was fallible. Incorrect. Deplorable.” Dee stops just over the Prince’s left shoulder and tilts his head. “Villainous.”

The Prince blinks, stiffening.

“Oh,” he says. “You were the one at the mall. In Idaho.”

“Yes,” Dee says. “And if I had done nothing, that child would have continued to operate under the impression that killing is an acceptable punishment for petty thievery. And yet I’ve received nothing but bad press, criticisms, insults for what I did while you get praise and recognition from your… adoring fans. I would say that’s quite unfair don’t you think?”

The Prince’s nose twitches. Remus watches his hand on his rapier tighten, but he refrains from drawing and making the first blow in front of a billion witnesses. The cameras couldn’t draw away even if they tried.

“Perhaps if you had tried talking first, rather than jumping straight to violence--”

Dee tuts and presses a hand to his chest. “I so do love how much you know about what happened there! With all the completely accurate information and that confident tone you’re wielding, my prince, one might be convinced that you had been there and watched that child nearly kill three innocent people after I attempted the talking part first.”

The Prince’s jaw set.

“Oh? Nothing to say?” Dee lowers his chin to look The Prince dead in the eyes. “The truth is that the child in question decided to attack a man robbing a previously insured jewelry store-- most likely out of desperation-- and decided to attempt to burn him alive. The action of which nearly killed me and my… partner if it hadn’t been for a spot of good luck. Then when I attempted to help preserve the criminal from the life threatening third degree burns he was suffering, the child called me a villain and demanded I and another brave bystander back away from the man so that he could die.”

Dee’s eyes flash blue and green and then a cold steel blue before they settle back on the silent superhero. “You and your original way of thinking are an inspiration to us all.”

The Prince’s face twitches again, the whole thing this time, twisting into a not-very-nice expression for just the briefest of seconds before he remembers that there’s a captive audience watching this play out. He takes a deep steadying breath and lets it out again.

“I apologize,” he says. “I jumped to a conclusion. You made an acceptable call in the face of a diffic--”

“I made the only call,” Dee inserts harshly. “And I don’t want your apology. Words mean nothing.”

“What are you here for then?” The Prince asks, and Remus can’t help the feral smile that etches across his features. He leans forward as far as he can without tipping the fence because he doesn’t want to miss a single second of this.

“Oh, that would be simple,” Dee says. “I want you to explain to the world, why you are trying to get hundreds of people killed.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I don’t suppose you would.” Dee says. “I can’t imagine that you’ve had to do a lot of critical thinking these past few weeks.”

The Prince scowls and opens his pretty little mouth, but Dee waves him off with a clandestine motion. There’s a delicious looking smirk on Dee’s lips: something that Remus thinks he can spend all day staring at. He’s having fun up there with all the attention on him, having fun with people hanging on his every word, having fun leading The Prince around like a dog on a leash. A showboat, a leader, an actor-- but Dee’s the director too, telling the cameras where to point and what to frame because this is his show, even if no one else realizes it yet.

“I’ve been following the FBE for a while now. You can imagine that as someone with an ability I tend to be interested in politics that directly affect me, as all good upstanding Americans should.” Dee flutters his wings a bit again. “However, I can’t imagine why anyone-- certainly not someone with the brains such as yourself-- would purposely align yourself to their less than noble intentions. They aim to take advantage of people like us, and you are using your… well earned celebrity status to convince the people that this is acceptable. Good, even! Surely you don’t truly believe that the FBE and Madam Secretary of Defense have your best interests at heart?”

The Prince shifts his weight around, looking for all intents and purposes like he was ready to leap across the stage and make Dee eat his own words, in the end he just settled back down.

“I do actually,” The Prince says. “I’ve been working with them for a while-- all of my team has. Madam Witchall has been a great help in getting this project on its feet so that the FBE can provide aid to--”

"I guess what it boils down to is this," Dee says, steam-rolling everything else the Prince might have wanted to say. Remus can pick the irritation out of his clipped tone, simmering under the guise of being passion rather than anger. "How much do you trust your government? How much faith do you put in people, Princeps?

