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ur-jinji · 3 years

Note

141+levi

ps. have a lovely night (: and dont put preasure on yourself. u are great!

thank you very much anon!!! have a lovely night yourself <3 ur greater :)

someone to spend time with

levi ackerman x gn!reader college au

summary: in which two lonely people share an unlikely friendship and some confused feelings for one another

word count: 2.2k

song: someone to spend time with // los retros

“i got you boba,” you announced as you approached a small, square table in the library where your classmate, levi, resided.

“what the fuck is that.” he asked.

“tea.”

“say less.”

you handed him the drink and sat down across from him, watching him slurp away. his attention quickly moved back to the book in front of him.

“how’d you find me?” levi questioned, his steel eyes glancing up at you for a quick second.

“you’re always here,” you replied, shrugging. “plus, i need help with our reading assignment.”

“you always need help.” he sighed and closed his book.

you and levi shared a shakespearean literature course and somewhat became friends by default because your assigned seats were directly next to each other. he was very reserved in class, but your boredom got the best of you, so you’d talk his ear off. he wasn’t very amused initially, as he took his schoolwork and class time very seriously, but he eventually warmed up to you. after forcing levi to help you once, you just kept coming back. you enjoyed his quiet company, and he appeared to be just as alone as you were. except his was by choice, you assumed.

“i just can’t keep up with all of macbeth’s drama,” you joked. “i figured i’d pay you with tea and my presence to help me for the millionth time.”

“yeah, your presence was starting to not be enough,” levi said monotonously, yet a small smile forming on his lips.

“you must like my company a little if my presence was enough of a payment before now,” you replied as you leant your elbow on the tea, resting your chin in your palm.

“i guess you’re okay,” he said simply. “what do you need help with.”

“listen, i tried to read act 2, but i was at a loss,” you stated. “oh, and i forgot my book.”

“you’re an idiot,” levi mumbled, shaking his head. “c’mere.” your eyes widened, but you complied, getting up from your seat across from him. as you made your way around the table, he grabbed the back of the chair next to his and pulled it out for you. you thanked him and took a seat, in which he replied with a simple “mm-hm.”

“take some notes. i don’t want you calling me tonight saying you’re confused,” he told you. you nodded and grabbed your pencil and notebook from across the table. levi started summarizing the text for you, and explaining the shakespearean language that constantly left you feeling perplexed. you silently listened, jotting down notes for a while before getting bored and doodling on the sides of the paper. he quickly took notice in your drawings. he glanced down, seeing an outline of an angry face, along with an arrow pointing to levi. his eyebrows furrowed when he saw the word “stinky” accompanying the face and arrow. he swiftly picked up his own pen and drew an x through your doodles, then scribbling “brat” down on the paper. you giggled and nudged his knee with yours.

“tch. you should be paying attention. we’re being quizzed on this,” levi commented, causing you to groan. you folded your arms and let your face fall forward into them.

“i didn’t even hear the professor say anything about a quiz,” you grumbled, your voice muffling against your skin.

“you didn’t hear because you’re always talking my ear off. she said there’ll be an essay, too,” he added, only making you groan once again. you relaxed slightly when you felt his hand pat the back of your head. his head pats were his quiet way of trying to comfort you. they always felt nice.

you suddenly perked up, his hand falling off your hair, in which he moved to rest it on the back of chair.

“okay, okay. let’s get serious,” you said, nodding towards his textbook.

“i’ve been serious,” levi replied blankly. he continued his little lecture, and you wondered if he realized his fingers had started toying with the ends of your hair. his touch sent chills down your spine. you started to take note in your mind of how he sometimes did those little things. those little gestures and touches. you liked them a little more than you should have. maybe you were just touch starved, or maybe they just felt good coming from him. levi wasn’t an easy guy to read, so you normally brushed those kinds of moments off. but as he droned on about some witchs’ prophecies, all you could think about was how the tips of his fingers were getting closer to the skin on your nape.

“you’re not taking notes,” levi stated the obvious, sighing and turning his head to you. “like i said, i don’t want you calling m-“

“what if i called you anyway?” you asked gingerly. his eyebrows furrowed, and the hand behind you disappeared. “like, what if I called you, but not to talk about macbeth?”

“what else is there to talk about.”

ouch. okay. now this is fucking awkward. should’ve just kept my mouth shut and let the kid keep playing with my stupid hair.

“hah, nevermind. i was just kidding. keep going,” you managed to get out, despite the feeling of an invisible hand around your neck to keep you from continuing to make an ass of yourself. you shifted your attention forward, your gaze falling down to your notebook.

“um, yeah. you can call me,” levi spoke, his normally uninterested tone sounding off. there was the tiniest hint of....desperation? tenseness? it went unnoticed by you.

“no, it’s okay. i don’t wanna bother you more than I have,” you replied. i need to get out of here. “i actually gotta go. i told my, um, roommate i’d help them with something.” you swiftly stood up, reaching out to gather your things, when levi’s hand was suddenly grasping your wrist.

“i...want you to call me,” he said, his volume low and his gaze shifting around, appearing to be quite nervous. you froze, and his grip on your wrist began to loosen before letting it drop. you nod slowly, pushing your head downwards to hide the embarassing blush creeping on your cheeks.

later that night, you were left alone, as your roommate was out with their friends or participating in a study group almost every night. you were sat at your desk, drumming a pencil and fidgeting around nervously, wondering if you should call levi. the phone works two ways, and you always seemed to be the one making the effort to hang out or talk to him.

what if he thinks i’m desperate?

you sighed and swallowed your pride. you pulled out the headphones from your ears that were playing loud music and found yourself staring at his contact in your phone.

knock knock. knock.

your head snapped in the direction of the noise coming from outside your door.

“hey, brat. let me in.”

you froze, your mouth dropping. you sat there for a few moments, debating whether or not you should pretend you went to bed.

knock. knock.

you took a deep breath and stood, making your way to the door and cracking it open. you saw levi with his usual stoic expression. before you could even say a word, he raised his hand, pushing the door open and walking past you. he stopped in the middle of the room, his gray eyes scanning the area.

“i’m assuming this is your side,” levi said simply, pointing to your side of the room. you felt embarrassed when you realized your bed was unmade and a plushy was propped up against your pillow.

“hah. uh, yeah,” you replied. the nerves in your voice and laugh were evident. you crept to your desk, wanting to hide anymore embarrassing evidence. you quickly found a cringey picture frame of you and a friend from your hometown, your hand grasping it and gently placing it facedown.

“what brings you to my dorm?” you wondered, taking a seat in the desk chair to hide your shaking legs. unfortunately for you, your shifty actions only grabbed his attention, and your question went ignored. levi strolled to your desk and pressed his hand on the wooden top, leaning nonchalantly. he reached out for the picture frame you were desperate to hide, and picked it up. you looked up at him as he observed it with a small smirk.

“tch. cute,” he commented before propping the frame back on the desk. you hurriedly slammed it facedown again, mumbling a sheepish ‘thanks.’ you continued to stare up at him as his eyes looked over your desk. his attention turned to you, his eyes falling onto your pink-tinted features.

“want some tea?” you offered.

some time later, you and levi found yourselves lounging on opposite sides of your bed, both sitting with legs criss crossed. he held a large tea cup, sipping quietly at his second drink as you let him in on some gossip about your roommate’s friend’s cousin. you don’t even know how you got to this point, but after offering him a drink and busying yourself, your nerves simmered. it felt a lot more comfortable after that.

“and then they said that she said that he got caught sexting not one, not two... but twelve other girls. then his girlfriend tried to burn his house down. and now she’s in prison for attempted arson,” you finished. levi lowered his cup after taking a long sip, and continued to stare with a blank expression. but despite his bored appearance, he was rather invested in this story.

“that’s rough,” he commented.

“i know right?” you replied as you picked up your phone. you clicked to see the time. “jeez, it’s already midnight.”

“tch, is that your way of kicking me out?” levi asked, smiling ever so lightly.

“unfortunately, yeah. i have an 8am class tomorrow,” you said, putting a little pout on your lip. “we should do this again, though. feels nice to just hang out with someone.”

“isn’t that what we’ve been doing in the library?” he questioned.

“i don’t count me making you help me with shakespeare as hanging out,” you explained.

“that’s fair.” he shrugged.

“also, this is the first time you initiated being around me,” you boasted, feeling pretty satisfied with yourself. “that means you think i’m fun.”

“i never said that.”

“well, you being here says otherwise. sooo...”

“whatever, brat.”

levi stood from his spot on the end of your bed, handing you his empty cup. you stood as well, following him to the door.

“i guess you’re okay,” he offered. “this was okay.”

“that translates to, omg y/n is the best, they’re sooo much fun,” you teased, nudging your elbow against his. “anyways, i guess i’ll see you in class on wednesday.”

“i guess you will,” he replied plainly, raising his hand to touch a strand of your hair, putting you in a state of shock. your mouth gaped slightly as you studied him curiously. after a few moments of silence, levi abruptly started leaning forward, your eyes widening. before you could react, his lips were against yours.

is this actually happening? you wondered. oh, my god it’s actually happening. this is real.

it took you no time to respond to the kiss, your eyes quickly fluttering shut. you hadnt been kissed a long time, and you remembered first kisses always being a little awkward as you both had to adjust to the way the other’s lips moved. but there was no awkwardness. there was no needing to adjust; it was perfect.

his movements were surprisingly fast and needy, his hands moving to hold your jaw as both of your quiet, desperate noises were swallowed. your hands came up to grip his neck, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. you could feel little tingles everywhere he touched you, and a knot starting to form low in your stomach. you felt his tongue slip into your mouth as he moved his hands down to hold your waist, arching your back slightly. levi started to redirect you, pushing your back against the door, causing a loud thud against the wood.

“y/n? what was that?” a voice from the other side of the door called. your eyes flew open, seeing his steel eyes already looking back at you.

“shit!” you hissed. “my roommate.” you pulled your face away and took a deep breath, your hands still holding levi’s neck, and his still gripping your waist. you gazed at him for a moment, admiring his features. you hurriedly leaned in again, giving him one final, quick kiss.

“sorry! hold on!” you finally responded to your roommate as they started turning the doorknob. the two of you let one another go, quietly stepping away from the door that started to open.

“you won’t believe the night i-“ your roommate started, but freezing once they saw levi. their mouth dropped open and they glanced at you, shocked.

“sorry, he was just leaving,” you said, rushing to push levi through the open door. you followed him out, closing the door behind you. you sighed loudly.

“i’m sorry about that,” you told him quietly. he shrugged and slid his hands into his pockets. “i knew you liked me.”

“you’re okay,” levi replied, his eyes holding a warmth you had never seen from him before. “i’ll see you on wednesday.”

“yeah, yeah, see you wednesday,” you said, grinning as he turned around, making his way down the hallway.

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cipheress-to-k-pop · 3 years

Text

En Tennyson Anything

Pairing: Pre-Established; Ben Tennyson x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.5k words

Summary: Ever wonder how Ben Tennyson’s kid got it’s name?

A/N: Did anyone ask for it? No. Should this have remained in my head? Yes. Should I have not wasted my time when I’m supposed to be studying for my mock chemistry Final? Probably. Did I do it anyway? Absolutely. Is anyone’s opinion going to change my mind? Absolutely NOT.

“No! Forget about it! I refuse to name our child En Anything!” You said firmly, walking away from your husband to the living room. Just like you knew he would but wished he wouldn’t, he followed you, all while whining pitifully.

“Babe, please! Ren or Jen Tennyson? How adorable is that?”

“Look, you already named our dog Sphen Tennyson, that’s all you get!”

“Are you comparing our child to a dog right now?”

You snorted and rolled your eyes, pointing to the TV remote. It was second nature for him to grab the remote for you and you proceeded to ignore him in favour of your favourite series.

“Babe, come on, Kevin got to name his son Devlin!”

“That’s only cuz Gwen bet that it was going to be a girl! I on the other hand am refusing to name our child, boy or girl, En Tennyson!”

“It’s a family tradition babe!”

“No way! That name brings enough trouble as it is!”

“And yet you took it!”

“Because if I hadn’t your mother would’ve killed me. But I asked her and she said it was totally my decision to name our child whatever. And I choose anything other than En Anything.”

He threw himself on the couch with a huff, leaning against your belly and placing a hand on it, “Your mom is mean.”

You flicked his ear, “Don’t say that to our child!”

He chuckled, pressing a few kisses to your bump, “You want to be named Ren or Jen, right? Kick if you agree.”

You waited a couple of seconds in silence and when you felt nothing you couldn’t help but laugh at the betrayed look on Ben’s face. Usually whenever Ben talked to the baby, it was all too happy to kick around in response.

But it seemed like even the baby hated the name.

“Traitor.”

***

“I really wish I didn’t have to go.” Ben murmured, pulling you into his arms. You sighed, relishing in his warmth and leaning against his frame. A hand came to cradle your head as he tilted your face towards his and captured your lips in a kiss.

“It’s okay, the universe needs you.”

“Yeah, but you need me more than them.” He mumbled, kissing you again and you chuckled, “I’m sure I can survive a few days.”

“But you’re near your due date.”

You knew he was anxious to leave you alone so close to your due date. The grip he had on your hands was an indication to just how hard this was for him. He was worried about leaving the two of you home alone.

“It’s going to be okay, love. Besides, it’s not like I’m alone, I have your parents and Grandpa Max to look after me.”

“And my brother promised to check in on her a couple of times too.” Gwen spoke up from behind you and you nodded.

“Call me when you’re done.” You said, wrapping your arms around his neck. He peppered kisses along your shoulder as a goodbye.

“Call me if anything happens, okay?” He asked and you nodded, smiling when he bent down to say goodbye to your child.

“Don’t trouble your mom too much, okay? And don’t be born until I get back. Okay?” He asked and just like you knew it would, the baby kicked hearing Ben’s voice and the two of you laughed.

“We’ll be just fine.” You reassured, kissing him one final time before sending him off with a smile, “Be safe, I love you.”

***

It wasn’t long after Ben left when it started to snow heavily. The roads were quickly covered with sleet and snow decorated the window. So, you curled up with a warm hot chocolate, bundled up in Ben’s jacket by the window and had the radio playing.

Retro, but it was just what you needed to stop worrying about Ben.

You were nearly done with your cup when you heard the doorbell ring and wondered if you absolutely had to get up. Your feet were already kind of sore and you didn’t feel like moving. The doorbell rang again and you groaned, shuffling off the bed and grumbled all the way to the doorway.

When you opened it, Gwen’s brother was standing there with a small smile and a box of donuts.

“Hey, I got you those donuts you like.”

You have him a smile, inviting him inside, “Thank you, Ken. You really didn’t have to.”

“I promised Gwen and Ben that I would look after you.”

“Well, it looks like you’re stuck here,” You said, looking out the window and noticing how the police where shutting them down for everyone’s safety, “The roads are closed.”

He looked at the scene over your shoulder and released a breath, “I’m kind of relieved. I just parallel parked the car between 2 giant vans and I really didn’t want to have to bring it out of there.”

You giggled, “Lucky you then.”

The two of you didn’t waste any time, opening the box of donuts and digging in.

“So, any names for the newest Tennyson?” Ken asked, finishing his Jelly-filled one as you bit into the one with chocolate sprinkles.

“Well, Ben wants to name it either Ren or Jen but I hate the idea.”

Ken laughed, “What about you?”

“Well, I wanted to name it Max if he was boy,” You started, a hand unconsciously coming to rub your belly when you felt your baby move slightly. Almost as if he knew you were talking about it, “But Grandpa Max thinks that we shouldn’t.”

“Why not? I mean, I’d be pretty honoured if someone wanted to name their child after me.”

“Right? But Max thinks that his name would bring about bad luck. As if the last name isn’t bad luck enough.” You sighed and grabbed the last donut just as Ken was reaching for it. He raised a judgmental brow and you scoffed.

“I’m pregnant, what’s your excuse?”

***

Ken stayed the rest of the night, sleeping in one of the guest rooms and when the two of you woke up, you realized that it had snowed the whole night. The roads were covered in snow that was feet deep and you watched from the top of Tennyson Tower as a team of pyronites tried to clear them away.

It seemed in vain however, because it looked like the drainage system was frozen over and it would be difficult to get all the snow out without causing a flood.

You found yourself missing your husband more than you expected. With the snow and the cold, you wanted someone to cuddle up to. Someone to hold.

The baby had definitely noticed Ben’s absence. You couldn’t really tell how but something in your soul told you that it missed its father. Just as you did.

But the baby didn’t know that Ben was off world for a mission and light years away from the two of you. The baby had no idea that kicking and being fussy wouldn’t get him here faster even though it showed you just how uncomfortable it was.

Maybe that’s why it decided to come out and check for itself.

You weren’t sure what you felt at first. It was just a little discomfort for you but the spell quickly passed without much notice.

The second contraction made sure to let you know that it was there.

You held onto Ken’s arm in surprise and he took his eyes off the screen to look at you. You were staring blankly at the screen and he shifted in his seat to grab your hand.

“Everything okay?”

“I think I just had a contraction.” You whispered, feeling slightly panicked. A lot of emotions were rushing through your head; how you didn’t want to do this without Ben, how you didn’t want to do this, how you couldn’t do this with the roads blocked, and wondering whether this was actually labour.

“What? Oh, shit, okay, just relax. Has your water broken?” Ken was surprisingly calm even though you just told him you might be having your baby. He merely patted your hand reassuringly and grabbed his phone.

“I—I don’t think so.”

“Okay then we got some time, just relax.”

You knew all this. You went to the classes. You read the books. But as soon as you felt the first contraction, your mind went blank. All you did was nod as Ken dialled in your mother-in-law’s number and told her what was going on.

“How are we gonna get to the hospital?” You whispered, feeling panic rise and Ken brought you in for a comforting hug, “Don’t worry about it, we got some time. I’ll call Grandpa Max and ask him if he can dispatch a couple of hover cars or at least get some Heatblast’s to clear the road. Everything will be just fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep, worst comes to worst, we’ll have to get a doctor up here. It’ll be okay. Just watch some TV for now.”

“How do you know so much about this? You seem oddly calm.”

Ken blushed, “I read up on it a lot when Gwen was pregnant to make sure that if I was with her when it happened then I wouldn’t be floundering.”

You gave him a smile, “That’s sweet.”

***

“Okay, just breathe. Breathe. You’re doing great!” Ken whispered, letting you grip his hands as he talked you through another contraction. After he called up Grandpa Max, it didn’t take long before they managed to bring you to the hospital. Your water broke soon after that and the contractions got more painful.

“Where’s Ben!” You cried out, clenching your teeth. Ken began wiping your tears and sweat away.

“We haven’t been able to reach him yet, he’s still in battle. He’ll get the message soon enough and come home, (Y/N), don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t have this baby without him, Ken. I can’t. Can you tell the doctors to keep it in?” You sobbed and he chuckled lightly, pecking your temple, “We can’t keep it in, honey, but Aunt Sandra and Uncle Carl are on their way. So is Grandpa Max.”

“Why is this taking so long!!” You whimpered. Ken was carefully wiping away all your tears, “I thought the miracle of birth was supposed to be beautiful! Why is it so slow and so painful!”

He laughed and you sent him a glare but he knew it was harmless, “Well that’s the human race for you.”

“What a bunch of bastards.”

***

“I’m here! I’m here!” Ben shouted, bolting through the hallways, running into multiple people until he finally made it outside your delivery room. He was running too fast and ended up crashing into his father’s arms, panting heavily.

“Can I go in?” He asked, unsure if he was allowed and hesitated even when his parents nodded. His son or daughter was being born. Now. The love of his life was giving birth in the other room. All of it felt too real. Too domestic. Too normal.

He’d been through so much till now, never getting anything in return. He’d saved planets and risked his life over and over again, always coming near death and he never asked for anything in return.

Now it finally felt like he was getting something back.

His heart honestly couldn’t handle it.

So, he hesitated, he was scared he’d get robbed of something again. That he’d once again have to give up something in his life.

Kevin placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly and he nodded before giving him a slight nudge towards the door. When Ben stepped in, he immediately rushed to your side, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“I’m here. I’m here. I love you. I’m here.” You spared him a smile and he brought a hand up to wipe away some tears. You were breathing hard, a hand wrapped around his arm and the other was still clasped between both of Ken’s.

It was only then Ben noticed that his cousin was also in the room.

“Hey, man.”

“Sup.”

“WHY DON’T I LAY DOWN SOME TEA AND CRACKERS SO YOU CAN CATCH UP WHILE I TRY AND GIVE BIRTH!”

Even the doctor couldn’t help but laugh as your nails dug into their skin and you cried out, back hitting the bed in relief as your baby was born. An innocent cry filled the room and you couldn’t help the tears of joy that began streaming down your cheeks.

That was your baby.

“Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Tennyson, it’s a boy.”

Ben let out a teary laugh, kissing you briefly and squeezing your hand reassuringly as you leaned against him, exhausted. He was finally here; his baby boy was finally here.

The doctors cleaned him up a little before handing the baby to you, initiating skin-to-skin. You felt fresh tears looking at his precious face. That was your baby.

Ben’s hand came to support your son, his other arm wrapping around your figure as he brought you into a hug. A family hug.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

***

“Do we have a name yet?” Gwen asked from beside you, looking over the newest addition to the family. Your son was comfortable, even though people kept passing him around like a hot potato. It’s what happens when there are so many people in your family.

“No, not yet.” Ben told and you were almost impressed. A part of you was completely expecting him to hijack the name and outright tell everyone that you were naming your son Ren Tennyson.

“Actually,” You spoke up, bringing everyone’s attention to you just as Sandra handed her grandson back to you. You fondly looked at your baby boy before looking up at your husband with a shy smile, “I was thinking Kenny.”

A bright smile grew on his face, “Really? I thought you said you didn’t want an En Tennyson.”

“I didn’t, but I want our baby to be named after someone special,” You spoke, turning your head to meet the gaze of Ken, who had been standing behind everyone for the time being. You sent him a meaningful look, “I couldn’t have done it without you today. Thank you, for everything.”

He blushed, “I didn’t really.”

You didn’t bother arguing with him, knowing it was just his humility that held him back from accepting your gratitude. Instead, you turned back to the baby in your arms, leaning your head against Ben’s shoulder, “Your name is Kenny Tennyson, baby.”

The room erupted into cheers and you grinned, looking up to see your family around you.

Perhaps a family name wasn’t a bad idea.

It meant your child would be named after the people you love.

Forever Taglist: @simonsbluee

#ben tennyson #ben tennyson x reader #ben ten alien force #ben ten #ben ten ultimate alien #ben 10 omniverse #ben 10 ultimate alien #ben 10 alien force #ben 10 x reader #ben 10 fandom #ben 10

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ystk-archive · 3 years

Photo

First of all, big apologies to the six people above who asked me about this song over a month ago when it came out. I understand what Nakata meant when he said he only knows a song is finished when he hits his deadline – I could’ve easily let this sit another week and came back and messed with it more lmao.

If you want the short and simple of it: it’s nice, with all that piano it’s sort of reminiscent of jelly (aside from the WOF thing which I’ll, uh, get into below), it’s great to see Toshiko in one of their MVs again (and Nakata directing which hasn’t happened since ’07) though I’m not wild about the video per se. I guess in a broad sense I would say I like it, it’s a return to form for him and infinitely more enjoyable than anything he’s done with his “officially solo” material, but I could also fully understand if someone thought it was boring.

For my actual thoughts on it...

Hikari no Disco (ひかりのディスコ; Light Disco) as a whole package is sort of unusually mired in nostalgia. It’s got all that densely layered, classic style Nakata’s best known for which has been largely absent from his other projects over the past six years of CAPSULE (god I still don’t like the all-uppercase stylization) being in live-shows-only mode. As a piece of music it has an endearing sense of comfort and awe; it amuses the listener with odd little vocal modulations (my favorite is at 2:02), pointed percussive moments, and a strong piano backbone that work in tandem to give it character and charm. It even eschews the club-ready rinse-and-repeat of Nakata’s past compositions for capsule in favor of something very traditionally pop: an actual, proper break right before the song’s climax. Maybe it’s not a stretch to say all the tiny flourishes and embellishments in Hikari are a pure reflection of Nakata finally finding some kind of reason to go back to capsule – the overly bombastic (and loud) way the track opens feels like a curtain unveiling, like somebody pointing to capsule and going “hey, look at this!”

Though there is a bit of an elephant in the room here and that would be the recurrence of the motif from WORLD OF FANTASY (the repeating pattern of twelve-ish notes) which defined that track ten years ago. For the person who mentioned him recycling material, he did say in his Real Sound interview that he deliberately sampled it, but despite my agreeing with him in that it’s a good motif I have a few issues with its reappearance in Hikari. It’s such a specific and memorable facet of a previous track in their discography that its inclusion here feels like a sister song has been created rather than an entirely new work. Not only that, but Nakata went one step further with this callback and basically reimagined the entire music video for WOF as well. He’s definitely not a stranger to self-reference within his music but it normally seems to occur under incidental circumstances, and since historically capsule isn’t a music unit that does a lot of looking back, it comes across strangely for longtime listeners. Nostalgia and sampling oneself aren’t inherently bad, the problem here is that it doesn’t do enough to transform its inspiration point into a solidly new work. I spend both the song and music video just thinking about WORLD OF FANTASY and comparing the two in my mind.

Which, speaking of new works, you probably don’t need me to tell you this brings absolutely nothing new to the table for Nakata’s standard. I’m mixed on whether or not I could call this a detraction, because on one hand I’ve believed for years that he could stand to break out of his comfort zone musically and really try wholly different things (CAPS LOCK is an example), but on the other hand I recognize that capsule’s first new track in six years may not be the place to expect that. I think my concerns right now are for an album that’ll be too self-referential and maybe too focused on being something people remember liking from over a decade ago. (I mean, even their new artist photo is a goofy MORE! MORE! MORE! reference. Love the gloves, though.)

Lyrically Hikari is even more nostalgic, verging on the same type of sweetness present in past capsule songs like FRUITS CLiPPER’s dreamin dreamin and FLASH BACK’s Eternity. I often find myself fixating on the line “この身体にまだ / 慣れてないけど” (“Though I’m still not used to this body”); it strikes me as a strange thing to say in a song that’s otherwise teeming with sentimentality and familiar words (disco, stars, sparkling, landing, lights). Is the speaker meant to be an alien that got turned into a human? Are they now a 41-year-old grappling with age? Am I reading into things here? To answer the person who asked what the song “means,” it’s really up to your interpretation and how you relate to it. For me it’s a song about the lights of the city at dusk, the lights of the club and, just maybe, the lights inside all of our hearts. (That was awful. I’m kidding.)

The music video is an anomaly in that it is apparently Nakata’s return to the director’s seat after a fourteen-year absence from helming this aspect of capsule. While video direction isn’t exactly his forté, nor has it ever seemed like a passion of his, I’ve always enjoyed the outside-the-box approach that yielded visual works like Retro Memory’s stylish, static angle lounge singer concept and Glider’s quirky portrayal of the afterlife, or something. Despite what I said earlier, Hikari is equally helped by the immediate parallel the viewer will draw between it and the music video for WORLD OF FANTASY – it’s almost as if (note: he did not say this! I’m speculating!) Nakata revisited WOF and felt dissatisfied by director Tani Atsushi’s “night drive through Tokyo but make it Blade Runner on a budget.” As someone who never particularly cared for that MV, I have to praise what Hikari does differently with the same basic premise. Here, Toshiko is shown through a neutral lens that chooses not to highlight her body as she gets into a Honda Prelude, an older car almost utterly devoid of the cool points earned by WOF’s Lamborghini. The core of Hikari’s intrigue is in anachronism: the car is from the 1980s, but the road Toshiko is driving on didn’t exist at that time, so when does the music video take place? They carefully include a shot of Tokyo Tower, a symbol of pre-2010s Tokyo, and exclude the much newer Skytree. There’s also the appearance of the cassette tape from which the single’s cover art and central nostalgic ethos are derived. Where WOF followed expectations of an ultra-sleek futuristic cityscape, Hikari is subversive in only the way something with Nakata’s direct involvement could be. It does it all with an unsteadily amateurish camera, a fixation on the unfocused glittering lights of the city, and an intense 3D-effect filter that brings to mind Sugarless GiRL, his last directorial work.

Though as charmingly set up as Hikari is, the video – and Toshiko – ultimately go nowhere. Not that capsule’s music videos were ever particularly story-driven (the animated sci-fi trilogy notwithstanding), nor do they need to be, but there’s a one-note sameness that permeates Hikari and leaves me wanting more. This is especially glaring in the way the video ends with in-car audio and prolonged silence, suggesting something is about to happen, but nothing does. As the music itself ended I found myself desperately hoping for a visual conclusion to go with it: maybe she’d answer a phone call, or arrive at her destination and get out, but the MV just sort of...stops. Legend has it she’s still driving to this day.

Overall the music video does its job better than any other capsule MV between 2010 and now, and the musical nostalgia here is a fun diversion even if it isn’t exactly introducing new ideas. I’m presently just confused about the status of the album (and whether something as jarringly old-school as Utsusemi will get tacked on there) but capsule’s not really followed consistent scheduling since they moved to Warner/ASOBISYSTEM. Maybe next time they drop something I’ll be more conscientious of the timing of answering questions about it though, lol.

