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prfctparis · 11 months

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I’d Give You My Lungs So You Can Breathe (I’ve Got You, Brother) [CH1]

AO3 Link / Next / Masterlist

summary:

Danny Fenton was adopted at age ten, with little to no memories about his former family. At age fourteen, he died yet lived and those memories began to return. He didn’t do anything about those memories – didn’t plan to, at least not yet – but then he got captured by the GIW, saved by his friends and someone who might be his sister who he only somewhat remembered, and taken to Gotham to, apparently, his biological father for safety until further notice.

Team Phantom was there, too, and they did not sign up for this family drama.

a/n:

so i figured i’d post this here too, since there are so many dcxdp lovers on here, and in case someone has no access to ao3 somehow or just doesn’t use it…well, here you go! also i’m bored & this blog needs some action lmao. anyway, this first chapter is technically a prologue, but whatever. there are 2 more chapters i have already written (which are also on ao3), so i’ll upload them here in a day or so if anyone wants me to, and i’m gradually working on the next one. hope you guys enjoy! FYI, so no one is confused, in this athanasia is danny’s twin – not damian :)

warnings for the entire fic:

canon-typical violence of the DC variety; angst; memory loss/repressed memories; do i need to say major character death(s) or is that just a given for this fandom; questionable parenting tho every parent is trying to do good & care for the kids; implied/referenced past child abuse bc of the child assassin backgrounds; pls tell me if i missed something

CHAPTER ONE —

[italicized conversations are implied to be spoken in arabic]

At age ten, he didn’t remember much of anything.

He woke up at the edge of some woods, in dirty and dark clothes that, for some reason, made his mind go Assassin. His head was fuzzy, and the left side of both his chest and back hurt, and there were streaks of dark brown-ish red on his hands that flaked off when he scratched at them.

Eventually, he got up. The sun was rising, and he needed to figure out where he was. So, he walked. He walked, and walked, and when he made into a town, he kept on walking. The sign read ‘Amity Park’ in English.

…That unnerved him. Usually he didn’t read things in English. Right? They were in another language, letters and words read from right to left rather than left to right. Arabic, his mind supplied.

Why was everything in English? he thought, a little hysterical, and then tensed, eyes roaming around as if someone might have heard him – might have had a sixth sense to sniff out fear.

He wasn’t allowed to be afraid, or panic. He couldn’t afford to. He couldn’t. Because…

Because of what?

“Excuse me?” A young voice broke his thoughts.

He spun around and saw a girl with red hair and blue headband with a backpack on her shoulders. She was older than him by a few years…maybe.

(He was ten. How he knew that, he didn’t know, but he was ten.)

“Are you lost?”

Face careful not to show any emotion, he glanced around. The roads were beginning to get busy. People were walking out of buildings, and into other ones.

The girl just smiled – nothing that made him want to bolt, or fight to get away, or freeze in fear. It was…kind. “It’s okay if you are, I can help you. I’m Jasmine,” she said. “But most people just call me Jazz; it’s a nickname. Can you tell me yours?” She knelt down. Some of the nerves dissipated at the action; no longer was she standing over him.

For a moment, he continued to eye her suspiciously. Then, he looked away with furrowed brows as he tried to think. His name… It started with a ‘D’.

“…Danny,” he spoke, voice quiet but rough, after a few more seconds, and looked back at her. He didn’t know much of anything right now, but he did know someone used to call him that. It was short for something. “My nickname is Danny.”

Jasmine – or Jazz – smiled again. “That must be short for Daniel,” she said.

No… Yes? He didn’t know. It didn’t feel right, but not really wrong, either. So, he shrugged.

“Well, Danny,” Jazz began, “can you answer my first question? Are you lost? It’s okay if you can’t, but I still want to help you.”

“I…think so,” he spoke slowly. And, much to his embarrassment, his throat started to tighten with panic. “The sign said Amity Park. But I do not– I do not know where that is.”

“Yeah. You’re in Amity Park, Illinois.” Then, belatedly, “In America.” Her brows pulled together. “Do you- Do you know how you got here?”

He started to shake his head slowly, but the panic and fear had reached their peaks. The movement became rapid, and tears made his eyes sting. “I do– I do not know, I–.” His breath stuttering cut his words off, but the action moved his wounds on his chest and back and he winced, pressing a hand to the one near his heart. “I do not know how, or what happened to– to me, and it hurts.”

Jazz’s eyes widened. “Okay. Okay, it’s okay – I’ll help you. Will you let me?”

Something in him told him to say no. To run. This girl wasn’t trustworthy; she could be dangerous.

But he was scared. Terrified. (Why didn’t he know anything?) So he ignored that first instinct with a shaky nod as tears ran down his cheeks.

And Jazz helped him.

Jazz ended up becoming his sister. His older sister. That adjective to describe her was important to him, for some reason. Adoptive less so. She was his sister – adoptive or not – that was who she was; but she was older.

Maddie and Jack – who, eventually, became Mom and Dad to him, and who, as absent as they were, really did love both him and Jazz – asked once if Danny had a little sister, one day after he had explained that to them offhandedly.

Danny thought. He tried to remember.

“…No,” he answered. Because as far as he knew, he didn’t.

But also because saying, I don’t know, was getting exhausting. He’s only been with them a few months.

He grew to hate not knowing things.

(Jazz said it was anxiety, or potentially paranoia, but also maybe PTSD. Danny thought she was just being a know-it-all with her new found love of psychology.)

Some days it felt like he was missing something. Not just his memories, but something that was a part of him. Another person, or two.

Maddie and Jack would say something odd, or confusing, and he would turn to look at someone who wasn’t there to silently question and/or judge them.

At age fourteen, Danny, on a dare, did something very, very stupid.

He died, but also didn’t.

He accidentally got his parents’ ghost machine to work and now ghosts caused chaos in town.

He became Phantom – a halfa; someone who was dead, but also alive – and became the town’s vigilante, of sorts.

He…began to remember.

This wasn’t the first time he died but lived.

Sam and Tucker, his two best friends, were there at the accident, so they knew from the get-go. He told Jasmine, not too long after, mostly because she suspected something and he was shit at lying to her, but he told her. Mom and Dad, avid ghost hunters, were kept in the dark about it.

For a while, no one knew he was starting to get his memories back. After all, how was he supposed to explain that he was a former child assassin?

But then he had a nightmare-esque memory of being a child with a katana in his hands, a girl his age close by, and a toddler between them. Someone barked orders in Arabic.

He was forced to kill.

(Not the girl, nor the toddler. But someone. Someone who didn’t deserve it.)

Danny woke up having a panic attack, with Jazz hovering over him. After some tears, calming down, and spending the following two hours sitting in silence on his bed with his older sister, he finally told her.

There were more tears.

Jazz just held her little brother tightly.

Sam once brought up that he fought like someone who was used to somebody being beside him.

He feigned confusion and chuckled. “What?”

“When you fight, you leave blind spots open,” she explained further. “Like you’re relying on someone who isn’t there.”

Tucker nodded. “She’s right. I noticed, too.”

Danny shrugged. “That’s just how I fight,” he said. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

What he didn’t say, was that he now had a fuzzy memory of fighting with someone – that girl his age from his memories. But it wasn’t necessarily fighting as it was training, and it wasn’t always with one another but also against each other.

Sam hummed. “Okay, Danny.”

Dan happened.

Danny didn’t want to become Dan.

He began having nightmares of an old man dressed in green radiating pride because of him – because he was Dan.

It made him sick.

Vlad Masters – also known as Plasmius, also also known as a pain in Danny’s ass – cloned him.

He now had a little sister. Ellie. Vlad named her Danielle, and she at first went by Dani, but that got too confusing, so. Ellie, she became.

She roamed around the world after the whole situation with Vlad got handled, and Danny let her. But they kept in touch, and she often told him where she was headed, or where she was resting, or how long until she might come back.

Sometimes when she stopped by, when they were hanging out, something about her jogged fuzzy memories of a little brother. But then sometimes the way she fought with him against Vlad and ghosts brought up vague snippets of another sister.

At age fifteen, he defeated Pariah Dark. Enough said.

He also told Mom and Dad about the ghost thing. And the assassin kid thing. They took it well, considering.

He no longer had to worry about vivisection by his parents, or about being kicked about because he killed someone as a child and they were now scared of him, or something.

They still loved him. He loved them.

Memories about his childhood were still sparse, though they were gradually coming back.

(Some good. Most bad. Danny woke up from nightmares far too many times, nowadays.)

“Are you… Are going to want to find them? Your family, I mean,” Dad asked, late one night when Mom was asleep and Jazz was studying and Danny decided to bother him instead of his older sister when he came home with a large gash on his arm from Skulker.

It was random, but he still answered. “Um, maybe eventually. My younger siblings, at least. I don’t know their names, or even if…”

“Well, when you decide to, I’ll help out in any way,” he said.

He smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”

Dad smiled, gently ruffled his hair, and then pulled him into a near-crushing hug. “Of course, Dan-o.”

At age seventeen, the GIW barged into Amity.

It didn’t go well.

They caught him.

He didn’t get out until after he turned eighteen.

+++

At age ten, Athanasia watched her grandfather run a sword through her twin brother’s chest from the shadows.

She stood there, numb and in shock. A voice in her head screamed at her that, if someone were to attack right now, she would also die. She couldn’t help but not care when her twin brother was bleeding out before her eyes.

And unless she wanted to face Grandfather’s wrath as well, she couldn’t do anything about it.

Grandfather, with a casual swipe to clean his sword, turned away. “Clean this up,” he ordered the servants. He flicked his wrist to Dányál. “Rid of the body. It is time I speak with Talia.”

The servants obeyed. A couple began to clean. One picked up Dányál and began to leave, staunching the blood with cloths as to not leave a trail. On quiet feet, Athanasia followed.

Suspicion and confusion addled her brain when she realized the servant was going to one of the Pits. Her footsteps became more determined, but no less quiet.

She followed them to the Pit. Watched how the servant dunked him into it until the wound was no longer life threatening. Then followed them to one of the many hidden exits. Watched as the servant left with her twin brother for good.

Her other half was gone. Something in her shattered.

Athanasia now had a burning hatred for Ra’s al Ghul.

Life in the League was different now, without her twin. Too different.

She wanted out, but couldn’t leave Damian.

Not yet, anyway.

At age eleven, she met Jason Todd. Sort of.

He was catatonic, most of the first year, but still a good fighter. She was mostly indifferent to him, the adoptive son of her biological father.

(Mother didn’t know she knew about that, about Bruce Wayne – the Batman – being her, Dányál’s, and Damian’s father. But there were so many times she would overhear Ra’s complain about the man and Mother’s previous relationship with him before things clicked together.)

But then she learned Jason shouldn’t even be breathing, and her indifference turned into intrigue.

Alive, but should be dead? It reminded her of Dányál. Made her wonder if he was catatonic as well, wherever that servant took him.

Her feelings about him did a 180 when she noticed Mother looked at him how she used to look at Dányál, years ago. The looks stopped when Dányál first began to voice his dislike about killing, but now here that look was, directed towards a boy no older than sixteen.

That look stayed after she dunked him in a Lazarus Pit, and Jason, in Pit induced rage, killed everyone in the room he woke up in. It formed into pride – a look Athanasia never saw towards Dányál.

It angered her. What – was Mother trying to replace her twin brother with Batman’s lame sidekick? She was offended on her twin’s behalf, wherever he was now.

On one of the nights she snuck into Damian’s rooms to spend time with him, the young boy noticed her anger. He asked what was wrong. She told him nothing. He scowled in that way when he knew someone was lying and there was no one to reprimand him on unnecessary emotional expressions. She flicked his ear. He hissed. She rolled her eyes.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” she told him. “Now – tell me why I heard about another fight between you and our dear cousin, Mara.”

Damian’s scowl turned into a sneer. An impressive one, too, for a six year old. “She insulted Dányál. Called him weak.” He paused. “So I bit her.”

Athanasia had never been more proud.

At age twelve, she spoke to Jason for the first time.

“Tell me about Batman.”

Jason turned, confused surprise clear as day on his face as he looked at her. “They have kids here?”

She stared at him, unblinking. “Tell me,” she repeated, demanding, “about Batman.”

He crossed his arms, eyes calculating as he continued to stare back. His head tilted, his eyes squinted, and then his brows rose like he saw something that he wasn’t expecting.

Agitated, she said, “Do you need another dunk in a Pit? Are you still catatonic? Answer me, Todd.” She snapped the last sentence in Arabic.

Jason rolled his eyes. He muttered a few cuss words. “Why do you want to know about Batman?”

“I need to know.”

“That doesn’t answer my question–.”

“And you have yet to answer mine,” she sneered.

They had a stare down. Jason blinked first – Athanasia smirked. He cussed again and ran a hand through his hair, which now had a white streak in it ever since he got dunked.

“He’s a detective. A good one,” he said. “One of the best, if not the best.”

She nodded once. “Is he a good man?”

That caught him off guard. For a moment, he didn’t answer, and she began to worry that her plan was already failing and she hadn’t even started it yet.

“Yes. Yeah, he’s a good man. Flawed to hell and back, but he’s good.” His brows pulled together. “Why? Why ask me?”

“Because you are his son, and he is your father.”

The teen glowered. “He is not–!”

Athanasia left before she could hear his dramatics.

There weren’t many moments where Athanasia spent one on one time with Talia. At least, moments where the woman wasn’t training her into a perfect assassin. Sitting here, in front of her vanity, with Mother braiding her hair and humming quietly, was a rarity.

And Athanasia was about to ruin it.

“I want to fake my death.”

Mother’s hands froze where they were nearly done braiding her hair. “Excuse me?”

“I want to fake my death,” she repeated. Maybe Mother liked Jason so much because they both needed phrases spoken twice, she thought. “To find Dányál.”

“What,” Mother hissed.

“And then,” she went on, staring straight back at Mother through the mirror, as if daring her to interrupt or refuse, “I want you to send Damian to our father, Bruce Wayne – the Batman.”

“And why would either of us do those things?” Mother asked slowly, dangerously.

“Because I watched Grandfather run a sword through my twin’s chest, and then I watched him be put in a Lazarus Pit to keep him alive by one of your servants who was disguising himself as one of Grandfather’s. Because I do not want be the heir, and I want to find my brother, and I do not want this life for Damian, and Jason Todd said Bruce Wayne is a good man.”

Mother didn’t respond right away. They continued to stare at one another through the mirror.

“If you have an ounce of love for any of us, you will help me.”

Mother finished the braid, then sent her away to her room.

Athanasia instead went to Jason’s rooms, where she snuck in again and poked through his collection of books Mother brought him. He complained and tried to get her to leave. She jabbed him in the gut with her elbow and asked what made Batman, Bruce Wayne, good.

Jason cussed her out.

He still explained what made his father good.

(“There is a very likely chance he will not remember you. As well as restoring memories, it can take them away.”

“I know, Mother.”

“Do you?”)

At age fourteen, Athanasia did just what she planned to do.

She faked her death.

But not without speaking to Damian first.

“Listen to me,” Athanasia said, hands cupping Damian’s face. He tried to move away. She gripped tighter, but still made sure not to hurt him. “Listen to me,” she stressed, “I am leaving. I have to go somewhere, and I will not be back until I find Dányál.”

“Dányál is–.”

“I said what I said,” she interrupted. “Understand?”

He scowled. It was cute. “No.”

“Too bad. Do not stop pestering Mother about meeting our Father, understand? Hopefully the next time we see each other, you will be with him and I will have our brother. But when you do meet him, do not mention me or Danny. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Good.”

Damian huffed. “Remove your hands before I remove them for you.”

“No,” she said, and pulled him into a rare hug. He squawked, and wiggled away not even a second later. “Fight Mara for me while I’m gone.”

She slipped him a communicator she remade that only went to the matching one she was keeping for herself. He hid it in his clothes immediately.

And then she left to die, but not really.

Her heart stopped for five minutes.

At age sixteen, she finally found her should-be-dead brother.

He was in a haunted town in Illinois. Ghosts were real, apparently, and made themselves at home in this town. It was…odd. And ironic. And Athanasia couldn’t be happier.

She found that he was adopted by a scientific couple, who went from hunting ghosts with no ethics at all to studying ghosts with ethics. They had an 19 year old daughter named Jasmine, and Dányál went solely by ‘Danny’ but everyone (adults, really) occasionally called him ‘Daniel’. He had two best friends: Sam Manson and Tucker Foley. They were good people.

Dányál also seemed to be unknowingly following in their father’s footsteps. He and Phantom were obviously the same person. Although, Phantom often called himself a ghost. Dányál wasn’t one.

And as much as Athanasia wanted to make her presence known, and hug her twin for the first time in six years… She couldn’t. He was happy here, even with constantly fighting ghosts.

So, with plans to keep an eye on him, she left Amity Park.

And then went to Gotham City.

A year ago, Damian sent through their one way communicators that he was now with Father. From time to time, she now checked on Damian from afar when passing through, not yet in person because Dányál still wasn’t with her.

She also regularly broke into Jason Todd’s safe houses and stole one or two guns, or pushed the furniture five inches in various directions, or messed up his meticulously organized books, or stole food that he made.

It wasn’t what she saw herself doing after faking her death, but, well… At least they were all out of the League.

At age seventeen, she got word the League infiltrated the Ghost Investigation Ward.

And they had Phantom.

She wasn’t able to get him out until after she turned eighteen.

+++

At age five, Damian lost a brother.

The day started out normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. He trained, sometimes with Mother, but more often than not with other instructors. Sometimes Grandfather watched, and he did this time. It surprised him, not that he would show it.

Later that night, Athanasia snuck in. Unshed tears were in her eyes. Immediately, he was on alert.

“…Uhkti?” he asked.

Athanasia moved to sit in front of him on his bed. She reached her hands out until she was cupping his face, which was odd. Dányál did that, usually, but almost always to be annoying. The action felt…weird coming from his sister in a more serious way. He wanted to move but was frozen.

“I have to tell you something,” she spoke slowly.

With a start, he realized she was sad. Why was she sad? Not many things could upset his big sister.

“What is it?”

“…Dányál is gone,” she said. Her voice choked. “Dán– Danny is gone, Dames. He… He will not be coming back to the League. I’m sorry.”

Damian’s confusion crumbled into sorrow.

Seeing Athanasia without Dányál was something he didn’t like. For the most part, they didn’t allow the kids to interact outside of training, their cousin Mara al Ghul and the children of the Demon’s Fist included. All, except the twins.

They were born together. They lived together. They trained together – but also sometimes against each other. Those always turned into draws.

Two halves of a whole.

He once heard someone call them the Twin Terrors. He understood why – they were ruthless when they fought by themselves, but decimated opponents when they were side by side. Damian expected them to lead the Demon’s Fist together – and they did, for a short time. But then something changed.

It was abruptly only Dányál. But then Dányál died. Then it was Athanasia.

Mara said it should be her. She taunted his sister. She then began to taunt him. Athanasia never gave in, but during training she didn’t hold back. Damian did give in and vowed to beat his cousin in every fight against her, training or not.

No one called his brother weak.

(Mother seemed to agree. Two members of the League got caught speaking about perhaps Dányál al Ghul just wasn’t strong enough. They were gone by nightfall, and Damian walked in on Mother cleaning blood off of her sword.)

At age seven, he first noticed Athanasia’s hatred at their Grandfather.

It was during a training session. Him against his sister. Grandfather was watching and judging. Athanasia beat him, but he came close to beating her.

It was when Grandfather had his back turned, when they were off to the side tending to bruises and wounds, when Damian glanced up at Athanasia and saw nothing but pure hatred on her face.

It was gone a second later.

Damian almost thought he imagined it. Almost.

“Who killed our brother?” he asked one night.

They were sitting on the window sill of an opened window, squished together as they watched the stars. It was uncomfortable. Damian didn’t mind.

“Why do you think I know?” she asked in return.

“Because you are you. You learn things – detect them out.”

“‘Detect’ is a big word for a seven year old.”

“I will gut you like a pig–.”

She never told him.

He had his suspicions, though.

At age nine, Athanasia left him. Left the League of Assassins.

She said she would see him again when she found Dányál and, seeing as though their brother was dead, Damian knew he would most likely never see her again.

He sort of hated her for leaving.

Though, he still took the communicator she gave him and kept it on his persons at all times, just in case.

Just a week after she left, word spread through the League that Athanasia al Ghul died during a mission gone wrong. Mother came back with bloodstained clothes and a look in her eyes that made Damian refrain from asking any questions.

A servant tried to offer their condolences. Mother slit their throat.

He continued to ask Mother about his Father, though. She continued to refuse, and said he would learn about the man once he beat her in a fight.

Damian took that challenge to heart and made sure he got better and better and better – until he was as good as his older siblings.

Mara continued to be an annoyance and a pain. With now two of Talia’s children dead and gone, she taunted Damian with how pathetic they were. How Dányál was killed because he began to defy orders and refuse to kill. How it was only a matter of time before Damian died, too, and she would be the true rightful heir to the Demon’s Fist and then the Demon’s Head.

It was far from the truth. He might not be the fighters and killers Dányál and Athanasia were, but he was better than Mara. After all, he was the only blood son of Talia al Ghul and a great, powerful man he desperately wanted to meet. He was a far better assassin than Mara ever was.

They fought against each other during training again.

He won, of course.

He also blinded her in one eye.

At age ten, he finally got to leave to meet his father. It was not as he was expecting.

There was a rule: no killing. Damian didn’t like that rule. That was how Dányál got killed himself.

What he also didn’t like, were the hundreds of other children Father had – apparently they were Damian’s siblings. He already had siblings, two of them, and they were both gone, and he didn’t need any more of them.

He sent Athanasia a message saying that he was now with Father. He got a simple, ‘Good,’ in response and nothing else.

He was both relieved she was alive and angry that she still hadn’t come back.

“Where the fuck is your sister?” Todd asked after they first met.

Damian stared him dead in the eyes and asked, “What sister?”

“Y’know… Your older sister,” he said.

“I don’t have a sister.”

“Um, yes, you do.”

“Then what is her name?”

“It’s… Well, what the fuck does that matter? She’s your sister, you should know!”

“I told you, I do not have a sister. Do you need to be dumped in the Pit to fix your brain again?”

Todd paused. He then let out a string of curses and angrily left.

Damian smirked to himself.

Shortly afterward, Father died. Except, Timothy Drake, like the idiot that he was, believed that he was still alive.

In that way, he reminded Damian of Athanasia and how she left to find she left to find Dányál, and he also reminded him of Dányál when he snarked while fighting, which he was admittedly great at. He also excelled at detective work.

Drake eventually left to find Batman.

Damian hated Drake.

Richard Grayson was…okay. Certainly better than Drake, the insolent whelp that he was. Grayson took up Batman, Damian was Robin. It was rough at first, but they eventually got the hang of it.

It just…took some time.

And then of course Drake came back with evidence that Father was, in fact, alive.

(Damian also had a metal spine, now, but that was neither here nor there.)

At age eleven, Father came back from being lost in the time stream.

Richard went back to Blüdhaven. Drake came and went from his own place and to the manor. Todd did his own things as per usual. Cain came and went, too, but often tried to spend time with Damian.

Drake tried once, too. It shockingly went well – right up until ‘Dames’ slipped out of his mouth.

“Do not call me that,” Damian snapped, the awkward but good atmosphere disappearing within milliseconds.

Drake startled. “Whoa, okay,” he said. His hands were held up as if he was surrendering. “All right, I won’t. I’m sor– wait, Damian, come back! I’m sorry!”

Damian ignored him and stalked to his room.

At age twelve, his communicator with Athanasia went off, the message telling him to look into the Ghost Investigation Ward immediately.

Only, he didn’t see or hear it.

He was dead, at the time, thanks to Heretic.

He didn’t see it until after he came back. He tried to get into contact with his sister once he did, but something blocked the connection.

It wasn’t until months later, now at age thirteen, when he heard from her again.

And she had Dányál with her.