"This is, after all, the same congregation that sends military recruiters to the more impoverished schools in America and hounds kids until they believe that their only option to get into college is to sign up for the military. Is that what they did to you as well? Convinced you, you were dangerous and unable to control yourself and that they could help you?"

The Prince’s jaw tightens so hard that even Remus can see it from where he’s standing. He wants to laugh, but he puts his hand in his mouth instead. The crowd is murmuring, mesmerized by the sheer audacity of this shapeshifter to show up and question the morals of their beloved hero. It would be funny, if Remus doesn’t close his eyes and see Dee’s charred corpse from that kid at the mall not so long ago whenever he tries to sleep.

Hero idealization was a dangerous thing. It needs to be nipped in its bud before it strangles everyone; luckily there’s no one better with a pair of shears than Dee.

"I do believe that’s none of your business," The Prince says.

"But it is," Dee coos just a bit too sweetly. His words come out slick with honey. "Because you are also a person of ability and I happen to care a great deal about people with abilities."

"We have a duty to those less fortunate than--"

"We--" Dee cuts him off sharply “--do not have a duty to anyone for anything."

He takes a breath, recenters himself, and when his eyes open again, they’re a piercing green that pins the hero to place on the stage for everyone to see. "In case you’ve forgotten, my dear Prince, we are mere humans, too. Not everyone wants to grow up to punch each other in the face. Some of us would like to live a normal life, without being forced into superhero dramatics."

His easy dismissal is inviting danger to come knocking. Remus likes that about him, the fearlessness. Did it come from after he had met Remus, or was it something Dee had grown up with? A symbol of faith in Remus’s abilities or a symptom of delusion? The mystery is tantalizing on Remus’s--

--tongue. Remus savors the taste of it with a grin. It’s so much better than blood, so much better than slushies, so much better than french toast and eggs and only one step down from the taste of actually kissing Dee.

Remus blinks, pressing against the barrier, his eyes catching sight of something else amongst the crowd although he isn’t sure what it is at first. A flash of a camera? A pushing shoving motion? It's something and Remus tries to follow it but it’s gone in the next half blink and he’s not sure what it was at all.

Then everyone is screaming and the crowd is in chaos and Remus gets slammed into the barrier again and shoved along it for a sharp second before he hits the ground. The noise roars over his thoughts, over his breathing, over his ability to comprehend anything that’s not how he’s being stepped on by careless bystanders fleeing the streets. Someone trips over him, someone steps on his ankle, someone kicks the back of his head and his lungs burn and his eyes itch and he knows he missed something---

--Tongue. Remus savors the taste with a hint of confusion. It’s better than blood that’s in his throat, than slushies in his memories, than french toast and eggs and only one step down from actually kissing Dee.

Remus blinks, pressing against the barrier, his eyes catching sight of something else amongst the crowd although he isn’t sure what it is at first, and doesn’t bother caring, because something else is happening and he needs to know what it is that causes the crowd to splinter apart like shattered glass. Dee is talking on stage, winding up the toy Prince to dance to his tune, and Remus is watching with his heart in his throat and unable to hear a word of it.

Then Remus blinks and Dee is not standing on stage because the shapeshifter’s body is morphing exactly the way it shouldn’t be. The crowd screams, and Dee’s eyes are empty in a way that Remus has seen a million times and abhors unlike anything else in the world.

Dee is not standing on stage because he’s actually fallen off it onto the asphalt ground below and there’s a spray of red mist in the air where he had been standing before. Remus is body-checked into the crowd barrier, and skimmed along it, until he hits the ground and feels himself get trampled over, but it doesn’t matter because he knows what he saw.

Dee is not standing on stage because he’s dead with a bullet in his head from---

---Tongue. Remus does not savor anything about the taste because whenever he closes his eyes the only thing he can see is Dee’s dead body and the only thing he can feel is copper clawing its way up his throat with the blind terror.

Remus leaps over the barrier, causing everyone around him to yell. The techie with the purple bangs in particular jumps back, but Remus ignores them in favor of watching, because Dee hasn’t seen him and doesn’t know what's coming and Remus wants to scream at the top of his lungs because watching Dee die never gets any easier to see.