#messages #capsule #Hikari no Disco #i really wrote ~1000 words about this...#and i didn't even say everything i could've said #oh well

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the-sympathetic-villain · 3 years

Text

I Know What You’re Going To Say - Chapter 3

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: A Beauty and the Beast style Vampire AU. Vampire!Virgil has picked up Logan off the street and is holding him captive under the threat of killing his friends if he tries to escape.

Word Count: 4275

Chapter Warning: Mentions of Parental Neglect/Control, Mind Control, Crying, Corruptions, Mentions of Police (Let me know if I missed anything!)

---

Janus stirred the coffee in front of him quietly as he peered out the window of the decrepit all-night diner. He felt a tightness welling in his chest as he traced back the night's events that had somehow ended with him here. Rain pattered on the window. Each wet streak glowing with the reflections of the bright pink, neon signs that the owners had seen fit to hang on nearly every surface of this godawful place. His lips twitched with disgust as he glanced down at his watch, checking the time yet again as he stared down the near empty streets.

The kid was late. Ten minutes. The simple thought made his stomach twist with anxiety. After leaving Virgil, finding his prisoner’s friend had been almost comically easy. Virgil had his home address. A quick flight had him peering through the man's windows in under half an hour, but the passing glance he'd gotten was enough for him to guess where man had gone.

He was already half the way down the street when a message from Virgil confirmed that the man’s work address. Less than an hour after leaving Virgil, he was being served by the very man he for which he'd been searching. Janus smirked at the simplicity, humming to himself contentedly as yet another car swept by outside sending wave of dirty water onto the curb.

Still, Janus could hardly complain. Virgil had certainly sent him on worse missions, and though the dingy, over-lit diner was an eyesore, the man serving him was putting on quite the show as he flitted between the glistening, chrome surface of the bar. The subtle eyeliner flared to a perfect point as winked at the cook through the serving window.

Janus smiled, eyes lingering a bit too long on the handsome waiter as he distracted himself from the empty streets outside. Truly, he was grateful for the late night hours as the lack of customers meant minimal effort for him to keep prying eyes away from his all to recognizable face. Being a vampire had its perks, after all. On a mere whim, the other customer’s gazes slipped over him like he was a mere shadow. Only the charming waiter he was currently staring had been allowed to catch a glimpse of him sitting alone in the booth.

The waited with the golden hair had immediately recognized him upon bouncing up to the table to take his order, but fortunately, the guy didn’t seem to be the squealing type. A note which Janus would very much be filing away for later as he watched the man melt under his control. It had only taken a few, short words to make the man forget he had recognized Janus and hand over his phone.

Janus bit his lip at the memory. The sight of the flamboyant waiter suddenly soured in his mouth as he remembered why he was here. The texts he’d read on the man's phone had indicated the kid was supposed to be here at midnight. His eyes flicked up to the retro-looking clock as it read a quarter past the hour. From the texts he’d gleaned that the kid's parents had reluctantly agreed to drop the kid off with his starry-eyed server, Roman, but the mystery of the late-night hand-off had not been resolved by the golden boy's texts.

Janus tapped his fingernails on the cheap plastic tabletop as the golden boy himself glanced up at clock above the bar nervously. He stared curiously as his façade of nonchalance broke for the first time, revealing the underlying anxiety brewing behind the sweet smile. Janus blinked as the man disappeared behind the bar, allowing his attention to drift back to the rain-soaked window once more. He stirred his coffee absently as watched the glowing headlights rush past.

The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, barely obscuring the hazy view of the streets outside. He'd almost turned back to watch the golden boy when a slim black car caught Janus’ attention. The sleek, tinted windows of the strange car stood out among the tattered, worn down streets. Janus sat up straight as the car pulled up next to the curb and the back door popped open to reveal the reddish-brown hair of the kid he'd been waiting for.

Not a moment was spared on goodbyes. The kid immediately bound to the door of the diner, slamming the car door behind him. Janus didn’t see that it mattered however, as the car was gone before the kid even made it to the door. He let out a soft breath, turning to watch as the golden boy gleefully rush to the door with a slightly manic look in his eyes.

The interaction should have filled Janus with relief. Seeing the kid in the man’s arms meant the most difficult part of his job was done. All he had to do now is watch the kid for a few days, but something about the simple interaction he'd just watched set him on edge.

Janus’ tension only seemed to ease as he watched the golden boy sweep the boy up into his arms, whispering to him in hushed tones. They stayed like that for a solid minute, before the bouncing waiter finally started to drag the kid to a booth. A few moments later, they were walking towards his booth and his former human instincts and he averted his gaze. Logically, he knew their gaze would pass over him, but the compulsion to be polite seemed to be far stronger in his brain.

“Where’s your coat, Pat?” The man whispered as he guided the kid into the seat behind him.

“He—uh, he didn't let me take it.”

The kid’s mumble was almost incoherent as the man stopped abruptly next to the booth, staring as the kid slid onto the vinyl seat behind him.

“What?”

There was a long pause as the golden boy stared down at the kid. Janus could almost feel the heat in the kids cheeks as he squirmed behind him. “He said, if I thought I was an adult, I could act like it—and my stuff would be waiting when I came to my senses and went back.”

“What a goddamn asshole, Pat.” The golden boy whispered in disbelief. Immediately, he seemed to backtrack until the kid interrupted him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t swear in front of y—"

“They also said some nasty things about Lo before I left.” The kid's voice trembled as he tapped on the cheap plastic table

“It wasn't true. Whatever they said, Logan has done nothing but care about you.” The golden boy's deep voice reassured him. “He has everything set up. You won't have to worry about a thing.”

“I know. I just—”

Janus' heart twisted with guilt at sadness in the kid’s voice.

“Where is—"

“Listen, I'm going to grab my jacket for you, Starlight. You’re absolutely shivering. I'll be—” The man stopped him abruptly. “I’ll be right back. Okay?”

“Okay, Ro.”

Ice seized Janus' heart at the confused tone of the kid's and he jerked his head around to watch the golden boy’s head disappear behind the bar.

He doesn’t know his brother is missing.

The realization hit Janus like a brick wall as he glanced over his shoulder at the back of the kid’s head. His shoulders were slumped as he leaned forward to fidget with the basket of sugar in front of him. Janus blinked as he turned around, barely able to process what was happening. As he slunk back into his seat, Janus slowly pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up Virgil in his phone.

J: Got eyes on the kid.

V: he's safe?

J: He's fine I think.

V: what does that mean?

J: Kid doesn’t know his brother’s missing, Vee.

V: what

V: wait how close are you?

A sudden, sweeping motion in his periphery caught Janus’ attention and he turned his head to see the golden boy making his way back in their direction.

V: Jan what's happening?

J: Update later.

Janus bit his lip guiltily as he typed the quick response, shoving his phone back in his pocket. His phone immediately buzzed a response. He turned his head, casually reaching into his pocket to silence his phone as he watched the pretty waiter make his way back to the table. The man was effortlessly balancing three plates on top of carrying the jacket he had swung over his arm. He moved quickly across the room and only stopping to gracefully slide the plate across the table to the kid and throw the jacket at him.

“Eat up, Pat.” The charismatic waiter’s voice almost seemed deflated now. His tension seemed to release now that the kid was here, replaced by a much more somber tone. “I'm taking off early tonight so we can get you to sleep at a decent time.”

“Where’s—”

“—I'll be back in a minute to grab you.” Janus’ stomach tightened as the golden boy tactfully brushed off the kid’s question. “Hopefully the rain will let up for the walk home not to be a miserable affair. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Okay.” The kid whispered, sounding a little deflated.

“Hey, don't be like that.” The waiter's incredibly charming voice echoed in his ear from behind him. Janus could feel a scuffle in the booth behind him as the waiter ruffled the kid's hair. “It’s good to see you here, Starlight, but please just try to cut me a little slack tonight.”

“Sorry. I promise to be patient.” The kid’s shy whisper shook slightly as if taken off guard by the waiter’s light reprimand. “Thanks again for letting us stay with you, Ro.”

“You don't ever have to apologize to me, Starlight.” The golden boy seemed to tense slightly at the kid's change in demeanor. “Even if it weren’t for Logan, my door is always open to you. You’re family, kid.”

Janus heart twisted at the bittersweet sentiment. This kid really had no idea what was going on and Janus wasn’t even sure the server planned on telling him. Stirring his coffee absently, images of the kid's brother tied tightly in Virgil’s binds flashed through the front of his mind. His eyes flicked to the side as the waiter backed away from the table, still talking with poor child.

Soon, the server returned to his duties, leaving a heavy silence hanging over him. A bitter taste settled into the back of Janus' throat as his thoughts fell into a dark spiral. Virgil could be feeding on the guy now, as his brother innocently picked at his food. Even if he wasn’t, Janus could still see the red, irritated welts on the guy’s wrists perfectly in his mind. He—

“Excuse me.”

Janus nearly jumped out of his skin as the kid tapped on his shoulder from behind him, somehow breaking straight through his glamour. Fortunately, his instincts kicked in and he dropped his head, keeping his face hidden from the child leaning over the barrier and into his booth.

“Can I borrow your ketchup?”

“What?” Janus incredulous tone must have registered as odd to the kid, because he suddenly started to explain the simple question.

“The bottle at this table is almost empty and I—”

“Yes. Take it.” Janus snapped, cutting off the kid's explanation as he hastily shoved the red bottle into the kid's open hand.

“Thanks.” The kid's voice sounded almost hurt and almost certainly taken aback at Janus’ abrupt cut into his attempt at a friendly inquiry. “I'm sorry to bother you, sir.”

Janus' stomach twisted as the kid turned back around and slumped back into his seat. He cast a quick glance back at the kid, stilling as the kid’s body language slouched. He knew for a fact, it wasn’t worth getting involved, but despite his wariness, Janus was getting the idea this kid was used to being shoved aside and he didn’t want to be the one to do that to this kid.

Fuck. Virgil is going to flay me alive.

“You didn’t bother me.” Janus whispered hesitantly, forcing himself to keep staring forward as the kid turned toward him.

“What?

“You surprised me is all.” Janus muttered. “No harm done, kid.”

“Patton.”

Now, it seemed it was Janus’ turn to turn back over his shoulder, dumbfounded, but the kid had already faced forward.

“And I'm not a kid.”

Janus smirked, turning forward to stare out the wall of windows. “Come now. You look like you can't be more than fourteen.”

“I'm sixteen.”

Sixteen.

Janus blinked in disbelief at the kid's age and chewing his cheek at the kid’s slight defensive tone. “Still it’s a little late for someone as young as you to be out and about on this side if town .”

“Legally, I'm adult.” Patton muttered. “I'm—I'm emancipated.”

“Legal don't mean shit here, kid.” Janus stared down at his coffee, remembering the look of despair on the kid's brother's face as Virgil had loomed over him. “You’re going to have to learn that real quick, if you plan on staying here.”

“I'm staying.”

“No offense, kid, but I saw the car that brought you here.” Janus whispered, stirring his coffee absently. “The streets are going to eat you alive, if you aren’t—”

“My brother knows what he's doing.” The kid snapped, though he seemed to be losing steam. “He's got a plan. I know he does.”

“I sure hope he does, Patton,” Janus paused, chewing on his thoughts as the kid’s name passed his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the boy’s new guardian making his way back to his table, so he quickly pulled out his wallet and tossed a twenty on the table for the coffee he had hardly touched. He tensed with resolution as he moved to leave the booth. “But even if he doesn’t have a plan, I think you’ll find he has allies in unexpected places.”

“What?”

Janus could hear the kid turn around as he stepped out of his booth, but he didn’t even pause. He straightened his hat on his head as flared up the collar of his long coat.

“Don't give up, kid.”

“Wait—What are you talking ab—”

The kid's call died out as he strode out of the restaurant, pushing past the concerned waiter who was rushing back to the table to collect the kid. Janus sighed, frustrated as he pushed open the double doors of diner and swept down the street, taking a swift turn into the alleyway behind the restaurant.

Janus’ breaths came in short gasps as he paced the alleyway with a fierce intention. Fury flared in his chest as his body filled with indignation on the kid's behalf. His pace had nearly peaked when he shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He snarled as he noticed the already lit screen, barely resisting the urge to smash the phone into the wall as he caught Virgil’s name on the screen. Janus' pacing stilled. His anger burned white-hot as he considered letting Virgil worry, but his sudden desire for a fight won out as he clicked the green button and snarled into the receiver .

“What?”

“What the hell, Janus?” Virgil growled into his ear. “You don’t get to just ghost me whenever you feel like it—”

“I can’t do this.”

The line went silent for a long minute as Janus breathed into his cell. He sighed, releasing a bit of his anger as he leaned into the wall.

“This kid is already asking questions about his brother. It’s only a matter of time until he realizes he's not coming home.” Janus hissed. “Even this guy’s friend seems like a decent human. He's still planning on taking the kid in even knowing his friend’s gone—”

“Janus—”

“No. Tell me, Virgil. When did we start doing shit like this to good people?” Janus leaned off the dumpster behind him as his diatribe intensified. “I didn’t sign up for th—”

“Maybe, if you gave me a chance to speak, I’d—”

“Where’s my brother, Roman?!”

The blood-curdling shriek sent Janus flying behind the dumpster. He'd barely managed to crouch out of sight he heard a scuffle at the entrance to the alleyway.

“Quiet!”

Janus hesitantly peeked around the corner to catch a glance of the golden boy dragging the kid into the alley. His fangs started to extend as the full-grown man pressing the kid into the wall of the other building, covering his mouth with his hand so he couldn't call for help. Adrenaline shot through Janus’ body as he prepared to lunge into action.

“I need you to relax, Pat.” The waiter’s deep voice sent shivers down Janus’ spine, but his tone was kind and patient. “I'm going to tell you, but your father can’t hear about this. If he does, you’re going to end up right back at home.”

Janus’ muscles eased as the golden boy's grip slackened, even though the kid seemed far from settling as he squirmed in the man’s arms. Feeling the tension drop, Janus edged further into the shadows as he glanced at his phone, grateful that Virgil seemed to have picked up that he needed to remain quiet.

“Come on, Starlight. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” The man’s voice trembled, nearly fading to silence. “I'm lost, too.”

The kid, Patton, seemed to go slack in the man's arms at the slight tremble in the man's voice. Janus’s heart ached as he stared at the kid. The wet streaks on his face glistened in the light of the streetlamp and he looked even younger than he had in the diner.

Just a kid.

“I don't know where Logan is, Pat. He disappeared last night.”

Janis could feel the energy in the air shift as the kid started to shake his head violently. He threw his whole weight into the man holding him against the wall, knocking the man's hand free of his mouth.

“No—no, no, nonono—”

“Don’t panic. We're going to find—”

“What happened, Roman?” The kid's voice cracked as he backed away from the man, swaying unevenly on his feet.

“I don’t know, Patton. We were walking home from the diner last night and—” Roman hovered close to the kid, desperate to comfort him but cautious about antagonizing him. “I don't know what happened after that. I woke up in my bed, and—and Lo never came home.”

Janus leaned closer, staring as his fangs slowly retracted. Patton continued to sway dangerously until the man came up to steady him from behind.

“What did the police say?”

Janus watched curiously as the man's expression shifted and he suddenly gripped the kid tighter. “I couldn't call them, Pat.”

“What?!”

A shiver ran down Janus’ spine as the kid's shriek filled his ears and it a was a long moment after that before he even processed the man's words. He glanced down at his phone, knowing Virgil was probably listening as intently to this conversation as himself.

The guy didn't call the cops.

“Logan was very clear about what he wanted me to do if something happened to him. His priority was always making sure you were safe first—”

“Not if he's missing, Roman.”

“He told me exactly what he'd want me to do if he went missing, Patton” Roman whispered staring over at Patton. “and that means making sure the police don't find out he's gone.”

“Why—”

“Your father has the police under his thumb,” Roman stepped closer to Patton, wrapping his arm around him. “One of the conditions of your emancipation was having a place to live with your brother. If he’s gone, the judge could throw out the decision, especially with a district attorney whispering in his ear."

“He knew?”

“God, no. Pat, he wanted to be here waiting for you. He planned to be at the diner when you arrived,” Roman stepped forward, gripping the kid’s shoulders as he forced him to make eye contact. “but Lo spent hours planning for anything that could possibly go wrong. He wanted to know that you were taken care of, even if something happened to him.”

Patton continued to stare at the ground, shaking. “Roman, he could be hurt—”

Janus sucked in a breath through his teeth, glancing down at his phone.

“I've already got Rem on it. We're going to find him.” Roman whispered. His voice dropped quiet enough that Janus could barely make out the words. “I'm not giving up on him. Okay?”

The kid's face paled and Janus could only guess he was barely standing by the way he continued to sway. Silence hung over them for longer than Janus was comfortable with, but the man holding his shoulders waited patiently until the kid responded.

“Okay.”

“Good,” Roman turned the kid's shoulder to walk him out of the alley. “Now, let’s get you to bed."

“Ro—” Patton slowed

“Don't argue, Pat. You’re not going to do Lo any favors by depriving yourself of sleep.” Roman placed a hand on the Patton's back in gentle reassurance. “We'll meet up with Rem first thing in the morning and go from there.”

“’Kay.”

The kid's mumble faded as they left the alley and Janus rose out of the shadows as they turned the corner out of the alley. He bit his lip, staring after them as he unmuted his phone and lifted the receiver to his ear.

“Do you feel like an asshole yet?”

“You know,” Virgil’s voice growled in his ear. “Your biting sarcasm loses its charm very quickly.”

Janus bristled as Virgil brushed him off. “I'm done, Virgil. Return the guy or I'm—"

“No.”

Janus snarled silently. “Fine, then I'm out. Best of luck with whatever bastard plan you’ve—”

“Stop.” Virgil muttered, his voice full of reluctance. “Please, just hear me out.”

Janus' thumb hovered over the button, but the subtle plea in Virgil’s voice gave him pause not to hang up. He sighed, raising the phone back to his ear. “You have exactly thirty seconds to change my mind, Virgil.”

Virgil didn’t hesitate a second with his response. “Do you remember when I got into that fight a few years ago?”

Janus paused, taken aback by the sudden change in topic. He slowed his pacing, staring curiously out the alley in the direction the kid had left as he replied hesitantly to Virgil. “Yes, I do.”

Virgil's let out a long breath into the receiver. “This guy is the guy I fought, Janus.”

Janus blinked, mouth hanging agape. “Oh.”

“I know how this looks, Jan,” Virgil breathed quietly. “but this dude put me in the hospital because I said something he didn't like. However upset the kid is about his brother being missing, he’s safer without this monster.”

Chewing his lip, Janus paced back and forth in the alley. His body tensed as he tried to process his friend’s words.

“Janus?”

Janus let out a long sigh, pressing his thumb into his temple. “I'm here, Virgil.”

Static crackled in the phone's speaker as the silence hung over them. Janus glanced up at the amber street light tapping his fingers on his arm as a group of people passed the alley. Their laughter broke the fragile silence, grating against Janus’ ears.

“I'm not the only bad guy.”

“You’re not—” Janus repeated back without hesitation. “You’re not a bad guy.”

He could hear Virgil’s breathy snort through the phone as he stifled a chuckle. “You seem awfully sure about changing your tune so quick.”

“I am.” Janus muttered, stepping towards the street.

“Janus,” Virgil’s sharp inhale stilled Janus pacing as he awaited Virgil’s response. “we're good?”

“We're good, Virgil.” The corner of Janus' mouth twitched up at the relief in Virgil’s voice.

“Good.” Virgil’s voice wavered with emotion and Janus smiled at the subtle show of vulnerability. “Now please, make sure that kid gets home safely.”

“I will.” Janus smiled, leaning into the stone wall across the alley from the diner.

“Thank you.”

Janus paused for a moment, smile faltering as the situation that had just unfolded before him continued processing in his mind. "Vee?"

"Yeah, Jan?"

"He didn't call the cops."

"I know. Something's up with these people," Virgil's voice dropped as he let out a long sigh. "We'll figure out what's going on, but for now, let's just be glad we don't have heat breathing down our necks. Okay?"

"Okay." Janus nodded absently, trying to relax. "You're right."

"It'll be fine."

"Right. I know."

"Jan, relax." Virgil whispered patiently. "You're safe. There ain't nothing bigger or badder on those streets than you."

Janus cracked a smile, chuckling as he stood up from the wall. "Oh, I know."

"Keep me updated."

Janus grunted an affirmation, and a moment later, the line disconnected. He sighed, quickly dropping his phone from his ear into his pocket, feeling a familiar numbness settle into his limbs as stepped out onto the sidewalk. The scent of the golden boy’s cologne was easy enough to catch as he turned down the street towards his target. He swept around the next corner, thoughts wandering as the streets began to blur together. He bit his lip, shoulders curled forward even though he couldn’t feel the sharp bite of the cold. The amber lights illuminated him as he closed the distance between him and the kid, not that he noticed the buildings as they blurred past as he disappeared into the night.

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

I Know What You’re Going To Say Taglist:

@theoddkidnextdoor @ace-in-a-shopping-cart @im-actually-ok @justanoymous

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts janus #ts roman #ts patton #ts virgil #I Know What You're Going To Say #villain writes

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seagreen-meets-grey · 3 years

Text

When Lightning Strikes Ch. 16

When your life is nothing but a cloudless sky, lightning can come and strike you so unexpectedly, you won’t even know what hit you.

Or: When Hiccup and Astrid meet, it is as if lightning strikes.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] [Chapter 19] [Chapter 20]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

_______________

Hiccup regretted not going back for a jacket the minute the wind started blowing sideways. His hand hurt from gripping the handle of his umbrella, preventing it from succumbing to the forces of nature and escaping him like a gas-filled balloon. When it turned inside-out for the third time, he gave up and closed it, hunching his shoulders in an attempt to keep the rain from disappearing down his back. It only semi-worked. He could count the goosebumps on his skin. Soon, his t-shirt was clinging to his torso and he started rubbing his arms to stop shivering.

This had been a very stupid idea. Why had he not thought this through? Where was he even going? And why on earth had he not taken his car?! But turning around and walking back to his house sounded worse than to keep walking, because the way back was the direction the rain and wind were coming from. He started jogging to warm up and get out of this weather as fast as possible, taking the route to the nearest person he could think of.

With a trembling finger, he rang the doorbell, waiting for the familiar static. The first voice he could hear was that of a barking dog, then some swearing and yelling at the dog to shut up, then finally, someone addressed him. “Hello?”

“Hey man, it’s me. Can you let me in? I’m cold and wet.”

“That’s not what- Shut up, Hookfang! Sit! That’s not what your mom said last night.”

Hiccup let his forehead fall against the front door. “Just let me in, please.”

The sound that came out of the buzzer reminded him of a dying cow, but he was able to open the door anyway. At the top of the stairs, Snotlout was standing in the open apartment door, holding his excited dog by the collar. When it spotted Hiccup, it wagged its tail against its owner’s legs and barked happily.

“Come in before he barks up the whole stairwell again. Mr. Browner’s been sticking his head out the door every time we came back from a walk to complain if Hookfang made even the tiniest of sounds. And you know he’ll make the sound if he sees people.” Before he closed the door, he yelled down the stairs, “Yes, Mr. Browner, I’m talking about you, you massive dick!”

Hiccup scratched the happy dog, trying to escape its tongue. “Wouldn’t massive dick be a compliment in your book?”

“What?”

“Nothing. Do you have a jacket for me?”

“What do you need a jacket for?”

Hiccup wordlessly pointed first at his clothes, then out the next window. “Oh, come on…” Of course, in the few minutes he’d spent inside, the rain had let up. A small patch of cloud was even lighting up a little, as if about to expose a bit of sunshine.

“You walked through a car wash or what?”

“Why- why would I ever- No, it’s been raining for the past few hours, have you not looked outside lately?”

Snotlout flopped into his armchair where a set of headphones and a half-empty bag of chips were resting on each arm. “Nah, I was busy.”

Gently shoving Hookfang away from him so that he could move, Hiccup peaked at the TV screen. “Obviously.” He was looking at the pause menu of a Harry Potter Lego game. Snotlout quickly grabbed the remote and the screen went dark.

“This is Call of Duty. Shut up, Hiccup.”

“Clearly. I could still use a jacket, though.” Oh, he would use this newfound knowledge on a later occasion. When he had the right mind for it and wasn’t still feeling like a wet towel in winter.

With a groan, his friend got up and left to his bedroom. As soon as he was gone, Hookfang jumped onto the chair and stuck his nose into the bag of chips, licking the inside. Hiccup grimaced. Snotlout loved his dog, but he still had trouble making it listen to him. Or follow any rules at all. Lucky for him, Hiccup now knew an expert in all things dog training and– Oh, right. Said expert had also just kissed him, more or less, and then bolted.

She’d said she needed to go home. Maybe she’d meant her parents’ place? Maybe she hadn’t even been talking about anything regarding her relationship with her husband? Was he overthinking this again? Maybe… Maybe she’d forgotten she needed to meet her family, the equivalent of remembering the oven was still on. Or something. He sighed. It was a place to start.

He was hit in the head by a hoodie, followed by a yell from Snotlout. “Catch! Pff, loser.” Hiccup decided not to say anything when his friend reached into the bag of chips and ate a few, before inspecting his hand and scrunching up his face in disgust. “Ew, dog slobber! Hookfang, you shit dog!” The shit dog wasn’t impressed by its owner’s disgust, staying on the armchair without a care in the world. “Now get off my chair!”

When the dog didn’t move, Hiccup sharply whistled and pointed down at his feet with a stern face. “Hookfang, come here!” After a few moments of intense eye contact, Hookfang actually gave in and followed the command, lying down at Hiccup’s feet, much to Snotlout’s dismay.

“Hey! Why are you listening to him?! You betrayed me, you son of a bitch dog!”

“You know, technically, he is the son of a bitch.”

“Shut up, Hiccup. I need that jacket back by tonight.”

Hiccup took in the chipped flame print on the sleeves. The jacket itself was too wide for him, but the sleeves were way too short. He probably looked like an idiot. “What for?”

“I want to wear it to work tomorrow. There’s this girl that likes that stuff.”

“You mean oversized clothes for kids? Didn’t you wear this back in school?”

“It’s retro! Whatever, she digs it. So give it back later, okay? I really need it.”

He shrugged. “Sure. Thanks anyway. I bet you didn’t have any other jacket you could lend me.”

“I’m not gonna give you my fine stuff. You wouldn’t be able to handle the swag, anyway.”

“What swag, Snotlout?” Before his friend could dive into that age-old discussion again, Hiccup held up his hands to stop him. “Save it, I gotta go.”

“Where?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Bye, Snot. Hookfang, listen to Snotlout. Whatever. Thanks again for the help!”

He had grabbed his umbrella and was out the door before the dog could follow him or Snotlout could dig for more details. He didn’t have time for that right now. There was a place he needed to go and there was no time to waste. Realizing he could have asked for a ride, or at least for a short ride to his own car, he slapped his hand against his forehead, breaking into a jog.

Every few minutes, a short drizzle broke out of the clouds, and Hiccup felt taken back in time to a certain rainy November day. Time was of importance just like it had been then, but today, he was determined to catch her in time and not let go. Unless she wanted him to, which he hoped she didn’t, but now that he thought about it, maybe she needed to be away from him and concentrate on the relationship she wanted to keep. Winded, he slowed to a stop and leaned against a traffic light at an intersection. The next bus stop was just down the road.

Checking the schedule on the wall of the bus shelter, he sat down on the narrow bench underneath and waited. With a sigh of relief, he found his city ticket in his wallet. The hoodie and exercise had warmed him up enough and he made sure no water would drip out of his hair and run down his neck.

What if the roles were reversed this time? What if she – and he tried to not get his hopes up – had plunged deeper into this connection between them and now needed to sever all ties to him in order to not lose her mind? That he could relate to.

He got to his feet the moment the bus rounded the corner. If her decision really ended up to break contact, he would still find her and talk to her first. For his own attempt at closure, at least. He’d know he at least tried this time, and didn’t give up at the last minute because the mountains in his way were too steep to climb.

He had to change busses twice until he got out two streets over from her parents’ place. Using the short pause between drizzles, he made it to the driveway, eyes darting around in search for her car. It wasn’t there. His stomach dropped and he felt his heart beat in his throat as he walked to the front door and rang the bell. He would leave no stone unturned; he was all in.

The door opened and Wilma Hofferson curiously raised her eyebrows at the sight of him, disheveled and wet from the rain, wearing an unfitting hoodie.

“Hi,” he nervously greeted. “Is Astrid here, by any chance?”

Wilma shook her head. “Last I saw her she was leaving to meet someone for lunch earlier, I assumed it was you.”

“Oh.”

“Seems like I assumed wrong. Have you tried her phone?”

He could have slapped himself. Her phone. He could just call her, for fuck’s sake! “No- no, you were right, she was with me. But then she left and now I’m trying to find her, but seems like she went home home, so never mind. Sorry for bothering you!”

Mind already recalling her phone number, he left a bewildered Wilma behind and jogged back to the bus stop. He scanned the schedule, but he had no clue where he should go. He didn’t even know her address. Tapping his right foot on the ground in a quick pace, he tried to get his racing thoughts in order.

“Alright, Hiccup,” he mumbled to himself, “what’s the plan here? How can you solve this?”

Call her and ask for her address? No, that was stupid, and also inconvenient. He could just ask her to meet him somewhere.

Call her and talk on the phone? Also no. This was a conversation to have face to face.