#dc x dp crossover #dc x dp au #dcxdp #dc x dp fic #dp x dc #dc x dp fanfiction #idk which one to use so why not all of them #my writing #hope u guys enjoy!#dpxdc #dp x dc fic #dp x dc au #danny phantom #dc #stay with me my blood #batpham

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stargirlaveblog · 3 months

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7Seals

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Chapter 13

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•Previous Chapter: Chapter Twelve

•Next Chapter: Chapter Fourteen

•Chapter List

•New chapters every Thursday

•Content: Levi Ackerman × OC female. Slow Burn! Canon verse!

•Word Count: 2.7k

•Warning: This content may not be suitable for all readers. If you've watched all of AOT then you will understand that the show handles heavy subjects such as abuse, racism, violence, and other heavy subjects. This fanfiction will also have the same heavy themes. Chapters with heavy themes will be marked with * at each chapter.

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A/N: Hey babes! I just want to say thank you all for the support. This is my first ever fanfiction & using Tumblr so thanks for the patience and positivity. I’ve read a lot of fanfics to the point I was running out. (I’m a picky bitch) I got to the point where I had an itch that wasn’t being scratched. I needed something so angsty and tension ridden that I decided to create my own story. I hope you guys enjoy this story because I have no plan of ending it anytime soon. Within the next month or so I plan on uploading this fic on Wattpad & ao3 as well. I understand it might be difficult to read on here, bare with me. I’m not tech savvy unfortunately. (2-24-24)

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The infirmary was a place where the scent of antiseptic hung heavier than Hange's lab. I don't know which one I'd rather be at. Hange would just talk my ear off, a lot better than being poked and prodded at. Who knows with Hange though, I could end up as their test subject at any moment. I guess the doctor is a safer option, one that I can hold accountable.

The doctor, with all the charm of a brick wall, attempted to order me around as she waltzed around the room. I didn't want to listen to her, there was no reason for me to be here anyway.

"Sit down, Iris," she demanded.

"I'm fine. I just need new wraps, that's all. I can handle the rest myself," I countered, my bravado masking the twinge of pain radiating from my battered body.

The doctor sighed, her expression a mix of 'Not again' and 'Why me.' She was over my shit and I was over hers as well. I avoid her just as much as she avoids me.

The door swung open without the courtesy of a knock, and in walked Levi, the epitome of perpetual grumpiness.

"When will you learn to knock?" I threw at him, but Mr. Manners over here didn't seem to care.

"Brat," he grumbled, his eyes quickly scanning the room. "Why am I here?"

"She won't sit," the doctor lamented like she was dealing with a toddler who refuses to eat their veggies.

Did she really call the Captain on me?

If Levi hadn't walked in maybe she would have accepted her fate and dealt with the defeat. Levi's eyes laser-focused on me, or maybe it was just his usual stare.

"Your ribs," he stated, a command more than a question. "Sit down."

In reluctant submission, I perched on the uncomfortable examination table, a sigh escaping my lips. The doctor prodded and pressed on every inch of my battered body. I winced, particularly as their fingers found the tender spots on my lower ribs, the pain shooting through me like a lightning bolt.

"I'm fine," I groaned through the discomfort, attempting to downplay the obvious.

"No, you're not," the doctor retorted, unyielding in her assessment. I shot her a scowl as she continued to deliver the unwelcome prognosis.

"Your ribs never healed properly. Maybe if you did as you were told we wouldn't be here. Rest for two weeks, and then we'll have another follow-up."

"Thrilling," I deadpanned, envisioning the excitement of two weeks staring at the ceiling. Levi's glower intensified, probably sensing the impending chaos of my forced downtime.

"She is not to engage in any training or expeditions until she is cleared, Captain," she declared, her stern gaze landing squarely on me.

Levi, arms crossed in that brooding way of his, shot a glare that could make even a Titan think twice.

"Oh, trust me. She won't be."

"I'll be fine. Stop overreacting," I mumbled, dismissing their concern with a wave of my hand. Death and I were like old pals—flirty but never too serious.

"No. You are not fine," the doctor asserted, her exasperation palpable. "You just love flirting with death, don't you?"

"Yeah, just a bit," I grinned, hopping off the examination table as if I hadn't just narrowly escaped becoming Titan chow.

"You're not done," the doctor stated firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"Oh, I can just wrap it myself," I offered, trying to sidestep more medical attention.

"Wrong. You'll come to my office every day to get it wrapped,"

"That's okay. I got it," I insisted, attempting to regain control over my destiny.

"It's not an option. You have nothing else to do anyway," Levi chimed in, his annoyance practically a tangible force.

"Paperwork," I informed Levi, I can only envision the burdensome stacks scattered across his desk. "You have mounds of it."

"You can get that done after," he dismissed, a casual wave of his hand.

"Fine, whatever. Just wrap me already," I groaned, reluctantly surrendering to the inevitable visit to the infirmary.

And just like that, my grand plans for rebellion were crushed under the heel of duty and responsibility. No expeditions, no training, just the thrilling routine of daily bandaging sessions. Not even paperwork could get me out of this situation. The glamour of soldier life, they said.

Levi, ever the epitome of brevity, left the doctor's office, leaving me alone with her—a situation I deeply dreaded.

"So," she began, a faux pleasantness tainting her voice. I, on the other hand, contemplated escaping through the window.

"How've you been?"

"Great," I replied, my tone implying anything but.

She rolled her eyes, her hands deftly wrapping my protesting ribs. "Uh-huh," she continued, winding the bandages tighter.

"And sleep? How's that going for you?"

"Amazing. The full eight hours and occasional naps every day," I retorted, my sarcasm dripping like honey.

"Oh really?" she pressed on, unfazed.

"Oh yeah, best sleep I've had in years," I replied with a grin that didn't quite reach my eyes.

"Your eyes say otherwise," she observed, a touch too perceptive for comfort.

I opted for silence as she finished wrapping my ribs, hopping off the bed with an air of finality.

"Anything else, doc?"

"You need to rest," she insisted, stating the impossible.

"You know I can't do that," I shot back, walking out the door before she could further encroach on my stubborn resolve.

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Same old slop bean soup, the Scouts' daily culinary masterpiece – or disaster, depending on how you view things. Trash for us while the other military branches dined like royalty.

With an air of resigned acceptance, I served the lackluster fare into a container, the same repetitive soup that graced our tables day in and day out. Lars, the scouts' chef and bearer of both good and bad news, shattered any hope of something different.

"No bacon today, miss," he declared.

"Shocker," I mutter, unenthusiastically piling the obligatory veggies and bread into a basket.

"This is for the Captain," he grins pulling out a tin canister at his side from his apron.

"I'll make sure he knows. Might even crack a rare smile from humanity's stoic wall." I said taking the canister and quickly putting it in the basket before anyone else sees.

Lars beamed with pride. Everyone admired Captain Levi, and winning his favor in the food department was an achievement, especially for me. Often they would add small bags of sugar in my basket for the Captain or sometimes sweets from the ladies.

It worked in my favor most of the time. Captain didn't want the luxurious treats from his admirers but he did want all the sugar. It was a compromise I was content with. While the girls in the regiment splurged their savings on the Captain thinking it would work in their favor, I snacked on each item.

"To the office?" Eld inquired, strategically positioning himself to block my path.

I can never have a moment to myself.

"Yeah, the thrilling world of paperwork awaits," I replied, attempting to sidestep his social invitation. The mundane mess hall was the last place I wanted to linger.

"Stay, have dinner with us for once," he urged his hand landing on my arm in a well-intentioned but entirely unwelcome gesture.

"Let go,"

Eld complied, but the echoes of his touch lingered, reigniting a familiar anger as I left the mess hall, basket in hand, and a taste of frustration.

Eld doesn't know the details but knows enough to understand I don't like being touched. He's been around enough to know, he's seen enough to know. They all have.

I pushed open Levi's office door, an uninvited guest with a basket full of shit as an excuse for dinner. The room was suffused with the flickering glow of lanterns, and the warmth from the fireplace competed with Levi's ever-present scowl.

As expected, the man himself, sipping tea and drowning in a sea of paperwork, shot me a scowl as I strolled in unannounced.

"It's polite to knock," he scolded, his eyes narrowing.

"Pot calling the kettle black. When was the last time you knocked before barging in?"

Politeness and Levi were distant relatives, especially when it came to door-knocking etiquette. I couldn't help but wonder how many innocent souls fell victim to his uncanny ability to barge in unannounced, even in the men's restroom.

Ignoring his irritated huff, I set the basket on his side table and began unpacking our lovely dinner. Bread, potatoes, carrots, and the perpetually present bean soup – the Scouts' culinary masterpiece. The meat was a luxury reserved for those suicidal expeditions defending humanity.

"I brought you dinner," I declared, crafting a plate for him even though he would insist he was not hungry. The man needed sustenance beyond tea and stress, and someone had to remind him.

"I'm not hungry."

Shocker.

"Shut it. You're going to eat it or I'm going to shove it down your throat," I threatened, depositing the plate on his desk with a decisive thud.

His steel eyes, momentarily diverted from the paperwork, met mine. Levi's face remained an emotionless canvas, an unreadable mask only occasionally betraying a hint of anger. He took a begrudging bite of the bread, showcasing his usual efficiency in devouring it.

What a brat.

"Happy?" he deadpanned, pushing the plate away after a few bites.

"You burn more calories than you take in, Captain. Ever thought about a balanced diet? Y'know one that's not tea and stress?" I smirked at him.

"You are my stress." He said rubbing his temples.

"Oh really?" I challenged him, leaning on his desk. "Last time I checked, I'm the reason you've survived this long."

Levi's eyebrow quirked, his arms crossed, and he leaned in, eyeing me with that infuriatingly unreadable expression.

"Let's not forget I'm the reason you haven't bled out and died yet."

"Well, I'm the reason you have all these fancy teas," I snubbed him. "We both know without me by your side, your likability would be rock bottom."

"We both know I don't give a shit about status," he growled.

"You should," Hange's voice chimed in from the doorway.

I felt my body jolt back as Levi did the same, a rare moment of synchronized surprise.

"Oh, sorry," Hange giggled. "Do you think we interrupted something, Moblit?"

"What do you want, Hange?" Levi groaned, snapping us all back to reality.

They barged into Levi's office like they owned the place, plopping down on his couch with all the grace of a nosy neighbor. Moblit loyally stood by, an unwilling participant in Hange's grand entrance.

"Wow!" Hange gasped dramatically. "Can't I visit my very best friends I haven't seen in a while?"

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You just saw us four hours ago."

"Oh, so you guys can hang out together, but I can't join?" Hange played the victim, poking at invisible wounds.

"We aren't hanging out," Levi and I shouted in unison, our frustration evident.

My ears burned but my cheeks grew hotter at the accusation.

"Really? Then what was all that I saw a moment ago?" Hange prodded, determined to stir the pot.

"Me trying to get this mutt to eat," I groaned, gesturing towards Levi, who shot me a glare that could freeze hell over.

Levi's head snapped toward me, a warning in his eyes. "Watch it, brat," he growled.

I rolled my eyes, choosing to ignore his threat, my attention fixed on Hange. They leisurely got up, stretching their entire body with an exaggerated yawn.

"Well, I guess I'll get going. Be expecting me soon, though! We have some big things to go over," they declared, strolling out the door. Their head peeked back in, a mischievous smirk playing on their lips. "Bye, you two."

"Come on, Moblit. We have planning to do," Hange's voice echoed down the hallway, lingering even after the door closed, leaving Levi and me alone once again.

I flopped onto the couch, covering my eyes with my arms to block out the light.

"What was that about me being stressful again?" I teased Levi.

"Shut it," he groaned. "Be quiet or get out. I have work to do."

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Gasping for air, I struggled to move, my limbs heavy as if the weight of the world pressed down on me. My feeble attempts to stay conscious were futile.

Coughs wracked my body relentlessly, and the metallic taste of blood coated my mouth, staining my clothes in macabre patterns.

The world spun around me, a disorienting blur that refused to make sense. Panic set in as I tried to grasp the reality of the situation. What was happening to me?

His fist collided with another's face, each blow accompanied by a sickening crunch. His eyes, devoid of any trace of remorse, blazed with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

Crimson droplets dripped from his knuckles, creating a grotesque mosaic on the ground. He was forcefully pulled away, his breaths resonating like those of a rabid beast.

His eyes admired the bloodshed.

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"Iris!" I felt a hand urgently shaking my arm and another gripping my shoulder.

My eyes snapped open, and my hands instinctively shot toward the perceived threat, aiming for the throat of the intruder. Before I could tighten my grip, my arms were captured, restrained by a force I couldn't overpower.

"Wake up," a voice commanded its tone firm yet oddly soothing, accompanied by a hand gently resting on my head.

Levi.

Though my eyes were open, I struggled to transition. Levi's presence began to anchor me to reality.

"Breath," he instructed, locking eyes with me while still holding my wrists in a firm, grounding grip.

We found ourselves on the floor of his office, the crackling fire providing a grip on reality. My back leaned against the couch, and the warmth from the flames seemed distant.

"It hurts," I mumbled, my voice a fragile whisper.

"What hurts?" Levi questioned, his concern evident.

"It hurts to breathe," I replied more audibly, a hint of irritation seeping into my voice.

"Lay down on the couch," he ordered, his grip easing on my wrists.

"I can't. I need to get back to Alexander," I insisted, urgency tainting my words.

"Please, let go. It hurts."

His face appeared paler than usual, a stark contrast against the flickering firelight. Levi's words reached me, but their meaning blurred in my disoriented state.

"You're not awake," he asserted, rising and placing a cup in my hands, ensuring I had a firm grip to prevent any accidental spills. The cold tea trickled down my lips as I stared at the dancing flames behind him. He knelt beside me, still his rough callous hands covering my small puny finger as he held the cup.

"Alexander is in custody," he informed me, a somber note underlying his words.

"Drink," he commanded, lifting the cup to my lips.

As I sipped the tea, I noticed how close and docile he was with me. The heat of his body seeped through his clothes and into mine. The smell of mint and black tea radiated off of him, wafting my way with every move he made.

"What happened?" my voice a hushed murmur.

"You had another night of terror," he responded, his gaze shifting away.

"I realize that," I groaned, embarrassment flooding me. "What happened while I was out?"

"You were screaming," he admitted, his eyes avoiding mine.

"How long?" I pressed.

"At least ten minutes," he sighed. "I couldn't wake you."

Defeat settled over me as I absorbed the impact of my nightmares still haunting me after all these years.

"You're still dreaming about it?" Levi asked softly, his concern evident.

I met his gaze, and concern clouded his eyes, but I ignored it, choosing silence over confirmation. Four years had passed, yet the ghosts of the past lingered. I was still a prisoner to my dreams.

"No," I deflected, pushing myself off the ground and heading toward the door.

"Thanks for the tea, but I should probably get going. It's late. I didn't mean to fall asleep here. I'm sorry."

Without awaiting his response, I walked out the door, leaving the haunting shadows of the night terror behind.

Will I ever forget the devilish gaze in Levi's eyes that night?

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anonymous-kotlc-thoughts · 2 months

Note

I’ll be honest here guys (this is quite embarrassing but, you know).

When I was like fourteen and I think Legacy had just come out, but I was OBSESSED with BTS at the time. (To a semi unhealthy degree). While reading the book Shannon mentioned a post of a boy band on Amy Fosters wall that Sophie had never heard of before. I am assuming she was meaning to imply this was one direction. But you know. I’m insane. So I researched deeply into the KOTLC Time line and lined up all the events. Anyways Sophie left in 2012 which was a YEAR after one direction released their first album. Now 1D wasn’t at the height of their fame; snd Sophie was a socially awkward tween BUT I’m TELLING YOU GUYS. THEY WERE EVERYWHERE . Literally inescapable part of the western world, especially I would say in America where literally everyone fawned over UK accents. Uh anyways. From this thesis I figured that Sophie just could not have not know 1D. And I bet you right now they were on her iPod music playlist. Anyways I concluded that the boyband poster was BTS. Also one of my favourite songs from them at the time is called black swan. I had an animatic planned to it.

Now is where the ask SHOULD stop. Because, well… the rest is quite embarrassing but I think it’s funny.

With the collision of these two interests of mind some insane washed over me and I decided I had to write a fanfiction. It was about Amy Foster joining the neverseen around the same time as Tam and Glimmer were around and it had an ungodly amount of BTS references and fandom jokes that I think were there purely to make me giggle. I was having QUITE the time you see and I posted maybe four chapters to Ao3? It was a complete cringefest. But I enjoyed it and that’s all that mattered at the time !! (I still kinda live by that statement). Anyways I didn’t expect for it to be exactly a hit but I got a couple of hits and like maybe 2 Kudos. I was like cool, people are enjoying this. That’s great! Anyways I got a comment on the fic. It was something along the lines of “Imao what is this.”.

And dude.

Look I’m not THAT great at reading text but that broke me. I gave up writing the fic and pulled it from the platform. Suffice to say my tolerance for criticism wasn’t that good- but I’m proud to say I have really built up that cringe but free mindset lately and every year I grow stronger. Anyways to anyone who’s ever written a fic or done something that they found fun and joyful and whimsy and someone else was being a little hater (even if they didn’t mean it) I see you, I feel you and I hope you are able to find a happier space where you csn be cringe and free !!! 💜

#let people be cringe.#as long as it's not hurting anyone #if you don't like it #don't interact.#anonymous kotlc thoughts #kotlc #kotlc headcanons #kotlc fanfic

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gothcsz · 1 month

Text

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter VI.

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: The highly anticipated state fair performance. Here's what I envision Paloma singing: Gunpowder & Lead - Miranda Lambert, One Way or Another - Blondie, Poor, Poor Pitiful Me - Linda Ronstadt, Edge of Seventeen - Stevie Nicks.

WORD COUNT: 8k

RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: The interrupted right before kissing trope is strong with this one, i think most of this is considered fluff, they're still pining after one another, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized, including the usage of the song(s) that Paloma will perform throughout the story.

A/N: as promised, here's the other chapter for the week! i had so much fun writing this and expanding on their dynamic omg… first of all a little commotion for miss paloma…. the icon that she is! also couldn't help myself by having javi wear that sexy ass blue shirt in this… he is just so handsome… i need him BIBLICALLY i fear! i hope you guys enjoy reading, i have so much planned for this fic and it's going to get really messy here soon (: i might even post a lil moodboard for it. anyways feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰ read on ao3. ♰

♰ playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Finally , it’s the day of her long awaited state fair performance and Paloma is absolutely overflowing with anticipation, her energy bounding through the house like a whirlwind.

The night before was a restless blur, nerves and excitement intertwining to steal away her sleep.

She had read a variety of newspaper articles to get more information on the fair itself. She uncovered the staggering scope of its annual attendance; a revelation that both fueled her trepidation and determination.

Her heart pounded like distant drums as the reality set in: hundreds, no, thousands of eyes would be fixed upon her. The prospect thrilled her to her core, igniting a fiery passion within, yet it also stirred a profound stage fright.

Rarely does she feel said stage fright; memory of her last instance likely dating back to when she was fourteen, trembling as she took the stage at The Whiskey Fox for the very first time. Since then, her journey has been a voyage of calm seas, and now, as she's grown into her own, Paloma is enveloped in a sense of serene confidence.

It’s understandable that she’s apprehensive about transitioning from a smaller venue to a stage at a grander event. There’s a tinge of sadness in her heart knowing that her father wouldn’t be there to accompany her. He’s witnessed her artistic evolution firsthand and has always been her staunchest supporter. Her number one fan.

Unfortunately, duty calls and with Jessica Valdez still missing; he was needed here.

On the other hand, Javier’s presence was not as essential, and Romeo practically burst with joyful relief when Paloma revealed that the deputy sheriff would be her companion all the way to Dallas.

Just as she had expected.

Earlier in the morning, before heading off to the station, the sheriff had popped into her bedroom to wish her luck. With a tender gaze, he doted on his daughter, expressing his pride in her and, in his own unique manner, even offered a subtle apology for his recent behavior. As always, she embraced his understanding with ease, and in that moment, the weight of apprehension that had been bearing down on her lifted, replaced by a sense of relief and reassurance.

She’s currently stationed in her bedroom, sitting at her vanity and meticulously rolling her thick locks into velvety coils that she intends to keep in place throughout the entire four-hour journey to the city. Her face is bare, body clad in a tank top and shorts and she doesn’t plan on doing much to her appearance until they make it to the fairgrounds.

As a soft rumble fills the air, she casts a glance out of her bedroom window, her lips curling into a smile at the sight of Javier's truck rolling into view.

Fuck , she reflects on the unexpected bravery it took to ask him to join her. While her primary concern was appeasing her father, she also couldn't deny the appeal of spending time with him.

Despite her bold and flirtatious gestures, Paloma is sure that if the opportunity to actually fuck him ever arose, she would be overcome with nervousness. Don’t get her wrong; she longs to indulge her selfish desires and surrender to him completely. Yet, the thought of not meeting his expectations casts a shadow of doubt.

Oh, for fucks sake, Paloma–– when have you ever cared about living up to a man's expectations?

She scoffs at herself, bobby pin between her teeth as she rushes down the stairs to answer Javier’s knocking.

“ I am on time, right? ” He quips, his voice carrying a playful tone from the other side of the screen door since the wooden door that usually blocks it is wide open.

“ Sure are. I’m the one that's runnin’ behind. Don’t worry–– just gotta get my damn hair rolled up and we'll be ready to go. You can come in. ” She motions for him to enter, pausing in the hallway that stretches toward the foyer. She steals a moment to glance at her reflection in the mirror, deftly sliding the bobby pin into her hair to secure the roller in place.

As Javier crosses the threshold, the screen door emits a reluctant groan, briefly stirring the awareness that they are alone once more in the house. However, her attention remains steadfast on ensuring her hair is perfectly secured, leaving no room for weariness to take hold.

His gaze lingers on her figure, igniting a gentle flush that spreads across her cheeks and down her neck as she becomes acutely aware of the extent of her attire’s exposure. The lack of a bra allows her breasts to sway with every subtle movement, her nipples prominent against the fabric.

“ Need help gettin’ anything into the car, nena ? ” With a casual lean against the wall where the mirror hangs, he directs his question to her. In response, her eyes momentarily flicker towards him, a subtle effort evident in her attempt to prevent her blush from deepening any further.

“ Yeah, it’s all in my room. ” She spins on her heel, striding towards the stairs, with him silently shadowing her steps. The realization dawns on her that he will soon enter her room, prompting her eyes to widen in alarm as she takes in the chaotic scene before her— it looks like a fucking tornado has run through the space.

She doesn't have any time to block him from seeing it though, and she bites down on her tongue and mentally curses herself for not cleaning up as she got ready.

Though considering how frantic she’s been all morning, of course she hadn't stopped to think about tidying up.

“ Sorry for the mess… it’s been a morning. ” She grumbles and Javier can't help but be amused.

Surveying the room from the doorway, he takes in the entirety of the space, his broad figure remaining at the threshold. Posters adorn the walls in a scattered mosaic, each reflecting her eclectic tastes. From the timeless southern charm of Dolly Parton to the ethereal melodies of Fleetwood Mac and the vibrant rhythms of Donna Summer. Their presence doesn't surprise him. Instead, they offer a window into her personality, providing insight into her passions and preferences.

Javier tries not to analyze her by the things she has in her bedroom, yet he finds himself irresistibly drawn in.

It’s a facet of his innate curiosity.

He notices the scattered articles of clothing, a digital piano tucked away in the distant corner, and her bed left invitingly tousled and he can't help but imagine how soft her sheets must be, laced with the natural smell of her.

Amidst the wall space left by absent posters, her bedroom is adorned with an array of framed personal photographs, each encapsulating cherished memories from childhood whimsy to high school triumphs, and all the moments in between.

Yet, it’s the family portrait resting atop her vanity that draws Javier’s eye. He strains to decipher the intricate details of the photograph from where he stands, its contents obscured by the tilt of the frame.