It’s a bullet to the head. From the right temple through his brain at a downwards angle and Remus feels the blood sprinkle over him like sea spray straight from his darkest nightmares. He barely even notices, barely recognizes it, barely cares about it at all, because the next thing he knows Dee’s body is following it down right into Remus’s arms and unseeing blue-grey eyes stare at an empty sky.

The Prince is there too, mouth open and horrified, and even though everyone is screaming Remus can hear him start to say a phrase, a word, a syllable, “Re--”---

--Tongue. Remus’s mouth tastes like blood and absolutely nothing else because Dee is going to die from a shot through the head from a sniper, a shooter, an asshole and Remus thought maybe that Dee was over exaggerating before with his whole “the government is going to turn us all into weapons or eliminate us” rhetoric, but Remus thinks that he should have paid attention a little harder. Listened a little more. Believed a little better.

He stares at the building behind them, the library that’s being passed off as the FBE and the dark tinted windows that make the upper floors look abandoned completely. It’s like watching….it’s like…. it’s …

There’s a flash, a flicker. Then a heartbeat and then Dee is dying, dying, dead all alone and Remus feels himself body-checked back by a faceless person in the crowd and tossed to the ground to be trampled to death too.---

--tongue. Remus spits blood out of his mouth curling in on himself to stop anyone else from seeing because fuck him. He presses two fingers to his ear piece and pretends poorly that his throat doesn’t feel like someone took a pack of razor blades to it.

“Sniper shot, fourth floor, third window over,” Remus rasps. His heart pounds in his throat, in his skull, behind his eyes in a way that makes him want to tear his skin off to get the feeling to stop. Blood floods over his fingers, smearing on his chin, and across his sleeves no matter how hard he tries to get rid of it.

“One minute, forty seconds,” Remus coughs, and stares at the drips that hit the lower half of his shin, the toe of his boots, the asphalt.

Dee doesn’t react. Not at all and Remus wants to scream because he can feel time passing and he can’t stop the future from happening. He can’t, he can’t he can’t he can’t--

"You heard me, right?" Remus says maybe a little hysterically, because fuck, if they got this far and their mics weren’t even working and Remus just got the only person who ever mattered to him killed on live TV.

At this distance, Remus doesn’t know if he can make it, but even if he does, even if he tackles Dee down from the stage and the bullet misses them both it will go straight into the crowd, and there are people in this crowd-- people with lives, with families, with friends. They might have abilities, or they might not, but once that shot is fired the entire street will become a riot. Remus can hear the screams in his ears, ringing there so loudly it makes the present sound like a graveyard.

"I hear you," Dee says airily, acting like he’s talking to the superhero, but the words loosen the knot in Remus's chest, because he changed his speech, changed his stance, changed how much he knows about the future and now things will be different. The Prince eyes him rightfully warily, because Dee’s biggest weapons are knowledge and words.

"I hear you,” Dee says again directly to the hero, “I hear that you’ve been brainwashed into thinking that you owe something to the people who helped you control your ability, but the truth is… you could have done it without them, on your own. You certainly have the brains and the intuition for it."

He offers a hand out to the hero, casually, fluidly, and Remus almost laughs. He thinks if he opens his mouth again then only thing that will come out is blood and the people next to him will definitely notice that.

"Come with me, Prince of the People," Dee says right as the sniper lines up the shot. "Let’s discuss a better way to protect innocen--"

The gunshot is silent. Remus almost misses it in the collective intake of breath from every living thing in a ninety mile radius. Dee’s hand is out and the bullet catches the sunlight in a brilliant single flash.

-- through his brain at a downwards angle and Remus feels the blood sprinkle over him like sea spray straight from his darkest nightmares. He barely even notices, barely recognizes it, barely cares about it at all, because the next thing he knows Dee’s body is following it down right into Remus’s--

Dee’s skin ripples, his wings disappear. At this distance, Remus can’t tell what it turns into, what he impersonates, what he becomes that can fend off a bullet, but in the end it doesn’t matter at all because The Prince leaps forward with his sword drawn.