Call Heather to ask Dagur for Eret’s number or address? Yeah. Great idea, Hiccup. Call your ex to ask her brother for your almost-lover’s husband’s number. Just call her yourself, you idiot.

But when he pulled out his phone and stared at her contact info, the knot in his stomach grew tighter. It all came down to this phone call. It was easy, actually. He just had to press call, wait for her to pick up, then convince her to meet him for a very important conversation.

He was frozen where he stood, the steady sound of rain on the bus shelter’s roof like white noise in his ears. His heart was pounding, growing bigger and bigger in his chest, pushing against his lungs until he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Ripping his gaze away from his phone, he took a few deep breaths and started walking, absentmindedly opening his umbrella.

His hand was clenched around his phone, the chipped corner of the screen digging the reminder into his skin that he was avoiding his task. It was just a call. A call he needed to make. But when he imagined her answering, his mind went blank. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to make sure he didn’t screw this up?

Confront your fear, he heard Dr. Mala’s voice inside his head. Examine it, analyze it, confront it. What’s the worst that could happen?

Well, for starters, he could stutter around for so long that she hung up on him. She could tell him she didn’t want to talk to him. She could ignore his call altogether.

He clenched his jaw in determination. Well, then he would try again! He would find a way to reach her, he would even make an ass of himself by showing up on her parents’ doorstep every day until she either talked to him or told him to fuck off. No more avoiding, no more hiding behind fears of rejection and hurt. That wouldn’t get him anywhere.

The phone was already pressed against his ear and signaling an outgoing call before he could drive himself mad by going over what exactly he would say. Sometimes, he just had to approach the dragon without the axe. Maybe it was friendly.

After twenty eternal seconds, he realized she wasn’t going to pick up. Before his mind could start making up ridiculous reasons for that, he firmly told himself to try again in exactly fifteen minutes. In the meantime, he would just walk around Berk in the rain in his friend’s hideous jacket, definitely failing at not preparing what exactly he would say when he tried her again. But if he already didn’t give a shit about his appearance, there was no way he would avoid the call anymore, either. And hey, if she told him she wouldn’t be friends with him anymore, for whatever reason, then at least he knew where he stood.

That didn’t stop him from drumming his fingers against his leg at every red traffic light, though, or keeping up a quick walking pace because he needed to dump his nervous energy somewhere. By the time his phone signaled him the fifteen minutes were up, he had to orient himself for a minute because he’d walked to a part of town he didn’t immediately recognize. But he decided it wasn’t important where he was right now, and pulled up Astrid’s number again.

His mind conjured up an image of Cam with that Shia LaBeouf video he liked to play in every situation. Just do it! Yeah, Heather’s boyfriend was truly something.

“Just do it,” he mumbled, repeating the sentence seven times in a row before he finally pressed the call button.

It rang.

And rang.

Twenty seconds later, it was still ringing, but he didn’t give up this time. Either she picked up or he reached her voicemail.

When the signal suddenly disappeared, his breath caught in his throat. But the voice that appeared was automatic, asking him to leave a message. So he did.

“Hey… It’s me. Hiccup. I- I don’t- I’m just calling because…” He took a deep breath. “I need to talk to you. We need to talk. About… About everything. Like, earlier, when you, you know, left – I probably don’t need to remind you. You said you needed to go home, and I know you meant home to Eret because I was at your parents’ house and you weren’t there, so. Um.” He sighed and ran a hand over his face. He should have just texted her. Then he could have carefully constructed a coherent message instead of this all-over-the-place rambling.

“Like I said, I really have to talk to you. There is something I need to tell you, something I should have told you a long time ago, but I can’t do this over the phone, that would be… Can- can you just call me back? I don’t know where you live and you didn’t say when you would be back or what you were up to, and you’re not answering your phone, obviously, so.” His legs were moving on autopilot, crossing streets, rounding corners. The motion was like water that kept the mill running, namely his sanity. If he stopped walking, he would stop talking.

“You know, maybe I should just get to the point. We- we need to talk about us. I- I don’t know if it’s just me, but I feel like there’s something between us and… And maybe I’m way off here and misinterpreting– No. No, I actually don’t think that it’s just me, because today, you almost kissed me. I almost kissed you. And I need to know why, I need to know where we stand with each other, because… Because…” His lips kept moving, but no sound came out. A truck drove by him and honked. Hiccup winced and a switch went off in his brain.

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted out and his heart stopped for a few beats. “I’ve been in love with you since I met you and- and there’s nothing I can do about it. Believe me, I tried. Remember when I showed up at your wedding and told you we shouldn’t be friends? Yeah, that worked out well.” An awkward laugh escaped him. “I don’t know what you want, either from me or- or from yourself, or your- your husband… But I want to get out of this limbo of trying to forget you and falling back under your spell every time you so much as look at me. It’s like… It’s like you dropped an anchor in me and the tide buried it deeper and deeper in the sand – if that even makes any sense, I just– I can’t go on like this. If there is any chance you feel the same, please call me back. If not, if you’re going to take my advice and resolve things with Eret, then I’m happy for you. But I can’t be your friend anymore. I… I need a clear answer from you.”

Abruptly, his feet grinded to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk. Tires screeched behind him and a biker angrily cursed at him, but he didn’t even register it. “I guess… With you going home so fast, you probably decided to patch things up with your husband, and I guess that’s my answer. Or maybe not, what do I know, my judgement can’t be trusted, I once thought I’d be able to get over you. Anyway, when you hear this– Oh fuck, do you even check your voicemails? Well, if you do, just… Call. Or text. Um… Yeah. Bye.”

He ended the call and sunk to the ground underneath a lamp post, ignoring the unpleasant feeling of rain and dirt dampening his butt. Only when something cold ran down his back, did he notice it was still raining. He’d been so absorbed in his message that he hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding the umbrella askew, and now his left arm was soaked, the hand holding his phone cold and stiff. When he got back to his feet, he accidentally knocked it against the post and the device went flying, landing in a nearby puddle.

“Fuck.” Before the next pedestrian could step on it, he scrambled to get it back, infinitely glad he’d bought the waterproof version. But when he wiped it on Snotlout’s jacket and took a closer look, he groaned. There was a large crack zigzagging over the screen, and on first inspection, it looked like it went deeper than the protection glass. He tried to unlock it, but it didn’t react to his touch anymore. “Fuck!”

Great, now he had to find a repair store that was still open in Berk on a Sunday evening. Hopefully, he would be able to still accept incoming calls… He cursed his clumsiness with vigor. This was so typical. When – if – she tried to reach him now, she wouldn’t be able to. Maybe she’d leave him a voicemail asking him to call her back and they would find themselves stuck in an endless, vicious cycle.

Where the hell had he ended up, anyway? It looked like he was in a suburb, but none of the streets looked familiar to him, and when he pulled out his phone to check his location, he groaned. Right, smartphone not available. But if he could find a bus stop, he could make his way back into the city. Or he could go back to the Hoffersons and ask for a ride. That wouldn’t be awkward at all.

After a while of walking around and finally asking a passing dog-walker for directions, he found a bus stop and quickly scanned the schedule. He’d made it to the end of the route of the only bus line that even came out here. And it being Sunday, he was just lucky that the next bus would be here in no less than 52 minutes, because he had, of course, just missed the previous one. He could walk back, but that would take just as long, and also his feet hurt. These shoes weren’t made for long walks through puddles. At least it had stopped raining.

So he waited. And waited. And played around with his stupid phone for a while, but it just wouldn’t magically work again, no matter how much he begged it to. After 50 minutes of waiting, it suddenly started buzzing – and his heart climbed into his throat when he saw the caller ID. He tapped the screen frantically, but it was to no avail. His last resort was to try the lock button and hope it would accept the call, but instead, it did the exact opposite. Absolutely fucking awesome, now she probably thought he’d declined her call on purpose. And where was the damn bus?!

The calls kept coming in, but there was nothing he could do except stare at his phone in resignation and jiggle his legs nervously because the bus wasn’t coming. Fifteen minutes and four awkward short conversations with passing strangers later, he embraced the fact that no one would lend him their phone for a very quick call, or a text, anything. There was no way he would wait around for another hour.

Grabbing his umbrella and starting the journey in the direction he hoped would lead him back home, he glanced suspiciously at the dark line of clouds on the horizon. The sunset was beautiful, though. If only he could enjoy it.

Soon enough, it was pouring again. And the calls stopped.

#httyd #hiccstrid #fanfiction #hiccup haddock #snotlout jorgenson #astrid hofferson #when lightning strikes #modern au #a bit of angst with a dash of drama #or the other way around #maja writes #ff #fanfic #how to train your dragon

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everwitch-magiks · 4 years

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dance with somebody (ch. 15)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 14

Whiskey can't quite keep his hands from shaking as he types out the message. He reads through it once, changes a couple of words and then briefly considers adding some sort of emoji. He doesn’t. Instead, he makes himself hit send before he has the time to lose his nerve.

I'll be driving to Boston on Sunday to take care of a couple things, wanna come with? Figured I might as well make a day out of it.

Within a minute, he gets the notification for a reply.

sounds like fun. do I get to choose the music?

Sure. Pick you up around eight?

Whiskey doesn't let himself reread that message until after he's sent it. God, it almost sounds like he’s making plans for a date. No, actually – it sounds exactly like plans for a date. So much for the whole charade of pretending that some mundane errand is his main reason for their outing.

ugh, so early? I'll be requiring a cappuccino, Annie's or bust.

When Miguel lets himself into the passenger seat of the truck Sunday morning, greeting Whiskey with nothing but a yawn and tired smile, Whiskey merely nods towards him as he silently hands him an Annie's take away cup.

"Oh, thank God." Miguel takes a sip, closing his eyes briefly. "Don’t you sleep in, like, ever?"

"Not really," Whiskey admits. He starts the truck and puts it in reverse. "I was at the gym this morning."

"Of course you were," Miguel mutters. "Man, if I was half as serious as you about anything, I'd… Oh."

Whiskey glances towards him. Miguel has opened his eyes again, and for some reason he seems to have zeroed in on Whiskey's hands.

"What?"

"Nothing." Miguel looks away abruptly. "Never mind me. Eyes on the road.”

Whiskey does look back ahead, but raises both eyebrows curiously. Miguel clears his throat lightly. He digs his phone out of his pocket.

“I’m loving the retro chick vibe of this truck, but I’m guessing bluetooth’s out of the question? Is there an aux cord?”

“Retro chic,” Whiskey parrots back, amused enough to let whatever just happened slide. “Yeah, you can plug in right there.”

“It’s all about the aesthetic, man.” Miguel grins, tapping merrily on his phone. “Okay. I’ve got no idea what you usually listen to, but this playlist’s got lots of different genres.”

After the first three songs have all been Panic! At The Disco, Whiskey feels the need to make a couple of chirps on the definition of the word different, but then the next three tracks are Billy Joel and Robyn and Blackpink, respectively. It turns out they’re both big fans of The Script and have actually both seen them live on the No Sound Without Silence tour, albeit not at the exact same concert. Miguel waves his hands in excitement as goes off on various tangents about which songs he loves the most and exactly why, almost spilling coffee all over himself at one point, and there’s more than one moment where Whiskey laments the fact that he really must keep his eyes on the road.

By the time Whiskey hits the turn signal for their exit, he’s almost starting to relax a little. So far, so good.

“Hey, I almost forgot,” Miguel says. “You never said where we’re actually going?”

“Boston,” Whiskey supplies ambiguously.

“Ha, ha. Where in Boston?”

“A presently undisclosed location.” Whiskey glances briefly at Miguel. “It’s a surprise.”

He catches Miguel’s soft smile before he has to look back ahead.

“A surprise, huh?”

“Yeah.” Whiskey tries to keep his tone somewhat neutral. “I wanted to… Yeah.”

“I thought you had stuff to do?”

“I mean, surprising you isn’t not doing stuff,” Whiskey argues, even though he knows that’s only a backwards way of admitting that Miguel’s got it right. “It’s just… Other stuff.”

For the first time all morning, he’s glad he doesn’t need to meet Miguel’s eyes.

“Depends on the surprise, doesn’t it?” Miguel teases. He sounds pleased. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll just have to figure it all out, anyway.”

“Get ready to figure out the first part.” Whiskey pulls into a parking lot. “Here we are.”

“There’s a second part? You know, I’m almost starting to think… Oh my God. Pancakes!”

Whiskey grins. Miguel actually sounds pretty excited.

“How did you know that I haven’t had breakfast?” Miguel questions eagerly.

“You rolled out of bed with less than a minute to spare and put on the first thing you saw in your closet,” Whiskey says matter of factly. He turns off the ignition. “You’ve literally told me that’s your normal routine.”

“I mean, kind of.” Miguel smiles playfully. “But hey, at least you still get to enjoy these effortlessly good looks. Not everyone can look this cute without even really trying, you know.”

“Well,” Whiskey says quietly. Finally, he gets to look over and meet Miguel’s eyes properly. “Fair point.”

Miguel bites his lower lip. Suddenly, his gaze is intent on Whiskey.

“Is this… Too public? Or can we, um. Y’know.”

Whiskey throws a quick glance outside the truck. The parking lot is empty, thank God – quickly, he leans over. It’s a brief kiss, over almost before it’s begun, but Whiskey still feels Miguel’s soft lips smile against his own.

“Come on,” Whiskey mumbles. There’s two more steps to his carefully crafted plan, and he intends to see them both through. “Pancakes. On me.”

The menu at iHOP is ridiculous, but not more ridiculous than the smile on Miguel’s face when the waiter presents him with his mountain of blueberry pancakes with maple syrup and bacon. Unsurprisingly, it’s completely adorable.

The drive over to their second destination is brief. They’re still several blocks away when, suddenly, Miguel goes very quiet.

“Almost there,” Whiskey says, in an attempt to fill out the silence. And just like that, he’s nervous all over again. “You, uh. You good?”

“Are you kidding?” Miguel says incredulously – a good kind of incredulous, if his tone is any indication. “I don’t believe you. Is this really where we’re going?”

“I thought you might like it,” Whiskey says carefully. “They’ve got this new exhibit that’s just opened, it’s the Indo-pacific-”

“Coral reef,” Miguel interrupts eagerly. “Yes, I know, I’ve literally got their tweets on alerts. It sounds amazing. And they’ve got this big ocean tank that’s four storys high, you can walk all around it and see every part from a different angle, plus they do absolutely incredible work with their sea turtle rescue program.” He grins widely. “I love the New England Aquarium.”

“Oh. Well, good.” There’s plenty of available parking space, still, since the aquarium has only just opened. Whiskey gets them a spot close to the entrance. “I’ve actually never been.”

“Then you’re in for a treat.” Miguel is already undoing his seatbelt. “Come on! I can’t wait to show you everything.”

When Miguel said everything, he wasn’t kidding. They spend over half an hour at the first exhibit, since Miguel apparently needs to explain in exact detail why the Amazon rainforest is actually one of the most diverse habitats in the world, and then a whole hour goes by as they watch a pair of sea lions swimming and playing with absolutely stunning control and flexibility. By the time they get to the big ocean tank, Whiskey feels like he’s learned more about marine creatures in a couple of hours than he thought he might in his entire life.

It’s surprisingly interesting. And listening to Miguel ramble about it, his eyes shining with unfiltered excitement, is unsurprisingly captivating.

They sit down on a bench on the third floor, where they have a good view of the tank just below the surface. There’s not a lot of other guests around, probably because of the feeding that’s happening over at the tank with the baby sharks. Whiskey glances to his side just as a surprisingly huge sea turtle swims by them at a leisurely pace, watches Miguel’s lips soften into a perfectly gentle, content smile.

If Whiskey could have orchestrated every detail of his ideal moment to proceed with the third and final step of his plan, it would’ve looked a lot like this.

He clears his throat lightly.

Miguel looks over towards him, a little expectantly.

Whiskey hesitates.

God, he must do this. He must. Even if this is where he fucks it all up, his future self deserves to remember this as a moment in his life when he faced all of his fears head on in pursuit of real happiness. He needs to let himself try, to allow himself this one moment of mortifying vulnerability.

“Do you-”

“Can I-”

Whiskey falls silent abruptly. Miguel blinks, looking equally startled.

They both smile.

“You, first,” Miguel says gently.

“Okay.” Whiskey takes a steadying breath. “I was hoping we could talk about, um. About this. About us?”

He makes an awkward gesture between them that’s probably not at all necessary for Miguel to understand his meaning.

“Sure,” Miguel agrees. He’s still smiling, albeit not quite as softly as before, and there’s an undertone of apprehension as he continues. “Based on the past few hours, I’m guessing I’m not actually about to have my heart broken, here?”

“No. I hope not.” God, Whiskey wishes that he could dare to get his hopes up at those words. Of course, he can’t. He already knows perfectly well that Miguel isn’t indifferent to him, per say. That’s not what he’s been so afraid of finding out. “Miguel, I like you so much. I like being with you, just like this, so much. You’re kind of always on my mind, lately, and it’s all really just so… So great. You’re really, really great.”

“Okay,” Miguel says slowly. His tone is all apprehension, now. “I’m sensing a but, here. You’re not looking to date right now, is that it? Or are you just not looking for a boyfriend at all? Or-”

“No,” Whiskey interrupts hurriedly. “Fuck, no, not at all. Miguel, if you wanted to be my boyfriend, I’d be so happy.”

“Oh.” Miguel blinks. “You… Really?”

“Yes.” Whiskey swallows. “I… Yes. Really.”

“Huh.” Slowly, Miguel’s lips curl into another smile. “Wow. That’s... Okay.”

Whiskey allows himself a moment to smile back. God, what he wouldn’t give for things to actually be that simple.

“Okay,” he says, trying to get back on track. “So, the thing is-”

“Ah, I knew it,” Miguel cuts in, almost playfully. “There is a but, isn’t there?”

Whiskey grimaces.

“I mean. Sort of?”

“Right.” Miguel’s smile dims again. “Sorry, sorry. I’m listening.”

“It’s not too bad,” Whiskey says, even though it honestly absolutely is. “I, um. You see.”

Miguel watches him expectantly.

“I guess I don’t want to come on too strong, here, and start talking about our lives several years from now,” Whiskey begins, testing the waters a bit.

Miguel raises his eyebrows slightly, but looks otherwise unruffled. So, like, that’s not a terrible reaction.

Whiskey takes the plunge.

“I just need you to know that I’m not sure if I’ll ever actually come out, publicly. Right now, I honestly don’t think so.”

“Ah,” Miguel says. “You mean… Ah. Okay.”

Whiskey waits. Miguel’s expression is infuriatingly unreadable.

“Good to know,” Miguel finally settles on. “That’s not a deal breaker for me, exactly. I’m just not sure if I’d want to keep something like this from absolutely everyone. I honestly don’t think I could.”

“I couldn’t do that, either,” Whiskey says, surprising himself a little bit. Still, it’s the truth. “I’d want to tell my two best friends.”

“You would?” Miguel asks, almost smiling. “Have I met them?”

“Yes, actually. Tango and Ford.”

“So you’re out, to them?”

“Not yet,” Whiskey admits. “But I’ve been thinking about it, and I… I’d want them to know about us.”

“Okay,” Miguel says. He sounds hopeful. “I’d want my best friend to know, too. I’ve known him all my life, so I trust him completely. And I want to tell my closest family.”

“Okay,” Whiskey agrees. It surprises him a little, that the mere thought doesn’t make him panic. “I don’t mind that.”

“I’ll be very clear that they can’t tell anyone else,” Miguel adds gently. “I’m sure they can handle that.”

“If you trust them, I trust you,” Whiskey reassures him. “Actually, it’s sweet. That you’d want them to know.”

“Of course I would.” Miguel smiles briefly. “Are you, uh. Are you close with your family?”

“Not… Not exactly.” It’s not a question Whiskey was expecting. “They’re very, um. Very traditional. I guess I usually go home for holidays and so on, but we don’t really talk a lot in between. I certainly don’t have plans to come out to them. One of my cousins knows, though. Beth. And actually, she’d kind of murder me if I didn’t tell her about you.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” Miguel tilts his head a little. “Are you out to anyone else?”

“A couple of people,” Whiskey admits. “Dex, our team captain, probably knows the most. He even knows about you. It’s actually his truck that I borrowed, today.”

“Yeah?” Miguel says. He sounds oddly pleased. “That’s cool. Anyone else?”

“This guy that I, um. That I hooked up with a few times last semester.” Whiskey clears his throat awkwardly. “And Bitty, our captain last year, although he found out accidentally. Oh, and you. Although I guess that’s completely obvious.”

“I’d say I’m aware, yeah,” Miguel agrees cheerfully. “You know, I actually ended up googling that former captain guy, Bitty, after the hockey party. His fiance is kind of a really big deal in hockey, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Whiskey agrees. “He’s the first openly gay male NHL hockey player, and a Stanley Cup champion.”

Miguel hums. “There’s really no one else, in the NHL?”

“Not yet, no.” Whiskey takes a breath. “And I’m honestly not too inclined to be the second.”

“Right,” Miguel says. He sounds less startled than Whiskey expected him to. “You know, that thought actually crossed my mind when you first told me about wanting to go pro. Even though you weren’t actually out to me then. I’ve heard some really questionable things about locker rooms in hockey.”

“I’ve heard my fair share of questionable things in those locker rooms.” Whiskey sighs. “It’s part of why I have so much respect for Bitty and Zimmermann. They’re really important to a lot of queer hockey people out there, and they’ve done so much to make things better. If Zimmermann wasn’t the only out player in the league, that would really change things for both of them. But I’m, I just… I want to play hockey. There’s nothing else I care about as much. But that doesn’t mean that I could do what they do, or that I’m prepared to go through everything they’ve overcome. Maybe that makes me selfish, but it’s just how I feel.”

Miguel hums.

“I get that,” he says. There’s a weight to his words that feels significant, somehow. “If I’m honest, I don’t know if I could do that, either. It’s actually a relief, in a way, that you’re not asking me if I’d be prepared to face that alongside you.”

Whiskey turns to look at Miguel properly. He wasn’t expecting that.

“I’ve never thought of it that way,” he admits. “I was too busy worrying that you’d be against the idea of not being completely open about… About us.”

Miguel meets his eyes steadily.

“It’s really okay, Whiskey. I don’t need to kiss you for all the world to see, so long as I know where we stand.”

“Yeah?” Whiskey asks. And for the first time since they’ve sat down, he finds himself smiling. “That’s, uh. That’s really great. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Miguel says gently. “So. I guess this means it’s my turn, now?”

Whiskey blinks. Right. Miguel had been trying to say something, too.

“Sure, yeah,” he agrees. “Go ahead.”

“Don’t worry, okay? It’s genuinely nothing bad.”

“Alright.”

Miguel takes a breath. Apparently, whatever the not-bad thing is, he’s still nervous to say it. Which isn’t at all alarming.

“So, you know how I’ve been hoping to get a room at the water polo frat?” Miguel begins tentatively. “I’ve kind of changed my mind about that, a little bit. I love my team, but I already see them all the time, and the reason I want to move out of the dorms is so that I can have a space that’s more my own. Somehow, I don't think I'd feel that way with all my idiot teammates around.”

“Good instincts,” Whiskey interjects. “I could tell you stories.”

Miguel smiles.

“I’ve actually found a small apartment just off campus that’s surprisingly affordable. I think it might be because the layout of the kitchen area is, like, so impractical that it’s got to be on purpose, but I could definitely make it work.”

“Well. Sounds like a good option.”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna take it,” Miguel says carefully. “It’s, um. It’s actually no more than a ten minute walk from your hockey house. And it’d be, you know. Something a little more private.”

“Oh,” Whiskey says. He frowns slightly. “You really don’t have to do that, for me.”

“I’m not only doing it for you,” Miguel reminds him firmly. “Like I said, I want something that’s more my own place. This seems like my best option.”

“Well,” Whiskey says, considering. “If you’re sure. It, uh. It does actually sound really nice. I think I might visit you quite a lot.”

“You’d be more than welcome to,” Miguel says. He grins. “Hey. Can I say something?”

Whiskey blinks.

“You just did, I think?”

“Yeah, well.” Miguel grins a little wider. “See, I don’t want to come on too strong, here, and start talking about our lives several years from now. Sounds familiar?”

“... Oh.” Whiskey feels startled in the best way possible. “I guess?”

“It’s just… If I had a wishlist, eventual cohabitation would probably be somewhere near the top.” Miguel tilts his head a little. “Just thought I’d put that out there.”

“Yeah?” Whiskey manages, a bit unsteadily. “I, uh. I’d definitely be open to having that conversation. At some point.”

“Okay. Cool.” Miguel averts his gaze for a second, looking back at the ocean tank before them. His smile, Whiskey thinks, is perfectly lovely. “So. Do you... Should we head back?”

Whiskey frowns. He’s more than aware of the fact that there’s several exhibits they haven’t even gone anywhere near, yet. Miguel must know that, too.

“Isn’t there stuff left to see?” he wonders, a little unsurely.

“We can come back,” Miguel says quickly. He turns back towards Whiskey, and there’s a look in his eyes that immediately earns him Whiskey’s full attention. “Right now, I’d rather just be somewhere a bit more... Somewhere we can be alone. And my roommate’s actually gone for the weekend, so. I was thinking…”

Oh.

Whiskey gets to his feet.

They don’t waste any time making their way back to the truck. Whiskey starts the ignition, his mind occupied with calculating how long the drive might take. As he puts the truck in reverse and starts backing up, Miguel makes some sort of noise next to him.

Whiskey glances over, surprised to find that Miguel’s expression is… Tense. Or something.

“Never mind me,” Miguel mutters through his teeth. “Just, um. Just drive.”

It reminds Whiskey of what Miguel had said to him that same morning, after he’d gone oddly quiet and… Stared at Whiskey’s hand on the gearshift. Huh.

Whiskey pauses after backing up. He raises both eyebrows in question.

“Oh, fuck you,” Miguel says, his weak tone a definite contrast to his choice of words. “Look, it’s really stupid. You’re gonna think I’m an idiot.”

“I mean, maybe,” Whiskey allows. He still doesn’t keep driving. “Does it help if I promise not to take the piss?”

“Persistent, aren’t we?” Miguel mutters. He sighs. “Ugh. Fine. It’s just… You drive stick.”

Whiskey blinks.

“Is that, like… A whole thing for you?”

“Oh, shut it,” Miguel grumbles. “This is hardly my fault, okay, I really can’t be blamed for being stupidly attracted to you.”

Whiskey probably shouldn’t smile as widely as he does – he literally just promised Miguel that he wouldn’t make fun of him. “Stupidly, huh.”

“Well, yes!” Miguel exclaims. And suddenly, it’s like a pair of proverbial floodgates have opened. "Did you know that every time you open your ridiculously hot mouth in class and something highly intelligent spills out, I die a little bit?”

Whiskey blinks. Fuck. If there’s one thing in this world that he didn’t know, it’s definitely that.

Miguel continues before he has the chance to respond.

“And God, you couldn’t warn a guy before making me watch you dominate that hockey game like you single-handedly invented skating? Believe me, I am sincerely, stupidly into you – you with your ridiculous face, and that brain, and those muscles, Jesus. You are quite literally the whole package and it's honestly so completely infuriating.”

Whiskey swallows. He can’t seem to look away from Miguel, who is actually glaring at him, now, and that shouldn’t be the best thing that’s happened to Whiskey all day. And it kind of isn’t better than their pivotal conversation earlier, if Whiskey thinks about it logically and rationally, which he would absolutely do if Miguel wasn’t looking at him like that.

“Right,” Whiskey finally manages in response. “Gotcha.”

Miguel narrows his eyes.

“Listen,” he says. His voice is low, and raw, and determined. Whiskey’s breath hitches. “You’re going to drive us back to campus, and I’m going to take you up to my room, and, if you'll let me, I’m going to spread you out on my bed and make you feel every deliciously bittersweet moment of frustration that I've suffered on your account. God knows you've deserved it."

“Um.” Whiskey swallows, twice, and then attempts a deep breath. His brain might have short-circuited a little bit. “Is this a good time to mention that you talking like that is kind of really doing it for me?”

“No,” Miguel says evenly, despite the fact that Whiskey can see the clearly pleased smile tugging at his lips. “Just, for God’s sake, Whiskey. Drive. Now.”

Whiskey forces himself to look back ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Miguel follow the movements of his hand as he carefully changes gears.

Boston, Whiskey thinks dizzily, is entirely too far away from Samwell.

(ch. 16)

#check please #omgcheckplease #connor whisk #whiskey #whiskey x oc #OC: miguel #my babies #you guys #look at them #dance with somebody #evie writes #fanfiction

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hurricanerin · 4 years

Text

Not Just One of Your Many Toys 1: Don’t Tell Me What to Do

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale/OFC

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS, loss of virginity, power imbalance, general dickishness

Summary: Ransom and Olivia have been thorns in each other’s sides for fifteen years. They’ve tolerated one another, coaxed each other through major milestones, and trampled on one another’s hearts. After years spent healing from one of Ransom’s toxic outburst, Olivia finds herself subpoenaed by the Drysdale family as a character witness for his criminal trial. Their son is out of control, and the one person with the best chance of getting through to him wants absolutely nothing to do with the man.

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Steamier things are coming, my friends.

Listen. Or kick it retro. You won’t regret it.)