Paloma, attuned to his intense focus, trails his gaze, her stomach tightening at the realization.

Oh.

“ Here, it's my makeup bag and outfit. Please be careful taking this down. I spent all morning ironing it. ” In an effort to divert his attention from the photograph, Paloma passes him her belongings. He carefully examines her features in an attempt at finding reason for her reaction, a half smile tugging at his lips.

“ So bossy, hermosa . Don't worry–– your things are in capable hands. ” He is reluctant to depart, preferring to linger and observe her as she completes her preparations, all the while mentally dissecting her character through the lens of her bedroom’s decor.

“ Sorry, I’m just nervous. ” She confesses, making her way back to her dresser, inconspicuously moving the photo of her, her mother and father out of the way as she returns to the tedious task of curling then rolling her hair.

“ You'll be fine. Pressure can either crush you or make you shine brighter. Let it be the latter. And hey, no matter what happens tonight–– I'll be right there cheering you on. ” The reassurance flows from him without much thought, a rare occurrence for this man who typically struggles with offering comfort. There's a naturalness to it, as if they’re drawn from some deep wellspring within him, bypassing the usual barriers of hesitation and uncertainty.

Paloma, sensing the sincerity in his gaze reflected back at her through the mirror, finds herself caught in the spell of his eyes. In that fleeting connection, she grants him a tender smile, her heart responding to his unspoken affection.

Unsurprisingly, the words bring her some ease, especially since she’s aware of how difficult it can be for him to muster up any type of verbal compassion. He’s a man of few words, after all, so each one carries extra weight when they escape his lips.

“ Thanks, cowboy, M’grateful for your support… and y’know, for taggin’ along even though you didn't have to. ” He nods at her, letting the comfortable silence speak for itself as she continues to get ready.

He senses the underlying urgency within her. Experience whispers caution in his ear, reminding him of the cardinal rule gleaned from years of female companionship: never incur their wrath while they are in the midst of getting ready. And so, he tears himself away, surrendering to the unspoken dictates of the feminine domain.

–––––––––––––––––––

They're just thirty minutes away from their destination, yet she remains fixated on the changing landscape outside the window. Her claim of not leaving Seminary in over a decade rings true, evident in the awe reflected in her eyes at the sight of skyscrapers and influx of people.

Javier can’t help but find her genuine amazement endearing, particularly as she gazes out with her hair pinned up stylishly, secured by a silk scarf. The journey to Dallas spans four hours, but the lively conversation between them makes the time fly by, rendering the trip far shorter than it actually is.

Their growing closeness feels like a beautiful risk as they delve deeper into each other's lives with every passing mile.

“ Y'know, I actually do know some Spanish. ” she remarked, drumming her fingers lightly against her thigh.

“ I had a hunch when you never asked me to translate my sweet talking. ” With an arrogant smirk, he looks over at her.

His smirk has her playfully rolling her eyes, “ No puedo leer o escribir tan bien, pero entiendo y hablo en forma conversacional. (I can't read it or write it very well, but I understand it and speak conversationally.)” In a tender twist, her voice took on a sweeter tone in the other language, prompting Javi to shift in his seat, attempting to refrain from envisioning the enchanting timbre of her words whispered intimately in the quiet sanctuary of his sheets.

“ Tu acento (Your accent) … Argentinian? ” He's got a real talent for picking up languages and accents, honed through his international collaborations in the field.

Paloma just shrugged, “ Your guess is as good as mine. My momma taught me and she never really talked about her life before meetin' daddy and stuff. I never really asked questions. After she passed, I didn't keep up with it as much as I should have. ”

The pauses in their conversation are rare, occurring only when the topics of family or his experiences in Colombia arise. Javier notices her keen interest in these subjects, her curiosity palpable. While he has been guarded about delving into anything beyond surface-level details, he finds himself gradually warming up to the notion of sharing a glimpse of his past with her, if only to satisfy her insatiable curiosity.

Yet, he holds back. This wasn’t the time. He wasn't about to cast a shadow over her spirits.

“ I can’t believe this is happening. ”

Paloma disrupts the tranquil hush that had settled between them, her fascination with the scenery outside pulling her into the moment.

“ Well, believe it cariño because we're not too far from the fairgrounds. ”

“ It’s like... a dream. I know, I might sound naive and childish gettin' this worked up about performing at a damn fair. It just means a lot to me. I’ve poured my heart into my music for so long and to see it culminate in this moment is just... thrilling . ”

A pang of longing for her mother’s presence washes over her, silently echoing within her thoughts. Yet she refrains from uttering the sentiment aloud, keeping her yearning hidden beneath a veil of silence.

“ It’s a big and well deserved step forward, Paloma. ” He pauses briefly, looking over at her, “ This means the world to you. You’re going to be amazing. ”

Javier's hand, warm and reassuring, gently finds hers, creating a tender connection that sends a surge of warmth coursing through her veins. The soft brush of his skin against hers ignites a gentle flutter in her chest, stirring feelings she doesn’t want to admit. It’s as if a silent symphony plays between their touch, drawing her attention away from the captivating scenery outside and directing it towards him.

With a soft, almost imperceptible smile, she meets his gaze, finding a silent reassurance and a flicker of something more lingering in his brown eyes.

Arriving at their designated area, meticulously mapped out in a thorough letter sent by Wendy to Paloma, she eagerly jumps out of his truck, bubbling with excitement, while he indulgently rolls his eyes at her enthusiasm.

Delighted to find the band already present and nearly done with setup, she breezes towards them despite her ridiculous appearance, exuding a radiant glow that outshines any imperfection. Her infectious happiness spreads like wildfire as she enthusiastically runs through the rundown of the gig with the group.

Javier stays out of the way, leaning against the bed of his truck.With a cigarette between his fingers and wisps of smoke curling into the air, he drifts into introspection

His mind becomes a labyrinth of memories, weaving through the tapestry of his past—the triumphs and tribulations, the moments of light and shadow. Amidst the haze of contemplation, he finds clarity in the decision that brought him to this juncture: the choice to refrain from confronting the Cali cartel.

Having spent years evading the ordinary, Javier stumbles upon an unforeseen refuge in monotony. With the weight of his taxing agent job finally lifted, he embraces the simplicity of everyday life with a newfound sense of relief.

As the days pass, Javier slowly discovers a peace he has long evaded, savoring the quiet moments that once seemed dull.

He finds himself drifting into a restful slumber, albeit for a few hours, a small victory against the insomnia that consistently torments him. In the gentle rhythm of routine, he begins to rediscover himself, finding solace in the tranquility he once feared.

While the looming homicide cases in Seminary present formidable challenges, each one a puzzle demanding his attention, he approaches them with a newfound confidence. It’s a stark contrast to the uncertainty that had clouded his final days in Colombia.

However, amidst this newfound tranquility, there persists a secret too delicate to utter aloud. His ongoing infatuation with Paloma, a woman whose presence has become both a source of comfort and turmoil. He won’t acknowledge that her presence in his life plays a significant role in his newfound ability to cope. Such complexities are best left uncharted, buried beneath the surface of their convoluted relationship.

Engrossed in his thoughts, Javier doesn’t notice when Paloma approaches him.

“ M’gonna go get ready. Sure you can survive a few hours without me? ” She teases him and he exhales the smoke away from her, the sunglasses on his face masking the adoration gleaming in his eyes.

“ I think I should be asking you that question, palomita . ” The new term of endearment sends her heart aflutter, and she can't help but feel how it resonates more when Javier says it in Spanish compared to when August had uttered it in English...

Little dove.

“ In that case, no, I’d simply crumble without you. ” She over exaggerates her words, punctuating them with playful gestures and a touch of dramatic flair.

Their laughter intertwines, and her smile blooms into a radiant expression of affection.

“ Órale nena , go get ready before you're late to your own performance. ” Javier indulges in another puff of his cigarette, and like the good girl she is, she saunters around the truck to fetch her belongings before heading off to the portable trailer, her makeshift dressing room.

In Paloma’s absence, he engages in conversation with the band members. Comprising three men and one woman, they share with him the story of how they met and how Paloma reignited their passion for music. The narrative resonates with her persona and innate ability to effortlessly charm those in her presence.

Javier an unsuspecting victim of this charm.

When the sun begins to set, he looks down at his watch to check the time as her lively voice draws near.

“ Alright, y'all, how do I look? ”

Javier's gaze alighted upon her, it was as if the world around him faded into insignificance, leaving only her radiant presence to fill his senses. His breath caught in his chest, suspended in the awe that washes over him like a gentle tide. In the depths of his soul, a symphony of emotions stirred, each note resonating with the profound beauty that she effortlessly embodies.

She beams with pride at the ensemble she’s meticulously curated.

A crimson leather corset embraces her waist with finesse, fashioned in the likeness of a halter top, baring her shoulders and presenting a tantalizing canvas of skin for all eyes to see. Her cleavage commands attention, accentuated by her mother’s cross pendant nestled against her breasts. She had transformed a pair of aged low-rise jeans, adding intricate rhinestone patterns promised to dance enchantingly under the glare of the stage lights.

The buckle on her belt is beautiful and distinguishable, an important accessory down here in Texas; she’s made sure that her boots match her attire.

Her hair cascades in perfect waves, thick and luscious, framing her face with a touch of effortless glamor. It’s been a long time since she’s had a full face of makeup on, and the strip lashes are uncomfortable against the sensitive skin but beauty is pain and goddamnit she’s stunning .

She feels the part of a super star, and her band members do nothing but boost her ego as they begin to shower her in compliments and friendly catcalls. She indulges them with a twirl, allowing them to admire her outfit from every angle.

Javier stays silent, dumbfounded entirely by how fucking hot she looks.

“ I think I just saw a horsefly fly into his mouth. ” One of the bandmates teases and this has Javier snapping out of it, meeting Paloma's expectant gaze.

For a man who always has something to say, especially in the company of beautiful women, he finds himself at a loss for words.

“ You look gorgeous, querida . ”

She blushes, murmuring a soft ‘thank you’ as her eyes momentarily flicker down to her square-toed boots. It’s exasperating how easily he can get her flustered. The compliment isn’t extravagant, yet it strikes her deeply nonetheless.

She won’t admit that the extra effort she invested in her appearance tonight was not just for the event; but also for him . She is aware that Javier finds her attractive and it harbors this desire to unveil a new facet of her beauty to him so he can see all the types of beautiful she can be.

As the rest of the group disperses to squeeze in some last minute warm ups, Paloma saunters toward him. Her hands rest confidently on her hips as his gaze traverses the curves of her form, unabashed and unapologetic.

“ I’m serious. You look hot and I know you’ll look even better when you’re up there doin’ what you’re so passionate about. ” His words have her heart racing, igniting a kaleidoscope of fireworks that burst with intensity within her core.

“ You're quite the charmer, aren’t you?”

“ Only when I’m around someone as captivating as you. ”

Fuck.

“ Flattery will get you everywhere , you know. ”

“ Is that so? ” With a contemplative tilt of his head, he gazes at her, his aviators now absent, allowing her to lose herself in the depths of his enchanting eyes. “ Well, in that case, I’ll have to keep it coming. After all, I can’t resist making a beautiful woman smile. ”

They stand toe to toe, Paloma tilting her chin upward to meet his gaze while Javier gently inclines his head downward to meet her eyes.

As he looks down at her, the thought of planting a gentle kiss on her lips, a token of good luck, flits through his mind. Just as the impulse begins to take hold, fate intervenes and Paloma is called to the stage, leaving their moment suspended in anticipation.

“ Break a leg, palomita . ” He tells her, stepping back so she can make her way up the steps.

–––––––––––––––––––

It is both everything yet nothing she expected.

As she ascended the stage, she discerned a comforting familiarity: the typical audience size from her usual gigs back home. This recognition alone served as a balm to her nerves, reassuring her that she could handle it.

It felt decidedly manageable. Yet, as the performance progressed, the crowd swelled to such a density that individual faces blurred into an indistinguishable mass, a sea of humanity stretching before her.

With every fiber of her being, she poured herself into that performance, channeling raw emotion and passion into each note. This may very well be her first and last time gracing an event this grand, and she was determined to leave an indelible mark.

As the music swelled and her voice soared, she ignited a fire within the hearts of her audience, each chord resonating with an intensity that transcends mere sound. This wasn’t just a performance; it was a cathartic release, a showcase of her skills.

It is no surprise that the crowd was thoroughly charmed and entertained beyond measure.

As the final note faded into the night, she knew she’d given it her all, leaving nothing but her heart and soul on that stage.

She reaches the familiar backstage area where they had spent the entire afternoon, exuding palpable excitement and practically launching herself into Javier’s awaiting embrace. He catches her with ease, sensing the electrifying energy coursing through her as her arms wrap tightly around him in a warm hug. With her legs securely wrapped around his waist, he spins her around in a joyful twirl before gently lowering her back to the ground, their shared enthusiasm filling the air with an infectious energy.

“ You did so good, hermosa . ” Javier gazes warmly at her, his lips curved in a genuine smile.

“ That was so exhilarating, holy shit! ” The explicits fly from her lips and this only deepens his amusement, his heart warmed by her spirited expression.

“ Like, I almost blacked out out of excitement. ” Paloma inhales deeply, her chest expanding and contracting with each breath, her heart pounding so vigorously it feels as if it might leap from her chest at any moment.

The rest of the band gathers around, exchanging congratulations and warm embraces. Paloma takes a moment to express her heartfelt gratitude, her voice tinged with sentimentality as she thanks them for steadfastly supporting her seemingly silly musical aspirations.

“ Oh, that reminds me, ” She breaks away from the small group, strolling over to Javier's truck. Retrieving her purse, she rummages inside and retrieves a disposable camera she had brought along for the occasion. “ Can you take a picture of us? ” She asks with a gentle pout, her eyes sparkling as she looks up at Javier.

“ ‘Course.” Javi readily accepts the camera from her hand wordlessly and steps back to make sure they’re all in frame. He snaps the photo, the flash is blinding for the split second it appears before he hands her back the camera.

“ Gracias cowboy. ”

Her voice carries a delightful sweetness tinged with playful flirtation and a touch of eager anticipation that has him feeling like a lovestruck fool.

The band leaves to head back home, the sun now fully settled as Javier and Paloma remain. Their figures casually propped against his truck, casting a relaxed silhouette against the backdrop of the vibrant fair lights sprawled out before them.

“ We should get going–– ”

“ You're kidding, right? ” Paloma interrupts, leveraging herself off the hood of the truck with a fluid motion, positioning herself directly in his line of sight. Her hands find their place firmly on her hips, projecting an aura of assertiveness.

“ No…? ” He says unsurely, his gaze sweeping over her form from head to toe.

“ I haven’t been to the fair since I was a kid. I just have to ride one ride... and indulge in some fried goodness... and maybe try one of those tricky carnival games, ” She shares eagerly, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

She gazes at him with those bewitching eyes of hers, he silently curses himself for knowing he’ll give in.

“ I dunno, princesa , it’s getting pretty late… ” Fighting a fight he knows he’ll lose, he still moves forward with his opposition. The least desirable outcome from staying late would be facing an irate sheriff questioning why his daughter returned home in the dead of night instead of the earlier time she’d promised.

“ Oh don’t be such a stick in the mud. We’re allowed to have fun every once and a while. If it’s my daddy you're worried about; he’ll get over it. ” Paloma draws nearer to him, her hands delicately clasped behind her back, the enchanting fusion of her perfume and her innate scent enthralls him completely.

Javier can't help but surrender to her charm.

“ Fine . ”

A large smile spreads on her crimson tinted lips and she squeals, clapping her hands together before tugging him in the direction of the bustling fair.

–––––––––––––––––––

Their night out together comes with an unforeseen touch of spontaneity. The first thing Paloma does is drag him over to a food stand where she proceeds to order a funnel cake, fried oreos and two way too large lemonades.

“ Fried oreos? ” His nose scrunches at the idea which earns him a soft slap to the arm.

“ They are quite literally the best damn thing to ever be invented. ” She defends the unhealthy snack, reaching into her bag to pull out money to pay but Javier stops her before she gets the chance to.

As he smoothly glides a bill across the counter, Paloma feels a warm flush creep up her cheeks at the simple gesture. A flicker of uncertainty dances in her mind as she ponders the significance of this moment—is it possible that this is... a date?

No , certainly it isn’t. It’s an outing between two friends. He is just being a gentleman and paying for their food. No big deal, right?

In the quiet recesses of her mind, she revisits their flirty exchange shared just moments before she took the stage and the gentle display of affection that followed after her performance had concluded.

Don't overthink it, Paloma, just enjoy the moment.

So, she pushes all those thoughts aside as they patiently wait for their order.

“ I'll be the judge of that. ” He grumbles with his arms folded protectively across his chest.

Paloma finds herself entranced by the sight of him. His torso is adorned in a brightly colored blue shirt that accentuates his handsome features paired with jeans that cling to him sinfully tight. She marvels at how effortlessly he pulls off this 70s-inspired ensemble, a testament to his unique charm and allure. It’s just one more reason among many why she finds him so irresistibly attractive.

Their order number is called and they swiftly collect their things, moving over to an empty picnic table and sitting across from each other.

“ Alright, be prepared to have your mind blown. ” She plucks one of the golden-fried treats from the paper tray and slides the remainder enticingly across the table to him.

Javier eyes the dessert carefully before picking one up and observing it.

“ There is no way this is good for you. ” He remarks skeptically.

“ It's not supposed to be good for you it's supposed to taste good. ” Paloma counters, taking a bite and emitting a satisfied hum at the burst of flavor, “ If that's the case then you shouldn't smoke. There’s no way cigarettes are good for you . ” She mocks him, a playful glint in her eye as he scoffs in response.

Following her lead, he gingerly takes a bite, his brow furrowing at the unexpected taste.

“ Absolutely not, ” He declares, confirming his verdict with a decisive shake of his head.

“ Oh, you are so lame. ” They laugh and she drags the tray over to her side, “ Whatever, more for me. Just please don’t tell me you’re a funnel cake hater too. ” She plops another one into her mouth, her gaze fixated on him and eyes gleaming playfully.

“ Rest assured I’m not a funnel cake hater. It was my favorite growing up. Haven’t had one in ages. ” Now that, Javier easily snacks on as they seamlessly weave through conversations, trading tales of cherished childhood snacks.

Once they finish, he gathers their garbage and goes to dispose of it in a bin nearby. Upon his return to the table, his eyes sweep the surroundings, only to discover that they are no longer in solitude; a small group of individuals has gravitated towards Paloma, eager to engage her in conversation.

Amidst their conversation, he catches fragments of praise floating in the air, surmising that they must be members of the audience who had seen her perform not too long ago.

His suspicions are proven right once they leave and she turns to him with a bright smile.

“ Looks like I’m not your only groupie anymore. ”

“ Oh don't be jealous. You'll always be my favorite. ” As she rises from her seat to join him, he gently intercepts, his gaze fixating on a subtle trace of powdered sugar lingering at the corner of her lips.

“ Hold on… ” He murmurs, stepping closer to her, bringing his thumb up to his lips then wiping away at the spot.

A shiver dances down her spine, her breath catching in her throat as his seemingly simple gesture sends waves of arousal rippling through her. He is driving her crazy .

“ I–– thank you. ” She blushes, “ Oh man, that means I had a whole conversation with food on my face. ” Slightly embarrassed, she slaps her palm against her forehead and he chuckles at her.

“ There are worst things to be embarrassed over. ” He shrugs and she nods,“ So , what now miss I absolutely have to stay and enjoy the fair . ” Javier teases, as they begin to walk around the fairgrounds.

Paloma rolls her eyes, “ You're like an insufferable child. ” She can't help but comment, eyeing some of the rides until she spots the drop tower. “ Ooh, let's do that one. ” She practically races over to the large structure, leaving Javi behind.

“ Who's the child now? ” He murmurs to himself, trailing after her.

Standing in line together, they exchange playful jabs at the people around them in whispered tones. For the first time in a very long time, Javier finds himself genuinely laughing.

“ We have to get on the pendulum ride after this. Oh, and the gravitron. I also really like those spinny swings. ” As she rambles on about her beloved rides, his gaze lingers on her radiant beauty. Particularly since she’s adorned with an enchanting smile and enveloped in laughter. With each joyful expression, Javier feels a familiar tug at his heartstrings, the same irresistible pull he’s been steadfastly pushing aside since their very first encounter.

This is definitely more than just some sexual infatuation. The revelation that he harbors genuine feelings for Paloma weighs heavily in his chest. In that moment of clarity, he understands the need to consider stepping back, for the well-being of them both.

He doesn't want to hurt her.

But for tonight, Javier will let himself enjoy her company and everything that entails to. He grants himself this rare luxury under the guise that it’s for her sake.

“ You're ambitious tryin’ to get on all these rides, querida . Gonna end up puking all your precious fried oreos out. ” They’re at the front of the line now, and as Javier makes his remark, one of the exiting patrons from the ride hurls over and throws up in a nearby bin.

Both Javier and Paloma share a look before breaking out into a harmonious laugh. Paloma finds herself yearning to capture this perfect moment, to preserve its essence in the confines of a frame, forever etched in her memory.

“ Impeccable timing, vaquero . ” They board the ride together, sitting right next to one another and she swings her legs softly as the attendant comes around to make sure they're strapped in properly.

“ I’ve done a lotta dangerous shit in my life but riding one of these seems to be at the top of the list. ” Javier tells her as they begin their ascend to the top.

“ Don’t tell me a little fair ride is more dangerous than an armed drug dealer. ”

“ Drug dealers are predictable. Fair rides aren’t–– how can you actually trust somethin’ that’s disassembled, packed away then rebuilt elsewhere. How are you so sure they build it adequately each time? You’ve seen the people who run this. It’s sketchy. ”

“ Sounds like you're scared. Don't be scared, Javi. Here–– you can hold my hand. ” She extends her hand, reaching out to gently grasp his, intertwining their fingers and applying a tender squeeze. He's not scared he’s just wary, but feeling the weight of her hand in his is enough to fizzle those inconvenient thoughts away as they’re suspended in the air for what feels like forever before they finally drop.

Paloma releases a delighted squeal, erupting into a chorus of giggles as they reach the base of the ride. “ See? That wasn’t too bad. The ride didn’t collapse and we live to see another day. ” With a final squeeze, she relinquishes his hand and they get off the ride swiftly.

Similar scenarios unfold as they explore the other attractions; their banter punctuated by playful jabs at the people in line and Javier meticulously dissects the safety measures (or lack thereof) of each attraction. Despite his scrutiny, he finds himself thoroughly enjoying the experience alongside Paloma.

As they stroll through the carnival game section, Javier’s eyes light up as he catches sight of a tacky looking plush snake, swiftly diverting Paloma’s attention towards it.

“ Isn't that your favorite thing in the world? ” He teases, feigning curiosity, earning an eye roll from Paloma as she playfully pinches his forearm.

“ Not a fan of real snakes and reptiles, you goof, ” She retorts with a grin. “ But I’ve got nothing against a cute little stuffed animal like that. ”

“ Do you want it? ” He asks, gravitating towards the stand and she follows.

“ What, are you gonna win it for me? ” She questions with a flirtatious lilt, twirling a lock of her hair as she raises her eyebrows, a playful sparkle dancing in her chocolate brown eyes.

“ I will, if you want it. ”

“ If I want it that means you have to win it. And you know what they say about these games… ”

Their banter continues as they approach the stand. Javier reads that it’s a baseball toss bottle game and he smiles cockily.

“ What do they say? ”

“ They're rigged and impossible to win. ”

“ Well lucky for you, nena , I've got the best arm in Laredo. ”

Paloma’s interest is piqued, her head tilting slightly as she observes him. “ You play baseball? ” She asks, her tone curious and attentive.

Javier hands over payment to the teenager tending to the stand, effortlessly cradling three baseballs in one hand. This has Paloma licking her lips.

Her gaze is drawn to the rugged contours and sinewy strength, imagining the delicious weight of them against her skin. There's an electric charge in the air, sending shivers of anticipation cascading down her spine.