Remus blinks and the world feels like it tilts on its axis, spinning faster under his feet. He hugs the crowd barrier to steady himself. That… that isn’t possible. This isn’t what he saw. But there it is: The Prince wraps himself between Dee and the bullet, and draws his rapier so quickly that Remus almost misses it happening. It shouldn’t be possible-- It can’t be possible, but he’s faster than the bullet and somehow the piece of metal veers off trajectory into the stage at their feet and embeds itself there.

“That’s--” Remus’s breath catches, clumping up in a knot in the back of his throat that tastes a lot like blood.

The people in the crowd scream, the people near the front shove to move back, to get away, to find shelter and safety from bullets that were only targeting one man on stage. The police guard springs into actions that Remus can’t focus on because he’s so busy trying to remain upright when gravity is trying to drag him straight down to Hell.

“Are you alright?” The Prince asks, lowering his rapier.

“I--Dee--” Remus stutters.

“Was that... going to hit me…?” Dee asks in a tone that suggests that all the oxygen left the atmosphere.

“I don’t-- I can’t--” Remus swallows a mouth full of blood and it goes down his throat like thick, slow slugs trying to suffocate him. “I swear--”

“Have no fear,” The Prince says. “I’ll protect you. As long as I’m here, no harm will come to you. You have my word.”

“Re,” Dee says. He sounds like he’s several distant planets away. Remus’s hands are red and sticky and he swears if he closes his eyes that he can feel the misty spray of grey matter over his face when Dee falls from the stage, when his body lands in Remus’s arms, when those empty eyes stare up at him and see none of the grief in Remus’s eyes.

“I watched you,” Remus chokes.

He saw it. He knows he saw it and it was real and Dee died and Remus was left all alone like every nightmare he’s ever had. Dee died up on stage in front of the whole world and Remus saw his whole world shatter.

It happened.

“You can’t see the future, Remus!” Roman yelled four years ago and Remus has proved him wrong a hundred billion times over since then. He shouldn’t have to keep reminding himself of that.

“You died,” Remus says. “You died and I watched and I’m sorry-- I’m sorry, sor--”

“That’s all I needed to know, darling,” Dee tells him.

“Pardon?” The Prince asks, realizing maybe for the first time that Dee isn’t talking to him.

“You’re clever, Prince,” Dee says loudly, and Remus hears him so clearly in his earpiece it stabilizes him even when the world spins under his feet. Dee shoves himself out of the hero’s hold, stepping back twice, and looking downright murderous. “Far more clever than I gave you credit for! Did you just try to have me shot? Killed? All so you could look like the dashing hero on screen?”

“What?” the hero says and because he’s an actor Remus almost believes that he’s confused and not threatened.

“You just tried to kill me!” Dee snarls. “In front of all these people?! Because I dared ask a few questions about your motives?!”

The Prince stares at him, and Remus imagines his insufferable mouth is twitching into an awkward smile, like this is a joke that he doesn’t understand but doesn’t want to be rude.

“I assure you that is not the case here,” he says. “In fact I believe it’s far more likely that you arranged to have yourself attacked on this stage to emphasize a point on your part. I suspect you might have some type of protection against bullets, but even if you did I could not stand idle when there is a chance of you being hurt.”

“How noble,” Dee says. “Throwing yourself in front of everyone and asking nothing in return no matter the situation. A true hero complex.”

The Prince’s grip on his rapier tightens, but he says nothing.

“You say such pretty words, Prince,” Dee says. “Tell such convincing lies. You want people to step up and join you in a game of play pretend without realizing there are deadly consequences when abilities get out of control. You want people to follow you, to sing your praises, to believe you can do no wrong…. You’re the hero, of course! They’ll be so enamored with you, they won’t notice you leading them straight off a cliff.”

For a second the world stops turning, time stops passing, the crowd stops moving. Remus feels every atom in the air pressing up against him, itching, pulling, compressing against his skin as his heart pounds in his chest like some type of creature trying to escape his ribcage. There’s a ringing in his ears made from the silence between Dee and The Prince and it’s louder than any scream that the crowd makes, any gunshot a sniper takes, any calm Dee fakes.

“And I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.” Dee offers a complimentary shrug and then he launches across the stage, aiming for The Prince’s throat.