Boston, 2005

There has never been a moment in my life that I haven’t known exactly who Ransom Drysdale is. We met in the fall of 2005, right after my dad was promoted with General Electric and my family had moved to Boston from Puerto Rico for his new job. I was 13 and Ransom was 19, and I could’ve told you within 5 minutes of enduring his company that he was a playboy and a Grade A narcissist.

My parents and his mom, the legendary Linda Drysdale, had closed on our new house the week before. When my papá had mentioned to our realtor that he had 6 engineer brothers and sisters in PR also looking to move to the Boston area, Linda immediately swooped in and took over the sale. We had moved into the new house for two days when who showed up on our doorstep with a giant Harry and David gift basket on his mother’s behalf? Ransom. I’ve never seen my mom so taken with a man so quickly. It was absolutely nauseating.

My mom and I had been sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast with my little brother when Ransom waltzed in, ruining our meal. While he charmed my mom, I shooed Gian from the table, stuffed him into his coat and boots and shoved his toast into his hand.

“You’re gonna miss your bus, vete,” I said with an affectionate push.

He waved me off, but I could see his smile as he scrambled out the door towards his friends. When I turned around, Mamá was on the phone, distractedly scribbling on a notepad at the center island. Ransom had seated himself at our table and was examining the gift basket. After retrieving a pear, he rearranged the treats so it looked as if nothing were missing. Catching my eye, he shot me a grin, took a bite of the fruit and flaunted it in front of me.

“Want some?”

My mom’s groan of frustration cut off my retort as she hung up. Without missing a beat, Ransom hid the pear behind his leg.

Clipping her beeper to the waist of her skirt, she motioned at my backpack. “Ol, you need to get your school stuff and hop in the car, I have to go to the hospital early. I need to drive you; school is on the way. A patient needs to go into surgery now.”

I scowled and put my hands on my hips. “I’m taking the bus with my friends. You said at this school I could!”

Already gathering her coat and keys, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, mija. Not today. Come on, we need to go. I can’t leave you alone at home for that long.”

My nose started to sting. I didn’t want to sit at school alone for an hour and have to explain to my new friends why I wasn’t on the bus like everyone else.

Carefully watching the interaction, Ransom cleared his throat. “Mrs. Santos, I would be happy to stay with her until her bus comes. I’m home on break from Yale for the week and would love nothing more than to get to know your daughter,” he offered, radiating charisma.

“Oh Ransom, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Honestly, our house is only a few streets away, so we’re practically neighbors. It would be no problem.”

She hesitated, glancing from Ransom to her watch. Back home, we didn’t have babysitters. Family played that role. I couldn’t imagine leaving her 13 year-old home alone with a strange man was high on her list of things to do in the US.

Ransom read the situation well. “Mrs. Santos, my girlfriend is just at my parents’. Why don’t I give her a call and the three of us can clean up the kitchen until…,” he motioned at me.

“Olivia,” I snipped.

He didn’t flinch. “Until Olivia’s bus comes,” he finished with a smile.

“I suppose… that would be alright,” Mamá agreed. “Your family is so kind!” Sighing in relief, she snagged me for a kiss goodbye and scurried towards the door. “Behave, Ol! I’ll see you at dinner,” she shouted over her shoulder.

I listened to the garage door close and turned to find him thumbing through the Harry and David catalogue while dabbing pear juice from his lips with a napkin. I glared at him for a minute.

“You and your mom are just being nice to my parents because I have a lot of aunts and uncles moving here,” I accused.

He looked up, laughing in surprise. Nodding his head to the side, he shrugged a shoulder, “You’re not wrong. Did they tell you that?”

“No, but I can tell.”

A soft ping sounded and he patted his pockets, pulling out a phone from his jacket. He continued nibbling at the pear until all that was left was the core, then absently dumped it on my abandoned breakfast plate. I walked closer and peered at the screen in his hands while he typed furiously.

“Do you have any games on your phone?” I asked.

“This isn’t a phone, it’s a Blackberry.”

“Do you have any games on your Blackberry? Like Snake? My mom’s phone has Snake.”

“No, it doesn’t have Snake,” he snapped as he pulled a headset from his jacket pocket and plugged it into the headphone jack. Almost immediately it rang and he slipped the earpiece on, pushing me.

“Jackson?” He sighed at me in irritation and turned away. “Yeah, come up this weekend. They’re two Norwegian bitches, semi-professional skiers or something. Super hot. They’re in the US to train but stopping to vacation in New England or whatever.” He ran his finger along the wicker of the gift basket while he listened to his friend respond. With an exasperated sigh, he shook his head. “No, no, we don’t need to take them sailing for them to put out.”

I stared at him, my jaw dropping. I knew it was rude to both stare and eavesdrop, but I had never met anyone who was so blatantly awful.

“They’ll fuck us because I’m crazy rich, bro, don’t worry,” Ransom chuckled. He leaned back against the table and rolled his eyes as his friend prattled on, until his gaze landed on me. His eyes widened.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Jax, I’m not alone. I gotta go.”

He yanked the earpiece off and tossed it on the table, leaning towards me with his elbows on his knees.

I scowled. “You don’t really have a girlfriend who’s coming over.”

“Olivia,” he said with a practiced smile that actually reached his beaming eyes. Ignoring my statement, he took me in for a moment, cataloguing my appearance as his gaze came to rest on my neck.

“That’s such a pretty necklace you’re wearing, did you pick it out yourself?”

My insides tingled a little. I didn’t like-him-like-him or anything, but he did look like a prince and he had complemented the starfish necklace my parents had given me for my birthday last summer. It was my favorite.

“It was a present from my mom and dad, from when I turned 13 last year.”

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath. Something about me being a kid. I didn’t know what that meant, because he made an angry face. But that quickly went away and then his prince face was back.

“That was my friend Jackson on the phone,” he motioned at his Blackberry with his thumb, “We go to college together. We joke around a lot,” he chuckled, rubbing my shoulder. “You do that with your friends, too, right? Tell jokes, mess around?”

Confused and skeptical, I nodded.

“And you don’t always tell those jokes to your parents, because they don’t understand them. You keep them between you and your friends.”

I raised my brow, trying to look formidable. “You don’t want me to tell my mom what you were talking about.”

The friendliness in his expression melted away, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards instead. “Exactly.”

To this day, I wish I could say I stuck up for myself; that I told my mom how much of a jerk he was. How he was a deceptive, womanizing liar who didn’t deserve an ounce of our time. But, I didn’t. Instead, I stooped to Ransom’s level.

My family had money; my mom was a physician and my dad a senior engineer for GE. We lived very comfortably. We had spent several months in the US in an apartment before finding the house, during which they had been earning American salaries and making more than ever. But, both of my parents came from humble means, sent a lot of money back home to their own parents and grandparents, and did not appreciate the materialism I faced every day at the private school they sent me to.

And Ransom had… a lot of money. He had made that clear over the phone. I’m not proud to admit that I requested the Tiffany heart tag bracelet I had seen other girls wearing at school in exchange for my silence. I’m even less proud that, after scoffing at my proposal, Ransom walked me right past the Tiffany & Co. on Newbury Street and in to Cartier and had me pick out a bracelet there instead. He said he hadn’t bought Tiffany for a girl since he was my age and that he wasn’t lowering himself. I still have the bracelet buried in my jewelry box, though I never put it on. Considering its origins, it feels dirty to wear, but I can’t bear to part with it.

Boston, 2007

In 2007, we found out my dad had a mistress. He had paid for her to move over from PR and had been supporting her in Boston for two years. That would’ve flown in PR, but in the US, my mom’s friends wouldn’t stand for it. (Especially the female divorce lawyer next door.) That was more or less the end of my dad’s presence in my life. There’s a chance he might walk me down the aisle one day, but that’s only if Mamá insists on a super Catholic wedding.

My dad leaving didn’t affect me like it did my mom and Gian. I had my friends and tennis, but Gian was younger and quieter; he and my dad spent a lot of time with little robot projects and those LEGO sets and I could tell he missed him. Mamá was lonely at home, too; she and my dad had been together since high school. She had spent a lot of time taking care of him, despite her working 60 hour weeks.

A few of my dad’s sisters hung around as moral support, but Papá eventually pressured them until they stopped coming to see us. However, there was an additional isolated party within our vicinity who also needed a group of humans to latch onto; someone with the capacity to fill the role of both quasi-paternal figure (figure, not role model), and platonic spouse.

I’d seen Ransom with Mrs. Drysdale; at best, she spoiled her son. At worst, she placated him with money, demeaned and dismissed him. Even I didn’t appreciate how she treated him and most days I didn’t like him. After graduating last in his class from Yale, Ransom took the year off to get away from her. Not a normal “take the year off” where you travel to learn about yourself, or work, or anything like that. Instead, Ransom bought property in the Maldives and imported $500,000 worth of Dom Perignon—the Rose Gold kind—, and flew in ballerinas from Moscow while telling his mom he was joining the Peace Corps for a girl. When there was fraud on his black AmEx and he had to phone home for help, there was hell to pay when the call came from not Mongolia. Linda cut him off and kicked him out.

For six months, but still. This was Ransom.

My mother, bless her heart, would have absorbed all children needing a home if she could. And, though he was 21, Ransom definitely qualified as such a child. I honestly think Ransom needed the mothering, too. Growing up with a nanny paid to give you care is not a replication of a mother’s love, which he never had in the first place.

Ransom always showered Mamá with attention, asking how she was with utter sincerity while maintaining direct eye contact, thanking her for the work she did as a cardiac surgeon, and other general sycophantic niceties. I was terrified that would change for the worst after he moved in, despite their generous age gap. A freshly divorced woman could’ve been new prey for him. It wasn’t that she didn’t know who and what he was—she was under no illusions. But she had a soft spot for the broken bad boy with mommy issues and indulged him.

I watched him like a hawk when he was around her, but he never made a move. He certainly let her wait on him; she cooked him food from scratch and listened to him talk while she cleaned up the kitchen, but he was never salacious. I still give him props for that. It would have been an entertaining game for him, one he would’ve easily won.

It helped that he was gone half the time. He still had his car, keys to the Hamptons house and access to his friends’ jets and properties. I’m pretty sure Richard was also slipping him $50k a month because Ransom rebuilt his wardrobe pretty quickly.

I will admit I was slightly… antagonistic towards him during the beginning of his time with us. I may have picked a few fights. He wanted to watch Sin City because of Jessica Alba; I wanted to watch the Corpse Bride. He left questionable-looking hair trimmings in the shower drain and you can bet I was pounding on his door. He gave me that look when I thought I had dressed nicely, and I may or may not have launched myself at him. But, near the middle of his stay, we learned to co-exist, and even had some decent conversations. I chilled out when I saw how he was with Gian.

I’m not sure Mamá ever officially asked Ransom to step up while he was living with us, I think the only conditions she had was that he tip the cleaning people an extra $150 for how bad his room was, not have his douchey friends over past 10pm, and no sleepovers with the opposite sex. But, it was obvious to everyone under our roof that Gian looked to Ransom for companionship. And, to my utter surprise, Ransom kind of delivered. He took Gian to the U.S. Open and up to Lake Champlain to golf a few times, and they’d hang out at the house when Ransom was home.

Then, one day I heard him call Gian his charity project to his friends as they sat out on the porch. The second he came inside I punched him in the arm over that. The weirdest part about Ransom and his awful behavior is that he only kinds of means it. I mean, the idea was there, he had had the thought that Gian was less fortunate than him and needed his help. But I also know he genuinely loved my little brother and was making spending time with him out to be a bigger deal than it really was.

Six months to the day, Ransom had a moving company at our doorstep at 8am sharp. He only had a few hanging wardrobes worth of clothes to move into his new apartment; all of the furniture was being delivered by the dealer, but the man couldn’t lower himself to drive his own U-Haul. By that time, I had developed an appreciation for Ransom. It was kind of nice to have someone older to talk to, even though he had no conception of what real life was like. He was okay. I didn’t miss sharing a dwelling space with him, but I did kind of miss him.

Boston, Fall 2009

That fall, I was 18 and a senior at the Winsor School and Ransom was 25 and bullshitting his way through his Master’s of Science in Business Analytics at Princeton. I preferred not to ask questions regarding his attendance or grades. I figured the less I knew, the less I could be implicated in some scandal involving the university and bribery.

High school wasn’t a great time in my life. The kids at Winsor were spoiled and came from generations of overachievers. You could say there were a lot of Ransoms, I suppose; self-serving, arrogant, brutal, conceited, rich kids. I’m not saying I didn’t share some of those traits, I knew I was fortunate, but I liked to think I was a decent person. As a result, I was relatively lonely. I had the varsity tennis team, and that fit my basic need for socialization. But not once did I ever entertain the thought of a boyfriend.

As the years progressed, I waited for the mutual attraction for my peers to arrive. It never did. At that age, even if boys had adopted the air of sophistication they had seen modeled at home and had the ability to charm, they severely lacked in a different department, like intelligence or maturity. I shut down every advance without a second thought and didn’t look back.

Until, that is, my Senior year. As leaving home was becoming a reality, I decided I didn’t want to go to college a virgin. I just didn’t. Things happen in college, things you don’t always have control over, and I liked control. I liked control very much. And I wanted to have control over when and how I gave it up. And I wasn’t giving it up to some 18 year old I had dated for a three months who couldn’t kiss and also didn’t have the experience to help me enjoy the process.

But I knew someone who did.

I smirked as a key sounded in the lock, Ransom had never given his back from a few years ago.

“Ol?” his voice echoed up the stairs.

“In the kitchen!”

The old stairs creaked as he ascended, heading straight for the refrigerator without even looking at me.

“Hey,” he nodded in greeting.

“Hey.” For the first time in my life, I was nervous talking to him. I’d texted him, asking if he could stop by, which wasn’t out of character. He usually popped in at least once a month to return a book, pick up a sweater he forgot that my mom had washed or have dinner with us. He lingered, even after moving out. The flight from Princeton to Boston was only an hour, and it meant a lot to Gian, to all of us, really, that Ransom still visited.

While Ransom dug through the fridge, pulling out some leftover chorizo, I set about throwing together some protein smoothies for us. He had left a container of ridiculously expensive something something collagen protein at our house the last time he was there and it was expiring soon, so I split the remainder between us. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him fuss with the microwave.

I raised a brow. “You know how to use kitchen appliances?”

He took an exaggerated bite of a sausage slice. “Selectively,” he winked.

I bit my cheek to keep from laughing. Ransom’s “selective” helplessness didn’t need encouragement.

I think what we worked in was companionable silence, but I’m not positive. I was pretty geared up, so it was hard to tell. Settling at the table, I laid plates out for both of us, chewing my lip.

“I have a favor to ask.”

“I can’t get you into Yale early decision, but I can get you in,” he said as he reached for his smoothie.

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve already gotten into Brown on my own, which was my first choice, thank you. What I need is… different.”

“What is it? I’ve got cash with me.”

“Ransom! Listen to me. Just let me ask my question.”

“Okay!” he chuckled, his eyes gleaming as he swirled his glass.

“Okay,” I repeated, my heart pounding in my chest. I made myself look him in the eye. All of a sudden I wanted to cry? What if he said no? What if he laughed? What if he never talked to me again?

“Ol, you’re getting pale. You look like you’re about to ask me to skin a cat.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled, seconds away from losing my nerve. I inhaled deeply, folding my hands on the table in front of me and sitting up straight.

“Ransom,” I began.

“Olivia,” he countered, his face comically serious.

“I want you to take my virginity. Now that I’m 18—.”

“Hah—You what? No you don’t, Olivia, you don’t—.”

“I do.”

“Ehhhh,” he made a pained face and shook his head. “I mean, what do you mean by virginy? What have you done before?”

“Nothing.”

“But you’ve given head though, right?”

I tried to mask my embarrassment with a look of disdain.

When Ransom gaped in surprise, I kicked him under the table.

“A handjob?”

“I said nothing,” I bit out.

The corner of his mouth pulled upward and he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “What about like… getting off with each other?”

I shook my head.

“Sexting?”

“There’s no one I want to sext.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“But like…”

“I’ve never touched or been touched, Ransom. I’ve never seen a man naked, okay?”

He sighed. “I don’t do virgins. It’s a personal policy. Especially someone like you who has absolutely no experience.”

That stung, but I kept trying. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No—.”

“Are you dating anyone?”

“Ol, I don’t date—.”

“Ransom, this is exactly the type of arrangement you want!” I hissed.

“This should be something you do with a boyfriend, someone your age who you care about and who cares about you.”

I groaned and stormed into the living room, plopping into an easy chair.

“I don’t want a boyfriend. I’m going to Brown in the fall, so dating someone now would be pointless. And in Providence, between Chi Omega, studying, volunteering, and AMSA, I just won’t have time for a relationship.”

Ransom couldn’t suppress a laugh as he tailed after me. “You’re as heartless as I am.”

“I’m not heartless,” I argued. “I’m practical.��

He gave me a patronizing smile. “You’ve never done this before, you don’t know how you’ll feel afterwards. It’s sex. Girls get attached. I just can’t do that, babe.”

"You can! Ransom, you can. I won’t get attached. I’ll leave you alone after. I won’t text you for a month. Please? I—,” my cheeks flamed as I looked down at my hands. Bickering and bantering with Ransom was easy. Acting like I disliked him was easy. But being vulnerable with him? That was terrifying. “I want it to be you,” I whispered. “I don’t trust anyone else.”

With a sigh, he perched on the arm of my chair.

“I’m going back to Princeton on Sunday. Even if we did it tonight, we wouldn’t have 48 hours together.”

“I don’t care!” I slapped the seat of the chair. “What if—what if I get roofied and lose it to some guy and don’t even remember it? Or—or someone, you know… one in every four women faces sexual assault in college…”

That perpetual, devious gleam in Ransom’s eyes disappeared. Something brutal and vicious replaced it.

“I’d kill him. I’d kill anyone who touched you like that.”

My chest tightened. I’d never seen him that serious before, not even when he argued with his mom. It was a little terrifying. But, I had carried pepper spray on me for years since moving to the city and I already knew my parents were sending me to college with a SipChip, not that I’d be going to parties anyway. I tried another angle.

“I know I’m not the girls you normally sleep with—blonde, white, with yachts and horses and trust funds—

Darkness cast over his face.

“Olivia,” he interrupted. Brow creasing, Ransom lifted his hand near my face, then hesitated. With a growl, he cupped my jaw. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, brushing the knuckle of the opposite hand against my cheek. “And trust funds are so mundane.”

I rose from the chair and leaned against his leg. “Then why don’t you want me?” It took everything in me to keep my voice from breaking.

Ransom shifted uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Ol, I’ve known you since you were a kid. I can’t—I just don’t see you that way.”

“You still see me as a child?”

“I guess, yeah.”

Butterflies flapped madly in my belly, but I held my breath and stepped forward between his legs until our chests were pressed together, trapping my hand between us at his groin. Praying that I applied what I had read correctly, I timidly felt for his cock. He grunted when I wrapped my hand around the outline of its shape and followed it with a shy stroke.

“I am not a child,” I husked in my best seductress voice.

“You said you’d never touched or been touched,” he accused through clenched teeth.

Both proud and embarrassed, I ducked my head. “I don’t like entering a situation unprepared. I read a lot and watched some videos.” Realizing the implications of my statement, I turned beet red. “For research, I mean!”

That earned me a genuine smile. Sliding one hand around my waist he pulled me closer, then used the other to firmly guide my palm over his half erect cock, rubbing it back and forth. I blushed as I felt him harden under my fingers.

“What else did you research?”

"Stuff,” I mumbled.

Rubbing his thumb along my hipbone, his gaze fell to his lap, watching my hand work over his erection. Then his eyes deviated to my front, trailing up my belly to my chest, which was, admittedly, heaving, and slowly made their way to my face. Looking someone in the eye had never made me clench down there before. It was unexpected, but not unappreciated.

I could see Ransom thinking, his eyes flicking back and forth between mine as he reasoned with himself.

“You need to think this over, you need to really consider what you’re asking me and decide that’s what you want,” he murmured, his voice rough.

My pussy throbbed at the sound, and it took extra concentration not to let my eyes close.

“When have I ever made a rash decision about something this important? I started thinking about this a year ago.”

He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “Of course you did.”

When his hips gave an involuntary thrust against my palm, he gently pulled my wrist away.

“That’s enough for now.”

Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes. “Did I do it wrong? Is that a no?”

He massaged his closed eyelids with his index finger and thumb, exhaling shakily. “It should be a no. A good man would say no.”

Drawing me against him once more, I whimpered as he ground his cock against my belly. “But I’ve never been a good man, have I, Olivia?”

He didn’t give me an opportunity to respond. The kiss was firm, but delicate. No tongues or biting or slipping or sliding, just lips pressed together, gently massaging. When he sucked at my lower lip I surprised both of us with a soft moan, causing him to bury his hand in my hair and tilt my head for better access.

I completely lost track of everything, because the next moment of consciousness I had was gasping for air as he pulled away. My fingers were tangled in his hair, my hand clutching his sweater like it was a lifeline, and his thigh was situated between both of mine, applying pressure to my clit that was making me see stars. Now my mouth was wet, but I didn’t care.

Once I could see straight, I dove for his mouth again, but he stopped me with an unyielding grip on my chin.

“Change,” he rumbled. “We’ll go to dinner at Menton, I’ll pull some strings and get us a table. Then back to my apartment.”

I squinted, still reeling from the kiss. “We’re not going to Menton first, that makes it sound like a date. This isn’t a date, we have one mission to accompli—.”

He gaze grew cold. “If we do this, we’re doing it my way. You’re going to listen to me. I’m in charge.”

My eyes flicked back and forth between his as my entire face and neck glowed pink.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Say ‘Yes, sir,’” he corrected me.

“Yes, sir,” I repeated softly.

The pleased smile that spread across his lips gave me a warm feeling in my belly.

“Tonight, I’m going to destroy your pussy,” he whispered against my ear, sucking at my lobe, “I’m going to make you come like a whore.” Moving to my other side, he spoke softly again, his warm breath against my cheek making me shiver. “Your future husband will resent me for the rest of your lives, because I’m going to ruin you for any other man.” Nuzzling my nose with the tip of his, he kissed the corner of my mouth. “And you’re going to love it.”

I couldn’t help myself. I was throbbing, there was pressure building in my belly and the man had barely laid a hand on me. With a high pitched whimper, I sought his mouth again, but he wrapped his huge hand around my throat and shook his head as he held me back.

“Go. Pick out something nice to wear. Something you feel pretty in.”

Mouth dry, I nodded. He caught my arm as I went to leave.

“And Olivia? Not a scrap of clothing underneath.”

#ransom thrombey x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x ofc #ransom drysdale smut #ransom thrombey smut #ransom smut #ransom x ofc #ransom drysdale #knives out #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #knives out spoilers #oh my god it's happening #mcudarklibrarykinkmonth

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mikaa-mina · 4 years

Text

At Garden’s Edge- ch8: A Day in the Life of a Newt(on Pulsifer)

The lights are too bright, and Newt can’t quite hear what the lady in front of him is saying over the cacophony of beeps. His head also feels quite.... strange. He’s pretty sure that it’s not supposed to feel like it’s floating half a foot above his neck while also feeling like it’s stuffed full of cotton.

Some of the beeping suddenly stops, making it so much quieter in the ER, and Newt can finally understand what the nurse is asking. He tells her he thinks he’s fine, only he managed to hit something in the middle of the road with his bike and that sent him sailing towards the curb, which his bike tire hit at the wrong angle, and that quite firmly ejected him from his seat. And actually, he’s not at all quite sure how he got here, or why he’s here.

The nurse comes closer before he realizes she’s holding a tablet to enter his information in. By the time he realizes, it’s too late.

There’s a sound much like a mosquito hitting a trap lamp with a bright Bzzt! and then tablet goes dark in her hands. Newt grimaces.

It snowballs from there.

She shushes his apologies and uses the flip hospital phone that they use now instead of chargers/beepers to call the nurse station and request a backup one. It, accordingly, powers off halfway through her phone call. She shakes it with a frown and grumbles about the board of offices being cheap with their equipment, turns a sunny smile on him, and brightly says “well, I’ll just take down the basics and get your vitals while we wait. Do you have records here?”

“Uh. Maybe?” probably, “Which hospital is this?”

“The Brugmansia Hospital.”

“Oh! Yeah. I was born here. Uh. I changed my name though. Still Pulsifer for the last name though, figure there’s probably not too many of them around,” he laughs nervously, overly conscious of how awkward he is and how unable he is to do anything about it.

She still smiles, ever professional, and jots down his information. “First name?”

“Oh! Right. Sorry. It’s Newton now. Newton Pulsifer.”

“Thank you Newton, now I’m just going to take your vitals now.”

“Oh- I, uh, don’t really think-”

It’s too late, she’s come up to take his temperature with their new wireless, laser thermometer and it promptly errors out. It continues to error out no matter how many times she restarts it. The heavy seed of dread in Newt’s stomach grows larger. This is exactly why he tries not to go to places like this.

“I’m sorry. Uh, do you happen to have something maybe not, uh, electrical?”

She gives him a funny look for that and he shrinks back.

“Well. Let me get your blood pressure and o2 readings.”

Newt looks dubiously at the machine setup she wheels over to him. Miraculously, it goes okay when she wraps the cuff around his upper arm, and even when it starts. Everything avalanches when she puts the wireless o2 reader on him. Immediately everything in his room fritzes out, the lights even flickering before coming back, but all of the machines are still down or in the emergency boot up system restart.

“Oh bugger,” he sighs under his breath, quietly enough that the nurse fretting over all the technology can’t hear how resigned and unsurprised he is.

The avalanche continues when a nearby nurse ducks in and his tablet powers itself off. The smartwatch he’s wearing starts having three different alarms go off on it, and then there’s some shouts of alarm from outside Newt’s room that he’s really not sure that he wants to know what they’re about.

There are four people in his room now, in varying states of bewilderment and frustration, trying to figure out why everything’s malfunctioning in his room while also trying to get it back up and working. No one’s listening to Newt when he tries to explain that if he could just leave, it’d get better, but then, he’s mostly used to being ignored at this point.

More and more people trickle into the room, Newt spots the tech support guy he wished to be, frowning and scratching his head as he looks at everything. And then he looks at Newt.

A quick mumble about using the loo and Newt escapes out of the room, IV still attached to the weird metal stand and his arm but at least they’re not electronically powered. Just good engineering and reliable gravity.

He figures if he can put enough distance between him, and the rest of all that technology crammed into one small spot, that everything will boot back up just fine. And if not, Newt could write out exactly how to fix it.

So he heads to the loo, because now that he’s made the excuse, he figures he might as well try and also he’s betting on there being a whole lot less fancy technology in there. If only he could actually find said loo. Or any loo, really.

He’s waylaid by a small girl about ten minutes into his wandering of the halls.

“Oh. Hullo there.”

The girl is missing three teeth, has brown hair, and is looking at Newt as if he’s the newest attraction in the city zoo. Under her stare, Newt almost feels like one.

“Wut’er you doing?”

“Er... looking for the loo.”

She looks at him, looks in the direction he was heading in, looks back at him and matter-of-fact-ly says, “you’re going the wrong way.”

He blinks at her, which she takes as permission for her to reach up and grab his hand and start pulling him in the other direction. Bewildered, he followed.

And thus began a brand new game called “Lead the Newt” which had a revolving cast of characters, all under the age of twelve, each insisting they knew where the loo was, and each hiding him from sight any time an adult employee came near.

This scavenger hunt of a game ended at, not a loo (which made Newt extremely grateful he didn’t actually need one), but at a recreational sort of room. There was an old tv in one corner, an open treasure chest filled with costumes and toys, and a few bookshelves. The floor was spongy beneath Newt’s feat and looking down left him staring at brightly colored interlocking foam mat puzzle pieces.

For some reason, all of the co-conspirators find him funny, and really the only tech he might fry in here is a rather old tv that looks like it’s been outdated so many times it can’t recall if it’s outdated or retro at this point, so all in all... This is probably the safest room for Newt to be in. And certainly more interesting than the loo.

And that’s how he finds himself, an hour later, dressed in a paper hat of some kind (its supposed to be a jester’s hat) leaning against his iv pole, making elaborate gestures with his free hand, and telling terrible terrible jokes to a kid in a paper crown and to the amusement of the other kids around him. It’s most certainly a bizarre scene, but no one has commented on it as of yet and due entirely for the fact that the secondary game they’re all playing is ‘Hide the Newt’ any time an adult wanders by. Closets, corners, and blankets have all been heavily featured by now in this game.

So Newt can hardly be blamed for jumping near out of his skin when, after telling a particularly bad punny joke, he hears an adult’s laughter. So he jumps, jerks, and tries to turn to face the voice all in one motion and ends up somehow practically hogtieing himself in his iv cord and going down.

He ended up in a heap of limbs, metal pole, and iv cord wrapped all around him, and his glasses hanging half off his face. “Oh bugger...”

There was a snickering above him from the adult voice and the children alternating between giggles at his fall and joyful cries of “Crow Crow!”, “Mister Crow!”, and “Miss Crow!”. As Newt struggled to untangle himself, with the help of a few kids who both made things worse and better in turns, the other children began pleading with the Crow? Crow?? to pleeeeease let them keep Newt.

The stranger is crouching down to the kid’s level by the time Newt gets mostly upright, and they look a lot like they’re trying very hard not to laugh. “Now. However did you magpies manage to steal a whole person?”