“ I did. All the way through college. ” Oh she can see him now, clad in those tight baseball uniforms. She bets his ass looks amazing in the pants.

“ The more you know. ” She muses, “ But that was like, all the way back when baseball was first invented. ” She patronizes him, never getting tired of making jokes about his age.

“ Ha, ha. So funny and original. ”

“ Alright darlin’ enough yappin’, let's see Laredo’s best . ” She's fully expecting him to fumble, honestly.

Javier rolls his shoulders, stretching his arms, and Paloma's eyes linger on the way his shirt molds to his defined muscles with each movement. His broad shoulders and flexing biceps command her attention as he effortlessly pulls his arm back and throws the ball with graceful ease.

In one fluid motion, he knocks down all the bottles.

A satisfied smirk graces his lips as he turns to meet Paloma's gaze.

“ Told you. ”

She lets out a low whistle, clapping her hands together in a slow applause. “ Alright, I stand corrected. ” she admits with a smile.

The worker hands Javier the stuffed animal, and he extends it towards her.

“ For you. ”

“ Such a gentleman. ” She murmurs softly, pulling the prize close to her chest. The sight of her holding it with such tenderness is one that will linger in his memory for days to come.

“ Oh shit. ” She begins, a hint of dismay in her tone, but his concern melts away as she retrieves her camera from her bag. “ Forgot to take more pictures. Do you mind gettin’ one with me? ” There's a hint of shyness in her request, and he shakes his head.

“ Don’t mind at all, cariño . ” He assures her with a warm smile.

She returns his smile and proceeds to ask the teenager at the stand to take their photo, who obliges, undoubtedly persuaded by her beauty.

“ Alright we’ll do a smiley one then a silly one. ” She suggests, stepping back to Javier's side and leaning against him, her eyes sparkling as they prepare to capture the moment.

He doesn’t pose, instead, he gazes at her admiringly, wondering how he’ll summon the courage to distance himself from her after tonight.

Paloma tilts her head to meet his gaze after the photos are taken, mirroring the affection in his eyes before stepping away to retrieve her camera.

Javier clears his throat, the sound breaking the carnival’s cheerful din as he glances down at his watch. The hands inch towards midnight, a reminder of the impending end to their evening. “ Los tenemos que ir (we have to go), ” He says softly, his voice carrying a hint of reluctance.

She pouts slightly, pursing her bottom lip.“ One more ride, please Javi. We didn’t get on the ferris wheel. ”

As he’s done all night, Javier acquiesces, unable to resist her earnest plea. “ You are a very persistent and spoiled little thing, ” He remarks, a fondness lacing his words. Her playful smile transforms into a devious smirk at his observation.

“ Thank you. ” She replies, gaze coated with mischief.

The bench-style seating on the ferris wheel feels snug, their bodies nestled close together as the metal bar rests across their laps.

Despite the attendant’s insistence that she couldn’t bring it on the ride, Paloma clung to the plush snake he’d won for her as she (politely) told him to fuck off.

At first, silence envelops them, the rhythmic creaking of the wheel the only sound as they ascend to the pinnacle of the ride. Lost in their own thoughts, they share a quiet intimacy, their hearts beating in synchrony.

The fair lights twinkle and sway, casting an enchanting glow upon Paloma’s face. In that moment, bathed in the ethereal illumination, her beauty is magnified.

“ What's goin' on inside that pretty head of yours? ” Javier breaks the quiet between them, and she turns her head to meet his gaze.

“ Tonight has been one of the best nights I’ve had in a while... and you’re part of the reason. ” She confesses, her voice sincere, melting the barriers he’s long held onto.

“ It has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you, palomita . ” He responds, his arm draped along the back of their seat. Unable to resist, she leans in closer, finding comfort in the warmth of his embrace.

His smell envelops her, intoxicating her senses as she inhales the earthy musk of his cologne mingled with a hint of sweetness from their shared meal earlier.

“ I mean it, Javi. Ever since you came to Seminary my life has been a lot more… fun . ” She tells him earnestly, her voice barely above a whisper. Their proximity is electric, teetering on the edge of temptation, and her words only add fuel to the fire.

Her name escapes his lips like a solemn prayer, a gentle reminder of the boundaries they’re dancing dangerously close to. Their lips barely graze each other, his mustache tickling the sensitive skin above her lip, a silent testament to the unspoken desires lingering between them.

Suddenly, the ride lurches with an unexpected jolt, shattering the tender moment between them. Paloma swiftly withdraws, seeking whatever space their cramped confines afford her, her fingers clenching the metal bar for stability.

“ Told you I didn't trust these damn things. ” He mutters, his palm clammy as he rubs it against the coarse denim of his jeans. His throat tightens with a heavy swallow, the memory of their fleeting moment lingering in his mind like a fading dream.

Silence cloaks them like a heavy blanket for the remainder of the ride and even as they walk side by side to his truck.

No words pass between them.

Paloma leans against the window, mirroring her posture from the ride up, exhaustion seeping into her bones after the long day. She resists the urge to dwell on the events of the evening with Javier, instead surrendering to the pull of sleep. Her eyelids flutter closed, and soon, she drifts unconscious.

Javier steals a sideways glance at her, strands of hair cascading over her features like a veil. Amidst the quiet hum of the car, he catches the faint melody of her soft snores.

His shoulders slump in resignation as he replays their moment on the ferris wheel in his mind, each iteration leaving him more conflicted than before. Would they have shared a kiss if not for the technical issue?

He wants to believe they wouldn’t have; that he would have had the strength to pull away before it was too late. But the enticement of her lips, the desire to taste her, lingers in his thoughts like an unshakeable temptation.

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he wrestles with his inner turmoil for the duration of the journey back to Seminary.

–––––––––––––––––––

“ I'm still so upset I couldn’t go. It woulda been so fun. ” Sloane remarks from her spot on Paloma’s bed, idly flipping through a magazine while her friend meticulously applies nail polish.

Days have passed since the state fair, leaving Paloma and Javier in an awkward limbo. She despises the distance that has grown between them. How could she have been so foolish as to ruin their night by coming off as strong as she had? Everything had been going perfectly until then. Had she scared him off? Was his silence a sign of disinterest?

It's all so fucking confusing.

“ Uh, hello. Earth to Paloma. ” Slo snaps her fingers and this gets her attention, looking up from her hand to meet her friend's gaze.

“ Sorry, I wish you coulda been there too. ” She gives her a tight lipped smile and this has Sloane narrowing her eyes at her.

“ Alright, spill. What happened? ”

She snorts, shaking her head and returning to the task at hand. “ Nothin’ happened. ”

“ Lie to somebody who doesn’t know you. ” She shifts from her spot on the mattress, sprawling herself on the floor in front of Paloma.

She eyes her friend briefly before letting out a sigh and twisting the cap on the polish. “ Fine. I think I fucked things up between me and Javier. ”

That was certainly not what Sloane was expecting her to admit, but she’s intrigued nevertheless and she turns to lay on her side, head in her hand and elbow propping her up.

“ Don't tell me you slept with him. ”

Paloma's face flushes, despite having a plethora of erotic dreams starring the man in question, “ Wha–– No. I didn’t. Jesus… ” She mutters, attempting to blow the polish on her right hand dry. “ We actually had a great night. ” She can't help the small smile that plays on her lips at the remembrance of said night.

“ Okay… ” Sloane urges her to continue, “ For a songwriter you sure are a shit storyteller. ”

Paloma flips her off and Slo blows her a kiss, “ Things between us have always been flirty. It was fun at first, exhilaratin’ and what not. Then… feelings started developin’. I like him, Slo. Like him like him. ” It's the first time she's said this outloud and the confession has her feeling lightheaded.

“ Awe, my baby is growin’ up. She's got a crush. ” Her friend teases, poking at her exposed calf.

“ Yeah, well, I don’t even know if he feels the same way. I mean, at first I thought he did then I… we almost kissed on the ferris wheel and he hasn't talked to me since. ”

Sloane flashes her a sympathetic stare, “ Well he’s an idiot for not kissin’ you. Let’s start there. ” She sits upright, matching Paloma's stance, “ Are you really surprised? Not to burst your little schoolgirl crush bubble but it’s obvious what typa man he is. Flirty, handsome, charismatic. Sex on legs –– a long trail of broken hearts follow that man. C'mon, baby, you must know this. ”

Paloma is keenly aware of his reputation as a charming playboy, a fact that’s far from concealed. Now, she’s flooded with feelings of foolishness and embarrassment for how she had openly pursued him. It was almost inevitable; of course, he would reciprocate her advances. After all, what man could resist when a beautiful woman is vying for his attention?

The thought that he might have lost interest gnaws at her, causing an ache in her chest. Aside from all the romantic stuff, she genuinely enjoyed his company.

She chooses not to dwell further on the topic, and her friend seems to pick up on her reluctance.

In a sudden twist of conversation, Sloane announces, “ Guess who has a house now. ” Paloma’s attention perks up in surprise.

“ What, really? Since when? ” From what she knows, Sloane and a few others have been living long term at the only motel in town. They hadn’t intended on staying in Seminary very long which is why Paloma had gotten her the job at the bar in the first place, so she could save up some money to keep trekking.

Hearing that she now has an actual place to call home brings nothing but joy and excitement for her friend.

“ Since a few days ago. We've been so damn busy that I haven’t been able to tell you. Completely unexpected, too. Apparently some broad August used to know finally croaked and she left him with her entire estate. ”

Paloma's eyes widen at the news, “ Jeez, talk about impeccable timing. I'm glad y'all got it worked out. Now you’re stuck here with me. ” She jests, “ When can I visit? ”

Sloane taps the tip of her chin, “ What about tomorrow? It's about an hour drive from here–– ”

“ An hour?! ” Paloma interjects, incredulous.

“ –– and it’s beautiful . You’d love it. Don’t get hung up on somethin’ as trivial as travel time . ”

Sloane’s right, outside from the hub in town; their residence is situated in a predominantly rural expanse, making lengthy travel times like that unusual. And with her car now up and running, Paloma has a newfound sense of freedom to explore beyond their immediate surroundings.

“ Fine, tomorrow sounds good. You can stay the night and I’ll drive you there in the morning. ” She offers, prompting Sloane to break out into a giant grin.

#pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier peña narcos #javier pena smut #javier peña smut #javier peña #javier peña fanfic #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fic #javier peña x ofc #preachers daughter #ethel cain #southern gothic fic

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ofstormsandfire · 5 months

Note

TotK weapons fic you say??? tell me more

okay SO

this one is mostly just brainworms and I haven't written much yet

BUT

y'know how the sages in totk all end up with the champions' weapons

y'knowww how certain weapons in zelda lore (see: master sword, demon blade, possibly others) have sentience

y'knowwwwwww how the champions barely got shit in totk (revali in particular really got shafted, he is only mentioned on the name of revali's landing and in the compendium entry for his bow and That Is Literally It. I'm not bitter or anything, I say like a liar.)

basically. the champions end up possessing the weapons to help their successors. and because I'm me and I'm soft maybe this would be a fixit fic somehow? maybe the demon king would bring them back to fight on his side (no one is happy with this)

I think my plan is to have a chapter for each sage (tulin first) and then a final wrapup one? maybe. or maybe four chapters would be enough.

anyway. heehoo dream weirdness. have a lil excerpt as a treat. ft. the birbs ever. (I do hope I"ll figure out where I'm going with this one... sooner rather than later. because it's a fun one. scratches the "lack of champions" itch.)

"Hello," Tulin less says and more squeaks, because he's never met this strange Rito before in his life and he feels weirdly like he's being sized up. "Who are you?" "That... doesn't matter," says the strange Rito, as if he doesn't know that saying something doesn't matter isn't the fastest way to make Tulin even more curious about something. "You're... young." Tulin's feathers puff up. "Yeah, and what about it? You've still got your cheek spots too!" "Yes, but..." He shakes his head. "How old are you?" "...Fourteen," Tulin mumbles. "Why?" "Oh," says the stranger, in an almost-sympathetic tone that Tulin does not like or appreciate coming from someone who doesn't know him at all. "You're even younger than I feared." "And what about it?" Tulin emphasizes. "You sound like my dad. People who still have their cheek spots aren't allowed to sound like my dad. That's illegal!" The stranger raises a wing to hide most of his face. "Is it, now?" Tulin squints at him suspiciously. "Are you laughing at me? You'd better not be laughing at me. Or my dad." "If your dad is who I suspect he is," says the stranger, "I assure you I am not laughing at him." ...Which means he is, in fact, laughing at Tulin. His feathers bristle. "I don't know who you are, but you don't know who I am, either!" "I don't, do I?" Why does he still sound amused? "Enlighten me, then." "I'm Tulin. I'm the best flyer in Rito Village. I can call on the winds themselves!" He summons a Gust to demonstrate, and—well, if it quite literally ruffles this guy's feathers, maybe he shouldn't have been standing between Tulin and the Flight Range. "So don't laugh at me!"

#hopeposting #askbox #anonymous #my writing #writing things #loz #totk #revali my beloved

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writing-intheundercroft · 3 months

Text

When We're Older || Caulfield House

AO3 Link

Word Count: 10,785

Chapter Rating: T

A/N: I've neglected updating my long fic on tumblr, so posting some chapters that have come out in the last two months!

December 1892

“Do I look alright?” Sebastian hesitated, staring at himself in the mirror.

“Sebastian, for the millionth time, I am blind.” Ominis gasped exasperatedly, leaning his head into his palm.

Sebastian fidgeted as Mr. Hill fitted his tailcoat. A dinner jacket was lying on the table next to them as he pinned the lapels down.

“And you’re quite sure I need both?” Sebastian asked again.

“Quite sure,” Mr. Hill said, waving his wand. A perfectly spaced parade of pins flew past him, pinning exactly where Mr. Hill had marked his jacket. “You can never know with muggles–they are rather formal.”

“Besides, you’ll need both soon anyways.” Ominis reminded him. “For London, after graduation.”

“Right,” Sebastian mumbled. He crunched the numbers in his mind; two bespoke suits would cost quite a few galleons, and with him being gone for the holidays, he wouldn’t have any extra shifts at the Three Broomsticks to replenish his funds. That would mean pulling overtime once the spring term had started, on top of studying for the NEWT exams and taking care of Theo.

“Quite a big trip, eh?” Mr. Hill smirked. “Meeting the parents.”

Sebastian flushed horribly; he wished he’d never said anything. “It’s for the holidays,” he mumbled. “Ominis is coming as well.”

Ominis , Sebastian thought, who already had multiple dinner jackets and tailcoats. Sebastian had tried to squeeze into Ominis’s spare jacket, but it had been too tight. While Sebastian had been a little annoyed that Ominis was also invited to meet Lord Caulfield over the holidays, he couldn’t help feeling relieved that he would have a familiar face around, and one that was well trained in matters of high society.

“It’ll be great fun,” Ominis declared. “You’ll meet Theo’s father, we’ll have a proper Christmas, and be back home to celebrate the New Year in Feldcroft.”

Sebastian swallowed thickly. The trip was a bigger deal than he’d let on; while Theo was ecstatic to finally show the boys her home, Sebastian had other things in mind. Given the nature of their relationship and how far things had progressed, Sebastian knew meeting her father was long overdue. He had every intention of falling on one knee the minute they graduated from Hogwarts, and in that case, had about six months to plan a proposal.

First, it required a certain man’s permission.

“I think that should do it.” Mr. Hill said firmly, brushing Sebastian’s shoulders. “Take a look–a fine young man.”

Sebastian stared at himself in the mirror, quite shocked. The only suit he’d ever owned was a tartan jacket that Solomon had begrudgingly bought him when he was fourteen; it no longer fit, long shoved in the back of Sebastian’s trunk at home. He’d worn the school suit every day of his life, of course, but that was a uniform. In the mirror, wearing a black wool tailcoat and full length pants, Sebastian saw a grown man.

If he squinted hard enough, he might see his father.

Sebastian appraised himself in the mirror; the pants were long, touching the tops of the shiny shoes Ominis had insisted were necessary for a formal look. The wool coat nipped his waist in tight, and made his shoulders look broad. Mr. Hill had insisted on a dark green tie, one that complimented their house colors. He would need several shirts, starched and ironed daily, to swap out during the trip. Sebastian had entertained the idea of another colored jacket, but seeing the price of the fabric on the bolt, he hesitated. Any further wardrobe purchases would have to be made further down the line, when he’d gotten back to work.

“I need a haircut,” Sebastian groaned. That would also cost extra.

“A shave too, I might add.” Mr. Hill chuckled. “Alright, down with you–I’ll make final adjustments and have the packages delivered to the school for you before you leave.”

Sebastian stepped down from the podium, and began stripping behind the changing screen. Quickly changing back into his well-worn trousers and soft knit jumper, Sebastian finally felt at ease. He was himself again, not playing pretend as a grown up. He couldn’t imagine wearing a suit to work every day–he hoped curse breakers didn’t have a specified uniform.

Sebastian and Ominis walked back to the school, trudging through the wet streets. They’d just made it through their end of term exams, yet the weather was so mild, the snow hadn’t stuck to the ground. It was still chilly enough to call for their coats, which they wrapped tightly around themselves to fight the wind.

“Are you planning on asking him?” Ominis inquired.

“Asking who?”

Ominis rolled his milky blue eyes. “Planning on asking Theo’s father for her hand.”

Sebastian took in a sharp breath; there was no hiding secrets from his best friend. “I am. Probably.” he kicked a rock on the path. “If the timing is right.”

Ominis let out a sigh, smiling into his Slytherin scarf. “Who would’ve thought, Sebastian Sallow, a married man at eighteen.”

Sebastian bit back his grin. “I love her, Ominis.” It was a simple sentence, nothing else needed to portray how he felt.

Ominis quite uncharacteristically threw his arm around Sebastian, drawing him closer. “I’m proud of you, you know that?” he said, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Get off, you big sap,” Sebastian complained; he did so with a broad smile on his face.

“I’m being serious,” Ominis snorted. “Look at you–-how far you’ve come. You know, when we first met Theo, I thought she was the worst thing to ever happen to you. But now…Merlin, I don’t know where you’d be without her.” he admitted.

“I’m not quite sure either.” Sebastian merely shrugged.

“Do you have…er, a ring?” Ominis asked.

Sebastian kicked another stone off the path. “Not yet,” he admitted sheepishly. He had taken a look through Mr. Hill’s meager jewelry selection; nothing seemed nearly fancy enough to pass as an engagement ring. After quite a mortifying conversation with Sirona, ending with her promising not to spill the beans, Sebastian learned that most wizarding folk got their wedding jewelry made bespoke–something he certainly couldn’t afford after having purchased an entire new wardrobe to meet Theo’s father.

“What about your mother’s ring?” Ominis asked softly.

Sebastian chewed on his lower lip. “I’ve thought about it…but I know Anne wouldn’t be happy with me.”

It had been an unspoken promise between the twins that Anne would receive their mother’s engagement ring. She’d been enamored with the glittering emerald since they were toddlers, and it had pained Anne to let Solomon put the bauble in their Gringotts vault. Had Anne not protested so hard, he was sure Solomon would’ve sold it to pay for their school supplies. Sebastian had already received his father’s golden pocket watch, so it really was only fair that Anne got to keep their mother’s ring for herself.

“I could bring it up with Anne, if that helps.” Ominis offered.

“It would only upset her,” Sebastian reminded him. “I appreciate your offer though. Do you know when you’ll see her next?” he inquired. He couldn’t hold back the hopeful tone in his voice; after finding out Theo was also seeing Anne, he eagerly awaited the day she would accept his presence.

Ominis licked his lips. “Actually, I’m seeing her tomorrow. Wanted to give her some presents before we leave.”

Sebastian sighed, nuzzling his face deeper into his scarf. “Oh.”

“I know you’re disappointed, but she will come around.” Ominis promised. “I know it.”

Sebastian only shrugged, glad that Ominis couldn’t see the frown on his face. “I know she will.”

“And there’s a cart of sweets from Honeydukes? I’m stuck riding in a wooden wagon, while you lot are traveling in the lap of luxury.” Sebastian scoffed, leaning back into the plush seats of their cabin. Theo was seated next to him, her feet draped across his lap. Ominis, who could sleep literally anywhere, was curled up on the bench opposite them.

Theo grinned, taking a bite of her licorice wand. “We have a much longer journey than you do.” she reminded him.

“He has a point,” Ominis offered, leaning his head into his hand. “We could just take thestral carriages. Would be a lot faster.”

Theo winced, shuddering at the memory of her last thestral drawn carriage ride. “Don’t remind me.”

“Anyways, tell us everything we need to know.” Sebastian cleared his throat, changing the subject away from Theo’s horrible experience. “Who we’re meeting, where we’re staying, everything.”

Theo fell back against the bench, twirling the licorice wand around. “So it’ll be a rather small affair, just you two, Great-aunt Gertie, and dad.” she paused for a moment. “Perhaps my Aunt Elizabeth, and my cousin, James.”

Sebastian stiffened slightly. It had been a long time since Theo had mentioned her distant cousin; he knew that Theo’s father favored him, and that there had been some expectation in the past that he and Theo might court one another for the sake of the family. He had no idea what he looked like, or anything about him, really–any discussion of James had ceased once their relationship had taken off.

Theo started fumbling with the ribbons on her dress. “It’s silly, but we dress up for dinner. And at one point, I really would love to take both of you ice skating.” she said, twirling the ribbon in her fingers. “You two are sharing a room, I think. I had Nan confirm it.”

“Nan?” Sebastian asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My governess,” Theo admitted. “She and Aunt Gertie are the only ones who know you’re coming.”

Sebastian felt his heart beating out of his chest in panic. “Your father doesn’t know?”

Theo rolled her eyes, her feet falling from his lap as she sat upright. “He knows I’m bringing home two friends.” she shrugged. “He doesn’t care for specifics.”

Sebastian looked out the window, watching the snow fall. He couldn’t help feeling irked at Theo’s nonchalance–it was one thing for her not to talk about him to her father over the summer, but they were serious now. Serious to the point where Sebastian was ready to ask her father for her hand in marriage, yet she didn’t think it important enough to mention that she was bringing him home for the holidays.

“Excuse me,” Sebastian grumbled, pushing himself up from the bench. He could feel Theo’s eyes roving over him as he exited the cabin, rushing down towards the lavatory. With the door shut behind him, he shut his eyes, trying to steady his breath.

She loved him, Sebastian thought to himself. They’d been together for nearly a year now, and they’d shared so much during that short time. Theo had seen him at his very worst (he shuddered at that memory) and was always encouraging him to be his best. Yet even as he reminded himself of just how much Theo loved him, he felt the tiny seed of doubt planted in the pit of his stomach.

Sebastian splashed water on his face, shaking out his anxiety. He slid the lavatory door open, yelping at the sight of Theo standing right in front of him.

“I did try to stop her,” Ominis yelled from the hallway. “I’m going back before someone steals our seats.”

“What is it?” Theo huffed, crossing her arms. Despite his annoyance at her, Sebastian couldn’t deny how exquisite she looked. Her plaid dress brought out the warmth in her skin, a pretty little bow attached at the end of her braid. She was wearing the maroon dueling gloves Sebastian had bought her for her eighteenth birthday–a meager offering, he’d thought, but she’d worn them every day since.

“It’s nothing,” Sebastian insisted, pushing past her. “Let’s go back to Ominis.”

“It’s not nothing,” Theo grumbled, tugging on his arm. “Tell me.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, turning to face her; she was pouting, big round eyes staring up at him. “It’s just…you didn’t tell your father I was coming.” Sebastian strained. “I don’t even know if he knows about me. About us .”

Theo chewed on her lower lip. “He knows you exist,” she admitted. “That there’s someone important to me.”

“Does he know just how important ?” Sebastian grumbled. “Important like a friend, or like a lover?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Theo insisted, tugging on his arm. “All that matters is how I feel about you. You know my father could care less about me, my personal life.”