[Chapter Seven]

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jasontoddshoe · 4 years

Text

Strictly Business // Jason Todd

Chapter 9 - The Gala

Warnings: Swearing, Sexual themes, Violence, Bloodshed, broken bones, kidnapping, guns, bullet wounds, crying, near death experience,

Your dress took a while to shimmy into a zip up by yourself but you finally managed. It was definitely easier when you had Jason to help you but he was off somewhere else in the house getting himself ready. He was acting like this was prom or something, saying he didn’t want to see you until you were ready. It didn’t really phase you until you started getting dressed, you really wished you’d had some help then.

The gala had technically started already, but you didn’t care enough to make it there on time. The only thing Jason wanted was to just be there in general, so he wasn’t mad about it either. You smiled at the finished product of your makeup, admiring your craftsmanship before cleaning your mess up. You were finished getting ready so you headed down to the living room with your small silver clutch that held your phone.

Jason was sitting on the couch, donning a black suit with a red shirt and black tie. He looked amazing, and you couldn’t deny that. At the sound of your shoes clacking against the marble stairs, he looked up. His eyes met yours, catching you staring at him. He smirked slightly before noticing your figure. His eyes traced your every curve as he took in the lovely sight. He stood up, draping his suit coat over his arm as he walked to meet you at the bottom of the staircase.

“You look amazing (Y/n)” he commented, offering you his hand to help you down the last step. You gave him a small smile, feeling much more shy now that he was there. His eyes never left you, but you couldn’t force yours to leave him either.

“Thanks Jaybird, so do you” you replied quietly. “So, should we make our grand entrance at this shitty thing?” You asked, grabbing his bicep while staring up at his eyes. He nodded, his shaggy hair that he hadn’t styled bouncing slightly as he did so.

“Let’s go fuck some shit up” he answered, a devious smile making its way into his face as you laughed.

***********

You held Jason’s arm tightly as you entered the grand venue the gala was taking place at. You never realized how much influence Roman Sionis had in Gotham until you saw some of the very powerful people indulging in the complimentary champagne. You were no exception to that, holding a glass of your own in the hand that wasn’t lopped through Jason’s arm. Jason wasn’t drinking, he wanted to be able to stay on alert. You however, were just along for the ride.

Jason turned to you at one point with a smirk on his face. He delicately slid your champagne glass out of your hand and placed it on a random table behind him.

“Come on doll, we didn’t practice dancing for nothing” he commented before leading you to the dance floor. You laughed lightly, following him willingly. As soon as he stopped you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close.

“Sionis is death glaring you right now” you whispered in his ear, glancing at the man behind Jason’s shoulder who looked furious. Jason wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning down to place his lips by your ear.

“Good, I wanted his attention” he responded. “He was looking at you like a piece of meat, I ant him to know you didn’t come alone” he added quietly, spinning the two around around while making it look like he was dancing casually.

“Don’t draw attention to yourself Jay, you don’t want him connecting the dots when Red Hood comes after him later” you reminded, making him nod and shift his gaze to your face. “What’s so important about this specific event?”

“He’s got a deal going down tonight, big one, and I’m not gonna let that happen” he explained shortly, emitting a sigh from your lips.

“What kind of deal? Drugs? Guns?” You followed up, feeling slightly annoyed at his lack of information. He gave you a pointed glance, as if he didn’t want to say. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I know when I tell you it’s gonna piss you off” he muttered, letting go of you and giving you a twirl.

“I’m a big girl Jason, I think I can handle it” you raised both eyebrows at him.

“Drugs, lots of them, they’re going straight to the srteets and he’s aiming for the teenage market” he answered, making you grit your teeth slightly. “I knew it’s piss you off” he commented, eyeing your clenched jaw. “Relax, you have an audience, remember?” He whispered.

“So what’re you gonna do to stop him?” You questioned. He was about answer you, when the song ended and Sionis decided to address his guests.

You grabbed Jason’s wrist and pulled him along with you as you went to get some hors d’oeuvres. One good thing you could say about Roman Sionis was he knew how to feed a crowd, but that was it. While you and Jason were getting yourselves something to eat, you heard that dreadful sound.