Laughter sounds and they’re throwing themselves at the redhead and the two bags they set down. As the majority are immediately distracted by the prospect of sweets and the passing out of them, the stranger turns to Newt and raises an eyebrow high above dark sunglasses and says, “well? How’d they manage to kidnap you?”

Before Newt can respond the kids answer with excuses that pile over one another ranging from “he just wandered in!” to the actually mostly truthful “he was lost so we were showing him around!”.

“Oh really now?” they seem to be biting back laughter as they continue, “he was lost so you decided to help him by keeping him here?”

Some of the kids looked abashed while others look outright proud of themselves and to Newt’s surprise the stranger threw back their head with a short bark of a laugh before grinning as if proud of them.

Just in case he was reading the situation wrong, he’d done that with people more than a few times, Newt tried pushing through his embarrassment and awkwardness with an “It’s, uh, alright. Really. It’s been kind of fun, actually.”

“Ah. Yeah, they really grow on you.” The Crow glanced at the kids with a mischievous look, “like a fungus.”

Groans and laughter sounded before all of a sudden a shushing and pointing as an adult was seen wandering their way. Before Newt could blink they had him hidden out of sight shoved in a closet between some coats, puppets, and something slightly sticky that he had no intention of exploring further.

He could hear the somewhat muffled conversation of the kids pleading with The Crow to keep their secret before a new adult voice joined the conversation. The voices dropped away a bit, except for the nervous kids right in front of the closet attempting to whisper between each other, before he can’t make anything out at all. He waits, nervousness beginning to creep in because just how long was he supposed to stay in the closet? Actually, about that, he’d really had enough of closets and hiding in them. Terribly stifling and awful and much better really to be out of them.

Eventually there’s the sound of foot falls coming closer and closer to the closet and for a moment Newt’s heart picks up, certain that he’s about to be found and get in trouble. Then the doors are opened and it’s the red headed stranger who jokes, “ready to come out of the closet?”

And Newt’s still full of nervousness and it expresses itself by making him immediately blurt out “already did that once really. Was sort of hoping to not have to do it again.”

There’s a pause where the red head stares at him and the realization that he’s said that out loud crashes over Newt who flushes hotly. “Oh gods, I said that out loud...” and then The Crow tilts their head back and laughs.

“Been there, done that!” They agree with a grin and reach in to pull Newt out. “C’mon, ‘parently they’ve been running a missing patient code for half an hour looking for you.”

Newt relaxed fractionally, “you figured all that out from the nurse in five minutes?”

“Nah. Heard about it when I snuck in through one of the back windows. ‘s right beside one of the break rooms.”

“Oh, okay, that makes- wait. Did you say window?”

But they were already talking to the kids, “Alright you mischievous little magpies, you had your fun but we need to get him back now.” A chorus of “awwwws” and “but!!but!!”s sounded off but The Crow continued on, “if he’s here, he probably needs some help to get better, and I’m sure once he’s feeling better he’ll come say hi again.” Here they glanced over at at Newt expectantly, so Newt nodded since it seemed expected, and then they continued, “alright, so say bye to...”

“Newt.”

The Crow stilled, tilted their head to the side and asked disbelievingly, “really?” as if they didn’t also have the name of an animal.

“Yeah.”

“Alright magpies, tell Newt bye.”

There’s goodbyes and promises to come back and right as they’re leaving the first girl that had caught Newt comes up to The Crow and, in a whisper so very loud she might as well be talking, says “you hafta be nice to him!”

“Oh do I now?”

She nodded furiously, “he doesn’t ree-lize his jokes are reeeeally bad!”

The Crow seemed to choke on something before spluttering into a laughter the kid shushed them for.

“Sorry, sorry,” they managed, fighting back their grin and not looking sorry in the least as they chanced a quick glance at Newt.

The girl frowned, “you’re not sorry at all!”

“I am, I am!”

She looked unimpressed but when bribed with an extra pastry she let it, and them, go.

They’re on their way back to the nurse’s station (Newt didn’t even know what room they put him in) when he breaks the silence to ask, “is your name really Crow?”

“To the kids, yes. You can call me Crowley.”

“Oh. Nice to meet you Crowley. Did you really come in through a window?”

Crowley grinned at him, “trade secret.”

#Good Omens #Good Omens Fanfiction #Good Omens fic #Newton Pulsifer #Crowley #gomens fic #Just Ineffable #humor #comedy #Trans Newt #Genderfluid Crowley #multi chapter fic #multi chapter story #At Garden's Edge #my writing

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is-it-art-tho · 3 years

Link

This is Chapter 3!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Summary: Jason will not let this happen again. He can't. But what if he's already too late?

Jason hated Halloween.

It didn’t used to be that way. There was a period, a lifetime ago, when he loved trick or treating.

Even now, he could still feel the bulky zombie teeth in his mouth, could hear the sound of miniature candies rattling around a plastic pumpkin bucket. Years of practice covering Bruce’s own bruises and scars had turned the older man into a savant with a palette and latex, and Jason could still picture the depths of Bruce’s eyes as he hovered practically nose to nose with the younger boy, skillfully crafting gruesome wounds and sutures across his face.

Back then, Halloween had been one of the few times a year when Jason and Bruce got to dress up for fun rather than battle or ritzy, soul-sucking fundraisers. It was a day when blades were made of plastic and Styrofoam rather than steel, and the things that lurked in the shadows were not deadly adversaries but friends and neighbors. A time when they moved with their feet planted firmly on the ground instead of along rooftops or soaring through the air, and the coming of night did not bring with it danger or violence.

On Halloween, blood tasted like food coloring and corn syrup. The bruises on Bruce’s face were bright and fake, and his scowl, usually menacing, was little more than a poorly disguised grin.

“No, you gotta be scary!” Jason had complained once after glancing up to find a wide smile on Bruce’s blotchy green face.

And Bruce had laughed, a full-throated sound from deep in his chest before promising, “Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

But that was then, and dwelling on those times now was an exercise in masochism.

These days, Halloween was easier to get through from inside a bar or holed up in his apartment. While miniature witches and cartoon characters trickled into the streets, he intended to spend the night plastered, eating too much food, watching mind-numbing TV, and praying the “No Candy” sign on his door would be enough to deter any would-be sugar gremlins.

As he kicked up his feet in nothing but his boxers and started scrolling through a selection of movies on the TV, though, he couldn’t quite manage to sink into the blissful detachment he so desperately craved. He shifted on the couch and glared at a movie synopsis without taking in any of the words there, a growing sense of frustration twisting through him.

It had already been two weeks and still his stomach was in knots, and he found himself swinging wildly from fits of aimless rage to bouts of queasy silence as Dick’s words reverberated through his head. Or rather, not his words, but his quiet.

And Jason hated himself for it because hadn’t he wanted this all along? To be free from the shadow of the bat? To assert himself as his own being with his own code? Hadn’t he personally waged war against them; wanted them dead?

How stupid to think a year and change of tenuous comradery might change any of that, might undo years of animus and at times outright violence between them.

They were right to keep him at arm’s length and expect him to be exactly what he had shown himself to be – a killer. It didn’t matter that it was because of them – because of Bruce’s inane code – that he hadn’t killed anyone in almost two years. Some things could not be undone. If anyone understood that, it ought to be him.

He glanced towards the linen closet in the hall where a duffel bag was crammed behind a couple towels and bed sheets. Inside was the new body armor he’d had Harper help him create. It was almost identical to what he usually wore, except this edition featured a brilliant red bat insignia across the chest. He’d been planning to start wearing soon.

He scoffed at himself.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. And maybe he wasn’t. But damn, if this didn’t still suck.

A ringtone went off, and Jason hopped up and made his way to the drawer in his kitchen where he kept his burners. He fumbled around before finding the dinky flip phone with a new message that simply said:

He’s out.

Jason sprinted into his room and emerged again in his Red Hood gear – the classic all black version – leaving a box of takeout and a scrolling screensaver on his TV as he slipped out the door.

The thick tires of his bike squealed against the asphalt as he tore around corners and down the still-sleeping streets of Gotham. Slowly, the store fronts, overpriced apartments, and new construction crumbled to ruins around him. Windows were replaced with graffitied plywood, buildings stood gaping and abandoned, some blackened with decades-old fire damage, others missing all together, just piles of rubble and garbage and overgrown weeds in empty spaces that reminded Jason of missing teeth. Even with the harvest moon drenching the city in pale light, these few blocks remained in shadow as if some invisible force hung overhead, blocking out the light.

Hood was headed for The Yards, a rougher part of town that reminded him of his old stomping grounds in Crime Alley. There were no trick or treaters out here. The few folks that walked the streets were mostly junkies and barflies and scantily clad girls. They noted him and offered nods of acknowledgement, unafraid.

He’d spent enough time in these parts now, that people who might typically shy away from cops knew that as long as they weren’t hurting anybody, he wasn’t going to bother them. It was a point of pride for him, that his reputation preceded him in that way; it made it easier for him to help the people who needed it most.

He pulled up in front of a defunct pizza shop and sauntered in through the boarded-up door, past the grimy tables and yawning brick oven, through the kitchen, and out the back door to the small alcove behind the restaurant lined with dumpsters and buzzing with the sounds of rodents and pests scurrying through trash.

A kid was sitting with his back against one of the dumpsters, a collection of glass bottles beside him. On the brick wall opposite him, Hood noted splatter stains over a glittering pile of broken glass. As if on cue, the kid picked up a bottle and flung it into the wall where it exploded in a spray of old beer and golden-brown shards.

Hood slipped off his helmet and tucked it under his arm so that he was only in his domino. A lot of the kids around here preferred when he stayed in the helmet. Some thought it was cool, but others, he could tell, found him easier to talk to that way. It was the eyes, he thought. There were certain things that were easier to admit aloud when you weren’t looking someone in the eyes.

This kid, though, was not one of them.

“Yo,” Hood said, walking over to slide down the side of the dumpster so that they were sitting side by side. Not touching, but close enough that a shift in weight, an adjusted leg could easily result in contact. This was another thing that not all kids around here liked – the physical closeness.

“Hey.” The boy didn’t look at him right away, instead waving his fingers over the bottles as he hunted for the next one to throw. He landed on a retro Coke and weighed the thick glass in his scrawny hands.

Hood watched him chuck it at the wall and grin at the explosion before asking, “How are things with you?”

Fry – that was what everyone called the kid around here; Hood had no idea why – shrugged, and his grin faded. Not into a frown, but a careful absence of expression. An absence that managed to say I’m fine and Please ask me what’s wrong and Please help all at once. It was the kind of look that Hood recognized too well; one he’d practiced in a mirror on more than one occasion when he was a kid, hoping someone would see it and understand.

They never did.

“Henry’s back,” Fry answered.

Hood already knew this. He had little informants all over this area; it was what the text had been about. But still he said, “Already? What about the trial?”

“He got bail.” Fry toyed with the neck of a new bottle, still not looking Hood in the eyes.

“And?”

Fry shrugged again, and Hood inwardly cursed the whole goddamn police department. It was a song he’d heard too many times before. Scumbag gets put away, makes bail, goes straight home, takes it out on the family, GCPD is nowhere to be found.

Stopping bank robbers and metas was easy. Those guys were loud and when they went away, they went away for a while. But this stuff, the villains who masqueraded as family men, as loving fathers and husbands – those were the real monsters. The masks they wore were more effective than any cowl or secret identity Hood had ever seen.

And it seemed that no matter how much time he spent talking with the kids in this area, working with them, trying clumsily to help them understand what to expect from social services and offering them numbers to some of his burners, he still felt like he wasn’t doing enough. There weren’t enough hours in the day, there wasn’t enough of him to singlehandedly pick up the pieces where the entire system was letting these kids – these families – down.

And God was it letting them down.

He wanted to get up right then. Every instinct in his body was screaming for justice, for revenge, and he wanted to go straight to Fry’s place and then to the GCPD to tell them to do their damn jobs and where they could find Henry’s body.

And maybe he should do that. It would be easier and more effective than anything the cops would do, and he felt now like he suddenly didn’t have anything to prove anymore. He was who he was, and if that made him the bad guy then so be it. A small price to pay in the grand scheme if that’s what it took to get things done.

As the rage swelled and Hood got ready to stand, he felt a small hand wrap around his. He looked, but Fry was staring away, his cheeks glistening in the orange glow from the light mounted above them on the brick wall.

And just like that, all of his restless fury melted into something dull and simmering, and Hood took a breath and tilted his head back against the grimy dumpster. “I’m sorry,” he sighed.

Fry shrugged again and sniffled. “What are you doing here anyway?” he asked, letting go of Hood’s hand to wipe his face.

“I can’t just come hang out with the coolest kid I know?”

Fry offered a shaky laugh. “Wanna try one?” He offered another Coke bottle and Hood took it.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent the bottle careening into the wall. Something about the motion reminded him of throwing a batarang – like muscle memory.

“Whoa!” Fry shouted. “That was a good one! Do it again!”

Fry shoved another bottle at Hood, and Hood chuckled as he launched it at the wall, the sharp crash mixing with the Fry’s delighted whoops.

And though Fry was now openly elated, there was still something in his face, a deep, unwavering kind of hurt.

It was the kind of pain that Hood knew would stay with the kid even if he managed to set Fry up with the best family in the best city tonight. Even if Hood made sure nothing bad ever happened to him again for the rest of his life, that wounded shadow would cling there, if only barely.

It was the mark of a kid who had experienced too much too soon, during those formative years. A kind of broken that could not be fixed, but instead was lived with, grown into, like a childhood birthmark or a scar.

It wasn’t the debilitating kind. He’d seen those kids too, the ones who were already so far gone, the scars so numerous and deep that it would take a miracle to reach them. Fry wasn’t there yet, and Hood just hoped he’d be able to help before he got there.

“So, no trick or treating, huh?” Hood asked. “What? Too good for candy or something?”

“Don’t have a costume. My mom said she would make me one but then…” His voice trailed off and he shrugged again.

Hood stared at him for a while then popped up, saying, “Wait right there,” before jogging back through the restaurant. He returned holding a leather jacket. This one was more casual than the one he wore on patrols; it lacked the sewn-in armor and additional slots for concealed weapons, but it matched his Red Hood jacket close enough.

“Stand up,” he said, and Fry obeyed, eyes wide. “Turn around.”

Fry turned and Hood slipped the jacket onto Fry’s small frame. It dangled off of him like a cloak and must have been fairly heavy judging by the slouch in Fry’s shoulders, but when he turned back around, he was beaming.

“Yeah,” Hood said, smiling and looking him up and down. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Oh–” He reached into his own jacket and pulled out a spare domino. “Put this on.”

Fry put it on, and the way his smile grew to encompass his entire face was almost cartoonish.

“Nice,” Hood said with a grin.

“I’m the Red Hood…?” he whispered. Then he looked up into Hood’s eyes. “I’m you?”

“Looks like it.” Hood breathed through the ache in his chest that made him want to change his mind and urge Fry to be somebody – anybody – else. A voice in his head moaned:

You don’t want to be me.

“So now for candy,” Hood continued. “I’m guessing there’s not much around here to work with.”

Fry shook his head.

“If you want, I can take you to one of the rich neighborhoods where they give out the good stuff. I’m talking king-sized name brands.”

“You’ll let me ride on your motorcycle?” Fry’s voice edged toward an eager shriek.

“Yeah, long as you promise not to make that sound again,” Hood laughed. “And that you won’t fall off,” he added.

Fry nodded vigorously as Hood clapped him on the back and steered him back through the kitchen saying, “Then let’s blow this joint.”

After they’d gotten on the bike and Fry had securely wrapped his arms around Hood’s mid-section, he asked, “Um, Hood…?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you… walk with me, too?”

Hood went still for a moment. His grip tightened on the handlebars as he turned around to smile, saying, “Well, duh. You think I’m gonna let you get all that candy to yourself?”

And Fry smiled, squeezing Hood’s torso even tighter and burying his face in the young man’s back as they roared down the street – slower, of course, than usual.

#batman fanfic #nightwing #jason todd #dick grayson #red hood #dick grayson and jason todd #dick grayson & jason todd #batman fanfiction

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

time to play your dead man’s hand (Day 1)

Life is Strange AU!!!! I don’t even have the first chapter done. It’s too long for Tumblr all together.

Also part one is kinda a test. I don’t know if I’ll continue this, but it people like it I will. But if this only gets, like, 10 notes then I’m not gonna slave myself over the LiS script to write this correctly.

Also also: I literally had no idea who should be Anne’s stepdad, so “Edmund” is just a filler name. If anyone knows someone who would make a good step father for her, please let me know!

One more thing- The Anne in this is Bowman!Anne! Because I like her more than Millie even though her character is supposed to be punkish

TW: Gun violence, death

——————

Part One- Chrysalis

The first flash of lightning wakes her. She cannot really recall falling asleep, but she is certainly awake now. The sky turns white again and then the rain, hard and relentless, begins. Another flash of lightning and, this time, thunder accompanies it. The massive boom shakes her to her toes and makes her feel small in comparison.

Her senses are a mess. She can hardly smell through the rain, and all she can see is the dark until the lightning intermittently burns the sky.

She’s lying face-down in the mud. The brown sludge slides down her face, slippery and grimy. It coats her clothes, but the rain is quick to wash it away and replace the drench with some of its own. She nearly slips as she’s pushing herself up to her feet, suddenly shivering.

The thunder cracks again, but this time she hears something inside of it. A shout. Several shouts, like the wail of anguished souls. She sees lightning, and then in the fading light, she sees shadows leftover.

She’s on a sloped path that has turned into a river from the rushing water. Her shoes and socks are soaked in an instant, already rubbing her feet raw and chafing blisters against her ankles. She tries to speak, but her throat is closed up in horror.

Where am I? What's happening? She thought, looking around. A storm? Why am I in a storm?

A burst of lightning torches the sky, splitting it in two in a magnificent silver slash. It illuminates the towering shape of the lighthouse just up the hill.

Wait... There's the lighthouse... I'll be safe if I can make it there... I hope...

Wind whips at her at dizzying speeds and the rain drives hard enough to push her to her knees. It is only through force of will and sheer luck that she manages not to be thrown clear as she began to stagger up the slippery path and to the cliff where the lighthouse is situated. She could scream, but the storm screams louder and its cries are deafening.

Time ceases to mean much as the storm pummels her and the world around her. She cannot see more than a hand's span in front of your face- she’s having to shield her head and squint so those subzero jerks couldn’t stab her blind. She’s exhausted by the short trek and is nearly prepared to give in to the whims of the storm and let it blow her where it will when she pulls herself up to the top of the incline.

Before her is the ocean, as dark as wine, and atop is a massive tornado. It was much too large to be real, but there it was, caged in flashing bolts of lightning and thick gales.

And it was heading right for Whitby.

Holy shit...

Suddenly, the storm whips up a large boat that had been thrashing in the waves near the beach. It was sent flying, crashing into the lighthouse and causing the top half to come crumbling down, down, down-

————

Maggie awoke with a start. Cold sweat is beaded on her brow and runs like slick snail trails down the back of her neck. She doesn’t scream, thank god, because she realizes that she’s in her art class at school. Warm rays of sun are bleeding in through the window, casting grand, golden shadows across pastel canvases and abstract parchments and colorful tapestries strung up along the walls. There was no sign of a storm in sight.

Woah, She thought. That was so weird.

A line of sweat starts to make its way down her pale face and she quickly swipes it away. Her heart is still racing, pounding painful inside of her chest. She tries to steady it and just focus on the calming voice of Mr. Tudor, the art teacher.

Okay... I'm in class...

At the table in front of her, Agnes Tylney’s pen falls on the floor and she reaches down to pick it up.

Everything's cool... I'm okay...

Catherine Aragon throws a paper ball at Joan Astley.

“Now, can you give me an example of a photographer who perfectly captured the human condition?” Mr. Tudor is saying.

Jane Seymour’s phone vibrates.

I didn't fall asleep, and...that sure didn't feel like a dream... Weird.

“Diane Arbus.” Jane answers. Her voice is like honeyed venom- sweet but stinging. Maggie knew the potency of the poison in her words all too well.

“There you go, Jane!” Mr. Tudor praised, “Why Arbus?”

As Jane was explaining, Maggie looked down at her table. Her basic school needs-pens, pencils, journal- were scattered out on the blacktop, along with her camera and a photograph. When she picks it up, she looks upon the horrid image of her standing in front of dozens of other pictures tacked on her dorm wall.

Look at this crap! How can I show this to Mr. Tudor? I can hear the class laughing at me now.

She sighed and set it back down. Her eyes cast over to the analog camera and she carefully picked it up as if it were a baby bird. She was always so cautious with the old thing.

Her thumb grazed over the washes out yellow top portion before gently pressed a button. The camera flashes in her face, taking her by surprise.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Mr. Tudor piped up. “I believe Maggie has taken what you kids call a "selfie"... A dumb word for a wonderful photographic tradition. And Maggie...has a gift. Of course, as you all know, the photo portrait has been popular since the early 1800's. Your generation was not the first to use images for ‘selfie-expression.’ Sorry. I couldn't resist. The point remains that the portraiture has always been a vital aspect of art, and photography, for as long as it's been around. Now, Maggie, since you've captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?”

Maggie grits her teeth and tried not to sink into the bottom of her chair and evaporate into the abyss. Eyes were boring in on her from all sides. Tiny flames light up in her ears.

“I-I did know!” She stammered. “But I kinda forgot...”

Mr. Tudor narrows his eyes. He usually looks so lax and kind, so seeing him bring out the Disappointed Look cut deep.

“You either know this or not, Maggie.” He said, frustrated, “Is there anybody here who knows their stuff?”

“Louis Daguerre was a French painter who created ‘daguerreotypes’ a process that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” Jane said, as boot-licking as always. She swivels her head around to Maggie, her eyes gleaming like a hungry tiger that just found its next meal. “Now you're totally stuck in the Retro Zone. Sad face.”

Maggie’s spine chafed painfully against the back of her chair as she hunches her shoulders in to seem smaller. Her ears were fully on fire, now- she hopes her hair is hiding them.

Just as Mr. Tudor is finishing his lecture on Jane’s answer, the bell rings. Students are instantly leaping up and scampering out of the classrooms.

“And guys,” Mr. Tudor says, “don't forget the deadline to submit a photo in the "Everyday Heroes" contest. I'll fly out with the winner to London where you'll be feted by the art world in the Tate museum. It's great exposure, and it can kickstart a career in photography. So, Agnes and Maud, get it together. Catherine, don't hide. I'm still waiting for your entry, too. And yes, Maggie, I see you pretending not to see me.”

Maggie stands up slowly, unfurling her shoulders from their hunched position. As she’s waiting for the muscles to stop aching from the sudden uncoil, she sees Jane beeline to Mr. Tudor’s desk. Maggie rolls her eyes.

Jane doesn't waste a second kissing ass...

She gathers her things and heads for the door. Before she could make her escape, however, Mr. Tudor’s smooth voice rang out.

“I see you, Maggie Wyatt. Don't even think about leaving here until we talk about your entry.”

Maggie tenses and then gives in. She turns around and approaches the front desk. She does her best to avoid Jane’s drilling gaze.

“I'd never let one of photography's future stars avoid handing in her picture.” Mr. Tudor said.

“Do I have to? I just don't think it's that big a deal.” Maggie said.

Jane snickers. Mr. Tudor has an almost-sympathetic look.

“Maggie, you're a better photographer than a liar...” He said. “Now I know it's a drag to hear some old dude lecture you... but life won't wait for you to play catch-up. You're young, the world is yours, blah blah blah, right? But you do have a gift, you have the fever to take images, to frame the world only the way you envision it. Now, all you need is the courage to share your gift with others. That's what separates the artist, from the amateur.”

Maggie can only bob her head shyly and mumbled a soft, “Yes sir.” Mr. Tudor takes it and lets her leave.

Stepping out into the hallway from the art class was like stepping into a hurricane. While the art class was serene and peaceful and illuminated by the sunshine’s warm glow, the hallway was a tiled jungle with fluorescent suns. Student were weaving every which way like colorful, talkative birds of paradise and the teachers peering out from their classrooms were the watchful jaguars. Dozens of conversations were going at once, laughing came from every direction, and the clatters of lockers were white noise for the cacophony. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing, boldly showing off their tail feathers and wings without a care in the world. Everyone except Maggie, that is. She sighed and shoved in her earbuds before she could hear Aragon from across the hall finish her statement about someone being “so fucking shy.”

Her destination was the bathroom, where she needed a serious timeout to unwind from her classroom embarrassment. She made herself as small as possible, narrowly avoiding the rushing figures of other students. Her awkward swivels and side-steps definitely earned her a few odd glances, but she tried to ignore them until she finally got into the safety of the bathroom.

Empty. Good. Nobody can see my meltdown. Except for me.

Maggie washes her face using one of the sinks, letting the chill of the tap water sink into her cheeks. She keeps her hands there for a moment before sighing and dropping them. She takes out her polaroid photo after turning the sink off.

Just relax. Stop torturing yourself. You have “a gift”.

She stared and stared and stared at the photo, but it just seemed to appear worse and worse the longer she looked.

Fuck it.

She tears apart her photo and drops it on the floor. The way the pieces fall to the ground are as delicate as the flutter of the butterfly’s wings that just flew in from an open window. Maggie blinks and follows it. It lands on a bucket behind a stall and spreads its emerald green wings into the light bleeding over it.

Holy shit. Maggie thought. Well...when a door closes, a window opens...or, something like that. She takes out her camera. Okay girl, you don't get a photo op like this everyday...

Maggie slowly approaches the butterfly and takes a photo of it. At the flash, the butterfly takes off, flapping in a blur of brilliant green that almost seems to glow in the air. As it dashed for a safe landing, the bathroom door opens and closes and a guy walks in. Maggie recognizes him as Thomas Cromwell, the richest, most pompous kid on the campus, from his slick hair and letterman jacket. He does a quick scan of the bathroom, not noticing Maggie hiding, and then began pacing. His pale, bat-like face is twisted with enraged horror. He looks like he was about to shatter at any second

“It’s cool, Thomas... Don't stress... You're okay, bro. Just count to three...” He was muttering to himself. “Don't be scared... You own this school... If I wanted, I could blow it up!” He laughed. Craziness oozed from the fractures in his voice- or maybe directly from his fragmented brain. “You're the boss.”

A moment later, the door swings open and a girl strides in. She’s a little heavier set, but carries herself with great pride and power. Her dark eyes are impish and on fire. Green is spilled out over the top of her hair, long, dyed tendrils of emerald coiling with brown locks. When she speaks, her voice comes out in a (familiar) confident growl.

“I hope you checked the perimeter, as my step-ass would say.” She said while checking the stalls. Maggie has to back up in her hiding spot- it’s a wonder neither of them have caught her, especially with how she’s peeking out to watch. “Now, let's talk bidness—”

“I got nothing for you.” Thomas said. He’s trying to keep his composure, Maggie can tell just by listening to him, but it’s about as cracked as his sanity.

“Wrong.” The girl said. “You got hella cash.”

“That's my family, not me.” Thomas grits. He’s grinding his teeth now.

The girl laughed. “Oh, boohoo, poor little rich kid!” Her tone becomes serious. She marches over to Thomas, who is hunched over the sink, bracing himself. “I know you been pumpin' drugs 'n' shit to kids around here... I bet your respectable family would help me out if I went to them.” She leans into his ear, “Man, I can see the headlines now—”

“Leave them out of this, bitch.” Thomas snarled.

“I can tell everybody Thomas Cromwell is a punk ass who begs like a little girl and talks to himself—”

Thomas rounds on the girl. There’s now a gun in his hand, which he must have been hiding in his jacket. The girl backs up into the wall, the fire in her eyes going out in an instant, and Thomas stands in front of her, one arm against the wall beside her head and the other pointing the gun at her stomach.

“You don't know who the fuck I am or who you're messing around with!” He roared.

“Where’d you get that? What are you doing?” The girl babbled. Her fearless mask has dropped in an instant at the presence of a weapon. “Come on, put that thing down!”

“Don't EVER tell me what to do! I'm so SICK of people trying to control me!” Thomas howled. Whatever was holding the crack in his brain together has broken apart at the seams and every bad thing is pouring out at a horrifying rate.

“You are going to get in hella more trouble for this than drugs—” The girl grunts. She can feel the biting metal of the gun’s muzzle press against her stomach. She’s so rigid.

Thomas leans into her ear. His voice is curled with dark ice. “Nobody would ever even miss your ‘punk ass’ would they?”

“Get that gun away from me, psycho!!”

The girl shoved Thomas away from her and makes a break for the door. Her sudden movements jar Thomas and he pulls the trigger. Blood splatters against the wall and from the girl’s mouth as the bullet passes through her stomach.

“NO!!” Maggie screamed.

She’s running out from her hiding spot without realizing it. She stretches out her right hand, as if she thought she could actually do something to help. The gun and the girl are falling to the ground in slow motion. Maggie’s breathing picks up. Everything becomes blurry. Black and white and grey splotches haze her vision. Every nerve is filled with painless liquid fire, buzzing inside of her. Red is the only other color she can see- the dark red of hot blood. Of her blood, maybe. She can’t tell anymore, but, suddenly, awareness returns to her- intense shock fades and leaves behind wet adrenaline in its wake, soaking her to the core. She opens her eyes- when did they ever close?- and finds herself in the art class again.