“I care,” Sebastian argued. “I care that he knows. That I have every intention of spending the rest of my life with you. Can you say the same?” The words came out of his mouth before he could stop, immediately regretting them.

Theo released his arms, clearly affronted. “I want to spend Christmas with you, Sebastian. With you, in my home. Isn’t that enough?”

It wasn’t , Sebastian thought, but he didn’t want to fight with her on the train. Adelaide and Poppy had already opened their cabin door, looking out into the hall to see who was making all the noise. Sebastian turned Theo, whose eyes were glassy with tears.

“Let’s just forget about it,” Sebastian insisted. “And go back to Ominis, okay?”

She nodded, blinking back her tears. Sebastian didn’t miss Poppy, mouthing a question to Theo.

“I’m fine, Poppy.” Theo declared. “Dust in the eye.”

It was hard to enjoy the rest of the train ride to London; Sebastian felt as if he were sitting on eggshells next to Theo, who had her arms crossed. The trio eventually disembarked at Kings Cross Station, following Theo as she guided them out of the station, dragging their trunks behind them as she searched for her father’s carriage. A kindly old footman yelled out to her, and Theo charged towards him, grinning from ear to ear.

Despite his nerves, Sebastian couldn’t help tipping his head towards the window as they rode through London. Theo excitedly pointed out her favorite things as they passed–a dressmaker her mother used to like, a particularly good tea shop, a bookstore she wanted to take the boys to before they went home for the new year. He watched her reflection in the window, relishing the wide smile on her face. No matter how irked he’d been, any feelings of annoyance were washed away at the sight of her twinkling with happiness.

At the same time, his hand absentmindedly flew to his pocket, making sure his wallet was inside. He’d already splurged on his new clothes and Christmas presents for Theo and Ominis; he hoped the exchange rate for pounds at Gringotts would be favorable.

The carriage pulled into a residential neighborhood; the houses were stately and grand, each decorated lavishly from the outside for the holidays. Sebastian gulped, hoping the two suits he’d bought were fine enough for the occasion. They eventually came to a halt in front of a red bricked manor, lined with Christmas garland. Every window had candles lit in it, and he could see the shadow of a large Christmas tree in the window.

“Dad sure went overboard,” Theo rolled her eyes as the carriage door opened. “Come, let’s get inside.”

The trio clambered out of the carriage; they’d had to be quite creative in concealing Ominis’s wand considering it was his first foray in the muggle world. In anticipation of their trip, Professor Weasley had helped Theo conjure a cane that could conceal Ominis’s wand, while still providing him his echolocation spell for guidance. Sebastian held his arm out for the blond as they walked towards the door–he still seemed shaky.

Sebastian blinked heavily as they walked through the doors. He’d never been in a house so grand before in his life; it seemed every inch of the walls were covered in large tapestries or grand pieces of artwork. He handed their cloaks over to a maid, rubbing his sweaty palms on his new wool trousers. Theo was hugging an older woman, gesturing for the boys to come closer.

“Nan, this is Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt,” Theo introduced them. “My two very best friends.”

Friends , Sebastian thought bitterly. He had to have made a face, considering Theo was glaring at him.

“A pleasure to meet you boys,” the older woman smiled at them. “Everyone has been quite excited to meet Miss Caulfield’s friends from school.”

“Fantastic to meet you,” Sebastian smiled in return, dipping his head in reverence as he shook her hand. Nan shook Ominis’s hand as well, but her beaming eyes lingered on Sebastian as Theo tucked her arm into his.

“Teddie!” A masculine voice boomed.

“Teddie?” Ominis asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Theo and Sebastian turned their heads to the stairs; a thin man walked down the stairs, his strawberry blond hair pushed back. He looked to be the same age as them, if not a little older. He traipsed down the stairs, smiling as Theo hugged him.

“My cousin, James.” Theo announced. “You can call him Jimmy.”

“Always a treat when Teddie comes home.” James smiled broadly, his arm around Theo’s shoulder.

Sebastian had felt the sting of jealousy in the past, watching Theo interact with Garreth and Isaac before they’d started dating. That feeling was unmatched compared to the one he felt now, watching her act so comfortably around a stranger, knowing it was once suggested the two of them marry. Only Ominis’s hand on his shoulder drew him out of his discomfort.

“Jimmy, this is Ominis and Sebastian.” Theo said excitedly.

“Nice to meet you both.” James said kindly, extending his hand to Sebastian.

“Likewise,” Sebastian feigned. He stood up a little straighter, feeling quite pleased with himself when he realized he stood at least an inch taller than him.

James turned his attention to Theo. “I know you’ll hate it, but your father has arranged somewhat of a small dinner party tonight for your birthday.” he winced.

Theo rolled her eyes. “Of course he has. Who is invited?”

James looked over at Sebastian and Ominis hesitantly. “He asked me to bring Edward and John–must have assumed the friends you were bringing for the holidays were young ladies, so the party will be rather unbalanced.”

Sebastian turned his head to Ominis, who was fighting off the urge to laugh. He elbowed him rather sharply, causing the blind boy to cough.

“Speak of the devil,” Theo muttered under her breath.

A man walked into the foyer with a woman on each arm; the younger was dressed in a high necked gown, her red hair pinned atop her head. Aunt Elizabeth, he reminded himself in his head. The other, much older, was quite petite. She had pure white hair, and kind smile lines around her face. It had to be Theo’s Great-Aunt Gertrude, who she’d spoken quite fondly of.

The man himself was a surprise. Theo rarely spoke about her father; based on the complaints, Sebastian had imagined him to be quite cold and austere. To his surprise, Lord Caulfield was neither. He was quite a formidable man, tall and broad, sweeping Theo into a large hug. His black hair, lined with streaks of silver, was tidily done, with a thick mustache and beard. Sebastian made note of their similarities–he and Theo shared the same sharp chin, and he was the source of her honey brown eyes.

“Dad,” Theo said dryly, patting him on the shoulder. He let her down, and she smoothed over the wrinkles he’d left on her dress. “Happy Christmas.”

“Teddie, so happy to have you home this year.” His voice boomed. “Now, where are your friends?”

“Here,” Theo turned to the boys. “Father, this is Ominis Gaunt and Sebastian Sallow.”

Sebastian noticed the glint in his eyes, and the way his lips downturned; clearly, he was caught off guard that the schoolmates Theo had brought home for the holidays were in fact, boys. He gave Theo a stern look, and she merely shrugged.

Nevertheless, he politely held out his hand, shaking both of theirs in return.

“Theodore Caulfield, a pleasure to meet you both. Ted, if we’re to be friends.”

Sebastian nearly choked. “Theodore,” he repeated. He remembered Theo telling him early in their relationship how they’d assumed she was a boy, and that her mother had feminized the name upon her birth. It made sense–she was named after her father.

“That’s the name.” Lord Caulfield gave him a composed smile, but his eyes said otherwise.

Sebastian looked over at Ominis again; the blind boy had a hint of a smile on his face, clearly preparing to make fun of Theo for sharing a name with her father. His eyes found Theo’s, which were quite threatening. Don’t you dare, she mouthed.

“Theodora, I didn’t realize the school you attended was…co-educational,” her Aunt Elizabeth said coolly. “How modern.”

Theo gave her one of her cutting smiles (clearly, Sebastian thought, another trait earned from her father). “It’s a very good school.”

“Perhaps Miss Caulfield should show the boys to their rooms.” Nan interrupted. “Everyone will need time to prepare for dinner.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea–” Lord Caulfield interjected, eyes flitting over at Sebastian.

“Nonsense, they’re fine.” Nan tutted. “Now, children, be off.”

“Come along,” Theo said loudly, grabbing Sebastian’s hand. She laced her fingers through his, and Sebastian gulped. Theo wove her arm through Ominis’s elbow, bidding everyone goodbye as she dragged the boys up the stairs.

They walked down a long corridor, up some stairs, and down another hallway. Theo chattered on about the history of the house, but Sebastian felt so overwhelmed, every fact flew straight above his head. He used to hate when the other Slytherins like Lestrange and Parkinson called him rural, but he’d never felt more like a simple farm boy ever in his life.

Theo pushed open a bedroom door; the walls were a pale blue, with two double beds next to one another. “I wrote to Nan, picked the room myself. Close to the back stairs, in case you need me. My room is the one right below.” she grinned, sitting on one of the beds. “Come over,” she urged.

Sebastian felt his feet drag on the rug as he collapsed onto the soft bed. He nearly groaned at the feeling; he was used to the straw mattress in Feldcroft, and the old beds at Hogwarts. This one was plush, luxurious. He scooched up the bed, letting his head fall into Theo’s lap. Her dark hair tickled his cheeks as she looked down on him.

Ominis pulled his wand out, sighing in relief as the tip lit red. “Oh, it's so hard to not use magic. I have no idea how they manage.” he sighed, waving his wand at the door to shut it.

Sebastian rolled over to let Theo out from underneath him. “So, Teddie?”

“Old family nickname,” she rolled her eyes. “Ted and Teddie.” she spat.

“Your father seems nice.” Ominis shrugged. The valets had brought up their luggage, leaving them shut at Theo’s instruction. Ominis opened his, waving his wand to hang his clothes in the wardrobe.

“He’s always nice to strangers,” Theo crossed her arms. “Bit surprised he didn’t lose his mind when he realized I hadn’t brought home girls.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Sebastian huffed. “I want to make a good impression on him.”

“And I’ve already told you that doesn’t matter.” Theo reminded him gently. “It’s not up to him.”

Ominis shrugged. “I’m just saying, you always make him sound so distant. He seemed rather excited to have you home.”

Theo shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t know him the way I do.” her eyes narrowed.

Sebastian rolled off the plush bed to hang his clothes. His trunk was considerably smaller than Ominis’s, and he again hoped that his two suits would suffice for the week. He opened the ornate wardrobe, only to find there were clothes hanging already. Another two suits, and some more new slacks and shirts.

“Mr. Hill told me you went suit shopping this week.” Theo said uneasily. “I know we can be rather formal–so I thought I’d get you some spares.”

Sebastian felt his face burn red with embarrassment. While he was quite surprised at the gesture, he couldn’t help feeling a bit put off. He’d spent nearly half his savings on the two suits he had brought, and it was mortifying that Theo had spent the same amount of coin without question.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Sebastian muttered. He pulled out one of the suits; it was a dark blue, almost black fabric, the one he’d been eyeing at the shop. He hadn’t had enough money to indulge in anything other than black wool, and Mr. Hill had probably caught him admiring the blue fabric on the bolt.

“Blue, your favorite.” Theo murmured. While Sebastian was admiring the suit, she had rolled off the bed and sidled up next to him. “Don’t be mad at me.”

Sebastian looked at his girlfriend with her pleading eyes. It was impossible to stay mad at her for long. He sighed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It’s too much,” he urged.

“Consider it an early Christmas present.” Theo said, a small smile on her face. She backed away towards the door. “Now get dressed–they ring the bell when it’s time to come down for dinner.”

Once the door shut behind her, Sebastian let out an exasperated sigh. He looked over at Ominis, who was testing out his own plush bed.

“Quite out of our comfort zone, aren’t we?” Sebastian asked wearily.

Ominis gave him a sympathetic smile. “It’ll be fine. A week with muggles, what could go wrong?”

A lot, Sebastian thought. He was already getting off on the wrong foot with her father, and it seemed like Theo was determined to irk the man at every chance. Sebastian wasn’t sure how he’d get the courage to get Lord Caulfield alone, but he knew it had to be done.

Sebastian looked back at the wardrobe, pulling the dark blue dinner jacket out. Flipping the coat flap open, he saw some green stitching on the left flap; over his heart, the initials TC . He let out a surprised squeak, touched by the gesture.

“What has you so chuffed?” Ominis asked curiously.

Sebastian slid on the jacket over his shirt, examining himself in the mirror. He held his hand over the left lapel, where the letters were. Despite his nerves, the green stitching gave him some comfort. No matter how the week went, Theo had given her his heart. She’d done everything in the past two years for him alone.

“Nothing,” Sebastian bit back his smile.

“That was a disaster,” Sebastian groaned. Dinner had ended; the ladies were moving into the drawing room for a glass of wine. Theo’s father had invited the boys to join him in his study for cigars, along with her cousin and his friends.

Ominis scratched his head. “Does it help if I say things can only go up from here?”

Sebastian banged his forehead against the wooden walls. “No.”

“I’ll shut up then.” Ominis pursed his lips. “Come, we mustn’t keep her father waiting.”

Sebastian trudged behind Ominis, pouting. Sebastian was normally charm personified; he’d flattered his way out of dozens of detentions, and had a reputation as one of the most charismatic students at Hogwarts. However, sitting across from Lord Caulfield at the dinner table with Theo’s hand on his leg underneath it, Sebastian found it hard to form coherent thoughts. When Aunt Elizabeth had inquired about his background, he’d merely blurted out Feldcroft and how sheep was its main trade. When her great-aunt asked what his aspirations were post-graduation, Sebastian had frozen entirely–they were muggles, how could he describe curse breaking in a meaningful way?

Theo, on the other hand, had a simple response. “Banking,” she said, patting his leg reassuringly.

Sebastian and Ominis walked in through the door; James was standing, his two friends seated on the leather couch across him. They were quite bored, rather put off at the lack of available young ladies at the dinner table.

“Welcome,” James said kindly. “Scotch?”

“Certainly.” Sebastian said, eagerly taking the glass of liquor. The alcohol stung his lips as he sipped, eyeing the room. Lord Caulfield was suspiciously missing.

“Uncle Ted just ran off for the moment,” James murmured, placing a glass in Ominis’s hand. “You’re doing well–he can be rather intimidating. I'm a bit surprised that Theo didn’t do more to prepare you.”

“You know, then?” Sebastian looked down at the glass, swirling it.

“Theo told me about you two last summer.” James snorted. “She came home from her week long trip to Madrid looking a little too pale, so I knew something was up.” He smiled earnestly at Sebastian. “I’m very happy for you two.”

Sebastian blushed. “Thank you.” he stammered. “At least Theo has told someone.”

Just as James was about to open his mouth, the door burst open. Lord Caulfield came into the room, commanding everyone’s attention.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” The man said easily. “James, go light on the scotch–can’t have you draining the entire bottle.”

“No sir,” James said cheekily. He’d turned to go back to his conversation with Sebastian, only stopping when Lord Caulfield gave him a cutting look.

“Perhaps you and Ominis would like to converse with your friends,” Lord Caulfield said airily. “So I might get to know our friend Sebastian better.”

“Er, right. Sounds good. Ominis, perhaps you’d like to move over to the chair.” James gave Sebastian a sympathetic look as he guided Ominis towards the group, racing back over to the rest of the group.

“Sebastian,” Lord Caulfield said, beckoning him closer. Sebastian hesitantly joined him towards the fireplace, gripping the glass in his hand. “Did you enjoy dinner?”

Sebastian nodded eagerly. “I did, sir. An excellent meal.”

Lord Caulfield eyed him curiously. “Theodora had painted you as quite the conversationalist.”

Sebastian gulped. “So she has talked about me, to you?”

Lord Caulfield laughed, looking at a painting above the fireplace. “No, but thinking I could mistake the glances she was making at you for friendship would insult my intelligence.”

“Oh.” Sebastian uttered, tugging at his collar.

“Tell me, Sebastian. Do you hunt?” Lord Caulfield asked.

“No sir.”

“Right then…any sports?” Lord Caulfield asked, lighting his cigar.

He was a muggle, Sebastian thought. Now wasn’t exactly the time to brag about being a fair flyer in a summer pick up Quidditch league.

“Not particularly, sir.” Sebastian admitted. “At least…not in your type of sports.”

Lord Caulfield nodded his head up and down slowly. “So no hunting, no sports. A scholar, then, am I correct?”

“Attempting to be one,” Sebastian smiled meekly. “Think your daughter has me beat on the academic front though.”

“My daughter indeed.” Lord Caulfield narrowed his eyes on him.

Sebastian looked over his shoulder at Ominis, who was conversing with James and his friends. He silently begged his friend to put his legilimens skills to work, help him form the right words to say.

“What do you think of this painting?”

Sebastian turned his attention back to Theo’s father, and the painting above the fireplace. Sebastian stepped back slightly, looking up at it–it was a portrait of a woman, with dark hair and blustery blue eyes. He was just about to respond, saying how pretty the subject was, when he noticed Lord Caulfield open the flap of his jacket to reach the inner pocket for a hankerchief.

“Your jacket, sir.” Sebastian said quickly. “What does it say on the inside?”

The older man chuckled with the cigar in his mouth. “Oh, Theodora’s mother used to steal all my coats, embroider them on the inside.” he opened his jacket once more, showing Sebastian the red thread. There were letters sewn above his heart, very much like the jacket Sebastian was wearing.

With Theo on his mind, Sebastian looked back up at the portrait. The same pretty dark hair, full cheeks, and pouty lips. He could see his girlfriend in the portrait of the woman above

“Lady Caulfield was very beautiful.” Sebastian mused. “And from what Theo has told me, incredibly kindhearted. I know you must miss her very much.”

Lord Caulfield gave him a look, taking a puff from his cigar. “Perceptive, unlike most seventeen year old boys.” he chuckled. He looked back at James and his friends. “Leonora always said you magic folk grew up far faster than us muggles .” he murmured.

Now was the time , Sebastian thought. He had to make his intentions known.

“SIr, I wonder if we might speak in private–”

“Another time,” Lord Caulfield took another long drag from the cigar, giving Sebastian a knowing look. “For that conversation, I should think.”

Sebastian pushed through the door, shivering as he took off his soaked woolen hat.

“We can put our skates in the back,” Theo announced, unraveling her scarf. She looked around, making sure there were no servants around, before whipping her wand out of her pocket to cast a drying spell on them.

“Thanks,” Sebastian’s teeth chattered. “We should see how Ominis is faring—should’ve guessed he wouldn’t be interested in ice skating.”

“Theodora, you know better than to be waving that stick around the house.”

Both of them froze, turning to look up the stairs. At the top was her tiny great-aunt, hands folded in front of her dress with a mischievous smile on her face.

“Sorry,” Theo moaned. “It’s just so much easier.” Dropping her skates on the rug, Theo bounced up the stairs to kiss the old woman on the cheek. Sebastian did the same, following her up the steps a few paces behind. The old woman blushed, waving him off as he grinned down at her.

“Your father is quite cross with you,” Great-Aunt Gertie warned. “He’s asked for you to meet him in the study, alone .”

“It’s Christmas Eve, can’t he leave it alone?” Theo complained.

“Afraid not, my dear.” Gertie patted her shoulder. “Best you go in now–perhaps Sebastian can help me down the stairs to the drawing room.”

Theo gave Sebastian a wry look before heading up the stairs. He extended his arm out to the old woman, who gave him a beaming smile.

“Did you enjoy your outing?” Gertie asked. “Have you been back for long?”

Sebastian blushed–while he had enjoyed skating, they did spend the last fifteen minutes tucked behind the bushes adjacent to the house. He’d pressed Theo against the brick wall, casting a quick disillusionment charm, so that they might have a moment alone together. Sebastian rubbed his stubbled jaw, hoping Theo hadn’t left any marks.

“London is fascinating,” he demurred. “I haven’t spent time here since I was a child.”

“An expert at deflection, quite like Theo’s mother.” Gertie chuckled. “She looks at you the same way Leonora looked at Ted when they were younger.”

Sebastian felt his blush deepen as they hit the foot of the stairs. “I would hope so.”

“The best of both her parents, I think.” Gertie mused. “It’s a shame her mother didn’t live long enough to see her power.”

“And you know about magic too, then?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

“Well, when your grand-niece suddenly finds herself on top of the roof after trying to escape a suitor at a tea party, how could you not believe in magic?” Gertie tipped her head towards him.

Sebastian let out a booming laugh. “She never told me that,” he chuckled. They’d talked often about how their magic manifested, and Theo had long avoided the subject. He banked up the story as future blackmail against her.

As they approached the drawing room, Gertie patted Sebastian’s hand. “I am happy to finally meet you, my dear. She writes about you so often, and seeing the two of you together, I understand why.” her eyes twinkled. “Don’t let Ted scare you. He only wants to ensure Theo has someone to take care of her.”

“I won’t,” Sebastian promised.

Feeling quite chuffed after his conversation with Gertie, Sebastian walked up the stairs with a bounce in his step. He turned the corner to go up another flight to his shared room with Ominis, until he heard the loud voices emanating from the door next to the steps. He could hear Theo, arguing with her father.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Lord Caulfield advised. “Your aunt has put in quite a lot of work planning your debut, and she’s told me you want to cancel it.”

“I’m quite within my rights,” Theo bit back. “She shouldn’t have been planning it in the first place.”

Sebastian pulled his wand from his pocket, casting a disillusionment charm. The door led to the second floor of Lord Caulfield’s study; he slipped in through the door, taking care to press it shut quietly behind him. He looked down below from the balcony of books to see Theo pacing back and forth, Lord Caulfield sitting at his desk.

“Every girl goes through a presentation,” Lord Caulfield strained. “It’s tradition.”

“My mother didn’t.” Theo seethed.

“Teddie, please, I don’t want to argue.” he groaned. “I just want you to do things the proper way.”

“Don’t call me that, I’ve told you a million times.” Theo fought.

Her father let out an exasperated sigh, standing up. “And why is it that you won’t go through with your debut as planned?”

Theo fidgeted. “Girls only do that to find a husband.” she said stiffly. “And I’ve already found one for myself.”

Her father rolled his eyes. “A farm boy, from the highlands, who can hardly hold a conversation. You don’t even know if he can take care of you, Theodora. Surely you–”

“I’ve made my decision, that’s final.” Theo cut him off, crossing her arms. “No presentation–no ball–nothing. I know what the rest of my life looks like, Dad. It’s with Sebastian.”

Sebastian felt a shiver up his spine, his heart thumping with pride hearing her say it.

“You’re eighteen,” Lord Caulfield barked. “What do you know of love?”

“So what?” Theo demanded. “Mother was only nineteen when you met–”

“Don’t bring your mother into this.” Her father warned, wagging a finger in her face. “It’s a completely different situation–”

“It’s not!” Theo bickered. “It’s love–you and Mum were always saying you both sacrificed things to be together, that you could accomplish anything so long as you had each other!”

“That was before I had a daughter! A daughter whose wellbeing and future I need to ensure.” Lord Caulfield roared, his fist slamming on the table. “And has he asked?” his eyes narrowed, leaning against his desk. “This boy, who you should’ve told me you were bringing home, by the way. Has he asked for your hand?”

Theo paused. “Not exactly,” she fidgeted. “But I know it, Dad. I know he’s it for me.”

Sebastian leaned over the railing for a closer look. Lord Caulfield had his head tipped back, staring up towards him. If Sebastian hadn’t cast a disillusionment charm on himself, he could’ve sworn the man looking straight at him. He squinted, and Sebastian inhaled sharply, jumping away from the railing.

“You are as headstrong as your mother,” Lord Caulfield shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If only she were here to deal with your nonsense.”

“Mum would’ve been happy for me.” Theo muttered. “She would’ve known that I was making the right decision for myself.” She gave her father a wistful look before stomping out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

The knocking on the door woke Sebastian first. He blinked heavily, looking over at the window; the sun hadn’t even risen. Ominis, curled up in the plush bed across from him, was already groaning.

“Who is it?” Ominis asked sleepily. “Tell them to fuck off, it’s Christmas.”

The knocking continued. Sebastian hopped out of the bed, sliding into his slippers as he padded over to the door. He opened it, rubbing his eyes; they widened when he realized it was Lord Caulfield, dressed and ready for the day.

“Good morning, Sebastian.” He said stiffly. “I was wondering if you might join me in the study for coffee this morning.”

Sebastian blinked at Theo’s father. “Um, certainly. Let me get dressed–”

“Nothing fancy.” Lord Caulfield said, turning on his heel. “I’ll meet you in the study.”

Sebastian swallowed thickly. “I’ll be downstairs in a moment.”