“Ah, there she is. Just the girl I was looking for” you let out a breath and spin around to see Roman smiling widely at you. “Who’s your friend?” He asked, looking Jason up and down.

“Derek” you stated, not wanting him to know who Jason was. “I met him here actually” you added.

“Of course, you wouldn’t come with a date” he stated, it sounding more like a command than anything. Jason really had to fight the urge to pop him in the jaw at the sound of that. “Walk with me, we need to have a chat” you gave Jason a look before slowly walking toward Roman. He placed his hand on the small of your back and started leading you away from the crowd. You smacked his wrist so he moved his hand off of you, but kept walking.

He led you into en elevator that took you up to his disgustingly familiar office, and you felt a pit forming in your stomach. The slight heels on your shoes clacked against the marble floors, echoing in the empty room.

“How’d you pay off the debt?” He asked roughly as soon as the door clicked shut and he knew you were alone.

“What?” You asked confusedly.

“A week ago money got wired into my account under your name in the amount you were in debt to me for” he stated. “I’m only asking one more time, where’d you get the money bitch?” He asked, grabbing a handful of hair from the back of your head and harshly pulling it toward him.

“Ow fuck” you grunted. This must’ve been the ‘business’ Jason has to do and redused to tell you about. “I stole it, how else do you think?” You lied, wincing as his grip tightened.

“Bullshit, it would’ve gone public if you stole that fucking much” he growled, pulling your head back so it rested on his shoulder as he stood behind you.

“Well contrary to your belief, sometimes I’m good at my fucking job” you retorted. He shoved you forward, letting his fingers slip from your hair and making you stumble foward toward his desk. “I don’t understand what your problem is, you got your fucking money, now leave me be” you turned around to face him. He grabbed your hair in the same spot again, pulling your head back so you were looking up. “Jesus, what is it with you and the fucking hair?” You growled, taking your heel and stomping it into his foot. He let go with a yelp.

“Fuck” he exclaimed. “Look princess, we’re far from being done” he stated. “Boys!” He yelled. Suddenly a couple men stormed the room, immediately going for you.

“What the fuck” you mumbled to yourself. You slid out of you heels and took a slight deep breath in. “Never done this in a dress before, let’s see how this goes” you muttered, using your shoe to smash some glass figurine on his desk.

You grabbed a large shard and shoved it into one man’s leg. He cried out in pain before falling to the ground. You felt a warm liquid run over your hand but that wasn’t your concern at the moment. Another man grabbed your shoulder. You placed a hand on top of his and whipped around, quickly mustering up most of your strength to flip him into his back, stomping onto his arm. A sickening crack sounded through the room, followed by him yelling in agony.

You fought a few more of them off before you simply became out numbered. Two men carried you out by your arms, and another one held your legs, leaving you powerless at that moment. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Roman slipping on his black mask, and the next thing you saw, was darkness.

*************

You were woken up to a harsh light being shined into you eyes. You scrunched you’re face, trying to pull your head away from the light through your grogginess, you started to realize what was happening. The chains around your wrists and ankles weren’t exactly forgiving as you tied to pull against them.

“What the-“ you muttered quietly, opening your eyes fully as the light went away. You recognized the city line and assumed you were on the roof on his building. “Why the fuck are we on the roof?” You asked, trying once again to pull your feet away from the chair they were chained to.

“You might want to take a look down sweetie” Roman replied. You looked down to see you sitting right on the edge of his near sky scraper height building. “Now, I know that you know I don’t take lying to me very lightly” he started, walking slowly around your chair in a circle. “You didn’t steal that money, and you didn’t use your other option to buy your way out” you crinkled your nose at the mention of that day. He stood behind you, placing his hands on your bare shoulders and giving them a small squeeze. You tried to wiggle around to get him to let go, but he wouldn’t budge. “So now, you’ve got three options. One, tell me where you got the money; Two, my old offer still stands. Sleep with me, and I’ll forget this all happened. Or three, this chair you’re chained to, goes falling down the side of this building” he listed.