Warm rays of sun are bleeding in through the window, casting grand, golden shadows across pastel canvases and abstract parchments and colorful tapestries strung up along the walls. There was no sign of a storm- of a gun- of a dead body-

Whoa! What the fuck?! Maggie’s body lurches back in her seat. A few kids glance curiously at her before focusing back on Mr. Tudor, who was giving his lecture on Alfred Hitchcock and photography. How- how— I— She looks around again. I was in the bathroom... He shot that poor girl... I held up my hand...and now I’m back here.

Agnes Tylney’s pen falls on the floor and she reaches down to pick it up.

I already heard this lecture...

Catherine Aragon throws a paper ball at Joan Astley.

Now Joan is being hassled again... And if Jane’s phone rings...this is real.

Jane Seymour’s phone vibrates. Maggie’s heart leapt in her throat and her body flinches as if her fear had taken a physical form and punched her. Her clumsy limbs scramble awkwardly and one arm knocked her camera off the desk. It breaks into pieces upon hitting the ground.

Shit! Oh my god, I cannot believe this... Okay, if I'm crazy, I might as well go all the way... Can I actually reverse time?

Maggie holds up her right hand and, like an instinct knowing when to be triggered, her vision turns grey. She feels like she’s floating, maybe vibrating, and she watches as her broken camera pieces itself together and rises up to sit in its original position. When Maggie releases the force, Mr. Tudor is just getting to his Diane Arbus question. However, Maggie can barely hear him or Jane’s know-it-all answer. She was too busy staring in awe at her hand.

Holy shit. Holy shit! I’m a human time machine! H- how— Okay, okay, don’t freak out, Maggie. Not yet.

She looked at her newly-repaired camera and picked it up. She presses the photograph button and the flash momentarily blinds her. Just like before.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Mr. Tudor pipes up, “I believe Maggie has taken what you kids call a "selfie"... A dumb word for a wonderful photographic tradition. And Maggie...has a gift. Of course, as you all know, the photo portrait has been popular since the early 1800's. Your generation is not the first to use images for selfie-expression. Sorry.”

The teacher’s voice is barely processing in Maggie’s mind. She just couldn’t get herself to care about what he was saying. She was too worried about the girl she had seen die.

If I can go back in time...what if that girl isn't dead yet? Can I save her?

“Now Maggie,” Mr. Tudor is rounding on her, just like he did last time. “since you've captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?”

Maggie opened and closed her mouth for a moment. The words are thick at the back of her throat.

“I-” It’s hard to enunciate properly. If she wasn’t so worried about that green-haired girl, she might have been more embarrassed over her squabbling. “I'm sorry, Mr. Tudor, I feel sick. May I be excused?”

“Nice try, Maggie, but you're not gonna get away that easy. We can talk more after class.” Mr. Tudor said.

Maggie swallowed hard. As much as she loved Mr. Tudor, she really wanted to slap him right about now. She wasn’t feigning illness- she genuinely felt sick to her stomach with anxiety and fear. She was sure she was ghostly white, too. How could Mr. Tudor not see that?!

“Is there anybody here who knows their stuff?” Mr. Tudor asked.

“Louis Daguerre was a French painter who created "daguerreotypes" a process that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” Jane answered like before. And, like before, she looked at Maggie mockingly and said, “Now you're totally stuck in the Retro Zone. Sad face.”

“Very good, Jane.” Mr. Tudor praised. “The Daguerreian Process brought out fine detail in people's faces, making them extremely popular from the 1800's onward.”

It was Jane’s snide remark that snapped Maggie slightly out of her worried trance. She side-eyed the blonde and clenched her jaw. She decides to test out her new power again and ‘rewind’.

“Now Maggie,” Mr. Tudor said, marking the ability a success once again. “since you've captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?”

“The Daguerreian Process.” Maggie said, practically reciting Jane. “Invented by a French painter named...Louis Daguerre. Around 1830.”

Mr. Tudor looks a little surprised, but smiled at the girl. “Somebody has been reading, as well as posing. Nice work, Maggie.”

Jane gives Maggie an annoyed look, which she can’t help but feel empowered about.

“The Daguerreian Process made portraiture hugely popular, mainly because it gave the subjects clear defined features. You can learn more when you actually finish reading the assigned chapters. Maggie is so far, way ahead of everybody.”

The bell rings. Maggie practically flies out of her seat and began collecting everyone as quick as she could.

“And, guys, don't forget the deadline to submit a photo in the ‘Everyday Heroes’ Contest!” Mr. Tudor said, “I will fly out with the winner to London where you'll be feted by the art world in the Tate museum. It's great exposure and it can kickstart a career in photography. So Agnes and Maud, get it together. Catherine don't hide, I'm still waiting for your entry too. And yes Maggie, I see you pretending not to see me.”

Maggie, you are not crazy. You are not dreaming. It's time to be an everyday hero.

Instead of trying to leave, already knowing she’ll be halted, she hurries over to the front desk. Joan watches her with those lamb eyes of hers from where she’s still seated.

“Excuse me, Mr. Tudor, can I talk to you for a moment?” Maggie asked.

“Yes, excuse you.” Jane said, narrowing her eyes at Maggie.

“No, Jane, excuse us.” Mr. Tudor said. He turns to Maggie. “I'd never let one of photography's future stars avoid handing in her picture.”

“I’m not avoiding, just...”

“Biding time, waiting for the elusive ‘right moment’?”

“Exactly.”

Mr. Tudor chuckled lightly and said, “Maggie, my dear, don't wait too long. John Lennon once said that ‘Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans.’ Go on now, don't let me stop you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Maggie exits quickly and delves right into the jungle that was the hallway. She pushed through the brambles of students to get to the bathroom, making it there in record time.

Okay, Maggie, retrace every step... I washed my face- She washes her face. I shredded my photo- She shredds her photos. Then the...butterfly flew in- The butterfly flies in. And I took a photo...

The camera flashes. The butterfly leaps up from the bucket and flaps away. The bathroom door swings open. Thomas Cromwell strides in.

Maggie stays hidden behind the stall, listening. She hears Thomas mutter darkly to himself, then that girl enters. She unknowingly taunts Thomas and he soon snaps. By the sudden yell, Maggie knows the gun was out.

She began looking around as the terrified yelling rattles through the bathroom. She dreads the gunshot that was soon to come if she didn’t do something.

She notices the fire alarm on the wall. Grabbing a fallen hammer by the bucket, Maggie smashes the glass encasing the alarm and pulls it. The siren began to wail.

“No way...” She hears Thomas mutter. Then, he grunts in pain as the girl knees him in the groin and shoves him away. Maggie watches in relief.

“Don't EVER touch me again, freak!” The girl yelled before running out.

Thomas totters on his feet for a moment before picking up his fallen gun. He growled softly, noticing the photograph scraps on the floor.

“Another shitty day...” He mutters before walking out.

Maggie emerges from her hiding spot. Cold sweat is prickling on her brow, sliding into her bulging eyes. She doesn’t even bother to wipe it away.

That did not happen! This cannot be real! I just saw a girl get shot and then saved her! What the fuck is going on?

She waits a moment before exiting the bathroom. Outside, the hallway is empty, aside from a few fleeting figures of running students. And the school’s security guard.

Edmund coming at Maggie nearly startled her back into the bathroom. He’s upon her in an instant, his sharp voice tearing strips off of her before she can even think of something to say.

“Hey, do you hear that fire alarm? That means you should be outside.”

“I had to use the bathroom...” Maggie said.

“Girls always use that excuse.” Edmund rolled his eyes.

“Excuse for what?” Maggie said, slightly ruffled.

“For whatever you're up to. Your face is covered in guilt.”

“The alarm tripped me out!”

“Then trip on out of here, missy. Or are you hiding something? Huh?”

Maggie was about to consider crying to get herself out of that situation when Principal Dudley emerged from his office and called out.

“Thank you, Edmund, the situation is under control. There's no emergency here.” He said. “Leave Miss Wyatt alone and please turn off that alarm, since that's your job.”

Edmund didn’t argue, but he did give Maggie a suspicious look before lumbering away. Maggie sighs in relief and starts for the front doors to leave and evade the incessant siren, but Principal Dudley stops her.

“You look a little stressed out, Maggie.” He said. “Are you okay?”

Maggie chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I'm...I'm just a little worried about my...future.” The lie was horrid.

“You're sweating pinballs.” Principal Dudley points out. “Is that all you're thinking about? You can always be upfront with me, Maggie. Or have you done something wrong... Is that it?” He’s making Maggie even more anxious with his prodding. “Well, Maggie? Talk to me.”

Maggie clenches her jaw, then let’s the truth spill out. She had to tell- Thomas was a danger to the school!

“I just saw Thomas Cromwell waving a gun around...in the girls' room.”

Principal Dudley’s eyes go wide, but then his brows furrowed when he really processes what had been said to him.

“Thomas Cromwell. You sure?”

Maggie is shocked at his doubt. Sure, it may be normal to ask for complete sincerity, but Principal Dudley doesn’t seem very convinced at all. He must be swayed by all the money the Cromwell family has. Even then, could he not see how Thomas was breaking apart at the seams?!

“Yes!” She said. “He was in the bathroom talking to himself with a gun. I saw everything! He was babbling like crazy—”

“Okay, slow down, slow down.” Principal Dudley said. “So you saw this...without him seeing you?”

“I was hiding behind a stall.” Maggie said. Impatience and desperation are oozing into her voice. “I have the right to be there. It's the girls' room—”

“I know, I know.” Principal Dudley said. “I just want to be completely clear what happened. Mister Cromwell happens to be from the town's most distinguished family. And one of Blackwell's most honored students. So it's hard for me to see him brandishing a weapon in the girls’ bathroom. So what happened next?”

Maggie went to tell him about the girl and their conversation, but stopped herself. She didn’t want to make herself a suspect if this all blew up in her face.

“Then...then he left. I ran out here wondering what to do.” She paused. “Are you going to bust him?”

“This is a serious charge.” Principal Dudley mutters. “I'll look into the matter personally. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

Maggie nodded. She wished Principal Dudley would do more than that, but she should have known. The Cromwell family practically owns Blackwell Academy. She just hopes she didn’t just throw her entire scholarship down the toilet.

She steps outside and is immediately bathed by the warm rays of the golden-orange sun. Beams of light hit the Blackwell campus in just the right way to show off how grand and pristine it was. It was a private school, after all.

As Maggie is walking down the front steps, she notices some papers scattered out on the ground. She picks one up and reads it.

MISSING- KATHERINE HOWARD

MISSING FROM: Whitby, Yorkshire

DATE MISSING: Monday, April 22, 2020

OTHER:

Age: 15 years old

Height: 5’0 Weight: 110lbs

Hair: Blonde, dyed pink Eyes: Hazel

Katherine Howard... She looks so hopeful and pretty. I wonder what happened to her...

Maggie set the paper back down and started to walk to the dorms. As she does, she gets a text from Cathy Parr, a good friend of hers. The girl was asking if she could have her flash drive back. Maggie texts back saying she will and would meet her in the parking lot. However, getting the flash drive was a lot harder than she expected, starting with the way Jane and her goons, Aragon and Jane Rochford, were lounging on the steps to the girl’s dormitory like watchful hawks. When Maggie approaches, Jane stands up with a wide smirk.

“Oh, look, it's Maggie Wyatt, the selfie ho of Blackwell. What a lame gimmick. Even Henry-” She slips for a moment, but corrects herself quickly. “Mr. Tudor—falls for your waif hipster bullshit. ‘The Daguerreian Process, sir!’ You could barely even say that. I guess you got your meds filled.” Behind her, Aragon and Rochford laugh. “Since you know all the answers, I guess you have to find another way into the dorm. We ain't moving. Oh, wait, hold that pose!” Jane snaps of photo of Maggie and sneers. “So original. Don't worry, Maggie, I'll put a vintage filter on it right before I post it all over social medias. Now, why don't you go fuck your selfie?” She sits back down on her perch.

Maggie steps back, grinding her teeth. She looks around the dorm’s courtyard, trying to find something to help her. Anthony Lee and Peter Meutas were throwing a football ball to each other, but Maggie didn’t dare approach boys in their primal sport. Maud was reading on one of the benches and Joan was sitting all alone near the shrubbery, but she didn’t want to bother them, either.

And then there’s a rattle from above.

The school’s most well-known janitor, Duke, is up on a ladder painting. The bucket of white paint he’s using is supposed to be hooked on the side of the rungs, but Maggie watches as it falls and splatters all over Jane.

“No way! No fucking way!” She screeches.

Aragon and Rochford leap up in an instant. Their eyes are wide- a look of such shock is unusual on them.

“You okay, Jane?” Aragon asked.

Jane glared at her. It’s enough of an answer.

“Hold on, hold on, we'll get some towels!” Rochford said. “We'll be right back!”

“So move your ass, before I dry!” Jane barked.

Aragon and Rochford scramble inside. Maggie waits for a moment before slowly approaching Jane- or, rather, the door, but she got dragged into a conversation anyway.

“Uh...hey, Jane...”

“What do you want, Maggie?” Jane hissed. Her eyes are narrowed in a warning.

“I’m sorry about what happened. That was an awesome coat...”

Jane blinked at the passivity of the younger girl’s comment. She loosened up a little and stopped baring her teeth like an enraged white tiger.

“It was.” She sighed. “But there will be another.”

“Well...” The conversation was actually going smoothly. Might as well keep it up and try to get on Jane’s good side so she’ll lay off. “you always seem to know how to pick the right outfits.”

“I do have some talent. Mr. Tudor told me-” Jane stops herself. Maggie is sure she’s biting her tongue.

“I've seen your pictures.” Maggie said. “You have a great eye, Richard Avedon-esque.”

“He's one of my heroes...” Jane’s eyes, usually so judgmental and cruel, scan Maggie without an ounce of mockery in their gaze. “Thanks, Maggie.” She looks over her shoulder at the doors to the dorm. “I hope those sluts get me a towel before they hang a sign on me.” She turns to Maggie again. “You deserve a better shot. Sorry about blocking you and...and the ‘go fuck your selfie’ thing.”

“That was mean...but pretty funny.” Maggie admitted, laughing slightly.

“Just one of those days, you know?”

“I know exactly what you mean, Jane.” Maggie said. “I'll see you later.”

“Au revoir.”

Maggie notices that Jane offered her a small wave. She returns it with a slight smile before stepping into the dormitory.

The dorm building is about as basic as one could get- a long hallway full of doors with one branching path that led to the bathroom. Maggie walks down the corridor, glancing at the slates beside each dorm that could be written on. Hers was blank when she got to her room at the end. She didn’t think much of it and stepped inside.

Home, sweet home. My favorite cocoon...

Her room is a basic setup- bed in the corner near the door with a fuzzy ferret stuffy sitting atop the pillows like a duvet guardian, lanterns strung around the ceiling for lighting, a drawer with a radio at the foot of her bed, a desk, a bookshelf with a few potted plants, a small couch, a guitar, her closet, dozens of photos tacked on her wall. It was cozy, and it was home now.

While she’s searching for the flash drive, Maggie noticed a sticky note on her desk. When she picks it up, it reads, “Hey girl,”-the I has a heart instead of a dot, a little something that made Maggie’s touch-starved heart flutter-“I borrowed your drive so I can watch some flix while I study. If you need it back, just track me down! XoXo, B.”

So it’s in Bessie’s room...

Honestly, Maggie didn’t mind. Bessie Blount was nice to her and super sweet, despite having obvious baggage of her own. She was strong and smart in a way Maggie wished she could be.

As Maggie leaves her room, she sees Maria de Salinas charge out of Bessie’s dorm and lock the door. She leans against it as Bessie knocks loudly.

“You can't get out now, Bessie! So tell me the truth, or rot in there!” Maria growled.

“Let me out, Maria! This is so stupid! You are ridiculous! If you don't let me out, I will scream!”

Maggie blinked. She approaches slowly, but Maria doesn’t glare at her when she gets near.

“Hey, Maria,” Maggie said. “Is everything cool?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, Maggie. I've locked Bessie in the room because we're ‘cool’.”

“What did she do?” Maggie asked.

“What didn't she do?“ Maria’s anger bubbles up again. “Shes been sexting with my boyfriend, that’s what she did.”

“No I didn’t!!” Bessie yelled from inside the room.

Maggie winced. “Ouch. How did you find out?”

“Uh, why do you care?” Maria said. “Why are you even asking me? You never talk, just zone out with your camera.”

“That's why I'm talking to you now.”

Maria crosses her arms. “What's my last name?”

She’s being tested to her an answer. Maggie blinks.

“Maria de Salinas. Duh!”

Maria is surprised. “I'm flattered. I didn't even think you knew my name at all.”

“Of course I do. Just because I don't talk a lot doesn't mean I don't care. So, how did you find out about them?”

“According to Jane, Bessie would do anything to date a football player.” Maria explained. “She saw the sext. And William won't answer his phone. Once Bessie admits it, she can go. Straight to hell.

“Maggie, I swear I didn't do ANYTHING!” Bessie cried from behind the door. “But I bet Jane did! I know the proof is in her room!”

Knowing that she couldn’t go to Cathy without the flash drive; Maggie agrees to do a little trespassing and snuck into Jane’s room, which was about as pristine and neat as she expected.

After printing an email Jane sent to Aragon about the whole ordeal going down, Maggie returned to Maria and showed her the evidence.

“Of course...” Maria muttered. She turned and opened Bessie’s door. “I'm an asshole. I'm sorry, Bess.”

“You are, and I hope so.” Bessie’s eyes softened. “You really think I'd mess around with William?”

“No. But I get stupid jealous. I owe you dinner. Still love me?”

Bessie smiles and chuckled. “And you do my laundry.”

Maria turns back to Maggie with a relieved look. “Thanks, Maggie. You're like the Blackwell Ninja. Now let's see what William has to say about Jane...” She storms out of the dorm.

“You set me free!” Bessie laughed. “Thank you. Cathy’s flash drive is on my desk.”

Maggie retrieves it quickly and heads out to the main campus. However, she stops when she sees Edmund stalking towards a very scared-looking Joan.

“...so don't think I'm blind!” The security guard was saying. “I see everything here at Blackwell! Do you understand what I'm saying?

“No!” Joan cried. Her eyes are glistening with tears. “Leave me alone!”

“You can't fool me. I know everything about this school. I cover the waterfront. So you better figure out what side you're on...”

“Please, leave me alone!” Joan is crying, now.

Edmund is about to say something else when there’s a flash from a few feet away. He notices Maggie holding her camera and grits his teeth before storming off. Maggie instantly went to Joan’s aid, but the blonde didn’t seem to be in the mood for pity.

“Hope you enjoyed the show.” Joan grits, wiping away tears. “Thanks for nothing, Maggie.”

Maggie watches her run to the dorms with a frown.

Poor girl...

#life is strange au #six the musical #anne boleyn #jane seymour #henry the eighth #catherine of aragon #maria de salinas #maria on the drums #bessie on the bass #jane rochford #thomas cromwell #catherine parr #katherine howard #tw: gun violence #tw: death

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aesthyuckic · 4 years

Text

AVENOIR | l.dh - OCTO

Genre: High School AU (at beginning) ; Tarot Reader!Witch!Hyuck

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: (will bold if in use) slow but with a purpose, belief contradictions, mentions of r*pe, blood, swearing, violence, mentions of abuse

Pairings: Lee Donghyuck (Haechan) x Reader (F)

THE STAR - hope, faith, rejuvenation

It had been a few weeks since they had met Johnny and joined his circus. To them, it felt odd and almost silly to be considered part of the circus... It never changed the fact, though. They hadn’t really met anyone there yet, at least not anyone to be considered more than a acquaintance maybe. Although, they did met a boy named Jisung, who was one of minor acrobatics, around Cosimia’s age.

They never saw him much, considering he worked in the big tent while they had a smaller tent of their own in the carnival part. They still lived with Ten and Sicheng, so immediately after they were done working they would go back to the trailer for some peace for themselves. It made it so they never really had time to hang out with the other kids their age or just the others there.

They were given a day off when they stopped in Texas, near the coast. Donghyuck was eager about the small break as he was exhausted from having to pick up and go every other day. It was all too much work for him on top of the long, hot days they had to go through. Cosimia remained on the other side of spectrum, excited about traveling and the work she was given. He guessed seeing the sparkle in her eyes whenever she looked out the window of the trailer as it moved down the road kept him going through it all.

They sat on the floor of the living room in the trailer. Sicheng and Ten were eating outside along with everyone else since meals were covered by Johnny at one of the tents. The green of money filed in neat piles in between the two as Cosimia counted the last of it. He stared at it, zoning out until the girl across from him picked it all up and put them together.

“We have around two thousand dollars,” She said, counting the bills again. “But I doubt we’ll spend it all today...”

“How are we even going to spend it?” Donghyuck asked. “We’re in the middle of nowhere and we don’t have phones to shop on.”

“Come on.” She rolled her eyes while getting up from the floor while she took all the money with her as well.

He didn’t really have a say in the matter and was quick to follow after her since half the money was his. She was fast, didn’t let him catch up for a second either as she walked all the way to the tent that had smoke coming out of it. The sound of people talking and coals crackling got louder.

He realized he had stopped for a moment right outside of the dirty white and red striped tent. He saw Cosimia round the corner, in enough time, to which he ran after her, almost loosing her in the crowd of their co-workers. She was walking toward the table Sicheng and Ten sat at. He stood back once he saw the dark haired male stand up and leave, not even bothering to look up from the ground. He still was not on very good terms with Ten, but then again, no one really ever was other than maybe Sicheng.

The other was left with a bunch of other people he seemed to be friends with. The girl continued to walk over to him, unaware she was even there until her hand rested on her shoulder and she bent down.

“Can we borrow the truck?” She whispered in his ear.

She had straighten her posture, him turning to looking up at her while putting his fork down. He moved around in his seat to go digging through his pocket. The familiar sound of keys jiggling rang before he gave them to her.

“Don’t crash it and never tell Ten I let you use our truck.” He demanded.

“Thank you!” She chimed before she walked away.

She had spotted Donghyuck when she turned around. He only looked at her with a questioning expression as he hadn’t seen the keys or anything. She grinned once she walked up to him and place the keys on his chest that then fell into his hands. He was shocked by it and stared at the set in his hands. She continued to walk, presumably toward Sicheng’s truck.

“Are you coming or what?” She chuckled as she turned around and walk backwards.

A slight smile came to his lips at her the sight of her chuckle. He run to catch up with her once again that day. They approached the rusty, blue, beat up truck together and got in. He, of course, drove but it took some time considering it was a stick shift and its age but it still started up.

They had smiled at each other once the engine started before he took off, rather quickly which left a cloud of dust behind them in the dirt.

Throughout the drive he noticed him occasionally looking over at her, just to check in. She remain quiet as she looked out the window, watching as nothing went by. For some reason, he found a little joy within just that. He wished the radio wasn’t busted because maybe then it would’ve made things more fun. The drive wasn’t long, the stores began to appear the further they drive down the road and they came to stop in front of a retro looking thrift shop.

She seemed excited as she jumped out of the truck, leaving Donghyuck to run after her get again. When they got inside, he was saw the clothing racks were full of color, parts of the store were overcrowded with furniture giving it an oddly comfortable feel. There was a section he was drawn to, it was narrow but full of old board games, movies and recorders.

He could see Cosimia dashing around the store, taking things off the racks, impulsively, and carrying them. He could see her fine from the the corner of his as he mostly focused on the records around him. It’s not like he was going to buy any of them as much as he wished, he had no record player but man, did Ten’s music annoy him so much at this point... He sighed to himself as his fingers lingered on the old things.

He had just then noticed his friend was no where in sight. He started to feel panic arise in his chest, not being able to see her anywhere. He went looking everywhere like a lost puppy until he stumbled across a section of the store that had curtains hung up to make a sort of dressing room. It had a three way mirror in the corner that seem to sit in the sun just right. He realized the mountain of cloths that laid on the velvet banquette settee center. They were men’s clothes, in his size and everything...

He was startled when the bright yellow curtains opened suddenly to reveal the girl he’d been looking for. She didn’t pay a mind to him as she walked over to the three way mirror to stand in the middle. She wore a long, royal purple skirt with a gold and yellow pattern of a planchette from a ouija. She smoothed it out while trying to fix the way her white t-shirt tucked into it. To be honest, it seemed like her and it seemed she thought so too by the way she smiled herself in the mirror and twirled, playfully. It made him smile to watch her like that, he’d never seen her act that way. The way the sun lit up the fabric as she twirled was quite beautiful as well, in his thought process. With the skirt glowing around her, he saw she wore black boots, a little beat up but it worked for her. He caught himself staring too much, probably looking like an idiot from how afar he admired her from.

Bags filled up the small backseat of the truck by the time they were done in the thrift store. The vechile was welcomely warm and stuffy when the both of them had finally got in.

“Is there anything else we should get before we get back or are we good?” He sighed as his hands rested on the stirring wheel.

She looked at her hair. The cherry red that was once there was now gone and replaced with a strawberry blonde color. One of which he knew she wasn’t too fond of, on herself anyway.

“We should go get hair dye,” She answered. “You look like you could need some too.”

She ruffled his hair a bit as she spoke. She didn’t seem to notice how shallow her breath got at the smallest of touching she’d done as she buckled her seatbelt. It took him a second to come down and do the same before he drove to the nearest drug store they could find.

It didn’t take long for her to pick a box for herself as they stood in the aisle next to each other. His hair was fading to a chalky, pastel orange. It reminded him of pixie stick dust but fried and crunchy. How he came to end up with orange hair? His friend, Yangyang, decided to bleach and dye his hair an obnoxious color as a prank when he blackout drunk freshman year. It was surprisingly how the color held for so long, his roots barely showing.

“What about you?” Cosimia asked. “What color do you want?”

“I don’t know,” He shrugged. “Don’t really care that much either. The whole dyed hair was a prank and I never got around to dying it black again after it happened...”

“While I do think black would look good on you, I think lighter colors suit you better.” She sighed.

She remained silent as she looked at him for a minute while she clearly contemplated. She reached out and came to hold his chin, moving it around as she pleased to get a different angle. His breath easily hitched in his throat at her gentle action. She had never been one for physical attributes and to know she was doing the littlest things meant so much to him. She was getting more comfortable with him and he loved that fact. She let him go as gently as she had held him. She hummed a bit as she bent down to the colored dyes once again. She grabbed a box of silver hair dye with ease before she handed it to him.

“It will compliment your skin tone,” She have a slight smile. “Make it look more like gold than it already does.”

She turned a way from him with a smile, walking down the aisle, not even daring to look back at him which he was somewhat thankful about. He stood there, in the same place, too lost in himself as he could feel the skipped beats of his heart. He clutched the box of dye in his hand as he could feel the evident, hot blush come to his cheeks before it heated up his whole body. It was the littlest of things.

He didn’t understand it, the feelings that had never been felt before. Didn’t understand what intrigued him about her so much that he’d fake his death just go with her, didn’t understand the attraction to her like magnets or why he liked and hated the feeling as well.

The drive back remained a blur to him. He was too focused on her gestures throughout the day which meant absolutely nothing, to her at least. It was that odd blur where one remembers only how the felt and can piece small things together, but nothing else. He remembers the warm feeling he felt throughout his body, much like a fever as his grip on the steering wheel was hard enough to turn his hands white, but that was it.

When they had gotten back, the grounds were bare, few people were out running around in the dusty area. They went back to the trailer, even called out for Ten and Sicheng as they came back in. The two didn’t seem to be there when they came in which left them wondering where they could’ve gone since they had taken their truck. It didn’t last long though.

Cosimia threw the bags on the couch and grabbed the box of hair dye. She quickly grabbed Donghyuck’s hand before she ran to the bathroom. She even shut the door behind them, not taking into consideration how small it was. There wasn’t enough room for two people, leaving him leaned up against the wall. It was happening again, the hot feeling through his body he hated and loved.

“There’s... not a lot of room in here...” He practically gulped.

“Well, I’m gonna help you and you’re gonna help me,” She smiled with a glint in her eye. “We’ll make it work.”

He banged his head on the wall, on accident of course, after she had gotten closer to him in that moment. How close their faces were left him nervous. She giggled at him as he just held back a groan.

“Now, I definitely have to help you...” She chuckled.

He went first. She stripped his hair of the remaining pastel orange and washed it out. She was gentle, especially around where he has injured him. It felt nice to have someone run their hand through his hair, even if it was wet and his neck was straining. The moment felt nice as well in an unexplainable way.

As he wait for his hair to dry to apply the silver, he help Cosimia dye her own hair. He didn’t know exactly what he was doing but it gave for a few good laughs as the sink, floor and even their skin was stained a red-ish purple. Then it was his turn to have his put in which thankfully didn’t come out as messy since the girl knew what she was doing. The stains left by him where already going to anger Ten a lot, which enough.

He wrapped a towel around his head as she turned to wash her hands, the both of them smiling to each other without the knowledge. Before she could turn on the faucet, the very clear sound of the trailer opening was heard. They both looked at each with panic in their eyes. The girl quickly reached over the locked the door, leaving silver to stain the gold door knob. Ten was most definitely going to kill them for ruining the bathroom and probably the white towels the used impulsively.

The smell of chemicals stunk up the small space, lightly suffocating them. There was no doubt the smell hadn’t lingered out from the crack under the door and occupied the hall. A shadow appeared at the bottom of the doorway which made them jump a bit. A polite knock on the door.

“Haechan? Cosimia?” Johnny called from outside.