It took him a few minutes to rummage through his trunk, trying to decide what to wear. He settled on his wool trousers, thick socks, boots, and an old sweater Anne had knitted for him. Ominis had fallen back asleep, snoring lightly as Sebastian shrugged on his clothes. He nearly stumbled down the steps to the first floor of the house; it seemed the rest of the house was still asleep. The door to Lord Caulfield’s study was left ajar, so he slipped through the door and shut it behind him.

“Good morning, Sebastian.” Lord Caulfield said, pouring a cup of coffee from a silver tray.

“Good morning, Lord Caulfield.” Sebastian’s teeth chattered.

“Ted, I told you.” Theo’s father advised, gesturing for him to follow. “Come in, take a seat.”

Sebastian cautiously stepped forward, sitting in the chair across from his desk.

“Happy Christmas.” Ted said, taking a sip from his coffee.

“Happy Christmas, sir.” Sebastian replied, nervously folding his hands in his lap.

“Have you enjoyed your stay in London so far?” Ted asked, leaning back into his chair. “You seem a bit nervous.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been nervous about meeting you for a while, I think. Anyone meeting a girl’s father should be.”

Ted gave him a wry smile. “I wouldn’t know–I never had the luxury of meeting Leonora’s parents. They were highly against our union; something about how magic folks shouldn’t marry muggles, if that’s what we’re still called.”

Sebastian bit his lip, nodding. “Some people keep that belief, I suppose. Not me.”

“So much so, they never wanted to meet little Theodora.” Ted said, standing up. He folded his hands behind his back, walking towards the fire. “And that they stopped speaking with Leo altogether when they found out Theo didn’t have any magical abilities.”

“That’s horrible.” Sebastian shook his head. “I can’t imagine it.”

“Are your folks the accepting type?” Ted asked, stopping by the fire. “She hasn’t told me much, but her mentor, Professor Fig, had told me there would be others who wouldn’t accept her.”

“I would say so, sir.” Sebastian stood as well, slowly approaching him with his hands in his pockets. “But my parents died when I was younger. And my guardian…er, my guardian passed almost two years ago.”

“I am very sorry to hear that,” Ted gave him a sympathetic look. “Loss does make you children grow up a lot faster.” He looked up at the portrait on the wall, chewing on his bottom lip. “Neither Theo nor I were quite the same after she passed.”

Sebastian looked up at the portrait of Theo’s mother. “They look so similar.” he mused. “She doesn’t talk about her very much–I would like to know about her.”

Ted smiled softly. “Theo and her mother share a magic stronger than their abilities. They both bring a certain warmth to the world, don’t they? They would do anything for the people they love, even if it pained them.”

“That’s a pretty good way of putting it.” Sebastian admitted. Very on brand for Theo, he thought to himself.

“I never knew such beauty until I met Leonora,” Ted said. “She bewitched me from the moment we met. We both broke our families rules by marrying one another, but I knew no one else would compare. And when she died…well, she took a piece of me with her.” he said mournfully.

“I am very sorry for your loss.” Sebastian murmured.

“I’ll say it now, just once. Theodora is right to despise me. I was not there for her when her mother died, not properly, as a father should. When my wife died, I retreated to the only things I knew–drinking, hunting, being alone. When Theo found her magic, I didn’t know how to deal with it. By the time I realized she’d needed me, she was already off to that school of yours.” He said wistfully. “But Theo remains my crown jewel. My lasting legacy in this world. I don’t care who it is that she marries, except that she is properly taken care of.”

Sebastian swallowed thickly, opening his mouth to say what he’d been meaning to say the entire trip. However, the words wouldn’t materialize.

“Can you take care of her? Ensure her safety, her wellbeing?” Ted demanded. “Provide for her and the children you might have someday?”

“I can, sir.” Sebastian declared. “I’ve been recommended for a highly sought after placement after graduation; I already work, I make my own money. I have a house in the highlands–it’s not grand by any means, but it’s comfortable for her–and I do plan on living in London after graduation.” he blurted.

“And you mean to ask me for her hand in marriage, don’t you?” Ted asked, eyes narrowed.

“I love her, sir.” Sebastian choked out. “I love her so much. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make her happy.”

Ted pursed his lips at Sebastian. “You are so very young, the both of you.”

“I just feel like no matter how long I get, it won’t be enough time with her.” Sebastian admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

Ted looked back up at the portrait on the wall. “I know the feeling.”

“Are you saying yes, then?” Sebastian asked, albeit a bit too eagerly.

Ted looked at Sebastian, tilting his head. “I think we both know it doesn’t matter how I feel. I know that once my daughter has put her mind to something, there’s no stopping her. I know that she loves you dearly, at least from what my dear aunt has told me.” he said, walking back around to his desk. “If I can make any request, I only ask that you at least wait until you’re older. Graduated at the very least, preferably.”

Sebastian nodded. “Of course, sir.”

Ted leaned over his desk, palms flat on the surface. “We both should’ve known regardless, my permission never mattered.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh at the look on Ted’s face. The older man shared the same chuckle, shaking his head at the thought. As if Theodora Caulfield could ever be stopped, Sebastian thought to himself. She was a force of nature, the most talented witch he knew.

And someday, hopefully soon, his wife.

“Happy Christmas, you two.” Theo said, leaning against the door of their bedroom.

The day had actually been quite nice; the trio had gone out to Diagon Alley for the day, picking up a bevy of treats and candies to share amongst themselves at home. After a modest Christmas roast with her father and great-aunt, they’d retired to the room upstairs to exchange Christmas presents. Ominis had gifted Sebastian a new leather wallet to replace his tattered one, and a pretty hairpin made of unicorn horn for Theo. Sebastian and Theo had jointly gifted Ominis a traveler’s set of wizard’s chess.

“For the two of you to play on the train back to Scotland,” Theo said softly, putting her arm around Sebastian.

“You two are too much,” Ominis shook his head. “Especially you, Sebastian.”

“You deserve it.” Sebastian declared. His pockets might have been a little leaner that holiday season, but he wanted to give Ominis a meaningful present. The same for Theo–while he couldn’t afford anything remotely close to what her father had gifted her that holiday season, he yearned to give her something meaningful. While he had not found what he’d been looking for in Mr. Hill’s jewelry selection, he’d still made a purchase. That, and a visit to the goblin metalsmith in Irondale.

“This one’s for you.” Sebastian declared, passing Theo a long oblong box. It was carefully wrapped in butcher paper, twine and holly berry tied to decorate it. He watched as Theo tore off the wrapping, eyes widening at the velvet box.

“Sebastian, can we speak in the hallway?” she murmured.

Slightly panicked, Sebastian nodded, following her out of the room. She shut the door gently, gripping the velvet box in hand.

“I didn’t want to say in front of Ominis…you shouldn’t have bought me anything.” Theo insisted.

Sebastian scratched at his head. “It’s Christmas,” he said sheepishly. “I had to get you something.”

“But you just bought the gloves for my birthday,” she strained. “And the new clothes–”

“Are you worried about me?” Sebastian asked quietly. “About the money?”

“I just know you gave up a lot of shifts over the holidays to be here,” Theo looked down at her shoes, fidgeting. “And we already get so little time together, you’ll be working yourself to the bone trying to make up for it.”

“Open it, please.” Sebastian interjected. “Open the box.”

Theo looked at him as she snapped the box open; she pulled out the silver chain, which had a key at the end.

“What is this?” she whispered, examining the key closer.

“A key to the Feldcroft house.” Sebastian swallowed thickly. “It’s nothing big. I know you could easily break the door down if you wanted to, but after we spent so much time fixing it up over the summer, I wanted you to feel like it was yours. Because it sort of is, in a way–”

Theo dropped the box, throwing her arms around his neck. Sebastian tugged her close, hungrily kissing her lips. She was whispering something in between kisses, but Sebastian couldn’t make sense of it. He chuckled against her mouth as she pressed him against the wall, her hands on his cheeks.

“Ahem.”

Sebastian turned his head, feeling Theo jump away from him. Mortified, he saw Theo’s father at the end of the hallway, his hands crossed against his chest. Ted Caulfield was giving him a knowing look, eyebrows raised in displeasure.

“Sorry, Dad.” Theo muttered, clutching the silver chain in hand. The velvet box had fallen from her hands.

“Theodora, bed.” Ted ordered her.

Theo turned back to Sebastian, giving him a devilish grin and a kiss on the cheek. “Tell Ominis I said goodnight as well,” she sang, fastening the silver chain around her neck. Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck as she winked, disappearing down the back stairs.

“Goodnight, Sebastian.” Ted said gruffly. “Don’t forget our conversation.”

Sebastian blushed. “Goodnight, sir. Happy Christmas.”

With that, he slid behind the door to his room and a very confused Ominis.

September 1898

“Have you found them yet?” Sebastian asked, frowning.

He heard a soft meow from underneath the dressing table. Craning his neck, he saw the little tan cat wiggling its bottom out from under, shaking out the dust as it clutched the silver cufflink in its mouth.

“Thank you,” Sebastian grinned, plucking the bauble. “Useful having an animagus in the house.”

Theo reverted from her animagus form back to human; she brushed the dirt off her skirt. “Is that all I’m good for?” she snorted, checking her hair in the mirror.

“Amongst other things,” Sebastian winked, fastening his cuffs.

Theo rolled her eyes. “Don’t get me started–we’re already going to be late to dinner.” she warned him.

They were due at Caulfield House soon; as soon as her father had caught wind that Sebastian was home, he’d insisted they come over for dinner. Sebastian had been entirely taken up with assignments from Rothwell, and Theo had been deep in her research all week. They’d slipped into a comfortable routine in the week that he’d been back with her; coffee in bed before work, dinner in the kitchen at half past five, and curled back up in each other’s arms with books by nine.

It was like he’d never left, Sebastian thought to himself.

“Come on,” Theo complained. “I’d rather not spend my Friday night stuck at the house, I’d rather spend it back here with you. So let’s get dinner over with.” She sauntered ahead of him down the stairs. “How on earth did your cufflink get under the dresser, anyways?”

Sebastian’s face burned red; he didn’t want to tell her he’d been tearing apart her dressing room, looking for the ring she’d hidden all week. He was starting to panic–Theo had made it sound like she’d hidden it in plain sight, but he’d looked through her bedroom, dressing room, and bathroom twice already.

“Nothing,” Sebastian coughed. “Shall we?”

It felt odd, traveling the muggle way, but her father has insisted on sending a carriage. Ted Caulfield was nothing if not traditional, sending the old carriage with the Caulfield family crest. Sebastian held Theo’s hand tightly the entire way as the rickety coach creaked on the cobblestones.

“Do you remember the first time I met your father?” Sebastian asked, tipping his head to look out the window.

“You were quite cross with me,” Theo snorted. “Because I didn’t tell him.”

“Yes, well, it’s common courtesy to let a man know before bringing home a significant other.” Sebastian reminded her.

Theo sidled up to him, setting her chin on his shoulder. “I am no man’s to give away.” she said simply.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but pecked a kiss on her head. “I was just thinking about how long ago that seemed.” he mused. “I couldn’t tell if your father hated me or not.”

“He’s always liked you,” Theo pointed out. “You, on the other hand, were terrified of him.”

Sebastian laughed at the memory. “Everything seemed much scarier and more serious when you’re seventeen.”

They rolled to a stop in front of Theo’s childhood home. Sebastian helped Theo out of the carriage, smoothing down the front of his jacket. He recalled how he’d spent a good chunk of his savings on fancy wool suits from Gladrags, only to find Theo had purchased him an entire wardrobe. He likely had some of those old jackets back in his flat with Ominis–he made a mental note to ask Theo to stitch her initials into all of his new clothes as well.

Sebastian walked in through the doors; it looked and smelled just as he remembered it. He took Theo’s cloak, handing it over to a maid, as he surveyed the empty room.

“It’ll be just us for dinner,” Theo said gently, tugging his arm. “Come on.”

It was odd for Ted to not greet them in the foyer, Sebastian thought. He was normally strict with manners, very by the book. Theo pushed open the doors of the dining room, and Sebastian nearly stopped in his tracks at the sight of her father at the table.

“Sebastian,” Ted Caulfield grinned. “Welcome back.”

Ted Caulfield had terrified Sebastian when he was seventeen. He was a large, barrel-chested man who could easily fight him if need be. A sportsman, Theo had called him, always somewhere hunting or riding. He couldn’t have been older than his late forties when he last saw him, but somehow in the three years Sebastian had been gone, he’d…aged. Significantly. Sick, if Sebastian would dare to think it. The man sitting at the table looked weathered and stiff, wincing as he tried to pull himself up from the chair.

Sebastian quickly jumped forward so that the man wouldn’t have to get out of his chair. “Ted,” he smiled, shaking his hand. “Good to be home.”

“Sit down,” Theo ordered him. “No need to be so formal, Dad.”

“Proper manners, Theodora.” Ted chided her. He looked up to Sebastian. “Still as stubborn as the day you met her, I presume?”

Sebastian dipped his head, smiling. “Would expect nothing less.”

Dinner went on, but Sebastian could sense the tension in the room. He didn’t miss the way Theo batted her father’s hand away from the salt, or how she complained that the sauce was too heavy.

“I wanted them to cook a good English meal for Sebastian,” Ted tutted. “He’s home after being away for so long, after all.”

“I’m grateful for it, really.” Sebastian assured him. “It’s nice to be home.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Theo huffed. But under the table, her shaking hand found his. Sebastian squeezed it reassuringly.

The dinner conversation was cheerful, only interrupted by Ted’s coughing and Theo’s fussing. Sebastian tried his best to cut the tension with stories of his adventures in Cairo. Despite Ted having some idea of magic, he still took delight in Sebastian’s stories of curse breaking and escapades amongst the pyramids. Ted lamented not being in good enough health to travel, which had Theo dropping her silverware.

“Shall we retire to the study?” Ted asked, taking Sebastian’s arm as he helped him up from the table.

“I’m going to check in with your nurse first,” Theo said, folding her napkin. “I’ll meet you two there–and I better not catch you drinking any scotch.” she warned.

Sebastian helped the man limp from the dining room to his study; the fire was crackling low as Sebastian helped him fall into a leather bound chair.

“Just a little bit won’t hurt,” he pointed to the crystal decanter. “A cheeky drink between us gentlemen.”

Sebastian walked over to the desk, pouring a modest glass of scotch for both of them. Ted sighed deeply as he shot it down, resting the crystal glass on the table adjacent to him. Sebastian sat down, swirling his glass in hand.

“Theo didn’t tell me you were unwell.” Sebastian said uneasily.

Ted gave him a sheepish look. “I’m sure she had much better topics than my health to discuss with you in your correspondence.”

He tilted his head towards him. “You’re important. You’re her father.”

Ted smacked his lips together. “Truth is, I would’ve died a year ago, had Theo not been there.” He drummed his fingertips against the edge of the chair. “Heart attack, right here in the study.”

“That’s awful,” Sebastian murmured. “I’m sorry to hear it.” He felt a pang of shame in his heart, realizing he hadn’t been there to comfort her. Why didn't she write? He would’ve taken the time to come home, he thought.

“That magic of hers really is something.” Ted shook his head. “But she can’t sustain me for long.”

“Magic?” Sebastian repeated.

Ted nodded. He swirled his fingers, imitating his daughter. “The curious little blue magic of hers,” Ted repeated. “Worked a charm.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Sebastian asked, leaning his elbows on his knees. He knew there was likely nothing to be done on his end, but offering it felt like the right thing to do.

Ted swallowed thickly. “Marry her. Make an honest woman of her, Sebastian. She should be a wife by now, a mother. If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s to not wait.” Sebastian blushed. “Sir–”

“I know that’s contradictory to what I told you when you were seventeen,” Ted waved him off. “To wait until you were older–but you’re both grown now, Sebastian. Don’t waste any time not being together.” He looked up at the portrait of his wife above the fireplace, as he so often did in Sebastian’s presence. “If I could have but one more moment with Leonora, I would trade every material possession I have in the world.”

“Trust me sir, I am trying.” Sebastian assured him. “Any other sage advice, then?”

“A little less scotch and cigars,” Ted coughed. “Would’ve prolonged things a bit.”

“I think I’ve set your nurse straight,” Theo said, walking into the room. She stood in the center, her hands on her hips. “Tell me you didn’t drink any scotch.”

“Not a sip.” Ted said cheerfully.

“I know you’re lying,” Theo scowled. “I can see the glass next to you."

“Sebastian poured me a little,” Ted admitted.

Sebastian’s jaw dropped as Theo seethed, snatching the crystal glass from the side table. Ted chuckled as she set it down on the desk, leaning against it with her arms crossed.

“You so remind me of your mother right now.” Ted said wistfully.

Sebastian’s eyes compared Theo to the portrait on the wall. Yes, as his love had aged, she’d become the very reincarnation of her mother. They shared the same black curls, rosy cheeks, and shapely nose. Sebastian wondered if Leonora Caulfield scowled or rolled her eyes in the same way Theo did, sharing any other little characteristics with the woman who’d driven him mad since he was sixteen. It reminded him that her mother was just another character he’d never meet in life, much like Theo would never meet his own parents.

Ted was the only living parent between the two of them. Theo and her father had still had somewhat of an icy relationship when Sebastian left for Cairo, but it seemed like Ted’s illness had thawed the frost between them. It made sense that Theo would use her magic to prolong his life as much as possible, despite the disdain she’d had for him as a teenager–he was all she had left. Sebastian became even more determined to find the ring, to marry her while Ted was still around to see.

They’d have to talk, Sebastian thought. He was reminded of the job offer in Cairo, the one Rothwell continuously reminded him of every time he stepped foot in Gringotts. They’d have to figure out where they’d live–Theo’s townhouse was nice, but not a proper family home. How quickly they could plan a wedding; soon enough that it wouldn’t look suspicious on Ominis’s end, and enough time for Sebastian to scrounge his savings together for the party.

He might never see Cairo again, which gave him a little bit of heartache. He’d expected the trip home to be a quick respite, but being back in London for just the short week and a half had made Sebastian realize it was time. Time to settle down, time to grow up. There would be adventure again someday, but he’d missed far too much in his time away.

“Sebastian, are you even listening?”

He broke out of his thoughts, turning his head to Theo. She was still leaning against the doorway. Her father was hobbling towards it, looking back at him. “Hm?”

“Dad is tired, I think we should retire for the night.” She said, holding her gloved hand out. “Shall we go home?”

He got up from the chair, eagerly helping Ted walk them to the door. A maid held their cloaks out for them.

“Remember, Sebastian.” Ted said quickly, as Sebastian passed Theo’s velvet trimmed cloak.

“Remember what?” Theo asked curiously, fastening the brooch at her neck.

“Oh nothing,” Ted replied cheerfully, kissing her cheek. “You two get home safely–it was lovely seeing you both.”

Sebastian nodded to her father, bidding in farewell as he walked Theo down the steps to the carriage. His hand hovered over her back as she got in, feeling a weight on his chest as he followed. He started thinking of his list again, all the tasks he needed to accomplish in order to properly go down on one knee. Where in Merlin’s name had she hidden the ring?

“What did my father say?” Theo broke the silence between them. It was silent in the cabin, except for the sound of the carriage wheels bouncing over the street.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was ill?” Sebastian asked softly, taking her hand as he ignored her question. “I would’ve come home.”

Theo turned her head to look out the window, her gloved hand resting on her chin. “I didn’t want to worry you. I could manage on my own; taking you away from your job would’ve only lengthened your apprenticeship. I wanted you to come home, Seb. But only when the time was right.”

Sebastian frowned. He hated the idea of her dealing with it all on her own–she likely wouldn’t have told Ominis either, keeping her father’s illness close to her chest.

“I’m home now,” Sebastian murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Let me take some of the burden.”

“He’s not your father,” Theo sighed. “He’s a pain in my arse, but he is my dad. I should take care of him.”

“He’s important to you, so he’s important to me.” Sebastian pressed his nose against her cheek; the gesture made Theo giggle, turning to face him. Her eyes were wet–she’d been trying not to cry.

“I’m glad you're back,” Theo whispered, pressing a hand to his cheek.

“Me too.” Sebastian tucked her into his arm, holding her close. He relished the way Theo hummed against his chest, dark curls pressing into his chin as they savored the silence. The couple remained that way the entire ride back home.

#writing-intheundercroft #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x oc #sebastian sallow fan fiction #sebastian sallow long fic

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wolf-in-a-trenchcoat · 2 months

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I'm bored, so have a (possibly) triggering first chapter look-see of my Ouizzy fic "A Dance With The Devil" that I'm gonna post. I plan to rewrite it to be more canon-accurate but also throw in a little personal spice since I love writing angst.

Also! For those of you who happen to read it anyways, I'd absolutely LOVE some feedback. (That includes the negative feedback. I don't get better unless it's given, and I strive to better my writing). Alright, let me put the trigger warning so we can be prepared!

TW/CW: implied/explicitly expressed abuse, canon typical violence, panic attack, mild aggression, and mentioned amputation and consumption of a toe.

⚠️Reader's discretion is advised.⚠️

Chap 1: Izzy's Torment.

Edward was in a horrid mood again.

Well, Blackbeard.

As typical, Izzy tried keeping things running as smoothly as possible, only speaking when spoken to and snapping orders at the crew if any were caught slacking. He spent the majority of his day limping around the deck, weight leaned on his cane. His foot fucking hurt, and the bandages around it chafed and caused the somewhat healing wound to open and bleed.

Izzy bites back a curse. Literally just a week ago when Blackbeard returned from being willingly captured by the English, Izzy had been force-fed his toe. He remembered that night with very little fondness despite the relieving excitement that coursed through him seeing that dark, malicious glare from Blackbeard. He swallowed thickly, once again reliving having to consume a piece of himself. How fucking poetic.

Leaning against the railing of the Revenge, Izzy stared out into the expanse of water surrounding the ship. The sun was hanging high in the sky, beating down on the deck in exhausting heat. He pulls away, sighing roughly and turned heel towards the lower decks to check in on the crew, to make sure they weren't slacking. They had a tight schedule, and Izzy made sure of it so they would stay busy.

As he descended, he could hear soft murmurs and hurried conversations before they went completely silent. Izzy's stony glare cast over the crew as they stand awkwardly in a circle, eyes directed at the ground as if in submission. Maybe it was genuine submission- that's all Izzy had disciplined into them in his fourteen hour power-trip when Edward was gone.

"What's with all of this... nonsense? Having a little chat with each other? Talking feelings?" Izzy rasps in lilting sarcasm, leaning on his cane with a scowl. No one responds, all except Jim. Their eyes remained trained on the ground, something unusual and out of character to their normally intense glare.

"We need an intervention." Their voice was slow but sure, and then the intense stare strays to Izzy. There was a small shock that ran through him, so subtle he wasn't sure it even happened. He nods his head upwards, chin slightly higher in curiosity.

“An intervention, ay? Ed wouldn't be too fond of that.” Izzy points out, tapping his cane against the floorboards to emphasize it. He sauntered forward, his scowl turning softer. “It's suicide to try and talk him out of this.”

“Still- it'd be better. For all of us.” Frenchie piped in, nervously looking anywhere that wasn't the shorter-statured man. Izzy had noticed the bard was very iffy about eye contact, fluctuating between a hard stare and no eye contact at all. The first-mate didn't know what to make of it, and instead decided it wasn't worth his time- knowing Stede Bonnet's crew, they'd have Izzy soft-side up and forcefully coddled like he was part of their crew. Part of them.

“Get back to work. Fuckin’ useless twats.” Izzy snarled, turning away. A deeper part of him knew that Jim was right- hell, even Frenchie! Of all people, excluding Jim, Frenchie actually had a point- one stating that sitting idly by would only make things worse. Izzy would never admit it, even in his dying breath that he agreed with Stede fucking Bonnet's maniac of a bard. Shame worms its way up Izzy's spine, settling in the center of his chest like a weight in his ribcage.