“You’re literally old enough to be my dad and the fact that you want to have sex with me so bad is just really fucking creepy” you commented. He growled and grabbed the back of your chair, tilting it forward so you were hanging even more over the edge. “Ok! Ok! I’ll tell you” you stated, leaning all the way back in your chair. He smirked to himself, bringing your chair back down into all four legs. You quietly tried to pull your wrists and ankles from their confines, but the chains were on too tightly.

The only ways out of this were as Sionis listed. You didn’t want to tell him that Jason had wired the money to him, you definitely didn’t want to have sex with him, but you didn’t want to die. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a flash of red. You sucked in a deep breath and shut your eyes tightly.

“Option three” you said quietly, tucking your face into your shoulder.

“What was that?” He asked, roughly grabbing the chair.

“I pick option three” you spoke up just a little. He sighed, gripping the back of your chair tightly.

“I’ll see you in hell” he growled before roughly shoving you over the edge.

You screamed loudly, hoping to god that Jason was coming to grab you. The chair hit the side of the building and shattered, leaving you without it but still chained up. Tears streamed down your face quickly, the feeling that you were still falling getting to you.

Finally, you felt someone grab your waist tightly. You let out a relieved breath at the familiar feeling of swinging on a grappling hook. You opened your eyes and looked up slightly to see Red Robin was your savior.

“Tim” you breathed happily. He gave you a small smile while safely landing the two of you on a nearby rooftop. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you” you mumbled, enjoying being on solid ground again. “Speaking of which though, I wasn’t exactly expecting you”

“Yeah, Red Hood called me and Robin for back up as soon as Black Mask walked off alone with you” he explained. “I can get these chains off, but it’s gonna hurt a little. Is that ok?” He asked. You nodded shutting your eyes again as you let Tim free you. “I’ve got your suit too, figured I’d grab it on the way out”

“Thanks, where’s Red Hood and Robin?” You asked, taking the small bag with your things from him. You stepped behind the stairwell entrance and quickly changed.

“Both on the roof where you just were. Hood’s going after Black Mask, and I think Robin’s with his goons” he answered, tucking the gadget he’d used to free you back into his belt securely.

“So I’m a little confused, what exactly is the goal here?” You asked, adjusting you’d hair so it was out of the way while walking back toward Tim.

“I think Hood’s just trying to get Black Mask into custody, but he seemed beyond pissed when he went after him” he replied. A sigh left your lips as you shook your head.

“Ok, you wanna go with Robin and I’ll see if I can catch up with Hood?” You asked, taking an earpiece that Tim held out to you. It was pretty easy to put on, but Tim had to help you turn it on.

“I figured that’s how it was gonna go. Me and Robin will finish up with the muscle and meet up with you and Hood when we’re done” he commented. You nodded slightly, letting Tim grapple the both of you back up onto the roof top you’d just gotten pushed off of.

It was pretty easy to weave through the fighting and slip back down stairs into the building. As soon as you made it back into that horrid office you saw Jason and Sionis in a heated fight. Neither one of them seemed to be letting up on any attacks.

Both men were bleeding from some place on their body, but it didn’t seem to deter them. Jason spotted you out of the corner of his eye, and you wish you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face. His helmet was in the way from telling, so you just decided to help him out. As good as you and Jason were at fighting with each other, nothing compared to what it was like when you teamed up. Sionis held his own for a minute, but against the both of you there was no way he stood a chance.

Jason ripped Sionis’ mask off of him and tossed it to the side. He got a grip on his hair and lifted him off the ground. He tossed his body against the leg of his desk, making the older man groan in pain. He looked up at Jason with a bloodied face and beaten body, breathing labored from taking all of Jason’s blows.

“It’s over Sionis” Jason declared, standing up y’all as he caught his breath. You stood on Jason’s left side, slightly behind him silently looking over his wounds. “You’re gonna rot in a cell, like you deserve”

“Over? If you think this is over, you’re sorely mistaken” Sionis spat shakily. Before either you or Jason could react, you felt a white hot pain sear through your abdomen and the roaring sound of a gunshot. You fell to ground with a gasp, clutching your gut in agony. Your hand immediately was coated in a thick layer of blood, and the last thing you heard was another gunshot and a cry of your name.

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