They both relaxed, letting out a sigh of relief. Cosimia got of the sink to unlock the door and swing it open which startled the man.

“Have a makeover?” The dark haired man chuckled.

“You scared the shit out of us, we thought you were Sicheng and Ten.” She snapped.

“Hm, probably shouldn’t snap at me like that. I am your boss and I came with something you ought to be thankful for.” He said while remaining calm but nevertheless, delivering what he said with a certain tone that was underlined vindictive. “I was going to say I finally found you two your own trailer. A nice one too, definitely bigger than this one. Though, if you’re going to act like that, maybe I should just feed you to Ten.”

“Thank you, Johnny. We’re very thankful but maybe so if you had said it was you when you entered. You also could’ve been an axe murderer for all we knew.”

He looked at her with an eyebrow raised. He practically had a foot on her and he was also more powerful than her in the terms of business. She didn’t stand down for a second as she glared at the elder waiting for him to utter anything in reason.

“Guess you’re not wrong,” He huffed. “The keys are on the counter and you can tell which on it is, it’s the nice one as I said. Probably best you get out of here before Ten shows up too.”

He walked away, leaving Cosimia to shut the door that creaked with the movement. She leaned her back against the door as she looked at the boy while taking a breath. In that moment, Donghyuck realized she was strong. He should’ve been able to noticed that sooner. He liked that, something about the trait made his heart flutter in a, yet again, unexplainable way.

“We should probably wash out the dye and get going.” She said, still leaned up against the door.

“Yeah,” He nodded, still sat on the toilet as he was knock out of his thoughts.

They rushed to wash the leftover coloring out of their hair. The water coming out purple and gray. The towels on the floor were scattered. His towel wasn’t that bad but hers, it resembled red wine, especially after the quick dry job that left it with even more stands. Her hair came out looking like a night purple which brung out there paleness in her skin. Oddly enough, the first person it reminded him of was Raven from the Teen Titans. He thought the character fit her rather well.

They gather the towels and cleaned up the floor and sink as best they could before putting them in the small laundry hamper in the closet in the hall. After that, they turned on the fan in the bathroom to get rid of the obnoxious smell that filled the place. Cosimia grabbed the keys off the counter before she took some of the bags off the couch. Donghyuck close behind her, grabbed the rest of their belongings as she hurried out the door.

It really was easy to find their trailer. It towered a little over the rest, though around the same size in length. It also looked quite a bit nicer than the others around them, a lot newer too. They didn’t understand why Johnny would’ve gotten them one so nice. They were kids and they did think they were getting a cheap one by what he said to them weeks ago. Still, they definitely weren’t complaining, just curious.

They settled in quickly, not that there was much to settle into. There wasn’t any furniture, food in the pantry or fridge with left it up for them to fill it up with what they wanted. There was microwave and coffee maker, though. There was a dusty sheet that covered the bed in back. The two pillows were fine but there was no blanket.

He walked out from the back to see Cosimia sitting on the counter, her back facing him. The sunlight barely hit her from where it slipped in through the blinds. It was the first time he’d seen her purple hair turn into a passionate red due to the light. It reminds of sparks and fire. He didn’t even think about how long he’d been staring from afar.

“What’s up?” She asked, turned around now after she realized the boy behind her who stared in complete silence.

“I’m just kinda tired...” He mumbled. “That’s all.”

It wasn’t completely a lie...

“Go take a nap then,” She chuckled. “We’ve got the rest of the day off and nothing to do with it.”

“What about you?” He questioned.

“Not to be of your concern,” She sighed. “I’ll figure out what to do with myself.”

He shrugged to himself. It wasn’t a half bad idea especially since he didn’t recall the last time he slept... He walked into the back and fell face first into the bed. The pillows were down and he could tell by the way the feathers poked out at his face and the way his head sunk into the pillow. He was still able to fall asleep in seconds of hitting them, though.

Donghyuck woke up with his head pounding and no concept of time. The banging coming from the kitchen is what really woke him up. At first, his sleepily self thought nothing of it until he remembered Cosimia. His mind immediately went to worst case scenario: Ten came to strangle them so he rushed out of bed. Though, he care out to see her just sitting in a stool, in front of her on the counter was her amethyst crystal only this time practically split into two. He also saw a hammer, chisel, some cord and small pieces of metal.

“What the hell?” He muttered as he rubbed his head to sooth the pounding.

“Sorry for waking you up.” She said rather sheepishly. “I was making something for you.”

“What?” He asked, forgetting about his headache.

It seemed like she was aware of what he had been doing though. She pulled out a bottle from her bag and opened it for a couple pills. She handed them to him along with a water bottle. She didn’t have to say anything but encouraged him to take him which he did without a word of it.

“I made you something.” She repeated.

She grabbed something he didn’t get to see before she hid it in her hand. She hopped off the stool before she made him turn around. He felt something hit his chest and could hear her tying of cord behind him too. He looked down and saw a piece of amethyst dangle in the middle of his chest. He turned back around, confused as he held the small piece in his hand.

“Do you remember what amethyst symbolizes?” She asked.

“Yeah...” He hummed, not able to really forget even the smallest details of that night.

“Good,” She smiled. “It’s so you can be protected from evil, even when I’m not around to protect you from it.”

He wanted to ask, what about her? What would protect her from evil? Who would protect her from evil? Why was it her job to protect him from it? But he knew what she would say, that’s not of his concern. She was like that. To be frank, he liked the idea of someone wanting to protect them but he also wanted to be one to protect them as well.

55 notes · View notes

jasontoddiefor · 5 years

Text

Happy Batfam Fanfic Halloween!

As a special, I tracked down some stories dealing with the Halloween classics: ghosts, vampires and zombies! Today you get 24 spooky stories under the cut!

We’ll return to our regular schedule on Sunday with Billionaire Batfam & Galas fanfic recs.

Have fun and don‘t forget to leave these scary authors a comment!

Title: 106 Summary: Clark receives a letter from a mysterious sender every February 29th. Though figuring out the identity of the sender (and the purpose of the letters) gets put on the back burner when Clark Kent meets Bruce Wayne and his world drastically changes. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6139063

Title: A Victorian Farmhouse in Kansas, a Portrait Painted in 1903, a 1920s Reporter, and a Couple Vampires Summary: Lois Lane finds herself in the midst of a mystery with photographs from Clark Kent's desk in the middle. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7195901

Title: All the Living are Dead, and the Dead are All Living Summary: Bruce Wayne first sees the ghosts that fateful night when he watches his parents die. Martha and Thomas Wayne aren't among them. Years later, Homicide Detective Bruce Wayne witnesses the death of the acrobatic Flying Graysons: John, Mary, and their young son Dick. He works to get them justice with the assistance of the youngest Grayson's ghost, but how will he say goodbye when Dick no longer has unfinished business and leaves the mortal plane once and for all? Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1014699

Title: And Lost Boys Fly Summary: Bruce’s children are different; his children will never leave. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1922742

Title: because the night (belongs to lovers) Summary: "Mister Kent," Alfred says, his voice so soft that Clark barely hears him over the noise of the street. "I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news, and I wanted to tell you before the papers do." Clark hesitates, a frown creasing his brow. "What's wrong?" Alfred sighs, the sound rattling through the phone. "I won't mince words, Mister Kent. Master Bruce..." He falters. "Master Bruce passed away this morning." Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11907906

Title: bela lugosi’s dead Summary: Small towns seem even smaller when you’re trying to hide. When the entire family can’t keep a secret, Bruce Wayne--struggling vampire dad--finds out that they’re basically microscopic. “So, since there aren’t as many deer near the town this year, the state’s giving out individual buck tickets.” Jim said. “The seasonal hunters spoke with me, and we were hoping you could, uh,” he looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the subject matter. “...stick to the does until November.” “Stick to the does.” Bruce repeated, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, uh.” he drew up short, struggling to form a response. “Uh huh, I think we could definitely, uh...do that.” Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15836742

Title: City Limits Summary: Gotham's urban legends aren't always toothless stories. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/691809

Title: Count Bat-cula Summary: Batman is totally not a vampire. No really, he's not. It's not his fault rumors spread. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15470145

Title: Eternal Soliloquy Summary: “Just because I’m not here, doesn’t mean I’m not here,” Jason insists. Not that it makes a difference; no one ever hears him. The one where Jason isn't resurrected, but that's not going to stop him from being a part of the family. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13790433

Title: Flutter, Flutter Little Bat Summary: Jason goes to the Manor on Halloween to hang out with Alfred while everyone else is out. In costume. The problem is, Bruce isn't out. Bruce is home. Jason ends up not hating that as much as he thought he would. Also, Bruce wears a costume to make his son happy. It works. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16449962

Title: I’ll Be Good Summary: Whatever happened to Tim Drake? Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1035662

Title: jason the friendly ghost Summary: Jason isn’t gone. He lives in the memorial case and takes his job of haunting the cave only a little seriously. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1555727

Title: Misadventures in the Mythical Summary: Tim Drake was upset when his parents died. Not distraught, just upset. He was more concerned about what would happen to him now. When Tim's parents die, Bruce Wayne adopts him to make sure that he stays out of the foster system. It isn't long, though, before Tim starts noticing that not everything about the enigmatic Mr Wayne and his two sons, Dick and Jason, is what it appears to be. So, in typical Tim fashion, he begins to investigate. And it all goes downhill from there. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/129933

Title: Shadows Walking Summary: Many have tried to prove once and for all that Batman is a man. They’re tired of listening to all the speculation that he isn’t - that he’s a vampire, and instead of just blood he takes your soul, too. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21205718

Title: Sufficient Unto The Day (The Evil Thereof Remix) Summary: Robin wasn’t supposed to be the scary one. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386331

Title: The Blood of the Covenant Summary: Bruce was twelve, —but with a birthday only a few days away he insisted everyone call him thirteen— and like most nearly thirteen year olds, Bruce went to school, hated homework, and loved nothing more than a root-beer float from the retro looking corner-store a block from school, or Alfred’s freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. With two eyes, two arms, and two knees he got scratched up from falling down in the grass a few too many times, he looked like most kids his age too. In fact, nothing about Bruce stood out at all among his wealthy classmates, except that he lived in a haunted mansion. Oh and also, his parents should be dead. I.e.: the Waynes Live But Get Turned Into Vampires™ fic literally no one asked for - but I made it angsty (and sweet) anyway. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18593824

Title: The Grave Answered Summary: Exactly six months after Jason's death, Bruce returns to the cemetery to talk to his son. He is almost used to it by now. He talks. The grave never answers. But tonight is different... Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12155388

Title: The Robin Effect Summary: Dick Grayson died on June 27 but his spirit remained lively. The fortune teller foretold it so. Predicted what must always remain true. Dick Grayson will always find a way to live on. To prevail. [AU were Dick never truly meets his end] Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19148227

Title: This is all all all that is real Summary: Bruce keeps seeing Jason after his death. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/889530

Title: Two Forms, One Soul Summary: When Dick Grayson asks Clark Kent for help, Clark finds his teammate and friend Bruce Wayne oddly changed. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436292

Title: Under The Bed Summary: “He’s not going to eat you, you know.” Batman and Nightwing are vampires. Jason has some concerns. Dick does his best. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1187669

Title: What we leave behind Summary: "Who's Damian?" "My Friend. He lives here too!" - Bruce never managed to resurrect Damian. Now, years after the Waynes have passed on, the new inhabitants of Wayne Manor meet their daughter's imaginary friend. Ghost!Damian fic Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8208338

Title: When the Dead call Summary: Jason returns from the grave with the uncanny ability to see ghosts everywhere he goes, and unfortunately for him, the dead don't care about his carefully laid plans for Bruce and Gotham. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18705049

Title: When the Lightning walks about Summary: After losing their house in Star City, ex-billionaire Oliver Queen and his ward Roy Harper relocate to Gotham in an old abandoned manor. After a strange run-in with a boy, however, the abandoned house doesn't feel quite so abandoned. In fact, there are quite a few faces in the empty halls. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967477

#dc #dc comics #batfam #batman #jason todd #bruce wayne #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #Stephanie Brown #Halloween #batfamrecs

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tiptapricot · 4 years

Note

Hey hi, I’m the Dana accidentally ends up saving Batman multiple times anon and I’m a complete moron for not thinking this until now!!!! 5 TIMES DANA SAVES BATMAN + 1 TIME TERRY SAVES DANA (AND EVERYTHING CLICKED TOGETHER)

Anon I swear this wasn’t supposed to take this long but it became 10k+ words of fluff, angst, and character study so I hope that makes up for it. You can read it on AO3 here, enjoy!

—

The first time she isn’t thinking.

The lights of the club are still flashing, but the pulsing music is drowned out by screams and shouts as people run for the door. Dana should be with them, she should be running too, following Blade and Chelsea and Terry, but she can’t move. She’s huddled behind an overturned table, watching petrified as Batman dances through the strobe lights, dodging blows like a liquid shadow.

She doesn’t know what the goons want or where they came from, but they’re dressed in matching blue uniforms and wielding chains and maces that glow white hot and burn the patterned carpet when they drag on the ground.

She’s scared. She’s lived in Gotham her whole life and she can deal with Jokerz and weirdos but these are honest to goodness super villains, more like the ones you’d find in Metropolis.

The fight moves up the stairs to a higher level and she loses sight of them. There’s some kind of small explosion that sends dust cascading over the upper ledges of the club and Dana takes it as her que to move. She runs from wall to wall, trying to avoid getting caught in the open space of the dance floor. There’s a loud yell from somewhere above her, much closer than she thought the goons were, and all she can think about is that someone’s spotted her and that any second she’ll be dropped like a rabid dog.

She dives behind the juice bar, pulling into herself and waiting as she tries to calm her breathing. She stays crouched and curled up tight against the tiled floor, her heart hammering against her rib cage. Nothing. The sounds of the fight have resumed and she’s fine, she can move.

Dana peeks up over the counter, scans the room, and starts to get up.

She’s fine. It’s fine. The door is so close. She can make it.

A body slams into the wood to her right and she screams. She hopes it got lost in the blaring music from the speakers but she isn’t sure. It takes her a moment to actually look at it, and the sight doesn’t make her feel any better.

It’s Batman, splayed across the counter and barely moving. There’s a large rip on one side of his costume, the black peeling away to reveal a melted mess of circuits. Either he’s unconscious or… Dana gulps in breaths and tries to focus. No, he’s breathing, he’s not dead.

She hears shouts and footsteps cutting through the beating bass. If they find him he’s as good as dead, and you are too. Dana slips her hands under Batman’s arms and drags him behind the bar. Her palms are sweaty and they keep slipping against his suit but she manages to press the two of them as far into the shadows as they can go.

She hears the goons shouting orders, telling each other to “fan out!” and “find that bat-dreg!” and she hopes they’re invisible enough to stay hidden.

She glances over at Batman. He looks so odd, the contours of his face smooth and dark, the suit’s material reflecting the strobe lights in odd ways. They’ve only come face to face a few times, but did he always look this young?

A shadow crests over the top of the counter’s silhouette. Dana’s heart rate spikes again and she feels Batman shift next to her. Her hand flies to cover his mouth before he can make a sound. The white lenses of his eyes go wide and she feels an arm wrap around her back, flipping her over and pushing her further against the counter. She doesn’t even have time to feel weird about it, because a second later he disappears before her eyes. But he’s still there, she can feel his breath on her face and feel his weight pressing her into the bar. What the fuck?

They stay like that until the shadow disappears. She can feel Batman lean back just before he becomes solid again, pulling away. He glances over the counter and leans in so she can hear him.

“Wait a few seconds for me to lead them away and then run for the door, alright?”

Dana nods, eyes wide.

Batman smiles, at least she things he does, and then he’s gone, swooping back into the fray.

She hears a roar and a crash and then she’s running for the door. If the shouts are for her she doesn’t pay attention to them. She’s just running, running, drowning in light and sound and—

And the air outside is cold and fresh. A group of policemen rush up to help her away from the building and someone wraps a blanket around her shoulders. Dana’s hands are shaking and she’s still struggling to breathe but it’s okay, it’s alright. Her legs feel like jello and she’s not sure how long she can stand, so she wobbles to the curb and sits down, closing her eyes and taking breath after breath after breath.

Chelsea and Blade run up from the group of people still crowded around the building asking if she’s alright, their faces pinched with worry.

“I’m fine.” She says. But she’s not, at least… she’s not sure.

The two of them sit down on either side of Dana and rub her shoulders. Blade goes to get her a bottle of water from the medics and Chelsea tells her she called her dad to pick them up. That eases Dana’s worry somewhat.

But Terry isn’t there.

Chelsea says they got separated in the crowd and they haven’t seen him since, so Dana calls him.

He doesn’t pick up. She calls again and he still doesn’t pick up. She sends him a text and calls his mom but she hasn’t seen him either. She can’t help but worry. What if he’s gotten hurt? Why else would he just leave?

She worries all the way to Chelsea’s house, all the way through dinner, and all the way to bed. She and Blade stay over at Chelsea’s that night instead of going back to the GCU dorms and Terry still hasn’t responded to her messages when they get up the next morning.

Dana sees on the news that members of the Justice League had to be called in to finish taking care of the villains and she wonders for a moment if Batman is alright. He didn’t look in the best shape when she’d helped him, but there were no reports of a body, so maybe he’s fine. She hopes he is at least.

Terry doesn’t come to any of the classes they share that day, or the day after. When he walks into Science on the third day, he’s sporting a nasty black eye and limping. He refuses to tell her what happened and that worries Dana more than anything else.

She knows Terry. She knows his favorite foods and drinks, she knows he’s a sucker for retro 2000s pop, she knows what sent him to Juvie, but for the life of her she can never tell what he’s feeling.

He doesn’t talk about his insecurities, even though she knows he has loads. He doesn’t talk about his dad much, even though she knows he’s still hurting, and now he won’t tell her why it looks like he was in some kind of fight.

What did he do that night after the attack? What did he get mixed up in?

She drops it after a few days and tries to enjoy the break he has from work. It’s rare Terry gets a day off, not to mention a whole week. He still does the odd job or two for Mr. Wayne or leaves to help his mom with something, but otherwise they’re free to go out and have fun. It’s awesome. Dana has almost forgotten what Terry is like as a boyfriend and she’s not disappointed.

They go to parks and malls and theme parks. He tries to help her learn how to ride his motorcycle, but it doesn’t work as well when he can’t actually show her. They still have a good laugh and end up taking Dana’s car to a movie. It’s nice. Terry is… nice to have around.

She just wishes it could last.

The second time is nearly a month later. Dana is walking with Terry and Max to one of the arcades near the university when they hear a loud crash. They turn a corner, and Dana freezes.

A gang of Jokerz is crowded along the sidewalk, their bikes propped up against lamp posts and fire hydrants. A few of them are spray painting a small electronics store, its windows smashed, white faced kids laughing loudly as they ferry TVs and holo phones into a waiting, beat up, floater truck.

It wouldn’t be the most uncommon thing to see in Gotham, except that the shop workers are kneeling outside with their hands in the air, bruises swelling on their faces, and a Joker is pointing a laser pistol at their heads.

Terry grabs Dana’s arm and yanks her back around the corner before they can be seen.

“What should we do?” She hisses.

“I’m gonna run to the police station for help and you and Max are going to go back to campus.” Terry says, ushering her away.

“What?”

“He’s right, Dana. Come on let’s go.” Max grabs her arm and starts to pull but Dana shakes her off.

“But what about those people? We can’t just leave them. Who knows what’ll happen before the cops get here?”

“That’s not our responsibility.” Max insists. “Come on Dana.”

“Terry back me up on this.” Dana turns to look at him and realizes that he’s gone. “Where the hell did he go?”

“He took off for the police station just like he said.” Max grabs her arm again. “Now come on we should really be—“

But she’s interrupted by a shout and the sound of breaking glass. Dana runs to look back around the corner and stops in her tracks.

It’s Batman, in the middle of the day, slamming the Jokerz into each other as he flies above them, leaving thin contrails of smoke in his wake. The employees have managed to get a safe distance away, but the Jokerz are putting up a good fight and tearing up the rest of the street in the process.

Dana can smell the harsh scent of laser plasma and the shots are blinding. Max keeps trying to pull her away but she won’t budge. The night club was terrifying but the fight she’s seeing now is exhilarating. Batman’s red and black blurring through the blinding laser fire, the sunlight filling the street with a yellow glow, she can’t take her eyes off it.

And so she notices, and she sees that Batman doesn’t.

He doesn’t see that when he swoops down to knock over a Joker he lands himself against a wall, he doesn’t see the Jokerz picking themselves up to tackle him, he doesn’t see that if they manage to hold him still for even a few seconds there’ll be a smoking hole right between his eyes.

Dana moves as quickly as possible, ignoring Max’s shouts of warning and stepping over unconscious bodies as she runs for one of the bikes. She grabs a pipe propped up against the tire and rushes at the group of Jokerz as they close in around Batman.

She knows which one has the gun, she sees that the others have grabbed onto Batman’s arms and are starting to restrain him and so she moves. The pipe hits with a sharp crack against the Joker’s skull and the guy falls limp to the ground. The other members stare at her in shock for a moment, and that’s all the time Batman needs to twist out of their grip. In the next second the gang members are lying in a heap on the ground, knocked out cold.

Dana stands with the pipe still raised, nostrils flaring as the adrenaline wears off. Max is at her side immediately, yelling about how dangerous that was and how she could’ve gotten hurt, but Dana stops her with a laugh.

“That was kind of schway.” She says, letting the pipe slip from her hands.

Batman is still standing there, and he seems to realize after a moment that he shouldn’t be.

“I, uh, I should go. The police will be here soon to pick up these guys so I’ll be… going. Thanks for the help. Dana, right?”

“Yeah, you saved me from that rat kid a few years back.”

“I’m… glad you’re doing okay. And thank you.” And that time he really does smile, she can see it. It’s not a scary smile, like she expected it to be. It’s soft and almost snarky, like he knows something she doesn’t. Batman gives them a nod of recognition and takes off into the air, wings fanning out behind him.

“Sometimes you really scare me Dane, you know that?” Max says after a moment.

Dana laughs and pulls her back to their spot around the corner.

“It’s better than being scared. C’mon let’s wait for Terry.”

The third time is in the heat of the moment, cradled in light and pain.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

Matt isn’t in the ball pit or the tube maze, he isn’t in the game area or by the food counter or the bounce house. Dana has checked all those places. Twice. He isn’t anywhere. She’s asked the cooks and the mascots and the employees and the waiters, but they haven’t seen Matt. Oh god no one has seen him.

She’d taken him to the bathroom before she went to get them pizza, but she hasn’t seen him since. That is not normal for an evening of babysitting, especially not for Matt. Usually she can’t get the kid to quiet down, and she knows he isn’t a fan of hide and seek, so something is wrong.

She calls Terry first. She knows he’s helping Mr. Wayne with some big event tonight, but she doesn’t know what else to do.

“Dana?” Terry picks up on the fourth ring. “You know I’m kind of busy, right?”

“Yeah, Terry, but something… came up.”

There’s a long pause and Dana can almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

“What happened?”

“You know how I said I was going to take Matt to Cheesy Dan’s tonight?”

“Yeah…” He says it slow, worry inching into his voice.

“He went to the bathroom and now I can’t find him. No one’s seen him for like, the past half an hour and I’ve looked everywhere.”

“Okay okay give me a second.”

“I think it’s serious Terry.”

“I know, I know. Are you still at Cheesy Dan’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, listen, I’m going to call the police and then see if I can head over. I’m really tangled up but this sounds bad. Talk to you later.”

He hangs up and Dana goes outside to wait. The air is cool and the early evening makes the buildings stick up in glittering silhouettes against the sky.

How could she let this happen? Matt was her responsibility and if she had allowed him get hurt she would never forgive herself. She owes it to Terry. He used to babysit Matt before his job got out of hand. He still works so hard, too. He hasn’t moved out of his mom’s house because he refuses to let her do everything on her own. He’s taking extra classes to try and get his credits done sooner and he still works seven days a week for Mr. Wayne, most of that money going to supporting his tuition fees so that his mom can focus on the house. It’s the least Dana can do to alleviate some of those responsibilities.

“Excuse me.” A finger taps on Dana’s shoulder, making her flinch. She turns and comes face to face with two pointy ears and a pair of white eyes.

“Batman? What are you doing here?”

“I intercepted a police call a few minutes ago from a kid who said his brother was missing. He also told the operator his girlfriend would be waiting for help at Cheesy Dan’s. I was in the area so I thought I’d stop by and see what I can do. What’s the situation?”

“I’m not sure.” Dana rubs her arms, glancing back at the restaurant. “I guess we can’t talk inside, can we?”

Batman shakes his head and gestures to the suit. “I’m not exactly the most inconspicuous company, why?”

“I’m a little, uh, cold.” She gives him a crooked smile. “And I’m guessing your outfit has a little more insulation than mine.”

“Oh… right.” Batman seems genuinely caught off guard for a moment. He looks up and around, thinking, before he presses something on his belt and grabs onto her waste.

“What are you—?” She begins, but a second later they’re rocketing upwards and she has to bite back a scream. She squeezes her eyes shut against the wind and pulls herself closer to Batman. When the air stops she’s met with dim red light and warmth. Batman sets her down and slides into a seat. It takes her a moment to realize she’s inside a car.

“Is this the Batmobile?” She asks, scooting behind his chair. Her legs are squeezed between the leather and the metal dashboards that circle around the interior. “It’s not very roomy.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that.” Batman says absentmindedly, easing the thrusters forward. “There aren’t any better places to go, and It should only be for a bit.”

“Right.” Dana settles back against a console and watches the buildings blur by

“So,” Batman presses a button and swivels around to look at her, “tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem. It’s like he just vanished.”

Batman makes a humming noise and turns back to pull something up on the car’s screen.

“It says here one of the McGinnises has a record. Could it have something to do with that?”

“I guess, but Terry hasn’t been mixed up with those types of people since Big Time bit it in our Junior year.”

Batman visibly stiffens. “They never found the body though, right?”

“The Gotham river is big, maybe it just got lost. Though knowing this town, anything’s possible I guess.”

“Did Bigelow know you babysit the McGinnis kid?”

“I mean… maybe. I knew him before all the shit hit the fan when we were younger, but I didn’t babysit Matt back then.”

Batman taps his fingers thoughtfully on the console. He doesn’t talk, but she watches him pull up a few more specs before he turns to look at her.

“I’ll look into it and make sure Matt gets back to his family safely.” He flashes a smile and it’s not real. It’s strained and business like and it’s… jarring. “I can take you home if you want. Where do you live?”

Dana stares for a moment, before squinting in disbelief. “Wait, that’s it? You can’t just drop me off, I lost this kid, it’s my job to help find him too.”

“Dana, listen, you’re very nice, but you’re a civilian, I can’t just bring you on a case.”

Dana leans forward to look Batman in the eye and hits her knee on something. She bites her lip but doesn’t react further. This is Batman she’s talking to, if she wants to convince him she has to be confidant. She’s still nervous, she’s still just a kid, and she knows that, but Batman doesn’t know Matt. Batman doesn’t know Terry. Dana does, and she can help but she has to make him listen.

“If this actually has something to do with Terry, and it’s not something else crazy, then I could be an asset to you.”

“That really won’t be—”

“Batman, a little boy’s life could be at stake, you need all the help you can get.”

She can’t believe the words that are coming out of her mouth. She’s talking down to Batman. Batman.

He looks at her, and she sees something familiar in the draw of his brow under the suit, in the muscles and the contour of his face. He turns away before she can pinpoint what it is, and the oddness of the moment sticks in her mind.

“Fine.” He says. “But if there’s a fight you’re staying in here.”

“Can do.”

Batman sighs and the car speeds up. Dana stumbles slightly but can’t help but smile.

They spend the rest of the night together. Batman visits different gang hideouts to ask for information, stopping to end any fights or robberies they catch along the way. At first he’s quiet and serious, but he loosens up as the night progresses.

He stops every few hours for Dana to drop down and get them coffee, he asks her questions about the McGinnises, even though he only seems to be half paying attention, he tries to make small talk, and he jokes. A lot. God Batman makes a lot of jokes. But Dana doesn’t mind. She always expected Batman to be this stoic guy who only cared about justice, but he’s chatty and funny and nice to be around. He’s a genuinely schway guy.

Dana calls Terry’s mom while Batman’s stopping a break in at a chemical lab and talks to her. She’s in a bit of a panic and Dana manages to calm her down. Terry isn’t home yet either, and Mary puts Dana on hold to call him. She checks back in a few minutes later and says he’s still with Mr. Wayne, and that’s a small weight off Dana’s shoulders if anything.

Afterwards she leaves a message for her roommate saying she’s spending the night at a friend’s house and settles back in the driver’s seat. At least when Batman’s out she actually gets leg room. “Don’t touch the thrusters,” he told her, “Otherwise you’ll end up going at mach three with no way to steer.” She’d laughed at first, like this car could reach mach three, but he’d looked at her in a way that made her stop.

He’s Batman, of course it can.

At half-past three, Batman comes back to the car after a raid. She opens her mouth to ask how it went but he just shakes his head and starts the engine again. They drive a few blocks in silence before he parks on a rooftop and hops out, gesturing for Dana to follow. She pulls herself out and slides down to the car’s bumper, pausing a moment before jumping to the ground.

Batman has moved to sit on the edge of the building. He’s hunched over, his hands balled up tightly in his lap.