He… wanted to mutiny against Blackbeard. The one thing Izzy swore his life to uphold the name of, and here he was regretting his choices. A sickening feeling sits ominously idle in his gut, like a viper waiting to strike… waiting until Izzy is distracted. The first-mate swallowed back the rising pain in his throat, stalking off to the top deck and not even waiting to see if the crew listened.

He found himself below deck in his cabin. He was pacing the cramped room, hands tangled in his graying hair, trying to calm the raging storm of emotions in his mind. Izzy was never one for emotions, always keeping them bottled up until they all came out in spiteful insults and barked orders. Right now was not one of those times.

In a swift attempt of releasing his pent up self-destructive loathing, he grabbed a stool and threw it against the wall, the wood exploding into splintering shrapnel as it made impact. Izzy let out a strained shout, heaving in breaths as his attempt of control became vain. He had never let the thought of mutiny cross his mind.

“Fuck. Fuck!” Izzy growls, sitting roughly on his rickety cot and burying his face in his hands. He was sure his death was imminent if Blackbeard heard any whisper or word of possible opposition. The crew would die alongside Izzy if they didn't cower to the Kraken's absolutely mental demands and pressuring emotional manipulation.

Izzy Hands wanted to turncoat on Blackbeard, the man- no, the myth- he helped create. To break the promise he had made so long ago that it became the very air he breathed to upkeep. All for just a little taste of comfort in a trying time that won't last. He was stupid for letting himself be so… invested in the damn crew. How they felt, how they saw him, how they fucking bitched and moaned about how horrible Blackbeard treated them and yet, Izzy understood. How, he'd never know and even if he did, he'd never tell.

Of all people, Israel Hands understood their pain. Of all things, he could empathize with their distaste and wariness of Blackbeard's volatile behavior. The only grace Izzy gave the crew was being the one who took the brunt of all of the Kraken's anger and physical violence. And he wanted it. He deserved it.

A strangled sob left him, his heart hammering in his chest as his throat felt like it was closing. The walls felt like they were closing, his vision tunneling into the abysmal darkness of his own mind, eating away at whatever control he had garnered before it all went black. Silent. His body ached, his chest tightened and he couldn't breathe. He blindly grabs at his shirt, the collar, ripping at his clothes just for some air. Another noise left him as his struggles proved fruitless and he felt suffocated in the weight of this newfound desire to flee. To run from his past, his choices, his actions.

And as if it were as sudden as it set in, he calmed. His breathing was still yet heavy and sharp, sweat soaking his brow and clothes. He was shaking, hands gripping the front of his leather vest like his life was on the line. And it was. If he even told Ed about any of this, he'd lose another toe- no, his entire foot, maybe his life. He inhaled sharply, shakily. He had to set this right.

Whatever it was he needed to do, he'd do it. He stiffly removed his hands from his shirt, gingerly flexing his fingers to get feeling back into them. Smoothing back his disheveled hair and wiping his forehead with his sleeve, he took in a steadier breath. He'd steel himself, force back all of this panic and anguish and become Izzy Hands again. Cold, stoic, and damn near emotionless. Calculated- not some emotional disaster who couldn't even fathom not being dependent on his captain.

#blackbeard ofmd #ouizzy ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd #jim ofmd #frenchie ofmd #ofmd izzy #izzy hands #israel hands #our flag means death #our flag means death fanfic #author is in fact an izzy apologist #ofmd angst #ed teach slanderer #gentlebeard is toxic do not even try to argue it because i will end you with psychology and film analysis #izzy deserved better #frenchie is definitely going to be the “better” he deserves

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joycieillustrations · 1 year

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Small council meeting diffusion! Am so intrigued!

(I was SO tempted to ask about Ex libris because I’m hanging onto every word of that fic but I wanna save it hahaha)

Firstly, thank you for the sweet words about Ex libris! So glad you’re enjoying it 🥰 hopefully chapter three will be up soon, providing I don’t keep adding extra bits (it’s about half-way done and 3500wds currently 😅)

Hehe, a couple of people have asked about this one and of course it’s the one that is literally just an outline and six lines of smutty dialogue I came up with today 😂 it’s set around when Corlys and Rhaenys (and the babies) are living at court in the aftermath of Aemma’s death/beginning of the war in the Stepstones and Corlys is losing his ships. I found it very frustrating in those eps that Rhaenys’ political skills are completely undervalued by everyone else at court - she was literally raised to be Queen, after all, unlike a certain someone and, as we see women on the small council later on, I can only assume she just hasn’t been asked to contribute. So this fic will be a look at their marriage during that time period, with Corlys regularly venting to her and asking for her advice and sometimes acting as her proxy for issues that she is passionate about.

Anyway, in this particular bit I’ve planned, Corlys is INCREDIBLY angry about his poor ships and Viserys being an idiot and the fourteen-year-old being the only one with any kind of plan. So he tracks Rhaenys down, barges in, slings her over his shoulder and demands her ‘private counsel’, and she talks him through his political strategy whilst he has her in, uh, quite the compromising position. She’s an excellent multi-tasker.

And here’s a whole 33% of the Pulitzer Prize winning dialogue I have written 😂

“I want you to moan for me, Rhaenys.”

“I think you have heard moaning enough for one day.”

#joycieillustrations #joycie answers #rhaenys targaryen #rhaenys x corlys #corlys velaryon #fanfic #my fanfic

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suttttton · 2 years

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helllllloooooo, hope all is well sutton! popping in to ask about the Groundhog Day fic 😌❤️

groundhog day fic,,,, love of my life, bane of my wip pile

(for those of y'all that are new here, Groundhog Day fic is about our dearly detested Elias getting stuck in a timeloop between the unknowing and the apocalypse and becoming a better person via the power of love/agressively shaking him like a snowglobe)

my first draft is still sitting at 60k words,,,, mocking me. tragically, i haven't made any progress since the last time i gave y'all an update, BUT i do have serious plans to make it my front-burner story after my RQBB stuff is finished and posted

i tend to write in a sort of cyclical fashion where i will chip away at a draft until i have a decent idea of what i want to change for the next draft, at which point i make a new outline and start on my second draft (cannibalizing the first draft as i go; i do not throw away all of the work i've already done that would be crazy), and repeat until i finally have a complete draft, at which point it only needs some light edits for me to consider it 'finished and ready for posting.’ i’ve reached the point in groundhog day where i’m shifting from draft #1 to draft #2, which means i have most of the structure of the story pretty well in hand. awesome!

the problem is. the story is just so goddamn long. and it turns out time loops are really complicated to write because you have to keep track of SO MANY DETAILS. i'm trying to make my new outline but first i have to write out everyone's character progressions for every single fucking time around and what everyone (and i do mean everyone) else is doing while Elias is focused on Elias World. i've had to make like. lists of Ways Elias Has Suffered and Must Suffer before he can be redeemed. i’m having to give him memories so he can have flashbacks because he’s the POV character and he’s been alive for 200 fucking years and some of that is probably relevant to him. i even have a fucking jonelias map tracking their relationship over the course of the story (which is 100 percent necessary for pacing purposes but COME ON I JUST WANT TO WRITE WEIRD CREEPY RELATIONSHIP DYNAMICS). and even putting all that aside, 60k words is a lot to cannibalize. even just reading through my current draft is a days-long endeavor???????

no worries though! groundhog day is far from dead! my goal rn is for the final chapter to be posted next August 5 (because that's approximately the day in canon that Elias called the crew in for his pre-Unknowing meeting, which also makes it Time Loop day!) i know that's still a year away, but this fic is going to be like 15 chapters minimum, updating on a weekly schedule (which means the first chapter would go up in april), and i am going to need. quite a lot of time to finish it lol

anyway here’s a little preview of Tim and Elias bonding(??) road trip:

Tim looks at his phone, and his look of cruel, satisfied elation fades. His eyebrows furrow. There are fourteen missed calls. Four from Martin, seven from Melanie, three from Basira. He turns away from Elias, holding the phone to his ear, waiting with concern as Martin’s phone rings and rings.

Then, “Martin, what’s going on? Is everything okay?” Tim’s other hand hand is scratching over the fabric of his jeans, a nervous tic. “Martin, I can’t—slow down, just tell me what happened.”

Tim stiffens, his hand curling into a fist. “Are you sure?” he says, his voice quiet.

Elias can see Martin curled on the floor, holding tight to what remains of Jon. He hears Martin’s panting breaths, struggling to get enough control of his emotions to snap, “Jared Hopworth attacked him. I’m pretty fucking sure.”

It wasn’t a peaceful death. Elias knows exactly how unpeaceful it was, can practically hear Jon screaming as Jared Hopworth took and took and took from him. He is missing vertebrae, a kneecap, several small bones in both of his hands, his left tibia, the bones of his right eardrums, three teeth, his left ankle, and many, many ribs.

Tim stays on the phone for a few more moments, then hangs up and casts tired, dull eyes to Elias. “Did you know this would happen,” he says, his voice a low growl.

“I can’t see the future, Tim,” Elias says.

“Did you know they were coming?”

“Would it change anything, if I did? Would you have given up your chance to hunt down the Circus?”

With a snarl, Tim punches the door of the car, then slams it behind him as he slumps into his seat. Rolling his eyes, Elias gets in beside him.

#i hope i haven't posted this snippet before #if i have let me know and i'll let you exchange it for a different snippet of equal value #also! if you're excited for groundhog day you'll probably also be interested in my RQBB fic #it features elias facing Consequences for his actions #and it will be up on September 14!#asks #groundhog day fic #elias vs time loop

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ramonahblog · 2 years

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Sooo apparently my latest fic is going to be a series and yes, I did just link it because no shame over here. We are all on tumblr, no point in having shame.

There are plans to have both Clark and Lois’s POV in that series. Possibly different fics, possible different chapters in one fic. IDK. Anyway point is, I’m trying to keep it canon-compliant up until 2x13 which means I’ve got to really delve into their minds and decision-making. Especially regarding their parenting choices in regards to Jon throughout the series.

Spoilers for CW Superman and Lois. All the Spoilers. Stop reading if you don’t want spoilers.

And now that I had time to process my Superman and Lois binge...I realised another thing. The way Clark and Lois treat Jon reminds me of how people’s relationships with their parents change once they are adults. It’s like they forget he’s also a fourteen/fifteen year old? So when he makes a dumb teenage mistake, they react like he is an adult still living at home and not paying rent.

And to be clear, I don’t think they mean to. Especially in season one, for the most part, he reacts and acts maturely. Like enough that I can see how Clark and Lois might accidentally place higher expectations on Jon than Jordan. Because Jordan, for the most part, acts like a fourteen (then fifteen) year old.

And the thing about teenagers being “mature for their age” is they often get punished more severely than their peers. Because of those expectations. And they also often get the “it will be fine, just give it me more time” treatment which if you really think about it, is just “suck it up” in a pretty outfit. Basically adults forget they are dealing with teenagers so when those “mature for their age” be, you know, teenagers, they get punished more severely.

And at the start of season one, these boys were only fourteen. And now they are fifteen. So Clark&Lois are dealing with young teenagers.

The other thing is when Jon makes a dumb teenage mistake, he really makes a dumb teenage mistake the himbo. Like he’s the kind of teenager that would dive into water off a cliff and break his spine. But when he isn’t being a himbo making dumb teenage mistakes, he acts older than his fourteen/fifteen years.

And it goes the other way around. Like, in season one, when Jordan made the really dumb teenage mistake of trying to punch another kid in a head. With super strength. And the twins were outside despite the rule being stay in the hotel room and only outside because Jordan wanted to go with the team. Like Jon initially turns down the Smallville’s team offer to go out and get drunk and seems rather firm in it. Jordan is the one that accepts the offer and he does it by trying to get Jon to accept as well. Jon follows him.

Huh. 👀 Anyone want to write an AU where Jon does not follow Jordan here? 👀 The angst and drama and tragedy potential. 👀

And Clark and Lois weren’t pointing out that Jordan did mean to hit someone and in the head. He just didn’t mean to hit Jon. They left that out. And they did know this because Jon says it to Jordan in front of them and, well, context clues even if Jon hadn’t. But their response to this was a stern talking to Jordan and then an offer for ice cream the next day. The fuck, Lois? Why are you rewarding him here?

Verses Clois’s response to Jon preventing this from happening and getting a broken arm as a result. Was to dismiss his feelings and no follow up once Jon (visibly upset) takes himself to his room. Lois also straight up tells Jon that it could have been worse. Which sounds so incredibly dismissive and most teenagers (hell most adults) would take it as dismissive. Okay, Lois. The night of injury is not the time to say that. Let your FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD be upset about his broken arm.

And tbf, this is followed by Clark telling Jordan that Jon has the right to be upset. But no one followed Jon.

While Jordan gets ice-cream the next morning. Again, the fuck Lois? Did Jon get ice-cream, Lois? Did you offer him ice-cream, Lois?

And if you consider this as Clois responding to Jon as if he’s older than he actually is while treating Jordan as the age the twins actually are or younger. Because the fuck, Lois? It makes perfect sense. Because then Clois is going with the assumption that it is obvious to Jon because they are treating Jon as if he’s older then he is.

Problem is Jon is fourteen (and then fifteen) and they need to stop going by that assumption that Jon will automatically know these things.

Also I don’t think we talk enough about how Lois drops the parenting ball with Jon as well. And also Jordan. Different extremes (being directly responsible for breaking your sibling’s arm because you were planning to hit someone’s head with your super strength is certainly a situation you should get ice-cream for /sarcasm) but still dropping it.

Skip to season two, Jon makes really dumb teenage mistake and does drugs. Clois are focusing on external factors because they are stuck in this weird-ass belief that Jon is older than he actually is but also they can somehow protect him like he’s newborn. So, to them, it looks like Jon took drugs for superficial reasons and is apparently covering for an actual drug dealer for no reasons. Which is why, even after a night’s sleep, they aren’t getting to the bottom of anything because they aren’t looking at the internal factors. Or why Clark keeps interrupting Jon’s attempt to explain what he was/is thinking.

You can even see it when Jon-El crosses over to Prime World. Jon gets snappy with Clark because Clark lets Jon-El go in order to not hurt Lana’s feelings to keep his secret (only for that to be reversed by the end so it was pointless, A+ parenting Clark 👍) and is sent to his room by Lois (A+ parenting Lois 👍).

Let’s reiterate: Jon is actively being hunted down. He’s also having painful seizure-like attacks that leave him writhing on the floor. Clark had the chance to actively stop the threat to Jon’s and didn’t. Jon gets snappy (and if you wouldn’t in the same situation you are either lying or need better self-esteem, please work on that). He is sent to his room.

Meanwhile Lois goes to talk to Sarah about Jordan. Jordan finds this out and gets snappy at her. He is comforted.

Result: Jordan gets snappy at his mom because she talked to his newly ex-girlfriend about him. Lois comforts him. Jon gets snappy at Clark for letting a threat to Jon’s life escape and BONUS said threat is the reason Jon is having painful seizure-like attacks. Lois sends him to his room.

Why no getting sent to room for Jordan, Lois? What lesson do you think the Kent Boys learnt from this? If you get snappy because your life is actively at risk, you deserve to get sent to your room. But if you get snappy because your mom *checks notes* talked to your ex-girlfriend, you deserve to be comforted.

Also speaking of this episode and Clark’s A+ Parenting 👍. Clark literally tells Jon that the Secret keeps the family safe right after the secret is directly responsible for letting Jon-El aka active threat to Jon’s life right now escaping. Jon doesn’t know this at this point but it’s literally only TWO SCENES later.

The fuck? The actual fuck?

IDK. Am I making sense here? Thoughts anyone?

Sorry if I’m not making sense. Apparently, I am coming down with something if the hot/cold, tiredness and my head feeling like someone decided to use it as a knifeblock is any indication.

#superman and lois cw #cw superman and lois #my thoughts #fanfic talk #jon kent cw #cw jon kent #long post #cw superman and lois spoilers #jordan kent #cw lois lane #cw clark kent

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prfctparis · 6 months

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I’d Give You My Lungs So You Could Breathe (I’ve Got You, Brother) CH4

AO3 Link / One / Prev / Next / Masterlist

summary:

Team Phantom was there, too, and they did not sign up for this family drama.

a/n:

i am so sorry for such the long wait!! but here’s ch4 finally lmao hope you guys enjoy :)

warnings for entire fic:

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: Alfred tells Bruce of Danny’s injuries, but nothing in explicit detail

CHAPTER FOUR —

Tonight did not go the way Bruce thought it would.

The day started out peaceful enough. For his family, that was. Tim had stayed the night after patrol rather than heading back to his place in the city, so he and Damian, both half asleep still, had gotten into a snarky quarrel about cereal bowls, of all things. Apparently there was favorite bowl; it was the perfect size and depth. Damian woke up first, grabbed it, and Tim became grouchy when he discovered that.

Bruce had then taken the bowl away when they wouldn’t stop arguing about it, handed it to Duke who had entered the kitchen at that exact moment, and continued on to get a plate of French toast that Alfred had made and a large mug of coffee. He dutifully ignored his sons’ complaints while his other son just went along with what had just happened.

Then Alfred took Duke and Damian to school, Stephanie appeared out of nowhere to drag Tim into helping her study for college finals that were coming up, and Cass regularly sent him pictures of Hong Kong as a means to let him know every thing was going smoothly for the case that had lead her back over there. Bruce called Dick during his lunch hour at WE, tried to get out of an afternoon meeting only for Lucious and Tim (who was now only a partial shareholder instead of the majority shareholder, since that went back to Bruce) to drag him to it anyway, and told Jason that he might have found something to aid him in one of his cases through e-mail because, once again, Jason had blocked his number.

Bruce had no idea what warranted it this time, and he was hesitant to ask.

All in all, it was a normal day. He might even describe it as a good day. So, of course, he expected patrol to be hell. Maybe a breakout of some sort; an intense hostage situation; one of his children getting majorly injured again; a near death experience or two. Possibly more than one of those, or even all of them. That was what Bruce Wayne – Batman – expected.

Not this.

Not Damian having two secret, older, biological siblings.

Not a group of kids in their late teens obviously on the run, brave faced but scared.

Not a daughter finding him on a random roof on the verge of a panic attack, brave façade crumbling with the fear her brothers weren’t okay.

Not a son no older than eighteen having been vivisected by someone Bruce has yet to find out, and warranting Alfred to perform emergency surgery on him.

After Damian, Bruce swore he was done. No more kids for him; the children and pseudo-children he had were enough. The amount of love he had for them was immeasurable, and with them – because of them – Bruce had a mountain of happiness in his life among all the other shitty and dark valleys of depression and torment.

Now he’s learned Talia had lied yet again.

First, about having a miscarriage back when she had been pregnant with Damian. Second, about how before that, from their first meeting five years prior, she already had twins.

His twins.

Damian had also lied, yet he had been told to do so and promised to by his older sister herself. And he had no idea why.

It occurred to him, then, that Jason knew as well. He recognized Damian’s sister on the roof.

It hurt to know that they knew yet didn’t tell him. Everything about the current situation hurt, if he was to be honest.

“My name is Athanasia al Ghul,” Bruce’s daughter, introduced herself as he helped clean, re-bandage, and stitch her injuries. “My twin– our brother… He was born Dányál al Ghul, but he got adopted when he was ten. Legally, his name is now Daniel Fenton. He goes by Danny most of the time.”

It was surreal. Bruce had to keep himself from questioning her until he got answers – about her, Danny, why Talia never mentioned either of them, why Athanasia told Damian to keep them a secret, what and who they were running from and why, and tens of others. It wasn’t hard to do, but the urge was still there.

Making sure his daughter (he had another daughter) got some much needed medical attention took precedence over that.

For now, he would merely let her speak to him on her own terms.

“Do you have a preferred name you go by?” Bruce asked, because his eldest went by ‘Dick’ and Tim hated it when ‘Timothy’ was used and Steph only let ‘Stephanie’ slide if the person was a stranger and Cass didn’t care one way or another, but she did seem to like when the family used the shortened version of her name more. If Athanasia wanted a specific name or nickname used, he planned to use it.

“My brothers called me ‘Ana’ sometimes,” she said. “Hardly anyone else calls me that, but I won’t mind you do, too.”

Bruce nodded and smiled. He finished bandaging the newly stitched up cut on her thigh as he said, “I will be sure to remember that, then.”

“I still will if you want me to,” Damian spoke up immediately from the other cot he sat on. His foot was propped up and an ice pack laid on his ankle, curtesy of Duke who had brought it over a few minutes ago; he seemed to want to stay, but got dragged away by Jason almost immediately.

What his youngest said took Bruce by surprise. Damian wasn’t the type to use nicknames or shortened versions of names; the exceptions were probably Jon Kent and Maps Mizoguchi. And, now, apparently the twins.

And he offered to.

One corner of her mouth twitched up before she smothered it, going for a neutral expression. Bruce still saw something akin to happiness and relief in her eyes as she nodded. “I wouldn’t mind that at all,” she said, “As long as I can still call you ‘Dames’.”

Damian pressed his lips into a thin line to lessen the size of his smile that he then twisted in a faux frown of annoyance. “If you must.”

Bruce refrained from reacting to that. He knew that Tim tried to call Damian that once, and his youngest son had a very sudden, negative reaction to it. Tim went to Bruce later that day, guilty and frustrated, because he didn’t mean to upset Damian and now they were at odds again; Bruce only got the story out after a spar.

It certainly made some sense now, why he had reacted like that. And also why he was more tolerant of ‘Dami’ than everyone thought he would originally be, back when Dick first started using it.

…A lot of things about Damian made sense now.

Bruce wondered often about how Damian, an apparent only child, grew accustomed to older brothers and a sister rather seamlessly. Well, after he stopped attempting to murder Tim, of course; and after he stopped insisting that he didn’t have siblings, that he was the only blood son and therefore superior than the others.

(He still occasionally pulled the blood son card. More so now to annoy the others, than anything.)

He grew accustomed seamlessly to the others because of Athanasia and Danny. He had always been the youngest. He was used to nagging, protective, annoying older siblings already.

It made Bruce emotional in so many ways.

The next fifteen minutes or so were spent in silence as Bruce finished tending to Athanasia’s wounds. When he got done, he stepped back to give her space as he picked up everything he had used.

“Do you need anything else?” he asked her.

“No,” she said. Athanasia almost sounded confused on why he asked, and Bruce sincerely hoped he imagined it. No one of any age should be confused when asked that. “Thank you, Batman.”

“Of course.”

Footsteps, hesitant and soft, grew close, catching their attentions. The redhead, Wesley ‘Wes’ Weston as he introduced himself as earlier, stopped a few feet away. His posture and the way his hands sat in his pockets said casual, but his muscles were tense and his expression held exhaustion.

“Wesley,” Athanasia said as a greeting.

Wes half smiled. “Hey.”

Bruce frowned a little. “Is everything okay?”

The teenager nodded. “Oh, yeah. Um, the others just want to talk about something as a whole. I came to get Ana.”

Bruce saw Damian straighten just the tiniest bit in his peripheral.

Athanasia began to get out of the cot, but Bruce held out a hand. She froze, so he kept his hand in the air rather than placing it on her shoulder like he was about to. Then, lowered it.

“You need rest. I’m sure the conversation can wait,” Bruce said to them.

Wes shook his head. “It can’t. It’s important.”

“Talking does not require extensive body movement,” Athanasia said. “And I’m sure Wesley is right about the importance. I can rest later.”

“You need rest now.”

Athanasia stared him dead in the eye and got out. She stood in front him, back straight and no sign of discomfort or pain.

She was tall for a girl, he noticed for a second time that night. Maybe a bit taller than Tim, if not the same height, but still shorter than Dick. The way she stood reminded him a lot of Talia, but that defiant look was something Damian definitely learned from her at a young age.

“I’m eighteen – an adult,” she spoke in Arabic, and that fact made his heart hurt. “I know my own limits by now. I will rest later.”

She then pivoted on her feet and walked off. As she passed Wes, she grabbed the sleeve of his shirt to drag him along. Other than a slight noise of surprise at being forcibly turned around in the opposite direction, the boy didn’t seem that fazed.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed behind the cowl at him as Wesley casually grabbed Athanasia’s hand to remove her grip. Her fingers twitched, almost holding his hand instead, before she pulled away and quickened her pace.

‘Acquaintances’ she said.

Damian huffed. “I don’t like him.”

“Hn.”

Alfred stepped halfway out of the curtained off area and requested his presence. A surge of panic washed over him and he walked over, telling Damian to stay put. Whatever Alfred needed, he hoped it was better than all the negative thoughts now plaguing his mind.

+++

Athanasia ached – for multiple reasons.

The soreness and pain was finally, truly settling in post-fight. With the adrenaline gone, and now able to relax with Danny being taken care of, she was way more aware of what hurt and what didn’t, except for the number areas where Batman had to do stitches. She probably should have asked for Tylenol or Ibuprofen. She didn’t.

Then, there was Damian. Her baby brother. She said that he was still short earlier, and he was, but he had also grown so much. Watching him from afar when she visited Gotham kept that fact from settling in until now.

He wasn’t the tiny, baby faced nine year old anymore. His hair used to be medium brown and wavy, but over the past few years it’s gotten a few shades darker and now the strands curled like her own. His limbs were lanky as he began to enter his teenage years, the baby fat was disappearing, and he was much taller than a nine year old. He stood and had the mannerisms and forming attitude of any other 13 year old.

Dányál was whole entirely different type of ache from realizing Damian had grown and the pain of her injuries. It was tangled up in anger and fear. At the GIW and Ra’s, and what they did to him.

She almost felt ten again, following the servant in the shadows to the Lazarus Pits. Except this time, there were no pools of bright green liquid to heal him to assure survival. Just the talented Penny-One, Alfred Pennyworth, the butler of Wayne Manor and doctor of the Batcave and a pseudo grandfather to many.

And her father… He was kind and gentle in a way she hadn’t expected. Yes, Jason said he was a good man, but she honestly never was able to picture it. Batman? The man who took down criminals nightly? Gentle? It was jarring, but not completely unwelcome.

It hurt knowing he was like that, and Mother kept them at the League of Assassins. It hurt that she now knew Jason spoke the truth, and Mother knew too, and even after Ra’s ran a sword through her son’s chest, she still kept them there. That she didn’t have her servant take her and Damian, too, and rather acted as if Dányál had truly died.

It hurt because she still didn’t believe it. Obviously he trained with the other members of the family, but all Athanasia was able to picture were the training tactics and punishments of the League. Batman trained with them, years ago, after all. Who’s to say he didn’t use the same ones on his kids?

And then there was Wesley. No one knew about Wesley. Not even the rest of Team Phantom. She even kept herself from thinking about it until the mission of finding and saving her brother was done.

Manson and Foley were the first members of the team she’d met – technically. Wesley Weston wasn’t a member when she first visited Amity Park and met him. They grew close; then Athanasia panicked and ran away left town, only to come back when the GIW took over. She felt bad for leaving him, truly, and she didn’t understand why he didn’t seem to be as angry as she thought he’d be.

There were so many aching emotions within her. It was almost overwhelming. Athanasia wanted to rest; she knew her father was right that she needed to. But they weren’t out of the woods yet. Gray and Wesley needed to get back to Amity Park to get Ellie, and then figure out a way to get to Jazz Fenton, or at least somehow inform her of everything that happened.

They needed to figure out what, exactly, they were going to tell Batman about Dányál and literally everything else.

Athanasia sat down where the others had gathered – far enough away so they wouldn’t be heard, but still seen – and made short eye contact with Wesley when he sat in the only free spot beside her. They both looked away at the same time.

Gray and Manson had their own share of fresh bandages, but hardly the amount Athanasia had. Foley had one. A lucky shuriken cut his bicep and an ectoblast singed the bottom hem of his shirt, but other than that he was fine yet exhausted. Wesley was the only one injury free.

A pack of water bottles sat on the edge of the table. Everyone already had one when she got to the table. Foley was the closest to the pack, and he took one out and rolled it over to her without a word. There was a bottle of migraine medicine by Manson’s elbow where she was laying her head down.

“So,” Gray began to start the conversation. “Batman. I thought you were taking us to your dad?”

“I was, but I knew he would bring us to Batman anyway, so when I spotted him I decided to cut out the middle man.”

“Are you sure we can trust him?” asked Foley.

Athanasia nodded. “As a member of the Justice League, I fully believe Batman is trustworthy.”

“Exactly,” he sighed. “He’s a JL member – a founding member. In hindsight, it’s a good thing they have never visited Amity because that would risk any of them getting possessed, but not one member has checked on our town.”

“Well, actually,” interrupted Gray, “there was that British dude in a trench coat, remember? He smoked a lot. I think he mentioned a…Justice League Dark, or something? It was two or so years ago, so I’m not really sure.”

“Oh him!” Foley started laughing. “Oh, Ancients, how did I forget? Danny scared the shit out of him!”

Manson didn’t move, but she did snort amusedly. “That was hilarious.”

“So… What are we telling Batman?” Wesley asked when the laughter died down.

“Not everything,” said Manson. She finally lifted her head, and placed her hands around her eyes to block out some of the light. “For one, we need to figure out if he knows of the Anti-Ecto Act. We need to explain what’s happening in Amity Park, too. As for everything else… Danny should be the one to explain his powers and everything. Not even Athanasia knows it all.”

It was true. It annoyed her. She knew he had to have gotten the powers somehow, but Danny’s friends were tight lipped about it. All she knew was that Danny had ghost-like abilities, could change his looks, and also had whatever an ‘ice core’ was. She shouldn’t know about that last one, but she overheard Foley and Manson talking one night.

By eavesdropping she had hoped things would begin to make sense regarding her twin’s powers. Rather, it did the exact opposite.

“Batman will dig for answers,” Athanasia warned them. “He’s a detective – a good one, possibly the best in the world.”

Manson frowned.

“Then we give him enough info to keep him happy until Danny wakes up,” Foley said. “Then, he can make the decision on telling Batman everything else.”

“What about the others?” asked Gray. She looked at Athanasia. “Batman, sure. But does that include Robin? I saw you with them both earlier.”

“Robin is as trustworthy as Batman. All of the Bats and Birds in Gotham are, including Nightwing in Blüdhaven.”

“You sound so sure for someone who doesn’t know them personally,” Manson said.

Athanasia raised an eyebrow. “I never said I didn’t.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You never said you did, either.”

“Sam has a point,” Foley said.

“About what?”

“You never said if you did or didn’t know these vigilantes personally. You said you were taking us to your dad, and we’re here instead.”

Athanasia’s brows knitted together. “I said my father would have brought us to him, anyway. Why does that matter?”

“Because you said nothing about him in the first place.”

“Why does that matter?” she repeated. “Where do you think we would end up taking Dányál? Certainly not Arkham.”

“I don’t know, but it would be nice if you told us things,” he said, tone turning frustrated. “Like, who was the old dude you wanted to avoid?”

“That isn’t important right now,” she forced out. She knew she had to tell them about Ra’s, but she planned to do that later.

Manson scoffed as Wesley hesitantly said, “Well, no. It kinda is.”

“You mood completely changed when Tucker mentioned him on comms,” Gray said.

Athanasia drew in a deep breath through her nose. “That is not,” she spoke slow and low, “important right now.”

“Like hell–” Gray began.

“Why does it matter right now?” she stressed. “Can we focus on what is happening right now?”

“Whoever the fuck the old man is who came out of the room where they kept our best friend is isn’t important?” Manson asked incredulously.

“For now, yes!”

“How?! That makes no sense!”

“It really doesn’t make sense,” Wesley agreed, with Gray nodding along in agreement.

“C’mon, Ana, just–”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped at the other boy.

Taken aback, Foley frowned. “But Wes calls you that?”

Athanasia shrugged. “I knew him before you guys,” she admitted after a beat of silence.

His eyes, along with Manson’s and Gray’s, went to Wesley.

“It’s true,” he said with a nod.

Gray leaned her forearms on the table. “So, did you know about the assassin thing?”

“No.” Wesley’s tone wasn’t exactly clipped, but it was clear that he wasn’t happy.

Athanasia held back a grimace.

Gray’s eyes flicked between them, and a spark of realization flashed in her eyes. Her mouth formed a small ‘o’ and she nodded slowly. “Well,” she said, somewhat awkwardly, “have fun talking that out.”

She crossed her arms and shifted in her seat. “Can we get back on track? Please.”

“That old guy–”

“Say it one more fucking time, Manson, I swear,” she snapped.

“Or what?”

“I will make that splitting headache of yours literal.”

Someone cleared their throat behind her. Everyone looked in that direction, and Athanasia was mildly surprised to see her father’s most recent foster kid standing there with a silver tray of sandwiches. He wore a t-shirt and basketball shorts and shoes, and had on a the helmet from the Signal suit. She knew he wore a domino mask earlier, so he must have switched one for the other when everyone else was too busy to notice.

“Athanasia, right?”

She nodded. “Yes, that’s me. You’re Signal.”

Signal – or rather, Duke Thomas – nodded as well. “Yep. Hood said you guys might be hungry so he snuck off and made these real quick.” He set the tray on the table.

“Oh,” she said, still a little surprised but pleased, because honestly Jason made some of the best food. “Thank you, Signal.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Wait, Hood?” Foley choked out. “As in, the Red Hood?”

When she and Signal both nodded, Manson sarcastically said, “Oh, so the one you do know personally is the Ancients-damned crime lord. Great.”

“Why is a crime lord working with Batman?” Gray questioned.

“He’s a Bat,” Signal told her. “And these days, he’s more an anti-hero.”

“Former crime lord, then,” she said. “That’s suspicious.”

“Not if they’re family,” Wesley said

Athanasia looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

Signal just stared at him and didn’t make a sound. When he noticed, Wesley shifted in his seat, seeming a bit awkward and uncomfortable from Signal’s stare.

“How do you know that for sure?” she asked him.

Wesley shrugged. “I don’t, it’s one of my theories. I’m not sure if it’s an uncle-nephew thing, a father-son thing, or pseudo family thing, or a brother-brother thing, or what, but I believe it’s something along those lines. Otherwise, why isn’t Batman treating Red Hood like any other criminal, like Bane?”

“Hood is nothing like Bane,” Signal stated. The corners of his mouth had turned down into a frown, and Athanasia noticed the defensive and protective undertone.

Honestly, she almost said the same thing in the same way.

By the way Wesley’s eyes widened, he noticed Signal’s tone, too. He raised his hands. “Hey, man, I didn’t say he was. That’s just the first criminal who came to mind!”

Signal stared at him for another second, visibly unnerving Wesley even more, then finally looked away. “Anyway. Eat the sandwiches if you’re hungry.” Then, almost resigned, “If you need anything, please tell me. I’m stuck babysitting to make sure Robin doesn’t walk on his ankle, and that kid is borderline grumpy on good days.”

Athanasia smirked. “Good luck.”

“Ugh.”

When he walked away, Wesley spoke up again. “My family theory is growing.”

“Please don’t start trying to figure out their identities,” Foley practically begged. “I’d like to stay on their good sides.”

Silence.

Foley sighed.

“Seriously, Wes?” Gray complained.

“We can talk about Wes’ obsession with secret identities later–”

“It’s not an obse–”

Manson cut him off with a glare. “Later,” she emphasized. “Batman. GIW. The assassins. What and how much are we telling him?”

Much to Athanasia’s relief, she didn’t try to bring up Ra’s again to get her to explain. Her shoulders relaxed at that, and conversation finally got back on track.

+++

Much to Bruce’s short lived relief, all Alfred needed him for was to give him an extra set of hands to apply bandages to the teen. They were almost done. It took longer than Bruce liked, simply because he had so many injuries, old and new.

Alfred finished wrapping bandages around the boy’s torso. Gently and carefully, Bruce laid him back down, having been holding him up to make things easier.

He stared down at Danny. Even under anesthesia from surgery and with a safe amount of morphine to ease the pain, his face was still slightly pinched in a way that told them something still hurt. Bruce wished he knew what else he could do to help him. His kid.

Danny and Athanasia, he thought. Another son, another daughter. One who had one giant wound on his chest and other smaller ones littered about, one who had defensive and offensive injuries and bruises.

He almost lost another son tonight. He didn’t know Danny, didn’t even know he existed until a couple of hours ago. It still hurt. Still settled an ache in his heart – for him, Athanasia, Damian, and the other teenagers.

“Whoever did this…” Bruce began, anger seeping into his tone. “Who would vivisect a child?”

“I’m afraid, these days, that list is longer than any of us would like, Master Bruce,” Alfred said.

Bruce pushed back the cowl and rubbed his eyes with his pointer finger and thumb. “This is…” He had no words. With a sigh, he dropped his hand. “How bad is it, really?”

There weren’t many times Bruce could count on his hands where he saw Alfred look so devastated that he was near tears. To see it now, Bruce almost retracted his question.

“He had internal bleeding that I had to stop. Multiple broken ribs. Broken sternum.” Alfred hesitated. “Misplaced organs that I had to put back.”

Bruce shut his eyes, and backed up to fall into the chair behind him. He leaned back, hand over his eyes. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Anything else?”

“Master Bruce–”

“Anything else?” he repeated, firm.

Alfred sighed. “He has bruises and cuts on his wrists – signs of a struggle against cuffs of some sort. Burns from something I am unsure of. His right forearm is fractured; we will have to call Dr. Thompkins to get it properly taken care of. Until then I placed a splint on it. He has other injuries, but those are superficial and nothing to worry about. If he is anything like anyone else in this family, he will make a miraculously full recovery.”

Taking in the information, Bruce rubbed at his temple, then looked back at Danny. He was pale from blood loss, and from where Bruce sat he couldn’t see the splinted arm but he did earlier.

The heart monitor beeped slower than an average human. It set Bruce’s anxiety off, afraid that at any moment it will slow down to a complete stop.

“There is…another thing that has my concerns,” Alfred spoke as he began to clean the area.

“The Lichtenberg figures.”

“Yes.”

Bruce noticed them when he first began helping Alfred. It was hard not to see them. The ones on his back started at the base of his neck and went all the way down his spine. Most branched off into faint, small lines that followed the nervous system of the body, and quickly faded out; a few went up towards his hairline. But there was one figure that branched off, that stayed prominent like the one down his spine; it went across his shoulder blade and down his left arm, not stopping until it reached the palm.

“They are old, from what I can tell,” said Alfred. “A few or so years, perhaps.”

Bruce brows lowered. “Lichtenberg figures disappear after a few days.”

“Not these.”

Bruce sighed.

The Lichtenberg figures. The horror of what happened and who did it. The Lazarus green on both twins, and Danny’s bandages. The secrecy of the twins.

Bruce had so many questions. He needed answers.

“Might I suggest, Master Bruce, that you wait to interrogate the traumatized teenagers?”

He stilled from where he stood back up. “We need answers–”

“And we can get them once everyone is well rested,” said Alfred. “We have no idea how long any of them have been awake, or where they even came from. Ask questions now, and you will have five exhausted and frightened teenagers giving you the hardest time of your life.”

Bruce thought back to when they first got to the Batcave. Of the persistence and stubbornness, and blatant refusal to let the adults take over. He admired their loyalty and want to protect their friend, but he did not want a repeat of that tonight.

“You’re right,” he reluctantly admitted.

“I often am, Master Bruce.”

“Hey.” The curtain moved. Jason poked his head in. “It’s just me,” he announced. “Gave Duke a tray of sandwiches earlier to give the kids. They have water, too. Need me to do anything here?”

Alfred looked down at the bed Danny was on; Bruce did, too. The sheets and mattress were stained from the impromptu surgery.

“A little help cleaning up and moving Master Danny to a new bed will be much appreciated,” said Alfred.

Jason nodded, then backed out with a, “One clean medical cot. Got it.”

That left Bruce and Alfred to continue cleaning everything else. The former tossed away the old bandages, dirtied thread, and alcohol wipes; the latter picked up the medical equipment that had been used and placed them in a plastic tub to be washed and disinfected later. Jason quickly came back in rolling up a clean bed, and they carefully moved Danny from one to the other.

Silence fell as Bruce began to check that the IV was still secure after all of the moving.

“So,” Jason said, Alfred leaving to put everything away, stained bed included. “Danny, huh.”

Bruce hummed.

The quiet turned tense between them.

“Hell, old man, just go ahead and ask.”

With crossed arms, he looked at his second son. “You knew.”

“Not a question, but sure. Whatever.” Jason motioned to Danny. “I didn’t know about him. Hell, I didn’t even know about Damian until he came here.”

His eyes narrowed a little. “But you knew about Athanasia. You recognized her on the roof.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, carelessly. Like it wasn’t a big deal.

“For how long?”

Jason didn’t immediately answer. “I don’t know, B. I guess I was sixteen?” He crossed his arms, too. “She looked, maybe, a little younger than Damian is now.”

“So you met at the League.”

“Eh, sure… It would be more accurate to say she found me, and randomly appeared like the fucking Ghost Christmas Past or some shit.”

“And you never told me.”

“Jesus. No.”

“Why?”

“No more dead Robins. No more child soldiers. No more kids dealing with your shit,” said Jason. “Take your fucking pick.”

“They aren’t Robins, Jason, and they definitely are not child soldiers because of me,” Bruce snapped. “They are my children, all of you are, and I didn’t force any of you to do what we do. I wouldn’t have forced Athanasia to become a vigilante if she didn’t want to, if she came here with Damian!”

Underneath his domino mask, Bruce knew Jason was glaring at him. “Are you going to hound Damian like this? He didn’t tell you either!”

“Because he made a promise that he wouldn’t! You didn’t! Six years, son–”

“And she’s been visiting Gotham for two!” Jason yelled.

“What do you mean?”

“She already knew you’re her dad; don’t ask me how because I don’t know. But don’t you think she would have come to you if she wanted you to know?”

Bruce faltered for only a second.

It was long enough for a small projectile to hit him in his temple before he could form an actual response to his son. He flinched from the impact but caught it – a rock from somewhere in cave – and heard Jason begin to chuckle before he also got hit in the side of the head with another rock.

Having slipped into the curtained off area while they argued, stood Athanasia. A few more rocks were in one hand and Bruce had no doubt she would throw another one if she felt like she needed (or wanted) to.

Her expression was a guarded.

Jason glared at her. “What the hell–”

“The others want to speak with Batman. In case you forgot because of your aging mind, I didn’t tell them your identity, so I suggest you put the cowl back on before you walk out.” With that, she ducked out, not waiting for either of them to speak.

There was a beat of silence.

“Insulted by a new kid in under two hours,” said Jason. “That has to be a new record.”

“No,” Bruce denied gruffly, “it still goes to you for calling me a ‘big boob’ and hitting me with a tire iron when stealing my tires.”

“I wasn’t your kid then.”

“Hn.”

Jason exasperatedly sighed. “You’re impossible.” He walked out without another word.

Bruce put on the cowl, but didn’t leave until Alfred came back, wary to leave Danny alone. When Alfred assured him that he would alert them if needed, he left and made his way to Athanasia and the other teenagers.

He wasn’t surprised to see Damian already there. Either Athanasia got him or he forced Duke to help him; whatever the case, he and Duke now sat at the table with the others, while Jason stood off to the side against a nearby cave wall. His helmet was back on, and he watched the group with crossed arms.

He pulled up a spare chair and held laced it between Athanasia and Damian. He had barely sat down for longer than a second when the girl who introduced herself as Valerie Gray spoke up.

“We need to leave.”

“No.”

She reeled back, shocked. The others stared at him with either incredulity or anger. Tucker Foley froze with a half eaten sandwich hovering in front of his mouth, and Sam Manson looked ready to argue.

“Um, yes,” Valerie corrected. “You can’t keep us here, we aren’t prisoners. We brought Danny here for medical attention, and now that that’s done, Wes and I need to head back to Amity Park ASAP.”

“I can’t in good conscience let any of you to take another trip somewhere,” Bruce told them. “I’m not keeping you as prisoners. You need rest. All of you.”

“We can rest later,” Sam argued. “We don’t have time to just- just sit around and do nothing!”

“Resting isn’t doing nothing,” he said. “It’s making sure you don’t push your body and mind too much so you can work more later.”

“We don’t have time for later.”

“With all due respect, um, Batman, sir,” Tucker began nervously, “Sam and Valerie are right. We have a lot to do. This has already gone on for long enough.”

Underneath the cowl, an eyebrow raised. “And what is ‘this’ exactly?”

The group hesitated.

“There is a secret government organization tormenting a subspecies of humans and metas,” Athanasia explained. “The organization call themselves the Ghost Investigation Ward.”

“Ghosts,” Bruce repeated.

The teens nodded.

Duke ‘huh’ed, as if he was piecing things together in his own head.

“Ghosts?” questioned Jason incredulously. “Are you fucking serious?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “There are literally aliens on this world, a dude with a magical ring, an Amazonian woman, a gene in human DNA that gives some of us powers, heroes apparently die and come back to life on the regular, a bunch of other shit, and you’re seriously questioning ghosts right now?”

“What do you mean by ‘tormenting’?” Bruce asked before Jason could properly respond. “And why?”

“Ghosts, or anything paranormal, aren’t seen as good or friendly beings by them,” Tucker said. His eyes became downcast. “They aren’t even considered beings. Or sentient.”

“The GIW are ghost hunters,” Valerie explained. “And over the past few years, they have taken an interest in our town, Amity Park, because of the extreme amount of paranormal activity and ambient ectoplasm we have. Usually our local ghost vigilante takes care of them, and it’s never been that big of a deal, even though they have always wanted to catch Phantom and do Ancients know what. He’s always been able to stop them before anything got too serious.

“Honestly, we didn’t take them that seriously when we probably should have. We call them the Guys in White, because they’re like a lame, evil, paranormal-obsessed version of the Men in Black. Even though they did have bad intentions, they’ve never been successful. But last October…”

“They aren’t so lame anymore,” Wes muttered.

As Bruce quietly took in and filed away the information he just got, Damian gave them a somewhat judgmental look. “You underestimated them. That can very well lead to a deadly mistake,” he said. He glared at them under the domino mask. “It almost did.”

“We know,” Sam responded, sounding equally frustrated and solemn. “They are a government organization that got bested by a group of fourteen year olds when they first came along. What were we supposed to think? They have been getting better over the years, but so have we. We have always taken necessary precautions and we had plans for potential bad outcomes because Danny was insistent on that. But they stopped coming around for some time. We stupidly believed they’d given up on us. Then the Guys in White finally showed their faces again, and we weren’t as prepared as we should have been.”

“It’s why we need to get back to Amity Park,” Wes said. “They put us under martial law and we need to get in touch with another friend of ours.”

Bruce took in what they said. He still had a bunch of questions alongside new ones that he wanted answers to ASAP. Alfred was right, though; questioning them right now – let alone letting any of them leave to continue on their mission – wasn’t a good idea.

This was a group of eager, stubborn teenagers whose town and best friend were in danger. He understood their urgency to keep going, and he told them as such. “But it will do no good for anyone to run yourselves to the ground. I’m even willing to help and hear the full story of what happened, but not until each of you get some much needed rest. That’s final.”

“But–”

“Batman, you don’t understand–”

“Running on fumes will get you no where,” he spoke firmly and loudly. It was the same tone he used on his kids, both in and out of suits, when they were misbehaving or did something they shouldn’t have. “It might even lead to another almost deadly mistake. You all need to rest. You can either stay in a safe house, or I can get in touch with Athanasia’s father and see if you can go there if that’s what you want.”

“What if we want a hotel?” Sam asked with a glare that hard to tell if it was from anger at him or the migraine she had.

“I won’t let you,” he bluntly admitted. “A government organization is after Danny and you guys by proxy, for reasons I don’t know. It’s either a safe house, or Athanasia’s father’s home that I have personally created a security system for.”

No one responded. A short silence fell over them.

Bruce decided to stand up. “I will let you guys choose. I need to check on my partners out in the field.”

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