“I’m sorry.” She hears him say. He sounds less gruff than usual. “I haven’t found anything.”

“Do you usually solve your cases in the first few hours?” Dana asks, just a hint of laughter in her voice. She moves to sit behind him, not quite on the edge, but close. The drop is too far to sit right on the edge.

“You don’t understand, I don’t know where Matt is, I don’t know what happened, and I don’t know what else to do.” Batman’s voice cracks on the last word and Dana watches him crumble. His shoulders shake and he curls in on himself a bit more.

She’s surprised at first. After all, this is Batman she’s looking at, Neo Gotham’s hero, its legend. Of course, he’s not the same Batman from the history books, the one who helped found the Justice League, but he’s the only Batman Dana’s ever known. To see him so vulnerable, to see him cry, it’s like looking at a puzzle with pieces in the wrong places. It doesn’t quite… fit.

Besides, he seemed fine most of the night. He had quieted down in the last hour or so but Dana had just thought it was exhaustion. Maybe it was, but not the physical kind.

Dana hovers for a moment, unsure of what to do. She’s never really had to deal with something like this before. She’s never seen her dad cry and god knows Terry would never even think about it. Chelsea had had a hard time recovering from her time at the Ranch, but she’d mostly stayed home. The most Dana had been able to do was offer comfort.

And in a situation like this, what else can she do?

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Her hand reaches out to pat his back. She rubs little circles between his shoulders, distracted by the feeling of the suit. It almost feels like plastic silk, smooth and industrial. She pulls back after a second and averts her attention to the city below.

“How about we go back to the car, get some more coffee, and try something else. He can’t have just vanished.” She offers.

“Yeah, that sounds… good.” Batman nods and sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. “And, uh, sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t worry. You’re only human.” Dana smiles.

“Yeah I guess you’re— duck!” His hand shoves her roughly down against the building top as a barrage of laser fire explodes in the air above them. Dana’s cheek scrapes against the concrete and she winces before Batman yanks her back to her feet.

“What the hell?” She yells. Batman pulls her behind him and shields her with his body, firing several batarangs into the crowd of thugs running at them from the other side of the building. There’s a few more shots fired before he grunts loudly and takes a step back, pulling her closer to his back. They’re getting cornered against the drop, Dana can feel the edge against the heels of her shoes.

“Batman what do we—?”

He cries out in pain when one of the shots makes contact with his abdomen and stumbles back, just a few inches, but those few inches make a world of difference. Suddenly air is rushing past Dana’s face and whipping against the fabric of her dress and the two of them are plunging headfirst into a free fall.

She screams and Batman twists to grab her, his wings snapping open. His hands are unsteady, and she can smell burnt plastic and feel the roughness of melted metal against her back. The laser fire follows with deafening blasts and they’re only in the air a few seconds before something bursts above Dana with a loud crack, showering her in smoke and sparks.

Batman seizes and goes limp, his arms loosening underneath her, and Dana glances up to see it was his wings. They’re shredded and trailing smoke like a burst jet engine. The tip of one of Batman’s ears is snapped off and Dana realizes with a start that he’s been knocked unconscious by the explosion.

They start spiraling out of control, the bright lights of Neo-Gotham streaking past, and Dana chokes on her own breath as she tries to think. What can she do? What can she do? She twists so she’s holding onto Batman with one arm and looks around desperately. Everything’s going by so fast, too fast, she can’t see a thing. Dana reaches out blindly and tries to push herself through the air. She sees the lights of a building coming closer and reaches out desperately because how long do they have until they hit the ground?

Her hand smacks against concrete and bounces off, the palm coming away scraped and swelling, but she tries again. Dana reaches out and snags onto a window ledge, the force of stopping nearly yanking her arm out of its socket, and her grip slips again. They tumble a few more feet before she’s able to get hold of something solid. She winces as the pain in her hand flares, and she stops for a moment to catch her breath. They made it.

Dana closes her eyes and lets herself relax a bit. She’s so tired. Her arms ache, she’s bruised and scraped, and she’s sweating like a pig, but she’s alive. They’re alive. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself, and hauls herself further onto the ledge, lugging Batman behind her. It hurts. He’s heavy and she’s not an athlete, not even close. Her muscles strain and burn, her hand starts to slip on the fabric of Batman’s suit, and her nails scrape against concrete, but she manages to get the two of them onto the ledge.

Dana gasps and gulps and collapses back against the wall, chest heaving. Batman’s still knocked out, his head lolling to one side, but she doesn’t pay him much attention. Her head hurts and her limbs feel like lead and it’s so damn hard to focus. Dana sighs and watches her breath puff out in a cloud of steam. She laughs breathily and lets exhaustion have its way. Her eyes slide shut, and the calm darkness sinks in.

Gotham’s lights look so beautiful at night.

***

Dana floats in and out of consciousness. She’s somewhere cold and quiet, and there are voices.

I know it was a dumb idea but what the hell was I supposed to do?

Leave her behind. She’s a civilian, no matter how much you like her you can’t let personal ties get in your way.

But she saved my life tonight! This is like, what, the billionth time?

Third, and maybe you wouldn’t have been so distracted if she wasn’t there. You let those thugs get the drop on you.

Oh right, like that was her fault.

You need to focus on the mission Terry.

What mission?

She’s somewhere warm and soft, the dull hum of an engine surrounding her.

Think she’ll be alright? I mean, what am I going to say to her dad? I don’t think she’s visited him for like a year.

Say you two went out to go clubbing and got in a fight on the way home. That’s believable enough.

But my mom thinks I was with you the whole night.

I’m an old man, remember? It can’t be too hard to give me the slip.

Right.

She’s under a blanket, in a place that smells familiar. She’s home.

I’m sorry Mr. Tan, I did everything I could but we just barely got away.

I forgive you Terry, I’m just glad you’re both safe. I know you’re adults, but we will be talking about this in the morning. For now go get some rest and I’ll call your mother.

Thank you sir.

She wakes up the next day confused and sore, her face and hands tingling from healing meds.

“Good afternoon sleepyhead.” She sits up, rubbing her eyes groggily, and sees black hair and blue eyes.

“Terry?” He smiles, pushing off the wall near the door. “What are you doing here?” She pauses partway through pulling her blankets off. This isn’t her dorm room. Her bed is too big and there’s a dresser across the room with picture frames sitting on top. This is her dad’s house.

“Why am I here? What happened to Batman?”

“Woah woah woah. Calm down.” Terry walks over to the bed, wincing slightly when he sits down.

“Terr… are you alright?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine.” He gives her that strained smile, the one that shows too much teeth, the one he uses when he’s lying.

Dana sighs and moves so she can look him in the eye. “Alright, what happened?”

Terry’s smile drops and he averts his eyes. “I, uh, kind of ditched Mr. Wayne last night. I was gonna go find you, but I ran into some Jokerz on the way over and got a bit roughed up. Nothing bad, but I couldn’t get to Cheesy Dan’s. Then…” Terry pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “Then I was walking back to my mom’s house and this car drives up, real sleek, black with big jets, a custom I think. And… and Batman came out carrying you. He told me to take you somewhere safe and the first place I thought of was your house.”

Dana’s eyes bulge. “You mean my dad’s house? Terry you know I moved out for a reason.”

“What was I supposed to do? GCU is on the other side of town, I couldn’t carry you that far. Besides, do you have H628 in your bathroom cupboard? You were really banged up, Dana, you needed medical attention.”

“So? My dad’s probably going to make me stay here for a year because ‘I can’t keep myself safe.’ I’m honestly surprised he didn’t skin you alive when you showed up.”

Terry chuckles. “Yeah I thought he was going to too for a moment there. Turns out he was just glad you were alright. Well… mostly alright.”

“You didn’t tell him about, you know…”

Terry shakes his head. “I don’t know what you were doing with Batman, Babe, but I’m sure you had your reasons. I said we went clubbing and got mugged. Still going to be hell to explain that to my mom though.”

Dana laughs and pulls Terry into a hug. “I think you’re the only college kid I know who worries about a curfew, Terr.”

He holds her gently, burying his face in her shoulder. “Yeah, well… They still haven’t found Matt you know.”

“But they will.” She assures him. She stares at the shadows stretching across the carpet and smiles. “I’m sure of it.”

The fourth time is the time she chooses. The fourth time is the time she’s sure.

Matt’s been missing for almost a week. No other kids have disappeared, but that makes the whole thing worse. Dana’s gone in for questioning multiple times, even though she always tells the police the same thing. Terry’s been skipping school more, coming in looking more worn out each day. She’s caught him covering up big injuries more than once, but he won’t talk to her. He hasn’t really talked much since that first day she woke up.

Dana’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel and she takes a deep breath. Batman has been on the news a few times since their night out. She knows he’s looking too, she trusts him.

She turns onto the bridge that cuts over the river and merges into the flow of traffic. Honestly, at this point she’s not even sure whether or not there’s anything to look for. If it was a kidnapping situation, for whatever reason, a ransom would’ve been made by now, right? Dana has thought about it, she’s heard the police talking about it, she isn’t dumb. Sometimes kids just disappear and never show up again. It’s morbid, but this is Gotham. Anything can happen in Gotham.

A car honks loudly in front of Dana and she focuses back on the road. Something’s happening further down the street. She squints against the evening sun, keeping steady. It’s a cargo truck by the looks of it, swerving in and out of the lanes and banging into other cars.

As she gets closer, pulling up just behind it, it’s side door blasts open and out comes a streak of black, as smooth and dark against the sky as ink. Batman. He’s followed by a hoard of armored goons, dressed much too familiarly for her liking.

She sees blue outfits and glowing weapons, and for a moment she can smell the dust and smoke from the club, she can feel her heart in her throat, and hear the booming music vibrating in the air around her. Her hands shake on the wheel, and she blinks rapidly, trying to dissipate the memories of darkness and fear and focus on the moment at hand. She’d done scarier things since. The nightclub didn’t matter.

Batman is hanging off one side of the truck, something wrapped tightly in his arms. When he jumps to dodge a shot from one of the goons, Dana realizes with a start that it’s a child. It’s Matt.

Batman barely manages to dodge a second blast, sending himself careening further down the street. He curls protectively around Matt, landing roughly on the road and rolling a few feet before coming to a stop.

The other cars have slowed or stopped further back on the bridge, and Dana wonders for a moment why she didn’t.

The cargo truck begins to drive faster as Batman struggles to get to his feet and… No. No. Dana won’t let this happen, those dregs are not going to run them over.

She doesn’t think for more than a moment. Her foot slams down on the gas and she hurtles past the truck, sliding to a halt next to Batman.

“Get in.” She says, with much more authority than she expected. Batman jumps into the passenger seat with Matt in his lap and Dana floors it. She’s never been more angry and terrified at the same time.

The truck follows after them and she can hear the shouts of the goons and the purr of the electric engine.

She takes a cursory glance over at Matt. He doesn’t seem hurt, but he’s huddling into Batman, which isn’t a good sign. They hurtle off the highway and jolt when the car touches the ground for a moment. Dana swerves around a minivan and a hoard of honking cars.

“Take the next left,” Batman hisses, “they’re gaining on us.”

“Can do.” Dana puts on a small burst of speed and takes a sharp turn, entering a side alley. It’s narrow, her car crashing into trash receptacles and scraping against the walls. They emerge onto a busy street, Dana veering out of the way of an oncoming semi and into another lane, taking off with the rest of traffic. Batman looks behind them again and relaxes.

“I don’t think they followed us.”

Dana nods but doesn’t slow down, cutting between two cars and taking a turn towards the residential district. Batman doesn’t stop her, just settles back and closes his eyes.

They drive for a few minutes before Dana breaks the silence. “Matt, are you okay?”

“I wanna go home.” He says. It’s muffled, groggy, but she still hears it. She gives a nervous look to Batman and keeps driving.

They pull up to the McGinnises’ apartment and Dana leads Matt up to their floor. He’s out of it, recovering from some kind of knockout drug, but he makes it up the stairs alright. Dana knocks, Mary opens the door, and the woman bursts into tears.

Terry rushes in after about half an hour and pulls Matt into a big hug. Dana stays the rest of the night, talking to police, to Mary, giving her story. Terry pulls her into his room around midnight and they just sit by his window and hold hands. He massages her knuckles and asks if she’s okay and she leans against his shoulder and says that she is.

But in all the commotion she doesn’t get to talk to Batman, she doesn’t get to ask what happened.

But Matt is safe, Matt is home, and in the end that’s all that really matters.

The fifth time is the very next night. The fifth time she almost doesn’t.

Dana looks at herself in the mirror. She’s a little worse for wear, the bags under her eyes more pronounced, a few bruises still healing on her arms and shoulders.

Her dad had asked her to house sit while he was away on a business trip and she had agreed, if reluctantly. It’s weird to be back at the house. She hadn’t moved out under the best of circumstances, but the space still feels familiar and comfortable.

Matt had talked to the police that morning. She wasn’t there for it, but Terry had called her when he got the details and the things he’d said made Dana’s stomach churn.

Some guy had grabbed Matt in the bathroom and knocked him out, and when he woke up he was in a cell. He told the police the people didn’t want to hurt him, that they kept telling him he was only bait for Terry, but that didn’t make things better.

Every few days they moved Matt to a new location. He said they’d knock him out with a cloth, chloroform most likely, and he’d wake up in a different room with a different group of people. It was only Batman’s intervention on the truck that had stopped them from moving him again.

He said the goons talked about their boss a lot, apparently they were who ordered the whole thing, but he never saw who they were and the police were still on the hunt.

Dana’s stomach twists. She doesn’t want to think about why someone would want to get to Terry through Matt, because it makes her think about other things. The injuries, the lying, the disappearances. Maybe Terry is involved in some kind of gang after all. It would explain everything else.

She continues with her evening routine, brushing her teeth and washing her face, her thoughts running wild in the background. When she goes to dry off her face she presses her cheeks into the towel and takes a deep breath. It’s soft and warm and she feels on the verge of crying.

What is Terry doing with his life?

Dana finishes up in the bathroom and slips on her nightgown, walking quietly to her bed. She might be alone, but she doesn’t want to be loud. She doesn’t have the energy to be loud.

She grabs the edge of her comforter and slips underneath. It takes awhile to fall asleep, her thoughts keeping her mind awake, but she gets there eventually. She lets her mind relax, lets the weight and warmth of the covers surround her, and finally sleeps.

***

A loud crash jolts Dana awake. She sits up, looking around wildly, her fingers clutching tightly against her sheets. The window is shattered and the curtains are whipping about wildly in the wind. She yanks the blanket off of herself and stumbles to her feet, pulling on a pair of slippers.

“Hello? Is someone there?” She makes her way cautiously towards the window, expecting at any moment to be jumped by a burglar.

But there’s nothing.

The room is quiet except for her own, loud breathing.

Except… it isn’t just her breathing.

The sound is ragged and wet, interspersed with coughs and Dana turns sharply to find a crumpled shape lying near the stairs. Dark liquid is smeared in a streak across her carpet, joining the puddle seeping into the fabric closer to the body.

Dana is at his side in a heartbeat, because she knows who this is, she can see the ears and the smooth blackness of the uniform. She rolls him over and pales at the large gash in Batman’s side. It’s messy, bits of his suit sticking out at odd angles, frayed and twisted, the wound itself a mess of blood and tissue.

Batman’s breathing is slow and he reaches out to grab her arm, his mouth trying to form words, his face screwed up in concentration. He manages to say her name and give a strained attempt at a smile before a thick line of blood dribbles over his lips and his head lolls back.

Dana slips into a panic.

“Batman? Hey, open your eyes, come on! Please don’t die, not like this, you can’t!” She doesn’t know much about medicine or wounds, but this is too much blood, way too much blood, for a person to be losing. She starts breathing too fast, her chest tightening as she squeezes Batman’s hand.

“I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what you—what you want me to do! Please you can’t just—I don’t—tell me what to do!” She chokes out.

“Hello, can you hear me?” A voice crackles to life, deep and rough and oddly modulated.

“I— who’s there?” She looks around, blinking rapidly before realizing it’s coming from Batman’s cowl.

“Who am I talking to?” The voice asks, the audio quality fluctuating like a fuzzy radio.

“My name is Dana.”

“Where are you Dana?”

“Why do you need to know? Who are you?”

“A friend. I want to help but you need to listen to me. Can you do that?”

“I—yeah I can, I can do that.”

“Good. Where are you?”

“My house, 326 Eastside.”

“Is Batman awake?”

“No… no he passed out about a minute ago.”

“Is he still breathing?”

Dana leans over to check, her heart hammering in her throat. The rise and fall of his chest is so faint, so slow, but it fills her with relief.

“Yes, he’s—yes but barely. He’s losing blood fast.” She keeps tripping over her own words. Her skin is humming with adrenaline and her tongue feels heavy and slow.

“Alright. I need you to listen to me very carefully. I need you to breathe.”

Dana takes a deep breath and steels herself. “Ok.”

“I’ve unlocked the belt for you, there should be a pack of medical capsules in the sixth compartment left from the buckle. Can you get them?”

Dana gives a small noise of confirmation. She counts along the belt, then counts again, shaking her head as she tries to focus. Her hands are unsteady as she unclicks the compartment and lets a few oblong, white, capsules roll onto her palm.

“I have them. What now?”

“Crush them and hold the powder to the wound. Wait until it foams and then let go.”

“O—okay. Okay.” She follows the voice’s instructions, cringing as warm blood runs over her fingers. After a moment, the foam spreads over the wound, stopping the blood flow.

“It worked.” She says, her voice breathless and relieved.

“Good. I’ve sent the Batmobile to you. Once it gets there, put him in the cockpit and press the center button on his belt. That will send him back to me where he can get proper medical attention. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Okay.” Dana’s voice is so quiet.

“The car should come up by your window. You’ll need to get him there. Be careful, the wound is still—” There’s a burst of static and the line cuts out. Dana takes a deep, shuddering breath and tightens her hold on Batman’s hand.

“Hello?” She tries. There’s no response. She looks briefly at the ceiling and tries to compose herself, but tears slip down her cheeks quick and smooth. She tastes the salt on her lips.

“Hello? Are you there?” She tries again. Silence.

Dana nods to herself, laughing ruefully and closes her eyes.

And then she waits.

The voice doesn’t come back. The only sound is that of the breeze coming through the broken window. Whenever Dana shifts, her knees dig into the damp carpet, red staining her shins and ankles.

She doesn’t want to open her eyes. She doesn’t want to see the dying man lying on her bedroom floor. Batman already looked so tired, and his breaths have only gotten quieter. She doesn’t want to look at him yet. She doesn’t want to open her eyes and see that the dying man has died. She doesn’t want to see that the hero has fallen.

She hopes he’ll be alright.

After what feels like forever, she hears the hiss of a hover engine. She opens her eyes and tries to avoid looking at Batman as she drags him to the window. She kicks out a few more pieces of glass so she can get him through before lowering him as gently as possible into the batmobile. At least she can’t see the blood in the red lighting of the car.

Dana chances a look at Batman before she presses his belt. His eyes have drooped closed, every muscle in his face slack and relaxed. He almost looks like Terry does when he sleeps.

But that thought makes it worse, because suddenly it’s Terry sitting there, bleeding all over the fancy leather seats, inches from death. Because suddenly she thinks about finding him in some alleyway or parking lot, pale and cold and stiff in the wake of a gang fight. She sees him in that moment, and the next she’s stumbling back, her whole body shaking like a leaf, and the car is flying away in a blast of hot air.

Dana sits on the floor of her room, tiny bits of glass pricking into her palms, and stares after the Batmobile. She gulps in breaths of air and feels her tears dripping off the tip of her nose and the side of her jaw and her chin. She tries to rid the sight of blood from her mind’s eye and stares at the blackness outside the window.

The blackness that had swallowed the black car and the black bat and that was filling her room with black shadows.

You can’t see the stars in Neo Gotham, and Dana has never been more acutely aware of that fact until this very moment.

She sits and stares until the tears have become sticky tracks on her cheeks and the blood has gummed up the space between her fingers and toes.

Dana gets unsteadily to her feet, takes one last look out the window, and wipes her hands on her nightgown.

Her bathroom light flicks on and the water runs red into the sink and she looks at the girl in the mirror. The girl who had saved Batman.

+1.

The last time is on a sunny Friday in April, just after school, a two months after the night in her bedroom.

“Dana! Hey, wait up!” Terry jogs up next to her and slips a hand around her waist. It’s a welcome touch, seeing as he’s only been out of the hospital for a few weeks.

“Hey yourself. I thought you weren’t supposed to be back at school yet, Mr. recovering from a dog attack.”

“Yeah well,” Terry presses a kiss to the top of her head, “I just couldn’t bare to sacrifice my education.”

Dana laughs. “Yeah right. Like you actually want to listen to Mr. Eiten talk about the science of concrete for an hour.”

Terry chuckles. “You got me there.” He pulls away and laces their fingers together. They walk in comfortable silence and Dana is the most relaxed she’s been in months.

Batman is still alive. She had been worried when he wasn’t sighted for a few weeks after the night in her room, but he popped up here and there after a while. She doesn’t know what happened and she’s not sure she wants to know. She nearly had someone die in her arms, she had fallen off a building and been in a car chase and beaten up gangsters. The police still don’t know who kidnapped Matt, she still doesn’t know why Terry was getting hurt, and she still doesn’t want to think about it.

She just wants to be here and now, to walk with Terry and feel his hand in hers and not worry about anything else.

Is that so much to ask?

Dana squeezes Terry’s hand and looks up at him. He glances over and smiles warmly, rubbing her hand with his thumb.

Is it so much to ask to be comfortable and happy and normal?

An old car squeals to a halt next to them, the doors open, and in the next second Dana is being yanked up into thick gray arms.

Terry tries to grab her back but he’s knocked to one side by a knotted hand the size of a tire. Dana writhes and screams and she can feel laughter brushing against the top of her head, deep laughter, a voice she remembers.

Charles “Big Time” Bigelow wraps one hand around her throat, each of his fingers thicker than her arm, and begins to squeeze. He smells like burnt rubber and stale chemicals but all Dana can focus on is the air being pushed out of her lungs.

In the next moment there’s a blur of movement and Bigelow stumbles with a grunt. Then two more accompanied by the sound of quick punches. He lets go of Dana and she lands in someone else’s arms before being set gently on the pavement.

She catches her breath, coughing and gasping before she looks up and loses it all over again.

Terry is fighting Big Time. And he’s winning. He moves faster than she’s ever seen him move, vaulting off of street lights and Big Time himself, landing punches and kicks in quick succession.

Dana can’t believe her eyes. She just watches, completely dumbstruck.

Terry punches Big Time twice in the jaw as he soars over him. He lands on the car and pushes off, using his momentum to flip Big Time onto his side with a loud thump. Big Time lets out a grunt and goes limp, eyes fluttering shut. Terry steps back, chest heaving, nostrils flaring, and glances up. Their eyes meet and Terry freezes.

One second.

The fighting.

Two seconds.

The injuries.

Three seconds.

You need to focus on the mission Terry.

They’re the same. They’re the same person.

Terry is Batman.

***

She helps haul Big Time into the back of the car after Terry finds its keys and the two of them drive in silence to the GCPD. The engine sputters and the seats are worn out but it’s fine. Terry calls ahead to the precinct.

They don’t look at each other once.

Commissioner Gordon meets them outside with a squad to get Big Time properly restrained and then leads them inside. She tells Dana to stay in the waiting room while she talks to Terry but Dana excuses herself after a few minutes.

She finds a bench out front and sits down. The air is warm and fresh. It smells like hover fuel and the stream of cars passing by the precinct is slowing as the last stragglers from rush hour finally make their way home.

Dana reaches up to rub the sore area around her neck. The bruising has set in and she knows she’s going to be feeling it more in the next few hours. She swallows thickly around the ball of stress in her throat, feeling it squeeze in response, tight and hot, like every breath is the line between her and a breakdown.

Dana drops her hand back down and sighs, leaning further back into the bench. What a way to end the day. She’d been relaxed, she’d been happy, and something just had to ruin it. Her jaw is clenched and the muscles all along her arms and legs are taught. Her eyes are warm with barely restrained tears but she doesn’t know why.

She doesn’t have a problem with Terry being Batman, she liked both of them to begin with, and it’s not like she’s adverse to stress or danger, the last few months alone prove that. So maybe it’s the fact that they aren’t separate anymore.

Terry isn’t normal and safe, Batman isn’t a faceless person she can detach herself from when things get too stressful, they’re one in the same now. Sure, she’d bonded with Batman and seen Terry get out of bad situations, but the two still didn’t cross over for her. Terry was Terry and Batman was Batman.

Looking back she can see the signs though. Familiar things she noticed about Batman when they talked, or Terry showing up when Batman left and vice versa. Not that it makes it any easier to understand, it just makes her head hurt.

Dana hears the precinct door open and shut with a soft click.

“Hey.” Terry sits down next to her, “Didn’t know where you went for a minute there.”

Dana hums slightly in acknowledgement, her fingers tapping nervously against her knee.

“Babe… you okay? We can go see a doctor if you want, see about those bruises.”

Dana nods gently and takes a deep breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Terry smiles nervously. “What do you mean?”

“That you’re Batman, Terr.”

He stiffens before his shoulders sag and he lets out a long breath. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Were you going to tell me at all?”

“I was, I just thought—“

“I mean this has been going on for years right? How long did you think you could keep this from me?”

“Dana—“

“I almost saw you die, Terry, you were bleeding all over my carpet! I thought you were in a gang for heaven’s sake, I thought you were… oh my god.” The tears start to fall, small and slow, little drops sliding over her lashes and cheeks. “What if I wasn’t there to save you? What if you go after some villain next week or next month and you get slagged? How am I supposed to deal with that if you never told me?”

Terry takes her hands firmly in his and starts rubbing her fingers with the pad of his thumb. His touch is warm and careful, and Dana slowly feels herself start to calm down.

“I was going to tell you today, actually. Take you out someplace nice and talk about it over dinner. Didn’t exactly turn out that way though, huh?”

Dana chuckles softly, reaching up to wipe her face.

Terry lifts her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles. “I should’ve told you sooner, I’m so sorry Babe. You helped me out a lot with the Matt case and I should’ve trusted you more to begin with. But I’m here now, if you wanna talk or ask me stuff or just slap me in the face.”

Dana laughs a bit louder, kissing his cheek. “That’s tempting but I think you’ve been through enough.” She sits back and looks at his face. Just looks.

He’s filled out a bit since high school, he’s broader, his hair a little longer, but he’s still the same Terry he’s always been, and he’s… Batman. Dana runs a finger along a healing scratch on his cheek.

Batman.

“Terr?”

“Yeah?”

“What… who have you been fighting?”

Terry shifts a bit, his brows drawing together. “Like recently?”

“Who’s been doing everything the past few months. The club, Matt… you know.”

Terry’s mouth makes a soft oh. “I’m not really… clear on all the details.” He says, settling back and pausing a moment before talking again. “When Matt first disappeared I couldn’t find anything. No one had seen him and no one had a grudge against me. Terry me. After we got attacked that night on the roof, Wayne smelled something rotten, so I used some of my connections in the underground to ask around. Found out it’s a new gang, call themselves the Riders. They’ve been given a bunch of high tech weapons, real schway shit, expensive. The old man thinks it might be prototype stuff from Luthor Enterprises, but we don’t know yet. So, I went after them. People told me where their base was, and I went, and… next thing I know they’ve slashed me open like a thanksgiving turkey. I should’ve known better. I couldn’t take them alone the first time, don’t know why I thought it would be different.”

Dana squeezes his hand a bit tighter.

“I knew their leader had something against Terry McGinnis, since they attacked me once and then kidnapped my family, but I didn’t know who it was,” Terry takes a deep breath, “until now.”

“Big Time?”

He nods. “We’ll know after the interrogation, but I think my original hunch was spot on. We didn’t exactly leave off on the best of terms. I was the reason Charlie’s gang gig got slagged, and knowing him, he’s sure to carry a grudge. Plus, I’m looking into a possible cover up by Luthor Enterprises. A few shipments went missing in September, right around when Charlie would have had to start putting the gang together, which accounts for the weapons.”

“So kidnapping Matt, going after Batman, going after me, it was all to hurt you?”

Terry smiles awkwardly. “Pretty screwed up huh?”

Dana nods, averting her eyes. She’d forgotten for a moment. She had looked at Terry and it had slipped her mind for just a second that things had changed.

Dana rubs her throat again and remembers the way he fought, the way he moved. She remembers all the times he had to ditch dates and outings, the times in high school where he fell asleep during class. She remembers the weight of the body as she lowered Batman into his seat, red melting into red.

That was Terry.

Dana reaches out to hold his hand and takes a deep breath.

“What now?” She asks.

Terry smiles, his eyes soft, his dimples poking into his cheeks, and helps her to her feet.

“Burgers?”

Dana laughs, her voice a bit hoarse, and kisses his cheek.

“Only if I get to see the Batcave.”

“Yeah yeah.” Terry swings their arms back and forth as they start off down the sidewalk.

“I love you, by the way. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah Terr. I love you too.”

Dana had forgotten, but the moment has passed and it doesn’t matter. Terry is still the same person she’s always known. They’d gone through rough patches but he always worked to make things better. Now she knows he does that for the whole city.

So Dana is content, content with talking, content with waiting, content with seeing what the future holds, seeing what lies beyond.

#batman beyond #terry mcginnis #dana tan #fic #fanfic #my fic #dc

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